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She sat on a hill, overlooking a wide plain
with long green grasses swaying peacefully under a clear blue sky.
Looking down, she realized she wore armor, but not her aunt's. It was
made for her, of leather and fine metals knotted and beautiful, and she
was wearing it over a soft, grayish green gown that seemed to melt into
the grass. She felt at rest.
'Are you happy?' a voice asked. She
looked up...to see her father sitting down beside her, looking far
older then he had when he died, but still strong and hail and proud.
Lothiriel nodded.
'Yes...I am very happy.'
'I'm glad.'
They sat in silence for a time, as the wind blew and the grasses swayed and all was well with the world.
'Why do you show me this?' Lothiriel asked at last. Eodier smiled.
'Because
you once had a dream of what would happen if evil were not challenged.'
He reminded her, 'And now you have one of what will never happen if
evil is not challenged.'
Suddenly, Lothiriel felt a slight
weight on her brow. She reached up, and her breath caught to feel gold
there, twisted in delicate knots. 'Father...'
'You must give
them both up, Lothy.' Eodier stated tenderly, reaching out to touch his
daughter's face. He smiled. 'You've grown so beautiful and strong...but
you have to trust the powers in this world, the great One that works
for the good of all.'
'I won't falter...' Lothiriel managed. 'I give them both up...Edemer...and Eomer.'
Eodier
smiled, embracing her. After a moment, he pulled away, and they looked
out on the grasses together for a long while, until the sun was
dropping from the clear sky, and stars stepped out to greet them...
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Lothiriel's eyes opened softly, to be greeted by the dark of
her room in Ecthellion. She sat up, looking out at the stars that hung
in the mild spring night through her open window.
Then she drew up her knees under her blankets and shift, wrapped her arms about them, dropped her head, and wept quietly.
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The day dawned clear, save that ever-looming blackness in the
East. It was almost like a wound in a sky that was the color of a gem,
a black rimmed red tear. A poisoned wound.
Dawn had barely
broken, and already Lothiriel was up and looking to the fields where
Lord Aragorn's men were taking down their tents and readying to march.
Looking about, she could see many soldiers of Gondor and Rohan rousing
and making for the grass below. In her gleaming armor, her cape
embroidered with swans, new helm tucked under her arm she looked the
noble soldier. But she did not go to join her Uncle's men. She waited...
...until
she heard the footfall at her side, a tall shadow. She smiled
softly...there weren't many men quite that much taller then she.
"I
would have you stay here," Eomer said softly, "I would have you stay
with my sister and your kin and not see another hour of battle in this
life."
"I know." She whispered back, turning her face to look on
him, on his face caught by the rising sun, his hair caught by the
fleeting wind. She smiled wistfully up at him, all the while feeling a
lump in her throat. "But I also know you would not stop me."
"I
wouldn't." It was Eomer's turn to smile at her, reaching down to run
his hand along the side of her face. "I would let you share my fate,
should it come to such."
"Then we understand each other." She
managed, before she had to shut her eyes...oh that it would not come to
that! Oh that the end they would come to would be well! But they could
not know...they could only hope, and trust in what they had in that
moment, when their eyes returned to each other...
They drew
together, lips meeting, royal crests and armor and titles melding for a
brief matter of moments before Ecthellion, before the host on the
fields below. Eomer then drew Lothiriel to him, shutting his eyes as if
unable to face the single tear in the sky.
"After this moment it
is best, for honor, that our men see us only as fellow soldiers and
leaders of Men." He whispered into her bound dark hair, and she nodded
against him. "But know this, Lothy. Should we win this war, and should
our shared fate be favorable, I will have it made known that...should
my Lady grant it be so...Rohan and Dol Amroth shall see their lands
bound with us."
Lothiriel grinned, then almost laughed against him.
"Quite the romantic, aren't you, King of Rohan?" She pulled back,
looking up at his now rather worried face, which made her laugh again.
Reaching up, she kissed him quickly, now smiling softly. "Your Lady
grants it." She whispered. The Lord of Rohan smiled fully, that smile
she had loved upon first seeing it, so merry and filled with life even
in the face of their doom. He kissed her once more; a kiss that was
lingering and bittersweet, for it would be their last while they
marched as solders and captains.
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"Side by side,
we await the night,
The Darkest of Them All..."
