After consulting with the kitchen staff, Lothiriel had wrapped in a warm cloak and stepped out on the porch of the great hall to wait, uncaring if she got wet or the guards were amused by her action. She was relieved Eomer was home, and didn't care who knew it.

When she'd first stepped outside, she'd been able to see them riding across the plains, but they were now too close to the gates to be visible from her position. Impatient, she turned her gaze to the road coming up through Edoras, more than ready to see them ride around the bend and into Meduseld's courtyard.

People were coming out of their homes, into the rain and mud, to welcome the king home, a sight that cheered her. Of course, some of them were the families of the men who rode with Eomer, but the enthusiasm was still a marked change from the despondency which had hung over the city for the past few days.

She heard the horses before she saw them, and smiled at the sound, a smile that grew broader as the riders swept around the curve in the road and into the courtyard.

Eomer was in front, between Eothain and Elfhelm, surrounded by the rest of his guard as well as the men Elfhelm had sent out. She barely saw them, her attention fixed on the man she'd missed so much. Even as they brought their horses to a stop, she was moving forward, down the steps.

A crowd was gathering around them, made up of families of the riders, his advisors, stableboys waiting to take the horses. But her eyes never left Eomer.

Something was wrong. He was holding himself too stiffly in the saddle, and his left arm was tucked too close to his body.

She halted before she reached the bottom of the steps. She wanted to push forward, demand to know what was wrong. But there was no point in adding to the mayhem around him. He'd never hear her anyway.

As he prepared to dismount, he nodded in response to something Eothain said, but without looking at the man – his eyes were on the crowd around him, moving, watching, looking. And then his gaze moved up, met her eyes, stayed steady.

He'd been looking for her.

In his eyes, she saw relief and gladness, but also weariness and pain. And then she became aware of what was going on around him. His advisors were already clamoring for his attention, with some demanding to know what had delayed him while others were asking more directly about the situation in Gondor, and there were yet others who were starting in with a series of questions about things needing his attention in Edoras.

Were they mad? The man was cold, wet, and clearly in pain, and they were making demands on him?

"Stop!" Normally soft spoken, she was angry enough that her voice carried throughout the courtyard. All eyes turned toward her, and she made full use of it, pinning the six men currently vying for Eomer's attention with a glare that had caused even Gondorian noblemen to back down. "Have you lost your senses? He's wet, cold, hungry and obviously injured, and you would have him sit in the rain listening to your bleating?"

Four of them had the grace to look ashamed, and one turned to Eomer in consternation, as if noticing for the first time the way the king was holding himself. But the sixth advisor, a man called Botulf whom she didn't particularly care for under the best of circumstances, was simply furious with her for the interruption.

So be it. She wasn't known for her temper, had learned at an early age to control it. But she didn't suffer fools gladly, and watching them hammer at Eomer had unleashed it. Turning her eyes back to him, she moved down the rest of the steps, unsurprised when the crowd at the foot of them parted for her.

He had dismounted, was leaning against Firefoot very much as if he'd used his final resources of strength to do so. What was wrong with him?

Without looking away from him, she addressed his advisors. "Gentlemen, perhaps Eothain would be willing to debrief you – in the great hall – about events in Gondor. But I believe the King needs to be tended to by a healer."

At that Eomer straightened, gave Firefoot a pat, then stepped away from the horse, as if needing to prove that he could. And perhaps he did. But when he spoke, his voice sounded weak to her ears. "No. I need no healers. But dry clothes and a warm meal would not go amiss."

She stepped up to him. "Then you shall have them."

He turned to her, managed a smile as his eyes met hers again. "I'd greet you properly," he murmured, "but there's no point in two of us being covered with mud."

She blushed as she realized that despite his physical condition, he was referring to kissing her – in front of all Edoras, no less – but she smiled back at him, a smile that faded as she noted the pallor of his skin. She moved closer to him, to his right side, and wrapped her arm around him. "Mud washes away."

"It does," he agreed. Slowly, as if the movement hurt, he extended his arm around her shoulders, pulled her to him and pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

They started up the stairs, and she realized that he was leaning on her more than she'd even anticipated, though part of the reason she'd wrapped her arm around him was so that he could do so if he needed to.

He stepped onto the porch with a soft groan, as if the stairs had taxed what was left of his strength, but took the time to nod to the door wardens. The great doors were already opened, and even as they moved into the warmth of the great hall, she felt a shudder move through him.

