1. Faramir Denethorion?
He lay down on his pyre, the usurper's son dying of a fever. As the gentle flames enveloped him, washing away the memory of that fateful day, he looked into the palantir. But there he found no comfort.
The door bursting open. She lay there. With him. He slept yet, but he could still see who he was, beside her. She rose to dress, while he watched. Giving him a smug look, as she always did. She was ever brazen, ever too bold for her own good.
He cried out, tried to close his eyes, but he couldn't.
Pouring wine for his wife with his back turned. They were having dinner tonight, he told her, so they could talk. He wanted to forgive her, he explained. He cast a fond smile back over his shoulder at her as he poured the slow acting poison into her wine. He could grieve for her, he knew.
He tried to turn his head, to look away, to die, but the palantir gripped him fully now, so that he could not even blink. Or perhaps it was the fire, burning his eyelids back. He never knew.
Faramir simply thought that his father hated him. He simply thought that he wasn't good enough. He did not realize that Mithrandir spoke with his true father. He did not realize that Denethor wanted to see his faithless wife's son dead. Not until the Osgiliath raid.
At last, he started to feel death's slow embrace coming, so that the palantir was blurred. No voices would come now. None could reach him any longer, as he slipped away.
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