Love and Lust - A Dynasty Broken

Spoilers: The Lord of the Rings prequel (begins in Minas Tirith)

Rating: "R" for rape/adult themes

Feedback: Yes, please. Constructive criticism is most welcome.

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. I am using them for entertainment purposes only, not for sale or profit.

I am a huge Boromir fan. My story’s Boromir is a warrior who takes pleasure when he can. He also is a great lord of Gondor and a nobleman. The two sides of his character sometimes clash, and he is not always likeable. (Who is?) I have tried to make him as human as possible.

I read in The Treason of Isengard, History of Middle-Earth Part 2, that Tolkien had included a daughter for Theoden King in an early draft of LOTR. He named her Idis. He also had plans to include a marital alliance between Gondor and Rohan. Tolkien discarded both the daughter and the marriage. However, it gave me an idea for this story, in which Denethor and Theoden arrange a political marriage for their children. The story is about brotherhood, love, lust, loyalty, betrayal, jealousy and lost innocence. If you are a serious Denethor fan, you probably won't like my characterization of him. But every good drama needs a villain, and the Steward is mine.

The first chapter lays the foundation for the entire story and, therefore, moves a little slower than the chapters that follow. There is a rape in Chapter I. As the story progresses, characters you are familiar with play major roles. They include Faramir and Mithrandir. I also have written large parts for Theodred, son of Theoden King, Haldir of Lorien, and Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth. There is political intrigue and fighting, and even a little romance. This is LOTR as it might have been. Please enjoy.

"Tell me of your homeland, Mother." The child was sitting cross-legged on her mother’s bed, twisting a lock of blonde hair between thumb and forefinger. Her six-year-old face was fixed attentively upon the woman who languished upon the pillows. Deathly pale she was, and lines of pain were etched deeply into her face. Patiently the woman sighed and smiled wanly at the girl.

"You know the stories better than I do, child. How many times have you sat at my feet and listened to tales of Elves and wizards? If your father knew, he would beat us both soundly." Despite her stern words, the woman was smiling. She motioned her daughter to come to her, then tenderly stroked the girl’s hair as they lay next to each other.

The child snuggled happily against her mother’s side. "Mother, tell me about your homeland, please. I want to hear about the golden woods and the Elves." Sighing, she prepared to spin the tale she had woven many times for her only child. Queen Elanor knew her time upon Middle-earth was ending, and she wanted the girl to know her heritage, even though her father forbade it.

Boromir awoke with a throbbing headache. Raising his head from the pillow, he felt pain stab deeply behind his forehead. Dimly he remembered the drunken revelry of the past two days and nights. And with that remembrance came the unwelcome realization that soon his future bride would arrive in the White City. He had tried unsuccessfully to drown his distress at having to marry the "child" (which is how he thought of Rohan’s Princess) through excessive drinking and women who, for a short time, could make him forget the burden of being the Steward’s heir. In truth, he would prefer not to marry at all. He was a soldier and Captain-General of Gondor’s armies. He had no time to deal with a young wife. The country he loved would always be his mistress, one the Princess would undoubtedly be jealous of.

Although he had never met the girl, Boromir knew her family well. The King of Rohan was allied to Gondor, and the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor had fought beside her brother, Theodred. But of the girl, Eledwhen, he knew nothing other than it was said she was most fair to look upon.

"It will take more than a pretty face to make her a good wife," he had said when his father, the Steward of Gondor, had told him about the marriage plans for his eldest son and heir.

"All it will take for her to be a good wife is to bear you sons so that the line of the stewards may continue," the Lord Denethor retorted contemptuously. "And a pretty face and slender form does much to make that particular duty most enjoyable. I envy you this marriage. Were I twenty years younger I would wed – and bed – her myself."

Boromir stared at Gondor’s aged ruler, struggling to keep from his face the amazement he felt at his father’s words. A fire still burns within that old frame, he thought, adding aloud: "When will the royal party arrive?"

