Hi everyone, sorry for the slow update. To make up for it, here's a pretty long post.
Reviewer Responses
Callie3= I like happy moments. Unfortunately they usually happen only after a lot of angst (at least in my stories)
PUNK GOOSE= Yes, you're supposed to be a little confused (but not so much that the story gets boring. If it does, please ask questions) And you are correct! Uncle Issie is King Isildur himself. Someday I may write a prequel, though I scarcely have time to work on the stories I have going now.
Arahiril= You're right too. Lómarë is Ámee Miriel's daughter and heir. Don't worry, everything will reveal itself in due course (hey, I think I just quoted a line from Ever After. Great movie.)
the evil witch queen= right also! Hmmm, Sleepwalking, under the control of a great evil darkness…does that count as the same thing? If so, you are right. Faramir wouldn't hurt anyone otherwise.
Scholar= Another right guess! I don't think Faramir is up to anything. Now someone who wants him…incapacitated is certainly up to something.
wrunken= nice to meet another Christian. Thank you for reviewing, I hope we do keep in touch. God bless you.
arwens-light= Glad you like the story. Good luck on the SATs. Don't worry, you'll do fine. Just pray for calm beforehand, that helps. Sorry about the cliffies, but I do seem to be addicted to them. Sorry!
Also thank you Lydia2, Nefcairiel, Lylya, and Riana for reviewing. It means a lot to me.
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When Faramir woke up, he was astonished to find himself standing alone in the woods. //How did I get here?// he had a vague recollection of leaving the city, but it was a blur in his memory. //That's it, I have officially taken leave of my senses. Let's just turn around and…// a soft glimmering that caught at the corner of his eye distracted him.
Walking closer, Faramir knelt on one knee beside the small creek. Find them at the source of the moon-stream. The memory of the voice seemed to reverberate amidst the surrounding trees. Dipping his hand in the ice-cold water, Faramir realized that this was the 'moon-stream'. The clear, crystal water ran over white stones and sand, and when the moon shone on it, the reflected light seemed to echo the light of the Wanderer himself.
Sighing, Faramir stood. His conscience would not let him return to Emyn Arnen. He didn't know if his dream spoke truly, but if it did… he had to do something. //I guess I follow this 'moon-stream'// The Steward didn't even notice that he was completely unarmed save for one small dagger that he always kept with him.
Faramir didn't know how long he walked before he first heard them. His bones chilled as he heard the faint chants like those of the Acolytes in his nightmares. As he moved closer, the chants crescendoed, and as he peered through a tall, thick bush his heart almost stopped. In front of him seemed a recreation of the dream, a man bound to a large stone altar, surrounded by dark Acolytes illuminated only by a few torches and the moon. Before Faramir could do anything, however, the knife ended the unknown man's life.
A heart-wrenching cry caused the Steward's head to jerk up, rustling the bush. He held his breath, but the Acolytes didn't seem to have heard him. Faramir quietly moved through the trees, grateful to Lieutenant Valin for teaching him so well. He headed to where the sound originated and where soft crying was now emanating from.
What he found was a small wooden cage at the mouth of a dark cave holding a little girl, who looked to be only five years old. Careful to stay in the shadows, Faramir crept up to the cage. "Little one," he whispered softly. "Child." The girl looked up and when she saw him her eyes widened in fear. "Shhhh. It is alright. I've come to help you. Do you understand?" She nodded and Faramir felt the wooden bars for a latch of some kind. Finding it, the Steward hastily opened the cage. He held out his hand to the little girl. "Come on, quickly. And stay quiet."
Again the girl nodded as she took his hand, and held a small finger to her lips to show that she understood. Her tiny body was clothed in rags, and Faramir now saw how small and thin she looked. //Poor child, she is probably older than she looks, maybe seven or eight. A street urchin, perhaps an orphan.// "Are there any others here? Any children? She shook her head, a sad look on her face that told Faramir all he needed to know. He was too late.
The Steward's thoughts were so preoccupied by this as they snuck away that he forgot that the child was no Ranger. The sharp crack of a broken stick hidden beneath fallen leaves remedied that, unfortunately. The voices of the Acolytes rose as they realized that their captive was gone. Faramir, knowing he could not outrun them for he was weakened by lack of sleep, quickly picked up the girl and started running, trying to find a place to hide. Finally he found a tree with a small hollow in its base, large enough for the child to hide in. Kneeling, Faramir gently pushed her towards the hollow, thinking quickly. "What's your name?" he asked, trying to sound calm.
"Anariel." Her voice quivered with fright.
Faramir patted her head lightly. "Well Anariel, I need you to stay in there and do not come out for anything. When you hear the bad men going away, go to the white stream." The Acolytes were getting closer now and Faramir knew he had to hurry. "Follow the stream to Emyn Arnen. Do you understand so far? Good. When you get to the city, find a man in a green tunic with a white tree on it. Give him this." He pressed a small object into her palm. "And tell him everything that happened. Understand?" Anariel nodded and Faramir tried to smile reassuringly. He stood as the girl hid herself in the hollow. "Remember, green shirt with a white tree."
