17 Lótessë, 3018

To:

Boromir, son of Denethor
Captain-General of Gondor -

Sir, the news I must tell you already have imagined:  the Enemy is calling his army to him.

The increasing Easterly and Northern orc incursions we have so frequently countered were not so much to hunt us, as to drive our attention from the South road which this day would have given safe conduct to several companies of Men, were it not for your incisive caution.  Would I had heeded it sooner!  What I took in pride and eagerness as victories for myself and my men were, in truth, victories for our Enemy despite his losses or, perhaps, because of them – but I will not imagine such tactics.

My Captain, I have failed you.

The network of watchers and runners you had me root about the forest has quickly born fruit and we were forwarned of their coming; but not as we should have been.  We met them some several leagues North of the Ancient Crossroads – Yes, so close – and ambushed them well.  Their darkness – dark skin, eyes and long, plaited hair – marked them as much as did their brightness as they came arrayed in scarlet robes and much decorated with gold.  Southrons, Haradrim: our ancient enemy.  Much about them seems different, Brother, but their blood runs as red as ours and just as freely, though I will tell you I have never before seen so much of it spilled in one day, and by my own hand.

And where they travel can the Corsairs be far behind?  I will fear for fair Pelargir to have them so far inland.

Ah! Eglario galu did I write to you last?  We may now see the vain haste of those words – No.  I will praise good fortune for every life under my command; particularly in the light of so many lost this day and the damage done our Enemy; he may out look from the Black Gate expectantly for allies but none shall come that way today.  But come they will; that we now know.

This missive carries with it a full list of the dead, and my deepest regrets for the messenger my inexperience has made of you.  My dreams fill with the women who will wake tomorrow to widowhood coming with your knock at their door.  Still, I will take comfort, as I know they will, that you, whom they love, herald the unwanted specter that makes orphans of their sons. 

I will no longer wish, as you may, for your presence here among us, Brother, but pray for the safe passage of the lives we have lost, and thank Good Fortune anew that you are not among them.

Faramir, Son of Denethor
Captain of Gondor