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Ghost Dance (PG-13) Print

Written by Helmboy

13 November 2007 | 12496 words

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Part Five

One would never know that there was anything wrong in the house of Denethor from the dinner that night. The conversation around the table was bright and charming, the women flirting and the men asking of deeds of value from past ages. It had been a long time since Glorfindel had been in such a company of men and the constant questions about the early kings of Men especially Isuldur seemed to rankle the Steward more and more as the evening wore on. He struggled to contain himself and Glorfindel took a measure of the man from the corner of his eyes.

When dinner was finished and the women retired, the men gathered in the salon to talk and drink wine. Glorfindel took his glass and husbanded the contents, preferring to remain sober in such volatile company. The Steward was in no way of similar mind and took to his cups with vigor. As he did, Glorfindel noted the rising tension of his sons and the other men in the room. Even though a part of his journey here was to find out what sort of man Denethor was, he knew he would have no decent conversation this night with him as far from sobriety as he was getting to be. Rising, he bowed slightly at Denethor. “My Lord, you lay a table worthy of poems. However, the journey this far has taxed me. I would beg your indulgence if I may and retire to my chambers.”

Denethor, looking at Glorfindel with a mixture of powerful emotions displayed openly on his face nodded. “You may.”

Glorfindel bowed slightly again and turned to Faramir. “Would you do me the honor of showing me the way again. I believe I have forgotten.”

“I find it hard that one such as you, a hero of the First Age would forget anything,” Denethor remarked, chilling the room as he did.

Glorfindel schooled a pleasant expression on his handsome face and turned, regarding the Steward. “Age has its drawbacks, Lord Denethor, even for Elves.”

“Immortality is weighing you down is it?” Denethor said, rising to his feet. “I would think that there would be few drawbacks to living forever.”

Glorfindel considered the man before him and felt utter disdain. He quashed that line of thought and smiled slightly. “Imagine outliving everything and everyone you ever knew. Imagine living so long that even the land changes and you do not. Imagine endless days one after another and having to find something in your life that will occupy them. Sometimes there is a blessing in death. Sometimes life can be worse than dying.”

Denethor glared at him, his watery eyes fixed on Glorfindel’s face. “Why are you here?”

Boromir, groaning softly, shifted on his feet but stilled by a glance from Glorfindel. Faramir, watching with despair felt deep and unbearable shame fill him from this spectacle. He wanted to run away but did not dare move for fear things would become worse.

Glorfindel composed himself and turned to face Denethor. “I came to visit a friend in a city that I have loved for all the ages of men and elves. Since I am here on a private visit, I do not have to do you the courtesy of greetings. I have out of respect and out of friendship for Faramir.”

“I can see Boromir. I can see that,” Denethor began.

Boromir stepped forward, his fists balled tightly. “Don’t,” he started.

Glorfindel stilled him with a touch, laying his hand on Boromir’s arm. “Do not exert yourself. It is clear that your father is not feeling well at the moment. I will take my leave now.”

“Leave the city,” Denethor said, the contempt on his face distorting his features. “Do not stop at this room.”

“You presume much, Steward,” Glorfindel said in a quiet voice.

“Do I?” Denethor said. “You come here and tell tales of older days when men were supposedly better and smarter than they are now. If that was true, where are they? How is it that my house bears the burden of Gondor and her defense? Where is the King? Where is the line of Isuldur today?”

“You have done a service for the people of Gondor, Steward, you and your family. However, you are not the king and you never will be. The omens and portents are clear. The King will return some day and claim what is rightly his. You will stand in honor for all you do but you forget your place.”

“My son deserves to wear the crown,” Denethor said, glancing hotly at Boromir. The tall man stood head hanging, hands on hips and filled with embarrassment and despair. “My son, Boromir, will be king.”

“What is supposed to happen, will,” Glorfindel said quietly. He looked at Boromir and Faramir, “I did not wish to cause discord. I will leave.”

Faramir looked up, his face filled with dismay and shifted on his feet. “You are welcome in this house.”

“I know,” Glorfindel said, smiling at Faramir even as he felt sick to his stomach.