"Two days hence, if their journey is uneventful. I sent your brother, Faramir, and a host of his most loyal and skilled men to meet the King at the Gap of Rohan. I would not have your future father-in-law beset by orcs whilst he travels within my lands. It would not be an auspicious beginning to this new alliance. This marriage would not be necessary if our two countries were still on amiable terms, but the brutal truth is that Theoden King seems to be falling into his dotage and is no longer capable of making sound decisions. And that son of his… You know he bears no love for me. But with you as his brother-in-law, he could hardly refuse to come to our defense. Especially with his sister living in Gondor."

Denethor gave his heir a hard stare and added: "I would have sent you to greet your future bride, but you were busy with other pursuits. For the past two weeks you have been of no use to me or to Gondor. Do you think I know not the reason behind your disgraceful behavior? You are my eldest son and heir. Whether or not you are pleased with the wife I have chosen for you is unimportant. It is time you pulled yourself together and left drink and serving wenches out of your daily routine. You will be presentable when Theoden and his children arrive. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, Father," Boromir replied, his anger toward his father’s rebuke evident only in the tightening of the lines around his mouth. Nodding curtly to the Steward, Boromir turned on his heel to leave, thinking bitterly, Why does Father always make me feel like a small, errant child? Once free of Denethor’s presence, Boromir passed a shaky hand over the stubble on his face. He had not had time to shave before being summoned to his father’s chambers. I will be presentable, Father, he said to himself, staring coldly at the closed door. Quickly he strode down the wide hallway, his booted tread heavy on the stone floor.

* * * * * * * *

The King’s entourage had arrived in Minas Tirith, Chief City of Gondor, after an uneventful journey. Faramir had shown them to their chambers before taking his leave to report to the Steward.

"What are you thinking about, little sister?" Theodred, Prince of Rohan and only son to the King of the Mark, was in his sister’s chambers. He knew his sister well enough to know that she was upset, probably over her upcoming marriage. She stood at a tall window overlooking the tiered gardens that adorned the eastern side of the city. Barely 18 winters had she seen, and now she was to be married to a man she did not know, or love, over something as unromantic as territories and borders. The Prince moved to stand beside Eledwhen and saw her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "What is wrong, Eledwhen? This is supposed to be the happiest time of your life. Instead, you act as though this marriage is a death sentence."

"It might as well be," she answered bitterly. "You and our father will return to Edoras, but I shall be forced to accept a new life in this strange city. I already miss the open fields of our homeland. I feel caged in this great stone city, although I find it most fair." Gazing out the window, she looked upon the Tower of Ecthelion, which glimmered like a spike of pearl and silver in the midday sun. She could almost hear its white banners snapping crisply in the breeze that blew cool from the White Mountains. "Tell me true, Brother. Would you not weep as well if you were being forced to wed a stranger? Particularly if that stranger were more than twice your age?"

Theodred gave her a guilty look before crossing to a table, upon which set a silver wine decanter and goblets. He poured a glass half full, sighed heavily, and quickly drained the smooth liquid in a single gulp. "I know well that the man you are to marry is much too old for you, and much too concerned about affairs of state and war," he said angrily. "Although I admire his valor and his battle skills, having fought by his side defending our common borders, still I would not have you wed him. You need someone who would cherish you, not his horse or his sword."

"That is rather amusing coming from you, dear brother. Or from any man who claims Rohan as his homeland. Do we not prize our horses above all else? Are you not as fierce and skillful a warrior as either of the Steward’s sons?" Although her gaze was stern, her tone was light, for she loved her brother deeply.

Smiling, knowing his sister had once again gotten the upper hand in a debate, Theodred walked within a few inches of her slender body and gently pushed a lock of silken hair behind her left ear. "Smart as any man," he said playfully. "I could never gain the upper hand in an argument with you."

"Then we are even, Brother, for I would never win at sword play with you." Her smile faded as she realized that she would rarely see her brother after the marriage. To hide her pain, Eledwhen went to the table and poured him another goblet of wine. And because she felt miserable, she also poured a generous portion for herself.

Handing a goblet to Theodred, she raised hers in a mock toast. "To our health and happiness, and to the next heir to the Stewardship of Gondor. Although, if I am truly fortunate, I will bear only daughters and Denethor will seek another wife for poor Boromir. Such is the need for sons and heirs."

