Denethor leaned closer still, unwilling to miss a breath, and Finduilas whispered, "When thou tookest me to wife, my heart sang. It sings still." Save not with the song of the sea, nor with strength enough for life.
He closed his eyes, steeling himself for her next words, as he could not for half a century alone.
"Yet, my lord," Finduilas advanced: unmerciful, unstoppable, "I would not have our sons grow into thy image."
"I, too, would see peace," Denethor promised. She nodded but spoke not.
She'd grown cold when he arose and ascended to take up his new burden.