#ch: faramir of gondor

[annabthesolitarywriter]

Faralas Family

Not my best edit, but I'm so glad I managed to edit the whole family. Yes, I edited two pictures separately and then joined them together. Too many people.

L-R=> Faramir, Elenna "Enna", Faelivrin "Fae", Elboron, Eradan & Finduilas.

David Wenham as Faramir

Synnøve Karlsen as Elenna (Enna)

Alicia Agneson as teenage/adult Faelivrin (Fae)

Toby Regbo as Elboron

Henry Proctor as Eradan (child)

Laura Berlin as Finduilas

[suzannahnatters]

FOTR Book 2: Chs 1-4: What A Lot of Subdivisions This Book Has

I also had a HUGE amount of things to say about Arwen but I'm going to put them in their own post. stay tuned!

CH 1 - MANY MEETINGS

Frodo is like "welp here I am in rivendell yay I feel that a month of blood-curdling danger will do me for life" oh my poor boy

"he may become like a glass filled with clear light" this line is just so beautiful

will never not laugh my head off at the mental picture of Elrond and Gandalf getting together and geeking out over this flood that they're concocting, designing it to look as awesome as possible regardless of whether it actually...like...obliterates the people they're trying to save. they are just nerdy magic bros and I love them.

Arwen Evenstar! she is coded very wisdom rather than warrior.

GLOIN!!!

BILBO :')

"he was alone and felt rather forlorn" gosh I had forgotten how much Tolkien isolates Frodo, even from the beginning

icymi, the Earendil poem is an updated version of a bit of clever but not very good nonsense Tolkien wrote in younger years called Errantry, written in a fabulously complex rhyme scheme, which among other things rhymes "porringer" with "oranges for provender" which is just showing off. but he knew it wasn't a very good poem, so he gutted it, opened up the rhyme scheme a little, and turned it into the tale of Earendil instead, and it's ever so much better this way!

CH 2 - THE COUNCIL OF ELROND

something about Sam not even being invited to the council of Elrond but in the end the quest would never have succeeded if not for him? clutching my heart

"rings he would give for it, rings such as those he gave of old" The Audacity of This Birch

they seriously did the BEST job of Sauron in TROP

aw man the dwarves' vague allusions to the second age and their instinctive impulse to seek help from Elrond is giving me so many feels post TROP, and I know TROP isn't canon but I really enjoy how it enriches the canon.

again with the blood of Numenor being mingled with that of "lesser men" - while I know Tolkien well enough to believe that he genuinely did not hear himself here, this specifically feels a lot like things I've read in genuinely racist history texts of the early 20th century and I find it very distasteful.

love the picture we get of Boromir and Faramir fighting together, having prophetic dreams together, and tackling their dad together 😍

lol @ Frodo jumping at the chance to handball the ring to Aragorn, the heir of Isildur

love Aragorn's epic speech about his life spent fighting the enemy to protect simple humble people. it's the entire basis of his claim to the kingship. he is the rightful king less because of his bloodline (Gondor rejected the claim of an Arnorian heir centuries prior) than because he's spent his long life so far in defending the simple and the humble in thankless secrecy. it's humiles exultavit all over again.

love that Tolkien gives Saruman an Evil Makeover but instead of going funeral with black he goes...disco with many colours...and Gandalf is required to deliver some accurate fashion advice.

think it's so fascinating how clear it is from the outset that what compromises both Denethor and Saruman is their lack of hope - their readiness to believe that the enemy can win.

Saruman is really giving the Trump recruitment message

this whole chapter is so packed full of exposition, backstory, and planning, and again I'm in awe of just how fascinating it all is. like, among the many things this chapter achieves is a speed tour of all the major players in and even on the margins of this story, from the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain to the kingdom of Gondor to Saruman and Rohan - it's all here. it's like that little exposition section at the start of the journey so far is being done in a grand scale for the entire rest of the book.

and I love it so much. I'm legitimately wondering whether everyone else finds this chapter to be a highlight of the entire FOTR, I've always absolutely loved it.

we find out what Gandalf has been doing, viz, charging around with a lot of fanfare distracting the enemy while the hobbits creep into Rivendell on foot. which is precisely what Aragorn will do with the armies of free Middle Earth in ROTK. FORESHADOWING.

something that has killed me previously is that Elrond says opinion is divided among the Wise as to whether the Three will still be able to heal middle earth after the One is destroyed. he doesn't really say what HE thinks but a few chapters later we get conclusive proof that Galadriel is one of those who knows it'll be goodnight for her. and now I'm thinking about how that awareness must have impacted her relationship with Arwen, whose role in the narrative is to give up her mortality to renew and heal the world after Sauron is defeated; she does what her grandmother cannot and both of them pay a heavy price for it.

and at last the chapter has one by one ruled out every other possibility but this: a hobbit must take the ring to Mordor. And then of course Frodo's final escape is cut off when Bilbo, the person he loves best in the world, volunteers and is unanimously turned down. MY BOY.

CH 3 - THE RING GOES SOUTH

aw, Elrond is trying to spare Pippin the journey cause he's baby

meanwhile: Pippin refuses thereby preventing the Shire being warned. not that it would have done much good, but FORESHADOWING.

LOVE Elrond's little exchange with Gimli about vows. it is so Biblical. like Gideon, Elrond tells them not to stick with the company if they get scared, and when Gimly objects, he then double down by saying let him who puts on his armour not boast like one who takes it off, and then finally there's another example of jrrt's wisdom in mental health when Elrond refuses to demand an oath, saying that it may prove too much for them. chef's kiss

the trees of Hollin don't remember the Noldor but the stones lament them brb crying forever 😭😭😭

the spying crows are so very WWI spy plane coded.

Legolas Greenleaf, Sassiest Elf in Middle Earth. he's just cheeking everyone in this chapter, including GANDALF, and gets away with it, a Legend

love that this chapter shows all of them working together with their different strengths, taking care of each other and cracking jokes. they're starting to work past the prejudices they showed in the previous chapter and it's just so lovely and wholesome. also it doesn't feel overly blokey despite the fact that everyone is male, because there are so many different personalities and fantasy races involved; you don't get a one size fits all concept of masculinity but rather a whole spectrum of different kinds of personality, and I think this is part of what makes this book so extremely lovable.

CH 4 - A JOURNEY IN THE DARK

"you cannot imagine how much worse the Nazgul would be if Sauron regained the ring" says Gandalf and yes I find it very difficult to imagine how they'll do this in TROP, like I was half expecting the One to be forged at the end of s2 but maybe they would even postpone that until the end of s4 to avoid Sauron getting too OP?

the fact that Aragorn is desperate to avoid Moria and disagrees with Gandalf about it is a deliciously ominous sign.

"I led us almost to disaster in the snow" what makes Aragorn such a precious pet lamb to me is that every time one of his plans goes wrong, he's fully ready to admit it and then beat himself up about it. go easy on yourself honey you're doing great

very thoughtful of the wargs to return Legolas' arrows lol instead of making off with them altogether.

the doors of Durin! aka "top ten signs this fantasy novel was written by a linguist"

Tolkien is so good at creating atmosphere. The past two chapters have just basically been atmosphere building, as the fellowship tries to avoid going into moria and the whole landscape is chasing them in there and then literally locking them in! the vibes are perfectly ominous.

love the way that he's writing spiritual things, too. from the birds and wargs that attack them to the snows on Caradhras trying to discourage them to Frodo's heightened spiritual awareness - it feels less like something out of the fantasy genre to me, and more like actual spiritual warfare in a Christian sense, which is so refreshing.

"let the guide go first, while you still have one!" Aragorn is a bundle of fun right now, continually prophesying Gandalf's fall lol

so with Pippin's ill judged stone, I don't think it's just him being an idiot. specifically: there is SO MUCH spiritual warfare coded stuff through this whole section and everyone and everything has become a battle ground. the Watcher at the Gates grabbing Frodo first, and Frodo being so aware of it before it even attacks, and Aragorn prophesying Gandalf's fall without even knowing it - everything has significance. the text says Pippin is drawn to the hole for some reason he can't explain, as though he's being affected in similar ways that Frodo was in confrontation with the Black Riders. I think this is intentional. there's thick malice in Moria working to trap them and it can use Pippin, not necessarily because he's stupider than the others, even the ones without heightened spiritual awareness - but because of who he is, a young hobbit, curious and unafraid. and those are good things to be! they are things that will ultimately win him friends, allies and renown! like yes it is a stupid thing to do and yes it's obviously the youngest and most inexperienced person that's most vulnerable to what's going on spiritually here, but he very much is being influenced by outside forces here.

we stop to hear the history of Moria 😭😭😭 Gimli's song is delightful and I love how for a dwarf he's a history/poetry nerd.

BALIN 😭

[torchwood-99]

Eowyn and Faramir's House in Emyn Arnen

[As] the Prince of Ithilien [Faramir] dwelt in a fair new house in the Hills of Emyn Arnen, whose gardens devised by the Elf Legolas were renowned. The Peoples of Middle-Earth, HoME Vol 12, Part 1, Ch 7, The Heirs of Elendil: The Stewards of Gondor

Mr. Meriadoc... has visited the Lady ��owyn in her white house. Sauron Defeated - The End of the Third Age, HoME Vol 9, Ch 11, The Epilogue

Endlessly daydreaming about Eowyn and Faramir's home in Emyn Arnen. We know it's new, it's in the hills, it's white and it's fair.

I love that it's in the hills, if only because I live surrounded by hills and I think they're gorgeous, so it sounds an idyllic spot.

The fact that it is new is very satisfying, as Eowyn and Faramir are two characters who I think feel very crushed by the expectations of tradition and the pressures put on them by the former generations. Emyn Arnen was once the seat of Faramir's family, but this was many years ago, so there is still a tie to tradition, but it is not dominated by it.

The house is new, a new house in a new(ly inhabited) land. For Eowyn especially, who lived in such fear of a cage, a house built newly, to hers and Faramir's preferences, gives a sense of control to her environment, and a promise of a fresh start.

The focus on nature, the gardens created by Legolas, its situation on the hills, also suggest a strong sense of living among nature, in a location brimming with life and opportunity, the opposite of Eowyn's former position of being stuck in a cage, her life going to waste.

The final point, the presence of Legolas and Merry in their lives (and Pippin, although not mentioned here) also shows that the two of them have friendships and acquaintances beyond their domestic sphere. For Eowyn especially, who has been so isolated, who has been cut off from the warrior bonds that were enjoyed by her brother, her continuing friendship with Merry is particularly heartening.

[muse-write]

Huh…regarding that post I just reblogged about iconography in Silmarillion fanart made me think back to Ch 11 of The Council of Elessar. Because guess how Faramir guesses Coramarth’s identity? By reading about legends associating Elves with fire and water and having a lightbulb moment where he goes: wait! Fire! Maedhros! Water! Maglor! I like to think that even in Gondor—in their folktales and art and songs—some of the same iconography exists.

