A/N: Much thanks to my wonderful and talented new beta, Esther Greenwood, my savior from run-on sentences, a lack of noun/verb/tense agreement, randomly missing words and a host of other things that make the grammar and fanfic gods cry. Without her, this would be one big OMG!!11WTFBBQGonDOrIsSOoooCooL!!!!1111 mess. Seriously, thanks Esther. Also, thanks to DaisyBrownlockOfOverhill, Raksha, anna, and Rosie26 and for their reviews. It helps to know that some folks are reading and that this isn't some long diagnosis of my own madness (at least I hope it's not!). And now, on with the tale.
The sky was dark, looming over the quiet of the city. To the East it lay, inky black and heavy with prospect of coming rain. The veiled stars did little to interrupt the night. And though they sparkled brighter in the West, heaviness still lingered. With the wind blowing across the plain of the Pelennor, bringing with it the ripe scent of flowers, the night remained chilly despite the May month. But none of that mattered - suddenly he heard their voices, singing their songs of praise and sorrow as they had done since their awakening on the dark shores of Cuiviénen.
A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
nef aear, sí nef aearon!
A Elbereth Gilthoniel!
o menel palan-díriel
le nallon sí di'nguruthos!
A tiro nin,
Fanuilos!
Hanging on the air, soft and silvery as the dusk, their notes lingered. Voices of silver and light wrapping around him as though the forgotten memory of some distant dream of old. Their melodic tones tugged at the very pieces of his heart, their words of longing pulling at his mind.
There they waited in the early night for the first signs of the familiar flicker of the torches down on the dark road below them. The glittering orange and yellow lights would signal the return of the steward-son's company. And at their head would ride her beloved husband, his beloved father. He promised he would be back in time for Yestarë, which would be tomorrow. Hence, tonight would prove their last chance to wait for him from their vantage point high on the ramparts, right below the leaves of the newly replanted Lebethron tree. If he did not arrive tonight and settle his duties now, they wouldn't get the chance to spend tomorrow uninterrupted with him.
The young dark-haired boy fidgeted, nervously shifting his weight back and forth between his feet, fiddling with the silken ties of his black cloak, swatting at the flies that floated lazily around them in the brisk December night. He loved being the first to see his father arrive. As always, he would wave and yell, shaking the staff of the banner fixed into the turret of the wall, purposely making it to flap wildly in the wind to catch his father's attention. Of course this would prompt him to look up and give them his usual brisk wave and quiet smile as he rode into the city, his soldiers behind them tipping their helms in greeting as well. But the boy hated the waiting part of it. Sometimes it would take hours for them to hear sound of the horses' hooves clomping up the stone road. Once, they even had to wait for the sun to start its ascent over the horizon before they saw or heard ay sign of the company's return. And by then he had almost been too tired start his usual noises of welcome.
However, all of that was forgotten as he heard it – faint singing voices on the wind, their sounds like the silver bells of the Tower chiming their muted tones in the wee hours of the morning. Calling out to him but softer, yet oddly not lacking in strength, their melodies affected him greatly; his stomach tied itself in little knots as his heart swelled with unease and sudden sadness, as though something he had lost long ago would never be found again. Yet beneath it, lay joy, even elation, like the way he felt whenever he saw his father coming up the path to city after time away. It was as though they said "Fear not young child of Ilúvatar, for despite your sadness and grief, all will be right with the world, hope renewed and everlasting." But still, he instinctively reached out and grabbed the hand of the tall woman standing beside him.
"So you too have heard the voices of the Elves, little one?" she asked, her strong, melodic voice washing over him. "They are leaving, you know," she said, "Departing Middle Earth forever for their havens in the Uttermost West, taking Straight Road open to them alone."
Strange…was that sadness in her voice? He looked up at her, his clear grey eyes staring confusedly at silhouette of her familiar face outlined the faint light of the torches lining the wall.
"It has been said the songs of the Eldar possess a dark magic, my little warrior," she continued as she looked down at him, bright blue eyes shining in the moonlight as the ancient notes of exodus still lingered on the wind. Though her words puzzled him, he loved the way she said them, the whisper of her voice quiet but strong. As though if she spoke any louder, the spell would be broken. Her black tresses blowing about her as she stood there on the stone ramparts, he watched contently as she let go of his hand to easily shift the weight of the sleeping infant in her arms. He reached up then, purposely tangling his small hands in the folds of her great blue mantle, finding comfort in the feel of the soft heavy velvet. Feeling him do so, she balanced the infant in one arm, using the other to pull him close to her again.
"Their very words leave nothing untouched," she murmured in that extraordinary voice of hers he could never tire of hearing. "None can resist such enchantments."
His mind could not comprehend how words could equal magic.
