Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies – not mine, no money, just for fun. First LOTR fic and I'm far from an expert on the subject matter so please be kind.

Thanks to Sarah, the best beta EVER!

And thanks so much too to those of you who are reading and special thanks to those who take the time to review. I hope my thanks makes it out to you personally though sometimes I'm not sure – especially last week when I seemed to be having some "technical" difficulties - though I'm sure it was my "technique" that was at the root of the trouble. I wouldn't still be here without you so I very much want each and every one of you to know how much I appreciate your support!

Chapter 25

One of Them

"Put down your bow," said Faramir. "Let us talk."

"Drop your sword first and I will," Legolas said without wavering.

"You will kill me first, Legolas. I am not a fool. But you must know that I will not harm my king."

"Then back away," Legolas said without wavering, knowing at the same time that Faramir was entirely correct. He would kill the man the moment the king was out of danger. He would have no choice, not knowing how long he could manage to remain standing.

"Please. I do not wish to hurt him", Faramir said. "Or you. I need to help Arwen, once I have seen that you and Aragorn are safe. The nurse was on her way to kill her. And although I believe that Gimli is more than capable of protecting her, I cannot be sure until I see for myself. Please," he entreated again. "You must believe me. It is the venom that makes you doubt me. You can have no other reason for I have done nothing against my king. Look inside your heart, Legolas. I owe Aragorn more than my allegiance. He is also my friend." Still Legolas did not move. If anything, his grip tightened on the bow and the aim of the arrow was ever true to Faramir's heart.

Legolas could see the man's mind working, searching for some way to convince him to lower his defences. But he would not. He knew the man could not be trusted, for all his seemingly heartfelt pleas and compelling words. Who better to have led this attack than the man standing before him, his sword grasped tightly in both hands, the point inches from Aragorn's throat, the man who the people of Gondor would follow as surely as they would the king, if given a choice? Faramir was one of them. They had watched him grow to manhood, ready and willing to sacrifice his life for them. Aragorn too had suffered and sacrificed, but it had been long years since he had lived in Gondor, and his endeavours on behalf of the South Kingdom were largely unknown by common folk. A few days of hard fought battles were all that most had witnessed of his feats. And though word of his deeds had been passed around from fireplace to drinking hall across the land, tall tales could not supplant the very real memory of Denethor's boys romping through the streets of Minas Tirith; good boys, strong men, one of the them.

Legolas would not be swayed from his purpose by Faramir's fair words; he would not trust this man, nor would he lose strength before doing what he must. He needed to stay strong, for Aragorn. He had failed his friend once; he would not do it again. His mind raced. He had to kill Faramir now, before he was no longer able. He hadn't long, he knew before the poison claimed him; it was his strength of will alone that had kept him on his feet thus far. He would have to act now, to take the chance that his arrow would fly swifter than the man's sword or that he would be able to leap forward with enough speed to thrust it aside before it found its mark. Legolas focused on the tip of his arrow, visualizing it slicing the heart of his opponent. His fingers began to pull smoothly on the bowstring.

"Éowyn. You love her." The soft words pierced his concentration like an arrow to his own heart and he froze, the target at the end of his arrow evaporating into a milky white fog. He fought to regain his control, blinking his eyes quickly, trying desperately to clear his vision. He needed this shot to be perfect, yet the blood pounded in his ears like a drumbeat and his fingers had suddenly begun to tremble. If Faramir had needed a weapon to use against him, he had certainly found an excellent one. The man stood still, his body taut and tense as he leaned over Aragorn, his eyes hard as they stared into Legolas' own. "You love her," he repeated. It wasn't a question and yet, he was obviously waiting for Legolas to respond.

Legolas had never admitted the truth to anyone. That he might do so now surprised him. The possibility existed that Faramir would drive the sword through Aragorn's throat from spite alone. And yet, Legolas could not answer with anything other than the truth. Not only would the lie be obvious if he told it but of even greater import, the truth ached to be told, it burned in his throat, in his heart. He wanted - nay; needed - Faramir to know that Linea was not the product of some lust-filled mindless tryst.

"Yes," Legolas answered, his voice soft but sure. "I love her."

Faramir flinched at those soft-spoken words. His shoulders hunched forward as he exhaled, causing Legolas to tear his gaze ever so briefly from the man's face to check that his arrow was still clutched between his fingers and had not somehow imbedded itself in that slumped form. The man's eyes when he looked back were suddenly drowning in weariness.

"And does she love you?" he asked.

Legolas had always known that Éowyn loved Faramir, it had been so apparent from the first moment he had seen them together. He had never been able to give this man the same scrutiny though, not wanting to see in Faramir's eyes the same devotion that he felt in his own heart but afraid even more that such emotion would be lacking, knowing that Éowyn would be hurt, crushed beyond despair, if such a thing were true. Now, standing before him was someone who very obviously felt every bit as deeply for the woman he loved, the woman they both loved.

