Hi everyone, sorry for the delay in updates! I recently moved into a new apartment and I'll be starting a new job soon. I'll try to keep up with new chapters the best I can. In the meantime, enjoy this one.

Chapter 11

They received no more visitors that winter. It occurred to Lori one day that she was approaching the one-year anniversary of her arrival in Middle-earth. She had no way of knowing the exact date, but the mood struck her one night to creep out of the cottage and sit with the stars in her view. She thought of Aragorn and the hunting shelter where she had spent her first weeks, and sang a soft, thready rendition of "Happy Birthday" until her chest ached too much to continue.

With the arrival of spring, there was more work to be done, and that was enough to keep Lori's mind off her melancholy. New seeds had to be planted and tended carefully in the front garden. With the snowmelt came a torrent of fish in the nearby stream, and Adela demonstrated how to make woven traps to catch them. (Lori only cried a little when the time came to kill and gut the fish.)

She spent her spare time sketching different herbs in her book, alongside notes about their properties and uses. She documented Tobias's injury and how they'd treated it, though she left out what had happened afterward.

The weather warmed, but Adela remained distant as ever. She spoke openly about the craft of healing and medicine, but rarely offered details about her past, personal opinions, or casual comments. Lori began spending more time outside the cottage, searching for herbs and food and exploring the nearby wilderness.

It was during one of these outings that she met Faeron. She was kneeling by the stream, washing clothing and rags and other bits of laundry. The weather had finally warmed enough for her to hang things up to dry without finding particles of ice in the fabric, but her fingers were still numb from the swift, clear water.

Without anyone around to make her self-conscious, she'd started singing again. She alternated between humming violin tunes and practicing the lyrics of songs from her old home.

"You have a beautiful voice."

Lori dropped the shirt she was washing, splashing water onto her legs, and nearly fell over as she scrambled to her feet.

A young man stood a little ways away, leaning against a tree. One hand was propped against his hip, inches away from the sword hanging from his belt.

There was nothing she could use—she hadn't brought any tools with her. The wet laundry and basket were useless.

His smirk faded, and he held up one hand. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Lori clenched her jaw, her mind racing. If she ran back to the cottage, would that protect her, or would she be putting Adela in danger as well? If she moved quickly, maybe she could get him off her trail, then circle back to the house.

"Really, I'm not going to hurt you." The man pushed himself off the tree and held up his other hand, a full gesture of surrender. "I'm a Ranger. My duty is to protect these forests."

That soothed her anxiety, but only a little. Couldn't any man technically say he was a Ranger to gain someone's trust? She should have asked Aragorn if Rangers carried a badge or something they used to identify one another.

"What are you doing here?" Lori glanced down and grabbed the shirt before the stream could carry it away. She dropped it onto a flat rock, where it landed with a splat.

"I was tracking a small band of goblins. They'll threaten these woods no more." He patted the sword at his hip. "Rangers are meant to be roaming the wild, but what about you?"

"I'm washing my clothes."

An awkward silence passed between them.

"Well, I will not disturb you any longer." He shifted his weight, but didn't move.

"All right." Lori was starting to feel annoyance in addition to her racing heartbeat. She picked up the shirt and began wringing it out, though she positioned herself so she could keep an eye on him. "Bye, then."

"Farewell." The man started down the slope towards the creek, and Lori immediately noticed his uneven gait.

"Are you injured?"

"Just a twisted ankle." He picked his way over the rocks, setting his weight gingerly on his right foot. "Nothing to worry yourself over."

He'd been leaning against the tree to keep the pressure off his injury, she realized. After a moment's consideration, she said, "I live with a healer. She'd be able to treat you."

He looked up, eyes widening slightly. "You're serious?"

"Yes," she replied, trying not to sound irritated. "Let me finish with my laundry, and I'll walk you over."

The man limped closer and took a seat on a nearby rock. He was close to her age, Lori realized. His eyes were incredibly dark, and shadowed by thick brows.

"What's a healer doing in the middle of the woods?" he asked after another stretch of silence.

"She takes care of passerby." She tossed the damp shirt into the basket. "Most of the Rangers know about her. I'm surprised you don't."

