24th November 3018
Lith dreamed, but it was as far from the clear and pure remembrance of Elven reverie as any sleep could be. Faces of those known and unknown, loved and reviled, swam past him, stretched into grimaces of agony; he heard snatches of strange song, twisted and discordant, and thick fumes seemed to cloud his senses. His nose and throat were filled with a smoke of blood and ashes, and he wondered if somewhere a fire burned. His skin crawled over his bones.
He heard words carried on the wind but they fractured and fell apart before he could make sense of them, as if they were spoken in some ancient forgotten tongue shaken loose into the violence of a storm. Lith had lost himself in the forests before, talking to none but the trees for so long that when he had walked beneath the open sky again he could scarce recall how the language of words worked. Now he could but watch, bewildered and helpless, as a thousand mouths cracked open all around him, speaking words he knew not but in tones that were all too familiar to him; mocking, condemning, hating, like hot coals tumbling out from their tongues to burn into his heart. He endured it all. What choice was there? They threw curses like stones, tore the braids from his hair, and he fled. Nowhere was far enough. He ran and ran, and then when he could no longer run, he crawled, crawled into the solitary dark. His breath came fast; his pulse beat inside his head, a pounding war drum. His fingers felt around blindly for a weapon.
Sometimes in his dreams he remembered what it had been like to wield a bow, a real bow. The way the white yew flexed as his shoulders drew back, the tension and hum of the string beneath his fingers, the whisper of the arrow...He thought once he had been proud of his skill, back when he still knew what it was to have pride. That was why they had taken it away, of course. It was gone now, and so too was his crossbow, that pale substitute. Lith had felt it crack beneath him as he fell; he had hoped the sound was a rib breaking but unfortunately the bow took the injury, and unlike his bones that would not heal. It might be many moons before he could gather the materials he would need to make repairs and he was defenceless without it. Useless. Nameless. What noble titles to bear.
In that void of darkness, his searching hand found a knife. The knife. It had been a long time, so long, but he remembered the feel of that too, even more precisely than his longbow. Strange that this he should remember even when so much else about that night was obscured in a haze of terror and shock. The knife was light, perfectly balanced. The inlaid ivory had felt warm to the touch, and his bruised and split fingers had stung as his hand had tightened on the hilt. He did not remember the sight of it his grip or indeed any sight of his eyes, and he did not recall what he heard or smelled or felt in his heart, but he did know the way that the cloth and skin had resisted the blade at first, before finally both split apart and the blade slid so easily into the flesh beneath. It had been such a simple thing. Really, there had not even been much blood until the fourth or fifth stab.
Those had been the last moments of Lith's life when he had not had blood on his hands.
When they had marked him, slashed his face and cut open his arm, over and over, day after day, the guard assigned to the task had wept. That had been the strangest thing. Even in the courtroom, standing before the throne, his ears ringing and ringing - he could scarce hear any words that were being spoken over the peel of that frantic bell in his mind - even then he had seen faces in that frenzied crowd that had looked on him not with disgust but with grief. He had wondered afterwards if, behind that ringing bell that had deafened his ears, if any of them had tried to speak to him. If any had tried to come to his defence. But it hardly mattered now.
His stomach twisted, nauseated. The white knife was gone, destroyed years and years ago, and now the voices and the faces too swirled and collided, and then flowed away like ink on wet paper. He thought perhaps he wept too at their loss, for at least their loathing and scorn had meant he was not alone. As they flowed away he saw that one face lingered last, the face he always looked for in the dark. The first he had ever seen in this world and had seen but once and never again. She called out to him, the only word he understood.
Legolas!
And then his mother too was gone, and he was utterly alone.
Lith came slowly back to awareness of the world around. His body felt unbearably heavy, as if river stones were strapped to each limb and weighed him to the ground. As if uncaring of the impediments, hands were clawing at him, shaking him, roughly.
'Lith. Awake! You have slept long enough. It is time to wake up.'
Legolas. His name was...
A sting to his face, muted and distant. The unrelenting ache in his arm was dull, barely perceptible. This weighted, heavy painlessness...this is where he wished to stay, hidden away in numbness. Why could he not stay?
'Lith,' The voice said, sternly. 'You will wake, and you will open your eyes. Right now.'
Such was the undeniable command in that tone that Lith found himself unable to do anything but obey. He felt his eyelids fluttering, erratic against the searing firelight, but he could not open them more.
'That's not good enough, Lith. Wake up.'
He was shaken again, and then hands on his shoulders hauled him up to sitting. Lith's head fell forward, heavy and unwieldy on his own neck. A hand on his back held up him, but his mind still started to drift away.
Another sharper crack, his face stinging and eyes fluttered open at last. At first Lith saw nothing but darkness and the flicker of firelight. Then a face, another face, loomed in, but this one he knew or thought he knew. A man, dark haired and bearded, with a noble face now drawn with fatigue and fear. But the grey eyes were sharp as a forged steel arrowhead and they drew him in deep and inexorable, until he was lost in their wisdom, their strength and their clear, unfettered purpose. Lith knew then, even while the rest of the world was lost in an uncertain haze, that he would follow this man anywhere.
