#erchirion

We'll start off with the seating plan I made to keep track of who sat where! Admittedly, almost everyone moved around during the interval, but it'll give you a good idea of who's where to start off with.

It was decided that Gandalf would take the head seat as chair of the meeting to keep everyone on track, and reduce any of the Lords from seeing Aragorn as siezing power too quickly. While Boromir and Faramir take seats close to the head as Gondor's current leader(s). Rhosynel is so close to the head due to Boromir wanting to keep her close ❤️

Everyone else is mostly random, but you could perhaps read into where their loyalties lie 🤫

Please note I misspelt Falasriel as Falasser.

Gandalf

Male – Old as Balls – Wizard – Gondor (Minas Tirith) Face Claim: Ian McKellen (Gandalf!) Links: N/A Notes: Canon. Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: Steady and wise, Gandalf was requested to chair the meeting by Aragorn, in a bid to make him seem less power-hungry. As a wizard, Gandalf earns more respect (and a little bit of fear) from the Lords, and is an ideal option to keep the meeting on track and quell any arguments that threaten to get out of hand. Likewise, his advice is invaluable, and Aragorn relies on him heavily during the first few months of his reign to ensure the smooth handover from Steward to King. While Gandalf is more than willing to assist, he’s aware that eventually, Aragorn will have to come into his own, but will do his best to advise in the meantime.

Aragorn

Male – 49/88 – Ranger/King – Location/s Face Claim: Viggo Mortensen (Aragorn!) Links: Son of Gilraen and Arathorn, nephew of Avalômi, partner of Arwen, distant cousin of Hathiel Notes: Canon Fics: Hell or High Water, On Swift Wings, Hunting in the Hills Personality: Not yet having claimed the crown, Aragorn is wary of moving too fast and setting the Lords on edge with what they may perceive as a power grab, as such he will spend the first month of his time in Minas Tirith as another Lord, slowly integrating himself and earning their trust. As such, he’s quick to pour his focus and energy into the reconstruction of the city, the ousting of orcs, and the soothing of old wounds from Denethor’s reign. Thankfully, he has the backing of Boromir, Faramir, and Imrahil, which helps ease his arrival and subsequent crowning.

Faramir

Male – 35 – Ranger Captain/Steward – Gondor (Minas Tirith/Emyn Arnen) Face Claim: David Wenham (Faramir!) Links: Son of Denethor and Finduilas, brother of Boromir, partner of Éowyn Notes: Canon Fics: On Swift Wings, (+AUs) Personality: Having inherited Denethor’s perception into the mind of men, Faramir is careful in his dealing with the Lords, and comes across as a peacekeeper in his quickness to smooth over any disagreements. Well aware that many of the other Lords believe him to be untested, Faramir is content to let them believe what they wish, as he has more important things to be dealing with, namely the recovery of Minas Tirith and integration of Aragorn as King. However as a staunch supporter of the King, he has little tolerance for any gossip that may be sparked and is quick to put an end to it.

Boromir (It's him!)

Male – 40 – Captain of Gondor/Steward – Gondor (Minas Tirith) Face Claim: Sean Bean (Boromir!) Links: Son of Denethor and Finduilas, brother of Faramir, partner of Rhosynel Notes: Canon, Lives AU Fics: Hell or High Water, On Swift Wings, (+AUs), Personality: A rock in a stormy sea, Boromir is steadfast and strong-willed, quickly proving to the other lords that he’ll not be influenced or swayed by their manipulations and offers. Incredibly protective, Boromir take utterly no belittling over things he considers ‘his’ to defend, whether that’s his king, his city, his people, or even his future wife. This does, however, make him easy to provoke during meetings and courts, and while his wrath and any potential fallout is enough to deter most Lords, not all of them are so easily discouraged.

Rhosynel (It's her!)

Female – 35 – Messenger/Ex-Ranger – Gondor (Minas Tirith)/Varies Face Claim: Lily James (Mama Mia 2: Young Donna) Links: Daughter of Rhysnaur and Tholcred, younger sister of Rhymenel, partner of Boromir Notes: Fan made Fics: On Swift Wings, (+AUs), Personality: While confident in her job and in battle, Rhosynel is very much out of her depth in the realm of courtly politics and meetings, as such she’s wary of putting a foot wrong and causing a diplomatic scandal. While she struggles to hold her tongue, Rhosynel manages to rein in the worst of her attitude and restrain herself to sarcasm, or simply falls silent, preferring to watch rather than be caught in the thick of discussions. Thankfully, she has friends within the nobility, and while under Boromir’s protective wing and with Éowyn’s quiet advice, she’ll soon learn how to navigate the turbulent waters of Gondorian politics.

Éowyn

Female – 24 – Lady/Soldier – Edoras (Rohan) Face Claim: Miranda Otto (Éowyn!) Links: Daughter of Théodwyn and Éomund, sister of Éomer, partner of Faramir Notes: Canon Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: Having made a name for herself in the slaying of the Witch King, Éowyn won’t allow anyone to shut her out of the council meetings and doesn’t hesitate to make her voice heard. Having grown up within the halls of the Medusled, she’s more the familiar with the politicking and subterfuge of courts, and is able to navigate it easily, as such, she’s become a valuable and reliable ally to Éomer, and will frequently advise him when required. The other Lords quickly learn that she’s as sharp as the sword she wields, and as protective as the shield that earnt her title.

Éomer

Male – 28 – Marshal/King – Edoras (Rohan) Face Claim: Karl Urban (Éomer!) Links: Son of Théodwyn and Éomund, brother of Éowyn, (future) partner of Lothíriel Notes: Canon Fics: On Swift Wings, Respite from Revelry Personality: Having little patience for political infighting and subtle jabs, Éomer fears he’s too blunt to work alongside the Lords of Gondor. This results in him either remaining silent until he has something to say, or losing his temper when pushed and needled by other Lords who wish to teste the new Rohirric King. However with Éowyn advising him, and the support of Aragorn, Boromir, and Imrahil, he’s able to navigate the political waters a little more easily, no matter how it chafes him to be surrounded by uptight and pompous sycophants.

