Chapter 8

Taking in a breath that filled her with apprehension, Lori surveyed the gifts arrayed on her bed. The elves had given her everything she needed to travel—sturdy clothes, rations, a waterskin and a tinderbox, smaller tools encased in waterproof leather. She began folding and packing everything neatly into the rucksack they'd given her, mentally double-checking that she wasn't forgetting anything.

Even if she had nothing of any real value that she could call hers, no cell phone or wallet or house key, she still felt some anxiety about leaving Rivendell behind. Aragorn had warned her that it was going to be a more difficult life out there, and she doubted she would have the chance to return to Rivendell soon, if at all.

But it wasn't enough to dissuade her. Slinging her pack over her shoulders, she felt another flicker of anticipation in her chest, the first feeling she'd had in months that wasn't anxiety or sadness.

Lori sent one last glance around her room, then headed out the door. The air outside was crisp and bright, and she hoped the temperature wouldn't drop too much once she left the valley. The thought made her doubly grateful for the woolen gloves rolled up inside her pack.

She ran into Bilbo on her way through the gardens, and he stood up immediately, as if he'd been expecting her.

"I hope you weren't planning to leave without saying goodbye," he said, setting the book down on the bench he'd been sitting on.

"Of course not."

She'd already said her farewells to some of the elves, including Lindir and Erestor. Lindir had offered to gift her the violin, but she'd declined, worried that it might get damaged or stolen while she was working.

"Unless you find work as a musician," he'd said with a smile.

"I think I'd die of embarrassment," she'd responded.

Erestor had reminded her to continue practicing her Sindarin, his voice stern but his gaze warm.

"You are a student of the world, now," he'd told her. "And you will gain much of value that does not come from the pages of a book."

She almost asked him to give her a grade for the time she'd spent learning Sindarin, but in the end had just thanked him for the lessons.

"I suppose Aragorn is planning on taking you westward to Bree," Bilbo said, bringing her back to the present. "You must take care while you are there. Some folk can be rather…boorish."

"Oh." She frowned. "Is it dangerous there?"

"No more dangerous than any other village of men," Bilbo said lightly, though that wasn't exactly reassuring. "And there are a fair number of hobbits in Bree—good folk, though a bit stranger than my old neighbors in Hobbiton."

"Well, if they're anything like you, I'd be happy to meet them."

Bilbo chuckled and patted her elbow. "You know, when I first left the Shire, I was quite frightened. I felt certain I'd gotten in over my head. But things turned out all right, once I learned to trust my instincts." He fixed her with a surprisingly piercing stare. "You mustn't underestimate yourself, Lori."

"I'll try and remember that." She smiled down at him. "I'll miss you, Bilbo."

"It's been a pleasure to know you, dear." He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her middle, and she was surprised to feel just how frail he was beneath his coat and shawl. She hugged him back gently, and he pulled away. "And you must return sometime and read my book when I'm finished."

She grinned. "I'm looking forward to it."

"And perhaps…" Bilbo produced a small, leather-bound book from inside his coat. "You should get started on your own."

Lori accepted the book reverently, as if it was made of glass. The pages were blank, and a tiny cloth pouch had been sewn on the inside, the perfect size for a length of graphite.

"Thank you. I'll find a way to put this to good use."

"You'd better." Bilbo gave her a mock-stern look, betrayed by the quirk of his lips. "Now, it's probably best if you run along. Don't want to keep old Dúnadan waiting."

"Right." She paused a moment to slip the book into her pack, then started off down the path. "Good luck on your book!"

"Good luck on your adventure," Bilbo called after her.

Arwen and Elrond were waiting in the entrance courtyard, along with Aragorn and two saddled horses.

Lori jogged the last few steps to meet them. "Sorry for keeping you waiting."

Aragorn nodded to let her know it was all right. "You have everything you need?"

"I think so." She adjusted her pack on her shoulders and turned to Elrond. "Thank you again for everything."

