A Spring of Trials
By
Stargazer Nataku
"Mama?" Finduilas paused in her sewing and looked down to where five-year-old Boromir was lying flat on his stomach on the rug before the fire, playing with the toy army his uncle had sent for his birthday the autumn before. It was a cold spring day; rain was pouring down in sheets so Finduilas could not even see the garden below her windows.
"What is it, Boromir?" she asked kindly, as her son pushed himself up and came over to her, leaving his toys abandoned on the floor.
"When can we go outside?"
"When the rain stops, dear heart."
"When will the rain stop?"
"No one can tell. We just have to wait and be patient. It cannot rain forever."
"Kind of like we have to wait for the baby?" Finduilas smiled and her hand sought the bulge of her stomach.
"Just like that, although I think the rain shall stop sooner than the baby shall come."
"I hope so. Waiting for both is hard." Boromir sighed, as though waiting was a tragedy of the worst sort, and then sat down on the floor again. He picked up one of the carved knights and looked at it for a moment before putting it down again.
"Mama, are you sure we can't go outside?"
"Quite sure," Finduilas answered. "Do you want me to tell you a story?"
"Yes! Story!" He jumped to his feet and Finduilas laid aside her sewing and moved over, allowing her son to snuggle into the chair next to her. She bent down when he had settled and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, stroking his black hair lovingly as she slipped her arm around him, leaving the other pressed on her swelling abdomen where their second child was just weeks away from being born.
"Which story would you like?"
"Turin!"
"Turin? All right," Finduilas agreed as she smothered a smile, trying to remember a time when he had asked for a different story. She could not remember. "Turin lived long ago, in the First Age of this world, when the power and might of the Elves was yet strong, as was the power of the Dark Lord Morgoth."
"Was Morgoth as bad as Sauron?" Boromir asked.
"Worse," his mother answered, "Sauron was but a servant of Morgoth in the early days."
"So if they could defeat Morgoth why can't anyone defeat Sauron?"
"Because the Valar aided Middle-Earth, and it was their power that brought about Morgoth's downfall. Neither Elves nor Dwarves nor Men could do it alone."
"I'm going to defeat Sauron one day."
"You are?" his mother asked, keeping the tone of her voice serious, although she was amused by her small son.
"Mmmm hm," Boromir answered, "Isildur did it, why can't I? I just gotta learn how to use a sword first. When can I start doing that, Mama?"
"When you're older, dearest."
Boromir's face turned to a pout, and Finduilas was just opening her mouth to continue when the door opened. She turned her head to look behind her and saw Denethor, a frown spreading over his features.
"Papa!" Boromir cried, wriggling out of the seat beside his mother and running to his father. Finduilas watched the frown fade into a smile as he swung Boromir up into his arms, but the lines of irritation and tension remained around his eyes. Denethor came to her, holding their son as the child spoke at a mile a minute about the rain and the toy soldiers and how he was going to defeat Sauron one day.
"Indeed, you will," Denethor told Boromir as they came up beside her chair and Denethor bent down to kiss his wife.
"Gross!" Boromir declared, and squirmed until his father put him down. He raced back over to where the knights were laying strewn about before the fire and threw himself into playing with them.
"What's the matter, Denethor?" Finduilas asked low, under her breath.
"I need your aid."
"You always have it." Denethor smiled and squeezed her hand.
"Gandalf the Grey is due to arrive in the city." Finduilas almost laughed, though she knew it wasn't a laughing matter. The dislike her husband bore for the wizard was unmatched, and Finduilas did not understand it. "My Father is not well, as you know, and he cannot be troubled, and I…"
"You do not like him," Finduilas said gently.
"No, I do not," Denethor answered her, "Even if Lord Húrin were not here I would not desire to give my time to him."
"I understand," Finduilas answered. "It is all right, Denethor. You need not like everyone." She reached out her hands and he helped her to her feet. "I am a daughter of Dol Amroth; I have been doing this since I was a child."
"I know," he kissed her forehead again, "Thank you. I must return to Húrin."
"All right. If you could send someone for Isëlmra, I would appreciate it."
"Of course," Denethor answered. Finduilas squeezed her husband's hand and he turned and quickly left, undoubtedly heading back towards the council chambers where he and Húrin had been speaking. Finduilas turned, as Boromir looked up at her.
"Are we going outside?"
Finduilas laughed. "No, dear heart, its still raining. But I need to go downstairs and meet a guest. You need to stay with Isëlmra for awhile."
"Come with!"
"No, Boromir, not today."
"Yes! Come with!"
