Chapter LVII: Hurts Unseen

When next Aragorn awoke it was to a terrible yearning thirst. His tongue was thick within his mouth and there was a tang of blood upon his lips. His body seemed pressed into the mattress as if by a great weight, and the ache in his ribs was for a brief moment the only hurt that he could feel. Then the others came swooping back to peck at him with their various cruel beaks: some sharp and thin and swift, others hard and heavy and deep. He stirred against a fiery ripple in his leg, and gentle hands gripped his right arm and his left side and helped him, painfully and dizzily, to turn and to sit.

The effort was exhausting, but almost at once a vessel was lifted to his lips and cold water lapped mercifully against his teeth. He drank; a cautious sip and then a more substantial swallow. His eyes focused slowly upon the face of the male healer.

'Again,' said Helegond gently, tipping the cup. 'I left you to sleep undisturbed, but as a consequence you are surely parched. In great pain also, I should think?'

Aragorn said nothing to this. He was not entirely sure he could say anything, at least not until he took more water. His throat seemed closed with thirst, and only shallow breaths and the sweet trickling fluid could pass it. His head was reeling and he wished he might lay back against the pillows, but there was a hot persistent pulsing across his back and deep in his right flank that told him this would not be wise. So he leaned further over his lap, spine curled and shoulders sagging, and took timid mouthfuls of the water.

When the flagon was empty Helegond reached to set it on the table, all the while keeping his other hand bracingly upon Aragorn's elbow. Then his emptied fingers found their way to the Ranger's face, pushing aside the curtain of grimy hair to feel his cheeks and his temples and his brow.

'You have a fever,' he said. 'Lethril reported no signs of serious infection; only a trace of purulent matter at your left wrist and an old abscess in your arm. Do you know of any festering wound that she did not find?'

Still not quite able to speak, Aragorn dared to shake his head briefly from side to side. The motion sent the whole room reeling, and his fingers clutched at the bedclothes. The sheet was damp with perspiration and the blanket twisted awkwardly under his aching knuckles. He leaned into the healer's grasp, fearful lest he should fall back upon the worst of his hurts. From far away he could hear the Elf speaking.

'Then that is as I feared. The showing of blood was small, but it seems you have harmed the organs of your right side. It must have been a mighty blow or a dreadful fall, to bruise so deeply.'

His fingers were probing below Aragorn's right floating ribs now, and from the points where pressure was applied blinding anguish shot out deep into his viscera. Choking against the urge to cry out, the Man's grip on the covers tightened and his breath came forth in a rattling wheeze. The offending hand moved lower, right into the heart of the pain, and darkness swam up with its maw agape. For a hideous and indeterminate span of time he knew nothing, and then the torment dimmed to a steading tortured throbbing and he could feel the healer's hand upon the bruised crest of his hip, coming to the end of its quest.

'The kidney, certainly; the sinews about your lowest rib and perhaps the lung beneath. There is a rattle of fluid when you breathe.' Helegond stepped back and Aragorn felt himself listing without the support against his right arm. He bowed lower over his lap, sweat trickling into his eyes.

'It is well that the other side is uninjured,' said Helegond. He came back to the bed with the cup in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. With the former he bathed Aragorn's brow and throat before settling it as a cool pad against the back of his neck. He held the vessel so that his patient might drink. 'I am loath to restrict your intake of water, for you have lost much blood and must contrive to replenish it. We must hope your left organ may compensate for the harm to the right.'

Aragorn said nothing. He felt utterly wrung out upon the rack of his many hurts, and it was all that he could do to sip the water and cling to consciousness. Despite the warmth of the room he felt a chill creeping over him as the perspiration cooled upon his bare back. He could not quite supress a deep convulsion.

Beside him the Elven healer frowned, running one hand consolingly up the Man's arm. 'I have brought fresh linen and a robe,' he said; 'and I would have the sheets changed if you can bear to sit up a while. When you are strong enough you shall have to bathe, but I do not think it wise to undertake that labour yet.'

'No,' Aragorn breathed, able at last to speak. 'It would not be wise. I can sit, if you will help me to the chair.'

