Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or places in this story that are the property of J. R. R. Tolkien. I just love them. I do own a few of the characters that appear in this story, however.
Medical Disclaimer: no treatment or diagnosis is described within this text. All injuries, sicknesses and cures are the product of my imagination or what best fits the story.
QueenofFlarmphgal: I wonder that too. Maybe he was dreaming about something that happened, or maybe it was a fever induced dream, or maybe Irmo was sending him comfort from worried family…Who knows, maybe we'll find out later! Enjoy the chapter! This one is not quite as Angsty, but I think you'll like it. More angst later, and more blizzard trouble!
Bill the Pony2: Here's the next chapter. Thank you for the compliment!
A/N: Here's chapter 8 I'm sorry if the grammar or the wording is a little funny, but that is a side effect of writing when sick. If it seems to be completely off when my mind clears, I'll correct and repost. Enjoy! ( Achoo! Stupid Hippie Death Plague : ) Achoo!)
Tithen closed her tired eyes wearily and leaned back in the large, over-stuffed chair. She heaved a sigh of pure exhaustion and stress. The past five days had not been kind to her.
Five days ago, she had started out in the early morning to reach the village before nightfall. Less than halfway to her destination, she had rescued a man, Estel, half frozen in the bitter January weather and badly wounded. She had rode behind him for hours, finally bringing him to her home in the foothills of the mountains. That night, she had cleaned his wounds and put him in bed, before catching about two hours of sleep for herself.
That had been the last time she had slept. The next day, Estel had begun to cough, a deep, dry hacking cough that threatened to break his ribs and tear the stitches in his side. That night, the fever had risen.
For the next three days, Tithen had not slept, and barely eaten, so concerned was she with Estel's health. She had coaxed him to eat small amounts of a thin fruit mash, drink water, honeyed milk and herbal teas. She had tried to make him as comfortable as she could, giving him herbs to ease the pain and his cough, and to lower his fever.
It seemed hopeless. She had given him every herb she knew of to bring down the fever. She had kept the room warm, piled blankets on top of him to try and sweat the fever from him, but keeping a cool, wet cloth on his forehead to keep the fever from his brain. When his fever rose too high, she had removed all the blankets, draped him in towels and covered the towels in snow.
Tithen did not know whether she should curse the blizzard, or bless it. It had provided her with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of cold snow, but it had also blanketed the countryside with several feet of new snow, and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. That meant that she was snowed into her valley for the rest of the winter and that every time she went out to the barn to make sure that the animals had enough food and water she had to shovel a path for herself through it. She didn't dare just wade through—if she did, she would build up a layer of ice beneath the snow.
Tithen jerked her mind back to Estel. Her mind had been wandering more and more every time she sat down to rest. She had only allowed herself a few minutes doze here and there. She smiled as she thought back to that morning. Arod and Arthad must have realized that she was wearing herself thin, for when she had come in to fill their mangers, Arod had knocked her off her feet into a haystack with his nose. When she had tried to get up, Arthad had pushed her back down, and the two horses had stared at her, clearly saying, "You need rest! Stay down!"
Tithen sighed again and took a gulp of tea from a mug on the bedside table, making a face as she did. The tea was bitter, because she had brewed it far too long and because she had added painkilling herbs to the tealeaves, which did not improve the drink's flavor. She had lived on the bitter brew for the past three days, occasionally eating some dried fruit to sustain her, but she was not very hungry, and she only drank the tea because it kept her alert and gave her a medium to take the painkillers.
She winced as she slowly flexed her fingers. She had had to enter the spirit realm several times since Estel had dreamt he was being attacked, and each time she had had to fight the wall of pain and fire that kept her from Estel. Every time she had returned, she was more exhausted and her skin had the sensation of being horribly burned, though it looked perfectly normal. The painkillers did very little to ease the pain of her unseen burns, but they did relieve her headache somewhat.
ovovovovovovovo
Aragorn hovered on the border between consciousness and unconsciousness. It was the only place that he could think clearly for a few moments. In waking, there was so much pain, and his fever clouded his thoughts. In sleep, there were nightmares from which he could not escape. And lying just beyond the nightmares was the darkness that called to him, whispering temptingly of rest, peace, a place of no pain, of seeing his father…but he would not go.
