Lisswyn had gone to sleep warm, comforted, and surrounded by the King's scent, that not unpleasant combination of man and horse she found so appealing. She woke with the scent still around her, and sighed with contentment before the details of the previous night filtered in and she sat up, confused.

She was alone in the tent, the other women no doubt having been up for quite some time.

And she was still wrapped in the King's cloak.

She touched the soft green wool, blushed a little when she realized he must have carried her back to the tent. His arm must be completely recovered for him to have done so. Or perhaps he'd called one of his men? That thought caused the blush to deepen, but then she shrugged, smiled as she touched the cloak.

She brought the edge of it up, rubbed it against her cheek. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to remember the night before, how it had felt to be held by him in that fashion. To fall asleep curled against him. The smile grew, and she sighed.

That was how Eomer found her when he entered the tent a moment later to awaken her, and the sight of the smile on her face as she rubbed her cheek with his cloak caused a flash of heat to rush through him, made up of equal parts of relief, tenderness, and desire.

He cleared his throat, watched with gentle amusement as her eyes snapped open and embarrassment flooded her face.

"Oh, no," she muttered, and hid her face in the cloak.

He crossed over, knelt before her. "Good morning."

"Good morning, sire," the cloak mumbled.

His own smile broadened, and he reached out, tugged her hands away from her face. Careful of her injured arm, he stood up, smoothly pulled her to feet. The cloak fell off, and he bent down and retrieved it, settled it back on her shoulders. She was looking everywhere but at him, her face still flaming.

He reached behind her neck, and after freeing her long hair from being trapped between her dress and the cloak, rested his hands on her shoulders.

"Once you look at me, I'll escort you out to breakfast so the men can strike the tent." He could not keep the teasing note out of his voice.

Her response was to glance shyly up at him, and his smile faded as he saw the vulnerability in her eyes, knew this time what Aragorn had meant about it being due to him. He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, then was unable to stop himself from leaning down and gently touching his lips to hers.

He felt her start of surprise, and desperately wanted to take the kiss deeper. Instead, he pulled away, settled for planting another kiss on her forehead.

Turning, with one arm around her, he motioned toward the front of the tent. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine," she admitted, her voice quiet.

"No more dreams?"

She shook her head. "No. I slept very hard."

"Tears can do that." His voice was mild.

They reached the fire, and she saw some of the other women and children finishing what looked like a hasty breakfast of flatbread and cheese.

He helped down onto a log next to the fire. "You eat. I will go get the cart."

Her face fell, but she quickly replaced the expression of dismay with a neutral look. "Thank you, Sire."

Instead of leaving, he knelt in front of her again. "What?"

"What do you mean?"

"What is wrong with the cart?"

"Nothing." Appearing grateful for the interruption, she looked away, accepted the food Hilde handed her.

He turned her face toward him. "Tell me."

She shook her head. "It's foolish, sire. I'm fine. The cart is fine." She took a bite of the cheese, looked around the camp, obviously wanting the conversation to be over. But he wanted her to trust him enough to tell him what was bothering her.

He moved around her so he was once more in her line of vision. "What if it is foolish? I would still like to know why your face fell. Tell me."

She finished the bite of cheese, looked at him. "It will make me sound ungrateful."

Instead of eating the bread, she was shredding it, and he rested his hand on hers, stilled the movement. "I will not think ill of you. But I want to know."

She finally looked at him, a long glance, obviously trying to figure out how to say whatever it was. "Do you think perhaps King Elessar will judge me well enough for Brynwyn to travel with me some in the cart today?" She dropped her eyes, then looked back at him. "It is difficult to sleep due to the movement of the cart, and yesterday I grew …lonely. I am used to having her and the others around me." She finished the sentence in a rush, looked away again.

He hated that she was so nervous with him. He squeezed her hand. "There is no shame in admitting that, Lisswyn."

