A/N: Broken computers make me angry! Forgive the delay; I was computerless all weekend. The one I'm using now is pretty gimpy, and I wonder when it will explode as well. Anyway, thanks for your patience. Hopefully this thing will keep running, and I will be able to catch up on this story.
Chapter 16
The ranger was shuddering with a combination of exhaustion and dread as Denethor sat in the bedside chair, regarding his youngest son with his usual expression of rage. "I cannot believe that I sat here and bared my soul to you. You must have found that very amusing, you little knave!" He folded his hands in his lap, instantly becoming the Steward of Gondor. "Now I shall have the full report that you were supposed to deliver to me yesterday morning, and then I shall have a complete account of all that befell you from the moment that you departed Henneth Annûn until I entered this room two minutes ago. Do not leave anything out!"
Faramir sighed and nodded before tiredly obeying his father. Denethor sat expressionlessly throughout the speech as if he had been made of stone. The original report was not difficult to deliver since the ranger had memorized it before he had left the outpost. His ordeal at the hands of the orcs was another matter entirely. It was difficult to speak of what he had endured, the memories of it making him feel physically ill at some points. When he reached the point where Lachdúliel had found him, the ranger asked for some water to soothe his parched throat. The steward ignored him, and Faramir was forced to continue, his voice dwindling to a hoarse whisper before at last he was finished speaking.
The steward continued to sit motionlessly for a few moments, considering his youngest son's words. "Is that all?" he finally asked.
"Yes, my lord," murmured Faramir.
"And you expect that I should accept your words as truth?"
Faramir was becoming angry. "They are truth. Never in my life have I dared to say a word of untruth to you. Why do you choose to disbelieve me now?"
Lightning fast, Denethor grasped Faramir's bandaged hand within his own and applied a steady, firm pressure to it. The ranger's gasp of anguish did nothing but further fuel the steward's anger. "How dare you lie to me? I should have known better than to expect you to be truthful with me," the steward said in a deadly quiet voice, seeming to take pleasure from the small sounds of pain that were escaping his son's lips.
"P-please." The word was no more than a sob, the pain so fierce in his crushed hand that Faramir was trying to pry his father's fingers away with his other hand. "Father, please!" he cried as loudly as his voice would allow, hoping that someone would come soon and make his father see sense before the Man further injured him.
"Right, you pathetic whelp! Try to fight me, will you?" Someone in the corridor tried the doorknob, but upon finding the door locked, resorted to knocking insistently upon the door. Faramir could no longer speak. He desperately clutched at his father's fingers as he felt his consciousness fading from him.
"Fara?" It was Boromir's voice from the hallway, and Faramir marshaled enough strength to call out to him before Denethor slapped him savagely across the face. With a weary sob, the ranger lost consciousness only for a moment, though he remained dazed, his head lolling upon the pillow, his eyes staring unseeingly.
"Fara? Father, what is happening?"
"A moment only, Boromir," called the steward in a good-natured tone as he took a step backward, surveying his handiwork.
"Father, open the door!" Boromir pounded upon the door fiercely. "Faramir?"
Denethor calmly walked to the door and unlocked it. Boromir immediately crashed in. "Father?" he questioned. Upon seeing his father's calm demeanor, he glanced over to his brother, who was beginning to regain his senses. "What did you do?" he asked as he strode to Faramir's side.
"I am not certain that I understand your question, Son. Your brother seemed to be having some sort of painful attack, and I did not wish to leave his side before it passed."
Boromir had begun to bathe Faramir's face with a cool, damp cloth, noting the bright red mark upon his brother's cheek. He paused a moment in his ministrations and turned to glare at Denethor. "Why was the door locked?"
"It must have become stuck, Boromir. You are always so eager to believe the worst about me. It pains me, Son."
"I am certain that your pain does not even begin to match Faramir's, Father."
Scowling, Denethor departed the room without another word, slamming the door behind himself.
"Bo." Faramir's voice was faint. He tried to sit up, but the warrior held him fast. "Let me go. I need to leave this place."
"You cannot, little brother. You are too weak."
Faramir's grey eyes bored into Boromir's green ones. "You know that he shall kill me eventually."
Boromir winced. "What did he do to you?"