"No. Mother has to meet the guest, and you will get bored, Boromir." Finduilas straightened her dress and hair. "But you can see our guest later, if you would like."
"What about the story?"
"I'll finish it later, if you're a good boy for Isëlmra. I promise."
"Okay," he said with a frown. She smiled and kissed her son as her former nurse entered the room.
"Here I am, m'lady," she said with a smile, as she came over to mother and son.
"Thank you, Isëlmra," Finduilas said, smiling at the older woman.
"Always my pleasure," she answered.
"Be good, Boromir," Finduilas added as she left the room.
Finduilas had only waited a few minutes when the wizard entered, flanked by two guards of the Citadel who bowed to her and took positions beside the door. Gandalf smiled at her, his eyes friendly underneath his dripping hat.
"I welcome you to Gondor, my lord," Finduilas said, and dipped into a slight bow, "on behalf of the Steward and my family."
"Thank you for your kind welcome, my lady," he said, "I am glad to be here. This rain is incessant."
"Indeed it is," she said, "Bryn?" A young serving woman appeared at her lady's side. "Please take Master Gandalf to the guest chambers and find him a dry set of clothes."
"M'lady," the young woman said, with a curtsey to her mistress and to Gandalf.
"Once you are more comfortable, then we shall speak," she told Gandalf with a smile.
"I thank you for your hospitality, my lady." The wizard followed the young woman, and Finduilas quickly arranged for a light supper to be put out before the fire in the Great Hall, so that by the time Gandalf reappeared, it was already laid out and the room was warm and welcoming.
Finduilas watched him cross the hall as she rose. Despite what her husband thought of the wizard, she genuinely liked him. Something within her responded to the wisdom that was present in his gaze, a wisdom that spoke of ancient days long past and a power that she, descended from the Elves though she was, could not begin to comprehend. "Much better," the wizard commented as he sat at the table, "Thank you."
"It is my pleasure," she answered. The wizard regarded her sagely as she reached out to pour the tea herself, jarring the table as she leaned too far forward. She chuckled. "I forget sometimes," she said as way of explanation, as she adjusted her position and then continued pouring.
"It will not be long before the child is born, correct?" Gandalf asked her.
"Indeed not," she answered, "A few weeks at most. I hope for a daughter, but I think Denethor wishes another son." She smiled, "Although if I were to tell the whole truth, if it is born healthy I shall be content with either."
"That is my hope as well, my lady." There was a short silence as the both sipped their tea, appreciating the warmth of the fire and the hot liquid. "I have heard the Steward is not well."
"He has been ill," Finduilas told Gandalf, "And is indeed much aged since you last were here. But they say the worst is over for now. Still." She paused a moment. "We have been told that it shall not be long ere he passes."
"I am sorry to hear that, my lady," Gandalf told her, and she looked up to him with a sad smile and saw the grief in his eyes. How many men, she wondered, has he seen pass beyond this world? Even so, it still remains a grief to him.
"What shall come shall come," Finduilas said finally, "I do not wish it, but the time shall come one day for Ecthelion as it will for us all."
"Indeed," Gandalf said, and they were silent for a long moment, which was interrupted by the sound of feet running across stone. Finduilas looked up to see Boromir running across the room towards her, a great smile on his face. He was soaked; water ran off his hair in steady streams, and his wet clothes stuck to him. Finduilas pushed down her laughter at his comical appearance and forced her face to remain stern as her son came to a stop by her side. She felt Gandalf watching them and recognized amusement in the wizard's eyes.
"Boromir, what did I tell you to do?" she asked her son firmly.
"Stay with Isëlmra," he answered.
"And where is she?" Boromir paused and looked around.
"Well, she was with me for awhile…Really, Mama! She was running behind me, I promise." Finduilas had a sudden image of the elderly nurse chasing after her energetic son and had to fight her desire to smile.
"Boromir," she said sternly, "When I ask you to do something, I expect you to do it. I expected you would stay with Isëlmra, and I have told you many times today that we could not go outside."
"I wasn't?" Boromir suggested.
"Son," she said, "You are dripping wet." He looked down and would not meet her gaze. "Listen, Boromir," she said, reaching out and taking one of his hands. They were freezing to the touch, and a rush of worry came over her, "I'm very disappointed that you did not stay with your nurse, and that you went outside when I expressly told you we could not."
"I'm sorry, Mama," he whispered, and Finduilas knew that her son meant it.