Aragorn's thoughts turned to Tithen. From what little he could remember since he was attacked, he knew that Tithen had not slept. His healer instinct worried about her. Every time that she had come into the spirit world to shake him from a dream and calm him, she seemed wearied and in pain. The soft light that radiated from her form had been growing dimmer each time he saw her.
Aragorn was torn from his thoughts as he teetered between consciousness and unconsciousness. He was somehow alerted to the fact that his fever had begun to rise again…
ovovovovovovovo
Tithen jumped out of her chair when she heard a soft groan escape from Estel's lips. She placed her hand on his forehead, not even noticing the pain lancing through her fingers. She was going to have to do it. She should have done it before…but no, she told herself, it was a one-chance thing, it had to wait until the last possible moment, or else, if it failed, she was left with no other options.
But now, there were no other options for her. If his fever rose again, she may not be able to bring it down in time, or even if it remained as high as it was for another day, there was an uncomfortably high chance that his body would not be able to handle the excessive heat any longer. If his fever was not lowered drastically, immediately, and kept low, there was a risk that it would damage his heart, his lungs, nearly everything, and she knew that that would be an untenable position for anyone, especially a ranger. She would hate it if it were she. She didn't want to have to tell Estel that his heart was permanently damaged, that he would never again be able to climb mountains, fight orcs, go out in blizzards…
No, that would not happen. She would do everything in her power to see him on his way, back north, or south, back to wherever it was that he called home. She would see him fit to travel even if that meant…
She crushed those thoughts as they came to her, and set about gathering things she might need. She dragged the chair closer to the bed, and set a bowl with cool water and damp cloths on the side table—she wasn't quite sure whether Estel or she would need them. If she failed, she would need them to cool his fevered body. If she succeeded, she would need them to ease the sensation of burning in her skin. She stoked the fire with enough logs to burn warmly for several hours—sometimes when she did this, she would not wake for a while.
Tithen sat on the edge of the chair, positioning herself so she could lay her hand across Estel's forehead and so that if she collapsed, she would fall into the chair, and not onto the injured man, or the floor.
She took a deep breath, and released it slowly, trying to calm her breathing, preparing herself for what she must do. She lay her right hand on his forehead, and her other hand on Aragorn's chest, right above his heart. It made things simpler, somehow.
This time, she was prepared for the pain, but more than that, desperation drove her on. She would not let him die. She couldn't. She had already-
STOP! She shouted at herself. Now was not the time for a guilt trip.
She burst through the wall of fire and gazed around, looking for Estel. She spotted him near the barrier between this world, and the physical world. She drifted towards him, calling out his name softly. It was good that he was nearer consciousness than the last time she had done this, but she needed him to be firmly in this world, or otherwise, it might not work, and failure was not an option she wanted to contemplate.
"Estel!" she called. He turned to look at her. As she neared him, he drifted towards her.
Aragorn was worried. Not for himself, but for Tithen. The aura of light around her was much dimmer than it had been. Aragorn was not sure what this meant, but he was certain that it could not be anything good.
"Estel," Tithen said, grasping his arm and pulling his spirit closer to hers. The less distance it had to travel, the better. "Estel, your fever has gotten worse. I've done everything I can, but it remains too high. I have one more thing I can do, but if it does not work, there will be no more hope. The best I can promise you, if I don't do it or it fails, is that you may live, but be weakened. If it works, it will bring the fever down and it will help you heal much faster. Will you let me do it?"
Aragorn looked at her. "What is it?"
Tithen shook her head. "You don't have to worry. If it works, you will only feel stronger. If it does not, you will feel nothing, and what it is will not matter. Survive tonight, wake to me tomorrow, and tell me who I am, and I will tell you."
"You use that trick very well," Aragorn told her and nodded. What choice did he have anyway? "I agree. I will speak to you in the morning."
She smiled. "But not so easily, I should think. Come closer."
