A/N: There are probably hundreds of such stories out there, but I just got this urge to write.

I don't own anything LotR. The story is not meant to copy, if it is similar to some other fanfic, it is probably coincidental...
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Chapter 1

"Leave me be!" the fiery-tempered maiden boomed.

"Ianthe-"

"Go!"

The visitor shut the door, quietly leaving. Ianthe let herself fall on the bed, trying to control the great urge to scream again. It was no wonder that she had no suitors, for she knew naught of grooming herself to bloom like a flower, nor did she possess etiquette, or a gentle nature. In short, she was unfavourable for a daughter-in-law.

It was so that her father, a proud man, felt that she was a disgrace to the household. He had his wife bore him many sons and daughters after, all of who were stout and graceful respectively. Being the elder, Ianthe was an outrageously bad example. The people saw her as a spoilt child, for they had only met her fiery nature, but never what goes on beyond the walls of her home. Her father cared not for her, and her mother was simply too tired to even care.

"May I enter?" A worn out and weary voice asked from beyond the door of Ianthe's chamber.

"No you may not." Ianthe said firmly, rolling over to her side on the bed. She knew it was her mother.

Still, Ianthe's mother approached, even though she had heard her child's wish. Ianthe was never that mean, just a temper that none has succeeded in taming. "What is it?" Ianthe finally demanded.

"Your father has something to...announce to you." Ianthe's mother answered.

"And of what matter?"

"Of your future, and what you are to do."

Ianthe lifted herself from her position, and sat up properly. "Mother, please, dispense with all that subtlety, I am no child to pacify, to persuade to accept Father's wish. What would father even arrange for my future, anyway? Certainly nothing too grave. He sees no use in me. I know not grace, yet I am foreign to weaponry. And even I can admit to myself I am downright useless!" Ianthe said, her voice becoming soft, washing away the harshness that had been there a second ago.

"My child, you shall see him in his study. He will tell you all that he has to. I am not trying to be subtle, but to be careful with my words, less you be too furious to see your father." Ianthe's mother replied, then gave a little smile. "Perhaps... Just perhaps there is someone who can tame your wild temper."

Ianthe looked at her mother in confusion, wondering why she was averting the issue. Nevertheless, she did as she was told, and walked briskly to the study of her father. She had forgotten to knock the door in the hurry, but though her father was irritated by this move, he made no complaint, and slowly, his gaze rose from his paperwork to that of his unsightly daughter. Ianthe still looked as defiant as ever. She was never on close terms with her father.

"Well?"

"I do hope you will cure that ill habit of yours. You should not speak so freely and without thought. Especially if you will stand before royals and those in high regard." Ianthe's father reprimanded, glaring at her with two big eyes. He then continued, "I do not know what spell this is, or a curse perhaps, but you were chosen among your siblings. I have gently advised against it, but it could not be prevented."

"Do not beat about the bush, Father. What matter are you speaking of?" Ianthe asked impatiently.

She wondered why her father was speaking of her being in the presence of royals and such, for her life was not bound to meeting one. At least, not from near. She knew she would never have to speak to one, only watch from afar. Nor would she be outstanding in the crowd, for she was never one who dolled herself much. But what her father said next answered her question.

"You are to wed the Lord Boromir."

This resounded in Ianthe's mind for a very long time, as though it were an echo that would not fade away. "F-father, are you playing a joke on me? Tell me, father, have I done yet something wrong to displease you again? For I will not have this arrangement!" Ianthe exclaimed, staring at her father in plea.

"Alas, you will have it. You must, my child."

Ianthe looked even more oddly at the man before her. He had never addressed her as his child before, and now the words poured out of his lips so gently. It was clear that this was no joke, but Ianthe could never believe it was she. She had so many sisters who bore better qualities than she, who looked more radiant, and were more capable. Ianthe was utterly talent less, and had not the beauty to support her. She was in good figure, yes, but still, her outlook did not look very pleasing to the eye.
Ianthe, not wanting to show the weaker side of her, bowed, and left the study, never once letting her tears spill, even in the comfort of solitude. She would not give up.

