Disclaimer: All Star Trek related characters and concepts belong to Paramount; all Lord of the Rings related characters and concepts belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.
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THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter 14: Fathers and Sons
And the memory of Boromir, and the dreadful change that the lure of the Ring had worked in him, was very present to is mind, when he looked at Faramir and listened to his voice: unlike they were, and yet also much akin.
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
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The candle burned low, nearly gone but for a lump of wax and the barest length of wick left. Malcolm gave it a derisive look as it sputtered, trying desperately not to go out, and stood up. The stiffness in his shoulders let him know just how long he had been sitting at the cramped table, surrounded by manuscripts and crumbling parchments. Maps, legends, books; none really had the answer he desired, only snippets and snatches of any sort of useful information.
And why should they, really, he thought to himself, picking up the candle and beginning the long trek back up the stairs. No one in his right mind would try to break into Mordor. It was madness, certain death. He wondered how Gandalf had meant to do it, especially with eight others to look after.
He passed out of the archives and went out into the city streets, somewhat surprised to find how dark it had grown. The winding road was quiet and lonely, with only a few hurried passersby striding over the cobblestones. He nodded to some as he passed, meeting their eyes, but did not stop to speak to anyone. Malcolm had already heard rumors flying about the streets, wondering what he was and where he had come from, but he did not bother to let them know the truth.
A cry from above, and an immense peal of thunder, broke the silence; a greenish flash of light flared in the sky, but did not fade away as proper lightning should. Malcolm gazed up at the beacon in horror, knowing what lay in that direction: Minas Morgul, the lair of the Witch-king of Angmar. Sauron's forces must be on the move. They would arrive at Minas Tirith in but a few days.
He redoubled his pace and went quickly to the rooms the Steward's servants had shown them to earlier, hoping to find Gandalf there. Both wizard and hobbit were in the room, standing on the balcony staring out at the terrible spire of light.
"Malcolm!" said Pippin, turning around at the sound of his footsteps. "Did you find what you wanted in the archives?"
"Not really," Malcolm murmured, his eyes still on the green glare.
"It's Minas Morgul," said the hobbit, his small face crumpled with worry. "We will be under siege in a few days when that army gets here."
"Yes," said Malcolm. "Quite probably less than a few days."
"What will happen?" asked Pippin.
Malcolm met Gandalf's eyes over the hobbit's curly head, and found no clue as to how he should answer Pippin's question. He settled finally on the truth, and said simply, "I don't know."
"What I know," Gandalf said, coming away from the balcony and gently guiding Pippin towards his bed, "is that we are all tired, and there is a task to be done ere morning comes. Go to bed, Peregrin Took, and do not worry yourself with armies right now. They will be here soon enough, but they are not here yet."
With a last worried glance over his shoulder at the glowing stream of light in the sky, the hobbit obeyed and went off to bed. Gandalf looked at it as well and shut the curtains before going to bed himself. Malcolm stayed up a while longer, fearing that he would not be able to sleep, but to his surprise he drifted off almost immediately and slept, remembering neither dream nor nightmare, until Gandalf roused him with a shake the next morning.
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Hoshi dreamed of that fateful away mission in vivid detail one night. She saw the trek over the lonely plains. She remembered her surprise when Malcolm had offered to accompany her; she remembered her pleasure at that same moment. Annatar spoke in her dreams, as he spoke in every part of her life---:Where did you go, my dear? What happened when you went down to the planet?:
"We found a box," Hoshi replied in the dream, and she could see a shadow outline standing next to her. The dream-Reed did not notice; he kept right on walking and chattering pleasantly. "It was right across that ridge, there."
And indeed, the lieutenant was off, traipsing across the stream.
"Oh, I don't want to be here again," said Hoshi. "Please, may I wake up now?"
:I want to see this for myself,: said Annatar, his shadow-figure gliding forward to where Malcolm was scrabbling at the dirt, calling for her help. She went forward without wanting to, acting out the sequence of her memory while her inner self screamed to stop, leave it alone, don't do this.
