Lothiriel's throat went dry, and for a moment she simply stood there, indulging in the sight of him. He was home. Injured, but not seriously. He was home.

Walking softly, she crossed the room, knelt beside him. He'd washed his hair after she left, and it was spread around him in golden tangles. She reached out, touched the long strands. Later, she'd see if he would let her comb it for him. Probably not without an argument, she thought, remembering his protest about being able to bathe himself.

She wanted to touch him, but was afraid to do so, afraid of disturbing him. Would he get chilled, lying there with just the fire to warm him? Perhaps she should fetch a blanket from the bed. She frowned at the thought of the wool scratching against his abrasions and decided against it. The fire was warm enough. Instead, she looped both hands around her bent legs and rested her chin on her knees. And watched him sleep.

Her eyes drifted down from his face to his chest, the injuries to his arms and legs. Again, the image formed in her mind of him trapped, being crushed beneath rocks. It could so easily have gone differently. Even now, they could be preparing to bury him. The sick feeling from earlier came back and she again pushed the images out of her mind. He was right that it would do no good to dwell on them. But the tears came anyway.

She had suspected she was falling in love with him before he'd even left for Gondor, perhaps had started to do so as early as their wedding night. She'd wondered about it while he had been gone, while she had been missing him. But it was not until she had seen his injuries, realized how close he'd come to dying, that she had truly understood her own heart. She loved him, so much it was a little frightening. His kindness, his loyalty, his commitment to his people…even the temper she knew he kept a firm rein on.

She wasn't sure how he felt about her, but was willing to give it time. He desired her, enjoyed spending time with her. And it meant a great deal that he had been looking for her when he'd arrived back at Meduseld, that his eyes had not stopped restlessly moving about the courtyard until they'd found her.

Brushing away her tears, she looked at the door that lead to her bed chamber. She was tired. It had been an exhausting few days, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep. With Eomer, though, not alone in her bed

Would he think it foolish of her? Maybe, but it was a risk she was willing to take. She'd probably wake before him, anyway. Standing, she slipped out of her dress, laid it over the chair. Then, clad only in her shift, she laid down next to him, on his right side so there'd be no chance of bumping his left arm with its greater injuries.

With his right arm flung above his head, she was able to snuggle close to him.

On a sigh, she slept.

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Eomer was cold. Or at least most of him was. Oddly enough, it was the side away from the fire that was a little warmer.

Confused, he opened his eyes. Why was he on the floor?

Then he saw the tub, felt the bruises, and memory rushed back, of the rockslide, the ride home, of being cared for by Lothiriel. He smiled a little at the memory of her telling off his advisors. Looking down, he realized that she was the reason one side was still warm – she was curled up next to him, her face tucked in his side.

He'd intended to lay down in front of the fire only long enough to dry off, to get warm, but his exhausted body had had other ideas . The fire had now burned low, though, meaning she would no doubt be getting cold soon as well, if she weren't already. She was always colder than he was.

He thought of waking her, of relocating to the bed, then saw her face, the tracks of her tears, the smudges beneath her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping well, either.

Deciding not to disturb her, he stood, and moved quietly over to the bed, collected one of the covers. He stopped to stir the fire before lying back down next to her, on his side. As expected, she'd curled further into herself, obviously cold. He pulled the cover over them both, then moved closer to her, wrapped his left arm carefully around her. She sighed, relaxed against him.

She'd been weeping. It both disturbed him that she'd been that upset, and, if he was honest, elated him that she cared that much.

Shifting, he pressed a kiss onto her head before slipping back into sleep.

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The next time he awoke, it was because he felt her trying to draw away from him. Frowning, he lifted his head, looked at her. And was puzzled when she blushed, glanced away.

"Lothiriel?"

"I expected to awaken before you." Clearly embarrassed, she motioned to where she'd slept. "I thought you would think me foolish for not seeking my own bed."

"Not hardly," he murmured. He was on his right side, with her tucked next to him, on her back. Raising himself up on his elbow, he shifted even closer to her, deliberately trapped her with his other arm, then leaned down, claimed her mouth with his own.

She responded immediately, unleashing a surge of heat through him. He'd missed this, missed her sweetness and passion. His hand slipped down, cupped her breast, squeezed gently. He wished she'd stripped out of the shift at the same time she'd removed her dress. But that was easily corrected. He smiled at the thought, lifted his head.

The smile faded when he realized she was frowning at him. "What?" Had he misjudged her desire?

Her hands skimmed lightly over his shoulders then came to rest on his chest. "I'm afraid to touch you," she said, distressed. "You're injured everywhere!"

His smile returned, and he leaned down, nuzzled her cheek, buried his face in her soft, scented hair. Then he looked back at her again, a mischievous look on his face. "If you take the shift off, I'll show where you can touch me."

