A/N: As I promised, longer. The beautiful song "Only Time" for which this
chapter is named belongs to the talented Enya. I will be using many of her
songs in my story as her lyrics tie in with Tolkien and my story, speaking
of whom, owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of my twisted mind.
Bit more Elvish in this one. Please don't be too harsh in the combination
of words. I tried. I keep revising this chapter, adding a little this or
that. Please review!!!
Chapter 5: Only Time
Swords clanged through the air. "One, two, three. Come on little brother. Surely you can do better than that," Boromir taunted good-heartedly. Filled with a newfound intensity, Faramir rushed at his brother. However, after a few more rounds, Faramir was still in the dirt, his brother with the upper hand. He yelled frustratingly.
"You're shifting your feet too much, giving him too much ground," a quiet voice pointed out from aside. Faramir turned, with a scowl, to the speaker, who was sitting on a rock by the fountain, with a book of Elvish lore, intently studying it.
"What do you know?" Faramir asked sourly.
"I watch. Sometimes we can't see what's wrong when we're in it. You need to not be involved. That's why we have mentors," Elentari replied.
"Le ar saila pella loalla,*" Boromir murmured to the twelve-year-old girl.
Faramir, still pouting, said, "Fine Isilmë. Then get out of your books for once and come battle me."
"I would be honored," the girl bowed, "Though I would require my own sword, as Boromir's is too heavy for me."
"Well, then go fetch it," Boromir ordered. She carefully marked her place in the book, placed it on the rock, and ran, her dark hair trailing in the wind.
"You do know that she is right, of course," Boromir pointed out. Faramir sighed, threw his sword aside and said, "When is she not?"
"That is a good question," Boromir replied. Faramir picked up the book she was reading, looked at it, and sighed heavily, "I still have not finished this book, and I am a lover of lore far more than you and any other men of the City."
Sensing his brother's frustration placed a hand on his shoulder, "Do not worry yourself, little brother, the Elven blood runs through her veins. She was gifted in lore, as you are."
Just then, Elentari ran back, panting, but ready to do battle.
"Are you ready, my lord?" she mocked, bowing at Faramir.
"Save your courtesy for when you are begging me for mercy," was the reply she received.
"Wait, wait. Before we begin this blood fest, I would like to make one thing clear. I do not wish to be responsible or liable in any way if either, or both of you do not make it out in one piece. Being the eldest, it is my responsibility. So if you two don't mind, please, I implore you, if only for my sake, don't kill each other. Restrain yourselves, as much as you wish to hew each other to pieces," Boromir pleaded.
"Don't worry brother, I will spare him today," Elentari answered, mischievous light flickering in her eyes. Faramir looked so angry and humiliated that he was going to explode, or worse, implode.
Boromir counted and then left the pair to themselves. Within a few moments, Faramir was pinned on the ground, by Elentari, half his weight and size, and three years younger.
"Do you yield?" Elentari teased sweetly.
"Never," Faramir groaned as the sharp blade teased his arm. She would have had it by his neck, but not wanting to hurt him by intention or by accident, she restrained herself.
"Faramir. Come on lad, you're bigger than her! Gain the upper hand!" Boromir urged.
"It's not as easy," Faramir gasped, straining from the effort, "As you would think." No matter how hard Faramir struggled, the slender figure atop of him would not let him gain his feet. Boromir cheered for both his brother and his sister. His sister. That was what she was known to him as, yet deep down in his heart, he knew that she was not his sister. As he watched Faramir struggle beneath the girl, he knew that she might one day be of other relation to him.
"Faramir. You shame me. Can you not triumph someone as slight and small as your sister?" A cold voice asked bitterly. All three looked to see Steward of Gondor, Denethor, their father, standing in the courtyard watching the fest.
"Father," Boromir breathed. Elentari felt Faramir tense beneath her, as she hurried to rise, letting Faramir gain his feet, as Denethor inched closer to them.
"No," Denethor barked, "Elentari. You stay there. Show him no mercy. I wish to see how this useless son of mine will get himself out of his predicament. Honestly, if you cannot triumph over someone small and slight as your sister, who loves and shows mercy on you, how will you ever fight those ferocious Orcs who would sooner see you dead than anything else?"
