Warning for a brief allusion to self harm.

Chapter 15

The fastest route to Archet would take her around the hill and past Combe. She hadn't been there since the incident with the sage tea, and wasn't eager to see if anyone remembered her. Lori tried to swallow her discomfort as she drew near. She wouldn't have to speak to anyone or enter the village proper. She just had to make it to the other end of the valley.

The sun was setting just as she made it to the top of the valley. There was a series of stone steps leading down the steep rock face—the locals called it the Stile of Combe. Lori had taken this path once before, but she wasn't wildly confident in her ability to navigate the steps in the fading light. She spent a few minutes looking for a suitably-sized branch, then wrapped a dry cloth around one end like Aragorn had once shown her.

With a lit torch in hand, she began her descent, keeping a careful watch on her footing. Some of the steps were missing, and others were cracked or half-worn. If she wasn't in a hurry, she never would have risked this route in the dark—or come to the valley of Combe at all, for that matter.

Lori was halfway down when the steps in front of her dropped off into darkness. A slope of dried mud, about the length of three steps, lay between her and the rest of the stair. She clutched her bag in one hand, her torch in the other, and made the small leap across. The next step held beneath her weight, and she let out a sigh of relief.

"I am never taking this route again," she muttered to herself, glancing back at the gap. She didn't want to have to find out if anyone was ever going to bother fixing that.

She didn't fully relax until she was on solid ground again. The bottom of the valley was bathed in twilight, but the northbound path was still visible. She'd follow it until her torch began to burn out, then stop to get some rest.

"Hello?"

The voice issued out of the shadows behind her. Lori spun around, scanning the darkness with her torch.

"Is someone there?" she asked lowly.

"Here," the voice rasped in reply, and she followed the noise.

It didn't take long for the light of her torch to reveal a man lying amidst the brush, one side of his face streaked with dried blood. Around him were several chunks of stone—the remains of the missing steps.

"Oh, god." Lori waded through the ferns and brambles to reach him. "Did you fall?"

"I did." The man smiled weakly, the graying stubble on his face glinting in the light of the torch. "Would you be a good lass and find someone to help me?"

"I'm a healer, actually. I can look over your injuries right now."

His smile faded somewhat. "That's all right. I'd prefer to have a real healer look over me."

Lori stopped in her tracks. "A real healer?"

"A man, that is. I have injuries that call for a bit more than herb-craft, you see."

Her mouth fell open, and she couldn't keep the indignation out of her voice as she said, "I've treated serious injuries before—puncture wounds, broken bones, concussions. I want to at least make sure that your condition isn't life-threatening. If you want to see someone else afterwards, that's fine with me."

"There's no need to get angry," the man said, and Lori clenched her jaw. "I've been lying here for a few hours by now. I can last a bit longer while you get someone to help me."

Against her better judgement, Lori toyed with the idea of simply leaving him there. She had somewhere to be, and he was making her late not just because of his injuries, but because he had the nerve to be patronizing about who was giving him care.

A moment later, shame extinguished her anger. She'd been here once before, and she'd already decided what kind of healer she was going to be the night she'd saved Charlie's life.

"I'll find someone who can take care of you," she said lowly.

"There's a good lass," the man said, and she had to bite her lip to avoid saying anything she would regret.

Swallowing back another surge of anger, Lori turned and made her way towards Combe.

She'd done the right thing. She just hadn't expected that to make her feel like shit.

Lori arrived in Archet on time, without any further incident. She was exhausted after the previous night's events and still nursing her wounded pride, but she forgot about her troubles as she passed through the village gates.

Archet had always struck her as a quaint, quiet place, but tonight it looked mystical. The lanterns strung between the trees illuminated the red and gold of the leaves. The air smelled like baked goods and burning applewood, bringing warmth to the small village.

She followed the cheery sound of a fiddle to the small square in the center. More lanterns decorated the area, where several tables laden with food had been arranged at one end. A handful of people were dancing and chatting while a group of musicians tuned their instruments.

It didn't take long for her to spot Faeron in conversation with a short woman with a round face. His back was turned to her, and a mischievous thought struck her.

