A/N: After almost 4 short, introspection chapters, here is a longer, more action-filled one. It's almost time!!! I used two songs and many quotes, thanks to Susan, referencing me to www.coolquotescollection.com. Thanks! Please review! I have a feeling this is going to be a controversial chapter, as far as opinions go, and I raised the rating because of it, just in case.

Susan: I did end up going to the site, as above mentioned, and ended up submitting about a dozen quotes, all from LotR. I'm planning on submitting some from "Troy" also. Thanks for being great! I want to read more of Tstruck!!!! I didn't really listen to your advice about this chapter though!

I got the title off the Troy soundtrack. It's track number 5, if anyone cares.

Chapter 24: The Night Before

Faramir stormed towards the Tower of the Steward. How dare Denethor. How dare he. He was still fuming, angrier than he had ever been in his life, when he reached the door of the highest pinnacle. He thumped on the heavy wooden door, and wanted to scream at Denethor to hurry up and open. However, there was only silence, and Faramir waited, with half a mind to barge in there, unannounced and unwelcome. He restrained himself, when he heard a loud thud, the sound of something heavy hitting the ground forcefully.
No matter how incensed he was at Denethor, it was in Faramir's nature to become concerned and even worried for his father. It was this, concern for some ill occurrence that spurred Faramir to gently creak open the door. Yet what he saw frightened him. Denethor was crouched, on all fours, crawling after a ball, a glass ball, yet it was not that which frightened him. It was what was in the ball. As it rolled towards him, his eyes were fixed, in horror, at the great Eye glaring back. It was fiery, cruel, and unbending, and he could feel the malice and cruelty flowing from it. Yet try as he might, he could not tear his gaze away from it. However, within seconds, Denethor had thrown a dark piece of cloth over it, and leapt on it, clutching it for dear life.
When he looked up, and saw his younger son, his eyes grew wide, ashen, sweat-covered face livid, the lines on his face hardened, and he said, in a deadly whisper, that Faramir knew all too well, the calm before the storm, "What are you doing here?"
"I, I," he stammered, "I had come to speak with you, a, about a matter, and, and, I heard a noise, and so I was concerned—
He did not finish, "Oh, concerned, were you?" Denethor sneered, his face, though angry, was not gaining any color, "Even for your moronic standards, I expect you to have remembered, that no one, not even your brother, is allowed anywhere near this room!" It was the closest thing to a roar that Denethor could muster, for his escapade had proved quite taxing and he was spent.
"Father," Faramir ignored Denethor's anger, "What, what was that thing?"
"None of your concern," he snapped, "Just as Elentari is not."
Even in this condition, it was quite irritating, yet amazing, that Denethor could be so clear-headed, and not forget the ongoings and problems of his country. It was what Ecthelion had declared, when Denethor was just learning his numbers, would make him a great Steward.
Faramir kept trying to glance over Denethor's slumped shoulders at what that fiery ball was, but Denethor blocked the door firmly, refusing his son entrance or any view of his secretive tower.
"Did you not hear me? I do not want you anywhere near her. Get away! Get away I tell you! Out!" Denethor shrieked, though not as forcibly or loud as he usually could. With that, he went back into his tower, and slammed the door, in Faramir's face.

