Lisswyn slid several more loaves of bread into the large oven and stepped back, away from the heat, before stretching. Fighting a yawn, she rubbed her eyes. Dawn had not been far off when the last of the injured riders had been cared for, but she'd been too restless to sleep – her mind had still been too full of images of the battle, the men she'd cared for…and the encounter with the King.

So instead of seeking her bed, she'd come to the kitchen to offer whatever help she could, and promptly been put to work making bread. It had been a good choice of activity, as the rhythmic kneading had finally allowed her to begin to relax.

It was now late morning, but she thought perhaps she could finally sleep, at least for a while. The last she'd looked, the hall was full of exhausted people, including many of those who'd lost their homes and were now curled up on the floor along the walls.

Turning, she discovered the kitchen was vacant. Even Tille must have finally gone to get some rest before finishing the lunch preparations. Yawning again, she started from the kitchen, only to encounter Hilde just outside the door. Although obviously agitated, upon closer inspection it was clear the older woman was excited more than alarmed.

"Lisswyn! I've been looking for you. The midwife says Liffild is in labor!"

All thoughts of sleep fled as she followed Hilde to the narrow stairs leading to the lower level of Meduseld.

"She began experiencing the pains late yesterday and the midwife said not to move her – the room she's been sleeping in is full of injured riders, anyway."

She found Liffild and Mylla in a narrow storeroom. Although small, it was at least private.

Lisswyn wasn't sure what to expect from Liffild. The only woman she'd ever sat with through labor had been her mother, and none of those births had gone well. Most of them had ended in the babe's death, and the final one had given them Brynwyn but taken her mother's life.

But she found the other woman mostly calm, with only a gleam of excitement in her eyes betraying her feelings about giving birth.

She grimaced when Lisswyn sat down next to her, and shifted her weight. "I told him he could not be born during the orc attack, and he cooperated…to a point."

"He?"

The gleam in Liffild's eyes intensified. "Only a boy-child would want so badly to have been here for a battle."

Lisswyn laughed softly. For the first time, she wondered what it would truly be like to carry another person inside you. With her mother's pregnancies, she had been too young, and later too worried, to think about such things. But now, the thought came to her, and she reached out, gently touched Liffild's stomach – then looked up, startled at the movement she felt.

Liffild reached down, rubbed the area, gave Lisswyn a wry smile. "I'd been told that the babe would stop kicking me so much when it was near time for the birth. But I believe this one has been trying to kick his way out instead of coming in the usual manner."

Lisswyn smiled in response, felt her eyes widen when the baby kicked again, against her hand. Again, she wondered what it must feel like, but suppressed the curiosity before her thoughts could lead to the King. Best not to go there.

She cleared her throat before glancing back up, taking in both Liffild and the midwife. "How long do you think it will be?"

Mylla shook her head. "The child is definitely on his way, but he's not making it easy to guess how long it will take for him to arrive. A while yet."

Mylla was right. Although Liffild was obviously in labor, the pains were yet far apart, so at their request, Lisswyn told them of the battle, forcing back the lump that wanted to settle in her throat at the memory of the moment the riders had swept into the courtyard.

"I knew the King would return in time," Liffild said. "And it was our Eoden who went after him." Her eyes met Lisswyn's. "His mother would be very proud of him."

Lisswyn nodded, the mention of Maegwen bringing back the ache for her friend. "They're saying that the King gifted him with the horse he rode."

"Did he?" Liffild's eyes gleamed in pleasure. "That's a fine thing—" her words cut off as another pain took her, and she reached for Lisswyn's hand, squeezed hard.

"Betta told me that the King is calling him a hero." As she spoke, Mylla got up, checked the progress of the labor. Then she looked up. "Slow and steady, that's what this one is, Liffild. But that's not abnormal for a firstborn."

The other woman, exhausted from the contraction, simply nodded.

Trying to distract her, Lisswyn reached over and picked up a small blanket lying on the bed next to Liffild. Soft wool, it was obviously intended for the baby, but its color fascinated her. "What a lovely shade of green!"

Liffild smiled, then looked at Mylla. "It was a gift," she nodded at the midwife.

"Every babe should be welcomed into the world with a gift. And who better than the midwife attending the birth?" Mylla said with a smile.

"It's beautiful. Do you mind if I ask where the dye came from? What plant?" she asked.

"It's not a secret," Mylla answered. "There's a plant that grows out in the foothills. Not far from Edoras, really. It gives us that shade of green."