Legolas

Male – OLD – Prince – Gondor (Minas Tirith)/Mirkwood Face Claim: Orlando Bloom (Legolas!) Links: Son of Thranduil Notes: Canon. Fics: On Swift Wings, Gift of Mortals Personality: Empathetic with the turmoil that the kingdom of Gondor has gone through, Legolas believes that the citizens will need time to recover from the trauma of battle, and advises as such. However he’s all too aware of the fleeting lives of men, and understands that for them to truly recover, the signs of war and battle must be smoothed away first. Its this which prompts him to suggest that aid should be sent to Minas Tirith from the regions of Gondor, and even goes as far as to send word to his father and request carpenters and plant-wrights in a bid to bring life back to the once great city.

Gimli

Male – 140(?) – Lord – Gondor (Minas Tirith) Face Claim: John Rhys-Davies (Gimli!) Links: Son of Gloin Notes: Canon Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: Steadfast and loyal, Gimli has found himself invested in the lives of men and is quick to offer his expertise in assessing the city’s damage, even offering to call upon his dwarven kin to help rebuild. As such, he’s quickly integrated himself amongst the more reasonable Lords and finds himself with numerous invitations to visit the various regions of Gondor, although he’s amusingly aware that many of the Lords are seeking dwarven crafting or trade within their own settlements. He’s not going to discourage them though, as Gimli is delighted by the idea of further trade.

Prince Imrahil

Male – 25/64 – Prince – Gondor (Dol Amroth) Face Claim: Henry Cavill (Tudors) Links: Son of Adrahil and Finariel, sister of Findulias and Irviniel, husband of Mireniel, father of Elphir, Erchirion, Amrothos, and Lothíriel Notes: Canon, younger faceclaim due to being in HoHW too. Fics: Hell or High Water, On Swift Wings, Personality: Stately and regal, Imrahil is a skilled leader and the highest ranked Lord within Gondor, holding influence with is second only to the Stewards. With a keen eye, Imrahil isn’t easily fooled by acts or swayed by honeyed words, something which many of the Lords find difficult to work with, as he frequently seems to be ‘above’ the petty infighting and politicking that frequently happens. He is, however, a force to be reckoned with, a wise leader, and source of advice and assessment to any Lord that should require it.

Prince Elphir

Male – 32 – Prince – Gondor (Dol Amroth) Face Claim: Richard Madden (Medici) Links: Son of Imrahil and Mireniel, brother of Erchirion, Amrothos, and Lothíriel, husband of Suioril, father of Alphros Notes: Canon Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: The eldest son and Heir to Dol Amroth, Elphir has been raised to take his father’s place someday. While this is a considerable amount of pressure, Elphir is confident and capable, already starting to act in his father’s stead when required, and clearly has the temperament required to be a Lord. He can, however, be prompted into foolishness by his younger brothers, but even then Elphir will maintain the position of ‘responsible one’, and keeps the pair from getting into too much trouble.

Prince Erchirion

Male – 29 – Prince – Gondor (Dol Amroth) Face Claim: Adrian Enscoe (Dickinson) Links: Son of Imrahil and Mireniel, brother of Elphir, Amrothos, and Lothíriel Notes: Canon Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: As the middle son, it was expected that Echirion would take command of the Swan Knights, however his aptitude is far more aligned with that of the mercantile business, with a head for numbers, an eye for deals, and an approachable attitude which is quick to form alliances and trade. Erchirion is quickly becoming a reliable source to the other Lords outside of his own family, for facilitating trade between the regions, and as such, is now training under his aunt Irviniel in all things to do with the Swan Fleet and their trading businesses.

Prince Amrothos

Male – 25 – Prince – Gondor (Dol Amroth) Face Claim: Luke Newton (Colin Bridgerton) Links: Son of Imrahil and Mireniel, brother of Elphir, Erchirion, and Lothíriel, partner of Filrien Notes: Canon Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: It was fully expected for Amrothos to take over as lead of the merchant business, however he holds little interest in trade or deals, and as such has become a far more likely candidate for captaining the Swan Knights. He’s a skilled fighter and strategist, and despite being badly injured at Morannon, Amrothos hasn’t lost his smartass attitude, nor his inclination for mischief, although both facets have been somewhat dampened. He’s more than capable of maintaining a stricter façade during meetings, but will occasionally slip into his usual sarcastic self.

Forlong the Fat (Deceased)

Male – Deceased – Lord – Gondor (Lossarnach) Face Claim: Donald Sutherland (Pride and Prejudice) Links: Husband of Rhossolas, father of Geldrong, grandfather of Glaeron, Magron, and Ruinloth Notes: Canon, dies on Pelannor Fields Fics: On Swift Wings (Mentioned) Personality: Previous Lord of Lossarnach, Forlong was killed during the battle of Pelannor Fields, leaving his son, Gelrong to rule. He was known to be a powerful fighter even into his later years, and had implemented the Rose Knights of Lossarnach, a contingent of highly trained soldiers. Despite this military prowess, he was also known to enjoy luxuries, exhibited by his seat in Lossarnach, a beautiful if frivolous building of many turrets and towers, filled with lavish furniture and beautiful works of art. Such wealth occurred thanks to Lossarnach’s trade in fruits, crops, flowers, dyes, spices, and waxes.

Geldrong

Male – 56 – Lord – Gondor (Lossarnach) Face Claim: Rossif Sutherland (Reign) Links: Son of Forlong and Rhossolas, husband of Úlloth, father of Glaeron, Magron, and Ruinloth Notes: Fan made, becomes Lord after Forlong dies on Pelannor Fields Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: Only recently having become Lord of Lossarnach Geldrong is determined to make his mark and maintain his family’s good standing in the world of Gondorian politics. He holds fasts to traditions, believing them to be the backbone of a stable rule, and is resistant to change. The arrival of a new king threatens their hard-earned status, something that Geldrong is wary of, and while he’s willing to see how Aragorn does, he believes that too much change will put his family’s status and position within Gondor at risk.

