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A Battle Cry
I do not own The Lord of the Rings and all rights go to their respected
owners. This is my first story, so I hope everyone likes it!
It has a lot of violence, just thought I'd warn you.
The sound of hooves against hard stone startled the dozing ranger. His eyes opened and when they did he watched as a riderless horse galloped through the open entrance. The horse was sweating and its eyes rolled. The saddle was tilted to the left and bit dug into the horse's mouth.
Faramir came off of the wall he was leaning on as two of his rangers tried to catch the slowing horse's reins. The horse reared up as the men caught the reins.
"I wonder where the rider is?" One of the men said. He had dark hair and a beard and mustache. His name was Orny; the second man's name was Juna.
The other man stared at the horse as they began rubbing it's shoulders to calm it down.
"That was one of our rangers." Faramir said. "I recognize the horse, I remember watching him ride out this morning." He turned to the gate master, "Open the gates."
The gates creaked open and as they did they saw the poor ranger's body covered in blood and laying in front of the gates.
Faramir rushed out to see whether he was dead or not with the two men who were holding the horse. Faramir knelt down by the half dead ranger.
"Get water!" Faramir shouted.
The man lay with his head propped up on Faramir. He was breathing harshly and his eyes were closed. His face was pale and his forehead was cold.
"Who did this to you?" Faramir asked as the man opened his eyes.
"I-I fell…" he answered.
"You fell?"
"They fell."
"Who fell?"
"The Orcs I was hunting…."
Faramir was silent as he looked into the distance. Something moved in the brush. Faramir let the ranger's head droop onto Orny's hands.
"Take him to heal." He said. Then he stood and pulled his bow off his back and snatched an arrow out of his quiver. He pulled his fingers over the feathers as he loaded the arrow. Then he crept away silently. He was almost to a wooded part of the trail where the brush moved.
Then a stick snapped. Faramir looked down at his feet and all there was, was dirt and leaves. Now I know someone is here. Faramir thought to himself. Leaves crunched behind him. Faramir whirled around with his bow and arrow poised to shoot. His eyes flicked across the area. The heat made him sweat. He slowly turned back around and crept a few more steps. Something flashed to his left. Faramir's hand itched to let his arrow fly. He turned slowly in a circle when something hit the back of his head. His grasp on his arrow slipped and the arrow escaped and flew into a nearby tree.
A hand flew in front of his face when he snatched it and flipped the attacker over his back. Pain sprang into him as something sharp sliced his arm. He felt blood ooze out of the open wound. He whirled around and was finally able to face his attacker.
A black headdress cloaked the person's face. They wore all black and was holding a small knife. Blood dripped onto the ground, Faramir's blood.
They swung the knife at his head and he ducked down quickly enough so the blade went whirring over his head. He grabbed the hand that held the knife and wrestled the attacker to the ground. He pinned the person down to the ground and wrestled the knife out of their hand. But before he had the chance to pull down the mask that only showed the eyes the attacker kneed him in the back of the neck. Faramir fell sideways to the ground unconscious.
The person with the mask pulled the black cloak down as they stood up and said, "Don't have any hope that you will ever be restored." Then they spat on Faramir's body.
Let brotherly love continue.
-Hebrews 3:12