Ten Thousand Years will not Suffice by Agape4Rivendell

Ten Thousand Years will not Suffice

by Agape4Rivendell

I II III IV V VI

16. Third Age - 2983

I.

“Must thee tell him these stories? He is only four years old!”

“He is my only son, Finduilas, and he must know our history.” Denethor spoke without reproach, with a firmness touched by warmth. “I have waited longer than was my wont in deference to thee, dear heart. He is going to be five soon,” he offered in apology. His thoughts flew back to the time he was five. Bittersweet thoughts, tinged with regret. ‘I wonder if I will e’er be able to look back at my childhood without bitterness and longing for better.’

“Ah, but he will not be thy only child, garn nîn,” she interrupted his thoughts as she lightly stroked her stomach.

Denethor gently removed his left arm from around Boromir’s shoulders, quickly stood up, and hastened to Finduilas’ side. “What art thou saying?” he asked, bending down to her. He knew well what she meant, what the small gesture meant, but it seemed too much to hope for. It had been over four years now and, though his love for her grew deeper each day, his hope for another child had slowly faded.

“Thou knowest of what I speak, my Lord. By this time next year, another child will giggle as it bounces on thy knees.”

Once again, his love had surprised him. He had to turn his face away from her to hide the tears that sprang into his eyes. He grinned with astonishment as he saw the two great sand cranes striding in the stream before him. As soon as he saw them, they started majestically away, but the sight had brought further hope, for the great cranes were harbingers of good news. Now he was glad he had decided earlier this morning to bring his family to the southern edge of Minas Tirith for a picnic. The southern ramparts blocked the view of Mordor, so that all Finduilas could see were the White Mountains to her right and the plains stretched in front of her. He was sorry now that he had started to tell Boromir of Melendil. It had been a peaceful, beautiful afternoon, and though he knew in his heart that his son must learn all he could impart as quickly as possible, he vowed not to teach him ever again in her presence.

As soon as they returned to their rooms, he would summon the Master Healer and have Arciryas assess her to make sure all was well. A messenger would have to be sent to notify Prince Adrahil at Dol Amroth. His heart ached for a moment as he thought of Morwen. How he wished she were here to share his joy. She had never seen Boromir; she had been long dead, and now he would be stopped from sharing his second child with her.

“What art thou thinking, my Beloved?” Finduilas asked. “Hast thou already assigned him duties, sent him commanding great battles before thou even knowest if thou art to have another son?” She laughed lightly as she spoke.

Denethor shook his head, took her hand in his and quietly shared his sense of loss. She placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled him gently towards her own. She kissed him lovingly and sighed. “Another of the many reasons I love thee.” Tears formed in her eyes. “How I wish I had known thy sister, melethril nîn, for from her has come a great man. Would that I could have learnt from her how to raise our children.” Denethor put his hands on either side of her face and returned her kiss. “Thou needest no lessons, melethril nîn. Boromir will be great among our people because of thee. Neither of my sisters could do better.” She shrank into his arms and rejoiced at the warmth of his body next to hers.

Boromir had tired of watching them; nothing they said interested him. He was oblivious to the fact that another child was joining their family. He just knew that his parents were no longer paying attention to him. A small white heron had appeared on the ridge on the further side of the stream and his little legs quickly took him towards it. The long neck bobbed back and forth as it foraged for food, and therefore, it didn’t notice Boromir’s coming. But the small splash of water as Boromir entered the stream caused it to raise its head and look towards him. Boromir saw he had startled the bird and quickened his pace for a closer look when, suddenly his foot slipped on the moss-covered rocks at the bottom of the stream. He scrambled to regain his balance but didn’t succeed.

The silence in the air, the warmth of the sun on her face and the strength of Denethor’s arms holding her lulled her into a light sleep. But Denethor’s shout of “Boromir!” quickly roused her. He jumped to his feet, looking frantically about, and she was standing almost as quickly next to him. She cried Boromir’s name too as her heart dropped. There was nowhere to go. Where was he?

They ran to the brook, hand held tightly in hand, and looked with horror at the little body laying face up in the shallow stream. Water ran gently over the open eyes of their son, but no movement came from him. His little mouth was slightly open. Finduilas collapsed sobbing at the top of the ridge as Denethor ran down the slope and scooped his son from the water. He laid the body next to Finduilas and gently pushed on the little stomach, trying to push out whatever water might be in the lungs. Finduilas took Boromir’s tiny hand in hers and repeated his name over and over. Finally, the eyes blinked and Boromir started to cough, water gushing from his mouth. Denethor sobbed and hugged him to his great chest. Boromir tried to squirm away; he didn’t know why his parents were crying, but he joined his tears with theirs.

His father picked him up and carried him back to their picnic area. Boromir’s head was hurting and he was thirsty. He put his hand to the back of his head and it came away bloodied. Finduilas gave a tiny shriek when she saw it. Denethor quickly whipped the blanket from their now spoilt picnic; cups and plates, fruits and cheeses flying in the movement, and wrapped his son in it. Quickly he helped Finduilas to her feet and they both ran towards the Great Gate. Even though in his father’s strong arms, Boromir felt every jolt and every step. His head was hurting even more now and the tears were for the pain more than from the fear that had gripped him before. Denethor cursed himself for not bringing a horse – the gate was far north of them. It would take forever to reach it and then up the six levels to the Houses of Healing; time they did not have.

Berelach appeared in the distance, riding one horse and leading another behind. Gratitude filled Denethor’s heart at the faithfulness of his aide. He knew he must have been watching them, ever vigilant from the ramparts, seen what had happened, and reacted with his soldier’s instincts. He quickly dismounted, took the child from Denethor’s hands and, once Denethor was seated, handed the child back to him, turned the horse and slapped it on its flank. “I’ll bring my Lady. Go! Now!” Denethor gave the horse its head and galloped away with no backwards look, his thoughts solely focused on the Great Gate and getting as much speed as possible from the horse.

Horns blew wildly as he entered the gates: horns of alarm. The horse’s hooves quickly ate the distance and they were in front of the Houses of Healing before he knew it. A servant girl was at the door and took the child from his arms as he dismounted. The last he saw of her were her heels as she raced down the corridor. Boromir had ceased crying as they rode the horse through the streets of Minas Tirith, but being held by this stranger now terrified him and he let out a wail. Denethor caught up with them, took the child in his arms, and immediately Boromir ceased his crying.

Denethor kissed his cheek over and over as he ran, saying the boy’s name tenderly and telling him all was well. The familiar smell of his father calmed him and the tear-laden kisses made him sad. He touched Denethor’s face with his pudgy little hand and said, “Do not cry, Ada. I am all right. Really I am.”

The servant girl led him to a room with a small bed in it and Denethor sat down – hard. The healer was next to him in an instance. Denethor pulled the boy’s head towards his chest so Arciryas could look at the wound. The blood flow had stopped. The girl brought bandages and hot water. Arciryas tried to have Denethor lay the child on the bed, but a cave troll would not have been able to separate these two. Arciryas gave up and gently washed the wound. He was grateful to see that the cut was not too deep, just ragged. The swelling was on the outside of his scalp, which was always a good sign. If no swelling were apparent, that would mean the swelling was inside the skull. That would have been very dangerous. He wrapped clean bandages around the wound and then around the child’s head, tucking the ends in the front.

“Ioreth will care for him now. He will need some rest.”

Denethor looked at his friend in surprise. “Ioreth?”

“Firieth’s daughter. The girl who took Boromir from your arms when first you arrived. Surely you knew she had a daughter? Have you not met her?”

Denethor had not even noted her presence, but now, shamefacedly, he thanked her. She curtsied and began to speak, but Arciryas interrupted her.

“You should find his mother,” said Arciryas, hoping to still the young girl before she got started. She had the most annoying habit of continuous speech.

At that moment, Finduilas appeared at the door of the little room and, at the sight of her, Boromir started crying once again. Finduilas sat at the edge of the bed as Denethor passed their son to her. Boromir clung with both arms wrapped tightly around her throat. The crying had stopped as soon as he was in her arms. He hiccupped and laughed. Her eyes widened. She looked at Denethor who smiled. The hiccups continued and the three of them laughed together, relief washing over them.

~*~

Indis' delight brightened the room. She clasped Finduilas to her, tears filling her eyes. "We have so needed another pair of little feet in the halls of Minas Tirith. Firieth will be so happy. Since her own Ioreth left to work in the Houses, she has been lonely."

"Methinks Boromir is handful enough!" Finduilas laughed.

