A/N: I know many prefer the description of Faramir from the book but I do love Faramir of the Peter Jackson movies, if only in appearance. Do bear with me as I use his likeness in the story.

Baranor: Hans Matheson

Chapter 15

Lothíriel was admitted to Faramir's chamber, attended by two Citadel guards who opened the wide wooden door with a nod to the woman. Though Éowyn's amenities were grand they paled in comparison to the vastness of the Steward's recovery room. The doors opened to a receiving parlor, his bedroom beyond with long arched windows overlooking the fields. In a time of peace it would no doubt be comforting to look upon the bucolic lands of Gondor. The parlor was empty so she moved further within, finding her cousin standing before an eastern window, hands clasped behind him.

He wore the cornflower blue tunic of the healing ward, belted loosely with cord at his hips, linen trousers beneath. His auburn hair was damp, the loose curls darker than usual, though the light sparked a few streaks of copper in strands that had dried. He turned as she entered the chamber, his skin warmer and healthier than days past. A smile lit his features as he walked to her, reaching for an embrace.

"Lothíriel," he greeted as they hugged. Stepping back, he grasped her forearms, the smile faltering slightly as he beheld her. "I half expected to be told you rode off with the Host."

"Forgive me, Cousin," she replied, returning his smile. "I have been away for too long. How are you?"

"Nonsense. You are not my healer to come as I bid." He led them to a seating area near another window, the cushioned bench receiving them as they sat near to each other. "My health improves by the day. My thoughts and dreams, though. They will likely never be as they once were."

"No," she agreed, grey eyes cast down. "I hesitate to think any of us will dream as we used to with all this despair and destruction."

"Likely not. But ever is there a seed of hope in my heart, strange though it may seem with our tidings."

"If anyone had hope, dear Cousin, it would be you." They smiled as the sun revealed itself, bathing the room in golden light. "I grieve for your losses," she murmured, her hand on his knee. He placed his hand over hers and squeezed it, expression dimmed by melancholy.

"The price of war is steep. I do not yet know how long these wounds will take to heal in me. But I cannot accept our King, your father and brothers – any of them – undertook this mission without believing in their cause."

"I hardly know what the cause is. It's been treated as some secret, known to a select few. But to the rest of us… it seems an ill-fated embassy."

Faramir did not respond immediately, instead tilting his head and considering her statement. In that moment, the rays of light alight upon his hair, expression pensive, he bore a distinct resemblance to his brother and father, as though the three of them had melted into one being. She saw the lines in his forehead reminiscent of Boromir, his face constantly in a state of consideration (or so she recalled). The set of his lips and tightness in his jaw called memories of Denethor's visage from her childhood when the Steward would visit Dol Amroth. But Faramir's eyes were indistinguishable from those of her aunt, Finduilas. Grey, as the rest of the Prince's family, but with a blueish hue that Lothíriel and her brothers did not have, reminiscent of the sea just before dawn. After a moment he shifted his weight and looked at her.

"It seems cruel to keep you in the dark," he murmured, resting his forearms on his knees. "You must know there exists a weapon against the enemy far more powerful than any army we could conjure."

"Father spoke of one such weapon," she answered cautiously, not entirely understanding where their conversation was headed. "But it has also been shrouded in mystery."

"For good reason. The vanquishing of the Dark Lord rests in the hands of one whose task is insurmountable. The item is unthinkably valuable."

"Yes. Elphir referred to it outright before we left Dol Amroth, though Father bade him silent."

"Wisely," Faramir replied with a nod. "It was not something any dare speak aloud, so cunning are the servants of Sauron that they might hear us speak and give word to their master."

"And this… weapon. It is with the Host? Marching upon the Black Gate?"

"No, it is not with them. They are a diversion to keep the Dark Lord from the true purpose. The King of Gondor came to me, healing my sickness and bringing counsel. The weapon will be destroyed, despite the wish of my father." At this Faramir stood, turning from her to look out the window once more. Lothíriel watched him, trying to follow the trail he was laying out. "Do you know, Lothíriel," he pivoted to look sidelong at her, "I had it. The weapon of Sauron was within my grasp. Waiting."

"What did you do?"

