Chapter 10: Peril in Osgiliath
Inside the stone walls, all was silent. It was so quiet inside the halls of the steward that one could just barely hear the noise outside. Pharazphel had retired indoors to the halls of the steward, and there she waited. It was all that Pharazphel could do was wait. She was forced to wait the days, even weeks until Boromir returned. Whether he would return alive or not from the peril in Osgiliath was what troubled Pharazphel most. Worst of all, she was still a prisoner of her injuries.
Curse my wounded arm, Pharazphel thought to herself.
Had she not been wounded still, Pharazphel would have gladly ridden out to peril and war with Boromir, her true love. She felt it was cruel that she could not share her love's fate, alive or not. Now that she knew Boromir loved her, Pharazphel was ashamed not to be by his side during this dangerous hour. Pharazphel could taste the bittersweet feeling of the moment. She did not know what was bitterer: being separated from Boromir by war or by death. As the bitterness plagued her mind, Pharazphel tried to focus her heart and mind on the sweetness of her and Boromir. She thought back on that short moment when she and Boromir pledged their love and it brought her hope. Pharazphel had hope for the love she and Boromir would share when he returned from war.
When he returns, not if, Pharazphel thought to herself, hope in her thoughts.
No matter how much Pharazphel told herself this, her heart and mind were not reassured. There were no messengers of news, good or not. All of the uncertainty and separation was like a poison for Pharazphel. Even worse was the temper of Denethor. Boromir's grey-haired father had shown Pharazphel no courtesy since she spoke to him. Denethor would often go out of his way to be discourteous to Pharazphel, whom he loathed.
Storming into the halls, Denethor sneered at Pharazphel. "I see you are still here, bewitching daughter of Pharazpher."
"Your eyes are not cheated by any spell, my lord," Pharazphel replied.
"I thought you had come to your senses and left for your precious golden Rohan," Denethor said curtly.
"It seems that I have not come to them yet, my lord," Pharazphel said, resentment in her eyes. "Yet you may get your wish when my arm is fully healed."
"May?" Denethor demanded. "No, I will not settle for if I may get my wish. Once you are free of your injuries, you will ride on your way to Rohan and trouble me no more."
"Trouble?" Pharazphel gasped, aghast. "What trouble have I given you? I have only sung your praises as well as those of your sons and people since I awoke."
"You came into my city and made my sons blind to all else that moves," Denethor said in an accusing tone.
"You forget, my lord, that I did not come to your city," Pharazphel countered. "It was not my design to come here. It was the Uruk-hai who took away my strength. It was your sons who decided that I should be here, not me."
"They were foolish to set out to rescue a country that did not come to our aid," Denethor said angrily.
"I know you wish I had died in the den of the Uruk-hai. You do not need to repeat yourself," Pharazphel said, anger in her voice. "Do not blame your sons or me for my coming. I was not afraid to die in the presence of those Uruk-hai. Indeed, I was glad to do so. And, were I not wounded, I would take pleasure in giving my life. You may get your wish yet."
"It depends on the manner in which you leave me," Denethor said coldly.
Pharazphel turned swiftly and left the halls. From the battlements, all was silent. The people of Minas Tirith watched from the high white walls as black smoke billowed from Osgiliath. Tears pricked Pharazphel's eyes as she watched the horrific sight. It was not simply the pain of losing Boromir that troubled her; it was much more than him. Before Pharazphel was born, she had lost. She lost her father, her mother, now possibly her true love. There was not a soul to comfort her in this sad time. Pharazphel wept as she felt alone and for Boromir.
In the midst of the peril, Boromir's heart was with Pharazphel as well. Alas, Boromir did not have the luxury of dwelling his thoughts on his love. Peril called to him at any moment, and he had to answer that call. He spared no thoughts of his love, although he wanted to.
Battalions of Orcs were now reaching the shores of Osgiliath. They came by the hundreds at a time, sparing no soldier who got in their way. Boromir and Faramir fought bravely alongside their men. With sword and bow, the men of Gondor brought down many of Sauron's hordes. Alas, it did not stop the Orcs from continuing to barrel into the city. The men of Gondor began to lose all hope in this moment. Fear seemed to take over their hearts and minds. Boromir and Faramir were resilient, as if they were made of stone.
"Men of Gondor, muster your courage!" Faramir shouted.
"You men are sons of Numenor! You do not know fear! Whatever evil crosses these shores, you will not blench!" Boromir cried.
The men of Gondor stood their ground. They roared in agreement with their captains, infused with a new courage. Despite the overwhelming numbers, the men of Gondor continued to fight with all their being.
"Fight, men! Fight to the last man!" Boromir cried, slashing many foes. "Faramir!"
Faramir heard his brother's call and sprang back, escaping a barrage of arrows the men showered on the Orcs.
"We can't hold them for much longer!" Faramir cried to his brother. "Our numbers are too few!"
"We must drive them back!" Boromir cried.
"We cannot hold! We'll lose the city before we have a chance to drive them out," Faramir said.
"We must hold out until reinforcements arrive," Boromir said.
Though they were outnumbered, Boromir, Faramir, and their men fought desperately to drive the Orcs back to the river. They fought day and night, never stopping to rest. The long days began to take a toll on the men, but they would not falter. The unyielding strength of the Gondorian soldiers began to break the Orcs.
Finally, after a fortnight, there was hope at last. A second battalion of Gondorian soldiers had arrived to give much needed aid to Boromir and Faramir as well as their men. The Captains of Gondor charged their enemies with a cry of courage. The Orcs, terrified and broken, could not hold the charge. Many tried to retreat, but were overtaken. Finally, victory was at hand for the city of Osgiliath.
"Victory! We have victory!" Boromir shouted.
The Men of Gondor shouted in triumph. After a fortnight, the courage of men was tested. To the joy of Gondor, that test was passed with flying colors.
From the high walls of Minas Tirith, the people rejoiced as well. The foes of Mordor were gone thanks to the courage of their soldiers. Pharazphel rejoiced most of all. Her tears of despair changed to tears of relief. At last, after so much uncertainty, there was peace again. Pharazphel smiled as she heard the clear ringing of silver trumpets and the thundering sound of horses. The soldiers of Gondor had returned victorious. Boromir, her true love, was victorious, and alive. Seeing her true love alive brought a new joy to her heart.