Chapter 1: (Lothíriel POV)
It wasn't until the company stopped that I finally wiped the tears away from my eyes. The wind had blown harshly from the East over the plains of Lebinnin, carrying with it a foul smell of smoldering ash and sulfur - wind from Mordor. It had stung the eyes of all that rode in the eastern part of the land – a harsh deterrent, one of the captains had said.
"All who seek to aid Minas Tirith will be penalized for their valor," he grunted, squinting his eyes in the direction of the fearsome Mountains of Shadow. "He wishes Gondor to fall."
"Who wishes this?" a younger man had asked. I had not been paying attention to the conversation behind me, but this had caught my attention. The captain laughed. He was an older captain, no more than forty but his character was far older than that. His face was reddened by years traveling on horseback in harsh weather under a hot sun – probably patrolling the outer gates. He was not alone in this respect – the older captains looked years older than they really were.
"The Dark Lord," he said. He took a drink from his water pouch, and then poured water fall on his dirt-stained face. The water streamed down his face, taking some of the dirt with it. "They say he is just a great eye, rebuilding his strength behind his walls of blackness. He sets his sight on the realm of Men, just as he did years ago in the time of Isilder."
"Oh," the younger man replied. The captain looked at him out of the corner of his eye and tucked the empty pouch into his belt.
"Do you not know the legends of your forefathers?" he asked seriously. The man squirmed under the gaze, and I moved forward to intervene.
"We all know the legends," I said. "In these dark times, though, those legends are more like nightmares than bedtime stories." The captain glanced at me, then turned back to looking at the rode. The other man gave me a quick smile of thanks, then he too paid more attention to the rode than to me.
"Do not heed him," my father, Prince Imrahil, had said. He rode his horse near mine, and spoke in a low whisper. "The men are nervous. Anything will put them on edge."
We were barely away from Dol Amroth when this had happened. Now, we were four days later and yet still a day away from Minas Tirith. The men had grown even more nervous. Their increased silence on the long marches had proven this to me – along with the air of contagious nervousness that they seemed to exude.
I wiped my eyes and looked around for any of my family. My brother Amrothos was farther ahead, discussing something with the scouts that would embark later. My father dismounted his horse to talk to one of the captains. I urged my horse towards him.
"Are we stopping here?" I asked. The fact this appeared to be a random location, not one carefully chosen ahead of time, surprised me. Indeed, I had not seen it on any of the itineraries or maps that my father showed me beforehand. "It is not nightfall."
"No, it is not," he replied, reaching a hand out to help me dismount, "but we will set out for Minas Tirith at dawn. We do not know what trouble lurks there as of yet, and I wish my men to be rested since we will ride hard to get there. They will raise a tent for you to sleep in soon," Father added, glancing at a group of Swan Knights that rode past.
I nodded It was not the custom for men of Gondor to take women to war. I had my own tent. I gave the reigns of Duthanhol, my horse, to one of the esquires of the Prince. Turning away from him, I noticed the river nearby. My eyes stung, more so now that I had seen water, and I started towards it.
"Don't go too close," I heard a voice shout behind me, "or you may fall in. And I doubt we have the time to rescue princesses from a river." I spun around to see Kelimar, my brother Erchiron's best friend, looking down at me from his horse. It was better to see Kel, I admitted to myself, than some scary-looking foot solider who only wished to ogle a lady.
"I think I can handle myself around water," I said. I pulled the sleeves of my gown up around my elbows. "I'm not afraid of a river." Surprising as it was to all of us, Kel was afraid of water...hence his becoming a knight as opposed to joining the Navy like Erchiron.
"Harsh, Lote, harsh," he said. He smiled at me. I looked at him, taking in his dark brown eyes and brown hair. He was a rarity in a land where most have blue eyes, and I had often found myself liking his peculiarities.
"Do you not have soldiers to bother?" I asked, my cheeks growing warm under his steady gaze. Kel raised his eyebrows and nodded.
