A/N: Wow, a new LOTR fic! I don't usually write romance. It just doesn't happen as the primary genre. But this came to me. I've edited it after a rather embarrassing mistake was noted.
She had loved him, there was no doubt of that. He had accomplished so much so graciously.
She keenly remembered his victory at Osgiliath shortly before he left. He had successfully routed the enemy from the western bank of the Anduin. His banner flipped majestically. His hair gleamed. He had commanded the men and loved them. He had looked at her over his foaming mug of victory ale. His eyes were twinkling. She had given him a shy smile and flicked her eyes to the face of his brother. The younger man had the same look of adoration that she herself felt.
He had been so happy then. His laughter boomed and men flooded about him. It was power. But it changed. He donned a cape of fur and mounted his steed. Off into the shortening days he rode, toward an unclear destiny.
She had watched him then, from the upper ramparts or the city. The lone rider trotting out across the Pellenor, north along the mountains. The sky was clear that day, crisp and shill with the changing of seasons. The early light gleamed off the boss of his shield as he adjusted it across his back. She wiped away the involuntary tears from her cheeks.
When he had ridden out of sight she turned and sat with her back against the parapet. Only then did she note that his brother stood on the wall farther down. He still watched the bend behind which the rider had disappeared. His eyes were far and misty, his dark hair wispy in the morning breeze.
It was long before any word came. One day she fancied she heard his horn blowing muffled across a distance. A battle cry. It cut her heart even as it gave her hope. She had dashed to the ramparts to scour the fields for his presence. To no avail. The sound faded and she fancied it her imagination.
Later, she heard about his brother's vision. A vision of death. The warrior, lying in a boat, his horn cloven, the weapons of countless enemies lying at his feet. The warmth drained from her at its hearing. She cried that night. She hoped against hope this vision was false, but knew in her heart it was not.
Then the dark days dawned.
Things began to happen now with much greater force.
The cloven horn was found, drifting slowly in the shallows of the Anduin. She glimpsed it as it was carried to the Steward. She could feel nothing anymore.
The wizard came, with a strange small person.
The dark realm grew darker. The enemy grew bolder.
She despaired. There was nothing else left to do. She saw the champions destroyed. The Steward was greatly troubled. He sent his younger son to his death.
Then the King returned.