Of all the depressing Eowyn dies before Faramir drabbles, here's another.  Spur of the moment; I found it fitting. 222 words

Write a memoir, she suggested to him – was it out of pity?  Pity for the graying but still-hale man who stood tearless at the foot of the grave.  But it was the queen, who spoke from her tears, and as his dry eyes looked into hers he knew she understood.

But now the parchment confronted him, like a stretch of golden fields where they raced her thoroughbreds in the spring, like the unbounded expanse of the sky – they had lain under its embrace, arms around one another, as he spoke to her of the stars. 

He knew not where to begin.  There was only a feeling, an innate warmth that he could not – would not – share.

Then he thought of his wife, who had worn more green than white after they came to this house, whose once-pale skin glowed gold from her days under the sun.  He thought of her berating him now, in a stringent tone of extreme exasperation, what a waste of time, Faramir!  She would tap her toe, eyes flashing, cooped up indoors, when you could be outside, weeding my gardens.  And the grandchildren, remember them?

The smile came from nowhere, and his face protested the foreign expression – the body forgets so quickly.  Putting down the pen, Faramir stood slowly from his chair.  He would not regret a thing.

Celeborn, reflecting upon the Westward Journey

The fading sigh of sun does night embrace

Upon the fields there falls a gleaming veil

The sea of evenstars invite with grace

To paradise beyond the wind-sped sail.

The westward call falls haunting on my ears

Elusive bliss spur pains of joyless days

When earth itself ran so profuse with tears

And everywhere a fallen world ablaze.

But then the eastern sky does sweep aglow

Auroral rays of morning’s wordless hope

Memory stirs of dreams left long ago

Of mortal realms beyond Valinor’s scope.

For life springs new in deeps of land so scarred

And through me runs the song of Arda-Marred.

Note: for meter's sake, Valinor in line 12 is pronounced VA-Lee-nor (I think Elrond said it that way)

The Descent of Lord Denethor

The soft clean breath of morning does not rouse

The sun my scars ignoble cruelly bare

Renewed be earth by greening vibrant vows

My heart is barren; fellness whispers there.

My brother I killed upon the battle’s plain

Beloved I drowned in fiery ocean’s tears

While there I stood in carnage and the rain

There too I heard the cry of immortal fear.

Flee not from war, you fools, for flesh is clay

And death that cleaves thine heart thy spirit frees

But fear the hour when truths thy mind betray

And evil mates with virtue in foul disease.

For then is life of sin and madness bound

And atoning peace in flame’s release be found. 

To Feanor

In you I loved a forgèd heart aflame

Of wounds and joys beyond the world’s conceit,

Yet guised be mind seared fell by bitter heat  

And masked were thoughts to which no daylight came

In cryptic deeps where love walks without name.

Your craft, a throne of unfeeling wisdom’s seat

Your soul, a void where flames do cruelly beat.

E’en then was I a moth for the embers’ claim.

For who would wed and tarry for his chains,

That heard of fortune’s mesmerizing song;

Surrender for a lover’s fervent plea

The promised prize of triumphant campaigns?

Not you through whom ambition flows so strong

Where compassion has no place, there love must flee.

I've always felt for Nerandel, whose glorious husband is about all we know of her; but the poem is somewhat angsty, and less revealing than I'd hoped.  ah well.

Faramir and Eowyn, fluff in meter.

The miseries of a fear-encrusted land

Are washed away by silent April’s rain

‘Pon cloudless heavens fades the shadow’s hand

In your eyes is sorrow’s mortal bane.

With you I may the eternal dark defy

And share of me what only night has known;

To laugh once more as terror passes by

Stand rooted firm though world be overthrown

So I shall ride with you through fields of dream

By steeds of hope be borne o’er roaring falls

The songs of Arda swell to a glorious theme

Of strength renewed that reigns in Marble halls.

Now laugh, my love, and see the war is won,

Come dwell with me in light of unending sun.