Trigger warning for description/discussion of self harm wounds in this chapter. They will definitely be mentioned in the next several chapters, so I'm putting a blanket warning here.

Chapter 30

Pain tugged her back into the waking world. Lori moved her lips soundlessly, the skin on her face stiff with dried tears. Her limbs felt heavy, detached, like they'd begun to decay over night.

She pried her eyelids open and blinked slowly. Sunlight spilled across the room, across the rumpled sheets. She'd fallen asleep at a strange angle at the foot of her bed, hadn't even bothered to change out of her day clothes.

She was in her bed for the first time in days, not in Théodred's room, because Théodred—

The memory came back to her, and she let out a weak, pained breath.

Théodred was dead. She'd fucked up. She'd fucked up an entire kingdom—Rohan was without a crown prince now, and Théoden would have to grieve the loss of his son along with everything else.

Éowyn knew, at least, and she'd probably broken the news to the others. Lori had managed to let her know before rushing back to her room and…

With a wince, she reached down and pulled the hem of her skirt up. Her thighs were covered in cuts and drying blood. Red trails had pooled onto the sheets. Lori ran her eyes over the wounds, counting them, feeling nausea build in her stomach.

She'd relapsed. After years of staying clean, of fighting so fucking hard to control herself, she'd ruined that too.

She flung her skirt over her legs, fighting back tears. In another time, on an easier day, she would have turned on a show or some music to crowd out the thoughts in her head while she waited for the blood to dry. She would have lain here until she found a compelling enough reason to get up.

But she couldn't stay here when she had a job to do, when her inadequacy had already caused someone to die.

A sob spasmed through her chest, and she held the bedsheet against her mouth.

She didn't deserve to be here. Not in Edoras, not in Rohan, maybe not even…

Lori wondered, not for the first time, how things would have turned out if she'd stayed on that train. If she'd just accepted her death instead of trying to escape it. The idea felt liberating, even if it was too late now.

It was too late. She'd made her choice, and she had to find a way to carry on.

It took a force of will to sit up and gingerly stretch her legs out in front of her. Fresh blood welled up on her skin, and she hissed through her teeth. She didn't think any of her wounds would need stitches, but she wouldn't know for sure until she cleaned herself up.

Her sheets were already ruined, so she cut them into strips with her knife and wrapped the clean parts around her legs. They weren't sterile or the right material, but it would be enough to get her down the hallway. She threw on a clean dress and dragged her fingers through her tangled hair.

Though she was loathe to do it, she checked her face in the mirror to see if it was obvious that she'd been crying. Her eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, but most of the swelling had gone down. She counted through her breathing for several minutes, just enough to take her to a place of detachment. She didn't know how she'd be able to get through the rest of the day, but…

One thing at a time.

Walking was difficult and painful. Lori tried not to make her limp too obvious, ears straining for the sound of footsteps as she moved through the corridors. By some blessing, she didn't encounter anyone on her journey to the infirmary, and she all but collapsed onto the bench next to her worktable.

"God damn it…"

Exhaustion fell over her, feverish and bone-deep. She wanted to curl up on one of the cots and let sleep take her away from all of this. It was only the thought that someone might need her today that kept her from giving in to her exhaustion.

She couldn't keep letting people down.

Gingerly, she undid the strips of her bedsheet and tossed them in the basket where she stored used bandages and dirty rags. Her cuts were smeared with blood, and she hurried to wipe away the few droplets that formed before they could fall to the floor.

From there, she fell into the familiar rhythm of cleaning and bandaging the wounds. If it weren't for the pain that pinched her skin with every movement, she might have been able to pretend that she was tending to someone else.

The door swung open, and Lori jumped. She shoved her skirt down, and the bandages slipped from her hand and rolled across the floor.

Éowyn stood in the doorway, holding Lori's bag. The look on her face was enough to indicate that she'd seen the blood. She shut the door and moved to her side.

"Lori, what happened?"

"Nothing. I'm fine," she said, though her voice wasn't steady enough to lend any credence to her words. "I just need to be alone right now."

