Chapter Summary: The return to the City of Swans, and an intimate moment between cousins.
Author notes: I'm sorry about my lack of updates, everyone. Life has been hectic and I almost have no time to write for fun anymore. I write for school so much it's not even funny.
Shout outs:
Terreis – Sarka will get what's comin' to him. And yes, Ranger is a very good dog. Oh, Glorfindel, Terreis says hi!
Glorfindel (with great exuberance, spilling ink everywhere): Hi Terreis!
Angoliel: Oh, by the by, Terreis...what exactly does 'spooty' mean?
Mercury Gray – That's so very interesting that you're a "bloodophob", considering you had Rhoswen kill an orc…and yes, it's shocking that I didn't even ask you for help!
Roisin Dubh – I'm doing a lot better than I was. Thank you. This chapter will contain a little about Sarka. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it.
Lintucuiel – Thank you for your praise!
Plasmolysed Cell Membrane - You have a very interesting pen name, I must say. I am glad that you enjoy my work. I am continuing it as best I can.
Despite the victory of the Swan Lords, and the burning of the pirate ship, two noble knights of the court fell that day. Both were covered by their blankets and carried by their steeds for the last time. The journey back to Dol Amroth was a solemn one.
Silmarien shared a horse with her cousin Barahir, who sat behind her, guided the stallion with one hand, and held her gently by the waist with the other. She slept for a good amount of their return, and was oblivious to the frequent musings of her protector as he gazed at her.
Sarka had been spared, or rather denied, the right to die with the rest of his crew during the battle, or even to be burned with his ship. His hands were bound as he walked between two knights who watched him like hawks. He sneered at them, and their captain who seemed to have his heart stolen away by a girl who was as troublesome as she was young.
When they finally returned to the city, Silmarien was helped down from the horse and almost instantly attacked by Lothiriel who had been restless and nervous in her absence. Embraces, kisses, and tears were shared until Imrahil pulled the cousins apart.
"Come daughter, your cousin is wearied and in need of rest. Let her go to her chambers and sleep. There is much to speak of, and things to be done."
Over the course of the next few days, Silmarien was given gracious care and was closely guarded. During Sarka's questioning, Imrahil called his niece to him several times, asking her to clarify or correct anything that the pirate told him. Letters were sent to Minas Tirith with the account of Silmarien's abduction and rescue, as well.
Denethor sat upon the Steward's Chair, having called his sons to him. His hand held a letter limply, his face contorted in several progressions of anger, fear, worry and resolution.
"Father, what troubles you so," Faramir asked quietly. Boromir had just entered the hall, and stood quietly before his lord and father with his hands clasped behind his back.
Denethor began to read the letter he had received half an hour ago from his kinsman, Imrahil of Dol Amroth.
It brings my heart much pain to speak of this, my lord Denethor, but the news shall not remain undisclosed to you. On the very early morn of Thursday last, an attempt to kidnap my daughter Lothiriel was made by a band of Corsairs who desired to ransom her. Because they did not know my daughter by her face, they took both Lothiriel and her kinswoman Silmarien, your daughter. In an attempt to save her cousin, Silmarien took on the farce of being my daughter, and so the Corsairs released the true Lothiriel into the wild to return to the City of Dol Amroth as best she could. Silmarien was taken to their ship and held captive for a short while as I and my son Barahir followed the trail. I could not continue the chase to the bay, however, for upon finding my daughter I discovered she was very weak and weary. Barahir rode on with twenty of Dol Amroth's finest knights and defeated the Corsairs, bringing Silmarien home with him.
Your daughter is well, my lord, but I felt it would be best that she return to that which she loves and is familiar with. If you desire it, my lord, I shall escort her back to the city of Minas Tirith. I only hesitate so that I may hear your heart's wish.
Ever your servant,
Imrahil
The brothers were agape at this news, and neither of them spoke for a very long while. Denethor took this time to refold the letter into its form as it was given to him.
"What is your command, Father," Boromir finally asked when he found his voice. "If it please you, I shall take a band of thirty men and escort my sister to our city."
"Yes, that was my most frequent thought. Go, Boromir and return with the most favored jewel of the White City's coffers with much haste as you can. You, Faramir will set up a watch, and alert me as soon as you see them on the horizon," Denethor commanded. He would not allow his daughter to remain in such a place any longer. Not after what she had just been afflicted with.
Silmarien stood on her balcony looking out across the waves that crashed upon the tall rock the city was built upon. The sun was setting, and oh, what a beautiful glow it cast upon everything it touched. She had been brushing her hair, and was now running the horsehair brush through her locks very absentmindedly. The Gondorian lady did not hear her guest until he was very close to her.
"Mari," he softly spoke, having waited as long as he could. She looked so peaceful, standing there, and Barahir had been loath to break the moment's magic. The fiery golden light cast by the descending sun kissed her cream gown. Silmarien looked more beautiful to him in that moment than any other memory that had been, or would be, save one occasion.
"Barahir," she smiled, turning to him. "I did not hear you enter."
"I hope I am not disturbing you," he began anxiously.
"No, of course not," Silmarien said, going to her vanity to tie her hair back for dinner. She waved at a chair nearby. "Please, sit."
Barahir nearly jumped at the chance. His heart was fluttering violently, and he wondered if she could hear it as he took his seat. He watched as she experimented with different colors of ribbons, and then different shapes of combs to pull her hair back. He sighed, and then berated himself. She was so beautiful, and so brave! Her strength of heart amazed him. She had told him everything she knew about her capture and his regard for her had increased greatly.
"Mari," he finally said, his voice shaky with nervousness. She didn't turn to him until he didn't speak further.
"What is it, cousin?" Silmarien asked gently, giving him her fullest attention.
"My father does not know of this, Silmarien. I beg that you keep my confidence," Barahir began, standing and going to the balcony. He didn't want her to see his face, for he was known to be very open and easy to read.
"I realize this…isn't exactly propriety. But I feel that if I wait any longer, I shall never be able to tell you. The time for your coming of age is drawing ever nearer, and I must confess that…I…well…"
Silmarien sat silently and waited for him to continue. Butterflies took wing in the pit of her stomach. What would he say? Why did he speak of the coming festival of her birth?
"You have become a beautiful woman, Silmarien. It is in my heart, that is…if you desire it, to…to seek your hand," Barahir's speech became faster near the end. He was afraid he would bore her to death, and so he let it all out at the last instant.
Silence flowed between the cousins like a dense fog. Barahir lowered his head and closed his eyes, waiting for her refusal. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt her soft touch on his arm.
"Barahir," Silmarien smiled gently. "I am flattered by the romantic affection you feel for me. But remember that I am yet young, cousin! I do not feel that such a weighty matter as love should be thrust upon me as of yet. I do not yet think I have learned enough to know if I should be the most suitable lady for you. Give me time to learn the duties a woman of my station should have, and perhaps I shall then be worthy."
His bearing deflated visibly, and her hand went to his cheek to cup it. "Have hope, Barahir. All is not lost for you. Ask me again in five years," she smiled. "Or better yet, come and visit every year, so that you may monitor my progress as I endeavor to learn even more."
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