Characters: Denethor, Unnamed Character
Disclaimer: Not mine, merely borrowed.
Strong of Purpose
I'd heard tell that a person could grow old overnight when beset by worry or fear, but not believed it until I saw Lord Denethor stumbling from the Tower. His eyes were red-rimmed, unfocused; his hair hung limply about his shoulders. He seemed a hollow shell. What had become of our masterful Steward?
I drew back into the shadows, averting my eyes as he lurched past; but suddenly he stopped. Drawing back his shoulders, he stood erect and proud. Like heathen kings of old, he murmured, striding away with new purpose.
I felt sick with apprehension. Whatever did he mean?