This is my first fanfic in awhile, so I apologize for any errors. I will post a reply in this thread with each new chapter I complete.

~*~

Chapter 1 - Angels

“Isamae? Isamae, where are yeh?” The deep voice thundered throughout the small house, and it did not sound pleasant. The sound of steps were heard, and a young girl, looking to be eight years of age, came rushing down the stairway, her untidy brown hair streaming out behind her in ribbons. She came to the feet of a tall, broad-shouldered man, and stopped there, panting. The man scowled down at her. “Just where’ve yeh been all day, young miss? Not teasin’ anymore cats, I ‘ope?”

The young girl looked up into the man’s unshaven face, her brown eyes glaring fiercely. “I was helpin’ Mother feed Ellea! Surely yeh can’t punish me f’r that,” she wiped a grubby cheek with one hand.

Still scowling, the man bent down and lifted the girl’s chin with a finger. “You’re positively filthy. How many times’ve I told yeh t’ wash yer face after playin’?”

She smiled slightly. “Too many times t’count.”

“Exactly. Now run along and clean yerself up...we’re expectin’ company shortly, an’ I want m’daughter t’ look persentable.”

The big brown eyes got even bigger. “Company? Wot company, Papa?”

He snorted and shook a large finger at her. “That’s fer me t’ know and fer yeh t’ find out. Now run along, Isamae, ‘afore yer mother misses yeh.”

“Oh, awright, I s’pose I can wash up a little.” Isamae grinned impishly at her father and then ran back up the stairs, making a great deal of noise. The man shook his head, stroking his rough black beard with one hand. “That child,” he muttered to himself, “She’s ‘er father’s daughter through an’ through, I’d say.” He started chuckling and poured himself a drink from the flagon on the table.

Upstairs, Isamae rushed breathlessly into her mother’s room, where a gaunt, pale-faced woman with sandy hair was busy feeding a tiny babe, whose tiny fists were clutching her mother’s shirt with frail determination. The woman looked up as Isamae entered. There were bags beneath her eyes, and she had the look of one who had been through much. “What is the hurry, daughter?” she asked, smiling faintly.

The young girl sat at her mother’s feet, her eyes wide with the excitement at some unknown prospect. “Papa’s havin’ some company over shortly, an’ he sent me up t’ get washed.”

Her mother laughed weakly. “Goodness knows you need it. Did your father mention who the company is?”

Isamae shook her curly, brown head furiously. “I asked ‘im, but ‘e said ‘twas f’r ‘im t’ know an’ me t’ find out.” She pouted and brushed an untidy strand of hair behind one ear. The mother smiled. “Children oughtn’t be so inquisitive, dearest. You will find out who this company is in due time. Now run along and get cleaned up, as your father told ye to do.”

Isamae grinned. “V’ry well, Mother.” She bent over to kiss the head of the babe in her mother’s lap. “You grow nice an’ strong, Ellea, soz we c’n play t’gether in th’ garden, when yer growed up some.” She looked up at her mother. “Ellea’ll get better soon, won’t she?”

Her mother attempted a small smile. “Yes, dear...Ellea will get better. I hope so with all my heart.” A small tear escaped from the corner of her eye to land on the head of the baby in her lap. The woman hastily brushed it away. “Go wash up...there’s a good girl.”

Isamae nodded and, after kissing her mother once, ran off into the adjoining room.

~*~

There was a knock on the door. “Orodil, I believe your company’s here!”the woman shouted from upstairs. Her husband got up and started walking towards the door, mumbling, “They sure did take their time in getting here,” under his breath.

Isamae crouched at the top of the stairs, watching as her father greeted two men and invited them to come inside and sit down. As they stepped inside, Isamae couldn’t help but notice the vast differences between the two. One man was young and clean-shaven; Isamae guessed he was under twenty years of age. He was wearing a tunic the color of the sky in midwinter, and his tall, black boots had obviously been polished to perfection. Isamae admired his bright blue eyes, which went so well with his shoulder-length light brown hair.

