ANNÚMINAS
by Soledad
Disclaimer: see in the Introduction
Rating: PG, for this chapter (I think).
Author's notes:
And now we are facing the inevitable - in the very person of the
Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor... not to mention other
representatives of royalty and nobility. g
Warning: not yet beta-ed.
5. FAMILY REUNION
[The 11th day of Gwaeron(1), in the year 3021 of the Third Age - the same as before.]
The royal party from the South arrived an hour before sunset. To everyone's surprise, it not only contained Boromir's father and brother, but also Théodred son of Théoden, the King of the Mark and his beautiful Queen, Aud of the deep eyes - not to mention Éowyn, the White Lady of Rohan, Farmir's recently-wedded wife. Elladan paled considerably while watching them from one of the balconies.
''This is not good, not good at all'', he murmured to his equally shocked spouse. ''I only counted on facing your people tonight, not the entire royal family of Rohan as well.''
''I worry not about Théodred'', Boromir replied with a shrug. ''He might tease us mercilessly - and he most likely would -, yet after near twenty years of fruitless marriage he surely can understand our wish for children... regardless of the means. And'', he added with a wry grin, ''at least they did not bring Éomer along.''
''Still, I would have preferred this... confrontation to happen in the small circle of the closest family'', Elladan sighed.
''So would I'', Boromir admitted, ''though the presence of an old friend might prove helpful. I do not even know how to approach my father - or my brother.''
''Mayhap it would help things if I welcomed them first?'', Lindir offered. ''Seeing a male with child who is not of close kin could lessen the shock when they finally meet you, my Lord King.''
''Would you do that?'', Boromir asked eagarly. ''I wish not to put you as a pawn onto the family battle field, but...''
''Why, certainly!'', Lindir said with a delighted smile. ''I am very proud of my baby... though they might have some difficulty to recognize me as a male Elf, or so I have been told several times.''
''Trust me: you would not deceive my father's eyes for a moment'', Boromir answered softly. ''He can read the hearts of Men like an open book - and so does my brother, for that matter. Telling a male Elf from a maiden shall be no challenge at all. Not for them.''
''In that case I shall go down to the courtyard and see for myself just how keen their eyes are'', laughed Lindir merrily and left at once.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Faramir, King of Gondor, dismounted in the middle of the beautifully-paved courtyard, offering a helping hand his wife (not that she would need it, but the King had always been a curteous Man), then took a long, amazed look around.
Annúminas matched every bit of the old pictures in the history books of Minas Tirith - and yet it was different, subtly showing the results of Elven and Dwarven mansonry and smithcraft. The walls were high and smooth, gleaming white like freshly fallen snow, the pinnacles of the towers glittered like ice in the golden light of approaching sunset, and the sounds of water, jumping high in the air from the beaks of the swan-shaped fountains, melted into an enchanting music like soft rainfall in the spring.
This was a very Elvish place, indeed, and curiously, most of the servants and sentinels seemed to have come from the Fair Folk. Slender, auburn-haired archers from Emyn Lasgalen - though wearing the black-and-silver of Elendil's guard of old - were standing on the walls like freshly-planted, young trees in a light breeze; tall, elegant, black-haired chamberlains (from Rivendell, most likely) were hurrying after their business throughout the place, wearing the long, richly-embroidered robes of their own fashion, mingled with a few Halflings who wore the colours of the palace as well. Even the occasional Dwarf crossed the courtyard, with the absent-minded look of a busy artisan upon his face. But there were almost no Men in the whole huge castle. Curious.
He intended to make a remark to his father but was distracted by an other Elf, descending carefully the wide, flat steps of the main entrance to the royal palace. An Elf, wearing a sky-blue, gold-embroiderd robe, that - in spite of being garciously wide-cut - could not hide the huge mound of her swollen stomach, an unmistakable sign of advanced pregnancy.
Her stomach? Faramir blinked several times, taking another good, hard look at the delicate beauty approaching them, and had to correct himself. Despite the fragile frame and the fine features, no to mention the waist-long, pale hair seemingly made of the spun rays of winter sun, this one most definitely was a male Elf. And yet he moved with the same delicate care as any woman in the last stage of pregnance, even resting a slender, long-fingered hand protectively upon his belly. What the...?
''Welcome to Annúminas, the Sunset Tower, the city of the High King of Gondor and Arnor'', the Elf greeted them in his soft, lyrical voice that could not have been mistaken for the voice of a woman nevertheless. ''I am Lindir of Rhosgobel, aide to the seneschal of the High King... and his bond-mate'', he added with a slight smile, clearly amused by their wide-eyed shock.
