Boromir nods. He remembers Bilbo's passionate, if eccentric, telling of the tale of the finding of the ring of power from Elrond's council.
"Faramir is ever the more quiet of us though, and would thrill more in the telling of the histories of Numenor and the elves, than a gripping tale of swords and the fell beasts put to them." He shakes his head, going back to picking up firewood. "He could tell you the name of every star in the night sky above Gonder, name the plants and animals, and recite lineages of Gondor and Rohan and Dol Amroth until the sun goes in and comes out again."
He sighs. Thinking of his brother is making him maudlin, thoughts of the white city where he should be checking the defenses and passing encouragements around the men on the walls. Would that he could look to the south, through the trees and mountains that barred the way and look out on the plains of Pelennor and see his kinfolk striving. Every bead of sweat upon their brows an insult hurled at the foot of Mordor's master.
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"Faramir is ever the more quiet of us though, and would thrill more in the telling of the histories of Numenor and the elves, than a gripping tale of swords and the fell beasts put to them." He shakes his head, going back to picking up firewood. "He could tell you the name of every star in the night sky above Gonder, name the plants and animals, and recite lineages of Gondor and Rohan and Dol Amroth until the sun goes in and comes out again."
He sighs. Thinking of his brother is making him maudlin, thoughts of the white city where he should be checking the defenses and passing encouragements around the men on the walls. Would that he could look to the south, through the trees and mountains that barred the way and look out on the plains of Pelennor and see his kinfolk striving. Every bead of sweat upon their brows an insult hurled at the foot of Mordor's master.