Chapter Text
29th November 3018
The woods of Imladris were like nowhere else in Middle-earth. Granted, every tree in the world was unique and thus so too was every forest, but none other Lith had yet walked in bore even a passing resemblance to the tranquillity and deep wisdom that he sensed here. But though it was beautiful, the land was shrouded, as were so many things, with loss and a slow grief for the passing of the Elves and the times that were now gone and would not come again. The trees were sleepy and growing more so year by year, fading from a song which was once vivid, almost alert, back into a slow, dreamless slumber from which they would not wake again, not once all the Elves had left these shores. That was what Lith missed most in his exile from Elven lands. The trees. These ancient beeches cared not for his crime, for his scars and his unbraided hair, but welcomed him as they had every Elf since they had put down their first roots into the earth hundreds of years ago. His Silvan blood rang with the words of their whispered song and it soothed him in a way that all the herbs in the world could not come close to emulating.
Although Mithrandir had informed him that there were guest chambers here he could use, the Elf had held no intention of lingering at the House longer than it took to see Aragorn safe and well. He had located the Ranger’s room last night and found him fast asleep, carried away by his pain and illness, and yet still he had remembered to leave out for Lith his dose of naegranaeth along with a note Lith could not decipher. Standing there, watching Aragorn sleep, the thought had briefly passed into Lith's mind that he had done what he had meant to: deliver Aragorn safely home. Now he needed but to find the rest of the herb supply amongst Aragorn's things, and then he could leave. But Lith did not wish to risk disturbing the Ranger, and besides, he knew that he could not leave again without at least bidding Gandalf and Bilbo goodbye first. So he swallowed the dose left for him and turned away, climbing back down from the terrace and flitting away into the trees. Lith had spent the night in the branches of a kind-hearted young alder that was growing high in the woods beyond the furthest pavilions of Imladris. The cadences of Elven evening song flowed along the valley with the water and left him with strange dreams that echoed in his soul with a music that was bittersweet.
The following morning, dawn came with a misty light like liquid copper pouring into the valley over the crests of the mountains. Lith woke to the breathtaking beauty of the sight cold, hungry and footsore, with pain in his arm and cramp in his hand, but he did not feel as nauseous or shaky as yesterday. Perhaps the side effects of the lower dosage were weakening at last. Despite the increased pain, he certainly felt more refreshed and clear headed than he had for some time, and it made him aware that there were tasks he should see to before he took his leave of the valley. But for a few chesnuts, his pack was all but empty. It would soon be winter and this would be his last chance to forage amongst the plants and trees here for nuts and berries, twine and sap. There were repairs he needed to make, not least to his crossbow. He did not yet know if it could be fixed or if he must start carving the weapon again from scratch—a daunting prospect. And there was other wear and tear to his clothing and pack; his coat was torn in two places, and when he examined his right boot he found the roughly-stitched leather was worn through, and the cord falling apart. But for now it was such a glorious morning that he stuffed his coat and boots into his pack, put it all from his mind and just let himself be, to soak in this moment in the woods of Imladris. For once he thought nothing of survival or flight, or of searching for food. For now he could pretend for a moment that this was somewhere he belonged.
Lith drifted barefoot through the dawning, following the flight of a woodpecker through the trees along the river bank as the sun rose up into the sky, listening to the whisper of the last leaves, scenting the season on the air. He was so focused on the forest around that voices ahead made him startle back to awareness: he darted up into the trees just as two Elf-maidens appeared, walking slowly through the woods on a morning stroll. Lith froze in the branches as they passed below his tree, but they did not look up. Soft singing followed behind them as they went away into the trees. Lith realised then that he had wandered closer to the house than he had intended to. From up in the branches of the grove of beeches all but bare now of their leafy garb, he could see the house as it started to wake. Elves and other folk began to appear through the open archways and porches, wandering along pergolas and looking out of high windows. Then figures were moving around the valley, wandering along green paths to the main halls to break their fast, or striding briskly out into gardens, stables or workshops, or to any number of other purposes and places that Lith could not imagine. The sight of so many people was a little overwhelming.
He stayed up in the beeches for some time, just listening to the sound of their treesong, to the flow of sap through leaves, the crack of bark, and the draw of water into roots. At length, Mithrandir came out of the house and Lith saw him take up a seat on a stately promenade that connected two of the wide terraces. He was close enough that Lith could scent his pipesmoke on the air. The wizard did little but smoke and read for several hours, but the sight of his old friend put the Elf a little more at ease. He could not imagine coming to harm while Mithrandir was nearby.
The sun climbed up into the sky as the morning passed, then Lith heard a familiar cough as Aragorn too arrived in the garden where Mithrandir sat. Lith was pleased to see the man looking far more alert and well than he had for several days, and he was walking better too, albeit now aided by a pair of wooden crutches. Lith had been afraid for Aragorn's life out in the wilds but he had recovered well, and quickly too for a mortal man. The much vaunted skills of Lord Elrond in action, no doubt.
The man and the wizard sat together for a while talking, though Lith heard only the murmur of their voices and nothing of their words. At length, Mithrandir went back into the house but Aragorn came down from the promenade, crossed the oval terrace edged by the silver streams and took a trail leading into the woods. Curious, Lith followed through the branches above, although they had not gone far before the man stopped, looking around. Lith heard him cough a few times and then mutter,
‘So much for “he’ll find you,” Mithrandir. This could take all day.' Aragorn turned around in a slow circle, then called out, uncertainly, 'Lith?'
Lith dropped onto the path right in front of him. The man gave a start and let go of his crutch, reaching for a sword he did not carry.
‘Do not do that!’ Aragorn ordered once he recognised Lith, sounding more than a little flustered. 'I thought you an enemy. If I had been carrying a weapon...’
Lith shrugged, unconcerned. He had already determined that the man was not armed before he had made himself known. Instead of responding, the Elf picked up Aragorn’s crutch where it had fallen and handed it back. Aragorn took it.
'Gandalf was right then, it seems, as usual,' the man said, adjusting the supports. He seemed to have recovered quickly from his alarm and now looked faintly amused. 'He thought you were probably nearby. You did not meet me this morn, and when I saw you had not used your rooms, nor even left your pack there, I feared you had left the Valley.'
Lith shook his head. A robin fluttered past and he turned to watch its flight, moving to follow after it as it fluttered away into the trees.
