The funeral was held the next day. Everyone thought it was too soon, that it was better to let a week or at least a few days pass, but Denethor would not have it. Each bit of resistance he met with only hardened his resolve to bury his wife and bury his grief and be done with it. He would not- could not- think about it anymore.
Nearly everyone in attendance was sobbing, but none more so than Faramir. He was crying so hard he could barely breathe, and when his mother was placed inside the coffin and lowered into the ground, he wailed and ran to the side of the coffin, putting his hands on it and resting his head against it.
"Mama, mama," he said between gasps. "Please come back, Mama."
"Move aside, Faramir," Denethor said. His eyes were dry, but his voice was clipped, as though he were struggling to hold it together. "Whining and carrying on does not bring back the dead."
Faramir wasn't listening. "Mama, I need you. Don't leave me, Mama, please." He was shaking, and when a few attendants tried to pick him up or move him away from the coffin, he screamed. "No! No, I want Mama!"
"Faramir, she's gone," Boromir said, his own face tear-stricken. "She's gone and she's not coming back."
"Mama!" Faramir screamed, still reaching his hand out, and Boromir began to break. He took his little brother in his arms and sobbed right along with him. Neither knew how long they stayed like that, but they were the last to leave the gravesite.
Denethor was one of the first. He walked through the streets of Minas Tirith and up the hill toward his palace. Because of his dark funeral robes, everyone gave him a wide berth and he was spared the trouble of acquiring guards. He walked up and up until he came to the tree, that barren tree his wife had so loved.
What had gone wrong? They'd been so happy. He'd loved her more than anything. They'd known each other well for years. She had clearly wished to please him; he could remember how she'd hoped the announcement of their second child would make him happy.
Their second child.
That was where it had all gone wrong. When her health had begun to decline. When the perfect life they had always shared was shattered. When she'd started to resent him. Everything had been perfect until five years ago. And now, because they'd needlessly had another child, it was ruined.
Denethor resigned himself to stop brooding and carry on with his tasks. He would give his sons a day to grieve and then require them to carry on with theirs. As he strode back into the palace, he found there was peace in realizing the cause of Finduilas's death.
It had all been because of Faramir. Faramir and her age at the time of carrying him and cruel fate. But nothing, nothing at all to do with him. He was blameless.