A Winter of Waiting
By
Stargazer Nataku
Finduilas of Dol Amroth stood alone on the wharf, watching as the ship faded into the distance and her eyes, dazzled by the sun sparkling on the water, were unable to see even its mast. Denethor was gone, leaving behind only a promise that he would send for her in the spring. She sighed, knowing there was nothing to do but return to the palace, and she did so silently, alone. However, instead of returning to her rooms, she went to the garden they had walked in together and sat down on their bench among the roses.
There were echoes of him everywhere; the garden felt empty with only the memory of his presence, and even the sound of the sea seemed empty without Denethor's voice accompanying it. Finduilas reached out and absentmindedly brushed her fingers across the stone beside her, where he had sat. So lost was she in her thoughts that she did not hear Imrahil's approach until he spoke to her. "Well, sister," he said, "he's left then?"
"Yes, he has," Finduilas answered, and withdrew her hand so her brother could sit on the bench beside her. He was still pale from his recent illness, but the light had returned to his laughing eyes, although at the moment he regarded his sister seriously. Finduilas met his gaze and did not say anything for a long moment.
"You really love him, don't you?" Finduilas blushed, and it was all the answer her brother needed. "It must be hard, that he's left."
"He had to," Finduilas answered stoically.
"That does not make it any easier, I'm sure," her brother countered.
"No, it does not," Finduilas admitted, "I miss him already, and it has only been an hour. I do not know how I shall endure a whole winter."
"You'll have enough to keep you occupied," Imrahil told her, "There's much to prepare, if you're going to be leaving us." There was a long pause, and he looked away from her.
"Imrahil…" she began, but her brother jumped to his feet and interrupted her.
"Let us not think of that today. I have a mind to go riding, and I think you ought to join me." Finduilas paused only a moment before she smiled and nodded and allowed Imrahil to help her to her feet as together they went towards the stables.
Imrahil had been right, for soon Finduilas found herself so busy with sewing and embroidery that she only had time to think after she had retired for the evening and, alone in her rooms, would stand by her window and look out into the garden outside, bathed in the pale winter moonlight. Then, when all was silent save for the soft lapping of the waves against the shore, Finduilas shut her eyes and remembered, and imagined a day she knew would soon come.
She read the letter he had written to her, sent upon his return to Minas Tirith to tell her of his journey and his father's blessing of their marriage, countless times in the moonlight. As the weeks passed, every stroke and letter of his flawless handwriting became more beloved and familiar to her. It was late when she would lie down to sleep, alone in her bed in a room that never before had seemed too large and empty in the silence of the night.
It was midmorning, one winter's day, when Finduilas finally went to sit in the room where the women did their embroidery. Her wedding dress that her mother had painstakingly sewn for her was nearly ready, and now Finduilas herself had to place a few touches of her own on it before it could be sewn together. Sitting down at the embroidery frame, she began to work, listening to the other women chatting merrily about husbands and children, while her mind strayed to her own happy future.
"Roses, dearest daughter?" she heard a soft voice in her ear, as her mother bent down beside her to admire her work.
"Yes," Finduilas answered with a blush.
"Beautiful," her mother said, sitting down in a chair beside her, as she reached out to touch the soft fabric.
"Thank you," Finduilas answered, as she made another stitch, "I want it to be. I would have everything be perfect."
"That rarely happens, Finduilas," her mother reminded her, "But we shall do all in our power to ensure your day is as perfect as possible." There was a pause. Finduilas kept working, and her mother watched her for a moment, silent. "It is difficult to think you will soon be leaving us," Eärwen admitted.
"I dread it also, in some ways," Finduilas told her mother, "It seems impossible that I will be going away, especially so far, and I just do not…I wish I did not have to choose between being with him and being here, in Dol Amroth…"
"We shall miss you, but I am sure that Lord Denethor would give you leave to visit, should you desire to. I know it shall not be the same, but it is what happens when a woman weds. I had to, my mother had to…"
"I understand it," Finduilas interrupted, "But it does not make it any easier."
"Nay, but I doubt you would be happy without him, seeing how you're acting even now, when you shall see him in scarce two months."
"I miss him."
"I know," her mother said with a smile, "But it will soon be spring." She gave her daughter's hand a brief squeeze and then rose to return to her own work.
One bright morning after breakfast, Finduilas found herself walking in the garden. The breeze once again carried the fresh air of springtime and she breathed it deeply, and she sang as she walked. Her work finished, she now could do nothing but wait and it became nearly unbearable as the day drew nearer. She forced herself to sit on the bench, and her mind strayed again, as it most always did, to Denethor, far away in the north. She wondered what he was doing at that moment while she sat in their garden, listening to the whispering sea and the cry of the gulls, idle and waiting.
She sighed. She disliked the waiting, but the thought of leaving…it was both bitter and sweet. To be with Denethor, to be his wife and live the rest of her life by his side, able to depend on his strength and his love for her…it seemed more than she had ever desired. Yet, Minas Tirith was far away, and while she waited impatiently to see her new home and meet her new people, the thought of leaving her own people and her family made her heart ache at the same time as it swelled with happiness.
A gull cried high above, and Finduilas smiled and sought out the gray shape soaring high above the clouds. How she loved them, and how she would miss them! Yet maybe, she mused, she would no longer need them. To her, their cries always felt and sounded forlorn, the cry of a creature lost and alone while riding the tempests; they had secretly touched on how she had felt, yearning for someone who she could love while failing time and time again.
But in three short months, Denethor had changed all that. Finduilas smiled and finally, in the privacy of the garden, knowing Denethor was miles away, allowed herself to laugh, remembering him drenched and dripping, standing beside the boat, waist deep in water after pitching in headfirst. Her laughter faded into a smile, and into the girlish daydreams that had been her own since he had departed.
"Finduilas?" She was pulled from her dreams by her brother's voice, as he came towards her, an untouchable sadness in his eyes.
"Yes, Imrahil?" she asked as he came to her side.
