A/N: This chapter wasn't as flowing as I wished it to be. I don't even like it very much, but it's for the readers to decide. Reviews are VERY welcome!! One song. Hey, I haven't had a song in a while, okay? I couldn't resist. "Evening Falls" by Enya. I don't know. This chapter is odd. R/R! Thanks to all the reviewers.

To Jazmin, I'm glad you liked the fight.

Chapter 16: Dying Light

Soon after all the guests left, from Araniel to Theodred, Elentari locked herself in her room, refusing to see anyone.
Theodred had kissed her hand gently, after a serious, private discussion with Denethor that had consumed the whole morning. "Fare thee well, my sweet Lady. My heart shall not be content until I look upon thee again. Your kindness and beauty will be known in my country."
"Thank you, my Lord. Your presence here has been most welcome. You may return any time you wish. These doors will always be open to you, as long as I abide by them," she returned, a warm smile upon her face. Yet inside, she felt cold, cold as the first winter snow, cruel, barricading people inside. Faramir's words had created a rift in her heart, a deep fissure that could never be bridged. Theodred smiled one last time, kissed her hand, and rode off with his men. She watched as he, the last to depart, faded into the horizon, and fled back to the safety of her chamber, determined to forget all that had happened in these past few days, but knew, it was impossible. Nothing could blot out the words that stung her heart. Nothing, not even Elbereth's shining stars could erase the fury and hatred in his voice and eyes. Boromir came to see her, but she refused to open the door. He stood by it for some time, but left after hearing no response and utter silence.
When Elentari did not show for dinner that night, Denethor himself came to her chamber, but again, she did not answer. Gossip about that night in the tavern had spread through the City like wildfire and had reached Boromir's ears, from a few of the serving women who flirted with him, hoping to catch his eye. He urged Faramir, who had hid himself in the library all day, dodging view and pretending nothing in the world was wrong, to go and speak to Elentari. He ardently refused, protesting that it was not his problem.
Boromir was shocked and confounded. What had happened between these two? Why did they shun each other so? Usually, Faramir could not wait till dawn to come so that he and Elentari could plan their next misadventures together. Now, he avoided her, keeping to himself, acting like he didn't care for her at all. She was also being just as obstinate. He knew that if Faramir would not come out first, she would not go apologize after that incident in the tavern. She was proud, that he knew, as was Faramir, and stubborn. Yet he was worried about them, especially her, for he had seen Faramir, had spoken to him, had touched him. Where was she? He knew nothing of her except his assumption that she was still in her room. He had not heard a sound coming from beyond that sealed wooden door, except an occasional sob, and that was early in the morning. As news reached Denethor however, he seemed not to be concerned, even when he heard of Faramir and his incident in the tavern. Usually, he would be furious, irate with his younger son, as he disapproved of any contact with those "inadequate folk", as he liked to refer to them as. However, he always turned a blind eye whenever any report of Boromir came up, but would dismiss a maidservant if there were rumors of her dishonorable conduct.
As rumor and gossip spread through the City, another one added. The Lady Elentari had taken ill and had been moved to the Houses of Healing. This first part was true, yet not the latter. She had abjectly refused to be moved anywhere, as after a full day of not hearing a sound from her in her room, Boromir almost broke down the door getting to her. He had found her, shaking, her teeth clenched, clutching her coverlets. Her face was ashen, streaked with memories of tears. There were traces of blood and vomit on some parts of the floor and on her pillow. He had instantly called for help and attempted to carry her to the Healing Houses, but she clung to her bedpost, sapping all the energy she had left, refusing to leave the safety of her room. Boromir, not wanting to hurt her, sent for a Healer.
Several had come, the Master Healer himself, but none could find what was wrong with the Lady. He had shook his head, looking puzzled, thinking of all possibilities, but no one knew what was ailing the Star Maiden. They had wanted her to come to the Healing Houses, but she adamantly refused, not uttering a word, shaking her head violently, and clutching her childhood doll Finduilas had made for her.
They had done everything possible to make her comfortable, and had posted a healer somewhere close by, though they hid from her view, as she refused to let anyone watch over her. Boromir did not know what was wrong with her. Was it to do with Faramir? It must have. Yet what could drive her to this? Boromir stayed by her side, as he was the only company she would allow. He watched her piteously as she curled up in a ball, shaking, her hands cold, yet face burning. Every so often, she would gag and then violently retch; sometimes missing the bowl they had placed for her. Then she would pathetically gasp for air at short intervals and cough. The phlegm that she coughed off was discarded, and Boromir noticed sometimes it was mixed with blood. He clutched her hand, and spoke to her, but she would utter no reply.
"Elentari. Come on. Talk to me. Just because you are ill does not mean you cannot speak. Please? Your voice was the loveliest thing about you. Please let me hear it," Boromir coaxed. She shook her head.
"Tell me what is ailing you, dear sister. I know it is this sudden sickness, but I fear in my heart that it is more than this. What is it?" At this, she turned, facing him, her grey eyes dull. He was taken aback for a moment, as the playful light in her sea-grey eyes that had shone like the ripples of the Sea at sunset, had dimmed, leaving a rather lifeless look. He held her sorrowful gaze, until suddenly, her eyes darted to the door quickly, and it seemed to him a beacon of light appeared behind them, but was quickly quenched. He quickly turned, to see Faramir quickly move pass the door. So he does care. So his concern did best him. He couldn't go that long without seeing her. Boromir smiled. It would not be long before Faramir's anxiety and guilt would overpower him, and he would come to see her.