Was he injured? Or ill?

She walked with him to their chambers, but when he paused as if to sit down at the table in the sitting room, she shook her head and led him into the bed chamber, where the tub she'd ordered as soon as she'd known he was home waited.

He stared at the steaming water for a long moment before turning to her, his eyes glazed with pain, exhaustion, and gratitude. He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't quite figure out how to get the words out, then simply sat down in the chair next to the tub with a sigh.

Reaching up with just his right arm, he began to remove his helmet, and it was immediately apparent that it was going to be difficult for him to manage.

Without a word, she stepped over to him, pulled it carefully off. It was a new helmet, made for him after he'd been crowned king, and the dents and scratches in it told their own story, one that made her stomach churn.

Later. She'd ask for the details later.

She knelt before him, began to remove his greaves, the armour protecting his lower legs. And felt him touch her forehead.

When she glanced up, he was frowning. "That is not for you to do. Call for Eothain, or I'll do it myself in a moment."

Refusing to be insulted by the comment, she went back to removing the armour. "Eothain is busy distracting your advisors. I'm here, and completely competent to assist you. And at the moment, you don't look capable of stopping me."

He had no response to that. She finished removing his greaves, then pulled off his boots before reaching for his gauntlets. The right one wasn't a problem, but he flinched when she reached for the left, before she'd even touched it.

"I'll be careful," she said gently as she started unbuckling the gauntlet. Keeping her touch as light and slow as possible, she looked back up at him. "Is there any chance the arm is broken?"

He shook his head. "No. I had the armour off last night."

Last night. That meant that whatever was wrong with him had happened at least a day earlier.

She finished removing the gauntlet, then started on the rest of the armour that could be removed while he was sitting. He was still shivering, despite the warmth of the room, but was also beginning to relax as more of the heavy pieces were placed on the floor.

"You'll have to stand up for me to remove the rest."

He nodded, then slowly did so, and with his arms now free of the armour's weight, was able to help her with some of the buckles and fastenings on the breastplate.

Once the armour was off, she helped him out of the mail that he wore under it, before turning to the clothes that he wore under the mail. They were soaked through, and filthy. Normally, the armour and mail provided a little protection from the elements, but not this time.

Biting her tongue to prevent herself from demanding answers, she eased him out of the tunic and undershirt, and then just stared in horror. He was literally covered with bruises and scrapes, including places that were seeping blood where it looked as if he'd simply been scraped raw. As expected, the left arm was the worst.

"Eomer…what happened?" Unable to keep the distress out of her voice, she met his eyes, wished for a moment that she was a shield maiden, could somehow ride out to avenge him for the injuries.

Foolish thoughts.

He shivered again, and she shook her head. First things first. There would be time for answers later. She began to ease his leggings down, blushing a little as she did so despite several months of marriage. She distracted herself from the intimacy of the task by wondering if she'd find the same damage on his legs.

Yes.

Her lips pressed together in a grim line, she moved back, allowed him to step out of the leggings. He eased into the tub with a sigh, then grimaced as the scraped areas encountered the hot water.

She pulled the chair a little closer to him, reached for a soft cloth. Dipping it in the water, she began wiping the mud off his face. Watched as a flush appeared.

He batted at her hand. "I can bathe myself," he muttered.

"I never doubted it. But those scrapes need to be properly cleaned and then treated, so you can either let me help or we can call a healer in here." Against her will, a tremble came into her voice. "Let me. Please." He gave her a sharp look, and she looked away. Dipping the cloth into the water again, she took a breath before continuing, forced her voice to steady. "I've missed you," she admitted, not meeting his eyes. "And been worried these past few days."

He closed his eyes, sighed. "I'm sorry for that."

With hands that still trembled, she resumed wiping his face, noting that being out of the wet clothes and into the warm water seemed to be serving its purpose – he was no longer shivering. Moving down to his shoulders, she finally asked, "Tell me what happened. Who did this to you?"

His lips curved in a humorless smile. "Not a 'who', but a 'what'. I was caught in a rockslide triggered by the rain."

She froze, stared at him. "What?"

"A rockslide, triggered by the rain."

A rockslide. The bruises and scrapes suddenly no longer seemed so severe. How had he survived?

Noticing that she'd stopped wiping him, he reached out, gently touched her cheek. "I'm fine. Sore, but fine."

Helplessly, she stared at him. "But how? How could you have survived such a thing?"