Éowyn bent to scoop up the bandages, the end of which was still wrapped around half of her leg. Lori clutched her knee and felt blood begin to soak into her skirt.

"Tell me who has hurt you." There was a familiar steel in Éowyn's eyes, but her own voice wasn't entirely steady either.

She'd just lost her cousin. Shame burned on Lori's ears. She was still in the process of grieving, and now she was being forced to deal with Lori's mess on top of it.

"No one hurt me." She extended a pleading hand towards the bandages. "I just need to…"

Éowyn's gaze fell to her skirt, where a small, traitorous red stain was beginning to grow. Lori's throat tightened. There was no lie or excuse she could use for that—she couldn't even pass it off as menstrual blood.

"How bad is it?" Éowyn reached for the hem of her skirt, and Lori's composure finally snapped.

"Stop!" She clutched at the fabric, feeling the moistened parts tug on her wounds. "I can handle it myself, all right? Just please leave me alone."

Éowyn drew back, hurt and confusion in her eyes. Softly, she said, "Whatever you are suffering, I do not want you to endure it alone." Her expression hardened. "And if someone has done harm to you, I do not want it to go unpunished."

That's already taken care of itself, Lori thought bitterly. She was both the punisher and the condemned, seeking salvation through self-destruction, a twisted ouroboros losing herself piece by piece.

"Let me help you," Éowyn said. "Please."

She felt a scream rise in her throat, and wondered if that would be enough to drive Éowyn out of the room. But the impulse deflated as soon as it had come. She was so tired, so bruised and disoriented that she didn't have any fight left in her. She didn't want to lose Éowyn too.

Trying to keep her hand steady, Lori reached out for the bandages again. "Let me finish with the bandages first."

Éowyn acquiesced. Lori cut off the part that had been on the floor, then gingerly lifted her skirt again. Éowyn gasped at the wounds on her leg, and Lori hurried to wipe away the blood that was dripping down her skin. She'd almost grown used to the sight, but now that someone else was bearing witness to them, the cuts looked chaotic, deranged, repulsive. No sane person would have done something like this.

Holding back tears, Lori finished bandaging her legs and took her time tying off the bindings, terrified to look up and see Éowyn's expression. She pulled her skirt down and sighed at the bloodstains on the fabric.

"I will get you a change of clothes," Éowyn said. "You are relieved from your duties as healer today. If there is anything more I can do—"

"It's all right," Lori said, lifting her chin but still lacking the courage to meet her gaze. "I-I'll be fine. I just need some rest."

"How do I know you will be fine when you have been hurt so badly? Whatever it is, Lori, I will protect you. I swear it."

At the edge of desperation in her voice, she nearly flinched.

Please. Please don't do this.

"I promise you, I'm fine." Her voice wavered. "There's nothing you can do. Please don't worry about it."

Éowyn knelt before her, and even as she lowered herself, the authority in her voice did not waver. "Tell me who did this to you."

"I did, all right?" Her voice finally cracked. "I did this to myself."

She didn't know what else to do but put her face in her hands. She almost rested her elbows on her knees before stopping herself.

The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Lori didn't know what she feared more—that Éowyn would believe her, or that she wouldn't.

How selfish am I for making her deal with this when she should be grieving?

When Éowyn finally spoke, her voice was nearly inaudible. "Why?"

"I…I don't know," Lori choked out, which was only half a lie. "It's the only thing I can do when I…when I feel…"

"Is this because of Théodred?"

A sob broke past her lips, and her shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I tried—"

Éowyn grasped her wrists and pulled her hands away from her face, gently but with enough force that Lori couldn't resist. She took her face in her hands, uncaring of the tears on her skin, and lifted her chin so their eyes met.

"Théodred's death was not your fault," she said, staring hard at Lori as though she was desperate for the words to reach her. "You did not hold the spear that wounded him."

"I was supposed to heal him." She wiped her eyes, mortified that she'd lost her composure so quickly. It should have been her comforting Éowyn, not the other way around.

