I wish to thank Tadah2 for her painstaking betaing of the text and TommyGinger for inspiration and prodding.
For example of wimple look to story pic.
AN:
AU - Boromir had not died at Amon Hen and arrives at Minas Tirith together with Gandalf and Pippin. He is later wounded during the Battle of Pellenor Fields. Otherwise events are more or less as per canon, apart from Denethor not going bonkers, so there is no self immolation attempt. After the battle the political situation is tense, with the Steward having no intention to yield to the King.
I gave Eomund's father Eoric (non-canon name) a younger sister, Eoforhild. She is Elfhelm's mother. Hence the future Marshal of the Eastfold is 2nd cousin once removed to Eomer and Eowyn, some ten years or so older then Eomer.
In my opinion Tolkien uses semi-Salic rules for succession, where a woman does not inherit but her son or sons do. Hence the line is continued by a sister-son.
In my headcanon the Mark under Fengel King (Theoden's grandfather) was a very dark place, with the Crown buying nobles' support by giving them free rein over commoners.
Italics denote non-canon events or names
2942 Leofhild weds Eobald
2943 Eoric is born
2945 Eoforhild is born
2960 Eoric marries Wynflaed
2961 Eomund born
2963 Theodwyn born
2980 Elfhelm born to Eoforhild and Wulfhelm
2989 Eomund and Theodwyn marry
2991 Eomer born
2995 Eowyn born
3002 Eomund killed, Theodwyn dies "soon" afterwards
After Theodwyn's death Eomer and Eowyn are taken from Aldburg to Edoras by Théoden.
Major jump of perspective or timing is signalised by a string of s's.
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Denethor looked upon the host leaving for Morannon. A hare-brained scheme if there was one, if anybody asked him. He could only hope that the losses they would inflict on the Enemy, on top of those Mordor and its allies had already suffered at Pellenor and Pelargir, would end the campaign season for this year. The inevitable defeat of Thorongil - he did not care for that man's myriad nicknames - would eliminate the "Return of the King" nonsense. What Denethor was unhappy about was the loss of the force The Ranger was leading. So he got to the business of limiting the losses' adverse impact on the Kingdom. A realm in his own good care, thank you very much.
The Steward feared that the Forlorn Hope expedition would cause disturbance among the Noble Houses in Gondor, further aggravating the effects of the deaths of many Lords and their heirs at Pellenor. Here the heirless Duinhir of Vale of Morthond stood out as a blatant example. Therefore the Steward demanded that the Lords leave their heirs or - if they had none yet - not to lead their forces in person. To his surprise the Ranger had supported him on this - not that he doubted the Dishevelled One caring for Gondor - but pettiness was a trait common enough in the Race of Men as to make his opposition nothing out of the ordinary, simply because the idea had come from him. Once this idea was backed by his brother-in-law Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and the new Lord of Lossarnach Fuinor - a fresh replacement for his father, Forlond, fallen at the Pellenor just days before - both of whom had left at least one son at home before riding to Minas Tirith's succour - it was overwhelmingly accepted by the assembled lords.
He now could turn his attention to other matters. Besides repairing the damage wrought by the fighting, there were matters—one large, one small—that demanded his attention.
The big issue was Umbar. The third Numenorean successor state had lost most of its fleet at Pelargir. It would take years - maybe ten or more - before its navy was rebuilt to a state where it became more than just a nuisance. Such a rebuilding required not only ships, but also men and officers - all of which had been lost to that "Army of the Dead" the self-proclaimed Heir of Isildur was rumoured to have unleashed on it. Yet Denethor had no intention of giving Umbar time to rebuild.
He gave orders for the formation of the Umbarian Expedition. The fleet captured by the Ranger in Pelargir was to carry troops for a surprise assault on the city. As for troops, there were more than enough on hand. After the departure of the Forlorn Hope expedition the garrison, swelled by men from the Southern Fiefs, was stronger than it had been before the siege. Hence he had infantry to spare. The Lebennin and Dol Amroth navies were to protect the captured - and now manned by Gondorians - ex-raiding craft from interference from any remnants of Umbar's maritime might which were still afloat and manned. Capturing the city and stripping it of its inhabitants, of its shipwrights in particular, should buy the Southern Kingdom at least a generation of calm on its shores.
