Chapter 28

"It looks as if the peaks of the mountains themselves have fallen down onto Edoras."

Dernhild propped her chin in her hand and smirked at Sárelle. "What, it never snows like this in Gondor?"

"No, this is my first time being nearly buried alive."

Lori grunted in agreement. It had continued to snow all through the night, leaving at least a foot and a half blanketing the city. She'd looked out the window that morning and known for certain that the storm would have killed her. She hadn't been able to stop shivering since.

"When I was a child I used to take a sled to the top of the hill and race the other children to the bottom," Dernhild said with a smile.

"With some of the stories you tell me, I wonder if you did not grow up a boy," Sárelle said.

"If I were a man, I would be the most handsome and formidable horse-lord in all of Rohan." She tossed her hair. "And you should be lucky that I am not."

Sárelle opened her mouth, seemingly at a loss for words, then cleared her throat and turned to Lori. "What about you? How do the winters in the north compare to those in Rohan?"

"Huh?" Lori lifted her head from her hand. She'd only been half-listening to their banter, more focused on the growing ache in her forehead.

Sárelle frowned at her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She rubbed her temple. "Just feeling a little under the weather."

"Under the weather?"

Lori suppressed a sigh. She was usually much better at avoiding slang from her old life. The misery she'd felt last night had faded, but the brain fog remained.

"I'm just a little tired. I should get to the infirmary." She stood up, suppressing a wince as pain jabbed at her head.

The two murmured their goodbyes as Lori left the hall. She reached the infirmary and fell into the chair by her worktable.

Even without her healer's training, she could recognize the symptoms of a cold. With a small groan, she rubbed the bridge of her nose. She'd been almost perfectly healthy since coming to Middle-earth, only to break her streak by nearly freezing to death.

She squeezed her eyes shut, as if the pressure would alleviate her headache. She didn't want to crawl back into bed just yet. The memory of last night lingered like a bruise, tender to the touch but not intensely so.

I can't see any patients today. I'll do a little bit of work inside, then call it a day.

Lori gathered her strength and heaved herself out of the chair. Before anything else, she would need to make something to treat her cold.

She set to work preparing the tonic, one of the first Adela had taught her at the beginning of her apprenticeship. There were only three ingredients: two cloves of garlic, a mashed lemon, and honey (partly to alleviate the taste of the other two). She added some boiling water to the mixture and waited for it to cool.

Before she could stop it, guilt crawled up her throat like acid. She would be unavailable the entire day, perhaps more if this was a more serious illness. All because she'd done something impulsive and stupid last night.

The thought that had haunted her since the trial snaked into the front of her mind. I'm not fit to have other people depend on me.

That was the crux of the issue, the reason why she'd dismissed Éowyn's concern last night. Even if Gríma hadn't tried to frame her for murder, she still would have fallen apart at some point. The same ghost that had followed her from Rivendell to Adela's cottage to Bree had found her in Edoras as well. There was nothing Éowyn could do protect Lori from herself.

Her throat ached. The tonic was no longer steaming, and she tested the temperature with one finger. It felt cool enough, and she raised it to her lips.

Lori winced. Even with her stuffy nose, the scent of garlic and lemon stung her nostrils.

You got this. Just take it like a shot.

Suppressing a grimace, she poured the contents down her throat and swallowed.

"Ugh." Hopefully the mixture was just as effective as it was disgusting. She set the cup aside and set about cleaning and prepping her materials—anything to keep her hands busy.

The hours passed slowly. The effects of the tonic wore off just past noon, and Lori lowered herself into her chair with a heavy sigh. She was exhausted. Her joints ached, and she couldn't stop shivering. If she was going to beat this thing by tomorrow, she needed to rest.

After sending a quick note to Éowyn that she would be taking the rest of the day off, Lori dragged herself back to her room and curled up in bed.

When she woke, the sun was setting. She let out a small groan and pulled the covers tighter around her body. She hoped no one had sought her out while she'd been asleep. She dozed fitfully until a knock at the door roused her again.

"Come in," she croaked.

Éowyn entered, a tray balanced in both hands. She pushed the door shut with her elbow and moved to Lori's side.

"You look half-dead," she said, a bit of reproach in her voice. "How long have you been feeling ill?"

"Since this morning." Clumsily, Lori sat up so Éowyn could place the tray in her lap. She'd brought steaming tea and soup with a hunk of fresh bread. "Thank you. You're an angel."

Smiling, Éowyn sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to upset the tray. "What is that?"

"Um…" Lori rubbed her forehead. Her brain fog was worse than she'd thought. "It just means you're a good person."

Her smile faltered. "It is the least I can do. I suppose I never considered what to do if our healer were to fall ill."

"It's a shame Guthwyn left." She'd departed with Lady Déorwyn a month ago. Even though she and Lori had parted on good terms, the memory of the poisoning still left a bitter taste in her mouth. "I just hope no one needs me while I'm sick."

