For the "Rowing" prompt.
11th March 3019, Minas Tirith
Faramir marches steadily from the Council chamber; Imrahil hastens to catch him, takes his arm apparently for mere courtesy. Only when they reach his rooms do Faramir’s legs give way.
“You can yet row back from this… this madness, nephew!” Imrahil urges. “Not a captain on the Council would seek to hold Osgiliath. They begin to murmur over the Steward’s state of mind –”
Faramir shakes his head. “You heard him, Uncle. He cannot forgive me… for yet living, while Boromir is dead. But he cannot bring Boromir back – so in twisted justice he seeks to make an end of me.”