"Well. This is only my second year out of an apprenticeship. I've never patrolled this far south before."

They were both new to their respective jobs, she mused, and glanced at him. "What's your name?"

"Faeron. And yours?"

"Lori." She bent down to begin washing a handful of rags. "So, why were you listening to me singing?"

"The noise intrigued me," he said, the shrug in his voice audible. "I've been following the stench and squawking of goblins for a week now, and it was surprising to hear something…pleasant."

"Oh." She was fairly sure she'd been off tune, and it wasn't like she'd been singing to impress anyone anyway. "All right. I'm all finished here." She tossed the last rag into the basket and stood up.

Faeron copied her movement and gingerly tested his weight on his right foot. "How far is it to this healer's hut?"

"A bit of a walk. About fifteen minutes." She propped the basket against her hip and held out her free hand. "You can lean on me."

He waved her off. "I'll be all right. Just lead the way."

Lori turned her head to conceal and eye roll. It seemed in this world men were just as stubborn and prideful as the ones from home.

She started off through the forest, glancing back occasionally to make sure Faeron hadn't fallen behind. His limp had become more pronounced, however hard he tried to hide it.

"How did you injure yourself?" she asked, partly to break the silence. The information would be useful to Adela when it came to a diagnosis.

"My foot landed wrong while I was fighting the goblins," he replied. "I didn't even notice I was hurt until it was all over."

Lori thought back to her friends that had played sports, how one wrong move could lead to a broken bone or a torn ligament. For a Ranger, an injury like that in the middle of a fight could mean death.

"I've never seen a goblin before," she said. "Are they like orcs?"

"Not as big, and not as strong, but just as nasty. They like to attack in numbers, swarm and overwhelm their opponent," Faeron said, his voice becoming livelier as he spoke. "You're lucky you've never seen one before."

"I guess I have the Rangers to thank for that." Lori turned around and saw him struggling down a section of the track overgrown with roots. "You should just lean on me. If you keep putting pressure on your injury, it'll take longer to heal."

He paused and raised an eyebrow. "You've a bit of healer's knowledge yourself."

Yep, it's called common sense. She started up the path towards him. "I'm an apprentice healer. Just support yourself on me."

After a moment of deliberation, Faeron draped his right arm over her shoulders. She took hold of his waist and began guiding him through the forest. As they moved together, she became aware of the heat radiating from him where their sides were pressed together. How many weeks had it been since she'd been this close to another person?

"Did you grow up in these woods?" Faeron asked after a long stretch of silence.

"No." She almost laughed. "Not at all. I, um, I grew up somewhere pretty far away from here."

"Gondor?"

"The Vale of the Anduin."

"Ah. You're one of the Woodmen. I would have thought… I've heard Gondorians have dark hair. Like you."

She shot him a dubious glance. "You have dark hair."

"Well, I meant black." He eyed her, and she focused on adjusting her grip on the laundry basket. "Wherever you're from, it's nice to meet you."

"You too." Heat blossomed on her neck. "I'm guessing you're from nearby?"

"Archet. It's a nice place, but a bit boring. I practically jumped at the chance when my father agreed to train me. He's a Ranger as well."

The cottage came into sight, and Lori steered him towards it. "Here we are. How's your ankle?"

"Better by the minute."

Lori didn't believe him, and held on until they were on the doorstep. Adela must have heard their voices outside, and opened the door a second after they reached it.

"Injured right ankle," Lori said. "He said he hurt it fighting goblins."

"I'm a Ranger," Faeron added helpfully.

Adela beckoned them inside. "Elevate the foot. And see if you can get his boot off."

Lori motioned for Faeron to sit in the chair and brought an overturned bucket for him to prop his foot. When she bent to get a closer look at the injury, she swore.

"I can see the swelling through your boot. How long has it been like this?"

"A few days." He rested his heel on the bucket, letting out a tense, pained breath.

She reached over to undo the laces, taking care not to jostle his leg. "If you're ankle's too swollen to get this thing off, we might have to cut it off."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pale. "My leg?"

"No, your boot."