[user230507021118079]

Light Under the Shadow of Black Wings - Ch. 10 𓆰𓆪

summary: ❝​🇭​​🇴​​🇲​​🇪​ ​🇮​​🇸​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇭​​🇮​​🇳​​🇩​…​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇼​​🇴​​🇷​​🇱​​🇩​ ​🇦​​🇭​​🇪​​🇦​​🇩​…​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇦​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇲​​🇦​​🇳​​🇾​ ​🇵​​🇦​​🇹​​🇭​​🇸​ ​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇹​​🇷​​🇪​​🇦​​🇩​…​🇹​​🇭​​🇷​​🇴​​🇺​​🇬​​🇭​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇴​​🇼​, ​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇪​​🇩​​🇬​​🇪​ ​🇴​​🇫​ ​🇳​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​…​🇺​​🇳​​🇹​​🇮​​🇱​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇹​​🇦​​🇷​​🇸​ ​🇦​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇦​​🇱​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​…​🇲​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇴​​🇼​, ​🇨​​🇱​​🇴​​🇺​​🇩​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇫​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​…​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​…​🇫​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…❝

"You have to stop." she whispered urgently. "You're placing too much of this war onto your own shoulders, when you have hundreds of men behind you willing to help you carry it."

Her words evidently managed to pull his attention back up to her face, his eyes only a little bit wide at her declaration. Underneath his suddenly intense gaze, she felt her throat begin to grow dry.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰, she wanted to say but simply could not find the courage to do so in that moment…

author's note: ​all credits go to jrr tolkien and peter jackson. i only own deora and her story.

blog masterlist || previous part || next part

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They had found Pippin, whose name they had learned from Gandalf, standing alone in a long corridor, anxiously pacing back and forth. He was mumbling to himself as he repeatedly wrung his hands together out in front of his stomach.

“What were you thinking, Peregrin Took? What service can a hobbit offer such a great Lord of Men?” they heard him chastising himself as they walked down the hallway towards him.

“It was well-done.” Faramir immediately reassured him, causing the Halfling to spin around and greet them. His face immediately flushed in embarrassment. “A generous deed should not be checked with cold counsel. You are to join the Tower Guard.”

Deora smiled to herself as Pippin looked down at the chainmail he was now wearing, stretching his arms out to either side.

“I didn’t think they would find any livery that would fit me.”

Faramir worked hard to push down a grin.

“It once belonged to a young boy of the city.”

“A very foolish one.” Deora quickly interjected. “One who wasted many of his hours slaying dragons instead of attending his studies.” Faramir immediately jabbed at her ribs with his elbow, causing both of them to release long-since held back rumbles of laughter.

Pippin stared back at both of them with a bright smile.

“This was yours?”

Faramir nodded.

“Yes, it was mine. My father had it made for me.”

The Hobbit looked down towards his feet again.

“Well, I’m taller than you were then.” he noted. “Though I’m not likely to grow anymore. Except sideways.”

The three of them laughed together in a moment of pure light. The likes of which had been sorely missing in those days.

“Never fitted me either.” Faramir admitted. “Boromir was always the soldier…they were so alike, he and my father. Proud, stubborn even. But strong.”

Pippin’s smile mellowed out just a bit as he stared back up at the Captain.

“I think you have strength of a different kind.” the Hobbit said boldly. “And one day, your father will see it.”

The three of them traveled back to the throne room together. And once they were all inside, Pippin was escorted to the front of Denethor’s throne. He was instructed to kneel and begin swearing his allegiance, while the rest of them watched on from the back of the massive room. 

“Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, in peace or war, in living or dying, from…” the Hobbit paused for a moment, gulping as if it was suddenly hard for him to breathe. “From this hour henceforth, until my Lord release me, or death take me.”

Denethor rose from his chair, an amused-looking smile on his face.

“And I shall not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given.” he said, reaching his hand down towards Pippin’s face.

The Hobbit begrudgingly kissed the large ring that was wrapped around the Steward’s index finger.

“Fealty with love. Valor with honor.” he then slowly picked up his head, pointedly staring across the room at where the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien was standing a few paces back from the Hobbit. “Disloyalty with vengeance.”

On that heavy note, he walked around where Pippin was still kneeling, making instead for the small table that was set up just off to the side of the main hall. On top of it, was splayed out a grand feast for the Steward and the Steward alone.

Pippin awkwardly shuffled off to the side once the man was no longer in front of him, making wary eye-contact with Gandalf as he did.

Denethor plopped down into the chair at the head of the table, immediately beginning to dig greedily into the food.

Faramir stood at frozen attention a few meters to the right of the table.

“I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defenses.” Denethor remarked. “Defenses that your brother long held intact.”

“What would you have me do?” Faramir asked, any and all emotion drained out of his voice.

“I will not yield the river and Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken.”

“My Lord, Osgiliath is overrun.” Faramir reiterated as boldly as he dared.

“Much must be risked in war.” Denethor countered, still not even bothering to look over at his son. “Is there a Captain here who still has the courage to do his Lord’s will?”

In the silence that followed, the only way that Deora could temper down her anger was by staring harshly down at the ground. Seeing this, the white wizard who stood at her side, placed a gentle hand on the back of her shoulder.

Faramir took in a long, shaky breath.

“You wish now that our places had been exchanged.” he noted with a trembling voice. “That I had died, and Boromir had lived.”

Deora’s head immediately shot up at the sound of such a horrid phrase.

Denethor continued to stare down at his food. 

“Yes, I wish that.” he said before taking a pointed gulp of whatever was in his goblet.

Deora felt like she had been stabbed in the stomach, and the words weren’t even directed at her.

Faramir set his shoulders, but everyone in the throne room could now see the way that they were shaking with emotions that were growing near impossible to hold back.

“Since you were robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead.” he said before bowing to the father who still refused to so much as look at him. He then turned around to begin walking towards the throne room doors, only to suddenly pause, just shy of the threshold. He momentarily glanced back over his shoulder at the Steward. “If I should return…think better of me, Father.”

Denethor still didn’t look up from his plate.

“That will depend on the manner of your return.”

Faramir finally slipped out of the throne room, and Deora quickly shrugged Gandalf’s hand off of her shoulder in order to sprint off after him.

“Faramir!” she called out, swiftly finding where he was walking, rather leisurely, down a nearby corridor. “Faramir?”

She saw his throat move as he swallowed, but he did not pause his stroll.

“Gather the Rangers.” he instructed her flatly. “Tell them to meet me at the White Tree. We will need to discuss our plan of attack.”

Deora had opened her mouth to once more speak as a friend, rather than a Lieutenant, but ultimately thought better of it. Instead, she nodded, simply watching on as Faramir continued down the hallway until he inevitably disappeared around a far corner.

Steeling her own breathing as best she could, Deora quickly made her way towards the battlements in order to deliver her Captain’s orders. 

Soon thereafter, she found herself standing amongst the measly group of those Rangers that were left alive. They all had clustered in a tight-knit group at the base of the White Tree, looking forward at Faramir expectantly. 

Their Captain looked worse for wear, and they could all see it. But none of them could bring themselves to say anything.

“The Lord Denethor wishes for us to retake Osgiliath.” he finally spoke in a voice that was rather hoarse. The soldiers standing before him immediately exchanged wary glances with each other. “It would be foolish of me to not acknowledge the improbability of our success. In light of that, I will not be requiring all of you to stand with me. I will only take those who volunteer their service.”

Again, silent and uneasy expressions rippled across the crowd of Rangers until slowly, but surely, they began to split themselves apart. A fair chunk of them moved to stand at their Captain’s side, including Deora. 

A small cluster, but a cluster nonetheless, remained at the base of the White Tree.

Faramir nodded his head, acknowledging them.

“I encourage the rest of you to defend the walls of Minas Tirith alongside the City Guard.” he said diplomatically. He then turned back to the soldiers at his side, eyes dancing across the crowd until they finally found purchase on the face of his Lieutenant. “I will issue one last command, however.”

Deora furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as she watched Faramir take a rather deep, seemingly difficult breath.

“I require Lieutenant Ingold stay behind, to take leadership of the Rangers of Ithilien should I not return.”

“What-”

“The rest of you may go. Make whatever preparations you need. We ride for the main gate on the hour.”

None of the Rangers said anything in response, only nodded their heads begrudgingly before moving to get themselves ready for the oncoming battle. 

But Deora didn’t move. She couldn’t move. All she could do was stare forward at Faramir, who was less-than-covertly avoiding her eyes. In fact, he had made a move to walk past her position entirely. Something she was not about to let happen.

“Hey!” she barked, grabbing his arm before he could pass her.

She could see his shoulders shaking with the effort that it was apparently taking him to breathe.

“Have you lost your mind?” she shouted. “I am not staying behind, Faramir! I will be out there by your side!”

“It is my final order.” the man replied flatly. 

“No.” Deora immediately countered, shaking her head. “No, Faramir, this is madness! I don’t give a damn about your father’s orders, I am not letting you go out there and get yourself killed!”

Faramir had turned his head back to her by that point. His misty gaze seemed far away, as if he was looking at some sort of mirage or hallucination.

“You have always been good to me, Deora.” he suddenly remarked in a soft voice.

Deora immediately fell still, her breath catching in her throat.

“Like…like sunshine on a cloudy day. Or- or a flower in a field of ashes and smoke.” he waxed with a delusional poeticism. “My wish is for you to deliver that same happiness to the rest of Gondor when I am gone.”

Deora choked at the word “when.” And if he had seen the tears that were now openly flowing down her cheeks in that moment, he did not remark upon them. All he did was smile once more and slip his arm out of her hold before following the rest of his men out of the courtyard.

Now completely alone, Deora remained standing there, simply staring at the spot he once occupied. And as her breathing quickly became more and more ragged, her feet acted before her mind could catch up. 

She had turned to sprint back inside the palace, searching for the only other person who she knew had the ability to see reason. 

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Deora followed Gandalf down the sloped city streets, both of them running as fast as their feet could carry them. Her tears were still burning down her face, and she had nearly fallen a few times along the way, as she couldn’t exactly see the ground beneath her feet anymore. 

Up ahead, they finally came across the procession that was gingerly galloping through the streets, down and towards the main gates. The people of the city had lined themselves up along the edges of the cobblestone roads, all of them wearing matching expressions of fear and sorrow. Women and children were tossing flowers down onto the path by their feet, the horses of the remaining Rangers of Ithilien tromping over them. Other soldiers caught smaller bouquets that were tossed their way, sticking them into the breaks in their metal armor.

Deora and Gandalf pushed themselves through the crowds, managing to catch up with the beginning of the march.

“Faramir!” Deora attempted to call out as her and the wizard broke through the front line. “Faramir, please listen to us!”

“Your father’s will has turned to madness.” Gandalf said loudly. “Do not throw away your life so rashly!”

Faramir didn’t turn to look at them, just continued to stare forward.

“Where does my allegiance lie if not here?” he noted wistfully. “This is the city of the Men of Númenor. I will gladly give my life to defend her beauty, her memory, her wisdom.”

Whatever semblance of a heart remained inside of Deora’s chest shattered at his words.

“Your father loves you, Faramir.” the White Wizard said with a sigh. “He will remember it before the end.”

Faramir just continued to urge his horse down the street.

Desperation seized her completely, and even though she was not donning her heavy armor, nor was she carrying her sword, or riding a horse, Deora attempted to sprint off after him.

“Faramir!” she shouted again, her voice echoing down the otherwise quiet street. But in a flash, Gandalf had roughly grabbed her by the waist, holding her back with an impressive show of strength. “No! Faramir!”

But her cries were eventually silenced by the loud crash of the main gates as they shut behind the last Ranger, the echo of her final scream bouncing off of its wooden frame.

A strangled breath escaped her throat as she slumped forward against the wizard’s arms.

Faramir was gone. And she felt her entire heart, no, her entire soul go with him. 

