Alright everyone, here is my new story. This is just a short chapter to get started with. I chose to write it in the same style that I wrote my Eomer/Lothiriel fic, because I enjoyed getting the perspectives of both characters. It may seem a little slow, but I have hopes that it will shortly pick up. I chose to do an Aragorn/OC because I love all of the LOTR men and wanted to write about Aragorn, but do not feel up to the task of writing Arwen. And honestly, I sometimes think she is a little flat. I hope you enjoy it and will stick around for the rest.

Chapter One (Mareke)

I woke to the whimpering noises coming through the cracked door at the other end of my bedroom, as I did most mornings. The sun was already pouring in through the windows and my bed was warmed by its rays. I stretched and then stood, placing my feet on the cool marble floors, despite the heat that I knew would be raging outside. I slipped into my lightweight robe, enjoying the cool silk on my sleep warmed skin.

I pushed the door of the nursery open and watched the movement in the bed

My son, Adnan, was struggling to wake up, fighting off the sleep that wanted to envelope him for a while longer. I sat on the bed and rubbed his back slowly, murmuring to him that it was time to greet another day.

Mornings with Adnan were my favorite. He was drowsy and sweet and I could remember the time when he was a baby. Then our mornings had consisted of cuddling and nursing. Some things had changed, though I imagined that Adnan would always be his sweetest just after waking.

"Good morning, sweet boy," I murmured, as he finally woke and realized that I was there. I stood and placed him on my hip, going into another room adjoining mine where a light breakfast was already set up and waiting. "Did you sleep well?" I asked, running my fingers through his raven curls.

He nodded, even as he continued to rest his head on my chest as I sat down at the small table. I pulled platters of fruit, cheese, and toasted bread and put small pieces on Adnan's plate. Eventually, he lifted his head and began to pick his favorites, slowly waking up.

At three years old, he was not yet old enough to spend his days with tutors, though it was quickly approaching. I dreaded how long my days might become when I did not have my son to occupy every minute of my day.

As Adnan ate, he began to perk up a bit.

"Should we go into the gardens before it is too hot?" I asked, turning him to face me as he shoved a plump grape into his mouth.

"Yes!" He exclaimed and just like that he was wiggling off of my lap and towards the chest of drawers where his clothes were kept.

I followed and pulled a pair of lightweight, linen pants out with a matching vest in a light blue color. Even though the sun had barely been up, it would be hot outside. Once Adnan was dressed, I gathered my own clothes for the day and stepped behind a screen in the corner of the room.

"Hurry, Mama, hurry!" he urged me as I pulled my yellow skirt over my hips and my top over my head. I would leave my jewelry behind for the sake of time.

We both slipped into our sandals and then Adnan was flying from the room and into the gardens that were in the heart of the marble palace, surrounded by tall walls to keep those who resided in the City of Serpents from being able to peer at the royal family.

I tried my best to keep up with Adnan, but he was quick on his chubby legs and he did not tire as I did.

We played hide and seek for hours. It was my son's favorite pastime and he had become very good at hiding himself in the smallest spots in the garden and sometimes it was a genuine challenge to find him among the huge bushes full of colorful blooms. Normally, it was his giggling that gave him away.

"You have truly gotten too good at this," I called out as I wandered the gardens. "Surely you are getting hungry for lunch." I ran my fingers along the velvety petals of the flowers as I walked the paths of the gardens.

Suddenly, I heard a squeal of laughter, though it was nowhere near where I was. I made my way toward the sound and soon enough my mother, with Adnan on her hip, came into view.

Many people said that I looked like my mother, Khatun, but I thought that they were just trying to flatter me. Even in her fifties, she was striking to look upon, whereas I had always considered myself plain. Where she was of average height for a woman with inviting curves, I was taller than most women and straight as a stick. Where her hair fell in soft waves, mine stayed in unruly curls, no matter what different techniques I tried on it. Her family had come from the south of Harad and her skin was a shade darker than mine, which made her light eyes contrast sharply against her skin.

"I was beginning to think that he had escaped from you again, Mareke," she said with a small smile.

Adnan had gotten away from me one or two times before during such games of hide and seek. He had once ended up in a council meeting where my father, the king, and brother, his heir, were. Luckily, the council had found great amusement in it and insisted in keeping him as the guest of honor until it was over.

"He might have, if you had not found him."

"Would you like to have lunch with Jadda (grandmother)?" My mother asked him and Adnan nodded enthusiastically.

Most of the time, I tried to keep our little world as exclusive as possible, though that was often difficult where my family was concerned. I knew it was not good for Adnan that I tried to keep him all to myself, but I hated to share him.

My mother and I followed Adnan as he hurried towards the King and Queen's chambers in the heart of the marble palace. It was much cooler within the breezy halls and my hair lifted off of my damp neck.

By the time we entered the chambers, Adnan was already sitting at the table reaching for pita bread and the chickpea paste he loved.

"Be careful or you will have your lunch on your lap," I admonished, as I helped him pull the dishes closer. My mother just laughed as she sat on one side of her grandson and I sat on the other.

