A/N: Many, many thanks to those who are reading and reviewing this. :) A few more comments at the bottom.

Eomer was alone, and not happy about it. Normally, a few minutes of solitude, something practically non-existent since he had become King, was a good thing. But at the moment, he had a great many questions that needed answers. What was the situation with the orcs? Possibly the best indication that he was not himself was that he had allowed Lisswyn's injuries to distract him from getting an answer to that question. It disturbed him now that he did not know how much danger they were in. And how was Firefoot? Where was Firefoot?

With no answers to those questions, he had too much time to think about other things. Like the fact that he could feel his arm but could not yet move it. Like the fact that he had repaid Lisswyn's care with what now seemed like unnecessary harshness.

He was not normally a cruel man. Short-tempered on occasion, yes, and that was something he had been trying to tame since inheriting the throne. Kings could ill afford to act impulsively or out of rash anger. But even once he had realized that she was upset by what she had done, he had continued trying to make his point.

He sighed, tried again to make a fist. Winced as some residual pain flashed along his arm, which remained lifeless.

"My lord?"

He looked up to see one of the older women coming toward him with two mugs. Behind her, Brynwyn carried something wrapped in a cloth. The woman sat her items down next to him, and the pleasant aroma told him one of the mugs was full of soup. Chicken soup. He was starving.

The woman was now staring at him thoughtfully. "Do you feel well enough to try sitting up, sire?"

He nodded, suspecting that the alternative would be being handfed. Something his pride would very much like to avoid.

"I will go get some more sleeping skins to prop you against." She turned and left, followed by Brynwyn.

They returned, and in a matter of moments he was propped more or less into a sitting position. The experience taught him two things: that he used his arms more than he realized to balance himself, and that he was as weak a new born foal.

"The soup will help." The woman's voice was soft as she moved the soup next to him, where he could easily reach it with his good hand. But she obviously knew what he was thinking. "I thought a mug would be easier to manage than a bowl. The other is water. We have nothing else to drink, I'm afraid."

"What is your name?"

She looked a startled, as if it had not occurred to her that he would want to know. "Maegwen, my Lord."

"Thank you, Maegwen." He reached for the mug of soup, lifted it carefully. As weak as he was, he was still able, barely, to manage to bring it to his mouth. He took several long sips, then set the mug down to rest for a moment.

Maegwen nodded, satisfied. Then an apologetic look came over her face. "I am afraid, sire, that I am needed in the other room. Brynwyn will stay with you. Send her to fetch me if you need anything else." She nodded toward the mug. "There is more soup available, there is also a little bread."

Eomer looked down, saw the covered item Brynwyn had carried was some sort of flatbread. He wondered just how much the women had to eat, how they were managing.

"Again, thank you."

He took several more long drinks, and discovered large chunks of chicken in the bottom of the mug. He was almost certainly getting the best of the meal this night. Something else to feel guilty about.

He sat the mug back down, leaned his head back, and sighed. He still hadn't asked about the situation with the orcs. What was wrong with him that he couldn't seem to keep priorities straight? He needed to know what was going on.

Glancing up, he realized Brynwyn, instead of sitting next to him, was across the room, crouched next to the wall. He frowned. "Brynwyn? Why are you over there?"

She stared at him. "Lisswyn is injured."

He nodded but spoke gently. "Her injuries, though painful, are not life-threatening."

"Andric says she nearly died." Her voice was very small.

He frowned. "Who is Andric?"

"Maegwen's son. He and Eoden were with Lisswyn after she saw the orcs. They could not find your men." She added the last as a sad afterthought.

Eomer sat up a little straighter, wondering if his hearing was going. He tried to make sense of the little girl's statements. "My men? I thought Lisswyn had gone for herbs?"

She looked confused. "Maegwen's boys went out last night, trying to find your men. Lisswyn went at first light to find the medicine you needed. But then she saw the orcs, and fell down the cliff trying to get to the boys."

It still wasn't making much sense. He tried a different question. "How old are the boys?"