"Somewhere...I thought I'd bother a princess first," he replied. "Good day, m'lady." He trotted off in search of some other distraction than me. I was disappointed that he left, but it was I who reminded him of his duties.
And yet, part of me found relief with his departure.
I turned towards the river – the Celos, a young solider had said as we rode towards it – and crouched down. The water was cool and tasted sweet. The sourness of Mordor had not yet come to these lands.
It was because of the sourness of Mordor that the Knights of Dol Amroth had embarked. It was a journey to Minas Tirith, to the aid of the great White City, that I found myself in the middle of. And Elphir was right – why I was here was a question amongst most of the soldiers I traveled with.
"She is a woman! You are taking her into battle! She is not like those wild women of the North – you have not taught her to use the sword, nor the arrow. She cannot be of any use to you!" my aunt cried once she learned I would be going to Minas Tirith with the men.
"It was my own choice," I said quietly from my position on near the door. "I decided this."
My aunt was speechless. Women did not ride into battle with men.
I hoped I would not ride into battle with the knights, for I would not survive it.
But she was right. Other than being a fast and competent rider – and not in the side-saddle way they practiced so much and prided so greatly in Gondor – my skill with bow and arrow were, well, lacking. But my skill at negotiation was not, and in the back of my mind I had thought that, perhaps, my father would use this journey as a way for me to broaden my skills. Skills unbecoming to most ladies...but skills that would be prized in a lady of the noblest blood, kin of the Stewards of Gondor, a truer daughter of Númenor than many of the noblewomen of Minas Tirith. Gain experience here, and I could do good for whoever I married.
I splashed water on my face. But we had not yet reached the White City. We did not yet know what was in store for us.
"Lothíriel."
I opened my eyes but saw nothing. The sun had not yet risen and my tent was dark.
"Who is it?" I called out. A light moved from the outside of my tent and the flap opened. My father entered the tent, holding a lantern in his hand.
"Are we departing for the White City already?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.
"Not the men, no. Not yet. In an hour, perhaps." He glanced back outside before looking intently at me. "The scouts have sent word things are happening around Minas Morgul."
I sat up in bed. My heart pounded hard enough to break me open. "Minas Morgul..." is all I said, my throat dry.
"I am sending you ahead with a cadre of my men," he said. "You will ride full speed to Minas Tirith and let them know that we are coming."
"Is Minas Tirith being attacked as well?" I asked. I wrapped the robe I had next to my cot around me as I stood.
"The enemy must cross the river before any harm is done to the White City. As long as Osgiliath stands in one form or another, they are safe."
"How long ago did the scouts return? How do we know Osgiliath stands?"
"The enemy will not raze it to the ground," he said, "but the men at the garrison are men of Gondor. They would not see their White City in flames."
"It seems like you rely too much on who they are, and not what they can do."
"Faramir is there. He will not let them take Minas Tirith. The ride to Minas Tirith will be hard and the road dark. But ride, and take news of our approach to Denthor."
I drew my robe tighter around me. "I will, Father, I will."
Moments later I was dressed in a dark dress and cloak. As I walked towards my horse, I heard someone call my name.
"Lothíriel!"
I turned to see Kel gallop towards me.
"Are you coming with us?" I asked as a soldier puts my horse's reigns in my hand. The camp was in chaos now that the men had been woken up – save the cadre of seven my father has waiting for me. All of them are Swan Knights, though they dressed in simple clothes akin to what Ithilien Rangers wear, not their usual polished armor.
"I would not see harm come to you," he said, his voice low and with a trace of emotion. It both startled me yet seemed entirely natural. I had known Kel for a long time. It made a great deal of sense he would care for me...
"Let us ride," I said. "The faster we get to Minas Tirith, the faster harm will be out of my way."
We set out from the camp and were within sight of Minas Tirith before dawn's fingers stroked the sky.
As we neared the city, the air grew fouler and the wind whipped around us faster than before, making it difficult for our horses stay straight. The city was not far when the rocks started to fall. Hurled up by the wind, they pounded into our backs as the wind whipped our faces. My eyes stung, the foul taste of Mordor on my tongue.