The other man (Isamae presumed he was the other’s father) was old; and yet, he stood straight and tall as a beam of wood, and fire shone in his clear gray eyes. His hair, which had once been mahogany, was now nearly white, and grew well past his shoulder blades, which was rarely seen in Gondorians, who usually kept their hair trimmed at the shoulder. His sword, which was strapped at his side, looked as if it was as old as its owner. The blade was scratched and rusting, and the hilt wasn’t much better.

The young girl watched as the two men followed her father into the kitchen. Probably for an ale, she thought. Oh, how she wished she could follow them! The two men had awakened curiosity in her heart, and she was determined to learn more about them.

Quietly, ever so quietly, Isamae crept down the stairs, striving to hear bits of conversation from the kitchen. Suddenly, she found herself leaning too heavily upon the stair rail, and it broke with a snap, sending the young girl crashing to the ground three feet below.

The three men burst out from the kitchen to find Isamae lying on the ground with tears streaming from her eyes. Bits of the broken rail were strewn about her. “You clumsy liddle wench!” Orodil said, quivering with rage, “Just lookit wot y’did! Ye ruined m’ time with these visitors, an’ ye’ve made a fine mess o’ th’ stair! I ought t’ skin yer wretched hide!”

Isamae put her hands up, protecting her face. “Please, Papa, I didn’t mean it, honestly I didn’t! Please don’t skin m’ hide! I didn’t mean it!” the young girl sobbed, strands of brown hair escaping the hair ribbon and sticking to her wet face.

“I’ll teach ye t’ break th’ stair rail!” He was about to slap her when the young man grabbed onto his arm. “There is no need to strike thy daughter, friend!”he cried, glancing down at the weeping girl. “Please, let me handle this.”

He bent down to Isamae’s level and placed a warm hand on the young girl’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?” he asked. She shook her head meekly, gazing into the young man’s face. Surely, she thought, I must be starin’ into th’ face of an angel!

“My name is Denedil,” he said softly, “What name do you go by?”

“I-I’m Isamae,” the girl replied, her voice shaking. “Are...are ye an angel?”

A hearty laugh escaped from Denedil’s lips, and he gently tousled Isamae’s head. “What makes you think I am an angel, pretty?” he asked.

The young girl was silent for awhile, then answered. “A-a friend once told me that angels were among th’ most beautiful beings in Middle Earth...an’...an’ I think yer beautiful.”

Denedil fell into a surprised silence, then smiled and helped her to her feet. “I am afraid I am no angel,” he said, “But if you’d like, I can tell you a story about one. How would you like that?”

“I...I b’lieve I’d like that v’ry much, sir,” the young girl said, clasping her hands.

“Please, I am barely sixteen years of age; hardly old enough to be called sir. It would please me far greater if you called me Denedil.” he said, smiling down at her.

“Awright...Denedil. D’you truly know a story ‘bout angels? Mother knows of not one,” Isamae breathed.

“I know several, if you’d care to hear them.”

Orodil watched as Denedil took Isamae’s hand and led the eight year-old girl down the hall to the chair by the window, where he sat her upon his lap and began telling her a story. “Ridiculous, positively ridiculous!” he fumed, clenching his fists. “Th’ child ought t’ be punished, th’ way she acted.”

The elderly man by his side laughed quietly. “Methinks ye’ve lost your temper one time too many to get me to listen to ye, my friend. Shall we continue our meeting, or would ye prefer to ramble on about yon daughter of yours? Personally, I think what she did was harmless; a mere accident. She is, after all, a child. I think my Denedil’s quite taken with her.”

Orodil sighed and turned to his friend. “Ah, I s’pose yer right, as usual. C’mon, I’ll take ye t’ th’ kitchen fer another ale.”

~*~

Late that night, after the men had left, Isamae sat in her mother’s room, getting dressed for bed. As she slipped on the dirty shift which served as a nightgown, her mother noticed the bruises covering her arms and left side. “That was a pretty rough fall you took on the stairs, wasn’t it?” she asked concernedly. Ellea was in her basket, sleeping, her tiny chest rising and falling gently.

“S’awright, nothing I can’t handle.” Isamae replied, smoothing the shift in front. “Mama? C’n I ask yeh a question?”

The mother nodded and stretched out her arms, inviting her elder daughter to sit upon her lap. “Certainly, child; you know you can ask your mother anything.”