Racing away, Faramir headed towards the Acolytes. //Lead them away and the girl can escape.// was the only thought running through his mind. Purposefully rustling the fallen leaves beneath his feet, he smiled grimly as the voices picked up and headed towards him. Sweat beaded his face, both from exertion and fear.
"There he is! Take him alive!" Two Acolytes appeared in front of him. Swerving away, Faramir quickly found them coming at him from all directions. Surrounded, the Steward pulled out his dagger, knowing it was a hopeless fight. He was quickly overpowered, and his hands were bound tightly behind him.
The Acolytes dragged him back to the clearing with the altar. Standing there was the Head Acolyte, grinning wickedly in his black and silver robes. "Prince Faramir, how nice of you to join us. We were not expecting you until tomorrow."
"You were murdering innocents." If looks could kill, the Head Acolyte would be a pile of ash.
"You wound me. We never kill innocents, only those who refuse to worship our Lord Melkor. And who defies him most in their purity but children? Besides, they make the best bait."
"Bait?"
The Head Acolyte shook his head. "Faramir, Faramir. You are so naïve. And gullible, I might add. All the enemies of Melkor are so easily deluded in their view of life. You had only to hear a child in pain to come running to the rescue, headless of danger. Like your ancestors, you head not the warnings of the one you should trust and fall for the lies planted by my predecessors and myself.
Faramir stared, his eyes widening. "The nightmare.
"Yes, the same nightmare the line of the Stewards has been having every 150 years since the fall of Númenor, give or take a few years. The beauty of it is that we, the servants of Melkor, did not even have to make it up. It was already hidden in your mind, a memory passed down from your ancestor, the Lady Lómarë. Oh yes," The Head Acolyte chuckled at Faramir's startled look. "I suppose you believed that Miriel was after you because your ancestor was an Acolyte. Belecthor, I am told, thought so as well. All you needed was a hint of malice about her and you refused her advice." Black eyes glinted with dark humor. "Which would have been better for you."
Faramir glared. "What do you want with me?" he demanded.
"You will find out on the night of the half-moon." The Acolytes shoved Faramir into a larger version of the cage the girl had been in. And as the night moved on, Faramir was alone with his turmoiled thoughts, staring at the sky that would be home to the half-moon the very next night.
Anariel stumbled over a hidden rock, cutting her foot. Dropping to the ground, she clutched her foot and blinked back tears. //I'm never going to get there. It's nearly morning and I still haven't found the white stream he talked about.// She wipe at her eyes and stood up. With a grim determination Anariel hobbled forward, not knowing where she was headed. Having lived in the streets with her father most of her life, Anariel had learned early on to live with hunger, thirst, and pain. These things would not keep her from reaching her goal. //I have to find it. I have to, I have to. Please let me find it.//
Eru seemed to have heard her prayer, for just then the sky lightened as the sun began to rise, peeking over the horizon. To her right something glistened, and when she turned Anariel saw, to her delight, the white stream the man had told her about. Running (and limping) forward, she happily plunged her injured foot into the freezing water. It stung, but felt good at the same time. After splashing water on her face and gulping a few mouthfuls down, Anariel felt her strength renewed as she followed the stream, hopefully to Emyn Arnen. But almost as soon as the sun broke through, it again was shadowed as the clouds darkened and sheets of rain came down, drenching her instantly and dampening her spirits. Still, Anariel was determined and she followed the stream, her face firmly set with resolve.
Outside of Emyn Arnen, two men stood in the rain at the hidden entrance to the city. Both had a look on their faces that conveyed the helplessness and anger they felt.
Beregond felt like hitting someone, but wisely held back considering the other person there was his king. "It will be nearly impossible to find Lord Faramir's trail in this."
Aragorn gritted his teeth, both in frustration and from the cold. "Not just nearly, it is impossible. Any sign of him has been washed away. If it had not come down so hard…" he shook his head, knowing that 'ifs' were useless. "I fear we must wait for him to return.
"But the morning passes and there has been no sign at all of him."
The king sighed and peered through the rain as if hoping Faramir would just appear. "I know."
Anariel's legs ached, her stomach grumbled, and her foot throbbed. The bleeding had slowed to a near stop, but she still left red footprints behind her that were quickly washed away by the rain. The only thing that kept her going was the memory of the bad men killing her father and her determination not to let that happen to the nice man with the pretty, gray eyes.
At last the stream fell over the side of a hill and Anariel found herself overlooking Emyn Arnen. Hurrying down, she slipped through the open gate and into the flurry of people who were dashing this way and that, trying to get home or to work. Once a horse nearly knocked into her and she barely got out of the way in time. Walking up the muddy path, Anariel searched each person that she saw for the green shirt with the white tree she had to find. "Green shirt, white tree. Green shirt, white tree," she muttered to herself, the fatigue of her journey catching up to her.