Fingers snapped before his vision.
'Speak!' ordered the man in his rough voice. 'Give me some sign that you can hear me.'
'I will obey thee, my king, in all things,' Lith murmured, his tongue heavy in his mouth, words slurring. 'Command unto me any duty and it will be done.'
'Lith! I do not understand the Silvan tongue so that does little to reassure me your wits are intact. I need you to speak in Sindarin.'
'I do not know how,' he said, and tried to turn his face away from that regal gaze in his shame. Someone held his head still.
'Your mind is scrambled by the pain-bite. Repeat my words until you remember yourself again. 'My name is Lith, and this tongue is Sindarin. I am a damn fool who just scared my friend half to death.''
'My name is...I am Lith. I remember,' Lith said, at last. 'I remember. Sindarin.'
The man nodded at last, and asked, 'Do you remember me? What is my name, Lith?'
Lith did not answer. The heaviness was weighing down his eyes and drawing his mind back into darkness.
'No, you must not sleep again!' said the man. His voice rang with alarm, and though Lith could not reply, the man started to stand up.
'Up with you; we will walk this off together.'
The man gripped him under the arms and Lith felt his body being hauled up from the ground. His legs buckled but a broad shoulder under his arm held him up and there was an arm around his waist. He was sick onto the ground at their feet. The man pulled him on; his feet stumbled and he almost fell. But after a moment his legs did their part and he managed at last to lurch one step, then another and another as the man dragged him on. They staggered on together until the path ahead was blocked with stone, dim and unclear before his eyes.
'Good,' said the man, and he turned them around and they limped back through the clinging gloom of night towards the fire. A half-dozen places beyond and the cliffs peeled away so they turned again, walking back into the crack in the cliff face. He vomited again.
Lith wanted to fall to the floor. He wanted to sleep, he wanted just to cease, but the man that dragged him on would not let him, and together they put one limping step before another, back and forth between the narrow stone walls, pacing the length of the narrow canyon over and over. Slowly, slowly, Lith felt the weight in his limbs, the crushing heaviness in his heart and lungs begin to lift as sickness loosened its hold. Then the pain began to return.
And all the while the man talked to him. A low constant murmur of encouragement and hope that drove him on, shuffling his feet as his body struggled and his mind buzzed. The man never paused, even though he was also limping, and coughed several times.
At length Lith remembered he had been asked a question, and the answer lit up brightly in his mind.
'Aragorn,' he said. 'You are Aragorn, from Imladris. Your father was Arathorn of the Dúnedain. You are a friend of Mithrandir.' But Aragorn had called Lith his friend too, as if it was as easy as speaking, as if he had no idea what that word would do to Lith's heart and to his desperate hopes.
'Good, that's good,' said Aragorn, completely innocent of the turmoil in Lith's thoughts, of the dazed wonder and the numbing terror warring in his heart. 'Your mind returns and your legs are steadier. I think it is wearing off. Soon we can stop, and then you must eat, and drink water.'
'I cannot-' Lith murmured, but Aragorn interrupted.
'You are still nauseous, no doubt. But the herb is more potent when your body is empty of nourishment. You will burn it faster when you have something to digest.'
The man's tone brooked no argument and Lith was too exhausted, shocked and numb to form one. They sat by the fire and Aragorn made him swallow a bowl of watery broth followed by a tea of water-mint, lemon balm and fennel when sickness threatened to return the broth soon after. Then they both wrapped themselves in their blankets and Lith felt sleep take him once more.
He woke to the sound of coughing. It was nearly dawn and the eastern sky was pale and grey; he had slept the whole night, dreamlessly. Frost had settled and lay thickly on their packs, glittering off the fallen leaves that gathered around the foot of the cliffs. When Lith rolled his head he saw Aragorn was awake, sitting hunched forward. The man coughed hard, and then saw Lith awake and quickly came to his side.
'You are awake at last,' he said. 'How do you feel?'
Lith sat up, carefully. He was wrapped in his own blanket and coat. His senses felt dull and oddly far away, his head ached and his heart felt strange in his chest. But the nausea was less and his hands did not tremble. The pain in his arm was a constant low throb like a living thing with a heartbeat of its own.
'I do not know how I feel,' he said, carefully.
'Well, that is not unexpected,' Aragorn said with a sigh. His voice sounded odd, rather raspy, but not scathing or angry. 'Your body has been through quite the ordeal. But I have stew and bread here that you should eat.'
They ate the food Aragorn had prepared in silence, listening to the fire crackle. Lith could not have said what it was they ate. His head and limbs felt both light and weighed down all at once. Nausea still curled in his belly. He wondered how long he had been ill.
'It is November the 24th,' said Aragorn in response to the question he had not meant to ask. Lith just looked at him, blankly.
