Warning for a brief mention of self harm scars.

Chapter 23

"Am I really the only one that knows how to swim?" Lori looked around at her three friends, eyebrows raised. Everyone she'd known in her old life had been a swimmer—though none of her old friends had been noblewomen.

To take advantage of the final days of summer, they were riding out to the River Snowbourne a couple miles from Edoras. Lori had been the one to raise the subject of swimming.

"Why did you learn to swim in the first place?" Dernhild asked her.

Lori shrugged. "I don't know. It was just something everyone did."

"Did you live by a river?" Sárelle asked.

"Um…" Technically, she'd lived on an island, but saying that would probably only raise more questions. She settled for a half-truth. "I grew up by the sea. It was normal for most people to learn how to swim."

"I've been to the sea a few times before," Sárelle said. "I thought it was lovely, though I never went into the water."

"And when are you going to take me to Dol Amroth like you promised?" Dernhild asked with a mock glare.

"When your manners improve, I'll think about it."

As the two of them began bickering, Lori pulled her horse back to ride beside Éowyn, who had gone quiet.

"How are you doing?" she asked, making her turn her head.

"I'm all right," Éowyn replied. "I was just lost in thought."

"Are you worried about your uncle?" she asked lowly, though the other two women were still absorbed in their conversation.

"I am trying not to find hope where I shouldn't. I trust your skills, but I know also that there are certain things that go beyond our control."

"Recovery takes time. Sometimes it's a lifelong process." She sighed. "I wish I could be more definitive about whether this is going to work, but I don't want to pretend that I know more than I do."

Éowyn shook her head. "It is not your fault. As you said, this will take time, and it has not been long at all since we started."

Lori had devised a plan between herself, Éowyn, Éomer, and Théodred to try and improve Théoden's health. They would take turns spending time with him, taking walks outside the hall or tending to the horses. When possible, they tried to get Gríma out of the picture for a few hours, but he was ridiculously stubborn about staying close to the king.

"Just…don't feel guilty about enjoying yourself." She smiled. "It is my official recommendation as your healer that you should have a good time today."

Éowyn laughed. "Well, I am not so arrogant as to ignore your sage advice."

The river shone invitingly as they approached, the tall golden grass giving way to green reeds at the banks. Lori let out a small sigh of longing and wiped some sweat from her neck. She would have loved to wade into the water, but she was hardly dressed to swim, and she had a feeling the other women would be scandalized by anything more revealing than a slip.

They dismounted at a relatively clear area and set the horses loose to graze. Éowyn and Sárelle spread out a few blankets across the grass while Lori helped Dernhild unpack the saddlebags. They'd brought fresh bread, lumps of creamy cheese, and berries so ripe their juice was already beginning to stain the cloth they were wrapped in.

"I have a surprise," Dernhild said, and reached deep into her saddlebag. She withdrew a wineskin with a smirk.

"You're a genius." Lori grinned, and the two of them carried their spoils to the blankets.

Dernhild presented the wineskin to Sárelle with a deep bow. "It's the red one you like. From Lossarnach."

Sárelle accepted it with a smile and shook her head. "All right, you're forgiven."

Éowyn stole one of the berries from the cloth in Lori's hands. "What has Dernhild done that would require your forgiveness?"

"She made some unkind comments about the braids I put in Ninim's mane," Sárelle said, indicating her spotted gray mare, who was nosing through the river reeds.

"Well, that's because they looked like…" Dernhild caught herself and finished in a lighter tone, "unusual things."

Lori laughed. "I love the name Ninim. I think it fits her perfectly." When Éowyn shot her a questioning glance, she added, "It means 'snowdrop' in Sindarin."

"Where did you learn Sindarin, Lori?" Sárelle asked. "I wasn't aware it was spoken anywhere other than Gondor."

She hesitated. "I learned it from an elf."

The others laughed, then quieted when she didn't join in.

"What do you mean?" Sárelle asked, still smiling as if waiting for a punchline. "Are you saying you've seen an elf?"

"Yes," Lori answered slowly, beginning to regret her honesty. She knew the elves of Rivendell weren't exactly adverse to humans, but they kept their valley hidden for a reason. She didn't know how to be open with her friends without feeling like she was betraying a secret. "It was, um, mostly by chance."