"Father, Faramir was merely letting me gain the upper hand. I would be begging for mercy if he had really showed me his full strength," Elentari pleaded for her brother, knowing Denethor's wrath on his younger son and how much Faramir craved his father's praise. Though these words stung, Faramir felt grateful to her for trying to cover up for him.
"Very well then. If he was merely playing, then let me see him now in full strength. Let neither of you show mercy for one another and see who gains the upper hand and who will be groveling for mercy," Denethor ordered. Elentari looked back at Faramir with a sympathetic look. Faramir however, had his gaze fixated on his father with a look of pure obstinance. His jaw was set, his will determined. With an immense effort, he flung Isilmë up from over him, and in the same, swift movement, before she had even landed on the ground heavily, had her pinned down, his sword grazing her graceful neck. With an air of triumph, he gazed at his father stubbornly. Denethor merely scoffed and turned away, "Boromir. Come with me. We will be requiring you in Osgiliath for a number of days." Even at his young age of twenty, Boromir had already proved himself a mighty warrior, like King Earnur of old, delighting chiefly in arms. After Denethor and Boromir vanished in the distance, Faramir turned back to Isilmë, still pinned on the ground, a bit shaken from the hard landing inflicted by Faramir.
"Faramir, if you don't mind, I would find it quite relieving if you would remove your sword from my neck," she requested, still a bit dazed.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Faramir had forgotten all about it.
"Hannon le*," she said dryly, rubbing the back of her head, "Will you remember to do me a favor? The next time Father challenges you; will you please remember that it is Father angering you, not me? That way, you will actually take it out on him, not me?"
"Sorry," Faramir replied sheepishly.
"It's quite all right. All will be forgiven if you get off of me and help me up." Faramir just realized that she was still pinned to the ground, and quickly got off, and pulled her up, "My apologies, Isilmë."
"So, I take it as you have not had a very pleasant day," she said.
"Ah, and I take it you have acquired stating the obvious as another one of your numerous talents," Faramir sneered bitterly.
"Well, other than being chastised by Father, what else has gone wrong?"
"I would hardly call that chastising, more like insulting," Faramir snapped.
"Ai, Faramir, Father is only harsh on you because he loves you, and he wishes no harm to come to you."
"If he loves me so, why is everything I do wrong to him?"
"Just because he disapproves of something doesn't make it wrong, toronya*," Isilmë said gently.
"Then why is what Boromir does always right?"
"Because Boromir has strengths that you do not possess, just as you have some that he does not."
"Well Father obviously does not see or value my strengths," Faramir complained.
"He sees them, and a day will come when he values them," Isilmë comforted. Seeing Faramir was still unconvinced and frustrated, she murmured, "roum, nar inye uin*."
Faramir smiled through his frustration, and touched her hand.
"What would I do without you," he breathed.
"You would have no one to beat you in swordplay," she replied teasingly. He cried indignantly and leapt up.
"I would fight you again, yet I fear Father will see and come chastise you again. May I suggest a ride on the Pelennor?" Isilmë offered.
"I was just about to say that." Faramir and Isilmë leapt up and made their way to the stables. After saddling her horse, Talcalina, Lightfoot, Isilmë leapt up upon her, and awaited Faramir.
"Come on Faramir. Do not always make me wait," she teased, but her words would carry a deeper meaning in the future than she would have ever guessed.
He mounted his horse Cirion, named after the great Steward of old, and they raced out of the great Gate that guarded the City, onto the Pelennor, unaware of any danger. They let the wind whisk them away, becoming one with their horses, urging them on, faster and faster. They would have reached Osgiliath, or even shining Anduin, at that pace, but Isilmë, letting her sense ride up and catch her, stopped them both.
"Father will have both of our heads if we ride out any further without his approval. We are nearly at Osgiliath; there it lies beyond the river. We must turn back, how ever much we wish not to, we must," she chided gently.
"Must we always seek his approval?"
"Toronya*, may I remind you that you are the one who was most desperately seeking it just some minutes ago?"
"Le ar saila pella loalla,*" Faramir echoed the words of Boromir earlier that morning.
