Chapter 32

As promised, Éowyn returned to ride with Lori and the others once she'd finished speaking with her uncle. Dernhild and Sárelle were bickering as usual, so Éowyn nudged Windfola to fall into step with Hithui.

"Everything all right?" Lori asked.

"As well as it can be." Éowyn brushed a lock of hair from her face. "It worries me that we must take refuge in Helm's Deep, especially with Éomer's éored so far from us."

"We'll be fine. I don't have any evidence to back that up, but I want to try and have some faith in that." Lori shot her what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "How is your uncle doing?"

Éowyn's expression softened a little. "He is the way I remembered him, before…before his decline. After what happened in the main hall, when I looked into his eyes, I could see that he had returned." She shook her head. "It felt as if I could truly breathe for the first time in years."

Lori smiled. "I'm glad. He looks ten times better than he did a week ago. But if something ever comes up and you need me to check on him…"

"Of course."

She hoped if she was needed it would be something she could actually handle. Gandalf had parted ways with them just before they'd left the city, and Lori didn't know what she would do if Théoden had a relapse while he was gone.

Éowyn's eyes flickered to the front of the procession. "And what of the man you spoke to earlier? The one that arrived with the wizard?"

"Oh, Aragorn? He's a friend of mine from the north. He helped me find an apprenticeship to a healer and traveled me when I came to Rohan. I never expected to see him again after that, but…" She shrugged, unsure how much she could reveal of his mission to Éowyn. "Quite a few things seemed to fall into place yesterday. I could introduce you the next time we stop."

"I'd like that." She turned to Lori. "And I am glad you have a friend with you." She hesitated, then lowered her voice. "How are your wounds?"

Lori had to resist the urge to avert her gaze. "I'm fine. I have it under control. You don't need to worry about me."

"If only it were that easy." Éowyn eyed her half-reproachfully. "I think I will worry about you as long as we are friends."

"Well, it's too bad I'm stuck with you."

Éowyn took the bait and laughed. "And you will have a hard time shaking me loose."

Though it took some effort, they stayed with lighter topics for the rest of the morning. Sárelle and Dernhild joined in and they discussed the prospect of camping out that night. The three ladies had a tent prepared for them to sleep in, and Dernhild promised to smuggle Lori in if she wished it.

Around midday, the procession came to a halt, and people spread out to prepare quick meals and water their horses. Lori and Éowyn moved up to the front of the column and found Aragorn with his other two companions.

Aragorn greeted her with a smile as she approached, and Lori couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. It wasn't as if she'd been trying to avoid him. But ever since the funeral, it had been increasingly harder to keep her composure, especially around him. She wanted to talk about what had happened—she just didn't know how to do it without breaking down.

She took a calming breath. The pain would get easier. She would learn to make room for it. Just like the cuts on her legs, the wounds on her heart would heal. She just had to hold herself together until then.

"Mind if we join you?" she asked, stopping at the edge of their small group.

Gimli was sharpening his axe, while Legolas was sitting cross-legged on the grass, seemingly lost in thought. Aragorn gave them a welcoming gesture with the hand that wasn't holding his pipe.

Lori motioned to her friend. "This is Lady Éowyn. Éowyn, this is Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli."

"It is a pleasure to meet you all." Éowyn grasped Lori's arm as she sat, subtly giving her something to lean on as she bent her legs. Lori felt a wave of gratitude swell within her.

"My lady." Aragorn inclined his head.

"My uncle told me you crossed paths with my brother Éomer on your journey to Edoras," Éowyn said. "What news did he bring?"

"He and his company had hunted down a pack of orcs the night before our meeting. He looked hale, if rightfully grim," Aragorn said, and Éowyn let out a small sigh of relief.

Lori shared the sentiment. Éomer was still alive and well, at least. Whenever he returned to them (when, not if, she assured herself forcefully) she was sure he would be glad to hear Gríma had finally been thrown from the gates of the city.

"Have you all come down from the north, then?" Éowyn asked. She glanced at Lori. "You said you came to Edoras from Bree."

"Broadly speaking, we all hail from the north," Aragorn said. "I lived in the woods near Bree, and Legolas comes from the Greenwood to the east."

"I will take no offense if you refer to it as Mirkwood," Legolas said. "It has been given that name long enough."

"Well, Erebor, at least, has always been Erebor since the first miners began tunneling beneath its bountiful stone," Gimli said. He gestured with his axe towards Éowyn. "No doubt you have heard of the Lonely Mountain and the great dwarf kingdom that lies within. That is the great city from which I set forth."

"In truth, I have heard very little about dwarves," Éowyn said. "Is it true that you make your homes beneath the mountain itself?"

"Is it true that the sun rises in the east?" Gimli straightened up, as if preparing for a long speech, and Lori caught Legolas rolling his eyes. It was such a mundane gesture from an elf that it nearly made her laugh.

