"Lothíriel…" Éomer's voice was a rasp, and his eyes were clouded as he looked at her. "So sorry…"

"Stop talking," she commanded. "Lean on me, I will take you to the infirmary."

"There are others...hurt worse…"

"I told you to stop talking!" she snapped, her voice strangling as she tried to keep from crying. He tried to smile at her, but it was more of a grimace, and he threw his good arm over her trembling shoulders in a weak embrace.

"Can't walk," he murmured.

Lothíriel pleaded with her eyes at a rider that stood near them, and the man nodded. He lifted Éomer's arm over his shoulder, and Lot wrapped her arm around his waist to the other side, and together they somehow got him up the steps. It was incredibly difficult, as Éomer would not put any weight on his right leg.

The infirmary was on the ground floor of the hall, just beyond the entrance hall. Though it was a short distance, it seemed to Lot that the journey lasted an age. Fear was trying to take hold of her, invading her senses and overwhelming her pragmatism, and were she not pregnant she might have succeeded against it. But the added stress had her trembling and nearly crying by the time Éomer was deposited limply on a low cot in the dark room. No healers were present yet. What could possibly be taking so long that they forget their king?

A small, yet still rational part of Lot's mind answered. There are far more wounded in the courtyard, and it cannot have been more than ten minutes since they arrived. Watching Éomer float in and out of consciousness, with pain contorting his features, was without doubt one of the hardest things she had ever done. She felt frozen in place, even as she knelt and held his hand. There was nothing she could do - she was not trained as a healer. There was nothing.

Do something! Despite being no healer, Lot was still herself, and she could not bear to stay idle for any longer, or she would lose herself completely to terror. She stood abruptly, dropping Éomer's hand and drying the tears from her face. She located a trunk and began walking towards it - there had to be something useful inside of it - while trying to keep her steps sure despite the dizziness that threatened her with oblivion. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes. Blasted darkness! Why was there not even a candle or low fire built in this room? The lid to the trunk seemed to weigh far more than it should, and with a grunt she was able to heave it open. Luck was not with her - nothing but rolled bandages and clean linens. Blast and blast again! Lot sunk to her knees. It was easier to fight the dizziness on her knees. She must think. Éomer groaned from the cot. Where had the soldier gone, any way? He could have at least lit a candle!

Her head was feeling heavy now, and she rested it on the rim of the trunk. There had to be a solution! Echoes of footsteps were pounding in her mind, and bewildered - she saw a glow of light outside the infirmary door. Perhaps the footsteps had not been in her mind after all. Everild's blurred face was getting closer. Oh, Everild, bless you! I am so glad you are here! she cried, but she was not sure the words came from her mouth. Everild seemed to be saying something, but the light of the candle she held near Lot's face made her blink, and it was overwhelming her sight. She tried to push it away. She had to see Everild, there was something she needed to tell her. Oh yes! Éomer needed a healer straightaway. Why weren't the words coming out? And why, at that, was her mind feeling so fuzzy and far away? Why was the floor moving? Was someone trying to knock her out with a floorboard? A heavy thud penetrated the rushing sound in her ears, and her sight was gone.

.

.

Lothíriel's head felt like a brick. But at least it was lying on a soft, pillowy cloud. She mused over this for a moment. How would a brick lay on a cloud, any way? Would it not simply fall through?

A noise that sounded like a herd of horses broke her reverie, and she winced. "Get those damned horses away from me," she tried to call out, but only succeeded in a mutter. Immediately something cool was placed on her forehead.

"No horses," a deep voice said, and she wondered if it were hiding a laugh. "I was only reading a letter from Éowyn, I am sorry if I disturbed you."

"Go read somewhere else," she said. The pain in her head was making her irritable.

"If you say so, but I must warn you - if I do not watch over you, Ebba will. And she has been singing to herself quite often during the last two days. I imagine that would drive you mad."

"Then I shall rest alone."

"Healer Mauldwyn has given strict instructions that you are not to be left alone. She will have my hide if I heed your orders over her own."

Lot felt the conversation slipping away from her, as if her mind were too tired to keep up. She groaned, trying to move her legs, but they felt disconnected from her in some way.

"Easy, Lot," the voice broke in gently, and a heavy hand pressed down on her thigh. "Please do not exert yourself. Mauldwyn did say that you and the baby are not quite out of danger yet."

"Danger!" Her eyes shot open, and she immediately regretted it. A shaft of bright sunlight from a slit in the window blinded her, and she cried out. "The baby! Please, no!"

Éomer's face swam into view as he leaned over her, concern on his face. One of his arms was in a sling, but the other stroked her sweat dampened hair as he sat beside her prone form. "The baby is safe," he said. "Danger was perhaps not the right word for me to use. Neither of you should have any lasting ill effects from your episode, but it is for the best if you rest for the next several days."

