Pyre of Illusion
By: Tindomiel
Summary: As Eowyn of Ithilien prepares for a turning point in her married life, politics from afar and fears of madness threaten to destroy all that she has created. She must battle against her worst nightmare turned reality: a vision of her father-in-law.
Prologue: The Madness of Denethor
In times of peace and plenty, few remember history.
Real events, battles and coronations that happened decades ago become just another historical fact as the next generation are born free of the memories. Victories, defeats, strife and turmoil turn into another statement on a scrap of parchment. History records facts meaningless to those who do not know them.
Facts become legend: tales and sagas of the days that were Great, told from mother to child until an entire generation is imprinted with the stories in their head. These are the children who know nothing save what they are told, and believe it all. From reality is born legend; fairytales and myths that no one will try to disprove or contradict.
And the tale passes from scroll to scroll, from mouth to mouth. And what were once interesting facts become little yarns, told by the fireplace, with added horror to scare the young and exaggerated romance inserted for unmarried girls. These are the 'tales' the simple folk know and love, and they eventually and always inevitably reach the lips of the Old Wife.
Who then tells it to the Crown Prince of Gondor.
"But Mamee, why is he up there?" Eldarion asked his nurse as she wetted his hair with water on a comb, pulling it through his soft black hair.
She was a large figure, big and cuddly, and much more fleshy than he own mama, he always thought. His mama was pretty, but the only stories she knew were about Elves that had been told to her by her father, Eldarion's grandfather, and were always about times long ago in a land he'd never heard of.
"Alas, my child! The poor soul spent his life striving, and his death was only a struggle of a mad soul. His ghost haunts the tower forevermore..." Mareth, or Mamee, as Eldarion called her, knew lots of stories. She had been a young girl during the legendary War of the Ring, and knew hundreds of stories from that time. He liked her stories because there were always interesting deaths in each one.
"So what did he do with the Black Ball?" the boy asked, eyes shining, knowing the whole tale, but wanting to savour it once again.
"'Tis called a Palantir, my sweet." Mamee cooed gently, and continued with the story, "The Steward used it to find out things in the world like a far- seeing eye – he thought he was strong enough – but he was sadly fooled. The Dark Lord knew all that went on, and cruelly used the ball to show him images of evil," here she lowered her voice into a conspiratal whisper. The young boy edged nearer, excited by the tale, "And the Steward was strong at first..."
"And then what happened Mamee?"
"Aye, a poor, terrible thing," the old nurse shook her head, as if herself saddened by the tale, "The Steward's own son, who had so valiantly guarded his land, had left to seek counsel from the Elves. The son had quested to save the world from Sauron –but alas! – He was killed tragically. He was a noble man, and a comrade to your own father, but his mind was led awry, and he committed a bad deed. In guilt, the son died; died to save his friends and comrades."
Eldarion's eyes shone, as in sympathy for the renowned man. He felt smug, that his own father had known this man, but he knew his father was also very great, oh yes. He said nothing, waiting for his nurse to proceed with the tale.
"The poor Steward, already mightily troubled by the Dark Lord's forces, sank even deeper into depression. He loved his elder son, very much so. Perhaps he should have showed equal love to his younger child; but he became hard, and cold, and misjudged. He would not relinquish his power, and knew he was fighting a losing battle."
"How did he die? How did he die?" Eldarion cried, showing far more morbid enthusiasm than was healthy for a child of four.
"Before he died, he did something terrible. For you see, now the elder son was gone, it was up to the younger son to lead the armies against the oncoming Darkness. Ay, young Faramir was strong, and brave, just like his brother – but it was never enough to his father, the Steward. Denethor sank into the Palantir more and more, and his mind was clouded by black lies. When Faramir was wounded in battle, his father believed it was fatal, and the grief took away the last of him."
Eldarion held his breath for what was coming.
"Denethor built a pyre – a burning grave. He took his son's unmoving body, and placed it on a pyre of wood - not realising that his son was still alive! He poured oil onto his son and himself, and ordered the pyre... alighted." The nurse's wrinkled eyes flashed, and the child-prince gasped.
"But what happened to the son? What happened to Faramir!" the boy cried. Mamee laughed.
"Fear not. Faramir lived, due to some brave men who arrived in the nick of time. Pippin brought the wizard Gandalf just in time, and Faramir was saved." Eldarion nodded, relieved. He knew the familiar names, even though Pippin was actually Peregrin, and Thain of the Shire. The hobbit had sent him birthday presents on a fair few occasions.
"...But this act enraged Denethor. And though his son was rescued from the flames, he would himself burn... and burn he did. He threw himself on the fire, and there was nothing anyone could do by then. All that time, he clasped the black orb of the Palantir tight in his hands... and he burned."
If Eldarion's eyes were any wider, there would have been danger of him losing them altogether.
"Faramir lived happily ever after, and still is. He fell in love with a brave shieldmaiden, the white lady of Rohan."
"Aunt Eowyn?"
"That's right. And he's coming to visit you today, so don't mess around and don't get your clothes dirty."
Thus, the soft atmosphere of reality returned to the nursery.
The nurse stood from her nursery chair, and finished what she started with, before the story: combing the boy's hair.
"Don't ask inappropriate questions, and don't always stare at the floor, understood?" the young prince nodded, and the two stood up. Silently, they waited, and Mamee bent down every now and then to straighten his boots, or his collar.
The door opened, and a tall man came in. He was middle aged, broad of shoulder, and dressed in rich robes, with a leather tunic bearing the tree of Gondor. Eldarion smiled because uncle Faramir was always kind to him, and usually brought presents.
"Eldarion!" Faramir chuckled, and ruffled Eldarion's just-neat hair, "You will love what I have brought today."
"Is auntie with you?"
"No, I'm afraid Auntie Eowyn stayed behind this time. I am sure she misses you. You must come to ours, and tell your parents to bring you. But she has sent her own gift too. Here is mine first..."
Seemingly from nowhere, Faramir produced a miniature bow of a mock-Elven design, with horsehair for string and a small quiver of arrows made from paper and reeds. He watched the happy smile on the child's face, and let him play with his new birthday present.
"Do you want to see Auntie Eowyn's gift too?"
Eldarion nodded, and Faramir brought out a small box of sky blue. He opened it and took out a small lamb, made completely out of wood, with the head and four feet painted black, and curly designs to imitate wool. Instead of the tail though, there was a wooden bead. Faramir pulled the bead away from the sheep, pulling out a length of string. The bead was pulled back by a mechanism, and as the string moved back into the sheep, a strange noise was emitted.
"It's baa-ing!" Eldarion cried in delight, "Baa baa!" Faramir laughed at this. The nurse was astonished, and Faramir had to explain that no, it wasn't magic, merely clockwork, and a few gears made of polished willow bark for the sound effects. He let the child play with the toy, and watched his happy, carefree face. Later, there would be conferences held, and things discussed in Elessar's hall. But now, he enjoyed this little conference with Elessar's son. But the child had put the toy down.
"Uncle Faramir?"
"Yes, Eldarion?"
"Why did your father try to burn you?"
From behind the boy, Mamee squeezed her eyes shut in exasperation. Faramir did not answer, feeling a hot sharp sensation on his face he would rather forget.
There was silence in the nursery. Faramir wondered exactly how to reply, and decided he had better not. Instead he picked up his cloak.
Eldarion didn't understand why Faramir was leaving so suddenly. The kind man went to the door, a pained expression on his face. At the doorway, he turned. His features were streaked with grief. He gave Eldarion a pitiful look.
"Because he was mad, Eldarion. Because he was mad."
The door shut.