My deepest thanks belong to Fíriel Fairbairn, great-granddaughter of Fastred and Elanor.  Fíriel, like her mother and her grandmother before her, became a maid of honor to Queen Arwen in the later days of King Elessar's rule.  With the Queen's approval, she spent much of her time going through records in Prince Faramir's quarters at Minas Tirith.  She then undertook many prolonged journeys to Henneth Annûn.  While she was in Henneth Annûn, she discovered a stash of letters hidden in a secret drawer in Prince Faramir's writing desk.  She brought the letters back with her to Minas Tirith.   She turned to your humble compiler who spent a full year deciphering them.  Unfortunately, there had been water damage to many of the pages.  Blood also covered a few of the letters.  Regrettably, some of the words and phrases were indistinguishable, due to said damage.  During our restoration, we discovered that Faramir's hand was not the only one that had touched these pages.  Another hand, of unknown origin, had written short little notes, as if the writer had witnessed Prince Faramir's efforts and had taken the time, sometime in the course of events, or perhaps afterwards, to add them to the letters.  After much close work with the archivists from the Great Library at Minas Tirith, the letters were restored, as well as possible, and given to King Elessar. 

My heartfelt thanks belong to King Elessar himself who gave this unworthy compiler permission to copy the letters and publish them.  The originals were taken, with King Elessar's permission, to Undertowers, where they are now stored with Sam Gamgee's 'The Red Book of Westmarch' and the illustrious three-volume tome, 'Translations from the Elvish.'

My undying thanks belong to Queen Arwen, without whose support and compassion these letters would never have been found, nor restored.  Her deep love and respect for her husband's Steward are widely known.   

Thanks must also be given to my scribe, Ingond, youngest son of Hirgon the Brave. It was at the Queen's urging that I asked the young man to be my scribe.  He proved a fast learner and worthy of the role.  His father, though he had been murdered before Ingond's birth, would have been most proud of him. 

Your humble compiler,

Agape4Gondor

First edition under the pseudonym, Agape4Rivendell

'Yet between the brothers there was great love, and had been since childhood, when Boromir was the helper and protector of Faramir. No jealousy or rivalry had arisen between them since, for their father's favour or for the praise of men. It did not seem possible to Faramir that any one in Gondor could rival Boromir, heir of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower; and of like mind was Boromir.' LOTR - Appendix A - (iv) Gondor and the Heirs of Anárion He picked up the letter again and re-read the page that was filled with the beloved scrawl that was Boromir's handwriting.

Little brother,

Finally – we will leave Imladris - tomorrow! I have chafed at this forced delay. I see Minas Tirith in my mind's eye and I feel a fire coursing throughout my body, so great is my need to return to Her. I have no hope that I will be bringing aid to Gondor - but I must hope.

So much has happened. I will not bore you with my journey to this place. Suffice it to say, it took longer than I had thought. I lost my horse at Tharbad and, therefore, had to walk the rest of the way. Thankfully, I did not wear my armour - it would have been a very hard walk. I did not find this place myself, though. Elves - yes, Faramir, truly - Elves found me wandering and brought me here.

Would that you were here with me! Your poet's heart would drink in the beauty that is this place and spew out words befitting it. Alas, all I see is decay. It echoes the deterioration of our City, Faramir. Yes, there is beauty, but there are also empty buildings, fallen archways, and deserted paths. Dust covers the floors of many of the houses here. I have heard whispers that the Elves are leaving, abandoning Middle-earth. I cannot understand this – how could anyone leave their home? Even if Minas Tirith was in shambles, as Osgiliath is, I could not leave Her.

Forgive me – this was not the purpose of my writing. There is something here that haunts me. Perhaps it is the decay, but I think not. Faramir, I have found It; further I cannot say, except that It is that which was hinted at in our dreams. I cannot speak plainly – this missive might fall into the ends of an enemy; however, I do not have It in my possession. How may I explain this? It is in the hands of a periannath – a Halfling. I would keep this from you for you hold me in such high esteem – but I find myself shivering at the thought of it.

And, Faramir, it seems the heir of Isildur will travel with us. Us – yes, there are nine of us, chosen by Elrond, Elf Lord. The others are of no consequence; those that concern me are Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Frodo, who carries It. I dare not write what the plans are for this Frodo, plans of the council that had assembled here. Suffice it to say, my hope is that we will turn towards Gondor. I will hope that with my dying breath, Faramir.

This quest has become tangled and complicated. You know what I want – to bring help to Gondor. I do not now know if that is possible.

I have sent a missive with some news this day to Father, but have told him nothing of what actually happened in the council. I hope to speak with you before I report to him. I would avail myself of your wisdom.

As I said, tomorrow we leave. Soon, we will be together again. I look forward to that. Keep the fires burning. I will return soon,

Boromir

He leaned his head back against the cave wall. Tears glistened in his eyes. He had long ago ceased to hope for word of his brother. What? It was past six months since Boromir had left Gondor.

The men milled about the cave, staying away from him, giving him his privacy, as much as could be given in Henneth Annûn. The roar of joy at the bringing of the news from their Captain-General had quickly turned to unease as Faramir’s expression turned from one of happiness as the missive was handed to him, to a frown as he silently read it. He stood up and walked towards the opening by the falls. Leaning his hand on the cold, spray-wettened wall, Faramir stood, unseeing, heart heavy. Finally, he turned and strode back into the main cavern.

“Men,” he called and they crowded about him. “Our Captain-General is chagrined. He is not bringing an army with him as he had hoped. You know what it is like to be around him when he is chagrined!”

Faramir’s smile made the men laugh. In truth, they all knew Boromir’s moods well and were grateful they were not with him at the moment.

“He still holds hope in his heart that he will bring help. So, let us continue our preparations for the battles ahead. He left… In December, he turned his head towards home. He should arrive here very soon. Now, to your duties.”

With that, he walked to his alcove, pulled aside the curtain that separated his area from the main cavern, and stepped inside. Immediately, his shoulders sagged. After a moment, he walked towards the map table and pulled out writing paper.

My brother,

The errand-rider has arrived with your missive. I cannot understand all that you write. So simple a note, yet something in it chills my very being. I will not rest easy until you are standing by my side again. If time allows, I will go to the Great Library and try to find out something about the periannath. I had hoped to do so since you left, but Father has been in one of his moods and keeps me here.