Carefully Helegond drew back the sheets, pausing for a moment to look at the Ranger's right ankle. Freed of the constrictive pressure of the boot it had swollen grotesquely, and the bandages did little to contain the inflammation. Below their shroud his toes were bruised and chapped, open sores still weeping where chilblains had ruptured. Aragorn cast his eyes away and tried to divert his mind from the host of worries that came from seeing his foot, his most crucial tool, in such ill straits.

The healer was lifting his knee against the dim protest of stiff and weary muscles. Gently he drew the right leg to the edge of the mattress, and then reached for the left. Bestirring himself, Aragorn used his arms to lever his body so that his hips could swivel. He let his left foot slip down to press against the smooth stone floor. From his heel and the ball of his foot sharp daggers of pain shot, but this was the ordinary misery that came from walking too long and too far in broken boots. He ignored it. Helegond put his hand beneath Aragorn's left arm, bracing against the ribs, and offered his other to the Man to grasp. They pulled together, Aragorn struggling to find any strength at all while his helper drew upon him with graceful ease. There was an anxious moment when it seemed his left knee would not hold, but then he was up. He shifted his left heel, keeping his right foot well clear of the ground, and let Helegond ease him backwards into the carven chair that stood ready. His hands closed upon the armrests and he braced his body with his left leg so that he should not slide down onto the floor. He felt a gentle hand under his calf, lifting his right leg, and distantly he heard the scrape of a stool before his ankle was eased down upon a tapestry cushion.

'There,' said the Elf. 'Hard work, no doubt, but it's over now.'

He measured out a copper-coloured concoction into a small goblet and held it for Aragorn to drink. The fluid was liberally sweetened, but beneath there was the bitter taste of bearberry leaves and laudanum. He drained the cup and felt it warm him even as his stomach roiled and lurched. Helegond then turned his attention upon the bed, stripping away the blankets and tucking a fresh sheet neatly over the two mattresses. Aragorn was aware of his labours but did not watch them, fixing his bleary gaze upon his hands where they curled against the filthy fabric of his braies. For a bemused moment he wondered what had befallen his other clothing, and then he remembered giving his leave to have his boots and tunic cut away. Softly he sighed. He would prove a sore burden upon his host, requiring not only many days' care as his body healed but a full set of garments at the end of it. He had no claim of kinship nor of affinity upon Thranduil; he was entirely reliant upon the king's mercy and good will.

Finished with the bed, Helegond set about helping his patient into fresh garments. It was an awkward process, and not without pain, but in the end Aragorn sat in a soft flannel robe over clean body linen. The robe was too short at cuff and hem, but it satisfied his modesty and provided some comfort against the chill of his fever. Exhausted from the exertions of dressing even so simply, the Ranger slumped in the chair with his wrenched ankle elevated before him, trying to gather his courage for the transfer back to the bed. He was still struggling with his will when there came a knock at the door. The healer answered and exchanged quiet words with the person without, then came back to the table bearing a tray laden with food.

'You must eat,' he said as he set it down and pulled the elegantly-carven table nearer to Aragorn. 'You took nothing yesterday, for you slept so deeply, and when one loses a great quantity of blood it is necessary to take plentiful nourishment. Has the tincture taken hold, or would you sooner wait a few minutes?'

Aragorn stared mutely at the tray. There was a dish of roasted venison rich with spiced gravy; an assortment of winter vegetables stewed in honey; warm bread and soft new butter; thin slices of aged cheese; a game hen resting on a bed of parsley; two thick slices of tart, one saffron and the other apple; and a bowl of lampreys in a thick sauce. The bevy of wholesome smells that rose from this sumptuous assortment of foods awoke in him two disparate sensations. The first, arising from his mouth and his mind, was a piteous yearning for hot and nourishing food flavoured with the luxuries of a well-appointed kitchen. The second, deep within his stomach and rising through his chest to hover just below his throat, was an almost unbearable nausea.

'We did not know what you might like best to eat,' said Helegond, laying out a napkin and pouring a fresh flagon of water. 'If there is something you do not fancy, or anything you crave, you have only to say. Galion has orders to accommodate your every wish.'

