Chapter 49

They arrived at the army encampment just before noon the next day. Hithui had been in high spirits for the majority of their journey, up until they were required to take a boat up the river. She shook her head and let out a snort once they were back on solid ground, and Lori patted her neck with a laugh.

Behind her, Merry craned his neck to try and look over her shoulder. "Do you see the others anywhere?"

Lori scanned the rows of tents spread out across the field before them. Already, men were trickling forth to help unload goods from the boats. She spotted a group of Rohirrim tending to the horses where they'd been corralled near the riverbank. The healer's tent looked to be situated on the other side of the field—she made a mental note to make her way there and see if they needed any of the supplies she'd packed.

Merry gasped and began waving one arm above his head. "Oi!"

A raucous laugh answered him, and Pippin emerged from the crowd with a wide grin.

Merry leaned forward and nearly tumbled to the ground. Lori grabbed his waistcoat before he could lose his balance, and Hithui's ears twitched at the shift in weight.

"Careful," she scolded, taking him by the arm and helping him dismount properly. Merry barely acknowledged her, sprinting forward and throwing his arms around Pippin.

"Ah, watch the ribs, if you please," Pippin said with a wince. "Nearly squashed by a troll, I was, but Gimli managed to get it off me in time. Everyone's made it back safely, Gandalf and Legolas and Aragorn and—"

Merry pulled back and regarded him with wide eyes. "Frodo and Sam?"

Pippin nodded so enthusiastically his curls bounced against his forehead. "Resting, now. Gandalf says we can't see them yet. I suppose they need time to recover, but it would do them good to see a few friendly faces, no?"

"I'm sure they will delight in your company once they regain consciousness," said a new voice, making both hobbits jump.

Lori nearly fell to the ground herself as she slid off Hithui's saddle and ran to meet Aragorn. He caught her with both arms and held her tight, and no words needed to be spoken aloud.

Even though she'd known for a full day that Aragorn had survived the battle, the relief of seeing him with her own eyes overwhelmed her. She cried nearly as hard as the day he'd left, and tried to ease the sting of embarrassment in the warmth of his chest.

"Lori," he said once her sobs had quieted.

She drew back and dried his face. She hoped she wasn't keeping him from something important, and it took an effort to meet his eyes. "Yes?"

"This is the last time you will have to suffer uncertainty and grief after our parting."

She tried for a smile. "I don't know if you can promise something like that."

He wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "I will promise it regardless. This is the start of a new age for Gondor, for Rohan, for lands beyond. It is a chance for a new beginning."

This time, her smile was genuine. "You're starting to sound like a king."

"I've endured enough of Pippin's teasing about that," he said, making her laugh. His expression sobered. "I hope you understand this will not change anything between us. Everything I say to you will be the truth."

"I know," she said, though she hadn't actually taken the time to consider what this change would mean for their relationship. There would be new risks, new scrutinies over both of them that she couldn't even begin to imagine. "For now I'm still celebrating the fact that we're all alive."

His expression softened. "As you should."

"Is it true there's going to be a feast to celebrate the end of the war?" Merry asked, making them both turn.

Aragorn nodded. "It will take some time to prepare, but the people of Gondor have earned a few weeks of festivities."

Pippin eyed a man carrying a barrel of ale over one shoulder and elbowed Merry. "I can hardly wait for a proper meal. Those army rations are miserable fare, you know."

"Of course I know," Merry said. "I was in the army before you were, Pip."

He stood straight and said, "That's Guard of the Citadel to you." He glanced at Aragorn. "If that title still stands, of course."

"You could certainly be reinstated," Aragorn said. "Am I to assume you would prefer that position over a knighthood?"

"Knighthood!"

"Don't get ahead of yourself." Merry shoved his shoulder, then waved at someone behind Lori. "My lord! Do you have anything to add to this discussion?"

She turned to see Éomer approaching them, still dressed in his gear. A smile softened the lines of stress on his face.

