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Title: Summer Nights (#555)
Author: Marta
Chapters: 4

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: The summer of 3000 was the hottest one Faramir ever remembered. When he found himself lost in Dol Amroth and stopped at an inn to ask directions, he was surprised to find the place was a haven from the heat. He decided to stay for dinner and when the matron offered him a cool room to lie down in while his meal was prepared, he gladly accepted, without realising exactly what he was accepting.
Published: 19 Jan 2004
Updated: 19 Jan 2004
Warnings: implicit sex; discussion of adult topics
Type: Romance
Characters: Boromir; Faramir; Imrahil; Lothiriel; original cha


Chapter 1 - Part 1

Faramir walked beneath the sweltering Dol Amroth sun, listening to the music of the gulls challenging the ocean's roar, a Sindarin grammar tucked under his arm. Home, sweet home, he thought bitterly to himself. _If I knew it would be this hot, I would have stayed in Minas Tirith_. He kicked a sea shell out into the surf and watched it sink. _You are supposed to keep this heat away_, he chastised it; _you always have before_. Ever since he was old enough to remember, Faramir and his brother Boromir came to Dol Amroth to escape the summer heat. Most summers it had worked. _So why not this time?_

Faramir held his book out at arm's length, clenched his hands around it, thought about throwing it out to sea as well. _No, that would never do; the useless thing is too valuable_. He heaved an exasperated sigh. _What am I doing here?_ he asked himself, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. _Boromir won't get here for another week -- his captain should have let him come -- and Elphir's too young to be any fun._

Dol Amroth had seemed like such a good idea back in Minas Tirith, but then, anywhere but Minas Tirith had seemed a good idea. The white marble reflected the sun's harsh rays until the entire city baked and you couldn't find an inch of shade, be you beggar's son or steward's. Dol Amroth at least had other colours of stone -- red, grey, and, yes, some white -- so it didn't reflect the heat quite as badly. _Small mercy_, Faramir thought. _With temperatures like these, who can tell the difference?_

Every morning, to gain some relief, Faramir took a book, a loaf of bread, and a flask of water and walked through the woods outside the city. There at least the branches blocked out the sun above, even if the air was unbearably muggy. It had served him well so far.

That afternoon, though, the mosquitoes had arrived.

Faramir lasted an hour, swatting away the pests and trying to concentrate on the verb conjugations he had set himself to learn that afternoon. "_Linen, linnech, linnant, linnen ..._ " he recited to himself, shoving his fingers in his ears to block out the sound of the crashing waves. _Curses!_ he thought. _You are an ocean. You're supposed to be *cooler*. So -- why -- aren't you!?_ He looked down at his book, realizing he had lost his place. "Linnen, linnech ... " Then he gave up. He slammed the book shut, flattened his long-empty water flask under his arm, and began the walk back to the city.

At last Faramir reached the city gates. The bugs had not followed him -- _some godsend at last_ -- but here the heat was worse than ever, impossible though that seemed. Faramir wandered for some time, searching for a spot of shade without success. The heat kept him from staying in one place overlong. He walked up one street and down another, idly letting his mind wander. _The green lawns are lovely_, he thought to himself. _Wouldn't they make Minas Tirith look fine?_ He roamed through the seven circles in his mind, adding flower gardens and small lawns, shoving centuries-old buildings aside to make room. _There, that's better_, he thought with satisfaction, then looked around to see where he was.

He realized he was lost.

_Curse it all_, he thought angrily, _you have been coming here nigh seventeen summers and still you cannot find your way home?_ Then he calmed down and took a good look around. The road was lined with bushes here, and on either side stood a row of houses and inns made from the finest stone, each several stories tall. Faramir craned his neck, trying to find a familiar landmark, but no such luck. _Well, there's nothing for it_, he chastised himself, _you'll just have to go back the way you came._

_And which way is that?_ the other part of his brain answered. Faramir looked around and realised he had no idea how he had got here. He could easily get himself lost worse, and that wouldn't do at all.

His eyes rested on the neatly-carved ash sign hanging in front of the grey stone building. _The Silver Fox. Now, that looks promising._ It was an inn, so he wouldn't have to disturb some goodwife's dinnertable, and what he could see of the inside through the small window -- some tables with proper settings and suitably fancy chairs -- seemed pleasant enough. _I'll just step inside, ask directions, and be on my way_.

