Title: Gondor's Daughter
Author: sz2000
Rating: PG
A/N: My story starts in Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. I did use some of Tolkien's words but the rest is mine. This is fan fiction; I'm doing this for fun. This is my first fan fiction. I'm dyslexic. My main character's name means jasmine. Please review. Thank you!
Chapter I-
"Milady, you must come quickly. For Gandalf has returned with news."
The woman of thirty-seven summers moved like the wind would with a coming storm out of the room with her ladies in waiting running to catch up with her as she moved through a paved long and empty passage of the Citadel of Gondor. As she moved her flowing gown of dusky rose with brocade ropes tying her bodice and a rich gold embroider apron was not successful in slowing her down.
The light of the sun was just rising over Mindolluin and touching the city of Minas Tirith. Men and women were rising out of bed to start their day. No man, woman or child knew what this day would bring to them as they woke from their sleep.
The woman came to a tall door of polished metal. She slowed her pace to a walk as she entered a great hall. It was lit by deep windows in the wide aisles at either side, beyond the rows of tall pillars that upheld the roof. Monoliths of black marble, they rose to great capitals carved in many figures of beasts and leaves; and far above in shadow the wide vaulting gleamed with dull gold, inset with flowing traceries of many colors. Between the pillars there stood a silent company of tall images graven in cold stone, these were the tall images of the kings of long ago. At the far end upon a dais of many steps was set a high throne under a canopy of marble shaped like a crowned helm; behind it was carved upon the wall and set with gems an image of a tree in flower. But the throne was empty. At the foot of the dais, upon the lowest step which was broad and deep, there was a stone chair, black and unadorned, and on it sat an old man gazing at his lap. In his hand was a white rod with a golden knob. He did not look up. Solemnly an old weathered man and a child with brown curly hair stood three paces from the man in the stone chair's footstool. As the women approached the men and child looked up. The women noticed that the child had long hairy feet.
Gandalf the Gray bowed his head as did the child as the women stood next to the old men. The women bowed her head. Then Gandalf spoke.
"Hail, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith, Denethor son of Ecthelion! Hail, Lady and wife of the heir to the Steward of Minas Tirith, Alcrothwen daughter of Marmadus! I am come with counsel and tidings in this dark hour."
Then the old man looked up. I saw his carven face with its proud bones and skin like ivory, and the long curved nose between the dark deep eyes; and I was reminded of my husband.
"Dark indeed is the hour," said the old man, "and at such times you are wont to come, Mithrandir. But though all the signs forebode that the doom of Gondor is drawing nigh, less now to me is that darkness than my own darkness. Is this he?"
"It is," said Gandalf. "One of the twain. The other is with Théoden of Rohan and may come hereafter. Halflings they are, as you see, yet this is not he of whom the omens spoke."
"Yet a Halfling still," said Denethor grimly, "and little love do I bear the name, since those accursed words came to trouble our counsels and drew away my son on the wild errand to his death. My Boromir! Now we have need of you. Faramir should have gone in his stead."
"He would have gone," said Gandalf. "Be not unjust in your grief! Boromir claimed the errand and would not suffer any other to have it. He is a masterful man, and one to take what he desires. I journeyed far with him and learned much of his mood. But you speak of his death. You have had news of that ere we came?"
"We have received this," said Denethor, and laying down his rod he lifted from his lap the thing that he had been gazing at. In each hand he held up one half of a great horn cloven through the middle: a wild-ox horn bound with silver.
"That is the horn that Boromir always wore!" cried the child.
"Verily," said Denethor. "And in my turn I bore it, and so did each eldest son of our house, far back into the vanished years before the failing of the kings, since Vorondil father of Mardil hunted the wild kine of Araw in the far fields of Rhun. It can no longer be passed to Boromir's eldest living son, Marmadus. I heard it blowing dim upon the northern marches thirteen days ago, and the River brought it to me, broken: it will wind no more." He paused and there was a heavy silence. Suddenly he turned his black glance upon the child. "What say you to that, Halfling?"
"Thirteen, thirteen days," faltered the child. "Yes, I think that would be so. Yes, I stood beside him, as he blew the horn. But no help came. Only more orcs."
"So," said Denethor, looking keenly at the child's face. "You were there? Tell us more! Why did no help come? And how did you escape, and yet he did not, so mighty a man as he was, and only orcs to withstand him?"
The child flushed. "The mightiest man may be slain by one arrow," he said; "and Boromir was pierced by many. When last I saw him he sank beside a tree and plucked a black-feathered shaft from his side. Then I swooned and was made captive. I did not think I would see him again, but Boromir proved us wrong. For Boromir and some others came to my kinsman Meriadoc and myself, waylaid in the woods by the soldiery of the Dark Lord. I wish to show my gratitude to your son and husband, but Boromir would have none of it."
Then the child looked from Denethor to me and back again in the eyes. "Little service, no doubt, will so great a lord of Men think to find in a hobbit, a halfling from the northern Shire; yet such as it is, I will offer it, in payment of my debt." Twitching aside his grey cloak, the child drew forth his small sword and laid it at Denethor's feet.
A pale smile, like a gleam of cold sun on a winter's evening, passed over the old man's face; but he bent his head and held out his hand, laying the shards of the horn aside. "Give me the weapon!" he said.
The child lifted it and presented the hilt to him. "Whence came this?" said Denethor. "Many, many years lie on it. Surely this is a blade wrought by our own kindred in the North in the deep past?"
"It came out of the mounds that lie on the borders of my country," said the child. "But only evil wights dwell there now, and I will not willingly tell more of them."
"I see that strange tales are woven about you," said Denethor, "and once again it is shown that looks may belie the man-or the halfling."
Denethor turned to me. "What say you, daughter?"
