Dedication: Happy Mother's Day, Mom! Happy Birthday to me! I'm now officially fourteen!
Shy
I hear a knock at my study door.
"Come in," I say, and Finduilas quietly walks in.
"What is it, wife?" I ask. Four years into our marriage, and she is still shy with me at times.
She lowers her eyes. "I am with child." No elaboration, just four modest words.
At those plain words, a rich stream of joy floods into my mind. "At what time did you find out?"
She nods. "Just this hour, husband." She pauses. "You are not displeased?"
I nearly laugh at her timidity. I lean over to kiss her forehead.
"Of course not."
Namesake
A pair of eyes peer up at me through the folds of a soft woolen blanket.
Denethor -- his eyes gleaming with a barely suppressed pride -- ponders aloud the name of our babe.
"Turgon, perhaps, after my grandsire. Or Angelimir in honor of yours, love. However, I do fancy Mar-"
"What say you for Boromir, beloved?" I say.
He halts and tilts his head. "Hm, faithful jewel." His face breaks into a rare smile, and he bends over for an embrace, babe and all.
"Boromir it is," he declares.
Shame
Denethor watches proudly as Boromir listens with rapt attention to the clashes of sword blades.
"He is more like his grandfather than myself, Princess," he says, "but I mind not."
Secretly, I am glad, but shame fills my heart. How could I not wish for my grandson to have the nature of his father?
It is because I know the heart of my daughter holds more space for her son than his father.
