Chapter Seven: As Fate Would Have It

The next day Lothíriel had donned another borrowed gown from Éowyn, this one proving not much longer than the first. It was drab in color, a muted brown, but they would be traveling and covered in dirt by noon anyway. She also had acquired a green cloak from her newfound friend, and was grateful for it when she learned the morning of their departure was cool and overcast with a brisk wind. The yard before Meduseld was packed with Rohirrim readying to make for Helm's Deep, packing whatever possessions they could carry on their mounts. The sick and disabled were placed in wagons, children placed on horses before their parents, and food packed away tightly in wraps and satchels. It wouldn't be a long journey to Helm's Deep, but it would be a slow one.

Lothíriel and Éowyn had stolen into the armory to obtain a bow and quiver full of arrows for the princess, and were just happening upon the courtyard with her pinched weapons when Amrothos honed in on her like a moth to flame, a black look marring his features. Lothíriel ducked behind a group of soldiers and their mounts, giggling as she clutched onto Éowyn's green cloak. She had avoided her brother all morning, much more keen to sneaking off with Éowyn; she had sorely missed female company. The Lady of Rohan was as witty as she was clever, and made for an excellent companion for getting into things a lady should not and sharing idle gossip. The two had become fast friends indeed!

"Quick! Let us find mounts!"

At that precise moment Lothíriel heard a rather loud yelp accompanied by a rebellious neigh, and she stood up straight without thinking and directed her vision toward the sound.

"Firebreather!" she yelled, a smile lighting her features.

The horse's ears pricked forward at the sound of her voice and when he caught sight of Lothíriel he reared slightly, causing the already flustered stable hand to turn loose his reins. Lothíriel laughed and caught them as the horse trotted over to her, bringing his mighty head down and nudging her shoulder roughly, but affectionately.

"My lady, you do not want this vile beast—"

"We are old friends." Lothíriel said more to Firebreather than to the stable hand, who twisted his hands nervously.

"I thought I had lost you." She whispered, stroking his nose. He nudged her hand and then nipped at her shoulder, a sign that Lothíriel took to mean that he had missed her just as much as she did him.

"He looks like my brother's mount." Éowyn joined her then, and Firebreather laid flat his ears at the intrusion.

"Now do not be contrary, Firebreather. This is my friend Éowyn." Lothíriel chastised, and the horse blew a heavy breath through his nose and stamped a hoof.

"He acts like Firefoot too." Éowyn remarked with a smile as her own mare was led up to her. Firebreather snapped at the female horse and Lothíriel laughed as the mare laid her ears flat and glared at her counterpart.

"See, my lady, you do not want this temperamental creature; why, he nearly tore my arm off—"

"Lothíriel you are not riding this beast to Helm's Deep." Amrothos had sidled up finally and he stood on the other side of Éowyn's horse, far from Firebreather. The ebon mount stepped toward Amrothos but Lothíriel held him back with a coy smirk and a pat to his big horse chest.

"He is mine, Amrothos. I will ride no other."

"Lothíriel…"

"He has carried me this far, and he will let no one else near him." Lothíriel stated matter-of-factly, and as if to bolster her statement the steed nudged her shoulder from behind, willing her for more affection. She raised a hand to stroke his neck and gazed at her brother with a raised eyebrow. "Unless you would like to try?"

"No thank you." Amrothos snapped. "Just keep him under control. And remember: you're riding up front with me."

Her brother stormed off and Lothíriel couldn't help but to laugh once more as she gave Firebreather a hearty pat to his neck before preparing to mount. She had seen the envy in her brother's eyes as plain as day; it had taken him months to control and adapt to his own warhorse Battlehorn.

Éowyn had already climbed up onto her own saddle and was adjusting her gown and cloak around her. "How did you come by a Rohirric warhorse anyway?" she asked Lothíriel, and the princess cocked her head to once side once she had mounted.

"What do you mean?"

"I would pay twenty gold coins to bet that he came from our own herd; though how he came to be at Dol Amroth I could not tell you. And ending up in the Princess's hands is beyond even that."

Lothíriel laughed, settling her own skirts and cloak about her. "I guess it was just fate."


