Updated 6/6/20

Osgiliath:

For the first time in ten months, the sun broke through the thick veil of smoke that encompassed all of Osgiliath. The light eased the anxieties that had haunted the land.. Last night, the war drums stopped, briefly followed by the screams of the last orc sent from Mordor.

Déorwyn, The daughter of Denethor II, Steward of Gondor, was in a carriage, sitting next to her father on their way to the celebration in the center of Osgiliath. She was uncomfortable- for more than one reason. She hated being in a carriage. She would much rather be riding on a horse, feeling the wind blow through her hair as she rushed to see her brothers who had been away since armies were seen marching on Osgiliath.

The trip from Minas Tirith was long and she found it hard to relax. And last, she always was uneasy around her father. He was, in a word, difficult. And the past few months had shown him grow more and more unstable. Theirs had never been an easy relationship. When her mother died in childbirth, Denethor did not know how to raise a girl. He passed off the care of the newborn to the servants and ladies of the city. He barely knew the woman she was becoming.

Her older brothers, Boromir and Faramir, were her guardians. They made sure that their sister was trained in every aspect of life of a lady of the high court of Gondor. They had her study history, literature and, on Boromir's strong urging, the art of archery. He wanted to make sure she was prepared for any situation. Faramir agreed, reluctantly, but only after making sure her studies were kept up with.

Together, the three were inseparable. Déorwyn would often make her way down to the training yards to watch Boromir and Faramir spar. And though Boromir would often overpower Faramir, when the worked as a team, there wasn't a duo in all of Middle Earth that was more effective. They found it hard to find a team to practice with- no one wanted to face Boromir's strength or Faramir's agility.

Their family dinners however, were always stiff. Denethor would only speak to Boromir- and often about battle. Faramir would interject with his thoughts on the matter, or on policy, and met with a curt answer. Since they had been off to war, the dinners were becoming more of a rarity. Déorwyn would often head to the main hall for the meal only to find out that Denethor had already ate and had since retired to his chambers for the evening. She didn't mind though, she had made friends with those around her and felt the absence of her father rather refreshing.

The carriage bumped on, as it had for the past hour, until finally, Denethor spoke.

"We are nearly there." He spoke. This was usually the extent of his communication with Déorwyn. As she grew older, Boromir had urged her to spark conversation with their father, but it was always a struggle, for the both of them. Aside from blood, they shared no commonalities. His title earned her respect, but her love was saved for her brothers.

Déorwyn shifted in her seat,

"I am not sure how much longer I could sit in this carriage, with this heat and in this dress!" She tried, jovially to spark something out of him. Denethor just stared at the road ahead. She paused, hoping for a response. She received none, and continued looking outside the carriage window, at the approaching stone walls of the city. The cries of jubilation becoming more and more bombastic.

She almost could hear the distinct timbre of Boromir's voice. The first born was the shining star of the family- leading the Gondorian army with such fervor, turning heads and earning the cheers everywhere they went. There wasn't a man, woman or child in Minis Tirith who Boromir hadn't left a considerable impression on. Faramir, just as beloved as the older son, was more quiet in his ways, spending his free time reading and becoming more accustomed to the ways of politicking rather than campaigning.

"I cannot wait to see them" she said quietly.

To her surprise, Denethor answered. "Yes, Boromir did not let me down in Osgiliath."

"And what of Faramir? Was he not on the front lines next to Boromir? Yes, even though Boromir is the Captain of the Minas Tirith army, Faramir constantly proves to be just as effective as Boromir on the battlefield. When will you see this?"

She knew that she would not get a response.

The carriage carried on. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they were pulling through the main gate of Osgiliath. Soldiers and families were already deep into merrymaking, throwing flowers in the air and pints every which way. The juxtaposition of seeing so much celebration against a backdrop of destroyed and raised buildings was jarring and Déorwyn took a moment to remember those lives that had been lost defending.

