A/N: This is my second LotR story... and I really have to be honest that my
first one SUCKED. I have a better idea with this one so I hope you like the
first chapter at least.
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Early June brought much joy in the entire kingdom of Gondor, especially in Minas Tirith. The large city prospered this year, despite the drought they had faced in autumn. The spring harvest gave the people in the White City many fruits, vegetables and healthy livestock to live off of for the rest of the year.
Minas Tirith was constantly full of life with the hundreds of people roaming the street everyday. Occasionally, there would be exciting brawls or illegal mutt fights that the guards would have to break up after recovering from their own guffaws. It seemed everyone was free to do as they pleased. The Steward of Gondor only cared about ruling the city and not the people. Despite this, the entire land remained peaceful for the time being.
During one quiet afternoon, a maiden made her way into the large hall of the White Tower, her eyes focused intently forward with near rage. She threw open the doors of the hall, a rush of wind pressing her forest green- colored dress against her tan body.
"Father, a word, if you please..."
The Steward of Gondor, Denathor, looked at the woman with aggravation, "Not now, Aewen..."
The auburn-haired dame, Aewen, narrowed her dark blue eyes at the elderly man. "I demand you hear me, father! A confrontation broke out this morning resulting in two casualties! Will you not punish the criminal?"
Denathor averted his cause, lethargy in his voice, "My people may live their lives as they wish."
"Your people will die if you do nothing!"
"Leave me, Aewen... Leave me now!" the Steward hissed.
Aewen pursed her lips, her fists tightly clenching. For a moment, she waited for her father to change his mind but when only silence lingered in the room, she left. As she strode down the stairs, Aewen gazed up at the white tree in the courtyard, a frown on her lips. It had been dead for years... long before she had been born. She assumed that when the tree and her mother died, everything that involved her family went awry.
Perhaps it was the evil that had been spreading across Middle Earth from the dark land of Mordor. Despite this, she was a woman and automatically presumed to be ignorant to anything and everything. In Gondor, the fewer women knew the better. It was a rule created by none other than the Steward. Luckily, she had her brothers to tell her all that she desired to know. Aewen refused to be treated like a child and constantly asked questions about the war brewing in Middle Earth.
Just recalling the names of her older brothers made Aewen smile. Both men were so kind to her and helped when she needed it, notably if it involved Denathor. The eldest and the one with most heart was proudly named Boromir, who was, by destiny, to be the next Steward of Gondor. Next came Faramir, the "middle child" and quite possibly the most despised of Denathor's kin. Faramir was stern but had a loving heart nonetheless, despite his own unhappy childhood.
"Tell me, sister... do you always ponder in front of our white tree after a quarrel with Father?" Boromir approached Aewen from her left, one hand placed on the hilt of his sword.
Aewen turned to face her oldest brother, "Oh... No, just this once."
"I told you that you could not convince him. Why did you not listen to me?" he stopped beside her, looking at the deceased tree.
The woman turned her head away from Boromir, hoping he would leave her in her peace. Boromir, much to Aewen's dismay, drew closer to her. "You're nearly five-and-thirty winters young... Do you not believe it is time to stop living under our father's rule?"
She eyed Boromir warily. "Why are you saying this?"
Boromir hesitated to continue, but after a moment, did so. "Leave Minas Tirith, Aewen... Outside of the White City is an amazing world and I should know for I have seen it!"
"Leave the city? What devilry has possessed you, brother?"
Just as the man was about to answer, horns blew and men shouted frantically. Aewen and Boromir rushed to the edge of the White Tower, looking down into the city.
"Osgiliath is under attack! Captain Faramir calls for reinforcements!"
In a state of shock, Boromir put his hands against the stone guardrail to support himself. Aewen glanced at him with worry, "You're leaving, then?"
"I must," Boromir said after a moment, "I cannot leave Faramir to die."
"Very well..."
Boromir kissed Aewen upon her forehead. "Do not worry... I will return to you."
She watched Boromir leave and for a moment, felt as if she would never see either one of her brothers again. Her sparkling hues cast a long gaze out at Osgiliath, which had fallen into ruins and fire.
