A/N: Elenluin, Wondereye, and annafan, thanks for reviewing! And yes, I was definitely thinking in the spirit of Thanwen's head-canon.

April - The Depressed Washerwoman

After the city had let out its collective breath with the Victory at the Morannon, it sucked up a new breath of life, thick as minnows. The city swarmed with soldiers. Malath did all of the provisioning, queuing up by the secondary storeroom on the fourth level to get an allotment of bread and cheese and occasionally some apples or roots. Cewin and Lothiriel were not to leave the yard at all. The girls therefore waited impatiently on Malath's crusts of bread and morsels of gossip.

Malath's tales were sweet with words of halflings and a great wizard, cloyed with tales of heroics, and spiced with news of the terrifying march on the Black Gates. Lothiriel's heart swelled with pride as she heard of her father's and brothers' victories, and deflated in the sorrow that she was no longer considered part of the family. A number of Rohirrim had fallen at the Black Gates, along with a number of Gondorians, but as Lothiriel did not know the warrior's name, she could hardly hope for news of him. But still, she hoped, just a little, to see him appear across the bridge, walking towards her. The girls clutched each other when the sky lit, and ran to greet the fresh breeze from the wings of the great eagle as it swooped over the city bearing its words of joy.

But Cewin wept into her tea and was silent at night, and every day as victory grew more familiar, her shoulders hunched and she seemed to grow smaller.

"Cewin..."

"Leave me be, Niniel."

"Do you fancy to fold? I can scrub."

"Not with those hands of yours. You'll go back for some lord, I'm sure, and we'd best keep you looking pretty. But at least you had loved yours," Cewin burst out. "I wish with all my heart that I had, mine."

Lothiriel looked at snappish Cewin, astonished. "You mean Osiric. He could be in the Houses of Healing. You should go, with Malath. Was that why you left that day? Were you afraid to find him?"

"He knows where I am. If he is alive, he will come. And if he is dead, then he has died, and he has died while I have done –all – of – this – washing!" Cewin upset the entire tub into the yard, weeping wretchedly, as Malath came out.

Malath looked at her and sighed. "Niniel, I will get Casma next door to wait with you. Cewin and I go to the Houses of Healing."

Cewin's sweetheart was not there, and the days were grim and long until one drizzling morning, when a knock sounded on the door. "Cewin?"

Cewin's face paled, and the apple fell from her fingers. And then, all of the sun the morning lacked shone from her face as she leapt to fling the door open. "Osiric! Osiric!" The stump of his arm, the crookedness of his back, and the twist in his leg did not matter to her. Her eyes, lovely in their brightness, were fixed on his face.

"I went to the Houses of Healing," Cewin murmured, fast against Osiric's chest. "You weren't there; I feared the worst."

"They had me in the mountains, dear heart, as soon as I could walk, helping the women and children back. Ever I looked for you." He whispered something into her hair, and Malath quietly drew Lothiriel away by the arm. "Best we go out, child."

The streets were crowded with people moving back in, stalls being set up, and everywhere, soldiers. Ecthelion followed the commotion with bright magpie eyes above the fabric of his sling. Lothiriel's heart caught in her throat as a small troop of Swan Knights walked up. They seemed to be stopping in every bar, but only briefly, not to drink.

"Something is up," Malath noted, following Lothiriel's eye. "Those are the good knights of Dol Amroth, who returned to us our Steward Faramir."

"Faramir! Not my Lord Denethor?" Lothiriel gasped, unsure if she had misheard.

"'Tis a sad tale, child. Come, let's line for bread, and I shall tell you of it."

That night, Lothiriel wept long and hard for Boromir anew. She wept for the Lord Denethor as well, for he had been kind to her in his own way. Lothiriel brought a skin of cheap wine home for the others, and then she did not have to disguise her tears, for Lord Boromir was well-beloved, and Lord Denethor well-respected. Malath raised a mug in a blubbering toast, and Cewin tried to explain tearfully to Osiric what a terrible shame it all was. Osiric held his sweetheart, mystified at how copiously she was weeping over a man she had in truth never met; but even he remembered the Captain General of the White City in a choked voice as a good man, and the finest leader he had ever known.

A/N: To add to last note's list, Maddy051280 wrote some lovely Eomer/Lothiriel stories that I also consider to be major inspiration for this work. I understand she has passed away, but oh her stories are marvelous.