Reminder:: I still don't own anything of Tolkien's.
Nothing to report on this end. Hope January is treating you all well! Curl up with a fuzzy blanket and a hot cup of something and enjoy this next chapter. n_n
Chapter Fourteen :: The White Hall
Sarah spent about a week with Ioreth, travelling about the surrounding lands of Minas Tirith to gather herbs. Sarah couldn't retain much, but her curiosity was piqued by what Ioreth had said about rosemary. Could it really jog her memory? She had to try at least. When Ioreth sent her out to fetch certain herbs with precise instructions where to find them, Sarah would hurry up so she could spend the rest of her time searching for rosemary. It shouldn't be too uncommon, right? Then why was it constantly evading her? Wasn't there some in the city? Could it be traded for? But what could she trade? Wherever she turned, obtaining a simple herb like rosemary seemed hopeless and her doubts continued through the rest of August and into late September.
Autumn was in full bloom, a strange thing to say perhaps, but the plains were yellowing with ripe wheat and barley and the lands were slowly deadened for winter. So far, Sarah's time spent in Middle-Earth has been confusing for her and often times troubling and depressing. In fact, in our calendar, (if only she knew) Sarah arrived in Middle-Earth exactly a year ago today. It's September 21st, the day before a certain hobbit pair's birthday and many events start to roll together in our little world.
Rumors of black riders have already reached many ears (and watchful eyes) in Minas Tirith, but Sarah remains ever oblivious. From what she hears from chamber-maids and the gossiping Ioreth, she just thinks that men on horses ride out of the East. Could she know them? What is their purpose? So many simply answered questions for poor, dim-witted Sarah.
And there she stands, so thoughtlessly in her room, staring out the window for the hundredth time since she arrived in her unofficial prison.
The night wasn't as beautiful as I had seen before in this city. There was no moon and I couldn't see far ahead of me. I could see the street below me and a few towers silhouetted against the sky, but that was all. It was getting rather chilly, too, so I shut the window earlier than usual tonight and walked back to my bed.
I repositioned Huan so that he wasn't completely in my way. He likes to hog the bed. As I snuggled into the covers, thinking about sleep, I heard a strange noise coming from outside. I tip-toed over to the door and peered out. A single torch was lit a little ways down the hall, but there wasn't a soul in sight. Must be from outside.
I hurried up to the window and peered out. I still couldn't see much of anything and nothing stood out as unusual. It took me a minute to realize that the sound I heard was a wail or a groan. Was someone hurt? Or was my mind playing eerie tricks on me tonight?
Trying to shrug off the spooks, I dashed back to bed and pulled the covers over my head. So much for sleep, I guess…
Sleep didn't avail me like I thought it would, but I was roused particularly early by a frantic looking Ioreth. "Up, up!" She parted the curtain over the window after shaking my shoulder.
"Wha-? The sun's not even risen yet…" I grumbled, catching sight of the dark window and rolling over.
"Oh, I don't think so, young lady. You shake off the lazies and get yourself up and about! The Lord Denethor wishes to see you this morning."
That got me up. The Lord Denethor? Really? Finally? After how long? I was scared out of my socks to see someone with so much authority over me, but I felt honored, too. If he was such a busy guy that I had to wait for an appointment with him for over a month, he must be very powerful indeed. And tired. And most likely irritable.
Ioreth refused to let me put on my normal herb-gathering clothes and instead fit me into the dress that she had been preparing for this 'special occasion'. It was a simple blue dress that was very modest and it was supposed to be a sign of respect. It wasn't like what Ioreth first pictured: all decked out with silver and dripping with gems, but I rather liked it. It felt cozy and the fabric was soft. There wasn't too much embroidery except on the sleeves where little stars were sewn in. The sleeves were long and airy, the skirt all flowy, and the neck line was a neck line. Crew neck for specifics. There was a lighter colored sash that was tied around my middle and made into a bow in the small of my back.
"It's been carefully made to make you look as innocent as possible." Ioreth couldn't help but laugh at her own scheme as she bustled to and fro, preparing me for the day. "If I put a flower in your hair, no one could possibly dream you have anything to do with anything important."
"But I don't."
"Exactly, but they don't believe that. You'll just have to convince them you don't know anything and you're speaking the truth." She was picking up the dress I described, but instead of fitting it over me, she took something from underneath it. I went and picked up the dress, examining the waistline.
"Isn't this a bit small?" I asked, holding the dress up to my body. It certainly didn't look like the same size of dress I was fit for.
"Heavens, no, you'll fit alright." She quipped. "Fine, fine, enough of that. Turn around, dear. You might want to hold onto the desk."
