A Garden of Faramir Drabbles

"My two sons," Denethor likes to say, "are the hope of Gondor."

He glances out the window and sees the young men standing together on the wall of the Seventh Circle, gazing down at the city. One gestures at something below and murmurs a comment, drawing a loud laugh from the other which is carried on the breeze to their father’s office.

Denethor’s face softens as he watches the two princes: both tall and handsome, strong, noble, valiant and true. "The hope of Gondor," he repeats to himself. But he looks to his elder son as he thinks the words.