A/N: Okay this chapter is the beginning of the end of this escapade that
all you have been so kind to stick with me through. Not too much longer!
But then again, I said that 10 chapters ago, so you never know what might
strike me suddenly... There is Faramir in this chapter, thought not too much
of him. I know, I know! I'm sorry! You have no idea how much I want to
write about him, but that would extend the story even longer, with a bunch
of introspection chapters about him.
Thanks to Nymredil! For her hobbitish insight! (That's a compliment.) Wait that was for another poem but if you read this, thanks! Ah, come on people! Please review! It seems that everyone's either on vacation, or has abandoned my story. I would like to think it is the former. Thanks to Susan, as always, for her well-rounded critique and loyalty!
Welcome Lollipop-CaZ and Shallindra! Don't worry, Boromir is kept perfectly safe in this story, though not in Tolkien's... ( Thanks for stopping by Vane Alasse, anticipannation!
Chapter 31: Far from home
Many months had passed since he had last seen her, but night after night, his dreams were filled with her image, her scent flitting across the room, and he could hear her footsteps in the stone halls, and her voice, but when he strained his ears to listen again, there was no trace.
Yet on this winter afternoon, so distant from the clear spring morning he last saw her, he awoke with a start from a doze, perspiration soaking his pillow, beads trickling down his forehead, as the scream still rang in his ears. It was a scream of anguish, of inhumane pain, unprecedented grief. He looked around, straining his ears for some sign, but the guards he saw around seemed undisturbed, still chatting amongst themselves, unaware of any pain.
Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, he shook his head; trying to clear out, to recall the memory, distinguish it from reality. Had it just been a bad dream? It had been blood curling, almost rival to the piercing shrieks of the Nazgul, though it induced not the terrifying fear they did. It was the scream of someone who had lost something dear, who had nothing left to live for. He had only heard such a scream of anguish, of despair, once before, when, returning from a catastrophe at Henneth Annun, he had personally carried the grievous news to an old widow, that her only son had been killed. The aged woman had torn at her hair, uttered that piercing shriek that haunted the City, and sank to her knees, grabbing the hem of his robes desperately, sobbing piteously, until she fell into a faint. After ensuring that she was taken care of, he left, though the sound haunted him for many days. Elentari had comforted him though, sensing his trouble, and soon, it drifted to a place in the back of his mind.
What plagued him now was that he could have sworn that the scream had been issued from her mouth; that she was hurt, screaming like a wounded animal near death. What had happened? Had he just dreamt it out of his paranoia? The mere thought of her in pain made him want to jump on his horse and ride to Edoras, to the house of the thieves, and pluck her from her despair, to hold her in his arms. Yes, they were thieves. It did not matter to him that Rohan was their ally; that Eorl the Young had come, when all hope seemed lost, to Gondor's aid. Nothing mattered except that one of the Rohirrim, their prince, had stolen his Elentari from him. Now he was certain she was in pain, unprecedented pain, and the mere thought that one of the Rohirrim may have caused it, made his blood broil.
Accompanied by Eowyn, Elentari had made her way to the stables, all the way giggling and chattering with the young girl she now called sister, both in courtesy and in her heart. Eowyn was attached to her older sister, her cousin's wife, and admired her, for Elentari was everything Eowyn felt a woman should be. She had grown up in a house of men, and knew nothing of the behavior and delicacies of a lady, and from Elentari, she tried to learn. She was loving and gentle, though lethal with a sword, which Eowyn had fought with many a time, and she performed the many wifely duties with ease, though Eowyn could sense a trace of reluctance in the way her needle went through the richly woven fabrics, how she scrubbed Theodred's dirty clothes. Yet behind every smile, every song, there seemed a shadow of sorrow that no one knew of, that she tried desperately to evade, to conceal, as if her every move was to thwart despair.
A great feast had been held the night of the wedding, to celebrate both their homecoming, and the marriage. Theodred had been congratulated repeatedly, on his finding of such a lovely, young wife, who seemed skill in every area; even in some she should not be, such as swordsmanship. No one seemed to care what she thought however, and the women watched her warily, some with their lips pursed, as if trying to find some fault in her, something to discredit her.
After all the men had downed a sufficient amount of ale, Theodred took her hand, and began spinning her around the floor, to the music. The minstrels played lively music, which lightened even her spirits in that dark hour, though she still felt their craft was nothing compared to the Gondorian ones she had played with.
