Wow, this is a long chapter...lol. But there was a fair amount of ground to cover, and as I've said - I love Faramir entirely too much. I'm quite nervous about writing him, and hope you all think my interpretation is fair..please, let me know! And trust me, Faramir shall certainly be a reoccurring character :)

Cheers xx

Disclaimer: I own none of LOTR - it is entirely Tolkien's genius. And any dialogue and such from the movies are credit to P. Jackson and Co.

There was still half the day left upon the leaving of the soldiers of Rohan, Gondor, and what remained of the Fellowship. Alandria however remained alone and quiet in her room, claiming frailty from her wounds. It was not a lie, but perhaps exaggerated. She simply did not wish the company of others as her loved ones departed. She could hear the sound of the retreating footsteps and hoofbeats through her window, and prayed eternally that she would hear them return as well. But she could not fool herself. Everyone knew any chance of them returning was ridiculous. But that did not make it hurt any less.

Unsure what else to do, Alandria lay down uncomfortably on her bed, and closed her eyes. She wanted to sleep, for once. Nightmares or no, she wanted to sleep. Her leg burned and throbbed painfully, her ribs stung with each breath, and her entire body ached with bruises and weariness. She was exhausted. Sleep would hopefully hide the aches and pains for a while, and pass the length of time that Éomer and the others were away. Luckily she did not have to wait for sleep long, as her body quickly took advantage of her willingness and pressed into unconsciousness. She did dream: dark dreams of bloody battles and burning towns; strange dreams of stranded maidens and valiant knights. She woke in a rush, escaping from the frightening images of her mind, to a dark room. Her body still ached. She groaned and carefully rolled to her side, only to whimper sharply as her ribs stabbed her with fresh pain.

"Milady?" A shadowy nurse's head appeared around the corner of the doorway. "You alright?"

"Do you think I'm alright?" Alandria growled through clenched teeth, hissing as she moved again and her leg flared. "By the gods," She gasped, as the nurse came scurrying over in a beacon of candlelight, then lit a lamp at Alandria' beside. "how can it hurt so much?"

"Tis alright milady, least you're awake. You'll heal faster now."

"Ugh-huh." Alandria grunted as the woman lifted her upright, then rested her back against some pillows. "God damn. It didn't hurt this much earlier!"

"Well milady, you did have other things to think about earlier." The lady smiled apologetically, then turned her eyes down to observe Alandria with a critical eye. "You'll need a new wrap on that leg of your's. How are your ribs?"

"It hurts to breathe."

"I'm afraid I can't do much about that, milady. You just have to be careful, and let them heal." Alandria groaned softly and closed her eyes again. "I'll go and get some new bandages and salve for your leg, alright? I'll be right back."

"Athelas?"

"Pardon, milady?"

"Is there anymore athelas? Just a tea made of it would help."

"Yes, I think there is some. I'll see what I can do."

Alandria nodded slightly. "Thank you."

"Of course, miss."

She laid her head back against the pillows again, and sighed heavily. Her body still stung and ached, although admittedly not as strongly as before. So she was healing. Healing. She thought about the word for a moment, considered it closely. Healing - not only her outer body, but was her heart and mind healing as well? She remembered what happened between her and Éomer just before he left. How it had been her that carried out the action. What did it mean? There was no denying she had wanted to kiss him, and certainly no denying that it had been pleasant, but now she wasn't sure if it had been wise. He was riding to war, and they all knew he wouldn't survive unless the gods had some unforseen will, and Frodo and Sam managed the impossible. And she couldn't raise her hopes high enough to believe in that. Plus - her stomach panged with the thought - she wasn't quite ready to give up Boromir. Yes, he was gone. No, he was never coming back. But she still longed for his face and voice and touch, longed for it more than almost anything. But at the same time, there was another face and voice and touch she longed for, one that was still living. For now. Hadn't the point of her coma-like dreams been that - she needed to move on from the Gondorian, and accept the one that was still alive? Shouldn't she listen to her mind, for once? Her head pounded now though, and she raised a hand to her aching temple just as the nurse bustled back into the room.

"Here's your tea miss. You alright?"

