Wait for the Sunrise
by Vané Alasse
Chapter Four
Valour Will Not Go Unremembered
The battle was now close behind Falath. Sweat pooled under her eyes and dripped down her back as she ran up the hill. Her hair came loose and slapped rudely against her face. She heard the sound of fighting just behind her, and ducked into an alley way, crouching against the rock wall. The sound of her breathing was loud despite the clangor around her. She saw awful shapes of orcs pass in the street and brave Gondorian men slashing their weapons among them. Nothing came into the alley. Falath became cold and her muscles became tight from sitting still.
She decided to rise, and entered the street again. All was quiet. The battle had gone elsewhere, and nothing moved on the road. But strewn across the stones were bodies: dead men and orcs. Hesitating she stepped around one, and felt her stomach flutter. She began to shiver all over, and her teeth rattled in her head. She wrapped her arms around herself and ran. She skirted the bodies, trying not to look at the them. She felt she was shaking so hard she would break apart. Her head throbbed.
Suddenly her foot caught on something, and she tripped and fell. To her horror she landed on a Gondorian soldier. She gasped and tried to rise. But this man was not dead.
His eyes flickered open, and he breathed heavily.
"Gondor..." he groaned.
"Sir," she stuttered, sitting up and moving away from him. "Forgive me."
His eyes tried to focus on her face, and he saw then that she was not an enemy. No, indeed she was not.
"Falath?" he breathed.
She looked at him in disbelief. "How do you know my name?"
He tried to smile. "That's a strange question."
"It cannot be--" she whispered. "No!"
"Where is Atara?" he asked.
"How come you here? No! No!" she said.
She took the helmet from his head, wiping his dripping hair from his face. He lifted his hand and gently grasped her arm, giving it a slight squeeze. He tried to rise, but fell back choking.
"Firion, oh, no." She laid her forehead against his, and tears came to her eyes.
"Where did you suppose I would be, my sister?"
"Anywhere but fallen to the ground."
He sighed. "Then you did not know our need."
She sat up again, and cradled his face in her hands. "No, I suppose I did not. At least, I did not understand it."
"How could you?" he said softly.
"Oh, Firion! You cannot die; you must not. Atara will be broken; she will fall to pieces."
"Do I look dead, Falath?"
"Don't play with me. I can see when a man is wounded to death."
"Then, will you stay by me till death takes me? I do not like to be left alone."
"Would I leave you? Hard heart! How could you even imagine I would leave you here?"
"I don't know. Today has not been a normal day. Much comes to mind that should not."
She held his hand in hers. The gloom about them was deep and isolating.
"Is this failure, Falath?" he asked after a while.
She looked into his eyes. "Failure? Nay, I think not. Death is never vain when given for others out of love."
"Thank you, sister."
"Shouldn't I be thanking you?" she sighed. "Ah, but how can I? Gondor will, though. Yes, Firion, you will not be forgotten. Your valour will not go unremembered."
After a while she spoke again. "I saw the white rider today, brother."
"Did you?"
"Yes. And the prince Imrahil."
"Is that so? Then you will know the might which they possess and the calm with which they command?"
"No. I cannot know that, for I merely saw them pass by me. Though by the way you talk it sounds as if you have experienced their majesty in battle."
"I have, Falath. And such bravery and courage is not to be lightly mentioned. And the way they give hope to the men! If only you could have seen that, also, Falath. I was, well, I was proud again. I was proud to be a man of Gondor. I was proud to belong to the race of Numenor. In all this blackness, hatred, and cruelty it was hard to feel so. Fear and despair are wicked tools. Yet in the presence of Mithrandir and the prince I was not ashamed to stand and, yes, to even fall for the country I love."
"Good, brother. I am glad for it."
"And I am glad to hear you are so strong. Is this verily Falath? Fragile little Falath, who could not look at a rat without shuddering? Here she sits now among a field of dead, lying in their blood. And she speaks to a wounded man, who is already as good as dead? Is this the Falath I know?"
She smiled as the tears fell from her cheeks.
"When did such a change come over her?"
Firion leaned his head back onto the paving stones, staring into the blackness. "You may leave me now, if you will. I am--I am ready to go now. Alone."
"I will not leave you."
"I would not have you die alongside me needlessly. The forces will be here soon again. And though I need not fear them for myself, I do fear them for your sake. I would have you see the sun again, if I could."
"And the moon, yes? And the stars above, in the clear of midnight? Would you also have me hear the wind playing in the trees, or the Anduin splashing its banks?"
"I would," he said faintly.
"And how do you expect me to ever find joy in these without you by my side?"
