Disclaimer: same as before; don't own Gondor (wow – now that's an idea…),
don't own Ithilien, etc.
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Chapter 6: The crossing at Cair Andros
As she rode, Isilmë thought of her father and mother. Would they believe her note, and leave her to supposedly train at Cair Andros? She knew that Faramir would probably believe her, but as for her mother, she was not so sure. Éowyn always understood her daughter's mind readily; it was possible that she might notice the false tone of the note. She didn't like to lie to her parents – but there was no other way. If she had told them, they would not have let her go, or if they had, she would have been travelling with a large escort, arriving in Minas Tirith in state, as the princess of Ithilien. And if she had told them nothing, they would have sent out search parties – although they would not have found her before she came into Gondor, her parents would have been so concerned for her. Sighing, Isilmë turned her thoughts back to the road ahead.
It was midday and the sun was at its highest when at last, as Mîrlómë trotted through the trees, Isilmë saw the island of Cair Andros, marking the border between Gondor and Ithilien. It was not large, but shaped in such a way that it looked like a ship, its prow jutting out into the swift waters of Anduin as it flowed ever down towards the sea. The dwelling here that had been built soon after the great war was on this eastern bank; small wooden bridges went from each bank to the middle of the island, and then out again onto the other side.
Isilmë jumped lightly down from Mîrlómë's back before they came out from the trees, into the open; although most of the small community of Cair Andros was out in the woods or fields, she needed to be careful – she wanted no one to recognize her as she crossed into Gondor. Tying Mîrlómë's reins loosely to a tree, she walked closer to the bridge by the river. She could see no one about – now would probably be her best option, unless she waited for nightfall.
Returning to where Mîri was waiting, Isilmë untied the horse. Throwing the hood of her grey cloak over her blonde hair, she walked out from under the trees, past the dwellings, and towards the island. The noisy waters of Anduin sprayed and foamed as they crashed onto the rocks of Cair Andros, far below the sturdy wooden bridge built to withstand whole companies of horsemen. Isilmë walked boldly along the bridge, praying that no one would see her – if she was recognized, the princess of Ithilien would have no choice but to stay awhile by the banks of the great river, and word would surely get to Henneth Annûn of her visit.
'Hie! You there!' A voice suddenly cut into her thoughts. Her heart sank, as she slowed down, halfway across the second bridge to the western bank. She turned her head slightly towards the speaker, only slightly showing her face.
'And who would you be, stranger, to not stop but for a moment in our friendly dwelling?' Isilmë groped wildly for an answer that would not be rude, but could get rid of him quickly. She did not know how she had managed to miss him, for he stood on the island, with his hands on his hips. An oldish man, he seemed, gruff and stern.
'I… well…' The speaker came closer.
'A maiden, art thou? Well…' she could feel him looking closely at her as Isilmë struggled to keep from turning and glaring defiantly at him.
'I'll trouble thee no more,' he said finally, 'if thy journey demands swiftness, as it would seem.' Again, with her face hidden behind her hood, she felt him looking at her keenly. She inclined her head slightly, and heard a snort of exasperation from the man behind her.
'Fare thee well, then, mistress. Good day to ye,' he said, and she heard him turn and walk back across the bridge to the opposite bank. With a sigh of relief, she clicked to Mîrlómë to move on, and upon reaching the western shore, she mounted again.
From the opposite bank, Talor the swordsmaster smiled to himself, shaking his head as he watched the girl and horse hurry up the steep paths through the rocks on the eastern shore. So she had left at last. Always an independent child Isilmë had been, and her kindly godfather had been there to see her grow up, from before she had even learnt to string a bow. He chuckled again, watching her spur on her bright chestnut mare, her hood falling back onto her shoulders to reveal her long blonde hair streaming in the wind, before turning back into the trees as she galloped off into the fields of Northern Gondor.
~*~Isilmë~*~
Finally, he let me be! I am so relieved now, that I have finally passed through the island of longfoam without being recognized. I feared that he was going to push me further, about my journey and destination – if he had, I know not whether I could have concealed myself. 'Tis strange, he seemed somehow familiar… though I cannot think why. Yet of that I need worry no longer. I ride in the green land of Gondor!
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A/n: btw, the great war would be the war of the ring… and hope you don't mind if I start calling her the princess of Ithilien… I know she's not really, but what else can I call her? The lady? Nope. Sounds wrong. The mistress? Sounds even worse. Daughter? Ugh. Princess it is. Don't complain unless you've got a better idea. Mean, aren't I? Heehee.
Please, if you've read this, review for me! I just wanna know if ppl like it… thanx to those who have already! (I don't mind if you do it again, it'll make me feel happier!)
