With You Always

"The hands of the King are the hands of a healer." –Ioreth, quoting an ancient prophecy in Return of the King.

"I will never leave you nor forsake you"-Bible.

Aragorn gently drew her head onto his lap and smoothed her hair from her face as he let her cry. At last, he no longer sensed the guilt, nor the overwhelming burden, nor the gnawing agony, only sorrow and loneliness in her. He softly shushed her, telling her over and over again that it was all right, it wasn't her fault.

Meren let herself be comforted as she let her guilt and anguish flow out of her. She knew now that Gwenneth didn't blame her. Somehow, there was hope once again in her life. There was still pain, much pain, but it would no longer tear at her…she would heal…Gwenneth would help her, Aragorn would help her…she would be made whole again.

As if to provide a stark irony to her thoughts, Meren coughed, choked and groaned, dropping her mug and clutching her chest where she had stabbed herself. The mug shattered as it rolled off her lap and onto the floor, the remains of her tea soaking the shards. She doubled up in pain as the jerking movement of coughing sent fresh waves of stabbing, burning, icy pain though her chest and to the rest of her body.

"Meren!" Aragorn cried out, deeply worried that she would puncture a lung or tear the stitches again. His worst fears seemed to be confirmed when Meren drew a hand away from her wound and held it up, where it shimmered scarlet in the light of lamp and dawn.

Aragorn sprang into action, carrying Meren back to her bed where he could more easily treat the wound. His healer instincts took precedence over all others and so he quickly slit open Meren's night shift to reveal the bandages soaked in blood. He snatched a clean pad from the nightstand, which he had temporarily turned into a bandaging station, and after cutting loose the used bandages, applied as much pressure as he dared to try and slow the bleeding.

A few minutes later, he slowly eased the pad away, to reveal that the bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but the stitches had been torn once again. Aragorn sighed worriedly; he did not want to have to continually pull skin towards the wound so he could stitch it closed, as it would leave a great deal of tight scar tissue. As he cleaned the area around the wound, Aragorn grew even more concerned as he saw that the area around the wound was red, the first signs of infection.

"Aragorn?" Meren rasped as he gently prodded the wound. "It's infected?"

"Aye," he replied sadly. "It's beginning to be."

"Cauterize," she choked out as she sought to stop a new cough before it started.

Aragorn shook his head slowly. "I don't want to resort to that until there are no other options," he told her. "I don't want to risk cauterizing your lung."

"What…choice?" she asked pragmatically.

Aragorn sighed. "I'll wrap it in honey, garlic and herbs for today," he said, "If by tomorrow, it's worse, I'll consider cauterizing it."

Meren nodded. "Agreed."

"Agreed," repeated Aragorn before turning to mix the paste he would put on the wound, hoping against hope that it would do the trick. When he was ready, he first washed the wound and the area around it with water and salt. Meren hissed at the pain as the salt water stung her raw flesh, and then laughed hoarsely.

"What are you laughing at?" asked Aragorn incredulously, pausing in his administrations. Meren continued to laugh for a moment before speaking.

"You're…only man…I'd let…see me…like this…Be glad…I…consider…you…brother," she gasped out, coughing and giggling at the same time. Aragorn paused for a moment, blinked, and then ducked his head as he blushed and laughed freely as he realized what she was saying. He collapsed laughing on the floor and held his sides before they ripped open.

"Valar," he choked out as the laughter subsided for both of them. "I see what you mean. Forgive me."

"Hehe, urg, ow," Meren said. "Do not think anything of it. We are equal now. " She sighed and relaxed her body, willing the constricted muscles in her chest to release their tension. She knew she had to rest in everyway if she were to survive her self-inflicted wounds. If she died after so newly regaining life, how would she face Gwenneth in those alabaster chambers?

Aragorn rose from the floor and finished his task of binding up her wounds before helping to ease her into a fresh night shift. He carefully pulled up the blankets and tucked them around her shivering form. To Aragorn, it seemed that while she had returned to life, there was a frailty to her yet, almost as though she were a newborn child that needed love and attention; she had lived with an incredible burden for so long, cut herself off for so many years, it would take time, and friendship, to help her heal. By the time he had finished arranging the blankets to his satisfaction, Meren had drifted into a shallow, but restful sleep. Aragorn smiled paternally at her and settled himself on the sofa to catch a few winks himself, now assured that Meren would not will her life away while he slept.

oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"Laughter is the best medicine," familiar voice said next to Meren. She sat up quickly, and then paused, shocked not to feel any pain. She looked at her surroundings in equal shock—she was in a shady clearing, surrounded by ancient trees, tall and strong. Next to her, sat Gwenneth, smiling, and looking somewhat older than the six-year-old that had spoken to her the night before. "But I must say, you do chose the strangest things to laugh at."

