Hey cupcakes! I took down a lot of my stories recently so that I have time to make them better and fully flesh everything out to give you guys quality material. This is a story that I have had typed up for a while and cooking in my brain even longer, so I'm going to attempt to keep updates on a schedule of every Sunday. They might slow down when I have to find the scripts for the movies and everything, but I'll let y'all know if that's going to happen. Anyway, I hope you guys like it!

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It seemed to be another joyful night in the city of Minas Tirith, the crown-jewel of Gondor. But tonight was for celebration, especially for the warriors and rangers of Ithilien. Tonight, they had all been called home, and for the first time in almost a year, all three children of Denethor were together in one place. Boromir, Captain of Gondor and eldest of the three, had been in Osgiliath with Faramir, Captain of Gondor and youngest of the three siblings, until they had pushed back the forces of Mordor. Their middle sister, Miriel, had led the Rangers of Ithilien along the borders of Gondor nearest to Mordor, fending off the foul creatures of darkness to give some relief to Osgiliath. She had arrived later than her two brothers, who had begun to worry, and sported a rather painful gash on both forehead and arm, but her joyful spirit was not diminished, and she greeted her brothers as heartily as any other day. The men gathered in one of the taverns in the lower levels, laughing loudly and drinking with their brothers-in-arms, while the three siblings sat in their own corner, catching up. Boromir spoke first, always protective of his siblings.

"What happened to you, Miriel?" The woman rolled her eyes.

"It is nothing, merely a lucky strike. The filth was dispatched quickly and by my own hand." Faramir spoke next, worry clear in his voice. The two brothers saw each other more often than they saw Miriel, being in relatively the same area, and had been able to keep an eye on each other. They both worried for her, as she did for them, but both tended to go a bit far.

"It is not nothing, gwathel." He frowned, taking in the fresh and bloodied bandages wrapped around her. "Please just tell us what happened, if only so we stop asking." Miriel sighed, knowing she would not be left alone until the tale was told.

"We were too close to the Black Gate, and they set upon us from out of the trees. The forces of Mordor grow bolder by the day, and I fear we may soon have to abandon the border in favor of protecting Minas Tirith, foregoing even Osgiliath. I lost five in that attack, and two more on the way home. The wounds I sustained are just as I said, lucky swipes of an orcish sword. Not deep, and certainly not threatening." After this, they dropped the subject, and moved to more pleasant things, much to the relief of Miriel. The wounds were a bit worse than she let on, and though they knew she could take care of herself, it would not go over well. Boromir turned to his siblings about halfway through, grinning.

"Remember tonight, brother and sister of mine, for it is a good one. The children of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, all under one roof."

"It may be the last of such nights for many moons." Faramir said gloomily. Miriel shoved his shoulder lightly, rolling her eyes at his pessimism.

"You are far too downhearted, little brother! Boromir is right, tonight is for celebration!"

"Here, here, nethig!" Boromir exclaimed, laughing as he clapped her on her good shoulder. Faramir gave a wry smile.

"I would agree with you both, were it not for the messenger approaching us." Boromir and Miriel turned to see a very disgruntled messenger making his way through the crowd or rowdy soldiers, and indeed in their direction.

"He must have come from Father." Miriel said. Faramir's brow creased in confusion.

"Why do you say that?" Boromir leaned down, a small smile on his face as he spoke quietly to the other two.

"Only Father can make someone look that frustrated." The three chuckled. Neither Boromir nor Miriel usually felt Denethor's disapproval, but they sensed the favoritism he bestowed by their order of birth, and they knew it hurt Faramir. Not once had there been cause for them to side against Faramir in an argument with their father, and that day would not likely come soon. So, they made light of it, for such joked lightened the burden Faramir carried on his shoulders. The messenger reached them, nodding respectfully and then speaking, clearly rather perturbed at being asked to interrupt the celebration.

"My lords and lady, the Steward has called for your presence immediately." The three nodded and stood, heading off to the throne room. They spoke quietly as they went, hoping it would not be about the past battles, for they knew the conversation that would follow as well as they knew their own names. Praise for Boromir, gentle correction if needed for Miriel, and naught but criticism for Faramir. The entire thing would spiral downward, and they would leave in a rather foul mood. They entered, and stood in a uniform line with Miriel in the middle. They bowed their heads, and Denethor spoke as they straightened.

