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The uniform had been tailored to fit him perfectly, yet it felt as uncomfortable as borrowed garb. Boromir’s uniform had always seemed like a second skin.
Faramir knew he should feel proud and glad that now he was old enough to defend the land he so loved. He did not.
Studying his hands, he wondered what if would feel like to have blood upon them. Not the blood of Orcs; but that of his own kind. Much rather would he wield a pen than a blade.
Faramir sighed as he resolutely buckled on his sword. He would do his duty