Wind in time
rapes the flower trembling on the vine
and nothing yields to shelter...

From above
They say temptation will
Destroy our Love
The never-ending hunger...

But I fear I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose
here in this lonely place...

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The day passed, and still Lothiriel waited by the walls for word of what happened in far-off Osgiliath. Into the early night, she watching anxiously, but little could be seen. The torches were lit, the men rested their weapons and leaned against the walls for sleep, but Lothiriel still watched. She didn't want to rest; to rest would be to let her thoughts dwell on things unpleasant.

Finally, a rider could be heard below on the fields, and he came into the light of their torches swiftly. Lothiriel's hope at seeing him unharmed was dashed at his grave expression.
"They come." He said simply, his eyes glazed as if he'd seen the very fires of Mordor devour him. "Lead by The Black Captain Himself."

After such news, not a single person slept, at least not peacefully. Even Edemer looked grim. Little hope was allowed to Faramir and Imrahil, but Lothiriel clung to it stubbornly...desperately.
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Dawn of the next day was even bleaker and blacker then the last. The enemy had broken the hold at Anduin, and Faramir was said to be retreating across the Pelennor. From her ever faithful watch on the walls, Lothiriel saw the Wizard ride away to her cousin's aid, saw Denethor looking down on it all with an expression drained of emotion.
She then saw the Hobbit...Pippin...alone, without the Wizard Gandalf to lend him strength. Now he went to her brother, touching his arm so that the tall Rohirrim would look down to him. "The men say your father was from Rohan...tell me, do you know if they are coming?" The young Hobbit's eyes were so wide, so full of fear and courage, hope and despair at once. "Did Gondor's messenger make it to Rohan?"

Lothiriel already knew how Edemer would reply; he'd had to say it so many times. But now, her brother seemed choked up, unsure of his answer. She turned back to watching the black sky quickly, lest the other soldiers see her tears of weakness. But then, they were all afraid. The blackness had pierced everyone's heart, had lent despair upon them all. The far-off smoke and shouts of war were ever growing nearer, and there would be no shame in being seen this way. And so, not breaking her stiff, alert stance, Lothiriel bent her head slightly, and wept.

Another sleepless night fell.
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Those who had managed to sleep woke to the bitter sight of rolling black dust and fumes, red flashes within them, slowly making their way over the fields. No one needed to explain what was happening, though in shouts many did. The walls of the Causeway Forts had been breached.
"Faramir." Lothiriel breathed, setting her face grimly though not knowing who lived and who had died was driving her mad. Her uncle, her cousins...beside her, Edemer rested a hand on her shoulder, trying to lend her some bit of strength and courage.

And then, at midmorning, the Wizard was riding through the gates again, the wounded of the Fort being carried in behind him. Though his footsteps seemed set for the Tower, Lothiriel could not bear waiting for news. She broke away from her Uncle's men and hurried to speak to him, all the while keeping an eye on the wounded that passed by for any familiar face.
"Pray tell me..." She asked, catching Gandalf's arm, and he looked at her. "I must know...do my...my Father and brother and cousin, do they live?"
"They do, Lothiriel of Rohan." He replied quietly, his face set grimly, though his eyes twinkled. Lothiriel's however went wide, before she remembered that this man was Istari. "And their resolve to stay and fight is strong. You and your brother are to stay ready to ride." And then he turned, and was gone, toward the tower.

Lothiriel took a deep breath. They were alive. She turned, and hurried back down, outside of the gates and to her brother, and mounted Bela swiftly. Edemer glanced at her.
"Is all well?"
"As well as can be." Lothiriel replied, head held high, renewed determination now painted on her features. "Stand ready."
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Though ready they were, the soldiers were not sent forth, and it drove some of them close to madness. They could clearly see the Pelennor being sacked, and they could see the farms, though deserted, being burned to rubble below them, could see the wounded trickling into the city in streams, and then rivers. But still, the armies were not sent forth. Lothiriel more then once thought of simply leading the men forward without Denethor's command, but remembered Imrahil's instructions.

And so they waited, and watched, and when evening fell the bulk of the City's soldiers could be seen below, staying in formation, a deadly orderly dance below on the spring grasses. Faramir most surely lead them, and Lothiriel watched the tiny figures far and below closely. They became fewer and fewer, and her heart sank, though she clutched her standard and sword resolutely.

Lothiriel chanced a glance upward, to the gates high above her, and saw Denethor. He had come at last to see what went on below, fully dressed in chain mail and armor, watching all with a grim eye. Lothiriel looked back to the battlefield below...she could make out Faramir clearly now, could see her father and cousin as well fighting bravely at his side. The enemy was a thick, boiling black mass, but Faramir's forces seemed to be doing well, though they were slowly retreating...she felt a presence beside her then, which was not her brother's. She looked to see another soldier taking his place with them, who wore neither chain nor armor, only a long grey cloak and staff, as he sat waiting on his snow white mount.

And then, there was a great cry from the men waiting outside of the gates. From the West, horsemen of the enemy sprang up, a number greater then most had imagined. The Pelennor Fields were now black with their foulness, the green chased away by the Dark Lord's hordes. They swept down upon Faramir's company swiftly, scattering and shattering his line to a most certain doom...
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Lothiriel waited for the command forward, eyes blazing now, at the thought that the seething horde might have slain her kin.... but it did not come. She threw her glare up to the walls, to Denethor...to her Uncle. He seemed unable to speak for a moment, his eyes glazed over and wide...

"LORD DENETHOR!" She cried, and his spell was broken. He looked down at her, and started in almost terror. Lothiriel could not know that in that moment, he saw Finduilas. He saw her in his niece's place, glaring up at him, the fires of war lighting the contempt upon her face. "You will send us forth!" She shouted, and Denethor returned to the then and there...

"Sound the charge!" He called clearly, face once again set for war, as though it had never changed. The horns sounded, and with a cry, Edemer spurred his mount forward, Lothiriel only a stride behind, sword drawn and blue banners flying. And before them both, Gandalf threw back his cloak, the white brilliance opening the path for the Swan-Knights to ride into the terrible blackness...

"Amroth for Gondor! Amroth to Faramir!"
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