"We have received word from Rivendell. There is to be a council to decide the fate of Middle Earth. The One Ring has been found, and all are to be represented to decide the best course of action." The three siblings looked at each other, surprised at the news. "You will, of course, bring it back here." At that, Miriel spoke, not one to bother standing on formalities with her father.

"Bring it here? So close to Sauron's reach? Father, what could you possibly want that for?" Denethor did not look at her as he spoke.

"We may be able to use it against him, turn the tide in this endless war." The eyes of the three siblings went wide, and Miriel said what her brothers were thinking.

"Use it? None of us can wield that ring! Look at what happened to the nine kings whom the others were given to! Do you think we are stronger than they are simply because we have heard of their peril? We could make our troubles worse! Using such a thing would be folly, as you well know!" She exclaimed, gesturing to the pedestal in the corner, on which sat a covered sphere. It was a palantir, lost many years ago and now found in a company of orcs slain by Miriel and her men. Miriel had advised against its use, but Denethor had tried anyway, and the experience nearly drove him mad. At times like these, she worried that the madness was still present, and perhaps Sauron's whispering voice influenced his decisions. Denethor turned to his daughter as he answered.

"Nevertheless, it could do good here. Boromir, you will go to the council in Rivendell, try to convince them to allow the ring to come to Gondor." Boromir frowned.

"Father, is not Faramir a more logical choice? He is a faster rider than I am, and far more skilled with words." Denethor sneered.

"He would like that, wouldn't he? A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality." Miriel narrowed her eyes, stepping slightly in front of her little brother. Denethor looked down at them from his place on the steps, and regretted saying such in her presence.

"You know that is not true. Faramir is just as skilled and loyal to Gondor as either Boromir or I, and no one but you can find a fault with him! He listens and obeys your every command to the last detail, and yet you give him no credit! Faramir is a better choice than either Boromir or I, for he is far more skilled in the ways of negotiation or politics. Why do you deny him any chance to use his skill to help us all if you want this ring so badly?" The Steward was about to answer, most likely ending in a very loud argument between father and daughter, when the doors opened, and a messenger ran in, breathing heavily. He looked at the scene before him, and bowed in apology for his intrusion.

"What is the meaning of this?" The Steward barked. The man went slightly pale, and bowed once again.

"I am sorry, my lord, but it is urgent."

"What is it?" Boromir asked impatiently. The messenger shifted uncomfortably under the four pairs of eyes that were boring into his skull.

"A message comes from the Shire." He spotted Miriel, and held out the envelope to her. "For you, my lady." Miriel raised an eyebrow, but took the missive anyway. She knew no one in the Shire, so it must have been someone passing through. Her brothers watched her face change as she read, and worried at the grim expression she now wore. Faramir spoke first.

"What is it, Miriel?" She looked up sharply at her father and brothers, determined and grim.

"Boromir rides at first light for Rivendell, and I must depart now." Seeing their confusion, she continued. "Gandalf has requested my aid in the direction of Bree, and it is urgent I ride as soon as I may." Denethor nodded, and there was no reconciliation between the two as Miriel quickly gathered her bag from her room, still packed from her journey to the citadel, and then ran down to the stables to saddle her horse, brothers not far behind. They knew there would be no stopping her, so they aided her instead, and she was soon ready to ride, covered in a cloak as dark as the shadows that now covered the world. Boromir embraced her tightly before stepping back, his face set with a grim worry. Faramir walked with Miriel to the horse, and they embraced.

"Do not listen to Father." She whispered in his ear. "Remember what we think and hold that in your heart. You are stronger and better than either he or yourself give you credit for." He nodded, and she mounted the black stallion, settling into the shadow. Faramir grasped her hand.

"Be careful, Miriel. The roads are dangerous and the paths watched with evil eyes." She smiled down at him as best she could.

"Do not worry, muindor. I will be fine. Watch for my coming from the tower of guard. Any day you have the time, look to the north, towards the Falls of Rauros, for that is likely the way my path will lead. We will meet again, that I swear to you." He nodded, and stepped back beside Boromir as Miriel drew her hood over her head and spurred her steed into motion. The two brothers stood side by side in the pale, weak light of the moon, watching their sister ride off into the night. In the strange lighting, she could easily be mistaken for a Nazgul, and they could only hope that this would protect her on her journey.

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Muindor = brother

Gwathel = sister

Nethig = little sister