Chapter 37
The dead outnumbered the survivors. Lori was grateful she didn't have to handle those that had already fallen, but she still saw them. The able-bodied men were lining up the bodies one by one in the yard, and every time she passed by there were more. The men that had gone willingly and the boys that had been pulled from their mothers' arms were united now in death.
A man stopped her on her way to retrieve more water. She recognized him as Gamling, one of the lieutenants of the guard.
He gestured for her to follow him. "The king is in need of a healer."
Her stomach dropped, adrenaline shooting through her despite her exhaustion. "H-How bad—?"
"It is only a flesh wound," he replied, his voice reassuring despite his gruff words. "Yet it needs tending all the same."
Muttering to herself, Lori checked the supplies in her bag as they climbed the stairs to the upper levels of the fortress. The skin on her hands was raw from how many times she'd washed them. She'd stolen a few bites of bread in between patients, but that seemed to have vanished before it reached her stomach, and her appetite had returned with a vengeance.
Gamling led her into the large room that served as a council chamber. Théoden was standing with his captains around a table laden with maps and other documents. His breastplate had been removed, and a bloodied rag was wrapped around his shoulder.
"The healer, my lord," Gamling said as they approached, and Théoden looked up.
Lori nearly forgot to curtsy, and the movement was made clumsy by exhaustion.
"Have the wounded been tended to?" Théoden asked.
"Everyone with serious injuries has received care," Lori said. She doubted any man had survived the night completely unscathed, so they'd prioritized those with deep wounds and broken bones.
He sat on a nearby stool and nodded for her to come closer. Lori undid the rag binding his shoulder once she'd ascertained that the bleeding had stopped. The wound was clean, but it looked deep.
"What did this?" she asked as she began wiping away excess blood.
"A spear." Théoden was looking at her, but she kept her focus on her work.
"Any other injuries besides this?"
"No."
"This is going to need stitches. I'd recommend putting your arm in a sling for the next few weeks to aid in the healing." She pulled the remaining sutures from her bag and let out a sigh through her nose. She would have to make every stitch count. "I don't have the supplies with me for a sling, but—"
"I will see to it," Gamling said.
Théoden continued his discussion with the captains while she worked. Although the final battle had been won, they would still need to make a push out into the Westfold to protect what farmland was still viable. Then there was the matter of supporting the villages who would need to rebuild as well as those that had lost the majority of their men and would be short of laborers. Just listening to the discussion exhausted Lori.
She finished tying off bandage on Théoden's shoulder and went back to her bag. "If you'd like something for the pain, I have a bit of feverfew left."
"There is no need. Thank you, Lori."
She tried for a smile, hoping he would dismiss her soon. Standing in the large stone room with men who were deciding the fate of hundreds made her feel small and cold.
Despite the weariness evident on his face, there was warmth in Théoden's voice as he said, "You have done a great service for Rohan in these dire times. I will not forget that."
Lori wasn't sure how to respond. She hadn't done any of this for a reward or recognition. She wished none of it had happened in the first place.
Seeming to sense her discomfort, Théoden changed the subject. "How is my niece?"
She bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn't spoken to Éowyn since leaving the caves. Her spare minutes since then had been spent replaying their conversation in her head, wondering what she could have said differently. She told herself it was enough that they were both still alive.
"She'll be all right," Lori said. "Last night was…difficult. For everyone."
"Indeed." Théoden's expression grew heavy for a moment before one of his captains called for his attention. He gave a brief nod to Lori. "I will not keep you from your work any longer."
She held her bag close to her side. "I'll follow up in a few days to make sure your wound is healing properly."
Her stride faltered more than once as she descended the steps to the yard. The miruvor from yesterday and the adrenaline from the night before had drained from her system entirely, and it was little more than sheer momentum that was keeping her from collapsing on the spot.
She sat down on a woodpile in the corner of the yard for a minute of rest and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the sun was setting. She straightened and winced, her joints protesting after sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. Something soft pooled in her lap when she moved, and she realized someone had draped a cloak over her.
