It seemed to Finduilas that it had never taken her husband this long to complete his daily tasks, but considering the gravity of what she had to tell him, it could have just been her imagination. Whatever the case, she could barely keep still as she sat in their chambers on the bed they shared, waiting. It was rare indeed that her husband smiled, and she thought this might be the thing that could make him happy. It had certainly given her joy beyond measure.

She waited and waited, counting the minutes, until finally he stepped through the doors and they were alone. She jumped off the bed and met his embrace.

"I have news for you," she said, trying to remain calm, but her smile would not be stilled.

"Yes?" Denethor took her in his arms and kissed her. "What is it?"

Finduilas took a deep breath and rested her hand on her stomach. "I am with child!" Her smile grew, but quickly faded when she saw that Denethor was not looking as joyful as she had imagined.

"Are you not glad?" she asked, puzzled. The last time she had told him this news, he had whooped and hollered for joy and swung her around in his arms.

Denethor shrugged. "Well, we already have a fine son. We don't really require another child. And I am a bit concerned that you're not as young as you once were…" He stopped when he saw how crushed she looked. Tears stood in her eyes and he quickly pulled her into a hug. "Still, this is indeed a blessing."

Finduilas laid her head on his shoulder and he stroked her long hair, the hair that he deeply loved. "I dearly hope this one is a girl," he said. "A girl as beautiful as you are, one we can name after you."

"That would be lovely, to be sure, but above all I hope that the child is healthy," Finduilas said. "And that Boromir will be a worthy big brother."

"Yes," Denethor said, gazing out into space. "A big brother and a little sister…"

One of the qualities of Denethor that sometimes frightened Finduilas was that once he got an idea into his head, there was no changing his mind. For example, he was convinced that Boromir would eventually become the greatest archer in all of Gondor (which he certainly would not; Finduilas had seen him with a bow and she knew for a fact that he was far better suited to the sword) and would not be told otherwise no matter who it was that did the telling. So it was with this new baby. Denethor seemed to like the idea of having a daughter so much that he refused to acknowledge any other possibility.

"Our own little Finduilas," he said happily. "A son and a daughter. It's the perfect balance, one that will complete our family beautifully."

"Our family will be complete whether the baby is a daughter or a son," Finduilas said, rubbing her bump. This baby wasn't quite as restless as Boromir had been, but it could still surprise her at times.

Denethor dismissed her words as nonsense. "We'll have our own little girl, one that you can teach all the fine arts of weaving and embroidery. Our seamstresses can enjoy stitching the finest dresses and gowns." He sighed. "Our own beautiful little girl," he said again.

Finduilas didn't bother wasting her breath trying to remind him that only fate could determine whether they would have a daughter. She held her tongue when Denethor ordered the tower seamstresses to make baby girl clothes and blankets. He told Boromir to expect a little sister, which he seemed excited about, to Finduilas's delight.

"When will she be born?" he asked, putting his hands on his mother's tummy.

"Soon," she said, and winced. "Very soon." She rubbed a hard spot, probably the baby's head, and smiled. "Can I trust that you will be a good big brother?"

"Of course!" Boromir said. "I can't wait to be a big brother." All of his friends had siblings and Boromir had begun to feel sad that he was the only one who didn't. "I'll watch out for her and protect her and won't let anything happen to her."

"That's my good lad," Finduilas said sweetly, and kissed the top of his head. "Now come give your mother a hug before your lesson."

Boromir embraced her tightly and kissed her cheek, but made a face as he pulled away. "I hope my sister is born soon, Mother. She's taking up all the room in your lap."

Denethor paced the floor of the hall, muttering to himself and wringing his hands. "Too early," he said over and over. "Much too early." He was so nervous and out of sorts he'd even snapped at Boromir when the lad complained that he was tired of waiting. He felt he had never wanted anything so badly as to be in the birthing room with his wife, but both she and the healers had insisted that he would be of no use until the child was born and that it was better for the midwives not to have anyone in their way.

"Is Mother okay?" Boromir asked, fidgeting in his chair. He had been excused from all of his lessons for today and, like Denethor, had nothing to do but wait. He bit his lip. "Is she hurting?"

