Another distant explosion shakes the wall under their feet.
"They are bringing down the outer walls," Mithrandir observes. An arrow hits the battlement right next to his hand but he does not even flinch. "The Forts are not designed for rear-defence. You must time your retreat carefully to avoid being besieged."
Faramir nods. His men cannot rest as the onslaught never ceases but it can be felt that they are not under a concentrated attack – yet. "I have already given some thought to that. We will start with evacuating the injured."
The wall shakes again, and the rumble sounds louder. Standing by Faramir's side, Anborn twists his mouth but says nothing. His quiver is almost empty – another reason why they should not delay; they are almost out of ammunition.
"Mithrandir. There is something I have to ask of you." The bushy brows raise and Faramir continues. "I cannot command you but it would be a great help if you could accompany the wounded. I can spare only a few men as an escort, and since – "
"And since the Black Captain has decided to stay behind before the way is cleared, I am not truly needed here, am I? Very well. I will do as you ask."
When you are here, that dark thing within recedes. "Thank you," Faramir says and watches the shimmering white figure disappear in the dark. Then he turns to his adjutant. "Anborn, we should – "
He never finishes.
A deafening explosion shakes the fortification and tears the bridge apart, sending down a mass of dust and stone; the men who were positioned there – the men –
"Oh Valar," Faramir sighs. Turning on his heel, he makes for the bridge entrance where shaken men help the survivors.
And he never reaches it: the very part of the wall that he has just left collapses with another deep rumble and a blast of fire.
The next thing Faramir knows is that he is sprawled on the ground, blood trickling from his scratched brow, but except for some more bruises relatively unharmed. The great gaping hole in the fortification swarms with Orcs; bugles and horns call in alarm as men are gathering to stop the black torrent. Raising to his feet, Faramir turns to address Anborn…
… who is lying on the ground only a few feet from him, the lower part of his body buried under stones.
A cry of helpless rage soars to the dark sky, and then the Captain of Gondor must forsake a friend to lead the defence of his men.
Shedding the black Orc blood does not ease the pain at all.
Finally, the last Orc is killed and no more dare to enter the opening.
'The wall of men is stronger than the wall of stone', Faramir recalls, yet the name of the author has slipped his memory. On the other hand, the enemy need not hurry, there are so many of them that they can just wear us down.
With the enemy pushed back, however, he can at least organize the retreat.
Mithrandir approaches him, his great horse following him without bidding as a faithful comrade. "Have you not changed your mind?" the wizard asks softly.
Your life is too precious to be risked here. "Go with the wounded."
For an instant, Faramir sees himself through Mithrandir's eyes: the face, pale and strained under the mask of dust and blood, and large eyes, overly bright with exhaustion.
Unexpectedly, the old wizard draws him into a short but tight embrace. "Fare well, dear boy," he whispers.
Yesterday's Faramir would have been deeply hurt by such a display of affection from a stranger instead of the one who should have said these words in the first place. Today's Faramir only nods goodbye and returns to his duties.
Then, as the last of the gravely wounded are being brought to the wains, he catches the sight of a familiar face.
"Anborn."
The injured man breathes laboriously, his face twisting with pain. But his eyes are clear and he strives to speak. Faramir bends over to him and takes his hand – surely he can spare this little time, can't he? – to say goodbye.
"You should have stayed in Minas Tirith when I told you to. Rest, Anborn, we will get you there."
Anborn faintly smiles. "… ain't fair," he says, his voice barely audible. "How convenient… that in this dark no-one can see that you've meddled with the sun."
Faramir hears a strange sound, and a second later he realizes it has been produced by his own mouth. Laughter. "Promise you won't tell anyone."
But Anborn's eyes are already closing with weariness. Before he passes out, Faramir catches his last words: "I wish… I could see the sun again."
"You will, may the Valar grant that," Faramir whispers in his ear and kisses Anborn's brow – and then his time runs out as the wains are ready to depart.
May the Valar grant that at least you can see the sun again, when I will not.
The enemies are organizing for another attack. Faramir mounts his horse and then blows his horn: a signal for the long journey at the sword's edge to begin.