They found the stone and tumbled away from that world, and at last everything dissolved away. Hoshi met Reed's eyes as she sighed in relief, glad the dream was over, and wondered why he cried out to her that she was in danger.
"Hoshi, listen to me, he is lying to you! Don't do what he says! Fight him!" cried the dream-Malcolm as he dissolved into oblivion.
Fight who? Hoshi wondered, but he was gone and the darkness overtook her. She struggled to wake up, wanting this nightmare to end now, but though she felt as though she awoke, all she saw were the black walls of the dark place. Fire burned in her mind, the fire of the great Eye, and she screamed in terror, fighting against the bonds that held her down. Hulking orcs moved around her, their eyes deep and malevolent as they looked at her. One came and spoke in the language Éowyn had taught her, though she barely remembered enough to know what he said. "Awake, pretty thing?" growled the foul beast, and forced a cup of liquid to her lips.
As it went down it burned her tongue and throat. The orc faded away and was replaced, slowly, by her cabin on Enterprise, and she gripped at the blankets in relief, still feeling the awful burn of the dream-potion in her throat. Her fingers were numb; she could barely feel the soft nub of the blanket between them.
:Interesting,: said Annatar in her mind.
"What is?" asked Hoshi.
:You were called,: he replied. :No matter. You had best ready yourself. Your duty shift begins in half an hour.:
She pulled herself out of bed, throwing back the covers and getting dressed quickly. Her mind was not on what she was doing, however. For the first time, she wondered if this was, after all, Enterprise, and if perhaps what she believed to be a dream was actually the reality.
Fight him, the dream-Malcolm said. Perhaps she should try.
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Gandalf and Pippin went off to do the elder wizard's mysterious errand, and Malcolm betook himself back to the archives. As the pale morning brightened, he chanced to look up at the White Tower, and saw there a curious pale light shining forth from the windows.
How very odd, thought Malcolm, and went up the steps to the Citadel, nodding to the guards as he passed. He could think of nothing in Middle- earth that would make such a light, though he admitted the possibility of it being something he had never encountered. Still, he was curious.
As he went into the tower, the light from above dimmed. He heard on the steps a clatter of footsteps, and drew back into the shadows as the Lord of the City passed by, muttering ominously to himself. "Gandalf steals the city from me, he bewitches the minds of my people, he lights the beacons when Rohan shall never heed my call. He and that dratted young upstart will steal the city from my grasp! It shall fall to the Enemy!"
"Dratted young upstart, indeed," muttered Malcolm, waiting until the door below opened and closed again with a slam. He slipped forth from the corner and hurried up the stairs to the top room of the tower, whence he had seen the mysterious pale light.
From the windows of the tower room he beheld an awesome vista, stretching for miles on all sides. On the mountaintop, far above even the high tower, a fire blazed on the peak. The beacons were lit; Pippin had then succeeded. Aragorn must turn Théoden's eyes to the East; Gondor called and Rohan must answer if the city were to be saved. Far out on the Pelennor Fields he saw Osgiliath. Smoke rose from it, and small dark figures rushed about among the buildings. They appeared as tiny ants from this height, and Malcolm could not tell what they were doing.
He turned away from the window and surveyed the room itself. The walls, below the windows, were lined with shelves, and on the shelves were many books bound in brown and grey leather. A table, covered itself in books and scrolls, sat in the center of the room, and in the very center of the table a cloth-wrapped hump arose from the mounds of paper.
Malcolm stood very still, his breath caught in his throat, for he thought he recognized the shape of that bundle. Girding his courage, he gripped the cloth and chanced to look under it, dreading what he might see.
He had indeed recognized it. A palantir, one of the Seven Stones, lay beneath the humble cloth. Even now it shone with that same pale glow, and as he looked he saw within its depths Hoshi bound upon a table, her face white and drawn. "No," he whispered softly. "It cannot be." At the back of his mind a warning bell sounded, but he ignored it and looked again.
