Chapter 10

In the morning she dressed like a boy again.

This time, it was with different pieces of clothing: now she took the appearance of a lad of some noble but impoverished house, arrayed in a tunic that had been fashionable a decade ago. The hat she chose from the ancient cupboard was a little less conspicuous than the last time, though she was thinking she would soon need a haircut if she meant to fool anybody.

Éomer seemed to have misgivings, though.

"Why do you dress as a lad so often?" he asked her. He was seated by the table and was watching her as she arrayed her neatly braided hair under the hat.

"Well, it is an unfortunate fact of our world that boys go unnoticed more often than girls. A lass of Dol Amroth would not have boarded that damned ship without some very unfortunate consequences, after all", she pointed out.

He frowned and said nothing. Meanwhile, she was slipping her knife inside her boot.

"You know, Lothíriel…" he spoke suddenly, making her look up at him again, "If something happened to you because of me… I don't know how I could bear it."

Warmth burst in her breast, unexpected and strong. There he sat, staring at her with that unsettling sincerity… somewhere at the back of he mind, she thought she could hear Aunt preaching about foolish men and clueless women who paid heed to their pretty words, but her mentor's words were such a pale thing compared to what this horselord had just told her. Yes, her father and brothers occasionally showed concern for her, but this… this was different.

Éomer was different.

You have a job to do, Lothíriel reminded herself, and it is not ogling at a horselord who is indulging your fantasies.

"Don't you worry about me", she told him briskly, even managing a smile. "I am very good at this. They'll never know I'm there. It's yourself you should be concerned about, Éomer."

He frowned again.

"Well, if it comes to that, they'll know what is what. Drugs will be of no use to them this time", he stated quietly, but with a grim edge to his voice. She didn't doubt him one bit.

"Just be careful?" she said, nevertheless. Truth was, she needed to see him safe and sound before this day ended. Because it went the other way, too: she wouldn't be able to bear it if he got hurt because of her.

The Rohir gave her a lopsided smile.

"Always, my lady."

The cloak she had given him was not his size. Éomer surmised it was a part of some disguise Lothíriel's aunt had prepared, but though the woman evidently thought of a vast variety of possible situations and how to deal with them, it appeared she had not foreseen that her student would be aiding a man of Rohan. So the alternatives for disguises were not many, and the cloak Lothíriel had given to him was tight around the shoulders and fell barely above his knees. He feared it might burst if he were to move his arms too much.

Éomer reminded himself it wasn't supposed to conceal him perfectly. He was to make an appearance, and hopefully send a rumour the right way. If his cloak was ill-fitting, that should only be helpful. But he was used to dealing with problems more straightforwardly, so it was only inevitable he would feel some discomfort.

At any rate, he was on the edge the moment he stepped outside the safe house. He knew the pirates would not be outside, lying in wait; the anxiety was merely the result of his mind. The Rohir felt exposed without the protective layers of his gear. Instinctively his hand went to the pommel of the captain's sword. He still didn't like the way it felt in his grasp, and he'd be so much more comfortable with his own Gúthwinë, but he needed to make do with what was available. This weapon was as good as any while their adventure lasted.

Fresh air felt good, though, and it calmed him a little. Despite the circumstances it was a welcome change to be able to stretch his legs a bit and get out of those four walls. Lothíriel had already gone to snoop around in the harbour. Without him to slow her down, she had left so quickly it was almost like she had just vanished into thin air. He knew he needn't worry about her. She could handle herself and would be careful, now that they knew the corsairs were trying to find them.

Even so, he couldn't dismiss a small twinge in his chest. What if something happened and he wasn't there to help out? Could he be at ease until she joined him again?

Realising how out of control his thoughts were getting, Éomer shook his head and tried to focus again. Lothíriel didn't need him to fuss over her; he would do well to mind himself right now. Not paying attention would achieve nothing but getting lost, and she had better things to do than search half the city for him.

He began to move again, more alert to his surroundings now. Under the cover of his ill-fitting cloak he kept his hand on the sword, ready to put it to use. While Pelargir wasn't technically hostile ground, he still felt like something was waiting for him in the shadows, ready to fulfil the perilous fate he had narrowly escaped so far. But he was here to be seen, not to start a blood path. Hopefully, local shady types would appreciate that as well – even if a part of him would surely have enjoyed some action.