"I am sorry, for I know you would prefer to marry one of our people and remain in Rohan. The Lord Boromir is a bad match for you. You do not deserve a man who is ruled by ambition or greed," Theodred said darkly. "It is said that he is a masterful man, and one to take what he desires."

"Do you speak of the son…or of the father?" Eledwhen asked, arching an eyebrow cryptically.

"They are both as much alike as the same side of a coin. He has not the stomach to stand up to Denethor, and so does his father’s bidding like an obedient lap dog. Rather would I see you marry the Lord Faramir, for he has a kind and gentle heart, and truly cares for the people he serves."

Eledwhen smiled, remembering their journey to Minas Tirith accompanied by Faramir and his men. She and Denethor’s youngest son had spoken about many things, including her future husband.

"Captain Faramir says that beneath his brother’s haughty and proud demeanor lies a fierce love for his people and his country. He believes there is naught Boromir would do to protect both. But I, too, wish Faramir was his father’s heir."

With a feeling of dread, she recalled the image of how stern and forbidding Lord Boromir had looked when she had been presented to him and the Steward. His rigid stance and cold, piercing gray eyes suggested that this son of Gondor was not eager to marry the girl standing before him. In almost a whisper, she added, "At least the Lord Faramir does not frighten me."

A knock at the door ended their conversation. The Second Marshal of the Mark strode to the door and pulled it abruptly open. Denethor's eldest son stood outside. Seeing the angry expression on his future brother-in-law’s face, Boromir steeled himself as though for a blow. "My father sent me to ask your highnesses to join those gathered in the Great Hall of Feasts. It is time to celebrate our betrothal," he said, looking past Theodred to where the girl stood.

The Prince of Rohan turned to his sister. "Duty calls, sister dearest," he said bitterly. Then, giving Boromir a strange, piercing look, he swept past the older man. The heir to the Stewardship of Gondor stood mutely in the doorway, dumbfounded at the change in the Prince. On the battlefield they had been nearly as close as brothers, each having saved the other’s life during combat. The man striding purposefully down the hallway seemed a stranger – and almost an antagonist.

Boromir looked at his future wife, quickly erasing the confusion from his face. The mask of neutrality he almost always wore descended as he repeated their fathers’ request to join them. As he had that afternoon when the King’s party had reached the High Court, he marveled at her beauty. She had shimmered in the afternoon sunlight, more like a vision than a thing of substance. Tall and wondrous fair she was, with long flaxen hair flowing like a river of gold down her back. Never had he beheld a woman so enchanting. Her flawless skin gleamed like the finest quality marble, and her wide-set eyes were deeply blue and as innocent as the sky. And when she spoke…the dulcet tones sent shivers of desire down his spine. He had soon cast off his resistance to marrying one so young, knowing he wanted this girl more than he had ever wanted another.

Having donned a fur-lined cloak against the chill in the hallways, Eledwhen turned quickly, catching Boromir staring at her intently. Though she did not understand the meaning behind that intense appraisal, she nevertheless shivered. The sheer power of his masculinity intimidated her. For courage, she picked up the goblet of wine left unfinished by her brother and drained it in one, swift gulp. So fortified, she turned to face her future lord.

* * * * * * * * *

Eledwhen was almost in bed when a knock at the door gave her pause. She wondered who it might be at so late an hour, and sincerely hoped it was not Boromir wanting to further express his ardor.

Earlier, at the feast in their honor, he had disgusted her with a declaration of his desire for her, proving his point by pressing her lithe frame against his hard body and attempting to kiss her. His boldness and ungentlemanly behavior had shocked her. Untangling herself from his strong arms, she had fled from the balcony into the great dining hall. Theodred’s eyes had narrowed as he watched her hasty return and noted her flushed face and rapid breathing.

Boromir sauntered into the room, his eyes searching for the girl. As an experienced combat soldier, Theodred was well familiar with the appearance of a man driven by lust for a woman. Quickly he went to Boromir’s side and placed a hand upon his arm. Leaning close, he asked the Lord of Gondor to join him on the balcony.

