"White Flower"

Work: Lord of the Rings
Characters: OCs
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Rating: PG-13
A/N: This is told from the first-person POV of a Gondorian soldier; he is mine, as is Anwë. I intend for this to be a three-chapter deal.

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I. Mist and Shadow

The streets are misty and quiet in the pale morning's first light; a dim sun shines down and glints on our armour. The only sound is the soft clip-clop of horse-hooves on stone. Slowly we make our way down to the Gate, with no cries of battle or calls to those we pass.

Faramir rides at our head, silent and fey. He knows that the price we pay for this attempt to retake Osgiliath will be high. But for the Lord Denethor it is no different from any other day. He remains in his humble throne or locked in his tower, and whether he cares at all for the tenscore armed men who now head for fruitless battle none can say.

The people who line the streets are solemn. Mothers, sisters, daughters strew flowers in front of us as blessings of a safe return. I see my beautiful Anwë ahead and wish that Denethor's judgment was not so clouded.

We are betrothed, Anwë and I. We made our true farewell yesterday evening, when all the cavalry was told of the morning's mission. I gave her the news, and she did not cry, or turn away, or beseech me not to go. Instead she took my hands in hers and swore to me that I would always have all her love, whether the siege go well or ill. She tore a piece of lace from her sleeve and pressed it into my palm. Then kissing me softly, she touched my face and we parted.

Even now I have that piece of lace under my armour, close to my heart. I ride near her, and look for what may be the last time upon what I deem the most beautiful face in all the world. Her hair is as the darkest hour of night and her eyes hold a look of sad resolve. She looks up at me bravely and hand me a small white flower; I see that she has an identical one pinned to her dress. She gives me a sweet smile as I tuck the flower into one of my sword-buckles. Then we are separated once more as the horses proceed.

Suddenly we riders pass through the Gate. White walls no longer protect us; we are exposed upon the Pelennor. I make sure that Anwë's flower is secure, and we ride.

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Yes, short and very chaste, I know. Care to review?