Minas Tirith
It had not yet been a week since Finduilas had "lost" her child. She was not showing any signs of improvement, physically or emotionally. She had been moved from the birthing chambers to a recovery ward that overlooked the garden in hopes that the fresh scents carried on the spring breezes would help her convalescence. Yet her unhappiness remained.
Her dearest friend Mithrellas scarcely left her side, only when Finduilas insisted that everyone leave her alone. Denethor had been coming less and less frequently to see her and it could stay that way as far as she was concerned. She had long since begun to wonder why she ever had been so love-struck by the Steward's son. He had seemed so dignified and brave and powerful and bluff in such a charming way, whereas now all he seemed to her was an authoritative, pompous, and rude old man.
She could already tell that her little Bori was going to be just the same when he grew up, he would enthrall every woman in Gondor right out of her skirts before she even knew what was happening. She only prayed that he would never have to inherit the ruling Stewardship. Maybe by then Aragorn would have found the courage to take up his crown or perhaps even her little Faramir would one day rule over Gondor with peace.
Denethor's father was not getting any better. Nor was his wife, and the child she had been heavy with less than a week ago had not survived, causing him to doubt his virility. He himself was increasingly put upon by taking up the duties that Ecthelion could no longer attend to. At times it seemed that the world was trying to overwhelm Denethor and the only bit of joy left in his life was his best little soldier, his Boromir.
There had been several reports of an upsurge in orc activity but the most recent reports were sporadic and erratic at best. There was no consistency to them that would facilitate making a decisive strike against the orc armies and Denethor was not about to send battalions to every little village's borders. Yet, the reports had grown ever more demanding and he began to fear an uprising. Already he had noticed people in the markets of his own city whispering and giving wary glancing his way whenever he rode out. He had decided that the best thing to do would be to consult that one source he trusted to give him an accurate view of his borders.
Denethor went to the secret room in the very top of the Tower of Ecthelion. It was not the first time he had been there to turn to the seeing stone in military matters. He had been more than hesitant to trust his sources of late and his escalating workload demanded that he be fully informed of movements within the realm of what would soon be his rule.
The heir to the Stewardship uncovered the globe of Fëanor's craft and waited as it began to glow, faintly at first, then brighter until its light filled the tower chamber. He looked closely into the sphere, first glimpsing Osgiliath and Cair Andros, the two main points of his concern when it came to defense. Seeing that all was well there he sought to look further afield, using the palantír to scan the lands of Anórien. The palantír deigned to reveal to him a lone rider making his way toward the Mering Stream and over the board to Rohan.
Upon closer inspection the rider looked to be a Ranger... but what would one of them be doing so far west, there were no companies assigned to that area as the borders with Rohan had never been an issue. Denethor looked deeper into the crystal and the image clarified further. That was no ordinary Ranger he was seeing. No, he knew that man instantly - it was that accursed Thorongil. Denethor started to turn from the palantír in disgust, caring not as long as the man left Gondor and never returned, but then he swore he could hear the cry of an infant emanating from the stone... surely that was not ordinary, for these stones were not meant to carry sound as well as sight, were they?
A knife of suspicion suddenly plunged deeply into Denethor and he grabbed the seeing stone from off of it's pedestal. But the orb would reveal no more and had gone dark and lifeless again. It left Denethor with an inkling that would not rest. He shook the globe forcefully but nothing happened. Enraged, he slammed it back onto its podium, not even scratching it. Oh, he would find out if his suspicion was true. He would revisit the secret chamber daily, several times a day if he had to, until the Elven ornament decided to work again. For now, he resigned himself to wait patiently and think of suitable punishments for anyone and everyone involved in this possible deception.
It had taken a week for the stone to come around and let him look into it again; a long week which Denethor had spent in one of the foulest moods any could remember him in. Even Boromir had been extraordinarily careful whenever his father would come to visit him in his nursery after supper. Instead of the loving smiles his father usually bestowed upon him, now there only critical, searching stares.
When he could again see into the stone, he could only see the focus of his hatred in shadowy figures. They were too far from the Anor stone and the strength of his will was not yet great enough to see clearly beyond his realm. He could tell that he was seeing Edoras and Rohan's court and he could tell that Thorongil held an infant - one of no more than two weeks, it looked to him.
That was all the proof Denethor needed. The next day he called for a riding party to make ready for an outing to the court of Rohan's king, intending to leave in no later than another two days. He felt certain that Théoden would not betray him and, upon hearing what the man had done, would promptly turn the villain over to his custody. After all, without Gondor, Rohan would be nothing.
