Eomer watched the boys and a small group of his men head up the path to where the women had gone. To his immense relief, one of the men had been Eothain, captain of his guard. The last time Eomer had seen him, the other man had been surrounded by orcs on the day of the ambush, and the knowledge that he'd survived eased his heart. They had grown up together, survived the war together, and though the loss of any of his men hurt, the loss of Eothain would have been a blow nearly equal to that of losing Theodred.

He turned, looked down at the remains of the orc camp. Eothain had reported that some of the men had left in pursuit of escaping orcs while others were cleaning up the signs of battle – piling the orc carcasses in one spot to be burned, tending the few injuries received by the riders.

Should Aragorn be tending any of them?

No, if he were needed elsewhere, he would have said so. And Eothain had indicated that none of the riders had been seriously injured, despite the presence of the wargs. Thanks to Aragorn, the riders had outnumbered the orcs nearly two-to-one.

Unfortunately, if what Aragorn had seen in the seeing stone was accurate, there were almost certainly a great many more orcs somewhere in the Riddermark, awaiting their chance to cause misery for the Eorlingas. But thanks to Gondor, the Mark was not standing alone. This band of orcs had been defeated; the others would be as well.

He looked back toward the cave where Lisswyn struggled for life. She still lived; Aragorn would have come and told him otherwise. He should go back and…

…and what? Fumble around some more, trying to find the words she needed to hear, words that would encourage her to keep fighting?

He wasn't sure what those words were. Though he'd seen his parents, had watched Eowyn and Faramir's developing relationship, he had no personal experience with love. It had never before come to him --- there'd been no time. He'd been too pre-occupied with war, with trying to protect the Mark's borders. There'd always been another battle to fight.

After he'd become king, he'd known that marriage was a requirement, but so far he'd been too busy to give much thought to the details – and when he had considered it, it had been to accept that love might not be present at all, at least not initially.

Aragorn had asked if Lisswyn knew how he felt, but the reality was he didn't know himself. It had all happened too fast. He had always assumed love came slowly. You had to know someone to love them…didn't you?

What he had not understood was how quickly knowledge of another person could come. He had experienced Lisswyn's compassion and kindness first hand, had discovered in a very small amount of time that she was intelligent, with a sense of humor not daunted despite the grimness of their situation. And her courage was no less than that of the men he rode with, if of a different type.

Physically, she appealed to him on every level. She had the blonde hair of most Eorlingas women, but it was a little redder than most. Hazel eyes that could be direct, or shy, but which nearly always revealed what she was feeling, be it humor, grief, or fear.

The problem was that apart from his own confusion, his identity as king further complicated things. As a man, in the end it was fairly simple: was what he was feeling love, of the kind that could last? And did she return those feelings?

But he wasn't just a man, and there wasn't anything simple about his life. He knew Aragorn had hoped something would develop between himself and the daughter of Imrahil, but Aragorn's own past would probably result in his support for wherever Eomer's heart led him.

Others might not be so understanding.

Impatient with himself, he shook his head sharply. He was getting ahead of things, wasn't he? There was no point contemplating the future until he knew how Lisswyn felt, and her response to his kiss notwithstanding, he wasn't foolish enough to make assumptions where a woman's heart was concerned.

And above all else, there was still the possibility she wouldn't live to tell him.

Reluctantly, he turned, looked toward the cave where she struggled for life. He was being a coward. If he had not wanted to leave her earlier for fear she would die when he did, he now postponed returning for a similar reason – the fear he'd discover she had slipped away from him while he was away. He turned and walked purposely back to where she was being tended.

Pausing in the door, he saw Aragorn reach again to check her heartbeat, was reassured by the action.

Until he noticed the frown on the other man's face. A frown of intense concentration, followed by a repositioning of Aragorn's fingers.

As if he could not find what he was looking for.

Terror that he had returned to the cave just in time to witness her death roared through him, and he froze with dread.

His feelings for her might make no sense, but the despair washing over him left no doubt as to their depth.

"Aragorn?" He heard the hoarseness, the desperation in his voice, wondered at it. The man was a gifted healer, but was still only a man, with limits. If she were gone, not even the king of Gondor would be able to call her back.

With his fingers still against Lisswyn's throat, Aragorn turned to him. "The beat is still very weak, but I believe it is growing steadier."

Eomer blinked as the meaning of the words hit him. She wasn't dead yet. Weak with relief, he staggered a little as he covered the last few feet, then eased himself down on the other side of her.

He brushed his face with a trembling hand, his voice unsteady as he said, "I saw you checking for her heartbeat and thought you couldn't find it." His hand came away damp and he stared at it for a moment before looking up into the compassionate eyes of the man across from him.

"I am sorry for that. I wanted to be sure of what I was detecting." Aragorn once again reached, touched her throat, felt there for a moment. "There is still danger, but her heartbeat growing steadier is the first clear sign of hope I've seen."