Sure enough, Gimli talked at great length about Erebor, its cavernous halls and countless riches. Éowyn listened with bright eyes, and Lori found herself drawn in as well. She'd crossed paths with a few dwarves during her time in Bree, but she'd found them to be rather taciturn. Even after hearing Bilbo's descriptions of the dwarvish kingdom, she'd underestimated how vast it was.

She only realized she was smiling when a newcomer approached their small group. It was Háma, his helmet tucked under one arm. He gave a small bow in Éowyn, then turned to Lori.

"The king has requested your presence."

Anxiety washed over her like a bucket of cold water. She nodded mutely and struggled to her feet, trying not to let her terror show on her face. Éowyn reached up and briefly squeezed her hand, then gave her a reassuring smile. It didn't quite have the intended effect, and Lori struggled to find her voice as she turned to the others.

"I'll see you all later."

She locked eyes with Aragorn, and he gave her a small nod. He was utterly calm, looking at her as if she was only leaving for a small errand. If he wasn't worried for her, then she would try to quell her own anxiety.

It was difficult, though, as Háma led her through the camp to the very front of the procession. Théodred was no longer here to defend his decision to hire her in the first place. All Théoden knew of her was her biggest failures, and if he decided she was no longer fit to serve as Meduseld's healer, she wasn't sure she could blame him at all. Unless he had some concern about his health, she wasn't sure what other reason there would be for him to summon her.

Théoden stood at the top of the hill at the western side of camp, surveying the next stretch of land they would have to cover that day. He wore a green cloak adorned with gold over a rich red tunic. His appearance was so utterly different from the graying man he'd been before that it made it easier to believe magic had been involved in his transformation.

Háma paused just below the crest of the hill and gestured for her to go on.

Lori swallowed and ascended the final few steps. She realized she'd forgotten to count through her breathing so her voice wouldn't shake. She bent into a curtsy as much as her legs would allow.

"Your majesty."

He turned around, and she straightened and forced herself to meet his eyes. He looked her over as if seeing her for the first time—and in a way, he was.

"You are the new healer that has been serving in my hall?"

She nodded. "I replaced Wídfara after he left." Her voice sounded pathetically small, and she cleared her throat and tried again. "I've been working in Meduseld for close to two years, now."

Grimness shuttered over his expression, and she wondered if she'd said something wrong.

"It has been some time since I have been fully aware of the affairs that take place within my household. Éowyn tells me you made your own efforts to cure me of my…condition."

Lori swallowed. At least he was giving her a chance to defend herself. "I-I had no idea what was actually happening, so I tried some basic remedies for mental illness. It was difficult with Gríma interfering, though."

"Indeed." His expression darkened further. "And you tended to my son in his final days."

She'd been expecting the question, but it didn't stop a cold ball of dread from swelling in her stomach.

"I…" She felt the pressure in the back of her throat that meant tears were close to rising, and she dug her nails into the skin of her palm. "I did, yes. I treated his wound for infection, but there must have been some other complication, because—"

She cut herself off, tasting the futility of her words. Excuses wouldn't bring Théoden's son back. It was over and done with, and all that was left for her now was judgement.

"I am no stranger to death," Théoden said, his voice unexpectedly gentle, "in both the battlefield and the sickbed. Far too many of my people have suffered from it. I fear we may see more of it in the coming days." He took a couple of steps closer, and Lori realized the burden on her shoulders was vastly smaller than the one he carried. "My house will need a strong and capable healer to see us through this. Do you believe you are capable of carrying out this task?"

He was giving her an out. If she decided to walk away, she had no doubt Théoden would release her from his service. Perhaps Aragorn would be able to step up in her place until the king found a more suitable healer.

Lori took a deep breath, her thoughts straying into memory. Seeing Gandalf again, hearing his voice, had brought back their first conversation in the woods, what felt like a lifetime ago. She'd been spiraling after the mishap in Combe, and he'd given her a piece of wisdom that had changed her course.

Théoden seemed to understand too that healers carried a burden alongside soldiers.

More than ever, this world needs those with a kind heart and a gentle hand.

She'd failed to save Théodred. But she still had the skills to help others, and Rohan needed her. Offering those skills was the right thing to do.

"I am capable," she said, and was surprised at the steadiness of her voice. "With your permission, I will continue carrying out the duties of a healer."

Théoden nodded. "Very well. I will not take any more of your time, then."

She turned to leave, preparing to let out the breath she'd been holding, but his voice stopped her again.

"You and I played chess, once."

She turned to find him studying her again, brow furrowed.

"We did, yes."

She'd tried to push that day out of her mind, finding the memory too painful after the harsh words he'd spoken just before she'd left. He'd seemed more lucid during the game, and perhaps the memory had come back to him on its own. Perhaps those words hadn't been his at all, but another symptom of the wizard's influence.

Théoden's expression softened. "I have not seen my niece smile in a long time. I can see that your company has brought her some joy, and for that I am grateful."

"Of course," Lori said softly. "I'm lucky to know her. She's helped me too, in more ways than I can count."

