For what seemed like the thirtieth time in the past ten seconds, Lothiriel tossed on her cot. She had only wanted to get an hour or so of sleep, but it seemed that her mind was too overrun with questions and concerns. About her troops and about Eomer.

She rolled over, stood up and took a deep breath. There would be no sleep for her tonight and she had better just accept it. She exited her tent and nodded to Arianna's guards, whom had not moved since she had appointed them to their guardianship. They bowed their heads in respect back and Lothiriel kept walking, unsure of where it was exactly that she was going.

She ran a shaky hand through her hair and took a deep breath. Fear was gnawing at her insides with jagged teeth. She was unsure of her place in the world now, and there was a raw, angry feeling deep down inside that she would not be coming back from this war.

So lost in her thoughts, Lothiriel did not manage to see Merry as he appeared from Eowyn's tent, livery on, sword drawn.

"Oh!" he shouted as he bumped into her heavily and she reached out quickly to grab his shoulders and steady him.

"Forgive me, Merry, I was lost in thought." She smiled down at him and he sent her an unsure smile in return.

"My fault, milady, I hope I didn't hurt you." He gestured to his sword and she shook her head, her dark hair sweeping over her shoulders.

Eomer and Eothain looked over at the pair from their place next to the fire, and Eomer smiled softly to himself. Even when he knew he should close off his heart, he couldn't help but think that Lothiriel's hair was beautiful.

"Of course not, dear hobbit, I fear that blade isn't very sharp."

He blushed and ducked his head.

"No."

"Which is why he should go to the smithy," Eowyn spoke up from behind him and he nodded, ducking around Lothiriel to do as he was told.

"You should not encourage him," Eomer told her somewhat sharply. Eowyn sent him a dirty look.

"And you should not doubt him."

Lothiriel looked from one to the other, unsure as to what to do. She had never seen the pair of them exchange even remotely harsh words.

"I do not doubt his heart, only the reach of his arm."

Eomer and Eothain sniggered and Eowyn sent the back of their heads such a vehemently violent look that Lothiriel was shocked they didn't disintegrate into dust before her very eyes.

"At any rate, if Merry wishes to fight, then it is his business, not yours. He is an esquire of Rohan, now, and he is called to fight."

Eomer looked up at her in surprise and Lothiriel suddenly felt a bit frightened as she looked into his eyes. Her feelings were overwhelming for him, but she could not seem to stop her big fat mouth from spouting off whatever latest thought her mind had concocted without stopping to question on whether or not it was rude. Now he probably thought her heartless and mean.

"He knows nothing of war."

Eowyn joined in Merry's defense.

"Lothiriel is right; he has just as much right to fight as you do. He should be able to fight for the one's he loves."

Eomer stood now, worry and a slight anger on his handsome features.

"You know as little of war as that hobbit. When the fear takes him and the blood and the screams and the horror of battle takes hold. Do you think he would stand and fight? He would flee, and he would be right, to do so. War is the province of men, Eowyn." He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder before returning to his place beside the fire.

"You have all the leave to come and fight with us, dear lady Eowyn. Although I suppose that my lady Riders and I have no business in war, either?" Lothiriel practically spit out the words, an anger burning in her soul that she had not felt since her mother had been brought back to her; dead.

Eomer looked up at her, evaluating her.

"You and your Lady Riders are strong soldiers. My sister, however, is not."

She laughed.

"You did not answer my question, you merely sidestepped it."

He sighed heavily and looked tired. Eowyn looked merely sad this time and turned back into her tent.

Sheatha stepped up behind Lothiriel's shoulder and bowed to the superior officers before her before turning to face her.

"Lothiriel, we have 10 dozen archers, twelve generals, and a little over two thousand foot soldiers."

Lothiriel nodded her face pensive. Then she smiled. There was one thing about war in which she was incredibly gifted. Planning. She could create a plan of attack in her sleep; and sometimes she did. It was something about war that was controllable, and therefore, she liked it.

"Yes, divide the archers evenly between three flanks, and then I want the foot soldiers even as well. I shall take center, you shall take right, and Iredell shall take the left. Between the three of us we should decide a host of line, just in case."

Sheatha nodded, "And when shall that be, my lady?"

"Now, dear Sheatha, get Iredell, we shall decide who goes where and then tell the women. They shall need to prepare."

Sheatha bowed once more and took her leave to retrieve the other general.