'We arrived here yesterday morning, and are four days from Imladris,' Aragorn then explained, seeming to realise Lith had only the vaguest context for the date. Such measurements of time meant little out in the wild where only the turn of the seasons mattered. 'You have been...unwell since noon yesterday. The worst is passed now; I think you will not suffer any longer term effects once your strength returns.'
Lith ignored the latter statement; the guilt for his foolishness was already curdling with the sickness in his gut. 'What happened to your voice?' Lith asked instead. The man's voice, while usually rough to an Elf's ears, seemed even coarser that morning.
Aragorn gave a short cough. 'Oh, nothing,' he said. 'Just a chill in my throat. It will pass.'
'You are coughing also,' Lith pointed out.
'It is nothing,' said Aragorn again, a little more firmly. He looked tired and so Lith asked nothing further. It was not difficult, even for one as out of touch with reading another's moods as he, to sense Aragorn was angry. Though the man did not say so, it was not a stretch of imagination to suppose Aragorn must be unhappy with the delay Lith's weakness had cost them. Lith determined to himself that he would do nothing that might hinder Aragorn's journey further.
As soon as they both had eaten and Aragorn had insisted on carefully binding Lith's crippled arm to his chest with a sling, they packed up their belongings quickly and set off again. Lith thought that the Ranger must have scouted the area around the camp while he had been insensible, as the man set off confidently further into the hills, seeming sure of their direction even though the sun was shaded behind grey cloud.
Though they had left the wetlands behind and were now well into the foothills of the Hithaeglir, the ground was still boggy in places where the streams and rainwater had gathered in hollows and the odd flight of geese or swans still passed overhead. The wind swirled chill around the hollows in the hills, catching at their coats and hair. At first they walked swiftly, although after an hour or two Aragorn's pace soon began to slow. Lith did not think his own bouts of lightheadedness had been obvious, so it was probably more to do with Aragorn's coughing fits, or the injured leg which was noticeably unbalancing the man's gait. The Ranger had made some repairs to his boot during the night, stitching and patching up the tears but Lith could see hints of white beneath where the wolf bite was dressed. It must surely be painful to walk on.
By mid morning they had wound their way along several grassy hills and had seen glimpses of the distant river again off to their left before they entered a long, narrow band of sparse woodland; young silver birches and lively rowans, and the occasional twisted willow, sleepy and mellow. It did not rain again, but the sky remained overcast and a chill wind came down from the north. Lith found a fresh, windfelled branch from a sturdy mountain ash and, with a few quick passes of his knife, shaped a light walking staff. He presented it to Aragorn.
'Here. For your leg.'
It was the first words either of them had spoken for a while. Aragorn took the staff with a grateful nod of his head. He took a few testing steps and seemed to find the support agreeable.
'My thanks.'
Lith lingered behind for a moment as the man limped on. 'I am sorry,' Lith said suddenly, though he had not meant to.
Aragorn paused, glancing back. He asked nothing but his face was open and Lith felt emboldened to continue.
'I am sorry that I was the cause of delay.'
From inside his hood, Aragorn frowned.
'The wolf caused our delay,' he said, and coughed a little.
'Still. I regret that you have now lost two days of your travel time due me, particularly as I cannot now be of use.'
'What are you speaking of?'
'You asked for aid on your journey, but my arm...and with my bow broken I cannot defend you,' Lith explained, wondering if the man's illness was worse than he thought. Aragorn did not seem to be following. 'I assumed yesterday that you would simply leave me and go on.'
As soon as he had spoken Lith sensed he had somehow misjudged the source of Aragorn's anger.
'The need for haste would have to be great indeed for me to abandon any other alone in the wilderness,' Aragorn said, pointedly. 'Let alone a friend and one who was unwell besides. Do you still think me so heartless?'
Lith felt himself flinch unintentionally as Aragorn said 'friend' again. He looked away, struggling to find the words that he needed.
'I did not mean to imply…' Lith began, and then changed course. 'That is, I have never met anyone so full of good heart. I just...I find I am again in your debt.'
'Cease to concern yourself with it for I do not wish to be owed debts,' Aragorn replied. 'I would rather you told me what possessed you to take such a quantity of pain-bite; you speak words of apology and yet you continue to put yourself at risk. You know I am a healer, and would aid you if you would just accept my help!'
There was quiet for a time but Lith had no answer to that, for he did not think he truly knew himself.
Aragorn was not appeased by his silence. 'Did you intend to take your own life?' he asked, directly.
'No!' Lith said quickly, looking away across the valley. 'No. It was the pain, that was all. It was very bad. I made an error.'
