Letters from Faramir

Letter Four

by Alcardilme

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Brother,

The Horn has come to Gondor! Father sent word with Hirgon. He bids me stay in Ithilien. How can I stay here? Gnawing dread has been my constant companion since the horror of your watery bier passed by me. I must know what befell you. I must know if that was a vision of something that might have been or has been. So I have disobeyed Father; I have come to Minas Tirith, to the Tower of Guard.

He is livid, Boromir. You know how he can be. But I would face the very powers of the Dark Lord even, to hear more, to perhaps once again find hope - hope that you live, that the Horn is not a sign of your... I must not let the tears show; I must be the Captain you trained me to be. Only... Boromir, I need you alive. I need you here.

I walked into the Tower Hall as chills ran down my arms. I am unaccustomed to being here without you by my side. He was in the Steward's Chair - a spectre almost, hard and dark and cold as ice. His face was set in a scowl as he watched me approach the throne.

And then I saw it, lying on his lap, cloven in two. The Horn - broken - and I remembered the sight of your broken sword and I died inside. Some powerful weapon had broken it, an orc axe or an arrow. The arrows I saw at your feet in the vision were not common arrows. I had not seen ones like those before. Like great tree trunks, and I knew they had riddled your body.

How can he sit there like stone! The tears catch in my throat. I will them to stay there - not to fall. I cannot speak, Boromir. He looks at me with anger and resentment - they slam into my heart. I know now he rues the day he let you go. I know now he wishes I was the one who had gone. My death would be more palatable than yours. And, my brother, I would have it so! Nothing has prepared me for this moment. This knowing that you are gone, for you would have brought the Horn with you; even broken, it was precious to you. Yet, here it lies on our Father's knees and it breaks further the bond between Father and Son. All your plans and strategies, dear Boromir, to bring us together, have been for naught. You, against your will, now lie dead between us. There is nothing I can do for him. He closes me out. For your sake, I would try to mend this, but it is folly.

Ah, Boromir, he tells me that your feet were already on Gondor's soil when you winded the Horn. My heart aches to know you were within a breath of being home, of being with me again. What foul sorcery is this that would take you from me at the last moment? How your heart must have rejoiced to see the Argonath, to feel the wind change and note the scent of Gondor on it. I can see you lifting your face towards the City, as you did when we would hunt in Ithilien. We would come back to the Anduin and I would watch in wonder the transformation that took place as you looked across towards Minas Tirith. I have never understood the love, the longing you have for our City - it beats in your breast, it consumes you. You are Gondor to me, dearest brother. Yet where is Gondor now? And what will become of Her?

Father sent me back to Henneth Annûn and I am glad - there is nothing left for me in Minas Tirith, though now I am fated to be Her next Steward. My heart is in Ithilien and I will fight to protect this fair land.

You would be so proud of our Rangers, but that is for another time. Suffice it to say, I wait for your return, against all hope. I will not give up that hope, though all seem lost.

Return to me, if you can.
Faramir

Another letter added to the box.

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