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Chapter 2: Introduction

by NancyBrooke

Wake, thou beloved linden town
Come, fall before thy master humbly
Acknowledge how he thee,
In all thy splendorís state,
So fatherly supports, protects, and guards
And doth his hand of love
Still over thee steadfastly hold.

As the first mournful notes sounded Denethor, son of Echthelion, gray-eyed gray-haired Steward of Gondor, stiffened. The sound beat against him like waves on stone. It was as he had planned: all the nobles of Minas Tirith, Dol Amroth and Lebennin assembled, a newly commissioned work of remembrance to be performed. All the world would remember the Lost Finduilas, and weep.

With powerful might
Dost thou preserve our borders
Here shall then peace be radiant
Though death and raging war
May all around appear.
Though crown and scepter shake,
Hast thou salvation brought
With powerful might!

But who could know his pain, even the comfort of tears denied him? Who among the assemblage would ever know how every dawn brought the loss to him afresh, how he carried it daily still now five years past her death, even as he carried a lock of her raven hair, next to his heart? What could any in Gondor give to ease his hurt and repay his loss?

Silent sighing, quiet mourning
Thee may all thy pains be telling,
For thy mouth is tightly closed.
Thy heart is now a well of tears,
Thy eyes are heated sources
Ah Lord! Who will give thee then satisfaction?

Only in the sons she bore him was the echo of his loss dampened Ė boys who shadowed her strength, her tenderness; her fierce love and fragile heart. Them he would never permit himself to lose.

My sojourn in the world
Is like a voyage at sea:
The sadness and woe
Are billows which have overwhelmed me
My anchor, though, which me doth hold,
Is that compassionís heart
With which my Lord oft makes me glad.
He calleth thus to me:
I am with thee,
I will not eíer abandon or forsake thee!
And when the raging oceanís shaking
Comes to an end,
Into my city from the ship Iíll go

One with his eyes like the sea at storm, one with eyes like the sea becalmed; the music of mourning surrounded the sons of Denethor and washed over them; one a rock in the torrent, the other a small boat adrift, born along by the flood.

One day, one day shall my yoke
Once again be lifted from me.
Then shall I in my Lord find powír
And with the eagleís features rare
There rise above this earthly boundíry
And soar without becoming weary.
This I would today invoke!

Surrounded by uncles, by cousins, by courtiers and soldiers the brothers sat alone, their memories like reflections on water: bright and broken.

Come, O death, of sleep the brother,
Come and lead me hence now forth;
Loosen now my small barkís rudder,
Bring thou me secure to port!
Others may desire to shun thee,
Thou canst all the more delight me;
For through thee Iíll come inside
To the fairest Citadel.


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Chapter name
20 May 2003
Last Edited
24 Mar 2007