The sun dawned slowly over the White City, gently creeping over the horizon like spilled honey. The walls seemed to absorb the light, making the city itself slowly light up with a golden glow. It was lovely.
Alcaran hated it.
But that wasn't really true. She loved her home, loved her family, loved the people. What she hated was the nasty, creeping sensation in her chest when she looked at it; the insistent little voice in the back of her mind that said she didn't belong. The city, the land, the people – they were all so beautiful, so noble. Like something out of a story. Well, they weren't all noble. She knew that. But it felt like it. Beautiful and noble and perfect.
Her brother and sister never felt like this, she was sure. They never looked at their life and despaired that they would ever measure up. Why should they? Eldarion was tall and strong, a born leader; he had the respect and love of the whole country. It was said already that he would rule with the fairness and wisdom of the great kings of ages past. And Lissien? Lissien was absolutely unbearable, really.
That wasn't fair, and Alcaran knew it. Her older sister was as sweet and lovely as anyone could possibly wish, and she adored Alcaran. They all did. That was the problem – the lot of them were all very nearly perfect, and it seemed to Alcaran that this was very cruel.
Her mother was said to be the most beautiful woman in the world. She lit up a room when she walked into it, and she radiated grace and elegance. Her father was strong and wise beyond measure; everyone who knew him respected and loved him. Her older brother was already renowned for his prowess in battle and his keen eye for justice. Her older sister was well on her way to rivaling Arwen for beauty, and was confident and genuinely caring as well. What nasty joke had landed her in this family?
The worst part was that she couldn't resent them for it. She'd tried – oh, many times. But it always turned out the same way. Her parents would look so worried about her, so sad that she was hurting. Eldarion would be unfailingly kind, bringing her gifts and telling her jokes. Lissien would read to her and sing for her, and they'd all be so apologetic even though they didn't know what they'd done wrong – she could just never keep it up. Her whole family was so eminently lovable, and it was very unfair of them.
Staring out over Minas Tirith from the balcony, Alcaran wished more than anything that there was something special about her – anything at all. Just something, so that she could feel like she deserved to be part of this family, this land. So that the people of Gondor, when they spoke of the royal family, wouldn't just speak of Prince Eldarion and Princess Lissien – so that they would remember the youngest Princess of Gondor, and not only her beautiful brother and sister, not only her illustrious parents. How could King Elessar and Lady Undomiel have produced a daughter so plain and ordinary?
Alcaran gazed into the raising sun until her eyes hurt, brooding.
~*~*~*~
Aragorn watched his youngest daughter stand on the balcony, solitary and windswept. She was terribly underdressed – the wind blew chill and sharp this morning. Yet Alcaran appeared not to notice, deep in thoughts she never shared. The girl had always been quiet and serious, especially next to the bright, easy laughter of Lissien. He and Arwen had talked about it, and decided that there was nothing to worry about; she was a different person, after all, and they couldn't – nor should they – expect her to be exactly like her sister. But now…
He watched her sadly. Something troubled his daughter, and she would tell no one what it was. She had grown ever quieter as she grew older, and now, at fourteen, her eyes were shuttered tightly. Her face was guarded, showing no emotion, and she seldom spoke. It hurt Aragorn to see his daughter so unhappy, but he could find no way to even discover the problem, much less solve it.
As the sun cleared the horizon, Alcaran moved silently away from the balcony and down the hall toward her own room. Her father sighed as she walked away, and heard an echoed sigh from behind him. Turning, he saw Arwen behind him, looking wistfully after Alcaran as the girl disappeared into her room. He pulled his wife into his arms. "You are as lovely as the day I met you."
She smiled softly but didn't respond. They stood several minutes in silence, watching the sun rise further over the city, lost in thought.
"Something is wrong, Aragorn." He looked down at the sound of Arwen's voice. She was staring at the sky still, looking lost. "She used to smile, to laugh. She was such a generous, sweet child. What happened?"
"She is generous and sweet still. She just hides it."
"But why? What happened to silence her? I can't bear to see her like this. It breaks my heart."
"I don't know – I just don't know. Perhaps – "
He was cut off by the approach of a messenger. The boy bowed, holding out a letter on a small tray. "Letter for you, my lord."
Aragorn smiled at the young boy as he took the letter. "Thank you, lad. Are you new here?" His smile grew wider as the boy merely grinned and ran away at top speed.
"Are you going to open that or not?" Arwen asked, amusement evident in her voice. She waited patiently while he broke the seal and scanned the parchment, watching with bemusement as a smile grew on his face. "What news brings you such joy?"
"The return of old friends, dearest. Legolas and Gimli ride to Minas Tirith."