Title: Requiem For A Dream
Author's Note: This fic is based on one of the scenes from "The Return of the King"- where Faramir is about to ride out to reclaim Osgiliath with his small army of Men. Yes, I know that "Requiem for a Dream" is a song from "The Two Towers," and that this fic is a scene from "The Return of the King." But it just fits, y'know? And this is the first fic I've written in nearly an year- nevertheless my first Lord of the Rings one. so please excuse me. I'm a tad bit rusty. ^_^ I hope you enjoy!
Does anyone know how to make the italics appear on ff.net? It just won't appear --;
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I entered the stable, my heavy boots noisily crushing the straw that littered the horses' domain. By now, the stench of horse excrete and worse things did not affect me; I have gotten used to it. I did not care. There were more important things at hand.
The sound of my footsteps were strange even to me, as if they belonged to someone else. Indeed they did, at this moment, for my mind was far away- not in the clouds, but in the past. The last encounter I had with Father kept on flickering onto my vision, confusing me. His indifferent tone and cold words of disapproval and disdain still rang in my ears, as if he was standing next to me in this dirty chamber.
I had not meant to give up Osgiliath, but there were too many of the enemy- what can Men do against such reckless hate? And what can Men do against their fathers?
My forces were still too small against the Orcs- I knew that. But no- it does not matter anymore. For some reason, I did not care anymore. Boromir is dead, and Father wishes that I were too. He shall get my death- an event that he had waited impatiently for since the day I first saw the sun, I thought.
"Addramyr." My voice was low and heavy, but he responded to his name with a soft whinny. He lifted up his noble white head and stared at me with his deep, thoughtful black eyes. My gloved hand automatically reached out to stroke his mane. "My friend, you and I- we have seen too much blood spilled." I whispered softly. "And today. today will be the grand finale."
Addramyr snorted and rubbed his head against mine, as if to console the growing darkness in my heart. But it was too late, I was unreachable. "I am so weary of being strong." My emotions were overwhelming. I could not think straight, and all I knew was this: I was determined to regain Osgiliath- for Gondor. For Boromir. For Father.
"Faramir!"
A familiar voice made me turn my head toward the doors, where a simply clothed man approached me. It was Madril, who was my trusted friend despite our age - and height - differences. He grinned and waved at me, his thick and curly beard evident from the white light pouring in through the entrance. He had not even had a chance to shave. My mouth thinned. He stripped himself of his armor right after we entered Minas Tirith. He will not be too happy to hear my news.
"Captain?" Madril's green and gray speckled eyes searched my grim face as he came closer. "Your face is paler than the moon, and there is a frighteningly cold bleakness in your eyes. Are you sick?"
His last words hit me as ironic, and I felt the corners of my lips turn up, despite myself. I laughed, but the emptiness in it was evident even to me. Addramyr snorted at my strange behavior, and moved away to eat the oats and grains set out for him by the grooms. "Nay." I said shortly.
"Pardon me if I overstep my place, but what grieves you so?"
I dropped my gaze to the dirty ground. There, an abandoned helmet was lying on its side. I stooped down to pick it up, and tried to wipe off some of the dirt that had placed itself on it with my sleeve. I glanced at Madril again, and thrusted the piece of armory at his chest. He caught it without hesitation, but with confusion. "Prepare the men to ride in three hours for Osgiliath." I said in a curt voice. I began striding away from him at a quick pace, toward the entrance.
"My liege!!" Madril exclaimed in shock from behind. He jogged up keeping in step with me. From his tone, I could tell that he was completely flabbergasted. "What?!" He asked rudely, confirming my thoughts.
I swerved around to meet his eyes with a powerful glare. Men rarely saw this negative side to my personality, but he was trying my temper- which was unusually short today. "These are the orders from the Steward Denethor. Prepare the men."
"No- this has got to be a joke. He must have been merely jesting!"
Not answering, I continued to walk toward the doors, wanting to shake him away. He was like a hornet- buzzing busily by my ears, pestering me. Suddenly, there was a spring of guilt coil in me- how could I feel this way toward one who loved me as if I were his own kin?
"From a friend to a friend- the men are not ready. They are battle weary, hungry- and what of the injured? They need time to recover!"
