Minas Tirith
Only seconds ago Thorongil had disappeared stealthily with her little baby boy. Finduilas had been reduced to sobs. Fears now plagued her whereas moments ago she was sure that her little one would fare better with his father. Had this been a terrible mistake? Could she slip out and find the Ranger and take it all back? No... no, she could not and would not. She'd had nine long months to think this through.
Considering Denethor's strange, fey moods of late she was certain that he had been using the Elven orb that was housed in the Citadel (though she knew not where). Thorongil, her companion and friend in lonely times, and now the father of her second son, had told her much of Númenor and she learned of the palantíri from him - particularly the fact that hidden things could be revealed by them.
Her tears were unrelenting though. She had been sure that it would not be easy to send her baby away, but she hadn't thought it could hurt this much. She knew she wanted this child to be raised with love and understanding and knowledge and the few years she had been married to Denethor proved to her that these were luxuries which not even the Stewards could buy. And yet she begged that the Gods might preserve her little one long enough to reach sanctuary... maybe Thorongil had been right.
Just outside the birthing chamber stood Mithrellas, Finduilas's lady in waiting and best friend. They had been as sisters to one another from their youth in Dol Amroth and Mithrellas had accompanied Finduilas to Minas Tirith when she was sent to marry Denethor. Mithrellas was a woman dignity and strong constitution, often in contrast to Finduilas's anemic health and sometimes over-acquiescent disposition.
She had been there beside her dear friend as the poor woman spent hours in labor and she almost refused to leave even when Finduilas dismissed the nurses but she knew her friend well and from her confidences knew that the Ranger who had suddenly appeared was most likely the baby's father. Mithrellas now regretted having left the city for those few years after Boromir was born, for she knew that it was Finduilas's loneliness combined with the Ranger's pity for her (to say nothing of the classic male weakness) that had caused this situation, but her father in Dol Amroth had been ailing and there was no other kin to be there with him.
Boromir was there in the hallway, too, clinging onto Mithrellas's skirt for dear life, thumb firmly planted between his trembling lips. He was but a child of five and this was the first time he'd ever been passed the gate which stood between the seventh and sixth levels of the city. It was a completely different world beyond the Citadel, a big world and one that was quite frightening to a young child, for whom everything looked so much bigger and more confusing. Mithrellas had been assigned to keep watch over Boromir, the heir to the Stewardship, until a suitable new nurse was found, the previous nurse having succumbed to old age only a week prior.
Hearing her friend's unconcealed, nearly hysterical sobs through the door, Mithrellas gently pried Boromir's fist from her skirt, reattaching it that of the nearest nurse. "I am going to check on your mummy," she said gently, "just wait here like a good little soldier, Bori." When one of the other nurses attempted to enter the chamber with her, she politely but firmly refused to allow her, saying that if anything needed the attention of a nurse she would let them known. Mithrellas took one look at Finduilas and quickly locked the door behind her.
Sitting down beside her friend and taking her hands in her own, she gently coaxed, "Fin? Fin, come, look at me. What happened?"
"He took him away," Finduilas whispered. She could not speak aloud, her voice could not manage the volume.
"The Ranger?" Mithrellas whispered.
Finduilas only nodded.
"He was his son, then?"
Again Finduilas only nodded, now clutching her friend's hands tightly.
"Oh, Fin'!" Mithrellas sobbed, letting go of Finduilas's hands to hug her friend tightly. She herself knew what it was to lose a child, just not in this same way.
Suddenly Finduilas grew frantic. "Rel', swear to me... you must swear it, no one else must know!"
"Not from me, Fin'. Never from me. I know your story and the only words anyone shall hear from me will support it. Does he have a name?"
Finduilas lay back down, trying to calm herself. She had not the energy for sitting upright. "Faramir," she whispered as new tears overcame her.
Mithrellas sat by quietly for a while, just holding Finduilas's hand and reassuring her. She began to wonder just what a Ranger would do out in the wild with an infant; yes, they were clever, Rangers, but could one manage to care for a child? Though she doubted she would ever learn the answer, she hoped the child would make it to safety. Finduilas was just beginning to fall asleep when there came a commotion from out in the hallway.
There had been a break between sessions of the military council and the Steward's council, on both of which Denethor sat in his father's stead due to the Steward's ailing health, and Ecthelion urged his son to spare a moment to see how his wife was coming along.
For a moment, Denethor did not notice his young son as the nurses about the chamber door curtsied and slowly backed away a bit, but Boromir was extremely glad to see his father and ran forth, expecting to be lifted up into his arms like always. Instead Denethor stood there, not sure if he was actually seeing his son here in this hallway. Suddenly Boromir remembered what his father had been trying to teach him of late about "public comportment." Quickly the child knelt upon one knee, trying to keep his balance, bowed his head, and said in as formal a voice as a five year old can manage, "I greet thee, my lord."
Denethor nodded, indicating to Boromir to stand again, then turned to the gathered women. "What is my son doing here?" he demanded sharply.