His walk more or less confirmed what he had first perceived the night they had arrived. Pelargir had fallen from glory and the signs of decay were clear in ways he hadn't perceived in Minas Tirith or Dol Amroth. Then again, the latter was a part of Imrahil's rich princedom and there the shadow of Mordor had not reached. Wryly he thought of how the family of Imrahil had created some shadows of their own. What did the man think of it, and more precisely, how much did he even know about what his youngest child did? Could he say he knew her as well as fathers normally knew their daughters?

Once more Éomer shook his head and tried to clear his mind. It didn't surprise him that thoughts of her had almost distracted him again. He really needed to get a grip.

Lothíriel had told him how to get to the port, but he did not go all the way there. He didn't want to try his luck, nor do anything that might cause her to be noticed. Even so, it seemed like a reasonable assumption the pirates and their crew watched the area close to the river.

He found a little market place and there took a moment to inspect the stalls, not out of wanting to buy anything but merely to be seen – though he did purchase a few apples to leave some kind of an impression that would hopefully spawn a few rumours. He even went as far as pushing back his hood for a bit, thus letting all the world know that a Rohir was indeed to be found in this city. He got a few curious looks and it was no wonder that he did. Rohirrim rarely came this far south, especially those who were not on King's business. And while a lot of things might be said about the corsairs, their leaders were not foolish men. Lothíriel had said she had suggested seeking the help of the local villainous types in order to contain their prisoner, and there was no reason they might take the idea and instead use it to get eyes in the city.

The lack of cover made his skin crawl. How naked and helpless he felt without his armour and weapons! How limited his view here on the ground, when he didn't have Firefoot's additional height! It was almost a crippling sensation in some ways. Though he was uncomfortable, Éomer tried to remain as relaxed as he could – even as he occasionally scanned his surroundings and kept his hand ready on the sword.

But in the end, his paranoia and anxiety proved to be in vain. He could spot no corsairs around the market, which was probably a good thing for now: he wasn't as swift and stealthy as Lothíriel, and he would have had harder time getting rid of pursuers. Not to mention, it was not some common member of the crew he wanted to catch, but the captain himself or whoever would be leading in his stead. But hopefully, his appearance would reach the ears of his enemies. If all went according to his hopes, they would come looking for him.

This time, they would not be facing an unconscious man.

He was back at the safe house sooner than he would have liked. Well, it was something of a contradictory feeling. On one hand, he had been on the edge from the moment he had stepped outside. On the other, return meant being inside four walls again, and it was unlikely Lothíriel had yet come back. A part of him would surely have liked to wait her here, or maybe go and seek her. But to start changing the plans just to suit his own impatient self was not something anyone who fancied themselves a seasoned warrior would do, and she would hardly appreciate him potentially compromising her attempts. He had to wait.

He passed the time until her return by going through some simple exercises, hoping it would take away the edge from his anxiety. When he heard movement behind the door of the safe house, he tensed and stood ready in case corsairs stormed inside, but relief took the place of preparation when his companion slipped inside. She was back and he could be at ease once more.

"Everything all right?" Éomer asked. He was a little surprised to realise his hand had risen up from his side, as though to reach for her. He quickly put it back down again.

"Yes, yes. All is well", she replied and took off the hat covering her braided hair. She tossed it on the chair as though it had been bothering her.

"Did you find out anything useful?" he wanted to know as he poured her some water to drink. She accepted the cup with soft thanks and a smile. He was answering the smile before he even knew it.

"I did find their ship in the port", said Lothíriel as she took seat. "They were making repairs, but it's going to be a few days at least before it's seaworthy again. I couldn't get as close as I would have liked, though. But even then, I didn't see Captain Dagalur on the deck. That Shanum was there, however, and he was flaunting himself in a way that implies he has taken over the leadership."

"If that is the case, he is new to the position. He may be overconfident", Éomer mused, rubbing his chin in thought. So it was as he had thought: the captain had drowned indeed. If that was the case, the crew might want avenge their fallen leader... and they would not hesitate to kill her.

"And he hates you very much. He will come looking for you, I'm sure of it", Lothíriel said steadily. The Rohir made a low sound in agreement. It was clear to him now how deep vengeance ran for this man. With Théoden gone, his heir was the next best thing to one who was so devoted to the Black Serpent.

"How soon do you think they'll be on the move?" he wondered out loud.

She shrugged.