The cheering brought her back to the moment. She glanced across the seat to Denethor, who seemingly came alive when his people were shouting his name.

Déorwyn anyways was preoccupied searching for her two brothers. She spotted Boromir who caught her attention standing on the top of a platform downing a pint. She laughed and didn't wait for the carriage to come to a complete stop before she bolted out of it and toward her eldest brother.

"Boromir!" She yelled, "Boromir!"

"Déorwyn!" He shouted, pushing a path through the sea of soldiers. "Let her through! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes! Why, you look more radiant and lady like every day." He mused. He snatched a white flower from a bunch that went whizzing past and placed it in behind her ear. "There, your outfit is compete. You are truly a white lady of Gondor" and he placed a kiss on her forehead.

The soldiers nearby were continuing their merriment- and showing appreciation to their captain, mainly by keeping his mug filled with ale. Déorwyn found herself with her own mug in no time at all. Before she could take a sip, she felt her arm pulled to the left. And saw a familiar face chugging down its contents.

"Déorwyn! Sister! How great it is to see you! I trust your journey from the White City was enjoyable?" Faramir beamed. She stared at him as he just laughed. He knew that being confined in a carriage, on a hot day with their father was not the most enviable positions to be for any stretch of time. He went on, " Ah ha, I see our brother has given you the flower of Osgiliath, but why only one? Our sister deserves much more," and presented her with a crown made of the dainty flowers. Her eyes opened wide and reached for it. "Only you can make a flower look unattractive" Faramir said and proceeded to kiss her on the forehead as Boromir had done earlier. Déorwyn chuckled.

"My Sons!" Denethor had appeared from the bottom of the platform. He looked happy. He always looked happy around Boromir. His pride and joy. He just brushed passed Faramir with just a pat on the shoulder in good form. "Boromir. I must congratulate you on an epic win! You are an able captain"

"Hardly epic, father" He hated when his father overly praised him and not his brother. "Faramir did most of the fighting and-"

"Nonsense!" interrupted the Steward. "My son and Captain deserve highest regards for his victory here today!"

"Our win. Gondor's Win." Faramir corrected curtly.

"Yes, yes. Ah, where were we…" he picked up a pitcher of ale " To my son, and to Gondor! May we keep the evils of Mordor at bay!" and with that, the crowd erupted in a sea of cheers. Not even Déorwyn could deny her father's words. With Osgiliath secured, the orcs would have a hard time getting through to the White City.

When the merriment died down, the obscure family of four just stood there staring at each other, waiting for someone to say something.

"Boromir, a word" the father finally said. Boromir gave his leave, kissed his sister on the cheek and clasped his brother's shoulder.

"Lady Déorwyn! Déorwyn!" a voice cried from behind her. It was Grayson, her friend growing up and now, soldier under her brother's command, and son of one of Denethor's trusted advisors.

"Grayson! My friend, how are you!" she said as he approached her and Faramir. "Long has been since I've seen you! Battle has done well for you I see!"

"Aye! It has! I feel more like a man and less like the boy I last saw you as! Lord Faramir, may I steal your lovely sister away for a moment?"

Although Déorwyn was fond of her friend, she had not wished to be alone with him. Long has she known that Grayson's feelings for her had not matched hers for his. And even though they were friends, he never could just be her friend- always following her around and reciting poetry which always left her less than amused. Nothing made her cringe more than forced romantic gestures. She pleaded with Faramir with her eyes to keep her by his side.

"Of course, Grayson. She's all yours." Faramir replied with a grin. He was very pleased with his choice of words, knowing it would annoy Déorwyn. She just glared at him and went with her friend. Faramir let out a bellowing laugh and grabbed a close flagon of ale and returned to his men.

"Lady Déorwyn" he began formally, he had led them to a quiet bench away from the crowd. "Déorwyn, my Déorwyn." She fought to not roll her eyes, "long have I waited for this day. I had wanted to do this earlier, when you became of age, but, obviously I have been delayed." With this comment, he laughed.