She crept towards him, trying to keep her footsteps light. But before she could pounce, he spun around to face her.

"Lori." His expression brightened. "You're here."

"Yeah." She straightened with a blush. "I was trying to sneak up on you."

"You're going to have to move more quietly than that if you want to catch a Ranger off guard," he said with a smirk, before his expression became more serious. "I wasn't sure if you were going to come."

"Well, I didn't get your letter until two days ago, so I was cutting it kind of close." She rubbed her arm. "But I'm glad you invited me."

"I wasn't sure when I would see you again, and I didn't want to leave it up to chance." He reached out to take her hand. "Can I introduce you to everyone?"

"Um, sure." She straightened, nerves fluttering in her stomach, then reminded herself to relax. If Faeron was comfortable here, she wouldn't have much of a reason to worry.

The woman he'd been talking to earlier was Tilly, who helped maintain the nearby orchard. Most of the people in Archet worked as woodsmen and hunters, and Lori surmised from the general cheer that the village was well-stocked for the winter. The villagers regarded her with a curiosity that bordered on wariness, but Faeron assured her that it was nothing personal.

"Archet is a good ways away from the main road, so we don't get many visitors," he said as they filled wooden plates with warm bread and slices of meat seasoned with garlic and herbs. "Everyone will warm up to you soon enough."

"However they treat me, it'll be a warmer reception than I get in Combe," she replied. Just mentioning the name put a pit in her stomach that she tried to ignore.

Faeron's brow creased in sympathy. "You didn't take the Chetwood path?"

"I was trying to make it here on time."

"And your noble sacrifice has not gone unnoticed." He handed her a mug of ale and toasted her, and that was enough to lift her spirits.

"Is your father here?" she asked as they found a place to sit.

"I think he's scouting up north. Probably couldn't make it in time."

"Do you…have other family?"

He nodded. "My mother is busy preparing the last of the food for tonight. Once she's finished, you'll be able to meet her."

Already introducing me to his parents. Jesus. Lori took a sip of ale to calm her nerves.

"What about you and Aragorn?" Faeron asked, and she stopped short to avoid inhaling her drink.

Lori set her mug down and cleared her throat. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't realize you were close with him. He's never mentioned a family or anyone else outside the Rangers."

"He's been helping me out ever since I came here. I think I told you already, but he was the one who helped me get that apprenticeship with Adela." Her brow furrowed as she tried to parse where he was going with this line of questioning.

"Right. I suppose I was just thinking about it." He tapped his thumbs on the side of his mug. "Aragorn isn't married, I don't think, but there's still the chance…"

Her eyebrows rose. "What— Are you trying to imply that I'm his illegitimate child, or something?"

His cheeks darkened. "When you phrase it like that, it sounds like an insult."

"I just don't know where you even got that idea. I mean, we're not even the same race. I don't know why he's been helping me so much. It's just the way things are." She snapped her mouth shut, wishing that she had a better answer, that Aragorn had given her a clear reason for his actions.

"All right." Faeron held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you, truly."

"It's not your fault. I had to deal with a rude patient yesterday, and I'm a little on edge." She looked away, ashamed at her outburst. It made her arms itch.

"It was none of my business, anyway." He put a tentative hand on her arm. "Can I offer you a dance to make up for it?"

She made an effort to soften her expression. "I don't really know how to dance."

"What about those movements you taught me for my ankle?"

"Those were not dance moves." She sighed, then allowed herself a smile. He was offering her an olive branch, and she'd only feel like more of a killjoy if she didn't accept it. "Fine. Either you teach me, or we'll work it out together."

"I think we're both intelligent enough to find our way." He offered her his hand.

"Both?" she replied, and laughed as he pulled her to her feet.

The lively music caused them both to step on each other's feet a handful of times, and Faeron complained that she was going to sprain his ankle again. They bickered in time with the music, and soon Lori was nearly out of breath, flushed with exertion and the warmth of Faeron's hands on her.

When the tempo finally slowed, she leaned her head forward onto his shoulder. Their footsteps turned them in a slow, lazy orbit.