“I decide who is welcome,” Denethor said, hissing at his son.

Faramir looked at him and something old and bitter snapped inside his heart. He walked to his father, pushing two men apart to do so and took his cup. He stared at it a moment and then turned, throwing it with all his might into the fireplace. It crashed and the flames flickered before settling. When Faramir turned toward his father, his face was as pale as death.

Denethor stared at him with surprise and then rage quickly replaced that. He stepped forward, his clenched fists raised and shook them at his son. “How dare you!”

Faramir, suddenly calm and composed reached out and shoved his father hard with both of his hands. Denethor flew backward and landed hard on his buttocks, shock and fear replacing his rage. He sat a moment staring at both his sons and then rose shakily, gathering his rage again. Turning to the men standing by the fireplace, he raged at them, pointing at Faramir. “Arrest him! He attacked me!”

The men stared at him and then each other. One of them, a captain in the guard shook his head. “You must be more careful, sire. Falling like that can cause a man your age great harm.”

Denethor stared at him, disbelief warring with fear once more. “What did you say?” he asked, glancing from one to the other. “What did you say? I told you to arrest my son!”

For a moment, it was just silent and then another man stepped forward, his face pale but his mind made up. “And we said no.”

Denethor looked at them all and then his sons and Glorfindel. “Will none of you obey your king?”

“You are not king,” Boromir said.

“I am the Steward of Gondor! You will obey me!”

“Then who shall you arrest, father? Faramir for what he did or me for what I will not do?” Boromir asked, stepping between his brother and his father.

“I am the Steward of Gondor. You must obey me,” Denethor said, looking from one to the other.

“You are the Steward of Gondor when you show that you are worthy of it. You are not now, my Lord,” the captain said quietly. “We will not support a tyranny.”

Denethor looked at them, one to the other and then turned, lurching away from the group and out a side door. Boromir caught Faramir’s arm, halting him. “I will tend to him.”

“My Lord Boromir,” the captain said, standing stiff and tense. “I mean no offense to your house but I will not act against Lord Faramir.”

Boromir looked at him and then his brother. He patted the man on the arm and nodded. “Do not worry about it. I will take care of it. This matter is private and it stays among us.”

The men nodded and turned, together walking out of the room and into the night air beyond. Faramir stood beside Glorfindel and watched as Boromir left the room to manage their father. He looked at his hands and they felt numb. Glorfindel took his arm gently and the two walked away, leaving the empty room behind.


They sat by the fire, glasses of wine in hand. Faramir stared at the fire silently, comforted by the figure of Glorfindel beside him. He sighed deeply. “He has humiliated me for the greatest period of my life and I have taken the abuse. Somehow, this was different. He attacked you and it shamed me. I would never have defended myself but I felt I owed it to you.”

Glorfindel sighed. “I have lost my family long ago. All the comfort, all the wisdom and guidance has long been gone from me. I am a fatherless child. Even though I know it will be good in the end when we all live someday in the Blessed Lands, I am still a fatherless and motherless child. For all that I miss and mourn it seems less to me than what plagues you. You have a father that for reasons unfathomable is not man enough to be father for two sons. I find that tragic.”

Faramir sighed, looking at Glorfindel with deeply sad eyes. “Sometimes my brother is all that keeps me going.”

“You have him and he loves you. That is admirable in him. Love him back and know some day that your father will regret what he has said and done. He will be sorry for what he has missed,” Glorfindel replied.

There was a soft knock on the door. “Enter,” Glorfindel said.

The door opened slowly and a very uneasy Boromir entered the room. Pausing awkwardly inside, he nodded. “I am here to apologize for my father and his behavior,” he began, obviously deep pain evident in each word he said.

“There is no need for you to say anything,” Glorfindel replied. “Please. Come and sit.”

Boromir glanced at Faramir, shuffling uneasily for a moment and then he sighed, moving to a third chair that Faramir pulled forward. He sat heavily, leaning back wearily.

“It was not my intention to be a problem in your house,” Glorfindel replied, cutting both men off when they rose to protest. “I am a symbol of a time your father disdains. I am a living memory of the kings of whom he has grown tired. Your father wants you to be king, Boromir. One can excuse a man for wanting a son to prosper.”

