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Response to the "blue" challenge at Tolkien_Weekly. An AU drabble about Denethor and Finduilas.
Where the healers had failed, Lord Denethor made the diagnosis. With a kindly smile, he gave the half-empty cup to the toddler, bidding her drink.
"No, lord! Have mercy on my child!" The serving maid knelt at his feet and wept. What threat or hidden sin had turned her poisoner?
In the garden, the irises swayed like the sea. He felt his wife's cold hands, saw her bluish nails. The servants fetched a woolen mantle; Denethor drew the silver-spangled cloth around her shoulders. "I would give you the sun, the moon, and the stars," he murmured into her brittle hair.
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