Disclaimer - I do not own the wonder which is Lord of the Rings.
A/N This is my first Lord of the Rings fic, so be nice!! It's Denethor centric, as a lot of people left the cinema hating Denethor. But I believe him to be a truly tragic figure, not deserving hate but pity. This is his story.
All Shall Fade.
Prologue.
Who was Denethor? Just another Steward to govern Gondor, in the stead of the King. Or was he? Denethor ruled during the War of Ring, he made the decisions which would untimely make or brake their victory.
He was born in the year 2930, the son of Ecthelion. He grew a proud ruthless child, of little principles. His father taught him to be strong in battle, and stubborn in ruling. Did he take on board these principles, when he finally became the Steward at the age of 54? This is Denethor's Story.
Chapter One. Galdor.
Denethor was twenty one years of age when his life took a drastic turn for the worse. He had spent the previous years roaming the borders of Gondor, fighting away Sauron's minions, protecting the White City. Gondor was important to him, he loved the beautiful city, and would do anything to save it from attack. They kept their distance from Rohan, who provided neither aid nor assistance. Theoden sat on his throne, turning a blind eye to history, to the present and the future.
And then when Denethor reached twenty one, after almost eight years of fighting experience, Sauron returned to Mordor.
The shadow and threat grew, expanding it's boundaries. The orcs began fiercer, more determined, more organised. And all the while Sauron built up his defences, rebuilding his tower and his armies. He was taking over Middle Earth.
"Finduilas, I beg of you to leave here." He said to his wife, kneeling before her. Her beauty was rarely out done. She had true grace about her, and was beloved by all. She was originally a lady of Dol Amroth, the daughter of Adrahil.
"I cannot leave you and the boys." She told him. He stood up and kissed her.
"I was both hoping and dreading that answer." He led her outside, where the rising smoke from Mordor could be seen for miles.
"He will try to take Gondor."
"You must call to Rohan." His wife pleaded. She gripped his hands with sadness.
"Rohan?" Denethor exclaimed. "Rohan cannot help us, and nor would they. We shall defend our own city."
"Do not die because you are scared of asking for aid." Her voice was soft and soothing.
For all their arguments and harsh words, Denethor and Finduilas loved each other. There was space for no other in each of their hearts, except perhaps their sons Faramir and Boromir.
Both were trained in the arts of war, though they competed shamelessly with each other. Sword fighting was a skill possessed greatly by Faramir, but he lacked judgement. Whereas Boromir was stubborn, and refused to back down once he had an idea planted in his head.
"The shadow grows." Galdor said, as he came up beside them. Galdor was one of Denethor's closest friends, they had fought side by side against the orc scum that plagued their lands. They had grown up together, learning the arts of war in these dark times. "My Lady." He said, bowing his head towards Finduilas. "It has been growing for some time now." Denethor replied, not turning to look at his friend.
"And we are the frontline troops."
"Not yet, as I said it has been growing, I have been watching carefully." Denethor explained. "They are not coming to attack as of yet. His army grows larger every day. He makes new alliances. . ."
"Then so should we."
"Alliances? With whom?" Denethor asked sharply.
Galdor sighed and shook his head. Denethor certainly was a stubborn man, who argued his point strongly. If he wanted to sit back and watch the Orcs take over, then it was up to him. Denethor claimed no creature, whether it be beast or man could breech the city walls of Minis Tirith.
"But it will not stop them trying." Was always Galdor's response.
He smiled glumly at Finduilas. "It's okay, Findulias, we shall not let the city fall."
"I have every faith in you." The lady bowed and left the men alone. She despised their talk of war, but knew it was unavoidable. They argued throughout the day over the growing threat of Sauron. Denethor was a tall, powerful man, stern in his opinions, and ready to do anything for the city he loved. Galdor was more reserved, he kept his thoughts to himself.
"How are your fine sons?" Galdor asked, as they returned inside to dine.