"You should stay in Archet."

Lori lifted her head so she could look him in the eye. "What?"

"You should stay here after the festival. You'd have steady work, a roof over your head. And perhaps I'd be able to see you more often. I'd still have to fulfill my duties as a Ranger, but I would at least know where you are."

She considered the tentative, hopeful smile on his face, and tried to keep the unease out of her voice as she asked, "Doesn't this village already have a healer?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"I don't want to be stepping on anyone's toes. That's part of the reason why I haven't settled anywhere yet. If I see an opening, I'll take it, but that hasn't happened yet."

"This is your opening. I'll speak to Theobald. I'm sure he wouldn't mind an assistant o-or a partner. I mean, there's no such thing as too many healers."

"There absolutely is," she said, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. "You want to know why I ran into trouble in Combe? The man was lying there with broken bones and a head wound, and he didn't want me to treat him because I'm a woman. If I have to settle for being an assistant or Healer Number Two, I'm not…" She shook her head. "It wouldn't be worth it."

"But it's worth it to keep living on the road?" Faeron asked softly.

"Isn't that what you do?"

"Yes, but it's different for me. Rangers have to stay on the move."

"So do I." She risked looking into his eyes, and could see that he didn't understand. She didn't know how to explain to him that it wasn't about staying in Archet, it was about staying anywhere. She needed to stay on the road the same way a fish needed to keep swimming to breathe.

"I just worry about you," Faeron said. "I've been thinking about it ever since the watchtower. Winters are dangerous without a roof over your head."

This would be her first winter with nowhere to stay, Lori realized. She hadn't considered it before, but it didn't scare her as much as it probably should have.

"You don't have to worry about me," she said, squeezing his hand. "I'll be able to take care of myself. I…I'd still want to see you more often. I wish there was a faster way to stay in touch than just writing letters."

His lips quirked into a smile. "You mean like a Seeing-stone?"

"A what?"

"They were magical stones used in the Old Kingdom. The Dúnedain used them to communicate with each other over great distances."

"Sure. You know where we could get a couple of those?"

Faeron laughed and shook his head. "They've all been lost, as far as I know. But that does remind me—I have something for you."

"Really?" Her eyes widened a fraction, and she let him lead her away from the other dancing couples.

They headed away from the glow of the lanterns, and their shadows stretched before them along the dirt road that bisected the town. Faeron stopped in front of one of the houses, set at the base of an enormous tree. The first floor was typical of the cottages she'd seen in Bree-land, but the second floor wrapped around the trunk of the tree, a wooden ladder leading up to the entrance.

"You have a treehouse?" She grinned. "That's so cool."

Faeron glanced at her. "Cool?"

"I mean…" She blushed. "It's nice. I wish I'd had something like that growing up."

"Then you'll be pleased to know I have the tree-house all to myself." He climbed the ladder with swift, practiced movements, then gestured for her to follow.

The interior was too dark for her to see much detail, even after Faeron lit the small lantern by the door. It was just as messy as she'd expected, wrinkled clothing hanging on the bed frame and the rest of his furniture cluttered with pelts and small wood carvings. Faeron hoisted his pack onto the crowded desk and began rummaging through it.

"We found a cache of weapons from the Old Kingdom during a scouting mission. Some of them were quite fancy—probably ceremonial, or something. This one was a little rusty, but I cleaned it up the best I could." He retrieved a long shape from his bag and handed it to her.

It was a knife. The handle and sheath were both carved with swirling lines and leaf shapes, and a shining red stone was inlaid at the end of the handle. Lori drew the blade and tested the edge on her thumb. It was sharp, and the tip glinted in the light of the lantern.

The room suddenly felt very small.

Carefully, Lori sheathed the dagger. It took a force of will to smile and say, "This is really nice, but I don't know how to use it."

"Of course. I don't expect you to go around stabbing people. I just thought you might like the way it looked." He scratched the back of his neck. "Not that I think that you only care about appearances, I just thought…"

"It was really sweet of you to get me something," Lori said, trying to keep the strain out of her voice. "I've just already talked with Aragorn about this, and he said it might be dangerous for me to be carrying weapons that I don't know how to use."