"And what is this matter that needs my input?"

"Knights." Merry cleared his throat. "That is to say, does Rohan have knights?"

Éomer raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

"Simple curiosity."

Pippin crossed his arms. "Being dishonest is not a very knightly trait, Merry."

As the two of them began to bicker, Éomer turned to Lori, the humor fading from his expression.

"Éowyn did not come with you?"

"She decided to stay in Minas Tirith." She fixed him with a reassuring look. "She's all right. I wouldn't have left her if I'd been worried about her condition."

His expression clouded. "Then what is it that keeps her in the city if it is not her health?"

Lori hesitated. "She…befriended another patient. She wanted to stay for the sake of her own happiness, and I wanted to respect that choice."

"I see," Éomer said quietly. There was no resentment or anger in his voice—just echoing loneliness.

Guilt pinched her, and Lori wished she'd tried harder to convince Éowyn to come with her. She wanted to console Éomer, offer her own company, but she would be a poor replacement for his sister.

"Thank you for taking care of her," Éomer said after a moment of awkward silence. "And I am glad to see you here."

He turned and went to greet a few previously injured Rohirrim that had made the journey up the river. Lori watched him go, teeth worrying her lower lip.

Aragorn touched her shoulder. "It is not your fault Éowyn decided to stay. Éomer knows that."

"It's because of Faramir, isn't it?" Merry chimed in. "I noticed they'd been spending quite a bit of time with each other."

Pippin brightened. "Her new friend is Faramir? Well, he's a good man. I'm sure Éomer will be happy to know that."

Lori stifled a pained sigh. Éomer was a reasonable man, but she didn't see him taking the news with outright joy.

Aragorn turned to Pippin. "In that case, perhaps you should be the one to share the news."

"Well, I don't know about that," he replied, becoming occupied with a spot of dirt on his sleeve.

Despite herself, Lori smiled. They would be all right. There would still be scars from all they had suffered, but they had time now to heal. The worries she carried now were light work compared to what they'd been before.

"Have you seen Faeron yet?" Aragorn asked her. "I'm sure he would be happy to know you're here."

His knowing smile was enough to make her blush, even as relief flooded her.

"Now, who's this fellow?" Pippin asked. "Lori, you didn't tell us you were seeing anyone."

"And I retain my right to privacy. You know, I think I overheard on the boat that someone was bringing a supply of beef pies."

Hoping that would be enough to distract them, she turned and made her escape, Aragorn's laughter echoing behind her.

After a quick stop at the healer's tent, she finally found Faeron sitting on a stack of firewood near the wooded edge of the campsite. He grinned when he caught sight of her and began limping forward.

She rushed towards him so he wouldn't have to travel far. "What happened? Are you injured?"

"It's nothing serious. I'm all right."

Lori looked him over and noticed he was favoring his left leg. She lowered her chin. "Did you twist your ankle again?"

"Possibly."

She put a hand over her mouth to stifle a snort. "Sorry. I shouldn't laugh."

"I'd like it if you did."

His eyes were soft, guileless. The sight made her heart flutter.

"It's nice, seeing you happy again," he continued.

Slowly, her lips spread into a smile. For once, she didn't have to fake any part of her joy—it spread through her on its own, warm and liquid like sunshine.

"I'm happy I get to see you again. I feel so lucky that…" She pressed her lips together.

It hit her then, just how many times she'd come close to dying in the past few weeks, and how it didn't even compare to what her loved ones had been through. Tears filled her eyes, and she let out an exasperated sigh.

"Sorry."

Faeron pulled her into his arms. She could sense in his touch that it wasn't pity but genuine affection that made him reach out.

She held him tight, pressing her cheek into his shoulder. Her tears seeped into the fabric of his tunic, but she didn't apologize.

They stood like that for a long while, and Lori relished in the fact that they finally had time.

"What do you think? Have my wood-carving skills improved since the last crutch I made?"

