A/N: It seems people were most appreciative of Eomer being parted from his clothes in the previous chapter. Why am I not surprised? :-) Sadly I do not think there will be much cause to keep him naked in future instalments, but I will do my best to be creative. Meanwhile... on we go.

Chapter 19 – Eyes wide open

At last, the screaming was beginning to fade. Men. Horses. Death and destruction. So much loss. So much pain. Eowyn. No, no, not Eowyn!

Eomer fought his way past it all, reaching desperately towards the light. The Pelennor Fields belonged to the past. If he was there now, then it was just a dream - or rather a nightmare. Reality awaited. All he had to do was wake. Simply open his eyes and wake.

Consciousness returned slowly. He realised he could smell the damp, musty aroma of mud walls, and that there was a foul taste in his mouth. When he curled the fingers of his right hand, he felt course linen, and beneath his back was the familiar lumpiness of a mattress filled with horse hair. He moved slightly and felt cool air against his bare skin. Vaguely he registered the fact that he was lying on his back, all but naked. In the fuzzy world between unconsciousness and alertness, the latter fact was simply something to note, to file away as he moved forward. The sudden touch of something cold against his face made him start. It tracked from his forehead down his right cheek and then along the side of his neck and across his chest. He swatted at it irritably.

"Eomer?" A soft female voice whispered his name. "Are you awake?"

Awake? Yes. He finally realised that he was indeed awake. Slowly he opened his eyes. Dark. Too dark to see. No, wait. He blinked. He was looking up at a ceiling made of rough wooden planks. Confusion washed over him. Where was he? Clearly not in Edoras. Not encamped either - this wasn't his tent. Where then?

"Thank the gods. I feared you would never wake."

The voice sounded to his right. Slowly he turned he head. And found himself looking at the face of a beautiful woman. She had dark hair that framed an oval face. Long lashed grey eyes. Full lips that begged to be kissed. She smiled at him, then reached out and cupped his cheek as a tear trickled down her own.

"The fever is gone. Thank the gods."

He tried to speak. To tell her not to cry on his behalf, but his lips were dry and cracked, and his tongue refused to form the words. Concern replaced the relief on her face. Turning away, she reached for something that he couldn't see, and then he felt her arm slide under his head. Carefully she lifted his head from the pillow.

"Drink this," she said.

A cup pressed against his lips. Obediently he took a sip and cool, sweet liquid filled his mouth. He'd expected water, but found his taste buds being ravaged by the flowery sweetness of honey. When he swallowed there was a bitter aftertaste that was the same foul taste that he had awoken too. Medicine of some kind? Or... poison? He remembered now. He'd been poisoned. But not by this woman. She was... He hunted for a name. Oh yes, Lothiriel. He took another sip from the cup, and was relieved that she then removed it, letting him sink back against the pillow. Tired, he was so very tired, but she was smiling down at him again and he wanted to respond. Slowly he reached up determined to wipe away the tear that still clung to her cheek. For a moment she looked puzzled but then he saw understanding in her eyes. She leaned into his touch, her gaze never leaving his face.

"So beautiful," he murmured. His hand fell away, the effort of holding his arm up too much for him. Sleep reclaimed him.

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"Erika, come quickly!" Lothiriel called. "He woke. Just briefly, but he was definitely awake and lucid." She was all but laughing with the relief of it as the young healer hurried through the doorway.

Erika rubbed sleep from her eyes as she crossed to the bed. She placed her hand against Eomer's forehead and smiled. "The fever has broken at last." Elfhelm was standing in the doorway now, and she turned to him. "The king is fortunate to have you as a friend. Your Goldenseal has no doubt saved his life."

"We all played our part," Elfhelm replied gruffly. "Including the king himself no doubt. Few men are as strong-willed." He glanced towards Lothiriel. "Did he say anything?"

Heat burnt her cheeks at the memory of his words and it was all she could do not to betray herself by brushing her fingers against the skin where moments before his hand had touched her. "Nothing of any importance," she said.

Elfhelm frowned. "Everything the king says is of importance."

Totally embarrassed now, Lothiriel stared down at the sleeping man on the bed. "It was personal," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Personal?" Elfhelm looked stunned.

Erika shot him a dark look that clearly made him think better of whatever else he was going to say, and then she smiled across the bed at Lothiriel. "Why don't you rest a while? He is likely to slumber for some time yet and you look in need of sleep for yourself. When he wakes again I'll be sure to call you."

Unless Lothiriel was very much mistaken there was a softness to Erika's tone and words that implied she too believed that Lothiriel had feelings for the king. Had Breda been gossiping behind her back? It wouldn't surprise her to learn that was so.

