It was far too quiet. Ailith's horse could sense his rider's unease and whinnied nervously. She rubbed his neck in an attempt to calm him but his ears were swivelling madly, his nostrils flaring. She looked around at the other horses and they too seemed unsettled.

"Is something wrong?" Éowyn asked. She was not riding her own, instead leading it and Arod, a swift stallion that Éomer had gifted to Legolas and Gimli at their meeting, by foot.

"The horses, look at the horses," Ailith said. Éowyn looked at them and laid a comforting hand on her own horse's neck as Ailith scanned the cliffs around them. They were deep in the Westfold now and nearly into the mountains that bordered Rohan to the South. The path they were now travelling was an old glacier tract, the cliffs on either side worn away by the passage of the ice.

Long ago, in the war between Helm Hammerhand and the Dunlendings, this very path had been a favourite ambush point for both armies. The ground beneath the turf was littered with bones and it was said that at night the war-cries of the men and the whinnying of the horses echoed through the cliffs.

Ailith scanned the cliffs again and this time she made out a black shape, hidden by the glare of the sun, on a point above the lead Riders. She tried to shield her hand against the sun to see who it was but the shape leapt down the cliff and ploughed straight into one of the leading Riders.

A terrible cry filled the air, followed by a snarling and then a yelp and suddenly Aragorn was sprinting towards them.

"Wargs!" he shouted. Ailith's vision clouded over. She could hear the rumbling of paws and hooves on the hills of the Wold, feel herself crash into the turf, claws and pain tearing through her side-

"Ailith!" Éowyn said. She started and looked around wildly, her scars throbbing under her shirt.

"All Riders to the head of the column! We are under attack!" the King was shouting. Ailith spurred her horse forward but Théoden shook his head. "I need you and Éowyn to guide the people to Helm's Deep."

Ailith nodded and turned her horse, even as she heard Éowyn protest. She galloped in the opposite direction and rose in her stirrups. She gave her distinctive two-tone whistle and shouted "Follow my horse! Do not get separated!"

With Éowyn at the rear, they soon had the column turned round and moving back the way they had come. The Riders thundered off up to the head of the cliffs to face the Wargs. Ailith turned in her saddle and watched them leave. How many would return?

Her horse trotted up the great stone ramp and into Helm's Deep and for the first time in hours, Ailith breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe, for now.

She dismounted and moved with a purpose through the crowds inside the stronghold's walls.

"Where is the Captain of the Riders?" she asked an old man. He gazed back at her with sorrowful eyes.

"Dead, milady. He fell defending us as we retreated to the Hornburg," he said mournfully.

"What of the Healer of the garrison? Where is he?" she said briskly.

"Also dead," was the short reply.

Ailith turned and looked at the people crowded in the small area between the walls. Refugees from the Westfold occupied nearly every square inch, their few possessions gathered in their arms or close to their sides. Misery was on all of their faces.

"There isn't much in the way of food. I've told them to take it to the Caves," Éowyn informed her, approaching from behind. Ailith nodded.

"All refugees are to make their way to the Glittering Caves!" she commanded. "Let's keep them out of the way of the soldiers," she added to Éowyn and walked off to help unload one of the carts from Edoras.

She gathered blankets in her arms and followed the crowd slowly making its way towards the Hornburg. Beyond a hidden door of the main hall lay the Glittering Caves. They were said to be one of the great beauties of Rohan. Small holes in the rock ceiling let light through into the vast cavern. The light reflected upon pools of water and was bounced back up onto the walls. And the walls... the walls were embedded with many precious and semi-precious stones that refracted the light and sent it flickering around like candlelight.

On any other day, Ailith would have paused at the entrance to the Caves and marvelled at their beauty but today her mind was focused on preparing for the night. She laid the blankets down near the door and straightened up, surveying the cavern and the people making themselves comfortable.

Her eye fell on a small boy crouching by himself by a pool of water. He stood out from the other children because all those his eyes were a piercing Rohirric blue, his loose curls were dark brown in colour. He looked lost and confused and to every woman who passed he threw a look of hope which died almost as soon as he saw her face.

"Where is that boy's mother?" Ailith asked a woman as she ushered her own children into the Caves.

"Dead," the woman replied. "She were one of them who first fell to the Wildmen when they came."

"And his father?"

The woman snorted. "'E's a Gondor bastard, can't you tell by the colour o' his hair? Nobody seen his father for years."

"Well, can you at least see to it that he is given some food and a blanket?"

"I got me own to worry about," the woman said and gathered her own two close to her possessively. Ailith narrowed her eyes but let her pass. She approached the little boy and felt her heart give a twinge when he gave her the same look of hope.

"Hello, my name is Ailith. What is yours?" she asked kindly, kneeling down next to him.

"Cahal," he said, peering at her.

"Where is your mother, Cahal?" she asked tentatively.

"I- I don't know," he replied, his eyes filling with tears. She rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

"Would you like to help me with some chores?" she said. He nodded and got to his feet, holding her hand with his own little fist.

She lead him out through the door and back to the cart. He loaded his arms with blankets and sprinted back to the Caves, making her laugh as he did so. Her smile faded as she saw Éowyn appear, her face completely devoid of any colour she usually had.

"The men have returned," she said weakly. Ailith gripped her arm to steady her.

"Is it the King? Is he well?" she asked.

"No. I mean, the King is fine but... Aragorn is lost," Éowyn said and sank against the cart. Ailith sat down next to her.

"Did you care for him?" she asked. A tell-tale flush crept up Éowyn's cheeks.

"No," she said, her tone of voice clearly showing the lie. Ailith was going to reproach her when she remembered Éomer, wherever he was. She missed him; possibly even more than she missed Théodred and her people waiting back home. Just thinking about him gave her that odd tight feeling in her chest again.

Could she care for him; more than as a sister?