Lothiriel managed to get to her feet and take several steps backwards, her fear threatening to swallow her whole. Then, the Rohhirim reformed their line, spears and swords at the ready, staring down their enemy with determined eyes. Their powerful presence gave Lothiriel hope and she tightened her grip on her sword. If they could continue the fight, then so could she, and with another barbaric cry she ran forward to take on their enemy.

She brought down her sword so many more times that she could hardly count them. Her arms and lungs burned with the force of which she was using them, her body poured sweat and her heart beat erratically.

Men and women alike swarmed around her, some atop their steeds, and some on their feet just as she was. The gleam of swords and the sound of spears hitting flesh resounded around her and she resisted the urge to duck. She slashed out at the large legs surrounding her and felt a grim sense of satisfaction as the great beast roared.

"Aim for their heads!"

She turned without thinking as a familiar voice rang clear behind her. Her blue eyes centered on Eomer, atop Firefoot, his bow in his hands as he shot at the Mumakil army. She felt her heart nearly burst with happiness as she witnessed Eomer's well being firsthand. She knew that she could go on now, he was all right and she had a stronger reason to fight.

She turned back to face the enemy and let out a rather undignified shriek as she narrowly avoided being crushed by the giant foot of a Mumakil warrior. She rolled across the field once more, beginning to get rather tired of rolling through dirt and grass all the time.

For the final time she jumped back to her feet and set her sword to the ready, only to find that most of the enemy was now gone and dead at her feet. Aragorn passed her, Gimli and Legolas shouting to one another directly after him and surrounding them were men that were green.

Lothiriel did a double take at the men, and suddenly realized that they were the ghosts from the Dimholt. She gasped as a feeling of well being flooded her and Aragorn stood before the men, the enemy now gone and sunlight flooding back onto the plain.

The ghosts dissipated before her eyes and she turned to look back at the decimated field behind her. The dead littered the ground, Barazinbar Lady Riders, the Rohhirim and soldiers of Gondor folded in together to lay as one in death.

Men and her own Lady Riders were stalking through the field, looking for the wounded in among the dead. She sighed heavily and dropped her sword, no longer having the heart to raise it again; she brought her fingers to her lips instead and whistled. She waited a moment or two and looked around before realizing that Breiseius was gone; she'd lost him. Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes and she took a shaky breath. Breiseius had long been a loyal friend and her heart hurt now that he was gone.

"Lothiriel!"

She turned to find Eomer's hazel eyes sparkling as he ran towards her. She smiled for what felt like the first time in years, although it couldn't have been more than a few hours, and ran towards him, feeling complete again as his arms wrapped tightly around her and held her close. She inhaled the scent that clung to him greedily, trembling against his chest even as the simple presence of him calmed her.

He pushed her away slightly, holding her at an arm's length to get a look at her and when he saw her wounds his hazel eyes narrowed.

"Are you all right?" he asked, as if he would do terrible things to someone if she wasn't. She smiled; far too exhausted to attempt to understand why his fierce protectiveness of her was such a comforting emotion for her.

"I'm fine," she managed, hoping her voice wasn't as shaky as she felt it was. He still looked angered and she reached a hand out to cup his face.

"I'm fine," she repeated, staring deeply into his eyes. He seemed to calm and returned her gentle smile, tugging her back into his arms again. She set her cheek against his chest and sighed, her exhaustion and fear catching up to her as she took the moment to relax.

"I'm so relieved you're all right," he murmured against her hair as he buried his fingers in the now loosened braid, curling them in her dark tresses at the base of her neck. She felt a harsh shiver wrack her spine at the intimate touch and tightened her grip on his waist.

"I love you Eomer," she whispered before stepping back from him and he looked down at her in slight awe, as though he could hardly believe that she was there, in his arms, before him. She smiled off handedly at him and he nodded, seeming to understand that their duty was now to their people, to their country, they could be a couple in love later, but for now they had to be soldiers.

One last squeeze of his hand and she was off to search through the many dead.

She had only been searching for wounded for a few minutes when a heart wrenching, soul shattering scream echoed. She turned to find the source only to discover Eomer running, his weapons being flung to the side, his eyes wide in disbelief and grief as he hit his knees in the dirt and clenched a body to his chest. For a moment she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, but she knew that she recognized the cascading golden hair. Eomer was clutching his sister in his arms, crying and screaming out his grief and anguish.

Lothiriel turned on her heel and grabbed the nearest well person she could latch onto. It happened to be Eothain.

"Eothain, I need your help."

Lothiriel stood in the Halls of Healing, her heart trembling. Eomer sat beside his sister's bed, distraught, tears flowing freely down his face. Eowyn lay still on the cot, looking paler than she normally did; her arm battered and bruised almost beyond recognition, and a shallow breath barely escaping her chest.

Lothiriel stepped up behind her betrothed and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling almost out of place in the family moment of grief. Eowyn was all he had left, she recognized that, and he was feeling the potential loss of her greatly.

Eomer turned to look up at his future bride, her hand on his shoulder, her blue gaze centered directly on his mortally injured sister, tears welling in her eyes to match the ones already trailing his face. Aragorn had retreated to find something he called kingsfoil, and had yet to return with it. His heart shattered as he looked from his beloved to his sister then back again.

She did not look at him.