"They ensnare forever the hearts of any fortunate enough to happen upon them," she continued, as though able to read his very thoughts. "And then, there is no escape."
Shivering as the result of something else besides the cool winds that whipped around him, his thoughts reeled through his head as he contemplated the idea of being eternally trapped by mere words.
"Oh, but do not fear, my little jewel," she said, voice resolute, the usual fierce smile coming to her face. His heart and mind immediately relaxed; whenever she took that tone of unwavering courage or gave anyone that look of unmitigated determination, he knew nothing in the world could hurt any of them. They would all remain safe, from the child in her arms to the man currently traveling on that dark and lonely road leading back them.
"No heart would wish to escape the delights of the elves," she continued with a quiet laugh, allowing him to nestle further into the warmth of her cloak as she again shifted the weight of the baby in her arms. "They are wise beyond any of us. Their joys and sorrows lay so far past the emotions of men that it cannot be fathomed. That is why their songs are so powerful; their words are wrought with the very spirit of Ilúvatar, he who is lord of us all, the beginning and end of all circles of the world. So do not fear, my son, for you have now had the special honor of hearing them. Cherish and hold it close to your heart evermore."
He leaned into her completely now, his heart newly happy as the strains of their songs faded into the air. He had partaken of an honor. They all had, even the sleeping baby who probably didn't even know it because he was asleep, as per usual. Even his father probably heard it too. How could he not? He was the most special person he knew. Well, besides the baby. And his mother. Which meant they were all special. And that could never be taken away.
Silence fell again, broken on only by her steady breathing and the murmurings of the babe in her arms. Even his previous bout of jitteriness had been cured.
The rest of night continued as it should; just after midnight the company returned, his father at its head, giving his quick wave and quiet smile to the figures high overhead, the smaller of which shook the banner staff with such ferocity that it almost caused the standard to fly off completely, much to the amusement of his mother. Within the hour, he'd listened to his father briefly tell of the adventures of the road, watched his mother tuck the baby into its bassinette and made his way into his own bed, finally falling asleep and looking forward to the next day's celebrations.
Eventually it would all blend into the faint memories of the past.
But he would never forget the songs of the Eldar that came to him on the wind.
It would be the last time his father would ride to battle. The next year, Ecthelion would pass beyond the circles of the world. His son would become steward, his duties no longer allowing him to ride out with his men. He himself would grow from a boy to a soldier, older and more occupied. As man of more pragmatic means, he would rarely have time for such flights of fancy ever again. But now, as he felt his heart grow heavy with melancholy for the lost days of Arda's youth, the elves' ancient songs blending with the whispers of the wind, he found he could no longer doubt such tales.
They found him there beneath the dark leaves of the old Lebethron tree, leaning on the ramparts in a rare moment of quiet. His clear grey eyes looking to the heavens at what stars he could make out, his thoughts drifted to the coming times and inevitable changes they would bring. He almost didn't hear them approach.
"'Tis a beautiful thing, the sky, though it is a shame for it to be so dark…" a voice called out, adding a bit of comfort to his thoughts.
"A dark sky to match to these dark times, little brother," Boromir replied, quickly breaking out of his reverie as he turned to face them. His eyes were bright despite the darkness, though whether with tears or not, they did not know. "I am glad you have both come," he continued, voice steadying as his thoughts moved back to the present.
"As are we," Finduireth replied slowly. Unlinking her arm from Faramir's, she moved towards the stone bench, sitting herself down under the deep green petals of the low-hanging branch of the tree. Next to her Faramir sat, shifting positions to get more comfortable as she leaned her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. Boromir, seeing this and recognizing the signs, could not help but point out the obvious.
"Too much to drin…"
"Don't you say it either," she said, eyes still closed.
"Fine, I shall not," Boromir countered, unable to help the slight smile coming to his face as his brother nodded his head in silent agreement, making comical drinking motions with his hands. Suddenly Faramir cleared his throat, remembering they had more important things to discuss than the varying degrees of their cousin's inebriation.
"Finduireth told me it was necessary that we meet? I think she has something to tell you," Faramir said.
"Oh?" Boromir replied, intrigued, eyebrow raised in question.
"Yes, Finduireth replied, eyes snapping opening as she remembered.
"Oh it's quite important," Faramir said, giving her a mischievous look. "It concerns matters of love."
"You know, you are lucky you do not wear your breast plate, Faramir. Other wise I would have an excuse to hit you without fear of injuring you," she countered, trying to sound serious but failing.
"You had better take heed. She can be lethal at times," Boromir replied with a sly wink at his brother.
"If you don't stop, I'll hurt you both!" she replied, trying to contain a laugh.
"Fine, fine," Boromir replied with a smile, putting up his hands in surrender. "What is it you wished to discuss?"