"Not all wounds can be mended." Éowyn squeezed her hands. "I know you. I know you would not have given less than everything you had to help him." Tears filled her eyes. "I believe he had faith in you until the end. And it is not your fault that he passed."

Lori closed her eyes and nodded, and it was raw grief that passed through her next. She'd lost her friend. She'd lost the first person who had shown her kindness in Edoras, had watched his life slip away through her fingers. It hurt so badly it was as if she'd never bled any of it out in the first place.

Éowyn grasped her shoulders and pulled her into an embrace. They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other like tattered pieces of a ship during a storm.

When Lori had finally reached some semblance of composure, she pulled away. Éowyn's cheeks were wet with tears too, but her eyes were clear. Lori envied her a little, that she could feel her grief without losing control.

With a heavy sigh, Éowyn sat beside her on the bench. Whatever rift Lori had sensed between them last night was gone. Éowyn was the first person to truly know about her self harm, and she hadn't reacted with disgust or anger. She knew, and she'd decided to engage with her pain.

"I'm sorry," Lori said, and Éowyn looked at her sharply. "I didn't mean to give you another thing to worry about."

"You should not apologize," she said softly. "I do not blame you for any of this."

Even if she meant those words, Lori couldn't help but notice her hands, knotted together in her lap, stiff as if it took a great effort to keep them still.

"How are you feeling?" she asked tentatively.

"I am angry. I am angry that I could do nothing to help my uncle, or protect Éomer, or save Théodred. That I am doomed to watch as Gríma takes everything I love and know that one day he will come for me." Her chin trembled as a tear slipped down her cheek.

"I don't want that to happen," Lori said. She couldn't bring herself to speak any reassurances—any promise she could make, she was terrified she wouldn't be able to keep. "I wish I could make all of this go away. I wish we could have just…one fucking week to rest."

Éowyn was silent for a long moment. "Why did you do it?"

Before Lori could ask, her gaze flickered to the bloodstains on her skirt.

"I…" She sighed. She didn't know how to explain it in a way that would make sense to her. "I did it for the same reason I walked out into that snowstorm. To feel something else for a little while, I suppose." She swallowed. "Some people drink or smoke, I do…this." She gestured to her legs.

"It frightens me," Éowyn said quietly. "I would keep you from ever doing it again."

"I'll try." Her voice cracked. "I don't want to, not really, but it's hard."

Éowyn reached over and squeezed her hand, and when their eyes met, a silent understanding passed between them.

They would lend their strength to each other. It was all they had left to give.

True to her word, Éowyn brought her a change of clothes along with a small meal. Lori didn't think she could bring herself to eat. Her muscles were knotted with anxiety, with pain, and she had to fight the urge to curl up and shut her mind off completely. She choked down the food anyway, mostly so Éowyn wouldn't be more concerned about her than she already was.

After she'd finished her meal and changed into clean clothes, Lori sat down with a sigh. Her legs burned. She prayed no blood would leak through her bandages, though she'd wrapped her wounds tightly enough that it would be unlikely.

Éowyn glanced over her shoulder and, seeing Lori was dressed, turned around fully. She indicated her bag—the reason why she'd barged into the infirmary in the first place.

"You must have left it in…in Théodred's room last night. I thought to bring it to you in case you needed it."

Lori opened her mouth, trying to choose which question to ask first. It felt like walking barefoot over sharp stones.

"Does everyone know?"

"I have told the king, though I do not know if my words reached him." She swallowed with visible effort. "Normally he would make an announcement himself, but I have asked Háma to do it instead." She pressed her lips together. "I will not give Gríma the chance to spread the word in his own treacherous way."

Lori murmured an agreement and gingerly rose to her feet. "If there's anything I can do…"

Éowyn's eyes softened. "You have spent more of yourself than anyone could have asked, Lori. You should rest now."

She almost flinched. I gave everything I had, and it still wasn't enough.

"Let me walk you to your room." Éowyn opened the door and gestured for Lori to follow.

