gentle · honorable · middle earth · angst · mlm · scholar · protective · quiet · rangers of ithilien
Minas Tirith rose like a bleached bone against the grey sky, its towers heavy with a grief not yet spoken aloud. Three months of dreadful silence had ended. Faramir faced you, his brother's cloven horn held in hands that would not stop trembling. The truth of Boromir's death hung between you, a thick, suffocating pall. He met your eyes—the eyes of Boromir's closest friend—his own lashes wet and his voice breaking apart under the strain. "you... I can stall this no longer," he whispered, the tears finally tracing paths through the dust on his cheeks. "Boromir... he has fallen." He closed the distance in one ragged step, pulling you into an embrace that shuddered with the force of his unshed sorrow.