Light Under the Shadow of Black Wings

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

Upon Denethor's orders, the Rangers of Ithilien spent nearly all of their time on the Western Shores in the wake of the attack on Osgiliath. They were to remain on constant guard, in case the Orcs once more made an attempt to take the city. They spent their days either camped on the literal shoreline, or taking refuge within the abodes of civilians that were kind enough to quarter them for short increments of time.

One night in particular, Deora had taken charge of the night watch, trading off the hours with Faramir, while the rest of the Rangers got some well-deserved rest back in the safety of the village.

In the deadest point of the night, she had been in the middle of repeatedly stalking along the edge of the river, completely and utterly lost in her thoughts.

The past few months or so had been tense beyond belief, and she realized that she hadn't taken so much as a moment to breathe, let alone think about it all.

But now, she had suddenly found herself with far too much time to do so.

And many of her thoughts, she discovered, were swirling around the youngest son of the Steward of Gondor, who was sleeping in a tent only a few yards behind her current position. He had clearly not gotten over the words his father had spat at him the day that Boromir had left for Rivendell. And even though he was still trying to be the best Captain he could for his Rangers, his spark had been significantly dulled. And that was something that physically pained Deora to watch happen.

She wished, more than anything, that he could see himself the way that his Rangers saw him. Or even just the way that she saw him. She thought that she had been doing everything in her power to help him do so, but all of her efforts appeared fruitless.

The slim remainder of her thoughts lingered on the fact that she truly did now bear the symbol of Gondor across her chest.

She was living out the very dreams that she dreamt of as a child. All of the goals and ambitions that had consumed both her waking and sleeping hours had finally come to pass, and yet...something was wrong. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, and whenever she felt herself moving towards what she thought could be an answer, it quickly darted out of her reach.

Her brows had been furrowed so deeply in concentration, that it took her an entire pass along the shoreline before she noticed the low, muffled sounds of distress that were coming from the tent to her right.

Someone was crying out in the dark, murkiness of sleep.

Deora's head snapped to the right, immediately honing in on Faramir's tent. There, she could see the light of the small lamp that sat within the canvas shaking slightly, as if being pushed around.

Without thinking, she had rushed forward, shoving the flaps of tapestry inside. Within the tent itself, she found Faramir thrashing around, rather violently, in his sleep. Her eyes flickered worriedly over towards the lantern. One more tilt to the side and its flame would find the flowing tapestry and set it ablaze. Lunging for it, she managed to snatch it up and into her hands just before it finally lost its balance for good.

In the seconds in which she had moved, Faramir's eyes had shot open, a strangled gasp tumbling out of his throat. His breathing was heavy and frantic as his eyes began to dart around him. His hands flew up to his hair, pulling at it slightly in an attempt to ground himself back in reality.

Quickly setting the lantern down safely outside the tent, Deora then reached forward, grabbing onto either side of her Captain's shoulders.

"Calm yourself, Faramir." she whispered urgently. "It was only a dream."

"Deora-" her name fell out of his mouth in an empty breath of air, his eyes still searching around the tent for a moment before finally coming to rest upon her face. "What happened?"