Author's Note: I should make you aware – sorry for not doing this earlier – that these chapters are going to be more like snapshots that form a chain instead of a flowing story line. Hopefully they still make sense and give you a story to enjoy.

The Change Begins

Minas Tirith – Cermië 3018 of the Third Age

Lothíriel walked into the gardens, her shoulders relaxing as she drew in a deep breath of the floral air. July meant rising temperatures, but the garden soaked up every bit of sun, blooming and blossoming as if in direct rebellion to the inky shadows of the east. This quiet garden remained the one place in all of the city she felt comfortable being alone. The warmth of the sun, the colors and scents of the blossoms, and the lack of any sound made it an oasis in the heart of this bustling city.

"Always we find you in the gardens," an amused voice drew out.

Her eyes swung around and lit with joy as she spotted the two men making their way down the path towards her. Broad smiles graced both of their faces. "Boromir! Faramir!" She darted forward and tossed her arms around both of them.

"Hello, little sister," Boromir laughed, swinging her around. "We have missed you!"

She shared a quick look with Faramir and they both attacked Boromir's ticklish spots. The silent garden witnessed the trio dissolve into a cheerful, loving knot of chaos. It took a while for them to get back under control, but thy managed it.

"So," Boromir leaned against the stone wall, "what brings you to the city? You do not usually join Uncle on his visits."

"First," Lothíriel held up a hand, "I want to know why I have been sensing irritation and anxiety for the past several days." She shook her head. "I was not surprised at first, because of the siege, but…it has not gone away." Her eyes focused on her twin's. "Something is bothering you and I want to know what it is."

"Dreams," Faramir replied, his eyes falling closed.

"A dream," Boromir corrected.

The younger man nodded as he opened his eyes once more. "A dream," he agreed, "repeating itself." He spread his hands. "I had it the night before Osgiliath, but I thought no more of it after the battle. Then it happened again."

"What do you dream?" Lothíriel tilted her head. Dreams…their gift and blessing and curse – the images they dreamed rarely remained figments of the mind for the two of them.

"The east filled with storms and the sky turned black. It was not the darkness of the shadows we see now, but darker, deeper, more deadly." Gray eyes grew distant as Faramir spoke. He seemed to relive the dream in his mind's eye as he spoke to them and Lothíriel grew more certain that this would remain no mere dream. "Then I turned to the west and the sky blazed with light, a light that grew as I watched. I seemed…caught between the two. As I waited, watching for what I do not know, I heard a voice speaking from the heart of the light." He paused, looking down to catch his sister's gaze. "It gave me a riddle."

"I hate riddles," Boromir grumbled.

Lothíriel rolled her eyes. "Bor, you are probably the most straightforward man I know and one day you shall be deposed as Steward because the Council cannot survive without its politics…and you cannot survive with them." He gave her a mock frown, but she turned up her nose with a chuckle. "Politics are all riddles."

"Which is why Faramir should have the job." The twins gave him matching looks of pity and he sighed. "I know. Father." No other word was necessary.

"What about the riddle?" she asked, turning to look at Faramir once more.

He nodded. "It went like this:

‟Seek for the Sword that was broken:

In Imladris it dwells;

There shall be counsels taken

Stronger than Morgul-spells.

There shall be shown a token

That Doom is near at hand,

For Isildur's Bane shall waken,

And the Halfling forth shall stand"

Lothíriel's eyes went wide and she felt herself sway as the words shot images through her mind. History, myth, legend – they played out before her eyes, eclipsing the garden and her brothers, overtaking her sight.

"Lotti!" Two distant male voices grew deep with concern and strong hands guided her to a hard surface, pushing her to sit.

Part of her mind recognized the stone. It must be one of the many stone benches dotting the garden, but that seemed at one remove, unreal in the world she watched. A dark-haired man, the image of the statue of Isildur, swung a broken sword and cut the fingers off the hand of Sauron. A shudder went through her as she watched all that followed. Horror filled her as she watched the body of Isildur floating face down in the waters.

