Disclaimer and A/N: The characters and settings here portrayed belong to master Tolkien. In the best spirit of hobbit tradition, I am offering you a gift, a mathom, because of my birthday. I'd just like to thank all of you authors and readers who contribute and encourage each other's efforts, and who also love the beautiful works of Tolkien. Thanks, very much, for all you do.
MATHOMS
I had seen the young Steward very busy as the days passed since my return from the field and Aragorn's coronation, going up and down through his house, walking down to the lowest level of the city, and then back to the Citadel again, inspecting walls and repairs, speaking to soldiers old or young, seeing to the food and water supply, organizing the groups of returning denizens and ordering the re-occupation of the lower levels, overseeing the repairing of the outer walls... I could go on and on, for there was plenty to do in Minas Tirith those days, after the wreck the war had caused. I certainly admired his energy, for he seemed tireless as he went about, fulfilling the responsibilities his new position had brought. The King seemed to be aware of this too, for during those days, I often heard him speak fondly about his good Steward and the success of his undertakings to restore those parts of the city that had taken greater damage, at which comments Faramir would only smile and quietly look away.
I tried to help him as much as I could for I had vowed to serve the Steward, even though my oath had been made to another (although, I must say that I tried to do things quickly, for I wished to be with my friends and hear the tales of their journeyings and deeds after we were parted). But, I saw in Faramir a strength, a kindness, an air of nobility, a sort of power that would have drawn anyone to him, no matter his station or call. I would have served him anyway, oath or no.
As the days passed, I had enough time to recognize differences between the old Steward and the new one that went beyond their age. Surprisingly, however, I was also able to detect striking similarities. They were both shrewd and their sharp glance seemed to delve to the very roots of my heart; they were both orderly folk, and yet they appeared to be able to find their way in the untidiest mess with equal ease; their wisdom was endless, or so it seemed to me! And every thing they heard or observed added to the fountain of their knowledge. They were both observant, quiet, studious, clever men. They had both a dignified manner, and a commanding voice; but, there was were the differences began, for Faramir's voice did not carry that note of sternness that his father's had; nor did his keen stare make you stiffen in that sudden way, and oft would I catch him smiling upon looking at some simple thing, as though he understood its nature and purpose better than anybody else. Perhaps he did.
And yet, I felt like I did not fully know him; but then, how could I? He was a riddle, as much as those songs of old Bilbo, a puzzle. Emotions and thoughts would show plainly on his face, and yet I would be unable to understand them, or grasp at least a small portion. My own knowledge in those matters was limited and thwarted by my lack of patience to observe things for too long. This day, however, my curiosity had been piqued, for I had not seen him come out of the house since dawn. I supposed that his duties kept him anchored to the desk, but what had begun as a pale morning had now become a bright, glorious day, and I knew that the prospect of sitting under a tree to simply watch the sun, if only for a few moments, would be hard for him to resist, especially after such dark days as we had been forced to endure of late.
So it was that I sought for him inside. As I entered, I knew that something important was going on. There were servants moving everywhere, up and down the stairs, closing and opening doors and carrying things, objects of all kinds. I thought it odd to undertake such kind of cleaning in a house that was obviously free of dirt or dust as this one. Still I went on, going through hallways that appeared to be much more lighted now, and I noticed that more windows had been opened, and the house had a more wholesome feel to it.
Although some of the servants looked at me strangely as I crossed their way, I was left to wander freely around the house, and so I did, until I saw him. He was gazing out of a window that overlooked to the East, and numberless sun-rays slanted through it, lighting the room as brightly as if it had been a glade in the forest. He must have heard me approach, for he turned and smiled at me.
"Ah, master Peregrin," he said, as he knelt beside a chest, placing the books he carried in his hand on a small table, "I had begun to wonder about you, and your whereabouts. How fare you, this day? We've had a fine morning, have we not?"
It pleased me to find him more cheerful, for his mood had certainly been rather sombre lately, but it did not take long before I saw that odd flicker in his eyes, and I knew that his cheerfulness was only a mask of his inner thoughts which were surely more solemn and contemplative than I could understand. "Is there anything you would like me to do today, lord Steward?" I asked, as I lifted my helmet slightly because it had slid down over my eyes. "I see you are rather busy here. If I may," I began, in the most respectful tone I could muster, "I would ask why you have taken to ordering and cleaning on a fine day as this? Would you not come outside for a moment, just to glimpse at the beauty of the sky and gardens? We've not enjoyed a morning so fine since..."