Denethor made the plans for a ride to Rohan part of his daily report to his father, but said nothing of the reason. Ecthelion was more than suspicious, though he chose not to show it to his son. What business had Denethor going to Rohan when he could come into his inheritance at any time, Ecthelion wondered; for he knew he had not much life left in him and would have been dead already, but that he was still awaiting word of whether his son's wife would give birth to another grandson or a granddaughter. None had the heart to tell the ailing Steward anything of the pregnancy once it neared term, especially after the concern he had weathered at Boromir's birth, almost more afraid than the child's own father.
Ecthelion had not failed to note his son's ill mood recently and suspicion grew on him as well. The night before the party was to ride, the Steward had decided to sit by his window for a spell. When he saw a light glowing in the highest part of the tower, though, he knew at once that something troublesome was afoot. He cursed his fool son for making use of the ancient artifact that he had many times warned him against using. The Steward called for his personal attendant to take a message and to see that it was sent in strictest confidentiality to King Théoden of Rohan with no delay whatsoever.
The next morning Ecthelion gave his blessing to his son before the departure. Though angry with Denethor for his folly he did not wish to be parted from his only child on bad terms, and so he made no mention of any such thing. He knew all too well that this couldbe their last parting. He watched the courtyard from his window, seeing his little grandson running to his father, begging to be allowed to go with him. It reminded him of another young heir who desperately wanted to be counted among Gondor's finest as soon as possible. The less than fond side of that memory was the sharp rebuke he'd issued his own son and very much regretted, and yet he saw it mirrored there in the courtyard below.
Ecthelion was unsettled and worried for his child, never before had he been so stern with Boromir before, in fact he usually spoiled the little one rotten. He hoped Denethor had not gotten into more than he could handle by using the Elven stone so frequently, and where exactly had he gone wrong in teaching Denethor the finer points of ruling, such as trusting in one's subordinates?
Mithrellas, being the shrewd woman she was, knew of the heir's intention to pay a visit to his ally to the north almost before his father knew. She, too, had been thinking of her own plan and thought this the perfect situation in which to implement it. She waited until Denethor had visited Finduilas to tell her that he would be leaving for Rohan on the morrow, then spoke of her idea to her dear friend.
"I know that your husband would never consent, Fin'," Mithrellas said, "but he will be gone for two weeks at the very least, and you know the Steward will agree. Lord Ecthelion likes you and he understands that you are suffering here. Finduilas, if you stay here any longer, you will not survive. This city is crushing you and i can no longer bear to see it."
"Rel', i can not," Finduilas said tiredly. "I can not just leave because Denethor is gone away. I do not love him, but i am bound to him and i can not change that now."
"Those are lies, Finduilas" Mithrellas replied emphatically. "We have been raised to believe that we must be good and obedient wives or we are worth nothing. That is entirely false. You are not happy with him or with staying here and no one upon Arda can tell you that you must do so!"
"What about my Bori'?" Finduilas asked.
"Well, he shall come with us, of course! Do you not think that your brother would like to know what a fine little nephew he has?" she said convincingly.
"What i think is that you want an excuse to see again your lover in the service of my brother... the swan-standard bearer, was he not?" Finduilas teased. Mithrellas looked very serious when she said that that added bonus had only just crossed her mind. Finduilas knew better, but she also knew that this might be her only chance to go home again, to see again the waves on the sea and her own family. "What of a host?" she asked, warming to the idea more and more.
"The Steward would not begrudge us such protection. When Denethor leaves tomorrow, we shall go directly to the Steward and seek his permission to depart to Dol Amroth. I will begin packing tonight that we may be gone as soon as it is safe." Mithrellas sounded so triumphant. Long had she waited to find a way around Denethor and this was a golden opportunity.
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Ok, i know i am breaking my own rule about updating this and Shadows alternately, but this story was just begging to be written last night. I apologize to those of you who are dying for the next chapter in Shadows. It will be coming soon,my promise.
Elenhin: Little Faramir is really charming. Let's just hope he can win over some other, tougher critics. I can assure you that the Lembas infusion is perfectly safe for Fara', that's Elf-magic for you! Thanks again for the backgrounds and mouse army tale. I must start work on my own soon... so much to write!
irene: Thanks for the review and thanks for reading. I'm very glad you are enjoying. I try to keep all my stories fresh, in some way different from the usual.
Jenn: Thank you, also, for your review. More will come soon, this has been very enjoyable for me to write so far.
Raksha: Oh, what will they think, indeed! That little trial will be coming up in the next chapter, which i hope to be able to write this weekend. We shall see.