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dramadramaduck || [Accidental Video]
May. 23rd, 2011 06:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ifishouldreturnThe morning of Faramir's last day on Middle-earth dawned fair and bright. Though his heart was heavy and the knowledge that had been given was a great burden to bear, he could think of no finer day on which to say his goodbyes.
He had woken to find Minas Tirth bathed in the warm oranges and reds of the sunrise, turning the white spires and towers of the citadel into pillars of brightest gold. For a moment, all he could think of was how much this city - the city of his birth and the only home he had ever known - meant to him and how he would give anything to protect it from the enemies that surrounded it.
A moment later, he realised that he would soon sacrifice his very life for the sake of Minas Tirith. Very soon.
He knew that the thought was not a flight of fancy or a dream that had remained with him after waking. It was a fact. A solid and immutable piece of knowledge that he could not and would not question.
This was the last sunrise that he would ever see. By nightfall, he would be dead.
Faramir did not fear death. (In many ways, this was not the first time he had faced it. It was simply the first time that he had faced it with such certainty.) He had resigned himself to it the first time that he had rode out of Minas Tirth to face the allies of the dark tower. Although he would have liked to see Gondor at peace once more, he would gladly give his life so others could see such a future. His only regret was that he would leave his men without a leader in times of great danger and that his father would be left entirely alone.
***
A little after he had broken his fast, a guard hurried to Faramir's chambers with a summons from his father. As he hastened to answer it, Faramir wondered how he would react to what was to come. Denethor had made it clear on many occasions that his youngest son - his only living son - was nothing but a disappointment to him. He was still grieving for Boromir and was unlikely to waste his tears on someone else. It was Faramir's own sense of duty that kept him at Denethor's side, not the loving relationship between father and son.
As he crossed his father's chamber to speak to Denethor - who, at first, did not register Faramir's approach or look up from his breakfast - the capricious device that connected him to the community switched itself on. Though it was in his pocket and no image could be seen, the conversation that followed was broadcast clearly enough.
"You summoned me, my lord?"
"Yes. You have been idle for too long. You are to ride out at once. I wish to know if the enemy is moving."
"Father, my men are not yet rested. We returned from the south only yesterday."
"You have your orders, Faramir. Do not disappoint me in this as you have in so many other things."
"It has never been my intention to disappoint you. I want only what is best for Gondor."
"I am the Steward of Gondor. I decide what is best for this city." Unseen, Denethor's lip curled into an expression of disgust. "Your brother would not have hesitated."
"Perhaps I will join Boromir soon," replied Faramir, a little more softly, "And you will no longer have to endure my presence."
"Perhaps." The idea was not greeted with sorrow or regret. If he was ever to relent and admit his love for his youngest son, Faramir would not be alive to see it. "Until then, do what you can to avoid displeasing me."
There was a great deal more that could be said, on both sides of the conversation, but, in the end, Faramir spoke only to bid him farewell.
"Goodbye, father."
"Be ready to ride out within the hour."
The recording ended and Faramir left the hall in silence.
He would never see Denethor again.
***
Immediately after giving his men their orders, Faramir returned to his chambers to prepare for the journey. His last journey. After a brief moment of deliberation, he placed his strange communication device on his table, intending to lock it in his trunk before departing. He did not want it to fall into the wrong hands and he doubted that Denethor, if he ever decided to examine his son's possessions, would bother to search through the scrolls and parchments of a scholar to find the device hidden between them.
As he fastened his dark green cloak about his shoulders, the device switched on again. He had been deliberating whether he should bid farewell to the community before leaving Minas Tirith. When he turned back to the table and realised what had happened, he was far from surprised.
"It seemed that the community has made my decision for me," he noted, picking the device up. "I was not permitted to leave without bidding you farewell."
He had woken to find Minas Tirth bathed in the warm oranges and reds of the sunrise, turning the white spires and towers of the citadel into pillars of brightest gold. For a moment, all he could think of was how much this city - the city of his birth and the only home he had ever known - meant to him and how he would give anything to protect it from the enemies that surrounded it.
A moment later, he realised that he would soon sacrifice his very life for the sake of Minas Tirith. Very soon.
He knew that the thought was not a flight of fancy or a dream that had remained with him after waking. It was a fact. A solid and immutable piece of knowledge that he could not and would not question.
This was the last sunrise that he would ever see. By nightfall, he would be dead.
Faramir did not fear death. (In many ways, this was not the first time he had faced it. It was simply the first time that he had faced it with such certainty.) He had resigned himself to it the first time that he had rode out of Minas Tirth to face the allies of the dark tower. Although he would have liked to see Gondor at peace once more, he would gladly give his life so others could see such a future. His only regret was that he would leave his men without a leader in times of great danger and that his father would be left entirely alone.
***
A little after he had broken his fast, a guard hurried to Faramir's chambers with a summons from his father. As he hastened to answer it, Faramir wondered how he would react to what was to come. Denethor had made it clear on many occasions that his youngest son - his only living son - was nothing but a disappointment to him. He was still grieving for Boromir and was unlikely to waste his tears on someone else. It was Faramir's own sense of duty that kept him at Denethor's side, not the loving relationship between father and son.
As he crossed his father's chamber to speak to Denethor - who, at first, did not register Faramir's approach or look up from his breakfast - the capricious device that connected him to the community switched itself on. Though it was in his pocket and no image could be seen, the conversation that followed was broadcast clearly enough.
"You summoned me, my lord?"
"Yes. You have been idle for too long. You are to ride out at once. I wish to know if the enemy is moving."
"Father, my men are not yet rested. We returned from the south only yesterday."
"You have your orders, Faramir. Do not disappoint me in this as you have in so many other things."
"It has never been my intention to disappoint you. I want only what is best for Gondor."
"I am the Steward of Gondor. I decide what is best for this city." Unseen, Denethor's lip curled into an expression of disgust. "Your brother would not have hesitated."
"Perhaps I will join Boromir soon," replied Faramir, a little more softly, "And you will no longer have to endure my presence."
"Perhaps." The idea was not greeted with sorrow or regret. If he was ever to relent and admit his love for his youngest son, Faramir would not be alive to see it. "Until then, do what you can to avoid displeasing me."
There was a great deal more that could be said, on both sides of the conversation, but, in the end, Faramir spoke only to bid him farewell.
"Goodbye, father."
"Be ready to ride out within the hour."
The recording ended and Faramir left the hall in silence.
He would never see Denethor again.
***
Immediately after giving his men their orders, Faramir returned to his chambers to prepare for the journey. His last journey. After a brief moment of deliberation, he placed his strange communication device on his table, intending to lock it in his trunk before departing. He did not want it to fall into the wrong hands and he doubted that Denethor, if he ever decided to examine his son's possessions, would bother to search through the scrolls and parchments of a scholar to find the device hidden between them.
As he fastened his dark green cloak about his shoulders, the device switched on again. He had been deliberating whether he should bid farewell to the community before leaving Minas Tirith. When he turned back to the table and realised what had happened, he was far from surprised.
"It seemed that the community has made my decision for me," he noted, picking the device up. "I was not permitted to leave without bidding you farewell."