She lay as one dead, though he could see her chest rising and falling. Her lips opened in a soundless cry, and he longed to ride at once to Mordor and take back what Sauron had stolen. A great urge filled his body until he felt he must run from the tower and flee the city.
You mustn't! cried the voice in the back of his mind. I must, Malcolm said, though his feet were carrying him away from the palantir and the vision of Hoshi. Dimly he remembered Pippin at last, and with a great effort threw himself away from the stone. He stumbled down the steps in a daze, not regaining his wits until he came once more into the sunlight.
Through the streets he went, now angry that he had been so taken in, and hardly noticed the uproar of the guards on the walls until he was nearly at the bottom. A hand gripped his shoulder and Gandalf's deep voice cried, "Get to the walls! Drive away the Nazgûl! They attack the forces retreating from Osgiliath!" The White Wizard, seated on Shadowfax, gave him a hard knock in the direction of the ramparts and rode away through the gate. Malcolm looked up and saw the Nazgûl; he rushed up the steps to the wall.
Gandalf rode out to meet them, a lone figure in white on the powerful Shadowfax, his staff brilliant with power. Malcolm took his own and did the same, hearing the screech of the Black Riders with a grim satisfaction as they met pure light, a thing deadly to their kind. The refugees from Osgiliath thundered through the gates a moment later, Gandalf at their head.
Malcolm reached Gandalf at the same time as one of the horsemen from Osgiliath, a tall and stern man with grey eyes and brown hair. Every movement of the man's body bespoke weariness in form and spirit, but he did not pause as he addressed Gandalf with a clear voice. "Mithrandir!" he cried. "Mithrandir! They broke our defenses; they've taken the bridge in the Westbank. Batallions of orcs are crossing the river."
So that was what he had seen from the tower; Osgiliath was overrun with orcs. A sore blow this, thought Malcolm, for it gives them a foothold and a strong base to attack Minas Tirith.
"Faramir?" said Gandalf, swinging Shadowfax around so that he faced what Malcolm now knew to be the young Captain of Gondor. Pippin, seated before him, quailed beneath the man's gaze. Faramir's eyes held shock and confusion.
"This is not the first Halfling to have crossed your path," said Gandalf.
"No," said Faramir, still gazing at Pippin in wonder.
"You've seen Frodo and Sam!" cried the hobbit. Faramir gave him a speechless nod.
"Where? When?" Gandalf asked, leaning closer to the Captain.
"In Ithilien, not two days ago," said Faramir. "Gandalf, they are taking the road to the Morgul Vale."
The look on Gandalf's face echoed the shock Malcolm felt in his heart. "And then the pass of Cirith Ungol?" said the wizard urgently. Faramir nodded again.
"What does that mean? What's wrong?" demanded Pippin.
"Faramir, tell me everything," Gandalf said.
"I must go to my father with the news of Osgiliath," said Faramir, though he looked none too eager to complete this task.
"On the way then," said Gandalf. "Come, ride slowly." They set off up through the circles, the horses plodding slowly enough that Malcolm could follow on foot. Introductions were quickly made. Malcolm wanted to tell Gandalf what he had discovered in the tower, but no opportunity presented itself as Faramir told them of Frodo, Sam, and a curious guide they had acquired called Gollum. He wanted also to ask of this place called Cirith Ungol and how it was that Frodo would pass through it into Mordor, but again no opportunity presented itself.
At the Citadel Faramir, Gandalf, and Pippin dismounted. "I am to be sworn into service," said the hobbit, and excused himself, running in the direction of their lodgings. Gandalf and Malcolm continued with Faramir into the hall, where a servant was sent to summon Denethor.
"I do not relish this meeting," said Faramir quietly as they waited. "My father is ill disposed toward me as it is. This news will not help that state of affairs." His voice held a curious bitterness, one that Malcolm knew well, as it was the tone in which he usually spoke of his own father.
"Boromir's death has affected him greatly," said Gandalf. "He feels guilty about sending him off to his death, when of course Boromir went willingly for the good of Gondor."
