A/N: Words in italics are NOT part of Margurite's Diary. So as not to confuse anyone.
A young woman, who looked like she could be anywhere between the ages of 15 and 22, kneeled at the foot of a small grave overlooking a huge field. There was a bouquet of red, thorned, roses in front of it, a symbol of reverence and friendship, at the same time. Her eyes filled with tears, but just as she was going to let one, just one, fall she heard the loud foot falls of another woman she knew well, behind her. The woman at the grave did not want to be interrupted by this fool, but she was too tired and worn to be angry.
"I didn't know you had any friends who had died", the other lady asked quietly.
"She isn't dead". Though the woman at the grave looked sad and forlorn, this new lady could hear conviction in her words. "The flowers aren't for her, Eowyn."
"Then why do you put them there?", the woman known as Eowyn asked, with amusement in her voice.
"The kingdom fell, even if she didn't. The flowers are for the old kingdom and everyone who went down with it."
Before Eowyn could reply, the woman was on her feet and walking silently, but quickly away from the grave, and away from her. But Eowyn was smart enough to wait till she was gone. She moved the flowers to the side. On the grave was a list of elves who had died by the hand of Laurelindorinan, the land before Lothlorien. Foremost on the list were three names. Eowyn gasped. The first name Eowyn knew nothing about, an elf named Galadriel. But it was the second name that caught her attention. Margurite. And then after that name, Erendil, the elf that supposedly watched over them from above.
