I own nothing. Dialogue and idea courtesy New Line Cinemas and
Tolkien...whatever.
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Faramir's men called him over as the captain of the Ithilien rangers made dead another servant of the dark lord.
"Captain Faramir! There is something you should see."
The ranger lead Faramir to a small copse of men, clustered around two small boys, one blond and the other dark haired. The blonde one spoke up, violently annoyed.
"Wait! We're innocent travelers!" Faramir frowned.
"There are no travelers in this land. Only servants of the Dark Tower." The dark one spoke.
"We are bound to an errand of secrecy. Those that claim to oppose the enemy would do well not to hinder us." The young captain cocked an eyebrow.
"The enemy?" he walked to the nearest dead man, not ten paces away, turned it over with his booted toe, and looked at the dead face with some disgust and thoughtfulness. "His sense of duty was no less than yours, I deem. You wonder what his name is, where he came from. And if he was really evil at heart. What lies or threats led him on this long march from home. If he would not rather have stayed there ... in peace. "He turned back to his men, signaling them to make for camp. "War will make corpses of us all. Bind their hands."
Back at his headquarters at Henneth Annûn, Faramir examined his positions with his lieutenants. Pouring over a well-thumbed map, Madril informed the steward's son as to what intelligence reports he had received.
"What news?"
"Our scouts report Saruman has attacked Rohan. Théoden's people have fled to Helm's Deep. But we must look to our own borders. Faramir, Orcs are on the move. Sauron is marshalling an army. Easterlings and Southrons are passing through the Black Gate."
"How many?" Madril sighed, a war weary sigh, the sigh of a man who is out manned and has given up what little fool's hope is left in such dark an hour.
"Some thousands. More come every day." Faramir thought about this for a moment, and gestured to the map.
"Who's covering the river to the north?" Madril sighed again.
"We pulled 500 men at Osgiliath, but if the city is attacked, we won't hold it." Faramir traced the lines of countries on the map, his voice thoughtful.
"Saruman attacks from Isengard, Sauron, from Mordor. The fight will come to men on both fronts. Gondor is weak. Sauron will strike us soon. And he will strike hard. He knows now we do not have the strength to repel him." Faramir looked at the map, and then at his cloak, draped over one of the barrels. On the inside, he knew, was embroidered a tiny white rose-the trademark of his sister in law.
"Oh Rhos," he whispered to him self, "Why must this burden fall to me? What I would do that you could be here to comfort me and advise my ill at ease mind, sister." He sighed, remembering the tears on her face when he had left minas Tirith for Henneth Annûn at the rise of the last moon, and went to question the small ones.
The two small men sat in one of the window on the west's many caves, looking around in biwilderment, having just been unblindfolded. Faramir took a seat on a barrel and looked each straight in the face.
"My men tell me that you are Orc spies." The blonde was appalled.
"Spies?! Now wait just a minute!"
"Well if you're not spies, then who are you?" They did not seem to know how to answer this, and all three sat for a moment in apprehensive silence.
"Speak." The dark haired one took a breath and began.
"We are hobbits of the Shire. Frodo Baggins is my name and this is Samwise Gamgee." Faramir looked the blonde one over.
"Your bodyguard?"
"His gardener."
"And where is your skulking friend? That gangrel creature. He had an ill- favoured look." Frodo hesitated.
"There was no other." He continued on.
"We set out from Rivendell with seven companions. One we lost in Mória. Two were my kin. A Dwarf there was also, and an Elf. And two men, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Boromir of Gondor." Faramir looked intently at Frodo.
"I wish you to tell me more of this, for what concerns Boromir concerns me. What was this sign of doom over which councils were held? Had you this thing in your keeping? You say that it is hidden, but is that some choice of yours?"
"No choice of mine, sir. It was deemed in council that none save my company should know of it. And I cannot by right claim it as mine, for I have no claim to it. But if any should lay claim, the keeping would fall to Aragorn, son of Arathorn."
"How so that Isildur's bane could go to, as you tell it, a ranger out of the north? What claim has he more than Boromir, prince of the city which Elendil's blood founded?"