"Too long," he finished the sentence, without raising his eyes to look at me. For a moment, he remained silent, his head bent over the chest, fumbling about the contents therein. "It would... it would help me if you remained here, and talked to me. I have been somewhat lonely." His confession made me raise a brow. I had never thought he would feel lonely after... well, after the shadow was vanquished. There were so many people there, too, and many who could keep him company. Maybe he spoke of the White Lady of Rohan, who had already departed with her brother, or maybe there were too many memories locked inside that house that depressed him. But, whatever the case, I was glad of his asking, and so I took my helmet off and rolled my sleeves to sit by him. As I peered into the contents of the chest, I had to stifle a laugh, for they seemed homely enough, where I had expected something grand and wonderful, and reminded me of the Shire.
"Mathoms!" I cried, excitedly, and suddenly I felt embarrassed of my eager slip before so worthy a lord.
"Mathoms?" he repeated, looking back at me, very puzzled. I also saw his lips twitch upwards as he tested the sound of the word. "Mathoms... That is a word I had never heard spoken before. It has a rohirric feel to it, however. What does it mean?"
I wondered whether he thought it funny, for there was a mirthful gleam in his eyes. Only because he said it sounded rohirric did I think that he actually considered it as something important; that, and the fact that his eyes were fixed on me, bestowing such keen attention that I understood he truly hoped for an answer. I summoned my nerve to craft a response. "Whether it is rohirric or not, I cannot say. But, /i is a word we use in my land when we refer to-" I trailed off, for at that moment I realized what I had done. I had referred to his valuable possessions as mathoms! Would he be angered with me? I stammered, and I think my cheeks flushed, because I suddenly felt very hot. "Mathoms are... in my land... we give mathoms... yes! We give mathoms at birthdays. Well, not really. We-"
"Yes?" he asked, and I got the impression that he was actually amused at my distress.
"Well, we keep mathoms at a museum, the Mathom-House. Mathoms are articles that nobody wants to get rid off, but nobody wants to keep either." When I had finished speaking, my head had drooped, but I looked at him from the corner of my eye, and I was surprised to see his hand on his chin, as if pondering.
"And you give them out, you said?"
"At birthdays, mostly," I had to admit. "Since some of them are old and rather useless," later I regretted my bluntness, "people give them out when they can, hoping that somebody else will make better use of them; and, of course, grateful that they will not have to keep them in their houses any longer. Some mathoms have gone all over the Shire- twice!"
He did laugh then. "And, these are mathoms?" he asked, gesturing at the contents of his box, and glancing quickly about the room. I looked around, too, and had to acknowledge that, indeed, most everything on that room was fit to be displayed at the Mathom-House at Michel Delving. There were figurines of glass and carved in stone, there were old pictures and books, pieces of clothing and fabrics, old furniture, wood carvings... boxes upon boxes of things that nobody used, and about which nobody cared, or else they would not have been all thrown together in that room... definitely mathoms.
"Please, sir," I added, as I understood that he had read in my silence a confirmation to his question, "I meant not to say that the things here are useless. 'Tis only that-"
"Trouble not over it, Peregrin," he said. "From what I understand of your lesson about words and traditions from your homeland, these /i as you call them, are meant to be gifts. I would hear more of that. Do you mean that they give each other what they have already used, to mark a new year from their births? 'Tis a strange way, indeed."
"The birthday person gives out mathoms to the friends, to commemorate his or her birth." I saw him raise a brow.
"So! Do they give out gifts to others on their own celebrations? That seems to be a fine custom, my friend, and one that I would like," he became silent, and rose to stand by the window again, his back turned to me. I rose, too, but from my place in the room I could see only little of the world outside, although the window was large. I saw the vaste grasslands of the plain, I saw blue skies far off, and the radiant sun. At length, he looked at me, "I am giving away most of these things. Some of them will be better off in the hands of folk who can use them to their advantage. Some of them are so incredibly old there is no use to be found for them. Some others..." here he hesitated, "some others I would rather not keep. It could well be said that I celebrate my birth by the giving of gifts," he smiled, although I fancied it was not mirth that made him do so. "Mathom... it is a fine word. And they display them for people to look at them, you say? A mathom is a gift to be remembered, then."