I understand that Mithrandir has been to see Father since you left, and I grieve at not having been able to speak with him.

He smiled

I know, you would tell me to stay away from the wizard, but he knows so much, Boromir.

Enough of that.

A heavy sigh escaped him.

Let it suffice to say, brother, that I miss you. My heart is heavy, but I now have a piece of you. I will keep your letter close till I have you close. Duty calls.

He did not sign it, just sat and looked at it for a moment. Finally, he folded it and placed it in the oak box that held his important papers; Boromir's letter he put in his tunic pocket, and then quietly left the room.

"There! Can you not hear it, Father? It is the Horn of Gondor." He ran to the window, pulled back the heavy drapes, and tried to peer into the distance. The sun was high overhead yet the air was chilled. He shivered, but not from the cold.

The glint of wet shone in Denethor's eyes, yet his face was set in a hard line, jaw tight, lips taut, hands clenched. "You are needed in Ithilien. Go, now."

Faramir stared, dumbfounded. Then because he knew that look, knew nothing he could say would alter the command given him, he strode, impotent, from the room. A few short hours later, he was in Osgiliath. He wearily dropped onto a cot in the barracks and waited for dark to come and hide him.

It was nigh unto midnight and still he had not slept. He swore, pushed the covers from him, and stood. "I will go mad if I lay here longer." He walked to the battlements and stood next to one of the Knights. Silence, cloaked with dust from ages of decay, spilled over his body, yet his ears rang continuously with the sound of the Horn. He leapt down the steps and ran into the dining hall. No one was about and only a lone lamp shone on the table farthest from the door. He walked to it, sat, pulled out the letter and wept.

As dawn slid into the room, he rose and went to the cook's desk. He found paper and began to write as quickly as possible.

My brother,

I heard the Horn of Gondor. Father would not let me follow the sound... so dim. He has sent me off to Ithilien and has sent others in my stead. I fear it is my destiny to have others go in my place. But a worse fear grows in my heart.

Where are you? Why did you blow the horn? It was not the clear notes of the heralding of the beginning of an adventure that I heard... rather, to my ears, it was the sharp cry of a fox caught in a trap. Three times I heard the call. Three times the breath was taken from my body. Three times I felt the warm breath of our mother on my cheek, telling me all would be well, the same way you oft told me, as I cried myself to sleep after her death, that all would be well.

Boromir - where are you, my brother? Please come back to me. I harbor no anger for your going on this journey in my place. You know I believe you went for my sake, not your own. Always my protector. Even with Father - do you remember the times you would hold me and comfort me after Father would upbraid me for something that I had or had not done, whether to his purpose and satisfaction or no. Perhaps that is why the Valar gave you the dream too; they knew you would not let me go to what you saw as my doom. And yet someone had to go. So, mayhap they gave the dream to you also, and you, as you always could, were able to talk Father into letting you go. Would that I had never had the accursed dream - never mentioned it to you!

My brother, I fear I have lost you. No word comes. And I am filled with despair. You spoke of despair in your post from Rivendell. And yet I cannot see you in despair. You were always the one leading the battle, in play as children, and for Gondor, when grown. You were always the one championing my cause to Father. I know you had fears, even though you hid them from your little brother, but not despair - not the kind I see in our Father's eyes. The men would follow you anywhere; I would follow you anywhere.

What madness is this that would try to claim you? Oh Boromir, I beg you - know that your little brother loves you and believes in you and waits for your return.

Come quickly, dearest Brother, come quickly. Gondor needs you. I need you.

Faramir

His jaw hurt from being clenched. He shook his head, trying to relieve it of the horror he felt crushing it. He folded what he had written and put it in his tunic's pocket. Then, he rifled through the cupboards till he found meal, stuffed it into his pouch, and left the room, bound for the stables.

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 had 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 he would not. He did the only thing he could do - walked to the map table and wrote.

Brother, 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.

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.

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, wherever 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.

Faramir

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.

Brother, Another letter added to the box.

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 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

They were gone, the two wanderers, and Faramir wondered at his temerity in letting them leave. He shuddered as he remembered where they were off to and silently lifted them to the Valar for protection. There was naught more he could do for them; he had already forfitted his own life by his decision. Turning to the familiar to relieve the strain of the last few hours, he reached for the writing paper.

Brother,

Would that I knew what happened in the North Lands! The Halfling was here – in Ithilien, dropped into my hands as if fated thus. 'For Isildur's Bane shall waken; And the Halfling forth shall stand.'

And stand he did, Boromir, stood right up to me! Told me you had been his traveling companion. I told him whom you are and that you are sorely missed. And I mean it with all my heart, Boromir; not only I, but also your men sorely miss you.

There were reports of Haradrim using the ancient roads up north and your Rangers and I met them and did what damage we could to their ranks. Fire courses through my veins as I think of them desecrating the very roads that Gondor built. You would do the same, dear brother. I know your heart. I had not meant to come so far north, but as I said, it seemed to be fated thus for that is where we met the Halflings. I left them in the care of two of our men and led the Rangers to battle. It went well, the trap worked. The men did more than they were trained for. You would have been proud. The men of Gondor, the Enemy may say, are weak or frail, but there is courage in this band and honor to be found.

After the battle, I questioned the Halfling and suddenly an unreasoning hope flooded my very soul. He said you were alive and well when last he saw you! But a fear had been growing in my heart, a fear of more terrible things for you than death. Some strangeness emanated from the Halfling. But then hope, so quickly kindled, was dashed as he described your raiment – the same raiment I saw the night the elven boat bore you from me.

He tried to allay my fears – saying it was mayhap some trick of the Enemy, but I know better. Bitter words were wrung from my lips when I learned of your stop in Lothlorien. What did she say to you? What woke in your heart then? In that furtive and mystical place? So, I brought them to Henneth Annûn and we talked long into the night, yet I found little comfort speaking with him.