Lisswyn nodded thoughtfully. Eowyn would look good in a dress that color, she thought. And maybe now, with the orc threat gone, she would have some time to weave and sew.

Mylla was correct about a firstborn taking his time – it was late evening before Eomer-Oslaf finally put in an appearance.

But the long wait was worth it as Mylla handed him to Lisswyn to clean while she attended to Liffild.

Taking the squalling infant, Lisswyn grinned at the noise he was making. "Shhh, little one. I'll have you right back with your mother," she murmured.

When she turned back to the bed, she saw that Mylla had efficiently gotten Liffild cleaned up and that her friend's eyes were anxiously following Lisswyn as she swaddled the child.

Lisswyn smiled as she carried the babe back to her. "They say loudness is an indication of health." She laughed as the noised increased. "He should be fine, then!"

Greedily, Liffild reached for him, spoke softly to him. The crying didn't immediately subside, but it did grow quieter, and she smiled in pleasure, stroked his cheek, before looking up at Lisswyn. "I would have been just as happy with a girl-child, but I'm glad he's a boy. It will be good to be able to hear the name Oslaf spoken again," she said wistfully. As if he heard his name, the baby cried louder, and his mother's smile turned rueful. "It doesn't look as if I will ever compare his personality to his father, though."

Lisswyn laughed. Oslaf had been known for his quiet manner. "Do you still intend to call him after the King as well?"

Liffild gave her a knowing look. "Yes. He shall be Eomer-Oslaf. But that's a mouthful for a little one, so I shall call him Oslaf most of the time – until he's old enough to require both names to keep him in line," she ended on a chuckle.

It was sometime later before both mother and son were settled down for a well-deserved sleep, and Lisswyn finally felt free to seek her own bed. Once they had realized that she hadn't slept since before the battle, both Liffild and Mylla had encouraged her to rest, but she had been unable to do so. Haunted by the memory of the way her mother's labors had ended, she hadn't been truly able to relax until Oslaf was safely wrapped in his mother's arms and it was clear that Liffild had survived the long delivery.

Exhausted beyond reason, Lisswyn stumbled into the main hall, and looked around, blinking. It was late in the evening, and the hall was quiet except for the soft snores of those who slept curled up along the walls.

She made her way to the room she'd been sharing with some of the other women and then simply stood there, staring stupidly inside.

There was no room. She could see Hilde and Brynwyn in the bed, but instead of the space Lisswyn usually slept in were what looked like two other small children, and the floor was literally covered with their mothers and siblings.

Of course. It should have occurred to her that in a crisis like the one Edoras was currently facing with the lost buildings, that every bed would be needed. Hilde probably thought Lisswyn would spend the night with Liffild – but there was no room for an additional body to stretch out in the narrow room where Liffild had given birth.

Lisswyn backed out of the chamber, closed the door. What now? She wasn't even sure where to go to find a cover to wrap up in.

Yawning, she turned back to the main hall, made her way to the tables near the King's dais. There should be some bread and cheese out. She'd have a little while mulling over her sleeping options. At least she'd be sitting down.

"What?" Eomer stood up, looked over at Eowyn. "There's something else you're not telling me." Glancing back down, he shoved the parchments on his desk aside. It was simply too late to try to make sense of the reports. His mind was already a jumble of buildings lost and damaged, injured riders, and estimates of time it would take to repair the main gate, without spending more time staring at the reports detailing all those same figures – plus other, smaller crises.

As late as it was, he'd just finished a meeting with his advisors, and having sent them all off to rest, was thinking of finally trying to grab a few hours of sleep himself. But his sister had not left when the others had, and her expression told him he wasn't going to like whatever she said next.

"The situation in the kitchen still needs resolution."

He stared at her blankly. A fourth of Edoras was in ruins, the gates destroyed, he was once again planning funerals for dead riders – and she wanted him to think about finding a new cook? What did he know of managing a kitchen? This was why he needed a queen.

But even if he didn't – yet – have a queen, he did have a steward and a housekeeper. "Why aren't Ealdred or Betta looking into it?" In his exhaustion, the words came out more petulantly than he'd intended, and he was glad Eowyn was the only one to have heard them. "I take it no one has yet suggested anyone who could take Hunlaf's place?"

"Betta believes Tille can do it."

"Then why—"

"I agree with Betta." Eowyn's words were quiet. Deliberate. "I also think we owe Tille the opportunity."

