Faramir dozed lightly off and on throughout the day. At one point someone came in to bring him a bowl of broth and some bread, there was little else that could be spared immediately. March was a time of low provisions as it was and now Minas Tirith was also playing host to armies of Dol Amroth and Rohan and everyone in between. Faramir wondered how long it had been since he'd had any real food, for he ate as if he was starving. 'Dan had given him some lembas when he visited the night that his father had brought him back from the edge of death. Still, while lembas would keep one going, it did not exactly lift one's spirits much. Hot broth and crusty bread, on the other offer, did just that!

He recognized the woman who brought him the broth and spoke to her as she stirred the dying embers in the fireplace and banked it with a few more wedges of wood. "You were here when I woke, were you not?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, I was, my lord," Mithrellas replied looking back toward Faramir. What an amazing turn of circumstances it was that transpired to lead to her calling her dearest friend's long lost base-born son her lord.

Faramir just smiled weakly, he still felt so fatigued! "I doubt anyone can call me their lord. I just accidentally wound up here, that is all there really was to it."

Mithrellas smiled slightly, it was true in an ironic way. Though by far it was most ironic that here lay the same child who Finduilas had sent away for his safety, now giving her that same drained smile that his mother used to give her when she felt weak. "You are so like to your mother…," Mithrellas mused in a whisper.

At once Faramir took notice. "You knew her? But… then, you know?"

Mithrellas smiled. "Aye, I have since I saw you here. When your father came in, I knew at once that Fin' had made no mistake in putting you in his keeping."

"So you knew all along?" Faramir asked amazed.

"Yes, from the very beginning. Fin' was my dearest friend and she confided in me. For years, I thought she had made a terrible mistake in allowing Thorongil to take you from here. Now I see, though, how much you resemble your father, and how well he has cared for you. She was wise indeed, and I feel honored to be able to serve you now."

Faramir was overwhelmed, he had never known anything about his mother, and now he was talking to her closest friend. When he put together that he and Boromir were half brothers he had tried to remember anything that Boromir might have mentioned about his mother, but there was rather little since Boromir rarely spoke of her. Suddenly he wanted to know everything. He guessed that Mithrellas was close to Finduilas in age and likely in appearance since they were from the same place. Faramir couldn't help but to indulge himself and think that she could be his mother sitting with him. It was also strange, though, for Mithrellas looked to be as aged as his grandmother was when he last saw her. And his father… well, he hadn't been touched by as so much as weariness. What an odd sight it would be, an aged and grayed mother, and a young-looking father, when surely his mother had been a good twenty years younger than his father was.

Mithrellas laughed slightly, shaking her head. "No, your mumma and I were not so similar in appearance. She was fairer than I, she had a more pale countenance and reddish-blonde hair. She was a female version of her brother. You have not met Imrahil?"

Faramir shrugged; if he had met him, he would not have known it.

"Imrahil is the Prince of Dol Amroth. He was with your father when he came here to you, but I do not believe that he stayed long," Mithrellas explained. This was an experience she never even considered, she was convinced that Finduilas's second baby would never make it to his first year out in the wild with that Ranger. For some while, she stayed with Faramir, talking about Finduilas. She even told him of her secret love whom she left to marry Denethor, for all along she had expected that it was that situation that lead to Faramir's making. She told him of how Finduilas used to sit at her north window at evenings and murmur that she wondered how her Fara' was getting on. She was fairly sure that Imrahil knew that Faramir was his other nephew, but it likely was taking him as much time to sort all this out as it was taking Faramir, who was beginning to look sleepy again.

"Rest now, Faramir, I shall fetch you some more broth before too long, if I can," Mithrellas said, rising to leave.

Faramir caught her hand and said, "thank you so much for introducing me to my mother. Do you know when I may go to see my brother?"

