Chapter 13
NEW TITLE (praying that doesn't cause any confusion....)
Again Faramir is being my dah-ling angst bunny with psychological issues that lead him to have absurd flashbacks. I seized the stars vieled line from Legolas just because I think it's a beautiful line. I am fearing I am beginning to repeat myself thus I have stooped to the level of a Mary Sue and am now stealing lines from random characters!
Lauren
* * * * * * *
Eowyn
The sunlight waned and the suffocating ebony velvet of the night, the stars veiled, engulfed all. As the inky night mounted I drifted in and out of consciousness, meandering from the world of the living, straying into a land of dusky oblivion. I heard the echoes of a voice I could not place, startlingly intimate, yet unfamiliar, as if I had heard it once long ago.
ÒThen, Eowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidenÕs fairer still; but neither flower nor lady I have seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful.Ó
I awoke abruptly, my head besieged by the cadence of an incessant, eternal pounding and as if hypnotized, or observing myself from afar, I donned a simple white gown, girt at my thin waist with a simple, unadorned belt of pure silver, now tarnished yet lacking none of itÕs humble elegance. It is beautiful like the plains of the Riddermark are beautiful, breathtaking in their utter simplicity. A mirror was sloping out from the walls, itÕs black frame embellished with delicate, intricate carvings of the White Tree of Gondor. The glass was warped and blanketed in a thin film of dust which I swept away with the cuff of my alabaster sleeve. Then, I beheld myself in the glass, drawing in a sudden breath, deprived for air, choking. My golden tresses hung limp down my back, lacking both luster and shine. My countenance was hauntingly gaunt, my hollow grey eyes betraying no emotion save utter desperation.
ÒSo lovely.... So sorrowful.Ó
Again those utterances, mere words though they were wrought in unsurpassed pity and traces of loving respect, if not true, profound love itself, echoed in my mind.
Love.
Ever had my brother, uncle, and cousin bestowed affection upon me in their gruff, remote manner and I held vague, indistinct memories of my fatherÕs hands, the consistency of leather, tousling my curls ere he was slain by orcs when I was not yet seven years of age. Memories of my mother, as she used to be before my father perished and she spiraled into the oblivion of sheer grief, strong and beautiful, kind and stern. Gazing back in time I find many parallels between her tragic tale and mine as it unfolds.
The breeze stirred and the white walls of Minas Tirith beckoned.
* * * * * * *
Faramir
As I departed from the Houses I spied on the impenetrable walls of the City of the Guard, Minas Arnor in days of old, a lone figure clad entirely in white, fair hair tumbling in the wind. I shaded my eyes from the brilliant light of the rising sun, content merely to behold the White Lady, as pure and impenetrable as the walls upon which she stood. Warily I approached her, relying on my light tread gleaned from years of stealthy ventures in the woods of Ithilien. As I drew closer to her I saw her defiant glare into the East, thin, calloused hands clenched at her sides. I heard the gentle cadence of her shallow breathes and I relished the bittersweet feeling merely that being in her presence brought me. Often when I find myself in her company the moment seizes away my logic and my actions become rash and as unpredictable as the winds themselves. Gently I rested a comforting hand on her slender shoulder, savoring the feeling of the cloth of her dress and the smooth, unmarred skin near her neck under my calloused fingers. Her skin held little warmth, frigid to the touch, like fine watered silk. She flinched slightly at my consoling touch, closing her cloudy grey eyes, a lamentable sigh escaping her throat.
ÒItÕs beautiful, is it not?Ó I said, my voice quiet and subdued.
ÒThe world holds little beauty for me, lord, only anguish, only grief.
The brutal honestly of her poignant reply smote my heart and I was struck silent. An awkward silence loomed between us, my hand still clasping her shoulder.
ÒWould you care to walk in the gardens with me, Eowyn?Ó I asked, marveling still how this captivating, haunting, sorrowful shield maiden could steal my breath away, my very ability to speak. A sensation wondrously terrible like the White Lady herself. My eyes lingered on the green woods of Ithilien and the memory of an ordinary day there, marked by extraordinary contemplation came back to me...