Boromir, Isildur's Bane drove you mad, didn't it? Even though not of the direct bloodline, we still carry that weakness. At least, it seems, you do. Would that I had gone in your stead! This evil does not seem to touch me. I feel nothing but dread of it and hatred, yes, for what it did to you, what it stole from me. The Halfling has told me some of what occurred and I believe, and it seems he believes, that you were not yourself. The vision in the boat - your face was beautiful and at peace. I know you died well, brother, if dead you are. I know it with my whole heart. And Boromir - the Halfling does not hold you to blame. There is no hatred in his heart or condemnation. He seems to know what this thing can do.

I worry for him, Boromir, he is so small and seems so weak. And the path he has decided upon is so dangerous. Yet, the courage in his heart is stronger than mine. He will die doing this and you would say it is folly, but I know why he has chosen this path. He is valiant, Boromir, and worthy of our love. I will let him go, even though Father will be furious. My very life lies in the balance, but there is something here greater than Gondor. He must be allowed to try to do this. I gleaned some knowledge during Mithrandir's visits, enough to know that this thing is evil. It corrupted Isildur and now it has corrupted you. Its power is unimaginable and I cannot wield it. Neither can our Father. It must be destroyed. Why this little one should have been chosen is a mystery to me. But as I look at him, I know he will do everything in his power to do it. I remember your motto 'Gondor will see it done.' To think that this little stranger has more ability to do it than you is beyond me.

He put his head between his hands. What would his Father say? Shivers again assailed his body.

He is gone now. I have let the Halfling go. His companion told me before they left that I have shown my quality. I feel his respect for you, but also his fear of you. Boromir, how can I make them understand! You were the one who raised me after mother died. Father turned from me and I would have been an orphan if not for you! Do not they understand this – my quality comes from you!

I love you, brother – you are the world to me, the sun and the moon. But Denethor raised you with harder, harsher standards than you raised me. And your pride was lifted up by our Father – and it was good – but it was also too much for one man. Would that I could have helped you see that Father was wrong. Gondor is not a man – not a Steward – but a glorious Entity unto itself. He made you believe you were the only one to save Her, and in your fear and desperation – and pride – you did the unthinkable. You broke your oath. But if not for you, for your love of me and your deep need to make me better than you, I too would have failed. I owe you everything – my love, my life – my honor.

Brother - I await the coming of this Aragorn, whom the Halfling spoke of, and will do as I believe you would have done. I will take him as my liege lord and serve him well, in memory of you, dear Brother. I will pledge my fealty to this Aragorn, King of Gondor, for you, my beloved Brother.

Yet - I fear I know your heart too well, Boromir. Did you go to your death believing you had lost all honor, that you had failed Gondor? I know not what happened there, but I know you, brother. Ever ready to jump into the fray. You must have seen some course laid out before you and judged your way the right way. Or mayhap some madness took you. I know not. But my heart cries out to all the Valar that it had not been so, that in some way you were able to redeem yourself, to go to your grave in peace. It must be so. There is none dearer to me, my beloved brother. I will it so – that you were given a chance to atone for that moment, that one moment in your whole life where you failed. Somehow I must come to terms with this. I must go on and do my duty and put aside all thought of this.

I have been summoned back to Minas Tirith. I must face Father alone and hide this grief, this fear that shakes me to the core. I will not let him believe you failed. I will not. I trust you escaped in the end. I believe you did.

Ever your devoted brother,

Faramir

He stood in the very torrents of the falls, the fairest of all the falls of Ithilien, and released his long-held tears. It seemed somehow appropriate to stand there and grieve - where no one could see him – there in the land that held his heart. 'For it is broken now,' he thought, 'and I cannot mend it. Would that healing would come and quickly, but I fear this wound will never heal.'

Brother,

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.

Brother,

Things ran not smoothly nor as I wished last night. Father finally bade me leave him, 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 arms 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 swayed 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.

Brother, He shoved the letter into his tunic, stood, pulled his sword from its sheath and stepped out onto the battlement.

I take a moment. I am in the guards quarters at the Causeway Forts and have found the captain's writing table. I do not know if I will ever draw breath again. We are in dire straights. I must write to rid myself of this sense of doom, to pull my thoughts together before I rejoin the men.

We are spread thin. We have lost Osgiliath and have pulled back. The day has been grim and I have seen too much death. More than half our number were slain before we ever reached Osgiliath. The wounded are left on the Pelennor in mounds. I ordered a few of my stoutest to guard them while we tried to reach the cover of the city – anything to gain time to regroup and protect the wounded - bring the battle off the field and into the city, give us some measure of cover.

The outcome was already known to Father. When we met in Council two days ago, he knew this would happen. I would have laughed if my horror were not so great. He hinted that there was no Captain present with the courage to obey him. And Prince Imrahil there himself! The other Captains urged patience, urged Father to keep our forces in the White City to guard Minas Tirith. But Father would not hear it. He sees himself Lord of the White Tower against the Lord of the Black Tower. He sees something I do not and I fear for him! Impossible, you would say, that Denethor, Steward of Gondor, would fall, but my heart misspeaks this. There is something more here than I am able to discern. Father’s will was to guard the river and so I took my leave and received no word of encouragement. As always. Boromir, all Gondor looks to me and I would see it done. But this path only leads to doom. We are ten times outnumbered.

The Enemy came in even greater force than I first believed, with Southrons and mûmakil. But grievous of all, the Black Captain led them. I know already the touch of the Black Breath upon me; I know its fear. I have felt my heart turn to stone and my limbs to lead at the sight of this Shadow. I rallied the men, those with the strength and courage to stay and fight. A few ran – I could not condemn them; hardened veterans as they are, nothing had prepared them for this. We fought in close quarters all day. We would hold for a moment and our hearts would be lifted, then another wave of them would crush forward. Boromir, our men fought bravely. If I had the time, if I had the strength, I would have wept the entire day – to see one after another of our comrades, our friends, fall. It is beyond bitter to me. I could give no comfort to them as they fell, there was no time and the press of the Enemy was great. Arrows were useless in the decimated city. It was swords, spears, daggers and bare hands that we relied upon as they pressed closer – hideous visages, misshapen bodies, evil cries vomiting from their mouths – they kept pushing against us. Finally, all hope of holding Osgiliath was gone. I called retreat.

