A/N: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed the first two parts, particularly those of you who don't normally read OC stories. Any and all feedback is appreciated.
A/N2: I should probably have noted at the beginning of the first part that this story will be quite angsty in places.
"Stop here." They had reached the scrub trees at the bottom of the hill where the caves were, and Lisswyn thought it prudent to guide the horse up the path. It was wide enough, stable enough for horses to manage it, but it would be easier if she were guiding him.
Firefoot stopped, and Lisswyn had the uneasy feeling that it was more at her words than because the King had pulled back on the reins. He was barely conscious.
She slipped off the horse, and moved up to where Brynwyn sat, clinging to the animal's mane. "Here. Let me help you off…be very careful not to jostle him."
Brynwyn eased to the ground, then anxiously looked back up.
"Run ahead, and tell Hilde and Maegwen that I'm bringing an injured man up. Have them start heating water, and make a pile of our bedcovers. And get my healing herbs out."
The little girl ran off, up the path, and Lisswyn looked back at the King. Without Brynwyn in front of him, he was now slumped forward against the horse's neck.
She looked at Firefoot. "You must not drop him -- do you understand? It is up to you to make sure he stays mounted." The horse whuffed at her, as if he did understand, and taking the reins, Lisswyn turned and started up the path. She picked her way carefully among the rocks, glad for the coverage of the trees.
The path wound up and through some large boulders before the cave entrance became visible. It was large enough to take the horse in, but the boulders blocked its visibility unless you were directly in front of it. She was counting on that hiding them from the orcs.
Brynwyn was waiting, and helped her guide Firefoot in. The first cave in the system was large enough for the horse to be stabled there, and Lisswyn paused once they were inside. The entrance between this cave and the next was more narrow; they would have to get the King down and into the next room on their own.
"Sire? My lord?"
He nodded his head, but did not speak, and Lisswyn looked at her sister. "Get Maegwen and Hilde. Hurry."
It took all of them to get him down, but much to Lisswyn's relief, the King was finally as comfortable as she could make him on the pile of their bed coverings in one of the larger caves.
Hilde bustled back in with a pot of hot water. Lisswyn nodded. "Bring more, please. And cool water as well." The older woman left, and Lisswyn turned to look once more at the King.
It was time to try and take the arrow out, something she both feared and longed to have done. But first his armor must come off, or it would make removing the arrow even more difficult.
Or at least as much of the armor as she could get to while the arrow was still in him. Maegwen and the other women were silent behind her as she began unfastening and unbuckling.
The leather overdressing was simple to unfasten, and even remove, and without it, it was easier to see how the arrow had slipped through the rings of the mail to penetrate his shoulder, hitting the exposed area between his breastplate and left shoulder's spaulder. The space between the pieces of his armor was so small…it had been a lucky shot indeed for the orc that had let loose the arrow.
There was dried blood around the wound, but very little seepage. That would change, of course, when the arrow was removed. The irony of these kinds of wounds was that even as they were inflicting hideous pain, they were preventing loss of blood.
They had so few clothes, so little cloth. But she had to have bandages to staunch the wound when the bleeding started. She went to the box where she kept her things and pulled out her remaining two shifts, her wool skirt, and a wool dress. She had no idea how much blood there would be.
"What are you doing?" Hilde, returning with more water, gave her a disapproving look as she answered her own question. "You're not using all of those on him? That's all you have."
"I will use what I need."
"That is foolishness. We must do what we can for him, of course. But without warm clothes, you will freeze when the cold comes."
Lisswyn didn't answer. She knew Hilde's attitude would probably be different if she knew who the man was, but there was no time for such a conversation. And in the end, she would have done the same for any such injured man. Her feelings about it might have been different, but her feelings were her own and would have to wait until later to be examined as well.
"Brynwyn, bring me the candle." She pointed to a spot near the King's shoulder. "I need you to hold it right there, as still as you can."
She tore her lightweight shifts into strips and dipped them in the hot water Brynwyn had brought. Then, finally, Lisswyn looked at the arrow. Frowning, she reached over, carefully touched it. Though there was no question it was, in fact, an orc arrow, it was much thinner than any she'd seen before, and presumably lighter. If so, it might have done less damage than what was normally seen in an arrow injury. But why? What would be the purpose in such a thing?
