A/N: The story grows a little darker from this point on, and will touch on a number of adult issues including substance abuse, suicidal thoughts, overdose, depression/anxiety, physical/emotional abuse and some injury detail. I wouldn't rate it above a T but if you have concerns, feel free to message me for more details before you delve further.
19th November 3018
The next morning broke grey and overcast. The rain had died away during the night, but the first grim streaks of dawn had barely lightened the low cloud hovering over the distant mountain peaks before another rainfall began anew. Lith had been perched up in a willow for some hours, watching the fieldmice scurry through the fallen leaves, before the man, Aragorn, stirred. Lith watched him groan a little as he rolled out from his sodden blankets, rubbing his hands and feet as if they were numb with cold. He moved stiffly as if his body ached with old wounds. He did not look old, this Aragorn, as far as an Elf could judge such things—the crown of his dark head was flecked with but a little silver and there was no stoop to his back—but he must have seen much hardship in what few years he had lived. Lith had not sought out contact with the Dúnedain before, for they were altogether too Elvish in their customs and thought for his comfort, but even in a land as vast as Middle-earth, wanderers will sometimes meet in the wilds. He had seen and heard enough to know that the lives led by the Rangers were beset by many perils.
Lith came down from the tree when the man called his name, low and uncertain. Breakfast consisted of cold oats and dried fruit in rainwater, for the fire had gone out hours ago and there seemed little point in lighting it again when the time could be better spent travelling onwards. Aragorn commented that it was a cheerless meal, but Lith had too often experienced similar cheerlessness with no meal at all to leaven it, so he made no complaint. Then Aragorn packed up their small campsite while Lith piled freshly cut logs into the hollow in the rock face. The wood was too damp to be much use now, but over time it would dry. He did not know if he would ever come back here, but any other travellers passing this way might be grateful for it.
Then Aragorn stood up and pulled on his pack, clearly making ready to depart. Lith kept his distance, standing half turned away. It was habit now to stand thus, keeping the scarred side of face from view, even though the man had made free to stare at it well enough the previous night. Lith's scars stung in the cold, and his wretched arm ached fiercely. He gripped the glove over his wrist, tightly.
'I must make a start,' Aragorn said, at last, though he did not move and sounded oddly reluctant to bid the Elf farewell. That seemed strange; Lith would be the first to admit that he was hardly good company. He had interacted with few but Mithrandir for so long, and the wizard knew something of his history and was used to his odd ways. But perhaps the man was reluctant to leave behind an object of curiosity, or more likely, of morbid fascination. Lith did not know what Elrond or Luinmeord may have told Aragorn about him, after all, so he just nodded, wordlessly.
'Where will you go now?' Aragorn asked.
'Oh,' said the Elf, vaguely. 'Around. Sometimes in the winter I follow the swifts.'
Aragorn just looked at him as if the comment was quite incomprehensible. 'I do not wish to disrupt your plans,' he said, slowly, after it seemed he had finally translated Lith's statement that he would head south. 'But I must make it back to Imladris before the first snows fall. I have tidings for Lord Elrond, and then a longer journey to make after that cannot be delayed. I could use another pair of eyes on the road to Imladris. No lands are as safe as once they were, and I have experienced your skills with that crossbow already.'
Lith said nothing for a moment. How like Mithrandir this man was! And yet how his spirit ached for friendly words, for companionship. It was like a rope to one drowning, and he could not resist.
'I will not go back into the Hidden Valley,' he said, at last.
'No,' Aragorn agreed. 'But you might come with me to the edges of that land.'
'You know what I am,' Lith said, slowly. 'And yet you would trust me at your back?'
'You haven't killed me yet,' Aragorn pointed out, sounding needlessly cheerful. 'Though you have not lacked for opportunity. Two can travel faster and more safely than one, and I have no wish to encounter a pack of goblins alone and now with a wounded sword arm.'
Lith glanced at the injury he had caused, feeling a touch of guilt. The linens could be discerned through the tear of the man's coat. Aragorn said nothing further, and waited quite patiently as Lith considered. But, truly, what else had the Elf to lose now?