''Wait.. wait a moment'', Théodred raised a big hand in confusion; ''you are... you not a woman, are you?''
''Nay'', laughed the Elf, showing no sign of being insulted, ''I am most certainly not. As far as I can remember, and I am about three thousand years old by now, I always have been male.''
''But...'', Théodred sputtered, turning a very interesting shade of magenta, ''but you are... I mean you are...''
''With child, aye'', the Elf nodded in an easy manner, as if it were the most natural thing on Earth. Yet Faramir knew enough about Elves to know that it was not so.''
''I never heard that by Elves it would be the males who gave birth to their children'', he commented qietly.
Lindir gave him a brilliant smile.
''And you are quite right, of course, my Lord King'', he answered. ''Tis a rare and perilous process for a male, and though not entirely impossible, it only is done in cases of extreme need, when a bound male couple is determined - or forced - to have offspring of their own flesh and blood. To my knowledge it had not been done since the First Age.(1)''
Queen Éowyn eyed him warily.
''Who... or what could force you to do such thing?'', she asked.
''I was not forced to do aught'', the Elf replied, somewhat hurt. ''Why cannot people believe that I wanted to do this?''
''Mayhap for you look so fragile'', Théodred grinned, getting over his first shock. ''People see you and cannot help feeling protective.''
''Mayhap I do look fragile for the eyes of Men'', Lindir said with an elegant shrug, ''though I can ensure you that I am not weaker than many of my own kin. But I am neglecting my duties, it seems. Would you not follow me? High King Aranel and King Aratan are awaiting you.''
Climbing up the stairs again seemed quite an effort for him, and the Lady Aud stepped forth to be of aid if necessary, wondering inwardly why the people of the court could not spare the Elf the tiresome task. Surely, there were others who could have welcomed the royal party just as politely.
Nevertheless, Lindir mastered the task, if with some difficulty and with several short pauses to rest, and soon they stood in the wide, airy parlour of the royal wing. It was paved with hewn stone that was laid in a pattern of garden flowers and it walls were hung with tapestries presenting ancient Elven legends.
A high, canopied chair with three seats stood upon a dais at the wall opposite the entrance - more a tree-piece throne, in fact. In the middle, clad in heavy velvet robes in burgundy red, with a delicately-woven mithril circlet(2) upon his artfully-braided, raven-black hair, sat Aranel, High King of Arnor and Gondor, his fair Elven face pale and strangely anxious. The seat on his right was left free for Faramir's use, and on his left...
Nay, this cannot be, Faramir thought, stealing a glance at his father who was instinctively cluthing his heart. Not my brother... not my brave and valiant brother...
A tall, dark-haired Elf whom he recognized as Elrond, the Lord of Imladris, quietly moved away from beind the throne to take Denethor's arm and escort the old man to a seat on the side. Théodred gaped at the royal couple with his mouth open, and even Queen Éowyn looked a bit shaken. Only Aud of the deep eyes smiled at them with sorrowful understanding(3).
Finally the High King rose from his seat with a smooth, graceful move and adressed his guests.
''Welcome to Annúminas, my Ladies... Théodred King... my Lord Steward'', he said; then, turning to Faramir, he added with a somewhat pained smile. ''King Artamir, take your rightful place if you would. A long time we have waited for you to be here, all of us.''
''A long time, indeed'', said Faramir, eyeing his brother who was unable to look him in the eyes, ''and time has brought some rather... profound changes, it seems.''
''It has'', the High King nodded, ''and I wish we had some better way to warn you at a more proper time of what to expect. But we wished not the means we had to take to ensure the reunion of the two lines of Eärendil's heirs to be discussed in public. Not that we would be ashamed of the way we have chosen - for we are not -, yet we know the nobles of Gondor to be narrow-minded and of strong opinions'', he glanced at Denethor who still was barely able to breathe, ''and wanted not to be confronted with their dismay ere our heirs are safely born.''
''Heirs?'', Faramir repeated in utter disbelief.
The High King nodded solemnly.
''Aye. King Aratan is carrying two new lives in his body. We know not for sure, for they are not Elven babies - not entirely, that is -, yet the feeling that I am getting from them lets assume that they are of different gender.''
''Elves can feel that?'', Éowyn asked, baffled, while more seats were brought for them to sit down. ''By Béma(4), I wish I were an Elf!''
Boromir raised an eyebrow as if asking 'You, too?', and the Queen of Gondor gave him a shrug and a grin. Boromir shot a look at his brother, too, who grinned proudly. At least we are in a somewhat similar situation, the King of Arnor thought, even if that seemed a much too simple view of things.
