A/N: Short chapter. Another Enya song, this time called "Exile". Fits the
story eh? Reviewers, please tell me if you like all the songs, or you would
rather have less! Tolkien owns everyone but Isilmë, who is a poor victim of
my twisted mind. I make Denethor seem a bit more humane in this one.
Many thanks to the reviewers. To 'Jazmin 3 Firewing', I am keeping Isilmë alive for as long as possible. Thank you for the ending, and I will perhaps take something from it, but it was a good idea. My ending will be a LOT sadder. Thanks to all the reviewers! Keep R/R!
Chapter 8: Sail home to me
Elentari did not even notice the door opening, letting in a wisp of the icy cold air, as she sat alone by the fire, staring into it. She barely noted someone sitting down beside her quietly, his heavy footsteps leaving imprints of snow on the ground.
"Elentari," the deep, grim voice murmured. She turned her head sideways, so her gaze met the elder man, but her eyes were not there, nor was her heart.
"Yes Father?"
"You are lonely," the Steward stated, knowing it as a fact, his voice was kindlier than it had been since Finduilas's death.
"I miss them," she said simply and almost to herself, "I miss him."
"I suppose this Tower can be quite lonesome and even frightening for a young maid like you," Denethor said, the idea never occurring to him before.
"Not frightening. Lonesome, I suppose," she said aloud and to herself, "Smothering, definitely."
"They have been gone, what, two months?"
"Almost three," she corrected, "A season."
"Not that long. Not as long as I used to in the days when I was a Ranger," Denethor said. Elentari could not help but smile as she pictured a young Denethor in the wild.
"How long since you last visited Amroth?"
"Four months. I returned when the leaves turned gold."
"Do you desire to see it again?" Denethor asked, wanting a truthful answer.
The girl thought about it for a moment, and answered cryptically, "I desire to be elsewhere, but to look upon the beauty of Amroth and the Sea would do my heart well."
"If you will, Prince Imrahil sent a messenger requesting your presence."
"If my Lord grants me leave, I should very much like to visit," Elentari requested formally.
"You have leave. I visited Amroth, in the days of my youth, courting Finduilas. I never saw any beauty there, but there must be some, as my ladylove left her heart there and now, my beloved daughter seeks comfort there," Denethor said, his voice quiet and kind, as kind as Elentari had ever heard him. She was touched by how he called her his 'beloved daughter', but wished he would show the same affection to Faramir. She looked upon his aging face and saw the pain etched within the lines. However, Denethor quickly closed up like a clam, unwilling to let anyone pry him open again.
"Amroth is lovely, Father, and the Sea is calling," Elentari confessed.
Denethor sighed and touched his foster daughter's shoulder, "Le na sië ve rya. Nya Finduilas. *"
"I miss her," Elentari confessed. Denethor nodded and said, "She loved you."
"As well as Boromir," she added softly, "Especially Faramir." Denethor scoffed lightly hearing his younger son's name and shook his head.
"Father, why do you treat Faramir so?"
"He is useless and shameless. He would rather spend his time in the library with you than defend our borders from Orcs," Denethor spat.
"Faramir merely does not seek glory and danger without a purpose. If the need rises for valor and battle, he will meet it gloriously. He doesn't go looking for it though. He isn't reckless," she defended, though quiet, her voice was filled with fiery intensity.
"Do not trouble me with Faramir," Denethor ordered, his face grim and cold once more. He rose and spoke coolly, "When shall you leave for Dol Amroth?"
"If weather permits, tomorrow afternoon, after the midday meal," Elentari replied.
"I leave you now. I shall retire," Denethor said, his face bleak once again, taking his departure, leaving Elentari alone by her fire once again. After gazing into the fire for what seemed like hours, lost in thought, Elentari looked to her window and saw Tilion* appear from behind the clouds and the first stars twinkling in the distance. Her eyes turned south to Ithilien, and beyond, Amroth and the Sea. She dwelt not on the Sea, but returned to the part of her heart somewhere in the wild of Ithilien. She wondered what he was doing at that moment, if he could not sleep either. Did he remember her? With all these thoughts flowing through her head, she sang:
Cold as northern winds
In December mornings,
Cold is the cry that rings,
From this far distant shore
Winter has come too late
Too close beside me,
How can I chase away?
All these fears deep inside
Faramir lay sleepless, the cold midnight breeze pushing back his dirty blonde hair. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. They had been ambushed by a pack of Orcs and though they had come out victorious, four men lay injured and their piteous moans filled the air. He looked up at the stars and remembered all the times he and Isilmë had watched them together, singing. Knowing that they were looking up at the same stars brought comfort to his lonely heart. He missed her and was homesick for Minas Tirith, but did not want to admit it. Other than that, there was a big root sticking up from the ground beneath his back that was making it very uncomfortable to lie there. He sighed and thought of his own comfortable bed at home. He lay there thinking about home and Isilmë when he heard her song drift through the air. It was more of his imagination than reality, as none of the men seemed to have heard it but him, but nonetheless, it was there. Hearing her voice gave him comfort and by the lyrics, he knew that she was thinking about him and missing him, as he did her.
I'll wait the signs to come.
I'll find a way.
I will wait the time to come.
I'll find a way home.
My light shall be the moon.
My path the ocean
My guide the morning star
As I sail home to you.
Who then can warm my soul?
Who can quell my passion?
