Chapter 4
Initially this author's note said something quite diverse from what I know believe, a something so ghastly I shall not even repeat it. I'll merely say that David Wenham is incredibly good looking!
Author's note: Hell-o once again. Still I press onward with more not sao subtle foreshadowing. These chapters are relativly short and you may question why it takes me so long to put these up. For one, I am lazy but then again isn't that what makes me write fanfiction? To avoid my homework, of course! Actually I have been quite busy sorting through a metric ton of rotton grapefruit for thr band fruit sale and dancing around with a pinapple of my head (from the band sale but the dancing was not part of such)
Lauren
read 'n review
Eowyn
They left the ere yesterday, the Captains, of Gondor, of Rohan , and of Dol Amroth. With them was the high and puissant Lord Aragorn and my brother, Eomer King. They are few, not numbering more than seven thousand, hardly enough to waylay the next assault on Minas Tirith let alone overthrow the Dark Lord in his own fastness. They can not possibly be seeking victory in all their folly, none mortal or immortal can escape their fatuous assault on Mordor alive. They shall be crushed by the sea of orcs issued from the Black Gate, none shall be able to flee. I perceive that they know this and their intent is to be overwhelmed by all the strength in the Black Land. For what purpose save valor beyond all else though their deeds shall go unknown at the end of the world I do not know. But that seems to be enough.
And I wish I too was riding to death and prowess not lying idle and in sloth until darkness is cast over all.
Too long have I been caged, trammeled, ensnared by duty and the sexist views of all. In my desperation I rode into battle, forsaking all, aspiring for death and renown. I may have achieved renown but death was out of my grasp and again I am forced to succumb to lying and waiting.
I am restless, ill at ease so I called to those laboriously tending to me to bring me my raiment and bind my shield arm with linen so I could venture out of my confining hutch. I went to grovel and beg my freedom from the Warden of the House of Healing for that is what I must resort to. What else could I do?
"Sir," I said. "I am in great unrest, and I cannot lie longer in sloth."
"Lady," he pleaded, "you are not yet healed, and I was commanded to tend you with especial care. You should not have risen from your bed for seven days yet, or so i was bidden. I beg you to go back."
"I healed, healed at least in save my left arm and that is at ease," I stated, fighting bitterly against the walls of my bower. "But I shall be sick anew, if there is naught I can do," I conveyed, gazing up at the stern face of the Warden, seeking some question in his bearing, desperately hunting to break his will. Perceiving this was not so I audibly sighed, turning away, looking to the east as if my eyes could perceive the umbra looming over all. "Are there no tidings of war?" I muttered, almost inquiring myself. "The women can tell me nothing," I said, veering around to face the Warden once again.
"There are no tidings, save that the Lords have ridden to Morgul Vale; and the men say that the new captain out of the North is their chief," he told me.
"Aragorn," I breathed, casting my grey eyes to the ground to hide my emotion at my healer's name.
"Of whom to you speak, fair lady?" the Warden gently asked for he intuited that it was a subject I did not wish to bring up, could not bring up. Not yet while the memory of my unrequited love for him is still new, the scars of battle still fresh. Nay, it will be countless years until his face and the anguish it caused me fade from my memory even if he fails to return from the east.
"My lady,? he questioned again.
"It is not always good to be healed in body. Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark I would choose the latter," I confessed, and my words greatly troubled the Warden, I sensed. Once again I stared out into the east and could have remained there for ever and anon until he came riding out of the shadows until an idea breached my contemplation. "Who commands in this City? Is there no deed to do?" I asked, awakening from my trance.
"I do not rightly know," he stuttered. "Such things are not in my care. There is a marshall over the Riders of Rohan; and the Lord Hurin ,I am told, commands the men of Gondor. But the Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City."
"Where can I find him?" I solicited anxiously.
"In this house, lady. He was sorely hurt, but is now set again on the way to health. But I do not know..."
"Will you not bring me to him? The you will know," I demanded, my impatience and fury overcoming me.
With a curt nod the Warden agreed to my proposal and turned on his heel, striding down the marble hall, motioning for me to follow him. I came, my head and heart full of thoughts of Lord Aragorn. Would possibly could Eomer mean by another? I can not image a time when my heart yearned for another besides the grey cloaked Ranger from the North. Yet if will not love me what shall become of me?
I was basked in sunlight as I had not felt in countless days but it did little save warm my skin as we stepped through a stone arch entering the majestic gardens of the House of Healing, an oasis in this harsh stone city. In a far corner, in a grove of weeping willows, his back turned to us stood a tall, lean man.
"My lord," the Steward cried out, treading across the dew lacerated grass. "Lord Faramir!"
Abruptly the man whirled around at the mention of his name and for the first time I beheld Faramir, Steward of the City of Minas Tirith.
For a reason I could not explain my pummeling heart rose up in my throat and though I was cured in body fatigue overwhelmed me when he met my gaze with his profound, piercing gaze. Deep were his orbs, the color of the sea licking away at the shore, I deem. His hair was pure raven, an immaculate, unmarred ebony and in his bearing I sensed an aura of nobility less distant and remote than Lord Aragorn's and also less regal yet he seemed touched with wisdom beyond his years, which though more than mine could not be many. I could not endure his stare for long, feeling he fathomed that which I keep locked away in the deepest confines of my soul. When I dared to glance up, positive his penetrating gaze was no longer aimed my way I saw great worry and anguish etched on his face but also I beheld immense pity... for me. Again he turned towards me, with an inquisitive stare but also a stare filled with mercy, wisdom and I swear I saw traces, just threads of a growing love...
For me.
