Hi everyone, sorry for the late update. Work has been picking up and I also had a bit of writer's block. But I'm going to keep chipping away at this story as long as you're still interested!

Warning for a very brief mention of self harm scars.

Chapter 13

Lori shifted her weight from one foot to the other, debating whether she should knock on the counter or call out for someone. Before she could make up her mind, the innkeeper emerged from the back room and greeted her with a smile.

"Good afternoon, miss. How can I help you today?"

She hesitated, remembering her last interaction with the man.

"Oh, I remember you," he said before she could speak. "You're the lass that was in here looking for work a while back. Did you ever end up speaking to Miss Wintermoss?"

Lori relaxed slightly and patted her bag. "I chose a different path, actually. I'm a healer now, and I was wondering if there was, um, anyone that needed help…" She trailed off, hoping she wasn't overstepping. She wasn't sure how she was actually supposed to go about finding people to treat, but this seemed a little easier than setting up a stand on the side of the road.

The innkeeper drummed his fingers on the counter. "Well, we've already a physician a little ways down the road, but occasionally travelers come in with a few bumps and bruises. Tell you what—come back this evening, and I'll see if I can find anyone who needs healing in the meantime."

"All right. I appreciate it." She nodded her thanks as he turned to help another patron, then stepped outside.

That left her with a few hours of free time. Lori wandered aimlessly down the main road, glancing into shops and at passerby. After so long in relative isolation, it was strange to be around people again. It made her miss Aragorn and Faeron and the elves in Rivendell. She craved someone who was already known to her.

The thought made her pause, and she fingered the straps of her bag. After a moment of consideration, she turned and headed uphill.

It took a bit of asking around, but eventually she made it to what she hoped was the right house. Lori gathered her courage and knocked on the door. The woman she recognized as Hazel's mother opened it a moment later. Her large brown eyes widened.

"Good afternoon," Lori said, clasping her hands so she wouldn't be tempted to fidget. "I hope I'm not bothering you. I just wanted to see how Hazel was doing. I treated her after she fell—"

"I remember who you are. You are most welcome here." The woman grabbed Lori's arm and pulled her inside with the same forceful grip she'd used that day by the creek.

The main room was fairly spacious, a fireplace framed by shelves at one end and a dining table next to a closed door at the other. Hazel was sitting in a chair by the fire, mending a pair of trousers. She looked up as Lori entered the room, her expression one of mild curiosity.

"This is the woman who saved you by the stream last year," the woman said. She hefted an armful of laundry from the other chair and gestured for Lori to sit in the empty spot.

Hazel's eyes widened, her hands going still. "I never got the chance to thank you," she said quietly.

"That's all right." Lori propped her bag on her lap as she took a seat. "I just wanted to see how you were doing these days."

"I'm all right. Better than I was before." Her hands kneaded the cloth she was working on. "My chest hurt really bad after that day."

"I'm sorry about that." Lori fought the urge to glance at the mother. A few of Hazel's ribs had likely been broken from the compressions. She didn't want either of them to think done that out of negligence. "I probably damaged your ribs, but that was only because it required a lot of pressure to get you breathing again."

"You have nothing to apologize for," the woman said. "Your help is the reason my daughter still lives."

Lori smiled. "I'm just glad I could help, Miss…"

"Daisy," she replied, and Lori smiled to herself. A family of women named after flowers and greenery.

She turned her attention back to Hazel. "Your friend mentioned that you get fainting spells sometimes?"

Hazel nodded and shifted in her chair. "Ever since I was a little girl. I don't know what comes over me, I just…fall down."

"You might have a condition called epilepsy." Lori dug through her bag and retrieved a small jar of dried leaves. She held it out to Daisy. "This is mugwort. A tea brewed with these leaves could relieve some of her symptoms."

Daisy accepted the bottle with a cautious hand. "And how much do you expect as payment?"

"Nothing," Lori said, then added, "Not if you don't have any coin to spare." She did need to eat, after all. "Hazel's condition has already threatened her life once. I'm not going to put a price on her wellbeing."

Gratitude broke over Daisy's face, and she slipped the bottle into her pocket. "Still, I won't have you leaving empty-handed. Or with an empty belly, at least." She put a hand on Lori's shoulder. "You'll stay for dinner."

The small gesture of affection, after months of Adela's distant neutrality, warmed her to the core. Lori could only nod her agreement.

"Just one more thing." She dug through her bag for her notebook. "That bottle won't last you very long, but I think I saw some mugwort growing by the hedge on my way into town." She fumbled for the right page, then showed the illustration to Daisy. "It looks like this. It has green leaves and a purple stem. Fresh leaves are better, but you might want to keep some dried just in case."