Faramir quickened his footsteps as he passed. He had left his room, with the intention of questioning the Healer stationed in the Hall, but seeing her door open just across from his, he could not help but glance into it. He promised himself it would only be a fleeting instant. As he saw her lifeless eyes, guilt gnawed at him, and he could stay no longer. Damn him. Damn his conscience. He had vowed not to care, not to let her win. Not to care for her. Not to love her. Yet why did his blood broil when he thought of her ill? Why was it, that every time he thought of her infirmity, he could no longer do whatever task he was performing, and had to almost chain himself literally, to prevent himself from going to her. Going to her, begging, pleading for forgiveness, cursing himself for his foolish words spoken from fiery jealousy. Why was it that every time he caught himself, he always found himself thinking of her, envisioning her peaceful face as she slept beside him. Feeling her touch, smelling her fragrant hair. Why? Why was he longing to feel her gentle caress and her lips upon his skin? Damn his heart. He would not let her win. He would not give in. "Even if I must shatter my heart, I will not give in. I will not grant her a victory. Besides, what is there to shatter? She has already broken it," he vowed to himself, "No. I will not give in. Let us see if Faramir is weak or not." He went to the Healer, who saw him and quickly bowed.
"My Lord Faramir."
"How is she?" he whispered, not wanting her to hear, as her room was just down the Hall. He beckoned to the Healer, who followed him to a more secluded area.
"We do not know. We have made her as comfortable as possible, but even that is not helping. We have treated her with herbs. We have not seen such a case ever since the time of," he hesitated for a moment, causing Faramir to press him, "Since the illness of Lady Finduilas, who suffered similar conditions. We could not do anything for her then." The thought of his mother touched Faramir, but then worry filled his heart, "She won't die, like Mother did, will she?"
"I think not. She is younger and stronger," the Healer said, "Would you like to hear my personal opinion, my Lord?"
"Yes, tell me, please."
"I feel it is more a contest of will than anything. I feel that if the Lady has the will to survive, and the heart to live, then she will be fine," he added the last part pointedly, "If she feels that there is a reason to live, she will."
That infuriating guilt, it was gnawing at him again. He could not help but feel a bit irritated at the Healer. He knew that he had spoken these words deliberately, hearing the rumors.
"Why do you feel that it is the same illness as Mother's?" Faramir questioned, forcing himself to ignore the Healer's previous words.
"Finduilas's illness, though it was predicted, it could not be aided."
"Why do you say that? Predicted?"
The Healer sighed and murmured, "It is not my place to say, my Lord."
"I grant thee the permission to say whatever thee feels is proper, now tell me," Faramir said impatiently.
"Well," the Healer still looked a bit uncomfortable, "Some in the City feel that Lady Finduilas, she didn't die, she withered. She withered like a flower of the seaward vales set upon a barren rock. The City suffocated her." His words frightened Faramir, for he remembered Elentari's words that night a few years ago. She had felt the cold stone trapped and smothered her. She hated the loneliness of the stone of Minas Tirith, though it was home. She had begged him to free her, to take her to Ithilien where she could gaze at the stars without being behind bars.
"My Lord?" the Healer said, not hearing any response from Faramir, who was lost in his own thoughts and worries.
"It is nothing. Thank you for speaking to me of these things," he said, and walked away.

