Drabbles: Non-Silm by Zdenka  

men may bleed and men may burn

The Lord of the Rings, Denethor in the wake of Finduilas's death. (CW: grief/mourning.)

Written for the ao3_isdown drabblethon, for the prompt: Any fandom, any characters, bad coping mechanisms.

Drabble title from The Yeomen of the Guard (Gilbert & Sullivan).

Denethor cannot falter. He is Steward, and his sons are still young children. What though his wife’s death seems to tear him apart with agony; that grief strikes him anew, like an inward-twisting knife, each time he remembers she is gone. If he falls, Gondor will fall. He will rebuild himself where he is weak, become unshakeable as the Tower itself.

He wears sword and armor under his clothing, even to sleep. Soon enough he will stop reaching out for a softly-breathing form in the bed beside him.

His sons must learn it well. Nothing above Gondor; nothing above duty.

Chapter End Notes

Denethor sleeping in his armor (??!) is canon. He has no mercy for himself, and none for anyone else either.

[Denethor] stood up and cast open his long black cloak, and behold! he was clad in mail beneath, and girt with a long sword, great-hilted in a sheath of black and silver. 'Thus have I walked, and thus now for many years have I slept,' he said, 'lest with age the body should grow soft and timid.'

ROTK, "The Siege of Gondor"