Her eyes slid down his chest to the part of him currently pressing rather insistently against her hip, and she gave him an impish smile, even as her cheeks heated with a blush. It was the kind of contradiction in her that he loved.

He laughed in response, leaned down to kiss her again. Oh, it was good to be home, to be with her. After a moment, he lifted his head. "You may touch me there anytime you like, but that's not actually what I had in mind."

The smile faded, and she looked at him consideringly for a long moment. "Are you sure you should really do this? Perhaps you should sleep more." Her fingers gently touched one of the raw places on his arm.

"I've been asleep for hours. I can do without more sleep. But you… I've been without you for far too long. I've missed you, too," he said softly.

She smiled at that, obviously pleased by the comment. Then shoved very gently on his chest. "Then by all means, let me up so I can remove my shift."

Laughing at her insistent tone, he did as she requested.

She sat up, shivered as the covers dropped to her waist. "It's cold."

"I can assist you with that as soon as the shift is gone," he said with another smile.

"I'm sure you can." Her tone was dry, but a smile still lurked on her lips. Wiggling around, she pulled the shift off, over her head, then looked at him, the smile becoming more pronounced. "Well?"

He couldn't have spoken if she'd held a knife to him – looking at her in the faint light of the dying fire, his throat had gone dry with desire. Instead, he pulled her back down, tugged the covers over them before dropping his mouth to her breast. Then smiled as she jerked against him in reaction to his warm mouth against her cold skin.

He pleasured her – both of them – by lingering there for long moments, then looked up at her. She'd found her own place for her hands, had buried them in his hair. Smiling again, he leaned down, resumed kissing her.

Despite the intensity of his desire for her, he delayed taking their lovemaking to the next level as long as he could, giving them both pleasure as he touched and tasted her, as he encouraged her to touch him by pointing out all the places on his body that were without bruises.

But finally, as the sky outside the window began to lighten with the first suggestion of dawn, he eased into her, watched her eyes darken as he did so. He kept that connection, his eyes on hers, as he began to move, willed her to see all that was in his heart for her as they both found their pleasure.

Afterwards, he rolled them over, pulled her on top of him. Lazily letting his hand drift up and down her back, he closed his eyes, drifted in contentment. He'd told himself he was determined to get home for her, for her birthday. He now knew that it had only been a half-truth, at best. Arriving home, battered, bruised, and cold, to find her waiting for him, so determined to care for him, had healed a loneliness in him, an ache he hadn't even known existed.

"I shouldn't be here," she mumbled. "I'll hurt you."

He tightened his arms around her, not prepared to let her go. "You don't weigh that much. Besides, where you're lying was hardly bruised, remember?"

She shook her head, as if deciding against arguing with him, and they laid that way for a few moments longer before she finally slipped off of him, to the side, still being careful of his bruises and scrapes.

"There's something I don't understand."

"And what is that?" He turned his head, looked at her.

"If the rockslide you were trapped in happened over a day away, the rains we've been having must have been happening very far south and east as well."

"We encountered heavy rains all along the road," he said. "All the way from Minas Tirith, in fact. Many villages are flooded, and the road as well in places."

"Then why did you leave Minis Tirith? Or not stop in one of the villages until the rains stopped?"

"I wanted to be here on the 18th."

She stared at him for a long moment, plainly puzzled. Then, as understanding replaced the confusion in her eyes, she jerked away from him, sat up. Reaching for her shift, she stood, but instead of putting it on she stalked over to the fire. She paused there a moment before bending to tend it..

"Lothiriel?" Baffled, he sat up, prepared to follow her, when she turned back to stare him.

"Let me see if I understand this properly." Her eyes were hot with anger, but her voice was calm. Rigidly so. "You dragged your men through floods all the way from Minas Tirith, nearly died in a rockslide, because you wanted to be here for my birthday?"

He stared at her in puzzlement. "My men are used to riding in the rain," he finally said. "And when we left, we didn't know it was going to be like that all the way home. I believed we would surely ride out of it."

"Well you didn't, did you?"

There was a bitterness to her voice that he didn't understand, and he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "It was rain." He kept his voice even, strove for a reasonable tone. "Surely you wouldn't have it said that men who faced the Black Gates of Mordor were afraid of rain?"

Her eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it shut, spun around to the fire again, obviously deciding against making a response.

He stared at her back for a long moment, searched for the words that would calm her. It was difficult when he didn't understand the source of her anger. It surprised him. And here he'd expected her to be pleased that he'd remembered her birthday.

Indignation at the thought slipped in as he remembered how hard he'd tried to get home, and he stood. It was one thing to have an argument while they were both stark-naked, but he refused to be taken to task any further while sitting on the floor.

