Daily musings next to the fire by Boromir, son of Denethor Steward of Gondor on his way to Imladris, occurring in the time immediately preceding the events of the War of the Ring.

Week 5

Day 28

I love the smell of dead orc in the morning. It smells like victory. And blood. Lots and lots of blood.

Where are the bloody rangers? It's Boromir doing all the work right here. Northern Rangers are typically too big for their britches- I defy any Ranger I run into to tell me that they can take care of the place properly. Orcs all over the place, it's really untidy.

While Father's father was still alive, there was a Ranger called Thorongil in the army who was supposedly the heir to the throne; thankfully, he did not press his case or Gondor might be this untidy too. Kings- pah! The last of them fell long ago, and yet despite striving mightily in their stead, my line has never taken the title- my father, despite devoting his whole life to his country and performing feats no other man could achieve, will never be remembered as a king or indeed as rightful ruler- instead, he will be a footnote, a name that only hindered the ascension of the king. He deserves better. Hell, I deserve better- I'm going round like the bloody maid, cleaning up for these supposedly fantastic rangers.

*sigh*

Now I'm annoyed. Where are orcs when you need them? I could go for some righteous smiting right now.

Day 29

This camo tent of mine is really fantastic- because it smells like orc (being made out of their clothes) no orcs smell me and attack- well, until I attack them anyway.

Its times like these that I wish I had some kind of blowpipe- I could kill everybody while hidden, possibly up a tree. You know, the more time I spend trudging beside the road in what I have built up to be a surprisingly bushy camo tent, the more fond I become of trees. I wish I was a monkey, but they don't exist in any part of Middle-earth that I've visited, so I'll just have to hope they're some kind of furry tree-climbing animal.

All this tree climbing and scraping through brush has left me with a bunch of cuts that will probably get infected after a while… I should probably find kingsfoil.

Day 30

Ahh, the soothing balm of kingsfoil… I can finally walk comfortably, without rubbing my cuts against my camo tent. Good thing I could actually identify it properly now, because this much maresbreath in direct contact with my skin would create that particular reaction that I made Faramir swear on Mother's grave to never tell anybody about.

Day …34?

I… I'm not quite sure how this came about, but I awoke surrounded by a mass of orcs, with a peculiar weight on my head. Most of them were lying about, but some were sitting and talking casually, clearly unaware that I lay not more than a metre away in my tent.

I have had many horrible experiences in my life, but the time I spent waiting for them to fall asleep would easily make the top five- I can only be thankful that I did not snore, but then that's more a result of my still-healing nose. Day fast approached, but not fast enough as the balm of what was, in hindsight, clearly maresbreath, still irritated practically my entire body. So itchy!

When they finally dropped off to sleep, I crept away from the camp, deftly avoiding the sentries, and then walked solidly through the day to get away from the group. Finally slowing down enough to pick somewhere to sleep, I discovered that the weight on my head was in fact an orcish helmet- I shrugged, put it back on and went to sleep.

Day 35

I didn't encounter any more orcs after that horrific instance of waking up surrounded. I did, however, keep the helmet- I attached some leaves for hair and some dirt and sap for a face. I think I shall call him Wilfred.