"When I ask you to do something, it's because I want what is best for you. You could get hurt, or sick, and I do not want that. Now." She straightened her son's wet garments as best she could and pushed some of his dark hair out of his face where it was sticking. "Boromir, this is Master Gandalf." The little boy looked up at the wizard and then bowed; Finduilas felt a rush of pride that he had remembered the correct way to greet an elder.
"Hello, Master Gandalf," he said.
"Hello, my lad," was the response, and Finduilas smiled at him as she rose clumsily to her feet, and reached out to take her son's hand.
"Come, Boromir," she said, "You have to go get changed." She took him to the door and addressed the guard there; she then addressed her son. "Be good, and go with him back to Isëlmra, all right?"
"Yes, Mama," he answered, and followed the guard as they walked back towards the family's living quarters.
Only when she was nearly back at the table and she knew Boromir was far away did she allow herself to laugh. "Excuse me, my lord," she apologized, "The logic of children…"
"Indeed," Gandalf answered, and his eyes were twinkling.
"He is the greatest gift I have ever been given," Finduilas admitted, "I wish he could stay this age forever. Yet the day will come, as much as I do not wish it, when he'll belong to the world of men, and not to me. He is already so eager for it. He will only listen to stories of the old battles, and will watch the soldiers training for as long as it is permitted of him. I do not think he would ever leave the training grounds if he had a choice." She paused, "Denethor is proud of that desire. I think he would let him have a practice sword of his own if I allowed it. In the fall he probably will, whether I would have it or not." She sighed.
"The young are always eager to grow old," Gandalf said, "Among Elves and Men and Dwarves it is the same. They do not realize what a precious gift youth is until it has been lost."
"Perhaps it is good for him," Finduilas stated, "After all, much will be asked of him. Though my husband does not like to worry me, I hear many things, and it would take a fool to not realize that the darkness is growing." Finduilas shuddered.
"You are right, my lady. It is why I have come." She looked at him sharply. "There are orcs massing again to the East. The blow may come within days on your Eastern borders."
"This is grave news indeed," Finduilas said, her voice heavy with concern.
"I must share this news with your husband as well, my lady, for I fear your defenses there will not hold under the battles that are coming."
"He is currently occupied with Húrin of Lossarnach," Finduilas admitted, "Doing Valar knows what. And the Steward himself, while better, is still too ill. If you can excuse me, I shall send word to my husband that he is needed."
"And Húrin as well," Gandalf said, "Part of the blow may fall to the south. It is good he is here to hear the tale."
"Of course," Finduilas said, and rose clumsily to her feet, "Excuse me."
"Denethor, why must you go?"
"I cannot shirk my duty to my people, Finduilas." Finduilas stared at him, and felt the anguish rising in her heart. He had often ridden away to war, but it had never been easy for his wife, but especially not now, when the birth of their second child was so near. She knew arguing with him was hopeless, for he would go and lead his men into battle, but with the birth looming and his father still ill, Finduilas felt remarkably unprepared and shaken.
"Even now, when your father is so ill? Can he shoulder the burdens of ruling?"
"I have faith that you can aid him with the running of the household, so he need not concern himself with anything save the most urgent matters."
"And if the child comes and I can no longer do so?"
"Then there are others who can take your place. Finduilas, I must go." She sighed and turned away from where he was dressing and her eyes fell upon his sword. It lay upon their bed, glittering cold and silver against the brilliant red fabric. A wash of defeat and exhaustion spread through her and she felt her shoulders slump and, as much as she despised it, felt tears in her eyes.
There was a soft touch on her shoulders, gentle and loving, and Finduilas did not move as Denethor stroked her arms in silence, pressing his forehead to the back of her head. "I am sorry," he finally said, and Finduilas felt his breath warm and damp against the back of his neck. Finduilas reached up and placed her hand over his where it had paused on her arm, and stood there in silence before turning to meet his grey eyes.
She regarded him a moment and reminded herself of everything she loved about him, and she forced aside all her worries and fears for herself and for him. With a sigh that told her husband of her acquiescence to his will, she lowered her eyes to the floor so he would not see the tears in them. "Finduilas." His usually stern voice was gentle and kind, and his much younger wife felt her eyes drawn upward again. His hand found the side of her face. "You need not fear for me. True, I am no longer young, but I am still able to wield a sword. I will return to you. I swear it."
She forced herself to take a deep breath before speaking. "I hold you to it."
He kissed her, and was gone.
"When's Papa coming back?"
"I do not know, Boromir."
"Soon?"
"I hope so." She finished tucking in the covers around her young son and then sat on the side of his bed. "Which story do you want, dearest?"
"Can you sing?" he asked. Finduilas smiled.
