A Mother's gift 1: Fearful Dreams
Minas Tirith Early Summer, 2988
The tall, golden-haired woman felt no warmth, although she looked out on a bright summer's day wrapped in the warm blue cloak decorated with silver stars her husband gave her when she was pregnant with their second child. She sat in a chair by a window in her bedroom that offered an expansive view of the city gleaming palely in the sun. She was always cold now and, always a slender woman, she was now emaciated and her skin had the transparency of wax.
Her little son Faramir was the first to know how serious her illness was. He turned five in the spring but had been only four when he came to breakfast on a winter morning pale as a sheet and trembling. He didn't cry because, as young as he was, he knew his father would not tolerate tears.
"Mother," he said, "I dreamed that you died. It was so real."
Denethor interrupted harshly, "Faramir, you are too old for such foolishness! Boromir does not let something as ridiculous as a dream upset him!"
Faramir looked his father in the eye and said, "I can't help it father, and it is what I dreamed. Mother told me to tell her any important dreams I had."
Denethor's eyes blazed and he raised his hand to slap the child. If Boromir, a sturdy and sunny nine-year-old, hadn't spoken up Denethor might actually have done it.
Boromir put his arm around his little brother's trembling shoulders and said, "If I had had such a dream, father, I would have been frightened too. I never have dreams like Fari does, though, so of course I don't get upset over them." Then, he looked at Faramir and said, "Don't worry, Fari. Mother will be better by summertime, you'll see."
Denethor lowered his hand and his expression softened.
"Well," he said, "I hope you are right, Boromir. Finduilas, You shouldn't coddle Faramir."
"He is only four, Denethor," she said through clenched teeth. She would never understand how unreasonable her husband was regarding their younger son.
She sighed remembering that morning. She wished her dear Boromir had been right instead of Fari's dream. She had gotten worse, not better. It was as if something was gnawing at her from her insides.
In a way, the dreams she had been having and her worry about what would happen to her boys when she was gone was worse than the physical pain. She had been dreaming about her sons' futures. She saw Boromir pierced by arrows and Faramir pale as death and wreathed in flame. She shuddered and drew the cloak tighter around her. She would have to comfort herself with the thought that what she saw in her dreams might not come to pass and that Boromir would shield his brother from Denethor.
She heard a knock at the door. It was her sons.
Faramir ran to her with a bouquet of roses and daisies in a vase of green glass and said, "We picked this for you, mother."
Boromir smiled and said, "Fari knows the names of most of the herbs and flowers in the garden now, more even than I do. Set the vase on that table by the window, Fari."
Finduilas looked at the dark hair and gray eyes that were so dear to her, took them in her arms and said, "You two must love and look after each other no matter what."
The tall, golden-haired woman felt no warmth, although she looked out on a bright summer's day wrapped in the warm blue cloak decorated with silver stars her husband gave her when she was pregnant with their second child. She sat in a chair by a window in her bedroom that offered an expansive view of the city gleaming palely in the sun. She was always cold now and, always a slender woman, she was now emaciated and her skin had the transparency of wax.
Her little son Faramir was the first to know how serious her illness was. He turned five in the spring but had been only four when he came to breakfast on a winter morning pale as a sheet and trembling. He didn't cry because, as young as he was, he knew his father would not tolerate tears.
"Mother," he said, "I dreamed that you died. It was so real."
Denethor interrupted harshly, "Faramir, you are too old for such foolishness! Boromir does not let something as ridiculous as a dream upset him!"
Faramir looked his father in the eye and said, "I can't help it father, and it is what I dreamed. Mother told me to tell her any important dreams I had."
Denethor's eyes blazed and he raised his hand to slap the child. If Boromir, a sturdy and sunny nine-year-old, hadn't spoken up Denethor might actually have done it.
Boromir put his arm around his little brother's trembling shoulders and said, "If I had had such a dream, father, I would have been frightened too. I never have dreams like Fari does, though, so of course I don't get upset over them." Then, he looked at Faramir and said, "Don't worry, Fari. Mother will be better by summertime, you'll see."
Denethor lowered his hand and his expression softened.
"Well," he said, "I hope you are right, Boromir. Finduilas, You shouldn't coddle Faramir."
"He is only four, Denethor," she said through clenched teeth. She would never understand how unreasonable her husband was regarding their younger son.
She sighed remembering that morning. She wished her dear Boromir had been right instead of Fari's dream. She had gotten worse, not better. It was as if something was gnawing at her from her insides.
In a way, the dreams she had been having and her worry about what would happen to her boys when she was gone was worse than the physical pain. She had been dreaming about her sons' futures. She saw Boromir pierced by arrows and Faramir pale as death and wreathed in flame. She shuddered and drew the cloak tighter around her. She would have to comfort herself with the thought that what she saw in her dreams might not come to pass and that Boromir would shield his brother from Denethor.
She heard a knock at the door. It was her sons.
Faramir ran to her with a bouquet of roses and daisies in a vase of green glass and said, "We picked this for you, mother."
Boromir smiled and said, "Fari knows the names of most of the herbs and flowers in the garden now, more even than I do. Set the vase on that table by the window, Fari."
Finduilas looked at the dark hair and gray eyes that were so dear to her, took them in her arms and said, "You two must love and look after each other no matter what."