With unsteady hands Aragorn reached for the bread. He broke off a small piece and held it, staring at the golden crust and the soft white cloud within. Sternly he tried to quell the feeling of sickness. He knew that Helegond spoke aright, and that he would recover neither his health nor his lost blood if he did not eat. Yet there was nothing at this moment that he wished to do less. Mustering his will he raised the bread to his mouth. It tasted of ash and he chewed with ponderous reluctance. When at last it came time to swallow he was scarcely able to force it down, and it seemed to sit like a stone within him, heavy beneath his breastbone.

Helegond nodded his approval and turned his attention to sorting his tools and dressings. Slowly and against the wishes of his body Aragorn reached to take another piece of the bread. Any dream he had harboured before of relishing a proper meal was fled. He could find neither desire nor hunger to infuse pleasure into this labour. Again he bit down upon the thin flaking crust, and again he tasted only bitterness. Yet he could feel the giddiness in his aching head, and the tremors in his hands, and he knew that he must eat. It was a weary and a joyless labour, but if he wished to recover his vigour he had to do it.

There was a knock at the door again, and this time when Helegond came back he had a towel draped over his arm and a large basin of packed snow in his hands. He knelt between the chair and the bed and removed the bindings from Aragorn's ankle.

'Cold will ease the inflammation and may help the pain,' he began, then recalled himself and flushed. 'Forgive me; you know that, of course.' Then quietly he rolled snow in the towel and wrapped the resulting poultice gently over the bloated joint. The first shock of the cold was wretched, but after that it settled into a soothing weight as the snow began to melt and chilled water trickled over the foot. It soaked the pillow, but the Elf appeared unconcerned by this. Reluctantly Aragorn turned his attention back to the bread.

The third mouthful was difficult to swallow, and the fourth more onerous still. As Aragorn broke off a fifth piece, small as the others, he felt his innards wrench. He tried to close his throat, but the tide of acid rose and he felt a sudden heat spreading across his face and shoulders. The first retching spasm he managed to quell, but the second flooded his mouth with bile. The Elven healer was alert and he was swift; he reached for an empty bowl and brought it to his patient just in time. Up came the bread, the water, and the medicine. Feebly Aragorn coughed out the last of the sour mixture, closing his eyes against the miserable mortification of the moment. A cool cloth brushed against his lips, wicking away the searing fluids, though the foul taste of it lingered.

There was a flurry of activity that Aragorn could not quite see through watering eyes, and the door opened again. Then the flagon of water tipped against his lips and he took a dram with which to rinse his mouth. Before he could look for it the bowl was held for him again and he spat.

'Thank you,' he murmured hoarsely, still overcome with shame. A cool hand brushed the hair from his eyes.

'I do not understand,' Helegond said worriedly. 'Neither loss of blood nor a battered kidney should cause you to vomit. There must be some other ailment that we have failed to diagnose. Or is the pain so unbearable that—'

Not daring to shake his head Aragorn raised his hand in a silencing gesture. 'It is not the pain,' he said. His head felt very heavy and the ache in his chest was one of weariness as much as of illness. 'It is starvation. Too long I have travelled on scant commons, broken only twice in many weeks by bounty of which I partook but sparingly. This last fast… it has proved too much.'

The healer was looking at him in dismayed bewilderment. Among the Eldar such privation was rare, and until its very final stage malnutrition was swiftly remedied by a return to plentiful meals. An Elf brought low by hunger but still able to sit and speak could resume eating solid foods at once. The Secondborn could not.

'I was a fool to try it,' muttered Aragorn. 'My stomach is shrunken. I cannot eat.'

Now the Elf seemed frightened. It was clear that such circumstances were beyond his experience. 'But you must,' he protested mournfully. 'Surely if you do not eat you will perish.'

'Milk,' said Aragorn; 'or strained broth neither too rich nor too heavily seasoned. At least at first, until my strength comes back to me. Then simple foods, sparingly. Eggs, porridge, and then perhaps bread.'