Out of these dreams, a boat
I will sail home to you.
I will sail home to you.
* Le na sie ve rya. Nya Finduilas: You are so like her. My Finduilas.
Many thanks to the reviewers. To 'Jazmin 3 Firewing', I am keeping Isilmë alive for as long as possible. Thank you for the ending, and I will perhaps take something from it, but it was a good idea. My ending will be a LOT sadder. Thanks to all the reviewers! Keep R/R!
Chapter 8: Sail home to me
Elentari did not even notice the door opening, letting in a wisp of the icy cold air, as she sat alone by the fire, staring into it. She barely noted someone sitting down beside her quietly, his heavy footsteps leaving imprints of snow on the ground.
"Elentari," the deep, grim voice murmured. She turned her head sideways, so her gaze met the elder man, but her eyes were not there, nor was her heart.
"Yes Father?"
"You are lonely," the Steward stated, knowing it as a fact, his voice was kindlier than it had been since Finduilas's death.
"I miss them," she said simply and almost to herself, "I miss him."
"I suppose this Tower can be quite lonesome and even frightening for a young maid like you," Denethor said, the idea never occurring to him before.
"Not frightening. Lonesome, I suppose," she said aloud and to herself, "Smothering, definitely."
"They have been gone, what, two months?"
"Almost three," she corrected, "A season."
"Not that long. Not as long as I used to in the days when I was a Ranger," Denethor said. Elentari could not help but smile as she pictured a young Denethor in the wild.
"How long since you last visited Amroth?"
"Four months. I returned when the leaves turned gold."
"Do you desire to see it again?" Denethor asked, wanting a truthful answer.
The girl thought about it for a moment, and answered cryptically, "I desire to be elsewhere, but to look upon the beauty of Amroth and the Sea would do my heart well."
"If you will, Prince Imrahil sent a messenger requesting your presence."
"If my Lord grants me leave, I should very much like to visit," Elentari requested formally.
"You have leave. I visited Amroth, in the days of my youth, courting Finduilas. I never saw any beauty there, but there must be some, as my ladylove left her heart there and now, my beloved daughter seeks comfort there," Denethor said, his voice quiet and kind, as kind as Elentari had ever heard him. She was touched by how he called her his 'beloved daughter', but wished he would show the same affection to Faramir. She looked upon his aging face and saw the pain etched within the lines. However, Denethor quickly closed up like a clam, unwilling to let anyone pry him open again.
"Amroth is lovely, Father, and the Sea is calling," Elentari confessed.
Denethor sighed and touched his foster daughter's shoulder, "Le na sië ve rya. Nya Finduilas. *"
"I miss her," Elentari confessed. Denethor nodded and said, "She loved you."
"As well as Boromir," she added softly, "Especially Faramir." Denethor scoffed lightly hearing his younger son's name and shook his head.
"Father, why do you treat Faramir so?"
"He is useless and shameless. He would rather spend his time in the library with you than defend our borders from Orcs," Denethor spat.
"Faramir merely does not seek glory and danger without a purpose. If the need rises for valor and battle, he will meet it gloriously. He doesn't go looking for it though. He isn't reckless," she defended, though quiet, her voice was filled with fiery intensity.
"Do not trouble me with Faramir," Denethor ordered, his face grim and cold once more. He rose and spoke coolly, "When shall you leave for Dol Amroth?"
"If weather permits, tomorrow afternoon, after the midday meal," Elentari replied.
"I leave you now. I shall retire," Denethor said, his face bleak once again, taking his departure, leaving Elentari alone by her fire once again. After gazing into the fire for what seemed like hours, lost in thought, Elentari looked to her window and saw Tilion* appear from behind the clouds and the first stars twinkling in the distance. Her eyes turned south to Ithilien, and beyond, Amroth and the Sea. She dwelt not on the Sea, but returned to the part of her heart somewhere in the wild of Ithilien. She wondered what he was doing at that moment, if he could not sleep either. Did he remember her? With all these thoughts flowing through her head, she sang:
Cold as northern winds
In December mornings,
Cold is the cry that rings,
From this far distant shore
Winter has come too late
Too close beside me,
How can I chase away?
All these fears deep inside
Faramir lay sleepless, the cold midnight breeze pushing back his dirty blonde hair. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. They had been ambushed by a pack of Orcs and though they had come out victorious, four men lay injured and their piteous moans filled the air. He looked up at the stars and remembered all the times he and Isilmë had watched them together, singing. Knowing that they were looking up at the same stars brought comfort to his lonely heart. He missed her and was homesick for Minas Tirith, but did not want to admit it. Other than that, there was a big root sticking up from the ground beneath his back that was making it very uncomfortable to lie there. He sighed and thought of his own comfortable bed at home. He lay there thinking about home and Isilmë when he heard her song drift through the air. It was more of his imagination than reality, as none of the men seemed to have heard it but him, but nonetheless, it was there. Hearing her voice gave him comfort and by the lyrics, he knew that she was thinking about him and missing him, as he did her.
I'll wait the signs to come.
I'll find a way.
I will wait the time to come.
I'll find a way home.
My light shall be the moon.
My path the ocean
My guide the morning star
As I sail home to you.
Who then can warm my soul?
Who can quell my passion?
Out of these dreams, a boat
I will sail home to you.
I will sail home to you.
* Le na sie ve rya. Nya Finduilas: You are so like her. My Finduilas.