Finduilas had been right, of course, Minas Tirith was not dreadful at all. Within the year she was already a sister to the brothers and it was well known in the city that the three of them would raise an unspeakable amount of mischief. Whether it be racing up and down the halls or playing tricks on one another.

Though there seemed to be a particular trick that Denethor's eldest son came back to over and over again simply because it worked so well. His lessons were over for the day, as were Aeardis's. Faramir was absent from the library, having chosen to join his mother in her trip to the market. That meant that Aeardis would be the poor soul he tormented for the afternoon.

The young warrior peeped out from behind one of the bookshelves, finding the girl sitting in the corner with an old book in hand. Just as she was turning the page, Boromir ran from his hiding spot and plucked the book from her lap. "Boromir!" Aeardis rose and reached for the book that he now held above his head, wagging it back and forth in a taunting gesture. He knew well by now it was one of the quickest ways to get under her skin.

"Give me the book!" She demanded but he shook his head and took a step backward before turning and bolting from the library. Aeardis was on his heels, she jumped forward she snagged the hem of his tunic and pulled it back with all her might. Boromir lost his balance and tumbled backward, the book flying from his hands into the air. She dove to catch it but the troublesome boy caught her ankle.

The stone floor scraped her hands and knees, in some spots blood began to well up. The girl looked over her shoulder at Boromir, who was grinning and on the verge of laughing. "Why can't you leave me alone when I'm reading?!" She shouted, though beneath the façade of anger she was close to tears.

The boy shrugged, "You're always reading, it's boring." Aeardis furrowed her brows and pushed Boromir back to the ground, pinning one of his arms down against the floor. They wrestled around, pulling one another's hair and clothing, pinching and whacking until their clothes were a mess and there would be bruises to come in the next hours.

"Children!" The stentorian voice echoed in the stone hall and was enough for the both of them to stop pulling each other's hair and scramble apart from one another. Boromir's face had gone impeccably red and Aeardis did not dare to meet her father's gaze. He sighed, taking in the roughened appearance of both his daughter and Denethor's son. "Do you two not have better ways to spend time together?"

He realized they were still young, but Aeardis and Boromir were constantly at each other's throats. The only time there was peace between them was when Faramir was present. Aeardis crossed her arms and looked at Boromir from the corner of her eye, "He keeps taking my books!"

The young Steward-Prince bounded up onto his feet in defense, "Only because all you ever want to do is read!"

Aeardis stood too, her hands on her hips as she stomped toward him, "I told you, if you read more then maybe you wouldn't be such a dimwitted boy!" Ohtar sighed.

"You're just a silly girl!" the boy spat, looking down his nose at her. Her cheeks reddened and the tips of her ears burned, "Ego, mibo orc," she enunciated the words clearly yet for all his tutelage he did not know the meaning of the insult.

"What did you just say?!" Boromir shrieked. Aeardis smiled and opened her mouth to speak again when Ohtar stepped between them.

"That's quite enough," he declared and before his daughter could protest he scooped both her and the book up from the floor.

Ohtar and Aeardis took their evening meal in the privacy of his work-study. For the time his desk was cleared of scrolls, books, and letters. His reading stone and quill had been set aside until the trays and plates had been taken away, then once more he was working on ledgers and messages by the light of what must have been candles.

"I want to go home," her voice was pointed despite the glassy look in her eyes. The silence broken by the icy words. They had been through this before, a dozen times over, though she had not voiced her displeasure with the city in some time. It was soon to be two years that they had been in Minas Tirith.

Ohtar sighed, his thumb and forefinger stroking through greying whiskers, "This is our home."

Aeardis shook her head. Minas Tirith was not her home, it was only temporary, it could never be her home. The people were strange to her, the stench of death forever lingered in the air. This was a place of mortal men doomed to die from birth. She wished to have her elf friends back so that she did not go in fear of what should happen if someone were to point out her own pointed ears. Gondor's people did not take kindly to the elves, that much she had already gathered in the few times she and her father visited the markets. This realm was certainly not her home. The island that lay across the sea was her home. That was where she belonged. "I want to go home," she restated, this time there was no quivering in her voice are wobbling of her bottom lip.

