Reader warning – the end of the chapter is a wedding night, so if you don't know what that entails or are too young to know, well, skip to the last sentence after the wedding. Please. Children may only safely read about horrible deaths, love might warp your minds…
What I would have
IX A Noble Match
That evening as they walked under a midnight sky filled with stars, Denethor spoke thus to Finduilas: "I know I have been an indifferent lover. But I offer you to be my wife, of aLord of Gondor if you will. And as the wife of the Steward you may spend your talents in work for our realm and bring about great good."
Then she smiled and said, "That is all I desire."
So between them there was an understanding, that he would depend upon her as a support and friend, and she would find the worth that she sought for her own life in him. Denethor then felt great happiness, one thing he had desired was his, and it was this marvelous creature. He lead her back into the hall with the greatest feeling of triumph. Even the thought of Thorongil threw no damper on the evening. Imrahil might speak as he wished of others, to Denthor he would be a brother. Adrahil, Denethor already admired, to officially be his son was no great step.Indeed that evening the whole world seemed as it it were created for him, and that he possessed it, and possessing such he wanted nothing more than to lay it at the feet of the maiden beside him. Then Minas Tirith itself called to him. He would set his bride there with the city about her feet. She would be as a mother to his people, and she would learn to pursue is policies at home with greater skill, thus freeing his mind and strength for martial purposes. His head swam with what he might now achieve. He spoke for her that evening to Adrahil, and the Lord, hale and tried mariner, slapped him heartily on the back. There were few men that would not want to tie their house to the ruling stewards, and Adrahil thought it a most opportune match.
Denethor stayed at Dol Amroth while he wrote to his father for permission, and he spent many happy days there in the company of those whom he would soon claim as kin. Most of this time he spent with Finduilas, taking walks upon the beach, or showing her on her father's maps in more detail where he had been; but most of all he loved to hear her fanciful notions regarding the world in which they lived, and the part he played in it. He had never cared for minstrels' songs or words, but from her lips such phrases became truth, if for no other reason than her own simple faith. Most entrancing for him was the way his own stern duty, by the light of her eyes, became lit with glory. With her, courtly love and noble deaths were the only truths; whereas the minstrels who played the halls always seemed to be mocking their own words with their experience. The childlike simplicity with which she approached all things was precious to him, and when she spoke he saw the world born anew in her eyes. This rejuvenation that she worked transformed him as well, he strove to keep her world as sheltered and lovely, and for her sake he tried to become more gentle and gay. He deceived himself in this, for he thought her fair but untutored, and imagined that when she grew wise in the world that her brilliance and gaiety would remain and sustain her. He knew now that he loved her, and loved the way she turned his life to glory and renown, and he now coveted her above all else, and resolved that she should be his.
But disquiet at this union grew in the heart of Imrahil, for he loved his sister dearly, yet knew her to be bright and young, and he thought her an ill match for one so stern and grim. Thus did he speak to her on Midsummer's eve while they stood looking out over the harbor of their home,
"I fear sister that you see too much of what you would see in him. Nay! I speak not ill of him, he is a noble man and valiant. He is indeed the very likeness of Numenor of old. Yet Finduilas, forget not how that land perished; through pride, and despair, and covetousness. Indeed, I think the Lord Denethor walks in the very shadow of Numenor, and I fear for you under that shadow."
Then Finduilas smiled and replied, "Brother do not think me blind. I see who wounds his pride and what he despairs of losing, or perhaps of never gaining. But I also see a man of great worth! Do we not now owe our peace and happiness largely to his labor? He has done much to drive back the shadow from our lands, and in return I would spare him the darkness he has known, if I could."
"My dear sister, there are many men of worth who are also of great gentleness and kindness, and so would I counsel you if I could, to chose a match from among them. This man is stern as stone."
And Finduilas smiled and replied, "So does he chose to appear, but I have seen the spirit behind that stone. He may not speak soft words of love, but his love is honest. The young men are full of poetry and vanity, yet he speaks what is true."
"He is of great spirit, my dear sister, but little love. He will not send pretty gifts such as you are used to receiving, nor provide balm for your heart with soft words."
"No, for years has he sent me gifts of use; for he respects the mind that beholds them. I weary of love, and pretty trinkets, and soft words that are as meaningless as the cries of the gulls. I would have knowledge, and respect, and the companionship of so great a man."
And Imrahil was astonished, for he had not known of their long correspondence. "But do you love him? To respect a man is one thing, but to trade love for respect and kindness for knowledge! I hope you will not make such a poor bargain. The warmth that a man and woman share is the greatest wealth that one can hope to attain, the greatest strength, and the noblest cause. That is the fire that burns in us to withstand the shadow of the east."
And Finduilas felt this conversation to be silly, and understanding not Imrahil's intentions she replied somewhat stiffly, "He has great wisdom and that is altogether a different sort of fire, and I am drawn to that light; I will welcome no other."
