Chapter XIV – Fighting Back

17 Narwain, T.A. 3001

I am so lonely. The ones I love the most ever seem to be the furthest away from my heart. This day is a day that will never leave my memory, for it was a blacker day than any I have seen. Ai, I am so very lonely…

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Two brothers sat upon the stone wall of the Citadel, hurling pebbles absently into the pool of clear water that surrounded the White Tree. The Citadel Guards watched them warily but said nothing. It was a frequent pastime of the Lords Boromir and Faramir, even now that Boromir had grown to manhood.

"How can you stand it?" asked Faramir softly, bowing his head between his shoulders.

"Stand what?" asked Boromir, aiming a pebble for the far side of the pool where a feather floated, twirling about on the surface. The stone hit its mark perfectly.

"Battle."

Boromir shrugged. "It is exciting. It sends such a thrill through my heart. It… I cannot explain it. It is strange."

"What do you mean, strange?" Faramir aimed his pebble for a root of the White Tree that stuck up out of the pool. The shot missed but landed nearby.

"I don't know. You've been in battle. You ought to know what I mean, Fari."

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry."

"I just…" Faramir let his hand fall before he threw another pebble, and he rolled it about in his hand. It was soft, smooth, and almost perfectly spherical. "You love it so. I can see it. Everyone can see it. It is written in yours eyes. For me… I-I would rather die than face it again. I do not understand how you can go on when you watch your friends die…"

"I have never seen a friend die," said Boromir softly. Faramir closed his eyes, biting back tears. "I suppose it is… Well, it is strange, as I said. It is like knowing…that you're the only one who can do what you're about to do. And then you do it. And that feeling… That…that triumph… Faramir, if you could understand what I meant… Long has Gondor been overshadowed by the evil of Mordor. There may come a time very soon when everything you and I have known will become a thing of the past. Very soon, Faramir, there may come a time when darkness comes to Gondor once more. I…I can feel it. I cannot explain it. The battle you and I will fight then… Oh, Faramir, it will be the greatest victory the world has ever seen! We will defeat the darkness, Faramir. You and I, together. What greater purpose is there for Man than that?"

"I cannot believe that it is the purpose of Man to slay hordes of mindless creatures, to wander beneath black skies and an ever-growing danger." Faramir shook his head. "You speak of dreams, Boromir. Of fantasies. War is not really like that."

Boromir was silent, and Faramir finally threw his pebble into the water. It fell with a soft kerplunk.

"Father would have me fight," whispered Faramir. "Captain Seregorn would have me fight. Mablung, Damrod… All of them. They hate me so…"

"That is not true, Faramir, and you know that," said Boromir sternly. "They simply do not understand why you would—"

"Boromir, I know that Mablung sent you to talk to me." Faramir looked down. "You don't have to pretend. But I cannot do what they want of me. I cannot fight. Boromir, I hate it so much. Please, do not make me fight!"

"No one is going to make you fight, Faramir."

"Father will…"

"How can he make you fight?"

"I do not know, but he will find a way."

"You are such an accomplished archer…"

"What right is it of mine, of yours, of anyone's to decide who should live and who should die?" snapped Faramir. "What right have we to determine a man's fate? Who decided Aerandir's fate? Can you tell me that? Who decided that Aerandir had to die?"

"Faramir, some things are beyond our grasp…"

"Don't quote Mithrandir!" shouted Faramir. "You don't like him any more than Father does! You're only trying to make me feel better!"

"Isn't that what I am supposed to be doing?"

"No! You cannot make me feel better! You don't understand, and you don't want to! You've never wanted to!"

Boromir sighed. "Faramir."

"Stop treating me like a child!"

"I am not treating you like a child! For Eru's sake, Faramir! Oh, I give up!" Boromir stood and stormed off angrily, and Faramir clenched his hands into fists and wept silent, bitter tears. He was being horrible to Boromir, and he didn't care. Boromir always thought he knew better. He always had to force his way whenever he didn't get the answer he wanted. Selfish, cold, childlike. Faramir's anger dissipated as he realized that he was describing not Boromir, but himself.

Boromir and Denethor were always so patient with him. They were continually forced to tolerate his inadequacy, his flaws, his hesitations.

"I do not deserve them," whispered Faramir. "I have never deserved them… I just want to be better… Why can't I be better?"