I thought his aim was to make me feel comfortable and not embarrassed or guilty at having slighted his possessions, but it took me only a few moments to determine that it was not entirely so. As I noticed how his gaze was fixed toward the East, I realized that his thoughts were deeper than what he had just revealed to me, and I felt a strong desire to be allowed a glimpse of them. "Lord Faramir, I would know what has caused such a change in your mood. Why is your gaze fixed Eastwards?"
"I am merely thinking about mathoms... gifts you give out to celebrate your birth." He became pensive, and I became distressed; I worried that his mood would alter back into that sad, melancholy gloom that it had been right after his father tried to... But, he spoke again, "We have all been reborn. This endless night of fear, this shadow, was the end of a cycle. The new Sun marks a beginning, a birth." I could not help but marvel at his wisdom; I would have never made that connection, I think. "People have worked, and fought, and lost... giving of themselves to contribute to a cause in which they believed. With our sacrifices, we have given out our own mathoms. Some of them will be better remembered than others," he hesitated before adding, "some may be forgotten in years to come. But each of us has given their share, and it is through great efforts that we can see this new day. There are some of us, more worthy of honor and praise, who will never see a new dawn again," he trailed off, and I realized he spoke of his brother.
"Those of us who remain are charged to keep their memory alive," I hastened to add, and was grateful that I had managed to say something that pleased him, because I saw him smile again, and then I noticed that he had been fiddling with some object that he carried in his hand. I cocked my head to take a better look, hoping that he would not notice, and he laughed.
"Would you like to know what this is, worthy Periannath?" My shoulders squared in dignity as I heard him call me thus. "This, is a mathom that someone gave to me, a long time ago." He handed it to me, and I was delighted to see what it was: a wooden soldier, very fine, with green clothing of true fabric whose colors had not faded. It had a broken leg, but it was the most beautiful toy soldier I had ever beheld. The sight of it strongly reminded me of the first time I saw Faramir for he, too, had been clad in green that day he entered the city after his encounter with the Black Wings. I also noticed that it had been used and handled much, in spite of the fine state in which it had been preserved; and, for a brief instant, I had a vision of the lord Steward as a boy, eager and pensive at the same time, playful and serious, as he went about the city with his wooden ranger. Maybe he sensed my excitement, or maybe he only hoped to voice his thoughts, when he asked me, "Isn't it a beauty?" I enthusiastically nodded my agreement. "I hope his broken leg does not mar his value in your eyes. He was the dearest toy I ever had."
At that moment, I was allowed a glimpse of this man's deepest thoughts. The cleansing of his house was only a mask for the cleansing of his soul. My admiration of him grew even more as I beheld him standing tall and valiant against the sun. In front of me was a man who had stood on the brink of the shadow, and had been scarred by the night, but his beauty remained, heightened, as it were, because he had valiantly refused to be swayed. His soul had not been stained, and remained bright as ever. He was a good man, an honest man, and I wanted to tell him so, but I was not very good with words.
"His beauty and value are even more so," I managed to say, "because he has fought bravely and learned to survive through his loss."
I think he deemed it a deep observation, for he knelt beside me, and putting his hand on my shoulder, looked straight at me. "I do not yet know whatever possessed you to do it. I do not know why... But, I never really thanked you," he said, and his eyes became as bright as I had ever seen them, "for what you did." There was no need to explain further, for I knew what he meant. He had been born of fire, the lord Faramir. He had given, and was still giving away his mathoms, after all, and at last I understood it. It took me too long, I think. As I looked at him, it was not the Steward that I saw, but the Ranger that I first met, proud and grave after mastering the shadow, the shadows of his heart. I felt then what I felt that day that now seems long gone to me, for when I looked upon Captain Faramir as he stood by the gates of the city, my heart was moved by his compelling power, as it was now, and I knew that I would still follow him. It was then that I truly understood what I had done, for I had helped save a treasure. I had also given my mathom.
