Black Raven

Disclaimer: Not one creature.

Summary: A son of a Steward finds himself lost in the woods and meets an unlikely companion. Second place in Teitho challenge, "Creatures".

~S~

Faramir's fingers were turning ash with the cold. He pressed his hands together and folded them into his chest, hoping his tunic would provide them with some warmth.

Twilight changed the blue sky into a rose-tinted one. The quick change of colours heralded a fast approaching night. Winter was near. The days were growing short, the nights becoming long. And here in the forest, the shadows were long too.

The birds singing their evening songs were the only visible signs of life. He didn't know where he was, except that he separated from his guards and his horse threw him and ran off.

They'll find him eventually, and when they do, Faramir knew his father would scold him and then fuss in his own manner. He rubbed one hand on his aching knee where he scraped himself after he fell from his horse.

He heard a small whine.

He turned around, the dried leaves crushing under his booted feet. Faramir's dark grey eyes rested on the wolf cub nestled between gnarled roots of a long thin tree. Its large wide eyes looked up at him, legs doubled beneath it.

Heart beating fast with excitement and momentarily forgetting the predicament he was in, Faramir crept closer. The cub lowered its head immediately and gave a snarl. It was too young and so the snarl was weak. Faramir stopped for a moment before edging closer, much slower than before.

"You don't scare me." The boy breathed; the gust of air visible from his lips. His hand stretched out, fingers pressed close together. The cub's ears twitched back but its head shook with curiosity. To some, the cub will grow into a vicious wolf, but Faramir saw the beauty in its night-coloured fur, the beginning of strength in its limbs and its full potential if it grew into an adult.

He heard heavy breathing followed by a warning growl. And it didn't belong to the cub.

Faramir's head swung back. In the gloom under the trees, a wolf crouched with its hackles raised. Its yellowed teeth flashed in the dim light. The growl drew out and the hair on the back of Faramir's neck prickled with fear and anticipation.

He stayed where he was, not moving a muscle at the new danger. Wolves hunted in packs, so where were the rest of the wolves? But he heard no new arrivals. The cub gave a pitiful whine towards the adult.

She's its mother, Faramir realised. He didn't dare take a step back. The wolf might see his retreat as a weakness and pounce at him.

Before anything happened, Faramir heard a loud, firm but not harsh voice behind him. It spoke in a language Faramir did not understand, so quick the words rolled over him like a river flowing over numerous fastened rocks. He looked around and saw someone stride up to him.

The form was hooded and cloaked in a large dark green cloak, trimmed with dull gold. A quiver full of arrows lay across his back and a longbow, as tall as he was, was clasped in his hand. Faramir tensed, afraid the mysterious hunter would kill the cub and its mother but before he moved to shield them with his own small body, the man placed his bow across his back and removed his hood.

Dark, earthy brown hair spilled over the man's shoulders. His skin was light brown. He was tall, with a lithe but muscled figure of an archer.

And yet his rich golden eyes told him he was no Man or Elf. In fact, he seemed to be another being altogether. His features were noble and wisdom sat on his brow like a prominent crown. Faramir looked up at him in awe.

"Who are you?" Faramir asked curiously. The unnamed being looked down at him with a single raised brow and otherwise impassive expression before turning his attention to the wolf and her cub.

"I am known by many names," the hunter said. His voice was deep, melodious and soothing to hear. His hands surely picked up the cub. Even in the increasing darkness, the boy could see there were small patches of angry red gashes with no fur.

"He's hurt!"

"Yes, he is." The hunter acknowledged. He glanced at Faramir with his golden eyes and took in his appearance of black silky hair reaching his shoulders and his silver and black riding outfit, the silver tree clearly embroidered on the front of his tunic. "You are far from home and familiar company, Faramir, son of Denethor."

Faramir, who knew full well that his father was an important figure and that he was a good prize for ransom in spite of his young years, was wary.

"How do you know my name?" He asked quietly. He knew he should flee but his feet were frozen in place from cold and his own unwillingness to run. This unfamiliar hunter was dangerous in a sense, but Faramir sensed he wouldn't attack without provocation, much less attack a mere boy like Faramir.

"I know many things, child of Gondor." The hunter replied. "Among them, your name and heritage is nothing but a grain of sand." The hunter washed the cub's wounds with water from his leather-skin, and murmured foreign words that Faramir did not understand in a calming voice. The mother undoubtedly trusted the hunter. She only watched what he was doing with attentive eyes.

"What happened to him?" Faramir asked, edging closer to the hunter.

"She was out hunting when the nearby farmers found her den." The hunter said. "They set it on fire. Only this cub survived among its siblings." The hunter's hands were surprisingly gentle as he tended to the cub's wounds. The she-wolf curled up against the Forester's side, her skull pressed against his thighs as he attended to her child. Once he was done, he returned the cub to his mother.

