A bittersweet welcome to the Steward's second son
Your precious mother nearly died to give you life; and still lies weakened. Against all odds, you survived, a small, mewling thing, and thrived, and now they tell me you will live. But she may not, my Finduilas, the light of my heart.
You should have been a daughter, who I could watch grow in beauty and grace and never have to send out to battle as I will one day send your brother, the joy of my heart. We deserved a little girl, not another soldier.
Do not gaze at me so, with that sage look in your clear grey eyes. I have seen it in the mirror; though in you it is just a baby trick. You know naught yet but hunger for milk and need for sleep. And you are entirely defenseless.
Fear not, my littlest son. For now thou art safe. I can protect thee from harm, and assure that thou hast all that thou requirest, even my thumb which thou seizest with such strength.
Would that I could keep thee safe forever! But even now, too close to our borders, our Enemy waits.
(A slightly different version was posted to the H-A e-mail list and HASA in honor of Agape4Gondor’s Birthday). Faramir’s birth causing a serious illness to his mother was never mentioned by Tolkien, though it could have been a factor in her untimely death five years later.