Reminder:: Ooo, I really don't own this now. Tolkien's beautiful mastery is about to come into play and nearly everything is his. n_n

Yay! I've waited so long to get here. This chapter took forever because I wanted to be sure it was juuust right. I've felt I haven't done Denethor, truly one of my favorite characters, much justice so far, but I've tried to keep the vague atmosphere for our ignorant Finwen/Sarah. Still, I'd hate to transform him into movie Denethor, so I've tried my hardest here to show… what I think Denethor really is: a proud, intelligent, strong-willed man who has faced more sorrows than sanity can bear.

I'm really excited; I hope you are, too! Please tell me how I did so I can improve this chapter even more. =)

Edit Notice:: This chapter's name used to be 'Suspended Animation'. It was sort of temporary until I could remember this title. Sorry for the confusion. n_n'

Chapter Twenty-Eight :: Bated Breath

February the twenty-ninth. The first thing I think of is 'leap year,' but apparently the calendars are different and leap year does not exist. Something else to make me all the more strange to this land.

If I do say so myself, I think I have adjusted quite well. Disregarding the obvious seams that still separate me, I have integrated into this new life without too much difficulty. I have experienced their culture. I have learned to read and write and speak with appropriate etiquette. I wear dresses. I sew. I embroider. I arrange flowers. I label herbs. I visit Alatar and say hello like a lady. I write letters. I sit with my hands folded in my lap. I ride side saddle.

I do not wear pants. I do not speak unless spoken to. I do not run. I do not use my bow. I no longer have strange dreams. I do not stare at the East. I do not argue my Lord Denethor. I do not argue Ioreth. I do not make faces at the palace guards. I have not seen Benold, Tristed, or Mordred.

I will listen to whatever I am told to do. I will wear the large white gown Denethor has had made for me. I will carry the flowers. I will walk down the aisle. I will say 'I do'. I will get married. I will obey my husband. I will respect my husband. I shall revere my husband. I will bear sons. I will sew their clothes. I will teach them what I know. I will be a good mother.

I am a lady.

My desk seemed to be particularly drab today. Everything has been so dull since my engagement. I keep having all these terribly depressing thoughts of me never actually finding love and horrible fears that Boromir will abuse me or be old or (from the shallowest depths of my mind) ugly.

And I feel nauseated that I had to have that thought in the White Hall. A thought that was so ludicrous, so absurd, and in every sense of the word: ridiculous! But it persisted. It haunted my thoughts like the image of the eastern mountains, only slightly less ominous. It filled my heart not with shadow or dread, but of embarrassment and shame.

Not even married to Boromir, and it felt like I was cheating on him. With his brother.

Scum. Scum. Failure. Scum.

"Finwen, get your head off of that table and look alive." Ioreth scolded, walking into the room with my wedding dress. She kicked the door closed behind her – she was in a bad mood. That meant she would be more impatient than usual. I couldn't blame her though if she was angry with me: I was rather a flop lately.

I picked my head up, used to being told what to do, and stood. I smoothed my skirt and adjusted my hair so I would be presentable. Ioreth was already holding the dress up for me.

I changed into the heavy gown and stepped delicately onto the stool she set out. Ioreth sat on a chair and picked up the bottom of the dress to hem it some more.

The reason we had to do this in the first place was because of Denethor. He was kind to have had this beautiful dress made, but he had it made nearly five inches taller than myself. It must've been his wife's height. I never told him of course, but the dress was giving us trouble. It had beautifully stitched flowers and stars woven all throughout the piece, but because we had to take nearly five inches off, the design was mutilated and obscured. So Ioreth spent her time creating a new design on the bottom to match the old one that was hemmed away, and I stood on the stool with the dress on to make sure she was lining everything up nicely.

We did not talk much these days. It being the last days of February, Denethor had announced my engagement at the beginning of the month. I had come back to my room quite shaken – if Ioreth didn't notice, I would question her ability to read people or help them when they're ill. I think about that evening quite a bit, actually…

"Finwen, what is the matter with you? You're paler than a newborn child!" Ioreth laughed at me when the door to the Houses closed. The guards who escorted me had left and the Warden was watching me closely.

