![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mithenTitle: Of Denethor and Theoden
Chapter Summary: On the first meeting, lives, and last days of the king of Rohan and the son of the last Steward of Gondor.
Relationship/Characters: Denethor, Theoden
Fandom: Hobbit/Lord of the Rings.
Warnings/Spoilers: Canon-typical character death
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1500
Summary: Excerpts from the Red Book of Westmarch, in which can be found the tales of various characters from Clarity of Purpose: their histories, their lives, and their passing.
Fengel, King of Rohan, was a vain and feckless ruler who squandered his nation's money and quarreled often with his heir, Thengel. Weary of his father's pride and persecution, Thengel left Rohan and settled in Gondor, south of Minas Tirith, and married Morwen Steelsheen. There, Morwen gave birth to their only son, Théoden, and thus Théoden's earliest days were spent in Gondor. But when he was a mere five years old King Fengel died, and so Thengel returned to Edoras, bringing his family with him.
Théoden was a brave child, and strong, if somewhat reckless and thoughtless. And in those days bravery was sorely needed, for trouble came often to Rohan, as bands of Dunlending bandits plagued and harried the Rohirrim, burning their houses and stealing their horses.
When Théoden was twelve years old he was sent out, as is the custom among the Rohirrim, to serve as a page for a Captain of the Mark. The man he served under was his father's sister's husband, Utred, but he was treated as all the other pages were, roughly but fairly. They were not easy times for the young prince, but he was skilled in the saddle and quick to learn, and the days passed swiftly. His only grief was that they encountered no battle, merely petty quarrels and discontent, for he burned to prove himself in the arts of war.
Then one day his band was patrolling near the border of Gondor, and they came across a war-band of men from Minas Tirith. Now, relations between the two nations at this time were cordial but not overly warm, and so the Rohirrim approached the Gondorians with respect but not with love. And because he had spent his early years in Gondor and his Westron was the least accented, they sent Théoden to parley.
A man dismounted from a black stallion to meet with Théoden between their two bands, dressed in light armor, black with a white tree blazoned upon it. He was clear of eye and fair of face, a man full-grown unlike Théoden, but beardless, and slender rather than strong-thewed, and Théoden secretly felt he seemed not as manly as the Rohirrim. But he dismounted as well and hailed him, saying, "Well met, man of Gondor! I ask to speak to your leader."
"You speak with him now," the man said coldly.
But Théoden burst into laughter. "Nay, you jest," he said, pointing to the black stallion. "For surely no lord of Minas Tirith would ride such a spavined nag as that!"
Then Denethor--for it was he indeed--was stung to the quick, for he was proud of the stallion he had chosen himself to be his mount. "How dare you speak so to the son of the Steward of Gondor!" he said in a rage.
"Truly?" Théoden said in amazement. "Why, I have heard the men of Gondor are no judge of horses, but I thought it an exaggeration. Yet it is as they say, if you cannot see that it is practically cow-hocked. But how could you fail to notice its trappy stride, its tragically short pasterns? Even the most horse-blind of Rohan would reject this horse." In fact he was so surprised that this man was blind to the faults in his steed that he barely realized he spoke rudely, but Denethor was a proud man and each word pierced him like a poisoned dart.
"I am not here to be lectured by a child," he cried. "We are hunting a band of orcs, and you waste our time with your prattle."
Now these words in turn struck Théoden where he was most vulnerable. "I am no child, but a warrior of Rohan and son of King Thengel himself!" he retorted, his blood hot. "Do the men of Gondor treat all their allies with such disdain?"
Then Denethor indeed regretted his hasty words in his heart, but before he could find a fair answer, a cry came from the men of Rohan, echoed by the warriors of Gondor: "Attack! Orcs ride from the north! To battle!"
In this way did Théoden of Rohan find himself in his first true battle.
It was a short but pitched skirmish, and much of it was a blur to the young prince, a strange dream of dodging and parrying. But he remembered clearly later seeing Denethor of Gondor fight for the first time. For he had thought Denethor a weak man for his slender build, yet he fought in a style Théoden had never seen: graceful and lithe and utterly controlled, like light dancing on water or snowflakes swirling in the wind. Orcs fell before him like grass before a scythe, and his blade gleamed scarlet in the morning sun.
Yet at the end a shield struck his head, and for a moment he was stunned and unready, and the leader of the orc-band lifted its sword to strike him down. Then did Théoden leap forward and parry that blow, and the orc laughed to face such a stripling, but in that laugh Théoden's blade pierced its throat and it fell.
Denethor recovered his senses to find the young prince standing over the dead orc, his blade dripping. "My thanks," he said, but Théoden's temper was still high, his blood pounding from the battle, and he snapped:
"So in my first battle I protected that which you hold most dear in the world, steward's son. It seems a petty thing to have saved." And he turned his back on Denethor and walked away, leaving the son of Ecthelion shamed and wrathful. For he might have been able to forgive the insult if Théoden had not saved him, and he might have taken no offense at being saved if Théoden had not insulted him, but to be rescued and insulted by a mere lad rankled his pride beyond bearing. So the Rohirrim and the Gondorians parted that day, but it was a cold parting, and neither Denethor nor Théoden was inclined to think kindly of the other from that day.
