"Aragorn." Eomer heard the desperation in his voice as he looked from the other man back to Lisswyn. His face had probably revealed all manner of things, but Gondor's king wouldn't have seen it – he was already kneeling next to them. "She received a blow to the head as well, but remained conscious for a period of time after that. That was before the wound to the arm."

Aragorn nodded as he replaced Eoden's hand with his own and carefully lifted the bandage to examine the wound. His expression was grave as he turned, touched the base of her throat with a light finger. "Her heart beats very unevenly, Eomer. She may have already lost too much blood."

Wordless with fear, Eomer simply looked at him, and saw compassion come into the other man's eyes. "Do not abandon hope yet, not while her heart does still beat." He glanced around. "Is there anywhere else we can take her, away from this smoke and filth?"

Eomer struggled to his feet, cleared his throat. "There are other caves. The battle remained in here, so they will probably be an improvement in that respect."

Aragorn nodded, then appeared to notice Eomer's useless arm for the first time. He gathered Lisswyn into his own arms and stood up. "Show me. I will also need hot water."

"I've started some to boil." Both men looked up. Brecka, pale and dirty but uninjured, stood in the door to the next cave. Eomer noted her lack of injury with relief. At least one of the women had escaped harm.

"Thank you."

As she led Aragorn back into the caves, Eomer turned to the men waiting patiently behind them. "Get these carcasses out of here." Seeing Andric still sitting beside Maegwen's body, he wished desperately that he could be in two places at once. The boys needed him, too. He looked at Thedhelm, then motioned to the body lying so still on the floor. "And find something to cover her with."

Thedhelm nodded, and Eomer turned to follow Aragorn.

He found them in one of the back rooms. The other man had laid Lisswyn on a pile of skins next to one of the small fires. Brecka and Eoden stood nearby.

"Do you have the weapon that cut her?" Aragorn asked before he'd even made it into the room, and Eomer turned back to retrieve it before his men obeyed his order and hauled the dead orcs – and their weapons – out of the cave.

As he left the main cave with the orc weapon – it was hard to call one of the pieces of oddly shaped metal a proper sword – he saw Thedhelm respectfully covering Maegwen's body with a cloak.

He laid the weapon next to Aragorn, then crossed over to Eoden. Resting his hand on the boy's shoulder, he nodded toward Aragorn. "He will do all he can," he said softly. "In the meantime, I think Andric needs you. If you can get him to come back here, that would be good, but if not, it is not good for him to be with your mother alone." He squeezed Eoden's shoulder. "Do you understand?"

Eoden nodded, his gaze lingering on Lisswyn for a moment. He lifted his eyes to Eomer, started to say something. Then closed his mouth, walked out.

Eomer watched him go, and remembering the loss of his own parents at an early age, ached for him. Then he turned and kneeled next to Lisswyn, felt a different ache.

Aragorn was cleaning her wounds, did not look up. "The blood loss has slowed, the wound is beginning to seal." He placed a clean cloth over the gash, then rebound it before easing the tourniquet. He seemed relieved when there was no increased flow of blood.

For the first time, Eomer noted a pouch on the floor next to a bowl of steaming water. Aragorn pulled out a few leaves from the pouch and dropped them in the water before pulling out more of the same leaf. This one he dipped in the water, then mashed in his palm. When it was the consistency he wanted, he pulled up the bandages and spread the paste gently in the wound.

Then he touched her throat again, felt for the pulse. "She struggles, but her heart continues to beat." He looked up, gazed at Eomer.

The healing scent from the water was permeating the room, and despite his fear, Eomer felt his heart ease. She had to live. Anything else was not to be borne.

Aragorn turned, picked up the orc blade, a look of distaste on his face. He touched it, ran a finger along the flat part, then lifted it, smelled it.

"Poison?" The thought of Lisswyn experiencing the agony he had was unthinkable, and Eomer held his breath until he saw Aragorn slowly shake his head.

"No, I do not believe so." The other man looked up. "Infection will be a concern, but the weapon does not appear to have been poisoned."

Relief that she would not have that to endure, at least, made him light-headed and he reached out with a hand that was not quite steady and brushed the hair away from Lisswyn's face. "She fought well for someone who was in her first battle," he murmured.

When he looked up, he saw a knowing look on Aragorn's face, but to his relief, the other man changed the subject. "What of your arm?"

Eomer looked down, then slowly managed to make a fist. He still could not lift it, and the effort exhausted him, but clearly he had more control than before the battle. "Poisoned arrow." He looked up. "Numbing poison." There was a flash of pity in Aragorn's eyes before it was suppressed, and he gritted his teeth, resenting it.

Aragorn stood, walked around Lisswyn and kneeled next to him. Gently, he probed the scar, then the other cuts Lisswyn had made to insert the healing herb. "Is there any pain? Any place you yet can not feel?"

Eomer shook his head. "No. I just can not yet completely control it."

