Then Lúthien climbed from her prison, and shrouded in her shadowy cloak she escaped from all eyes, and vanished out of Doriath.
-Of Beren and Lúthien
Chapter 12
Eventually she came back to her senses. There was a pounding pain in her skull and she felt a bit nauseated, but fighting her way back to the consciousness Lothíriel felt the blessed knowledge she was still alive.
Though her body ached as did her head, she sat up on the floor, where she had fallen. There she was, in the middle of rubble and dust and apparently this side of the house had partly collapsed: some of the ceiling had come down, and the boulder (roughly the size of a cow she estimated) responsible for the damage was more or less embedded into the building. If anything she had to applaud Lord Ocharnil for the sturdy build of this house.
Climbing up on her feet did nothing for the pain, but she had to get up and see if there were any way out now. True enough, the boulder had smashed through the floor of her prison and was so half in this room and half in the chamber below. However, it had also effectively shut the hole it had made, so she couldn't use that way out... as for the door, the roof collapsing on the chamber had blocked the doorway. There were stones and rubble and a huge beam presumably from the structure of the ceiling, and she calculated she might have been able to move it if her brothers had been here to help her.
But then even as she was about to sink back into despair Lothíriel took note of how the beam was situated against the wall, and the pieces of stone, and the gap in the ceiling...
I can climb out.
She was a good climber, after all – it wasn't for idle reason she had been able to sneak out of her father's house so many times. Yet even so she would only be able to get as far as the ceiling, and she didn't know where she should go from there. And for the moment her head really hurt. At least the pitcher of water left for her had survived unscathed through the calamity with minimal spilling – it was located on the side of the room that had not taken damage – and she poured herself a glass, hoping it might clear her mind. She'd have to drink sparingly, as she had no idea of when she might next get food and drink.
Having satisfied her thirst she sat down again on the dust-covered couch and rested herself. If she were meaning to climb she'd have to gather strength first. Perhaps a short rest would help with her head too...
Multitude of noises woke her up. Down below she could hear rough fell voices, and there was something alarmed about them, though the language wasn't one she knew... but then another sound pierced through the dull haze: it was clear and bright and it finally woke up Lothíriel.
In the distance, many horns were blowing... and even here, in her half-coherent state and with her head still feeling like it weighed about the same as a mûmak, she knew what this sound was. Rohirrim had come.
At first she didn't realise it was morning, because ever since the darkness had spread from the east all that had been left for the world was strange half-light. Anxious to see what was afoot she made way to the gap that used to be the window, but as soon as she stepped out into the open she saw the swarming just below her feet: the orcs were in the city!
Lothíriel pulled back as quickly as she could as to not be seen. She fell all the way to the back of the room and her thoughts galloped frantically. Had the city fallen, then? Were all seven levels in the hands of the Enemy? Her father and brothers...
But Rohirrim had come. Even now she could hear the noises of the battle from afar, renewed in a new frenzy, and something that sounded like singing. She could but shake her head and let out a sound that was a mixture between sob and laugh. Rohirrim! It was so... so absurd, yet it made all the sense in the world. Of course they would be singing.
Perhaps he was there too...
What should she do, then? Éomer might very well be out there but that wasn't going to help her here. Should she move from this place or stay put for now? At the very least it could be the safest spot for the moment, if orcs truly were in the control of the city. Suddenly, she was quite happy about the large beam and pieces of stone blocking the door: even if the lock wouldn't have held, the ruin before it would.
Thinking about it Lothíriel eventually decided she should stay here for now and wait. It would be insane to try and take her chances outside, because she was not a fighter and even if she had been her survival would still have been unlikely while the city was brimming with orcs.
So, with a sigh she fell down to sit again... listening to the noises of the battle, wondering if her loved ones were all right, and if she would live to see the next day.
It was the longest, the most anxious day of her life. There she sat in her small safe haven, which she found ironic when thinking of how it had originally been her prison. Outside the battle went on, seemingly doomed to go on forever... and voices of orcs rose and fell, and their tones gave no clue as to how the battle was turning out. She couldn't even crawl to the side of the gap to try and peer out; if she did, she'd probably find an arrow through her eye. So Lothíriel sat huddled in what shelter she could find, waiting...
It almost turned into far more than that, as at some point she could hear banging behind the door of the chamber. Then orcish voices spoke, and she froze. They were in the house!