And so relations between Minas Tirith and Edoras might have remained icy, save for the fact that both Denethor and Théoden received the same strange dream many years later, which summoned them to Khazad-dûm and to a fellowship led by Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain of Erebor, and from there across Middle Earth and Mordor together, to the Black Gate and the great battle there. And once the Ring was destroyed and King Elessar crowned, they found that their hearts had changed; and though they yet quarreled constantly, somehow they had grown close as brothers, and were loath to grow distant once more. So Théoden came often to Denethor's new city in Pelargir, and helped him to rebuild it, and grew close in affection to his wife, Finduilas, as well, and there passed many happy days on banks of the Anduin with his friends.
Théoden married late, and had but a few golden years with his young bride before she died giving birth to his only son and heir, Théodred. When his beloved sister also died, leaving him to raise his niece and nephew as well, Denethor and Finduilas came often to Edoras along with their young sons, to keep him company in his grief and to guard his great heart against despair. Long did Théoden rule his land with great wisdom, and his people loved him deeply.
Fifty years after the coronation of King Elessar, the Corsairs rallied to try and take back Pelargir, and Denethor's city was in dire peril. Then did Théoden put on his golden armor once more, and saddled his beloved steed Snowmane, and rode into battle with his son and his nephew at his side. And on the field of battle that day, he found himself separated from his troops and fighting at the side of Boromir and Faramir, Denethor's sons, together against the very chief of the Corsairs. He shielded the heirs of Denethor from the poisoned javelins of the Corsairs, and defeated their leader; but he was grievously wounded, and the poison darkened his vision, and he fell.
Then Boromir and Faramir would have carried him from the field, but he took their hands and smiled at them and said, "Tell your father that, as with my first battle, so my last battle was also to protect that which he holds most dear in the world, and this time it was an honor to do so." And so he died, and the warriors of Gondor and Rohan grieved around him. But Denethor never heard his last words, for he had already perished that very day saving the life of Théodred, son of Théoden, on the battlefield.
So did these two enemies turned friends sacrifice all for each other, and the bards sing still of their deeds across the free lands of Middle Earth, from Nurn to the Shire.
Chapter Summary: On the first meeting, lives, and last days of the king of Rohan and the son of the last Steward of Gondor.
Relationship/Characters: Denethor, Theoden
Fandom: Hobbit/Lord of the Rings.
Warnings/Spoilers: Canon-typical character death
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1500
Summary: Excerpts from the Red Book of Westmarch, in which can be found the tales of various characters from Clarity of Purpose: their histories, their lives, and their passing.
Fengel, King of Rohan, was a vain and feckless ruler who squandered his nation's money and quarreled often with his heir, Thengel. Weary of his father's pride and persecution, Thengel left Rohan and settled in Gondor, south of Minas Tirith, and married Morwen Steelsheen. There, Morwen gave birth to their only son, Théoden, and thus Théoden's earliest days were spent in Gondor. But when he was a mere five years old King Fengel died, and so Thengel returned to Edoras, bringing his family with him.
Théoden was a brave child, and strong, if somewhat reckless and thoughtless. And in those days bravery was sorely needed, for trouble came often to Rohan, as bands of Dunlending bandits plagued and harried the Rohirrim, burning their houses and stealing their horses.
When Théoden was twelve years old he was sent out, as is the custom among the Rohirrim, to serve as a page for a Captain of the Mark. The man he served under was his father's sister's husband, Utred, but he was treated as all the other pages were, roughly but fairly. They were not easy times for the young prince, but he was skilled in the saddle and quick to learn, and the days passed swiftly. His only grief was that they encountered no battle, merely petty quarrels and discontent, for he burned to prove himself in the arts of war.
Then one day his band was patrolling near the border of Gondor, and they came across a war-band of men from Minas Tirith. Now, relations between the two nations at this time were cordial but not overly warm, and so the Rohirrim approached the Gondorians with respect but not with love. And because he had spent his early years in Gondor and his Westron was the least accented, they sent Théoden to parley.
A man dismounted from a black stallion to meet with Théoden between their two bands, dressed in light armor, black with a white tree blazoned upon it. He was clear of eye and fair of face, a man full-grown unlike Théoden, but beardless, and slender rather than strong-thewed, and Théoden secretly felt he seemed not as manly as the Rohirrim. But he dismounted as well and hailed him, saying, "Well met, man of Gondor! I ask to speak to your leader."
"You speak with him now," the man said coldly.
But Théoden burst into laughter. "Nay, you jest," he said, pointing to the black stallion. "For surely no lord of Minas Tirith would ride such a spavined nag as that!"
