Chapter Summary: Silmarien tries to be a lady, and fails miserably. Faramir offers her comfort.
Shout outs:
Terreis – Wow, you're quoting my story. I'm so honored! I'm glad you liked it. There are a few unexpected twists, but Silmarien's not going to be all "give me what I want when I want it".
Cranberry – If you understand what I'm saying, why should I make myself clearer? If a reader can't understand Tolkien, obviously, they shouldn't be reading fan fiction on his work.
Roisin Dubh – Yes, I like sensible better. I realize that Aerwyn was a bit of a Mary-Sue...ok, she was A LOT like a Mary-Sue. I promise it won't happen again! And there won't be bitterness. At least, not between Barahir and Silmarien.
Electric Fire – Yay! A new reader! I'm so thrilled you like this story. Your reviews are fun to read.
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The day was unusually bright and clear though a little chilly. In the midmorning, Silmarien and Lothiriel walked in the gardens, their cloaks wrapped around them for warmth. The cousins spoke about many things that had happened since they had last seen each other, which had been nigh three years. Silmarien had gotten a little taller; Lothiriel had gotten much prettier and more grown-up.
A sudden gust of wind blew at them and Silmarien shivered, drawing her cloak closer to her form. Lothiriel looked a little more disheveled, clutching at one of her ornate braids. Gasping in dismay, she watched the ribbon that held it float away on the wind.
"Silmarien, catch it!" she cried out, chasing after the blue ribbon. Her Gondorian cousin immediately leapt after it, being the faster runner. The wind had carried it high above their heads, and all they could do was watch it as it became tangled in a tree in the garden.
Scowling up at the renegade ribbon, Silmarien stood beneath the tree. Turning to Lothiriel, she tried to be cheerful. "We are fortunate that the wind did not take it to a lower level of the city," she said.
"Cannot we ask a guard to climb up and get it for us?" her distraught cousin asked, clutching the braid between her long fingers to keep it from unraveling.
"I would think that a guard has better things to do than climb trees for hair ribbons, Lothiriel," Silmarien returned, frowning. Casting glances around the garden, she got an idea.
"Keep watch for me, cousin," she said in a softer tone. "I will climb into the tree and get it for you."
"Oh, Mari, be careful! It is a very tall tree!" Lothiriel begged. Her cousin had told her of the promise she had made to herself to be more ladylike. She was sure Silmarien had every intention of keeping the promise, but this was an especial case. If no one caught her in the tree, and no one was told about it, then no one would be the wiser.
"Give me a hand up, would you?" Silmarien said, having planned how she would get to the ribbon. Quickly, Lothiriel put her hands together and boosted her cousin up to the first branch.
Silmarien was not dressed for such a tom-boyish activity. She wore a long sleeved dress that was hemmed at her feet, and sandals. Even in her present apparel, she shimmied up the tree as quickly as she could. Once, by accident, she had not made a firm step on the bark and nearly slid back down the trunk of the tree, much to the annoyance of herself and the chagrin of her cousin.
Silmarien climbed as high as she dared, and still could not reach the ribbon. Looking back at her cousin, her eyes widened. This was higher than she had ever climbed in a tree. Clutching at a small branch, she stood on her toes to reach the ribbon. Clawing at the fluttering fabric, she finally took hold of it, but at the sacrifice of her balance.
Crying out fearfully, Silmarien wobbled on the branch she was standing on, hoping against hope that she would somehow regain her balance. Lothiriel looked up into the tree, ashen-faced. The daughter of the Steward set her foot wrong and slid off the branch, falling from the great height.
"Mari!" a voice called out, made crisp by the cold air.
Silmarien landed on her side, leaving no damage to her limbs save for soreness in her hip. Groaning in pain, she rubbed her waist as she straightened to sit with the help of Lothiriel. It was in that moment she saw her visitor – Barahir.
"Mari, are you alright?" he asked, alarmed. Then he averted his face, blushing a scarlet red.
Confused at her cousin's behavior, Silmarien looked down and nearly shrieked. The hem of her dress had drawn up in her fall and left her ankles bare, and almost her knees. She too blushed deeply and drew her knees up, covering them with her dress.
"I'm...alright," she stammered, standing quickly. Thrusting Lothiriel's ribbon at her as if it burned, she mumbled something incoherent and ran away as fast as her sore limb would allow.
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Faramir lay on the couch in his bed chambers, munching on some sweet cakes the servant had brought to him. His nose was buried in a book, as usual. Having returned yesterday from a scouting mission, he had the next couple of days off before he had to report for duty again, and he intended to take advantage of the peace he was allowed. The ranger captain had ordered he was not to be disturbed unless it was absolutely necessary.
The pounding on his door was quite loud. Groaning, Faramir grumbled about being the Steward's son that everyone rushed to for help and guidance and wisdom. Sighing heavily, he tossed the book away and shoved the rest of the sweet cake in his mouth, swallowing it quickly.
"Faramir!" the person on the other side of the door shouted, distressed. Faramir quickly straightened himself and rushed to the door, recognizing the voice. When he opened the door, he was immediately embraced by his sobbing little sister.
Closing the door, Faramir walked Silmarien's shuddering frame through his outer chambers, into his bed chamber where he sat her down on the couch. He let her cry for a little while, knowing she wouldn't be able to speak yet. When she quieted a little, he asked her what the trouble was.
Rubbing at her already reddened eyes, Silmarien related what had transpired in the garden only ten minutes ago. When she had finished, she burst into new hysterics and couldn't speak anymore. Faramir held her tightly, kissing her hair, rocking her back and forth.
"Silmarien," he whispered to calm her nerves. "It will be alright, you'll see. Barahir only did the right thing by looking away. If he hadn't, I would be having a discussion with him this very moment."
This won him a half-hearted laugh from her, but it did not lighten her mood. Smoothing her hair away from her tear stained face, Faramir continued to rock her back and forth. "You should have asked for help with the ribbon, but I shall not chide you. You're punishing yourself."
After a time. Faramir let Silmarien lay upon his bed and drew the blankets about her. Her tears had been shed to the point of her weariness. As he tucked her in, she looked up at him and whispered mournfully.
"Mother was such a refined lady. I'll never be like her."
Faramir looked down sternly at his sister and sat beside her. "Never speak that again, Mari," he said, his grey eyes hardening. "Mother was taught for many years how to be so graceful. She had to learn how to speak so elegantly, and how to have grace for others. Mother was a wonderful woman, Mari. But don't ever think that you can't be like her."
"But how am I to be like a princess, Faramir? I can't even keep a promise to myself!" Silmarien cried.
"You will learn, just like Mother did," he said with a smile. His encouragement was so gentle, so loving. It was the reason Silmarien told him absolutely everything. There were no secrets between her and her brothers. Faramir took her hand and kissed it, softly closing her eyes with his other hand.
"Rest, Mari," he murmured. "I'll watch over you."-----
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