AN: Please see Chapter 3 for relevant warnings.


21st November 3018

It was mid morning before the Elf awoke. While Lith slept, Aragorn had been back to the potter's house to check the children, and was most pleased to see them recovering well from their ordeal. The boy, Tómas, had broken an ankle in the second fall and Greta, his sister, bore a contusion the size of a dove egg on her temple, but their lungs were sound and clear of water, and they had no fevers. Their wits too seemed to be intact, which was perhaps more than could be said for Aragorn's strange new Elven companion.

Aragorn had returned to the byre as soon as he was satisfied with the children's recovery, bearing a warmed cookpot of honeyed oatmeal, a fresh loaf, a bundle of dry clothes, and many concerned inquiries from the goodwife and goodman after the Elf's wellbeing. They had wanted Aragorn to bring their children's saviour into their home last night to warm and dry by the hearth, and Aragorn would have agreed but for the Elf's erratic behaviour. Lith had clearly been injured during the river rescue and in pain so severe it had brought him to weeping, but yet he had rebuffed all attempts made to aid him. At one point Lith had even staggered back into the rain to try and find his wretched crossbow, and then later had actually drawn his knife on Aragorn. Aragorn had quickly disarmed him and secured both blade and bow when the Elf had fallen back into sleep, but someone that dangerous and unbalanced was not safe to bring into a home with children.

And that had been before Aragorn had found out about the naegranaeth.

When Lith finally woke, the oatmeal was quite cold, their weapons cleaned and oiled, and the contents of their packs nearly dry. Aragorn had tended to his own wound - the crossbow bolt cut to his arm - and was seated on an upturned pail in the open doorway of the byre, watching the rain with his pipe between his teeth. When he heard a shuffle of cloth from the Elf's corner, he finished his last draw of the leaf and carefully extinguished the sparks before he stepped back into the barn. Lith was hunched forward, his thin back curved like a willow whip, and his left arm pressed tightly to his chest. Beneath the usual wretched tangle of his pale hair, he bore an impressive blue bruise above his left eye and another to his jaw. In the gloom, the scars on his face stood out vividly, discoloured to purple against his pale skin. All in all he made for a pitiful sight.

The Elf looked up as Aragorn approached, his eyes wide and very dark.

Aragorn leaned against the wall and folded his arms. 'You survived the night, then,' he said.

Lith did nothing for a long moment, and then he nodded, once. 'Yes,' he agreed.

'I would have helped you dress in dry clothes, but you did not seem inclined to accept my aid last night. The villagers have gifted us with spare shirts and breeches if your own clothes are still damp. There is also bread and porridge if you have a mind to eat.'

Lith blinked at this information. 'The children?' he said.

'Whole, if not quite hale. They will live and suffer no lasting effects. You saved their lives.'

Lith nodded again. He shivered, pulling the horse blanket close, and tucked his bare feet, still scratched and bloody from the river, in beneath his legs.

'You seem cold,' Aragorn observed.

'I feel…' said Lith, and considered. 'I feel cold,' he concluded. 'Yes.'

'I would check your temperature if I can be assured you will not try to stab me again.'

The Elf tilted his head to one side, that oddly birdlike mannerism. 'You are angry,' he said.

'Well observed.'

'Because I tried to stab you?'

'No,' Aragorn said, and sighed. He unfolded one of the new shirts the potter's husband had given to him that morning and tossed it gently onto the straw beside Lith. 'No, that I understand; you were disoriented.'

'Then why? I saved the children.'

'That has nothing to do with...' Aragorn paused and recentred himself. He spoke calmly. 'I have only admiration for your courage and quick-thinking at the river. I am angry because you would not let me help you afterwards. And because of the pain-bite .'

Lith had picked up the dry shirt but did not make any move to strip his damp clothing or put the new garment on. He looked confused. 'I do not understand. Neither event has any bearing on you. Why should you be angry?'

'Pain-bite is so strong they use it to sedate horses!' Aragorn cried, losing his patience once again. The creature was exasperating. Baffling. 'Elbereth! Never mind that you will likely become dependent upon it, the amount you took could have stopped your heart. I have only seen Lord Elrond give that herb a handful of times, and only for those in direst pain. How did you even come by such a supply?'

Lith did not answer and that told Aragorn all.

'You stole it,' he realised. 'From Elrond's healing rooms at Imladris. Sweet Elbereth! Was that the true reason you came to the valley after all, then?'

