((summary: Emerie is Denthor's daughter. She is five years younger than Faramir, and ten younger than Boromir. Somewhat AU. I own nothing at all in this story except Emerie and any other OC's))
((PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS TAKES PLACE IN THE MOVIE WORLD, NOT THE BOOKS!))
I rise and go to the window, wincing with every step. Winter is fast approaching, and the cold makes my legs and joints throb and ache. My sticks are in the corner, but it really isn't far to the window from my chair, so I leave them be. I look out over the walls and rooftops of Minas Tirith, out to the river fort and beyond, to the gaping chasm that was once the hell-lands of Mordor. For a moment, I can almost hear the sounds of battle, the hoofbeats of horses, the clash of ringing steel, and the cries of dying men. These sounds echoed through my home what seems to me like an age ago, but was really only fifteen years.
"Auntie?" My nephew stands in the doorway.
"Hello, hon. Did you need something?" With the pale reddish hair framing his face and clear blue eyes, he is the spitting image of his father, my brother. Except for his build, he is stockier, like his uncle.
Boromir.
"Papa said you were feeling especially sore today, 'cause of the cold. And so you might need help coming to dinner. That's what he said. Do you need help?"
"Thank you, but tell Faramir I won't be down. I'm not hungry."
"Okay..." He lingers for a moment. Faramir won't be happy. I returned to the window and remembered a time when I had two brothers.
A father.
A land with no king.
When chaos ruled the entire world.
The Ringwar.