Disclaimers: OK, I think we all know by now that I own nothing relating to LOTR, they are strictly the property of Tolkien and his estate. I also do not own the lyrics of ‘Missing’. It is sung by Evanescence, and belongs solely to Amy Lee, or whoever wrote it, Evanescence, and Wind Up Records.. The bottom line is that they’re not mine at all.

Author’s note: The first time I heard the song ‘Missing’, by Evanescence, I knew I would have to write a story to it someday. Thinking about the scene with Faramir riding out to Osgiliath, I realized that this song was perfect with this particular set of characters. And if you haven’t heard this song, you might make an effort to listen. It is a beautiful, haunting song that I fell in love with the first time I heard it. If you would like to see the full version of this story, it's at the following URL.
http://www.rivendellarchives.com/viewstory.php?sid=36

/movie quote/

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Even though I'm the sacrifice,
You won't try for me, not now.
Though I'd die to know you love me,
I'm all alone.
Isn't someone missing me?

- Chorus of 'Missing' by Evanescence
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Faramir stood at attention in the throne room. He had come to report to his father on the state of their troops and men. He had grave news to report, indeed. Osgiliath had been lost to the forces of Sauron. His father did not take the news well, not that Faramir had expected him to.

/”I do not believe that we should so lightly abandon the outer defenses. Defenses that your brother long held intact.”/

Faramir barely kept a wince from crossing his face. Denethor’s words could cut through him like a knife. And truly, he had long ago stopped expecting praise from his father, but what did Denethor think could be done about it now?
/”What would you have me do?”/

/”I will not yield the river in Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be re-taken.”/ Denethor’s expression was hard and unyielding as stone.

/”My lord, Osgiliath is overrun.”/ Faramir wanted to point out that it would be suicide to attempt to re-take the city, but held his tongue.

/”Much must be risked in war…”/ Denethor speared Faramir with his eyes. /”Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his lord’s will?”/

Faramir could barely believe what he was hearing. His father knew full well what awaited any who returned to Osgiliath. He would never have asked this of Boromir. Faramir felt a pang of grief at the thought of his beloved brother. Hurt beyond words, he said something that he never thought he would have had the courage to say. Knowing he would regret his rash words, he could not hold them back.

/”You wish now that our places had been exchanged. That I had died and Boromir had lived.”/ Faramir knew that was how Denethor felt. It had never been a secret that he adored Boromir and thought that Faramir could do nothing right.

Denethor was apparently surprised that Faramir would actually say what they both knew to be true, aloud. Shifting his eyes downward to gaze at the plate of food in front of him, he answered Faramir’s assessment of his feelings with the whispered words, /”Yes, I wish that.”/

Faramir flinched at the words. That was almost more truth than he could bear. Though he had expected those words, he had to fight back tears that he knew better than to shed in his father’s presence. His father saw tears as a sign of weakness, something Faramir had learned at a very early age. He ruthlessly fought the tears back and forced himself to reply through the pain of his breaking heart.

/”Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead.”/ He bowed to his father and turned quickly away toward the doors to hide the sheen of tears in his eyes. He had only walked a few steps before stopping. Though he inwardly chastised himself for opening himself up to more pain, he could not leave things as they stood between them. /”If I should return, think better of me, Father.”/ Not giving Denethor a chance to respond, he turned back and resumed walking toward the doors.

/”That will depend on the manner of your return.”/

It was only his years of practice that enabled Faramir to keep his pace steady, neither faltering nor increasing to a run in his desire to escape the room. “Fool!” he told himself as he fled from his father’s presence. “He doesn’t love you and he never will. Stop acting like a child who only wants his father’s approval. There are other matters to think of now.” As he turned toward the armory, he forced his mind to turn to the strategic matters of a Captain of Gondor, toward how many men to take, which men should join him, and how best to approach Osgiliath without getting them all killed.

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Faramir led his men through the streets of Gondor as they began their plans to re-take Osgiliath. The people lining the path threw flowers at their feet and held onto each other. Their faces were grave, sorrowful. They all knew how hopeless this was. All those watching knew that they would probably never see these brave men again in this life. As they watched their husbands, fathers, brothers, uncles, and other loved ones ride out of the city, they were saying farewell, forever.

/"Faramir! Faramir!"/

Faramir turned to see Mithrandir shouldering his way through the crowd to reach Faramir. /"Your father's will has turned to madness. Do not throw away your life so rashly."/

Faramir looked down to where Mithrandir walked alongside him. /"Where does my allegiance lie, if not here?"/

Mithrandir stopped walking, and Faramir heard him call out to him. /”Your father loves you, Faramir!”/ As Faramir continued on, he heard Mithrandir’s voice soften as he added. /”He will remember it before the end.”/

After their earlier conversation and a lifetime of experience, Faramir no longer believed that his father loved him. He had rarely known Mithrandir to be wrong about anything, but this was surely one of those times. His mind drifted back across the years.