Éomer and his men were packing up their camp they had made along the Entwash. They had made the riverside their home for the night, taking advantage of the tributaries sprouting from the end of the river and the fact that they had long lost the orcs that had been hunting them. The Marshal and his éored had been leading the creatures over the hills in a wild chase for the past day and a half, for who knew better the fields of Rohan than her sons? But it would not keep tranquil for long and staying in one place could lead to death. They had been lucky thus far: when they weren't leading the orcs into traps and ambushes, Éomer had been splitting his own éored to divide them, only to round about and attack. The orcs caught on quickly, but not before their numbers had dwindled to less than half.

But their respite had to end and so they made quick work of dousing their fires, saddling their mounts, and refilling their wineskins from the river.

"Rider!"

"Marshal, a rider approaches!"

"It's the White Rider!"

Éomer stood from his kneeling position by the river where he had been running cool water over his face and neck. He watched with a hint of a smile as Mithrandir rode up on Shadowfax, the horse that could not be tamed by the Rohirrim.

"Hail, Gandalf." Éomer nodded at the wizard.

"Éomer," Gandalf slid from Shadowfax, who immediately took to the river. "You don't know how happy I am to see you."

"You bring news from Edoras?"

Gandalf nodded. "Wormtongue has been banished, your uncle freed from his spell. However Théoden rides for Helm's Deep; he thinks to avoid war and take the people of Edoras to safety." Gandalf said, and Éomer felt dread squeeze his heart until it pained him.

"Helm's Deep? To sit right beneath the enemy's nose?" Éomer was dumbfounded by his uncle's idiocy. "There is no avoiding this war Gandalf, you and I both know that."

"Yes, but Théoden thinks otherwise. He means to take refuge and hold out against Saruman's army of uruk-hai." Gandalf lowered his voice, for a small gathering of Éomer's éored had gathered to listen to the conversation. "Éomer, there is well near ten thousand of them."

"Ten thousand?"

"Yes, with more on the way. We need you at Helm's Deep or Théoden and his company will be lost." Gandalf lowered his voice even more so, but the look of fear rising in Éomer's eyes was enough to have his men talking amongst themselves already.

"Eorlingas!" Éomer called, catching the attention of more of his riders. "We mount and ride for Helm's Deep! Théoden King awaits our aide!"

Éomer strode for Firefoot who had already been saddled and was waiting to be mounted. With ease Éomer swung up in the saddle, trying to keep the worry for those he cared for from the forefront of his mind. He could not let emotion sway him now.

He rode to the front of his éored with Gandalf riding Shadowfax on his heels, and together they began their quest to Helm's Deep; if they rode hard, they could reach the fortress in three days time.

"Does Éowyn ride with them?" Éomer could not help but ask, hoping his willful sister had not done something silly like stay behind to defend Edoras all on her own. Only Éowyn would think of doing something like that.

"Yes. She and the Dol Amroth princess, as well as the youngest son of Imrahil's. It was too dangerous for them to return home so they are accompanying your uncle."

"Lothíriel is her name?" At Gandalf's nod Éomer remarked, "So she lives then."

"With a few bruises to show for it, yes." Gandalf replied with a smirk that was not unkind.

Lothíriel, Éomer mused, picturing how the princess had lain limp and looking lifeless in his arms. So young and so fragile, but yet to be on the field of battle she had to be brave, if only a little touched in the head. More than once over the course of the nights her face had teased his mind, pale and streaked with dirt and blood, tinged by the harsh rays of the sun. He tried to tell himself it was from worry; there need not be any more death in this war. However more than once his mind had recalled the way her hair had lain over his arm, an ebony fall of the softest locks. She had been tall too, he recalled, and slim; with all the chain mail and men's clothes she had been wearing he would bet without it all she weighed no more than a sack of grain.

Lothíriel…

"What had she been doing there?" he pondered aloud, and was startled when he heard Gandalf chuckle.

"I would advise you to ask her yourself, Marshal." The wizard said in that cryptic way of his before urging Shadowfax into a gallop no horse could keep up with, but one Firefoot was all the more eager to try.


They had made better time than Lothíriel thought they would. The company had camped for the night under the swift vigil of the Rohirrim and by mid-morning next day were embarking ever closer down the ravine that led to Helm's Deep. When word began to spread that they would reach the fortress well before nightfall, gasps and cries of happiness rang down the line of wagons and riders, and Lothíriel couldn't help but feel a wave of relief course through her own veins; being out in the open with only a bow at her back made her anxious.

