A/N:

Welcome!

All "movie" canon characters share the likeness from the films (ex: Éomer, Faramir, Hobbits etc.). Other characters have been imagined as follows:

Lothíriel - Eva Green

Imrahil - Jeremy Irons

Amrothos - Ben Barnes

Elfhelm – Matt Barr

Roswitha – Imogen Waterhouse

Dera of Aldburg - Tamzin Merchant

I hope you enjoy! I would love and appreciate a review, if you are so inclined!

Chapter 1

"Another fortnight on the road?" Amrothos cried, grey eyes narrowed as he stared imploringly at the Prince of Dol Amroth. "I'm not equipped to sustain this lifestyle, Father."

"You were supposed to arrive two days ago," his cousin remarked from across their table, a grin barely visible in the low light of the narrow hall. "You'd have more than enough time to rest before the journey."

"We're fortunate we made it here tonight," Lothíriel answered before washing her words down with wine. Both she and her brother had empty plates, having consumed their meal within moments of it being laid before them. Faramir looked to his uncle, who sat unmoved in repose with his chalice.

"It is a blessing that kept you delayed," the Prince replied at length. "Elphir and Nenniel were given another healthy son and for that we are grateful. That Lothíriel was there to deliver the babe is an additional joy. You are here now, and the procession will set out tomorrow as planned."

"You might leave your horses here and take two from our stables," the Steward suggested. "I've no doubt your steeds are exhausted from the mad dash."

"We would be obliged," the Princess nodded as her cousin smiled. Amrothos pursed his lips before sighing and standing.

"I'm off then; if you all expect me to be trotting next to the Lady of the Golden Wood tomorrow I need at least ten hours of undisturbed slumber."

"I doubt she would be appealed by your company," his sister called after him, which received a vulgar hand sign behind their father's back as Amrothos departed. Shaking her head the woman surveyed the remaining two, unwilling to depart despite her exhaustion for pleasure of their company.

Her father sipped his wine as Faramir spoke quietly to a servant clearing the table. This moment of pause allowed the Princess to collect her thoughts, questions for her cousin shuffling in her mind as she considered which were most appropriate. If the first query from her lips was about the King of Rohan it would elicit raised brows from her kinsmen. And although she did want to know how Éomer faired she was not ready to sacrifice her dignity or open herself to teasing. Not yet, at least.

"Everything has gone well here?"

"Indeed," Faramir answered her as the servant departed. "The city is rebuilding and her people are healing, though it is arduous."

"Many fine soldiers were felled and the damage to Minas Tirith will not soon be forgotten," her father agreed solemnly. Silence fell again between the trio and Lothíriel swallowed the question regarding the Horselord. After several moments the Prince of Dol Amroth sighed and smiled before standing, placing a hand on his nephew's shoulder.

"I'll see myself to bed," he announced with a warm smile to his daughter. "You won't tarry too long?"

"Nay," she confirmed. "I needn't the beauty sleep of Amrothos but I could slumber at this table if given the chance. I'll be off to my chambers shortly. Goodnight, Ada."

"Farewell, Uncle," Faramir said, craning his neck to look at Imrahil, who squeezed his shoulder and departed, leaving the cousins. Turning his gaze to her once to door shut, the Steward smiled. "I am glad you've come, little swan."

"I'd not miss this occasion. So many heroes of the age joined together – it will be sung in our halls for decades. And I made a promise."

"To?"

"The King of Rohan. And his sister," she followed up quickly, not missing the faint grin from Faramir as he tilted his head. "She asked that I joined the procession and see Meduseld."

"Lady Éowyn will be glad to reunite with you, I've no doubt."

"Our parting was too brief and rushed. To behold her happiness… and your own… it is a joy for all of us, dear cousin."

"I know joy because of her. But this meeting is not for us," the man replied, dropping his gaze to the table. "I will be grateful to see her homeland and be with her. But ours is not the purpose and I suspect there will be much sorrow when the late king in laid to rest."

Lothíriel nodded silently, fatigue swallowing any comment to his statement. She could probably lay on the ground and sleep until morning, so great was her exhaustion. But there was still an item on her agenda, and it hung heavy upon her shoulders. She did not wish to leave the White City tomorrow without tending to it. After several moments Faramir cleared his throat and adjusted his position, signaling a breaking of their congregation. The pair rose together, the woman hiding a yawn as she tucked the chair in to the table.

"You'll be alright riding out tomorrow morning?" her cousin inquired, grey eyes catching hers as they paused before the exit.

"Yes," she assured him. He nodded and turned to open the door but halted when her hand caught the fabric of his sapphire sleeve. He pivoted back, gaze concerned and expectant. "Is… is his seat completed?"

