Lisswyn returned to the King, eased down next to him. Next to her sat bowls of water, both heated and cool. One of the bowls of hot water held some of the plants she had harvested. She had left them steeping even before she had gone to clean up.

She touched the King's face. Maegwen was correct. He did not seem to be as warm, but she was not sure that was a good thing. She felt his arm, frightened by how rigid and cold it felt. Traced the coldness back to his chest, up his throat.

There was no more time.

But now came the task she had been dreading. Standing on feet that weren't as steady as she might have wished, she took her knife over to fire. Wiped it as clean as she could, then thrust it into the fire. When it glowed red, she judged it to be as clean as fire could make it.

Returning to the King, she examined his shoulder again. The wound had scabbed over. It would have to be reopened in order to the get the healing plant into him.

Gritting her teeth, as it seemed what she was doing was so wrong, she sliced the scab away. Sliced deep into the muscle. Then she picked up two of the wet leaves -- one from each plant -- twisted them together, and tucked tucked them into the wound.

Knowing that the poison was spreading, she made another slice in his arm a few inches below the wound, and packed it with more of the herbs. And again, down closer to his elbow. Everything in her cried out as she sliced into areas that weren't injured. It was wrong. It had to be. But this was one bit of lecture she remembered from her mother. It was essential to get as much of the medicine in him as possible, and there was no time to be subtle.

She made two more shallow cuts, one just below the wound rather than on his arm, and one on the other side of it. The poison was spreading, and bringing his arm back would do no good if the poison reached his heart.

Taking another clean cloth, she dipped it in the hot water, then packed it around his arm. And covered that with yet another cloth, one that was dry. The arm needed to be as warm as possible.

Next, she cooled some of the water the herbs had been steeping in by mixing it with the cold, then began dribbling it into his mouth. Watched him swallow several times.

Then she sat back, and waited.

If she were in time, he would become more active. More restless. The arm would begin to warm, starting at the top, near the wound.

Then would come the worst part of all.

The arm was in effect, dying. The healing plants could reverse that, but in some manner she did not understand, it was excruciatingly painful when the arm began coming back.

She remembered her mother's tears as she recounted men describing it as worse than fire, that the pain could not have been worse if they had been holding their limb in the fire. As a young girl, she had experienced a sort of horrified fascination with the tale of men who had taken their own sword and attempted to cut off limbs that were being brought back from the numbing poison.

It was supposed to be one of the worst pains known to man, and she had just condemned the King to suffer through it. And even then, even if the healing herb worked, there was no guarantee he would have full use of the arm.

He was beginning to move restlessly and occasional soft groans were escaping from his lips.

Lisswyn leaned over and wiped his forehead again, more to have something to do than anything else. The waiting was hard. She had some herbs that could provide limited ease from pain, but they wouldn't be effective – and could possibly be counter-productive – now.

Grimly, she carefully pulled back the cloths packed around his arm, moved the wet ones.

It was discolored, red in places, white in others, with darker patches appearing here and there. She had no idea if it were normal for it to do so. It looked rather frightening. She touched the area just below the wound, and relief surged through her. It was no longer as cold. The arm was beginning to come back.

"Lisswyn!" She looked up to see Eoden coming into the room, an alarmed look on his face. "The orcs are below the cave."

Her stomach shifted, knotted with fear. They had so few options to protect themselves. She looked over at the King, still sleeping fitfully.

Getting to her feet as quickly as she could, she moved towards the boy. "Show me where they are."

The front cave was crowded. Several of the women and most of the children were huddled there, apparently listening. Impatient with them, she shook her head. They should know better. All it would take would be for one of the little ones to cry out and their hiding place would be known to the orcs.

She moved through them, murmuring reassurances and asking some of them to take the children to the furthermost cave.

Finally, it was just her, the boys, and Maegwen.

"Maegwen, go make sure the fire burns hot, and prepare the wood." If the orcs came into the caves, they would try to defend themselves with fire. It was not much of a defense against arrows and swords, but it was all they had.

Maegwen nodded and left, and Lisswyn laid down on the floor of the cave, motioned Eoden to join her. Andric was stroking Firefoot, apparently in an effort to keep the King's horse quiet. She left him to it.

Quietly, she and Eoden crawled to the lip of the cave, looked over. Through the scrub trees, she could hear ugly cry of the orcs, the snarls of the wargs. They were circling around at the base of the cliffs, but were not yet on the path up.

What were they waiting for? Had they perhaps not spied the path, and it was just misfortune they lingered so near the trail? She closed her eyes, tried to concentrate. Orcs seldom spoke in the language of men, choosing rather to use their own foul speech. And the distance between the cave entrance and the bottom of the trail made it harder to hear.

