Chapter X – 'But you do blame yourself.'

"I won't do it! You can't make me! I won't be a Ranger anymore! I don't want to be a soldier!" Faramir shouted at Captain Seregorn. Tears were streaming down his face, and heavy sobs welled in his chest. "I won't!"

"That is a matter for you to take up with your father, Faramir," said the Captain sternly. He did not so much as look up at Faramir. "As of right now, you are a member of my company, and you will follow any command I give you."

"No I will not! I don't care what you say, and I don't care what my father says! I won't be a soldier! It's revolting! It's sickening! I won't do it!"

Captain Seregorn stood and pounded the desk with his fist. "Damnit, Faramir, I'm dealing with too many problems right now!" he yelled. "I don't need your insubordination! Get out of my office and return to your duty!"

Faramir leveled his chin, stared the Captain straight in the eyes, and said, "No."

The Captain grabbed the edge of his desk and tipped it over, dumping piles of paper onto the floor. Faramir could see the anger behind his eyes, and he shrank backwards a step.

"Do you think you're the only one grieving Aerandir's death?" the Captain demanded. "I am the one who must return to Minas Tirith and tell his parents that their son is dead!" Grief echoed in his voice, and Faramir realized for the first time that the Captain's face was grey and lined with weariness and stress.

"I have never lost a man in all the years I have been Captain of the Rangers! Now I lose not even a man, but a boy! An eighteen-year-old boy! I have enough problems to cope with, Faramir! Are you going to be cooperative, or are you going to make me get angrier with you?"

Faramir paused, frightened by Captain Seregorn's outburst. He had never seen the Captain so furious before.

"I-I'll go, sir," mumbled Faramir, turning towards the door.

"Faramir."

Faramir hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. "Yes, sir?"

"It was not your fault. You know that, don't you?"

Aerandir's face floated back up in Faramir's memory, and he closed his eyes. He said nothing.

Captain Seregorn moved around his upturned desk to put his hand on Faramir's shoulder and draw him back into the room. "Here, have a seat," he offered gently. Faramir sat obediently in a chair against the wall. The Captain sat beside him.

"I know what happened out there on the ridge," the Captain murmured. "I saw the orc archer that you didn't kill with your first shot." Faramir bowed his head between his shoulders. "Faramir, listen to me. What would have happened if you had taken the time to kill that archer? The orcs would have overrun the ledge. They would have taken Henneth Annûn, and many of us would have been slain."

The Captain put his arm around Faramir's shoulder. "You had a choice to make, and you made the right one. You put the protection of Gondor before the safety of the Rangers. The choice cost Aerandir his life, but you could have saved the lives of many more."

"I-I told him that the Rangers never ran into orcs in Ithilien…" Faramir's voice was shaking. "I said…that there was no need to worry…" He choked on his tears. "Of all of us, why must it have been him? It isn't fair. It was my fault that orc survived! I should have been the one to be shot!"

"Never say that again, Faramir," said the Captain. "Rangers do not think that way. You were not killed. Aerandir was. You cannot change that now. You did your duty, and Aerandir did his. It is the promise of every Ranger to guard Gondor with his life. That is just what Aerandir did. He died with honor, Faramir."

"He should not have died at all." Faramir shuddered. "I can never forgive myself for what I have done…"

"Faramir, you must," said Captain Seregorn firmly. "You still have your duty to Gondor that you must fulfill."

"To the Void with duty!" cried Faramir. "I don't care! I vow that I will never kill any living creature ever again!"

"Please be reasonable. You are a valuable asset to the Rangers, Faramir. We cannot afford to lose you now, when we may have the most need of you! Your skill with a bow is astounding for a man of your age—!"

"It wasn't good enough to save Aerandir." Faramir closed his eyes again. "It doesn't matter anymore. If I was the best archer in all Gondor, I would give it up all the same. I…I can't, sir. I can't be your Ranger anymore. I am sorry…but I won't."

Captain Seregorn regarded him gravely for several moments, then sighed. "Very well, Faramir. If that is your decision, then so be it. Go, pack your things. Meet me outside when you are done. You will come with me to Minas Tirith with the boy's body."