Hirluin the Fair (Deceased)

Male – Deceased – Lord – Gondor (Pennath Gelin) Face Claim: Tony Curran (Labyrinth) Links: Husband of Falasriel, father of Hithuion, Falfuin, Alphalas, and Alphriel Notes: Canon, dies on Pelannor Fields Fics: On Swift Wings (Mentioned) Personality: Titled ‘the Fair’ for his unusual blond colouration and his propensity for treating every man within his region with understanding and respect, he supported his wife unwaveringly, and adored his three sons and daughter. Hirluin may have been a minor Lord, but he easily earnt respect from the other Lords of Gondor, often acting as a mediator and peacekeeper during more agitated meetings. It came as a great shock to all, to hear that he and his three sons were killed on the Pelannor Fields during a bid to protect an old family friend, Lord Forlong.

Falasriel

Female – 51 – Lady – Gondor (Pinnath Gelin) Face Claim: Melia Kreiling (Bianca Gonzaga) Links: Wife of Hirluin, mother of Hithuion, Falfuin, Alphalas, and Alphriel Notes: Fan made, Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: As the wife of Hirluin, Falasriel was expected to dutifully remain within Pinnath Gelin during the approaching war, so when she arrived alongside her husband and their men via ship, it came as a surprise. The death of her husband and three sons was shocking, but she remained strong and was able to rally the last of their men into defending the city and assisting the host. While Hirluin had given strict instructions that she was to command their men in his absence, this upset many Lords who are reluctant to accept a Lady as their equal, but Falasriel has no issue holding her own against them, and doesn’t hesitate to stake her claim.

Northiligand

Male – 43 – Captain – Gondor (Anduin Delta) Face Claim: Eoin Macken (Merlin) Links: Husband of Sapirîn, son of Nesrael and Ingthil, cousin of Maegang Notes: Canon Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: As a very minor Lord over the region consisting of the Anduin Delta, Northiligand prefers the title of Captain, and reports directly to his cousin the Lord of Pelargir, Maegang. However they do not get along. Due to his region being so small and populated almost entirely by fishermen, Northiligang was unable to bring significant numbers with him to Minas Tirith, however his connection to Harondor through his wife Sapirîn, enabled him to enlist a small number of Harondian’s to travel north and protect the city. He arrived too late to join the Host to Morannon, but was quick to have his men assisting in the defence of the city and the routing of lingering orcs.

Golasgil

Male – 62 – Lord – Gondor (Anfalas) Face Claim: Graham McTavish (House of the Dragon) Links: Husband of Rosgeth Notes: Canon Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: From the small coastal region of Anfalas, Golasgil is one of the older Lords and was close friends with Hirluin due to their neighbouring lands. He managed to bring a small contingent of soldiers, along with numerous men from his lands, and while he sent the soldiers to Morannon with the Host, the hunters, herdsmen, and villagers, remained behind to defend Minas Tirith. He has a great love for his coastal lands, and is somewhat mistrustful of the high Lords, believing them to be power hungry and uninterested in his own region, unfortunately this perception hasn’t earnt him many alliances.

Lathron

Male – 40s – Lord – Gondor (Linhir) Face Claim: Mark Ryder (Borgia) Links: Son of Nendhir and Dailieth, cousin to Boromir and Faramir Notes: Fan made. Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: Lord Nendhir of Linhir married Lady Dailieth, sister of Denethor, making Lathron cousins to Boromir and Faramir, this lineage combined with the influential position of being Lindhir’s Lord, gives Lathron a significant position of power within the hierarchy of Gondorian politics. He is, however, rather new to the role, as his father died almost a year before. As such, Lathron is seeking to stake his own claim, build new alliances, and reinforce old ones, all of which would be far easier to do if the King had not returned. (He was next in line to become Steward, should Boromir and Faramir die.)

Húrin the Tall

Male – 69 – Warden of the Keys – Gondor (Minas Tirith) Face Claim: david suchet (hollow crown) Links: Husband of Gellin Notes: Canon, TALL Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: As Warden of the Keys, Húrin is a figure of significant importance within Minas Tirith, as he’s entrusted with guarding the city during the Stewards absence or incapacitation. As such, during the Host’s march on Morannon, and Faramir’s recovery within the Houses of Healing, Húrin was in charge of maintaining the cities defences. With a level head on his shoulders and little interest in playing the game of politics, Húrin was able to organise the Lords and their men and provided Minas Tirith with its best chance of survival, until the return of the King.

Angbor the Fearless

Male – 45 – Lord – Gondor (Lamedon) Face Claim: Matthew McNulty (BBC Musketeers: Lucian) Links: Older brother of Anborn Notes: Canon, I am normal about him Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: Surly and gruff, Angbor has little interest in politics and only turns up to meetings because he has to. Lamedon is a heavily forested area of Gondor just south of the White Mountains, while it’s a large region, is sparsely populated due to frequent incursions of orcs from the mountain, as such, Angbor commands a good number of men, albeit spread out across a wide area. Despite his rough exterior and personality, he has a good heart, and frequently sends out his men to assist in protecting the other regions of Gondor, and often supplies Captain Faramir with new recruits for the Rangers.

Duinhir the Tall

Male – Late 40s – Lord – Gondor (Morthond) Face Claim: Leo Suter (Vikings Valhalla) Links: Husband of Thilioril, father of Duilin and Derudin, brother of Drauhir Notes: Canon, TALL Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: Having brought 500 skilled bowmen to the battle of Pelannor Fields, Duinhir is a skilled taction and didn’t hesitate to ride out in the defence of the city alongside his sons Duilin and Derudin. However it was during this ride, that both sons were killed, trampled to death by Mûmakil, distraught at the loss, he recklessly threw himself into battle alongside his men, either in a bid to avenge or join his sons in death. Despite his best efforts, Duinhir survived, although he sustained injuries which prevented his joining of the Host to Morannon, while grieving, he is still has a sharp mind and utterly no tolerance for political bullshit.

