That We Must Forget by Minx

Story notes: Feedback: I'd appreciate it very much. The pairing bit me a while ago and I can only hope I've managed to retain the characterisation of these two in such a situation – greenrivervalley@lycos.com

The timeline changes very frequently, so I've added dates with each change, which will hopefully prevent any confusion. All dates are as per Appendix B, ROTK and HOME Vol. 12. Imrahil was born in TA 2955 and Denethor in 2930. That would make them 21 and 46 respectively at the year of Denethor's marriage in 2976.

This is quite short, but it's divided into parts to accommodate the POV changes.
Minas Tirith, March 9, T.A. 3019

He seemed to have suddenly aged. The eyes that had once looked alive now seemed weary. Those grey robs that had once glinted as the sun shining off the surface of the sea, were now a dull insipid shade.

He looked at the lined face and the tired body of the Steward of the realm and tried to remember how the other man had looked all those years earlier.

It felt as another time now.

He had reconciled himself then to the turn of events for there had been no other course, and life had gone on for both of them; the summer all those years ago tucked away into a corner of his memory, to be brought out only on occasion - a special memory that caused nostalgia and hurt in equal proportions so that coping with it was particularly difficult. The wine cellar in his castle helped.

This was not the time though. Other, more important things needed his attention, rather than a memory that would remain nothing but that.




Dol Amroth T.A. 2987

"You like to look at the sea," the voice was so soft, that he almost missed the words as they were spoken.

"Yes," he found himself responding.

"Mother says she misses the sea," his nephew told him.

"We all do who live by her waves," he said automatically.

"Is that why father does not like the sea?" like all children his nephew would sometimes make a sudden observation completely out of tune with the rest of their conversation. He was used to that, but the words he uttered hit him.

"He never speaks of it as mother used to," the boy continued, "And he would not come here with us."

The boys had come for barely a fortnight. His father had requested it of the Steward and Denethor had acquiesced with surprising quickness. He had been away at sea, but storm had forced him to return from the voyage sooner than planned, and so he found himself by his nephew's side on the ramparts of his father's castle by the sea.

He knew the Steward would not come to Dol Amroth. And he knew it was not the sea Denethor disliked but that which it reminded him of.
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