"Don't worry about such things." Éowyn squeezed her knee. "Focus on resting. You've been good to us, but I think Meduseld will survive a few days without you."

She smiled weakly.

Éowyn's expression grew pensive. She frowned at the floor for a moment, then said, "Last night, you said you felt that you were at a crossroads. What did you mean by that?"

Lori wilted against the bed a little. She'd been hoping Éowyn wouldn't bring that up again. "I…I don't know. It's been frustrating, not being able to do anything about Gríma. I know you feel the same way."

"I would use the word maddening," Éowyn said, though there wasn't much humor in her voice. "That I should be at the mercy of not only Gríma but my brother and cousin and uncle, for there is very little I can do without their leave."

"That's not true," Lori whispered. "You've done so much for everyone here—"

"What, exactly, have I done that is of consequence? Keep the bedsheets made and clean, keep the lords happy and comfortable so that this hall is still standing even as it rots from the inside?" She took in a sharp breath, cutting herself off as her voice rose in volume.

Lori bit her lower lip and tried not to shrink back from her angry tone. Théodred had asked her to look after Éowyn. That was one promise she could at least try to fulfill.

"We'll find a way to fix this," she said. "I know you feel powerless right now, but you are one of the strongest and bravest people I know. Whatever strategy we come up with, I know it wouldn't be possible without you."

Éowyn's shoulders fell. She finally met Lori's gaze, and though her eyes were weary, they were no longer sharp with anger.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

"You don't have to apologize." She smiled wryly. "If I'm being honest, I'm a little jealous of how composed you are most of the time."

"It comes from a lifetime of practice." Brushing a strand of hair out of her face, Éowyn stood up. "I won't keep you up any longer. You should rest."

"I will." Lori reached for the cooling mug of tea and took a sip, the warm liquid soothing her sore throat. "Thank you again for dinner."

"I suppose I will be apprentice healer for the next few days," Éowyn replied, and Lori was glad to see her expression soften. "Good night, Lori."

"Good night."

Lori was awake when a knock on the door sounded. She turned her head a fraction, trying to convince her vocal cords to work.

The door opened before she could speak. Sárelle entered with soft, deliberate movements, holding a mug of tea to replace the one Lori had drained.

"How are you feeling?" she asked with a sympathetic smile.

"I've been better," she rasped. It was the day after she had first fallen ill, and she'd woken that morning to find her fever and aches worse than before. "Just alternating between sleeping and staring at the wall."

In a past life, she would have curled up on the couch with some rerun on Netflix and waited to doze off. She'd nearly asked Éowyn for something to read before remembering there was no library here.

"I could keep company with you, if you like." Sárelle set the mug down on the bedside table.

Lori hesitated. "I don't want to get you sick."

"I'll keep my distance," she replied with a shrug. "And wash my hands, as you so often remind us."

She hid a smile behind her blanket. "I think Dernhild is rubbing off on you."

Sárelle huffed out what might have been a laugh and retrieved a chair from the corner of the room. She set it next to the bed and smoothed her skirt. "Normally I would read something to you, but Meduseld is rather lacking in books."

"I thought about that too," Lori murmured. "If I'd known, I would have brought something with me."

"We're of the same mind," Sárelle said, lips twitching.

"Do you have any favorite stories? Not that I'd ask you to recite anything from memory…"

She tilted her head in thought. "There was one text I studied a few years before I came to Rohan. It is not a story, exactly, but I found it compelling. It was called The Book of the City of Ladies."

Lori snuggled deeper into her covers. "Tell me about it."

She relaxed as Sárelle spoke, drifting in and out of consciousness like the ebb and flow of the tide. Sárelle was an academic, she realized, though she'd rarely shown it in the times they spent together. Lori wondered, hazily, what she might have done with her interests if she hadn't been compelled to marry Bregdan.

After a while, Sárelle lapsed into silence, perhaps guessing that Lori had fallen asleep. She moved carefully, taking the empty mug from the table and moving the chair against the wall.

Lori stirred and muttered through cracked lips, "I think if this was a City of Ladies…we wouldn't be in the shit we're in right now."

Sárelle stifled a laugh and moved to her side. "Perhaps. I think women can be cruel to each other in a different way."

She frowned at that, blinking in confusion. She wanted to ask what those words meant, but before she could speak, Sárelle was telling her to rest and slipping through the door.

And Lori didn't have the energy to keep her eyes open any longer.

Lori shivered, curling up as tightly as she could beneath the covers, which no longer felt thick enough to retain any warmth. Her back, her shoulders, her temples…they all throbbed. She reached out for the tonic Éowyn had brought her earlier, but her hand faltered.

She wanted to get better, wanted to finally sweat out this fever and pull herself out of bed. But there was another part of her that just wanted to sit in the sickness and the pain, that didn't quite care enough to pour the medicine down her throat. She didn't know if she truly believed that she deserved to get better.