As I looked back over the Anduin, I remembered how you and I survived our last battle together, how we had to jump from the bridge, its collapse occurring just as you planned. I thought I’d lost you at that time, the night was black; the river was freezing. I barely made it to the other side, but you were in your heavy armor. At last, after what seemed hours, I found you, laughing at the look on my face. You are impossible. I almost think you remained hidden to tease me. Almost.

That was your greatest victory, Boromir. There was nothing that would have taken me from your side that day. Watching you wield your sword and its sister-dagger; watching the exultation that pierced the air around you as you fought the battle gave me chills. My whole life we have been fighting against the powers of evil, and I would not have it so, but on that day, Boromir, I sensed to the highest degree the greatness that is in you. Would that you were at my side now with that grin on your face! Then I would have hope.

We are now waiting, here at Rammas Echor, like cave trolls during daylight. The Enemy is bridging the river for their mûmakil, their war machines. We have one last moment. I fear this is the last letter I will write. There is a sense of bitter joy in its writing, knowing I will see you again soon, but at what price, dearest Brother? Gondor will fall and men – what will become of men? I know our people, Boromir; they will hide in the White Mountains. They will continue to harass the one whose name we do not speak. And I would be with them if I could, but I fear this is our last hour, our Rangers and mine. If we are able, we will hold the Causeway Forts a little longer and give Rohan the chance to come forth, to honor Eorl’s vow. Therein lies my hope. I will perforce have to call retreat again and hope that Father has prepared a sortie to help us span the distance of the Pelennor, but I will not rely upon it.

Gandalf appeared again, a sight that brought uncalled for joy to my heart as he rode upon that great steed, straight and tall for all his years. He carried hope and strength with him and I was refreshed for a moment. I wanted him to remain here, with me, but I have sent him back to Minas Tirith along with the wains carrying our wounded. He will make sure they arrive at the White City. I am grateful for his taking this task upon himself – there is no need to leave the wounded to die on the field. So few, though, are left to guard his back.

Ah, Boromir, even at this hour, as all hope would drain from me, I cannot lose hope. Our men make my heart swell with pride. No people seem greater to me at this moment than those assembled here with me. Not even the kings of old. I see the strain on their faces, the weariness in their limbs, yet I have only to walk by and their heads raise up and they nod and smile at me and I see their quality. I can feel their trust, Boromir, and I would not fail them. You did not tell me of this part of leadership, Brother, the crushing weight of responsibility, the untoward love for our men and the knowledge that they go to their deaths at my command. At least they know that I will join them.

The Enemy has breached the Rammas, Brother, and I must go. Some devilry is being used against us. I hear mighty blasts and see huge boulders flying in the air. What the cause is, I do not know. They are coming.

Boromir, look for me.

From Faramir - as transcribed by Peregrin Took

Hullo, Boromir, Pippin here. Now, don't get yourself all concerned. Faramir is doing well. He's right here beside me, but he was wounded a little and so is not able to write. So, I came along just to say hullo and offered my services, you know I'm in the Livery of Gondor now! Yes, it's a long tale, one you would enjoy.

Faramir is jabbing me and insisting that I start his letter, but a bit of explanation is warranted. You may be wondering how a Hobbit (you would say Halfling, but I'm writing this letter!) – how a Hobbit came about being able to write; you didn't know that about me, did you? Well, let me tell you. As future Thain of Tuckborough, master of the Shire-moot, and Captain of the Shire-muster, in the line of Gerontius, the Old Took...

I am not allowed to continue. Faramir is being quite firm. I must start his letter. I'll get back to my explanation soon.

Brother,

Oh, and I'm not the least bit bothered by writing a letter to you even though you're dead. In fact, I think it's a good idea and I might write you myself seeing as Faramir is so impatient. He's trying to call the Warden, so I've promised him I won't interrupt anymore.

Brother,

I am told there have been meetings all morning with Aragorn, Mithrandir, Imrahil, and our warriors. That perhaps is the reason why I have not seen father since my return. They plan to go to Barad-dûr.

I was unable to give father the time he needed. Two hundred men were not enough to stay the Enemy at Osgiliath, no matter their worth as warriors. The Enemy was too great and we were quickly over run at the Rammas. I don't remember much of the battle. I had called retreat, again, and we headed up the Pelennor with a hoard of Orcs, Southrons, Haradrim, and mûmakil bearing down upon us. There were few of us left, but I heard a trumpet and saw that a sortie was pouring out of the Great Gate towards us.

When I looked back, though, I was frozen in place. The line of the Enemy was long and great; I have never seen such an army! They were putting torches to houses and barns along the way and that, coupled with the fiery blasts against the wall, flooded my mind with memory – memory of Mordor.

Do you remember the time, Boromir, when I was about seven and you decided it was time to see what this thing was, this mountain that caused our mother to lose all hope? You told father you were going to Osgiliath to visit Calimehtar. He let you go – you knew how to persuade him. I wouldn't let you leave this time without me and you hid me from the Guard – we rode hard, not stopping at Osgiliath, but going directly towards the Crossroads. We camped under the stars that night and I was so happy to be with you; you had not taken me on an adventure such as this before. I felt I must be growing up for you to take me with you. I could hardly sleep for the excitement. I tried to tell you some of the Elven stories, but you would have none of it. The next morning we left the horses and started the long climb up the Ephel Dûath. I had no idea the dreaded mountain was so far from home. Why was mother so afraid of something so far away?

I started to be afraid myself when we saw our first band of Orcs, shortly after dusk. I'd never seen them up close and this was too close. We hid among the rocks and I think you were sorry you had brought me along. I remember letting out a little cry or two and the terrible scowl on your face as you heard my noise. I was so frightened. They carried huge torches and swept the ground in front of them looking for something, I know not what. I could see your need to push on, your wish to complete the task you had set for yourself, but I could also see that you were struggling with what to do with me. I just sat there squished down as small as I could squish myself, hoping the Orcs would not turn towards us, would not find us.

Suddenly, you stood me up and turned me back onto our path. I knew you had decided that we must get out of there, but something must have given us away. The Orcs stopped, raised their heads, and looked in our direction. I thought I was going to die. You pushed me forward and yelled, "Run!" and I did, as fast as I could, slipping and sliding down the path. Branches hit my face in my desperate slide, but I did not care. The Orcs were shouting and yelling. I could not understand them, but I knew they had seen us and were chasing us. You had that little sword father had given you out and ready, but I could not see what you could do against one Orc, let alone so many.

