A/N; I had a terrible time writing this chapter.. It must have been a horrible case of writers block. Nothing sounded right! But anyway, here it is. Enjoy!

Attention all Éomer and Lothíriel shippers! Help out the cause by emailing Ffnet and saying that you want Lothíriel added to the list of characters! I, for one, am sick of having to search through the terrible "Éomer falls in love with a shield maiden" Mary sue stories. You can do this by going to the help section, which is in the drop box menu at the top. Please help the cause!

- elegantcouture

Éowyn watched as the servants hurried about with the preparations for the return of the king and his men. It was early morning and the sun had just shown over the horizon when a scout had ridden into Edoras announcing the return of the King and his Eored. Instantly, Eowyn had set about having the healing quarter's well-stocked and hot food ready. Now, she stood outside the doors to the hall, watching as the men thundered over the plains.

Faramir had stayed with Lothíriel at Éowyn's request. She felt better that someone was in there with her, for Lothíriel's earlier confession had shaken Éowyn. A cold fear gripped her as she thought of how many times Grima had tried to take advantage of her.

With a shake, she forced herself to raise her head to meet Éomer as he wearily trudged up the steps. There was more emotional torment in his piercing gaze than Eowyn had ever seen before, and it forced a gasp from her lips.

"Éomer?"

His silence both frightened and irked her, and she followed in his wake as he threw open the doors to Meduseld.

"Your anger is with her?" She hissed, and nearly ran in to his back as he came to a dead stop.

"She was taken against her will, and yet you think my anger is with her? Nay, sister, it is with the beast who now lays dead." His voice was harsh, and she was glad then that he did not turn around. "Where is she?"

"Faramir is with her at the moment, she sleeps in the royal chambers." Taking advantage of his hesitation, she whirled around him, the siblings finally facing each other, "She is broken. Her spirit is stronger than this, but it will take time and patience."

He looked in to her eyes and she sighed with frustration. "How will you handle this, Éomer? You do not even remember her!"

"I remember that I love her, and that is enough." He growled, and brushed past her without another word. Her footsteps halted behind him as he approached the door.

It was the first time he had visited these chambers since he had lost his memories. He could still feel his uncle's presence there, and the fact that these rooms were now his still confused him. Pulling open the door, he felt his hand tremble some. How was he going to handle this?

The darkness in the room was almost all encompassing; the only light was by the dull fire. He saw the shape of Faramir, sitting on the bed with Lothíriel's head cradled in his lap. He was surprised when the older man turned and looked at him, obviously having been up all night. With a respectful nod, Faramir gently woke Lothíriel and moved her back on to the pillows.

"Wake, darling. Just for a moment so I can move.." Faramir whispered, his hand soothingly brushing her hair as she stirred. He easily slid off the bed and planted a kiss upon her cheek, before looking to Éomer once more. They nodded to each other and Faramir rest his hand comfortingly on his shoulder. With just a second pause, he moved on, meeting Éowyn at the door. They both looked back in, and Faramir quietly whispered to his wife, "Should we leave them?"

"Yes, come, you need rest." With that, the door shut behind them.

As he hesitantly approached the bed, a bittersweet emotion ran through his weary body at the sight of his wife wearing one of his nightshirts. She looked so small and delicate as he sat by her, her eyes barely open. Even in the pale glow he could see the bruises on her face, the cut lip, and the marks on her neck. It woke something in him that he had only felt on a battlefield.

She began to wake and sit up, her mouth opening to speak as she turned her gaze away from him. The shirt slipped from her shoulder and a cut there drew his gaze. With a simple gesture, he leaned over and placed a soft kiss to it, and then with the softest touch he corrected the shirt.

"Lay down." His voice was hoarse with emotion, and to her dismay, she felt as if fresh tears would burst from her at any moment.

"I am sorry." It was a gasp, a desperate attempt to sound strong when she did not feel it. She turned to lie on her side, away from the gaze of her husband so he would not see the tears that plagued her bright eyes. His weight was lifted from the bed, and she felt her heart harden. Surely now he would leave her, when she secretly needed him most. She bit back a sob, her eyes shutting tightly as her hands came to cover her face out of shame. She felt so weak.

The feel of his large, warm hands on hers startled her. He took advantage of her surprise and gently pulled her hands in to his, and she forced her eyes open. He was lying beside her, and the look in his eyes made her melt. Their depth of uninhibited love, compassion, and sadness made her ache, and she tried to inch closer to him but winced in pain.

Instantly his arms were around her, and the familiar feeling of safety encompassed her. Pressing her face to his chest, inhaling his scent, she swore that she would stay there forever.