They walked in silence down the corridor. Through the windows, Lori could see the bright and cloudless sky. It felt wrong, all of it—that there should be light, that the pillars of Meduseld should still be standing as if nothing had changed.

They were passing near the front of the building when a sudden commotion made Lori jump. They were the sounds of a scuffle—shouting and the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the floor. Éowyn tensed and put a protective hand on Lori's arm.

"Is that coming from the main hall?" Lori asked, fear tightening a fist around her throat. There was only one reason she could conceive for those noises. Gríma had finally begun his coup.

"Stay close to me," Éowyn said, and led the way towards one of the side doors. She opened it as inconspicuously as she could, and they peered inside.

To Lori's shock, most of Gríma's dark-clad men had been subdued, many of them lying crumpled on the floor or kneeling before the weapons of the guards. Gríma himself was cowering beneath the boot of a short, red-haired man. She had only a second to take this all in before her gaze was drawn to the bright figure at the back of the room.

A man in a white robe stood before the throne, his staff raised against Théoden. Éowyn let out a gasp of rage and rushed towards the pair, but a dark-haired man grabbed her arm before she could make it more than a few feet.

Lori staggered forward, preparing herself to pull Éowyn free, but a jolt of surprise stopped her in her tracks as the man turned his head. Aragorn met her eyes, recognition mirroring her own, but there wasn't time for more than that brief glance.

"If I go, Théoden dies."

The voice had issued from the throne, from Théoden himself, but it sounded nothing like the feeble rasp she had grown accustomed to hearing from the king. There was malice and power in the voice now, and Théoden's eyes gleamed black as he stared up at his challenger.

The man in white held his staff with remarkable steadiness for the age that showed in his hair. "You did not kill me. You will not kill him."

"Rohan is mine," Théoden snarled.

"Begone!" He thrust his staff forward with a cry, and a rush of air swept through the room with enough force to make Lori's ears pop.

Théoden let out a low groan. Whatever it was that had possessed him was gone now, and the strength seemed to have left him completely as his body crumpled.

Éowyn tore her arm from Aragorn's grasp and ran forward to catch Théoden as he slid off the throne. Lori took a hesitant step forward, ready to help if Éowyn called for her, but fear had taken hold of her. If Théoden didn't survive whatever had just happened, if he and his son both passed within a day of each other…

Théoden sat up from where he had slumped into Éowyn's arms. Some of the deeper wrinkles on his face had been smoothed away, and when he looked at his niece, it was with a startling clarity that Lori could see even from a distance. He studied her for a long moment before speaking.

"I know your face." A smile graced his lips, adding a ray of youth to his wearied face. "Éowyn."

"I'm here, uncle," she said, her voice shaky with relief.

Lori watched, frozen, still half-afraid Théoden would keel over in the next minute. He turned to survey the rest of the hall as if he were seeing it for the first time, and his eyes landed on the man with the staff.

"Gandalf?"

Gandalf…the wizard? He looked different, his beard and hair white, with none of the scruffiness he'd had the last time she'd seen him. She almost couldn't believe it was the same person, but she couldn't imagine anyone else capable of whatever he'd just done.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend," Gandalf said, the kindness in his voice soothing after the thunder his words had carried moments before.

With Éowyn's help, Théoden rose to his feet. The thick fur mantle he wore seemed to swallow him, and his hands shook as he tried to adjust the heavy fabric. "Dark have been my dreams of late."

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better if they grasped your sword," Gandalf said.

As if he had been waiting for this moment, Háma strode forward with a sheathed longsword in his grasp. He raised it pommel-first to Théoden, head bowed. Théoden raised one hand, a slight tremor passing through his fingers, and touched the ornate metal. The contact seemed to steady him somewhat, and he gripped the handle and pulled the sword from its sheath. Éowyn watched with a smile, her eyes shining with tears.

It was like a ray of light breaking through a storm cloud. After everything that had transpired the past few days, all the tears and terror and uncertainty, Lori could barely comprehend the hope illuminating Éowyn's expression.

A gentle touch on her arm brought her attention away from the scene, and she looked up as Aragorn moved next to her.