Denethor sat back, panting, completely spent from his exertion and then the confrontation with Faramir. What he had seen in this excursion troubled him further. The Dark Lord was amassing scores of armies, armies that would only grow, so that it would overwhelm any Gondorian force that met it. Gondor would fall. He could only hope that it was not in his lifetime, yet he feared it would. The Eye knew him, knew him all too well, and just out of spite would force him to watch his beloved city crumble and fall, his people massacred. His thoughts strayed to his sons; Boromir, so brave, eager and waiting for the challenge that lay ahead of him. Ever since his first days, Denethor could sense the warrior within his elder son, indeed, even in the womb; he tormented his mother, much to Finduilas's dismay. Boromir would fight; he would lead Gondor. He would survive.
Yet Faramir. The small, gentle boy that would nourish insects instead of squashing them; what would happen to him? The boy could fight, he was skilled with the sword and deadly with arrows, but he had no spirit in it. Most believed him too harsh on his younger son, beginning with Finduilas and spanning to Elentari, who often confronted him about it. He wouldn't be cross with the boy if he would just get his nose out of his books and into the battle. His heart did not lie in his sword or his bow. What use would lore be against the shadow? Denethor shook his head. He felt unusually clear-headed today, though more exhausted than usual. When Finduilas had broken the news of her second pregnancy, he had had his reservations about the matter. He had hoped and prayed that Illuvatar would grant him a daughter, a lovely, charming young lass to sing and dance. Yet the One had seen fit to gift him with another son, a boy. A boy in form, but Denethor felt that Faramir would have been better off as a maid. Elentari had filled his void. She was the little sparrow that lighted up the room with her smile and filled the halls with her song.
But the little sparrow no longer smiled, no longer sang. Denethor knew, all too well, why, but he was not going to change it. Breaking off the betrothal this close to the wedding would be a direct insult to Rohan, and in these times, any ties were needed. Besides, her and Faramir could not possibly wed, or hold any official relationship. It was practically incest!
Denethor groaned and reached up to his head, massaging his temples. He could feel the usual headache coming on again, creeping its way through his mind. He was too tired to go down, yet he had to. If she had to marry, he at least could carry on the two nights that were left to her in the city. Groaning, Denethor changed his robes, and headed down.

"It is good to see you, Faramir," Theodred greeted customarily, sitting across from him at the dinner, "I wasn't expecting you so soon."
"My captain granted me leave a day early," Faramir replied, obviously making a great effort to be courteous. He glanced at Elentari, who was seated beside Theodred. Apparently, the white tablecloth was fascinating, so fascinating that she touched not a trace of her food.
"Elentari," his voice was gentle, "Will you not eat?"
She looked up slowly, barely meeting his concerned eyes, "I have not much appetite, my Lord, but I thank you for your concern. May I suggest you take to your own meal, for you must be hungry from your recent excursions in the Wild."
She was so courteous and so formal. What happened to the Elentari that told him whatever she had on her mind, not caring if it was proper or not? Usually, she would smile at him mischievously, and say, "Go eat yourself, Faramir." Normally, she would shove down the food quicker than anyone at the table.
Boromir scoffed when she said this, and said, "It seems, my Lady, that you have not found an appetite very much of late."
She did not reply, but Denethor intervened, steering the conversation away, for he was much too tired, and his head throbbed, threatening to overpower him.
"All preparations are set for the ceremony," he announced, "I trust you agree Theodred?"
"Yes, my Lord. Everything is ready."
"What about you Elentari? Are you prepared?"
She nodded, her eyes and expression blank.
The plates were cleared, Elentari's still as full as when the servant last touched it, and Denethor called, "My dear," addressing Elentari, "Will you give us the pleasure as to hear a song? I have not heard your voice often of late, and since Lord Theodred is depriving me of my best musician, I would hear your song before Rohan does."
"I know naught of what do sing," she said.
"Oh come now. You know all songs. You create your own songs. Sing anything," there was almost a trace of pleading in the Steward's voice, "Any song you dub worthy."
"As you wish," she whispered. A viol player offered her her fiddle, but she refused it.

What you never know won't hurt you
What you never know won't lie
What you never know won't desert you
What you never know won't say goodbye

To each person in the room, at least one line of this haunting song meant something. Denethor smiled sarcastically at the second, as he thought of the palantir, locked away in a trunk, and of a few of his advisors, always breathing ill words.

He had come to Gondor looking for a suitable, prospective wife, and he had found one beyond his dreams. Yet even in his dreams, Theodred never imagined that marriage, or even finding a wife, would have so many complications. He gazed at his future wife; she was beautiful, though even he couldn't help but notice that throughout the month that he had been here, she had changed dramatically. Yet beneath her pale face, and sunken eyes, he sensed an inner spirit there, and he was not going to abandon that. Yet he was curious, and highly alarmed, at what was causing her to lose weight significantly, and along with it, her lust for living. He had attributed it to homesickness, as she did not wish to leave Minas Tirith, and the occasional loneliness that she had confided in him. He sensed something between her and Faramir. He could not exactly place it, for it seemed like almost wariness and almost strained relations between the two. They were always so careful, so reserved around each other, too reserved. What you never know won't hurt you, she was right.