Anariel's stomach growled again, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since the day before and it was nearly lunchtime. It hurt so much she felt like crying. Curling up in a ball on a dry doorstep, Anariel decided to rest for a moment. //Just a little rest. I'm so tired. Only a few minutes.// it took only a moment for her to fall fast asleep.
"Hey, what are you doing there?" demanded an angry voice. Anariel felt someone almost stumble over her, hitting her in the stomach. Wincing, she tried to scramble to her feet, but she put too much wait on her injured foot and she lurched forward and fell against the owner of the voice, a young boy. "Wha…get off me, mudhen!"
"Bergil!" A tall woman with brown hair streaked with gray appeared behind the boy. Anariel shrank back, hoping she wouldn't be noticed and preparing for the whack with the broom that usually followed. Instead the woman's face softened as she saw the little girl. When she reached out her hand, Anariel backed away in fright. "It is all right. I will not hurt you."
Anariel tentatively took her hand, trusting the woman's kind eyes. Bergil, on the other hand, wasn't so nice. "But Mother, she is dirty!"
'Mother', also known as Caladwen wife of Beregond, frowned at her son and only child. "As are you, Bergil, which means you get to take a bath tonight. And I do not want to hear you calling anyone 'mudhen' again, understood?" Bergil grumbled a yes. "Good. Now please set some water on the boil for tea." Caladwen led Anariel into the cozy kitchen and sat her down near the warm fire over which Bergil had set the water. Wrapping a blanket over the little girl's shoulders, Caladwen noticed her injured foot. "Oh, you are hurt! You poor dear, here let me clean that for you." She gently cleaned the cut, which was already healing, and then gave her shoulder a soft squeeze.
Anariel was startled by this woman's motherly affection, having lost her own mother as a babe. Her father had always taken care of her, but it still wasn't the same. //And now Daddy is…// Her emotions caught up with her and she began silently weeping, startling Bergil who was standing nearby. "Mother, she is crying," he said almost worriedly.
Caladwen turned from the tea she was making and, seeing the tears, pulled the child into an embrace. "Shhhh, little one. Everything will be alright."
Anariel shook her head as she cried. She tried to speak, but all that came out was, "Green shirt, white tree," over and over again.
The woman frowned. "Did a man in a green shirt with a white tree hurt you?"
Frustrated, the girl shook her head and tried again, more emphatically, through the lump in her throat. "Green shirt, white tree!" Reminded of her mission, Anariel stood up, pushing away from the nice woman. Caladwen held her back, and the little girl struggled to free herself. "Green shirt! White tree!"
Though confused, Caladwen was more concerned that the child would injure herself again. "Please calm down, little one. I will take you to my husband, he wars a green tunic with a white tree on it." This calmed Anariel and the woman looked at her son as she covered her head with a shaw. "Bergil, watch the house while I am gone. Go to the neighbors if you need help."
She picked up the girl, saddened by how light she was. Handing her an apple from the table, Caladwen stepped out into the rain and headed to the Steward's House and her husband.
By the time they reached the House, Anariel had stopped crying and polished off the apple. Following the loud noise that could only be her husband, Caladwen turned the corner to find Beregond sending off a guard on some errand or another. "Beregond!"
He turned, startled to see his wife. "Cali, what a lovely surprise! And who is this?"
"Bergil stumbled over her on our doorstep, cold and hungry. You need to talk to that boy about how he should treat those less fortunate than us. Anyway, the only thing she has said is 'green shirt, white tree'. She was quite insistent."
Beregond looked down at his forest green tunic that was emblazoned with the White Tree of Gondor, the standard uniform for the White Guard and the Ithilien Rangers. Before he could say anything, however, Anariel saw the shirt as well. Her eyes widened and without warning she jumped out of Caladwen's arms at Beregond. The Captain was luckily able to catch her and she clutched at him and began babbling. "You have to help him, please! The bad men killed my daddy and he let me go but they went after him and they'll kill him! Help him!"
"Calm down, calm down. Help who?"
Anariel slid out of his arms to the floor and grabbed the Captain's hand, pressing a small, cold piece of metal into it as the tears began flowing again. "Please help him, please!"
Opening his hand, Beregond's mouth dropped open in shock. "Where did you get this?"
"The nice man gave it to me in the trees."
"When?" he demanded.
"L…last night. I walked all morning to get here, like he told me to."
Caladwen gently touched her husband's shaking arm. "What is it, love?" Beregond held out his hand and she gasped. "Is that…?" He nodded grimly as they looked down at the ring that bore the seal of the Steward of Gondor.
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Hope you liked the long chapter. The dream-inheiritance thingy is actually something I took from Tolkien. He said somewhere that Faramir's dream of Numenor in ROTK is a memory passed down from a distant ancestor, having had a dream like that himself. Not something I believe in, but it works well in the story.