"Aye, that he is, but a most delightful handful. Have you sent word to your father? Does your brother know? Oh dear!" she blushed, "now I am starting to sound like Ioreth, never stopping for even a breath!"

"Your questions are welcome and necessary. I had not even thought of Imrahil. A missive was sent home to mother and father as soon as I told Denethor. But my dearest Imrahil. He will be furious!" She laughed at the thought of her younger brother. It had been a joy having him here with her these past years, always a reminder of the love that flowed from Belfalas. She had only gratitude in her heart for Denethor. He had welcomed Imrahil with open arms and the two seemed to get along quite well. The difference in age was like unto Thengel and Denethor, so her husband had befriended the young Swan. She could see the friendship was genuine and it did her heart good. Her one fear, when she had learned of her father's request, was that the enmity between the two families would spread to her brother. But it had not. Imrahil thought highly of Denethor, thought him a fine leader, and looked to him for wisdom.

“If you do not mind, I will send for him now. I cannot let him hear this from others. He is such a comfort to me.”

“I understand. I will tell the guard. You sit and rest. Arciryas has told me you are fit. There should be no problem with this child.”

“Aye. After having one child, my fears have lessened. I acted like a foolish child with Boromir.” She blushed at the remembrance.

“Nay, you did not. You acted like any first time mother. I was most proud of you and how you fought those fears.”

Finduilas hugged Indis. “I had much help from a certain man’s sister.”

Indis blushed. “Also, Listöwel and Firieth. They helped some.” Indis laughed.

~*~

Imrahil had sat in silence for a long moment. Finduilas wondered. Turning towards her, he hugged her fiercely. “I love you, dearest sister. I am so happy for you.” He paused and she sensed his hesitation.

“What disturbs you, Imrahil?”

“Denethor must be about the business of Gondor. You have kept him close to the City because of your needs. Will this not make it even more difficult for him to leave you when duty calls?”

She sat still, stunned by the question. Her heart knew what he was saying, but truth did not alleviate the pain she felt. Was her brother trying to make her feel guilty? How would she answer him?

“I do not keep him in the City. His father has need of him.”

“Gondor has need of their Captain. He is the greatest swordsman I have ever seen. He should be fighting the enemy, Finduilas. I want to serve under him in the field. I learn only diplomacy here. I have learnt that in Dol Amroth. I do not say this only for myself. Do you not see how you hold him back? Do you have such little faith in him that he will not return? I will protect him with my life. Will you not let him serve Gondor in the way he should?” He looked at her stricken face and blanched. “I am sorry. I have no right to speak thusly. What occurs between a man and his wife is none of my business.” He tried to hug her, but she pushed him away.

“I think it is time you leave.”

“What! You wish me to leave Minas Tirith?”

“Nay. Just leave me. Now. I am sorry. I cannot think. Please, Imrahil, leave now.”

He bowed to her and left the room.

She collapsed on the couch in tears.

~*~

It had been a long labour. Denethor had paced for hours it seemed and still there was no news. What could be wrong? Why did not Indis come out and tell him what was happening? Finduilas had seemed so tired these past few months, more so than when she carried Boromir. The babe was here too soon; it was not yet time and yet labour had started and Arciryas’ medicaments could not stop it.

Boromir had run to Denethor earlier in the day crying that he wanted to see his naneth. Denethor wanted to see her too. Arciryas was concerned and suggested it would be better if Denethor waited outside their chambers. So, Denethor obeyed. He lifted Boromir in his arms and walked him back to the seventh level, to the White Tree. He knew immediately that was a mistake. The tree was dead and a shiver ran down his spine. He did not, would not, let this be a sign of warning. He quickly walked away from there and into the Great Hall. The statues of the Kings of old always gave him a sense of security. One day, the King would return and all would be right in the world. Evil would be overcome and the burden of the Stewardship would be lightened for his father. He felt a longing for the return of the King. He recited each name to Boromir, holding him close to each statue and making Boromir repeat the name as they moved towards the throne. Finally, exhausted in mind and body, he sat at the foot of the Steward’s chair. Arciryas found him there, laying with Boromir sound asleep across his chest. The healer smiled.

“Denethor,” he called, gently shaking his friend’s shoulder.

Denethor was instantly awake. “What? Is she well?” he blurted out as soon as he saw it was Arciryas waking him.

“She is well and you have another son. Almost full size even though the length of her carrying was shortened. He is doing well. His mother suckles him as we speak. Would you like to see him?”

“Finduilas first. She is well?” he asked again in concern. At the nod from Arciryas, Denethor passed the sleeping Boromir over and ran out the Hall. He took the steps two at a time, having to stop twice to catch his breathe. He slowed as he entered their chambers, smiled, took in a breath or two and walked through to their bedchamber. She looked beautiful. His heart hurt to see her, so much in love was he. She smiled back at him.

“Hervenn nîn, thy son is beautiful. Wouldst thou look upon him?”

He took two steps towards the bed and stopped. Indis smiled at him as Firieth prepared a tea in the corner. He could smell its sharp odor and smiled at the thought of valerian tea. ‘Too oft used,’ he thought, though he was grateful to know Finduilas was being so well cared for. He walked slowly towards the bed, fearful of waking the little one. He bent over her and kissed her forehead, then sat gently down next to her. She lifted the covering and he looked at Faramir. They had decided the name a short time ago. Sindarin for sufficient jewel, they felt it encompassed their joy at the fulfillment of their family. He was to be their last; Arciryas had made it clear, Finduilas could not carry again.

“His looks are more thine own than Boromir’s,” Finduilas smiled.

He cupped her chin in his hand. “Thou, my own jewel, hast given me two wondrous jewels. No man could be happier.” He kissed her again.

“Wilt thou hold him?”

He took the bundle in his arms. The child’s eyes opened and Denethor gasped to see the depth of the great grey eyes that looked back at him. Truly, the child bore his visage. He kissed the little one gently on his forehead, touched the cheeks, and laughed as Faramir started trying to suckle his finger. “He is hungry,” he laughed and gave him back to Finduilas.

As she took him in her arms and prepared to feed him, Indis came forward. “He is darling, is he not, brother?”

“Aye. He takes my breath away.”

Finduilas called his name quietly. “Denethor, I would see Boromir. Wouldst thou bring him hither, please?”

“Of course, garn nîn, I will return shortly.” He kissed her again and left the room.

As he ran down the stairs, he started to hum the tune that Damrod had sung many years ago. The song of Gondor. It suited him, reminded him of Finduilas and the treasure she was. “Ah,” he sang aloud:

Gondor sits, mirrored moonbeams
Light her walls in Elvish dreams
All is well; Eärendil shines
'Pon my City, beloved, mine.

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II.

Stirring the fire furiously, he let all his anger flow into the poker. Never would he understand his father. Never. When he had told him the name they had finally chosen, Ecthelion had grunted. “Faramir, what kind of name is that? Do you not remember what trouble the first Faramir caused? He disobeyed Gondor’s rules; he went to battle in disguise, and was killed, along with his father and the heir. Disobedient brat! I am not surprised. ‘Twould have been a more appropriate name for my own son.”

Denethor had clenched his teeth to keep from speaking words that would have been useless anyhow. He reined in his anger. He should have told him at a Council meeting, where he would have had to check his tongue. Nay, cowardice. He had not expected Ecthelion to react in such a fashion. Perhaps Ecthelion had expected them to name the boy after him? Nay, he would not… But a possibility, nonetheless. He would make certain that Finduilas did not hear of this. He had forgotten the first Faramir. He had been fond of the name when first she had mentioned it to him. He preferred to think upon the meaning, not its ancestry. He cursed quietly. Let his father think what he would, there was nothing Denethor could do to change his mind. He had tried for too many years, with only failure as the outcome.

Startled by the calling of his name, he turned around. She stood before him, beautiful as always. “My Lord, thou art poking the fire as if it were thine enemy.” She upbraided him gently. “Is thy anger against something I might help thee with?”

He gave a short laugh. “Nay, melethril nîn, ‘tis nothing. A problem with the Treasury that father asks me to solve. I must work with Lord Amandil and thou knowest how much I relish that task.” He lied smoothly. “Come, sit by me. Art thou well? Thy eyes look tired.”

“I am tired. Faramir nurses more oft than Boromir did. Perhaps it is because he was born early. I do not know. He does not seem to do well with Firieth either. He only wants me near. But he is so sweet, I cannot deny him.” She paused for a moment. “It has been two days now, garn nîn. Thou hast not asked to see Boromir in all that time. He misses thee terribly, asks for thee constantly.”

