The first thought that ran through Imrahil's mind as he caught the first glimpse of Minas Tirith was how Finduilas was fairing. Sweet, dear Finduilas, he thought, riding into the first level courtyard. People alike came flocking around them with curiosity. Imrahil bowed his head, waved, and smiled at the people. He received a wave of cheering.
"They love you," Aithron commented, riding up beside his cousin. "And so they should."
"They love me as the brother of their ladyship, Finduilas," Imrahil replied, still waving.
"Well, in that case, your sister must have proven herself quite a loving woman to these people."
Imrahil smiled; glad to know that the people of Minas Tirith appreciated that the heir to the stewardship had chosen a woman they approved of. Imrahil and his party did not delay and put their steeds into a canter and continued onwards, up towards the seventh level.
It was forbidden to ride up into the courtyard of Minas Tirith; Imrahil dismounted at the gates leading into the stables on the sixth level, handing the reins over to a scruffy-haired stable boy who failed to bow before the prince. Imrahil merely shrugged it away; he never expected everyone to bow before him, especially not some poor, inexperienced stable hand. He silently wondered if his brother-in-law, Denethor felt the same way. The young prince dismissed his guard to the command of Aithron, and then began his ascent up the ramp into the seventh level. The first thing Imrahil took notice of upon walking into the courtyard was the Tree of Kings – or rather the dead tree these days. Imrahil sighed; never enjoying the sight of what was the image of their decaying realm. It was those thoughts that people had to keep to themselves. The stewards ruled the kingdom these days, but the east was beginning to stir once more, people were no longer feeling safe on the roads. So what could he do to make the people feel more at ease? Nothing more than smile and wave in public, pretending nothing was out of the ordinary. You would think it was his duty to be truthful to the people, but the truth would lead to despair and fear, and the leaders of this realm did not want to cause any panic. So Imrahil was duty bound and had his orders.
The two guards at the main entrance into the throne room stood at attention and saluted the Belfalas prince. The great, high doors slowly swung open, revealing a long, wide hall with a skeletal structure. After the doors closed behind him, Imrahil walked briskly up the room, noticing the empty throne of kings high up behind the steward's throne. His eyes darted to the right, where Finduilas stood, glowing with happiness.
Imrahil came to a halt several metres from where Steward Ecthelion sat. "Lord Ecthelion," he said, bowing, "it is a pleasure to be in your presence once again."
Steward Ecthelion stood, beaming. "Prince Imrahil! Without your noble courage, Gondor would be without a coastline. I am forever indebted to you."
Imrahil smiled warmly. "You give me far too much credit, my lord. I am most thankful to have my men by my side during those tiresome days at sea." It was true; he should not be the only one being congratulated, but that is what captains are for, right? To be congratulated for everyone's efforts and labours.
Ecthelion nodded. "Your men will be known as heroes for as long as they live. And I hope that they will continue to serve your father as gallantly as they have done so far."
Imrahil delayed to respond as he noticed his brother-in-law shift on the spot, avoiding to look directly at him. He also noticed Finduilas frowning at her husband. Turning back to Ecthelion, the young prince smiled once more. "I thank you for you kind words, my lord."
Imrahil turned towards Denethor and Finduilas. "Sister," he said, kissing her hand. "How I have missed you."
Finduilas smiled tenderly. "Brother."
"Denethor," Ecthelion said, causing everyone to turn their attention towards him. "How about you and I take a stroll through the back gardens? I have matters of the realm to discuss with you." Denethor was not pleased to be leaving, not even making eye contact with his wife's brother.
Once they were alone, Imrahil turned to his sister, frowning. "Is something wrong with Lord Denethor?"
"I have no reason to believe otherwise," Finduilas replied, shaking her head. "He has been fine all morning."
Jealous perhaps? Imrahil thought, but gave a casual shrug before embracing his sister tightly. "How have you been?"
"Well," Finduilas replied. "Although, I have been having these awful nightmares as of late, but a healer in Osgiliath gave me a draught to take. It has worked marvellously."