"Boromir and Faramir are both well, they are starting their training soon. I have high hopes for Boromir. He shall fight Sauron."
"If it comes to that." Galdor murmured, serenely.
"Trust me, my friend. We shall live to see Sauron attack."
Finduilas looked down as they passed. She desperately wished they lived in lighter times.
And so their sad story progressed.
They fought off the constant orc attacks, and tried to withdraw from the shadow that grew over them. The men of Gondor fought well, some fell in battle, many were injured. But as they died, young boys fresh from training stepped forward to take their place. And together they scoured the plains of Gondor in an attempt to flush it of the orc scum.
In the meantime Ecthelion II, the steward of Gondor, died leaving the job of ruling to his son. Denethor was ready to take over, he embraced his responsibilities, and prayed now he was in control he could battle sufficiently against Mordor. He was to be the twenty sixth steward of Gondor, and had to compare with the twenty five strong leaders that had ruled before him. But it was said that Denethor was the strongest and noblest steward Gondor had seen for a long time.
"He is at rest." Finduilas said, placing her soft hand on his shoulder.
They stood by the tomb of Ecthelion II, his final resting place.
"Are you ready to embrace your position, or will you back down?" Finduilas did not speak out loud, in fact her voice went straight into her husband's head.
"I am ready, I have fought for Gondor all my life, now I shall rule it." His fist clenched, as he turned from his father. Her hand fell from his cold shoulder.
"Do not make the mistakes your father made." She told him.
"What do you mean?" He demanded.
"Don't be so eager for victory, that you forget the most important thing. It is not far we go, but how we get there." She walked gracefully from the room, leaving Denethor to his thoughts.
As she left, young Faramir, only five years old ran to her, and she gathered him up in her arms.
He watched his wife as she stepped from the cold crypt. They had been married just eight years, and he could not imagine life without her presence. She seemed to light up his darkest moments, and could bring laughter and serenity when there was none.
He was ready to become steward, and lead Gondor to victory. He would do it for his father, for his sons, and most importantly, for himself.
A/N This is my first Lord of the Rings fic, so be nice!! It's Denethor centric, as a lot of people left the cinema hating Denethor. But I believe him to be a truly tragic figure, not deserving hate but pity. This is his story.
All Shall Fade.
Prologue.
Who was Denethor? Just another Steward to govern Gondor, in the stead of the King. Or was he? Denethor ruled during the War of Ring, he made the decisions which would untimely make or brake their victory.
He was born in the year 2930, the son of Ecthelion. He grew a proud ruthless child, of little principles. His father taught him to be strong in battle, and stubborn in ruling. Did he take on board these principles, when he finally became the Steward at the age of 54? This is Denethor's Story.
Chapter One. Galdor.
Denethor was twenty one years of age when his life took a drastic turn for the worse. He had spent the previous years roaming the borders of Gondor, fighting away Sauron's minions, protecting the White City. Gondor was important to him, he loved the beautiful city, and would do anything to save it from attack. They kept their distance from Rohan, who provided neither aid nor assistance. Theoden sat on his throne, turning a blind eye to history, to the present and the future.
And then when Denethor reached twenty one, after almost eight years of fighting experience, Sauron returned to Mordor.
The shadow and threat grew, expanding it's boundaries. The orcs began fiercer, more determined, more organised. And all the while Sauron built up his defences, rebuilding his tower and his armies. He was taking over Middle Earth.
"Finduilas, I beg of you to leave here." He said to his wife, kneeling before her. Her beauty was rarely out done. She had true grace about her, and was beloved by all. She was originally a lady of Dol Amroth, the daughter of Adrahil.
"I cannot leave you and the boys." She told him. He stood up and kissed her.
"I was both hoping and dreading that answer." He led her outside, where the rising smoke from Mordor could be seen for miles.
"He will try to take Gondor."
"You must call to Rohan." His wife pleaded. She gripped his hands with sadness.