Alandria just grunted, eyes half closed, and took the warm wooden mug. She sipped it carefully, and then took a steady gulp upon discovering it wasn't too hot. Instantly her body felt comfortably warm, and her aches subsisded slightly. She drank more, and soon drained the mug satisfactorly. "Thank you." She breathed, as the woman took the mug away.

"I'm gonna fix up your leg now miss, that alright?"

"Go ahead." She replied quietly, as her eyelids felt suddenly very heavy. Her entire body seemed weighed down, and the pain resided to only minor uncomfortable tingles. The athelas was quickly working it's power, and she let exhaustion and the herb put her body to sleep, oblivious to the woman unwrapping and cleaning her wounded leg.

And so it was for the next three days: Alandria was forced to say in her bed, doted on and made to stay quite and rest. The nurses that waited on her were surprisingly watchful and strict, and some part of her assumed Éomer and/or Aragorn had given them specific instructions to be so. Then finally came the third morning: Alandria woke up remembering no dream, and certainly no nightmare. It was oddly comforting and restful - sleeping soundly and undisturbed. She opened her eyes and winced slightly at the shine of sunlight coming through the high window at her bedside, but slowly became adjusted to it enough to open her eyes fully. The light was pale yellow and crisp, smelling delightfully of fresh grass and flowers. Just the smell alone made her feel better. She shifted slowly, and then grunted as she swung her legs towards the floor. Her wounded leg throbbed, but she ignored it, more concerned with getting to her feet. Shakily, she stood up, her weight resting heavily on her good leg. Her ribs ached and protested at her efforts, but she pushed the annoying pain to the back of her mind, noticing a crutch nearby. Someone must have expected her to try and move about soon. They were wise not to try and hinder her. She grabbed up the crutch quickly, and wedged it under her right arm, leaning generously on it. Her entire body still ached, and she still felt hot and dizzy with the fading fever, but she needed to move. She wanted outside, where the air was fresh.

Slowly and unsteadily, with much grunting and wincing and pausing, she limped out of the room, and towards the open hallway where sunlight poured in. She came upon something resembling a wide courtyard, filled with grass and plants of greens and golds and pale yellows, a grand stone fountain in its center, but no water flowed merrily from it's spout. The courtyard was beautiful, but in a sad way, as there were no birds singing, no bright flowers happily bloomed, and the slight breeze that moved the grasses was chillingly cold. She shivered, and began to regret her choice to climb painfully out of the bed, and come into this depressing garden. But just as she began to turn away to hobble back to her soft bed to gain some more rest, something caught her eye several paces away. Alandria studied the figure, and knew then she still slept, and dreamt.

She envisioned that, standing silhouetted in the opening of an archway, outlined by the sun's pale yellow rays, was her long-lost Gondorian soldier. He was not quite the same as before though - he still had his shoulder-length, red-brown hair and comfortably proud bearing, but he was little less in stature, and slighter in build. But death takes it toll on all, and this was a dream, after all.

"Borom-" The man turned in alarm at her voice and the name leaving her lips was cut short. This was no dream. And the man was not Boromir. Yes, he bore a frightening resemblance to Boromir, but he was different. Gentler features; darker blue eyes; and a much more innocent, pained look was about him. "I- I'm sorry.." She breathed, taking a shaky step back.

"What did you just say?" The man asked quietly, and his voice was gentle, but had a hard edge to it, almost like he had forced it to roughen. It was not the deep, velvet rumble his older brother's had been. For she knew quite clearly that this could be none other than Faramir. "By what name were you about to call me?" He asked, slightly louder now, watching her curiously.

Alandria found she could not deny the man an answer. "Y-your brother's, lord." She murmured, her gaze dropping to the ground.

Silence fell, and she could feel his eyes upon her, but he said nothing for several breaths. Finally she heard him shift, and quietly clear his throat. "My brother's name? You know it?" She nodded, suddenly quite conscious of how much her leg throbbed, of the burn spreading through her flesh, and how unsteady she felt on her feet. "How come you to know of my brother?"

"Please lord, I am not feeling well. I should get back to bed.."