"A ship from Gondor has just arrived." She jumped to her feet and blushed.
"It has?"
"Indeed. Father sent messengers down to greet them, and wishes you to come, for as this undoubtedly concerns you, you should be present."
"Oh, Imrahil!" she said, and she felt her joy welling up even as her heart sank. The waiting was over, but now it would soon be time to depart. She embraced her brother firmly, knowing that his joy and sorrow were mixed as hers was. Together they walked back towards the palace where their father waited.
Finduilas stood to her father's right as the messenger entered the hall. He was a young man of about Imrahil's age, and he came and bowed before the Prince, and spoke in a firm voice. "My Lord, I bring tidings from my Lord Ecthelion II, Steward of Gondor, and his son and heir, Lord Denethor II."
"I welcome you to Dol Amroth," her father answered, "Please." He rose and stepped forward, and the young man did the same with two of the letters he carried, and then spoke again.
"This I was told to give directly to the lady, my lord," he continued. Finduilas blushed and when her father nodded his approval, stepped forward and received the envelope, feeling the young man's eyes upon her, the future wife of his lord. She did not open the letter, but recognized Denethor's neat handwriting on the outside of the envelope where he had written her name. She yearned to open it, but would not do so until she was alone.
Her father, having read through the messages sent him, finally spoke, "All is prepared then?" he asked the young man.
"Indeed," the messenger answered, "They only await my lady."
"Then we must not delay long," Adrahil said after a moment's pause, "Finduilas."
"Father?"
"How soon can you prepare to depart?" Shocked by the question, Finduilas gathered her wits together and answered.
"I can be ready in the morning," she said.
"Very well then," Adrahil said softly, and there was sadness in his voice, "Is that suitable?" he questioned the messenger.
"Indeed it is my lord," he answered.
"Then it shall be so," Adrahil consented, turning to his daughter. "I think there is much for you to do then."
"Yes," Finduilas answered, and for the first time the reality of what was happening struck her. One more day in her beloved city…one more day before she left her family and her home, which would from then on would be home no longer. Unable to speak further, Finduilas quickly left the room to find the solitude of her own chambers. Once there, she sat down on the seat before her window overlooking the sea. It was open, and a soft breeze caressed her where she sat as she regarded the envelope. With suddenly trembling fingers she opened the small envelope he had sent and withdrew the letter.
Beloved Finduilas,
I cannot begin to tell you how long this winter has been, for indeed it seemed the longest of my life. I have yearned for you from the moment my ship left the harbor, and my yearning has only increased with the passage of the months. From today, when the ship shall depart to bring you here, it shall be nearly impossible to wait to see your smiling face again.
I know the parting shall be difficult for you, and I shall never be able to express how your sacrifice of home and family for a life here touches me. To think that you would leave all that you have always loved to be with me is a humbling thought. I hope that together, you and I may build a home here that you can love and cherish as much as your own city. I have worked hard to create the beginnings of that home, and when you come, we shall finish it together, one piece at a time.
I wait impatiently for your coming, dearest Finduilas. My people and I are ready to welcome you to our city, and to give you an honored place among us, for there is no honor too great for you. I selfishly wish you a swift journey, so that fewer days may stand between us.
–Denethor
Finduilas finished, and folded the letter with a smile coming to her face even though there were tears in her eyes. Indeed this day was both bitter and sweet, as tears of sorrow and tears of joy mingled on her pale face. She turned to look around her room, pausing for a moment, before there was a knock on her door. "Enter!" Finduilas called, and the door swung open and her mother stepped in.
"I thought you would appreciate some help," she said to her daughter.
"I would, mother," Finduilas answered with a smile. If her mother saw the tear stains on her cheeks that Finduilas had attempted to hastily wipe away, she said nothing, merely opened the trunk that sat nearly empty at the foot of the bed. "This should be big enough, I wager," her mother mused, "It is quite large, and only a quarter full anyway. I've already set Isëlmra to pack some of the other things you shall take with you, but we shall pack your clothes and things here." Her mother walked over to the wardrobe and opened it wide and began to draw some of her daughter's dresses from within. "Your father and I were speaking yesterday," she began again as she handed the dresses to her daughter to carry over to the bed. "And if you wish it, your brother can accompany you."
"Are you sure, Mother?" Finduilas turned from her trunk and met her mother's eyes.
"Yes, of course," Eärwen assured her daughter, "We do not wish you to go alone, by any means. I wish I could come with you, but if your father cannot, then I would stay here."
"I understand mother," Finduilas answered, "I was not thinking that any of you would come, but it would ease me to know that Imrahil will be there."
"I thought so," her mother answered, "What you must do is not easy, for Minas Tirith will be very different from our city. It will be a lonely time for you, daughter, but it will not last." She handed Finduilas the last of her dresses, and the young woman folded it carefully and laid it atop the others. Together they picked up a few more of the small things Finduilas had lying around her room; a few smooth rocks from the beach, a beautiful carved wooden box that her grandfather had made her, and various other objects that had marked the room as hers.
When they had finished, Eärwen took and squeezed her daughter's hand, and spoke gently. "I wish to give you my gift now, before the morning, Finduilas." She quickly left the room and, having gone into the sitting room, came back with a package wrapped in white. She handed it to her daughter, who laid it on the bed and opened it, drawing from within a beautiful deep blue cloak embroidered with silver stars. Finduilas gasped.
"Mother, it is beautiful!" She put it on, closing the silver clasp about her neck. It was a heavy garment, made for the cool nights and colder winters in her new home, and the weight pressed reassuringly on her shoulders. She drew it close about her and then turned to her mother. "Thank you," she said, her voice filled with gratitude, tears in her eyes. Her mother returned her smile, and came over to adjust it on her shoulders.
"I wanted you to have something fitting for the wife of the future Steward, and something special that I had made."