Silence fell between them. Aragorn would occasionally check her heartbeat, and more than once leaned down and spoke softly to her. Eomer contented himself with brushing her forehead or touching her cheek. He wanted to speak to her again, but still did not know what to say or how to say it. When he had believed her dead, what had been at the front of his mind was that he would never have an opportunity to tell her how he felt. But now, he once again hesitated.

The words had no meaning apart from their context. He needed to be able to talk to her, to see what was in her heart. To make sure she understood what was in his. Simply to blurt something out…maybe it just meant he was a different kind of coward, but it seemed wrong.

Instead, he leaned down and softly said, "Lisswyn…you must come back to us. The boys have gone to get Brynwyn and the other women. You must not make me tell her that you've left her."

Frustrated that it still sounded as if he wanted her to live simply because there were so many people depending on her, he leaned down again and murmured, "You must live. There are other things I need to tell you, but only if you're awake to respond to them." He wasn't above negotiating with her. He brushed her forehead with a kiss, then sat back up, looked over at Aragorn. The other man was wearing a slight smile, and Eomer felt a blush crawling up his face.

He was spared from formulating a response by the sounds of footsteps in the outer cave. It did not sound like the heavy steps of orcs, but nonetheless Aragorn got to his feet, prepared to draw his sword. More slowly, as he was still somewhat hindered by his arm, Eomer followed.

Brynwyn burst into the cave with the boys behind her, a terrified look on her face. She glanced from the still figure on the floor, to himself, then to Aragorn before looking back at him once more, tears in her eyes.

What had the boys told her? Motioning her over, he eased back to the floor and pulled her down next to him.

She was trembling, and started to reach out to touch Lisswyn before snatching her hand back.

"Brynwyn." His hand upon her chin, he turned her to face him. "Lisswyn yet lives."

She looked at him, and a tear spilled out, rolled down her cheek. "Eoden said she might die."

He looked up at the boys, still standing in the door. Eoden looked frustrated and guilty. "I did not mean to upset her, but wanted to prepare her, in case…"

Eomer nodded. "I would have done the same." Hopefully with more diplomacy than the boy had probably used, but he could not fault him for trying. He looked back at Brynwyn, stroked her hair away from her face, wiped the tears. "She was badly injured, but King Elessar has been tending her, and we think she is getting better. She is still not out of danger, but she is not dead." Yet. Please, oh, please…

"I did not tell her good-bye when we left. I was angry." Tears were still coming faster than he could wipe them away.

"Then tell her now that you're sorry you acted that way, and that she needs to wake up so you can apologize properly." He kept his voice gentle, tried to calm her.

"She can hear me?"

He nodded in the direction of Aragorn. "That is what King Elessar says."

Brynwyn looked over at Aragorn, then down to Lisswyn. An intent look on her face, she leaned over. "Lisswyn, I'm sorry I was mean." Impatiently, she brushed tears away, but not before one fell on her sister's face. "You must wake up so I can tell you."

She looked up anxiously, and Eomer held out his arm, and she crawled over to him, rested against him. "It's hard to talk to her when she does not talk back."

She sounded very young, and tired and sad, and Eomer found himself agreeing with her. "I know."

The pain and darkness were still present, but so were the voices. She did not know the first voice – the one who used unfamiliar words that somehow made sense – but she could not deny his quiet commands.

The second voice she did know, and it caused her to struggle harder to break free, to surface. She could not disappoint him. Not when his voice in her ear made her heart jump. And then there was the lighter voice, full of sadness. Brynwyn! She beat harder against the shadows and pain.

Eomer awoke, his neck stiff from the position he had slept in. Confused, it took a moment for him to remember why he was sitting up against the cave wall.

Ah. He had fallen asleep watching over Lisswyn, surrounded by the children. Brynwyn was curled up next to him on his right side, while Andric was on his left, with Eoden on the other side of his brother. Aragorn, still awake, was sitting across from them on the other side of Lisswyn. Eomer looked over at him, noted the half smile the other man gave him. He must look a sight, with the children piled up around him. But he hadn't had the heart to send them away.

He shook his head, winced at the pain then turned it into a stretch. He listened, but heard no noise from the other caves. It must be very late. Apart from the sore neck, he felt nearly rested. His glance fell on Lisswyn.

"Has she awakened at all?"

Aragorn shook his head. "No, though she seems to rest easier."

"You should get some sleep."

Aragorn gazed at him, glanced at Eomer's arm. "How are you?"

He looked down, slowly made a fist. Raised it a few inches before letting it drop. "More movement is returning."

"That is encouraging." He looked around, and then indicated the far wall of the cave. "I will rest for a while. Call me if anything changes."

Eomer nodded, and watched as Aragorn moved across the room to stretch out next to the wall, wrapped in his cloak. Looking down, he shifted Brynwyn and Andric into more comfortable positions before moving closer to Lisswyn.

