Reminder:: -stares at watch- Nope, it's not mine yet. When I get to heaven and have a word with Tolkien, I'll let you guys know if he signs me away the rights to The Lord of the Rings franchise. As of now, I'm outta luck.

Please check my profile to participate in the poll I created there concerning Sarah's love interests. I can't decide… But I definitely want some romance to spice some things up. This chapter you'll see a little action and some promised romance. Rebellious. x3

colbub: Yes! So you know a little bit about the name Mordred, I see? =3 I'm obsessed with it though, so I wouldn't take it for granted that it means evil. Yet that is. I'm still a little undecided here and there. x3

Look out for a time skip during this chapter! To clear some things up, 'Finwen' met Denethor back in August or September maybe. The last chapter was set in October and now it's approaching late December. Yay for Yule Tide next chapter! =D

Chapter Seventeen :: Trouble

"Lord Denethor." The messenger bowed professionally and quickly rose.

The Steward put his napkin on his lap after wiping his grizzled chin and mouth. He didn't bother getting up from his seat at his supper table.

The messenger nervously eyed the guest, but Denethor cut him off. "Proceed."

"A… message, my lord. From Ithilien."

"And?"

The messenger related to his lord the recent happenings, increasing orc-slaughterings, and border controls. All the while, he was reluctant in front of the stranger at the dining table. When he was finished, he exited obediently without saying another word.

It's strange to think that he thought this girl was harmful at first… Not only did she look like Finduilas and share similar preferences, but she was a kind and relaxed girl. Level-headed. Not the smartest, but that can easily be attributed to her mental condition. Amnesia.

Denethor didn't bother shoveling food into his face quite yet, but was content to watch Finwen pick through her food gratefully with excellent manners. He had not seen the images in the palantir in so long, he was now sure it was someone else and most certainly not his Finwen. In fact, he had completely different plans for the girl than he originally intended…

"Finwen, did you pay attention? What do you think of the recent skirmishes in Ithilien and abroad?" He asked casually.

She slowly lowered the biscuit she was munching and wiped her mouth, thinking and carefully preparing an answer. "To me, my lord… It seems that… the East has grown in power?"

"Excellent! Very bright you are. Very bright indeed." Denethor smiled genially and let out a chuckle. Guards at the far end of the room exchanged glances, surprised that their surly overlord was so overcome with happiness whenever this strange prisoner of the Houses was about. She made him seem… nice.

"Thank you, my lord." Finwen bowed her head respectfully.

"The only fault with you…" Denethor boldly began. Finwen let her mind fleetingly think: My faults? Start with your own… "You never seem to smile. Are you unhappy here? In the White Hall?"

Quickly stammering, she shook her head. "Oh, no, Lord Denethor. I'm very, very grateful – honored really, that you allow me so often into your… er… presence. I truly am."

His face softened and he patted the arm of her chair, closely situated at his right. Unwillingly on both parts, Denethor had turned her into a daughter of sorts. "Very good to hear! Wonderful! Finwen, do you happen to know what time of the year it is?"

She thought a moment. "December?"

"Winter." He nodded in agreement. "And the time of Yule is coming up."

"Oh, yes. I remember Yule Tide. Although, last I celebrated, it was with a small family of Rohan. I imagine things are done differently here." She recalled fondly her time spent with her broken family of horse tamers.

"Of course it is different." Denethor almost sounded offended. "I am sure you will be impressed not only with the food and decorations but the traditional songs and festivities. You simply must attend."

"Then…" She answered slowly. "It seems I'll be going."

"Good." He nodded firmly.

And that was the end of their conversation that day.

Ioreth greeted me at the door of the Houses in perhaps a cheerier mood than her usual cheery mood. "Hello, dear! How was supper with the Steward?" She emphasized the word.

"It was lovely." I mimicked her. "Really, Ioreth, you ask me every time I come home. Do you fancy him?"

"What? No, don't be ridiculous." She glowered sternly. "Now up to your room and clean yourself up."

"Are we going to collect herbs?"

"No, it's too chilly outside. Put on your woolens and work on the embroidery I taught you."

Grudgingly, I hiked up the stairs and walked down the hall to my 'cell'. I closed the door, and slumped into a chair. I wasn't sure how Ioreth expected me to take off the corset myself, but I suppose I could figure it out…

Clink. Clink.

I looked around, wondering if I was hearing things. I shook my head, picking up the bag of embroidery materials that I loathed to no end. I had to admit, it passed the time, but it was so monotonous and frustrating. Whatever pattern I followed, I could never get it to look how I wanted it to.

Clink, clink, clink!

The multiple taps on the glass of my window told me I wasn't imagining the sounds from before. Another rock hit the window as I set down the sewing materials and walked over to unlatch the pane.

I poked my head warily out, instantly chilled by the frosty air. Winter had arrived late last week and already the city was in a cumbersome rut of cabin fever. Or at least I was.