The king groaned softly, and she jerked her thoughts back to the task at hand. While relieved the damage might not be as bad as what she'd seen before, the arrow still had to be removed, and there was no one else to do it
Her mother had been the healer; Lisswyn was only a weaver. Of the women present, she had the most medical knowledge due to having assisted her mother. But that had been years earlier and her knowledge was limited.
She was desperately afraid it wasn't going to be enough.
She folded one of the wet strips and laid it next to the wound, so it would be available when she'd removed the arrow, to begin staunching the blood. Then she took a deep breath…and jumped when he suddenly reached for her arm with his uninjured hand. He clasped her hand.
"You think too much. It must come out." His voice was weak, slurred, but determined.
"I know, sire." She looked at him, bit her lip. Nodded. "I am sorry." Sorry for the pain she was about to inflict, sorry she had so little to ease him with.
He seemed to understand, and squeezed her hand before releasing it to take hold of the bed covers under him.
Lisswyn began to move the arrow in an attempt to loosen it. Though firmly lodged, it didn't seem to have penetrated as deeply as she might have expected, and after a moment, she realized it was being held in place partially by the chain mail surrounding it. Fresh blood began to flow out from the wound as she moved the arrow, and a noise of pain escaped him. She spared him a glance, saw he was gritting his teeth, and her stomach clenched at the thought of the pain she was causing him. This was why she'd not chosen to follow her mother in becoming a healer.
Pushing those thoughts away, she turned back to the arrow. His good fortune, if you could call it such, was that the arrowhead appeared to have struck bone, but not broken it. Something other than his mail must have slowed the penetration of the arrow. His shield perhaps.
She wanted to avoid doing any more damage than was necessary, but did not want to delay having it out. Unfortunately, the weapon was designed for the purpose of doing as much damage as possible, and she finally gave up and pulled, as gently as possible, but with determination.
It started to slide out, more easily than she might have expected, but the pain was apparently too great for him. He went white, and passed out. A tear escaped and rolled down her face, and she angrily wiped it away with her shoulder. She had no time for the weakness of tears.
She pulled again, determined to get the arrow out quickly, but without risking part of the tip breaking off. Perhaps it was a blessing that he was unconscious, would not feel the arrow being removed.
She suppressed the fear she'd heard his last words spoken.
It was coming lose, and with him unconscious, she felt free to gently move it back and forth until finally, with a fresh gush of blood, it came completely out of the wound. She laid it aside to be examined later, and worked at staunching the blood.
It took some effort, but she was able to pull back his chain mail enough to expose the wound. There really did seem to be less damage than an arrow normally left. The wound was smaller and shallower. That could only be a good thing. She wet several strips of cloth before piling them on the wound in hopes that they wouldn't stick later. She had no idea if it would work.
The cloths were turning red as fast as she added them on top of the wound.
When she was starting to believe he would really bleed to death in front of her, she remembered the healing herbs she'd gathered the week before. Relief and hope nearly made her light-headed.
She looked down at the pouch of herbs. Afraid to take her hands off the wound, she nodded to it.
"Maegwen…hand me one of those dark green leaves."
The other woman scuttled over and picked up one of the only dark leaves in the pouch.
Her mother had referred to the plant as having blood clotting properties, but Lisswyn had never seen it demonstrated, and could only hope for the best. Rolling the leaf up, she dipped it in the water, then eased the blood-soaked bandages up and laid the leaf in the wound. It was not the normal way of using herbs, but there was no time to make a proper paste out of the plant.
She dropped the bandage back in place, applied pressure.
And realized he was beginning to sweat. She brushed his hair off his forehead with her other hand, and her worst fears were confirmed. He was feverish. An infection was setting in.
"You will not die on me." She muttered it under her breath, or believed she had, until she saw Brynwyn start, and regretted her words. There was no use upsetting her sister needlessly.
She looked up. "He said he would be fine, remember? I was just reminding him."
Brynwyn nodded, her eyes too big in a pale face.
Lisswyn reached for another strip of cloth, but wet this one in cool water and placed it on his forehead.
All there really was to do now was wait. Hopefully, the herb would help with the clotting, and the bleeding would slow. Then she could worry more properly about the infection and his fever.
"Hilde." She looked up at the other woman. "I need you to place your hand here, over the bandages, and apply steady pressure. Try not to move it around."
The other woman took over, and Lisswyn was able to step back for a moment.