'Tis nothing...They will reflect back on their mistake in picking me... There is nothing to fear, I will be all right, I will be all right.

But Ianthe knew she would not be all right. She hid her head beneath the pillow, trying to shut out her father's words.

Hours later, an excited knock sounded on the door of Ianthe' room suddenly, and Ianthe rose from the bed.

"Oh sister, come see this! There is snow already! In no time we'll be able to skate!"

Ianthe unlocked the door, and in the doorway stood Elysia, the youngest sister of the family. She was 18, and often held the favour of many. She had a pair of eyes as blue as the ocean, and two lush, full lips that often curved into an arc to form an infectious smile.

Elysia looked at her sister in confusion. "What is it, dear sister? You should be glad of the winter's coming. You did so enthusiastically ask if I could go ice-skating with you. What has overcome you now?"

"Have you not heard from Father?" Ianthe asked dejectedly.

"No, what is the matter?"

"I do not have the heart to speak of it this moment. Elysia, I apologize. Perhaps you might want to seek Second Sister or your two brothers to skate?"

"Ha! Lysandra is forever out dancing. Or singing, even. She has talent in that field. And she is so much in love with it, I'd doubt she'd want to ice-skate! And our two brothers? Can you even tear them away from their swords?" Elysia replied, and plopped softly down on Ianthe's bed. "Oh before I forget..." Elysia continued, changing the subject. She retrieved a wooden flute from her skirts, and handed it to her sister. "Here, the craftsman is fantastic. He finished carving your flute with high speed."

"I thank you, sister! Now I shall be with companion again. Father disapproves of it, I know. But I don't see how the harp won't put me to sleep, or any other stringed instrument, for that matter."

"Well that flute has caused you much trouble, and had Father put more dislike into you! I suppose he would rather you play the harp."

"But he cannot force me to if I won't. He knows my temper."

"And it is odd how you are not flaring up when I saw that glum look on your face just a moment ago. Will you tell me what Father has said?" Elysia inquired.

Ianthe sat down on the rug beside the fireplace, looking up at her younger sister. "I am afraid if it really does happen, we would not see each other so often anymore. I am betrothed."

Elysia widened her eyes at Ianthe. "Betrothed? Is there some madness, why is there still this custom? And Father... Why did Father pick you, anyway?"

"That is what I do not know. I am certainly going to give hell to my future husband. I wish I could avoid this. I wish I could escape from this city. But all my life, I've been here, so I know not what the world outside is like. I am trapped. There is no way I can escape." Ianthe sadly answered. "Perhaps...Just perhaps Father hates the sight of me, and so sends me off to someone else. But he did say he advised against it. So far, I do not know the reason. But I hope if they do get to see me, they might rethink and disagree to this arrangement. I am sure they do not want such an untamed woman."

"Sister, thus far you have mentioned, I have seen that you have left out the name of your man. Who is he?"

"He is not my man!" Ianthe snapped. "He is Lord Boromir."

Elysia looked hard at her sister, as though trying to find some speck of evidence on her that she was lying. When she could find none, she started getting off the bed and sitting beside her sister on the rug. "Boromir?!" Elysia asked in wonder. "Now this is getting very, very peculiar. No disrespect to you, sister, but it is a mystery why they chose you."

"I know. I'm checked off the list for every item: etiquette, manners, politeness, temper, grooming and whatever you can think of." Ianthe sighed, and went to the dressing table, lazily tying her hair into a bun, and sticking a silver pin across it. "Some matchmaker is being blind."

"Oh we shall see."

"See what?" Ianthe demanded, folding her arms.

"How you fare as a wife, of course!" Elysia answered, trying to hold back fits of laughter.

"Oh I am NOT going to be one." Ianthe grumbled. She started to tidy her crumpled bed sheets, trying to take her mind off the current affair. "He is NOT going to like me either. You'll see."

"Then it will be a good show."

"I'd rather there was no show, nosey sister."

Elysia laughed. She emerged from Ianthe's room into her own. "She'll never give in, her determination is hard as diamonds. Though... the heart about her heart can be as brittle as ice if the right hammer is used..." Elysia thought.