"Inye harya voronwa linnin loalla*," she replied, her face grave. Dusk was quickly creeping upon them, the sky a vibrant myriad of colors. They turned their horses around, and rode hard back to Minas Tirith, letting the horses take them, forgetting all of their sorrow and plight for a time.
After they had unsaddled their horses and fed them, a Tower Guard hurried to bring them a message.
"My Lord Faramir, my Lady, the Lord Denethor wishes your presence in the Tower," he stated.
"May I inquire as to the occasion?" Elentari questioned slyly.
"He did not say. One could only guess it is a farewell to Lord Boromir, who is leaving in the morn for Osgiliath, but it is not my place to say."
"Hannon le*," Elentari thanked and motioned the man away. They made their way to the Tower of Anor, to Denethor sitting talking to Boromir merrily. Upon their entrance, his face grew grim, and he beckoned to seats near him.
"Good evening Father," Faramir greeted solemnly. Once they were seated, their food warm and welcoming in front of them, Denethor inquired, "May I inquire where you two were this afternoon?"
"We went out riding," Faramir answered, looking at Isilmë for support.
"Yes, after you left with Boromir, my Lord," she added.
"Oh, riding," Denethor repeated bitterly, "In the City?"
Boromir, Faramir, and Isilmë realized the trap that their father was setting. Only Isilmë found the voice to speak, "No Father. We rode out on the Pelennor. It was my idea and Faramir merely followed my lead."
Her attempt to shield Faramir from Denethor's wrath backfired.
"So, Faramir of Gondor, you are now not only losing to a woman, you are taking orders from one," he scoffed, "And your brother thought you could join the Rangers. I think not. How do you ever expect to amount to anything? Ah, I rue the day my lovely Finduilas brought such a useless son into the world." By now, tears were threatening Faramir's eyes, and at the mention of his mother, he turned away, not allowing Boromir or his father to see his tears. Only Isilmë saw and her heart grieved for him. She gave his hand a squeeze to show him support.
Denethor however, was obviously not oblivious to his son's strife, but did not seem to care, "Buried deep in the tower libraries. I would burn those books to keep you from them. What use will lore be when the armies of Mordor come to destroy us? You cannot tell Orcs the tales of Valinor and expect them to care. "
"Father, Faramir is not the only one who studies lore," Isilmë defended.
"You will never meet them in battle, Elentari. You will never face those Orcs out there in the Wild, where there is no aid to be found, only life and death. There is no harm in you studying those things, though you would do well to learn some craft of womenfolk, not immerse yourself into Elven lore and swordplay with this hopeless son of mine."
"With all due my Lord," Elentari brought up the title to silently show Denethor her repugnance at his words, "If I am not mistaken, you yourself possess the largest collection of books of lore of all Gondor, second only to Master Elrond of Rivendell. If I remember correctly, when Nana was still alive, you used to tell me stories of Westernesse, of the Kings of old."
Boromir stared wide-eyed at the defiance of his young sister. Faramir, through his suppressed tears, smiled and was grateful for her, challenging Denethor, as no one had dared, since Finduilas's death, and giving him time to collect himself.
"Bedtime stories will not destroy Mordor," Denethor snapped.
"There is a time for warfare and a time for peace and reflection," she replied calmly. Denethor scoffed and then said, "If we don't make it past the warfare, we will never get to peace."
Boromir could not take the tension any longer and was afraid Denethor and Isilmë would let the argument ruin their relationship, cut in, "There is also a time for eating. I am famished. For my sake, please let me enjoy my last meal in the City for a while in peace." Denethor gazed at his foster daughter with icy, cold eyes that would've pierced right through the girl, had she not been questioning Faramir silently, her loving eyes needed no words to see the pain in his heart.
In his heart, Denethor was proud of his foster daughter, though angry with her for her unmistakable lack of respect. She reminded him of Finduilas, of her gentle yet firm defense of Faramir. She would fight for what she loved, and she loved Gondor, loved him, loved her brothers, and especially loved Faramir.
"I am leaving in the morn," Boromir told his siblings, trying hard to steer the conversation into safe waters, breaking the tense silence that ensued, with Denethor lost in his thoughts, and Elentari offering Faramir silent support.
