Summary: Legolas and Faramir find friendship through the misunderstandings of others.
Faramir studied the fire blackened plinth with a heavy heart. His father would have had him meet his end there, consumed by fire, rather than see him live to prove his courage. And yet, despite the pain of his father’s actions Faramir grieved for him. Many nights he lay awake and wondered if Gandalf’s words were true. Had his father remembered his love for his last surviving son before the end? It seemed unlikely.
A quiet step broke his reverie and he saw an elf watching him with compassion. He vaguely recognized Legolas. He had heard many tales since his waking of Aragorn’s elven friends but since the company’s return from the Black Gates he had little occasion to speak with them. The elf crossed the room with quick grace and indicated the stone floor beside Faramir with a slender hand.
“May I sit?” He nodded warily, uncertain why he should be sought out by a stranger. “You grieve his passing.” The elf observed, his eyes fixed upon the cold stone.
“Yes, though I scarcely know why. It may well be that in all the ages of Middle Earth no father and son understood each other less.” Bitterness crept into his voice.
The fair haired elf laughed, but not in mockery, indeed, the sound seemed to hold a trace of Faramir’s own bitterness. “Alas, the curse of misunderstanding between father and son is not felt by the short lived races alone. If my father had fallen as yours did I would be hard pressed to understand my own grief.”
For a long moment they sat in silence, each lost in memories of their on father’s. At last Faramir spoke. “Your father, my lord, does he disapprove of your actions in this war?”
Legolas snorted, a somehow purely human expression that reminded Faramir irrepressibly of Aragorn. “He would rather I took no interest in the affairs of men. He would have me sit in fading woodland halls until the breaking of the world, else sail to the undying lands and forswear all bonds of fellowship with the races of Middle Earth. Ever has he sought to dissuade me for my care for affairs beyond our forest home. And what of your father, Faramir of Gondor?”
Faramir looked down at his hands, scarred from many battles and his voice shook when he replied. “My father wished my death in place of his more worthy son. He thought me too weak for the task he set to Boromir and yet, when my brother perished it was I he wished dead. Yet when he thought me dead his madness drove him to his own end in fire. But this you know.”
The elf nodded and was silent, his eyes fixed on some far distant sight. “I am blessed indeed that I yet have a chance for my father to change his long held opinions. My heart grieves for you,” he said at last.
“Fathers are a strange folk.” And Faramir smiled. “For countless years they watch over their sons and yet you and I understand each other better in these few moments than our fathers ever have.”
Legolas laughed and this time it was a sound of mirth and not of bitterness. He rose gracefully and offered Faramir his hand. “Perhaps, mellon nin, you and I can aid each other.”