Pressing his lips tenderly to her head, he inhaled the sweet scent of lavender from her hair. "I do not wish for you to be sorry, only know that I will never let harm come to you again. It is not your fault, Lothíriel; please do not do this to yourself."

At his words, it was if something inside of her snapped. Tears flowed like rain down her cheeks and melted into his tunic, and thought each one broke his heart, Éomer was more than happy to let his wife cry on his shoulder.

He held her gently, his hands soothingly rubbing her back. And though he would never admit it to anyone else, he wept into her hair at the sounds of her heartbreaking cries.

He had only been asleep for a few hours when something woke Éomer up. Lifting his head, he found that Lothíriel still held tightly to him. Planting a gentle kiss on her forehead, he slowly unwrapped himself from her and stood, stretching his stiff muscles. It was almost midday, and he knew that Prince Imrahil and Lothíriel's brother were expected in the afternoon.

Pulling the coverlet over her shoulder, he kissed her cheek and turned to leave when he found Éowyn standing in the doorway.

Crossing the room, he met her gaze evenly and allowed her to lead him down the hall.

"The Prince will be arriving soon. What all do you remember of him and his sons?"

"I met them in Minas Tirith once, while on some diplomatic journey with Theodred."

"Well, Elphir will not be with them. Amrothos has dark hair and looks similar to Lothíriel, while Echirion has lighter hair." Stopping before they entered the main hall, she gave him a glance. "They know nothing of her kidnapping, so we will speak privately about that. We do not need to wake up Lothíriel until they are going to see her."

He simply nodded. She gave him a critical look and shook her head for a moment. "You should go freshen up before they arrive."

Imrahil was furious. Faramir had tried to be as comforting as possible as he explained to Prince Imrahil, Amrothos, and Erchirion what had befallen Lothíriel. However, it had been Amrothos that shocked them all.

"Where is my sister?" His voice was a deadly hiss, and everyone who knew him best had to pause in surprise. Amrothos's anger was nearly nonexistent. Even during the war, he had made jokes to anyone around him while he slaughtered Orcs. He was rarely serious, and while this grated on his father's nerves at times, it had been a comfort to see that the war had not touched his children too deeply.

While Lothíriel was close with all her brothers, it had been Amrothos that she was closest. He had been five years old when she was born and after their mother's death, he became her sworn protector. They were terrible, always playing jokes on people. It was infamously known that when they visited Minas Tirith it became a full out war between Faramir and Boromir and their younger cousins on who could pull the most pranks on each other and everyone else. Lothíriel had been the lone female in a family full of boys.

Faramir escorted them to her chambers and as he opened the door, Amrothos burst in. He crossed the room in a sprint and as his sister sat up, he embraced her gently. Burying his face in her curls, he held tightly to her. "Ria.. How could this happen to you?" He whispered to himself, and he felt her respond by pressing her face to his shoulder.

Erchirion stood next to Éomer, and he studied him for a moment. He was weary, that much was obvious. "Are you starting to remember anything?" His tone was quiet, and Éomer turned to his brother-in-law.

"Yes.. A few things."

"Queen Arwen, when we passed through Minas Tirith, bade me to give you this." He held out a vial that held a pale blue liquid in it, and a letter wrapped around it.

With a nod and a muttered thanks, he watched for a moment as Imrahil sat down beside his daughter and Erchirion walked further in to the room. Éomer and Faramir exchanged a glance and then Éomer walked off, down the hallway towards his private study.

Éomer hesitantly sat in the chair that was once his Uncle's. He had so many memories of sitting in this study, listening to his uncle recite some tale of the Rohirrim, and a smile flitted on to his face. Though he was loathe admitting it to anyone else, his wounds were still fresh and he had not received enough rest in the past few days for them to mend. He ached, constantly, and his muscles protested almost any movement. Nevertheless, what more could he do? He could not sit back and let his men go out to find his wife without him.

With a sigh, he unrolled the parchment that had been tied to the vial. Opening it, he was surprised to find the letter was from the Queen rather than Elessar.

'Éomer, King of Rohan,

Your sister's letter has left Elessar and I with quite a fair amount of concern for you. While presently we cannot leave our country due to the threat of the Haradrim, we do send you this. My father was well renowned for his talents in the art of Healing, and as such, he passed some of his knowledge to me. Thus, I send you a vial that holds in it a concoction to hopefully help you regain your memory. Take a sip of it each night before you retire until there is no more, and before the end of this season, you shall have your memory back.

Elessar bade me to tell you to write us with any news you have. I hope your injuries are healing and that perhaps you can visit the white city soon.