"Are you all right?" he asked lowly.

She let out a short sigh. There was no way she could honestly answer yes, bleeding wounds notwithstanding. She still felt as if the floor had fallen out from beneath her. It was all she could do to manage a habitual answer.

"I'm fine. I…I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Before Aragorn could respond, a wail made them both turn.

Gríma knelt before Théoden, who looked down at him with an expression like a thundercloud.

"My lord, hear me, please. I never—"

"I have heard your deceitful words long enough," Théoden growled. "You will not spend another minute in this hall."

That was apparently all the guards needed to hear, and two of them lifted a struggling Gríma by his arms and dragged him towards the entrance. Théoden followed, his steps growing steadier as he walked. The others parted to let him through, then drifted outside in his wake. Lori stayed close to Aragorn and passed through the doors in time to see the guards heave Gríma down the front steps.

She winced at the crack of bone as he tumbled to the bottom. He rolled onto his back and cried out, blood from a split lip shining on his pale face.

"I've only ever served you, my lord."

Théoden advanced on him, his sword still gripped in one hand. "Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!"

"Send me not from your sight," Gríma said, even as he began dragging himself away. Behind him, a crowd from the city below had gathered.

Théoden raised his sword, the blade whistling through the air, and Gríma shrieked. Aragorn shot forward, taking the stairs two at a time, and grabbed Théoden's wrist before the blow could fall.

"No, my lord! Let him go." Aragorn lowered the weapon, then steadied Théoden as the movement nearly sent him off balance. "Enough blood has been spilt on his account."

He turned and offered a hand to Gríma, who was still cowering in the dirt. His pale face twisted, and he spat at him. With staggering movements, Gríma lifted himself and pushed his way through the crowd of onlookers. No one attempted to stop him.

Lori wrapped her arms around herself as he disappeared down the street. Good fucking riddance.

"Hail Théoden King!" Háma cried, and the Rohirrim knelt. Aragorn followed suit, head bowed in reverence.

Théoden only spared them a glance before he turned to the procession of guards standing behind him. He searched their faces for a long moment, then asked softly, "Where is Théodred? Where is my son?"

Dread lurched through her with enough force to turn her stomach. Éowyn had said she'd already informed the king of Théodred's death.

Though I do not know if my words reached him…

No, it seemed whatever Gandalf had done had brought Théoden back to lucidity for the first time in months. He truly didn't know what had happened to Théodred.

The company of guards shifted uncertainly, clearly having come to the same conclusion. After a moment, Háma spoke up.

"He is dead, my lord. His éored was attacked at the Fords of Isen a week ago. He…He passed from his injuries last night."

Théoden's face was like stone—motionless and unyielding, but weathered and beaten all the same. Lori looked away before she could see whether grief would crack his facade. She was afraid if she looked him in the eye, he would know instantly that she had been the one to fail his son.

She stayed rooted to the spot as Théoden led his guard back into the hall. It took most of her effort just to keep her breathing in check. He would learn soon enough the details of what had happened.

"Lori?"

Fighting against a pall of numbness, she raised her head. Aragorn was coming towards her, followed by two companions. One was a blond elf, and the other was the man who had restrained Gríma earlier. She realized now that he was not a man, but a dwarf. She wondered briefly what had led them all to Edoras.

Aragorn noticed her curious glance and gestured to both of his companions in turn. "Lori, this is Legolas of the Woodland Realm and Gimli son of Glóin."

"Mae govannen." Lori extended her hand from her chest, distantly surprised at how easily the custom came to her after so many years. Legolas returned the gesture, and if he was caught off guard, he didn't show it. She had no knowledge of dwarvish greetings, so she only turned to Gimli and said, "It's nice to meet you as well."

"So this is the lass you've told us about." Gimli stepped forward, propping the butt of his battle-axe on the stone.

"Oh." Briefly, she was shocked out of her despondence. Aragorn had talked about her? "…Yes." She glanced at him for confirmation.

