Immortalitui // Faramir 🥀

Chapter Forty-Seven - The Storm

Word Count: 2,132 words. 

Warnings: None. 

Author's Note: Not too proud of this one. 

Osgiliath was quiet... too quiet. Arathiel watched from the ramparts of the old city, Faramir at her side. They were stood with Madril, a great Gondorian commander who the she-elf had met several times.

"There is peace," he commented.

Sparing a glance to Faramir, she knew what he was thinking. Her own thoughts were in alignment. "It is not peace," she returned, leaning against the broken wall. "It is the calm before the storm."

Madril scoffed. "Are you always so pessimistic?"

Arathiel gave him a small, sarcastic smile. "Always."

The men within the city slept, ate and conversed amongst themselves. They too believed that there was a peace. Belief was a dangerous thing.

"Regardless," Madril began, hand on the hilt of his blade. "It's quiet on the North side of the river. The Orcs seem to be lying low."

"Orcs do not lie low," Arathiel corrected. "They wait."

The Gondorian man sent a look to Faramir. "Remind me where you found this one."

Faramir smiled shortly, watching the observant Arathiel as she searched the waterline for any sign of Orcs. "She found me."

"We've sent scouts to Cair Andros," Madril continued, earning the attention of both. "If the Orcs attack from the North, we'll have some warning."

"Some is better than none," Faramir replied.

"I disagree. I do so adore surprises," Arathiel commented.

"Orcs aren't clever," Madril told her. "We'll hear them coming."

Arathiel straightened. "You are right. Orcs are not clever, but Orcs do not lead themselves. The Nazgul give Uruk-hai orders and the Uruk-hai give the Orcs orders. It's a hierarchy."

"So who sits at the top?" He knew the answer.

"Sauron." The name was vile on her tongue. "Any being touched by his influence does not make their own choices."

There was a scream, a shout and a call to battle from the other side of Osgiliath. Three heads turned and six sets of feet rushed for the stairs of the ramparts.

The calm had finished, and the storm drew overhead.

The solider had been pierced by an Orc arrow. "They're not coming from the North. Quickly, this way!" Faramir gave his orders in hushed whispers.

Arathiel followed, hurrying to press against the walls of the South entrance. They waited for their boats to dock.

"I would never call an Orc clever," she managed, voice so low only Faramir at her side would hear it, "but I may be forced to."

He looked at her, a dozen emotions running through his head. He wanted to speak, but there was no need to.

"I know," Arathiel breathed.

They waited for the Orcs to rush in, running by them without the thought to check their surroundings. Arathiel waited for Faramir's order.

He was first to attack, Arathiel at his back. She stabbed the first Orc through the stomach, the next through his neck. Jumping slightly and pushing off against the breaking wall, she took down the next two.