He walked over to her, then took a step backwards, deciding to keep his distance. Faramir had warned him that she had a temper, but he'd never seen it, had begun to think that perhaps she'd outgrown it without her cousin realizing it.

Apparently not. She was still gripping the shift as if she were fighting the urge to rend it seam from seam. Better the shift than him.

Still trying to stay calm, he spoke carefully. "My men are used to riding in the rain," he said again, "and when we left, we didn't know it was going to be like that all the way home. I kept thinking we'd ride out of it," he repeated, at a loss as to how to calm her.

She turned to him, anger still flashing in her eyes. "You should have stopped at one of the villages. It was foolish to continue in the rain, through floods, no less." Her knuckles were white against the shift.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed hold of the last threads of his composure, but felt temper threatening to claw its way out. "Careful, my lady. I do not take kindly to you insulting my men in such a fashion."

"It is not your men I consider fools, as they were merely following you," she snapped, then turned from him again, to stare back into the fire, her body still rigid.

Temper broke free. "You know nothing of the weather we're used to riding in! You think we kept the borders of the Riddermark safe by hiding from rain?"

"That was different! There was a good reason for that!" Her voice broke on the last word.

She still had her back to him, and it made him even angrier. He closed the distance between them, was rougher than he'd intended to be when he turned her toward him. "You're a good reason."

The rage was gone, the fury in her eyes replaced by tears. Shaking her head, she said, "Not for that. Not at that cost. You nearly died." Her voice tight with the tears she was fighting, she tried to turn from him again.

He didn't allow her to. It was impossible to maintain his own anger in the face of her distress. He gathered her to him, forced her head against his chest. "I didn't."

After a moment, she got herself under control, looked up at him. "You could have." She swallowed hard. "I was so lonely on my birthday." A tear slid down her cheek. "No one knew, and even Beril forgot. I wanted you here, so much. But I can't bear to think that you were trying to get to me through such dangerous conditions. Can't bear to think of you trapped liked that, because of me."

He wiped the tears away. "Then don't think of it," he said quietly. "I've had many close calls, may well have many more. But it is not yet my time." He pressed a kiss on her forehead. "I would not have started home if I'd known how bad it was," he admitted. "But I wanted to be here, to be with you. Wanted you to know I remembered the date and why it was important. And I kept thinking the weather would improve. We've not had these kinds of rains in the autumn in living memory, and I had no way of knowing just how bad it was. All the way north, I kept thinking we'd surely ride out of them."

She took a shuddering breath, closed her eyes. "I'm sorry for my temper," she murmured. "It was bad enough thinking of you trapped in that rockslide. Realizing it was because of me…"

"Don't think of it, then,." he said again. "Although your birthday was a major factor, it was not the only one. I'd been gone from you and the Mark for far too long already. I needed to get home." He brushed her lips with a light kiss. "I considered getting home to you well worth a long, wet ride in the rain," he said. "But as I indicated, if I'd known it was that dangerous, I would certainly have waited somewhere."

"There's always danger of some kind," he reminded her gently. "Even the best riders get thrown by a suddenly spooked horse; there are still brigands and unsavory men who lurk in the dark, uncivilized corners of the world. And I'm always going to be trying to get back to you, to the Mark, as soon as I can, regardless of the date."

He wondered if she fully understood all that he was admitting to her.

She shivered, and he realized that with the heat of her temper fading, she was feeling the chill of the room again, even with the fire now burning brightly behind her. He stepped away for a moment, grabbed the blanket, draped it over her. With his arms once more tight around her, he rested his cheek on her head.

"I'd like nothing better than to take you back to bed and warm you properly," he murmured with regret. "But the hall will be stirring soon, and I must meet with the council."

She sighed against him. "Yes. They need an opportunity to plague you with questions about the number of sheep you expect to trade to Gondor next year."

He choked with laughter at her tone. "Oh, it is good to be home." Tilting her face back up, he kissed her. "I expect there will be a celebration in the hall tonight to welcome me and my men back, but afterwards, you and I will have our own celebration."

She looked over to the skin where they'd slept and loved, and smiled at him. "I thought we'd already done so."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "But there's still this matter of your birthday. I have gifts."

"You do?" Wonder came into her eyes. "Can I see them?"

He laughed at her. "No. Not until tonight."

She pretended to pout for a moment, then slipped her arms up around his neck, apparently trusting his arms to keep the blanket around her. "That's fine. I can wait. I've already had my best gift," she said, kissing him.

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A/N: I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter -- I hope this one lives up to expectations! There's still the gift-giving scene to come -- I'll try to post it before the weekend.

Thanks again for all your comments, and a special note to Shana1 -- I hope your guy comes home safely, and soon. And now, I'm off to watch the EE!