Letters from Faramir
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.
We were approaching the city, my eyes turned towards the White Tower
looking for you 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 Valar. 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 stead he
rode was magnificent. Its white coat shone as if covered with mithril.
In his hand, he bore a sword that shone like the sun. That light
alerted the Nazgul 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 sword and a
shaft of light flashed from it, 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 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
Numenor, the sundering of Beleriand. But there is no time for that at
present. Mayhap, if we are victorious?
Boromir, the city is 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 rumours of your…. My heart goes out to
them. Too long have I been away. Their cries of Faramir and Mithrandir
bounce off the very walls of the city. And my heart falls. Someone
cries out, ‘The Lord of Gondor has returned.’ No, no. It is all wrong.
The cry should be, ‘The Lords of Gondor have returned.’ Never have I
come home to a more unwelcome welcome. 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
too. 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! Here is a Halfling and in the livery of the Tower. I must
speak with him. Mayhap he was with you, knew you. But we are both being
forced forward towards the Tower Hall. No time for thought or
questions. I am curtly reminded that Denethor awaits and even escape
from the Nazgul is no reason to be late for him. They push me onward. I
am beyond weary. I must spend a moment in preparation for my meeting
with Father. I know you understand. I cannot write more. I…Boromir, I