"I believe that they say the truth that your son and my husband lives." I said.
"We accept your service. For you are not daunted by words; and you have courteous speech, strange though the sound of it may be to us in the South. And we shall have need of all folk of courtesy, be they great or small, in the days to come. Swear to me now!"
"Take the hilt," said Gandalf, "and speak after the Lord, if you are resolved to this."
"I am," said the child.
The old man laid the sword along his lap, and the child put his hand to the hilt, and said slowly after Denethor:
"Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in heed or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end. So say I, Peregrin son of Paladin of the Shire of the Halflings."
"And this do I hear, Denethor son of Ecthelion, Lord of Gondor, Steward of the High King, and I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valor with honor, oath-breaking with vengeance." Then Peregrin received back his sword and put it in its sheath.
"And now," said Denethor, "my first command to you: speak and be not silent! Tell us were are our son and husband are if you say that he is alive."
"Your son and husband is in Rohan," explained Peregrin.
"Now tell us your full tale, and see that you recall all that you can of Boromir, my son. Sit now and begin!" As he spoke he struck a small silver gong that stood near his footstool, and at once servants came forward. They had been standing in alcoves on either side of the door.
"Bring wine and food and seats for the guests," said Denethor, "and see that none trouble us for one hour."
"It is all that I have to spare, for there is much else to heed," he said to Gandalf. "Much of more import, it may seem, and yet to me less pressing. But maybe we can speak again at the end of the day."
"And earlier, it is to be hoped," said Gandalf. "For I have not ridden hither from Isengard, one hundred and fifty leagues, with the speed of wind, only to bring you one small warrior, however courteous. Is it naught to you that Théoden has fought a great battle, and that Isengard is overthrown, and that I have broken the staff of Saruman?"
"It is much to me. But I know already sufficient of these deeds for my own counsel against the menace of the East." He turned his dark eyes on Gandalf. Everyone in the great hall could feel the strain between them, almost as if they saw a line of smoldering fire, drawn from eye to eye, that might suddenly burst into flame.
Denethor looked indeed much more like a great wizard than Gandalf did, more kingly, beautiful, and powerful; and older. Yet by a sense other than sight I perceived that Gandalf had the greater power and the deeper wisdom, and a majesty that was veiled. It was Denethor who first withdrew his gaze.
"Yea," he said; "for though the Stones are lost, they say, still the lords of Gondor have keener sight than lesser men, and many messages come to them. But sit now!"
Then men came bearing two chairs and a low stool, and one brought a salver with a silver flagon and cups, and white cakes.
"Now tell me your tale, my liege," said Denethor, half kindly, half mockingly. "For the words of one whom my son so befriended will be welcomed indeed."
Peregrin told his tale.
When the hour was over and Denethor again rang the gong.
"Lead the Lord Mithrandir to the housing prepared for him," said Denethor, "and his companion may lodge with him for the present, if he will. But be it known that I have now sworn him to my service, and he shall be known as Peregrin son of Paladin and taught the lesser pass-words. Send word to the Captains that they shall wait on me here, as soon as may be after the third hour has rung.
"And you, my Lord Mithrandir, shall come too, as and when you will. None shall hinder your coming to me at any time, save only in my brief hours of sleep. Let your wrath at an old man's folly run off, and then return to my comfort!"
"First we wish to have counsel with the Lady Alcrothwen," explained Gandalf. "When Milady has the time to spare us."
"I have time after the seventh hour," I said.
"That will be fine, Milady," said Gandalf.
"May I have the lord's leave?" I asked Denethor.
"You have my leave, daughter," Denethor said.
I bowed my head to the Lord Steward, Gandalf and Peregrin. As I walked out Peregrin showed a smile of warmth.
I went to the bedchamber of my husband.
* * * * * * * *
The hobbit looked at the young couple's wedding painting, hanging above the roaring fire. In a room of the bedchamber of the Captain-General and heir to the Steward of Gondor sat a woman, hobbit and old man smoking his pipe.
The painting that was hanging above the roaring fire showed a happy moment in time for the man and woman. The man in the painting was of only eighteen summers wearing a white surcoat with gold accents and a gold shirt. His hair was blondish brown and eyes were gray. The blondish brown facial hair on his face was nicely shaven.
The woman in the painting was of only sixteen summers wearing a white dress with gold accents. Her hair was blondish brown with white flowers in her hair and eyes were gray. The veil was white with gold accents. You could tell that this moment in time was one of the happiest moments for the couple.
Pippin could not believe what the woman was telling him. He looked from the woman of only thirty-seven summers sitting in front of him and of the painting of a young girl of only sixteen summers.
"My lady, you are jesting!" cried Pippin.
"Nay, the painting is of mine and Boromir's wedding," I explained.
Pippin could only look back and forth between the painting of the girl and the woman sitting in front of him.
"Tell me the story. Boromir would not speak of it."
"What story is there to speak of, Master Hobbit?"
"The story of you and Boromir. The love you two have. You mean the world to Boromir. All he would speak of during the time we were in the Fellowship was about Gondor, you, Faramir, and his sons."
"Why would you want to hear a boring story like ours? I don't want to bore you. You have heard better stories."
With sad eyes Pippin begged, "Please, please!"
All I could do was laughed with delight at the begging hobbit.
"You are a very persistent hobbit."
"Lady Alcrothwen, I should have warned you about how hobbits can be very nosey and persistent," explained Gandalf.
I sat in silence staring at the painting. I was thinking back to the first time I realized I was in love with Boromir.
"You shall have your wish, master hobbit."
I closed my gray eyes. With my eyes closed all my memories came rushing back to me. All I could do was smile. With that I opened my gray eyes, now shining brightly.
"My mother raised me to be a queen. She knew I would marry the heir to the Steward."