'Yes,' Lith said at last. 'I will go with you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and gladly, at least until your sword-arm is healed.'
They set out, keeping the Mitheithel some distance off on their right, and all the while the rain never ceased. The riverbank here was steeply cut and the river, swollen with the unrelenting rain, thundered past. Aragorn said that tomorrow they would reach the village of Tadoliant and could cross both the Mitheithel and the Bruinen via the old river bridges and approach Rivendell from the south. It might be faster to stay this side of the river and go north to meet the road as it left Bree, but with the waters so high Aragorn said he did not like to think how unpleasant crossing the wetlands around the South Downs would be. Lith knew somewhat of that land, and did not disagree.
They spoke little as they walked, for they both favoured the quiet, perhaps from habit, or from uncertainty with the other's company. Aragorn set a steady but not urgent pace and he waited patiently when Lith darted aside to gather beech nuts, rosehips or sloe berries when the trees offered them up. Sometimes Lith found himself unable to resist commenting on the birdsong they heard or growths of vivid green mosses on moist banks in the shade, or the flights of swans overhead. Aragorn did not always seem to notice them until Lith pointed the sights out, and he seemed gravely appreciative when Lith did so. Lith watched him out of the corner of his eye, and wondered about this strange man, so un-manlike in his bearing and manner, as far as his experience of mortals enabled him to judge such things. Perhaps it was the blood of Númenor in him that gave him such an air. Or was it something else?
At length Aragorn seemed to realise that Lith was regarding him, curiously.
'I sense you have a question,' the man said. ''Feel free to ask it!'
'You called Imladris your home,' said Lith, straight away. 'And yet Mithrandir said you were of the Dúnedain.'
'That is not a question,' Aragorn laughed, but he explained regardless. 'My father was killed when I was but a babe-in-arms. Lord Elrond fostered me in Imladris until I was of age to rejoin my people, and I still return there when need allows.'
Lith nodded, slowly. Aragorn had been raised by Elves then. That explained much, from his flawless yet Imladrin-accented Sindarin to the near silence of his step. But yet he did not seem to despise a Bodadêldir as much as was proper. Perhaps they were no longer warned about, or perhaps Lith's crime was deemed less terrible to one of the Secondborn.
'They spoke of you at the Council,' Lith offered. 'Lord Elrond said you were descended through many fathers from Isildur, Elendil's son.'
'That is so,' the man agreed.
'Mithrandir also told me tales of the Dúnadan, the Chieftain of the north. I see now that he spoke of you. To you will come the rule of Gondor and Arnor, and all kingdoms of Men.'
'Not quite all,' Aragorn said with a slightly self-deprecating tone, and the Elf almost smiled. 'But yes, that lineage is mine to bear. A great weight of history lies upon me, though far will I have to go to fulfil the promise of that destiny.'
'A strange thing it seems,' said Lith, but he did not say more. He thought perhaps Aragorn understood regardless, for truly it was an odd parallel, the two of them together. One carrying an ancient birthright and a great lineage, the heritage of two thousand years and the expectations and hopes of so many peoples. The other cast out utterly, stripped of every bond and every trust, bereft of family and home and friends until he had not even a claim to his own name. A strange thing indeed.
Another wet and cheerless night passed, for they had travelled out of the lowlands into the foothills, and Lith knew of no sheltered hollows to be found nearby in which to make a proper camp. They were drawing closer to Imladris and he had not often ventured this way. That night it proved beyond the skill of either traveller to bring a fire to life, and while the cold bothered Lith little except where it caused his scars to ache, by morning Aragorn looked chilled to the bone and the man shivered often. The Elf knew little of mortals, but he was aware that constant cold and wet could be dangerous to them and lead them to sicken. Lith was contemplating the journey ahead as they ate sparingly of their meagre rations, when Aragorn suddenly said:
'You have taken an injury.'
