Chapter 18

In the next hour, the competition was finally cut down to three. Amrothos had quickly been eliminated after the targets were moved farther back than a hundred feet. Erchirion, however, persisted, and was left as one of the last three, along with another Gondorian soldier that Lothíriel could not name and King Éomer.

Before their eyes, the squires and groomsmen began to move the targets every which way, clearing the very middle of the grounds. There was a general murmur through the crowds, and Lothíriel shared in their confusion.

"What are they doing?" she asked Elphir, who was leaning forward to see the commotion. She had seen her share of archery tournaments, and yet had never seen this set up before.

"Horseback archery," her brother replied, nodding toward the right of the field, where the gates had opened to reveal three horses, each saddled and ready, as if for war. "Erchirion hardly stands a chance now."

Lothíriel bit her lip. She had only heard of archery on horseback—it was not practiced much in Dol Amroth, as she had learned from her father and brothers. The Swan Knights were better swordsmen. Perhaps this was something only practiced in Minas Tirith?

"How does it work?" she asked, as she eyed the three men, who were now walking toward the horses.

"It is simple," Elphir explained, pointing at the horses and the men. "Each man rides his horse through the middle of the targets, which are on each side, and attempts to hit as many of them as possible in one go. The most accurate archer wins."

Lothíriel could only imagine the difficulty of the task.

She watched as all three men mounted their horses, their groomsmen holding the reins steady. The first to go was the unknown Gondorian soldier. She squinted at the leaderboard but could not make out what his insignia was – it was one she did not automatically recognize.

"Ah, that is Orodreth, son of Ohtar," her father said, precluding her question. "He is the descendent of the original Ohtar, esquire to Isildur himself. It is said that it was Ohtar and his companions that delivered the shards of Narsil to Rivendell after Isildur was ambushed and killed."

She nodded once. This man was named after a great Elven King from the First Age. It was befitting of his Númenorean bloodline, however, and she watched as he tested his bow before drawing five arrows from the quiver on his back.

Then, in a moment of decision, he spurred his horse forward while notching an arrow and holding the other four seemingly in his palm. In a flash, he and his horse were speeding toward the course as he loosed arrow after arrow at the targets. He shot the five arrows in his hands so quickly, it was almost dizzying before he drew five more from his quiver and shot them as well.

Each hit its target with a satisfying thunk.

Lothíriel's jaw dropped at this feat, and she applauded loudly with the rest of the crowd as the announcer cried out, "Orodreth, son of Ohtar, Sergeant of the 41st Division of Minas Tirith."

"That was amazing!" she cried. "Can Erchirion really do that as well?"

Elphir shrugged. "He was the best archer out of all of us growing up, but he certainly fought with a sword during the War. Let us see!" Her father nodded in agreement.

Erchirion was next. From here, she could see that he was given a quiver of arrows with red feathers, to distinguish from the yellow-feathered arrows that Orodreth shot. At the signal from the judges, he, too, drew five arrows and pushed his horse forward.

Lothíriel, who had only ever seen her brothers practice their archery and sword skills in the practice ring, was awed at Erchirion's grace and expertise on horseback. Even as he rode, he effortlessly loosed arrow after arrow, each sinking with a satisfying thunk into the wood. Except for the very last.

It whizzed by its target and sunk into the grass.

There was an audible groan from the audience, and Lothíriel, too, blew out her breath. Elphir sat back in his seat. She could feel the disappointment roll off of him. "Well, that was quite good considering I have never seen him hit that many targets while riding," he said, a small smile on his face.

She raised an eyebrow. "Elphir, that was amazing! I did not even know Erchirion could do that!" From where she sat, Lothíriel could not make out how far Erchirion's arrows were from Orodreth's. "He may still have a chance depending on where his other arrows landed."

The announcer's voice boomed across the field, stating Erchirion's names and titles as he slowed his horse and joined his opponent on the far side of the field before dismounting.

"We shall see," her father said. "There is one more competitor after all."

The three turned their attention to the King of Rohan, who was now drawing his green-feathered arrows from his quiver. In a moment, he was galloping his horse across the field, his bow held high in his left hand.

