My Lord Denethor now wears only black, but this was not always so.
He had always worn somber colors, but when my lady Finduilas brought joy into his life, she brought color, too. Deep burgundy, like Dorwinion wine. Rich forest green. Midnight blue – the color he chose for that lovely mantle, his gift to her that first autumn. I would give you the sky full of stars if I could, love, he murmured, his eyes aglow, and her smile would have lit the heavens.
When she died he raged against his chamberlain: Take away these fripperies. Bring me something black.
As time went on the chamberlain, mindful always of the grandeur of the steward’s office, ordered increasingly elaborate clothing, trimmed with fur or intricate embroidery, but always black. Once, I caught a glimpse of my lord holding a bit of soft fur to his cheek, eyes closed; but then his face seemed to crumple, and he tossed the robe aside.
Another one for Astara, a drabble of indeterminate length, inspired by outrage at Ngila Dickson's comments on the ROTK-EE. Flamboyant costumes? Useless chain mail? Overdecorated sword? Read the book, Ngila!