He fell silent, too weary to speak, and for a long while it seemed that Helegond watched him with puzzled pity in his bright eyes. Then he moved to the door and called out to someone. Quiet words were exchanged, but Aragorn was drifting again upon the border of unconsciousness and did not care to listen. When the healer returned to his side he made a half-hearted attempt to reach for the flagon. His attendant bore it up for him and he drank a little, cautiously. There was a dreadful ache in his back where the chair pressed upon the claw-wounds. His eyes slid longingly towards the bed but he could not bear to face the effort of hoisting himself even with assistance.

The healer took the cloth, now sodden with melted snow, from his foot, and wrapped the ankle snugly again. It seemed to pulse against the bandages, but the pain was lessened. 'Do you think you can take another dose of the tincture?' asked Helegond as he rose. 'You will sleep more deeply if you sleep without torment.'

'Perhaps a half-measure,' Aragorn whispered. He was beginning to think that he would fall asleep where he sat, whatever the misery in his spine. He let the concoction trickle down his throat and felt his stomach give a drowsy lurch of protest before settling into slumber.

Once more there came a rapping at the door. This time Helegond ushered in the caller, and out of the corner of his eye Aragorn saw him sweep a bow.

'My lord,' he said graciously, then held out a small tray to the healer. 'As you instructed.'

'Thank you, Galion,' said Helegond. 'Tarry a while: when he has drunk you can help me to bear him to the bed.'

Before Aragorn could rally his wits a silver goblet was before him. Within he could see the foaming white of warm milk. 'Take a little,' the healer said soothingly. 'If it is what you need to recover your strength you must take it.'

'Aye,' Aragorn breathed. Beneath the fogged confusion of his weary mind he was awed at the care and consideration of his hosts. They feared for his wellbeing, and they wished only to comfort him. Warily he drank, but the milk did not roil his stomach. Its heat was soothing in his sore chest, and it eased his raw throat. He took two-thirds of the portion before the weight of satiety made him stop. 'That is all,' he murmured.

Between the two of them, the wood-elves lifted him from the chair and bore him to the bed. He was only distantly aware of their hands upon his body, arranging his limbs and settling him upon his stomach. He was shivering again as the fever swept in its flood tide, and the persistent anguish in his flank seemed to grind ever deeper within him. Weariness almost beyond comprehension clung to his spirit, and he was only too glad to slip into the dark embrace of sleep.

lar

That day and the next he languished in fever, drifting in and out of troubled dreams. He was tended at all times by one or another of the healers, and when he woke they gave him water and changed the bandages upon his back and murmured gentle reassurances. Time and again they tried to coax him to take a little milk, and time and again he did so, but he seemed no better for it. Blood still showed and his side throbbed, and when he drew a full breath his lungs rattled with fluid. Twice he woke to find the pillow-slip stained with blood from his nostrils and the bitter taste of it in his throat. His legs twitched restlessly against the cramps of inactivity, and whenever they did he was tormented by the pain of his twisted ankle. At times he thought he cried out for Gollum, but again and again soft voices reassured him that his captive was safe; that he was secure; that he was fed. And uneasily he slept.

Then there came an awakening that was not obscured by wandering thoughts or indistinct fears. Crusted eyes opened to the warm glow of the firelight on stone, and Aragorn understood that he was safe in Thranduil's halls; that his hurts were being tended; and that his dreadful journey was over. His body ached and he could feel the battered tissues of his bruised flank, but he was no longer wracked with nigh-unbearable agony. He was lying not upon his front but on his left side, and there was only the faintest soreness in the shoulder the spider had stung. He was warm and dry and clad in soft nightclothes, and there were cushions piled under his injured foot. He was thirsty but not unbearably so, and most gladdening of all he felt the first small stirrings of hunger.

He knew better than to roll upon his back, but he shifted his right hand to brace against the mattress, and with a soft grunt of effort managed to raise himself a little. He pushed his body higher in the bed, so that he might lean against the headboard. There was still a lingering soreness in his head, but he felt no trace of dizziness.

Lethril was at his side now, cautious hands ready to catch him if he swooned. Aragorn twisted a little to look at her. When she saw his eyes were clear and steady she smiled.

'You are stronger tonight,' she said. It was not quite a question, but very nearly. She reached to shift the cushions so that they offered better support. 'Your fever broke two hours ago; I hoped you might wake.'