Most of the people in the yard were resting. The number of bodies lying in one corner of the yard had doubled since the last time she'd looked. Someone had erected a crude wooden fence at the bottom of the hole in the wall, as if to maintain some fragile sense of security. Aragorn had assured her that the orcs wouldn't attack them again, and she held that thought in her mind. They had only grief to contend with, now.
She looked down at the cloak in her lap. It was made of a soft, durable material, and the colors seemed to shift and blend in with the pockmarked dirt of the yard. She recognized the leaf-shaped brooch that clasped Aragorn's cloak and set off to find him.
The fortress had the same air as the yard—people were subdued, bent, as if still expecting an orcish blade to fall on them. There were splotches of dried blood, brown and black, on the stones. Lori did her best to avoid stepping on them. She pressed the bundled cloak to her chest with both arms, and was distantly reminded of the stuffed rabbit she'd carried around as a child.
After a few minutes of wandering, she found Aragorn in one of the lower courtyards, near the front gate. He was speaking to Théoden, Éomer, and Gandalf, with Legolas and Gimli at his side. She lingered in the doorway, not wanting to intrude, but when he saw her he smiled and beckoned her closer.
She held out the bundle in her hands. "Thank you for—" She stopped short. Aragorn was already wearing his cloak.
"I hope it kept you warm." Legolas stepped forward and held a hand out.
"Oh. Thank you." She changed trajectory and returned the cloak to Legolas.
"You look rested," Aragorn said.
Lori wasn't sure if the shadows under her eyes would attest to that, but at least she didn't feel quite as dead on her feet anymore.
"Did you get a chance to sleep as well?" she asked.
"I did."
"I'd have knocked him out myself if he didn't take the opportunity," Gimli said, joining their small circle and nudging Aragorn with his elbow. "You have many skills, my friend, but knowing when to stop is not one of them. Not even a full day's rest before you're running off on this mad quest to Isengard."
"Isengard?" Lori echoed, and Aragorn sighed.
"Discreet as ever," Legolas said, glancing at Gimli with a smile.
"Gandalf means to ride to Isengard tonight," Aragorn said to Lori, "to learn what Saruman may know of the Enemy, and to ensure that he is no longer a threat to Rohan."
"And you're going with him," Lori said, unable to keep a small tremor out of her voice. It seemed childish to protest, but dread came so quickly to her these days.
"It is no more than a couple days' ride to the tower, and afterwards we will return to Edoras." Aragorn wrapped her in a one-armed hug and murmured, "Rest as much as you can. Do not let these next days be consumed by worry."
I wish I had any say in how much I worry. She pressed her forehead against his chest and prayed this would be their last goodbye, at least for a while.
After they pulled apart, Gimli stepped forward and patted her on the arm.
"I'll make sure to keep him far from any cliffs or rivers," he said, and she let out a laugh that nearly turned into a sob.
"Take care, Lori." Legolas dipped his chin. "Na lû e-govaned vîn."
"You know, it's rather rude to speak in a foreign language when other parties present cannot understand it," Gimli said.
Legolas turned to him with an arched eyebrow. "Should I mention all the times you have spoken in Khuzdul to no one's comprehension but your own?"
As the two began to argue, Aragorn shot Lori a helpless glance, and a genuine smile spread across her face. She had to believe he would come back. She had to believe there would be more moments like these.
She stayed at the gate long enough to watch Gandalf's party ride out of the vale and into the hazy night, then trudged back into the fortress. Her impromptu nap had done a little to restore her vitality, but she could already feel it draining away.
Her first thought was to return to the room she'd shared with her friends two nights before, but her footsteps slowed as she neared the stairs. All she'd done in that room was grieve, and she was afraid of that feeling returning, especially now that Aragorn was riding back into danger.
Instead, she found the sitting room from her first day in Helm's Deep and lit a fire in the hearth, then pulled a chair close and sat heavily on the rickety wood. Already, the warmth of the flames was making her eyelids heavy, and she wrapped her arms around herself and allowed her head to fall forward.
Some time later, she was shaken from her doze by the creak of the door opening. Blinking rapidly, she turned and found Éowyn in the doorway.
"I have been looking for you for some time," Éowyn said. There was no anger in her voice, only exhaustion and a small lilt of worry.
"Sorry." She straightened and rubbed her eyes with a thumb and forefinger. "I should have told someone where I was going."