He let out a gusting, nervous laugh, and a smile twitched at the corners of her lips. When was the last time she'd joked around with someone like this?

Thankfully, the laces went fairly low on the boot, though it took some maneuvering to slide it off. Lori bit her lip. If he'd come during the winter, they might have been able to pack on some snow to reduce the swelling.

Adela brought over a small dish filled with sand and a few stalks of dried lavender. She lit one end of the herb with a match, and a sweet-smelling smoke drifted from the dish.

"What's that for?" Faeron eyed the burning plant. "Do you practice witchcraft here?"

"It's no magic," Adela replied. "Merely the best I can do to ward off the stench from your foot."

"Ah."

Lori pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, then brought one hand to her nose. "Ugh."

"There's not many opportunities to bathe when you're hunting goblins," Faeron said.

"It's fine." Her own days traveling in the wild were still fresh in her memory—even in the cottage, there weren't many opportunities for daily baths.

Faeron's ankle was swollen to nearly twice its normal size, making his leg look grotesquely crooked. Once his injury was bare, Adela knelt to inspect it. Even after several months, Lori still marveled at the ease of her movement, which defied the age showing in her silver hair.

"You must tell me where the pain is the worst," Adela said, and began pressing on different points with her thumb.

Faeron sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, then flinched, his foot jerking in her grasp. "There. That…hurts somewhat."

"The bone's likely broken." Adela sat back on her heels.

His expression fell—perhaps he'd known it from the start, and been hoping for better news. "I see."

"I'll apply a poultice to reduce the swelling." She rose and turned to her worktable.

Lori remembered the wet laundry and went outside to hang the clothes before they could sour. As she draped a shirt over the piece of twine strung between two trees, her thoughts drifted back to the Ranger sitting in the cottage. It would take six weeks, at best, for his broken ankle to heal. There was no other place where he could recover, not unless another Ranger appeared with a mount that could support him. Six weeks was a long while to have another person in the cottage, but Adela wouldn't turn him away, would she?

When Lori returned to the cottage, Adela was cleaning off her worktable. Faeron was still sitting with his foot propped up, glaring at the bandage wrapped around his ankle. The sweet, earthy smell of the poultice wafted through the room.

Lori shifted her weight, trying to gauge how best to approach the conversation. "Did you tell any of the other Rangers where you were going? Will they miss you if you're not back in time?"

He lifted his gaze and nodded. "I was hunting the goblins with another. He stayed behind to search the area for stragglers. We were meant to rendezvous on the road by the next full moon." Carefully, he lowered his foot from the overturned bucket. "I should still be able to meet him if I leave by tomorrow."

An exasperated sigh escaped her. "If you don't let your ankle heal properly, you could have trouble walking for the rest of your life. You're better off letting it rest." She turned to Adela, silently asking for permission.

"Rangers must all rely on being able to move swiftly on their feet," Adela said. "If you ever want to do that again, I'd suggest not waiting for this full moon, but the next."

Lori turned back to Faeron, who looked as if he'd swallowed something sour. "I know this must be frustrating for you, but recovery takes time."

His expression softened a fraction. "All right, then. I suppose I should thank you for helping me."

"If you're going to stay here, you'll have to make yourself useful—to the best of your ability," Adela said.

"Of course." He nodded. "Whatever I can do to help."

This meant that Faeron was posted inside, chopping vegetables and performing other tasks that required only his hands, while Lori went about the rest of her chores. That afternoon, she set a basket of freshly chopped wood by the fireplace and retrieved a torn pair of leggings from outside. She brought them to Faeron, who was sitting at the worktable.

"Do you know how to sew?" she asked. "There's a hole in these."

His lips flattened into a straight line. "Some irony, that I should be mending clothes while you chop firewood."

She raised her eyebrows. "What, because a woman's place is in the house?"

He averted his gaze. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to sound so…" He swallowed. "I've always been able to move how I pleased. That was my greatest asset as a Ranger. I'm not used to having to just…sit."

Lori leaned her hip against the table. She'd felt the same way after she'd come to Middle-earth and realized all of her old skills were useless. "You'll be back on your feet in no time. And maybe you'll pick up some new things in the meantime."