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The day was cool, the air sweet, when Imrahil's men were assembled, their Prince and his children by the future King of Gondor. A beautiful army they were, if a small one still. The Gondorians and their banners of blue and silver, the Rohirrim and their horses, a brown and green sea. The trumpets blew, and the company left Minas Tirith and it's fine walls, scorched and dented by battle, yet still standing tall.
From her bower Eowyn looked out, to see her countrymen ride away, and she hoped all would be well with them.
From outside the houses of healing, Merry watched his cousin ride with the host, to have his moment of glory on the battlefields.
From inside, Faramir heard their leaving and sighed, wishing to be with them, knowing it could not be, and was left to hope.
And from her place mounted between her cousin and her brother, Lothiriel met the horizon with a head held high, a horizon wreathed in billowing black clouds and raging fire...
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They passed through Osgiliath, already being rebuilt, with the standard of Gondor on both sides of the river. The men of Gondor took heart at this, and their joy was somewhat infectious to an army with such a gloomy countenance otherwise, as the cries went up 'The Lords of Gondor have returned!'. Lothiriel found herself smiling as they passed through...but looking to her cousin, dark-haired Imrahir riding beside his father, she frowned. His face was drawn, his jaw set, but his eyes...horror had returned there, at the cloud that hung before them. But he said nothing.
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They passed into the dark edges of Mordor, and all tongues were silenced, all hearts clutched with dread with every step taken forward. The skies became grey and void of color, the land rocky and bare...and silent, motionless as if waiting to pounce. Still, Lothiriel forced herself to hope, though many had given up on such. Many...including Imrahir.
So when they came to the end of the living lands, and Aragorn bid those who were too filled with horror to take another step go, and retake Cair Andros, the heir of Dol Amroth took leave of them.
"I...I cannot go, father." He told Imrahil, shame in his eyes. "I cannot bear the thought of Lindenna losing both father and husband, so I shall go, and help in a task that I know I can return from." He looked around him, at the desolation and barrenness. "There can be no hope in this place."
Imrahil nodded silently, clasping his son's shoulder for a moment. "Then go in peace, my son, and may we see each other again in brighter days."
Imrahir then turned to Lothiriel, his eyes soft. "Will you not come as well, Lothy? Will you not come for safer lands?"
She shook her head, resolute, while tears stood in her eyes. "No cousin, my place is here." She managed, "Though I wish you would stay with us."
He said nothing more to her, just shrank away from the road, to join the others who left the company, to go back the way they'd come. But as he passed Eomer's company, he stopped to bid his cousin Edemer farewell, and the two embraced, Edemer then watching sadly as Imrahir left them. It would be the last time the boyhood friends saw each other..
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And so it was, with a host of less then six thousand, the Captains of The West made their way to The Black Gate of Mordor. The Nazgul could be seen, gathering far and high above, but not a sound was heard, no other living thing was seen, and all were left to wonder.Aragorn set them all in formation upon a hill that overlooked the gate, that gave them a clear view of Mordor. And then he and the captains went forward...Gandalf, Eomer, and Imrahil and also Legolas, Gimli the Dwarf and Pippin, so all enemies of Mordor were represented. As Aragorn shouted their challenge to the seemingly silent gates, Lothiriel with her cousin's standard of Dol Amroth, and Edemer with his of Rohan glanced at one another, and at the soldiers who waited with them. Was there to be nothing? Had all their fears and marching been in vain? But no...In their hearts they still knew. Evil was waiting.
The captains were about to turn, when the gates opened, and it took all that was in Lothiriel not to turn and flee, her Uncle's men surely following her. For though she had seen the Ringwraiths before, these frightened her more...for they were living Men, if only a small number. The soldiers of the West's horses went jittery at seeing the beasts those fell men rode, looking to have come straight from the grave.
All heard clearly when the leader of that fell company declared himself The Mouth of Sauron, though the rest of his words were lost to them on the strong wind. But they saw the reaction to whatever he said on their captains, and saw him drop a bundle before them, which had Pippin nearly weeping. Gandalf took it up, and it seemed the trading of terms was over. Gandalf pulled aside his grey cloak to reveal the brightness of his being, and The Mouth of Sauron, who had seemed to be mocking and terrible now rode away with a mad cry.