"Episode? I certainly did not have an episode. I would never have an episode."

A wry grin tugged at his features. "You certainly did have an episode, dear heart. And you quite took everyone's attention away from me! I expected an amount of coddling and sympathy for my battle injuries, but whenever I woke the first night I saw your bed crowded and I was left on my own. Quite unfair, I think."

Lot tried to stick her tongue at him, but it felt rather tingly and heavy, and so she only ended up smacking her lips together.

"You must be feeling quite better, though, if you are asking for a kiss," Éomer said, raising his eyebrows.

"I was not - ! Oh bother!" It was fortunate for her that her hands were at least feeling relatively normal, and she rubbed her eyes vigorously.

Éomer was chuckling, and his weight shifted from her bed, and she heard the hard backed chair beside her creak as he sat his weight upon it. "You must drink this," he said, procuring a flask. "Mauldwyn said her main concern is that you and the baby receive the proper nutrition for growth."

"Oh, very well," she said, and with his help, was able to lift her head slightly so that she could take small sips of the herbed water. It was an exertion, and when she was sated and already feeling much better, she let her head fall back onto the pillow.

"Excellent work," Éomer said. "Now, you should sleep. Would you care to hear Éowyn's letter while you close your eyes?"

"All right," she murmured, but her consciousness was already fading even before he began to read, his warm voice caressing her soul and seeming to wrap her mind in a deliciously soft blanket. She was so very comfortable - there must have been something in the water…

A soft nudging in her belly woke her, startling her into wakefulness once more. She stared at the ceiling for moment, and Éomer's voice paused in its reading. "Are you feeling well?" he asked.

Another nudge. Lot smiled; the muscles were unused but she did not let that dissuade her, and she turned to Éomer will a full grin lighting her face. She reached out to grasp his good hand, Éowyn's letter fluttering to the ground, and she placed it on her abdomen and rested her hand on top of his. She was definitely larger in that region that she realized. When had she grown so? Had it truly been so long that she had lived in Alburg and its miserable loneliness?

The babe obliged its mother's wishes, and a third nudge - this time right into Éomer's palm - had her breaking into shaky laughter. Éomer stared at her for a moment before favoring her with a beautiful smile of his own, his eyes wet. He picked up her hand and lifted it to his lips, flipping it over to place a tender kiss on her pulse point.

"We are well," she said, and she stroked his whiskers with the tips of her fingers before sighing. "We are very well."

.

.

All the questions that she had meant to ask, but had no opportunity to do so during that very brief waking time, crowded into Lothíriel's mind as she again began to surface from the land of dreams. Her second waking had been in a panic as she remembered the war that threatened her beloved country. Éomer had still been by her side, and calmed her patiently as he explained what had befallen him in the last weeks.

"We searched and searched for the wildmen," he said, stroking away tousled curls from her face. "But we still could not find their main force. Erkenbrand was having fits left and right - he hates being confined, as you know."

"Mmm."

"Anyway, it was about six days ago that one of our spies returned, with the information that the wildmen had decided on a change of course. Obviously they knew of our own tactics, for they diverted towards Aldburg instead of Edoras."

"Here!"

"Hush, I am trying to tell you. I am lead to believe that they sought the prizes of women instead of gold. But that is neither here nor there. For as soon as we got the garbled account from the spy, we were off within an hour."

"I should say so!"

Éomer glared at her, though in good humor. Lot felt suitably chastised, and she nodded at him to continue. "We overtook their forces not ten miles from here. If we had been any later, their blood would have run in the streets of Aldburg." A hard glint had appeared in his eye, and she reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. He seemed to come out of a trance, and smiled at her. "We triumphed, and it was more easily won that I would have expected for these months of trial."

"Thank you," she said softly. "I am glad I did not know of our danger. If I had, I would have become quite ill with worry, I think!" She did not even want to think what could have been a bloody and brutal ending for the evening of poetry, and shuddered.

"You became quite ill when you saw my condition," Éomer said, still smiling. "It certainly dissipated all of my doubts that your fondness for me had dimmed."

"I cannot believe that you would be so ridiculous to even consider the notion," Lot said, pursing her lips. "I am ashamed for you."

"Oh, Lot, I was only teasing," he laughed, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Back to sleep, now."

"But what of your injuries?" she objected. "You have not told me of them."

Éomer rolled his eyes slightly. "My sincerest apologies, wife. I am perfectly well on the path to recovery. A broken wrist, and I had to have stitches on my foot, and that is all. You caused more worry among the healers than I did."

"Pshaw," Lot said. "When can we return to Edoras?"