"What is it you want?" Boromir growled, pulling his arm free of the younger man’s grip. "I am otherwise engaged."

"I would advise more discretion on your part, my Lord," Theodred said, emphasizing the title to remind Boromir of his station. "You are not yet my sister’s husband."

"How dare you speak to me in this manner!" the Steward’s heir said haughtily. "How I behave with my betrothed is my own business."

"How you behave with my sister is my business, and I would remind you of the purpose of this union." Not wanting to cause a scene, Boromir allowed himself to be led back onto the balcony.

"My father, the King of the Mark of Rohan, would not take too kindly to the Steward’s son forcing himself upon his only daughter two days before her wedding," Theodred warned, the implied threat of war between the two countries hanging in the space between them. Boromir’s hand grasped his sword hilt and the two warriors stood facing one another, each waiting for the other to make a play.

"What is going on here?!" Denethor’s sharp words brought both men’s attention toward the archway to the Great Hall. Gondor’s Steward stood in the opening, Rohan’s King at his side.

Theodred and Boromir exchanged heated looks before relaxing into noncombatant stances. But Denethor’s piercing eyes missed nothing, and he recognized that the two men had nearly come to blows.

"Theodred, I would have a word with you…NOW!!" said Theoden sharply. With a wordless bow to the Steward, he strode to his father’s side. Denethor moved onto the balcony, holding his son’s gaze by the force of his will.

"What have the two of you been fighting about? And I’ll have the truth." Denethor’s direct stare was merciless. Inwardly, his eldest son sighed. It was not worth the agony to suppress so trivial a matter.

Denethor’s response to Theodred’s source of displeasure was not the response Boromir had feared. The old man roared with laughter and slapped his son soundly on the back. "Chip off the old block, you are at that," he said, almost proudly. "But I would advise you to wait until after the marriage vows have been exchanged before attempting to bed the lass. She is a king’s daughter, not a camp whore. For now, restrain yourself. After the wedding you may do with her as you please."

Boromir was not certain he liked the intimacy with which his father spoke of his future wife. Although he was surprised and relieved that the Steward actually looked favorably upon his actions – for once – still there was something disconcerting in the tone of his voice. Of course, as a soldier, Boromir had spent many hours trading bawdy stories with his men, but this was his father speaking about the woman who would bear him grandchildren.

Not sure why he felt a sense of foreboding, Boromir watched his father offer his apologies to the King for his son’s overly enthusiastic actions regarding his wife-to-be. Nodding his understanding, Theoden dismissed his son with a nonchalant wave of his hand. Still angry, Theodred cast a warning look at Boromir before striding from the hall.

Boromir sighed tiredly, thinking it was time to retire for the night. It had been a long, long day. He could not know that this was to be only one of many such days.

* * * * * * * * *

Eledwhen started to call her maid, but decided to let the poor woman sleep. Tomorrow would be filled with dress fittings and last-minute preparations for the wedding. Let the woman rest while she could. I wish I could rest, she thought tiredly, running her hands through her thick hair as she walked to the door. "Who is it?" she asked tentatively.

"Denethor, Steward of Gondor. I would have a word with you before you retire."

Surprised and a bit perplexed, Eledwhen opened the door and stood back so her future father-in-law could enter. "How may I serve you?" she asked.

"How indeed," replied the old man, a strange look in his eyes as they slowly followed the line of her nightdress from her naked shoulders to her bare feet. A warning nagged at the back of her mind, telling her to leave immediately and seek out her brother’s quarters. But logic told her she was in no danger from the Steward of Gondor.

"Come, girl. Pour an old man a glass of wine," Denethor said smoothly, easing his large frame into a chair near the fire. "I wish to offer my apologies for my eldest son’s inexcusable behavior. He has spent too much time in the company of women of ill repute. He forgets how to behave around a lady."

"I have forgotten the incident already," she lied. "The Lord Boromir had too much to drink. I have seen that before, for my brother and my cousin, Eomer, are both soldiers. One comes to overlook their rather common behavior at such times."