Aragorn ran his tongue along riven lips and nodded. For the first time in what seemed like an age the motion brought neither pain nor giddiness. 'How long have I slept?' he asked.

'It is your fourth night in our care,' she answered. She offered him water, and he closed his hand around the vessel. Still the lady's fingertips lingered upon its base, steadying his hold as he drank. When he had finished she stood back, regret in her eyes. 'I must change the dressings on your back,' she said apologetically. 'I know it is painful.'

Aragorn had only the vaguest sleep-sodden memories of the process, but he knew she spoke aright. 'Less painful, perhaps, and certainly less laborious if I can sit while you do it,' he said. Resolutely he raised himself with his arms and twisted, cautious of his foot and the dull deep misery in his flank. She reached to help him and soon he was upright. He fumbled with the fastenings of his robe, but could not quite make his fingers – which trembled still and were stiff with crusted sores – navigate the intricacy of the laces. Lethril reached deftly to do what he could not, and helped him to ease the garment down off of his shoulders to expose the pad of bandages and the bands that held it in place.

She removed the long strips first and then took a towel and wetted it in the washbasin. Gently she sponged at the dressing to loosen it. 'It is a wonder you escaped with such hurts,' she said. 'The wild cats of the forest are fearsome when provoked. How did you come to run afoul of it?'

'The beast and his mate took a fancy to my captive,' Aragorn said. 'Clearly the winter has been hard, and game scarce. I—' His breath caught sharply in his throat as she passed over an especially tender place. He set his teeth for a moment and then said; 'Have you a mirror at hand, lady? I fain would see what has been done to me.'

A small amused laugh came from her lips. 'I have expected as much,' she said. 'You are a healer yourself, are you not? Helegond said you have studied under Master Elrond himself.'

'I have,' said Aragorn. She was peeling back the blood-soaked bandage now, and despite the careful soaking it tugged at the edges of the wounds. 'If it is not possible I am content to trust to your skill.'

'Nay, it is possible. I have had the mirrors waiting since morning; in your place I would be equally anxious to make my own examination, limited though it be.' With a swift flick of her wrist she tugged the last corner free and blotted at his back with a clean cloth. 'Now is as good a time as any to do it.'

She moved to the washstand by the fire and took from it a large flat disc wrapped in velvet and a small hand-mirror of smooth polished brass. The latter she handed to Aragorn while she unwrapped the former with care. Its bright surface gleamed as she took hold of the handles and moved to position it behind him. 'Look as you will, my lord,' she said. 'They have not closed yet, and may not for some time, I fear.'

Aragorn lifted the smaller mirror so that it might reflect what was behind him, but as he raised it he stopped, transfixed by something else entirely. He let his elbow fall back to his side and stared in mute dismay at his own face.

He was by no means intimately acquainted with his reflection. Often he went many months with nothing by the shadowy rippling echo in a pool's surface to remind him of his appearance. Yet the haggard stranger staring back at him now was outside his broadest expectations or wildest imaginings. Gaunt almost to the point of emaciation, the bones of the skull stood out starkly beneath a wrapping of pallid and grey-hued skin. Deep lines of care were carved in his brow and down the sides of his mouth, the latter scarcely muted by the thin straggles of a dirty beard. His eyes, glossed with pain but still far duller than their wont, were deeply sunken in sockets rimmed in shadows dark as bruises. A long scratch on one cheek stood out half-healed against his skin, and there were smaller lacerations on his brow and his jaw and across his nose. Dark blood crusted his nostrils, and his lips were cracked and peeling, marred with scabs and splitting at the corners. He seemed to have aged many decades since he had last looked upon himself in a mirror; small wonder those who knew him as he had been looked upon him now with startled consternation.

With a thin, shivering exhalation he let the glass fall to his lap. His head bowed, weighted with weariness and a faint despair. How long would it take him to recover his vigour, worn and battered as he was? He had hoped to linger here for only a week or perhaps ten days, for he was sick at heart and yearned for the company of those he loved. Yet in such a state he could not hope to travel. He might be immured in these caves for a season, convalescing slowly among strangers and haunted daily by the knowledge that Gollum abided near at hand. The hope that he had harboured of returning in haste to the West, of resting awhile in Rivendell before seeking out his men, seemed to shrivel in his breast.