"It won't be long now, my ladies." Gimli the dwarf, who rode with the elf Legolas, chirped from his position. "Soon you will be safe within the walls of the keep."

"Though from what I hear, the princess would like more to be on the battlefield." Legolas remarked and Lothíriel laughed, albeit a blush stole over her cheeks. He was handsome, with long, long platinum hair and eyes as blue as ice. He was taller than she, though leanly muscled from years of servitude to his father and his realm. He dressed in the green garb of the elves from Mirkwood, also carrying their weapon of choice: a longbow. Lothíriel could only guess how many blades he carried on his person though she could not spot any in the light of day. His high cheekbones gave way to shape his almond eyes and a set of ears that pointed at the tips. He was the complete opposite of his partner, who was less than half his size but twice as wide. Gimli was proud of his long beard that he could tuck into his trousers, his auburn hair matching from where it was wildly stuffed beneath his helmet. He wore a pair of axes at his back and the rough, black leather armor of a dwarf from beneath the mountains.

"Will no one give me respite on that matter?" she teased, barely having to guide Firebreather over the rocks and hills they traversed.

"I fear, my lady, that your feat of stealth and survival will long be passed down through the ages." Legolas remarked.

"Why, it reminds me of the courage of the dwarves! For we are the most daring of all the races of Middle Earth!"

Éowyn laughed as Legolas looked pointedly with a raised brow at his comrade and Aragorn shook his head though mirth danced in his eyes.

"I rather think my brother will tell you it was more stupidity than courage my lord dwarf." Lothíriel remarked, shooting Amrothos a knowing smile which he ignored.

"There is nothing wrong with wanting a little excitement, my lady. If ever you want to visit my home in the Blue Mountains, my people would welcome you graciously."

Lothíriel laughed, bowing her head to Gimli. "Well thank you, master dwarf. I shall do well to remember that."

"I think you are getting more than your fill of adventure." Aragorn remarked, his white teeth flashing in a grin. "And in the company of an elf and a dwarf no less."

"Did you know that I have ancestors of the elvish kind?" Lothíriel asked and chose to take no notice of Amrothos when he rolled his eyes. "Mithrellas, an elf from the kingdom of Lórien."

"I have heard of her; she came with Nimrodel who was fleeing the uncertainties of the newly awakened balrog, among other things." Legolas said, earning a nod from Lothíriel.

"She fell in love with my very great grandfather Imrazôr, though she fled in the dark of the night even after spending many years with him and baring him two children. She was never heard from again."

"Aye, I have heard as much. Your elvish lineage must be where you get your legendary skill with a bow." Aragorn said, much to Lothíriel's happiness.

"Legendary?" She sat a little high atop Firebreather.

"Oh, don't get her started Aragorn." Amrothos cut in. Lothíriel scowled at her brother and those around them laughed. "You will have to tell her how great she is, how beautifully she wields a bow, and this that and the other. Having had to do it every morning for the past innumerable amount of years, I think I can do without for one day."

Lothíriel made a face at Amrothos as he turned back in his saddle, and then turned her attention back to Aragorn.

"Your lady, is she not elvish? I have heard many great things about the lady Arwen."

Apparently it was not the right thing to say because the look of joy that always resided underneath the surface of Aragon's weathered features suddenly leeched away and he turned his face to the path before him. Lothíriel exchanged a contrite look with Éowyn who shrugged, and when Aragorn did not answer Legolas spoke up.

"She rides for the Undying Lands with all that is left of her kin."

Lothíriel watched as Aragorn touched the jewel at his neck, one that she noticed he never went without. "She is the one who gave you that jewel then?"

"Yes." Was his solemn answer, his voice hollow, his eyes haunted as he wrapped callused fingers around the jewel that shone with the light of the brightest star; when she had first noticed the trinket Lothíriel thought it to be the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Why do you not go and claim her?" Éowyn asked, her own voice sounding a trifle forlorn. "If you love her, then you should ride after her."

"It is not that simple." Aragorn brought his eyes to the ground, before they hardened and he returned his gaze to their path. "She is elf-kind, I am a man. It cannot work."

