A/N: Ah, tragedy... Well, I haven't said this in a while, so here goes. I
don't own anyone, save Isilmë, and even her name was from Tolkien. Faramir
is not mine ::sniff:: tear:: though David Wenham will very soon be, though
he doesn't know it yet. Both the songs are by Enya, one "Deora ar mo Chroi"
and the other "Flora's secret."
Please review!!! I'm going to try to finish this story before I go on vacation, so expect a lot of updates. This way, I can write another story on the plane...
Does anyone have the codes (alt) for the accents, like the ë on Isilmë? I only know the ë and the ó for Lothlórien! If anyone could give me those, it'd be awesome!
Susan: Thanks for reviewing and killing me with all those cliffhangers!
Jazmin: This is from a few chapters ago, but I'm glad you've gotten so involved into the story so that you've cursed at Denethor more than once! Don't worry, I've done that too.
Chapter 25: It is time
The trumpets rang throughout the Citadel, echoing in the damp morning air. Faramir awoke with a start, and discovered he was alone. Groaning, as he tried in vain to block the sunlight from his eyes, he stumbled up from his bed, and saw that the flags had been changed. The customary seven stars and white tree was accompanied by a colorful flag showing a horse. As they swayed in the wind together, a part of the flags entwined together, uniting as one.
Jerking back to reality, it dawned upon Faramir that this was the day that he had dreaded for months now. How could he have forgotten? Yet in her arms, breathing in her hair, he could forget anything, for all he needed was to hear the gentle pounding of her heart beneath his, and feel her body beside him. He stumbled out of bed, one sheet caught on his foot, and he cursed under his breath trying to get it off. Laying the fabric of the ceremonial robes prepared for him in his hand, he wanted to tear the silken tunic apart, shredding it, tearing it, anything to prove to him that this was not happening; she was not leaving him.
When he had finished dressing, donning a cloak, he opened his door slowly, not wanting to leave the haven of his room, entering cruel reality. The door across the hall was sealed shut, though he could hear and sense the bustle and hurried excitement flowing from behind the oak. A maid hastily opened the door, obviously out to fetch something for the Lady. From the few seconds the door had been ajar, Faramir could make out Elentari seated at her bureau, scores of maids fawning over her, some fussing with her hair, ornamenting it, and others crouched down, fixing her dress.
He stood, his face merely inches from her door, willing himself not to knock on it, when a hand reached out, and grabbed him. He gasped, taken aback by the sudden assault, but when he was saw it was Boromir, he let out a relieved sigh, though his heart was still tense and apprehensive.
"I came to see if you had finally awoken," Boromir said. He seemed light-hearted enough, if one did not look at his eyes, which were laden with remorse. "Father is busy fussing over preparations, and both the bride and groom have been up for hours, readying themselves."
"I trust you will not find it necessary to use those terms of reference," Faramir snapped.
Boromir was taken aback, but nodded understandingly, "I know how it feels, little brother, and I am not nearly as close to her as you."
"Do you?" Faramir's eyes were filled with tears. Seeing his brother's state, Boromir embraced him, soothing him as he did when Faramir was a mere child, every bit as vulnerable as this man that stood before him now.
Once Faramir had dried his tears and regained his composure, for the time, Boromir beckoned gently, "Come. Let us go to the Great Hall. We are expected there."
He had one of his men on either side of him, fierce and deadly in battle, now tending to their Lord's attire. That notion caused Theodred to chuckle, one of the few amusements of the morning. His stomach turned more than it did before any battle, even more than it did the one time Eowyn had cooked him lunch on his last birthday. Eomer had accused her of collaborating with the Orcs and purposely trying to waylay the Prince of Rohan when Theodred had been confined to his bed for serious bouts of nausea and vomiting. Seeing the shameful tears in his cousin's eyes, tears that she never wanted to show, he had promptly silenced Eomer, and comforted the young girl, and all the while making her promise, as a birthday present to him, never to cook him lunch again. She had giggled through her tears, and agreed, in turn making him promise never to sing again.
