Letters from Faramir

Letter Seven

by Alcardilme

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Brother,

Things ran not smoothly nor as I wished last night. Father finally bade me leave him, as he had noticed the weariness upon my face, and I was grateful for I was deathly tired. I could hardly stand. Much to my chagrin, I swayed when I rose to leave and had to clutch the arm of father’s chair to keep from falling. There was some malaise upon me. In this morning’s light, it would seem to have been some breath of evil laid upon me during the Nazgûl attack. And father saw my weakness. It seems even the littlest thing does not pass his scrutiny. Even my body conspires against me in my dealings with him! You would have laughed and eased the tension, my brother. I miss your warmth – the clear knowledge of your support. How you ever survived father’s demands, without becoming ill-tempered, arrogant and cruel, I will never know. Mother knew he named you Boromir in hopes that you would exceed your namesake’s deeds, thus honoring him before men, but she must have accepted the name - for you are the Jewel of Gondor. Mayhap that is why mother was able to keep father at arm's length from me, so that I would be free for my studies and my music. Dearest Boromir, you took the brunt of father’s ego. You kept me free. But I am no longer free. He would use me to his will and his purposes for Gondor. And I would be used, but wisdom does not dictate useless sacrifice.

As weary as I was last night, I saw Mithrandir grip the arms of his chair as I told of my meeting with the Halfing and of Frodo’s resolve to go to Cirith Ungol after he left Ithilien. Becoming quite agitated – more so than I have ever seen him - Mithrandir jumped from his chair shouting at me, "What day! What time!" that I thought Frodo had arrived there. A great unease filled my heart and shivers ran down my body, yet I realized that the darkness now upon us started before the Halfling and his companion could ever have reached Cirith Ungol and I assured Mithrandir of that fact.

At this, Father became extremely angry with me. His voice was full of contempt as I finished my tale. He deemed I paid more attention to Mithrandir’s opinion than to his. There is a hatred there, mayhap even a fear of Mithrandir or something associated with him. I do not know why or what the history is that has caused this. But that is naught compared to what I have learned.

Boromir, Father knows what Frodo carries! I was stunned to discover this. He was furious when he surmised that I had let the Halfling go and became incensed when he realized I knew what Frodo carried and its import. He accused me of putting this Halfling's undertaking above the good of Gondor, that I was more concerned with what Mithrandir deemed necessary than what father would command. And Boromir, he is right, may the Valar forgive me. Father’s ways are for Gondor alone, but since speaking with the Ringbearer, I see more clearly now. This evil does not assail Gondor only, but all of Middle-earth. Mithrandir sees this and understands it. His excitement, or mayhap fear, as I detailed my meeting with Frodo, has convinced me that what I surmised is true – the fate of all Middle-earth rests on this one creature – this Halfling.

I have not been subject to such scorn, such bitter words from father as I was by the end of last night's meeting, Boromir. I have long known of his disdain for me, his utter lack of faith in any ability I might have, but he finally said what I have felt these past weeks, since your Horn was brought to him – that he wished that I had died in your place. I was surprised at my calm as he bespoke these words, his anger at the loss of the desired weapon momentarily swaying him from solid thought, though the remembrance of it now brings tears to my eyes and wounds my heart. But these tears are for you, Boromir, not for father. In the deepest recesses of my heart, this is my wish too - that you were here. I would gladly accept death to have you here. Your loss is beyond comprehension, beyond endurance. I am so much less without you. Forgive me; I know these words will make you angry. I can almost see your scowl; your anger crackles in my mind as I think upon your response. Oh, what you would have said to father! My dearest brother, dearest champion, dearest protector, dearest friend. Boromir, my heart cries out to you. If only you could hear me. If only you would come home. My grief is so great and seems to be growing instead of diminishing. Forgive my weakness.

I must away now. Father has sent for me and I must clear my mind. I would that you were with me. I will use the strength of your love in this next meeting. I am grateful I awoke early to spend this time with you. I fear he will send me back to Ithilien immediately; I had hoped to spend some time with the Halfling. Mithrandir whisked him away last night before I was able to speak with him. The rumor that this Halfling had been with you at the last – it consumes my thoughts. But there was no time to meet last night. I vowed I would meet him first thing this morning, before any other task, but here I am – summoned to appear before father and again my hopes are dashed. I know not who else has been so summoned, but it does not bode well with me. There is some evil in this beloved place, some force of power that I do not understand.

Faramir

He folded the paper as the Knight, sent to fetch him, entered the room. They walked towards the Great Hall, Faramir staring at the brown sky covering his fair land. The Council and the Captains had been called by the Lord of the City, even his uncle, Imrahil. The meeting did not go well, and, against his own judgment, he found himself riding east again, with a small band, riding towards Osgiliath, to harry the Enemy for just a little longer in hopes that Rohan would come.

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