Faramir rose and left the office quickly, his eyes cast upon the floor. He knew that he was doing the wrong thing. His father's wrath would be sure to remind him of that when they reached Minas Tirith. But somehow he realized that he didn't care. He didn't care that he was doing the wrong thing, and he didn't care that his father would probably skin him alive. He couldn't force himself to do this anymore.

He had never understood before what it truly meant to be a soldier. Boromir embodied the soldiers of song; he was bold, courageous, and completely fearless. He would march onto a battlefield bedecked in glittering armor with the glory of the Valar shining on his banner. When he stood in victory over his enemies, unscathed, a shaft of sunlight would light him up like a warrior of the ancient kingdom of Númenor. That was what Faramir always thought it meant to be a soldier.

Now he understood. There was no glory in this. There was no real victory. There was only blood and fear, pain and despair, loss and grief. It was hot and sweaty and exhausting, and no matter how many of your enemy lay slain, if you lost your best friend you did not feel as though you had won. Death conquered all, and a shadow descended upon the hearts of the soldiers, shrouding them in darkness.

It made Faramir want to vomit. To see life snatched away as easily as a leaf might be snatched away by an autumn breeze. To watched the light fade from the eyes of friends. To see them choking, gasping, dying. It was disgusting, and he would have no part in it anymore.

His few possessions lay in the corner of the large room where the Rangers slept. Aerandir's things lay beside his. Faramir bit back tears and set himself to the work of packing up first his things, then Aerandir's. Slowly, as if he was moving underwater, he sheathed the sword Aerandir's father had brought from Rohan. The scabbard was stained crimson, and Faramir shivered. He moved to place the sword with the bundle of Aerandir's possessions, then hesitated. He removed his own sword from his belt, putting it aside, and clipped Aerandir's in its place.

With a grunt, Faramir lifted his pack onto his back and lifted Aerandir's into his arms. He left the sleeping quarters and passed through the main room on his way to the main entrance of Henneth Annûn. He saw Mablung sitting, his back to Faramir, beside the fire. Faramir paused, knowing that he probably would not see Mablung for a very long time, if he ever saw him again. Faramir averted his eyes and continued on his way.

"You would have left without saying anything?"

Mablung's dry, quiet voice stopped Faramir in his tracks. He sighed and turned to see that Mablung had stood to face him.

"I hope you do not blame me for Aerandir's death, Faramir," said Mablung softly. "I know you are angry with me, but there was nothing I could do. He lost too much blood, and the arrow pierced his lung. By the time he got to me, he was already dying."

Faramir could not bear to meet Mablung's eyes. "I do not blame you," he whispered.

"But you do blame yourself."

Anger flashed through Faramir's eyes, and he wrenched his head up to glare at Mablung. "My guilt is my own. It is none of your affair."

"You are leaving us, then. I had guessed as much. The Captain should never have accepted you or Aerandir. This life is too grim and lonely for young men." Mablung shifted, and Faramir noticed that the Ranger bore a pack of his own. "The Captain has asked me and a few others to escort him as far as Osgiliath," he explained. "After that band of orcs, who knows what we might run into on the way."

"Indeed." Faramir turned and started out, but once again Mablung stopped him.

"That is Aerandir's sword, is it not?"

Faramir pulled his cloak tighter about him so that it covered the sword. "What if it is?"

"Nothing," said Mablung. He stepped closer to Faramir. "Many men are marked by their first battle. Hold it well within your heart, Faramir, but do not let it scar you. This will not be your last taste of warfare. The shadows grow ever darker in Gondor."

Pained, Faramir turned away. "If they do indeed grow darker, I shall have no part in them. I should have listened to my father. I am not fit to be a soldier. I should leave warfare to people like Boromir."

He and Mablung walked side by side out of Henneth Annûn, and they found Captain Seregorn and the others already waiting for them. Two of the men had ropes about their arms to pull a low wagon that carried a figure wrapped in linen sheets. Faramir looked away quickly and shivered again.

