Happy Birthday, sealover_astara!
Pearls
The Steward’s Lady
He gave me a pearl necklace in the morning, to wear to dinner.
I roll the rich white globes between my fingers, feeling their unmarred smoothness. No doubt he gave very precise instructions as to the size, colour and shape of each pearl, and had this brought for me. The necklace must be costly, for the beads are simply perfect; but who could expect cheapness or imperfection from my dearest husband?
I heard a court lady say that pearls are cold. Mine are not.
And neither is the light that shines in his grey eyes as he looks at me.
The Steward
How lovely she looks in blue.
Her fingers stroke the pearls gently, and she smiles, touching the necklace to her soft cheek. I find myself smiling too, delighted that she likes my gift. Long did I search for these pearls, and here they are, about to grace the neck of my beloved. A perfect adornment for her beauty, though poor by contrast with it, for hers, unlike the pearls’, goes deeper than the surface.
She lifts her slender arms to fasten the clasp, and I step into the chamber.
‘Allow me to assist you, my lady.’
And so she does.
The Family
‘Hmm…’tis pretty,’ Boromir said, sounding rather bored.
‘I am glad that you think so, Boromir.’ Denethor could hardly keep amusement from his voice. Finduilas laughed softly and kissed the top of their eldest’s head.
‘And you, my dear?’ she asked Faramir, picking him up. ‘Do you think your father’s gift is pretty?’
Faramir frowned.
‘Not always,’ he said thoughtfully.
Denethor looked interested. ‘Not always?’
Faramir looked straight at him. ‘It’s only pretty when it’s on Mother,’ he explained.
There was a merry twinkle in the Steward’s eye.
‘Aye, child,’ he said, his gaze upon his wife. ‘That, I agree with.’