Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings and am making no money from this.
I ride with my back straight, head held up proudly, hands on the reins firm and calm – the very picture of a perfect soldier, nay, commander, leading his men confidently into battle. I can almost see the faces of the people brighten up just a little as we pass, hope stirring somewhere deep within them even when they know – we all know – that hope is useless. But seeing the gleaming armour of all my regiment as we ride orderly down the streets of Minas Tirith, the noble, fearless faces of all my soldiers, they cannot help but hope.
I wish I could do the same.
The truth is my heart is beating with fear, and my every step forward increases my anxiety. I am glad that the people of Gondor do not see the sweat beading my forehead underneath this heavy helm, or the slight tremors that ripple through my frame. For I know there is no hope, and I am riding to my death, and the death of all those who follow me.
Death does not scare me overmuch. Indeed, I have lived far too long under its shadow, ever-growing in the recent years, for me to not have accepted it as a distinct possibility at any moment. What frustrates me is the futility of my actions. I cannot protect my city or its people; I know that the battle I go to, the battle we fight, is not one I can win. I can die for my people – honourably, fighting with my last breath – but I cannot safeguard their lives.
Yet look at all those people lining the streets! All those people looking at me, taken in by my seemingly impenetrable armour, my flowing cloak, the proud insignia of the House of the Steward embossed on my shield. "How can such a person fail?", they think. "He will save us, lead us through this war." Their trusting eyes frighten me, perhaps more than those of the enemies I go to fight, for they are asking, no, expecting from me something I cannot give them. I wish I could tell them that I am not worth their belief, their hopes. I cannot do what they ask of me, though I want to with all my heart. I cannot miraculously produce victory against all odds like some storybook hero. I am no Boromir. As my father has often told me, I have not his quality.
And that I fear is the problem. Gondor has lost its brightest star and hero, and now has to contend with a second-rate soldier to lead them. For once I am in complete agreement with my father. Would that our places had been exchanged, would that I had died and Boromir lived! Gondor needs him, my father needs him. I need him.
I am trying, father. I am trying to be Boromir for you. I am doing as you have said. Are you happy with me now? I will carry out your will, though it seem madness. Will it be enough then? Will you at last be proud when I meet my end at Osgilliath, knowing that I have died, as I have lived, in your service? Will Gandalf's words then come true?
I do not know. To be honest, I do not dare hope so.
And yet, I am my father's son, whether he think of me as one or not. Even if unworthy of the title, I am the heir to the stewardship of Gondor and I still have a duty to my people. I may not be able to do much to defend them, but I can do this. So I ride proudly, my back straight, my hands lying confidently on the reins. I keep pretending that I am leading my men to victory; that I will bring back their husbands, their brothers, their fathers safely. I let them have their hope, for a little while more. It may not be much, but it is all I can give them, and in this at least, I will not fail.
A/N: Thanks for reading! If you like it, I'd love to get a review!
Some of the lines here are paraphrases of book or movie quotes from The Return of the King, specially the 'Would that our places had been exchanged....' line.
Also, the 'Gandalf's words' that are referred to here are meant to be those from the The Return of the King (I think they were in both the movie and the book) when he says 'Your father loves you Faramir, and will remeber it ere the end.'