"Aragorn is directly descended from Elendil's blood himself, and he bears such tokens as show him such."
"And what tokens are these? I know the high lore well enough myself to tell you if his claim is false."
"A sword he bore, named Anduril, and a ring of silver, with emeralds and two snakes, one devouring the other." Faramir nodded. If this man truly did bear the sword of Elendil, the blade that was broken, and the ring that bore Barahir's name, then he could truly be the king come again. Frodo smiled sadly, reminiscing.
"His claim was good enough for Boromir, at least. And if he were here, he would answer all the questions you could have to ask. When last I left him at Rauros seven days back, he intended to tarry no longer and essay on the quickest paths to your city. You would have his answers there, I deem." Faramir looked up at the mention of his brother's name sadly.
"So, you bid me mind what affairs be mine, and see what tidings I may behold in my city. Boromir will tell all when he comes, so say you. You were a friend of Boromir?" Frodo looked confused.
"Yes... for my part. He was a valiant member of our company. No better man may be found in any land upon middle earth, for he was both brave and strong of heart." Faramir stood, trying not to cry. How would he tell the heart that knew his brother best?
"It will grieve you then, to learn that he is dead."
"Dead? How? When? By what means? Since you have said, or so this I have heard, that your city had no wind of our company since you had left, how know you of his death?"
"As one of his companions, I'd hoped you would tell me."
"If something has happened to Boromir we would have you tell us! He was alive and strong when we parted, and he may still be so for what I could tell you. But there are perils far greater than orcs still in this world." Faramir turned around, picking up a box and peering at its contents. When he spoke, his voice sought to contain a breaking heart.
"I would have you speak truth with me, but I have withheld from you. Boromir was my brother.
Ere I arrived in Ithilien, as I kept my watches on the river with three of my men, I beheld a strange sight. It was early in the morning, and the river still held it's silken cold shroud of mist. Through such ghostly palls there came a boat, white and high prowed. In it, there was water, causing such eerie lights to issue forth in the lingering light of the moon so that the woman in the craft was crowned with a silvering glow. I waded into Anduin, and stopped the boat with my hand to behold what contents such a craft would carry closer.
Her hair – like the godly sun in golden splendor, precariously fair to behold in full unveiled sight-was laid across a pillow of gray cloth, such as the elves weave, the like of which I have seen only once in my years. And her proud and valiant face bore no mask of deathless sleep. I cried aloud, Oh maiden fair! How should so radiant a flower fade in dark hours such as ours? What device gave you these wounds? Why should such beauty meet such an end as this? How came such loveliness by this end, such grace by this demise?
She was arrayed in battle garb as the elves wear, no flowing cloth of whitened splendor, and I saw clasped in her hands no lily flowers nor shining steel of valiants, but a horn, fashioned of ivory and bound in gold. Oh Boromir, Boromir, faithful brother mine, I cried, thy horn lies in a maiden's hands! How came she by it, most prized on your possessions? Have you met such an end as this maid? Has Gondor's son been lost? And while I wept, I saw men line the shore, and never have such a sight brought battle hardened men to tears, to see such beauty lost to death's battle black cloak." Frodo gasped.
"This boat washed upon the riverbank about six days past. I took the horn, and gave back to the dead such a sword as my men bear, as we thought it fitting that such a woman as this should have weapon in her hand. But more than this, I know it in my heart that Boromir is dead." He withdrew from the case he was holding the horn, and in the shaken light from the watery curtain of the waterfall it glowed with an eerie light.
"And when next I go to the city, I shall bring these grave tidings to those he held dear- to my father, and to his...his betrothed."
"You would let us go, then?"
"Go? My dear hobbit, if that really be what you are, I fear that I cannot let you pass freely, for it is written in the laws of my father that those who travel upon these lands without the knowledge of my lord and father Denethor are to be killed. But since I deem you have something of great value for Gondor, my men will not kill you whilst I still draw breath. Rest well, hobbits of the shire, and sleep at peace. It is so ill gained in these dark days." Faramir laid the horn back in the case and left with it, leaving Sam and Frodo to ponder their fate.