A voice called him. 'Lith, a moment, please.'
Lith saw Aragorn was waiting, and came back.
'What happened to your boots?' Aragorn asked as Lith approached, now sounding slightly wary even as he coughed.
Lith glanced down at his bare feet, and curled his toes into the moss. He considered for a moment, then said, 'My boot…it is broken.'
'So you are talking to me,' Aragorn said. 'I thought perhaps you were angry.'
'No,' said Lith, puzzled. 'I am not angry. I have been listening to the trees.’
Aragorn just stared at him, and Lith realised that the man did not understand. Lith knew he had been speaking Sindarin correctly, so perhaps he just needed to explain further.
‘Here, they are very...awake. It is… harder, afterwards, to think with words.'
Something in Aragorn's expression cleared, as if he had come to a new understanding. But all he said was,' You must be hungry.'
Lith nodded but did not answer. Aragorn sighed, and then coughed a few more times, until the congestion had cleared.
'It is past noonbell,' the man went on, 'but there is always something available, particularly when you have many travellers here as your guests, and some of those are hobbits. Come on. Follow me.’
‘Why?’
‘To find you some food, of course.’
Aragorn turned and started to limp back towards the nearest doorway. Lith did not want to go into the house, but he was hungry. Very hungry. But still he hesitated.
‘Where do we go?’
‘I’ll show you where the kitchen and parlour are. Main meals are served in the great hall but if you go to the kitchen any time of day or night there will be bread or stew available. Do you have your boots? We can also see the cobbler.’
‘I can fix it myself,’ Lith said, not moving.
‘There’s no need.’
‘I do not have money.’
Aragorn waved a hand. ‘That is of no concern. You are a guest here.’
The man began to walk again, and Lith could not help but follow.
‘You cough less,’ Lith observed, after a while.
'Yes,’ Aragorn acknowledged. ‘The result of your good care on the road, followed by Lord Elrond’s skills with herbs and teas. Within a few days the illness will be entirely passed, I am most grateful to say.’
Aragorn paused as if he had meant to say something further, but then changed his mind. ‘This way,’ he said, and led them back onto the terrace. Lith pulled his hood up to cover his face, and followed.
They wove their way through the sprawling elegance of the house, across open porches and covered walkways, passing statues and arches, cupolas, balconies and staircases all carved of white wood, wreathed in living vines and scattered with fallen leaves. It was achingly beautiful. Aragorn coughed often, but the fits passed quickly and did indeed seem much less debilitating than during the final stages of their journey. They did not see many Elves as they walked, but those which they did pass stared at Lith with the usual mix of hatred and disgust. He kept close to Aragorn, let his loose hair and his hood hide his face and ignored their glares. He was soon wishing that he had stayed out in the trees, hungry or otherwise.
Beyond the main house they took a side path and wound down past the stables to a low terrace where there were several long buildings overlooking a courtyard scattered with fallen leaves. Here there were many more Elves moving to and fro, and Lith could smell furnaces and charcoal and the tang of cloth dye. Aragorn took Lith’s tattered old boots and went into one of the buildings with them while Lith stayed out of sight in the trees, watching the distant horses in the field toss their heads as they ran. His arm throbbed with constant pain that echoed the drumming of their hoofbeats.
At length Aragorn returned and they set off back up the weaving path towards the main house. They came to a long hall set about with narrow pillars and open to the autumn woods on each side. The long tables were mainly empty, although a few folk wandered around or sat in corners, intent upon books or crafts. Aragorn took him through an archway into a smaller parlour and then down a few steps into a wide kitchen. A dozen folk, Elves and men, were working there, preparing vegetables, turning meat or carrying trays of loaves. Someone was singing, light and merry. Lith hesitated on the stairs; the room was very busy. Aragorn seemed unconcerned and continued down into the kitchen. He approached a small, dark haired Elf. He was presiding over a young woman busy grinding spices in a pestle.
'Malacar,' Aragorn called, and the Elf turned.
'My Lord Aragorn! We heard you were sick. Injured, even. What happened?'
'Nothing serious, Malacar, as you can see.'
'Have you supped? I can have something prepared for you. Aelben, please lay out a tray, and ale!'
'An ale would be welcome, but I ate earlier with the Lady Arwen, thank you. But Malacar; my friend Lith has not eaten since yesterday and would much appreciate your craft.’ Aragorn turned, and seeing Lith loitering in the shadows on the staircase, beckoned him forward. Lith stepped down into the room, tense and nervous. The stone was cool beneath his bare feet. The butler's eyes fell on him and Lith saw them widen, and the usual look of dismay and horror flickered over Malacar’s face as he noticed the scars on Lith's face and recognised in an instant what they meant.
‘He may be staying with us some time,’ Aragorn was saying. ‘So I would ask that if he comes here, day or night, you will make sure he is fed?'
'But,' Malacar said. He took a step backwards and hissed low, 'That is the Bodadêldir!'
Someone nearby gasped, and the chatter in the room fell quiet. Two dozen eyes turned on him and Lith tensed, ready for the inevitable; the shouting and cursing, the insults as they drove him out...
'He is,' said Aragorn, evenly, placing a hand on Lith’s shoulder and drawing him gently forward. 'But they too must eat. And Lith is a guest here nonetheless, and he is also my friend. Not a week ago he saved my life.'
Malacar seemed to rally himself. Lith saw him straighten up and look to Aragorn again, before he said, unsteadily, 'Yes, my lord. It will be done. Does he require food now?'
'Yes, if you would, Malacar. Thank you.'
Malacar nodded. He cast one last dark look at Lith and then strode away, and to Lith's surprise, that was all. The Elves remained staring but there was no outcry. No curses or insults, kicks or blows. A few moments later a different ellon arrived with a tray. He passed by Lith a little nervously and then carried on up the steps. They followed him out of the kitchen, hearing the whispers begin behind them. The Elf placed the tray on one of the tables in the long hall. He handed a silver tankard from the tray to Aragorn with a quick bow, shot Lith a familiar look of fear, and vanished back into the kitchens. A few faces in the hall turned to glance at them, but Aragorn just sat, stretching his long legs out in front of him. He cleared his throat, picking up the ale tankard and then gestured to the tray of food.
‘Eat,’ he said. ‘You are quite safe here.’