That day I helped him as he disposed of a few things, and re-arranged others. His undertaking began that day, but did not end then. I realized I had also been born anew, without even being aware of it. As I saw him gather the remnants of his old life to try to begin a new one, I knew with great certainty that I, too, would never be the same again.
Years passed, and life went on. I returned to the Shire, my homeland, but could never forget my second home, the land of my second birth. Never again did I think about mathoms in quite the same way, and my wife and son often wondered about it, for I never gave out gifts that I did not want, but I began to give out things that I truly cherished. When questioned, I would simply say that mathoms were gifts to be remembered; and, they would smile, although I fancied that they secretly hoped I would not part with the things that I loved so dearly. I never told them, but I think I knew better.
One day, as I was tidying up the chamber that Diamond was fond to call my /i (although it was seldom that any studying was done there, to be truthful), my own Faramir came in through the door, carrying something in his hands. I knelt down to gaze at it, and was surprised, and pleased, to see he was carrying a wooden soldier, dressed in green and with a broken leg.
"What is this, paps?" he asked eagerly, unable to conceal his excitement over what he deemed a valuable finding. "It's beautiful!"
"It is, isn't it?"
"What is it? Where did you get it? This is no hobbit!"
I laughed heartily. "No, indeed! Hobbits are much more handsome than that. This is a mathom."
"A mathom?" He eyed me suspiciously, perhaps thinking that I had, at last, entered my dotage.
"A mathom it is, I tell you. It was a gift," I said, "a gift to be remembered."
"This is very fine, father. Whoever gave it to you must have liked you very much."
"I hope so," I said, and a sudden emotion filled my heart, of regard, and love, and gratefulness. "Are you not bothered by the fact that it has only one leg?"
"Nooo!" he said, dragging out the word. "How could I? It is beautiful just as it is. Even more so, because he must have learned to live with his loss."
That was my Faramir, I thought. Both of them. I put my hand around my son's shoulders, and together we left the house, seeking the warm afternoon sun as we made our way through the garden, Faramir asking questions, and I very gladly answering them, telling the tales of the Land of Stone, and my friend, the Steward, and our beloved Frodo, and the good King... I determined that day that, when my next birthday came, I would give my own mathom to Faramir. He would be glad to have the toy soldier, even if it had only one leg.
MATHOMS
I had seen the young Steward very busy as the days passed since my return from the field and Aragorn's coronation, going up and down through his house, walking down to the lowest level of the city, and then back to the Citadel again, inspecting walls and repairs, speaking to soldiers old or young, seeing to the food and water supply, organizing the groups of returning denizens and ordering the re-occupation of the lower levels, overseeing the repairing of the outer walls... I could go on and on, for there was plenty to do in Minas Tirith those days, after the wreck the war had caused. I certainly admired his energy, for he seemed tireless as he went about, fulfilling the responsibilities his new position had brought. The King seemed to be aware of this too, for during those days, I often heard him speak fondly about his good Steward and the success of his undertakings to restore those parts of the city that had taken greater damage, at which comments Faramir would only smile and quietly look away.
I tried to help him as much as I could for I had vowed to serve the Steward, even though my oath had been made to another (although, I must say that I tried to do things quickly, for I wished to be with my friends and hear the tales of their journeyings and deeds after we were parted). But, I saw in Faramir a strength, a kindness, an air of nobility, a sort of power that would have drawn anyone to him, no matter his station or call. I would have served him anyway, oath or no.
As the days passed, I had enough time to recognize differences between the old Steward and the new one that went beyond their age. Surprisingly, however, I was also able to detect striking similarities. They were both shrewd and their sharp glance seemed to delve to the very roots of my heart; they were both orderly folk, and yet they appeared to be able to find their way in the untidiest mess with equal ease; their wisdom was endless, or so it seemed to me! And every thing they heard or observed added to the fountain of their knowledge. They were both observant, quiet, studious, clever men. They had both a dignified manner, and a commanding voice; but, there was were the differences began, for Faramir's voice did not carry that note of sternness that his father's had; nor did his keen stare make you stiffen in that sudden way, and oft would I catch him smiling upon looking at some simple thing, as though he understood its nature and purpose better than anybody else. Perhaps he did.