Eyes fixed on the door she sat, not daring to even breathe, and she was sure they'd somehow break in. That would be the end then, because she knew she was not strong enough to fight and she certainly wasn't feeling well enough to escape successfully. And where should she escape in the first place?
But for all the banging the lock and pieces of rock and the beam held on. For the moment her life remained spared.
The orcs outside evidently thought it a waste of time to try and make their way in, and their voices faded, and Lothíriel trembled in quiet relief. And then as she sat and shivered she found herself crying, because how long had it been since she had heard another human voice? How long was it since she had said goodbye to her father?
Father... oh, how she wanted to see him now, to throw herself in his arms and let herself be like a scared child. But Father was not here – he could very well be dead already, and perhaps she was the last one alive if the city outside had fallen... the idea was truly depressing.
A kind of a darkness fell on her and she became increasingly more tangled in this loss of time, and when she came around again the light outside was growing though she was certain it couldn't be another morning. Lothíriel dared up on her feet and she made her way towards the hole in the wall, and she could see that the skies were clear. Oh, the pain of not knowing what happened out there! Surely it had to be something good, if that awful shadow had vanished?
At this point, she was really starting to feel hungry. She couldn't remember when she had last seen any food... it must have been yesterday, before Lord Ocharnil had made his unfortunate visit. Never in her young life had she been so long without any nourishment, and even a glass of water didn't do much to distract her from the demanding growls of her stomach. And yet, as miserable as she felt, she thought again: I promised to endure.
Lothíriel sat again down and rested her head for a while, distracting herself with going through the genealogies of the Kings of Gondor in her mind, and imagining what kind of people they had been... had any of them imagined this was how their realm would end?
Because now it was starting to grow on her, the thought that this was the end. It had to be hours since dawn, but it didn't seem to her like the arrival of Rohirrim had tipped the balance to the behalf of the Men. If it had, shouldn't the voices outside the building be Rohirric instead of orcish? It was a depressing thought but at this point she was too tired and hungry and numb to really feel anything about it.
Something about the air changed when the day turned towards evening.
At first she didn't notice anything but eventually she came out of the dark paths her mind had travelled. Still, it took a moment for her to register what was wrong... but when she heard the alarm in the voices of orcs downstairs and her sight at last caught those curls of smoke pushing from the mostly blocked hole in the floor she understood what was at hand. Somewhere down there was a fire.
And she remembered the chambers she had seen downstairs, the heavily panelled rooms full of wood... perhaps even enough to build a fire large enough to bring down this building of stone.
Smoke was pushing upwards more heavily now, and Lothíriel understood she had to get out.
I'm not going to die here.
Her earlier idea returned then; she could use the conveniently placed beam to try and climb up on the roof, and there think something else. Well, upwards was now the only way she could go.
Before starting to climb she drank what was left of the water in the pitcher, and then she concentrated her attention on the task at hand. More and more of smoke was starting to curl from the gaps and through the crack under the door, and she knew the fire downstairs was spreading. In determination Lothíriel gritted her teeth and began to climb the beam, taking support from pieces of rock and the cracks in the partly crumbled wall, slowly making her way towards the gaping hole in the roof... she had to be brave now, just like Éomer would be. She had promised him she'd endure, and she couldn't fail that promise. Not now, not in this place.
"I'm going to see you again. I swear", she muttered to herself as she climbed... seeing was hard, what with the smoke and the fact that her right eye was walled up, and it was also becoming more difficult to breathe. Up on the roof, there was not only brief safety but also fresh air... if only she could make it that far!
The roof tiles were slippery and smooth and it took all her strength and focus to be able to pull herself up. Once she nearly lost her grip and fell, but luck was with her and eventually she was resting on her back on the slightly slanted roof. Lothíriel took several moments just to catch her breath and rest her aching arms, reminding herself to save her strength. She was not yet safe.
Brief glance towards where she had come confirmed that the fire downstairs was spreading ever, and she knew she had to move. The building might be sturdy, but the collision had probably already damaged its structure, and it was entirely possible the fire would have it collapsing. She might not die in the fire but it could still end her life if she stayed here.
Looking about confirmed the most buildings around the house were too far away for her to jump into. However, on the right side there stood a house that she just might reach if she was lucky. It wasn't quite as tall as the one she had been kept in as prisoner, but she could survive a fall of few feet, and anyway there was a balcony just below, which at least should cut her fall.