The healer's palm settled on his left shoulder, gripping in gentle reassurance. 'Fear not,' said Lethril. 'Already the shallow places are healing, and there is no sign of infection. In a few weeks' time you will have only another scar.'

She mistook him and he could not set her straight. Burying his dismay and his wretched disappointment, and with them the ungrateful wish that the hand upon his clavicle belonged to his father and not some well-meaning wood-elf in a foreign land, he cleared the mists from his eyes and lifted the mirror again. This time he did not let himself look upon his dreadful drawn visage, but hoisted it at once so that he could see the large mirror behind him, and the reflection of the claw-marks on his back. There were four deep raking wounds in parallel, and a fifth tracing shallowly beside them. The flesh was torn deep at the top, bleeding sluggishly now that the dressing was removed. In the lee of his spine the marks were broken briefly, and below that gap they were little more than weals. The edges of the wounds were red and inflamed, but there was no trace of pus or poison. They would indeed heal well enough, and likely long before he was strong enough to set himself upon the homeward road.

Aragorn lowered the mirror to his lap and nodded stiffly. 'Thank you,' he murmured politely. 'I cannot fault your care.'

lar

The following day he was somewhat stronger. Helegond helped him into the chair again so that the bed could be put right, and a dish of savoury broth was brought to him. It made a welcome change after his meals of milk, but Aragorn's hands still trembled and he managed to slop almost as much of it onto his front as reached his mouth. The healer made no mention of this clumsiness, but gently and ably changed the robe for a fresh one and wiped the beads of fluid from the Ranger's chin. After that he was settled again upon his left side and he dozed a little, the shallow sleep of one who has slumbered long and yet is plagued with pain and weariness of heart. In the afternoon a joiner came to take his measure for crutches, so that if he regained his strength before his ankle was fully mended he would be able to move about the palace. This consideration was a kind one, and Aragorn was thankful, but each such gesture only served to heighten his guilty longing for home.

In the afternoon he was settled in the chair again at his own request, drawn close to the fire with a blanket tucked about his knees. It seemed he was improving after all, for his constant companions saw fit at last to leave him unattended. Alone he sat in the simply, cosy room, staring into the embers of the fire and trying to master himself. It would not do to indulge in idle wishing; to pine for things he could not have. He was sheltered and warm, tended and fed. The folk of Mirkwood were kind and solicitous and anxious to please. For all this he was grateful, and he ought to be content as well. It was a small price for such luxury: to keep his words courteous when he wished to voice his misery; to bite his tongue when he wished to cry out in pain; to keep his own counsel when he ached to unburden his heart. He had only to rest, to heal and to regain his strength. Then he could be gone.

A rap of skin against wood startled him from his silent struggle. His gaze slipped to the door, puzzled. He did not expect the healers to knock, and no one had cause to come to this room save at their bidding.

'Enter,' he said, and tried to straighten himself in his seat despite the grinding pain that the effort awoke in his side.

The door opened and Losfaron entered, sweeping a graceful bow. 'Well met, my lord,' he said. 'I hope I do not intrude too far on your rest?'

'Not at all,' said Aragorn. A sudden terror seized him. 'Is something amiss?' he asked anxiously. 'Has Gollum—'

'No! No.' The captain drew up the second chair and sat at the other corner of the hearth. 'He is a bitter and hateful wretch, but he is secure in his cell with a constant guard upon the door, and his injuries are healing. But what of you? You seem much recovered from the night of your arrival.'

Aragorn managed an unsteady half-smile. 'I am well enough,' he said. 'I have been kindly tended.'

Losfaron nodded and stretched his legs out towards the fire. 'I would expect nothing less,' he said. For a moment he was silent. Then he exhaled heavily. 'The creature, Gollum. What do you know of him?'