Another tall, dark-haired Elf - Erestor, the seneschal of Annúminas, Faramir realized, having met him a year earlier on some diplomatic event as Arnor's emissary - came forth, politely offering refreshments to the guests, and at his wink, Halfling chamberlains came with wine and fine white cakes. The Rohirrim acceppted the offerings, but Denethor only sat motionless, with his eyes glazed over, and Faramir felt rather uncomfortable himself. He wished to be left alone with his father and brother.
As if reading his mind, Erestor called for other servants, instructing them to show the royal guests to their chambers.
''I believe that King Aratar would need some privacy to discuss family matters with his brother and the Lord Steward'', he added in a flawles diplomatic manner, perfected during hundreds of years of practice in Elrond's house.
The Rohirrim rose and followed the servants, biding their good-nights as they left; and barely were they out of the parlour when Boromir climbed to his feet with some effort.
''If I had to sit on this blasted chair one more moment, it would have been the death of me'', he grumbled. ''Elladan, I need some rest. Are you up to handle my father without help? Be careful; you are not dealing with some Orc-chieftain here.''
The High King nodded.
''I can always send for Glorfindel if needed'', he said. ''If any one, the Balrog Slayer would be protection enough.''
''Good'', Boromir sighed; then he looked at Faramir. ''Brother, would you mind to be of some help here?''
Elladan arched an eyebrow at that, since his spouse, as a rule, barely tolerated help in public, less than asking for it. But he trusted Boromir to know what he was doing. Elrond shot him a meaningful look, and taking the hint, the High King, too, rose from his seat.
''If you would excuse me, my Lord Steward... I have some matters to attend to. But I leave you in the care of my father; certainly, the two of you have much to discuss. We shall meet again in the dining hall tomorrow. Good night.''
With that, he left, taking his entire court with him. By then, Denethor had gotten over his first shock and glared murderously at the elegant, ageless Elf-Lord beside him.
''What have you done with my heir, Peredhel?'', he snarled, ice-cold eyes full of hatred. ''Was it not enough to make him the whore of your son, did you need to take from him the rest of his dignity as well? Do you know who he used to be? The Captain-general of Gondor, the greatest warrior of the South, a ruler of strong and valiant Men - and you made him the breeding mare of your House!''
Elrond hold his glare with grim determination.
''Watch your tongue, Steward of Gondor!'', he snapped back, his voice no less sharp. ''Do you believe it makes me happy to see my firstborn to be bound to a mere mortal and giving up the grace of his life for a few years of passion? Elladan has already lived more than three thousand years, and would have kept on living til the end of Arda, if not for your son! Soon I shall leave Middle-earth to sail to the West, and my son will not come with me; and I shall never see him again, not in this life, not after that, most likely. So dare you not to accuse me of supporting this madness!''
The two fathers glared at each other for a moment in unabashed hostility, forgetting their age, their dignity, their high status, neither of them willing to give in. Finally Elrond considered being the older (if not always the wiser) one and sighed tiredly.
''Listen, Denethor, tis no use arguing about which one of us would lose more. Our sons love each other and are bound for good, no matter if you and I like it. They chose a perilous way to give heirs to the throne, and I had to help them or else Boromir might have died trying. For they would have tried, with or without my help. I could not leave them to lesser healers.''
''Yet he still could die, could he not?'', Denethor asked bitterly, the wrath against these Elves who had taken his son from him and the love for the same son fighting a hard battle in his breast. Elrond took pity on his pain and decided to be honest with him.
''Aye, he can. We do every thing we can, but it still might happen. There is no way to be sure.''
And if he dies, my son will die after him, he added in thought. Of that he had no doubt.
Denethor nodded curtly; what he just heard, had only confirmed his worst fears.
''What about that skinny Elf?'', he asked. ''Is he at risk, too?''
''He is'', Elrond sighed, ''yet for him the risk is less grave. Elven bodies are more... adaptable, and he only has one child inside him. Still, if things take a turn for the worse, he could die, too.''
The grief over which would kill Erestor with certainty...
Denethor nodded again, his deeply lined face becoming hard and grey with pain.
''I want to see my son now'', he said simply.
''Of course'', Elrond stood. ''If you would follow me...''
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Faramir had helped his brother to lay down in the pleasantly shadowed bedchamber and was now sitting on the edge of the large, square bed, watching Boromir's sweat-covered face with quiet anxiety.
''Are you feeling well?'', he asked. Boromir gave him a sour look - one he had known all too well from their childhood.