Lith looked up startled and then down to where the man indicated. He had been unconsciously gripping his left arm tightly in his right hand. The pain there was a dull constant, but the cold and damp always made it worse. As long as he did not try to use his hand much, he could hold out a little longer yet. Lith released his grasp quickly, dropping both arms to his sides.
'No. I am quite well,' he said, and when Aragorn continued to stare, added: 'It is a slight ache, nothing more.'
'Should I take a look?' Aragorn said, but Lith was already shouldering his pack and walking away. After all, he told the man, the rains carried on, and so must they.
They talked little that day, spirits dampened by the endless rain. Aragorn's thoughts seemed to be far away, and Lith could only guess what lofty concerns held them. Worry for the sons of Elrond, perhaps, and whatever journey it was that had taken them south from this place. Maybe they meant even to cross the mountains? Or perhaps Aragorn's fears were greater still and he thought of the enemy's ring that had come into the hands of the hobbit Frodo. Lith had heard much in the Council of Elrond that he did not understand, and many great and terrible events were described of which previously he knew nothing, even from Mithrandir who had taught him much. And he did not know what fate had been decided at the end of the Council, for the Wood-elves had declared his presence intolerable before any debate had taken place and he had not thought it his place afterwards to ask what had been decided. After all, Mithrandir seemed to treat this ring with utmost secrecy, and it truly was no business of Lith's what was to become of it. He could only hope the hobbits had been freed of their obligations and would return safely to their homes. He had never spoken to Frodo Baggins, but he liked what he knew of hobbits; an honest and cheerful folk who did not deserve to be torn from their homes and cast out into an uncaring world rife with trials and danger.
It was hard to tell the passing of the hours with the sun still hidden behind a blanket of grey cloud, but Lith sensed it to be early afternoon when he was required to give Aragorn another demonstration of his crossbow. They were following along the line of the riverbank when there was a sudden sound from their right—a scrape of stone and earth—and Lith had the string drawn and a bolt to the groove before Aragorn had his sword half from its scabbard. Fortunately, the source of the sound required neither sword nor bow, for it was merely part of the riverbank crumbling away where the force of the rain-swollen river had pummeled away at an undercutting. Perhaps the magical inundation Mithrandir and Lord Elrond had summoned to overwhelm the Nazgûl and their steeds at the Ford of the Bruinen had also weakened the banks this far downstream. The pair moved further from the water's edge, just to be at a safe distance, and Lith released the string from his bow, returning the bolt to the small quiver hanging at his belt.
'Can you show me how it is drawn? Your bow?' Aragorn asked, leaning in to look closer. He was indeed both persistent and curious. 'You moved too quickly then for me to see.'
Lith considered for a moment in silence. He was aware of the strangeness of his weapon, and Aragorn had proven to be highly intuitive. He did not want to bare all of his shameful secrets before the man, no more than were already to be read from the marks on his face, his mannish clothing and his unbraided hair. But at last he acquiesced, for refusing would have seemed churlish and no doubt would have raised more suspicion. Slowing his motions to perhaps a quarter, Lith turned the bow down to the earth, tucked the toe of his boot into the stirrup at the weapon's head and then, with the long tiller laid along his leg, used the double hook hanging from his belt to draw the string back to the latch, ready to receive the bolt. Aragorn made him repeat the action twice more, then asked a few questions about the function of various parts of the bow and the design of the trigger. If the Ranger noted that the bow was designed to be drawn, loaded, and fired almost entirely with one hand, he did not say so.
The light was fading towards a soft dusk beneath the clouded sky when they saw the outline of Tadoliant ahead of them. Of course it was around the same time, when shelter was finally sighted, that the rain lessened and then stopped entirely. As they made their way across the rolling fields to the village gate, the clouds even thinned enough to let shafts of sunlight filter through. They crossed the Mitheithel bridge and paused at its summit to watch the swirling waters below, high within the river's cutting and turgid with rain. Lith hesitated on the bridge as Aragorn moved on towards the village. The man at last noticed his delay and looked back, a question on his face.