And by that, I mean it was mostly by chance that I jumped out of a magical train and ran into a man who had been raised by elves.

She resisted the urge to put her face in her hands. How had her life gotten so fucking weird?

"Did it put a spell on you?" Dernhild asked.

"No." Lori looked away, wishing she hadn't brought it up at all. "Look, I wasn't sworn to secrecy or anything, but I…I don't think I should talk about it."

An awkward silence followed, and Lori wished for the wineskin.

"I think an elf would have been preferable to my Sindarin tutor," Sárelle said. "Every lesson, he would have these long tangents about his troubles with his wife, and how the archives in Minas Tirith had rejected his manuscript on this and that…"

Dernhild sat up and grinned. "Was this the one that fell down the stairs?"

"He fell down the stairs?" Éowyn echoed.

Sárelle nodded. "He wasn't terribly hurt, but he split his trousers in front of most of the staff."

Lori tried to forget her anxiety as she listened to the others chatter. Even if she couldn't contribute her own stories, it was entertaining to hear the childhood exploits of the others. They passed around the wineskin and laughed until their stomachs ached.

Insects buzzed in the grass around them. The sun was directly overhead, and heat pulsed beneath her skin. Lori brushed a few sweaty strands of hair from her forehead and stood up, tipsy enough that she had to take a moment to gather her balance.

"I'm going into the river," she announced.

Sárelle lifted her head from where it had been resting on Dernhild's shoulder. "You'll be soaked."

"I'll be fine. I'm just going to put my feet in." She stripped off her boots and stockings.

Dernhild stood up and began unlacing her own boots. "I'm coming with you."

"You don't even know how to swim!" Sárelle protested.

"Lori can save me if I get swept away." She gathered up her skirts, and the two of them set off towards the bank.

"You know, that was what made me decide to become a healer," Lori said as they trudged through the grass. "This girl nearly drowned in a stream, and I managed to revive her."

"With elvish magic?" Dernhild asked with a teasing grin.

She rolled her eyes. "You know what? If you do fall into the river, I'm just going to let you float away."

"You wouldn't. You're too nice."

Lori couldn't think of a retort for that, so she focused on lifting her skirt and crossing the final distance to the water's edge. Her toes sank into the dark mud, and river-grass tickled her ankles. She took her first steps into the water and tensed.

Dernhild stepped beside her and yelped. "It's freezing!"

"Yeah." She shivered and wiggled her toes so she wouldn't lose feeling in them. "It takes a minute to get used to it."

Dernhild was already retreating to the bank. "I will take your word for it."

"You know, if we were dressed for swimming, I would have already jumped in. That's the best way to adjust to the cold."

"What do you wear when you swim?"

"Um…" Lori blushed. "Not much."

Her eyebrows flew up. "Do you swim naked?"

Before she could reply, the grass rustled, and Sárelle appeared at the bank. She looked Dernhild over and frowned.

"I heard you scream."

"The water was so cold it shocked me. It's not so bad now." Dernhild hiked up her skirt and stepped back into the water. "Lori says we should take off our dresses and swim in the nude."

"I did not say that!"

Sárelle shook her head and turned to Lori. "You'd both better come back dry."

"You don't need to tell me."

She received no reply as Sárelle turned and retreated from the bank.

"Did you see that?" Lori raised her eyebrows at Dernhild. "She thinks I'm the responsible one."

Dernhild gathered her skirt in one hand and flung a handful of water at her.

Lori ducked away from the droplets and laughed. "You're just proving my point!"

She hiked up her skirt higher and waded deeper into the river. The water swirled just below her knees, and the cold wasn't quite as unpleasant. She wished she could submerge herself entirely, just for the rush of it.

"Would that I had an older sister to teach me responsibility." Dernhild followed her at a more cautious pace. "I'm sure that is what my parents wish, even if they've never said it aloud."

"You're fine the way you are," Lori said. "I like that you're not…I don't know. Stuck-up."

"Stuck-up?" Dernhild echoed.