His mother had gone when he was young, but not too young. Not as young as Faramir and Elentari, and he, he counted himself fortunate, had memories of her, and could remember her smile, her embrace. Finduilas was gone, now Elentari would too. Boromir felt like the little child again, walking down Silent Street, following his mother's pyre. Why did everyone desert him in the end? Ultimately, he felt alone. Why did they desert him?

What you never know won't say goodbye.
She had met Faramir's eyes at this. No amount of preparation, of time, could prepare for this. It was the most daunting, and heartbreaking challenge of all. She could say goodbye to Minas Tirith, farewell to Boromir and Denethor, to everything she knew, but to part with Faramir was beyond all imagination, speculation, and she shuddered at the mention.
What you never know
What you never, never, never know
What you never know

What you never know won't hurt you
What you never know won't lie
What you never know won't desert you
What you never know, unless you try

What you never know won't hurt you

Even Denethor was silent as she finished, all lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Elentari jolted everyone back, "I would like to retire now. It has been a long day, and I hope you will excuse me."
They watched her leave, without a word, and the four men sat in silence, a curious thing, as men never do keep quiet.
"Father," the quietest man at the table spoke first, "When we last spoke, a few hours ago, I came to speak to you about a matter."
"What does it concern?" Denethor asked, "Are you sure it would be appropriate in this setting?" He glanced warily at Theodred, who noticed.
"Boromir will aid me in my case, and I feel that it is necessary, as Theodred is to marry her, that he hear this also," Faramir stated steadily and firmly, much like a captain distributing orders.
Denethor nodded, though grimly, for he knew that this would probably cause his already throbbing head to burst, "Speak."
"I have not been home, so I do not know the occurrences here," Faramir began, "But noticed, all of you, the change in Elentari?" Both Theodred and Boromir nodded.
"Did you see her plate? She does not eat. She is thin; the wind could blow through her. Her dresser holds powder and rouge, items I have never, ever seen anywhere in our hall. Her expression is blank, her eyes lightless. I've been home a whole afternoon, and I have not seen one smile light up her face yet. Usually, she can't keep from smiling. I hear no songs or laughter echoing through the halls."
Denethor's voice stayed icy, "And what, do you suggest we do? Force feed her?"
"She is no condition to travel! I daresay she cannot ride, not even to Ithilien, and you wish to travel to Rohan within two days time?" Faramir saw the sneer forming on Denethor's face, and he turned to Theodred, "My Lord. Please do not take this as some desperate ploy to gain some time with a departing sister. It is only the concerns of a brother, a brother who loves her dearly and wishes no harm to come to her."
Theodred saw the desperate expression on Faramir's face, and was touched, if not by his words, then by his sincerity. "I suppose. We would have to send messengers to Edoras, but we could postpone the arrangements by a week or so."
There was a thud on Denethor's side of the table; he was holding his head in one hand, the throbbing practically unbearable now, "All the preparations are ready and made. We cannot change now, and we could not possibly tax your messengers again. The betrothal departure ceremony shall be in two days time. Rest assured, Elentari will be in ample shape to travel. Now, if you will excuse me."

