This is a short chapter. This is the chapter "The Pyre of Denethor" in Faramir's point of view. "But Faramir was unconscious during that chapter!" you say? Yes, so this is not a normal point of view. Sort of like a dream-world that views reality.
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Faramir smelled oil. The stench pulled his mind back from the brink of chaos. //Oil. Something will burn. More fire will come.// The Captain's eyes opened, not in body, but in soul. He 'saw' the room around him, the people, all painted in blacks, golds, and reds. Faramir found himself lying upon black stone that was frigid to the touch. Fiery blankets lay over him, the heat smothering.
Beyond an ebony door rose a clamor of voices. A dark figure, black as night, with a gold face, strode towards the door crying, "Do as I bid! Slay this renegade, or must I do so myself?" The figure's eyes burned with crimson flame, a madness of death and destruction.
As the dark figure opened the door, a white light began illuminating the room. Fear and awe ran through Faramir, and he yearned to flee this nightmare, yet his body would not obey. Voices spoke, distant and intangible. They spoke of death, life, of derangement, and evil. "Where is Faramir?" cried a strong voice.
Another voice answered and Faramir shivered at its crazed speech, knowing it to be that of the dark figure. "He lies within, burning, already burning. They have set fire in his flesh. But soon all shall be burned. The West has failed. It shall all go up in a great fire, and all shall be ended. Ash! Ash and smoke blown away on the wind!"
//Burning? I am burning? Yes, I feel it, the oil, the fire. But death? No, I am not dead. I do not wish it!// The white light grew brighter, a sun amidst the night. A new figure, a white figure, came towards him, and lifted him from the icy bed. Yet the figure of darkness came also, eyes burning within the golden face. Terror filled Faramir. //Do not let me burn! Save me from this madness! Father, help me!// "Father."
The dark figure jerked. Its eyes of fire were smothered, clear light replacing it. Faramir now saw only sadness, grief. Sparks of blue flame fell from the white eyes. Again it spoke, softer this time, gentle, loving. "Do not take my son from me! He calls for me, he calls for me!"
//Father! Father, what are you doing?// Anger, terror, helplessness jumbled through Faramir's already troubled mind.
"He will not wake again, the battle against death is pointless. Why should we wish to live longer? Why should we not go to death side by side?"
//I wake! I see everything that is happening! Let me live!// Faramir felt himself being moved and laid down again. Denethor followed, trembling. The white figure spoke.
"Come, we are needed. There is much that you can do still."
Denethor's eyes blazed scarlet again as he stepped back to the table Faramir had lain on moments before. From a dark cloth he removed something. A round orb blazed gold, red, orange, yellow. Denethor himself burned coal black, shadow, a fire of shadow. Voices spoke, yet Faramir heard no words. Denethor and the white figure each radiated with light, ebony versus ivory. Faramir discerned words at last, the words of his father. "I would have things as they were in all the days of my life and in the days of my forefathers: to be the Lord of this City in peace, to leave my chair to a son after me. A son who would be his own master and no wizard's pupil, or elf's son. But if doom denies this to me, then I will have *nothing*! Neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honor lessened."
//Love halved? I gave you my love, and you threw it away. You threw my heart away and left the elves to pick up the pieces. Yet even though Elrond is my Ada, you are my father! Why don't you see this?//
The white figure spoke, but Faramir did not hear him, for his attention was on Denethor. Shadow spread through the Steward, all encompassing, a frenzy of anger and hatred. Yet Faramir saw something else glisten in Denethor's heart, just a tiny glimmer of light, but something. Before he could figure out what it was, more figures appeared, one the color of daylight, the others a sickly yellow. The latter figures carried torches of crimson and saffron, one of which Denethor grabbed and thrust by the table, which erupted into a pyre of flame. To Faramir's horror, his father leapt upon the pyre and laid himself down amidst the fire, the glowing orb in his hands. He watched as the white figure closed the door, shutting him away from Denethor.
//No! Open the door, save him! You can't let him die! Please, save him! Father! FATHER!// Faramir heard a great cry and he knew that it was over. His father was dead. Grief filled his soul, and he slipped back into the darkness of fevered sleep.
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Hmm, no comments were here either. I must say, though I loved the extra Pippin in the movie, they should have done more with this scene.
