A/N: Three songs. Two from Tolkien and the last just a little freestyle on
my part. Hope you like it. Reviews! Tolkien owns everyone but Isilmë, who
is a poor victim of my twisted mind. Araniel belongs to my most faithful
reviewer, who is being generous enough to let me borrow her and twist her
personality to which that will benefit my story. To the reviewer Araniel,
thanks for the idea for the "ear" issue. Thanks reviewers! Keep at it!
Chapter 10: Come back
When Tilion's moon was shining in the sky, Elentari sat with Araniel, her head leaned against the trunk of a tree. Under her request, Imrahil had ordered a room that was filled with freshly picked flowers and the ceiling was made of glass, so nothing prevented her from gazing at the stars.
"Do you miss home?" Araniel asked.
"A bit, I suppose. I miss the people," Elentari answered, "Minas Tirith is a beautiful city, but too much stone. No trees. No life, not like here."
"Who do you miss? I have heard talk that Lord Denethor is not at all pleasant," Araniel said naively.
Elentari smiled, though her eyes were sad, "He is a difficult man at times, to understand. But nevertheless, he is a good man, and a good father, though strict at times. Too harsh on his son," she added the last sentence almost as a thought to herself.
"His son? Boromir the brave? I thought he doted upon him."
"Nay. Denethor loves Boromir, his elder dearer than life itself. Faramir, sweet, gentle Faramir is the one he scorns," her gaze softening as she spoke of the younger.
Araniel noticing, "Your beloved?" Elentari nodded after a bit of thought, "I suppose you can call him that."
"What would you call him?"
After a bit of thought, "My life. My salvation."
"Salvation from what?" Araniel asked. She didn't want to be rude, but she wanted to know what caused Elentari such sorrow, and felt that she was on the right track.
"From answering the call," she replied softly, hesitating, "the call of the gulls."
It finally struck Araniel. She had heard tales of the longing of the Elves and the call of the Sea, "You're part elf aren't you?"
"I have Elven blood, from my mother's side," she replied, her eyes straying to the distance, where the waves met the sand.
"From Lady Nimrodel of old?"
"That is what they say."
After a bit of thought, Araniel asked, "Is that why you come here? I mean, to Amroth."
"I suppose. That and much more. Minas Tirith is the city of stone. Amroth is beautiful, trees, lakes, birds, flowers, and the Sea. What are you looking at?" as Araniel was looking at her oddly, straining her neck.
"Your ears! Are they pointed?" "What?" Elentari asked, taken aback. She instinctly put up a hand to feel her ear. "Strange question. I never thought of that." "It is a bit!" Araniel exclaimed triumphantly. "I suppose so. Never noticed it in Minas Tirith. I had other things to do, within those walls of stone." "I would love to see it. It seems so magical," Araniel whispered dreamily, causing the older girl to laugh.
"It's beautiful. I love it, as it is home, but I just feel trapped within the walls. Not like here."
"Eh, it gets boring."
"Ah, folly. People don't know what they have until it's gone, beyond their reach," Elentari sighed, her eyes dimming again.
"I suppose. I don't know. It just seems to me that everything in Gondor is so much more exciting," Araniel dreamt. Elentari smiled, almost ruefully.
"Araniel," she murmured gently, "Please. Don't throw away what you have for something you don't know." It was advice Elentari murmured to herself every day. She did not know truly know the Sea, only felt it was better than Minas Tirith.
Araniel sighed dreamily and said, "You're so lucky. Faramir seems so perfect."
"He is," Elentari smiled, seeming content for the first time that day.
"I've never seen many men of Gondor. A few years ago, before I reached twelve summers, a messenger came. He seemed to handsome, and tall."
Elentari loved the naiveté of this girl and her dreamlike stance.
"Well, if your father allows, I will take you back to Minas Tirith with me when I leave."
"Would you?" Araniel suddenly withdrew from her trance and became lively and animated. Elentari wished she could have that energy that traced every feature of Araniel's face.