Lori looked Faeron over as he put his weight on his good leg and held out the wooden branch he'd stripped and carved.

"We should find something to cushion the top so it doesn't dig into your arm," she said. "But yes, it looks much better than the last one."

He stretched his free arm out. "Then would you accept a hobbling man as your companion to the feast?"

"I'd accept you if you were on wheels instead of legs." Lori took his arm and grinned as she felt laughter vibrate in his chest.

They strolled through the rows of tents towards the wide field at the edge of the camp. Already the first strains of music and laughter filtered through the evening air. The shipment from Minas Tirith had been more than Lori had realized—in addition to plenty of food and drink, they had brought furniture for people to sit, lanterns to illuminate the perimeter, and banners that hung behind the head table.

"I know the tree belongs to Gondor and the horse to Rohan, but what of the bird on the leftmost banner?" Faeron asked.

"The swan?" Lori followed his gaze to the banner in question. "I believe that belongs to the knights of Dol Amroth."

"Is Dol Amroth another kingdom?"

"I think they're part of Gondor."

"Then why do they get their own banner?"

She laughed and nudged him with her elbow. "I don't know. I'm a healer, not a politician."

"And better off for it, I think." His gaze swept over the finely-dressed nobles that mingled with the soldiers. "I'll be glad to go home and do away with all these formalities. The Gondorian army has more rules than you would think."

Lori smiled, thought it took some effort. So far they'd managed to avoid the subject of the future, but it was becoming something of an inevitability.

Faeron noticed her discomfort and paused. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

She squeezed his arm. "You didn't say anything wrong. We're going to have to talk about it eventually."

He met her gaze and was silent for a moment. "You look lovely tonight."

"Don't tease," she said. "My dress still smells where I spilled rosemary oil on it."

"I didn't say anything about your smell." Playfully, he bumped his nose against her cheek and she laughed.

"Let's find the others, shall we?"

Faeron was stalling, and she was letting him. She tried not to dwell on it when they found a seat at a table with Legolas and Gimli. She held his hand and listened to speeches from Aragorn, Éomer, and the Prince of Dol Amroth. She cheered with the others when they brought forth Frodo Baggins, the hero that had ended the war.

He was a hobbit, but he couldn't have looked more different than Merry and Pippin. His expression remained subdued even as he thanked well-wishers. He seemed lonely in the middle of the crowd of people, and Lori was reminded of the way that she used to feel, that she would probably feel again. She remembered how that isolation had driven her from the people she cared about.

As cups were refilled with wine and people began to drift towards the sound of music, Lori scooted closer to Faeron and clasped his hand in both of hers.

"You're going to leave once your ankle heals?" she asked.

He shot her an apprehensive glance and nodded. "The other Rangers and I have discussed it. We'll stay to see Aragorn crowned king, and afterwards we'll make the journey north. We've been away for too long."

"I know it must be difficult, being so far from home."

"It was a risk, leaving the north unprotected." He hesitated. "You would be welcome to return with us."

She gave him a sad smile. "I'm sorry. I…I wish the distance between here and there was shorter."

"So do I." He rubbed his thumb against her skin. "I am glad you have a reason to stay here. Something that's made you happy."

"I wish you could be a part of it." She blinked away the tears that sprung to her eyes. "And I want you to be happy, too. When you return home, I don't want there to be a part of you that…feels obligated to me."

His expression dimmed a little. "There's no telling what will happen in the future. Perhaps fate will bring us together again."

She didn't know if those words were for her benefit or his. She decided she didn't want to know.

Instead, she asked, "Do you want to dance?"

Faeron looked regretfully down at his ankle. "You know I'd like nothing more."

"Oh, right." She thought for a moment, then said, "Perhaps once the festivities start to die down we could wander off…?"

She watched his face as he considered the suggestion, and was delighted to see a blush spread over his cheeks.

"Yes. I would like that."

She grinned, but her reply was cut off by the approach of two boisterous voices.

