The morning passed quickly. Eomer alternated between riding next to Lisswyn and riding up at the front of the group – sometimes with Brynwyn, sometimes without. But he was always on the move, emphasizing to Lisswyn how much he was enjoying the trip itself, being out and away from meetings, his desk, and his advisors.

By the time they broke for lunch, Lisswyn was glad to be off Dancer for a while. She loved the young mare, loved being able to ride. But it had been many years since she'd had the opportunity to ride for an extended period of time, and she rather thought she'd be paying for it the following day.

She was walking a little ways down the bank of the stream they'd stopped by when Eomer came up behind her. She'd stopped when she heard him, and turned. He wore a puzzled expression, and she smiled, realizing how odd she must have looked, stretching as she walked. "It's been a very long time since I've spent so many hours in a saddle."

"Ah." He walked over, pulled her to him, began rubbing her lower back. "I'll rub the rest of the stiffness out for you tonight in our tent," he murmured, a teasing note in his voice.

"Eomer!" It was the tone as much as the words that sent a thrill through her, and even knowing no one was near enough to hear, she blushed and hid her face in his chest.

He laughed, and she felt him lean down and press a kiss against her hair.

The afternoon was half gone when Lisswyn heard Eomer give a shout of laughter. She looked up from where she'd been about to say something to Ceolwyn in time to see Eowyn take off across the plains, obviously having just challenged her brother to a race.

Her grin faded as Eothain gave an altogether different shout – more swear than anything else – and took off after them.

"Oh, dear," said Ceolwyn, her voice troubled.

It was so exhilarating simply to run. Eomer wasn't at all sure he was going to win – Eowyn was lighter and her stallion bred more for speed than was Firefoot – but it felt so good just to run. He'd galloped around the group earlier with Brynwyn, but both he and Firefoot were always aware, always just a bit more careful when the little girl was with them. Now, however, there was nothing but land, horse, and sky, and ahead of them, his sister, seeming to take just as much delight in the run as he was. He hadn't felt this free in…forever. Always before, even before he was made Third Marshal, there had been a threat to worry about. But now, Sauron and Saruman were defeated, the Mark safe. Hunlaf and his minions were gone. A fragile peace even existed with the Dunlendings.

He caught something on the edge of his vision and glanced that way in time to see Eothain coming up next to him, nearly vibrating with fury. "Eomer, damn you! Stop," he roared.

Eomer was so startled by the words and their tone, he was nearly unseated when he pulled too hard on the reins and Firefoot stopped more quickly than he'd anticipated – then danced around, obviously as frustrated as Eomer by the curtailment of the run.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Anxious, he turned, looking around for the threat that had Eothain so disturbed, and noted with relief that Eowyn was bringing her mount around to join them.

"You fool! You cannot simply take off that way with no warning. I was barely able to keep up." Eothain was out of breath, and angrier than Eomer had seen him in a very long time.

His own temper burst free. "You just scared years off my life simply because I didn't ask you before agreeing to a race with my sister? You're the captain of my guard, Eothain, not my mother!"

"As irresponsible as you're being, it's the same thing!"

For a moment, speech simply failed. Irresponsible? Eothain thought him irresponsible? Vicious words, hot words, wanted to come. And if he couldn't say them to his oldest friend, whom could he say them to?

But then he looked over, saw on a slight rise of land the rest of his guard, shuffling uneasily as their horses caught their tension, along with Ceolwyn, the boys…and Lisswyn.

He was their king. And not even to his oldest friend could he risk the words that wanted to spew. He bit them back, but could not completely keep the fury out of his tone when he spoke. "Then perhaps you should pity the Riddermark, Eothain, for having an irresponsible fool for a king."

Wearily, he turned Firefoot back to continue the journey, settling in the middle of the group, near the carts but far enough away to be spared conversation. Eothain resumed his position at the front of the group, and Eowyn, concern for both of them on her face, rode next to him.

A largely silent group made camp late in the afternoon. Though no one but Eowyn had really caught what had happened, had heard Eothain's words, even the children were reacting to the tension.

He dismounted and tossed Firefoot's reins to Eoden, nodding his head at the boy in thanks, then stalked down to the trees that bounded the stream that ran next to where they were setting up camp. The stream curved around in both directions, providing a protective barrier on both sides. Surely Eothain wouldn't begrudge him that much privacy.

The area between the trees and water was rocky, and he picked his way slowly to where the stream curved before twisting away in a different direction, and collapsed on one of the boulders. Mindlessly, he reached down for a handful of pebbles, started tossing them at the water one at a time.

Was Eothain right? Had he endangered himself, and thus the Riddermark, merely by going for a race with his sister? No. That was foolish. They'd been on an open plain, had seen no signs of brigands or robbers, let alone orcs or their ilk.

