Cold, hard, ice-like in all ways but one: ice melts.

"...Will depend on the manner of your return," said the steward. Faramir had turned that thought over too many times, wondering just what it meant. He had come to two conclusions which seemed most likely. Either Denethor meant that he would think better of Faramir if he returned from Osgiliath victorious or, what Faramir guessed more to be expected, if he returned not alive. After all, his own father had just admitted wishing it were so.

Through all seven gates of Minas Tirith had the thought been in Faramir's mind, "Fealty with love. Valor with honor. Disloyalty with vengeance." Faramir had all he could handle in steeling his emotions enough to get out of the Citadel and out of the city itself. Once he was in the Pelennor again he could turn his hurt to rage and fight with all passion, but here on this slowed exodus he was grateful as never before to hide within the battle armor he usually avoided.

Faramir knew the things his father had uttered about love and honor were not meant for his ears, but for the Halfling's. Vengeance on the other, that was all Denethor meant for his second born. For the last 31 years, since his mother's death five years after his birth, Faramir had tried so desperately to understand his father's pitiless feelings toward him. It was one thing that was beyond Faramir's grasp entirely.

At first as a young child he had been sure that he had done something to cause his mother's death. Faramir could only remember little of her, but he knew this much: she was beautiful and kind, filled with compassion and knowledge. Yet even at his young age Faramir knew his mother was not a well woman. But he had also been born one year before Steward Ecthelion died and no one seemed to blame him for that.

As years passed his father seemed to settle on hating his younger son because he loved learning and music more than the ways of the sword and bow. Still Denethor's disposition remained a mystery to Faramir. He knew not why his father should care if he was practiced in letters as well as fighting. No one else considered Faramir any the less than his brother in battle. In fact. the men at Faramir's command had always been exceptionally loyal and would have followed him anywhere. Faramir simply had no ability to understand why his father thought he should command with more power and less empathy.

At 15 Faramir had taken to observing Boromir's behaviors in an attempt to possibly emulate him and finally gain his father's love. Boromir was 20 then and considered the most fully trained warrior in Gondor. He was tested in battle and came back not only unscathed but effusive about the thrill of war. It seemed to Faramir he talked about nothing else and wanted nothing more than to battle through the rest of his life. Faramir tried to see battle from Boromir's point of view, and when he did he was repulsed. Where, he wondered, was the excitement in taking away another man's life, a man who likely thought himself as much in the right as the companies of Gondor did. A man who maybe had his own family, a wife and a child, maybe even a father who would grieve greatly.

It was upon a visit from Mithrandir when Faramir was 18 that Denethor upped his loathing of Faramir yet again. Faramir had assisted Gandalf with some research concerning Isildur that Denethor was very unhappy about allowing the wizard access to.

Finally out of the city and Faramir's thoughts were pushed away as he lead his faithful toward overrun Osgiliath on the obvious suicide mission. Faramir stole glances at the helmed faces nearest him. Some were afraid. Some were stern. Some were unreadable. Faramir knew his own visage was unreadable as well, and to those who mirrored his, his heart went out. Had their father's last words to them been as cold?

Two days worth of fighting his very heart out, Faramir received a poisoned wound from one of the Nazgul that aided the orcs in destroying the river post and besieging Minas Tirith. Before falling unconscious, Faramir looked as his life blood seeped through his shirt and tunic and he looked up to see the charge of Dol Amroth race ahead of him. The last thing he remembered was hearing one of his men screaming desperately, "Captain Faramir! Get him out of here!"