Chapter 21
The next morning, Lori was halfway through getting dressed when a knock sounded at her door. With a quick, nervous breath, she smoothed down the front of her dress and went to answer it.
To her surprise, the woman standing on the other side was not one of the Rohirrim. She had dark hair and a narrow face, with a skin tone that suggested a life spent indoors.
"Good morning," she said with an inviting smile. Her accent was different, too. "Are you the new healer that arrived in Meduseld yesterday?"
"Yes." Her stomach dropped. She'd woken up a little late, but she hadn't expected to have new patients already. "I'm sorry. I was just about to head to the infirmary. I just need a moment to grab my things."
She turned to go retrieve her bag, but the woman stopped her with a hand on her arm.
"I am not here to ask for your services. I only wanted to introduce myself. I am Lady Sárelle of Lebennin."
"Uh, Lori Deng." She half-wished she had something more than a surname to add. "It's nice to meet you."
"They are still serving breakfast in the main hall, if you are hungry."
"That would be nice." She adjusted her skirt, unsure what to do with her hands, then followed Sárelle down the hall. She felt exposed without her bag at her side, and hoped she wouldn't have to tend to anyone before she had a chance to set up.
"Éowyn said you came down from the Northlands," Sárelle said. "What brings you so far south?"
"I was looking for work. I'd heard healers were needed in Rohan and Gondor, and I wanted to help if I could." The words still felt disingenuous, but she shook off her unease.
"It was a stroke of luck that you arrived so soon after Wídfara departed," Sárelle said with a smile. "And it is nice to have another woman in the hall."
"I feel lucky, too," Lori said. "I just hope I can live up to everyone's standards."
Her expression turned sympathetic. "When I first came to Edoras, I felt the same. Here, Gondorians have a reputation for being aloof and self-important. I wasn't sure how to prove them wrong without being disingenuous."
"For what it's worth, you haven't given me that impression at all."
Sárelle's expression warmed at that, and Lori decided she liked her.
"And what brings you to Rohan?" she asked.
"Betrothal. The wedding will be in the spring next year."
"Congratulations," Lori kept her tone bright, though Sárelle wasn't exactly overflowing with enthusiasm. "What is he like?"
"His name is Bregdan. He rides in the éored of the Third Marshal. They are riding out east somewhere, but you will likely meet him when he returns."
"Hopefully not because he needs a healer."
They entered the large hall Lori had passed through when she'd first arrived. Instead of papers and lieutenants, the tables held a number of guards and other members of the staff, each absorbed in food or conversation. Lori was glad she hadn't come alone as she took a seat with Sárelle at one of the tables near the back.
"Don't be nervous," Sárelle said with a small grin. "You'll meet everyone here in time. Most of them are good people."
"I'm always nervous," Lori said, earning a laugh. "It's not just because I'm new."
A young woman appeared with two bowls of porridge in hand, and set them down on the table with a small curtsy in Sárelle's direction.
"Thank you," Lori said, and she received a tentative smile in return before the woman walked away. She turned back to Sárelle. "How long have you lived in Meduseld?"
"Nearly a year. The wedding was meant to be sooner, but the éored have been needed on patrol more frequently than expected."
"I treated the injuries of a few of Prince Théodred's men on the way here." Lori twirled her spoon in the center of her porridge. "Thankfully none of their injuries were serious, but it must be hard to have a loved one ride out…" She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm being insensitive."
Sárelle gave her a gentle smile. "It's all right. Most of the women in Edoras have family riding in an éored." She paused. "Did you come here alone?"
Her chest twinged, and Lori hesitated. "I came with a friend, but he didn't stay. I, um, didn't have any family that could make the trip with me."
"Perhaps you might start one here," Sárelle said lightly, and Lori was grateful she hadn't bothered with pity. "The people here are kind, for the most part."
"I don't want to gossip, but is there anyone I should watch out for?"
Her mouth flattened into a straight line, as if someone specific had immediately come to mind. Before she could respond, someone sat on the bench beside her.
"Strange to see you here so late in the morning," the newcomer said to Sárelle, before turning to Lori. "Are you the new healer, then?"
She had dark, striking brows and a youthful face framed by wisps of blond hair that had escaped the pins holding it back. She gazed at Lori with a bold but not unfriendly stare, one elbow leaning on the table.
"That's me. My name is Lori." After a moment's hesitation, she extended a hand across the table.
The woman clasped her wrist with a smile. "I am Dernhild. I see you've already met the Gondorian."
Sárelle rolled her eyes at that. "Dernhild is another lady of the Hall, even if she doesn't act like it."
Lori smiled to herself and took a bite of her porridge. Even if she was a literal world away from her old life, she felt like she could have befriended the two of them at a cafe or a bar. Though things were different here, she reminded herself.