He thought her sudden distaste for the city came from the latest dispute with Denethor's eldest, but he was nothing more than a troublesome boy. Creating chaos was what he knew best at his age. "Aeardis, child, you and he will grow out of this stage."

She crossed her arms and made herself small, "I don't care."

Her father leaned forward, propping his elbows on the surface of the dark wooden desk, "Denethor still has need of my counsel, I cannot leave yet." Aeardis's frown deepened, even she could see that the Steward did not listen to his advice.

Ohtar stood from his chair, tall and stern, "I have something for you if you are not too upset to accept it." He went to the chest of drawers on which tomes and withering flowers sat atop and pulled out a parchment wrapped package from the highest drawer. "Osric returned from Pelargir with it just this morning," he sat the package on the desk in front of Aeardis and returned to his work. Though she made no move to take it.

After some time, she reached forward and pulled off the twine, unwrapping the stiff parchment to reveal a small wooden chest. Within was several small containers with paint and a new brush. She couldn't find it within herself to be angry with her father any longer, for the moment she couldn't even be bothered with the thought of Boromir either.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The paints had long been used up, within her chambers was a corner filled with canvases that depicted sunrises, sunsets, the mid-afternoon sky, roses, and the night sky. Now she had moved on to filling the pages of a blank book, charcoal and ink constantly stained her hands as she sketched everything. Some pages showed young soldiers training, others the horizon on which Mordor stood, even Boromir and Faramir found a place within her drawings.

Today she was with Finduilas, the weeds had been plucked from her rose garden and the dead sprigs of the thorny bush trimmed away. "A natural born artist," the fair lady mused as she looked at the rose that was half-done. She had already come to think of Aeardis as one of her own, the daughter she had never had. "I am glad that you have been able to help in here, Aeardis." The girl smiled.

"Can I see?" Faramir moved next to her on the patch of grass, his eyes wide and face mottled dirt. Almost hesitant, Aeardis showed him the page that held the sketched rose.

"Emel?" A concerned look came upon Faramir's young face as Finduilas abruptly paled and stood, her hand wiping away a sudden sheen of sweat that had formed on her forehead, "Why don't you two go to the library? I fear that the sun has tired me." Aeardis closed her book and gathered her pouch of charcoal, Faramir followed the girl from his mother's rose garden and toward the library.

By the time they had settled in with a book, he had begun crying softly into his sleeve. Aeardis furrowed her brows, "What's wrong?"

"I think she's sick," Faramir mumbled. Aeardis set her book aside and hugged him. Being three years older and the age of ten often meant that she was beginning to understand things that he did not.

"Then the healers will make her better," Aeardis affirmed. She had been sick the winter of her first year in Minas Tirith, a terrible fever had taken her after being in the snow for too long. In less than a week it was as if she had never been sick. Her father told her that the Houses of Healing in the White City could almost rival the magic of the elves and she believed it.

Faramir sniffled and pulled out of her embrace to wipe his eyes, "Can they fix sadness?" The girl did not have an answer for such a question.

Come the winter a darkness fell over Finduilas that would not leave. Her rose garden had been overtaken by the winter shrubs and the weeds that were always kept at bay. Aeardis and Faramir tried their best to keep it in its pristine condition but two children could only do so much. Faramir had been right, though, his mother was sick, yet it was not a disease to be treated with herbs and tonics. Only the sea would have cured her.

Since the Lady of Gondor had been bedridden by the healers, it was Ohtar who governed the realm as Denethor was going mad in grief and worry. It was at the age of eleven that Aeardis began sitting in on council meetings, open courts, and listening to captains and generals detail battle strategies. Alas, she saw the importance of her father's position and understood why they could not leave Minas Tirith.

The Yuletide came and went with no joy or liveliness as there had been the year prior. There was solemnness and a foreboding sense that all things good in the land were vanishing, little by little. On a cold morn when snow was falling over the land, the darkness took Finduilas and all the smiles died. Mordor was awakening. Osgiliath had fallen. And few came to the aid of the realm of Gondor and so hope began to fade.

Translations:

Ego, mibo orc - Go kiss an orc

Emel - Mother