Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Almost Christmas! Eeeeeeeeeeeeee! Sorry, I still get over excited at Christmas! Thank you all for reading, sorry if I made anyone sad :'( A few revelations in this chapter, so yeah… Enjoy and Merry Christmas if you celebrate, and happy Durin's Day for yesterday (21st December) either way!
She was dead. Faramir had gotten so used to his wife's calming presence that without it, everything seemed to sink into chaos. But now Eowyn was gone. Just like his father, his brother, his mother… But as Steward of Gondor, he could not let weakness through, just as his father had not been able to all those years ago… All he had left now was Kalira, the one light left to drive away the increasing darkness. That was, if he could find her.
She had run out in a storm of tears when Eowyn had finally passed, heedless to his shouts and calls for her to return. He could, of course, sympathise, all he wanted to do at the minute was curl up and cry. But now they couldn't find her. No one had seen her since she had fled the side of her mother's deathbed. All night she had not been spotted once, and Faramir was getting worried. When she was younger, Kalira would occasionally hide for days on end when she was upset, or she would go out on her horse into the Pelennor and not return until a search party had brought her back… Perhaps she had done that again. For the thousandth time, he went to the stables to see if her horse was there. As with every other time, it was.
Then something clicked. Where was the one place that no one ever went? The one place that you had to have the permission of the steward or his family to enter? One of the few places where you could escape the hustle and bustle of the city and go to clear your head? The Nightingale tower.
Of course she would go there! How had he been so stupid as to not think of it before? Instantly, he took of through the forgotten paths on the outskirts of the city layers. He took the stairs two at a time and before long, he was at the base of the archive storage tower. Delicately, he unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped inside. He could he disturbances on the dust on the stairs and took it that Kalira was upstairs.
Creeping so as not to be heard, he went up the stairs until he reached the top floor. He had to squint through the thick floating dust, but after a few moments, he picked out her tiny form wedged in between two bookcases at the far end of the room. She appeared not to have noticed him, and was staring expressionless and despondently out of the window. It crushed Faramir to see his daughter like this, when she was usually so bright and cheerful. He went over to her and gently spoke to her.
'Kalira? Kalira, it's me, it's your Da, Faramir. Kalira, I'm here, it's ok. Kalira?' She didn't move a muscle. She didn't blink, she didn't twitch, she didn't glance his way… she just stared into space as though she wasn't truly there. He reached out a hand towards her, 'Kalira, please…' he touched her shoulder and she flinched, seemingly not having expected it.
'Da?' She whispered after a moment, almost unbelievingly, tears in her eyes.
Faramir nodded, smiling a sad smile, trying to hold back his own tears. 'Yeah. It's me. I'm here.'
'Da!' She cried, and flung herself into his arms, just as she used to when she was a child.
At that moment, neither could hold back their tears for any longer, and so they wept into each other's shoulders for what seemed like forever, holding each other, and remembering the mother, the wife, the friend, that they had lost.
They had talked for hours before Kalira finally consented to come back down from the tower. She still didn't want to, but she did out of solidarity to her father, she knew he was breaking inside and that he couldn't face it alone.
Together, they walked through the bustling streets, back towards the Steward's quarters, and her quarters next door and adjoining at the base of the citadel, ignoring the whispers and sympathetic glances and bowed heads from the people.
'Thanks Da.' Kalira said quietly as they reached her door, 'Do you… Do you want to come in for… tea or… a bit of food? You know, just to… calm down a bit and come- and come to terms with it. Talk?' She stuttered out, trying not to fall over her words, and at the same time, trying to get them out.
'Sure, why not. I don't see as anyone shall wonder why I am not… out.' Faramir tried for a smile, only resulting in a grimace which matched the regret in his eyes.
'Great.' Kalira also tried for a small smile and fell utterly short. But hey, food always made her feel better anyways.
It was probably something to do with her origins. She had spent hours researching what she possibly was, she had even asked the Grey Pilgrim, Gandalf, who had come to the city when Denathor had died but he had just given the vague answer of: 'I do not know for certain, my dear. I can only guess and even then, I would not want to give you false hopes or ambitions. You will find out some day, you just wait. Now can I get some tea, perhaps? It was rather a long journey.' And just like that, he had changed the subject and Kalira hadn't breached it again. Confusticate and damn the tight-lippedness of wizards!
She had found some old scrolls on different beings, up in the Nightingale Tower. She had learned of Dwarves (or as they referred to themselves, Dwarrow and Dwarrowdams), but they were said to be burly, and broad, with facial hair aplenty amongst both male and female and round ears. Nope, she was petit but athletic, and peach-fuzz hair on her face and everywhere but the top of her head and tiny but distinguishable points on the tops of her ears. She was almost certainly not a dwarf. She had learned of Half-men, but they were always described as tall or bearded, for they were usually half dwarf or half elf. Nope, she was not tall nor bearded, so she could rule out being even part man. Elves… Apparently she had their beauty, (she had been told as much in countless love letters in her youth) and she definitely had their ears, and their build, and their skill with weapons… But she simply wasn't tall enough… but maybe if she was half dwarf/half elf that might be why her parents were killed… She found it unlikely though… the two races hated each other…
That was when she stumbled across a tiny passage, scrawled in a margin on… Halflings. They were described, all be it briefly, as: short (tick), long fingered (tick), pointy eared (tick), curly haired (half tick), light on their feet (tick), and food-loving (tick)… but they also apparently almost never had any hair shade other than brown, black, or blonde, had massive hairy feet, and never left… the Shire… which was more than 1,200 miles in a straight line from Minas Tirith, so even further away from where her parents were killed, let alone with the mountains in the way and the fact that they couldn't simply go in a straight line… So it seemed that she wasn't a 'halfling' either.