She looked back at him. "I did not want you to think me ungrateful for the effort your men went to in order to find the carts."

He shook his head. "I do not. I'd planned to have Brynwyn or Brecka ride with you some yesterday, but you always seemed to be asleep. Every time I checked on you, your eyes were closed."

Suddenly a new thought occurred to him, and he smiled. Squeezed her hands again. "Finish your breakfast, and I will see what I can do."

Lisswyn watched him walk away, could feel the hard, nervous beating of her heart. She'd embarrassed herself again with him. Twice in as many minutes. Why did he fluster her so? Why couldn't she find her balance around him, and be as calm as she normally was?

Embarrassment flooded her cheeks again as she remembered what had happened in the tent. Why had she indulged herself by rubbing her face on the cloak in such a silly fashion? She had known anyone could walk in and find her.

And someone had – the someone she would have most preferred not to see that display. She sighed. No wonder she was nervous with him. Essentially, she'd just handed him her heart with both hands. There was no way he could have seen her in the tent like that and not understood what was behind the smile on her face.

And he had kissed her. Not like last time, but she could very nearly still feel the pressure of his mouth on hers, if she tried hard enough. She wished she had been brave enough to kiss him back, and wondered what his response would have been. After all, there was no point in even trying to pretend her feelings were other than they were.

But, no. The fact that that was so did not mean he returned those feelings, and even if he did, it did not mean anything could come of them – though the thought of him possibly feeling something for her made her heart soften and yearn.

She shook her head, took another bite of the cheese. She needed to get a grip on her heart before it was broken. The man was the King of the Riddermark and not for her.

She heard his voice and looked up, expecting to see him with the cart and Brynwyn. Instead, he was on Firefoot, the cart nowhere in sight. That was good, though. Perhaps they were going to let her walk for a little while before insisting she ride once more.

He dismounted, came and stood before her. "Finished with your cheese?" There was humor in his voice again.

She looked at the ground below her hands and grimaced at the sight of the torn pieces of bread. She managed a wry smile. "It was very good cheese."

"And doesn't shred as easily as bread."

She couldn't help but laugh at his dry tone, even knowing he was poking fun at her nervousness. His eyes darkened at the sound of her amusement.

"It is good to see you smile," he said softly. Then held out his hand to her.

Uncertain, she took it, allowed him to help her up. Perhaps he was going to escort her to the cart?

"I have a solution to your loneliness."

She looked up, startled by his tone. All trace of humor was gone, and if she had not known better, she would have sworn it was now his turn to be nervous.

She cocked her head, looked at him. "Sire?"

And then suddenly he scooped her up and placed her on Firefoot. Lisswyn froze, but before she could react, he was in the saddle behind her, his right arm around her waist.

"You can ride with me."

Her heart was thundering again, but she still clearly heard his voice, soft though it was in her ear. She looked up at him, saw that he was indeed a little nervous. He could not think she'd refuse to ride with him? She smiled back at him. She'd already given away her feelings to him. What could it hurt to enjoy as much time with him as this journey allowed?

He smiled in response, and she shifted in an attempt to get more comfortable. She was more or less in the same position she rode in when she rode sidesaddle, with her left leg hanging down in front of his, her right folded in front of her, a little high on Firefoot's neck, not that the horse seemed to mind. Sidesaddle wasn't normally her favorite riding position, but today she had no complaints as she relaxed back against the King, felt his arm tighten around her. No complaints at all.

He moved Firefoot forward with a squeeze of his knees, making her aware of the muscular legs she was sitting between. Oh no. No complaints at all. She knew she was wearing another broad, silly smile.

Others were moving around them, and that was what replaced the smile with another blush. What would his men think? She glanced around out of the corner of her eye, dreading to see shocked looks, but the men didn't seem to be at all interested – or surprised – by where she was riding. She relaxed again, pondered that.

