Usual disclaimers apply.
Further exploration into the reasons behind the poor relationship between Denethor, Steward of Gondor, and his youngest son.
REASONS - Chapter 3: The Wizard's Pupil.
"Mithrandir!"
The joy in the child's voice was unmistakeable. Gandalf laughed as he swept him up in his arms, as he remembered the first time they met.
"Faramir, this is Mithrandir," said Denethor.
"Mithand......." The five year old attempted, his face registering a concentration that evoked an immediate burst of affection in the wizard. He winked at the little boy.
"You may call me Gandalf if it's easier" he said.
"Don't pander to him Mithrandir." Denethor's voice was sharp, and took Gandalf by surprise, but then, he reasoned, the Steward had only recently lost his dear wife, and being left to raise two young sons was not going to be easy.
Gandalf looked at the child, Finduilas' youngest. He had a mass of chestnut coloured hair, and long dark lashes fringed the sapphire blue eyes that seemed way too large for his small face. His body was slight, with no sign of childhood fat, and he had an air of fragility that reminded the wizard of the lovely woman who had been prematurely robbed of life.
As the Steward and the wizard walked, Faramir's small legs ran to keep up, and suddenly Gandalf felt a little hand slip into his. His first reaction was one of amused pleasure, and it wasn't until later that he wondered if was merely an affectionate nature, or something else that would make a newly bereaved child seek a comforting touch from a total stranger.
In seven years, Faramir had changed comparatively little. His hair was lighter, and he was bigger of course, though still slight – and probably underweight, thought Gandalf, as he considered that although his visits to Minas Tirith were relatively few, Faramir's growth was not as noticeable as he would have expected, although he looked healthy enough.
"I've missed you," said the 12 year old, and as he hugged Gandalf tightly, the wizard realised that the feeling was mutual. In the years that had passed, it became apparent that Faramir was a remarkable child. He was quick to learn, and showed an interest in history and lore, art and music. Though living in an age when wars frequently raged around him, he showed little desire to be a soldier, even though he knew that would be his destiny.
Ever since he had met him, Gandalf had worried about Faramir. His only real outlet for affection was his brother Boromir, for his father was a man hardened by grief, who had no idea how to deal with a boy like his youngest son. It was his own upbringing, the wizard decided. Denether had been like Faramir – scholarly and interested in the world around him, but his father Ecthelion derided him for it, comparing him unfavourably on more than one occasion to men like Thorongil, heroes to the people of Gondor for their exploits in battle. Denethor hated Thorongil with a passion, for he unwittingly made him feel inferior, and indeed, Ecthelion did nothing to alleviate that belief. Denethor had been a child not unlike Faramir – quiet, studious, blessed with the gift of foresight, but Ecthelion's reaction to these qualities had seemingly convinced Denethor that they were undesirable.
"Hello Mithrandir" came a voice behind him, as he stood overlooking the Pelennor before nightfall.
"Boromir – I didn't hear you. Either my ears are failing, or you have mastered the silent approach to perfection."
"I wish," said Boromir, "but I feel it was more to do with your concentration. You seem a world away Mithrandir."
"Yes," mused Gandalf, "I suppose I was."
He studied the young man closely. How alike he and Faramir were, and yet how unlike. The elder son of the steward bore an air of confidence that had probably been instilled in him since birth.
"I was thinking about your brother," he said finally. "Is he well?"
Boromir sighed. "You notice it also," he said. "I wondered if it was my imagination – I fuss over him like an old woman," and he added quietly, "Someone must".
"Tell me Boromir," said Gandalf, "Tell me all. You can trust me."
At first, Boromir was hesitant, but once he started to speak, it was as though a load was being lifted from his shoulders, and he told Gandalf that Denethor rarely spoke to Faramir, less it were to scold or criticise. "He tries so hard," Boromir said, "But our father shows no interest in him."
"Do you know why that should be?" asked the wizard.