Then Imrahil said nothing more against the suit of Denethor, for he saw verily that he had won her heart. But he resolved to settle the matter with Adrahil, for fresh in his mind was the campaign several years ago in Harad.
Imrahil sough Adrahil on the docks. If fate permitted his father would never leave the sea, he knew. He accepted that as the fate of men, to often be far from what they loved, yet toil mightily for it. But the fate of maids was far different to him. He remembered the sorrows of his mother in his early youth, and also that she had died in childbirth, while is father was at sea, and he shuddered to remember how she suffered alone. Adrahil looked towards his son and saw the sorrow on his face
"What ails you Imrahil?"
"A memory father, and fear for my sister."
"Fear? What has she done?" Adrahil said with merry eyes, "You are beyond, I thought, the age of tattling on her to me."
"Not in a matter such as this sire. She is in peril."
"Peril? From what?"
"From who, father. Did you know that Lord Denethor has spoken to her of an attachment?"
"Denethor may have mentioned something of the sort to me. I believe it was a marriage come to think of it." Adrahil replied, rather amused at Imrahil's indignation.
"Father, be serious. You can not have given your consent?"
"Indeed I have, I have seen them together. She worships him."
"And you think this well?"
"Indeed son, I have brought many young men to her only to have her turn up her nose. I am a bit surprised by the choice, there is some difference of age, but, all in all, it is not a bad match."
"With respect sire, to admire a man is one thing, and to live under his thumb quite another."
"I have watched him over the years, he is a good man."
"And I have served with him. More importantly, I have served under him."
"You judge him cruel then, to serve?" Adrahil asked in surprise.
Imrahil shrugged, "He was a stern commander, but just."
"Then you should have no fear for your sister. He is just, and will be a wise Steward."
Imrahil paced across the dock in agitation, "Justice and wisdom? To take the place of love?" He turned towards his father, "Do you know he made no sport with the women of the camps, and many might find that a mark of great prudence and esteem. But.. but.. that is all he is made of – honor and duty." At this Imrahil paused. Adrahil had sat on a dock post and was regarding him with a maddeningly amused air. "He will have her transcribing posts for him in some dark tower of Minas Tirith, scratching away at scrolls, and she will worship him for it until she dies from lack of light."
"Come boy, Imrahil, the life of lady of Minas Tirith cannot be that bad. They have clerks."
"Pray father do not jest, it is not jest to me, nor to her. Retract your permission, forbid this."
"And if I do, who will heal her grief then? And if she stays she must go to another. Would not a southern lord leave her for years at sea? And if he should go down with his ship will she not then know sorrow?"
"Such risks in life we all take, but she does not know the risks she is taking. It is unkind to not open her eyes before she commits herself."
At that Adrahil smiled again, "And you have tried?"
"She would not listen, it seems she has long been in correspondence with him. That he has for a long time held her heart, and she, fanciful girl, has fallen prey to her own visions of him"
And Adrahil stood and laid a hand on Imrahil's shoulder, "even so, how do you know what she envisions in him is false?"
"She is like most soft hearted women. She envisions a spring of great happiness and contentment."
"And so it will be, that is the nature of marriage my son, as I hope you yourself shall see."
"And when spring is over? That man will seldom be by her side."
"Well, well, she seems to have already made her choice. She could have done worse. No man of any worth could stay constantly by her side, and she will have children for company. Women are fonder of children than we men, her life will not be empty."
At this Imrahil sighed and shook his head, but he did not argue further. Musing, Adrahil turned to watch the gulls in the bay. "I dare say she shall miss the ocean though, poor lass. And I thought she liked getting her own way better…"
Imrahil broke in passionately, "But that is exactly my point sir! How can she marry him? It is a terrible match! It is like wedding her to a stone. He has ice in his veins."
At that Adrahil turned back to face him, "he is not as black as you paint him son. There is blood in those veins. Has he not written to her for years?"
"Then forgive my analogy lord. He does not have ice in his veins, it is ink."
Adrahil laughed, "Well she does like learning you know. She is an odd sort of woman, and if the match likes her then I will not speak against it. Let her go, my son, it is the fate of women. They must leave and live the life of their husbands. It is always thus, let her go."
"She does not understand who this man is."
"And he does not know her, I thought she would prefer someone to indulge her fancies, but he will keep her busy at politics, and perhaps that would serve. And it is a strong alliance for you as well, and that I have long seen."
Then Imrahil was silent, but though he still objected he trusted the judgment of his father. Adrahil had been surprised but not displeased by Denethor, and he had long admired him as a son. It was easy to see the advantages such an allegiance would bring to all involved. Indeed, under the fair sun, in that still peaceful land, shadows seemed but fleeting. And the soft falling of the waves soothed the disquiet of both their hearts. That the land of Gondor could prove as severe as its lord was something neither considered.