"A host of line?" Eowyn asked as she exited her tent, having never heard such a term before. She was interested in the talk going on outside and even if she was angry with her brother for treating her as though she were nothing more than a beautiful decoration for vast halls, she would not let him intimidate her into staying away.

"Yes, dear lady, it is a term used in the Barazinbar. It means that if I should fall, there must be someone to take up my place. Someone to lead our troops into battle."

"Do you plan on falling, Lothiriel?" was the blonde's reply. Lothiriel grinned and tucked a stray strand of hair back behind her ear.

"Plan? No. But then, there is only so much planning you can do for a war. Forgive me for stepping in where I am not needed, if you'll excuse me," She bowed before the three Rohan people and left to find Sheatha and Iredell.

Eomer and Eothain watched her go. Eowyn walked away, looking thoughtful.

------------------------------------------

Lothiriel reached her two strongest generals and sat down beside them. They were talking quietly between themselves, eating apples.

"Lothiriel, have an apple," Iredell offered, holding out a beautiful red one. Lothiriel shook her head, waving the fruit away.

"I fear I do not have the stomach to eat right now. First we must decide upon the flanks. There were too many lost last time, there are gaping holes in the line, we need a brand new base of attack."

Long sheets of parchment were rolled out before them. Small pins used for soldiers, and together, it was decided who went where. Sheatha and Iredell did quibble over whom would take the most talented archers, before Lothiriel decided that they should be divided evenly, to give more strength to the flanks as a unit of entirety. Several minutes later, and the foot soldiers were rearranged. After one more argument that became a bit more heated than the one over the archers, it was decided what general went with which flank based on the soldiers in that flank.

"Now all that is left is to tell the Riders, and then put on our regiments for war," Lothiriel stated as the parchments were rolled and put away.

"Armor and paint?" asked Iredell, bringing out the oldest and most revered tradition; painting the face of each in regiment. It was slightly barbaric and mostly for scare, but it was shrouded in tradition and legend.

"Yes, paint as well thankfully we have the time for it, now. At Helm's Deep the battle came much too swiftly."

Iredell nodded, heading off to get her regiment ready as Sheatha departed as well. Lothiriel stood slowly, dusted herself off and crossed herself once for luck, once for hope, and a third time for strength.

She was going to need all three.

----------------------------------------------------

It was well into the night, and Lothiriel had just informed her last soldier of what was now to happen, of the new formations they had to be in by morning.

Her face was already painted, half covered fully in black paint, a silver dragon curling around her eye, its tail ending on her cheek, it's head resting just above her eyebrow; the other half of her face streaked softly with the same silver. She looked every bit a barbaric foot soldier of old and each member of the Rohhirim looked more than a little bit intrigued and frightened. She stalked through the camp with her head held high, her black hair tied back into a braid that fell delicately over her right shoulder.

"Iredell!"

Iredell stopped to turn and look at her leader, her own face painted half black the other streaked with blood red.

"Yes, Lothiriel?"

"Have you told the soldiers?"

"Yes, they know what to do."

Lothiriel nodded, setting her hand on Iredell's armored shoulder for just a moment.

"Good, we need to be ready by morning."

Sheatha appeared next, half her face black with red droplets sprouting from the corner of her eye, alternate red and silver decorating the other half.

"My troops are ready as well, my lady. Each painted and armored."

Lothiriel nodded.

"Good, now tell them all to get some sleep, it is late, and they shall need the rest."

Both Iredell and Sheatha nodded, before turning back into the camp. Lothiriel watched them go and then straightened her shoulders once more. She had one other thing to do before dawn.

She had to talk to Eomer.

She had to tell him that she loved him, before he was lost to her forever, because no matter what anyone else said, she loved him with all her heart; and she wanted to be happy, she wanted to know that they could be together, before the end. Because this may very well be the end for her, for him, for them both.

She deserved to be happy before she died and so did he.

"My lord Eomer?" she questioned as she appeared behind him. He was bent over the fire, talking to his men, who had all gone eerily quiet at the sight of her. Except for Eothain, she doubted he was ever quiet.

"Good evening, lady Lothiriel."

She nodded to him as Eomer turned to face her, shock becoming prominent across his brow as he saw her face paint.

"Lothiriel?" he questioned as though he didn't recognize her.

"Yes, it is me. I wish to have a word with you, if you don't mind."