Lith sat slowly, sliding off his pack so it rested against the leg of the table, feeling eyes watching them. Aragorn seemed profoundly unmoved by the stares, and the Ranger’s relaxed posture, combined with his empty belly, let Lith at last drag his attention away from the room and instead look to the food.
He had not been expecting much, some stew perhaps or scraps of bread, but there was a tart of cheese with walnuts and blackberries, slices of sweet dried apple, round barley grains cooked with sage and buttery mushrooms, and soft white bread. There was also a cup of red wine, although that Lith placed at arm's reach.
He spooned the food into his mouth one-handed, so focussed on forcing himself to eat slowly, alert to the presence of the Elves nearby and tense for any sensation of danger, that he did not realise for a moment that Aragorn had spoken.
‘Sorry?’
‘I asked if the food was to your liking.’
‘Oh,’ said Lith, taking the spoon out of his mouth. ‘Yes, it's very good. Do you want some?’ He held out some bread towards Aragorn, but the man gave a little laugh and waved him away. ‘No, my friend, I ate earlier. It is all yours.’
‘Regardless, you are welcome to the wine if you wish for it,’ Lith said, gesturing to the cup.
‘You do not care for wine?’
Lith shook his head. ‘I hate it,’ he muttered. ‘The smell...’
‘Why?’ Aragorn asked, but Lith did not elaborate.
Aragorn held out the tankard. 'Do you drink ale?'
Lith nodded. They probably only brewed ale in Imladris for the benefit of visiting mortals, for few Elves thought much of the taste of the beverage, preferring fine wines of old vintages. But Lith had been in many places where, regardless of his own unusual dislikes, genteel Elvish sensibilities meant nothing at all, and he had grown accustomed to the taste of cheap ale and small beer.
'A trade then,' proposed the Ranger, and they swapped wine cup for ale tankard. If Aragorn thought Lith's preference strange he made no further comment, sipping instead the wine with apparent enjoyment.
Lith drank the ale, which was still much finer than he had ever tasted during all his years in the wilderness, and ate as much of the food as he could. He took the remaining half of the tart and the bread, wrapped the food in a waxed cloth which he carried for the purpose, and put it all into his pack for later. Aragorn watched him but said nothing until the task was complete.
When Lith's plate was empty, Aragorn said, ‘I suppose no-one showed you these halls last time you were here.’
Lith shook his head. ‘Mithrandir brought me food. To the woods.’
‘Ah. Well, there is no need now to avoid this place, nor to rely on any other. If you speak to Malacar, mealtime or not, he will give you anything you need. Now, are you ready to go?’
Lith nodded, and he stood and followed Aragorn out of the hall, keeping his hood up and his head down. Aragorn led him on through the house and he supposed they were returning to the woods. Lith finally felt at ease enough to broach some of the questions which had been troubling him.
‘Why did you tell him I saved your life?’
‘Who? Malacar? Why, because you did, Lith. I should not have survived that encounter with the deep-wolf without your fortitude.’
‘But you saved me also. Twice.’
Aragorn shrugged. ‘I do not intend to keep score between us. I merely wanted them to know that you were more than what they might think of you.’
Lith pondered that for a moment as they walked into a wide, softly lit hall with elegant arches opening out onto a green sward and a gallery of pale stone above. A passing elf-maid wearing minstrel’s braids offered Aragorn a graceful bow but then saw Lith and stepped back with a gasp, eyes wide and fearful. Lith kept his head down and hurried past her after the Ranger.
‘‘The Elves here…’ Lith said, softly when the minstrel was out of sight. ‘They hold you in high regard, even though you are not one of them.’
Aragorn looked thoughtful. ‘Well,’ he said slowly. ‘I was Lord Elrond’s ward, which is one reason. They have known me for many years, and know of my lineage. And although Elves are most prevalent here, there are many residents and visitors of other kinds, and Elrond welcomes all.’
Lith nodded, and lowered his voice again. ‘Lord Elrond,’ he said, uneasily, kneading at the pain in his wrist with his fingers. ‘He should not have used my name, not in front of his people. It could be dangerous--’
‘Let Lord Elrond worry about that,’ Aragorn said. ‘He is wiser than both of us many times over and sees much that others miss. No doubt he had good reason to do what he did. But you may ask him yourself if you wish; we are nearly at his library.’
Lith stopped dead, panic flaring suddenly into life. ‘Why?’
Aragorn paused in his step. ‘He wishes to meet you, of course. There was little chance for a civil greeting yesterday. And there is your injury also; once he has been able to assess it, he may be able to suggest treatments that--’
Lith was already shaking his head and backing away, holding his forearm, tightly. ‘I cannot,’ he said. ‘I--’
‘Lith.’ Aragorn spoke quietly but with firmness. ‘I know that you are afraid, my friend, and that this is asking much of you. But I wish you no harm or ill. All I want is to see you whole and healthy, and able to live free of pain, or the grip of naegranaeth. And though I am a good field healer, you need real Elvish medicine. If any in Middle-earth can help you, it is Elrond. I know you might find it difficult to trust his intentions, but I promise you Elrond seeks only to lessen your suffering. Whatever your past deeds, he is not interested in punishing you further. Will you at least come and speak with him?’
Lith remained frozen, torn between hope and fear, shackled by the lessons that had been painfully learned. Elves rightly feared him and hated him; they meant him nothing but ill, and any suggestion of help was a cruel illusion. But Mithrandir and Aragorn both trusted Elrond, did they not? And really, what did he have to lose? Very slowly, he breathed out, and nodded.
Aragorn gave a small, relieved smile. ‘Very well. Thank you. I know this is difficult. Do you wish to wait here for a moment, and catch your breath? I will see if Elrond is within, and if this is a good time for him to meet with us.’
Lith nodded again. Aragorn gave him an encouraging smile and then turned, heading up the hall and through a distant archway out of sight. Lith slid his pack off his shoulders and sat down on a nearby stone bench that overlooked the curving hall, flanked by graceful statues of armoured maidens with swords held high. Lith curled forwards, holding his bad arm tightly. Could he really dare to hope that Lord Elrond would, or could, help him? It was forbidden by every covenant of Elvish law to aid a Bodadêldir. But so too was it forbidden to give them sanctuary, or call them by a name, and Elrond had done both yesterday, before half a dozen of his people. Last time Lith had been here, he had been able to stay all but unnoticed out in the woods until the Council, but since Elrond had acknowledged him, a full day and a night had passed. All the residents must be aware of the outcast in their midst by now, and they had not yet revolted against his presence, or driven him from their land. Lith had been taught young that the Ñoldor were an arrogant and self-important race, obsessed with rule and heritage, who hungered for war. They viewed the Sindar, he had been told, as unenlightened, ill-disciplined rabble of lesser birth, and Silvan-elves they deemed as little better than wild creatures, uncivilised and uncouth, with no fine crafts or learning or even a written language to call their own. Could his view of the Ñoldor be just as flawed?