“And I have truly missed him, but father has called two Council meetings a day, as thou well knowest. He hast assigned me the task of negotiating a new treaty with the Corsairs. Though they have been beaten, they still cause problems. They do not abide by the terms won by Thorongil. I am concerned, though the Council is not. Fools!” He stood up and paced about the room. “These lords do not seem to see the seriousness of the Corsair threat. Nor does my father,” he said, brow furrowed. “It is as if Thorongil could do no wrong. Though that is not the issue. He did well. In fact, he won a stunning victory, but that does not mean we can sit back and rest on his accomplishment. I am sure he did not mean for us to disassemble the fleet. Nor send the sailors off to different garrisons with no hope of serving together again. He did have, I must admit, a cohesive group of men under him. They worked well together. If we had kept the lot, put Amdir as their Captain, I would not worry so much. But – Ecthelion did not do any of this.”

He walked back towards her. “Another thing that disturbs me. I have seen naught of the wizard since Thorongil deserted Gondor. I wonder what that means. I have never trusted wizards, yet it is best to keep an enemy close to hand. That way, he can be watched.”

She pulled him down. “Hush. Speak not of enemies, speak of thy sons, or thy love for me,” she giggled. “I would think that I have lost my allure by the way thee speaks.”

He pulled her close, stroking her hair and then, finally, kissing her. She blew out the candle on the table beside them.

In the morning when she awoke, she saw he stood by the door to their garden, shoulders slumped. She hurt to see him thus. Had Imrahil been right? Oh, she could not think of that possibility. Yet his fuming over Lord Amandil and the Treasury nudged at her heart. There had been a nervous energy flowing through him last night. He had spoken of Thorongil with respect, and that was most unlike him. She understood the Corsair threat. Had not the ships of Belfalas oft been attacked by those horrid men! She knew her father would agree with him. She remembered their last meeting, of how her father had pleaded with Denethor to return the sailors to Pelargir.

He had even dismissed the thought of Boromir. She knew it was not that he did not love their son, but the demands of Ecthelion… ‘Ooh, sometimes I just want to…’ She reined in those thoughts. Ecthelion had been kind to her these past years. He doted on Boromir. Gave him a pony last spring. But he also gave him his first sword and urged Denethor to begin his training. And Denethor had agreed! “Ooh!” She jumped from the bed, stamping her foot in fury. He heard her and turned.

“Tolo sí, hiril nîn.” He said as she walked quickly to him, melting into his arms.

“Le melon!” was all she could say. Tears sprang to her eyes as she realized her brother had indeed spoken the truth. Denethor needed to be out and about. No sitting in a dark treasury, cataloguing jewels, gold and silver for the Steward’s Heir. She blushed in shame. ‘I am so weak, so silly. How do I not learn from Indis and Listöwel? I have heard them speak, when they knew not that I listened, of their battles, their sword work, their deeds of valour. Yet, I sit in shadows and fear everything. I will not continue this. Indis will help me. I know she will. She will help me become strong. Perhaps, I could learn to fight too. Yes, I could do that, I’m sure.’

He looked at her, quizzically. “What art thou thinking? Thy brow is all furrowed. Art thou not well?” He held her arms a little too tightly, anxious at her expression. “Is ought wrong?”

“Nay, melethril nîn. All is well. Please, sit here. I would speak with thee.” She pulled him to the outer chamber and sat on the couch. “Please?” she motioned with her hand.

“Thou hast not broken the fast yet and the floor is cold. The fire has not been stoked. Please, garn nîn, come back to bed.”

She laughed. “Aye, I wilt come to thy bed if thou comest with me?”

His smile tilted slightly sideways. “Of course,” he said as he walked her back to their bed. Pulling the cord for the servant, he lifted her off her feet and set her down gently. Within a moment, his manservant entered. “Bring us breakfast and start the bathwater.”

The man bowed and left. Denethor joined her. As he started to kiss her, she laid her hand over his mouth. “Melethril nîn, I am serious. I must speak with thee.”

He sat back and looked at her. “If thou must, I will listen.”

“My father wilst be most disturbed when Imrahil returns to Dol Amroth.”

Denethor started in surprise. “What…”

“Wouldst thou interrupt me at my every word! Lasto beth nîn. My brother has been stationed in the City since he arrived. He has done naught but listen to Council meetings and lords airing their disagreements. He could have stayed in Dol Amroth and done the same. I believe father meant for thee to teach him of strategies and tactics and such. Dost thou not think that is what father had planned for him?”

Denethor stared in astonishment.

“Truly, Denethor,” she chided him. “Art thou not listening?”

“Of course I am. I… I am just… surprised. Of course thou art right. As always. I have been remiss in his training.”

“Where wilt thou take him?”

“I will send him to Osgiliath under Amdir. He will learn much. Amdir is a fine warrior. I trust him with my life. I trust him with Imrahil’s.”

“Thou art not listening to me, hervenn nîn. Didst not I ask where wilt ‘thou’ take him?”

This time his mouth dropped open. He raised his hands to speak, but no words would come. He touched her forehead and she giggled.

“I have not a fever. Nor art my brains addled. My brother is thy responsibility. Thou cannot send him out by himself, no matter the trust thou hast in others. When wilst thou go?”

He shook his head. “I will speak with father. In a fortnight, we will ride to Osgiliath. And how long am I to stay there?” he inquired mischievously.

She stared at him. “How am I to know such things? Thou art his teacher. Thou must decide. But first, please, garn nîn, spend some time with Boromir. He misses thee mightily.”

“Perhaps ‘tis time thou shouldst see thy brother? He misses thee mightily.”

She frowned.

~*~

Boromir had indeed missed his father. Though only two days had gone by, he had become accustomed to an early morning visit, nuncheon and after dinner play. Two whole days had seemed like an age. When Denethor entered the nursery, he had screamed shrilly, “Ada, Ada,” and ran to Denethor, demanding with every fibre in his little body that he be picked up. Denethor hugged him tight and walked to the garden door. “Hush, little one. Thou wilt wake thy brother. Then Firieth wilt be cross with us and we will be banned from sweets for the rest of the day. Thou wouldst not want that, wouldst thou?”

“Nay, Ada. What kind of sweets?”

“I do not know what the cook has planned for the day. Shall we go to the buttery? I, in truth, am famished.”

The boy squealed in delight as Denethor put him up on his shoulders. Ducking out of the room and from the disapproving looks of Firieth, the two went down the stairs.

“Ada, will I be a good soldier someday?” the lad called down.

“Of course, Boromir. The very, very best in all the land.”

“I have not practiced with my sword for a whole month.”

“Nay, thou practiced just three days ago.”

“Really? Seems so much longer, Ada.”

“Why art thou concerned?”

“Adadhron says I do not practice enough.”

Denethor bit his lip. “When did Adadhron say this to thee?”

“Yesterday, I think. I tried to go to see thee. Firieth become very cross when she found me. I almost made it to the Great Hall, but she stopped me and I was very angry. I wanted to find thee, Ada!”

“And?”

“Oh, and Adadhron came out of the White Tower as we were going back in. I was happy to see him. And he hugged me, Ada, real tight. And then he put me down and asked me why I wasn’t practicing? He said I must practice, Ada. He said I would not be a good soldier if I did not practice. I want to be a good soldier, Ada.” Denethor felt Boromir’s hand under his chin. “Ada. Art thou listening?”

Denethor gently removed Boromir from his shoulders and sat on the stair, sitting Boromir on his lap. “Boromir, a soldier does not only use his sword. He uses his mind too. When thou art with Nana and I, we help thee use thy mind. And that is important too. These past days, thou hast been part of a great thing. The birth of thy brother. It is important to see how new life comes into being. And so, at times such as these, a soldier puts aside one part of his training for another. That is being a good soldier. And thou wilt always be a good soldier, ion-nîn.”

Tolo sí – come here
Hiril nîn- my lady
Le melon – I love you
Lasto beth nîn – listen to my words
Hervenn nîn – my husband
Ion-nîn – my son
Adadhron – grandfather (paternal)

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III.

He had no opportunity to meet privately with his father, before the next Council meeting. He would have to wait a little longer before he proposed a short trip. He would emphasize short for, whether or no she had bid him leave, he knew Finduilas was not strong enough, yet, to be left alone. And his heart did not want to be gone o’er long from her side. So, entering the Council chambers, he put his needs aside and sat. There was Lord Amandil, sitting next to Ecthelion. Denethor wondered what hold this lord might have upon his father. He did not seem to possess any great wisdom, nor wit, to sit at his father’s right hand. Only wealth. ‘Hmmm,’ Denethor thought, ‘seems ‘tis a waste to put wealth before wisdom. But who am I? My father must have his reasons.’ Ecthelion stood and the assembly quieted.

