Thanks again for reading! I've loved all your comments and feedback. Please continue to leave me reviews to let me know where I can improve!

Chapter 6

She did not run of course.

She had undergone too much training as a princess to do that.

But she might as well have.

Lothíriel could not sleep at all that night, as she tossed and turned, thinking about what she had done. He had kissed her, surely, so why was she so terrified? Because you liked it and kissed him back.

The morning came with a maid who laid out a riding habit for her after she broke her fast alone on a cup of tea. She did not feel much like eating. "What is this?" she asked the maid.

"There is a plan to go riding beyond the city, milady," the girl said. "The King knows that his guests from Rohan like to ride and planned it especially for them."

"Ah, I had forgotten," she replied, trying to keep a neutral expression. But her heart was racing. How was she to face Éomer so soon after last night? And would she be able to act normally?

Her questions were soon answered when her brother Amrothos came to fetch her. "All dressed then?" he aid cheerfully upon seeing her. "Are you ready to give the Lady Éowyn a run for her money?"

She rolled her eyes. Her youngest brother always seemed to be cheerful, no matter the occasion. Even though he was almost three years older than she, at heart, he was like a child. And for some reason, he could always make her feel better. "Only if I do not ride side saddle," she answered. "And you know if I try to ride astride, Father is going to have a heart attack."

Lothíriel had had her fair share of experience with horses, and though her riding master had only taught her side-saddle as per request by her father, she always rode astride when around her brothers.

She and Amrothos made their way to the exit of the Great Hall. "You stay out of trouble," she warned him.

He feigned an innocent look. "Me? Trouble? Those two words don't even sound right in the same sentence." Lothíriel made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. Amrothos was the definition of young and brash. He had joined the tail end of the War of the Ring, where he had done a few heroic deeds. The women had come flocking, and like any twenty-something man, he had let it get to his head.

"If anything, make sure not to annoy Elphir," she said as they walked.

He snored. "Everything annoys Elphir. It is a wonder he is able to sit a horse, with that giant pole he always has up his arse."

"Amrothos!"

Her brother grinned at her sheepishly. "Have I hurt the lady and her sensibilities?" he jested lightly. She gave him a droll look, but knew where he was coming from. Elphir, being the oldest out of the bunch, had had to grow up very quickly when their mother died. He also knew he was to rule Dol Amroth after their father and always took this role a little too seriously. Even Imrahil had told him that if he did not slow down, he would have an aneurysm before he was forty.

It was no wonder Elphir's and Amrothos's personalities clashed.

"He is still our brother," she reminded him. In truth, Lothíriel had always been closer to Erchirion and Amrothos growing up. Elphir had been more than ten years her senior, and because of his role as heir, he had always been kept separate from the other children after he was in his teens.

At the entrance to the great hall, horses were already saddled and ready for their use, and Lothíriel found her mare, Diamond, easily enough. She was one of the smaller horses, and her gentle demeanor made her shy away from the more aggressive stallions.

One of these aggressors was a large, red stallion who stomped his feet and chewed his bit impatiently, as if wondering where his master was. He showed himself almost immediately after Lothíriel stepped onto the footstool that helped her get up her horse. Seeing who it was, she breathed out heavily.

Her father really was working to get her married, for again, she was next to the King of Rohan. He, too, caught her eye, but said nothing. With an easy grace, he mounted his horse before nodding a good morning to her. "I hope you slept well, my lady," he ventured, though he still seemed hesitant after last night's business.

"I did," she lied curtly. Then, realizing she was being rude, she said, "This is my horse, Diamond, my lord. She was purchased from Rohan, and I have never had a horse more gentle."

Éomer smiled, but his horse whinnied loudly, as if he felt cheated out of an introduction. The man rolled his eyes and patted the horse on the side of his neck. "This is Firefoot, my lady," he said. "Born and raised in Rohan, and I have never had a horse more stubborn." Firefoot tossed his head.

Lothíriel was astonished. "He understands!"

The King of Rohan continued to smile. "Yes, he does. He's too smart for his own good, I can tell you that much." Firefoot tossed his head again.

