Lothíriel blinked her eyes sleepily, trying stay awake. She felt weaker with each passing moment. Her eyelidss were heavy and she was so cold that her teeth chattered lightly as she spotted Edoras approaching. It was odd now to approach the city on the back of a horse rather than by the power of her own body. She tried to shift to see her hands, but both Éomer's tight grip and the pain on her side restricted her movement. Erkenbrand must have been successful in warning the city of the king's hasty arrival, for the streets were clear of everyone, though some peaked out from the sides, a look of surprise coming over them once they saw Lothíriel, wrapped and held steadily on Éomer's lap. It took hardly a minute for Firefoot to reach the base of Meduseld. Éomer carefully dismounted, holding Lothíriel as delicately as he was able. Just as he did, the doors of the hall burst open and one man and woman in brown, loose robes came forward.

"My king, Lord Erkenbrand is not making any sense." Éomer walked past them as they followed with ease. "He said that this woman was a horse. Did he perhaps mean she fell from her horse?"

"It doesn't matter. She has deep cuts and needs to be treated for them right away." Éomer's voice boomed above her.

"Certainly Sire." The two nodded. Ahead of them, Lothíriel spotted Aragorn who hastened towards them.

"I have readied this chamber for her." The Gondorian king sounded calm as he ushered Éomer. As they entered the room, Lothíriel realized that the light that had dimmed as they entered Meduseld was bright with the sun shining brightly through a wide open window. In a way it reminded her of the houses of healing in Gondor. Almost always constructed so that no matter the time of day, there was always light to work by.

"I warn you, she is naked as the day she was born under this cloak." Lothíriel wondered if Éomer knew he sounded almost protective.

"I promise I am not some pubescent boy. I have treated both men and women in various states of undress in my time as a healer." She was laid gently on a cot. The motion hurt, though she didn't have the energy to cry out as she did when she was jostled before. "Besides, if she is injured the way Lord Erkenbrand mentioned, she'd have to be undressed anyway. Now, you need to leave."

"I don't think that is necessary." Éomer stood to his full height.

"You are not her husband to wait on her like this, and you are not her brother as you were when I tended to Éowyn." Aragorn's tone was firm but still kind. "I promise to send for you when I have any news."

Éomer looked like he was contemplating arguing before he huffed slightly. "Very well. I will be in the main hall." Aragorn nodded before turning back to Lothíriel. As the door shut, he carefully lifted the woolen cloak. Some of the blood had caked onto the fabric so as it was removed it tugged on the cuts. That pain was enough to rouse the energy for a scream. When she finally lay silent, Aragorn examined the wounds.

"They are deep, but not fatal. They will need cleaning, stitches, and a poultice in order to heal properly, though they will not impede anything once they have fully healed." Aragorn looked at Lothíriel's tear-streaked face. "You are very lucky, Princess Lothíriel."

One of the robed people pulled something from a long pocket. "I have this, it will dull your senses to the pain as we close the wounds." They waited for her to open her mouth before allowing a few drops of some solution to fall inside. It didn't take long for the drug to take effect. There was a silent relief within Lothíriel as the pain faded away.

She still felt tired and began to fade in and out of sleep, an odd pricking sensation along the cuts bringing her attention round each time she began to faint. It took her a while before she realized that Aragorn was stitching her injuries closed. He did it with such efficiency that she knew it was certainly not his first time sewing in this way.

She felt herself relaxing even further as the medicine took further effect. Without even realizing it, she began to close her eyes and sleep. It was little wonder that she dreamt of the long golden tendrils of hair tickling her face and of strong arms, holding her body close as they thundered over the plains.

A/N: Good morning! I was going to jump ahead in the story where Lothíriel was already laying in bed (post-medieval surgery) but then I figured I'd rather see how Éomer would handle bringing this surprise home. Thankfully Aragorn was already there in the wings, prepared to help heal one of his subject, am I right?

The next chapter shouldn't be too far away. Thanks so much for the great reviews so far! Hearing from you all is very motivating!