My brother is sick as a dog. I knock on the door softly and poke my head inside the room with pine walls. He looks like himself and someone different altogether. Beyond weak exhaustion and a flash of misery, he holds a look of someone needing company. 

My hand is chilled from swimming in the lake but I still press on his forehead when he asks if he has a fever. “You’re warm.” I confirm.

“Would you want to read out loud to me?” He croaks and slowly moves sideways on the bed to make room, heaving and making whooshing sounds. The Two Towers by Tolkien rests on the bedside table. I reach for the book and pull a quilt over my lap, leaning against crumpled pillows. He wags his head and even his long hair looks limp.

For years he has told me to read the series but I haven’t begun until today.

Characters in armor peel off the pages as my brother shivers and quakes. He pulls a towel over his eyes, lying flat on his back, tossing from hot-cold and cold-hot. He staggers in and out of the room. I sprinkle ibruprophen into his palm and we cycle in humor to buoy this absurdity.

A masterpiece slowly fills the room and distracts him line by line. I too, am captivated. The light outside the back window fades. My brother’s breathing finally becomes a smooth tempo long enough for me to wonder if he’s asleep, but he murmurs when I read a sentence of gold. 

“To cast aside regret and fear. To do the deed at hand. . . If we fail, we fall. If we succeed-then we will face the next task.”

As if he can read my mind when I pause before reciting full pages of Elvish song lyrics he says quietly, “You can skip the songs. I always do.” 

Cracker crumbs and half full water glasses may be crammed beside an empty bucket and tissue cemetery but we are marveling in a golden hall. A long black stone hearth is ablaze. Lavender star-strewn fields beyond the fortress wave gently like the tattered flag. 

A horse gallops through the bedroom glistening white. A sword lands on the pillow carved in silver. A valley tumbles below the tucked sheets. The last pages in the chapter fold like heavy branches and the air is full of quiet attention as I turn out the light.

My brother nods under the towel and pats my hand to say thank you, as the company of characters pass beside him and follow me into the hall. His voice is from a far distance. 

“Good.”