"To Osgiliath?" Elentari asked.
"Yes."
"How long will you be gone for?" Faramir asked, finally controlling himself.
"A few weeks. As long as I am needed, at least," Boromir answered.
"And what are you needed for?" Elentari asked, worry clouding her young face.
"Just border patrol. There have been some Orc parties daring enough to cross into our lands, but never fear, we'll chop them to pieces so they'll know never again to do it!" Faramir seemed to be satisfied by this answer, but Elentari still looked worried, her eyes clouded.
Boromir sensing her anxiety, touched her shoulder and said, "Do not worry about me. I shall be fine. Besides, remember that no one can defeat Boromir of Gondor in swordsmanship, except his little sister." Elentari smiled and hugged him.
Late that night, when the City was asleep and Lady Elbereth's stars were shining bright, Faramir tossed and turned in his bed, sleep eluding him. Finally, he threw his covers off, along with any attempt of sleep, donned a robe, and made his way silently out of his room. Across the corridor, he saw a sliver of light in the darkness, coming from beneath the door. He knocked quietly, hearing no response, slipped open the door just a sliver. He saw Isilmë standing by her open window, singing softly, bathed in moonlight, as she had been that night many years ago when he had first called her that name. As he gazed upon her, a tender feeling within his heart stirred. It was a feeling he had never known before and he did not know what it was, only that she looked beautiful caked in the moonlight. He stood frozen by her door for a moment, fixated on her as this new, beautiful feeling filled his heart. He moved toward her, closed the door behind him silently, and heard her song.
Only night will ever know
Why the heavens never show
All the dreams that are to know
Paint the sky with stars
Night as brought to those who sleep
Only dreams they cannot keep
I have legends in the deep
Paint the sky with stars
Who has paced the midnight sky?
So a spirit has to fly
As the heavens seem so far
Now who will paint the midnight star?
Place a name upon the night
One to set your heart alight
And to make the darkness bright
Paint the sky with stars.
Faramir stood behind her the moment the last note left her lips. She sighed as it faded into the night, and sensing his presence, leaned her head against him, reaching just above his shoulder.
"Why such sorrow, selernya*?" Faramir asked.
"I could not sleep, for I was plagued by my behavior tonight," she answered.
"Why?"
"I forgot my place utterly, I should not have spoken that way to Father, for it is by his grace that I live day to day."
"You were defending me. I am the one to blame," Faramir comforted. She shook her head mournfully, "Father was wrong in reprimanding you, yet it was not my place to speak with him like that. I could defend you, without becoming so disrespectful."
"Can we not talk about Father? The whole situation makes me hot- headed."
"He is your father, not mine, no matter how much we pretend."
"It irritates me how he will listen to no one's counsel but himself. He has the gift of foresight, and what he sees fills him with horror, yet he will do nothing to stop it. He sees no hope and he will allow others to have none as well."
"man hanya amtul?*" Isilmë asked.
"erlummë,*" Faramir replied. Isilmë smiled at the name of the familiar tune and began to sing:
Who can say
Where the road goes
Where the day flows
-Only time
And who can say
If your love grows
As your heart chose
-Only time
Who can say
Why your heart sighs
As your love flies
-Only time
And who can say
Why your heart cries
When your love lies
-Only time
"Love," Faramir thought of this familiar word. He loved Isilmë. She was his sister, of course he loved her, but that feeling in his heart when he looked upon her now did not easily go away as much as he tried to dismiss it.
Nevertheless, he joined her in song:
Who can say
When the roads meet
That love may be
In your heart
And who can say
When the day sleeps
If the night keeps
All your heart
Night keeps all your heart
Who can say
If your love grows
As your heart chose
-Only time
He was her brother, nothing more, or was he? All she knew was that she could not bear seeing that look of pain in his eyes that night with Denethor. She loved him, she knew that, but as what? Just a brother, or more?
And who can say
Where the road goes
Where the day flows
-Only time
Who knows-only time
Who knows-only time
She couldn't, or at least didn't want to tell, so she waited, time, time would show.
* Le ar saila pella loalla: You are wise beyond your years.
*hannon le: Thank you
*toronya: my brother
* roum, nar inye uin: But I value them.
