A/N: Not as long. I could have written more, but I thought the ending here was more appropriate. I'm planning that the next chapter will be a lot longer. Wow! I actually went a whole chapter without putting in a song, but I could have. Very tempted. Please review and tell me if you like all the songs in there! Tolkien owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of my twisted mind. No Elvish, sorry! Didn't see a place for it. Please review!!!
Many thanks to the reviewers, especially "totallyobsessedwithLOTR" or "Araniel" as she calls herself. Thank you for the encouragement and I'm glad I made you cry (as wrong as that seems). And to 'Jazmin 3 Firewing', of course I know I'm going to have to demolish gasp Faramir and Isilmë's relationship. That's why the story is called Forsaken. Thanks to all the reviewers! Keep R/R!
I redid this, as people were complaining that the format was screwed up! Hope it's better now!
Chapter 6: Home, for a short time
Seasons pass one by one, and with them, the years, swift for Men. The White City looked upon their Lady one morn and realized, with her family, that this was not the same infant girl that had been carried through the streets at her mother's funeral, nor had it been the young girl standing mournful at the burial of the only mother she had known. Isilmë Elentari was a woman, a young woman perhaps, but a woman.
At sixteen, her dark, black hair swirling in the wind around her, grey eyes looking ever south and west to the Sea; the white sands with Ulmo diving in the depths. She had been granted visits to Dol Amroth several times in the past years and though she loved it there, for it gave her the much-desired freedom the guarded Minas Tirith did not, she never lingered for too long, always returning to her City. She loved the freedom, the lush green, and the Sea that Amroth gave, but something in her heart always pulled her back to Minas Tirith. Imrahil looked upon his young kinswoman with adoration, but she never lingered long in that city, missing her home.
Denethor pushed his younger son into the Rangers once he had reached age, but Faramir had never been gone from the White City for more than three days, but growing to love Ithilien, he desired to stay in the woods for longer, yet something in his heart also held him back.
It was from one such occasion when Faramir had been in Ithilien for two days, when he rode back through the Gate, with Mithrandir.
Hearing the Tower Guard's call, Isilmë flew through the City, from one level to the next, into Faramir's waiting arms. Faramir breathed in her scent, like that of the morning dew on flowers, and was reminded of Ithilien, though she had never set foot in that fair region. Once they released each other, Isilmë teased, "You seem happy, toronya, far happier in the Wild than here."
"How could one be happy when they are not with you?" was his reply. She merely smiled, a thin smile that never reached her eyes, like she seemed to foresee something in the future that would negate his claim, and shook her head. She looked over at the gray, old man standing by them, intently watching. She bowed, taking him for one of the Istari. "This is Mithrandir," Faramir introduced.
"One of the Istari," Isilmë breathed.
"Yes, and you are Finduilas's foster daughter. Blossomed a bit since I last saw you as a babe, eh?" the old man asked, grinning.
"Have you come to see my father?" Isilmë inquired.
"Your father?" Gandalf looked a bit puzzled, but then realization dawned on him, "Oh, Denethor, of course. I suppose so, though I would find his halls less welcoming to me of late."
"You have come at a good time. He seemed to be happier today, than I have seen him in a long time. I just served him his breakfast, and he is eating right now."
"Father is never in the mood to converse when taking his meals," Faramir added.
"That depends on the company," Isilmë corrected. At this, Faramir frowned, reminded of his father's disapproval with him. Isilmë regretted her words, but could not find any more in comfort. She wound her way, leading them to the Citadel, where Denethor sat alone amongst the cold, hard stone.
"Hail Denethor, Steward of Gondor," Gandalf said upon entrance. Denethor did not raise his head nor did he acknowledge their presence.
"Greetings Father," Faramir breathed softly. At this, Denethor looked up, into his son's soft blue eyes, cold and hard, as if he wished to pierce Faramir's will.
"Elentari," he called, and she moved forth, "Did I not tell you I did not wish to be disturbed at my meal?"
"My Lord, that was a week ago, and you saw Boromir a few days ago during your midday meal. I did not think that were the case now," she apologized.
"Foolish girl. Fetch me some wine."
