Thanks for the feedback, sorry for the delayed updates. Yes allusions, intentional though misspelled, will be explained. Obviously this isn't a happy story (mmm! Eels' broth chunky style) written in the style of the appendices/ silmarillion because I couldn't possibly write the novel this story deserves. If id known what a pain this style is, I would've stuck to reading other people's fics. This may be a bit rough, no betas.
What I would have
Ch III: Like a Father
It was a through a salty fog that Denethor traveled through Belfalas. He had dim memories from his youth of sunshine and sea air, but since he had reached manhood he was occupied elsewhere. The soft night muted the sound of their mounts' hooves, as he led his entourage of twelve knights over the hilled roads that led to the sheltered port of Dol Amroth. A strong ocean smell brought a faint smile to his lips, but his keen eyes soon noticed a blurred star shining through the night, distorted and wavering, soon followed by another a short distance away. Then the company broke into a full canter, for the signal lamps of the port were lit.
The fog obscured and distorted many things, some sounds were smothered and others carried far beyond their natural bounds. The signals from the lamps were obscured and wavering, so they pressed their mounts on as quickly as they dared but that was not swift. They could not guess as to what enemy they were to encounter and more than likely they would be helpless on arrival, for steeds were of little use in an area where a naval battle assigned the victor.
The dawn had begun to break ere they crested the last hill and came upon the city. Denethor's steed practically sat upon its haunches as he muscled it to a halt at the hill gate. There the guard, recognizing the silver and sable, waved him through, but from that vantage point they saw they would be of little use. The signaled warning in the night, glaring from the lanterns on ships at sea and echoing off the hills had warned that a fleet of Corsairs approached, and while his company of knights approached he could see two enemy ships in the harbor. The smaller fishing and trade vessels had already docked, their crews gathered sails and doused their decks against fire shot. Meanwhile; fair and silent, glittering silver in the early morning, stood a slender yet shapely ship, flying high the colors of Dol Amroth. It remained where it was in the mouth of the harbor and fired not a single volley, like a gull in the sun it appeared, moving slightly with the dips in the wind while appearing to hang motionless.
The corsairs, intent on their smaller prey, had only just begun to notice this silent threat. As a single ship they disliked their odds, so the two both turned to engage. At that point Denethor felt a great happiness well inside his heart for he perceived the clever strategy of this yet unmet captain of Gondor, and he had a good idea of who this man might be. The Corsairs' black sails stuttered and snapped, for they tacked against the wind, and thus their momentum died. Then swiftly and gracefully as the swan on its masthead, the Gondorian vessel entered the harbor. It maintained a sharp angle, allowing a rain of burning shot to fall onto one ship while a great shout rose from the Corsairs. The second Corsair ship attempted to level out to return fire, and the swan of Gondor never slowed its pace. It hit full on, cracking the weaker vessel's hull in twain. The black sales fell from the mast and the splintered wood drove many of the crew into the sea. Now faced with two crippled ships, the Swan drifted slightly out of distance and dropped anchor as the crew went to work with their bows and the large mounted crossbows of the ship.
Observing from a distance hillside, Denethor now sat fully back in his saddle while his companions exclaimed. The deadly, precisely drilled marksmanship of Gondor claimed the victory as dirty white rags began to wave. Two barges with companies of guards now pushed out to rescue the men and take captives. To Denethor's complete satisfaction he observed that both the fractured ship and the burning one were roped and towed so that they were not to block the port. It was midmorning ere all this was accomplished and the horsed champed their bits, yet Denethor could not be persuaded to move on until he had seen the full operation, noted all he liked and made mental notes for improvement.
With light hearts the knights made their way to the cheering crowd at the dockside. The captain of the ship, victor in battle, prince of the land, walked down the ramp and through the surges of subjects that pressed around him. He marked the company of strange knights and approached them where they met with bows and courteous words, in the mutual admiration of two tried strategists, and thus did Denethor of Gondor remake the acquaintance of Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth.
"Greetings Lord, I bring aid from my father, and now congratulations."
"Hail and well met my Captain of Gondor, it has been long since the son of Ecthelion graced my house, and as always you are welcome."
They clasped shoulders and proceeded to the hall that overlooked the city. As they walked through the streets Adrahil frequently paused to reach his hands out to the fishmongers, washerwomen, sailors and all the common people of Gondor whose dark dawn of dread he had lifted. At this Denethor marveled, for he preferred to maintain a regal distance, but Adrahil laughed.