At this he grinned widely. "As soon as we are healed enough to travel, you and I. Everild has returned in your place to bear the brunt of the cleaning up herself. It was her idea - I gave my permission, thinking that you would appreciate the help."

"Oh, she is such a dear," she sighed. "I wish she would stay at Meduseld."

"If you ask, she might agree. Everild is a woman of many surprises."

"But what of Elfhelm's hall! She could not shirk her duty here."

A conspiratory look in Éomer's eyes gave her pause. "Between you and I," he said quietly, leaning in close. "There is a middle-aged widow in from a village three miles away that has quite caught his fancy. He is - as yet - unaware, but I believe that this hall might be seeing a new mistress soon enough."

Lothíriel laughed. "You are atrocious, Éomer! I shall warn Elfhelm of your intentions. Though why you have turned into a meddlesome matchmaker, I do not quite understand."

"I only want my dearest friends to have the same happiness I do," he said, and he patted her hand. "Do not cause me to order you to sleep once more. I am running low on will. I wish we could talk longer."

"Well, I am tired, anyway," she said, smothering a yawn. "Send for some supper sometime, will you? Absolutely no fruit."

"Certainly."

She turned to her side, sighing in pleasure. Having Éomer near had brought already a wonderful peace, and knowing he was also hale made her smile, even as she slipped into sleep.

.

.

The warming spring breeze that blew into the room through the open window was especially refreshing, and within a day or so of sleep and medicine, she felt well enough to sit by the fire and darn Éomer's socks (Béma, that man was hard on socks!), while he and Elfwine practiced walking together. The girls were bent over a book and slate, practicing their spelling. It seemed odd to Lothíriel, that after so many weeks of misery and coldness in this very room, that it could be filled with such hope and happiness. She felt the babe within her often now, and was not so calloused towards childbearing that she did not put her hand on her belly every time the babe moved. Éomer caught her eye as she did not, and she was hard pressed not to break into giggles.

"Mother, what is the date?" Aoife asked.

"It is March, the third."

"Third of March," Aoife in turn hissed to Ebba, who immediately started scrawling.

"Is it really?" Éomer asked, looking over at her.

"Why, yes, I asked the serving maid when she brought luncheon," she squinted at the row she was darning. Miscounted again!

"Elfwine's birthday is in a week."

"Is it truly!" Ebba gasped, disregarding her studies. "Oh, how exciting. You are going to be one year old, Elfie!"

"Ba-ba-ba-ba," Elfwine responded. Lot laughed along with them, but she felt so silly inside. To have forgotten her own son's birthday approaching!

"What do you say, Lot, that we wait and celebrate when we return to Meduseld," Éomer said. "We will have a party for him and for our homecoming the same night."

"Perfect."

.

.

The sunlight glinting off of Meduseld's thatched roof was a sight more welcome than any other in Lot's life, and she could not contain the sigh of relief nor the smile that lightened her features. Soon she could bathe in her own tub, wear her own pregnancy clothes, and eat at her own table. "There is no better feeling that returning to one's home," she said, turning to Éomer who rode beside her.

"Yes, there is," he said glumly. "It is far superior to return with the full use of one's hand." Though his wrist was almost completely healed, Mauldwyn had advised that he keep it wrapped to his chest to avoid any disturbances that could damage the new skin. And he had been taking it rather hard. Lothíriel was sure that she had never seen him in such low spirits as during this plodding two-day journey, and his moodiness combined with the irascibility of their children had been difficult indeed. She had told herself, over and over again - that soon they would all be happily fixed in their home, and most of the complaints would cease.

"Chin up, my love," she told him. "I am sure our physician will be happy to take off your wrappings as soon as we arrive."

"If he refuses, I shall break his own wrist," Éomer grumbled.

"Éomer! Stop that!" She was aghast. He was never one for threats, let alone those of a violent nature.

"I am sorry, Lot. You are quite correct in your optimism. I suppose we must trade roles, for a day," he seemed more evenly tempered as he grinned at her. "Do you remember your first arrival in Edoras? I wish we could ride together through the gates again, simply for the fun of it!"

She took his change in attitude in stride. "I rather think, dearest, that between your condition and my condition, we would only be courting disaster."

"Too right. Care to risk a race?"

Lot said nothing, but she sent him a daring look, and spurred her horse forward, choosing the muddiest parts of the path to shower him with mud.

.

.

The remainder of the spring and the hottest days of the summer passed by their little family happily. In fact, Éomer was unsure whether they had ever been happier. It makes perfect sense, he supposed, that deprivation always leads to greater appreciation. And now, even Aoife and Ebba were better behaved, taking their places as darling princesses rather than troublemakers.