By nightfall, her vomiting had ceased, but she was as silent as ever, her eyes gazing to the south, to the Sea she loved, and upwards, to her ever-shining stars. Boromir had not left her for long all day. However, Denethor requested his presence at the evening meal, where he questioned his elder son.
"How is she?" the Steward asked.
"A small bit better, but not by much, her vomiting stopped," he replied, sipping his wine, "The Healers know naught what do to."
Father and son continued to eat in silence, as Faramir had chosen to take his meal elsewhere.
"What say you to the matching of your sister and Theodred of Rohan?" Denethor asked.
"I say it is a fine match, if she gave her consent. That is, if she truly granted her heart to him," Boromir replied.
"She seemed to accept him," Denethor said.
"Elentari is a great actress, and remember Father, you ordered her to," Boromir pointed out, testing his Father's temper, "Besides. I do not believe that Theodred wishes a bride whose heart lies elsewhere, with another."
Denethor's neck turned a deeper shade of red as he thought of Faramir.
"Do they not understand that such a love is forbidden?" he scowled, speaking of Faramir and Elentari.
"By what law, my Lord?"
"There is no law. It is merely common decency," Denethor snapped, "Brother and sister cannot wed. Incest is forbidden."
"Incest is forbidden, yes. But my Lord, you forget that Elentari is not really our sister. As much as we treat her and love her as one, she is not of our blood."
"You yourself speak that is a good match, between our Elentari and Theodred of Rohan. Why do you defend them so fiercely then?" Denethor asked perplexed.
"Because I do not wish to see Elentari chained to a man she does not love. I do not wish to see her wither and die in a distant land among strangers unknown to her, away from those she loves and loves her."
"She cannot wed Faramir!" his voice rising.
"Nor does Faramir wish to wed her," a familiar voice said. Father and son looked up to see the younger standing by the door.
"What?" Boromir asked, shocked.
"Father, you are Lord of this land. You can do whatever you see as best, including arranging the wedlock of your children," Faramir said. Denethor's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"And what, my son, do you suggest?" he asked shrewdly.
"Marry Elentari to the man you see as best fit for her," Faramir suggested, his eyes blazing in anger, "And if I am not wrong, I believe that to be Theodred of Rohan."
"Faramir, what are you saying?" Boromir asked, knowing Faramir did not mean his words.
"He speaks the truth, Boromir. Maybe you were not as unintelligent as I first presumed, Faramir," Denethor said, evidently pleased, but not completely believing Faramir's earnest proposition. Faramir sat down at the table welcomer to his father than he had been since Finduilas's death.

Elentari's mysterious illness passed as suddenly as it came; yet it left her changed. There was a veil between her and this world, a shroud over her once-shining eyes and smiling face. It was as she had passed to Mandos in heart, but breath still lingered upon her body. She moved through this world, but was not a part of it. Boromir saw this, and was worried about her, but the Healers could not help him at all. They knew not what ailed her or how to treat it. They no longer had no excuse to hold her, but they knew she was not healed. Yet she insisted to be let free, so they held her not.