"Eoden has seen twelve summers, Andric only ten."

Ten and twelve. And they had gone out amidst orcs and wargs. Had the women no sense? Anger rose up again, and he suppressed it. And Brynwyn's description of Lisswyn's fall sounded rather different, more serious, than what Lisswyn had told him.

"I am afraid."

He looked back over at the little girl. "Come here." He spoke gently, pointed at a spot next to him. No point upsetting her just because he wanted to strangle the adults in her life.

She hesitated, then moved over to sit next to him. He brushed her hair away from her face.

"I know you're afraid. But Lisswyn will be fine."

"She was weeping."

She said it so quietly he had to strain to hear it. Then wished he hadn't.

"She told me her injuries were not that serious. But she would not weep in such a manner if she were fine. She cried until she finally slept." Brynwyn's voice was flat, certain.

Oh, no. No. Not this. A woman's tears completely unmanned him. He thought he knew why Lisswyn had been weeping, and it had very little to do with the injuries she had received in the fall. He leaned back, closed his eyes for a moment. Wished he had the strength to kick himself.

"Andric thinks she is dying but chooses not to say anything."

Her voice trembled, and he looked over to see a tear rolling down her face. One sister's tears at a time. He gently brushed the tear away.

"Brynwyn, listen to me." He hesitated. "Andric is wrong. Lisswyn is not dying. She told me she climbed and walked a fair distance after she fell. She could not have done that if she had life-threatening injuries." He looked closely at her, to see if the words were sinking in, then added, "She also cared for me for a time after her return. And the other women would have noticed if she had not been well."

"But Andric…"

"Andric wants to scare you." Or impress you, but he left that part out.

She looked confused, and he continued. "That is what little boys do. Trust me."

The tears had stopped, but she still looked troubled. "Then why does Lisswyn cry?" She looked down, as if ashamed. "She did not weep when papa died. Or when we lost the cottage. I did. But she did not."

His own guilt and shame twisted a little more. How much should he say? To his surprise, he found he did not want the little girl to think badly of him. But he could not leave her afraid her sister was dying.

He chose his words carefully. "Brynwyn…have you ever been angry, or said something you regretted later?"

She looked up, plainly puzzled. Nodded.

"I said something harsh to Lisswyn." He looked away for a moment, then turned back to her. "At the time, I believed it was justified. But it was not."

"And that is why she was weeping?" She sounded doubtful.

"I believe so. It may also be a combination of being tired, and worried, and in pain." He wanted to believe those things, himself. But he found he couldn't, at least not completely. He remembered the look on her face, and the way she had tried to hide it, when he had spoken so harshly to her.

Brynwyn said nothing for a long moment. Finally, hesitatingly, she asked, "Will you…" She faltered.

"Ask her to forgive me?"

She nodded.

"Yes…if she will allow me to do so."

"But you are the King."

He frowned, troubled. Was this what his people thought? That he could say anything, do anything, and not be held accountable? "Yes. I am." Deliberately, he made his voice firm. "And that means I have a greater responsibility to listen first, which I did not do with your sister, and to ask forgiveness if I make a mistake."

Brynwyn did not respond, appeared to be deep in thought.

Then she looked up at him, a little shyly. "Lisswyn says you are a good king." She smiled. "I think she is right."

Moved, it took him a moment to respond. "Thank you," he said quietly.

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Where are Maegwen's boys?"

She looked up. "They are out in the front cave, with your horse. Watching the orcs."

That answered the question about Firefoot, at least.

"Will you go get them for me? I will not keep them long, but would like to ask them where they searched for my men." And about what the orcs are doing.

A few moments later, he looked up as the boys entered his room, both appearing a little nervous. The oldest one ducked his head in an attempt at a bow, the younger one mimicked him. Eomer held back a smile at their seriousness.

"My lord? Brynwyn said you asked to see us?"

At the older one's anxious question, all thoughts of humor fled. These two had risked their lives for him. "What are your names?"