"Lori!" Merry stopped before her, Pippin right on his heels. "Do you have a moment to settle a debate?"

She sent a helpless glance in Faeron's direction. "This happens to me more than you'd think. All right, what's the disagreement between you two?"

"Not us." Pippin linked arms with Merry. "Our dear friend Sam seems to think we've grown taller since the last time we were all together. But we've always been this height, haven't we, Merry?"

Merry, who had surreptitiously been trying to compare his height to Pippin's, gave him a hasty nod. "Of course we have."

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to weigh in on this," Lori said. "I haven't known either of you for very long."

"It'll make sense once you see the comparison."

She didn't see how that would be true, but she stood up anyway and turned to Faeron. "I'll be back in a bit. Rest your ankle, all right?"

"Don't keep me waiting too long." He took her wrist and pulled her down for a quick kiss.

She was still smiling as Merry and Pippin led her away across the field.

"When are you going to tell us more about that fellow, Lori?" Merry asked. "My aunt used to say curtained windows only invite more prying eyes."

"You can ask him anything you want to know," she said, turning away from their curious gazes.

"Well, has he proposed yet?" Pippin asked.

"No," she replied, and the thought stung despite her best efforts. "He'll be returning to the north, soon."

"Oh."

"Very nice, Pip," Merry whispered to him.

"You started it," he hissed back.

Frodo and Sam were seated on a blanket in a thick patch of grass, away from the noise of the party. Both of them were thinner than what she knew was normal for hobbits, bruises and scratches still fading on their skin. She still wasn't sure what trials they'd faced during their journey, but the physical evidence it had left was enough to send a pang through her chest.

"Now, you didn't need to go bothering someone else about this silly little argument," Sam said as they drew closer. "Begging your pardon, Miss Lori. These two don't know when to let up."

"It's all right." She knelt at the edge of the blanket. "And just Lori is fine."

Pippin pulled Sam to his feet, ignoring his grumble of protest, and stood back to back with him. "I'm taller, aren't I?"

Lori checked to make sure that they were standing on level ground. "Yes."

"That may be, but I've got evidence it wasn't always like that." Sam turned around and pointed at Pippin's arm. "Your shirtsleeve's nearly halfway up to your elbow, and it certainly wasn't like that when we left the Shire. I know for a fact your mother makes sure your clothes are all tailored properly."

"That is a keen observation, Sam," Frodo said.

Pippin lifted his chin. "Who's to say my clothes haven't shrunk? We spent a good deal of time in the water after helping the Ents bring down Isengard."

"Merry, didn't you mention some kind of special water you drank when you were with the Ents?" Lori asked.

He put his hands on his hips. "Now whose side are you on?"

"No one's," she laughed. "But Sam did have a good point."

Merry and Pippin traded a glance with each other and seemed to come to an unspoken agreement.

"Aragorn was with us the longest," Pippin said. "Surely he'll have something to say."

"Now, just wait a moment," Sam said, but the two had already raced off towards the head table. "He's got enough to worry about without you two harassing him!"

He chased after them, leaving Lori and Frodo on the blanket.

She took a moment to look him over as he watched Sam's retreating figure. Beneath the collar of his shirt, long red sores were visible on the back of his neck, as if he'd been carrying something heavy and abrasive. His right hand was wrapped in bandages that covered the stump of his forefinger. He looked content, watching his friends, but still lonely. Separate.

"Merry mentioned that your uncle is Bilbo Baggins," Lori said gently, as if speaking too loud would startle him.

"He is, yes," Frodo said, and there was no indication that his thoughts had ever left the field. "Do you know him?"

"I spent some time with him when I stayed in Rivendell," she said. "He mentioned you a few times, but I had no face to put to the name until a few days ago. He was very kind to me."

A small smile crossed his face. "He is kind. People often overlook that kindness in favor of his eccentricity. He didn't quite fit in with the rest of Hobbiton, you know."

"Is that why he left for Rivendell?"