"You don't act like you're better than everyone. And you don't follow certain rules just because people say you should."

"Lori?"

The seriousness in her voice made her turn. Dernhild's gaze had dropped to her legs, to the exposed skin above her knees. Lori froze, her pulse picking up to a painful tempo. She fumbled to lower her skirt, and the hem sank into the water.

"We should be getting back." She tried to keep her voice steady as she waded towards the bank. She didn't dare look Dernhild in the eyes.

"You don't talk about your life before you came to Rohan."

"There are some thing I'd rather keep private."

"I-I'm not asking for you to tell me. I just meant that you have your secrets…and some of us have secrets as well."

There was an uncertainty in Dernhild's voice that she'd never heard before, and it was this that made Lori stop and meet her gaze.

"I hope that you will be understanding if some things do come to light," she said. The unease in her eyes was a mirror to Lori's own.

"You can be honest with me," she said, and she could taste the hypocrisy on her tongue. She would do her best to be understanding of her friends, but she didn't think she could ever bring herself to explain the scars on her legs. "You don't have to do it now, but I'm here if you ever want to talk."

Dernhild searched her face for a moment, then tossed her hair and looked away. "Ah, I think the wine is making me sentimental. We should go before the river freezes our toes off."

Lori murmured an agreement, and they trekked their way back to the others. She still felt nauseous with anxiety, and hoped it didn't show on her face.

Éowyn grinned when they returned. "How was the river?"

"Cold." Dernhild made to join them, but Sárelle stopped her with an outstretched finger.

"If you get mud on these blankets, I will sneak into your room tonight and braid your hair the way I did Ninim's."

A smile flickered on Dernhild's lips, and she set to wiping the mud off her feet without complaint.

Lori sat on the edge of the blanket and used a handful of grass to clean herself the best she could. The scratch of the dry fibers against her skin helped calm her a little. As the sun warmed her skin, exhaustion settled over her limbs.

"I need a nap," she said, settling next to Éowyn with a sigh. "All that food has turned to a rock in my stomach."

Éowyn hummed in agreement. "Perhaps we should ride back to Edoras soon. I don't think this heat will abate until evening."

They lounged in the haze for a few more minutes before collecting themselves and packing up. Hithui trotted closer, her ears pricked forward, and Lori smiled. It seemed the outing had done her some good as well.

They continued their chatter as they rode back to the city. Lori could already feel the beginnings of a sunburn on her nose, and made a mental note to prepare some witch hazel tincture when she returned to the infirmary.

When they reached the stables outside Meduseld, Éomer was standing outside, brushing down his own horse. He looked up as they approached.

"You've been gone most of the morning," he said.

"We rode down to the river," Éowyn replied as she dismounted.

"You went alone?"

Éowyn sent a pointed look towards her three companions.

He frowned and brushed some dust from his hands. "Next time you should bring a guard."

"Against what threat?"

"I pray there would be none," Éomer said. "But Rohan is not as safe as it once was."

"I was armed." Éowyn lifted the blanket on her saddle to reveal the sword tucked against Windfola's side. "I would protect my friends as well as any soldier of Edoras."

Éomer's jaw tensed, as if this was not the first time they'd had this discussion, and he already knew how it would end. Lori opened her mouth to speak up for Éowyn, but Sárelle put a hand on her arm.

When she received no response, Éowyn turned and guided Windfola into the stable. The rest of them trailed in after her, an awkward silence hanging heavy between them. Lori felt guilty about not speaking up, but it wasn't her place when the argument was between siblings. There wasn't anything she could have said that would have changed Éomer's mind, anyway.

Even so, the thought weighed on her mind as she untacked Hithui. She ran through possible apologies or reassurances she could give without seeming pitying. It didn't feel right to say nothing.

But by the time she'd finished and left Hithui's stall, Éowyn was already gone.

The main hall of Meduseld had been transformed.

Normally, each sound echoed off the stone floor and high ceilings. The room was never empty during the day, but it was often quiet. Lori had never seen it like this—lit gold with blazing braziers and crowded with tables laden with food.