"I would love to," she answered, and she picked one her mother had often sung to her as she lay in bed, ready to sleep. It was calm, and slow; it spoke of the wind and the cry of the gulls and the lapping of the waves upon the shore. She watched her son as she sang, as his eyelids grew heavier until his eyes slipped closed and she knew he had fallen asleep. With a smile, she finished the verse, then gently reached out and brushed some hair away from his sleeping face.
She quietly rose, picking up the candle as she went out into the corridor. Her room was right across from Boromir's, and she stepped across the hall, nodding to the two young men on guard at the other end of the hall as she opened the door and slipped in.
Someone, most likely Isëlmra, had laid out Finduilas' nightgown, turned the bed back, and stoked up the fire so it was warm in the room, in spite of the spring chill. She crossed to the bed and changed into the nightgown, leaving her dress lying across the back of a chair as she got into bed. She lay down on her side, and tried not to think about how empty the bed felt without Denethor in it beside her. It was not long before, even with her worry, she slipped into sleep…
…and awoke a few hours later with an intense pain shooting through her abdomen. It was so strong it took her breath away. A sudden jolt of fear passed through her, for there was still a month before the baby was supposed to be born, and she had a horrible feeling that something was terribly wrong. She tried to sit up, to get out of bed to go for help, but the pain prohibited even the slightest movement. She pondered calling out, but as soon as she took a breath to try to do so, there was a stab of pain that left her shaking and unable to speak.
Pressing her eyes closed, Finduilas tried to concentrate on something other than the pain in a hope of conquering it; but it did not work. Taking deep breaths, she had decided to make another effort to call out when suddenly there was a knock on the door, and Isëlmra's familiar voice from the other side. "My lady?" Come in…Finduilas willed the other woman, and it was only a moment later when the door swung open and the nurse was revealed silhouetted from the light in the hallway. Behind her, Finduilas caught a glimpse of Gandalf the Grey before there was another wave of intense pain and she lost herself to unconsciousness.
Finduilas felt herself slowly coming to wakefulness, aware of the pain still wracking her suddenly thin body. There was a sudden rush of dread and she forced herself to full consciousness. She cast a glance about, and her gaze fell upon Isëlmra's face. The old woman was seated by her side, was asleep in the chair as she watched over 'her girl'. Finduilas swallowed and called the woman's name; instantly she was awake and leaning forward, a look of profound relief suddenly washing over every line in her wrinkled face.
"Bless you, child, you're awake!"
"My baby?" Finduilas demanded. The woman's face darkened slightly, and Finduilas' dread deepened.
"A baby boy," the nurse said gently.
"Is he all right?"
"He survived it, my girl, but he is very small. The Warden says that he will live, small though he is, with the proper care, which of course he'll get. You needn't fear about him, my lady. You just concentrate on getting better yourself. You gave us quite a scare! I dread to think what would have happened if Master Gandalf hadn't awoken me, saying that he felt something was wrong!" There were tears in the old nurse's eyes as she reached out to pat Finduilas' hand. "But you're a strong lass, you are. I never should have worried. All the same, you'll not be able to get out of bed for some time. It has already been three days, and I suspect it will be much longer." Finduilas pressed her eyes closed, her heart skipping a beat as she realized just how close to death she had come. Yet she forced those thoughts from her mind and when she spoke again her voice was firm. "Does Boromir know? Who has been taking care of him?"
"He only knows that you are sick, and that his little brother is sick. We did not feel the need to frighten him with how dire it was. And one of the kitchen girls has been watching him when I have been here with you. You need not worry about that either," Isëlmra told the young mother, "She's the oldest of seven, and has been caring for them since their mother died, so she knows how to care for children."
"I trust that," Finduilas answered, feeling weariness pressing down upon her, "And what of the baby?"
"The Warden himself and one of the women--I think her name is Ioreth--are taking care of him. He is in good hands, my lady."
"Has word been sent to Denethor?"
"Not yet."
"Now that we are both out of danger, send word to him that he has a son," Finduilas ordered.
"Of course."
"Has any message come from him?"
"Nay."
"How long has it been since the last?"
"Seven days, my lady." There was a pause. "You are weary. Rest again, Finduilas, and do not fear." Finduilas nodded, for against her will her eyes seemed to be falling closed, and she surrendered to sleep again.
When she awoke again, the sun was streaming in through the windows and she felt more alert. There was still pain, and an incredible feeling of weakness, but her mind was clear and she felt compelled to try to sit up. She shifted in bed, and suddenly Isëlmra came into view. "Let me help you dear," she said and in moments Finduilas was upright. "We'll have to get you something to eat," the nurse added.