"What do you mean?" He knew his sister too well, and her tone was a warning. He had a sudden sick feeling that he wasn't going to like whatever she said in response. Her face was pale, with more than just exhaustion, and in her eyes were guilt and misery beyond the current situation in Edoras.

"Why did we never wonder why Hunlaf would only ever allow one assistant at a time?" she finally asked.

It wasn't like Eowyn to take an indirect approach to discussing a problem. Something was badly amiss here, and he was too tired to try to guess what it was. "He said he didn't like a lot of people about, would rather work with just one person." Eomer frowned, confused. "You know that as well as I do. What's going on?"

"Why did we never wonder why it was always a very young woman that he chose to work with him?"

He stared at her for a long moment, at the anguish in her eyes, and felt the sickness spread. "No." Filled with dread, he couldn't get anything else out.

Her hands came up, rubbed her eyes. When she looked at him again, she was struggling against tears. "He abused her, Eomer. Horrifically. Raped her. Repeatedly."

"No," he said again. He took a step back from her, desperately wanting to deny her words.

"Do you remember Lufe?"

Stunned and horrified, he started to shake his head. The name was familiar though. "She was the assistant before Tille, wasn't she?"

Eowyn nodded. "You were on patrol when she took sick and died suddenly."

He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"She was pregnant with Hunlaf's child, so he poisoned her."

"But why…" Sickened, baffled, furious, he stared at her. "Why didn't she say something?"

"To Wormtongue? To Uncle during the worst of his—"

"Neither Wormtongue nor Theoden-King are here now," he snapped.

"Hunlaf told her we wouldn't believe her. He also told her he'd kill her if she tried."

A young woman in his household…she'd been under his protection, and he hadn't protected her. He slumped down on the edge of the desk, waited for the fury to come. But perhaps due to his own exhaustion, all he felt was a sick sense of failure. "I knew I should have killed him when I had the chance," he muttered.

"I should have guessed."

Eowyn's voice trembled on the words, and he gave her a sharp look, suddenly understanding that she was feeling a different kind of guilt. She, who had lived with the threat of Wormtongue's lust, while Eomer had been powerless to protect her. "It wasn't your fault."

She shook her head. "I should have known," she repeated.

"We all should have wondered at his insistence that he have only one assistant, a young woman of his choosing." He rubbed his face, tried not to think of the horror the young woman had endured. "How is she?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. This all came out this afternoon, to Betta, who brought her to me. Tille seems mostly relieved, perhaps a little shocked, as if she still can't believe he's really gone."

Again, he struggled for a response. What could he possibly do now that would somehow right the wrong that had been done to the young woman? Nothing. As a member of the King's household, she should have been safe.

"It's Betta who thinks the best thing for her might be to allow her to take over the kitchen."

"It looks like she'd want to be anywhere else, away from the memories," he said hesitantly, unsure of what to say. He could follow his instincts, hunt Hunlaf down and kill him as painfully as possible, but that wouldn't undo the damage the man had done – to Tille or to Lufe before her. "Perhaps she'd like to go with you to Ithilien when you go, as an attendant?"

She shook her head again. "Apparently she coped by learning all she could from him – both in cooking and baking, and in how to manage the kitchen for a large household. Betta thinks that replacing him in the kitchen, and doing a good job, will be a victory of sorts for her over him."

"She's very young for so much responsibility, isn't she?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he grimaced. Not too young to have been victimized.

"Betta thinks she can do it, and after watching her for several days, I'm inclined to agree. She's managing to keep everyone fed, despite the current crisis."

He nodded. As something to offer the young woman, it still felt completely inadequate. "Find out from Betta how we can best support her." He frowned, rubbed his eyes. He knew nothing of kitchens. "Perhaps by getting her some assistants?"

Eowyn nodded, then came to him, leaned against him and sighed, as if relieved of a weight.

He wrapped his arms around her, exhausted and burdened by responsibilities and a growing list of people he'd failed.

After a moment, she pulled away, looked up at him. "You should get some rest."

He nodded. "What of you?"

"I slept for a while earlier. I was just going to the kitchen to check on things." At his questioning look, she continued, "Apparently, Tille seldom sleeps. If there's anything Betta is worried about, it's that she'll exhaust herself trying prove her capabilities."

"Find someone to help her." It still sounded completely inadequate, but Eowyn nodded.

They walked together to the door, and stepped out. Eomer had only intended to take a last look around the hall before going to his bedchamber, but then he spied the figure asleep at the table.

