“What is your plan, brother?” Faramir wondered aloud as Boromir strode
purposefully down through the tunnel and out onto the Sixth Level.
“I am not sure. I have a thought, but cannot be certain that what I
consider can be done.” He walked in silence again and Faramir had to
content himself with only that, noting only that his brother held a
piece of paper in his hand.
They stopped at the Second Level. Boromir looked towards his left,
shook his head and strode towards the right. About four stalls further
along the street, he stopped. Pointing, he smiled. “This is the place.
Now, to find what I hope for.” He walked into a small gallery.
Paintings covered the walls, paintings of Minas Tirith, Osgiliath,
Ithilien’s vast forests, Dol Amroth – Faramir gasped at the skill of
“No,” Boromir moaned quietly. “This will not do.” He quickly left the
shop and turned right again. Faramir followed, nonplussed.
“Ah, mayhap we have found it.” He walked into another shop and, once
again, Faramir noted they were in a gallery. This time, portraits hung
upon the walls.
Tears filled his eyes. At last he understood Boromir’s Yule gift for their father.