Setting: Middle Earth, the year 3019 in the Kingdoms of Rohan and Gondor. Takes place during the time of the War of the Ring--mainly ROTK (with flashbacks to some TTT happenings). + and italics denote a memory. Warning: spoilers herein!
Rating: PG (subject to change)
Pairings: Éomer/oc, some Faramir/Éowyn, and a little Aragorn/Arwen.
Summary: "The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle Earth is about to begin." A story about how Éomer of Rohan found love--and his stuggle to hold onto it--in the city of Minas Tirith. NOT Éomer/Lothíriel. Slightly AU (but not that much, I promise).
*Based on a premise (made up by me of course ;P) that Finduilas--wife of Denethor, mother to Boromir and Faramir--died in childbirth giving life to a daughter. Faramir was always a favorite character of mine and I felt so terrible that he lost his whole family by the end of LOTR. I know he had Éowyn and I love them together, but he had no one who could really understand his losses. Thus, I have given him a sister. Also I thought there should be more Éomer romances out there so I combined the ideas. Enjoy!
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Chapter One ~ Lady of the White Tower
A young woman stood in the cool breeze. Her amber-brown hair was pulled back securely by two silver clips but a few tendrils began to blow into her somber face. She stood tall at thirty-one years old but many told her that she didn't look a day over twenty one. Her bright blue eyes and delicate fair skin contributed greatly to this, she imagined.
She was alone--alone outside the citadel of her great city. Minas Tirith. She had been born there, raised there, and lived there her whole adult life. And she feared she would die there as well. It wasn't that she wanted to get away, not really. Minas Tirith was called the city of kings and rightfully so. But it seemed as though she had never been away. The furthest distance she could claim was Osgiliath, some fifteen miles away--and that was only because her brothers had snuck her over. It had to have been nearly thirteen years ago.
No, she would most likely remain in the city her whole life, though she longed to see her mother's homeland, Dol Amroth. She longed to see the elven homelands, the woods of Ithilien, and the plains of Rohan. Instead she stood at her father's side. Her father was Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor. It was his strong wish that she remained in the city with him and at his side most of that time. Maybe the only way he knew to show love to someone was by clinging tightly to them. She supposed it also could be because she was the closest link he had to sweet Finduilas, loving wife and mother. This must have pained Denethor, for it pained his young daughter everytime she thought of it, though she stayed with him willingly.
Míriel, lady of Gondor, daughter of the Steward, looked over the grassy plains of the Pelennor field. In the distance, she could see the broken down city of Osgiliath. The furthest she had ever been was right within her eyesight. She had no duties that would bring her elsewhere. The realism inside her told her that not many women did, but the pent-up adventurer argued that she should have some kind of duty that would allow her to be out on her own a bit...any kind. The only real friend she could claim was her cousin, the princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. And even they weren't very close. They differed in age a bit and the only time they saw each other was when Lothíriel would accompany her father, Míriel's uncle, Imrahil to Minas Tirith. Of course, she knew the people of Minas Tirith loved her, she could never deny that or depreciate it. They found in her what they would never find in Steward Denethor: a gentle spirit. Too gentle, Míriel imagined.
Míriel took in a deep breath and her eyes turned eastward. Smoke was rising from the Mountain of Fire. It reminded her that perhaps it was a good thing to be sheltered inside the white city. But it also reminded her just how alone she was. Her brothers were gone and her father...was just her father. She sometimes felt he was a burden but she always felt horrible for the thought even crossing her mind. But if she could be honest with no one else, she had to be honest with herself.
She heard a horse's neigh from below. A faint smile graced her lips as her mind drifed back to a time not that long ago...
+"Lady Míriel," came a soldier's voice at the doorway of the citadel. "There is a Rohirrim soldier that requests passage into the city." Beregond's voice was tentative and Míriel knew he wouldn't have even bothered asking had Lord Denethor been present. Her father was untrusting towards those outside of Gondor and many of those inside as well.
Míriel felt no such way. In fact she had mentioned to her father that it may be in Gondor's best interest to remain friendly with other lands. The thought was met with a gruff sigh as many things Míriel said were. The issue was never brought up between the two again. "We are still a friend to Rohan, are we not? We cannot deny this soldier entrance because of my father's personal feelings. Ask him his intentions and show him to the citadel."
"I asked him, he requests lodging, my lady," came Beregond's reply.
"On what buisness?"
"He did not say."
Míriel sat thoughful for a fleeting second. "Show him here," she told the Gondorian warrior. Beregond nodded and left. Míriel felt quite proud of herself. Her father would have a thing or two to say once he got word of what she had done. And for some reason, that thought suddenly scared her. Had she made a mistake in allowing this Rider of Rohan into Minas Tirith?
Of course not, she knew. She shook all thoughts of her father away. Steward Denethor was not here, miraculously enough, he had been away quite awhile and would most likely be for awhile longer. Osgiliath needed him, he stated. And although he hesitated to leave Míriel, as he had all her life, he absolutely refused to bring her along with him. Staying was not an option, Denethor had grumbled as his distrust for his younger son Faramir was even greater than his overprotection of his daughter--as difficult as it was for Míriel to believe at times. So begrudingly, he left Minas Tirith in her charge and left for the collapsing city of Osgiliath.
"My lady," came Beregond's voice for the doorway, knocking her out of her reverie. "Éomer son of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark." He stepped aside to reveal the rugged Rohan warrior. "My lord, Lady Míriel."
No fireworks clapped from the azure sky as the two laid eyes on each other for the first time. Both could appeciate the fair qualities of the other but there was no immediate reaction as Éomer made his way past the statues of Gondor's kings toward Míriel. She arose as he approached.
