There was a great commotion in the city. People were chattering, horns were blowing. A feeling of foreboding and sadness hung in the air. I knew not what was going on. My friend Fíriel frantically ran to my house and burst in the door. The soldiers were leaving for Osgiliath, she said, including the friend I had known since childhood, Berenor. A feeling of dread swept over me. Something would go ill, I just knew it. She said we must hurry if we are to catch them. Poor Fíriel was in tears herself. Her husband was among the soldiers. I picked some wildflowers from my garden and ran to the street, hoping to see Berenor. I caught him just as he was going to the stables.

'Must you go?' I asked him.

He looked at me, his soulful brown eyes cast to the ground. 'We cannot let the river fall. This is our last chance.'

'Berenor, my heart tells me you will not come back.' My eyes were filled with tears.

'Then I will have died for a worthy cause. For Gondor and all her people.' He kissed my hand. 'Don't worry about me, Moriel. My time has come. Yours has not. If they are to come here, promise me you will be safe.'

'Berenor, I-'

'Promise me!'

I nodded. 'I promise,' I whispered. He mounted his horse. Although Berenor was trying to be strong, I could still see the fear in his eyes.

'Go to the street,' he said. 'You will see me there.'

I ran down the hill to see Fíriel holding a bunch of flowers in her shaking hands. She was crying, scared for her husband. I put my arm around her and comforted her as the soldiers rode down. She and I threw some flowers in their path as everyone watched, stony-faced.

Her husband was the first to lead, Berenor not far behind him. We both gave them flowers, and the looks of love between Fíriel and her husband were heartbreaking. Berenor looked at me with the same love in his eyes, and tears rolled down my cheeks.

Then the Lord Faramir rode past, looking stern and beautiful, but also grave, as if he knew he was going to his death. I held a flower out to him, not expecting him to take it. But he turned his head and saw me. He reached out and took it, his gloved fingers brushing against mine. He bore a slight smile as if he was trying to encourage me but there was no hope in his eyes. The gate was opened, the strength and shadow of Mordor ever increasing. We could see smoke rising from Osgiliath. We knew it was foolish. There was no hope of regaining the river. Surely Lord Denethor must see that?

'Faramir!' a voice came from the crowd. I looked to see where it came from, and I saw Mithrandir the Wise, whom I had heard many legends about but had not seen until now. 'Do not throw away your life so rashly! Your father's will has turned to madness!'

This put doubt in all of our minds. Lord Denethor was mad? And he was sending his only son to his death? Who will lead us now?

Lord Faramir did not falter, still riding tall and proud. 'Where does my allegiance lie if not here?'

Mithrandir looked defeated. Our hearts sank. There was no way to stop them. 'Your father loves you, Faramir,' he said quietly, almost as if to himself. 'You will remember it before the end.'

The gates were shut after the last soldier departed. Sobs and cries were heard from some of the women, but most were silent. I looked to Mithrandir. There was no hope in his eyes, only sorrow.

Fíriel and I sat and cried that night when they told us none came back alive.