Lith clenched his right fist. 'Your condemnation means nothing to me,' he said, tightly.

'I spent the night thinking you would die,' snapped Aragorn. 'From cold, from excessive dosage , from this wound you will not let me see. I thought each breath might be your last. I dared not even sleep for fear I would find you cold and grey come morning. So do not dare to tell me it means nothing!'

Lith swallowed and looked away. He did not seem to know what to say.

Aragorn sighed, and turned to fetch the bread and oatmeal. When he came back, the Elf had at last donned the dry shirt. It was comically large on Lith's slender frame and made him look like a child dressing up in his father's clothes. Aragorn wondered for the first time how old Lith was. The age of an Elf was nearly impossible to determine from their appearance alone except perhaps in the depths of their eyes, and in truth, once past their majority it mattered little. But there was a vulnerability in Lith's distrust, his impulsiveness, and his constant fear, that in one of the Secondborn would be a certain indicator of youth.

'Eat,' Aragorn instructed as he handed over the end of the loaf, the porridge pot and a spoon. The Elf silently did as he was bid while Aragorn repacked from his own gear those things that had finally dried as well as the apples, flatbread and hard cheese the Goodwife had given them.

It was long after the sound of the spoon scraping the pot had gone silent that the Elf next spoke. 'I am...sorry,' he said, and he sounded it. 'I am not used to…You should not have been concerned on my account.'

Aragorn restrained himself from pointing out that an apology over Aragorn's hurt feelings was not the recognition of the Elf's reckless behaviour he had been seeking. Instead he crouched down in the straw near to the Elf, his healer's kit in hand.

'I don't want you to be sorry,' he said, quietly. 'I want you to let me help.'

As expected, Lith began to shy away. 'I do not need your help.'

'You were in so much pain last night you forgot how to speak Sindarin,' Aragorn said. 'Twice.'

Lith pulled his legs up tight to his chest, defensively. 'What is wrong with that?'

'You may have many hurts from your adventure in the river, and I know there is an injury to your wrist,' Aragorn said, and then forced himself to let his tone turn gentle once more. 'I believe you bear an old wound there, perhaps a broken bone, that did not heal right and is now worsened. The amount of pain-bite in your pack and the quantity you swallowed last night with no ill effect tells me you are often in pain and regularly resort to such medicines to find relief. Nothing about this situation is right. I can-'

He broke off as, with a sudden, erratic burst of movement, Lith darted forward to where Aragorn had hung the Elf's pack on a nail to dry. He rifled wildly through it, searching the pockets, but clearly did not find what he sought. Lith dropped the pack and then suddenly slammed his right fist into the wooden post. It was a wild, angry gesture that would have made Aragorn start if he were not keeping his own reactions so strictly controlled. The Elf turned to him, jaw tight.

'Return it to me,' he said.

Aragorn slowly reached into his own pocket and pulled out the leather pouch containing the fist-sized bundle of pain-bite, wrapped so carefully in its waxed parchment. He did not hand it over.

'That is mine,' snapped Lith, holding out his hand.

'That could be debated,' countered Aragorn. 'Tell me how often you take the herb.'

'That is none of your concern.' Lith all but snatched the pouch from Aragorn's hand and hid it away in a fold of his own clothing.

'Now you are angry,' Aragorn said, sitting back.

'Because you will not leave me alone!' Lith cried out. 'You ask me endless questions; you demand to fix things that cannot be fixed! I am Kinslayer. I am Bodadêldir. I am Unnamed and irredeemable. I do not understand why you care! It is forbidden.'

'You may not have noticed but I am not an Elf,' Aragorn pointed out. 'Neither are we on Elven lands. Nothing forbids me from rendering you aid, and I would do so even if every law stood against it. I am a healer , Lith; it is in my blood. I do not give two pins for what lies in your past. You are my friend and you are suffering. That is all that concerns me at the present.'

Lith's eyes darted up at him again, almost shocked, and Aragorn thought it was perhaps not true to say the pain-bite dose had left no ill effects. The Elf's pupils were wide and very dark, the drug no doubt still present in his system, numbing his senses and crumbling the foundations of his control. But perhaps Aragorn's inadvertent use of the word friend had had an even more intoxicating effect.

'What if I still do not wish it?' Lith said, at last.

