A/N: The characters are Tolkien's, including Ivriniel. He never really said what happened to her. "Captain Randil," as the folks on my LiveJournal may be able to figure out, is based upon "Captain Randall" by the Glengarry Bhoys. I'm not even going to attempt a filk, knowing the Pit's songfic policy, but if you stop by my homepage and ask me about it, I might be able to set you up with a link to the original song, if you'd like to hear it.
Also, while I'm tiptoeing around ff's policies, I could use a beta for this and a Potterverse WIP. I'm not requesting that anyone respond to me via email or LJ, and certainly not in a review, but if someone happens to see this and has the time to do it, there's nothing wrong with the person talking to me at livejournal. com/user/b2wm or bozswargmissy at yahoo. com.
The late afternoon pleasantries with the Prince of Dol Amroth's family had been kept short, as the foul weather seemed to tax the entire group's spirits. Finduilas had left as soon as she could, claiming a headache. Imrahil was eager to get back to the rest of his Swan Knights, so as to update his superior officers – and quite likely, the rest of his friends as well, if that knowing grin was any indication, – of the results of the council.
Denethor himself was beginning to feel the effort it took to maintain a polite and mild calmness in this sea of unbridled madness. Therefore, when Adrahil offered a guide to show him about the palace, he declined respectfully, and took some unrestrained joy of his own in the blessed, quiet solitude. He made no attempt to seek out any particular person or place, but simply wandered the hallways, keeping his ears open and his face relaxed, allowing himself to muse over what all had taken place since his meeting with the Prince had begun. He tried not to look like he was pacing, letting his feet carry him about the prince's home in wide, wandering circles, but he turned around once, thinking he had heard a woman's light step come up behind him. There was no one there when he looked.
Denethor found her pacing in the eaves beneath the garden later that evening, during his self-guided wanderings of the palace grounds. Even here, one could still see the waves tossing along the shoreline. Even their defensive structures are laid open, Denethor mused, unsure of what to make of the less refined, unguardedly emotional Dol Amrothi culture.
And here, as if to bring all of its vexing chaos into a single point, was Finduilas. He was cynical of any true romance blossoming between them, but he had been willing to give her a chance, at least. His sisters, who had decided that it was high time their little brother got married so that he might smile occasionally, had not been lying about her beauty, nor had they likely exaggerated her mental capacities overmuch, if her father regularly invited her to the council table.
"We needn't be enemies, my lady. I hope that whatever the result of this misguided courtship, we might remain allies, at least." Denethor stood against a pillar just inside of her path, ostensibly watching the rain.
"In love, I fear there are no alliances, Lord Denethor, only those that are not currently aiming your way." He was careful not to let his eyes follow her as she walked past him, chewing a strand of reddish-blonde hair.
"You're awfully jaded for one so young, Lady Finduilas." She, however, had made no secret of her dislike for him. It was probably just as well, he decided. Now the Steward's heir could concentrate on the business of observing the navy and fulfill his diplomatic duties without worrying overmuch about the thoughts of one spoiled girl.
Finduilas stopped in her tracks, spinning angrily towards him. "You would prefer that I shut my eyes and allowed you to break my heart in whatever way you wish? I know something about what love can do to a woman."
"A personal loss?" Denethor did his best to remain calm and sympathetic. He vaguely remembered that his eldest sister had been fond of this game of driving suitors mad with jealousy and frustration, but he wouldn't let Finduilas get away with it. She didn't even like him, did she? At least, he wouldn't let her make him jealous.
"You could say that." The autumn-haired woman turned away.
"Dare I ask his name, or shall you think me prying into personal affairs that don't concern me?" He raised an eyebrow, making no effort to mask his stare.
She laughed gently at this, although he continued to look deadly serious. "Randil," she murmured softly.
"Wasn't that the name of a drinking song?" One he had heard not only from the sailors on the way to Dol Amroth, but from Prince Adrahil himself, Denethor believed.
"Aye, 'twas Ivriniel's favorite. She swore she'd met the captain that inspired it. She left to see him one day, when the rain was worse when it is now, and the flood tide made it impossible to dock. She kept watch all night for him, with a lantern in her hand, but never did see his ship. No one did. Then the wind blew the current especially hard and high, and she was swept off the docks. She was a strong swimmer, but who could survive that?" Finduilas gestured to the unquiet waves.
"You were close?" Denethor looked out to sea, standing next to the young woman. He wrapped his arms more tightly about his chest against the harsh wind.
"Who appreciates their older siblings when they are around? She taught me to swim, and to sail, and verses of the old sea-ballads, but we fought as any sisters might." Finduilas shrugged irritably. She, too, shivered slightly in the chill sea breeze, but she refused to show it. She was thankful that the wind had blown her hair about her face, masking her expression.
"Simply because you fought with her does not mean that you do not love her." Finduilas glanced sharply at her companion, but Denethor's dark eyes were as impenetrable as ever, staring out towards the sea.
"What do you mean, sir?" her voice was soft as she continued to stare at him, but promised pain, should he give the wrong answer.
"My lady, I argue with my sisters constantly, but that does not mean that I am unhappy to see them when they can attend court." He granted her a brief smile, before turning back towards the entrance to the house.
"You said we might be allies in this matter, Denethor, but that requires goals that do not conflict with one another. What are you after here?" Finduilas brushed her hand against his shoulder.
Denethor caught it, bowing over the hand briefly in the typical perfectly proper kiss. "Currently, my lady, I enjoy vexing you."
"That's not an answer," Finduilas insisted.
"Did I promise you one, my lady? It is practically freezing out here, and given shelter, I suggest we take it." He had noted her momentary lapse in formality, and was unsure whether to take it as a sign of some small victory.
Behind him, the young woman pulled her arms tightly into her chest. Her mouth tightened into a thin grimace. "As proper as you pretend to be, you are an arrogant prick, aren't you?" she muttered under her breath.
"I only return milady's graciousness," he replied softly, holding the door for her. Finduilas nodded once and turned down a hallway, flipping her windblown hair over her shoulder.
It was most definitely an uncertain victory, for uncertain aims, he decided. She had compared affairs of the heart to the field of war, but as a military commander, Denethor could not understand the comparison. No matter what chaos might currently reign in the battlefield, one at least knew what one's ultimate goal would be. Sometimes one had to retreat, and sometimes there was a small victory, but one knew whom one was fighting against and what one was fighting for. Here, the Steward's son was unsure.
He glanced once more in the direction that Finduilas had stormed off. As open as the people of Dol Amroth were, they could be so confusing. Denethor was forced to admit that he was absolutely vexed.