Faramir had left the City, back into the Wild, but not before he had been seen regularly with a few respectable maidens, daughters of Gondorian lords eager to please. One particular maiden stuck out from the rest, Sanya, daughter of Maranya. She and her older sister Faila were considered jewels of Gondor, as they were both strikingly fair women. Faila, the elder had flirted with Boromir on more than one occasion, whisking her light hair, the color daisies she shared with her sister, about Boromir's face. Sanya, though she was slim, seemed naught, as her shorter height did not convey this. Her light hair paler than straw matched with a pair of clear blue eyes. She was charming; no man denied that, yet once her fiery temper was aroused, she flew into a fit of rage, when no one, save her sister, dared approach her. Faramir was often seen with her, strolling around the levels of the City, from her home on the fifth level all the way to the Citadel. She giggled and tossed back her fair hair as they walked along, arms linked. Denethor welcomed her to his halls and often invited her father, along with her and her sister, over to dinner, where she sat beside Faramir, throwing him glances, giggling at his every remark. Elentari watched them with dull yet suspicious eyes. Nothing seemed to captivate her interest as it once did, not even Faramir.

It was on one such occasion, when Maranya and his daughters came to dine with the Steward and his family, that Denethor once again broached the subject of marriage. This time, it was more than Elentari whom he referred to.

"Tell me, Maranya, what say you on the marriage of Faila?" Denethor asked on the elder sister, who, on hearing this, lowered her head and smiled, as was customary.

"There have been a few matches, but none suitable yet, my Lord," Maranya replied, hoping to spark Denethor's interest.

"What of the younger?" he asked, noting her looks at Faramir.

"Well, I was hoping that if she found a worthy man, she would let me know so I could arrange it," Maranya replied, looking at his daughter. Boromir glanced uneasily at Elentari, who either did not care, or was finding her plate very fascinating.

"Elentari. What say you of the match I proposed? You have spoken naught of it," Denethor probed, causing Elentari's head to snap up.

"What of it, my Lord?" she asked, her voice quivering.

"Well, have you thought of it? Do you find it suitable?" he asked.

"If there is naught holding me here, my Lord, I will do what duty you ask of me, to the best of my ability," she replied, looking away, swallowing a lump in her throat.

"You speak of marriage as if it were a sentence of death," Denethor accused, a bit angrily.

"That would depend on the marriage," Elentari returned, raising her eyes to meet that of the Steward.

"The marriage to Theodred of Rohan," Denethor replied, "You know well of what I speak."

"If you will it my Lord," she said, a sigh reverberating from her throat. Boromir interrupted, addressing Faramir and Maranya, to avert disaster.

After Maranya had left with his two lovely daughters, Denethor confronted his children, especially the younger. "Elentari. I wish to have a decisive answer for your part on the match. What say you?" Denethor demanded.

"I told you Father, if you wish it," she replied, her eyes dead.

"I do not wish to push you into a marriage you do not wish," Denethor said, his eyes softening a bit. Boromir bit back a remark at this, for he did not wish to anger his father, and he also wanted to see what she would say. She gazed Faramir for a moment, seeing no response from him, closed her eyes to show a repressed sigh, lowered her head, and said, "My wish matters not, my Lord, for there are none here who heed it. I will do whatever you command." With that, she left the room, her soft tread heard in the marble halls, that soon echoed with the faint reverberation of her voice.

When the evening falls and the daylight is fading,

From within me calls-could it be I am sleeping?

For a moment I stray, then it holds me completely,

Close to home-I cannot say. Close to home, feeling so far away

As I walk the room there before me a shadow

From another world, where no other can follow

Carry me to my own, to where I can cross over

Close to home-I cannot say Close to home, feeling so far away

Forever searching; never right I am lost in the oceans of night

Forever hoping I can find memories

Those memories I left behind

Even though I leave, will I go on believing

That this time is real, am I lost in this feeling?

Like a child passing through, never knowing the reason

I am home-I know the way

I am home, feeling so far away