Chapter Text
“Do you have any idea as to why the steward has requested our audience, cousin?” Lothiriel asked in a hushed, urgent tone as she saddled up to Faramir in front of the court’s doorway. There were a multitude of reasons behind Lothiriel's confusion, and she did not know at which to start in an attempt to ascertain the reason behind her being called for. First, she was a lady of the court, not a man. On top of that, she was not even closely related to Lord Denethor. Boromir and Faramir were his sons, after all, not that he’d ever much cared for Faramir as far as she could tell, and as she had heard secondhand from her cousin. Finally, though he was Steward of Gondor, Rie was loath to listen to a single direction that fell from his lips. Denethor knew this. So, in totality, Lothiriel lacked the comprehension to explain why, exactly, she was here beside Faramir and not back in her forge.
“Your estimation is as fair as mine, Rie. You know that I am not privy to my father’s thoughts any more than you are,” Faramir shrugged, but the tense posture of his shoulders and the purse of his lips made it quite clear that he was on edge as Lothiriel was. “However, it is quite strange that you would be called as well. I do not remember father ever caring for a woman’s opinions on any matters, not even mother’s.”
Rie rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to respond with something scathing, but was interrupted by the appearance of Faramir’s brother, Boromir, whose expression was as nonplussed as the duos’. The guards opened the grand oak doors as they spotted Boromir, no doubt ordered to only grant them entrance once the prodigal son made an appearance. All three cast glances at one another, and Rie took note of the great displeasure Boromir’s face held as they stepped through the threshold and into the grand hall of the court.
Lothiriel supposed that Gondor used to be incredibly grandiose, back in the days where a king sat in the throne instead of a steward. There was history and beauty in the stone that surrounded them, but it had long fallen into disrepair. Stewardship did not offer the same benefits as a kingship, and with royal blood did not come coin. Stewards were more than happy to hoard what they did have like some dragon brought forth by Morgoth, and Denethor was no different. He sat upon his throne in the aging halls, stewing in his rage and beholding his oldest son as the sole person of worth within his borders. Long had his eyes darkened to the rest of the world.
The trio approached the steward with apprehension, though Boromir did the best, as the eldest and most experienced, to feign congeniality until the conversation grew too sour to pretend any longer. Lothiriel bowed to Denethor, but did not meet his gaze, instead staring at a point just above his shoulder, attempting to remain calm under the duress of being in his presence.
“My kin, all in one room,” Denethor sounded keen and bright, which was, to be quite frank, never a good sign for anyone involved. “I am sure that you must be wondering why I have gathered you. Aside from the pleasure itself, of course.”
“Of course, father. We come at your beck and call, whether the matter is of great importance or otherwise.” Boromir’s voice cracked halfway through his speaking, and the illusion of polite patience briefly faded along with the forced shine in his gaze.
“And of great importance this is. Lord Elrond of Rivendell is calling together great minds of all races together in a council. The elven runner did not disclose the reason behind this council, but I have my own resources with their ears trained on Imladris. We believed the One Ring to be lost by our ancestors in Gladden Fields, but I have received word that a ring bearer approaches Rivendell, and the task ahead of the Council is to decide what to do with the One Ring.”
This news made Lothiriel extremely uneasy. She was not alive, of course, when Isildur had sliced the ring from Sauron’s finger and stabbed the maiar to put him to rest. Not that the slaying worked all too well, seeing as the heat of his blazing eye watched them even now, forever trained on the lineage of Men who had wrought the end of his physical being. But, Lothloriel, as everyone in Middle Earth had, no doubt, heard the tale many a time of what became of Isildur. How he had fled from the Orcs that had been desperate to return the One Ring to their Master, and the ring itself, once Isildur had plunged into the Anduin River to make his escape, had betrayed him in favor of its own return. How it had fallen from his grasp and into the depths of the river, exposing him to the Orcs who hunted him, and to the arrows that wrought him his end. The goodness of Gondor had failed because of Isildur, because of the corruption of the One Ring, and it seemed as though her kin would never learn their lesson.
“That is good news, father. Perhaps they will finally conclude that the ring must be destroyed, to put Sauron to his end once and for all.” Faramir spoke, tone light and breezy despite the sweat that Lothiriel could see dripping from his brow.
“Foolish words, Faramir,” Denethor spat, brows furrowed in distaste as his ghastly gaze settled on his youngest son. “No, I need Lothiriel and Boromir to attend the Council in my stead. Lothiriel will play an excellent distraction and gain information about those in attendance. It is what a woman is good for, after all. Boromir, you will convince the Council to gift Gondor with the One Ring in order to overpower Sauron at his own borders. Faramir, you will replace your brother in Ithilien. It would do you well not to fail me as you often do. We cannot lose ground if we desire to make any real opposition to the Dark Lord.”
Lothiriel and Boromir both opened their mouths to respond in dissatisfaction, but Denethor waved his hand as a silent means of dismissal, his attention already directed to the platter of food entering the hall. The trio stormed out, Faramir’s eyes downcast and shimmering with tears.
“What are we supposed to do? Is it not obvious that your father’s wishes are asinine?” Lothiriel demanded, jaw set.
“We are to go to Rivendell, cousin. We have no other choice.”