She had been given orders, orders that normally she would’ve followed without a second thought, given who they had come from. But for the first time in her entire existence, she no longer wanted to be a soldier of Gondor. 

“Deora-” Gandalf attempted to regain her attention, but by then she had already shoved the wizard’s arms away from her, turning around to sprint back up the streets.

When she eventually reached the main courtyard again, she ran over to the wall at its farthest edge. Slamming her hands down onto the stone, she stared out at the wide landscape that spread far beyond the walls of their city.

The whole of Middle Earth seemed to have grown impossibly darker, as even more black smoke was churning up and into the sky from inside the ruins of Osgiliath. And lined up along the city’s edges, were several hundred legions of Orcs.

Slowly heading straight for them, was a measly calvary of about thirty Rangers.

Lost in her despair, she didn’t turn to acknowledge whoever was walking up behind her, just barely being able to make out the sound of soft footfall over that of the blood pounding inside of her head. It was only when she caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye, as he placed himself at her side, that she discovered it to be Pippin.

The Hobbit glanced up at her warily for a moment, before turning his attention to the fields below. The two of them stood together in silence, only being able to watch as the Rangers slowly made their advance on Osgiliath.

Deora suddenly felt Pippin gently grab a hold of the hand that was hanging limply down at her side. 

At that, a small breath of strangled air managed to escape her throat.

“They are riding to their deaths.” she whispered. “I could not stop him.”

Pippin was silent for a quite a while before responding.

“You love him.” he said carefully and quietly. “Don’t you?”

Deora didn’t move to acknowledge the Hobbits words, but Pippin surely felt the way that her hand had subtly tightened around his.

After a few more moments of watching the calvary’s pain-staking approach towards the river-city, noting the siege towers that were waiting for them at the opposite side of the field, a voice had suddenly called out her name from behind where they stood.

Both the Hobbit and Deora turned around to watch one of the Rangers that had stayed behind, jogging hurriedly across the courtyard.

“The men are asking for your orders.” he reported, with a forced tone of strength.

Deora easily saw the worry in the young man’s eyes, as she was sure he could also see in her own.

Taking a shaky breath, Deora nodded her head in response. She then swiftly turned towards the Hobbit at her side, kneeling down in order to be at eye-level with him.

“Return to the Steward.” she instructed him. “You will be safe in there.”

Pippin looked like he wanted to argue but ultimately decided against it. He nodded his head silently before sprinting back inside of the palace walls.

When he was gone, Deora slowly rose back up and onto her feet, turning her attention once more towards the Ranger in front of her.

“Tell the men to meet in the armory.” she said flatly. “We need to prepare to defend the walls. I suspect the Orc���s will begin their siege before the sun is set.”

The soldier nodded his head, immediately moving to carry out her orders.

In his absence, Deora took another difficult breath in. She then turned to glance back out at the field one last time. Watching as the Rangers sprinted towards Osgiliath with a haste that was downright terrifying to behold.

She had to quite literally tear her eyes away from the sight this time around, sprinting out of the courtyard as fast as she could manage.

⊰∙∘⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⊰∙∘

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[dalleyan]

Elfwine Chronicles (new LoTR stories, Adventures of Theodred, Son of Eomer, ch 10 posted, 5-27-23)

Theodred's adventures as he travels with Freahelm, trying to find a direction for his life.  (Adventure, Drama, Angst, Romance, Family, Humor) (19 chapter story)

 Chapter 10  -  (begins late Nov, 44 IV)

Because of Theodred’s unique situation, he usually had his pick of relatives to stay with in Minas Tirith. Through his mother’s family, there was the Dol Amroth townhouse to make use of, though he was less inclined to do so now that his grandfather had passed on and his Uncle Elphir was the ruling Prince.  He liked Uncle Elphir, but his stiffer manner was not nearly so inviting and Theodred felt himself more an imposition if he made too frequent visits there, or stayed too long.

However, through his father, and his mother as well, he was connected to the Steward of Gondor, and they were always most accommodating both in Minas Tirith and Emyn Arnen whenever he chose to put in appearance.  That was generally where he took up abode, and did so on this trip. His third option, only used on rare occasions when he was absolutely desperate, was to fall back on his brother’s marital tie to the royal family of Gondor.  King Elessar and Queen Arwen were equally as hospitable and inviting as the Steward, but he did not think it wise to make use of that connection too often. Even so, Elessar would not allow his visits to the city to go unnoticed and made certain he received numerous invitations to stop by for talks, attend gatherings and so forth, generally making certain he felt welcome and very much a part of the extended family.

Even when the Steward and his family were to be found in Emyn Arnen, a half day’s journey from the city, they had made it clear to Theodred that he was to make their Minas Tirith home his own whenever he chose to do so, particularly in light of his recent traveling.  He was both relieved and sorry that they were not in residence when the pair arrived this time.  To some extent, he was hoping to talk to Faramir about all that had happened with Arawine and Kata, hoping to clear his mind and sort his thoughts, but in another sense, he rather suspected he already could guess what conclusions his uncle would reach, and that they would largely mirror those his mother had expressed.

Though the pair knew that no one would object to their having separate rooms and indulging in making full use of the servants and the facilities of the Steward’s residence, neither wished to impose to that great an extent.  Already grateful that they were so readily accommodated, they shared a room and kept their impact on the household to a minimum.  Still, both fully appreciated warm, clean beds, roaring fires, and available hot baths whenever they wished, not to mention excellent food, well prepared, by someone else.  They were used to simple fare for breakfast and dinner, and had finally persuaded the cook to allow them to keep to that regimen for the most part.  Only if they dined in of an evening did they give in to fancier fare, though they sometimes made it a point to eat at an inn or accept invitations to feast with friends.

Within a week of their arrival, November was drawing to a close and Faramir’s family arrived from Emyn Arnen, surprised but pleased to find them there.

Though Faramir was eager to hear of Theodred’s most recent travels, he soon realized something more was at work than before, and that his nephew was not so wild to share his adventures this time around.  Rather than press, Faramir allowed the young man to broach the subject in his own good time, and eventually Theodred did explain the culmination of his trip and the unpleasantness ever since his discovery in Dale.  The Steward did not need to be told that the matter had been left unresolved, both between the two young men and within Theodred’s own heart and mind, yet he did not feel he could give him any easy answers.  There were choices and decisions that only Theodred could make, and then actions only he could take.  While Faramir, and likely the rest of the family, would do all they could to facilitate peace being restored, in the end only Arawine and Theodred could settle this matter.

To some extent, Freahelm was not totally clear what his role was now.  When Theodred had been intent on traveling, he was to go as a companion, if for no other reason than safety, but once they had reached Mundburg, and it was clear they would likely stay there through the winter months, Freahelm had no fixed purpose.  True, King Eomer had never officially released him from service in the army, and unofficially he was specifically attached to Theodred as a bodyguard. Presumably that was yet the case, even if they were not traveling and danger was minimized for the time being. Still, he would need to find something to occupy his time while they were in the city or he would surely become fat and lazy, and go quite mad.  Theodred would attempt to engage him in his new interest of collecting tales and making an historical record, and he would good-naturedly allow it, but he could not see it becoming an all-consuming passion with him as it was rapidly becoming with his friend.  At least Minas Tirith offered year-round pursuits of entertainment, and their several recent visits had acquainted him with the city and many of the soldiers who served here.  He supposed he could keep from being too bored.

Early in December, he and Theodred ventured out into the city.  Theodred was in search of better writing materials for his project, and though Freahelm couldn’t be of much help to him in that respect, he thought to stretch his legs.  When they found a sizable and respectable looking stationers shop on the fourth level, Freahelm left Theodred at the door and wandered off down the street, agreeing to return shortly.

 continue reading on AO3:

              https://archiveofourown.org/works/46771651/chapters/119620465

[frodothefair]

“This is what we saved the Shire for, isn’t it, Mr. Frodo?” Sam pulled contentedly at his pipe. 

Frodo could not disagree. A cart moved slowly down the road, away by the horizon, and a hobbit in a yard nearby hailed his neighbor. The two then came together to speak over a fence. A goldcrest began to warble in a nearby tree. The mild breeze caressed his skin.

He recalled how he and Faramir had sat, not long ago, on a sunlit wall in Gondor in much the same way, with the stern, proud beauty of the White City rising up behind them. Faramir had spoken with such love for his native land that Frodo could not help but long for the Shire, but also to comprehend just how alike the peoples of Middle Earth really were. 

“More than the Shire, Sam,” he mused. “More than just the Shire.”

--Flowers of Mordor, Ch 8.

If ever beyond hope you return to the lands of the living and we retell our tales, sitting by a wall in the sun, laughing at old grief, you shall tell me then.

do you think faramir and frodo actually got to do this 🥺 do you think between the coronation and midsummer, faramir and frodo got to sit together in a sunny corner of minas tirith, away from prying eyes, and talk 🥺

[lesbiansforboromir]

So, from the text is there enough evidence to suggest that Ruling Stewards could not leave Minas Tirith? I'm specifically thinking about your post about Denethor being Éowyn's parallel. The idea is also somewhat backed-up by the fact that Faramir does not leave the city until Aragorn enters it (not even to like, negotiate terms). This theory is taken out by Cirion's actions but, you kno. More angst for Denethor and not being able to visit the coast with his wife, Finduilas.

I might have mistyped, there's nothing specific to say that a Steward cannot leave Minas Tirith. However from LotR the suggestion is that a Steward cannot go to war. BUT we do not need LotR suggestions, it is canon that Stewards cannot leave the realm, nor go to war, by a king's decree. Some Stewards canonically break this rule but it is still a law that Stewards generally abide by.

It was ... Rómendacil I [492-541] who established the office of Steward (Arandur "king's servant"), but he was chosen by the King as a man of high trust and wisdom, usually advanced in years since he was not permitted to go to war or to leave the realm. He was never a member of the Royal House.

Unfinished Tales, Part 3, Ch 2, Cirion and Eorl and the Friendship of Gondor and Rohan: Notes, Note 53

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom:  The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Rating: Mature Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II), Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, (It's Denethor guys.), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boromir Lives, Fix-It, everyone has their issues but it's nothing worse than in My Land is Bare, Boromir pOV, Grima POV Series: Part 3 of swimming through fire Summary:

The last instalment of the Boromir-Lives LOTR rewrite. Helm's Deep has concluded and we are on to the Return of the King.

Boromir and Gandalf are off to Gondor to see what they can do to help. Aragorn, because he likes to take the most whack routes possible, is to drag the remainder Fellowship through the paths of the dead. No one signed up for this.

With our Rohan compatriots: Grima continues to be a hot wreck who is actually managing himself not half-bad, all things considered. Eowyn just wants to really, really fight the baddies. Theoden thinks everyone needs to cool it for ten seconds. Eomer has never heard the word "chill" in his life.

Anyway - things continue to go pear shaped.

--

Obligatory Excerpt: 

‘And what did Mithrandir say to all of this?’ [Faramir asks]

‘Nothing. He was being mysterious and wizardish while we were traveling. Though, apparently he told Aragorn stories of our misspent youth so be prepared for our king to know more about our childhood larks than either of us might be comfortable with.’

‘So long as he doesn’t know about the time we put on the kingly robes by standing on each other's shoulders then commandeered the actual throne.’

Boromir grins, ‘Is it the king of Gondor or two boys in a gown? Impossible to tell.’

