Often did Faramir find himself on the terraces and balconies of Minas Tirith, ever looking to the west, awaiting his brother's return. He had not had word from Boromir for many long months and he grew anxious for some assurance that he would soon see him again. Even as he stood guard on the western shore of Osgiliath, he longed to return to the city that he may keep his eye on the horizon and see Boromir's return.

Yet, that was not his duty. His father commanded that he keep the city of Osgiliath, and he would see it done. His men grew anxious day by day for fear of the forces of Mordor. Faramir, too, had begun to doubt that the city would be kept long. Scouts had been seen on the outskirts of the city but three days before, and had escaped before they could be captured. No doubt, they would report back to their masters that Osgiliath was armed with but half of the men it had been retaken with. He had sent word to his father that he required more men in all haste, but no word had returned from Minas Tirith.

Ingold came to him with a skin of water. "Nothing on the horizon, my lord?" he asked.

"No, nothing yet," Faramir said as he accepted the skin. "I fear it will not be long before those scouts prove great trouble."

Ingold managed a laugh. "They have been trouble already, but that was not my meaning. I know as well as any man here that you look for Lord Boromir's return."

"Ah," Faramir said with a smile. "Perhaps I do, but I count myself unwise for it. When Boromir returns, I shall not see him from Osgiliath."

Ingold nodded. "Then we must see you returned to the city. It suits you better than a battlefield no matter what his lordship the Steward may say."

Faramir looked at Ingold with an expression of steel but eyes of twinkling amusement and turned his gaze back to the horizon. "Do you think my father unwise for sending me here, Ingold?"

Ingold laughed. "My lord, you are a fine warrior and a brave one! You lead men well, but your strength lies in libraries and archives. If Mithrandir were still in Gondor, you would be in the city with the wizard, I think."

As Ingold spoke, Faramir saw a dark shape from the distant shadows floating in the water and coming towards them. "Ingold!" he whispered. "Down quickly!"

Ingold flattened himself upon the ground without question as Faramir inched closer to the shape which was now coming clear. A boat of elven-make it was. Faramir had never seen its like, but he knew that so fine a thing would not hold orcs or fouler servants of the Enemy. He pulled the boat to him as it neared him. "A funeral barge!" he said aloud, for it was laid to carry the dead. "This is curious."

He looked deeper into the boat, and found there a sword that was known to him. It was broken, but there was no mistaking the blade of his brother. His heart began to race as with one hand he drew the blade close to him and with the other continued to search the boat for some other sign of Boromir which he hoped not to find. "No," he whispered. This one word he repeated until Ingold came behind him to pull him away from the boat.

"My lord," he said gravely. "Faramir, please. The boat has come, and ransacking it shall not bring him back."

"He may not be dead," Faramir answered desperately, his voice hoarse. "He may yet live! Where is his body? Where is my brother?"

A distant cry from within Osgiliath sounded, calling Faramir to its heart. He ran there as fast as his feet would carry him, and Ingold was behind him. A great crowd of men surrounded the place, and they parted for Faramir when he arrived. At the center of them, a soldier stood with the horn of Gondor in his hand - it was split into two pieces.

Faramir approached the soldier slowly, and gazes of great pity and great sorrow followed him. He laid but one hand upon the horn ere he took it from the soldier with both of his hands, carrying it as a most precious thing, and fell upon his knees. "I know now that it must be true." This he said aloud, but he meant the words for himself alone. "Boromir would not part with the horn while he was still living." After he had thus said, he was quiet again.

At length, Ingold spoke. "Lord Faramir?"

Then, Faramir knew that he had been weeping while he was silent and had not known it. He held the horn close to his chest and tried to even his breath to no avail. Ingold put his hand on Faramir's shoulder, and Faramir looked up at him to see that there were also tears in his eyes. Another man came to put his hand on Ingold's shoulder, and another man put his hand on that man's shoulder. On it went until all the men stood about Faramir mourning Boromir, the fallen Captain of Gondor who had been much loved by his men and by all of his people.

They stood in this manner for some time until at length a horn signaled an arrival to the city. Messengers from Denethor, no doubt. Ingold helped Faramir to his feet, and together they walked to greet the messengers.

There was but one man there, dressed in the attire of a citadel guard. "Lord Faramir," he said. "Your father has requested your presence immediately."

Faramir hesitated but nodded and called for his horse.

Ingold also called for his horse. "I shall go with you," Ingold explained. "A miserable friend I would be if I allowed you to bear the burden of this news alone."

It seemed but a minute before they arrived at Minas Tirith, for Faramir could no longer feel the passage of time nor did he much heed the world about him. Even the weight of his armor was nothing on him, for he felt only the weight of the horn strapped to his back. He bid Ingold wait for him outside the gate and walked ghostlike through the crowd gathered at the Tower Hall.

Denethor greeted his son with a smile only ere Faramir fell on bended knee before him. "I have come as you have summoned, father," he said.

"Indeed," Denethor answered. "There is much for us to discuss, my son."

Faramir looked about him at the courtly figures that filled the halls. "Father," he said, his voice breaking. "I would speak to you privily."

The smile left Denethor's eyes. "No doubt to pester me with your demands for more men."

"No, father-"

Denethor held up his hand. "No, my son, I shall not hear it. Your brother has assured me that he left Osgiliath well-defended, and when he returns - soon I wager - there shall not even be need to waste our men against the armies of the Enemy."

