I think I will give my readers a few chapters. This one and the next, I think. Hey, if I get one more review I'll be at 100! (In case you couldn't guess, that is a plea for reviews)
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Denethor sat by Faramir, deep in thought. He ran a hand over his face. //Am I to lose both my sons? My city is falling, my son is dying. My son. The one I never wanted, the one I ignored. The son I nearly killed. And now he is dying and I find that I care. I care! Why?//
*You care because you love him.*
Yes, you loved him, but you didn't listen to your heart. Now he is dying and he hates you! He hates you for what you did to him.
//No! He can't hate me, he can't die hating me!//
*Faramir doesn't hate you, he loves you. And he will not die, one will come to save him.*
No, he is as good as dead now. See, he is already burning, a fire runs through him.
//A fire.//
"Do not weep, my lord." Pippin's stammering voice pulled Denethor out of his thoughts. "Perhaps he will get well. Have you asked Gandalf?"
"Do not talk to me about wizards if you seek to comfort me! That fool's hope has failed." //I have seen it.// "The Enemy has found it, and now his power grows. He sees our very thought and all we do now is hold off the inevitable." Denethor picked Faramir's hand up, the flesh burning with fever. "I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed, out into needless peril, and now he lies here dying with fire in his veins. No, Peregrin, whatever may happen in this war, my line is ending, the House of the Stewards has failed. Mean folk shall rule the last remnant of the Kings of Men, lurking in the hills until all are hounded out." Men called out to Denethor from behind the closed door, crying for him to lead the City. "I will not come down! I must stay beside my son. He might speak before the end." //Perhaps he will forgive me.// "But the end is near. Follow whoever you will, even the Grey Fool, though his hope has failed. Here I stay."
Pippin watched the Steward, his own feeling of helplessness and confusion rising. Why now did Denethor care for his son? Had he not said before that he wished Faramir dead in place of Boromir? The hobbit stared at the Captain's fevered face. //He needs healing, not grief. I wish Strider or Gandalf was here, they'd know what to do. They could bring him back from wherever he wanders.//
Faramir indeed wandered. He walked through darkness, a blackness permeated only by red sheets of fire. In his mind, he roamed everywhere, searching. Searching for a way out, perhaps searching for eternal rest. Faramir's mind swirled in confusion. //Where am I? Where do I go? Who will help me?// "Ada! Ada I need you!"
Denethor's heart broke at his son's whispered plea. //He cries for father, but not for me. Why doesn't he cry for me?// Then Pippin returned from the errand that the Steward had sent him on, bringing six strong men. "Cover him for warmth. Take up his bed. We go to Fen Hollen." Fen Hollen, the door to where the Kings and Stewards of old lay dead. //There will be our resting place, my son.//
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And thanks goes to the Atlas of Middle Earth. Without it, the whole story would be lost because before I got it, I had no clue where and what things were.
