In A Name
By Corralero
Chapter Three
The following morning found Findulas reading again, sat this time in the large bay windows of the extensive chambers devoted solely to her use. Light and airy, placed high up in the palace, they commanded a breathtaking view over the plains of Gondor. That morning she had opened the windows wide, feeling the warm gentles breezes tug and play with her tresses. The wind spoke to her, carrying the scent of spices and sand from the far south, the scents of earth and wood from the north and, if she breathed deeply enough, the faint elusive scent of salt and sea from the west. So she sat, absorbed in the wind and the book on her lap.
"However the elves learnt of their craft through trial and error. Many jewels originally crafted by Feanor had not one hundredth of the brightness of the silmarillions. At the start of his journey of craftsmanship he produced many of what the elves termed "adequate" jewels (believing that Eru had determined at least some purpose for any creation). These jewels or "fara-mirs" were often small in body, soft with no resistant properties, muddy brown or unattractive yellow, and held no beauty, worth or useā¦"
The book fell, fell from her hands as she sobbed, fell from the window, disappearing down, down, down in a flurry of pages and was gone, but she did not notice. This could not be so. Her little one, her Faramir, was merely adequate. The lady covered her fair face in grief as the pain grew, causing her to tremble in distress as the tears dripped between her slender fingers. Then comforting arms slipped around her shoulders, drawing her against a solid chest as fingers laced through her hair, stroking it soothingly. She clutched blindly at the comfort, shuddering with sobs.
Ecthelion held his distraught daughter-in-law sadly, soothing her until the tears became unladylike sniffs. Then softly he spoke.
"So, now you know."
She pulled away, sea-green eyes searching his for explanations, solutions. "Why?" How could such desperation and confusion be condensed into just one word? Sighing the old Steward knelt before her, drawing her fair hands together between his aged ones.
"Findulas, I cannot explain to you the workings of my son's mind, nor the" he hesitated, "dislike he has taken towards Faramir." He saw her flinch at the child's name. "Nay, my child, you must be strong. That is the name he bares and will to the end of his days. He cannot have a parent censure him for what he is and another censure him for what he is called. You love him still?" The eyes blazed with a mother's indignation and protection. "What is in a name, my lady? It does not create the goodness or badness within a soul. You must be strong. You yourself saw the worth, the goodness within Faramir, despite his name and through his name. Hunter's Jewel, I believe you named him? A beautiful name, a worthy name indeed." He trailed off as the fey of his family within his blood rose. In his mind's eye he saw the younger son, the path he took and the man whom he served. "He will be come the hunter's jewel indeed." He murmured.
Slowly his gaze refocused upon the woman before him and he raised his thumb, wiping off the last traces of distress. "Do not despair, my dear. He has you, Boromir and myself. Many others also shall come to love him and follow him." It was not enough, he knew. "And we shall see about Denethor, we shall see."
She nodded, leaning in for one last steadying embrace, then pulled back, her courage rising. They stood and she turned her face to the playful breeze, taking a long deep breath.
"I should go and join the children for lunch. We have a banquet tonight, do we not? I shall not be able to see them before they go to bed." She said, a smile gracing her face. He nodded, caressing her face in blessing as she curtsied gracefully and swept from the room. He stood to move by the window, looking down on to the nursery gardens below, where Boromir searched for dragons in the bushes as the nurse dandled a chuckling Faramir on her lap. Findulas appeared in due course, sweeping the babe up to rapturous gurgling delight as starfish hands pressed against her face. Settling him on her hip, the lady proceeded to place a soft kiss of blessing upon the child's forehead.
Smiling, the old Steward allowed his gaze to drift higher out on to the plains, further to the growing shadow in the East. Then a tint of green caught his failing eyes. Ithillien, his mind supplied. Denethor had been right in a way, he thought, Findulas had recovered soon enough. Slowly he turned away from his vantage point, raising his hand in blessing over his two grandchildren, Boromir and Faramir.
The End
Author's Notes: Woo, that's my first Lord of the Ring's fic finished! I'm really quite pleased with the way it turned out. Thank you so much for taking the time to review, I really appreciated the feedback. Please let me know what you thought of the final chapter. It's one of these werid stories where it's quite hard to wrap it up because everyone knows there is so much more to come, but I hope it came out ok. I was really pleased with Ecthelion and Findualas. They've always seen like such lovely gentle characters, They're so nice to write!