He tugged anxiously at the collar of his robe, causing Halas, who was attending him, to chuckle, and murmur, "The effect women have on us."
"My Lord, you have not been this nervous since we outnumbered and ambushed in the Gladden Fields, and even then, you sweated from the heat of the battle, not anxiety," the other man said in between a laugh.
"A sword protects you from an Orc. Nothing protects you from a woman, especially one so beautiful," Theodred murmured in reply, fiddling with his belt.
"My Lord. If you would just stay still for a moment, you shall be fine."
"What if she doesn't like Rohan?" he blurted out.
This caused the two men to chortle good-naturedly even more. Eventually, Halas overcame his laughter and managed, "She rides, does she not? Any rider shall love our land."
"Besides, didn't you say that when asked, she felt that Rohan would be a place of freedom for her?" the other added.
Theodred nodded, and went back to his thoughts. He had held reservations on the match, not because of her, but because what he saw from her brothers, especially the younger, and what his men were reporting from the City gossip. He also questioned his ability to make her happy. He did not wish to wed a woman and have her waste away in a country foreign to her. He did not want one so beautiful to fade and wither, and he did not know if he could truly make her happy. But when he had questioned her, she seemed sincere, and indeed, she had wanted to go to Rohan for freedom, and she had often confided in him of loneliness, of desperation, and feelings of being caged in the stone city. Her radiant smile, though infrequent, lit up his heart, and on all their occasions together, she had seemed happier than she had when she was at home. Theodred nodded to himself. Yes. He was doing the right thing. He loved her didn't he? Glancing at himself in the mirror, and slipping into his shoes, with his men flanking him, he clutched the door handle, and turned.
The minstrels and bards were thriving, filling the damp air with music. However, Arien and her Anar could not be seen, covered by masses of dark clouds, issuing from the East, as if the heavens were mourning with Minas Tirith, with Faramir. Boromir saw his little brother staring up at the sky, as if demanding an answer from Elbereth, from Manwë, on why this had happened, why had they ordained this cruel fate for them. "Arien shows not, for she wants not to see our Elentari leave."
"Yet Arien sees all, no matter where she is, unlike us," Faramir replied sadly.
Trumpets announced the arrival of Theodred, flanked by his men, and Faramir closed his eyes and breathed deeply, willing himself not to lash out at that hateful man. He knew any moment now, Elentari would appear.
Denethor was more jovial than many had ever seen or remembered, greeting the many guests, including Prince Imrahil of Amroth, and many Gondorian nobles. Minas Tirith was empty, except on the highest level, where all crowded to see the ceremony, and enjoy the food.
Faramir let the bard's voice wash over him:
How beautiful the day and night;
The earth is singing in the wind,
The voices rise and touch the sky
Telling all the earth's believing,
And in the night sighs fall down,
And from the skies sighs fall down on me.
And when I move away from view
My voice is singing in the wind—
His song was never finished, for they needed not trumpets to announce the bride's arrival, for all grew silent and still, gazing at the Lady as she stood at the steps of the Citadel.
Faramir felt his breath catch within him. The white, silken gown curved around her body, flattering her figure. Her long dark hair framed her ivory face, and a laced, white head shawl that ran down below her waist was held in place by the shimmering crown. The headdress that Denethor had gifted to her, the one that Finduilas had worn at her own wedding. Made by the Noldor of Lothlórien, the white gems glistened in her dark tresses. To both Faramir and Theodred, she looked more beautiful than any Elven princess, even Luthien Tinuviel.
As she descended down the stairs, she greeted all that watched her, some with a nod, people she recognized with a smile. At the foot of the stairs, Denethor took her hand, murmured, "You look absolutely stunning," and led her to the dais where Theodred stood waiting. She saw Boromir, Imrahil, Araniel, and many others she had known and loved, all smiling happily for her; much happier than she herself felt.
