Sword and Arrow

Chapter 46

"Osgiliath burns," said Madril. "Mordor has come."

The sky was dark and overcast, covered in black clouds that did not promise rain. In the distance, beside a vast and everflowing river, a city of stone burned, sending plumes of smoke up to join the dark clouds.

"The Ring will not save Gondor," Frodo insisted. "It has only the power to destroy." He had reasoned with, then begged and pleaded Faramir to let them go on their way, on their quest. He had repeated the words of high folk like Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel about the Ring's abilities - to no avail. To Gondor they would go, and to ruin they would bring the kingdom. "Please, let me go."

Faramir looked down at Frodo. He pitied the halfling, immensely - Frodo was too small to have such a burden placed on him. More than his morality, Faramir feared the wrath of his father. What would Denethor do when he learned that the Ring of Power had been within his grasp and Faramir had let it go? What cruel punishment would he think up this time?

Faramir said nothing to Frodo, but motioned for his Rangers to move. "Hurry." Osgiliath burned, and to desert it would be to face another of Denethor's fits of rage.

"Faramir, you must let me go!" Frodo cried after the tall man, but Faramir was already gone, striding ahead of the line of men. The two men that had been tasked to hold Frodo and Sam - Mablung and Damrod - took hold of their shoulders again, and the march continued.

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Osgiliath burned as they entered the once-proud gates of the great city. Its grand towers were crumbling and alleyways were strewn with bodies of soldiers with arrows in their backs or limbs at unnatural angles.

Madril - who had gone ahead to warn those that still held the city of their coming - now hurried back, his tattered cloak flapping after him and his white hair blowing in the dark wind. "Faramir," he said, slightly out of breath, "orcs have taken the eastern shore. Their numbers are too great. By nightfall, we'll be overrun."

Frodo stood still behind Faramir and Madril - a little too still, stiff as if he had been frozen by the wind that blew in from the East. His eyes were straight ahead, slightly unfocused; and then he stumbled, catching himself at the last moment.

"Mister Frodo!" Sam cried out, reaching towards Frodo, but the guard that held on to his shoulders did not let him out of that small radius.

"It's calling to him, Sam," Frodo gasped. "His eye - is almost on me."

"Hold on, Mister Frodo," Sam said. He continued talking - talking to distract from the horrors the besieged city had brought, the horrors of the journey ahead - but Frodo could not hear him any longer.

Ahead, Faramir had finished receiving the report from Madril, and now turned and gestured towards the two Halfings. "Take them to my father," he ordered. "Tell him, Faramir sends a mighty gift. A weapon that will change our fortunes in this war." And he turned to leave, leaving the hobbits and their guards behind.

"You want to know what happened to Boromir?" Sam shouted at his back. "You want to know why you brother died?" Stall for time. A minute is a minute.

Faramir whirled around at the sound of his brother's name. How dare these small creatures who had hardly known Boromir speak of him? How dare they speak of his death to Faramir?

"He tried to take the Ring from Frodo," Sam continued, breathing heavily. "After swearing an oath to protect him. He tried to kill him! The Ring drove your brother mad!"

Cries were heard as a distance as something - Lords knew what - smashed a tower above them, and rubble rained down. The ruined city would be crumbled piece by piece before the orcs gave up.

Frodo's eyes had glazed over and rolled up into his head. He didn't respond to Sam's concerning questions at first, and when he did it was a simple "They're here. They've come."

It was Faramir who looked up to the sky and saw shadows, Faramir who heard the wings of doom, Faramir who began the cry of "Nazgul!" as the first screeches were heard from the air. His heart was set with fear at those black shapes in the air, but he took hold of the hobbits by their collars and pushed them into a more covered area. "Stay here, keep out of sight. Take cover!"

Death rode on the air, death with wings of shadow. The Lord of the Nazgul had come, and he grasped his reins with hands gauntleted with cruel iron. He was silent even as his beast screamed in the air, beating its scaleless wings, and then alighted on a broken arch that was once grand as the rest of Osgiliath.

The King of Angmar looked down along the curve of the winged creature's neck at the stony city below, where his prize was hiding.

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short chapter y'all but hey i'm back!!