She could not help but smile at this relationship between man and beast. "Be careful, my lord" she said, eying the large stallion. "Keep insulting Firefoot like that and he may throw you when you least expect it." Firefoot look like he agreed.

Their conversation was interrupted by the call to start riding. Lothíriel found that she was near her three brothers, Éowyn, and her husband. To her surprise, her brother each addressed the King of Rohan by name, and also greeted Faramir rather warmly. Only after a moment did she remember that they must have met Éomer during the war, and she was the only child to not have really met the king until now.

The men began to talk of fighting techniques and battle possibilities, and Lothíriel soon lost interest.

"How goes it, 'Wyn?" she asked her friend as their horses fell in step with one another. "With those… grain shipments?"

Éowyn laughed. "Nothing gets past you, does it?" she asked. "How was the tour of the city?"

"Your brother does not need it. He knows the city better than I do," she answered.

The other woman gave her a small smile. "It take it you have figured out why a man would want to spend extra time with a beautiful woman, then?"

Lothíriel furrowed her brow. "You are saying he likes me?"

"Obviously my brother likes you," Éowyn said, and Lothíriel felt her heart skip a beat. "He did not have a chance, with a woman with your looks."

"Do not tease, Éowyn," she chided, but secretly, she was glad that Éomer found her pretty. But her thoughts turned to the kiss, and she sobered. Whether or not he liked her, their relationship was progressing far too quickly for her liking.

"And do you like him?" her friend asked. Lothíriel should have known the question was coming, but it still surprised her.

"I like him as a person," she said diplomatically. "He is nice enough, if that is what you mean." Éowyn gave her a look that said she was clearly not, and the other woman sighed. When Éowyn wanted to know something, she would come to know it in the end, so Lothíriel felt she should be upfront. "As for the other type of like, I do not know," she said. "I have only known your brother for a day."

That seemed to satisfy her friend until they left the City Gates to ride out into the Gladden Fields. It was a beautiful spring morning, with only a few clouds overhead. That, at least, was good, for the party had planned to picnic for luncheon. Rain would definitely spoil those plans.

"Good morning, sister."

Lothíriel looked to her right, in the direction of the voice, to find her brother Erchirion. The men seemed to have broken up their conversation, of which she was secretly glad—she had heard more than enough of battle tactics at the dinner table from her father and three brothers.

"Good morning," she returned. "What have you been up to?" She realized she had not seen Erchirion for a few days now, as all of her time had been taken up by Lord Belegorn and her father's plans for her marriage. Interestingly, Lord Belegorn was nowhere to be seen today.

"Boring things, I am afraid," he answered. "Like you, father has been trying to get me married off. I have been in loads of meetings with Ladies This-or-That the past five days."

Lothíriel smiled. Her second brother was the best looking of the bunch, with his jet black hair and fine bone structure. The ladies must have been delighted to meet him. "Boring?" she asked. "I thought you would rather enjoy being surrounded by women."

Erchirion made a face. "Unfortunately, it seems money and looks are inversely proportional among Gondorian women," he said. "Those that please father do not please me, and those that please me do not please father." He seemed slightly uncomfortable talking about his love life, however, and quickly turned the questions on her. "And what of you? How goes your search for a husband?"

It was Lothíriel's turn to make a face. "You mean father's search for my husband," she said, rolling her eyes. "Believe me, I want no part in it."

"Well, you are going to have to marry sooner or later, as Princess of Dol Amroth," Erchirion said with a smile. "Mother the children of some great lord or another."

That did not please her at all. Seeing the disgusted look on his sister's face, Erchrion's voice became kinder. "I know you want to be a healer, Lothi, but that is not fitting for people of our status."

"So people of our status should not care about the welfare of others?" she asked bitterly. Her horse neighed as her hand tightened on the reins.

"You know that is not what I meant," he said. "But we must care about them in another way. In a broader sense of the word." When his sister did not say anything, he added, "Governing over them is also a way of caring for people."