Faramir placed his hand against the door to push it open, then stepped back in surprise. _Berúthiel's cats, that's cold! If the door's this cool, then that means . . ._ He quickly pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"May I help you, my lord?" Faramir looked up and saw a middle-aged woman approaching. She wore a crimson, high-collared dress and had her hair in a tight bun. _A bit austere, but not unfriendly_, Faramir decided.

"Good afternoon," Faramir said, bowing slightly, then looked around. "How is it so cool in here?"

"Elvish magic," the matron replied, a twinkle in her eyes. "What would you prefer?" she waited a second, looking at him expectantly, but when he did not answer she added, "A table perhaps?"

"Yes, that sounds nice," Faramir heard himself reply. Now that I think about it, he thought to himself, _I'm already here; I might as well eat dinner. Surely Uncle would understand, and it is my silver._

Faramir sat down at the table to which the matron led him. "It is always a pleasure," she said, "to welcome one of the prince's men." Her eyes rested on his ring, a silver band with the design of a swan etched into it and a light blue gem where the swan's mouth would be, and Faramir smiled understandingly. The ring was the mark of his uncle's household, and all the merchants throughout town recognized it.

"I am the Prince's nephew," Faramir volunteered. "The ring was a gift from him."

"Ah, my lord Boromir!" the matron exclaimed, a look of recognition crossing her face. "I should have known, of course. But you have changed --"

Faramir held up his hand, silencing her. "Boromir is my brother. I am Faramir."

Her face paled noticeably, and she bowed her head. "My lord Faramir, pardon my --"

"Do not trouble yourself!" he laughed. "'Twas a simple mistake." Faramir nodded to the chair across the table and continued, "Please, sit, if you will." After the matron had settled herself into her chair Faramir said, "Did my brother come here often?"

"On occasion," she replied. "Yes, your brother came in when he could, two or three times a month during his summer visits, since he was not much older than you. He loved the food and the wine -- and the pretty faces of our wenches, if I may say so. Where is he? I would have expected him to join you."

"He will be arriving within the week," Faramir replied. "He is a member of the guard, you know . . . "

"Oh, yes," the matron replied. "Of course. He's quite the man, your brother is."

"He thinks he is, at any rate."

That made her laugh, for some reason. "But here I am talking of your brother," she continued after a moment, "when it is you I should be seeing to. Will you be wanting something to eat?"

Faramir nodded. "Nothing cooked, I think; it is far too hot for that. What do you have cold?"

She thought for a moment. "The crab is delicious. We could make a spread from it, if you like. Perhaps some white bread, nice cheese, a cold spread, and a glass of wine. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful," Faramir replied, giving her a tired but appreciative smile.

"My poor dear!" she exclaimed. "You look exhausted, and I should hardly wonder in this heat." She thought for a second, then nodded to herself, a playful grin spreading across her face. "I have an idea. Your meal will take some time to prepare. While I must apologise for confusing you with your brother, my lord Faramir, I am sure you will forgive me for suggesting that you follow his practice of taking a rest before the meal in one of the rooms upstairs. I can send for you when your meal is ready."

His face lit up at the thought of a cool, dark room and a bed on which to relax. "That would be wonderful. Are you sure it is all right?"

"Of course," the matron replied. "Just take those stairs," she said, motioning to a stairwell at the back of the room. "Room 4 should be free."

~*~

Faramir stretched out on the luxurious bed, the silk sheets even cooler than the rest of the room. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the flowers on the bedside table. _Why Boromir had kept this place a secret for so long . . ._ He'd have to ask his brother, when he arrived, but that could wait.

The door opened, and Faramir looked over, surprised. He saw in the dim light a girl a few years older than him, her thick black hair in a loose braid down her back. "Is my dinner ready?" he asked softly.

"No," she replied. "We have some time yet. The matron said you would enjoy some company."

Faramir sat up. "I did not ask for any, but company unlooked-for is twice-blessed, as we say in the White City."

The girl suppressed a giggle. "As you insist, my lord," she said and sat next to him on the bed.

Faramir moved over a little to give her more room. "What shall I call you?" he asked.

"I have been called many things, my lord," she answered, "and you may name me as you wish. But if you desire it, my friends here call me Isilwen."

"Isilwen," Faramir repeated. "That is a beautiful name."