As she stood there on the edge of the roof she gazed below and saw the ruin of war on the fields of Pelennor: carcasses of mûmakil and innumerable smaller bodies, too small and countless for her to make out their number, but enough for Lothíriel to understand what a devastating battle it had been. There was still movement though, for the battle had not ended.
She had thought the city had already been taken but as she looked down on the streets below she saw not only orcs but men as well, men wearing the garb of the Citadel and of the many lords who had come to defend the city. They were fighting, trying to push back the enemy...in her heart, Lothíriel felt her hope renewed: so the White City had not yet fallen! Her father and brothers might still live!
Her will restored and she looked ahead towards the house she was meaning to jump into. The smoke was rising upwards ever more thickly, and she knew she'd have to move soon.
She took a breath. Oh, Elbereth, guard me now and give me wings that I may fly to freedom...
Then, with her will and strength strained to their very reach, she leapt.
It was a simple act of comfort and kindness that awoke Éomer from his dark and despairing thoughts: one of the healers placed a blanket over his shoulders, though it really wasn't like he could feel its warmth through the layers of armour he wore. Still he muttered his thanks and wrapped the cloth around himself.
The healer gave him a small smile, "My lord, it is late. Perhaps you should go and get some rest?"
The young king himself had no sense of the passage of time: it could have been day or night and he would not have cared. As an answer he just nodded but made no move, and the healer understood it was no use to talk to him.
Éowyn was asleep now, deep in quiet rest where Aragorn's healing had taken her, and he envied her. It felt like the new King of Rohan had sat here for years, eyes fixed on his sister's pale face... for she was the only thing he had left in this world. And yet, for all the horror and loss and grief he had seen today, all he could feel was cold emptiness.
The day had been too long, too full of losing. Uncle lay dead and so did too many a friend... and Lothíriel, sweet Lothíriel devoured by flames...
After the battle, Éomer had thought there would be no strength or madness left in him. He had thought he'd poured everything into that insane charge he had lead over the fields. But the sight of the house in flames...
He'd have run in despite the fire, and he'd have likely perished there looking for her. Yet as he had tried to rush into his death five pairs of arms had grabbed him and held him back. He had fought against them, he had howled her name, but eventually the roof of the building had collapsed and so had he.
Lothíriel was dead.
What a cruel fate it was, that he should ride here so close to her... only to find her dead on that moment when he was king and there should be no more obstacles between them. Oh, if only he had arrived sooner! If only he had been there to save her...
Eventually, Elfhelm had helped him up on his feet. By that time Galdegir who had brought him the accursed news had already been taken away, and Éomer found now he didn't even care what had become of the young lord. On his Marshal's urging the young king had forced himself to move, though each step he took seemed to tear at something inside him. When he had found his voice again, he had spoken: "Everything and everyone I've ever loved is gone. Uncle, Éowyn, Lothíriel... what reason do I have to go on?"
"Rohan is your reason. You are our king now – and the last living scion of the House of Eorl", Elfhelm had said gravely, resting a hand on his shoulder.
Firmly he had believed those words – that he truly was the last one alive, up until the moment they had come to see the body of Théoden King... and Éowyn was not there.
Finding her alive, and then her return to light with the aid of Aragorn was perhaps the only good thing to take place that night. Yet the young king had seen the shadow lingering in her eyes, and her despair had only fuelled his own... she had not come here to do great deeds, but to seek death. Éowyn wished no more life.
In a way, it was almost as bad as if she had died. Hope had indeed forsaken both children of Éomund.
He bowed his head and felt the burn of those tears he had not let fall, but he knew if he should allow himself break down here he wouldn't be able to stop it. And he wasn't sure what he might do. No, he couldn't do that in this place, beside Éowyn's sickbed...
A time of mourning would come. He'd shed his grief and perhaps it would break him then. But fight had not yet ended... no, this quiet was but the last breath before the plunge into the darkness. He had to harden himself for now, and face whatever it was that awaited ahead.
Perhaps he'd even see her soon.
"My lord, you really should go and take some rest. You look exhausted", said the same healer who had brought him the blanket.
