The Bards of Alderthron, a lord of the rings fanfic

Sometimes the people who are meant to love, never have the chance. (Disclaimer): I own neither Tolkein's work, nor the lyrics to Heather Dale's songs. But the characters of the bards and Freya are my own.

The Bards of Alderthron

The night seemed a darker, deeper blue when in contrast with the pearly white city of MinasTirith. The dark smog of the mountains had been blown away by a sharp wind and now the air hung cool and silent…well silent except for a tavern in the fifth circle. There were strangers there tonight, travellers with stories, dance, song and music. When they first entered the city they drummed up the interest of passerbys, mostly children and old men sitting outside in the warm sun. They sang of battles fought, lovers and their woes, occasionally there was just music and the women would dance with the children, or encourage the soldiers on guard, to dance with a pretty girl. They were not from Gondor, that was clear, but they were not from Rohan either. When asked, the travellers simply laughed and said they were the Bards of Alderthron, but no one had ever heard of such a name. They had their own language and songs, some people thought perhaps they were a mix of elves and men, but there was nothing elfish about those lively and pretty women or witty and friendly men, yet at the same instance they were too strange and apart from that world. People just accepted them as they sang a strange song in their own language, not in the speech of men, but too guttural for the language of Elves. Some wondered if they had hobbit blood in their veins, but hobbits were known to rarely leave their homes. After performing in the streets of Minas Tirith they made their way to The Golden Harp, the lively Inn perfect for some of their more bawdy songs and fast dances.

"This is a night for just simple talk and a few good ales…"
"Nonsense, little brother," Boromir teased his brother, "I want a night of merry making and I will hardly get that from The Lion's Head, the Bards of Alderthron are returned but we'll find them in The Golden Harp."
Faramir sighed and rolled his eyes at his charming, but headstrong older brother. Boromir grinned.
"Don't tell father." He ran off down the street, Faramir quickly pursuing him. They only needed to travel down a further two more streets, when already music could be heard coming from the Inn, the noise of people clapping and cheering, the drumming feat of the dancers. They squeezed their way into the crowded Tavern, where a space was already clear of tables and chairs. A girl with dark brown hair was dancing, her eyes alight with excitement, her cheeks flushed a soft pink. But she was not of Gondor, her clothes was made up of a dark blue dress, a firm black corset around her waist, showing her curves but not restricting her movements. The musicians filled the stairs; there was no other place for them to sit. A harp, several fiddles, different pipes and some drums made up their ranks.

They finished the first song as Boromir reached the Innkeeper and asked for two tankards of fine mead. A cheer was set up for the young Captain, the people liked it when he visited them and did not think his position was too high and mighty for their company. He made his way back to the table where his brother sat, Boromir laughed at him.
"Come brother, we'll find you a pretty girl to dance with."
"I'll have to be very drunk before that happens."
"We are sad to hear you will be gone tomorrow, my lord." said the leader of the Bards. Boromir nodded.
"Well then, we shall have to find a way to wish you well on your journey." The leader smiled, Boromir took a swig of mead.
"I wouldn't say no to dancing with her," he pointed to the girl in blue; she was talking animatedly with some friends, before grabbing a blonde headed girl and heading back to the dance. Her friend laughed and their arms came round each other's waists as they span in faster circles, the musicians playing faster to keep up with them.
"Ah that is Freya, she'll happily dance with thee, she loves a good dance." The leader called her over. Freya, after making a face, not wanting to stop dancing, came over. She smiled at the men; Faramir rolled his eyes on seeing his brother desire the pretty dancer.
"His lordship has requested a dance with you, Freya."
Freya regarded Boromir critically, "Can you dance, my lord?"
Boromir laughed, "Aye, well enough, my lady."
She shrugged, "I just don't like men stepping on my feet. But you're welcomed to dance with me." She grinned and offered her hand; Boromir seized it and followed her out.