As she moved to another bowl of hot water, and began washing the blood off her hands – and she simply would not think about whose blood it was – she motioned for Maegwen to come with her.
"Where are your boys?"
The other woman looked startled. "They are up with the rider's horse. Why?"
Lisswyn hesitated. The boys were young, ten and twelve, but they were bright. Responsible. Did she have the right to ask Maegwen to risk them? She didn't know.
She wiped her hands on one of the cloths, then looked the other woman in the face.
She motioned to the King. "He was attacked by orcs. Orcs on wargs." Maegwen grimaced and Lisswyn continued. "I do not know where, or how far. But he was with other riders…Maegwen, we must find them if we can. But it is dangerous to be outside the caves with the orcs around."
The other woman was nothing if not astute. "And you think to send my boys to look for the other riders." She frowned. "Why worry about that now? They may all be dead. Are probably assuming he is. If they're not, it's not going to make any difference whether we find them or not, if he doesn't survive."
"They will be looking for him, even if they think he is dead. And there might be one among them with more medical knowledge than I have." Lisswyn heard the desperation in her voice. "If they are out there, if there are any left alive, we must find them."
She hesitated, torn between knowing that the King's best chance might be in finding his men, if any had survived the attack, and in knowing she was asking her friend to risk the lives of her sons.
The King himself would probably want the boys to stay safe, in the cave. But she was bound, on every level, to do all she could do to help him.
"Maegwen…he is not just a rider. He is our King."
The other woman's mouth fell open. "Eomer-King? Are you sure?"
"Yes. I recognized him from the night the village was burned, and then he identified himself."
For a long moment, the other woman said nothing. Then she looked over at the prone form of the King, her expression a mixture of pity and fear, before turning toward the front of the caves. "I will let the boys decide." Though they both knew what choice the boys would make. They had watched their older brothers ride off to war, and been bitterly frustrated that they were too young to go. They would go off eagerly to see if they could find the King's men. And if anything happened to them, Lisswyn would spend the rest of her life feeling responsible.
She went back to Hilde, and could tell from the woman's expression that she had heard the conversation. Knew now whose life they were trying to save.
Lisswyn placed her hand over the bandages, then lifted them. Was it her imagination, or was the bleeding slowing? All she could do was hope. She slipped another clean, warm cloth on top of the wound, and replaced the bulk of the bandage.
She nodded for Hilde to resume pressure, then leaned over to pick up the arrow. She could not help but shudder as she held it. But she forced herself to examine the tip, relieved to find it appeared to be intact. None of it had broken off in the wound, then. But there was unusual coloring on it that did make her nervous. Poison?
Shaking her head, she wearily got to her feet. One thing at a time. She walked to the front of the caves, where she found the boys slipping into their cloaks. They looked at her expectantly. Serious, somber, but there was a hint of excitement there, too. They knew it wasn't a game, they'd known too many men who hadn't come back from the war for that. But they were young, and desperately wanted to be heroes.
She hoped they lived long enough to be thought so.
She studied them for a moment, wondered how to impress upon them that they shouldn't take foolish chances. "Go toward the hills, but be very careful. Listen and watch, and if you hear anything, hide… behind a rock, a tree, a bush, anything. And be very still. They're not looking for you, they might not notice." And perhaps the wargs would turn into harmless kittens, too. "Look for any sign of a battle. We found the King about a mile from here, so his men may be quite a bit further away than that. Go as far as you dare this afternoon, then find a place to spend the night. There are a few farms in that direction – they would most likely take you in, and you can ask if they've seen any riders." It would probably be all too obvious if the farmstead had encountered the orcs. "Start back here early in the morning."
"Shouldn't we keep looking?" The oldest boy, Eoden, wondered.
"No. Not until you come back and let us know what you've found. The following day, if necessary, you can go back out and go in another direction." Concerned that he not take matters into his own hands in terms of the search, she added, "The King may awaken by then, and be able to tell us better what direction to search. It would be foolish to risk your lives searching in the wrong place, would it not?"
He nodded, convinced, then hesitated. "Is he going to live, Lisswyn?"
She took a deep breath, pushed back the fear. "I don't know. But we will do all in our power to help him. My hope is that one of his riders is a more skilled healer than I, and that is why we must try to find them. But if we don't, or if they know no more than I, then we will still do our best and trust that it is enough."
He nodded, then looked at his mother for a long moment before turning and motioning his brother out of the cave. The younger boy hesitated for a moment, then followed.