Imrahil frowned, giving his sister a concerned look. "I hope it will stop. You never had any nightmares in Dol Amroth."
"I do not know why I have them," she replied, "but the draught is working, so that is the main thing."
Imrahil nodded, still feeling worried. "I am staying at our family house on the sixth level. Do you wish to accompany me there?"
His sister grinned. "I would love to! I have not been to our family home in Minas Tirith for so long."
"Truly?" Imrahil asked. "I thought the house might have given you some sort of comfort." He offered her his arm and they made their way down the throne room back out into the courtyard.
Finduilas nodded. "The house does make me feel closer to my family, but I did not want to go there constantly in case I started to miss you all too much."
"It would be nice if Lord Denethor would allow you to visit on occasion," Imrahil said, sighing.
"I have asked already," his sister replied. "He keeps telling me that there are not enough men to escort me."
Imrahil gave her a look of shock. "Not enough men? Is he absurd? Gondor has one of the largest armies in Middle-earth. Not to mention that I have written to your husband, informing him that I would come to Minas Tirith and escort you myself."
"What?" she said, spinning around to face him. "Denethor never told me that!"
Imrahil looked at her blankly for a moment, before shaking his head. "I should have known."
"Should have known what?" she asked, continuing to walk.
"Finduilas, there is no doubt that Denethor loves you," he started. "It just seems to me that he does not want to... well... share you."
Finduilas burst out laughing. "Imrahil, dearest brother, I think you are the one being absurd now. Why would Denethor not want to share me?"
"Look at you, Finduilas," Imrahil said. They had reached the gates leading into their home; two men stood guarding the house, while another two patrolled the area. "You are so beautiful and such a kind-hearted woman. I suppose he is worried your interest for him will diminish."
"Why would my interest for him diminish?" she asked as Imrahil opened the gate for her.
"Well he is far older than you. Perhaps he believes you will take an interest in a man of your age."
His sister shook her head. "I am a loyal wife who is bound to obey and serve."
"I know you are," Imrahil replied, not doubting his sister's honour, "but that does not mean Denethor won't worry about losing you."
"Is there a way that I can show him that that will not happen?"
Imrahil sighed and led her over to the stone seat in the front courtyard. "Perhaps. How... affectionate are you towards him?"
Imrahil grinned when he saw his sister's cheeks redden. "I am affectionate towards him."
"May I ask how often you bed him?" In all honest truth, he really did not want to know the answer to that question, for the idea of Denethor even committing the act... Imrahil mentally winced.
"Brother!" Finduilas exclaimed, bringing him back to her attention. "Does that really matter?"
Imrahil grinned once more. "For a man it does. Men want to feel loved. It cannot just be verbal affection, Finduilas."
"And how would you know all of this?" she asked stoutly. "You are not even married!"
Imrahil chuckled, deciding it best not mention his liaisons. "That is true, but I do have married friends. Believe it or not, Finduilas, men like to boast about their intimate relationships with their wives."
"You have not done anything... dishonourable? Have you?"
Imrahil sighed and stood up. Valar, why did she have to ask these questions? "No sister. I am a man of honour towards women, just as our father is."
Finduilas smiled, seemingly satisfied. "Good. I am glad to know that. I would hate for you to father an illegitimate child."
"Now, now, Finduilas, you know how much I love children." That and he knew how to avoid fathering a child with a woman who was not his wife, even though it was not fool proof.
"Marry first." His sister's words were stern - an order.
"Very well," he replied, sitting back down. "You have my word."
They sat in comfortable silence; taking in the warm sunlight and watching the birds splash around in the birdbath across the garden. It was nice having a part of nature at their home in this high, large stone city. No wonder the birds relished in the sparkling water, and sang happily in the two silver birch trees that were planted on either side of the cobbled path leading to the front door. The heather flowers planted along the frontal view of the house attracted bees and other small insects, giving a warm, loving environment.