"Yes. If your father allows."
"He will! Oh Elentari!! It will be so exciting! You must show me around, introduce me to everyone, especially Faramir!" Elentari was happy the girl was so excited, but her face grew grave at the mention of Faramir's name, "He may not be there to welcome you. Father wants him out long."
"Well, when do you wish to return?"
"I would love to stay until the blossom of spring withers, but my heart tells me that I cannot."
"Well, spring is almost here. The weather has turned this past week," Araniel said.
"Yes. Spring here must be beautiful, as even the winter rains are," Elentari dreamt wishfully, "Not like Minas Tirith. Stone has no seasons."
"Ah, folly. People do not know what they have until it's gone," Araniel repeated Elentari's words from earlier. Elentari smiled and threw a pillow at Araniel, hitting her as she was stretching for a yawn. Araniel threw it back and a small pillow fight erupted, until Elentari stopped, "The hour grows late and we are both weary. Sleep now." Araniel reluctantly consented and left for her room.
Lying in her bed, facing upwards, as she was now able to gaze at the stars without going to her window, Elentari thought of Faramir, if he was looking at the stars at that moment also. She felt that they connected them, those bright, ethereal flames in the distance.
A! Elbereth Githoniel
Silivren penna miriel
O menel aglar elenath,
Githoniel, A! Elbereth
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land, beneath the trees
The starlight on the Western Seas
She sang this in token to Lady Elbereth herself, Varda Elentari. Then, another tune struck up in her mind:
In western lands beneath the Sun
The flowers may rise in Spring.
The trees may bud, the waters run,
The merry finches sing.
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night
And swaying beeches bear
The Elven-stars as jewels white
Amid their branching hair
Though here at journey's end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars forever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.
She fell into a content slumber right when the last note left her lips and she dreamt. Dreamt, of the Sea. Dreamt of Faramir. Dreamt of everything dear to her heart.
Weeks later, when spring was in full blossom, the flowers gold, purple, red, white lying about the paths, birds chirping happily, songs of life and hope, a rider from Gondor arrived, his face traced with panic and drenched in sweat from hard riding. Elentari had just been enjoying the tranquility of the gardens when Araniel ran in looking for her.
"There's a rider! A rider from Gondor. He's looking for you. He looks really worried and says it's urgent." Elentari did not question her at all, picked up her dress and ran.
When the rider saw her, he rushed forward, "My Lady Elentari. You must come home, quick! We must leave now."
"What has happened? Slow down. Tell me what has happened," she ordered, trembling.
The man sat down, sighed and said slowly, "The Rangers made it back to the City today, at least some of them did. They had been attacked in Cair Andros and badly outnumbered, lost a number of men." Elentari did not like where this was going.
"Many were wounded and the remainder of the men quickly retreated, getting the wounded on horses and running for Minas Tirith. This happened four days ago and they finally made it back this morning."
"Who was injured?" Elentari whispered, afraid of the answer.
The Gondorian soldier, lines of weariness etched in his face, sighed and slowly said, "The Lord Faramir was among those fallen. He was rushed to the Houses of Healing, but it seems there is nothing they can do for him. I was sent to hurry here and come get you, as delirious, he has called for you."
Elentari felt her feet leave the floor beneath her. Imrahil, who had entered, steadied her and she felt for a chair.
"How bad is it?" she finally managed to whisper, breathless.
"The Healers can't find anything to help him. They say it was a Southron poison dart. My Lady, we must leave quickly."
"Yes. Bring me my horse. Let us go," Elentari said, no color in her face.
"My Lady, your things!" Araniel reminded.
"I will come back for them, or send someone for them. We mustn't waste any time. Imrahil, I am sorry. Thank you for everything you've done."
