Warning for a brief mention of self harm urges and self harm injuries in this chapter.

Chapter 31

It felt like a dream, walking down to the gates of the city with the rest of the black-clad crowd.

Lori didn't want it to be real. She wanted to pretend this was someone else's life, that she was merely a spectator, a passerby, in the group of mourners.

Four men in ceremonial armor carried a bier down the slope. Théodred had been laid on top—she supposed the Rohirrim didn't use coffins. His hair had been cleaned and combed, and he was dressed in a new set of armor, free from grime and tears. His sword lay across his chest, one hand clasped loosely around the grip.

It was strange, seeing the body in the light of day. After hours of watching him in a feverish sleep, she could immediately tell that this was not the same. It looked like wax, like clay, like an empty vessel or a well-made imitation of the man.

It didn't feel real.

At the head of the procession was the remainder of Théodred's family. Éowyn had a dark veil over her hair, which had been pinned up and away from her neck. Her grief showed on her face, but it was restrained, half-concealed as if by a layer of frost.

Beside her was Théoden. In the hours since Gandalf had cured him, he'd trimmed his hair and beard and abandoned his heavy fur coat. That alone was enough to make him look a decade younger, but Lori had never seen such heaviness on a face. She could see the effort it took to keep his gaze lifted, to keep his thoughts present, as if he was fighting against a grief stronger than gravity.

Lori swallowed and pulled her cloak tighter around herself. She was walking with Sárelle and Dernhild, and their presence comforted her a little. For once, she could let her pain show on her face without feeling undignified.

They passed through the front gate, down the road to the Barrowfield. The simbelmynë had already bloomed, and their white petals twirled in the wind that swept over the burial mounds. The pallbearers stopped at one of the newly-constructed tombs. Perhaps it had originally been intended for Théoden, when his time came. Lori couldn't bear to look at his face.

As the men carefully carried Théodred's bier into the tomb, Éowyn began to sing. It was a Rohirric song, one Lori had never heard before. Her voice was strong, carrying through the empty space between the burial mounds, but it was a strength borne from grief, like ocean waves tossed by a storm. Her voice shook but never faltered, even as tears ran down her cheeks.

Lori realized her own face was wet, that she'd begun crying without realizing it. She raised a hand to dry her eyes, then stopped herself. Some of the other women were weeping too. She could let herself cry here, quietly, and allow herself some semblance of relief.

Sárelle reached over and squeezed her hand. Lori didn't look at her face, too afraid of what she would find there.

After Éowyn had finished her song and Théodred's body had been entombed, the mourners drifted into a queue before the stone door. One by one, they left small gifts—whispered prayers, flowers, little jars and baskets of fruit and incense. Lori had nothing with her, hadn't known this was part of the tradition. When it was her turn, she had to force the words out.

"I'm sorry. I wish…I wish you were still here."

A fresh wave of tears hit her, nearly bending her double. She wanted to sink to her knees and cry aloud.

Her breaths were coming in shaky gasps as she turned away from the tomb and started back towards the city. It wasn't as if she was alone in her grief. The funeral was a place for their shared pain, after all.

But she still couldn't let go of that deep-rooted shame, the part of her that cringed at the thought of breaking down here.

As Lori climbed the hill, she saw someone coming towards her out of the corner of her eye. Aragorn. She'd spotted him with Legolas and Gimli during the funeral procession.

She wanted to wait for him, to fall into his arms and cry and admit that this was all her fault.

Instead, she pretended she hadn't seen him at all and began the painful walk back to the Golden Hall.

It seemed like a burden now that Éowyn had relieved her of her duties today. She wanted something to do with her hands, something to calm her, to provide even the smallest of distractions.

Lori sat on the edge of her bed and let out a shaky breath. Her conversation with Éowyn had happened that morning, but it seemed like a lifetime ago. Théoden's recovery, seeing Aragorn again, the funeral…

Her chest tightened. She gripped the bedsheets on either side of her.

I need something. God, I need a drink.

She cast around with her eyes, even though she knew there wasn't a drop anywhere in her room. When her gaze came to rest on the knife, half-hidden beneath her blanket, she snatched it up.

Instinct guided her hands as she fumbled to pull her skirt up. A relentless buzzing had started up beneath her skin, her nerves feeling so raw it made her dizzy. She felt it rising within her like vomit, the desperate need for relief.

A knock sounded from the other side of the door, and her stomach dropped. Lori shoved the knife beneath her pillow and went to answer it.

Éowyn was standing on the other side. She'd removed the veil from her hair, but she was still wearing her dark dress from the funeral.

She hesitated for a moment, then said, "Two children arrived in Edoras just now. They are both in need of a healer."

Lori nodded, disoriented, feeling as if she was watching herself from somewhere far away. Before she could move, Éowyn grasped her upper arms.

"If you are not feeling well, then you do not have to," she said with a meaningful look. "I will send for someone else."

Lori shook her head. "I'm fine."

Éowyn was still grieving her cousin. She shouldn't have to compensate for Lori's weakness on top of everything else.

She looked as if she wanted to protest, but only said, "They are in the main hall."