'I…' said the Elf, and paused, not knowing how to explain. 'I need not stay within the village. The rain has stopped. I am content to sleep out in the fields.'
'Well, I am not,' Aragorn said. 'The rains may have paused for now but I deem this is but a brief respite. I know the people of this settlement, and they are not unfriendly to strangers. For a few copper they will willingly offer us shelter, and hot food too.'
'I have no coin,' said the Elf. He rarely ever did; it was difficult enough for men to find work within their own towns, he had been told over and over, let alone work for strangers or those of Elfkind. And regardless, coin was a precious commodity that must be saved at all costs, not squandered for something as fleeting as a dry bed.
'I do,' said Aragorn. 'And more than willing to part with it to see us both spend a night in the warm.'
Still, Lith hesitated.
'What is wrong?' Aragorn asked, sounding impatient for the first time since they had met.
Lith sighed, knowing the man would not let this pass until he had explained. 'Though I am not forbidden from entering the settlements of men, there are folk other than Elves who know what this mark means,' and he turned his head so that his scarred cheek was briefly visible. 'I would not have us both beaten or thrown from the town on my account.'
'I promise you that will not happen here,' Aragorn said, firmly, and his expression did not even flicker at the Elf's admission. 'I know these people. They are farmers and herders and craftsmen, not scholars of Elven culture. The ways of Elves are as unknowable to them as Dwarves or wizards are to us, and no one Elf will appear stranger than any other. But if it makes you feel more comfortable, I will go on ahead and speak with Goodwife Potter. She will let us sleep in the byre; it is warm and dry, and you can go directly there without needing to talk to any here face to face. Does that suit you?'
Lith once again submitted to Aragorn's will, and the man went away up the low hillside towards the village, leaving Lith alone by the river. He stood on the bridge for a while, watching the eddies and swirls of the water beneath, thick and brown with silt and broken up by small tree branches. He had not seen the flood of the Bruinen, but he had overheard the others in Elrond's house speak of it afterwards and it sounded both fearsome and awe-inspiring. He should have liked to witness it firsthand, especially the white horses.
A sound caught his ear and he looked back upriver. Two young mannish children, he thought the smaller a boy and the larger a girl child, were running in the sunbeams through the meadow. They were laughing as they ran, kicking a red ball through the wet grass, and their clothes and shoes would soon be sodden but they did not care, for they were young and free and the sun had come out. Lith watched them for a while until their laughter and companionship made him homesick for something he did not dare to remember. The children played on, and if they saw him on the bridge they did not care to halt their game to investigate.
Lith had glanced away back towards the town when it happened. There was a sudden shriek from one of the children, much closer than it had been before, and when he looked back he could only see the girl. The boy was gone. The girl cried out again, perhaps a name, and she was running towards the river. Lith looked down, and then he saw the little red ball being swept towards him by the current. The boy was gone.
Lith didn't pause another moment to consider if this was wise, or wonder if there was a better way. He shed pack and coat, kicked off his boots, and leapt from the bridge into the water.
The cold was shocking, almost a physical blow beating against him the moment he struck the water. His chest heaved involuntarily and he choked as he was pulled under, but then his head came up and he spluttered and coughed, and started to swim. A flash of red nearby; the ball spun past on an eddy and away. Where was the child? The bloated, frigid waters pounded at Lith, numbing his arms and legs, dragging his body back even as he tried to swim against it, to raise himself up enough to look around. Something thudded against his torso. Just a branch; he pushed it away, still swimming, scanning the water. He could not see the child.
There was movement on the bank; the girl.
'Where?' Lith shouted in Westron, and the girl pointed; eyes white and terrified in her nut-brown face. He swam for the spot, saw a flash of black hair, a flailing hand, and he kicked hard, thrusting his arms below the water. He touched cloth and dived; a confusing rush of colour and mud and pounding, icy water, and then he had the boy in his arms. Lith kicked up and on, feeling the child weighing him down, the current trying to tear the small form out of his arms, and then Lith's head broke the water. No time to check if the boy was breathing, Lith swam as hard as he could across the current, aiming for the bank, either bank. One desperate, searching hand caught a rock and he held on. Then the girl was there above him, reaching down for the boy and with one heave, Lith lifted the child out of the water and up into her arms.