They rode for some moments, and she became aware of an organization to the way the group traveled. Ahead of them, she could see the King of Gondor, surrounded by his guard. Then came the carts, with the women and children, surrounded by another group of men. And she and the King came last, surrounded by his guard. And around them, yet another ring of riders. It surprised her to see the colors of the Mark and Gondor mixed, an Eorlingas riding next to one of the knights of Gondor. But these men had fought next to each other in the great war; perhaps for some of them this was an opportunity to catch up with one another.

Regardless, it was clear that the kings were taking no chances with the safety of the women and children should they be surprised by the orcs.

"How are you?" His voice startled her out of her thoughts, and Lisswyn realized that though they were surrounded by his guard, the men were giving them some room. Enough for them to talk without being overheard.

She knew he wasn't asking about her physical injuries, and took her time formulating a response. "I'm fine," she finally answered. "Though I keep thinking of things to tell her." Like the fact that you kissed me again, she added to herself. "And I keep thinking I see her out of the corner of my eye, even though I know she's not here." Her voice thickened, though her eyes remained dry. "But I realized last night that she's gone on, is with her husband and the boys. And my parents," she added softly. "And I remembered something else, something she said to me."

"What?"

"It was right before the battle. She told me that death comes, regardless, but that love endures – its value unchanged by a life ended too soon. In part, she was referring to her husband and sons, but…"

"It is no less true of the bond the two of you had."

Lisswyn nodded, had to fight the tears once more.

His arm tightened again briefly as he hugged her to him, and she felt him kiss the top of her head. "I know what you mean about thinking of things to tell her," he said after a moment, his voice quiet. "I still think of things to tell Theodred or my uncle; or more frequently, think of things to ask them," he added ruefully. "Of course, if either of them were alive, I wouldn't have these particular questions, but that seems beside the point."

"About being king?"

He nodded. "Theodred spent his life preparing to be king. It was just always part of who he was. It was not something he wanted, of course, because he knew that for it to happen, we would have first to suffer the loss of my uncle. However, the knowledge that it would occur at some point was always part of his identity. It was there, waiting for him."

"But not for you."

She felt him looking down at her, glanced up, then away when she realized how close their faces were.

"No. Not for me." His voice was still soft. "I'm sure there were those who thought of it, who were aware of it, that I was second in line for the throne. But I wouldn't think of it. Couldn't imagine the loss of both of them."

There was grief in his voice, and she ached for him. At least she had not lost Maegwen and her father at the same time.

She tried to think of something to say, but the words weren't there. So she settled for placing her hand on top of his, the one that was around her waist, and squeezing. He turned it over, squeezed it back.

"Theodred was to me as Maegwen was to you, a little, I think," he finally said. "He was several years older than I was, became an older brother when Eowyn and I went to live at Meduseld." Humor moved into his voice. "He taught me to fight."

Puzzled by his tone, she looked up. He smiled at her. "It was not long after we'd arrived, and he found me scrapping with a boy somewhat older than I was. The boy had made a comment to the effect that Eowyn was not very girl-like, which of course she was not, but which I took offense to. I was mostly losing the fight when Theodred stepped in and broke it up. Then he told me if I was going to fight for my sister's honor, I needed to know how to do it properly."

"And he showed you how to do so?" She hated the thought of him being in a fight, which of course was ridiculous given the battles he'd been in.

The King chuckled. "Yes, after he finished beating the daylights out of me himself."

Lisswyn looked up, an indignant look on her face. "Why? He was supposed to help you!"

He hugged her again. "His first point was that I should pick my battles, and going after someone that much older and bigger than me with my fists was unwise." He glanced down at her. "I found out later that he tracked the boy down and gave him twice what he gave me, both for insulting Eowyn and for fighting with me. That boy and I later became good friends." His tone turned serious again, and she winced. Knew what was coming before she heard the words. "He died with Theodred."

"I'm sorry, my lord."