"I am called Eoden," the oldest answered, then turned to his brother. "And this is Andric"

"Eoden and Andric," he repeated. "I am honored to meet you." Looking at them more carefully, he saw they were both on the thin side, but not frail. Their faces bore the knowledge of grief, and he wondered where their father was. In which particular battle he had fallen. "I am told you searched for my men."

Eoden's face fell. "We failed you, Sire. We did not find any sign of them."

"If that is true, you may have failed to find my men. You did not fail me."

They looked confused. He continued. "You risked your lives to look, and now I know that they were not in the places you searched. And I take it you did not find their bodies, or armor, or horses, either?"

At this, their looks turned to hope. "No, my Lord. We went in the direction from which Lisswyn said you came, for several miles. We saw recent evidence of horses riding through, but no other signs of your men." He frowned. "Sire, may I ask a question?"

Eomer nodded.

"How did you come to be separated from your men? Why were they not guarding you more carefully?" Suddenly realizing it was the Royal Guard he was speaking of so disparagingly, Eoden ducked his head, as if waiting for a reprimand.

"It is a fair question, Eoden," Eomer said slowly. "We were attacked, and from the beginning it was clear the orcs were trying to separate me from my guard. Several of the beasts surrounded me, while others seemed to concentrate on driving my men away from me. We were outnumbered – it was easily one of the largest packs of orcs I have ever encountered outside of the battles during the war."

"I now believe that taking me was always their real goal, though to what purpose I do not know. When I was struck by the arrow, Firefoot fled, and outran them. I think they planned to track us, to find me once I had fallen. Which they would have done, had it not been for Lisswyn."

"Brynwyn." Andric spoke for the first time, and Eomer looked up, confused as the boy finished adamantly. "It was Brynwyn who found you."

Ah, yes. Another smile nearly escaped as he nodded. Young Andric was quite taken with the little girl. And she appeared to be completely clueless. He wondered if Lisswyn or Maegwen knew.

"But, Sire, if your men are not dead, then where are they? Why are they not looking for you?"

Eomer did not answer for a long moment. "Some of them are dead, Eoden. I saw them fall." He paused, aching for the men who would not return to Edoras. "It's possible that you didn't quite make it to the place where we were attacked. But as for the others…I think they might have returned to Edoras to gather more men. They will continue hunting for me or my remains until they find me; they will continue hunting the orcs who attacked us until all are defeated."

The boy nodded in understanding, and in his eyes, Eomer saw a fierce longing to be a part of such battles, such vengeance. He could only hope that by the time Eoden was sufficiently old enough to share in such an endeavor they would no longer be as necessary.

"What of the orcs? Do they still camp below the entrance to the caves?"

Eoden nodded. "Yes, my Lord. Many of them were killed in a feud this morning – we saw and heard them while returning with Lisswyn. But the remainder are below us. And we do not know why." He paused, confused. "They seem to be waiting for something. But if they know we are here, why delay?"

"They may know you are here, but they almost certainly do not know I am." Or they would have attacked already. "But still, the question of what they are waiting for is valid." He paused, stared off toward the front of the cave, then shook his head. "We do not have sufficient information. We will just have to wait and watch." He looked around, then asked the question he was dreading the answer to. "Are there any weapons at all in the caves?

"No, sire…well, Lisswyn has the Dunlendings' sword." He looked embarrassed. "But none of us know how to handle it." His face red with shame, he looked everywhere but at Eomer.

"Eoden, look at me." The boy looked up, clearly still embarrassed. "I promise you that once this is over, I will make sure you receive weapons training." The boy's eyes glazed over in amazement, and Eomer wondered if Maegwen would be quite so pleased with his promise. But obviously, they needed to be able to defend themselves. "You have already proven yourselves brave and loyal. It is appropriate you know how to protect yourselves."

The boy nodded, trying hard to look nonchalant in the midst of his excitement. Then he seemed to remember the original question. "We have wood stockpiled, my Lord. Lisswyn thought we might be able to use fire to ward off the orcs."

As weapons went, firebrands were rather dismal, more an attempt to have something with which to make a last stand than providing any kind of real hope, and Lisswyn obviously knew that. But they would do their best.

