The sun was raising slowly over the city he loved so much, the city he had been willing to give everything for. She let her rosy fingers fall upon the stone walls that held the chill of a long winter night, and they slowly smothered them in the warm light, the fingers tracing down towers, windows, doors, and arches. He sighed softly, his wife was still asleep in the room they shared in the Steward's house, her blonde hair falling gently along her shoulders. His lips smoothed into a small smile, she would repudiate any description of herself that included the word 'gentle.' He loved her dearly, but sometimes he wondered why she stayed with him. She was a powerful Shield Maiden, one filled with honor and thoughts of glory and war, while he looked for poetry and music; his eyes were always on a sharp lookout for the newest book in the library. Sometimes he thought that his wife would be happier with another soldier, a more valiant man perhaps, a man more loved amongst soldiers.
He rested his elbows on the cold, hard rail of the balcony with another sigh. His eyes, which started at the point where the Anduin could be seen, had come further and further inland, until he was staring at the rail. It was white usually, but in the early hour it looked gray. The same color as his Father's eyes. If anyone had been strolling by down below on the streets, they would have thought he was just looking at his hand, but it was not so.
He did not let anyone know what he thought most of the time, but to himself he denied nothing, as Mortals sometimes do. The stone reminded him of his father: cold, hard, and unforgiving. He never saw what his father deemed right and just, he was not trusted because of his few lessons with Mithrandir, he was shoved into his brother's shadow. Not that he blamed his brother; he was more like a father than his real one. Any privileges he had was because of the request of his brother.
"It has never failed to amaze me, how the sun rises over this unfeeling rock," a soft voice said behind him. He spun around to see a guest of the King walk over and lean against the banister the same way he did, not looking at him. She was one of the many Elves that had come to witness the marriage of Aragorn and Arwen, and she was staying in a guest room in the Steward's tower. "What are you doing up so early? I have yet to meet an Edain that enjoyed sharing the day with the dew upon the grass, except Aragorn."
"I sometimes find sleep to be fitful, and I too enjoy the early morning hours." His dark hair was pushed back from a sudden gust of wind, the woman's was slowly pushed upwards but did not get far; her hair was long and thick.
"Why is that so, my lord?" She turned to look at him and, for the first time and probably the last; she saw a deep well of sorrow in his gray eyes. But then he shook his head and smiled.
"Nightmares."
"Of what?" The smile widened, but it stopped around his eyes, or they sucked the evidence of a smile in and devoured it in an abyss of tormented thoughts.
"Sometimes I see a crazed bird, a small bird, but a crazed bird nonetheless that wants to eat my fingers off and make me listen to its horrid singing for hours upon end." He then turned his head back to look at the ever-lightening city.
"Hm," she said softly, "Would you like to know something, Faramir, son of Denethor?"
"Tis what I live for, lady."
"The Elves are born with the ability to distinguish lie from truth just as easily as you can now, but we do not need training to do so." The smile had already faded before she said this, but he made no move to say anything in return.
He stayed silent for a long time, Aldarona (as that is her name) trying hard not to make the silence more uncomfortable than it already was.
"If you'll understand me lady," he started again slowly, "We are not comfortable under the gaze of your kin." She looked at him then, and then realized what she was doing and turned away. "You are always judging, and, well, we usually feel inferior to the Elves." Aldarona now stood silently, thinking of what she could say to get this man to stop being so cold, so closed off.
"Do you know that you are judging too?" she asked him, getting a surprised look from him. "O come, wise man of Gondor, you cannot truly say that you never noticed when you are here!" He looked at her with a slight trace of bemusement. "Have you not seen the way they look at me when the desire to explore the streets of Minas Tirith comes upon me? Do you not see how they all stare, afraid, still, of the Golden Woods?" Faramir's head tilted back a tiny bit, a sign of realizing or understanding something.
"I am sorry, Lady. I did not think about having to be in such a foreign land of stone when you come from trees." Aldarona smiled.
"The thought little bothers me, as I will soon leave. Soon, this whole place will be far behind me, beyond the reach of the sea," she said quietly. Then she did not talk, and remained so for a long while. They stood in silence, watching the night guards go back to their homes and the new ones going to take their place.
"I dream about my father," he said softly, looking off into the distance. "He, he never wanted anything to do with me. He always loved Boromir, never me."
"What makes you think that?" she asked him just as softly, but looking at him. He smiled grimly.
"That depends on the manner of your return. Those were his last words to me, and, though Mithrandir told me not to take his words to my heart, I did. They burned me, even as I rode out to defend Gondor."
"You did not see him when you were under the black breath though."
"No, but I could hear him. He spoke of death, of despair, of the ignorance in Mithrandir's hope. He tried to kill me." Aldarona stayed silent, not bothering to say to him what everybody else did when that painful memory was brought up: he did it to be with you and spare you of a painful death that he foresaw. "Visions and dreams bother me often, Lady of the Woods, I do not know why. When I was near one of the-," he stopped briefly, he was sweating at the brow slightly as he tried to bring up the memories without breaking into a cold fear that was usually followed by fever, "the Wraith," he continued, "I saw things. It was always my father mocking me, and then calling for his sword so he could get rid of the filth that had wormed its way into his bloodline. I could not attack the Wraith, because I saw my Father."
"I know this will be little comfort," she said after a minute, "but you are very wise, Faramir, even amongst Elves."
"But wisdom is not bravery, is not valiance, is not something that qualifies you as a man, and therefore it will always come second, just as I. Even if my Father and Brother are gone, I will always be second." He turned his back to her and walked a little ways down the balcony and leaned against the railing.
"What do you think of your Father?" Aldarona asked him. His reply came quickly, as if he had guessed what her next question was to be.
"He was a noble man, very powerful and respected." Aldarona laughed a little.
"I know what Boromir would have said of him. What about Faramir?" Faramir's eyes fell to the ground.
"He was a noble man, very powerful and respected until he lost hope. He was unforgiving and never accepted mistakes. He demanded perfection. He was a strict tutor, an emotionless leader, a fearless man. He willingly pushed me aside, even said it in metaphors, allowed me to sink into the shadow of my glorified brother. He let me become forgotten in my house, he let me stay in my room for days, not eating because of some earlier fight or some new study I wanted to pursue. He did not say farewell when I left for Ithilien. I loved him." Aldarona nodded.
"I truly wish we could talk longer, Lord Faramir, but I believe your wife is waking." He nodded and made for his door.
"Faramir," she said softly, "I think you are a very valiant warrior, and a very wise man. Most worthy of song." Faramir smiled, it reached his eyes this time.
"Thank you Lady," he said, and disappeared into his room.