Elrond inclined his head. "You will always be welcome in Rivendell, should you ever have need to return."

Arwen stepped forward, taking Lori's face in her hands. "Savo 'lass a lalaith." She pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

The remainder of her anxiety trickled from her limbs. She looked up as Arwen straightened, hoping she could convey in her gaze what she couldn't put into words. Sometimes it felt as though Arwen was the only one who had really seen her, and it was because of her that she was leaving at all.

Lori stepped back and addressed both elves. "Le fael. Na lû e-govaned vîn." She extended her hand outward from her heart, like Erestor had taught her.

With that, she turned to Aragorn, who helped her attach her pack to the saddle and boosted her onto the horse's back.

He mounted his own horse and turned to her. "Ready?"

"Yeah." Lori grabbed the reins and straightened. "I am."

Lori couldn't keep herself from throwing occasional glances to the forest on the right. The trees were widely spaced, the remaining leaves turning the sunlight amber, but every time she gazed into the shadows she was back in that freezing night, fleeing from the troll.

"Trolls do not venture out of their caves during daylight hours," Aragorn said, as if he'd read her thoughts. "And they seldom draw close to the road."

She kneaded the stiff leather of the reins between her fingers. They were a day out from Rivendell, and so far the journey had been uneventful, but being in unfamiliar terrain still put her on edge.

"And besides trolls?"

"Orcs," Aragorn replied. "They only hunt at night. Bandits are a little harder to predict, but I have kept watch on this road long enough to know their tricks."

"What are orcs, exactly? Where did these things even come from?"

"They are creations of Morgoth, a great evil from ages past. It is said that orcs were once elves, but they were corrupted beyond recognition. No beauty or wisdom remains in them, only a twisted cruelty and desire for blood."

Involuntarily, a shiver went through her. The troll they'd run into had seemed like nothing more than a mindless animal, but orcs sounded like they had a dangerous intelligence about them. She'd seen how creative humans could get when it came to hurting other people.

"Whatever crosses our path, I will keep you safe," Aragorn said, making her turn to look at him. "You have my word."

Lori nodded, her gaze flickering to the sword half-concealed by his cloak. "I trust you."

She let out a slow breath, trying to convince herself to relax. They still had a few more hours before sundown.

And even then, she didn't have to be afraid of the dark.

It took a week on the road for Lori to acclimate to traveling again. They had more comforts than that first trip to Rivendell, and she fell into the rhythm of setting up camp in the evenings and packing up again in the morning. Aragorn taught her how to start a fire and skin a rabbit, though the latter nearly made her sick.

She tried to keep her complaining to a minimum when the wide road turned into a narrow track that led them through a wide marsh. Aragorn seemed to know the best way through the marsh, and the horses kept them above the pools of murky water, but there was no helping the whining insects that pinched at every inch of available skin.

Lori slapped at another one of the offending bugs and tried to conceal herself more thoroughly in her cloak. Every inch of her prickled and itched.

Aragorn shot her a knowing look. "Their numbers increase tenfold in the summer."

"Ugh." She swiped at something touching her cheek, then realized it was just a loose strand of hair. "Does everyone have to come this way to get to Bree from the east?"

"There is a path that traces the southern edge of the marsh, but it would add another day to our journey." He clicked his tongue, steering his mount across a narrow strip of soggy grass. Lori followed, grateful her horse was doing most of the work. "The travelers that come this way are too few in number for the Bree-folk to invest in a more reliable route through the marsh."

"So Bree is kind of cut off from the east," Lori said. From what she'd overheard in Rivendell, it didn't seem as though the pass through the Misty Mountains was used that often.

"It has been less so in recent years. Some dwarves from the Lonely Mountain or Wood-men from the Anduin travel west to trade." He glanced back at her, as though an idea had struck him. "When you go seeking work in Bree, you could say you are from the Vale of the Anduin. Folk are just familiar enough with the name that it would not be implausible that you made the journey here."

