Disclaimer: I still don't own them!
A long silence filled the city of Minas Tirith as the moon slowly rose over the distant mountains. Glittering torches sparkled like fireflies throughout the darkness, granting light to those few who wandered through the streets. Long had the city been besieged by doubt and darkness, a sure repercussion of such a close distance to Mordor. Any being that looked to the east could see the faint glow of flames rising from the dreaded land, warning of what was to come. Fearful times had befallen the world of Men.
Boromir paced restlessly outside his father's door. Son of the Steward of Gondor, the man was well built and well trained in the arts of war. He glanced out over the city, as he often did, straining to see what danger lurked outside its borders. Word had been received from the latest scouts that orcs were roaming far too close to the city, and that they would strike soon. He knew they would have to venture out soon in order to counter the creatures, lest they be taken off guard.
Sighing deeply as the door opened, Boromir stood straight as one of the servants stepped forward. Bowing his head, the servant said, "Sir, your father wishes to see you now."
Nodding once in reply, Boromir strode through the tall wooden entrance. The stone room was well made, smoothed and decorated in ancient tapestries from years long past. In the center of the room was the Steward's tall seat, where Denethor now sat, his head resting against his palm. Candles lit the room, casting dark shadows into the corners of the room. Boromir knew what stress his father endured, for it was a difficult task to care for the city. Long had their people been without a king, and he knew that they did not need one. Denethor was wise and stern in his task, caring for his people as best he could.
Raising his eyes as his son approached, Denethor offered a small nod. "Boromir. I assume you have heard of the orcs that are lingering around the city."
"Of course."
Slowly standing, Denethor motioned for his advisor to step forward. "We are in perilous times, my son. I fear that all will come to ruin if we do not act quickly. Sauron lingers in the dark land like a snake, biding his time until we are at our weakest and he may dominate us. He sends his minions out to destroy us as they may, hoping to take us off guard. To this point we have been able to hold them at bay, but their numbers are growing."
Boromir nodded, glancing at the advisor as he laid out a map upon the long table. "Our men are strong, My Lord. We will hold them back, I assure you."
The older man's eyes lingered upon the stalwart man who was anxious for battle. For many moments he remained silent, thinking upon all his son had accomplished to date, how brave he was not only for him, but also for all of Gondor. At last Denethor said, "My son, my heart is filled with trepidation as to our future. I do not know how long we may last, nor if any shall survive. It fills me with dread to think upon our demise, or that our line will fall after so long."
"We will not fail, My Lord, I assure you that I will do all that is necessary to protect all our people,"
Boromir said urgently. "Sauron's forces may be many, but they will not destroy us. Is this what preys upon your mind?"
"It is not only that, my son," Denethor sighed. "I also fear that you shall never marry and bare children. I am old, Boromir. Though my strength has not left me yet, I am not capable of maintaining this position forever. When I leave this world, I desire to know that my sons will succeed me, that they will complete what I have not done. I have long expected you to take a wife, my son."
Boromir shifted slightly, glancing around the room. This was not the first time he had had this conversation with his father before. He was well aware of how overburdened his father felt and how he looked to his sons to make things right.
"Father, I have given my life to protecting our people. There are many here who fear to live their lives when we are so close to direct conflict with Mordor," Boromir said, pacing once again. "Besides, I have not yet met a maiden who I would hold close to my heart. Is it fair to marry only to leave the woman behind when I must go to battle?"
"There are other things more important than what happens to the woman you leave behind, my son. You must continue our line! I am well aware of many fair maidens who would gladly bare your children, even if you were to leave them to fulfill your duty. It is no small thing to take a woman to your bed. You are my son; you carry more duties than you realize."
Gritting his teeth as he struggled not to speak against his father, Boromir shrugged his shoulders back to relieve some of the mounting tension. "Are you asking me to find a wife, father?"
Denethor stepped forward, placing his hands upon his son's shoulders. "It would please me to know my son is pleasing himself as well. I shall be sending you away soon, and it would be comforting to know that you have set yourself to marry."
Bowing his head, Boromir asked, "And what of Faramir? Will you not ask this of him as well?"
Raising an eyebrow, Denethor said, "Faramir still has much to prove. His time will come when he will be asked to find a wife as well. For now, Boromir, I expect much from you. Will you not grant me my wish?"
His stomach was knotting in discomfort. True that there were many desirable women in the kingdom, but he had never thought of making a wife of one of them. Many women held his affections. Still, if his father was set upon having an heir after his own sons, then Boromir was left with little choice.
"I will do what I can, father, to urge my heart to take such action as you ask," he answered.