But she desperately wanted to know what they were saying. Wanted to know how much danger she and the others were in.

She considered trying to slip down the path, decided against it. She was needed here, and if the orcs were going to attack them, knowing about it a few moments earlier wouldn't make any difference. And there was a greater chance of her being seen if she left the relative safety of the caves.

Then she clearly heard one voice, was able to understand one phrase. And felt her blood go cold. Eoden stiffened next to her, and she knew he had heard it, too. "…Rohan king."

She motioned to Eoden to be silent, and crawled back, away from the edge. Into the next cave. Aware of how sound would carry, she kept her voice quiet, even then. "They are looking for him."

Eoden nodded. He had figured that out as well.

"I do not believe they know we are here. They certainly do not know he is with us, or they would already have attacked." He looked less sure of this, and Lisswyn wondered if he were right, if she was just offering false assurances.

"I must return to the King. Keep watch." She looked back into the front cave. "Try to keep the horse quiet." She turned back to Eoden. "But if they start up the path, send Andric back to warn us. We will need a moment or two to arm ourselves with the fire brands."

He nodded, and Lisswyn returned to the king.

His movements were increasingly restless. She checked his arm again, touched his hand. He jerked at her light touch, and she grimaced. The extreme sensitivity would soon turn to pain.

He shifted again, and she looked up to find him watching her.

"My arm." He struggled to get the words out.

"The arrow was poisoned, my Lord. With the numbing poison."

He closed his eyes for a moment, gave a slight nod.

"My lord…" she needed to warn him, but could not find the words. "Your arm will soon become quite …painful."

His voice was rough, and still weak when he spoke again. "I am familiar with the poison." He closed his eyes again. "…and with the treatment."

She frowned. Had he been poisoned himself? Or watched one of his men suffer through it? Either was possible. Worried, she tried to remember if her mother had mentioned cumulative effects. If his body was familiar with the poison, would it be better or worse for him?

She looked at him again. His face was flushed, his jaw tight. The pain was increasing. Then she remembered her mother describing the agonized screams of men during the treatment, and a new fear came to her. She leaned over him.

"Sire…can you hear me?"

He opened his eyes, looked at her impatiently. Gave a slow nod.

"The orcs are right below the entrance to the caves." That got his attention. He glanced around the cave, as if trying to think of some way they could protect themselves. "My Lord…" She hesitated again, and he returned his gaze to her.

How to say what had to be said without insulting him? She finally opted to simply blurt the words out. "If you are familiar with the poison, you know how bad it is going to be. But you must not cry out or make any noise." She faltered. Such a ridiculous thing to have to say. But her mother's stories scared her. "Sound travels."

She watched various emotions pass across his face: insult, acceptance, weariness.

Then he spoke, his voice so soft and weak it was hard for her to hear. "Place a piece of cloth in my mouth, place something else in my good hand. I need to be able to grip something."

The effort to speak seemed to have worn him completely out, and he closed his eyes.

Lisswyn did as he asked, inserting a clean piece of cloth into his mouth. He bit into it. Then she placed another wad of cloth into his right hand, closed his fingers around it. He gave a brief nod of thanks.

She sat back again, listened. The caves were silent.

Long moments passed, and he shifted again. The pain was growing worse. She could see it in the clench of his jaw, the rigid way he held himself, as if trying to ward off the pain.

She bowed her head for a moment, weary herself. Why did the orcs have to pick now to pause outside the caves?

He moved and she looked up. His eyes were open, and there was a wildness there that unnerved her. He was clenching his teeth on the cloth so hard she could see the veins that ran beneath the skin near his eyes. A sound, a quiet moan escaped him despite his efforts. He turned his head away, as if shamed by the weakness, and she saw the muscles in his good arm clenching with effort.

Sweat popped out on his forehead, and she wondered if it was due to the stress, the fever finally breaking, or something else. Was it good or bad?

He looked at her again, and then he closed his eyes. Seemed to bear down, as if trying to silently ride a particularly bad wave of pain. Another quiet noise escaped, and he moved his head again, as if fighting it.

Then she saw it. A single tear sliding out of his eye. He was weeping from the pain, and for just a moment, her heart stopped, then simply shattered. Eorlingas men were not afraid to cry over the loss of a loved one. They saw nothing shameful in the shedding of tears over the death of a fellow rider. Even a beloved horse. But they did not cry in response to physical pain.

He turned his head again, away from her, and she wondered if she should leave him. If shame at what he must perceive a weakness was making this unendurable process even worse for him.

The noise came again, seemed to be ripped from his throat despite all his efforts to be silent. It was a little louder than before, and she saw him jerk in knowledge of that. Saw him clench his jaw harder, something she would not have thought possible. Another tear leaked out.