Getting up and making her way over to stand next to Boromir on the ramparts, she leaned against the stone wall, nervously playing with her hands.
"Well…Raeliar…" she began quietly.
"Yes?"
"We have been…courting, as you know," she said, looking to Faramir, frowning at him as he silently shook with laughter. "You are not making this any better!" she said loudly.
"I apologize!" he said wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "It is just that you worry too much, as usual making things overly complicated. He will not kill him…"
"Of course he won't…" she said.
"Kill who? Why would I wish to kill Raeliar?" Boromir asked in confusion, not understanding what was passing between the other two.
"She is getting…"
"Don't you say it!" she implored of Faramir, pointing accusingly at him. "I can tell him very well myself!"
"You're taking so long to say it…"
"Fine, fine. I will say it. Just…stop laughing!"
"You're priceless," Faramir said, still laughing.
"You're making this difficult!" she countered.
"What about Raeliar?" Boromir asked again.
"Well, I'm courting him. As I have been for the last two or so years…"
"Of course. I could wish for no one better," Boromir replied.
"Good," she replied cutting him off but stopping, trying to find the right words.
"For the love of Eru, Fin. If you do not tell him, I will!" Faramir said with a laugh after a long moment of her silence.
"You would not!" she countered.
"I would!"
"Would not!"
"I would!"
"Would not!"
"Boromir, Finduireth and Raeliar are…"
"Engaged! We. Are. Engaged!" she finished the sentence, cutting him off.
Boromir was quiet for a moment, his silence lasting what seemed an eternity to her. Then, a smile suddenly came to his face.
"Well, I guess I shall have to kill him now," he steadily said.
"You are cruel!" she retorted.
"You are my cousin, as though a sister to me," he countered. "Hence, I cannot simply let my best friend sweep in and take you," he continued, a reassuring smile coming to his face. "So this is what I resolve to do; first thing in the morning, I will beat the stuffing out of him so that I may to distinguish his real worth. Considering I have so little of my usual duties to attend to, it should prove no hindrance. And, just so we are honest with each other, I must inform you right now that I very much look forward to carrying this all out," he finished, smile broadening. Completely mortified, she fixed him with a steely glare, not wholly unlike his own, only causing him to smile even more. Finally, with a sigh, he held out his arms to her.
"You are so daft, Finduireth," he said with a hearty laugh. "Of course I approve," he continued, taking her into his embrace. "I could not wish for a better match," he finished with a smile as she let him go. "And," he said, kissing her on the forehead, voice becoming serious again, "I know he will treat you with all the love and regard in the world."
"Thank you," she murmured.
"I still think he will kill him," Faramir chimed in with a laugh.
"Just as I will kill you?" Finduireth replied as Boromir let go of her and she made her way back to the bench, sitting back to her original position.
"Of course," Faramir retorted mockingly, wrapping an arm around her as she leaned against him again.
"You two really must put an end to this," Boromir chided them both, smile on his face.
"Ah, we never will," Faramir replied with a smile. "However," he continued voice becoming serious, "there are other things to discuss."
"Yes, yes there are," Boromir replied quietly, turning to face them completely, leaning back on the ramparts and resting his weight on his hands on either side of him. "I told her of everything that's come to pass. I depart in just over three week's time."
"So soon?" she almost choked.
"It takes almost more than two months' time to reach Rivendell under the best of circumstances," Faramir murmured. "Especially if one wishes to…go unnoticed."
"That is another point," she began. "These secrets: Halflings, broken swords, Morgul-spells, Isildur's Bane. Forgive me, for my lessons are quite old, but in all of this, you are simply traveling to a council of the Elves…"
"Isildur's Bane, cousin," Faramir replied patiently, standing and making his way over to his brother. "This is no simple council. All the races of good will be there. The weapon of the enemy…"
Suddenly it dawned on her, the lessons of her youth suddenly flooding back to memory.
"It cannot be!" she gasped, jumping to her feet. She quickly counted on her fingers, pacing nervously back and forth. "Three thousand years! How did such a thing come to be?! What will be done?! How with this affect our wrestling with the enemy?! So many to claim it! Why…?!"
"Calm yourself!" Boromir chided, striding up and taking her by the wrists, causing her to stop pacing. "So nervous!" he reproached. "You worry too much over things you cannot control! Why do you think I am going? All questions will be answered in due time," he finished quietly, a slight grin coming to his face to reassure her.
"I just cannot comprehend," she replied voice calm in an effort to control her worry.
"It has proven to be quite perturbing," Faramir replied, sadness creeping into his voice. "All we know is that the thing has been found…"
"And it must be decided who will wield it," Boromir added.
"Thus it is so important that the Elves have chosen to include us lesser men," Faramir finished.