"Yeah, I just have to hope I don't run into anyone actually from there," Lori said, half to herself. "What about dwarves? Do you think I'll meet any while I'm in Bree?" They were the one race she hadn't met yet—not counting orcs, though those weren't exactly on her wish list.

"It is possible. There are some dwarf settlements in the Blue Mountains to the west." The path widened enough for him to pull his horse back to ride beside her. "They are a hardy folk, stubborn but honest in their trade."

"Bilbo talks about his dwarf friends sometimes." She was already beginning to miss the elderly hobbit. "I'd be interested to meet some of them."

"To see if they live up to his tales?" he asked, a smirk tilting his lips.

She laughed. "I guess that's part of it."

The weather grew less damp once they left the marsh behind, but it was still bitingly cold. Lori spent the nights cocooned in her cloak, and became increasingly aware of the sweat and dirt and oil accumulating on her skin. The thought of missing out on daily baths almost had her turning back to Rivendell.

One afternoon, the trees on their right side broke away to reveal a wide clearing on the side of the road. There was a wide building in the center, which had fallen into disrepair. The roof slumped low over its frame, and the windows were dirty and cracked in places. Lori thought she saw a dark-bearded face in one of the panes before it disappeared.

"What is that place?" she asked in a low voice, unable to ignore the feeling that someone was listening in on them

"The Forsaken Inn," Aragorn replied. "They offer bed and food, but it is no place for unarmed travelers. We're almost a day's ride from Bree by now, and we can seek shelter once we arrive."

"That sounds like a plan," Lori said, casting one last glance at the darkened windows. She would have listened to Aragorn even if the place had flowers in its windows and a fountain out front, but the inn looked incredibly sketchy. She guessed this place was this world's equivalent of a cockroach-infested motel.

That night, they settled down under a large oak a little ways from the road, its wide branches offering a semblance of shelter from the elements. While Aragorn tended to the horses, Lori searched for dry wood and kindling and began setting up a campfire. While she was fumbling with the flint, Aragorn came over and examined her work.

"You need more space between the wood." He rearranged the pile, slowly enough that she could watch. "Build a house and the fire lives; a tomb and the fire dies."

"Got it." She leaned forward to scrape a spark onto the kindling, then blew gently until a small flame appeared. She rubbed her hands together, eager for the fire to spread so she could get some feeling back into her fingers. "You're a pretty good teacher. Have you ever thought about having kids?"

Aragorn's eyes shot up to meet hers, and she wondered if she'd asked something inappropriate.

"I mean…" She bit her lip. "Could you and Arwen…"

"It would be possible," he answered, saving her from any further awkwardness. "Lord Elrond himself is half-elven. But elves do not feel the need to hasten in such matters."

"That makes sense." She pulled a bit of pilling off of her glove and flicked it into the fire. "If you're immortal, I guess you don't have to rush anything."

She didn't ask Aragorn why he was holding off, since he wasn't immortal. That was between him and Arwen. From what little she'd seen of them together, they seemed to have formed a steady partnership in addition to their romance, the kind her parents had. A sting of grief pinched at her chest.

"And you?" Aragorn asked, giving her a distraction from more painful thoughts. "Did you have any marriage prospects?"

"Not really," she said with a small grin. "I mean, I had some friends my age who were engaged, but I never got that far in a relationship." Or maybe she had, in her missing year. Lori tried not to think about it.

"I do not know much about the customs in your world, but in most villages of men, it is common for women to be married soon after they reach their majority. If you choose to live in Bree, there will be similar expectations placed on you."

"Oh." Lori frowned down at the growing fire. She was still trying to cope with her death and ending up in a different world, and now she had to think about getting married? "Is this kind of thing usually arranged?"

"Often it is an agreement made between families, but some marry for love alone. It may depend on the trade you choose." He shot her a reassuring look. "There is no need to worry about this until you have settled somewhere."

