Disclaimer: Arda never has and never will be owned by me.

Dedication:  For my parents and all loving couples everywhere.

Author's Note: There are three storylines going on in this fic. Each are continued in every chapter. The ficlets that can be read together are listed in the last chapter.

"Denethor loved her, in his fashion, more dearly than any other, unless it were the elder of the sons that she bore him" - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Return of the King, Appendix A

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Unrequited

A deep blue mantle wrought with stars 'round the neck and hem is draped about his hands.

His eyes, deep and piercing as a flashing sword, hold my own.

I know what lies in his heart, but my heart holds not the same.

Denethor is a good man, despite his grave countenance. He is a man who would offer his cloak during a rainstorm and steady support during trying times.

Perhaps affection will come with long years of shared sorrow and joy. Perhaps even love of those belonging to brothers and sisters may take root.

Yet I can never truly love him.

Convenience

I was not supposed to love her.

It was a marriage of convenience, a union between the House of Hurin and the Ruling House of Dol Amroth.

She was meant to be no more than a bartering item for the support of Prince Adrahil in key decisions.

Yet, I had to gaze but once in her eyes with merrymakers milling about.

And I was lost.

Nudge

Those fools.

When will they realize each of their hearts belong to the other?

See, there they are, strolling about in the miraculous snow, and he has not yet asked for her hand.

What they need is a nudge in the right direction.

As if to answer my wish, the lady slips on a patch of ice. My brother steadies her, and their eyes meet.

I smile in satisfaction. Wedding bells shall ring soon enough in the White City.

Ultimatum

Finduilas laughs as she frolics in the waves of the sea.

"Join me, love," she calls. "The water feels so lovely this morning!" She splashes water on the sand.

I look dubiously at the rippling surface. It has been years since I swam for pleasure alone.

She notes my hesitation. "If you don't come in," she says,"I shan't marry you in five months' time."

I shake my head at her. "You little minx."

Despite my reservations, I jump in the cool waters with a loud splash.

After all, she may just act on her threat.

Courage

"My heart shakes every time I look towards the east," I say. "How can I be a leader for the people of Gondor if I cannot withstand the Shadow?"

Denethor gently takes my hand. "Then my strength shall become your strength so that we can face the east as one.

I squeeze his hand and as we stand on the walls of Minas Tirith, we confront the Shadow.

Together.

Hope

He hands a blushing rose to her.

"A fair rose for a fairer lady," I hear him say.

Finduilas takes it, gracing him with a smile. I notice the lack of any real love in her eyes, though affection clearly shows as she looks upon him.

I know that she loves him not, though my son loves her with all that his heart possesses. True love cannot be forced from a body. It is a fickle creature, often gracing the oddest of pairs while cruelly ignoring those more deserving.

We can only hope that love will take hold and grow with time.

Dedication: Happy Birthday, Ma! Happy Birthday to me, too, since my birthday's tomorrow!

Beauty

I stare critically at myself in the mirror as Gilmeren and Idril exclaim over their mistress' appearance. Others may see me as lovely, but what will he think as he looks upon me? What if he finds my face too narrow or my hair too unruly?

Gilmeren interrupts my ruminations. "A gift for you, milady." She hands me a tiny chest.

I carefully undo the clasps and gasp at what it reveals.

An exquisite silver swan lies on black velvet. Above it is pinned a note simply reading, "For my swan."

I smile and realize he will indeed find me beautiful.

Wisdom

Finduilas glides down the hall with her back erect and her eyes direct and clear.

The crowd murmurs about her beauty and regal bearing. They praise the wisdom of my choice.

Nay, they think wrongly for mine was not a wise decision. I know well she loves me not. Those chosen few close to me wonder of my rash choice for it is not of my nature to do so.

The answer, however, is not so difficult as one may think.

My heart belongs to her.

Peace

I look anxiously at my daughter during the length of the ceremony.

Was I right to put her in a marriage made purely for politics? Would have it been better to let her wed for love?

Finduilas appears blissful, although she may be putting on a false facade for the sake of Gondor. She has always put her people's well-being above her own needs, even at the cost of her fragile health.

I casually glance at Lord Denethor and am shocked to see something in his otherwise expressionless face.

The pieces click together in my mind, and my heart settles into peace. I know now that Finduilas is loved.

A/N: Please give concrit, praise, and even flames if you don't mind.

Dedication: Happy Mother's Day, Mom! Happy Birthday to me! I'm officially fourteen years old!

Shy

I hear a knock at my study door.

"Come in," I say, and Finduilas quietly walks in.

"What is it, wife?" I ask. Four years into our marriage, and she is still shy with me at times.

She lowers her eyes. "I am with child." No elaboration, just four modest words.

At those plain words, a rich stream of joy floods into my mind. "At what time did you find out?"

She nods. "Just this hour, husband." She pauses. "You are not displeased?"

I nearly laugh at her timidity. I lean over to kiss her forehead.

"Of course not."

Namesake

A pair of eyes peer up at me through the folds of a soft woolen blanket.

