The story is about a survivor of an orc invasion, Déorhild, who comes to Eodoras to seek help from King Théoden. However, due to her strange story and backround, no one really trusts her except for Éowyn and Éomer. Also, no one is really close to he...
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It all started, really, the next morning after the feast. Pippin had done something--Déorhild was never sure quite what--and suddenly everything was unsettled.
Gandalf had ridden to Gondor with Pippin, leaving instructions with Théoden and Aragorn. All seemed to be at peace, but underneath lay an unease, as if they were all waiting for something.
Several days later, Aragorn had burst into the throne room saying, "The beacons are lit; Gondor calls for aid!"
Théoden had said, after much deliberating, "And Rohan will answer."
And everything was thrown into chaos.
Everyone was somewhere else, and all were terribly busy preparing for the army to march out. All the Rohirrim were summoned to meet up at Dunharrow and all prepared to go.
Éowyn was riding with them until Dunharrow to see them off, but Déorhild had seen what she had packed to bring with her and knew that that was not the case.
As for herself, she was again going to disguise herself as her long dead brother, Lindúin.
There was scarcely any time to just sit and think and then the day had arrived. The Rohirrim pulled out of Edoras and rode to Dunharrow, leaving the majority of the populace behind.
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The sun was beginning to lean towards the western horizon when the Rohirrim began to arrive at Dunharrow. Tents, soldiers, and horses were scattered all about the plain and steep mountain sides and everyone was rushing everywhere on various errands.
Déorhild inhaled deeply and then followed the rest of those on horseback to the agreed meeting place. It was even more chaotic than Edoras had been at their departure some days ago.
Théoden and Aragorn rode ahead of the group, speaking with those who had already arrived, seeking to know how many men had been mustered thus far.
Legolas and the female elf who was almost always with him as well as their Dwarvish companion, dismounted and walked towards Éomer's men who were picketing their horses. Many of the noble beasts were strangely restless and would not be calmed.
The male elf commented, "The horses are restless and the men are quiet."
Éomer glanced up and replied, "They grow nervous in the shadow of the mountain."
Déorhild looked and saw, in the dark, sheer cliff face that rose before them, a narrow, foggy road led away from them deep into the heart of mountain.
"That road there--where does it lead?" the Dwarf growled.
"It is the road to Dimholt, the door under the mountain," the elf replied solemnly.
"None who venture there ever return. That mountain is evil," Éomer ended the conversation, walking away from the fearful place.
Déorhild made as if to follow him, but then paused, as if someone was calling to her. Looking up, she met the gaze of the elleth who had told her to not give up on hope.
"So, my friend," the elleth spoke in a soft voice so that none around them should hear. "We meet again. How fares it with you? Does he know?"
"Nay, I have not," Déorhild replied. "I have neither told him of my disguise or of my love."
"I will neither say yea or nay on this matter. It is entirely up to you to decide; but time is running short. Do not wait too long."
"What is your name?"
"I am called Celebwen Elestal by my people, Lóthiriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil of Gondor." Celebwen turned away as if they had never spoken.
Déorhild, for her part, was stunned by hearing her true name within her ears for the first time in many years.
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It was in the early hours before dawn when the entire company arose and prepared to move out towards Gondor.
"We must ride light and swift," Théoden spoke to all who could hear him. "It is a long road ahead and man and beast must reach the end with strength to fight."
Déorhild watched as Éowyn disappeared into her tent, soon to reappear transformed as a young man in armor. She hid a smile and mounted her horse. The time for laughter was over and the seriously grimness of war had taken is place.
"Form up, move out!" Éomer shouted to his company.
"Ride! Ride now to Gondor!" Théoden cried.
And then they were gone, leaving the tents upon the field for the women who had traveled with them to carry them back to Edoras and await the return of those who would survive the coming battles.
As Déorhild had noticed early on that morning, the company of Aragorn, Gimli, and the two Elves had disappeared sometime during the night and were not with the present horsemen. She suspected they had taken the Dimholt road--for whatever reason.
Ahead of them lay a battle, which Déorhild vaguely suspected would ultimately determine the fate of Middle-earth for all time.
And deep inside, she began to wonder if perhaps she should have told Éomer.
For time was no longer theirs.
What if it was too late?
Guys, I apologize for the late update and the short chapter. I was really having writer's block with this, but now I know where I'm going with this story and hopefully will finish it by the end of summer!
Meanwhile, how about you guys get this book to 4k reads and 200 votes? ;)
