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She wants to go home.
She has since first the Shadow began to swell.
This broken, stony world is harsh, desperate. Failing. Its asperity, madness and solemnity are infectious. They seep into the soul of those who dare linger in the place. She sees it working daily. She does not desire to be here. With all her heart she longs to take those she loves in her arms and hold them close, driving away all fear, all grief. But that is not possible. And so all she can do is watch, and hope, and long for home.
Finduilas, he pleads, as she steps back before she can stop herself.
She does not wish him nearer, but she keeps still nonetheless, allowing him to take her into his arms, letting him bury his face in her hair. She realizes only when the shaking of his shoulders grows great indeed that he is weeping.
Forgive me, he begs, in between gasping sobs. I do not know what madness took me.
Neither does she.
She wishes, deeply, that she might say she has never seen him act in this way before. But this is not the first time. She studies the new bruises she can see from her position. His arms grip her too tightly, making to bruises throb. But she is loath to move, or to tell him. He will think she is wroth with him.
Shhh , she whispers, brushing away his tears. She hates seeing him cry. It pains her greatly. And there is a breaking in his eyes, a cracking, that hurts more than that. Oh, my love. Of course I forgive you.
And she does forgive him. If she squints, she can make herself believe that the bruises are a pretty color. One of deep summer night. The same color as the mantle he gave to her. But forgiveness or no, she does not tell her sons that they may come out from where they have hidden.
Denethor whispers his thanks to her over and over again, with promises that it will never happen again, the anguish in those breaking eyes of his beginning to ease. Over her husband’s shoulder, through the window, she can see Anduin the Great. The river is a whisper-thin path dipped in moonlight, leading evermore down to the sea.
The sea.
It hurts where his arm rests around her waist as they walk through the cold, crumbling streets, but she dares not say anything.
She wants to go home.