Finally, a slow ballad, with a somewhat mournful air was struck up, and an old bard, who had been sitting behind the minstrels the entire night, yet held in reverence by them, stood to sing:
Child walks down to the river's edge
And looks out as far as she can see
And draws each breath as if it were the last
And wipes away the tears across her sleeve
Theodred was quite unpleased by the revered bard's display. How could he sing such a song of loneliness and despair on such a joyous occasion? Yet he knew better and respected this old bard too much to say anything, and let the song go on. Besides, as he looked over to his new wife, he was pleased to see her fascinated, her eyes riveted on this old bard, weaving his craft. He knew how much she loved the art of song and music, and made a mental note to introduce the two, knowing the elderly man would delight in the lore and voice of the young maiden.
She can see where the river crawls to the sea.
Like a baby into mother's care
Somehow the longing is so far away
The innocence so wasted and aware
And look at the child with the dream in her eyes
Holding it deep inside her
Thinking about Home... Home...
That word struck a chord in Elentari's heart—Home. Home. Home is where the heart is. Home was where Faramir was, where she wanted to be. This old bard seemed to know exactly how she was feeling, and picked the opportune moment to sing this piece.
So much anger so deeply ingrained
Seemed a burden that was hers alone
She didn't think that there was anything wrong
With wanting a life she could call her own
What was wrong with having a life she could control? A life that wasn't dictated by the whims of men that cared nothing for her, or at least not enough.
How could I explain? You would not want to hear
You wouldn't listen if I talked anyway
For you were too weighed down by your own fears
And look at the child with the dream in her eyes
Holding it deep inside her
Home... Home... Home...
Home.
The tears in her eyes were unavoidable and she could not hide them, hard as she tried. Many noticed, including Eomer, who's scowl deepened even further, as Theodred slipped his hand over hers, and smiled at her tenderly, as she met his gaze.
When all the food and ale had been consumed, all songs and dances played out, all the guests retired; Theodred took her in his arms, and led her to their chambers.
He had given her pleasure as she had never known it before that night, but somehow, Elentari felt incomplete, a void that was not filled. This was what she was thinking of, as she and Eowyn headed towards the stables. Eowyn had been asking about her brothers, and she had just been telling her about the time she, Boromir, and Faramir had been riding hard on the Pelennor, racing against the very wind as they did each other.
"Boromir and Faramir somehow, have this secret alliance. They are rivals themselves, but they will stop at nothing, including allying themselves together, to beat me. I could never figure why. I suppose it's because I am a woman, and men have to stick together to equal us." She and Eowyn giggled as she said this, and, with a sack full of apples in hand, opened the stable doors. A few stable lads welcomed them, and after greeting them, they headed, still chattering and giggling, towards their horses, who were next to each other.
"Maybe it's just because they know you'll beat them, so they'll do anything to stop it," Eowyn suggested.
"Maybe. I like to think that," Elentari giggled, "What about you? Do you ride with Theodred and Eomer?"
Eowyn seemed a little crestfallen at this, "I used to. When Eomer wasn't gone all the time, with Theodred, they used to take me out, or it was just Eomer and I. They're both not home too much anymore," she finished sadly. Elentari knew her pain, for as they had gotten older, Boromir and Faramir had both joined the Rangers, and had been away from home many a time. It was true even now in Rohan, for since the several months they had been married, Theodred had been away for most of them, after ensuring that his wife was comfortable and settled in Meduseld.
"Tell me more about Eomer," Elentari requested, as she could never quite figure out why the young man disliked her so. He never spoke a harsh word to her, but whenever she looked, his face was set in scowl towards her.
Eowyn laughed, and said, "What about Eomer?"
She shrugged, "How he notices things, how he sees things, his attitudes towards people?"
"His temper?" Eowyn ventured, and then one step further, "His attitude towards you?"
She colored, and Eowyn laughed, "Eomer has a fiery temper, as do I, though he is more brash and reckless, I should think."
"He doesn't seem to like me very much," Elentari murmured childishly. Before Eowyn could answer, she heard a terrifying scream from the older woman, a scream of anguish, as Faramir had heard in his dreams, and felt her crumple to her knees.
What she saw filled her with dread, as Elentari, on her knees, looked over her unmoving horse, sprawled across her stable floor.
"No," was all Elentari could whisper, "No, Talcalina. Don't leave me. Not you too."
Eowyn quickly sank to her knees beside her, and felt for a pulse on the horse, but it was too late; the horse was gone. As she looked upon the sobbing Elentari, cradling her beloved horse's head in her arms, stroking her mane like she had done many a day before, she felt despair creeping upon her as well, she quickly ordered a stable boy, "Fetch Halas immediately!" Then to Elentari, she said gently, "There may be some hope for Talcalina," though in her heart, she knew there was none.