"Don't think on it. Hurry back to your City before it is too late," Imrahil said, "I'm sure he'll be fine. May the Valar be with you." Talcalina was fetched and saddled and after bidding Araniel and Imrahil farewell, Elentari flew out of the City, racing the wind. Talcalina, sensing her master's desperation and impatience flew faster and faster, soon leaving even the soldier behind, who rode hard to keep up. When they finally slowed down for a short rest, that Elentari was reluctant for, the soldier whose name was Gumlin, inquired, wiping the sweat off his brow, "Where did you learn to ride like that? You would rival the best horse masters of Gondor. One would think you were of the Rohirrim."
Elentari smiled through her anxiety, "My brothers often took me out. Faramir and I would race from the gates of Minas Tirith to the river, just before Osgiliath."
"Who won?"
"I did," she shrugged a bit guiltily, "When we were younger, he would, but after a while, Talcalina never let me down." They mounted their horses again, and vowed that they would not stop until they entered the Gate.
When they finally did, ages as it seemed to Elentari, she urged her horse up all the levels, past all the people, and a small child, scurrying aside, looking frightened at the swift horse almost trampling him. Immediately, gossip ensued after she past by. Gossip about their relationship; gossip about Faramir's condition, and overall, the family of the Steward.
She dismounted her horse, patted her, and ran faster than the wind into the Houses of Healing. She met Ioreth, the wise woman at the entrance and literally screamed at the old woman frantically, "Where is he? Tell me! Where is he?"
"Inside, my Lady, the very back. He is behind a screen." Elentari almost slipped running as her body lunged forward quicker than her feet. As they saw her approaching, the healers quickly came out to meet her. They led her quickly to his bedside, unconscious, his brow drenched in sweat, hands icy cold, like the last drips of snow that had managed to cling on to winter's chill, despite the recent warmth.
"Faramir," she breathed falling to her knees beside him.
"He was hit by a Southron dart not four days ago," a Healer told her, "We have removed it, but the poison lingers in his body. He is fighting a darkness that threatens to take him. He has not awoken since he entered the City, and the Rangers tell us that he lost consciousness about three days ago, when they began riding hard. He has said nothing, but call your name, my Lady a few times, in his delirium, but that was a few hours ago."
Elentari held tears back, closed her eyes for a moment when she heard the healer's words, and grasped the limp, icy hand, "I'm here Faramir. Please come back to me. Don't leave me."
"Lord Denethor came by once, just recently left."
"How can he not stay? How can he not be here when his son is mortally wounded?" she moaned piteously, "Please Faramir. Don't leave me. I have lost too many I love already. Not you too."
Anyone, even cold Denethor, sworn to not let any pain touch his heart after Finduilas's death, would have been moved to tears by the scene. She looked so helpless, begging, pleading with him to come back to her, while he lay there, equally vulnerable, seemingly oblivious to her pleas.
Finally, a murmur escaped Faramir's lips, "Isil--, he couldn't finish.
"I'm here Faramir. Come back to the light. Come back to me." The healers held different herbs to the wounded man, applying them to his wound and allowing him to smell them. The room was revived with the scent, and a few other wounded rangers moaned. Elentari raised her head, for the first time realizing that Faramir was not the only wounded man.
"How are the others?" her gaze never straying from Faramir's face.
"They are recovering. A few are wounded badly and one has died since morning.
"Does he have family?" she inquired, knowing the pain that they must be in.
"Yes. His mother, an aging woman living on the third level, and a young wife of four months."
"Give me directions to their abode. I wish to visit them,"
"My Lady, why?"
"Because I know what it feels to lose, and I do not wish for them to grieve alone," she said simply, her gaze never leaving Faramir's ashen face. "Yes, my Lady." Calling his name so many times did no avail, so succumbing to despair, feeling fever creep upon him, she sang words deep from her heart.