Maegwen entered the room, and looked startled to see her sons with the king. Eomer identified her look as boding ill for the boys. "I asked to speak with them concerning where they searched for my men." He said quietly, and noted with amusement the look of relief on the boys' faces. They might be old enough to begin some basic weapons training, but they were still young enough to want to avoid their mother's displeasure.

She nodded, then looked at all of them inquiringly. "Sire, should you not rest?" The boys took the hint, and left, after glancing at Eomer for permission.

After they had departed, Maegwen moved to help him lie down, and he did so aware of how awkward he was. He still could not move his arm, nor even begin to make a fist. He tried to tell himself to be patient, but his fear that the arm would not come completely back was growing.

"My Lord, would you like for me to sit with you tonight?"

He shook his head. "No, I will be fine." He had already interrupted their lives enough.

Maegwen looked hesitant. "I will have Andric sleep in here." And she quickly moved to follow the boys.

Eomer closed his eyes, wondering again when he had lost the ability to get people to do as he wanted.

The pain woke her, a sharp burning in her arm. It took a moment for Lisswyn to recall why it was throbbing. As she did, other injuries made themselves felt. Her ribs ached as if she been battered from the inside, her legs were sore from hip to foot. She sat up slowly, closed her eyes against the spin of the room. The knot on the side of her head stung in counterpoint to the overall headache.

As she noted the injuries, her memory of the day before came into sharper focus. Most of the pains were due to her fall while trying to reach the boys. But part of her headache was due to having cried herself to sleep.

She hadn't cried like that in years, and it shamed her. Tears were useless. She had heard women refer to the emotional release such tears could provide but Lisswyn figured they must feel better physically after such a crying episode than she did. Her eyes were swollen and her head was as stuffed as if she had a cold.

And no matter how miserable she felt physically, the greatest hurt was still internal. Instead of helping the King, she had caused him additional pain when he was already in agony. She could still see the look of panic and fear in his eyes when he'd realized what she was going to do, could still hear that hideous sound he'd made when she'd squeezed his wound. The memory made her stomach roll. How could she have thought, for even a moment, that hurting him in such a manner would somehow be better for him than simply struggling through the pain?

He had sent her away. Though she deserved no less, of course, the memory of his tone when he'd done so stirred fresh shame and hurt that would follow her long after the other wounds and bruises healed.

Wanting to curl up and weep again, she instead sat up. Brynwyn, Hilde, and the two other women who shared the cave were asleep, and she could hear no noise from the other rooms. It was either very late or very early. Her stomach cramped, temporarily taking her mind off of what had happened with the King. When was the last time she had eaten? She could not remember.

She stood, wincing as bruises in her back made themselves known. Was there a part of her body that didn't ache? She did not believe so. And it felt worse, not better for the few hours of sleep.

She made her way slowly to the room they used for a kitchen. The fire was banked, but still glowing, and she poked at it until it flickered back to life. With the orcs so close, they should have had someone tend it all night. But that was something that would not have occurred to any of the other women. She suppressed a silent sigh. Maegwen, at least, should have thought of it, but she'd probably been busy with the King.

The room still smelled of chicken, but she knew better than to hope there would be any of the soup left. There was simply too many of them in the caves to really feed from one chicken. Most of it would have gone to feed the King and the children. That was as it should be.

But she found a small crock of bean soup sitting in the ashes of the fire, and a quick whiff of it told her Maegwen had made it out of the chicken stock at least. So she would have some of the flavor if none of the actual chicken.

"Bless you, Maegwen." She settled down next to the fire, tried to find a comfortable position. There wasn't one, so she finally abandoned the attempt, and began sipping the soup.

Their food situation worried her. Only in her most optimistic moments did she have much real hope for their surviving the winter. There were too many ifs involved: if they had a warm season, if the orcs left them alone, if they could keep the caves warm, if the vegetables they would harvest from their gardens would be of a sufficient amount and quality. In her more realistic moments, she wondered if any of them would still be alive come spring.

