Character: Ecthelion, Denethor, Finduilas
Source: Pre-Ring War
Disclaimer: It is his, not mine.
The actual marriage was celebrated in Dol Amroth, her father’s rank decreed that. Minas Tirith’s festivities, fireworks and splendid epithalamion welcomed the Steward’s son and his new bride home to the Citadel, and her presentation to the people of Gondor before the White Tree. A marriage and an alliance, Ecthelion was pleased with his choice – Denethor adored Lady Finduilas, and she seemed besotted with him… a good basis for successful dynastic succession.
The Steward smiled benignly, Dol Amroth would support Gondor by sea and the girl, he was assured, would provide healthy sons… what more could a man ask for?
Denethor was delighted. Minas Tirith - fierce, unconquered… he ignored the scattered, blank-eyed buildings – under his supervision they’d all be replenished, repopulated, he’d see his city flower again, he knew it. This homecoming was but the beginning… his bride could even now be pregnant – they’d tupped aplenty during their progress across the southern states. He smiled… fine sons, beautiful daughters, he was indeed blessed…
Denethor frowned when he noted Finduilas deep in conversation with her body-servant. Jealousy was not something he admitted to, but… his father’s favorite, that Thorongil, and now this Melleth woman… yes, they both had to go!
Denethor rid himself of those thorns in his side, he didn’t need their deaths, only their absence. But later, his lady fretted, pleading for her servant’s return, to have her made amah, bodyguard to her son, and the unborn child in her belly. Reluctantly, Denethor agreed.
Finduilas still grew paler, weaker, pining for her beloved ocean. Denethor did his best – he’d had a garden built, ornamented with shells and sea-pebbles… now… she was dead.
He tore it apart, ripped the planting up, covering himself in dust and dirt… Death had come to him and he embraced it like a lover.