Disclaimer: Y'all know. I own everybody and everything everywhere on every planet in every world. (Okay, not really)

Author's Note: I've been wanting to write an LOTR fanfiction sometime now, and base it somewhat off my own story. So don't laugh if the character's mother/parents is/are a little harsh/strict. That's the way my own family is. :)

I hope you'll enjoy this story. Let me know if there's anything I can improve/work on! I respond to all reviews. ;)

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Prologue

I used to stand by the window, looking over the empty plain that was laid like a blanket between my city and Mordor. Like lightning, the fires of Mount Doom flickered and crackled over the charred peaks of the mountains. I wondered if, in the past, Sauron had burned the mountains too. If he'd attempted to purge the land of life and breath the same way our Steward's son had burned with a passion for protecting us from the Evil One's underlings.

Boromir. I missed him. Although my father was a noble and personally acquainted with the house of the steward, I hadn't known him well. I remembered, however, the way he laughed. His strength. His passion. Years ago, when my father was an advisor to Denethor, I could remember my father pointing at me. "She's going to be thirteen in a week," he'd announced, laughing. "They grow up fast."

Boromir had laughed too. I thought, Why are they laughing at me? But I didn't mind being the pause in Boromir's restless gaze. I squirmed and tried to look as tall as I could. "Yes, and before long," I announced to my father, "You will be trying to marry me off to some other handsome useless nobleman, as they all are in this city."

Boromir's grin widened. "Ahh, she is right!" He slapped my father on the back; "All you useless noblemen, whining to my father about the decorative purpose these shields serve."

I frowned, "Please don't talk about me as if I wasn't here."

But neither my father nor Boromir seemed to have heard my request.

My father's smile faded, "I advise him in no such way—this you know."

"I know. He has changed." Boromir frowned and I saw the worries closing in again, like a damp stormy wind.

- - - - - - -

Mordor growled and rumbled in the distance. A soft evening breeze played with the wisps of hair that were beginning to slip loose from my braid. I brushed them back from my face irritably.

There was a creak and then a heavy medal thud, and I knew that the guards were fastening the gate for the night. For fourteen hours of darkness, no one could leave nor enter—not even the steward himself.

But the steward had no desire to leave. It was his youngest son who defended the Osgiliath alone. All our hopes lay with him.

I looked toward that place. It was no more than a muddle in the growing darkness—like a lump of coal that has lost its glow. I felt something clench in my heart.

The wind had died down.