It was another day of peril. I let out a silent sigh and watched the surroundings. Orcs were here. I could smell it. I could feel it. The air is heavy with sorrow and loss. Loss.

I walked through the ground of dead bodies. Orcs and men. Our suffer. We won. But we paid for it. With lives. As I walked towards the water, I faintly saw through the mist a boat. A white and graceful boat. Which heavenly being would come travelling down our path?

I had not known what drove me to head for the water, but sub-consciously, I walked deeper and deeper into the water. I was squinting to see the boat. Could it be an enemy? No. Friend? No. Who would ever come down here to aid us in these times?

As the boat finally slowly floated by me, I paled at the sight. I was sure I was dreaming. It was not true. The mist... Yes, there is a mist in my dream!

"Captain Faramir!" I heard a voice shout. No, it was not a dream. The voice was crisp and clear. I opened my mouth, but my lips did not speak. They were numbed by the sight I was seeing.

It was my brother. Boromir. He was dead. Dead. I stepped back in disbelief, and felt like I was swirling in the mist. My brother's body looked ghostly white. There was not the rosy cheeks he had in winter time anymore. I could not hear his triumphant laugh as he returned to Gondor. No, he was there in the boat. Motionless. Expressionless. He was gone. He was gone...

Another shout emerged. "Captain!" And I felt men rushing to my side, glancing into the boat.

I stood there for a moment, watching my brother. Then I removed the broken horn of Gondor from his cold hands. Father would not take it. Boromir was father's pride. Most of all, he was my brother. My dear brother who has defended me! Who has comforted me of the death of mother! He could not be dead, he must not be...

But the truth lay before me, and then I finally spoke. "Carry him away. We ride for Minas Tirith." And holding the horn, I walked away, fighting against my will to keep my tears from gracing my face.