We were still far above the Crossroads. The terrain became easier, but by now I could hardly breathe, the long slide down, the whip-like cuts on my hands and face, the sweat pouring down my back, all took its toll on me and I fell forward. I knew we were dead. There was no hope. But you yelled at me, told me to get up and that you had my back and not to worry. You would not let them harm me. I cried as I ran; I did not want to lose you. "Please hurry," I looked back and cried. I was afraid you were going to stop and fight them yourself.

As I faced forward again, I ran right into one. They had come up from the side. It started to grab my cloak and I screamed. Suddenly, it was falling to the ground with an arrow in its neck. I fell forward with it and knew no more.

Boromir, sorry, we have to stop now.

The Warden is very upset about Faramir not resting and all, and doesn't like talk of Orcs in his Houses of Healing. I'll try to sneak back later and, hopefully, we can get this finished. I want to know what happened next.

Oh and Boromir – I miss you too!

Pippin for Faramir

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.

Brother,

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 the 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.

Brother,

I have spent long hours this night with Pippin and he will tell me nothing of our father - nothing to assuage this dread I feel. He only told me one thing - that he swore himself to father and to Gondor in thanks to you - for your sacrifice for him and for Merry.

And then he pulled his chair close to my bed, pulled out this long, outlandish pipe, packed it with some leaf and lit it! He saw the look of surprise on my face and proceeded for the next quarter of an hour to describe all the joys and the makings of Longbottom Leaf, the best pipeweed, according to him, in the South Farthing.

I am getting used to this Hobbit - he cannot say something in one or two sentences. He takes two score at least to say anything at all. I think back to Frodo. It took all my skill to learn what I needed from him and, most times, it was his companion, poor Sam, who fell into my trap and told me what I needed to know - much to Sam's horror. My heart went out to him. All he saw before him was his Master, and all he tried to do was protect him, and yet all he did was give up the secrets Frodo would keep hidden.

I have asked Pippin to start from the beginning and tell me about you. I need to hear of you. And this little one seems to have a love for you. I fear it will take all night. He has set himself up comfortably.

And so it begins…

The Halfling has been speaking for well over an hour now, telling me of your journey towards home. You did no less than I would expect when you joined the Fellowship and my heart is proud and sore for it led you down paths I would not have you trod. I am grateful to this little one for befriending you. It seems mayhap, he was the only one who did, though Frodo, bless his heart, said you were his friend.

Hullo, Boromir –

It’s Pippin again. Your brother is kind and has given me tea and cakes to refresh myself and I am ready to begin again. Frodo and Sam must have taught him a little something of a Hobbit’s needs.

As for friends, I have told him you earned many before our time together ended – not the least was my friendship, though I wish somehow that friendship could have saved you. So I will continue my story...

Brother,

This dear, dear friend of yours. He has collapsed into my arms in tears after telling me of your trials in the Golden Wood. How can I comfort him when my own heart is breaking? Somehow through his wailing, he said he even tried to teach you how to smoke pipeweed. I can see the look on your face as you tried to do as he said and puff on the pipe he gave you. He said you hated it. The lengths he went to try to help you; the love he has for you makes me weep.

He asks me what do you do when you see someone you love shriveling up inside, dying little by little, day by day? And yet this young Halfling kept on until he could go no further. He has such guilt Boromir, how can I help him see he saved you in the end, for that is what Gandalf told me.

I’m better now, Faramir. If you’d like, I can continue...

Brother,

I fear we are coming to a part of Pippin’s telling that I do not want to hear. I have sent him off to find a snack and hope that the kitchen is still open. The fever is still upon me and I know the Warden would have Pippin’s head if he knew we were both still awake, but tomorrow he leaves with Aragorn for the Black Gate. I must know what befell you, even though it makes my blood run cold at the thought. That perhaps your honor was saved, that you had a moment to redeem yourself – this is my only hope. I cannot believe a lifetime of honor, bravery and courage could be wiped away in one moment. I need this moment to collect my thoughts before the telling of your last moment. So much has happened since I met Frodo and found that my life had changed forever. His warm regard for you did not hide the fear in his eyes. Though he spoke of your valor and your friendship, I knew tragedy had befallen you. Now I will hear it from Pippin’s lips and my heart quells at the thought of your fall. Frodo has told me you tried to take the Ring. His kindness and his mercy towards you fill me with joy and grief.

Why did the ring not whisper to me? Why did it wreathe itself around your heart and your mind? I have no answer and I surmise that Pippin will have none either. And what am I to tell father about this moment? Ah, Boromir – would that you had listened to me. Would that father had listened to me and sent me on the quest instead of you. I would have done anything to spare your life, and yet – that is why you went. To spare mine. If father only knew – he still believes it was your pride that drove you to take this on. I know better, dearest Brother.

Pippin returns with a satisfied smirk on his face – he has found food! I will let him continue his tale - I pray I have the courage to listen.

Hullo, Boromir,

Your kitchen is quite fine. I found wonderful cakes and tarts and am quite full, for the moment, so I will continue. I’m very glad to have had a moment to rest before my thoughts go to that day - that day we lost you. I try constantly to remember you as you were to me on Caradhras, in Hollin, and Moria, but all I see…. I must start at the beginning...

Brother,

I hold this dear Halfling in my arms as he cries his heart out. My tears join his. And yet my heart rejoices. You have been saved! Your honor is intact! My brother has been returned whole to me. And I thank the Valar that this little one, as he says you fondly called him, has come to me. He has healed my heart even more than the herbs of the Warden. I will send him to his bed now. He has a grievous path ahead of him tomorrow and my heart sickens at the thought. How strange – one moment my heart is filled with joy and now it is filled with sorrow, fear and concern for my newest friend. May the Valar protect him at the battle. He is so small in frame, so large in heart.

I love you, dearest Brother. Be at peace now. My heart is.

Faramir

Brother!

Denethor is dead.

Aragorn is gone – to battle.

Pippin has left my side – he now rides with his Lord as a true soldier of Gondor.