"And you, my lord? Will you dance with anyone?" the Leader asked Faramir, but a girl with pale blue eyes and light brown hair answered for him.
"Nay, he's waiting for a warrior queen." Her eyes were dreamy, Faramir was going to ask what she meant but the Leader chivvied her away.
"Sorry about that, some of my girls have the Sight, but don't bother asking what it means." The Sight? The Sight was something only Elves and Wizards could make claim to, it rarely gifted humans. Faramir frowned, a warrior queen? He took a sip of mead, a warrior queen certainly sounded nothing like what he was waiting for…but then, what exactly was he waiting for? Faramir shook his head, the last thing he needed was to invent riddles that had no answers.

Boromir smiled as he placed his hands on the girl's firm waist.
"I need one of your hands," she grinned, she picked up her skirt with her right and took his hand with her left. The music began, a swift jig. It was tricky keeping up with the movements, but then none of the partners from Gondor knew the dance. Freya didn't seem to mind a bit though, she laughed, throwing her head back. He was almost envious of her carefree nature and joy.
"So where does my lord go to tomorrow?" she asked.
"Rivendell, to speak with the Elves."
"About what?"
Boromir smiled, "You have surely heard of the dream, my brother and I have had?"
"Aye, but that's not just it." she said, Boromir frowned.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing, sir, or everything, take your pick. It just won't be the end of it." It was well known that the girls of the Bards said strange, incomprehensible things, but when Freya smiled intimately at him, he forgot his worries.

"Freya you sing a song now." She had been talking with the two Captains of Gondor, now she got up and went to the other end of the room, serving for a stage. She paused for a moment, thinking. Then nodded her head.
"I will sing My Bonny Light Horseman." The musicians smiled at her and picked up their instruments.
"Freya, that song is a little mournful for tonight." said the Leader.
"Aye, a little, but it is fitting." she replied, as though that was meant to mean everything. The Leader rolled his eyes, the women smiled a little sadly, but there was something knowing in their eyes. She began to sing, she had a sweet, clear voice and although it wasn't loud or dissimilar from her sisters, Freya soon had everyone's eyes upon her.

"When the captain he commanded his army to stand,
He levelled his sword right over the land,
He levelled his sword, his victory to gain,
But my light horseman was slain,
On his way going home.

So broken-hearted I will wander,
Broken-hearted I'll remain,
For the lost of my lover,
In the wars he was slain.
Broken-hearted I will wander,
Broken-hearted I'll remain,
He is my bonny light horseman,
In the wars he was slain.

Now the lady she laments for
Her love as he dies.
'Oh where? Tell me where, is
My horseman?' she cries.
'And where in this wide world,
Is there one to compare,
To my bonny light horseman,
Who is lost somewhere?'

And if I were a small bird,
And had wings to fly,
I would fly o'er the hills,
To where my love doth lie.
And with my fond wings
I'd beat over his grave,
And kiss the pale lips,
Lying cold in the clay.

As she finished her song she looked towards him, Boromir noted tears in her eyes. He had half a mind to go over to her and comfort her, but he did not know why a song about someone else should affect her so. The Leader pulled her away as she gave a little sobbing gasp. Boromir turned to look into his tankard again; he could not do with women crying over nothing.

He saw Freya again, joining in with the women in another song. He was relieved to see her perfectly content and smiling once more. He followed her as she went off to a table.
"Are you well, my lady?"
She spun round to face him and nearly fell over, he caught her, she giggled.
"Whoops, sorry."
"Had a little too much ale, eh?"
"Aye, just a little, little bit. But now my head is spinning." She put a hand to her forehead and caught hold of his arm to balance herself. She laughed again. Boromir came a little closer to her.
"Do you think I could ask for something, as I am leaving tomorrow?"
"It depends on what it would be, good sir!" she said, ridiculously, but Boromir adored the way she was so light hearted and silly.
"A kiss?" he had charmed maidens this way before, but it was worth it for a nice kiss or two.
"You can have several." She grinned, pulling him forward and boldly kissing his mouth. He held tightly to her waist, bringing her close to him. Her mouth was very soft and warm. When he let her go she was breathless and her grey eyes sparkled.
"Come to my bed tonight." she whispered to him.
He was taken aback by her bluntness, but smiled and shook his head, "Unfortunately, dear lady, you are drunk; I fear you would regret it by morning."
She frowned and shook her head, "Nay, I wouldn't. Come to my bed." She murmured seductively.
"No, I am sorry, I cannot have that delight."
"Do you not find me pretty?" she pouted.
Boromir laughed, what a strange reversal of attitudes, "I find you very beautiful, Freya, but…"
"Then come to my bed."