Isamae sat upon her mother’s lap and leaned her brown head against her chest, sighing contentedly. “D’you b’lieve in angels?”

“Angels? Why, I...I can’t say that I do. I always thought they were mystical beings who lived on some faraway island.”

The young girl looked up at her mother with wide eyes. “Surely yeh don’ mean that, Mother! Angels are real! Denedil told me a story about them, ‘e did; ‘e said that they live in th’ air, an’ are invisible, an’ protect ye from harm.”

Her mother smiled. “They sound wonderful...but you must realize, dear, that they do not truly exist.” She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning her head against the back of the chair. “You know,” she said softly, “I used to believe in angels.”

“Y’did?” Isamae replied in a whisper, “Why don’t y’still do?”

“I came to know the truth,” her mother said, opening her eyes. “I realized that when you are a child, it is entertaining to believe in angels and other mythical beings. You imagine what they look like, you tell other people about them, you even speak to them. But when you grow up, the truth is revealed to you: life isn’t make believe, Isamae. It’s hard and cruel, and things don’t often go the way you intend.” She sighed once more, and a faraway look came into her eyes.

“When I married your father, we were in love. He was young and handsome, and had a good job at a blacksmith’s shop. Then, you came along, and everything changed. He started drinking, and doing other things behind my back; things married men shouldn’t do. He got himself into debt, and we had to move out of our nice house into this one. You probably don’t remember the old house, but I can tell you, it was beautiful.

“One night, I confronted your father, telling him that if he didn’t shape up and improve his ways, then I would leave, taking you with me. He dropped down onto his knees and begged forgiveness, saying that he would never repeat his vile actions again.” The woman chuckled coldly, sorrow creeping into her eyes. “Five years passed before he once more returned to his wicked habits. Months later I found out, and told him that we were finished. He apologized fervently, begging me to forgive him, but, remembering the last time he had done so, I hardened my heart, packed up my bag, and left with you.”

“I think I remember that,” Isamae whispered. Her mother nodded and continued. “We found shelter with a friend for several months, and then, she died. Desperate, I sought out work, and finally got a job taking care of a noblewoman’s baby. I can tell you, that baby did cry!

“The pay wasn’t very high, but it was enough to buy just enough food and clothing to live by. I remember feeling a pang of guilt whenever you were hungry, because I knew I didn’t have enough money to buy all the food you needed. I got a second job sweeping the streets, which consumed much of my time and energy. By the time I came home to you at night, I was dead weary.

“One day when the sun was at its hottest, I fainted whilst sweeping in the streets. One kind lady brought me to her house and gave me a drink of water. I told her of my daughter, and she said she could, perhaps, find a home for the both of us to stay whilst I was recovering from my exhaustion.
“Somehow, your father got wind of this, and came down to the kind woman’s house to see me. He apologized once more, and asked me to take you and come to live with him again. He had switched from working at the blacksmith’s to working at the local stable, where he groomed the horses and swept the stalls. The pay, although not as high as he had hoped, was sufficient to live by. Seeing this, and his apparent change of character, I agreed to come and live with him again. Several years passed, and your sister, Ellea, was born.

“Since then, your father has been....how do I put it...”

“Mean?” Isamae ventured. Her mother sighed. “That, and more. Quite recently, he has had strange visitors over, and I think...I think he has taken once more to drinking. I don’t know what to do with him.” The poor woman put her head in her hands.

The young girl on her lap wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck. “It’s awright, Mother...I c’n take care of yeh. Don’t ye worry ‘bout a thing!”

Her mother smiled weakly and hugged back, her eyes filling with tears. “I know you will, my dear Isamae...I haven’t a doubt that you will do everything in your power to take care of me and Ellea.. You’re such a good girl, and I love you so much.”

Isamae drew away from her mother, her face solemn. “An’ I love you, Mother...although y’ don’t b’lieve in angels.”

The corners of her mother’s mouth turned upwards in a slight smile. “I...I think I do believe in angels, Isamae. There are angels, of sorts, everywhere around us, if you only take the time to find them.”

~*~

Chapter 2 is in the making!