"Shoo," Erika said gently, gesturing Lothiriel towards the doorway.

Oddly reluctant though she was to leave Eomer's side, Lothiriel did as she was bid, brushing past Elfhelm as she moved into the living area. He handed her his cloak as he followed her, and then he nodded towards the ladder leading up into the loft. "Breda and the children are up there. I dare say there's room for one more. You'll find it warmer and more comfortable than down here on the floor."

Nodding gratefully she crept up the ladder. Elfhelm was right. The children were all cuddled around their mother, leaving room between some sacks of grain for another sleeper. She wrapped his cloak around herself and made herself as comfortable as possible on the reed-strewn wooden floor. Her last thought as she fell asleep was that she had no right feeling so pleased that Eomer of Rohan considered her beautiful.

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Summoned by Ceorl! The order stuck in Eothain's gullet as he headed through the Golden Hall to the First Marshall's quarters - rooms that had once belonged to Prince Theodred. How had things come to such a pass that he was at the beck and call of this interloper? And what possessed the queen to invest such authority in one who was unknown in Rohan until a few brief weeks ago? He tugged uncomfortably at his tunic, aware that such thoughts could easily be labelled as treason. Still he could not stop them from forming. This was madness. There was no other word for it.

He slowed his pace as his gaze fell on two men in blue tunics standing guard outside the Marshall's door. That was another thing that set Eothain's teeth on edge. Edoras was protected by the eored he served in. There was no need for another guard. Their presence was an insult. He moved to walk between them and suddenly found his way barred by their swords.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"The Marshall's time is precious," the guard to his left said, his tone superior. "He does not wish to be disturbed with trivial demands."

Eothain's fists balled at his side. He recognised the man as a labourer from the stable. Clearly putting him in a uniform and giving him a sword had made him think he was something special. However, like most of the able-bodied men at Edoras the chances were that he had, at one time or another, fought besides either Théoden or Eomer. With great effort Eothain forced himself to be polite. "The Marshall requested my presence."

The guard exchanged a look with his companion, and then both men sheathed their swords. "You'd best not keep him waiting, then."

Such insolence. Eothain burst into the room, barely able to contain his indignation. "It seems your personal guard is somewhat lacking in manners," he said.

Ceorl looked up from the map he was studying. He frowned. "Do you consider manners more important than the ability to wield a sword when choosing new men for the eored?"

"Of course not, but..."

"Then pray do not see fit to offer council where it is not required." He beckoned Eothain to the table. "Come, I wish to show you something." Stung by the rebuke, Eothain reluctantly did as he was told.

Ceorl stabbed a finger at the north-eastern border. "I have heard that orcs are still causing trouble in this region. I want you to take the eored there. If we patrol the lands for the next three months, these creatures will know..."

"Three months?" Eothain couldn't believe his ears. "Winter will be upon us. The conditions will be..."

"Yes, yes. It will be difficult I know. But come the spring we will reap the rewards when our new-born foals are running freely on the plains without fear of orcs."

"The conditions will be more than difficult," Eothain growled. "The north-eastern border is extremely exposed and there is nowhere large enough to act as a base for a full eored."

"Then you will have to make a camp," Ceorl said.

"Camp? When snow and blizzards will be the daily fare?"

"If you are not up to the task, I am sure I can find someone who is." Ceorl's eyes flashed with challenge. Daring Eothain to give up his position.

He would not give the man the satisfaction of that. Better a suicide mission, than to leave Rohan completely in the hands of such a villain. He changed tack, hoping to divert the Marshall through the use of logic. "You would have us leave Edoras unprotected for three months?"

"No, of course not. My ill-mannered guard, as you choose to describe them, will see that Edoras - and her queen - are both kept safe." Ceorl poured himself a goblet of wine, pointedly not offering any to Eothain. "Now, I have much to do as I am sure you have also. I want the eored mustered and ready to leave by dawn tomorrow, Eothain. You can manage that, can you not?"

For a moment, Eothain did not move. His fingers itched to wipe the smug look off Ceorl's face, and only his warrior discipline prevented him from doing so.

Ceorl held his gaze coolly. "Is there something else, Eothain?"

He didn't dare speak because without doubt the words would have him seeing the inside of Meduseld's dungeons. Teeth gritted, Eothain gave a slight bow of his head in acceptance of the order. Then, with an abrupt turn he strode from the room.

He had thought the nightmares had ended at the Black Gates of Mordor. How wrong he had been.