"I want to see my sons," Finduilas told her.
"Of course," the nurse said with a smile, "I'll send for Boromir, and have the baby brought as well. Did you and Lord Denethor ever decide on a name for him?"
"Nay," Finduilas answered with a frown, "But he will return soon."
"So he will. Well my lady, you just rest and I'll return in a few moments." Finduilas lay back and shut her eyes as she waited. It did not take long. Moments later, she heard the door fly open and she turned her head to see Boromir running across the stone floor to her bed.
"Mama!" he cried, and clambered up onto the bed.
"Boromir." She pulled her son to her and reveled in the feeling of his arms thrown around her neck, his head pressed against her shoulder.
"They wouldn't let me see you," he said, and she heard tears in his voice, though he was pushing them away. "I just wanted to see you, but they said you were sick and then I got scared and Isëlmra's nice, Mama, but she's not you at all."
"I know, dear," she whispered to him, stroking his hair, "I know it's hard. But I'm okay, and your brother is okay." She smiled. "It finally stopped raining, didn't it?"
"Yes! And Isëlmra let me go down and watch the soldiers training! We stayed for hours!" Finduilas smiled, knowing that her ruse to get her small son thinking about something else had worked as he continued to talk in a quick, excited voice about the swords and the play fights he had seen. She just wished he could get excited for something else, besides simply swordplay and soldiers. "When can I see the baby?" he suddenly asked, switching subjects.
Finduilas smiled. "Isëlmra was going to bring him," she told her elder son and it was indeed at that moment that the door swung open. Finduilas turned, expecting to see the nurse, and was surprised by Denethor's entrance. He was still wearing his mail, though his sword was gone, and he came to her, concern in every line of his face and every hurried step. She cast him a glance of warning, telling him to save his worry, and with an added glance at Boromir, Denethor understood.
"I came when I heard," he said, sitting himself down on the side of the bed, as a trembling hand reached out to touch her face. "Are you well?"
"I am fine," she assured him, "Our son is being brought."
"But I'm right here!" Boromir suddenly insisted, and Finduilas and Denethor laughed in spite of the tension between them.
"The baby, Boromir," Finduilas said, ruffling her son's hair as she gave him a small squeeze.
"Can I stay and see him?"
"Of course, dear heart," Finduilas answered, "But then you need to go play. Mother is weary."
"Okay," Boromir agreed. Finduilas smiled down at him, and then at her husband. Denethor looked as though he needed reassurance, but Finduilas would not concern their son when it was now too late for concern. She leaned over to her husband, and whispered to him, "Calm yourself, all is well." She met his gaze firmly and he nodded and turned his attention to Boromir, as their son recounted all he had done since his father had left.
A knock on the door interrupted Boromir just as he was telling his father about how the rain had stopped and the training grounds, and it opened quickly, revealing Isëlmra with the baby. She walked over to the bed and handed him carefully to Denethor, who took him without hesitation. Boromir stood up on the bed and put one hand on his father's shoulder as he leaned down and looked into the baby's face. "He's small."
"Very small," his mother said, feeling a smile passing over her face as she looked contentedly down at the baby.
Denethor was silent for a long moment before he spoke. "Have you named him, Finduilas?"
"Nay," Finduilas answered, "I thought it a decision we could make together." Denethor met her eyes as he carefully transferred the baby into her arms.
"It is your decision, my love," he said, as he pulled Boromir to his side, and the little boy clambered into his father's lap willingly. She thought for a long moment, and then with a smile, pronounced her judgment.
"Faramir," she said, and Denethor accepted the name with a nod.
"Why'd you name him that Mama?" her older son interjected, taking his eyes from the baby to look at her.
"Because, dear heart, it is a beautiful name."
"But the first Faramir got himself killed and the line of Kings ended!"
"Indeed," she said softly, "But he did what he thought was right. It takes much courage to go against what you are ordered to do when you think another path is correct. I want both you and your brother to have the strength to do that if ever you must."
"But he didn't make the right decision."
"No, he did not," Finduilas answered patiently, "That part of the story is to remind him, and you, to think very hard before you take any course of action, and to not allow your own desires to overcome the good of your people, whom you were both born to serve."
"Oh."
Finduilas laughed. "It is not a burden, Boromir," she said, smiling at her young son.
"I know. I want to be big enough so I can." He squirmed around in his father's lap to meet Denethor's eyes. "I am going to defeat Sauron, after all." Father smiled down at son.
