Untitled - BoG-Archive

Faramir was about to protest, but Boromir shook his head sadly.
‘Go to sleep, little brother,’ he said.
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As he was quickly making his way to his own chamber, Denethor still felt
his knees shake.
Once inside, he bolted the door and took two swift steps to the chair, not
even bothering to light a candle. The faint glow from the dying fire was enough.
He sank heavily into the chair, pressing a hand to his face.
He had managed to preserve an expressionless appearance while the tale of
his sons’ adventure was being told, but his blood ran cold every moment he
thought of how close he had been to losing them both…
He took several deep breaths to calm himself. It was a miracle that both the
lads were unharmed. On the morrow, he would talk to them about it and think of
a fitting punishment…now, he was merely grateful to have them back.
A faint noise startled him. He turned and stirred the fire, extracting several
merry flames.
The noise seemed to have come from the direction of his bed. Denethor
came closer, thinking that perhaps a cat had decided to share it with him, and
becoming somewhat irritated at the thought.
However, he was wrong, for it was no cat, but his younger son, wrapped in
a warm coverlet apparently borrowed from Denethor’s own bed.
‘I am sorry, Father,’ Faramir said, not waiting for Denethor to recover from
his astonishment. ‘I wanted to ask you about something, but you were not here,
and then I was cold and climbed into your bed…you are not angry?’
Denethor, still not over his initial surprise, nearly chuckled. No, indeed,
there was no danger of him becoming angry at this after all that had happened
earlier in the day.
‘No, child, I am not, though you should be in your own bed by now.’
‘I know,’ Faramir said, nodding gravely. ‘I only want to ask you
something.’
‘I am listening, then.’
The lad inhaled deeply, then clasped and unclasped his hands, and finally
asked his question. ‘How are you going to punish us for running away?’
Denethor sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his son’s anxious face,
barely discernible in the semi-darkness of the chamber.