“Must I?” Denethor looked to his wife hopefully.
“Yes,” she chastised, frowning in a way that only made her more beautiful. “They’ve worked hard on this. You must acknowledge that. No matter how horrible it is.”
“Horrible? You’ve seen it then?”
Sighing Finduilas nodded. “Several times. They wanted it perfect.”
Denethor groaned, glancing with trepidation at the stage. “And it’s horrible?”
“Just asking,” he grumbled, slouching into his seat. “Can’t a man ask a simple question?”
“Shhh, here they come.”
Costumed, the two grinning thespians came forth. Clearing his throat, Boromir began. “Once there was a king of Gondor…”