Mithrellas was about to say that it should not be too long when Ioreth came in, having "overheard" Faramir's question and said, "as long as you are under my care, it shall not be for a while yet! Just because that Ranger that everyone suddenly thinks is going to be King came and woke you up with some old dry leaves, it does not mean that you are -"

"Thank you, dear Lady Ioreth, I shall see that he gets his rest for a while," said Imrahil, entering. Ioreth was so startled that she didn't immediately bow to him, but catching the glint in his eye that told her that he was only just tolerating the elderly nurse and her habits, she quickly dipped her head and hurried off. "I have never been able to cope with these Minas Tirithians. You should rest, 'Rel, you are exhausted," he said to Mithrellas with a tired smile. She did not disagree and departed. "Allow me to introduce myself, Imrahil of Amroth," he said with a bow to Faramir.

Faramir inclined his head in return, as much as he could as he was propped up by pillows.

"I can see you are nearly falling asleep," Imrahil said, "I promise not to keep you awake. I just wanted to meet you, at long last. When Gandalf told me whom you are as you rode

out to Osgiliath… well, ever since Fin' died I have wondered who her little Faramir is." Imrahil desperately wanted to apologize to Faramir for leaving him in Denethor's care, his judgment had been wrong and he saw clearly why his sister had sent her tiny baby away, he would have never been accepted by Denethor. However, Gandalf had cautioned him that he should not speak of what he had been told about the incident in Rath Dinen to either of his nephews.

"The honor is mine, my lord," Faramir said, blinking sleepily. "You ride with my father in the morning?" he asked around a yawn.

Imrahil smiled sadly, the man really did bring back memories of his older sister. "Aye, lad," he responded. "I hope that I may finally get to know you after we have this business at Mordor settled."

"I, too, should be glad…," Faramir trailed off mid-sentence. He was sound asleep.

Bowing his head again to Faramir, Imrahil left the Houses of Healing. He wished to see his other nephew before he was required to attend his station and prepare for the coming day. It had not been easy for him to see Bori' leave Dol Amroth years ago to return to Minas Tirith, but he understood that he and his nephew could not build sandcastles on the beach for all time. Now he only hoped he could do his best to help keep some of the real castles from being swept out with the tide of darkness from Mordor.

Imrahil walked into his elder nephew's chambers. He wondered if it was really possible that it had been 37 years since his nephew first arrived in Dol Amroth with his mumma. He would always remember how Boromir's eyes lit up at the mention of sea-monsters. Even from the age of five, Bori' had wanted to fight for those he loved.

Imrahil had not been to see his nephew since their liege had determined that he was well and only in a deep sleep. There was more than plenty that he needed to see to in that time and he knew it would be best to let Boromir get his sleep. Now as he looked at this one, his beloved sister's first child, laying awake in his bed, a bowl of uneaten broth beside him, bread untouched, cup of water still full, he realized that 37 years had indeed passed and that much indeed has transpired in that time.

"How are you feeling, Bori'?" Imrahil asked, trying to sound at ease and in good spirits.

Boromir was curled up on his side, facing away from the door. He closed his eyes when he heard his dear uncle speak to him. Gods, but could they not just leave him alone? Why would no one just let him die? That Wizard had been sitting there for an hour trying to convince him that it was his own fault that he took the Ring, telling him that he should forgive himself for what happened. Boromir thought that maybe he could accept that in time, but that did not change the fact that he had done wrong and endangered everyone he loved. He felt he still needed to somehow make amends, to pay restitution for what he'd done. He could not stop himself from seeing in his mind over and over the image of Ringbearer's unconscious form laying there on the forest floor and his own reaching for the chain about his neck.

Imrahil waited a moment but received no response. He sat down beside his nephew and put a hand on his shoulder. He could see the tearstains cascading along Boromir's cheeks. "Boromir?" This was too much alike to how things had been when Fin' died for his comfort.

"It broke me, uncle," Boromir said in quiet, low, and hoarse voice. "I no longer even know myself and now I have no chance to even attempt to regain some sort of honor, and no one will just let me die!"

"Boromir, how could you think that you had lost honor because you fell to the Ring? Yes, I do know, lad. I have an understanding of just how powerful a weapon we are speaking. Tell me, would you feel dishonored to fall to the strongest, heaviest, sharpest sword ever forged, wielded by the greatest swordsman who ever lived?"

