The truth hurts

Frances blanched, her stomach dropping fast at the memory. Seeing her reaction, Pippin's hand came to rest upon her shoulder. She seized it with more force than was necessary.

"I was."

Tears welled in her eyes, and she let them fall without shame. Faramir instantly regretted his curiosity. The excruciating pain of losing his brother had driven him insane, but he had not through an instant that it would be such a painful memory for the woman whose legends accumulated by the hour in Minas Tirith. Yet, she did not seem angry at him for asking.

"I have waited a long time to meet you after Boromir's death."

Faramir's expression lightened, bringing a little life on his defeated features.

"Has he left a message for me?"

"No. I am sorry. He had not the time. But I wanted to meet you, to tell you he died honourably."

"For sure he did, he saved our lives!" explained Pippin.

His voice cracked a little. Until now, no one had taken the time to details Boromir's death to him. And nor him nor Merry had asked about it, too entranced in the war to do so. Or maybe he just wasn't ready to accept it. Their friendship had been akin to no other.

"After you were taken, the orc that shot Boromir tried to end him with an arrow to his head. But Aragorn was faster, and nearly got killed preventing it. He held Boromir's hand as he died on the battlefield. We laid him to rest in a boat and launched it on the Anduin with his horn, shield and sword."

Faramir's cheeks were damp.

"The hobbit. He told me Boromir died because he tried to take the ring from Frodo. Tell me truthfully Lady Frances, had my brother fallen for this accursed ring ?"

To this, Pippin gasped audibly. Frances closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, her gaze was fixated into the Steward's. How could she lie to him? No, she could not.

"It is true he had succumbed, yet he had the courage to confess this himself. This horrid ring attacked all of us, but none as strongly as Boromir. It has used his will to defend his city, to defend you from Mordor."

"And my brother was not strong enough…"

"I might not have been strong enough either, but I was too insignificant for the ring to be of use. I am glad this thing is gone. The air seems clearer, the light brighter since if it was removed from our side. I feel for Frodo, to carry such an evil burden all the way to … there."

"I felt it too," said Pippin. "And you know how it feels like, to have the ring near, don't you, my lord?"

Faramir's pensive face nodded.

"Yes. I have come across it, and it took all my strength to let it go."

Frances observed the young man in awe. He was so different from Boromir, seemingly weaker, but in truth much wiser.

"Then you have a strong will indeed. You have shown a great deal of wisdom in doing so. You did not benefit from Elrond's council, and yet you took the best decision for this world."

"I am still unsure about the outcome of it all. But of this I am sure, had this ring come close to Minas Tirith, my father would be lost."

Pippin suddenly shuffled on his feet, hoping that Faramir would not pursue this line of thinking. Unfortunately, his prayers were purely ignored.

"Lady Frances. Have you heard about my father? No one here will tell me how he fares."

Frances stared into his grey eyes. So full of intelligence. The man had fooled her through and through. Feverish and sickly, she had not expected him to interrogate her about his father. Yet, now that she had been fully honest about his brother's death, he knew her to be truthful. Pippin put a hand on her arm, distracting her for an instant, his eyes pleading.

"We should not have lingered Frances, Merry should be expecting us and we are hindering your rest, my lord. The healer will be on our backs in an instant."

Frances' gaze passed from Pippin to Faramir, her heart unsettled. The Steward looked so dejected that her heart broke. No, this would not do. The man already suspected some bad news. Hiding it was a painful reminder of those doctors that kept the information for fear of their patient's reaction. Faramir was a good, sensible man. She could not, on her honour, keep him in the dark. Especially after he reacted so well to the tales of his brother's death.

"Go on, Pippin. I will join you shortly."

The hobbit frowned, but took his leave nonetheless. At least, he would not be responsible for the next catastrophe. He, for one, was done being scolded by Gandalf. Frances waited for the door to close until she settled back on her stool.

"Please, my lady. You have been sincere before. Do not let me linger in the dark. I know something has happened to my father."

"My lord Faramir. The King had given explicit orders to your healers that you should not be bothered with matters of Gondor until you are recovered. This is why no one will talk to you."

"Will you not tell me then?"

Frances' eyes fell in her lap. She could not stand the defeated look on his face.

"As much as I respect Aragorn as a leader, and a healer, I do not share his opinion on the subject. And speaking of which, I am no subject of his, and might never be. I am of the mind that a man should be the one to decide of the things that affect him. However, you must promise me that you will do everything you can to recover, no matter the outcome of this war, and the news I am about to bring. I could not bear to have sidestepped Aragorn's order after all he went through to bring you back."

Faramir nodded, his throat too dry to speak.

"You must promise, Faramir."

The use of his name, so softly spoken, shook Boromir's brother enough for him to promise. Frances took a great inspiration, hoping he would be strong enough.

"As you have feared, your father died on the siege of the city."

The young man exhaled slowly, his eyes closing from the blow. Without thinking, Frances reached for the man beside her, conveying her deepest sympathy.

"How? How did he die?" came his muffled voice.

"Faramir."

Frances' voice was quivering. She did not want to go that way. His grey eyes bore into hers so intensely that she had to turn her head around.

"Please."

"I was not there at the time. I have heard things, but do not want to tell you falsehoods."

"My lady. Please. What have you heard?"

The young man bent over, his body coming to meet hers. His jaw was set, his heart braced for impact. Frances exhaled slowly.

"I heard that he was overcome by a fit of dementia and killed himself when the gates were breeched."

Faramir fell back on the cushions, his free hand covering his mouth as tears leaked from his eyes. Frances' eyes misted over, her own tears falling down freely. How difficult for Faramir to accept that both his father and his brother had failed in their own way. How ironic that he should be the only one standing after being sent to certain death. The young lady squeezed his hand tightly, and his fingers curled around hers as if she were his lifeline.

"I am sorry to grieve you so. It is a sad ending for a man who kept Minas Tirith safe all those years."

"It is, yes" came Faramir's choked voice.

For a while, both occupants of the room were silent. The Steward fingers still held hers, his grief falling over his cheeks silently. Eventually though, he nodded to her.

"Thank you for sharing the truth Lady Frances."

She smiled sadly.

"I have done so because I judged you strong enough to handle the news. Please do not prove me wrong."

Faramir nodded silently and realised, eyes wide, that his hand still held the lady's. Frances stood up as he released her, and smiled genuinely.

"Those are sad times, but fortunately there are still good men to be saved. Sleep my lord, and rest. The city can only benefit from your tutelage."

"I thank you, my lady."

"Be safe, my lord Faramir," she added as she bowed.

There was much fondness in her voice, a new-found affection for a man who had gone to the depth of hell, yet risen above it all to survive. Faramir was a quiet person she could befriend easily, for she felt a kinship to his predicament. For ages, she as well had held herself in low regards. Until she met the fantastic people that had shaped her into what she was today. The Steward did not allow her to dwell on thoughts of her childhood – a very normal childhood as it was, but not devoid of pain and humiliation – , for he greeted her back with as much warmth as his weary mind could manage.

"Be safe, Lady Frances."

The young woman paused, her hand on the doorknob, her eyes twinkling in mischief.

"You know, I am surrounded by Lords, Kings and Princes. I can hardly be safer than in my present company."

The Steward's lips slightly twitched upwards. An interesting lady indeed.