* * * * * * * Flashback
A tumultuous slumber besieged me even in the secret haven of Hennuth Annun and eventually I awoke, the light of the moon wafting through the waterfall, basking my face in its ethereal glow. I pressed my eyes closed, praying the melodic cadence of the waterfall would lull me to sleep. Yet my hopes were in vain and I cast the crude blanket off my body, shivering for despite the fevered climate of Gondor, warmed by winds bearing the tangy aroma of the sea northwards, when the sun fell in Ithilien cold winds were born from the north and when we awoke the grass would be laced with a thin, translucent film of frost. Donning my green cloak, a garment used to shroud me from the ever watching eyes in the East and slipping my bow over my shoulder, departed. For a moment, or an age, I stood before the waterfall, gazing upon the Forbidden Pool below, beautifully contorted by the veil of water. Treading warily on the slick rocks, polished sheer by the poundings of water, I departed from the Window of the Sunset.
In a trance like state I was lured into the wild, traversing along rarely traveled, winding paths in the labyrinth of the twisted undergrowth in Ithilien. Though my venturing out into the perils of the border where audacious and rash I was ever wary, gloved hand resting upon the carved hilt of my sword, a quiver full of arrows on my back, and reflexes gleaned from months in the service of the Steward in hazardous, bewitching woods of Ithilien and hours devoted to swordplay. For how long I walked under the gossamer glow of the the moon in the land of the moon, I do not know. My head was reeling with thoughts and the present flitted away into the past, into history, a new present now upon me, unmarked. The seconds gradually tallied to minutes, the minutes waxing into hours and queer thoughts congested my mind. Never again, I realized, would the world be precisely as it was the blissful night when I was lured from my bed by the beckoning of the stars, stars that bestowed upon me, and cursed me with, profound thoughts that lead me to question all I knew and held true in this world. Thoughts I would scarce permit myself to brood upon, thoughts, if expressed, my father would scorn, my brother would feign interest in, staring into the fire, his worn fingers never idle. Young, I was then, probably not one and twenty, I deem though my memory fails me, yet a brutal realization dawned upon me. Savagely, bitterly honest. I, my mind contorted by the rants of my father, piercing words I eventually accepted rather than striving to comprehend his malignant love towards me, become cognizant of something, something that when I openly admitted it to myself stung like a poison saturated orc arrow. I wondered if anyone in this forsaken world truly valued my presence, anyone who would attentively listen to my fatuously deep contemplation, anyone to whom I could candidly pour my heart out to without reserve. It was these thoughts singing their wretched, poignant melody in my weary head that tranquilized me into a serene slumber under the boughs of a tree in the treacherous beauty of Ithilien, prey to anyone who chanced upon me. Yet, the graces of the Valor shone upon me that night, and I awoke physically unscathed and possessing a resignation of my berth in the world, forever to be unaltered. The second, lesser son of the Steward of Gondor. Nothing more and nothing less.
* * * * * * *
ÒYes. I would care to,Ó Eowyn replied, staring up at the wan smile that played on my lips, the odd bittersweet expression on my countenance, in wonder.
My gaze lingered to her standing before me and a sensation I have long attempted to relay through poetic words or simple, stark dialogue engulfed me. A completeness.
Her utterances, meant only as an answer to my query, were to me as if they were wrought in the finest glass, or even the mithril IÕve heard of in legends. They were an acceptance, even of the most minute nature but a ray of hope to me.
* * * * * * *
A/N:I have been reading some terrific fanfiction lately which only suceedes in making me feel like some senseless little girl in possesion of internet acess, Lord of the Rings, a large vocabulary, and a Faramir obsession but an astounding lack of talent and no knowledge of the uses of a little thing called a comma. Perhaps I shouldn't be so hard on myself but one can hardly feel adequate reading some of the breathtaking pieces on this website. It makes me just want to fully succumb to my writer's block and curl up in bed and do nothing for days at a time. But I muddle on through this pathetic attempt at a fanfiction. I'm not self pitying here, just losing what was left of my fragile sanity as this piece flounders... I'm not going to entirely forsake writing, as I'm young yet and lack experience. No doubt I'll be over this in a few weeks and throwing myself headlong into other piece. I am feeling quite like a whining child at the moment so feel free to ignore my little self centeredness and self pity. Maybe I'm just on of those people that can not for the life of me take compliments and seek to find fault in whatever they do. I am very cynical, never happy with anything I do... I shall continue with this though!
On a somewhat lighter note: Hugs and kisses to every single one of my reviews. You guys seem to be the only ones who believe in me even after I've given up hope. And if you are reading this but inveterately don't review... STOP NOW and press that little button down at the bottom of the page. I'll be forever in your debt.
lauren: going through major mood swings/ personality changes at the moment!
