A/N: Short chapter! The first of two transitioning chapters. This one is for Faramir, and the other for Elentari and those in the White City. Reviews are ALWAYS welcome! I am in need of songs right now, so if anyone knows of any songs that they find suitable to the story, from anyone's perspective, even Denethor, if you shall, please send them to me. My email is in my profile. If you don't have the lyrics, please tell me the song name and artist and I'll find it! Thanks! Review!!!

Jazmin: Of course I know Theodred is fated to die. Ironic thing is, so is Elentari. Wait and you shall see!

Thanks to all the reviewers! Keep on reading! It's almost over!

Chapter 20: Momentos

Before the day that decided the tragic fates of many was even over, Denethor had issued a command to his younger son, sending him away to Ithilien on an "important mission" that lasted from the next morning to the night before the scheduled betrothal ceremony, leaving no time for Faramir to spend with his departing sister.
Faramir received the order icily, well knowing how this sudden mission that required no one but him was suddenly revealed. He was not to have any opportunity to even talk to Elentari, for Denethor feared that he would convince her otherwise, or that Theodred would witness another unfortunate event, or merely his presence would bear down upon her fragile emotions.
As he rode out the next morning, with his men, some onlookers, mostly women lined the streets. Out of all the faces, Faramir saw naught the one he wished most for.
Yet as the guards of the gate were busy loosening the lock of the gate, as Faramir waited by the great statue of the horse and the rider, that marked the entrance of the great city of Minas Tirith, one figure, veiled in black, came up to him. He could not see the face, but the flutter of his heart told him who it was.
Her footsteps were heavy, yet she moved quickly, as if fearing discovery, and indeed, the Steward looked down from his Tower from high above, six levels up. She came up to him, without raising her hooded head, and pressed a scroll into his hand, and whispered, "May Illuvatar watch over you." She pressed his hand to her lips and quickly tried to move away, but he hung on to her arm. She closed her eyes slowly, distraught as she did not want to face him. He swung off Cirion, his horse. She should not have come. She feared this would happen. Yet she could not let him go without a farewell and a blessing, without him knowing that she did care, she did love him. Still, he held on to her arm, and as his feet touched the ground steadily, he pulled her to him, so that she would face him, and with a finger, gently raised her chin so she would meet his tender blue eyes. She tried to look away, but he held on to her. He could see the waves of Ulmo swimming in her sea-grey eyes as she struggled to hold back tears.
"I will not speak harsh words to you, for I know it is to no avail," he whispered, gazing at her melancholy face.
"I deserve them," a murmur barely audible.
"You do not," Faramir shook his head, "It was not you who forced this fate."
She lowered her head again, sniffling to stifle her tears, "I'm sorry."
"You have naught to be sorry for," Faramir said, brushing away her tears.
She smiled ruefully, looking at him as she shook her head, "Nay, too much, melda." my love
"I shall miss you," Faramir murmured, still brushing his fingers against her cheek. He did not care that half the City could be watching now, including his beloved's betrothed. In fact, he wanted Theodred to see. Then he remembered the scroll she had pressed into his hand. He moved to open it, but she stayed his hand, "No. Wait till the City is out of sight."
He nodded, though reluctantly, and pressed her hand to his lips.
"My Lord Faramir!" one of the guards called, as his men were all waiting, with the Gate of the City standing open.
"Go," she ushered. He kissed her hand one last time, though he longed to pull her to him and kiss her passionately. As he led his men out, she bounded up to the wall where she watched him ride beyond Osgiliath, and out of her sight, but not her mind and heart.

She had come out to see him off, to show him that she still loved him. Once he was a fair distance from Minas Tirith, he reached for the scroll, but no. She had said once the City was out of sight. He would wait until they passed Osgiliath. He looked back, straining his eyes to see her still standing at the Tower, gazing out. Less than a month later, the White City would never look upon her again. The horses and plains would steal her away from the stone and craft. Yet she never loved the stone; she hated Minas Tirith. She loves the Sea, yet the grassy plains of Rohan were even farther from the rippling foam than Gondor was. He hated the horsemen of the North, because of their prince, stealing his love away from him right in front of him, yet he was helpless to stop it. Yet as much as he hated Theodred, nothing could rival the contempt he felt for his father. Denethor had frustrated him, confused him, and utterly infuriated him throughout the years, but he had never loathed his father, trying to understand why his father felt like that to him. There must be a reason. There must be something wrong with him. Yet now, he hated him in every essence of his being. His core was white-hot, wanting to burn into Denethor, to cause him as much pain as he was to him.
They reached Osgiliath, gathering reinforcements there. While the men loaded supplies, Faramir carefully took out the scroll, and tenderly unraveled it. The first thing he saw sent a sudden yet pleasant shock through his spine. It was a portrait, done many years ago, of Finduilas with her three children. Boromir and Faramir stood on either side of her, while the young Elentari sat in her lap. They looked so content, so happy, untouched by the sorrows of the world. Looking at the young girl he remembered so well, he could almost see the light in her eyes. Then his eyes moved up, to the lovely face of his beloved mother. A wave of nostalgia washed over him. How peaceful, how blissful they were back then, when Finduilas was still there to embrace them, when Denethor was not as cold and estranged, when Boromir was home, and when no one came to ask for Elentari's hand. He then turned to the other manuscript, and saw the familiar writing upon it. The minute, elegant lettering made anything her delicate hand wrote look like saved relics from Numenor. He closed his eyes and remembered the days they had spent in the library, especially when the rain pattered upon the windowpanes, immersing themselves in ancient lore and she would practice her elegant calligraphy. He looked down and read the beautiful script. It was the tale of Nimrodel and Amroth and the song she had sung of them the night he named her Isilmë—moonlight. At the bottom she written:

The mountains and the sea separated them, yet their love went beyond the circles of this world. Ered Nimrais stands between the grassy plains and our stone city, yet even then, my heart shall be with you, and the wind shall carry my song to you.

He smiled, fingering the delicate paper that gave off the familiar scent of lilac and the sea that he remembered in her hair. Tucking it into the inside pocket of his tunic, another item brushed by his fingers, sending tingles up his spine. He fingered the silver chain, pulled it out, and gazed at the necklace. She had gifted it to him years ago, when he had first joined the Rangers and would not be home for months. The crystal gem swayed in the soft billowing wind, the rim of gold encircling it shimmering in the afternoon sun. His mother had gifted this to Aunt Ariethel many years ago, and Isilmë had given it to him. Though he knew it by heart, he read the Elvish inscription upon it once more. The prayer. The prayer for Lady Varda and Lord Ulmo to guide the departing Firstborn with her stars across the wide expanse of the Sea to dwell evermore away from Middle- Earth, in the light of Aman.
He himself prayed. He called upon Eru Illuvatar himself to wake him from this dream, this dream that threatened to overpower him. Yet as much as he willed it, Faramir knew that his prayer would not be heeded.