“Three long years have passed since my first choice for Gondor’s Captain-General was thought of. The position has lain open too long. I have decided. Denethor.” He beckoned and Denethor, striving to keep a closed face, stood and walked towards his father’s chair. He saluted and waited, never sure of what his father would do next.

“I bid thee kneel.”

Denethor did as he was told.

“Give me your sword and swear to me now!"

Denethor placed the sword on Ecthelion’s lap and took the hilt in his hand. The long remembered, long cherished oath flowed from his lips, though his hands trembled on the sword.

"Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor.” He was grateful his voice sounded strong, echoing through the chamber, “and to the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end. So say I, Denethor, son of Ecthelion, of the Line of Húrin, Steward to the King."

“And this do I hear, Ecthelion son of Turgon, Lord of Gondor, Steward of the High King, and I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance."

Then Denethor received back his sword, put it in its sheath and started to walk back to his seat.

“Stop.” Ecthelion said quietly. He turned towards Lord Amandil, whispered to him, and watched as the man left his chair. “Come, Captain-General Denethor, and sit at my right hand.”

Denethor near staggered in amaze, but continued to hold his face firm and still. He walked to the proffered seat and sat. The nobles nodded in approval. Then his father continued with the meeting. It was over and done with quickly and the nobles started leaving the chambers.

‘A short Council meeting,’ Denethor thought. He stood to leave.

“Wait for me,” his father requested as he turned and bid each member farewell. Denethor sat, still stunned by his father's actions.

“You might wonder what my reasons are for this suddenness of your appointment.” Ecthelion smiled and walked away from his chair. The smile chilled Denethor’s heart. “Since you had caused me to lose my first choice, I was at a loss as to what to do. You know Thorongil was my first choice? He would still be my first choice if he were here. But I live and die for Gondor, as it would behoove you to set your mind to do. And Gondor must have a Captain-General. Since it seems the line is now continued, thanks to Finduilas, you are the next logical choice. I say logical, for it is not in my heart to give this to you. I expected only the best to sit at my right hand. It is not to be.” He turned with fury on Denethor. “I expect total obedience from you from now on. Do you hear me?” His shout lifted the hair on Denethor’s neck. “I will not continence any type of disobedience whatsoever. Else you will find yourself in the lower recesses of this Tower, chained to a wall, bereft of everything you hold dear. Do you understand me?” His voice had dropped to a whisper as he hissed these last words.

~*~

Once free of the Council chambers, he ran to their rooms. She was asleep. He cursed quietly and walked into the outer chamber. Despair flooded his heart and he dropped to his knees in front of the fire. His eyes lifted to the bright light and warmth that flowed from it. ‘Ah, to be an ember burning brightly, no thought nor care, nor worry. ‘Twould be a peaceful end,’ he thought. He felt the hand on his shoulder and turned.

She gave a small moan and gathered him into her arms. “Melethril nîn,” she repeated over and over again as his tears wet her garment. “Le melon, le melon, hervenn nîn.” She stroked his hair lightly and continued to whisper. “Avo 'osto. Gerich veleth nîn.”

Slowly, his sobs slowed. He lifted his face to hers and she smiled; the madness had left his eyes. “Denethor?” She wanted to know what happened, but was afraid to ask, afraid it would bring that cold, wild fire back into those beloved grey eyes.

He gasped and pulled her tightly to him. “Finduilas. Thou art all I need, all I want. I must remember that. Thou art my life and my love. Thou art the morning and the evening. Thou art Anor and Ithil. Light and dark. I cannot live without thee.”

“Ye shall not, garn nîn. I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.”

“Hold me,” he whispered. “Father has made me Captain-General.” He spoke the great news quietly.

She did not understand; he should be happy, rejoicing. She waited.

After a few moments he spoke again, still whispering. “I have waited for this for so long, Finduilas. I had hoped for this for so long. Yet bitter is this time.” He held her away, his eyes darting about and fear filled her again. “He thinks me worthless. He thinks I will fail him; that Gondor will fall because of me. Does he know something? Something he has not told me. Has he seen something?” His voice rose in pitch.

Quickly, she pulled him close, whispering his name. “He knows naught. He is a stupid and foolish old man. He would tear thee down.”

He looked at her wildly. “Does he wish me to fail? Is that it, Finduilas? Will it serve him if I fail? What am I to do?”

“Thou art to hold thy head high. He knows naught,” she repeated. “Since Thorongil left, he is bereft of guidance. His mind falters. He knows not what he says. Thou wilt serve Gondor well, melethril nîn. Thou art wise and kind and fair. Thou art the best of Númenor. Do not forget that, hervenn nîn. Thou hast the blood of Númenor flowing through thee. Thou canst not fail.”

She sat, holding him. Finally, night fell and he slept. She had heard Firieth come in twice and quickly leave. She thanked the Valar for the woman’s discretion. Once again, she heard the door open and she called out.

“My Lady,” Firieth answered quietly, walking towards the fire. Her eyes grew in alarm, but she kept her mouth still.

“All is well, Firieth, but my Lord needs his rest. Please, ask his manservant to come in and help him to bed.”

“Aye, my Lady.” And the woman quickly left the room.

Denethor stirred and Finduilas stroked his hair, whispered his name, and cried.

~*~

They rode out with the wind in their hair and the sun on their faces and Denethor exalted in the joy of it all. His heart beat wildly in his chest; he had forgotten the thrill of mounting a new expedition. Imrahil looked over at his Captain-General and smiled. He too felt the excitement coursing in waves off of Denethor. The men behind him had started a song in time to the clinking of their horses’ livery. ‘Finduilas had been right,’ Denethor thought. He needed to be out of the City, much as he loved it. He listened to the song and felt the hope in his men’s hearts and he smiled. “Ah, today life is good, little brother,” he said to Imrahil. The Prince smiled back at him. “So, I am finally a part of this family? It has taken some time, my Captain.”

“Nay, no time at all in the grand scheme of things. Life is short, ‘tis true, even for those of Westernesse, but it is full of joy too. I must remember that more often.” He smiled again and Imrahil, proud to sit horse next to him, smiled back.

The young man had long waited to do battle under Denethor’s command. He had oft heard tales of the logic of the man during combat. Imrahil did not doubt for an instant that they would engage the enemy. Orc activity had increased ten fold in the last few years. The Corsairs’ defeat seemed to fuel the anger of the Unnamed One and Orc spilled as water from the lush forests and mountains of Ithilien.

Amdir rode out to greet them. He jumped off his horse as he came near to the company’s line and Denethor jumped off his horse at the same moment. The two men strode towards each other and hugged fiercely. They pulled away; then continued to pound each other’s shoulders, laughing and speaking at a furious rate.

“Captain-General!” Amdir bellowed out the title. “My Lord, my Captain-General, welcome to the garrison of Osgiliath. Your men wait for you.” He whispered in Denethor’s ear. “All Gondor has waited for this moment, my friend. Too long coming, but well worth the wait. Now, I have hope in my heart.” He squeezed Denethor’s arm and turned him towards the garrison’s gate. The battalion stood at ready, white banners flew from the ramparts, musicians played, and the men threw their hats into the air crying, “Denethor! Denethor! Denethor!” The troops that had accompanied him from the White City joined their voices with the battalion’s. Denethor stood, shivering from the unexpected show of loyalty and love. ‘If only Finduilas were here,’ he thought, ‘this would be perfect.’

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IV.

“Show me the map and where the last patrol was slaughtered.”

Amdir put the map on the table, opening it wide; he used report books to hold it open. “Here, Denethor,” he pointed. “A little south of Henneth-Annûn and west of the Mountains of Shadow.”

“Henneth-Annûn was not found?”

“Nay. The Rangers are still there under Captain Dúinhir.”

“He has not returned to Blackroot Vale? I thought he had married and left Gondor’s service?”

“He had hoped to leave this year, but your father asked him to stay for another year.”

“I would think his father would greatly desire his return. He is getting old and Dúinhir will soon inherit the fiefdom. I am surprised he has not had heirs yet.”

“You are correct. He married last spring, but she is waiting for him in the Vale. She is not yet with child.”

“Hmm, we must think of a replacement for him then. I want someone strong at Henneth-Annûn. It is pivotal to our defense; it always has been, always will be.”