‘We ruled fairly and justly until you got bored and dumped me off your shoulders. For which I could have your head.’

These brothers are a menace. 

A day early because the weather is drab and I felt like we could all use some LOTR in our lives. 

[annabthesolitarywriter]

New plot point?

So, I was thinking, right? If you know me at least a little bit, you should know my mind is restless and is always coming up with random stuff.

Today's ramble is about Elenwë getting married and the implications and consequences of their union.

Upon their marriage, both my main girl and my main blorbo are elevated in rank and essentially become Manwë and Varda in Middle-earth. There's no one above them. They are THE authority and answer to Eru alone. This sounds great and, in some ways, it really is. Bird-boy gets a well-deserved promotion and Enna is also rewarded. She deserves plenty of good things and a raise in rank is the bare minimum after what she's been through. My only problem is...Aragorn's role in all of it. Yes, he is King, but having Eönwë become Manwë sort of makes his kingship irrelevant because Eönwë is also King and one that need not bow to him. He is the supreme authority, which means that he can and will do as he pleases without having to ask anyone for permission, including Aragorn. That only means that the people of Gondor are technically his subjects and not Aragorn's. This might be an interesting subplot to develop as Mairon could try and corrupt Aragorn and the people so that they rebel and start seeing Eönwë as an enemy? Basically the Pharazôn thing all over again?

I never really thought much about Aragorn and Eönwë's relationship, but I suppose they might...be cordial to one another? Eönwë doesn't want that kind of power anyway, so I suppose that he would let Aragorn do this own thing? Will the people still follow him or will they grow to like Eönwë more and more?

I'll update this post with more info (I just jotted this down so that I don't forget about it), but it certainly will give me a lot to think about.

[anarimamoved]

Oh ho ho, I had a weird feeling that this headcanon had been pulled from some tiny piece of canon based information that I had otherwise forgotten about. 

But I felt that the implication that the Rohirrim had come out of the West contradicted.... Basically everything I’ve come to understand about them and the nature of ‘Middle-men’ so I turned to my favorite old reliable ‘Of Dwarves and Men’ (Ch.10 of Peoples of Middle-earth) and found this.

With   regard   to  Middle   Men,  Faramir   spoke  mainly   of  the Rohirrim,  the only  people of  this sort  well-known in  Gondor in his time, and  attributed to  them actual  direct descent  from the Folk  of  Hador  in the  First Age.  This was  a general  belief in Gondor at that  time, and was  held to  explain (to  the comfort of  Numenorean  pride)  the  surrender of  so large  a part  of the Kingdom to the people of Eorl.       

This references that quote directly to contradict Faramir and state it as ethno-political bias, but I think it’s probably based in historical truth. The Gondorians probably connected the exact same dots that I did to come to their conclusion that the House of Hador and the Rohirrim are related, they just ended up with a different picture. 

I think, for whatever reason, Hador’s Folk decided to branch off from the main group that would become the ancestors of the Rohirrim, and continue their migration West. 

Silmarillion Headcanon Hard Mode: Give me your best edain hot takes without once mentioning or making it about elves?

[suzannahnatters]

TTT Re-read: Book 4, Chs 1-5: I Have Complicated Faramir Thoughts

Ch 1 - The Taming of Smeagol

Gollum is such a great antagonist for this section, he's both supremely creepy AND conveniently Hobbit sized.

love how mundane and only ambiguously magical the elves' help is. rope! food! cloaks! delightful.

you know I always felt less interested in the Frodo/Sam/Gollum trio than all the epic stuff going on in Rohan and Gondor. but my word this is an intensely character-focused drama and it's brilliantly written.

Ch 2 - The Passage of the Marshes

this description of the desert outside Mordor is a bit more purple than Tolkien normally writes and a little pulpy but I think that it is SO effective and incredibly evocative of what he would have seen in the trenches

one of the things that really strikes me this time through is that it's in TTT that Tolkien shifts us to Sam's POV which is more or less where it stays the rest of the book - it's like, now, with Frodo the highest status person in the show, he's no longer suitable as the viewpoint character. (he will return as viewpoint character only when Faramir comes in). Tolkien is committing to his theme of the humble overcoming the great in a really interesting way here.

Ch 3 - The Black Gate is Closed

"I am commanded to go to the land of Mordor" and like, he has been commanded, by the Council of Elrond. but the sense I get here is less that Frodo feels duty to an earthly authority and more that he feels duty to the Providence that gave him this burden.

when Frodo speaks of being fated to receive help from Gollum it always makes me a little bit feral - this is Tolkien's veiled reference to divine providence and I love it so much; it's precisely the main thing that I love in Buchan's GREENMANTLE, wildly problematic as the book is otherwise.

idk that I approve of Frodo threatening to use the ring to make Gollum kill himself. what I DO love is this little spiel about kindness and blindness, which harks back to that bit in book 3 where it is said that it is difficult to deceive people who are not themselves liars. take that grimdark fantasy!

so I think the dramatic power of this part of the book has much to do with how Tolkien never lets us lose sight of the fact that there are still broken remnants of truth and sincerity in Gollum. we get this character who doesn't ultimately get a redemption arc, but is CONSTANTLY written as though he might. furthermore, we see in Gollum a picture of what Frodo might be, if Frodo lost himself to the Ring. we see how much he needs and wants love and companionship, even though he's too twisted to give them back - he's just such a compelling character.

Ch 4 - Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit

Ithilien is another of my absolute favourite locations. Very Pilgrim's Progress Delectable Hills coded (sorry jirt I know you hate this)

was like hmm how does Gollum know about HERBS and then I realised he's a proto-Hobbit PROBLEM SOLVED

already fangirling over Andy's Faramir voice

"the halflings are courteous folk, whatever else they be" so this is not the first time that someone Frodo has met by chance in the wilderness remarks on his courteousness. it starts out as Frodo being well versed in different languages and histories, but as the book goes on and he connects with Gollum, this quality of courtesy is elevated and deepened into something far more transcendent: ie, that pity and mercy of which Gandalf spoke in Book 1 ch 2. and what stands behind BOTH Frodo's courtesy and his mercy is the same thing: empathy. time and again he is able to connect with and empathise with everyone he meets; and this brings us back to "kindness is not blindness." I love that Tolkien shows that true courtesy is not something that happens on its own; it shares the same wellspring as mercy. it feels very Spenserian to me (sorry jirt I know you would hate this too lolll but I will compare you to Protestant allegories till the cows come home).

this passage about the fallen enemy soldier from the South brings tears to my eyes and I'm really glad it's in the book bc without it, the way the characters other than Sam talk about the Haradrim would be pretty othering and problematic. but also, it feels like a very intentional decision from Tolkien. Gollum, speaking of the Haradrim, calls them fierce and cruel, probably from having met those in the service of Mordor. the Rangers of Ithilien curse them as uppity former vassals. but to Sam, Harad is first, a land of wonders like the Oliphaunt, and second, a place where people like himself live. he has the gift of seeing them in humility, without prejudice.

Ch 5 - The Window on the West

Boromir canonically the Tolkien version of the Lady of Shalott

I so deeply sympathise with Frodo trying to avoid antagonising the uh the BROTHER of the guy who just traumatised him

Faramir is such a nerd 😍 he has CLEARLY been snooping through all the manuscripts Gandalf has been looking at and honestly which of us would not do the same

"I do not love the bright spear for its sharpness...so fear me not" I love this so much; I love that Faramir stresses that he should not be feared.

I love the waterfall scene so much this time through because in a book with no shortage of magical wonders Tolkien takes time for natural wonders, it makes the point that THIS world is magical too, in a way similar to the "that is a mighty matter of legend" quote from book 3

ok so this section of the book is being subtly paralleled with Lorien which is super interesting (blindfolds, rivers, beauty, natural/pastoral hideouts, worship of the Valar, and a noble host who may or may not be as friendly as they seem). it's also subtly paralleled in that the men of Ithilien are also archers who are also kind of xenophobic, although not as bad as Lorien. it's very much positioning Faramir and his Numenorean people as successors of the elves in the long history of Middle Earth, and telling us that despite appearances, he can be trusted. to cap it all, Faramir himself is paralleled with Galadriel in refusing the Ring. and this also comes at the same point, three-quarters of the way through, that Lorien came in FOTR. the parallels are FASCINATING to me.

history lessons with Faramir!!!! love that Tolkien identifies the reason for their decay as a recidivist conservatism. not so keen on him saying "yeah the Rohirrim attacked us a lot but allying with them was great and okay because they were akin to us, not like those Easterlings or Southrons"

welllllllp I think nearly everything about History Lesson With Faramir bothers me, with two qualifications. first, it's hilarious that he's like "and the people of Rohan are megababes, it's a fact". second, while I think Tolkien's language is muddled through here, so that a lot of what Faramir is saying is *couched* in terms that sound uncomfortably racist-adjacent, the details are illuminating - it's clear that in Faramir's eyes, it isn't purity of blood or strength of arms that makes a people "High" but ethics and wisdom. a "High" people can fall through folly, and a "Low" people can rise through wisdom. in a lot of ways this is compounding the problems I had with OF THE RINGS OF POWER AND THE THIRD AGE in the Sil, but also in some ways it's demonstrating that although Tolkien was not immune to the thought categories of his day - divvying people up into Low, Middle and High - he also in his own imperfect and incomplete way (the Orcs, the Easterlings, and the Southrons are more or less left out in the cold) recognised that it isn't blood but ethics that determines a person's quality, and that wisdom in peace is more to be valued than prowess in war.

"a chance for Faramir, captain of Gondor, to show his quality" eeeeee Andy Serkis does SUCH a gently, quietly sinister voice for this

this chapter has given me more food for thought than before - bc even when Faramir is refusing the Ring, he's attributing it to his Numenorean heritage, in a way that sounds uncomfortably close to quality-by-blood. otoh, I love that Faramir is allowed to be, even more than Aragorn, a representation of Numenorean - and human - virtue. you have Aragorn who is very messianic; he isn't really meant to represent the capacity of ordinary Men for goodness. the hobbits are the opposite; their entire shtick is that they are the sort of person least likely to desire the Ring for the sake of power; even Gollum, the most corrupt of them, mostly wants to ensure himself an endless supply of fish. for Faramir and Galadriel, who are set up as parallels, I think the point is this: even if you DO have power, even if you are one of Feanor's hot-headed kin, or one of Numenor's heirs, you CAN exercise your conscience; you CAN resist temptation. and for Faramir it's particularly important for three reasons: 1, he is a human, like most of the book's readers; 2, many of the Elves think Men are inconstant and weak; 3, Boromir himself proved to be exactly that. Faramir is the counterexample, in fact - the "not all Men"; he proves that you don't have to be a Boromir.

in conclusion: I'm going to be chewing over these Faramir/Galadriel parallels a LOT in the future.

[torchwood-99]

Descriptions of Ithilien

Description: "...a fair country of climbing woods and swift-falling streams. Before them, as they turned west, gentle slopes ran down into dim hazes far below. All about them were small woods of resinous trees, fir and cedar and cypress. and other kinds unknown in the Shire, with wide glades among them; and everywhere there was a wealth of sweet-smelling herbs and shrubs. The long journey from Rivendell had brought them far south of their own land, but not until now in this more sheltered region had the hobbits felt the change of clime. Here Spring was already busy about them: fronds pierced moss and mould, larches were green-fingered, small flowers were opening in the turf, birds were singing. Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness.

