Finduilas of Dol Amroth - Character History

Character History

Named after Finduilas, an Elf-maiden of the First Age, Finduilas of Dol Amroth (2950–2988) was the daughter of Prince Adrahil II, and had an older sister Ivriniel in addition to her brother Imrahil.

In 2976 of the Third Age she was wed to the much older Denethor, son of Ecthelion II the Steward of Gondor. A description of Lady Finduilas is given in Appendix A of The Lord of the Rings The Return of the King: "She was a lady of great beauty and gentle heart, but before twelve years had passed she died. Denethor loved her, in his fashion, more dearly than any other, unless it were the elder of the sons that she bore him. But it seemed to men that she withered in the guarded city, as a flower of the seaward vales set upon a barren rock. The shadow in the east filled her with horror, and she turned her eyes ever south to the sea that she missed".

In 2978 she gave birth to a son Boromir, who became loved by his father. In 2983 she gave birth to her second son, Faramir, and after grew weak. Faramir was ignored by his father, and she did her best to raise him on her own.

In 2984 Ecthelion suddenly died, and Denethor became Steward of Gondor. The health of the Lady Finduilas further dwindled, and four years later she died at the very young age of thirty-eight (considering her heritage as a Dúnadan). Denethor never remarried, and "became more grim and silent than before". It was not long after her death that he "would sit long alone in his tower deep in thought, foreseeing that the assault of Mordor would come in his time". Thus he began using the palantír of Minas Tirith, and the despair fed to his mind led to his ultimate insanity and suicide some thirty-one years later.

Read more about this topic:  Finduilas Of Dol Amroth

Famous quotes containing the words character and/or history:

    In my experience, persons, when they are made the subject of conversation, though with a Friend, are commonly the most prosaic and trivial of facts. The universe seems bankrupt as soon as we begin to discuss the character of individuals. Our discourse all runs to slander, and our limits grow narrower as we advance. How is it that we are impelled to treat our old Friends so ill when we obtain new ones?
    Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)

    I am ashamed to see what a shallow village tale our so-called History is. How many times must we say Rome, and Paris, and Constantinople! What does Rome know of rat and lizard? What are Olympiads and Consulates to these neighboring systems of being? Nay, what food or experience or succor have they for the Esquimaux seal-hunter, or the Kanaka in his canoe, for the fisherman, the stevedore, the porter?
    Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)