But they barely had time to turn, before great horns sounded, and for the briefest of moments, time seemed to stand still. Lothiriel felt her heart clench, felt her head turn and her eyes find those of her brother. She saw Imrahil below, opening his mouth to shout an order, along with the Man who was to be crowned their King. She saw Eomer looking to the hills, to the gates, to his men...and then to her. Sauron had sprung his trap.
From the gates poured a swirling mass of the enemy, and from the hills behind them came the Easterlings, and from the Morannon came Orcs innumerable. The hill on which The Men of the West were set was surrounded, and Aragorn hardly had time to command them before they met their foe head on.
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On a winter's day
I saw the life blood drained away
a cold wind blows on a windless day
Hear the cry for new life the morning's flame
you were the brightest light that burned too soon in vain
who will bring you back from where there's no return
fear not for you're just dreaming
On a winter's day
I saw the life blood drained away
a cold wind blows on a windless day
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Acting on instinct, with a cry Lothiriel led her Uncle's men that had been under her cousin's lead...now her own...to join the bladed ring the Men of The West were making against the tide, to meet the Easterlings, to meet their swords and to meet their jeers with the battle cries of Dol Amroth. She saw the endless sea the enemy made, a company far larger then all the army of the West put together, even if they all had made it this far. But she paid it no heed. The Princess of Dol Amroth defended their Hill, paying no heed to the fact that this was their last stand against the enemy, and that they would not survive. Lothiriel thought of her aunt, and of her cousin's bride, waiting for word, most surely with a child in her arms by now...she thought of Eowyn...she thought of Eomer. She fought.
The elves had their bows to take out the archers who now stood above them on the towers of The Black Gate. The Rohirrim their spears, and Lothiriel her sword. If she looked up, she could see Edemer faithfully at Eomer's side, and she was glad at that, and only that, for nothing else could be well in those moments. The sky was filled now with black and grey and fiery red, and good and bad were together, now Nazgul had great Eagles to contend with, noble cries and deathly shrieks mingling. Trolls joined the enemy, wielding great hammers and clubs, over the black fields that were stained red with the blood of Men.
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Edemer came to Lothiriel's vision clearly then, for the army was being driven further up the hill, and thus closer together. He was fighting grandly, and looking suddenly so like their father. That was when the Troll came, swinging its great hammer before a spear of Rohan could have it down. Edemer took the stone club squarely in the chest, and above the sounds of battle that crunch of his armor reached Lothiriel's ears like the roaring of thunder. He fell, eyes wide, unable to regain his breath, remembering the feel of icy cold water rushing into his lungs...
An Easterling saw him fall, and drove his sword into him, before Eomer hew the enemy's head from his shoulders with an enraged yell.
"EDEMER!" Lothiriel screamed, falling back from the line, riding to him, seeing his blood stain the ravaged ground on which they fought. The line of the enemy driven back again, Lothiriel dropped to her brother's side, gathering him to her with an anguished cry.
"Lo...Lothy?" He struggled to speak, and she looked down at him, hopes dashed to see the bloody mess his side had become. "Lothy? Father..." He coughed, "He told me to take care of you...as if I needed telling..."
Tears thick in her eyes, Lothiriel nodded. "I know..." She sobbed, "And you did, Edemer, you always have...my brother..."
"No, you took care of me." He grinned weakly, and then his eyes clouded over. "Oh Lothy...you should see it. The grass...it goes on forever...." And then he did not speak again, his breath had left him, his eyes now gazing unseeing, upon the rent sky above.
And so he died, fair and golden and young, in his sister's embrace.
She let out one more cry, burying her face against his chest, where no heart could be heard beating. Until she felt a strong hand on her shoulder, and looked up, to see her betrothed looking down at her, smoke and dirt stained face marked with tears that had now passed, for their fate looked just as grim, their doom upon them. Lothiriel rose, lying her brother down tenderly...and then she took up his standard, the standard of Rohan with the mark of the Shared Sword. She mounted Bela wordlessly, removing the standard of Dol Amroth. Eomer mounted as well, looking at her curiously now. ..
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"A fate shared." She spoke, looking back. "I am the last now, and so I ride this time not as your love, but as your friend." She choked. "Oh Edemer..." She took a breath, "I gave him up...and now we meet our doom together."