Denethor nodded firmly, a small smile edging the corners of his mouth. "Good. Soon you will make for Rivendell, my son, to represent our people at a council held by Lord Elrond. In the meantime, I suggest you make haste to find a suitable wife. Even though your journey will be long, whomsoever you choose will remain here for you."
Bidding his father good night, Boromir quickly left the hall and journeyed out into the streets. Frustration gripped his mind like a plague. How his father could demand so much of him was almost more than he could bear! Walking quickly down through the city, Boromir allowed the breeze to wrap itself around him like a blanket, seeking to comfort him. His mind wandered over the many women he had spoken with, the ones he had laid with. Could any of them be suitable for his wife?
After a time of wandering, Boromir returned to his chambers, quickly shedding himself of his armor and weapons. A warm fire blazed upon the hearth, casting a glow upon the man's bare chest and face. He reached for a glass of wine and drank deeply, not noticing his door opening and shutting softly.
As he sat down to take off his boots, he glanced up sharply. Before him stood a woman in dark blue robes, a veil covering her face. She stood silently, hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Who are you?" Boromir demanded. "Is it not customary to knock before entering a room?"
The woman kept her eyes downcast. "I am sorry, my Lord," she said softly. "I came only upon request of the Steward. He asked that I let myself in and introduce myself to you."
Standing up abruptly, Boromir snorted in anger. "My father," he repeated. "He is bound and determined to saddle me with some woman so that I may yet have heirs!"
He focused upon the woman standing in front of him, wondering why his father would be so bold in sending a woman to his chambers. She was small of build and height, demure yet there was also a kind of sense about her that told him she was bold and daring, if given such chance. The gray veil only masked the chestnut tresses that flowed around her shoulders, trailing along her back. She was pale in color, and the blue robes only sought to bring out her eyes that, he noticed as she glanced up quickly, were the same color. A warm heat washed over him as he stared at her.
As he stepped closer, the woman slowly raised her veil. Boromir gasped in spite of himself. She was dazzling. Her eyes seemed made of sapphires, and her lips were warm and red. There was a fleck of gold in her hair that seemed like beams of the sun, glowing in the torchlight. His eyes trailed down to the suddenly low neckline of her robes, and how her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. As he stared at her, she began to unfasten the bindings of her robes.
"Look at me well, son of Gondor," she said softly, dropping her garment to the floor, and leaving her in a tightly cinched bodice and skirt. "Your father wishes for us to be as one. If I must lie for the son of the Steward of Gondor, then that I shall do."
Boromir blinked rapidly, struggling to come out of the sudden lust that swept over him. "I know nothing of you, my lady. I find it most inappropriate to take advantage of one that my father has sent to me."
She stepped forward, tossing her hair over her shoulders to reveal a deep scar along her neck. "Do you see this, my lord? My uncle has long held me hostage. He has beaten me and left me to die on many occasions. I seek only to improve my station in life. Let me satisfy your desires and I shall make you love me yet, Boromir."
As she touched his bearded cheek, Boromir felt his eyes close. The closer she came, the more he felt his will to do what was right slipping away. As she pressed her nearly naked bosom against his skin, he gasped, overwhelmed by the feelings that were taking hold of him.
"I am called Alice Sunnydale," she said, leading him towards the bed. "Love me, Boromir of Gondor."
He stared down at her, entranced by her beauty. Suddenly he remembered how he loathed his father for setting this up, and he moved out of her arms, shakily gasping for breath. "My lady, I cannot," he gasped.
Alice stared at him. "But, Boromir," she simpered, "you are all that matters to me right now! Surely you cannot pass up someone of my immeasurable beauty! I am descended from the royalty of long ago, I assure you. Surely our bloods would make a fine child!"
Boromir looked at her strangely, slowly standing straight again. "Lady Alice," he said slowly. "I have no want to defile you in any way, for this is not how love should be made. I will not take you only for a child."
"Oh, but it would not only be for a child," she purred, gliding towards him once more. "You would make me your wife as well. And when your father is gone, we should rule Gondor together. Of course, I do believe that I would rule better, for surely you would be out slaying orcs and what not."
"Are you mad?" he asked, frowning at her. "You come into my room, desiring me to take you, then you speak of you ruling Gondor while I am an absent Steward? What is your real purpose here, my lady? Did you think I would succumb so easily?"
A new voice entered the room from the balcony. "Then perhaps you would choose me." The new woman was tall, with hair the color of the sun and eyes that glimmered like the moon. She wore tight armor that surely did not serve any purpose but to enhance every curve of her voluptuous body. "It is I you should choose in the matter, Boromir. I have loved you from afar for many years, and now it is time for you to take me as your own. I am a daughter of Rohan, yet I seek you, Boromir of Gondor."