The two children were sitting at a table off to the side, tucking into a meal of stew and bread. They were both sunburnt and smudged with dust, but the fact that they were eating was a good sign.

Gingerly, Lori sat on the bench across the table, causing both to look up. The girl looked to be about ten years old, the boy a few years older.

She didn't think she could even try for a smile, so she said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone, "My name is Lori. I'm a healer. I'm here to make sure that neither of you are hurt."

"Éothain fell off the horse," the girl said, glancing at the boy. "They had to carry him inside."

Lori turned to Éothain, who hadn't paused in inhaling his stew. "Did you hit your head when you fell?"

He wiped his mouth and mumbled, "I don't know."

"Does your head hurt? Or is anything else bothering you?"

"I'm thirsty."

"Me too," the girl said.

"How long were you on the horse?" Lori asked.

"Three days. I think," Éothain said around a mouthful of bread.

"Mama said to go as fast as we could," the girl said.

Exhaustion and dehydration seemed to be the most likely scenario if the two had been riding alone for so many days. That was the best case scenario, though Lori was more concerned with the reason why they'd been forced to make the journey.

Éowyn came towards them, a pair of blankets in her arms. She wrapped one around each child's shoulders, then turned to Lori. "How are they?"

"They should be fine once they've had some water and time to rest."

"Where is mama?" the girl asked, lifting her chin to look at Éowyn.

A shadow fell over Éowyn's expression, and she reached over to straighten the blanket. "I do not know."

"She said she would find us here."

"It is a long journey from the Westfold. Perhaps…" Éowyn's jaw tensed, whatever optimism she'd been trying to conjure fading from her voice. "What is most important is that you are safe."

Lori met Éowyn's eyes and sent her a questioning glance. But before either of them could speak, the doors to the hall opened. Théoden strode in, followed by Gandalf and Aragorn.

"What news do the children bring?" Théoden asked as the three approached the table.

Éowyn straightened. "Their village was destroyed by Wildmen. Their mother bade them flee to the city and warn us of the attack."

The shadows on Théoden's face deepened. He turned from the table, pacing the length of the hall.

"They had no warning," Éowyn continued. "They were unarmed. Now the Wildmen are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go. Rick, cot, and tree."

Lori didn't notice that Aragorn had moved closer until he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Despite everything, his touch calmed her a little.

Gandalf moved to the base of the steps leading to the throne, where Théoden had paused in his pacing. "This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash—all the more potent, for he is driven now by fear of Sauron." He waited until Théoden had met his gaze, then continued, "Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children. You must fight."

"There are two thousand good men riding north as we speak," Aragorn added. "Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."

Théoden resumed pacing. "They will be three hundred leagues from here by now. Éomer cannot help us." He swiveled to address Gandalf. "I know what it is you want of me, but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

"Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not," Aragorn said.

Théoden turned to him with a frown. "When last I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn, was King of Rohan."

He was going by his real name now, Lori noted with a glance at Aragorn. She resolved to ask him about it later.

"Then what is the king's decision?" Gandalf asked.

"We shall empty the city and ride forth to Helm's Deep. My people will be safe there." He turned to Éowyn. "I entrust you with the preparations for the journey. We leave at first light tomorrow."

She nodded, her expression unreadable, and touched Éothain on the shoulder. "Come. I will find you and your sister a place to sleep tonight." She sent a quick, affirming glance in Lori's direction and led the children out of the hall.

As Théoden turned away to confer with Gandalf, Lori fought the urge to put her head in her hands. She was beyond exhausted from the day's events, and she wished she had stayed curled up in her room after the funeral. She wanted her knife.

The bench creaked as Aragorn took a seat beside her.

"How far is Helm's Deep?" Lori asked, partially to avoid the questions she knew was coming.

"A little more than a day's ride," he said. "But with such a large group it will likely take half a week to reach the fortress."

Fuck. That was a long time on the road, and there was no telling how long they'd be staying in Helm's Deep once they reached it.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, stomach dropping in anticipation of his answer.

"I will go to Helm's Deep as well. I want to know the full extent of the threat Saruman poses to Rohan."

That brought her a tiny bit of relief. At least she wouldn't have to say goodbye to him just yet.

"What about your…mission?"

It occurred to her that he still hadn't told her the full details of why he'd come to the south, and what he was doing with Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf. Today had been full of enough insanity for that detail to fade to the back of her mind.

Aragorn seemed to have realized the same thing. He took out his pipe but didn't light it.

"How much do you know of Sauron?"

Lori blinked. Most of what she knew came from Sárelle, and even then she wasn't clear on the details. She knew he was the ruler of Mordor, which bordered Gondor to the east, and that the two kingdoms were at war. She imagined him as some tyrannical dictator, but the warfront was so far from Edoras that the issue rarely crossed her mind. Yet Gandalf had said a few moments ago that even Saruman feared him.

Aragorn nodded slowly as she relayed what little she knew. "My companions and I originally gathered in Rivendell to discuss a recent discovery, something that could pose a great threat to Gondor and the rest of Middle-earth. We journeyed south to dispose of that threat. Our company was waylaid when the orcs ambushed us, but there were two that escaped and carried on the mission." He gazed down at his pipe as if searching for answers within the darkened bowl. "If they succeed, it will mean the end of Sauron, and an end to the war."

