Prologue: Minas Tirith

The small, red haired girl came bounding through the gardens of Minas Tirith, hearing the sounds of the clear trumpets ringing in her eager ears. Her hair fell in front of her eyes as she ran, her wine-colored dress dirty from many adventures in the garden's trees. She dashed through the crowds of people, finding her way to the high towers of the great walled city, when turning a corner, she ran directly into a small boy, who seemed just as eager as she. Both toppled over on contact, and the boy shot her a cool glace which caused her to shy away. 'Sorry,' she said quietly, glancing away from him shyly. He softened a bit.

'Are you okay?'

She nodded slightly, and he picked himself off the ground, reaching out to help her. She smiled softly and the two surveyed each other when the trumpets rang out once more. 'The soldiers!' they both exclaimed simultaneously, and ran to the outer walls of the great city, just in time to see the great host of warriors adorned in rich cloth with the mark of a silver tree on their standards. The children watched until the last entered the great gates, then they sat with their backs to the stone barrier that kept the people from falling from the walls.

'I want to be a warrior someday,' the girl said quietly to herself, smiling at the memory of the great heroes who had passed through only seconds ago.

The boy laughed, glancing at her in a mocking manner. 'You? But you're a girl! My father would never let a girl fight in his service.' The girls eyes glazed over, and she turned away from him, and for a moment he thought about his words, and to reconcile himself, added, 'no matter how skilled they were.'

'Your father?' she breathed softly, meeting eyes with him once more. 'Are you one of lord Denethor's sons?'

The boy nodded proudly, and mock-bowed to her. 'I am Boromir, son of the Steward,' he stated.

The girl grinned. 'I am Caelan, daughter of Caemor, a servant to the steward, your father.' Both nodded politely to each other, when a small boy, no more than four years of age came to them, seeking out his brother.

'Boromir, father wants to see you,' the boy spoke in a hushed tone, and young Boromir nodded. He smiled to Caelan, and turned to leave with his small brother when Caelan called out to him.
'I hope we can see each other again, Boromir,' she spoke politely, her soft blue eyes locking with his for a moment only.

'As do I,’ he replied. ‘Goodbye!' and they parted.