None of Tolkien's creation/characters are mine. But I'm sure he was a generous man, and will loan them out.
Purgatory
Happiness. It radiates around Minas Tirith like a shining beacon of optimism, not one of fear and a desperate cry for help.
The King has returned, and the Dark Lord has been vanquished. I should have been there to witness it, but I fell into despair, with no hope for the future. I look at the face of my son, and see something I never witnessed in him – he is content. His face reflects joy and hope, and I realise to my shame that I never saw him like this, for I never gave him either of those sentiments.
He gazes adoringly into the eyes of a woman fair of face, and she returns his look and matches it, as they plight their troth to the sound of hearty cheers. I always knew he was loved by the people, but refused to acknowledge it. What madness took me and hardened my heart against my own child, who I look upon now with such pride and love that it leaves a heavy ache in my heart that cannot be soothed, for all I want is to embrace him, and make amends for those years when I bullied and humiliated him, believing him to be weak and worthless. Yet now I look through different eyes, and wonder where, why and how, those beliefs were born
Faramir, my son – now motherless, brotherless, fatherless. A weaker man might have fallen into the abyss of desolation, but maybe my passing was the very thing that has inspired his emotional recovery, for no longer will he have to suffer the cruelties I inflicted on his sweet and gentle heart. If anyone ever deserved love, it was my youngest child, who took blow after blow to his self-esteem, my harsh and disparaging words forever demeaning him, and yet never did he rebel against me, but offered his loyalty and his love to the very end, when I sent him maliciously to his death.
He only ever wanted my approval, my love, my respect. I knew this, but used it as a weapon when I wanted to hurt him more – and how I delighted in hurting him, a sin which now weighs so heavily on my conscience that there is no peace or rest for my unworthy soul.
Even now, with time immeasurable to contemplate, I don't know why I behaved thus. Though my mind was ravaged by the seeing stone, I cannot offer that as an excuse, for I still freely gave my love to my eldest son. Was I trying to emulate my own father, who was so frequently dismissive of my attempts to impress him, preferring to taunt me with the deeds and the quietly imposing persona of Thorongil, who I see now, embracing my son with an affection denied by me.
Faramir and his bride kneel before their King, this man who I hated like no other. This man who I misjudged through my own selfish resentment, but who now has my respect and admiration, and an undying gratitude for rescuing my son from the very brink of death.
Even the memory of my father's relationship with Thorongil makes me realise what a very special boy I gave life to, for he did not behave as I, and become twisted with loathing and jealousy. The love he had for Boromir was never in doubt, even though there must have been times when my obsessive devotion to my first born could have alienated Faramir and caused a division between the two of them – and indeed, it was what I desired, for I resented the love they shared. It wasn't enough that I denied Faramir the love of a father, I wanted to take Boromir from him also – but of that, there was never a chance, for my eldest was more discerning than ever I was, and recognised the qualities in his brother that I refused to. Although a great warrior and a true son of Gondor, Boromir's heart was but warm honey where Faramir was concerned, and I chided him for it.
"Why do you cosset him so?" I asked, and his reply troubled me long after, though I was too stubborn to contemplate his meaning.
"Because I have to give him love enough for three."
I see Mithrandir, who with the wisdom of the Istari, saw in my son from the start, those qualities which were invisible to me. In his few visits to Minas Tirith, he was more of a father figure to Faramir than I ever was, and my son's love for him only served to distance me further from my youngest – I wanted his love, yet could not, or would not, give him mine.
Faramir smiles at Peregrin Took, the halfling who through no fault of his own, contributed to Boromir's death. Though he looks little more than a child, his heart and his courage can not be bettered. It is because of his resolute spirit, that Faramir survived. I will always remember the little hobbit with much affection and respect.
And now Faramir and Eowyn stand before my tomb, and I can see tears on my son's face.
"I miss him" he says to his new wife, and he will never know that his words make my misery even harder to bear. I can never make amends for the years of torment he suffered. I can never take away the feelings of rejection and inadequacy I inflicted upon him, and although I know I have his forgiveness and his love, I will find no comfort until I am able to forgive myself.
