"…'I have received this,' said Denethor, and laying down his robe he lifted from his lap the thing he had been gazing at. In each hand he held up one half of a great horn cloven through the middle: a wild-ox horn bound with silver.

'That is the horn that Boromir always wore!' cried Pippin.

'Verily,' said Denethor. 'And in my turn I bore it, and so did each eldest son of our house, far back into the vanished years before the failing of the kings, since Vorondil father of Mardil hunted the wild kine of Araw in the far fields of Rhûn. I heard it blowing dim upon the northern marches thirteen days ago, and the River brought it to me, broken: it will wind no more.'"

8 Súlimë III 3019

Dol Amroth

The air of the beaches of Dol Amroth was noticeably cooler than the air on its cliffs, and Lothíriel tugged her cloak tighter. War had not yet reached the shores of Dol Amroth, but messengers arrived almost daily from Minas Tirith and Osgiliath, with word of orcs gathering behind the Black Gate and elsewhere. For now, though, Lothíriel could walk on the beach in peace, watched only by her bodyguard, Dírmaethor, at the top of the dune behind her. She rubbed her pin on her dress absentmindedly—it was Boromir's, given to her before he left for the Council in Rivendell, as a promise that he would marry her upon his return—as she did often while thinking.

Though it was low tide, few shells littered the beach, much to her disappointment. She was about to return home when she caught sight of a long, curved shell, in a beautiful shade of creamy white. Eagerly, she knelt to pick it up, digging it out of the sand with her bare hands. It was buried deeper than she had expected, and had an odd shape, one she'd never seen in a shell before. Lifting it from its sand-locked position, she froze, seeing that it was not, as she had thought, a shell. The arc of white bone gave way to black, ending in a small silver mouthpiece. Silver bands, embossed with the crest of Minas Tirith, capped the other, wider end. But it was cloven in twain, and she could not look away.

Dírmaethor watched with concern as her body went perfectly still, then began to shake—it was only just perceptible, at first, but as tremors washed over her body, he left his position, stepping up behind her.

"My Lady, are you injured?" he asked. He was but a few years Elphir's elder, and had long been the bodyguard of the Swan Princess—like an uncle, rather than merely a protector. Lothíriel turned slowly to face him, her face dead white and her eyes distant. She lifted the horn slowly, so that he could see it.

"Boromir," she whispered, and crumpled to the ground. She had a dim awareness of someone carrying her, and then of someone prying Boromir's horn from her hands. She didn't want to let it go, and clutched it tight to her chest, but the other pair of hands was stronger, and they took the horn from her. The world grew blurry again after that, and her return to awareness was accompanied by the soft weight of a hand against her hair, fixing her pin.

"Please wake up, onóre," she heard dimly, as though from far away. "Come back." She tried to open her mouth and insist that she was fine, that she needed but a moment's rest, but found that her mouth was too dry. She began to cough, and found that she couldn't stop. A hand put a cup of water to her lips and she drank eagerly, droplets spilling down her cheeks in her excitement. A second hand pressed a cloth to her jaw, wiping the water away. Lothíriel opened her eyes slowly, blinking as the three circles above her resolved into her brothers' faces, all etched with worry and concern, and she struggled to sit up.

"Stay still, onóre," Amrothos insisted. It was his hand on her forehead, moving to her shoulder to keep her from rising. "You fainted before, on the beach. Dírmaethor bore you back to your chambers, and the Healer had to forbid Ada to enter. He was very worried about you." Lothíriel shook her head, not looking up.

"Where is the horn?" she asked finally. Had she looked up, she would have seen the somber looks exchanged by Erchirion and Elphir. "Where is Boromir's horn?"

"Ada is sending it to Minas Tirith," Amrothos said gently. "Onóre, you know that Boromir would not have given up that horn were he alive, no matter what damage was done to it." Lothíriel shook her head, not sure what she was denying or to whom. "Ada sent an emissary toward Rohan, to see if they, too, were under attack by orcs, and was told by the Eorlingas that the White Wizard has taken control of the king's mind and that Rohan is no longer safe, but that they met three companions—an elf, a man, and a dwarf—who claimed to be of the Fellowship of the Ring, sent out by the Council of Rivendell." Lothíriel's eyes lit up, and she began to smile, but Elphir shook his head. "The man was called Strider, and was not of Gondor. He was searching for two more of his companions—Halflings, or Hobbits, he called them—as they had been taken by orcs after the death of the man protecting them." Elphir watched with concern as Lothíriel crumpled, sinking into her pillows as though trying to bury herself in them.

"I would like to rest, please," she said finally, her voice flat. "I am tired."

"Then we'll stay right here, and make sure that you sleep soundly," Amrothos insisted, smoothing back the hair from her forehead. She flinched away, jerking backwards.

"I would prefer to be alone, but thank you," Lothíriel replied, still in a monotone. "I will find you when I awake." Her eyes were dead and distant, but held no chance of compromise, and her brothers reluctantly filed out of the room. Amrothos turned back just in time to see her hide her face in the pillows, and shut the door in order to let her cry in solitude.

Lothíriel emerged from her bedchamber hours later, face pale but set, wearing Boromir's heavy, too-big cloak over her slender shoulders.

"Onóre!" Elphir called, relieved. He had been seated just outside her door, and scrambled upright as she passed. "Father said to just let you sleep, and you missed dinner, but Amrothos and Erchirion and I got Culuma to save you a tray. It's in my room—"

"I'm not hungry," Lothíriel said quietly, continuing to walk. "I would like to look at the stars for a time, to settle my thoughts."

"You haven't eaten since dawn this morning," Elphir replied. "You need to eat something, onóre." Lothíriel did not resist as he took her arm and led her towards his chambers, her face impassive as she followed him mindlessly.

"There you are," Amrothos said, relief evident in his voice as she entered. "Eat something." He placed a roll in her hands, and she looked at it as though unsure what to do with it. "Eat, mallos." She brought the roll to her lips and broke off a piece, chewing automatically, her eyes distant and vague. "That's better."

"Are you alright?" Erchirion asked, tucking Boromir's cloak more tightly about her shivering form.

"I am fine," she said flatly. "I am perhaps more tired than usual, but I am well. I promise."

"Mallos, you are clearly not fine," Amrothos said gently. "You have just lost your betrothed. We have just lost our cousin. You need not be strong just now."

"I am fine," Lothíriel repeated. "I am tired. That is all. I am—" Amrothos stifled her mantra by pulling her into a tight hug, and she buried her head in his shoulder. Her whole body shook, but no sound came out, and Elphir slipped off the bed to wrap his arms around her as well. After a moment's hesitation, Erchirion joined them.

"I miss him," Lothíriel whispered, her voice muffled by her brother's shoulder. "It hurts, Amrothos. My heart hurts."

"I know," Amrothos replied simply, holding her tightly. "I know."

A/N: Short and sad...sorry. To make up for the shortness, I'll try to post the next chapter early.