1. My Son
I know that a year may pass before you can read this, and many more before you will understand, but I will not see that day. My strength wanes; my candle flickers in its last throes of life. Do forgive the splotches of ink, for the quill so often slips from my weak fingers. The healer watches me apprehensively. Perhaps he fears that this simple act will rob me of what strength remains. But it will not. I will not allow it.
You are but a child, Faramir. I do not expect you to understand death. Your brother has known it, with the passing of his beloved grandfather. I wish that you had been older; then, your first experience of mortality would not be my passing.
The room is dark, lit only by candles. I want to sit outside, to feel the breeze on my skin, and to close my eyes and imagine that I am once again in Dol Amroth. Ai, how I long to return to my maidenhood home! My soul has grown weary of this stone city; yet, I remain bound to it. I am bound to my husband, the Lord Steward, and to my sons.
Many days have passed since you were last granted permission to visit me. The memory of your eyes, wide-eyed, gleaming with tears, will haunt me until breath leaves my body. I fear we may not meet again, my son; certainly not with the intimacy of that day. My body had withered, but I somehow found the strength to hold you in my arms. You begged me to return to health soon. Although you did not say, I knew that seeing me thus frightened you.
Alas, Faramir, my body will not heal; not here in this cold city. Only the taste of the salt breeze on my tongue, the feel of the waters, can rid my soul of its tortured longing. But it is too late. The journey would be my last. So I am to die here, pining for the sea.
By the time you have read this, I will be dead, little more than a handful of scattered memories in the mind of a child. I fear that you will remember your mother as naught but an invalid, confined to her bed and hidden away from her children. It is no more my choice to be here than it is yours. I do not want to be a symbol of death to you; I want to be a symbol of a mother’s love. Know that while my body may perish and decay, my spirit remains youthful and fresh in your heart.
My eyes have grown heavy, my hands frail. I can scarcely hold the quill. But I must finish, for what my lips cannot say, my words will tell you.
It pains me to know that I will never see you nor Boromir grow to manhood, never feel the pride of watching you wed and become fathers. I will not be there to hold you when nightmares haunt your dreams, nor when you lie ill with childhood maladies. But remember, my sweet Faramir, that while I may not be there to love you, Boromir and your father - aye, your father - will.
Take care, my son. May the Valar watch over you.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.