The housekeeper, Saeleth, an elderly woman dressed in the traditional garb of a Gondorian woman, opened the front door letting the two house cats scurry outside in search of hunt. She noticed the two siblings' moments later and curtseyed. "My lord and lady, I had not expected you so soon."
"It is all right, Saeleth," Imrahil said, standing and offering his hand to Finduilas. They entered the house into the foyer and were led into the sitting room.
Finduilas slumped down into a chair by the front window. "Summer is not as warm as it is in Dol Amroth."
Imrahil sat across from her, watching the cats outside eye the birds in the trees, their tails wagging. "Perhaps the city itself keeps the temperature cooler. Living in a city of stone must keep the city a nice place to recuperate away from the horridness of the summer heat."
"But I prefer the heat," Finduilas insisted. "It is what I am used to."
Imrahil chose not to respond to that, as it would lead to a never-ending argument. Saeleth entered carrying a tray of cool beverages and a selection of summer fruits.
"So, how is Ivriniel?" Finduilas asked, taking a slice of apple.
Imrahil shrugged. "She is not the same woman that she was before her husband died. She still dresses in black."
"Still!" Finduilas exclaimed. "Has father said anything to her?"
"No," Imrahil replied, shaking his head. "He lets her dress as she wishes. Though, he has been making plans for her to remarry at some point in the near future."
"I have a feeling that will not work out well," she replied. "Why would father make her remarry?"
"I think he is hoping that she will stop grieving if she is given a new husband." Something that Imrahil highly disagreed on, but now that he thought of it, lately, he and his father did not agree on much anymore.
Finduilas shook her head with disbelief. "That is far too harsh for Ivriniel. I do not think she will ever stop mourning for her late husband."
"Maybe you should write to Father then," Imrahil suggested, thinking their father would pay attention to his beloved Finduilas. "He might listen to you. After all, you are his favourite daughter."
"Now why do you say that?" Finduilas eyed him sceptically.
Her little brother grinned. "You are married to the next Steward of Gondor. You are the first Princess of Dol Amroth to make such an important marriage in our history. Father feels proud of you. He always boasts at court about your marriage and how wonderful it will be when an heir is born."
Imrahil noticed his sister tighten her grip on the chair's arm. The next words that came from her mouth stunned him.
"I am having trouble conceiving."
"What?" Imrahil said, scrunching his face up with disbelief. "I do not see how that is possible. Our family has a high reputation of being fertile."
"Yet I have been married for over a year and I still have no symptoms of being with-child."
"It takes time, Finduilas. Everyone is different. I am sure it will happen this year," he replied.
"You are sure?" Her voice had pleading in it, her eyes desperate for an answer.
"Positive," he replied, sitting back in his chair. Of course, he was not sure, but he would say anything to bring ease to either of his sisters' minds.
"I hope I have a son," Finduilas said, faintly smiling. "I would love to have a son first, and then a daughter. I can see Denethor doting on his daughter, spoiling her in front of the entire court."
Imrahil smiled, actually believing his sister that Denethor would make a good father. "I do see Denethor being a proud father to a daughter. Nevertheless he will need to have at least one male heir."
"I know," she replied. "That is why I want a son first. Though, whatever comes first is for nature to decide."
Her brother nodded in agreement. "You will make a wonderful mother, Sister."
Finduilas left the company of her brother midafternoon. Imrahil kissed her cheek, watching her leave with an escort back up to the citadel. He leaned on the doorway's frame, his arms crossed. Finduilas truly did seem content with being Denethor's wife. He saw no discomfort whenever she spoke of him; Imrahil even heard affection in her words. Valar love her! He thought, smiling. She had deeply loved another man out of her reach, and now she has accepted her duty admirably and has taken a liking to a man not many women would have looked twice at. She had better patience and a more open-mind that Imrahil would ever have.