For a moment, everything was fine. For a moment that was what he thought. The boy was safe, the girl had him, Aragorn would come back and everything would be fine.
Then, there was a horrible, earthy crack, and the weakened river bank above him gave way. The earth crumbled beneath their feet and both children were dropped straight into the torrent. Mud and rocks and bodies cascaded down; something hit Lith in the temple, a rock or a boot, and for a moment he was stunned. Then ice water was filling his mouth again and he jolted back to awareness, struggling and kicking, grasping for the other body he could feel beside him. It had to be the girl, the heavy weight of her skirts pulling her straight down beneath the water. It took even longer to reach the surface this time, dragging her with him, and when he breached it, he saw they had both been swept on by the current beneath the bridge and out the other side. He hauled the girl up, trying to get her head out of the water and she struggled and kicked against him; her natural instinct to fight almost drowning them both. He wanted to shout, to yell at her to look for the boy, but there was no time and no breath to do it. Where was the other child?
Lith felt himself rapidly weakening; the cold of the river, the rushing flood waters and the agony of the child's weight against his ruined arm sapping even Elvish strength. The boy had been swept away faster before due to his smaller stature, perhaps he was already further downstream…Lith twisted, and there! He saw the boy half-a-dozen paces away, clinging onto a torn-off tree limb; Lith could barely see the child in the gathering dark but the branch he was clinging to bobbed unnaturally against the flow of the current. Lith tightened his grip on the girl and kicked for the branch, his legs tangling in weeds, in debris, in the girl's skirts, feeling her slipping from his weak grasp. He reached for the boy and pulled both children close but then both his arms were full.
The current took them.
The shadow of the bridge behind them was rapidly shrinking as the river swept them on. In just a few hundred feet they would reach the confluence with the Bruinen, and then the thundering rush of mountain water from both rivers combined would be too much for even a near-grown Elf to swim against. They would all be drowned without a doubt. Lith had to slow them down, now, in the hope someone would come to their rescue before they reached that point of no return. He knew he could not get both children out of the water alone, not any more. They needed help. Lith kicked for the nearest bank; there were roots and rocks and plantlife, there had to be something they could anchor to.
'Hold on to me!' Lith shouted to the boy, but he didn't know if the child heard. The girl had gone terrifyingly limp in his arms. He wrapped one arm around her, grabbed the boy's belt in the same hand and reached for the shore with his left.
The first trailing shrub he reached for he missed, the second tore away as he snatched at it. The third, a sturdy tree root, held, and suddenly the rushing water was beating against them as they stopped being dragged along with the current and started to fight against it. Lith pulled the children as close as he could, holding them against the bank with his own body, sheltering them against the water that pounded his back, even as his feet scrambled for purchase against the mud. He found one foothold, and then all they could do was hold on. His legs burned, his chest was screaming for air, but none of it bore even the faintest resemblance to the pain in his arm, the arm that held onto the root, their lifeline, and yet it felt like fire was racing through it and he felt tears in his eyes. Hold on. Someone will come. Hold on.
The girl was slipping. He could feel his fingers weakening on the root, pain ripping through him. He was going to lose the girl, or let go of the root and lose both. He couldn't hold on any longer, he-
'Lith!' A voice bellowed from above, and he caught a glimpse of dark hair and a hand stretched down. Aragorn was there.
Take her! Lith wanted to say, but the water came up over his mouth and nothing came out but spluttering. Aragorn was lying up on the bank, reaching down but they were all too low in the water. He couldn't reach!