Drauhir

Male – Late 40s – Lord of Ringló Vale – Gondor (Ringló Vale) Face Claim: Timothy Omundson (Galavant) Links: Husband of Ninneth, father of Dervorin and Lhinniel, brother of Duinhir Notes: Fan made, I love this man Fics: On Swift Wings, Respite from Revelry Personality: Coming across as incredibly jovial and light-hearted, many mistake Drauhir for being childish and impulsive. Truthfully, this is a façade he maintains around the other Lords, and while he is upbeat and cheerful, he’s more than able to hold his own during discussions and arguments, using their perceptions of him against them. Drauhir may be from a small region in Ringló Vale, but the extensive timber logging his people perform, supplies the coastal settlements with all lumber needed for shipwrights, and as such, keeps Gondor’s coasts safe against the corsairs.

Dervorin

Male – 25 – Captain – Gondor (Ringló Vale) Face Claim: Hayden Christensen (Outcast) Links: Son of Drauhir and Ninneth, brother of Lhinniel Notes: Canon Fics: On Swift Wings, Personality: While young and eager to prove himself, Dervorin is anything but impulsive and reckless, with a level head and steady hand, he is entrusted with the command of his father’s forces. Having joined the march to Morannon, Dervorin managed to make a name for himself, as while under his command their 300 men took minimal losses and returned to Minas Tirith with over 200 men still living. Its this tactical mindset which earned him a seat at the council chamber alongside his father and uncle, but whether his even temperament can hold up in the battle of politics, remains to be seen.

Maegang

Male – 55 – Lord – Gondor (Pelargir) Face Claim: Pyry Kähkönen (Vikings Valhalla) Links: Son of Pethrion and Maedeth Notes: Fan made, he's a DICK Fics: Hell or High Water? On Swift Wings, Personality: As the son of Pelargir’s Lord, Maegang was raised expecting to take over the command of their sizable fleet of warships. However during the year 2980, an attempt to defeat the corsairs required the return of all their warships, this was noticed by the corsairs, and the city attacked in the dead of night. Nearly all 80+ ships were destroyed, and Maegang’s future rule drastically shifted. Now instead of becoming the Lord of Gondor’s naval force, Maegang is instead the Lord of a trading town, and with significantly reduced influence in politics. Something he is still intensely bitter of forty years later.

Thats it, that's everyone of significance in this meeting!

They had arrived less than two days ago, and it was already a disaster.

It was the first time since their Edoras wedding that Éomer and Lothíriel travelled to Dol Amroth. Since settling in Rohan and being crowned queen of this foreign realm, she had, at times, found herself much too overwhelmed by nostalgia and the longing for familiarity to carry out some of her royal obligations. At night, when all candles were snuffed and the wind raked against the façade of glorious Meduseld, she would weep until slumber and exhaustion crept in and claimed her. She missed long strolls on the shore — either on her own or with her brothers — and watching the dolphins leap among the waves in the distance, guarding ships as they depart. Her tongue longed for the hearty dishes adorned with varieties of herbs from her region, for the rich yet fresh flavours preciously preserved in her father’s wine cellar. When loneliness struck, when her nerves gained the upper hand and when doubts invaded her, she would seek any remnant of her mother’s perfume into the folds of a shawl passed down to her, but it became harder to find by the day.

So, Éomer had written to Prince Imrahil in secret, politely requesting permission to bring her back to her homeland to soothe her heart. A week, maybe two, enough for her to reconnect with the palace and the people that had seen her grow and return to Rohan with a lighter spirit. He could not begin to imagine how brutal this change had been for her, to dwell in the seafoam and be brought to the rocky mountainside. Everything in her new home was different. Her days beat to a rhythm of unknown customs, bathed in a language she did not speak. Her free hours were spent in study, replicating the Rohirric script over and over until she could write it autonomously or and decipher its letters. Her husband had employed a tutor to oversee her education in the speech of the Rohirrim, aiding her in perfecting her pronunciation and accent, although no one would reprimand her for retaining some of her Dol Amroth lilt. Éomer cherished it.

But try as he may, there was too little space allocated to her own culture, dialect or customs. No wonder she felt so homesick. As such, he decided that this visit to the coastal city would be an opportunity for him to learn about where she hailed from in return. That was the least he could do. Afterwards, he promised himself, he would make efforts to bring some of her traditions to Meduseld, or, if the court vehemently objected, to their domestic life. He would arrange for certain foods to be available or prepared on symbolic days which she could not celebrate with her kin. He would commission tapestries from the best artisans in her region to decorate their chambers and the study he had built for her and her precious scrolls. He would ensure that their children would speak both languages and that they would know the ancient songs of both Edoras and Dol Amroth, for they belonged to both lands at once.

But first, he had to survive a stay in Dol Amroth. And the prospects were not brilliant.

Upon their arrival, Éomer breached local etiquette by embracing Imrahil in front of his court. He did not understand why so many courtiers glared at him as he passed them by, or why whispers spread throughout the assembly. Without thinking, he had clapped his friend and ally’s back in a warm gesture, typical of his people. He did not learn until later that night from his wife that the court had perceived it as a vulgar affront towards the prince. As he groaned and buried his face into his hands, Lothíriel assured him that neither she nor her father saw it as an insult. Imrahil knew Éomer well enough to recognise that the gesture bore no ill intent.

The next morning, they had all shared a sumptuous family breakfast. Cheeses, steaming bread, seasoned fish, eggs, and savoury pastries had adorned the table, coaxing any onlooker into drooling. Imrahil had selected two fitting wines from his cellar, in hopes that his guest would discover the tastes of the region. While Éomer traditionally sated himself with meat in the morning, but he was willing to exchange it for the fish and complement the flavour with a crisp white wine of his father-in-law’s choosing. Finding the combination strange yet delicious nonetheless, the Rohir had not hesitated to help himself to more wine as they exchanged about itineraries between their cities. Amrothos had gently pressed a finger to the pitcher’s beak, tilting it up and interrupting the flow and Éomer’s talking. With a smile, Lothíriel’s brother had turned to one of the servants standing by.