"Please, my lady," he stepped quickly forward to stop her, claiming her attention. She looked nervously up, and found herself locked in a surprisingly familiar stare. Of a darker color than his brother's perhaps, but just as pleading and urgent. "Just tell me how you knew him."

Alandria stared at him for a long, still moment, and found again she could not deny such a familiar face an answer. A true answer, as well, for she correctly guessed he had suffered enough by now. She swallowed, and felt a wave of heat from the fever wash over her again. "I loved him, Lord Faramir." She answered softly, so softly she was surprised to see he heard her, as his tired eyes widened in surprise, and he rocked gently back on his heel. Alandria bowed her head, and stepped carefully away. Then, once it became apparent he was no longer going to hinder her, she began to limp carefully back towards her room.

"Wait- my lady!" His voice called out to her after a few steps, and she hesitated. "Please, let me assist you." Without waiting for her approval, he took the crutch from her, substituting it with his arm and shoulder. Alandria was resilient to accepting this man's help, for as generous as his offer was, he himself was in the Houses of Healing and surely not without reason. When she verbalized this thought to him, he only smiled. "You are not wrong, but I have been here longer than you. I am well enough to aid a lady to her bed, I think."

"And may I ask what caused you to be here?" She asked politely, emerald-green eyes glancing at his familiar features uneasily.

The young man remained quiet for a moment, his dark gaze focused on the ground before them. It wasn't until they came to her room that he answered her, his gentle voice low. "My father."

Alandria had heard from Boromir of the mens' father and his lesser opinion of Faramir, but she was surprised to hear he had caused his only living son to be stuck in the Houses of Healing. "Your father? How?"

"He did not mean to." Faramir replied quietly, soft blue eyes staring sadly towards the floor. Alandria remained silent in the awkward moment, until he lifted his sight to meet hers, and spoke again. "I do not know your name."

"Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn." She answered easily, and he nodded, bowing his head.

"I am pleased to make your acquiantance, Lady Alandria."

She bowed awkwardly in return. "Likewise, Lord Faramir." He studied her curiously, dark, intelligent eyes roving hers as she said his name again. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, she spoke first. "Have you come across any others in these healing halls, or am I the only one?"

He observed her peculiarly, then shook his head. "No, there are many others here as well. But am I right to assume you are asking if I have yet made acquiantance with your Lady Éowyn?"

She smiled slightly. "You are correct."

He smiled more fully, and then nodded. "I have indeed met her." He turned then and glanced back towards the sun-lit courtyard, and a curiously wistful expression crossed his face. "Yes, I have indeed.."

"Is she alright then?" Alandria prodded, and he turned back to her as if waking from some spontaneous dream.

"Yes, I think so. She's getting better at least..." His voice trailed off with his wistful expression again, and Alandria nodded uncertainly.

"Well then. I should get back to bed, lord, to get more rest. If you...when you see Éowyn again, will you tell her I am better?"

"Aye, I will. I do not think it would be wrong to assume you can find her often in the gardens, in the coming days." He smiled gently again, his soft features comforting, and then backed away with a bow of his head. "Rest well, my lady. I certainly hope to speak with you again." With one last glance at her, his dark blue eyes boring into her in curiosity, he then left her in quiet.

Alandria made her way tiredly back to her bed, and fell onto it with a satisfied sigh. The annoying crutch fell to the ground with a loud clatter, and she winced, hoping none of the nurses would hear it and come to bother her. She needed to be alone for a while. She lay back, pushing away the fire that had spread in her leg wound, the constant ache of her ribs, and the fatigue that weighed on her again. There was a larger matter pressing on her mind. The face of a young man, bearing a haunting resemblance to a face she hadn't seen in weeks. Still handsome, still noble and stern, if a little less so than his brother, and still alive. She was unnerved by the sudden encounter, and felt now more than before a regret for her actions with Éomer. Now, upon seeing someone so much like Boromir, she was reminded of how she had felt before with him, and how she still felt for him. But he was gone. Was it wrong for her to feel for another already? And what of when Faramir learned of her involvement with his older brother, as he was sure to ask? Would he think her foolish, or unworthy, or pity her as so many others did? And what, a final part of her asked, if none of them lived to consider these thoughts any further?