"She is experiencing the pain of childbirth," Denethor said, and it sounded to Boromir like he was in a trance. "But she came out of it once with you, so she will surely be all right the second time." Still, he vowed to himself that he would do whatever it took to ensure that there would be no more children after this one. Finduilas was well past the age where it was safe for a woman to bear a child.

"You will have to be very quiet and careful when we see her," Denethor said to Boromir. "Do you understand? She will need rest, and so will your sister."

"Yes, Father," Boromir said, nodding gravely. He steeled himself for the worst. He was a big lad now, a big brother. He had to be brave.

After what seemed like hours, the healer appeared. When she did not smile and immediately invite them into the room, Denethor began to panic. "What has happened? Are my wife and daughter all right?"

The healer hesitated. "Your wife is recovering. As you know, the baby was not expected for another month. There was…more blood than we expected." Denethor's lip quivered and his face paled. The healer quickly added, "She seems to be all right for now, but we are keeping a close eye on her. She will need to stay in bed for at least a few days, maybe longer."

"But she lives?" Denethor pressed.

At last the healer smiled. "Yes, my lord, she lives. And your child is beautiful."

"Then I will go to her at once. Come, Boromir!" His son hopped down from his chair and rushed to Denethor's side. "The time has come at last for us to meet your sister."

The healer held up her hand. "I beg your pardon, my lord, but your child is a-" But Denethor had already led Boromir into the birthing room and shut the door. As promised, the lad was very quiet and both he and his father approached the bed slowly. Finduilas was pale and lying back against the covers, looking utterly spent, but she was smiling and holding a bundle that was making anxious little cries.

"Shh," she whispered soothingly. "Hush, little one." She looked up and Denethor thought she had never been more beautiful. "Meet your father and brother."

"Is this my sister?" Boromir asked, standing by his mother's bedside and peering at the bundle curiously.

Finduilas shook her head. "I'm afraid you have no sister, Boromir. Instead you have a brother."

"A brother?" Boromir's face lit up completely. "That's even better! I can't believe it, a brother!" He noticed the healer giving him a sharp glare and he lowered his voice. "Can I hold him?"

Finduilas hesitated; her five-year-old was not the most careful child she had ever met. "Only if you promise that you will be very gentle and not drop him. And you must support his head with your arm."

Boromir nodded solemnly. "I promise, Mother." She handed the baby to his brother and was relieved when Boromir handled him slowly and carefully. She smiled and turned to her husband, whose expression remained shocked.

"What is it?" she asked him, her heart sinking. She knew he'd be surprised that his prediction hadn't come true, but she didn't think he'd be upset over it.

"It's not a daughter," Denethor said dumbly. "Our little girl is not a little girl."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Finduilas assured him. "I'm not disappointed in the slightest." She gestured to the bundle in Boromir's arms. "Look at him. Hold him yourself and tell me he is not a beautiful child. And healthy too, bless him."

Denethor peeked over Boromir's shoulder. The lad offered the baby to his father, but Denethor shook his head. He barely spared a glance before turning back to Finduilas. "We cannot pass on your name now."

"He can have a name that sounds similar," Finduilas said. "And in these past few moments I thought of one. I love the name Faramir."

"Oh, I like it!" Boromir said. "It sounds like my name too."

Denethor gave a slight nod. "All right. Faramir then."

"Faramir of Gondor," Boromir said, trying out the name as he passed his baby brother back to Finduilas. "I think I love him already."

Finduilas kissed the top of her son's head and smiled down at Faramir. "He looks just like you did when you were born."

"Not so much," Denethor said. "Boromir was bigger." Finduilas gave him a look but continued soothing her newborn.

"When will you get your lap back, Mother?" Boromir asked, studying her stomach in confusion. "I thought you would go back to normal once the baby was born. And how much longer must you stay in bed?"

Finduilas smiled weakly. "I shall probably have my lap back within the next week if I am lucky, but I do not know how much longer I will be in bed." She closed her eyes and Denethor drew his son to him.

"We will leave you to rest," he said. "I shall call the healer to relieve you of the child."

"Mother?" Boromir said worriedly.

Finduilas stroked Faramir's hair, which was quite thick for a newborn. A frown crossed her face at the way Denethor said "the child," as if Faramir didn't even belong to him. But she tried to put that aside upon hearing Boromir's voice.

"I'll be all right, sweetheart," she said. "I'm sure I won't be bedridden for long."