"Perhaps one day. For now, it is nearly dinnertime. Can you go with Isëlmra and get washed up?"
"Can you eat with me tonight, Papa?"
"Yes, of course he can," Finduilas inserted quickly as Denethor opened his mouth to say no.
"Good," Boromir said, and he crawled over to his mother on the large bed and kissed her. "Bye, Mama. I'll come back and see you tomorrow, I promise. And then, can you tell me a story?"
"Of course." Her son smiled, and Finduilas returned it, as he jumped off the bed and went running for the door. Finduilas handed Faramir to the nurse, who then followed Boromir, casting a reassuring smile over her shoulder at her mistress as she shut the door. Finduilas' gaze then turned to her husband, who was sitting by the bed, his gaze cast down at the floor. For a single moment, Finduilas caught emotions in his beloved face that chilled her; the despair and fear were clear within their usually strong grey depths. Never before had her husband seemed so old, so weighted, so lost... When he finally shattered the silence with words, all the emotions she had seen in his face were present in his weary voice. "I could have lost you, Finduilas..." The anguish was clear in his voice.
"But you did not, beloved. I am still here," she tried to reassure him. It did not work. He remained seated, not looking at her, and she stifled a sigh. "Come here, Denethor," she said softly. He did not move. "Denethor, come here." He finally looked at her, and opened his mouth to protest. "Come here," she repeated, her eyes making it clear that she would not take no for an answer. He slowly rose to his feet, moving as though he was twice his age, and removed his mail and armor just as slowly before sitting on the side of the bed, his back to her. She sighed and as much as it caused a shoot of pain to rip through her, she bit it back and reached out for him, pulling him back towards her. He came, and she laid his head on her shoulder and wrapped her arms around him, stroking his hair much as she would have Boromir's if he were upset.
He allowed her to hold him in silence for a moment, his eyes tightly closed. "Please, beloved," Finduilas began as she continued to stroke his hair, "Do not despair. I cannot bear to see you in such pain, especially over me."
"I do not know what I would have done, if…"
"You would have been strong, Denethor, if not for yourself then for our sons. If that ever shall happen— may the Valar forbid it! —you would be all they had." She paused for a moment. "I shall be fine, my love. It may be awhile before I am able to get out of bed, but I will be well soon enough. I cannot say this was trivial, but I defeated it, and I am here. I am not lost."
"I should have been here with you. I never should have left." Finduilas understood then. His despair was not only over the fact that she had been in danger, but that he had left her to face it alone.
"Dearest," Finduilas soothed him, "As you said, you cannot shirk your duty to your people. What I said to Boromir rings true with you as well. You were born to serve them, even as your son was. It is the life we must lead, as those chosen to watch over the people of Gondor. I have always known and understood this, as I know you have. Please, Denethor…all is well. I am well, and our son shall live. We are blessed." She looked at his face, saw that the wild emotions in his eyes had calmed, replaced with weariness. "You yet have time before dinner," she said, "Rest, beloved husband, and I will guard your dreams."
"I love you, Finduilas," he said, and the words rang truer and sweeter than they ever had before.
"And I you, Denethor," she whispered, continuing to stroke his hair as his eyes fell shut.
On the first day Finduilas was allowed out of bed, she asked Isëlmra to put a chair in the garden, which the woman did readily. Padded with many pillows to support her still delicate frame, the chair felt heavenly after being indoors in bed for so many days. Finduilas was holding Faramir, Mother and infant both carefully shaded from the warm spring sunshine, and enjoying the warmth of the day as she watched her older son playing among the early flowers. Yet he did not play for long; quickly he caught her eyes and ran over to her.
"Faramir's still really small." Boromir stated, as he climbed up onto the chair beside his mother. Finduilas smiled.
"Indeed he is, dearest," she answered, carefully freeing one arm from the support of Faramir to pull her older son to her side. He rested his head on her shoulder, eyes never leaving the baby.
"Is he always going to be that small?"
"No, he won't," she replied, "He'll get bigger, just like you."
"But I'll always be bigger than him, right Mama?"
"Yes, always. But that gives you great responsibility for him, Boromir."
"Me?" he asked, and his eyes met hers.
"You are his older brother, and he will look to you. You have to help him and protect him so he can become a good boy just like you are. You must be his friend, and love him always." She smiled. "Can you do that for me, dearest heart?" Boromir nodded gravely.
"Promise?"
"Yes, Mama," Boromir answered, his childish voice serious.
"Do you want to hold him?"
"Can I?"
