Chap 25

Faramir blinked at the touch from his father. He wasn't sure if he were truly awake or if he were still in his dream. The thought of his father leaning over him, acknowledging his pain and hurt was overwhelming to say the least.

"Father?" he tentatively repeated the word as if he expected the figure to vanish like a wraith into thin air. "Am I dreaming?"

"No son. I am really here." Denethor assured him, giving his hand a squeeze.

Boromir held his breath waiting apprehensively to see how his brother would respond. Faramir studied his father for a moment before pulling his hand free of Denethor's grasp and shifting to look over at his brother. "Can I have some water?" he murmured softly.

"Of course, little brother."

The young man's hand shook as he took it. Boromir helped his lean up on his elbow and steadied him as he drank. He lay back completely exhausted by the simple movement. A grimace of pain traveled across his face.

"Are you hurting?" Denethor asked quietly.

Faramir's grey eyes flicked to his father's face. "No." His voice was flat and his face devoid of emotion as he answered his father. He shifted the blanket over him, pulling it up over his shoulders and curling up into a little ball on his side. His brother recognized the unspoken request and quickly shooed everyone out of the room. He was about to leave himself when his brother's voice stopped him. "Why was he here?"

Boromir hesitated over his reply. "He claims he wants to reconcile his relationship with you." He turned back to see a storm of confliction in his brother's eyes and face.

"Why?" Faramir muttered bitterly. "I've never mattered to him before. Perhaps he wants to put on a show for Theodred and the others of Rohan."

His elder brother sighed before sinking into the chair that their father had vacated. "I don't know, Miri. He's been here periodically for the last couple of days. Uncle says he's changed but I don't know what to believe."

"How? How could he change? Father has resented me since I was born! Why now?"

"Uncle gave him a letter that Mother wrote before you were born. I don't know what it said but Uncle said it affected Father deeply." Boromir ran a hand over his face absentmindedly pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. He leaned back and regarded his younger sibling. "What does your sight tell you?"

A ripple of a shrug ran across Faramir's back. "I'm not sure. He seems to be sincere but part of me is uncertain." His hand brushed over his cheeks and his voice cracked slightly, betraying his emotions.

Boromir pulled him into his arms, being careful of the wounds in his back. "Shh. Let it out little brother."

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Denethor slammed the study door behind him and dropped heavily into the chair behind his desk. A dark voice in the back of his mind whispered that his younger son hated him. He buried his face in his hands trying to ignore the words repeating themselves over and over. "It's not true." He muttered softly. The cadence rang through his brain. "It's not true!" Denethor shouted as he flung a glass pitcher of water against the far wall. "Faramir loves me! Boromir said it was so!"

"Yet it was Faramir that stole your precious Finduilas. Because of him, she is dead." The harsh voice murmured. "She loved him more than she did you. Why else would she have fought so hard to carry him?"

"She fought for him because he's her son and she believed he was a gift. He is a gift." The steward pressed his hands to his ears as if he could block out the words in his mind. Suddenly he rose and strode with quick purpose into his bedchamber just off the study. He uncorked a bottle of wine and splashed some of the liquid inside into a goblet. He downed the drink in two quick gulps before pouring himself a second draught. He drained it just as quickly before refilling the goblet one last time. He felt the tingle of the wine through his limbs as he relaxed on a low couch in the room. For a few moments, it seemed that he had succeeded in quenching the angry thoughts but as his eyes drifted closed into slumber, Finduilas's lifeless body swam before him.

His beloved's body was pale and limp. The sheets of her bed were covered in blood, her blood. In the corner, one of the healers held the swaddled body of his newborn son. She held the tiny bundle out to him but he ignored her. The child began to wail, his little hands reaching out towards his father. The cries rang in his ears as bile rose in his throat. A small part of him wondered at the sheer distain that rose in his breast. Surely the baby was not responsible for his mother's passing and yet he couldn't stop the feelings of rage. "Remove him for my sight." He snapped at the young woman before turning on his heel to kneel at his wife's bedside. He kissed her lips one last time before departing from the room.

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Faramir woke as early dawn began to streak the sky. He lay still as the birds began their morning songs. His emotions warred inside him as he struggled to come to terms with his father suddenly wanting to become a part of his life. He watched as the sun peeked over the horizon. Suddenly a tiny morning dove alighted on the window sill. He cocked his head watching it as it sat there chirping its greeting to the new day. Impulsive resolve filled him as he painfully rose from his bed. Grabbing his cloak, he wrapped the fabric around his body hiding the bandages that covered his back and leg. He froze at the soft snores near the fireplace. He glanced over to see his brother asleep on the floor, his head pillowed on his arm and his uncle in a chair next to him. His footsteps made no sound as he slipped out of the room and down the hall. He moved as swiftly as his injured leg would let him, hoping to avoid any of the healers or leeches that would send him back to his bed. Finally he was out of the healing house and progressing across the courtyard. The fresh air breathed life into his muscles pushing back the fatigue and pain. He paused for a moment looking out over the city as it gleamed in the early morning light. Finally he turned away and headed inside the Citadel, searching for his father. His heart pounded as he paused before the door to the study. His hand shook as he knocked on the heavy oaken door. Hearing no answer, he took a deep breath before pushing it open. A quick glance showed no trace of his father so he continued on into the bedchamber. He hesitated on the threshold, seeing his father asleep on the couch with the empty bottle of wine next to him on the floor. He turned away, sweeping his tears off his cheeks as he did.

"Faramir?" The young man jumped as his father slurred his name.

"Yes, Father?"

Denethor looked at him with eyes that were reddened with fatigue and wine. "I'm sorry, my son."

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