When you were gone
I dreamt of you
Feeling your touch
Hearing your voice
You were so close
I could feel you
Then I opened my eyes
You were gone
Now you're here in front of me
Yet you don't know you are
Your mind flying somewhere else
Somewhere I am not
Your soul gone, drifting in the clouds
Only your stiff body lies here
Come back to me, melda
Don't leave
Don't go where I can't follow
Come back to me, my love
My love given only for you
My life lived only for you
The last rays of light left the City, beyond the horizon, as the shrouded moon began to make himself known and the crickets fiddling. Elentari was kneeling by Faramir's bedside, as she had been since the early afternoon, whispering and singing to him, pleading with him to come back to her.
A Tower Guard entered, without her notice, "My Lady Elentari. The Lord Denethor requests your presence at dinner this night."
"How can he eat when his son is here, burning his way to Mandos?!" she screamed, shocking the Guard and the Healers, for none in the City, save Faramir, had ever seen Lady Elentari lose her composure.
"I do not know, my Lady. I was merely told to come fetch you."
"Well please send this message to Lord Denethor," she replied coldly, her eyes full of icy revulsion at the Steward of Gondor's apparent heartlessness to his younger son's peril, "That I will not eat until Lord Faramir is able to, nor will I sleep until he awakes, and if the Steward had half a heart, he would come see his son." The Guard seemed a bit shocked, bowed formally, and made his way back to the Citadel.
"Faramir. Come on Faramir. Come back to Minas Tirith, even though the Steward is a heartless despot."
"Or is it just his heart dwells with another, long gone, far away," a cold voice said steely. Elentari immediately knew it was Denethor, yet she did not regret her words.
"You rejected my request, and you did not come to see me when you entered the City," Denethor accused.
"I found other appointments more pressing, my Lord," she replied coldly.
"Would you be so heartless as to deny your father?"
"Would you be so heartless as to watch your son die without doing anything?"
"Faramir will not die."
"How can you be so sure?" her face pained to see Denethor's apparent heartlessness. Denethor merely shrugged and said, "You will join me for dinner."
"No. I will not eat until Faramir is able to,"
"Faramir will not want you to starve yourself to death while he is incapacitated," Denethor said, "Now come."
"I will not be able to stomach anything knowing his condition," she returned obstinately, refusing to leave his bedside.
"You will not know until you try," Denethor commanded, his icy eyes flashing, "Now come." Elentari felt herself being pulled up and taken out of the room. She wanted to cry out, but suppressed herself. Finally, she was seated in the Citadel, facing Lord Denethor. As food was set in front of them, Elentari felt a wave of nausea wash over her.
"Eat," was the command. She picked up a spoon and tried to ladle some broth into her mouth, but could not swallow. She could not take her mind off of Faramir lying there, cold, though burning with fever, alone, and helpless.
"How was your visit to Amroth?" Denethor asked.
"Pleasant, until the news arrived."
"Did the Prince send any message to me?"
"No. He did not mention anything," was her prompt response, and her tone signaled she was tired of the conversation. Denethor, however, ignored her tone.
"Elentari. You are blossoming into a fresh young woman. Naturally, there are those within this City and out, who are interested in your hand. What are you, seventeen now? Hardly a child; my plans are to, on your eighteenth day of birth, hold grand festivities, to present you to the public."
"And why should I be presented like a portion of roast beef upon a platter?" she snapped.
"Elentari, every young woman has one of these. I myself first looked upon your mother, Ariethel and dear Finduilas on their celebration. They held it together, as they were born within hours of each other."
"What is the purpose of such a celebration?"
"To make it known to the world that you are a woman, ready for the burdens and delights of a woman's life," Denethor said, choosing his words carefully.
"And those burdens are?"
"Marriage. A husband. Family. Children. A household."
"So basically this celebration is to show the world that I am ready for marriage. To invite suitors into the City, looking for my hand," she paraphrased, her temper flaring, remembering Boromir's words.
"Yes."
"Then my Lord, if that is the case, I suggest you save the time and expenses. I will not marry, unless it be to the man who holds my heart, and you know fully well who that is," she said coldly, and with that, set down her spoon, with all the grace and ease she could muster, which took all the self-control she had drilled herself to through the years, and ran back to the Houses of Healing.
