Chapter 12 I'm back! (and thrilled to be so!) The 15 day hiatus for this story is over and I could not be more estatic. Another odd chapter in which I become oddly profound.
In a side note: I am in desperate need of a Beta reader. My usual Beta reader (and co-author for upcoming pieces and dah-ling friend) Oliver posses a strong dislike of all things E/F and fluffy thus.... Well, in other words I need a Beta so review if anyone cares to take the task. I would send baked good but I almost food poisined my science teacher at one point so.....
read and review and I'll gladly return the favor!
Lauren
* * * * * * *
Faramir
For long hours I traversed the garden paths with the halfling, at times idle chatter passing between us, often blissful silences as we both withdrew into our own thought. Often I would look for her, praying to glimpse her standing utterly alone and forsaken in the far reaches of the winding labyrinth of paths in the garden, for them perhaps I could aid her. Yet she did not come.
* * * * * * *
Eowyn
I detest laying in sloth for it is when I am idle that memories, unbidden, tragic, and emotionally excruciating engulf me. Memories of a time I believed I had forgotten, memories I futilely tried to leave behind when I rode away from the gently swaying, dried grasses of the Mark. After years of being numb and strong, nights of bitter anguish as I waged a mental battle against the feelings gnawing at me, days of remaining untouchable and aloof, I felt and it Ôtwas a painfully beautiful. I lie upon the twisted sheets of my bed in the Houses feeling raw emotions, at times merely boring a perforation in the ceiling with by penetrating stare, at times weeping uncontrollably as I experiences overwhelming emotions that were too profound for me to bear. Grief. Anguish. Bittersweet joy. Love. Vulnerability. Eventually sleep bore me away to a realm of days long past. Days swept away with the winds that ravaged the desolate plains of the Mark. Risings and settings of the sun and the hours in between. Memories....
* * * * * * *
I fiercely bit my lip, feeling the hand of my uncle resting on my bony shoulder as he fervently attempted to reach me,to solace me. Yet it was in vain. We watched from a distance as Eomer stood at the foot of the fresh mound, laced in the pure white blossoms of symbelmyne and openly wept. All the others mourners had long since departed, returning to the city to consume the customary funeral ale, to forget even the reason why they were draining goblets of mead. We, however, lacked that luxury and by the barrow of my mother we stood, the harsh wind beating at our immobile figures. For how long we remained motionless, eternally, it seemed in my young, naive mind, I do not know.
My uncle, the kingÕs love for my mother was unsurpassable but even he could do nothing as she transcended to death, spiraling down into oblivion. I observed him that somber, grief stricken day, regal and kindly, and for the first time I glimpsed the strain of old age, of days of perpetual councils, and worries for all in the dead of the night.
Eventually the sun sank below the lofty peaks of Ered Nimrais and my uncle bid Theodred to approach my brother, whoÕs knees had given way beneath both the weight of his body and the grief he bore. His head was bowed, tangled and matted golden locks shrouding his face and his shoulders were racked with sobs. Theodred knelt beside him, muttering utterances I could not harken to and Eomer rose on quaking knees and his gaze lingered on me, brown orbs rimmed in crimson, veins vivid in the whites of his eyes, so sharply contrasting to the pitch of his pupils and irises. Running from his eyes to his cheeks, then unaltered by the approach of manhood, then smooth, were lines where salty tears had carried away the grim that was constantly embedded on his face. His look was that of bitter determination, the look of one whose years of innocence had been pilfered and seized. No longer did he cry, merely clasped my hand in his, raw and calloused from weeks of swordplay training, trained I was permitted to take part in, though at times he and Theodred would pass their few idle hours teaching me to parry and counter. His childhood was spent, that he knew, and he was unceremoniously thrown in the torment of manhood and the duties that accompanied it.
He would never cease to internally mourn for our deceased parents and often I would glimpse him, a minuscule finger on the horizon, standing before the barrows of our parents, listlessly murmuring to them.
One sunrise, as the shadow of both Mordor and Isengard waxed and basked the land in umbra, I encountered him standing lone in the plain and approached him, at first watching from afar, transfixed.
ÒI do not doubt that not a day passes without you diligently abiding over us, loving us from afar so it is indisputable that you know of what besieges my sister,Ó he murmured.
My breath caught up in my throat and the sensation that I was intruding his solitary, poignant moment was soon forgotten as a curious dread engulfed me.