“Have the scouts returned yet.”

“Nay, I expect them before night falls.”

“When they return, bring them directly to me. Let them not rest. I must know the whereabouts of the Orc band. I want to take Imrahil on a little hunting expedition.” He smiled.

“Denethor?” Amdir paused for a moment. “Why are you here?”

“My own Finduilas threw me out of the City. Said I was becoming gruff and quarrelsome.” He laughed. “Nay. I have been charged with young Imrahil’s training. Since the defeat of Umbar, there are no enemies near Belfalas, at present, to learn warfare from. Prince Adrahil asked me to bring him to Minas Tirith and teach him.” He pulled on his chin. “Though I believe he sent him to watch over Finduilas. And not without reason. Life in Minas Tirith has been hard for her. I know not what to do to make it easier. She longs for the sea and her people. Yes, her people. She does not consider us as hers. It has been seven years, Amdir, since she came to live in the White City. I was sure she would love it as I do.” He shook his head. “I must think of other ways to make her happy. Truly was I surprised when she suggested I leave Minas Tirith for a time. What do you think it means?”

“It means you have become gruff and quarrelsome,” Amdir laughed.

Denethor laughed loudly. It felt so good to be back with Amdir, to be back in the fray. “If I may have my old quarters back?”

“So very sorry, my Lord. As Captain-General, you are billeted in the best room in the city. It even has running water!” Amdir showed him to the door. “Will you break fast with me on the morrow?”

“Of course, if the scouts have not returned by then. If they have, I want the Captains brought together as soon as possible. We must plan our little sortie. Now, to bed with you, too. It is has been a long day for us both.”

The scouts returned long before morning came. Denethor was roused as soon as they had returned. The Captains all gathered in the dining hall, excitement in the air. The patrol had found the band of Orc, close unto five hundred of them, marching on the east side of Emyn Arnen close to the Harad Road. The Orcs were on the move, going northwards towards the Morgulduin. The noise created by this news was close to deafening.

Denethor raised his hand. Quiet settled quickly. He could feel his face prickle with excitement. This is what he had been born for. “My Captains. We will only sting a small part of the enemy’s forces, but we shall sting him nonetheless. We will break the battalion into three segments. Amdir will command the northern forces, Imrahil will command the southern forces, and I will command the frontal attack. I will show each where you will wait for my signal. First, we will create a diversion. We will send a small patrol directly towards the enemy. I will lead this patrol. We will position ourselves as close to the Orc band as possible, our scent will draw them to us, and we will then turn and run. This should cause the Orcs to disobey their own captains and follow our group. As soon as we reach the frontal group, I will give the signal. Then, we will attack. All three companies must attack at once. It will be a slaughter, if, and only if we are disciplined. No one must fire before the signal, no matter the reason. No one must leave their position until the signal. Even with our great number, if we do not work as one, we will fail. The Orc have no fear of us, their strength is greater than ours, and they do not care if they die or not. Do you understand? Can you convey this message to the troops under you? Else we will fail, I assure you.”

The Captains voices rose in agreement. Denethor was pleased. After ordering the men to take a quick meal, he turned towards Amdir. “Your scowl is deep enough to fall into,” he laughed. Amdir just stood staring at him. “I will be quiet and listen to what you have to say, since I will have no rest if I do not.”

“How can you put Imrahil in charge of one of our divisions? He is but a young man, not skilled at all in war, yet you put him in command?”

“Sit.” He ordered some coffee brought to their table. “Imrahil has been in charge of many of his fathers companies, he has worked closely with me the few times I was stationed at the garrison of Dol Amroth, and he is clever and quick. Also,” he held up a hand to stop Amdir’s interruption, “I put him in charge of the southern flank. The Orc are moving from the south. If he obeys me, and his men obey him, he should be fairly safe. The Orc will first notice your group, after the signal to attack. Then they will notice mine. We should be well into the fray before they notice the southern division. Does that satisfy you?”

“Aye. One more thing. Why are you commanding the diversion and the western division? If something goes amiss, if you are injured or worse, there will be no one to signal, no one to lead the western group. I think you must put someone else in charge of the patrol.”

Denethor’s face burned. Amdir was correct as usual. He put his hand on Amdir’s shoulder. “Thank you. As always, you see things I have neglected or forgotten, or wish not to see,” he said with a smile. “I wanted to lead the diversion; I admit it, and I must not. I need to be with the division. It is, however, a very dangerous assignment. We will need someone who can think quickly. Do you have a suggestion?”

“Baranor!” Amdir spoke without hesitation.

“My old aide? The future Lord of Lossarnach?”

“Aye. He has been stationed here under me for three years. He is astute and quick witted. If ought goes wrong, he will be able to react quickly and save his men.”

“Send him to me.”

Baranor strode forward, black hair and dark face smiling at Denethor. “My Lord,” he said, the grin widening. “I am most grateful to see you again. The last time we met was by the Drúadan Forest, do you remember?”

“Of course, that was a difficult time. You were most helpful to Amdir, if I remember correctly. In fact, every time we have met or perchance been brought together, it has been at a time of crisis. And you have always shone forth as a stalwart and brave warrior. I have a request. I could make it an order, but I will not. We need a diversion, as you heard. I thought to lead the patrol myself, but Amdir, as you well know, has better judgment than I do, at times.” Denethor smiled.

”If I may stop you, my Lord. I would like to volunteer for this, if it pleases you.”

“Thank you, Baranor. It does. You will have to leave within the hour. The Orc will set up camp before daylight. This must be done before they camp. I want them spread out, away from their captains, and as helpless as we can make them.”

“Captain-General,” Baranor smiled as he honoured Denethor with the title. “I have one request.”

“Speak it.”

“I would pick the men to accompany me on this patrol?”

“Aye. Go, and may the Valar be with you. Leave in one hour’s time. The rest of the battalion will be right behind you. Do you have a copy of the map?”

“Aye, my Lord. We know where to set the trap. I will look forward to hearing your signal.” His grin covered his face.

“We will be there for you, Baranor. I promise.”

Baranor saluted and left. Amdir walked over. “So, he has volunteered?”

“Aye. I have a sense about this mission. I hope I am wrong. Even though we are well prepared, I am concerned.” He turned to Amdir. “Send out five more patrols. We will leave within the hour, but I want to make sure there are no surprises for us.”

~*~

“Will he return? Will he return safely?” she begged Indis.

The older woman held Finduilas in her arms. “Of course, he is with Amdir. They will be fine and Imrahil will learn what he needs to learn. You were most brave, sending him out like that.”

Finduilas sighed. “Most brave when he held me in his arms, but as soon as those arms let me go, my fears took hold. How can I fight these fears, Indis? How have you fought your fears all these long years?”

“With the help of those I love. And you will do the same. You must not think you can fight alone. Denethor will tell you; no man can fight alone. It is in the strength of his fellow warriors that victory is won.”

“You will help me then?”

“Listöwel and I will help you. If Elleth were better, she would also help. The poor thing. My heart goes out to her. In fact, I think it best I see her today. Would you come with me?”

“Of course. Mayhap our visit would help to cheer her.”

They had found Listöwel in the buttery, planning the month’s needs, and dragged her, willingly, along with them. As they sat with Elleth in her kitchen, Indis remembered other times spent here. The making of their wedding gowns, the nights worrying about Amdir and Denethor and if they would recover from their burns, the tea sessions that lasted long into the night as they contemplated how they were going to tell their men of their sword fighting lessons, the preparing of herbs for Finduilas as she carried her babes – so many moments spent together in joy and hope and fear. For a moment, her heart ached. ‘Wen was dead and buried, Morwen was in Edoras, widowed too young, Finduilas was heartsick, and Elleth’s health was failing. She looked at her friend. So many years now, they had known each other, laughed and cried and loved through trials and tribulations. Her heart ached for Elleth. Arciryas’ medicaments did naught to relieve her friend’s pain. Yet, Elleth, as always, smiled and served them and enjoyed their company. ‘What a dear sister-friend. What can I do to help her? What can I do to assist her?’

“What grave matters clouds your eyes so?” Elleth laughed. “If it is my sweet rolls, then I am most saddened.”

Indis laughed. “Your sweet rolls are still delicious. You have not lost the knack of those, my dearest. However, a long time ago, we spoke of breaking into Ingold’s wine. I don’t think we ever did, did we?”

Finduilas looked shocked. “Wine? This early in the afternoon?”