'You made your refusal to accept aid abundantly clear last night,' Aragorn pointed out. 'And even when you were insensate I did not contravene it, beyond ensuring that you remained breathing. I would do the same now if that is really what you decide. But I ask you not to refuse. Please, let me help.'

Lith looked at him for a long moment. 'I have spent a long time alone,' he muttered. 'I have learned to neither expect nor to seek aid from anyone. And I do not see why I should weaken now.'

Aragorn nodded slowly. 'I will give you two good reasons", he replied, leaning back. 'Firstly, as you say, you travel alone. Anyone who ventures into the wild thus needs to be in the best condition possible. Such a one cannot afford to carry disabling injuries if this can be avoided. Nor to have to rely on pain relieving medication which dulls their senses and renders them defenceless.'

Lith looked steadily back at him. 'And secondly?' he asked.

'You see before you one who has learned from childhood the arts of healing from the greatest loremaster still dwelling on this side of the sea, the Lord Elrond himself. I have dwelt long in his house, and have assisted in treating many forms of injury and malady, in both men and Elves, and have learned much. Better help you will not find, unless you should yourself return to Imladris. I offer aid gladly, if for no other reason than in gratitude for the lives of the children of my friends. Your courage in saving them places me greatly in your debt. It would be fitting for you to allow me to make some recompense. I urge you to accept.'

At last, at last, the Elf nodded. Barely louder than a whisper, he said, 'All right.'

It was not lost on Aragorn that until now Lith had flinched away from every touch or closeness. No doubt his life in exile meant that he had little familiarity with kindly or well-meaning touches, and so Aragorn began with the Elf's cut and scratched feet as a way of easing him into the physical proximity of another. Lith's feet were muddy and bleeding in several places and there were a number of long splinters which had pierced the sole of the right foot during the river escapade. Lith made not one sound as Aragorn cleaned the skin and then dug out the wood with tweezers. When he glanced up, Aragorn saw that Lith was barely paying attention to the work, busy watching one of the nearby cows in its stall.

After the Elf's feet, Aragorn then checked his legs, which were bruised but not bleeding, and then lifted his shirt to examine chest, belly and back, which were similarly battered and mottled with contusions although he was pleased to note they bore no hardness or swelling denoting more serious internal injuries. A shallow slice across Lith's ribs from some sharp stone needed cleaning but not needlework. All in all he was in remarkably good shape with regards to injury, given the frenzy of the torrent, and his lungs sounded clear to the Ranger's acute hearing. However, with his shirt raised it was clear to Aragorn that Lith was not so much slender as lean, thinned by long hardship and short rations that had left him hollow ribs and wiry muscle. Nothing that could be fixed now, and at least this morning he had eaten well.

But at last they reached the Elf's arms and the site of his hidden wound. Aragorn looked up to find Lith watching now with wide eyes. No distractions would work now; the Elf was sitting tense and alert like a wary deer.

'Are you certain you are willing?' Aragorn asked. Lith said nothing but thrust his left arm forward towards Aragorn before hiding his face behind his raised knees. Aragorn took the proffered limb gently, rolled the shirtsleeve back, and then carefully peeled away the damp and tattered woolen glove the Elf always wore beneath the sleeve to expose Lith's wrist...and then peeled it all the way to the elbow.

There was no other word to describe the wound but horrendous. A long, ragged scar, as wide as Aragorn's thumb, ran down the entire length of the Elf's inner forearm from the crook of his elbow to the heel of his palm. The old flesh around the injury site was dark purple and puckered; old knots of scar tissue marked the line of erratic stitches so messy Aragorn knew the Elf must have done them himself. Just as his face, Lith's arm had been cut and then the wound reopened over and over, perhaps for weeks, to disrupt the healing and then he had been abandoned to tend it alone. Aragorn tried to keep his breaths even, but even his slow-to-anger temperament was glowing hot like embers put to the bellows. If he had thought the scars to Lith's face were needlessly disfiguring, those on arm were something else entirely, because there was only one reason Aragorn could see to make such a cruel and deliberate wound in that place. The cuts had been made to damage the tendons in Lith's arm beyond repair. When they had cast him out, the Elves had made sure he would never draw a longbow again.