Éowyn lingered in the doorway, and Lori gestured for her to pull up a chair. She watched her carefully as she approached, taking in the paleness of her cheeks and the tension between her brows.
Éowyn sat and folded her hands in her lap. Her gaze remained fixed on the fire. "I owe you an apology. I spoke to you harshly during the battle, and you did nothing to deserve it."
"I forgive you," Lori said, hoping she could convey her words earnestly despite her exhaustion. "We were all… That was a difficult night for everyone. I'm not going to hold any of that against you."
"Still, it was not right for me to lose my temper. I was needlessly cruel when I should have been looking after everyone in the caves."
"You were afraid. We all were. I know how you were acting back there isn't who you really are." She watched Éowyn's jaw tense, and asked, "Are you all right, after last night?"
"I am…restless, I think." She looked down at her hands and flexed her slender fingers. "I feel as though my blood is still hot from the anticipation of battle, and that feeling is still trapped within me with no release."
"I know how that feels." Lori bit her lip. She was intimately familiar with that sensation of anguish, all the times it had grown so intense she'd tried to bleed it out. "You can always talk to me, all right? And if you'd rather not talk, we can go riding or…just do something to stay busy."
"Thank you, Lori." Éowyn gave her a small, bittersweet smile. "And how are you feeling?"
Lori recognized the deflection, but decided not to press the subject. "If I'm being honest, I'm not really sure. I think I'll feel better once we're back home and the others rejoin us." She thought back to the infirmary, to the bloodstains on her bedsheets, to Théodred's empty room. "Part of me wishes I could just forget these past couple of weeks and everything that's happened."
For the first time in a while, her thoughts strayed back to the year she had forgotten. She wondered if whatever she'd gone through then had been worse than what they'd all just endured.
"I do not want to forget," Éowyn said, that familiar edge of steel entering her voice. "There is much that I have learned in the days since Éomer left."
"You're right," she conceded, though she wasn't sure if she'd drawn any lessons of her own. If this had been a trial by fire, all she had to show for it were burns. She frowned at the fire crackling in the hearth. "What do we do now? Just return to Edoras and continue on with our lives?"
"We honor the dead first." Éowyn took a deep breath, and some of the tension eased from her body. "I am to begin preparations for the feast for when my uncle and the others return."
"A feast?"
She nodded. "Helm's Deep was still a victory for Rohan, despite our losses. Our people deserve a chance to celebrate that."
She sounded as if she was repeating what someone else had told her. Whether or not she believed those words, Lori couldn't tell.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
Éowyn's expression softened. "You already have your hands full with the wounded. I cannot ask you to do anything more than that." She hesitated, then added in a low voice, "Your wounds…?"
"I'll be fine," Lori answered quickly. "I need some time to rest more than anything."
"You have earned it ten times over." She shifted in her seat. "We should get some sleep, the both of us."
Lori stood and rolled her shoulders. "You read my mind."
Éowyn smiled slightly. "What a strange notion."
"Are they all there?" Lori asked breathlessly, staring hard at the riding party approaching the walls of Edoras. Only two days after she and the others had returned to the city, the guard had announced that the king and his entourage were on their way home.
Éowyn, who had the better eyesight between the two of them, scanned the group, counting under her breath. "It seems as though their number has increased by two. How is that possible?"
Lori furrowed her brow, then remembered Aragorn's explanation for why they'd come to Rohan in the first place. "Aragorn mentioned that he'd been separated from two of his companions. Perhaps they reunited on the road from Isengard."
"We shall have the full tale soon enough," Éowyn said, then gathered her skirts and hurried down the steps to the courtyard in front of Meduseld.
Lori followed at a slower pace. Her legs were healing decently despite all the stress she'd put them through, and she'd been trying to take it easy since returning to Edoras.
A low cheer rose from the lower levels of the city, and she knew Théoden must have passed through the gate. He and the rest of his party were returning as heroes—if they had come back, it meant Rohan was safe from Saruman. Lori let out a small sigh. She would relax once she saw that Aragorn was all right with her own eyes.