"I hope I'm not crossing a line here," she said carefully. "I know you're both nobles, so is it appropriate for us to be sitting together?"
"I don't care," Dernhild said. "If you're going to be the new healer, then you're going to know things about me that no one else does."
Sárelle briefly raised her gaze to the ceiling, as if praying for patience, then addressed Lori. "In Gondor, it would be different. But here, the Rohirrim are not as concerned about rank. We all live beneath the same roof in Meduseld."
"All right." Lori relaxed. "Either way, I'm glad to meet both of you."
Her first week in Meduseld passed quickly. Lori spent most of the time conversing with the other residents of the hall—nobles, soldiers, staff—to get a better idea about everyone's medical history. She was met with some wariness and curiosity, but she tried not to let her anxiety get the better of her. She had skills they needed, and she would not allow herself to doubt her own abilities.
Most of the time, she took her meals with Dernhild and Sárelle, and Éowyn joined them when she was able. At night she made notes and sketches in her notebook and tried not to think of Aragorn.
The groundskeeper showed her the small, slightly overgrown herb garden outside the hall. It was too late in the season to plant everything she wanted, but tending to the mess gave her something to do with her hands when her thoughts grew too loud.
Lori was at her worktable, weighing out which herbs she would need to restock, when a knock sounded at her door. She flipped her notebook closed and went to answer it.
She recognized the man standing on the other side—she'd passed him in the corridors a handful of times. He had the look of a foreigner with his dark hair and pale eyes, but that was all she knew about him.
"Good afternoon." She stepped aside so he could enter the infirmary. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"I would apologize first for the delay in introducing myself. Many matters have drawn my attention elsewhere." His eyes swept over the room before landing on her. "I am Gríma, chief counsellor of the king."
"Lori. I'm the new healer, as you've probably already heard." She nudged the door shut. "If there's anything you wish to discuss with me regarding your health, I'm happy to help."
Gríma smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes, it seems you've already spoken with quite a few people in Meduseld."
She gave a small shrug. "Everyone who gave me permission. I just wanted to get a better idea of everyone's medical history, and what sort of problems I should look out for."
"And I assume you've kept records of these conversations." His gaze drifted towards the notebook lying on her worktable. "That is quite thorough of you. A book full of weaknesses."
"N-Not weaknesses," Lori said, unsure of when this had turned into an interrogation. "It's my job to make sure everyone stays in good health. I have to take notes to do that properly."
"Of course." Gríma nodded as if he hadn't been the one to make the accusation in the first place. "It is good to have a young, fresh mind with new methods. The old healer, Wídfara, was a good and faithful servant, but…past his prime."
"Oh," Lori said, trying to think of a way to change the subject.
"A word of warning, if I may." He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if afraid they would be overheard. "There are some in this hall who have taken notice of how quickly you came to occupy this room after Wídfara's departure. Some believe it is more than just coincidence."
"W-What does that mean?" Instinctively, Lori crossed her arms. "I didn't even know there was a position to be filled before I came to Edoras."
"You need not convince me, Lori," Gríma said with a quirk of his thinning brows. "I am sure you will be a valuable asset to the Golden Hall. But you must be careful of who you trust."
She wasn't sure if that was a recommendation or a threat. She certainly didn't trust him.
Trying to keep the unease out of her voice, she said, "If you have any concerns about your health, you can always come speak to me."
"I most certainly will." He inclined his head and left the room.
Lori stood where she was for a while, nails tracing idle patterns against the back of her hand. She thought back to every conversation she'd had in Meduseld, every question and searching glance that had been sent her way.
Perhaps Gríma had only said that to unsettle her. But anxiety was already winding tight in her chest, sharp as wire. She crossed the room and picked up her notebook.
A book of weaknesses… That had never been her intention, but it was true that she'd collected a lot of sensitive information in one place.
Lori cleared off her worktable and began transcribing the pages into Sindarin.
Restlessness hounded her for the next several days, though she tried not to show it. She kept her mind occupied by transcribing her notes and tending to the herb garden, but there was only so much she could do before she ran out of work.
Her anxiety followed her down to the stables, where she'd decided to check on Hithui. The stalls were occupied with horses of all different colors, several of whom raised their heads as she passed. It took her a moment to locate Hithui's gray coat near the back of the building.
"Hey, girl." She reached out and tentatively patted her nose. "I'm sorry it's been a while. I've been running around, getting used to the new job."
Hithui snorted and nudged Lori's hand.
"I probably should've brought a treat for you, huh? I'll try to remember next time."
She felt a little weird talking to a horse, but she didn't think anyone would judge her in a place like Rohan.
Aragorn had taught her the basics of caring for a horse while they'd been on the road, and she went through the motions as best as she could remember. Hithui seemed clean and well-fed, which was a relief.