"I would have gone," said Faramir in a low voice. "But he would not allow me to do so."
"And if Boromir had been with Frodo two days ago," said Gandalf, "he would have taken the Ring from him and sent us all to our doom."
"I risk death because I did not bring my father the Ring," whispered Faramir.
"You did right," said Malcolm, wishing that he could say something to ease the man's pain. He himself had long since given up on finding any approval from his father, and though he did not look for it any longer, he still felt a curious sense of emptiness when he thought of all that would never pass between them. "You have shown your quality, Faramir, and though your father may never say it, know that the rest of Middle-earth shall thank you for it."
Faramir's look told him he had struck close to the mark. "Such a wording you choose," said Faramir. "My father has spoken those same words, but in a much more demeaning fashion. My quality! He believes my quality to be no better than the orcs we strive to defeat."
"He may never voice his approval," said Malcolm. "My own father is the same. I have come to realize that if one is to find happiness in life, one must accept that fact and move on. It will hurt. It always hurts, and I cannot tell you that it will lessen any. All I can tell you is that it can be lived with."
He did not expect that his words would have much effect on Faramir, and indeed the young Captain merely looked at him with sadness in his eyes. "My mind would believe what you say," he said, "but my heart breaks to hear such words."
Malcolm looked away. "So also does mine," he said softly as the heralds announced the lord's approach.
"You wizards, leave this place," said Denethor imperiously as he strode into the room, followed by Pippin dressed in his Guard's uniform. "We have matters of state to speak of that do not concern you."
Gandalf, with a last concerned look at Faramir, went quietly from the room. "Please," said Malcolm, staying a moment longer, "bear in mind my words."
"I will," replied Faramir, and turned away, watching as his father crossed the hall and sat heavily in his throne. Malcolm doubted that as he went out of the hall and joined Gandalf in the Court of the Fountain. Had he heard the same words, he would not have heeded them either; in this situation, there were no right words, only wrong ones.
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I don't think I've ever updated so much so quickly. Expect another update within the next week, though probably not tomorrow.
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THE SHADOW RIDERS
Chapter 14: Fathers and Sons
And the memory of Boromir, and the dreadful change that the lure of the Ring had worked in him, was very present to is mind, when he looked at Faramir and listened to his voice: unlike they were, and yet also much akin.
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
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The candle burned low, nearly gone but for a lump of wax and the barest length of wick left. Malcolm gave it a derisive look as it sputtered, trying desperately not to go out, and stood up. The stiffness in his shoulders let him know just how long he had been sitting at the cramped table, surrounded by manuscripts and crumbling parchments. Maps, legends, books; none really had the answer he desired, only snippets and snatches of any sort of useful information.
And why should they, really, he thought to himself, picking up the candle and beginning the long trek back up the stairs. No one in his right mind would try to break into Mordor. It was madness, certain death. He wondered how Gandalf had meant to do it, especially with eight others to look after.
He passed out of the archives and went out into the city streets, somewhat surprised to find how dark it had grown. The winding road was quiet and lonely, with only a few hurried passersby striding over the cobblestones. He nodded to some as he passed, meeting their eyes, but did not stop to speak to anyone. Malcolm had already heard rumors flying about the streets, wondering what he was and where he had come from, but he did not bother to let them know the truth.
A cry from above, and an immense peal of thunder, broke the silence; a greenish flash of light flared in the sky, but did not fade away as proper lightning should. Malcolm gazed up at the beacon in horror, knowing what lay in that direction: Minas Morgul, the lair of the Witch-king of Angmar. Sauron's forces must be on the move. They would arrive at Minas Tirith in but a few days.
He redoubled his pace and went quickly to the rooms the Steward's servants had shown them to earlier, hoping to find Gandalf there. Both wizard and hobbit were in the room, standing on the balcony staring out at the terrible spire of light.
"Malcolm!" said Pippin, turning around at the sound of his footsteps. "Did you find what you wanted in the archives?"
"Not really," Malcolm murmured, his eyes still on the green glare.
