The first of the morning rays were just breaking through as she departed the city, bathing the worn stonework in a soft, buttery glow while the streets murmured as if Minas Tirith itself were awakening from her slumber.

Once she was beyond the gates however and passed the roads that went north and south immediately beyond the walls that noise faded away. All she had for company was the rustle of her cloak on her back and the clop of Súletal's hooves upon mossy and broken cobbles. She could not even hear the birds singing any longer, as if they too had fled from the battle that raged in Osgiliath.

Ahead of her it loomed, the corpse of a city whose days of glory were so distant as to be no more than a myth to the memories of the living. The arches and domes long since broken stretched and curved towards the sky like ribs, marble like bone bleached white in the sun. From here, there was no sign of occupancy, no banners fluttered from the highest peaks or men standing watch over the road. It looked abandoned, a silent tomb to the kingdom Gondor had once been. The thought sent a shudder down her spine and already her mind cried for her to turn, to tug at Súletal's reins and have him return to the safety of Minas Tirith. Osgiliath had no walls nor towers to bolster its defence, no catapults sitting high over an open plain ready to smash any invading force. All it had was the river Anduin which cut it in two and the fortitude of the men who dwelt within. The horrifying thought struck her that the city could well have fallen already, every defender slaughtered in the night and Minas Tirith would have been none the wiser. That needed to be fixed, a signal fire of some sort or a banner flown to keep the two in contact.

And if it has already fallen?

She gripped a little tighter at the reins, breath catching in her throat.

Turn. Turn around now. No one will think any less of you.

A deep sigh to steady herself. Onwards she trotted.

This was ridiculous. She was unnerving herself, no more.

The world went dark.

Súletal reared up and stopped, the sudden falling of night too much for the elven mount to bear. The Princess steadied him as best she could even though her own heart beat fiercely in her chest. With a single step they had left the warmth of the sun, of the world behind them and now they stood in the shadow of Mordor, the black plume that billowed from that hateful land to cover all that it would claim dominion over.

The deep breath before the plunge.

The calm before the storm…

The calm had already passed Osgiliath. Her time had run out.

She tried to kick Súletal onwards but the horse remained rooted to the spot. She reached forward and rubbed at his mane between his ears.

"I know you're frightened," She spoke to him in Sindarin and his ears rolled back towards her, "I'm scared too. So, I'll make you a promise; you stay brave for me, and I promise I'll stay brave for you. Does that sound like a deal?"

The great elven stallion lowered his grey-speckled head and snorted before taking a cautious step forward.

"Thank you." She whispered as her eyes returned to their destination, watching for sign of friend or foe alike.

Osgiliath was an alarmingly short ride from Minas Tirith. It had felt like hours on the road yet looking back over her shoulder, Nemireth guessed it was no more than few hours ride or half a day's march at the most. That was it. That was how far the enemy had pushed into the lands of Gondor. That was why Osgiliath had to stand, at least long enough to prepare the city for the siege that would follow.

There was still no sign of the enemy as she drew closer and she felt the tension that ached in her muscles relax just a little. Surely if the enemy held the city they would not have let her draw so close? What if it was a trap though?

"If there is so much as a whisper that the city may fall, you must withdraw."

That was the promise she had made to Karos. Yet onwards she rode, closer and closer. Now she could see the individual stones in the buildings, the steps exposed to the world by the loss of their roofs, the trees which had grown up amongst abandoned civilisation but then, like their human predecessors, died amongst the shadows. By the winds, they were looming over her now like demons of an age long passed, spectral in every sense.

She could see shapes.

There was a figure atop the buildings. Just the one, their identity hidden by the black hoods they wore. Orc? Man? She could not tell. The Princess was now abundantly aware that she was well within bow range and too far for rescue from the city. If they were going to kill her, now would be the time.

Still she rode on.

A second figure appeared beside the first. Surely if they were orcs, she would be dead by now?

The figure raised a hand. She returned the gesture as at last she was swallowed up by the remains of Osgiliath and breathed a sigh of relief.

It was not orcs who held the city, but men.

There were not many, just a few dressed in black armour wielding bows. They were loading up a cart with wounded men; clad in the grey plate of Gondor and, to her horror, Aeanor. It was they who she focused on the most. There were three amongst the half-dozen being prepared, their helmets lying alongside and blood dripping onto the wooden slats of their transport. The closest, with dark hair and complexion, looked at her as if he were seeing a ghost.

"You're wounded, soldier?" She asked, only to find that her lips were dry. The stupidity of the question was not lost on her either.

"An arrow, your majesty," He replied to her in Ellayan, "I was too slow with my shield. It's not bad."

"Good," She gave a curt nod, "Have many…" She trailed away, not sure how to word it but he seemed to get the message, for his expression hardened.