She was afraid of what she might see.

He reached out, gripping her still armor clad waist and pulling her down to be with him. She landed none too gracefully on his lap, his arms tight around her, his face buried in her shoulder. She stiffened for just a moment, having never been in such an intimate position with any man who wasn't her father before. For all her soldier's bravado, she was still just a maiden and blushed furiously at the thoughts others would have upon seeing her in such a compromising position with a man who wasn't her husband.

His tears shook his great shoulders and she gently placed her arms around him, soothing him with soft shushing sounds that had always seemed to work for her when she'd been a child. Her fingers ran through his hair, the pressure against his scalp aiding in her attempt to soothe him. He brought his face up to look at her for a moment and she smiled hopefully at him. He returned a ghost of a smile and pulled her tighter into him, shifting her further into his embrace.

If he hadn't been so distraught and she so worried, it might have been awkward. But as it was, all they could think of now was Eowyn and the dwindling line of Rohirric royalty.

Aragorn returned a steaming bowl of a liquid that neither soldier knew how to identify in his hands. He favored them a glance but did not question their placement. He simply kneeled next to Eowyn and dipped his fingers in the bowl. Very gently he traced her brow, her lips, and her neck with the steaming liquid, and then he took her uninjured hand and called to her softly.

"Eowyn, Eowyn."

She seemed to breath deeper and Eomer's arms tightened, the muscles contracting in anticipation. The slightest tinge of pink returned to the White Lady's cheeks.

"How?" Lothiriel found herself speaking the thought out loud. All of those around her ignored her breathy question.

Aragorn looked up and smiled at the pair, wonder on both their faces, mingled with hope. Lothiriel sitting on Eomer's lap, his arms tight around her waist, one of her hands still buried deep in his hair, her free arm draping across his as if to cement their position.

He was happy for them.

His friends were in love.

He disregarded the sad, wistful longing he got for Arwen and continued to smile at them.

"Take her hand, Eomer, and call to her, for her heart is tied heavily to yours."

Eomer looked unsure, but Lothiriel stood, gripping his arms and having him stand as well. He took his strength from her and crossed to the other side of Eowyn's bed, gently taking her hand.

"Eowyn." He called to her, his forehead resting gently against hers. Her breathing deepened once more and she seemed as if just asleep now. The color started to return to her skin as Eomer repeated her name.

"Why does she not wake?" Lothiriel questioned after a moment, Aragorn stood behind her. He placed a gentle and soothing hand on her shoulder.

"She will, in time."

Eomer continued to call to his sister and Lothiriel watched them, her soul aching.

Aragorn took his leave of them, off to heal others and to aid in bringing in the dead. Théoden among them, already up in the great turret, revered as a hero. The ache of grief echoing in all the hearts who had known the great king; and Lothiriel knew that marriage, as much as she and Eomer wanted to be, would have to be postponed. There was much to do.

She would have to return to the Barazinbar, to aid in the reconstruction there, for although they were far from the Black Gate, she had a thundering certainty that war had marched on their lands even without the army there to fight.

She could only hope that Duerma had enough sense to take the people to safety.

"Lothiriel?" Sheatha appeared next to her and Lothiriel glanced over at her friend. Sheatha's arm was bandaged heavily, as was her head, and together they stood and stared down at brother and sister.

"Yes dear Sheatha?"

"Arianna is in the Halls, she is being tended to carefully by the healers but there are others…"

Lothiriel nodded faintly, knowing that the Gondorians would wish to take care of their own first. She had not expected any less from them.

"If she is meant to come back to us, then she shall, Sheatha, in the meantime I want a list of all of our soldiers who are now gone."

Sheatha looked uncertain.

"Not all have been brought from the battlefield."

Lothiriel nodded again, surer this time.

"Yes I know, list them as they come."

Sheatha bowed slightly, taking her leave of her commanding officer and going to do as she was told.

"Eomer?" Lothiriel questioned gently as she kneeled beside him, his forehead still pressed to his sister's.

"Yes?" he asked her faintly, his grip on Eowyn's hand tight, as though she may disappear if he let go.

"I would not have let her."

He looked over at her questioningly, curious as to what she meant.

"What do you mean, my love?"

Lothiriel felt her tears return and a lump form in her throat, making her next words thick.

"I told Eowyn that night that she had leave to battle with the Lady Riders, but I…I know she was…is no soldier, and I wouldn't have let her go. I need you to know that I wouldn't have let her fight."

He brushed a chaste kiss to her lips.

"I know, dear Lothi, I know."

She nodded, smiling at his implicit trust in her, and the newest nickname he had afforded her.

"I love her as a sister, and I would have stopped her, had I known."

He enveloped her in a tight, crushing, one armed hug and she gladly buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the calming scent of him.

"I love you, Lothiriel of the Barazinbar." He murmured against her hair and she snuggled further into him, content to stay exactly as she was.

"I know."

They sat in one another's embrace for minutes that seemed to shrink into seconds when Lothiriel pulled away.

"I have to bring in more from the field, but I shall return soon."

She bent down and kissed his forehead gently, leaving him without as much as a glance back. She knew if she looked back then she'd be at his side the rest of the night, her heart unable to leave him in his time of grief and happiness, but she had things to do and soldiers to take care of. Looking back wasn't an option.