Denethor placed her hand in Theodred's, and announced, "Hereby do I give Elentari, daughter of Hurin and Ariethel, Star Maiden of Gondor, to Prince Theodred of Rohan in faithful wedlock. May the Valar watch over them and bring happiness and prosperity." Her fate was sealed.
Faramir felt his heart shatter, and his breath gone, as his whole world came crashing in on him. He had dreaded this moment for months, even years, and had even prepared for it, but when the moment really came, he could not control himself, and it was not like anything he had ever felt before. He now knew the full meaning of the words devastation and despair.
As they pledged their troths to one another, Elentari did all she could not to look at Faramir, who was trying harder than ever not to sprint to his room, into the safe haven, hoping that when he reemerged, everything was just a dream.
As for Elentari, she played the part perfectly, assumed that she was absolutely content with marrying this man, smiling and repeating the words flawlessly. However, she avoided Theodred's eyes, as much as she could, for that, according to Boromir, was the one thing she never had any control over. She could act anything; pretend that nothing was wrong, until you looked deep into her eyes. Boromir had teased her when they were young about crying, for she could only hold back her tears for so long. Faramir had insisted that it was the most beautiful thing about her, but she had maintained that it would one day cost her heavily.
Once the ceremony was done, the couple walked, hand in hand, down the dais, and Elentari called, "Let the feast begin!"
She sat next to Theodred, and Araniel, who chattered incessantly and congratulated her.
"He's so handsome," the younger girl, fast approaching womanhood, chattered, "But I find Faramir better. What of him?"
Elentari quickly quieted her, and whispered, "As do I, yet life is not always what one wants, is it?"
At this, Araniel looked confused, and asked, in a relatively loud voice, "But if you still lo—
"Speak not of such things at this time!" Elentari hissed, and then murmured quietly, "We shall talk about it later, when there are no prying ears."
When most were fed and watered, the minstrels began their enchanting craft. Theodred took her in his arms, and they began waltzing across the floor, all watching them. A few other couples joined in minutes later, and soon, the highest level of the White City had become a dance floor.
To the amazement of many, Denethor, son of Ecthelion, came down from his seat on the dais, approached Theodred, and asked, "May I borrow her for a moment before you take her away?"
"Certainly."
Elentari was surprised at Denethor's skill at dancing, much better than what is expected of a man who has not danced since the death of his wife twenty odd years ago. However, he was no match for Boromir, who demanded to have his sister as a dancing partner for the last time.
"You seem happy," Boromir commented.
"After all these years, my brother, do you still find appearances truthful?" she replied.
"In you, never," Boromir grinned, "You look absolutely beautiful."
"And even on such a jubilant day," she stressed jubilant, "I still cannot lie and say that you are handsome."
Boromir gasped, an air of mock dismay crossing his face, "How dare you!" He was still guiding her around the dance floor, "I pride myself on inheriting the best features of both my mother and my father!"
"And what did Faramir?" she teased, trying to see how pompous she could get Boromir to sound.
"It is common knowledge that I am the better looking of the two of us. I mean, just look at his nose, it looks more like a beak than anything else. His hair covers most of his face," Elentari could not help but giggling, for she vividly pictured everything Boromir described as being part of his own face.
"Thank you for likening me to a duck," a voice said sourly.
"Not at all, little brother," Boromir grinned, seeing the displeased look on Faramir's face, "I assume you want this partner?"
"If you can spare her company," Faramir said formally, still acting very offended by Boromir's critique on his features.
Boromir bowed low, his nose, as Faramir usually described as enlarged, almost touching the ground, and said courteously to Elentari, "Thank you, my Lady, for honoring me with such a wonderful dance, and such a generous compliment on my magnificent features."
Many heard the loud "HA!" that Elentari could not stifle as Boromir skulked away. As the minstrels struck up a new tune, Faramir wrapped his arms around her waist, and they began to dance, slowly.
Lovers in the long grass
Look above them
Only they can see
Where the clouds are going
Only to discover
Dust and sunlight
Ever make the sky so blue
"Forgive me," was all she could utter as her head lay upon his shoulder. If she had cared, she would have commented on them being a bit too close for propriety, but at that moment, all she wanted was to cling on to him, to feel his touch.