Lulled by the rush of the falls beyond the long windows and the distant murmur of Elven song, Lith was startled from his thoughts by the sound of voices approaching. They were close, and he could tell neither was Aragorn returning. For all the acknowledgement that he had been left in peace until now, Lith had no desire to be found here alone by Elves of the household. Without Aragorn or Mithrandir to vouch for him, what might their revulsion and hatred lead them to do? But even as he stood, intending to hide or to flee, it was not Elves which came upon him after all, but a hobbit and a Dwarf, who entered in through an archway on his left. The hobbit glanced at Lith as if to politely greet a passer-by, then suddenly he stopped walking and began instead beaming with delight.
‘Hullo Lith! Well, this is a delightful surprise!’
Bilbo Baggins trotted over and Lith tensed for a moment, thinking he was about to be hugged, but Bilbo just gave him a pat on the leg instead and a broad smile. Lith ghosted his hand over the hobbit’s curly hair in return and managed a little twitch of a smile. Though he had seen Bilbo here not one month ago, he was again dismayed by the signs of age that had come upon the old hobbit; hair that had been acorn brown when Lith had first met him was fading to white, his face was lined like old creased parchment and a walking stick was in his hand. The way a mortal’s body began to decay even while they still breathed had always been a source of dismay and horror to Lith. But Bilbo’s inquisitive eyes were no less bright than they had ever been.
Lith looked next to the Dwarf that accompanied Bilbo. He had a mass of wiry dark red hair and a long beard all knotted with silver clasps, a tunic the colour of old wine, a bronze belt and great black boots tipped with iron. He may have been one of the young dwarves at the Council of Elrond, but then again he might not. Lith was not familiar enough with Dwarves to be able to say.
‘I had no idea you were back in Imladris, my lad,’ Bilbo said, then saw the direction of Lith’s attention. “Oh, yes, you two haven’t really met apart from that whole business at the Council, have you?’
‘We have not met, no,’ said the Dwarf. His voice when he spoke sounded like the rumbling of deep water beneath the earth. When he looked Lith up and down the Elf saw his eyes were bright like hot coals.
“Well, we’d better sort that out right away. Lith, this is Gimli, who is an excellent fellow and the son of my old friend Glóin. He has just been catching me up on all the news from Erebor and Dale. Gimli, this is Lith, who used to go about with Gandalf and visited me in Hobbiton every now and again.’
The dwarf stepped forward. Though most of his face was hidden behind the braids of his beard, Lith thought he now looked unsettled, as if the very task of greeting Lith was distasteful. Still, the Dwarf said, gruff but quite polite, ‘At your service, Master Elf,’ and bowed.
Lith froze at the epithet. It took him too long to remember to bow back and even when he did he knew his motions must have looked stiff and unfriendly. In comparison to the Dwarf's finery, Lith was suddenly very aware of his bare feet and muddy, tattered clothing.
‘Gandalf told me you had gone off again, after the Council,’ the old hobbit chattered on, seeming oblivious to Lith’s discomfort or the Dwarf’s irritation. ‘After those other Wood-elves were so frightfully rude, well, I can’t say I blame you. But they’ve gone home back to Mirkwood now, and I hope they remember their manners on the way! Are you staying long this time?’
Lith managed a little, helpless shrug. He looked at the Dwarf Gimli again, and saw that he was frowning, and appeared displeased.
‘And from where do you hail, Master Elf?’ Gimli said, planting his feet and tucking his thumbs into his belt. ‘What is your business here? I don’t believe that was mentioned at the Council.’
Lith knew not what to say, but even if he had, his tongue had cleaved to his mouth again as it often did when distress, fear and pain overwhelmed him, or when he lost himself in the woods or too deeply in his own thoughts. He had been but one day in Imladris, and every moment he was tense, ready for rejection, for attack. So he said nothing, could not, even if he had wanted to, and in front of him the Dwarf narrowed his eyes at what must have seemed like rudeness. Lith felt his heart pulse heavy in his chest and throb into his arm, and his stomach churned at the thought he had caused yet more offence. When would Aragorn return?
‘Oh, we’re not supposed to talk about where Lith is from,’ said Bilbo, airily. 'There is some law or other. But he must have travelled to almost every corner of Middle-earth by now I should think! You shall have to tell me some of your tales later, my lad.’
'So, is it just Dwarves he will not speak to?' Gimli growled, sounding insulted. ‘Or has he taken some dislike to this Dwarf in particular?’
'Come, Gimli; you mustn't take offence where none is intended.' Bilbo said. 'Lith does not always talk, you see. It’s just his way. Isn't that right?’
Lith managed a tiny nod.
‘He used his voice well enough at Elrond’s Council,’ said the Dwarf, still raised in ire. Lith stepped back, unconsciously. His back touched the wall.
‘It comes and goes, I think,’ Bilbo said, mildly.
‘Why?’ said the Dwarf, his tone starting to turn more towards curiosity than anger. 'Does he bear some old injury?’
‘You know, I’m not sure,’ said Bilbo. ‘Gandalf probably knows. But Lith, my lad, what happened to your shoes? For it’s certainly not the custom of Elves to go around unshod!’
Lith glanced down at his feet: bare, muddy and scratched as they were. He doubted it was the custom for Elves to go around unbraided, unwashed, and in cast-off mannish clothing either, but he knew those too were features of his present appearance, never mind the twigs in his hair. He hugged his ruined arm tightly to his chest.
Bilbo chuckled. ‘We’ll make a hobbit of you yet, my lad,’ he said, kindly, and gave Lith’s knee another pat. ‘Now, I was on my way to the Hall of Fire; they will be ringing the dinner bell in a few hours and I want to do some thinking before Frodo and the others come back. Those young fellows have gone walking up in the pine-woods this afternoon. I know you don’t love indoor places, Lith, so come find me on the terraces by the great oak after dinner one day and Frodo—he’s my heir, you know—will be very pleased to meet you at last.’