"Of course," she answered, and carefully took the soft bundle she held and transferred it to her son, showing him how to hold his brother so as not to hurt him or drop him.
"I promised," Boromir said softly to the sleeping infant, "I'm gonna look after you, Faramir. I'm your big brother, and it's my reponsbilty. And when you get old enough, and when I get old enough 'cause Mama says I'm not yet, I'll help you learn stuff, like how to use a sword just like Papa does. And then we can be just like all those heroes Mama reads to me about. I can tell you about them too."
Finduilas found herself chuckling softly, and she reached out and gently brushed some of Boromir's unruly hair from his face. He looked up and smiled at her. "I like him," Boromir proclaimed in an earnest whisper, "Though I can't wait until he's old enough so we can play."
"That day will come soon enough, Boromir," Finduilas told him. Perhaps too soon for my taste, she decided, as Boromir carefully handed his baby brother back to her and climbed down and began to play again, fighting imaginary enemies around the garden.
"It is good to see you out of bed, my lady," a voice told her, and Finduilas looked up from watching her infant son with a smile, her gaze falling upon Gandalf.
"It is good to be out," she agreed, "Thank you, my lord. I owe you a good deal." The wizard nodded.
"How fares the child?"
"Stronger with each day," Finduilas answered with a smile, "Here." She held Faramir up, and with a pleased look the wizard took the baby into his arms. At the transfer, Faramir opened his eyes and gazed solemnly up into the wizard's face. Gandalf chuckled, and his voice was gentle and kind when he spoke to the child. "Well met, Faramir son of Denethor."
Finduilas watched the exchange, still smiling. She turned a moment to look for Boromir and found him still playing, using a stick as a sword to attack unseen enemies, unmindful of the wizard's presence. She gave a slight sigh, but it was a contented sigh. "They are already so different," Finduilas said, looking up to where Faramir was clinging to one of Gandalf's fingers with his small hand as he cooed in delight, "As night and day. I can tell even now."
"They indeed shall be," Gandalf said, "But it shall make the bond between them that much stronger."
"Indeed," Finduilas said, "Boromir is already so attentive of him. He is always the first to his Faramir's side when he cries." She smiled, "It reminds me of myself when Imrahil was yet a baby." Gandalf smiled, and had opened his mouth to speak, when he was interrupted by a stern voice from behind.
"Good morning." Finduilas glanced around Gandalf, who also turned to see Denethor striding into the garden. She sighed inwardly as her husband crossed the garden and, without pretense, reached out his arms and took his son from the wizard. With a disapproving look, he handed the infant back to his wife before turning back to the wizard. "I need to speak with my wife," he said in a tone that dared the wizard to challenge him.
"Very well," Gandalf said amicably, "My lady." He gave a slight bow and turned and began to walk away.
Denethor did not speak again until the wizard had disappeared and then he turned to his wife with a disapproving look. Finduilas steeled herself for an argument, for after seven years of marriage, she recognized the look on Denethor's face. "What was he doing?"
"He merely wished to know how I fared," she answered firmly, "And how our son fares."
"I do not wish to have that wizard holding my son, guest or no!" Finduilas pushed away her irritation, and forced herself to speak calmly.
"He would never harm our child, Denethor. I understand you dislike him, but…"
"There will be no buts, Finduilas!"
"Yes, there shall be," Finduilas interrupted firmly, "Or have you already forgotten that it is because of 'that wizard' that your son and I yet live? Why do you hate him so?"
"I do not trust him, and neither should you!"
"I shall keep my own counsel about who I trust. Your father thinks very highly of him, and would trust him with his life. Yet you refuse to. Why?" Denethor was silent, and Finduilas could see he was angry, but she continued anyway. "It is because of Lord Thorongil, isn't it?" The glare her husband gave her answered her question even when he did not give it aloud. She sighed. "Denethor, it is not wise to hold such a grudge. The rumors were completely untrue that anything ever existed between us."
"I know that," was Denethor's clipped answer, "I trust you completely in the matter, but I do not trust him. He could have had designs to…" His voice trailed off.
"Take me from you? Not likely," Finduilas said, "He would never do so, just as you would never try to take another man's wife. This jealousy of yours on my part is unfounded and completely worthless. He is gone, and it is unlikely he shall ever return. Gandalf means well; he came to warn us about the orcs massing in the east, did he not?"
"Something our scouts would have notified us of before much more time had passed. Undoubtedly he wished to prove himself useful; for what purpose I cannot tell. I cannot trust he has the best interests of our people at heart, and as such I feel no need to like him, or to allow him near my sons."
