OK, some people may be disappointed with this chapter, as it does not
involve what you may think the name suggests. Get away wi' ye! Purist mind
at work here… well, not really. I'm sure I'll get onto that sorta stuff
later. But, background first. Oh, I've just realized that I've changed the
chapter name to 'Restless'… well, it used to be 'Awoken Desire'. Heehee…
~*~*~*~*~
Chapter 2: Restless
Some years later (17 to be precise):
A bowstring sang, and an arrow embedded itself deep into the bark of an old oak. A young girl, slim and golden-haired, smiled and nodded to herself, as she walked towards the tree to retrieve her arrow. Wearing a light cloak over a small dress, a quiver was slung over her shoulder, and a small piece of horn hung upon a leather thong around her neck. Sparkling green eyes and a certain bearing showed that the daughter of Ithilien's lord was a proud and spirited maiden – with a natural talent for archery.
As she crouched down to replace the arrow in her quiver, she heard voices coming through the usually quiet wood. She stood up as two men came into the glade where she had been practising with her bow.
'But he has already left; why would he now wish-' one of the men caught sight of her.
'Ah, Mistress Isilmë,' he said, stopping and bowing. 'Good day to you.'
'And to you also, Raian, and thy friend whose name is as yet unknown to me…' She said politely. The other man smiled.
'Darin, lady, at your command. I am staying with Raian for a short while here at Henneth; my true home is in Gondor, in Minas Tirith.' The white city! Isilme paused a moment, thinking of the great capital of Gondor, then nodded, joining them as they walked through the forest.
'Although we have heard rumour that no longer will it be known by that name of wartime, and shall become once again the Tower of the Sun,' she said.
'That is true, my lady. Lord Elessar has decreed that the White City shall again pay homage in its title to Anar the fire-golden, as it bids us farewell of an eve.' Isilmë smiled.
'Indeed, as it begins to even now,' said Raian, looking towards the slowly sinking flame in the west. 'We must leave thee, lady,' Isilmë smiled and waved as they departed. 'Fare thee well!'
As she watched them go, Isilmë's thoughts strayed back to the white city; Minas Tirith, the Tower of the Guard, the great citadel of Gondor, west of Ithilien.
~*~ Isilmë ~*~
He came from the white city, of which in our halls so many great battle songs are sung; so many glorious accounts told! Even now I dream of it; a great walled citadel of stone, with coloured pennants flying proudly from glistening white battlements. Ai! So many tales of its glory and beauty I have heard in my childhood. I know it well from the stories; seven inner circles of the city, for the seven stars of Elendil, for the seven blossoms of the great white tree.
One day I shall go there, so dearly do I wish it; to forsake, if only for a short while, these quiet forest glades, and ride south – south, to Gondor, where Aragorn is lord, to the fields of the Pelennor – south, to the Tower of the Guard.
But if only it were so simple. How could I leave Ithilien, if my father had forbade it, my mother spoken against? In my heart, I know that they would not wish me to go, for the dangers of the journey, and for my absence from Henneth Annûn. Yet it is true that I can protect myself – I have my bow and knife; I have Mîrlómë. Minas Tirith is but three days ride from here – and yet it seems so far.
I long for the white city of Gondor, for the tower of Ecthelion rising proud to greet my silver guardian Tilion, Isil's steersman, to bid farewell to Arien, guider of the sun; tall and fair is that tower, with a bright glitter of crystal upon its pearly heights. Great is my desire to see it, and to hear from afar the ringing of silver trumpets, carried clear through the air, across the fields of the Pelennor. Even stronger now is my desire to see Minas Tirith; in these peaceful glades I wish to rest no longer. To the west is my will to go; and there I shall look upon the Tower of Guard.
~*~*~*~*~
Chapter 2: Restless
Some years later (17 to be precise):
A bowstring sang, and an arrow embedded itself deep into the bark of an old oak. A young girl, slim and golden-haired, smiled and nodded to herself, as she walked towards the tree to retrieve her arrow. Wearing a light cloak over a small dress, a quiver was slung over her shoulder, and a small piece of horn hung upon a leather thong around her neck. Sparkling green eyes and a certain bearing showed that the daughter of Ithilien's lord was a proud and spirited maiden – with a natural talent for archery.
As she crouched down to replace the arrow in her quiver, she heard voices coming through the usually quiet wood. She stood up as two men came into the glade where she had been practising with her bow.
'But he has already left; why would he now wish-' one of the men caught sight of her.
'Ah, Mistress Isilmë,' he said, stopping and bowing. 'Good day to you.'
'And to you also, Raian, and thy friend whose name is as yet unknown to me…' She said politely. The other man smiled.
'Darin, lady, at your command. I am staying with Raian for a short while here at Henneth; my true home is in Gondor, in Minas Tirith.' The white city! Isilme paused a moment, thinking of the great capital of Gondor, then nodded, joining them as they walked through the forest.
'Although we have heard rumour that no longer will it be known by that name of wartime, and shall become once again the Tower of the Sun,' she said.
'That is true, my lady. Lord Elessar has decreed that the White City shall again pay homage in its title to Anar the fire-golden, as it bids us farewell of an eve.' Isilmë smiled.
'Indeed, as it begins to even now,' said Raian, looking towards the slowly sinking flame in the west. 'We must leave thee, lady,' Isilmë smiled and waved as they departed. 'Fare thee well!'
As she watched them go, Isilmë's thoughts strayed back to the white city; Minas Tirith, the Tower of the Guard, the great citadel of Gondor, west of Ithilien.
~*~ Isilmë ~*~
He came from the white city, of which in our halls so many great battle songs are sung; so many glorious accounts told! Even now I dream of it; a great walled citadel of stone, with coloured pennants flying proudly from glistening white battlements. Ai! So many tales of its glory and beauty I have heard in my childhood. I know it well from the stories; seven inner circles of the city, for the seven stars of Elendil, for the seven blossoms of the great white tree.
One day I shall go there, so dearly do I wish it; to forsake, if only for a short while, these quiet forest glades, and ride south – south, to Gondor, where Aragorn is lord, to the fields of the Pelennor – south, to the Tower of the Guard.
But if only it were so simple. How could I leave Ithilien, if my father had forbade it, my mother spoken against? In my heart, I know that they would not wish me to go, for the dangers of the journey, and for my absence from Henneth Annûn. Yet it is true that I can protect myself – I have my bow and knife; I have Mîrlómë. Minas Tirith is but three days ride from here – and yet it seems so far.
I long for the white city of Gondor, for the tower of Ecthelion rising proud to greet my silver guardian Tilion, Isil's steersman, to bid farewell to Arien, guider of the sun; tall and fair is that tower, with a bright glitter of crystal upon its pearly heights. Great is my desire to see it, and to hear from afar the ringing of silver trumpets, carried clear through the air, across the fields of the Pelennor. Even stronger now is my desire to see Minas Tirith; in these peaceful glades I wish to rest no longer. To the west is my will to go; and there I shall look upon the Tower of Guard.