Letters from Faramir

Letter Six

by Alcardilme

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We have reached Minas Tirith. So few of us. I am still shaken, shaken and weary but we are inside the Citadel now and there is a moment when I may rest. I sit here in your room, at the table you wrote so many reports from, feel the warm oak on my fingers and wish with all my heart that it was you sitting at this desk, with me in my customary seat across from you, laughing at your sharing of happenings in the field. You would not have laughed at the tale I will now tell.

We were approaching the City, my eyes turned towards the White Tower looking for you, hoping to see you standing upon the battlements as was your wont, when I saw them, felt their evil presence attack the very air around us. I had the trumpeter blow a blast to forewarn those inside to open the Gate. The fell beasts swooped down upon us, the horses were wild with fright, the men were thrown. All seemed lost. My eyes were dragged from the walls of the City back to those who were chasing us. I saw my men fall and I turned back, but the beast was upon me, its great claws reaching out, its foul stench enveloping me and suddenly – he was there - Mithrandir! The fell beast could not knock me off my horse, but the sight of him almost did! The Halfling had told me he was lost in Moria. Yet, here he was before me. And in splendor, Boromir. This was not the Grey Pilgrim in front of me, but some mighty Lord and Warrior – almost, I would swear – a Vala. But that is not possible. He was all in white, his great beard also and a long white cloak flowed out behind him as he galloped towards us. The steed he rode was magnificent - Its white coat shone as if covered with mithril - never had I seen such an animal.

He raised his hand. Did he bear a sword or what - something that shone like the sun? That light alerted the Nazgûl and one broke off and swept towards him. The beating of the beast’s wings as it passed over me was deafening. The very ground shook in time to their undulating sweeps. I tried to cry out a warning, but no sound would come. Mithrandir raised his hand and a shaft of light flashed, up towards the great beast. It gave a cry and wheeled off. The others wavered, and I felt a shudder almost in time, before they too broke away and left us on the Pelennor.

"How could this be?" I asked as I grabbed his arm. Boromir, I wanted to jump from my horse and hug him – not for the escape though surely it was needed – but for him. I had forgotten in the grief of you, how much this man meant to me, how much I valued his friendship, and now, in our darkest hour, to find him here with me. It was almost more than I could bear what with this weariness upon me.

We spoke for only a moment, though my heart cried out to sit with him in the Great Library and talk about little things – the fate of Númenor, the sundering of Beleriand. But there was no time for that. Mayhap, if we are victorious?

Boromir, the City was wild with joy. You would have thought a great battle had been won. But our people are so starved for even a morsel of hope. I fear they have heard rumors of your…. My heart goes out to them. Too long have I been away. Their cries of Faramir and Mithrandir bounced off the very walls of the City. And my heart fell. Someone cried out, "The Lord of Gondor has returned." 'No, no,' I thought, 'It is all wrong. The cry should be, "The Lords of Gondor have returned."' Never have I come home to a more unwelcome welcome, for your absence is engulfing, all encompassing. I can hardly bear it. Where are you, my brother? Is nothing the way it should be? There must be someone here who misses you also. Someone who feels your absence as heavily as I. And yet, I must keep my head up, not succumb to this grief. The people are desperate for hope and I must show it to them.

But wait! There was a Halfling there in the crowd, dressed in the livery of the Tower. I tried to seek him out, to speak with him. Mayhap he was with you, knew you. But we were both being forced forward towards the Tower Hall. No time for thought or questions. I was curtly reminded that Denethor awaited me and even escape from the Nazgûl was no reason to be late for him. They pushed me onward. I was beyond weary.

Forgive me, brother. I must spend a moment in preparation for my meeting with Father. I know you understand. I cannot write more. I… Boromir, I miss you. I will put this letter in the box when I return to Henneth Annún.

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