"No." He answered the question with bitter honesty, wondering again why he felt the need to do so. But then, he did know. He had felt the same tremulous hope he saw now in Faramir's eyes the first time he had seen Éowyn in Minas Tirith at the end of the war. He had rushed to the Houses of Healing after all of the battles had been fought to see her, to make sure she was alright. He had arrived in time to see Faramir wrap his arms about her, had seen them embrace. All of his hope had died that day; hope that he had no right to have held at all. She had never cared for him. This man on the other hand had a right to it and he deserved an honest answer.

He could see emotion wash across Faramir's features like a wave: first happiness; then confusion; then doubt, turning to rising anger. Faramir's fist clenched the sword still grasped in his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white and he unconsciously took a step away from Aragorn, though not far enough to put the king out of danger. He seemed unaware of his mistake, however; his attention focused completely on Legolas.

"Then how? How did it happen?" he demanded. His eyes blazed, his lips curled as he hissed his next question. "Did you force her? You must have. She would not have been with you otherwise." He gave Legolas no chance to respond before continuing. "You do not answer, you do not defend yourself. It must be the truth." He took another step closer, his growing rage causing him to forget everything else; the king lying sprawled behind him, the total uselessness of fists and sword against perfectly aimed arrows. "I will kill you where you stand," he snarled.

What does it matter if he attacks?, Legolas thought. I can shoot him easily then, which is what I intend to do anyway. It will make this job easier, cleaner. But he couldn't let the man believe what he was thinking. Not even if it lead to an easier killing.

"I did not…do that. I could not," he said. "You do not know Elves at all if you could think such a thing." He could have stopped then; there was no reason to explain anything to this man. But for some reason it seemed important to him that the husband of the woman he had so wronged knew that this was not what he had wanted. He continued on, trying to offer this man some pittance of an apology. "But neither did I act appropriately and I have…lived to regret it. If I had done as I should have, none of this would have happened… If I had only done as I should have…" All at once his hands began to shiver. He felt cold all over as the adrenalin that had fed his every move began to drain from his body. He shook his head, trying to regain some control of his senses.

What happened next was incomprehensible to him. Faramir had been watching him carefully, biding his time, waiting for the bow to slip, his grip to waver. But all at once, the anger in the man's eyes bled into something that Legolas could not fathom. Pity? Did the son of Denethor feel sorry for him? He wanted to return with a shout, to tell him to keep his sorrow for himself because he was the one who would need it, that he was the one who would soon be feeling the tip of Legolas' arrow in his chest.

But Faramir instead confounded him further by taking yet another step away from Aragorn and lowering the sword to his side. "None of this," he said gently. "Do you hear your words?"

Legolas would not be fooled. The man was an excellent swordsman and was merely attempting to distract him before attacking. But that look in those eyes was compelling, like a hand offering food to one who was starving, or hope to one who was lost. At that moment Legolas was both lost and starving, drowning in a sea of physical pain and emotional sorrow. The man could not have captured him more completely than if he'd tied him with rope and bound him with chains.

"None of this would have happened," Faramir said. "Think! Think what this is!" Legolas could only shake his head. Confused and exhausted, he had no idea what the man was talking about.

"None of this would have happened," Faramir repeated. "Linea," he whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke her name. "Linea would not be here if you had acted "appropriately"." Legolas could see Faramir swallow heavily before he took yet another step towards him. "And I love her dearly. I can't imagine my life without her. She may not be my child by blood, Legolas, but she is mine all the same.

"And she is yours too," he continued, looking surprised as he spoke the words; they had surely not been thought out but had come from an honest heart. "I can…accept that," he stammered. The gaze that had held Legolas so fiercely was suddenly overcome by a need which burned with a pain and suffering if not equal to his own, of a depth as great as any that could be offered up by a mortal being. "I can accept that if you…if you will only tell me that my wife still cares for me…"

His last words had taken him yet another step away from the king. He was now completely, utterly and wholly exposed. It was up to Legolas to decide what he would do.

&&&

The Elf's face twisted, but not from the pain of illness. It was grief, a haunting combination of incredible sorrow and beauty that reminded Faramir of the face of his dying mother. The lines of pain that had robbed her of her grace and beauty had vanished in the moments just before her passing and there had been such a look of peace about her. But at the same time her eyes had held such sadness. Her voice ached with it as she gave him her goodbyes, knowing that she was leaving her young son to face the world, alone but for a brother and a father, both of whom had no time for a little boy, no time for anything but strategies to plan and wars to fight…

Slowly, carefully, the arrow dropped until it pointed at the ground and Legolas' eyes followed it to stare vacantly at the floor. "She cares for you still," he whispered. "Let there be no doubt in your heart." The Elf took a step back and sagged against the wall as if his bones had suddenly turned to dust. His legs gave out beneath him and he slid to the floor, his bow clattering to the ground at his feet.