Colors swirled, making her all but blind until they settled once more. A new face appeared before her – a face familiar from previous dreams, but more than that she knew his eyes. She saw them every time she looked in the mirror. Her breath caught.

The shudder turned into a shake as someone grabbed her shoulders. "Lotti!"

The vision disappeared into smoke and she found herself blinking into Boromir's concerned face. "The final battle…it is coming."

Boromir's lips tightened as his fingers flexed. He released her and strode away, fists clenched at his side. In a movement just as abrupt he turned back. "Are you sure?"

"Doom is near at hand," she repeated. "The doom of choice – for good or ill, it is coming."

"What did you see?" Faramir's quiet question drew their attention. His eyes never wavered from her face. "You saw something – something that let you understand."

"I saw the Last Alliance," she managed to breathe out. Her brothers froze and she continued. "I saw the battle on the slopes and Isildur's final battle. I saw him take a gold ring from Sauron…he kept it." A flare of pain flickered in her face. "It led him to his death."

"Isildur's Bane," Faramir nodded.

"And the shards of Narsil," she added. "He used it to fight – Elendil's sword, broken and shattered in battle. The hilt still held a good portion, long enough and sharp enough to do what needed to be done."

The brothers exchanged a look. Boromir gave a slow nod. "Father said Imadris is the old name for Rivendell, the home of Elrond Half-Elven." Lothíriel waited a moment before lifting her eyebrows in question, but he only shrugged. "That is all he would say."

She stared at them, her eyes shifting from one to the other. "And what did you decide?" They frowned at each other and she pushed herself between them, making them look at her. "What did you decide?" she demanded.

"We have not yet made a decision," Faramir replied.

Boromir drew himself up. "Yes we have. I am going."

"The dream came to me."

"And I am the elder," Gondor's Captain General insisted.

Lothíriel rolled her eyes. "And I am the long-suffering sister," she muttered. "Both of you must go."

"What?"

The word seemed louder, deeper with both of them speaking at once, but she held her hand up to prevent the brewing argument from boiling over. "I do not say that lightly," she told them, her voice softening with worry. "You both have to go."

"Why?" Boromir stared at her, still her older brother, but every inch of him radiating his authority as the military leader of Gondor.

"The Eagle awaits," she replied, her lips curving into a tiny smile. "They will need your support," she told Boromir before turning to Faramir, "but they will need your level-headedness more."

"Puts me in my place," her eldest brother huffed and she pulled herself up to kiss his cheek. He shook his head, before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The men exchanged a long speaking look and then Boromir straightened. He planted a kiss on top of Lothíriel's head and then stepped back. "We need to go," he insisted. "Now – before Father gets out of the council meeting. We can gather supplies at one of the garrisons on our way."

Faramir gave a nod and then turned to her. He pulled her into a fierce hug. "Be careful, Lotti," he warned. "He will blame you."

"I will not be here." They stopped and looked at her, but she shook her head. "Just go. You have to be too far along for him to stop you or pull you back." She paused. "Boromir….when the time for the decision comes, listen to Faramir's instincts and not yours. Your first instinct will be wrong."

Lothíriel watched as her brothers rode away from the city. It worried her, watching them ride into a future she could not see, but she knew they had to go. Gondor needed to be there and only those two possessed the authority to speak for Gondor as well as the position to face down Denethor if he argued. If Boromir remembered to swallow his pride, then maybe…

No, she would not think on it for now. She would trust him – he would never disappoint her.

"Are you still leaving?"

"I must," she replied, turning to face her adopted father. He looked unhappy, but she shook her head. "We have been through this."

"I know." Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth sighed in disappointment. "It does not mean I have to like it."

"I know."

For just a moment, Lothíriel let herself rest against his side. She would be leaving in a moment, but for a breath of time she wanted to remember being a little girl who thought this man could fix everything. "I will be careful."

"Good." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "May the light ever be with you."

She managed a final smile for him. "May the Valar guide us all."