Disclaimer: The characters and places belong to Tolkien.

Description: Thirteen summers on the shores of Dol Amroth beginning with a newly wedded couple deeply in love and ending with two grieving little boys.

Sandcastles

One

During their first summer at Dol Amroth, Denethor and Finduilas had eyes for no one but each other. A spring of tours around Gondor had left them both weary and looking forward to their holiday.

Together they spent long lazy mornings in bed, private luncheons in their chambers, afternoons riding across the sands, evenings swimming in the sea and night after night, they made love.

Two

The second summer, the two of them slowed down, though their first whole year of married life had been relatively peaceful on all fronts. The political situation was stable; a good harvest and a popular ruling Steward ensured that.

Personally, the two of them were still, if not even more, in love with one another than they had been the year before. They remained sweethearts. Few arguments had darkened the blue, sun filled sky of their love. That summer, the majority of their time was spent in gentle pursuits, card games and such, due to Finduilas' condition.

The last thing Denethor did every night was to kiss his wife's round belly with anticipation.

Three

Night times were no longer for making love but feeding their baby, in the third summer of their marriage at Dol Amroth. Finduilas urged her husband to sleep, but Denethor always woke up with her to soothe their baby back to sleep after she had feed him. Boromir replaced Denethor as the centre of Findulias' world and vice versa. Neither minded.

They were in complete agreement. He was the most precious, perfect boy who was ever born. Perhaps he was a little attention seeking and he was not one for lying quietly in his crib if he could hear they are close. But he was healthy and thriving.

As was their marriage.

Four

The fourth summer they spent at Findulias' childhood home together was a whirl of activity. Everything precious had to be above a certain height and their beloved boy had to be watched at all times.

As he approached eighteen months, Boromir was beginning to talk and was already running about. He seemed to crave his father's attention more than his mothers and he always received it.

Finduilas continued to be amazed how tender her serious darling was with their son. She was convinced no son was ever so blessed in their sire as Boromir.

Five

Orcs, skirmishes and troubling times darkened their fifth year of marriage. For the first time, Finduilas fell ill. The Shadow of Mordor begun to creep into her heart.

Denethor was at war often; when the time came to go to Dol Amroth, only one Lord of Gondor went with Finduilas.

Boromir missed his adored papa even more than he had when they were at the White City and more than once his mother had taken the crying lad into her arms to comfort him, as he explained that he didn't want her! When would he see papa?

"Papa will be fine and will be home soon," she had told him as she kissed her sleepy tired boy at night.

She had had to believe it herself.

Six

Sandcastles, running races and plenty of dessert from the kitchens ensured that Boromir and his father made up for the time they lost the summer before. Boromir was the best tonic asides his mother for the troubles which plagued his father's heart.

Finduilas saw how tired her husband was. He took too afternoon naps, which gave her an opportunity to tease her 'old man.' But he knew when he returned to the White City he would get no relief or rest until they returned. The political stability was gone.

A single star lit night enjoyed by them made a memory that would last for the rest of his life. Roses, lilies, jasmines and wildflowers overflowed their apartment as he reminded her what a tender lover he could be when he focused solely on her... as he reminded her she was his entire world and his soul was devoted only to her... as he reminded her just how in love with her he truly was...

In the peaceful house by the sea, they conceived their second and final child.

Seven

She was weak when she arrived for their seventh summer. Denethor was initially to remain in the White City to aid his father in Council Meetings but Ecthelion released him early when he saw how pale and hollow Finduilas' face seemed. It was feared for some time there would be no eighth summer for her.

The tiny baby she gave birth to in the spring was also weak, but it seemed his father had little time to spare for him when he was focused on trying to nurse his mother back to health. Time Denethor did have to spare was spent reassuring his darling boy that all was to be well, for it was evident the five year old Boromir, who understood so much more than his baby brother, was scared for their mother.

But when Finduilas and Denethor had their quiet moments, big brother Boromir went to the see the new baby – his baby. More than once, the sleeping form of Boromir had to be picked up and carried to bed from where he had curled up next to Faramir's crib like a watch guard.

He promised himself no one would ever hurt his baby brother or take them away from one another.

Eight

Finduilas worried her way through the next summer. The political situation was precarious, Ecthelion was not in the very best health any more, but as ever, her own little family took priority in her mind.