Perhaps the stable boy had told him, for Halas had arrived in the stables with one of the best horse breeders and healers in Edoras. They looked the horse over many times, after prying Elentari off of her, and like Eowyn, and Elentari, knew the horse was beyond them. When the healer had got to his feet after examining Talcalina, and shook his head, Elentari let out a piteous moan, and buried her face in her hands once more, her body racking with sobs. Eowyn tried to comfort her, but felt very awkward doing it, for ever since her mother's death, she had barely ever seen a woman cry, let alone anyone cry, for Theodred and Eomer would never let her see anything of the sort from them. No matter what befell some serving woman, once Eowyn entered the room, the chatter ceased, and false smiles were plastered upon all their faces. Halas went to question the stable boys about the horse's activities, and after a thorough interrogation, learned nothing of consequence. One of the stable boys had thought it too quiet in those stables, but had excused it for sleep, since it was still early morning.
Halas shook his head, and scrunched his face in thought, "I don't understand. She was fine when we went riding two days ago. We can't find anything physically wrong with her either. Seems like she just left her life."
Elentari choked on another sob, as she thought of their last ride. Talcalina had neighed ceaselessly and tugged on the reins, facing ever southwards, as if willing Elentari to let her take them home. Take them southwards, back home, to Gondor. Though she had been thoroughly tempted, Elentari would not relent, and literally dragged the horse back to Meduseld.
Halas continued to speculate, "She has been eating, has she not?"
"It's not anything like that," Elentari suddenly snapped, her voice clear, though tears were still on her face. Everyone in the stables looked at her, "It's nothing like that! You wouldn't understand," her voice was rising with every word, "Creatures of Gondor do not belong in Rohan!!!"
With that, she tore from the room, leaving a shocked Halas, a troubled Eowyn, and her loyal horse, in a far better place than this, leaving her beloved mistress, all alone, far from home.
A/N: What do you think? It's all going downhill for Elentari from here, if you may have noticed. Should I have a Faramir introspection chapter next, in between all the angst (well his is going to be angst of course) and downhill despair of Elentari? I hope Elentari's last words have some lasting impact for the story. ::scroll up and look at her words:: As you may have noticed, I skipped the time to several months after their marriage. I didn't want to write a bunch of introspection filler in between that would sound redundant and repetitive about their grief. Is that okay? Review!
Thanks to Nymredil! For her hobbitish insight! (That's a compliment.) Wait that was for another poem but if you read this, thanks! Ah, come on people! Please review! It seems that everyone's either on vacation, or has abandoned my story. I would like to think it is the former. Thanks to Susan, as always, for her well-rounded critique and loyalty!
Welcome Lollipop-CaZ and Shallindra! Don't worry, Boromir is kept perfectly safe in this story, though not in Tolkien's... ( Thanks for stopping by Vane Alasse, anticipannation!
Chapter 31: Far from home
Many months had passed since he had last seen her, but night after night, his dreams were filled with her image, her scent flitting across the room, and he could hear her footsteps in the stone halls, and her voice, but when he strained his ears to listen again, there was no trace.
Yet on this winter afternoon, so distant from the clear spring morning he last saw her, he awoke with a start from a doze, perspiration soaking his pillow, beads trickling down his forehead, as the scream still rang in his ears. It was a scream of anguish, of inhumane pain, unprecedented grief. He looked around, straining his ears for some sign, but the guards he saw around seemed undisturbed, still chatting amongst themselves, unaware of any pain.
Wiping his forehead with his sleeve, he shook his head; trying to clear out, to recall the memory, distinguish it from reality. Had it just been a bad dream? It had been blood curling, almost rival to the piercing shrieks of the Nazgul, though it induced not the terrifying fear they did. It was the scream of someone who had lost something dear, who had nothing left to live for. He had only heard such a scream of anguish, of despair, once before, when, returning from a catastrophe at Henneth Annun, he had personally carried the grievous news to an old widow, that her only son had been killed. The aged woman had torn at her hair, uttered that piercing shriek that haunted the City, and sank to her knees, grabbing the hem of his robes desperately, sobbing piteously, until she fell into a faint. After ensuring that she was taken care of, he left, though the sound haunted him for many days. Elentari had comforted him though, sensing his trouble, and soon, it drifted to a place in the back of his mind.
