A/N: Dedicated to and heavily influenced by Kielle. I own none of her work, nor any of Tolkien's, but I recommend both.
Neither of your parents were perfect, Faramir. It's a pity you never got to see your mother as I once did, full of vigor and as wild as the surf in the wind. Your brother gets his love of home and kin from her side of the family, I know. To have a boy with my Finduilas's strong spirit, knowing that he would never have to be removed from his wellspring only to shrivel and decline, it was all a man could ask for.
Then, we had you. I had not prepared myself for you, but I was determined that you would not suffer the indignity that I had as a young man, second in a father's affections to a total stranger. And I can say I accomplished this, but no more. It was not that I never loved you, my son, but that you and I were much too close in temperament.
From the moment I first held you, it was if I were looking at myself through some strangely distorted mirror. Perhaps it was your eyes, unblinking and gray as my own as you studied this large, hawk-nosed stranger. Perhaps it was your hair, which has always been dark like your father's and grandfather's before you. Yes, Boromir's is hardly light blond, but he was ever closer in appearance to your mother as a child. You looked at me steadily, and I at you, as you judged me for the first time. You looked as if you could see into my most shameful secrets, then, and yet you smiled upon me.
If only we could see each other's minds, Faramir. Then, perhaps, it would not have come to this. I was harsher on you than Boromir. I could claim that it was because I had always known that you would prove the hardier of my two children, but that would be unfair to both of us, and I for one think that we have had enough unfairness in our lives. When I see you, I cannot help but think of my own mistakes: those I made as a young man, as a nominal Captain-General in the army, and those I made with you and your mother. You are not my son alone, of course. You have your mother's willingness to forgive, her ability to shower pity upon those in need of it. Your father is too clever to forget mistakes, but not wise enough to truly forgive them.
And what mistakes we make! You were a studious child, conscientious about your lessons and curious about everything. I discouraged that curiosity, for reasons that I cannot hope to fully explain. I shall try, though. As your brother and I all too often forget, you are a grown man, now, and it is better that you learn from our mistakes than you make them yourself. You are old enough to heed my warning, and not dash up to the tower out of morbid curiosity. For it was curiosity that killed the cat, and shall likely be my end as well. The Arnor-stone is a powerful tool, for the man strong enough to control it, but sometimes I wonder if the information it yields is worth despair it brings to me. I dare not stop, for I have seen your brother's fall in its sphere in waking life. If it is true, then we need all the knowledge we can receive of Sauron's movements by any means. I do not wish for you to follow my path, though, my son.
The Palantir corrupts lesser men. I can use it, and I do not believe that you would be too weak to enforce your will upon it. But if it has not yet corrupted me, it has changed something within me. You have noticed it in these last few years, as the stress of battling wills with the Dark Lord begins to wear upon me. So long as I had my sons, my living memories of my wife, I thought I could hold together. But you reminded me of what I had been, Faramir. What I might still be without the weight of this struggle. I envy you, boy. I cannot be what you are any longer, but I do not want you to become as I am.
For Boromir is gone, now, and from what I have seen in the Palantir, you may be, too. I do not want you to become this broken man that is all that is left of our house. I see my reflection, made misshapen by this sphere. I do not wish to see you in it.