"It is beautiful. I will wear it with pride." Finduilas carefully undid the clasp and folded the cloak carefully, rewrapping it in the white cloth and laying it on top of her trunk. She glanced around again to be sure nothing was forgotten, and then closed the trunk gently. The afternoon had passed quickly, and it was about an hour before sunset. Finduilas' heart skipped a beat, as she realized that this would be the last evening spent in her childhood home, and she suddenly felt a strong desire to go walking by the shores of the sea. Her mother smiled, as if she overheard Finduilas' thoughts, and spoke gently.
"Why don't you go walking, daughter? The sun will be setting soon, and it promises to be beautiful. I'm sure Imrahil would join you."
"I think I will," Finduilas agreed, "Thank you for your help, mother."
"I am always glad to give it, Finduilas. Now go. I'll send your brother to find you."
"All right."
Finduilas went down to the wharfs, and stood on the same spot where she had waited for Imrahil and Denethor months previous. She knew her brother would look for her there, and he did, after only a few minutes had passed. He spoke little, only asking, "Our beach?" Finduilas nodded, and followed him into the boat, shutting her eyes and letting go of all thought. She allowed herself to feel, and in that moment, a smile crept across her face as she let herself go. The smell of the sea was all about her, the cries of the gulls and the sounds of the waves lapping against the boat were in her ears, and the sea air tangled itself in her long black hair which she had not tied up as she usually did, but instead allowed it to fly free in the brisk breeze. The boat glided across the water, riding the gentle swells of the waves, and a fierce joy rushed through her at the mix of sensations. How she loved this! How she would miss it!
She felt the boat crunch against sand and, removing her shoes, stepped lightly from it onto the beach. She did not feel like walking so, holding her skirts up above the water, she waded out into the water and climbed up onto one of the rocks in the shallows. She sat, facing west, and watched as the sun slowly began to sink towards the horizon.
Imrahil came to sit beside her, but neither sibling spoke. Finduilas felt the air of melancholy becoming almost tangible between them, and she spoke softly. "I wonder if I shall be able to easily watch the sun set in Minas Tirith."
"I do not know," Imrahil answered.
"I hope so," Finduilas answered, "Though I doubt they shall be as beautiful as this." She took a deep breath, inhaling the pungent sea air tinted with the scent of flowers. They sat silently for a long moment, watching the sun and the waves and hearing the gentle lapping of water on shore and the forlorn cries of the gulls. Finduilas fancied they were saying goodbye to her in the only way they could, with their mournful music.
"I am glad I can accompany you," her brother finally said, breaking the stillness. "It will not be the same here after you have gone." Finduilas smiled sadly.
"I shall miss it all," she said softly.
"I know," her brother answered, and he put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as the sun slipped completely behind the water. "We should return, before it is too dark to see the rocks."
"Yes," Finduilas agreed, and together they waded back over to the boat, heading back home for the farewell feast their father had arranged for his only daughter.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The ship from Minas Tirith sat waiting, already loaded, as Finduilas, Adrahil, Imrahil, and Eärwen stood together on the dock. Many of the people of the city were gathered on the wharfs to wish Finduilas goodbye, for she was much loved in the city, and she had spoken soft words to them. Yet now was the time of parting that Finduilas dreaded. Imrahil stood by her side, facing their parents, and for a moment, no one spoke, but they simply looked at each other, eyes full of sadness and love. It was Adrahil that broke the silence. "Dearest daughter," he said softly, and he reached out and took her hand. There was grief mingled with happiness in his clear eyes, and he pulled her into an embrace, "I shall miss you. Do not grieve overmuch that you must leave us, for though it is indeed sad, you shall always have a place here for you and your husband. Return whenever you will and can be spared. I just ask that you be happy, Finduilas."
"I will. Thank you, father," Finduilas said, pulling him closer for just a moment before she pulled away and turned to her mother.
"Finduilas," Eärwen said, and she too embraced her daughter, "I wish you joy, and pray the Valar shall keep sorrow from you as long as you can be spared it."
"Thank you, mother." Adrahil glanced past Finduilas to the captain of the ship, who was looking impatient.
"It is time," he said gently, "Carry our love with you always, my child, and be content." Finduilas nodded, feeling tears coming to her eyes. But Imrahil gently put his hand on her shoulder, and together the siblings boarded the ship, and Finduilas forced herself to not look back until they were aboard and the gangplank was pulled up.
She watched her parents grow smaller on the pier, until finally they could no longer be seen, and even the city itself had disappeared into the distance. When it was no longer visible, she went below to the quarters that she and Imrahil would share, and laid down, shutting her eyes tightly as she attempted to reconcile her joy with her sorrow.
When Finduilas and Imrahil and their entourage left the ship, several days later, they were met by guards of the Citadel, who waited on the bank of the river. At their head stood a tall man with black hair and soft grey eyes, wearing a silver star on his dark cloak. When Finduilas and Imrahil were before him he bowed low. "My Lord, my Lady," he said in a strong voice, "I am Thorongil, sent by Lord Ecthelion to conduct you safely to Minas Tirith, and to welcome you to Gondor."
"I thank you for your troubles," Imrahil answered, "I am Imrahil, and this is the Lady Finduilas." Finduilas smiled at the man before her and bowed, but did not speak.
"The ride is long from here to Minas Tirith," Thorongil then said, "And we had best depart, so we may arrive in the White City near sundown or shortly thereafter. Can you ride, my lady?"
"Of course," Finduilas answered, and he nodded.
"I do not mean to offend," he answered, "But in Minas Tirith many women know not how." He took the reigns of another horse offered to him, and handed them to her.
"His name is Gildin, my Lady, and he is gentle." Finduilas nodded, and with a little help from her brother, was soon mounted, glad she had changed into her riding clothes.
They rode at a fast pace for the majority of the day, and Finduilas spoke little, though Thorongil occasionally spoke to her and told her particulars about Gondor and the White City itself. "Were you born in Gondor?" she asked once, when she was tired of the silence about them, broken only by the pounding of the horses' hooves.
"No, my lady," Thorongil answered her, "I was born far to the north, in the wilds of Eriador, among the men who yet dwell there."