She swallowed. Was he talking about a political assassination? She didn't know how two people could stop a war by themselves, but she had the feeling it was something drastic.

"Is this one of those things that the less I know, the better?"

Aragorn gave her a slightly rueful smile. "Indeed. I never expected my journey to take me here, but if there is one comforting aspect in all of this, I am glad to have the chance to see you again."

Something clenched around her heart and twisted, but it was a good kind of pain, not the despairing ache she'd been experiencing lately.

"I'm glad to see you too," she said quietly. "I just wish it was under better circumstances."

He was watching her expression again, and she tried to think of something to say, to keep the conversation going so he wouldn't ask—

"Are you all right?"

Tears welled in her eyes, and she looked away. It felt absurd after all the crying she'd done yesterday and today, that there would still be more water left to spend.

"I've been better." Under the table, she put a tiny bit of pressure on her skin, just enough that the pain would ground her somewhat. "These past few days, it's just been one thing after another."

"I know that feeling all too well." Aragorn was silent for a moment. "I know it has been some years since we last met, but I hope you know I will listen to your worries, if you wish to share them."

She pressed down harder on her leg. Even if he'd already guessed it, she wanted to share with him what had happened with Théodred. She knew it would all come spilling out—not just Théodred's death, but everything she'd suffered with Gríma, the winter storm, her fruitless efforts to heal Théoden. Every mistake she'd made since coming to Edoras. She would cry as soon as she started speaking.

Even if Aragorn decided to comfort her afterwards, he'd still see the failure she'd become. How easily she broke down these days. Maybe it was selfish and foolish, but she wanted to preserve the part of their relationship that made him smile at her, that made her seem like she was still worth something.

"I…I appreciate the offer. Really." She still couldn't bring herself to look him in the eye. "But I should start packing my things. I'll talk to you later."

She managed a brief smile in his direction, but Aragorn was still looking at her with concern.

"Rest well, Lori."

"You too." She stood up from the table, ignoring the pain in her legs, and retreated to the shadows at the edge of the hall.

"Well, is this what you pictured when you said we should make an excursion in the spring?"

Sárelle glanced at Dernhild and wrapped her cloak tighter around herself. "I don't know if it's warm enough yet to be considered spring."

"I just hope we're not stuck there for too long," Lori said.

The three of them sat astride their horses, looking down from a nearby hill at the procession streaming through the front gate of Edoras. Everyone had been instructed to bring necessities only, so most carried their belongings on their backs. A few families had been allowed carts or wagons, and those who had mounts had laden them with goods as well. Lori spotted a boy with a cat cradled in both arms.

"I have heard Helm's Deep is one of the most desired destinations for newlyweds and wealthy families," Dernhild said. "It's in a deep gorge, so sunlight is scarce, and it's filled with soldiers who never learned to clean up after themselves…"

"If that is what you find desirable, then perhaps I have no reason to take you to Dol Amroth after all," Sárelle said.

"Don't say such cruel things!"

Lori smiled slightly, though she couldn't bring herself to join in on their banter. She hadn't slept much the previous night, and the thought of a day filled with travel filled her with weariness.

She brightened a little when she noticed Éowyn riding up the hill towards them. Windfola's ears were perked up, her eyes bright. For their horses, at least, this was little more than a chance to stretch their legs.

"The city is nearly emptied," Éowyn said, drawing Windfola to a halt beside them. "I must make a report to my uncle, but I will find you all afterwards."

"Is no one staying behind?" Sárelle asked.

She shook her head. "All the guards are needed with us. The last of them will lock the gates, but there is not much we can do beyond that."

"Let us hope there is not a straggler who plans to have free reign of the city for the next couple of weeks," Dernhild said.

"I imagine they will raid your chambers first," Éowyn said, then flicked Windfola's reins and set off towards the front of the procession.

She seemed to be in something of a better mood since Théoden had recovered, and that lifted Lori's spirits a little. She'd been worried about Éowyn, the way frustration had wound tighter and tighter around her. It was another thing that she'd felt helpless to fix.

Lori sighed and nudged Hithui to move along with the rest of the procession. She'd changed the bandages on her legs before leaving, and the cuts seemed to be healing without any problems. She didn't want to think about it at all, but it was hard not to when pain followed her every step.

One thing at a time.

Théodred had been right. She'd made it through the winter, had weathered every storm and nightmare sent her way, and finally she had something to show for it. She had her friends back, her…her family.

Please let this next part be easy, she prayed to whoever might be listening. Please let us make it through.

It's a little funny to be slowly easing Lori into the more fantastical aspects of this world. For the most part she's been living a relatively "normal" life, minus the year she spent living with elves. But like, she still doesn't fully understand what wizards are, she just thinks Sauron is some guy, she still hasn't even seen an orc (yet)…

Anyway, thank you so much for the reviews/favorites/follows, it's lovely to see new people enjoying this story. Until next time!