Boromir moved his head in a gesture that seemed to indicate no.

"That is what the Ring is, Bori'. It is a sword that attacks not the body, but the mind and even the heart. And Sauron is the true wielder of it, no matter whose hand it is in."

"I wanted to save Gondor," Boromir said miserably in a tear-laden voice, turning further away from his uncle. "I only would have cause its utter ruination."

"Ah, little sandpiper! You have always had the most noble of intentions." Imrahil spoke gently, hoping to ease his nephew's hurt. "Do you remember when you went after your father with your little wooden waster thinking that he was a sea-monster?"

Again, Boromir motioned his head to mean yes.

"Your only thought was to protect your mumma, you did not care that the 'sea-monster' was more than twice your size. That little Ring was much more than twice your size, Boromir. We all want to save Gondor, all of Arda indeed, and none of us can think too much on the fact that this is beyond us. You have likely heard that those who are able are going to Morannon. The intent is to distract Sauron long enough to give a couple of little Halflings the change to get to Mt. Doom. I have no notion how many of us may return here if this works, or if any of us shall return. However, if I do not, I want to be sure that you will not simply wallow your life away until you die of self-neglect. I doubt that would be a proper memorial to your mumma or any of those who struggled for your safety over the years."

Boromir did not seem to be at all comfortable with this topic, but Imrahil continued to speak. "Honor can not be handed to a man, it must be earned. But more importantly, you can not lose honor to another, you are the only one who can cast off your honor. Do you believe that you would have done what you did if it had not been for the influence of the Ring?"

Immediately Boromir replied with as much enthusiasm as he had shown in days, "never!"

"Then you can not have lost honor because of what you did. You said it, you were not yourself, you did not act on your own behalf." Imrahil was nearly desperate to find a way to bring his beloved nephew out of his misery.

"How may a broken man be cured?" Boromir asked. At that moment he felt as though he could simply spend the rest of his life laying there in his bed waiting for death to take him, and yet deep inside him he longed to be healed and whole again, to be himself again, out and about his duties, keeping his blade and body and wits honed in anticipation of the next need of it.

"With forgiveness, with time, and with love, Boromir. Just as your ankle will regain its strength in time, so too will your heart."

"That sounds like something mumma would have said," Boromir said, seeming to speak to his pillow rather than his uncle.

"I believe it is what she would have said. She was always so proud of you because you never let anything get you down; you always found a way around difficulties. You will overcome this too, I have no doubt of it and nor should you. Take heart, Boromir, there is still hope. I shall see you again before we depart on the morrow if I may. Remain strong, my nephew!" Imrahil said before making his way back to his Knights to prepare for the next day.

ooo

Yet again this took me longer than usual to get up. I actually have an interesting excuse this time: back on Thursday morning i noticed a little red spot on my finger, like a little mosquito or flea bite. Friday i wasn't so little anymore and i realized i had a spider-bite. Ok, so it was obviously nothing really dangerous or i would not have been in the shape to notice anything on Friday, and i can hardly call it an excuse for writing, but still, best (and worst) excuse i ever had... Besides that, i have been home for four solid days now and i think i am allergic to my house, i can not stop sneezing and sniffing. I haven't had taken a week off and just stayed at home for a long, long time. Maybe i am allergic to rest and relaxation. It wouldn't surprise me.

AM: Funny thing, i never realized the age mistake until i was writing this and i went to check the dates. Yes, Helm's Deep was after March 1. My guess is after you have been running without sufficient rest for days and days you can rather lose track of time. It's understandable, sometimes i don't remember how old i am either. Besides, when you get to that age you don't want to sound any older than you have to.

Elenhin: It certainly seems that Imrahil agrees with you about Boromir not possibly being evil. Surely proud and evil can not be the same. Hopefully, Imrahil will be able to get through to him... poor guy is in such a miserable state right now.

steelelf: No! Definitely not! He did have it in Ithilien, but Frodo got it back. It does seem as if it is still affecting him, but that is his own mental state after having been in its control.

linda: I do so love to write Aragorn and Faramir, they make a truly wonderful father and son and are so easy to write as such.