The rest of the day passed with Alandria resting, although begrudgingly, as she was tired from her short walk to the courtyard and back. She rested, dreamless, and was woken in the mid-afternoon by a nurse with a tray of food. She ate eagerly, as she had been since awaking in the Houses of Healing, and lay quietly alone and in thought. By the late afternoon however, she had grown bored with sitting in her troublesome thoughts, and decided to try again to walk. She stood shakily, still sore and tired from her earlier efforts, and found the crutch to be rather useful as the pain in her leg was not any less. Back and forth around the small room she limped, going too slow for her liking and often stumbling, filling the quiet space with grumbled curses and grunts. It did not take long for her to wear out again, much to her dismay, but upon feeling both her legs quiver as she stood, she obliged to return to the bed.

So it continued for the next number of days: Alandria would wake, eat, chat with a nurse if they were so inclined, and then spend long periods forcing herself around the room. Soon, she became at ease with the crutch. Then sometime after, she managed to use the crutch only in half of her walking, although she did tire faster then. But once she had become comfortable with rarely using the instrument, and developed a somewhat stronger endurance, she could walk easily for longer periods of time. She also would look out her wide window in her practices, and often saw the Lord Faramir and her Lady Éowyn standing together in the gardens. She watched them curiously, although slightly nervously, fearing she was out of her place. Then came the occasion where they exchanged close words, she could see, and then clasped hands. The action surprised her, but also made her both pleased and saddened. Pleased, to see Éowyn start overcoming her pain and learn to care for someone other than Aragorn. Saddened, as their joining left her feeling more alone than before, as the days grew on and still no word came of the Captains that had left to battle.

Hours later, as evening was coming and the sun had changed to a dark, warm gold, Alandria persuaded herself to stop wallowing in her self-pity and to venture to the open courtyard again. In an added stroke of defiance, she left behind her cumbersome crutch, and limped slowly but steadily to the open-walled garden. The fountain still remained silent and without water, draining cheer from the bright gold and green plants. The clouds in the sky seemed aflame with the dying gold and red sunlight, and together the stony white city and flaming sky created an indescribable picture. She limped carefully to the very edge of the courtyard, standing up on the parapet, and looking down upon the vast open and empty lands that stretched before the White City. Her silence did not last though, as she shortly after heard footsteps behind her.

"Have you finally decided to come out, Alandria?" Éowyn asked tauntingly, a faint smile on her pale face.

"Indeed I have." Alandria forced a small smile in return. "Fresh air seemed like a nice idea."

Éowyn still smiled, and nodded. "Yes, it is a lovely night."

"Beautiful sunset." Alandria commented, and once Éowyn nodded in agreement, they lapsed into silence. The air was still and quiet, not even any birds dared sing, and Alandria wished dearly that the fountain ran with the cheerful sound of water. But it did not.

"I know about you and my brother, Alandria." Éowyn said suddenly, breaking the silence and immediately claiming the dark-haired woman's attention.

"My lady, I don't know what-"

"Alandria." Éowyn smiled gently, turning to face the woman beside her. "I am not blind to stolen glances and lone moments, my friend."

Alandria flushed warmly, then turned and looked pointedly towards the rust-haired Ranger that had quietly entered the courtyard. "Neither am I, my lady."

Éowyn's face gave away nothing, as she stared impassively at the handsome young man."That is a more complicated manner, Alandria."

"Is it?" Alandria asked doubtfully

"You love my brother, that is simple. I...I do not know what I feel, and if I have yet lost my feelings for another. That is not so simple."

"Simplicity is for each own person to divine, Éowyn." Alandria argued softly.

The White Lady studied her friend curiously. "How do you mean?"

Alandria shrugged slightly, turning to gaze back out at the lands of Gondor. "You say I love your brother. Perhaps this is true, I myself am not certain."

"How can you not be certain? Do you not know what you feel?"

"You said you don't yourself." Alandria challenged, glaring sharply at her friend. Éowyn opened her mouth to protest, but closed it after a moment's thought and stared hard at Alandria, who then continued. "Nay, my friend, it is that..I think..I am afraid of what I feel. And afraid to give up my feelings for He who was lost so long ago.."