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Haha! More book verse! And I tied it in with the story...now I have to go back and update, but who cares?
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Faramir's men called him over as the captain of the Ithilien rangers made dead another servant of the dark lord.
"Captain Faramir! There is something you should see."
The ranger lead Faramir to a small copse of men, clustered around two small boys, one blond and the other dark haired. The blonde one spoke up, violently annoyed.
"Wait! We're innocent travelers!" Faramir frowned.
"There are no travelers in this land. Only servants of the Dark Tower." The dark one spoke.
"We are bound to an errand of secrecy. Those that claim to oppose the enemy would do well not to hinder us." The young captain cocked an eyebrow.
"The enemy?" he walked to the nearest dead man, not ten paces away, turned it over with his booted toe, and looked at the dead face with some disgust and thoughtfulness. "His sense of duty was no less than yours, I deem. You wonder what his name is, where he came from. And if he was really evil at heart. What lies or threats led him on this long march from home. If he would not rather have stayed there ... in peace. "He turned back to his men, signaling them to make for camp. "War will make corpses of us all. Bind their hands."
Back at his headquarters at Henneth Annûn, Faramir examined his positions with his lieutenants. Pouring over a well-thumbed map, Madril informed the steward's son as to what intelligence reports he had received.
"What news?"
"Our scouts report Saruman has attacked Rohan. Théoden's people have fled to Helm's Deep. But we must look to our own borders. Faramir, Orcs are on the move. Sauron is marshalling an army. Easterlings and Southrons are passing through the Black Gate."
"How many?" Madril sighed, a war weary sigh, the sigh of a man who is out manned and has given up what little fool's hope is left in such dark an hour.
"Some thousands. More come every day." Faramir thought about this for a moment, and gestured to the map.
"Who's covering the river to the north?" Madril sighed again.
"We pulled 500 men at Osgiliath, but if the city is attacked, we won't hold it." Faramir traced the lines of countries on the map, his voice thoughtful.
"Saruman attacks from Isengard, Sauron, from Mordor. The fight will come to men on both fronts. Gondor is weak. Sauron will strike us soon. And he will strike hard. He knows now we do not have the strength to repel him." Faramir looked at the map, and then at his cloak, draped over one of the barrels. On the inside, he knew, was embroidered a tiny white rose-the trademark of his sister in law.
"Oh Rhos," he whispered to him self, "Why must this burden fall to me? What I would do that you could be here to comfort me and advise my ill at ease mind, sister." He sighed, remembering the tears on her face when he had left minas Tirith for Henneth Annûn at the rise of the last moon, and went to question the small ones.
The two small men sat in one of the window on the west's many caves, looking around in biwilderment, having just been unblindfolded. Faramir took a seat on a barrel and looked each straight in the face.
"My men tell me that you are Orc spies." The blonde was appalled.
"Spies?! Now wait just a minute!"
"Well if you're not spies, then who are you?" They did not seem to know how to answer this, and all three sat for a moment in apprehensive silence.
"Speak." The dark haired one took a breath and began.
"We are hobbits of the Shire. Frodo Baggins is my name and this is Samwise Gamgee." Faramir looked the blonde one over.
"Your bodyguard?"
"His gardener."
"And where is your skulking friend? That gangrel creature. He had an ill- favoured look." Frodo hesitated.
"There was no other." He continued on.
"We set out from Rivendell with seven companions. One we lost in Mória. Two were my kin. A Dwarf there was also, and an Elf. And two men, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and Boromir of Gondor." Faramir looked intently at Frodo.
"I wish you to tell me more of this, for what concerns Boromir concerns me. What was this sign of doom over which councils were held? Had you this thing in your keeping? You say that it is hidden, but is that some choice of yours?"
"No choice of mine, sir. It was deemed in council that none save my company should know of it. And I cannot by right claim it as mine, for I have no claim to it. But if any should lay claim, the keeping would fall to Aragorn, son of Arathorn."
"How so that Isildur's bane could go to, as you tell it, a ranger out of the north? What claim has he more than Boromir, prince of the city which Elendil's blood founded?"
"Aragorn is directly descended from Elendil's blood himself, and he bears such tokens as show him such."