I could not help it. The food I had forced down in front of Denethor came back up in the most violent way I could imagine. I hit my knees as my head spun.

The Warden was standing over me as I retched. Ioreth was suddenly there, in and out, holding my hair and trying to force me to stand. The next thing I remember was lying down in my bed, shivering cold.

Ioreth mopped my forehead with a wet cloth and shoved different disgusting herb mixtures in my mouth she called 'remedies'. Whatever they were, they did not help my waves of nausea. Though my stomach felt better from the teas and pastes, they did not help my appetite over the next days following.

For a few days, I stared at the ceiling and refused to talk. Ioreth found my behavior strange and slightly terrifying. I remember her talking in the hallway, thinking I could not hear her. It was much like my first day in the Houses.

"What's happened to her, Ioreth? I hear she's run a fever?" A woman's voice inquired.

Ioreth's voice hesitated. "I… I think it has something to do with this engagement business."

"Oh! The poor dear! She's going to go through with it, isn't she?"

"Of course she is! There's not any other option! I'm just worried she'll be sick like this on her wedding day."

"Dear, dear!" The other woman sighed and clicked her tongue. "My daughters were nervous when their father chose husbands for them, but I have never seen something like this."

Ioreth defended me. "Do remember that she's not the most stable of mind. Remember when she wore trousers?"

"I do recall now that you mention it… She certainly must not be right in the head."

"No. She's… just not from around here."

And the conversation had ended.

When I finally got up the guts to speak with Ioreth, she was all ears. The first thing I said though inadvertently became an insult.

"Ioreth… may I speak with you? I… have a secret. I need advice." I sat up in bed.

"Of course, darling!" Ioreth set down her cloth and sat on the edge of my bed. She tried to fix my plastered hair, but I flinched. She backed off.

"Please… don't tell anyone…" I began, feeling the pit of my stomach roll.

She had a sharp glint in her eye. "What? Why would I tell anyone? Do you think I gossip incessantly?"

"No! No!"

"I can't be trusted? Is that it?"

"No, Ioreth! Please!" I begged her to stop. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just wanted to… make this very confidential. More than anything else I have ever told you before. About anything."

Ioreth sat back, her feathers smoothed for the time. "All right then. Go on."

I told her about what happened when I was with Denethor. How he had apologized for embarrassing me and how he was going to accept me as a daughter despite my lack of… well, everything that is important for a daughter-in-law that regular tradition held. Ioreth scoffed at some of his insults, but would contradict herself later when she said she understood his obligations. Finally, I told her about the suspicion I had.

"I have never thought like this before." I said, the room shaking slightly. "I… I know I am wrong. Denethor has been so good to me, and I have betrayed his wishes."

"What are you talking about?" Ioreth snapped. It was obvious she wanted me to 'just spit it out,' but after my recent upset stomach, I did not want to think of the allusion.

"I am supposed to marry Boromir, but I want to marry Faramir instead!" I cried, pulling at my hair.

"Oh! Oh, dear…" She bit her lip. She did not know what to say. "What have you gotten yourself into, child?"

Ioreth had hugged me then and I felt that it wasn't so bad. Perhaps when she let me go, I wouldn't remember a thing. And I could get out of this city. And I could go home.

But when she pulled away, she flatly told me everything was not alright. She crushed me. Looking sternly at me, Ioreth pointed her finger and said: "Now you need to forget all of this nonsense. Of course you prefer the Lord Boromir. It is who the Steward has chosen for you and it is who you will grow to love with time. This foolishness concerning the brother has only come up because you are afraid of marriage. You said just as much after your sleep-walking rubbish."

"But—"

"No. Now forget all of this. It would be better for you. For all of us."

I used to think she was right. Really, I hadn't thought of it beforehand. It was just me being afraid of standing up for something bigger than myself.

But what if it simply sparked what was already there? Made me realize before it was too late? Gave me a chance to change things before they were cemented forever?