"I suppose that was a part of it. He always mentioned going on one last adventure."

Frodo fell silent, and Lori remembered the small glimpses of sadness and longing she'd caught from Bilbo. Frodo had likely been privy to those as well.

She reached into her bag and took out her well-worn notebook. Three-quarters of the pages were filled now, most recently with notes from her time in Minas Tirith.

"This was a gift from him, actually. He asked me to record my adventures when I first left Rivendell. It's filled with more medical notes than personal entries, but, well…"

"Bilbo used to say you could find a story in just about anything," Frodo said. "I suppose he will want to hear all about my own journey when I make it back."

"I think it would be good for you to talk about it." Lori realized she was at risk of overstepping a boundary here, and tried to choose her next words carefully. "I think the most dangerous thing you could do now is withhold whatever it was that you experienced. If you ever want a safe place to start that process, you could talk to me. I'll try and help you as best I can."

Frodo finally raised his eyes to hers. "Merry said you're a healer."

"That's right."

"But there's no such thing as a healer for the soul, is there?"

She let out a weary half-laugh. "I wish it were that easy. I really do."

"Then there are some wounds that cannot be healed," he said quietly.

"I used to believe that. I used to think the only way to manage my pain was to run from it." She brushed a hand over her leg, over the scars on her flesh. "The amazing thing about the body is that it heals itself. Healers can facilitate the process, but the body is built to survive." She let out a slow breath. "The mind is different. There are some wounds that don't ever heal, not fully, but that doesn't mean you can't learn to live with them."

She waited until he met her eyes.

"You learn to live with the pain, and you learn to let in the good, too. And it will be the hardest thing you ever do, and there will be bad days and relapses, but one day you will wake up and go about your day and realize you haven't thought about it at all."

He stared at her with hollow eyes, and she wanted desperately to reach out and pull him out of the pit he was trapped in.

"It is possible. I promise you."

Frodo let out a shaky breath. "I want to believe you. Truly."

"Then…believe in me believing in you. I know you can survive this." She gave him a tentative, reassuring smile. "And you don't have to do it alone."

"It will be a slower journey back to Edoras," Éomer said, grasping Firefoot's reins and leading him out of the stable. "A week, at least, if the weather is in our favor. I have heard spring in Gondor sometimes brings storms from the bay."

Lori fell into step beside him, leading Hithui by her own reins. Aragorn's coronation had taken place the week prior, and now the Rohirrim, along with a few others, were preparing to leave the city.

"Everyone is fit to travel, last I checked," she said. "And we should have enough room to carry the…the deceased as well."

A shadow fell over Éomer's expression. His first steps upon returning home would be planning a funeral and a coronation, and she knew both weighed heavily on his conscience.

"I'm grateful for all you've done since the siege, Lori," he said, pausing outside the stable entrance. "It was more than anyone could ask from a healer."

"I wish I could do more. I know these next few weeks aren't going to be any easier for you."

He glanced at her with half a smile. "There are good men I can rely on in Edoras. You need not burden yourself with my state of mind."

"It's not a burden. It never was."

Éomer turned to face her fully. "Then do you plan to stay in Edoras?"

Lori blinked and fought down a momentary flash of panic. Éomer had just mentioned that he was grateful for her service—he wasn't implying that she was no longer welcome.

"Of course. I pledged myself to Rohan."

He was silent for a moment, one hand absently stroking Firefoot's neck. "I know Aragorn is like a father to you. Would you not prefer to stay in Minas Tirith?"

She bit her lip. In the weeks since the end of the war, she'd taken the time to consider Aragorn's proposal. It was tempting, the thought of seeing him every day with no threat of war looming above them, but she knew where her responsibilities lay.

"I have family in Edoras, too."

"Yet I would not command you stay there." Éomer's gaze flitted upwards, to where the hedges encircling the Houses of Healing were visible. "I know the heart sometimes desires things other than the familiar."