"That's horrible!"

The hunter looked up and for a moment Faramir was captivated by the pools of warm golden coloured irises the hunter possessed. There was something powerful and wise about him, mixed with compassion.

"They were losing sheep to the wolves." He said neutrally but the boy, only twelve summers old, was unhappy.

"That still doesn't give them any right," Faramir said with a small frown. He crossed his arms, the current excitement making him forget about the coming cold. "They have as much right to eat as we have. We should protect our livestock rather than kill cubs. That's nothing but cruelty." The hunter was silent and scrutinised him carefully before dipping his head in agreement.

"Truthful words, from a child," The hunter murmured. He studied Faramir for a long moment before turning his head to the satchel strapped across his shoulder. Dipping his hands into it, he pulled out a loaf of bread as long as the hunter's length from the tip of his middle finger to his elbow. Faramir's mouth watered at the sight of it.

"I did not expect to meet a child in the forest. But you can find unlikely friends in unlikely places," the hunter said. His long slim fingers tore the bread in two pieces and offered one half to Faramir. The hard crust made a satisfying sound as fingers dug into it. Faramir sat down in front of him, crossed-legged and dug into his bread. He popped a morsel in his mouth and inwardly sighed at the rich taste of bread itself, which was neither sweet nor salty. The hunter, however, paused in thought. "I am known as Tauron by wood-elves, and Béma by the horse-lords, but you may be more familiar by my name Oromë."

The result was spectacular. Faramir choked on half-chewed morsel and thumped his chest. Then the boy looked up at his companion in wonder. Oromë's attention remained on his bread. The longer Faramir stared, the more Oromë seemed... Untouchable. Unearthly.

"I never thought the Valar would still roam Arda Marred." Faramir said with a voice steadier than he expected.

Oromë arched a single brow.

"Your tutors taught you well, son of Denethor." Oromë observed. "I still do, among others like Yavanna herself. My heart yearns for these forests and when time is kind and I have no duties, then I ride under these trees."

"Where is your horse then? Or your hounds?" Faramir questioned, again his curiosity getting the better of him. Oromë smiled, the outer corners of his eyes wrinkling.

"There are near, but I have no need of them." Oromë answered.

"Are you their king?" Faramir questioned, sitting down beside the Vala. His fingers were still cold, so he pressed his hands behind his knees, between his thighs and calves. The fabric and body warmth made some feeling return to his fingers.

Oromë seemed amused.

"You have as many questions as there are leaves on a growing tree, young one," he said but he laughed kindly to show that he meant nothing by it. He tilted his head towards the wolf, which now lay on her side while her online cub suckled hungrily. "Nay, I am not their King. Just as the Sea is her own mistress, the forests and their inhabitants do not bow to me. I am their friend. Perhaps if I use my power I can command them to do my bidding, but force does not give as good a result as friendship."

"But everyone has kings." Faramir protested. Then he stopped and corrected himself, "Well except for Gondor."

"Oh?" Oromë's voice was quiet and there was emotion in his eyes that Faramir could not name. "And why doesn't Gondor have a king?"

"The throne remained empty for years." Faramir explained. Oromë listened gravely. Perhaps the Forester already knew, Faramir thought, but at least he didn't smile a tolerant, patronising smile like the rest of the elderly when they listened to Faramir. Denethor was like Oromë; he listened carefully, advised him at times and answered his questions elaborately until Faramir was satisfied and he ran off to play with his age-mates or tend to his lessons. "Father said the line of kings is rumoured to have perished."

Oromë stroke his long fingers over his chin for a moment with a small furrow on his forehead.

"Nay," Oromë uttered, "Not perished. There is one who lingers still. He wanders far and wide. A time will come when his paths will lead him to Gondor."

"So he is alive!"

"Aye, very much so," Oromë answered and then stopped. "But it is for the best, young one, to forget I mentioned him." Faramir frowned, unable to understand the need of secrecy.

"Why should I?" He asked the tall Vala. "It's good news. Why should good news be hidden from the world?"

"One man's hero is another man's enemy." Oromë told the boy. "There are many fell creatures in Mordor who would see him dead. And as smart as you are, I think you understand what I mean." Faramir thought this over and then nodded.

"Then I hope I meet him someday." Faramir wished fervently.

Oromë looked upon Faramir and certain emotions flashed across the Vala's face. They flickered too fast for Faramir to make sense of them, but he heard that at times the Valar bore foresight and saw many events come to play in the far future. Perhaps Oromë saw Faramir's fate, along with that of his brother, this mysterious King and at last of Gondor.

"Aye, you will, if certain choices are kept." Oromë said. His tone bore nothing, so Faramir only considered the Vala was mysterious.

The Forester offered Faramir water, which he took eagerly. It tasted fresh and sweet with a pleasant fragrance to it. The meal was modest, but it was satisfying and Faramir's hunger was gone.