"It's Minas Morgul," said the hobbit, his small face crumpled with worry. "We will be under siege in a few days when that army gets here."
"Yes," said Malcolm. "Quite probably less than a few days."
"What will happen?" asked Pippin.
Malcolm met Gandalf's eyes over the hobbit's curly head, and found no clue as to how he should answer Pippin's question. He settled finally on the truth, and said simply, "I don't know."
"What I know," Gandalf said, coming away from the balcony and gently guiding Pippin towards his bed, "is that we are all tired, and there is a task to be done ere morning comes. Go to bed, Peregrin Took, and do not worry yourself with armies right now. They will be here soon enough, but they are not here yet."
With a last worried glance over his shoulder at the glowing stream of light in the sky, the hobbit obeyed and went off to bed. Gandalf looked at it as well and shut the curtains before going to bed himself. Malcolm stayed up a while longer, fearing that he would not be able to sleep, but to his surprise he drifted off almost immediately and slept, remembering neither dream nor nightmare, until Gandalf roused him with a shake the next morning.
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Hoshi dreamed of that fateful away mission in vivid detail one night. She saw the trek over the lonely plains. She remembered her surprise when Malcolm had offered to accompany her; she remembered her pleasure at that same moment. Annatar spoke in her dreams, as he spoke in every part of her life---:Where did you go, my dear? What happened when you went down to the planet?:
"We found a box," Hoshi replied in the dream, and she could see a shadow outline standing next to her. The dream-Reed did not notice; he kept right on walking and chattering pleasantly. "It was right across that ridge, there."
And indeed, the lieutenant was off, traipsing across the stream.
"Oh, I don't want to be here again," said Hoshi. "Please, may I wake up now?"
:I want to see this for myself,: said Annatar, his shadow-figure gliding forward to where Malcolm was scrabbling at the dirt, calling for her help. She went forward without wanting to, acting out the sequence of her memory while her inner self screamed to stop, leave it alone, don't do this.
They found the stone and tumbled away from that world, and at last everything dissolved away. Hoshi met Reed's eyes as she sighed in relief, glad the dream was over, and wondered why he cried out to her that she was in danger.
"Hoshi, listen to me, he is lying to you! Don't do what he says! Fight him!" cried the dream-Malcolm as he dissolved into oblivion.
Fight who? Hoshi wondered, but he was gone and the darkness overtook her. She struggled to wake up, wanting this nightmare to end now, but though she felt as though she awoke, all she saw were the black walls of the dark place. Fire burned in her mind, the fire of the great Eye, and she screamed in terror, fighting against the bonds that held her down. Hulking orcs moved around her, their eyes deep and malevolent as they looked at her. One came and spoke in the language Éowyn had taught her, though she barely remembered enough to know what he said. "Awake, pretty thing?" growled the foul beast, and forced a cup of liquid to her lips.
As it went down it burned her tongue and throat. The orc faded away and was replaced, slowly, by her cabin on Enterprise, and she gripped at the blankets in relief, still feeling the awful burn of the dream-potion in her throat. Her fingers were numb; she could barely feel the soft nub of the blanket between them.
:Interesting,: said Annatar in her mind.
"What is?" asked Hoshi.
:You were called,: he replied. :No matter. You had best ready yourself. Your duty shift begins in half an hour.:
She pulled herself out of bed, throwing back the covers and getting dressed quickly. Her mind was not on what she was doing, however. For the first time, she wondered if this was, after all, Enterprise, and if perhaps what she believed to be a dream was actually the reality.
Fight him, the dream-Malcolm said. Perhaps she should try.
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Gandalf and Pippin went off to do the elder wizard's mysterious errand, and Malcolm betook himself back to the archives. As the pale morning brightened, he chanced to look up at the White Tower, and saw there a curious pale light shining forth from the windows.
How very odd, thought Malcolm, and went up the steps to the Citadel, nodding to the guards as he passed. He could think of nothing in Middle- earth that would make such a light, though he admitted the possibility of it being something he had never encountered. Still, he was curious.