And yet, I felt like I did not fully know him; but then, how could I? He was a riddle, as much as those songs of old Bilbo, a puzzle. Emotions and thoughts would show plainly on his face, and yet I would be unable to understand them, or grasp at least a small portion. My own knowledge in those matters was limited and thwarted by my lack of patience to observe things for too long. This day, however, my curiosity had been piqued, for I had not seen him come out of the house since dawn. I supposed that his duties kept him anchored to the desk, but what had begun as a pale morning had now become a bright, glorious day, and I knew that the prospect of sitting under a tree to simply watch the sun, if only for a few moments, would be hard for him to resist, especially after such dark days as we had been forced to endure of late.
So it was that I sought for him inside. As I entered, I knew that something important was going on. There were servants moving everywhere, up and down the stairs, closing and opening doors and carrying things, objects of all kinds. I thought it odd to undertake such kind of cleaning in a house that was obviously free of dirt or dust as this one. Still I went on, going through hallways that appeared to be much more lighted now, and I noticed that more windows had been opened, and the house had a more wholesome feel to it.
Although some of the servants looked at me strangely as I crossed their way, I was left to wander freely around the house, and so I did, until I saw him. He was gazing out of a window that overlooked to the East, and numberless sun-rays slanted through it, lighting the room as brightly as if it had been a glade in the forest. He must have heard me approach, for he turned and smiled at me.
"Ah, master Peregrin," he said, as he knelt beside a chest, placing the books he carried in his hand on a small table, "I had begun to wonder about you, and your whereabouts. How fare you, this day? We've had a fine morning, have we not?"
It pleased me to find him more cheerful, for his mood had certainly been rather sombre lately, but it did not take long before I saw that odd flicker in his eyes, and I knew that his cheerfulness was only a mask of his inner thoughts which were surely more solemn and contemplative than I could understand. "Is there anything you would like me to do today, lord Steward?" I asked, as I lifted my helmet slightly because it had slid down over my eyes. "I see you are rather busy here. If I may," I began, in the most respectful tone I could muster, "I would ask why you have taken to ordering and cleaning on a fine day as this? Would you not come outside for a moment, just to glimpse at the beauty of the sky and gardens? We've not enjoyed a morning so fine since..."
"Too long," he finished the sentence, without raising his eyes to look at me. For a moment, he remained silent, his head bent over the chest, fumbling about the contents therein. "It would... it would help me if you remained here, and talked to me. I have been somewhat lonely." His confession made me raise a brow. I had never thought he would feel lonely after... well, after the shadow was vanquished. There were so many people there, too, and many who could keep him company. Maybe he spoke of the White Lady of Rohan, who had already departed with her brother, or maybe there were too many memories locked inside that house that depressed him. But, whatever the case, I was glad of his asking, and so I took my helmet off and rolled my sleeves to sit by him. As I peered into the contents of the chest, I had to stifle a laugh, for they seemed homely enough, where I had expected something grand and wonderful, and reminded me of the Shire.
"Mathoms!" I cried, excitedly, and suddenly I felt embarrassed of my eager slip before so worthy a lord.
"Mathoms?" he repeated, looking back at me, very puzzled. I also saw his lips twitch upwards as he tested the sound of the word. "Mathoms... That is a word I had never heard spoken before. It has a rohirric feel to it, however. What does it mean?"
I wondered whether he thought it funny, for there was a mirthful gleam in his eyes. Only because he said it sounded rohirric did I think that he actually considered it as something important; that, and the fact that his eyes were fixed on me, bestowing such keen attention that I understood he truly hoped for an answer. I summoned my nerve to craft a response. "Whether it is rohirric or not, I cannot say. But, /i is a word we use in my land when we refer to-" I trailed off, for at that moment I realized what I had done. I had referred to his valuable possessions as mathoms! Would he be angered with me? I stammered, and I think my cheeks flushed, because I suddenly felt very hot. "Mathoms are... in my land... we give mathoms... yes! We give mathoms at birthdays. Well, not really. We-"
"Yes?" he asked, and I got the impression that he was actually amused at my distress.
