Rating: G
Summary: Faramir relates a bit of family history in the Citadel…

T: LIKE A TURGID TURGON

“Good day, my friends!” Faramir was surprised to see all four of the hobbits in the throne room of the Citadel. It was usually deserted this time of morning.

“Hullo, Faramir,” said Pippin cheerfully. “I was just showing the others the statuary. They are all so solemn and grim-looking. Are they all kings?”

“Some of the Ruling Stewards are here as well. Not everyone is represented.” He pointed out one of the statues. “This is Mardil Voronwë, the first of the Ruling Stewards…” He led them on, telling them of this figure or that, and answering their questions.

“Who is this?” asked Pippin, pointing out one near the end. “He--he looks rather like--” he broke off, and ducked his head in distress.

“He looks a good deal like my father,” replied Faramir, “but as you can tell, it is not he. That is my great-grandfather, Turgon.” He chuckled. “I can remember our tutors making my brother and I read a good deal of ponderous and rather turgid accounts of his rule.”

Frodo studied the figure, standing in stiff dignity, and draped in the heavy stone folds of his robes. “He looks sorrowful.”

“It was during his time that Sauron returned to Barad Dûr, and Mordor rose once more to harry our people. My father considered him a failure, and it disturbed him to be compared to his grandfather.”

Frodo shook his head. “There was nothing he could have done.” He swallowed hard, flushed and looked away. “There was nothing *anyone* could have done.”

Faramir did not miss the signs of distress on the faces of Frodo’s companions, and his own eyes sparked with tears at these signs of grief and self-blame. He blinked, and said, “Yet all the same, something *was* done, Frodo. For he is gone, and his works have passed away, and we are here, alive and free. And however you may feel about it, none of it would have come to pass without you.”

Merry put an arm around Frodo’s shoulder and pulled him close.

Sam looked up at Faramir. “You’ve got the right of it, Captain Faramir, sir. And you done your own part in making it all come to pass as well.”

“Thank you, Master Samwise.” He smiled at the hobbits. “It is a pleasant summer’s day, my friends, and much too fine to be cooped up in this hall of stone. What say you we find a tavern, and I shall stand you all an ale?”

Frodo’s face brightened, and Pippin grinned. “I don’t believe Cousin Frodo’s been to The Golden Cockerel yet!”

Faramir laughed. “Well then, by all means, Sir Peregrin, we should remedy that!”

And the friends left the Hall, and great-grandfather Turgon, behind. Faramir glanced back--was it his imagination, or did the statue seem to look happier than it had before?