Purgatory
Happiness. It radiates around Minas Tirith like a shining beacon of optimism, not one of fear and a desperate cry for help.
The King has returned, and the Dark Lord has been vanquished. I should have been there to witness it, but I fell into despair, with no hope for the future. I look at the face of my son, and see something I never witnessed in him – he is content. His face reflects joy and hope, and I realise to my shame that I never saw him like this, for I never gave him either of those sentiments.
He gazes adoringly into the eyes of a woman fair of face, and she returns his look and matches it, as they plight their troth to the sound of hearty cheers. I always knew he was loved by the people, but refused to acknowledge it. What madness took me and hardened my heart against my own child, who I look upon now with such pride and love that it leaves a heavy ache in my heart that cannot be soothed, for all I want is to embrace him, and make amends for those years when I bullied and humiliated him, believing him to be weak and worthless. Yet now I look through different eyes, and wonder where, why and how, those beliefs were born
Faramir, my son – now motherless, brotherless, fatherless. A weaker man might have fallen into the abyss of desolation, but maybe my passing was the very thing that has inspired his emotional recovery, for no longer will he have to suffer the cruelties I inflicted on his sweet and gentle heart. If anyone ever deserved love, it was my youngest child, who took blow after blow to his self-esteem, my harsh and disparaging words forever demeaning him, and yet never did he rebel against me, but offered his loyalty and his love to the very end, when I sent him maliciously to his death.
He only ever wanted my approval, my love, my respect. I knew this, but used it as a weapon when I wanted to hurt him more – and how I delighted in hurting him, a sin which now weighs so heavily on my conscience that there is no peace or rest for my unworthy soul.
Even now, with time immeasurable to contemplate, I don't know why I behaved thus. Though my mind was ravaged by the seeing stone, I cannot offer that as an excuse, for I still freely gave my love to my eldest son. Was I trying to emulate my own father, who was so frequently dismissive of my attempts to impress him, preferring to taunt me with the deeds and the quietly imposing persona of Thorongil, who I see now, embracing my son with an affection denied by me.
Faramir and his bride kneel before their King, this man who I hated like no other. This man who I misjudged through my own selfish resentment, but who now has my respect and admiration, and an undying gratitude for rescuing my son from the very brink of death.
Even the memory of my father's relationship with Thorongil makes me realise what a very special boy I gave life to, for he did not behave as I, and become twisted with loathing and jealousy. The love he had for Boromir was never in doubt, even though there must have been times when my obsessive devotion to my first born could have alienated Faramir and caused a division between the two of them – and indeed, it was what I desired, for I resented the love they shared. It wasn't enough that I denied Faramir the love of a father, I wanted to take Boromir from him also – but of that, there was never a chance, for my eldest was more discerning than ever I was, and recognised the qualities in his brother that I refused to. Although a great warrior and a true son of Gondor, Boromir's heart was but warm honey where Faramir was concerned, and I chided him for it.
"Why do you cosset him so?" I asked, and his reply troubled me long after, though I was too stubborn to contemplate his meaning.
"Because I have to give him love enough for three."
I see Mithrandir, who with the wisdom of the Istari, saw in my son from the start, those qualities which were invisible to me. In his few visits to Minas Tirith, he was more of a father figure to Faramir than I ever was, and my son's love for him only served to distance me further from my youngest – I wanted his love, yet could not, or would not, give him mine.
Faramir smiles at Peregrin Took, the halfling who through no fault of his own, contributed to Boromir's death. Though he looks little more than a child, his heart and his courage can not be bettered. It is because of his resolute spirit, that Faramir survived. I will always remember the little hobbit with much affection and respect.
And now Faramir and Eowyn stand before my tomb, and I can see tears on my son's face.
"I miss him" he says to his new wife, and he will never know that his words make my misery even harder to bear. I can never make amends for the years of torment he suffered. I can never take away the feelings of rejection and inadequacy I inflicted upon him, and although I know I have his forgiveness and his love, I will find no comfort until I am able to forgive myself.