Of Roses and Thorns:

Chapter 2: Prologue Part 2

(Date: TA -1st May 2999 or in Shire Reckoning 1399)

(Location: Minas Tirith)

The hall of kings was the dominion of the steward. It's hallowed walls had for centuries concealed some of the important secrets ever granted to the race of men, as well as the most well-known men who kept them. A colour scheme of white and black seemed to inter weave and contrast with the feelings of all those present. A large, white, empty throne dominated the room while a small dark chair seemed to be crushed under the weight of its solitary companion. A golden crown was hovering by wires above the throne as if it where a blue-tailed sea hawk seeking its loving mate. Large pillars held up the roof like trees and underneath their titanic majesty dwelt the menfolk who attended the matters of state. These were dark times for Gondor and many knew that they may not see the coming day if not for the constant devices employed by these people. Here, a single phrase may make or break a nation gripped in eternal combat with the dark lord just leagues from their borders. And under the watchful eyes of the white marbled kings of old, Lord Denethor the 2nd was besieged with the devastating news that would slowly, as if it were poison seeking his heart, break and destroy his humanity.

"My lord Denethor, 'tis my sad duty to impart news of the departure of Lady Finduilas of Dol Amroth from this world. Let it be known that her ending was painless and that she died as she did live, as a noble and courageous lady devout to the good people of which we all serve. May the ancestor's play host to her now, for she is their immortal guest!" The maid kneeled in front of the Lord Steward, all the while quaking in fear. It was well-known to all that the lord of the citadel had a temper to match the great Ancalagon the Black, for both were mighty and terrible to behold when enraged. Only the cooling presence of the late lady could turn his incandescent heart to a simmer. So taking this in mind, the maid finally took the courage to enter the hall of Kings, and announce the passing of her late mistress. Hopeful that the master wouldn't take it out on her and she wouldn't be punished for such dreadful news.

Apon hearing the news, the lord actually looked at her as if she had just said something incomprehensible to his ears. For a moment he looked as if he was struck dumb by the news and stood almost stagnant behind a grand table covered with numerous papers and various charts. Then the news began to sink in as Denethor's face fell into shock and utter horror at the words as he struggled to comprehend the magnitude of which the words meant. He braced himself on the table as he became white in the face. For a moment the maid, Talia, thought he may collapse under the heavy weight of his grief but this was soon replaced with utter disbelief and rage. "No, you're lying! She can't be gone, she can't be! No, she's just sleeping that's all, just asleep. Wake her up imminently girl or I'll have your head for your disobedience and deceit!"

"But sir, I swear apon Eru Iluvatar - the high father - that I tell the truth! Your wife has passed on and Nienna weeps for her!" Talia pleaded with a tone of fear. Her lord was angry with her and if he did indeed take her head out of the madness of grief, her family would be dishonoured and throw out to the streets. They would surely starve!

"Insolent girl! Stop spreading your filth in this hallowed place, guards remove her from my sight and send for my wife!" Talia was crying by now and the guards roughly grabbed hold of her hands and drew her away from the Steward in silent obedience. She began to struggle and whimper at the sentence, before begging the lord to see reason and forgive her for the truth that she had dutifully bought him.

"My lord Denethor, what is the meaning in this!" Talia turned to look apon this new player with a look of apprehension and dread. In her head, she began to plead with Nienna, lady of grief, compassion and endurance of the spirit, that she would be saved by this person and that he or she would help her lord to see the truth in her words. There, standing a front the great wooden doors, was Brúnith. Little Luthien was in her arms and there was an aura of ferociously about her like a mother wolf about to leap into the jaws of death to protect her young cub.

"Lady Brúnith, I trust you are not about to support this wicked girl's falsities? Did you not wait apon my wife this last hour? Where apon is she? For this fabler has spoken of her demise, of which I do not advocate!" Denethor paced like an angry warg, wary and full of confusion into when to attack its prey or if he even should.

"'Tis the sorrowful truth sire, your wife indeed did pass into Mando's judgement. The birth of her child was far too traumatic and painful for her to endure. I, myself, sent the girl to give the news and I do indeed support her in the words she has dutifully spoken" Each word was careful. If the lord did become as angered at Brúnith as he was at the moment at the mere maid that was grovelling at his feet, he may banish or order the death of her in payment. Then the child would be left without a guardian of which to depend on and her oath would be broken. Yes, diligence was needed. As well as clear thinking in order to both keep her honoured oath and her head.

"So the girl is not deceitful, yet my wife is dead? Why must the world taunt me so! Alas for my fair lady of heart. She was but faithful and young for all her years. And now she shall be forever more" Downcast eyes were all that remained of the lord as he began to give up the fight of life that consumed every creature in creation. It was a pitiful scene.

"My lord, be not discourage in hope, for yet in my arms be a candle in this bitter winter. Before entering the world of the newly departed; your wife managed to produce a child. 'Tis a girl my liege, and according to the wishes of Finduilas, is to be named Luthien after Luthien Tinuviel, the elven maid of lore. Will you honnor your wife by taking up the guardianship of your daughter?" The lady's words were soft and alike to silk as they straddled the mind of the lord high steward. She lowered the bundle of linen softly, and turned slowly sideways in order to fully present the child to her father. Truly this moment was crucial. This child's future depended on the acceptation of it's father and as the spirits have devised this child to be born to womanhood, so is the importance of the moment doubled.

"Kill her! Drown or burn the little wretch, I have no quarry. Let it not breathe the air so freely without a noose around it's fragile neck as it has killed her! My beloved is taken apon wings of death in return for that monster. That abomination! Damn her to the next world for if you do not take it's life now, I shall certainly kill it in revenge for its sins. Why is this child allowed to live while my love not?" Denethor wept in madness enduring as he increasingly became traumatized by the news. Brúnith looked at the child with confused eyes, be not this child beautiful? It had none of the defects that many a child did suffer nor an aura of malevolence that would cause this tyrade to become plausible. Brúnith looked in disgust at the lord of the city, were this man be at illness with his humours? Or was he suffering an illness of the brain.

"My lord, you cannot mean to kill your own daughter!" Brúnith started. "This child is not responsible for the recent loss of the great lady, nor should she bear the result. 'Tis not valid to think the way you do about a child of your own flesh and blood!" Brúnith took a breath. "Nor is it sane" she supposed slyly with a hint of menevolence.

"Then what would you have me do!" The lord snapped coldly. He was growing impatient and annoyed at the woman by the minute. No woman would refuse or mock him in that tone and get away with it.

"Take care of her!" Brúnith shouted to him, with the tone of obviousness. "Care for her as a father should do! As her mother would do. Love and care is all of which I ask of you my liege, love as a father, and care as a guardian!"

The steward sighed despairingly at the argument. "Fine, but I shall not love her. I shall never love her. For she may be Finduila's babe but she is not her. Nor shall she ever be!" venom seeped from this statement. He turned to the wreak of a girl behind him before speaking once more. "Take her to the nursery, girl. For I must go to my fair lady. 'Tis a walk I must do, though my heart does find it sorrowful" And with that, the hallowed corpse of a man started slowly towards the chamber and towards his fair lady-love.

R&S if you liked this chapter or go to my profile and complete a poll to have your say in this adventure.

*Update: What weapon should Luthien use? Poll result is Shanzi*

Adieu.

Katherine