Lith gave another nod, and the old hobbit beamed.
Then, at last, he heard the sound he had been aching to hear; a familiar, muffled cough and the tap-tap of wood on stone. They all turned to see Aragorn returning down the hall, and at his side was the imposing, stately figure of the Master of Rivendell, Elrond Halfelven. The burst of courage which had held Lith firm under the lord's gaze in the courtyard yestereve was long gone now, and he would have fled if the hobbit and Dwarf had not been blocking his way. But there was nothing to be done because just a moment later the two newcomers arrived. Elrond swept his eyes across the trio and Lith tried not to quail beneath his stern and erudite gaze.
Bilbo seemed entirely unmoved by the arrival of the imposing lord for he had eyes only for the state of Aragorn. ‘Dúnadan!’ he cried, looking Aragorn up and down, taking in his crutches and his pallor. ‘Dúnadan, my dear fellow, what on earth have you been up to? You barely just arrived here with Frodo, and you were well enough at Elrond’s Council!’
‘An encounter with a rather persistent wolf,’ Aragorn said with a smile, and he cast a lightning fast glance over Lith, though the Elf knew not what he looked for. ‘I was fortunate that I had a friend with me. But never mind ‘just arrived’, Master Baggins; since the Council, I have been away on a journey for some weeks.’
‘Weeks?’ said Bilbo, with amazement.
‘If you look up from your books every now and again, little master, you will see it is nearly the end of November,’ said Lord Elrond. He seemed faintly amused by something.
‘Well, there’s a strange thing. But then, time does pass differently here in Rivendell.'
'It does indeed, Master Baggins,' agreed the Dwarf Gimli, who seemed to have decided to ignore Lith entirely. ‘And, meaning no offence, Master Elrond, but most unnatural it seems too. I feel like I arrived here not a day ago myself. But today, at least, the day will be marked by new meetings.’ Gimli turned to Aragorn. 'We have not been introduced except in passing. Gimli Glóinsson,' he said, with a deep bow. 'At your service. But no need to ask your lineage, at least! If I heard aright at the Council you are the one they call the Heir of Isildur, and Heir of all the Kingdoms of Men! I trust you have not also lost your tongue.' Gimli shot Lith one more dark look.
Aragorn didn’t react to the last comment, and merely returned the bow. 'At yours and your family's,' he said, formally. 'But just Aragorn will do, Master Dwarf.'
Bilbo snorted. 'The Dúnadan has more names than a hobbit has hairs on his feet.’
Aragorn gave Bilbo an affectionate pat on the shoulder and then looked to Gimli. ‘Your father did not also remain in Imladris, Gimli?’
‘Nay,' said the Dwarf. ‘Most of my kinsmen decided to set out last week, for it is a long journey and there is much to do in Erebor.’
Bilbo nodded. ‘Glóin is a capital fellow and though he had to go home I am glad to have young Gimli here instead. He is excellent company. He has been catching me up on all the news from the Mountain. You know Bofur has five children now? Five! I must make some notes for my book before I forget it all.’
‘A fine endeavour,’ Aragorn said, gravely. ‘But I gather that you did not just remain here just to help Master Baggins with his book, Gimli.’
'No, indeed! While my people have troubles enough of our own, it was clear from the talk at the Council that the worst perils are yet to come, and this treasure of the enemy is the cause and will be right at the thick of it. Thus I have offered my services to Lord Elrond in this venture of the Ring, at least as far as the mountains.’
‘And I have accepted,’ Elrond said. ‘It is just that each of the Free Peoples should have a part to play in this great mission.’
‘When the ring travels south,’ Gimli said to Aragorn, ‘I shall go with you and Gandalf, and my axe shall clear your way.'
‘You and your axe are most welcome,’ said Aragorn, but Lith had stopped listening because he had finally realised what all this talk meant. Aragorn and Mithrandir were leaving Imladris. He did not know where they would go, or when, but he feared that all too soon two of those he cared most for in this forsaken world would leave him, travelling into a danger and darkness that he could barely comprehend. He understood enough to know what was at stake if the ring was not kept hidden; darkness would devour light and life and all green and growing things. He knew he mattered nothing, particularly in contrast to such great matters. But for a moment all he could think was that he was going to be without them once again.
When he next was paying attention, Bilbo and the Dwarf Gimli were bidding Aragorn and Elrond good day and heading away down the hall the way he and Aragorn had come. The Dwarf cast a dark look back over his shoulder at Lith before they rounded the curve of the pergola and were out of sight.
Aragorn touched Lith’s shoulder, lightly. He looked up into the man’s concerned grey eyes.
‘Are you well, my friend?’ Aragorn softly asked. Lith just nodded, mutely.
Lord Elrond stood a few paces further off. He was lordly and elegant, poised in layered robes of midnight blue and slate grey velvet, his hands clasped behind his back. Lith could not read his expression.
‘If you would both like to follow me,’ Elrond said, and then turned and glided away towards a distant archway. Aragorn nodded at Lith, encouragingly, and so Lith started to follow. He could hear the tap of Aragorn’s crutches behind.
Elrond led them through quiet halls lined with bookcases and writing slopes, and many scrolls and maps, into a large open chamber whose arched windows looked out across a great cascade of water that hung like a silver curtain across the valley. The room smelled of herbs and clean linen. Seven or eight raised beds were set around the walls. Two were perhaps occupied, hidden by curtains, and three other Elves were moving around the room, carrying ewers or cloth. All three turned to stare at Lith as they entered, although Elrond acknowledged them only with a nod, and did not pause, sweeping on through the room and out into another smaller chamber beyond. Here, the shelves and drawers that lined the walls were filled with jars of dried herbs, seeds and ground minerals. Living plants cascaded from wall sconces, and the open windows looked west across the bare trees. Lith had been here before only once, when he had crept in to steal the naegranaeth. He froze in the doorway, guilt suddenly overwhelming every other sense and emotion. Elrond and Aragorn seemed not to have noticed.
‘If both of you would please sit,’ said the Elf-lord, moving around the room. ‘I believe we have much to discuss, and I would also see to your various ills. Have you both eaten this day?’