Aragorn forced the realisation away; this was not the moment to let free his anger and horror. That could come later, for now he must focus solely on what healing could be achieved. He examined the scar more closely. Though the wound was no doubt old, the ugly, deep scarring looked swollen and irritated from its recent trauma. He had already observed from their travels together that the Elf used the limb little except for balance when climbing, and he suspected gripping anything in the hand must be difficult. Holding the weight of a full-grown Elf and two human children against the raging current of the river must have been torture. That he had managed it at all had been a feat purely of mind over matter. But what could be done for such a wound now? Surgery might help realign the tendons and muscle beneath, or perhaps the wound could be eased with a series of therapeutic stretches and strengthening work. Perhaps not. But either way there was little Aragorn had in his pack that could do anything for damage like this.

But what he could do, he did, using the last of his dried athelas to wash out the raised edges of the wound, then lightly massaging the scar with a salve of lavender, chamomile and flaxseed to cool the tormented skin. Goldenrod would do better to reduce the swelling, aloe too, but neither did he have to hand, so Aragorn had to settle for wrapping the arm firmly in the softest cloth dressings he had to aid healing and reduce the inflammation.

At last, when he had done all he could, Aragorn carefully placed the Elf's arm back in his lap. Lith did not look up at him or speak, so Aragorn stood up, turned away, and walked quietly out of the barn. He kept walking until he found the wood pile at the back of the potter's house, and then he picked up the small hatchet embedded in the cutting block and set to reducing every one of the uncut logs to kindling.

It was perhaps half an hour before he felt calm enough to return to the byre. When Aragorn walked back inside, the last stall, the empty one where Lith had slept seemed oddly still. As the Ranger approached, he realised Lith's crossbow was gone from its place by the wall. So too were Lith's shirt, boots and other odd trinkets from his meagre pack that had been spread around to dry.

The Elf had packed his things, and was gone.


Aragorn left Tadoliant in the late morning, and crossed the second bridge over to the south bank of the Bruinen to begin the last leg of his journey north alone. The weather had finally turned dry again and the cold that came with it was respite, at least from the rain. It was by now past mid November and given no more delays he should reach Imladris before month's end. His thoughts turned often towards his brothers and their errand to Lórien, and of the perilous journey they had made across the Redhorn Gate. He was not yet privy to the route that Gandalf and Elrond might have devised for the ringbearer and his companions, but it seemed all too likely that thither they should soon also tread, and Aragorn with them. And once across the mountains, what then? Did they bring Frodo and his dangerous burden to Gondor and thence through the Ephel Duath? Or did Aragorn leave Gandalf to storm the Morannon alone, and take his own road with Boromir to the White City and to war? This quest for the ring - was it no more than a fool's hope? Or was it indeed their only hope?

He let his mind be filled with his concerns for the future, worries for the success of their vital quest, and for once those cares were almost a relief for they meant he was not thinking about Lith.

Aragorn did not imagine he would see the exiled Elf again, certain as he was that he had driven Lith away with his misplaced anger and relentless questions. So it was something of a surprise when, following an old sheep track around the foot of a shallow outcrop of grey rock, he suddenly scented lavender and chamomile salve on the air. Aragorn glanced up and there was Lith, perched in a crouch on the rock above like a wild mountain cat spying a predator passing too close to its territory. The Elf was still as the stone around, watching him with eyes as grey-blue as a storm at sea.

Aragorn did not acknowledge the Elf's presence. If Lith wanted to speak or approach he would do so in his own time. Aragorn walked on, and with a quiet rustle of cloth and the clink of his pack, the Elf dropped onto the path behind him and fell into step. In truth, Aragorn had not even known the Elf was near; he had seen no prints nor sensed he was being observed. But now that he knew Lith followed, he was aware of the perceptible tread of his makeshift boots on the rock and the slightly uneven gait of his steps. No Elf was usually so graceless nor so loud. Naegranaeth dulled pain, that was true, but it also cast a shade over all the body's other senses too. Aragorn held his tongue and said nothing.

They continued on for perhaps another hour, Aragorn leading and the Elf like his shadow following behind. The ground remained damp and boggy underfoot, although at last the terrain began to rise as clusters of rock broke through the beds of reeds, mallow and wild water mint.

At long last, Lith broke the silence. 'You must not think me wronged,' he said, softly.

Aragorn tilted his head to acknowledge that the Elf had spoken, but he did not interrupt.

'I deserved it,' Lith continued. 'All of it, and more. Everything they did I deserved.'

