“Would you like to stay at Little Ladros?” 

She smiled.  “For my final days, you mean? No, my love, we have such happy memories of that house.  I would have you remember that house as a happy place.” 

Denethor held her hands and kissed her.   

They had been through much in the past few months.  There was a time when he secretly harboured disappointment.  Why could she not be stronger, for his sake, for their sons’ sake?  She, too, had been disappointed in herself.   

Then there was a time when they debated whether she should stay in Dol Amroth indefinitely (he was for it, she against).  The debate became moot as they came to realize that Finduilas was not well even at Dol Amroth. 

But now, the time for disappointment or debate had passed.  Now, they had accepted that her health was not getting better, that she was dying.  They had accepted it as part of their lives, just as the people of Gondor had lived with the looming shadow of Mordor. 

Once they accepted this, they clung to each other’s company, to the little time they were still given, with such intensity that many who saw them found their hearts moved and their eyes wet. 

Boromir and Faramir, young as they were, sensed the sadness and the great love around them.  At first, Denethor and Finduilas, as most parents would have done in their situation, told their sons not to worry about their mother, that she only needed some rest and all would be well. 

But as Denethor came to accept that she would most likely leave them soon, he thought it unfair to continue giving their sons a false assurance.  Yet, how does one tell one’s children that they must prepare to be motherless? 

Before he found a way, Finduilas had resolved the matter.  One night, the four of them sat by the fireplace in the library.  She placed Faramir on her lap, and asked Boromir to sit by her side.   

With a clear, steady voice, she told them that her body grew weak, that everyone (she, their father, the clever healers, and they themselves who had been very sweet to her) had done all they could, but she was getting weaker as the days passed. 

She would continue trying her best to stay with them as long as possible, she said.  They know their mother never gives up, do they not?  Boromir and Faramir nodded vigorously.  Then she looked them in the eyes and told them that despite her best efforts, she might die. 

Boromir cried at that.  Die, like Grandsire? And he could never see her again? Finduilas nodded, her eyes wet.  Now Faramir cried, too.  While he did not yet know what death meant, he understood how horrible it would be to never see his mother again.  

Throughout all this Denethor fixed his eyes on the fireplace.  He admired Finduilas’ courage and strength, and wondered why such a courageous, strong lady must find her body and spirit weakened. 

“Remember, it was not anyone’s fault that I am sick and may die,” Finduilas continued to tell the boys, “Do not let anyone tell you otherwise.”  Denethor knew she said this to console him, too. 

Then, as if his heart had not been pierced enough, she proceeded to tell the boys to “help Father when Mother is no longer here”.  Boromir and Faramir nodded solemnly. 

She concluded the night by telling them the story of Eärendil, one of their favourite bedtime stories.  But this time, they saw the story rather differently: it was not the hero Eärendil who captured their attention, but his young sons, who certainly had had to grow up without their father and mother. 

Little Faramir chirped, “We are more fortunate than Elrond and Elros.  We will still have Father.”  He slid down from Finduilas’ lap and came to Denethor.  “You are not going anywhere, are you, Father?” 

Denethor closed his eyes and embraced his son. 

“Of course not, son.  I will be here with you and Boromir.” 

... 

After Finduilas’ death, Denethor often wondered, had she not loved him that much, had she been a little more selfish, had she stayed at Dol Amroth and cared a little less for him—would she have lived till old age?  

He knew some whispered that she had withered in the stone city, that he, her husband, had forbidden her from seeking solace at Dol Amroth.  Some even suggested that he, the cold and stern lord, had ill-treated her.   

He did nothing to quell the false rumours.  He felt he deserved the ill reputation.  It was true, was it not, that she was spent at such a young age because she had loved him so much and insisted to stay by his side? 

He made sure that his sons knew the rumours were false, though.  He would not have them think of their mother, one of the bravest persons he had known, as a sad woman who withered in a stone city under her husband’s ill treatment. 

He went on living and fulfilling his duties.  Their young sons needed him and Gondor needed the Steward.  He was thankful for his duties; for without them to fill his mind and demand his efforts, what would have stopped him from following her? 

He did not weep much, not even when he was alone.  He had learned to master his emotions, to place them deep within the vaults of his heart and shut the gate closed. 

There were moments, though, when an item, or a scent, or a song, or his sons, suddenly reminded him of her, and his emotions would flood the gate. 

The Dol Amroth family was a source of strength for him and his sons during those difficult few years after Finduilas’ death.  Ivriniel, Finduilas’ elder sister, who had come a few weeks before her passing, stayed in Minas Tirith for several months after the funeral.   

She was one of a few persons which Denethor considered friends, and he was grateful for her presence.  Over the years, she, Imrahil and Prince Adrahil took turns visiting Minas Tirith, and Boromir and Faramir spent time in Dol Amroth with their relatives from time to time. 

The possibility of espousing another lady did cross his mind, but he never seriously considered it.  It would be convenient, of course, to have a wise, competent lady overseeing his household and his sons’ upbringing.  And it would be pleasant to have someone to talk with from time to time. 

But he did not wish to sour his life or to weaken Gondor with feuding among his descendants; he had learned that much from the cautionary tale of Finwë and Míriel.  And his sense of fairness would not allow him to offer marriage to a lady merely for convenience or companionship.   

As to finding love again with another, he was not so ungrateful to expect that he might experience twice such a precious gift, which many never tasted in their whole lives. 

And so the years passed and Denethor remained alone.  His sons grew into noble youths, praised and loved by all.  Denethor took pride in them, particularly in Boromir his firstborn, who resembled him in appearance, though not in heart and mind.   

His second son Faramir was more alike to him, Denethor observed, not only in appearance but also in his love of lore and music, his meticulous mind, and his ability to read men’s hearts.  But Faramir was easily moved to pity, which Denethor deemed imprudent.  

Faramir had pitied him too, Denethor knew.  The son perceived the father’s grief, worries and loneliness, and had responded with love, devotion, and—strangely enough, for a young motherless lad to give the dignified Lord of Gondor—pity. 

He disliked receiving pity, even (or particularly?) from his young son.  Faramir could sense his dislike, and as Faramir grew, he became more careful not to display his feelings, his pity, to Denethor.  But the pity was still there, in his heart, Denethor knew.  Faramir did not try to conceal it or to close his heart to Denethor. 

That became a pattern in their relation: when Faramir knew that his opinion on a matter displeased Denethor, he would obey his lord and father (o, so completely!), he would not air his own opinion, but neither would he change his opinion nor conceal it. 

Another thing which displeased Denethor was that when Mithrandir the wizard visited Minas Tirith, Faramir was attracted to him and followed the untrustworthy wizard like a pupil. 

But those were early days yet; their disagreements were over matters of little importance. All in all, Denethor was content with his two sons, and the three of them were of the same mind in the most, or the only, important matter: the preservation of the glory of Gondor. 

...