"Aye", he muttered listlessly and got up on his feet, wondering whether he could persuade one of these healers to give him something that would knock him out for the night... for otherwise, he feared, this darkness would even follow him into his dreams.
It was quiet when Lothíriel awoke.
The noises of battle had died and about her silence hovered, and she felt like she might make it through this after all. The pain in her head had turned into a dull ache; probing about her skull revealed a bump, and touching it made her cringe in pain. Obviously she had suffered a concussion back in Galdegir's house when the ceiling had collapsed... but evidently it had not been so serious in the end, considering she was still alive and could even move.
Sitting up she considered her surroundings and in her mind went back to her flight from the burning house that had been her prison. She remembered her leap and the terror she had felt mid-air... then falling on her stomach on the roof of that house she had tried to reach, falling back on the slippery tiles. Terror had reclaimed her and for one moment she had thought she'd slide into her death, but instead she had dropped on that balcony she had spotted from the roof of Galdegir's house.
Momentarily she had felt quite dazed and she had just lain there, but after reclaiming her senses she had considered what to do next. Down on the streets battle had still continued, and though it seemed to her that Men were on the winning side, Lothíriel decided she had no business in the thickness of battle.
But she couldn't stay on the balcony either, and so she had become a burglar.
Well, in her defence she had only broken into the house from the balcony because she didn't see any other way around. And tiles were abundant – by the courtesy of her fall, of course – so she picked up one and used it to break the window. Getting in through the window without hurting herself had taken some agility she hadn't known to possess (she knew one horselord who'd be interested to hear that), though she did cut her hand. Once she was inside she had taken a look around, and finding some clean cloth she had dressed the cut best she could.
It had seemed like the household of a wood-smith: the furniture was all made of that material and though simple it was well-made, and she judged the place was usually kept in neater condition. The inhabitants of the house had left in haste... and fortunately for her, they had even left behind some food.
In this situation the dry bread and leathery apples had tasted heavenly, and she washed down her loot with some ale. Nourishment instantly made her feel better, but also very tired. So she had sat down for a while, with the solemn intention of resting her bruised body only for a little bit... but like before, she had fallen asleep there and snored through the rest of the battle.
She felt better now at least, as did her head, and Lothíriel deemed it was time to move and see what was happening in the city. Looking out of the window confirmed it was either very late or very early, and quiet it was too... surely the battle was won then, if there was such a calm? She couldn't imagine the Enemy's army exercising such silence had they won the day.
She had to leave the house same way she had come, as the front door of the house was locked. But that proved to be a small hindrance: when she returned to the balcony and examined her surroundings she could see that the stonework of the walls was uneven enough to even provide support for a climber like herself. So, knowing she probably looked like a proper burglar, Lothíriel climbed down and felt strangely more free than ever in her life.
Galdegir's house was now but a blackened shell. The embers had died hours ago, and most of the insides seemed to have collapsed. The out-walls stood still, however, and she shivered looking at that place she had almost died in. Then she turned her back towards it and thought: I survived. And Galdegir and Ocharnil are so dead when I tell Éomer of this.
The pre-dawn hours were cold and she already thought of her brief safe haven with longing. It had been warm there, and secure... but she had to get going – had to find her way to the Citadel. Her father and brothers would be there – if they were alive, that was. And Éomer... perhaps she'd find him too. How surprised they would be when they'd see her! After all, she was supposed to be in Dol Amroth.
With a smile on her face, she began to walk ahead, pleased to notice she knew these parts – it was the main street leading up towards the Citadel. Now she had but to make it to the gates and announce herself... and soon, she'd be with her family again.
The quiet of the night was quite in contrast to the chaos and mayhem of the past few days. All the city had fallen silent now, as if startled into this unnatural quiet.
Rason was of the men of the city, recruited on those last days before the battle. He wasn't much of a fighter but miraculously he had made it through with only few scratches. His wounds were indeed so small that healers had said he was well enough to serve, and so the captain in charge of his troop had given him guard duty through the night.
He was paired up with a man called Oderenion, who was of the men of Lossarnarch. As far as Rason could tell guard pairs were usually from same troop, but after the great battle many things were in disorder.
The gate between the second and third level had taken some serious damage as the enemy had just been in the process of breaching it when the men of the city had come with hope renewed. Now it wasn't much of a hindrance of anyone who might want enter the third level, and two of them had been ordered to stand guard there.