This saying confounded Faramir, yet he would not be deterred from the news he had to bear. "Father, Boromir shall not return," he said. Now his voice was not breaking for it was fully broken, and tears fell from his cheeks onto the floors of marble beneath him.

The Hall filled with silence, and Denethor said not a word but stayed his gaze unwavering upon Faramir. Reaching behind him, Faramir brought forth the cleft horn of Gondor and presented it to his father. With trembling hands, his father took it and brought it close to him.

"His funeral barge was found but this morning on the banks of Osgiliath. His sword also was found, broken as his horn. Boromir is dead, father."

As he said it, it seemed to Faramir as though his father disappeared leaving only an empty husk in his wake. His eyes were distant and seemed not to look at any place visible to Men. Then, as quickly as a spark thrown into kindling, his father ignited, and bursting from his seat he shouted to the courtiers of the Hall, "Leave me!"

A look of fear fell upon all who stood within the hall, and it was but moments before Denethor and Faramir were left alone in the hall save but one woman clad in the color of a silvery sky who stood by the door and waited.

And still, Faramir knelt before his father's seat finding neither comfort from his father nor strength of will to move himself hence. Denethor fell again into his seat - in one hand, he held the horn of his son and with the other he covered his face. In such a manner the steward and his son sat for a long hour, and neither of them made any sound lest it was a wavering breath that came from their grief.

Through the cloud of sorrow that covered Faramir's mind, one thought rang clear. As he looked upon the father that would not look upon him, he came to understand that of all of his family, only his father was left to him. And indeed, only he was left to his father. What could he trust in through such troubled waters if not the bonds of father and son? Of his family, though broken and sorrowful? "Boromir would not wish us alone now," Faramir thought to himself.

"Leave me, my son," Denethor said as Faramir pondered this. His hand had not left his face, and he still did not look on Faramir. "Make for Ithilien. Let me alone in my grief."

"Father," Faramir said. "I too grieve for Boromir, and I shall as long as I am living. But Boromir would not wish us to part now. We must console each other."

Now did Denethor lower his hand, and looked on Faramir with a gaze of piercing ice. "There is no consolation you can offer me. There is need for you in Ithilien where the Haradrim of the South march. But I have no need of you in Minas Tirith. When you return, return only to Osgiliath." He stood. "I go now to demand that no man disturb me in my solitude. Long shall I weep for Boromir my son. Truer he was to me than any other man living or dead." When he had thus said, Denethor left the hall, leaving Faramir kneeling before his seat.

At length, Faramir stood, though he had no trust in the strength of his weakened knees. He had been given a charge, but he could not move to see it done.

"Faramir," the voice of the woman in silver was familiar to Faramir. He turned to see her walking to him.

"Lothíriel," he said, and made an attempt to smile at his cousin to no avail.

"It's true, is it not?" she asked. "Boromir is dead."

Faramir nodded. "It is true."

Then, without a moment's pause, she embraced Faramir and allowed him to cry on her shoulder. "I do not know what words of comfort I might offer you," she said. "Boromir and I were never fond of each other, but I loved him still. My father and brothers also loved him as we love you."

"I thank you, Lothíriel," said Faramir as he pulled away from her embrace. "I have not the heart to write to my uncle. Might I ask you to bear the news to him in my stead?"

With a nod, she answered, "Of course. It will be done."

At this, Faramir did manage a smile. "I have never understood why you visit Minas Tirith so often. You would have the makings of a queen if you wished to be one, but you trouble yourself with me and..." He could not bring himself to mention Boromir's name.

As Faramir seemed to grow distant, Lothíriel grasped his arm. "It is well then that I do not wish in any wise to be the queen of any country. If I did not live in Dol Amroth, I may find it more difficult to journey there and back, but it has never been any trouble to call upon my family here. I shall continue to do as much as often as I can."

Together, Faramir and Lothíriel walked out of the Tower Hall and there on the marble steps found Ingold who had long been waiting for his Captain. He stood at the sight of them. "Faramir!" he said. Then, seeing Lothíriel he bowed. "My lady Lothíriel." He turned again to Faramir. "What is the instruction of Lord Denethor?"

"I am to make ready to go to Ithilien and intercept the Haradrim."

Ingold nodded. "Then I, too, shall make ready."

Faramir shook his head. "No, Ingold," he said. "I have a different charge for you. Watch the gates for the Grey Pilgrim. If the strength of my brother shall not defend the city, the wisdom of Mithrandir might. Only hope with me that he arrives ere the hour that we may be helped is passed."

This saying gave Ingold pause. "My lord, I would not be parted from you if it may be helped."

"It may not be helped," Faramir said. "I know already that my father shall hold much bitterness to all manner of people for the death of my brother, and Mithrandir is already unloved by him. The wizard must be let through at all costs. Do you understand me, Ingold?"

Ingold nodded. "It will be done, my lord."

"Before then, I would ask that you escort the Lady Lothíriel back to Dol Amroth," Faramir said, leading his cousin by the hand to put her in Ingold's care.

Ingold did not meet the lady's eyes, and nodded only.

"I shall return soon after the grave news is brought to my father and brothers," said Lothíriel. "See also that you return to us ere long, cousin."

Faramir nodded and turned from them to ready his horse and what men that could be spared to make for Ithilien, and all the way he thought only of his brother and his longing to see him. And as he left Minas Tirith on the next morning, he found that it seemed he should be longing to speak to Boromir for the remainder of days.