"My hand was close enough to pluck it from the Halfling's fingers. To bring it before my father and honor him. But my heart was resolute, against the will of the Steward and everyone else in Gondor, it seemed." He looked away, eyes surveying the devastated fields beyond, voice wavering ever so slightly. "It killed him."

"Your father?"

"Boromir." Faramir glanced at her when she let free a quiet gasp, brow furrowed. Lothíriel stood and joined him at the window, grey eyes searching him for understanding.

"You know this for certain?"

"No," he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head. "But the pull of the… it is so strong. I felt it in those brief moments. And Boromir was ensnared. He attacked the bearer of the Ring after many months in its proximity. I do not know the nature of his demise but I cannot untangle it from what I learned from the Halflings."

"Had you spoken to Pippin of this?"

"Pippin?" her cousin faced her fully, auburn brows rising.

"He and I spoke at length in the days before the siege. He shared much of their journey. Boromir fell protecting Pippin. And Merry. He died as he lived – with honor."

Faramir watched her for a moment, sadness written on his face as he considered her words. Lothíriel met his gaze, hoping to ease his burden as she placed her hands on his arms, drawing them away from his chest until they held hands.

"Cast away the tale you held in your mind about his death." They smiled at each other, though she could see the doubt in his eyes. "You have done your brother proud, Faramir. And will continue as Gondor's Steward."

"Thank you, Cousin." He released her hands and they looked over the fields again. "Can I confess that I am content to wait for that responsibility. Your father has done a fine job in the absence of a Steward of Minas Tirith."

"Are you not the Steward, as Father is away?"

"Not yet," he replied, canting his head that she should follow him to the other side of the room to step out onto a balcony, the door left ajar to allow a breeze into the chamber. "Behold – the banner of Dol Amroth still flies." They looked up, craning their necks to see the very edge of the Citadel, where the flag of the Prince undulated in the breeze, its silver swan ship before a blue field catching the light.

"I don't understand," she stated, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun and looking at her cousin, brow furrowed .

"I am not well enough to take up the seat," he explained quietly, tilting his head toward the warmth as they stood together. "Uncle Imrahil named Húrin the acting lord until… well. For now."

"I'm afraid I do not know him."

"He's a man of the city. Warden of the Keys, before this. A good man. The city will be well defended, should we suffer another attack. Especially with the Rohirrim that remained, given by their new king."

Lothíriel nodded, still skeptical that the rule of the city should be passed through so many hands. But it was hardly her place to make mention of those thoughts. She studied her cousin as he rested his hands on the marble rail of the balcony.

"The sunlight befits you, Faramir," she observed with a small smile. "You ought to walk in the gardens as you heal. I suspect it would do you well."

"Do you?"

"Indeed."

"You're probably right. I will take your advisement, provided you do something for me." A dark brow rose over one eye as Lothíriel waited. Faramir pushed off from the balcony and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Join me in the Citadel for meals. The battle has ended. You needn't scurry around the wards like a mouse. I heard you have taken up residence in a bolthole."

"It's a storeroom," she grumbled indignantly, which procured a smile from Faramir.

"My apologies. But if you can at least dine with me and the other lords. It would ease my mind."

"You sound like my father."

"Then I am doing something right."

Lothíriel couldn't help but roll her eyes, though her grin was affectionate. She could not deny it felt pleasant to have someone care for her day-to-day wellbeing with her brothers and father gone.

"Alright. I'm sure I can manage that."

"Good. Now, I think I will retire for a spell."

"Of course." The woman held the door from the balcony open as Faramir passed through, his expression bearing evidence of the fatigue. She gave him a slight bow once she joined him in the room. "I'll see you this evening."

"Good day, Cousin."

TTTT

By the time evening fell Lothíriel had nearly forgotten her oath to Faramir, a reminder only coming after her stomach made its hunger known. Leaping up from where she'd been stitching a ripped bandage, the Princess swore under her breath as she gathered the materials and left them in a pile on the table nearby to return to later. She'd been sitting in the garden gallery, the night air soothing her worry substantially. She made quick work of tidying up and hurried up to the Citadel, hoping Faramir wouldn't be too disappointed. She hadn't thought to change her attire, instead entering the feast hall in the worn (though clean) kirtle, her hair covered by the maid's cap.