A third man had appeared as well, though to Rason's understanding he hadn't received his orders from the captain. The fellow hadn't even said his name and he stood some feet away honing his sword, evidently completely disinterested in socialising with Rason and Oderenion. Judging by his garb, he served one of the Gondorian lords who had brought their men to defend the city as well.
"I'm not sure I understand why we need to stand here all night. It's not like any orcs survived", said Oderenion after a while, sounding he was saying it more out of wanting to fill the silence than of true interest. He had made it through the battle unscathed, and Rason was under the impression he actually had skill with arms.
"It's because of the lowlife of the city, of course", Rason answered. "Lords high up on the Citadel don't want them taking over the upper levels. There's lots and lots of empty houses there, since all the honest people have left the city. It'd be a bedlam, if the thieves and burglars were set loose there. And the lords have better things to concern them."
"I thought all the city was evacuated", Oderenion said, looking curious now.
"The lawful common folk was evacuated. But on the first and second level there's all kinds of shady stuff who never left. That's why we're here – to take care they don't try their chances now that the city is vulnerable and the high and mighty are more concerned with war than fighting law-breakers", said Rason. He scratched at the stubble on his chin and sighed. It was couple of hours before the dawn still, and he thought of bed and food with longing.
"I wonder how they'd survive through the battle. Orcs were in the city, after all", said his companion then.
"This city has stood here for many generations of men. That's enough time for all kinds of rats dig themselves secret holes and hiding places. And orcs were here for how long? A little over a day? You think flooding out the dark crannies and corners was their primary concern?" Rason answered and shook his head.
Oderenion looked like he'd have commented something, but the attention of two men was then sparked, for a figure of what they took for a woman was approaching them. Rason tensed at first but then took note of her appearance: though she was kind of tall she also looked filthy and battered. Not much of a menace, really.
"Gentlemen", she greeted them, "I'd ask you to let me pass through the gate."
"You have the password?" Rason asked, which seemed to take her aback.
"Password...? I don't know the current one. It's not 'hammer' anymore, is it?" she asked.
"No password, no passage", Oderenion answered, leaning on his spear. The woman's eyes widened.
"Please. You have to let me pass. I need to find my father", she pleaded, sounding just a bit scared now.
"We have orders not to let anyone pass through these gates, unless in need of healers or other help. You don't seem like that, whoever you are. We're not to let lowlife like you among the honest people", Rason answered patiently.
"But I do need help! And I need my father!" she argued. "I'm no beggar – I'm a Princess of Dol Amroth. You must let me in!"
At that the two guards glanced at each other.
"Sure you are the princess. We happen to know all noble ladies have long since left the city", Oderenion told her.
"You don't understand – I was taken captive when I was leaving, and my father doesn't-" she tried, but Rason did not let her continue this nonsensical story.
"As amusing as your tales are, we can't let you pass. Now get you gone, before we make you go", he said with emphasised patience now.
"You must believe me! I really am the Princess, and I need to speak with my father immediately!" she insisted.
But then a voice spoke from behind them.
"Allow me to handle this."
Rason turned around sharply and his eyes fell on the third, unnamed man; he had entered the scene in complete silence and his eyes were fixed on the so called princess.
"It's quite all right. We have everything under control", Oderenion said calmly.
What happened was not what any of them expected, however. That instance Rason had spent looking at the strange man, the filthy young woman had used to scoop down and snatch a piece of stone. With terrifying accuracy she threw it... and there was something of a snap when the stone hit the man in the middle of his forehead. He fell down, and by the time the two guards had helped him back on his feet the crazy girl had already vanished.
The stranger was fuming. When he muttered darkly to himself "he'd better murder that woman", Rason couldn't help but wonder if she had spoken the truth.
By the dawn Lothíriel was already feeling not only cold but also miserable. The dull ache in her head appeared to have relocated in her hand, which had been cut by broken glass, and she knew it was not a good sign. After the unfortunate incident at the gates she had run, and briefly the rush of fear and need to save herself had warmed her. But as her heart slowed down and she could see no one pursued her, the sweat on her skin turned cold and she began to shiver.
How should she find her way back to home now? The guards thought her some insane beggar, and no doubt that scary man was one of Ocharnil's ordered there to look out for her... he probably had no intention of following her, because the only way to her father was through the gate. She could try and get arrested, but the scene at the gates had raised the valid concern that Ocharnil had his webs ready to catch her, and he'd get to her before any word reached her father.
