Immortalitui // Faramir 🥀

Chapter Forty-Three - Osgiliath

Word Count: 1,897 words. 

Warnings: None. 

The argument had not finished. Even as the Gondorian soldiers trudged into a battle-torn Osgiliath, Arathiel continued her attack on Faramir's pride – or what he believed was pride.

There were no Orcs in Osgiliath, but there had been. Bodies of monsters lay strewn across the streets, their darkened blood mingling with the bright humanity, the red of lives that need not be lost.

"You cannot take them to Gondor, I will not allow it," Arathiel told him, casting a glance to the wounded.

"Arathiel..." he dragged.

"Faramir..." she returned. "I love you, but I will not let you put that weapon into the hands of your father."

"Faramir!" a man called, approaching the company. "The Orcs have taken the Eastern Wall. By nightfall, we will be overrun."

Arathiel could faintly hear the sound of flying arrows, their sharpened tips meeting the flesh of Orc and man alike. Death was the same in war.

She heard him then. Sauron. He did not not call to her, in fact he scarcely seemed to notice her. She could feel his eyes on the Ring around Frodo's neck, just as she could feel the increase in darkness it tried to slip into the Hobbit's mind.

Turning, Arathiel rushed to him. "Frodo, you have to hold on," she urged, but could tell that no words were getting through. "Do not let him in. Frodo!"

"Take them to my father," Faramir ordered and the she-elf was on her feet in second, placing herself between the two Hobbits and the man of Gondor.

"No," she put firmly, watching him sigh.

"Arathiel..."

"No."

Faramir took a step closer, but she only drew her blade. Its sharpened end rest at the base of his throat. There was no betrayal in his eyes, although there should have been. Despite Arathiel's threat, he knew that she would not harm him.

"The Ring has to be destroyed Faramir," she told him.

Men moved to attack, but the Second Son of Denethor raised his hand. She was no danger to him.

"If that Ring is destroyed, Gondor will fall and you will die," Faramir reminded her.

"Gondor will never fall," she returned. "If its walls crumble, if its foundation fade to nothing, if its people are annihilated by evil, the city will fall, but Gondor is not a city. Gondor is a people..." she paused, straightening as her voice grew louder. "...The people of Gondor were once lost, but before that they were of Numénor, a city that was founded by my brother; a city that was founded on humanity. Walls are nothing compared to the people that live within them."

"You will die." His voice wavered.

"Are you willing to sacrifice everything good so that I may live long enough to watch you die?" It was rhetorical, but Faramir knew that his answer would be a selfish yes.

"They are here," Frodo muttered, his eyes unrecognisable.

"Frodo?" Arathiel tried, the lax grip she had had on her blade loosening further.

"They are coming."

They screamed.

"Nazgul!" Faramir called to his soldiers. They hurried to their positions as the darkened creatures flew overhead. Arathiel counted three.