Immortalitui // Faramir 🥀

Chapter Forty-Nine - The Siege of Gondor

Word Count: 2,942 words. 

Warnings: None.

Arathiel rushed from Faramir's chambers, hurrying into the streets of Gondor in search of him. It was unfamiliar, the fear that ran her blood cold. She knew that he had already left the city, but every part of her begged the world to have brought him back before death could take him.

"Mithrandir!" she called, spotting the tall wizard amongst Gondorian soldiers. "Where's Faramir?"

His expression was enough to tell her the truth, enough to have her turn and run up the streets and towards the throne that she knew Denethor sat on despite not deserving it at all.

He resided at the long table alone, only Pippin to accompany him. Denethor paid Arathiel no mind as she journeyed closer, enjoying a meal that could have been eaten by a dozen others.

"You have sent him to his death," Arathiel told the Steward.

Denethor bit into a chicken leg. "Who?"

Her fear had turned to anger. "Your son!"

"My son is dead."

"Boromir would look at you with only hate if he knew what you had done," she ventured.

He stopped then, looking up at the she-elf. "You take what is not yours," Denethor began, "and you accuse me of things I'm not guilty of. You don't belong here, Arathiel."

"That is where you are wrong. I belong where I feel most at home, most loved... and that is by yours sons' side whether you like it or not."

He seethed, gesturing to Pippin to bring him more bread. "Why are you in my halls then? And not riding out to earn my respect alongside him."

Arathiel scoffed. "You, Denethor, do not deserve the pain that you put Faramir through to be the son you want him to be. He craves only to be loved by you, a love that should be unconditional."

"What has he done to earn it? He has failed me at every corner."

She straightened. "Do you wish to speak of failure?"

"Failure and victory are life's only importance," he countered, relaxed in a throne that was not built for him while he listened to the siege of Gondor outside.

"Boromir failed," Arathiel began. His movements froze. "He failed to retrieve the Ring and to bring it to Gondor. He failed to resist its call, leading to his death. Boromir failed, and you love him regardless."

Face curled in disgust, Denethor pinned her with his gaze. "Leave this city, or I will have you executed."

Arathiel knew where she would go; to the first horse she could find and then to Osgiliath. "I hope, Denethor, that when the time comes, you die as painfully and as slowly as you deserve."

She rushed from the hall, hurrying towards the gates. Children screamed as Mount Doom rumbled and death approached. The walls of Gondor has yet to be broken, but even the strength of Isildur was not enough to keep darkness at bay.

Gandalf followed. "Arathiel, you cannot," he told her quickly.

Fastening the buckles of her saddle, the she-elf scoffed. "Do not tell me what I can and cannot do, Mithrandir."

"You are needed at the last battle," he argued.

"This is the last battle," she shot, turning to face him. "It has always been the last battle. It never ended. I will not wait for death to take me, I will rush towards it. I will not leave Faramir."