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"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

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.



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.


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.


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.
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