"How quickly can a rumour travel in Pelargir?"

They waited till sundown. It was not likely corsairs would come looking for their prize while the common city folk went about their daily labours. Éomer wondered whether his earlier appearance had been enough to get the attention of their enemy. But Lothíriel did not seem concerned when she pointed out: "Well, they found me, and I like to think I blend in a little better than you do."

He could not deny that. In these parts, a tall blond man would stand out like a sore thumb. So he hoped.

They ventured out again after going through their scheme one more time. She would follow him from the shadows and keep an eye for those they were hoping to lure in. Narrow corridors and maze-like paths of Pelargir would aid him – they wouldn't get to him easily, but alone or in pairs. And they wouldn't know about the spider on his shoulder. She surely looked the part, wearing a form-fitting array made of dark, nondescript fabric that would help her to hide from searching eyes of their enemy.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Éomer asked her, just to make certain. Not that he doubted her somehow, but she had already done so much for him, and at this point her endangering herself had to be against her aunt's instructions. At least, this he assumed from all she had already told him about the woman.

But Lothíriel smiled brightly and reached to pat his arm.

"Absolutely. It will be fun", she said and looked like she sincerely thought so.

The Rohir reached his hand and rested it on her shoulder, wiry and strong. She did not shy away from his touch, which somehow consoled him.

"Promise to be careful?" Éomer asked one more time, meeting her eyes solemnly. She stared right back at him and her grey eyes were fearless and calm. Would that someone like her would always be standing by his side!

Lothíriel reached for him as well, settling her own hand against his bicep in a grasp that was… well, not like a warrior's greeting, really. To be honest he wasn't sure what it was exactly.

"Of course. You just worry about yourself, horsemaster", she said with a smile. The word almost sounded like a term of endearment coming from her mouth.

Not sure he could trust his voice, Éomer just nodded and let go of her shoulder. Lothíriel let go of him as well, but the spot she had touched still tingled with the sensation of her hand's weight and grip. She gazed at him for a moment as though she was looking for something, but then she shook her head and slipped away. For whatever reason, he felt suddenly very lonely.

Focus, you fool, he told himself briskly. Now is not the time to get confused.

Éomer began to walk. His first destination was the market he had visited earlier today: it was a logical place for the corsairs to start their searches. He kept his pace steady and measured. If they meant to lure out the prey, he could not make haste – he had to appear as though he was a feasible target. Briefly he wondered what Éothain would say about his king using himself as bait, but decided not to dwell on that for long. It was a good thing his captain was not here to tell him he was being a reckless idiot.

Streets of the city were now quiet and only a few other people passed by him. In the deepening shadow, every corridor looked the same and houses loomed above, with windows glaring out like empty eyes. Here and there light shone out, signalling life that had not yet entirely abandoned this once great settlement of Men. In his chest his heart beat faster than usual, preparing him already for action, though he did not yet know if tonight would end in blood.

Éomer was not worried about getting lost as he walked and proceeded further into the narrow corridors of older part of the city. Lothíriel was following close by, though he did not see her; she would know how to get back to their safe house. Not to mention, it might give them advantage over the corsairs, if he was able to lead them astray, too.

Soon enough the echo of his steps was joined by another. It was not her, that much he knew. She was not one to make sound, accidental or not. There was almost unbearable urge to turn around and face whoever was following him, but Éomer kept his eyes ahead. Under his cloak, he was clutching the hilt of the sword. At the very least, he could expect they wouldn't shoot him in the back; he was no good to them dead. Vengeful Umbarian lords and tribesmen of Harad would not pay handsomely for damaged goods.

He still kept his pace even, as though he yet remained unsuspecting of the danger lurking behind. How many were there? There were more than one, but not as much as five, if his hearing served him right. But he did not take this for granted. There could be more ahead, lying in wait.

They would get bold soon, thinking he was alone and helpless. But they didn't know of the shadow tracing their steps, and this time, they would have to face him without aid of poisons. Though he was without a mount and his usual gear, he still had quite a few tricks up his sleeve.

He was ready to show these villains what it meant to invoke the wrath of a horselord.

It panned out about the way they had expected.

The corsairs must have been looking for Éomer already, as they latched on to his heels almost as soon as he left that little market. Lothíriel followed close by and saw there were six of them. Shanum was leading the bunch, much to her approval. She had guessed right: his lust for vengeance had lured him out. For a second she calculated the odds and decided they were not all bad. If Éomer found a narrow alley, as they had planned, it would help to take down all six. Well, Shanum would be left alive obviously, and maybe another to spare.