Lothíriel blew out a puff of air. "But who gave us the right to rule?" she asked. "What is the difference between me and a peasant? We were both born. Had they switched us at birth, no one would know the difference."

Her brother rode up so he was directly beside her. "There is a difference," he said, his voice low. "We were born noble, others not. That is why we have what we have. We earn it through our service to the people."

She did not look convinced, but Erchirion left her to face her thoughts, not quite sure his own were straight anymore.

The small group stopped after another hour of riding and made ready for the picnic. Unexpectedly, rain clouds had moved in, and the servants hurried to put up a tent. Lothíriel dismounted and, with the help of her maid, cleaned off the dust and dirt from her riding habit before entering.

Chairs had been too heavy to bring, so they all sat on the floor, with the large serving platters in the middle. The food was simple, consisting mostly of fruit and bread and cheese, but the outside environment made the food seem better and the company brighter.

Even when the rain began to fall, the company did not fret. It was just spring showers, Lothíriel's father said. Perfectly normal for this time of year. It would clear quickly, and they could be on their way.

They were halfway through the meal when one of the guards entered hurriedly and whispered quickly in King Elessar's ear. The man's face remained stony, but he nodded once after the guard finished. His eyes were piercing as he rose from his place, his food left on his plate. "Men, with me," he said. Lothíriel had never heard his voice so commanding. "Everyone else, stay inside."

His presence was enough so that none of the men questioned him. Within moments, they had all risen, weapons in their hands. Lothíriel saw the determined look on her brothers' faces and rose with the men.

"What is it? What's happened?" she asked the guard directly.

He was too obedient to not answer. "Orcs have crossed the river. They smell the horses and are heading this way."

Screams came up from the maids, and Lothíriel caught a look of exasperation from the King before he exited the tent. This was exactly what he did not want to happen: panic. She tried to stay calm, but her heart raced within her.

Éomer moved past her, and she looked up to him, but he was intent upon his sister. He spoke in his own tongue, and she watched as he handed Éowyn his spare sword. Faramir, too, saw this, and his eyes flashed.

"Not in her condition," he warned, his eyes steely.

A look passed between husband and wife, and Éowyn took the sword. "I will remain here," she said, holding the scabbard. "We need protection in here just in case."

With that, the men were gone, and Lothíriel was left with Arwen, Éowyn, and a few servants. Some of the women were shaking where they stood. "Get away from the sides of the tent!" Éowyn's voice was loud and commanding. The women quickly moved to the center of the tent, around the half-eaten food.

No one was calm enough to sit, and the seven women stood around the cloth of food, each looking in a different direction. Everything was eerily quiet.

Then the sounds of battle came to them, and Lothíriel's heart skipped a beat. Never had she been this close to fighting. Her father had made sure to keep her locked away in Dol Amroth during the War of the Ring, and for good reason. Her hands were shaking; she was no shieldmaiden like Éowyn.

It was almost as if they waited for eternity.

But just when she thought she could wait no longer, a dark figure appeared at the side of the tent. She almost let out a cry of relief—the men had won and they were back. One of the maids thought the same and ran forward.

"No!" Éowyn cried, pulling the woman back. She drew the sword just as a curved scimitar ripped through the fabric. In stepped the ugliest creature Lothíriel had ever seen. Its skin was the color of burnt parchment so that the whites of its eyes were startling against the darkness. The Orc's mouth was filled with rotten, yellowing teeth as it snarled at them, dripping water onto the tarp floor.

Lothíriel stepped back. The fighting was close, and the men had accidentally let this creature slip past. Éowyn was the only one between herself and the creature.

It let out a triumphant cry at the sight of the women, and ran forward, its sword swinging high. The shieldmaiden met its downward thrust with her own parry. The Orc swung again, but the woman matched him again.

Then Lothíriel saw it.

The creature's eyes flashed as he struck out with his left hand, landing a hard blow on Éowyn's abdomen. She cried out and fell back, clutching her stomach as she let go of the sword.

