Author's Note: I've been meaning to write this ficlet for quite some time now, but I've been so busy with "The Tale of Years" that I haven't gotten around to it. This story is about Denethor. It is very short, since there is not as much material about Denethor as there was for the first three characters I wrote about. But I wanted to write this anyway, I wanted to interpret on my own what made Denethor think less of Faramir than of Boromir and also what went through Denethor's head when Faramir was ill. Whether or not my interpretation is anywhere near what Tolkien had in mind I don't know, but this is how I saw it.
Disclaimer: Denethor, Faramir, Boromir and Pippin are all characters that belong to JRR Tolkien. I use them without permission but also without profit.
Night was falling, or perhaps day was breaking. Denethor was not really sure. He had lost track of time since they brought his son to him, badly wounded and with a deadly fever. They could say whatever they wanted to, Faramir would not survive. Surely Denethor would be able to tell, he was after all the boy's father.
None of them would survive. The battle had come which would claim all their lives, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. Faramir would only be the first of many, many. Denethor would surely die soon after him, and then they would both be reunited with Boromir.
Boromir. The perfect son, the one Denethor had always admired and been proud of. Boromir was a man, a warrior, a steward. His little brother Faramir was much gentler and softer, one who if the world was not coming to an end and he would have become the steward of Gondor, would have ruled with what he saw as kindness and compassion. The truth was that people would run Faramir over within a few days and he would soon lose all the real power that was invested in the steward.
They were two different men, the sons of Denethor. One was a warrior in love with combat and the thrill it gave, the other was a warrior only by duty and to protect the lands he loved. One had the mind of a steward and the authority that would lead his men through any tough spot, the other had a softer mind who would never have become captain had he not been the son of the steward.
Denethor had not said that he loved his younger son in a long time. What was the point? They were both going to die soon, and compared to death and war what did love matter? But now he wished that he had said it more often. He knew it would have mattered to Faramir.
Denethor's two sons were indeed different. Boromir was strong, Faramir was weak. It had always been that way, ever since they were little. Denethor had always admired the strength in Boromir and frowned upon the weakness in Faramir.
The truth was that Denethor himself was much more like Faramir than he was like Boromir. When he looked at his youngest son he saw all of the weak traits in himself and he despised his son for having inherited them. Denethor had once been like Faramir, soft, gentle and more loving of nature and lands than of the sword and shield. But that was in the past. Denethor had learned to control those sides of his personality and with time turned into the man he was today. But Faramir never even tried, he seemed to like those traits that Denethor had always seen as signs of weakness. That was the reason why Denethor had always had trouble accepting his younger son. Whenever Faramir did something that Denethor found weak, the old steward saw himself in those actions and despised it.
It had taken him until this day and this point to realise that Faramir had other traits than only the weak ones. He had ridden out to a hopeless situation and shown a courage unlike any other. For Denethor knew, far more well than his sons had ever guessed, that no act of bravery was more courageous than doing something you feared terribly. Faramir had feared going out to the battlefield, knowing that it was hopeless. Denethor had seen that and had been angered by it, a real warrior shouldn't fear battle. But Faramir had gone anyway and this was what had become of him. Denethor knew he had gone not only because he was courageous, but because he loved his father and wanted to please him. Faramir had always wanted to please him, but had always failed since he wanted to be accepted for who he was and not change his ways.
"My courageous son"… Denethor said and stroke Faramir's hot forehead. "If only your act of courage will be remembered in song. But it is too late for that. We all shall perish soon."
The hour of Gondor's doom was drawing near. Outside the battle was raging. There was no way out. There was no use now in regretting things that had been over the past years. There was no use in regretting having blamed his son for having faults that Denethor himself had always had. Even if he now took back all the harsh thoughts he had had and begged his son to forgive him for having despised him only since he saw his own weakness in him, even if he could do that it would not make a difference. Death was closing in on them both. Soon they would be with Boromir. Boromir the Brave the Perian had called him. Denethor wished Faramir could have an epithet like that as well. But there would be nobody left to write songs about him or tell stories about him. Faramir son of Denethor would fall into oblivion together with his father, his brother and his people.
It was strange how life went sometimes. How one could frown upon one's own son for being like oneself. But it had always been hard for Denethor to see the things he disliked about himself in Faramir. He had tried all of his life to escape those traits, then his son had grown up having those exact traits and had chosen to nurture them instead of hide them. Every time Denethor saw Faramir he saw the things he had tried so hard to bury within himself, his son had always been a constant reminder of that soft, gentle side Denethor hated about himself. Faramir would have been better off born as the son to a farmer, born into a family where those traits were not an obstacle. Denethor had seen it as Faramir's duty to set aside those weak sides and strive to be more like his father, but Faramir had never even seemed to try. Right now Denethor found himself wishing that he had allowed those qualities to stay, just like Faramir had done. Maybe if he had, he would not have sent his son to certain death. But they were all going to die soon anyway.
It was time to do something now. Denethor had been keeping watch for a long time, still no improvement in Faramir. The Perian seemed unwilling to give up hope, but he was a silly child. Denethor had seen in the palantír that there was no hope at all.
Faramir had ridden out to battle, knowing that there was no hope at all. It was time for Denethor to do the same. It was time for him to end his and Faramir's life, now, on Denethor's terms. He had been keeping watch long enough.
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