She definitely seemed to be some sort of half-ling though, be it half dwarf, half elf, half halfling (confusing, much) … Whatever! She wasn't human, so she had to be a mix of those. Now to figure out which… only (well, I say only) problem: she kept second guessing herself. Oh joy!
She quietly took of her coat as she finally let the ever-recurrent thoughts, finish their ever-recurrent and useless cycle, and take their nagging place in the back of her mind where they were sure to not be forgotten.
Kalira plodded half heartedly through her dining room, and into the kitchen. She stoked the fire, filled the kettle with water and put it on the boil. 'Feel free to sit where you like.' She heard herself call as Faramir entered the room. He nodded in appreciation, and took a seat nearest to the fire.
Before long, they were both sat across from each other, not speaking, staring at their mugs of tea, and trying to think of something to say. Faramir found something first.
'Do you remember the day I first found you?'
Kalira started and jerked up to look at her Da. 'Of course.' She whispered back after a moment's thought. 'You saved my life that day.'
He smiled at the memory. 'That as it may be, you have brought me such joy, my daughter, that had I not… I do not wish to think of how grey my life would have been. Even with… Even with Eowyn at my side.'
They were both silent for a moment, each lost in fond memories.
'Da..' Kalira started, knowing that she was breaching a delicate subject, 'When… you die…' She took a deep breath, 'I do not wish to rule over Gondor a per the plan. I wish to remain here, yes, but rule? Nay, I do not wish that. I know that I am the only heir to the Stewardship… but I do not wish for such a title. I never have done.'
Faramir sighed, he had sensed that this conversation would come for a long time now. But there was no one else he could give the title to. Boromir had had not children, Denathor no siblings… There was no one else… 'Kalira, there is no one else. You must-'
'No, Da.' She cut him off. 'I will not become Steward.' She had wanted to speak with him about this for a long time, and now that she was, she was not going to take no for an answer.
'Kalira, you must understand. We have no other family-'
'Then hold a democratic election.' She said firmly, in a tone that she had never before taken with Faramir. She felt strangely heated about the subject. 'Let the 'free' people of Gondor decide who they want ruling over them.'
Faramir noted the sarcastic emphasis on free and was on it in an instant. 'What are you suggesting?' He said dangerously, also feeling his temper rising. 'That my rule is not fair? That my people are not free? That I am a bad man and a liar, inconsiderate of my peoples' needs?'
'No!' Kalira half shouted, finding herself rising from her chair. 'Simply that I do not wish to become Steward! I would not know what to do! I do not know all of the customs of men as you do!'
'No! You do not!' Faramir shouted as he rose from his chair and he felt his anger peak inexplicably. Why did she insist on being so difficult? 'And do you know why that is? Because you are not even human! You are not my daughter! You are but a halfling of unknown race! And you do not belong here!'
Both Kalira and Faramir stared at each other in disbelief as realisation of what Faramir had just said sank in.
'Kalira, I didn-'
'Save your words.' Kalira spat. So this was how her 'Da' truly saw her? Fine. So be it. She didn't need him anyway. 'They'll fall on deaf ears. This is how you truly see me? Fine. I don't need you anyway. You're going to need to find a new Steward.'
And with that, she ran out of the room, up the stairs, grabbed her 'escape' pack, and sprinted to the top of the citadel. Aftera long sweeping look over the familiar fortress city, she ran down the steps on the other side, straight to the stables. Her horse, Ariaz, a dappled gold, brown, grey and white beast with a black muzzle, nickered at the sight of her.
'Ssh, ssh. I'm glad to see you too girl, I really am. But we've got to go now, I know when I'm not wanted.'
With long, delicate, practised fingers, she swung the saddle up onto Ariaz's back, and quickly tightened the many clasps on it. She clipped on her bags, silently thanking the Valar that she had prepared everything that she could possibly need for a never-ending journey, long, long in advance. With one last look back down at the city, she hoisted herself up into the saddle, and kicked Ariaz's sides, spurring her off into the mountains and away… never to return to Minas Tirith again.
Faramir wanted to do so many things. He wanted so many things. He wanted to take back his words to Kalira. He wanted to apologise. He wanted her to forgive him. Her wanted her back. He wanted Eowyn back. He wanted to die. He wanted to kill himself.
Why had he said those things? He didn't know.
He didn't send out a search party, she deserved the right to flee, and he had no doubt that that was what she had done. He deserved for her to flee, no one should ever say such things to anyone, let alone a loved one…
So he sat and he wept again, mourning the loss of his wife, and now his daughter… both of whom he knew he would never see again…
Ok! Please don't kill me! Merry Christmas! Argh!