I frowned, the guilt quickly chased away by crueler thoughts, leaving no remnant. I was already burdened from this decision, why did he try to pull me down even further? I lashed out at him, grabbing the front of his tunic and pulling him up to my height. "Gather the men- all who can ride. All of them." I said in a dangerously quiet voice, enunciating my words. "Do I make myself clear, soldier?"
A cruel silence stretched between us.
"Terribly clear, captain." Madril answered coldly. I let go. He stepped back, bowed, and stepped past me, posture erect with anger.
My chest heaved with a deep sigh. If only I were an alcoholic, I thought mournfully. I wanted to drown myself in ale. .
---
"Men of Gondor! Today is the day. the day when we fight for the White City!" Addramyr snorted and pranced nervously beneath me, but I steadied him with a cool hand. I sat on him, trying to keep my face from showing the dread that was growing like a cancer in me, my clammy hand upon the cold hilt of my sword. My armor felt strangely tight around my chest- especially where the White Tree was drawn onto.
Cries from the men echoed as they lifted up their swords and clanged their armor. A lump rose in my throat, but I forced it back down. This was not the time to get cold feet.
"I do not hold you to your duty. If you wish to stay behind, you may do so. We may go to our deaths- but we all will see that cold maiden one day. Aye, she will take us without guilt or pity. But we can choose how we live, and perhaps. how we die. And I- I will go forward to recapture Osgiliath, to reclaim our honor, to recover what is ours, in the name of our forefathers! For Gondor!"
Madril took up my cry. "For Gondor!" He raised his sword again. I looked at him, and was deeply touched by his loyalty. Only a few hours ago, he was stomping away from me, outraged at the order that I had just given him. He does not deserve to die. The rest of the men took up the cry- "For Gondor!" "For Gondor!"
I closed my eyes, feeling my stony façade crumble away in the midst of the men's dedication. "For Gondor!!" I screamed, unsheathing my sword and raising it as well. The sun caught the blade, making it glint and shine.
For Gondor.
----
Osgiliath was coming into sight. The ride there was supposed to be a short one, but it seemed to be hours. The men were exceptionally quiet. Only the stomping and snorting of the nervous horses, as well as the usual clang of metal against metal as someone rearranged the way they held their spear or shield were heard. No one jested, and I did not urge them to. I was deep in thought.
As we were leaving the White City, Mithrandir had told me that Father loved me. Boromir said so to, when we were but young children.
Lies; all lies. An evil voice whispered in my mind. He hates you; there is no purpose for your life. Die now. Die for glory; for this will be your last chance.
No other thought rose to challenge this.
Lies. all lies. I drew my sword and beckoned Addramyr to move forward. Madril came up beside me on a brown and white spotted mount. The lines on his face were deeper than I had ever seen them to be.
"I do not hold you to your service, Madril." I said quietly to him. "I apologize for the rash words that I have spoken earlier."
"Captain, you are my leader, and I will follow you to death," he answered swiftly.
"From a friend to a friend- I do not want you to see death."
Madril tried to smile, but found that he couldn't. "From a friend to a friend, I will not let you ride alone to the cold maiden."
I nodded, and then leaned forward to Addramyr's ear. I whispered, "Addramyr, do not fall. Whatever happens, promise me that you will not fall."
Addramyr was a horse- he will not know what I am saying. But it made me feel better. I drew my sword, and hit my spurs on Addramyr's sides. With a whinny, he started to gallop.
"For the White City!" I screamed, nearly choking with emotion. I was riding to death- to my death- to my men's death- all for Father-the thoughts ran swiftly and heavily in my fragile mind. My left hand held on tightly on to Addramyr's reins- the other hand grasped my up- lifted sword. But they were trembling, as if I were an old man. Was I in a dream? This was a nightmare. The heavy clomps of hundreds of hooves clicking against the hard earth nearly deafened me, filling all my senses, and the wind whipped against my face mercilessly. The rebel tears that streamed down my cheeks were pushed back by the force.
"For the White City!" I heard my cry echoing back at me, jumbled by the men who spoke at different speeds and volumes. The Orcs have realized that they were about to be under attack, and were rallying behind some of the still-standing towers of Osgiliath- I could see their little black figures moving around. The mask of happiness and bliss that I had always worn in Minas Tirith was lost. My desperation was showing, and I knew it, and I did not care. I was riding on to glory, to war, to hate, to love.
For death and ruin.
