Title: Love and Honor
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance
Summary: Faelrin, daughter of Denethor, has undergone arranged wedlock with a Captain of Gondor's military. But when he proves to be less than perfect, can she remain faithful to him when another is thrown into their midst? (we all know who that will be, don't we ;) coughLEGOLAScough)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of J.R.R. Tolkien's works.
Author's Note: This is my first Lord of the Ring's fanfiction. Please let me know how I'm doing in a review, but NO FLAMES.
Dawn broke in cascading golden waves over the Vale of Anduin, the heart of Gondor. It spread over the forests of Ithilien, over the ruins of the once-proud city of Osgiliath, and finally over the seven levels of Minas Tirith. It glinted on the spears of the Guards of the Fountain, and the shields of the Citadel Guards.
Faelrin, daughter of Denethor, looked out over the battlements towards the remnants of the former capital city of Gondor. Somewhere in those old husks of buildings, her brothers were fighting for their lives. Boromir, she knew, was perfectly capable of handling himself, but Faramir, little Faramir, she was not so sure about. Despite the fact that she was a mere two years older than he, she always had looked upon him as though he were still a small child, and he was kind enough to allow her to do so without comment.
She was tall, even as a man in these days of waning, and her golden-brown hair tumbled far past her shoulders. She had beautiful, pale skin, of the sort that men prized, and her eyes were sea-grey, for she was of the kindred of Nùmenor. She sighed and leaned further out on the battlements.
"It is nearly seven hundred feet to the base of this hill, my daughter; I would not wish you to fall."
Faelrin glanced back over her shoulder to see the figure of Lord Denethor walking serenely across the citadel to her. She smiled warmly,
"Oh father, you worry about me far too much. Think of your sons," she waved a hand out at the Pelennor and the lands beyond, "They are now in far more danger than I could ever be from leaning over a parapet."
Denethor smiled and wrapped his arms around his daughter in a warm hug, and joined her at the parapet. "It will not be long now," he said, grimly, "The orcs will not brave the sunlight for long. If your brothers still live, they will be returning shortly."
Even as Denethor said the words, there was a blast of trumpets from the outskirts of Osgiliath. Faelrin strained her eyes out over the ten miles of field, and saw the glint of sunlight off of armor, spears, swords and shields. As the column of soldiers drew closer, she could just make out the tall figure of her elder brother Boromir, holding in his hands the banner of the Stewards and beside him rode Faramir, grinning hugely as he waved his sword aloft in an expression of triumphant victory.
She left the battlements at a run, and sprinted as fast as she could down the winding streets to the first level. Denethor smiled at the retreating form of his middle child, and walked back to his chamber in the base of the white tower.
Faelrin met the battle-weary soldiers just as they entered the great gates, slightly out of breath. Men smiled at her as she passed on to where Boromir and Faramir sat in their saddles. She smiled up at her brothers,
"Are the two of you alright? I've been up worrying the entire night."
Faramir smiled down at his younger sister, "I've never felt better, dear sister! We completely routed an entire army of Sauron's finest. Gondor is safe, if only for a little while."
She smacked his leg playfully, "I mean did you come back with all of your pieces?"
"I haven't checked yet," responded Faramir.
"Nor will you have a chance for some time," said Boromir, "We must go and make our report to Father. Baragund!" he called over his shoulder.
A towering figure of a man stood up and walked over to the brothers. He was well over six foot tall, and very broad. His beard was well trimmed, tapering down to barely an inch wide up at his temples. His hair was the darkest black. Faelrin, despite the fact that she was very often swayed by handsomeness, found herself uncomfortable in his presence. He felt malevolent and unrepentantly merciless.
"My lords?" he asked, with a voice like sandpaper.
"Find a horse, Baragund," said Boromir, "You will accompany us to the Citadel when we make our report."
"As ordered, lord," the tall man replied, and walked off.
Faelrin turned back to Boromir, "Must he come along with us? He makes me uneasy."
Boromir stared sternly at Faelrin, "Baragund is a good man, and a mighty warrior. Without him, we might not have won the battle. I will say no more now," he added, as Baragund came riding up on a horse, "You will hear the full tale once we give our report to Father."
