Love of the Sea

by Genesis Grey

The story of Finduilas of Dol Amroth and her marriage to Denethor II, Steward of Gondor. Why she was sent to Minas Tirth and why she died so young. Primary Characters - Finduilas, Denethor, and Imrahil.

Title: Love of the Sea
Author: Genesis Grey (helfireclub@hotmail.com)
Disclaimer: Tolkien's estate owns everything. I own nothing. If I did it wouldn't be fanfiction.
Authors Notes: I've always been somewhat fascinated about what the relationship between Finduilas of Dol Amroth and Denethor II, Steward of Gondor, must have been like. So I decided to write and extrapolate. Feedback is very much welcome.

::Love of the Sea - Chapter One::

A howl like that of a wounded animal caught in the air, swept away by the violent wind as thunder overpowered the mournful sound. Lightening illuminated the blue-gray of the sea as foamy waves crashed against the rocky shore. The scent of salt and seaweed filled the air, wrapping around the stony sentinel of castle Dol Amroth. And in the highest spire, staring longingly at the stormy sea, stood Finduilas, only daughter of Prince Adrahil.

The woman knelt by the large window, letting the wind and the rain beat upon her, soaking her thin shift and chilling her to the bone. Blue eyes, the color of the sea on a summer's day, were clouded and unfocused. Tears ran down the pale, perfect face as long, unbound black hair wrapped around her too thin shaking form. Another cry escaped her lips as she buried her face in her thin hands.

She felt as if her heart was breaking.

At the evening meal her father had announced her engagement to Denethor II, son of Ecthelion II, Captain of the guard and future Steward of Gondor. It was now official. It was her duty. There was nothing more she could do to prevent it. She would be sent away from the home she loved with all her heart to a man she had never met in a number of days. Duty bound to bear him an heir and raise that child.

She would never be able to see her beloved sea again.

"Finduilas!"

The voice was nearly swept away by the storm, but she managed to hear it. Raising her head she sniffed back the tears and brushed her hair into a more presentable state. Slowly she stumbled to her feet and turned toward the doorway as she heard the sound of footsteps running up the steep staircase. Despite her distress she was still a Lady of Dol Amroth and neither her breeding nor her elven heritage would allow anyone to find her on her knees.

For a moment she thought of crawling out on the window's slender ledge and hiding as she had done when she was a small child. But she doubted the ledge would be large enough now that she was a grown woman. Besides, the storm might sweep her away; for a brief second she wished for it to sweep her away.

"I knew I would find you here."

The young lord straightened his back and caught his breath, trying to look regal as he reached the top of the stairs. Finduilas let out a nearly inaudible cry. Of course, it would have to be her younger brother that went looking for her. He was the only one who truly cared.

She bit her lip and shook her head, turning back to the window and stepping forward to lean on the sill. "Leave me be, Imrahil," she said, making sure her voice was strong. She was five years his elder, nearly raising him after their mother died in childbirth. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her so weak. "I am in morning."

Her stomach twisted as a warm cloak wrapped around her shoulders and gentle hands pulled back her hair. She could feel her lip trembling and the sting of tears in her eyes as she clenched her fists and tried to be strong, but it was no use. "I do not want to leave Dol Amroth," she cried, twisting around and burying her face in her brother's chest.

"I know," he whispered in a pained tone, stroking her dark hair as the wind and rain mercilessly continued to pelt them. "I tried to convince Father that you should not be contracted into this betrothal, but I fear my words may have had the opposite effect on him."

Finduilas sobbed, unable to even thank her brother for his efforts. All she could do was cling to him. "Come, sister, you are shivering and it will do no good to catch your death of a chill," he said in a gentle voice.

"Perhaps it would be better that way," she mumbled bitterly, finally managing to speak as her brother led her away from the window, away from the storm and the sea. Momentarily she considered pushing him aside and returning to her lonely vigil, but she needed these moments of his strength and warmth if she was going to survive the coming heartache.

"No, the world would be a darker place without your light, sister," Imrahil said, leading her down the narrow stairs, taking careful steps and looking back worriedly every few moments to make sure Finduilas was still there, worried despite the fact he still held her hand. "Now, let us get you some place warm and dry."

She smiled weakly and gave her brother a fond look. He always filled her with pride when he was around. He was the prefect gentleman and Lord of Dol Amroth, caring and yet mindful of his duty to his lands as well as the whole of Gondor. It was no wonder many of the court ladies already fancied being his wife.

As they reached the halls he dropped her hand and she fell two steps behind him as was proper. So late at night the halls were virtually empty, except for the servants bounding about, keeping the fires roaring and doing the nobility's bidding. But it was the night where rumors were made and spread, like fire through the wild. And there were many stories that needed no further kindling.

She clutched her brother's cloak firmly at her throat as if it would protect her from all prying eyes. She raised her chin as they passed a gaggle of serving girls milling about the door of a rather promiscuous Lord. They lowered their eyes and bowed as Finduilas and her brother passed, giggling when they thought the passing Lord and Lady could no longer heard them.

