His Queen

Chapter 46 - Alana

As the tension in the hall escalated, Denethor's furious gaze landed on Faramir, his voice booming with unrestrained anger.

"This is how you would serve your city? You would risk its utter ruin?" Denethor snarled.

Faramir stood tall, though the weight of his father's disapproval was clear in his eyes. He did not waver, but his voice was quiet, measured. "I did what I judged to be right."

Denethor's face contorted with rage, his eyes flickering with something dark, something unbalanced. "What you judged to be right! You sent the Ring of power into Mordor in the hands of a witless Halfling! It should have been brought back to the citadel to be kept safe, hidden. Dark and deep in the vaults... not to be used—" His voice dropped dangerously low. "—unless, at the uttermost end of need."

Alana stood off to the side, watching the exchange with a growing sense of discomfort. She knew the tension between Faramir and Denethor well enough, but seeing it so vividly now twisted her stomach in knots. She had always admired Faramir for his integrity, for his quiet strength. It was painful to watch his father berate him so harshly, but she kept her silence—for now.

Faramir's expression remained calm, though there was a tremor of sadness in his voice. "I would not use the Ring. Not if Minas Tirith were falling in ruin and I alone could save her."

Denethor sneered, his lips curling in disdain. "Ever you desire to appear lordly and gracious as a King of old. Boromir would have remembered his father's need. He would have brought me a kingly gift!"

Faramir's jaw tightened, and Alana could see the grief that flashed briefly across his face before he spoke. "Boromir would not have brought the Ring. He would have stretched out his hand to this thing, and taking it, he would have fallen."

Denethor's face twisted in fury, his voice rising to a shout as he staggered toward Faramir. "You know nothing of this matter!"

Faramir did not flinch. His next words cut through the air like a knife. "He would have kept it for his own. And when he returned, you would not have known your son."

Denethor's face went red with rage, his hands trembling as he pointed a finger at Faramir. "Boromir was loyal to me! Not some wizard's pupil!" He shouted, his voice filled with bitterness and grief. As if overwhelmed by the force of his own emotions, Denethor stumbled back, collapsing against the Steward's chair.

Faramir, though visibly pained by his father's words, gave her a subtle, grateful glance before turning back to Denethor. "Father?" he asked quietly, his tone softening as he saw the grief wash over Denethor's features.

For a moment, Denethor's rage seemed to abate. His face twisted in a mix of sorrow and desperation as he looked up at Faramir. "My son..." His voice cracked, and his eyes glazed over as if seeing someone else entirely.

Alana's breath caught as Denethor's gaze shifted past Faramir, his lips curling into a sad, broken smile. Faramir turned, confusion flickering across his face, but there was no one behind him. Boromir, Alana realized. Denethor was seeing Boromir in his mind, his grief too overwhelming to distinguish reality from memory. The moment of vulnerability was brief. Denethor's face contorted once again, and his smile vanished, replaced by a sneer of contempt.

Faramir, his expression clouded with hurt, straightened and turned to leave. As Denethor's sneer deepened, Alana's patience finally snapped. She had been holding back, trying to stay calm for Faramir's sake, but the way Denethor continued to belittle him, to undermine everything he had done, sent a surge of anger through her. Faramir had fought valiantly. He had risked his life in ways Denethor could never understand. And yet, here Denethor stood, blind to the truth.