Aragorn considered for a long moment. Even now, exiled and disfigured and despised, it seemed Lith still had some shreds of Elvish pride left. He did not want sympathy from any.

'I do not pity you,' Aragorn said, eventually. 'I know that you committed a crime, a terrible one, and have been punished according to Elvish law. But whatever your crime, I do not think your suffering can be just, and I find it hard to forgive those that treated you so cruelly.'

They spoke little after that. The fragile peace between them held, though the easy, quiet camaraderie they had shared before the incident at Tadoliant was gone, for now. But Aragorn had to acknowledge that, even despite their present tension with each other, they made a good team. With their combined knowledge of the land around, Man and Elf travelled a good distance over the day. Aragorn picked out sure and safe paths up into the foothills, and that night, Lith managed to find them another sheltered campsite deep in a stand of pine trees. He even brought down a plump duck using his crossbow, a skilled shot in the dusk light, and when cooked with the burdock root, rosehips and winter-nettle leaves he foraged would make an excellent meal.

As they camped, Aragorn prepared the bird and spitted it over the fire. He was glad again for the Elf's skill with a flint, for without it they would have been able to get nothing to burn that night. As Aragorn cooked, the Elf sat a short distance away within the circle of light. All day Lith's movements had been frenetic, fidgety and graceless. Now he was sharpening the blade of his heavy, double-bladed knife and had been doing so for so long that the movement of the whetstone seemed compulsive repetition rather than a necessary task. Aragorn watched him out of the corner of his eye, noticing Lith had the knife handle trapped between his boot and a rock rather than holding it in his left hand. The scarred limb was tucked out of sight beneath his coat.

'How fares your arm?' Aragorn asked, quietly. As he expected, Lith tensed at the question and turned slightly, almost as if he was readying himself to flee again. But then, as if after a conscious effort, he breathed slowly out and Aragorn saw some of his wariness ease. But the limb stayed pressed protectively to his chest.

'It hurts,' Lith said, simply, and Aragorn believed it. The Elf looked washed out and tight-lipped with pain.

'You have never shown that wound to another, have you?' Aragorn hazarded.

'No.'

'Not even Mithrandir?'

'No, but then he is...less persistent than you.'

Aragorn gave a slight laugh. He would disagree with that assessment: wizards could out stubborn anyone.

'I did not want…' Lith began, as if needing to explain himself. He started moving the whetstone again. 'It is my punishment to bear.'

Aragorn nodded, although he was not entirely sure he understood. But what he had learned was that Elrond had not seen nor treated the wound while Lith had last been in Imladris. The Elf-lord was the greatest healer in Middle-earth, and until Elrond himself declared the case hopeless, Aragorn was sure there was still a chance something could be done to restore the function of the arm, or at the very least ease this constant pain. If Lith could be persuaded to come back into the Hidden Valley, that was. Exile or not, Aragorn was confident that Elrond would not refuse to treat him once he was made aware of the wound.

They ate in silence and now it did not feel uncomfortable. The bird was slightly scorched on one side but it was good and hot, and a marvellous improvement on the cold, dry rations Aragorn was used to. Lith ate slowly, one-handed. Once they were done, Aragorn disappeared out of the circle of firelight, taking the rest of the carcass and viscera away to bury some distance from the camp to keep wild animals from following the scent. When he returned he was surprised to find Lith had not disappeared into one of the nearby trees as was his usual habit but still sat by the fireside, staring unseeing into the flames. His normally sharp gaze was dulled and his fidgeting stilled, hands resting lethargically in his lap. The signs were clear; while Aragorn had been gone Lith had taken another dose of pain-bite.

'Rest,' Aragorn instructed wearily as he sat down. 'I will take the watch.'

Lith blinked slowly, then looked up. The dark of his eyes was wide and black, like pools of spilled ink. He had taken a lot of pain-bite.

'I would wager you got little sleep last night,' Lith said, at last, slowly. 'It is my turn to take watch.'

'Nevertheless,' said Aragorn, and settled himself with his pipe. He did not feel the need to explain further.

'I am not an invalid,' said Lith with a touch of heat in his tone.

'Maybe not. But neither are you fit. You have just taken another dose of pain-bite; you have been taking it all day. Your reactions are slowed, your instincts suppressed... '

Lith frowned at him. 'I am fine. I can watch.'

'No,' said Aragorn, keeping his tone level. 'Your judgement is impaired. I will not permit it. Sleep until the herb has worn off.'

