Story Summary: Silmarien has been a lady of the court for many years. She's rebelled against it, too. Having fought in the War of the Ring, she knows what it is to be in battle, and to deal death and receive wounds.
Denethor has survived his pyre. Boromir lives, and is in love with Rhoswen. Faramir and Eowyn have also fallen in love. Silmarien must choose between marrying her cousin for politics, and marrying an exciting stranger who has just stepped into her life for love.
Authors Notes: Here it is, folks, the second Mari story, dedicated to all the readers who enjoyed What it Takes so much. Now, this fic will contain some stuff that definitely isn't for youngsters. And if you don't like your young lovers quite naughty, then I suggest you hit your back button now!
Disclaimer: Don't own it, never will.
The City of Minas Tirith still stood proudly, even with the gashes of war still embedded in her. She had made a valiant stand against the armies of Mordor and with the help of Rohan, defeated her enemy. Soldiers were sent to the Houses of Healing, to recuperate from the vicious blow Sauron dealt them.
Also in the Houses of Healing resided the Steward of Gondor and nearly all his family. Faramir had taken a poisoned arrow for his country, as well as his sister Silmarien, who had come with the army of Dol Amroth, disguised as a soldier. Denethor himself had succumbed to madness, brought on by the Palantir and attempted to burn himself and his son Faramir. The hobbit Peragrin Took had saved them both from this horrible death, with the aid of Gandalf.
None of the Steward's family was in any position to lead the army that was to march against the Gates of Mordor. And so the man who was whispered to be King of Gondor went, and achieved a glorious victory, destroying his foe. The hobbit princes who had cast Isildur's Bane into Mount Doom had been celebrated loudly and treated well in the City.
It was a few days after the King had brought back a sapling he had found of the White Tree and replaced it. Denethor's health had taken a sore blow and had not fully recovered from the result of his madness, and so he went about upon his daughter's good arm and a cane when she was not with him. His duties were passed to his sons, who helped the king organize his court and work as well as they could.
One day he went to his daughter in her chambers after he had been in a short audience with Elessar. Silmarien was at her desk wrapping a gift for Rhoswen and Boromir to congratulate them on their coming wedding. Denethor watched her carefully. She spoke joyful things, and smiled often, but between the smiles and happy laughter there were times of sadness and a solemnity that he had never before seen in Silmarien. The war had made her less flamboyant and more willing to listen quietly. Denethor watched with a sting of sorrow for her as she tied the ribbon about the gift with stiffness in her left arm.
"Daughter, there is a thing we must speak about," he said quietly. Mari turned to him, having finished her project, to help him sit.
"I have spoken to the king and have seen his character. In this time of renewal, he has done well. He endeavors to bring back the greatness of Gondor's former glory, and I commend him for it."
Silmarien nodded silently, not knowing where her father was taking this. It seemed the former Steward had been thinking much on these things and had spoken privately with the new king. Denethor took a breath and asked for a drink, which his daughter immediately brought to his hand.
"A great country has its roots in its people," he began. "And the people look to their nobles. It would be well for the country if the nobles were united to one purpose."
"Indeed, father," Silmarien replied. Denethor sipped at his wine, still trying to put together the words he wished to speak.
"I do not grow younger, Silmarien. My days are coming to an end. My sons have found happiness. It is the desire of my heart that my daughter find it as well."
Mari lowered her head so that her eyes gazed at her hands folded on her lap. So it had come to this at last, an arranged marriage. For so many years, this was what she had feared. She had put off her cousin Barahir because it didn't feel right to accept his ever-present proposal. Now, there was nothing she could do.
"I have had audience with our king, and he has agreed to speak with you, Silmarien," Denethor said. "You are fortunate, daughter, to be given such favor. I would ask you to go to him immediately."
Nodding mutely, Silmarien stood and made her way to the king's study. There was a guard there who nodded, admitting her entry. The chamber was lit by many candles scattered all about. Elessar did not look up when she made her presence known, but remained hunched over a map, lain atop many others that were strewn upon the desk. A calloused finger traced an unmarked path from an area in the northwest, south around the mountains past Edoras and to the White City.
"My lord, you desired to see me?" she asked nervously.
At last he looked up, smiling at her and bidding her to sit. For a time, there was an awkward silence where he merely looked at her. It seemed he was hesitant to tell her something, and Silmarien felt it was a vain hope that he would gently refuse her. Fidgeting with her sleeves, her mind raced for something to say to break the awful silence.
"What journey does my lord plan for, that he studies so many maps?" Mari finally asked.
The king's face suddenly melted into a soft smile. Silmarien couldn't help but think that it was radiant, and that he was a very handsome man. But then, she did not know him, and did not think that it would be the best match for either of them.
"I await a company of travellers, and I greatly anticipate their arrival," he answered. Mari nodded, trying to think of something else to fill the silence with, but coming up with nothing. Aragorn looked at the woman sitting before him, his eyes glittering at a sudden memory.
"You are nearly a stranger to me, Silmarien," he said quietly, "you have grown tall and very beautiful.When last I saw you, you were but a child."
Silmarien looked up at him in confusion, her dark eyebrows knit together. "Forgive me, my lord, but I do not recall ever meeting you before that day in the Houses of Healing."
Elessar smiled outright, remembering the day. "I do. I was walking the streets of the city. A child of a noble family seemed to have lost her way and was in the fifth circle of Minas Tirith. There were two young boys who had cornered her and were teasing the poor child about how clean her gown was. They tried to make her like them. Dirty, smelly, toughened."
Silmarien looked down, closing her eyes. Yes, she remembered when she was a small child, that day when she was lost. She was seven years old at the time. Mari remembered all the sights, the smells...the fear and shame.
"When they saw me approaching, they ran, leaving the poor girl with her dress soiled and her ribbons unravelled."
Silmarien could see it clearly now in her memory. The tall, unkempt man who so kindly held out his hand for her to take. His soft voice comforted her, soothing away her fear.
"Come," he said, his smile reassuring and pleasant as she wept. "You need have no fear of me. I will take you back home where you belong."
She had suddenly felt so safe with this dark man with a scruffy beard.
Elessar remembered how small her hand had felt in his, how insecure her touch when he had taken it. He remembered he took her in his arms and embraced her as he carried her to her chambers, and made sure she was safe again.
Silmarien looked at her king again, through tears that threatened to spill over to her cheeks. She remembered the Ranger who had rescued her from an unfamiliar place.
"Thorongil," she whispered.
Aragorn immediately rose and walked around the desk, embracing Silmarien like a father would his daughter. "So, we have met, you see," he smiled. Silmarien laughed.
"I thought of you often, friend. I always remembered what you said to me," she murmured. "You said, 'There is courage of different kinds. Some have a dirty courage, which makes them unafraid of torn clothes or smelly, sweaty hands. Some have a spotless courage, in which the purity of their hearts help them to make their choices and keep to it."
"It is good to know that your heart was strengthened during the war, my friend," he said. Then his smile lessened. "And friend I shall always think of you. I confess my heart has been given to another for quite some time."
His grey eyes watched her, giving his meaning more weight and hoping that her heart would not be too greatly wounded. Silmarien nodded, understanding.
"And friend you shall always be to me, my lord. I do not think I could see you any other way."
Well, there it is. Please review! I can't continue without feedback!