Aragorn nodded, and looked at him. "You were fortunate, though I doubt you thought so at the time."

He looked down at Lisswyn. "No." Touching one of the bruises on her arm, he said, "Her mother was a healer; she believes herself only a weaver." Glancing back up at Aragorn, he allowed the other man to see his fear. "She risked her life to find the anti-poison, and now she may die anyway."

Silence fell between them, and Eomer reached out to touch the pulse at her neck. So faint, so erratic. But still there.

"Does she know how you feel about her?"

His head jerked at the question, but before he could snap a reply, Aragorn raised his hand. "I do not ask to pry." He nodded toward Lisswyn. "Such things can make a difference to healing."

There was another long silence, but finally Eomer slowly shook his head. "No. There was no time." He thought of the kiss, which now seemed to have taken place lifetimes earlier. "At least…" He faltered. "No. No, she doesn't."

How could Lisswyn know how he felt, when he didn't know himself? And if anyone in the Riddermark had to be careful about things of the heart, it was its king. Was he even completely free to love her? He didn't know.

Compassion settled on the other man's face again, but Eomer turned from it and changed the subject. "Aragorn, do not misunderstand this…but how do you come to be here?"

Aragorn hesitated, and his answer was slow in coming. "I looked into the palantir several weeks ago and saw things which disturbed me." He raised troubled eyes to Eomer. "Orc movements that I still do not understand. We always knew that not all the orcs were destroyed, but there were more of them than I had imagined." He frowned. "And they were moving north, at the same time orcs from Moria were venturing south. I believed it boded ill for the Mark."

Eomer frowned. "Moria orcs? And orcs from the south coming north? To what possible purpose? And who is controlling them?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I do not know that yet. One of Saruman's Uruks that somehow survived and is managing to unite them, perhaps, or someone from the south. Or even a combination of those who still wish us harm."

"An Uruk." He ran his hand over his face, suddenly weary beyond words. How could his people face more war when they had already lost so much? He looked up, wondered how to find the words to express his gratitude, not just personally, but for his people.

Aragorn's gaze met his, his eyes somber. "It is past time for Gondor to come to the aid of the Riddermark, is it not?"

Moved, Eomer held out his arm, clasped Aragorn's with it. "There was never a debt, never a tally kept. But I thank you, nonetheless."

After a moment, their eyes returned to the still figure before them. Aragorn reached forward and touched Lisswyn's throat again. When he looked up, his face was troubled. "Even if she survives, there may be permanent damage to her heart."

Eomer watched as the other man touched Lisswyn's face, her eyes, her cheeks, her throat, then murmured something in Elvish. She had to live, had to survive and be well.

There was darkness, and there was pain, and there was nothing else. She was lost, and struggling to find her way, but wasn't even sure of where she was trying to go. The pain came in waves, first her head, then her arm…and beneath the physical pain there was a deeper, darker pain she shied away from.

And then she heard the voice, soft at first, calling her. Words she did not know, but somehow understood. How could that be? The voice went on, telling her she must come back, that she was needed. Well, of course. She was always needed. But how to get back? It would be so much easier just to stop, to let the pain and darkness win. She half expected a sharp rebuke at that, but the voice remained calm. Remained soft. She tried to follow it.

Eomer watched Aragorn. It almost seemed as if the other man was locked in a one-sided conversation with Lisswyn, as his murmuring rose and fell. Reluctantly, he rose to his feet. There were things he needed to attend to – Maegwen's boys, his men.

It was hard to do so. To walk away. As irrational as it might be, he feared that as soon as he did, Lisswyn would lose the battle she was fighting, and her heart would simply stop.

But as much as he wanted to stay with her, he was king, and had other duties. And whatever hope there was for her would be in Aragorn, not himself.

Aragorn looked up at him, a weary look on his face. "Grief can kill as effectively as a sword, Eomer."

Eomer thought of his mother. "I know." He turned, looked toward the cave where Maegwen lay before looking back down at Lisswyn with a sigh. "And she has lost much in the past few months."

"Talk to her." At Eomer's sharp look, Aragorn continued, "People can sometimes hear things going on around them, even when they're near death. Hearing is thought to be the last of the senses to go."

Hesitantly, Eomer nodded, knelt down again, closer to Lisswyn. Her face was so white. He touched her temple gently, tried to find the words. But no words would come. What could possibly make a difference? What could he say to encourage her?

"Lisswyn, you must keep fighting. The orcs are gone, you fought well. You're safe. But you must win one more battle." He closed his eyes, groaned softly. He was a warrior; words were not his strength. What possible difference could telling her she'd fought well make? He opened his eyes, looked hopelessly at Aragorn.

The other man gazed back at him steadily, and Eomer flushed. He knew what Aragorn thought he should say, but beyond the fact that he still wasn't entirely sure of what his feelings were, or what they might mean, trying to describe them when she was unconscious felt ridiculous. Besides, what if she did not feel the same way? Would not hearing of his confusion then be a burden rather than a reason to live?