Denethor sat there, a surprising sneer on his face, "I am afraid, young one, that this will not be within your control."
Chapter 10: Come back
When Tilion's moon was shining in the sky, Elentari sat with Araniel, her head leaned against the trunk of a tree. Under her request, Imrahil had ordered a room that was filled with freshly picked flowers and the ceiling was made of glass, so nothing prevented her from gazing at the stars.
"Do you miss home?" Araniel asked.
"A bit, I suppose. I miss the people," Elentari answered, "Minas Tirith is a beautiful city, but too much stone. No trees. No life, not like here."
"Who do you miss? I have heard talk that Lord Denethor is not at all pleasant," Araniel said naively.
Elentari smiled, though her eyes were sad, "He is a difficult man at times, to understand. But nevertheless, he is a good man, and a good father, though strict at times. Too harsh on his son," she added the last sentence almost as a thought to herself.
"His son? Boromir the brave? I thought he doted upon him."
"Nay. Denethor loves Boromir, his elder dearer than life itself. Faramir, sweet, gentle Faramir is the one he scorns," her gaze softening as she spoke of the younger.
Araniel noticing, "Your beloved?" Elentari nodded after a bit of thought, "I suppose you can call him that."
"What would you call him?"
After a bit of thought, "My life. My salvation."
"Salvation from what?" Araniel asked. She didn't want to be rude, but she wanted to know what caused Elentari such sorrow, and felt that she was on the right track.
"From answering the call," she replied softly, hesitating, "the call of the gulls."
It finally struck Araniel. She had heard tales of the longing of the Elves and the call of the Sea, "You're part elf aren't you?"
"I have Elven blood, from my mother's side," she replied, her eyes straying to the distance, where the waves met the sand.
"From Lady Nimrodel of old?"
"That is what they say."
After a bit of thought, Araniel asked, "Is that why you come here? I mean, to Amroth."
"I suppose. That and much more. Minas Tirith is the city of stone. Amroth is beautiful, trees, lakes, birds, flowers, and the Sea. What are you looking at?" as Araniel was looking at her oddly, straining her neck.
"Your ears! Are they pointed?" "What?" Elentari asked, taken aback. She instinctly put up a hand to feel her ear. "Strange question. I never thought of that." "It is a bit!" Araniel exclaimed triumphantly. "I suppose so. Never noticed it in Minas Tirith. I had other things to do, within those walls of stone." "I would love to see it. It seems so magical," Araniel whispered dreamily, causing the older girl to laugh.
"It's beautiful. I love it, as it is home, but I just feel trapped within the walls. Not like here."
"Eh, it gets boring."
"Ah, folly. People don't know what they have until it's gone, beyond their reach," Elentari sighed, her eyes dimming again.
"I suppose. I don't know. It just seems to me that everything in Gondor is so much more exciting," Araniel dreamt. Elentari smiled, almost ruefully.
"Araniel," she murmured gently, "Please. Don't throw away what you have for something you don't know." It was advice Elentari murmured to herself every day. She did not know truly know the Sea, only felt it was better than Minas Tirith.
Araniel sighed dreamily and said, "You're so lucky. Faramir seems so perfect."
"He is," Elentari smiled, seeming content for the first time that day.
"I've never seen many men of Gondor. A few years ago, before I reached twelve summers, a messenger came. He seemed to handsome, and tall."
Elentari loved the naiveté of this girl and her dreamlike stance.
"Well, if your father allows, I will take you back to Minas Tirith with me when I leave."
"Would you?" Araniel suddenly withdrew from her trance and became lively and animated. Elentari wished she could have that energy that traced every feature of Araniel's face.
"Yes. If your father allows."
"He will! Oh Elentari!! It will be so exciting! You must show me around, introduce me to everyone, especially Faramir!" Elentari was happy the girl was so excited, but her face grew grave at the mention of Faramir's name, "He may not be there to welcome you. Father wants him out long."
