Chapter 35
Dernhild and Sárelle were still in the room when Lori woke the next morning.
Her sleep had been fragmented, her mind lurching through bloodied nightmares that felt just real enough to make her heart pound. She stared at the wall for several minutes, sorting through each painful piece, gingerly setting apart reality from dreams.
Her whole body was sore, aching from the previous day's exertions and from lying in one position for so long. With a low groan, Lori rolled onto her back and rubbed some feeling back into her cheek.
"Lori?" Sárelle sat at the edge of the cot. "How are you feeling?"
The simple question was enough to make her want to cry. Lori pushed herself into a sitting position, delaying the moment when she would have to look Sárelle in the eyes.
"I don't think that question really needs an answer," Dernhild said. "Are you hungry at all?"
Lori shook her head. The room felt uncomfortably small. Sárelle was sitting too close.
"Can I have a moment alone?"
Sárelle and Dernhild exchanged a glance.
"Éowyn told us not to leave you alone," Dernhild said.
Lori tried and failed to suppress a sigh. They were treating her like a child. Maybe that was what she deserved. Éowyn likely thought she would be a danger to herself if she was left alone, and Lori couldn't honestly say that that assumption was wrong.
"All right." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. It took a moment to find her balance, and Sárelle put a steadying hand on her back.
"We could find something to eat," Dernhild said, shifting her weight as if she wanted to hold Lori up as well.
Lori brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. She was glad there was no mirror in the room. "I should get back to work."
"You can't be serious." Sárelle stepped in her path before she could move. "Lori, you're not well."
"I know," she rasped. "But there are people who need my help. I need to be out there."
She couldn't keep the plea out of her voice. Sárelle searched her face for a moment, then gave her a tiny nod.
Dernhild took her by the arm. "They've moved most of the wounded to tents in the yard. I'll show you."
Lori murmured an agreement and followed Dernhild out of the room.
The cold was relentless despite the sun sitting unobstructed in the sky. The people in Helm's Deep had gathered into some semblance of organization overnight, setting up makeshift tents in corners and alcoves. A crowd of children were gathered around a woman serving porridge from a large stone pot. It smelled decent given their limited supplies, but Lori's appetite had vanished.
Dernhild led her down the steps to the yard behind the wall connected to the fortress. It was a wide space, with room for larger tents and corrals for the horses. People here were tending to cookfires, mending wagons and tools, and doing laundry in large wooden tubs. In a matter of hours, they'd found some semblance of normalcy.
As they passed into the shadow of the wall, Lori lifted her gaze to the top of the massive structure. She imagined what it would like to fall from the battlements, one last adrenaline rush in free fall followed by the crushing embrace of the earth. It made her dizzy with longing and fear.
They stopped outside one of the larger tents, and Lori recognized the smell of blood and herbs. Before she could step inside, Dernhild stopped her with a light touch on her arm.
"Lori…" Her lips pressed together. "I wish you would show yourself the same kindness you offer the men in there."
Kindness? Her lips moved soundlessly. She'd thought of it more as mercy, an end to pain. What good was a kiss to a bleeding wound?
"I'll see you later, Dernhild." She swallowed. "Thank you."
She pushed the tent flaps aside and stepped into the gloom. The space was humid and crowded with bodies—some lying on cots, others on thin blankets. She recognized a man with a broken ankle that she'd tended to yesterday and started towards him, but another healer stopped her before she was halfway there.
"Water. We need two buckets more. There's a pump out by the storehouse."
Lori murmured an acquiescence and left the tent. Whatever it took to keep her busy.
The storehouse wasn't much more than another tent stacked with provisions. She found the pump jutting from the ground nearby, along with a collection of buckets. The water that gushed forth was clear and cold, and she swallowed a few mouthfuls before filling two buckets.
She tested its weight and cursed under her breath. On a better day she could have handled one bucket, but she would be lucky if both were half full by the time she reached the tent.
"I'll handle that, lass."
Gimli stepped up beside her and hefted both buckets as if they were filled with straw instead of water.
"Where are you off to? The healers' tent?"
