PROLOGUE PT. 1
(Author's Note at the bottom)
Staring down at the tiny infant nestled against her bosom, wrapped in furs and drinking greedily from her breast, her heart felt full again. After the birth of her second child she had grown ill with fever, and was bedridden for three months, unable to nurse her newborn son or chase her five-year old down the halls. Those three months she had desperatey longed to roam the city once again, feel the sun on her face, her husband's embrace, and the slobbery wet kisses of her children. She willed herself to get better, and slowly, over time her fever broke and she started to feel herself again.
It remained a mystery what caused her fever, and the healers whispered amongst themselves how it was a miracle that she was well again, for surely this illness should have taken her life. She had fully embraced this miracle, and saw things with a whole new perspective; she enjoyed running her fingertips along the walls of smooth marble as she walked the halls. She savoured the feel of the sun on her face with a newfound appreciation, and found comfort in the smell of the old books in the Citadel library.
Two years went by, and she remained healthy and happy, but deep down she felt something was missing. Her eldest began his training with the Master-at-Arms now that he was old enough to learn the skills required to become a soldier of Gondor. Balancing her toddler on her hip she would often watch him swing his wooden training sword with skill, his young brows furrowed as he focused on hitting all the marks on the practice dummy in front of him.
"Your brother is going to be a great warrior." She cooed to her youngest son, tickling his nose, he giggled. "As will you one day my little love."
She was proud of her sons; her eldest, Boromir, already showed such promise at seven years old. He was tall for his age, and kept up with some of the older boys who had begun their training several years before him. He was strong, moved quickly, and he was smart, he was being conditioned to become a great soldier and a fierce leader, for one day he would take his fathers place as Steward. He began spending more time at Denethor's side; when he wasn't in the training yard, he would accompany his father during his daily tasks. Yes, Boromir would make a wonderful leader one day.
Faramir, her younger of the two, had a sense of wonder about him, and she knew he would be more sensitive than his older brother. At two years old, he developed a keen interest in books and stories, though he couldn't read quite yet, his eyes would light up at the illustrations and he would hang onto every word of the fables his mother would read him. He was intelligent for his age, picking up on things most toddlers would not, he focused on everything happening around him, trying to figure out how everything worked, he was ever the curious one.
She knew that one day he and his brother would lean heavily on one another, where Boromir was like to jump in head first, she knew Faramir would keep him grounded and help him slow down and see the bigger picture. She loved her boys, but in her heart knew she wanted another child, that was what was missing. Her and the Steward tried, for two more years, unsuccessfully. It was suspected that her illness after Faramir's birth had left her barren, unable to conceive another child. She was saddened by this, but came to accept it and life in Minas Tirith went on.
Lord Denethor was loathe to see his wife so heavy hearted, and in turn this caused him to feel disdain towards his younger son, for he blamed the boy for causing his beautiful wife to fall ill in the first place. He turned his energy and attention towards Boromir, who was now almost 10 years of age and showing much promise. As the years went by, he was harder on the young Faramir, pushing him to focus more on the histories of Middle Earth, instead of wasting his time with fairy tales. He tried to hide his favouritism towards his elder son for his wife's sake, but she noticed the different ways he treated them, this caused her to become more protective of Faramir.
The year Faramir started his training in the grounds with Berin, their new arms master, Lady Finduilas fell ill again. Unable to keep down any of her meals, and suffering hot flashes in the night, a concerned Denethor brought in Ioreth, a wise healer from Lossanarch, to tend to her.
Denethor remained at Finduilas' bedside while the middle-aged woman examined her. Pressing her hands against the lady's abdomen she furrowed her brow and pressed harder into her sides and feeling along the abdomen walls. With a worried expression, Denethor reached for his wife's hand.
"What is it?" he nervously asked, leaning closer to his wife. He was terrifed to hear bad news, he had already lost her once and could not bear the thought of losing her again.
Ioreth removed her hands from Lady Finduilas and simply smiled at the Steward and Stewardess. "Milord, Milady, there is nothing to worry about here. These are merely symptoms, it is to be expected. You are with child."
At the news Finduilas began to weep happy tears, while Denethor felt a sense of relief. This was not supposed to happen to them, she was supposed to be barren, her fever was supposed to have taken this away from her. It was a miracle; her illness vanishing, and this, this too was a miracle. Denethor thanked Ioreth, and offered her a permanent position as a healer in Minas Tirith, with the condition that his wife would be her number one priority until this babe was born. She of course agreed, and tended to Lady Finduilas as her belly grew bigger and the weeks and months passed by.
It was always in the back of her mind that she would grow sick again once the child was born, but for the time being she did not bother herself with worry. She knew in her heart that she was meant to have this child, and so she cherished every moment of this pregnancy. She spent more time in the gardens, enjoying the fragrance of the spring flowers and the cool breeze against her skin. She would watch her son's train while absentmindedly stroking her belly.
One day, while walking Faramir to his lessons, she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen, it went away, but came back stronger. The third time the wave of pain came, she felt a wetness between her legs and stumbled, bracing her hands against the wall for support.