What plagued him now was that he could have sworn that the scream had been issued from her mouth; that she was hurt, screaming like a wounded animal near death. What had happened? Had he just dreamt it out of his paranoia? The mere thought of her in pain made him want to jump on his horse and ride to Edoras, to the house of the thieves, and pluck her from her despair, to hold her in his arms. Yes, they were thieves. It did not matter to him that Rohan was their ally; that Eorl the Young had come, when all hope seemed lost, to Gondor's aid. Nothing mattered except that one of the Rohirrim, their prince, had stolen his Elentari from him. Now he was certain she was in pain, unprecedented pain, and the mere thought that one of the Rohirrim may have caused it, made his blood broil.
Accompanied by Eowyn, Elentari had made her way to the stables, all the way giggling and chattering with the young girl she now called sister, both in courtesy and in her heart. Eowyn was attached to her older sister, her cousin's wife, and admired her, for Elentari was everything Eowyn felt a woman should be. She had grown up in a house of men, and knew nothing of the behavior and delicacies of a lady, and from Elentari, she tried to learn. She was loving and gentle, though lethal with a sword, which Eowyn had fought with many a time, and she performed the many wifely duties with ease, though Eowyn could sense a trace of reluctance in the way her needle went through the richly woven fabrics, how she scrubbed Theodred's dirty clothes. Yet behind every smile, every song, there seemed a shadow of sorrow that no one knew of, that she tried desperately to evade, to conceal, as if her every move was to thwart despair.
A great feast had been held the night of the wedding, to celebrate both their homecoming, and the marriage. Theodred had been congratulated repeatedly, on his finding of such a lovely, young wife, who seemed skill in every area; even in some she should not be, such as swordsmanship. No one seemed to care what she thought however, and the women watched her warily, some with their lips pursed, as if trying to find some fault in her, something to discredit her.
After all the men had downed a sufficient amount of ale, Theodred took her hand, and began spinning her around the floor, to the music. The minstrels played lively music, which lightened even her spirits in that dark hour, though she still felt their craft was nothing compared to the Gondorian ones she had played with.
Finally, a slow ballad, with a somewhat mournful air was struck up, and an old bard, who had been sitting behind the minstrels the entire night, yet held in reverence by them, stood to sing:
Child walks down to the river's edge
And looks out as far as she can see
And draws each breath as if it were the last
And wipes away the tears across her sleeve
Theodred was quite unpleased by the revered bard's display. How could he sing such a song of loneliness and despair on such a joyous occasion? Yet he knew better and respected this old bard too much to say anything, and let the song go on. Besides, as he looked over to his new wife, he was pleased to see her fascinated, her eyes riveted on this old bard, weaving his craft. He knew how much she loved the art of song and music, and made a mental note to introduce the two, knowing the elderly man would delight in the lore and voice of the young maiden.
She can see where the river crawls to the sea.
Like a baby into mother's care
Somehow the longing is so far away
The innocence so wasted and aware
And look at the child with the dream in her eyes
Holding it deep inside her
Thinking about Home... Home...
That word struck a chord in Elentari's heart—Home. Home. Home is where the heart is. Home was where Faramir was, where she wanted to be. This old bard seemed to know exactly how she was feeling, and picked the opportune moment to sing this piece.
So much anger so deeply ingrained
Seemed a burden that was hers alone
She didn't think that there was anything wrong
With wanting a life she could call her own
What was wrong with having a life she could control? A life that wasn't dictated by the whims of men that cared nothing for her, or at least not enough.
How could I explain? You would not want to hear
You wouldn't listen if I talked anyway
For you were too weighed down by your own fears
And look at the child with the dream in her eyes
Holding it deep inside her
Home... Home... Home...
Home.
The tears in her eyes were unavoidable and she could not hide them, hard as she tried. Many noticed, including Eomer, who's scowl deepened even further, as Theodred slipped his hand over hers, and smiled at her tenderly, as she met his gaze.
When all the food and ale had been consumed, all songs and dances played out, all the guests retired; Theodred took her in his arms, and led her to their chambers.
He had given her pleasure as she had never known it before that night, but somehow, Elentari felt incomplete, a void that was not filled. This was what she was thinking of, as she and Eowyn headed towards the stables. Eowyn had been asking about her brothers, and she had just been telling her about the time she, Boromir, and Faramir had been riding hard on the Pelennor, racing against the very wind as they did each other.
"Boromir and Faramir somehow, have this secret alliance. They are rivals themselves, but they will stop at nothing, including allying themselves together, to beat me. I could never figure why. I suppose it's because I am a woman, and men have to stick together to equal us." She and Eowyn giggled as she said this, and, with a sack full of apples in hand, opened the stable doors. A few stable lads welcomed them, and after greeting them, they headed, still chattering and giggling, towards their horses, who were next to each other.