‘We came straight from the dining halls,' Aragorn answered.
Elrond nodded, and reached for a small bell. ‘I will send Berianar for some wine.’
'I think we would prefer tea, if it is all the same to you?’ asked Aragorn, moving to the fireplace to put the kettle on its stand.
‘Of course,’ Elrond said, seamlessly. He set down the bell without sounding it, and instead reached for a shelf of teas. ‘What would you--’
‘I am sorry!’
The words blurted out of Lith before he could hold them back. The others turned to look at him.
‘For what, young one?’ asked Elrond, setting down the teapot.
‘For the theft of your herbs,’ Lith murmured, surprised that guilt had loosened his tongue when fear had not. He clutched his wrist, tightly. ‘I did not want to steal, but I was angry and desperate. I am sorry.’ He forced his chin up and his back straight. ‘I will submit to any punishment you ordain.’
‘Your apology is accepted,’ Elrond said, slowly, consideringly. ‘Perhaps Mithrandir did not explain to you the rules of this house on your last visit, so I will do so now. It is not our way here in Imladris that any should go wanting. Those without will always find food and shelter here. There is a room and a bed put aside for you, and if you have need of healing, clothing, or footwear while as my guest, those too can all be provided. You may even bathe, if you wish.’ He gave Lith a pointed look. ‘But our hospitality is not weakness, and I do not tolerate those that abuse it. Anything you require, you need only ask myself, Mithrandir or Aragorn. You will not help yourself from my stores, nor steal from the other guests. Is that clear?’
Lith nodded, feeling his face tight with shame. ‘I understand. I will submit to punishment.’
‘I have no interest in seeking punishment,’ Elrond said. ‘I wish only to be confident that the matter need not arise again. Your apology and word of good conduct will satisfy me.’
‘But I violated your hospitality.’ Lith pointed out. ‘I stole from Elfkind. Retribution is just.’
Elrond and Aragorn glanced at each other.
‘What punishment would you deem fit for such a transgression?’ Aragorn asked.
Lith paused, taken aback. ‘I am not familiar with Ñoldorin laws,’ he said. ‘A lashing, or confinement to the cells, I suppose.’
‘A lashing?’ said Aragorn, and to Lith’s surprise he sounded quite alarmed. Elrond raised a hand, stalling whatever he would have said next.
‘Aragorn, I believe the water has heated sufficiently,’ the Elf-lord said. ‘Would you mind seeing to the tea?’
Aragorn nodded and moved to obey, and Elrond turned then to Lith. ‘We have no dungeon here,’ he said, quietly. ‘And unlike the lands of men I do not demand physical harm in sentence for the theft of a handful of herbs. If you insist that a recompense must be made, then your punishment is this. Sit, and tell me why you needed the naegranaeth, and what became of the herb supply you took from here? It can be dangerous if used improperly.’
Lith opened his mouth, then closed it again. He sat down in the seat indicated, opposite the Elf-lord; it looked out across the open arch window to the distant falls. The moss green rug on the floor was soft under his bare heels. When he looked up again Elrond’s face was stern and grave.
‘Aragorn has it,’ Lith said at last.
Aragorn nodded. He finished filling the teapot, set the kettle back on the fire, and then reached into a pocket. He handed the leather pouch to Elrond, who looked inside. His eyebrows raised.
‘Less than half remains,’ he said, gravely. ‘You have used all the rest since you were last here?’
Lith curled forwards and dropped his gaze. His fingers fluttered over the smooth dark wood of the chair arm, finding a texture of trailing ivy leaves carved there. His throat tried to close up again, but when he raised his eyes there was no condemnation on the faces before him.
‘I am not trying to shame you, nor cast judgement,’ Elrond said. ‘But I need to know what has occurred so that I can determine the correct remedy. Now, if you are uncomfortable speaking before us I can send for another; Mithrandir perhaps--’
‘No, please! Mithrandir does not know. I do not want him to know. Please, I beg you my lord, tell him nothing of this. I--’
‘Breathe, elfling,’ Elrond said. ‘It is not an easy thing to conceal anything from a wizard, but I promise that if he hears of this, it shall not be from Aragorn nor I unless you permit it. Now, this injury. It is to your arm?’ He readied a sheet of parchment and dipped a quill, ready to note down Lith’s answers perhaps.
Lith nodded, slowly. ‘I…’ he said. ‘My arm hurts.’
‘After what kind of movement?’
Lith said nothing.
‘A constant pain, then. So you take numbing herbs?’
‘Not every day,’ Lith said, hastily. ‘I can bear it. It is not so bad. But sometimes, when the weather turns or I have to use my hand too much to cut wood or do farm work, it can be…Herbs help, sometimes, when I cannot sleep or think. Aragorn knows of it.’
‘I learned of the wound and the herb use a few weeks past,’ Aragorn said as he stirred honey into the tea, and passed a cup to each of them. ‘In the last few days at Lith’s request I have been doing what I can to help.’
Lith took the stoneware mug he was offered and curled both thin hands around the warm ceramic. The subtle heat soothed the ache in his palm. After a moment he sipped; the tea tasted like heather honey and camomile.
‘Now can you describe the nature of the pain? What is its source?’ Even as Elrond spoke the quill kept up its scratching. Lith looked between the man and the Elf-lord, eyes wide.
Elrond waited a moment, and then said, ‘Or perhaps you could tell me more about the numbing herbs. How long have you been taking them?’
Lith opened his mouth and then closed it again. He looked at Aragorn once more. Could the man not tell of it instead? Could Lith not be spared this humiliation a second time? Elrond followed his gaze, and then with infinite patience, said, ‘Aragorn, perhaps if you could speak then of what you know of this, that would be a good place to start?’
‘I can tell what I know, though it is not very much,’ Aragorn said, and then after waiting for Lith’s nod, continued. ‘Although I had previously observed that Lith bore a wound, I only learned of the extent of the injury, chronic pain, and herb use after an incident at the river at Tadoliant. Lith leapt into the flood waters to rescue two children, and while pulling him from the river, I unintentionally exacerbated the arm injury; an old cut, poorly healed. When I saw him using naegranaeth I confronted Lith about it and he later showed me the wound which I treated with salves for inflammation. I believe Lith has been using such herbs for so long that he has built up a tolerance, even some level of immunity to their effects but also a dependency on them. I have been trying to help Lith lower his consumption of the pain-bite for several days. But I'm afraid my own illness distracted me from his care.'