Sincerely,

Arwen, Queen of Gondor'

Setting the letter down, he picked up the vial and studied the liquid. 'It is worth a try..' he thought. With a weary sigh, he set it aside and turned his attentions to the piles of parchment that lay in front of him.

There was a feast that night in honor of the Royalty from Dol Amroth, though none now felt like celebrating. Long after the dishes had been cleared and the guests had retired, Éowyn found her brother still awake. His long shadow was cast across the hall as he stood by the roaring fire, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Éomer had taken a sip of the Queen's concoction and if it worked even half as bad as it tasted, his memories would come rushing to him in a matter of days.

"It is growing cold; winter shall be upon us soon."

Eowyn stood beside him, her arms crossed over her chest as she looked curiously upon him. Nodding absently, he took another swig of whiskey. "I suppose you and Faramir must be leaving soon."

"Perhaps," Eowyn sat down in one of the chairs facing the fire, her hand absently brushing away the golden strands of her hair.

"May I have a word with you, Éomer?" The siblings turned in surprise to find Prince Imrahil standing quietly away from them, his countenance grave. With a touch to Éomer's arm, Eowyn rose and left the room.

"I understand that this is a difficult time for you," Imrahil began, his hands clasping behind his back as he gazed upon the young king. "And I hope that I am not asking too much."

Éomer bowed his head, his eyes closing. He almost feared what his father in law would say next.

"I wish to take Lothíriel back to Dol Amroth, if not just for the winter. The sea has always been soothing to her, and perhaps being at home will keep her from retreating in to herself, as women have been known to do after such.." He trailed off. Imrahil knew it was unnecessary to remind him.

Several tense moments passed. Éomer lifted his chin, his gaze evenly meeting Imrahil's.

"Whatever is in her best interest, I grant you." He whispered, his voice hoarse. "Winter will be upon us soon, and the healers will not want her to leave for at least a fortnight."

Imrahil nodded and rest a hand upon his son-in-law's shoulder. "You have always been a brave man, Éomer, and you have faced much. I will not let you lose her now, not after everything the two of you have weathered. I have one last request. Will you tell me what has become of this Ernach?"

The two men sat, Éomer's hand gripping his glass subconsciously.

"Lothíriel had escaped, and I took my men to where the village that I knew Ernach and his men were..."

Flashback

As they quietly approached, Éomer felt his stomach tie into a knot of fury. He would find this beast and slaughter him. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, his muscles tightening with the anticipation of battle. He had sent half his men to surround the village, to be sure that none escaped. Creeping forward, he gave the signal, his men rushing in to kill any that lay in their path.

All about him, swords clashed and men cried out. Éomer's focus was on one thing; the building that had held his Queen captive. He threw open the door to find a bleeding man rising to his feet. He was filthy, his hair in tangled knots and the wild look on his face made Éomer draw his sword.

"Ernach, I presume." His voice was clear, and he pointed his sword at the apparently unarmed man.

"And you would be the horse-lord, the man whose wife I have tasted. She is a pretty catch, though I am sure she will not be able to stomach your touch after she has had mine."

With a savage growl, Éomer lunged forward and knocked Ernach to his back with his fist. Pointing the tip of his sword to the man's neck, he drew it slowly, a thin line of blood appearing. "You beast, you animal! You shall die knowing that you have failed, that a woman bested you! Creatures like you always meet the bitterest of endings." Reaching down to grab his neck, he threw Ernach to the opposite wall, the sound of his crashing limbs bringing an eerie peace to Éomer.

Ernach spat at Éomer as he approached again, his boot landing soundly in the wild man's side. "You deserve a slow death. You have failed, and your kind will always fail when you use such tactics. Even now, as we speak, your men are being killed. Revenge for the harm you have done my wife and my people. Never again will you lead your soulless men in to battle." With a swift stroke, Éomer cut a line down Ernach's chest. He turned to leave, ready to surrender this man to his slow death.

"And what will you do, horse-lord, when your wife birth's my heir?"

Éomer turned, and set his battle glare upon Ernach.

The dunlending never breathed again.

Imrahil lowered his head, satisfied with the tale. Éomer rose slowly, biding his good night to the Prince.

Lowering himself in to his soft, warm bed, his wife gently turned to him. Lothíriel curled up to him, her small frame fitting perfectly in Éomer's arms.

Well? Reviews are appreciated. I am sorry at the delay, I meant to write this much sooner, but I've been overcome with excitement because I get to see John Mayer and Maroon5 in concert this coming weekend. And I get to meet them! Squee!

Anyways, I'll have the next chapter up soon.