She knew this would fuel their rumors and she cursed them for it. They would whisper about her unkempt appearance, the way her hair was drenched and slick against her skull, the fact she was wearing her brother's cloak and only her night shift; and from this they would concoct the most vile of lies. Already the tales had begun to circulate about the unnatural love she and her brother shared.

Incest, they whispered.

Their honeyed fabrications reaching the ear of every Lord and Lady in the castle until finally it was heard by the Prince of Dol Amroth, their benevolent father. That was the true reason she was being sent away to marry Denethor. Not because it would be a good match and mix their blood with that of the Stewards. But because he wanted to condemn her to a painful death of longing and sorrow for the treason he believed she committed with her own flesh and blood. All because of a silly little rumor.

She felt the tears welling up in her eyes again as she had the sudden urge to turn and scream at the horde of servants that had helped to ruin her life. But she controlled it and continued to hold her head high, following her brother as they conspiratorially ducked into her chambers. Silently she prayed no one witnessed that.

Imrahil closed the door tightly behind them and let out a sigh of relief as Finduilas walked across the room, dropping her brother's coat over a chair and seating herself in front of a fire one of the servants had recently stoked. Sitting on the stone floor she curled her knees to her chest, for a moment not caring how the soaked shift clung to her body. She shivered violently as water dripped off her hair and onto the floor. Her eyes closed as she listened to the sound of her brother scuffling about the room, lighting candles and checking behind the curtains for spies.

"Finduilas," he said after a time, and she opened her eyes and looked up. Her brother held out a dry shift and thick dressing gown to her, his dark eyes imploring her to change before she became ill.

"Very well," she said, wincing at the shaking of her own voice as she rose and took the garments. Her brother let out a relieved sound and smiled gently before turning away and allowing her to dress.

She let out a light groan as she struggled out of the sopping fabric that seemed determined to remain on her body. Her muscles were beginning to ache and the bruises from an earlier fall beginning to blossom. At last she managed to free herself, tossing the shift next to the fire in the hopes it would dry. Pulling on the shift her brother had given her she idly wondered what she would be expected to wear in Gondor, if she would be allowed to continue dressing as a Lady of Dol Amroth or would be told to dress in the style of the court. She hoped the former. While Gondorian dress appeared similar, the dress of Dol Amroth was far more comfortable and lighter. The easier to swim if one was swept into the sea.

Her breath caught in her throat and she forced herself to breathe as she pulled on the dressing gown, tying it around her waist. She did not want to go to Gondor where the only water resided in wells and the occasional pond. The only comfort was the Great Anduin River, though she doubted she would be allowed to venture from the walls of Minas Tirth and see it close. Marriage to a high Lord is a cage without bars, that was what her mother had always told her when she was very young.

"Here," Imrahil said, startling her as he gathered her sodden hair and wrung out some of the water. She jumped slightly, having forgotten he was present and wondering when he had turned back toward her. "It won't do to have your hair soak your dry clothes," he said as he plaited her long dark locks into a loose braid.

"Thank you," she said, giving him a gentle smile as she pulled the braid over her shoulder and twisted a bit more water out. Imrahil smiled back fleetingly before his eyes caught sight of something behind her and his brow furrowed.

Finduilas blinked at the strange change of expression and turned, casting a glance back to where Imrahil was looking. The brief smile that had blossomed on her face at her brother's kindness wilted. Her room seemed colder, despite the roaring fire, and everything seemed to be closing in around her. Next to her bed was an open chest filled with her clothes and belongings.

They had already begun to pack for her.

Anger filled her breast as she stormed toward the offending object. "How dare they!?" she screamed, not caring if anyone heard as she began to fling everything from the trunk, rumpling her neatly folded clothes and scattering her hair ornaments across the floor. "First my own father designs to send me away and then I find the servants cannot even wait a day to be rid of me!"

"Finduilas!"

Her brother rushed forward, grabbing her wrists and pulling her back as she tried to beat upon the wooden chest. She wailed and lashed out with her feet, kicking the trunk over as she maneuvered out of her brother's grip. There was a loud thud as she fell to the floor. "How can I be away from the sea, Imrahil?" she screamed, getting to her feet. She no longer cared if her actions were irrational. There was no one here to see other than her brother, her dear sweet brother who knew her temper better than she did. "I will die without the sea! Don't you understand that?" she yelled, grabbing a vase from the table and smashing it against the ground.

Water and ceramic exploded as the irises scattered across the floor. Finduilas sank to her knees, curling in on herself and rocking as she covered her face with her hands. "I was born on a ship in the middle of a storm," she mumbled quietly as her brother knelt beside her, wrapping his arm over her hunched shoulders. "I know the art of sailing better than the old mariners. It is the smell of the salty air that gives me the strength to rise every morning and face those that besmirch my name at every turn for no other reason than I am the daughter of Prince Adrahil. How can they make me leave it?"