Lisswyn stood, watched them go. She could feel Maegwen's silence behind her. The other woman had lost her husband and two oldest sons in the war, and Lisswyn again wondered if she'd had any right to ask her to risk these two as well.
She felt the other woman's hand settle on her shoulder. She turned, looked into the Maegwen's somber face.
"He must live, Lisswyn. Although the war in the south has been won, there is still much uncertainty. We can not afford to be without a strong king, or a period of wondering who will rule. And with the White Lady set to marry Faramir of Gondor…" her voice faded, and she was silent for a moment. "My boys will live," she added quietly. "And if they do not, that will not mean you were not right in asking them to go."
Lisswyn reached up and touched Maegwen's hand. Always, there was an assumption that it was the bravery of the men that won the wars. But the courage of a mother in sending her sons out to danger was no less remarkable.
She sighed, tired, and went to tend the king.
She found Hilde still sitting next to him, holding the cloth on the wound. The woman could be abrupt and unintentionally rude, but was an absolutely stalwart friend. Lisswyn stepped up, brushed his forehead. He felt warmer than he had before. "Has he spoken at all, Hilde?"
"No. He's moved about some, restless, but has not spoken."
Lisswyn nodded. "I'll need more hot water."
The other woman nodded, and slipped out. Lisswyn moved the bandages back and examined the wound. There was still a great deal of seepage, but the bleeding had slowed. That was good. But if his bleeding to death was no longer a concern, infection and poison, however, still were.
She looked up as Maegwen came in. "I'm going to try to slip him out of his mail. It will make tending his wound easier."
"And be more comfortable when he awakes, as well, I'd think."
If he awakes…please let him awaken.
They had to roll him to get the mail off, risking that the wound would begin to bleed again. But the risk seemed worth it if it meant easier access to the wound.
Removal of his undershirt was easier. She cut it off, grateful for more material to use as bandages. The soft material would be better on the wound than her wool dress, anyway. And she'd still need the wool for other tasks.
Hilde returned with the water, and she crumbled some of the herbs into it. Then she eased the bandage back and discovered that although the wound was bleeding again from where they'd moved him, it was not as bad as she had feared it would be.
She dipped cloth in the water and began to clean the wound, as gently as possible.
Although she said nothing to the other women, she did not like the sight of the wound. The bleeding had stopped, yes, but the wound looked too dark, too angry and swollen, for even this kind of injury.
It could be a straightforward infection, in which case there was still hope that the healing herbs she had could counter it. But if the arrow had been poisoned, as was her fear…
As her mother had explained it, there were two kinds of poisons – simple and complex. Simple was made from plants, and could be countered. Not easily, but it could be done. It would be a matter of finding the right antidote, and using it before he succumbed.
But a complex poison, one that had been made by the dark powers…the only antidote to those poisons was the healing touch of someone from elvish or Numenorean descent. And although she did not doubt that the new King of Gondor would come to heal the King of Rohan should the arrow prove to have been poisoned by the dark powers, she had no way of calling him. Even the fleetest steed would never make it to Minas Tirith in time.
So she held on to the hope that, at worst, this was simple poison. Saruman was gone, the Dark Lord of Mordor was defeated. And there was no one else left who could have been responsible for such complex poison. But what if the arrow was leftover from Saruman's dark betrayals?
Then she would watch him die. Another stray tear leaked down her cheek, and she didn't bother wiping it away.
The wound was finally as clean as she could make it. She packed it with more of one of the healing herbs, one her mother had used to prevent infection, and laid a clean bandage on it.
"Lisswyn?" She looked up, and saw Hilde in the narrow entrance to the next cave. "The other women have gone to their beds. Brynwyn is with Maegwen. I was just heading to my own rest…do you need anything else?"
Lisswyn managed a half-smile of gratitude for the other woman. "No. I will be fine."
"You should get some rest, if you can."
She shook her head. "I will be fine," she repeated. "There will be time to sleep later." She couldn't articulate a fear that if she slept, she would awaken to find the King dead.
Hilde nodded, understanding. "You will call me if you need anything?"
"I will. Thank you." She watched the older woman leave, then turned back to the King.
This time, she reached for the cooler water, and wetting a cloth, began wiping his face in an attempt to cool him.