"Lord Faramir." A servant bowed before him, and Faramir turned absently. "Your father requests an audience with you." Faramir shivered and hurried towards the Tower where his father would be waiting for him. The huge black doors swung open silently on their hinges, and Faramir passed slowly down the hall between rows of stone statues.

Faramir fell to one knee before his father. "You summoned me, my Lord?" he asked softly, his eyes cast upon the ground. He already knew the look that would pierce him the moment he looked up, and he dreaded it.

"Captain Seregorn will be informing the boy's parents tomorrow," said Denethor coolly, folding his hands in front of him. "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Faramir was silent. What did he have to say for himself? What was there to be said? He had made a mistake, Aerandir had died, and there was nothing he could do to change that. Faramir struggled to find words to speak, but nothing came out of his mouth.

"Speak, boy!"

"I…" Faramir shook his head. "I have nothing to say, sir. I have no excuses. I know the weight of my error, and I am ready and willing to bear punishment for it. Whatever you command, Father…"

Both said nothing for a long while, and silence crept between them like the deathly quiet of a winter's midnight when the cold penetrates the heart and stops the blood so that all motion and thought cease to exist. At long last, Denethor stood and marched solemnly towards the doors at the end of the hall.

"Come," he said gravely. Faramir followed him obediently, trying to imagine what punishment could possibly be fitting for him. He scarcely paid attention to where Denethor was leading him until he heard the clang-clack-swish of a fencing court. It was then that Faramir realized what his father intended to do.

"Please, Father," said Faramir breathlessly. "Do not do this to me… I beg of you…"

"Silence," said Denethor simply, quieting his son with a single word. "You will do what I command. No more and no less. Choose your sword."

Denethor ordered the occupants of the court to leave, and the father and son were left alone with each other. Denethor unsheathed his own blade, the same blade that, it was said, he had wielded when he fought side by side with the mysterious Thorongil, war hero of Gondor's past. The blade gleamed wickedly in the pale morning light, and Faramir steadied his breath with difficulty.

"I-I cannot fight you," stammered Faramir.

"And why is that?" Denethor demanded.

"I… You are my father," said Faramir, almost pleading.

"Yes," said Denethor sternly. "And it is past time your father teaches you a lesson in responsibility that you shan't easily forget. Choose your sword."

Faramir remembered what Mithrandir had said about becoming a puppet beneath Denethor's shadow, and his fear suddenly melted away. "No," he said firmly. "I will not fight you. I will not fight anyone. You cannot force me to fight."

Denethor launched himself towards Faramir was surprising speed, and Faramir barely managed to dodge the swift strike. Caught off guard by the sudden attack, Faramir stumbled. Denethor took advantage of the moment to place a kick behind Faramir's knee and send him toppling to the ground.

"Choose your sword," said Denethor with slow deliberation, standing over his son.

"No!" cried Faramir. "I will not!"

Denethor seized Faramir by his tunic and dragged him upright, shoving him viciously towards the sword rack. "Choose your sword, or face me unarmed," said Denethor warningly.

Faramir was shaking, but he refused to back down. "I will not fight."

Denethor sprang towards him again, but Faramir stood his ground. Denethor did not allow the blade to strike Faramir, but he slammed into his son hard and sent him flying backwards. Blow after blow swung towards Faramir, and he barely managed to dodge as Denethor relentless pushed him harder.

At last Faramir felt his breath coming with difficulty, and he grew slow with the pain. He had no other choice. His father had left him no other choice, just as he had intended. Faramir pulled a sword from the rack and deflected Denethor's sword before it could reach him. Denethor smirked and redoubled the effort of his attacks. With each forced blow, Faramir grew weaker, but Denethor seemed only to grow stronger, invigorated by the tears that began to spill from Faramir's eyes.

"Please, Father," said Faramir, kneeling on the ground as he managed to parry anther attack. "Please…I cannot do this… I-I am not strong enough. I cannot fight. I surrender…"

"No!" snarled Denethor furiously. "No, Faramir! You are missing the point of your punishment! You cannot surrender! You will never surrender!" Denethor slid his sword down Faramir's, and though the two blades caught at the crossguard, it allowed Denethor to force more brute strength into his attack. Unable to fight off the intensity of his father's onslaught, Faramir released his blade and gasped in pain as he stared at his fingers. The coiled wire of the hilt had cut into his flesh, and blood dripped from the small wounds.