South and west it looked towards the warm lower vales of Anduin, shielded from the east by the Ephel Dúath and yet not under the mountain-shadow, protected from the north by the Emyn Muil, open to the southern airs and the moist winds from the Sea far away. Many great trees grew there, planted long ago, falling into untended age amid a riot of careless descendants; and groves and thickets there were of tamarisk and pungent terebinth, of olive and of bay; and there were junipers and myrtles; and thymes that grew in bushes, or with their woody creeping stems mantled in deep tapestries the hidden stones; sages of many kinds putting forth blue flowers, or red, or pale green; and marjorams and new-sprouting parsleys, and many herbs of forms and scents beyond the garden-lore of Sam. The grots and rocky walls were already starred with saxifrages and stonecrops. Primeroles and anemones were awake in the filbert-brakes; and asphodel and many lily-flowers nodded their half-opened heads in the grass: deep green grass beside the pools, where falling streams halted in cool hollows on their journey down to Anduin. TTT, Book IV, Ch 4, Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit

Great ilexes of huge girth stood dark and solemn in wide glades with here and there among them hoary ash-trees. and giant oaks just putting out their brown-green buds. About them lay long launds of green grass dappled with celandine and anemones, white and blue, now folded for sleep; and there were acres populous with the leaves of woodland hyacinths: already their sleek bell-stems were thrusting through the mould.

TTT, Book IV, Ch 7, Journey to the Cross-roads

Ithilien - Places - Henneth Annûn (henneth-annun.net)

Just sounds like a really gorgeous place. Love imagining Eowyn arriving for the first time and exploring every corner of it with Faramir.

[user230507021118079]

Light Under the Shadow of Black Wings - Ch. 6 𓆰𓆪

summary: ❝​🇭​​🇴​​🇲​​🇪​ ​🇮​​🇸​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇭​​🇮​​🇳​​🇩​…​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇼​​🇴​​🇷​​🇱​​🇩​ ​🇦​​🇭​​🇪​​🇦​​🇩​…​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇦​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇲​​🇦​​🇳​​🇾​ ​🇵​​🇦​​🇹​​🇭​​🇸​ ​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇹​​🇷​​🇪​​🇦​​🇩​…​🇹​​🇭​​🇷​​🇴​​🇺​​🇬​​🇭​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇴​​🇼​, ​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇪​​🇩​​🇬​​🇪​ ​🇴​​🇫​ ​🇳​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​…​🇺​​🇳​​🇹​​🇮​​🇱​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇹​​🇦​​🇷​​🇸​ ​🇦​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇦​​🇱​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​…​🇲​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇴​​🇼​, ​🇨​​🇱​​🇴​​🇺​​🇩​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇫​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​…​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​…​🇫​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…❝

"You have to stop." she whispered urgently. "You're placing too much of this war onto your own shoulders, when you have hundreds of men behind you willing to help you carry it."

Her words evidently managed to pull his attention back up to her face, his eyes only a little bit wide at her declaration. Underneath his suddenly intense gaze, she felt her throat begin to grow dry.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰, she wanted to say but simply could not find the courage to do so in that moment…

author's note: ​all credits go to jrr tolkien and peter jackson. i only own deora and her story.

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⊰∙∘⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⊰∙∘

Upon Denethor’s orders, the Rangers of Ithilien spent nearly all of their time on the Western Shores in the wake of the attack on Osgiliath. They were to remain on constant guard, in case the Orcs once more made an attempt to take the city. They spent their days either camped on the literal shoreline, or taking refuge within the abodes of civilians that were kind enough to quarter them for short increments of time. 

One night in particular, Deora had taken charge of the night watch, trading off the hours with Faramir, while the rest of the Rangers got some well-deserved rest back in the safety of the village. 

In the deadest point of the night, she had been in the middle of repeatedly stalking along the edge of the river, completely and utterly lost in her thoughts. 

The past few months or so had been tense beyond belief, and she realized that she hadn’t taken so much as a moment to breathe, let alone think about it all.

But now, she had suddenly found herself with far too much time to do so. 

And many of her thoughts, she discovered, were swirling around the youngest son of the Steward of Gondor, who was sleeping in a tent only a few yards behind her current position. He had clearly not gotten over the words his father had spat at him the day that Boromir had left for Rivendell. And even though he was still trying to be the best Captain he could for his Rangers, his spark had been significantly dulled. And that was something that physically pained Deora to watch happen. 

She wished, more than anything, that he could see himself the way that his Rangers saw him. Or even just the way that she saw him. She thought that she had been doing everything in her power to help him do so, but all of her efforts appeared fruitless.

The slim remainder of her thoughts lingered on the fact that she truly did now bear the symbol of Gondor across her chest. 

She was living out the very dreams that she dreamt of as a child. All of the goals and ambitions that had consumed both her waking and sleeping hours had finally come to pass, and yet…something was wrong. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, and whenever she felt herself moving towards what she thought could be an answer, it quickly darted out of her reach.

Her brows had been furrowed so deeply in concentration, that it took her an entire pass along the shoreline before she noticed the low, muffled sounds of distress that were coming from the tent to her right. 

Someone was crying out in the dark, murkiness of sleep. 

Deora’s head snapped to the right, immediately honing in on Faramir’s tent. There, she could see the light of the small lamp that sat within the canvas shaking slightly, as if being pushed around. 

Without thinking, she had rushed forward, shoving the flaps of tapestry inside. Within the tent itself, she found Faramir thrashing around, rather violently, in his sleep. Her eyes flickered worriedly over towards the lantern. One more tilt to the side and its flame would find the flowing tapestry and set it ablaze. Lunging for it, she managed to snatch it up and into her hands just before it finally lost its balance for good.

In the seconds in which she had moved, Faramir’s eyes had shot open, a strangled gasp tumbling out of his throat. His breathing was heavy and frantic as his eyes began to dart around him. His hands flew up to his hair, pulling at it slightly in an attempt to ground himself back in reality. 

Quickly setting the lantern down safely outside the tent, Deora then reached forward, grabbing onto either side of her Captain’s shoulders. 

“Calm yourself, Faramir.” she whispered urgently. “It was only a dream.”

“Deora-” her name fell out of his mouth in an empty breath of air, his eyes still searching around the tent for a moment before finally coming to rest upon her face. “What happened?”

She shook her head. 

“You were having a nightmare. Nearly knocked the lantern over and lit your tent on fire.” she chastised gently. 

Faramir glanced down in momentary shame, taking in another gulp of air as shaking fingers continued to thread through his locks.

Deora gave him a moment longer to calm himself, dropping her hands from his shoulders, and resting them back on her own lap.

“What is it?” she asked quietly. 

She hadn’t asked as his Lieutenant in that moment, but rather as his childhood friend. It was a voice of hers that had been scarce recently, absorbed rather in constant battle and the duties of a Ranger serving her Captain and Kingdom.    

“What troubles you, Faramir?”

He took another moment to slow his breathing before he finally stilled. His hands fell away from his hair, momentarily dragging down the sides of his face.

“I saw a darkness rolling over all of Middle Earth.” he began to describe in a shaky voice. “Something told me that our doom was coming. And that Isildur’s Bane has something to do with it…” his words trailed off for a moment, finally daring to glance back up at Deora, his eyes beginning to shine with tears. “I fear something has happened to Boromir.”

Deora had done what she could to reassure him that it had only been a nightmare and nothing more, something that must have been a result of all the days he had spent recently without true rest.

“In fact-” she said, shifting back on her legs slightly as if about to stand. “I’ll take your half of the watch. You need to regain your strength.”

As her arm reached back to push aside the tarp and disappear out into the night, a hand had suddenly materialized around the wrist that had momentarily remained inside. 

Quickly glancing back at Faramir in surprise, she found his eyes had yet to leave her face. His mouth was parted slightly, as if about to say something, but ultimately, he had hesitated.

“Faramir?”

She watched her Captain swallow.

“Could I request that you remain here?” he asked quietly. “I think I would…I believe I would sleep better with the knowledge that you are nearby.”

At the sound of his words, her entire visage had softened, and she was nodding her head without hesitation. 

“Alright.”

So, she did just that. She posted herself up right outside her Captain’s tent, keeping a wary eye on the shoreline, while absentmindedly listening to the soft sound of his breathing back behind her. 

Unfortunately, in the end, Faramir’s fears had been proven right. 

One afternoon, as he had been standing watch on the bank of the Western shore, something had floated down the Anduin River. The current had pushed it straight up and onto the rocks by the Captain’s feet, and he had just stood there, staring down at it for several long minutes, trying to decide if it was a figment of his imagination or not. 

Or if he actually was seeing the Horn of Gondor lying at his feet. 

His brother’s horn.

Cleaved in two.

Deora had walked down for the changing of the watch, finding him standing there with the horn in his hands. And as he slowly turned to face her, rivers of tears tracking down his cheeks, her heart dropped into the pits of her stomach. 

And she knew, as did he, that Boromir was gone. 

⊰∙∘⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⊰∙∘

The Rangers had brought their dark findings back to Denethor in Minas Tirith. 

It was a solemn scene to say the very least. Most of them had gathered in the training grounds, waiting for their Captain while he met with his father to deliver the news of the evident passing of his eldest son. 

Deora was pacing anxiously just outside the doors to the throne room, unable to monitor what was going on inside the way that she wished to. 

When they did eventually creak open, she had spun on her heels to watch Faramir slip back out into the hallway. His eyes were downcast, looking just as forlorn as he had been consistently for the past couple of days. 

Deora hurried over to her Captain’s side.

“How did it go?” she asked in a whisper.

Faramir shook his head.

“He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t even look at me.”

Deora bit down harshly on the inside of her cheek, reaching out to gently place hand against his forearm. 

“Come.” she commanded as softly as she could. “Your men are waiting for you.”

Begrudgingly, Faramir had allowed her to lead him to where the rest of the Rangers had gathered. The men, who had clearly been whispering amongst themselves, immediately grew silent upon his arrival. Most of them had known Boromir personally, as he had simply been that sort of man. So, they were all dealing with his loss in different, but equally deep ways.

But to lose a brother…a brother that had always defended you and fought beside you throughout everything…that was a loss that none of them could truly comprehend.

Faramir had tried to go about his business to the best of his ability, informing the Rangers that they would restock their defenses along the shores of Osgiliath with their numbers, that they couldn’t dare to leave it totally abandoned, not while this darkness continued to grow. 

But before the young man could continue speaking, Madril had suddenly stepped forward out of the assembled.

“My lord, Faramir-” he interrupted. “Apologies. I do not mean to burden you further. But with Boromir gone, the Captainship of the White Tower now falls to you.”

The field fell totally silent once more, and Deora glanced warily over at the man standing to her left. She knew, better than most, that Faramir had never once wished for this life. The life of a soldier had never suited him, and that was one of the things that she admired the most about her friend. But now, even more responsibilities of war had been placed upon his shoulders, and she could almost see the way that they were physically pulling him down. It appeared as if all of the blood had been drained out of his body. He looked immensely frail and weak, but only for a moment, as he was quick to force back on a facade for the Rangers still standing before him.

After leaving half of the new combination of their forces to defend the city of Osgiliath, the remaining Rangers acted as, for lack of better terminology, a pack of hunters. They traveled to take on the waves of armies that Sauron was continuously calling to himself as they marched through the lands just outside the reaches of their kingdom. 

