Son of Denethor

Chapter Six

We drop our bags to the ground. I let out a sigh and take a few steps forward, mesmerized by the blazing sunset. Faramir puts an arm around me. My heart beat picks up. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

I nod, watching as the sky is painted with golds and pinks. I look out across the vast fields of waving grass, glad to be out in the open again.

"Hopefully we don't run into anyone while we're out here," Faramir says, worry evident in his voice. "There's not much to hide behind."

I swallow, suddenly frightened. "Do you think there's more orcs close by?"

He glances at me for a second before looking back out to the horizon. "Let's hope not."

The sun disappears, and we are left in the early hours of night. A few stars are visible, speckled through the slightly cloudy sky.

"I don't want to run the risk of lighting a fire right now," Faramir says apologetically.

"That's alright." Even though we've been walking hard all day, the air is significantly cooler against my damp hair, skin, and clothes. The sweat on my brow is starting to dry, leaving me feeling sticky.

I let out a little shiver and sit down beside my bag, glancing behind me. I'll never like the idea of spending the night out in a forest. All those long shadows made by the trees... Anything could be hiding behind them.

Faramir sits beside me and puts his arm around my shoulder. "Stop doing that!" he says, turning my face towards him. His eyes are caring and reassuring, as they always are. "I don't expect you to overcome your fears overnight."

I smile slightly, a little nervous by the fact that he's sitting so close. You'd think that it wouldn't faze me, but every time he does it my heart beats faster. "You smell like a cow," I say, nudging him with my shoulder.

He raises his eyebrow and pushes his hair out of his eyes. "Do I now? Have you smelled yourself, Miriel? You smell like a pig."

I laugh, and we lie on our backs. He grabs my hand, and even though my blisters hurt like hell, I don't protest. He does this a lot, because I get scared a lot. I put my bag under my head and wrap my cloak tighter around me.

"What do you miss the most about home?" I ask softly.

He shifts slightly. "Fresh food. A mattress."

"I can almost smell the bakery if I try hard enough." My stomach lets out a small growl.

"I prefer the smell of the butcher's."

"You are foul," I say, sighing. "I wouldn't consider fresh blood and raw entrails a good smell."

"Your nose just isn't as... cultured as mine is," he says.

"You sound like your father," I snort out, and he chokes.

He tightens his arm around my shoulders and I move closer to him, until we are pressed side to side, and his leg is touching mine.

I fall asleep to the odd sensation of burning heat on one side, and icy cold on the other.

My muscles are stiff when I wake, and my back is aching. Faramir is no longer beside me, but he walks out of the forest carrying a small pile of twigs and branches. A hare is slung over his shoulders.

He kneels down and piles the branches, along with some dried leaves and bark. "We must not linger here too long," he says, rubbing two sticks together. I watch, fascinated, as a thin wisp of smoke curls up toward the brightening sky. Dew lightly covers the grass around me.

"Summer's coming," I muse to myself. "They must be preparing for the solstice."

Faramir skins the hare and buries its entrails.