“Sounds very good to me,” Elleth agreed. “Though at the moment, I think I should not. My balance is not as good as it used to be. ‘Twould not look good for me to fall on my face this early in the day.”

Indis howled. “You are right. I can just hear the ladies of Gondor speaking about us!”

“So how shall we help our Finduilas, Elleth?” Listöwel asked.

“Mayhap a sword in her hand?”

“Nay, I… I cannot take a sword. I must confess, I hate war, I hate fighting, I hate violence. It tears my heart apart.” Finduilas bowed her head. “I am a failure as wife to the Steward, am I not?”

“Nay. There are other ways to support Denethor. And to keep our fears at bay. First, we must vow to help each other, here and now and for always. Then, we must keep our hopes high. If we look to the future, to the children, to Boromir and Faramir, and know that all that we do is for them. If we keep our hands busy, whether with our weapons, or with our needlework, or with soothing fevered brows. That’s it!” Indis jumped up. “We should volunteer in the Houses. Arciryas is always complaining about the help, about how women are needed for keeping the woundeds’ spirits lifted. We could do that once a week or so. We can give hope and receive hope from our warriors. What think you of that?”

“‘Tis a fine idea,” Elleth said. “Even I can work one day a week. If Arciryas does not mind not having a set schedule, for I may only work when the body is able.”

“Arciryas will be most grateful for whatever time we give!” Indis replied.

“What do you think, Finduilas?” The three women turned towards her.

Listöwel put her hand on Finduilas’ shoulder. “You seem reluctant? Is there ought wrong?”

“I am weak and useless,” Finduilas started to cry. “I am afraid to see sickness and wounds and death. I do not think I could do this.”

Indis walked over and took Finduilas’ tear-streaked face into her hands. “Thou art not weak, nor useless, nor foolish, dearest sister.” She had slipped into the Sindarin in her grave concern. “Thou art but a fair flower that has been transplanted, whose roots have not yet taken hold. Thou wert sheltered by thy father. Little steps will help thee. As will thy friends.” She knelt before her. “Perhaps you can sit in the garden and read to those who are close to recovery, who are far from illness and death. You will find strength in giving, but it will be in a safe place, away from those things that disturb you now. Who knows, mayhap after a short time doing that, you will be ready to come into the Houses and help in other ways. If not, that would be sufficient, I think.”

Finduilas’ eyes shone. “I could do that. I know I could do that. I love to read. And in the garden, I could feel the fresh air and smell the scent of the flowers and not dwell on illness and… and other things.” She smiled.

“Then it is settled,” Indis jumped up and smiled. “I will tell Arciryas that we will all come tomorrow morning, and he can show us where we can help most. And dearest Elleth, if you are unable tomorrow, then next week perhaps.”

She hugged each one in turn and laughed. “Now, ‘tis time for tea!”

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V.

Shouts echoed off the banked eastern side of the road as dust rose. Denethor could see the patrol coming their way, horses at full sprint, running from the Orc band. He ordered the signal and then the charge. With shouts and banners flying, his division o’ertook the patrol and continued towards the enemy. Baranor waved to him as the sortie turned and joined his men. They continued onward and soon found themselves in the midst of battle. As Denethor had thought, the Orc first looked towards Amdir’s division, so that they were caught unawares when Denethor’s joined the fray. Already swords were heavily laden with the black blood of Orc.

He looked to the right and saw that Imrahil’s band would converge in a few moments, helping to further confound the enemy. It would be a rout. He drew his sword as the first of the beasts came towards him, lunged and drew the blade across unprotected flesh. The Orc fell, but another replaced it and fury filled its face. It ducked as Denethor lunged, then jumped and grabbed his arm. Denethor kicked it in the face, and the beast fell back, but not before it too was mortally wounded. His men slashed and hacked at the band with a fury inflamed by the audacity of the enemy. Even in the face of the large number that attacked them, as Denethor had thought, the Orc band gave no indication they were the least fearful. Another and another came, but they were slowly being beaten back. Denethor had ordered that none be left alive and the battalion was doing its best to see it done.

A brief respite came and Denethor wiped blood off his sword in anticipation of further attack; then wiped blood off his face and sword arm. As he looked up, he saw Amdir, still battling in a pocket of men who seemed surrounded by Orc. Denethor spurred his horse forward and hacked his way through the wall of bodies. He reached Amdir’s side just as an Orc prepared to swing at his friend. The Orc soon lay dead on the ground. Amdir smiled; then screamed in fury as another attacked him. The brief respite was over; Denethor was full in the battle again. For well into the morning, the battle raged. Men and Orc lay dead on the road and the nearby forest floor. As the sun rose, the Orc faces fell. The sun became Denethor’s friend as the Orc tried to escape it and the Knights of Gondor. But these men would not let them escape. No matter the cost. They would kill every last one of them, every one that would dare to trod the roads of Gondor.

~*~

“Long they dwelt in their first home by the water under stars, and they walked the Earth in wonder; and they began to make speech and to give names to all things that they perceived.” Finduilas read on and the soldier sat, spellbound. “Themselves they named the Quendi, signifying those that speak with voices; for as yet they had met no other living things that spoke or sang.” She stopped. “Do you want me to continue? You look tired.”

“Yes, please,” Hirgon begged. “I had known nothing of Elves before. Is it true, what you read?”

“My father says it is. I found this book in the Great Library. It is one of my favorites. It tells all about the Elves and how they were found. There are parts that are sad, but the beauty of the Elves o’ershadows everything, in my mind’s eye. I am glad you like this book. But you do look very tired. I think you should return to your bed. I will come back next week, I promise.”

“Will you walk with me to my room?”

Finduilas took a deep breath. “I will walk with you to the door, then the doorwarden will take you inside. I will see you next week, I promise.”

As they approached the door, Indis stepped outside. She smiled at the soldier and moved aside. The doorwarden met them and helped the man inside.

“How did it go, Finduilas? Was it very difficult?”

“Nay,” Finduilas gave a small smile. “He asked me to take him to his room, but I could not.”

“Better for you to know your limits than to be so uncomfortable that you are unable to return. I am most proud of you. And Denethor will be too. But come, I am finished for the day and would visit Elleth. She was not able to come. Her bones creak louder than the willows at the creek, she says.”

“I am tired myself. If you don’t mind, I would like to go home and rest. I have not seen the children since morning and I miss them too.” She blushed.

“That is a very good reason to go home!” Indis laughed. She hugged Finduilas, waved farewell, and walked towards the Great Hall.

Finduilas turned towards the Citadel, but a loud crash drew her attention back to the Sixth Gate. An errand- rider had jumped from his horse, o’erturned a flower urn in his haste, and was rushing towards her. She put up her hands in alarm, but he ran past her and into the Hall. She hurried after him, fear closing her throat. The man strode to the Steward’s Chair and halted. She could not go forward. Ecthelion would be most upset if she dared to enter the Hall without his permission, but she needed to hear what was being said. Slowly, she skirted behind the statues lining the Hall until she stood almost parallel to the Chair. She still could not hear. But the look on Ecthelion’s face was grim. She crept back towards the entrance. She would stop the soldier as soon as he passed through the door. Perhaps, as Denethor’s own, he would answer her questions. She stood waiting, impatiently tapping her toe as her heart beat faster and faster.

The soldier stood and spoke for such a long time that Finduilas thought she would scream. At last, Ecthelion dismissed him and he turned. She stepped outside into the sunlight and waited. The soldier started when she called to him, but came over, bowed and asked what she needed.

“Is all well with the garrison at Osgiliath?” She would not mince words; she needed to know immediately.

“Mayhap you would ask the Steward, my Lady. I have no authority to give out information. I am sure Ecthelion will speak with you, if you ask.”

“Nay, I need to know now. There is something wrong, isn’t there?” Her voice rose and the soldier looked about him in concern.

“Please, my Lady, sit here and I will go and ask Ecthelion if I might speak with you.”

“Nay, stop now.” She almost screamed and willed herself to a measure of calm. “Please, I must know.”

“My Lady, my orders were to report to the Steward. I cannot divulge anything without his consent. You would ask me to disobey my Lord and that I cannot do.”

Finduilas broke into tears. “Something has happened to Denethor! I know it. Please tell me, please!”

The man sat on one of the benches outside the door and gently pulled Finduilas down next to him. “My Lady. You are asking me to commit treason. For disobeying my liege lord is treason. Punishable by death. Please, my Lady, do not ask this of me.”

Indis came hurrying out from the foyer. “Finduilas! What has happened?” she cried.