Elentari spent the next day walking through Minas Tirith, one level at a time, through the bazaars, children playing, buildings, crowded streets. She had never held any great love for the City, but now, on the eve of her departure, it seemed all the more dear to her.
The afternoon was a picnic with Theodred, and this time, she did eat a bit, not as much as she would have of old, but he saw to it that she downed a significant amount of food and drink. He regarded her closely and saw how she scanned the countryside lovingly, and every brush of the fragrant grass seemed dear to her.
"Elentari," he whispered, taking her hands in his. She turned to meet his eyes, "Tell me, truthfully. Think about your answer. Do you wish to marry me?"
She held her head in contemplation. She did not entirely wish to marry him, nor did she wish to stay in Minas Tirith. She knew that any relationship with Faramir would be impossible, yet love him she still did, more than all on the earth. Moreover, she only wanted to be free, free of all her cares and sorrows of this world. "I wish to be free," she said slowly. She trusted this man before her, one that she must share her life with, "And I feel the plains of Rohan, and your company, may give me that." He had made her feel comfortable, secure, and when she had confided in him, about her loneliness, how she sometimes felt trapped, he had understood her, like none save Faramir had, and even he did not completely comprehend.
Yet though he was such, he was nothing compared to Faramir. No one could rival him in her eyes, in any respect. She loved him, and no one else.
"Why have you been like this of late?" he questioned, his blue eyes sincere, "Not eating, your laughter ceasing."
"I shall miss my home, my family." It was part of the truth, yet not all of it. Weariness had come, threatening to overtake her. The void within tried to engulf her, emptiness filling her heart.
"They seem unwilling to part with you," Theodred chuckled, "Faramir seems to think I am the Enemy, creeping and stealing what is his."
A gleam of a smile came through, and Theodred felt rewarded at the display, "He has always been a bit, possessive, you might call it," Elentari laughed quietly. It was a heavenly sound to Theodred's ears, the trickle of water in the midst of a desert, though her words carried more meaning than he knew.
"Boromir hides it, but I see the pain within his eyes every time our departure is broached," Theodred continued, "Even Lord Denethor shows some sign of regret at some time."
"I love them," she sounded so naïve, like a child, "Some more than others," she added as a quiet afterthought.
"I have often heard of the cruelty of a woman's life. Eowyn used to often complain that men did not know how lucky their lives were. She said that while men ride out to valor and adventure, women must stay behind, locked behind cruel, unrelenting bars." As he spoke, Elentari suddenly developed a desire to meet this Eowyn, daughter of Eomund. He went on, "I have witnessed childbirth, so I know that men are fortunate not to have that ordeal. I see now another evil in a woman's life. She must forsake those she loves, for a stranger from a different land, to share her life with him."
"Yet that is life, and that is how it will go," she added.
"A wise man of my people once said, only in their dreams can man truly be free. 'Twas always thus and always thus shall be," Theodred said.

It was this that echoed in Elentari's head as she made for bed ere midnight. She brushed her hand on the white walls, stroking them gently. Her last night in this room, her last night in this City, her last night, with Faramir.
Slowly, she made her way across the hall, and rapped her knuckles gently against his wooden door, one that she had stood before countless times before.
"You needn't knock, you know that," his voice was sad as it came through the door.
She closed the door behind her. She opened her mouth to speak, say something, anything, yet found no words. She knew naught of what to say to him, how to apologize for this ill fate, how to confide in him her fears, and how to offer any kind of comfort, to him and to herself, of the coming events that the next dawn would bring.
Seeing her confusion and sorrow, he wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to lean against him, and tilted his chin so that it rested on her head. She clung onto his encircling arms, drawing heat from him, for she felt none within her. They need no words, for just the presence of one another was enough. She leaned into him, resting her weary head upon his providng shoulder, and he kissed the crown of it.
Together, they watched as the stars twinkled, sharing their hidden secrets in the dark night sky. They thought of Earendil, sailing through the shoreless skies, behind the light of the Moon. The Moon indeed was waning, shadow eclipsing half of its fair exterior, as if it too, were lamenting the loss of Minas Tirith, of Faramir.
"I shall not be whole," Faramir murmured, watching the moon.
Her eyes were fixed upon the heavenly orb, though not at its fullest shape, "Yet Tilion regains his whole with the swift passage of time."
"But he stays never long that way," Faramir answered. At this he rose his voice and hummed, very quietly, towards the moon, yet it seemed it was to her ear:
I can't imagine any greater fear
Than waking up without you here
And though the Sun would still shine on
My whole world would all be gone

If I had to run
If I had to crawl
If I had to swim a hundred rivers
Just to climb a thousand walls
Always know that I will find a way
To get to where you are
The highest tower
The widest valley
There's no place too far

Lonely months, two stubborn hearts
Nothing short of Eru above
Could turn me away from your love
I need you that much
There's no place too far