* Inye harya voronwa linnin loalla: I have suffered much for my years.
* selernya: My sister
* man hanya amtul?: Who can tell what the future holds?
* erlummë: Only time
Chapter 5: Only Time
Swords clanged through the air. "One, two, three. Come on little brother. Surely you can do better than that," Boromir taunted good-heartedly. Filled with a newfound intensity, Faramir rushed at his brother. However, after a few more rounds, Faramir was still in the dirt, his brother with the upper hand. He yelled frustratingly.
"You're shifting your feet too much, giving him too much ground," a quiet voice pointed out from aside. Faramir turned, with a scowl, to the speaker, who was sitting on a rock by the fountain, with a book of Elvish lore, intently studying it.
"What do you know?" Faramir asked sourly.
"I watch. Sometimes we can't see what's wrong when we're in it. You need to not be involved. That's why we have mentors," Elentari replied.
"Le ar saila pella loalla,*" Boromir murmured to the twelve-year-old girl.
Faramir, still pouting, said, "Fine Isilmë. Then get out of your books for once and come battle me."
"I would be honored," the girl bowed, "Though I would require my own sword, as Boromir's is too heavy for me."
"Well, then go fetch it," Boromir ordered. She carefully marked her place in the book, placed it on the rock, and ran, her dark hair trailing in the wind.
"You do know that she is right, of course," Boromir pointed out. Faramir sighed, threw his sword aside and said, "When is she not?"
"That is a good question," Boromir replied. Faramir picked up the book she was reading, looked at it, and sighed heavily, "I still have not finished this book, and I am a lover of lore far more than you and any other men of the City."
Sensing his brother's frustration placed a hand on his shoulder, "Do not worry yourself, little brother, the Elven blood runs through her veins. She was gifted in lore, as you are."
Just then, Elentari ran back, panting, but ready to do battle.
"Are you ready, my lord?" she mocked, bowing at Faramir.
"Save your courtesy for when you are begging me for mercy," was the reply she received.
"Wait, wait. Before we begin this blood fest, I would like to make one thing clear. I do not wish to be responsible or liable in any way if either, or both of you do not make it out in one piece. Being the eldest, it is my responsibility. So if you two don't mind, please, I implore you, if only for my sake, don't kill each other. Restrain yourselves, as much as you wish to hew each other to pieces," Boromir pleaded.
"Don't worry brother, I will spare him today," Elentari answered, mischievous light flickering in her eyes. Faramir looked so angry and humiliated that he was going to explode, or worse, implode.
Boromir counted and then left the pair to themselves. Within a few moments, Faramir was pinned on the ground, by Elentari, half his weight and size, and three years younger.
"Do you yield?" Elentari teased sweetly.
"Never," Faramir groaned as the sharp blade teased his arm. She would have had it by his neck, but not wanting to hurt him by intention or by accident, she restrained herself.
"Faramir. Come on lad, you're bigger than her! Gain the upper hand!" Boromir urged.
"It's not as easy," Faramir gasped, straining from the effort, "As you would think." No matter how hard Faramir struggled, the slender figure atop of him would not let him gain his feet. Boromir cheered for both his brother and his sister. His sister. That was what she was known to him as, yet deep down in his heart, he knew that she was not his sister. As he watched Faramir struggle beneath the girl, he knew that she might one day be of other relation to him.
"Faramir. You shame me. Can you not triumph someone as slight and small as your sister?" A cold voice asked bitterly. All three looked to see Steward of Gondor, Denethor, their father, standing in the courtyard watching the fest.
"Father," Boromir breathed. Elentari felt Faramir tense beneath her, as she hurried to rise, letting Faramir gain his feet, as Denethor inched closer to them.
"No," Denethor barked, "Elentari. You stay there. Show him no mercy. I wish to see how this useless son of mine will get himself out of his predicament. Honestly, if you cannot triumph over someone small and slight as your sister, who loves and shows mercy on you, how will you ever fight those ferocious Orcs who would sooner see you dead than anything else?"
"Father, Faramir was merely letting me gain the upper hand. I would be begging for mercy if he had really showed me his full strength," Elentari pleaded for her brother, knowing Denethor's wrath on his younger son and how much Faramir craved his father's praise. Though these words stung, Faramir felt grateful to her for trying to cover up for him.