But that didn't mean there wasn't merit in the other man's accusation. Eomer wasn't free to live his life as he chose, hadn't been since the day Theodred died. In many ways, his life, at least as he had known it, had ended that day, too.

Shame prickled the back of his neck at the thought. He was alive, his cousin wasn't. And despite the kingship, he was alive, had much joy in his life. Had been able to marry the woman he loved – something his cousin would never know.

Movement down the stream caught his eye, and he whipped his head around, prepared to blast Eothain – or whomever he'd sent to watch over him – only to see it was the object of his thoughts. Lisswyn came out of the trees in the same spot where he had, and quietly sat down on one of the boulders without looking at him.

Feeling foolish, he continued to sit where he was, continued to throw the pebbles in the water while wondering at her silence. It wasn't making him feel closed in, he realized. She never did.

At that was probably the point. She was there, would be there, waiting, when he was ready for company. Would give him whatever peace and solitude he could manage until then.

It was time he fully accepted that he was Eomer-king and no longer free to be simply Eomer, Eomund's son. Being king would always have to take precedence over being himself.

But there were compensations for everything he could no longer be or do. He stood, went to her.

Her heart aching at the defeated look on his face, Lisswyn watched him to come toward her. Eowyn had told her the basics of what had happened and she wondered – what hurt worse? The tension between him and Eothain or the curtailed ride, and all he thought it represented?

Both, probably.

He stopped in front of her and held out his hand, and she allowed him to pull her up. He said nothing, simply kept her hand in his as he led her back to camp.

The others were gathered in the open space in the middle of the camp, but when he started in that direction, Lisswyn stopped, tugged him toward their tent, instead. At his frown, she asked, "Do you truly wish to have supper with the others? If so, we can certainly do so. But I've arranged to have our meal in our tent."

He simply stared at her in response, a bleak look in his eyes. "I should make an appearance."

"No. Not tonight, not with members of your guard. It's not necessary. Come." And she led him to their tent.

It was more spartan than it could have been, as Eomer saw no point in having the men and horses carry more than the essentials. But it was comfortable, with a pile of furs and blankets on one side for a bed, several other smaller piles on the other side for a seating area, and in the middle, a small covered brazier providing heat and a little light.

Eomer gave her a puzzled glance.

"Brynwyn is in Eowyn's tent for the night."

The confusion cleared and he nodded, then began to remove his armor. Lisswyn moved to help him, and they worked together in silence. When he was wearing only his tunic and leggings, he sat down on one of the smaller piles of furs with a quiet sigh and reached for the goblet of wine she'd placed there earlier, along with his meal.

Lisswyn moved behind him, began to rub his shoulders.

"I'm fine, Lisswyn."

"I know," she said, without stopping. He was so tense.

He smeared soft cheese on a slab of bread and asked, "have you eaten?"

"Some."

He took a few bites, then shifted, pulled her around and down onto his lap. In addition to the bread and soft cheese, there was dried meat, hard cheese, and fruit. As they'd be at the Deep tomorrow, there hadn't seemed much point in bringing a greater variety of food.

He handed her a slice of the bread and a piece of meat, then took more for himself.

They ate in silence for a few moments, then he pushed the food away. "He called me irresponsible, and a fool." There was bafflement and hurt in his voice more than temper.

"You are neither, and Eothain knows that. You frightened him. He takes your safety seriously."

"He'd never let me sit a horse again if it were solely up to him."

Grasping for words, any words that would help, she finally said, "You are still a new king. He is still a new captain of the king's guard, and is yet struggling to understand his role – one he feels he already failed you in once."

"I've been king for nearly a year."

Unsurprised he'd focused on that part of her statement, Lisswyn put her hand on his cheek, forced him to look at her. "But it was an unusual year, and until the last four months, there was very little time for thinking about what you intend your kingship to be, let alone communicating that to anyone else, including Eothain."

He frowned. "What do you mean, 'what I intend my kingship to be'?"

She kept her voice gentle. "You are still trying to be Theodred, Eomer, or at least still trying to be the king you think he would have been."

"That is not a bad thing. Theodred would have made a great king!"

"Of course he would have. And I'm not saying there's not much you can learn by thinking about how he would have done things. But the man who was Third Marshal of the Riddermark would make a good king, too, if he would merely trust himself a little more, would apply some of those same leadership qualities to being king. In your efforts to be like what you think Theodred would have been, you're not really being yourself."

He lowered his head to rest against hers, but didn't respond, and after a moment, she softly continued, "all kingships are different, Eomer, because one man is different from another. You can learn from Theodred without trying to be him. What the Mark needs now is Eomer being Eomer king, not Eomer trying to be Theodred King."

