By: Friend of Gondor
Rated: G
Genre: Drabble - a little angsty
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: The words are mine, but the name's belong to Tolkien. Believe me, nobody paid me for this.
Call it what you will. Some would not call hate too strong a word. Not when the fate of my mother, nor that of my brother is considered. The first dead of neglect and sorrow, the people say, the second of pride, those same people whisper. And myself? Not dead, but not for lack of attempt.
He was my father. Does that word not entail some responsibility, some depth of feeling? As a boy I would peek at him from behind sentinels standing stalwart, he so proud and tall. That he should even consider making speech with me I counted fortune beyond my worth. How Boromir laughed! "Come. He is your father. We will go together."
With insistent hand extended, my brother waited patient on my verdict, but it was never any choice. Where my brother directed, I would go. Boromir was right. He was my father. And when I went with my brother, I was glad I'd acquiesced.
People call him a hard man, but a good Steward. A hard man, but also my father. The wizard made what explanation he would, yet how can Denethor's act be counted anything other than what it was? An act of love.
Rated: G
Genre: Drabble - a little angsty
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: The words are mine, but the name's belong to Tolkien. Believe me, nobody paid me for this.
Call it what you will. Some would not call hate too strong a word. Not when the fate of my mother, nor that of my brother is considered. The first dead of neglect and sorrow, the people say, the second of pride, those same people whisper. And myself? Not dead, but not for lack of attempt.
He was my father. Does that word not entail some responsibility, some depth of feeling? As a boy I would peek at him from behind sentinels standing stalwart, he so proud and tall. That he should even consider making speech with me I counted fortune beyond my worth. How Boromir laughed! "Come. He is your father. We will go together."
With insistent hand extended, my brother waited patient on my verdict, but it was never any choice. Where my brother directed, I would go. Boromir was right. He was my father. And when I went with my brother, I was glad I'd acquiesced.
People call him a hard man, but a good Steward. A hard man, but also my father. The wizard made what explanation he would, yet how can Denethor's act be counted anything other than what it was? An act of love.