Faramir, wanting to be as far away from Gondor as possible, was leading said hunting party. And naturally, Deora was right there at his side. 

One night, they had set up camp deep within a far away forest, stationing themselves next to a small lake. The body of water shone in the moonlight as Faramir glowered down into it, as if waiting for some sort of message to appear. At his side, Deora had been continuously skipping rocks out along the surface, working to ensure that it never sat still, not as long as they stood there.

“I am never going to be good enough for him…am I?” Faramir had suddenly whispered, his words nearly blending in completely with the breezy nighttime air.

Deora heaved a sigh, tossing another rock into the water and watching as it immediately sank instead of bouncing across the surface. Despite him having not mentioned the name for the better part of their recent travels, she knew exactly who he was talking about. 

“Do you wish for my honesty?” she asked her Captain.

“Yes.” he replied quickly.

Deora set her shoulders with a purpose.

“No. You won’t be.” she began. “That man’s mind is twisted, and no amount of reason or even magic could ever change that.”

She heard Faramir let out another shaky breath. It clearly had not exactly been the words he was hoping to hear, despite knowing deep down in his own heart that they were true.

Deora watched him carefully for a moment longer. 

“Faramir…” she gently called out.

The Captain slowly turned towards his Lieutenant. 

“It does not matter.” She began to proclaim. “You are on your way to becoming one of the most notable people in Gondor’s history. You are the youngest to ever be named Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien. You have defended your people with poise and bravery. You named a woman Lieutenant despite the entire world telling you that you were crazy and wrong to do so.”

At that, Faramir managed to crack the smallest of smiles.

“You have the respect and devotion of the men that you lead.” she continued boldly. “As you have mine. So please do away with your despair, I beg you.”

Faramir continued to stare forward at his Lieutenant, his best friend, for just a moment longer. His eyes were shining with something that she couldn’t quite make out in the darkness of the night.

His silence seemed to tell her that she had done all that she could. So, after nodding her head politely, she had turned to make her way back towards the camp with the assumption that he needed a moment to be alone. 

“Deora-” Faramir suddenly called out, a cold hand materializing around her arm.

Turning back around, she found a half-smiling face staring back at her. A sight so very rare in those days that she was stunned into a near-complete stillness in its presence. 

“Thank you.” he said earnestly.

After a beat, Deora nodded her head again. 

“Always, Faramir.” she whispered. “Always.”

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Light Under the Shadow of Black Wings - Ch. 5 𓆰𓆪

summary: ❝​🇭​​🇴​​🇲​​🇪​ ​🇮​​🇸​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇭​​🇮​​🇳​​🇩​…​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇼​​🇴​​🇷​​🇱​​🇩​ ​🇦​​🇭​​🇪​​🇦​​🇩​…​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇦​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇲​​🇦​​🇳​​🇾​ ​🇵​​🇦​​🇹​​🇭​​🇸​ ​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇹​​🇷​​🇪​​🇦​​🇩​…​🇹​​🇭​​🇷​​🇴​​🇺​​🇬​​🇭​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇴​​🇼​, ​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇪​​🇩​​🇬​​🇪​ ​🇴​​🇫​ ​🇳​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​…​🇺​​🇳​​🇹​​🇮​​🇱​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇹​​🇦​​🇷​​🇸​ ​🇦​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇦​​🇱​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​…​🇲​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇴​​🇼​, ​🇨​​🇱​​🇴​​🇺​​🇩​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇫​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​…​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​…​🇫​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…❝

"You have to stop." she whispered urgently. "You're placing too much of this war onto your own shoulders, when you have hundreds of men behind you willing to help you carry it."

Her words evidently managed to pull his attention back up to her face, his eyes only a little bit wide at her declaration. Underneath his suddenly intense gaze, she felt her throat begin to grow dry.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰, she wanted to say but simply could not find the courage to do so in that moment…

author's note: ​all credits go to jrr tolkien and peter jackson. i only own deora and her story.

blog masterlist || previous part || next part

⊰∙∘⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⊰∙∘

Deora tightly secured the sheath of her sword to her leather waistband.

That morning, she was set to make the journey to Osgiliath. It was a journey that she had made multiple times over by that point in her service. In fact, part of her was secretly hoping that this would be the very last time she would walk out of the front door of her childhood home. As she had heard whispers that they were set to be stationed along the riverfront for a rather prolonged period of time while the threat in the East continued to grow.

As she had made her way through the living room, she had passed by her father. He was slumped over in his chair, a half-drunk cup of ale in his hands, despite it being only ten in the morning. Lifting his head up with a bit of difficulty, he had stared blankly at the White Tree of Gondor that was plastered across the front of her chest plate. His gaze was far away and immensely haunted.

Deora had to force down the near-evil smirk that wanted to appear on her face before finally turning and pushing the front door open with her shoulder.

In the stables, Deora absentmindedly whistled a tune as she tightened the packs on either side of her horse's saddle. She had been about to lift it up and off of the rack, when a small knock suddenly sounded from the pen's font gate.

Peeking her head out from around her horse, Deora was immediately greeted by her Captain’s smiling face.

“Faramir? What are you doing here?” she asked as he propped himself up against the small wooden doorway. “I thought I was supposed to meet you in Osgiliath.” she said, a soft grunt escaping her throat as she plopped the saddle up and onto the back of her horse.

“I was…unable to make the trip yesterday.” he replied. “Plus, I thought it would be nice for us to make the journey together. Don’t you think so, Lieutenant?”

Deora slowly raised an eyebrow as she tightened the last buckle, recognizing something subtle in her friend’s tone.

“You lost track of time again, didn’t you?” she countered boldly. “I’m guessing- in the library?”

Immediately, Faramir’s face flushed bright red. 

“It was already midnight when I left.” he admitted in a low mumble.

Deora let out a hearty laugh, shaking her head as she pushed herself up to mount her steed.

“Oh, my Captain.” she mused as she got herself settled. “Your mind is still a marvel to me.”

Faramir smiled back up at her. But their shared moment of content was quickly squandered as the main doors of the stable burst open with such force that the horse underneath Deora reared back slightly in fear.

Placing a calming hand against the creature’s neck, the soldier glanced up only to grow rigid at the sight of the Steward of Gondor stomping his way towards their pen. Faramir dropped his arms from where they had been gently crossed over his chest, immediately straightening out his spine.

“What is the meaning of this?!” the Steward’s voice boomed as he came to a stop in front of the gate.

Deora tightened the grip on the reins of her horse, which had since regained its calmness beneath her.

Faramir had strategically stepped out in front of the open stall door as much as he could, bravely facing his father head on.

“What meaning do you speak of, father?” he attempted to ask diplomatically.

The older man snarled like some sort of feral beast. 

“Do not play the fool with me.” he fired back at his son. “I have only just now gotten word that you have appointed your own Lieutenant to the Rangers of Ithilien.”

Faramir gulped, and Deora stilled on top of her horse.

Neither of them had been able to bring up the subject to each other, not wanting to ruin the blissful happiness that they had created by just doing what they felt was right. In the back of their minds, they had always known that it would never have been received favorably, and now they were at a loss for what to do and say when confronted with the fact that they had acted without the permission of Gondor’s acting ruler.

“I have.” Faramir finally answered, his voice sounding outwardly calm. But Deora, knowing the man for as many years as she had, could hear the deeply buried tremor in his words.

“Not only have you disobeyed my orders and brought that girl back within our walls-” Denethor began to rant, speaking of Deora as if she wasn’t mere feet away from him. “But you dishonor your men by naming a woman their superior.”

Deora was unable to prevent the way her mouth parted in disgust. 

Faramir took a long, purposeful breath in. 

“I will not argue with you, Father.” he replied. “It was my choice. And I do not regret it.”

The older man took an intimidating step forward, and Deora’s initial instinct was to slide off of her horse. She could sense his rage and knew that the man was not above laying his hands on his own blood. 

But for the moment, she had managed to remain still.

“I will ensure that you do.” Denethor threatened. 

Faramir continued to stare forward at his father, but Deora could see the way that his shoulders were beginning to shake.

Luckily for them, or unluckily with the benefit of hindsight, the front doors of the stables were shoved open again. All heads turned to watch Boromir, well out of breath, sprint inside. Faramir’s name had fallen from his lips, but the man faltered as soon as he digested the situation in front of him. He came to a stark halt next to his father, his blond hair slightly plastered to either side of his face.

“What is going- it doesn’t matter! I have just received word from my men that Osgiliath is under attack!” he delivered with urgency.

“What?” Deora coughed out in alarm. “How? By who?”

“Sauron’s forces.” Boromir replied. “They say the Witch-King leads them. The men have already been forced to retreat back to the river.”

Deora immediately flicked the reins on her horse, and the animal took a few purposeful steps forward.

“Apologies, Lord Denethor, but we must away.” she said stoically.

“No. I am certainly not done with you-!”

“Father!” Boromir shouted exasperatedly. “We must get to Osgiliath! Now! Or we risk the entire White City being overrun!”

Of course, only ever listening to Boromir when he spoke, the old man immediately fell silent. He sent one more fiery glare at both Deora and Faramir before begrudgingly stepping aside from the stall door.

“We will deal with this upon their return.” Denethor added in a spit, turning his head up towards Deora pointedly. “Should there be such a thing.”

She held the old man’s gaze for only a moment before quickly turning her attention to Boromir instead. He nodded silently, making for another nearby pen, and the horse inside. 

Faramir quickly looked up at his Lieutenant.

“What are your orders, Captain?” she asked him.

There was a fraction of a second where Faramir just stared back at her. And she nearly grew frustrated at the fact that she couldn’t decipher his expression as fast as she would normally be able to.

“Gather the men.” he finally answered her, squaring his own shoulders. “Ride for Osgiliath with all haste.”

Deora clicked her tongue, immediately dashing out of the stables in order to do just that.

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The battle that had ensued was like nothing Deora had ever known.

Having spent the last half of the year defeating smaller groups of Sauron’s ever-growing forces, she knew well the brutality of Orcs. But it had never been on a scale near what she had experienced that day in Osgiliath. And it was certainly not like the glorious dreams of battles that she would often have when she was a child.

Under the guide of the Witch King, these monsters had no mercy. And many soldiers were lost along the way, many buildings and other city fortifications reduced to rubble. 

When Deora had stormed ashore with her fellow Rangers, joining the rest of Boromir’s men, she had quickly discovered that whatever information the Orcs had gathered about Osgiliath’s defenses hadn’t included their additional numbers. For they had never kept the full might of their forces along the river, a strategic move that she knew was often criticized by Lord Denethor himself. But that day, it served them well.

With a clash of men and metal, of Orc and flesh, the battle raged on for the better part of the afternoon. And eventually, with one last push, they had managed to drive back the remaining monsters, sending them scrambling back towards the wastelands of Mordor. 

As they did, Deora had risen back up and onto her feet, the bridge below her partially destroyed by a last-ditch attack by the Witch-King and his horrid mount before it had retreated with a final screech. She stood there, Boromir and Faramir flanking her on either side, staring out at the city that they had saved. None of them had said anything for a long moment, even as their troops began to break out into cheers somewhere far beyond their position. Instead, the three friends exchanged silent glances as they each tried to force oxygen back into their lungs.

Deora stood off to the side of the large crowd, her helmet resting on a small piece of rubble down by her feet. Soldiers and city-folk alike were all shouting and chanting in unison the name of the man who was now standing proudly at the top of a nearby bridge.

