Reminder:: No copyright infringement. There just is none. Don't argue me. Rawr.

YES. It's about bloody time I got here. xD

I use a few choice words (not the 'f' word though n_n') so be forewarned, I suppose. This language will probably pick up as things get a little more stressed and Finwen/Sarah remembers more of herself.

Last chapter was itty bitty, but this and the next chapter should make up for it~

Chapter Thirty-Seven :: Besieged

Shattered.

No one had been in the White Hall since they left Faramir here. Peregrin and I were the only ones to remain. Or at least we were the only ones not to make Denethor notice us.

Pippin had attempted to voice his concern – our concern – but Denethor took no heed of him. "He's not dead, my lord. He… he just needs some medicine!"

I felt invisible. Denethor looked more dead than Faramir at this point. He just stared at his son, older than I had ever seen him. Something inside him had finally snapped. What that something was remained unclear at the present. He hadn't said a word since he came back from the seeing stone.

Faramir writhed in a feverish state. He mumbled ineligible words, but the ones I had heard clearly were 'Boromir' and words calling out to his father. It was inevitable he would never wake. Perhaps it would have been better had the shot killed him…

Don't think like that! You pathetic sissy! Stop being such a gloomy bitch and do something for once in your life! You can still save him!

As if to prove my inner scolding, the Lord Faramir shook his head, his face coated in sweat. His lips formed an 'F' and he let out: "-nwen."

I stood. No one else was doing anything and that resorted to him calling to me for help. That really says something if there's nowhere left to turn but to a silly girl like me.

Without a word, I ran out the front doors of the hall and sprinted down the courtyard. I stopped dead in my tracks before I could reach the stairs.

The day was dark, as if night was eternal though by the hour, I was sure it was mid-day. The hosts of Mordor were upon our doorstep. For as far as the eye could see in the murky light, legions of orcs and foul creatures were lined against the city. The attack began.

Catapults went off in clicking tangent. The orcs had vaults of their own that sent tiny, round objects like small stones towards the city. Later, I would discover those stones were the heads of the fallen left in Pelennor.

Boulders the size of horse stalls were flung at the first city wall. Pieces of the beautiful white marble chipped, cracked, and fell in giant lumps - killing our own underneath their weight. But that was not going to be the end of it. Intense pride swelling within my chest, I saw those same pieces of the city being thrown onto the Pelennor. Suck on that.

I made a dash for the stairs and was met halfway down by a guard of the Citadel. Inwardly cursing myself for getting caught so quickly, I paid little heed to the man behind the helm until he addressed me.

"Finwen, it's me!"

I finally looked up in shock. "M-Mordred! You're alive!"

"I thought the Steward held you prisoner in the White Hall." The question quickly became a statement from the flustered man.

"I am no prisoner." I said flatly.

My answer came as an unexpected support for Denethor. He stared at me a moment.

"What news of the Gate? Have you not seen the—"

"Almost completely seized." Mordred cut me off, still staring. "What of the Captain—"

"He needs help. Where is Mithrandir?"

"Everywhere." He answered. "Will the Steward not come to command—?"

"No. Find me Mithrandir or point me to him. I've nowhere else to turn."

Mordred read my face for longer than I would have liked. We were rather pressed for time.

"Mordred!" I jostled him out of the stupor.

Then he rather sprang forward and kissed me.

I was too startled to do anything except stare at him and wonder why his lips were on my face. On my lips. Good God, this was awkward.

Pushing on his shirt front, I staggered backwards and wiped my mouth. It was probably rude, but that was the least of my problems right now.

"I'm sorry!" He instantly became the wrong-doing school boy. "I am so sorry, Lady Finwen! I didn't mean to—"

"What the—"

Luckily, he cut me off with more apologies. "I'm so sorry, I just thought that this might be the last time I'll ever see you and—"

"What are you talking about?" I stopped him. I suddenly realized that he was thinking the same thing I was – the inevitable. We were all going to die. Feeling I must support Faramir, Pippin, and Mithrandir's hope while they could not, I shook my head. "No. We will not die. We will yet live, Mordred – live to see another day. Fear not – I'm off to find Mithrandir—"

In the most broken, interrupted conversation I've ever had, Mordred's face broke. "Benold is dead."

After months, I had found myself standing in the Houses of Healing. Ioreth was on my mind, but she had not appeared. Even the Warden had not appeared when Mordred and I entered. Everyone was running about in a mad rush to try to save the lives of those carried or dropped at the doorstep.

The front room I had so many good memories in - from playing with Huan, to hiding from the Warden, to meeting Faramir for Yuletide - was loaded with dead bodies. Men lined the floor, sheets over their faces, and women continued to carry the dead from rooms that were crowded enough to bring them out here where there was room. The rooms they vacated could be used to treat new soldiers.

I thought it would be impossible to find Benold in this mess, but Mordred pointed out the right blanketed figure to me. Before he could say anything else, I shooed him away. Tristed was still manning the wall after all.

Choosing my steps carefully, I made my way over and knelt on the floor. I carefully lifted the blanket from his face.

Benold looked pained. I had seen death in faces before, but I had rarely seen a peaceful one. Benold was not an exception. The merry man who had tried to teach me to dance was crippled, face contorted in despair. Upon further examination, I realized that he had been decapitated.

I threw the blanket back over him, hand over my mouth to stop myself from being sick. Even so, I was glad Mordred had shown me this. Indirectly. I was hardened. The camp slaughter in the East, the burnt home in Rohan, and now the headless Benold. They gave me a peculiar strength. A strength that told me I was certainly not invincible, but I could still do great things. I could be more than what I am now. For others. I need to do something.

Mordred had also indirectly escorted me to my destination without a hassle. If someone were to find me, they would probably send me here anyways though – all the women left in the City were here.

Without much of a stomach but with a good head on my shoulders, I stormed into the back room where the Warden kept his plants. I riffled through the already picked over selection and chose those necessary to reduce a fever. I was glad that I had watched Ioreth and listened to her when she spoke. I wouldn't have known what to do otherwise. I ground them with the mortar and pestle and without a bag or spoon, I stole a small wooden bowl and put my mixture in it. It would taste like horseshit, but it was the best I could do for Faramir at the moment.

The first level cracked. Those who had not fled were standing beside Mithrandir. Fire seemed to erupt from every chasm and the walls stank of blood, sweat, and smoke in the night. On the other side of the gate, Hell knocked.

Grond. Grond. Grond.