Disclaimer: All characters, places, things, hobbits and everything in between belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien

Chapter 3: Valiant Captain

He brought the great sword down with a heavy thrust, all of his body weight behind it and rammed the great point deep into the gut of the beast. The animal stopped, feeling cold metal passing through skin, flesh, bone and finally the senses began to convey their hurts and the beast howled with pain. The lone man, clad in bronze and dark blue, pulled the sword out of the large beast and backed away before turning around to his other foes. It was then he forgot the most important rule of combat: never let your guard down, no matter how sure you are that your foe is dead. With one step forward, he fell back five as a large paw ripped through his cloak and skin. He stifled a cry of fear and it came out to be a groan. The sword flew out of his hand as his body hit the ground. Darkness swarm in his vision, the air being knocked out of him, he faded slowly, black seeping into his mind, but then he heard a cry, more terrible and horrible than any he had heard. His hairs on the back of his neck stiffened and his mind was brought back to--

'Do I see idle play whilst there is work to be done, oh valiant Captain.'

His focus on his book had been so intent that Faramir did not even hear his Father coming into his study.

Had he known that his father had been coming he could have, at the most, pulled out a map of Osgiliath and pretended to study it, the paths of the enemy and so on, and yet his father would ask the same question he just had if he had seen his son doing that, so was there a point? Same deed, same result.

'Good Evening, father.' Faramir stood and bowed his head, but put it back up when he heard his father scoff.

'A good evening is it, my son. I'm afraid not. I heard news that were you not at your post in Osgiliath like you were ordered to do so, was I given false information?'

Faramir could feel his father's eyes boring into him, looking for some way to ridicule him. He tried to ignore them and spoke,

'No, father, you were not mislead. A band of Itilien Rangers have taken over command for me for a short while, my lord. I came here to—'

'To hide away from death and battle because my son is not here to help you. Do not hide the truth from me, Captain Faramir, for I know you more than you may know yourself. I can see that his parting has brought you deep sorrow and even deeper fear. Hide it away! Do not wallow away in self pity, Faramir.' He paused, he could see his words hitting his son harder than they were intended to. Good, he thought. 'I want you to find any able men or boys and ride out to Osgiliath tomorrow before sunset. I will not let a man's pain bring down the whole of Gondor. That is understood?'

Without waiting for an answer the Steward walked out of the room, robes billowing behind him.

Faramir turned and walked to the small window of his study. His face was red with hidden rage and his eyes shining. His father knew where to hurt him. He saw the opening in their battles and took the stab that was always fatal, always made him, the Captain of Gondor, want to run away from any other battles to come.

He had come to Minas Tirith earlier that day, when dusk was upon them, to gather supplies and equipment needed for his journey west. He had decided the only way to save Osgiliath, Gondor and every man, woman and child from a horrible, burning death, was to go west, find his brother and bring him home. The consequences would be severe for Faramir, exile perhaps, but rashly thinking, he thought it would be worth it. Thus, here he was, waiting for all the lights of the city to go out so he could make his escape.

He sat down again heavily on his chair and picked up his book. After a few moments of staring at the pages and not consuming the tale, he got up and went to his bedroom, which adjoined to the study.

His room was the same, bare and lifeless. He hardly spent any more nights in his room. Duty had been calling him almost everyday. Not that he complained, fighting for his city was a great and valiant honor and being the son of the Steward, it was requisite to fight. Yet…it could get tiring.

He walked over to his bed and lay upon it, soaking in the comfort of the bedding. How long ago was it that he laid here, staring at the ceiling? Four weeks? Five weeks? Too many to count. He had spent too many nights sleeping on cold stone or inside abandoned buildings or even planning night raids or fighting a band of orcs. He closed his eyes and sighed. He was so weary, so, so weary and still there was work to be done.

After, what felt like a few moments, he opened his eyes and blinked. He could see nothing save the thin shaft of light coming from the setting moon. How long had he slept? All night it seemed. No, not all night. The moon set early during this time of year. It must be nearing the mid hour of night. He was still clad in his armor and weapons so he got up slowly, rubbing any aches and pains. He still felt weary but the rest helped greatly.

He light the candles around his room until he could see clearly. A tray of food and goblet of wine had been laid out for him at his desk and a cream colored tunic and brown leggings had been laid out as well. He took off his armor, piece by piece until he got down to his dirt soaked tunic and ragged pants. He stank, he thought and grinned at himself. Well there was no time for a bath or even a wash. He had to be out of the city and at least five leagues away from the city before dawn.

The chilled wind rushed past his face as he ride swiftly out of the city. The only people to see him were the guards out for watch but, thinking the Captain was heading back to Osgiliath, let him pass unheeded. Only the gate watchers asked questions.

'Off to Osgiliath, sir?' One of the guards said and moved from his watch to open the gate.

'No, not tonight.'

'Ithlien, sir?'

'Not this evening. I was ordered to leave on a journey of a different sort.'

The guard gave him a puzzled glance but did not ask what his Captain meant. He shook his armored head slightly and ordered for the gate to be open. A group of men came and pulled the large gate open for Faramir.

'Thank you, gentlemen. Sleep well tonight. Farewell.' Faramir said softly and rode pass the men quickly.

Turning left, he embarked on his journey.

After traveling for many hours under the pale moon light, that had now set, he slowed his horse to a trot. The great beast snorted and panted and Faramir finally breathed a sigh of relief. He must be at least ten leagues away from Minas Tirith, more than he had hoped for. If his brother left at least a half a day ahead of him, then it would take at least another two or three days to overcome him, that was if he did not stop during the nights-which was unlikely considering it was a long ride to Imladris. That also meant he was could allow himself a few hours of rest during the nights, but not so much that he should lag behind. It was likely his brother was going to head west until he reached the Gap of Rohan before turning north.

The country around him was green and sparse, only a few boulders and clumps of bushes rested in this country. He still had many leagues to go before reaching the flat plains of the Gap of Rohan but here, the country the very similar. He turned around and saw that he could no longer see the clear glaze of the Anduin and for a moment he thought of going back to defend his people, but his mind being set, he turned back around and rode west.

Author's Note: Sorry that this chapter wasn't as long as I wanted it to be. I got the horrid plague. Writers Block!!! Oh no! Thank you to all who answered my question. It was asked mostly out of curiosity. Chapter 4 will be delayed until I can find the right remedy. Perhaps watching The Return of the King would help. Hmmm…well I hope I get well soon. As always Review!