"Come back safely," she whispered, feeling the wind run its fingers through her hair, "...brothers."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Early June brought much joy in the entire kingdom of Gondor, especially in Minas Tirith. The large city prospered this year, despite the drought they had faced in autumn. The spring harvest gave the people in the White City many fruits, vegetables and healthy livestock to live off of for the rest of the year.
Minas Tirith was constantly full of life with the hundreds of people roaming the street everyday. Occasionally, there would be exciting brawls or illegal mutt fights that the guards would have to break up after recovering from their own guffaws. It seemed everyone was free to do as they pleased. The Steward of Gondor only cared about ruling the city and not the people. Despite this, the entire land remained peaceful for the time being.
During one quiet afternoon, a maiden made her way into the large hall of the White Tower, her eyes focused intently forward with near rage. She threw open the doors of the hall, a rush of wind pressing her forest green- colored dress against her tan body.
"Father, a word, if you please..."
The Steward of Gondor, Denathor, looked at the woman with aggravation, "Not now, Aewen..."
The auburn-haired dame, Aewen, narrowed her dark blue eyes at the elderly man. "I demand you hear me, father! A confrontation broke out this morning resulting in two casualties! Will you not punish the criminal?"
Denathor averted his cause, lethargy in his voice, "My people may live their lives as they wish."
"Your people will die if you do nothing!"
"Leave me, Aewen... Leave me now!" the Steward hissed.
Aewen pursed her lips, her fists tightly clenching. For a moment, she waited for her father to change his mind but when only silence lingered in the room, she left. As she strode down the stairs, Aewen gazed up at the white tree in the courtyard, a frown on her lips. It had been dead for years... long before she had been born. She assumed that when the tree and her mother died, everything that involved her family went awry.
Perhaps it was the evil that had been spreading across Middle Earth from the dark land of Mordor. Despite this, she was a woman and automatically presumed to be ignorant to anything and everything. In Gondor, the fewer women knew the better. It was a rule created by none other than the Steward. Luckily, she had her brothers to tell her all that she desired to know. Aewen refused to be treated like a child and constantly asked questions about the war brewing in Middle Earth.
Just recalling the names of her older brothers made Aewen smile. Both men were so kind to her and helped when she needed it, notably if it involved Denathor. The eldest and the one with most heart was proudly named Boromir, who was, by destiny, to be the next Steward of Gondor. Next came Faramir, the "middle child" and quite possibly the most despised of Denathor's kin. Faramir was stern but had a loving heart nonetheless, despite his own unhappy childhood.
"Tell me, sister... do you always ponder in front of our white tree after a quarrel with Father?" Boromir approached Aewen from her left, one hand placed on the hilt of his sword.
Aewen turned to face her oldest brother, "Oh... No, just this once."
"I told you that you could not convince him. Why did you not listen to me?" he stopped beside her, looking at the deceased tree.
The woman turned her head away from Boromir, hoping he would leave her in her peace. Boromir, much to Aewen's dismay, drew closer to her. "You're nearly five-and-thirty winters young... Do you not believe it is time to stop living under our father's rule?"
She eyed Boromir warily. "Why are you saying this?"
Boromir hesitated to continue, but after a moment, did so. "Leave Minas Tirith, Aewen... Outside of the White City is an amazing world and I should know for I have seen it!"
"Leave the city? What devilry has possessed you, brother?"
Just as the man was about to answer, horns blew and men shouted frantically. Aewen and Boromir rushed to the edge of the White Tower, looking down into the city.
"Osgiliath is under attack! Captain Faramir calls for reinforcements!"
In a state of shock, Boromir put his hands against the stone guardrail to support himself. Aewen glanced at him with worry, "You're leaving, then?"
"I must," Boromir said after a moment, "I cannot leave Faramir to die."
"Very well..."
Boromir kissed Aewen upon her forehead. "Do not worry... I will return to you."
She watched Boromir leave and for a moment, felt as if she would never see either one of her brothers again. Her sparkling hues cast a long gaze out at Osgiliath, which had fallen into ruins and fire.
"Come back safely," she whispered, feeling the wind run its fingers through her hair, "...brothers."