Author's Note:

Disclaimer: Do not own.

All of my stories are interconnected but you do not need to read one to understand the other.

Companion stories of this story are "A Son Unblessed and Unthanked" and "Flawed".

Enjoy!

He was so proud. Two sons! And one after the other! It had brought him such pride that he could not dampen his smile as he stood before his council, not even when he brought appearance in the court. His wife stood beside him, seemingly so fragile but so strong to make an appearance in spite of her weariness and discomfort. He held his second son in his arms, wrapped in bundles that dwarfed his size, his firstborn trailing behind them.

Faramir he named him, and people whispered about it. Ill-fated, they called the child, to be given the name of the one who brought loss to Gondor long ago, but Denethor brushed it away, as did his wife's fears.

"Great shall my sons be." He said, as the nursemaid lifted the newborn from his father's arms and tended to him. "The doings of Men long past do not affect the namesakes of the Men in the present." Boromir played, in a corner, unheeding his parents' discussion.

oOo

He stood beside his two sons, all three of them garbed in black. The people with him were garbed in black as well, but what did they know of mourning of a loss so dear to them, and so heartbreaking? He looked upon the grave of his beloved, for she wished to be buried here in Minas Tirith beside where he would eventually join her. Her love for the Sea had been strong to end her life but she stayed, ever-dutiful.

When he returned, the wing for his family was silent and the servants' idle chatter was absent. The room he had with his wife was now in disarray, with her things littered about in the room, ready to be packed away or if the Steward wished, to be given away. But Denethor would not suffer to be parted from his beloved's things. Boromir lay on their-his bed, wrapped in the blankets. A cloak caught his attention, draped over one of the chairs by the fire.

He marveled the color of nightfall in the cloak, with stars embroidered in silver thread along the helm. It was a beautiful cloak, one Finduilas always loved and wore, much to his delight. But she will wear it no more. He looked up, seeing Faramir shadowing the slightly ajar door. The child's eyes were overly bright, but he held back his tears. This child had patience, Denethor thought inwardly. He will be capable of shouldering great pain and grave responsibility.

He sighed and placed the cloak carefully back in its wrappings before returning it to its case. Then he looked up and gestured at the boy. "Come, my son and sit by me." He turned his head slightly, but did not look fully at another boy snuggled in their-his bed. "You as well, Boromir."

The years passed by and Finduilas' things were placed back in their cases and chests, hidden from view but ever present in his mind. grave, they whispered of him behind his back. Turned cold and harsh, they said about him. but how could he be otherwise? Did they not understand duty? Did they not know the burden he was carrying?

Here he was, the Steward of Gondor, meant to rule on and on as the throne of the King remained empty. And there were whispers of war and the Enemy stirring in the East. He had two sons growing to manhood, ready to play not with wooden toys but weapons of war. His wife no longer stood beside him. and the duty upon his shoulders was overwhelming. Nay, he did not have time to be merry.

But a day came when Faramir had done well with his fellow young comrades. It was a day to rejoice and he placed a large feast in his honor as he had done for his firstborn before him. And when the feast had finished and they returned to the privacy of their wing, Denethor called his son to him.

"You may remember this," Denethor brought out a case and opened it for Faramir to see. The young man smiled, his eyes becoming bright in the light of the fire.

"Aye, I remember." For before him, laid his dear mother's cloak, well-preserved, the dye still fresh and the color had not faded and the silver stars were not frayed from age.

"I give this to you, as a gift, to give to a lady who would win your heart."

"A lady of high honor she should be indeed, for this cloak is fit for Queens."

oOo

The Palantir. It held his answers. He would seek what the Enemy is plotting against him and his people. He looked at the black shroud covering the object placed on top of a single round table in the middle of the small room. He brought up his hand, meaning to tear the shroud away but guilt and indecision warred in his heart. Foolishness, a part of him screamed.

Finally he convinced himself once again, he would take this shroud off again and he would see. He would see so that he knew what the Enemy was planning, and he would put a stop to it.

Little he did know he should not have seen into the palantir. For mixed into the true images were lies and his mind was being shrouded in thoughts against his own.

oOo

it did not take him long to see that the children were different from one another as the sky was different from the earth.

Boromir was straightforward, a man of steel rather than a man of thought. He followed orders well and he himself was a good commander. He never questioned his will and he followed his instructions to the letter.

Faramir, on the other hand, took after his wife in some and after himself in others. Much quieter than his brother, but keener in books as he himself had been. But he possessed his mother's tongue, quiet and gentle, questioning and advising at the same time. But to his inward relief, the two brothers were close. And that was important, in time. The Palantir had told him, though he did not know why.

So it was one day that Faramir was narrating stories he heard from the Grey Wizard over the old, forgotten lore of Gondor, of kings of old and their Elvish descents… and their eventual return.

"Foolish tales and stories told around the fire," Denethor scoffed, sitting beside his son. "You should not dwell on such thoughts, son of mine."

Faramir smiled slightly and fell silent.

oOo

Never had he felt this disappointment, as he looked upon this utter failure of a son. He glowered at him, staring him down, but Faramir stood straight, though his shoulders were lowered out of humility in his father's presence, as was his wont. But where the sight once brought affection in his heart, only made him feel more disgusted.

Weak… like the kings of old.

"You disobeyed my orders."

"I would have lost my men to it." Faramir said, a trace of apology visible in his voice before his expression crumbled. "Father, your men would have been lost to it."

"Here, I am your lord and you owe me your allegiance!"

Faramir opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. He conceded, lowering his eyes and falling silent.

Weak… just like his namesake.

oOo

He gave cry as the White Wizard carried his son away from him with a strength that belied his old age. Faramir stirred in his sleep , crying out for him and Denethor's heart tore in agony to hear his son's panicked call in his dream, as fathers' are wont to do. He wept, calling for him but Mithrandir still carried him away. He drew himself in full height, one snatching the torch from the hand of one of the servants and the other holding the Palantir aloft.

Fires leaped up, surrounding him in an unforgiving heat. He cried from the pain and screamed when it would not relent. Suddenly his vision became clear and his head lightened and was freed from all self-doubts. He remembered instantly the injustice he had caused and the trickery the Enemy had used upon him for his foolishness to use the Palantir… and the consequences of bringing ruin to his own house.

What had he done?

The door had closed but he did not hear it, lost in a world of pain before giving in to the death that awaited him.

Author's Note:

Truth be told, the first time I considered writing here in ffn regarding Gondor, I wanted to write about Denethor first. And when I read about Denethor the first time in LOTR, I thought "Ooooh, this is good. I like this guy already." Sad thing was that I made the mistake of reading Denethor fics here and not all of them were good, which kind of lessened my love for writing in this realm.

I loved the way Tolkien characterized his characters, making them seem three-dimensional and adding these beautiful pieces to the story to make a complete person. Denethor was a marvelous character. I mean, he was old and he grieved for Boromir, cast aside his second son in his grief but remembered him in the last moment before falling again to madness.

So this was just lying around; another character study. I have done a few, namely Celeborn, Thranduil, Maedhros and Fingon. Oh and also Elrond.