"My lady," Éomer murmured, taking her hand into his and brushing a light kiss over it. Míriel had to hold in a giggle as no other man dared to perform such an action on her. "My gratitude for your generousity and hospitality in letting me into your city."
"My lord, you are most welcome," she replied.
Éomer looked at her briefly before saying. "May I speak openly, my lady?"
"You may."
The Third Marshal took a deep breath before saying, "I have to admit I wasn't expecting passage so freely. In fact, I was half expecting Lord Denethor himself to come down and tell me to leave. His feeling towards outsiders aren't exactly a secret. Just out of curiousity, where is the steward?"
"He is tending to buisness in Osgiliath and has left the care of the city to me. I am his daughter, Míriel."
Realization came over Éomer's face. "So you are the youngest child of the steward. The Lady of the White Tower, the Jewel of Gondor."
This time, Míriel could not hold back a laugh. "People exaggerate, Lord Éomer," she said. "And I assure you I am not a child. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that I am older than you are."
An ever-so-slight blush crept into Éomer's cheeks. Míriel smiled. "You are lucky in one thing though, Éomer of Rohan."
"And what is that, Míriel of Gondor?" A smile played on his lips.
Míriel hesitated. Were they flirting? She brushed the thought away. "It is that I do not share my father's feelings toward the other peoples of Middle Earth. You are welcome in Minas Tirith as long as I claim authority," she said, her tone serious.
He nodded his thanks to her and asked, "When do we expect the steward back?"
"I don't expect him back anytime soon but I must be honest, I have no idea what his plans are." She paused. "Don't worry, my lord. If my father should return unexpectedly, I'm sure we could slip you out easily enough." Míriel's eyes twinkled with amusement.
Éomer's widened with surprise at her spirit.
Míriel could hardly believe it herself.
Horses hooves clapped against against the stone below her. She peered down and saw a flash of white go by on the fourth level of the city.
"Mithrandir," she breathed, stepping away from the wall.
"Míriel!" came a brisk call from inside the citadel. She winced at the booming voice of her father.
She rushed back inside. "Forgive me, my lord," she whispered, taking her seat beside Lord Denethor.
The steward did not answer. His head was bowed, Míriel noticed as she slowly turned to look at him. Her eyes travelled to the object in his hands. Her stomach flipped when she saw it. The horn of Gondor. Boromir's horn. "Did you know about this?" he asked gravely, his eyes slanting toward her. Míriel wracked her mind for an answer that her father would accept.
She was saved by the citadel's doors opening and Gandalf the White entered, a small figure at his side. "Hail Denethor son of Ecthelion! Lord and steward of Gondor," Gandalf called. "Lady Míriel," he acknowledged. "I come with tidings in this dark hour."
"Perhaps you came to tell me why my son is dead," Denethor said, looking up for the first time and holding up the horn cloven in two. Míriel struggled to hold in her emotion. She noticed the small figure beside Mithrandir was working to control himself as well.
"Boromir died defending my kinsman and me," he spoke up. "He fought bravely but was outnumbered. I offer you my service in payment of this debt."
"Peregrin Took," Mithrandir whispered gruffly. The young man stood up quickly. Míriel couldn't pull her eyes from him. He knew her eldest brother, he was there when Boromir died. Peregrin Took looked toward her and they momentarily made eye contact.
"Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the king!" Gandalf was saying, his tone firm and very stern.
Míriel's head snapped toward Mithrandir. King? Returning to Gondor after so many long years? She didn't even dare to believe it.
Denethor glared back at him with fire in his eyes. He leapt out of his seat and commanded, "The rule of Gondor is mine!"
With a huff, Gandalf turned on his heel and made his way out of the citadel. Peregrin quickly followed after him, turning once to look at the steward and briefly at Míriel. Denethor's face was still red with anger as he retook his seat. "Show them to their quarters as they will most likely be expecting accomidations," he said, his tone dismissive. "I wish to be alone."
"Yes, my lord," Míriel said, moving to obey her father's request. Mithrandir and Peregrin Took had not gotten far when she caught up with them. "Mithrandir!" she called to him. "Is it true? Has the heir of Isildur been found?"
Gandalf stared at her for a few seconds before replying as if trying to assess whether or not he should tell her. "He rides with Théoden of Rohan." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Though Denethor may have turned his back on the Rohirrim, Gondor still has friends."
"The Rohirrim..." Míriel said absently. "How do things fare in Rohan?" Her tone was more than a little hopeful.
"They have survived a brutal attack from the armies of Saruman," Mithrandir responded. "One thing they have learned is that the fortress of Helm's Deep is not invinsible as they had once thought. They prevailed, much thanks to Aragorn."
"Aragorn?"
"Isildur's heir," Gandalf explained simply. "Wingfoot, as Éomer likes to call him," he continued with a small chuckle.
"Éomer?" Míriel repeated, hoping her voice didn't make her suspect.
"Théoden's nephew." Gandalf sighed. "The Rohirrim will ride to Gondor's aide. If only your father would light the beacons. War is coming to Minas Tirith. It will not delay because the steward is not ready to forsake his pride." Míriel turned away, her mind spinning. Gandalf turned to Peregrin, who stood next to him. "Peregrin Took, it is time for another halfling to show their great worth." He nodded toward the White Tower. "If Denethor cannot do what is right for his country than it must be done for him. You must light the beacons. That is, if it be alright with the Lady of the White Tower." He smiled gently at her and Míriel forced a shaky smile. Mithrandir turned back to Peregrin. "Do not fail me."
Peregrin took in a deep breath and headed for the tower. Gandalf turned back to Míriel. "I know you are obligated to your father and I wouldn't try to tell you to go against his will. But you must not let yourself be manipulated. You must be strong." He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Míriel looked up at him. "I will be strong...for Gondor."
What do you think so far? Should I continue? Feedback is most appreciated!