Now, Faramir could give in to the urge to ask, for Boromir's actions, more than his appearance, confused him. This was not the brave, proud brother every man in Gondor had looked up to, drew strength from. Clothed in tattered and muddied robes, he was far from the brother who had left for Rivendell long ago.

"Why?" he asked. Though none was there to hear them, Faramir lowered his voice to match Boromir's. "He had thought you dead. We all thought you were dead. Your horn-- split in half, carried by the waters, the halfling's words--" All they needed then was Boromir's body as proof that he was dead, and yet none had been found. Of course none would be found, for here he was!

Faramir paused. "It would greatly ease his pain if he were to see you." And Faramir's as well, for how it hurt him to see Denethor shuffling in corners and avoiding all contact with him, the son he had almost killed. Surely, with Boromir's return-- "Boromir, would you not go to him?"