He shook his head. "Sometimes the best you can hope for is to die with honor, and he did." His voice quieted. "As did my uncle and cousin. But that leaves me as King, something I think neither I nor the Mark were prepared for."

"You are a good king."

"Thank you. I do my duty. I do my best. But I am a warrior, not a statesman, and I fear the Riddermark will suffer for that."

She shook her head. "We need who you are. You may be a warrior, but right now that's not a bad thing, my lord." She motioned around them, to the riders constantly on the lookout for orcs.

He nodded a bit absently, and then was silent for a while before saying very softly, "Theodred did not have my temper."

A shiver moved through her as she understood the degree to which he was exposing himself, to her, and it took a moment to find a response. "Sire, as one who has been on the receiving end of your temper more than once," she allowed a touch of humor to lace her voice, "would you trust me when I tell you that your people know there is more to you than that?" She looked up at him, her face now solemn, earnest. "Most of the time, your temper is because you care so much, so deeply, about the Mark. About your people. And that matters far more than occasional lapses of self-control."

Heat came into his cheeks, and his eyes darkened. She saw him swallow.

"Thank you for that." His voice was husky. Then he leaned down and kissed her again, allowed it to linger for a moment. Did not seem to care that they could be seen.

Lisswyn didn't care either while his lips were pressed to hers, but when he raised his head, she felt her face heat with embarrassment, which she hid by tucking her head under his chin.

A comfortable silence fell between them. Eomer thought about what had just happened, what she had said, and knew for certain his heart was lost to her. Although both Eowyn and Aragorn had guessed at some of it, he had told no one else of his fears that his temper would harm the Mark in some way, or the other doubts he still struggled with concerning his kingship.

And with just a few words she had known how to encourage him. She hadn't tried to flatter him, as he'd discovered some would after his ascent to the throne, and she hadn't tried to deny the reality of his occasional losses of self-control, but had framed it in the larger perspective of who he was.

She'd even gently teased him. He loved the fact that they could relate that way. He smiled at the memory of her comment about having been on the receiving end of his temper. She had been, at that. And yet, she had seen beyond it.

His smile faded. He had spoken to her of his duty to the Riddermark. That duty shaped his life now, guided his choices. Resulted in days spent inside with advisors and council members when he would have preferred being outside, riding across the plains on Firefoot. But would it also choose his mate? Would he have to put the best interests of his country over the best interests of his heart, if the two could not be reconciled?

And wasn't there a point where a contented king would be in the best interests of the Mark?

She shifted, and he looked down, only to realize she'd fallen asleep. He smiled, and shifted her into what he hoped was a more comfortable position, then tucked his cloak more securely around her. It was the second time in a matter of hours that she had fallen asleep in his arms, and he found he liked it, very much.

He leaned down and dropped a light kiss on her forehead, reflecting rather wistfully that it was something he'd like to get used to.

Lisswyn had slept until their mid-day break, after which Eomer had helped her into the cart along with Brecka and Brynwyn. Her obvious disappointment at having slept for so much of her ride with him had caused him to quietly promise her another one. He still wasn't sure she understood that their riding together had been as much for him as for her.

But now he rode in silence next to Aragorn, trying to find the words that would open the conversation he wanted to have. The other man was also quiet, his silence indicating that he knew there was something Eomer wished to discuss.

Eomer finally gave up on finding an easy entrance into what he wanted to know. "How well do you know the Prince of Dol Amroth?"

Aragorn did not look surprised at the question. "Imrahil?" Then he paused, considered carefully before answering. "He is a good man. Honest. Loyal. His friendship is one of the things I've been most grateful for during the past months." He looked over at Eomer. "Much like you and Faramir, in that respect." After a moment, he continued, "He is a very proud man, though. And justifiably so. There is long linage there. Why?"

It was the pride part that could be the problem, Eomer reflected. He did not answer Aragorn right away, also felt the need to choose his words carefully.