As he went into the tower, the light from above dimmed. He heard on the steps a clatter of footsteps, and drew back into the shadows as the Lord of the City passed by, muttering ominously to himself. "Gandalf steals the city from me, he bewitches the minds of my people, he lights the beacons when Rohan shall never heed my call. He and that dratted young upstart will steal the city from my grasp! It shall fall to the Enemy!"
"Dratted young upstart, indeed," muttered Malcolm, waiting until the door below opened and closed again with a slam. He slipped forth from the corner and hurried up the stairs to the top room of the tower, whence he had seen the mysterious pale light.
From the windows of the tower room he beheld an awesome vista, stretching for miles on all sides. On the mountaintop, far above even the high tower, a fire blazed on the peak. The beacons were lit; Pippin had then succeeded. Aragorn must turn Théoden's eyes to the East; Gondor called and Rohan must answer if the city were to be saved. Far out on the Pelennor Fields he saw Osgiliath. Smoke rose from it, and small dark figures rushed about among the buildings. They appeared as tiny ants from this height, and Malcolm could not tell what they were doing.
He turned away from the window and surveyed the room itself. The walls, below the windows, were lined with shelves, and on the shelves were many books bound in brown and grey leather. A table, covered itself in books and scrolls, sat in the center of the room, and in the very center of the table a cloth-wrapped hump arose from the mounds of paper.
Malcolm stood very still, his breath caught in his throat, for he thought he recognized the shape of that bundle. Girding his courage, he gripped the cloth and chanced to look under it, dreading what he might see.
He had indeed recognized it. A palantir, one of the Seven Stones, lay beneath the humble cloth. Even now it shone with that same pale glow, and as he looked he saw within its depths Hoshi bound upon a table, her face white and drawn. "No," he whispered softly. "It cannot be." At the back of his mind a warning bell sounded, but he ignored it and looked again.
She lay as one dead, though he could see her chest rising and falling. Her lips opened in a soundless cry, and he longed to ride at once to Mordor and take back what Sauron had stolen. A great urge filled his body until he felt he must run from the tower and flee the city.
You mustn't! cried the voice in the back of his mind. I must, Malcolm said, though his feet were carrying him away from the palantir and the vision of Hoshi. Dimly he remembered Pippin at last, and with a great effort threw himself away from the stone. He stumbled down the steps in a daze, not regaining his wits until he came once more into the sunlight.
Through the streets he went, now angry that he had been so taken in, and hardly noticed the uproar of the guards on the walls until he was nearly at the bottom. A hand gripped his shoulder and Gandalf's deep voice cried, "Get to the walls! Drive away the Nazgûl! They attack the forces retreating from Osgiliath!" The White Wizard, seated on Shadowfax, gave him a hard knock in the direction of the ramparts and rode away through the gate. Malcolm looked up and saw the Nazgûl; he rushed up the steps to the wall.
Gandalf rode out to meet them, a lone figure in white on the powerful Shadowfax, his staff brilliant with power. Malcolm took his own and did the same, hearing the screech of the Black Riders with a grim satisfaction as they met pure light, a thing deadly to their kind. The refugees from Osgiliath thundered through the gates a moment later, Gandalf at their head.
Malcolm reached Gandalf at the same time as one of the horsemen from Osgiliath, a tall and stern man with grey eyes and brown hair. Every movement of the man's body bespoke weariness in form and spirit, but he did not pause as he addressed Gandalf with a clear voice. "Mithrandir!" he cried. "Mithrandir! They broke our defenses; they've taken the bridge in the Westbank. Batallions of orcs are crossing the river."
So that was what he had seen from the tower; Osgiliath was overrun with orcs. A sore blow this, thought Malcolm, for it gives them a foothold and a strong base to attack Minas Tirith.
"Faramir?" said Gandalf, swinging Shadowfax around so that he faced what Malcolm now knew to be the young Captain of Gondor. Pippin, seated before him, quailed beneath the man's gaze. Faramir's eyes held shock and confusion.