It was not wholly untrue. The pain from his arm, where the weight of the wolf had impacted had been overwhelming, but if he was honest with himself Lith knew that his old wound was not the sole cause of his distress. Aragorn's trust and compassion had seeped through the carefully structured defences around Lith's heart and mind like water through cracked stone, and now the breach was forced open and the torrent threatened to drown him. The things he had thought and spoken of in the past few days, stirred up again in his mind all that had been allowed to settle to stillness...It was too much. Between Mithrandir, Luinmeord, Elrond and Aragorn, friendship and family and belonging had all been dangled before Lith like the lure in a snare and he knew in just a few days it would all be snatched away again, and he would return to his fierce isolation. Though he knew now to expect it, the loss of those foolish hopes will still be a bitter draught to swallow. And underlying the turmoil and grief of his heart had been the blaze of pain in his arm and all the memories his scars embodied. In that moment, sitting in the cold light of day beside Aragorn's bloody and exhausted form, it had been just too much. But still Aragorn had stayed. He had not abandoned his unintentional burden, even as helpless, crippled and unwelcome as Lith no doubt was, even though he was holding Aragorn back in his race towards that vital and urgent destiny that held the fate of the world in the balance. He had stayed with Lith, feeding him, coaxing him back to life. He again had called Lith friend.
And in just four days they would reach the borders of Imladris, and Aragorn too would be gone from him forever. The thought of it frightened Lith beyond words.
He made his decision in that moment, but it took him the rest of the day's march to build up the courage to act on it. Aragorn had just suggested looking out for a campsite when Lith stopped, spontaneously. Aragorn almost walked into his back, then froze.
'What is wrong?' he said, low, looking around at the dusky grasslands. 'Is the wolf returned?'
Lith ignored the question. He swung his pack down, darted a hand into the pocket, and pulled something out. He held his closed fist out towards Aragorn but did not look at him.
'What is this?' Aragorn said, carefully neutral.
'Take it,' Lith said. 'Please.'
Aragorn reached out and took the pouch, with its waxed parchment wrap of pain-bite, from his hand. 'Why do you give this to me?'
Lith breathed deeply, looking down at his hands. 'I do not want last night to happen again, but I do not know how to prevent it. There is...The pain grows worse and all I can think of is the pain-bite, of relief…I tried to get rid of the herb but I find I cannot. Please help me. Hide it, burn it, throw it away. Anything.'
Aragorn was very quiet, and Lith was afraid he had made another misstep by asking this, by revealing his weakness. He carefully raised his head, just a little, so he could see Aragorn's face. The man's expression was unreadable.
'You ask for my help?'
Lith nodded, and then hesitated. 'Unless you do not want to-'
'No, no - I will aid you, Lith, of course I will. All you ever needed to do was ask. But I do not think we should destroy the herb. I believe your body has become dependent on it, and though I do not know much about naegranaeth, to stop taking it all at once could be dangerous for your heart. I will keep the rest of the herb and, if you are in agreement, I will give you a dose each evening that I judge, as a healer, to be appropriate. It will not be as much as you are used to, and I will decrease the amount over time to reduce your dependency. You will face some uncomfortable symptoms. But I will never give you more than I deem safe. Do you agree?'
'Yes. I agree,' Lith said, and was surprised when Aragorn suddenly stepped close, putting his broad palm onto Lith's shoulder and giving a reassuring squeeze. He looked up into the man's face, into those grey eyes that he had seen in noble contemplation, or steely cold, or flashing with stormy anger. Now they were soft and earnest.
'I am pleased you have asked for this,' Aragorn said, gravely, 'and I am honoured that you put your trust in me; I know it cannot be an easy thing to do. I swear I will do all I can to help you.'
Lith nodded, wordlessly, and Aragorn hid the pouch away into his coat out of sight. The release of tension as the medicine passed beyond his reach left Lith feeling like he might weep. He had surrendered control of his pain, his peace of mind and maybe his life too up to a man he still barely knew. Not so long ago such a thing would have seemed inconceivable. But there was something different about this Aragorn.
When they made camp that night, true to his word, Aragorn separated out a small dose of pain-bite no larger than Lith's thumbnail and stirred it carefully into a water cup. Though dismayed by the quantity and knowing it would make little inroads on his pain, Lith swallowed the medicine without a word. He took the watch all night, for Aragorn needed the rest, and the constant unrelenting throb of pain in his arm, headache, and churn of nausea in his belly would have never let Lith sleep. He paced, anxious and shaky, until dawn.
Two more days passed by in the same manner. The terrain steepened and grew harder and rockier as the mountains marched closer, and the travellers wound their way towards the Hidden Valley. They were nearing the end of November now and the days had a chill bite of mountain wind, though in the afternoons the sun broke free of the clouds, sending touches of warmth and autumnal light across the last clinging leaves in the scattered woodlands. All around nature grew quiet and sleepy as the cold crept in. Creatures that a month ago would have been foraging for their reserves of food to last them through the winter were now gone into the long sleep of hibernation, that last desperate refuge against cold and starvation. Some would not see another spring. Nature was a stern and unforgiving master.