She sighed, drained the last of the soup. She ached all over, but would never be able to get back to sleep. If anxiety about the King, the orcs, and the coming winter did not keep her awake, the discomfort would. She wished she had some of her healing herbs with her. One of them could be made into a tea that might take the edge off of some of her pain. At least the bruises and muscle aches, even if it would have done little for the King's injury.

But the herb was in her pouch, in the room where the King was. And she was reluctant to go in there. He had been very clear about not wishing to see her again, and though the memory of that caused a different kind of ache, she would honor his wishes.

Finally, she winced, got slowly to her feet. She would be useless if she was so stiff she could barely move. Perhaps he was asleep and she could slip in and retrieve the herb without disturbing him. Then she would check on the orcs.

Moving quietly, she paused in the door of the room where the king was. In the candlelight, she could see the him, apparently sleeping, and near him a smaller shape rolled up in a sleeping skin. Andric, perhaps. They must have decided the King did not actually need anyone to sit up with him. That was good, as it surely bode well for how he was doing. She slipped across the room, bent to pick up her leather pouch of healing herbs. Then froze as the man next to her shifted.

Eomer had slept for a while, but a nightmare involving the orcs attacking the women around him had convinced him he was better off awake. The images of a warg tearing into Brynwyn while he laid useless nearby had been all too vivid. At least awake he could ponder their options. Could mull over why the orcs were camped where they were, what they were waiting for. Where they were from. Where his men were. And could try to keep his mind off of images of Lisswyn weeping the way Brynwyn had described.

Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen her come to the door, watched her hesitate. She was moving so stiffly, so obviously in pain, that he wondered if they had all misjudged the severity of her injuries. She was pale, with dark circles beneath her eyes – eyes swollen by the tears he had caused. He remembered Brynwyn's comment about how seldom she wept, and wondered if it were possible to feel any deeper shame.

She bent down to the leather pouch on the floor and he shifted a bit. He needed to apologize, and now was as good a time as any. He started to speak, and she looked up, froze. And he had the answer to his question. Yes, it was possible to feel a greater shame. The woman looked half afraid of him.

"Sire…I…please forgive me for waking you." Her voice trembled slightly. "It was not my intent. I just needed something from my pouch."

Again, he started to speak, but she cut him off. "My Lord, I know you do not want to see me." She glanced away, and Eomer stared at her, baffled. What did she mean?

She looked back at him, obviously nervous but determined to speak. "But I – I would take this opportunity to tell you how sorry I am for what I chose to do." Her voice had tightened, as if more tears were still at hand. "I do not ask for forgiveness, because I know that causing you more pain so was unforgivable, particularly when you were already suffering so." Tears came into her eyes, tears she struggled not to shed, and his stomach pitched.

"I know my words mean nothing, but I would have you hear me say them," she finished on a whisper. "I am sorry." With that, she stood and started toward the outer cave.

"Lisswyn." It came out more firmly than he had intended. She stopped, but did not turn around. He made his voice as gentle as he could. "Please come here."

It took a long moment for her to turn, to come back to him. If anything, she was now paler than when she'd entered the room. He motioned next to him, for her to sit down. She did so, but would not look at him.

He hesitated, then spoke quietly. "You are wrong. Words have great power. I wounded you with words yesterday, and would have you face me so I can apologize properly."

She looked up then, plainly startled. "No, Lord! You can not…you do not…that is not necessary."

"Yes, it is." His voice was firm. He paused for a moment, wanting the words to sink in. "You do not need to ask for forgiveness because there is nothing to forgive… on your part."

One of the tears fell. He swallowed, reached over and gently brushed it away. Was profoundly relieved when she didn't flinch from him. "What you did was perhaps unwise from a healing point of view, but you did it because you thought it would spare me pain. And that is no crime. The intent more than balances the action."

She was staring at him with such a look of such hope and disbelief on her face that he faltered for a moment, struggled against looking away from her in his own shame. "I, on the other hand, allowed my temper to control me, and passed judgment on you without finding out the truth." He found he could not help touching her cheek again. "And that is unforgivable."