The lesser issue concerned Denethor's sons. Although both had failed him and Gondor, and both had disobeyed his orders, he still needed to keep one as heir. Here he had to grudgingly admit to himself that sending Boromir north had turned out to be a mistake. Not only did Boromir return another wizard's pet - like the long-standing failure had been already - but Thorongil's lap dog as well. Judging by Faramir's record, the younger failure will soon be another snivelling follower of the Usurper too.
Regardless of which son he kept, Denethor planned to take a good look at some of his kinsmen as possible replacements. Some might be up to the job. Training several of them as the "spare" should keep the surviving fool on his toes and in line. To his displeasure both failures managed to get themselves wounded - this ruled out the possibility of eliminating one offender by placing him with the Forlorn Hope. Hence Denethor would have to abandon subtlety and openly sentence one to death. This could be a good thing, sending out the message that nobody was above punishment. This would serve Gondor well.
Denethor visited the Houses of Healing to select the son better suiting his current purpose. He looked into the wounded, thus boosting the morale of the Gondorians. He made a point to visit the Eorling riders as well. Regardless of his feelings about them, the Rohirrim had been very important in the Battle of the Pellenor Fields. Some were marching at the Black Gate while - more importantly from his point of view - three thousand Riders under a certain Elfhelm were currently clearing Anorien of orcs at this very moment. Showing them appreciation and keeping them happy was sensible policy. Even their Princess had fought and her blade had brought down one of the Nazgul. How quaint. And absolutely unladylike. Simply outrageous.
After those public acts he sat down with the Warden and discussed the state of health of his sons. Were any of their injuries permanent? Could there be any long-term effects? After the meeting, he personally took a look at each of them to verify what the Warden had said against what he could himself see - it was too grave an issue to rely on reports alone - and then retired for the night.
Denethor woke up refreshed and made the final decision over breakfast. He called an audience for the throne room in the White Tower for the afternoon, with the selected failure being summoned. The other was to stay in the Houses of Healing. He did not wish any rash demonstration of brotherly affection, possibly leading to the sentencing of both. Denethor trusted that the spared one would come to his sire's point of view over time. Or else. For the good of Gondor. He sighed...
In the morning hours Denethor then busied himself with preparations for the Umbar raid and the allocation of captured enemy soldiers. Of course, the bards were already singing about "not a foe left living by fell blades of the West" but the Steward knew better - there ALWAYS were prisoners. The "non-existent" - according to bards - prisoners in fact numbered a good few thousand. Once the wounded prisoners recovered they would be offered an opportunity to fight for Gondor. As many of them were barbarians fighting for loot and blood letting - not necessarily in that order - he assumed that at least some should take up the offer.
The remainder would be put to use as forced labour, especially in areas that had lost the most men. Work gangs composed of former soldiers of the Dark Lord would lessen the burden on the locals. Human nature being what it is, the Steward hoped that over a few years most of the prisoners would end up marrying into the populace. He made a note to impress upon the local lords the need to farm out the prisoners to homesteads run by widows during harvest time. Men were men, women were women, and farms needed working hands. That should speed up the process of intermarriage. And if need be the prisoners could simply be killed, thus releasing the men guarding them for other duties.
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Meanwhile in the Houses of Healing an amused Merry was spying upon the spectacle in the gardens. The two Steward's sons and the White Lady of Rohan were holding a picnic of sorts. Of sorts, as the Prince-Stewards were trying to slip some food or drink through the gloomy Princess' defences. The hobbit wore an ear-to-ear grin. Plying a lass with food and drink was a fumbling lad's last resort in clumsy courting. And those two giants were both besotted and outrageously clumsy! Compared to them, Sam's courtship of Rosie made him one smooth charmer, it did! To top it off, the brothers were so absorbed by their "romantic" manoeuvres that they failed to see their actions mirrored by the other. The young Took bit into the sleeve of his coat to stifle his laughter watching one of the brothers seductively wave a gravy dripping drumstick in front of the Wraithsbane and make a long face when it was swatted away with a well audible harrumph!
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Denethor looked down at his son. Pale from his partly recovered wounds, he took his sentence well.
