Letters from Faramir

Letter Three

by Alcardilme

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His men had found him sprawled on the gravel beach. They looked for signs of injury, but found none. Yet, he seemed as one dead. The healer was sent for as soon as they reached the cave. He had shaken his head and called for honeyed wine. When it was brought to him, he gently forced it into Faramir's mouth. He was gratified to see the eyes focus and colour return to his Captain's face.

Faramir looked about him. How had he come here, he wondered. Where...? But then he knew, smiled sadly at the healer, rose and strode to his quarters. He flung the curtain aside and stepped in, closing the curtain behind him.

He stood, shaking. Nothing he could do. The vision was still before him, if vision it truly was. He cupped his face in his hands. 'Is there to be no respite from this horror that was begun with the blowing of the Horn?' he groaned. The letter seemed to bore a hole through his heart. He reached into his pocket and drew it forth. 'I will return,' it said. Yet, Faramir was sure Boromir would not. He did the only thing he could do - walked to the map table and wrote.


I have seen something that turns my blood into cold rivers coursing through my body. A knife buries itself in my chest - the pain is beyond all knowing, all telling. I cannot breath.

A boat has shown itself to me, drawn down our beloved Anduin - a boat the like of which I have never seen. Artfully made with beautiful lines, yet sunk deep in the water. She shone with a pale light not of this land.

I feel myself drawn again to that moment.

I step closer and find myself in the cold water of the Anduin, pulled towards this strange craft; I know not why. My limbs shake; my breath catches. There is something in this boat; something that I do not want to see. Some horror lies in it, but I must look!

Brother! No! It is you I see lying in the bottom, water from the river lapping your cloak. Your body - it is wrapped for mourning. Your sword in your hand - broken. Arrows lie at your feet; a strange belt shines on your waist. Your face is wounded; blood stains your raiment. Your eyes are closed. Never have I seen your face like this! Never have I thought to see your face like this! For in the midst of death is beauty. The pain is unbearable.

He stopped writing, lowered his head and laid it upon folded arms that rested on the table, and sobbed. The candles burned their own tears, dripping onto the table. After some time, he lifted his head and wrote again.

Boromir, Boromir - what is this? What has happened to you? Will you not return to me? Is all lost for Gondor, for your people, for me? Am I now alone to battle both the enemy and Father?

You promised to return. Now I feel that you will not. I have been given this vision for some purpose. What? I do not know. Thoughts of our mother fill my head, my heart. Are you with her now? Will I never see you again? Is there peace there, Boromir, where you now dwell?

Whatever happens now, my Brother, know that I love you, as I know you love me. Know that my heart will be with you always, no matter where this journey takes you. I am your dearest brother, staunchest friend. I will do whatever I can to defend our people, your people, but I will miss you. How can I endure this?

Tears fell again and obliterated the words he had written but he continued on.

Even in death you will not leave me. Be at peace, Son of Gondor, we will see each other again.


He fell from the table in a swoon. The crash brought his men, who gently laid him on his cot. One, left to guard him and bolder than the rest, read the written word and cried.

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