She was permitted entrance, a long table dressed with at least ten settings. She wasn't late enough that Faramir's guests were seated but it appeared most were already in attendance. Slowing her pace to a respectable walk, Lothíriel's dark brows hitched with surprise as she looked about. Despite the length of the hall there appeared to be only a handful of people milling about, their eyes drawn to her entrance. Some she recognized, others were unfamiliar, but she spotted her cousin near the head of the table. No doubt these men were perplexed that a maid should be making a beeline to the Steward, who smiled upon her arrival, turning from the man with whom he was conversing.

"Cousin," he greeted her, his voice loud enough to give his guests pause before they each bowed to her. She received his outstretched hand, his bow to her more than formal enough. "I am glad to see you."

"I am glad I didn't disrupt your meal," she replied as he motioned to the chair beside him. Once Faramir took his seat the other lords moved to theirs. She caught sight of Merry across from her, his seat clearly cushioned so he might be at the same level as the others. The Hobbit winked at her as her cousin leaned over to her.

"I was worried you'd forgotten," he murmured as the men took their places.

"I nearly did," she confessed quietly. She was glad he hadn't remarked on her lack of appropriate dress, as Amrothos had when she dined with them before the battle. In fact, Faramir made no indication at all that he was expecting her to dress a certain way, instead addressing the lords as a silence fell on the hall.

"Welcome, my lords. Dark are our days, but let us partake in these meals together so we may find courage and strength in one another."

"Aye, my lord," several intoned after as plates were served. Now that she had a moment to observe Lothíriel counted twelve men in attendance. She recognized two as men of Rohan by their dress. The others seemed to be the lords of Gondorian fiefdoms who had not ridden with the great Host.

"Lord Húrin, may I present my cousin, Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," Faramir's voice caught her attention as she followed his gaze to a man sitting to Faramir's left, directly before her. He was a tall man, even by Gondorian standards, raising above the table like a tree. Merry beside him looked miniscule. He canted his head respectfully as Lothíriel followed the gesture.

"My Lady," he greeted her as a breadbasket was placed before them. "I knew not the Prince brought his daughter."

"She has served as a healer," Faramir answered, glancing between them at the head of the table. "Still she keeps to her duties, caring for our people in the House of Healing."

"You must forgive my appearance, Lord Húrin," Lothíriel put in, accepting a glass of wine from a servant. "It is unbecoming of my father's name, but I hadn't the time to change."

"Worry not, dear girl," the tall man replied with a slight smile. "Have we not all been taxed of our usual decorum?"

Lothíriel smiled in response as they began to eat. It was a quiet if not solemn meal, each keeping to themselves and conversing lightly with their neighbors. Gone were the courtly speeches and animated conversations. For her part the Princess spoke to Faramir, Lord Húrin and Merry. She decided she would encourage Éowyn to join as part of her recovery, perhaps some days later once the ire had settled.

When the meal concluded the lords departed the table, and Faramir welcomed them to linger in the hall for after-dinner wine – a common pastime among Gondorian nobility. Lothíriel stood beside her cousin, hoping to escape to finish her rounds before exhaustion settled in. As she was preparing to bid Faramir goodnight another man joined them, halting her leaving-taking, and bowing low before them.

"Hail, Faramir, Steward of Gondor. And…" he raised up, looking expectantly at the woman.

"Lady Lothíriel, of Dol Amroth," Faramir answered, glancing at her. "This is Lord Húrin's son -"

"Baranor," he put him before her cousin could finish. She judged him to be younger than Faramir, perhaps Erchirion's age. His dark hair was combed neatly behind the collar of his wine-red tunic and his beard trimmed close to a sharp jawline.

"Forgive the intrusion, my Lord," his blue eyes flicked to the Steward who nodded graciously. "I hadn't a chance to meet the Lady earlier and I would much like to acquaint myself with the daughter of the noble Prince Imrahil."

"Well met, my Lord," Lothíriel replied feeling somewhat out of place in the company of this well-dressed man of Gondor. "I regret my father is not here to meet you. Nor my brothers."

