In A Name

By Corralero

Chapter Two

"That was a cruel name."

"It is no business of yours, father, what I name my own."

"Your own! Precisely. Your own. How can you give your son such a name?"

"Because that was all he seemed worthy of, barely that." Denethor replied smoothly, finally looking up from his work, a scowl of annoyance on his handsome face. Clearly father would not allow this to drop.

"You say such things! Have you no feelings of affection, of love towards this child of yours?" Ecathalion asked in despair, watching this cold hard son of his and dreading the answer. He loved his son dearly but was well aware of his faults, of his stubbornness, his pride. Denethor sneered in sardonic amusement. His father was a fool. Yes once he had been mighty, but his wisdom was withering.

"Should I? Why should I love this Fara-mir? It is clear from the outset that he shall not match Boromir. Why should I devote and invest my love? If he wishes for my affection he shall have to earn it."

Suddenly Ecathalion felt ancient and tired beyond belief. "And what of Findulas? What of your lady wife? What of her when she discovers the other meaning of this name?"

He saw a twinge of guilt flit across the other's face. Then Denethor shrugged.

"She shall recover soon enough."


Findulas was reading. She loved to read. Often at Dol Amoth she would read by the sea, with only the wind and the sun for company. Now she read in the nursery, where Boromir drew her a picture and the month-old Faramir lay sleeping in his cradle. The birth had been exhausting and recovery had been slow, she thought as she looked up to check on the babe's state, but she was almost back to normal. There was a sudden commotion as the door to the nursery swung open, then…

"Papa!" Shrieked Boromir, throwing himself at Denethor with the faith of the innocent, to the caught and thrown high into the air, giggling with glee.

"And how is my boy today?" Inquired her husband, setting him on his feet again, "Make your report, soldier."

Boromir sprang to attention and threw a salute, but his poise was soon forgotten in his excitement to convey his day's adventures of frogs and dragons. Denethor flashed a warm smile at his wife at his son's eagerness, moving closer and reaching for a kiss…

Faramir had awoken in fright and confusion at the noise and the big booming voice filling the usually peaceful nursery and had begun to cry. Findulas halted the kiss, moving towards the cradle, but Denethor held her back, hand on her waist, nuzzling her neck. "One of the maids can deal with it." He murmured.

It.

Findulas shook her head and slipped out of his grasp, ignoring his darkening brow. Scooping Faramir up, she began to soothe him as Denethor turned brusquely away, but Faramir was rigid. His eyes, once baby blue but now turning to a deeper, clear grey were wide and distressed, almost as if he sensed the tension rising within the room. He kept crying.

"For Eru's sake, woman, shut that child up!" Denethor suddenly roared.

"He's a child! Children cry, Denethor! Besides you frighten him, he doesn't know you." She replied, trying to reason with him. He frowned heavily, seeing Boromir look tense and nervous, all of his earlier energy gone as he watched his parents fight.

"I came for some time with the family. You, Boromir. Then he…"

Oh, it was too much. She struggled to draw breath at the sudden onslaught of anger, holding the now silent Faramir to her chest.

"He? He? He is part of our family. There are four of us now. FOUR!"


The slam of the nursery door left a ringing silence in it's wake. Then a soft sob broke the silence.

"Mama, don't cry." A whispered plea reached Findulas' ears from where she knelt on the woven rug trying hopelessly to place back together the beloved vase her husband has smashed against the floor in his rage. They had fought violently before, it was a part of their marriage, their passionate and stubborn natures colliding in many matters. They loved each other deeply, despite the tempestuous fights. But never in front of the children, never over the children. "Mama…" The whisper began to waver, and she looked up to see Boromir's bright grey eyes shining with contained tears, Faramir's small form clasped tightly in his little arms, as her boy slowly approached her. She stretched out her arms to them both, holding them to her, trying to halt her tears as she kissed away theirs and soothed their fears.


That night they reconciled, as they always did. He adored his Findulas; she loved her Denethor. The argument was reconciled; the cause was not. She lay awake that night, nestled against her husband's broad chest, listening to his strong breathing and her heart was heavy within her. Helplessness tore at her as she felt the gaping void between Denethor and her youngest son, felt the gates to Denethor's heart shut firmly in front of Faramir's face. But still she refused to accept it. Time, all events took time, some more than others. Some relationships took time to flower, but were no less beautiful for their late blooming. Yet during the wintertime, Findulas was sure that a seed had been planted. She was confident Denethor felt love for his youngest son, Faramir. The beautiful name, the seed for her hope, confirmed that belief. Comforted once more, Findulas slipped into sleep.
Author's Note: Many thanks to my reviewers, Rocks-my-socks and dancingkatz! I agree, I get a bit tired of the amazing-yet-misundersood-and-highly-pressured-Denethor, if that's how people see him that's fine, but personly I though he was pretty nasty in the book. I hope my view of Denethor doesn't put people off. As you can see in this chapter I don't think he's all bad!