March 9, 3019 T.A.
Dear Boromir;
You asked me to take good care of your men for you, and I did. I lent Beregond enough money to buy his son shoes, kept Idril from the ale and visited Tuor's widow to fix her creaky door. I ran your horse for you, like you asked I do whilst you were gone. I kept the chambermaids from starching your jerkin again. I thought you would be coming back.
But you're not. I hear you died honorably. I'm glad, brother. I know that this was the way you wanted it. I'm proud of you Boromir, and I envy you, having the courage to give your life. I shall probably die a scholar's death, alone in my bed at a great age, those tiny stirrings of valor, which you always encouraged, finally passed to leave me in peace in Mandos, if I am not damned to a hell full of Balroqs.
I was weak Boromir, where you were strong, slow where you were quick, low where you were lofty. Now, I shall have to fill your shoes, and Gondor shall have half a scholar and half a warrior. I shall be complete in neither way, where before they had a strong, brave soldier-Captain, and a quick-witted, young intellectual. I wonder if I shall start to look more like you? It would certainly please Father to have his brat turn into his perfect son. No, no, I'd never look enough like you to fool him. I'm too fine-boned, just like Mother.
I miss you Boromir. You shall never make me laugh again, never tell me stories of happier times. You won't be there to show me your firstborn, second born and third born. You shall never break another of my bones, dislocate another of my limbs, concuss me, or knock me off my horse trying to show me something I should already know again. I must say that this doesn't particularly sadden me, although I would take all of our childhood accidents again for a chance to say goodbye.
Goodbye, Brother.
Love,
Faramir
Dear Boromir;
You asked me to take good care of your men for you, and I did. I lent Beregond enough money to buy his son shoes, kept Idril from the ale and visited Tuor's widow to fix her creaky door. I ran your horse for you, like you asked I do whilst you were gone. I kept the chambermaids from starching your jerkin again. I thought you would be coming back.
But you're not. I hear you died honorably. I'm glad, brother. I know that this was the way you wanted it. I'm proud of you Boromir, and I envy you, having the courage to give your life. I shall probably die a scholar's death, alone in my bed at a great age, those tiny stirrings of valor, which you always encouraged, finally passed to leave me in peace in Mandos, if I am not damned to a hell full of Balroqs.
I was weak Boromir, where you were strong, slow where you were quick, low where you were lofty. Now, I shall have to fill your shoes, and Gondor shall have half a scholar and half a warrior. I shall be complete in neither way, where before they had a strong, brave soldier-Captain, and a quick-witted, young intellectual. I wonder if I shall start to look more like you? It would certainly please Father to have his brat turn into his perfect son. No, no, I'd never look enough like you to fool him. I'm too fine-boned, just like Mother.
I miss you Boromir. You shall never make me laugh again, never tell me stories of happier times. You won't be there to show me your firstborn, second born and third born. You shall never break another of my bones, dislocate another of my limbs, concuss me, or knock me off my horse trying to show me something I should already know again. I must say that this doesn't particularly sadden me, although I would take all of our childhood accidents again for a chance to say goodbye.
Goodbye, Brother.
Love,
Faramir