"Lesser men?" Boromir questioned, addressing his brother, his voice rising. "'Lesser Men' have been guarding these borders for thousands of years! We are no less than those of the Valar. Our lives are just as important, as are our deaths!" he continued, beginning to pace back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. "Yes, our deaths may happen more often, come more soon. Time may spin a shorter lifeline for the children of Númenor. But none of that detracts from the sacrifices men have made to keep the Enemy at bay. The world is changing; no longer will men be allowed to linger in the shadows. We must assume responsibility, rise to occasion, come and take whatever hand fortune has seen fit to deal us." Suddenly stopping, he turned to face them both, voice becoming quiet. "The elves see this and can no longer question whether men, or even other races will take part in shaping the world. It is why they are calling all to council. Dwarves, elves, wizards. Men."
"No one questions the value of men," Faramir quickly said, soothing his brother's rising blood. "But I do question their hearts."
"The strength of men exists without question, brother," Boromir quickly countered, turning to face Faramir. "We have witnessed it always, even now in this past week. I refuse to let out people fail. You refuse to. We all do."
"Of course," Faramir replied. "I only question anything that endangers you."
"As do I," Finduireth added.
"Do not fear. If I go with only half the goodwill you send me with, all shall be well," Boromir replied.
"Were did you not go at all," she said sadly, drawing Boromir to her in an embrace. "Forgive me, for I am selfish in that way," she quickly added realizing her words and stepping away.
"Then we must both be selfish," Faramir said, clasping Boromir by the shoulder. "I know you do not leave until three week's time, but I wish you luck. May the Valar smile on you and Elbereth guide you through such peril," he finished, hugging his brother.
"And they, you," Boromir replied, clapping Faramir on the back.
"Well, I am glad to see that you have accepted such things!" a firm voice called out, startling them all. Silhouetted against the light of Merethrond, Denethor approached his children and niece.
He wore one of his official robes, dark blue and trimmed in black fur about the neck and sleeves. With the silver emblem of Gondor embroidered on the front, it lay over the usual mail shirt he had taken to wearing years ago. Under that lay a dark blue long-tunic trimmed in silver. With the slim silver circlet on his brow, decorated with the small silver flowers of Gondor about it, the grey-haired Steward cut an honorable figure, the epitome of the pride and respect he paid to Gondor's throne as its steward. His usually stern countenance was made significantly more welcome by the smile upon his face. Eyes sparkling with exhilaration, he took in the picture of his children and niece, all together for once. They were the very portrait of honor and nobility, an excellent reflection of the generations of old, of the ancient kings who came over the sea so long ago. And while the throne of Gondor had been vacated by the true heir for some thousand years, the region slowly slipping into age, none of that mattered this night to the Steward. Victory had been theirs, shared amongst all. It was for their future, the future of his children, his niece and his people, he was glad some light had crept back into their lives to hold the Shadow at bay, if only for a little while. For what more could a father want for his kin then the bright promise of a tremendous future secured, of an outlook devoid of death and destruction and darkness?
As his keen mind wondered on these things, Denethor approached them.
"I see that my eldest has seen fit to share the latest news with you both," Denethor began, clapping Boromir on the back as he gave his father the usual cursory bow, the other two following suit. "Well, I assume it is better than leaving you two in the dark," Denethor continued with a satisfied grin. "Though, of course the reason for his departure is to remain between us only," he finished, voice suddenly becoming serious as his gaze quickly turned to them in his usual scrutiny.
"It is the least to be expected, father," Faramir replied as Finduireth silently nodded in agreement.
"Of course it is," the steward countered. Used to the Denethor's usual reproachful tone, Faramir simply shrugged it off with his customary unapologetic grace and ease.
"We shall miss him, of course," Finduireth added carefully in the lull of the conversation. "All of Minas Tirith will I surmise, for there are few others so well loved and capable of such fidelity…"
"There are no others," Denethor countered matter-of-factly. "We shall suffer a great loss without you, steward-son," he continued, looking to Boromir. "And filling your boots shall be an empty task indeed. But is all for the best. A little lost shall eventually equal much gained."
"Well, my absence should not create too much a loss," Boromir replied. "Faramir will make a fine Captain of the Guard…"
"Assuming the steward wishes it that way," Faramir quickly added.
"Of course he should," Boromir replied. "There is no one else even close to fit for replacing me besides you."
"One could easily argue otherwise," Faramir replied.
"Well they could," Boromir laughed. "Assuming they were mad of course…"
"My responsibilities have always been in the outer regions," Faramir replied resolutely. "Besides, it has been a while since I have trained with the City Guard."
"You'll adapt quickly, as you do with everything else," Boromir replied, voice becoming just as resolute as Faramir.