In what I assumed to be an effort to make me forget, Ioreth treated me very seriously. She was not as warm as I remembered her to be. She spoke in short, chopped sentences. It was so unfamiliar from her usual ramblings. She also never referred to either Faramir or Boromir. Ioreth did not even mention the Lord Denethor. She was concentrated on a single mission: getting me down the aisle in one piece. If she could accomplish that, I would be out of her hair forever. And she had grown too attached as it was.

I had, too. I would have to live with the Steward's family of course. I could not live by myself in the Houses of Healing with Ioreth and the Warden and all the kindly women always running about. But how could I leave? It was like a home away from home. It was the closest thing I had. I didn't want to just walk away.

Standing still like a lady on the stool, Ioreth with a pin in her set mouth busily sewing below me with an irritated wrinkle in her brow, a sound suddenly touched both of our ears at the same time.

The city went quiet.

I strained my ears to hear what everyone was holding their breath for.

In the distance it rang through the trees, rocks, and hills. Miles away and yet so clear. Clear as the sky on a cloudless day in an ice-capped winter landscape. Echoing. Echoing.

The horn blew three times before it ceased.

The city breathed.

It was like Hell had been unleashed. People were everywhere at once in the streets. Some women were celebrating by throwing flowers wherever they went. Other women feared they were acting too quickly and hid in their homes with the windows shut. Some men feasted and poured wine. Other men stared towards the East and shuddered. But they all had something in common; they all waited.

Ioreth was immediately a wreck. She wasn't someone who was very good in a crisis. Still wearing the wedding dress, I jumped from the stool and caught Ioreth at the door as she was trying to leave all in a fluster.

"Ioreth! Was that a horn? What does that mean?"

"Anything!" She breathed. "The Horn of Gondor! Oh! I fear for him! I do!"

And without another word, she broke free of me and ran down the hall to see if others feared the same.

What was there to fear? A horn? What did this mean?

I soon understood. Eavesdropping on people who pass by your door isn't hard, and what they said was mostly positive. From what I gathered, the Horn of Gondor had been blown and the Lord Boromir carried it. Most people believed he was near and was signaling the city as he travelled homewards.

So this was it then. I would meet Boromir.

I could actually smile at the thought. Not many girls have the chance of knowing who their husband will be by the first glance. This would decide everything! I could not help my girlish excitement (and slight nervous dread) to meet my match.

But there was something wrong.

As much as I wanted to believe this was a good thing like most in the city, the ones who were worried frightened me. Why would there be need to worry? Boromir is near.

I would soon find out. The Warden was at my door not an hour after Ioreth left me. He looked me up and down, surprised I was wearing the gown and said: "The Steward wishes to see you, Lady Finwen. Immediately. Come with me."

I had never walked with the Warden before. The first thing I think of when I hear 'warden' is the man before me, but I really don't know anything about him at all. Except that he always smells like peppermint. Sometimes he would pass out peppermint candies to children – I received a few in my time in the Houses if he had made some and he saw me about. He was an old man, and he was a kind man. From what I had seen, the Warden worked mostly in a single room near the entrance to the Houses where thousands of herbs surrounded him. If there was a special case, he may go out to see what the trouble was, but he mostly let the women run the facility. He was a behind the scenes man.

Now he was walking quickly in front of me, or what he thought was quickly. He was shuffling forward with a hasty-like speed, but it was no more than a jovial walking pace for a young man. The Warden had a hunch in his shoulders that told me he was on a mission – I could not see his face from behind him of course. If his shoulders didn't tell me he had a mission, the fact that he was racing me to Denethor at old-person speed without letting me change out of my wedding dress certainly did. Really, I analyze things too much.

Approaching the doors to the White Hall, I turned momentarily and looked back at the outside world from this height. The view was one of my favorites in the city – so high up looking down and around and out. I could see Rammas Echor, the great outer wall nearly ten leagues out. The sky seemed clearer today. Perhaps all was well after all.

But as I turned to face the Warden, I could tell this sort of haste could not be well. The Warden stopped on the steps as the guards opened the doors and took me from there. I did not get the chance to look back or thank the Warden for escorting me.

I was practically shoved into the room. Denethor was not in his chair ruminating as usual. Instead, he was pacing up and down. When the doors shut, he jumped at the sound and sight of me. I could see sweat was pouring down his face. He was a mess of nerves.

