Letters from Faramir

Letter Nine - Part Two

by Alcardilme

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Let’s see, where was I … ah, yes…

And Boromir – I miss you too! And I do. I’ve been trying to tell Faramir all about our adventures, but he doesn’t seem to understand much right now…head wound, you know. And he really wants me to get this letter written. Really – probably afraid that old Warden will come back before we’re finished. Oh by the way, I liked your brother’s story about the Orcs – you know, that’s the way it was for Merry and me. You didn’t see that part… we ran right into a band of them on Amon Hen as we were looking for Frodo. Oh dear, Boromir, I don’t want to think of that now. I believe I’ll get on with Faramir’s letter. He has been very patient this morning! And I am getting hungry.


I don’t know how father knew where we were that fateful day in Ithilien but he sent his Rangers after us. They made quick work of the Orcs. We would have perished if not for his aid.

And now I am told the same is true of our dash from the Rammas Echor. The men were running, but together and fighting as they ran. It was no rout, Boromir; they fought well. And many fell as we pushed forward towards the Great Gate. The Enemy was all around us. I saw Imrahil in the distance; saw the look of horror on his face as he battled towards me. He is a great uncle, Boromir, and true friend! My heart was gladdened and despair fled until the smell of Nazgûl suddenly assailed the air around me and the Black Breath turned these valiant warriors into gibbering shadows. They threw their weapons down and ran wildly over the Pelennor. I sought desperately to assuage their fears, but to no avail. That is when the first arrow struck and I fell. Mablung never left my side; he helped me up and we continued to hack our way forward. Damrod fell with an arrow straight through his heart; there was nothing I could do. A feeling of helplessness o’erwhelmed me. The mûmakil were running in fear; the noise seemed too much for them. They crushed my men in their fright; we were surrounded. I could not count the arrows that shot towards the little band of men encompassed about me. As I fell, I saw Imrahil with his sword raised, yelling – screaming something at the Orcs, saw him getting closer, and then blackness engulfed me.

I awoke here in the Houses of Healing. Aragorn came to me in a dream, I think, put his hands on either side of my head and spoke words over me, words I could not understand. Then he gave me some warm liquid to drink. They say I was near death, but it is only two days since I was brought here and the Warden said I could leave this place soon. One of the healers, Ioreth, I think, said something about the hands of the King and healing. The woman has some sense! And she is quite taken with Aragorn.

Boromir – he is a great man. I could feel power through his hands. He has the look of Númenor on his face. How could such power be in a man? He brings with him something of the houses of Westernesse. I am concerned, though, about father’s acceptance of him, but he has my heart, brother. He will be a great king and bring honour and peace back to Gondor.

I have pledged my fealty to Aragorn and, wonder of wonders, he has told me that already you have done this! Always, dear brother, you are one step ahead of me. I would have heard more from him, but the drink he gave me, or perhaps the touch of his hand, caused sleep to o’ercome me.

Not since have I seen him. I am told he will soon be off to battle the Nameless One. He and Gandalf, Imrahil and the Ithilien Rangers, my rangers, and the Dúnedain from the North - and your own knights, too, Boromir. A great army and one that I am sorely distressed to be not part of. There is no hope that Aragorn will let me join the battle. Besides, father will need me here to cover their flank, whether he will it or no, and I must content myself with that – though he will approve not of whatever I do. I can sense the grimace on your face, Brother, but you know I speak the truth. Ever have I tried to do my part for Gondor. Ever have I put aside my own thoughts and wishes. Father will not listen and turns a deaf ear to all my words. Would that you were here. I can speak with him on my own. I will speak with him on my own. But I regret the loss of your presence. Nay, more than that, I rue the loss of your presence. I cannot fathom living without you, brother. There is nothing, no one to fill this gap in my heart.

As I lie here, I recall the times when I was sick in my youth and you were at my side… I remember the last time I was ill, always the fear of the plague returning to our land, you were terrified that I had contracted it – yet it was just a little thing. The fear I saw in your eyes as you wiped my brow – I would you were with me now. Is it weakness to want to feel the touch of your hand on my brow, dear brother? Unbearable is this pain, this longing. I have scared Pippin – I will press on. I know my duty. I will bear this ache.

And still no word from father. I had hoped to see him this day. Aragorn will move our warriors forward on the morrow, on the road to Mordor. Perhaps father is still sequestered with him.

Pippin, once again, seems distraught as I mention our father’s name. I think we will put this letter aside for the moment. He and I must speak. I feel a strange foreboding springing from him.

I cannot tell you how much I miss you,

Pippin for Faramir

Pippin put down the paper and started to stand, to leave. But Faramir held him with his gaze, a gaze not unlike that of Denethor's. Pippin sat once again upon the bed and hung his head. He knew what Faramir wanted and he did not want to do it, to speak of it. The horror was still upon his heart.

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