Eledwhen poured the Steward wine and crossed from the table to the chair where Denethor sat, handing him the goblet of wine. He let his fingers purposefully caress the back of her hand as he took the glass from her. Quickly she snatched back her hand, moving to the open window to put space between them. Something was wrong. Had she the warrior’s instincts so deeply ingrained within her brother, she would have recognized the danger signals. As an innocent and sheltered maiden, she could only wonder what was wrong with her that she should feel fear in the company of this courtly ruler.

Denethor continued to stare intently at her, then drained his goblet and rose to pour himself more wine. Normally she would have insisted upon waiting on him, but her doubts rooted her to the spot where she stood. Nervously, she studied the old man before her, noting the sturdy frame and the chiseled features set off by a long, curved nose between deep, dark eyes.

She saw the Steward pour wine into a second goblet, but did not see that he dropped something into it. Turning to her with a silky smile, he extended the goblet to her. "Drink a toast with me to your upcoming marriage. Soon you will be a member of my family, and as a daughter you will be to me."

Eledwhen accepted the glass from his hand and drank. It smelled of poppies. "That’s right," he purred. "Drink it all. It will make you feel better. You are tense and unable to sleep. Am I right in this?"

"Yes, my lord," she murmured, consuming the rest of the wine. "That is a good girl," Denethor said gently, taking the goblet from her hand. "Come, stand by the fire and let me rub your shoulders. I can relieve some of your tension."

A feeling of warmth and sleepiness was beginning to take hold of her body. She allowed the Steward to place his hand on her arm and steer her to the fireplace, turning her so that her back was to him. He then began to gently massage her neck, then her shoulder muscles.

"Does that feel better?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper in her ear as he leaned toward her and gently pulled her hair away from her delicate neck. Her breathing was slow and heavy, telltale signs the draught was taking effect.

Emboldened by her silence, Denethor put his lips upon her neck, the taste of her flesh intoxicating him with desire. Soon, she would belong to his eldest son; but for tonight, she would be his. He was the Lord of Gondor, Steward of the High King, and he had the right to take any girl he desired. His breathing became ragged as anticipation and desire began to overwhelm his senses.

Why should not I be the one to take her virginity? he argued to himself. My son does not deserve such a prize. And soon Mordor will devour our land and we shall all perish. I have seen this. I shall take pleasure in the time that I have left.

Turning the King’s daughter to face him, he kissed her on her full and sensual lips. His hands roamed over her body, feeling the soft contours through the thin gown. Denethor watched her eyes as he caressed her, searching for any sign she was aware of what he was doing. Finally, satisfied of her insensibility, he lifted her easily in his arms and carried her to the bed.

Old am I? he thought bitterly. Let them say I am well past my prime and entering my dotage. I still am enough of a man to take a young woman. With that, he began to slowly remove the gown she wore, sliding it off her shoulders, over her firm breasts and slender hips, then removing it entirely. She lay naked upon the bed, vulnerable and incredibly beautiful.

If he was aware that what he was doing was terribly wrong and against the laws that he himself had set down, Denethor showed no signs. His hunger and need drove him to kiss the girl’s flesh and to caress her breasts. His hand slid down her side to the smooth skin of the outer thigh, then moved more deliberately to the inside. Her flesh felt like silk beneath his rough hand.

Denethor thought he heard her cry out when he entered her, but wasn’t certain because of the roaring of the blood in his head. He was deaf and blind to all external forces, his entire being centered on the heat contained within her body. He wanted the exquisite sensations to never end. He was not aware of how roughly he used her, he only knew that he wanted her. And he always got what he wanted.

As his passion became too painful to endure much longer, Denethor felt the girl stir beneath him and cry out in pain and terror. Quickly he placed a large hand over her mouth to silence her, and pressed her into the mattress with his body so she could not escape. "Not yet, my pretty," he crooned. "I am not finished with you."

Gondor’s ruler ignored the girl’s muffled screams. He had never felt this before – this incredible passion, this almost painful pleasure. All too soon he was spent. Sated, he dropped on top of her, still pinning her to the mattress.

Dimly, he became aware of her racking sobs. With his senses returning to reality, he began to seek a way out of the untenable position in which he had placed himself, and Gondor.

