The ship arrived in Harlond midmorning. The port was rather busy, for many merchant ships were unloading their goods to be taken to Minas Tirith. Two young men met the family at the docks with a wagon. Spotting the Dol Amroth insignia on one of the ships, they immediately began waving and hailing the passengers.
After disembarking, Imrahil called cheerfully, "Boromir and Faramir, what a pleasant surprise!"
"How was your journey, uncle?" asked the one with broad shoulders.
Amrothos answered immediately, "As dull as can be."
Lothíriel slipped from her mother's side and returned to ship to soothe her mare, Súrusermë, while the horses were unloaded. Her horse shied from the men. A single word from Lothíriel quieted her equestrian friend. Lothíriel approached her steed and wrapped her handkerchief around the horse's eyes. She spoke soothing words in Sindarin while they lifted the horse from the hold and onto the dock. As soon as the horse felt solid land beneath her feet, she stood quietly while Lothíriel removed the blindfold.
"Is this your horse?" asked a voice from behind horse.
Lothíriel turned, and cool grey eyes met hers. She heard that Faramir was near his thirties, but he seemed to be closer to his forties. No person would appear older than his years unless some tragedy happened. He bore himself with humble pride, but a barely noticeable stoop in his back indicated a heavy burden. Despite whatever happened to him, he still smiled at the young girl before him.
"Yes, sir," she said, bobbing a curtsy. She felt a quiet authority that demanded respect and obedience emanating from her cousin. She added timidly, "Are you Lord Faramir?"
"That is my name," he responded. "And you must be Lothíriel. I have heard much of you from your father's letters."
Before Lothíriel could speak, the conversation between her father and Boromir concluded. The sons of Imrahil had already mounted and spoke among themselves while keeping their restless horses from galloping off. Faramir kindly helped Lothíriel mount before mounting his own.
Several minutes passed after the group left Harlond when Faramir called, "Lothíriel, come ride beside me."
Lothíriel glanced towards her mother, who nodded in assent. With a quiet word to her steed, she came to Faramir's side. They rode in comfortable silence, each recognizing the spirit of gentleness in the other.
Finally, Faramir asked, "What are your brothers like?"
"Each has their different personalities," responded Lothíriel. "Elphir feels his role as the eldest keenly, so he loves all his siblings in an almost fatherly fashion. Amrothos has a wild element in him, but he is learning to rationalize his plans before enacting them with Elphir's help. Erchirion, well, he is amiable and courteous. He is an even balance between Amrothos' wildness and Elphir's seriousness. We all love each other dearly."
"Boromir and I are close," remarked Faramir. "There never has been rivalry between us, and that has been a blessing. You might say that he is a mixture of all three of your brothers."
"How long is it from Harlond to Minas Tirith?"
"At the most, one can ride from the port to the city in an hour and a half. At the rate we are traveling, it should be no more than a hour."
"Súrusermë and I do not mind traveling a little bit faster if need be. We quite enjoy a change of pace," said Lothíriel, patting her horse, who whinnied in agreement.
"Your parents are conversing with Boromir, and conversation is more convenient at our current pace," laughed Faramir.
Amrothos and Erchirion soon joined Faramir and Lothíriel's conversation. By midday, they arrived in the city. After lodging the horses on the sixth level, the family continued into the Citadel and their own house. They spent a pleasant afternoon roaming the vast gardens. After supper and baths, all the children obeyed their mother's command to go to bed without complaint.
The next morning at breakfast, Imrahil announced, "We shall be joining your uncle and his sons for a luncheon. Therefore, I expect my children to be courteous and respectful." He glanced sharply at his youngest son, who bowed his head submissively.
Lothíriel quaked as a servant led the family to Lord Denethor. She expected her uncle to be a hard-faced man with a stoop and a hooked nose. Amrothos also said that his eyes pierced one's mind, but his voice was even worse. To her surprise, her uncle proved to be a tall, lordly man. His glance did not quite penetrate one's thoughts, but one could sense a strength of will few possessed. His nose was not hooked, but rather normal. His voice was similar to Imrahil's, for both were lords of men. Denethor hardly took notice of the frightened girl at Eälótë's side. He only offered her a curt nod before grimly greeting the sons of Imrahil.
After lunch, Eälótë dismissed the three younger to stay and listen or explore the palace. Lothíriel and Amrothos quickly chose to explore while Erchirion opted to listen just for a little while longer.
As soon as they left the room, Amrothos remarked, "I think I shall go to the stables and check on the horses. Do you wish to come?"
"No, I should like to explore a little bit," answered Lothíriel. "Perhaps Mother shall let us go riding this afternoon."
Lothíriel wandered through the empty hall and turned the corner. Before continuing, she paused to recount how she arrived at her current location so that she would not lose her way. She passed by several locked doors until she spotted a door standing ajar. Peeking through, she discovered a lady's solar. A magnificent harp stood by the wide fireplace. A vivid painting of the ocean hung over the mantelpiece. Lacey curtains, dyed a pleasant blue, hung in the windows. White oak furniture cushioned with blue and white characterized the room. The walls were painted to resemble the gentle waves of the sea. Immediately, Lothíriel thought of Dol Amroth.
The harp stood alone, forlorn after many years of disuse. Attracted to the instrument like a moth to a flame, Lothíriel approached the harp. The strings were still in fine condition, but they were out of tune. A cabinet stood to the side of the fireplace. Lothíriel peeked through the drawers until she found the tuning key. Half an hour later, she finished tuning the harp. Taking a seat on the cushioned stool, she played a lullaby. Then she began a ballad she was learning. It did not take long for her to lose all sense of space and time. The world seemed only to be of dancing fingers and gentle music.
"Who gave you permission to enter and use this room?" a grim voice questioned, disturbing the almost magical atmosphere.
Lothíriel glanced into Lord Denethor's hardened face of grim stone. After carefully rising, Lothíriel stuttered, "I beg your pardon, sir. If you please, may I explain myself?"
He answered coldly, "Do."
"I was exploring and found this door ajar. I play the harp, and this one looked like no one touched it for too long. It is the most beautiful harp I ever played, and it was so lonely and forlorn until I tuned and played it. If you would rather, I promise to never come again," Lothíriel explained in a quaking voice. She gazed silently at her feet, wishing for the floor to swallow her. When she looked up, Lord Denethor's face softened, as if he remembered some sweet memory from long ago.
At last, he spoke, more to himself than to Lothíriel, "She never would have wanted it to remain silent. And you, child, seem to be very much like her in nature and ways. If anyone has the right to play her harp, it might be you."
Lothíriel gazed into the face of Lord Denethor. He no longer seemed like a man of iron, but of flesh and bone. She spotted trace of weariness in his posture, and sadness in his face. He was an old man, tired of life's trials.
He quietly said to Lothíriel, "Leave me, child."
Lothíriel silently left the room. When she passed Denethor, she paused and gently touched his hand. As soon as she exited the room, she breathed a sigh of relief, and hurried off to find her mother.