With a desperate heave, Lith tore the boy out of the water, pushed off his foothold and shoved the child up towards Aragorn; the boy was lifted up and away. The girl slipped from the Elf's grip then as he knew she would, and at the same moment, his weak arm failed and the root tore from his grasp. Then two things happened at once. Lith caught a handful of the girl's coat with his right hand just before she sank from sight, and a grip like iron closed around his outstretched left arm and yanked him back towards the bank. The sudden jolt almost tore the girl from him again, but through some last unknown reserve of strength he held on. The torrential rush of water dragged at him, stretching his body between the grip around his weak arm and the weight of the girl being pulled on by the current. Someone was shouting, more than one voice above, and then a rope too was being looped around his arm—easier to grip than his wet skin—and he was moving, being dragged back by his wrist, and someone was shouting, 'Raetha! Lith, amraetha!'
Lith pulled the girl close, kicked up one last time, and then he pushed the child up into the air, reaching for the voice that commanded him. Even as his feet lost their grip and he sank back below the water, he felt her pulled from his grip but not this time by the cruel, grasping waters but by warm hands. She was safe. Then the rope snapped tight around his left wrist, pain exploded again, and then he too was being dragged up to those warm hands that hauled him from the water and out onto the bank.
For a long time everything passed in a daze. He heard voices and commands and the sound of weeping. There was something falling on his face like clumps of ash, but when Lith opened his eyes he realised that it was just raining again. He rolled over onto his side, pulling his arm in close and gritting his teeth against the throb of agony.
'Lith,' called an insistent voice. 'Lith.' Someone was patting his face, he thought, though it was hard to tell through the cold beat of the rain.
'Whoever thou art, leave me be,' he told them, the Green Tongue falling first from his mouth as it always did, even now.
'I do not know what that means,' said the voice. 'Open your eyes, Lith! You must tell me where you are hurt. I need you to speak to me.'
'Art they safe?' Lith asked.
'I need you to speak to me in Sindarin,' corrected the voice.
'Mithrandir?'
'No, it is I. Aragorn. Did you strike your head?'
'Nay,' Lith said, being sure this time to mould his words from the correct language. 'Nay. The children. Do they live?'
He looked over to see half a dozen men clustered around two small figures, bearing them quickly away towards the town. It seemed to have grown quite dark. How long had they been in the water?
'They breathe,' Aragorn said. 'So that is hopeful. Quickly. We must follow them, and get you also into the warm.'
Aragorn's hands guided him to sit up but Lith shrank back, clutching his arm to his chest. Even from just that small movement the pain was overwhelming. 'I cannot,' he said. 'I…' and then he found his voice was gone, and that he was weeping.
'Carefully now,' said Aragorn, and he reached for Lith's arm again, gently unwinding the knotted rope which had been looped around Lith's forearm just as his strength had failed. It had been all that had saved them in the end, though he knew not if Aragorn had held it or some other. Then Aragorn was supporting Lith's arm in close to his chest, and the man guided Lith up onto his feet.
They walked together up the road, through wooden gates into the village of men and at last into a rough barn. It was dark inside, but warm, and a shingle roof kept out the rain. All around were the sounds and smells of sleeping beasts. Lith stumbled to the darkest corner he could see, collapsed down in the straw and shivered, holding his arm close. Aragorn disappeared briefly and when he came back he had a lantern.
'Let me see,' the man said, kneeling. He reached for Lith but Lith pulled away.
'No.'
'You're hurt. I need to see it.' Aragorn pressed a callused palm to Lith's forehead. Lith felt himself shiver. 'Ai, you are cold as ice.'
'Leave me alone,' Lith said, and pushed the hand away.
'Lith! I must go check on the children, but I need to see you are well first.'
'I am well. Go away!'
'Fine.' The man stood, reached aside, and then draped a thick, rough blanket around Lith's shoulders. It smelled of horse. 'Stay here,' Aragorn ordered. 'Do not move. I will be back as quickly as I may.'
Lith said nothing, and then the man was gone.