He stood, glanced back at Eothain, who had the cheek to wink at him, then turned back to face her.

"Of course, my lady, please." He gestured her forward and she followed his lead, walking away from the encampment and prying ears; him falling into step next to her. They walked in a stiff and awkward silence until they were far enough away to talk without worry of someone overhearing them.

"What is it you wished to speak to me about, my lady?" he asked her, taking several steps away from her. Giving her the space that she did not need nor want; she looked up into his hazel-green eyes and managed a smile.

"I feel that there is much preparation going into this battle."

He nodded, unsure of what it was that she was getting at.

"And I know that there is one thing I must do still."

"And what is that, my lady?"

His formal language made her doubt her decision to tell him her feelings, if only for a moment.

"I need to tell you, I need you to understand how I…that is, what I…" she did not know what to say or how to say it. How could she explain away all the pain that she'd caused? How could she explain her newfound decision to run with her feelings, to make her duty to her heart and not to her head? Would he believe her? Would he still love her? Would he take her in his arms, all forgiven, or would he turn his back on her, ignore her; hurt her as badly as she had wounded him?

He held out a hand to stop her, pain deep set in his eyes but nowhere else.

"I do not need to hear another explanation of your repulsion of my affections, my lady, for it is as you said what could you possibly have to offer me?"

She knew it was meant as an insult; throwing her own words back at her. He started to walk away and was almost gone before she had the courage to finally speak.

"I would give you my heart!" she called out to him, stopping him dead in his tracks. He turned to look at her, a question creasing his brow as he started back towards her.

"What did you say?" he asked her, his voice nothing above a whisper, as though he were afraid it was all a dream. She managed a smile, her entire body trembling.

"I would give you my heart, Eomer, if you would ask it of me," she replied; tears flowing harsh paths down her cheeks, through the paint; a visible marker of her feelings.

Eomer surveyed her with a guarded look and she would not blame him if he decided not to trust her; decided that she was not worthy of his feelings.

"Please say something," she begged him tearfully, her heart far too heavy for him to suspend her in torment any longer. She was terrified that she'd pushed him away too hard, and had been successful in doing so.

He continued to look at her, his gaze unreadable, before closing the gap between them and claiming her lips with his own. One hand wrapped around the base of her neck, the other resting against her hip. The same mind-reeling sensations from their first kiss flooding back to them only intensified as Lothiriel responded to her warrior's ministrations. Her hands coming to rest upon his chest, her palms absorbing the sound of his pounding heartbeat.

The hand holding her neck moved to wrap around her waist as he hauled her up and further into his body, both of them glad that no armor separated them. The kiss deepened as her hands drifted up his chest to wrap around his shoulders, pulling him down and closer to her.

Only when air was needed most desperately did they separate, and even then, they did not go far, their foreheads resting gently together, his exhale her inhale. His hands were slightly shaky as he brought them up to cup her face, a brilliant smile splitting his own.

"I thought…" he started, but then he just continued to smile, unsure of what he had been thinking, his mind still replaying that kiss in total clarity.

She returned his smile and brought her hands to rest gently against his.

"I love you, Eomer, and I am so sorry…"

He kissed her again, but this one was gentle, soft; almost chaste.

"I love you as well, Lothiriel, and don't be sorry. It doesn't matter now."

She sighed heavily and leaned further into him. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and rested his cheek on the top of her head. She shivered at his touch and snuggled into his chest, her ear coming to rest just over his heartbeat.

His hand smoothed over her hair in a calming manner and after a moment or two, she pulled back a bit, but his arms tightened around her waist, refusing to let her back away too far.

She looked up into his face and a laugh escaped her lips. She reached out and wiped a bit of silver paint from his lips. He smiled down at her.

"I meant to ask what the paint is all about, what does it mean?" he asked her.

"It is an ancient tradition in the Barazinbar. It is said that the ancient Gods battled with faces painted, and that if you are to die in battle, then if your face is painted as the Gods' once were when you come to face them, that they will allow you into the land of souls because they recognize that you are a soldier."

He looked bemused and she shrugged.

"It sounds silly, I know, but I shan't like to take the chance."

Eomer's face darkened and Lothiriel felt as though ice water had been dumped upon her head.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked him and he leaned close, resting his forehead against hers once more.

"I do not wish you to speak of such dark tidings; you shall come back to me."

She tightened her grip on him.