"Aye, but it is still required I train with your lieutenants before bearing the full responsibilities of Captain-General," Faramir replied, raising a questioning eyebrow at Boromir who simply shrugged back in response. Finduireth looked back and forth between them, confusion on her face at the underlying meanings beneath the words being exchanged between them. After a while, she simply shrugged her shoulders in defeat; she knew that often enough it was though that they spoke a secret language known only between brothers, especially when their words were laced with such nuances.
"You, son, are better fit remaining Captain of the Rangers," Denethor said. "But," he continued with a displeased sigh, "As we discussed earlier, you will take on the duties of your brother. That is final."
"It shall be done," Faramir replied steadily, giving his father a cursory but slight bow.
"Undoubtedly it shall be," the Steward quickly countered. "May you do this better than you currently attend to your present duties if Gondor is to survive."
"You have little to doubt of Faramir's capabilities," Boromir quickly retorted. "No other man could even begin to hope of achieving any higher level of accomplishment as he has already. The people know it, and most importantly, I know it. The coming days will only further prove your worth, brother," he finished, clapping Faramir on the back. "All will see it done."
"I could ask for no more of you," Faramir replied, a grin quickly coming to his face as he returned his brother's gesture.
"Evidently some still have faith in such a thing." Denethor sniffed. "But enough of this idle chatter," he continued with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Merethrond calls and you should not disappoint her."
"And we will not disappoint," Faramir replied. "I take my leave of you, father," he said with a formal nod.
"As do we," Boromir said with a bow, speaking for Finduireth, who bowed and followed suit.
"Naturally," the Steward replied with a nod. "In the meantime, enjoy the freedom of this night. It may prove long time before you have a chance to enjoy such liberties again."
"Walk with me, Finduireth," Denethor commanded, offering her his arm. Caught in mid-step, she turned back to him and automatically obliged. Linking her own arm with his, they began the walk back to the hall, silence settling between them. Passing the Great Hall where the festivities were still in underway without any sign of stopping, Finduireth moved to enter Merethrond, causing Denethor to frown at her.
"Surely, you would want to continue? It is a rarity that we have such a chance to celebrate..."
"They can manage on their own," Denethor hastily replied. This victory belonged to the people. And besides, he already had far too many other duties to undertake. There would be no more time to dwell on the victory; Eru only knew how long it would be until the forces of Mordor struck again.
Looking to the soft glow of the candlelight reflecting off the walls and hearing the increasing sounds of laughter and merriment, he thought back to his younger days. It was as though it were a lifetime ago since he'd been a Captain of Guard. So long since he was able to fall in with the others who unapologetically took upon the various duties of the Tower. The days before he took on the Stewardship were but a distant memory now. Living life for the moment, needing only to care for what the next few weeks or months would bring, enjoying the fellowship of the men whom he loved and respected and who came to honor and depend on him; such things now lay only in the past actions of distant youth. Now, he bore the job of the steward. It was a duty requiring strength, leaving no room for folly. The dark times that cast a shadow even now onto this jovial event made it so. Such was the hand dealt him by the turn of Fate's unremitting wheel. And for Denethor, the duty had been made especially lonely far too early. Moreover, the benefits and protection of the people far outweighed such a personal loss. So, at least in the open while among his people, he cast such personal frivolities aside, focusing his energy on ensuring the survival of that which mattered the most. None of it would do anything to bring her back. But the least he could hope was that she smiled upon him from the peaceful place her spirit now lingered.
"They shall miss you," he heard her repeat for a third time as she nodded towards Merethrond, trying to maneuver him back into the hall. Quickly bringing his thoughts back to the present, he quickly shook his head in disagreement as he steered her pass the massive doors of the entranceway.
"There will be other times for such things," he replied in response to what he knew must be the stoic on her face she would use to conceal her disappointment. "Besides," he continued, "There are other important matters to deal with," he said, his tone decisive.
"And of what matters do you speak?" she replied, not looking at him, her best voice of disinterest in place even as she steeled herself for the rest of his words. She had been dreading this conversation the entire night. And they both knew her efforts to hide her knowledge of what he spoke of were in vain. So Denethor continued without bothering to comment on her feigned ignorance. He had never been a man with a high tolerance for idle chatter.
"Your seeming inability to control your temper earlier this week is one of them." he finished in his usual even fashion, though she could clearly discern the undertones of reprimand in his voice. Hearing his cloak rustle as he turned to speak to her, she could not help it as she burned with embarrassment, her face blushing it tell-tale splotchy red.