She walked about for a while, if just to stay warm. The hours before dawn were indeed chilly, and she had no cloak: the one she had worn upon her departure had likely burned with Galdegir's house. Rubbing her arms she ventured forth on the quiet streets. She had never been to this part of the city before and knew not where she was going, but what else could she do?
Eventually she started to feel more and more exhausted, and her body ached from all the abuse it had been forced to endure. All she wanted was just to curl into a ball somewhere, perhaps cry a little bit, and then sleep... maybe everything would be fine when she'd wake up, and this all would turn out but a nightmare.
But then she came across something she had not expected.
There was a small square kind of area, surrounded by buildings on three sides and on one side was the wall of the third level of the city. What she saw there was some kind of a bonfire, and the mere sight of it made her icy fingertips warm.
Around the bonfire people were huddled – she counted at least two dozen of them. Some stood, some were sitting. Having lived a sheltered life Lothíriel had never seen people like this, but even she knew enough to realise these were the poor and wretched of the city, gathered around a fire that would not have been tolerated had the city's guard been in the state of normalcy. How they had survived through the battle she didn't know, but then she had survived too, and a city this old and large must have many secret places for hiding.
"Oi there! Pretty lady!" called one of the men. Much was not to be said about the rags he wore for clothes, but he had a enough beard for two people, and over his left eye he wore a patch.
"I – I was – can I stay here for a while? I'm cold", she mumbled awkwardly and cast a longing look at the fire. Curious looks were cast towards her, and suddenly Lothíriel felt very small.
"Of course you can stay! Come here and I'll keep you warm, pretty lady!" called the man, which roused a roar of laughter among others present.
"Shut it, Tholvel!" called a new voice. Though it was husky to the point of being raspy, it was a woman's voice nonetheless. She was very tall for a woman and her shiny black hair was cropped short. Her eyes were large and their shade was extraordinarily brilliant blue, which actually did distract one's gaze from her clefted lip. She spoke again, "Don't you see the poor thing is cold and terrified? She doesn't need your filth."
Tholvel seemed to mutter something to himself, but he made no move to defy her. Lothíriel blinked, staring at the strange woman.
"I'm not terrified", she said listlessly, which made the woman smile. The expression looked kind of odd with her malformed lips, but apparently she did not even register it.
"Of course. Get closer to the fire if you want – you look like you're about to turn into an ice cube right there", she said and took a gentle hold of Lothíriel's shoulders. "I'm Ant. Pay no attention to those scoundrels. If they ever had any manners, they've long since forgotten about it. They don't mean bad, though."
"T-thank you", was all Lothíriel could really say, and she let the woman lead her closer to the bonfire. Warmth was finally starting to seep into her bones.
As the feeling of cold began to subside exhaustion took its place, and she nearly fell down very ungracefully.
"Careful there. We don't want you hurting yourself", Ant said, catching her before she could really fall, and helped her to sit down. "Are you all right, little one?"
"I... I just need to rest for a moment", Lothíriel answered, reaching her cold-stiffened hands towards the flames.
"Oh, that's right. Let's just sit for a little while, then", said the woman. She cast a look about herself, and her eyes fell on a short burly man, "Oi, Draug! Come here and give me your cloak!"
The princess expected the man tell her no, but to her surprise he got up on his feet, unfastened his cloak, and offered it to Ant.
"There's a good fellow", she said in something of a motherly fashion, and placed the dirty garment around Lothíriel's shoulders. "That's better. We need to get you warm."
"Thank you", she eventually blurted out, having been able to shake off some of her growing confusion.
"You're welcome. Draug runs hot anyway – the man is a walking furnace, really – and you do look cold", Ant answered. She narrowed her eyes then, "Now tell me: how did a lady of noble birth end up here?"
"It's that obvious?" Lothíriel asked weakly. She hadn't meant to say anything of her identity, as she didn't know if these people could be trusted, but of course this strange woman would see right through her.
Her question brought a crooked smile to Ant's face, twisting it into even more peculiar expressions.
"Sweetheart, when you've lived this kind of life as long as I have, you learn to look around yourself. Like you would recognise a noble from a league away, I recognise my own folks as well. Not only those, though. It's pretty obvious you don't have the street smarts, little one", she answered, not ungently. Lothíriel lowered her eyes and nodded.