At night they camped in low hollows in the hills and lay close to the fire for warmth. Lith slept not at all, tormented by sickness, the shaking of his limbs, an aching head and the pain in his old scars that the small doses Aragorn gave seemed to do little to dispel. Unfortunately, as the days passed, it became clear that Aragorn was barely better off himself. While the wounds in his leg and shoulder seemed to be healing well enough, the illness the man had been holding at bay for nearly a week since the rains ended finally took full possession. The morning after Lith had given up the pain-bite to Aragorn's keeping, the man woke in a fit of hacking coughs that gradually increased in frequency and severity over the course of the day, until by the evening even his normal breaths came with a wheeze that did not need Elven senses to hear. Aragorn sneezed and coughed and shivered as they walked and Lith insisted the man take Lith's own blanket too for sleeping, although it did not seem to make much difference.
They had spent a night camped in the pine woods south of the boundary of Imladris when Aragorn woke with a fever. The cough had shown little improvement over the days and the previous night had been sleepless for both travellers. Lith knew little of mortal illness and could only watch over the man anxiously as he tossed and turned, coughing up mouthfuls of yellow substance with a sound that crackled deep into his chest. Aragorn had explained the previous day that those signs showed his lungs were infected, but waking now to fever, with face pale and blotchy and his eyes too bright was a new and worrisome concern. At Aragorn's direction Lith had brewed teas of licorice root and white willow which would aid the cough, but Aragorn had only carried a little of the ingredients with him and it was now gone. He could still walk and guide them to their destination, he assured Lith somewhat irritably, but the Elf still felt concerned. In his current condition, the man was barely in a fit state to care for himself. While he had so far managed to distribute Lith's pain-bite every evening there was no telling for how long that would last. And attack was another concern; with Lith weaponless and Aragorn sickening they would be all too vulnerable if they were to be set upon on the road. Lith had once been a competent warrior, and he could defend himself with his knife or Aragorn's sword if needed. But he also was in pain and with only one functioning hand, and now needing to defend Aragorn also...well, not all dangers would be turned aside by Nandorin spellwords. They would be hard pressed in a fight. And they were still perhaps two days' from the Last Homely House at their current pace; more if Aragorn worsened.
And worsen he did. He was not quite delirious and his fever held steady, but it was clear that the Ranger was most unwell. Lith strapped Aragorn's pack and bedroll to his own but even unburdened Aragorn stumbled and weaved as Lith guided his every step through the woods. And as the infection took hold, he weakened and his pace slowed, every step an effort.
They were traversing slowly through a narrow cleft between two stands of thick pines when suddenly they crossed the boundary of the lands of Imladris. There were no standing stones or hedgerows that marked the border, but to Lith the sensation of stepping into Elven lands was unmistakable. It felt like falling into cool water after dying of thirst, or unstopping deafened ears and hearing the first notes of a familiar song. It was breathing in the sweet scent of spring sap in the air after the perpetual white of winter, or looking up and seeing the first evening stars light up in the endless velvet of the sky. It felt like coming home.
Lith froze for a moment, fear outweighing all other concerns and instincts. He was forbidden here. He should not be entering this land, however sweet and inviting it seemed. That sensation of belonging was not for him. For a creature like Lith there was no home, and never would be again. He had agreed to take Aragorn to the borders and no further, and that he had done. He had to leave before he brought more pain and trouble down on all their heads. Didn't he?
Aragorn, who was leaning on Lith's arm, raised his head at the sudden pause, though Lith did not think he sensed the Elvish border as Lith did.
'What's wrong?' Aragorn rasped, and began coughing again.
'It is nothing,' Lith said, shortly. He carefully supported Aragorn until the fit passed, and then they stepped together across the border and entered the realm of Imladris. Lith could not abandon Aragorn here. They were still a day from the House after all, and what if Aragorn collapsed and Elrond's people did not find him in time?
Not long after, a different fear came manifest. Despite being distracted by the sick man in his charge and by his own familiar pain, Lith ever had an ear for the language of the forest, for the speech of birds in particular, and a redwing flitting past sang of something it has seen; a creature moving through the trees, perhaps half a league away. Something large, and it was not an Elf.
Lith settled the barely aware Aragorn down at the foot of a great spruce, deep in a bed of dry needles. He hid their packs, put the man's drawn sword near his hand, and went on alone. In times long past he would have taken to the trees to scout such a sighting. The pines here were strong and kindly, and grew broad branches close to their neighbours; a perfect roadway for a Wood-elf. But the days where he considered himself one of that people were long gone, and with his arm as it was he would be hard pressed to move at ease through the canopy, let alone in silence. So he sped on foot away from Aragorn's coughing and in the direction the redwing had come from, only taking to the trees as he heard movement close at hand.
He crouched on a branch, deep amid the concealing pine needles, and he watched and waited, listening to the trees. The evergreens around did not seem alarmed, and so Lith did not think he was dealing with a creature of evil, such as a wraith or goblin—the borders of Imladris were clearly guarded by something more powerful than swords and arrows, and he doubted any would be able to breach the confounds of this land alone and survive. He listened again. The creature was too loud to be an Elf, and did not move like a horse. Probably it was no more than a deer or one of the small black bears which sometimes lived in the mountain foothills. It was possible that this was a Ranger or other mannish inhabitant from Imladris, in which case Lith could lead them back to Aragorn. They could take him safely home.