Initially this author's note said something quite diverse from what I know believe, a something so ghastly I shall not even repeat it. I'll merely say that David Wenham is incredibly good looking!
Author's note: Hell-o once again. Still I press onward with more not sao subtle foreshadowing. These chapters are relativly short and you may question why it takes me so long to put these up. For one, I am lazy but then again isn't that what makes me write fanfiction? To avoid my homework, of course! Actually I have been quite busy sorting through a metric ton of rotton grapefruit for thr band fruit sale and dancing around with a pinapple of my head (from the band sale but the dancing was not part of such)
Lauren
read 'n review
Eowyn
They left the ere yesterday, the Captains, of Gondor, of Rohan , and of Dol Amroth. With them was the high and puissant Lord Aragorn and my brother, Eomer King. They are few, not numbering more than seven thousand, hardly enough to waylay the next assault on Minas Tirith let alone overthrow the Dark Lord in his own fastness. They can not possibly be seeking victory in all their folly, none mortal or immortal can escape their fatuous assault on Mordor alive. They shall be crushed by the sea of orcs issued from the Black Gate, none shall be able to flee. I perceive that they know this and their intent is to be overwhelmed by all the strength in the Black Land. For what purpose save valor beyond all else though their deeds shall go unknown at the end of the world I do not know. But that seems to be enough.
And I wish I too was riding to death and prowess not lying idle and in sloth until darkness is cast over all.
Too long have I been caged, trammeled, ensnared by duty and the sexist views of all. In my desperation I rode into battle, forsaking all, aspiring for death and renown. I may have achieved renown but death was out of my grasp and again I am forced to succumb to lying and waiting.
I am restless, ill at ease so I called to those laboriously tending to me to bring me my raiment and bind my shield arm with linen so I could venture out of my confining hutch. I went to grovel and beg my freedom from the Warden of the House of Healing for that is what I must resort to. What else could I do?
"Sir," I said. "I am in great unrest, and I cannot lie longer in sloth."
"Lady," he pleaded, "you are not yet healed, and I was commanded to tend you with especial care. You should not have risen from your bed for seven days yet, or so i was bidden. I beg you to go back."
"I healed, healed at least in save my left arm and that is at ease," I stated, fighting bitterly against the walls of my bower. "But I shall be sick anew, if there is naught I can do," I conveyed, gazing up at the stern face of the Warden, seeking some question in his bearing, desperately hunting to break his will. Perceiving this was not so I audibly sighed, turning away, looking to the east as if my eyes could perceive the umbra looming over all. "Are there no tidings of war?" I muttered, almost inquiring myself. "The women can tell me nothing," I said, veering around to face the Warden once again.
"There are no tidings, save that the Lords have ridden to Morgul Vale; and the men say that the new captain out of the North is their chief," he told me.
"Aragorn," I breathed, casting my grey eyes to the ground to hide my emotion at my healer's name.
"Of whom to you speak, fair lady?" the Warden gently asked for he intuited that it was a subject I did not wish to bring up, could not bring up. Not yet while the memory of my unrequited love for him is still new, the scars of battle still fresh. Nay, it will be countless years until his face and the anguish it caused me fade from my memory even if he fails to return from the east.
"My lady,? he questioned again.
"It is not always good to be healed in body. Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark I would choose the latter," I confessed, and my words greatly troubled the Warden, I sensed. Once again I stared out into the east and could have remained there for ever and anon until he came riding out of the shadows until an idea breached my contemplation. "Who commands in this City? Is there no deed to do?" I asked, awakening from my trance.
"I do not rightly know," he stuttered. "Such things are not in my care. There is a marshall over the Riders of Rohan; and the Lord Hurin ,I am told, commands the men of Gondor. But the Lord Faramir is by right the Steward of the City."
"Where can I find him?" I solicited anxiously.
"In this house, lady. He was sorely hurt, but is now set again on the way to health. But I do not know..."
"Will you not bring me to him? The you will know," I demanded, my impatience and fury overcoming me.
With a curt nod the Warden agreed to my proposal and turned on his heel, striding down the marble hall, motioning for me to follow him. I came, my head and heart full of thoughts of Lord Aragorn. Would possibly could Eomer mean by another? I can not image a time when my heart yearned for another besides the grey cloaked Ranger from the North. Yet if will not love me what shall become of me?
I was basked in sunlight as I had not felt in countless days but it did little save warm my skin as we stepped through a stone arch entering the majestic gardens of the House of Healing, an oasis in this harsh stone city. In a far corner, in a grove of weeping willows, his back turned to us stood a tall, lean man.
"My lord," the Steward cried out, treading across the dew lacerated grass. "Lord Faramir!"
Abruptly the man whirled around at the mention of his name and for the first time I beheld Faramir, Steward of the City of Minas Tirith.
For a reason I could not explain my pummeling heart rose up in my throat and though I was cured in body fatigue overwhelmed me when he met my gaze with his profound, piercing gaze. Deep were his orbs, the color of the sea licking away at the shore, I deem. His hair was pure raven, an immaculate, unmarred ebony and in his bearing I sensed an aura of nobility less distant and remote than Lord Aragorn's and also less regal yet he seemed touched with wisdom beyond his years, which though more than mine could not be many. I could not endure his stare for long, feeling he fathomed that which I keep locked away in the deepest confines of my soul. When I dared to glance up, positive his penetrating gaze was no longer aimed my way I saw great worry and anguish etched on his face but also I beheld immense pity... for me. Again he turned towards me, with an inquisitive stare but also a stare filled with mercy, wisdom and I swear I saw traces, just threads of a growing love...
For me.