Last Rites

"Lord Denethor? Are you all right?"

I leaned over the fallen figure of my Steward, who was stirring at last. Things were quiet in the highest circles of the city now, although the sounds of battle carried clearly from below. Mithrandir had taken charge of the defense and most men had followed him, but we household servants and the Steward's personal guard had felt that our proper place was to stay here, with our lord.

Lord Denethor's grey eyes opened and he blinked up at the darkening sky. Then his gaze shifted to me. "Yes...Gwindor, isn't it?"

I nodded, glad that he recognized me. We had all seen how a sudden fit seemed to take him, and how the wizard had struck him with his staff. We were shocked and did not entirely understand what had happened or why Mithrandir had dealt so harshly with him, but we hoped that his mind had not been permanently affected. The fact that he remembered my name was a good sign.

I extended my hand and helped him to his feet; he swayed a little as he stood, but seemed otherwise unharmed. He took a few steps forward to the wall and looked down on the massed armies below. The forces of Mordor were spread all across the Pelennor, making the field dark with orcs. Lord Denethor looked upon them with a grim face and shook his head slightly. "So," he said, "it was not a dream."

I said nothing. We watched as a massive stone was flung toward the city from a catapult on the field. It struck between the second and third levels, reducing a section of the wall to rubble. The Steward shuddered and closed his eyes for a second, as if he had felt the blow himself, then turned his back on the destruction below.

His eyes immediately went to the White Tree, which stood alone and bare now in the courtyard, and he clutched my arm. "Where have they taken him?" he asked hoarsely.

I did not need to ask what he spoke of. "Into the tower, my lord," I answered, feeling my throat tighten. "They felt it would be...more fitting to place him there than to leave him lying in the courtyard."

I followed him into the White Tower, where his son's body had been laid in the hall just outside the entrance to the throne room. A small lamp was burning by Faramir's head. Dagnir, another of the household servants, sat on a bench nearby as if keeping vigil. Lord Denethor dismissed him in a quiet voice, and he bowed and left. Once the heavy tower doors closed behind him, the sounds of fighting in the city faded almost completely away.

Denethor slowly sank to his knees beside the bier. For a long moment he remained there, without moving or speaking, watching the lamplight flicker across his son's still face. He seemed to have forgotten my presence, but he had not dismissed me, so I stayed.

One of Faramir's gloved hands rested on his body, just below the spot where a black arrow had pierced clean through his armor. Denethor stretched out his own hand and laid it on top of Faramir's for the space of a breath or two. Then he looked at the broken shaft protruding from the steel and his mouth tightened as if in anger. Bracing his other hand against the breastplate, he removed the arrow with a swift, sharp tug and laid it aside. The tip glistened in the lamplight--with blood, I realized, and I felt slightly sick. Next Denethor pulled the other arrow from Faramir's shoulder. It made a horrible sucking noise as it came out. I saw the Steward flinch at that, but his expression remained fixed in an intense frown of concentration.

He drew off his gloves, tucked them into his belt, and began to unbuckle the straps of the armor plates covering Faramir's shoulders. I stepped forward hesitantly, almost unwilling to intrude. "Shall I help you, my lord?"

Denethor swung around abruptly as if startled by my voice, and scowled at me. "No," he said sharply. "I am his father. I will do it. Now fetch me a basin of water and a cloth." I bowed and turned to go, but just as I reached the door, he called me back. "Where is the halfling Peregrin?"

"He has gone with the citadel guards. They were called down to the fighting on the lower levels." I thought it unwise to mention that it was Mithrandir who had sent for them.

"Why do they fight?" he said, almost to himself. "Can they not see that it is hopeless?" Then he sighed and bent back to his task, and I went to fetch the water. I did not hurry, thinking that Lord Denethor would most likely wish to be alone for a time. A good servant knows when to be absent.

By the time I returned, he had succeeded in removing all of Faramir's steel outer armor. It was stacked neatly at the foot of the bier. There was a heavy smell of blood in the air, and even in the dim light I could see great dark patches on the young man's green velvet coat around the holes where the arrows had been. I set down the basin of water by his head and offered the cloth to Denethor. Wordlessly he took it, dipped it in the water, and then gently began to wipe the dirt and blood from his son's face. Something had changed in the Steward's manner while I was away; all the anger and ill-temper had drained out of him, and I thought I could see the tracks of tears on his cheeks.

When he had finished, he folded the cloth twice and laid it over the side of the basin. "Have you a comb?" he asked me.

I shook my head. "No, my lord."

"No matter," he said softly, and smoothed Faramir's hair as best he could with his hand.

For a moment his touch lingered on his son's forehead. "I sent him forth," he whispered, "unthanked, unblessed, into needless peril--and now here he lies." He fell silent again, lost in thought.

Just then the tower doors were flung open, and Dagnir burst in. He bowed. "My lord," he said breathlessly, "the first circle of the city is afire. And the enemy has brought a great battering ram; I fear it is only a matter of time before the gates are breached." We could clearly hear the tumult of battle in the city through the open door, and see the reddish glow beyond the walls.

Lord Denethor rose to his feet and drew himself up majestically. His scowl had returned in force at the interruption, and with it a new, restless energy. "The city is burning, you say?" He took his gloves from his belt and pulled them on as he spoke. "Then we must all burn. Call six guards here, and then bring a torch and follow me. I will go to my pyre."

Author's Notes: This story was inspired by something I observed while watching The Return of the King: sometime before the Pyre scene, not only has someone removed Faramir's armor and pulled out the arrows, but his face has been washed too. I became oddly fascinated with the question of who did all that, and I eventually came to the conclusion that it must have been Denethor; wouldn't anyone else have realized that Pippin was right about Faramir being alive, and sent for a doctor? Particularly if it happened while Denethor was out cold?

So I sat down one evening and brainstormed what could be a missing scene for ROTK. This was in June 2004, before the release of the Extended Edition of The Return of the King. At the time, I thought something like this might perhaps be in the EE; now, it's simply a possibility for "what might have been."

I tried to bring movie-Denethor a teeny bit closer to book-Denethor here. I also gave him a couple of book-Denethor's lines, edited to fit the situation and the more conversational tone of the movie script. I simply had to have "I sent my son forth..." in some form during this scene! In my humble opinion, Denethor's remorse is the cornerstone of what keeps him from being simply an evil monster.

I had them take Faramir into the tower because in the movie, when Pippin runs up and sees the procession to Rath Dinen, it looks like they're just leaving a building. (Also, it's hard to believe anyone could concentrate on getting Faramir's armor off while being dive-bombed by nazgul!)

"Gwindor" and "Dagnir" are my own inventions. You can figure they're two of the non-uniformed men who run out of the tower with Denethor when Faramir is brought up, and who accompany him to the tomb. I borrowed their names from characters in The Silmarillion.

Thanks to Athelas63 for the title!