Lothíriel was at her side before she knew how she got there. "Éowyn!" The next few moments flashed by in an instant. The Orc screamed in glee at the sight of her, too, coming to die. He swung downward with the sword. Somehow, she was now holding Éowyn's sword, and she had blocked the blow with a clumsy upper swing. Sparks flew as metal touched.

She remembered sparring with her brothers whenever her father was not watching, but their blows had been nothing like this. Her entire body rang from the force of it, and her arm almost went numb from the sensation.

Lothíriel knew she had to stand, and she raised herself from where Éowyn lay. Think, Lothi, think! She commanded herself. She tried to remember the tricks her brother shad taught her, but nothing came except for another blow from the Orc. She parried, as it was the only thing to do, then thrust the sword forward with all her might.

To her surprise, it sank into the Orc's throat, and it fell, blood gurgling as it breathed in its own life's blood. As Lothíriel pulled the blade out, however, she must have nicked an artery, for blood spurted from the wound, spraying her face, dress, and arms.

She yelped and pulled the blade back, her hands slick with blood. Around her, the other women were screaming.

But before she could attend to Éowyn, who was still on the ground, another Orc burst through the same slit in the tent. More screams.

Lothíriel did not have time to open her own mouth, as the Orc was upon her, having seen the body of its fallen comrade.

She knew immediately this would be different. She had caught the other creature off guard, but this one was wary. It knew she could kill, and it was not about to end up the same as its brother. It circled her, and she tried to follow, keeping it away from Arwen and the maids.

It lashed out then, its weapon circling her. She jumped out of the way, but the scimitar caught her right arm, leaving a shallow gash. She cried out at the sharp pain, and the creature chose this moment to attack again. It swiped from her left using its right arm. Lothíriel jumped out of the way just in time, and slashed out wildly. The Orc roared in pain.

The clank next to her made her realize she had taken off its sword hand. But, it came for her, bloody stump outstretched. She screamed now, in terror, and swung the sword with all her might from left to right.

The creature fell, headless.

Footsteps came in the direction of the entrance of the tent, and she spun around, her sword coming down, ready to strike. It met another weapon that came to parry.

She came to her senses quickly enough to realize that she was standing before her father. The reality of her situation hit her, and she felt a gust of wind enter her lungs. The sword was suddenly incredibly heavy in her arms, and she dropped the weapon.

Her father crushed her in an embrace. She was shaking in his arms. "Lothíriel, what happened? Are you hurt?" He finally let her go, his eyes roaming over the blood that covered her.

"I am alright," she managed to gasp. All around her, the men crowded to see if she had been wounded. "I am not hurt. Éowyn… Éowyn needs help!"

Elphir was next to her now, his hair matted against his head from the rain, and his dark eyes stormy with anger and worry. "You are covered in blood!"

She reeled now, from the noise of the men and the smell of the fight. "It is not mine," she said, still gulping air. "The Orcs…" she stumbled forward then, remember where Éowyn was.

But the other woman was already being helped by her brother and her husband. One hand was on her belly, but the pained look Lothíriel saw on her face earlier was gone. Now that she could think, Lothíriel finally pieced the bits together. Of course… Her condition and her protectiveness of her belly…

"Éowyn!" she ran forward. "The child?"

Her friend smiled at her weakly. "Alright," she managed. "I was scared for a moment, but we are both fine." She smiled again, shaking off her brother. "I am sorry you had to find out like this."

Lothíriel's reply was interrupted by King Elessar. He had found his wife unharmed, and now reassumed his role as leader. "Get the wounded and dead on the horses," he commanded the guards. It was only at these words that Lothíriel remembered the hazards of battle and turned to her father.

As Aragorn gave out more orders, she asked frantically, "Father, where are Amrothos and Erchirion?"

Her father's face was grim. "Alive. Erchirion took a nasty gash to the head, but he will heal." He frowned. "Are you sure you are alright?"

She nodded just as King Elessar appeared at her side. "It seems Dol Amroth breeds strong women as well as men," he said, addressing her. "Lothíriel, you have saved the lives of the women here today, including that of my wife. For that, I am in your debt." He bowed deeply, and Lothíriel could only curtsy on shaky legs.