Author's Note: This fic is based on one of the scenes from "The Return of the King"- where Faramir is about to ride out to reclaim Osgiliath with his small army of Men. Yes, I know that "Requiem for a Dream" is a song from "The Two Towers," and that this fic is a scene from "The Return of the King." But it just fits, y'know? And this is the first fic I've written in nearly an year- nevertheless my first Lord of the Rings one. so please excuse me. I'm a tad bit rusty. ^_^ I hope you enjoy!
Does anyone know how to make the italics appear on ff.net? It just won't appear --;
-----------------------------------
I entered the stable, my heavy boots noisily crushing the straw that littered the horses' domain. By now, the stench of horse excrete and worse things did not affect me; I have gotten used to it. I did not care. There were more important things at hand.
The sound of my footsteps were strange even to me, as if they belonged to someone else. Indeed they did, at this moment, for my mind was far away- not in the clouds, but in the past. The last encounter I had with Father kept on flickering onto my vision, confusing me. His indifferent tone and cold words of disapproval and disdain still rang in my ears, as if he was standing next to me in this dirty chamber.
I had not meant to give up Osgiliath, but there were too many of the enemy- what can Men do against such reckless hate? And what can Men do against their fathers?
My forces were still too small against the Orcs- I knew that. But no- it does not matter anymore. For some reason, I did not care anymore. Boromir is dead, and Father wishes that I were too. He shall get my death- an event that he had waited impatiently for since the day I first saw the sun, I thought.
"Addramyr." My voice was low and heavy, but he responded to his name with a soft whinny. He lifted up his noble white head and stared at me with his deep, thoughtful black eyes. My gloved hand automatically reached out to stroke his mane. "My friend, you and I- we have seen too much blood spilled." I whispered softly. "And today. today will be the grand finale."
Addramyr snorted and rubbed his head against mine, as if to console the growing darkness in my heart. But it was too late, I was unreachable. "I am so weary of being strong." My emotions were overwhelming. I could not think straight, and all I knew was this: I was determined to regain Osgiliath- for Gondor. For Boromir. For Father.
"Faramir!"
A familiar voice made me turn my head toward the doors, where a simply clothed man approached me. It was Madril, who was my trusted friend despite our age - and height - differences. He grinned and waved at me, his thick and curly beard evident from the white light pouring in through the entrance. He had not even had a chance to shave. My mouth thinned. He stripped himself of his armor right after we entered Minas Tirith. He will not be too happy to hear my news.
"Captain?" Madril's green and gray speckled eyes searched my grim face as he came closer. "Your face is paler than the moon, and there is a frighteningly cold bleakness in your eyes. Are you sick?"
His last words hit me as ironic, and I felt the corners of my lips turn up, despite myself. I laughed, but the emptiness in it was evident even to me. Addramyr snorted at my strange behavior, and moved away to eat the oats and grains set out for him by the grooms. "Nay." I said shortly.
"Pardon me if I overstep my place, but what grieves you so?"
I dropped my gaze to the dirty ground. There, an abandoned helmet was lying on its side. I stooped down to pick it up, and tried to wipe off some of the dirt that had placed itself on it with my sleeve. I glanced at Madril again, and thrusted the piece of armory at his chest. He caught it without hesitation, but with confusion. "Prepare the men to ride in three hours for Osgiliath." I said in a curt voice. I began striding away from him at a quick pace, toward the entrance.
"My liege!!" Madril exclaimed in shock from behind. He jogged up keeping in step with me. From his tone, I could tell that he was completely flabbergasted. "What?!" He asked rudely, confirming my thoughts.
I swerved around to meet his eyes with a powerful glare. Men rarely saw this negative side to my personality, but he was trying my temper- which was unusually short today. "These are the orders from the Steward Denethor. Prepare the men."
"No- this has got to be a joke. He must have been merely jesting!"
Not answering, I continued to walk toward the doors, wanting to shake him away. He was like a hornet- buzzing busily by my ears, pestering me. Suddenly, there was a spring of guilt coil in me- how could I feel this way toward one who loved me as if I were his own kin?
"From a friend to a friend- the men are not ready. They are battle weary, hungry- and what of the injured? They need time to recover!"
