Two of Swords 7: The Moon
Minis Tirith, Summer 2999
Denethor lips curled in a small smile of satisfaction when he saw the surprise on his son's face. He thought of how Fin had chosen this weakling over himself and Boromir. He heard that slithery voice in his mind and it did not even occur to the Steward that this was the first time the voice had come to him when he was not high in the tower with his seeing stone.
"He will betray you," the voice purred. That was its constant refrain.
He shook his head to clear it before he turned to Faramir and said, "Boy, did I ever tell you about the day you were born?"
Faramir surprised him by not quailing or stammering. The boy simply looked him in the eye and, in a clear voice, said that Denethor never mentioned that story to him.
In a falsely calm, conversational tone, the Steward said, "You almost killed her you know. In fact you did. She never did regain her health. You came early. She insisted on riding out against my will and the advice of the healer. She said she wanted to see the first narcissus and snowdrops. The weather was strange that day and an unexpected storm blew up out of the north. A falling tree limb spooked that dapple-gray mare she was so fond of and she fell. She was near her time and the shock brought on your birth."
In a calm voice, Faramir replied, "I can hardly be blamed for that, my lord."
"Don't contradict me, boy. If nothing else, you were and are a poor repayment for the loss of her health," snarled the Steward.
"Mother didn't think so," said Faramir, in the same calm tone that maddened his father.
Denethor looked at his son staring at him in the moonlight and felt the rage start to heat his blood. The voice whispered to him of ungrateful, impudent children and traitors. He thought about wrapping his hands around the slender, adolescent neck of his son and squeezing until the insolence was crushed out of him. He moved toward the boy but was stopped by another voice; soft, commanding, and all-to-familiar.
"Steward," said Mithrandir in a deceptively mild voice, "I do think that both you and the boy should get some sleep before you wake the entire city and I do suggest that, the next time you try to creep around in the dark, you should be mindful that you can not equal a Wizard for stealth and I may be watching."
Denethor's face paled. He was too astonished to feel rage and the rosemary and mint scent of the wizard seemed to clear his mind of that other, purring voice.
"As you say, Wizard," he muttered, "but remember, you are suffered to be here by my hospitality."
Mithrandir pursed his lips and said, "Very well, Steward. I will trouble you no longer once you have sent Faramir to the Rangers."