Finduilas sat up, blinking against the drowsiness that still gripped her. She had gone to bed late the night before-having spent an exhausting day sailing with Imrahil. Naturally, that was planned, though her younger brother had no complaints. Neither were particularly interested in playing host to the stuffy son of the Steward.

Though her sister claimed he was the most handsome man she had seen, which was no doubt influenced by his future title, Finduilas had barely seen the man, and the last time she had ever spoken to him was when she was a small child, the last time she visited Minas Tririth.

Her eyes, adjusting to the dark, drifted to the window. Even with the shutters closed against the heavy night-sea winds, she could hear the waves against the shore, and felt a tug within her.

She would get a scolding from her mother, and an even worse one from Ivriniel, if she was caught. She had already received a scolding from her elder sister two days' prior for "prancing around barefoot like some kind of hooligan."

Pah.

Let her parents and sister play host. Finduilas had more important things to do. Slipping out of bed, she quickly walked to the balcony, and pulled the door open. Immediately, cool, damp winds hit her face, and she closed her eyes, breathing in the rough scent of salt and brine and old shells. She closed the doors behind her as she left her room, walking to the edge of the balcony.

With expertise that only practice could give, she slid over the railing and began the careful descent down the trellis, until she was able to reach the balcony nearly directly below hers. That was the best way to sneak out of the palace... through the guest wing that was often empty of occupants.

With a light grunt, she landed, and shivered, wishing she had brought her shawl. But it was too late now and the palace staff would soon be waking to their duties, if not already.

The doors to the guest bedroom opened with a slight creak, and she hoped that no one in the adjacent rooms could hear her as she closed them behind her and began to blindly sneak through the room. Having passed through this room nearly every morning for a number of years, unless the room was occupied by the occasional guest, it was not a difficult feat to reach the door.

Of course, when she had asked her sister, who had been in charge of the room assignments, whether or not this particular room would be filled with a guest, she had not accounted that her sister might have changed her mind without consulting her. As she reached for the handle to the door, she felt a large hand cover her mouth, the sting of a knife against her liver, and a rough voice whisper in her ear, "Is it common for the maids of the Prince to traipse in through a window in nothing but their nightdress?"

Already frozen, with both fear and the rage of being manhandled in such a way, Finduilas said nothing, for the man's hand was still covering her mouth. After a moment, the man stepped back, removing his hand, and drawing away the knife, but kept it at the ready. "I apologize," she said. "I did not realize this room was occupied."

She turned to face the man, but with the barely dawning light behind him, she could not see his face clearly. Squinting slightly, she saw sharp features, and clear grey eyes looking back at her suspiciously.

"I have been on the balcony," he said. "How did you get in here?"

"I climbed."

He frowned. "For what reason?"

"To get inside the room."

"For what reason?" he asked again, his patience clearly thinning.

"To get out of this room," she replied blandly.

He watched her, and she could sense an air of incredulity about him. She knew he must be a member of the Stewards son's traveling party. Perhaps he was a servant or friend. Suddenly she remembered Ivriniel commonly vocalizing fear that Finduilas would cause some scandal, and she shrank against the door. "So," she said, reaching for the handle, but froze again when the man gripped the knife tighter. "Will you not let me go?"

"You're not a maid," he said, finally. "A maid would not dare disturb my rest, nor would she climb in through the balcony like a jungle rat."

"I'm not a rat," she said irritably. "And you are scaring me, holding that knife as if you would dare gut an innocent woman."

The man nearly dropped his knife at that, and exhaled through his nose in irritation, but lowered the hand that was holding the knife. It was then that she realized they both were wearing nothing but nightclothes. Flushing slightly, she forced her eyes to look at his face.

"Then who are you?" he asked. "A spy? Thief? Assassin?"

"Evidently not, as any spy or assassin would know better than get caught by a lumbering ass like you," she retorted.

"And who was it who was caught, and who did the catching?" he asked, sounding amused. "If I recall, I was woken by your own lumbering."

"Well it seems I was right about the being an ass part," she bit back. "Now, please let me leave."

"Perhaps I should call for the guard," he said, musingly. "Let them decide what to do with a thief."

"No!"

He looked down at her, unimpressed.

"I..." she sighed, hanging her head. "I'm sorry, but I usually sneak through this room to get out of the palace without being seen." She looked down at her hands. Soon the servants would be going about their tasks, and she would not get the chance to swim by herself until tomorrow morning, if she was able to, since this mongrel of a man seemed to be residing in this room now.

He stepped closer, "You seem familiar," he said, "Have we met before?"

"No," she said, though she shared the sentiment. He did seem rather familiar, perhaps she had seen him the last time she visited Minas Tirith. But that was many years ago, as she did not like to stray far from the sea for long.

"Well," he said, stepping back, "I doubt you are much of a threat, so I will not bar the way. But I will speak to the head of the household to warn their female staff to be more dignified." He looked her up and down, and she felt color seep into her neck and ears, as she remembered again that she happened to be standing before him in nothing but her nightdress.

"Please do," she said, reaching for the handle and opening the door. "I hope I have the pleasure of never seeing you again."

He let out a short laugh, and, burning with embarrassment and the surprise of the whole situation, she entered the hall and closed the door behind her. She exhaled slowly, before quickly making her way to the side corridor that would lead to beach.

HHHHH

She gave out a huff of frustration, swimming as fast as she could. She usually enjoyed a stroll on the beach and dip in the water, but now she needed to work off her ire.

How dare that man—and how dare Ivriniel place him in the one bedroom that Finduilas requested not be filled. No doubt her sister did it specifically to irk her.

She climbed out of the water, running up the beach while squeezing water from her long, dark hair. She only hoped that man would not recognize her, when they inevitably saw each other again. She would not be able to bear the humiliation. And what would Lord Denethor think? If his friend told him that a strange girl snuck into his bedchamber and turned out to the Prince's daughter?

It would be the end of her.

She snuck through the palace, trying not to drip too much salt water on the marble floors, and now wishing she had brought something to dry herself off with. But naturally, she had forgotten.

She was about to reach the staircase, when she heard voices—male voices, one of which belonged to her father. Another was familiar. Where had she heard that voice before?

Footsteps, and she darted for the stairs, before she heard her father say, "My, Findi, what a state you are in."

She looked up to see her father standing next to a man who looked to be in his mid or late thirties, though as with her own family, appearances could often be deceptive.

"Lord Denethor, I believe you know my daughter, Finduilas," her father said to the man. "Though I would have preferred you not become reacquainted in such a manner."

He was handsome, just as handsome as Ivriniel often described, noble, fierce with a touch of ice. But his good looks were not what caused her to freeze with shock.

Naturally, in faithfulness to the disaster that this morning was turning into, he was the same mongrel of a man who had caught her sneaking through his bedchamber.

HHHHH

To be continued...

Might as well post this story over here as well :)