"I will." Daisy studied the drawing for a moment later, then gestured for Lori to relax. "You've done a great service to my family today."

Hazel gave her a small, shy smile, and that was enough to remind Lori just why she had decided to do this.

Supper was a beef stew with roasted onions and carrots, fresh bread, and a small portion of thick, sweet cheese. Lori had to make a conscious effort not to inhale it all at once. Her diet in Adela's cottage had consisted mostly of vegetables and small game, and she'd forgotten how good carbs tasted.

"This is delicious," she said during a rare moment in which her mouth wasn't full of food. "Thank you so much for this."

Daisy shot her a half-sympathetic smile. "You've been on the road for a while?"

"Something like that." She spooned a few stray crumbs soaking in the broth. "I think it's been more than a year since I tasted bread."

"If you're a healer, why do you need to travel so much?" Hazel asked.

Lori shrugged. "I suppose I haven't found a place to settle down yet. Traveling helps me keep my options open."

"Do you know magic?"

Daisy shot her daughter a disapproving look, but Lori only shook her head.

"Nope, no magic. Everything I do is purely practical."

"Forgive her," Daisy said. "She's still young enough for her imagination to run wild."

"I've heard tell of a wizard that passes through these parts," Hazel protested. "On his way to visit hobbits in the Shire."

"A wizard, huh?" Lori smiled even as Daisy shook her head. She briefly debated telling Hazel about her experience with elves, but she didn't want to undermine her mother's wishes. "Well, I don't know much about that. I think the human body has a little bit of magic itself."

Hazel leaned forward in her chair. "Really?"

"Think about the last time you got a cut or a scrape." She became aware of the fabric of her skirt brushing against the scars on her legs, and tried to banish the thought from her mind. "Bandages and herbs can help keep the injury from getting infected, but in the end your body heals your skin on its own."

Hazel brushed the skin on the back of her hand, her gaze contemplative.

"My job is really to help the body heal itself," Lori continued. "So…you make sure to take care of it. Keep yourself strong and healthy, because you have a little bit of magic in you."

A small smile spread on Hazel's face, and Lori sat back in her chair. The words tasted a little like hypocrisy on her tongue, considering the scars she had hidden beneath the table.

But the girl sitting across from her seemed happy. She'd faced death and received a second chance. She was someone who deserved it.

That was why she had chosen this path, to protect people from the fate she'd met in her previous life.

For the time being, it was enough to know that Hazel would be happy.

"Well? What's wrong with him?"

Lori leaned back as the elderly man she was inspecting let out another cough. Apparently the people of Combe had never learned to cover their mouths. This was her first time visiting the village, tucked away in a valley north of Bree-hill. The people here had greeted her with dour faces, and it was only with a skeptical eye that a woman had agreed to accept her services.

"It could be just seasonal," Lori said to the woman in question. Her father-in-law had been suffering from a cough for several days, but he wasn't wheezing or producing an unusual amount of phlegm. "I can give him something to soothe the cough, but his symptoms aren't too concerning. I would watch him for a few days and see if his condition changes."

The woman watched her with a slightly accusatory look in her eye, like she was offended that Lori couldn't magically get rid of the cough entirely.

Lori took a slow breath, trying not to let her own irritation show. She couldn't exactly pick and choose who was going to hire her. "I'm going to brew a tea for him. I'll leave you some of the herb so you can make more later." She indicated the fireplace at one end of the room. "Do you mind if I…?"

The woman nodded, her lips still pursed. Lori picked up a small cauldron, filled it with water, and placed it over the fire. The brew was incredibly simple, consisting only of a handful of sage leaves. She had a small jar of honey tucked away in her bag, but she preferred to save that for nicer customers.

"You're not from Bree-land, are you?" the woman asked.

The old man coughed again. Outside, a dog began to bark.

"No. I'm from further east." Lori shifted her weight, wishing the water would boil faster.

"You should know this town has no inn," the woman said. "You won't find a place to rest come nightfall."

"That's fine," Lori said with a tight smile. It was still the middle of the afternoon. "I'm used to camping outside, anyway."

Several tense, silent minutes passed before Lori could begin brewing the tea. She sat back on her heels as the minty smell of sage began to permeate the room.

"Do you have a mug I could use?"

Silently, the woman passed her a wooden cup, the grain rough against her fingers. Carefully, Lori poured a steaming portion of the tea into the container.

"We can wait a few minutes to let it cool down," she said, placing the mug on the cluttered table.

"And this will cure his cough?"