"As Third Marshal, I never thought about marriage. There was simply no time. It is possible I might never have married. But no sooner had Sauron fallen than did my love life become a chief topic of interest to all manner of people." Wryly, he added, "even elderly women of your realm felt compelled to ask when I would wed and get a wife with child." He sighed with remembered frustration. "I was much preoccupied at the time, and knew not what to say. There were no women I was particularly attached to. And then one afternoon shortly before your coronation, Faramir, Imrahil and I were passing time in one of your gardens, and Faramir, who is quite fond of his cousin, wondered aloud if perhaps I and the Princess Lothiriel might suit."

Eomer glanced at Aragorn and knew from the neutral expression on his face that his words had not been a surprise. He sighed. "Imrahil looked at me as if he had caught me trying to steal one of his horses, but said such an arrangement could benefit everyone, though he would not push his daughter into something she did not desire."

"And what was your response?"

"As I said, I was distracted and frustrated by the questions I was getting. I had seen the Princess from a distance, and she is lovely; I know how Faramir feels about her. I indicated that I would be willing to meet the lady, would be willing to consider such a union." He looked over at Aragorn, knew he sounded a bit desperate. "Love was not a factor in it. After all, it had never been a factor for me before. It seemed just as possible that I and the princess could find love together as did any other scenario." He looked away, over toward the cart. Lisswyn was sitting up, smiling in response to something her sister had said. "That is where we left matters," he finally finished. "The Prince introduced me to his daughter at your coronation, but there was not much time for me to spend with her prior to my return to Edoras. I had been expecting to meet her again when I escort my sister to Minas Tirith later in the fall."

"And now you are wondering whether the Prince will be insulted if you do not proceed with the possible betrothal."

Eomer nodded, had to force himself to look Aragorn in the face. The other man's astuteness could make conversations much easier. It could also be somewhat unnerving.

"Aragorn, I would not shame the Riddermark by being perceived as going back on my word. I would not want my marriage to cause problems between our lands, nor, for that matter, between my future brother-in-law and me. But…" His glance strayed again toward the cart. Lisswyn was now watching him, and smiled shyly before ducking her head in a blush at being caught staring.

"But now love of someone else is a factor," the other man finished. Eomer just looked at him.

Aragorn said nothing else for a long while, and Eomer's discouragement grew. That could not be good.

But when the other man did finally speak again, it became clear that he was measuring his words with care. "As I said, the Prince is a man of both pride and honor. But he is also a kind man, who loved his wife and loves his children. I do not believe he would want to give his daughter to a man whose heart belongs to another. For that matter," he added thoughtfully, "I do not think he was that enamored of the idea of losing her to Rohan. I believe he would prefer she remain closer to home." He held up his hand at Eomer's sigh of relief, blocked it. "But he has mentioned the conversation to me, Eomer. He admires you, and agreed with Faramir that you and the Princess might indeed suit each other."

"And Faramir is a separate matter," he continued. "You are correct in your assessment that there is much affection between him and his cousin. It is possible that the fact that you and the Princess have only met once and that nothing formal was arranged will help, but you will need to tread carefully to prevent either Faramir or Imrahil from taking offense at your rejection of the Princess."

"I think the best you can hope for is to accept that the Prince will henceforth regard you as somewhat capricious. I'm less sure of how it will change your relationship with Faramir. That may well go back to how the Lady Eowyn reacts to the situation."

Eomer winced at the thought of losing the respect of the Prince of Dol Amroth, but nodded, accepting the truth of what Aragorn had said.

"He was young, once, too, Eomer, and very much in love with his wife." The other man's voice was soft. "He will understand that, even if it does not completely lessen the sense that you have rejected the daughter whom he also loves. But the sooner you can find a way to meet with him, to be honest about what has happened, the better."

"I know. Unfortunately, I am not free to simply up and go to Gondor, not with the orc situation as it is."