"My Lord Denethor, they do not take liberties. Any man come from a four months' voyage is glad enough of a welcome, and it helps keep up the courage of these people that they may feel me as a father to them."
"Truly my Lord of Dol Amroth, if they depend on you for their courage it will be sore tried in your absence."
Then Adrahil laughed again and said, "Nay, for I leave them a great ruler in my stead."
And as he spake they came on the threshold of the house and there were greeted by a lad not yet old enough for commission, yet he bowed low and welcomed them with courteous words.
Adrahil turned to Denethor, "And here is a line of defense you did not observe from your hillside vantage, my son Imrahil."
Denethor smiled faintly at the boy. "And do you not serve as midshipsman to your father?"
"He has no taste for it, he rides like a son of Minas Tirith and ever increases our cavalry."
The boy flushed, so Denethor replied, "Perhaps because he well knows the strength of your navy."
Adrahil nodded at this, "But not strong enough, as I'm sure you deem it to be. Well well, here we are with a victory to celebrate and long journeys to recover from. We will see you quartered Lord, and next time lad send message over land as well, instead of just warning."
Despite its ominous start this began a happy time in Denethor's life, for though he was a formidable leader he was not yet skilled in naval war and defenses, and here he found a glad teacher. He spent much time with the Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth, and the old mariner taught him many things he had not known about seafaring. Thus did Denethor form a great affection for Dol Amroth and its people, since seldom did he find men who knew things that he did not. Adrahil treated young Denethor with great respect, first as heir of the realm, and later as he found his worth as a captain of sea as well as land. And the young man in turn became less stern under his teachings. Perhaps the sea as well stirred the blood of Numenor in him. He found his work on ship and along the coast to be pleasant and restful.
Seldom though would he allow himself to indulge in peace or rest. He now sought to protect this land with great care. His foresight told him that this land must not fall, and he traveled often and far along the coast, securing its safety. He culled a group of the best ships and sailors of Belfalas to form a patrol, and had personally seen to the strengthening of Cair Andros. There, with much labor, he transported goods and fortified the isle, and he did this with great diplomacy, that the land felt little strain upon its resources.
For more than a decade Denethor labored, and he worked hard in his fashion. He perceived the fleets of Umbar to be a threat to all the Southlands, as well as the realm of Gondor itself. He wrote several missives to this effect to Minas Tirith asking at times for money and other times for goods. He was busy and happy, but he also began to form a new facet of his personality, that like a tied dog worried ever at his insides. He began to grudge his losses, whether by foe or nature. He started to draw up plans for rebuilding even while the sea inevitably took its yearly due of men and ships.
Adrahil had learned long ago to respect Denethor's tenacity. On an early voyage he had laughed as Denethor's carefully scribed figures and notes were dispatched by one freak splash from the prow. Denethor struggled for a moment to make out the parchment plans in his hands, which were running sea water and black ink over his fingers while rapidly growing to unreadable mush, then joined in the general mirth as well. There was a note of relief in his laugh, and then scorn, for he cast the notes overboard and continued as though they were before him. After that Denethor learned to forbear the writing, and would simply set his own mind the task of scribe. And as they had to the north in Minas Tirith, the men soon learned to respect and fear those watchful grey eyes, which saw and marked and did not forget. Adrahil respected greatly this mind, odd though he found it, but he thought it rather unhealthy. As a mariner there was a certain amount of give in his understanding of life that Denethor not only lacked, but at times refused to see.
On a green lit and sultry day Denethor watched his newly commissioned ships head far out to sea that they might survive a coming storm. He watched the winds whip through the mouth of the port, pushing a wall of water before it that smote the sea wall of Dol Amroth with a great spray. More than any port he had seen in over a decade of service, he cared for this capital city. His face was marked with displeasure as he watched the murky waters rise ever higher, lifting smaller boats and spilling the contents of waterside dwellings into the streets. He paced the balcony of the prince's house as frantic people fled up the streets to higher ground and cursed the loss of each building under his breath. The wind blew fiercely into him with such fiendish howls that he did not notice the appearance of the prince until he spoke.
"You'll gain little save your death of cold by withstanding the storm on the balcony, Denethor."
Denethor did not reply at once, but turned his face to the harbor. "We should add a lower wall in the city, and draw clearly plans for drainage in the fourth quarter."
"It's a storm Denethor. They do not follow plans."
"It is an adversary, one that can be outwitted as surely as any other. And the damage will be repaired. The limestone is weak, in the spring I will send some trade caravans north to Lamedon for marble."