Lothíriel frowned when she saw the company do some plotting of their own: three of them raced ahead, while the remaining trio followed Éomer. So, they were meaning to set him a trap. But they would see how effective it was once she fell on them from behind. She only hoped she could have alarmed him somehow and let him know the enemy was before him as well as behind. Then again, Éomer had not been born yesterday. He may very well know to expect something like this without her warning him.

She had given him a rough description of where the narrow corridors would be most useful for them and he lead the course straight and true. The man really was quite efficient, Lothíriel mused to herself as she stalked the three corsairs. They were going a little faster now, impatient to get to their prey. But Éomer walked steadily. Only the tense set of his shoulders, glimpsed by her twice from afar, revealed his level of preparation. He was ready to pounce any second now.

He chose their battleground well. The alley was narrow and cluttered with various rubbish from half-rotten barrels to broken wheels of what had probably been a wagon; as such, only two of them could come at him at a time. There he halted, no longer just prey but assuming the role of the hunter once more.

"I know you are there", Éomer spoke in loud, steady voice. Lothíriel had never heard him use this tone but now that he did, she felt like she had some inkling as to why so many spoke his praise as a war chief.

Though they were companions, maybe even friends, a thought occurred to her now: this was one dangerous man.

The corsairs whispered anxiously between themselves, until Shanum lifted his voice in anger. Then at his signal, the three fell on the King of Rohan, and the trio he had sent ahead appeared at the other end of the alley. They approached fast. For a minute their voices rose in triumph, but it was briefly lived when Lothíriel engaged from behind, swiftly ending the life of one short man she had seen following Shanum around back at the ship. Éomer was not left idle either: he looked terrible and deadly and the corsairs must really want him to dare to face such an enemy.

The next few minutes were filled with the noise of steel clashing and curses uttered between the combatants. Shanum tried to press hard on the King of Rohan, but Éomer's defences were impenetrable. Meanwhile, Lothíriel delivered her own attacks in rapid stabs to push the trio closer against the mighty swings of the King's sword. Their strengths combined in a surprisingly effective way, and soon enough their enemies were in a state of disarray and panic.

Maybe it was going too well. Lothíriel wasn't sure at first what went wrong, until she saw her parry failing. And then, before she could dodge Shanum's attack, a blade kissed her side. It cut something open and she felt blood running down as she fell, crying both in pain and surprise as she went down. She had never been hurt in action before.

Éomer heard it. He roared like a deranged bear – and fought like one, too. Lothíriel, lying in a heap on the ground, almost forgot about her injury when she watched him fall upon the attackers. She had never seen anyone battling like he did then, swift and fell and unstoppable. It took their pursuers by surprise and it was not long they could endure such a ferocious attack. They went running in less than minutes. Three of the company of six lay dead on the ground and rest sustained injuries of various degrees.

As Éomer rushed to her side, she became aware of a matter more worrisome than her injury: shouting and running feet were starting to approach somewhere closer than she would have liked. Either guards of the city had heard this racket, or someone had alarmed them. But it was no matter how they had got wind of it, because she could very well guess the consequences, if they found her and Éomer with three dead bodies. It didn't matter the corpses belonged to corsairs, and how would her father's Swan Knights ever find them if they were rotting in city prison? Who in this decayed city would believe that a ragged horselord and a wounded girl were the King of Rohan and Princess of Dol Amroth?

"Leave me! Get out of here!" she hissed to her companion as she pressed her hand against the wound, already trying to grasp at some kind of a plan. But her thoughts ran amok and bits and pieces of schemes fell apart as soon as she attempted to build it further.

Éomer was having none of it.

"I am not leaving you!" he growled back at her and in one quick motion, he picked her up. He didn't need to tell her to keep pressure on the wound. Lothíriel thought of yelling at him for a bit, and insisting she could manage this – she would come up with something as long as he was safe – but then he was already running and taking her away from the site of skirmish. It would be a waste of breath to tell him he was being stupid, endangering himself like this because of her.

Suddenly, something Aunt had once told her came back to Lothíriel: "Do not trust men. Faced with choice between their own life and yours, they will surely choose to save their own skin and leave you to the wolves."