'Little enough,' said Aragorn. 'He dwelt for long years beneath the mountains; that much you know already. He wandered far and in strange and deadly places. There can be no doubt that he was put to torment by the servants of the Enemy: they wrought cruel work upon his hands and branded the terror of Mordor black upon his heart. No more did I glean from him in all the weeks we travelled together.'

'I wondered whether he had been tortured,' the captain sighed. 'He shrinks from the least intimation of touch, and he will not suffer us to come near. He wails and he shrieks until the caverns echo with his cries. The very stones are groaning with distaste. Is there nothing to be done to silence him?'

'I had no more luck in that than I had in coaxing him to useful speech,' said Aragorn. 'He will mutter and he will grumble, and when he will he cries out with a voice to crack the Firmament, but he will not answer a direct question however he is pressed.' A shudder of revulsion took him, and he was unable to wholly supress it. 'I am sorry to leave you with such a hateful charge. Mayhap when Gandalf comes hither he will have more fortune than I.'

'Is he coming, then?' asked Losfaron. 'I will discharge my duty, but I cannot but hope that the wretch may be tamed a little. He tried to bite one of my lieutenants this morning.'

'Be wary of that,' said Aragorn. His fingers slipped beneath the sleeve of his robe to touch the bandaged scars upon his forearm. 'He is stronger than his looks would indicate. He is treacherous and sly, also. He betrayed me in the forest, or I should never have fallen afoul of a spider.'

'I confess I should like to hear your tale. It seems you have walked by strange roads indeed.' Losfaron cast an eye over the Man, but there was admiration rather than pity in his gaze. 'Hardy is the race of the Dúnedain, to wander in the company of such a hateful creature through inclement lands and to emerge at last four-limbed and sane.'

A small and sour laugh touched Aragorn's tongue. 'Hardy perhaps, or foolish,' he said. He shifted uncomfortably against the back of the chair. His spine was aching and his head felt heavy again, and the talk of Gollum was doing nothing to ease his spirit. The creature had to be questioned, and if Gandalf did not come to do it then Aragorn would have to make another attempt himself. He wished that he could believe the task less onerous here in the safety of the Elven-king's halls, but he did not.

'I will come down to see him, as soon as my guardians give me leave,' Aragorn said at last. 'Perhaps he will heed me at last after a few days' confinement. If he does not then I fear there is nothing to do but wait for Gandalf. He will know what must be done.'

'Will he indeed?' said Losfaron wryly. 'He left you alone to search for the thing, and to bring it north as best you could. It seem to me that he is wont to leave the more unpleasant tasks to other while he himself is busy with private errands.'

There was a spark of indignation within his breast that surely shone forth in his eyes, and Aragorn drew himself up in the chair, his hurts forgotten as he roused to indignation on behalf of his friend. 'Do not think that!' he cried. 'We sought long for the creature together, and at last Gandalf turned to other matters – not private, but of the utmost import. He left me to face company little more pleasant and no more cooperative, in search of knowledge we desperately need. He could not have known where the hunt would lead me, nor what would come to pass when at last I found our quarry.' He halted, stricken by the look of chagrined dismay upon the fair face before him, and sagged again in his seat. 'There are unpleasant tasks enough in this weary struggle that everyone may have his share,' he said. 'Do not speak ill of Gandalf.'

'I will not. Forgive me,' said Losfaron. 'Strange folk are the wizards, and they are little understood in this land. I see you know more of the Pilgrim's business than I ever shall. Yet if he is as true a friend to you as you are to him, I wonder whether he will not agree more with my view of the matter than with yours.'

For a time neither spoke. Losfaron seemed deep in thought, and Aragorn was sinking again into leaden weariness. He longed only to lie down and to sleep again, for in slumber there was some hope of forgetfulness at least for a little while. At length the captain arose.

'Shall I help you to your bed, my lord?' he asked softly. 'You have the look of one walking half in dreams already.'

Aragorn's pride wanted to refuse, but his wisdom could not. Heavily he nodded, and let the soldier take his arm and grip his left side and guide him the few hopping steps to the bed. He lay down, forsaking the effort of lifting his bloated foot onto its cushions, and let the blankets be drawn up over his shoulders. In the last moments of fading wakefulness he heard the chamber door fall closed.