And with that, he lifted her up onto his horse, and the three riders and one passenger rode up back to the Citadel. Faelrin leapt off the horse gracefully, landing directly in front of a shocked guard. He leapt back, grabbing a hold of his helmet.
"Y-you startled me milady!" he stammered.
"I'm sorry, Beregond," she said, smiling warmly, "I'll try to give you a warning next time."
"Thank you, milady," responded Beregond, clutching his chest. Behind her, Baragund snarled, "Guards of the Fountain should not speak while on duty. Back to your station, guardsman."
"Yes, milord, sorry milord," jabbered Beregond as he staggered back to his post. Faelrin glared at Baragund.
"He was just startled, that's all!"
Baragund shrugged, his stylized shoulder-plates glancing off the wings of his helmet. "The Lore is The Lore, milady," he said, "Those who do not abide by it deserve to be punished."
"That's a bit unfair, I should think," she snapped back.
He glanced at her as they walked towards the tower, "Oh, no doubt that The Lore can be bent, of course. You do it every day that you come into the Citadel."
"There's nowhere in The Lore where it says that a woman cannot come into the Citadel," she spat at Baragund.
The soldier nodded, "Yes, that's true. But there is nowhere in The Lore where it says a woman can come into the Citadel. There is, however, a general feeling that women should not enter the Citadel; it is a place of war, and in that, women have no place."
"I am the Steward's daughter, and you can't talk to me like that!"
"No, you are correct," he said after a moment, "Forgive me. Certain women should be allowed into the Citadel; the wives of important leaders."
He said it with an air of finality that suggested the conversation was over. Faelrin fumed as she walked beside him. He was one of those men that would give up an argument when they started to lose. She couldn't understand why her brothers liked him so much, he was an absolute idiot!
Presently they reached the door to the tower. The guards on duty bowed to the four of them and stood aside. They entered into the vast, echoing hall of the Steward. All four bowed to Denethor, who was sitting in his black chair at the bottom of the great dais.
He stood up and spread his arms wide. "Speak, my sons, do not be silent. Tell me of all that has befallen."
Boromir rose out of his bow, and started to speak, "They crossed the river at nightfall, on the main bridge."
"I believe it should be demolished," interrupted Faramir, "I doubt that we shall be retaking Ithilien anytime soon."
"Silence, Faramir," snapped Denethor, "Let your brother speak."
"And they came at us while we were not ready, but Baragund here," he gestured back to Baragund who bowed again, "Rallied a few soldiers and held the main street by himself while the rest of us prepared for battle. I sent for reinforcements, and Faramir arrived with them. Then we encircled the orcs from either flank and destroyed them, charging onto the bridge and into eastern Osgiliath. And then we retreated, because Faramir doubted that we had the numbers to hold the bank."
"And wisely so," said Baragund, "We have defeated but a small portion of Sauron's strength. I suggest that the guard upon the river-bank be doubled."
"It shall be done," said Denethor and turned back to Boromir, "Were there any casualties?"
"Sadly, there were many," said Boromir, and Faelrin patted him on the back. She knew how he hated to lose soldiers to the enemy. "One hundred and fifty dead, and almost three-hundred injured."
"That is all, Boromir. Faramir. Baragund," he said as he nodded to each in turn. "May you continue to do valiant deeds in Gondor's service, Baragund. I look forward to the next tale of you."
"Thank you milord," said Baragund, and he bowed, spun on his heel and walked out. Faelrin made a face after him.
As soon as the door shut after them, Faelrin and her father were alone in the great hall. She ran up and hugged him as he stood from his chair. He stepped down off the dais and paced the floor nervously.
"What are you thinking father?" Faelrin asked as she sat down in his chair, and squirmed. The hard wood was very uncomfortable, you needed her father's ample backside and stubby legs, as opposed to her long, shapely ones.
He smiled at her, "Faelrin, my little one..." he trailed off, and sat down on the dais, and looked up at her.
"Yes, father?"
"I do not know how to say this," he started, then paused, "But you have become a fine lady, Faelrin. You are the image of our Nùmenorian ancestors of old."
"What is the reason for these sudden complements, father," Faelrin asked him suspiciously.