"Grayson…" Déorwyn started but was cut off.

"But, alas, here we are. I cannot wait any longer, Déorwyn, will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Without hesitation, she replied, "I'm sorry Grayson, but no. You know me better than this. You know that I will marry for love and you-nowhere in your feeble attempt at a proposal once said I love you. I like you because you are my friend, and you are like another brother to me. I'm sorry if I have hurt your feelings, but I cannot marry you."

Grayson just sat there, dumbfounded. He thought his efforts at wooing her had made his intentions clear, and having never received any form of rejection, he thought her feelings were the same as his.

"Well, milady, the only thing I have to say is, where are you going to find love in Gondor?! I do believe Osgiliath is the farthest away from the White City that you have ever been! Thought that I was the obvious match for you! Our families are-"

"Grayson, Stop right there! I am you friend and I will remain that. But ONLY that! I am going to walk away and back to the celebration and I am willing to forget this ever happened. Please don't think less of me, just know that I just can't." and with that, she left Grayson sitting on the bench to rejoin her brothers.

She sought out Faramir, who was with Boromir. They looked tense. To lighten the mood, Déorwyn rushed over to Faramir and smacked him on the arm.

"That was not funny! You are cruel brother!" Faramir smiled slightly, but his expression said, not right now. "What is wrong? I left you both in high spirits, yet now you seem grim. What is wrong?" she demanded.

"Sister. Father has commanded me to go on a journey." Déorwyn looked confused. She had only seen her brother for the first time in 10 months and now he was to be taken away from her?

"Boromir, but- wha- where-" she stuttered, not sure of what to say.

"I don't want to keep this from you my little one. I am to ride to the land of Rivendell to meet with Lord Elrond of the Elves. I am to bargain for a certain artifact that is to arrive there. It will surly bring prosper to the land of Gondor once more." Her whole life, Boromir has kept her safe, but would never hide anything from her. However, she got the sense that he wasn't telling her the whole truth.

"What artifact, Boromir." She again, demanded.

"We believe the Ring of Power will be in Rivendell" Faramir answered, knowing that his brother did not want to trouble his sister.

Déorwyn knew of this ring. It was once the greatest weapon on all of middle earth. It was the ruler of all rings of power. And it was owned by the deadliest and most evil man of them all- if you could call him a man. Sauron was now a figure in a tower who was killing millions in order to find his precious ring.

"I don't know what you say. I only just got you back and now you're leaving on a mission to receive a ring that may not even be there? And even if you get this ring, you would bring that evil back here? This doesn't make any sort of sense, my brother. Help me understand. Please tell me that I have at least some time with you!"

"I fear I must leave as of right now. It is a month's trip to Rivendell and I mustn't miss my opportunity. I am sorry, I hope you will forgive me" Boromir replied. His sister was crying now. He hated to see her cry. Almost as much as when he hated she was crying because of him.

She hugged her brother, never wanting to let go. Boromir embraced Faramir, and with no further explanation or pomp and circumstance, mounted his horse and rode off out of the rubble of Osgiliath.

Faramir and Déorwyn were speechless. Within an hour, she gained her two brothers back into her life after 10 months and lost her eldest brother to a journey that will more than likely keep him for another 10 months.

When the driver approached them that it was time to leave for Minas Tirith and that the carriage was ready for departure. She refused to ride in the carriage with Denethor and had Faramir ready her a horse to ride home. Within another hour, Faramir and Déorwyn were ready to leave for the White City. They had not exchanged more than a few words.

They approached the gates of Minas Tirith in the early evening. In the stables, while they were putting away their horses, Déorwyn noticed a white horse in the stable next to hers. Rarely did she ever see a white stead in the White City. And only a horse this beautiful and majestic could only belong to one man. Gandalf the Grey was in Minas Tirith.