"So it will be." Eomer nodded, reaching to grasp her hand, as the enemy began to press forward. One last long look, and then they turned, diving into the fray once more. .
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The bloodbath swirled around them, and then suddenly, above, the Nazgul turned and fled into Mordor, as if on great errand. The enemy was halting, as if suddenly unsure and terribly afraid of the Army of The West. It was as if the Will of Sauron had left the battlefield. Stunned, Lothiriel heard the armies shouting in newfound hope, for the Orcs were now fleeing and only a few Easterlings were still pressing them. She heard Dol Amroth, Rohan, the Elves, all with renewed vigor cry out.
"Stand men of the West!" Gandalf cried out, "For this be the hour of doom!"
And with that the ground was rocked, shaking as if in a great earthquake. The Black Gate was thrown down, it's towers as well, and the ground of Mordor behind was rent and torn. From Mount Doom was seen a great cloud of malice and evil rise, and fly toward them in great anger, only to be blown away by the wind.
The Ringbearer had fulfilled his quest.
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Frodo Baggins opened his eyes, at the sound of soft singing. He was suddenly very aware that he lay on a soft bed, his first in weeks and weeks. The smell of green trees and cool spring mornings reached him, free of fumes and smoke and all fell things he'd known every morning for so long. He opened his eyes.
It was the golden light of early morning, after sunrise yet long before second breakfast. He first saw Sam, sleeping soundly in the bed beside him, a bed made on a ground thick with new green grass. Then he followed the sound of singing, sweet and rather elf-like, reminding him so of merry nights spent in Elrond's House. He saw a woman dressed in a simple grey dress and blue vest, looking as an Elven Lady, though clearly she was mortal.
"You're awake." Lothiriel smiled broadly at him, speaking softly for care of his sleeping companion. Frodo smiled back slightly.
"I'm not sure..." He said, laboriously, for it was early and his wounds were still great. "This must be a dream...or I have died, and somehow found myself in an afterlife quite like The Shire..."
"Nay and nay." She replied, putting away the clothes she had been folding and coming to kneel by him. "You are in Ithilien, in the camp of The Lord of Gondor." She checked his bandages that she had put on herself, having come to know a good amount of healing in her time under Ioreth's watch, enough to make the Hobbit comfortable at least. "You were borne here by the Eagle friends of Gandalf." She smiled softly...and it seemed to Frodo, rather sadly. "The war was won because of you, little one."
He fell back with a bewildered look in his eyes. "We made it...we made it." He shook his head. "How is Sam?"
"He'll be all right, but he's very tired." She replied, and Frodo smiled.
"He should be...he practically carried me all the way up that mountain." He settled back into his makeshift bed. "I'll wait for him...my but it's wonderful to be comfortable again!" He shut his eyes, and Lothiriel chuckled, knowing he'd be asleep again soon enough. Quietly, she rose, and left the tent...
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Slowly, Lothiriel dropped the few thistle flowers she'd found that morning into the Anduin. She looked up, seeing Minas Tirith rising far away in the distance like an ivory pike catching the morning sunshine. Rubbing her arms against the slight chill, her voice spoke softly, a chant of remembering, for her brother, the smiling, golden older brother she had adored. A chant that thanked him for his sacrifice. That spoke of his deeds, of his family...of her love for him.
She felt someone come to stand beside her, saw him drop a flower into the river along with hers. Eomer said something softly, and she knew it to mean a farewell to his friend.
"His body was lost to the earthquakes and fleeing enemy." Lothiriel said softly. Eomer nodded.
"Still, in Edoras he shall know a mound among our people." The King of Rohan replied. Lothiriel smiled.
"Our Father would have been proud to know that." She said, tears now threatening to spill. Eomer took her hand in his own.
"He would have wanted us to be glad this Day, my Lothy." He whispered, "For we have seen the end of this, and we shall see our children live in a land of peace."
"Yes,..." Lothiriel thought of her aunts, who had both been filled with dread by the shadow in the East, which no longer hung in the sky. She thought of Imrahir's child, who was waiting for them in Dol Amroth...she thought of two little children from Rohan, who'd struggled and fought their way to the sea and their kin, all alone and unaided. "Yes, he would want us to be glad." She managed a smile, and Eomer pulled her into an embrace, before the Anduin and before the future that awaited them. That they had fought for.
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