"Joy? No, my dear sister. I did not say joy. And I will not try to comfort you or myself with idle conversation, for I know no words which bring comfort to the bereaved. But I would have you live, for life is not to be scorned. Even a life of loss and pain is a full life. For loss and pain at a parting signify the ownership of something worth having, and also something worth remembering. You need not be happy for life to be precious. Life is a gift, as is death. Live, and love living. Please?"
His voice grew thinner with each word, and he breathed will thin, sporadic gasps. As Falath held his hand it grew colder and his face became pallid. His eyes fluttered aimlessly.
"I will try, Firion."
He smiled softly, and again they waited in silence. It was ominous, Falath thought, waiting for a moment of uncertainty. How would it happen? What would she do? Where would he go? When life leaves the body where does the soul flee? To peace? To rest? How could she know?
A song came to her mind and softly she began to hum it. The sweet tune rose and fell among the wreckage. Smoke from one of the many burning buildings wafted in her face and stung her eyes. Salty tears mingled with the ash and smeared against her lips.
Firion looked at her. "Can you sing it?" he whispered.
She squeezed his hand, then faintly began to add the words to the ancient lullaby.
Across the sea there lies a shore
Where silver waves lap evermore;
And there I will at last meet thee
Beyond the quaking, churning sea.
When the bright moon bids its farewell
To rising hill and hidden swell,
Then I will hasten to that land
To hold again your cherished hand.
Now, my dear love, lie down and sleep;
Though the long night be cold and deep
Still wait for me, till in the skies
We meet under the warm sunrise.
Firion gasped suddenly and choked painfully.
"Brother?" asked Falath, trying to help him.
Weakly came his voice, "Wait for the sunrise, Falath."
"But it may be so long a wait! And how will I find the way?"
"No fear," he said softly. "You will know the way. Only--be patient. Wait for--the sunrise."
Falath looked into his eyes, and slowly the light of life faded and vanished. His face relaxed into a gentle smile and did not move again.
She released his hand and then the tears fell thickly. She doubled over on her arms and wept. Falling to her side she tucked her knees to her chest, lost in the torrent of grief.
Soft rain pattered on her neck and splashed on the stones. Lightly it clinked on the metal armor lying scattered over the street. Mists rose from the smoldering city, blurring the darkness with their white clouds. Minas Tirith lay blanketed in a pallid haze. All waited for the morning. All longed for a light to lead them out of their darkness. But none came.
by Vané Alasse
Chapter Four
Valour Will Not Go Unremembered
The battle was now close behind Falath. Sweat pooled under her eyes and dripped down her back as she ran up the hill. Her hair came loose and slapped rudely against her face. She heard the sound of fighting just behind her, and ducked into an alley way, crouching against the rock wall. The sound of her breathing was loud despite the clangor around her. She saw awful shapes of orcs pass in the street and brave Gondorian men slashing their weapons among them. Nothing came into the alley. Falath became cold and her muscles became tight from sitting still.
She decided to rise, and entered the street again. All was quiet. The battle had gone elsewhere, and nothing moved on the road. But strewn across the stones were bodies: dead men and orcs. Hesitating she stepped around one, and felt her stomach flutter. She began to shiver all over, and her teeth rattled in her head. She wrapped her arms around herself and ran. She skirted the bodies, trying not to look at the them. She felt she was shaking so hard she would break apart. Her head throbbed.
Suddenly her foot caught on something, and she tripped and fell. To her horror she landed on a Gondorian soldier. She gasped and tried to rise. But this man was not dead.
His eyes flickered open, and he breathed heavily.
"Gondor..." he groaned.
"Sir," she stuttered, sitting up and moving away from him. "Forgive me."
His eyes tried to focus on her face, and he saw then that she was not an enemy. No, indeed she was not.
"Falath?" he breathed.
She looked at him in disbelief. "How do you know my name?"
He tried to smile. "That's a strange question."
"It cannot be--" she whispered. "No!"
"Where is Atara?" he asked.
"How come you here? No! No!" she said.
She took the helmet from his head, wiping his dripping hair from his face. He lifted his hand and gently grasped her arm, giving it a slight squeeze. He tried to rise, but fell back choking.
"Firion, oh, no." She laid her forehead against his, and tears came to her eyes.
"Where did you suppose I would be, my sister?"
"Anywhere but fallen to the ground."
He sighed. "Then you did not know our need."
She sat up again, and cradled his face in her hands. "No, I suppose I did not. At least, I did not understand it."
"How could you?" he said softly.
"Oh, Firion! You cannot die; you must not. Atara will be broken; she will fall to pieces."
"Do I look dead, Falath?"
"Don't play with me. I can see when a man is wounded to death."
"Then, will you stay by me till death takes me? I do not like to be left alone."