He nodded slowly, then frowned. "But what does that have to do with Eothain?"

"Because you're not sure of yourself or what you should do, neither is he. He followed you as Third Marshal. He'll follow you as king, once it's clear what that means – what you expect of both yourself and him. You're not going to be a king who's content to stay cooped up in Edoras all the time, but that's fine. Maybe that's what the Mark needs right now. Granted, it will be easier for you to do that once there's an heir, but that doesn't mean you can't be communicating to Eothain, and others on your council, the kind of king you intend to be. You need to talk to Eothain, make clear that you trust him, but that you need him to trust you, too. And then together, you can figure out what's safe, and what acceptable risks are."

There was a long silence between them, as Eomer appeared to be thinking about what she'd said. "You really believe I've been trying to be Theodred? Do others think that?"

"When there's a battle, or a threat – as with Hunlaf – you're very clearly you, very clearly and confidently the man who was Third Marshal. But in many of the day-to-day things, you're still trying to find your way. And often, if you'd just do what seems right to you, instead of spending so much time trying to guess what your cousin or uncle would do, you'd probably be better off."

He scowled at that, then his expression cleared a bit. "If I followed my own inclination, I'd probably start by banishing most of my council to Harad," he muttered.

Startled, she saw the grin tugging at his mouth. Relieved that his mood seemed to be lightening, she grinned back. "Then maybe you should do so." She stroked his cheek. "I'm not suggesting you've been a bad king. The people love you, and are grateful to you. But you're making yourself miserable trying to be someone you're not, and that's something no one expects of you."

In answer, he leaned down, nuzzled her, but was quiet for a while. "Not exactly miserable. I have you."

Uncertain what else to say, she slipped her hand up around the back of his neck, turned her head into his kiss.

"Maybe we should work some more on that heir you were mentioning," he murmured.

"Why do you think Brynwyn is sleeping in Eowyn's tent?" At his laugh, she slipped off his lap, stood, then held her hand out to him. He got to his feet, and still holding her hand in his, stopped to shutter the brazier a bit more, so there'd be less light, then led her to the sleeping furs.

It was colder in this part of the tent, and she shivered as she slipped out of her boots, tunic and riding leggings. Turning, she saw that Eomer had been faster, was already crawling between the furs and blankets. "Show-off." She was laughing when she said it, though her teeth were chattering so hard it was probably difficult to tell.

He grinned and held up the covers for her, and she was reaching for him even as he dropped them back around them, cocooning her in warmth despite the frigid temperatures that were just on the other side of the tent walls.

"Better?"

"Much," she murmured, turning her face up for his kiss.

The rough, calloused texture of the skin on his hands was at odds with the gentle way he touched her, soothing, skimming over her body in a manner intended to slowly start the ascent to desire and passion.

But Lisswyn wasn't in the mood for tenderness – or at least not entirely. Surpressing a grin, she responded to his kiss even as she drew her foot up the back of his leg until she reached the underside of his knee.

He choked, broke the kiss and tried to squirm away from her, but she was ruthless, following him until he was on his back with her draped over him, reaching for his knee again. Who would ever have guessed the king of the Riddermark was ticklish?

"Lisswyn!" Her name came out half laughter, half-strangled frustration as they struggled. Finally succeeding in flipping them back over, he settled his weight on top of her, his legs pinning hers, her hands held in place next to her head. Gasping for breath through her laughter, she didn't need to be able to see him to know he was glaring at her.

"You've started a dangerous game, my lady." Bringing her hands up over her head, he pinned them in his left hand so he could use his right to begin tickling her ribs.

Lisswyn gave a shout of laughter, desperately trying to wiggle away and knowing there was no hope of being able to do so. Why had she started this? Oh, yes. Because she'd wanted to hear him laugh.

Well, he was doing so in full measure now.

She was trying to get her leg free long enough to attack the back of his knee again when it occurred to her just how thin the walls of the tent were. "Eomer, stop!" she dropped her voice to a whisper, forced herself to go still.

The soft plea registered where louder, laughing protests might not, and he stopped, dropping his head onto her shoulder with a muttered oath as he realized what was wrong.

Laughter wanted to erupt again at his tone until she realized he was getting ready to roll off her, and she locked her arms and legs around him. "Don't," she murmured softly. To further insulate them, she pulled up the covers that had slipped down during their tussel. "We'll be quiet."

He went still for a moment, then humor came back into his tone as well as he nuzzled her. "Will we?"

His voice was husky, and she shivered in response. She relaxed, ran her hands up his sides. "Absolutely."

He turned his mouth to hers, kissed her. And this time she didn't mind the tenderness.