"It matters not, but I must go, perhaps back to Henneth Annûn where the rangers can look after me properly until I am sufficiently mended." Again he tried to shove himself up from the mattress, and this time Boromir allowed it, knowing that Faramir could not get far with his broken ankle.
"And what if you should be attacked again on the way back there, Fara? No one is expecting your return for at least a week, and no one shall know that you are missing until it is too late."
The ranger shifted his weight a bit, a grimace of pain crossing his features before he was at last sitting upon the mattress, the linen sheet that had covered him now puddled around his waist. "Then send me to Uncle Imrahil in Dol Amroth. It is only a short journey by boat, and I know that he would welcome me with open arms."
"Perchance, Fara, but you shall still be charged as a deserter and sentenced to death if you run from Father." Boromir sat next to his brother. "Be logical, little brother."
The warrior could feel his brother's ire rising. "I am being logical, Bo. He hates me. Only a short while ago when he thought that I was dying, he was proclaiming his love for me, and now that I am not dead, he is angry. Never shall I understand that man, and I am quite certain that it is a wholly good thing that I do not." Faramir's exhaustion threatened to force him down once more, but he swung his legs off of the mattress before he seemed to realize that he could not walk unaided with a broken ankle. He cursed softly, running his good hand through his hair. "You must help me, Boromir. I cannot do this alone."
"Nay, Brother, you cannot do it alone, and that is well." Boromir stood. "Father shall come to his senses someday, Fara." He stepped to the door. "Please, do not fall out of bed. It might be rather embarrassing for you if some young lass should have to tuck you back in."
"Boromir, do not leave me." It was said in a threatening tone, and though Boromir hated to deny Faramir anything, he knew that he must this once.
"I shall return later. Until then, please, try to rest." As he stepped through the doorway and into the corridor, shutting the door behind him, he heard a muttered curse, and then something large and fragile, most likely the wash basin, broke against the interior of the door before Boromir went to find his own bed.
A/N: After reading the discussion on TORC about how people thought Denethor might have treated Faramir, I was considering completely rewriting this chapter, feeling that maybe Denethor isn't such an ogre. But I decided to leave it the way it is. If you belong to the camp who thinks that Denethor was only mentally abusive to his youngest, please forgive me. Personally, I think that the Steward of Gondor was probably both mentally and physically abusive to Faramir, though maybe not to this extent. Thanks!
Chapter 16
The ranger was shuddering with a combination of exhaustion and dread as Denethor sat in the bedside chair, regarding his youngest son with his usual expression of rage. "I cannot believe that I sat here and bared my soul to you. You must have found that very amusing, you little knave!" He folded his hands in his lap, instantly becoming the Steward of Gondor. "Now I shall have the full report that you were supposed to deliver to me yesterday morning, and then I shall have a complete account of all that befell you from the moment that you departed Henneth Annûn until I entered this room two minutes ago. Do not leave anything out!"
Faramir sighed and nodded before tiredly obeying his father. Denethor sat expressionlessly throughout the speech as if he had been made of stone. The original report was not difficult to deliver since the ranger had memorized it before he had left the outpost. His ordeal at the hands of the orcs was another matter entirely. It was difficult to speak of what he had endured, the memories of it making him feel physically ill at some points. When he reached the point where Lachdúliel had found him, the ranger asked for some water to soothe his parched throat. The steward ignored him, and Faramir was forced to continue, his voice dwindling to a hoarse whisper before at last he was finished speaking.
The steward continued to sit motionlessly for a few moments, considering his youngest son's words. "Is that all?" he finally asked.
"Yes, my lord," murmured Faramir.
"And you expect that I should accept your words as truth?"
Faramir was becoming angry. "They are truth. Never in my life have I dared to say a word of untruth to you. Why do you choose to disbelieve me now?"
Lightning fast, Denethor grasped Faramir's bandaged hand within his own and applied a steady, firm pressure to it. The ranger's gasp of anguish did nothing but further fuel the steward's anger. "How dare you lie to me? I should have known better than to expect you to be truthful with me," the steward said in a deadly quiet voice, seeming to take pleasure from the small sounds of pain that were escaping his son's lips.
"P-please." The word was no more than a sob, the pain so fierce in his crushed hand that Faramir was trying to pry his father's fingers away with his other hand. "Father, please!" he cried as loudly as his voice would allow, hoping that someone would come soon and make his father see sense before the Man further injured him.