"Would I leave you? Hard heart! How could you even imagine I would leave you here?"
"I don't know. Today has not been a normal day. Much comes to mind that should not."
She held his hand in hers. The gloom about them was deep and isolating.
"Is this failure, Falath?" he asked after a while.
She looked into his eyes. "Failure? Nay, I think not. Death is never vain when given for others out of love."
"Thank you, sister."
"Shouldn't I be thanking you?" she sighed. "Ah, but how can I? Gondor will, though. Yes, Firion, you will not be forgotten. Your valour will not go unremembered."
After a while she spoke again. "I saw the white rider today, brother."
"Did you?"
"Yes. And the prince Imrahil."
"Is that so? Then you will know the might which they possess and the calm with which they command?"
"No. I cannot know that, for I merely saw them pass by me. Though by the way you talk it sounds as if you have experienced their majesty in battle."
"I have, Falath. And such bravery and courage is not to be lightly mentioned. And the way they give hope to the men! If only you could have seen that, also, Falath. I was, well, I was proud again. I was proud to be a man of Gondor. I was proud to belong to the race of Numenor. In all this blackness, hatred, and cruelty it was hard to feel so. Fear and despair are wicked tools. Yet in the presence of Mithrandir and the prince I was not ashamed to stand and, yes, to even fall for the country I love."
"Good, brother. I am glad for it."
"And I am glad to hear you are so strong. Is this verily Falath? Fragile little Falath, who could not look at a rat without shuddering? Here she sits now among a field of dead, lying in their blood. And she speaks to a wounded man, who is already as good as dead? Is this the Falath I know?"
She smiled as the tears fell from her cheeks.
"When did such a change come over her?"
Firion leaned his head back onto the paving stones, staring into the blackness. "You may leave me now, if you will. I am--I am ready to go now. Alone."
"I will not leave you."
"I would not have you die alongside me needlessly. The forces will be here soon again. And though I need not fear them for myself, I do fear them for your sake. I would have you see the sun again, if I could."
"And the moon, yes? And the stars above, in the clear of midnight? Would you also have me hear the wind playing in the trees, or the Anduin splashing its banks?"
"I would," he said faintly.
"And how do you expect me to ever find joy in these without you by my side?"
"Joy? No, my dear sister. I did not say joy. And I will not try to comfort you or myself with idle conversation, for I know no words which bring comfort to the bereaved. But I would have you live, for life is not to be scorned. Even a life of loss and pain is a full life. For loss and pain at a parting signify the ownership of something worth having, and also something worth remembering. You need not be happy for life to be precious. Life is a gift, as is death. Live, and love living. Please?"
His voice grew thinner with each word, and he breathed will thin, sporadic gasps. As Falath held his hand it grew colder and his face became pallid. His eyes fluttered aimlessly.
"I will try, Firion."
He smiled softly, and again they waited in silence. It was ominous, Falath thought, waiting for a moment of uncertainty. How would it happen? What would she do? Where would he go? When life leaves the body where does the soul flee? To peace? To rest? How could she know?
A song came to her mind and softly she began to hum it. The sweet tune rose and fell among the wreckage. Smoke from one of the many burning buildings wafted in her face and stung her eyes. Salty tears mingled with the ash and smeared against her lips.
Firion looked at her. "Can you sing it?" he whispered.
She squeezed his hand, then faintly began to add the words to the ancient lullaby.
Across the sea there lies a shore
Where silver waves lap evermore;
And there I will at last meet thee
Beyond the quaking, churning sea.
When the bright moon bids its farewell
To rising hill and hidden swell,
Then I will hasten to that land
To hold again your cherished hand.
Now, my dear love, lie down and sleep;
Though the long night be cold and deep
Still wait for me, till in the skies
We meet under the warm sunrise.
Firion gasped suddenly and choked painfully.
"Brother?" asked Falath, trying to help him.
Weakly came his voice, "Wait for the sunrise, Falath."
"But it may be so long a wait! And how will I find the way?"
"No fear," he said softly. "You will know the way. Only--be patient. Wait for--the sunrise."
Falath looked into his eyes, and slowly the light of life faded and vanished. His face relaxed into a gentle smile and did not move again.
She released his hand and then the tears fell thickly. She doubled over on her arms and wept. Falling to her side she tucked her knees to her chest, lost in the torrent of grief.
Soft rain pattered on her neck and splashed on the stones. Lightly it clinked on the metal armor lying scattered over the street. Mists rose from the smoldering city, blurring the darkness with their white clouds. Minas Tirith lay blanketed in a pallid haze. All waited for the morning. All longed for a light to lead them out of their darkness. But none came.