Tonight, a man had chosen her life over his own safety. And she had no idea of what to do with that knowledge.

After getting some distance between themselves and the guards looking for culprits, Éomer halted and lowered her gently to sit on the street, her back against the wall of a particularly ramshackle building.

"How badly are you hurt?" he asked her as he carefully pried her hand away from the wound to take a look at the injury. His face was twisted in concern and even in this dim light, she saw the strange fire in his eyes.

"It's a scratch", she managed, "felt worse than actually is."

"Hmm", he merely commented as he ripped a piece of fabric from his own shirt, which he offered to her. She didn't need to be told what to do with it.

"Let's get going. It won't be long before they search here, too", he muttered under his breath and picked her up again. Momentarily Lothíriel considered telling him she didn't need this, but on the other hand, it allowed her to focus on her injury, and he didn't seem to have difficulty in carrying her. So she pressed the piece of fabric against the wound and was glad to notice the bleeding was not very bad.

She let out a sigh and lowered her head to rest on his shoulder. If Aunt was wrong about that one thing… then how much of what she had told her was right after all?

Fortunately, they weren't that far away from the safe house, and so Éomer was able to get his injured companion there quickly. She didn't seem to be too badly hurt – she remained conscious and clear, pressing the fabric from his shirt against her wound and giving him directions. Without her, he would not have found his way back.

Once inside, he seated her by the table and rummaged through the cupboard, until he found some clean linen. He had first noticed it when he had searched the shelves for anything useful. That such supply was here didn't surprise him anymore. Apparently, Lady Ivriniel thought about everything.

When he had some hot water, clean rags and linen to dress the wound, he sat down next to her. He was no healer, but if an éored fell apart every time someone got hurt with such smaller injuries, Rohan would have ceased to exist long before his day.

"Let me see it", he commanded in a firm but gentle voice. Lothíriel uncovered her injury and lifted the hem of her shirt to reveal her side, where the shallow gash shot across otherwise smooth, pale skin. Luckily, the bleeding had almost stopped.

"I told you it was just a scratch", Lothíriel said gently when he began to clean the wound.

Éomer scoffed under his breath.

"You should see what some of my men have tried to pass as scratches before they fell unconscious from their saddles", he told her grimly. When he had heard her cry out… for a second, he had thought she had taken a fatal injury.

"That is what clinging stubbornly to your pride will get you", she said, sounding unconcerned. But her light tone changed at once when she continued to speak, "I'm sorry. I ruined everything. We almost had him… if I hadn't get hurt-"

He didn't let her finish.

"I don't blame you", Éomer said loudly and continued to dab at the wound with damp cloth to clean the now dried blood. "You fought bravely and that is all I can ask. We didn't guess they would fight back so hard. Sometimes you just can't control everything, no matter how hard you try."

She didn't say anything at first – she just regarded him in silence. But Éomer kept his eyes on the wound.

"Well, what now?" she asked him after a moment.

"Now we keep our heads down. It would be madness to go after them again before this wound heals", he answered evenly. Of course, he was disappointed to just let Shanum go. But he was not foolish enough to try and pursue the man alone, or let Lothíriel join him in yet another reckless plan before she was well once more.

She sighed.

"I'm sorry", she uttered again, sounding ashamed. "I have failed you."

Now Éomer lifted his eyes and met her gaze sharply.

"After all you have already done for me, how can you possibly say that?" he asked her in stern tones. "Have you forgotten so soon that you are the reason I am alive and free?"

Her eyes widened a little. But she had her reaction under control quickly, and then she offered him a small smile.

"You know, you were magnificent back there. I've never seen anyone fight like that", Lothíriel said softly. But he was not flattered. Fighting like a madman, reckless and without reason, was not a cause for pride.

"When I saw you go down... something just snapped", he answered and regarded the wound with a frown. Something cold and dreadful still throbbed in his chest when he thought of the moment she had fallen. For what would he do if she died?

His frown deepened and he muttered, "I went into a battle rage. It has happened to me before."

Now a shiver ran down his spine. The memory of Pelennor Fields returned to him again unbidden and unwelcome. Truth was, it scared him. If he was prone to that madness… could he then be a good leader for his men?

"I've heard about it. Aunt has told me about warriors who get the strength of five men and the recklessness of ten", she said wryly, and he snorted softly. She went on, "I think she even met one once in combat. I could tell she hated to admit it, but it sounded like it was one time she was beaten and had to flee."