"Such a temper has never served anyone any beneficial purpose," he continued upon hearing no response from her. "You would do well to remember yourself in the future," he admonished, causing her to sigh in disgrace. "Not wholly unlike your grandmother," he added with less reprimand in his voice as he turned to look at her. Often enough he still found himself surprised at how similar they appeared. "Immenor, my sister, contained a temper like the fires of Mordor, in the image of Ecthelion. 'Twas no wonder they rarely saw eye to eye," he said, as though recalling some almost forgotten memory. Continuing past the entrance to the noisy festivities, they walked along the edge of the citadel, eventually set to pass up the hall. "I wish not for such a thing to happen between us," he went on. "Mind yourself and your cross disposition, and we will not find ourselves at odds."
"It will be done," she replied simply.
"Certainly it will," he said as they made their way into the citadel. Walking down the twisting stone hallways, they reached his quarters, Denethor, using his key to open the heavy oak door.
"So," she began, looking at him this time as she spoke and they made their way into the richly decorated dining room. "With Boromir's departure occurring so soon, there is much to be done…"
"Hope is not abandoned. Gondor needs it in these ever-darkening days. You of all people should know that," he said quickly. "All will be forced to take on additional duties to fill the void left by my eldest. Hopefully, his time away will not stretch out for any terrible length."
"And of Faramir?"
"He will have the most to live up to as a result."
"I see. ou doubt his skills?"
"He is…a reflection of myself, containing too many of the same flaws that easily lead to mistakes I wish not to see committed again," he countered, cutting her off. "No father wishes for his child to repeat the sins of the past. For what good is history if we do not learn from it?" Seeing doubt reflected clearly in her heart despite her cool demeanor, he shook his head in incredulity as he unlinked his arm with hers. "It is to be expected," he said, a faintly exasperated expression coming to his face as he thought on the fact that she questioned him. "And you are simply too young to understand. You will comprehend when you have children of your own," he finished, moving to his dressing room.
"I do not nor have I ever doubted you or your words," she replied steadily as she followed him into the sparsely decorated but richly dark wood-paneled chamber. The room glowed luminous with the light of newly lit lanterns the servants had prepared in their usual anticipation for their lord's wishes. "Why should I do such a thing?" she retorted.
"Because you are young. And it is simply the cycle of life for the younger generation to doubt the words of their elders," he replied knowingly. "But you shall learn. Every person must or they fall into wanton folly. And no kin of mine will take the latter road."
"You doubt my abilities, uncle?" she skeptically asked as she took a seat in the corner.
"No. But your line of questioning speaks volumes on your lack of experience in such matters," Denethor sternly replied, unlacing the front ties of his robe and shrugging out of it to reveal the chain-mail shirt he wore over the heavy long-tunic beneath. "Odd how he has taken to wearing mail constantly now," she thought, remembering that Boromir was the first to notice it years ago.
"Besides," he continued, tossing the robe on the back of the chair and walking out of the room, motioning for her to follow him. "I would not expect you to know of such things. You are too busy dealing with the more tangible things this world offers." He made his way to the study, quickly sitting down at the small, circular, black-topped table. In the middle of it sat a simple silver plate next to which rested a table-knife and a small woven basket containing a modestly sized loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese and a medium-sized vine of grapes. The steward's usual snack before retiring to bed. Seeing that she still stood, he immediately nodded for her to take a seat across from him. Doing as she was bidden, she sat as he prepared a quick meal of the items in the basket.
"May I offer you some refreshment?" he asked as flicked open a napkin, placing it across his lap and moving the basket across the table to her. "There is no extra plate, as I was not expecting company. I will send for one…"
"No, no. 'Tis no matter. The basket is fine," she replied, eagerly tearing off a bit of bread.
"I see you enjoyed celebration?" he asked, recognizing the signs of her impatient hunger as she tore off another piece of bread.
"Aye," she replied simply, continuing to eat. He could easily sense her nervousness while at the gathering earlier that night, even from a distance, rightly knowing she had not eaten much as a result. Hence, their quiet meal here.
After a while she couldn't help but smile, which Denethor quickly noticed.
"And what does milady find so amusing?" he asked evenly, the merest hints of a grin coming to his face.
"'Tis nothing…" she replied.
"You lie. Speak what's on your mind," he quietly commanded. Of course there was no use of her shielding her thoughts from him, especially when she wasn't focused on doing such a thing at the moment. It would take too much concentration anyway, especially now that she was preoccupied.
"Really, it is not important," she said. Seeing from the look on his face that he did not believe her she quickly rethought her words.
"Well…it has just occurred to me," she added quickly, deciding she might as well speak plainly. "You eat very neatly, 'tis all."
"Why would I not?" he asked, somewhat confused at her odd comment. "What, do some think I eat in a slovenly fashion?" he questioned, eyebrow arching in disbelief.
"No, no!" she said quickly.
"Then why point out such a thing?"
"It came to my notice, that is all. Just…erhm…pointing out fact."
