A few months had passed since the arrival of Merry and Pippin, when news of a new threat arrived from the East. A strange power had awakened from its slumber. She was known as the "Queen of the Nine", referring of course to the nine ringwraiths that once plagued and haunted the land of Gondor. Isolde had only heard stories of the Nazgûl, and could only imagine what was coming. "Aglaramarth", as the new witch was also known as, gathered more and more evil forces as she made her way toward Gondor. King Ellesar took no time in calling for the aid of Rohan to meet the heinous troops head-on. Isolde knew this was her chance to show her father, Eldarion, and all others that she had the strength to fight alongside those she loved.
The night before the army left for battle, she went to her father's chambers. She found him sitting in a large chair, gazing into the fireplace in front of him, his hand rubbing his temple slowly as his elbow rested on the arm of the chair. Though his calm eyes reflected the red glow of the smoldering embers, Isolde couldn't get past the look of fatigue on his face. It added years to his face, and Isolde hated to see it. She knew he had spent the last week working very late into the nights pouring over old maps with King Ellesar; planning attacks, and making note of the evil that seemed to come from all sides. She knew that he hated the fact that he could never fight alongside his comrade; that he had to be the one to stay behind to ensure there be a leader for the kingdom, least the King and his son should fall and she also knew that what she was about to say could only make his condition worse, but she couldn't wait any longer. She knelt before him and he looked up, smiling weakly.
"Father, I love you dearly and you know I would never do anything to hurt you. You do know this, don't you?" She said clasping his hand in her own and searching his eyes for an answer. He nodded lightly.
"And you know that I have been training for hours on end almost every day for the chance to prove it to you…" Isolde shifted her weight nervously and stared at the floor. Faramir frowned at her solemn state and tilted her chin up with his finger.
"Isolde, what troubles you?" Concern veiled his face as observed her growing distress. After a moment, Isolde broke down.
"I want to fight," She uttered. "I know I can do it…I just wanted your blessing is all," Faramir's eyes widened in shock. And it was only a second before she heard his barely audible whisper.
"No," He stood and paced the room. His words came quick and sharp. "No, Isolde, You can't ask that of me. You are the only family I have. I couldn't bear to lose you. You aren't ready for battle."
"But I am ready father. You know this. You've seen me fight. I can do it. I just need this chance," She pleaded. Faramir stopped and stared at her. He murmured lightly.
"You are so much like your mother," That was the last straw for Isolde. She stood and shouted at him.
"That's all I ever hear from people! I'm forever stuck in the shadow of a stranger! How am I ever to prove myself to anyone if I don't get the chance?" These words stung Faramir, as he knew all too well what it was like to be stuck in the shadow of another. Still, his protective instincts took over.
"That's enough, Isolde. It's done. You aren't going," His words were firm. Isolde ran out, not wanting him to see the tears that she was blinking back. That night, they both cried themselves to sleep.