''I have not felt well for seventeen moons by now... and tis only getting worse with every passing day. Ask your wife in half a year's time.''
''That would be different'', Faramir argued. ''She is a woman, after all, and women are meant to have babies. Men are not.''
''Let her never hear what you just said'', Boromir warned him. ''She is a shieldmaiden - a warrior like you and I, and she will hate pregnancy just as much as I do. Believe me, tis not pleasant to be reduced to a useless heap of pain. I can hardly do the simplest things without help, and even if it would be easier for her, she would find it humiliating. For it is.''
''How long...?''
''One more moon, or so the healers say. Then they will cut the babies out of my body, and hopefully I shall be able to live near to normal again.''
''Cut out?'', Faramir replied, horrified. Boromir gave him a wry grin.
''I cannot give birth to them on the normal way, you know... Fret no! Tis the least part of all. A wound is just a wound. It will heal.''
Faramir felt hot tears well up in his eyes, and it took him all his considerable willpower not to cry.
''Oh, brother'', he murmured sadly, ''Why did you have to take such risks? I cannot believe Elladan demanded this from you...''
''He did not'', answered Boromir. ''He even offered to have a child himself - for his advanced Elven healing it would have been less perilous. But you know the blasted law... and hei has to be from the father's line. And he is the High King. The Dúnedain of the North would never have accepted an heir fathered by me.''
''They would have made him leave you!'', Faramir realized with a shock. Boromir shook his head tiredly.
''He would never leave me. Never. But he would have given up the throne, and all we had fought and suffered for all our lives long would have been lost. I could not do that to our people, not after the Enemy finally had been defeated.''
He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. His breathing became heavy and ragged.
''We have brought peace to Middle-earth'', he finally continued, ''and I intend to make this peace last. My life is but a small matter compared to the fate of our lands - though I do wish there were an other way. Pray to the Valar, brother, that these children survive birth, for I know not if I would do this again. Tis... just... too much to bear.''
Faramir felt his heart contort in pity, seeing the pain of his brother, and lay a comforting hand upon Boromir's swollen belly. Then he froze. Under his fingertips he felt a slight flutter.
''Brother... I believe they are moving!''
''They do'', Boromir answered, without opening his eyes. ''In truth, they are kicking all the time. That is why I have to stay in bed so much... my back is killing me. Even if I might live to see them grow up, I shall never be whom I was, I fear.''
''Oh, but you will!'', Faramir said, almost angrily. ''Once you recovered from this ongoing torment, you shall be your old self again.''
''Is that what you think?'', Boromir replied bitterly. ''Shall I be able to visit Minas Tirith again, without our people exchanging queer looks behind my back? Shall I ever be welcome in my home of old again? My own father cannot bear to look at me with aught but disgust.''
''That is not true! Father loves you, he always had! You always have been his favourite.''
''I might have been, yet I am no more'', Boromir whispered, surprised himself how much the thought hurt. ''I am no more his son, not truly. I am but the man-bitch of an Elf, sundered from his own people, no-where at home any more. Once I gave birth to these children, I shall be of no use afterwards.''
''Shhhhh, speak not so'', Faramir soothed, rocking him gently in his arms, none of them noticing their father standing in the doorframe, tears streaming down his angular face. ''Give father some time. He will not toss you away for good - and neither shall I. You might be the King of Arnor now, but you are and you always will be his son... and my brother.''
For endless moments Denethor son of Ecthelion, iron-willed Steward of Gondor, just watched helplessly as his firstborn sobbed in his brother's arms. For the very first time of his long and hard life he knew not what to do or what to say. He opened his mouth... then closed again, standing there, hesitating for one more moment - then he turned and fled, as noiselessly as he had come.
The blue-clad wizardress, approaching from the other and of the corridor, shook her head in dismay.
''Men are the most troublesome creatures on Earth'', she commented in a low voice. ''I shall have an earnest word with that one ere the night grows old. Tis not the time for his brick-headedness.''
And Arwen Undómiel nodded in silent agreement.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
End notes:
(1) Of course, therE is no proof, not even a hint of it having
been done in the First Age, either. I just put in this sentence
for the Silmfics group members pondering about Gil-galad's true
ancestry.g
(2) Which might or might not have been the same one Elrond wore
in the movie. I don't know - nor is it of any significance. Take
your pick.
(3) I made Aud barren in my canon stories, due to the dry fewer
she miraculously survied in her childhood.
(4) The name of the Rohirrim for the Vala Oromë. But you all
know that by now, right?