They drew nearer, floating but a short distance apart. Tithen closed her eyes and reached within herself, once again seeking her life force, that fire that burned deep within herself, keeping both her body and spirit alive, and together. She found it, and reached out to grasp the white-hot coals. Not only one this time, he needed more than simply the strength to stay alive
Tithen bit her lip, and blood overflowed the trench, trickling down her face. The pain in her mind was terrible, and her hands twitched—they felt as though they were in the middle of a bonfire.
Tithen grasped seven coals. That would be enough to give him not only the strength to live, but to heal, to fight the infection and repair the damage in his flesh. It was not until much later that she learned what would have happened had she sacrificed more for him.
She drew them out of herself, trying to do it slowly, so as to shock neither her system nor his, but hampered by the fact that it burned, so she wanted to drop them. Finally, she was bridging the gap between them…
Tithen's hand on Aragorn's chest began to glow, softly at first, and then with a brighter and fiercer intensity. The light seemed to flow into the prostrate man's body, for soon there was light radiating from within him…
Tithen drew back. She had succeeded. The coals were within Estel; his life force had been strengthened. Already, she could see the fire behind her drop, no longer a wall of flame, but a flicker, like a row of candles.
Aragorn gasped as the light in Tithen's hands entered into him, giving him strength. He could feel the fever begin to leave him. He looked up to thank her, for whatever it was she had given him, but was startled to see her dissipate, like a wisp of fog in a strong wind.
A cry ripped itself from Tithen as she jerked back into the chair as though she had been hit with an electric shock. She lay there, tense, panting, her heart beating much too fast, barely conscious. Black mist swam before her eyes.
As she became more aware of her surroundings, she sat up quickly and checked Aragorn's pulse, breathing and fever. The fever had broken, his pulse was stronger and regular, his breathing almost easy. It had worked!
A wave of pain crashed over her as she tried to brush some hair from Aragorn's face. Without realizing what she was doing, she tore from the room, out her front door, leaving it slightly ajar, and threw herself into a snowdrift.
There was agony as her sensitive skin felt the tiny, sharp ice crystals in the snow and her lungs protested against the sudden coldness of the air, and then relief, sweet, sweet relief as the cold numbed her, cooled her fiery skin, welcomed her, made her feel like a child.
She rolled onto her back, and, now completely numb, began to move her arms back and forth, leaving an imprint of the snow that looked like a lady of the court, with really big bell sleeves, had fallen into the snow with her arms above her head. She smiled as she remembered doing this with her, teaching her how to stand up without marring the imprint. But that was before…
"No!" she shouted into the night, scrambling up from where she had lain. All the frustration she felt with herself for not being able to control her thoughts, for have letting Estel's fever burn for so long, boiled to the top. She needed something to direct her anger at, her anger for everything. Orcs were what came to mind. They had hurt Estel, they had killed her brothers, they had killed, no don't think of that…
"Filthy Orcs!" she shouted at the mountains, her mountains. The mountains listened patiently to her venting her anger. They knew her well, knew what she had been through. They knew all that went on in the valley at their foothills, and they liked the girl. They were not fond of orcs either.
"How dare you, you scum, you scrapings from the dungeons of Angmar, you spawn of the pit!" she cursed the orcs in every tongue she knew, directing all her fury at them until she felt exhausted and realized that she was standing in the snow, in January, in a blizzard, in soaking clothes, after giving up part of her life force, and not sleeping for 5 days. She knew that her body had been weakened, and she was not helping herself.
She turned to go back into the house, and as she past over the threshold, she doubled over as a coughing fit seized her.
"Oh no," she gasped as the coughs subsided. "This is exactly what I don't need."
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Having changed into dry clothes and taking a draught to suppress her cough and continue the work that the snow had started, Tithen reentered the healing room and sat in the chair next to Estel. He was sleeping peacefully, his breathing even and untroubled, his face no longer flushed with anything more than a fever of a degree or two, which was no problem. Tithen wanted to sleep. She was tired. Perhaps, she told herself, she could just close her eyes, catch a few minutes of sleep…
ovovovovovovovovo
Aragorn woke sometime later in the night, the sleeping and pain relieving herbs having worn off hours before. He lay there for sometime, simply enjoying the sensation of not having a fever, of the lessened pain in his arm and side, the lack of crushing weight on his chest…
With a jolt, Aragorn wondered where Tithen was. She had always seemed to know when he was on the border of waking, and come to his side. He did not regret the fact that she was not there. He knew she must be exhausted, and he hated being fussed over. It simply worried him, remembering how she had seemed pained, and how she had been whisked away.