Adrahil was alarmed by this thinking, and despite the biting wind turned to face him. "We may yet lose the wall entirely. Permanence is not to be found in the life of man, particularly where the sea is concerned."
Denethor smiled a little at this and motioned that they should enter the house, but Adrahil lingered a minute behind- because he had lived for many years under such weather, and because he would gaze once more at the boiling harbor and beyond to the fleet and his son.
It took both of them to pry open and relatch the great shutters in the hall. As the water pooled off of them and onto the floor and the footmen of Adrahil sought buckets, they shared a brief smile.
"It was well said, Adrahil, that we are without permanence. But constancy dwells in the hearts and minds of men, and that will sustain the city and fleet. And initiative will ensure that the changes we endure shall be for the better."
Adrahil shook his head at this and accepted the sentiment and comfort, as it was rare for Denethor. He knew though that only Orome commanded the sea, and the land itself grew over old ruins, and that men often outlived their sons.
The storm at length abated and Imrahil, now almost a man and a lieutenant, did come back, slightly green around the gills but triumphant. They had lost only two ships to the ravages of the sea. The port was bustling with repairs before the surge had even fully receded and that alone told him were to find Denethor. As they made their return his ship had intercepted a smaller vessel of Gondor, which among other things carried new orders for the son of Ecthelion.
He bowed as he approached to the senior rank and man, and presented his message. He never developed the affection his father had for Denethor. Imrahil felt Denethor drove the men too hard at trivial tasks, and at times he resented this second presence in the land of his father's authority. Despite these feelings he still had great respect, and even some fear of the Lord, for unlike his father he had seen glimpses of the warrior Denethor was as well, and that his true element was in land battle. Denethor was not wholly unaware of the attention he took from Imrahil's father, and both for the strength of Gondor and by means of a fair trade he made it a point to impart a great deal of knowledge to Imrahil as to the formation and direction of cavalry, since it was almost foreign to these parts of Gondor.
Imrahil now approached as Denethor was directing the salvaging of some stranded fishing vessels.
"Hail Lord Denethor, I bear news." Imrahil handed him the letter, which he took without comment and read.
Denethor unrolled the parchment to find orders and recent accounts of trouble along the river Anduin, and he frowned that the life vein of Gondor had been allowed to become imperiled,
"Pray tell your father I leave tonight, Imrahil. I have urgent business to the north."
With that Denethor bowed, turned and resumed his duties, leaving Imrahil at a loss for momentary words.
"My Lord, is that all you would have me tell my father?"
Denethor did not turn around. "Verily, Lieutenant. I must leave tonight."
Imrahil proceeded up the wooden stairs, first a splintered mass, then fragments caked with sand and mud, until they turned to the familiar grey outer steps of his home. Here he was greeted by a fleeting sprite of a child, his infant sister, who had wept at the lightening but now danced about him as he gave full report to his father. Adrahil made no comment on the proceedings, but being a young and passionate man, Imrahil was unable to quite hide his feelings.
"Here is repayment for ten years lodging and friendship father, I fear you will get naught else."
"Let him be son, that his not his way. He is delaying his departure until he has full stock of what we need from the north, and he will send it- and cheaply. That is the way of this man, Denethor is uninvolved in trivial words, but does much in deed."
"I have heard him be courteous and fair spoken to others, father."
"He sorrows son, like any other man. Of that you can be sure. Perhaps more at this parting than other times, and for that reason we will get no farewell. He has been happy here as he was not in all the times I beheld him in his father's court. He labors for this city as though it were his own, and that is worth more than fair words."
Then Adrahil gave orders for a meal to be laid for his now reunited family. Imrahil changed from sea soaked clothes and met the grateful embrace of his mother. The kitchen fire blazed merrily as Imrahil gave an account of the storm to his mother and tiny sister and gathered household servants. Adrahil at length turned from the happy scene to watch the torchlight glow in the gathering dust, and felt great pity for the man who had no such happy fire to return to, but his pity was mingled with understanding. For the sea at all times pulled at him, even at happy moments such as this, so he could well deem how duty clung to the heart of Denethor and how, as inexorably as the tide, it removed him from all he would love.
Denethor also marked the blaze of light from Adrahil's house, and from the many homes spread over the hill happy now with their men home from the sea. Families and friends reunited over wine or simple bread. Or gladly gathered friends with newly lost homes under their roofs. He walked through salt mud to the stable and tacked his horse, finding no words to say to Adrahil and knowing that he had need of none.