"Well, we keep mathoms at a museum, the Mathom-House. Mathoms are articles that nobody wants to get rid off, but nobody wants to keep either." When I had finished speaking, my head had drooped, but I looked at him from the corner of my eye, and I was surprised to see his hand on his chin, as if pondering.
"And you give them out, you said?"
"At birthdays, mostly," I had to admit. "Since some of them are old and rather useless," later I regretted my bluntness, "people give them out when they can, hoping that somebody else will make better use of them; and, of course, grateful that they will not have to keep them in their houses any longer. Some mathoms have gone all over the Shire- twice!"
He did laugh then. "And, these are mathoms?" he asked, gesturing at the contents of his box, and glancing quickly about the room. I looked around, too, and had to acknowledge that, indeed, most everything on that room was fit to be displayed at the Mathom-House at Michel Delving. There were figurines of glass and carved in stone, there were old pictures and books, pieces of clothing and fabrics, old furniture, wood carvings... boxes upon boxes of things that nobody used, and about which nobody cared, or else they would not have been all thrown together in that room... definitely mathoms.
"Please, sir," I added, as I understood that he had read in my silence a confirmation to his question, "I meant not to say that the things here are useless. 'Tis only that-"
"Trouble not over it, Peregrin," he said. "From what I understand of your lesson about words and traditions from your homeland, these /i as you call them, are meant to be gifts. I would hear more of that. Do you mean that they give each other what they have already used, to mark a new year from their births? 'Tis a strange way, indeed."
"The birthday person gives out mathoms to the friends, to commemorate his or her birth." I saw him raise a brow.
"So! Do they give out gifts to others on their own celebrations? That seems to be a fine custom, my friend, and one that I would like," he became silent, and rose to stand by the window again, his back turned to me. I rose, too, but from my place in the room I could see only little of the world outside, although the window was large. I saw the vaste grasslands of the plain, I saw blue skies far off, and the radiant sun. At length, he looked at me, "I am giving away most of these things. Some of them will be better off in the hands of folk who can use them to their advantage. Some of them are so incredibly old there is no use to be found for them. Some others..." here he hesitated, "some others I would rather not keep. It could well be said that I celebrate my birth by the giving of gifts," he smiled, although I fancied it was not mirth that made him do so. "Mathom... it is a fine word. And they display them for people to look at them, you say? A mathom is a gift to be remembered, then."
I thought his aim was to make me feel comfortable and not embarrassed or guilty at having slighted his possessions, but it took me only a few moments to determine that it was not entirely so. As I noticed how his gaze was fixed toward the East, I realized that his thoughts were deeper than what he had just revealed to me, and I felt a strong desire to be allowed a glimpse of them. "Lord Faramir, I would know what has caused such a change in your mood. Why is your gaze fixed Eastwards?"
"I am merely thinking about mathoms... gifts you give out to celebrate your birth." He became pensive, and I became distressed; I worried that his mood would alter back into that sad, melancholy gloom that it had been right after his father tried to... But, he spoke again, "We have all been reborn. This endless night of fear, this shadow, was the end of a cycle. The new Sun marks a beginning, a birth." I could not help but marvel at his wisdom; I would have never made that connection, I think. "People have worked, and fought, and lost... giving of themselves to contribute to a cause in which they believed. With our sacrifices, we have given out our own mathoms. Some of them will be better remembered than others," he hesitated before adding, "some may be forgotten in years to come. But each of us has given their share, and it is through great efforts that we can see this new day. There are some of us, more worthy of honor and praise, who will never see a new dawn again," he trailed off, and I realized he spoke of his brother.
"Those of us who remain are charged to keep their memory alive," I hastened to add, and was grateful that I had managed to say something that pleased him, because I saw him smile again, and then I noticed that he had been fiddling with some object that he carried in his hand. I cocked my head to take a better look, hoping that he would not notice, and he laughed.
