Golden sunlight filtered into the room, so pure and magnificent that he almost fancied he could see sparkles amid the sunbeams. It was bitter irony that the sun should shine so brilliantly on a day so desperately dark, he reflected to himself.
It would be more fitting if the moon cast a silver glow amid a black, starless sky rather than have the sun come forth on such a dreadful day. The day that all was in the balance, that all was sure to fail, with only one hope – and a fool's hope at that…
Faramir sighed quietly to himself, confined to his room in the House of Healing so early in the morning. He preferred the dark, and he always had. The sun made him restless, and there were no mysteries; he felt that there was something more to night: that not all that lingered under the cover of the moon could be evil.
He always opposed the thought that evil was dark, and that dark was evil, knowing that they were not one in the same, just as he and his brother were not. Boromir had always liked the day more than the night. He felt that night was a time for rest, and that was all; but during the sunlit hours, that was when truth came foreword and all was well. It was a time in which nothing could hide or run, where everything was out in the open and fair.
Yet in their family, Faramir was not the only one who preferred the dark. Denethor had long lived in the dark. He was a wise man, and being intelligent, perceptive, and observant, he enjoyed the calm the night brought to the tiresome day. It was for this reason that his love was more for Boromir than Faramir, as Faramir so interpreted his father's gestures when he and his brother were young.
Denethor lived so long in the dark that before him Boromir was a candle, casting a golden glow on the black world of night. Most people preferred light to dark, and it seemed Denethor hungered for light, seemingly deprived of it, as he was openly generous and encouraging of Boromir, praising his skill and commenting on his worth, while pushing Faramir ever harder to achieve the same ends as his brother without compliment.
As a child, Faramir thought his father had not loved him, and would only accept him if he were just like Boromir. And so Faramir worked hard for his father's love, not knowing that he already possessed it.
Denethor had always cared; had always known that Faramir was just like him, for although he could wield a sword and serve as a warrior, it was the books and ancient lore he preferred to spend his time with, in the dusty, dark library. Denethor did not want to see his son walk the dark path that he had set for himself, and pushed him ever towards the light, toward his brother.
But that was not Faramir's destiny, and he could not easily follow in his brother's footsteps, for even though he tried, he could never please his father, or so it seemed to him, and it pushed him farther into the night. Denethor had long fooled him into thinking he was unloved, and as the brothers grew older Denethor began to trick even himself, as well.
Never would he love one more than the other, but Denethor had begun to delude himself to believing that Faramir could only succeed when he became his brother, and so when Boromir died, Denethor felt that light had been lost, the candle in his dark room had gone, and he was left only with black curtains that blocked out any light.
But Denethor realized the truth ere the end, though by then it had been too late, and so when he was dead, having gone up in the flame to which he had so desperately clung, Faramir was only left with empty thoughts and wonderings about how his father had truly felt about him.
Yet while looking upon his childhood memories as he lay in his warm bed, golden light from the sun all about him, Faramir realized something. He had known all along that children could not see things before them all the time, and only until it was too late did they see what they once had, and Faramir saw that he had always been loved by his father.
It had always been there, only masked, veiled so that a child could easily misinterpret it, as Faramir had long done. He had never been disliked, hated even, he had only fooled himself into thinking he had been, and it had taken him too long to see that. He had lost his father, and lost Denethor's love, but it was only taken by death, for he had always had it, he had never really been unloved – he just couldn't see it.
*~A/N~* Commas are an author's best friend.
In other news, I have a Disclaimer to announce, and it is that I don't own The Lord of the Rings or anything/anyone of which it consists.
This is the fourth for the series, second for the LOTR Uns. Errrrm, yep. That's all. *sniff* poor Faramir...