Isilwen nodded. "So I have been told, by many." She looked at him, then ran her fingers through his hair. Faramir leaned back and looked at her, a queer look in his eye. "Your hair, it is -- it is wonderful. Do all the men of your city have such luxurious hair?"

"Not -- not all, but many." He reached up and took her hand, removing it from his hair and laying it on the bed.

"You are blessed," Isilwen continued. She eased toward him and traced the nape of his neck with one long finger, allowing her hand to rest just inside his tunic on his shoulder. She began to kiss the back of his neck but he forestalled her.

"Tell me, Isilwen," he demanded, attempting to keep his voice steady, "why -- why are you here?"

"The matron said my services were needed," she replied calmly. "Have you changed your mind, then?"

"I never made up my mind to begin with," he exclaimed indignantly. _I can guess only too well what she expects_, Faramir thought to himself, _but best to be sure_. He turned to face her, and her warm silken lips trailed his cheek. He laid his hand on her shoulder, holding her slightly back, then decided physical contact was not a good idea. He snatched his hand away and shuffled along the bed further away from her. "What services -- w-what, exactly, do you speak of?" he asked, irritated to hear his voice wobbling.

"The usual, of course," he said. "I am skilled in all the arts, and whatever you wish --"

Faramir's eyes narrowed. "All I _wished_ was a cool room out of the sun and a good meal," he said.

"Did you not request the room?" Isilwen asked, a confused look on her face.

"Aye," Faramir said, staring at her in disbelief, "a cool place to rest until my meal was ready. Nothing more, I assure you!"

Isilwen looked at the ceiling and breathed a slightly annoyed sigh. "You are new to the city." Then she looked at him and shook her head. "When you ask for a room in an inn such as this, my lord, you are asking for more than a bed. You are asking for a wench to share the bed with, as well." Faramir opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. "Shh," Isilwen said. "It is all right. A simple misunderstanding."

"I am so sorry --" Faramir began.

"No harm," Isilwen interrupted, chuckling to herself. "Our ways are strange to you."

"Are you mocking me?" Faramir asked her, a little cross that she seemed to find his discomfort so amusing. "How dare you --"

"No, my lord, I assure you," she replied quickly. "I apologize. I was merely thinking of the matron." Faramir nodded, and Isilwen continued. "I may go, if you wish." Then she gazed at him seductively. "Or I could stay."

Faramir thought about that for a moment, looking at the bed and the girl. _It would be nice_, he thought to himself. _Boromir seems to enjoy it, and it's so cool . . . _" He breathed in her aroma, lilies, roses, and vines, and allowed his hand to rest on her knee. He leaned over to kiss her, but then stopped himself. _No. You do not do this_. Slowly he shook his head. "I think you should go."

"As you wish," Isilwen said. She left quietly, pulling the door shut behind her, and Faramir tried to relax again. The room was cool, true, but he could not stop thinking about what all had occurred in this room, on the very bed he laid on. He got up and walked down the stairs to the dining room below.

"My lord?" the matron asked when she saw him. "Is something the matter?"

"It is indeed," Faramir replied coldly. "I did not request . . . 'company'."

The matron blanched slightly. "I am sorry for the confusion, my lord. I only assumed that your brother --"

"My brother's actions are not my own," he interrupted. "Faramir of Gondor does not pay for women, whether his brother will or not. This was a mistake." He sighed, and his eyes softened slightly. As angry as he was, he did not mean to frighten the woman. "In Minas Tirith, this would never have happened. I suggest, in the future, that you ask less coded questions and get more plain answers from visitors to your fair city." He reached into the money bag on his girdle and pulled out a few silver pieces, laying them on the table. "For your kitchen's trouble. I shall not be dining here after all."

Faramir turned his back and marched out the door. He would find his own way home.


Chapter 2 - Part 2

"Uncle?" Faramir said, knocking on the door to the parlour. "I am back."

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, only to be enveloped in a crushing bear hug. He looked up at the strong shoulders and the raven locks not unlike his own. "Boromir!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were not coming until next week."

"Now is that any way to greet your brother?" Boromir ruffled Faramir's hair, then the two of them sat down on the couch opposite Imrahil's chair. Faramir looked first at Boromir, then over to his uncle, a questioning look in his eyes.

"Father insisted," Boromir explained. "He ordered my captain to let me go a few days early. 'I will not have Faramir running around Dol Amroth by himself!'" Faramir laughed at the imitation of Denethor's gruffness. "He did not trust you, brother, and wanted me to come look after you. But it seems his fears were groundless. Uncle tells me how you leave every morning _to read a book_ and are home every night by dinner --"

"My book!" Faramir cried. "I left it --" He stopped short.