So it was to the joy of many that Denethor, heir to the Steward of Gondor, wedded Finduilas of Dol Amroth on a fair summer day in the year 2976. There was much rejoicing, for the strengthening of the ties between lands was thought by all a good omen. Denethor as of old had on that day no rival, and came first in the hearts and minds of all. Ecthelion his father expressed great pleasure in his choice of wife and in many respects the union was blessed. On that soft day Denethor seemed to be young again and happy for the first time, and those who knew him marveled at the change that Finduilas had wrought. Denethor smiled and talked with the guests. He was more at ease, and indeed more truly himself than any had ever seen, and all who were present felt now that he would be a great Steward.
Thorongil was in the field on the day of the wedding, so Denethor had nothing to vex him. He watched with joy as his wife danced with his father, and he found himself frequently smiling as the day passed. He felt years of care fall away. For the first time since his youth he cared little for the policies of the day. He barely thought of the shadow or the duties of the next day, he was content to smile and jest and revel in his marriage, and he felt a great kinship with all who reveled with him.
At last the time came for the couple to retire, and they left the great hall for the steward's quarters. Denethor, to ease her mind, brought Finduilas first through the throne room, so that they could enter their quarters more or less privately. The guard there winked at him, and Denethor was torn between winking back and smashing the man with a fist. But his wife distracted him by folding her arm into his. Finduilas was a vision in white, with gems in her hair and on her brow, but he could tell by the tension in her that she was anxious as to the coming nuptial evening. Denethor remembered now that her mother had died in childbirth, and he wondered what woman had imparted the knowledge of what was to follow to her. She was a woman in age, but still a maid, and he felt the knowledge of what was to come dance like a fire between them.
Inside his quarters the fire was blazing and the blankets had been turned down. Denethor closed the door, and then they were alone. He was wondering how to begin, when Finduilas, blushing and shaking, gently laid a had upon his chest and kissed him. It seemed then that all victories that had been or that would come paled to winning such a wife. He gently removed her robe and laid her on his bed. She looked at him with perfect love and trust, though her cheeks were scarlet. He fought the desire to look upon her body, instead holding her gaze when she would withdraw it, and kissing her when she seemed afraid. Finally he sank into the rapture of a wife, his wife, whom he could love and trust completely, for she was his.
For her part, Finduilas, shaking with and trepidation, had found herself lead from the hall by her now husband. She grew increasingly nervous that he said nothing. She knew to expect something unpleasant and painful from gathered whispers of her attendants, but why was a complete surprise. It was the first of many in her marriage. She had dreamed of discourse and kind deeds, but as in all proper songs and tales for ladies, her imagination stopped at the wedding. Exactly what men and women who were married did was unknown to her. The strangely physical activity, the need on Denethor's face was frightening, but when it was over she was shocked by light in his eyes.
He held her very close, and she snuck a look down the length of his strange body. Muscled and hard, his chest reminded her of wood, at times streaked with scars. His hands on her skin were rough. Modesty brought her eyes back to his face. The weight of him on top of her made it hard to breath, and was painful, but enjoyable nonetheless, and the duality seemed strange. He stared at her with such terrible intensity that she felt compelled to look away, but he stopped her with his lips whenever she tried to turn her head. Finally he moved from atop her and she rolled away from him, clinging to the bedclothes. This seemed to amuse him for he was smiling; in fact he looked almost jubilant.
"Are you hurt?" She did not know how to answer the question, for the answer was obvious, but she decided he meant grievously and replied, "no."
"Then come here," he said and she slowly moved back towards him. He gathered her fully in his arms, a feeling she had begun to enjoy, foreign as it was.
"My sweet lady," he murmured.
"My lord," she felt his smile against her brow, for she lay with her head rested on his chest. Through the warmth of flesh she heard the pounding rhythm of his heart. They lay in that manner for a long time, and she listened as his heart settled into a steady rhythm, like that of the ocean. She rose on her elbows to see him asleep with all care removed from his face. He looked very young to her then, and frail. Without the knowledge of his grey eyes, his face was handsome and somehow vulnerable. She moved to smooth his hair, but the touch awoke him, and the grey eyes sparkled at her.
"I did not mean to wake you."
"And I do not mind."
He paused for a moment, and she realized he was listening. She listened too, and heard the sound of music. Evidently only a few hours had passed, for the feasting continued. She realized then that he was gazing at her again. And felt a slight smile on her lips.
"I did not mean to wake you." She said again with a teasing firmness to her voice.
And Denethor laughed. She was enchanted by the sound of his laughter, that of one perfectly at peace, it had a strange free sound to it, the sound of pure happiness, and she marveled that she could be the cause of it. Then Denethor took her hand in his and kissed it, and drawing her back down to him looked into her eyes.
"I love you."
She kissed him and replied in kind. They passed the night together, talking and laughing, until sleep claimed them both. It occurred to Denethor, as he drifted off that he had never heard those words before, nor had he ever said them to another.