A smile edged onto her face. "Is this your way of asking me to keep an eye on Éowyn when she runs off with Faramir?"

He let out a short sigh. When Éowyn had broken the news of their courtship, he'd been as reserved as he could without outright rejecting their relationship. Lori sensed it wasn't out of disapproval, except perhaps for the speed at which their relationship had evolved. Éowyn would be returning to Edoras for the funeral, but at some point in the future she would move to Gondor. Meduseld would be an empty household then, with her gone and Théoden and Théodred dead.

"Lori," Éomer said, breaking her out of her reverie. "Think of yourself for a moment. I find that to be much more challenging for you than it should be."

She shook her head, then murmured, "I hear you."

"Good. Then let us not tarry any longer." He strode forward, Firefoot beside him, and Lori followed suit.

The rest of the Rohirrim were gathered outside the front gate of the city, where patches of green were already pushing through the desolation laid by the siege. The four hobbits would be joining them, as well as Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, and the Rangers.

It took Lori a moment to find Aragorn at the edge of the crowd—she still wasn't used to seeing him dressed in finery. He'd forgone his crown today, at least.

He smiled as she stepped into his embrace. It had become a more natural thing for both of them, but Lori couldn't help but feel a small prickle of awkwardness. She was hugging a king, now. One of the most important people in her life was responsible for an entire kingdom.

"You are always welcome in Minas Tirith," Aragorn said once they pulled apart. "And I hope to have the city in better shape when you return."

"I have faith," Lori replied with a small smile. "I thought about what you said earlier, about finding an apprentice in Edoras. I think I'd like to try that."

"It seems you'll have your hands full between Lady Éowyn and an apprentice."

She laughed. "Well, you know how I like to stay busy."

His expression softened. "Safe travels, Lori. I hope to see you soon."

Her heart swelled with emotion, but there was no pain this time. Even if this was just another goodbye between them, she didn't have to worry about when they would next see each other. There was only hope, full and bittersweet.

"You will."

The garden was hazy with summer heat. Lori straightened and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist. Though it was her third summer in Rohan, the intense heat still managed to catch her off guard.

A few rows over, her companion sat back on her heels and looked up at her. "Are we nearly finished?"

"I think we could both use some time to cool down," Lori said with a small smile. "We'll continue in the afternoon once the sun is behind the hall, all right?"

"Very well." She stood up, brushed off her skirt, and headed out of the garden.

"Don't forget to wash up," Lori called after her.

The girl, Elfhild, had been working as her apprentice for the past month. She was impatient and brash almost to the point of disrespect at times, but fiercely compassionate all the same. Lori suspected the only reason she'd rushed out of the garden so quickly was to check on the nest of baby birds she was looking after.

She stepped inside, grateful for the cool interior of Meduseld, and deposited her gardening supplies in the infirmary. After a drink of water and the brush of a wet cloth on the back of her neck, she went to find her friends.

Éowyn, Sárelle, and Dernhild were gathered in one of the sitting rooms, poring over a map of Rohan and Gondor.

Éowyn looked up with a smile when she entered. "Done already?"

"We're taking a bit of a break." Lori collapsed in one of the empty chairs.

"It must be hot," Sárelle said with a sympathetic look. "Your face is red."

"Another hour out there and we might have had to leave you to the cooks," Dernhild said, and Lori rolled her eyes.

"Well, not all of us can spend all of our time relaxing out of the sun."

"We're doing our own work," Dernhild said, pointing indignantly at the map.

She leaned forward to look at the map. "Planning an excursion somewhere?" She glanced at Éowyn. "To Minas Tirith?"

Éowyn smiled wistfully. "Soon, perhaps."

In the months since returning to Edoras, she'd been exchanging letters with Faramir as frequently as possible. Sometimes she asked Lori to proofread her replies, since she'd never had to write more than a few times a year before these correspondences. Lori was happy to oblige, if a little envious—her own letter to Faeron hadn't received a response yet.