Please take it back. Please. She already had a knife in her bag, the one she used to treat other people, and she'd kept herself safe with a vow that that blade was only to heal. But the dagger she was holding had no such promise attached to it.

"Right," Faeron said, shifting his weight. "I didn't consider that. It's all right if you want to sell it—you could probably get a fair price for it."

Lori almost laughed. He'd been so kind to her all day, and all she could do was keep saying no. There were so many things she couldn't tell him, so many windows she had to keep closed, because she was terrified that he would look in and see the dark and miserable and hopeless marrow that was rotting in her from the inside out.

A gentle touch on her arm brought her back to the present.

"Are you all right?" Faeron asked.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to keep it together. "I know I've been a little off tonight. It's been stressful for me this past year." These past two years. This past lifetime. "I just want to relax, try to enjoy myself right now."

"Did you want to go back to the festival?"

This time, her smile was genuine. She didn't know if he was being respectful or if he was just utterly clueless.

"No, I don't want to go back to the festival," she said, and kissed him.

He responded eagerly, more confidently than he had the first time, and she let herself just focus on touch, on the feel of his lips on hers and his hands on her waist. She kissed him until she was warm enough to stop feeling the void in her chest. Afterwards, they fell asleep on his bed, still fully clothed.

She left early the next morning. Faeron had to head east to meet another Ranger, but he walked her to the edge of the village and kissed her goodbye, with the promise that they would see each other again soon. The knife lay abandoned on his desk.

Lori waved goodbye and set off down the southward path. She felt weary, almost hungover, from the previous night. It wasn't until the village was well out of sight that she stopped and dragged her fingers through her hair. She touched her lips, her cheeks, the sides of her neck.

Without knowing why, she sank to the ground and burst into tears.

Winter was brutal. The cold was dry, leaving her lips chapped and her ears red and burning. Lori slept as long as she could keep a fire burning, uncaring of who would see the flames out in the wild. She savored the warmth in the homes of people she treated—an hour out of the cold was just as good a payment as a handful of coins.

The next time she passed through the gates of Bree, she made a beeline for the Prancing Pony. She shivered as soon as she pushed the door open, her breath leaving her in a small cloud even as she stepped inside. She waited behind a group of hobbits who were checking in for the night, then stepped up to the counter with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Mister Butterbur."

"That it is, though it's bitter cold out there." He leaned his elbows on the counter. "Looking for work?"

"Always," she said with a rueful smile. "But I was hoping to spend a minute getting some feeling back into my fingers."

"All right, then. How about a mug of cider to warm you up?"

"That sounds amazing." Lori sniffled and nodded her thanks as the bartender pulled a clean mug from beneath the counter.

While she waited, she looked over her shoulder at the other patrons. The tavern was especially full today, but she was grateful for the heat the crowd provided. It looked to be the usual group—merchants and miners swapping stories and jokes while the cold drained from their bones. She nearly missed the man sitting in the corner, his face shadowed by his hood, but something about him made her do a double take.

Her heart lifted. She wasn't completely sure it was Aragorn, but it wouldn't hurt to check. She stepped away from the bar, careful not to bump into anyone.

"Miss, your drink!"

"Oh, right." Lori took the mug of cider, cradled it carefully between her palms, and made her way across the room.

The man lifted his head as she approached, then pulled back his hood. Lori grinned and slid into the seat across from him.

"I almost didn't recognize you with your hood up."

"I prefer to keep a low profile when I visit the inn," Aragorn said with a smile. "But it is good to see a familiar face."

She took a sip of the cider and sighed in appreciation. It was spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, and warmth bloomed in her stomach.

"How have you been?" she asked.

"This winter has been quiet, fortunately enough. I think the cold has slowed us all down, including the bandits."

"It's been hard on everyone." Lori massaged one ear with her fingers to warm it up. "I've had to treat half a dozen cases of frostbite in the past couple of weeks."