ÒShe never permitted herself to grieve in the wake of your passing. Those oppressed feelings have wrought a remotely cold young woman, beautiful, immaculate yet harsh and distant,Ó he said, his deep baritone deteriorating into a gruff whisper. ÒEven I can not reach her, though I ardently attempt to do so. The love of myself, Theodred, and Uncle is not sufficient. She needs someone to love her, not as kin, someone to fracture the impermeable emotional wall she has constructed around herself. Until then she is almost incapable of loving, truly loving,Ó his voice faltered and disintegrated and sensing my presence would no longer be unknown to him I fled back to Edoras, brushing past Theodred, locking myself in my chambers.
I then realized not all the bars I paced back and forth, to and fro and behind, not all the cages were spawn from others. Some were indeed of my own creation, emotional bars, sheer, seamless bars I could not rupture without assistance. Once I though the Lord Aragorn would sunder these constricting bars but my notions were amiss. By the time this become brutally apparent to me it was far too late to reclaim my heart, the heart which I had so candidly and abruptly granted to him.
Perhaps Eomer was correct. Perhaps I am incompetent of loving, incapable of recognizing love, unable to receive love, and unapt to return love in the same capacity.
Was I damned to be forever solitary and remote? And all was of my own doing.
* * * * * * *
And thus I remembered until I possessed no more tears to shed, no more memories to confront and was forced to face the present. And my future, if there was one at all.
Some replies.....
Spider-bear: I'm trying not to let everyone down. Honestly I don't know. My writing has it's ups and it's downs. It controls me more than I control it. That is, I suppose, why the time between updates very. I can force myself to write, my muse forces me. I too want to see some romance!
Baccus Cremaeus: I'm glad you liked the Boromir part because frankly I wasn't entirely pleased with it. The writing sufficed but I honestly thought he was rather ooc....
monaco: This break in writing this was almost the death of me. Thank Eru for chocolate browning frappichinos, insane friends, and caffine highs! I'm estatic you like that flashback because later when I read it it just irked me......
Spirit of Dawn: You haven't the slightest idea how much your review has plauged me. I began to doubt how I percieve Faramir and that was dangerous. When writing parts of the writer's personality traits often show up in characters, on in the case of fanfiction, how you charecterize other people's characters. I am highly emotional and so is my writing so that would explain my take on Faramir.
Chicki45: Been there, done that, and ended up laying in a snow encrusted alley on a major caffine high.
Everyone else: I love you all!!!!! You guys keep me alive and writing! (but not sane as it is far too late for that!)
lauren
In a side note: I am in desperate need of a Beta reader. My usual Beta reader (and co-author for upcoming pieces and dah-ling friend) Oliver posses a strong dislike of all things E/F and fluffy thus.... Well, in other words I need a Beta so review if anyone cares to take the task. I would send baked good but I almost food poisined my science teacher at one point so.....
read and review and I'll gladly return the favor!
Lauren
* * * * * * *
Faramir
For long hours I traversed the garden paths with the halfling, at times idle chatter passing between us, often blissful silences as we both withdrew into our own thought. Often I would look for her, praying to glimpse her standing utterly alone and forsaken in the far reaches of the winding labyrinth of paths in the garden, for them perhaps I could aid her. Yet she did not come.
* * * * * * *
Eowyn
I detest laying in sloth for it is when I am idle that memories, unbidden, tragic, and emotionally excruciating engulf me. Memories of a time I believed I had forgotten, memories I futilely tried to leave behind when I rode away from the gently swaying, dried grasses of the Mark. After years of being numb and strong, nights of bitter anguish as I waged a mental battle against the feelings gnawing at me, days of remaining untouchable and aloof, I felt and it Ôtwas a painfully beautiful. I lie upon the twisted sheets of my bed in the Houses feeling raw emotions, at times merely boring a perforation in the ceiling with by penetrating stare, at times weeping uncontrollably as I experiences overwhelming emotions that were too profound for me to bear. Grief. Anguish. Bittersweet joy. Love. Vulnerability. Eventually sleep bore me away to a realm of days long past. Days swept away with the winds that ravaged the desolate plains of the Mark. Risings and settings of the sun and the hours in between. Memories....
* * * * * * *
I fiercely bit my lip, feeling the hand of my uncle resting on my bony shoulder as he fervently attempted to reach me,to solace me. Yet it was in vain. We watched from a distance as Eomer stood at the foot of the fresh mound, laced in the pure white blossoms of symbelmyne and openly wept. All the others mourners had long since departed, returning to the city to consume the customary funeral ale, to forget even the reason why they were draining goblets of mead. We, however, lacked that luxury and by the barrow of my mother we stood, the harsh wind beating at our immobile figures. For how long we remained motionless, eternally, it seemed in my young, naive mind, I do not know.