The figure, when it appeared, was none of those, although Lith waited, silent and motionless in the tree to be certain of what he saw before he moved. Striding his way through the forest was an old man with a staff. He wore big black boots, a grey cloak and robe with a silver scarf and a great grey hat. Mithrandir came within a dozen paces of Lith's tree before he stopped, suddenly, and looked around.
'Well, well,' he announced aloud in Sindarin. 'Perhaps you'd like to stop scampering around in the treetops like a squirrel, elfling, and come down here to greet me. I know you are there and I am not inclined to clamber up after you.'
Lith did not intend to deny the request, although in fact he was too surprised to see the wizard appear so fortuitously right where he was needed to consider how Mithrandir had detected him. Lith dropped down out of the tree onto the path, and the wizard turned at the sudden, silent movement. He gave Lith a look that seemed both annoyed and amused.
'You did not bid Bilbo goodbye when you left,' Mithrandir said, with an irritability that was likely feigned. 'He was most put out. As, I should point out, was I.'
'I did not mean offence,' Lith said.
'I know,' Mithrandir said, and then sighed. 'Still, I am glad, although admittedly surprised to find you still here. I thought after that ugly business with the Mirkwood envoy you would have disappeared into the empty lands and I should not cross paths with you again for another decade or so.' While the wizard had been speaking, his quick glance roamed over Lith's arm where it was strapped close to his chest, and the remnant bruises on his face from the misadventure at the river.
'That was my intent,' Lith said, 'but I encountered a friend of yours in the Swanfleet. Now I am guiding him back to Imladris.'
'Which friend would that be?'
'The Ranger, Aragorn,' Lith said. 'He is unwell and I know nothing of mortal sicknesses.'
Mithrandir's bushy eyebrows both shot up. 'That is unfortunate news though not entirely unexpected. Well, you had better take me to him. How far?'
'I left him in the watch of an old spruce after I heard you approaching. I was not sure if you were friend or foe.'
Lith led the wizard at his slower pace back through the weave of trees that stretched down the hillside until he came to the tree where he had left the Ranger. Aragorn seemed to have fallen asleep, leaning back against the bark. The tree had protected him well, cradling him in its dry boughs. Lith thanked it with a brush of his hand over the trunk.
'Well, this is quite the mess you have gotten yourself in,' Mithrandir grumbled to the Ranger as he looked the sleeping man over. Then he knelt and put his hand over Aragorn's forehead. Aragorn woke with a gasp that quickly became a bout of wet, heavy coughing. Mithrandir produced a little silver flask and helped the man to sip until the coughs subsided.
'Gandalf!' Aragorn rasped, sitting up straighter. 'This is a fine chance.'
'It would be, if chance it was,' Mithrandir said, eyes twinkling. 'In truth it was no chance at all but design; I had a feeling that I was needed hereabouts which is why I have been wandering so far from the comforts of Elrond's house for the past two days with an eye open for trouble. But it seems you two have encountered some trouble of your own.'
'Indeed, but be assured it is nothing that bears on our current concerns,' Aragorn said, and Lith realised he was speaking of the Enemy's ring and the Council's great plans. Lith turned away, unwilling to be thought eavesdropping on their secret endeavours. Aragorn perhaps noticed the movement because he added, 'But this is no place to speak of that,' and started to rise. Both wizard and Elf had to aid him to stand as lightheadedness seemed to strike and the man shivered and then coughed hard again. Once on his feet he looked around as if suddenly bewildered by his surroundings.
'Come,' said the wizard. 'If you didn't know you are fifteen miles from the house as the wolf runs. Usually I think we would all press on through the evening and night to reach the vale sooner, but you both look rather the worse for wear and within these borders we need have no fear of any enemy; not yet at any rate. Let us find somewhere suitable to camp and you can tell me how you found each other in the Wild and what has occurred to leave the chieftain of the Rangers limping like a lamed mare.'
Lith found them a suitable campsite not long after, and a much better one than they had become accustomed to over the last few days; a shallow dell at the foot of a short escarpment that kept the chill east wind off their backs, all surrounded by thick, fragrant evergreens. Aragorn all but collapsed onto the leaf mould when they lowered him down and hunched shivering and sneezing, clearly much more unwell than he was trying to seem. Mithrandir, fortunately, looked only mildly concerned and a little amused by Aragorn's illness, which set Lith's mind at rest. If the man was likely to die of this then Mithrandir surely would have insisted they press on to Elrond's house.
Lith left Mithrandir seeing to the fire, and tracked the song of water rising from beneath the earth until he found a stream. Following a short way along its banks brought him to a series of low, broad falls ending in a wide pool. It was an easy half an hour's work to tickle two large sleepy trout from the icy mountain water, and then, following his nose and a whisper from the trees, he soon located a patch of golden honey-mushrooms. When added to the handfuls of sweet chestnuts he had foraged a few days before in the lowlands it would make a fine meal.
