Hee hee... no one reads this thing. But yeah, might as well have a disclaimer... and these were for a drabble challenge where someone had to be observing Faramir, and I noticed everyone watching him seemed to like him, so I decided to counter that.

Disclaimer: Faramir is not mine, and for that I will now go off and cry into my pillow.

Misunderstanding
 Captain Faramir rides out, tall and noble, his horse stepping delicately through flowers thrown at its hooves. How I hate him.

No tears when my father departed, no tears for a girl with no one to dry her eyes now that he has left. He rides now in Faramir's company; he rides to death. I cannot distinguish him from the others clad in black and silver, riding resigned to their fate.

Faramir passes me and does not see me, a poor peasant girl whose beloved father he is leading into death. His face is determined, and he rides with dignity, but there is sadness in his stance.

For a moment I can almost feel for him.

But then it passes, and I hate him even more.

The Enemy
 Colors fade into each other and darkness creeps into the corners of my vision. My knees hit the ground hard. What took me down? My hand is clutching something - an arrow, perhaps? I cannot think straight, pain pulses in my chest where something has struck me. My hands are covered in something wet. My blood.

I give a cry, unwilling to die here, never to set foot in the sands of Harad again.

My half-blind eyes register something - the filthy Rangers' captain stands before me. I lash out with my knife and miss, but he lays a hand on my shoulder.

He says something in his language, and, strangely, somehow I understand it. "Go swiftly, and be in peace."

I nod, and then there is no more.