NEW TITLE (praying that doesn't cause any confusion....)
Again Faramir is being my dah-ling angst bunny with psychological issues that lead him to have absurd flashbacks. I seized the stars vieled line from Legolas just because I think it's a beautiful line. I am fearing I am beginning to repeat myself thus I have stooped to the level of a Mary Sue and am now stealing lines from random characters!
Lauren
* * * * * * *
Eowyn
The sunlight waned and the suffocating ebony velvet of the night, the stars veiled, engulfed all. As the inky night mounted I drifted in and out of consciousness, meandering from the world of the living, straying into a land of dusky oblivion. I heard the echoes of a voice I could not place, startlingly intimate, yet unfamiliar, as if I had heard it once long ago.
ÒThen, Eowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidenÕs fairer still; but neither flower nor lady I have seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful.Ó
I awoke abruptly, my head besieged by the cadence of an incessant, eternal pounding and as if hypnotized, or observing myself from afar, I donned a simple white gown, girt at my thin waist with a simple, unadorned belt of pure silver, now tarnished yet lacking none of itÕs humble elegance. It is beautiful like the plains of the Riddermark are beautiful, breathtaking in their utter simplicity. A mirror was sloping out from the walls, itÕs black frame embellished with delicate, intricate carvings of the White Tree of Gondor. The glass was warped and blanketed in a thin film of dust which I swept away with the cuff of my alabaster sleeve. Then, I beheld myself in the glass, drawing in a sudden breath, deprived for air, choking. My golden tresses hung limp down my back, lacking both luster and shine. My countenance was hauntingly gaunt, my hollow grey eyes betraying no emotion save utter desperation.
ÒSo lovely.... So sorrowful.Ó
Again those utterances, mere words though they were wrought in unsurpassed pity and traces of loving respect, if not true, profound love itself, echoed in my mind.
Love.
Ever had my brother, uncle, and cousin bestowed affection upon me in their gruff, remote manner and I held vague, indistinct memories of my fatherÕs hands, the consistency of leather, tousling my curls ere he was slain by orcs when I was not yet seven years of age. Memories of my mother, as she used to be before my father perished and she spiraled into the oblivion of sheer grief, strong and beautiful, kind and stern. Gazing back in time I find many parallels between her tragic tale and mine as it unfolds.
The breeze stirred and the white walls of Minas Tirith beckoned.
* * * * * * *
Faramir
As I departed from the Houses I spied on the impenetrable walls of the City of the Guard, Minas Arnor in days of old, a lone figure clad entirely in white, fair hair tumbling in the wind. I shaded my eyes from the brilliant light of the rising sun, content merely to behold the White Lady, as pure and impenetrable as the walls upon which she stood. Warily I approached her, relying on my light tread gleaned from years of stealthy ventures in the woods of Ithilien. As I drew closer to her I saw her defiant glare into the East, thin, calloused hands clenched at her sides. I heard the gentle cadence of her shallow breathes and I relished the bittersweet feeling merely that being in her presence brought me. Often when I find myself in her company the moment seizes away my logic and my actions become rash and as unpredictable as the winds themselves. Gently I rested a comforting hand on her slender shoulder, savoring the feeling of the cloth of her dress and the smooth, unmarred skin near her neck under my calloused fingers. Her skin held little warmth, frigid to the touch, like fine watered silk. She flinched slightly at my consoling touch, closing her cloudy grey eyes, a lamentable sigh escaping her throat.
ÒItÕs beautiful, is it not?Ó I said, my voice quiet and subdued.
ÒThe world holds little beauty for me, lord, only anguish, only grief.
The brutal honestly of her poignant reply smote my heart and I was struck silent. An awkward silence loomed between us, my hand still clasping her shoulder.
ÒWould you care to walk in the gardens with me, Eowyn?Ó I asked, marveling still how this captivating, haunting, sorrowful shield maiden could steal my breath away, my very ability to speak. A sensation wondrously terrible like the White Lady herself. My eyes lingered on the green woods of Ithilien and the memory of an ordinary day there, marked by extraordinary contemplation came back to me...