"Well, when do you wish to return?"
"I would love to stay until the blossom of spring withers, but my heart tells me that I cannot."
"Well, spring is almost here. The weather has turned this past week," Araniel said.
"Yes. Spring here must be beautiful, as even the winter rains are," Elentari dreamt wishfully, "Not like Minas Tirith. Stone has no seasons."
"Ah, folly. People do not know what they have until it's gone," Araniel repeated Elentari's words from earlier. Elentari smiled and threw a pillow at Araniel, hitting her as she was stretching for a yawn. Araniel threw it back and a small pillow fight erupted, until Elentari stopped, "The hour grows late and we are both weary. Sleep now." Araniel reluctantly consented and left for her room.
Lying in her bed, facing upwards, as she was now able to gaze at the stars without going to her window, Elentari thought of Faramir, if he was looking at the stars at that moment also. She felt that they connected them, those bright, ethereal flames in the distance.
A! Elbereth Githoniel
Silivren penna miriel
O menel aglar elenath,
Githoniel, A! Elbereth
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land, beneath the trees
The starlight on the Western Seas
She sang this in token to Lady Elbereth herself, Varda Elentari. Then, another tune struck up in her mind:
In western lands beneath the Sun
The flowers may rise in Spring.
The trees may bud, the waters run,
The merry finches sing.
Or there maybe 'tis cloudless night
And swaying beeches bear
The Elven-stars as jewels white
Amid their branching hair
Though here at journey's end I lie
In darkness buried deep,
Beyond all towers strong and high,
Above all shadows rides the Sun
And Stars forever dwell:
I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.
She fell into a content slumber right when the last note left her lips and she dreamt. Dreamt, of the Sea. Dreamt of Faramir. Dreamt of everything dear to her heart.
Weeks later, when spring was in full blossom, the flowers gold, purple, red, white lying about the paths, birds chirping happily, songs of life and hope, a rider from Gondor arrived, his face traced with panic and drenched in sweat from hard riding. Elentari had just been enjoying the tranquility of the gardens when Araniel ran in looking for her.
"There's a rider! A rider from Gondor. He's looking for you. He looks really worried and says it's urgent." Elentari did not question her at all, picked up her dress and ran.
When the rider saw her, he rushed forward, "My Lady Elentari. You must come home, quick! We must leave now."
"What has happened? Slow down. Tell me what has happened," she ordered, trembling.
The man sat down, sighed and said slowly, "The Rangers made it back to the City today, at least some of them did. They had been attacked in Cair Andros and badly outnumbered, lost a number of men." Elentari did not like where this was going.
"Many were wounded and the remainder of the men quickly retreated, getting the wounded on horses and running for Minas Tirith. This happened four days ago and they finally made it back this morning."
"Who was injured?" Elentari whispered, afraid of the answer.
The Gondorian soldier, lines of weariness etched in his face, sighed and slowly said, "The Lord Faramir was among those fallen. He was rushed to the Houses of Healing, but it seems there is nothing they can do for him. I was sent to hurry here and come get you, as delirious, he has called for you."
Elentari felt her feet leave the floor beneath her. Imrahil, who had entered, steadied her and she felt for a chair.
"How bad is it?" she finally managed to whisper, breathless.
"The Healers can't find anything to help him. They say it was a Southron poison dart. My Lady, we must leave quickly."
"Yes. Bring me my horse. Let us go," Elentari said, no color in her face.
"My Lady, your things!" Araniel reminded.
"I will come back for them, or send someone for them. We mustn't waste any time. Imrahil, I am sorry. Thank you for everything you've done."
"Don't think on it. Hurry back to your City before it is too late," Imrahil said, "I'm sure he'll be fine. May the Valar be with you." Talcalina was fetched and saddled and after bidding Araniel and Imrahil farewell, Elentari flew out of the City, racing the wind. Talcalina, sensing her master's desperation and impatience flew faster and faster, soon leaving even the soldier behind, who rode hard to keep up. When they finally slowed down for a short rest, that Elentari was reluctant for, the soldier whose name was Gumlin, inquired, wiping the sweat off his brow, "Where did you learn to ride like that? You would rival the best horse masters of Gondor. One would think you were of the Rohirrim."
