Dol Amroth, T.A. 2976
It was a tiny cove, blocked from outside view by a rocky overhang. They were there often, on it's soft sands, letting the waves lap their feet. During the day, the sun shone serenely down on the little cove, its warm embrace happily welcomed. At night the moon shone gloriously over the deceptively calm waters bathing all in a pristine white light.
"You gaze long at the sea today."
Denethor turned at the sound of the voice, contemplatively eyeing the young man stretched out beside him on the sand, his eyes closed and his tunic loosened. Reaching out a hand, he stroked his cheek gently, inciting him to open his eyes.
"Have I ever told you that your eyes remind me of the sea, so grey, so deep," the young man murmured gazing out of his own grey eyes into Denthor's.
"You are a poet, now?"
"Only after I met you last year, My Lord, only after I met you."
They had met the summer prior when Imrahil had accompanied his father Adrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth to Minas Tirith when Steward Ecthelion had requested their presence there.
Minas Tirith, T.A. 2975
He had ridden in accompanied by a small troop of the Swan Knights on their grey horses, gleaming in their blue and silver attire, singing, a sight that never failed to attract the attention and awe of the people of Minas Tirith. Denethor stood on one of the balconies of the city then. He had seen the sight often before, and was therefore not very interested in it right then, but he still had to admit it was a fine thing to see.
And then he had changed his assessment for his eye had fallen on one of the knights riding at the lead. Tall and slender and clothed in that same blue and silver, the young man, who looked to be no more than perhaps one score years, was glancing around him eagerly. He was obviously as interested in all he saw around him, as the people of the city were, in his troop.
His dark windswept hair hung away from his face, revealing fine features and grey eyes and had joined in the song the others were singing. Denethor took one glance at him and deduced that he was Adrahil's son. He could see the resemblance clearly. He hadn't realised that the boy he had once seen many years ago while on a visit to Dol Amroth had grown up into such a fine-looking young man.
Fine-looking, he repeated to himself, realising with a start what he had said. He glanced back down, and continued to focus his attention solely on the young Prince, taking in the way he sat atop his horse, comfortably and gracefully. He was not surprised to find himself attracted to him. He had been attracted to young men before, and this one, he could not remember his name, was quite handsome after all. But, he was certainly surprised by the extent of the attraction he felt for him. It seemed to go much deeper than the meaningless romps he had had with one of his tutors or with the son of the Lord of Morthond.
He wondered what the Prince thought of bedding another male.
His name was Imrahil, Denethor had found out, and on speaking to him, had discovered someone intelligent, quick-witted and very likeable. They got along well, despite the nearly twenty five years between them, and disagreed only on the subjects of focus in the meetings, which concerned among other things, troop from the fiefdoms around Gondor. Like the other fiefs Dol Amroth too had requirements of its own, situated not far from the disputed territory of South Gondor, and closer as it was to the land of Harad.
They became good friends, and it was not soon before both knew deep within that they would be more than just friends.
When they parted that year, it was as more than friends that they did so, with a solemn promise to meet again, soon.
Dol Amroth, T.A. 2976
When he had travelled down to Dol Amroth this summer on his father's request, on the second day of his visit, Denethor was taken down to the docks by Adrahil's daughter Finduilas. She was quiet but just as sharp-witted and intelligent as her brother, and in fact, reminded him greatly of the young man. Imrahil had been away at sea when he had arrived but was to arrive that day.
Denethor had seen the sea often before, but it had never seemed so entrancing as it did then, providing the perfect backdrop to the breathtaking sight of young Imrahil standing at the deck of his ship as she slowly floated into her quay. He stood tall and proud, his cloak wound around him, held in place by a brooch that shone in the midmorning sun. Even from where he stood, Denethor could infer it was shaped like a swan. His long, grey cloak billowed behind him, sweeping away from the perfectly sculpted frame. A stiff sea breeze played through his hair, sending the strands flying away from his face, revealing fine features and eyes as grey as the water. His mouth was a pale glistening pink just like the pieces of coral that the women of Dol Amroth adorned themselves with.
To Denethor he seemed as one with the sea behind.
His perception was only enhanced upon experience. The attraction was mutual, and they acted upon it soon. His lover was beautiful. As much so as that vast sea that lapped incessantly below the windows of his room. And like the blue-grey expanse, he was calm on the surface, but the grey eyes revealed the tempestuousness hiding away inside, that would roar out and sweep Denethor in an all encompassing passion.
All this he thought of that late afternoon, as he sat with Imrahil in the peaceful little cove the young prince had shown him. They were supposed to be discussing the history of the trading agreements Gondor had had with Umbar. It had taken barely minutes of discussion. They had other matters to attend to.
And as he watched the sea, he wondered of the other matters that they yet had to talk over. Matters that his father had broached to him two nights ago when he too had arrived in Dol Amorth.
"Dol Amroth is of importance to us," Ecthelion had said without preamble, "They are our farthest fiefdom, and their knights an asset. I would like them to remain so."
He expected that would imply another visit to the seaside fiefdom and waited to hear his father out.
"I wish you to marry Adrahil's daughter. It shall be a formidable liaison, a sign to all of times to come."
He heard a voice of protest and then realised it was his own. His father responded sharply, and though the words reached his ears and he knew he answered but the words eluded his memory later.
He could fathom a guess as to what they had been though. He needed to marry. He needed an heir. Galador's line was an old and noble one. Finduilas, Adrahil's daughter was one of the most eligible young women in the land, fair of face and intelligent. And among all the fiefdoms, Dol Amroth had the largest complement of knights and they were known to be the best.
It was obvious that, politically, there could be no better match for the heir to the man who ruled Gondor in all but name.
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