He looked at Eowyn, puzzled, then moved quietly toward Lisswyn.

"She's been with Liffild all day. I doubt she's slept," Eowyn said quietly. "The babe must have finally been born," she motioned around the hall, to the people curled up along the wall, "but she may well have then discovered there was no place for her to sleep."

Eomer grimaced, gazed down at Lisswyn. Her head resting on her folded arms, she was deeply asleep.

"She needs a bed," he said softly.

Eowyn touched his arm, then motioned. "Bring her to my room."

He looked at her, then nodded his head. Her willingness to share her bed was another sign of her affection and acceptance of Lisswyn, but he was too tired and discouraged to express appreciation for it. Leaning over, he gathered Lisswyn into his arms. She sighed, curled into him, but never woke.

It felt good to have her in his arms.

Shifting her to a more comfortable position, he followed Eowyn to her chamber, then waited while his sister pulled back the covers before laying Lisswyn on the bed.

He covered her, watched as she sighed again before snuggling into the bed.

With an exhausted sigh of his own, he sank into a nearby chair, his eyes on the woman in the bed. He knew he should seek his own rest, and he would – in just a little while.

"Eomer," Eowyn's voice was soft. "You must sleep."

Rubbing his eyes, he looked up at her. "I know. I will."

She walked over to him, rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment. Hesitating, it was clear she wanted to say something else, but settled instead for squeezing his shoulder before turning and leaving the room.

Eomer was relieved. He loved her dearly, but he badly needed some time to sort out his thoughts – thoughts full of sorrow, fury, and guilt.

Lisswyn woke slowly, only gradually realizing that she wasn't sharing a bed, that Brynwyn wasn't pressed against her back.

She wasn't in the room she normally slept in. It took a moment to identify the chamber as belonging to the King's sister, which made no sense at all. How had she come to be sleeping in Lady Eowyn's bed? It was still dark in the room, but a glance at the window told her that dawn was not far off.

Frowning, she tried to recall the previous day, and slowly the memories came back – the battle, the long night of caring for injured riders, Liffild's labor—ah. The room she normally slept in had been full of women and children from Edoras.

That still didn't explain how she had wound up in Eowyn's bed. The last she remembered was sitting down to have some bread and cheese.

Hearing a soft noise, as of a sigh, she sat up and looked around, only to stare, stunned, at the form of the King sound asleep in a nearby chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

That explained how she got to Eowyn's bed. But why was he still here? Why hadn't he sought his own bed?

Frowning, she eased as silently as possible out from under the covers. Now what? Her stomach was reminding her that as she hadn't actually eaten any of the bread the night before, that it was past time for a meal, but she hated simply to leave him.

She moved closer, stared down at his handsome face, grateful that the candle in the wall sconce still burned.

Even in sleep, he looked troubled, a crease in his forehead indicating that concerns for the Riddermark followed him into his dreams.

Without thinking, she reached out, nearly touched him before realizing what she was doing and starting to draw her hand back. As she did, his eyes opened and he reached up, caught her wrist in his hand.

"Lisswyn?" his tone was confused.

Flustered, she tugged on her hand, not knowing how to respond. She couldn't very well admit to nearly stroking his forehead. "Forgive me for waking you."

The confusion cleared from his face, and he glanced at the window, sighed before sitting up straight in the chair. He released her hand, rubbed his hands over her face. "It is time for me to awaken, anyway. There is much to do." His shoulders sagged as he spoke.

It was a marked contrast to his manner while she'd cleaned his mail scratches after the battle, but that was probably normal. He'd now had an entire day of dealing with the aftermath of the attack.

But it saddened her to see him thus. Kneeling on the floor next to him, she looked up at his shadowed face. He was staring at his hands, currently resting on his knees. What could she say that could help?

"The Riddermark is strong," she finally said softly. "We will rebuild, will survive this."

He met her eyes, but didn't reply.

And she suddenly understood. "You could not have done other than you did in riding out to protect the herds. This is not your fault."

"Isn't it?" His voice flat, he stared at her, weariness and despair evident in his eyes.

"No. How could it be?"

"I'm the King," he said simply. "It is my duty to protect and defend the Riddermark. Instead, an entire village is wiped out because of me, and now a fourth of Edoras is in ruins, a third of Elfhelm's eored is awaiting burial—"

"Stop it," She said sharply. It was the same tone she might use with Brynwyn, and they both looked startled by it. Figuring she had only moments before he'd recover from the shock and reprimand her for taking such a tone with him, she plunged on. "Being King does not mean prevention of every possible ill that could befall the Mark."

