Son of Denethor

Chapter Three

I yawned again as the dusty pink and yellow sun started its ascent. I hadn't slept all night. In a way, my vigil had been relaxing, a time for me to collect my thoughts.

The gates begin to creak open, and I stand up, stretching my arms. My bones feel stiff; and cold has been seeping into every crack of me the entire night.

Faramir opens his eyes and looks over at me. "You look awful. Did you sleep at all?" His smile is teasing, but his words pierce me like a knife.

"As a matter of fact, no. I sat here all night," i say, my words clipped.

He stands up and puts his arm around my shoulder. "You should have woken me up," he says.

"Why? So we would both be exhausted in the morning?" I ask, walking through the gates. Minas Tirith is starting to wake up. The vendors of the market are starting to set up their stands. Carts being pulled by old, broken down horses are clattering around the stones.

I am usually waking up around this time, too. "I have to go," I say suddenly, moving away from Faramir and running through the courtyard.

But of course he comes after me. "I'm coming too," he says. "I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I let you walk home by yourself."

"My mother will cut you into pieces and sell you to the butcher," I warn him, but he just keeps following me.

When we reach my cottage, I open the small gate leading to the garden. Mother is standing in front of the laundry line, talking to an imposing figure.

"It's my father." Faramir tenses beside me, and I squeeze his cold hand.

"I'm sure everything will be alright," I whisper.

My mother turns and sees us. A gasp escapes her mouth and she runs to me, kissing my cheek. Lord Denethor stands still, watching us.

Then they take in our appearance. Wet, muddy clothes, tangled hair, my sleepless appearance. How we're still holding hands.

"Miriel! How could you? Sneaking off to- I can't even say it! With Faramir, no less. I can assume that all interest in you will fly to the wind once news of this gets out," she says.

Denethor strides up to us. "I can't even begin to tell you how disappointed I am in you," he says to Faramir. "Your brother would never have done something so stupid."

Faramir's eyes drop to the ground. He doesn't speak.

"This is absurd!" I say. "We are friends. Nothing more than that, I assure you."
My mother exchanges a look with Denethor.

"Truth or not, people will have seen you together already. Your reputation has been tainted. You know what this means..." My mother's voice trails off.

I cover my face with my hands. People know Faramir and I are not married. What must they think of me now?

"She is right. You must pack your things. You leave tonight." Denethor's voice is commanding, as it always is.

Faramir and I look at eachother. "I'm sorry, Miriel," he whispers. "This is all my fault."

I shake my head. "No! If I hadn't started that foolish fight, none of this would have happened." But inside of me, the small seed of hope is waking. If we are sent of together, is there a possibility that my dreams might actually come true?

Faramir squeezes my hand, then turns and walks away. Denethor follows after him. My mother and I stand in silence.

Then she, too, turns and walks away into the house, the door slamming behind her.

I walk slowly over to the clothesline and pick up a cloth from the pile of laundry. I wring it out, then hang it on the line. My movements are as if I am being controlled by someone else. I do not think- I just work.

Mother comes out when I am finished. "I suppose you must get your things ready to leave," she says, her words clipped.

I should be ecstatic. I finally get to leave. Faramir and I are actually getting our wish. But he doesn't want it to come this way. Neither do I. Nobody in their right mind would wish to be exiled.

"Mother, I promise you. We didn't do anything. I would never lie to you." That was a small lie in itself.

She turns away. "I don't know what to believe anymore, Miriel. You never had eyes for anyone but him. What am I to think?" She hands me a pack.

I take it and walk to the small bedroom we share. I take my two other dresses, fold them, and place them in the pack. A tear escapes my eye and trails down my cheek.

A corset, an underskirt, a pair of white stockings with a tiny hole in the right heel. A tiny prayer book that Mother insisted I buy with my meagre amount of coins.

I take my hairbrush. I roll up my blanket. This is all I have to my name. All of my belongings are now in my pack. I slump back against the wall and cry, tasting salt on my tongue. Why did it have to happen this way?

A/N: I think I finally got past my writer's block for this story! This is my second update in a week, so I'm feeling pretty proud! I hope you're enjoying it so far. Please comment your feedback! 😄-Tasha