"Yet you carry her charm." Éowyn remarked and Aragorn said nothing as Legolas trotted by with Gimli.

He said something in elvish that Lothíriel did not understand, but she was lost in her own thoughts. She had not given much thought to love, had always thought it was way beyond her reach. But the way Éowyn spoke to Aragorn made her heart suddenly yearn for the blinding passion she had only heard about through songs or read in books. Indeed, she had heard many tales of Lady Arwen and her ranger Strider, their love crossing the borders of race and distance alike. Would she ever find a great love like that? One that would leave her weak in the knees, her heart fluttering in her throat?

She dismissed the thoughts. No, I will marry for duty because that is what is required of me as Princess of Dol Amroth. Her soul withered at the thought and she could not help the feeling of desolation that suddenly blanketed her mood.

To never know love…

"There are no boundaries to love." Éowyn said gently, but Aragorn had long stopped listening; or at least, he pretended to.

"What did Legolas say?" Lothíriel asked, but Éowyn shrugged.

"I will admit I know no elvish."

Silence fell then as Legolas and Gimli took two other Rohirric riders with them and went to scout ahead. Lothíriel looked over at Éowyn to find her eyes fixed blankly on the road before them, seeing nothing.

"What is it Éowyn?"

Her friend lifted her head and smiled gently, though the gesture did not touch her cerulean eyes. "It is nothing."

"Please tell me, for I would like to know."

Éowyn sighed softly, turning her eyes back to the road. "It is sad to see such unhappiness, especially in such a bleak time on Middle Earth. The love between Arwen and Aragorn is renowned, long and true: Shortly after his father was killed Aragorn came to foster beneath the great lord Elrond, and it was in Rivendell that he met and fell in love with Arwen on first sight. They pledged their souls to each other on the mound of Cerin Amroth and have stayed true to one another all these years. I only wish that their fate was laid differently."

"You speak as if you have known love." Lothíriel replied.

"I have not," Éowyn admitted. "And I know I never will." Lothíriel watched as her small hands twisted the reins and her lips pressed together to leech of color. She turned stricken blue eyes on Lothíriel and the princess was startled to see that the look they had adopted reminded her of a look of her own.

"I fear a cage, my lady, one that is forged from bars of duty and obedience." Éowyn's voice was low, but the truth she spoke rose a fire in Lothíriel's heart. "I long for adventure, excitement, but most of all love."

Love… Lothíriel's heart gave a distant pang, one she tried desperately to disregard. "I do believe you've found a kindred spirit, my lady." She said softly.

"Aragorn!"

Legolas's shout drew her attention and she turned her eyes then to the elf who was riding full speed back to her and the company from Edoras. Dread suddenly filled her bones when she caught the look of terror on Legolas's face, and Firebreather sidled nervously beneath her, tossing his head in unease.

"We just killed two scouts!" Legolas pulled his mount to a stop before Théoden, who looked at Aragorn with fire in his eyes. "We will soon be under attack!"

A cry of alarm rose up from those around her and Lothíriel turned in her saddle to watch the ripple of news travel down the crowd. She turned Firebreather back to face front and watched with a muted sense of horror as Amrothos pulled his sword from his scabbard.

"Muster the Rohirrim." Théoden said, sending Amrothos and Éothain down the line to pull soldiers from the riding party. "Éowyn, I want you and Lady Lothíriel to lead our people to the safety of Helm's Deep."

"But I can fight!"

"No!" Théoden shouted, turning Snowmane around to face her, his eyes harsh in the dim light of the sun. "You must do this for me; our people know you and trust you to be their hope."

Éowyn hesitated but a moment more before raising her chin and nodding at her uncle. She met Lothíriel's eyes and the two women knew in that moment that this was their place; it was what they could do for the people of Rohan and they would do it faithfully and fully.

"I'll take the east flank, you ride down the west." Éowyn began to say as Lothíriel tightened the reins leading to Firebreather. The warhorse stamped and pranced, wanting to join the men as they rode ahead to stay their quarry. "Urge the folk to make for lower ground and stay together."

Lothíriel nodded and pulled Firebreather around to begin heading down her allotted path, back from the way they came.