The Stewardship has failed.

And I am left alone.

Brother – my heart cries out to you. This loneliness suffocates me, takes my breath away, crushes my chest in it's talons – talons sharper than the fell beast's. My very arms tremble in this accursed darkness – my mind is sore. My eyes are dry – too dry, feeling like hollow caverns, etched into my face by some mighty tide of salty tears. Huge caverns that will never again be filled by the orbs that should occupy them.

He is gone, Boromir. And his fall was so foul. Treachery filled his mind – that is what Gandalf said. I can almost imagine he heard the same whisperings that you heard, dear Brother. Yes, Frodo told me about the voices of the Ring. How it whispered to him also.  Treachery!  One comfort is - he did not think it was mine.  For that, I am grateful.

My mind turns towards that gentle creature and my heart aches for him. There is a foreboding in my very being for him. I wonder where he is? Did he and his gardener survive Cirith Ungol? Are they anywhere nearer to the Crack of Doom? That name causes the blood in my veins to turn cold, but colder yet does that blood become as I remember that creature that Frodo called his 'guide.' My only comfort is that Sam sees this thing as it really is. Sees the menace and the lies that are its ilk. I pray his Hobbit-sense protects Frodo to their journey's end. Gandalf said all our hopes lie with him.

Yet, as I sit here on the step before father's chair, the Steward's Chair – I wonder. I lay my head on the cold black stone of its arm and I cry out to him. 'Ever I wanted to sit like this, Father, at your feet!' Perhaps to feel his hand upon my shoulder telling his love for me, his trust in me. Now, it will never be. The fire of his pyre has destroyed the House and now I have neither your body nor his to mourn upon. How can this be?

Frodo must accomplish his quest. This madness, this evil must not be allowed to continue; it must stop. Will he do it in time to save Gondor? Aragorn? Pippin? I have lost everything that is dearest to me. Must I lose these besides? My King?

I am shaking, Boromir. Gandalf told me Father had taken me with him. That he bespoke of his love for me at last. That he arranged my garments around me, smoothed my hair, and kissed my brow as the soldiers piled wood around my bier. Would that I could have felt his words of love and comfort. Would that I could have taken him in my arms, never have I dared such a thing, and told him of my love for him. Nay – no farewell's allowed me by either of you! How cruel, how very cruel. My arms are empty, my eyes are empty, and my heart is empty!

The Warden is here and bids me to return to the Houses of Healing.  I have no desire to leave this place – this place that holds so many memories. Of mother – as she would come herself to this Hall to bring father home to his meals, for he would heed only her call, not those of any messenger she might send. I have vague memories of her walking down this long Hall, holding my hand as we approached the Steward's Chair – even then I trembled to approach him – even with mother at my side. I thought I was beyond that, Boromir, but when I last approached him, before he sent me off to hold the Enemy at bay for one last moment at Osgiliath, I still trembled.

Now, I can look upon that moment with clearer eyes. I see now that the madness already had taken him. The whispers of doom…. Was this the doom foretold in our dreams?

'There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand'

Did that image of doom so consume him that…? I would think that, mayhap, he would not have asked this of me if he were in his right mind? Yet, he commanded and I obeyed. And because of that I cannot be at my liege Lord's side as he rides to battle. Will this madness of Denethor's bring further ruin to Gondor? Was my place to ride beside Aragorn and that place is now thwarted? Do these wounds received on our ill-fated last defense of Osgiliath prevent me from being where I am meant to be? Will my unintended absence cause some further doom to my King, to my land? I am bereft of all comfort.

Again, I shiver and the Warden sees and beseeches me to come away with him. What matter where I go now? I will go with him to the parapet by the Houses of Healing. Perhaps, if I stretch my eyes, I will catch a glimpse of a helm in the sun, or hear the far off cry of a horn. That it would be your horn, Boromir, but alas, that hope is dead – finished – floating down the Anduin somewhere. Ah, that you would find rest, my Brother. That I would find healing – but there is none in this place. Healing will not come to me here.

Faramir

Boromir,

Forgive how this is written, my beloved Brother, for time and emotions have all become jumbled in my mind during this past week. I have tried to write everything of import.

Aragorn is now Elessar, King. It feels fitting and right that Gondor, after all her long years of suffering, should finally have her king in place – sitting on the throne. I had not realized until now how empty the Great Hall had been. I have watched him for many days and my heart is filled with joy and peace. He is putting our City back to rights, and bringing a sense of stability and hope to our people. Gimli has promised to bring craftsmen from the halls of the Dwarves to help repair the stonework and Legolas has offered the services of the Elves in rebuilding our City. I have even seen Sam puttering around the gardens near the Houses of Healing and in front of the White Tower. He stays away from the White Tree itself. I believe his heart aches to see it dead. So does mine.

In a few days time, Éomer and Éowyn will leave for Rohan. Before they go, I have planned a small ceremony, with the King’s consent. It will be held in the Steward’s chamber, though Elessar had offered the Great Hall. I cannot, in peace, do this in that Hall. It is now and finally, the King’s Hall and what I have planned does not seem to fit that place.

I have only invited a few of our friends: Elessar, Gandalf, Frodo and Sam, Legolas and Gimli, Éomer and Éowyn, Imrahil, Merry and last, but with the deepest fondness, our Pippin.

I have taken Sam aside, that most faithful friend and ally, and have explained to him what I want to do, what I have in mind. For it is Sam who has suffered most terribly and who has shown the greatest quality and I cannot, I will not let him go into this unawares. So we spent the greater part of a night speaking of you, the journey and the Ring – you know, he held it for a short time himself – became the Ringbearer and was able to give it up. To give it back to Frodo – to be a gardener of the Shire again. That, to me, is a great thing. He is so unassuming and yet so clear-minded. Because of that, and with his permission, I am now able to do what I planned. You see, Boromir, I also needed his approval. I would not have him uneasy or fearful over what we are about to do tonight. And so it begins.

The servants had lit the fire and the torches around the room. The wine had been put in flagons and set on the tables. New pipes and pipeweed had been laid on the side table. The chairs had been pulled into a tight circle as our friends began to arrive.