"I was trapped between a large tree and some of the first rocks that fell. The rocks prevented the tree from crushing me; the tree prevented the rocks from doing so while its branches provided an air pocket of sorts."

He sounded matter of fact about it. How could he be so calm? She looked away from him, tried to take a steadying breath. He could so easily have died. Would never have come home. Her stomach twisted, and she swallowed against the nausea that threatened.

"Rie." She looked up, startled. He'd never before called her by the shortened version of her name that her family used.

He cupped her cheek, kept his eyes steady on hers. "I'm fine. There's no point in thinking about what might have been."

She nodded, understood that he didn't want to see tears. Squeezing out the cloth, she resumed wiping him down, steadfastly refusing to think about his body trapped between rocks and a tree. Crushed.

He sighed, relaxed again. "It's so good to be warm."

Searching for humor, she said, "You're still wet, though."

Accepting her effort at lightening the moment, he looked at her, a twinkle in his eye. "A valid observation. But it's with hot, clean water, which makes all the difference."

She smiled, wiped further down his chest. "Your mid section isn't as badly bruised."

"No. The armour made more of a difference there, I think. It's mostly my limbs, particularly the left arm."

"And yet no broken bones."

"No."

"You were very fortunate."

"I was. Not least because my men were able to judge where I would have fallen, and now I'm home, in a warm bath, being tended by you."

Unsure how to respond, she nodded. "If you'll sit forward a bit, I'll wash your back for you."

His eyes twinkled again. "There's an offer I can't refuse. I'll have to return the favor sometime, though."

Her stomach flipped at that, and she wondered how long it would be until he felt recovered enough to make love to her. She'd missed him in many ways.

Banishing the thought, she turned to his back. There were bruises here as well, though like his chest area, they weren't as severe as those on his arms and legs.

When he'd leaned back against the edge of the tub again, she stood, went over to the fire. Pouring more hot water into a small basin, she carried it back to where she was sitting. "I want completely clean water for bathing the scrapes on your arm."

He nodded, carefully moved his left arm so it lay along the edge of the tub. She began to gently clean the raw places, wincing in sympathy at his hiss of breath. He'd have more scars from this, to add to the rest of his impressive collection.

Once it was clean, she began to smooth salve on the scrapes, watched him grit his teeth as it stung. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

He nodded, then shifted, picked up the original cloth she'd been using, and began wiping down his legs, apparently as a way of distracting himself from the sting of the salve.

When she'd finished, she sat back, looked at him. "The healers should still look at your arm. I don't know whether it's better to bind the wounds or not."

He yawned, looked down at his arm, nodded. "It will be fine tonight. The bleeding has stopped, and if the healers start examining me, I'll never get to sleep."

Her lips curved at his sulky tone. "A very good point. Why don't you finish bathing, and I'll go see about a hot meal for you. Then you can rest."

He nodded, closed his eyes.

She'd half expected someone to have already brought him a meal, was a little annoyed that they hadn't.

The annoyance was mollified somewhat when she discovered that no one had told the kitchen staff the king was injured and would be eating in his chambers – they'd expected him to appear in the hall when he was hungry, and the cook was distressed when Lothiriel told her otherwise. As a result of the need to reassure them that he would be fine after a good night's rest, it took longer than she'd intended to get back to him.

But with the meal finally waiting on the table in the sitting room, she stepped back into his bed chamber, then paused, stared. Oh, my.

He was out of the tub, stretched fully out on the skins in front of the fire in a completely relaxed position on his back, one arm thrown above his head.. Totally nude, he was sound asleep.

A/N: Thanks again for your reviews. Things will get more interesting in the next chapter, I promise. ;)

Rabid Cow: Thanks for your criticism. I'm aware that I occasionally use incomplete sentences, particularly in very past faced or action scenes. Such bending of the traditional rules of grammar is allowed in fiction and is also part of my voice. However, I do NOT believe either of those things are license to write in a confusing or incoherent manner that puts readers off. I'm still trying to find the balance between what comes naturally to me and can be very effective, and what simply winds up being annoying. For that reason, I very much appreciate your comments.

Also...I always intended for the men Elfhelm sent out to meet up with Eomer on the road (and thus not play a significant role in the story) and was concerned that it would come across as something I set up and then didn't follow through on. I decided to go ahead with it because I believed it was a reasonable course of action for Elfhelm to have recommended.

Thanks again for your comments. They're appreciated.