Aragorn nodded. "Hopefully, that situation will soon be rectified." He glanced over at the cart. "Have you spoken of your feelings to Lisswyn yet?"

"No. I do not really feel free to, until I've cleared the situation with the Prince. But she must guess at it." His feelings must be completely apparent.

Silence fell between them. Eomer pondered what Aragorn had said. The difficulty was that essentially, he was the Riddermark. If the Prince of Dol Amroth henceforth viewed Eomer as impulsive and unreliable, it would bring shame to all his people. And yet, while the Prince might feel Eomer had dishonored his daughter by changing his mind about her in such a manner, proceeding with a meeting and possibly a betrothal when his heart now belonged to another would surely be a greater dishonor.

He tried to see the situation from the Prince's perspective, and could not. He did know that if he had a daughter – frightening thought, that, and why did Brynwyn come to mind just then? – he would not want someone to court her out of a sense of duty or obligation, let alone actually marry her.

For that matter, if he believed Faramir's interest in Eowyn was anything other than love, he would simply run the man through and be done with it. Thinking of the way the Prince of Ithilien was around his sister, he smiled in spite of his own worries. Faramir was obviously very much in love with Eowyn, so there was nothing to be concerned about in that respect.

But it was clear that that man who would be his brother-in-law regarded the princess of Dol Amroth as a sister, and Eomer did have a great deal of experience in the manner of how unreasonable an older brother could be when it came to how his sister was treated. Faramir was not going to be happy with him.

And then there was the problem that the lady in question also had three natural brothers who might very well take exception to the situation. He grimaced. At least he was not going to be related to them.

Aragorn spoke again. "There are two other factors you should consider."

Eomer looked at him warily.

"It is possible you've thought of them already, and if so, forgive me for mentioning them." He hesitated. "One is how Lisswyn herself will feel about being queen. It is not an easy task you would ask of her. And the second is the matter of how your people are likely to respond."

Eomer did not reply. Did not know how to. Was nothing about this to be simple? Having spent his life prepared to go without love, could he not now just enjoy it? No, of course not. He was king.

Aragorn spoke again. "You may have a better idea of the first than I do, though you may discover that while Lisswyn loves you, she does not love the idea of being queen. But as to the second…" he looked around at their men, riding in a protective circle around them, but far enough away to allow privacy for the conversation. "I believe your men have already more or less accepted her as your lady."

Eomer gave him a sharp look.

"The boys have been talking, and as a result, your guardsmen know of the journey she made, despite the orcs, looking for herbs to save you; they also know of her courage in the battle you fought. Those things alone were enough to earn their respect. If you love her enough to make her your queen, if she loves you enough to consent, they will accept her, will give her the same utter loyalty they give you. She saved your life," he added simply. "And their acceptance of her will go a long way toward influencing others. But again, do not underestimate Lady Eowyn's role in how the rest of your people will view Lisswyn as a potential queen."

They rode again in silence as Eomer thought about what the other man had said. His people's response did not concern him as much as did the situation involving Lothiriel. If he married the Princess of Dol Amroth, the Eorlingas would honor her and be proud of her, would seek to appreciate what she brought to the Mark. But there was something to be said for his choosing a woman from his own people, as well, and many of the them would appreciate having a queen who did not have to learn to love the Riddermark and its people.

There might be a few who would note Lisswyn's lack of noble birth, but for the most part, the Eorlingas were a very practical people. At heart, they valued courage and nobility of action over nobility of birth. They would see in Lisswyn what his men had seen.

But Aragorn was right about Eowyn. The people loved her, had long looked up to her in the absence of a queen. Her response to Lisswyn would be crucial.

As far as he knew, Eowyn had never yet met the Princess of Dol Amroth. Would she still see Lisswyn as an insult of sorts to the family of her betrothed? Or would she see in Lisswyn what he himself saw?

Eowyn was nothing if not fair-minded; she also loved him, would want his happiness. He would depend on that.