An Acceptance

The night had been cool, and Raina chose to stay outside. She knew she would not get any rest either way. Pippin climbed the ladders of the wall sometime around midnight to bring the Elf some blankets, and they had sat together silently for a while.

It was now dawn, but you could hardly tell. The black clouds that covered the sky stretched for miles in all directions, and only a few beams of sun came through to greet the Gondorians on the day of battle.

The orcs had lined up outside the walls, beating their drums. It was just like Helm’s Deep, but this time Raina was alone, depressed, and didn’t care about the outcome any more. She had grown to hate this city.

She watched the orcs wearily as they marched forward slowly, their huge catapults being dragged along with them.

But then she heard a familiar sound, and scanned the crowd of orcs for the only living horse. After a moment, it broke free of the army, dragging a familiar figure behind it. Arrows protruded from the Man’s armor, and Raina’s eyes widened as more tears misted her eyes.

“Open the gates!” she shouted, turning to the guards around her. “Open the gates, quick!”

They looked out as well, and set off down the wall to alert the others. Raina skirted past everyone else and down the ladders, getting to the ground just as Faramir’s body was dragged in.

Clenching her teeth, she crouched next to his body as the women around her started to whisper and weep. She pulled out one of her daggers, and with one swift motion, cut the rope binding his foot to the horse.

By that time, guards had arrived with a stretcher, and lifted Faramir’s body easily and placed him on it. Once they started carrying him away, none of them objected as Raina followed along closely, and never lifting her gaze from Faramir’s body.

Silent tears fell down her cheeks as they carried his body up to the white tree, and set him down. Raina followed, her skirt swelling out around her as she sank to her knees, grasping Faramir’s hand in hers.

Denethor ran out of the Hall, his black robes billowing out behind him.

“Faramir? Say not that he has fallen!”

Raina groaned, her lip curling back, but she did mot remove her gaze from Faramir as she spoke.

“As if you didn’t purposefully send him to his death. As if your last words to him weren’t that you wished he were dead.” She looked up at the Steward as she finished, giving him her best glare through tear-filled eyes.

“They were outnumbered,” one of the guards said, attempting to change the subject. “None survived.”

Denethor ignored him. “So you blame me for this, do you?” he cried angrily.

Raina stared at him blankly and nodded.

He sneered. “He went on his own free will. I know my son. He would not have gone if he didn’t feel the need to protect and look brave for a certain someone.”

Raina’s heart froze as her eyes widened.

“He wouldn’t have gone if it weren’t for you,” the Steward called tauntingly.

Raina looked down at Faramir for a spilt second, soaking in every bit of him. It couldn’t be true... Down below, the cries of frightened men could be heard as something that sounded too much like flesh bounced off their shields.

She grasped the Man’s hand, laying it across his chest, just as she heard it: his heart beat.

She gave an audible gasp, completely forgetting what the Steward had said to her. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out what she could do. The Steward was off his rocker and would not believe her, and his guards followed him and no other. The citizens of Minas Tirith were in no fit state to be helping her. That left two others.

The Elf stood up without another wasted thought, and sprinted from the courtyards with one destination in mind.