Confused, I obeyed and leaned into the desk like she told me to. A corset was wrapped around my middle like I sometimes wore, but this one was new and scratchy. Ioreth insisted it was very nice fabric though. Then, before I could say anything else, the air was shoved out of my lungs when she pulled harshly on the strings.
"Ah!" I let out a gasp and hugged my stomach. All my organs were being squished together and it felt like my bones would crack. "Must it be – so tight?"
"Yes, dear." Ioreth said through her own gritted teeth. She was pulling with all she was worth – and that was surprisingly quite a bit.
"Is this-" I took a deep breath. "—normal for girls to do here?"
"Yes, dear." Ioreth answered shortly again. She then thought about it and decided to elaborate a little more. "Girls in the higher classes, that is."
"I thought I was supposed to look…" My head spun. This was ridiculous! "… innocent?"
"Giving you a slimmer figure is all the more innocent, dear. Anyway, there's no reason to throw you in front of our Steward for inspection looking anything less than the best." Ioreth argued. I didn't understand it. "You'll look so fit and lovely! There! Now, spin around for me, I want to see that it's flattened down."
I let go of the desk, thankful for it, feeling my fingers throb after such a tight grip. I turned to face her with some effort and put on a doubting smile.
Ioreth tugged a few spots and smoothed me out before stepping back and deciding I was ready for the dress now. Now that I can't breathe. "Good, good. In you go!"
The dress was fit over me and tied back. It was true: I fit into the tiny thing but only just barely. Not to mention, I was so terribly uncomfortable. I hoped that this 'inspection' or 'interrogation' wouldn't last too long for I surely wouldn't.
As I was given a last hug by Ioreth, I exited the Houses of Healing under the watchful guard of three men. Seriously? Three men? What did they think I was going to do? Over power one of them and then take out the second when he wasn't looking? Needed three men to escort a little girl?
My sarcastic mindset lasted as we simply walked up to the White Hall. I was feeling less and less honored with every step I took. What kind of person was he that he expected me to be all dolled-up before I faced him? What makes him so high and mighty? Who does he think he is, king? I didn't realize how hard that last comment would fall if I said it out loud until much later.
We finally twisted around the early sun-lit corridors and streets and climbed a set of white stairs to a large door. Two men opened up the doors and the four of us marched straight through. Two other men closed the doors from inside.
Who was this girl? Why had he seen her in the palantir? What use was she?
Denethor, looking much closer to a weary laborer having spent the whole of last night gazing into one of the last palantirs, was rubbing his temples and staring into the wall of his private tower. All the windows were blotted out and the door was locked, so he could spend his time here safely.
He was tired. Out of all the horrible things he had seen in the palantir, this one thing confused him more than any other. A woman – no! A silly little girl, of all things! She couldn't be more than twenty years… What was her significance in Sauron's plans?
Denethor had seen her. Not only once, but a few times, repeating the same task over and over. He knew it was her – he could not clearly see her face, but he watched as she struggled in the wilderness, fled from a barren field, and even met up with his son before arriving in his city. Yes, his city… In the scene he kept seeing, the girl was standing in a dim room, pointing her finger boldly at him. She was scowling and her eyes were lit with flame. Her words were seldom heard, but when they were loud enough to hear, no softer than a whisper, what she spoke greatly disturbed him. …kill… -mir! … kill… your son!
What it could mean could branch out into a million things because it was so hard to hear. But the look on her face told him everything he needed to know. Obviously 'mir' was only part of what 'your son' referred to and that son was obviously Boromir, the one with promise. The other was a spare for wars and trifles. His heir was Boromir. And she was ordering someone to kill him. Kill his son. Kill his heir. Kill his line!
And what he had seen last night had kept him from dreams. The girl was dressed in full armor (of all things!), wielding a sword as she struck down upon her adversary. He could not see much more than that for this vision was brief.
But on what grounds of authority could such a young girl order the death of his son? None. So she had taken him out herself… His son! A son who was away, soon to return with a mighty gift? Denethor couldn't help but smile, picturing his eldest triumphantly returning with the Ring of Power clutched firmly in his grasp, ready to give to his awaiting father. What a good lad he was! A good warrior. A good man. A great king he will be, too! When he delivers his people out of this darkness that has been constantly looming over them, ever growing, ever knowing, ever foreboding.
Those thoughts are for later.
The palantir was teasing his mind with this image again and again of his downfall – one thing he feared most. And it was mocking him. That it should happen at the hands of one so young! So ridiculously young and inferior. He must kill her. But that might bring on the event too early… And how does he know that the girl hasn't already committed the deed?
Denethor stood. Enough of this waiting! He must speak with this girl now for no one else can wheedle it out of her. All the reports he received on her 'condition' of oh-so convenient amnesia were steadily the same. She was unchanged and she still has yet to remember her own name. Her name! Probably too dark to utter in these halls, so she keeps her mouth shut and out of suspicion! Waiting for his son to return… Ridiculous!