"And you have been able to keep yourself warm?" Aragorn asked, brow furrowing slightly.

"I've been fine," she said, deciding not to mention that she'd been considering spending extra coin on a room for the night. There were days when she regretted not taking Faeron's offer to stay in Archet.

She hadn't been in contact with him since the festival. That was normal—they were both busy, and it wasn't easy to find an opportunity to write—but she couldn't help but feel that she owed him some kind of apology. She usually tried to put the thought out of her head before she could consider what she would be apologizing for.

Aragorn's voice brought her back to the present. "I would advise that you find a place to stay for at least part of the year. These winters can be unforgiving, especially to travelers."

"Don't think I've forgotten that week and a half we were stuck in a hunting shelter because of the snow," Lori said with a half-smile.

"Then you should know how important it is to find refuge from the cold."

Her smile faded as she realized she wouldn't be able to use humor to dismiss the subject. "I know. I guess I…haven't been prioritizing that as much as I should have."

"I have need to return to Rivendell soon. You should come with me."

Lori looked up from her drink. She'd considered making her way back to Rivendell before, but she didn't exactly remember the paths she would need to take to get there, and the last thing she wanted was to get lost so far from civilization.

And now Aragorn was offering to guide her there for the second time, stepping forward again because she wasn't able to take care of herself. Something like guilt burned in her stomach, and she took another sip of cider to compose herself.

"Is there something that gives you pause?" Aragorn asked, watching her closely.

"No," she said, and coughed as the cider singed the back of her throat. "I'd be happy to…to see everyone again."

"I'm sure they will be glad to see you as well." Aragorn took out his pipe and began packing it.

Lori looked away, taking in the rest of the room to give herself a brief distraction. On the mantle of the fireplace, a young man and woman were placing several long, white candles in between pine sprigs.

"What are they doing over there?" she asked, pointing them out to Aragorn.

"They are decorating the tavern for Yule. It is a winter festival the people celebrate every year."

She smiled wistfully. "It reminds me of this holiday from back home."

"I think you have mentioned it before," Aragorn said. "You call it Christmas?"

"That's the one," Lori said, touched that he'd remembered something so trivial about her past.

"And how is it similar to Yule?"

Lori leaned back, taking a moment to recall her previous life. It was so different to how she lived now, sometimes it seemed more like a dream or a memory of a book she'd read.

"Well, Christmas takes place around the same time as Yule. It's only one day, but people treat it more like a season. There's this other holiday, Halloween, that we celebrate a couple months earlier, and as soon as it's over…" She snapped her fingers. "People start putting up decorations. They put strings of light in front of their houses and put up pine trees in the living room…"

She rambled for a while, describing the food and the music and the crappy Hallmark movies. Even though it brought back her homesickness, it was a little comforting to list out all the details, just to confirm to herself that she really had lived through it all.

"It seems your world and this one have more in common than I thought," Aragorn said once she trailed off. He'd listened patiently, though she wasn't sure how much of her chatter he'd actually understood.

"Do elves have any holidays?" she asked. There hadn't been anything (that she'd noticed, at least) during the year she'd spent in Rivendell, but maybe they went by a different calendar than men.

"Yes, but they do not celebrate them as often as mortals. They mark them with the passing of the stars, not the sun." He tilted his head in thought. "There may be a feast approaching soon, though I do not remember the exact year."

"Well, I'll be happy to be back in Rivendell regardless," Lori said, and she tried to mean it.

Maybe going to her first refuge in this world would bring her some peace. She hoped, desperately, that it would help her find whatever it was that she was missing.

IRT the man in Combe who refused help from Lori: I know his actions might seem ridiculous, but if there's one thing recent events have taught me, it's that some people will refuse medical help for the sake of their own wacked out beliefs.

If this were a much shorter story, it probably could have ended with Lori staying in Archet and living out her days with Faeron. But I have much bigger plans for this, as you can probably tell. I'd be interested to see if you have any predictions for where the plot is going to go.

Thank you as always for new favorites/follows/reviews! I'll try to have the next chapter up soon if work doesn't kill me first lol