I crouched low in my saddle, face pressed against Duthanhol's neck and buried in his hair. I feared a blow to the head, and my horse had to ride faster lest something happened to me.
I had always been the fastest rider, but I feared it's merely my horse that was the fastest. Our horse master knew the tricks of Elvish care, and my faithful steed responded best when treated that way. I spurred my horse onwards, knowing the men would speed up as well.
I felt the wind whip across my face as I sped toward Minas Tirith. The White City grew closer as I rode towards it, the rocks failing to reach as us the further we drew from Osgiliath. I can hear horns sounding.
The gates were thrown open, and we rode in, reigning in our horses once they hit the cobblestone streets. I turned back to the gates and pet Duthanhol's neck to calm him down after our sprint across the Pelanor.
"Princess! Princess!" The guards of the City recognized me, and I realized I had to say something.
"Have all my men made it in?" I asked, looking around.
"Yes, m'lady!" Kel shouted across the courtyard.
"Is anyone hurt?" I asked next. Kel looked back at the men.
"Scratches and cuts, that's all, Lady Lothíriel."
"Take those that are hurt to the House of Healing," I said to Kel and the guards. "I am going to see the Lord Steward. He must know that Dol Amroth comes to aid the White City."
Digging my heels into Dunthanol's side, I spurred him up the steep streets. A cheer rose from the motley gate crew at the news that Dol Amroth comes to aid Minas Tirith. It was not yet morning as I rode up the many levels of the city, but shopkeepers ducked out of my way nonetheless.
I left my horse at the last arch. The Citadel loomed in front of me. I threw my covering off my head as the Guards of the Citadel approached. Upon seeing me walking towards them, they all took a knee in respect.
"You may rise," I said, pausing to look at their chief. He nodded, and walked besides me down across the Court of the Fountain.
"Lady Lothíriel, do you bring news?" He asked. I nodded, slowing my pace down. If I hurried or not, it will still be hours before the knights arrived.
"I come to tell the Steward that Dol Amroth comes to aid him. Will he see, Brandil?" I asked.
"I should hope so," he replied. We are at the doors. They opened before me, and I stepped into the cool, dark hall. At the end of it sat my uncle, the Lord Steward Denthtor. As I approached him, I noticed that in his hands he clutches a horn. But I did not take much notice.
"Hail Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor," I said once I was a few feet from him. I dropped into a low curtsy, my head practically touching my skirts.
"I see Prince Imrahil has sent his daughter to tell me he is on the way," my uncle said. I glanced up, and then slowly rose to my feet.
"The Knights of Dol Amroth, along with many foot soldiers, will be at the gates of Minas Tirith in a few hours, my lord," I said. Denethor sighed.
"What good will more men do? Should I send them to their deaths, just like I sent my son?" he said. For the first time I registered that the horn he held in his hands was Boromir's, the horn given to the firstborn son of the Steward.
"Boromir..." I said. My cousin is dead? Surely not Boromir! Boromir was strong and brave...
"You may leave now, Lady Lothíriel," Denethor said, dismissing me. I nodded, and curtseyed again, heading to the door where the guard awaited me.
"That could have been worse," he said.
"True. I might not have been allowed to speak."
"Shall I see you to your family's quarters?"
"Yes." As we headed across the Court of the Fountain to the narrow lane that houses the guest quarters, I glanced up at the sky. A growing cloud of darkness seemed to come from the East, rising over Osgiliath.
"What happened to Boromir?" I asked.
He sighed. "I do not know, my lady. His horn washed up in Osgiliath and Faramir brought it to him."
"Oh, Faramir," I sighed, as my concern for my older cousin grew. The threat from Minas Morgul had caused me to worry about the garrison, and, though Boromir is dead, he is now at peace, and I do not have to worry about his current safety. It is not yet time for mourning.
"And his body? Boromir's?" I asked as the guard and I entered the cool lane.
"It was not found," he said.