He smiled at her. "Thank you, Lori."

She flicked a glance towards the window. Adela was tending to the garden, so they had a moment to speak in private. "Can I ask you something? You've been in contact with other Rangers over the past few months, right?"

"I have."

"Have you heard anything about a Ranger named Aragorn?"

Faeron's eyebrows rose, and he looked at her in silence for a long moment. "What interest do you have in our chieftain?"

Lori blinked. "…What?"

"A chieftain is like a captain of sorts. He's the leader of the Rangers."

"Yeah, I know what a chieftain is." She crossed her arms. "Are you sure we're talking about the same— He's tall, dark hair, a little bit of a beard…"

"Yes, that is the man I'm referring to. I've only met him a handful of times, but he's hard to forget." Faeron squinted at her. "How do you know him?"

"He…" Lori was still trying to wrap her mind around this new information. An image rose from her memory—a cairn draped with untouched snow, Aragorn's hands gently brushing the frosty stone. The memorial of a slain chieftain. She wondered if Aragorn had pictured a cairn of his own, if he'd considered who would be there to clear away the snow and fallen leaves.

A gentle touch on her arm brought her back to the present. Faeron was still looking up at her, now with concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." She swallowed and tried to compose herself. "Um, Aragorn helped me get to safety when I was lost in the woods. He helped me find an apprenticeship here."

He's my friend. Yet for some reason he'd kept his position among the Rangers from her. There were so many things about him that she'd had to piece together without their being given freely—multiple names, a hidden valley of elves, his relationship with Arwen, a bloodline that gave him longer life. And now this.

It felt at times that the pieces of knowledge she had formed a silhouette, a frame, without revealing anything about what was within. Her confusion finally coalesced into something like anger, like betrayal, but a firm palm of shame pushed it aside.

Lori shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I haven't seen him in a while, and I was wondered if you knew how he was doing."

"I wish I had an answer," Faeron replied. "Rangers only meet as a whole once or twice a year. Something could have changed since the last time I saw him."

He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but Lori pushed off from the table and turned away. "That's fine. I'd better get back to work."

"Uh, one more thing." When she looked back at him, Faeron held up the pair of leggings. "I'm afraid I don't know how to sew."

"Fine. I can show you how." She moved back to the table and arranged the fabric so the tear was facing up. "I'll do the first few stitches, and we'll see how you do on the rest."

He leaned closer to watch, his chin occasionally brushing her arm, and she let her thoughts linger on the brief touch. She needed the distraction.

Having three people in the cottage was cramped. Lori liked it.

She hadn't realized how accustomed she'd become to the silence she and Adela shared until there was someone there to break it. Though Faeron's upbringing had been literally a world away from Lori's, and despite his few irritating quirks, conversation flowed easily between them. He shared tales of his time as a Ranger and earlier exploits from his boyhood in Archet. It was hard to share anything in return that wouldn't reveal the fact that she'd come from another world, but Lori found a workaround by telling him stories from books and movies.

As the weather grew warmer, Faeron took to sitting outside, mostly to free up more space inside the cottage. He whittled away at pieces of wood with his knife, and eventually carved himself a rudimentary crutch. Then he was able to hobble about, joining Lori on small errands or her search for herbs. He wasn't exactly useful on these brief trips, but she didn't mind the company.

She remembered what it was to laugh. Words flowed easily from her tongue. Despite her change in behavior, Adela remained taciturn as ever. She replied to comments and jokes in her own curt way, and Lori tried not to let it bother her.

Faeron's ankle healed steadily. Adela's assessment was that the break in his bone hadn't pushed anything out of alignment, and therefore wouldn't require any surgery to heal, just rest.

"It's still going to take some time to get back to normal," Lori said one day, tossing a weed over her shoulder as she knelt in the garden. "You haven't been using your ankle all this time, and you'll need to build your strength back up."

Faeron huffed from his chair and stretched out his legs. "Perhaps I'll run all the way from here to Fornost. That should get me back into shape."

"If you start running right away, you'll probably fuck up your ankle again." Lori straightened. "I'm talking about lighter exercises."