"So far away!" she answered.
"Indeed," Thorongil answered, and for a moment his face had a far away look to it, a pained look. It passed quickly, but not before Finduilas marked it.
"I did not mean to upset you, Lord Thorongil," she said quickly.
"You did not upset me, my lady," he answered, and there was a pause, "I desired to depart my home and travel to the southlands. Yet it has been many years since I walked the lands of my birth, and seen the people who I yet love. I know not how they fare, in the darkness of this later age of the world."
"It must be hard," Finduilas answered, "This is the first time I have left Dol Amroth, except to visit my mother's kin, who lived only a half-day's journey down the coast."
"Come sister, there is a wider world than our city; did you not desire to see it?" Imrahil interjected, with a youthful smile.
"Indeed," Finduilas answered, "Yet it is so strange here, dark…" Finduilas had known, of course, that Mordor was near her new home, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight of it. It was dark and sinister, and the very image filled her with dread as the flames from distant Orodruin burned red against the blackness of the sky above it. In the distance, she could see Osigiliath ruined, and the emptiness of the lands along the Anduin. Here and there, there was a company of soldiers, camped out or marching across the plains, or riding swift horses.
At least the grass across which they were riding was green, Finduilas decided, resolutely looking forward to where, in the distance, she tried to catch a glimpse of her new home.
"The darkness to the east is ever growing," Thorongil said softly as he could to be heard over the pounding hooves, "Yet there is still hope, my lady. The darkness cannot last forever, for the night is always followed by a new dawn." Then he smiled. "There," he continued, pointing towards the horizon, "Minas Tirith."
Finduilas turned her gaze from the men at her side and looked ahead. The sun was already dipping low on the horizon, but it finally caught against a glimmer of white at the base of the mountains in the distance. She could discern a high tower, rising above it, with the Steward's banners caught in the breeze. It glowed in the fading sunlight, shining golden above the fertile fields. Closer still was a great wall, and Finduilas noticed they were heading towards a large gate in it. "The Rammas Echor," Thorongil stated, "We'll pass through it onto the Pelennor, where there are many farms, and go on to the White City. We shall arrive about the time dinner is laid out."
"That is a blessing," Finduilas added, for she was hungry, but more than hungry she was tired.
"You must be weary," Thorongil said, "Do not be troubled, it will not be long."
Finduilas nodded and kept her gaze on the great city before her. There was home. She had to admit, it was as beautiful as Denethor had described. The black outer wall shone dark about the brightness of the pure white stone walls above, and over it all the Tower of Ecthelion stood watch like a stern sentinel, ever vigilant. The banners there hung nearly still, for there was scarcely a breeze, and it seemed as if the world was frozen in waiting. Then suddenly, there was a sound from afar, a clear ringing of many trumpets, and Finduilas found herself smiling. Their sound, while not the cry of the gulls, was beautiful, and seemed to call to her as she approached, beckoning her onward.
"They have seen us," Thorongil told her, "They blow the trumpets to welcome you, my lady."
"It is beautiful," her brother said, bringing his horse beside hers.
"Yes," Finduilas answered, suddenly nervous now the city was so near. Yet before she knew it, the entourage had ridden through the great gate in the thick, black outer wall, and a cheer went up from many who were assembled on the walls of the city to watch her arrival. And there, just within the gate, Denethor sat waiting on his own horse. The moment she saw him, all her sadness and weariness disappeared and she rode to his side and reached out to squeeze his hand. Under the clamor of the people crying their welcomes to her, Denethor spoke, and Finduilas smiled at his words, reading the joy in his eyes. "Welcome home, my lady."
Together, side by side, they rode up through the city, Thorongil and Imrahil riding behind them, and Finduilas was amazed at the beauty and workmanship of the city. The buildings gleamed white and strong, a solid remnant of a time long past. When they arrived at the Citadel, they rode into a small garden, from which the Tower of Ecthelion rose high above them. Their horses were taken from them, and Denethor took her hand and lead her within to a great hall.
It was already set up for the feast, but in an ornate chair at the front of the hall, a white haired man sat, ever alert. When she entered he rose, and a smile broke across his face. Denethor led her forward, and gave a slight bow, and Finduilas did so as well, sensing her brother a step behind her.
"Father," Denethor said, "May I present Finduilas." The old man was beaming at her, and he reached out and took her hand, pressing his lips to the back.
"It is an honor to meet you, my lady."
"I thank you for your warm welcome."
"And this is her brother, Lord Imrahil," Denethor continued, and Imrahil stepped forward and bowed.
"My Lord."
"Glad am I indeed to meet the son of Adrahil," Ecthelion told the young man with a kindly smile, "And joyful that one of the Lady's kinsmen could make the journey." He made a motion, and in a moment a page was at the Steward's side. "Please escort Lord Imrahil to his chambers. Undoubtedly he is weary. If you need anything, my lord," he continued, addressing Imrahil, "Do not hesitate to ask for it. I shall send another when the feast is laid out."
"Thank you, my Lord," Imrahil said with a bow, and turned to follow the page. When he had disappeared, the Steward smiled at Finduilas, who found herself smiling back, feeling already comfortable with the aging steward. When he spoke, however, it was to his son.
"I thought you would wish to escort your lady to her chambers."
"Of course, Father," Denethor said, and turned to Finduilas, his face neutral while his eyes were smiling, "Come, my lady." Finduilas bowed again to the Steward and turned with Denethor, walking by his side. They were silent even after they had disappeared into the hallways of the Citadel, and were alone, but Finduilas felt keenly his presence by her side, though they did not touch, and her heart sang with joy. She felt a blush creeping into her cheeks, and she glanced up at Denethor, walking proudly by her side.
Almost as if he sensed her gaze, he looked down at her, but Finduilas did not look away. He paused, and looked forward and back down the hallway, before stopping completely. She followed suit, and turned to face him, and she broke the silence as he pulled her into his arms. "I've missed you so," she confessed, pulling him as tightly to her as she could, feeling her heart burning with joy.
