I don't own LotR
Denethor's haughtiness soon proved too much for Wyniel to ignore however.
Faramir being a young man, he was training day after day with the Rangers. His archery was quite good, as Wyniel had witnessed it improve, and he sought approval from his father one night at dinner.
The four were seated at their own sides of a table in the Hall - Denethor, his sons Boromir and Faramir on either side of him, and Wyniel opposite. In a break between the main course and desert, Faramir had touched upon the topic of his tutor's report.
"He tell me that I'm improving greatly." Faramir bragged, slightly red.
Wyniel smiled. "Indeed you are, Faramir."
Denethor snarled and stared at his plate. "He tells me that you take too long setting up your shot."
Faramir's eyes were downcast as he assessed his father's comment. Wyniel sympathized with her brother-in-law and so spoke to the table:
"But he never misses a shot." she flashed Faramir a warm smile. He leaned over to rub her belly, which had swollen greatly over the summer.
Denethor looked up at Wyniel with hateful eyes. He glanced sharply at his youngest son, who smiled innocently. "In times of need it is much more necessary to kill many enemies rather than one. Faramir, I expect great improvement if you wish to become more like your brother."
Faramir blushed greatly, but Denethor wasn't done.
"Why must you always fail?"
Wyniel's mouth dropped open in pure astonishment. Faramir sat still for seconds, then pushed his chair back greatly, head down, and walked slowly for the double doors at the end of the Hall. Wyniel jumped out of her own chair and stared menacingly at the Steward.
"How dare you!" she growled. "All he does is try to please you! Stop comparing the accomplishments of two different people and start loving your son!" she was on the verge of tears, but her voice was level when she said; "No wonder Finduilas died. She couldn't stand you."
And with that she stalked out, head held high and skirts swishing out the door.
The entire time Boromir had sat silent.