"Right." She huffed out a sigh and wrapped her arms around her legs. She had to focus on finding a job first before she could think about getting married. Maybe this world wasn't so different from her own.

Aragorn grabbed his bow and quiver and stood up. "I'm going to hunt us some dinner. I'll stay within shouting distance."

Lori murmured an acknowledgement and watched him disappear into the darkening forest. She added some more kindling to the fire and was rewarded with another wave of heat.

Marriage aside, it would be nice to have some friends that were at least the same age as her, if not the same species. As much as she liked Bilbo and the elves, she missed mundane conversations about mishaps at work and family drama. She'd grown a little tired of offhand comments getting turned into a philosophical debate by one of the elves.

Of course, that was assuming she would even fit in among the women of this world. She spoke differently, though she'd tried to keep modern slang out of her speech as much as possible. She didn't know what side of the road to walk on or whether she was supposed to wear her shoes indoors or not.

Please let Bree be a shoes-off kind of town.

Lori shifted and dug through her pack for the book Bilbo had given her. She'd wrapped it in a spare set of stockings on the off chance that her belongings got wet. Thankfully, even after their trip through the marshes, the pages were dry, though the leather cover was slightly bent out of shape. She fiddled with it for a moment, trying to straighten it out, then opened the book to the first page.

Bilbo had advised her to start documenting her own adventures, but she didn't have anything of significance to write down so far. She retrieved her piece of graphite and wrote at the top of the page, Skills I Can Offer. After a moment's consideration, she wrote it again in Sindarin, just to practice. She liked the curving script of the language, especially after Erestor had shown her how to make the tails of the letters sweep downwards.

Okay. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Scrap the computer science stuff. I'll probably never touch another computer in my life.

What else could she offer to a medieval village? She could say she was highly organized, a self starter with attention to detail…but she had the feeling any potential employers would be more interested in if she could milk a cow. She wasn't sure if she had ever seen a cow.

The underbrush rustled, and Lori looked up, curious to see what Aragorn had brought back. He usually took longer than this, but maybe he'd gotten lucky.

The man who emerged from the shadows wasn't Aragorn.

He was tall, with dark curls that fell past his shoulders. Her eyes immediately went to the long knife strapped to his hip.

"Evening," he said softly, a sweeping glance taking in the camp. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

Her lips parted, but words wouldn't come. She knew better than to tell him to go away. Even in a different world, she recognized the careless confidence in his dark eyes—this was a man who had no doubt that he could take whatever he wanted.

Two other men appeared behind him, both shorter than the first. One of them was bald, and a scar ran from his ear to the center of his scalp.

Lori's eyes darted to the darkened forest around them. If she tried to call for help, the men would be on her before Aragorn could even reach the camp.

One of the men moved to examine the horses, who snorted and shied away. She wondered if they were afraid as well.

The man who had spoken to her crouched by the fire and rubbed his hands together. Lori instinctively drew her legs closer to her body. The way he'd welcomed herself to the fire she'd built felt like an intrusion, an insult—as if he'd invited himself into her house.

"Where is your companion?" the man asked, meeting her eyes. "I see two horses, but only one beautiful woman."

It was only when the bald man ventured over to Aragorn's pack and nudged it with his foot, spilling some of its contents, that she was able to speak up.

"He's going to be back soon," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "What do you want?"

He sighed and scraped some dirt from beneath his fingernail. "We've been traveling in the cold for days, and the light of your fire caught my eye." He raised an eyebrow. "Surely you wouldn't object to some company?"

"There's an inn a few miles down the road." She wasn't sure why she was even trying to reason with these people. "In both directions. How have you been traveling for days with no place to sleep?"

The bald man took a packet of travel bread from Aragorn's pack and tore a bite from one of the pieces. He gave a groan of appreciation, and Lori clenched her fists.

"This is good. Where did you get this?"

