Derakis thanked the woman after she gave him his meal. Taking a small sip from the glass of milk, that small sip quickly became several swallows as he realized that the milk was, in fact, whole, cold, delicious, and not watered down in the least. Putting down his now half empty glass, he took a slice of the fluffy, warm bread. Its texture was perfect, and it had an absolutely wonderful taste.
As he ate, his eyes shifted to the fireplace and the Gondorian brooding as he stared into the flames. That image brought to Derakis' mind another, from years past. His brother, home from the battle at Osgiliath, where Lord Boromir, and Lord Faramir had led all the men that would follow them into battle against the Easterlings and the Haradrim.
From what little he could get out of his brother in the following years, Derakis learned that his brother had fled in the face of a Nazgūl, instead of following his Lords.
For years after, his brother was a lifeless shell of what he had been before. Constantly in his thoughts was the shame of abandoning his Lords, and the fear that the Black Rider had put in his heart. It was only recently that he was able to start to put these things behind him, but he still had a long way to go.
Derakis continued to eat in silence.
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The Road goes ever on and on...
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