Letters from Faramir
"There! Can you not hear it, Father? It is the Horn of Gondor." He ran
to the window, pulled back the heavy drapes, and tried to peer into the
distance. The sun was high overhead yet the air was chilled. He
shivered, but not from the cold.
The glint of wet shone in Denethor's eyes, yet his face was set in a
hard line, jaw tight, lips taut, hands clenched. "You are needed in
Ithilien. Go, now."
Faramir stared, dumbfounded. Then because he knew that look, knew
nothing he could say would alter the command given him, he strode,
impotent, from the room. A few short hours later, he was in Osgiliath.
He wearily dropped onto a cot in the barracks and waited for dark to
come and hide him.
It was nigh unto midnight and still he had not slept. He swore, pushed
the covers from him, and stood. "I will go mad if I lay here longer."
He walked to the battlements and stood next to one of the Knights.
Silence, cloaked with dust from ages of decay, spilled over his body,
yet his ears rang continuously with the sound of the Horn. He leapt
down the steps and ran into the dining hall. No one was about and only
a lone lamp shone on the table farthest from the door. He walked to it,
sat, pulled out the letter and wept.
As dawn slid into the room, he rose and went to the cook's desk. He
found paper and began to write as quickly as possible.
I heard the Horn of Gondor. Father
would not let me follow the sound... so dim. He has sent me off to
Ithilien and has sent others in my stead. I fear it is my destiny to
have others go in my place. But a worse fear grows in my heart.
Where are you? Why did you blow the
horn? It was not the clear notes of the heralding of the beginning of
an adventure that I heard... rather, to my ears, it was the sharp cry
of a fox caught in a trap. Three times I heard the call. Three times
the breath was taken from my body. Three times I felt the warm breath
of our mother on my cheek, telling me all would be well, the same way
you oft told me, as I cried myself to sleep after her death, that all
would be well.
Boromir - where are you, my brother?
Please come back to me. I harbor no anger for your going on this
journey in my place. You know I believe you went for my sake, not your
own. Always my protector. Even with Father - do you remember the times
you would hold me and comfort me after Father would upbraid me for
something that I had or had not done, whether to his purpose and
satisfaction or no. Perhaps that is why the Valar gave you the dream
too; they knew you would not let me go to what you saw as my doom. And
yet someone had to go. So, mayhap they gave the dream to you also, and
you, as you always could, were able to talk Father into letting you go.
Would that I had never had the accursed dream - never mentioned it to
My brother, I fear I have lost you.
No word comes. And I am filled with despair. You spoke of despair in
your post from Rivendell. And yet I cannot see you in despair. You were
always the one leading the battle, in play as children, and for Gondor,
when grown. You were always the one championing my cause to Father. I
know you had fears, even though you hid them from your little brother,
but not despair - not the kind I see in our Father's eyes. The men
would follow you anywhere; I would follow you anywhere.
What madness is this that would try
to claim you? Oh Boromir, I beg you - know that your little brother
loves you and believes in you and waits for your return.
Come quickly, dearest Brother, come
quickly. Gondor needs you. I need you.
His jaw hurt from being clenched. He shook his head, trying to relieve
it of the horror he felt crushing it. He folded what he had written and
put it in his tunic's pocket. Then, he rifled through the cupboards
till he found meal, stuffed it into his pouch, and left the room, bound
for the stables.