The Honour of Kings
Title: The Honour of Kings
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: PG
Summary: The heart of Thengel of Rohan is heavy as he returns to fulfill his duty. Written for voleuse's Rohirrim Ficathon.
Disclaimer: The characters and themes discussed in this work are not mine but are rather the creation of the esteemed Professor Tolkien. They are being used with the deepest respect and love.
Thengel breathed in deep the crisp mountain air that still bore the lingering scents of pine smoke and autumn leaves. He dismounted and slowly walked, leading Weregild easily down a path that was little more than a broken track through the softly dripping branches. In his memory the same track that wound through the mountains that sheltered the vales of Lossarnach was brought again to the life of a new spring and he was almost able to convince himself that he still heard, somewhere further along the path, the high, shining chimes of his Morwen’s laughter. It was appropriate that a place that had once brought him such joy should now reflect the deathly uncertainty he now felt.
Weregild whickered softly in warning and Thengel slowed his meandering steps. The forest was quiet about him save for the dripping of the trees and the muffled noise of hoofs pacing over the still-damp loam.
“We were ever happy here, were we not, my lord?” came the soft question from behind. Thengel turned and feasted once again upon the sight of his lady wife, her ever-smiling face now drawn in lines of worry and uncertainty.
“Yes, we were,” was Thengel’s quiet reply as he stepped forward to help Morwen off her chestnut mare. “I will ever treasure the times we have passed here.”
“Will Rohan be so very different?” Morwen asked, her voice wistful and tentative.
“It will be, it is, most different.” The words stumbled erratically out of his mouth, his voice harsh as he tried to control the emotions that warred within him at the sound of that name. He was overcome with anger and despair and a spiraling sense of loss. “Rohan lacks the learning, the grandeur, the beauty of which Gondor is still able to boast, even in these supposedly fallen days. Not even the Golden Hall of Meduseld, that greatest of all halls of the Rohirrim, can compare with the glories of Minas Tirith or the nobility of Dol Amroth. It will seem as a peasant’s village to you, my love.”
“Surely there is courage and honor to be found there, still. You, who are called to be Rohan’s king cannot doubt that.” Morwen stayed her pace and turned to look upon the face of her husband. She knew of his great sorrow caused by the over-indulgence of his feckless father and yet she could feel the presence of some other, deeper sorrow in Thengel’s secret heart.
Thengel gazed into the eyes of the woman he loved, seeing in her the same strength and love that had supported him through the years they had been blessed to have together. “There was still honor when I was last there. I am afraid-” he swallowed and looked away, ashamed to admit fear even to one he loved, “I am afraid that it will have been devoured by the long years of Fengel’s, my father’s, unrighteous stewardship. May his spirit wander forever in darkness,” he spat out bitterly, ashamed of both his fear and his own deep sense of filial betrayal. “I do not wish to return,” he whispered, guilt stricken.
The years of his childhood had been long and dark, this they both remembered as they stood there in silence on the mountainside. Thengel remembered the years of growing horror as he recognized his father’s avarice and the way Fengel brought ruin and contention to the once honorable halls of Eorl’s descendants. Thengel could well recall the growing apathy of Meduseld as the king’s lusts grew and the marshals departed in a desperate disgust. It had been a relief and a blessing to be able to escape to the stone courts of the citadel in Minas Tirith. From Turgon he had recaptured his lost honor and learned what nobility truly was. He did not care to imagine the depravity that awaited him in his native land.
“Ecthelion is young yet,” Morwen replied in a light, musing voice. “I am sure he would greatly honor any counsel you would be free to give him, especially now that his father resides in the Courts of the Dead.” She gently raised her hands to cradle the sides of his face, gradually pulling his eyes back into alignment with her own. “He has always looked on you as a brother,” she whispered, her eyes shining brightly in her pale face.
“I know,” Thengel replied in a harsh whisper. For a moment he could see that future spread before him, a life spent in the splendour of Gondor, his children grown tall and strong and fair, his Theoden a stalwart example of the warriors who had made Gondor so great. He saw this and with a heavy heart he rejected it. “I know and yet I cannot. Duty stronger than blood calls me to the throne of Rohan and who am I to argue with such a call? I would lose all honor I now have and would be of no use to anyone, even those whom I love.”
“It is settled then?” Morwen asked, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“It is. We go on to Rohan and whatever awaits us there,” Thengel replied, his will hardening and his mind becoming firm in the path that was laid out before him. Though this future was not one he would have chosen it was one he could not turn away from now that it was upon him.
“Very good,” Morwen responded, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I did not want to have to resort to more violent means to see you on your way. I did not believe I could marry a man who would flee from his duty, no matter how unappetizing it may appear.”
Thengel suddenly laughed, the deep, rich sound ringing through the trees. He picked up his wife and kissed her, a laugh on both their lips as the world stilled around them.
“What a queen you will be,” Thengel said as they broke apart. He would have no reason for shame so long as this woman was by his side.
*****
When Fengel died the Rohirrim recalled him, and he returned unwillingly. But he proved a good and wise king; though the speech of Gondor was used in his house, and not all men thought that good.