* * * * * * * Flashback
A tumultuous slumber besieged me even in the secret haven of Hennuth Annun and eventually I awoke, the light of the moon wafting through the waterfall, basking my face in its ethereal glow. I pressed my eyes closed, praying the melodic cadence of the waterfall would lull me to sleep. Yet my hopes were in vain and I cast the crude blanket off my body, shivering for despite the fevered climate of Gondor, warmed by winds bearing the tangy aroma of the sea northwards, when the sun fell in Ithilien cold winds were born from the north and when we awoke the grass would be laced with a thin, translucent film of frost. Donning my green cloak, a garment used to shroud me from the ever watching eyes in the East and slipping my bow over my shoulder, departed. For a moment, or an age, I stood before the waterfall, gazing upon the Forbidden Pool below, beautifully contorted by the veil of water. Treading warily on the slick rocks, polished sheer by the poundings of water, I departed from the Window of the Sunset.
In a trance like state I was lured into the wild, traversing along rarely traveled, winding paths in the labyrinth of the twisted undergrowth in Ithilien. Though my venturing out into the perils of the border where audacious and rash I was ever wary, gloved hand resting upon the carved hilt of my sword, a quiver full of arrows on my back, and reflexes gleaned from months in the service of the Steward in hazardous, bewitching woods of Ithilien and hours devoted to swordplay. For how long I walked under the gossamer glow of the the moon in the land of the moon, I do not know. My head was reeling with thoughts and the present flitted away into the past, into history, a new present now upon me, unmarked. The seconds gradually tallied to minutes, the minutes waxing into hours and queer thoughts congested my mind. Never again, I realized, would the world be precisely as it was the blissful night when I was lured from my bed by the beckoning of the stars, stars that bestowed upon me, and cursed me with, profound thoughts that lead me to question all I knew and held true in this world. Thoughts I would scarce permit myself to brood upon, thoughts, if expressed, my father would scorn, my brother would feign interest in, staring into the fire, his worn fingers never idle. Young, I was then, probably not one and twenty, I deem though my memory fails me, yet a brutal realization dawned upon me. Savagely, bitterly honest. I, my mind contorted by the rants of my father, piercing words I eventually accepted rather than striving to comprehend his malignant love towards me, become cognizant of something, something that when I openly admitted it to myself stung like a poison saturated orc arrow. I wondered if anyone in this forsaken world truly valued my presence, anyone who would attentively listen to my fatuously deep contemplation, anyone to whom I could candidly pour my heart out to without reserve. It was these thoughts singing their wretched, poignant melody in my weary head that tranquilized me into a serene slumber under the boughs of a tree in the treacherous beauty of Ithilien, prey to anyone who chanced upon me. Yet, the graces of the Valor shone upon me that night, and I awoke physically unscathed and possessing a resignation of my berth in the world, forever to be unaltered. The second, lesser son of the Steward of Gondor. Nothing more and nothing less.
* * * * * * *
ÒYes. I would care to,Ó Eowyn replied, staring up at the wan smile that played on my lips, the odd bittersweet expression on my countenance, in wonder.
My gaze lingered to her standing before me and a sensation I have long attempted to relay through poetic words or simple, stark dialogue engulfed me. A completeness.
Her utterances, meant only as an answer to my query, were to me as if they were wrought in the finest glass, or even the mithril IÕve heard of in legends. They were an acceptance, even of the most minute nature but a ray of hope to me.
* * * * * * *
A/N:I have been reading some terrific fanfiction lately which only suceedes in making me feel like some senseless little girl in possesion of internet acess, Lord of the Rings, a large vocabulary, and a Faramir obsession but an astounding lack of talent and no knowledge of the uses of a little thing called a comma. Perhaps I shouldn't be so hard on myself but one can hardly feel adequate reading some of the breathtaking pieces on this website. It makes me just want to fully succumb to my writer's block and curl up in bed and do nothing for days at a time. But I muddle on through this pathetic attempt at a fanfiction. I'm not self pitying here, just losing what was left of my fragile sanity as this piece flounders... I'm not going to entirely forsake writing, as I'm young yet and lack experience. No doubt I'll be over this in a few weeks and throwing myself headlong into other piece. I am feeling quite like a whining child at the moment so feel free to ignore my little self centeredness and self pity. Maybe I'm just on of those people that can not for the life of me take compliments and seek to find fault in whatever they do. I am very cynical, never happy with anything I do... I shall continue with this though!
On a somewhat lighter note: Hugs and kisses to every single one of my reviews. You guys seem to be the only ones who believe in me even after I've given up hope. And if you are reading this but inveterately don't review... STOP NOW and press that little button down at the bottom of the page. I'll be forever in your debt.
lauren: going through major mood swings/ personality changes at the moment!