"Well", he said at length, looking at the wound and seeing to his relief it was clean now and didn't bleed anymore. He was beyond relieved it didn't need sewing, because that went beyond his skill. He muttered, "Personally, I don't much like it. It's better to fight with a clear head."

"I must thank you, though. You saved us both back there", said Lothíriel in a warm voice. She rested her hand on his forearm, holding it and then seemingly forgetting to let go.

"I watch your back, Lothíriel. Just as you watch mine", he stated simply.

He looked at her now and expected to see the acknowledgement for their partnership. However, she stared at him with a strange expression on her face. She almost seemed disbelieving.

"What is it? Did I say something wrong?" Éomer asked and frowned. He couldn't see what had been unacceptable about his words.

But she shook her head and squeezed his forearm.

"No... no. It's not that. It's just... you see, no one has ever really counted on me like that", she said, sounding somehow timid almost. It was most peculiar from her, who was so fearless and strong when facing enemies. She sighed and went on, "Of course my brothers love me, as I do them. But sometimes I feel they are... they're disturbed by what I am. I don't really fit in their understanding of the world. And Father – he can get so distant. Half my childhood he spent away in Minas Tirith and even when he's home, he gets so caught up with his duties. I know he doesn't mean to be neglectful, but what can a man in his position do? He doesn't really see me and what I do as existing in same person. It's like... for all four of them there is this another me – one they don't talk about, or even acknowledge."

She lowered her eyes and stared at some unfixed point between them.

"As for my aunt... well, I'm not actually so sure if she cares about me very deeply, as a person. She's all too focused on that another me, and ignores the one my father and brothers see. She can be so cold and distant. And sometimes she makes me feel like she doesn't really trust me to be able to do my job without somehow ruining it", she said and sounded a little sad. Èomer blinked in surprise. He had not realised until now that in fact her life was rather lonely. What a paradox this woman was! She was fierce in the face of danger, resourceful and strong. And yet she looked so young and unsure now as she sat there before him.

Lothíriel lifted her eyes once more and met his. Yes, she did seem lonely.

"If that is what they truly think", Éomer said at length, staring hard at her, "then they are a band of fools, all of them. They have had all this time with you, and yet they do not see your worth? I have spent no more than a week in your company and yet I can say without doubt that you are the bravest, the most amazing woman I have ever met."

He saw tears fill her eyes. It was as though no one had ever given her such praise in her entire life. Then she let out a small squeal, and not minding her wound, she threw her arms around him in a slightly violent movement. Éomer received her, pulling her to him... and then, before either of them knew it, his lips were on hers.

She gasped softly against his mouth, but the sound was not in dismay or reluctance. After first shock she began to answer the kiss, granting him better access and shyly parting her lips for him. He felt her fingers first on his neck, then against the back of his head, as though she had decided to keep him right there. He liked how she felt, how she tasted, and how easy this kiss was. It was almost as if they had been lovers for many years.

Éomer did not want to stop, but they both needed to breathe – and perhaps figure out what was happening. But though the kiss ended at last, she didn't pull away. She was seated in his lap now and her hands were still in his hair. His own arms were securely around her.

Her face was flushed and her grey eyes seemed both bewildered and elated.

"What are we doing?" she asked him in a hoarse voice. Her grip of his head remained tight, but not painful.

"I don't know", he answered, holding her close and liking the way their bodies felt pressed against one another. She was surprisingly soft, but there was strength, too. In that moment, he wanted her more than anything he had ever desired in his life… and somewhere deep was certainty that even if by some chance their paths parted forever after tonight, he would always wonder where this could have gone.

He would always ask himself what if.

"Is this wise?" she whispered and let out a trembling breath. It was a valid question, he had to admit.

"I don't know that either", Éomer answered truthfully. But she felt too good and he surely knew what he wanted. "But I would like to kiss you again. Do I have your permission?"

"... yes. Yes", she replied and leaned closer again, and then world fell away once more.

The kiss was deeper now and more intense. It was as kisses ever were after a fight – heated, eager, almost desperate because of the sheer relief they were still living, though death had brushed by. It was a powerful exchange between... well, not warriors maybe, because she didn't identify herself that way, but something akin. She was a battle maiden in her own way and tonight they had fought side by side. It was fitting that now they should be sharing this, too.