Elentari smiled through her anxiety, "My brothers often took me out. Faramir and I would race from the gates of Minas Tirith to the river, just before Osgiliath."
"Who won?"
"I did," she shrugged a bit guiltily, "When we were younger, he would, but after a while, Talcalina never let me down." They mounted their horses again, and vowed that they would not stop until they entered the Gate.
When they finally did, ages as it seemed to Elentari, she urged her horse up all the levels, past all the people, and a small child, scurrying aside, looking frightened at the swift horse almost trampling him. Immediately, gossip ensued after she past by. Gossip about their relationship; gossip about Faramir's condition, and overall, the family of the Steward.
She dismounted her horse, patted her, and ran faster than the wind into the Houses of Healing. She met Ioreth, the wise woman at the entrance and literally screamed at the old woman frantically, "Where is he? Tell me! Where is he?"
"Inside, my Lady, the very back. He is behind a screen." Elentari almost slipped running as her body lunged forward quicker than her feet. As they saw her approaching, the healers quickly came out to meet her. They led her quickly to his bedside, unconscious, his brow drenched in sweat, hands icy cold, like the last drips of snow that had managed to cling on to winter's chill, despite the recent warmth.
"Faramir," she breathed falling to her knees beside him.
"He was hit by a Southron dart not four days ago," a Healer told her, "We have removed it, but the poison lingers in his body. He is fighting a darkness that threatens to take him. He has not awoken since he entered the City, and the Rangers tell us that he lost consciousness about three days ago, when they began riding hard. He has said nothing, but call your name, my Lady a few times, in his delirium, but that was a few hours ago."
Elentari held tears back, closed her eyes for a moment when she heard the healer's words, and grasped the limp, icy hand, "I'm here Faramir. Please come back to me. Don't leave me."
"Lord Denethor came by once, just recently left."
"How can he not stay? How can he not be here when his son is mortally wounded?" she moaned piteously, "Please Faramir. Don't leave me. I have lost too many I love already. Not you too."
Anyone, even cold Denethor, sworn to not let any pain touch his heart after Finduilas's death, would have been moved to tears by the scene. She looked so helpless, begging, pleading with him to come back to her, while he lay there, equally vulnerable, seemingly oblivious to her pleas.
Finally, a murmur escaped Faramir's lips, "Isil--, he couldn't finish.
"I'm here Faramir. Come back to the light. Come back to me." The healers held different herbs to the wounded man, applying them to his wound and allowing him to smell them. The room was revived with the scent, and a few other wounded rangers moaned. Elentari raised her head, for the first time realizing that Faramir was not the only wounded man.
"How are the others?" her gaze never straying from Faramir's face.
"They are recovering. A few are wounded badly and one has died since morning.
"Does he have family?" she inquired, knowing the pain that they must be in.
"Yes. His mother, an aging woman living on the third level, and a young wife of four months."
"Give me directions to their abode. I wish to visit them,"
"My Lady, why?"
"Because I know what it feels to lose, and I do not wish for them to grieve alone," she said simply, her gaze never leaving Faramir's ashen face. "Yes, my Lady." Calling his name so many times did no avail, so succumbing to despair, feeling fever creep upon him, she sang words deep from her heart.
When you were gone
I dreamt of you
Feeling your touch
Hearing your voice
You were so close
I could feel you
Then I opened my eyes
You were gone
Now you're here in front of me
Yet you don't know you are
Your mind flying somewhere else
Somewhere I am not
Your soul gone, drifting in the clouds
Only your stiff body lies here
Come back to me, melda
Don't leave
Don't go where I can't follow
Come back to me, my love
My love given only for you
My life lived only for you
The last rays of light left the City, beyond the horizon, as the shrouded moon began to make himself known and the crickets fiddling. Elentari was kneeling by Faramir's bedside, as she had been since the early afternoon, whispering and singing to him, pleading with him to come back to her.