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Chapter 6: The crossing at Cair Andros
As she rode, Isilmë thought of her father and mother. Would they believe her note, and leave her to supposedly train at Cair Andros? She knew that Faramir would probably believe her, but as for her mother, she was not so sure. Éowyn always understood her daughter's mind readily; it was possible that she might notice the false tone of the note. She didn't like to lie to her parents – but there was no other way. If she had told them, they would not have let her go, or if they had, she would have been travelling with a large escort, arriving in Minas Tirith in state, as the princess of Ithilien. And if she had told them nothing, they would have sent out search parties – although they would not have found her before she came into Gondor, her parents would have been so concerned for her. Sighing, Isilmë turned her thoughts back to the road ahead.
It was midday and the sun was at its highest when at last, as Mîrlómë trotted through the trees, Isilmë saw the island of Cair Andros, marking the border between Gondor and Ithilien. It was not large, but shaped in such a way that it looked like a ship, its prow jutting out into the swift waters of Anduin as it flowed ever down towards the sea. The dwelling here that had been built soon after the great war was on this eastern bank; small wooden bridges went from each bank to the middle of the island, and then out again onto the other side.
Isilmë jumped lightly down from Mîrlómë's back before they came out from the trees, into the open; although most of the small community of Cair Andros was out in the woods or fields, she needed to be careful – she wanted no one to recognize her as she crossed into Gondor. Tying Mîrlómë's reins loosely to a tree, she walked closer to the bridge by the river. She could see no one about – now would probably be her best option, unless she waited for nightfall.
Returning to where Mîri was waiting, Isilmë untied the horse. Throwing the hood of her grey cloak over her blonde hair, she walked out from under the trees, past the dwellings, and towards the island. The noisy waters of Anduin sprayed and foamed as they crashed onto the rocks of Cair Andros, far below the sturdy wooden bridge built to withstand whole companies of horsemen. Isilmë walked boldly along the bridge, praying that no one would see her – if she was recognized, the princess of Ithilien would have no choice but to stay awhile by the banks of the great river, and word would surely get to Henneth Annûn of her visit.
'Hie! You there!' A voice suddenly cut into her thoughts. Her heart sank, as she slowed down, halfway across the second bridge to the western bank. She turned her head slightly towards the speaker, only slightly showing her face.
'And who would you be, stranger, to not stop but for a moment in our friendly dwelling?' Isilmë groped wildly for an answer that would not be rude, but could get rid of him quickly. She did not know how she had managed to miss him, for he stood on the island, with his hands on his hips. An oldish man, he seemed, gruff and stern.
'I… well…' The speaker came closer.
'A maiden, art thou? Well…' she could feel him looking closely at her as Isilmë struggled to keep from turning and glaring defiantly at him.
'I'll trouble thee no more,' he said finally, 'if thy journey demands swiftness, as it would seem.' Again, with her face hidden behind her hood, she felt him looking at her keenly. She inclined her head slightly, and heard a snort of exasperation from the man behind her.
'Fare thee well, then, mistress. Good day to ye,' he said, and she heard him turn and walk back across the bridge to the opposite bank. With a sigh of relief, she clicked to Mîrlómë to move on, and upon reaching the western shore, she mounted again.
From the opposite bank, Talor the swordsmaster smiled to himself, shaking his head as he watched the girl and horse hurry up the steep paths through the rocks on the eastern shore. So she had left at last. Always an independent child Isilmë had been, and her kindly godfather had been there to see her grow up, from before she had even learnt to string a bow. He chuckled again, watching her spur on her bright chestnut mare, her hood falling back onto her shoulders to reveal her long blonde hair streaming in the wind, before turning back into the trees as she galloped off into the fields of Northern Gondor.
~*~Isilmë~*~
Finally, he let me be! I am so relieved now, that I have finally passed through the island of longfoam without being recognized. I feared that he was going to push me further, about my journey and destination – if he had, I know not whether I could have concealed myself. 'Tis strange, he seemed somehow familiar… though I cannot think why. Yet of that I need worry no longer. I ride in the green land of Gondor!
~~~~~~~
A/n: btw, the great war would be the war of the ring… and hope you don't mind if I start calling her the princess of Ithilien… I know she's not really, but what else can I call her? The lady? Nope. Sounds wrong. The mistress? Sounds even worse. Daughter? Ugh. Princess it is. Don't complain unless you've got a better idea. Mean, aren't I? Heehee.
Please, if you've read this, review for me! I just wanna know if ppl like it… thanx to those who have already! (I don't mind if you do it again, it'll make me feel happier!)