StewardFic: Flowers in Sunlight
Nov. 17th, 2005 10:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
illwyndEgads, 11 days since I've posted anything? Yes, I'm still alive, if you were wondering. Well, my other fics are driving me mad, but I had some inspiration today, and came up with this...
Title: Flowers in Sunlight
Author: Illwynd
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: Umm… PG?
Characters: Denethor, Finduilas, mention of the young brothers.
Warnings: Might be considered either sappy or sad. Includes verycaring!Denethor. Unbeta’d, as usual.
Notes: Feedback always welcome.
x-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sons_of_gondor, lotr_fanfiction and steward_fics
It felt like a blow to the chest, stealing his breath and making his heart thud. He set down the healer’s report before him on the desk, but its words kept resounding in his mind. “Unknown ailment, no pain, no cough, no fever… no source we can find… must consider she may not recover… may die…”
He had not ever thought it before. In truth he had perhaps avoided thinking it. Now that he could no longer avoid the thought, it terrified him.
He sat in his study, staring at the piece of parchment until he knew what to do.
* * *
Finduilas was resting on the couch in her sitting room when he arrived. Her eyes were closed, and a tiny smile sat on her lips. She looks so young, he thought. Beside her on the table, yesterday’s cheerful yellow flowers were still fresh and unwilted, so he placed the bundle of blue ones in the vase next to it. Late-morning sun lit them, and their scent filled the room.
He turned to find her looking at him, though she still reclined against the pillows.
“They are lovely, as usual, my dear one,” she said.
“I’m glad they please you, my lady.” He went to sit beside her, taking her hand tenderly. “Are you well today? Is there anything you would like?”
“You would have to ask the healers if I am well. I shooed them away, though. I feel much the same as yesterday, and the day before; I am weary, very weary, but I’m not ill. And I have all I need.”
“Are you certain? Perhaps something special for supper?” Denethor asked. He always asked this, or some other question like it, and she always answered in the same way, claiming that she was content, she was not picky, and anyway was not very hungry these days. In the weeks past, they had fallen into something of a routine, and it was no longer even so hard for him to keep his tone light to betray none of his fear for her, or so he thought.
“You have become a mother hen, I think!” she laughed. “Truly! I’m sure none who know you would believe it, but you have. And I wonder why,” she said, her voice suddenly serious. He had not told her of the healer’s report. They had impressed upon him that there was still hope, and that she should not be led to believe otherwise, lest despair worsen her chances. When he did not answer, she turned her eyes on him with a look that had always pierced his heart; she seemed to look deep inside him, and always seemed intrigued and mildly amused by what she found. “Tell me what has worried you so.”
Before he could stop himself, he had answered. “The healers… they do not know why you are growing weary, and they do not know how to help you. They say… you may not recover.” He clasped her hand tighter. “But you may, also. They do not know.”
Slowly she nodded and said, as if to herself, “At least I was correct in thinking that they can tell me little.” After a moment, she said to him, “So they do not know. What do you think, my husband? Will I recover?”
“Yes. Yes, you will recover,” he said, swallowing his worry and trying to smile.
“Then I will,” she said simply, and moved to rest against him. His arm around her held her close, and they sat in silence.
Her breathing had slowed, and her eyes fallen shut again. He began to slide away as slowly and gently as he could so as not to wake her, when her voice came softly, “Either way, there is this… it has been years since we have spent so much time together. You will come again later, when you can?”
“Of course. I will try not to be long,” he answered, standing as she sank back against the pillows.
He turned to leave, then turned back, and leaned close to her to brush a stray hair tenderly from her face, and to kiss her brow. She smiled as he did so.
When next he found a few spare minutes to come to her, he would bring Boromir and Faramir as well, as he did every day, and together they would sit with her and talk, or the boys would play quietly, and they would all be happy for a time. And when his duties called him again, he would return them to their caretakers, and he would await his next chance to be with Finduilas. He didn’t want to waste a single moment.
