[Child of the 7th Age]

Several days later...

Two figures strode along the quay beside the Great River just as the first rays of the sun peeped over the horizon. The grey-cloaked, older man towered over his companion, but otherwise seemed of little consequence. Even the younger one looked utterly unprepossessing; he wore simple brown breeches, a shirt of natural homespun, and a pair of scuffed serviceable boots such as sailors use when they work at the docks. The men were deep in conversation. A few workmen glanced up as they walked by, but knew enough to draw away and respectfully avert their eyes, since they'd seen the pair several times before. No one really knew who the old gentleman was, but the identity of the Steward was all too evident, despite his simple garb.

The conversation had stopped and Eckthelion looked out over the water watching the gulls swoop down, as they skimmed just inches above the surface and hunted for their breakfast. The older man’s question abruptly broke through his reflection..."Did the bethrothal party go well?"

Eckthelion nodded his head, "Yes, that's behind us….the ridiculous rumors and the upturned noses. Now, they crowd around Finduilas, and vie for her favor. Even Denethor could not ask for more."

He paused for a moment and laughed slightly, “It’s strange, isn’t it? Most of those at the party have no idea what actually happened. They’ve only heard that false rumors were spread by the Lady Ruiel and Dryea, perhaps out of pique or some other personal motive.”

“But the women have disappeared,” Gandalf countered. “Surely someone will ask what’s happened.”

“Finduilas has dropped careful hints that the mother and eldest daughter chose to return home. Most assume that home is Dol Amroth, since they have no idea of the connection with Umbar. I doubt that many will pursue the subject further. And Alethea is helping us. Of all the sad stories in this affair, her’s is one of the saddest. To be so ill used by her family…. I have personally spoken with her, welcoming her to Minas Tirith, and have given her my assurance that we will do anything needed to help.”

Gandalf considered the Steward’s serious face and hesitated a moment before continuing, “But you are not content.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“No, I am not.” Eckthelion’s gaze swept the expanse of the river and would not meet Gandalf’s eyes.

“The womens’ escape?”

The Steward shook his head. “No. We might have expected that. They are devious ones, these agents of Umbar. I was disappointed that they got away but it is of no immediate consequence. More importantly, we dismantled their organization and rooted out the lesser agents. Their conduit for information has dried up, and they can no longer strike at the heart of our court. For that, I am grateful."

"I owe a special debt to the women, both those from Minas Tirith and Finduilas's own companions. It was they who picked up the first hint of this, and helped us to bag our prey.” He smiled thinking of his two lovely daughters and others like Lady Pelien, Adrama, Viena, Emilia, Averyll, and Diorwyn who’d worked so generously on behalf of their city. Then his face dropped again.

“But…..?” queried Gandalf, still probing for the root cause behind Eckthelion’s somber mood.

The Steward grimaced as the words tumbled out, “That was a costly mistake. We focused on chasing down the soldiers who’d escorted Dryea to prison instead of keeping our eyes on Rueil. We might at least have brought her to bay.”

“But there is more than that…”

Eckthelion nodded. “I was so sure,” he whispered under his breath, “so certain that a mother would help her daughter.”

“But she didn’t?” Gandalf queried, scouring the depths of Eckthelion’s eyes.

“No, she didn’t. She ran off without a look back.” The Steward shuddered and stared at the horizon, his voice dropping to a whisper, “How could a mother do that to a child she had born? How can I defeat men and women whom I can not even pretend to understand? They are so under the influence of Mordor that I even find it hard to see what paths they take in life.”

Eckthelion looked over at Gandalf, “Perhaps, that is the only way to win victory. To become like them, to think like them.”

The old man drew himself up to his full height, his eyes flashing with anger, “Do not deceive yourself, Steward. That way leads to doom. And remember this!” He turned around and directly confronted the younger man. “If you find it hard to understand the choices they make, they find it completely impossible to fathom your reason for doing things. What you choose is not what they would choose! Someday, somehow, that will help us. I do not know how or when, and you may already have passed beyond this world, but their lack of vision and imagination will someday prove to be their undoing.”

“Perhaps, you’re right, Gandalf.”

The tall figure nodded back. “In any case, how could the Steward of Gondor change so much that he would forget the ways of his ancestors from Numenor, to turn from his daughters and son and substitute coldness in his heart? I know you well enough, Eckthelion, and that would be truly an impossible task. Keep doing as you have done. You and those at your court, men and women both. You are preparing the soil for another day when the great conflict will come. Thank goodness you have people with good hearts and common sense. These so-called silly women have done Gondor a great honor, a lesson that may never be inscribed in your history book but one that will make a difference when the final day of reckoning comes.”

Eckthelion turned to Gandalf, hastily embraced him, and then stepped away. “Yes, we are fortunate to have citizens such as these. “ Then the two men walked further along the bank talking not of diplomacy or military matters but things like friendship and family that lie underneath it all, hoping for better times and wondering when and if they would possibly come.

[ October 10, 2003: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]