A few noblewomen walked along the street, passing by. They noticed the prince and curtsied, rising with shy smiles on all three of their faces. Imrahil bowed his head, giving them a wink. It caused them to huddle close together and giggle. That caused the young prince to choke on a laugh. He always found it highly amusing watching pretty little maids giggle and smile shyly around handsome men. He would never dally with them, but he quite enjoyed teasing them. After they had walked by, he moved off the doorframe and closed the door, deciding it was time for him to bathe and wash off the filth of travelling.
The next morning, Imrahil woke after the first fitful sleep he had had in over ten days. If he had sailed by ship, his sleeping pattern would not have been so affected; horse riding and camping meant danger of being robbed or ambushed – especially during these times. One could never be too careful than to sleep lightly and always be on alert.
By the eighth hour, he set out into the streets and down to the fifth level for a morning stroll. Many shops had only just opened and were still placing their stalls out on display. Knights of the city walked by quickly, preparing for their daily shifts up on the wall, or in alcoves along the many streets. Imrahil always found it interesting to watch the City of Kings come alive during the day with knights, store owners, shoppers, and children making their way to their tutored lessons. It was one thing Steward Ecthelion mastered at – education. He had quite reformed Minas Tirith during his early reign with building many schools and training more tutors to teach the youngsters. If things went well enough, Denethor would continue the reforms of education, for it was no secret that his brother-in-law had a deep love of lore.
Heading back to the sixth level, something caught Imrahil's eye to his right. He paused in mid-stride in front of a jewellers shop. The large, glass window showed a display of beautiful jewels handcrafted by the store owner. One jewel in particular caught his eye – a large rectangle-cut emerald pendant on a silver chain. Oh, sweet Valar have mercy! He thought, his eyes widening slowly. He had seen the exact necklace in his dream during his stay at Annúmben. Gosh! Was he losing his mind? He entered the shop and saw the owner sitting behind a large, oak counter.
"Greetings, my lord," he said, standing up. "I am Echador, maker of the jewels of the citadel. What shall I call you, my lord?"
"I am Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth," Imrahil answered, quite intrigued that the citadel jeweller had his own shop.
Echador bowed low. "An honour, my lord. If it pleases you, Lord Denethor has had many jewels made especially for your sister, the Lady Finduilas. She will have quite a collection very soon."
Imrahil smiled, not surprised at all. "It pleases my well, thank you. I must inquire about on a certain jewel you have on display in your window."
Echador walked over to the window and opened the fine wooden doors. "Which jewel do you speak of, my lord?"
"The emerald pendant."
The jeweller hummed appreciatively as he gently took it out of the display and over to his counter. "A fine piece indeed, my lord. Simple, yet elegant."
"Is it of your design?" Imrahil queried.
Echador smiled. "Of course, my lord. Everything in this shop is of my design."
"May I?" he asked, and he was handed the necklace. He held it up in the morning light, watching it sparkle. "It is very beautiful; I believe I shall purchase it."
Echador nodded. "Certainly, my lord. May I inquire as to who this lovely piece is intended for?"
Imrahil stalled, trying to think what his answer could be. "My sister back home, Princess Ivriniel," he lied.
"A lucky and fortunate sister she is to have a brother like you," the jeweller commented. "I hope she likes it."
"I am sure she will," Imrahil replied.
Leaving the shop, Imrahil felt slightly out of phase with himself. It was not like him to fall for visions – he had never had them before. He knew his aunt on his father's side, Princess Lômiphel had suffered terrible visions, and Imrahil had been raised with the superstition that the elven blood running through the princedom was a cause for such occurrences.
He made it home just before Finduilas arrived for her visit. She came in carrying a loaf of fresh bread still warm from the oven. They sat in the dining hall while the cooks served the bread with a platter of fresh fruit.
"Sister, I believe I will be returning to Dol Amroth in two days," Imrahil said, breaking the pleasant silence.
Finduilas lowered her eyes to her plate. "I wish you could stay longer."
Imrahil shook his head. "I am sorry, but Father needs me in Dol Amroth. I shall take my council with Steward Ecthelion after noon today and then perhaps again before I leave."
"I know. I understand the duties of men," she replied.