"Yes," Lori replied, her throat suddenly tight. For a minute she'd been able to forget, but seeing Gimli had sent all her grief back to the forefront of her mind.
She trailed after him across the yard, nails biting her skin. If she summoned the courage to ask what had happened out on the battlefield, it would only deepen the wound she was carrying. Perhaps that was what she wanted.
By the time they reached the tent, she still hadn't gathered the words in her mouth. Gimli set down the buckets by the entrance and dusted off his hands.
"Once you get to hefting a crucible of molten iron around a smithy, a bucket of water isn't so bad."
Lori nodded and managed a, "Thank you."
He cleared his throat. "You know, he was quite fond of you."
Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them away. She knew, and it made everything hurt worse.
"If you're ever in need, you can always come to me. Or the elf, I suppose." Gimli patted her on the arm and walked away.
She realized then that perhaps it was just as difficult for him to talk about what had happened.
"You should get some rest."
Blearily, Lori looked up. The woman that had sent her to fetch water earlier—named Déorhild—had taken charge of the other healers in the tent. She'd already dismissed several others to find food and a chance to rest their feet.
"I'm all right," Lori said, straightened in a feeble attempt to hide her aches and exhaustion. There were still men that needed tending, and she'd been hoping to work until she couldn't stand anymore. Until she didn't have the energy to think.
Déorhild met her gaze with a stern look. She was tall and broad, but her eyes were gentle.
"You're no use to anyone if you work yourself to the bone. Go find yourself a meal before all the hot food is gone."
Lori nodded and began picking her way through the men lying on the ground. She emerged into the cold, smoky air of the yard and let out a long sigh. It was late afternoon now, the sun hovering just above the mountain peaks to the west.
Aimlessly, she began walking through the chaos, past children chasing each other and men herding dogs and small livestock. A long line was already snaking through the tents towards the ration tent. Her stomach hurt a little—when was the last time she'd eaten? Yesterday?
They'd been stopped on the road, and she'd shared bowls of stew with Legolas and Gimli and Aragorn…
Lori quickened her pace towards the fortress. She needed to be alone, somewhere quiet. She had her bag of supplies with her, thumping against her leg with each step. Another promise. Another flip of the coin she was fated to lose.
"Lori!"
She started and turned towards the voice.
Éowyn was running towards her, a hope shining in her eyes that felt utterly foreign in the gray world Lori was inhabiting.
"I come with good news," Éowyn said breathlessly, clasping Lori's arms. "Aragorn is alive."
Her first thought was that this was a joke, or Éowyn's desperate attempt to shock some life back into her. But then Éowyn gave her a small, joyful smile, and the reality of her statement hit Lori with its full force.
"What?" was all she could manage, her voice cracking.
"He arrived a few minutes ago," Éowyn said. "He is injured but alive. I came to find you as quickly as I could."
Lori nodded, tears welling up against her will. "W-Where is he?"
"He is speaking with my uncle." Éowyn grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the stairs leading to the fortress proper.
He's alive. He's injured, but I can treat him. Lori held onto that thought and pushed herself to keep pace with Éowyn.
They hurried upwards to the highest level, dodging guards and refugees along the way. They stopped outside the entrance to the main hall, and Lori bent over and tried to catch her breath. The cuts on her legs throbbed, but the pain hardly seemed of consequence.
Éowyn squeezed her hand, taking an almost protective stance as if she were afraid Lori was about to keel over.
"Take your time. I do not know what they are discussing in there, but I am sure it will not take long."
Lori grunted an affirmation. She felt a little hurt that Aragorn hadn't tried to find her first, but she was sure whatever he had to tell the king was important. She could wait a few minutes. The knowledge that he was alive was enough to keep her afloat.
They sat together on a bench, hands still clasped together. Lori closed her eyes and tried to reconcile the new reality she was living in. Her innards still felt tangled with grief, with a weight she no longer needed. She wanted to feel relieved, happy even, but a new, poisonous anxiety had already set in.
"H-How bad…?"
"He was able to make it here alone," Éowyn said. "I did not have a chance to look closely, but he was walking on his own. He'll be all right."