How long could it go on? She had no memory of her mother telling her long it took for the limb to come back. Would he eventually pass out from the pain? She could only hope so.

Was it possible to die from pain?

He was looking at her again, a desperate look in his eyes, as if he was fighting a battle he wasn't sure he could win.

Afterward, she had no memory of thinking about, let alone choosing to do what she did. It was simply, suddenly, unbearable to sit and watch him suffer. To have nothing with which to ease him. She reached her hand up, toward his injured shoulder, and with the other, gently placed it over his mouth. Saw panic, fear flare in his eyes. She did not look away as she touched the wound. Squeezed, while tightening her hand on his mouth.

His entire body convulsed, and even through the hand she held against his mouth, he made a noise she would hear in her nightmares for the rest of her life. Then he went limp.

She was trembling. She touched his face, knew hers was wet with tears. He was unconscious, and she could only pray that when he awakened, the pain would be easing. That the orcs would be gone. She slipped the cloth out of his mouth, so he would not choke.

It took long moments before she felt steady enough herself to stand. She needed to check on the orcs.

Eoden looked up when she slipped into the outer cave. And frowned. "You do not look well."

Lisswyn wasn't surprised. She was still trembling, both at what she had watched the King endure and by her own actions. She ignored the question, and motioned toward the cave entrance.

"Are they still there?"

He nodded, kept his voice so low she had to strain to hear him. "They seem to be settling down, perhaps for the night."

Wonderful.

"Come find me if anything changes."

He nodded, and she turned, slipped back into the room where the King was. He was still unconscious.

Slightly ill from the knowledge she had caused that state, she continued into the back rooms, looking for the other women.

She found them in one of the rooms furthest away from the cave entrance. Some of the children were sleeping, some simply sitting quietly on their mother's laps. This cave was one of three with a firepit, as it had a natural chimney going up through the rock. A fire was blazing and nearby were the branches they would use to defend themselves if attacked.

Hilde was currently using the fire for other purposes, though. Lisswyn sniffed, realized the older woman was making a chicken soup or stew.

"You slaughtered one of the chickens?"

"He will need meat."

They had a small flock of the birds, but only very rarely killed one, judging that they would need the meat more in the winter. It was a good theory, but the chickens were not laying well, meaning their numbers were not increasing.

"It will be good for us as well." She managed a smile before heading back to where the King was.

He was still unconscious. She checked his pulse, touched his face. He no longer felt feverish. Then she simply sat next to him, waited.

What if, in trying to spare him agony in the only way she knew, she'd harmed him more? What if he never woke? What if the pain lasted longer due to her actions? The thoughts haunted her, and sickness settled low in her belly. She bowed her head, rested it on her knees.

She was still sitting that way when Maegwen came in.

"How is he?"

Lisswyn shook her head, too weary and heartsick to try and come up with an answer.

Maegwen nodded, accepting the non-answer for what it was. "The soup is done. Shall we bring you some?"

She shook her head. "I will eat later. After he awakes."

"Very well." The other woman kept her voice soft, glanced toward the cave opening where her sons kept watch over the orcs. "The others are trying to keep the children quiet in the farthest cave."

"The children know something is going on, and it is still quite early in the evening," Lisswyn said. "But when it gets a little later, the women should try to get the rest of the children to sleep, then try to sleep themselves. The orcs appear to be sleeping for the night, we may as well do the same."

Maegwen nodded. "I will go check on the boys, then help with the other children, but come get me if you need anything." She nodded toward the king, then turned, left the room.

Lisswyn resumed her silent vigil.

His arm was on fire. Burning, burning. But never burning away, the pain never eased. And in the back of his mind was betrayal. Someone had been caring for him, had turned against him. And the burning, the sharp agony intercut with waves of excruciating pain, went on.
"How is the King?"

It was only when Hilde came to stand next to her that Lisswyn realized time had passed. She didn't remember sleeping, but was not sure she had been completely awake, either. She grimaced. Another way she'd failed him, to add to the list.

"He is still unconscious," she finally responded.

"The pain must be terrible indeed to knock such a strong man out."

She didn't reply, couldn't. The fear that he would never wake was growing.

"Do you need anything?"

Lisswyn shook her head, and the woman turned, quietly slipped out again.

Even as Hilde walked away, Lisswyn felt him shift. She looked down, relieved he was awake. Until she saw his eyes.

Flat, cold, hard. He was furious.

She swallowed. "My Lord…how is your arm?"

"You will not touch me again. You will not tend to me again. If I must have a keeper, have one of the other women stay with me." His voice was still weak, but livid in tone. He closed his eyes, dismissing her.