"Pick up your sword!" shouted Denethor. "Pick it up! Fight!"

Faramir threw up his arms as defense when his father raised his sword again. "I can't…" he whispered in pain.

"Do as I say!"

Anger flashed through Faramir's eyes. "Don't tell me what to do."

"I am your father, and you will bow before my every command," said Denethor coldly.

Faramir seized his sword, his muscles taut from stress. "I will not."

"You have no choice. My will is incontestable. Do as I say."

"I have a will of my own!" shouted Faramir. "I will not let you treat me like an animal!"

The hatred in Denethor's eyes grew. "I treat you as what you are. If I treat you like an animal, it is because your uses are no better than an animal's."

"That's not true!" Faramir threw himself into the fight, clashing swords with his father. He could see the loathing behind Denethor's eyes, and it filled him with pain and hurt. Denethor considered him lower than the dust of his feet, lower than dirt. He was worthless in his father's eyes, and he was tired of being worthless. He would not be worthless any longer. Slowly he began to beat his father back, pressuring him into using more elaborate moves, tiring him, using his age as an advantage against him.

"Oh, it is true," said Denethor, his voice dangerously quiet. "What do you have to prove to me, Faramir? How can you show me that you have worth?"

"I will do whatever I must," said Faramir through clenched teeth, matching his strength against his father's as each tried to knock the other off balance.

Denethor spun out of the lock and brought an elbow around to connect with his son's face. The blow split Faramir's lip, and in a daze he dropped his guard. Denethor lifted the pommel of his sword and struck Faramir's head sharply. Faramir fell to the ground, and he wheezed painfully as his breath was knocked out of him. The coppery taste of blood stung his lips, and his head was ringing with agony. With every muscle in his body, he tried to push himself up, but he was in such pain…

"Get up."

Faramir gasped, feeling the strain on his body beginning to take its toll. The anger and frustration that had fueled him vanished the instant he hit the ground. Who was he trying to fool? He had nothing to prove, nothing to gain by winning. His father would never believe him to be of worth. He would always be the second born, second best.

"I said, get up."

"I-I can't…"

The whistle of a blade slicing through the air gave him just enough warning to roll rapidly to the side to dodge his father's sword. Bruises screamed at him, purpling after the abuse they had suffered. Panting, Faramir finally managed to pull himself to his feet and swing his sword up in time to block Denethor's blow, but he gritted his teeth in pain as his arm began shaking from the pressure.

Denethor's eyes narrowed on his. "Fight back," he snarled ruthlessly. "Defend yourself, prove to me that you did not kill Aerandir."

Faramir grasped the hilt of his blade with both hands and strove to shove his father's sword back, but with a quick move Denethor dislodged the blade from his hands and tripped him. Faramir crashed to the ground again, and he felt his bruised body grow weaker.

"But you cannot prove that to me, can you, Faramir?"

Faramir slowly pushed himself up from the ground and retrieved his sword. His footwork was clumsy and sluggish compared with his father's finesse and precision. Denethor clashed blades with Faramir again and once more proved to be stronger, hurling Faramir back against the wall of the training court. Faramir's chest heaved for air, and he desperately wiped the sweat out of his eyes as Denethor charged at him.

"Fight back!" bellowed Denethor, swinging his blade towards his son. This time, Faramir could not parry fast enough. The tip of his father's blade slid under Faramir's chin, resting with deadly chill against his throat. Denethor's cold gaze seemed to bore through his very flesh.

"You cannot prove it to me, because you know that you did kill Aerandir. You a son of lords, Faramir. It is time you begin to take responsibility for your actions." Denethor pressed the sword harder against his son's neck, and Faramir shivered. "If there is one thing I have taught you, it is that you must never run away from your fears. Confront your fears, Faramir. Confront the truth. You killed Aerandir, and you will suffer for it. You shamed me before all of Gondor. This is my vengeance upon you. Mark it well. Next time I will not be so forgiving. Next time, Faramir, you will fight back, or you will die. So you tell me, Faramir. Will there be a next time?"

"No, sir."

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Narwain

(January)

Ai

(Alas)