"Well, what would you have me do? As soon as I realized I was exposed, I either had to burst out laughing, or break his nose!" Meren retorted, sitting up fully and turning to face her sister. "You look older."

"I would be twenty if I were alive," Gwenneth pointed out. "And I don't actually look like a six-year-old anymore."

"What do you look like?" Meren asked. She then paused. "How are you talking to me?"

"Meren," Gwenneth said gently, "I have always been able to talk to you. It was you who prevented it."

"Gwenneth, how? I have longed to speak to you," Meren asked, hurt and confused by Gwenneth's allegation.

Gwenneth sighed, trying to think of the best way to explain the strange reality to her sister. "Meren, if a man is torn in two, bleeding to death and in excruciating pain, can he speak? Can he hear coherently what is spoken to him?"

"No."

"Meren, for all these years, you have been like that man, your soul torn apart, slowly bleeding and in pain; to try and block the pain, you build walls around yourself, cut yourself off from contact, physical and spiritual. Those walls prevented me from comforting you."

Meren shook her head. "But I thought the dead cannot speak to the living."

Gwenneth smiled. "Under normal circumstances, the dead may not. However, there are a few exceptions, which is how I can speak to Aragorn, and then there are circumstances like ours. Meren, there are bonds which not even the shadow of death can break. You and I are bonded not only as sisters, but, uh, our souls are connected by an invisible bond, which can never be broken."

Meren smiled and embraced her sister. "Oh, little sister, I have missed you so much."

Gwenneth returned her sister's crushing hug. "As have I you. But I am always here, meleth. Now, Meren, I must speak to Aragorn before he wakes, so I must be rather brief I fear, though I shall return. Meren, I know you have lost track of the days recently, but you must begin to remember now. You must either gather the strength to sneak bandages without Aragorn noticing, or you must remind him that you are a woman."

Meren nodded, and thought for a moment. "Gwenneth, how do you know about that?"

"Meren, there is no such thing as secrets when you are dead."

"Ah."

"I would suggest you tell Aragorn, lest he accidentally discover you bleeding and think that you have suffered new internal damage."

"Mmm, but, uh, does he know about such things, or must explain them to him?"

Gwenneth smiled. "Meren, I assure you, he knows about them."

"Good," Meren said, relieved that she did not have to explain the "facts of life" to her guest.

Gwenneth gently placed a kiss upon her sister's brow. "Meleth, I must go now, but know that I love you, and that we shall see each other again soon."

Meren nodded and lay down in the soft grass again, "Gwenneth, hannon le."

Gwenneth smiled. "You are welcome."

oxoxoxoxoxo

"Aragorn, I must speak with you, awake," Gwenneth gently prodded the sleeping man, and Aragorn immediately jumped into wakefulness.

"Gwenneth!" he said, startled. "What's the matter? Is Meren—"

"Peace," she replied. "My sister is well, for the moment. I wish to speak with you concerning the wound."

Aragorn hung his head. "I know not what to do," he confessed to the girl. "The infection seems to be deep, but I fear cauterizing the wound as Meren suggests would send her into shock and kill her."

Gwenneth took Aragorn's hands in her own. "Aragorn, there is another way, which only you know."

"What?" asked Aragorn. He was desperate to find another solution. His healer instincts told him that the honey, which he had been applying liberally all along, would not save his friend.

"Aragorn, you are Elendil's heir. You posses the power to heal. Don't shake your head, look at your hands." Aragorn looked at his hands, calloused and large, resting in the small, delicate hands of the spirit; to his amazement, his hands began to glow, and radiate power.

"Elessar, do not doubt yourself. You were a healer before you were born. I leave my sister in your hands," Gwenneth told him, before slowly fading away. "Do not fail me."

TBC

A/N: My sincerest apologies to my readers. I did not mean to go this long without updating, and that this chapter is so short. The next one will be longer, I swear. I promise you this story is nowhere near over yet, and that even when it does, there is a sequel in the works. Many thanks to all my reviewers, who have encouraged me to keep going. If you have not reviewed yet, please do! It makes my day, week and month to read the reviews!