"And I you, my lady," he answered, "The winter seemed endless." He pulled away only slightly, keeping her within the circle of his arms. "How does your new home please you?" She met his eyes, and saw his intense desire for her to love his city as he did, and she paused before speaking.
"The city is beautiful," she told him, "I should very much like to see more of it."
"Yet you are troubled by something," Denethor prompted.
"I…I did not realize that Mordor should be so close." She shivered, remembering the blackness of the eastern lands and the fires gleaming against the ashen clouds that hung above the dead land, "The sight of it…it is terrifying."
"Indeed it is," Denethor said, "I had not thought of it, for I am used to the sight and have lived all my life under the shadows of the Black Land. Perhaps it will not seem so threatening on a day the sun shines."
"Perhaps not," she agreed, hoping that it would be true.
"I promise you, Finduilas, that you never need fear the darkness to the east. No conqueror has ever entered the city, for the outer wall is impenetrable, and her great gate is nigh unbreakable."
"I trust you," Finduilas said, "And I expect I shall grow used to it in time. It is simply…far different from Dol Amroth."
"Yes," Denethor said softly, "It is. But I hope you can be happy here."
"If you are here, it is all I need," Finduilas answered, just as softly, smiling up at him. Denethor leaned down and kissed her softly.
"And tomorrow," Denethor said, "We shall be married."
"Must we delay so long?" Finduilas asked, and there was a sparkle of merriment in her eyes. He smiled back and squeezed her hand.
"Unfortunately, yes," he answered, "We thought to have the ceremony mid-afternoon tomorrow, if that pleases you. It will give all the morning to prepare."
"It is perfect," Finduilas assured him, "Although I wish it could indeed have been this afternoon, for now that I am here, even a day's delay seems too long." She smiled, and they continued on down the corridor, still clasping their hands.
"Your things should have been brought by now," he said as they reached the door. "Please, I'll wait for you here. Take your time." She smiled at him, and squeezed his hand before reaching out and opening the door.
The room was larger than her chambers in Dol Amroth, and beautiful in a different way. There was a blazing fire already lit in the large fireplace, for the evening was cool, but it warmed the room nicely as Finduilas laid her traveling cloak on the bed. The walls were grey stone, and the furniture was the same color wood as the ceiling beams.
Someone had already unpacked her things, and Finduilas found her hairbrush and comb beside a basin of warm water waiting for her on the vanity. She smiled in thankfulness, and went over to the wardrobe, finding her gowns already waiting. She selected one of the new ones, for the night was cold, and her thinner dresses suited for the climate of Dol Amroth would not suit. It was a beautiful dark emerald green dress that fit her slim body nicely, and brought out the color of her eyes. The bodice was embroidered with golden thread in a design of the sea flowers and vines she loved so well, and the neck and cuffs were edged with a thin band of lace her mother had knitted with gold thread.
She put it on and then walked over to the basin, washing the dirt of the road away from her face and hands, then carefully unbraided her hair and brushed it out until it was again smooth and braided it quickly, wrapping it into a bun on the back of her head. She had never had the ability to do more complicated hairstyles herself, and it was undoubtedly true that Isëlmra, who had agreed to come with her mistress, was off resting. Finduilas did not mind this, in fact she had wished it, and so she did the best she could. When she had finished, she regarded herself critically in the mirror, holding up the candle that had been burning on the vanity, and gave a satisfied nod. She felt better, although she wished there was time for a complete bath, but she did not trouble herself with it. Instead, she tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear, slid a pair of green slippers onto her feet, and walked back over to the door again to find Denethor still waiting on the other side.
When the door opened, he turned to her with a smile. "You are beautiful, my lady. Is that a new dress? I do not recall seeing it in my time in your city."
"It is indeed new," she said, surprised that he had taken that close a look at her clothing, "For it is cooler here than in my home. My mother did all the work herself, last winter."
"Indeed so," he said, and he offered her his arm, which she gladly took as they began to walk back towards the great hall. "How fare your parents?"
"They are well," Finduilas answered, "Although I am sure they miss me, and Imrahil."
"I wish it was not necessary for you to leave your family behind," Denethor told her softly.
"I know," Finduilas answered, "But it will be harder for them than it is for me I am sure." She said, "I came to find and form a new family, while they must face the missing piece in their own. But do not worry about them, for they know that I have made my choice and, though I indeed shall miss them, I will be happy here." She smiled at Denethor confidently, and for a brief moment, pressed her head against the side of his shoulder as they walked.
The next morning, Finduilas awoke early, when it was still dark, and lay awake for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, happiness shining on her face. She was loath to move, but there was much to be done, and when Isëlmra came bustling in with breakfast on a tray, Finduilas took the hint and got out of bed, wrapping a robe around her as she sat down at the small table where the other woman had placed her food.
Isëlmra was an older woman of fifty, and she had been Finduilas' nurse when she had been a child. She had never before left Dol Amroth, but when she had been told that 'her girl' would be leaving, she had given a resolute frown and declared that no other servant but herself would accompany her lady to her new life. Finduilas felt the urge to chuckle when the older woman had declared, "I was there when my girl came in to this world, and it is my duty to stay with her until I leave it."
She was just as energetic this morning as she usually was, as she threw open the curtains and stoked the fire to new life. "Well, my lady," she said, "The happy day's here. Be sure to eat all of that, even if you're not hungry. I didn't bring much in to begin with, for you are nervous, yes?"
"Yes," Finduilas admitted.
"Dear child, all women are on their wedding day." She paused and looked at Finduilas for a moment, who ate a piece of fruit to appease her, "You're not having second thoughts are you?"
"Never!" Finduilas answered, with such an intense look that Isëlmra was satisfied.
"Good. Well you finish eating that, and then we'd best get started. There's much to do before this afternoon. Dear me, it's so hard to believe. My lady, I am so excited that I couldn't sit still even if I had the time, which I don't." She bustled around, making the bed as she talked, and generally setting everything to rights. Finduilas had finished eating and just watched her work with an amused smile on her face.