When he arrived back at the campsite, Mithrandir and Aragorn were deep in conversation. Lith did not wish to interrupt and so he paused at the edge of the firelight. Aragorn broke off speaking to cough and then saw Lith standing in the shadows. The wizard looked up with a smile.
'Ah, there you are,' Mithrandir said. 'We wondered where you had slipped off to.'
Lith realised with surprise that both of them bore looks of relief at his return. They had thought he had left them for good. The Elf held up the two gutted fish in explanation and then crouched silently down by the fire to spit them for cooking, leaving the others to their conversation. Though he was growing comfortable with Aragorn and Mithrandir separately, the two at once was an unknown quantity.
Aragorn and Mithrandir continued to speak for a while in low voices about things that did not concern the Elf, such as the goings on in Elrond's house, the doings of Dwarves and the news of scouts, until coughing left the man too breathless to talk. While Aragorn sipped his waterskin and recovered, the wizard turned his beady eyes on Lith instead.
'And what brings you back to Imladris, my lad?'
'Aragorn asked for my assistance on the road,' Lith said. 'As I have told you.'
'Indeed,' said Mithrandir. 'From what Aragorn tells me, what with battling floods and deep-wolves and saving the innocent it seems the pair of you make quite formidable company.'
Lith had nothing to say to that and so he did not answer. Instead he tipped out the mushrooms he had gathered, intending to slice them up while the water boiled, but it was almost a full night and day since his last dose of pain-bite and his hands were shaking terribly. As usual the wizard noticed and decided to meddle.
'Here. You seem to be having some trouble.' Mithrandir gently nudged Lith aside and reached for the knife. On edge and nervous, Lith darted his hand back from the wizard's and quickly skittered away. He settled on the far side of the fire, and turned his attention to the heating water instead.
'I have heard what happened to Aragorn's leg,' Mithrandir continued, as he took over the food preparation. 'But I am yet to hear of what troubles your arm. An Elf conceding to wearing a sling is no common sight.'
All day Lith's arm had been aching with a sick beat that made concentrating on anything difficult. He did not even want to think on it further, let alone discuss it. Not when it was still at least two hours until Aragorn would give him his next dose.
'Did you also receive some injury from the jaws of the brôgaraf?' pressed the wizard. 'Or did you injure yourself during your exploits in the river?'
Lith did not answer, but continued to work on the soothing tea he was preparing for the Ranger, pouring the heated water into a small cup and letting the dried herbs steep. The wizard, meanwhile, was hardly put off by Lith's continued attempts to ignore his questions. He pointed the knife at Lith, and switched to Lith's native tongue.
'Do not attempt that campaign of silence again with me, elfling, for thou has a tongue in thine head, and this time I know thou hast not forgotten how to use it.'
Lith frowned but before he had to think up a reply Aragorn intervened on his behalf. The Ranger must be familiar enough with the wizard's ways to recognise the tone of voice even without understanding the language itself.
'Lith exacerbated an old wound,' Aragorn rasped. 'While defending me from the wolf. It is stable but needs more care than I can give at present.'
As the pair had obviously discussed their journey while he had been gathering food, Lith had assumed that Aragorn would already have told Mithrandir all else that had occured: Lith's scars, the pain-bite and all. It was no easy matter to keep things from a wizard and Lith was strangely grateful when he realised that Aragorn had kept in confidence that which he had not even asked the man to honour. Mithrandir knew Lith's hand troubled him at times, but never had he shared the truth of that shameful wound with any, before Aragorn.
'Then it is fortunate that you happened to have arrived in the perfect place,' Mithrandir replied, with satisfaction. He tossed the mushrooms into the pot with the chestnuts and stirred the mix casually with a stick. 'There is no being in Arda that has studied the healing arts as diligently as Lord Elrond.'
Lith quite was aware that the wizard was still trying to goad him into speech. Annoyed and restless and hurting, he rose and unfolded one of the bedrolls. Aragorn had slumped back against a tree, shivering, and Lith spread his blanket across Aragorn's legs before handing him the tea. The Ranger smiled at him, a little bemusedly.
'Elrond will be pleased to have two new patients,' Mithrandir continued, still sounding mild. 'With Frodo recovering so well he has been most devoid of-'
Lith interrupted, his tone flat. 'I will not come into the valley with thee again.'
'Thou hast already crossed the borders of Imladris,' the wizard replied, lightning sharp, all mildness gone. 'Thou standest already on Elvish land. Thus the damage has been done.' He cast Lith a sharp look. 'Wilt thou at least do Lord Elrond the courtesy of speaking with him this time, or wilt thou come and go again like a thief in the night?'
Lith shoulders stiffened. His hands shook.
'Keeping my distance from Lord Elrond is courtesy,' he answered, shortly. The wizard's tongue was indeed sharp tonight; it seemed he must have taken Lith's last hasty departure personally. 'Thou knowest how my presence here brings danger on all who shelter me.'