"Like what?"

Lori walked around a row of elderflower and into his line of sight. This wasn't something that Adela had taught her. One of her friends had gotten a softball injury and had worked on her ankle during study breaks in Lori's dorm. The memory pricked at her heart.

She lifted her skirt a few inches and demonstrated standing on one foot and lifting herself onto her toes, then lowering her weight back to her heel. "Stuff like this."

"You look like a drunken barmaid trying to dance."

She glared at him. "At least I can walk without a crutch."

He hissed and put a hand on his chest. "And now I have an arrow-wound to the heart to go along with my broken bone."

"Rest in peace," she threw over her shoulder as she went back to the garden.

"What, no more wise words from a healer?"

She scoffed. "I don't think I can call myself a healer yet."

"Well, when?" Faeron draped an elbow over the back of the chair and turned to face her. "When do you cross the bridge between apprentice and master?"

Lori shrugged and went back to weeding. "I haven't even been here for a year. Back home, people would have to study medicine for, like, eight years before they were able to practice."

"In the Anduin Vale?"

Fuck. "Yeah," Lori responded, trying to seem nonchalant. "There's still a lot Adela has to teach me."

Faeron let the subject drop, and Lori continued working in silence. She absently brushed some dirt from her knuckles. There was still more about herbs she needed to memorize, not to mention the tonics and oils that could be crafted from them. She'd learned about bite wounds while caring for Tobias, about broken bones during Faeron's stay. But surely they wouldn't get visitors with every possible ailment.

When exactly was her graduation date from this place?

The thought stayed with her, but she didn't speak about it again. It was enough to lose herself in playful conversation with Faeron, to pull life from the garden earth with her hands, to watch the trees grow full and green again.

It was late one evening when Lori heard an unfamiliar voice outside. She dumped a handful of vegetables into the stew simmering in the fireplace and stepped outside.

A Ranger was speaking in low tones with Faeron. Before he turned to look at her, she already knew what was happening, and her stomach dropped.

Faeron glanced over his shoulder, making a visible effort not to lean on his crutch. "This is Forlong, the Ranger I was meant to meet." He turned back to his companion. "This is Lori, one of the healers who tended my injury."

The Ranger lifted his gaze to her. There was a scar at the corner of his eye, from a wound that might have taken his sight had it been an inch to the left. "Does Adela live here still?"

Lori nodded. "She's inside." She stepped aside to let Forlong pass through the door, then walked through the garden to stand next to Faeron.

"He's offered to escort me back to Bree-land to finish healing," he said. "This cottage isn't meant for three people, and I don't want to overstay my welcome any more than I have already."

"You haven't." Lori wrapped her arms around herself. "It's been nice having you here."

"Perhaps you could…" He adjusted his grip on his crutch. "Well, I know you're not finished with your apprenticeship here, but perhaps we'll see each other again."

She offered him a small smile. "I hope so."

Faeron shot a quick, anxious glance towards the door. She couldn't tell if he wanted this moment to be over already, or if there was more he wanted to say. She wasn't sure which one she preferred.

"You remember those exercises I showed you, all right?" she said. "And the next time we see each other, you'd better hope it's not because you got yourself hurt again."

He barked a laugh. "You realize you've almost given me an incentive."

A blush flamed on her face. She darted forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. "Safe travels, Faeron."

"You as well." He stammered, cheeks reddening. "I mean, you're not going anywhere. But I hope you'll be all right."

"I will."

She stepped aside as Forlong strode out of the cottage. It took only a moment for Faeron to gather his things, and the two Rangers left the clearing after a brief goodbye. Instead of watching them leave, Lori went back inside, happiness burnt to the roof of her mouth.

I was tempted to name this chapter "Lori and Faeron annoying each other for 4k words straight" lol. I know Faeron is a character in LOTRO, but I've never played the game so I'm using the name only and not the characterization. It was just hard to find a suitable Ranger name and I got impatient. I don't anticipate him playing a large role in the story, he already took up much more of the chapter than I was expecting. Like I said earlier, there's some later stuff that I want to get to soon.