The Return of the King Appendix A, p. 1044
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Rating: PG
Summary: The heart of Thengel of Rohan is heavy as he returns to fulfill his duty. Written for voleuse's Rohirrim Ficathon.
Disclaimer: The characters and themes discussed in this work are not mine but are rather the creation of the esteemed Professor Tolkien. They are being used with the deepest respect and love.
Thengel breathed in deep the crisp mountain air that still bore the lingering scents of pine smoke and autumn leaves. He dismounted and slowly walked, leading Weregild easily down a path that was little more than a broken track through the softly dripping branches. In his memory the same track that wound through the mountains that sheltered the vales of Lossarnach was brought again to the life of a new spring and he was almost able to convince himself that he still heard, somewhere further along the path, the high, shining chimes of his Morwen’s laughter. It was appropriate that a place that had once brought him such joy should now reflect the deathly uncertainty he now felt.
Weregild whickered softly in warning and Thengel slowed his meandering steps. The forest was quiet about him save for the dripping of the trees and the muffled noise of hoofs pacing over the still-damp loam.
“We were ever happy here, were we not, my lord?” came the soft question from behind. Thengel turned and feasted once again upon the sight of his lady wife, her ever-smiling face now drawn in lines of worry and uncertainty.
“Yes, we were,” was Thengel’s quiet reply as he stepped forward to help Morwen off her chestnut mare. “I will ever treasure the times we have passed here.”
“Will Rohan be so very different?” Morwen asked, her voice wistful and tentative.
“It will be, it is, most different.” The words stumbled erratically out of his mouth, his voice harsh as he tried to control the emotions that warred within him at the sound of that name. He was overcome with anger and despair and a spiraling sense of loss. “Rohan lacks the learning, the grandeur, the beauty of which Gondor is still able to boast, even in these supposedly fallen days. Not even the Golden Hall of Meduseld, that greatest of all halls of the Rohirrim, can compare with the glories of Minas Tirith or the nobility of Dol Amroth. It will seem as a peasant’s village to you, my love.”
“Surely there is courage and honor to be found there, still. You, who are called to be Rohan’s king cannot doubt that.” Morwen stayed her pace and turned to look upon the face of her husband. She knew of his great sorrow caused by the over-indulgence of his feckless father and yet she could feel the presence of some other, deeper sorrow in Thengel’s secret heart.
Thengel gazed into the eyes of the woman he loved, seeing in her the same strength and love that had supported him through the years they had been blessed to have together. “There was still honor when I was last there. I am afraid-” he swallowed and looked away, ashamed to admit fear even to one he loved, “I am afraid that it will have been devoured by the long years of Fengel’s, my father’s, unrighteous stewardship. May his spirit wander forever in darkness,” he spat out bitterly, ashamed of both his fear and his own deep sense of filial betrayal. “I do not wish to return,” he whispered, guilt stricken.
The years of his childhood had been long and dark, this they both remembered as they stood there in silence on the mountainside. Thengel remembered the years of growing horror as he recognized his father’s avarice and the way Fengel brought ruin and contention to the once honorable halls of Eorl’s descendants. Thengel could well recall the growing apathy of Meduseld as the king’s lusts grew and the marshals departed in a desperate disgust. It had been a relief and a blessing to be able to escape to the stone courts of the citadel in Minas Tirith. From Turgon he had recaptured his lost honor and learned what nobility truly was. He did not care to imagine the depravity that awaited him in his native land.
“Ecthelion is young yet,” Morwen replied in a light, musing voice. “I am sure he would greatly honor any counsel you would be free to give him, especially now that his father resides in the Courts of the Dead.” She gently raised her hands to cradle the sides of his face, gradually pulling his eyes back into alignment with her own. “He has always looked on you as a brother,” she whispered, her eyes shining brightly in her pale face.
“I know,” Thengel replied in a harsh whisper. For a moment he could see that future spread before him, a life spent in the splendour of Gondor, his children grown tall and strong and fair, his Theoden a stalwart example of the warriors who had made Gondor so great. He saw this and with a heavy heart he rejected it. “I know and yet I cannot. Duty stronger than blood calls me to the throne of Rohan and who am I to argue with such a call? I would lose all honor I now have and would be of no use to anyone, even those whom I love.”
“It is settled then?” Morwen asked, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“It is. We go on to Rohan and whatever awaits us there,” Thengel replied, his will hardening and his mind becoming firm in the path that was laid out before him. Though this future was not one he would have chosen it was one he could not turn away from now that it was upon him.
“Very good,” Morwen responded, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I did not want to have to resort to more violent means to see you on your way. I did not believe I could marry a man who would flee from his duty, no matter how unappetizing it may appear.”
Thengel suddenly laughed, the deep, rich sound ringing through the trees. He picked up his wife and kissed her, a laugh on both their lips as the world stilled around them.
“What a queen you will be,” Thengel said as they broke apart. He would have no reason for shame so long as this woman was by his side.
*****
When Fengel died the Rohirrim recalled him, and he returned unwillingly. But he proved a good and wise king; though the speech of Gondor was used in his house, and not all men thought that good.
The Return of the King Appendix A, p. 1044