'I know an outdated and unjust law would have it so,' Mithrandir retorted. 'And I know Elrond would break that law to aid one in need. He has no love for archaic rules and knows well that injustice thrives when those that should see it are wilfully blind. Thou must come with us to the house, and let him tell thee himself if thou dost not believe me.' His voice softened. 'Elfling. Thou cannot spend this eternity of thine out in the cold.'
'I can and I must!' Lith snapped, and rounded to meet the wizard's eye at last. 'I followed thee into Imladris before, at thine insistence. What good did that do? What did that gain me, or thee, or any of us? Nothing!'
'It gained you a friend,' the wizard said, gesturing to Aragorn and slipping back into Sindarin, no doubt so that the man could follow. 'For you and Aragorn would likely never have met if you had not come to Imladris as I asked before. There is a bond between you already, you know this, and I can see it will only grow stronger.' The wizard raised one bushy eyebrow. 'You, young Lith, need all the friends you can get. And there are the rest of us, Bilbo and I, and others that I could name. You are not as alone as you think.'
It was around then Aragorn pointed out that, friends or otherwise, the supper was burning, and the conversation was, to Lith's relief, set aside.
They ate. The food was good, despite the wizard's best efforts. Lith caught himself making a mental note of where the mushrooms had been growing, when he remembered that they were within the bounds of Imladris and he would not be returning here again.
After they had eaten, Mithrandir leaned back against a tree and took out his noisome pipe. While the wizard was distracted, Aragorn took the opportunity to go to his pack to fetch the pain-bite. The first reek of wizard's pipe-smoke drifted over just as Aragorn handed Lith the water cup containing the solution of herb, but if Mithrandir saw anything odd in their behaviour he, for once, decided to keep his peace and made no comment. Lith swallowed the dose quickly, but the sight of Aragorn tucking the pouch away in his jerkin had brought the Elf to another realisation. This process—weaning him off the dependency of the pain-bite—it was not over. They would reach Imladris tomorrow and he was little better; his arm was agony, his grip almost nonexistent, and without the herb his hands trembled and he felt constantly sick to his stomach. Lith doubted Aragorn would return the medicine to him now if Lith turned back, and he had no hope of stealing it away while Mithrandir was here. Was Lith to be held hostage by his own weakness once more? Did he dare to see this through?
Oblivious to Lith's turmoil, Aragorn went to his bedroll soon after, and they heard him coughing and sneezing for some time before his raspy breaths evened out in sleep. The wizard sat near to the fire with his pipe and seemed content just to smoke and think in silence. Lith took to the low branches above the wizard's head, and a sweet golden larch that whispered soft sounds just for him. He pressed his face to the rough bark as he listened. The pain-bite was swirling in his blood, soothing the frantic buzz of his mind, the tremor in his limbs and the constant pulse of pain in his arm. It was also loosening his tongue.
'Did Bilbo…' Lith said, almost before he had decided to speak. The wizard looked up into the tree, questioningly. Lith continued. 'Was Bilbo truly upset that I left?'
'Yes,' said the wizard, gravely. 'He is a kind soul and very fond of you, you know. But he understands, I think, better than most that sometimes one needs to make a swift, unannounced departure.'
When he glanced down, Lith saw that little twinkle in the wizard's eye and Lith knew he had been forgiven. He found himself asking, 'And...the other Wood-elves?'
The wizard lowered his pipe. 'What of them?'
'Are they still here? In Imladris?'
'No,' Mithrandir said, gently. 'They departed the same morning I did on their journey east. Luinmeord thought to stay, but at length they all choose to return home, to see to their duties.'
'Did he seem…' Lith said, and then swallowed and looked away. Mithrandir waited, infinitely and cruelly patient until Lith forced the words out of his mouth. 'Luinmeord. Did he seem well? Do you think he is...happy?'
Mithrandir looked at Lith for a long time without speaking before he said, 'Yes, Lith. I believe he is content. His captain said that he is high in the favour of King Thranduil and is soon to be given command of all the eastern reaches.'
'And Caranalder?'
'I am told he is a good regent and is much respected by his people.'
Lith nodded. His heart ached. 'Good,' he said. 'That is good. I did not expect I should see Luinmeord again, or Almscella or the others...but...I am glad that I did. Even though it hurt, even though I know I will never be forgiven. I hope they know I wish them nothing but joy.'
The wizard was watching him, and the firelight flickered over Mithrandir's lined face. His eyes were very gentle.
'If they do not, they are fools,' he said. 'When it is clear to any with eyes that there is not one ounce of malice in you. Ah, my elfling. Sometimes the griefs of this world cannot be measured, and the worst ills fall too often on those who deserve it least.'
Lith lay down along the branch and pulled his coat in around him. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was the wizard hunched beside the glowing embers of the fire with his pipe, a thin trail of smoke weaving around his beard.
A/N. Thank you everyone for all your kind comments and messages. They've really meant more to me than you can know! We'll be wrapping up this fic at the end of the next chapter, but there's still plenty of tale to be told, so stick around for the second part of the series, coming soon.