“But treating a guest like he did you, that is not forgivable,” Boromir interjected.

“There are few things in this world that cannot be forgiven,” Glorfindel chided gently. “There must be forgiveness or there will never be peace.”

It was silent a moment and then Boromir sighed. “Our father’s reign is failing. We are hard pressed by the enemy and he does not see it. He was a great man in his day but things have become difficult and it falls to us more and more.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Then you must be strong for your people and each other. In my time, long ago, we had divisions that last to this day. People did not stand together and we suffered. Many is the ghost who haunts me, many is the moment that replays in my mind. Do what you know is right and you will not have to look back at your life and feel shame.”

“You fought the balrog,” Faramir said, looking at Glorfindel. He paused, uncertain as Glorfindel winced. “I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”

Glorfindel sighed, shaking his head. “Worry not. Much of what happened then is still a veiled memory. The Beast and I, we fell into darkness together and because of this act, I am remembered past mine own days.” He smiled slightly. “It is my epitaph. That is what Men would say. Epitaph.”

“If you died,” Boromir said gently.

“I did after a fashion. I remember falling away, the darkness swallowing me up whole,” Glorfindel said, speaking for the first time about something he had not addressed to another for many a generation of man. He sighed. “It had to be done. The sacrifice was necessary to save all those people.” He gazed at Boromir and Faramir and then back to the fire. “Because you lead, you have to make those sacrifices. You may not want to make them but you do them because it is what you do. It is what your life is and becomes. You can be broken by them. They can cast you down. Your father struggles with this burden. It could break him,” he concluded.

“It is difficult,” Boromir said, nodding. “He means well for our people but the burden is heavy and the road is long.”

“Your father has his path and you both have yours. You cannot live another person’s life,” Glorfindel counseled gently. “Do the best you can with your own.”

Boromir sighed. “He is a good man. He was. I hope you do not judge him from the actions of this night.”

Glorfindel chuckled and they both looked at him, curious. “I have learned a long time ago that judgment is best left to the Valar. I am but a single person and I do not know all ends. Do not fear that I would do that. I among all you might meet am aware that sometimes life does not give you what you want and how that can mark a man.”

Boromir sighed and nodded. Then he rose, pausing and looking at Faramir. “Then I bid you good evening.”

“And I, you,” Glorfindel replied with a smile.

Boromir nodded and then, hesitating a moment, turned and walked to the door. He exited and the door closed silently. Faramir continued to stare at the fire. “When will you be leaving Minas Tirith?”

“I think it would be wise to leave in the morrow,” Glorfindel replied.

Faramir nodded, sadness informing his features. He swallowed hard and nodded again, unable to say what he wanted. Glorfindel reached out and took his hand into his own. “But tonight, I am here for you.”

Faramir looked into kind eyes that had seen years fall by like leaves from a great tree, years and years that he could never match. At that moment, he did not care that he would be gone some day and that beautiful face would still be young , wise and as beautiful as it was right then. He only knew that he was glad at that moment to be sitting in the same room with this one single person. Tomorrow would bring what may come. He leaned in and closed his eyes as he was wrapped into such warmth that the memory of it would last the rest of his life.

NB: Please do not distribute (by any means, including email) or repost this story (including translations) without the author's prior permission. [ more ]

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5 Comment(s)

giggles Ohh~! NICE! Any chance of a sequal for this?

— enkemeniel    Wednesday 14 November 2007, 18:05    #

I will work on it. I love to have banter with these two. Thank you kindly for your remarks. I cannot find your email addies to thank you personally. I will keep looking for them. :)

— Helmboy    Thursday 25 December 2008, 20:52    #

Freckles? Freckles?! It’s an interesting addition, Helmboy!

— Anastasiya    Wednesday 9 December 2009, 9:20    #

A very good story, funny and well written.
I like the way you described Glorfindel.
Thank you for sharing.

— lille mermeid    Friday 7 May 2010, 9:17    #

thank you, little mermaid.

— helmboy    Sunday 9 May 2010, 6:41    #

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