The arrows flew from the bow, one after another, and each sunk once more with a thunk into their targets.

The crowd cheered.

Of course, Lothíriel realized suddenly. The Rohirrim were natural horsemen. It went without saying that Éomer would be good at this.

The king joined the other two men at the other end of the field.

Erchirion graciously bowed to the other two men before leading his horse off of the field.

"It is going to be interesting now," her father said. "They will start counting points."

Lothíriel raised an eyebrow. "A point for each target?"

Imrahil shook his head. "Oh no, that would be too simple," he said. "They count based on which ring in each target they hit. A center target for ten points, one ring from the center for five, two rings from the center for two, and the outmost right for one. Any arrow that misses the target, however, is a subtraction of five points."

The princess watched as the targets were moved further from the path. The heights were also varied, and some staggered in distance.

Lothíriel could feel her heart beating with excitement for the round, and soon, Éomer and Orodreth brought their horses to the line. Orodreth moved forward, and with a call from the announcer, he urged his horse forward.

As expected, the arrows flew form his bow like hawks, each meeting their targets with a satisfying thunk. The entire rider must have taken only a minute, but Lothíriel felt as if she could see each individual arrow fly in slowed time.

In a moment, the crowd was cheering, and she found herself applauding with enthusiasm before she remember she had given her favor to Éomer. But she could not discount the sheer athleticism that Orodreth had exhibited.

"He is amazing!" she commented, turning to Elphir.

Her brother nodded. "Indeed. But look!"

She followed where he pointed, and saw that the judges were evaluating the location of the arrows on the targets. One of them made some incomprehensible hand signals at the announcer, who then turned to the crowd.

"Five center, three one, two two!" his voice came booming from the field. More applause followed, and Orodreth turned to the crowd from his horse, one hand raised in salute.

Lothíriel turned to her brother. "What does that mean?"

Elphir was applauding as well. "It is a very good score," he replied. "Five arrows in the center ring, three arrows in the innermost ring, and two in the ring outside of that." He paused and seemed to count. "Sixty-nine out of a total of one hundred. The King of Rohan will be hard pressed to beat it."

The princess looked back at the field, where the judges had now left to go back to their box. Éomer was ready, atop his horse, and had drawn five arrows. Lothíriel could not see the expression on his face due to how far away he was. She realized, suddenly, that she was holding her breath.

The announcer gave the signal, and in an instant, the king was off. From his bow, his arrows seemed to fly in all directions.

Thunk. One

Thunk. Thunk. Two and three.

Two more followed before he reached back for five more arrows. In another instant, five more arrows left his bow. Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk.

Lothíriel let out her breath.

Éomer slowed his horse and turned to face the field, as if surveying his work. Lothíriel, too, strained her eyes to see where the arrows had landed. The judges moved onto the field once more.

It was almost agonizing to watch them review where the green arrows had landed, and she had to look away.

"It is going to be close," Elphir said, his voice calm. "I cannot make out everything, but I see at least three arrows that are not centered."

She felt her chest tighten with disappointment. Truly, it was not her competition but she had hoped for Éomer to win. She watched as once again the judges flashed what appeared to be incomprehensible hand signals to the announcer. The announcer then turned to the crowd.

"Six center. One one. Three two."

A hush came over the crowd only for a moment, as collectively, they all calculated the score.

"That's—" Lothíriel's voice was cut off by the roar of the crowd. She found herself also applauding, wishing that she was not a princess so that she too, could cheer.

"That was close!" Elphir cried. "Seventy-one and sixty-nine."

Below, Éomer shook hands with Orodreth, and the two approached the judges, still atop their horses. They, too, saluted the judges in thanks before they were led to a small podium in the middle of the field.

There, Erchirion joined them.

The three riders saluted the crowd once more before the approached King Elessar's box. Lothíriel could feel her heart pounding as Éomer approached atop his horse, beaming with pride. He was more handsome this way than she had ever seen him.

Even as she was staring at him in awe, he turned to face her. And, in the most devastating way, he winked.