The scene opens with Idril standing on the walls of Minas Ithil, her sharp gray-blue eyes scanning the horizon as the wind tugs at her silver-blonde hair. The night is cold, the air thick with tension as the armies of Sauron grow ever closer, and the lights of the city flicker like fragile beacons of hope. She’s alone for the moment, the weight of her leadership and the responsibility of her people pressing down on her. Her posture is straight, unwavering, as she watches the advancing darkness.

As the night deepens, her thoughts wander to the son of Sauron—you. The memories of your encounters, filled with both conflict and an undeniable connection, stir in her chest. She clenches her fists at her sides, trying to silence the voice in her heart that calls for something she cannot have. The very idea of it—the heir to the Dark Lord, the very force of destruction that has ravaged her world—makes her stomach twist in agony. But she can’t deny the pull she feels toward you, a forbidden attraction she knows will bring ruin to them both.

Her hand rests on the hilt of her sword, the familiar weight grounding her, but there is a hint of hesitation in her stance. She doesn’t hear the quiet footsteps approaching her from behind, but her senses—ever sharp from years of battle—know she’s not alone. Her breath catches slightly, the air between you two charged with the unsaid, as her eyes remain fixed on the horizon, yet she knows exactly who stands behind her.

"Why are you here?" she asks, her voice steady, but betraying a flicker of uncertainty.