Genii Familiae
Minas Tirith, the evening of 26th March 3019 T.A.
His first day as Steward proved long and tiring. He returned home wearied beyond words. There had been no chance even to send a message to the Lady, and he felt her absence profoundly. The house was quiet; the servants had gone to bed. He slipped up the stairs to his rooms – only to find that the bed was unmade.
Of course, they thought I was going to die… Then another idea struck him, and he went softly round to the master bedroom. Yes, there was the room, cleared of his father; the bed, ready for him. He shivered; it was still early in the year. He would not rest here, not alone. He retreated to the library, lay on the long couch there, and read until he fell asleep.
He woke in the middle of the night. The candle had burned down, and the fire was slumbering in the hearth.
"Is he awake yet?"
"Looks like it."
"Why he can't bestir himself and go upstairs to sleep I never understand."
"Father! He's come a long way!"
"And this is a library, not a Ranger camp."
He remembered this conversation. He had been out along the northern border, where the Road turned eastwards through the battle plain. He and three others, hiding in the foothills for a fortnight, watching troop movements. It had rained the whole way home.
"I was tired," he said, sitting up.
"You took your time."
"We expected you yesterday, brother."
"I came as quick as I could… Neither of you were home when I arrived," he added, defensively.
"And this is what happens when I leave you to look after yourself. You fall asleep in chairs."
"It's perfectly comfortable—"
"But it's not a bed."
"No," he said, and smiled. "Is supper ready?"
"Of course. You always wake in time for supper…"
They had eaten together, he recalled. Stood together for the Silence, and then sat together – all three of them, together – talking for hours. Strategy, policy, and, yes, a great deal of gossip – and, underneath, all that was shared between them: the deep unspoken love for Gondor; the seriousness with which they took their charge. His family; his home; his brother and father.
"Don't go," he said, to the silent room. "The house – it's too empty."
He closed his eyes. When he woke again, it was early morning. The house was completely still. This morning he would swear his oath, begin his brief time as Ruling Steward. Later, he would meet with the council. He would take his father's seat, his duties, his burdens. He would fulfil the task for which he had been born – the spare, the one to replace the heir. His eyes began to swim. He stood up, to begin the day. He was hungry, and in need of company.
Altariel, 13th April 2019