I frowned, the guilt quickly chased away by crueler thoughts, leaving no remnant. I was already burdened from this decision, why did he try to pull me down even further? I lashed out at him, grabbing the front of his tunic and pulling him up to my height. "Gather the men- all who can ride. All of them." I said in a dangerously quiet voice, enunciating my words. "Do I make myself clear, soldier?"
A cruel silence stretched between us.
"Terribly clear, captain." Madril answered coldly. I let go. He stepped back, bowed, and stepped past me, posture erect with anger.
My chest heaved with a deep sigh. If only I were an alcoholic, I thought mournfully. I wanted to drown myself in ale. .
---
"Men of Gondor! Today is the day. the day when we fight for the White City!" Addramyr snorted and pranced nervously beneath me, but I steadied him with a cool hand. I sat on him, trying to keep my face from showing the dread that was growing like a cancer in me, my clammy hand upon the cold hilt of my sword. My armor felt strangely tight around my chest- especially where the White Tree was drawn onto.
Cries from the men echoed as they lifted up their swords and clanged their armor. A lump rose in my throat, but I forced it back down. This was not the time to get cold feet.
"I do not hold you to your duty. If you wish to stay behind, you may do so. We may go to our deaths- but we all will see that cold maiden one day. Aye, she will take us without guilt or pity. But we can choose how we live, and perhaps. how we die. And I- I will go forward to recapture Osgiliath, to reclaim our honor, to recover what is ours, in the name of our forefathers! For Gondor!"
Madril took up my cry. "For Gondor!" He raised his sword again. I looked at him, and was deeply touched by his loyalty. Only a few hours ago, he was stomping away from me, outraged at the order that I had just given him. He does not deserve to die. The rest of the men took up the cry- "For Gondor!" "For Gondor!"
I closed my eyes, feeling my stony façade crumble away in the midst of the men's dedication. "For Gondor!!" I screamed, unsheathing my sword and raising it as well. The sun caught the blade, making it glint and shine.
For Gondor.
----
Osgiliath was coming into sight. The ride there was supposed to be a short one, but it seemed to be hours. The men were exceptionally quiet. Only the stomping and snorting of the nervous horses, as well as the usual clang of metal against metal as someone rearranged the way they held their spear or shield were heard. No one jested, and I did not urge them to. I was deep in thought.
As we were leaving the White City, Mithrandir had told me that Father loved me. Boromir said so to, when we were but young children.
Lies; all lies. An evil voice whispered in my mind. He hates you; there is no purpose for your life. Die now. Die for glory; for this will be your last chance.
No other thought rose to challenge this.
Lies. all lies. I drew my sword and beckoned Addramyr to move forward. Madril came up beside me on a brown and white spotted mount. The lines on his face were deeper than I had ever seen them to be.
"I do not hold you to your service, Madril." I said quietly to him. "I apologize for the rash words that I have spoken earlier."
"Captain, you are my leader, and I will follow you to death," he answered swiftly.
"From a friend to a friend- I do not want you to see death."
Madril tried to smile, but found that he couldn't. "From a friend to a friend, I will not let you ride alone to the cold maiden."
I nodded, and then leaned forward to Addramyr's ear. I whispered, "Addramyr, do not fall. Whatever happens, promise me that you will not fall."
Addramyr was a horse- he will not know what I am saying. But it made me feel better. I drew my sword, and hit my spurs on Addramyr's sides. With a whinny, he started to gallop.
"For the White City!" I screamed, nearly choking with emotion. I was riding to death- to my death- to my men's death- all for Father-the thoughts ran swiftly and heavily in my fragile mind. My left hand held on tightly on to Addramyr's reins- the other hand grasped my up- lifted sword. But they were trembling, as if I were an old man. Was I in a dream? This was a nightmare. The heavy clomps of hundreds of hooves clicking against the hard earth nearly deafened me, filling all my senses, and the wind whipped against my face mercilessly. The rebel tears that streamed down my cheeks were pushed back by the force.
"For the White City!" I heard my cry echoing back at me, jumbled by the men who spoke at different speeds and volumes. The Orcs have realized that they were about to be under attack, and were rallying behind some of the still-standing towers of Osgiliath- I could see their little black figures moving around. The mask of happiness and bliss that I had always worn in Minas Tirith was lost. My desperation was showing, and I knew it, and I did not care. I was riding on to glory, to war, to hate, to love.
For death and ruin.