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Aragorn lay Tithen gently on her bed and unwrapped the cloak from her shivering form. Working quickly, he slit the bandages and the fabric around the wound, doing his best to allow Tithen some modesty for the time being.
Aragorn hissed through his teeth when he saw the true damage Tithen had inflicted on herself. The stab wound was vertical, and had broken two, possibly three ribs. However, it also meant that the chances that she hadn't punctured a lung were much greater than with a horizontal stab.
Aragorn closed his eyes and gently slid his fingers into the wound, feeling for the extent of the internal injuries. To his relief, the lung had not been pierced or torn greatly, so there was a reduced risk of her drowning in her own blood, but the knife's edge had made thin, shallow cuts on the fleshy organ's surface. To Aragorn, this spelled trouble—combined with Tithen's hacking cough, the tears could become larger and eventually cause the lung to collapse. As much as Aragorn would like to have Tithen cough the congestion out of her lungs, he would have to use a strong suppressant.
Aragorn replaced the temporary bandage and set about checking the rest of Tithen. She was shivering, her pulse was weak and slightly erratic, her breathing shallow and raspy.
Aragorn pulled the bedclothes over her limp body and began to build up the fire, thankful that Tithen kept a pot of hot water on her hearth at night, for either hot water bottles or tea, which ever she fancied.
Aragorn lit the many candles and lamps in Tithen's room and set to work. He let his healer's instincts and prerogatives take over as he gently stripped her of her sodden, bloody, frigid clothes and dried her skin with soft towels, rubbing her hands and feet to help them regain circulation. Her toes and fingers had turned slightly blue, and had she been in the cold much longer would have become frostbitten. For the time being, Aragorn left her injured ankle in the boot, so it was at least held still while he tended to the stab wound.
Just as Aragorn was preparing the needle, suture and antiseptic to clean and stitch her wound, Tithen murmured for a few moments, and then fell silent. Too silent, Aragorn thought, and held a small mirror to her lips—no mist appeared on the polished surface.
"No Tithen, I'm not going to let you die," Aragorn muttered as he began massaging her abdomen, hoping to stimulate her diaphragm into working. After a moment, he breathed slowly into her lungs, forcing breath into her, hoping to sustain her long enough to get her to breathe on her own. He carefully sat her up, lay his ear on her back, and listened to the sounds of her lungs. He was relieved to hear a heartbeat in her chest and no sound of fluid. He lay her back down on several pillows, in the hopes that the different position would help her to breathe. He pressed firmly on her stomach, forcing anything in her lungs out. Still she did not breathe.
Barely aware of what he was doing, Aragorn lay his right hand across her forehead and his left hand on her hand.
Aragorn saw her in the distance, standing at the border between life and death. He raced towards her, knowing that if she stepped through the shadowy veil, she would not be able to return.
As he drew closer, he could see that on the other side stood a small figure, and as he arrived at Tithen's side Aragorn could see that on the other side stood a little girl, no more than six years in age. Tithen turned to Aragorn, looking at him pleading, sorrowful eyes.
"Estel, please, let me go to her. See," she pointed to the girl on the other side and as she did her finger brushed the veil. "Gwenneth is all alone. She's waiting for me."
Aragorn looked at the little girl and she smiled at him.
"Aragorn," she said, her voice like bells in the distance, "Take Meren home. It's not her time yet," she reached out and touched Tithen's hand, which remained halfway through the shadow. "Meren, don't do this. I'm alright here. Naneth and Ada and Bergon and Adan are all here. And Grandma's here, and Grandpa and everyone else. I'm alright. Go home."
Tithen began to weep. "Gwenneth, I tried…"
"Shh," Gwenneth said. "I know. It was my time. There was nothing you could have done. Go home Meren. There is still much for you to do."
Tithen nodded silently, tears streaming from her eyes, slowly withdrew her hand, and began to drift back to the land of sleep, away from death, but Gwenneth held Aragorn back a moment.
"Aragorn," she said, "I want you to give this to my sister," she held out what seemed to be a small flame out to him, and it drifted across the barrier to land in his outstretched hand. "Don't let her know." She smiled at Aragorn. "Take care of her. Please, Aragorn, take care of her." She started to drift away into the shadows.
Aragorn smiled at the disappearing figure and then went to where Tithen was sitting, and lay the hand holding the flame on her shoulder, where the flame seemed to be absorbed. She jumped and then looked at him.
"What was that?" she asked and looked at her shoulder. Aragorn shrugged, and returned to where he needed to be.
When he became aware of his surroundings again, Tithen had begun to breathe again and Aragorn watched her intently for a few minutes to make sure that she continued to breathe. As soon as he was sure that the danger had passed for the moment, he turned his attention once again to the wound.