I must think of a way to keep her from telling anyone, he thought frantically. Theoden will declare war upon Gondor should he discover what I have done this night. As he removed his softened flesh from her body, the girl struggled to free herself.

"Be still," he hissed. "Do you want anyone to know what you have done? Think of the shame it will bring your father."

"Are you mad?" she gasped. "I have done nothing wrong!! You have violated the daughter of the King of Rohan. I will see you suffer for this."

"No, my dear. You will say nothing. Not to your father, nor to your brother, nor even to my son."

"You are mad! You would rape your son’s fiancée on the eve of their wedding and threaten her with disclosure. Let me go!" Vainly she tried to push him off her, but she could not, for Denethor was an extremely powerful man.

"Tell anyone what has passed this night, and I will have your dear brother killed," he said evenly, as though he was talking about the weather. "You know I can have it done."

"You would not dare," she protested, knowing that he could – and would.

Denethor’s eyes glinted dangerously as he added: "The choice is yours. Keep our little secret, or lose the brother whom you love more than your own life."

Eledwhen hated his assured gaze and his smug smile. She wanted to claw her nails into his flesh and make him bleed as he had made her bleed. She wanted him to feel the pain she felt, but could not risk Theodred’s life. "It will be as you say," she replied, defeated.

Having won the battle, Denethor rose from the bed and began to dress. Noticing the bloodied sheets, he ordered her to have them burned. Then, satisfied with his night’s work, the Steward of Gondor opened the door to her bedchamber. He paused in the doorway, his face thoughtful. "Your husband will be away from the city often, as he is a captain of Gondor. Should I choose to return to your bed in his absence, I will expect you to welcome me. And you will…upon your brother’s life you will."

Laughing, he left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. Eledwhen sat on the bed, her back resting against the ornate headboard that was – ironically – deeply carved with the white tree of Gondor, symbol of all that was pure within the realm. What should she do? She could not possibly stay and marry Boromir, remaining trapped with the clearly unbalanced Steward; she would rather die than be forced to endure another sexual encounter with him. But she could not put her brother’s life at risk.

Frantically she considered her options. What would she not do to protect Theodred? She knew he would kill anyone who tried to harm her. And should he discover what the Steward had done that night, blood would be shed in the Citadel. Every scenario she considered ended with her brother’s death. But would she have the courage to submit to the Steward to buy Theodred’s life? The Prince of the Mark should have been blessed with a brother, not saddled with an unworthy sister, she thought miserably.

As dawn began to break in the east over Mordor, Eledwhen came to a decision. She would flee the city of stone, even though it meant she could never return to her beloved Rohan. For how could she ever explain her actions? What sane reason could she give for leaving behind the safety and the shelter of her loved ones to flee into the wilderness? No, she would have to disappear altogether. But where would she go? It matters not, she thought bitterly. I must go, and now before the city awakens.

Hurriedly she dressed in traveling clothes, choosing her favorite riding vest and divided riding skirt, and packed a small bag that could be fitted onto her steed’s saddle. She would go to Imladris. During their ride to Minas Tirith, Faramir told her of his dreams about the riddle that named Imladris and the halfling. She hadn’t told the Lord Faramir, but she understood at least part of the dream. Imladris is where Elrond Half-Elven dwells. How she knew, she could not remember, for her people were simple folk and had no dealings with Elves and such. But to Imladris she must go or lose her brother, and her sanity, forever.

Taking a last look, she hurried through the empty hallways and made her way downward to the stables located just outside the seventh circle. Eledwhen saddled her mare, Eward, and led her outside. Gracefully flinging herself into the saddle, wincing in pain as she landed too hard, she glanced about furtively to make certain no one saw her.

Unbeknownst to Eledwhen, a lone figure saw her depart. He would have stopped her, but he was in his bedchamber in the eastern tower and there was no way he could have reached her in time. I must awaken Boromir and see what has happened to make her leave alone and unguarded, he thought.

The man walked purposefully toward Boromir’s chambers. Something is terribly wrong, he thought grimly. I can feel it. There has been evil gathering since I returned to the city. Boromir will know what to do. My brother always knows what to do.