He began to lose control, and a bit of his mind too, because in the tangle of hands and fingers and bodies he accidentally hit her wounded side. Lothíriel hissed against his lips and startled, quickly throwing him back to his senses.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you", he said apologetically, leaning back a little and pulling up the hem of the shirt to check the wound. At least he had not managed to make it bleed again.

"It's fine. I'm not exactly being very careful, either", she said and offered him a slightly pained smile.

There was nothing he wanted more than to just keep kissing her. In fact, he was profoundly tempted to lift her up and take her to the bedchamber, where... but no. She was injured and it was getting late. And she was Imrahil's own daughter, after all. Some restraint would be wise, at least until they figured out what was happening.

"We should get some sleep", Éomer stated at length and he did pick her up, but it was with entirely honourable intentions. She needed to rest.

She made a small displeased sound but did not argue as he took her to the bedchamber. For both their sakes he turned his back when she changed her bloodied shirt into a clean one, and was about to bid her goodnight and leave the room when she suddenly took his hand.

"Don't go", Lothíriel simply said and pulled at his fingers as she moved backwards towards the bed. He searched her face but didn't see that kind of invitation there – just the wish she needn't spend the night alone. It was something he could well understand. When had been the last time he had fallen asleep listening to something else than his own lonely thoughts?

"Very well", he agreed, and soon enough they were settled side by side on the bed. He had been right: it was big enough for them both, if they lay close to one another.

Éomer made a decision for both their comfort's sake (and little bit just because he wanted), and he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close – gently though, as he didn't want to upset her wound again. She rolled against him with a soft gasp of surprise.

"Is this fine?" he asked her, keeping his arm loose enough so that she could pull back if she wanted.

"This is perfect", she said after a moment's silence and put her hand on his chest as she relaxed there, settling against him as though she had done this a thousand times.

He felt it then, as he lay there and had her in his arms; somehow akin to what had stirred when she had taken her injury.

He wanted her to never leave.

To be continued.

A/N: Here is a new chapter! I hope you liked it. :)

The first half was actually pretty difficult for me to write, for whatever reason. I tried and tried but it didn't seem to be going anywhere. So if there's some sluggishness there, it's simply because I had trouble getting it once I got my breakthrough, the last of the chapter came out very easily. And no wonder! ;)

It felt like a good place to take their relationship to next level, but also show, through her being injured, that Lothíriel is young still and she's not some invulnerable badass who takes down villains left and right. Plus, she's not used to fighting as a team. Yet I would imagine that her injury rather puts things into perspective for Éomer and allows him to realise something that has been veiled to him until now. And for her, his faith in her and the way he accepts her as a whole person, are things that no one has ever shown her before. But hopefully earlier chapters show there has been movement to this direction.

Some of you hoped to get inside his head, so I hope this chapter manages to deliver!

Thank you for your comments, follows and favourites!

sai19 - In that case, the ending of this chapter should please you greatly! :)

Merakia - Yes, it's not just her saving him, but them making plans together and working for a shared goal. But we'll see how that goes now that she's injured.

Doranwen - They're getting very close indeed! :) Though the trap didn't pan out as hoped, they may still have acquired something valuable. ;)

EStrunk - Things are developing between them very much! I think Éomer has such deep impact on her, he's making her question a lot of things about her life in addition to being a man she feels attracted to. But not all of that is easy or pleasant, making her think him being a jerk would make this much less difficult for her. I think they have a lot of potential as a team, but on the other hand, I wanted to show they haven't had a chance to actually work on it and make their co-operation seamless.

Wondereye - Unfortunately, no such luck here!

Anon - Glad you liked it! And thank you for your insights. :) I believe you hit close to the home with your assession of her thoughts and what she is discovering with Éomer. He certainly is challenging her expectations in more than just one front, and I imagine this latest development ought to stir the waters even more!

Rubandepluie - :D Glad to hear I have such impeccable timing! I hope you had a great birthday. :) And here's more from Éomer's POV, hopefully it is to your liking!

Wtiger5 - I'm afraid they were not going to go away after all the trouble our duo have already caused them!

Nerdanel - Yes, things are heating up for them indeed! And it was good to be inside both their heads, especially in getting them to this point. Well, it seems like there may not be such a long waiting, after all! :)

Jo - I guess that means I've done my job well? :D

Quest - I'm glad you like the story! As for posting, I'm doing my best!