"Did you send my gift to Denethor?" Finduilas asked. To pass the winter, she had made and carefully sewed and embroidered a cloak for him. It was black, and embroidered on the back was the symbol of the Stewards in silver.
"I did indeed my lady," Isëlmra answered, "I did not give it to him directly, for he was occupied, but I gave it to a young man who assured he would get it."
"Thank you," Finduilas answered, and the woman nodded, and came back over to the table.
"Well you relax a bit, and I'll take care of these dishes, and then we'll see what we can do to get you to look as beautiful as ever you did. Not that you need much help, my dear." And she picked up the tray and left the room.
Finduilas smiled and walked over to the window in her chamber, opening it wide. It looked north, she decided, for away to the right she could see the glimmer of sunlight on the Anduin, for indeed the sun was shining brightly and the day was warm and beautiful. Denethor had been right. Everything did indeed look even brighter and more welcoming in the spring sunshine, and with the northerly view, she could not see Mordor at all from her vantage point. True, she could not hear the soft whisper of the sea, and there were no gulls to sing their mournful songs, but there was the sound of a city awaking, and excited for the coming day.
Finduilas smiled, and sat herself down on the small ledge in front of the window, and calmly waited until Isëlmra returned, with a pair of packages in her hands. "My lady, Lord Denethor has sent these for you. I'm told these are very fragile…" Finduilas smiled and took the fragile package and unwrapped it carefully. Inside, there lay three red roses, perfectly formed, and a small note. She read it aloud, so Isëlmra could also know what it said. "Beloved, when I left last winter, your mother gave me several rosebushes from our garden, and I had them planted. These are the first blooms they have given. I hope you can put them to some use. Denethor." When her eyes met her former nurse's, they were glimmering with tears. "This is the most beautiful gift I have ever been given," she said, "Valar bless them both."
"Indeed it is, dear," the older woman said, "But it is not the only gift." The servant handed her the next package while taking the roses and laying them in the washbasin to keep them fresh. In the meantime, Finduilas opened the second and gasped. It was a beautiful silver necklace, with strands entwined in a knot pattern, in the center of which was a design of three swans, set together in a circle.[*]
"Now that is beautiful!" the older woman said, with a glance to what Finduilas held.
"Indeed, it is lovely," Finduilas said earnestly, smiling as she attached the silver chain around her neck. "This will suit better than the necklace I was planning to wear today."
"I would think that is what your lord is hoping," Isëlmra said, "That'll last you all your life, my dear, and it'll always help you remember where you came from."
"How could I forget?" Finduilas asked, taking off the necklace and laying it on her vanity to be put on again later.
"I don't suppose you could," Isëlmra answered, "Now come, my lady. There's much to do."
The time flew by, it seemed, and before she knew it, Finduilas was ready, standing in front of the mirror in the room and regarding herself critically. Isëlmra had done her hair into a complicated knot on the back of her head, set low at the nape of her neck, and pinned the roses so they stood out vibrantly red against the black of her hair. Her dress had been pressed, so it looked fresh and clean, and the embroidery at the bottom and wrists stood out brightly against the white fabric she had chosen. The necklace shone at her neck. Finduilas suddenly wished she were ten years younger, but then chided herself for being foolish. Denethor certainly did not care; if anything he considered her young and beautiful because she was twenty years his junior. And she was still pretty, even though she could not consider herself as beautiful as she had been ten years previously, and it was foolish to think on it.
"You're beautiful," Isëlmra said, interrupting her thoughts as she nodded approvingly over Finduilas' shoulder, "There isn't a person in all of Gondor who would not think so." Finduilas opened her mouth to reply, but a knock on the door interrupted her.
Isëlmra went and opened it, and then stepped back and Imrahil stepped in. He was smiling, dressed in his best clothes, and he looked her over with an approving eye. "You are beautiful, sister," he said, as he came over and took her hand and kissed her cheek. "Are you ready?"
"Indeed I am," she answered, and she returned his smile without letting go of his hand.
"It is hard to believe that this day is finally here," he then admitted, "I wish you every joy imaginable, Finduilas."
"Thank you, Imrahil," she said, and brother and sister embraced.
"Is there anything you need me to do?" her brother asked.
"Not at present except…" she reached up and straightened the collar on his tunic, and Imrahil laughed.
"How will I ever dress myself if you are not around?" he asked.
"I suppose you will just have to manage," Finduilas said, taking a step back and looking him over. "Very handsome," she commented.
"Am I acceptable then?" he asked.
"Of course," she told her little brother, and they were silent for a long moment, just looking at each other.
"I wish everything did not have to change so," Imrahil admitted, "What will I do without my 'Mother' Finduilas?" he asked, giving her again the nickname he had given her when he was a boy, and she had indeed acted like a second mother to him. Finduilas smiled, and squeezed his hand.
"You will have to visit," Finduilas answered, "I know it will not be the same, but…" She embraced him again. "I wish I did not have to choose. I do not love you any less because I love Denethor. Do you understand?"
"Of course I do, sister-mine," Imrahil assured her, "I wish happiness, and I know that this is where you'll find it." There was another knock on the door. Isëlmra, who had been standing to the side, went to open it to find another page there who bowed and spoke.
"Everything is ready, if the Lady is prepared," he said.
"I am," Finduilas answered firmly, though there was happy nervousness in her face. She turned to Isëlmra, who wiped away tears and smiled.
"Good luck, my lady," she said, "I don't dare come, for I fear I shall embarrass you with tears."
"Come anyway," Finduilas insisted, "I would have you there, for you are all dressed and ready and the closest to family I have here, save Imrahil."
"Well a place in the back then, dear," Isëlmra said, "For its not fitting you know."
"I think it is, and Denethor would deny me nothing," Finduilas answered, "Now go on then." She then turned to her brother and they exchanged smiles, before he kissed her forehead and offered her his arm. Together they left the room.