A Tower Guard entered, without her notice, "My Lady Elentari. The Lord Denethor requests your presence at dinner this night."
"How can he eat when his son is here, burning his way to Mandos?!" she screamed, shocking the Guard and the Healers, for none in the City, save Faramir, had ever seen Lady Elentari lose her composure.
"I do not know, my Lady. I was merely told to come fetch you."
"Well please send this message to Lord Denethor," she replied coldly, her eyes full of icy revulsion at the Steward of Gondor's apparent heartlessness to his younger son's peril, "That I will not eat until Lord Faramir is able to, nor will I sleep until he awakes, and if the Steward had half a heart, he would come see his son." The Guard seemed a bit shocked, bowed formally, and made his way back to the Citadel.
"Faramir. Come on Faramir. Come back to Minas Tirith, even though the Steward is a heartless despot."
"Or is it just his heart dwells with another, long gone, far away," a cold voice said steely. Elentari immediately knew it was Denethor, yet she did not regret her words.
"You rejected my request, and you did not come to see me when you entered the City," Denethor accused.
"I found other appointments more pressing, my Lord," she replied coldly.
"Would you be so heartless as to deny your father?"
"Would you be so heartless as to watch your son die without doing anything?"
"Faramir will not die."
"How can you be so sure?" her face pained to see Denethor's apparent heartlessness. Denethor merely shrugged and said, "You will join me for dinner."
"No. I will not eat until Faramir is able to,"
"Faramir will not want you to starve yourself to death while he is incapacitated," Denethor said, "Now come."
"I will not be able to stomach anything knowing his condition," she returned obstinately, refusing to leave his bedside.
"You will not know until you try," Denethor commanded, his icy eyes flashing, "Now come." Elentari felt herself being pulled up and taken out of the room. She wanted to cry out, but suppressed herself. Finally, she was seated in the Citadel, facing Lord Denethor. As food was set in front of them, Elentari felt a wave of nausea wash over her.
"Eat," was the command. She picked up a spoon and tried to ladle some broth into her mouth, but could not swallow. She could not take her mind off of Faramir lying there, cold, though burning with fever, alone, and helpless.
"How was your visit to Amroth?" Denethor asked.
"Pleasant, until the news arrived."
"Did the Prince send any message to me?"
"No. He did not mention anything," was her prompt response, and her tone signaled she was tired of the conversation. Denethor, however, ignored her tone.
"Elentari. You are blossoming into a fresh young woman. Naturally, there are those within this City and out, who are interested in your hand. What are you, seventeen now? Hardly a child; my plans are to, on your eighteenth day of birth, hold grand festivities, to present you to the public."
"And why should I be presented like a portion of roast beef upon a platter?" she snapped.
"Elentari, every young woman has one of these. I myself first looked upon your mother, Ariethel and dear Finduilas on their celebration. They held it together, as they were born within hours of each other."
"What is the purpose of such a celebration?"
"To make it known to the world that you are a woman, ready for the burdens and delights of a woman's life," Denethor said, choosing his words carefully.
"And those burdens are?"
"Marriage. A husband. Family. Children. A household."
"So basically this celebration is to show the world that I am ready for marriage. To invite suitors into the City, looking for my hand," she paraphrased, her temper flaring, remembering Boromir's words.
"Yes."
"Then my Lord, if that is the case, I suggest you save the time and expenses. I will not marry, unless it be to the man who holds my heart, and you know fully well who that is," she said coldly, and with that, set down her spoon, with all the grace and ease she could muster, which took all the self-control she had drilled herself to through the years, and ran back to the Houses of Healing.
Denethor sat there, a surprising sneer on his face, "I am afraid, young one, that this will not be within your control."