Aragorn smiled, though he looked a little exasperated at Gimli's bluntness.

"This is, um, not how I expected my morning to start," she said.

She was still reeling from the fact that Aragorn was here, that she actually had a chance to speak to him again. It was as if the universe was throwing her a lifeline after putting her through hell.

His expression softened slightly. "It has been one strange occurrence after another for us as well. If you wish, I will explain to you what I can."

"Perhaps we could have something to wet our tongues first," Gimli said. "Forty leagues on foot in as many days, and scarcely a moment to rest our feet!"

Lori cast a glance around. Most of the crowd had dispersed, including Éowyn. She made a mental note to find her later.

She doubted the main hall would be prepared for a full meal at the moment. The guards would be preoccupied with the arrest of Gríma's men, and the rest of the staff busy with funeral preparations, with the recovery of their king…

"I could take you to the infirmary," she said. "There's not much space, but you'd have a chance to rest your feet. I could make tea." She clasped her hands together. "I'm sorry. Things are in a bit of disarray right now."

"We would be glad to rest in the infirmary," Aragorn said, and gestured for her to lead the way.

Lori took a deep breath and led the trio inside. Théoden was nowhere to be seen in the main hall—perhaps he was holding council in his study. Perhaps he was taking a moment to grieve his son.

She dug her fingernails into her palm. Grief and panic kept rising up, threatening to drown her, but she had to fight it. She couldn't afford to break down, not until she was alone again.

As they set off down the corridor, Aragorn fell into stride next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She wanted to lean into the touch, wanted to throw her arms around him, but she kept her hands to herself.

"It is good to see you again," he said. "How have you fared in Rohan?"

Lori had the deranged urge to laugh. How have I fared? I relapsed for the first time in years. I let the prince of the kingdom die. I walked out into a snowstorm because I was hoping it would kill me. I'm sick. I'm miserable. I wish you didn't have to see me like this.

A lump rose in her throat. Aragorn had been the one to take her here, to offer her a chance at happiness, and he'd returned to find her even worse than before.

"I've been doing well," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. It was taking most of her effort to walk normally despite the pain in her legs. "I, um, actually serve here in Meduseld. The previous healer left shortly before I arrived, so I was lucky enough to get the position." She tried not to think about who had helped her get the job in the first place.

Aragorn's expression warmed, and that made it a little easier to breathe.

"I'm sure you have quite a few stories to tell."

She tried to return the smile. Well, there was the time I spent a night in jail. I worked for days on a patient and lost him anyway. I bandaged my own self-inflicted wounds this morning.

Her nails pressed deeper into her palm. She was slipping. She wished they were in the infirmary already, so she could distract herself. She needed to change the subject.

"How was your…mission?"

She half-hoped he would tell her what it had all been about, now that years had passed and he seemed unharmed by the ordeal. But Aragorn only let out a sigh and shook his head.

"I was successful in the task I set out to do, but it set much in motion that I did not anticipate when I started." He glanced at her. "You are no doubt wondering why I've returned to Rohan."

"Perhaps you could start with what happened with the king." There hadn't been any time to dwell on it after reuniting with Aragorn and watching Gríma flee the city, but the unnatural scene came back to her now. "He…He almost sounded as if he was possessed."

"It was the work of the wizard Saruman," Aragorn said. "For the past few years he has been poisoning the mind of the king with the help of a spy."

That explained Théoden's strange symptoms. Lori wondered what would have happened if she'd never stopped treating him, if she would have been able to reach him despite a wizard's influence.

And Gríma…he'd had the gall to accuse her of witchcraft when he'd been the one working for a wizard. She nearly shuddered with fury.

Éomer had been right to suspect Saruman all along. She hoped he was safe, wherever he was.

"I did not realize the situation had become so dire in Edoras," Aragorn continued. "I know it must have been a great burden to you as the healer of this hall."

She could see out of the corner of her eye that he was watching her expression. She'd never been good at hiding her emotions from him, and now it was more difficult than ever. Perhaps he'd already inferred that she'd been the one to treat Théodred, that she hadn't been able to save him.