"Yes?" Imrahil asked. "What of it?"

Faramir blushed slightly. "Nowhere. It is not important."

Boromir raised his eyebrow at that. "O ho, maybe Father was not quite as wrong as I thought! I had hoped you were not really spending all day learning Elvish -- that the book was just your excuse. And I see I was correct. Come now, Faramir, what mischief have you done today?"

"Mischief?" Faramir asked, fixing his brother in his stare. "Why, I have done no such thing. No worse than you would, at least."

"That does not eliminate much."

"No, indeed!" Imrahil laughed.

Boromir gave Faramir a conspiratorial smile, then looked at his uncle. "True. Perhaps I should set a better example, but then Faramir would have no excuse, and we cannot have that, can we?" Faramir tried to force a laugh, but it was not very convincing. Noticing the uneasy look on Faramir's face Boromir decided not to push the matter. "We eat in an hour?" he asked, and Imrahil nodded. "Then I must ask your leave. That is, unless you _wish_ your sons to suffer the smells of the road all through dinner?"

"Of course not," Imrahil replied. "Out with you, then. You, too, Faramir." And the brothers left.

Once they were out in the hall, Boromir turned to Faramir, "Come now, what did you do? You can tell me."

"Nothing," Faramir replied, blushing. "I was lost, and I --"

Faramir was interrupted by a high-pitched squeal coming down the hall. The brothers turned and saw a small girl toddling towards them with seemingly impossible speed. "Bori!" she cried, and Boromir ran to her, catching her up in a hug.

"Hallo, Thiri," he said, setting her down on the ground and kneeling in front of her. "And how is the Lady of Dol Amroth?"

"Good," Lothiriel replied, curtseying awkwardly in front of her cousins and dropping what she had been holding.

"What do you have there?" Faramir asked, coming over.

Lothiriel bent over and picked up the bronze spoon she had dropped. "Pretty," she said, looking up at him nervously.

"Aye, it is," Boromir replied. "Where did you get it?"

Lothiriel thought about that, then ran behind Faramir, peeking out around his legs.

"It's all right," Boromir replied. "It is very pretty, but don't you think Cook will wonder where it is?" Lothiriel nodded, and Boromir picked her up in his arms. "Well, let's give it back to her, shall we?" The three stopped at the kitchen and returned the spoon, then left Lothiriel in her nursery. "Do they always let her run loose like that?" Boromir asked.

"No, but she's small and her legs are quick," Faramir replied. He was silent for a second. _You can tell him, Faramir; he's your brother_. At last he continued, "Boromir, we need to talk."

Boromir nodded. "But not here. This should be a talk between brothers."

~*~

Five minutes later Boromir and Faramir reached their suite of rooms. Faramir sat down on Boromir's bed while Boromir removed his tunic and began washing. "We need to talk," Faramir repeated.

"We do," Boromir agreed. "You were telling me about how you lost your book."

Faramir tugged at his tunic collar, looking a bit uncomfortable. "I left it at an inn," he said at last, "the Silver Fox. The matron said you came there often?"

Boromir nodded. "I go there on occasion. It is a nice inn, and it serves its purposes. How did you find it?"

Faramir turned his head away and mumbled, "I got lost."

Boromir left his cloth beside the washbasin, came over to the bed, and sat beside his brother. He looked intently at Faramir and asked, "So did you enjoy your dinner?"

Faramir shook his head. "I left before my meal was ready."

"Oh?" Boromir asked. "Why? The wine there is the best in the city, or so I have been told." Faramir turned to face him, and for the first time Boromir noticed a faint red streak along Faramir's cheek. He ran his finger along it, then licked it. "Faramir, did you know what happens in that house?" Boromir asked.

"Not when I went in."

"And now?"

Faramir lifted his head, his eyes ablaze. "I would have never -- _never_ -- entered such a house if I knew what went on in the back rooms. You know that."

Boromir inhaled slowly, calming himself. This was a conversation he and Faramir had had before. As he drew in the breath he caught the strangely familiar scent of lilies, vines, and rose-petals. He leaned over Faramir's shoulders, pulling the tunic to the side, and sniffed. "You did not answer my question, Faramir. Do you now know what happens in that house?" He straightened Faramir's tunic, then returned to the washbasin. "Do not try to deny it; I smell her on you." He returned with a wet cloth and started scrubbing the remains of lip colour off Faramir's cheek.

