Paths of Peril -- A Dynasty Broken Book II
By Adara
This chapter returns the reader to Minas Tirith and how Denethor and Faramir are getting along. Keep in mind that Faramir is in love with the Princess Eledwhen. This chapter deals with Faramir's feelings toward his father, as well as Denethor's state of mind after his ordeal with Sauron. Eledwhen makes an appearance in a scene at the end. Something is not right in Lothlorien.
The Son Also Rises
Faramir was sitting at a huge oak desk in his father's study. For the past few weeks he had been forced by circumstances beyond his control to sit at this desk within his father's sanctuary and run the day-to-day activities of Gondor. He was not used to looking at the room from the Steward's perspective; always he stood on the other side, rigid, hands folded behind his back to hide the slight tremor as he faced his father's wrath. Faramir still did not feel comfortable in the room because it was filled with the ghosts of so many unpleasant memories. Even though he was now a man in his mid-thirties, his father could still intimidate him.
"Woolgathering, boy?" Faramir looked up to see his father standing in the study's entrance; he had not heard the door open. "Were I an assassin, you would be a dead man," Denethor said gravely as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. Faramir stifled a groan and stood up.
"Have you spoken with Prince Imrahil, Father?" Faramir watched the Steward walk over to a large table in the center of the room, upon which petitions and various and sundry documents had been spread out.
"I spent most of last night conferring with the Prince of Dol Amroth over the growing threat to Rohan near the Fords of Isen. Even though the King's daughter and my son were not married before they left Minas Tirith, Gondor is still duty bound to aid its ally when it faces such a strong threat. Especially considering what happened to the Princess of Rohan during her stay here." Faramir bit his lip and stared at his father coldly. Denethor seemed not to notice and continued with his report. "The latest dispatches show that an army is entrenched near Isengard. There is even word that Saruman is behind this force."
Faramir's gaze sharpened. "Is this certain? This is the first I have heard that Saruman may be against Rohan. He has always been considered an ally."
"That is exactly what the Prince of Dol Amroth said. Although it is only speculation at this point that the wizard in Orthanc is behind this threat to Rohan, I consider it likely. I have never trusted wizards and that includes your friend, Mithrandir."
"Yet it was Mithrandir who released you from the Dark Lord's control. And Saruman is the head of his order. If Mithrandir is not concerned about Saruman's loyalty to Gondor and Rohan, then why would our spies say otherwise?"
Denethor gave his son a dour look and sat in a chair normally used by guests seeking his advice, or to curry his favor. Faramir returned slowly to the Steward's chair. Denethor felt a pang of jealousy as he looked at his youngest son usurping his place. "Mithrandir is a fool. He is blind where members of his own are concerned. But let us dismiss the rumors of the wizard and look to the facts. The dispatches report that an army at least 5,000 strong has set up camp along the banks of the Isen. This army is comprised of orcs and men of Dunland."
Faramir thought for a moment, then added, "Earlier dispatches reported that men of Harad had been spotted as well. Do you believe that an assault on the Rohirrim is imminent?"
Denethor nodded his head gravely but said nothing. Faramir felt uncomfortable because he sensed anger hiding behind his father's calm façade. "Is there something else I should know, Father? I sense your displeasure."
"Do you now? Your powers of perception never fail to amaze me." Denethor's tone was extremely cold and dripped sarcasm. "You sit at my desk, running my city and wonder what there may be to cause me displeasure. I have been blessed with such a clever son."
Faramir stood up so quickly that a book by his hand fell to the floor with a loud thud. His face was flushed. "I sit at this desk because you, in your arrogance, thought you could spy on Mordor with impunity. Did it never cross your mind that the Dark Lord would become aware of your spying, or what it might cost Gondor if he should?"
Denethor laughed mirthlessly. "So, the calf challenges the bull. I suggest you do not let this temporary power you hold turn your head. I am the Steward -- always remember that. I need only convince two more members of the Council to side with me and my mantle will be returned. Your days as acting Steward are numbered. You would be wise not to anger your liege lord."