"Rohan?" Denethor exclaimed. "Rohan cannot help us, and nor would they. We shall defend our own city."
"Do not die because you are scared of asking for aid." Her voice was soft and soothing.
For all their arguments and harsh words, Denethor and Finduilas loved each other. There was space for no other in each of their hearts, except perhaps their sons Faramir and Boromir.
Both were trained in the arts of war, though they competed shamelessly with each other. Sword fighting was a skill possessed greatly by Faramir, but he lacked judgement. Whereas Boromir was stubborn, and refused to back down once he had an idea planted in his head.
"The shadow grows." Galdor said, as he came up beside them. Galdor was one of Denethor's closest friends, they had fought side by side against the orc scum that plagued their lands. They had grown up together, learning the arts of war in these dark times. "My Lady." He said, bowing his head towards Finduilas. "It has been growing for some time now." Denethor replied, not turning to look at his friend.
"And we are the frontline troops."
"Not yet, as I said it has been growing, I have been watching carefully." Denethor explained. "They are not coming to attack as of yet. His army grows larger every day. He makes new alliances. . ."
"Then so should we."
"Alliances? With whom?" Denethor asked sharply.
Galdor sighed and shook his head. Denethor certainly was a stubborn man, who argued his point strongly. If he wanted to sit back and watch the Orcs take over, then it was up to him. Denethor claimed no creature, whether it be beast or man could breech the city walls of Minis Tirith.
"But it will not stop them trying." Was always Galdor's response.
He smiled glumly at Finduilas. "It's okay, Findulias, we shall not let the city fall."
"I have every faith in you." The lady bowed and left the men alone. She despised their talk of war, but knew it was unavoidable. They argued throughout the day over the growing threat of Sauron. Denethor was a tall, powerful man, stern in his opinions, and ready to do anything for the city he loved. Galdor was more reserved, he kept his thoughts to himself.
"How are your fine sons?" Galdor asked, as they returned inside to dine.
"Boromir and Faramir are both well, they are starting their training soon. I have high hopes for Boromir. He shall fight Sauron."
"If it comes to that." Galdor murmured, serenely.
"Trust me, my friend. We shall live to see Sauron attack."
Finduilas looked down as they passed. She desperately wished they lived in lighter times.
And so their sad story progressed.
They fought off the constant orc attacks, and tried to withdraw from the shadow that grew over them. The men of Gondor fought well, some fell in battle, many were injured. But as they died, young boys fresh from training stepped forward to take their place. And together they scoured the plains of Gondor in an attempt to flush it of the orc scum.
In the meantime Ecthelion II, the steward of Gondor, died leaving the job of ruling to his son. Denethor was ready to take over, he embraced his responsibilities, and prayed now he was in control he could battle sufficiently against Mordor. He was to be the twenty sixth steward of Gondor, and had to compare with the twenty five strong leaders that had ruled before him. But it was said that Denethor was the strongest and noblest steward Gondor had seen for a long time.
"He is at rest." Finduilas said, placing her soft hand on his shoulder.
They stood by the tomb of Ecthelion II, his final resting place.
"Are you ready to embrace your position, or will you back down?" Finduilas did not speak out loud, in fact her voice went straight into her husband's head.
"I am ready, I have fought for Gondor all my life, now I shall rule it." His fist clenched, as he turned from his father. Her hand fell from his cold shoulder.
"Do not make the mistakes your father made." She told him.
"What do you mean?" He demanded.
"Don't be so eager for victory, that you forget the most important thing. It is not far we go, but how we get there." She walked gracefully from the room, leaving Denethor to his thoughts.
As she left, young Faramir, only five years old ran to her, and she gathered him up in her arms.
He watched his wife as she stepped from the cold crypt. They had been married just eight years, and he could not imagine life without her presence. She seemed to light up his darkest moments, and could bring laughter and serenity when there was none.
He was ready to become steward, and lead Gondor to victory. He would do it for his father, for his sons, and most importantly, for himself.