“Boromir! Boromir! Boromir!”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes as the man planted the flag of Gondor back into one of the turrets, drawing his sword dramatically. The crowd around her absolutely lost their minds at the act.

Someone nudged her side, and when she glanced to her right, she was met with a smirking Faramir, who had also ditched his helmet amongst the chaos that followed the battle. Deora could sense the joke that he was about to make about his brother and quickly moved to shush him. This of course, only caused the man to laugh as he absentmindedly reached up to run his fingers through his slightly tangled hair. 

“This city was once the jewel of our kingdom!” Boromir began preaching. “A place of light and beauty and music…and so it shall be once more!”

The gathered masses once more cheered in response.

“Let the armies of Mordor know this; never again will the land of my people fall into enemy hands!” Boromir continued. “This city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed for Gondor!” he shouted before raising his sword once again. 

Soldiers and citizens alike clapped the Steward’s eldest son on the shoulder as he made his way back through the crowd. When he finally reached their location, the Captain and his Lieutenant pushed themselves off of the wall that they had head leaning against in order to greet him.

The two brothers shared a quick embrace.

“Good speech.” Faramir complimented as they parted.

Deora nodded her head in agreement. 

“Nice and short.”

Boromir beamed, throwing his arms over both of their shoulders.

“Leaves more time for drinking!” he shouted joyfully.

The three of them laughed together for a moment, as if they were suddenly kids again. Boromir then turned his head to shout back at the crowd behind them.

“Break out the ale! These men are thirsty!” 

He was met by another round of rowdy cheers from the soldiers in their immediate vicinity. And soon enough, the celebration around them devolved into a city-wide event. 

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Deora had slunk her way through the crowds, ignoring the jeers of some of the less-savory members of the Gondorian soldiers. She mostly kept to the Rangers that she knew well, for by that point, she had spent more time with them and had earned their respect through the multiple battles that they had fought together. Laughing and drinking with a small group of them, they were taking turns reminiscing on and trading stories about the fight that had transpired mere hours ago.

Across the main road, Boromir sauntered over to his younger brother’s side, carrying two tankards of ale in his hands.

Faramir took one of them with a thankful smile, and the two of them toasted each other before throwing the liquid down their throats.

“Remember today, little brother.” Boromir said, clearly still in good spirits. “Today, life is good.”

Faramir nodded his head in agreement, taking another large swig of his drink.

At that moment, a light laugh rippled out and across the air. It had been joined by a chorus of others, all at different volumes and tones, but this one seemed to stick out above the rest.

Especially to Faramir.

Glancing over his shoulder, the Captain’s eyes easily found the crowd of Rangers a few paces down the street from them. Watching on with intent now, he could see the way that Deora had thrown her head back, laughing again at another joke that had evidently been passed around the group of soldiers. Her dark hair momentarily flew past her face before resting over the metal plates of armor that shielded her shoulders. The corners of her eyes creased deeply as her smile continued to grow on her face. The effect of the ale had manifested itself in the lightest coating of red across the top of her cheeks.

Boromir swiftly elbowed his younger brother in the ribcage.

“Ow!” Faramir exclaimed, turning his attention back to his brother. “What was that for?”

Boromir smirked, gesturing subtly with his chin back towards the direction that Faramir had just been staring in.

“She seems quite at home in her new role.” Boromir noted. “Who would’ve thought?”

Faramir glanced back over at the group of Rangers.

“She did.” he answered. “As did I.” he then added with an unusual amount of confidence, chasing his words with the remainder of his ale.

This only caused Boromir’s smile to grow.

“Ah.” he replied, taking a beat to also polish off his own drink. When he brought the tankard back away from his mouth, he jutted out his chin slightly. “So have you told her then?”

Faramir turned back to his brother, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Sorry?”

Boromir swiftly wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, leaning his head closer to his ear so that he could hear his whisper underneath the noise of the celebrations.

“That you’ve been mad for her since you were eleven years old.”

Faramir immediately shoved his brother away from him, growling at him to be silent. But a boisterous laugh escaped the elders' mouth regardless.

Deora glanced back over her shoulder, easily finding where the two brothers were standing a few paces away from her position. They were laughing rowdily and shoving each other around. 

Forcing down a smile, she bid a short goodbye to her fellow Rangers in order to walk over to her Captain and his older brother. The two noted her arrival by falling silent, swallowing back down their words and laughter.

As she came to a stop, she immediately offered the cup in her hands to Faramir, who took it with a raised eyebrow. 

“It’s not sitting well with me anymore.” she admitted, answering his unasked question whilst shrugging her shoulders.

Faramir immediately nodded his head in understanding. Deora hadn’t been the biggest fan of ale for all the time he had known her, so this was commonplace for them. She would often offer him the last few sips of her drink, not wanting it to go to waste. And he would always accept.

If they were ever around Boromir, he would often joke that in many cultures, sharing a drink was some sort of act of declaration, to which he would immediately receive a harsh shouting at from at least one, if not both of them, in response.

Faramir finished off the drink in a single swig, and Deora took the tankard back into her hands with a nod in thanks. She had opened her mouth to speak again, when suddenly, a flash of movement a bit beyond their position caught her attention.

Her Captain clearly saw the way that her expression had hardened, her jaw clenching dangerously in a way that he had only ever seen happen a few times in the past.

“What is it?” he asked worriedly. 

“He’s here.” Deora replied through gritted teeth.

In unison, Faramir and Boromir turned to look over their shoulders. The former’s expression immediately dropped, while the latter’s flushed with anger as they watched Lord Denethor make his way through the crowd, greeting people that he passed with a perverse sense of excitement. 

Boromir turned back to their small group, an angry huff of air escaping his lips.

“One moment of peace, can he not give us that?” 

Deora instinctively reached out for Faramir’s arm, a plea for him to come disappear with her immediately dying on her tongue as the old man’s voice suddenly began to carry out over the crowds. 

“Where is he? Where is Gondor’s finest? Where is my first born?”

Deora’s scowl deepened.

Boromir shot both her and Faramir one last glance before forcing a smile onto his face, turning to greet the Steward.

“Father!”

Faramir had immediately taken a step back as the two embraced. A habit of his that Deora had unfortunately taken note of over the years. He would always make sure that he was out of the way, both physically and verbally, of Denethor and Boromir. Always keeping himself at arms distance from his own family. As that thought crossed her mind, her hand slowly fell from her Captain’s arm, as her anger began to burn beneath her skin.

“They say you vanquished the enemy almost single-handedly.” Denethor said with a smile.

“They exaggerate.” Boromir corrected. “The victory belongs to Faramir and his Rangers also.”

Denethor instantly scowled at their mention, glancing over towards the other two standing in their small circle for what appeared to be the first time. 

“But for Faramir, this city would still be standing. Were you not entrusted to protect it?” he asked condescendingly. 

“I would have done, but our numbers were too few.” Faramir said calmly, a weak attempt to make the Steward see reason.

“Oh, too few? You let the enemy walk in and take it on a whim.” Denethor spat. “Perhaps your ill-fated decision to appoint a woman as your lead Lieutenant had much to do with it.”

Deora’s expression had darkened, but almost instantly, Boromir had held out a hand in front of her. Almost as if he had sensed her ever-growing anger.

Denethor took an intimidating step towards Faramir, causing his youngest son to avert his gaze.

“Always you cast a poor reflection on me.”

“That is not my intent.” Faramir replied, his tone growing more timid with each passing second.

“You give him no credit!” Boromir finally exploded. “And yet he tries to do your will!”

The older son then stormed off and into the crowd, leading Denethor to immediately scramble off after him.

Faramir faltered for a moment, watching as his father and brother got further and further up the road from them. 

Deora had reached out to grab at his forearm again, a bit more forcefully this time around.

“Faramir, please-” she said sternly. “He is not worth your time.”

When he turned back towards her, she found his eyes already a bit misty, and a pang of sympathy hit the direct center of her chest. 

“Your men know what you have done for them. They look to you as their leader for a reason.” she continued to proclaim. “You do not need his approval.”

Faramir looked as if he was going to reply, but the words seemed to lodge somewhere in his throat. Quickly closing his mouth, he spun on his heels in order to take off after his father and brother.

“Faramir!” Deora called out after him, immediately beginning her own pursuit. 

“We have more urgent things to speak of.” Denethor was saying once they managed to catch up with the Steward and his eldest son. “Elrond of Rivendell has called a meeting. He would not say why, but I have guessed its purpose. It is rumored that the weapon of the enemy has been found.”

Boromir stopped walking upon hearing that.

“The One Ring?” he mused out loud. “Isildur’s bane…”

Deora blinked in surprise. Those were words she had only ever heard talked about in passing or whispered about in folk tales. The thought that they were actually real had never even crossed her mind, yet now the Steward of Gondor was saying that it had been found? 

“It has fallen into the hands of the Elves.” Denethor continued. “Everyone will try to claim it, Men, Dwarves, Wizards. We cannot let that happen. This thing must come to Gondor.”

“Gondor…” Boromir repeated, sounding as if he was caught in some sort of trance. 

“It’s dangerous, I know. Ever the Ring will seek to corrupt the hearts of lesser Men.” Denethor reasoned. “But you are strong, and our need is great. It is our blood which is being spilled, our people who are dying. Sauron is biding his time. He is massing fresh armies. He will return. And when he does, we will be powerless to stop him. You must go. Bring me back this mighty gift.”

Boromir suddenly scowled, something about his father’s tone dragging him out of whatever daydream he had been caught in for a sparing moment. 

“No.” he replied boldly. “My place is here with my people. Not in Rivendell.”

“Would you deny your own father?”

Faramir had somehow mustered up the courage to step forward at that moment, placing himself into the space that his brother had instinctively left for him. 

Deora watched on worriedly from the sidelines.

“If there is a need to go to Rivendell, send me instead.” he offered.

Denethor whirled on his youngest with a horrid sneer.

“You?” he practically spat. “Oh, I see. A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality…I think not.”

Faramir’s expression once more fell in total, crushing defeat. He shrunk back, arriving once more at Deora’s side, who in turn was glaring forward at the Steward of Gondor. For she had no fear of the man. She held no desire for his approval.

“I trust this mission only to your brother.” Denethor continued. “The one who will not fail me.”

Boromir did not respond, simply braced himself up against a nearby stone wall, shaking his head in disappointment. 

Later on that afternoon, Boromir was sitting atop his noble steed. Behind him, the white flag that he had planted on the bridge in the earlier celebration, was blowing gently in the wind coming off of the river. 

His attention, however, was down below his horse, where both Faramir and Deora stood side by side, ready to see him off.

“Remember today, little brother.” the man said earnestly. 

Faramir nodded, somehow managing a weak smile for the man before he inevitably turned and trotted out of Osgiliath for good. 

Deora and Faramir watched him go until he was completely faded from their sight.