The guards released me, but I felt rooted to the spot. Denethor was just staring at me from across the room and I was staring back, probably looking terrified at the sight of him quivering so.

I did not need the order. I walked a few steps, but I could not find it in myself to go further. I felt rebellious at this moment. I had been cornered too long and this demand to see me met by silence was putting me on edge. I wanted to kick off my shoes and run. I actually tried getting one shoe off, but I realized too late that they were laced on. Damn.

Without a word, Denethor stormed towards me at an alarming rate. Inches from me, he stared into the depths of my quavering eyes like he could read them. He checked my face, waiting for something and then grunted in annoyance. He turned on his heel and collapsed into his chair next to the King's. One of his old hands shielded his face, so it took me a moment to realize he was crying.

I approached him slowly. My legs like Jell-O, it was not hard to kneel at his side. What should I do with such an emotionally unpredictable person? He was dangerous. But I had grown fond of him, too, in a strange, far off sort of way and I did not like seeing him so vulnerable like this. Remembering his laugh at Yuletide when he was drunken and childish, I suddenly wanted to hear that again. It was out of character for him, but it was better than this.

Carefully, after sitting on the floor for some time, I stared at the hand resting on the arm of the chair. Instinct pulled my hand up and I reached for it. I delicately placed my hand on top of his.

To my surprise, Denethor flinched. Like an involuntary twitch, he had stopped sobbing underneath his hidden hand. He suddenly gripped my hand hard and cried again. I think he was glad for my company.

"Please… I do not like seeing you this way." I managed to say. "Be you again."

Seemingly not hearing me, Denethor whispered in a daze. "Desperate was his call! My son! Come home, my son!"

Knowing he feared the worst like the some of the city of Minas Tirith, I felt like I could not waver. I had to be the positive force in this. If we were both negative, the whole world would come crashing down.

"He will come, my Lord." I answered, trying to be reassuring. "His call brings him home."

Denethor suddenly looked at me. The tear tracks on his face clenched my heart – but the sharp glinting glare pierced it. "For thy sake, Finduilas, he will live. No… He cannot die. You are here… Yes… He cannot die."

February the twenty-ninth. The first thing I think of is 'leap year,' but apparently the calendars are different and leap year does not exist. Something else to make me all the more strange to this land.

I have obeyed. I have listened. I have become what they wanted me to be. I have been molded – formed – created. I have been patient. I have been attentive. I have done everything I have been told to do.

I am a lady.

For nothing.

Here I sit in the White Hall. Time seems to be at a standstill. Denethor is in his tower – lights shine every now and again. He does not want to believe these things. There truly is nothing to believe – yet. We've no word. We only have assumption. Dark, terrible estimations of doom and sorrow… And yet, a light may still be at the end of the tunnel. A single hope that is far off, but it is there and it shines for us.

But I fear this hope is a falsity.

For three days, I have practically lived in the White Hall. I feel like Denethor. I feel like I have suddenly known him better. I watch him, scrutinizing his reactions to everything. I fall asleep at the side of his chair when he stares awake and I cannot last as long as he can. I awake in the morning on a cot. I barely eat. I just watch. Simply watching and waiting.

Boromir should be home by now.

The only reasons I have left the White Hall are to bathe. Even then, the servants who so vigilantly attend the Steward have me bathed and I change back into my wedding dress. I must be prepared. Like Denethor. He is a very ready man.

All the times I doubted the Lord Denethor, feared him, looked down upon him – they all seem to have vanished. I finally understand. Boromir is his all. He never wanted him to go. He will never forgive himself if—

Whatever preparations there were for Boromir's return or a wedding have been halted. Nobody moves. We are tense. We have to… make sure we are not wasting our time; however cruel it sounds.

Like an animal, the loyal Huan at the foot of his master, I sit on the floor next to Denethor's empty chair. My eyes are drooping – it is late. I have stared at it for a few hours now; I cannot bear the sight of it any longer. I try to ignore it as it rests on the chair. I am tired.

The cloven horn will never again make its desperate call.