‘An ngell nîn,’ he had said, prompting one man to step forward and fill Éomer’s cup before his confused eyes. Amrothos had then explained to the king that no courtier nor royal would help themselves to a drink, for it had to be poured for them. ‘Most of the household speaks Sindarin, so you must address them in it. Do you have any knowledge of it?’

‘I am afraid not.’

‘An ngell nîn. It simply means ‘please.’ You can go a long way with it.’

‘A gall nin.’

‘Almost.’

Later that day, Éomer, Lothíriel and her mother had indulged in a walk along the cliffs outside the city walls. Below them, the waves lapped at the mossy rocks, their foam splashing high onto the grass above. Some fish could be seen pecking at the algae in search of sustenance, fended off by orange and red crabs snapping at them to defend their territory. After spending a few minutes watching them, the family had set out for the lighthouse, crossing the white stone bridge binding the mainland to this lonesome patch of boulders upon which stood the tower, reflecting the city’s architectural style. Its guardian had escorted them to the top floor, from which they had beheld a stunning view of the sea and the horizon. Éomer had never seen anything similar. While he loved his mountains, hills and plains, there was something rather peaceful about the water, undisturbed by man-made structures. The salted air had filled his lungs, making him cough a few times, but he had grown accustomed to it much faster than anticipated. Lothíriel’s mother had taught him what lay beyond the waters around Dol Amroth. Far southward — thus to their left —, the Haradwaith lay on the other side of the Bay of Belfalas, a broad stretch of land that none of them had ventured into, awfully foreign despite the shared border with Gondor. She had showed him the direction of Edhellond, pointing out the towers the mist could not completely conceal. He had vaguely remembered the harbour’s connection with the Elves and Lothíriel had filled in the gaps with her history knowledge.

When they had descended, they had headed for the harbour so the Rohir could see the ships stationed there. They had discussed the tides with fishermen preparing to leave, watching their careful process and studying the material they would carry out to sea. Éomer saw nearly every type of vessel, from humble barques bobbing on the water to majestic three-masted ships whose sails were not yet unfolded. Further along, they had found a quiet beach of thin, white sand. He had taken off his boots to feel it under his toes, grinning as they sank into the grains. He had then attempted to bathe them into the seawater, but its coldness had chilled his bones instantly, causing him to hop out of reach with a gasp. The two women had giggled behind their sleeves, knowing better than to step further in such a weather. While retrieving his boots, Éomer had caught a glimpse of several seashells scattered onto the ground. He had picked up an empty scallop shell, holding it up to show Lothíriel.

‘This one is intact, we should place it somewhere in our chambers, a piece of your home.’

The Princess of Dol Amroth had instantly stepped forward, gently holding his wrist and lowering it towards the ground. She had patiently explained that these specific shells should never be picked up, for they had been placed there by wives and mothers in hopes that the bay’s treacherous tides would allow their husbands and sons to return from their expeditions. Stuttering apologies, he had placed the shell where he had found it, aligning it with the dent it had left in the sand.

The next afternoon, the Rohir had explored the city while his wife rode out with her father for a quiet moment together. As he had passed a tavern, he had come across Elphir and Erchirion drinking cider while playing cards. They had beckoned him inside, inviting him to join, and the three of them had played for some time, sharing jokes and talking about their families. Elphir had gleefully recounted his son’s first steps, praising him for walking earlier than most children, although he could not yet speak. He had told of the education that he and his wife wished to instil in him, of how they wished to travel across Middle-earth for his enrichment, and of how they might send him into fosterage in Minas Tirith or Emyn Arnen for his political and diplomatic education. Éomer had assured him that there would always be space for them at Meduseld should they visit, insisting that Lothíriel would be delighted to welcome them there. As for Erchirion, he had bashfully admitted to being in the midst of courting a lady from Calembel, and he hoped that both Imrahil and her father would grant him permission to propose to her. Elphir had tousled his hair, teasing his brother for being infatuated, but wished him much joy in their relationship.

When came the time to pay, Éomer had enjoyed the afternoon so much that he had decided to invite both of his new brothers. He had placed precisely enough coin into the innkeeper’s palm, thanking him for his good service. Elphir and Erchirion had not been enthusiastic. The former had enlightened the Rohir about local customs, telling him of the unspoken rule that foreigners should never pay for locals, since they should be the ones introducing newcomers to their cuisine. Erchirion had then indicated that it was conventional to thank innkeepers or any service provider with a few extra coins. Éomer had stammered in response, trying to explain that he merely wished to treat them well after their warm welcome, and that, in Rohan, the prices already reflected the quality of service, thus rendering tips unnecessary and sometimes rude. The two had patted him on the shoulders, assuring him that no harm had been done, and Erchirion met with the innkeeper again to slip some money across the counter.

And then came dinner. This time, instead of a dinner limited to the royal family, a banquet with the courtiers had been organised. Minstrels had come to entertain the guests, singing and playing their instruments, whose sounds were soon drowned by the hubbub of chatter and laughter. Éomer and Lothíriel had arrived dressed in silks and brocades, their hair braided in the intricate patterns of Belfalas and scented with mint and irises. They had paid their respects to the Prince, before mingling with the other nobles present. All had seemed to improve for Éomer, who made conscious efforts not to offend anybody this time.

But when the food was served, the tides had changed. Imrahil had given a speech about his elation for his daughter’s return, even though for too short a time, and had welcomed aloud all that he had not been able to converse with yet. Then, opening the festivities, he had called for all to enjoy the feast. Various dishes had been placed on the tables, from fish stews to generous portions of turkey, infused with thyme and herbs that Éomer did not quite recognise. Since he had missed the poultry dishes of Rohan, he had asked one of the maidens to serve him two turkey legs and vegetables, which he combined with a medium-bodied red wine. While his wife busied herself talking to another woman, Éomer dedicated himself to his meal. Perhaps if he did not talk, then he would limit the damage that his ignorant tongue could cause. With his bare hands, he lifted the leg and bit through the crispy skin, humming with delight as the flavours exploded on his tongue and coated his mouth with a fresh sensation.