"I did that long ago," Faramir said, "Though I could not find much to forgive you for."
Afternoon is hazy
River flowing
All around the sounds
Moving closer to them
Telling them the story
Dreams they never knew
Some they know as passion
Some as freedom
Some they know as love
And the way it leaves them
Summer snowflake
For a season
When the sky above is blue
When the sky above is blue
"We helped this bard with a few of these lyrics, remember?" Elentari said.
"Yes. I added a few lines. I haven't heard them yet," Faramir said. "Well, as mistress of Rohan, what do you have planned for those folk?" The words pained him to say.
"Don't be cruel, Faramir," she chastised.
Lying in the long grass
Close beside her
Giving her the name
Of the one the moon loves
"Isilmë," he breathed, "There the line is. Isilmë, my moonlight."
"I never felt I deserved that name," she murmured, "But it is beautiful and I couldn't refuse."
This will be the day she
Will remember
When she knew his heart
Was
Loving in the long grass
Close beside her
Whispering of love
And the way it leaves them
"I love you, Faramir," she whispered, pressing her lips to his shoulder, planting an unnoticeable kiss there.
Lying in the long grass
In the sunlight
They believe it's true love
And from all around them
Telling them of love
And the way it breathes
And
Looking up from eyes of
Amaranthine
They can see the sky
Is blue
Knowing that their love
Is true
Dreams they never knew
When the sky above is blue
"Don't leave," he pleaded, his eyes desperate, "Gondor needs you. I need you." All his wit and lore vanished from his mind, and all he could think of was to beg her to stay, not to leave him, though he knew it was to no avail.
"I could never truly leave Gondor, not to mention you. If they took me beyond the circles of the world, my spirit would find a way to you," she replied, "And my heart has never left you, and never shall."
He nodded, a lump in his throat, "I shall not be whole. Rohan has taken both my life and my heart." He kissed the crown of her head.
She saw Boromir coming, probably to separate them before anyone got too suspicious, and she whispered quickly, "I love you Faramir. If all else leaves you, know that I love you."
Please review!!! I'm going to try to finish this story before I go on vacation, so expect a lot of updates. This way, I can write another story on the plane...
Does anyone have the codes (alt) for the accents, like the ë on Isilmë? I only know the ë and the ó for Lothlórien! If anyone could give me those, it'd be awesome!
Susan: Thanks for reviewing and killing me with all those cliffhangers!
Jazmin: This is from a few chapters ago, but I'm glad you've gotten so involved into the story so that you've cursed at Denethor more than once! Don't worry, I've done that too.
Chapter 25: It is time
The trumpets rang throughout the Citadel, echoing in the damp morning air. Faramir awoke with a start, and discovered he was alone. Groaning, as he tried in vain to block the sunlight from his eyes, he stumbled up from his bed, and saw that the flags had been changed. The customary seven stars and white tree was accompanied by a colorful flag showing a horse. As they swayed in the wind together, a part of the flags entwined together, uniting as one.
Jerking back to reality, it dawned upon Faramir that this was the day that he had dreaded for months now. How could he have forgotten? Yet in her arms, breathing in her hair, he could forget anything, for all he needed was to hear the gentle pounding of her heart beneath his, and feel her body beside him. He stumbled out of bed, one sheet caught on his foot, and he cursed under his breath trying to get it off. Laying the fabric of the ceremonial robes prepared for him in his hand, he wanted to tear the silken tunic apart, shredding it, tearing it, anything to prove to him that this was not happening; she was not leaving him.
When he had finished dressing, donning a cloak, he opened his door slowly, not wanting to leave the haven of his room, entering cruel reality. The door across the hall was sealed shut, though he could hear and sense the bustle and hurried excitement flowing from behind the oak. A maid hastily opened the door, obviously out to fetch something for the Lady. From the few seconds the door had been ajar, Faramir could make out Elentari seated at her bureau, scores of maids fawning over her, some fussing with her hair, ornamenting it, and others crouched down, fixing her dress.
