Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to Tolkien.
Summary: Faramir reflects on what he has lost and gained during the War of the Ring.
A/N: I'm just popping back into LOTR land for a birthday present fic for my friend Lariren-Shadow. Sorry it's 4 days late! Everyone should read her fics, they're amazing.
Faramir's POV, about 5 years after the Ring was destroyed.
Loss and Gain
The night shows no sign of ending, as I expected. Every year this night seems darker, thicker somehow, a cruel reminder of my past. And every year, on March 25, I can be found here, sitting on these cold steps, staring out into the suffocating night.
In the morning the celebrations will start through all of Gondor and the rest of the Free Countries. Children will beg for stories of the War of the Ring, and for once, parents will give in. I'll be mentioned in there somewhere, as the ranger who helped the Ringbearer, or as the warrior who led a hopeless defense of Osgiliath. No one connects me to Denethor, or more importantly, to Boromir.
Everyone knows who he is now, of course. The stories wouldn't be complete without the tragic death of brave Boromir. But I still feel like no one really knew him. They can't possibly remember him the way I do. I can still recall his playful smile, and the songs he would sing when he was happy. He'd always forget some words and end up putting in ridiculous substitutes, which annoyed our tutors to no end. "You must learn the ancient songs as they were meant to be sung!" they would say exasperatedly, and Boromir, even as a young boy, would flash that charming grin and go off into a song about Gondorian kings defeating giant orange fish or skinny, featherless birds. When we were older, sometimes I would be reading a book outside in the peaceful garden, and out of nowhere Boromir would tackle me and send the book flying.
"What do you need that for?" he would ask which those laughing eyes. "Give your books a rest, little brother, and experience life."
Now he is remembered as a hero, a vital part of a legend, but not as a human. Not as the person I remember. But it can't be changed. He is gone now, buried next to my father in the silent tombs of the stewards.
My father was stolen from me by the War of the Ring as well. His death hasn't erased the memories of our arguments. In countless memories I see his disappointed face, and I remember how I would stand there, awkwardly and holding back tears, as he expressed his disapproval of me. He would do this in front of other people- servants, his friends, Boromir. The people who remember his rage would say that I'm glad to be rid of his hate. But I cannot help but love him. He was my father, after all. And I remember being very young and seeing him smile and talk to me just as he would to Boromir. He loved me once, and he loved me in the end. Even when I remember our worst fights, I cannot help but miss him.
I have lost so much because of Sauron's deception. If the Ring had never existed, my life would be as it had been. Boromir would be alive to encourage me to live and take risks. And my father would still be alive. I could put up with the arguments and his disapointment, so long as he was alive.
Five years hasn't been enough to heal. The War of the Ring stole so much from me, and I have no hope of ever getting it back within these circles of the world.
The sky has lightened without me noticing. A sliver of the sun is appearing boldly over the ridges of the mountains. With it comes a bit of hope to slice through my dark thoughts. With a silent prayer to the dead, I stiffly rise from my sitting position and slip back into my chambers.
The sun has illuminated my wife, and it gently plays across her skin and brings out the golden luster in her hair. Eowyn sleeps through this, blissfully unaware of me standing over her with this helpless grin on my lips. In the cradle at her feet, my baby son opens his tiny mouth in a yawn.
Yes, I have lost the life I loved in the War of the Ring. But I have gained more than I ever hoped to.
I lean down to scoop Elboron from his cradle. His bright eyes are open, and he sleepily looks around the room, resting his hands on my shoulder.
"Good morning, son," I whisper, so as not to wake his mother. "Let me tell you the tale of Frodo and the Ring."
That's all, kinda short, I know, but I've been busy. Please leave me a review before I hop back into Troy territory, and thanks for reading!