Then the hall turned silent.

He did not notice it at first, so plunged into his own thoughts was he. Instead, he gladly devoured the meat from the thing bones. When he reached for his cup, he felt that all the eyes were set on him. With his mouth still full, he observed the people with a quizzical expression, slowly furrowing his brow. Imrahil had allowed them to eat, had he not?

As he licked his fingers clean, putting the turkey down, he then understood what the cause of their offense had been. All who had indulged in the same dish as he held their cutlery, cutting small pieces before eating. Not that the concept of cutlery was foreign to him — Rohan used them too. Only poultry, due to the bone structure and the manner in which the meat was cut, was much too difficult to eat with a fork and knife. It was common for the Rohirrim to use their hands to facilitate eating, and it was often a way to show how delicious the dish was. If one was willing to soil their hands with the grease, oils and herbs, then it would not be for something they deemed inedible.

But Dol Amroth had much different customs, it seemed.

He felt a knot tying in his stomach. He had made far more mistakes than he would have allowed himself to make, offending both his family and the people. Lothíriel had never done so in Edoras. Everybody enjoyed her company and the grace with which she had accustomed herself to their manners. Obviously he was not as careful or attentive as she was. Red hues coloured his well-groomed cheeks, and he contemplated running for the door to hide somewhere until they would depart for Meduseld.

Whispers rose anew.

‘How vulgar,’ one said.

‘Savage manners,’ another hissed.

He caught yet another remark demeaning his people as an ‘uneducated breed’, and it was too much for him. As he reached for his napkin to wipe his fingers, deciding to leave indeed, he heard the loud clatter of cutlery on a plate coming from his right. When he turned his gaze, he beheld both Lothíriel and Imrahil ditching their silverware and lifting their own turkey legs to their mouths. Their teeth cut through the white meat, ripping it off and chewing it without a care in the world. As shock passed through the assembly of courtiers, Amrothos imitated them, picking carrots up in the same fashion. Since none dared to express their indignation, Elphir and Erchirion joined in, coming to Éomer’s rescue.

‘It is much more practical this way,’ Imrahil declared, raising his eyebrows in surprise. ‘There is much we can learn from the Rohirrim.’

Out of respect, most courtiers lowered their forks and feasted with their bare hands for the first time since infancy.

Éomer watched in disbelief, struggling to conceal the few tears brimming his eyes.

The blue sky was clear of clouds, and the Sun’s light glimmered in the waters of the Anduin like jewels. There was a breeze that cooled the tightly-packed crowd that had gathered at the port of Harlond. It was a perfect day for a military ceremony.

The newest recruits of the King’s Ships were receiving their emblems from King Elessar and a blessing from Queen Arwen. They underwent their training a month prior, and the names of those who completed the training and were welcomed into the ranks were released two weeks later. The first few rows consisted of the recipients of the honors, while the ranks at their back were the rest of the fleet. Behind the formation of sailors were several of the newest ships in the Gondorian Navy. Their silver sails shimmered like stardust in the wind, and their hulls gleamed like pearls.

Boromir stood at the front of the assembled guests, in an area reserved for the Stewards and other high-ranking Gondorian officials and their families. This was his first time in attendance, for he’d never had responsibilities with regard to the Gondorian Navy. But today was an important day, and one that he refused to miss.

He leaned part of his weight on the cane he clutched in his right hand, while his wife, Anael, held his other arm. To Anael’s left was their youngest daughter, Aerdis, her husband, Galvorn, and their son, Vorondil. To Boromir’s right was their oldest, Finduilas, and her husband and daughter, Elenna. He felt Finduilas thrumming with impatience, a trait she had inherited from him. But before he could say anything to her, her husband whispered something in her ear, and it calmed her in an instant. Boromir smiled, then turned his gaze to the front when the king began to speak.

“Today, I am honored to personally welcome all of you into the King’s Ships, a fairly young institution in these times, but one with a legacy that dates back to the days when the Kingdom of Númenor still stood far in the West. Our ancestors, the Men of Westernesse, were a people known for their naval prowess. Elendil, my ancestor, whose standard adorns the sails of our fleet, and the Faithful escaped the floodwaters that consumed Númenor on their ships, settling in our sister region of Arnor and here in Gondor, building the greatest among the kingdoms of Men. Though the prevalence of seafaring waned in favor of land-based defense, command of the sea endured, in Belfalas, Anfalas, and the southernmost regions of Gondor, and the legacy that has been built today will live on through each one of you.”

Elessar turned to his right and nodded once at Erchirion, the son of the late Prince Imrahil and the highest-ranking officer in the King’s Ships, named the Captain of Ships. Erchirion stepped forward, followed by another officer who was carrying a flat but wide wooden chest. Elessar opened the chest and lifted one of the silver emblems that would be pinned to each recipient’s uniform, symbolizing their acceptance into the King’s Ships.

Finduilas started to fidget again. Boromir gently nudged her with his arm, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I suppose I have been looking forward to this for what felt like ages.”

“Imagine how Cirion must feel,” he said. He felt her nod against his arm.

Erchirion drew out a roll of parchment and began to read the names aloud. Elessar pinned the medals—bearing the likeness of a ship with the White Tree and the seven stars and Crown of Elendil upon its sails—to the recruits’ shirts as they came forward. They then knelt before Queen Arwen, who sprinkled water from a silver basin that she and the king had blessed over their bowed heads.

“Tiro le Uiar,” she said softly.

“I Aear cân ven na mar,” the recipients of her blessing answered.

After receiving the King and Queen’s blessings, the recruits returned to their places in the formation and stood at Attention. Erchirion had a neutral expression until he paused at the next name, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

“Cirion son of Bergil.”