"Nothing happened," Faramir responded matter-of-factly.

"Do not lie to me," Boromir said. _Who do you think I am, brother? Why do you hold back so?_ "Tell me the truth, Faramir. I am no hypocrite. I will not think you less honourable for indulging in what I do as well."

"Nothing happened," Faramir repeated. He opened his mouth to speak again, but then shut it.

"When you say that, do you mean that nothing happened -- that you went in, decided you were not hungry, and left? Or perhaps that you did nothing wrong, no more than I would do?" Boromir placed his calloused hands on Faramir's shoulders and turned him so that they faced each other.

"Nothing happened," Faramir said at last, "but I wish it had."

Boromir leaned back against the headboard, hiding the smile playing at his lips. _Perhaps I misjudged you_. "Something happened. Tell me, Faramir, or I will go to the matron herself." Faramir's eyes widened in fright. "Do not worry, I will not laugh at you."

"I was lost," Faramir admitted, "like I said, and so I went in to ask directions. It was so cool, I decided to order a meal. The matron offered me a room in which to relax, and so I accepted." The smile Boromir had been fighting broke out, followed quickly by a soft chuckle. "What?" Faramir demanded. "In Minas Tirith I could accept a room without fear of such unwanted company."

"You are not in Minas Tirith," Boromir answered; "this is Dol Amroth. Yet from all you said, I would think her company was not altogether unwanted."

Faramir blushed. "I did not ask for it; at least I did not mean to. But she said I did . . . "

"A little wisdom from the guards, brother: '_Ask for a ground room if sleep you desire; so says the fisherman's lore. / But seek for the stairs and the rooms above, if you wish for something more._'" A moment passed, then Boromir continued. "Did she have a name?"

Faramir sighed contentedly. "Isilwen."

_The boy has good taste_, Boromir thought. "Aye, I know her. I can see why you would want to bed her."

"I never said --" Faramir began indignantly.

"Yes, you did," Boromir corrected him. Faramir started to object but decided against it. "And why not? She is very beautiful."

"Because," Faramir replied in a superior voice, "I do not do that. I would sooner find release in myself than in another man's toy."

_Toy?_ Boromir thought. "I hope you find release, then, for there are worse 'toys,' as you put it, than tavern wenches." He paused. "Do you remember Eseleth?"

Faramir thought for a moment, then nodded. "She was a housekeeper, was she not?" Faramir replied. "Did not she use to clean your room?"

_So he remembers_, Boromir thought. "Yes. And do you know what became of her?"

Faramir considered that. "I have not seen her in years. I believe she went to live with her aunt in Anórien . . . "

"Why?" Boromir pressed. When Faramir didn't answer, he continued, "Eseleth left Minas Tirith because she was three months with child. With my child." He stopped, waiting for Faramir to adjust to this news. When several seconds passed without Faramir responding Boromir repeated to himself, "My child." He brushed at his eyes, then forced himself to continue.

"Faramir, there is a boy somewhere in Anórien who will _never_ see how much his father might love him. And there is a woman who will probably never marry. Why? Because Father did not have this conversation with me." _I will not have you ruining some maid's life, depriving some boy of a father, like I did, brother_, Boromir thought to himself. _Your pride is not worth that much. And would you let Father send her away? Nay; you would marry her first_. Faramir just stared at him in shock. _Aye, Faramir. A child -- my child._

At last Faramir shook his head in disbelief; he looked slightly hurt. "Do you really think I have so little control, Boromir, that I would do that to some poor girl?"

"I do not know, Faramir," Boromir answered. "I thought that I had control. All I know is that you are seventeen, as was I." _Oh, do not look at me that way, brother_! "I made my decisions, as Isilwen made hers. Does that make us so horrible?"

"Why did you never tell me?" Faramir demanded.

Boromir sighed. "You were twelve at the time. How would you have accepted this news?"

"You should have told me later. I am no child, Boromir, and have not been one for some time."

"Yes, _that_ would have been an interesting conversation. How should I have opened the subject? _Faramir, when I was your age I slept with the maids, and now one of them cares for my son_. Or perhaps, _Faramir, you have a nephew somewhere, but you can never see him_. But you are right, I should have told you." _Do you hate me, brother? Do you think less of me? Or do you even know what to think at this point?_

Faramir was quiet for some time. At last he asked, "Why?"