"You can believe that if you will," Finduilas acquiesced, "But I do not have to agree. I will never be discourteous to any guest who comes into my house, whether my husband likes that guest or no." She met Denethor's gaze firmly; she knew she could be as stubborn as her husband, and would not indeed concede to him in this.
"You would do well to remember, my Lady," Denethor said, abandoning her name as he was wont to do when he grew angry, "That I am the head of this family and master of this house."
"I thought that was yet your father's duty, my lord?" she asked, p. Putting a look of confusion on her face. His mouth fell open for a moment, then he shut it firmly, and his look of displeasure deepened. Part of her suddenly wished to relent, to back down and concede the point to Denethor, but she knew she was right and would not do so.
"I do not wish our sons to be around that man again, wife." Denethor finally said, "You would do well to obey me." With a final glance that conveyed to Finduilas how serious he was, he turned and left the garden.
Finduilas sighed, shutting her eyes as she reflected on how much she hated arguing with Denethor. It was useless, especially when he felt so strongly about something, and always left her feeling rather empty.
After a moment where she tried to get her emotions under control, consoleing herself with the fact that she was in the right and Denethor was not, there was a soft touch on her knee, and Finduilas opened her eyes to see Boromir looking up at her, concerned. She smiled at him and moved over and patted the chair beside her. Her son climbed up and leaned against her side. "Why's Papa mad, Mama?"
"He does not like Master Gandalf, dear, that's all," Finduilas answered.
"Then why's Master Gandalf staying?"
"Because your grandfather and I like him very much."
"Oh." Boromir paused for a long moment. "Papa's not mad at me, is he?"
"No dear heart, not at all," Finduilas assured her son, "Do not trouble yourself with it; he will not stay angry long." This at least, Finduilas reflected, was the truth. He never held his anger against her; he was incapable of it, even though he could with others. She shifted, ignoring the little spike of pain that ran through her, and tried to ignore how tired she was. Her young son looked at her for a minute when he spoke there was worry in his tone.
"Do you want to go inside, Mama? You look tired."
"I think so," Finduilas answered, "Can you please go tell Isëlmra?" Boromir nodded and climbed carefully down before turning to race from the garden. Finduilas sighed as she looked down at Faramir sleeping in her arms and a slow smile spread across her face as her anger faded.
Denethor, in his stubbornness, was such a foolish man sometimes. It amazed her that he could be so warm and loving towards her and towards his sons, but so cold to nearly everyone else. She smothered a smile, remembering an incident from years past shortly after they had married when a lord and his wife came to Minas Tirith for a short time. The woman had spoken words that Finduilas would never forget. 'Well, my lady, I do hope you can be happy here, and that your husband does pay some attention to you occasionally. I don't generally hold to arranged marriages, especially when the ages are so different for the two being wed." Six years later, Finduilas could still feel the sting that had come with the woman's words, but also pride with the way she had answered them. "I suspect that would be difficult. I am glad my parents had more sense than forcing me to marry where I did not will to." Finduilas chuckled, remembering the look of surprise and embarrassment on the woman's face.
Well, Finduilas reflected, as he cannot remain angry with me, so I cannot remain angry with him. She laughed and gently kissed Faramir on the forehead.
Two days later, Finduilas and Isëlmra were again in the garden enjoying the beautiful spring sunshine. For the first time since Faramir's birth, Finduilas was working quietly on sewing a tunic for Boromir and Isëlmra was reading aloud to her as she worked. As she had known it would, the argument with Denethor had slipped away, as there had been no incidents to renew it, and she was glad for it.
She had just finished the tunic when there was the sound of slow, unhurried paces across the stone paths and she looked up to find Gandalf coming into the garden. He came over to her and bowed, a smile on his worn face. "Master Gandalf," she said with a smile.
"My lady," he answered, "I have come to wish you well, my lady," he said, "I shall be leaving the city this morning."
"I see," she answered, "I thank you for your visit. I owe you a good deal more than I can ever repay."
"I am glad I could be of service," he answered with a grandfatherly smile that Finduilas returned.
"Please return to us as soon as you may be spared from your journeys. You are ever welcome here."
"I thank you," Gandalf answered, "May the Valar watch over you, Lady."
"And over you," she answered, with a sudden twinge of sadness as he turned and walked away. For a sudden brief moment, Finduilas felt sure she would never see the wizard again even as she watched him disappear through the gateway out of the garden. Then, dismissing the thought as utter foolishness, she carefully folded the tunic on her lap and leaned back to listen to Isëlmra read.