Oromë chuckled and Faramir liked the sound of it. It was like a deep, masculine rumble, but very tender.

"You change questions very fast, little one, but your heart is set and it is set on good. And you will choose well, over any choice leading to evil. I am glad for it."

Faramir did not understand half of the Forester's words. He spoke in the queer knowing way like other adults. So he turned his attention instead to the wolf and cub beside him. The Forester caught his eyes and knew his intention without asking.

"Be careful." The Forester said quietly. But his hands lay in his lap and he didn't move to stop him otherwise. So Faramir continued.

When Faramir sat in front of the mother's head, close but not too close, she gave a low growl and her teeth clicked in warning. Faramir did not retreat his hand. Instead, he froze into place, waiting. The mother gave one last snarl before hiding her teeth. Her ears relaxed and Faramir took this as consent. Inch by inch, moment after moment, and his hand steadily reached out to her until he felt her fur against his palm.

"You and I are not so different." Faramir whispered. He ran his hand through the wolf's fur. It was rough and prickly but still smooth enough not to cut and bruise his skin. The mother wolf laid her head against the moss-covered ground, her eyes still shut. The cub's suckling slowed, belly finally full with milk. Her chest heaved with steady breaths. Her fur was just as dark as Faramir's hair; as black as a raven's wing.

He slowly became aware of the Forester's eyes watching him quietly, thoughtfully.

"You are good with beasts," the Vala said. "They trust you. It is rare to find anyone among the Race of Men trusted by animals."

To that, Faramir knew no answer. So he ducked his head and wordlessly smiled. Then he frowned and looked again at the Vala.

"Faramir!"

The cry was far off, but coming closer. Faramir's head turned towards it before looking back at his tall companion. Tauron was smiling kindly down at him.

"Your people call for you, young one. Fear not. Now you are safe, though you were when I was with you."

"I was safe before too, you know." Faramir corrected, in his usual soft and mild voice. Oromë raised his brows in surprise. "They wouldn't harm me." He gestured at the mother wolf nestling her baby.

Oromë looked at Faramir for a brief moment before nodding his head slowly. "So I see. Keep that heart the way it is, son of Denethor," Oromë said. "You will draw friends from the Children of Eru and otherwise with it." The mother rose on her legs, yawned till Faramir saw her back teeth and nudged her sleepy cub away, to look for shelter for the night.

The sounds drew nearer, and with one hand pressed against Faramir's crown for a moment as farewell, the Vala turned and walked away till the darkness of the shadow enveloped him.

He heard the sounds of hounds barking excitedly. Two hounds burst into the clearing and padded up to Faramir. He knelt down and giggled when one of them pawed up to his lap and nuzzled his cheek. His father's nimble form burst into view, his large silver and black cloak flapping in the air. He knelt before his son, the untimely lines of stress deepening in concern and worry.

"Faramir, my boy!" Denethor's eyes swept over him for hurts but found none. He grasped his son's shoulders with both his hands as if to assure himself he truly found his second-born. "Are you well?"

"I am, father," Faramir replied obligingly, looking past his father's shoulder and catching the harassed looks of his guards. He felt a momentary guilt for fleeing his guards. He would have returned sooner if his horse not shied at the sight of a darting hare and bolted. Denethor did not ask further, since his young boy was safe and sound, even if he was alone. So he was ushered quickly to join the rest of the company, where Boromir sat on top of his own horse among his own guards.

"Back from an adventure, brother?" Boromir asked in a teasing voice, although he looked jealous Faramir managed to slip from his guards, even if it was an accident. "You missed the pastries the chef made and I didn't leave any for you."

"Enough," Denethor interrupted, his voice firm. "Boromir, don't tease your brother."

Faramir, with his belly full from the wholesome bread and the company of an esteemed identity was not troubled one bit. "At least I managed to get away from the lessons." Faramir said, tugging playfully on his brother's leg.

"Faramir, don't taunt your brother." Denethor added. Unbeknownst to his sons, Denethor spoke in the weary voice of a father who had two lively, strong boys.

Denethor's strong hands grasped his side underneath his armpits and hoisted him up on a horse. Faramir clicked his tongue in annoyance for the help but otherwise held his tongue. He sensed his father was not pleased with both him, for getting lost (even if it wasn't his fault), and at his guards, for losing his beloved son.

When he turned his head around, he found a pair of golden eyes watching him in the darkness, with a shadowed smile. When Faramir blinked, Oromë was gone.

~S~

Author's Note:

-In loving memory of my father, who taught me that even wolves are creatures with emotions.

-Inspired by the waking words of Faramir to Aragorn, where he asked what the king wanted of him, and from Beregond's words, claiming Faramir could handle man and beast.

-Title inspired by Tolkien's description of Faramir's hair, said to be black as a raven's wing.

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