Chapter 43

Lori rode for hours, until she was drenched in sweat and dizzy with her own heaving breaths. Hithui was in a similar state, and when she slowed to a walk, Lori didn't stop her.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, running one hand over Hithui's slick shoulder. They'd both exerted themselves close to their limits, and they still hadn't managed to catch up with the army. "I'm sorry. I know this is a lot. I know this is too much."

She burst into tears before she could stop herself. If she'd noticed sooner, if she'd been thoughtful enough to say the right thing, Éowyn would be riding with them to Edoras right now. If she'd just taken a second to stop Éowyn from riding to her death…

Lori sucked in a shaky breath and dragged a hand across her face, feeling tears smear the dust coating her skin. She still had a ways to go. There was still a chance she could catch up with them.

She dug through her saddlebag and retrieved a waterskin, then drank deeply from it. There wasn't enough food in her pack for the whole journey to Gondor, but she couldn't bring herself to worry about that right now.

She rode Hithui at a trot until they found a stream, then stopped to let her drink. She refilled her waterskin and splashed some water on the nape of her neck.

If Aragorn were in her place, what would he have done? Perhaps he would have been disappointed in her for allowing this to happen in the first place. Lori bit her lip as tears welled up again and stepped away from the water.

Hithui was steadfast, riding at a gallop until night fell. Lori stopped again after sunset, fearing Hithui would lose her footing and injure herself in the dark. She dismounted and nearly fell to her knees, her legs shaky and sore from an entire day in the saddle.

The grass here had been flattened in a wide swath by the footsteps of a legion of horses, but the riders were still nowhere to be seen. Lori frowned and strained her eyes towards the eastern horizon. There were no glimmering campfires, no sign that they'd stopped to make camp. She was still losing ground.

"We'll start early tomorrow," she said hoarsely. "We have to keep at it."

Hithui was nosing through the grass, but she lifted her head when Lori spoke.

"Thank you," she continued. "I owe you for this."

Hithui stepped towards her, and Lori rubbed her neck.

"Get some rest, okay?"

She drained her waterskin and ate a piece of dry travel bread, then collapsed onto her bedroll. Her limbs ached, exhaustion turning her bones into metal rods, but her mind was too wound up in worry to allow sleep to come.

She curled up and watched Hithui's wandering shadow in the dark until she was too weary to keep her eyes open.

On the third night of her journey, Lori caught sight of a white tower rising out of the gloom. If Sárelle's descriptions were anything to go by, it meant she'd made it all the way to Minas Tirith. She forced her next breath to come out slowly and nudged Hithui into a trot.

"We're almost there," she said, her voice raspy from days of disuse. "Just a little more."

It was eerily quiet, and she couldn't stop dread from crawling up her shoulders. Her eyes strained for movement in the darkness, for any threat that might leap at her from just out of sight. Where was the Rohirrim's encampment?

The smell hit her without warning, and Lori brought a hand to her face. It was the stench of blood and sweat and feces—the stench of death, as she'd come to know it. As she crested the hill before her, darkened shapes became visible on the ground outside the city. There were huge corpses of creatures that looked like elephants, the jagged wreckage of broken war machines, and scattered between them, the bodies of the fallen.

The battle was already over.

Looking at the aftermath brought a distinct sense of unreality over her. Hundreds of people had died here in a matter of days. They'd all stepped forward here with the intent to kill.

And Éowyn had been one of the combatants. Lori bit her lip, eyes stinging. She'd ridden hard for another two days, and she still hadn't been able to make it in time.

The city was still standing, she reminded herself. That meant there had to be survivors. There was still a chance she wasn't too late.

Hithui shifted, legs moving restlessly, and Lori rubbed her neck.

"We're okay," she whispered. "There's no danger here. Let's just make it to the city."

It was more difficult than she'd expected to find a path through the carnage. Hithui refused to go anywhere near the bodies of the large creatures, and Lori tried to nudge her away from stepping on any corpses. In some places, the ground had turned muddy with pools of blood. She eyed the orcish bodies warily, half-afraid they would leap up and attack. There were men, too, dressed in red leather armor she'd never seen before.

At the sight of the first fallen Rohirrim soldier, Lori turned away before she could take in his face. Part of her wanted to look, to confirm that none of the bodies she passed belonged to Éowyn, but she was terrified of seeing the face of another friend. She tried not to think of Éomer or Théoden, that they might be gone so soon after Théodred had passed. She tried not to think of Aragorn or Legolas or Gimli or Faeron—

"Help! Please, help us!"

Lori started at the sound and looked around for the source of the surprisingly high-pitched voice. She found him beside the carcass of one of the elephant-like creatures, his frame seeming especially tiny next to the hulking mass of the dead beast.

Pippin's eyes widened in recognition as she drew nearer. "Lori! Please, we need help! Merry is hurt."

