Title: Bitterness
Fandom: LotR
Characters: Denethor, Finduilas, Thorongil, and mentions of Adrahil, Imrahil, and Ecthelion
Prompt: 37: So wear me like a locket around your throat; I'll weigh you down, I'll watch you choke
Rating: PG
Summary: Denethor figured his visitors deserved each other.
Author's Notes: Written a while back, this fic provided the frame for a bit of a Den/Fin miniseries that I've been adding a bit more of Denethor's perspective to in order to slip in a few continuity nods. Not my characters.
Denethor considered himself a patient man. The heir could not entirely say that he was upset when Thorongil upstaged him on the battlefield. He was willing to tolerate Thorongil's eccentricities in court. Denethor could forbear from displays of temper when the foreign captain countermanded his orders. But this was becoming too much for even him to handle.
His father had not even pretended to hold the two of them as equals in his sight. The dry, calculating voice in the back of his mind told Denethor that Ecthelion only valued them each to extents of their relative usefulness, and expressed it only as each man allowed him to. But in this case, at least, Denethor was not willing to listen to reason. He could not stand the way the Steward doted upon Thorongil's every accomplishment.
But that had not been the last straw. That came when Prince Adrahil and his children visited the court in the summer of 2972, just a little more than a year after Denethor's first encounter with the family. Although the potential marriage alliance with Finduilas had not worked out as planned, Denethor had rather liked the Dol Amrothians, all things considered. Adrahil, although too lax in controlling his councilors, had become something of a political mentor to Denethor, and Imrahil was one with whom the Steward's heir could speak frankly about his worries for the future.
Then, there was Finduilas. There had been no further discussions of marriage or courting between them. She had certainly not seen him at his best, and had not been willing to give him much of a chance to begin with. But still, if they were not in love, Denethor liked to think he understood her.
That made her sudden warmth towards Thorongil all the more baffling. She had seen what happened to the maidens that went directly after Gondor's favorite rising soldier, and had decided upon a more circumspect route, but Denethor never remembered seeing her wear her hair in that elaborate, delicate style while he was in Belfalas.
As Denethor recalled, Thorongil's official reason for refusing all suits was that he was engaged to a woman back "home," wherever that might be for the vagabond warrior. Such an arrangement seemed odd to the Steward's heir. When was the last time Thorongil had seen his precious fiancee? Surely, if they were truly in love, the former Rohirric captain would find a station closer to home, (and hopefully, out of Denethor's hair,) or his bride would come to Minas Tirith. The White City was safe enough, was it not? Denethor promised himself that he would choose a bride from here in Gondor, so that they would not be separated more often than necessary.
Let Finduilas chase Thorongil, Denethor bitterly dismissed the matter. They deserved each other.