"Why _what_, Faramir? Why did I never seek out the child?"

"No," Faramir replied, shaking his head. "That I understand -- your desire I understand all too well, and I can see why finding the boy would only make life more difficult for everyone." He laid his hand on Boromir's shoulder. "That was many years ago. I must reconcile myself to the idea, but I will. No, I was wondering why any woman would choose to trade her favours for coin? Did she really have any other options?"

Boromir nodded. "The Silver Fox does not accept unwilling girls. If Isilwen had not chosen this life freely, they would have helped her find work elsewhere. But if you would hear her whole story, you should ask her yourself."

"You mean I should go back?" Faramir asked incredulously. "I -- I couldn't. They would laugh at me."

"Nay," Boromir said. "'Tis more than their lives are worth, to ridicule the Prince's nephew." He looked over at Faramir. _I know that yearning look in your eyes, brother, for I have seen it often enough in the mirror. The question is, will you take her? I have said all I know._ Boromir stood up, walked to his saddlebags, and pulled out a fresh tunic. _Very well, you must make up your own mind about this._ 

Somewhere in the castle a bell rang. "We should get ready for dinner," Faramir said, and he went to his own room to change.


Chapter 3 - Epilogue

The next few days passed in relative peace. Boromir entertained Faramir with stories from the soldiers' barracks as they walked around town, harassing the shopkeepers and tradesmen. Boromir did not mention the Silver Fox again. This was an issue Faramir must decide on his own, and Boromir could say nothing more to help him.

One morning, as Boromir and Faramir were leaving for a morning of swimming down near the bay, they saw Imrahil hurrying down the corridor. "Boromir," he called, "may I speak with you?" The look on Imrahil's face showed this was less a request than a command.

"Yes, Uncle," Boromir answered, a slightly confused look on his face. "Faramir, go on, I will catch up with you." Faramir made his way out the door and Boromir followed his uncle some way down the corridor. Once they turned the corner Imrahil handed Boromir a folded piece of parchment, then leaned against the wall as Boromir read it.

"The Silver Fox," Boromir said, eyeing the insignia at the top. "Aye, but what of it? You never questioned my using your account before."

"Boromir, I love you as a son," Imrahil replied, "but even a son must show some restraint."

"I am sorry, Uncle, but I do not understand --"

"Read," Imrahil ordered, so Boromir read. _One visit two weeks ago, but that was before I arrived; that leaves the eleventh, but I still do not see the problem..._

"Really, lad, twice on the same night?"

Boromir looked back down at the bill, a smile slowly creeping across his face.

"My apologies, Uncle," he said, bowing slightly. "I will try to exercise more restraint in the future." Imrahil nodded, accepting the apology, and Boromir ran out the door to catch his brother.


Chapter 4 - Notes

Cast (in order of appearance or mention):
==> Faramir
==> Boromir
==> Elphir. Imrahil's oldest son, thirteen at the time of this story.
==> Matron. Middle-aged woman who works at the Silver Fox (OFC)
==> Imrahil. For this story I suppose that he is a widower, evidenced by the fact that 18-month-old Thiri is called the "Lady of Dol Amroth" 
==> Isilwen. Prostitute in her twenties who visits Faramir. Literally, "moon-maid" or "woman of the night" (OFC)
==> Lothiriel, also called Thiri. Cousin of Boromir and Faramir. At the time of this story she is eighteen-months old. 
==> Eseleth. A housemaid in Minas Tirith Boromir impregnated when he was Faramir's age.

~*~

Notes:

* Linen, ... - The past conjugation of "lind-," Sindarin for "to chant": I chanted, you chanted, he chanted, we chanted... 

* Thiri - Pet name for Lothiriel first used in Isabeau of Greenleaf's "Captain My Captain". 

* Anórien - region of northern Gondor.

All information regarding Denethor's family comes from the appendices of The Return of the King. All information regarding Imrahil's family comes from History of Middle-earth. Elvish translations from Ithilwen at http://www.henneth-annun.net/ . Special thanks to Liz for inspiring the idea and to Carol, Iris, Lindorien, and Liz for beta services.

Of course, characters and places belong to Tolkien, unless where they are my own invention, in which case they do not necessarily reflect Tolkien's wishes.
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