Lori could hear in her voice how badly she wanted to believe her own words. If he was moving on his own, he still had a chance. Even if he had to guide her, Lori would make sure he recovered from whatever injuries he'd sustained.
The minutes passed torturously. Éowyn's leg was bouncing slightly—she wanted to get up and pace, but she stayed where she was with a tight grip on Lori's hand. The contact grounded her somewhat, despite the worse-case scenarios forcing themselves into her mind.
The doors swept open, and Théoden strode out first, flanked by the captains that had accompanied them to Helm's Deep. On their heels were Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn, and Lori felt the air leave her chest. He was streaked with sweat and dirt and blood but he was walking, he was turning his head and looking at her. Lori let go of Éowyn's hand and stood. She moved forward, each step feeling wholly unreal, and wrapped her arms around him, uncaring of the mud staining his clothes.
Aragorn hugged her back, squeezing once before loosening his hold. Lori stepped back and looked him over. There was blood drying on his hands and more visible through the tears on his sleeves, but that was all she was able to see of his injuries.
"Where are you hurt?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
"I don't have much time to speak now." Aragorn laid a hand on her shoulder, and it was then that she noticed the others standing by, waiting for him. "I will find you later, all right?"
There was a tension around his eyes that spoke of something urgent. Reluctantly, Lori nodded and let him go. The men continued down the stairs, and Aragorn moved to the king's side and began speaking to him in low tones.
Éowyn stepped up beside Lori and crossed her arms.
"Something is wrong."
There's more? Lori almost wanted to laugh. She wondered when things had stopped being easy, and if they would ever start again.
"My lady."
One of the captains had broken away from the group of men and was coming towards them.
"Théoden King has ordered all women and children be moved to the caves beneath the mountain."
"Why?" Éowyn demanded. "What need is there to move so many people?"
He was pale, Lori realized, his grip tight on his sword.
"Lord Aragorn brought word of a great host of orcs marching towards Helm's Deep. He estimates they will be here by nightfall."
"Orcs? How many?"
"Ten thousand at the least, or so I've heard." The man gave a stilted bow. "Forgive me, my lady. I must return to the king's side."
He hurried down the stairs, and Lori wrapped her arms around herself. The undergraduate class at her university had been just over ten thousand. She tried to imagine that mass of people, all armed and with the intent to kill, marching towards the place where she stood. The number still defied imagination.
She turned to Éowyn, who was staring out at the entrance of the gorge with an unreadable expression.
"I will begin moving everyone," she said, then glanced at Lori. "Are you well enough to help?"
Lori nodded, not caring if her lie was transparent or not.
Ten thousand. Tonight.
None of them had the luxury of resting before their preparations were complete.
It was grueling work, packing up hastily-erected tents and supplies and carrying them towards the entrance to the caves. Lori found her way back to the infirmary and set to work there, constructing stretchers for those who couldn't walk and acting as a crutch for those who could. When she had a moment to breathe, she drank the rest of the miruvor.
She wiped the sweat from her temples and watched the slowly draining yard. A new vitality had gripped the refugees, but it was fueled by fear. The news of the invading army had spread quickly, and everyone moved as if they had spears at their backs.
"Lori. Do you have a moment?"
She turned as Legolas approached her. He looked remarkably out of place, his hair still sleek and shining and his demeanor unruffled. In a way, it was comforting.
"Of course." She wiped her palms on her skirt. "What is it?"
He gestured with his chin for her to follow him, and they set off towards the front of the yard.
Aragorn was striding along the base of the wall, evidently searching for something, but he stopped and turned when he noticed the two of them approaching.
"If you will not see a healer, then I will bring one to you," Legolas said.
Lori frowned at the blood still visible on his skin. He hid it well, but she'd known Aragorn long enough to see exhaustion in the slant of his shoulders.
"You need to take care of your wounds before they get infected," Lori said, as if he didn't already know.
"She worries for you, mellon," Legolas added.
Aragorn shot him a look, as if to say, Point taken. His gaze softened as he turned to Lori.