"Well…" he replied, voice trailing off. "How else would one eat?" he added. "I was trained, after all, as any decent person would be. Why on earth would I take my meal any other way?" he continued, still confused at her odd comments.
"I honestly do not know…"
"What, do they expect me to loudly crack chicken bones, hurl grapes, and slurp on cherry tomatoes?"
"No, not at all. It makes little sense to me either," she shrugged, biting into a fresh piece of cheese.
"Well then, that is settled," he replied decisively.
"Yes. You are an exceptionally neat eater."
"As should be expected," he replied. Looking up at her and taking note of the odd expression on her face, he shook his head. "Such an odd one sometimes," he murmured.
"I try my best," she countered in mock offense, causing the corners of his mouth to twitch as he quickly suppressed a smile.
"Again, you need to take heed of your temper," he pointed out, voice quickly becoming serious. His words were simple and one could never accuse Denethor of lacking subtlety. But that was how they all preferred it, having been reared around it all their lives. Some, lacking any sense of insight, would foolishly call it cold, detached, and even without love. But they all knew better. Denethor, like the rest of his kin, felt deeply, more deeply than many ever had the privilege to witness. And, like the rest of his kin, he chose to control it in his own way, showing such affection as he best saw fit.
"I am sorry," she replied, the seriousness in her voice matching his.
"Of course," he replied. They continued eating in silence, Finduireth glancing at him every so often, studying his face. Boromir and Faramir had been right and she should've noticed it earlier.
"Uncle, you worry far more than one should," she said suddenly with a frown, reaching across the table and placing her hand on his.
"And you worry too little," he replied, giving her hand a slight but kind squeeze. "Besides," he said with a sigh, taking her hand in both of his "You have too many other responsibilities to be concerned with before you could even attempt to bear the same burdens as I. Be troubled not with musings of an old man, for they are too great for you to even begin to fathom."
"There are others far more talented who would lend help without expecting anything in return, if only one were to ask," she began lightly, as to not offend.
"My sons also have their own responsibilities," he quickly replied. "Both of them contain their own gifts. The stewardship is in my hands. And as an extension of that, so are the lives and fortunes of the people. Moreover, it is not a question of talent, assistance or the will of the people to lend such things, for they have gone far above the call of ordinary duties, as has been the case for generations since the Shadow has darkened. No, Minas Tirith and even Gondor itself dwindles from a simple lack of resources. Such is the result of the various misfortunes that have plagued each generation." As he finished these words, Denethor stood up from the table and began pacing the room, lost in his thoughts that were now making themselves known. Her frown became deeper as she thought on the full meaning of what he revealed. It was not that she didn't know the history of her own country (as any Gondorian would). It was more the fact that the words were being said aloud, giving the reality of it more severity.
"Long have been the days since any have seen the true heights of glory this country can achieve. But we have little time for dreaming of such things, niece, for the Shadow from the East grows ever-long. And my first priority, my foremost duty, is to keep it at bay."
"And what of the duties of my cousins?" she questioned. "For do they not share such great responsibilities?"
"A parent's greatest wish," Denethor said, coming to a stop, his hands clasped behind his back though his eyes shone with emotion, "is for their child to exceed where they did not, to tread right where they stumbled in folly, to ascend to heights inaccessible to themselves. Boromir has done so whereas Faramir...has not. My only wish is for my younger son to reach such heights. There can be nothing more frustrating than witnesses another squander such inherent potential."
"And how he squandered such potential?" she asked, her voice even.
"You expect such questions to have simple answers?" he replied with a mirthless laugh. She did not answer him, nor signal whether or not she agreed, choosing instead to go with her initial instincts and remain silent.
"No, not even you have an answer for that, apparently," he cynically said as he took his seat at the table again. "But then again, why would even bother to ask such a question if you had the answer? Do I imagine my own son completely lacking of some small bit of talent? Nay. But he has much, far too much learn if he is ever to effectively lead, that is to put it simply as you wish it to be. And those are my final words on the subject."
"It is understood then, uncle," she replied steadily.
"I hope it is," he countered. "Now," he began, voice becoming less agitated, "I hear you have finally made your choice as far as husbands go, yes?"
"Yes," she replied simply She wasn't surprised that he knew. Nothing, no matter how trivial or seemingly irrelevant, ever escaped his notice.
"Well then, this Raeliar seems to have the high opinion of those who know him best from what I have heard."
"Yes, yes he does. He has known both Boromir and Faramir for most all of their lives, as you know. And they have trusted him with their lives as well…"
"Yet he chooses to become a Ranger rather than advancing through the ranks of Boromir's company?"