"I had an opportunity to engage with them some days ago, brief though it was. It must be difficult for you, if you'll forgive the speculation. Being the only lady in the city."

"I am not the only," she answered, feigning a smile that he returned genuinely. She felt the intensity of his gaze upon her and offered him a slight bow before turning to Faramir. "You must excuse me, dear Cousin. I still have patients to attend before I retire."

"Of course," Faramir replied with a smile with a cant of his head. "I will see you on the morrow." Turning to Baranor she began bidding him farewell before he spoke again, silencing her before she had a word out.

"If I may escort you," he put in with another smile. Faramir's brows rose as he looked from him to Lothíriel who swallowed a wince.

"You needn't," she started as Baranor offered his hand.

"Please, my Lady. It would be my pleasure and honor. I'll just walk you to the gates of the Citadel." Feeling caught between propriety and discomfort the woman narrowly avoided letting her apprehension show on her face as she placed her hand over his gingerly. Faramir seemed unsure what to do with this exchange, looking to Lothíriel for direction. She gave him a small cant of her head to assure him she was alright, and he responded with a tight lipped smile.

"You'll stop by my chambers before you retire?" he asked as she nodded.

Baranor gave his lord a small bow before leading her toward the exit, the distance between their bodies still respectable despite his hand holding hers. She caught a glance from Merry, who hadn't caught on to the courtly etiquette, waving to her as they walked past. She raised her other hand to return the gesture, a slight smile on her lips. They passed two men of Rohan, both offering bows as the pair passed. She made a note to learn their names in future days. As they came to the end of the hall, Baranor glanced at her with a smile.

"Do forgive my forwardness, my Lady," he murmured as the doors were opened, letting them into the night air. "You must think me most improper. I figured, though, with your kin so far away, you might like an escort."

"That was… thoughtful of you, my Lord."

"I would wish thus for my sisters."

"How many sisters do you have, Lord Baranor?"

"Oh," he paused, glancing at her as they walked. "None. I just… if I had sisters I would want them taken care of in my absence."

Lothíriel was silent as they continued, their steps quiet on the stone. There were Citadel guards stationed at each archway, owing to a sense of safety for the Princess. Although it was proper for an unmarried woman of her status to be accompanied by a chaperone when she was with an unwed man it seemed propriety was eschewed in the days of war. As it was, Faramir would hardly be expected to know the appropriate protocol of ladies' interactions. Lothíriel couldn't tell if Baranor equally did not know the etiquette or if he was ignoring it on purpose. To anyone else he would appear a Lord escorting a servant or laborer. Perhaps she ought to wear a gown denoting her station to these dinners from now on.

"My Lady?"

"Hm?" Lothíriel looked at him, realizing he was waiting for an answer. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked if I might call on you tomorrow." Grey eyes met his blue, brows raising.

"My Lord, I do not think that would be appropriate," she answered carefully, stopping a few feet from the gate leading to the sixth level. He halted as well, releasing her hand to stand before her. His expression implied he did not understand her caution. "I am much committed to my responsibilities in the House of Healing and have a full day's worth of -"

"Oh! Of course," he replied hurriedly, a nervous smile on his lips as he regarded her. "I understand. I only meant to look after you. My father is acting lord of the city, as you know. It was my intention to check in to make sure you are doing well. That is all."

"That is kind of you," Lothíriel answered, her tone not entirely warm though still polite. "But I have been managing just fine for the past several weeks. And I have my cousin, who oft inquires after my wellbeing."

"I did not mean to overstep, Lady Lothíriel." Baranor's blue eyes caught hers with a contrite gaze. She softened slightly, a small smile offered to set him at ease. Perhaps he was not as forward as he initially seemed.

"I appreciate the concern, my Lord. I will see you at tomorrow evening's meal?"

Lothíriel pushed their farewells, worried he might think to join her in the vestibule down to the sixth level if she tarried too long. He bowed before her though she felt that he wanted to delay their departing as she dropped into a courtly curtsey.

"I look forward to it. Good night, my Lady."

Turning from the man, Lothíriel walked away with careful, measured steps, feeling his eyes upon her as she disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.