"Mareke, you really should stop wearing those mourning clothes," she said quietly.

I looked down at my yellow skirt and top that left some of my midriff exposed.

"It has been over a year," she continued.

"It does not feel any better," I said quietly. I glanced at Adnan, who was engrossed completely in filling his stomach with olives and boiled carrots covered in a flavorful cooking oil.

"I know," my mother replied.

I met her eyes once more. "Do you?"

She was silent for a moment, contemplating. "I suppose I do not, but whether you like it or not we must move on."

There was some warning in her voice that I could sense. My mother was a mule of a woman and would only do things when she was ready to do them, so there was no use in rushing her or asking her questions about the hidden meaning in her words.

Finally, she continued. "Your father and brother have been discussing another marriage for you."

It was to be expected and I was not shocked. Though I mourned deeply for my first, it had also been arranged.

"To whom?" I asked, unable to keep my curiosity at bay.

"That I truly do not know. Your father mentioned it in passing last night."

I looked around the room where we sat and wondered how many fates had been decided by the King and Queen of Harad in those very chambers.

Sighing, I reached over and wiped Adnan's mouth clean just as he was trying to make his escape from the table. He fought every second of it before making a mad dash to the window seat, as far away from me as he could get.

Perhaps I would be married to a general again. According to my father's idea of diplomacy marrying his daughter to the highest ranking man in the Haradrim army was the best way to avoid a military coup. It had worked when Harad was uniting before the War and I am sure he was hoping it would work once more in the unstable times that had followed the War.

ooooOoooo

It was three days later when I was finally summoned to speak with my brother and father. My father, King Hashad, was sitting behind a long table used for council meetings, while my brother, Na'man, was pacing in front of it.

"I am glad to see you in something other than yellow," my father said, gesturing at my deep blue ensemble.

"Mother insisted," I replied, letting them know immediately that I was not in favor of whatever plans they had begun to lay for me.

"And she has told you of why you are here?" My father asked.

I nodded, not giving them any more than what I had to.

"What do you think?" It was my father who was so far doing all of the talking. My brother merely watched me as he paced back and forth like one of the large spotted, caged cats we kept in the palace.

"Surely you did not ask me here for my opinion as I imagine it matters very little."

"You should not speak to our father that way," my brother finally said.

"Truthfully?" I asked, giving him a quick glance and no more attention than that.

Since the War had ended and my brother had returned, we had not been on good terms. Compared to my late husband, the general Jibran, he had not acted very courageously, or so it had been reported. The people were hesitant to sit a coward on the throne of Harad, one of the most unruly and divided of Realms. It would take someone stronger than my brother they thought and they could not stop comparing his acts in wartime with those of Jibran who had given his life for the cause.

"I did not ask you here for your opinion," my father admitted. "I just wanted you to be aware."

I knew there was nothing he could do to help me. It was a year after the War and many things were not as settled as he would have liked. The different tribes that had come together to form a unified Haradrim army before the War were threatening to break away once more. It would seem that our people were not much in favor of giving up their nomadic ways to become one Realm. If they would, it would be so much easier to establish ties with other Realms and grow, though it seemed like a complete impossibility at the time.

"I have been in contact with the advisors of the King of Gondor," my father said.

I burst out laughing. "The King of Gondor?" I repeated incredulously.

The stony faces of my father and brother were not nearly as amused as mine.

"You cannot be serious," I said, regaining my composure.

"Nothing is for sure, but the prospect will be brought to the King's attention," my father replied.

"I am no longer the daughter that you married off the first time," I said, not angrily, but bewildered that the two men I was faced with did not see the difference in my circumstances and how that should have limited what was to be done with me next. "I have already been married once. I have a son. You think the Gondorans with all of their propriety would accept a woman with such baggage, not to mention the impurity of it, for their King?"

My brother had stopped pacing and both men stared at me. It would not have been impossible for me to marry again, in Harad, with a child. My son was the son of the bravest general Harad had known in many years. It was attributed to Jibran that the different tribes had come together to fight as one Realm. Any man would have been happy to have a hand in raising such a son with me.

But Gondor was not Harad.

Gondor was our neighbor to the North and I had spent many hours at the feet of our ambassadors and diplomats listening to all they had to say of the place and its strange culture. That was long before the War when I was but a child myself. Though we had not had much communication with the victorious North in years, I did not imagine that much had changed.

"As I said, nothing is set in stone, but I wanted you to be aware of the possibilties that we have made for you," my father said, as though I should be grateful at the prospect of being sent away from my family and the only home I had never known. "We want you to be able to prepare accordingly."

I had no idea what he meant by that, but I knew that mentally it would take a lot of getting used to. In fact, I would probably never get used to the prospect.

"Very well," I said, knowing there was nothing I could do to sway my father. I was not too concerned about having to go to Gondor and marry the King there. It seemed very unlikely that the Gondoran council would ever agree to such a match.