He stood, his face merely inches from her door, willing himself not to knock on it, when a hand reached out, and grabbed him. He gasped, taken aback by the sudden assault, but when he was saw it was Boromir, he let out a relieved sigh, though his heart was still tense and apprehensive.
"I came to see if you had finally awoken," Boromir said. He seemed light-hearted enough, if one did not look at his eyes, which were laden with remorse. "Father is busy fussing over preparations, and both the bride and groom have been up for hours, readying themselves."
"I trust you will not find it necessary to use those terms of reference," Faramir snapped.
Boromir was taken aback, but nodded understandingly, "I know how it feels, little brother, and I am not nearly as close to her as you."
"Do you?" Faramir's eyes were filled with tears. Seeing his brother's state, Boromir embraced him, soothing him as he did when Faramir was a mere child, every bit as vulnerable as this man that stood before him now.
Once Faramir had dried his tears and regained his composure, for the time, Boromir beckoned gently, "Come. Let us go to the Great Hall. We are expected there."
He had one of his men on either side of him, fierce and deadly in battle, now tending to their Lord's attire. That notion caused Theodred to chuckle, one of the few amusements of the morning. His stomach turned more than it did before any battle, even more than it did the one time Eowyn had cooked him lunch on his last birthday. Eomer had accused her of collaborating with the Orcs and purposely trying to waylay the Prince of Rohan when Theodred had been confined to his bed for serious bouts of nausea and vomiting. Seeing the shameful tears in his cousin's eyes, tears that she never wanted to show, he had promptly silenced Eomer, and comforted the young girl, and all the while making her promise, as a birthday present to him, never to cook him lunch again. She had giggled through her tears, and agreed, in turn making him promise never to sing again.
He tugged anxiously at the collar of his robe, causing Halas, who was attending him, to chuckle, and murmur, "The effect women have on us."
"My Lord, you have not been this nervous since we outnumbered and ambushed in the Gladden Fields, and even then, you sweated from the heat of the battle, not anxiety," the other man said in between a laugh.
"A sword protects you from an Orc. Nothing protects you from a woman, especially one so beautiful," Theodred murmured in reply, fiddling with his belt.
"My Lord. If you would just stay still for a moment, you shall be fine."
"What if she doesn't like Rohan?" he blurted out.
This caused the two men to chortle good-naturedly even more. Eventually, Halas overcame his laughter and managed, "She rides, does she not? Any rider shall love our land."
"Besides, didn't you say that when asked, she felt that Rohan would be a place of freedom for her?" the other added.
Theodred nodded, and went back to his thoughts. He had held reservations on the match, not because of her, but because what he saw from her brothers, especially the younger, and what his men were reporting from the City gossip. He also questioned his ability to make her happy. He did not wish to wed a woman and have her waste away in a country foreign to her. He did not want one so beautiful to fade and wither, and he did not know if he could truly make her happy. But when he had questioned her, she seemed sincere, and indeed, she had wanted to go to Rohan for freedom, and she had often confided in him of loneliness, of desperation, and feelings of being caged in the stone city. Her radiant smile, though infrequent, lit up his heart, and on all their occasions together, she had seemed happier than she had when she was at home. Theodred nodded to himself. Yes. He was doing the right thing. He loved her didn't he? Glancing at himself in the mirror, and slipping into his shoes, with his men flanking him, he clutched the door handle, and turned.
The minstrels and bards were thriving, filling the damp air with music. However, Arien and her Anar could not be seen, covered by masses of dark clouds, issuing from the East, as if the heavens were mourning with Minas Tirith, with Faramir. Boromir saw his little brother staring up at the sky, as if demanding an answer from Elbereth, from Manwë, on why this had happened, why had they ordained this cruel fate for them. "Arien shows not, for she wants not to see our Elentari leave."
"Yet Arien sees all, no matter where she is, unlike us," Faramir replied sadly.