"Denethor. I did not ride through wind and rain to stand here in your hall ignored and unwelcome," Gandalf said.
"If you would think that you were ever welcome in my halls, Mithrandir, then you are even more of a fool than I thought you were," Denethor replied, his voice steely, his gaze piercing, yet Gandalf stood unmoved. "And you," his gaze directed at Faramir, "Back so soon?"
"Yes."
"Being a Ranger does not mean running back to the comfort of home every two days," Denethor snapped.
"I am not fully in the service of the Rangers yet," Faramir held his gaze.
"Very well. Then you soon shall be. Now get out of my sight." Faramir trudged away, with Isilmë motioning to follow. "Stay here," Denethor beckoned to her. Mithrandir continued to attempt to converse with Denethor, as she watched and tended to the aging lord.
Hours later, when Denethor finally dismissed her, Isilmë weaved through the city, looking for Faramir. She found him sitting in their gardens, sharpening his sword. He looked up to see her, and sighed. She sat beside him, dropping her head upon his shoulder. He placed an arm around her, sheathing his sword, and weaved his fingers through her thick hair.
"I missed you," Isilmë whispered.
"And I you. Do you know how hard it is to sleep out there? And especially without your voice lulling in song."
"Glad to see you remembered me out there."
"How could I not?" Faramir asked, a smile playing upon his lips, "How have you fared?" "Miserably," she answered truthfully, "Yet I should not be complaining."
"What have you been doing?"
"Waiting for you," she replied, "Every night, I sit by my window, singing a song, gazing at Ithilien, willing Cirion to appear out of the midst carrying you on his back," she said, "The Tower can become quite lonely if you have no one to talk to."
"Silent and cold," Faramir added, almost to himself.
"Yes. The library has forever banished me, or at least Father has willed them to. I stand by him and serve his needs now. It isn't hard work, but I long to be out riding with you or Boromir, yet both of you are gone. My only comfort is that you should return every few days, but that will soon not be so."
"Yes. I will be spending more and more time out in the wild," Faramir said, his voice half regretting, half rejoicing.
"You love it out there." It was a statement, not a question. "I see it in your eyes."
"Yes, it is beautiful, yet can be lonely, without your songs. Yet my love for Ithilien shall never surpass my love for another, who dwells in the Tower of Anor, lonely and cold."
"Do not mind me. Such is the life of a woman," Isilmë replied.
"Yet it should not be."
"Yet it is."
"You would love Ithilien, with its trees, birds, and flowers."
"It can be a dangerous place."
"Yes, it can be, but most of the time it is beautiful, just as you are."
"When will you be leaving again?" she asked.
"Probably tomorrow or in two days time."
"For how long?"
"I do not know. Father wants me to stay out longer, as the other Rangers do. Probably as frequent as Boromir then," Faramir said, sorrow clouding his eyes a bit.
"I shall miss you," Isilmë said.
"I wish you could come with me," Faramir breathed.
"You know Father would never permit it."
"He would never permit you to travel with me, but perhaps with Boromir," he thought, an idea blossoming in his head.
"Oh no. What are you thinking now? I know that look on your face. What mischievous errand that will get us both in trouble are you planning now?"
"You could come out to Ithilien. Boromir could ask, and Father would probably give his assent."
"Faramir. You know how hard it will be to persuade Boromir to do that?" she tried to talk him into reason, but it was plain that she was quite pleased with the idea, as she longed to walk in the Sun and in the trees, not trapped in a tower of cold stone. Finally, Faramir agreed to forget the idea for a time, yet it dwelled in the back of his mind. Fatigue finally catching up to him, Faramir yawned and lay down across the grass.
"You would think that being in the woods for so long, you would want to sleep in your own bed," Isilmë said.
"It's pretty out here," Faramir replied childishly, already nodding off to sleep. Isilmë nodded, and then lay down beside him, head upon his chest, rising and falling with each intake of breath, and soon, both were contently asleep. One was exhausted from his ventures in the Wild, and plagued by homesickness. The other had been unable to sleep well, plagued by nightmares and by loneliness, with just the darkness to accompany her, slept well for the first time in a while.