Faramir is wounded in battle for the first time.
Boromir pulled the flap aside and tore into the tent, his eyes searching the cots. "Where is he?"
The healer's sombre eyes met the soldier's. "This way, my lord."
Boromir knelt beside the bed and took the cold hand in his own. The too-young face, drained of its colour, pained him.
The healer behind him spoke of his brother's reckless valour, how he cut down orc after orc as they tried to reach his comrade.
So he was injured, at last.
Faramir would wake soon; he would mend in time. But still Boromir wept. The child would awake a man.