She coughed, sucking in deep breaths in an attempt to stop her pitiful sobbing as her brother murmured soft nonsense and rubbed her arm comfortingly. "How can I just go and marry this man… this Denethor, and leave the sea and everything I have ever known behind?" she managed to utter through soft hiccups.

"Because," Imrahil began hesitantly, "this is your duty."

Finduilas stilled and became silent, her sobs fading as she closed her eyes. That was the truth of it. There was no other reason. "I know," she whispered, "I know."

"Come," her brother said in a hushed voice, grabbing her upper arms and pulling her to her feet as he led her to lie on the bed. "The floor is no place for a Lady." She sniffed bitterly as he pulled the blankets over her chilled form and stroked back loose strands of her hair.

A sad smile formed on her lips as she took her brother's hand and pressed a kiss to his fingertips. "When did you grow up, little one?" she asked, pulling him down to lie with her on the bed. "I remember when you were a young child and I would be the one caring for you." He smiled reminiscently as he curled next to her. "Remember how we would run from our tutors to play by the shore. We would think ourselves so clever to have evaded our guards when they simply watched over us from the cliffs, letting us believe our momentary freedom."

"I remember," he whispered quietly. "You would teach me my letters by showing me how to write my name in the sand with seashells and we would gather the flowers we could find to lay on mother's grave. Father loved us then."

"He still loves us," Finduilas replied almost bitterly, rubbing her brother's back comfortingly. "That's why he's doing this. It is his fear for our virtue that drives him to this. He believes we are too close. That our relationship is more than that of siblings, that it is one of lust. He is wrong, but there is little we can do to dissuade him of the notion. He had no sister or brother of his own, and he listens to the word of the court."

"I don't want you to leave, Finduilas," Imrahil admitted as tears began to prick his eyes. His sister pulled him close and stroked his back to calm him. "I failed you, sister." A single tear fell down his cheek.

"You never fail me, Imrahil," she replied, pressing a kiss against his forehead and cheek to brush the tear away as she held him tight. "Perhaps I doted on you too much after our mother died; but you are my beloved younger brother. We share what no one else does, the same blood that runs from both Mother and Father." A wry smile formed on her face. "Though I suppose our current position does not help our denial."

"No," he agreed, a smile almost on his face.

"Thank you for being with me," she said, ruffling his hair gently. She was calm now. Duty sustained her as it always had, it gave her a place. Right now that place was comforting her brother. "I have been destroyed since father's announcement. I have been selfish. But you remind me that it is my duty to go to Gondor and marry the Steward's heir. Our father has given me too good a life here. I was not forced into marriage at a young age, our mother was married off by her father at fourteen. But he let me sail on the seas when I should have been at home learning the duties of a woman.

"In truth… while the rumors of our incest may have tipped the scales, but father could not deny the Steward's request for my hand in marriage to his son." Tears stung her eyes as Imrahil clutched her. It was a lie. Her father loved her and would not have sent her otherwise; but if a lie was what her brother needed to hear her say, then she would say it. "I will do my duty for my father and for my Steward. I am a Lady of Dol Amroth, descended over many generations from the Eldar kind. I will go and I will marry Denethor II."

Her throat tightened as she spoke the words and she felt her aching heart break. Her life was over. From this day forward she would be a wife to the future Steward and a mother to the heir of Gondor, but no longer herself. The longing for the sea would be her doom. She knew it. She could feel it in her very bones.

"I will escort you to Minas Tirth," Imrahil promised. "Whether or not father approves."

Finduilas smiled, running her fingers through her brother's hair and pressing another kiss to his forehead. "I love you, Imrahil," she said, wondering if she would ever again see her brother like this. Unsupervised, holding each other lovingly as they told stories and shared feelings and memories. Would they ever again be allowed to be brother and sister?

She feared not.

A heavy breath caught her attention and she realized Imrahil had fallen asleep in her arms while she had been lost in her thoughts. He cuddled close, his head nestled under her chin and his arms locked about her waist, fitting perfectly to her form. She smiled a bit as she enjoyed his proximity, closing her eyes, though she knew she would not be able to sleep. Her mind traveled to the stories she had heard of her future husband.

They said Denethor was a stern man and a good leader, that his father already relied heavily on his council, an excellent strategist and warrior. He was reputed to be handsome as well. Tall and strong, with dark hair and a pleasant face. But there were also rumors that he was cruel in his treatment of women, unjust. Even stories of rape had been whispered in her ears.

A shiver of fear crept up her spine, but she suppressed it and pulled her brother a little closer, hoping his warmth would ward away the sudden chill. She would give Denethor the benefit of the doubt for now; if there was one thing she knew it was that rumors were started by the most absurd of things and tumbled out of control quickly. Besides, she imagined the future Steward would have far more political enemies in his court than she did in hers. But look what those few had done to destroy her life.

Imrahil mumbled in his sleep and shifted as Finduilas smiled. Yes, she would give Denethor a chance to be kind or at least amiable toward her. And if he was not, there was always the dagger her mother had given her…

TBC...