"What is it mama?" a worried Faramir asked, squeezing his mothers hand.
"Faramir." Finduilas looked down at her son, and spoke calmly, so as not to frighten her sensitive boy. "Do not fret, my love, it seems this baby wants to come out sooner than we anticipated. I need you to go find help now, I will not be able to get to the birthing chamber on my own. Go now, I will be fine here."
He nodded at his mother and scurried off to find the nearest person to help his mother. "...and please tell someone to fetch Ioreth! The babe is coming." She called after him.
He quickly found two Citadel guards, and brought one to his mother's aid, while the other ran off to fetch Ioreth. Once he and the guard got Lady Finduilas settled in the birthing bed, it wasn't long before Ioreth arrived. She quickly gathered her supplies and shooed away the guards, instructing them to inform the Steward that his wife was in labor.
"Go now, little lord. The birthing room is no place for men, or young boys." Ioreth uttered, not looking up at him as she unravelled her medical bag. His mother groaned as another wave a pain washed over her, and he remained in his place, not wanting to leave her side.
Ioreth paused, then got up and kneeled before him, so that she was at his level. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder she reassured him. "Do not worry Lord Faramir. I will not allow anything to happen to your mother or the babe. Childbirth is a painful thing indeed, but I have brought many-a-child into this world, and your mother is a strong lady. She will be just fine. It is a good thing that you were there by her side, you got her here just in time." He smiled at her then, feeling proud that he had helped his mother, and nodded his head at Ioreth, feeling confident that his mother was in good hands. "Go to your father now, I will send someone to inform you all when the baby arrives and your mother is well-rested."
He placed a kiss on his mother's forehead, who squeezed his hand in return and smiled up at him. "I love you." she mouthed, right before another contraction hit her, and he ran off to find his brother and father.
It wasn't until several hours later that a squire arrived where Lord Denethor and his sons waited anxiously, with the news that the Lady Finduilas had just given birth to a healthy baby girl, and the two of them were resting. Lord Denethor rushed to be at his wife's side, while the two young boys were instructed to wait for someone to fetch them at a later time.
She was a beautiful babe, with chubby pink cheeks, and a thick head of golden hair on top of her head. She squeezed her mother's fingers while she nursed, clearly enjoying her first meal as any newborn babe would.
"She has a strong grip." Finduilas gushed, looking up at her husband who was now at her bedside. She was exhausted, but had a newfound energy as she held onto her baby's tiny hand. She moved the furs away from the girl's face, so her father could get a better look.
"She is beautiful, she has your likeness."
"It is too soon to tell that, my love." Finduilas chuckled.
"What shall we name her?" he wondered aloud, placing a gentle hand on his wife's shoulder.
"I have not thought of one for her just yet." she stated, re-adjusting her daughter against her breast when the babe let out a cry.
They sat there staring down in awe at their newborn daughter, their miracle child, as the babe continued to nurse until she eventually fell asleep. With help from Denethor, Finduilas sat up in her bed, just as Ioreth brought in her two sons, both eager to meet their new baby sister.
A 13-year old Boromir, and 8-year old Faramir stood nervously at the end of the bed, unsure of what to do next. Neither had been around infants much in their lives, as Boromir was only 5 at the time of Faramir's birth, he did not remember much.
Finduilas gestured for her boys to come closer to her side. "Come, my loves." The two brothers slowly made way to their mother's side, opposite of Denethor. She repositioned the bundle of fur that rested against her shoulder so that it was now cradled in her arms, and pushed aside the part of the fur blanket covering the babes face, so that her son's could see.
"Come meet your new sister…" she smiled. "Mirawen."
Author's Note: This is my first ever fanfic, I was hesitant to start writing this, but after rewatching the films again, I felt inspired, and this story was something I thought about frequently (as I'm sure is the origin story of many a fanfic) So, in need of some sort of creative outlet and to write my ideas down, here I am. Now, Tolkien's world is a BIG one to tackle, and by no means will this version be exact to his wonderful creation. This story will be mainly movie-verse but slightly AU, I've taken some time to research certain facts as well so that it takes some elements from what was left out of Peter Jackson's film trilogy. It's been a VERY long time since I've read the books, so if you're looking for a storyline that follows the book-verse this won't be it. I don't own any of Tolkien's characters, so far I just own my OFC Mirawen (and any other OC's I introduce along the way) who I am going to try, try, try my hardest to NOT be a mary-sue, so I welcome any respectful criticism if she comes close.
**Song in the title/lyrics from summary belong to the band Bleachers "Like a River Runs"
**Mirawen (pronounced MEERA-WHEN) Mira means 'Wonder' in Latin, -wen is a feminine suffix in Gondor (or so I read somewhere), and I thought it sounded nice with Boromir, and Faramir, and show that they were all siblings.
**Mirawen is 13 years younger than Boromir, as Boromir is around 40 at the events of FOTR, that will make her 28 when we get there.
Anywho, I apologize for the long Author's note, they won't all be like this I promise! I hope you enjoy this story.
-Buttercup (yes, I am a big Princess Bride fan, so there may be some references along the way.)