After a moment of hesitation, Lori folded her arms on Hithui's back and leaned her head against her side. It felt nice to be next to a warm, solid presence, a living thing that she didn't have to worry about disappointing. Hithui shifted her weight. It was hard to tell whether she was returning the touch or not.
A lump appeared in her throat. The last person to give her anything more than a handshake had been Aragorn.
Footsteps shifted the loose hay on the floor of the stable, and Lori lifted her head, blinking to compose herself. She moved towards the stall door to see who the footsteps belonged to.
Éowyn was walking down the aisle, an apple clasped in one hand. When she noticed Lori, her expression brightened, and she went to join her.
"Is this your horse?" She hid the apple behind her back and reached up to stroke Hithui's forehead. "She is beautiful."
"This is Hithui," Lori said. "Is yours here somewhere?"
"Yes! Let me introduce you to Windfola." Éowyn beckoned for her to follow her to a different stall.
Lori patted Hithui on the neck and maneuvered her way out of the stall. She followed Éowyn to another gray mare. This one was a little taller than Hithui, and had dark spots on her shoulders and flank.
"Gōdne mergen, Windfola." Éowyn stroked the horse's head, then offered her the apple. Windfola snorted and began crunching contentedly on the treat. "If I had known you would be here, I would have brought another for Hithui."
"It's all right," Lori said. "I haven't had the chance to visit her until now, so I'll have to make up for it somehow."
"How are you settling in?" Éowyn searched her face, one hand absently stroking Windfola's neck. "I have heard good things about you already."
"About that." Lori glanced towards the stable doors, but it seemed they were alone for the moment. "I…I have heard that some people are suspicious of me. They think I might have had something to do with the previous healer leaving."
Éowyn frowned. "Where did you hear this?"
"One of the king's advisors came to speak with me. Gríma."
As soon as Lori said the name aloud, Éowyn's expression darkened. "You would receive better counsel from a river-snake."
Lori blinked, taken aback by the vitriol in her voice. "What do you mean?"
"Gríma may be chief counsellor, but he deals chiefly in lies and manipulation." The hand on Windfola's neck stilled as her gaze drifted to the side. "To what end, I do not know, but in all the time I have known him he has never given advice out of kindness or generosity."
"Oh." Lori crossed her arms. She wanted to feel relieved that what Gríma had told her was a lie, but it wasn't much of a comfort to know she was dealing with a liar in the first place.
Éowyn grasped her shoulder, brining her back to the present. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you sooner."
"It's not your fault. I've dealt with…difficult people before." She'd contended with plenty of bullies in high school—though to be fair, none of them had been advisors to a head of state. "I'm just glad I can trust you."
Her expression softened at that. "Always, Lori."
The low rumble of hoofbeats made Lori look up from her work. The noise was loud enough to indicate a large group approaching Edoras—probably an entire éored. It couldn't have been Théodred's company, since they had left the city several days ago and weren't expected back for some time.
She finished up her work and wiped her hands on her apron, then climbed the slope towards Meduseld, where she'd be able to get a better look at the new arrivals.
As she'd expected, a large company of horsemen was streaming through the city gates, though the banners they carried were different from the ones belonging to Théodred's men. She guessed this was the éored led by Éowyn's brother. If she remembered correctly, Sárelle's betrothed was also one of the riders in that group.
On her way back to the infirmary, Lori passed Sárelle and Dernhild in the corridor. Their heads were bent together as they laughed at something, but they looked up to greet her as she approached.
"An éored has just returned," Lori said. "Bregdan must be with them, right?"
"I'm sure he is," Sárelle replied, straightening the sleeve of her dress. "I can introduce you at dinner tonight, if you'd like."
"Sure." Lori had hoped that Sárelle would be a little more enthusiastic about her fiancé returning, but since it was an arranged marriage, she understood why she wasn't rushing to join the other women at the gate.
"Do you think they'll serve more of that lamb stew tonight?" Dernhild asked.
Sárelle shrugged. "I suppose we'll find out."
"I'll see you both later," Lori said. "I'm hoping I won't have any injuries to treat for the new arrivals, but I should prepare just in case."
The two women bid her goodbye, and Lori set off towards the infirmary, her mind wandering as she walked. The topic of romance, and men in general, so rarely came up between her new friends. Sárelle was the only one with an attachment, and she seldom brought it up of her own volition. Lori hadn't mentioned Faeron at all—she wasn't sure what she would even say if she did.
She tried to sweep the thought from her mind as she reached the infirmary and began organizing her supplies. She'd made the choice to leave the people she cared about behind. Thinking of them brought up pain she didn't deserve to dwell on.
She spent the next half-hour going over her notes, reviewing inventory, and making sure her work surfaces were clean. The Rohirrim were generally a little bewildered by her obsession with cleanliness, but she'd stuck to it with the insistence that it was good practice. She had no way to explain germs and bacteria that wouldn't make her sound like a lunatic, so she just had to hope they would take her word for it.