"Lord Boromir, you mean?" Éowyn asked softly, and Alandria nodded.

"Aye. I am afraid, Éowyn, to entrust myself to another and forsake him, as though it would be to spoil his memory...does that make sense? I am afraid it will be frowned upon.."

"Alandria, is it what you yourself want?"

"I..I don't know.."

"Yes you do. Do you want to love someone who can love you back, Alandria? Do you want to move on from the memories of Boromir, and have happiness?" Éowyn's wide blue eyes studied her friend intently. "Do you?"

Alandria stared at the ground, her eyes not seeing the pale grass and stone, but focused on the thoughts tumbling through her mind. It was everything she'd thought over the past week, and it rolled into one answer, as she nodded hesitantly: "Yes."

Éowyn seemed to relax, and smiled slightly. "Then you should be afraid of nothing. It is past time you moved on, Alandria. Boromir would not deprive you of happiness, and being loved. He is gone. You are here. You must have your own life."

"But I still love him, Éowyn."

"And you still can. But others also love you Alandria, and do you not love them?"

Alandria knew precisely whom the golden-haired lady spoke of, and she nodded. "Yes, I think I do."

"There is your answer, my friend. And I am happy for it."

Alandria glanced at Éowyn nervously, and saw she did indeed smile, faintly, but warmly. Alandria returned it nervously, and then glanced furtively again in the direction of Faramir. "And is your matter of love and happiness not answered as mine is?"

Éowyn's faint smiled disappeared, and she seemed thoughtful, even troubled. "No, no it is not."

"How so? I see the answer plainly." Alandria looked pointedly again at Faramir.

"No, Alandria, I do not know if it is that simple."

"Then let me help. You came suddenly and helped me resolve my woes, can I not do the same for you?"

"I thank you my friend, but no, I think this matter is for myself." Alandria tried to protest again, but she cut her off. "I do not understand it well enough myself to explain, Alandria. But if you please, I should like to retire for the evening." She glanced almost nervously toward Faramir, and then back to Alandria. "Goodnight." She then smiled faintly, turned, and quietly strode away in a twirl of dark robes.

Alandria was left quite confused and uncomfortable upon the balcony of the courtyard, and after a glance at Faramir that showed him watching after Éowyn, she turned her body once again to the darkening lands laid before the city. The conversation with her Lady that had just occured admittedly unnerved her, the further she thought about it. Éowyn could never understand the reluctance she had to move on from Boromir, nor the betrayal she felt she would be commiting. Irrational, perhaps, but she could not rid herself of it. She still loved Boromir, and still missed his soft, deep, velvet-like voice, and blue-grey eyes that swam with rivers of pale green, and his strong, warm hold.. And yet she also might be coming to love Éomer, the tall, strong, and handsome Rohan man she had never looked twice upon over the years. But still - what if a choice did not even have opportunity to matter?

Words sprung into her mind then, and she spoke them without thinking, noticing only how appropriate and right they sounded at that moment: "A darkness veiled in light, sought beyond the ability to see; Where have gone the ones to fight, or did they ever be? Battles beyond hope and return, beyond the toils of past; Battles of..of...battles-"

"To be remembered, of doubt that shall not last."

Alandria whirled at the voice suddenly beside her, wincing as her leg flared with irritation. Her alarmed gaze fell on the lean figure of the last remaining Steward's son. Quickly she turned away from the young man's intense, observing stare and looked back out at the empty lands before her.

"Does that fit well enough?" Faramir asked, studying her with a faint, gentle smile. She nodded only slightly in reply, and he followed her green gaze out to the battlefield that lay beyond their sight. "Did you make that yourself?" He politely asked. "It's very good."

Another slight nod, and she replied softly, "Yes, my lord."

Alandria could feel the man watching her, but it was not a completely unnerving stare; he seemed simply to be trying to figure something out. "May I ask you a question, my lady?"

"Yes, lord."

He smiled gently. "You do not have to call me 'lord', my lady. I am not even Steward yet."

Alandria flushed slightly. "Then there is even less reason for you to call me 'lady', lord."

He smiled more fully. "Well said."

Alandria allowed a faint smile to touch her lips. "Your question, then?"