That evening, after the sun had set, Adnan and I went through our bedtime ritual. I changed him into his soft, green pajama pants, tied them around his chubby waist and hauled him onto my lap in the low rocking chair in the nursery. It was exhausting to be a three-year-old. It was not every night that he willingly sank into my arms and rested his head on my chest. I ran my fingers through his pitch black hair and hummed a lullaby to him. His dark eyes were alert for a while longer and his little finger traced the dark markings that were exposed. His fingers always strayed to the tattoo of the snake around the upper part of my right arm. Jewels were hard to come across in the desert and so the Haradrim people had taken up tattooing. Different images depicted different traits or milestones in his life. As my fingers, wove in and out of his hair, my attention was brought to the third finger on my left hand that was tattooed nearly up to my nail, to symbolize that I had been married. Nothing could erase that marking on my finger, not even the biggest jewel the King of Gondor could offer.

As his face slackened into sleep, I began to see traces of Adnan's father in him which sent pangs to my heart. Adnan was nearly a replica of Jibran, minus the scars that a violently led life had left him with.

Sitting there, staring down at my son and thinking of his father caused my mind to wander to what I had heard from those who ventured outside the palace. I had been warned right after the War that the people spoke of my husband as though he were a god. It was said that he had slain so many men that no one knew how our side lost the battle on Pelennor Field. Apparently, it had taken more than one blow to finally bring Jibran down.

Those things contrasted sharply with what was said of my brother. Na'man had hidden in the rear guard throughout the fighting and had retreated even further away during the battle when the Haradrim men who had led our charge were cut down. He had not been seen again until the dead were collected and the wounded tended to. It was talked of how pale and frightened he had been in the face of the bloodshed.

Na'man was not who the people wanted for their King. There were whispers of Adnan taking the throne, with my father ruling as regent until he was of an age to rule independently. Who better to rule the fractious, antagonistic Haradrim people than the son of the man who had first brought them together?

People from all over Harad had heard Jibran speak. Very soon after our marriage he had traveled to the different regions of Harad; Khand, Far Harad, and Umbar, to incite the men to join him in the fight. Thousands of men spilled into Near Harad and the City of Serpents to be trained by Jibran, so that it was nearly impossible to house and care for them all.

That is what was remembered of my husband and brother respectively. It was feared that under Na'man, Harad would fall into factions once more which was less than productive for the Realm. Before the War had begun it had proved to be beneficial to have the regions working together. There was an influx of trade the likes of which we had never seen among the different tribes and there was hardly any skirmishing between the leaders of each region.

My brother had not been able to face a battle, which naturally was a fault of a Haradrim man, and so he was not looked upon with respect from anyone in Harad.

As I stared down at Adnan, I could not fathom what would become of him if I were sent to Gondor. I thought nothing of myself and the reaction that the Gondoran people might have to me. I was the enemy and my father thought that I might become their Queen; that that would be acceptable to a Realm who had lost as many, if not more, men than we had. No one was thinking of what sort of threat that might pose to me and in that instant neither was I. I thought of Adnan and what those people would do to him. If I were to become the Queen everything about my life would become common knowledge. The people would know that the father of my son had been a great leader of the enemy soldiers and that those same traits ran through the blood of Adnan.

I was trembling as I laid Adnan on the mattress on the floor. He blindly rolled over and reached out for his favorite pillows as I covered him with a silk sheet. Even at night it was sweltering in the City of Serpents.

There was a lump in my throat as I closed the door behind me. I knew I would not sleep until I had spoken to my father.

I hoped that he would be in his study still. He often stayed there until late into the night and so that is where I headed first. Luckily, he was sitting on a low sofa and looking over documents that had been brought to him that day.

"Mareke," he said, as I entered the quiet room.

"What will become of my son in all of this?" I demanded without greeting.

The King sighed and set the document beside him, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"You must know that I have thought about Adnan a good deal," my father said. "And I have ultimately decided that seeing as he is your son, it should be your decision no matter the marriage you make."

"My decision?" I asked. It was the first time in my life that I had been able to make a decision for myself.

He nodded. "There are benefits and drawbacks no matter if you take Adnan with you or if you leave him here with your mother and I."

The thought of leaving my son behind nearly knocked the breath from my chest. Since the passing of his father, he had been my constant companion. He was hardly out of my sight and I struggled to leave him with a nurse or my mother the few times I had ever had an obligation away from him.

"I could not leave him," I whispered.

"No, I thought not," my father agreed. "His safety is a concern of mine and I am disheartened to think that perhaps Harad is not the safest place for my grandson."

I raised an eyebrow at that. How could his home not be the best place for Adnan to be.

"Your brother worries me," he admitted.

I had not thought that my brother would be so cold as to threaten my son, but as the people grew more adamant in their dislike for my brother I could see where my son's safety was at risk.

"Then I will keep him with me no matter where I go."

My father nodded and returned to the document, signalling that he wished to say no more on the matter.

I took that as my cue to leave him in relative peace.

"Remember, nothing is set in stone, Mareke," he repeated.

I hope you loved it. I would love to know what you think about it. If you don't think it's going to be your cup of tea I completely understand, but would love any constructive feedback you have. No hate comments or flames please.

Happy reading,

Avonmora