"Of course I shall, and as long as I am coming back to you, I must ask you something."

He nodded, "We shall be married as soon as this war has ended."

She laughed and he looked a bit unsure. She quickly spoke up to soothe his fear.

"Of course I shall marry you, but that wasn't my question."

He nodded, "Oh, what was it, then?"

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

"Is this really happening?"

He kissed her again.

"Yes, it is."

She laughed as he swept her up into his arms and spun her around. She giggled the entire time, her hands resting on his broad shoulders as he gently set her back down.

"Lord Aragorn!"

A call from one of the men interrupted their happy moment and they turned back towards the camp before looking up at one another questioningly. Eomer waved her forward and together, still holding hands, they went back to the men just in time to see Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas leaving into the Dimholt; the door under the mountain.

"Why does he leave on the eve of battle?" one of the men questioned and Gamling stepped into a circle of the men that Lothiriel and Eomer had just become a part of.

"He leaves because there is no hope."

King Théoden broke the ranks of his men, pushing past them to reach the middle of the circle.

"He leaves because he must."

"Too few have come. We cannot defeat the armies of Mordor," Gamling retorted, sounding slightly frightened.

"No, we cannot," Théoden agreed, "but we will meet them in battle none the less."

There was a new strength to Théoden King and it sent the softest of smiles to Lothiriel's lips. Oh yes, if he were not a king and she not a soldier, they would have been great friends.

"Now get some rest, all of you, there is a long ride in the morning." And with that he took his leave. The men all looked at one another in fear, sadness, and exhaustion, but slowly, one by one, they scattered back to tents and cots, for sleep that was most desperately needed.

Lothiriel and Eomer stood still, holding hands, until Lothiriel yawned widely. Eomer sent her a bemused smile before kissing her temple sweetly.

"Get some rest, my dear, it is late, and we do have a long ride in the morning."

Lothiriel sighed and leaned into his chest for just a moment before pulling away and giving him a soft kiss to the lips.

"I love you, Eomer."

"I love you, Lothiriel."

She kissed him once more before squeezing his hand tightly and taking her leave. Eomer watched her go, a brilliant smile splitting his lips. Eowyn stepped up next to him, sadness and laughter in her eyes.

"Does this mean, dear brother, that there shall be a queen of Rohan when you take the throne?"

He looked down at her, a dark smile on his face.

"If there is still a Rohan to rule."

He left to go to bed; Eowyn stood still, her arms crossed around herself, fear gnawing at her heart and a decision made in her mind.

--------------------------------------------------

The sun had just made it over the horizon when Lothiriel awoke. She put on her armor, her sword, and smoothed the paths her tears had made with more paint. She exited her tent and watched as the Lady Riders, the largest group out of those awake, were already tearing down the camp, readying for war.

Eomer was just a few feet away, watching as well, and she went over to stand beside him, her hand sneaking into his. He smiled, tightened his grip and tugged her a little closer.

"Your soldiers are most proficient."

She laughed.

"Yes, they are very well trained. We ride for war today."

He nodded.

"That we do."

"I need you to promise me something," she whispered and he looked down at her.

"Anything."

"Promise me, that no matter what happens, you will find a way to come back to me."

He pulled her into a tight hug, not caring who saw them in such an intimate position.

"I promise." He kissed the top of her head and slowly released her. She nodded, her hands playing nervously with her braid.

"Good."

"Lady Lothiriel! We need your help!" Sheatha called to her and Lothiriel looked over her shoulder at the next in command.

"Of course, Sheatha, I'm coming!" she turned back to Eomer, "I must go now."

He nodded, kissing her properly.

"I will see you when this is all over."

She nodded, smiled, and turned, headed back to Sheatha to offer the aid that was needed.

"What is wrong, Sheatha?"

"What shall we do with Queen Arianna? She is still so very ill."

Lothiriel felt her heart constrict and guilt explode through her. She had forgotten about Ari.

"I want Yossule and Wertanium to stay with her. In a few days time they shall follow us to Gondor, they have the best Healing Halls in Middle-Earth."

Sheatha nodded, leaving to relay the message.

------------------------------------------------------

Not more than two hours later, the encampments were packed up and together, the Rohhirim and the painted Lady Riders of the Barazinbar rode together towards battle once more, a general and the Third Marshal of the Riddermark both praying that they made it out alive and back to the ones that they loved.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------