He gave her a small smile, and it brought a measure of youth to his face. Lori reminded herself that he was an uncle too, as well as a king.

"Go, then."

His voice was kind, and Lori felt significantly less anxious as she descended the hill. She still had her position as healer—but that came with its own challenges. She would still need to prove herself worthy of the role. She would not accept another failure. This time, she could rely on Aragorn's expertise where her own knowledge was lacking.

She had a chance, now, to make things right.

When they stopped that night to make camp, Lori slept in the tent with Éowyn, Sárelle, and Dernhild. There were only three cots, so Lori made her bed on the floor, but the thick layer of furs was enough to keep her warm. She was exhausted from the day's journey, and fell asleep moments after Sárelle blew out the last candle.

She dreamed that there was blood sliding down her arms. Her fingers slipped in it as she tried to clear it away, tried to stem the flow. There was someone standing behind her, watching her efforts with cold disapproval, but she couldn't turn to see who it was.

When she woke, her chest was tight like she was about to cry. Lori pressed her fist to her mouth and let out a slow breath through her nose. Already, the memory of the dream was fading, but the tension in her chest remained.

She lifted her head to look at the others. All three of them were fast asleep, and she tried to be discreet as she left the tent. The camp was still and quiet, save for a handful of soldiers patrolling the outskirts.

Hugging her arms to her chest, she made her way down to the small copse of trees at the bottom of the hill. There was a tiny pond half-concealed behind the bushes, and she dipped her hands in the water. The chill eased the phantom sensation of hot blood on her skin. Lori exhaled, then splashed a handful of water over her face. Droplets fell onto her collarbone and made her shiver.

Gingerly, she shifted and wrapped her arms around her bent knees. The cold was already making her shiver, her skin craving the warmth of the tent.

She couldn't stop thinking about her conversation with Théoden, about the Barrowfield where Théodred's body was, Gríma somewhere out there, Éowyn's anger, the winter storm, Dernhild and her broken heart, Aragorn's mission, the cuts on her thighs, the knot that seemed to be winding tighter in her chest—

Her fingers smeared the leftover drops of water on her cheek, too cold to be tears. She thought about crying, here in the most privacy she would have for a while. But it was lodged in her throat now, stuck burning a hole in her sternum.

Just sleep it off. You need to rest.

It took another few minutes to convince herself to get up. It had been hard to find a chance to change her bandages in total privacy, but Éowyn had covered for her without hesitation. Her wounds were healing without any complications, but they still burned when she moved her legs.

She shifted onto her knees and cast around for something to grab onto, but the sturdiest object was a prickly-looking bush. After a bit of awkward shuffling, she managed to get her feet under her and hissed through her teeth as she stood.

"Is something wrong?"

Lori gasped and nearly toppled back over as a figure stepped into view. It was Legolas, looking mildly confused as she placed a hand over her pounding heart.

"You sounded as if you were in pain," he said.

"I-I'm fine." She shook her head. "You scared me."

"I apologize." He dipped his chin. "I sometimes forget that others' senses are not as keen as those of elves."

"It's all right." The spike of adrenaline was beginning to subside. She'd had a few scares back in Rivendell before the elves had learned to be more conspicuous around her. She picked her way through the brush and left the copse of trees with Legolas. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

"Keeping watch. I have already rested for the night."

The elves of Rivendell had also had some more nocturnal habits. It was strange being around Legolas—it reminded her of a chapter of her life that felt unreal after living among humans for so long.

"And you?"

"I, um, couldn't sleep. I just wanted some fresh air," she replied.

Legolas smiled slightly. "I find that a strange turn of phrase. Fresh air."

She shrugged. "You spend your time with a pair of smokers. I'd argue some air is fresher than others."

His smile widened. "You make a good point."

They were climbing the hill towards the main part of the camp now, and Lori struggled to keep up with Legolas's long strides while not straining her legs too much. She didn't realize her expression had changed until he stopped walking.

"Are you sure you are not in pain?"

She stopped as well, her heart leaping into her throat. "I'm fine." She swallowed. "It's just been a while since I've ridden for so long. My legs are a little sore."

It was hard to meet his eyes. If he could tell she was lying, he didn't show it. Instead, he extended one arm.

A warm ache settled in her chest, and she held onto his arm and let him support her the rest of the way up the hill. She could see why he and Aragorn had become friends.

"Thank you," she said once they'd reached the top of the slope.

He nodded. "Rest well, Lori."

"You too," she said, then remembered he'd already finished for the night. "I mean…" She searched her mind for half-buried Sindarin phrases she'd neglected to practice. "Na lû e-govaned vîn."

His expression warmed. "Ollo vae."

She smiled and made her way back to the tent. As she curled up on the floor, she held those words close to her heart, as if they could ward off the nightmare that had driven her from sleep in the first place.

I thought I'd throw in a little scene with Legolas at the end. Yes I am gearing up for him and Gimli to be Lori's fun gay uncles. I love writing their banter so it's nice to finally have them in the story.