Letters from Faramir
Letter Eleven - Alone
Denethor is dead.
Aragorn is gone – to battle.
Pippin has left my side – he now
rides with his Lord as a true soldier of Gondor.
The Stewardship has failed.
And I am left alone.
Brother – my heart cries out to you.
This loneliness suffocates me, takes my breath away, crushes my chest
in it's talons – talons sharper than the fell beast's. My very arms
tremble in this accursed darkness – my mind is sore. My eyes are dry –
too dry, feeling like hollow caverns, etched into my face by some
mighty tide of salty tears. Huge caverns that will never again be
filled by the orbs that should occupy them.
He is gone, Boromir. And his fall was
so foul. Treachery filled his mind – that is what Gandalf said. I can
almost imagine he heard the same whisperings that you heard, dear
Brother. Yes, Frodo told me about the voices of the Ring. How it
whispered to him also. Treachery! One comfort is - he did
not think it was mine. For that, I am grateful.
My mind turns towards that gentle
creature and my heart aches for him. There is a foreboding in my very
being for him. I wonder where he is? Did he and his gardener survive
Cirith Ungol? Are they anywhere nearer to the Crack of Doom? That name
causes the blood in my veins to turn cold, but colder yet does that
blood become as I remember that creature that Frodo called his 'guide.'
My only comfort is that Sam sees this thing as it really is. Sees the
menace and the lies that are its ilk. I pray his Hobbit-sense protects
Frodo to their journey's end. Gandalf said all our hopes lie with him.
Yet, as I sit here on the step before
father's chair, the Steward's Chair – I wonder. I lay my head on the
cold black stone of its arm and I cry out to him. 'Ever I wanted to sit
like this, Father, at your feet!' Perhaps to feel his hand upon my
shoulder telling his love for me, his trust in me. Now, it will never
be. The fire of his pyre has destroyed the House and now I have neither
your body nor his to mourn upon. How can this be?
Frodo must accomplish his quest. This
madness, this evil must not be allowed to continue; it must stop. Will
he do it in time to save Gondor? Aragorn? Pippin? I have lost
everything that is dearest to me. Must I lose these besides? My King?
I am shaking, Boromir. Gandalf told
me Father had taken me with him. That he bespoke of his love for me at
last. That he arranged my garments around me, smoothed my hair, and
kissed my brow as the soldiers piled wood around my bier. Would that I
could have felt his words of love and comfort. Would that I could have
taken him in my arms, never have I dared such a thing, and told him of
my love for him. Nay – no farewell's allowed me by either of you! How
cruel, how very cruel. My arms are empty, my eyes are empty, and my
heart is empty!
The Warden is here and bids me to
return to the Houses of Healing. I have no desire to leave this
place – this place that holds so many memories. Of mother – as she
would come herself to this Hall to bring father home to his meals, for
he would heed only her call, not those of any messenger she might send.
I have vague memories of her walking down this long Hall, holding my
hand as we approached the Steward's Chair – even then I trembled to
approach him – even with mother at my side. I thought I was beyond
that, Boromir, but when I last approached him, before he sent me off to
hold the Enemy at bay for one last moment at Osgiliath, I still
Now, I can look upon that moment with
clearer eyes. I see now that the madness already had taken him. The
whispers of doom…. Was this the doom foretold in our dreams?
shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand'
Did that image of doom so consume him
that…? I would think that, mayhap, he would not have asked this of me
if he were in his right mind? Yet, he commanded and I obeyed. And
because of that I cannot be at my liege lord's side as he rides to
battle. Will this madness of Denethor's bring further ruin to Gondor?
Was my place to ride beside Aragorn and that place is now thwarted? Do
these wounds received on our ill-fated last defense of Osgiliath
prevent me from being where I am meant to be? Will my unintended
absence cause some further doom to my King, to my land? I am bereft of
Again, I shiver and the Warden sees
and beseeches me to come away with him. What matter where I go now? I
will go with him to the parapet by the Houses of Healing. Perhaps, if I
stretch my eyes, I will catch a glimpse of a helm in the sun, or hear
the far off cry of a horn. That it would be your horn, Boromir, but
alas, that hope is dead – finished – floating down the Anduin
somewhere. Ah, that you would find rest, my Brother. That I would find
healing – but there is none in this place. Healing will not come to me