For the disclaimer, see the first chapter.
Chapter Two: A Visitor from the City
Denethor once again read the letter he held before him, and smiled as the words echoed through his mind. Behind him stood the great city of Minas Tirith, dominating the landscape, the White Tower a brilliant spire, almost blinding to the naked eye. Although knowing his father would disapprove, he was glad to be leaving it behind. There were too many memories there; many which he would have liked to forget. Setting out on the long road to Dol Amroth, he had found a peace he had never experienced, and a freedom he never knew existed. He turned to his accompanier.
"I feel like the kings of old," he said, a smile growing on his lips, "and although my father would not have it so, I feel less the son of a Steward, and more a bird in the sky." His companion laughed heartily in response. The two had known each other for many years, despite their differing ranks.
"My Lord," he said, "I would have it so. This journey is well-deserved." Denethor nodded.
"Yes," he said thoughtfully, "and it intrigues me." He paused for a moment, glancing to the road ahead. "Tell me," he continued, "what have you heard of Adrahil's daughter?"
"Only what many have," his companion replied, shrugging his shoulders. He gave his horse a slight tug on the reins. "It is said that she is most fair, and kind of heart. But as to her true nature...I cannot tell you, my Lord."
"I see," said Denethor, contemplating this answer. "Well, I have many curiosities about Dol Amroth. I think this trip may provide more than I had originally planned."
--------------------------------------
"What of this room, my lady?"
"No, no," Finduilas replied contemplatively, her left arm about her waist, her right holding her chin. "No, this will not do. It is too dark." Pressing her lips together, she thought a moment, and looked out of the room. "Here."
She walked out of the room and down the hallway, and coming to the room immediately before her own, she gasped the handle and pushed it open. "Yes," she smiled, letting out a deep breath, "This is much better. You could not even see the sea from that other room!" She turned to the servant, "That just would not do, would it?"
He smiled, "Indeed not, my lady."
She placed her hands to her lower back, and turned to face the window, "Lord Denethor must see the sea." Looking about the room, she frowned slightly. "But this dust will not do." Turning back to the servant she asked, "Will you see to it that this room is thoroughly cleaned? Lord Denethor shall be Steward one day, and we cannot have him in an untidy room. We shall also require new bed linens, the curtains cleaned, new candles, clean the fireplace as well…and anything else that you see."
"Of course, my lady. I shall see to it."
She smiled, "Good." Walking out of the room, she gasped his forearm as she passed, "Thank you."
Finduilas hurriedly made her way down the hall, her feet barely touching the floor as she darted about, preparing for their noble lord's arrival. It would be three days now before he arrived at the house, and she would not have him made to feel unwelcome.
She wondered about this man. She had been rather stunned when her father had informed her that it was Denethor, not Ecthelion, who had written to them. The Steward was well loved throughout all of Gondor, seen as a wise ruler and a man of firm conviction. Her father thought well of him, she knew, but never had he mentioned his son to her.
"Yes, my lady! What would you require?" An old, hearty voice asked.
Finduilas laughed, leaning her elbows on the kitchen table, "I should require a most excellent feast! Can you oblige?"
The cook replied, smiling, "And when do I not create feasts that make the mouth rejoice?"
She chuckled, "Never! But it is especially important, my friend. We are to have a special guest."
"Oh? And who would that be?" he asked, kneading some dough for his renowned bread.
"Lord Denethor of Minas Tirith."
His eyes widened slightly, "Truly?"
She nodded her head, still resting in her hands. "Well, then," he dusted his hands, wiping them on his apron, "it shall be done, my lady."
Finduilas walked over to him, and taking his forearm, she pulled him slightly downward and gave him a gentle kiss on his cheek, "Thank you."
"Of course, little one. Go on!" He playfully banished her, "I cannot work with such a distraction!"
She laughed cheerfully, and exited the kitchen to continue her preparations.
--------------------------------------
"Who comes here?"
"Lord Denethor of Minas Tirith!" a voice called, "Open the gate!"
Finduilas shot up off her bed, abandoning her book. She rushed to her window seat, her eyes scanning the ground below for a first glimpse of their noble visitor. Stamping her feet impatiently, she looked about, seeing no-one. She was surprised that he came with no great host or company…all she saw were two horses, with richly adorned saddles, befitting the beats of the House of the Steward.
Finduilas then heard her father's voice, greeting the two visitors. She did not hear all that he said, but only heard portions of it.
"…how was…journey?"
"It was fine, thank you."