"It will help him stop coughing," Lori said slowly. "If the cough persists, he could strain his chest muscles and that would put him in more pain than necessary. The tea is just to help him feel better until his body recovers from whatever is causing the cough."

She narrowed her eyes. "What is your purpose as a healer if he's expected to get better on his own?"

You should be grateful he doesn't need more of my help, Lori wanted to say, but stopped herself. Still, she could hear the annoyance creeping into her voice as she replied, "I'm here to make it easier for him to get better. Thankfully, it doesn't seem like his condition is too severe."

Eager to leave as soon as she could, Lori brought the tea to where the old man was sitting. He was staring into space as if he hadn't heard a word of their conversation, but he looked up and accepted the mug when she handed it to him.

"Be careful, it's a little hot," she said, then stepped back in case he had to cough again.

The man lifted the cup with shaking hands, and she fervently hoped he wouldn't spill the tea on himself.

Lori turned and pulled a bundle of dried sage from her bag. "Brew some tea with a few leaves of this whenever his coughing returns," she said, handing it to the woman. Sage was easy enough to come by, and she could replenish her supply on the way out of Combe.

"I suppose you'll want payment for the herbs." The woman went to retrieve a clay jar from a shelf and began counting out coins. Lori listened to the rattle of metal, mentally calculating how many meals the money would afford her.

The old man coughed again and spluttered, tea flecking the rim of the mug.

"You don't have to drink it all at once," Lori told him. "It's all right to take it in small sips."

He coughed again, the sound thinner this time, then put a hand to his throat. The mug tipped from his grasp, and hot tea splattered across the floor. Lori jumped back just in time to avoid the spill. The coins clattered on the table as the woman dropped them and rushed across the room.

"What did you do?"

Lori bit back a curse, her heart jumping into her throat. The man's lips were already swelling. "H-He's having an allergic reaction. I can try to—"

"I think you've done enough." The woman swept between Lori and the old man, anger making her form swell like a defensive bird of prey. "Get out of my house before you do any more damage."

Panic rose within her as the old man began to wheeze, but what stung was the barely-concealed look of betrayal in the woman's eyes.

"No, no, I can help him, I didn't realize—"

The woman shoved her, and Lori nearly slipped in the spilled tea. "Out of my house, now!"

Holding back tears, Lori only just remembered to grab her bag before she pushed through the door. Several more dogs had begun to bark along the street.

She deliberated on the patch of bare earth in front of the house. There was a very real chance the man could die if she didn't help him, but she was terrified of what the woman would do if she tried to come back.

A handful of people had stepped out of their houses, drawn by the commotion. Her skin prickled with the weight of their collective gaze.

She'd ruined things here already. There was nothing she could do to fix it.

Burning with shame, Lori turned on her heel and fled down the street.

The sun was down, had been for a while, but Lori kept walking.

She'd been directionless ever since Combe, seeking out only enough patients so she could afford dinner when she needed it. She felt adrift, spun off course like a ship after a storm.

There was a good chance she'd killed that man. If she'd been more attentive, had taken extra precautions, she could have avoided the situation entirely. Every day she was reminded of her own cowardice, her fear of returning to the village and seeing if her fuck-up really had taken someone's life.

How the hell could she trust herself to heal anyone else if that was how her patients ended up?

She didn't know where to go next. It felt a little pointless to settle down for the night if she had no idea what to do in the morning.

The flicker of a campfire in the trees startled her once she finally noticed it. Wary, Lori drew to the opposite side of the road. This far out from Bree-land, there was a good chance that roadside camps belonged to bandits.

She leaned against the wide trunk of a nearby oak and blew a sigh through her nose. She could stay here and sleep with one eye open, or move and risk being seen. Of course, that was assuming the strangers were bandits—they could be travelers, merchants, perhaps Rangers. There was the chance a potential patient was in need of help across the road, though that prospect didn't hold the same promise it once had. Whatever the case, a fire possibly meant cooked food, and hunger had been needling her stomach for most of the day.

Lori wasn't sure if it was hunger or restlessness that finally prodded her from her hiding spot and across the road. She stepped carefully, keeping her eyes on the shadowed trees. A fire would leave the strangers night-blind, and she didn't want the same for herself.

When she was finally close enough to see the people around the campfire, she paused. An elderly man in a gray robe sat on a raised stone, a lit pipe in one hand. As far as she could tell, there was no one with him.

It was unlikely someone his age would be traveling alone, but not impossible. As far as Lori knew, bandits didn't bother to keep older people around, and this made her relax a little. She was safe to continue down the road.

"If you are in search of a fire or a place to rest your feet, you need not hide in the shadows."

