Son of Denethor

Prologue

"Miriel! Where are you?"
I giggle and shrink back into the soft velvety folds of the drapes.
"Miriel? Come out. Your mother's here." A different voice speaks this time. I sigh and step out from my hiding place, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Can't I stay? She won't mind."
"Maybe not. But my father will." Boromir gestures to the door. "He wants us to get back to our studying."
"Studying? Why do you need to? You're only twelve!"
"Twelve year olds go to school, Miriel. I'm surprised you haven't started yet." He bites his cheek as soon as he says this, no doubt feeling guilty. It's no secret that my family isn't rich; not even close. But we're not poor, either.

"Sorry, Miriel. Maybe you can come again tomorrow?" Faramir speaks from behind his older brother. I smile. "I hope so! I'll ask my mother. I'm sure she'll say yes."
He smiles back at me, his blue eyes lighting up his face. "Goodbye then."
I turn and walk out of the set of doors, down the staircase, and outside. A light wind is blowing, and it tousles my red hair. I run all the way home.

"Mother? May I go to Faramir's house tomorrow?" I say the minute I step inside. My mother looks up from the daily laundry and blows a strand of light hair from her face. "Already? You were just there today. And yesterday."

"I know. But he's my best friend!"
She sighs. "I'll see. I might have housework for you to do tomorrow."
I groan. "I hate work!"
"Miriel, please."
"Sorry." I sit down on one of our old wooden chairs and swing my legs back and forth. I can't tell my mother that I'm scared. Scared that Faramir's work and studies might take him away from me. He's lonely, I can tell.

"Can I go outside?" I stop swinging my legs and jump up from the chair.
"Fine. Don't go far."
I run back out the door, letting it slam behind me. The wind has picked up and I enjoy the feeling of it sliding cool arms down my warm skin.

Minas Tirath, the White City, is called the most beautiful place in all of Middle-earth- or so it's people say. I have heard tales of the Elven kingdoms, that they are beyond all comparison. I want to see an elf, more than anything.

But not while I'm ten years old. Maybe Faramir will come with me. He doesn't like living here any more than I do. We could get adopted by the House of Elrond. Rivendell, it's called. I could learn archery, and how to speak Quenya or Sindarin. The language of Men is all short words and hard voices.

I've seen an elf before, when I was very little. He was beautiful, with long, silken hair and a smooth face. Not like the hairy faces of the men in the White City. I wish I could be beautiful too.