None were very keen to answer, but as Denethor's stare intensified someone finally thought it best to reply. "My Lord, the Lady Mithrellas -"
"Oh, that impudent woman... i might have known!" Denethor growled. He tried the door without even asking if Finduilas was delivered yet, or even if she was well. Finding it locked infuriated him. "Why is this door locked?" he inquired angrily. "I demand to see my wife!" he shouted, pounding upon the door.
The nurses just stood there in shock, no one could say anything of course, but had it been anyone else causing all that uproar in this place of all places it would not have been tolerated. It took only seconds for the Warden of the Houses to come rushing in, highly aggravated to hear such noises in the vicinity of his healing quarters. It was bad enough they had to share the street with the stables, but this... "Who dares to disturb -" began to the Warden as he rounded the corner, stopping suddenly when he saw the Steward's heir. "Your Lordship! I beg your pardon," he said with a deep bow.
"I will deal pardons later, Warden," Denethor snapped. "Why is this door locked?"
"This door is locked to afford your lady wife some peace," said Mithrellas defiantly. "However, Finduilas never seems to get any peace when you are about!"
"You will not take such a tone with me, woman!" Denethor said dangerously.
"Then i would advise you to guard your own tone. You are not yet Steward of this realm, Denethor. Get back to your Citadel and let Finduilas rest," Mithrellas said, turning away to see to her friend again.
Denethor grasped her arm firmly, though, wrenching her back toward him. It was taking all of his restraint to keep from backhanding the acid-tongued lady. "What," he said tightly, "is Finduilas's condition?"
"No condition to have you storming in," Mithrellas said without an ounce of fear.
Meanwhile, Boromir to decided to slip away from the argument and found that the quietest place was where his mummy was laying in bed. She looked over to see him, a tragically sad smile came over her and she held out her arms to hold her boy. She hugged Boromir and wept.
"Mumma... what's wrong?" he asked, his little arms wrapped around his mother's neck. Boromir took a piece of candy from his belt pouch, a standard accessory to the miniature Citadel Guard uniform he wore. "Here, it's peppermint," he said, "it always makes me feel better."
"Thank you, Bori'," she said, setting it on the table beside her. "You will be a wonderful soldier some day. Your men will love you if you remember their needs, my little one."
Boromir seemed to consider this for a moment, then he settled into his mother's arms again and asked, "Mumma, do i have a brother or sister yet?"
Finduilas said nothing, but held onto her child and sobbed.
That was when Denethor shoved his was passed Mithrellas into Finduilas's chamber. The sight of her so pale and fragile cut him to the quick. He had loved this woman and still did, and now she looked closer to death than his father. "Finduilas...," he said in a shaking voice, "what happened? Where is the child?"
Finduilas released Boromir and told him to go run along. He kissed her on the cheek and hopped down from the bed. He made to kneel before his father, but Denethor's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "That's all right, child, not just now. Do as your mother says."
Mithrellas saw that Boromir was sent along with one of the nurses and then resumed her place at Finduilas's side. Denethor meant to shoot her a glare but couldn't muster one for all of his fear.
"Finduilas, what happened?" he asked again, now plainly worried.
"He's gone, Denethor," she said in a tear-laden voice.
"Gone? But... Oh, gods, Fin'," Denethor faltered briefly. "But what was done with -"
"Oh do not be so naive, Denethor," Mithrellas said. "It is common knowledge what is done with a stillborn." She felt no need to conceal her lie to him in a half-truth.
"Stay out of this, woman!" Denethor growled.
Finduilas could sense that this would only escalate if she did not intervene. "Please, please, just let me have peace. I want to sleep, i do not wish to speak of this anymore."
"Of course, Fin'," Mithrellas said soothingly. "We will go and i shall to it that no one creates any further upset."
"Finduilas... you will recover. You will get well again and there can always be other children," Denethor said, more as a plea than an assurance.
"Over my dead body!" Mithrellas said. "This has nearly killed your wife and you speak of more children?"
"Both of you stop! Go away, everyone! I want to be alone," Finduilas cried, straining her voice and energy in agitation as she tried to fend off the blackness that was edging into her vision before she surrendered to exhaustion in a faint.
ooo
sidhe - You are one of the few people who thinks it a good point that i don't capitalize "i"s. Thanks! Damrod and Mablung - a total afterthought. It just suddenly seemed to work.
Elenhin: Little Faramir is most definitely the cutest baby ever! Though little Boromir is running a close second here, of course. I already have their future meeting mapped out. As a reply from Shadows: I do mean green beer. Thursday, being that highest of holidays, St. Patrick's Day, the beer was assuredly green, a sort of moss-green. Granted, it used to be good old Rolling Rock (best brewed beer in the world from my own hometown!), but a single drop of green food coloring and your Irish eyes will be smiling no matter where you are from! No, it isn't actually any more alcoholic, but you could fool me. And if you can't get green, Guinness will do just fine too!
linda: Aragorn the Dunedan and Aragorn the clumsy new father are two rather different images, no?
Iblis: I love Gandalf and little Fara' too! Don't worry, he will be back, though i can't say when for sure. After all, Aragorn is going to need all the help he can get.
Back to Aragorn and lil' Faramir next chapter.