Faramir huddled in the tree, shivering. He and Boromir had been playing a game of hide and seek, but he had hidden here what felt like hours ago now. Darkness had fallen, and it had started to get cold. Faramir wanted to go inside and warm up, but he was sure that as soon as he crept down from the tree, Boromir would jump out from behind a bush and catch him. Then it would be Boromir’s turn to hide, and Faramir always had such a hard time finding Boromir when he hid. Boromir was so much better at this game than he was. This was the first time in his six years that Boromir had not been able to find him, and he didn’t want to give up and lose the game. Over the sound of his chattering teeth, he heard a soft voice calling his name.

“Faramir?”

Faramir froze where he was, not moving a muscle. It was Boromir.

“Fara, where are you? The game is over, it’s time to go inside. Come on out.” Boromir looked up when he heard a rustle of leaves and spotted Faramir crouched among the branches. “There you are!” Boromir stretched his arms out invitingly to his little brother, and smiled as Faramir scrambled down from the tree. Boromir took Faramir’s hand in his to lead him back inside. “Your hands are so cold! Let’s go get you warmed up. Are you hungry?”

At Faramir’s nod, Boromir pulled him quietly through the halls to Faramir’s room. On a small table near Faramir’s bed was a plate of breads, cheeses and fruits.

When Faramir saw the food, he realized just how hungry he was. As he reached over for an apple, he looked back at his brother. “Won’t Father be angry if I eat before dinner?”

A strange look crossed Boromir’s face as he looked at his little brother and shook his head. “No, Fara. Father ate dinner alone tonight. Cook brought us this plate of food. Go ahead and eat, Fara. I promise Father won’t be angry.” Boromir reached for a piece of bread and took a bite.

Reassured, Faramir happily bit into his apple. “I hid really good tonight, didn’t I Boromir? You didn’t find me when I hid.”

“Yes, you did a very good job of hiding,” Boromir said, ruffling Faramir’s hair.

A bittersweet smile crossed Faramir’s face at the memory. Even when they were children, Boromir had been his protector. At the time, Faramir had truly believed that he had hidden so well that it had taken Boromir hours to find him. As he grew older, though, he had come to realize the truth. His father had found Boromir as he was searching for Faramir and made him join him for dinner. He had left Faramir hiding in the tree while he had eaten dinner rather than take the time to find him and have the three of them eat. Faramir was sure that Boromir had protested and tried to get permission to go find his brother, but neither of them would dare disobey their father. After dinner, Boromir must have gone to the kitchen to fix a plate of food for Faramir and then gone to find him when no one else would. Faramir loved Boromir for his attempts to protect him from their father, but the thought of his father’s indifference had hurt all the more when he realized the truth.

Faramir had often tried to rationalize his father’s actions. He told himself that his father had unexpectedly found himself a widower trying to raise two young boys, something that would be hard for anyone. Denethor had always insisted on maintaining order, discipline and his authority. Without the balance provided by his wife, there was no one to tell Denethor when he was being too harsh; no one to hug and soothe away hurt feelings and misunderstandings.

Faramir had thought that his father was too busy being Steward of Gondor to show his sons that he loved them. Those excuses had grown harder to believe as it became apparent that Denethor loved his oldest son, Boromir, as a father should love a son, but could barely tolerate Faramir. In one of his attempts to explain this chasm between him and Denethor, Faramir had come upon the idea that he simply reminded his father too much of the wife he had loved and lost at so early an age. Those who had known her had often said how much he resembled her in both appearance and demeanor.

But even with the many excuses he had made over the years for his father’s behavior, he had never understood it. How could a man not love his own son? Faramir tried to remember one moment from his childhood, one moment when his mother was alive and they were all happy together and he was secure in the knowledge that his father loved him. Try as he might, he found that he could not remember a single moment when he truly knew that his father loved him.

He sighed as thoughts of his father flooded his mind. Denethor had always been a strict, stern and forbidding person, but in recent years, he had become even grimmer. It almost seemed that he had lost all his hope in life. It had been creeping up on him lately, and Faramir feared that with Boromir’s death, his father might truly have given up on any hope for their people. His father often locked himself in the tower room for hours on end and when he finally emerged, he was usually grey from strain and exhaustion. He seemed to be aging much more quickly than he should. Faramir had his suspicions about what his father did in that room, but he had never dared broach the subject. The one time he had voiced concern for his father’s appearance, he had been told in no uncertain terms that it was none of his concern and he had best never mention it again.