Faramir swallowed his anger and bent to retrieve the fallen book. He used the time to think of a reply to his Father's implied threat. "When you have been declared well enough to continue your duties as Steward, I shall more than willingly relinquish control. But it will not be a political decision. I must have assurance from your physician that all is well, then Prince Imrahil must agree. Politicians are too easily bought; I do not trust their decision in so crucial a matter."
Denethor's eyes narrowed to slits and his face darkened like the sky before a violent thunderstorm. He stood up abruptly and moved quickly forward. No more than an arm's length from Faramir, he raised his hand to strike. Before the blow could be thrown, Faramir reached out and gripped his father's forearm. "I am no longer a child that can be beaten into submission. I am the acting Steward of Gondor and my duty is clear. Until I decide that you are no longer a threat to the city and its inhabitants, I will remain in control. Plot with as many politicians as you like. I am in command of the Tower Guard and Gondor's army. Too, Uncle Imrahil has 500 swan-knights at his beck and call."
Denethor turned so red that Faramir feared he might have a stroke on the spot, yet the older man remained immobile and silent. When he finally spoke, it was no more than a sibilant sound. "I knew you would never step down. You have waited for this chance all your life. But I never figured the Prince of Dol Amroth for a traitor."
Faramir released his father's arm and strode rapidly to the door, pulling it open. "It would be wise for you to leave my presence before we both say something we will be unable to take back. I have no designs upon your Stewardship; however, I shall not put the White City at the mercy of a man who is capable of raping his future daughter-in-law. She is not much more than a child; you stole her innocence and took that which my brother should have. It was an unspeakable display of violence and immorality."
Denethor gave a strangled cry and lurched toward his son. Then, with a great effort, he brought himself under control before managing to utter a few strangled words. "I was not responsible for that. Never have I harmed a woman. Boromir will not hold this against me. He is a true and loving son, unlike you."
"I have always loved you, Father, though you have never returned that love. And, even though you perpetrated so heinous a crime, I still love you. I am not certain, however, that I much like you." Denethor walked heavily toward his son, coming to a standstill mere inches from him.
"I care not whether you like me, boy. I care only that you obey me and show me the respect due your Father and your ruler. We must put the past behind us if we hope to survive the next few months. Sauron may have gained control of my actions for a brief time, but in so doing, I learned things he did not plan for me to know. I know that soon he will unleash his entire force against us. It is doubtful that we shall survive, for they are many and we are few. When we fight for our very lives, it is doubtful that you will care about such trivial a matter as the rape of the Princess of Rohan."
"Once again you misread me, Father. For I shall never forget, or forgive, what you did. For the sake of Gondor, I must bury the feelings of anger and disgust that I harbor toward you. But do not think, for one moment, that I trust you. Now, please leave. I have much work to attend to."
Without another word, Denethor swept regally out of the room. Once he heard the door shut, however, he allowed his shoulders to slump and he leaned heavily against the stone wall lining the corridor. "I was a fool to let myself be used by the Dark Lord. And I am an even bigger fool if I allow this rift to continue between us. Perhaps I should convince Imrahil to intervene in my behalf. I have never been successful in dealing with Faramir. Imrahil may not like me, but he is a wise man. He will see the need for peace among us." Drawing himself up to his full height, Denethor swept down the corridor toward the map room and his dead wife's brother.
* * * * * * * * *
The Prince of Dol Amroth was enjoying the quiet of Denethor's map room. He liked the musty smell of old parchment and the rows of colorful maps wrapped tightly about long wooden rolls jutting out from the walls. He presently was studying the map that detailed the area surrounding Rohan and Isengard. Saruman's lair, as Imrahil liked to think of it, was nestled at the foot of the White Mountains near the Gap of Rohan and the Fords of Isen. It was a long march from Minas Tirith to Isengard up the Great West Road that ran through The Mark. He did not relish the idea of taking soldiers so far from home. It would leave Gondor vulnerable to attack, and a part of his mind feared that this might be the reason for such an untimely assault on Rohan's forces.
Imrahil became aware of Denethor's presence mere seconds before the other man spoke. "I hope to find you in a better frame of mind than my son," the Steward said, his voice filled with rancor. Prince Imrahil sighed inwardly and straightened up. He was not really in the mood for a confrontation.
"What is the topic of this morning's disagreement?" he asked lightly.
