This is my first attempt after being a lurker for some while. I'm really
nervous, but would welcome any constructive
criticism. I hope Denethor fans will forgive me - I have tried to portray
him as a man with human failings, unable to
cope with grief and guilt. I also wanted to put a new slant to the
relationship, or lack of, between he and Faramir.
I don't own the characters – they just own me. I have, however, borrowed them for a while.
THE SIN OF THE FATHER.
He didn't know what made him go to his son's bedchamber. Although the boy was ill, it hadn't really been a conscious decision, and he hesitated before pushing open the door.
He was sleeping, his face pale and his breathing shallow. The healers had said he was over the worst, but he looked fragile, and so very young. Familiar feelings of resentment surfaced as Denethor compared him to his elder, stronger son – a proud warrior of Gondor, not a lover of elves and wizards. The gentle Faramir was his mother's son, Denethor though ruefully, as memories of Finduilas came unbidden, and at that time, unwelcome, for he could hear her voice in his head, reminding him how much he had desired a second heir. He turned to leave, but for some reason, felt compelled to remain, almost mesmerized by the sleeping form of his youngest son.
How ironic that his wife had loved this child – the child he had wanted more than she, for Finduilas was in despair, and fearful of the world in which they lived, having no desire to bring another child into it. It was apparent from an early age that Faramir was different to his brother, who was Denethor's pride and joy. Finduilas said that together they would be a formidable team, with Boromir's military and tactical awareness, and Faramir's quick and logical mind – but Faramir was also of a gentle and sensitive nature, which Denethor perceived as weakness.
"You use it as an excuse!"
He put his hands to his ears, as though to shut out the words of Finduilas, but he knew they were coming from within – and he knew they were true.
He looked at Faramir, and the past 20 years raced through his mind – twenty years in which he had deprived his son of the attention and love he lavished so freely on his eldest. Where he gave Boromir praise, he gave only criticism to Faramir. Where Boromir was encouraged, Faramir was ridiculed by the implication of inadequacy.
"He is innocent!" Finduilas' words seemed so loud he thought Faramir would waken, and he did indeed stir, but his eyes remained closed. "INNOCENT!" The word echoed back and forth in his mind as though trying to reach his conscience.
It was almost an involuntary movement, but Denethor reached out and stroked the soft damp waves of hair away from his son's face. It was a strange sensation – he rarely touched Faramir, for it reminded him too much of Finduilas – and of that night.
He had been cajoling and coaxing her for months to give him another heir. He had asked her to do so for him, for Gondor, even for Boromir, but her mood was low, and his pressure just hardened her resolve. He loved her so much, his beautiful ethereal wife, but that night he lost all reason, and all sense of decency and honour. He knew that this was the time she would normally reject him – the time when a child was most likely to be conceived, but he would no longer be denied.
Afterwards, she had wept uncontrollably, and would not countenance his pleas for forgiveness, although his remorse and his shame were real.
Things were never the same for them after that night, and a difficult pregnancy and birth only served to compound his guilt. When he looked at his tiny newborn son, he felt no joy, for here was a constant reminder of his unforgiveable actions. Her mood and her body grew steadily weaker, and when Finduilas died five years later, Denethor found the guilt impossible to bear, and as he looked now upon his sick and vulnerable youngest, he knew in his heart that he had unjustly transferred to Faramir the blame for his own sin.
Suddenly, Faramir was awake, looking at his father with a mixture of confusion, hope, and to Denethor's shame, fear. For a brief moment, the Steward recognised the longing in the soulful, expressive blue-grey eyes for what it was, and his heart ached with a burst of love for this boy, the son he had longed for – but almost immediately, Faramir's eyes became those of Finduilas, and Denethor remembered the way she had looked at him when it was over – the desolation, the shock, and the total disbelief.
Denethor withdrew his hand from Faramir's brow and looked briefly at his son before leaving abruptly and without word, and he did not witness the tears that fell, as Faramir, not for the first time, or the last, cried alone.
I don't own the characters – they just own me. I have, however, borrowed them for a while.
THE SIN OF THE FATHER.
He didn't know what made him go to his son's bedchamber. Although the boy was ill, it hadn't really been a conscious decision, and he hesitated before pushing open the door.
He was sleeping, his face pale and his breathing shallow. The healers had said he was over the worst, but he looked fragile, and so very young. Familiar feelings of resentment surfaced as Denethor compared him to his elder, stronger son – a proud warrior of Gondor, not a lover of elves and wizards. The gentle Faramir was his mother's son, Denethor though ruefully, as memories of Finduilas came unbidden, and at that time, unwelcome, for he could hear her voice in his head, reminding him how much he had desired a second heir. He turned to leave, but for some reason, felt compelled to remain, almost mesmerized by the sleeping form of his youngest son.
How ironic that his wife had loved this child – the child he had wanted more than she, for Finduilas was in despair, and fearful of the world in which they lived, having no desire to bring another child into it. It was apparent from an early age that Faramir was different to his brother, who was Denethor's pride and joy. Finduilas said that together they would be a formidable team, with Boromir's military and tactical awareness, and Faramir's quick and logical mind – but Faramir was also of a gentle and sensitive nature, which Denethor perceived as weakness.
"You use it as an excuse!"
He put his hands to his ears, as though to shut out the words of Finduilas, but he knew they were coming from within – and he knew they were true.
He looked at Faramir, and the past 20 years raced through his mind – twenty years in which he had deprived his son of the attention and love he lavished so freely on his eldest. Where he gave Boromir praise, he gave only criticism to Faramir. Where Boromir was encouraged, Faramir was ridiculed by the implication of inadequacy.
"He is innocent!" Finduilas' words seemed so loud he thought Faramir would waken, and he did indeed stir, but his eyes remained closed. "INNOCENT!" The word echoed back and forth in his mind as though trying to reach his conscience.
It was almost an involuntary movement, but Denethor reached out and stroked the soft damp waves of hair away from his son's face. It was a strange sensation – he rarely touched Faramir, for it reminded him too much of Finduilas – and of that night.
He had been cajoling and coaxing her for months to give him another heir. He had asked her to do so for him, for Gondor, even for Boromir, but her mood was low, and his pressure just hardened her resolve. He loved her so much, his beautiful ethereal wife, but that night he lost all reason, and all sense of decency and honour. He knew that this was the time she would normally reject him – the time when a child was most likely to be conceived, but he would no longer be denied.
Afterwards, she had wept uncontrollably, and would not countenance his pleas for forgiveness, although his remorse and his shame were real.
Things were never the same for them after that night, and a difficult pregnancy and birth only served to compound his guilt. When he looked at his tiny newborn son, he felt no joy, for here was a constant reminder of his unforgiveable actions. Her mood and her body grew steadily weaker, and when Finduilas died five years later, Denethor found the guilt impossible to bear, and as he looked now upon his sick and vulnerable youngest, he knew in his heart that he had unjustly transferred to Faramir the blame for his own sin.
Suddenly, Faramir was awake, looking at his father with a mixture of confusion, hope, and to Denethor's shame, fear. For a brief moment, the Steward recognised the longing in the soulful, expressive blue-grey eyes for what it was, and his heart ached with a burst of love for this boy, the son he had longed for – but almost immediately, Faramir's eyes became those of Finduilas, and Denethor remembered the way she had looked at him when it was over – the desolation, the shock, and the total disbelief.
Denethor withdrew his hand from Faramir's brow and looked briefly at his son before leaving abruptly and without word, and he did not witness the tears that fell, as Faramir, not for the first time, or the last, cried alone.