Chapter Text
Denethor had not been happy to acknowledge Elessar, also known Aragorn, Arathorn’s son as the King of Gondor.
He had done so because he had had no choice. Gratitude had not played into it. Elessar had saved only Faramir from the brink of death, but had failed to save the more valuable Boromir, a failure which could never be forgiven.
Faramir would be the first to acknowledge Boromir’s worth, if anyone questioned it, but deep down he felt that a father ought to love all his children equally, even if one was objectively less worthy than the other.
While grieving the loss of his brother, he also grieved the loss of all hope for his father’s love.
The only thing making his life bearable these days were the king and queen.
King Elessar was all that was good and noble, acting more like a father towards him than Denethor ever had. That he could do so while keeping a proper distance between them, as befitted their respective stations, only showed just how distant Denethor had been.
And Queen Arwen, who had, perhaps, even more reason to act high and mighty, went out of her way to be kind to him.
While the King listened to the counsel of his Steward, the Queen oft asked Faramir to accompany her on her walks. For protection, she said, though he suspected she had her own ways that rendered such protection unnecessary.
On those walks, she would talk to him, in the language of her people, her tone that of idle chatter, of the very same problems that her husband was discussing with Denethor.
And in the same tone, Faramir would give his opinions.
Given that he was talking to an elven lady, who was older than the trees, he could not flatter himself that she found his thoughts useful, but the opinions she would give after reflecting on his … those often ended up becoming her husband’s decisions.
This time, though, the Queen had done away with the pretense of idle chatter, and even her ladies in waiting, trailing behind them as always, spoke to each other in voices more subdued than usual.
Queen Arwen was not sad, though. Queen Arwen was angry.
It was only when they had arrived at her favourite spot, a hill overlooking the city, with flowers strewn all over it at this time of year, that she spoke. “A letter to the king arrived from Rohan today.”
“Not to Aragorn, then?” Faramir inquired, picking up on the detail.
“To the King of Gondor. The King of Rohan is eager for his niece to get married. Preferably forging a favourable alliance in doing so. He is asking for suggestions of suitors.”
His niece. Faramir remembered her well, though he had only seen her briefly. She was a beauty, fair and strong, resilient like the first snowdrops of spring, piercing the snow with their blades.
Back then, he had had a feeling that she might ask him to order her released from the care of the healers, to ride to battle and to death, but her uncle had made sure she never got the opportunity. Faramir was glad of it, for his answer might not have pleased her.
“She does not seem the type to get married.” A shieldmaiden. It was in the very name. He had cherished the memory of that brief meeting, and perhaps it was a selfish part of him that wanted her to remain a maiden.
A maiden who might still take notice of a man, and … but those were foolish dreams. If he was not warrior enough for his father, he certainly was beneath the notice of a shieldmaiden.
Still, as long as she remained unmarried, he could dream. Could imagine her roaming the lands of her people, free and fair, as she was meant to be.
Having to meet her, attached to some lord’s side, introduced merely as ‘wife of’ … he shuddered at the thought. No man could be worthy of that honour. And only few of that of being introduced as her husband.
“What she wants does not come into it.”
Faramir frowned. “He is not going to force her, surely?”
“Oh, but he is.” There was fire in Queen Arwen’s eyes, as one might imagine there to have been in those of her ancestor Luthien.
“She saved his life.” Not that that should have been necessary; but Faramir had all too much experience with the fact that love was not guaranteed by the mere fact of being of the same blood. And with no glorious deed being ever good enough. That, too. “Does he wish to make her regret that?”
She would not, he did not think. Regardless of how much or little love there was between them, it had been her duty to protect her kin, and she had done so. She was too honourable to ever regret that, he felt, even going only by the reports he had heard.
Even though her uncle seemed hardly deserving of her love, or her duty.
“It seems so”, Queen Arwen replied, taking a letter from one of the cleverly hidden pockets in her gown. “For she has written to me, begging me to intervene on her behalf.”