"Yes. I am curious, Alandria, as to why you avoid me so." He paused, letting his question register, before continuing in his soft, steady voice. "Perhaps I am foolish to be unable to think of any discourtesy or offense I may have caused you, but as I have never laid eyes on you before our meeting here I am slow to understand why, for the past five days, any time I am near you abandon your place. Can you not explain?"

Alandria had dropped her gaze ashamedly to the ground halfway through his speech, and there it still lingered as her face flushed in embarrassement. "I tell you now, Lord Faramir, you have never caused me any discourtesy or offense. You are a great man from what I so far have experienced, and I apologize for causing you such trouble. But I do not deny I have been avoiding you - however, I do have an explanation, if you desire to hear it."

"Aye, I do." He watched her intently, as she grew slightly nervous.

"Lord Faramir when I first met you, I told you I knew your older brother. I told you I knew him because I loved him. You remember this?"

"Indeed."

"It is not untrue. Has..has Lady Éowyn spoken to you of any of this?"

"She has tried, but I restrained her because I felt it was your own place to speak."

Alandria felt a wave of compassion for the startlingly considerate man beside her, and then further embarrassement. "That was very kind of you, sir. I will tell you now, then, a very short overview of your brother and I: we met in Rivendell, and both became part of the journey of the Ring. We travelled together for many miles, and grew to know each other over that distance. I am not sure how it happened, but eventually he came to mean something dear to me, and I to him. I did not fully realize this until we came to the realm of Lothlórien, and there shared a brief moment together. There we...we kissed for the first time, and did nothing more than that, but it brought many things to light." Alandria was unashamed to inform Faramir of this, this moment no one else knew of, feeling that as Boromir's younger brother, he had a right to know.

"Perhaps you don't want to hear this, but I feel it is something you should know: in that moment, I saw a side of your brother I would never have expected to see. A side no one, I think, would have expected to see. He was frightened, Faramir. He told me it, and he looked it. He was frightened for all that he knew was coming. But in that fear, I found I loved him. For now not only was he one of the strongest men I had yet met, but he also showed he had weaknesses, and I found I loved those too. His weaknesses I'm sure you can guess - or at least one of them. It was you, Faramir. He was afraid for you and what was happening with him gone. Often he told me about you, and I can understand why he cared for you so. But his immense love for you is partially why I have avoided you." She swallowed, struggling to hold her voice, and met the man's intent gaze. "I was there when Boromir died. He very nearly died in my arms, but for his insisting this not to be, perhaps to spare me from the horror I'm sure it would have been. But just before he died, he asked me to tell you he was sorry, and that he loves you. I'm sure these are words you don't need me to relay for you to know, but I feel I must anyway. I was told them many weeks ago, and still have not forgotten. Still, that is not my reason for avoiding you. It is that, in my loving your brother, I felt you would disapprove of me. I thought you would find me unworthy, or foolish. And, perhaps even more strongly, I found - find - it difficult to...to speak with you so closely, like now, when - I am sorry - you bear such resemblance to your brother." She closed her eyes for a moment, a few tears glittering on her dark lashes, and then she opened them and watched the ground.

"It has been weeks since Boromir died, and yet his death is still too fresh upon me. Foolish as it may be, it is hard to face you, who is so much like him. And yet...so much unlike him as well." She paused, glancing up, and then quickly added. "In many beneficial ways, I assure you." She cleared her throat then, glancing down, to the side, and then back up in nervousness. "Such is my reasoning for avoiding you, if you will have it."

The man's even, intelligent ocean-blue gaze bore into her for a moment, and then he nodded slowly, and looked thoughtfully away. His thoughtful silence weighed on Alandria, and she waited nervously for his reply. It came after what seemed hours, but was likely less than a minute, and his voice was soft and gentle, "Thank you, Alandria, for telling me that. I am glad that my brother found someone to love before he died - I was sure he would live out his days with duty to none other than his country and people. An honorable way to live, as I'm sure both he and my father would have thought." A faint, bitter smile curled the edge of his lips. "But I always thought he needed to know how to love and be loved, as foolish as that may sound. But I'm glad he found it with you, Alandria. You seem strong, well-fitted for him." He turned and looked earnestly at her, and she found reassurance in his gaze. "But even were you not as you are, I would never have found you unworthy or foolish, Alandria. I assure you."