Lith curled up in the corner, aware of nothing for some time but the sickening beat of pain through his arm. He did not think it had been this bad since the wound was first new but it was difficult to judge. He needed his medicine but he could barely move or think where to find it. The pain rose and rose and then, after what seemed an Age, began at last to ebb and flow in long waves, and in the lulls between each peak, Lith began to regain his awareness. He was in a building in a mannish village. An animal byre. There had been children in the water, but he had saved them, and the man, Aragorn, the healer, was with them now. Lith must look to his own self. There was other pain too beside the agony of his arm. His body ached all over: head, legs and chest. Exhaustion clawed at him; he needed his herbs, he needed to sleep. His wet hair was plastered into his eyes and mouth, and his bare feet stung and burned with cold. It did not matter. He would be alright, as long as he had his medicine. He managed to open his eyes, looking around in the low glow of the lantern, and…
But his pack wasn't there. No pack, no boots, no crossbow. Were they lost in the river? No, he had dropped them all on the bridge when he had dived into the water. In that pack was everything he had in the world, every item he had begged, stolen or scrounged, and painstakingly repaired a dozen times. And other treasures more precious than these. His medicine. And he had dropped his crossbow. He was alone here in this village and he had no bow.
Lith staggered to his feet. The barn swam a little around him, unsteady as he was with cold and weariness, but he found the wall and stumbled to the door. He fumbled the latch with numb hands, pushed the portal open and stepped out into driving rain.
He had gone barely a dozen steps when a voice shouted out and a dark figure loomed up out of the rain and the night. Lith shrank back.
'Lith! What are you doing? I told you not to move.'
Aragorn reached for him; Lith knocked the hand away.
'Where are you going?' Aragorn shouted through the rain.
'My pack. My bow…'
'We'll find them later. You must come inside. You will freeze, Elf or not!'
'My pack,' Lith said again. 'It's all I have. Please.'
The man uttered a curse in some guttural tongue. 'If you go back inside I will try to find them. But you must get out of this storm!'
Lith did not remember agreeing, but the next thing he knew he was slumped on the dry earth floor of the barn, rough wood at his back, and Aragorn was saying: 'I'll need to take the lantern with me.'
Lith nodded.
'Do you hear me?' Aragorn said. 'I'll be right back but I need the light.'
'Yes,' Lith said.
He thought perhaps he slept then, though his thoughts fled far away into dark dreams that he could not control. When next he was aware, he felt a little warmer, everything smelled of horses and cattle dung, and someone was leaning over him in the gloom. He startled, badly frightened, and reached for a blade. A voice said; 'Hush. It is only I.' In the low light he saw it was the man, Aragorn.
'You are safe here,' Aragorn said, calmly. 'I have found your things.'
Lith looked and saw it was the truth; his crossbow was against the wall, his pack at his feet.
'The children?' Lith asked.
'Their parents watch over them. There is nothing more I can do now; it is you I am concerned for. I must check your injuries.'
'No,' Lith said. When the man reached for him again, he said, 'Do not touch me.'
'Don't be a fool, Lith,' Aragorn hissed. 'You are in great pain, I can see, and at best you must be battered and bruised beyond measure.'
'I need no help from you,' Lith said, and fumbled for his pack. It was sodden and heavy, and trying to pull it closer was painfully slow, even when he held his arm as still as he could.
Aragorn huffed an irritated sound, and easily lifted the pack from his grasp.
'What is this urgent thing you search for? Let me at least find that.'
Lith curled over his arm, and finally, in desperation, surrendered. 'In the pocket,' he said. 'A pouch of waxed brown leather. I need it.'
He heard rustling and muffled movements, and then there was a sharp, indrawn breath. Of course the man had opened the string to look inside, and he was a healer. He would recognise the scent.
'This is naegranaeth,' Aragorn said, his tone oddly flat. 'Pain-bite.'
Lith leaned over and took the pouch from the man's hand. Aragorn was still speaking, words short clipped and angry, but Lith ignored him. He took two large pinches of the herb from the pouch and dropped them onto his tongue. Then he lay down, rolled himself up in the horse blanket, and knew no more.
TBC