Trumpets announced the arrival of Theodred, flanked by his men, and Faramir closed his eyes and breathed deeply, willing himself not to lash out at that hateful man. He knew any moment now, Elentari would appear.
Denethor was more jovial than many had ever seen or remembered, greeting the many guests, including Prince Imrahil of Amroth, and many Gondorian nobles. Minas Tirith was empty, except on the highest level, where all crowded to see the ceremony, and enjoy the food.
Faramir let the bard's voice wash over him:
How beautiful the day and night;
The earth is singing in the wind,
The voices rise and touch the sky
Telling all the earth's believing,
And in the night sighs fall down,
And from the skies sighs fall down on me.
And when I move away from view
My voice is singing in the wind—
His song was never finished, for they needed not trumpets to announce the bride's arrival, for all grew silent and still, gazing at the Lady as she stood at the steps of the Citadel.
Faramir felt his breath catch within him. The white, silken gown curved around her body, flattering her figure. Her long dark hair framed her ivory face, and a laced, white head shawl that ran down below her waist was held in place by the shimmering crown. The headdress that Denethor had gifted to her, the one that Finduilas had worn at her own wedding. Made by the Noldor of Lothlórien, the white gems glistened in her dark tresses. To both Faramir and Theodred, she looked more beautiful than any Elven princess, even Luthien Tinuviel.
As she descended down the stairs, she greeted all that watched her, some with a nod, people she recognized with a smile. At the foot of the stairs, Denethor took her hand, murmured, "You look absolutely stunning," and led her to the dais where Theodred stood waiting. She saw Boromir, Imrahil, Araniel, and many others she had known and loved, all smiling happily for her; much happier than she herself felt.
Denethor placed her hand in Theodred's, and announced, "Hereby do I give Elentari, daughter of Hurin and Ariethel, Star Maiden of Gondor, to Prince Theodred of Rohan in faithful wedlock. May the Valar watch over them and bring happiness and prosperity." Her fate was sealed.
Faramir felt his heart shatter, and his breath gone, as his whole world came crashing in on him. He had dreaded this moment for months, even years, and had even prepared for it, but when the moment really came, he could not control himself, and it was not like anything he had ever felt before. He now knew the full meaning of the words devastation and despair.
As they pledged their troths to one another, Elentari did all she could not to look at Faramir, who was trying harder than ever not to sprint to his room, into the safe haven, hoping that when he reemerged, everything was just a dream.
As for Elentari, she played the part perfectly, assumed that she was absolutely content with marrying this man, smiling and repeating the words flawlessly. However, she avoided Theodred's eyes, as much as she could, for that, according to Boromir, was the one thing she never had any control over. She could act anything; pretend that nothing was wrong, until you looked deep into her eyes. Boromir had teased her when they were young about crying, for she could only hold back her tears for so long. Faramir had insisted that it was the most beautiful thing about her, but she had maintained that it would one day cost her heavily.
Once the ceremony was done, the couple walked, hand in hand, down the dais, and Elentari called, "Let the feast begin!"
She sat next to Theodred, and Araniel, who chattered incessantly and congratulated her.
"He's so handsome," the younger girl, fast approaching womanhood, chattered, "But I find Faramir better. What of him?"
Elentari quickly quieted her, and whispered, "As do I, yet life is not always what one wants, is it?"
At this, Araniel looked confused, and asked, in a relatively loud voice, "But if you still lo—
"Speak not of such things at this time!" Elentari hissed, and then murmured quietly, "We shall talk about it later, when there are no prying ears."
When most were fed and watered, the minstrels began their enchanting craft. Theodred took her in his arms, and they began waltzing across the floor, all watching them. A few other couples joined in minutes later, and soon, the highest level of the White City had become a dance floor.
To the amazement of many, Denethor, son of Ecthelion, came down from his seat on the dais, approached Theodred, and asked, "May I borrow her for a moment before you take her away?"
"Certainly."