"Oh," Faramir paused, a shadow passing over his face before he nodded. "It was finished a day ago. Did you want to visit it? Tonight?"

"If it wouldn't be any trouble." She knew she didn't have to explain it to him, though the words were ready should he question. Instead, the Steward nodded and indicated with a cant of his head that she should follow him not toward the domestic chambers but into the night.

TTTT

Silence followed the Lady of Dol Amroth once she bid goodnight to her cousin after he escorted her down the dim Rath Dínen. Upon reaching their destination admittance was given by the Steward and the guards permitted her enter the building, providing her a small lantern. The walk there had been dark save for moonlight but the hall was lit by sconces, shadows nipping at her heels.

Her boots were muted on the stone, and she expected more reverberation, but the weight of the chamber seemed to dull sound. She'd been here as a child, feeling vague familiarity in the path. It was a long vestibule that gave her no choice but to descend further, the doors of the entrance thudding as they closed. Curious specters danced in their corners as she passed, the light offering enough visibility to see her path but not discern the large shapes lining either side of the hallway. At last she came to her destination, the transept opening up to her left as she took its pathway to the location Faramir had spoken of, several paces away from the main vestibule. She arrived and held the lantern aloft, the marble catching the light as the form materialized before her.

She saw the horn before she beheld his face, cloven and resting in a divot upon his left thigh. Sorrow held her as she stared at the broken artifact, pausing before she moved the lantern to illuminate the entirety of the statue. His left arm rested on the stone chair, all but covered by his great shield held in confidence rather than defensiveness, positioned in profile at his side. His other hand lay open upon his right thigh, palm facing up in supplication and humility. This was Faramir's doing. Were it Denethor's design his eldest son would be preserved in a vision of might and authority, sword aloft to denote his power. His brother memorialized him as she'd known him: honorable and benevolent.

Lothíriel smiled as his face became visible, his likeness stealing her breath. Here too did the Steward's decision making become apparent. Boromir's expression was placid, staring ahead in the manner of the countless effigies lining the walls in the long tomb. But there was the faintest suggestion of a grin on his lips, which felt so familiar the woman thought she was staring at his deathmask.

Tears brimmed her lower lashes as she stared upon the face of her cousin. In the madness of the war and its reverberations she hadn't the time to properly mourn his death. Now, to stand before his likeness, Lothíriel smiled in her sorrow. How he would have delighted in the rebuilding of his beloved city. And how proud he would have been of his brother. Her hand found the cold stone of his knee, unblemished by dust, a tear dropping from her eye.

A sound behind her made her jump, turning so quickly the lantern nearly snuffed. Any instinctual hope that it was Éomer vanished as she met her guest. Grey eyes were drawn down as she beheld a Hobbit in the aisle, ducking his head with a nervous expression barely visible in the low light.

"I'm… I apologize," he stated quietly. His curling hair was almost as dark as her own, blue eyes meeting hers before dropping as he bowed. She recognized him as the Ringbearer and she bowed as well, stepping away from Boromir's statue.

"No apology needed, Master Baggins," she replied with a small smile. "I thought I was alone."

"I was in the corner just off to the side," he nodded sheepishly to a shadowed inlet she'd entirely passed over. "I should've said something, but I didn't want to disturb you. I'd only meant to gaze upon the newly completed statue," he explained, looking behind her. She turned to the side to also gaze at the carving.

"You knew him well?"

"Well and not so well," the Hobbit confessed distantly. "Forgive me, my Lady. I know I have seen you before, but I do not think we were introduced."

"Oh," the woman smiled warmly as he took a step closer, posture relaxing. "I am Lothíriel. Prince Imrahil's daughter."

"The healer. Yes. Merry and Pippin did point you out at the coronation. Have you returned for the Horselord's funeral?"

"Aye. Though we only arrived tonight. I ought to be abed instead of wandering the tombs."

"You are related to Boromir, yes?" he inquired, gazing at the effigy. "I'm afraid I am not acquainted with the family of the Steward."

"He is my cousin, my father's sister-son," she replied, looking between the Hobbit at the statue. "I must say, the sculptors have outdone themselves." The Hobbit nodded once, his eyes resting on the horn. Lothíriel detected somberness upon his shadowed face, unspoken pain lingering under the surface. She was curious how the Ringbearer had gotten on with Boromir but suspected it was neither the time nor place to inquire. Instead, she offered a smile when he looked at her, dipping into a small curtsey.

"I take my leave," she announced, raising a hand when he frowned, mouth opening to protest or excuse himself. "If I do not find sleep, I fear it will find me. We shall surely see each other on the ride to Edoras."

"Yes, Lady Lothíriel."

"Good evening, Master Baggins."