My uncle, the kingÕs love for my mother was unsurpassable but even he could do nothing as she transcended to death, spiraling down into oblivion. I observed him that somber, grief stricken day, regal and kindly, and for the first time I glimpsed the strain of old age, of days of perpetual councils, and worries for all in the dead of the night.
Eventually the sun sank below the lofty peaks of Ered Nimrais and my uncle bid Theodred to approach my brother, whoÕs knees had given way beneath both the weight of his body and the grief he bore. His head was bowed, tangled and matted golden locks shrouding his face and his shoulders were racked with sobs. Theodred knelt beside him, muttering utterances I could not harken to and Eomer rose on quaking knees and his gaze lingered on me, brown orbs rimmed in crimson, veins vivid in the whites of his eyes, so sharply contrasting to the pitch of his pupils and irises. Running from his eyes to his cheeks, then unaltered by the approach of manhood, then smooth, were lines where salty tears had carried away the grim that was constantly embedded on his face. His look was that of bitter determination, the look of one whose years of innocence had been pilfered and seized. No longer did he cry, merely clasped my hand in his, raw and calloused from weeks of swordplay training, trained I was permitted to take part in, though at times he and Theodred would pass their few idle hours teaching me to parry and counter. His childhood was spent, that he knew, and he was unceremoniously thrown in the torment of manhood and the duties that accompanied it.
He would never cease to internally mourn for our deceased parents and often I would glimpse him, a minuscule finger on the horizon, standing before the barrows of our parents, listlessly murmuring to them.
One sunrise, as the shadow of both Mordor and Isengard waxed and basked the land in umbra, I encountered him standing lone in the plain and approached him, at first watching from afar, transfixed.
ÒI do not doubt that not a day passes without you diligently abiding over us, loving us from afar so it is indisputable that you know of what besieges my sister,Ó he murmured.
My breath caught up in my throat and the sensation that I was intruding his solitary, poignant moment was soon forgotten as a curious dread engulfed me.
ÒShe never permitted herself to grieve in the wake of your passing. Those oppressed feelings have wrought a remotely cold young woman, beautiful, immaculate yet harsh and distant,Ó he said, his deep baritone deteriorating into a gruff whisper. ÒEven I can not reach her, though I ardently attempt to do so. The love of myself, Theodred, and Uncle is not sufficient. She needs someone to love her, not as kin, someone to fracture the impermeable emotional wall she has constructed around herself. Until then she is almost incapable of loving, truly loving,Ó his voice faltered and disintegrated and sensing my presence would no longer be unknown to him I fled back to Edoras, brushing past Theodred, locking myself in my chambers.
I then realized not all the bars I paced back and forth, to and fro and behind, not all the cages were spawn from others. Some were indeed of my own creation, emotional bars, sheer, seamless bars I could not rupture without assistance. Once I though the Lord Aragorn would sunder these constricting bars but my notions were amiss. By the time this become brutally apparent to me it was far too late to reclaim my heart, the heart which I had so candidly and abruptly granted to him.
Perhaps Eomer was correct. Perhaps I am incompetent of loving, incapable of recognizing love, unable to receive love, and unapt to return love in the same capacity.
Was I damned to be forever solitary and remote? And all was of my own doing.
* * * * * * *
And thus I remembered until I possessed no more tears to shed, no more memories to confront and was forced to face the present. And my future, if there was one at all.
Some replies.....
Spider-bear: I'm trying not to let everyone down. Honestly I don't know. My writing has it's ups and it's downs. It controls me more than I control it. That is, I suppose, why the time between updates very. I can force myself to write, my muse forces me. I too want to see some romance!
Baccus Cremaeus: I'm glad you liked the Boromir part because frankly I wasn't entirely pleased with it. The writing sufficed but I honestly thought he was rather ooc....
monaco: This break in writing this was almost the death of me. Thank Eru for chocolate browning frappichinos, insane friends, and caffine highs! I'm estatic you like that flashback because later when I read it it just irked me......
Spirit of Dawn: You haven't the slightest idea how much your review has plauged me. I began to doubt how I percieve Faramir and that was dangerous. When writing parts of the writer's personality traits often show up in characters, on in the case of fanfiction, how you charecterize other people's characters. I am highly emotional and so is my writing so that would explain my take on Faramir.
Chicki45: Been there, done that, and ended up laying in a snow encrusted alley on a major caffine high.
Everyone else: I love you all!!!!! You guys keep me alive and writing! (but not sane as it is far too late for that!)
lauren