"Merry?" she gasped.

As she dismounted, she caught sight of the limp figure lying next to a pile of dead orcs. Merry was lying on his back, most of his body covered by a cloak.

He'd been hurt. The thought seized her mind and refused to let go. He'd slipped away from Dunharrow as well—perhaps he'd conspired with Éowyn—and now he was hurt.

"Please," Pippin said, and she snapped out of her horror. She grabbed her healer's bag from the saddle and knelt beside him.

"What happened?" she asked, pulling out a candle and tinderbox.

"I-I don't know." Pippin's voice wavered as he crouched on Merry's other side. "I found him lying here. He said he was cold, so I've tried to keep him warm."

"He was awake when you found him?" Lori lit the candle and handed it to Pippin. "Hold this so I can see his face."

There was dried blood trailing from Merry's nose and mouth. She put one hand to his forehead to check his temperature. A low fever burned beneath his skin.

"Merry," Pippin said, his voice a half-plea. "Wake up."

To Lori's relief, he stirred a moment later, eyes blinking open slowly.

"Lie still, all right?" She kept her hand on his forehead, just in case he tried to sit up. "I want you to tell me how you feel. Does your head hurt?"

"A little," Merry rasped. "I think I bit my tongue when I fell off the horse."

That explained the blood near his mouth, but didn't rule out possible head trauma.

"I was riding with Lady Éowyn," he continued weakly. He raised his head to look around, but Lori pushed him back down. "Where is she? Is she all right? That beast…"

"I'm going to find her once I make sure you're all right," Lori said, a tremor passing through her voice. "What about your chest? Are you having any trouble breathing?"

"I feel a little bruised. But my arm…" He winced and shifted.

Lori threw back the cloak and gestured for Pippin to move the candle over his torso. Black blood was spattered across his armor, but there were no visible signs of open wounds. "Your arm hurts? Right or left?"

"Right. It hurts. It feels cold."

"You might have broken something. I'm gonna move your arm."

Gently, Lori grasped his elbow and wrist and shifted his arm away from his torso, where she would have more room to examine it. Merry suppressed a groan of pain. She gestured for Pippin to bring the light closer and began unbuckling his bracer. Thankfully, there was no blood on his sleeve, so she could rule out a deep wound. She used her knife to cut his sleeve lengthwise and peeled back the fabric.

"What the fuck?" she whispered before she could stop herself.

His skin was criss-crossed with thin lesions, darker than bruises. She would have associated the color with frostbite or infection, but there was no way those conditions could have manifested like that in a matter of hours. She brushed her fingers along the marks and found them cold.

"Is he going to die?" Pippin asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"It's that bad?" Merry added, blinking slowly.

Lori shook herself. "I-I've never seen this before, but we're gonna get you to someone who can treat this." She put a hand on Pippin's shoulder, making him look up. "I'm going to get help." She passed him the tinderbox. "Use this to make a signal so they can find you quickly. And make sure Merry stays awake the whole time, all right?"

Pippin's jaw trembled, but then he straightened and nodded. "I'll take care of him."

"Good. I'll get someone out here as soon as possible."

She hauled herself back onto Hithui's back and took off at a gallop towards the city gates, forcing herself to look ahead. She wanted desperately to look for Éowyn, but Merry was in need of immediate care. A quick scan told her most of the wounded had been taken elsewhere, so Éowyn was probably inside the city, unless—

Don't, she reminded herself before the thought could darken her mind.

No one stopped her as she burst through the front gate, but she pulled Hithui to a halt anyway. The city towered above her, white stone scarred with rubble and the wispy smoke of extinguished fires. The courtyard in front of her had several exits, and Lori realized she didn't know where to go.

The wheels of a wagon rattled behind her, and she nudged Hithui out of the way. The bed was filled with large objects bundled in white cloth—fallen soldiers, she realized. Lori forced herself to look away and meet the eyes of the driver.

"Where have the wounded been taken?" she asked.

"To the Houses of Healing, on the sixth circle."

She lifted her gaze again to the bulk of the city. She gathered the circles referred to the ascending levels of the city, which meant she still had a ways to go.

"The second gate is that way." The driver pointed to her right. "Follow the main road and it will take you to the sixth circle."

"Thank you." She had nothing more to offer him than a strained smile before she sped off up the stone street.

The stench of smoke and death hung thick in the air. A path had been cleared so people could move freely though the street, but the edges were littered with rubble and broken bodies. Some of the buildings had been completely destroyed by siege weapons or fire.

It wasn't until she reached the fourth circle of the city that the destruction eased somewhat. There were more people moving here, bringing supplies downward or guiding the wounded upwards.