"This is not the first Halfling to have crossed your path," said Gandalf.
"No," said Faramir, still gazing at Pippin in wonder.
"You've seen Frodo and Sam!" cried the hobbit. Faramir gave him a speechless nod.
"Where? When?" Gandalf asked, leaning closer to the Captain.
"In Ithilien, not two days ago," said Faramir. "Gandalf, they are taking the road to the Morgul Vale."
The look on Gandalf's face echoed the shock Malcolm felt in his heart. "And then the pass of Cirith Ungol?" said the wizard urgently. Faramir nodded again.
"What does that mean? What's wrong?" demanded Pippin.
"Faramir, tell me everything," Gandalf said.
"I must go to my father with the news of Osgiliath," said Faramir, though he looked none too eager to complete this task.
"On the way then," said Gandalf. "Come, ride slowly." They set off up through the circles, the horses plodding slowly enough that Malcolm could follow on foot. Introductions were quickly made. Malcolm wanted to tell Gandalf what he had discovered in the tower, but no opportunity presented itself as Faramir told them of Frodo, Sam, and a curious guide they had acquired called Gollum. He wanted also to ask of this place called Cirith Ungol and how it was that Frodo would pass through it into Mordor, but again no opportunity presented itself.
At the Citadel Faramir, Gandalf, and Pippin dismounted. "I am to be sworn into service," said the hobbit, and excused himself, running in the direction of their lodgings. Gandalf and Malcolm continued with Faramir into the hall, where a servant was sent to summon Denethor.
"I do not relish this meeting," said Faramir quietly as they waited. "My father is ill disposed toward me as it is. This news will not help that state of affairs." His voice held a curious bitterness, one that Malcolm knew well, as it was the tone in which he usually spoke of his own father.
"Boromir's death has affected him greatly," said Gandalf. "He feels guilty about sending him off to his death, when of course Boromir went willingly for the good of Gondor."
"I would have gone," said Faramir in a low voice. "But he would not allow me to do so."
"And if Boromir had been with Frodo two days ago," said Gandalf, "he would have taken the Ring from him and sent us all to our doom."
"I risk death because I did not bring my father the Ring," whispered Faramir.
"You did right," said Malcolm, wishing that he could say something to ease the man's pain. He himself had long since given up on finding any approval from his father, and though he did not look for it any longer, he still felt a curious sense of emptiness when he thought of all that would never pass between them. "You have shown your quality, Faramir, and though your father may never say it, know that the rest of Middle-earth shall thank you for it."
Faramir's look told him he had struck close to the mark. "Such a wording you choose," said Faramir. "My father has spoken those same words, but in a much more demeaning fashion. My quality! He believes my quality to be no better than the orcs we strive to defeat."
"He may never voice his approval," said Malcolm. "My own father is the same. I have come to realize that if one is to find happiness in life, one must accept that fact and move on. It will hurt. It always hurts, and I cannot tell you that it will lessen any. All I can tell you is that it can be lived with."
He did not expect that his words would have much effect on Faramir, and indeed the young Captain merely looked at him with sadness in his eyes. "My mind would believe what you say," he said, "but my heart breaks to hear such words."
Malcolm looked away. "So also does mine," he said softly as the heralds announced the lord's approach.
"You wizards, leave this place," said Denethor imperiously as he strode into the room, followed by Pippin dressed in his Guard's uniform. "We have matters of state to speak of that do not concern you."
Gandalf, with a last concerned look at Faramir, went quietly from the room. "Please," said Malcolm, staying a moment longer, "bear in mind my words."
"I will," replied Faramir, and turned away, watching as his father crossed the hall and sat heavily in his throne. Malcolm doubted that as he went out of the hall and joined Gandalf in the Court of the Fountain. Had he heard the same words, he would not have heeded them either; in this situation, there were no right words, only wrong ones.
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I don't think I've ever updated so much so quickly. Expect another update within the next week, though probably not tomorrow.