When they arrived in the garden, there was a great group assembled, most of whom Finduilas did not know. Ecthelion stood in front of the assembly, Denethor standing by his side, and Isëlmra took her place to the side, where she could still see but not be seen. Finduilas quaked a bit inside, nervous in front of all the strangers, and her grasp on Imrahil's arm grew a bit stronger as she became thankful for his steadying presence beside her. She took one step, and then another, the nervousness welling up inside her as she stared resolutely forward.
Yet she chanced to look at Denethor, and met his eyes, and the confidence she saw within them calmed her own nervousness, and she felt a smile growing on her face. By the time she was by his side, looking up into his grey eyes, her nervousness was gone. She gently pulled away from her brother's arm, kissing him lightly on the cheek and giving him a quick embrace, before she took Denethor's hands in her own and met his eyes with the same confidence that had been in his. The rest of the assembly did not matter; there was only Denethor, his stern features softened into a smile that was for her alone.
Finduilas never remembered the ceremony itself, only the calm feeling of rightness that spread through her and allowed her to calmly and confidently, though quietly, speak the words that bound her to him forever. And she listened as Denethor made the same promise as they stood together in the garden, under the shadow of the White Tower on a sunny June afternoon.
The festivities that followed were a blur. Finduilas had never before been introduced to so many new people at once, and faces and names began to merge together until she was not quite sure who anyone was. She remained close by Denethor's side, but they did not speak much in the general whirl of excitement. When Denethor took her hand for the first dance, and led her out onto the floor, she was thankful it was a slower dance, for she was weary already. He smiled down at her, and spoke softly so no one else could hear as the music started and they began to move. "You look tired."
"I am," she said softly, "And I do not think I shall remember anyone's name…"
"That is not important," Denethor said, "It will come in time." They took a few more steps, waltzing to the music. "Do not worry. It will not be long before we can retire." He smiled, and she knew he was happy. She returned his loving look.
"That will be a relief," she said, and even more softly, "I shall be glad to go." At that moment the music ended and they remained standing together until Finduilas felt a hand on her shoulder.
"May I borrow your wife?" Imrahil's cheerful voice interjected, "I would like to claim a dance from my sister."
"Of course," Denethor answered and Finduilas squeezed his hand before turning to her brother. Denethor went back to sit and watch her, for he did indeed love to watch her dance, and even more so when it was she and her brother. She and Imrahil danced well; it was apparent from watching them that they had learned the art together, and together they danced with a gracefulness that he had not often seen. He cast a glance around the room and saw that many of those who were not dancing were watching his new bride and her brother with interest.
"You made a good choice, my son," he heard then, suddenly, and he turned to see the steward was watching his wife as well, "I hope you both shall be very happy."
"I believe we will be, father," Denethor answered, as the music ended.
"I wonder if she would accept a dance from an old man." Denethor smiled, and when he spoke there was laughter in his voice.
"She already has," he told his father.
"If you are old, then I do not wish to know how you would classify me," the aging steward said with a glance at his son, even as he rose to his feet and walked over to where Finduilas was standing beside her brother. He bowed and she took her new father-in-law's hand with a smile as Imrahil came and sat beside Denethor. The music started again, slower, for the steward could no longer dance the livelier dances, and the men were silent for a several minutes before Imrahil spoke.
"You've won a fair prize, my lord," he said, "And I hope you shall always remain worthy of it."
"Your sister deems me worthy."
"Indeed she does, as do I and our parents. But if I ever hear that you have hurt her, I shall not be pleased, and I will protect her."
"You have my word," Denethor said, with a solemn look at the young man. Imrahil nodded in acceptance.
"I trust you," he said as the music ended, and then rose to give Finduilas his seat. She collapsed into it, breathless, and smiled at Denethor. It was an open, honest, smile that made the light dance in her beautiful green eyes and said more to her husband than words could have.
The rest of the evening passed quickly, and it was late when the steward rose to his feet. "Before we have one last dance," he declared, "I wish to thank you all, and I wish to once again extend my welcome to the Lady Finduilas." He turned to her with a smile, "I hope you shall find happiness here, though you have the thankless task of keeping my son in line!" He laughed, and Finduilas felt herself smiling warmly back at him.
"Thank you," she said simply, and allowed him to kiss her hand.
"Now then!" Ecthelion proclaimed, "One last dance!" Finduilas caught Denethor's smile and nodded in agreement to his unspoken question. He took her hand, and together they went out onto the floor as the band started playing.
It was the
same dance they had danced first, the night of his welcoming feast in Dol
Amroth, and Finduilas felt her smile widening as they began the quick steps to
the merry music. "Did you arrange this,
my lord?" she asked, interrupting Denethor at a particularly difficult moment
in the steps, as he was casting a glance down at his feet.
"Arrange what?" he asked,
looking back up in the proper manner.
"This dance," she said, "This is the first we ever danced together." He gave a guilty smile, and was about to answer when he managed to step on one of her feet. This threw off his rhythm, and they ended the dance completely off beat and laughing.
"Good night!" the steward was calling, as the remaining guests began to depart, many of whom wished the breathless couple a good evening as they remained standing together with smiles on their faces.
Imrahil was one of the last to come, and he clasped Denethor's hand in a gesture of friendship and embraced his sister warmly. "Good night," he said to them, and there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he leaned over and whispered something in Denethor's ear that made the steward's heir blush. With that, Imrahil smiled at his sister one last time, while she was looking back at him with a horrified gaze, wondering just what her brother had said that would make Denethor, who was usually unflappable, look so uncomfortable.
"What did he say to you?" she asked her husband. Denethor cleared his throat and smiled at her.
"Nothing important." She shot him her best 'I don't believe you' look, but was interrupted from questioning him further by the Steward, who came over to them and cast a firm glance at his son.
"Take good care of her, Denethor," Ecthelion said, "And you, my lady," he said with a smile at Finduilas, "I wish you luck. You are wed to the most stubborn man that ever walked under the sun." He kissed her hand and smiled kindly at his son. "Good night then. It is time for this old man to seek out his bed."