Despite the growing tension at the western border, Rohan's harvest had been plentiful this fall, and the king had announced a feast to celebrate. Mead and wine flowed easily, and the hall grew warm from the crowd of cheerful bodies. Théoden himself was in attendance, and though he'd remained somewhat withdrawn at the head table, it was heartening to see him out in public.

Lori was seated next to Sárelle and Dernhild at one of the tables near the back of the hall. Éowyn had left a few minutes earlier, having taken the responsibility of making sure the feast was running smoothly, with the promise that she would return soon.

Sárelle set down her glass of wine and rubbed her forehead with her thumb and forefinger. Dernhild reached over and rubbed soothing circles on her back.

"Your head is hurting again?"

Lori leaned forward so she could get a better look at Sárelle's face. "You have a headache?"

"I'm all right." Sárelle straightened her posture. "It's a little loud in here, is all."

She glanced around the hall. Most of the men were speaking raucously, roaring with laughter in between sips of ale. A couple of riders had started an arm wrestling match, and a crowd was beginning to form around them.

"This is certainly a boy's party," she said with a slight grimace. "I don't think anyone would notice if you left early."

"I shouldn't," Sárelle said. "I am glad to be here—I just have always found these sort of parties to be difficult."

"You could pretend you are unwell," Dernhild said. "We'll carry you out of here with a damp cloth on your forehead. Having a healer with us would make it more believable." She glanced at Lori for support.

"I'll vouch for you if you want to go," Lori said.

"I think I will survive a few more hours," Sárelle said dryly, though she was fighting back a smile. "I am glad to know I will have help should I ever need to make a hasty escape."

The crowd around the arm wrestlers erupted into cheers, and Sárelle winced slightly. Dernhild reached over and began massaging the skin at the nape of her neck.

Sárelle let out a small sigh. "That does help a little."

Lori glanced away, toying with her own glass of wine. There were times when she felt as if she were intruding on a private conversation between the two of them. Having Éowyn nearby usually prevented her from feeling like a third wheel, but she was nowhere to be seen at the moment.

She did spot a man making his way towards their table, and she smiled in greeting as he approached.

"Good evening, Bregdan."

Dernhild dropped her hand from Sárelle's neck. Bregdan reached their table and sat across from the three of them, folding his long legs beneath the bench. Like most of the Rohirrim, he was tall and blond, with a square face and warm brown eyes.

"Good evening, Lori, Dernhild, Sárelle." He focused his gaze on the latter and added, "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank you," Sárelle replied. "It was kind of you to seek me out."

"Ceorl tells me they are burning applewood in the hearth. It was a gift from the woodsmen in Fenmarch. Perhaps we could request some for our wedding."

"That sounds lovely. I'll make a note of it," Sárelle said.

Lori took another sip of her wine. From what she could tell, Bregdan was a kind man, and Sárelle was civil to him in return. If they were only acquaintances, it would be fine, but they were going to be married in half a year. It made her heart hurt, even if their relationship was none of her business.

"You could also put some dried herbs in the braziers," Lori said, afraid an awkward silence was about to descend. "That would make the room smell nice—though I suppose you wouldn't have trouble finding fresh flowers in the spring."

"Ah, Lori is just jealous she's not planning her own wedding," Dernhild said. She grabbed Lori by the elbow and stood up. "Don't let us interrupt your romantic arrangements."

Lori shot Sárelle a helpless look as she was practically dragged off the bench. She shrugged off Dernhild's grip as they made their way through the crowd.

"Do you really think I'm jealous of them?"

"What, you don't wish for a husband of your own?" Dernhild paused and surveyed the men crowding the hall. "You must have tended to a number of the men here. Are you sure you've never had one of them with their shirt removed and seen his…his large muscles, and one thing led to another—"

"All right, first of all, it would be really inappropriate for me to make advances on someone while I'm sewing their skin back together." Lori crossed her arms. "And what about you? You're beautiful, you're a noble. Where's your husband?"

"I scared all the bachelors away," she replied with a smirk. She nudged Lori with an elbow and nodded to the group of musicians in the corner. The man playing the fiddle was looking in their direction, though he turned away once he realized they'd noticed. "What do you think of him?"