Confusion filled his mind as Boromir stared between the two women. Alice stared venomously at the intruder, her bright eyes clouding in anger. "Get out, woman! I was here first," she snarled.
The woman sniffed. "I am Eowind Stormcrow, daughter of Gandalf the Grey, and I am meant for Boromir. Not you, you pathetic little being." She stepped forward and approached Boromir, who stepped backwards hurriedly. Brandishing an obscenely large sword that was marked 'Obscenely Large Sword of Might', Eowind held off the smaller woman. She grabbed Boromir tightly. "Look deeply into my eyes, my love, and you will see all you need therein."
Boromir stared helplessly into the silver pools of her eyes, suddenly drawn into her web. Immediately he felt his will to run dissipate, and he allowed the woman to pull him down to rest his head upon her breast.
Alice shrieked. "No! He is mine, and I shall have him! You bitch! You'll get him killed!"
Eyes blazing, Eowind raised an eyebrow as she kissed the man. Boromir was lost within the dark depths of her lips, drowning slowly and unaware.
Alice charged forward, knocking the man the ground so he bumped his head. The two women began to struggle, slapping one another and shrieking like banshees.
As Boromir regained his senses, he looked up to see two dark shadows on the walls. Their winged forms and dark claws splayed perilously close to him, and long tentacles drifted along the floor towards him. Boromir cried aloud, staring in bewilderment as the feminine forms writhed and morphed into hideous creatures. Their cries pierced his heart, sending terror along his spine.
"By Eru," he gasped. "Demons! No such creatures should exist in Middle Earth! Foul craft has spawned you, and I shall not be privy to your plot! You would have me locked in a chamber so you would rule Gondor and come to me only to indulge your own needs. Get out!"
The two creatures turned their burning faces towards the man, slow smirks making their way across the black and bleeding faces. "No, Boromir," cooed 'Alice,' "We desire only you. Come, and be with us. We shall both take care of you."
'Eowind' smiled, stretching out a long tentacle to wrap itself around his ankle. "Yes, Boromir. No fear of arranged marriage should keep us apart. However we take you, you will enjoy it."
Crying out in horror, Boromir ran from the room.
A long silence filled the city of Minas Tirith as the moon slowly rose over the distant mountains. Glittering torches sparkled like fireflies throughout the darkness, granting light to those few who wandered through the streets. Long had the city been besieged by doubt and darkness, a sure repercussion of such a close distance to Mordor. Any being that looked to the east could see the faint glow of flames rising from the dreaded land, warning of what was to come. Fearful times had befallen the world of Men.
Boromir paced restlessly outside his father's door. Son of the Steward of Gondor, the man was well built and well trained in the arts of war. He glanced out over the city, as he often did, straining to see what danger lurked outside its borders. Word had been received from the latest scouts that orcs were roaming far too close to the city, and that they would strike soon. He knew they would have to venture out soon in order to counter the creatures, lest they be taken off guard.
Sighing deeply as the door opened, Boromir stood straight as one of the servants stepped forward. Bowing his head, the servant said, "Sir, your father wishes to see you now."
Nodding once in reply, Boromir strode through the tall wooden entrance. The stone room was well made, smoothed and decorated in ancient tapestries from years long past. In the center of the room was the Steward's tall seat, where Denethor now sat, his head resting against his palm. Candles lit the room, casting dark shadows into the corners of the room. Boromir knew what stress his father endured, for it was a difficult task to care for the city. Long had their people been without a king, and he knew that they did not need one. Denethor was wise and stern in his task, caring for his people as best he could.
Raising his eyes as his son approached, Denethor offered a small nod. "Boromir. I assume you have heard of the orcs that are lingering around the city."
"Of course."
Slowly standing, Denethor motioned for his advisor to step forward. "We are in perilous times, my son. I fear that all will come to ruin if we do not act quickly. Sauron lingers in the dark land like a snake, biding his time until we are at our weakest and he may dominate us. He sends his minions out to destroy us as they may, hoping to take us off guard. To this point we have been able to hold them at bay, but their numbers are growing."
Boromir nodded, glancing at the advisor as he laid out a map upon the long table. "Our men are strong, My Lord. We will hold them back, I assure you."
The older man's eyes lingered upon the stalwart man who was anxious for battle. For many moments he remained silent, thinking upon all his son had accomplished to date, how brave he was not only for him, but also for all of Gondor. At last Denethor said, "My son, my heart is filled with trepidation as to our future. I do not know how long we may last, nor if any shall survive. It fills me with dread to think upon our demise, or that our line will fall after so long."