The shame of it made her stomach lurch.

They were nearly at the door of the infirmary, and Lori hurried to open it. The room was exactly as she'd left it mere minutes ago. She cast a nervous glance at the blood-stained rags lying in the wastebasket in the corner.

"It's not much, but feel free to make yourselves comfortable."

Gimli hoisted himself onto one of the cots while Legolas went to stand by the window.

"This place is well-kept," Aragorn said as he examined the shelf where she kept her herbs.

"I like to stay organized," she said with a small smile, moving beside him to gather the supplies for tea.

It was agony to kneel down and kindle a fire, and she hoped the others didn't notice how she had to grip the edge of the hearth to keep herself steady.

"I don't know what the journey has been like for you all, but if you have any wounds that need tending, I could see to them now," she said once she'd stood up and taken a steadying breath as subtly as she could.

"I have no need for the services of a healer," Legolas said, "but I thank you for your hospitality."

She shot him a brief smile and glanced at the others.

"Nothing a pint of ale and a solid night's sleep won't solve," Gimli said, then nodded at Aragorn. "Though this one here was roughed up quite a bit by orcs."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Orcs?"

"It was only a small cut," Aragorn said, casting another exasperated glance at Gimli.

"Did you need clean dressings for it? Stitches?" Lori went to rifle through her supplies for a roll of bandages. She swallowed, and her hands stilled. This was nothing to panic over—he was clearly fine. She didn't know why her throat was so tight all of a sudden. "Not that I doubt your own skill as a healer, I just…"

"I would be glad to have you look over it," Aragorn said as he shrugged off his coat. "Our supplies were few in the wild, not to mention neither of my companions are experienced healers."

"Nor are we experienced in having a companion so easily scathed in battle," Legolas said. Gimli barked out a laugh and Aragorn shot them both a look.

Lori clicked her tongue when she noticed Aragorn had bound the wound in a strip of cloth torn from his shirt. She unwound the binding and was relieved to find the cut was scabbed over and showed no sign of infection.

He was still wearing the same clothes as the last time she'd seen him, though they were a little more worn. The only difference was a pair of leather bracers. She recognized the tree of Gondor from a few of Sárelle's belongings, and wondered again what had brought the three of them here.

"So, orcs," she prompted as she began cleaning the skin around Aragorn's injury.

"We were ambushed near the eastern border of Rohan. We lost one of our companions in the attack, and two more were kidnapped by the surviving orcs. We gave chase, and their trail brought us into Rohan."

He spoke so calmly about what must have been a terrifying incident. For the past couple of years, Lori had tried her best not to think about what a dangerous life Rangers led, that he could have been injured or killed and she never would have known about it.

She took a calming breath before she asked, "Did you find the two people that were…taken?"

"We did not lay eyes on them, but Gandalf assured us they were safe." Aragorn gave her a grateful smile as she finished bandaging his arm. "Your work has improved since the last time I saw you."

"I've had time to practice." Her throat tightened again as she thought of Théodred.

Behind her, the water had finally begun to boil, and she busied herself with preparing the tea. The work was the only thing keeping her hands steady.

Aragorn was here. After years of wishing for it, she'd finally gotten the chance to see him again.

And it only served as a reminder of everything that could be ripped away from her.

When I was writing the first scene in this chapter I kept thinking of this video essay called "Suicide and Mental Health" by Philosophy Tube, specifically the part that describes self harm as "the nourishing of the self through the destruction of the self." I tried to sort of touch on that in this chapter. I highly recommend watching the video, definitely check the content warnings but the content the author discusses has been really, really influential on my writing.

Anyway, we are officially in Two Towers territory now! I didn't explicitly plan for this, but I love the parallel of Eowyn "reuniting" with Theoden at the same time Lori reunites with Aragorn. Lori will definitely have her own arc for this part, I promise it won't just be her reacting to canon scenes. I'll be mostly following the movies with some stuff cherry picked from the books.

Thank you all so much for the new favorites/follows etc, and I'll see you next time!