Cahal's fingers tightened around the reins of Ailith's horse, his chest pumping with short sharp breaths of pride.
"There you are, you are in control now," Ailith smiled. Her horse gave a small snicker of a whinny. He knew that from her position seated behind Cahal, she could control him just as well as if she held the reins.
"Am I a Rider now?" the young boy asked hopefully. The Riders about them all laughed and his cheeks reddened. She wrapped her arms around him protectively.
"You are on the right path," she said.
"You will make a fine Rider, young sir," Folcred added from their left. "Where in Rohan breeds the best Riders?" he called.
"The Wold!" hollered the Riders. Only the ones from the Wold, of course. The others smirked or exchanged side-long glances.
Dunharrow loomed in the distance.
"What do we do when we get to the Muster?" Cahal asked.
"We set up the tents. We wait for the other Riders to arrive. And then we leave for Minas Tirith," she said.
"And what do we do while we are waiting?" the young boy asked.
Ailith's eyes wandered across the many Riders ahead of them until they found Éomer riding beside the King.
"We entertain ourselves," she said.
Éomer's fingers trailed down her side and stroked each of the three long scars.
"I should go. Éowyn and Cahal will be wondering where I am," she said sleepily. His arms instantly tightened around her.
"Maybe I don't want to you go just now," he said and kissed her hard. She propped herself up on her elbows and let him lift some of the hair off her face.
"I suppose they won't miss me for a few minutes more," she grinned.
"My lady!" Folcred's voice hissed and something slapped the thick canvas walls of the tent.
"Your lady isn't here," Éomer called jovially. "She's training your men."
The tent flap flew back and Folcred ducked inside.
"My lady, you are needed in the King's tent now," he said.
"Can it not wait?" Éomer asked but Ailith had caught the foreign note of panic in Folcred's usually calm voice. Instantly she was off the pallet of furs and blankets that made the bed and scrabbling for her clothes.
"What is it, what's happened?" she asked. Folcred's face was pale.
"Boda came with news. The Fortress..." he stammered. She froze, her eyes large and round, and then made to leave but Éomer grabbed her arm.
"Don't be ridiculous. You can't go out into the camp in that state and you certainly can't go before my uncle!" he barked but she just shrugged him off and followed Folcred.
She burst into Theoden's tent with only a cry of "What news of the Fortress?" as a warning of her arrival.
"Your scout here reports that a large army is massing beyond the Anduin in the shadows of Mirkwood. They will strike soon," Théoden informed her wearily. She looked wildly between him and Boda who was shakily drinking ale, his face gaunt.
"Well, how many Riders can you spare to send to the Fortress, sire?" she asked. Théoden didn't reply. Ailith began to shake her head as a horrible realisation crept over her. Her eyes filled with tears.
"No, no, you can't, you can't!" she screamed. Éomer grabbed her from behind before she could move closer to Théoden but unlike that time all those months before, when she had spat and fought at Gríma and he had just held her back, this time he cradled her as she fought. Eventually she stopped fighting and slid to the floor, her sobs turning into forlorn howls. Still Éomer held her, glaring at his uncle. The King's eyes slowly took the pair of them in, hastily clothed as they were with hair a mess, and he nodded in understanding.
"Please. Please, my lord. Don't leave them. There is no-one else, nobody else to protect them," she sobbed, her head against Éomer's shoulder.
"Éomer, take her away. She is hysterical," Théoden said. "I can only fight a war on one front." Ailith looked up at him as Éomer lifted her to her feet. She shrugged off his hand as he tried to lead her out and stared in disbelief at Théoden.
"I am the Lord of the Wold. I am the Shepherd," she said, her voice steady. Théoden stopped and stared at her as she spoke. From behind her, she heard the breath catch in the throats of Boda and Folcred and she knew without looking around that they would be mouthing the words along with her. What she was reciting was known on the Wold as the First Law and it formed the basis of the Oath of the Lord. Everybody on the Wold knew at least part of the Law and even though she was speaking the Common Tongue, Ailith could hear her accent fluctuate into her Northern accent.
"The Shepherd shall protect his flock as the Stallion protects his herd for without him they are lost. He is their counsel and their shield against the night," she continued. "I am that shield, I am the Blade in the Darkness and the Spear in the Wind." Her voice caught in her throat and she shut her eyes, composing herself for the end. "For the North waits for no Man," she said, tears rolling down her face once more. "Except for the coming of the King who will save them. For who can protect us if not the King when I have failed in my duties and all hope is lost."
"The North waits for no Man," Folcred and Boda echoed behind her. Silence crept through the tent.
"There is no-one to defend the Fortress?" Théoden asked.
"A handful of boys who can throw a spear straight. No Riders, no fighters," she said bitterly. The King sank into his chair, a hand across his eyes. His other hand tapped out a steady rhythm on the arm of his chair.
"Take your men and go," he said eventually.
"Thank you, sire-" she started to say but he cut her off.
"I don't want your thanks. I need every spear I can get but I have a feeling that you will leave no matter what I say. So go... but I will not be responsible for what the other Riders will say about your actions. Now go," he said and refused to look at her again. She turned and left.