Once she entered the sixth circle, a long white building came into sight, and she drew Hithui to a halt. A pair of soldiers were carrying a third on a stretcher through the doorway, and she assumed this was her target. She gave Hithui a grateful pat on the shoulder, then dismounted and hurried inside.

The interior was so crowded she had to stop short once she passed through the doorway. The floor was almost entirely covered in makeshift pallets, each holding a body swathed in bandages. Men and women in simple, clean clothing moved among them with herbs and cloths.

Lori skirted the edge of the room, searching for someone who looked to be in charge. She nearly bumped into a man carrying a bowl of herbs, and stepped back.

"Sorry," she said, then her eyes widened in recognition.

"Lori?" Aragorn only had a moment to look her over before she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

She closed her eyes and let relief fill her. "Are you all right?"

"I am." He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "What are you doing here?"

"I can explain later." She pulled back. "I found Merry and Pippin out on the field while I was riding in. Merry had this injury on his arm. I've never seen anything like it before. There were these black lines beneath his skin, and it was cold to the touch—"

"The Black Breath." Aragorn's expression darkened.

Lori had never heard the name before, but if Aragorn knew of it, then there was hope for Merry.

"I wasn't sure if it would be safe to move him, so I left him with Pippin out in the field. I asked Pippin to make a signal so they could be found easily."

Aragorn nodded. "I do not know if there are still scouts searching the battlefield, but I will see if someone can be sent to retrieve them."

"I will go."

They turned at the sound of a new voice and found Gandalf. His robes were stained with dark blood, but none of it looked to be his own.

"They should be about a half mile from the front gate. I gave Pippin something to light a torch so they'd be easier to find," Lori said. "Thank you."

"I should be thanking you, my dear," Gandalf said, then turned to go.

Aragorn touched her arm, bringing her attention back to him. "You brought herbs with you, yes?"

Lori gripped her bag. "The essentials, mostly."

"Do you, by any stroke of luck, have athelas with you?"

"Yes." She fumbled to retrieve it from her bag. "There's not much, though. I…"

She'd used the majority of what she had in an attempt to save Théodred. The memory surged through her, old guilt nearly paralyzing her.

I did everything I could, she reminded herself. And I have more work to do now.

Steeling herself, she held out the bottle of dried athelas to Aragorn.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "You may have just bought us some much-needed time."

That was a good start, at least. Lori trailed after him as he moved towards the back of the hall.

"Do you…" Anxiety choked her words for a moment. "H-Have you seen Éowyn?"

Aragorn didn't look surprised at her mention of Éowyn, but the furrow between his brows deepened. "She is here. She was injured in the battle."

Injured. That means she's still alive. She tried to hold onto that thought, to quell the rising dread threatening to drown her.

"How bad…" She couldn't finish her question. Suddenly she didn't want to know. Her ears started to ring.

Aragorn stopped and put a hand on her shoulder. The touch was enough to ground her.

"There is hope for her yet." He nodded to the other end of the hall, where a pallet had been set beneath a decorative archway. Beside the pallet, Éomer's golden hair was visible even in the dim light. "I will tend to her as soon as I am able."

Lori nodded numbly. Aragorn had decades of experience on her. If he thought Éowyn had a chance, she would believe him.

They parted ways, and she made a beeline for the archway. She reached the pallet, laid eyes on the person lying there, and stopped short.

Lori felt as if she'd been punched in the gut. Éowyn's skin was pale and waxy, her breathing so shallow it was barely noticeable. Both of her arms were wrapped in bandages. It was so similar to the way Théodred had looked in his last days that tears sprang to Lori's eyes.

Éomer looked up as she approached. His eyes were hollow, shadowed by flecks of dried blood and grime. It took him a moment to speak.

"Lori, what are you doing here?"

"I was trying to find Éowyn." A tear slipped down her cheek. "Back at the encampment, just before we were supposed to leave, I had the feeling something was wrong. I-I realized too late what she was going to do, and I tried to follow her." She sniffled, dried her face, then took a deep breath to try and calm herself. "I'm so sorry. If I'd realized sooner—"

"It's not your fault," Éomer said gruffly. "I do not know what drove her to do this, but I do not lay any blame with you."

She sank to her knees at Éowyn's side and checked her pulse, her temperature. She was feverish, and her heartbeat was steady but faint.

"She was in pain," she said quietly. "Gríma nearly usurped the court, and all she could do was watch. And then we almost died in Helm's Deep, and again there was nothing she could do. I wanted to help her, but I never knew the right thing to say." She swallowed as tears welled up again. "Pain makes people do dangerous things."

"Lori." Éomer's voice shook. "If there is anything at all you can do to help her…"

I should never have let her go in the first place. She felt pain and guilt nestle deep behind the hollow of her throat, and tried to let it out with her next breath. There was no time to waste.

"Do you know anything about her injuries?" she asked.

