VII
Lord Denethor sat upon a seat of black wood. His grey hair spilled past his shoulders. His eyes seemed to pick out every flaw Faramir made. I saw Mirthandir next to Lord Denethor. Mithrandir was smiling.
He stared in distaste when I entered the hall with Faramir. We bowed low. "You are with that boy again?" Lord Denethor said disapprovingly. I stepped back, next to a pillar. I leaned against it, feeling the cold of the white marble seep into my shirt. Lord Denethor turned to his son. "I am told you rode under the shadows of the fell beast of Mordor."
"Aye, m'lord." Faramir kept his gaze locked into his father's eyes. I admired Faramir for his courage to do so. I would never dream of looking at the steward of Gondor like that.
"And what is this I hear about you sending the Ring into the hands of a witless Halfling?" Lord Denethor shouted.
I wondered how he found out. Even Mirthandir was greatly surprised by His Lordship's sudden outburst.
"Boromir would have brought it to me," Lord Denethor whispered, leaning back into his seat. "Aye, my Boromir--who was greatly loyal to me--would have brought it to me. It would have been locked, deep in the vaults. Only taken out in time of great need."
"Nay, Father!" Faramir suddenly cried out passionately. "Nay. Boromir would have stretched his hand out and taken it for his own. He would have fallen, though his will and strength is great. And when he returned, you would have not known your son..." Faramir's voice faltered.
Lord Denethor stood up and shouted, "Boromir was loyal to me! Not some wizard's pupil!"
Mithrandir frowned. Faramir looked shaken. I clenched my fist. How dare Lord Denethor, as great as he may be, say things like that about Faramir! Faramir, who has risked life and limb to save Gondor.
The steward sank back into his chair. He closed his eyes. "I will not yield the river in Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken."
I stepped out of the shadows, bowing. "But milord, Osgiliath is overrun. There are simply too many orcs there. We were and are outnumbered."
Lord Denethor glared at me. "Much must be risked in war. Is there not a captain here who is ready to do the will of his lord the steward?"
Faramir was trembling, though he did his best not to show it. I bit my lip.
"Boromir would have gone... he would have done his best to serve his lord's will," Lord Denethor said softly.
Faramir was trembling. I could see it now. No Faramir. Don't say yes... Do not yield to His Lordship's will... No Faramir. You do not have to be as great as Boromir. Many people love you the way you are. I was prepared to step out and volunteer myself when Faramir sighed.
"Since you were robbed of Boromir," Faramir said softly, "I will do what I can in his stead." He bowed low. I saw him struggling to keep back tears. Mithrandir had a worried look on his face. Perhaps the wizard could convince the steward to reconsider.
Faramir turned to leave. Then he stopped and turned back. "If I should return, think better of me Father."
That was the first time, in all the years I have known him, I have heard Faramir adress the steward as 'Father'. He loved a father who did not love him, I thought.
"That would be in the manner of your return," Lord Denethor said coldly.
That was when the steward lost my respect for good.
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Faramir and I were alone in his chambers. A dying fire burned in the fireplace. He was seated on the bed, his arms on his knees, his head bowed.
"Why did you yield to your father's will?" I demanded angrily. "You know it is a suicide mission!"
Faramir looked up.
"I would have gone for you, m'lord. I would have gone and died for you," I whispered. I leaned against the wooden door and folded my arms.
"That's why I volunteered," Faramir said. He looked up and forced smiled. He got up and unlaced his leather breastplate. "I knew you would have gone for me..."
"You're lying," I snarled.
He turned away, hands planted on his waist. He was silent for a long time.
Faramir turned around again. Tears were in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks. They mixed with the dried blood on his cheek. "Eorl," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Why does my father hate me?"
This was it. I knew this was the right time. "Because," I heard myself say. "Because you killed your mother!"
Faramir looked stunned. He sank onto his bed. "What?"
"You killed her. She died giving birth to you, Faramir. She died giving life to you. Lord Denethor has never forgiven you for taking your mother's life away."
He was angry now. "Why wasn't I told!"
"No one has the courage to." I shrugged indifferently. "The people of Minas Tirith fear and respect you, Faramir. They respect you more than they respected Boromir. I know. I have seen it in their eyes."
Now he was crying like a little baby. His face buried in his hands.
"I will go with your company," said I.
"No. You are badly hurt." He looked up. "You are not fit to ride out. I will go. And if I should return, we will renew our friendship and you shall forgive me from not allowing you to come with me."
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I watched Faramir seated upon his brown horse ride at the head of the column. Women were sobbing. I could not cry. I was too old too cry.
"Faramir!" Mirthrandir's voice shouted. "Faramir! Do not throw your life away so rashly. Your father loves you, Faramir. He will remember it before the end. Farewell!"