She did not pretend to misunderstand, but his words were like a physical blow. For a moment, all she could do was sit, frozen, while she bled inside from an invisible wound.

Then she swallowed. She would not let him see the hurt, even if it was deserved. Her voice quiet, she said, "Very well," as she started to stand.

"Do you think me such a coward?"

Startled, she looked at him. He was glaring at her.

Her mouth opened, closed, but nothing came out. "I—what?"

"That I am so weak, so cowardly, as to betray you to the orcs with my screams?"

Was that what he thought? She forced back the tears. "No, sire. It is not you that is the coward, but me."

He was still very angry, but puzzlement registed now on his face. He motioned her to continue.

She took another deep breath. Control was so important. She had already shamed herself. She would not add to it. "I could not bear to see you in such pain. I thought that if you were unconscious, you would not feel it. Would not have to struggle against it."

Ruthlessly, he continued cutting her. "The pain was present, even while I was senseless. Your skills as a healer leave something to be desired if you can not stand to see pain."

There was nothing to say. Nothing to add. He was right. "I will go get Hilde."

Again she started to stand.

"Wait. What of the orcs?" To prevent her from leaving, he grabbed her arm with his right hand.

As his hand clamped down on one of the raw spots on her arm, she could not prevent a soft cry of pain, had to close her eyes against a wave of dizziness.

Eomer released her arm, stared at her. For the first time, he noticed her pallor. "What is wrong with your arm?"

Her eyes still closed, she shook her head, took a shallow breath. She finally looked at him.

"It is nothing. A scratch." She rubbed her head, as if trying to remember something. Frowned. Took another shallow breath. "The orcs are still at the bottom of cliff, but they seem to be resting rather than—"

He cut her off. "Show me your arm."

Startled, she looked at him. "I am fine, my Lord. I will go get Hilde."

Had he always been so ineffective at getting people to do what he wanted? He did not think so.

He took her hand, held it firmly. Allowed his tone to be very sharp. "You will show me."

She looked as if she wanted to argue, but instead reluctantly slid the loose sleeve up to near her shoulder.

Her entire arm was scraped and bruised, with raw patches where it looked as if the skin had simply been sanded away. The area where he had grabbed her was now seeping blood. Surely he had not grabbed her with that much force. He couldn't have -- although he was feeling stronger, even his good arm was still weak.

"What happened?"

She shook her head, made as if to stand again. Perhaps he had just met his sister's match in respect to stubborness. He increased his grip on her hand, then realized that her palm was also scratched and scraped.

"You will tell me. Now."

Her nod was one of weary acquiescence. "I went up to the cliffs to collect the healing plants I needed to counter the poison. I slipped on the way down."

He looked at her suspiciously, not at all convinced she was telling him the truth. And realized her hair was loose, hanging next to her face. She had not worn it that way earlier.

On a hunch, he reached up with his right hand and carefully tucked the golden strands behind her ear…and had his guess confirmed as he felt the knot, saw her flinch.

"Where else are you injured?"

She sighed, rubbed her face. Seemed to give up. "I think my ribs are bruised."

"Or cracked."

"I do not believe so. I was able to make it quite a distance after the fall. If I were seriously injured, that would not have been the case."

She tried again to stand, and this time he allowed her to do so. She took a few steps, then turned to look at him.

Her voice quiet, she said, "You are laboring under a false assumption, Sire. You have had the great misfortune to be injured while among people who have no healer. I am certainly not one. I am but a weaver whose mother was very accomplished in the healing arts. Alas, I am not her, and you have suffered the more for it."

She walked out, leaving him to wonder how he had moved from feeling betrayed to guilty in such a short period of time.

Lisswyn walked carefully to the cave where the food was. Her arm was throbbing where he had grabbed it, and she knew her reserves of strength were at their end.

Maegwen looked up, frowned. But before she could speak, Lisswyn cut her off. "The King appears to be doing much better. I suspect he could handle some of the soup now."

Maegwen nodded. "What of you?"

"I am going to go rest for a while. I will have some when I awake." She paused, then continued. "Have Hilde sit with him if he seems to warrant it."

She turned and walked to the room where she and Brynwyn slept with several of the other women. It was empty at the moment, and her relief nearly made her dizzy. She crawled into the bed, and let the tears come.

She did not notice her sister standing in the door.

A/N: Yes, it's true. I've taken liberties with the poison and the counter-agents, and can only ask for your forgiveness. Although Tolkien said he thought of Middle Earth as having been our world many, many ages ago, I've opted (at least in this part of the story) to focus on the fantasy element of things in respect to an unusual poison and cure.

Again, thanks to all who are reading this. I hope you continue to enjoy it.