"Very well then. If he was merely playing, then let me see him now in full strength. Let neither of you show mercy for one another and see who gains the upper hand and who will be groveling for mercy," Denethor ordered. Elentari looked back at Faramir with a sympathetic look. Faramir however, had his gaze fixated on his father with a look of pure obstinance. His jaw was set, his will determined. With an immense effort, he flung Isilmë up from over him, and in the same, swift movement, before she had even landed on the ground heavily, had her pinned down, his sword grazing her graceful neck. With an air of triumph, he gazed at his father stubbornly. Denethor merely scoffed and turned away, "Boromir. Come with me. We will be requiring you in Osgiliath for a number of days." Even at his young age of twenty, Boromir had already proved himself a mighty warrior, like King Earnur of old, delighting chiefly in arms. After Denethor and Boromir vanished in the distance, Faramir turned back to Isilmë, still pinned on the ground, a bit shaken from the hard landing inflicted by Faramir.
"Faramir, if you don't mind, I would find it quite relieving if you would remove your sword from my neck," she requested, still a bit dazed.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Faramir had forgotten all about it.
"Hannon le*," she said dryly, rubbing the back of her head, "Will you remember to do me a favor? The next time Father challenges you; will you please remember that it is Father angering you, not me? That way, you will actually take it out on him, not me?"
"Sorry," Faramir replied sheepishly.
"It's quite all right. All will be forgiven if you get off of me and help me up." Faramir just realized that she was still pinned to the ground, and quickly got off, and pulled her up, "My apologies, Isilmë."
"So, I take it as you have not had a very pleasant day," she said.
"Ah, and I take it you have acquired stating the obvious as another one of your numerous talents," Faramir sneered bitterly.
"Well, other than being chastised by Father, what else has gone wrong?"
"I would hardly call that chastising, more like insulting," Faramir snapped.
"Ai, Faramir, Father is only harsh on you because he loves you, and he wishes no harm to come to you."
"If he loves me so, why is everything I do wrong to him?"
"Just because he disapproves of something doesn't make it wrong, toronya*," Isilmë said gently.
"Then why is what Boromir does always right?"
"Because Boromir has strengths that you do not possess, just as you have some that he does not."
"Well Father obviously does not see or value my strengths," Faramir complained.
"He sees them, and a day will come when he values them," Isilmë comforted. Seeing Faramir was still unconvinced and frustrated, she murmured, "roum, nar inye uin*."
Faramir smiled through his frustration, and touched her hand.
"What would I do without you," he breathed.
"You would have no one to beat you in swordplay," she replied teasingly. He cried indignantly and leapt up.
"I would fight you again, yet I fear Father will see and come chastise you again. May I suggest a ride on the Pelennor?" Isilmë offered.
"I was just about to say that." Faramir and Isilmë leapt up and made their way to the stables. After saddling her horse, Talcalina, Lightfoot, Isilmë leapt up upon her, and awaited Faramir.
"Come on Faramir. Do not always make me wait," she teased, but her words would carry a deeper meaning in the future than she would have ever guessed.
He mounted his horse Cirion, named after the great Steward of old, and they raced out of the great Gate that guarded the City, onto the Pelennor, unaware of any danger. They let the wind whisk them away, becoming one with their horses, urging them on, faster and faster. They would have reached Osgiliath, or even shining Anduin, at that pace, but Isilmë, letting her sense ride up and catch her, stopped them both.
"Father will have both of our heads if we ride out any further without his approval. We are nearly at Osgiliath; there it lies beyond the river. We must turn back, how ever much we wish not to, we must," she chided gently.
"Must we always seek his approval?"
"Toronya*, may I remind you that you are the one who was most desperately seeking it just some minutes ago?"
"Le ar saila pella loalla,*" Faramir echoed the words of Boromir earlier that morning.
"Inye harya voronwa linnin loalla*," she replied, her face grave. Dusk was quickly creeping upon them, the sky a vibrant myriad of colors. They turned their horses around, and rode hard back to Minas Tirith, letting the horses take them, forgetting all of their sorrow and plight for a time.
