What I Would Have

Time to bring all this to a head. To paraphrase Sam, 'we don't want them to know the truth.' Angst by the boatload, and here is why I wrote the story. I had this idea for a long time, since I read the appendices, (6 yrs) and I think it goes a long way to explain Denethor's bitterness. Also a line in RoTK- where he admonishes Faramir for trying to appear 'like the kings of old.'

Chapter 20 Betrayal

Denethor sped across the morning fields. Tulkas ate up the miles, springing eagerly through the misty dawn, earth churning from beneath his hooves. Denethor, his hand on his sword hilt, raced down the river road. At midmorning he spotted a small escort coming towards him, and he eased to a canter when he recognized the blue mantel. His gaze flew to the men beside her, but he saw only two soldiers of Gondor, fresh in from the outposts and awkward in their bearing. Thorongil had not waited to face his wrath. The two escorts, now aware of his approach, rode in front to protect her. He hailed them and threw back his cloak that they might see the emblem of the white tree as he approached.

When he drew near Finduilas froze for a moment in shock, for he had aged many years in one night, and his face was now framed with grey and lined with many cares that before had not made an impression. Denethor saw her draw back as though dismayed, and his hands shook on the reins, for he loved her still and feared that she would now renounce him. He had barely realized the thought; however, when she slipped from her mount and ran to him, pressing his hand to her cheek. He paused, uncertain and embarrassed.

"I have been weak, my lord, forgive me." She said gazing up at him.

"All men are weak, even those of high renown," he replied as neutrally as he could. Then he grew ashamed and dismounted so that they should be equal. The moment he was on the ground she flew into his arms, and he clung to her as well, his heart aching as though it would burst from his chest. Love and fury mixed equally in him. He moved his hand through her hair, and felt her arms wrap around him. Denethor closed his eyes, and for a moment he could fancy this was any other morning, and that they were but newly risen to greet it together. Then his hand brushed the folds of her cloak, and the unmistakable odor of pipe smoke rose from it, and he drew back. "Come, my lady," he admonished as she continued to cling to him.

She released him and allowed herself to be escorted back to Mearas, where he boosted her up into the saddle. Then Denethor unfastened the reins and made a rope of them, so that he might ride and lead her mount. Seeing her back in the care of her husband, her makeshift escort bowed, and Denethor waved them back to their posts.

Then they rode together back towards Minas Tirith, their mounts in tandem. The river rolled on beside, and the morning was as still and silent as they were. No breeze rustled the leaves and the woodland creatures hushed with their approach. He would have welcomed an ambush at that point as an object on which to work his own tortured feelings, but the day wore on in oppressive stillness, and since he could not face his wife he stared out across the river at the shadow. Yet he remained aware of her, and perceived that she was struggling with words. The wait grew until the fires died in his heart, and as he gazed across the river to the blackness of Mordor. He no longer felt the surety of his youth at that ominous sight. He knew now the armies that shadow concealed, and he was afraid. At that moment his heart as ever sought the comfort of his wife. As Finduilas rode with cast down eyes, he reached out and took her hand in his, caressing the tops of her fingers lightly with his own.

Then she spoke in a small voice, "I had not thought to the trouble this would cause."

"Few know you have left," Denethor replied, "I have seen to that. Now you are back, and so let it be." Then he continued uncertainly, "If it no longer pleases you to be with me, you could go to your brother."

She turned in amazement to look at him, "Nay, nay lord. I have always wanted to be with you. To be there whilst you are here…" And then she faltered. "I could have no peace, no matter how fair a port, without you, I know that now more than ever."

Denethor turned to view her face and saw it damp with tears. He felt as old men do, with vanity fled beyond recalling, and the sorrows of love faded to regretful memory, "Things should lie plain now between us," he said, "There is no need for concealment of thought or deed."

And she did not answer him but said instead with a strange fondness, "You never falter, you are so constant. But I know at times you scorn men for their slightness. I feared you would think ill of me; I have always feared for you to think ill of me."

Denethor managed a half smile, "One would not think this the best way to earn my esteem, my lady. I have always thought highly of you for the actions you undertook for our people, and I weigh that against all that is less pleasing."

"I know the people at times mock at me for my intentions, and you never have." Finduilas continued humbly, "You are always so patient, but only with me. You are so stern with others, even yourself, and that is why I had hoped it might be I who could aid you."

Denethor could see her great confusion and unrest, but her words were indecipherable.

She paused. "I cannot even speak my mind," she said with a slight laugh

"Perhaps because you do not know it. Perhaps it is in conflict with your heart." Denethor replied bitterly, suddenly withdrawing his gaze and instead looking at the darkly flowing river.