He kissed her again, in a way to shut her up, in a way to hide his own amusement. She was so straightforward and lovely, he somehow didn't believe that when she was drunk she offered herself to any and every man. Something in his soul made him want to hold her closer, give himself to her whole-heartedly, but he had to leave tomorrow. Going to her bed could make him want to stay. As they broke apart again, he saw his brother watching him. He let go of Freya, though her eyes still haunted him and the sorrow hidden in their depths.
"If you wish to stay, I will make excuses for you." Faramir said. Boromir looked back to Freya, she gave a little shrug and turned towards the stairs. Boromir clasped Faramir's shoulder and embraced him.
"You are the best brother any man could wish for."
Faramir grinned, "And you are drunk, I will see you tomorrow." Faramir put his cape back on and left the tavern. Boromir looked up at the girl; she had stopped to watch on the stairs and was waiting for him. She smiled when he bounded up the stairs.

She had lovely curves, soft and inviting flesh. When she took off her corset and the dress underneath, he admired her curving flank, the pale smoothness of her thighs as she sat astride him and kissed him. Her soft mound rubbed against his groin, making his cock rise towards her warmth. She took his hands, placing them upon her breasts, so he could feel their heat and the nipples hardening under his palms. Dear Valar, she was beautiful, her dark hair falling to her waist. She stripped him of his shirt and breeches, till he lay naked upon her bed and she lay her form along his. He mapped out every part of her skin, touched her, smelt her. The gentle sweetness of her perfume, the wetness of her cunt, her sweat. His hands found every part of her that made her sigh or writhe in some way, when they brushed past her delicate stomach it made her shiver.

He made her his, his cock deep inside her, his buttocks pushing into her. He pulled her legs up higher, gaining more as she opened to his touch. He bit her shoulders and neck, her lower lip as she fought for his. She murmured his name and he revelled in the sound of it on her tongue, the request to go deeper inside her, to go faster. He complied and she gave a moan of delight, as his hands rubbed at her nipples. She put her arms round his neck, her nails digging into his back and then running upwards through his hair, bringing him down for another kiss.

It was like being lovers, they both found their desires released and satisfied at the same time. He had no desire to leave her and she begged him to stay, he complied. They slept, though it was a sleep of waking up with desire, making love and then falling back to sleep again. How he longed to stay when they finally made love again and he could see the pale, grey light of dawn beginning to peep under the shutters, but knew he could not. She said nothing, just watched him dress and splash some water on his face. She sat up in the bed when he turned towards her. She shook her head; he didn't need to say anything to her and so he just lovingly kissed her again.

After he left and the morning sun was finally peeping over the mountains, he vaguely wondered if perhaps she had known something, perhaps he was meant to have found her, to love her. Perhaps he had been destined to defy his father, marry her. He could almost imagine a little boy with dark hair and clever eyes, his mother singing to him in her unknown tongue. But he shook the image from his head and continued up to the Great Hall. He must prepare for the journey to Rivendell. Perhaps he would see her again, when he returned.

On his way out he searched the crowd for her, full of cheering people, waving flags and flowers. But he didn't see her and he realised he was never going to again. The Captain of the White Tower lowered his head and remembered her smile, her arms around him, the way she had told him she loved him. He had not believed that and now he wished he had.

The girl watched from a tower as he rode on his horse down to the gates. She gripped onto the window edge. She watched him for a while longer, then turned and went to join her fellow bards. There would be another man, who would give her a son with dark hair and inquisitive eyes, but she knew not where he was. She hummed a song for the man she was meant to love.

"…Raise the ring,
Cast the broken circle to the waves,
And give the sea her due,
Push the prow,
Let him lead the final charge again,
Where all will follow soon.

The measure of a man,
Stands or falls with what he leaves behind,
Gather on the sand,
Let your voices carry to the sky,
Rise in light,
Let the gods look down on this and wonder."