Immortalitui // Faramir 🥀

Chapter Five - Training

Word Count: 2,233 words. 

Warnings: None. 

Arathiel was up, as she had told Denethor, at the break of dawn. The beaming sun was only starting to rise as she approached the courtyard.

"You're up early," a voice commented as she walked out into the open ground.

"Perhaps I am simply up late," the elf replied, turning her head slightly to watch as Faramir approached her side. He still held his book. "Did you ever consider that?"

He smiled, leaning against the weapons table that had been set up for her. Arathiel picked up a single blade, holding it up so that its sharpened tip faced the sky.

"You intrigue me," he told her.

"You are not the first." Placing the sword back down, Arathiel took up a nearby bow. "Are these the ones you fight with?" she asked.

Faramir nodded. "All bowmen have one. Is Arathiel your real name or is it a fake one as to hide your true identity?"

"I do not know what identity you think I would be trying to hide," the elf replied. She was shocked by his bluntness, and she swore that his prying questions wouldn't jolt her a second time. "They'll need to be changed. The wood is too heavy, and the arrows won't fly true to their target."

"I'm sure the steward will have them tailored to your need. I hope I haven't offended you, its only that your past is shrouded in mystery."

"As are most elves due to the fact that we have lived long before Middle-Earth was as you see it now," she muttered, taking up a small dagger and testing the weight of it in her hand.

"The steward –"

"Why do you call him the steward and not your father?" Arathiel cut him off, becoming tired of his games. And enraged by the fact that she was enjoying them. Faramir didn't reply to that, swallowing. "I can ask questions too."

His eyes watched mine and he smiled. That daring smile only frustrated her further. She had pulled at a detail about his life that should have riled the man up and yet he smiled.

Faramir was amazed by the woman he stood in front of. She had no fear, no reluctance. Arathiel knew the weapons in front of her and knew their weaknesses with a single glance and a feel of their body. He wanted to know more.

The man soon noticed that the soldiers were beginning to arrive, and he sighed lightly. "Your men are here."

"I know. I could hear them coming from the barracks," – their voices were loud and boisterous – "they need to work on their stealth."

"Do you mind if I watch?" Faramir asked.

Arathiel wanted to say no, but there was something in the way he had asked the question that made her nod her head. It was so polite, so incredibly gentle that she felt she had to. Arathiel hated this man already.

"I think the orcs appreciate the warning!" Her voice echoed, soldiers' conversations falling into a swift silence. When she turned around, they looked at her sceptically.

"I thought a great warrior was going to teach us how to fight," one spoke. A man near the front of the group. It was a small team. An elite force that would man the wall between here and death, but he seemed to be the leader. There was not thirty men and yet they all nodded in agreement when he spoke. "Not a woman."

Faramir didn't get involved in it. He had to admit that he was angered by the Gondorian's lack of knowledge, but he felt that hearing Arathiel respond would be far more entertaining than stopping it himself. There was a small chair against the columns that separated the corridor from the courtyard and sitting back in it gently, he found himself watching the elf intently. He waited impatiently for her response.