Two of Swords III: The Hanged Man
Minas Tirith, Summer 2999
Faramir could feel something cool and harden within him as he looked his father. He was sixteen now and, by the reckoning of many, was a good age to accept adult responsibilities. Denethor was Steward and, as his son, it was Faramir's duty to be his most loyal servant. The personal cost did not matter and emotions were to be sublimated. He had known since he was a child that he could expect no quarter.
He told his Aunt Ivriniel once that Denethor had made him watch executions. This had started not long before his mother's death and his fostering to foster in Dol Amroth but he still shuddered at the sharpness of the memory. The man had been a common solider who had done something horrible to one of the scullery maids. Faramir had even seen the victim on several occasions. She was a sweet, pink-cheeked thing who always smiled at him when he wandered into the kitchen looking for a treat. Denenthor did not give him the details of what the man had done but did not spare Faramir the sight of his death. As one of low birth, the man faced a noose rather than an axe. Denenthor would not let him turn away and made sure he saw every agonized jerk the doomed man made. When Faramir, who was four, began to cry, Denenthor had been unusually patient and explained that punishing wrong-doers was one of the duties of the Steward and, as the Steward's son, he must learn it. Boromir, who had been nine, remained dry-eyed but put an arm around Faramir's shoulder.
Faramir thought that this incident was typical of Denenthor. He was harsh but usually fair. What the man had done had been worthy of the ultimate punishment and using it as an educational opportunity for his sons showed the Steward's concern with making sure they could eventually lead as he did and his lack of regard of their feelings.
"He is fair, except with me," Faramir muttered under his breath.
He was brought back to the present when Denenthor grumbled, "Don't mumble, boy!"
Faramir shook his head to clear it and replied, "I am sorry, my lord. My head is not as clear as it could be."
The boy was surprised at the note of concern in the Steward's voice when he said, "Of course. Fever will do that. Well, both Mithrandir and the rangers will just have to wait until you have recovered completely."
Faramir gave a little start of surprise. Was Mithrandir here and what was this about the rangers? Denethor addressed these questions before Faramir had time to voice them.
"Yes, that bothersome wizard is here and needs some help in the library. He is eager to see you but will have to wait until your brother has had his visit," said the Steward.
"And the rangers," asked Faramir, "am I to join the rangers?"
Denethor nodded and answered, "Yes. Do not think that I was unaware of your education and activities while you where in Dol Amroth. The eyes of the White Tower see all. You will never make a Knight as your brother has. You are an able but reluctant swordsman. Your skill is with the bow and you are adverse to violence. Even had you been well, I doubt you would have found the stomach to truly go on the offensive during our swordplay. If you had, you would not have been injured. You were not meant even for a ranger, really. You are a scholar, Faramir. Were these better times, there would be no shame in that. Gondor needs warriors now, not intellectuals."
Faramir frowned. He had no idea his father had been watching him so closely. He said, "But, my lord..."
Denethor made a shushing motion with his hand that returned Faramir to silence then continued, "You have skill with a bow and a subtlety of mind. The rangers are the best place for you. Also, that will remove you from Minas Tirith. When I look at you, I see your mother and I clearly can not control myself around you so it is best you go. I can not afford to lose control. Finduilas was wise when she sent you to Dol Amroth, as much as I resented that. She always gave you and Boromir a higher priority than she did me. That did not anger me with Boromir but, for some reason, it did with you. Perhaps it is because you are more like me than your brother is. You have the old blood but that is not what Gondor needs now."
Faramir lowered his head respectfully and said, "I will do whatever you command, my lord."
"You have no other choice, boy," scoffed Denethor, "as soon as Mithrandir finishes his business here, you will go to the rangers. Assuming you prove yourself capable there, you will be their Captain one day."
There was a knock on the door and Boromir entered. Faramir was delighted to see his brother and felt a little of the new coldness within him melt.
Denethor said, "Boromir, when you leave, find the Wizard and tell him he may visit Faramir. Faramir, follow all Master Finlay's instructions and you should heal quickly."
After the Steward left, the brothers embraced and Faramir told Boromir what their Father had said. They would see less of each other once Faramir left for Ithilien.
"I am sure you will be a fine ranger, little brother," said Boromir, "but I will miss you."
"I will miss you too, Boromir," came Faramir's fervent reply. However, he did feel some anticipation at the idea of using maps and bows and going to Ithilien. This confirmed the wisdom of Denenthor's decision.