First, Elessar, King – though he had every right to be last to enter. Yet he deemed this important enough to place his full weight behind it. Tears sprang to my eyes at his presence, at his whole-hearted support of this.

Following him was Gandalf with his staff clicking on the stone of the floor and a smile upon his face, his pipe in his hand.

Imrahil, our dearest uncle, entered next and his embrace was strong and warm. I was reminded of my rescue at his hands- I could hardly breath as I thanked him again. Never has he turned against us, dear brother, never has he said a harsh word against our father or you. My gratitude is overwhelming. He ruled the City for a time, the Lord of Dol Amroth, until I had recovered from my wounds. A lesser man would have, perhaps, begrudged me the Stewardship, but not Imrahil. I remember how he stood by Aragorn’s side as my King tended my wounds. Nor can I not forget that it was he who saved Éowyn’s life, as she lay, mistaken for dead by the soldiers of Rohan. He recognized that life was still in her and had them rush her to the Houses of Healing. I cannot forget that, nor thank him enough.

Legolas and Gimli never seem to be apart and they come in next, together. It would make you laugh to see them inspecting the White City and making plans for its restoration. They are a sight. I do not believe our people understand at all what a treasure these two are and will be for Gondor.

Éomer and Éowyn, dear friends and dear comrades-in-arms – yet my heart turns towards that fair lady and I feel my checks flush again, even as I write this missive. There is something about that woman – besides her courage in battle. There is a beauty of soul... I would spend more time with her, but she leaves soon. She, more than any other, has helped heal my heart. Éomer – I have not met him before, except in the stories you have told me of your times together, but his love for you, his respect, shine out at the mention of your name and he was the most enthusiastic when approached with my thoughts for tonight’s ceremony. Gandalf told me of your defense of Rohan at Elrond’s council and I have shared that with Éomer. Further up in his esteem you could not go, but this brought tears to his eyes.

The four Halflings burst through the door – and it did not fit them all. I can only laugh again at the warmth and cheer they bring with them. It was so good to see Frodo and Sam healing so quickly. Merry grinned at me as he flopped in a chair, but Pippin, dearest Pippin, ran to me and hugged me. I cannot speak; his love is so true and pure and so needed. Where now would I be if he had not helped me through, writing these letters for me when I myself was unable, helping me to heal from this terrible loss, weeping with me? He was precious to you; he is precious to me.

Now that we were all gathered, now that peace had come to our land, I proceeded. I stood and lifted my cup – the others joined me. "To Denethor II, last Ruling Steward of Gondor. Hope for Gondor during all his long years of service, ever faithful and true to the Tower of Guard, even to the very end. I do not believe it was my beloved father in that place, ordering our final doom. I believe, rather, that his mind was already destroyed, that some creature stood in his place. For he was wise, far-sighted, learned in lore, and masterful. I will not here speak of his failings. They are all too clear to us joined here tonight, perhaps more so now, as we see the return of Thorongil, the Brave, to his City. But I speak now as son of a beloved father, as one who learned too late the full extent of his father’s love, as son of Finduilas, beloved wife of that same father, mourned beyond words, and as Captain of Ithilien, devoted soldier to his lord. May he find peace." I drank the cup empty; the others did the same. We then sat in silence.

The servants refilled our cups and Elessar stood, lifted his cup and we rose. "Long have I known this man whom we have come to honour and farewell. When last I saw him alive, it was in a distant age past. My only love was for Gondor and her people. He did not understand and mistook my heart. Mayhap if I had left earlier, he would have taken Mithrandir as his counselor and much that was turned to evil might have been saved. I had hoped that my coming at this time and in this manner, bringing hope to our City in its darkest hour, would have healed the wounds in his heart. Alas, it seems my coming made them worse. I would have brought healing – he chose death. But his heart was good and noble and I would have had his end more glorious. So I take up this cup, in memory of his blood, his sacrifice, his love for Gondor, and I lift it in his praise – trusting that perhaps, at the last moment, he was saved. To Denethor."

Brother, Aragorn has taken my heart. He is now my liege-lord. I am overwhelmed at his kindness. To hear him raise our father’s memory up, knowing that father treated him ill so long ago, and yet to put that aside and praise his memory in front of those assembled, my heart was so full. I believe Gondor now will flourish. There is no other King in any of the writings in the Great Library that I have read that can outshine this man.

Imrahil stood. Of all those present, he knew our father best. "I speak as brother-in-law, as uncle, as subject, and as comrade-in-arms. This man was not an easy man. This man was not without flaw, but this man loved his country and his people. He fought many a battle to protect her. He gave of his wife and his sons. He gave of himself to the point that he became weak and tired and lost his greatest battle against the Enemy. Because of his love for my sister, his love for his sons, and his love for Gondor, I raise my cup and praise his name and also wish him peace."

Before any of the others could stand, I rose. "Your kindness and fealty to my father touches my heart. I could not, in good conscience, have this night begin in any other way. But now we come to the most important part. I lift my cup to my brother. To Boromir the Brave." The others stood. "We were inseparable. I would that I had gone with him... not instead of him... but with him. No one, no thing, could overcome the sons of Denethor when they were together. His love and protection of me when we were children, left with no mother and abandoned by a father whose total commitment was to his country, continued throughout my life. If ever a person would dare to harm me or treat me with disrespect, he would fly to my defense. And yet he was the first to push me towards greatness, the first to teach me love and loyalty and honour. Those who would look at him and see failure, do not see him as he truly was. Great was his pride; yes, but great was his love and devotion, his passion for Gondor and its people, his utter dedication to this land. Great was his love for his brother. Great beyond telling. I would that you, who knew him only from the beginning of the Quest, had known him before. Had seen his ready sword, heard his great laugh, witnessed his conquest of the Orcs at Osgiliath – when all hope of victory was gone. There is so much I would share with you of Boromir, son of Gondor. Let it suffice to say that there is no equal to this man in my eyes. No soldier more fit, no captain more able, no son more obedient, no friend more passionate, no brother... no brother more loved, more missed, more mourned than Boromir of Gondor. My life, my love, my memory of him knows no bounds. To Boromir – beloved Son of Gondor – beloved brother of Faramir."