"His family was originally of Ithilien, leaving to join Eldacar after they were insulted by the Usurper. He knows of nothing else besides his duty to Ithilien…
"And what of his duty to his steward?" Denethor questioned, voice grave. "What of serving Gondor in the best possible way that his steward sees fit?"
"That duty is foremost in his heart, I assure you. Which is why he chooses to defend the outer regions as a Ranger, a duty for which you granted him your personal permission but two years ago. He wishes no danger to ever come to Gondor's greatest city and so defends that which lies ahead of her. Hence his duty to his Steward, whom he holds foremost in his heart," she added quickly.
"So you tell me that he does not hold you foremost in his heart? The one he seeks to spend the rest of his mortal years with? That proves very odd indeed…"
If she were more alert or attentive, she could have presented an adequate answer. But now, she was fighting (and losing) to stay one step ahead of his line of questioning. Denethor generally spoke in simple terms, but yet as always, it was absurdly easy to find oneself quickly trapped within the riddles of his seemingly straightforward inquiries. Silence fell between them as he fixed her with a triumphant gaze as her mind raced to present him with an acceptable answer.
"My lord," she finally began, taking a deep breath. "The love of country and of family, while existing in separate realms of the heart may be present there with the same enthusiasm. Does Raeliar love his country and steward? Naturally he does, without question or doubt. And he will continue to do so, as long as he lives within the circles of this world. Now, does he love me as well? That too is true, also without question or doubt. He simply loves me with the same amount of enthusiasm that allows him to love and serve his lord and land. I can ask no more of him."
"Well, then it is settled. I can ask for no better answer," Denethor promptly replied, a hint of a smile coming to his face. "You may marry Raeliar, so long as he holds your happiness in the same regard as he holds his duties to country. Do as you will."
"It means nothing without your blessing, uncle!" she declared, rising from her seat and bowing, taking his hand and kissing the signet ring upon it in gratitude.
"You need not show such formalities, Finduireth. I am your uncle and family, not some unfeeling lord or stranger," he said uneasily, standing and deftly removing his hand from her clasp. "Besides, you would have married him anyway, whether or not I gave my permission."
"You assume so little of me?" she blanched.
"I know that once you set your mind to something, there is little one can do short of force to set you from your path, for better, and more often than not, for worse. But," he said, voice softening slightly, taking her hand in his as she stood, "You have little worry of having to set your heart against me on this matter. Now," he began, the weariness edging into his voice. "It has been an unusually long day. It is time I retire for the night."
"I see," she quickly said. "Then I shall trouble you no more. Truly," she murmured, rising and kissing him formally on the brow, "You have my gratitude."
"I can ask for nothing more at the moment then," he replied steadily, giving her a final nod of farewell.
As she left, closing the door quietly as not to disturb him, Denethor took to his seat again, his thoughts now serving as his only company.
Alone.
This would certainly not be the first time the Steward found himself in such a position.
Nor would it undoubtedly be his last.
Translation of Elvish verses:
O
Elbereth Star-kindler
(white) glittering slants down sparkling like jewels
from [the] firmament [the] glory [of] the star-host!
To-remote distance far-having gazed
from [the] tree-tangled middle-lands,
Fanuilos, to thee I will chant
On this side of the ocean, here on this side of the GreatOcean!
O Elbereth Starkindler!
From firmanet gazing afar,
To thee I cry here beneath death-horror!
O look towards me, Everwhite!
-This originally appeared in FoTR when Frodo, Sam and Pippin hear the elves singing and meet Gildor Inglorion on their way to the Woody End in Book I, Chapter 3: Three is Company. In the extended edition of FoTR, the lyrics are heard by Frodo and Sam as they are camping out in the woods on their way to Bree and witness the elves leaving. Personally, I love the beauty of that scene (and was glad to see in back in the EE of FoTR!), so I used that bit of the movie-verse. Assuming the elves would be singing the verses as they continued to make their way to the shores, I'd imagine they'd be passing somewhere around Minas Tirith on the way, which would allow others to hear them. Anyway, I used the fifth and sixth verse out of the original seven. The lyrics are by Tolkien from The Fellowship of the Ring, while the song from the movie is performed by David Long with Plan 9 (David Donaldson, Stephen Rocha, Janet Roddick). Translation taken from http:www.uib.no/People/hnohf/elbereth.htm.
-Yestarë is the first day of the year. According to the Steward's Reckoning (calendar), it takes place on December 22.
-Lastly, I realize that in book-verse, no one knew what Isildur's Bane was, which is what prompts Boromir to make his way to Imladris in the first place. But I since I used that part of the movie-verse an earlier chapter stating that Denethor is able to figure out the rhyme and sends Boromir to Rivendell to retrieve it, I figured it'd be best to remain consistent in the fic. Just goes to show you that I should be more careful in combining book-verse and movie-verse!