“I know not, but this man will not tell me. Make him tell me, Indis, make him tell me.”

Turning towards the errand-rider, Indis asked, “Have you made your report to the Steward?”

“Aye, my Lady.”

“Then I will go speak with him. Stay here with the Lady Finduilas until I return. You have no orders that you need to obey at the moment?”

“Nay, Lady Indis. I will stay here.”

“Thank you.” She hushed Finduilas, turned and ran up the stairs and into the Hall.

“Father,” she bowed as she stood before him. “An errand-rider has come from Osgiliath. Is there ought wrong?”

Ecthelion looked perplexed. He was to meet with his Council and had just been about to leave the Hall. “Why do you ask?”

“Finduilas spotted the man and is concerned.”

“You mean she is growing hysterical. I have seen this before. Is there naught you can do about it? I do not like these fits of hers. Unnerving. Mayhap she should return to Dol Amroth. The nurse can take care of my grandsons. It would be best for all if she left.”

Indis stepped back, horror written on her face. “Father! You could not ask that!”

“I could and I will if she cannot compose herself. The entire Citadel is up in arms every time some small thing happens to disturb her. ‘Twould be better for the whole City if she left.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Indis stood tall and straight. “She is the mother of the heir. She is needed here. For the sake of Gondor, she must stay. I bid you reconsider, Father.”

“Indis,” her father took hold of her arms. “You have always been most sensible. Do you not see the chaos that forms around her? Do you not think it would be better for her to leave? Yet, I see you do not,” he said with a sigh. “Well, I will bow to your wisdom in this. I tell you, I like the woman, but I am deeply concerned about her fits. I place her in your care.”

“Thank you, Father. And now, about the missive from the errand-rider?”

“Ah. A band of Orc were spotted and Denethor has decided to attack. It is a little thing, something he has been trained for. I expect another missive ere the end of day. Come back at the sixth bell, and I will tell you more.” He waved her off and walked towards the Council Chambers.

Indis quickly walked outside, thanked the soldier and waved him away. She sat next to Finduilas. “All is well, for the moment. There is an attack planned by Denethor. We will know later today how successful it was. Finduilas,” Indis took her in her arms, “This is why Denethor went. This is why you allowed him to leave Minas Tirith, and this is why you are trying to learn courage. You must trust that he knows what he is about. He is a great warrior. He has many battle skills. And Amdir is with him. Try to put aside your fears and trust him.”

“When I saw the rider, and the haste at which he ran to give his report… my heart stopped. Forgive me. You are right.” She took a huge, shuddering breath. “I will go to my chamber and rest. I cannot see the children now. I am too distraught. They would notice. Poor little lambs. I dare not put my fear on them. But, I thought you were going to see Elleth?”

“I was. I was on the balcony with her when I saw the rider come in. I left her as soon as I was able. And just in time, I think.”

“Aye. ‘Twas just in time. I was going to make a fool of myself.”

“Ah, sweet sister. You will learn in time. Do not be harsh with yourself. May I walk you to your rooms? Mayhap we can share a cup of tea?”

“Oh, Indis. I would most like that,” she sighed. “Thank you!”

~*~

Soon, Denethor had to search for a beast to kill. Their numbers were greatly reduced and the battle won. As Denethor sat back in his saddle, he searched the remaining men for a glimpse of Imrahil. The lad was still fighting a small group of Orc, though others had joined his division to help. Denethor rode towards the pocket of combat, sword still drawn. As he approached, an Orc swung at Imrahil. Denethor knew it was a killing strike and he quickly maneuvered his horse between the beast and the man. The blade struck Denethor’s back, fire igniting every part of it. He fell to the ground, but Imrahil had dispatched the Orc and was kneeling next to him. “My Lord Denethor,” the lad cried out, but Denethor was past hearing.

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VI.

When he came to, he found himself in his own room in Osgiliath. Siriondil was leaning over him, forcing tea down his throat. Denethor started coughing violently, and the healer pulled back.

“You must drink this, my Lord.”

He drew in a ragged breath. “Where is Imrahil?”

“He is well. He has not been harmed. I am re-bandaging your wound and then we will move you to Minas Tirith. You need to be in the Houses.”

“Nay,” he whispered, for the breath seemed to leave him, “Bring Amdir to me.”

“My Lord Denethor, you must stay still. Amdir will accompany us to the City.”

“Now! I must see Amdir now.” The coughing started again; Siriondil helped him sit up. Pain coursed through his entire body, and he stiffened and gasped. Siriondil held him close. “Hold on to me, my Lord. It will pass. The tea will take affect soon. Hold on just a little longer.”

His head swam. “Amdir,” he choked out the name. He fought to stay awake.

Knowing Denethor’s stubbornness, Siriondil shouted orders to a guard stationed nearby and the man ran out of the room. Within moments, Amdir was at his side.

“Denethor. You must not speak. You must stay still and let Siriondil care for you. It won’t be long. We have a cart ready to take you home.

“Listen to me, Amdir. You must not take me to the City.”

Amdir looked stunned. “Denethor…”

Trying to grasp his arm, Denethor grimaced in pain. Tears filled his eyes. His breath came in short gasps as throbbing filled him. “Promise me.”

“Aye. You will not be moved. I promise.”

Denethor gave in to the pain and lost consciousness.

Siriondil turned to his Captain. “He must not stay here. The wound is deep and will easily become infected.”

“He will not be moved. Prepare a note for Arciryas as to the supplies you will need and a description of Denethor’s wound. I will send an errand-rider immediately. If he does not want to go home, he has his reasons. He is not a raw recruit, Siriondil. He knows the extent of his injury. There must a reason strong enough to cause this decision. We will obey him, do you understand?”

Siriondil took in a breath himself. “Aye, Captain. I will do what I can. Arciryas should be here by morning. I will try to keep him alive until then.”

“You will keep him alive.” And Amdir left the room.

A moment later, the errand-rider stood in front of the healer. Quickly, Siriondil wrote, folded the missive and handed it to him. “Ride fast. Our Captain-General’s life depends upon your speed. Stop for nothing. Speak to no one. Take this to the Master Healer, to Arciryas, and no one else. Now, go!”

Amdir walked back into the room. The rider saluted, Amdir gave him another note, whispered orders to him, and the man ran. Moving quickly towards the bed, Amdir knelt down taking Denethor’s hand into his own. “Hold on, Denethor, my friend, hold on.”

Imrahil looked in. “Captain, may I come in?”

Amdir looked up. “Not yet. I need Baranor.”

“Aye, Captain. I will find him and send him in.”

~*~

“Ada, nana? When wilt Ada return?”

“Soon, my love, my own. Very soon. Hast thou eaten all thy carrots? Thou needest carrots to see. Bunnies see very well. And dost thou know why?”

Boromir’s eyes opened wide. “No, Nana, I do not know why.”

“It is because they eat carrots. Thou wants to see well, dost thou not, Boromir. So that thou canst stand at the top of the cliff near Dol Amroth and see the whales?”

“Oh, Nana, that would be wonderful!” the boy breathed a sigh of joy and ate all his carrots. How often his naneth had told him tales of the whales that swam in the sea. He wanted to see them with all his heart. “When will we go to the sea, Nana, when?”

She sighed. “Soon, my love. Soon. Thy father promised me we would go in the Spring. Uncle Imrahil will come with us too. We shall run on the beach and feed the seagulls and watch the waves crash.” A tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away, but the lad was quick and saw.

“Nana. May we go now? Ask Ada. He will take us now.”

She hugged him to her. “Soon. We will go soon.” She took in a deep breath. “It is time for thy nap. Woudst thou like a story?”

He clapped his hands and giggled, and the laughter was infectious. “Ah, Boromir. You are my light.”

“Faramir too, Nana. Do not forget Faramir.”

She hugged him even tighter. “I wilt not forget Faramir. He will come with us too. Is that agreeable to thee?”

“Oh, yes, Nana. Faramir must come. Though I think he will probably cry. It is a long way to the sea. He will want to eat.” Boromir clicked his tongue. “All he does is eat.” He suddenly looked up at her. “When will he be able to play with me, Nana?”

She laughed again. “Oh, soon, Boromir, soon.”

“But Nana. Everything is soon and soon never comes!”

Picking him up, she kissed him over and over again, on his eyes, his nose, his ears, his chin. The child laughed in joy and Finduilas joined him. Reaching the rocker, she sat and hugged him tight. “What tale wouldst thou want to hear?”

“The big dog, Nana; the one who talks. Tell me that one, please.”