Lothíriel's labor came quickly and in the night. It had only been a few hours previous that together, they had been discussing this baby's seemingly reluctant arrival. As it would happen, it had been overhearing its mother's complaints, and Lot woke him soon after midnight, ordering him to fetch the midwife.

It was not yet dawn, and without his other children to distract, Éomer was left to pace his study in fits of nervousness and excitement. He briefly considered waking Aoife to quiz her on her mathematics, but dismissed the thought. Anything else to draw his attention from the next room, where his wife - his darling Lot - and their child were possibly in danger for their lives.

The door creaked behind him, and he whirled around to see the flushed midwife beaming at him. "You can come," she said. "Your wife knows her business well!"

"Already?" Éomer exclaimed, bounding in her direction. "I did not hear a sound!"

"The queen has an iron will, that is sure. She told me as soon as I arrived that she was determined not to make a noise."

He barely registered her words, focusing solely on the image in front of him. Lot smiled at him from the bed, looking tired but perfectly happy. "Come and hold him," she said to him. "Or fetch me some water."

"I will be getting your water, madam. Let the proud father hold his son!" Another door shut behind the midwife.

"I quite like her," Éomer mumbled, as he fussed around to hold the bundle of baby properly. It had clearly been too long, but he would adjust to having a newborn soon enough.

"Yes, she was lovely," Lot sighed. "This was the easiest birth yet. It does seem to be more natural with each one."

"Perhaps by our tenth you can simply wish it out, and the ordeal will be over," Éomer teased her. He adjusted the blanket from the baby's face. Now here was his child! Aoife, Ebba, and Elfwine all had dark hair just as their mother, but this little sir had a shockingly blond thatch of hair. "The blood of Eorl runs strongly in this one," he said, voice gruff. He felt strangely proud at this.

"I did not know you to care so much for blood," Lot said, grinning. "But I am happy that you are pleased with him, in any case."

"I am very pleased," Éomer bent over to kiss her damp forehead. "And I commend you greatly. I shall prepare a glowing report of your work for this year."

"Oh, good gracious! I am not one of your staff!"

His mother's raised voice set the babe squirming, and Éomer returned him to Lot as she pulled at the laces on her shift. He sat on the edge of the bed, perfectly content to observe the bonding.

"Oh, Éomer, what will we call him?" Lothíriel blurted after a few moments of satisfying suckles.

"Perhaps a strong Rohirric name, to match his appearance."

"I quite like Eorl, since you already mentioned it."

"What about my name? It is a strong one, I think," Éomer could not help puffing out his chest a bit. Lot burst into laughter, upsetting the baby and rather offending Éomer. "It is not so unusual," he grumbled.

"No, I suppose it isn't - but if we do name him after you, we will be hard pressed to confine your swollen head within these walls!"

Éomer only wished that she were not so delicate, and that he could tackle her and properly punish her with kisses for such a statement. But he could only stare into her twinkling eyes, feeling foppish. "Eorl it is, then," he agreed.

A creak from the door that lead from Éomer's study drew their attention, and three pairs of curious brown eyes peeked through. "Come in!" he said, opening his arms to his girls, who happily ran to him, and Elfwine, who toddled behind. "Come and meet your brother."

.

.

Midwife Leofe felt like an intruder, and so she deposited the tray of food and refreshment on the table as softly as she could and quickly packed her bag, deciding that she would return at noon after a rest for both herself and the queen. She walked briskly down the deserted corridors, trying not to let the ache in her heart to overwhelm her.

Cerl was waiting in the hall, and as she approached he snuffed out his pipe and stood, tucking his pipe into his vest. "Work finished?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and she took his arm as he led her from the hall. At no further response, he continued.

"Was it too difficult?"

"Oh, no, the queen did most admirably."

"And you?"

"I did perfectly well, thank you," Leofe said stiffly. The doorwardens pulled on the great doors, and together they passed through into the grey dawn's light.

"I meant, was it too painful to be in Meduseld? I know you have feared it."

She sighed. "I did perfectly well with that, also."

But Cerl, dear Cerl was not convinced, and he drew her close to him. "Fancy a drink? I am sure the Horse's Ass is still open."

"I could do with some beer," she admitted. "But I must return to Meduseld in a few hours to ensure the mother and babe are in fine health." Cerl agreed good-naturedly, and she sighed again. He was so good to her. But she could not resist looking behind her, as the sun struck upon the rood of Meduseld like a golden beacon and pierced her heart with no small amount of sorrow. It should have been her.

Gasp! A cliffhanger which leads into my next story! Gasp again! (stay tuned)

Anyway, please let me know how you liked 'Mountains to Climb'. I do hope you did. I certainly enjoyed writing it. Thank you for reading :-*