He stared down the length of the hall for a moment, lips moving soundlessly, for a moment before answering, "I wish for you to marry, Faelrin."
"Oh," she responded, shocked. She had not been expecting this.
"Is there any man that you desire in this city?" Denethor asked hopefully.
"Oh," said Faelrin, and thought for a moment before answering, "There is that nice guard...Beregond."
"Beregond," Denethor repeated, "I believe he is married, is he not?"
"His wife passed away three years ago," she said, sighing. "He is raising a son, Bergil. He is a nice boy." She stopped, then glared at her father, "Is there any reason you want me to marry?"
Denethor sighed, "I fear that your brother Boromir is married to the sword. He is a born warrior, and I doubt he will ever find love. And Faramir, he is too absorbed with his ancient scrolls and forgotten songs. No woman could love a man such as he." He looked up at her pleadingly, "You are the only one who can continue the bloodline."
"Well, you obviously do not approve of Beregond," she said, "Whom did you have in mind?"
"I was thinking that Baragund would be a worthy choice."
"WHAT!?" Faelrin sprang out of the chair, "He's a pig! A cretin! He talks of women as though they are mere tools, there to fix his meals and make sure he has a clean bed and to keep him warm at night! How could I marry a man such as he?!"
"He is a fine man," Denethor said, "Skilled in battle, strong of heart, and possessed of a cunning wit."
"If you call mindless obedience cunning, then he is the most crafty man I have ever had the misfortune to meet!"
"I am afraid that he is the only suitable choice in the land, Faelrin." Said Denethor, standing up. "And it must be soon, I feel that this peace that he has purchased us will not last long."
And with that, he walked out of the room, leaving Faelrin alone, quivering with rage. She clenched her fists, 'How could I marry a man like him' she thought, 'I suppose I had better enjoy my last few days of freedom, before I'm forced into slavery with that...that...pig'
She ran outside, down to the fountain, and whirled Beregond around to face her.
"What is it that I can do for you mi-mmf!"
He was cut off as she planted a kiss straight on his lips. She pulled away and smiled at him, "Well, here's the last hurrah, Beregond. I'm to marry that swine, Baragund."
"That is terrible news, milady," muttered a very ruffled Beregond.
"Indeed it is, Beregond," she sighed, "For it is you that I love. Alas, but it is not to be. I wanted you to know, before it was too late."
And she solemnly walked back to her quarters in the shadow of the tower, leaving a very shocked and confused Beregond standing in the midst of the Citadel.
Faelrin sat on the edge of her bed, outwardly calm, but inwardly seething with fury. This wasn't what she wanted, this was being forced on her. If it had been a man like Beregond, perhaps she could have coped. But Baragund...it made her fists itch.
Denethor was sitting next to her, babbling happily about the wedding; she really wasn't listening. Her gaze drifted to the bedside table, where a jeweled dagger rested. It would be so easy, just a quick slit across her throat, and it would all be over.
She jumped as Denethor laid a hand on her shoulder. She turned back to look at his smiling face. She couldn't, she couldn't disappoint her father. It would drive her mad, but she would have to do it, for his sake.
"And it shall be in a fortnight's time," he was saying, "Is that soon enough, Faelrin? Baragund was very glad when I gave him the news. He thinks you are a fine lady."
"Where is he? Should he not be here to speak with his betrothed?" asked Faelrin bitterly, "And where are Boromir and Faramir, my brothers?"
"I believe they have taken Baragund for a celebratory drink," Denethor replied, "They are very pleased with you choice as well."
"It was not my choice..." murmured Faelrin under her breath, but dared speak no louder. It was rare that her father was in such a fine mood, and she did not want to spoil it for him.
"I can see you are tired," Denethor said, standing up. "I'll leave to get some sleep."
When he shut the door, Faelrin threw her pillow at the door. She flopped back onto the bed and shut her eyes. Well, it was final. There was nothing she could do about it. She was to marry Baragund of Gondor.
'At least he might die in battle,' she thought silently, 'There's always hope I suppose.'
And then she drifted off to sleep.
A/N: What do you think? Should I keep going? It will get better, I promise! Review PLEASE!!