Faramir suspected that his father had found one of the lost seeing-stones of Nùmenor, the Palantiri. He often wondered what it was that his father saw that made him so grim, then decided that he would rather not know.

Faramir shook his head abruptly. This was not acceptable! Here he was, a Captain of Gondor riding out of the city to engage the enemy, and all he could think about was his father. With a quick glance around, he regained his bearings. He and his men had just left the city of Minas Tirith behind and had fanned out into their approach formation.

But against his will, his rebellious mind drifted once more into the past.

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Faramir looked wildly around for a way out, an escape, but there was none. He was standing in a vast hall in front of hundreds of people. His father was standing in front of him, yelling at him in front of everyone. He was berating him, telling him how worthless, how inept he was, how he would never be able to do anything right. Then he yelled that he wished Faramir had never been born.

He was unable to utter a single word in his defense. Faramir couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely draw breath as his father’s tongue-lashing continued. All he was able to do was stand there, frozen, tears streaming down his face. He gradually became aware of a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. As if from a far away place, he heard another voice, not his father’s, calling his name.

“Faramir!”

With a start, Faramir sat bolt upright in his bed, looking wildly around the room. As his racing heart calmed, he recognized Boromir sitting on the edge of his bed. Boromir was staring rather worriedly at him.

“That was quite a nightmare,” he said. “What were you dreaming?”

“Father…” Faramir was so disoriented by the nightmare that he blurted out more than he intended to. He stopped abruptly. Feeling moisture on his cheeks, he reached up and jerkily rubbed the tear tracks from his face, feeling heat rush into his face at the thought that he had been crying.

Boromir reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder in sympathy. “Father was more unreasonable than usual today. He could not truly have expected you to stand for the entire council with your injured leg. No one could have done that.”

Faramir ducked his head, not accepting the offered comfort. “If I had not jumped my horse over that log, I would not have fallen off and hurt my leg.”

“And if I had not challenged you to a race, you would not have jumped your horse,” Boromir countered. “Your injury was due to both of our actions. And I should have known better than to challenge you to a race when we did not know if the path was clear. This was more my fault than yours, you should not have been punished for getting hurt.”

Faramir just shook his head. He could tell that Boromir was feeling guilty for letting his little brother get hurt. At nineteen, Boromir felt that it was his responsibility for keeping Faramir safe, never mind that at fourteen, Faramir was capable of watching out for himself, most of the time anyway.

When he and Boromir had come back from riding, Faramir had been taken to the healing wing for stitches to the gash in his leg opened by the fall from his horse. Denethor had met them there and told them both that he still expected them to attend the council meeting and stand at his side as usual. He made it clear that injuries could not get in the way of duty and responsibility. If, through their own reckless behavior, one of them was hurt, they must then live with the consequences. Denethor had been disappointed at their actions, but he did not see forcing Faramir to attend the meeting as a punishment. He merely saw it as making Faramir fulfill his obligations. Faramir knew that Denethor was trying to instill a sense of responsibility in his son, while Boromir in his guilt saw it as a punishment. He never could stand to see his little brother in pain, and Denethor’s actions had definitely caused Faramir more pain. When Faramir had been unable to stand for so long and fallen, Denethor had simply ordered Boromir to help Faramir to his room and then return to take his usual place. He had made it clear, though, that he thought Faramir should have been strong enough to make it through the full council meeting. He certainly had not berated and castigated Faramir in front of the council as in Faramir’s dream, but Faramir had felt his disappointment keenly.

Boromir, apparently sensing that Faramir did not wish to discuss the matter further, squeezed his shoulder in commiseration and left to return to his own room.

“Ah, Boromir,” Faramir thought as he forcefully brought his mind back to the present. “I miss you, my brother. Life at the Citadel was only tolerable with you around. I fear I will not last long against father’s disapproval without you by my side. That is, of course, assuming I survive this day.”

Faramir looked up as they neared Osgiliath. He could see movement inside the city, lots of it. The orcs had control of the city, and would not be relinquishing control to the small group of men Faramir had brought. He had known that the penalty for letting Frodo and his companions go might be his life. It was his father’s right to declare his life forfeit for his actions. As he saw the orc archers ready their arrows, he knew that none of them would survive this battle. His only regret was that so many of his men would die here because his father was disappointed in him; because his father wished that he had died instead of Boromir. Faramir raised his sword and screamed his defiance to the orcs, to his father, to anyone who would hear him. As the sky filled with a rain of orc arrows, he had only one thought in his mind. “Very well, Father. Let it be as you wish it.”

The End