Captain Seregorn peered up at the sky, shading his eyes so he could look easier at the sun's position. "It is nearly midday now," he said. "If we make good time, we should be able to reach the Anduin by nightfall. We will follow the river north to the crossing at Osgiliath. I judge it will be safer the closer we are to the shore. These woods can no longer be trusted, it would seem."

Faramir walked beside the wagon that carried Aerandir's body, as if by his proximity he could comfort Aerandir's wandering spirit. The Rangers took turns pulling the wagon, and one walked behind to cover over the tracks they left in the snow. Even Captain Seregorn took the rope for a time, but Faramir was never asked to help. After two or three turns at pulling the wagon over the uneven ground, they all began to look weary. Faramir offered to take a turn pulling the wagon, but the Captain just shook his head.

They encountered nothing as they passed through the forest. No signs of orc camps, no fire pits, no footprints in the thin layer of snow, scarcely even a deer. Faramir was constantly trying to stay alert and watch for enemies waiting in an ambush, but his thoughts distracted him time and time again.

How would things have been different if Faramir had been shot instead of Aerandir? Gondor would mourn the loss of the Steward's younger son, undoubtedly, but there was always Boromir. Denethor had always praised Boromir. Boromir was strong, he said. Faramir was weak. He would be happy that he no longer had to deal with an incompetent son. He would probably say that it was Faramir's own fault that he had failed to defend himself adequately.

Faramir frowned. Boromir would miss him, he knew, but someday he would have duties and authority to keep him busy. He would move on, as would the rest of Middle-earth. The world would not cease spinning merely because a single Ranger had been shot and killed.

Aerandir would still be alive. He would go back to his parents healthy and happy. Faramir would be dead, but at least he would not be suffering under this burden of guilt. He had missed his mark with the arrow, so he should have been the one to die.

The world should work like that, he thought. Completely balanced, orderly, and fair. If one person made a mistake, that person should suffer the consequences. Innocent young men should be spared from the cold grip of death, and their families should be spared from the grief of losing their sons. Wars should not be fought, and peace should govern the world. Orcs should not exist, and elves should be more prevalent. Good should always triumph over evil.

Painfully, he reminded himself that the world did not work that way. It would never work that way.

It was long after dark by the time the small company reached the shores of the Anduin River. They made their camp on the shores and set up a watch system. Captain Seregorn was to take the first watch, but once again Faramir was not asked to do anything. Faramir did not want to challenge the Captain's decisions in front of the Rangers, so he waited until he thought most of the other had fallen asleep and then rose to join Captain Seregorn beside the fire.

"You should be asleep," said the Captain gruffly. He held a wide stick in his hands and was slowly whittling away at it with his knife, carving intricate designs into the wood. "We have a long ways to go yet."

"I know," said Faramir quietly. "I wished to speak with you, and in any case I cannot sleep. Not since the orcs…"

Captain Seregorn sighed. "Well, you'd best learn to sleep. I'm not slowing our pace because you can't sleep at night."

The irritation in the Captains tone surprised Faramir, and he paused.

"Well? Did you have something you want to tell me, or not?"

Faramir stared blankly into the fire. "Captain…I am as capable as any, yet today you seemed to ignore the fact that I am here. Why have you given me no share in the responsibilities of the company?"

"You are no longer a Ranger, Faramir," said the Captain flatly. "Thus, you are no longer a part of this company. You are a guest. I can no longer ask you to do things you do not wish to do. If you leave us, you leave us. There is no compromise in between."

Taken aback, Faramir looked up at the Captain in shock. The Ranger did not even falter for a moment at his whittling. Faramir excused himself and returned to his place. He curled himself tightly in his blankets to keep him from the deathly cold chill of the winter air. He watched his breath make clouds of fog in the air and thought about Captain Seregorn's words. What had made him so bitter? Now that he thought about it, none of the Rangers had spoken to him all day.

Faramir realized suddenly that from the moment he said that he refused to fight, he had lost the hard-earned respect of the Captain and his Rangers.

He shut his eyes and tried to sleep, but the sickening feeling of guilt kept him awake long into the dark, cold night.