"I am ready to resume my duties as Steward of Gondor. My fool of a son refuses to hear me out. I thought perhaps you, as one of my peers, may be of a more sensible frame of mind. Fighting with Faramir is not healthy for the country, or for our relationship as father and son. You and I must devise a peaceful resolution to the question of who should stand at the helm of Gondor. "
This time the Prince of Dol Amroth sighed out loud. "We discussed this only two days ago. I believe you no more fit to rule today than I did then. There is something about your manner that worries me. I cannot put words to it, yet I feel there is still something amiss. I would rest easier if you would content yourself, at least for now, with working with Faramir and myself."
Denethor had moved to stand at the window overlooking Mordor. His fingers drummed on the windowsill loudly in the silence that followed Imrahil's words. Though he constantly fought against it, he still felt a slight longing when he looked at that cursed land. What it was he longed for, he was not certain.
"Denethor, is there something wrong?" Ecthelion's son whirled about as he realized that Imrahil was speaking to him. By the tone of his voice, he must have asked a question some time earlier and was worried by the lack of response.
Clearing his throat, Denethor replied innocently, "I was pondering the threat to Rohan and did not hear your question. If you would be so kind as to repeat it?"
Prince Imrahil was not fooled by the other's innocent look or by the flimsy excuse for his inattentiveness. Imrahil had seen the glazed look in Denethor's eyes as he stared intently toward the land ruled by the Dark Lord. Ready to resume his role as Steward, indeed. Aloud, the Prince said, "I asked why you are so eager to take control away from your son. If you are truly concerned that this will come between you, then work with Faramir. Advise him."
Denethor's laugh was contemptuous as he favored Imrahil with a disdainful smile. "Would you share your authority with one of your sons? Would you have some young pup you reared telling you what to do? I doubt it."
Imrahil shook his head firmly. "I would if I knew myself to be a threat to my land and my people. The problem here is that you do not recognize your infirmity. Until you can look at Mordor with hatred as you once did, I will not support your reinstatement as Steward."
Denethor's icy stare caused the Prince of Dol Amroth to shudder involuntarily. He saw a hint of a smile in Denethor's eyes, as though he relished the discomfort he caused his former brother-in-law. Finally, Denethor spoke: "We shall see what the members of the Council have to say. If enough support my reinstatement, then you and Faramir must step down. Unless it is your intention to start a civil war?"
Imrahil bristled and strode forward until he was mere inches from the other. When he spoke, he drew out each word slowly. "I am not the one who started this. You are the one who invited the Dark Lord into the very heart of Minas Tirith. You opened your mind to him and showed him our strengths and our weaknesses. Boromir is gone because of your recklessness. I pray that he shall return to us, and that your actions have not led to his doom."
Denethor opened his mouth to deny the accusations, but could not speak. His heart was pounding heavily in his chest and he felt as though he might faint. A wave of guilt washed over him so strongly he felt as though he was drowning. Almost he reached out to Imrahil for help, but his pride forbade it. Clasping his hands over his heart, he retreated from the room, leaving the Prince of Dol Amroth staring worriedly after him.
* * * * * * * * *
The Princess of Rohan was weaving a layette for her unborn child. She was sitting at a loom that had been placed upon the lawn of the fountain. She had not been feeling well for the past fortnight and the Lady Galadriel was worried about her health. Eledwhen was pale and suffered from occasional abdominal pains. The Elf did not want to alarm the girl, but she feared for the baby. The signs were not good. She had ordered the Princess to go outside and enjoy the fresh air. Now Eledwhen concentrated fretfully over the tedious work required in coaxing the delicate threads into wearable garments.
"It is good to see you again, your Highness." Haldir had materialized before the loom as though by magic. Eledwhen jumped, and the tip of the spindel pricked her finger, drawing a few drops of blood. The Elf rushed to her side and knelt, taking her delicate hand within his. The redness of her blood looked alien next to the paleness of her skin. "Here, let me take care of this," Haldir said gently. Eledwhen pulled her hand away and bolted to her feet. She looked as though she would burst into tears. "What is wrong, Princess?"
The girl's wide blue eyes spoke words her voice could not utter. She reached for the Elf only an instant before she fainted. Dark red blood seeped into the earth beneath her still form.
To be continued