When Sárelle came to visit later that day, Lori's misery must have shown on her face. Her face wrinkled in sympathy as she took her seat.

"That bad?"

"I'm still alive, at least," Lori mumbled.

Sárelle peered into the small cup, which remained untouched. "You should take your medicine. Did you need help with it?"

"I can do it." She pushed herself up on one elbow. She wasn't that frail just yet. With shaking hands, she downed the bitter concoction and washed it down with some cold tea. That sapped most of her energy, and she fell back against her pillow.

"What's your healer's opinion on your own condition?" Sárelle asked, her brow furrowed in concern. "Do you believe this is a serious sickness?"

"It hasn't been long enough for me to be seriously concerned," Lori replied. "I just hope you don't catch whatever I have. It's…not fun."

"Well, someone has to care for you," she said, still frowning, and Lori could tell she was thinking of her father.

"You've been doing really well." She brushed some hair out from beneath her neck. Her skin felt sticky with sweat. Hopefully she would have the strength for a bath soon.

Sárelle's expression brightened a little, and she settled back into the chair. "What did you want today? Another story?"

Lori hesitated. "Could you tell me about Gondor?"

"All right." Her gaze lifted to the far wall, though she seemed to be looking beyond it, to a time and place far, far away from Lori's darkened room. "There were many farms surrounding the place where I grew up. I used to sit beneath the old olive tree, or sneak grapes from the trellis below my bedroom…"

Lori drifted in and out of consciousness as Sárelle spoke. She could see herself there, amid hot summers and mild winters. She heard the roar of the sea, the breath of fresh salt and windswept pines. It stirred a longing in her heart that eased the aches in her body somewhat.

"I think Meduseld is grand in its own way, but it doesn't compare to Minas Tirith," Sárelle was saying. "It is like a mountain come to life."

She forced her eyelids open. "You're planning to return to Gondor in the spring, right?"

Sárelle nodded. "If everything aligns. I…I admit it would be something of a relief to escape from this hall for a little while."

Lori murmured an agreement. An idea had lurched into her consciousness, one she didn't have the courage to speak aloud. But perhaps Sárelle's departure could be an escape for her, too.

She could see the wonders Sárelle had described, offer some help to her ailing father. She could spend some time in a warm place, far from Gríma's hateful stare.

You'd be abandoning Éowyn, she reminded herself, and banished the fantasy from her mind.

"I think stories may be the only escape we have this winter," Sárelle said softly, breaking Lori from her thoughts. Perhaps she'd seen something on her face. "I'll keep you company until you fall asleep, all right?"

She nodded and uttered a wordless assent. These days, sleep was the only thing that brought her any semblance of peace.

It was so loud.

The noise came from all around her—the rattling of metal in time with low, rhythmic thuds, all above a constant hum that vibrated beneath her feet.

Lori opened her eyes, drawing her arms closer to her body as if to ward off the onslaught of sound. The back of an upholstered seat greeted her, illuminated by flickering lamps.

The train.

She was back on the train.

A panicked breath escaped her, and Lori bolted out of the seat. Her movements felt sluggish and dreamlike, the two steps into the aisle stretching out over several seconds.

There was no one else in the train car. Her breath was too loud in her ears as she made her way past the rows of seats.

In a blink, she was at the door at the end of the car. She reached out for the door handle and her fingers closed around metal. She pulled, then tugged it to the side, then shoved it forward.

Nothing.

I'm stuck. I'm stuck here. I can't—

Her breaths were turning hysterical, knifing through her ears as she struggled with the door. The skin on the back of her neck prickled like someone was standing behind her, watching her, but she couldn't turn. She couldn't waste a precious second looking when she needed so desperately to get out—

Everything went dark, and a stifling warmth enveloped her. Lori blinked rapidly to orient her vision, and the space gradually came into focus. Soft beams of moonlight illuminated the stone floor, the wooden posts of her bed, the green wool blanket Dernhild had gifted her.

Lori had to drag the realization from the mire of her thoughts. She was in Meduseld, in her bedroom, not back on that awful train.

Her skin tingled, like all four of her limbs had fallen asleep. She moved clumsily, shoving the blankets off her shoulders. Her entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat, and exposing it to the air made her shiver.

She was in Meduseld. She was back in her room.

She didn't understand why that realization made her crumple to the bed and weep.

The Book of the City of Ladies is a real text, written by Christine de Pizan. I read a little bit of it in college and found it pretty interesting. It seemed like something the Rohan girls might enjoy.

Anyway, this was a bit of a shorter chapter, but next one will be longer. 29 will also finally be kicking off canon Two Towers plot! We made it! So for everyone rooting for a Lori & Aragorn reunion, it's on the horizon. Thank you so much for the support, and I'll see you all next time.