"Let my life be forfeit, then" - the tall, powerfully built Gondorian with gentle eyes uttered.
It was the gathered lords who gave off unmanly sounds of "oh!" and "ahh!" and "gasp!". He felt some misplaced pride in his son and in how he had trained him. The condemned Steward Prince was led away for his last night in a cell.
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The night saw some frenetic movement between the Citadel and the Houses of Healing. The room of the other Steward Prince hosted the conspirators - himself, the Warden of the Keys Hurin the Tall - a kinsman to the brothers, the three Guardsmen Beregond, Galon and Cavenor, and the Goodwife Ioreth. The group whispered of old laws, maidens, headwear, wagons and horses.
If there was an eager ear in the vicinity, it would have caught low tones asking:
"But would she be willing?"
"Will she have the strength?"
With a woman's voice replying that there are plants giving strength or better - disregard for one's weakness, while other make the mind more receptive to suggestion.
A muttered:
"But such manipulation is so low; it is so worthy of the Enemy, not of those who look to the Valar."
A stifled voice, spoken though a constricted throat, as if on the verge of tears.
"It indeed is a heavy burden we take upon our consciences. And we may be throwing away all our honour. But I would had failed in my duty to my brother had we not pursued all and every avenue to save him from the block. Yet, I still don't like what we are doing to her ... "
"It is a good match, a very good match, I'm sure King whatshisname Eromeer will be delighted."
"Indeed. Surely he can see that his House would never have made such a match otherwise?"
"My only consolation lies with my brother being a man of honour. I trust nothing that cannot be undone will happen and an annulment will be a matter of course."
"Meh, the Horselord will be ecstatic that his sister married up. You can't go higher than the House of Hurin!"
And finally:
"What in Eru's name is a wimple?"
Followed by a soft woman's chuckle.
At dawn they moved to their prescribed tasks, this including the sending of a courier to the west.
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The executioner was ready on his dais; Denethor was observing from a hastily erected platform. The bell was thudding grimly, a gloomy, regular BOOM accompanying every step the hapless Steward Prince and his hard eyed escort were taking. Due to unusual circumstances the execution was not staged on the 1st level's Merry Swinger's Square, the customary place for capital punishment. Not only were there few riff-raff in the city but this event was not for them. It was not to show the lower orders what happens to wrong doers and not for their entertainment either. This event was for the nobility, hence the use of an open area on the 5th level, to show the higher orders what awaited those falling foul of the true ruler of Gondor. A pity so few of the nobility had filtered back yet, the Steward bemoaned. Those higher born's that had returned - plus the lords and heirs who had not left with the Forlorn Hope - would have to serve though; they would pass on word to their cousins of what they witnessed this day.
The Steward's son watched his brother from the window of one of the town houses whose owners were yet to reappear in Minas Tirith and which gave a good view of the executioner's platform. For speed and stealth the spared son had been carried in a curtained-off litter and was now seated in the darkness of the unlighted room, with the escort in close attendance. The breaking into the building – boarded up and abandoned for the time of the siege - will be dismissed as a case of looters being scared off by the Watch before they stole anything.
The "retained" brother's manly, silent tears slid down his checks and disappeared into his stubble like into a bed of moss. His grief was misinterpreted by on looking guardsmen as being over his brother's fate - this suited him fine. He wept for his brother, he wept for his crazed father, and he wept for himself. And most of all he wept for the semi-conscious girl, drugged to function like a puppet doll, the girl he was throwing at his brother to save him. The girl he had known so briefly yet had grown hopelessly attached to. A girl he wished to show his love, to protect her, to cherish, and to make her feel loved and appreciated and safe in the certainty that her autonomy would be respected. The girl he wished to embrace, caress, hold near, to keep warm with his body, to kiss her here and there and ... and there too. Everywhere.
His heartbreak at losing Eowyn in order to save his brother was soothed by the thought that she evidently had feelings for his sibling. At the picnic yesterday she had taken a sausage from his condemned brother while showing haughty disdain towards his offering of honey glazed sweet rolls. Everything pointed to their future happiness...
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AN
corvee - unpaid labour due to the State, measured in days or weeks