As Finduilas got into line with the other ladies, she felt her own growing anxiety mirror her mother's. She bit her lip slightly, keeping her eyes on Denethor's feet. She would not—could not-step on them. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing just how terrible a dancer she was.

She could not give him the satisfaction of know how clumsy she could be when anxious.

The dance began, and Finduilas stepped forward, taking Denethor's offered hand with what she hoped was the grace befitting a woman of her station. They began to circle each other, as couples around them did.

"Thank you," he said, a little stiffly, "For accepting my invitation to dance."

"The pleasure is all mine," she said. "Though I believe you may regret your choice to not dance with Ivriniel. She is… as my mother said, the more graceful dancer of the two of us."

Denethor raised an eyebrow, before wincing. Finduilas' eyes widened, as she realized she had already done the worst. She had stepped on the man's boot. She quickly made to step away, but Denethor pulled her closer. "It's best to finish the dance," he muttered.

She nodded, her face burning with humiliation. When they separated, and Finduilas was passed to a different man, while Denethor took that man's partner, Finduilas breathed a sigh of relief. She smiled at the man currently holding her hands—another man from Minas Tirith—and she smiled kindly back at her. Thankfully, she did not tread on this man's feet, and instead performed rather well, until she was passed back into the arms of Denethor.

"So," Finduilas said, wishing the break the silence between them. "What was the reason for your visit to Dol Amroth? I'm afraid I seemed to have missed the…explanation."

Denethor shifted slightly as they twirled around each other. He winced as she lightly trod on his boot again, before speaking before she could apologize, "Respite," he said. "My father wishes for me to find some rest away from the war and from my obligations in the city."

"Ah," she said, nodding her head serenely. "Well, the sea is certainly the place to do such."

They danced again in silence.

"You had no other reasons for the visit?" she asked, "Other than respite from obligations?"

Denethor gazed down at her, before shaking his head. "Non, Milady."

She nodded her eyes again, and they danced in silence. Then she spoke, "I am curious—to change the subject, of course—how a man of your station and age has not yet found himself a wife, or at least, a betrothed."

At his surprised look, she added, "If it is not too bold of me to ask."

"I suppose not," he said, slowly. "I have been busy with the war."

She gave a small snort, and at his peculiar look, she said, "So you have no plans to find a wife?"

"Why?" he asked. "You seem rather curious about my marital status, My Lady. Did you have someone in mind for the role of my wife?"

"Well," she said, with a non-committal shrug. "There's always my sister."

She could tell that Denethor fought the urge to grimace at her words. But, besides a twitch of his right eye, he stayed passive enough not to show insult.

"And Lady Nadei," Finduilas continued, making a show of thinking deeply. "Of course, there's my cousins as well, and many other ladies in Gondor who could fill those shoes well."

"And yourself?" Denethor asked, as the dance slowed to a stop. "You seem to be making an effort not to include yourself in this list."

"Oh no," she said, as she curtsied to him as he bowed to her, once the dance was finished. "I'm afraid I would be completely unsuitable to be your wife." Then, because she couldn't help herself, she added, "I'm far too… indecorous, to be a steward's wife."

She got a satisfying glimpse of utter shock on his face, as she turned and walked away from him.

She had not quite planned this part through, she had to admit to herself, as she walked, sopping wet, dress in hand, up the dark staircase.

The ball had ended about an hour ago, but there were still drunkards roaming about, servants and guests alike. It was still dark, and she hoped she would get the chance to get back to her chambers without being spotted or recognized.

She had just passed the guest wing, and was about to ascend the steps to her family wing, when she spotted a man heading up the steps behind her and in her direction. She quickly drew away, slipping past the archway that led to the guest wing and waited with baited breath as the man paused, sitting down heavily on the steps, and… just… sitting there.

She waited, and waited—but he did not move. Finally, realizing that she would not be able to get back to her bedchamber without being seen by this man, she turned and headed against her better judgment into the guest wing.

When she reached the room that was her usual escape route to and from the beach, she hesitated, wondering if she dared. A light was on inside, and so Denethor had to be awake. She lifted her hand, ready to knock quietly, but paused. What if he wasn't alone? What if there was someone inside with him? And besides, she was practically naked—in nothing but a wet shift and carrying her dress that she daren't get too damp. And she was a woman knocking on a man's door passed midnight to boot. What anyone—what Denethor—would say was beyond her.

She bit her lip, wishing she had the foresight to be better prepared. She should have brought a change of clothes—or—or a cloth to dry herself. She cursed herself, and was just about to leave when her knuckles brushed against the door, causing a light knocking sound.

She froze, her heart racing, as she heard footsteps, then the door opened and light streamed out into the hallway, illuminating her.

Denethor stood in the doorway, gazing down at her with shock evident on his face. "Lady Fi—" he began, but she heard the door creak across the hall, and, panic rising in her, placed a hand on Denethor's bare chest and pushed him backwards into the room, following quickly and closing the door behind her with a click.

To be continued…

Thanks for reading!

This chapter is super short so I decided to post it early :)

See you soon!