He finally leaned back down, and softly said, "You must come back. You must live and be well." He paused, struggled. "You are needed here. Brynwyn needs you. The boys need you. Brecka needs you." He hesitated again. "We need you," he finally finished, then sat back, frustrated. Was that the best he could do? A long list of people who were depending on her?

He got to his feet, and avoiding Aragorn's eyes, said, "I must check on my men, and send someone to get the other women." Glancing back at Lisswyn, he added, "Her sister is probably the one who will make the most difference."

The boys were still sitting next to Maegwen's body, and they both looked up when he came in the cave, fear on their faces.

"Lisswyn?" Eoden asked the question for both of them, his trembling voice a reminder that he was still just a boy, regardless of the battle he'd fought earlier.

Eomer knelt behind them, squeezed Eoden's shoulder before resting his hand on Andric's back. "She still lives." He saw relief come into their eyes, felt compelled to temper it. "But she struggles. She bled for a long time." And if she died, he would forever blame himself for not realizing sooner how serious the blow to her arm had been.

He changed the subject. "I have a task for the two of you." Interest came into Eoden's eyes at that point, while Andric moved closer to his mother's body. "I'm sending a group of my men up to the top of the cliffs to escort the other women and children back. I want you two to go with them."

"We could go by ourselves." Eoden looked puzzled. "There is no need to send your men." Eomer raised an eyebrow at him, and Eoden flushed scarlet, apparently realizing he'd challenged the King. "I'm sorry, sire." He looked down, plainly miserable.

Eomer reached over and lifted his chin. "You're allowed to ask questions, Eoden."

Still obviously embarrassed, the boy nodded. "Why not just send me, then?"

"The possibility exists that a pocket of orcs may have escaped. You fought well against them." Eomer looked down at Maegwen's body. "But I'm unwilling to risk losing you as well."

Eoden shook his head, and when he looked up, his eyes were full of anger. "Please, sire. Do not mock me."

Confused, Eomer just stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"If I had fought well, she would not be dead." His voice was bitter, and he looked away.

Eomer had a sudden memory of turning, seeing Eoden taking down the orc that had just killed his mother.

Weary, he rubbed his face. Again found himself trying to find the right words. "I understand why you feel that way, but you're being too hard on yourself. You could not be everywhere at once during the battle. It makes no more sense to blame yourself than it would to blame Brecka." Eoden opened his mouth. Closed it. "Eoden, warriors lose people they care about." He paused, remembering. "I've watched my closest friends fall in battle, just a few feet from me, while I was unable to do anything about it. And Lisswyn is injured because I could not get to her. The fact that you were too late to save your mother does not mean it was your fault she died."

He took Eoden's chin again, forced him to meet his eyes. "She died because we were up against too many orcs. She died because the orcs were looking for me. If you must blame someone, blame me." Eomer released him, looked back at Maegwen. "I would give my life twice over if I could bring her back, but I can't."

A long moment passed, then Eoden looked at him. "It is not your fault, either, sire. Lisswyn and my mother could not have done other than they did in bringing you to the caves and trying to help you."

Eomer looked at him, slowly nodded.

Eoden stood up. Looked down at Andric. "If there's any chance there are still orcs out there, we should go now to bring the other women home."

Eomer nodded, wondered how to tell him how proud he was of him. He stood, placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Let me go check with my men. I want you two to go because you'll have a better sense of where the women might be; you can also reassure them when you find them."

He turned, started away, when Andric spoke for the first time. "What about our mother?"

Eomer looked back at him, puzzled. The younger boy looked up at him, a lost look on his face.

Eomer walked back, crouched next to him. "What do you mean?"

"We can't just…leave her here." He hunched his shoulders.

Eomer swore silently, frustrated. How were they to know what was in his mind if he didn't tell them? But when he spoke, his voice was gentle. "We won't. How we honor your mother is very important." He paused, chose his words with care. "She died in battle, did so in order to give the other women and children a greater chance to live. She is no less a hero than any of the men I fought with in the wars."

Both of them were looking at him, and again, he had that sense that what he was saying was important, would long be remembered by these grieving boys, and feared that the right words might not come. "Once the other women are back, we will discuss how to honor your mother. And hopefully, Lisswyn will be awake and able to participate as well." The final words were as much a prayer as anything else.

Andric slowly nodded and Eoden looked at him, seemed to speak for both of them. "Thank you, sire."

Eomer looked from one to the other, wondered again what else he could do for them. "I will go organize some men to go with you."

A/N: I'm glad you liked Aragorn's arrival. grin I'd said in the beginning that other canon characters would show up, but not who, as I thought it worked better as a surprise.

Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews. I hope you continue to enjoy it -- there's still quite a lot of story left.