"We will not fail, My Lord, I assure you that I will do all that is necessary to protect all our people,"
Boromir said urgently. "Sauron's forces may be many, but they will not destroy us. Is this what preys upon your mind?"
"It is not only that, my son," Denethor sighed. "I also fear that you shall never marry and bare children. I am old, Boromir. Though my strength has not left me yet, I am not capable of maintaining this position forever. When I leave this world, I desire to know that my sons will succeed me, that they will complete what I have not done. I have long expected you to take a wife, my son."
Boromir shifted slightly, glancing around the room. This was not the first time he had had this conversation with his father before. He was well aware of how overburdened his father felt and how he looked to his sons to make things right.
"Father, I have given my life to protecting our people. There are many here who fear to live their lives when we are so close to direct conflict with Mordor," Boromir said, pacing once again. "Besides, I have not yet met a maiden who I would hold close to my heart. Is it fair to marry only to leave the woman behind when I must go to battle?"
"There are other things more important than what happens to the woman you leave behind, my son. You must continue our line! I am well aware of many fair maidens who would gladly bare your children, even if you were to leave them to fulfill your duty. It is no small thing to take a woman to your bed. You are my son; you carry more duties than you realize."
Gritting his teeth as he struggled not to speak against his father, Boromir shrugged his shoulders back to relieve some of the mounting tension. "Are you asking me to find a wife, father?"
Denethor stepped forward, placing his hands upon his son's shoulders. "It would please me to know my son is pleasing himself as well. I shall be sending you away soon, and it would be comforting to know that you have set yourself to marry."
Bowing his head, Boromir asked, "And what of Faramir? Will you not ask this of him as well?"
Raising an eyebrow, Denethor said, "Faramir still has much to prove. His time will come when he will be asked to find a wife as well. For now, Boromir, I expect much from you. Will you not grant me my wish?"
His stomach was knotting in discomfort. True that there were many desirable women in the kingdom, but he had never thought of making a wife of one of them. Many women held his affections. Still, if his father was set upon having an heir after his own sons, then Boromir was left with little choice.
"I will do what I can, father, to urge my heart to take such action as you ask," he answered.
Denethor nodded firmly, a small smile edging the corners of his mouth. "Good. Soon you will make for Rivendell, my son, to represent our people at a council held by Lord Elrond. In the meantime, I suggest you make haste to find a suitable wife. Even though your journey will be long, whomsoever you choose will remain here for you."
Bidding his father good night, Boromir quickly left the hall and journeyed out into the streets. Frustration gripped his mind like a plague. How his father could demand so much of him was almost more than he could bear! Walking quickly down through the city, Boromir allowed the breeze to wrap itself around him like a blanket, seeking to comfort him. His mind wandered over the many women he had spoken with, the ones he had laid with. Could any of them be suitable for his wife?
After a time of wandering, Boromir returned to his chambers, quickly shedding himself of his armor and weapons. A warm fire blazed upon the hearth, casting a glow upon the man's bare chest and face. He reached for a glass of wine and drank deeply, not noticing his door opening and shutting softly.
As he sat down to take off his boots, he glanced up sharply. Before him stood a woman in dark blue robes, a veil covering her face. She stood silently, hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Who are you?" Boromir demanded. "Is it not customary to knock before entering a room?"
The woman kept her eyes downcast. "I am sorry, my Lord," she said softly. "I came only upon request of the Steward. He asked that I let myself in and introduce myself to you."
Standing up abruptly, Boromir snorted in anger. "My father," he repeated. "He is bound and determined to saddle me with some woman so that I may yet have heirs!"
He focused upon the woman standing in front of him, wondering why his father would be so bold in sending a woman to his chambers. She was small of build and height, demure yet there was also a kind of sense about her that told him she was bold and daring, if given such chance. The gray veil only masked the chestnut tresses that flowed around her shoulders, trailing along her back. She was pale in color, and the blue robes only sought to bring out her eyes that, he noticed as she glanced up quickly, were the same color. A warm heat washed over him as he stared at her.
As he stepped closer, the woman slowly raised her veil. Boromir gasped in spite of himself. She was dazzling. Her eyes seemed made of sapphires, and her lips were warm and red. There was a fleck of gold in her hair that seemed like beams of the sun, glowing in the torchlight. His eyes trailed down to the suddenly low neckline of her robes, and how her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. As he stared at her, she began to unfasten the bindings of her robes.