He gestured to her left side. "Her shield arm is broken. Yet there is something worse with her right, some malady I have never seen before. She was unconscious when I found her." He choked out the last sentence before his voice broke.

"It looks like her left arm has already been set," Lori said, inspecting the limb. "We'll monitor it for infection, but it should heal."

She moved on to the right. At her wrist, where the bandages ended, a collection of darkened veins were visible, eerily similar to the markings on Merry's arm.

"Aragorn has a better chance of saving her than I do," she said. "But I'll buy her as much time as I can."

She joined the other healers in a store-room filled with dry herbs and set to work, preparing the quickest remedies she could for fever and pain. Trying to keep her hands steady, she brought back a pair of small clay cups.

Éomer rose from his seat and held Éowyn's head steady as Lori gave her both doses. Her eyelids were so pale the lines of her veins were visible beneath the skin, and though she remained limp in Éomer's hands, both tonics went down without a problem.

Tears blurred Lori's vision. Even in her darkest nightmares, she'd never imagined Éowyn would be the one she would have to pull from the brink of death.

"Stay with us," she murmured shakily. "Please."

It seemed an eternity passed before Aragorn finally appeared, a bundle of athelas in one hand.

"I came as soon as I could," he said breathlessly. "Hot water and clean rags, Lori, as quickly as you can."

She leapt to her feet and wove between the dozens of patients crowding the floor. Droplets of hot water burned her fingers as she carried the bowl and cloth back to Aragorn, but she barely noticed the pain.

As soon as she set it down, Aragorn began stripping the leaves from the stalks into the water. A pleasant fragrance filled the air, and Lori felt her nerves settle a fraction.

"Remove the bandages from her right arm," he said, speaking quickly but with a measured calm. "I need to see her skin."

Lori shuffled to Éowyn's other side and unwound the bindings from wrist to elbow, revealing sickly black marks on her skin. She couldn't suppress a whimper as she took in the extent of the damage.

"This is the Black Breath?" she asked. "Do you know if they found Merry yet?"

"He was brought here a few minutes ago. I will tend to him as soon as I am done here." He dipped the cloth into the athelas-infused water and ran it first over Éowyn's arm, then her brow. His lips were moving almost soundlessly—with Sindarin words, Lori realized, though she couldn't quite make them out.

Éomer frowned at Lori and said quietly, "This is the same herb you used on Théodred."

"It'll work this time," she replied, because she refused to believe otherwise. She had no choice but to put her faith in Aragorn's ability.

Gradually, Éowyn's breathing deepened and a bit of color returned to her cheeks. Aragorn sat back on his heels and let out a long breath.

"Her body is free of the poison," he said. "Now it is only a matter of time to see if she wakes."

"If she wakes," Éomer repeated. "Is there nothing more you can do?"

"Her greatest aid now would be a familiar voice." Aragorn reached over and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You are her brother, Éomer, and her love for you runs deep. You have a greater chance than I of calling her back into the waking world."

Éomer nodded, his movements those of a dutiful soldier, but there was a look in his eyes akin to a drowning man.

"There are others I must tend to now." He turned to Lori. "Find me if her condition changes."

He gave her arm an affectionate squeeze and left them.

Lori glanced at Éomer, at the despair welling in his eyes, and took his hand. Any words of comfort she might have attempted were stuck in her throat.

After a long, painful silence, Éomer spoke.

"King Théoden died today."

A choked noise escaped her throat. "He…?"

Her first instinct was to ask how it had happened, but in the end it didn't matter. It had been violent and bloody, and she prayed it had been quicker than his son's death.

They were both gone, within weeks of each other, and the full implication of that statement reached her.

"Does that make you heir?" she asked quietly.

Éomer gave the barest of nods, his eyes never leaving Éowyn's face. "It is my duty now to find care for my people."

She could hear the undercurrent of fear in his voice, fear of shouldering a burden that never should have been his, fear of attempting it when grief threatened to drown him.

"I'll take care of it," she said. "I'll make sure all their needs are met. You stay with Éowyn and make sure she wakes up."

He blinked. "I would not ask that of you."

"You don't have to." Acting on impulse, Lori moved closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. "It'll be all right. We just have to make it through the night."

Éomer leaned his head against her shoulder and let out a small murmur of acquiescence.

"I'll check on her as soon as I can." She released him and stood up. "Speak to her, all right? There must be some part of her that can hear you."

I think this is the first time Aragorn and Lori have worked together on a patient, and I enjoyed writing that part. I like to imagine in another universe they run a nonprofit clinic together and patch up sick puppies or something.

Looking at my outline, I'm projecting another 7 chapters or so. It would be nice to end on a nice round 50, but we'll see how it goes pacing-wise. Thank you so much to everyone who has dropped a favorite/follow or comment!