"Perhaps she's a particularly good baker." The man by the fire grinned as if he'd said something funny. "To answer your earlier question, we're a bit short on coin at the moment." He rose from his crouch. "But if you let us stay here for the night, perhaps we can compensate you in another way."

Lori's heart dropped into her stomach. She had to at least try to get away. She wouldn't be able to make it to the horses, but she could run into the woods and try to lose them in the dark. She stood up, the book in her lap tumbling into the dirt.

The man's eyes gleamed, as if he'd been hoping for some resistance, and he sidestepped around the fire.

Something shot past his head, and he hissed in shock. A dark line appeared on his cheek, and blood began to drip down his skin. Behind him, at the edge of the clearing, an arrow had embedded itself in a tree, still quivering from its landing.

"Take another step and the next one will be between your eyes."

The low voice issued from behind Lori, so cold and dangerous that she almost didn't recognize it. She risked a glance behind her, and relief flooded her body at the sight of Aragorn, standing with another arrow nocked and aimed at the stranger.

The man wiped some blood from his cheek, his lip curling. "You forget, archer, that it's three of us against one of you."

Lori stepped back until she was beside Aragorn, and he moved to stand between her and the others. There was a disquieting calm in his posture, his arms barely betraying the effort it took to draw the bowstring back.

"If you choose to fight, your life is forfeit," he said, the softness of his voice doing nothing to hide the threat in his tone.

The bald man took a hasty step away from Aragorn's pack. "That's a Ranger, Charlie," he said, the arrogance draining from his expression.

Charlie's eyes dropped to the arrow aimed at him. Defiance twitched in his jaw for a moment, then he dropped his shoulders and took a step back. He crept towards the edge of the clearing, never once taking his eyes off Aragorn, and soon the three men had melted back into the shadows.

Aragorn waited several seconds after they'd disappeared, then lowered his bow and turned to Lori. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." Her voice was little more than a whisper, and she swallowed and tried again. "Yes. I think so."

"Did they hurt you?" he pressed, though his tone was far gentler now.

She shook her head. Her hands were shaking, she realized, and she crossed her arms.

"I should not have left you alone." He swept a glance across the campsite, from the dying fire to his opened pack. "I am sorry."

Lori shook her head again, though he couldn't see it. "It's fine. I didn't get hurt or anything." A lump appeared in her throat, and she silently repeated her words. Nothing had happened. She had nothing to cry over.

"No, but things would have gone differently if I had been delayed a couple of minutes." He strode to the edge of the clearing and retrieved a couple of rabbits from where they'd been stashed behind a bush. He moved to the other side and pulled his arrow from the tree.

There was an edge of frustration in his tone, and Lori felt herself shying away from it. If she had a way to defend herself, or she'd thought of a way to distract the men or escape, then Aragorn wouldn't feel like he had to keep an eye on her all the time.

As Aragorn tied the rabbits to his saddle, Lori's gaze fell to the discarded rations lying in the grass.

"They ate some of your food," she said, struggling to speak around the tightness in her chest. "I didn't know what to do. I just…"

He shook his head as he brought the horses closer. "Belongings can be replaced. Gather your things. We'll find somewhere closer to Bree to rest."

She stuffed her book back into her pack with a jerky motion, and heard the stick of graphite snap. "You think they'll come back?"

"I would not risk finding out." Aragorn handed her the reins of her horse, and she attached her pack to its saddle.

With a swift motion, he extinguished the campfire, and the clearing was engulfed in darkness.

The Sindarin Arwen said to Lori was basically "I wish you joy and laughter." I'm not going to translate all of the phrases I use because most of it is just flavor text but I really like this one.

I want to give credit again to the writers of the "Adventures in Middle-earth Bree-land Guide" for some of the worldbuilding details I used in this chapter and future ones, such as the Forsaken Inn.

Thank you so much for all the new reviews/favorites/follows, and stay tuned for the next chapter!