Faramir slowly struggled to his feet, knees buckling even as he did so,
stomach churning. Denethor, full of rage, did not see his son's noble
courage as he stood straight before him, only saw the target of his sorrow
and anger, and lashed out again, and again, and again.
Bleeding now from things other than accident, and with bruises already forming on his battered body, Faramir held his tongue and received the onslaught as though he had deserved it.
He had done no wrong.
Denethor did not see this.
He did not see the small body fall to the ground each time before standing again.
He did not see his son, or the goodness of Finduilas embodied in him.
He did not see the sweet, caring child Faramir was.
Just a murderer, a thief, a liar.
When the shouting had ended, Faramir collected himself, and staggered from the room, walking with what dignity he had the strength to muster.
He retreated to his room, where he bathed his wounds in a bowl of water and, ultimately, fell asleep to the sound of his own broken-hearted sobs.
Bleeding now from things other than accident, and with bruises already forming on his battered body, Faramir held his tongue and received the onslaught as though he had deserved it.
He had done no wrong.
Denethor did not see this.
He did not see the small body fall to the ground each time before standing again.
He did not see his son, or the goodness of Finduilas embodied in him.
He did not see the sweet, caring child Faramir was.
Just a murderer, a thief, a liar.
When the shouting had ended, Faramir collected himself, and staggered from the room, walking with what dignity he had the strength to muster.
He retreated to his room, where he bathed his wounds in a bowl of water and, ultimately, fell asleep to the sound of his own broken-hearted sobs.