When evening came, he would be with her again, and he would check the flowers on her table, and remove them while she slept if they had wilted. And tomorrow, he would bring more.
Title: Flowers in Sunlight
Author: Illwynd
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: Umm… PG?
Characters: Denethor, Finduilas, mention of the young brothers.
Warnings: Might be considered either sappy or sad. Includes verycaring!Denethor. Unbeta’d, as usual.
Notes: Feedback always welcome.
x-posted to
sons_of_gondor, lotr_fanfiction and steward_ficsIt felt like a blow to the chest, stealing his breath and making his heart thud. He set down the healer’s report before him on the desk, but its words kept resounding in his mind. “Unknown ailment, no pain, no cough, no fever… no source we can find… must consider she may not recover… may die…”
He had not ever thought it before. In truth he had perhaps avoided thinking it. Now that he could no longer avoid the thought, it terrified him.
He sat in his study, staring at the piece of parchment until he knew what to do.
* * *
Finduilas was resting on the couch in her sitting room when he arrived. Her eyes were closed, and a tiny smile sat on her lips. She looks so young, he thought. Beside her on the table, yesterday’s cheerful yellow flowers were still fresh and unwilted, so he placed the bundle of blue ones in the vase next to it. Late-morning sun lit them, and their scent filled the room.
He turned to find her looking at him, though she still reclined against the pillows.
“They are lovely, as usual, my dear one,” she said.
“I’m glad they please you, my lady.” He went to sit beside her, taking her hand tenderly. “Are you well today? Is there anything you would like?”
“You would have to ask the healers if I am well. I shooed them away, though. I feel much the same as yesterday, and the day before; I am weary, very weary, but I’m not ill. And I have all I need.”
“Are you certain? Perhaps something special for supper?” Denethor asked. He always asked this, or some other question like it, and she always answered in the same way, claiming that she was content, she was not picky, and anyway was not very hungry these days. In the weeks past, they had fallen into something of a routine, and it was no longer even so hard for him to keep his tone light to betray none of his fear for her, or so he thought.
“You have become a mother hen, I think!” she laughed. “Truly! I’m sure none who know you would believe it, but you have. And I wonder why,” she said, her voice suddenly serious. He had not told her of the healer’s report. They had impressed upon him that there was still hope, and that she should not be led to believe otherwise, lest despair worsen her chances. When he did not answer, she turned her eyes on him with a look that had always pierced his heart; she seemed to look deep inside him, and always seemed intrigued and mildly amused by what she found. “Tell me what has worried you so.”
Before he could stop himself, he had answered. “The healers… they do not know why you are growing weary, and they do not know how to help you. They say… you may not recover.” He clasped her hand tighter. “But you may, also. They do not know.”
Slowly she nodded and said, as if to herself, “At least I was correct in thinking that they can tell me little.” After a moment, she said to him, “So they do not know. What do you think, my husband? Will I recover?”
“Yes. Yes, you will recover,” he said, swallowing his worry and trying to smile.
“Then I will,” she said simply, and moved to rest against him. His arm around her held her close, and they sat in silence.
Her breathing had slowed, and her eyes fallen shut again. He began to slide away as slowly and gently as he could so as not to wake her, when her voice came softly, “Either way, there is this… it has been years since we have spent so much time together. You will come again later, when you can?”
“Of course. I will try not to be long,” he answered, standing as she sank back against the pillows.
He turned to leave, then turned back, and leaned close to her to brush a stray hair tenderly from her face, and to kiss her brow. She smiled as he did so.
When next he found a few spare minutes to come to her, he would bring Boromir and Faramir as well, as he did every day, and together they would sit with her and talk, or the boys would play quietly, and they would all be happy for a time. And when his duties called him again, he would return them to their caretakers, and he would await his next chance to be with Finduilas. He didn’t want to waste a single moment.
When evening came, he would be with her again, and he would check the flowers on her table, and remove them while she slept if they had wilted. And tomorrow, he would bring more.
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