Boromir shrugged his shoulders. "Father doesn't like it that Faramir reads all the time. He doesn't think he has the mind to be soldier. Once he made him go to a seamstress to learn tapestry – he said if he behaved as a female, he may as well be treated like one.
And he was really angry once, when Faramir refused to shoot a hawk out of the sky. I shot one, and Father asked Faramir to try. He thought about it, then just said he didn't want to. I thought it was because he was afraid he might miss, so I told him not to worry about it, and that it wouldn't matter.....he did take the bow, and levelled it as though he was going to shoot, but then he stopped, and refused to do it. When Father asked him why, he just said that the hawk didn't deserve to die. Father was furious – he said that such respect for life would dictate his attitude in battle and could cost lives.
Faramir has his own strengths Mithrandir- he tries to please, but not at the expense of his own heart and soul, and so he gets into more trouble."
Boromir looked at the wizard, and his concern for his young brother was all too apparent.
"He's stubborn," the young man continued, "Which gives him courage of sorts, but our father doesn't like that. He thinks Faramir is just wilful and sullen – but he isn't. He's just not a soldier. He's too gentle at heart, and Father says a man can't afford to be like that these days."
Boromir gave a heavy sigh. "I worry what will happen to him when I'm away." Then, seeing the look on Gandalf's face, he quickly added, "I don't mean that Father will harm him – but he'll have no-one."
Gandalf's voice was measured and resolute as he replied, "He'll have me – as often as is possible."
And so it was that Gandalf the Grey became friend, protector and tutor, to Faramir of Gondor, and though his visits were not as frequent as he would have liked, he made a difference to the quiet and studious younger son of the Steward.
For two years it worked well, and everyone was content. Denethor, though still suspicious of the wizard, appreciated the transformation, albeit not complete, in his son, for through Gandalf, Faramir learned to recognize the importance of strategic warfare and self-defence, and also the need, unwelcome as it was, to be able to strike first in order to gain a military advantage. The eager student was quick to grasp the guile and expertise, that the wizard had achieved throughout his long years, and Gandalf also inspired Faramir to take more seriously his lessons in swordsmanship, and in archery at which he excelled.
But Faramir was primarily a scholar, and he had a thirst for knowledge that even Gandalf found difficult to quench. He forgot nothing that he learned, and at 14 years of age he was fluent in Sindarin, well on the way to mastering Quenya, and well-versed in both Gondorian and Elvish history, but the fragile truce with his father was all but shattered when, in front of dignitaries from Rohan, Faramir corrected the Steward who had mentioned the wrong date in reference to a battle.
Of course, the dignitaries, were extremely amused, but Denethor felt insulted and humiliated, and demanded that Faramir attend his study the following day.
Faramir gazed around at the stark walls in his father's study – Denethor was not a man for pomp or regalia, but the room was more welcoming than the man who frequented it. The steward eyed his son with an equal mixture of irritation and fascination, and he signed inwardly in frustration. What use would this scrawny little dreamer be to Gondor when it came to battle. He doubted that orcs or Haradrim would be as unsettled as he by the intense blue eyes that were now focused on him.
"Faramir," he said. "Never again will you dare to correct me in front of anyone – whether servant or dignitary. Do you understand?"
Faramir nodded, his face expressionless, as Denethor continued. "I think you devote too much time to books and other activities which are likely to be of little use to you in the future."
Faramir opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it.
"You are adequate with a bow I believe, but I'm told your swordplay needs a lot of work," said the Steward, "And I think you should devote more time to these pursuits. You may use the library in your spare time, but there will be no more lessons with Mithrandir. I believe him to be a poor influence."
Faramir's heart sank. He'd expected physical punishment, which would have been preferable to this, but his father knew better ways in which to hurt him. A lump formed in his throat, and the threat of tears made him lower his head – he couldn't let Denethor see him cry.
"You may go", said his father, but as the boy turned and opened the door, a rough hand on his shoulder pulled him round and held him hard against the door, whilst another hand held a knife to his throat.
Faramir was terrified, his eyes wide with fear – had his father gone mad?
TBC