Disclaimer: There is no way I could have owned The Lord of the Rings. Not written for financial profit.
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Faramir rode through the large restless camp, talking with each of the commanders, surveying the defenses, stationing the companies. The tangible darkness creeping from the east added to the despair growing in the hearts of the soldiers, and men grew doubtful. But the dauntless Captain went about; tall and strong he sat on his horse, his face set, and a refreshing coolness about him. His mere presence gave courage and hope to the timid and disheartened.
How the Captain managed all this escaped Mablung. By his reckoning, Faramir had hardly a wink since they met the Halfings, and he probably never had a proper sleep since Lord Boromir went on his fateful errand. With Boromir gone and most of the brave Captains and warriors slain in the battle at June -more joining them with each passing month -the enormous responsibility weighing on Faramir only intensified.
"Are you never weary, Captain?" he finally blurted, "Always are you strong and unwavering."
"Weary?" he laughed. "Are we not all, Mablung? But I will have my rest in plenty when the time comes- Till then," he paused. "I merely do my duty."