Was this his voice that she heard? Was this lord Denethor? It was different than the first she heard. It was very faint, its true character lost in the wind and the waves that sounded all about them below. Something about this voice intrigued her. It sounded harsh and gruff, but yet a playfulness lay inside that brought a smile to her face.
Finduilas knew not how long she stood there, listening at the window, but soon, she realized that she no longer heard the voices she had that had echoed below. Just as she thought this, she heard her father call to her from down the stairs.
Finduilas straightened her dress as she scurried to the door, and leaving it cracked open behind her, she hurriedly made her way down the hallway, her pace causing the many candles to flicker as she passed.
She ran lightly down the great flight of steps, and just as she was about to step from the final stair, she cast her glance upward and froze. Finduilas quickly stepped back, taking shelter against the wall of the stair. She carefully peeked around it, and saw her father speaking with a man, tall and noble. A smile was on his face, his dark hair shorn at his shoulders. Servants came, taking his rich, fur-lined cloak, and he removed his gloves from his large hands. Another wonder she also saw. A great white horn hung, shining, from a baldric near his waist. It was adorned with gold on each end, and bore a tip of pure silver.
So that is lord Denethor…"Finduilas!"
"Yes, father, I'm coming!" She appeared from behind the stairs, and walked to them, concealing the fact she had been watching them in secret.
Just as she spoke, Denethor turned to look at her. His smile slowly faded into a look of sheer wonder. Younger than I would have imagined…
"Lord Denethor, may I present to you my daughter, Finduilas."
She smiled to him, and bowed before him, "My lord."
He bowed his head in return, "My lady."
That was his voice…
Denethor then took her hand in his own, brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. As he did so, she watched him intently, not taking her eyes from his expression. His face was stern and noble, worn with years for one of his age. He was extremely handsome.
Denethor peeked up at her, and smiled faintly, "My lady, what is said of you is true."
She cocked her head to this side, and he answered her look, "You are indeed most fair."
Finduilas lowered her head slightly, and she blushed, causing Denethor to softly laugh. Hearing this laughter, she could not help but look at him again, and she smiled, which he did also in return.
Their hands were still joined, and always he searched her youthful face, seeing in it a life and vibrancy that was as refreshing as the sea air itself. Finduilas shyly stole glances of him, and each time she did so, she would hold her glimpse longer.
"Well, it appears you will not hold my daughter's lateness against her," Adrahil broke in, "Often she misses greeting important visitors, for she has her head buried in a book."
She likes books then, Denethor thought.
Denethor glanced from Adrahil to Finduilas, an inquisitive smile on his face, as she replied, "Well, father, you have none but yourself to blame for that. It is you I take after."
She looked to Denethor and smiled.
"Indeed, you speak the truth, my dear," Adrahil laughed, "but why stand we here when a feast awaits us? Come, my lord," he said, placing his hand to Denethor's back, "The dining hall is just this way."
"Alas that my son cannot be here," Adrahil continued, leading the noble lord down the hall. But Denethor turned back, as if he had forgotten something.
Denethor turned, speaking courteously to Finduilas, "My lady? May I escort you?" Denethor offered out his arm to her. Taking the few steps to him, she accepted it, and they made their way to the feast prepared for them.
"Well, my lord," Adrahil began, "tell me of your journey. It was safe I trust?"
"It was," he nodded. "Though I am most glad indeed that it has ended," he replied, looking to Finduilas.
"How long of a journey was it, my lord?" she asked.
"Seven days, though it could have been travelled in six. I am afraid I found the scenery too distracting," he replied, laughing slightly.
"I have never seen the countryside between Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith," Adrahil interjected. "How does it differ, my lord?"
"Well…the further south and west we travelled, the more level the ground became. The ground is more solid nearer Minas Tirith, due to its proximity to the mountains. The closer to Dol Amroth, the more the alike to sand the ground is. There are fewer trees in the south, and the climate is warmer, even for this time of year."
"You would consider this weather warm?" Finduilas asked, surprised.
"I would, my lady. Minas Tirith is much colder than this in the winter time."
She shuddered, causing Denethor to look curiously at her, and her father explained, "If you remain with us for any amount of time, lord Denethor, you will soon discover my daughter's love for warmer weather. She has been positively tortured these past months." He winked to her. "It has been colder here than is usual, and thus, my poor daughter has had to rely on her books for company."
"And good company they are indeed!" she replied merrily, though half in defiance.
"Ah! Here we are," Adrahil said, gesturing to a door. "My lord," he bowed to him, allowing him to go through first, and doing so, Finduilas loosened her grip of his arm.
"Oh, no, my lady," Denethor replied. "I will see you into the room."
She smiled, "Thank you, my lord."