His gaze was direct. "But I would ask for your forgiveness, nonetheless."

She blinked at him, and her face colored. "There is no need for that, sire."

"Yes, there is." He looked at her, raised a brow. "Lisswyn, I do not believe that who I am gives me the right to act rashly, or to allow my temper to control me. I do not want to be known for treating my people callously. You saved my life at risk to your own, have been nothing but kind to me. You've cared for me, made sacrifices for me, and been injured while trying to help me. And I repaid you by hurting you. There is much need for forgiveness." His voice quiet, he added, "The question is whether you can do so."

Her head jerked again, flooded with embarrassment. It seemed she was speechless, could only nod.

"Thank you." Eomer's voice was grave. He tilted her face back up. "You honor me."

She blush deepened, and she shook her head as if a little baffled.

"No more tears, then." He murmured, and watched her face go another shade darker. Her tears seemed to mortify her, and again he thought of Eowyn. There were more than a few similarities between the two women. She shook her head.

"Even if I chastise you for something else?"

At this she looked up, startled and plainly anxious. "Sire?"

He kept his voice even. He did not wish to hurt her again, but would make his feelings known. "I was not pleased to find out that you sent young boys out on my behalf."

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. "Yes, sire."

He cocked his head. "That is all you will say?"

She hesitated, took a deep breath. Seemed to brace herself. "I suspected you would not approve."

It pleased him that she had apparently lost her nervousness of him to the point that she could respond with such honesty to the reprimand. He waited.

"My lord," She looked up at him, direct and unflinching. "I was afraid you would die, that I would not be able to help you with my limited skills. I thought if we could find your men, one of them would know better than I how to care for you. Or would know where to find a more experienced healer."

She paused, and looked away, her voice becoming more quiet. "I did not want to send the boys. I feared for them. But there was no one else to send. I could not go myself at that point because I was the only one in the caves with any healing skills at all."

He marveled that she could so misunderstand him as to think he was suggesting it would have been better if she had gone in place of the boys.

"Lisswyn."

"Yes?"

"Let me make myself completely clear." His voice was very firm. "No one is to leave these caves, for any reason, without my permission, until the situation with the orcs is resolved."

By the time he finished speaking, she had bowed her head again, her shoulders drooping a little. He forced her chin back up, was relieved to see a little embarrassment, presumably from the reprimand, but no sign of tears. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sire."

He let go of her, sighed. "Do not think I do not appreciate what the boys did. And I have told them so." He paused. "And do not think I do not appreciate what you have done." He lightly touched a scratch on her arm. "But I would not have any more injury – or death – on my count."

"It was my choice, Lord." She responded quietly.

"Taking responsibility in such a manner is an admirable thing. But if you believe fealty to me requires sacrifice and risk, it also requires obedience, does it not?"

She nodded, looked away. Her shoulders were drooping again. "I am sorry, my Lord."

He shook his head. The woman had him tied up in knots, unable to say or do anything right. "I did not ask for an apology, nor do I believe you owe me one. You did as you believed you needed to do, and I am alive, for which I am very grateful. I just ask that there be no more of those kinds of risks taken on my behalf."

She looked up, and to his amazement, he saw a twinkle of what might have been humor in her eyes. "Then I ask that you avoid any more orc arrows while in my vicinity, my Lord."

Delighted by the humor, he felt a smile tug at his own mouth. "Agreed," he said.

A/N:

Maddy: Brynwyn's name is more because I like the sound of the syllables than because I was looking particularly at meanings at that point, but you're correct concerning Lisswyn – I deliberately chose "Liss" as the first part of her name because of its meaning, as well as liking how it sounds. (I love the fact that you actually looked them up!)

Kay: Eomer felt betrayed when Lisswyn squeezed his wound to knock him out, initially believing she did it because she thought he was a coward, and would betray them to orcs with his screams of pain. Thus he reacted with anger, telling her he didn't want her caring for him again, an action he later regretted.