"Good night," Finduilas answered.
"You are weary also, my lady?" Denethor asked her.
"Indeed," she said.
"Then we had best seek out our own bed." Finduilas felt suddenly shy, but she smiled.
"I think we ought," she said.
They walked in silence for a few moments down the already empty hallways before Denethor spoke. "I think you shall have to teach me to dance," Denethor said to her, "For I think I should improve more quickly if I had you to help me, so your feet no longer need fall victim to my skills."
"I would be glad to," she answered, "I love it so. And you are not a bad dancer."
"Nay, I know how, but I do not have the grace as you do. It is like comparing an oliphaunt to a steed of Rohan. Both can walk and run yet the horse will do so with far more elegance than a lumbering oliphaunt." Finduilas laughed.
"You are far more handsome than an oliphaunt, my lord," she objected, "And not even that clumsy. There is no comparison." She laughed again, and her green eyes sparkled as she clung lightly to his arm, walking by his side.
"I am glad you think so highly of me, my lady," Denethor answered.
"You know I do," Finduilas told him.
"Indeed," Denethor said, "Here we are. I hope you did not unpack much last night, for I had all your things moved this evening. These are our chambers." He opened the door for her, and motioned her in first. The room was much the same as the old, save it was larger and there were four very beautiful, rich tapestries hanging on the stone walls. There were large windows through which she could see the stars shining. "Those windows face south," Denethor told her, "I thought it would be best, when I chose them. And look," he took her hand and led her over to a wooden door. He opened it, and when she had gone out, followed her. It was a small balcony that looked out over a garden below. The smell of flowers wafted up to her and Finduilas turned to Denethor with a smile on her face. "It is a small garden," Denethor said, "And I shall show you how to reach it in the morning. It is ours now. Perhaps it is not the same as in Dol Amroth, but it has a piece of your fair city." He pointed down to the corner. "I had the rosebushes planted there, and I had a bench put there for you. In time, this whole garden could be roses if you wish. Not much else has been planted here, for it is small and out of the way, not like the larger gardens."
"It is perfect," Finduilas said, and without reserve, reached up and touched the side of his face, feeling tears coming to her eyes. Denethor must have seen them, for he frowned, and took her other hand in his.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
"Nothing," Finduilas answered in a whisper, "These are tears of joy." He bent down and kissed her gently, and then pulled her into a tight embrace. "I love you," she whispered.
"I love you also, dearest Finduilas," he said, pulling away and gently stroking her cheek, and she felt her shyness and reservation disappearing. Suddenly, she frowned as if she had remembered something, and spoke again.
"What did Imrahil say to you before?" she asked, "I have never seen you blush so." Denethor cleared his throat and his gaze grew mischievous. He came closer to her, and put his hands gently on her waist before leaning in, and whispering in her ear.
"He said you were ticklish," Denethor admitted, as he made a sudden attack on Finduilas' ribs. She laughed and tried to pull away, for she was indeed very ticklish, but only succeeded in getting as far as the stone railing of the balcony before she was effectively trapped.
"No fair…" she gasped through her laughter, "You have no siblings to tell me things such as this!" He paused.
"No fair? I suppose not," he said, "I shall stop." He smiled at her, though his hands remained on her waist, and for a moment they simply looked at each other, as Finduilas straightened.
"I have never seen this playful side of you, my lord," she said, pretending to be upset, "To think, the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor tickling others like children do. I think you owe me an apology, for you are obviously not the man I thought I married."
"Well I sincerely apologize, my lady, and if there is anything I can do to gain your forgiveness, I beg you tell me."
"Well," Finduilas answered, pretending to be weighing her options in her head, "I think another kiss would be in order."
"Gladly," Denethor said, "As many as my lady wishes, for as long as my lady wishes."
"Make that a promise," Finduilas answered him, leaning into his arms as he wrapped them around her, "And I am satisfied." She was answered by his lips on hers.
The sun was already streaming in the windows, for neither Finduilas nor Denethor had thought to close the curtains the night before, when Finduilas awoke the next morning. Always slow to return to consciousness, it took her a few moments to realize that she was very warm, and very comfortable, and that she was lying on her side and Denethor's arms were still wrapped protectively around her. Her eyes slowly opened, and she turned slightly to look up at her husband. He was wide awake and smiling down at her, his grey eyes amused. "Good morning," he said gently, and bent down to kiss her softly.
"Good morning," she answered, as he pulled away, "What time is it?"
"Midmorning," came the answer. She did not respond for a moment, for she was comfortable, and relishing it, when a thought occurred to her.
"Did you not have a council meeting this morning?" she asked, "I heard your father speak of it last night."
"It is of little importance," Denethor answered, stroking her sleep-tossed hair from her forehead to where it lay loose on the pillow, "I did not wish you to wake up alone. Not this morning." Finduilas was so touched by this that she leaned up and kissed him again, a longer kiss, to show just how much the small gesture was welcomed and appreciated.
"Thank you," she said softly after they pulled apart.
"The pleasure is mine, beloved," he answered, and then he frowned, "I just wish that all mornings could be like this."
"I know better than to expect that, Denethor," Finduilas told him "And I do not love you less because I cannot. I will simply cherish the mornings we can have this ever so much more because they will not come every day."
"I don't know what I did to deserve you," Denethor remarked. Finduilas met Denethor's eyes.
"Do not say things such as that," Finduilas admonished softly, "I deem you worthy of my heart. Is that not enough?"
"It is more than I could ever wish for," he answered, "I love you, Finduilas."
"I love you too," she answered.
[*] The piece of jewelry I'm modeling hers off of is the second one down if you're interested in what I'm trying to make visualized here. It's not an easy thing to describe.
Welcome to story II in this story arc. I'm going to post all following stories (and there are seven of them planned) in this series under the title "The Lord and the Lady" so keep your eyes open here for new bits, if you like what you have read so far. Thanks for reading! Please review if you get the chance! -Nat