She settled in the rocker and started the tale of Huan. “He was a hound, Boromir, the biggest that ever lived…”

~*~

The sixth bell had not finished ringing when Indis entered the Great Hall. Ecthelion sat in his Chair. An errand-rider was just leaving. He bowed to her as they passed each other. She stood still, waiting for her father to bid her come forward.

“Indis. You are a timely little thing, are you not! Come to me. I have received word of Denethor. He has been injured. It is not serious, I imagine; else they would have brought him to the Houses. Mayhap you would want to journey to Osgiliath yourself, to see him. I believe Arciryas is going in the morning. You could accompany him.”

“Thank you, Father. I will do that.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek and he blushed. “Thank you!” She turned and forced herself to walk towards the door. As soon as she was outside, she ran to the Sixth Level and into the Houses. Arciryas was not in his office. She walked the halls, hoping she would see him. She turned a corner and almost ran into him. He spilled what he was carrying and she laughed. “Let me help you.” The look in his eyes stopped her. “What is it, Arciryas? What has happened? Denethor! Finduilas was not mistaken. What has happened to Denethor?”

“He has been injured. He does not want to return here, but Siriondil says the injury is serious. I am going to him now. I believe he did not want Finduilas to know.”

“I am coming with you.” She turned on her heels and ran out the door, his voice followed her, calling her name.

~*~

She had gone first to Finduilas. She hated lying. What could she say? “Father has bid me visit the farms on the Pelennor. There has been some dissension about the harvest and he wants me to act as peacemaker. I will only be gone a short time. Would you please remember to visit Hirgon in the morning? He will not expect you until next week, but Arciryas has told me he needs his mind taken from thoughts of his last battle. Would you do that for him?”

Finduilas mouth dropped open. “Well, of course, if you think I can help. But Finduilas, how come this sudden order?”

“Finduilas. You know I must obey father. As I said, there was some altercation and a member of the Steward’s family must go to iron out the difficulty. He would send Denethor, but he is on patrol. I will return,” she said quickly, noting the concern in her friend’s eyes. “I promise.”

“I will miss you. Is there aught I can do to help?”

“Nay, I must pack tonight so that I will be ready in the morning. I will leave at first light.” She hugged Finduilas, threw a kiss to Boromir and ran out of the room. As soon as she was packed, she ran to the Houses. Arciryas was waiting for her. Two horses were saddled. “I have left a message that I am tending Lord Forlong in Lossarnach. It is a day’s ride away and will cover my absence. That should dissuade Finduilas from trying to discover where I am. Have you told her something that will keep her from fretting?”

“Aye, and I hated doing it.”

“It is necessary.” He helped her mount and then turned to his own horse. Pulling himself up, he smiled at her. “Denethor is strong. He will not succumb. Now, let us hurry,” and the tone of his voice belied the words of comfort said.

~*~

Siriondil had done everything in his power to keep Denethor alive. Arciryas, bending over his friend, congratulated the healer on his excellent stitches, his assessment of the wound, and his quick thinking. Siriondil smiled at the praise. However, he was more grateful that the Master Healer had arrived when he did. Fever and infection had been his main fear, but Arciryas knew how to prevent those things even better than he did. He stood back, took a deep breath and walked away. He had others he must tend to.

Denethor’s back healed quickly. Though the wound was deep and long, the medicaments and attention of the Master Healer of Gondor prevailed. Indis had returned to the City after a fortnight. Within a month, he was up and about, able to at least hold his sword, though it would be at least another two months before he would be able to wield it with any strength. The men, especially Amdir, who had sat by his bedside for the first week, hailed the Master Healer one night in the main dining hall. Ale was set for all. Songs and laughter filled the room. No Orc had been spotted since the battle, and the garrison stood in peace, for the moment. Tomorrow, Denethor would return to Minas Tirith; tonight the men would bid him farewell with a soldier’s night of feasting. Long into the night the festivities continued, but Denethor left early, still plagued by fatigue. Amdir followed him to his room.

“I would have you come with me, Amdir, back to Minas Tirith. Too long have you been gone from Listöwel’s side. I will ask father, upon my return, to station you in the City.”

“I will come back to Minas Tirith, Denethor, but only for a short visit. What we do here is most important and I have grown to love this forsaken piece of land. I ask your generosity in letting me stay here.”

“Friend I call you and have much need for you at home. Yet I cannot put my own needs over those of Gondor. You speak rightly, as you always have. Come with me tomorrow. Stay in the City for a few months, and then return. I will leave Baranor here. He will lead the men while you are gone.”

“Then I will come with you.” He smiled broadly. “It has been almost six months since last I saw my bride. ‘Twill be good to hold her again.”

“It is settled, then. We leave on the morrow. Finish your revelry with your men and leave me to my bed.” He clenched Amdir’s arm tightly. “And thank you, my friend.”

~*~

He lay on their bed, a light sheet covering him, waiting for her to join him. He could walk, and sit, and breathe without a twinge, yet the scar was deep and not yet completely healed. He would keep his back from her.

As she lay down next to him, he held her close, keeping her arms at her side. The night passed and he fell into a deep sleep. She woke before morning, turned towards him and ran her hands lovingly down his arms. She kissed his shoulder; then slipped her arms about his waist. He did not stir. Affectionately, she stroked his back, then stiffened in alarm. Slowly, she moved her hand again and found the wound she knew she had just felt. He had been injured! She pulled her hands back and moved off the bed. Walking to the other side, she pulled down the sheet, and looked in horror at the long, deep red welt that went from his lower left shoulder to his right waist. The wound was still ugly, stitch marks quite visible, and it wept slightly. She put her hand over her mouth and fled the room.

He woke sometime later and felt for her. The bed was cold. He sat up and looked around. She was not in their bedchamber. He stood, put his robe on, and walked into the outer chamber. She sat cold and stiff by the garden doors. He walked to her and took her in his arms; she pulled away.

“Melethril nîn! What ails thee? Why dost thou withdraw from me?”

“You lied to me. Everyone lied to me,” she spat out the words, anger o’ertaking her. “When did it happen? When were you going to tell me?” She looked at him in revulsion. “You were not going to tell me, were you? You were going to treat me as a fool, hide things that should be known between husband and wife! How could you?”

“Lasto beth nîn, tolo sí,” he tried to assuage her anger, tried to touch her, but she moved away.

“Speak not to me in terms of love. I will not hear the Sindarin again from your lips for you have turned it into a language of deceit.”

“U-chenion. I tried to protect thee.” He had understood at last. “The wound hast healed. I am well. Goheno nín. I thought only of thee.”

“I am leaving here. I am taking the children and returning to my father.”

“Man pennich? Thou wouldst leave me for this?”

“Daro han!” she yelled, forgetting herself. “I will not stay here to be lied to, to be deceived.”

“Mar bedithach?” He resigned himself to her decision.

“On the morrow. I cannot stay here another day.”

He turned and left her. Putting her hands to her face, she bent over and wept. He heard her sobs. Running back into the room, he knelt at her feet and cried, “Hiril nîn, garn nîn, absenen. I cannot live without thee. ‘Twas wrong of me to deceive thee, but fear took my heart, fear that thou wouldst fall into despair. Canst thou not understand my fears?”

She looked at him in astonishment. “Thou canst not fear. Thou art Denethor, Captain-General of Gondor, Knight of the Tower of Guard. How canst thou fear?”

“I am a man, Finduilas. I am only a man who lovest thee passionately. And would die if thou shouldst leave me. Doest thou think I cannot be afraid? I am afraid always, that thou, fairest flower of Belfalas, Princess of Dol Amroth, will grow to hate me and leave me. I couldst not bear that.”

She knelt beside him. “I couldst not bear it either. Im naer.” She kissed him.

“U-moe edaved. I should have trusted thee. I should have told thee immediately. I will ne’er keep secrets from thee again. I promise.” Taking her into his arms, they knelt together. The wind stirred and he rose. Taking her hand and helping her up, they walked into the garden. Winter would soon be here and the flowers would fall. They walked to the great pool and sat beside each other. He held her close; she felt the scar under his robe and she wept. The mountain rumbled, but she did not notice.

Melethril nîn – my love
Lasto beth nîn – listen to my words
Tolo sí – come here
U-chenion-I do not understand
Goheno nín – forgive me
Man pennich- what did you say?
Daro han – stop this
Mar bedithach-when will you leave?
Hiril nîn- my lady
Garn nîn – my own
Absenen - forgive me
Im naer –I am sorry
U-moe edaved – it is not necessary to forgive