Finduilas released her pent-up excitement in a loud cheer, drawing a few gazes from the applauding attendees, though most people who knew or knew of her were used to it. Cirion stepped out of formation and approached the dais. Erchirion’s smile widened as he passed him.

“Congratulations,” Elessar said as he pinned the medal on Cirion’s shirt. “I know you will make your family proud, and the King’s Ships are lucky to have you among their ranks.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Cirion bowed and then moved to the left to kneel before Queen Arwen. He closed his eyes as rivulets of water dripped from his hair and rolled down his cheeks.

“Tiro le Uiar.”

“I Aear cân ven na mar.”

He stepped off the dais and shook his hair out a bit when water was close to getting in his eyes. As he returned to his place, he looked over at his family and gave them a smile before facing forward again, eliciting another enthusiastic cheer and a wave from his mother.

When the last recipient left the dais, the empty chest and water basin were taken away. Queen Arwen stood with her hands clasped in front of her and her head held high, looking every bit a queen among Elves and Men. Elessar took a step forward, placing himself slightly in front of his queen and his commanding officer, before telling the sailors and their guests that a feast had been prepared for them in the Citadel. He then offered his hand to Arwen and nodded to Erchirion to take over as they departed to receive their guests. Erchirion rolled up the list of names and held behind his back.

“Lasta ana canya.” The sailors all moved as one unit to Attention. “Lelya sero. Mado a sogo uin mereth.”

Erchirion hadn’t even finished speaking when Finduilas made a beeline for Cirion, forcing several of his comrades create a path for her to avoid being run over. Bergil trailed behind holding onto his daughter’s hand. Following them were Aerdis, Galvorn, and their son, with Boromir and Anael taking up the rear. Cirion opened his arms for his mother and closed one eye as she kissed his cheek.

“My hair is still wet.”

“There are worse things than wet hair,” Finduilas said dismissively. She leaned back and cupped his face in her hands. “I am so proud of you!”

“Thank you, Mother.” He turned to Bergil and embraced him.

“You are going to do great. I am so, so proud.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Can I see your pin?” his sister asked. Cirion got down on one knee so that she could get a closer look.

“I want to see, too!” said his cousin.

“Alright, you can have a look.”

“It’s so pretty,” Elenna said. She turned and looked up at her parents. “I want to have one, too!”

“So do I!” Aerdis only smiled patiently at her son, while her husband chuckled and pulled him into a hug.

“Arnor has no fleet, and the only ships near us are the ones bringing the Elves into the West. Maybe we can have Armegil make you a similar pin when we return to Annúminas.” Galvorn held a hand out to Cirion as he stood up and brushed some dirt from his knee. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Uncle. Auntie.” Aerdis beamed and kissed his cheek. “And thank you for coming all the way here. I know it is a long journey from Arnor.”

“Distance matters little when it comes to family,” said Aerdis. “We were happy to be here for this special occasion.”

“And it gives you a chance to see your cousin,” Galvorn added, lightly ruffling his son’s hair, which drew a laugh from the boy.

Movement over his mother’s shoulder drew Cirion’s gaze. His grandparents approached slowly. Boromir’s knuckles were red and white as he leaned much of his weight on his cane. Anael looked more like a daughter or young relative than his wife, thanks to her Elvish blood. They were similar to King Elessar and his ageless queen, though the signs of old age were not as prevalent in the king’s features. Anael released Boromir’s arm and embraced Cirion.

“Harthon gerithach aeair vilui.”

“Le hannon.” After drawing away from her, Cirion turned to Boromir with a sheepish grin. “I hope you are not too upset that I didn’t join the army.”

“Of course, not. Your parents did well in naming you.” Boromir laid his hand on Cirion’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze before patting his cheek. “And how could I possibly disapprove of anyone who serves their country?”

“He is more upset with me because I stole a potential recruit from him.” Erchirion stood nearby with his arms crossed and a slight smirk on his face. Boromir scoffed.

“Keep telling yourself that, cousin.” Erchirion merely shrugged before taking a few steps closer.

“I have a gift for you, Cirion.”

“For me?” Erchirion reached into the pocket of his trousers and drew out a circular object made of brass.

“This compass has guided me through many storms. May it serve you well and lead you home.”

“Thank you. I mean—thank you, sir.” Erchirion chuckled and patted Cirion’s arm.

“There is no need for such formality. Right now, we are family and nothing else.”

“Even though Cirion has a compass now, you’re still going to look after him, aren’t you, Chiri?” Finduilas asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Of course. Your son is in good hands.”

“Good.” She gave him a sly smile, as though telling him to prepare for her wrath should he not keep his word.”

“Shall we head up, then? If we do not hurry, the food will be gone before we even arrive. And sailors are known to eat a lot whenever they are on land.”

As they slowly made their way over to where they had left their horses, Vorondil sidled up next to Cirion, who had been staring at the compass. Cirion’s gaze flickered over to his cousin.

“Yes?”

“Can I see what your compass looks like inside?”

Cirion flicked it open. On the inside of the cover was a carved swan with its wings spread and its beak pointed up at a single star. The arrow wavered as he walked, but he frowned when he noticed something odd—it wasn’t pointing North.

“Cousin Erchirion—” He glanced up and saw that Erchirion was already far ahead of them and out of hearing range.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think something is wrong with this. It seems to be pointing in the wrong direction. Wait…”

After shaking the compass and tapping on it, with no change, he came to a stop and held it out. He turned and allowed his gaze to follow the path it was pointing. Though it was hidden from view by the Rammas Echor, Cirion knew now what the compass was pointing to.

Osgiliath. Home.

Thank you for reading!

A/N: Sorry not sorry, but I prefer "The Sea calls us home" over "The Sea is always right" (just like I prefer "My friends, you bow to no one" over "Praise them with great praise" *ahem*) 🤷‍♀️

In my main AU, Osgiliath is rebuilt and Boromir is made the Prince of Osgiliath and Lord of Anórien. Cirion and his sister were born there.

Cirion is named after the Steward who gifted Calenardhon to Eorl the Young.