"Right, you pathetic whelp! Try to fight me, will you?" Someone in the corridor tried the doorknob, but upon finding the door locked, resorted to knocking insistently upon the door. Faramir could no longer speak. He desperately clutched at his father's fingers as he felt his consciousness fading from him.
"Fara?" It was Boromir's voice from the hallway, and Faramir marshaled enough strength to call out to him before Denethor slapped him savagely across the face. With a weary sob, the ranger lost consciousness only for a moment, though he remained dazed, his head lolling upon the pillow, his eyes staring unseeingly.
"Fara? Father, what is happening?"
"A moment only, Boromir," called the steward in a good-natured tone as he took a step backward, surveying his handiwork.
"Father, open the door!" Boromir pounded upon the door fiercely. "Faramir?"
Denethor calmly walked to the door and unlocked it. Boromir immediately crashed in. "Father?" he questioned. Upon seeing his father's calm demeanor, he glanced over to his brother, who was beginning to regain his senses. "What did you do?" he asked as he strode to Faramir's side.
"I am not certain that I understand your question, Son. Your brother seemed to be having some sort of painful attack, and I did not wish to leave his side before it passed."
Boromir had begun to bathe Faramir's face with a cool, damp cloth, noting the bright red mark upon his brother's cheek. He paused a moment in his ministrations and turned to glare at Denethor. "Why was the door locked?"
"It must have become stuck, Boromir. You are always so eager to believe the worst about me. It pains me, Son."
"I am certain that your pain does not even begin to match Faramir's, Father."
Scowling, Denethor departed the room without another word, slamming the door behind himself.
"Bo." Faramir's voice was faint. He tried to sit up, but the warrior held him fast. "Let me go. I need to leave this place."
"You cannot, little brother. You are too weak."
Faramir's grey eyes bored into Boromir's green ones. "You know that he shall kill me eventually."
Boromir winced. "What did he do to you?"
"It matters not, but I must go, perhaps back to Henneth Annûn where the rangers can look after me properly until I am sufficiently mended." Again he tried to shove himself up from the mattress, and this time Boromir allowed it, knowing that Faramir could not get far with his broken ankle.
"And what if you should be attacked again on the way back there, Fara? No one is expecting your return for at least a week, and no one shall know that you are missing until it is too late."
The ranger shifted his weight a bit, a grimace of pain crossing his features before he was at last sitting upon the mattress, the linen sheet that had covered him now puddled around his waist. "Then send me to Uncle Imrahil in Dol Amroth. It is only a short journey by boat, and I know that he would welcome me with open arms."
"Perchance, Fara, but you shall still be charged as a deserter and sentenced to death if you run from Father." Boromir sat next to his brother. "Be logical, little brother."
The warrior could feel his brother's ire rising. "I am being logical, Bo. He hates me. Only a short while ago when he thought that I was dying, he was proclaiming his love for me, and now that I am not dead, he is angry. Never shall I understand that man, and I am quite certain that it is a wholly good thing that I do not." Faramir's exhaustion threatened to force him down once more, but he swung his legs off of the mattress before he seemed to realize that he could not walk unaided with a broken ankle. He cursed softly, running his good hand through his hair. "You must help me, Boromir. I cannot do this alone."
"Nay, Brother, you cannot do it alone, and that is well." Boromir stood. "Father shall come to his senses someday, Fara." He stepped to the door. "Please, do not fall out of bed. It might be rather embarrassing for you if some young lass should have to tuck you back in."
"Boromir, do not leave me." It was said in a threatening tone, and though Boromir hated to deny Faramir anything, he knew that he must this once.
"I shall return later. Until then, please, try to rest." As he stepped through the doorway and into the corridor, shutting the door behind him, he heard a muttered curse, and then something large and fragile, most likely the wash basin, broke against the interior of the door before Boromir went to find his own bed.
A/N: After reading the discussion on TORC about how people thought Denethor might have treated Faramir, I was considering completely rewriting this chapter, feeling that maybe Denethor isn't such an ogre. But I decided to leave it the way it is. If you belong to the camp who thinks that Denethor was only mentally abusive to his youngest, please forgive me. Personally, I think that the Steward of Gondor was probably both mentally and physically abusive to Faramir, though maybe not to this extent. Thanks!