Aid

'Dearest, there is something I would like to show you. Something that will help you recover.'

She was paler than a couple of days ago. She would not eat or drink much. She couldn't. her stomach deserted her every single time. Denethor looked down on the carcass that used to be his beautiful wife. His lady. Now she was more like a ghost.

He send all her nurses away, anxious for a private conversation.

'Dearest, flower of my heart, I have found a cure for your illness. I came upon it by mere chance, but I think it will do you good.'

'My sweet, I am afraid there is nothing that can heal me. Let me meet my end without suffering or worry.'

He took her hands in his. There were like paper, so thin. So breakable. Her sweet face was aged. Or so it seemed. Her beautiful eyes had made way for hollow depths. Dark, but for the slight gleam emitting from what once had been so powerful. Now suppressed by the darkness that radiated ever from the east.

'But you will see your family again, dearest, and the wild shores you hold so dear.' He would persuade her, even if it killed him. He would not let her die. He wouldn't.

'Is it the stone, that you speak of, my sweet?' She asked.

'Yes.'

'Then I am afraid it has misled you. It has not the power to cure, only to see. I am sorry, but it will only cast me further into darkness, for I have not the power to wield it as you have. All it will show me is despair.'

He felt his world fall apart. He had been so sure of his right, and now it was cast into shadow. And his lady along with it.

'Then what will you have me do?' he asked, with all the strength he could muster.

'I want to see my sons.'

He send some servant to fetch them for her. Finduilas made an effort to sit up, not show to much weakness to her sons. She would have them remember her as the strong woman she once was, not the miserable skeleton she knew she had become. It had been only some minutes before the servant returned with Boromir and Faramir. They were only five years apart, yet the difference in stature was amazing. Boromir had always been tall and strong for his age, whereas Faramir had always been comparatively short and even rather skinny. Not that he wasn't fed well, he just didn't have Boromir's complexion and strength. When Boromir was playing outside with the other children, Faramir had spent his time inside, devising stories and playing on his own. This had given him a pale look. In fact, seeing him and his mother together, Denethor was almost convinced they would both die, being so alike in skin colour as they were now. Except for the fact that Faramir radiated health, and his lady did not.

'Children, come closer and listen carefully. Your mother is not doing very well, so you must behave in the best way possible. Understood?'

'Yes father.'

'Yes, father, of course.'

They now approached the bed. Finduilas put on her best poker face, pretending to be more healthy than she was.

'Children, listen to me. It will not be long, until I go. I do not wish to, but have no choice in the matter. I'm sorry to have to leave you so soon.'

'Where are you going, madam?' Faramir asked.

'A place we shall all go to, when our lives on this earth have come to an end.'

'But why? Have you done something wrong?'

'No, dearest, it's just mommy's time to leave, and...'

'But you don't have to.' Boromir interjected. ' We don't want you to leave, do we father?'

The Steward took a deep breath.' No, we do not wish mommy to leave.'

'Then why does she go, I do not understand!'

'No one does, dearest,' Finduilas answered in barely more than a whisper.' These things just happen, and it is not up to us to give the answers. We can merely guess at it's purpose, and hope some good will come of it in the end.'

Then they were silent. The boys hugged their mother, afraid that, if they let go, she would fly out the window. Then, they were led out of the room, and back to their bedrooms. Denethor, however, remained. What he and his lady spoke of, shall not be revealed here, for conversations like that are of such a personal nature, that recording them would do them no honour. The next morning, she was found stone cold in her bed. The light in her eyes had gone out for good.

The funeral had been one worthy of a king. People from far and wide had gone out to pay their last respects to the fair and kind lady of Gondor. Songs of lamentation were sung, tears were shed and sadness was everywhere. Adrahil, the prince of Dol Amroth, and his family were present at his daughters funeral. Adrahil and Denethor sat together afterwards, and spoke of things all together different from the present tragedy. Until they could stand it no more.

'Why did you not set up your throne elsewhere, farther away from the danger that threatens to overthrow Middle-earth?' Adrahil demanded.

Denethor did not answer.

'It was the shadow that drove my daughter away from all she held dear. Have you any idea what sorrow your stubbornness has caused?' the prince said, arising from his seat.

Silence.

'I HAVE BURIED MY CHILD TODAY! MY FLOWER, MY JEWEL, MY EVERYTHING! AND YOU JUST SIT THERE, AND SAY NOTHING!'

'What can I say, to make your suffering lessen? What comfort have I to give you, when I have just buried my wife? The one more precious to me than all else?'

The two men looked at one another.

'There I no comfort in this world to lighten this burden for any of us. There is only the hope that one day we may see her again. But now, we are cast into a darkness that can only be caused by death. And here we shall remain, until acceptance sets in, and we return to everyday life with not more than an ache of what had once been ours, but is lost.'

'So we must be alone, then. Locked up.'

'So it seems.'

And with that, they went their separate ways.