I hear the horses' hoofs tapping the stone ground. All, save that ominous sound, is silent. Old men, women, and children stand in the street watching us depart. A few of them throw flowers in our path, a solemn, yet sad farewell for those doomed to die.
For in this encounter, death is inevitable. Yet, we ride to our deaths willingly. Captain Faramir is in the front, and he shall lead us in an attempt to reclaim Osgoliath. There is no hope for us, for this attempt is folly.
As we near the gate a young women cries a farewell to her departing husband. The couple will probably not meet again in this world. I feel pity for those wives and children who shall loose their beloved. I myself don't have a family. I am proud to give what life I have for Gondor, and its people.
We pass through Gondor's strong gate. Shall the gate be able to hold back the black tide that threatens to enter the City? The old stones of the White Fortress seem weak under the shadow of Mordor. After the last soldier passes through the doorway, the great gate closes behind us.
We urge our horses to a gallop and point our swords towards to Osgoliath. Horses' hoofs thud upon the Pelennor's cold ground. As we grow close, I can see the orcs dotting the city's walls.
As we grow closer, a shower of arrows rains down upon us. Many horses and men fall, yet we ride on. The arrows continue to descend upon us. Screams, cries, and horses' neighs fill the air.
I hear a whoosh of air in my ears. Then I feel a sharp pain in my chest. I fall from my horse, and my wounded body collapses on the ground. And as I open my eyes for the last time, I see the standard bearer ride past me. Gondor's banner flutters in the wind. With all my heart, and with my dying breath, I hope that the proud and valiant flag of Minas Tirith shall never touch to the ground.