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Kingsfoil

The wedding of Denethor, newly appointed Steward of Gondor, to Finduilas of Dol Amroth was in many ways a foreboding occasion. Though theirs was a union long in the making, the agreement harking back nearly to the day of Finduilas's birth, both participants had set eyes upon one other only twice- on the day of their formal betrothal and at the wedding of the old Steward's youngest brother. Though the memory of each had been lavished with praise and adulation before the other, and certainly neither opposed the match, it was with an increasing sense of uneasiness that Denethor and Finduilas both approached their marriage.

To complicate matters, the wedding was forced to occur on a week to the day following the unexpected death of the old Steward, Denethor's father. Ecthelion had been a robust and healthy man in his youth, but he had grown rather weak and prone to illness as he advanced in years and without warning had collapsed one morning while holding court. With ceremonial plans so irreversibly set forth, Denethor was ultimately appointed Steward and married within a span of days. Any time the new husband and wife might have had to study and adjust to each other was intruded upon by the harsh reality inflicted by matters of court and country. To his unpleasant surprise, Denethor rapidly found that the position for which he had been groomed from birth was indescribably more difficult than he had ever imagined, now that the chair of the Steward was officially his to occupy.

For her part, Finduilas was hardly bereft of attention. Gifts, honors and tokens of esteem arrived daily in veritable floods of formality and well wishing. Little work was actually required of her person (certainly, she was supplied with maids and ladies-in-waiting enough to dispel any real obligation for her participation,) but in the days and weeks following her marriage Finduilas found herself beset with a curious ache of loss she could not explain, and she fought to fill her sudden sadness with furious occupation. Late at night, however, alone because the Steward was nearly continuously called upon, Finduilas found she could explore the frigid cavern inside her with almost tactile clarity. What she discovered, to her severe confusion and anxiety, was an entire realm of hopeless homesickness, a malady no amount of love and living could ever satiate, and Finduilas knew she would never fully escape it.

But in spite of the copious, seemingly insurmountable challenges, Denethor and Finduilas forged a path for themselves. They slowly came to love one another, first finding friendship, then passion, then a deep caring and understanding that they each knew would never shatter. One year after their wedding, Finduilas gave birth to a strong, healthy son they named Boromir, and Gondor rejoiced.

Two months after this, Finduilas set out with Boromir and an entourage, planning a short visit to Dol Amroth. It was the first time she would return to her home since the day of her marriage, and brimming with eager energy she spurred her horse to as swift a gait as her attendants would allow.

Within sight of the tower, not five meters outside the city walls, Finduilas's horse stumbled hard on a small pit concealed in the brush and fractured a foreleg. Blinded by pain, maddened with shock, the horse reared wildly and Finduilas, clawing frantically at her reigns, slipped off his back just as his strong foreleg thundered to the earth.

Five months later she returned to Minas Tirith, still recovering from a shattered arm and vicious infections inflicted by razor-sharp hooves. But even after every healer the court could muster had proclaimed her well, she remained pale and wistful, and something invisible seemed to eat at her from within. She resumed her political duties as before and no stranger would say she seemed at ill health, but those who knew her well, and Denethor most of all, saw a dark change in Finduilas for which no remedy seemed to exist.

She was remained beset by this strange whim as she carried and gave birth to their second son, Faramir. This pregnancy was difficult and tense and she barely carried to term, struggling in labor for countless torturous hours. Mother and son hovered by death for weeks, and the Citadel was shadowed with their plight. Denethor sat constant vigil by his wife's bedside, mopping her pallid brow and murmuring to her of their future together. Of his second son he held a reasonable concern, but even when the boy took a swift turn for the worse he did not relinquish his steady post from Finduilas's side.

On the first day of spring, Finduilas awoke, and Faramir's constant fever finally abated. Joy broke out in the city, and the tale happily was told of how the young Lord Boromir had run into his mother's sickroom and, on seeing her well, cried out "Mother! You are alive again!" Finduilas and her infant began to slowly recover, at a rate so exactly equal their nurses called it a miracle of the Elves, though eventually Faramir, possessed as was natural by the intrinsic vitality of youth, slipped ahead of his comrade in healing.

The next years, though by rights they should have been bountiful and happy, saw many shadows fall upon the kingdom of Gondor and her Steward. The perpetual fight on the eastern front deteriorated rapidly toward the enemy's favor as vicious, merciless orc raidings crept further and further into Ithilien. Trade with the west remained solid, but the merchants raised their prices citing difficulty in travel, and the quality of local produce seemed to be steadily falling. Denethor was repeatedly forced to muster higher taxes to provide for the army he had bolstered in protection of his city. There was unhappiness in Minas Tirith, not a restlessness but a kind of depression that Denethor saw mirrored daily in the eyes of his wife.

For Finduilas had never again been as robust in her health as she had before Faramir's birth. She had recovered fully, that was true, but the ordeal seemed to have leeched away the last of her immunities. Often now, she would be confined to her rooms with a fever or a chill, and small exertions that she had never before noticed would drain her utterly of strength. But as with all things, this too became a matter of course in the Citadel, and although Finduilas was still quite young, it was generally thought that her childbearing years were completed.

And so it came as some surprise when it was announced that the Lord and Lady of the Citadel were expecting another child, though the news was certainly welcomed with joy. "A lovely little girl this time," murmured the commonwomen as they browsed the morning produce. "With an easy term for Her Ladyship." And though of course there was some concern for Finduilas among the people, they largely trusted that their Steward would go to any lengths to preserve the wellbeing of his wife.

And Denethor did so, but this time Finduilas was beyond any art of healing. She delivered far too early, to a tiny infant girl she named "Asëa." Several desperate, terrible minutes later, a wail of hardest grief broke through the White Tower, and Finduilas's passing became known in the city.

From that time on, it was generally accepted that a black spirit of loss had entered Denethor, and much of the mercy that had characterized his rule before Finduilas's death vanished. He became cold and stern, a just Steward still, but wielding a colder, sharper justice than that of the man who had loved Finduilas. More unsettling yet, Denethor seemed to rapidly adopt a vicious grudge against his second son, Faramir. Although he never acknowledged this, it was quite evident that Denethor hefted a large portion of culpability for Finduilas's death on the boy and though many could not bring themselves to fault their Steward for this, several shrewed-minded denizens of Minas Tirith were to be heard quietly muttering that such animosity would most surely bring doom to their realm.

The daughter, Asëa, struggled in life for many months before she triumphed, though she was ever pale and quite prone to sickness. The city adopted her as a daughter of their own, lovingly dubbing her "the Little Lady of the Citadel," and flooding the nursery with an endless flow of gifts. Denethor embraced the girl with an attention brushing obsession, at first attending her in every free moment his political dealings allowed. Her brothers, Boromir and Faramir, took instantly to Asëa and protected her staunchly against oncoming hordes of imagined orcs, trolls, dragons and other evil things whose only intent was to rip away their fair maiden and devour her whole.

And for ten precious, blissful years, Asëa was kept safe.

My word, this got long! More to come...