"Promise me," she pressed her lips against his shoulder, "Promise me you won't come after me." He did not answer, so she pressed on, "Father will skin and tan your hide, and it will only make matters with Theodred worse. Promise me Faramir."
"There are some things I cannot promise, not even to you," he said slowly. She failed to repress an audible sigh, and closed her eyes slowly, tears threatening them. "I will promise not to follow you, but I cannot promise I shall not go mad."
"Give it time, young one," she said, not quite believing herself, "All things pass in time."
"You call me young one, but it is you who fails to understand. There are some things time cannot mend; some hurts that go too deep." Hearing no response from her lowered head, but knowing that she was trying desperately to suppress her tears, he continued, "Besides, you are the younger one, though I tend to act like it!"
He was rewarded by something somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Putting courage that he felt nowhere near in his voice, "Remember when you used to peek into the windows during my numerology lessons?"
"Yes. Your tutor finally dragged you into a room without windows," she almost giggled, joining his reminiscence.
"He locked me in, thanks to you," Faramir scowled at the memory, "It felt like a dungeon."
"I would hate that," she shuddered, and he strengthened his hold around her. "Yet I still snuck in sugar treats to you."
Faramir grimaced, "That time I did get my hide skinned. He was so angry when he found me nibbling on them and getting crumbs all over the charts."
She could not help giggling, "I'm sorry, for causing you such pain, and much more."
His eyes grew serious. "I would endure any pain or hardship, just to have one more night with you."
"Yet we do not, my love," she whispered regretfully, their lips meeting tenderly.
Gently, he pushed her down, until she lay beneath him on his bed. One by one, she unbuttoned his shirt until it slid off of his broad shoulders. As he kissed her, moving from her mouth to her neck, she shifted so that he lay next to her.
Near the bottom of his rib cage, there was a scar that ran across his abdomen. She traced it, first with her finger, and then with her tongue, as a pleasant sensation ran through Faramir.
Remorsefully, she whispered, "How many scars and wounds shall mar you?" Almost to herself, she murmured, "And I won't be here to treat them."
As she caressed him, she noticed a familiar object dangling from his neck.
"You still have it," she breathed, an evidently pleased smile appearing.
Faramir looked to what she was speaking of, and murmured, "I carry it with me always." He ran his fingers over the silver chain. Hearing her, he joined her in the prayer inscribed upon the golden rim, to Lady Varda and Lord Ulmo, for Elbereth to guide the Elves with her ever-shining stars, and for Ulmo to let them across the wide expanse of the Sea. The encircled crystal gem itself shone as one of Lady Varda's white jewels, embedded in the myriad of the sky.
"May Elbereth guide you to Rohan," he whispered after they finished.
"May the Valar watch over you, and keep Gondor strong against the shadow of the East," she replied, "I regret to say, but I am glad to be leaving, for I will not have to see the evils of Sauron day by day, nor breathe the fiery ashes of Mount Doom."
Faramir made a disgruntled noise, as if he were shocked that anyone would want to leave Minas Tirith for any reason. She continued, "It is a great thing when you can step outside your room, into the air, and not be filled with horror by what you see. It is a great thing that you can breathe without being smothered by the growing pestilence of the East. It is a great thing when your heart is not heavy with the glowering shadow, picturing the Lidless Eye even in your sleep."
"He will be destroyed," Faramir vowed.
"Yes, but those matters concern us not," she said gently, "At least not tonight."
Faramir nodded, and turned his eyes back to her, "Yes. This night belongs to us. Let us make the most of it." He hesitated for a moment, and then coloring, said, "I will not make love to you Isilmë, if you do not wish it. I will not force you, as much as my body burns for you."
"As I for you," she returned, "But I would deliver to Theodred, since Fate has decreed it so, at least one thing whole, for neither my heart nor my soul he shall have. My body is the most I can give to him, and I would have it unstained for him."
"As you wish," Faramir agreed, though his heart rued it, and it was evident in his voice.
And so the forbidden lovers recalled old times, when all was pleasant, exchanged loving words, and finally, sleep sealed their weary eyes, locked in each other's arms, dreading the coming dawn.

A/N: Would really like to hear a review!!! The song Faramir sings is by Westlife, called "No Place Too Far", and the other, "What You Never Know" is by Sarah Brightman. I used many quotes from either the books of LotR or the movie, though some, it was quite accidental. They're just floating around in my mind, and I just write them down. I suppose some may feel that a bit of introspection on Theodred's part here at the end would be nice, but I couldn't find a way of ending the chapter, if I wrote that part, so there might be a tiny chapter in between with Theodred's thoughts. Please tell me if you deem it necessary, or worth it!

As you may have noticed, I try really hard to make Denethor come off as a caring parent, to some degree, and that he cares about what happens to his sons, and he has reason behind treating Faramir the way he does, though no excuse could rectify that. I hope someone realizes that! Thanks again!