Cirion's sister Elenna is named after @annabthesolitarywriter's OC Elenna "Enna" from her story The Lady of Ithilien, who is the adopted daughter of Faramir and Éowyn. Finduilas "Fin" and Enna were really close growing up, and Fin named her daughter after her cousin.

Vorondil is the son of Boromir's youngest daughter and Galvorn, the Steward of Arnor and a kinsman of Aragorn (descended from Arathorn I). He is named after Vorondil the Hunter, who made the Horn of Gondor.

Both Elenna and Vorondil will appear in their own prompts. You can find more information and fan casts in my character profiles (pinned post).

NEXT >

He comes off as gentle and romantic and a bit dreamy but when it comes to battle he flips a switch and becomes a killing machine (there is such a strong visual in my head of him in armour, his face absolutely slathered in blood (he bit someone)). (can you tell I am on the Imrahil’s family is a bit feral agenda?)

He’s the one who actually most looks like Finduilas.

He enjoys sailing immensely and would often take his siblings out on a small boat. This was at the start incredibly loud, involving lots of yelling at Erchirion to ‘stop playing with that’ and ‘Amrothos, why are you trying to tip your sister overboard?’ and ‘Lothíriel no, you cannot be in charge’ but by the time Lothíriel’s about eight they’ve got it down to a science.

His marriage, to one of Angbor’s nieces, was basically a political move to assure other noble houses/Gondor in general that the Prince of Dol Amroth believed that there was a future for his house/Gondor at large, although he was pretty optimistic about it given that his parents picked her because they got on really well. Then the niece in question proceeded to die, but by that point the marriage negotiations had gone too far for Imrahil to gracefully say no to Elphir marrying her younger, more ‘difficult’ sister.

He and his wife started the whole thing off with a series of massive fights but after a few months (and counselling sessions with his parents and aunt and an unhelpful letter from Angbor telling them to get it together), they calmed down and got on splendidly. So splendidly that he proceeded to become a father right at the point that everyone was becoming pretty sure that Gondor was doomed. I’ll just say that Alphros’ birth was met with a mixture of joy and apprehension.

After the war, he has a daughter (whom he names Finduilas, as is hinted at in White Blossom) and then twins, a girl and a boy.

Erchirion (T.A. 2990-Fo.A. 74):

The loud one. They’re all chatty given the opportunity and when they’re in a group they’re like a flock of seagulls but he is the loud one.

He’s also the one who looks best in his knightly armour.

The definition of: ‘He’s hot.’ ‘His boyfriend thinks so too.’ Isn’t as angsty about it as you might expect, given that Dol Amroth’s attitude to that sort of thing is a bit more relaxed than in some parts of Gondor (i.e. Minas Tirith & the south), but he keeps it fairly quiet, particularly given that a fair bit of the time he’s fighting alongside men from other parts of Gondor.

The best at fishing. He and Lothíriel spent a load of their time together when she was little hunting around rock pools for crabs and cool shells and stones.

Got into trouble a load as a child for stealing, pranks and generally causing trouble. Annoyed Denethor beyond belief (Ivriniel encouraged this).

He and Amrothos once got into trouble as teenagers for whaling on a man who insulted their beloved Aunt Ivriniel’s sexual habits. Their parents gave them the most tame telling-off any of them had ever experienced.

A talented musician and has a good voice, which is handy when you need some entertainment/a morale boost. Thanks to Derufin he knows a load of mildly treasonous ditties and thanks to Forlong he knows a load of NSFW songs and thanks to Angbor he knows a very rousing Lamedon chant about hacking apart Haradrim with a sickle, so he is truly a master of many genres. (I just know that there is some song in Gondor that starts with ‘the girls from Lossarnach’ and that you cannot so much as hum near your grandmother without getting your ears boxed)

Loved and very much looked up to his cousin Boromir, partly because Boromir once saved him when he almost got killed in a battle. Probably took his death the hardest of all his cousins.

The one of Imrahil’s sons who came closest to dying in the War of the Ring. In the defence of Minas Tirith, he lost an eye and got a massive scar on his face to boot.

Amrothos (T.A. 2994-Fo.A. 70):

He and Lothíriel used to have a bit of a difficult relationship since he rather enjoyed being the baby of the family and she not only tanked that but proceeded to get a lot of attention due to the fact that she was a girl (her mum had always wanted one and Imrahil also was very keen given the fact that he grew up with two sisters he adored) but by the time she got to be about 11/12 they’d mostly worked those feelings out and they grew very close.

He’s the quietest of the kids. But despite this fact he has a close network of friends (all nerds like him, as Erchirion would tell you). There was a scandal once over how close he was with a daughter of an important knight in Dol Amroth, but it was 100% platonic.

Beautiful, gorgeous hair. Also the tallest of the kids, beating Imrahil by a few centimetres.

The one who took to warfare the least. Lothíriel noticed this and whenever he came back home from a battle or being on campaign she’d sneak over to his room that evening and they’d hang out together.

Taught Lothíriel some basic hand-to-hand combat as it became more and more clear that things were going south. They had as much fun as they could, given the circumstances and, given Lothíriel’s love for teasing him, this was a fair amount.

The favourite of the castle cats. If you cannot find him at a function, he has probably wandered off and is currently sitting beneath 1-3 feline friends.

Likes jewellery and has a host of piercings in his left ear.

Gets on best with his Aunt Ivriniel due to their shared interest in poetry. He’s too asexual to really vibe with all her lectures on niche erotic poetry from 20th century Harad but she’s nothing if not willing to expand her horizons, so they bond over that. Finduilas used to read to Ivriniel sometimes while she worked in her garden and now Amrothos does that. He doesn’t say anything when Aunt Ivriniel randomly starts silently crying while weeding when he reads a specific book.

Learned the basics of a Haradrim language from Ivriniel and then proceeded to get better at it by interrogating prisoners taken from battles with the Corsairs of Umbar. Is his accent great? No. Does he understand any of the slang? Not a chance. Can he conjugate his verbs perfectly? You bet.