Aragorn opened his eyes and stared at the dark, carved wood beams, gathering his thoughts and senses. Slowly, he became aware of soft breathing on his left. Carefully, so as not to set off his headache, he turned his head on the pillow so that he could see Tithen.
He was not sure whether he should laugh, or be worried. Tithen had obviously fallen asleep in the chair, sitting as though she had fallen asleep on her feet and was fortunate enough to fall into the chair. Wisps of hair had fallen into her face and her head lolled to one side. He was worried by the dark circles that had formed under her eyes, and the grey tint of her skin that spoke of illness. She looked limp, like a rag doll that had fallen prey to an overenthusiastic puppy.
Aragorn wanted to get up and lay a blanket over her, and place a pillow behind her head, so it didn't hang at such an uncomfortable-looking angle. As he tried to shift, he was suddenly reminded of the severity of his wounds, and he longed for the herbs in his saddlebag that would have eased the pain somewhat.
But Aragorn was both too proud to ask for them, and too compassionate to wake Tithen. His healer instincts told him all was not well with her, that she needed to sleep more than he did, and probably eat.
His good intentions were betrayed by the lingering remnants of his cough, most of which Tithen's gift had defeated. As he shifted to find a more comfortable position, he began to cough. Not deeply as before, just slightly, as one getting over a chest cold does.
But Tithen heard it and leapt out of the chair as though shot from a bow and instantly brought him into a sitting position, to ease the cough.
"It's alright," he tried to gasp between coughs. "I'm fine, go back to sleep!"
The coughs abated and Tithen eased him back onto the pillows. "It worked!" she said jubilantly. Aragorn simply smiled at her.
"How do you feel?" she asked as she poured a glass of water for him and another for herself.
"How do you feel?" he countered, accepting her help as he sat up. She stuffed pillows behind his head. She steadied his hand as he grasped the glass and brought it to his lips. He hated being so weak that he could not do it on his own, but he knew that he needed her help.
Tithen gave him a withering look. "Who's the healer here? You or me?"
A mischievous smile played on Aragorn's lips. "Good question," he croaked, his throat still slightly raw. "Which one of us is the healer? You look like you could use the services of a healer."
"The healer is the one who can walk on their own."
"Do we want to see which one that is?"
Tithen shot him a mock serious look. "Let's not. I have already proved I could, so I am the healer. Therefore, I will ask the questions. Again, how do you feel?"
"Fine," Aragorn croaked, completely deadpan.
Tithen continued to stare at him.
"You know, that would sound a lot more convincing if you didn't sound like a lying sick frog when you said it. If it weren't for the fact that you croaked when you said it, I would have only said you were a lying sick human."
Aragorn laughed in spite of the pain in his chest that it caused. "Alright, my question now. How do you feel?"
Tithen tried to brush her hair behind her ears and winced as she answered, "Fine" She yawned.
"You know," Aragorn mirrored her, "That would sound a lot more convincing if you weren't grimacing when you said and you didn't yawn so much."
Tithen laughed. "Very good, mellon nîn! I see this is going to be a very interesting winter."
Aragorn was not quite awake enough to question her last statement. He was stronger, but not yet whole. Tithen mixed painkilling herbs and slipped a sleeping herb into his water and helped him to drink it. Aragorn lay back on the pillows.
"I'll sleep if you lie down on that mattress," he told her, already feeling the effects of the sedative.
"Very well," she smiled. "Sleep well, my friend. Tomorrow dawns another day."
"Sleep well, Tithen," Aragorn replied, drifting off to a pleasant sleep. "Sleep, or when I get out of this bed tomorrow, I shall put herbs in your water!"