Faramir was healthy, thanks to her gentle love and patience, as well as (she had no doubt) the hours Boromir had spent sitting by the crib, childishly chattering about what they were going to do together when Faramir was well and older. No big brother had ever made such brilliant plans. Together they would go to the moon, walk on water and bring a law into Gondor banning all manners of vegetables. When he was Steward, the precocious six year old declared, the three courses ate at meals would be dessert, dessert and finally, dessert.

But if she and her eldest son had bonded with Faramir, her husband had not. She recalled how when she had been big with their first child, Denethor had slept by her side every night, stroking, talking and occasionally even singing to the bump that was Boromir. When she had been carrying Faramir, he had been at war.

Faramir cried when his father picked him up. Denethor felt frustrated that his efforts as a father were not rewarded with winning smiles and firm embraces they always were with Boromir.

And the rift had begun to open.

Nine

A quiet, long, lonely summer. Denethor was at war once more. Boromir was sulky at seven and Faramir well and truly went through the terrible twos.

Finduilas wrote long loving letters to her husband about the boy's progress to receive quickly scribbled notes in reply. Denethor was exhausted every day and hasty greetings were all he could manage if he was not to break down and admit his longing to join them.

Ten

A renaissance.

The Shadow was at bay for the time being and Denethor was on the bay of Dol Amroth with his family. All three of Finduilas' boys built defensive sandcastles together only for their walls to be breached by the oncoming tide.

At sunset, she walked with Denethor; the two of them bare foot in the sand, his tunic unbuttoned. His proud face relaxed into the boyish features she had fallen in love with a decade before. He pushed loving kisses to her forehead as she leant against his broad shoulder.

However, they never seemed to walk the entire stretch of the beach before their mischievous, impish lads coaxed their father into the sea where they would frolic together until their fingers had wrinkled and their hands were cold.

As they made their way up the beach to where Finduilas had sat watching with the towels one night, Boromir ran ahead of his brother and father. Faramir was clearly tired and going to slow for his big brothers liking, his little legs exhausted from a hard days playing and running around. Denethor at first had just held his hand as he kept pace with him, but before long had swopped down and took the lad in his strong arms. Faramir had basked in Denethor's good mood and had nuzzled sleepily into his papa's neck.

Even though she was out of ear shot, Finduilas knew what her husband had told her son as he had rubbed his back gently.

"I love you, little son of mine."

Eleven

Summer was meant to have brought relief to the family of four that year, as they returned to the shores of Dol Amroth, different people to who they had been when they left for Minas Tirith a year before.

Denethor was suddenly Steward. Boromir was heir to the seat of Gondor. One life existed between a nine year old and the rule of an entire country.

Finduilas was greying. Her heart was heavy and troubled and the illness she had been battling for so long begun to take sway of her. But she put on a brave face as they spent days by the sea, even if they were interrupted by the day to day business of government. Not a day went by without Denethor needing to make a decision for the welfare of the country.

And all this while they tried to grieve for Ecthelion, the head of their family; the cozy, if grumpy, grandfather who Faramir and Boromir had adored.

Half way through the summer, Denethor had to return to White City. His duty to his people had to come before his family now.

Boromir continued to make sandcastles with Faramir, but he wanted to cry when they were washed away by the sea that summer – a feeling he had never had before. He comforted himself that it didn't really matter. His and Faramir's were never as good as their papa's were anyway.

Twelve

No sandcastles. No running around. No evening strolls. Just quiet for mama...

Denethor was called back to the city more than once that summer, but he dealt with everything as efficiently as he could from Dol Amroth. He would not have what little peace his wife found their disturbed. And he would not leave her then. He would barely leave her side.

He held Finduilas tenderly and carefully, as if she would crumble in his arms. The boys were let into see her once a day for half an hour. Finduilas was very ill and Denethor's heart told him she would not return to her childhood home the next year.

A week before they were due to leave, she requested they go to Minas Tirith immediately. She is the Stewardess of Gondor and even if she cannot bear what lies to the east of that city, she had to be there when it happened.

Denethor had taken her hand and kissed it before averting his tear filled eyes from her. She was not the only one who left the seaside never to return that year...

Thirteen

Boromir and Faramir were under their uncle's wardship that summer in Dol Amroth. The boys spent their days reading, sleeping and doing very little else as they as they tried to recover their broken hearts. Their favourite holiday was now nothing more than a place where ghosts roamed free.

The ghost of their dear, departed mother danced on the shore with the ghost of a man who smiled and laughed, and who in another life had picked them up and spun them round...

If Boromir saw a sandcastle that summer, he angrily kicked it down till it was no more.

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