Elentari was surprised at Denethor's skill at dancing, much better than what is expected of a man who has not danced since the death of his wife twenty odd years ago. However, he was no match for Boromir, who demanded to have his sister as a dancing partner for the last time.
"You seem happy," Boromir commented.
"After all these years, my brother, do you still find appearances truthful?" she replied.
"In you, never," Boromir grinned, "You look absolutely beautiful."
"And even on such a jubilant day," she stressed jubilant, "I still cannot lie and say that you are handsome."
Boromir gasped, an air of mock dismay crossing his face, "How dare you!" He was still guiding her around the dance floor, "I pride myself on inheriting the best features of both my mother and my father!"
"And what did Faramir?" she teased, trying to see how pompous she could get Boromir to sound.
"It is common knowledge that I am the better looking of the two of us. I mean, just look at his nose, it looks more like a beak than anything else. His hair covers most of his face," Elentari could not help but giggling, for she vividly pictured everything Boromir described as being part of his own face.
"Thank you for likening me to a duck," a voice said sourly.
"Not at all, little brother," Boromir grinned, seeing the displeased look on Faramir's face, "I assume you want this partner?"
"If you can spare her company," Faramir said formally, still acting very offended by Boromir's critique on his features.
Boromir bowed low, his nose, as Faramir usually described as enlarged, almost touching the ground, and said courteously to Elentari, "Thank you, my Lady, for honoring me with such a wonderful dance, and such a generous compliment on my magnificent features."
Many heard the loud "HA!" that Elentari could not stifle as Boromir skulked away. As the minstrels struck up a new tune, Faramir wrapped his arms around her waist, and they began to dance, slowly.
Lovers in the long grass
Look above them
Only they can see
Where the clouds are going
Only to discover
Dust and sunlight
Ever make the sky so blue
"Forgive me," was all she could utter as her head lay upon his shoulder. If she had cared, she would have commented on them being a bit too close for propriety, but at that moment, all she wanted was to cling on to him, to feel his touch.
"I did that long ago," Faramir said, "Though I could not find much to forgive you for."
Afternoon is hazy
River flowing
All around the sounds
Moving closer to them
Telling them the story
Dreams they never knew
Some they know as passion
Some as freedom
Some they know as love
And the way it leaves them
Summer snowflake
For a season
When the sky above is blue
When the sky above is blue
"We helped this bard with a few of these lyrics, remember?" Elentari said.
"Yes. I added a few lines. I haven't heard them yet," Faramir said. "Well, as mistress of Rohan, what do you have planned for those folk?" The words pained him to say.
"Don't be cruel, Faramir," she chastised.
Lying in the long grass
Close beside her
Giving her the name
Of the one the moon loves
"Isilmë," he breathed, "There the line is. Isilmë, my moonlight."
"I never felt I deserved that name," she murmured, "But it is beautiful and I couldn't refuse."
This will be the day she
Will remember
When she knew his heart
Was
Loving in the long grass
Close beside her
Whispering of love
And the way it leaves them
"I love you, Faramir," she whispered, pressing her lips to his shoulder, planting an unnoticeable kiss there.
Lying in the long grass
In the sunlight
They believe it's true love
And from all around them
Telling them of love
And the way it breathes
And
Looking up from eyes of
Amaranthine
They can see the sky
Is blue
Knowing that their love
Is true
Dreams they never knew
When the sky above is blue
"Don't leave," he pleaded, his eyes desperate, "Gondor needs you. I need you." All his wit and lore vanished from his mind, and all he could think of was to beg her to stay, not to leave him, though he knew it was to no avail.
"I could never truly leave Gondor, not to mention you. If they took me beyond the circles of the world, my spirit would find a way to you," she replied, "And my heart has never left you, and never shall."
He nodded, a lump in his throat, "I shall not be whole. Rohan has taken both my life and my heart." He kissed the crown of her head.
She saw Boromir coming, probably to separate them before anyone got too suspicious, and she whispered quickly, "I love you Faramir. If all else leaves you, know that I love you."