‘I see,’ Elrond said, writing quickly. 'What dosage?'
'One half-spoon each evening, after food.'
‘I took too much,’ Lith said.
Elrond's quill paused. ‘Do you speak generally or of a specific incident?’
‘After we fought the brôgaraf and she knocked me down. My arm was trapped under me. It was...very painful. I needed just a few moments of relief but nothing worked. I took more than I meant to.’
Elrond nodded, slowly. He still did not look angry, even at this confession of weakness.
‘What happened after that?’
‘Aragorn made me walk around, for hours, drink and eat and not sleep until the drug had worn away. Then I gave up to him all of the naegranaeth that I had, for safe-keeping.’
‘I understand.’ said Elrond, and then, very gently, he added, ‘Was it only because of the physical pain that you took too much of the herb? Or were you, perhaps, hoping not to wake again?’
Lith flinched. His right hand went to the arm of the chair, fingers tapping over the carvings once more. ‘I do not know,’ he whispered. ‘I do not wish to talk about it.’
‘Very well,’ Elrond said, without judgement or censure. ‘We will discuss it further at another time’.
He stood, went across the room, and returned the packet of naegranaeth to the small drawer from where Lith had taken it a month ago. ‘Aragorn is correct that the substance can be most addictive and we must be careful lowering your dependency, but you may both be reassured that in an Elf its potency will quickly weaken. Have you experienced side effects since you began to reduce your use?’
‘Sickness,’ Lith said. ‘Headaches. My skin crawls; it has been almost impossible to sleep. And if, perchance, I do fall into sleep, my dreams are...unusually vivid and undisciplined, even uncontrollable.’
‘And now?’
‘Less so now. The effects wear off.’
‘Did you sleep last night?’
‘Yes. And the dreams were...less potent.’
‘Good,’ said Elrond. ‘We will continue with the present course of treatment, then. I will measure your dose for you each evening and have it sent to your talan. In one of the Eldar, I think it will not be more than a week before you are free of the physical dependency. Then we need only to address your mind’s need and reduce the cause of the herb use in the first place: your injury and the pain it causes.’
Lith swallowed, and looked down. For a moment he had been optimistic: a week to be free of the reliance on the pain-bite, and fewer side effects too. But his arm could never be healed, and he knew all too soon he would be back where he started.
‘Well then,’ the Elf-lord said. ‘Let us see what we are dealing with,’ and he reached out for Lith’s bad arm. Although the movement wasn’t sudden, lost as he was in his dark thoughts, it took Lith by surprise and he panicked. He jerked the limb away and darted back out his seat; the chair tipped back with a crash and his tea mug fell to the floor and rolled away, spilling dark fluid across the boards like blood. Lith was halfway to the window when he heard Aragorn say, ‘Lith, wait! Please.’
Lith paused by the sill, but when Elrond stepped closer he couldn’t help but cringe back as if expecting a blow. It was still hard, sometimes, to suppress those old instincts, particularly now he was amongst Elves again for the first time and face to face with Lord Elrond, with his undeniable authority and aura of banked power.
But Elrond did not lash out in anger at Lith’s disrespect. Instead, both Elrond and Aragorn remained very still, their expressions calm and unreadable. Aragorn said, in measured tones ‘All is well, my friend. You are in no danger here.’
Slowly, Elrond raised his hands and brought them out wide, keeping his movements easy and unthreatening. ‘Lith,’ the Elf-lord said, and the sound of the name from Elven lips was so strange. ‘You know we are not going to harm you.’
Lith swallowed, and nodded, looking down. His hand rested on the sill; the open window was right at his back.
‘Whatever you may believe, or have been told,’ Elrond continued in the same even tone. ‘I want nothing but for your pain to be eased. I should have explained the action I was about to take more fully, and for that I apologise. I am sure that there are methods or treatments I can offer that will bring relief to your pains, but I will do nothing without your consent. To that I will give my oath.’
Lith nodded a little, to show he understood. His gaze darted to Aragorn again.
‘I can see you need a moment to gather your thoughts,’ Elrond said. ‘Today I wish only to examine your arm and determine the cause of your pain. You may take time to consider if that is something you agree to while I check the healing on Aragorn’s leg. I deem he has been walking on it much this day and may have caused irritation to the stitches.’
‘You may be right,’ Aragorn acknowledged with a sigh. 'The wound has been troubling me.’ Then, their attention was on him no longer. Elrond turned to a nearby table, gathering up rolls of clean dressings and salves, while Aragorn righted Lith’s vacated chair and rescued his mug. Then Aragorn sat beside Elrond, raising his foot up on a low stool so the healer could access the injury.
Lith stayed by the window as Elrond worked to remove linen dressings and then clean the stitched wolf-bite. The pair spoke softly, and at length they even asked the occasional question of Lith about the events of their journey, his observations on the weather or details of the wolf’s behaviour. Slowly Lith found his fear and alarm dissipating.
When Aragorn’s leg wound was redressed once again—and it was indeed looking far better than when Lith had last seen it inflamed, swollen and oozing bloody pus—Elrond finally turned to Lith.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Would you permit me to examine the wound you bear? I will not touch it unless you first give your permission.’
Lith ducked his head, but said nothing. He clutched his left arm tightly, feeling the cramp and the ache. Lith glanced over at Aragorn.
‘Do you wish for me to leave?’ Aragorn asked quietly.
Lith quickly shook his head. ‘Stay?’ he said. ‘Please.’
Aragorn nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said, and then stood carefully. ‘First I will ask Berianar for fresh water. I could use some more tea, I think.’
Elrond turned to Lith. ‘Come, sit here by the light, if you would. I will need you to take off your coat and your glove.’
Lith approached, reluctantly, and perched on the very edge of the seat Aragorn had just vacated. He pulled off his hood, and then slipped out of his old grey wool coat, bundling the garments up on his lap. The long glove he wore on that arm came away last. Aragorn returned carrying a ewer and filled the kettle by the fireplace again. To Lith, he was a comforting presence in the room.
Lord Elrond was now sitting directly opposite Lith, leaning in. He did not reach for Lith’s arm straight away this time, but asked, ‘This wound that you bear. It is not recent, I gather?’
‘No,’ said Lith, softly.
‘How long have you borne it?’