Then Denethor--for it was he indeed--was stung to the quick, for he was proud of the stallion he had chosen himself to be his mount. "How dare you speak so to the son of the Steward of Gondor!" he said in a rage.
"Truly?" Théoden said in amazement. "Why, I have heard the men of Gondor are no judge of horses, but I thought it an exaggeration. Yet it is as they say, if you cannot see that it is practically cow-hocked. But how could you fail to notice its trappy stride, its tragically short pasterns? Even the most horse-blind of Rohan would reject this horse." In fact he was so surprised that this man was blind to the faults in his steed that he barely realized he spoke rudely, but Denethor was a proud man and each word pierced him like a poisoned dart.
"I am not here to be lectured by a child," he cried. "We are hunting a band of orcs, and you waste our time with your prattle."
Now these words in turn struck Théoden where he was most vulnerable. "I am no child, but a warrior of Rohan and son of King Thengel himself!" he retorted, his blood hot. "Do the men of Gondor treat all their allies with such disdain?"
Then Denethor indeed regretted his hasty words in his heart, but before he could find a fair answer, a cry came from the men of Rohan, echoed by the warriors of Gondor: "Attack! Orcs ride from the north! To battle!"
In this way did Théoden of Rohan find himself in his first true battle.
It was a short but pitched skirmish, and much of it was a blur to the young prince, a strange dream of dodging and parrying. But he remembered clearly later seeing Denethor of Gondor fight for the first time. For he had thought Denethor a weak man for his slender build, yet he fought in a style Théoden had never seen: graceful and lithe and utterly controlled, like light dancing on water or snowflakes swirling in the wind. Orcs fell before him like grass before a scythe, and his blade gleamed scarlet in the morning sun.
Yet at the end a shield struck his head, and for a moment he was stunned and unready, and the leader of the orc-band lifted its sword to strike him down. Then did Théoden leap forward and parry that blow, and the orc laughed to face such a stripling, but in that laugh Théoden's blade pierced its throat and it fell.
Denethor recovered his senses to find the young prince standing over the dead orc, his blade dripping. "My thanks," he said, but Théoden's temper was still high, his blood pounding from the battle, and he snapped:
"So in my first battle I protected that which you hold most dear in the world, steward's son. It seems a petty thing to have saved." And he turned his back on Denethor and walked away, leaving the son of Ecthelion shamed and wrathful. For he might have been able to forgive the insult if Théoden had not saved him, and he might have taken no offense at being saved if Théoden had not insulted him, but to be rescued and insulted by a mere lad rankled his pride beyond bearing. So the Rohirrim and the Gondorians parted that day, but it was a cold parting, and neither Denethor nor Théoden was inclined to think kindly of the other from that day.
And so relations between Minas Tirith and Edoras might have remained icy, save for the fact that both Denethor and Théoden received the same strange dream many years later, which summoned them to Khazad-dûm and to a fellowship led by Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain of Erebor, and from there across Middle Earth and Mordor together, to the Black Gate and the great battle there. And once the Ring was destroyed and King Elessar crowned, they found that their hearts had changed; and though they yet quarreled constantly, somehow they had grown close as brothers, and were loath to grow distant once more. So Théoden came often to Denethor's new city in Pelargir, and helped him to rebuild it, and grew close in affection to his wife, Finduilas, as well, and there passed many happy days on banks of the Anduin with his friends.
Théoden married late, and had but a few golden years with his young bride before she died giving birth to his only son and heir, Théodred. When his beloved sister also died, leaving him to raise his niece and nephew as well, Denethor and Finduilas came often to Edoras along with their young sons, to keep him company in his grief and to guard his great heart against despair. Long did Théoden rule his land with great wisdom, and his people loved him deeply.
Fifty years after the coronation of King Elessar, the Corsairs rallied to try and take back Pelargir, and Denethor's city was in dire peril. Then did Théoden put on his golden armor once more, and saddled his beloved steed Snowmane, and rode into battle with his son and his nephew at his side. And on the field of battle that day, he found himself separated from his troops and fighting at the side of Boromir and Faramir, Denethor's sons, together against the very chief of the Corsairs. He shielded the heirs of Denethor from the poisoned javelins of the Corsairs, and defeated their leader; but he was grievously wounded, and the poison darkened his vision, and he fell.
Then Boromir and Faramir would have carried him from the field, but he took their hands and smiled at them and said, "Tell your father that, as with my first battle, so my last battle was also to protect that which he holds most dear in the world, and this time it was an honor to do so." And so he died, and the warriors of Gondor and Rohan grieved around him. But Denethor never heard his last words, for he had already perished that very day saving the life of Théodred, son of Théoden, on the battlefield.
So did these two enemies turned friends sacrifice all for each other, and the bards sing still of their deeds across the free lands of Middle Earth, from Nurn to the Shire.