"I am leaving to see my family in the next few days," Sárelle said. "I do not want to delay the journey any longer."

There was still a shadow of grief in her eyes, though she hid it well. Éowyn had been the one to deliver the news that her husband had fallen in the Battle of the Black Gate. It had taken some convincing, but Lori had begun to help her through the complicated emotions around that loss.

"I'm sure they'll be overjoyed to see you," Lori said with an encouraging smile.

"I hope so." She let out a little sigh tinged with nervousness and lowered her gaze to the map. "We'll spend some time in Lebennin, and then we'll be off to Dol Amroth before the summer ends."

"We?" Lori echoed.

Sárelle nodded and reached for Dernhild's hand, lacing their fingers together. Just like before, Lori felt as if she were looking in on a private moment, but it was somewhat gratifying to see them now. These moments of private affection were few and far between.

"And you?" Dernhild nudged her foot. "When are you making your escape from the city, princess?"

"Stop with that," Lori said. "It's disrespectful to Éowyn."

Éowyn laughed aloud. "I have taken no offense. Will you come with me when I make the journey to Gondor?"

"Perhaps. I want some more time with Elfhild before I go—I don't want to leave her unprepared."

"She'll be all right," Dernhild said.

Éowyn nodded. "You're a fine teacher, Lori."

She blushed, but before she could respond, the door to the sitting room swung open. Elfhelm stood in the doorway, a furrow in his brow.

"Lori. You are familiar with elves, yes?"

After taking a moment to make sure she'd heard him correctly, she replied, "I am."

"One of the guards reported a party of them crossing the Snowbourne."

She sat up, eyes wide. "They've come from the west?"

His grip tightened on the doorframe. "Should we prepare for an attack?"

"No. No, of course not." She stood, her mind racing. Elves from Legolas's realm would have no need to pass so close to Edoras. It was more likely they'd come from Rivendell.

"Do you know who they are?" Éowyn asked, her own voice tinged with concern.

"Perhaps. I'm going to ride out to meet them."

Elfhelm did not move from the doorway. "I would send out a regiment first."

"That won't be necessary." She met his gaze, silently asking for his trust. "I swear to you there is no cause for concern."

After a moment, he stepped aside to let her pass. Lori gathered up her skirt and ran down the hallway, out through the main doors, and into the stables. Hithui perked up as she approached.

"You might see some old friends very soon," Lori said with a grin. She tacked her with eager hands, and soon they were flying down the street together.

From the front gate, the traveling party was visible through the summer haze. Lori counted five, all mounted, and squeezed Hithui's sides with her heels. She was more than happy to spring forward and cross the grass in long strides.

Between the heat and the dust they were kicking up, it wasn't until Lori drew close that she was able to see the faces of the travelers. They were all faces she recognized from her time in Rivendell, though it wasn't until her gaze alighted on the elf in the middle of the procession that her heart leapt.

Arwen pulled back the white linen hood shielding her head, gray eyes shining. "Lori."

She tried to catch her breath, her eyes stinging. "It's so good to see you."

"You look happy." Arwen nudged her horse forward until they were close and took her face in her hands. "I did not expect to be blessed with the sight of your face so soon."

Lori let out a watery laugh. "Neither did I. What brings you so far south?"

The smile that curved her lips was radiant. "I am traveling to Minas Tirith to be wed."

It was really important to me for Lori to have that talk with Frodo, both to show Lori's growth and how she can pass on what she's learned to other people and because I have…complicated feelings about Frodo's canon ending. I think he would have been okay staying in the Shire. That's part of what I've been trying to say with this story - that sailing/escaping doesn't have to be your only option. Anyway. Just know in the canon of this fic Frodo stays home and finds a way to heal and cope with his trauma.

Also, I decided to leave Lori and Faeron's fate open-ended because the romance was never a main focus of this story. I think it's more important to show that whether they end up together or not, she'll be okay.

Next time will be a short epilogue. Thank you everyone!