When he finally came into sight, he looked just as weary as he had departing Helm's Deep, but his face still broke into a smile when he saw her. She felt an answering grin spread over her own face and stepped forward to embrace him as he dismounted.
The last knot of tension in her chest finally unwound. He was safe, and so was she. Everything was finally, finally all right.
"How was your journey back to the city?" Aragorn asked once they broke apart.
"Uneventful, thankfully," Lori said. "How was it with…the wizard?"
Before he could respond, an unfamiliar voice sounded from behind him.
"Are you going to leave me stranded on this horse, Strider?"
Lori realized there had been another person mounted behind Aragorn. She thought at first that he was a child, but as Aragorn helped him down she caught sight of his large, hairy feet.
"My apologies, Master Brandybuck," Aragorn said, setting him down on the ground.
Lori stared, dumbfounded. This was the last place she would have expected to see a hobbit.
He brushed himself off and looked up at her. "You must be Lori." He offered a hand. "My name is Meriadoc Brandybuck, though most people call me Merry."
"It's nice to meet you," Lori said, shaking off her surprise and shaking his hand. "Welcome to Edoras."
She shot a questioning glance at Aragorn, who said, "Merry is one of the companions we sought while traveling into Rohan. Thankfully both he and his cousin were unharmed when we found them."
"That's a funny way of saying 'triumphant,'" a cheerful voice said.
Another hobbit stepped into view, hands tucked into the pockets of his travel-stained coat. He turned to Lori and gave her a small bow.
"My lady, my name is Pippin Took. My cousin and I have just come from a field of victory outside the tower of Isengard."
She laughed. "Then you'll be pleased to know that we are celebrating that victory with a feast tonight."
Both hobbits lit up at that.
"I could certainly go for a pint of ale," Merry said.
"And a bit of steak with roasted potatoes." Pippin sighed and stretched. "It's been ages since I had a decent meal."
"Somehow I doubt that, considering the state of Isengard's storerooms when we arrived," Aragorn said with a wry smile.
"You yourself could learn a thing or two about decent eating." Pippin turned to Lori. "By any chance, will there be any food before the feast?"
She tried and failed to hide a smile. "They should be preparing something in the main hall for everyone who just arrived."
"I expected nothing less of the esteemed horse-lords of Rohan." Merry glanced around, then pointed at the front doors of Meduseld. "Is it through there?"
"Yes. I can show you if you'd like."
Lori broke away from the others, leading Merry and Pippin towards the stairs, but when Éomer caught her gaze she paused.
"I'll catch up with you," she said to Aragorn.
He gave her an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder and began walking with the two hobbits towards the main hall.
"I missed you at Helm's Deep," she said as she approached Éomer.
"You seemed to have your hands full." He tucked his helmet under one arm and looked her over. "How have you fared?"
"I… Well, I'm alive." She blew out a long sigh. The last time they'd spoken had been at Théodred's sickbed. So much had transpired since then, it exhausted her just thinking of it.
She was grateful to be alive and mostly whole, and to have her friends safe by her side, but the memories weighed on her. All of the fear and pain and grief she'd felt still clung to her like damp clothing.
"Gríma is dead."
Her eyes shot up to meet Éomer's. "Oh." She took a deep breath, mentally debating whether or not to ask for details. Her curiosity won out. "How?"
"He was pierced by an arrow after stabbing his own master in the back." Éomer scoffed and shook his head. "A traitor to his last breath."
Lori swallowed. Gríma was dead, gone from their lives with no hope of returning. There was relief in that thought, like the swelling of a wound finally going down, but it was knotted in more unpleasant emotions too.
"I do not know if it brings any comfort to you, but I thought you would want to know."
She bit the inside of her lip. "I don't know if it comforts me. I…I would like this to be the last time I ever have to think about him."
"I would not begrudge you that." Éomer waited until she met his gaze, then said, "Think no more of it, then. Tonight is for celebration. All of us deserve a reprieve."
"I could certainly use one." She shot him a tired smile, and they began walking towards Meduseld together.
I'm happy to have Merry and Pippin in the mix now, they're a fun duo and I'm excited to have them interact with Lori. Next chapter will be the feast as well as a scene I am very excited (and nervous) to share. Huge thank you to everyone for sticking with this story so far!