Author's Note: Written for Rohwyn's birthday.


As the sun is setting, he follows its slow progress with weary eyes.

There are stripes of purple clouds stretching along the horizon, and the last sunrays colour their edges golden.

Slowly, the majestic sight blurs before his eyes, to be replaced by other pictures.

Now he is beside his father and mother.

A moment later, there is a tall, slender woman next to him, her hand touching his lightly; she dares to break the ritual by stealing a quick glance at him and smiling. It is but a fleeting moment, for then her eyes flash silent admonishment at the elder of their two children, who has just tried to tickle his little brother.

Next, she is gone, and with her a part of the sunset's radiance... There are two lads at the table with him, and then they change into grown men. One stares ahead with his usual determined air; the other seems to be absorbed in the soft light and in some thoughts of his own.

The sun finally sets, and he realizes he is alone in the candlelit chamber.

Denethor returns to the table and rings the bell for the servants to clear away the dinner, untouched.