“He views her then much as my father does me?”, he inquired. “A mere token in a boardgame?” To be sacrificed without second thought, even with little benefit gained.
“One would think so.” Queen Arwen stared into the distance, her hair moving in the light breeze far more than it should, by rights, as though there was a storm he could not feel. “I shall speak frankly, for I do not have the patience for the quaint proprieties of men and their courts. You know what marriage entails, I presume?”
“She would have to leave her homelands and be locked up in the keep of some nobleman.” And the notion did not agree with him. “To be in charge of his household, doing similar to what my father does for the king, but on a much smaller scale, and respected and thanked less for it.”
“Those are all things that I have willingly done.” And here, her anger subsided, briefly, and her lips were graced by a fond smile. “No, I refer to the marriage bed.”
Oh. She was right, it was not proper for his queen to speak to him of such, but she was his queen, and he was to obey her. And as long as she spoke of it in anger, and not with any tenderer emotion, he felt it was the lesser impropriety to do as she bid him.
“You speak of childbirth, and the danger it entails?” It was a matter of careful consideration, if the hope for a good foal out of an excellent mare was worth the risk. This much he knew of horse breeding.
And enough he knew of the art of healing to know it was ever more dangerous for women.
“Of that, too, but mainly of what comes before. What would you call a man who takes a woman to bed by force, if he is not married to her?”
Faramir pondered it for a moment. “I know not that I would call him anything before ending his life.” The fierceness in his own voice surprised him. “Forgive me, my queen. I have been through war, and such a thing is not a mere thought to me. I have witnessed it, and any mercy granted to one such man would be a cruelty to his victims, past and future.”
“And yet, when done in the marriage bed, such an act is to be lawful?”
“It is not what one does in the marriage bed.” It was a thing to witness in the ruins of burnt down huts, in the groups of huddled refugees.
“You have never lain with a woman, then?”
This conversation was taking a decided turn for the improper. “I am not married, and never have been, as well you know.” He had made it clear to all men he worked with, that teasing him over his innocence would earn them a stern rebuke for having compromised the reputation of at least one maiden in their quest for ‘experience’. He would not be teased by his queen, though he rather hoped that was not her intention.
“And I know as well, that Men are not like elves, in this.”
“We can strive to be.”
“That is good.” She gave him a nod of approval. “You may think that a husband would not hold down his wife with brute force, and that may well be so. But what does it matter, that there is no brute force, when instead the bonds of family love are used to tie her in place and force her to endure?”
“It would be even more cruel.” Yes, now he understood why his queen was angrier than he had ever seen her before.
“And yet, this is what Theoden King is planning to do.” She unfolded the letter. “Citing his love for his niece as the very reason for his intentions! Claiming that it will keep her safe, as it would hinder her from fighting the stray orcs that still plague her homelands. And her brother is his ally in this!”
The cruelty of it was obvious to him, now. “Perhaps they do not understand … her brother has never been married, has he?” When one’s ideas of what went on in the marriage bed were not progressed further than kissing, and some vague hopes of getting to touch a strong shield-arm … he really needed to stop thinking about this.
“They breed horses. They can hardly pretend not to know what the begetting of children entails.”
“Mares are not usually unwilling.” If they were, they made it known, and no one would let a prized stallion near an angry mare.
“Regardless, horse breeders know what the act entails, and the lady has made it very clear that she is unwilling.”
That was true. Likening a woman to a mare would have felt unseemly with any other, but she … she would not think it too improper, he felt. “You will aid her.”
“In any way I can, as long as it does not endanger Gondors relations to Rohan. Such is the burden of the crown.” Now her hair fell around her like a cloak of mourning.
“I shall ride to Rohan and talk some sense into them, from man to man.” And perhaps she would be there, too … if she was not too busy fighting orcs …
“You will have the blessings of the king, I shall see to that. Now let us return and discover what my husband and your father have discussed on the matter.”