"Finduilas!"
She turned around. Through the curtain of rain, she could just make out her mother's sillhouette in the doorway. Finduilas scraped some of her wet hair back from her face.
"Come inside, Finduilas!" her mother cried. "By the Valar, you'll catch a cold out there. Come in!"
Reluctantly, the princess of Dol Amroth obeyed.
Her mother was holding a towel and immedietly started rubbing Finduilas's beautiful red-gold hair vigorously.
"Mother!" Finduilas protested and snatched the towel away from her mother. "Mother, I'm seventeen. I can do this on my own."
"You had better hurry, daughter," said Finduilas's mother. "There are some guest waiting for you."
"Who?" Finduilas suddenly felt a stab of fear in her stomach.
"Why, the Steward Ecthelion and his son Denethor."
Finduilas had met Denethor once. She was only five, and he was twenty-five. She remembered him having long black hair and stern black eyes that glittered. His nose was long and hooked. What she didn't like about him was that he never smiled.
"Hurry up daughter. You always day-dream," said her mother. She pushed her daughter toward her chambers and when the door was shut, pulled the soaked gown off her. After drying her hair some more, Finduilas chose the most drab gown she could find in her clothes chest: black with no ornament. Finduilas ran a comb several times through her hair and she was done.
She could hear laughter coming from the Great Hall. Outside, she could still hear the rain and the waves pounding against the rocks.
Sometimes, Finduilas felt like she was a bird. A bird trapped inside a cage with stone bars and guards watching the entrance. She wanted to go out there. She wanted to see Rohan, the Misty Mountains, and maybe even find the Halflings she had read about.
Her mother did not approve of Finduilas being able to read. But Finduilas liked to read. She liked being different from most girls.
"Ah, here is my pearl!" boomed Adrahil as Finduilas entered.
Finduilas knew almost at once who was Denethor. He was seated next to her father. Oh Valar, his smile looks so fake! Denethor's eyes looked sad and lonesome. Finduilas loathed his presence.
"Good morrow," she said and sat next to her father.
"Fin," her father whispered in her ear. "Are there not other dresses in your chest? You look like you are a mourning widow!"
Why did that comment sting?
"Like I was saying," Adrahil said. "Finduilas is too young to wed!"
She nearly shot through the roof with surprise. Wed? Who said anything about getting married? She cast a look at Denethor, who gave her a shrug. Clearly he did not know until a few minutes ago, too.
"Why not she wait a few years, good Steward. Maybe when she is twenty-six, she shall be fit for marriage. My Finduilas is a restless young girl. Maybe by the time she is of age, her restless blood will have toned down a little," Adrahil said and smiled.
Ecthelion approved of Adrahil's plan. "I accept your counsel, Prince Adrahil."
-
That was over a decade ago.
Finduilas was now a woman. But she was different. She was no longer strong and robust. She was now sickly and often coughing. Finduilas missed the grey seas of Dol Amroth. Now, she felt like a caged bird more than ever.
Now, sitting on her bed, she looked at the stars outside her window. They glittered and shone.
She bore two healthy (the younger one was less sturdy as the older one though) sons: Boromir and Faramir. Finduilas had to admit she loved the younger one better. He was a mirror of her (mentally), whereas the older possesed his father's pride and strength.
The door to her chambers opened.
"Mamma?"
"Faramir!" she exclaimed. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
"I can't sleep," he said.
He looked as frail as a daisy. Denethor had often joked (?) that a wind from the East would be strong enough to bowl Faramir over. Finduilas often wondered if there was a darker meaning to her husband's words.
"Come here," Finduilas laughed and Faramir smiled. He went to her and jumped onto her bed. Then, she noticed he was holding a paper scroll. "What's this?" she asked and took it from him. She unrolled it and read the heading:
THE TALE OF BEREN AND TINUVIEL
"Can you read it to me, Mamma?" Faramir asked innocently.
"Why do you want to hear of such a sad tale, my dear?" she asked, but secretly admired his want for such tales. "You have heard this story six times, anyway."
"But I like it, Mamma," he protested. "Oh please, please, please, please."
"Alright," Finduilas said and brought Faramir and herself closer to the lit candle. "Now... here we go..."
-
A year has passed since Faramir brought the scroll to her bedroom.
She was dying.
Faramir was alone in her room.
"Mamma," he wailed softly and cried into her sheets.
Finduilas did not care that he wet the sheets with his tears and his spit.
"I want you to be a strong boy, Faramir," she whispered and clutched his hand. "I want you and Boromir to grow up to be good men. And I want you to promise me something, Faramir."
"Anything, Mamma. I'll promise you anything."
"Promise you will only marry the woman you truly and madly and deeply love," Finduilas whispered. "Promise me that."
"I promise, Mamma," he whispered and squeezed her hand. "I promise to marry the woman I truly and madly and deeply love."
Finduilas smiled. "Good..."
Faramir felt her hand go cold.
A/N: Ok... the line about Finduilas thinking her son looks as frail as a daisy is a little joke of mine. See David Wenham's trivia on IMDb. And the line about "truly madly deeply" is the title of a Savage Garden song. I've never heard the song, but it was the first thing I could think of.
Ok... I'm trying to figure out a way to get on with The Meaning of Duty.