Immortalitui // Faramir 🥀

Chapter Eight - The Attack

Word Count: 2,519 words. 

Warnings: None. 

Without thinking, Arathiel had taken the sword from its sheath and held it in front of her. Her hand shook from the pain in her shoulder, but she pushed past it, holding firm. The noise of battle was coming from a small town outside the walls of Minas Tirith.

It seemed to only be a hoard of orcs and as Arathiel jumped on a horse, weapons in hand, she could see that they were severely under-protected. This wasn't Mordor sending a legion to wipe out the town. It was a simple test. A test of their strength and Minas Tirith's reaction. Regardless of how small the group looked or how easy it would be to clear them out, Arathiel thought with the mind of an elf. As though she had the backing of her brother and his men.

It had been a long time since she had fought orcs like this. Been in a real battle. Orcs travelled in packs. Small, localised packs. At least, they have since Sauron fell at the steps of Mordor. It looked like hundreds. Small enough that a team of twenty elves could get through them and yet bug enough that it would prove a challenge.

"What do we do?" Boromir's voice rose above the noise of screams. He turned to look at Arathiel, nodding. She would know how to fight them. She should give their orders.

"Get to your horses!" she told them. "We need to keep them from getting to Minas Tirith! Push them back beyond the Gap!"

Boromir nodded, taking the sword from his sheath and mounting his horse. Gondorian soldiers followed him out of the gates and towards the nearby city.

"Arathiel," Faramir began, grasping her arm and turning the elf to look at him. He was scared. She could see it in his eyes. Faramir had fought in battle before. Alongside hundreds of men, and yet never had been so terrified than he was in that moment. She would be out there too. She could get hurt.

"We must fight Faramir. Push them back," she told him.

"They cannot fare against those Orcs. They will all be killed. We will all be killed." He knew that he had to fight, and he would, but their chances of success were low. The city could fall tonight, and he wasn't ready for it.

"If we do nothing..." Arathiel explained, taking a breath. "Faramir, if we do nothing, then every man, woman and child in this city will die."

Jaw tensing, he nodded. "What do we do?"

"Get on a horse and fight for your life," the elf put simply, turning from the prince and rushing for Folcwine. Before Arathiel was completely in the saddle, her horse had begun to move, rushing for the front gate of Minas Tirith.

Ahead, Arathiel could see Boromir's men close to the borders of the small town. It was only orcs. She had faced them many times before. Swarms and legions of them that she had slaughtered alongside her brothers and allies, and yet she had never fought alongside man. At least not only man. The weakest beings across all of Middle-Earth, but also the strongest, the bravest, and the most reckless.

A loud cawing erupted from the skies and, one hand on the reigns, Arathiel leaned her body to the side to avoid the incoming Nazgul. Folcwine was steady beneath her as she did, not faltering as the creature lashed out at it. 

Trusting in his rider, Folcwine followed Arathiel, turning away from the Nazgul. His speed increased as she leaned forward in his saddle. She had thought that there would only be orcs to fight. Men can handle orcs, but the Nazgul? They would surely perish.

Taking the sword from her side, Arathiel lashed out ahead of her as she entered the small town, cutting down a single orc in her path. The elf dismounted from her horse, turning to face him.