"Are you really just going to up and leave?" Éomer thundered outside the tent.
"Of course. Folcred, Boda, go rouse our men. Try to do it quietly; I want as little fuss as possible," she replied almost dreamily. They nodded and then vanished into the camp, leaving Ailith and Éomer alone.
"Why?" he asked.
"I am the Shield against the Night," she said in the same hollow voice.
"Is that all you are going to say?" he demanded. Her eyes slid to his face. They focused on the jaw tightening and she smiled emptily.
"Goodbye, Éomer," she said and reached up to kiss his cheek. He said nothing, instead pressing something into her hand and storming off into the camp. She looked down into her palm. Her father's ring. He must have forgotten to return it to her. She slipped it onto her finger and then returned to the tent she was supposed to be sharing with Éowyn.
As she swiftly packed her saddle-bags, the tent flap slapped back.
"Why are you leaving?" Éowyn asked hurriedly. "You can't leave, not now!"
"I must, Éowyn," she said.
"Why?!"
"I feel like I am being torn in two. My head is telling me to fulfil my duty; my heart is begging me to return to the Wold and I don't know what to do!" she said through gritted teeth.
"Follow your duty!" her friend exclaimed.
"It's not that simple!" she cried back. "You do not understand the effect the Wold has on us; it is like a parent. When I am there, my thoughts are clear and concise and I know exactly what I'm doing. Ever since I left, I've felt lost. I feel like I'm spinning in circles and I can't stop. If the Fortress falls, I and all my Riders will fall with it. It is that simple."
Éowyn stared at her, her grey eyes welling with tears.
"I want you beside me in battle, Ailith."
"I want you to be beside me as well but I am needed elsewhere. I can't ride to aid another country if my home isn't safe," she replied. "I have to go."
Éowyn nodded.
"The Shieldmaidens shall have to fight separate battles then," she said. They embraced tightly, for what they hoped would not be the last time.
"Remember, it is very important that you find a helm which covers your face," Ailith said. "The Riders were only expecting to see one woman on the battlefield and when word gets around of my departure then they will expect to see none."
"And you remember to watch your left side; you parry weakly on that side," Éowyn replied. "I hope I see you again, my sister."
The evening air of the camp outside the tent was still and cool. Cahal was dozing lightly by the time they were ready to leave and he stirred as she set him on her saddle. He slumped against her as she mounted and she stroked his dark hair off his face. Should she really take him with her? Her original plan had been to leave him in the care of the other women of the court when they rode back to Edoras. Was it really safe to take him North?
A shadow moved in the camp and she turned her horse defensively, her hand going to her sword. Aragorn stepped out of the shadows with his hands raised in peace.
"I heard you were leaving," he said.
"You heard correct," she said.
"You are not alone. I feel a darkness growing and I fear I too may have to leave the company of your King before the night is out," he said. His eyes strayed to the mountain looming over them. Ailith didn't look. She actively ignored it; it was possibly the only place in Rohan that gave her the chills.
"If you take the path I think you seek, then the darkness will claim you," she warned him.
"Possibly. But if we do not stand against it then it will claim us all," he replied, still meeting the mountain's watchful gaze.
"Safe riding, Aragorn," she said and he inclined his head towards her.
"And to you, Lady Ailith," he replied.
The Riders of the Wold trotted quickly and quietly through the camp. Eyes watched them everywhere but no comments reached their ears. They reached the borders of the camp and the horses, eager to be off, surged forward.
As Dunharrow fell behind them, Cahal stirred in Ailith's arms and he looked sleepily at his surroundings.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"To my home. And your home now," she told him, pulling him closer to her. "Cahal, I don't know what we will find there. If I tell you to run, I want you to run. As far from us as possible. Do not stop until you get back to Edoras. Do you promise?"
"I promise," he replied. She kissed the top of his head fondly and wondered if he really would run if she said to. She hoped that he would run if it came to it.
They didn't know what they would find back home. If home was still there.
Firstly, only one woman fought in the Battle of Pelennor Fields and her name wasn't Ailith. I'm a bit of a stickler for things like that so it was very hard to mould the story around this decision, in particular with Théoden. I really hope he doesn't seem uncaring.
Secondly, obviously it has been some time since I last updated. When I need to get back into writing I tend to listen to a lot of music and I am always drawn to one particular genre when I do this. This time it was to what can be best described as Scottish Folk and Heritage songs. These are a handful of songs which nearly everyone in Scotland knows the lyrics to; and Caledonia by Dougie MacLean I found to reflect some of the emotions Ailith found herself going through in this chapter. I don't normally jump on the "Song per Chapter" bandwagon but I suggest you go and listen to Caledonia. If anything, it is a beautiful song. If you don't want to, here at least is the chorus, the part I think reflects Ailith's feelings the most.
Oh, but let me tell you that I love you
That I think about you all the time
Caledonia you're calling me
And now I'm going home
If I should become a stranger
You know that it would make me more than sad
Caledonia's been everything
I've ever had