A short while later, Denethor sits down on his lesser throne after eyeing enviously the greater throne built for the 'king'. Preposterous! He was as good as any king and so was his father before him and his father before his father. No man deserves that throne more than the line of Stewards who have patiently waited for such a nonexistent man to show up and decide that he does indeed exist. Pah! Boromir will return with the Ring and after it is safely tucked away, who will want some stranger on the throne? Who will want anyone other than his son Boromir?
A twinge of envy entered his heart as he thought of himself as king. But those days have passed. His heir is all his has left… And Denethor could not dwell on these tiring thoughts any longer for the doors were opened and in walked the girl he was determined to kill.
But unexpectedly to the Lord Denethor, Ioreth's scheme to make her look innocent and respectable worked wonders. As Sarah stepped into the hall, Denethor grew weak.
Finduilas? No! No! This could not be right at all… Her hair may be different, but her face… and her eyes – even from here the man could see they resembled his late wife's. She was so young… Not much younger than Finduilas when they married… She even had her nose – that same small curve at the top but it flattened out at the bridge and ended small.
The girl let out an audible intake of breath as she looked around the room in admiration and wonder. Something that Finduilas had done when he first met her in much the same fashion. He, a man much older, was to wed a girl not older than twenty-six years old with a smiling face and a heart so kind and innocent… Now that Denethor tried to recall the scowling snarl on the girl's face he had seen in the palantir, the more he could not for he was now putting it to the face of his wife.
I felt the honor come flooding back to me when I entered and saw the tall pillars of stone. All in white, like the moonlit glow I had witnessed, the room was teeming with glory and charm. I was awestruck at the high ceilings and artwork that surrounded me at every corner and angle. I knew that I let out a gasp the minute I saw the amused smile on the Lord Denethor's face.
He was not what I expected. Not in the least. I was expecting a young man for some reason. Even though I had heard about him and his years as the Steward, I associated his title to a younger face. This man before me was robed in black and his hair was grey and steadily growing whiter with age. As I finally neared him and bowed like the others around me (only I curtsied), his eyes were glassy but filled with knowledge and a hidden spark of fear and pity. This man had lived through much and seen much sorrow. I could feel it.
No words were spoken, but the three guards sort of melted away. I stood before the Lord Denethor feeling very self-conscious as his eyes scanned me for a few minutes. It felt like an hour before he finally said: "They call you Lady, am I correct?"
At first, I was stupidly startled at the suddenness of the simple question. All I could do was nod my head since I found no voice.
The girl nodded and continued to look like Finduilas. He half hoped that it would wear off after some amount of time, but the striking similarity did not vanish. In fact, it seemed to continue to grow as she stood there awkwardly, trying to keep eye contact as calmly as she could. He thought it humorous he was frightening her so.
"That doesn't quite sound like a name to me." Denethor commented.
What is that supposed to mean? That can't be his first thought as I enter the door! Isn't he supposed to be mean and scary and questioning? Intimidating and harsh and unjust? What happened to the rumors of bitterness? Of lingering hatred and paranoia?
"I… I have forgotten mine, sir – my lord." I quickly corrected, bowing my head. I couldn't stand looking into his face any longer. What if he was the kind of ruler who liked to toy with their prey before they sentence them to an extremely painful and drawn out death? He couldn't possibly be serious…
Ah, Denethor was slowly being pulled back to reality. It was already taking all his wit to keep him from calling the girl 'Finduilas', but this simple release back into her made up story of amnesia was pouring back into him sluggishly but surely.
"Ah, Yes. I had almost forgotten."
Sarah did not have an answer for Denethor. She was too baffled and terrified to utter any more intelligible words at the moment. She simply looked up, ready to hear what he had to say.
"Fin—" Despite his efforts, he had so idiotically started to betray his wife's name to her without saying a word of what he had originally intended. It was so easy though. It was like she was back from the dead…
Making up his mind, Denethor spoke: "Finwen. I shall call you Finwen. Will you take the name?" It was better than calling the girl Finduilas, close as it had been. Anyway, this name fit this girl. She was like Finduilas, but she was smaller in a way. Like a daughter.
I nodded quickly. The last thing I had expected was to be named, but I was relieved in a way. He seemed to take a liking to me already. The corset must've really worked! It does make people like you!
Anyway, he could've named me 'Penniless Bastard Child' and I would've taken that as a compliment right now.
"Come. You have not eaten this morning." Denethor said, reading her mind or hearing her stomach. At his command, the breakfast table was laid and Sarah was given the honor of eating with the Steward himself in the White Hall all because of her nose.