She was still so pale. He reached out, gently touched her cheek. Was there nothing more to be done for her? The answer came even before the question fully formed in his mind. No, of course not. Aragorn had done all that could be done. The rest was up to her.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there when he heard a slight noise. It took a moment to realize it had come from Lisswyn, and he wondered if he were imagining things.

He bent over her. "Lisswyn?" Her eyes drifted open, and relief left a lump in his throat. He touched her cheek, softly repeated her name. Her eyes were moving back and forth in an uncoordinated fashion, and it confused him at first. Then he realized she was having trouble focusing.

"Sire?" Her voice was weak, but another wave of relief washed over him. She knew who he was.

"I'm here."

She frowned, as if puzzled, then tried again to focus on him. "You were angry with me."

"What?" He leaned forward, convinced he had misunderstood her.

"You were swearing at me. You yelled…" Her voice drifted off, came back. "…I can't remember why. But you were so angry."

He sat back, confused. What was she talking about? And then he understood, remembered his fear during the battle. He looked back at her in time to see a tear sliding down her temple.

"Please don't be angry." Her voice was barely a whisper.

He leaned forward again, close to her. Gently wiped the tear away. Swallowed. "Lisswyn…listen to me." She turned her confused gaze back to him again, and he stroked the flesh next to her eye where the tear had fallen. "I wasn't angry with you, but with the situation. I couldn't get to you. I was afraid. But I wasn't angry with you." His thumb brushed her cheek again. "Do you understand?"

Her eyes closed for a moment, then slowly opened again. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm glad."

Another long moment passed, and he thought she might go back to sleep. Instead, she looked at him again, her eyes a little more clear. The frown returned. "I can't remember."

"Can't remember what?"

"Why you were angry."

What did the confusion mean? How much should he try to explain? He struggled to know how much to tell her even while admitting to a secret hope that perhaps the fact that the one thing she'd remembered was not wanting him to be angry meant she cared about him.

But he still had to answer her question, and did not quite know how. He saw the moment she remembered on her own, saw the change in her eyes. "The orcs."

She tensed, and he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "We're fine. We're safe."

She nodded, winced at the movement. Her eyes closed again, and he took a deep breath. For the first time, he began to have real hope that she might survive.

Then he sensed something, felt her tense. Her eyes were open again, but when she looked at him this time, he saw despair. And knew before she spoke what she was going to say.

"Maegwen."

He reached over, took her hand in his. Linked their fingers. He wanted desperately to hold her, but was afraid to move her that much. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "So sorry."

Her fingers were passive in his, and she glanced away from him. A long moment passed, and he saw her swallow. Then she looked back at him, and her eyes were blank. Empty.

"It was my fault." Her voice was flat, toneless. "I should have been the one to die." He tightened his grip on her fingers, tried to speak through fear and anger. Before he could formulate a response, she turned her head from him and closed her eyes. Dismissed him.

He swore softly, and was fully prepared to tell her that this time he was angry with her, but she did not stir. Would not look at him.

But Aragorn heard him, and was suddenly there, feeling for Lisswyn's heartbeat.

"What happened?"

"Oh, she's awake. Or at least she was." By a determined act of will, Eomer kept his voice quiet so as not to disturb the children, but he could not keep the fear and frustration at bay. He looked at the other man. "She's blaming herself for her friend's death. She says she should have been the one to die."

Compassion was once more on the other man's face, and Eomer suspected it was for himself as well as Lisswyn. "That is not an unusual response to battle, Eomer. You know that."

"Yes." Brynwyn shifted, and he looked down, glad to see the little girl was still asleep. He lowered his voice, but heard the desperation in it. "And as you said earlier, sometimes grief kills where a battle wound has not."

He watched as Aragorn touched Lisswyn's face. "She has returned to sleep," he looked up, forestalled Eomer's frustrated comment. "which is not a bad thing. She needs to heal, and being stronger physically will help her survive the grief." Eomer reluctantly nodded, and Aragorn added, "Continue talking to her. She needs to know she is not alone."

Eomer looked around at the children curled up around him. Alone was not going to be a problem.

A/N: In the films, Eothain is a young boy, but in the books, he's one of Eomer's riders. I've elected to stay closer to the book, and make him captain of the Royal Guard.

Replies:

plzkthx101: you never know who else will be showing up. I like surprises. ;)

Phia: I'm glad you found the story and are enjoying it. The chapters are fairly short, in part because I'm looking for wherever natural breaks occur and in part because I'm revising as I go, while also working on other stuff. Breaking it down into fairly short chapters allows me to post once a week or so -- or at least, that's my goal.

As for the rest of you, particularly those who are taking the time to review every chapter...you have no idea how much I appreciate your feedback. Many, many thanks.