"Would you like to know what this is, worthy Periannath?" My shoulders squared in dignity as I heard him call me thus. "This, is a mathom that someone gave to me, a long time ago." He handed it to me, and I was delighted to see what it was: a wooden soldier, very fine, with green clothing of true fabric whose colors had not faded. It had a broken leg, but it was the most beautiful toy soldier I had ever beheld. The sight of it strongly reminded me of the first time I saw Faramir for he, too, had been clad in green that day he entered the city after his encounter with the Black Wings. I also noticed that it had been used and handled much, in spite of the fine state in which it had been preserved; and, for a brief instant, I had a vision of the lord Steward as a boy, eager and pensive at the same time, playful and serious, as he went about the city with his wooden ranger. Maybe he sensed my excitement, or maybe he only hoped to voice his thoughts, when he asked me, "Isn't it a beauty?" I enthusiastically nodded my agreement. "I hope his broken leg does not mar his value in your eyes. He was the dearest toy I ever had."
At that moment, I was allowed a glimpse of this man's deepest thoughts. The cleansing of his house was only a mask for the cleansing of his soul. My admiration of him grew even more as I beheld him standing tall and valiant against the sun. In front of me was a man who had stood on the brink of the shadow, and had been scarred by the night, but his beauty remained, heightened, as it were, because he had valiantly refused to be swayed. His soul had not been stained, and remained bright as ever. He was a good man, an honest man, and I wanted to tell him so, but I was not very good with words.
"His beauty and value are even more so," I managed to say, "because he has fought bravely and learned to survive through his loss."
I think he deemed it a deep observation, for he knelt beside me, and putting his hand on my shoulder, looked straight at me. "I do not yet know whatever possessed you to do it. I do not know why... But, I never really thanked you," he said, and his eyes became as bright as I had ever seen them, "for what you did." There was no need to explain further, for I knew what he meant. He had been born of fire, the lord Faramir. He had given, and was still giving away his mathoms, after all, and at last I understood it. It took me too long, I think. As I looked at him, it was not the Steward that I saw, but the Ranger that I first met, proud and grave after mastering the shadow, the shadows of his heart. I felt then what I felt that day that now seems long gone to me, for when I looked upon Captain Faramir as he stood by the gates of the city, my heart was moved by his compelling power, as it was now, and I knew that I would still follow him. It was then that I truly understood what I had done, for I had helped save a treasure. I had also given my mathom.
That day I helped him as he disposed of a few things, and re-arranged others. His undertaking began that day, but did not end then. I realized I had also been born anew, without even being aware of it. As I saw him gather the remnants of his old life to try to begin a new one, I knew with great certainty that I, too, would never be the same again.
Years passed, and life went on. I returned to the Shire, my homeland, but could never forget my second home, the land of my second birth. Never again did I think about mathoms in quite the same way, and my wife and son often wondered about it, for I never gave out gifts that I did not want, but I began to give out things that I truly cherished. When questioned, I would simply say that mathoms were gifts to be remembered; and, they would smile, although I fancied that they secretly hoped I would not part with the things that I loved so dearly. I never told them, but I think I knew better.
One day, as I was tidying up the chamber that Diamond was fond to call my /i (although it was seldom that any studying was done there, to be truthful), my own Faramir came in through the door, carrying something in his hands. I knelt down to gaze at it, and was surprised, and pleased, to see he was carrying a wooden soldier, dressed in green and with a broken leg.
"What is this, paps?" he asked eagerly, unable to conceal his excitement over what he deemed a valuable finding. "It's beautiful!"
"It is, isn't it?"
"What is it? Where did you get it? This is no hobbit!"
I laughed heartily. "No, indeed! Hobbits are much more handsome than that. This is a mathom."
"A mathom?" He eyed me suspiciously, perhaps thinking that I had, at last, entered my dotage.
"A mathom it is, I tell you. It was a gift," I said, "a gift to be remembered."
"This is very fine, father. Whoever gave it to you must have liked you very much."
"I hope so," I said, and a sudden emotion filled my heart, of regard, and love, and gratefulness. "Are you not bothered by the fact that it has only one leg?"
"Nooo!" he said, dragging out the word. "How could I? It is beautiful just as it is. Even more so, because he must have learned to live with his loss."
That was my Faramir, I thought. Both of them. I put my hand around my son's shoulders, and together we left the house, seeking the warm afternoon sun as we made our way through the garden, Faramir asking questions, and I very gladly answering them, telling the tales of the Land of Stone, and my friend, the Steward, and our beloved Frodo, and the good King... I determined that day that, when my next birthday came, I would give my own mathom to Faramir. He would be glad to have the toy soldier, even if it had only one leg.