After they had unsaddled their horses and fed them, a Tower Guard hurried to bring them a message.
"My Lord Faramir, my Lady, the Lord Denethor wishes your presence in the Tower," he stated.
"May I inquire as to the occasion?" Elentari questioned slyly.
"He did not say. One could only guess it is a farewell to Lord Boromir, who is leaving in the morn for Osgiliath, but it is not my place to say."
"Hannon le*," Elentari thanked and motioned the man away. They made their way to the Tower of Anor, to Denethor sitting talking to Boromir merrily. Upon their entrance, his face grew grim, and he beckoned to seats near him.
"Good evening Father," Faramir greeted solemnly. Once they were seated, their food warm and welcoming in front of them, Denethor inquired, "May I inquire where you two were this afternoon?"
"We went out riding," Faramir answered, looking at Isilmë for support.
"Yes, after you left with Boromir, my Lord," she added.
"Oh, riding," Denethor repeated bitterly, "In the City?"
Boromir, Faramir, and Isilmë realized the trap that their father was setting. Only Isilmë found the voice to speak, "No Father. We rode out on the Pelennor. It was my idea and Faramir merely followed my lead."
Her attempt to shield Faramir from Denethor's wrath backfired.
"So, Faramir of Gondor, you are now not only losing to a woman, you are taking orders from one," he scoffed, "And your brother thought you could join the Rangers. I think not. How do you ever expect to amount to anything? Ah, I rue the day my lovely Finduilas brought such a useless son into the world." By now, tears were threatening Faramir's eyes, and at the mention of his mother, he turned away, not allowing Boromir or his father to see his tears. Only Isilmë saw and her heart grieved for him. She gave his hand a squeeze to show him support.
Denethor however, was obviously not oblivious to his son's strife, but did not seem to care, "Buried deep in the tower libraries. I would burn those books to keep you from them. What use will lore be when the armies of Mordor come to destroy us? You cannot tell Orcs the tales of Valinor and expect them to care. "
"Father, Faramir is not the only one who studies lore," Isilmë defended.
"You will never meet them in battle, Elentari. You will never face those Orcs out there in the Wild, where there is no aid to be found, only life and death. There is no harm in you studying those things, though you would do well to learn some craft of womenfolk, not immerse yourself into Elven lore and swordplay with this hopeless son of mine."
"With all due my Lord," Elentari brought up the title to silently show Denethor her repugnance at his words, "If I am not mistaken, you yourself possess the largest collection of books of lore of all Gondor, second only to Master Elrond of Rivendell. If I remember correctly, when Nana was still alive, you used to tell me stories of Westernesse, of the Kings of old."
Boromir stared wide-eyed at the defiance of his young sister. Faramir, through his suppressed tears, smiled and was grateful for her, challenging Denethor, as no one had dared, since Finduilas's death, and giving him time to collect himself.
"Bedtime stories will not destroy Mordor," Denethor snapped.
"There is a time for warfare and a time for peace and reflection," she replied calmly. Denethor scoffed and then said, "If we don't make it past the warfare, we will never get to peace."
Boromir could not take the tension any longer and was afraid Denethor and Isilmë would let the argument ruin their relationship, cut in, "There is also a time for eating. I am famished. For my sake, please let me enjoy my last meal in the City for a while in peace." Denethor gazed at his foster daughter with icy, cold eyes that would've pierced right through the girl, had she not been questioning Faramir silently, her loving eyes needed no words to see the pain in his heart.
In his heart, Denethor was proud of his foster daughter, though angry with her for her unmistakable lack of respect. She reminded him of Finduilas, of her gentle yet firm defense of Faramir. She would fight for what she loved, and she loved Gondor, loved him, loved her brothers, and especially loved Faramir.
"I am leaving in the morn," Boromir told his siblings, trying hard to steer the conversation into safe waters, breaking the tense silence that ensued, with Denethor lost in his thoughts, and Elentari offering Faramir silent support.
"To Osgiliath?" Elentari asked.
"Yes."
"How long will you be gone for?" Faramir asked, finally controlling himself.
"A few weeks. As long as I am needed, at least," Boromir answered.