Denethor -- his eyes gleaming with a barely suppressed pride -- ponders aloud the name of our babe.

"Turgon, perhaps, after my grandsire. Or Angelimir in honor of yours, love. However, I do fancy Mar-"

"What say you for Boromir, beloved?" I say.

He halts and tilts his head. "Hm, faithful jewel." His face breaks into a rare smile, and he bends over for an embrace, babe and all.

"Boromir it is," he declares.

Shame

Denethor watches proudly as Boromir listens with rapt attention to the clashes of sword blades.

"He is more like his grandfather than myself, Princess," he says, "but I mind not."

Secretly, I am glad, but shame fills my heart. How could I not wish for my grandson to have the nature of his father?

It is because I know the heart of my daughter holds more space for her son than his father.

Lessons

I look at her with worried eyes. "Beloved, you mustn't exert yourself so, especially with your time so near. Let Gilmeren and Idril dole out supplies to the poor today."

She shakes her head, "It would be better for me to go than merely my serving ladies. It would show the poor and wretched that their leaders care for their well-being. Besides, it would be a lesson of morals for the child."

I sigh. "As you wish."

I have apparently not learned my lessons as of yet. For I still hold a foolish hope that someday she may love me in return, but I only ever receive fondness not love.

What foolishness lies in the hearts of the wise!

Innocence

"Finduilas!" Denethor shouts, bursting into the room. "Are you ill? What of the child?"

I smile weakly. "I am fine as is our son." I uncover the blanket to reveal a round, pink face.

Denethor carefully takes the bundle and speaks to him in a quiet tone of voice. "What troubles you brought upon your mother to bring you into this world. I nearly hated you for causing her so much pain save that you are an innocent and the child of Finduilas. Because of that, I love rather than despise you."

I feel shocked at the audacity of his words, but something inside feels warm.

For I knew then I loved this husband of mine.

Mirror

Little Faramir points to a letter and laughs. My sister turns smug. "Look, sister, is he not a clever, curious child? I believe he will be a great scholar like his father one day."

I nod my head as Finduilas boasts on and on about the virtues of her son.

All of a sudden, she stops and adds in a mystified tone, "It is strange, though, that Denethor is so distant from Faramir than Boromir for Faramir's nature mirrors him more than his elder brother's."

I recall Denethor's looks of apprehension when he sees Faramir preferring the musty archives over the bustling armory and sigh.

"Don't you see, Finduilas? That is what he is afraid of."

A/N:  Argh, I'm starting to wonder if Denethor is OOC. Anyone mind enlightening me on the matter and suggesting any improvements? Thanks!

Dedication: This is for the end of exams. Hip, hip, hurrah!

Giving

Denethor walks into my sickroom, bearing a tray.

"I brought tea, Finduilas," he says. I accept the cup of tea offered and wave him away.

He hesitates. "Is there anything else you need or desire?"

Something inside my frail body breaks with his concern. "Why are you so good to me?" I exclaim. "Why did you marry me if you knew I did not love you? Why did you not choose one who loved you in return? Why must you suffer so much anguish for my indifference? Why do you love me at all?"

Denethor comes to my side. "I love you," he says quietly. "I know not why. Always I knew that I may never receive your love in return, but at least I have the satisfaction of giving you my love, accepted or not, even though it causes me unbearable pain.

He gently touches my cheek and leaves.

Gone

Her hand lies in mine, pale and cold.

My throat tightens, although no tears come to my eyes. She is gone, her spirit fleeing to the world beyond our own.

Even though I am glad her weak, suffering soul is finally at peace, I make a desperate wish for her to open her eyes one last time.

For even though she had told me she loved me many times during the course of her long illness, I never told her I loved her in return.

Fire

My sister is dead.

She lies in the Citadel, as befits the Lady of the White Tower.

I come to her body to grieve away from prying eyes, but when I arrive, I discover her lord husband is already there.

He stands tall and straight with his back to me. Light from sconces on the walls dance merrily on his form.

I approach him. "Lord Denethor," I begin.

He snaps around. "Leave me be, Imrahil," he practically spits out. His eyes are dry but hard and glittering.

As he stands there, I feel a chill run up my spine because for a few moments his head appears to be aflame.

Dedication: Since I'll be gone all of next week, I decided to present you with the last chapter. This is for you, my wonderful readers!

Lost

I am burning.

Oddly enough, I feel nothing for everything is lost. My father and the Stewards before me are long gone. My sons lie dead and cold in their appointed graves. Gondor will soon disintegrate into nothing as well. And Finduilas. . .she has been lost for so many years that at times I can barely recall her face.

Worry not, Finduilas, for we shall be together again.

Soon.

 Drabbles that are read together for the sake of a continuous storyline:

1.) Unrequited, Hope, Wisdom, Shame, Lessons, Giving, Lost

2.) Convenience, Courage, Peace, Shy, Innocence, Gone, Lost

3.) Nudge, Ultimatum, Beauty, Namesake, Mirror, Fire, Lost