She asked then, "If that's so, why are you helping me?"
Ant laughed, and the noise was like silver bells. The princess had never heard anyone having a laughter so attractive.
"Because you're lost and alone and look like some kindness would do you good. We may be beggars and thieves and prostitutes down here but we're not orcs", she answered, like it was the most obvious thing on earth.
Another "thank you" was really all that she could say, and gently Ant patted her shoulder.
"What... what are you burning there?" she asked, nodding her head towards the bonfire, which made the woman beside her shrug.
"Just an interior of a tavern, I believe. And some orcs we killed", Ant said nonchalantly.
"... oh", Lothíriel managed. There wasn't really much she could say to that.
"About that question – how I ended up here", she said then slowly, "it's... well, it's kind of an insane story."
"Believe me, I've seen lots of insane things", answered the other woman. She dug through a small purse on her belt then, and pulled out a piece of bread, "Care to join the story over some food?"
"You'd share that with me?" Lothíriel asked, though the idea of food did make her stomach growl.
"Why wouldn't I? You look positively gaunt, sweet lady", Ant answered and broke the bread in half. She offered the other piece to the princess, "Just take that damn bread."
The younger woman understood she couldn't refuse this, and so she accepted the food. Then, after taking a bite and chewing it, she began to explain just how she had ended up in this place.
The light of morning grew as she recited her tale. Ant listened to her quietly, only stopping her a few times when she had needed some clarification on this or that matter. Not only did it feel good to hear human voices but also to talk to someone who wasn't planning evil things for her. And the compassionate look in Ant's brilliant blue eyes made her feel much more better.
"Now there is something to tell your children about", she said when Lothíriel had finished the story. "I suppose that's not something ladies of your standing usually deal with?"
"Not at all. My father will probably climb on walls when he hears of all this. He's rather protective of me", said the princess with a weak little smile.
"Oh, I can imagine", Ant agreed. She frowned then, "I believe we should get you home, sweetheart. This is no place for you, and I don't want you ending up in the hands of that fiend Ocharnil again. Now, I can't get you though the gate – the guards are very strict about that – but I should imagine the lords are bound to ride through it sooner or later. We just need to catch one of them. Someone is bound to recognise you, don't you agree?"
"Yes!" Lothíriel exclaimed, smiling happily. Finally some luck! "If you help me to get home, I would be forever grateful – my father would be too."
"Then perhaps we should get going? It's morning, after all, and I would assume the high and mighty too have already woken up", Ant said and got up on her feet. Se offered her hand to Lothíriel, but when she rose up her head instantly swam and she felt very weak. Speaking with Ant, and the possibility of getting home had also distracted her from the ache in her hand which was not dull anymore, but more of a burn.
"Easy there!" said the older woman and caught her by elbow. "You don't look so good."
She felt Lothíriel's forehead and looked worried, "You have a fever!"
"All the more reason to get me home. It's all right – I can do this", insisted the princess, though it would have been a lie to say she felt very strong.
"Are you sure?" Ant asked, frowning as she spoke. She didn't seem too convinced.
"I must do this. Please, help me. I have to get home", Lothíriel pleaded. The older woman sighed and didn't seem too happy, but she did nod.
"Well then. I suppose we should just go. Loitering here isn't going to help, after all", she decided.
They were just about to take their leave when Lothíriel remembered she was wearing a cloak that belonged to someone else.
"Wait!" she said and quickly unfastened the garment. Then she approached Draug carefully and gave him a tentative smile. The short man answered her gaze in a way that might have made her feel slightly scared in any other situation. But now she did not.
"Thank you for the loan, Master Draug", she said, kissed his forehead, and turned towards where Ant was observing the scene. When Lothíriel joined the older woman and Ant placed a supporting hand on her elbow, she gave the princess a smile.
"He'll treasure that kiss 'till the end of his life", said Ant without a hint of humour.
They began to make way for the gates – not those of the third citadel, though, as Ocharnil's henchmen would probably still be there. As they walked Lothíriel felt the exhaustion and weakness more strongly than before, but having warmed up and getting food – however little – had restored some of her strength. Moreover, her will was restored as well, and the thought of seeing the faces of her loved ones was a thought that helped her to move on. Ant remained by her side ever watchful though, evidently expecting her to collapse any moment.