He had such a strong face. Broad forehead, strong jaw. He was so obviously a warrior. She wiped the cloth over his brow, then down, across his cheeks, through his beard. Then back, once more. It was his eyes, now closed in fitful sleep, that told the rest of the story – that behind the warrior was a man of compassion. A man who would take the time to comfort and encourage a small, frightened girl.
Lisswyn dipped the cloth again, and this time wiped his throat, then down onto his chest. He was so strong, so muscular. And his chest was so broad! He had seemed big to her, but she'd assumed some of that was the armor. That did not appear to be the case. She moved the damp cloth through the light colored chest hair, and was amazed at how soft it seemed. She'd expected it to feel stiffer, more wiry.
She wet the cloth once more, and returned to his face, then noticed his mouth. She remembered her mother warning that a high fever needed to be cooled with liquid inside as well, if possible. But how to get him to drink when he was not awake?
She took another strip of clean cloth and dipped it into the bowl. Then, holding it above his lips, squeezed. Hopefully, it was not enough for him to choke on, but would at least get some moisture into him.
It went in, and he didn't seem to be choking, so a moment later she tried again. And then again, waiting between each bit.
And was finally rewarded when she saw his throat move. He had swallowed! That was surely a good sign.
Then she noticed his lips. Full lips, but dry and parched. She wet the cloth again, but instead of immediately dribbling the water into him, she touched it to his mouth. And again.
And found herself wondering what it would be like to have those lips pressed against hers. Knowing she had no business thinking such thoughts, she banished them before gently touching the cloth against his dried lips again.
She was long past the usual age of marriage, but due to the circumstances of her life and the village, had never had a chance at a relationship with a man her age. Had long since accepted it would never be, had determined upon the death of her father that her role would be to raise Brynwyn.
There had once been a time when she'd dreamed dreams of a wonderful young man riding into the village and courting her. But even then she wasn't sure she'd really been able to imagine what it would be like to be held and kissed.
Lisswyn dabbed at his lips again. And felt them move. Startled, she looked down, and saw his eyes were open. She felt a crimson blush of embarrassment crawling up her face, that he had awakened to find her touching him in such an intimate fashion. Or perhaps the blush was due to her thoughts.
"Sire?"
His eyes drifted close, then opened again. He muttered something, but it was hard for her to identify the words. Then they came clear. "Orcs. Wargs."
Ah. Delusional then. The part of her ashamed at how she'd been touching his lips was nearly relieved. "The orcs are gone, my Lord."
"On wargs."
"I know."
"How many?"
It seemed an effort for him to get the words out, so she dribbled a little more water into his mouth. "I do not know. You did not tell me." She knew he wasn't really aware of her, was merely speaking out of the fever-induced delirium. But perhaps on some level it mattered to him that a voice respond.
He moved restlessly, then tried again. "How many of you…in the caves?"
Lisswyn froze. He wasn't delusional. He knew where they were. She had to clear her throat as her embarrassment returned. "Sixteen, my Lord."
His eyes drifted close, and for a long moment, she thought he'd gone back to sleep.
"How many men?" He murmured the words, and she had to lean forward to hear them.
"None, sire. We are all women and children." She was confused by the question. But perhaps he hoped there were men who could be sent out against the orcs? If so, it was a false hope. The village had had few men before the wildmen burned it. Then most of those had gone to the war, and only two had returned, both gravely injured.
His eyes closed again, then slowly opened. He shifted restlessly. "Help me up."
Her eyes widened. "Sire, no…you are gravely injured."
He shifted again, and she realized he was actually trying to sit up. Not successfully, but the effort was there. She rested her hand on his chest, acutely aware that it was bare and he was awake, and gently pushed him back down.
"Orcs." His head rolled to the side, then back, as if with great effort. "Must be ready…where is my sword?" His voice faded, then came back. "…women and children..."
His eyes closed, as if the exertion of moving and speaking had finally sapped his strength, and Lisswyn again felt tears come to her eyes. He was feverish and in what must be agonizing pain, and yet he was worried about them.
She dipped her cloth into the water and once again wiped his face with it. The tears ran down her cheeks, and she made no effort to halt them.
The night passed slowly. She alternated between bathing him with the cool water, and in dribbling it into his mouth. But the fever was increasing, and if she was accomplishing anything, it was only to slow its rise.
Toward morning, she checked the wound, and frowned. It was still so dark and swollen, and a strange puffiness surrounded it, well out onto his shoulder, and down his arm.