"Lothíriel!"

She turned as her brother called and met his eyes, filled with the agony of indecision. His dapple-grey was moving from left to right, eager to join the fray, but held fast by his master's hand. She knew he worried for her, and indeed she was concerned for herself as well. But she was a woman of Dol Amroth, a strong female with powerful kin both ancient and present, and this was the fate she was deigned to live. Whatever came her way, Lothíriel vowed here and now to meet it head on. Resolute in her thoughts, Lothíriel gave her brother a grin, reassuring and beautiful all at once. Though no words were exchanged she knew her smile spoke for her, telling Amrothos that she would be all right.

"Make father proud!" she called, before kicking Firebreather into a swift gallop. "I will see you at Helm's Deep!"

She shouted to the people of Rohan to remain calm and to make for lower ground. "Stay together!" she said, cantering next to lines of women and children. "We are almost to the fortress!"

Éowyn was doing the same, but got hung up towards the middle of the group to help with a wagon. Lothíriel kept on, riding towards the back of the cavalcade as they hurried along down towards the ravine where Helm's Deep was beginning to show. She sat tall atop Firebreather to watch as the people of Rohan passed by her, diligently making sure they made it safely down the hill to the fortress.

The sounds of battle soon rent the air and Firebreather nickered, warning her that it was time to follow the stragglers bringing up the rear. Éowyn rode up to her then, her mare tossing her head back and forth, back and forth, worrying her bridle with yellow teeth.

"You ride on, lead them down the ravine. I will bring up the rear." Lothíriel told Éowyn, taking the reins of Firebreather to round him about to encircle the last of the wagons.

Éowyn nodded and urged her mount into a canter to the front of the line while Lothíriel turned and trotted to the end of it.

"Keep moving! Make haste; you are almost there!" She called to the Rohirrim, nodding to urge them on. "You are almost to safety, just a little more!"

A howl pierced the hot midday air and Lothíriel jerked her gaze to the high cliffs where the men had ridden to. A single warg and his rider began to slide down the rocky outcropping and Lothíriel's heart jumped to her chest as the townsfolk nearest her began to scream.

"My lady, a warg!"

"Help! Help us!"

Lothíriel reached for her bow and an arrow without hesitation as fire filled her vision and hard determination coursed through her veins. This one will not get the best of me!

She had shot astride many times so a moving target was no feat for her, but Firebreather was unspoken for. She was used to riding Seawind; how the warhorse would react she did not know. But I have to take the chance. I cannot let these people come to harm.

"Lothíriel!"

The princess heard the shrill cry of Éowyn but didn't take her eyes from the warg barreling towards her. With a shout of defiance she dug her heels into the horse's side and gave him free reign as she mounted her arrow and took aim.

"Lothíriel!"

Firebreather leapt into a hard gallop, heading straight for the warg. Lothíriel quickly took mark of the angle of the sun and the gust of the wind before falling into a rhythm with her horse and letting her arrow fly. The weapon sang through the air accompanied by Éowyn's scream of despair and found its home in the right shoulder of the warg. The creature stumbled, causing his rider to topple from his back, which allowed Lothíriel a heartbeat's time to notch another arrow.

Black hair rippling in the wind with her mount shrieking beneath her, Lothíriel's second arrow met its mark square between the orc's eyes. The warg, however, had recovered too quickly for Lothíriel to notch another arrow and she suddenly found herself without protection.

Firebreather reared then, his hooves like iron coming down on the body of the warg to prevent it from sending horse and rider to the ground in a tangle of dangerous limbs. Lothíriel gritted her teeth as blood sailed up to splotch her clothes and hands, but notched another arrow nonetheless.

I will not meet my fate on this day! With a battle cry to make the envy of any man, she let loose her bow and watched as the arrow pierced the skull of the warg and made him no more.

Quickly, because she knew there wasn't much time before warg reinforcements showed, she stowed her bow and grabbed Firebreather's reins, turning him about-face to gallop toward the fleeing townsfolk. Éowyn was waiting for her, her face pale and her awe evident in the shining of her eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked Lothíriel as the princess brought her mount to halt.

"Come, we cannot tarry." Firebreather pranced, his brown eyes near crazed with passion. "Let us make for Helm's Deep!"