"Aye, I think often I have a dream and it fades with the light of day, but you! You who have seen so many days- why did you let me continue in my folly, and not warn me? I never knew before how ruinous our dreams could be."

Denethor replied in amazement, for it seemed she thought the events of the evening to be his fault, "My lady, I have other cares, including the entirety of Gondor, to consider, and all the peoples who enjoy her protection." And he watched her wilt and struggled to continue, "but I have loved that in you since the moment we met, that you have always seen the world differently than I, and persist in your faith. I have marveled at the delight you find in things I do not see, and the purpose you find in things others overlook."

"Yet fail in my own purpose," she added.

"All of the actions of men are doomed to fall short of their purpose. Life is a struggle, we have no elven havens in which to hide from the shadows about us. We build and rebuild against the tide. We marry and then bring grief to those we love, against our wishes. All of us fail in our purposes," Denethor replied, for he felt confused himself now, and it seemed to him that they were like two strangers shouting in a wind, each drowning out the sense of the other. He struggled again to understand her words and bring meaning to his own, "I do not ask you to account for actions that I can see with my own eyes, only that you tell me of what is in your mind, for there I cannot delve."

"Oh," she cried out suddenly, "but you can! In this only do I find fault with you, for you can see into the hearts of others, but only when you care to look. Can you not see now what is in mine?"

Unsettled, Denethor continued gently, "Perhaps that is so, yet I need none of the gifts of my fathers to see you are unhappy. I need you to stay here, if you can, for despite what may conspire between us your fate is joined with mine. We both share a fate entwined with this land and the White City, and you as well lead this land. I cannot have the lady of Minas Tirith, the Lady of the Steward of Gondor," he paused, "wandering about the countryside. The people need you here as an example."

He did not add to that that he would not look into her heart, if she had learned the price of dreams, then he that night had learned the price of vision. There was some knowledge now that he knew was too much, that would sear the eyes or mind of those that beheld it. He feared to look into her heart and find their love departed. Instead he watched her face carefully, and though her cheeks were tearstained and her appearance worn with travel, she was suddenly to him radiant beyond description. The light of the sun was thrown from the river to play across her face, and it sparkled on her wet eyes. Then he grasped her hand tightly, even as the movement of their mounts pulled them apart, and continued, "And I need you, here, with me. I ask you, even if you cannot stay for love, that you stay for duty and honor, for if you have forsaken all those virtues then I do not hope to see them again in the sons of men."

And she wondered at his words, and thought that he took her flight as a great betrayal. Then she looked into the distance, and there were the towers of the city, looming ever closer in the bright midday sun. Then she drew a deep breath, for she saw now that he indeed needed her beside him, and she spoke in a clear voice, "I swore at our marriage to cleave to you, and I will not leave you again. I have spoken words before as a girl without understanding, but I say to you now as a woman that I shall never again journey without you. My place shall hereafter always be at your side, wherever you may be."

And he nodded quietly and, squeezing her hand, released it. She saw then that he trusted her, and moreover had spoken for the first time of his need for her in token of that trust. Finduilas wiped her cheeks and straightened in her saddle, hopeful that she might again approach the gulf between them.

Denethor perceived the new peace that lay in her mind, and the truth of her words, and he saw her anxious to amend all errors. She thought of herself as both coward and deserter, and he read that guilt in her, but he did not perceive the high thoughts from which those feelings sprang. She would have been horrified if she could have seen the foul desertion he thought her capable of. He forgave her the crime he thought had birthed her guilt, but he judged her all the more guilty for her ruinous supplication. Denethor could well read the hearts of men, but he knew not always what swayed or pierced those same hearts. The good heart of his wife was laid bare to him; but he, in his sorrow and bitterness, took no measure of the nobility of her mind. He had ridden in the coldness of wrath to find her, but her meekness unmanned him. His love was too great to deny. He could only accept her back, and amend his earlier thought with the kindest words he could summon. If he had been less guarded of his speech he might have broached the topic more plainly and she could have shown him his error. As it was, she could not say to him, 'I am innocent' for he did not ask.

Between them now drew a veil of silence, and they did not speak any more on the ride back. They entered the city as decorous and fitting as ever, and they took up life as before, save that in private they lived in silence and apart, and Finduilas rued this as the price of her folly. Denethor, though he did not admit it, was at first afraid to approach her, afraid to find the love they had shared departed. Later, he held his peace when he saw what he had most feared had come to pass. And he kept his silence still, when, almost nine months later, or perhaps a little less, she gave birth to a second son.