'You think I cannot be trusted,' the Elf said, low, almost angry.

'How can I not?' Aragorn pointed out. 'While you dull your wits with herbs every chance you get?'

Not to mention that Lith had stolen that same medicine from Elrond's house, while Elrond had sheltered him against all demands of Elvish law. Not to mention that Lith was a murderer.

'I do not take it for fun!' Lith hissed. He scrambled to his feet and took a step as if he meant to flee into the trees, but then he swayed and sat again, almost involuntarily. The sedative effects would barely even let him stand.

'Sleep,' Aragorn said, shortly.

Lith said nothing else after that but lay down, staring into the fire. Aragorn took up his place on the other side, facing away into the dark, watching and listening for any unexpected movement. In truth there was probably no need for a watch this night; these lands were kept well clear of wargs and goblins by the sons of Elrond. But shared watches and good nights of sleep were the main benefit of a travelling companion. In theory.

Lith at last succumbed either to sleep or Elven reverie because Aragorn heard his soft breathing slow and even out beneath the crackle and occasional pop of the fire. Aragorn smoked his pipe until it was empty then stretched and paced out his own tiredness as the moon rose, a glimmer of silver through the thick, scented needles of the evergreens. Perhaps only an hour had passed before the Elf made a strange sound, almost a gasp of fear, and Aragorn turned to see him bolt up, wide eyed and reaching for his knife. Then he seemed to startle fully awake and at last realise where he was, for he stilled and the blade vanished once more.

That Lith was having poor dreams at all was another effect of the pain-bite; Elvish reverie allowed dreamers to walk in living memory of their own choosing, not suffer the half fantastical ramblings of mortal dreams. Aragorn was about to ask what the Elf had dreamed, but Lith had quickly dismissed his night terror and lay back down again. The night was very quiet.

Then, very softly, Lith murmured, 'I did not go to Imladris to steal.'

'All right,' said Aragorn, neutrally.

'I speak the truth. I did not plan it, but the opportunity was there and I was... desperate.'

Aragorn recognised the tactic at work; Lith was trying to make amends for the anger he had caused by offering the only thing of value he had. The truth. Luckily it was a currency Aragorn was most anxious to receive.

'This was after the Council?' Aragorn asked.

Lith hummed but did not answer.

'But you have taken sedative herbs before, I deem. Many times, for you to need a dose so strong. Where do you usually get it?'

'There are wild plants that have the same effect if one knows where to seek them,' Lith said. 'And merchants from Rhûn and South Gondor, who travel the Greenway and the Old South Road with herbalists' supplies. But the roads are less safe now and fewer make such journeys. I had no other choice.'

'And Imladris? Why did you go there?'

'Mithrandir, of course,' Lith said, and now that he had begun to talk it was almost as if he could not stop. 'Mithrandir said he could not stand against the wraiths alone without help. I did what I could to aid him on the road, but in my foolishness and weakness I let him lure me into the Valley itself. Once I saw the first spire of the Homely House I could not turn away. I was prepared for the scorn of the Ñoldor but I did not know others would come. I tried to leave when I saw the Wood-elves arrive but Mithrandir would not let me.'

Aragorn looked into the dark and tried to picture seeing Imladris again for the first time in centuries. What must it have been like for Lith to see an elven home again after Aragorn did not like to guess how long? To be inundated once more by the peace and strength infused into the very earth around the Valley. It must have been blindingly beautiful. Enchanting. Intoxicating. No wonder Lith had not been able to turn back. It must have been wonderful.

'I wish I had never gone there at all,' Lith said, with startling bitterness.

'Why is that?' Aragorn said, surprised. Surely any time spent in Elrond's house could only be a balm, even if Lith had been spurned by the other Elves and his exit less than gracious.

'It was weakness,' Lith said. His voice was very soft like one who spoke in a dream. 'I gave in to my longing to see Elven halls again, to walk amongst Elvish faces and hear their songs. It was a mistake. It hurt all the more to leave and now my exile seems harder to bear than ever before. The night is always darker after a burst of light. Now I am blind and heartsick.'

Lith seemed suddenly to realise how openly he was speaking, for he went abruptly quiet and then rolled over, away from Aragorn. There was silence for a long time, before Aragorn heard him all but whisper, on the very edge of hearing.

'I do not know how much longer I can bear it.'


AN:

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