"And what are you needed for?" Elentari asked, worry clouding her young face.
"Just border patrol. There have been some Orc parties daring enough to cross into our lands, but never fear, we'll chop them to pieces so they'll know never again to do it!" Faramir seemed to be satisfied by this answer, but Elentari still looked worried, her eyes clouded.
Boromir sensing her anxiety, touched her shoulder and said, "Do not worry about me. I shall be fine. Besides, remember that no one can defeat Boromir of Gondor in swordsmanship, except his little sister." Elentari smiled and hugged him.
Late that night, when the City was asleep and Lady Elbereth's stars were shining bright, Faramir tossed and turned in his bed, sleep eluding him. Finally, he threw his covers off, along with any attempt of sleep, donned a robe, and made his way silently out of his room. Across the corridor, he saw a sliver of light in the darkness, coming from beneath the door. He knocked quietly, hearing no response, slipped open the door just a sliver. He saw Isilmë standing by her open window, singing softly, bathed in moonlight, as she had been that night many years ago when he had first called her that name. As he gazed upon her, a tender feeling within his heart stirred. It was a feeling he had never known before and he did not know what it was, only that she looked beautiful caked in the moonlight. He stood frozen by her door for a moment, fixated on her as this new, beautiful feeling filled his heart. He moved toward her, closed the door behind him silently, and heard her song.
Only night will ever know
Why the heavens never show
All the dreams that are to know
Paint the sky with stars
Night as brought to those who sleep
Only dreams they cannot keep
I have legends in the deep
Paint the sky with stars
Who has paced the midnight sky?
So a spirit has to fly
As the heavens seem so far
Now who will paint the midnight star?
Place a name upon the night
One to set your heart alight
And to make the darkness bright
Paint the sky with stars.
Faramir stood behind her the moment the last note left her lips. She sighed as it faded into the night, and sensing his presence, leaned her head against him, reaching just above his shoulder.
"Why such sorrow, selernya*?" Faramir asked.
"I could not sleep, for I was plagued by my behavior tonight," she answered.
"Why?"
"I forgot my place utterly, I should not have spoken that way to Father, for it is by his grace that I live day to day."
"You were defending me. I am the one to blame," Faramir comforted. She shook her head mournfully, "Father was wrong in reprimanding you, yet it was not my place to speak with him like that. I could defend you, without becoming so disrespectful."
"Can we not talk about Father? The whole situation makes me hot- headed."
"He is your father, not mine, no matter how much we pretend."
"It irritates me how he will listen to no one's counsel but himself. He has the gift of foresight, and what he sees fills him with horror, yet he will do nothing to stop it. He sees no hope and he will allow others to have none as well."
"man hanya amtul?*" Isilmë asked.
"erlummë,*" Faramir replied. Isilmë smiled at the name of the familiar tune and began to sing:
Who can say
Where the road goes
Where the day flows
-Only time
And who can say
If your love grows
As your heart chose
-Only time
Who can say
Why your heart sighs
As your love flies
-Only time
And who can say
Why your heart cries
When your love lies
-Only time
"Love," Faramir thought of this familiar word. He loved Isilmë. She was his sister, of course he loved her, but that feeling in his heart when he looked upon her now did not easily go away as much as he tried to dismiss it.
Nevertheless, he joined her in song:
Who can say
When the roads meet
That love may be
In your heart
And who can say
When the day sleeps
If the night keeps
All your heart
Night keeps all your heart
Who can say
If your love grows
As your heart chose
-Only time
He was her brother, nothing more, or was he? All she knew was that she could not bear seeing that look of pain in his eyes that night with Denethor. She loved him, she knew that, but as what? Just a brother, or more?
And who can say
Where the road goes
Where the day flows
-Only time
Who knows-only time
Who knows-only time
She couldn't, or at least didn't want to tell, so she waited, time, time would show.
* Le ar saila pella loalla: You are wise beyond your years.
*hannon le: Thank you
*toronya: my brother
* roum, nar inye uin: But I value them.
* Inye harya voronwa linnin loalla: I have suffered much for my years.
* selernya: My sister
* man hanya amtul?: Who can tell what the future holds?
* erlummë: Only time