I raised my cup, drank and quickly sat again in my chair; my hand covering my eyes. I knew my friends understood the depths of my feelings – that they had overwhelmed me. I blessed them for their silence. I blessed them for their support – it permeated the room.

I heard the rustle of cloth sliding across cloth and the sound of little feet hitting the floor. Pippin stood by my side. His hand touched mine and I felt the warm wetness of tears falling on my hand. I looked up into that beloved face and my heart broke for his was breaking before my very eyes. He tried to speak, but words did not come. Merry came and stood by his side. I smiled through my tears at the love these two have for each other. My heart was stabbed with pain – their love reminded me so much of ours, dear brother.

Finally, Pippin spoke. "No other on this journey has shown me such compassion, such love, such acceptance, such protection. When Faramir spoke of Boromir’s protection of him, my mind went to Parth Galen. Here and in many other places, Boromir put himself in front of me to protect me. This man was the greatest man I have ever known. From the very first moment of our meeting, he judged me not, but loved me. I think we Halflings perplexed him, as he called us, but he took us under his wings, especially Merry and I, and he watched over us and loved us. I can’t tell you the number of times that Merry and I would trick him into giving us some of his food. Those long marches that Gandalf forced upon us were particularly hard upon us Hobbits... no long meals, no elevenses, no afternoon teas, only endless marching. Boromir would always seem to have an extra apple or a piece of bread or some cold cheese stored at his side and when it seemed I might faint from hunger, there he would be, with a scowl and a piece of food. He tried to seem so frightening, but I knew better. The only flaw I saw in Boromir was his total lack of appreciation of pipeweed. I tried a number of times to encourage him to take up this wonderful habit, but he would have none of it. He was stubborn. I will always love this man. I will always remember the look in his eyes when he told me he had tried to take the Ring. Yes, Sam, he told me. He had three arrows in him already, I think, and he turned and told us to run. I didn’t want to leave my friend, but he said he needed to win his honour back. And he told me why. Otherwise, I would not have left him. His heart was broken, his pride dashed on the rocks covered by his blood, and his honour, he thought, was gone, but I only look upon his memory with honour. I cannot bear the thought of what he did for us that day, of what he did for us the entire time we were together. I will always love him. And I beg you all to love him too. To Boromir – dearest friend."

I grasped Pippin in my arms. Such a little thing. Yet so large in heart. I would that I could bring you back in some way, dear Brother, but this will have to do - the love that Pippin and I have for you.

But no, we were not finished. Aragorn stood and bid us all do the same. "What words can I say to honour my friend? There are none in the language of elves, dwarves or men. Yet I cannot let this time pass without a word. You, Faramir and Imrahil, have known him far longer than we who walked with him the last few months of his life. You were witness countless times to his courage, his strength, his fealty to his people and his Steward. You above all, know the extent of his passion for Gondor and his pride in Gondor and all it stands for. Yes, his pride – perhaps it was his downfall, but it was also his great strength. Because of his pride, I was able to see what serving Gondor meant. I was able to know the need for her King. I was able to begin to take on that Kingship as we walked the fields of Hollin, the Mines of Moria, and the great land of Lothlorien. My heart broke as I beheld him amidst the corpses of the many Orcs he had slain. Valiant unto the end was this man, my brother. I will not have it said of him that he failed. He rose above more than I have had to endure. Legolas, Gimli and I, at the Falls of Rauros, declared his worth in song. Now I will declare it in a tangible way. My first duty as King is to proclaim Boromir 'Lord of Gondor,' and to have erected in a rebuilt Osgiliath, a statue in his honour. For this man was a true Son of Gondor and a true friend of his king."

The servants then brought in food and more drink and pipeweed. Pippin squealed in delight and I laughed openly and the tears were banished from my eyes. We spent the rest of the night laughing and singing. We mourned you well that night, dear Brother, sharing your life both in word and in stories and songs and laughter.

I drew Éowyn aside, before the night was over, and asked her to remember me while she was in Rohan. They will be back for Elessar’s wedding and to take Theoden’s body back to Edoras with them. At that time, I hope to ask her something very important. Don’t smile at me, brother. You knew this day would come for me. I will not forget you, but I think my letters will now be going somewhere else. Bless you, dearest brother, for your love. Bless you for your memory. Bless you for being always with me. And bless you for loving me,

Faramir

He took this final letter, folded it carefully, and placed it in the strong oak box that he had brought back with him from Henneth Annûn. Gently, he placed it on the topmost shelf of his cupboard, and walked from the room.

Another author on another board, wrote tongue-in-cheek letters from Boromir to Faramir as he progressed along the journey with the Fellowship. The letters began in Rivendell and finished on Amon Hen. They were witty and delightful and I read them voraciously, being a Boromir fan.

However, when the last letter was written from Amon Hen, it was funny – yet incredibly chilling. Boromir stopped the letter by saying he must get away or he would go mad. And then, of course, he does for a brief moment - go mad that is. I was stunned by the impact of 'knowing' that he had just written the letter and then was dead. It was heart-breakingly real. I was reading it at work and cried a little at my keyboard and then had to wipe my tears and get back to work.

But on the way home, the letter came to mind again and I broke down and sobbed all the way home, thinking that I had joined Boromir in some madness.

By the time I reached my home, I realized that I was crying over my husband and his death and how I didn’t get to say good-bye. The letter spoke to my heart and I felt I had to, in Faramir’s stead, reply. And so I was going to write one or two letters.

Well, it turned into many more as I looked into the depths of my heart and finally faced my feelings of loss and aloneness… and a bunch of other feelings besides. My brother also had died when I was in my thirties. He was my big brother, my love, my confidant, and I grieved seriously when he died. I thought of Faramir and how hideous it must have been for him, for it seemed to me, even though Tolkien writes of Faramir being very wise, it seemed to me that the hero that he loved so was taken from him and he would respond in like manner to what I felt.

Perhaps a totally wrong premise – but I believe the Letters came to me to help heal me and became an opportunity to share grief with others. I don’t know.

My daughter thinks I have made Faramir too whimpy. Perhaps I have; but these are letters born from the pain in his heart, letters to be hidden, letters to cry out with when he had no one to cry out to, except his dead brother. And I hope Boromir, wherever he was at, heard them.

Thank you for reading.