"I think his neck is tired." Lori watched sympathetically as he tried to inconspicuously adjust the position of his chin. "They must have been playing for hours at this point."

"So?" Dernhild was watching her closely.

Lori rolled her eyes, trying to think of a way to change the subject, and spotted Éowyn moving through the crowd. She waved her over instead of replying.

"Help me," she said once Éowyn had joined them. "Dernhild is trying to set me up with the fiddler."

"Fasthelm?" Éowyn followed her gaze. "I do not know him well, but he strikes me as a kind man."

Lori turned to Dernhild with her eyebrows raised. "Then I guess I can expect a proposal by tomorrow."

Dernhild fixed Éowyn with a pleading gaze. "Help me. Lori is mocking my attempts to be a good friend."

Éowyn laughed. "Where is Sárelle?"

"With Bregdan, planning their wedding." She lifted her chin. "We didn't want to interrupt."

"Ah. Hence the talk of romance." She shook her head. "Dernhild, how can you bother Lori about finding a husband when you do not have one of your own?"

"I am a marshal surveying his éored, and I cannot give precise commands if I am out in the field myself." She shrugged. "None of the men in Edoras are good enough for me anyway."

"You know, Éomer had his eye on you a few years ago."

"Ugh." Dernhild made a face. "Excuse me while I find a place to be sick."

Lori watched with a smile as she swept away. "She's ridiculous."

Though she couldn't help but wonder if Dernhild's comment about jealousy had only been a joke.

"Well?" Éowyn nudged her elbow. "Do you have any interest in musicians?"

She shook her head. "I'm not about to go chasing after anyone." She still felt guilty about how she had left Faeron, and that was always the first thing to come to mind when the topic turned to romance. "What about you?"

"I have made no effort to find a husband," Éowyn said with a small shrug.

Lori knew it couldn't be for a lack of willing candidates. She'd seen the young men that would stare when Éowyn passed through the halls.

"Haven't found the right person yet?" she asked gently.

Her expression fell into that mask she wore whenever she didn't want to seem upset. "There have been men, both riders and nobles that have approached me before. But in recent years their attempts at courtship have not lasted long." She hesitated. "I suspect it is Gríma deterring them out of…out of jealousy."

"What the fuck?" She recovered from her shock a moment later and shook her head. "I'm sorry for my language, but are you serious?"

"It is only a suspicion." Éowyn fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. "But I have seen him looking at me when he thinks I am not paying attention."

"That's…" Lori had to take a moment to compose herself. She'd dealt with situations like this before—friends with shitty boyfriends, men that would catcall them on the street. It was the only time she felt violent towards someone other than herself.

"He will not try anything, not with Éomer and Théodred so near." A note of steel entered her voice. "And I would not let him touch me."

"It's still wrong." She glanced around the hall with a frown. Thankfully, Gríma wasn't in attendance tonight. "Even if he doesn't doing anything physical, that doesn't make him any less of an incel creep."

Éowyn looked at her strangely. "What does that mean?"

"Oh." Lori blinked. She was usually good about avoiding slang from her old life, but she'd been so upset she'd slipped up. "Um, it's a word some people would use back home. It's short for 'involuntary celibate.' It refers to…well, people like Gríma."

Éowyn surprised her with a genuine laugh. "That is a fitting term. I will remember that."

Lori smiled, glad she was able to lighten the mood. She put a hand on Éowyn's arm. "Seriously, though. If you ever need to get a break from him or a moment of privacy, you can always come to the infirmary. I won't mind."

"Thank you, Lori." Affection sparkled in her gaze. "I am glad you came to Edoras."

"So am I," she said, and realized she meant it.

Things were different here, and though they weren't all good, it was enough for her to handle. She had friends that would make her smile and whom she wanted to make smile in return.

The thought of putting roots down here scared her a little, but it felt possible at the same time.

It felt right.

Well, you can check off "explanation of incels in a Tolkien fic" off your bingo card lol. This chapter was meant to be more fluffy moments with the gahls. Next time will be a bit more angst. There's still a lot of time until canon plot kicks in, so I'm just laying the groundwork for different character relationships.

Anyway, I'm grateful for all the response so far! Let me know what you thought of this chapter!