Lori froze. The old man took a draw from his pipe, gazing placidly into the near distance, but she had no doubt he had been speaking to her. After a moment of hesitation, she waded though the brush and stepped into the clearing.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to spy on you. I just get wary when I travel alone."

"And rightly so." He gestured for her to sit on a stump of wood on the other side of the fire. "This road can be dangerous, especially at night."

Lori settled down, propping her bag beside her. "Can I ask if you're heading east or west?"

"East, in fact, to visit an old friend. And yourself?"

"East. I suppose. I'm not really sure."

He blew out a puff of smoke. The scent was earthy and comforting, nothing like the acrid stench of cigarettes from New York. "East is a dangerous direction for one not sure of their destination."

Lori frowned slightly at the ominous statement. Her gaze fell to the large, pointed gray hat lying at his feet. It suited him—strange and out of place, but not threatening so much as intriguing.

"I'm not looking for danger." She scratched a bit of dirt from beneath her fingernail. "I'm sick of what I've seen already. I just…" A lump appeared in her throat, and she took a moment to compose herself. "I don't know what else there is for me."

"You are young still, and there is much left in life for you, even if you cannot see it now," he said, a comforting warmth in his voice. "Tell me, what is it you fear you have lost?"

She took a deep breath. "I used to be a healer. I mean, I still am, but I made a bad mistake with this one patient. He might be dead. I-I don't know. I just don't think I can trust myself to treat anyone else after what happened."

Lori dug her nails into her palm to calm herself down. This was the first time she had spoken aloud about what happened, and the memory was fresh in her mind, heavy as the shame resting on the back of her tongue. She stared into the fire, half-surprised she'd shared so much with someone she'd just met.

"There is much told in legends about great warriors who have spilled blood in defense of their homelands," the man said through another puff of smoke. "And less about the healers who were present after the battles, healers who have an equal power to grant either life or death. It is a great burden that is often overlooked."

She lifted her gaze to his face. There was understanding in his gaze, the empathy of someone who had seen blood spilt with his own eyes.

"There are men in this world with many more years of experience who have made mistakes that cost hundreds of lives," he continued. "Not to mention those who would do intentional harm for selfish purposes. Do not let this one failure keep you from doing good. More than ever, this world needs those with a kind heart and a gentle hand."

Lori let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Even if she wasn't a murderer or a war criminal, she couldn't just erase the guilt from hurting someone. But she'd forgotten about the others. There had been the pregnant woman suffering from stomach aches, the boy with the splinter in his foot, the man with a migraine, Hazel and Faeron and Tobias. There were people she hadn't met yet who needed help.

She looked up, realizing she hadn't spoken in a while. "I think I understand what you mean." She tried for a smile. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome."

"Sorry, I don't think I caught your name earlier."

"I have not given it yet. I am Gandalf."

The name struck a chord in her memory. Bilbo had spoken of an "old Gandalf" when recounting his adventure, but that had been decades ago. This couldn't possibly be the same person.

"I'm Lori. It's nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, my dear." He put his pipe to his lips, looking thoughtful. "Many years I have wandered this earth, and it is always a delight to hear an interesting tale from a stranger."

Lori smiled faintly. She wondered if he'd heard anything that would match her own story.

"Well, it's nice to have a conversation with someone that's not about herbs or broken bones or any of that." She crossed her arms over her lap. "Does it ever get lonely, wandering around by yourself?" She bit her lip, wondering if that was too personal.

"Hmm." Gandalf puffed out a cloud of smoke, and didn't speak until it had dissipated. "I think we all have bouts of loneliness at times, but it is always good to have somewhere or someone you can call home."

She didn't have to think—he'd popped into her mind already, as soon as Gandalf had spoken the word home.

"I think you're right," she said softly. Maybe she would try to find him.

Lori let out a sigh and relaxed. The heat from the campfire sank into her, and the shadows around the clearing didn't seem so deep. This was only a place to rest before she continued on her journey.

And somewhere along the way, she was going to find her home.

I've been trying my best to do proper research on the medical stuff. Most medical practices in medieval Europe were either pseudoscience or based in religion or both, so I'm trying to depict things that at least sound realistic.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed Gandalf's appearance. That last scene was partially inspired by the meeting between Toph and Iroh in ATLA. I feel like Lori and Gandalf could have a similar dynamic :) I originally planned to have Aragorn talk with Lori and get her back on track, but I thought it would be fun to bring in Gandalf and have him be something of a mentor this time. It's kind of funny to write him being nice to Lori because he absolutely cannot stand my other OC Quinn.

Thank you to everyone who has left a review/favorite/follow. Next time we'll see a couple of familiar characters again, so stay tuned!