[Child of the 7th Age]

Eckthelion sat hunched over the large table in his study sorting though an assortment of dispatches that had arrived earlier that morning. His own breakfast tray was tossed aside untouched as he tried to make sense of the plethora of petitions and complaints that had come flooding in that day. So many concerns and affairs to supervise, so many indications that the agents of Mordor were strengthening their forces and would have to be dealt with one way or the other.

There was a time when he was younger when things were not so difficult. He could remember exactly when everything had changed. It was the year when Mount Doom had burst into flame, and the inhabitants of Ithilien had fled before Sauron's wrath, just a few months after his own father had died, and he had taken over the stewardship of Gondor feeling only partially adequate to the task. His whole policy and feelings had been shaped by those events, and he was doing everything he could not only to strengthen Gondor, but to pass those beliefs and priorities on to his son.

Eckthelion glanced up as the door swung back and Denethor came striding inside with a respectful nod to his father. His son, a man of some forty-one years, a full fifteen years older than his bride-to-be, had always been proud and serious, deeply concerned with affairs of state. The father had every reason to be well content. Yet still, he had a feeling that there was a hardness there, a chill in the heart that all his paternal love and affection had done nothing to dissipate. Perhaps, the gentle young Finduilas would do a better job bringing a bit of sparkle to his son's stern eyes.

Eckthlion cleared his throat and pointed down to a message on the desk, then looked over at Denethor, "Another message from Thorongil. He warns of Umbar's threat, and how we would lead a party against the Corsairs and set fire to their fleet."

Denethor looked uneasily over towards his father, "And you? What would you do?"

Eckthelion rasped back an answer, "You know my policy on this. I have not changed my mind. The risk is too great. And, even more, I am still hopeful that another way can be found to bend their hearts."

Denethor visibly relaxed to hear his father's words. "You will answer Thorongil then?" The agent's name was spoken with underlying vehemence.

"Aye, I will write him and say that we will continue our policy of watching and waiting. A policy of caution, not aggression. Meanwhile, we will continue to build our forces and gain all the allies we can."

Eckthelion pushed the paper aside and looked deep into his son's eyes, "And you, how are you doing with the delightful young lady of Dol Amroth? Do you find her as charming as you first thought?"

A unexpected brightness filtered over Denethor's face as he turned towards his father, "I am well pleased. She is sweet and young and her eyes sparkle with a light that is different than any I have seen. Yes, I am well pleased. Only I was wondering.... I wish to please her. Have you given thought to what I spoke of the other day?"

The father bent down to unlock a drawer and rummaged around before pulling out a square sheet of vellum and handing it to his son, "Here it is. What you asked for. A masquerade is to be given at the palace two days from now in honor of the bride-to-be. I have ordered the messengers to take and deliver these invitations to all the families who frequent the court."

A full-fledged smile spread over Denethor's visage as he reached over and scanned the sheet. "Thank you, father," Denethor wholeheartedly replied. "I know Finduilas is truly looking forward to this. She hopes the ladies will be a bit more relaxed than last time, and that she'll be able to win a friend or two." He bowed briefly and then turned about to make his exit.

As the door clanged shut, Eckthelion looked up and sighed. Would that all his problems were so easily solved! Then he glanced back at the pile of dispatches waiting on his desk and continued sifting through them.

[ August 17, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]