"If there is no one else in need of care…"
"Most of the patients have already been moved to the caves." She glanced inside her bag. She still had bandages, though her supply of herbs had been depleted while tending to the soldiers. "We should really take a minute to look at your wounds."
"Very well."
"I will take my leave." Legolas turned away, but not before Lori spotted a hint of a satisfied smile on his lips.
Most of the tents were being taken down, so they found a cluster of flat rocks near the back of the yard that would serve well enough as a workstation.
Lori helped Aragorn remove his coat, careful not to let the fabric drag against his bloodied skin. Both arms appeared to be injured, and she carefully peeled away the torn fabric just below his left shoulder. The cut on his arm had stopped bleeding, but the wound was ragged and surrounded by smaller scrapes and gashes.
"What happened here?"
"I fell against a rock. It was only a graze, though."
"A graze?" She frowned and began cleaning the wound. "What happened out there?"
"The orcs pushed us back to the river. I was fighting off a warg and I fell off the cliff's edge and into the water. Most of my injuries are from the fall."
He spoke so matter-of-factly, but Lori had to pause for a moment as a chill swept over her. He could have fallen hard enough to damage his brain. He could have drowned and the river would have swept his body away and they never would have known what had happened—
Aragorn grasped her arm with his free hand, pulling her back to the present.
"I lived," he said gently. "Whatever else may have come to pass does not matter anymore."
Lori nodded and took a deep breath.
It was hard, though, keeping her composure as she cleaned and dressed his wounds. Any one of those at a different angle, a different depth, could have meant death for him. He could have lost his life to infection like Théodred. And tonight he would be risking all of that and worse.
It wasn't until she'd tied off the last bandage that she finally gathered the courage to voice her worries.
"You really shouldn't be fighting in your condition. There's a chance you could reopen your wounds, not to mention you're showing symptoms of exhaustion."
"I would heed your advice if this fortress did not need every man who can lift a sword." Aragorn's voice was weighted by a weariness she'd never heard before, not even during the long winters up north.
"Do you think we have a chance of holding out against the army?"
As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt the dreadful truth in her heart.
Aragorn met her eyes then, and despite his fatigue, the steady determination in his gaze was unbroken.
"We have a chance as long as we continue to fight and hold true to one another." He grasped her shoulder. "Promise me you will not despair, Lori."
She wished she could. She wanted to try and unbury that part of herself that was capable of hope, but she couldn't find it. That part of her was empty, or it had turned to stone, or it had never been there at all. She could barely remember how she had felt before Théodred's death, before the future had stopped mattering to her.
"I do not want to lose you," Aragorn said quietly, and the desperation in his voice pulled her out of her reverie.
He wasn't talking about the siege. If she were to be killed by orcs, there was no doubt he would have met the same fate before her. But she could see now that she'd been shrinking, vanishing across a void that stretched between her and the people she cared for.
Lori barely held back a panicked breath. I don't know how to come back from this.
"I…" She took a moment to compose herself. "I don't think there's time to worry about this tonight."
"No," Aragorn agreed. "But I will do everything in my power to give you time after this night." The steel returned to his gaze. "That is the least I would give you."
Finally, something fractured through the numbness she was feeling. He loved her. He loved her, and he was going to face an army tonight.
I will not cry. It was the one tiny bit of control she had left for herself.
She wrapped her arms around him, careful of his wounds, and whispered, "Please be safe."
Aragorn held her for a long moment, until she had composed herself enough to pull away. His hands lingered on her shoulders, and he looked her in the eye.
"I will find you after we have defended the fortress."
"All right." She tried to take it as a promise, even if there was no guarantee he would be able to keep it.
He let go of her and stood, and she watched as he joined the other soldiers preparing to face their death.
A perfect song for this chapter is "Goodbye" by Apparat, it has this haunted, almost dreamlike vibe that really fits Lori's mental state at the moment. It's also the theme song for Dark, one of my favorite shows.
Also I am finally starting to realize that this is, uh, shaping up to be a long one. Probably my longest yet, since I keep outdoing myself with my recent (finished) fics. Huge thank you to everyone who has stuck by so far. Next chapter will be the battle, and I'm really excited to share it.