Before Imrahil could muster reply, a pageboy ran into the dining room. "Lad, do you know the importance of knocking?" he asked, his brows raised.
The boy looked exhausted. "I have just come here in great haste from the citadel. An important letter from Lamedon has just arrived, addressed to Princess Finduilas."
Finduilas stood up, startled. "Thank you," she said, taking the letter from the boy and gesturing for him to leave at once. Imrahil observed his sister as she sat back down and opened the letter. Her hands were shaking, so Imrahil gently took the opened it on her behalf.
"Dearest Lady Finduilas," Imrahil said, reading the letter aloud. "It is my deepest regret to inform you that Lady Voronda has fallen dangerously ill at her home in Lamedon. My wife, Tatiel has asked for your company during this dire time. If you and your husband, Lord Denethor, are able to make the trip within the week, my wife and I will be indebted to you both. Yours faithfully, Lord Angbor."
"I must leave at once." Finduilas stood up and hurried out of the house. Imrahil groaned aloud as he heard the front door bang open and shut. He stood up and ran off to follow her, still clutching onto the letter. It was these times when he saw just how deep Finduilas' heart went. Imrahil did not attempt to stop his sister, only following quickly in her steps. She came to a black, wooden door and opened it without knocking.
"Finduilas," Denethor said, standing up and hurrying to her side. Imrahil stayed at the doorway, not quite sure what to do.
"I-I just r-received a letter from Lord Angbor, asking that you and I travel to Lamedon," Finduilas said, wiping the tears from her face. It was then when Imrahil decided to assist his brother-in-law by helping Finduilas sit down.
"Why does Lord Angbor desire us to travel to Lamedon?" Denethor asked, kneeling down next to his wife.
"Voronda has fallen ill," Finduilas said. Imrahil handed the letter to Denethor, eyeing him warily. The young prince became quite interested in how Denethor would react to such a request, especially as his wife clearly wanted to go.
The steward's heir stood back up and paced his study as he read the letter silently. After a short while, he placed the letter on his desk and sighed. "I see that my niece's health concerns you greatly, therefore I will allow this trip to happen."
Finduilas sighed with relief, relaxing into the chair. "Thank you, Denethor."
"Imrahil, would you give your sister and I a moment alone?" Denethor asked the young man.
"Certainly," Imrahil replied. "I shall go and inform Lord Ecthelion of this arrangement."
Well that was not what he had expected, Imrahil thought, quite amazed by Denethor's decision to allow the trip to happen. So it now seemed that Finduilas would be travelling to Lamedon in the days to come. That suited Imrahil just fine, for it meant that he would be able to spend more time with his beloved sister. And who knows, maybe, just maybe Denethor would allow Finduilas to visit her home of birth. Imrahil sighed, silently praying such an event would take place. It would do his mother and sister so much good seeing Finduilas again; they needed to see her.
Character List:
Ivriniel: Adrahil's oldest child – Imrahil's older sister
Finduilas: Adrahil's youngest daughter – Imrahil older sister
Ecthelion: Steward of Gondor
Denethor: Ecthelion's son and heir. Husband to Finduilas
Saeleth: Housekeeper to the house in Minas Tirith belonging to the Princedom family
Princess Lômiphel: Older sister to Adrahil. Imrahil's Aunt. Married to Lord Moror, who is the brother of Lord Angbor's grandfather.
Echador: Citadel Jeweler who owns his own shop.
Annúmben is a city along the coast of Belfalas: it is of my creation
...
Heather Flowers: English flower with tiny florets which are pinkish purple and grow in spikes on the topmost flowers are very attractive to bees and other flying insects.
Colour - Pink/Purple.
Silver Birch: English Tree; The silver birch is a very adaptable tree and grows in a wide variety of conditions - cold, warm, wet, dry. The bark is a distinctive silver/white with grey bands, but sheds layers leaving darker patches. The wood is not very strong so is usually used in veneers, plywood, leaves are small and almost triangular.
Height - Approx. 20m