"You really shouldn't be moving right now", her companion said after a while, looking more doubtful now. Lothíriel could only wonder how bad she looked like to warrant that comment.
"But I have to. If you go by yourself and tell them I'm here... well, considering the guards didn't believe me I don't think they'll be any more inclined to listen to you", she pointed out. Ant didn't say anything – she just sighed. The two of them trudged on, though Lothíriel had to increasingly lean on the woman on her side, and the pain on her hand was not lessened in the slightest.
It took them quite a while, and by the time they were in the vicinity of Galdegir's house, the morning had already grown old.
However, it didn't seem like the luck was with them today, for two guards stopped them there. Well, perhaps it wasn't a wonder such took place, as the evacuated had not yet started to return, and so all who were about did seem slightly suspicious.
"You two! Where do you think you're going?" asked the taller of the two guards as they came to stop the two women.
"I'm just trying to get this lady here to her home. Perhaps you could offer help?" Ant said. "As you can very well see, she needs rest and healers."
"We have better things to do than help you scum in your mischief", said the other guard. "I suggest you two get gone. Beggars are not needed running about the feet of good and honest people."
"My father, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, should be very amused to hear that you're calling his daughter a beggar. We need your help!" Lothíriel demanded. An unimpressed look entered the faces of both guards.
"Your act is not too convincing, wench. The whole city already knows that the Princess Lothíriel is dead", said the shorter one of the two.
"What?! I most certainly am not dead!" Lothíriel exclaimed in shock and surprise. How had such news spread? After all, only Ocharnil and Galdegir had known she was in the city in the first place, and she didn't think they would flaunt that knowledge. Glaring at the guards, she continued, "You really should lend a helping hand and get me to the Citadel, because I will have to find out who has been spreading such an inane lie!"
But instead of telling her to move along the guards exchanged a calculating glance.
"I think it's really her. Didn't his lordship say she'd make another appearance sooner or later?" said the tall guard to his friend.
Ant was faster than Lothíriel. She pushed the princess behind herself and pulled out a dagger, which had been hidden in her sleeve.
"On your way, Lothíriel!" she snapped as she fell into a defensive pose between her and the guards.
The Princess of Dol Amroth did not really think as she staggered away and felt like despair would swallow her heart whole right then. Her head felt heavy and from behind she could hear Ant screeching at the two guards, but she didn't dare look behind because surely she'd see them killing her helper...
… but then she realised the direction she was stumbling, and she saw the burned shell of Galdegir's house... and there stood a dozen fair-haired men tall as trees – Rohirrim were here – and one of them carried a standard.
The wind stirred and the standard unfurled. And there was the White Horse upon green.
A/N: *breathes heavily*
Some of this chapter I like and some of it I don't. I'm not sure how believable you even find the twists and turns here, from Lothíriel's escape from the house and then her sudden alliance with Ant. Well, I blame too much coffee and too little sleep, and I suppose as we're already dealing with stuff like love at first sight and mafioso noblemen perhaps this works too. Anyway, I do understand if you, my readers, are not the biggest fans of this development.
Originally the story went a bit differently but I wasn't really too happy with it - or perhaps the plot twist here just was too loud to be ignored. Ant was certainly a big reason for why I decided to risk going this way, because I find I really like her. Plus, Lothíriel finding shelter with some lowlife of the city does seem to add up to the general idea of Minas Tirith falling into ruin and men like Ocharnil contesting for power.
In case it didn't become clear from the text, the fire was indeed caused by orcs. Some got into the house and I suppose they were looting the downstairs when - as so often happens in such a situation - someone decided a bit of fire would be exciting. Also I know I made implications that Ocharnil's fate would be discussed in this chapter but for the same reason I didn't go with my original idea he remains an unclear matter still.
Hope you continue to enjoy the story, and thanks for reading and reviewing!
Sandy-wmd - She did make her escape indeed!
annafan - I hope you like this resolution to her imprisonment at least. :)
Talia119 - It does seem a lot of people are quite anxious to see some proper beating up. I'll have to see what I can do about that. :)
Mellon - Oh, I know that feeling!
Le Pleiade - Wait and see, is all I can say for now. Also I'm glad to hear you liked the last instalment! And thanks for the compliment! :)