He scowled but didn't respond, so she continued. "What was it King Elessar said about Maegwen's death? It was the orc's fault. Not Eoden's, nor yours or mine. And it is the orcs who are to blame for the loss of the village, Elfhelm's men, and the buildings in Edoras. What should you have done? Left the herds – our very existence – to the mercy of the orcs? I think not."

Suppressing a wince at the sharpness of the words, she spoke more gently. "Even King Elessar, with his seeing stone, could not tell exactly how many orcs there were. And if there had been just a few less in number, Elfhelm's men would have been able to hold out against them. You made a completely reasonable choice given the information you had, and no one in Edoras blames you for it."

Since he hadn't yet snapped at her, she gave into the desire to touch him, reaching over to touch his hand, unprepared for how quickly he turned his over, linked their fingers. "Our people do not expect you to prevent every possible disaster, only to lead us through them," she ended simply.

He said nothing for a long moment, just stared at their entwined fingers. Then he pulled away, stood, and walked over to tend the fire. She watched him, her heart aching.

With his back to her, he finally spoke. "Seeing Edoras in ruins, preparing for more funerals…it makes all the losses we suffered last spring a mockery. What did they die for, if not the hope that our people could live in safety?"

He sounded so weary. She struggled to find the right words. "The fact that the war is, apparently, not yet completely over does not mean that those who died earlier died in vain," she finally said quietly.

Standing, she moved across the room, stood next to him. Uncertain as to how much comfort he would accept, she hesitated for a moment before reaching out, gently touching his arm. "You must not let your grief blind you." He turned to her, and she kept her gaze steady on him, her tone firm. "Edoras is not in ruins."

He stared at her for a long moment, then reached out, pulled her to him. Lisswyn went gladly, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning against his chest. She felt him rest his chin on the top of her head, and they stood that way for a long moment.

"That makes it a bit easier," he finally said.

Confused, she looked up at him.

"Thinking of it as the absolute final end of the war of the ring, the last, desperate fight of the remainder of the orcs, rather than a new war we're ill equipped to fight."

"Do you not think that that is so? There can not be that many more of the creatures."

"So Aragorn says. You're in good company with that theory." He smiled as he said it, a weak ghost of a smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"I know it is hard to think of the loss of more men, to think of Elfhelm's grief," she said softly. "But it is no small thing that no one else was injured, that most of Edoras still stands."

He nodded, then leaned down, gently kissed her. "Lisswyn, I—"

A throat being cleared behind them interrupted him, and he snapped his mouth shut in annoyance.

"Eomer." Eowyn spoke from the door, her voice full of disapproval, and Lisswyn saw frustration settle on the King's face.

Flustered and embarrassed, she pulled away from him. What must his sister be thinking, finding her in his arms, next to the bed? Mortified, she turned to leave the room. "I'll go check on Liffild," she muttered a little desperately as she quickly exited.

Eomer watched her go, then turned to Eowyn, forcibly reined in his annoyance. "You could have knocked."

"It's my door," she pointed out. "And I expected her to be here by herself, asleep in the bed."

The words were an accusation, and he had fight back an angry response. "I fell asleep in the chair," he bit off. "It wasn't planned." Feeling the need to defend himself, he added, "nothing improper happened." But he'd been about to do something unwise and speak of his feelings, and a look at his sister's face told him she knew it.

"Eowyn…"

She walked over to him, stared hard at him. "You do not seem as disheartened as you did last night, so I will not give you more grief. But you must continue to be careful with her reputation, Eomer."

He looked over at the door Lisswyn had exited through. "She always knows what to say to me. I don't know how, but she does." He looked back at Eowyn, gave her a helpless look. "You're right. But…"

She reached up, touched his cheek. "The orcs are dead. Soon you will be able to plan a trip to Gondor. I know it is difficult, but think of how much better it will be to speak to her of your feelings once things have been resolved with the Prince of Dol Amroth."

"And your betrothed," he reminded her with a grimace.

She stared at him for a long moment, then repeated his action of a moment before and glanced over at the door Lisswyn had gone through before looking back at him. "The better acquainted I become with Lisswyn, and the more I observe the two of you together, the more convinced I am that she is a good choice for you. And not only that, I believe she will make a good queen for the Mark. I will make sure Faramir understands this."

Gratitude swamped him, and he leaned forward, kissed her forehead. "Thank you."