Know, Eldarion, that men will die in your service, even if you wish they would not. You
cannot stop death. I know. I have often tried.

And at times you're going to have to be hard. Men will rely on you to make decisions.
They will go to you for justice. And justice you must provide, even if every part of you
screams when you do it.

My son, know that you can never be truly happy while wearing the crown. It sets you
apart, makes you different than everyone around you, even the men with whom you grew up.
Breaking those boundaries can spell only ruin.

As king, you will never have a moment's rest. Everything, *everything*, that reaches you
desk will be a crisis. If it wasn't, it wouldn't be on your desk. Troubles are passed up
the line, while the small fires are quenched by the secretaries. That's what they're
there for.

As a leader of men, there are certain things you must do. One is take a wife. I know
this is no hardship for you as you are already married, but it was for me. I was engaged
once. An elven lady, she was. Daughter of the Elven lord who raised me. It was not to
be. Your mother, a member of my court, consented to have me when no one else would. It
is not such a trying thing, to be Queen, but it is hard when your King calls out a man's
name in bed.

Shh, Eldarion, don't quiet me. These are things you must know. I am not some raving old
fool, not yet. I will save that for my last moments in life, when I will hallucinate
that I see my Boromir standing there to greet me and welcome me. I will rave then, and
for good reason. It has been over a hundred years since I saw my love.

Long life is a curse, Eldarion, never think otherwise. It is an affliction. Men were not
meant to live so long. Men were not meant to live through so much pain. Our bloodline,
yours and mine, will mean that you will outlast your Queen and all your friends. It is a
curse, Eldarion, and nothing more.

Teach your sons well, but don't be too hard on them. Give them time to be children, as I
gave you time and as I was given. Don't name any after me, but if you feel you must,
name him Estel. That was the name by which my Boromir first knew me. I told him the
elves called me Estel. It was an elf that told him my right name.

No, I'm not raving yet, dear Eldarion. But this is not so hard, is it? To sit by your
father's sarcophagus and wait for him to let his life leave his body. I've surrendered
the crown already, yes? Two hundred years, and my memory is beginning to fail. Ah, I
knew I did. And the scepter, too. Don't expect me to call you 'king', you young rascal.
I remember you before you could even walk.

Eldarion, my son, listen to me. You must hear. I've spend a lifetime governing men. I
made mistakes. I made bad decisions. I've chosen the wrong course of action. I've
reacted in anger. I've lost my temper.

All these things, they can never be remedied, but you must try to keep them to a
minimum. You are a king of men, not their tormenter. Remember that, Eldarion. You are a
king of men.

Your mother? You want me to tell you about your mother? Why? I didn't love her. I felt
an amazing amount of gratitude that such a lovely thing would marry a man who freely
admitted he could never love her. Your mother was a jewel, a paragon of women
everywhere. But I never loved her.

Did you assume I did? That since you love your Queen that I must have loved mine? Oh,
dear Eldarion, so old, yet so young. Go to the library when next you have a chance. Look
for the chronologies of the Steward line and trace your finger down to Boromir, son of
Denethor, the second one to bear that name. Then you will know who it was that I loved.

What did he look like? Oh, he was beautiful, but as men are beautiful. He was a
wonderful swordsman. He was tender, gentle, and the most ruthless man I had ever met.
And he loved me. Unconditionally.

I was never king to him, not until the end. At the end he told me what I had always
known. And then he died in my arms.

Shh, Eldarion, those are just tears. Even now it pains me to think of those moments. He
had three Orc arrows in his chest. Three arrows and still he stood to fight. The number
of Orcs he killed was uncountable. All to defend two small Halflings. My Boromir was a
huge man, strong and powerful. Even that third arrow did not kill him immediately. There
was enough time left for him to die in my arms.

You mother knew, of course. I explained it all to her. She would hear none of my
recriminations. It was not my fault he died, she said again and again. I could not have
been in two places at once.

Though I will tell you now a secret I never told her. Were it not for me, Boromir would
never have left camp that day, to go to his end. I quarreled with him. I insulted him.
He thought he had no other choice but to leave me and try to make his own fate. He
thought I had made my choice, and that he alone could save the world of men.

Oh, Eldarion, I know. If it was intended that he die that day on Amon Hen, I could not
have stopped it. That does not stop the dreams, of course.

It is strange, I suppose. It has been a hundred years and I can still remember his
voice. I can still remember his face. I can still remember every single thing about him.

I miss him. Terribly. But I have done as he wished and saved the world of men. I have
made it so that Minas Tirith can never fall. I have made his City great again.

Oh, Eldarion, I can see him now. He is standing next to you, smiling at me. One arm is
out and extended to me. He is dressed in his old uniform - he was Captain of Gondor's
Armies and Marshal of the White Tower, did I tell you? - though his gauntlets are
missing. I took them from his body after he died. They lie in state in my quarters, next
to a small portrait of him. Promise me you'll tend to them, Eldarion. Don't let them
grow frail with age.

Oh, my son, he is so beautiful. So much more than I remember. I must go to him. I must
join him. He is beckoning for me to join him. He has waited so long for me. I must go to
him.

Farewell, my son. Do not mourn for me. I am going to joy.