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Light Under the Shadow of Black Wings - Ch. 4 𓆰𓆪

summary: ❝​🇭​​🇴​​🇲​​🇪​ ​🇮​​🇸​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇭​​🇮​​🇳​​🇩​…​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇼​​🇴​​🇷​​🇱​​🇩​ ​🇦​​🇭​​🇪​​🇦​​🇩​…​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇦​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇲​​🇦​​🇳​​🇾​ ​🇵​​🇦​​🇹​​🇭​​🇸​ ​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇹​​🇷​​🇪​​🇦​​🇩​…​🇹​​🇭​​🇷​​🇴​​🇺​​🇬​​🇭​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇴​​🇼​, ​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇪​​🇩​​🇬​​🇪​ ​🇴​​🇫​ ​🇳​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​…​🇺​​🇳​​🇹​​🇮​​🇱​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇸​​🇹​​🇦​​🇷​​🇸​ ​🇦​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇦​​🇱​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​…​🇲​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇴​​🇼​, ​🇨​​🇱​​🇴​​🇺​​🇩​ ​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇫​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​…​🇸​​🇭​​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​…​🇫​​🇦​​🇩​​🇪​…❝

"You have to stop." she whispered urgently. "You're placing too much of this war onto your own shoulders, when you have hundreds of men behind you willing to help you carry it."

Her words evidently managed to pull his attention back up to her face, his eyes only a little bit wide at her declaration. Underneath his suddenly intense gaze, she felt her throat begin to grow dry.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰, she wanted to say but simply could not find the courage to do so in that moment…

author's note: ​all credits go to jrr tolkien and peter jackson. i only own deora and her story.

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“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien.”

It was a rather peaceful fall afternoon, and the city of Gondor seemed particularly sleepy that day. Deora had disappeared from her house early in the morning, seeking and ultimately finding refuge in the limbs of a large tree that sat at the edge of the city limits. It had been several quiet hours later that she had seen the familiar dusty-red head of hair wandering about the field below her. A small smile had instantly appeared on her face. 

Upon hearing her voice, Faramir glanced up into the tree, a smile of his own playing at the corner of his lips when his eyes finally found hers.

“Come to mingle with the common people?” Deora teased.

“I’ve come to honor a promise.” he replied.

Deora raised an eyebrow, swiftly jumping down from the branches that held her, her feet softly landing onto the grass below.

“A promise?”

Faramir nodded, crossing the field until he stood directly in front of her.

“One that I made many years ago.”

Deora’s head tilted to the side, gesturing with her hands for him to continue. In the beat of silence that followed, she absentmindedly noted that he was trying, and failing, to fight back a smile. The man straightened out his spine ever so slightly before beginning to speak again.

“Would Deora of House Ingold accept my request for her to become a Ranger of Ithilien?”

The hillside went completely silent. Even the wind seemed to stop blowing as Deora’s eyes widened beyond what should’ve been normal for a human.

“Faramir…I swear to everything that is good and pure in this world, if you are lying to me, I will splay your innards out beneath the White Tree.” she threatened in a semi-shaking voice.

The man scoffed in surprise at the vulgarity of her words.

“Do you truly think so little of me?”

Deora didn’t answer, simply continued to stare back at him unwaveringly.

Faramir took a deep and purposeful breath, and this time as he re-set his shoulders, his smile finally settled across his expression. 

“I swear on the House of my Father; I am being sincere.”

Deora felt her eye twitch. 

“You know I don’t give a damn about the House of your Father.” she whispered.

Faramir had opened his mouth to offer up some sort of retort but was silenced by Deora darting forward across the already miniscule amount of space between them. Her arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders in a uniquely powerful hug.

The man laughed in surprise, stumbling back slightly as a result of her power, but was eventually able to return the embrace with just as much force.

“Thank you, Faramir.” she said seriously as she pulled back, her eyes just the smallest bit misty.

Faramir didn’t respond right away. Instead, he had taken the time to stare back at her bright expression with much of the same reverence he would become possessed with whenever listening to the stories Gandalf told them back when they were children.

Seeing this, Deora’s smile faltered, a heavy silence blanketing them. A heaviness that suddenly made it fairly difficult to breathe.

Faramir finally gulped, forcibly snapping himself out of his daze. And in turn, Deora slipped her hands off of his shoulders, coughing in order to clear her throat.

“Thank you.” she eventually repeated.

“Of course.” Faramir said, still smiling. “I assume I can take this as your acceptance?”

Deora scoffed slightly.

“I imagine your Rangers will have something to say about it, no?”

“I may have an idea about that.” Faramir immediately replied, his smile morphing into a more mischievous smirk.

Deora raised a single eyebrow.

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Faramir stood in front of the collected ranks of his Rangers, his hands pointedly clasped behind his back.

“I’ve gathered you all here in order to introduce the newly appointed Lieutenant of the Rangers of Ithilien.” he began to explain. “They shall serve as my right-hand on missions and campaigns and will lead you should I be otherwise occupied or incapacitated.” he informed them, as if reading it off some sort of scroll.

The men before him nodded in passive acknowledgement. 

“Let us welcome Lieutenant Deora Ingold. Knight of Gondor.”

Removing her helmet at that moment, as she had been instructed to do by Faramir earlier that afternoon, visions of dozens of aghast expressions slowly came into focus for Deora. 

Naturally, she had expected as such, but suddenly having to face them head on instead of in the confines of her own mind was somehow just a little bit more difficult. She squared her shoulders as best she could, sending the squadron of Rangers a short nod in lieu of any words.

The silence that followed was deafening. And Deora hid a rather difficult swallow as Faramir continued to look out at his men expectantly. 

Finally, one of them coughed, breaking the awkward quiet.

“Pardon me, Lord Faramir, but do you…truly think this wise?”

“I do.” Faramir replied without missing a beat. “Do you not, Sir Anborn?”

The soldier attempted to laugh off the attention that was suddenly on him.

“It is just…with the utmost respect of course, I’m sure some of the other Rangers also have concerns about the…field readiness of the Lieutenant.”

Some quiet snickers fluttered throughout the assembled crowd, and Deora was finding it increasingly hard to keep her anger in check. In an effort to combat this, she tightened her hands around each other where they were hidden behind her back.

Faramir hummed in acknowledgement as he surveyed the crowd of his men.

“Could those of you who have…concerns about my choice of Lieutenant, please raise a hand.”

Deora watched the crowd as, slowly, about half of the Rangers did so.

Faramir briefly glanced to his right, sending her a subtle nod.

All according to plan, his eyes said.

“Now, will those with hands raised please form a line behind Sir Anborn. Swords at the ready.” the Captain then instructed.

His words were met with empty blinks of surprise. 

“Now.” he added.

Slowly, and clearly still confused, the men began to form a haphazard line that nearly stretched across the training grounds. 

“Anborn, step forward please.”

When the soldier did as he requested, Faramir looked back over at Deora. And upon meeting his eyes, she wordlessly drew her sword and stepped out in front of the line of soldiers. Her actions were instantly met by more muffled laughter.

The underestimation of these men was a palpable feeling, quickly serving to fuel her confidence. As it would mean that they would be more vulnerable, overconfident, and therefore easier to beat.

“Each of you can have a chance to voice your doubts through a sparring match. I will reconsider my decision based on the outcomes.” Faramir announced calmly. 

A few of the men quickly whispered amongst each other, others sharing small near-hidden smirks in response. The small few of them that hadn’t raised their hands to challenge their Captain’s words watched on with interest from the now makeshift sidelines of the grounds.

Faramir gestured for them to begin, taking a pointed step back as Anborn all but sauntered up to Deora with a smile.

“Do not fret, my lady.” he said. “We’re all gentlemen here. We will go easy on you.”

Deora’s eyes quickly darkened, an action that clearly caught the soldier by surprise.

“I would highly advise against that.” she spat, taking her first swing. 

Anborn stumbled back, caught off balance. At his flank, all remaining laughter was immediately silenced as the soldier just barely managed to throw up a block to defend himself. 

Deora pulled her sword back, purposefully taking a moment to drag the flat part of her metal blade against his weapon. Ultimately, she did not allow him an ounce of recovery time, swinging at him again, her aim targeting his legs. He was quick to block that attack as well, but by the time that he did, she had already thrown up strikes at both his shoulders. Her speed was near-impossible for him to match, forcing him to engage solely in defensive tactics. 

The only time that he had managed to take the initiative and swing at her head, she had caught the blade with hers mid-slash, twisting their swords together with such force that he yelped in pain at the pressure it had put on his wrist. 

Bringing her elbow down towards the center of his face, Anborn was sent stumbling backwards yet again. And with a violent cut upwards, she had sent his sword flying across the field.

Before he could even register that loss, she kicked the center of his chest, causing him to fall down and onto his back unceremoniously. The tip of a sword then materialized at the base of his jugular. 

Anborn froze, eyeing the blade in dazed surprise.

Faramir casually walked over to the battle, peering down at his fallen Ranger.

“Do you yield?” the Captain asked, trying his best to fight back a smile.

Deora continued to glare daggers down at the man by her feet. He was glancing back and forth between the blade, the woman holding it to his throat, and Faramir. 

Finally, he managed the smallest nods of his head.

“I yield.”

Deora instantly dropped her arm and sword. Instead, she reached down her free hand to offer it to the fallen soldier. She saw him eye it for a moment in clear hesitation before inevitably grasping it with his own, allowing her to pull him back up and onto his feet.

Once he was standing again, Deora offered him a respectful nod before taking a step back, landing at Faramir’s side once more. 

A prolonged silence fell over the company. As Anborn returned to his men, the next soldier in line had stepped forward to accept the challenge. But Deora noticed that this time around, all smug expressions had disappeared. Instead, they had all been replaced by ones of steady determination. 

Faramir continued to watch on intently as Deora cut through the next three soldiers with ease. Each one had walked up thinking that they could somehow put on a better show than those that came before him, but soon the repetitive sound of their yields were carrying up into the sky above their city.

After the tenth soldier went down, a silence had fallen over the fields. Deora had whipped her hair out of her face, expecting another soldier to step forward.

But none did. 

“Any other challengers?” Faramir called out to the Rangers.

Pure silence answered him.

The man swallowed down another smirk as Deora sheathed her sword with a sigh. 

“Very well.” Faramir said. “You are all dismissed.”

Seemingly in a bit of a daze, the Rangers slowly began to peel off, huddling into groups as they began hushed conversations about what had just transpired. 

But one of them hung back. It was one of the older men in the company, and he was quick to make his way across the grounds and over to the Captain and Lieutenant.

“I would like to…extend my apologies on behalf of the entire company, if I may.” he said, looking directly at Deora. 

The woman blinked in genuine surprise. An apology was quite literally the last thing she had expected to receive from the Rangers of Ithilien that day. She had glanced over at Faramir out of the corner of her eye but otherwise kept her attention on the man in front of her.

“I thank you for your kind words…”

“Mandril.” he finished politely for her.

Deora nodded in acknowledgement.

“I must be off.” Faramir interrupted at that moment. “I dare not keep my father waiting.”

Both soldiers offered their Captain short bows in goodbye.

Faramir shot Deora one last covert smile before turning around and heading back towards the castle.

The two remaining Rangers watched him go in a prolonged silence, before Deora finally let out a short breath. She turned to retrieve the helmet she had discarded before the sparring matches up off of the ground.

“I do hope you understand-” Madril spoke up the instant that she had moved. “-despite the volume of disagreements, we respect Faramir a great deal.”

Deora slowly turned back towards the older man, eyeing him carefully. Seeing this, Madril just continued to smile.

“He is most unlike his brother. Not many men are wise in the realms of both scrolls and field readiness.”

“He is bolder than we give him credit for.” Deora interjected, rather defensively.

“Indeed.”

After giving the Ranger another silent once-over, Deora finally nodded her head, bidding him a silent goodbye before leaving the training grounds behind.

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