A knock made her look up from scrubbing down the workbench. She tossed the rag to the side and went to answer it.
The man on the other side was unfamiliar, and she assumed he was one of the new arrivals. He was tall, even for one of the Rohirrim, and his face was made sterner by his dark beard.
He inclined his head in greeting. "You are the new healer?"
She nodded and stepped aside so he could enter. "My name is Lori. What can I do for you?"
"Éomer, son of Éomund." He passed through the door and looked around, his helmet tucked under one arm. "You keep this place neater than Wídfara did."
"I like to stay organized." Lori closed the door and gave him a quick once-over. He seemed to be fine, and no wounds were visible on him, which she took as a good sign. "You're Éowyn's brother, right?"
"I am." He turned to face her. "It is because of her that I am here at all."
Her heart skipped a beat. "What? Is she all right?"
"Éowyn is perfectly fine," he said, holding out a hand to placate her. "I meant she was the one who insisted I come here."
"Oh." Could have been less dramatic about that. Swallowing back her impatience, she gestured for him to take a seat on one of the cots. "All right, then. What is Éowyn's concern?"
"A bit of bruising on my chest." Éomer laid a hand over his chest, not bothering to hide his exasperation. "As is natural when taking the full force of a goblin's club."
Despite her attempts to keep a neutral expression, Lori felt her eyebrows rise. She knew the type that preferred to downplay injuries. She'd been that type at one point in her life.
"Let's take a look, then." She gestured for him to undress his upper half. "When did this happen?"
"Two weeks ago, give or take a few days." Éomer unbuckled the straps of his leather breastplate and pulled it over his head. He deposited it on the cot with a thud.
"Did you fall when the…when the club hit you?"
He shook his head. "The blow was not a strong one."
"And have you had any trouble breathing since you were injured?"
Éomer shot her a strange look. "No."
She waited in silence as he peeled off the remaining layers he wore, wondering how he could comfortably move with what looked like the weight of a small child's worth of clothing. There was some visible bruising on the skin over his sternum, and she frowned.
"All right. Take a breath for me, as deep as you can manage."
Éomer raised an eyebrow, but complied after a moment. She watched his chest expand, and caught the barely-audible grunt of pain before he let out an exhale.
"There is some pain from the bruising," he said in response to her look. "But I have no difficulty breathing."
"All right, for future reference, if it hurts to breathe, then you're having difficulty breathing." Lori moved over to the shelf of herbs and selected a few bottles. "It is very possible that you've cracked your sternum or ribs, or at least bruised the bone. Fortunately, that's something that should heal on its own, but for the next several weeks you should avoid any strenuous lifting, pulling, pushing, that sort of thing."
Éomer crossed his arms. "And how should I lead an éored without use of my arms?"
"I can't control what you do once you walk out of here, I can only give you the recommendations I think are best." She set the bottles on the table and turned to him. "But if you don't give yourself time to heal, the pain could get worse. You run the risk of getting an infection in your lungs, and then your injury becomes something much more serious."
His frown deepened, and she thought back to Faeron's frustration after he'd injured his ankle.
"I know it doesn't seem right to rest when you have people to protect," she said in a softer voice. "I just don't want you to run the risk of this getting worse. I'm going to prepare something mild to help with your pain, and we'll see how you are in a few weeks. All right?"
Éomer looked her over, his expression unreadable. "You are much more thorough than Wídfara."
Lori hesitated. Even if she had no reason to believe what Gríma had told her, his words still needled the back of her mind.
"I'm sure he was a good healer in his own right," she said carefully. "I'm only trying to follow the teachings of my mentors."
"Where do you hail from?" he asked, still scrutinizing her. "Your accent isn't Gondorian."
"I'm from the north. I came here so I could offer my skills to a place that needed them," she responded, the words feeling almost rehearsed at this point.
Éomer nodded, looking pensive, then broke eye contact and began pulling his armor back on.
Lori busied herself with the herbs she'd picked out. Éowyn had always spoken fondly of her brother, and she had no reason to be wary of him. But the fact remained that he didn't know her.
She took in a calming breath, as quietly as she could manage. Just do the work, and do it well. That was the only thing she could truly control.
Some new OCs introduced in this chapter! Whenever I watch Eowyn say "It's tradition for women of the court to farewell the men" I'm always like "girl you're the only woman in the court." So I decided to make Meduseld a little bit more of a girl's party.
I'm interested to know what you think of my portrayal of Gríma. I've seen some people write him as basically Gollum with more hair, and I wanted to give him a little more credit. He's a piece of shit, but he's smart about it.
Thank you so much for all the new favorites/follows/reviews! I'm glad to see people still enjoying this story even as it gets quite long.