"Look at me well, son of Gondor," she said softly, dropping her garment to the floor, and leaving her in a tightly cinched bodice and skirt. "Your father wishes for us to be as one. If I must lie for the son of the Steward of Gondor, then that I shall do."
Boromir blinked rapidly, struggling to come out of the sudden lust that swept over him. "I know nothing of you, my lady. I find it most inappropriate to take advantage of one that my father has sent to me."
She stepped forward, tossing her hair over her shoulders to reveal a deep scar along her neck. "Do you see this, my lord? My uncle has long held me hostage. He has beaten me and left me to die on many occasions. I seek only to improve my station in life. Let me satisfy your desires and I shall make you love me yet, Boromir."
As she touched his bearded cheek, Boromir felt his eyes close. The closer she came, the more he felt his will to do what was right slipping away. As she pressed her nearly naked bosom against his skin, he gasped, overwhelmed by the feelings that were taking hold of him.
"I am called Alice Sunnydale," she said, leading him towards the bed. "Love me, Boromir of Gondor."
He stared down at her, entranced by her beauty. Suddenly he remembered how he loathed his father for setting this up, and he moved out of her arms, shakily gasping for breath. "My lady, I cannot," he gasped.
Alice stared at him. "But, Boromir," she simpered, "you are all that matters to me right now! Surely you cannot pass up someone of my immeasurable beauty! I am descended from the royalty of long ago, I assure you. Surely our bloods would make a fine child!"
Boromir looked at her strangely, slowly standing straight again. "Lady Alice," he said slowly. "I have no want to defile you in any way, for this is not how love should be made. I will not take you only for a child."
"Oh, but it would not only be for a child," she purred, gliding towards him once more. "You would make me your wife as well. And when your father is gone, we should rule Gondor together. Of course, I do believe that I would rule better, for surely you would be out slaying orcs and what not."
"Are you mad?" he asked, frowning at her. "You come into my room, desiring me to take you, then you speak of you ruling Gondor while I am an absent Steward? What is your real purpose here, my lady? Did you think I would succumb so easily?"
A new voice entered the room from the balcony. "Then perhaps you would choose me." The new woman was tall, with hair the color of the sun and eyes that glimmered like the moon. She wore tight armor that surely did not serve any purpose but to enhance every curve of her voluptuous body. "It is I you should choose in the matter, Boromir. I have loved you from afar for many years, and now it is time for you to take me as your own. I am a daughter of Rohan, yet I seek you, Boromir of Gondor."
Confusion filled his mind as Boromir stared between the two women. Alice stared venomously at the intruder, her bright eyes clouding in anger. "Get out, woman! I was here first," she snarled.
The woman sniffed. "I am Eowind Stormcrow, daughter of Gandalf the Grey, and I am meant for Boromir. Not you, you pathetic little being." She stepped forward and approached Boromir, who stepped backwards hurriedly. Brandishing an obscenely large sword that was marked 'Obscenely Large Sword of Might', Eowind held off the smaller woman. She grabbed Boromir tightly. "Look deeply into my eyes, my love, and you will see all you need therein."
Boromir stared helplessly into the silver pools of her eyes, suddenly drawn into her web. Immediately he felt his will to run dissipate, and he allowed the woman to pull him down to rest his head upon her breast.
Alice shrieked. "No! He is mine, and I shall have him! You bitch! You'll get him killed!"
Eyes blazing, Eowind raised an eyebrow as she kissed the man. Boromir was lost within the dark depths of her lips, drowning slowly and unaware.
Alice charged forward, knocking the man the ground so he bumped his head. The two women began to struggle, slapping one another and shrieking like banshees.
As Boromir regained his senses, he looked up to see two dark shadows on the walls. Their winged forms and dark claws splayed perilously close to him, and long tentacles drifted along the floor towards him. Boromir cried aloud, staring in bewilderment as the feminine forms writhed and morphed into hideous creatures. Their cries pierced his heart, sending terror along his spine.
"By Eru," he gasped. "Demons! No such creatures should exist in Middle Earth! Foul craft has spawned you, and I shall not be privy to your plot! You would have me locked in a chamber so you would rule Gondor and come to me only to indulge your own needs. Get out!"
The two creatures turned their burning faces towards the man, slow smirks making their way across the black and bleeding faces. "No, Boromir," cooed 'Alice,' "We desire only you. Come, and be with us. We shall both take care of you."
'Eowind' smiled, stretching out a long tentacle to wrap itself around his ankle. "Yes, Boromir. No fear of arranged marriage should keep us apart. However we take you, you will enjoy it."
Crying out in horror, Boromir ran from the room.
