MIZPAH. ᶠᵃʳᵃᵐⁱʳ [REWRITTEN]

i. let's crash elrond's super secret council

𝐢.

YEARS AGO

Her eyes carefully take in the Citadel of Minas Tirith as she trails behind her brother and sister. As they near the white tree in the center of the courtyard--the proud symbol of Gondor--Y/N's gaze slides past to the guards stationed beyond the archway. Their backs are straight and unfaltering, eyes trained straight ahead. They know their duty. But despite the clear skies and the bright city behind them, unease still prickles at her skin.

King Théoden strides ahead of her and her siblings, his son Théodred at his heels. He does not spare a glance at the guards, and they straighten as the King of Rohan sweeps past them. It must be an odd sight, Y/N concludes, to see the Lord of the Mark step straight into the heart of Minas Tirith with four children following him. Grimacing, she feels the urge to scowl at the thought of being perceived as children--she considers thirteen a mature age indeed. And Théodred, the eldest of the four, is practically fifteen. He and Éomer--her brother--are the same age, while her sister Éowyn is only a year younger. Hardly children.

"Stop frowning so much," Éowyn chides quietly, frowning at her, and Y/N decides not to point out the irony. Instead, she just makes a face at the older girl and refocuses her attention on the looming White Tower of Ecthelion.

Théoden does not pause at the doors, Théodred marching inside behind him. Éomer exchanges a wary glance with Éowyn, and the latter pulls Y/N along. The doors scrape close behind the siblings, and her restlessness only increases as they enter.

She doesn't know exactly why they're here, only putting together snippets of hushed conversation between Éomer and Théodred about establishing relationships and connections with the neighboring kingdom.

"Théodred will need to learn how to lead our people after Uncle is gone," Éowyn had reasoned one afternoon to Y/N after listening in on a private meeting during lunch. "For this, it makes sense to go to Minas Tirith."

Y/N feels her mouth start to set into a scowl again at the unfairness of being left to guess the reason for their visit--but remembers Éowyn's scolding from earlier. Resisting the urge to sigh, she forces a neutral expression on her features before they enter the Tower Hall.

As they walk into the room, the sweeping arches and white stone draw her attention at once. A magnificent marble throne sits at the end of the room, with a man dressed in dark robes seated on a lower step. The Steward of Gondor, she recognizes, waiting for the lost King.

As the five of them approach, the man lifts his bowed head. A grim half-smile spreads across his face. "Ah, Théoden. Welcome to Gondor."

She sees, in her peripheral vision, her cousin stiffen slightly at the lack of title towards his father. But the man in question doesn't acknowledge the slight, only inclines his head slightly to the steward. "Lord Denethor. You have my gratitude for this meeting."

Denethor nods his head, standing from his seat as they draw near. "Your presence is received gladly," he says, but the words don't match the dry look in his eyes.

Y/N stiffens as he advances, stopping only a few feet away from them. His gaze drags over them, eyes impassive. But he only dips his head, and she slowly pivots as the huge oak doors at the end of the room rumble open. She senses her siblings and cousins also turning, and together they watch as two boys walk through the archway.

"May I introduce my son, Boromir of Gondor," Denethor rasps, eyes glinting as he glances at the boy in front. His eyes rove to the second one, who looks uncomfortable with the attention. "And...his brother, Faramir."