‘I do not know.’
‘But it has worsened recently.’
‘Yes. A little.’
‘Can you tell me the original circumstances by which the injury occurred?’
Lith shook his head immediately, then panicked slightly. He wondered if the refusal would anger the Elf-lord.
‘That is fine,’ said Elrond. His voice was unchanged, and there was still neither anger nor even irritation in it. ‘Will you permit me to examine the wound now?’
It took a long moment for Lith to build up every scrap of courage he had, but at last he nodded. When Elrond gently took Lith’s wrist and extended his arm out before him, Lith closed his eyes and breathed deeply, but he didn’t pull away.
Elrond carefully rolled up the sleeve of Lith’s worn, old shirt, and then peeled away the old bandages beneath. Lith kept his eyes closed so that he would not have to see the Elf-lord’s reaction. Elrond, however, gave even less of an observable response to the state of his scarred wrist than had Aragorn. He merely turned the limb carefully from side to side as if observing it from all angles. At last he said:
‘May I touch?’
Lith just nodded again, though he was still tense as a bow string. Suddenly Aragorn was stepping closer, and the comforting smell of honey and camomile rose up as more tea was poured. As the cup was placed on the table beside him, Aragorn said, ‘So it would seem you know our Master Baggins, Lith.’
Lith opened his eyes and glanced over at the man, confused by the sudden question. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘A little.’
‘And Gimli too?’ Aragorn asked, just as Lith felt Elrond’s fingers rest on the ruined skin of his arm. He flinched but didn’t pull away.
‘No, not the Dwarf. I do not know him.’
‘How did it come to pass that you have met Bilbo before?’ Aragorn continued. ‘That I would be most interested to know.’
‘Mithrandir took me,’ Lith explained, after a deep breath. ‘After the fire, at Staddle.’ Aragorn was still watching him encouragingly, so Lith continued. ‘I was not well—the smoke. Mithrandir knew of a friendly place, close by, that he said we could go to until I was recovered.’
Elrond’s thumb pushed into a painful knot of scars below his wrist. Lith flinched again and the Elf-lord murmured an apology.
Aragorn asked, ‘So you went with him to Hobbiton?’
Lith nodded, and breathed raggedly. ‘Yes. Bilbo was very kind.’
‘Do you know Frodo also, then?’
‘No. I went back to the Shire a few times again afterwards, but I did not meet any other. I am glad Bilbo lives here in safety.’
Elrond recalled Lith’s attention then, asking him to comment on the sensation as he touched parts of Lith's hand and fingers. Lith complied, feeling his agitation fade. The examination continued for a while longer but at last Elrond seemed to have finished.
‘The wound is quite grievous,’ he said. ‘It pains me just to look at it; I cannot imagine how it feels to bear.’
‘It is not enjoyable,’ said Lith, relieved that the ordeal was over, but surprising himself with the bitterness of his own reply. He tugged his sleeve down again to cover the ugly sight of his arm and tucked the limb in against his ribs. He felt wrung out and exhausted beyond words. It was clear from Elrond’s grave expression that he had not good news. For all that Aragorn had pushed Lith to seek help, he had not truly expected any positive outcome, and yet somehow the disappointment still stung.
Elrond sighed. ‘I wish I could give you better news but I cannot undo what has been done here. The tendons have been damaged beyond repair, I suspect many vessels and nerves are severed. Even if I had treated the wound when it was new I do not think I could have restored their full function. I am sorry.’
Lith nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said, and made to rise.
‘Wait,’ Elrond said. ‘Wait, Lith, I have not finished. I cannot return the mobility and strength of your arm to how they were before you were harmed. But I did not say that I cannot improve them. Left untreated, the tissues have knotted poorly as they have mended, and this is causing much of the weakness and pain you suffer. I believe I can remove the scar tissue and encourage some of the flesh back into something more like its proper form. You will not find your left arm as strong as the right, but I believe you will find it better than at present.’
Lith stilled. ‘How?’
Elrond said, ‘There will be a number of surgeries, tissue treatments and a process of healing. This may take several weeks. Then I will devise a program of exercises to build your strength and motion. I would propose to begin as soon as possible. Today, if you are willing.’
For a moment Lith actually considered it. Treatment, healing. A permanent relief from the pain. Then the impossibility of it all came flooding back. ‘It is forbidden,’ Lith said, and even in his own ears his voice sounded hollow. ‘You cannot help me. It is forbidden.’
‘I care nothing for such pronouncements,’ Elrond said. ‘And I am beholden to no laws but the will of the Valar and my own counsel. There are obligations which are more sacrosanct than the law of man or Elf. Compassion, mercy, forgiveness. That is where true justice lies. Your punishment of exile is enough, more than enough; you do not deserve also to be condemned to an eternity of lingering pain. I will put that right if I can. If you will let me but try.’
‘But I am Bodadêldir,’ Lith replied, his voice coming too loudly. He felt tearful, almost panicked. ‘You should throw me from this house, curse me, and cast me out! I am evil! I do not understand why you would do this. I do not understand!’
‘Lith,’ Elrond said, soft and very patiently. ‘Look at me.’
Lith raised his head slowly and looked up at the revered Elf-lord, so blindingly bright in his majesty and compassion, and at his right hand was Aragorn.
Then Elrond spoke, grave and earnest. ‘I am old. I have seen lands fall and oceans rise, great armies break apart like water on rock, and towering cities crumble to the dust of ruin. I have seen evil, true evil, spawned for nothing but cruelty and malice, but I have also been there when seeds of doubt twisted into a canker of hate, bringing the hearts of once noble Elves and men to corruption. I have loved those who let their love of light drive them into a darkness of their own making from which there was no escape. I know evil. You are not it. Whatever your past actions were, something more than malice drove them; of that I am certain. You do not deserve this pain.’
Lith hung his head down and stared at his forearm where it lay in his lap. He clenched his hand tight, and felt the weakness in his fingers, the unrelenting pain that throbbed down into what felt like the bone itself. Was this truly his penance? Could there be another way?
Aragorn said, ‘Think of it like this. Does your present suffering undo what harm you did?’
Lith hesitated, and then he shook his head.
‘Then choose to be free of it.’
Lith stared at his hand for a long time. ‘All right,’ he said, at last, looking up. ‘Yes. I want to be healed. I choose this.'
Elrond smiled.