Infected, or poisoned? Not for the first time, she wished desperately for her mother.
Wished she'd paid more attention to her mother's teachings on injuries and illness. If it was infected, all she could do was to keep the wound clean, pack it with the anti-infection plant, and try to keep him cool. If it was poison, she needed to find the antidote.
Fortunately, there were only two primary poisons used by orcs and their kinds, and an antidote for both grew near the caves. But neither would be easy to find. From one of them, she would need the flower, and it was nearly past its flowering time. And the other one grew between crevices in rocks.
If it was poison, she could delay no longer. As soon as it was full light out, she would need to leave to see if she could find the plants, and take her chances with the orcs. But then that meant she would not be here, would not be with him. And if it was merely an infection – as if such an infection could be simple – then she would be leaving him for nothing.
But if she didn't go, and it was poison, he would surely die.
That simplified the question. If it was only an infection, he would not necessarily be harmed by her leaving him in the care of Maegwen and Hilde and going out hunting for the plants. But if it was poison, and she didn't go…
If only she knew better how to tell the difference between infection and poison. It seemed desperately unfair that he was suffering so because as a young girl she had not paid adequate attention to her mother's attempts to pass on her training as a healer.
Waiting for dawn, she wiped him down with cool water again, and gave him as much water to drink as she dared.
"How is he?" Maegwen slipped quietly into the room.
"Unchanged, though he was conscious part of the night." Lisswyn paused, still moved by the exchange, the looked up at the other woman. "He worries for us, here in the caves." Glancing back down, she added, "as ill as he is, he frets that he can do nothing to protect us from the orcs."
Maegwen said nothing for a long moment. "He is a good man, and a good king."
Lisswyn looked up. "Maegwen, I believe the arrow may have been poisoned."
"I feared it was so. You looked very grave when you examined it."
"I must go further up into the hills, to see if I can find some of the plants that can counter the poisons."
The older woman nodded, accepting necessity for what it was. "What do you need for me to do?"
Lisswyn showed her how to give him water to drink, then stood. "I will check on Brynwyn, then be on my way. The sooner I go, the sooner my return."
"You will take the wildmen's sword?"
She shook her head. "No. It is too bulky and would slow me down. And you might need it here should the orcs find the caves."
Maegwen frowned. "That will leave you with no protection at all."
"I will take my hunting knife. I will have need of it for digging out the plants, anyway." Seeing the worry on her friend's face, she said more gently, "Maegwen, I do not really know how to use the weapon. I am not an swordwoman, and might do more damage than good with it. And it would be in my way."
She watched Maegwen slowly nod, then with a final glance at the King, she left the room.
Lisswyn found Brynwyn awake. She moved into the room, settled on the bedding next to the little girl.
"How fares the King?" Her voice was anxious.
"He is…unchanged." Lisswyn hesitated. "But I need more healing herbs." No need to mention the possibility of poison.
Brynwyn stared at her for a long moment in the dim candlelight, then nodded. "What of the orcs?"
"We do not know for sure they are still near. And I will be quiet and careful. But I must go."
She held out her arms, and Brynwyn moved into them, snuggled her head onto Lisswyn's shoulder. "I'm afraid."
"I know you are." She tilted the little girl's face up. "But I will be fine." She gently brushed the blond curls out of the way. "And if I am not, Maegwen will care for you." Brynwyn swallowed, nodded.
"I would ask you a favor, though."
"What?"
"The King does not know Maegwen. He woke during the night, and I would not have him awaken again and find only strange faces. I would like for you to go help her. Sit with him. Be there if he wakes."
Brynwyn nodded eagerly, and Lisswyn knew it had been the right course to take. It gave the little girl something to do, would distract her until Lisswyn could return.
She stood, pulled back the covers, helped her sister up.
"I will leave as soon as I have fetched my cloak and pouch. I will return as soon as I am able." She touched Brynwyn's cheek. "Take care of him while I am away."
A/N3: There's one more chapter after this one that's mostly OC interaction, due to the King's incapacitation, then he'll be awake and we'll be in his point of view some.
A/N4: Wondereye asked about names. Tolkien based the Rohirric language on Old English and Anglo/Saxon, so I did a search for those kinds of names. Some were too modern, but many seemed to fit with the ones Tolkien used. I even found 'Eomer' on one of the lists.