"And what tokens are these? I know the high lore well enough myself to tell you if his claim is false."
"A sword he bore, named Anduril, and a ring of silver, with emeralds and two snakes, one devouring the other." Faramir nodded. If this man truly did bear the sword of Elendil, the blade that was broken, and the ring that bore Barahir's name, then he could truly be the king come again. Frodo smiled sadly, reminiscing.
"His claim was good enough for Boromir, at least. And if he were here, he would answer all the questions you could have to ask. When last I left him at Rauros seven days back, he intended to tarry no longer and essay on the quickest paths to your city. You would have his answers there, I deem." Faramir looked up at the mention of his brother's name sadly.
"So, you bid me mind what affairs be mine, and see what tidings I may behold in my city. Boromir will tell all when he comes, so say you. You were a friend of Boromir?" Frodo looked confused.
"Yes... for my part. He was a valiant member of our company. No better man may be found in any land upon middle earth, for he was both brave and strong of heart." Faramir stood, trying not to cry. How would he tell the heart that knew his brother best?
"It will grieve you then, to learn that he is dead."
"Dead? How? When? By what means? Since you have said, or so this I have heard, that your city had no wind of our company since you had left, how know you of his death?"
"As one of his companions, I'd hoped you would tell me."
"If something has happened to Boromir we would have you tell us! He was alive and strong when we parted, and he may still be so for what I could tell you. But there are perils far greater than orcs still in this world." Faramir turned around, picking up a box and peering at its contents. When he spoke, his voice sought to contain a breaking heart.
"I would have you speak truth with me, but I have withheld from you. Boromir was my brother.
Ere I arrived in Ithilien, as I kept my watches on the river with three of my men, I beheld a strange sight. It was early in the morning, and the river still held it's silken cold shroud of mist. Through such ghostly palls there came a boat, white and high prowed. In it, there was water, causing such eerie lights to issue forth in the lingering light of the moon so that the woman in the craft was crowned with a silvering glow. I waded into Anduin, and stopped the boat with my hand to behold what contents such a craft would carry closer.
Her hair – like the godly sun in golden splendor, precariously fair to behold in full unveiled sight-was laid across a pillow of gray cloth, such as the elves weave, the like of which I have seen only once in my years. And her proud and valiant face bore no mask of deathless sleep. I cried aloud, Oh maiden fair! How should so radiant a flower fade in dark hours such as ours? What device gave you these wounds? Why should such beauty meet such an end as this? How came such loveliness by this end, such grace by this demise?
She was arrayed in battle garb as the elves wear, no flowing cloth of whitened splendor, and I saw clasped in her hands no lily flowers nor shining steel of valiants, but a horn, fashioned of ivory and bound in gold. Oh Boromir, Boromir, faithful brother mine, I cried, thy horn lies in a maiden's hands! How came she by it, most prized on your possessions? Have you met such an end as this maid? Has Gondor's son been lost? And while I wept, I saw men line the shore, and never have such a sight brought battle hardened men to tears, to see such beauty lost to death's battle black cloak." Frodo gasped.
"This boat washed upon the riverbank about six days past. I took the horn, and gave back to the dead such a sword as my men bear, as we thought it fitting that such a woman as this should have weapon in her hand. But more than this, I know it in my heart that Boromir is dead." He withdrew from the case he was holding the horn, and in the shaken light from the watery curtain of the waterfall it glowed with an eerie light.
"And when next I go to the city, I shall bring these grave tidings to those he held dear- to my father, and to his...his betrothed."
"You would let us go, then?"
"Go? My dear hobbit, if that really be what you are, I fear that I cannot let you pass freely, for it is written in the laws of my father that those who travel upon these lands without the knowledge of my lord and father Denethor are to be killed. But since I deem you have something of great value for Gondor, my men will not kill you whilst I still draw breath. Rest well, hobbits of the shire, and sleep at peace. It is so ill gained in these dark days." Faramir laid the horn back in the case and left with it, leaving Sam and Frodo to ponder their fate.
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Haha! More book verse! And I tied it in with the story...now I have to go back and update, but who cares?