I looked down at the street and saw three familiar guards. For the past couple of months, it had become regularity for me to keep to my room. I haven't argued with Ioreth solely for the possibility that my three strange friends might show their faces again. As of late, they have not been at their guard tower – the one which I so enjoyed to watch and mock them from afar. It was disappointing, but now that I was staring out my window down at a nearly empty street, I felt I had found my friends again. The tallest of them aimed as if to throw another rock at the window and I ducked.

"Fear not, crazy lady, we shall not assault you with stones!" Tristed called.

I laughed and peered back out the window.

The fattest of the three, and relatively the shortest by a couple inches, cupped his hands to his mouth and called: "Wilt thou let down thy hair of gold?"

"I'm afraid it isn't quite long enough!" I called back, understanding they were relating to an old fairytale. "Besides, I'm too innocent a girl to get mixed up with roguish men of your stature."

"Hear that, Benold? You are too short for the lady!" Mordred joked and gestured to the window. "Will she accept someone closer to my height?"

I shook my head and put a dramatic arm over my forehead. "I'm afraid, dear knight, that you are the worst of your comrades. I feel you are far too sarcastic for my tastes."

"And do you hear that, Mordred?" Benold replied, giving his friend a nudge.

"The lady feels something? By Thengel, it's a miracle! The Maiden of Steel has been vanquished by the whit of Master Mordred!" Tristed laughed.

The three talked amongst themselves for a moment and I took the opportunity to roll my eyes. They felt like… family somehow. Perhaps I relate too many people I meet to family, but for some reason, I felt that I had a family somewhere that was large, so I was used to feeling the comfort of family in many people… Or perhaps I've gone completely off my rocker – either or.

"Is the Lady of the Houses attending Yule Tide?" Mordred called up.

"Perhaps." I answered vaguely.

"Or perhaps she is locked up with madness and isn't allowed to attend." Tristed suggested with a smirk.

"Fine. I am attending. What of it?" I admitted.

Benold cupped his hands to his mouth again to call up to me, feeling it was necessary. "A lady cannot go unaccompanied!"

"She cannot? Why?" I asked, rather confused at the thought of going 'with' somebody. Should I ask Ioreth?

"It is traditional!" Tristed insisted. "And because Master Mordred, son of Malathed, is a blinking coward—"

"Will you attend Yule Tide with me, strange lady?" Mordred cut off his friend.

With him? What was that supposed to mean? I don't see any harm… "'Strange Lady'? My, how charming… But… If I am permitted to leave, I shall attend Yule Tide with you, good sir." I nodded my approval.

"What are you doing? Oh, get inside, get inside!" Ioreth was briskly walking into my room, already scolding me upon arrival. "And shut that window! It's freezing cold!"

I backed quickly away from the window and Ioreth peered out to see what I was looking at. Evidently, the soldiers were of no interest to her, and she slammed the window shut and locked it. She looked at my discarded embroidery on the floor and let out a huff of exasperation. "And you haven't gotten any further with your embroidery! Really, child, you're quite a mess."

"Ioreth, what is Yule Tide like in Gondor?" I asked, obediently sitting down in the chair and picking up the embroidery to keep her quiet while she poured out two bowls of hot soup.

"Oh… It's… festive." She shrugged with lack for a better word. "Why? I'm sure it's not as interesting as you expect."

"But the Lord Denethor wished for me to attend…" I mumbled closer to myself than actually telling her.

She picked up on what I said like a hawk and stared. "Now, isn't that nice? …He has certainly taken a liking to you."

"I know… I'm not sure why though."

Ioreth smiled and sipped her soup as I blew mine to cool it down. "You're awfully fortunate. The Steward doesn't seem to open up to just anybody. You have a higher honor than you could ever imagine."

Not knowing how to reply to that, I drank my soup until it was gone.

The Lord Denethor paced about the White Hall instead of his usual habit of melting into his throne. It was obvious he was thinking hard about something.

Should he wait until Boromir returns? It shouldn't be long now… He departed from Minas Tirith mid-July… The road north would be difficult, but Boromir must've arrived by at least October. Counsel would be taken and he should be well on his way home by now. Home with a mighty gift…

Troubled, Denethor thrummed his ringed fingers on his bearded chin. Perhaps his plan for pairing wasn't going to be a complete failure… Boromir, after all, would need a reward of some sort after his victorious return. What better gift could he, as a father, offer his eldest son but with a young and ready bride? It seemed a fantastic idea to Denethor, but what his son could think is a completely different story. What if he didn't desire a wife? Well… what of it? Boromir was more than of age. Past his age to marry! And heirs would be required. Heirs with Finduilas' bright eyes…

But enough of that. Finwen may have the look and manners, but does she have the grace and charm? He would soon find out at the Yule Tide celebrations… And as a 'test', if you will; Denethor will have Faramir escort her.