"Maybe it's just because they know you'll beat them, so they'll do anything to stop it," Eowyn suggested.
"Maybe. I like to think that," Elentari giggled, "What about you? Do you ride with Theodred and Eomer?"
Eowyn seemed a little crestfallen at this, "I used to. When Eomer wasn't gone all the time, with Theodred, they used to take me out, or it was just Eomer and I. They're both not home too much anymore," she finished sadly. Elentari knew her pain, for as they had gotten older, Boromir and Faramir had both joined the Rangers, and had been away from home many a time. It was true even now in Rohan, for since the several months they had been married, Theodred had been away for most of them, after ensuring that his wife was comfortable and settled in Meduseld.
"Tell me more about Eomer," Elentari requested, as she could never quite figure out why the young man disliked her so. He never spoke a harsh word to her, but whenever she looked, his face was set in scowl towards her.
Eowyn laughed, and said, "What about Eomer?"
She shrugged, "How he notices things, how he sees things, his attitudes towards people?"
"His temper?" Eowyn ventured, and then one step further, "His attitude towards you?"
She colored, and Eowyn laughed, "Eomer has a fiery temper, as do I, though he is more brash and reckless, I should think."
"He doesn't seem to like me very much," Elentari murmured childishly. Before Eowyn could answer, she heard a terrifying scream from the older woman, a scream of anguish, as Faramir had heard in his dreams, and felt her crumple to her knees.
What she saw filled her with dread, as Elentari, on her knees, looked over her unmoving horse, sprawled across her stable floor.
"No," was all Elentari could whisper, "No, Talcalina. Don't leave me. Not you too."
Eowyn quickly sank to her knees beside her, and felt for a pulse on the horse, but it was too late; the horse was gone. As she looked upon the sobbing Elentari, cradling her beloved horse's head in her arms, stroking her mane like she had done many a day before, she felt despair creeping upon her as well, she quickly ordered a stable boy, "Fetch Halas immediately!" Then to Elentari, she said gently, "There may be some hope for Talcalina," though in her heart, she knew there was none.
Perhaps the stable boy had told him, for Halas had arrived in the stables with one of the best horse breeders and healers in Edoras. They looked the horse over many times, after prying Elentari off of her, and like Eowyn, and Elentari, knew the horse was beyond them. When the healer had got to his feet after examining Talcalina, and shook his head, Elentari let out a piteous moan, and buried her face in her hands once more, her body racking with sobs. Eowyn tried to comfort her, but felt very awkward doing it, for ever since her mother's death, she had barely ever seen a woman cry, let alone anyone cry, for Theodred and Eomer would never let her see anything of the sort from them. No matter what befell some serving woman, once Eowyn entered the room, the chatter ceased, and false smiles were plastered upon all their faces. Halas went to question the stable boys about the horse's activities, and after a thorough interrogation, learned nothing of consequence. One of the stable boys had thought it too quiet in those stables, but had excused it for sleep, since it was still early morning.
Halas shook his head, and scrunched his face in thought, "I don't understand. She was fine when we went riding two days ago. We can't find anything physically wrong with her either. Seems like she just left her life."
Elentari choked on another sob, as she thought of their last ride. Talcalina had neighed ceaselessly and tugged on the reins, facing ever southwards, as if willing Elentari to let her take them home. Take them southwards, back home, to Gondor. Though she had been thoroughly tempted, Elentari would not relent, and literally dragged the horse back to Meduseld.
Halas continued to speculate, "She has been eating, has she not?"
"It's not anything like that," Elentari suddenly snapped, her voice clear, though tears were still on her face. Everyone in the stables looked at her, "It's nothing like that! You wouldn't understand," her voice was rising with every word, "Creatures of Gondor do not belong in Rohan!!!"
With that, she tore from the room, leaving a shocked Halas, a troubled Eowyn, and her loyal horse, in a far better place than this, leaving her beloved mistress, all alone, far from home.
A/N: What do you think? It's all going downhill for Elentari from here, if you may have noticed. Should I have a Faramir introspection chapter next, in between all the angst (well his is going to be angst of course) and downhill despair of Elentari? I hope Elentari's last words have some lasting impact for the story. ::scroll up and look at her words:: As you may have noticed, I skipped the time to several months after their marriage. I didn't want to write a bunch of introspection filler in between that would sound redundant and repetitive about their grief. Is that okay? Review!