Thankfully, it was a clean cut, she had not twisted the knife at all, simply…stabbed…and held it there…waiting…to bleed out…drown…die.
As Aragorn cleaned and stitched the wound closed, he wondered what had happened to her to drive her to suicide. Clearly, it had something to do with Gwenneth dying, but what did Tithen think she could have done, and failed to do?
Aragorn bound soft pads to the wound and tucked layers of blankets around Tithen, leaving her hands and ankle exposed, as he still had to treat them. He would have liked to put some hot water bottles near her, but he could not find any.
Carefully, Aragorn unlaced the boot and slid it off her foot. He winced sympathetically at the sight of her ankle. It had turn a dark purpling-blue and become very swollen. Aragorn gently felt the bones—it was as he had feared—she had managed to break one of the small bones. She had probably cracked it when she fell and the added pressure of running on it completed the break.
After setting the bone and wrapping the ankle and foot in layers of bandages because he could not splint it, Aragorn turned his attention to Tithen's hands. Tenderly, he washed the blood off, shaking his head as he saw that most of the blood had come from the deep cuts on her knuckles and palms and not from the wound. One at a time, he took her hand in his, gently rubbing a healing balm on the cuts and scrapes before bandaging them. As he worked, he softly hummed a tune often sung by homesick rangers longing for a soft bed and warm meal. The tune was hopeful, but at the same time sad and mournful.
When he was done, Aragorn lay several more blankets over Tithen. He smiled sadly as he brushed a last few tears from her face. Over the weeks, he had a come to feel like an older brother to her. He wanted to protect her, from the pain of her past and from herself. He knew he did not need to protect her from the world—she had explained to him all the safeguards protecting her valley, and particularly her house. He would have gladly taken the pain of her stab wound if he could.
"Tithen, what can I do to help you? If you do not tell me how you are wounded, how can I help you heal?" he asked her quietly as he brushed hair out of her face. She began to stir, tears trickling from behind her closed eyelids. She mumbled something in her sleep and her hand began to grasp for something. Aragorn placed his hand near hers, and she clasped it like a lifeline. Aragorn gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and settled himself on the edge of the bed to wait for her to awake.
It was nearly dawn before she began to come round. Aragorn had found himself dozing off now and then in the intervening hours, but as soon as Tithen stirred and opened her eyes, he was awake and alert.
"Tithen?" he said softly, so as not to scare her. She started and stared frightenedly at him for a moment before relaxing. She licked her cracked, dry lips and mouthed silently, "water."
Aragorn rose and poured a mug of water from the pitcher on her dresser. He slid an arm behind her shoulders and helped her to sit up and drink before laying her back down.
"Thank you," she croaked, her voice hoarse from her tirade the night before.
Aragorn nodded. "You're welcome." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Tithen, tell me about your sister. You were talking to her last night. What happened?"
Tithen looked away, blinking rapidly; Aragorn reached out and gently turned her to look at him.
"Tithen, look at me. I want to help you. But I cannot help if you don't tell me what is wrong."
Tithen bit her lip and looked into his eyes. She did not want to tell, she wanted to die. But in Aragorn's eye's she found strength, calm, and concern for her, and so she began.
"When Gwenneth was born, she was really little. The mid-wife didn't think she was likely to survive, but she did. She was terribly frail and delicate though," Tithen picked at the quilt and paused before continuing. "When she was two, she became very ill. The healer from the village couldn't do anything, Gwenneth just kept coughing, and coughing. She was so small, and one day, after coughing for a long time, she stopped breathing, and the healer couldn't make her breathe again. And then, I don't know why I did it, I put my hand on her and I was there, in the spirit world," she licked her lips and looked to Aragorn for understanding. "I was only six, I was scared. But then I saw her, halfway through the curtain, and I grabbed her and pulled her back and I held her. I didn't know where to go though, or what to do, so I just wandered with her, hoping to find a way back. Then, a lady showed up. I asked her if she could take us home. She said that only I could do that, but she would help show me the way. And she did. I woke up a few days later, and Gwenneth was getting better. I had scared my parents and everyone else. The healer said that I had been blessed by Estë, and that is why I could do what I did and that when I was older my parents should apprentice me to her," Tithen stopped and began to yawn, but stopped when it hurt too much. She had not answered his question, she had just started her story, but she did not want to continue, to face the past yet, and she was tired. "Please Aragorn, let me sleep."
Aragorn nodded. "Of course. Sleep and heal. But why do you call me 'Aragorn'?"
"'s your name," she murmured before drifting back to sleep.
Aragorn nodded and gently kissed her forehead before rising to make more cough medicine to feed her while she was asleep. It was easier to get her take medicine while she was unaware of the fact.
"Poor Tithen," he whispered as he fed her the thick, bitter liquid and waited for her to swallow reflexively. "But you still haven't answered my question. Why do you want to die?"