She smiled faintly, believing his words. "Thank you."

He reflected her smile, and then after a moment it faded the slightest. "I know how he died, Alandria. I know of the Uruk-hai, and how he fell to protect two of your hobbit friends." He paused, then glanced at her with a look of something like sympathy. "I know he tried to take the Ring."

Alandria could not hide her surprise at this news, but could only find one thing to say: "...how?"

"It is a long story." He smiled faintly. "I had a...well, a dream. I saw my brother in a boat, floating past me in a river. With that, I knew he was dead. Then later I found his horn, cloven in two. But then I came across two tresspassing hobbits, and with them they had an object of great importance. The Ring." He sighed softly, his dark eyes thoughtful in the memory. "I myself was not particularly drawn to it, but I sensed they feared I would be. Especially the Bearer, Frodo. He treasured it. And upon learning who my brother was, he became even more cautious. It was not hard to figure out."

"I'm sorry, Faramir." Alandria said softly. "You must feel..let down by your brother, for him to succumb to the Ring."

"Let down?" Faramir echoed in faint surprise, then shook his head. "No, not at all. I understand it perfectly. Boromir was always one for power. My father practically forced it on him. And if he saw in the Ring something powerful that he thought could save Gondor, well then, it makes perfect sense. I would assume however, that you were the one let down by his actions." He watched her carefully. "Is this not correct?"

Alandria lowered her gaze, unable to look at the young man. "Yes, I think so." She whispered, then swallowed nervously. "But I never held it against him. I knew..knew he was better than that, succombing to the Ring. It was just a moment's weakness." Her voice lowered even more. "Just for a moment."

Faramir watched her, taken slightly aback by the sadness he saw on the face of the young woman before him. He truly had never expected to meet one that loved his brother so. The fact that she lost him as well tore at his own heart. "Boromir spoke of me then?" He said softly, hoping to alter the subject somewhat.

"Yes. Quite often, actually." She smiled slightly, then it wavered and fell as she looked back up.

"And what all did you hear?"

She shrugged slightly, wrapping her arms around herself as the evening grew cooler. "At times, I would hear stories of you two when you were younger. Boromir always smiled a lot when he told me those. They made him so happy." She smiled again, both wistfully and sadly, then sighed quietly. "Then he would talk of how much he missed you, and worried about you, left behind with your father."

"He mentioned our father?"

"Not a lot, but sometimes. Mostly only when he talked about you." She paused, glancing up at the gentle, quiet, intelligent man. "So yes, I heard of how Lord Denethor treated you, and thought of you. I am sorry. Only now do I see how truly terrible those stories were."

But Faramir shook his head, taking a couple silent steps away in thought. "Often I would hear of how my presence cursed both my father and brother, and what little use I truly had. Boromir would stand up for me, as much as I hated it, but there was only so much he could do. He too had to obey our father, and at times, that would mean lending a deaf ear." He sighed softly, sadness shining through his dark blue eyes, tainting the noble features that were so like his brother's. "I think that after Boromir died, my father believed the House of Stewards truly was damned, and there could be no salvation."

Alandria watched Faramir as he spoke, reading each emotion as it flicked across his handsome face. She could see the sadness and pain he wore, combined with immeasurable burdens. She stepped closer to him, touching his hand with her own, and he turned to look at her. She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way, squeezing his hand gently. "I tell you now - he was wrong."

Faramir smiled tentatively back, warmed by her gesture. They stared at each other for a long moment, with faint smiles and understanding exchanging in their eyes, before he nodded. "Thank you, Alandria." She nodded back, before releasing his hand, and turning back to stare at the landscape that was now nearly black. "Would you.." he hesitated, then continued on as she looked at him again. "Would you like to hear some more stories of Boromir and I, when we were kids? I'm sure I've got plenty you haven't heard." He waited somewhat nervously for her answer, suddenly sure she had had enough of his company, but was relieved as she smiled and nodded.

"Absolutely."

"Excellent." He smiled widely back. "Come, let's sit down."