" A few. Mostly to lucky shots across the river. They've not been able to get further. We'll hold them yet, your majesty. You'll see."

She smiled, a warm smile that she did not feel but there was no other reply she could give to his hopeful gaze, "We'll hold them."

With a jolt, the wagon set off, the man grimacing as he was bounced along the broken path.

"We weren't expecting visitors," One of the men now turned to her. No longer distracted by her men, Nemireth could see there were a lot more Gondorian soldiers who lay here, many in a bad way. Other men were moving amongst them with waterskins and scraps of bread but it was readily apparent there were no healers present beyond basic knowledge.

The man to whom she spoke was tall, grey of hair and haggard of appearance. He looked as if he had not slept in a long time, with great bags beneath his eyes and an untidy stubble at his chin. His armour seemed a little finer than his companions so she would guess he was some form of officer.

"I am Nemireth," She bowed her head from atop Súletal, "Princess of Aeanor and Captain-Commander of the King's Guard. I've come to see if there's some way in which I can aid in the defence of the city."

The man snorted, "I don't suppose you've brought an army with you, Nemireth, Princess of Aeanor?"

"I…have not," She winced not at his expression but the man behind him, younger but no less tired looking. It was hard to see how quickly the hope drained from his features.

"Perhaps the magic of the Valar then? Or the strength of the ancient elders who built this accursed city?"

"I bring only that which you see," It was not an impressive sight and indeed he did not look impressed upon examining her.

"Then there is nothing you can do here."

"Nevertheless, I would do what I can. What is your name, soldier?"

"Madril," He did not bow but now was not the time to bring up the finer points of etiquette, "Sargent of the Rangers of Ithilien."

"You command the defence, Sargent Madril?"

Another derisive snort, "Captain Faramir commands the defence."

"And where may I find Captain Faramir?"

"Down closer to the river. He'll be commanding from the old hall." Madril nodded over his shoulder to his companion, "Damrod can show you the way. Wouldn't want a Princess getting lost in these streets." A rather unpleasant sneer crossed his lips as if he found the idea amusing, "I suggest you leave your horse over there," He gestured to an open courtyard where she could see there were horses being attended to, "It's not too easy going for mounts in the city."

"Thank you, Sargent Madril," Again she bowed, biting back the urge to snap at him, "May the Valar watch over you."

Another derisive shake of the head and Madril was done with her, turning his back to her and heading back to his post above. She was left there, irritation rising at his slight and yet another conscious effort to keep from chastising him for it. Better to leave on a sour note than a malicious one. For now, at least.

Dismounting from Súletal, she led him over to the other horses. He seemed a little more comforted by their presence but as she tied up his reins, he fixed her with a gaze that would have melted even Sauron's heart. She was loath to leave him but with an encouraging pat along his neck, she wrenched herself away. Even as she was led by the ranger called Damrod, she kept looking back over her shoulder to him, just to reassure herself that he had not gone.

The young ranger took her deep into the city and she was glad for his silent company. Osgiliath stretched out in every direction surrounding and entombing her. It was easier from within to see how splendid she could have once been when men called her home. There were so many streets! So many turnings and junctions, squares and avenues. The stonework everywhere was magnificent even after so many years of neglect and decay. Men had worked these stones, and they had been proud to do it. She could feel that pride seep from every demolished tower and every crumbled home. Men had been proud to call this ruin their home once, the jewel of their kingdom.

Yet even then, she felt a terrible weight as the deeper they went into the rats nest of blocked streets, broken bridges and half-hearted barricades, the more the truth clawed at her mind like a nail.

Osgiliath could not be defended.

This maze would make it impossible to co-ordinate any sort of defence and she saw nowhere that was not open to attack from at least two different sides. It would be so easy for a retreating force to take a wrong turn and be trapped. Isolated and beyond rescue.

It was a general's worst nightmare.

"Damrod," She had to speak as those terrible thoughts hammered away. She needed to break the silence, "How long has Gondor held the city?"

The man looked alarmed at the question but quickly composed himself. Winds, he was young. Not much older than herself. Is this how the veteran soldiers saw her? Bright-eyed and flush-faced? No wonder Karos had never taken her seriously, "The, uh, eastern bank we hold on and off, uh…miss?"

He blushed and in spite of herself, Nemireth smiled, "'Princess' is fine, Damrod. That or 'ma'am."

"Oh! Well, the eastern bank is on and off…Princess…" He took his time with the word, as if using it for the first time, "But the western we've held for years, since long before I signed up."

"The city itself has never fallen?"

"Not so far as I know mi-ma'am."

She made no further comment on that. He looked alarmed enough as it was and she saw no reason to visit her pessimism on him, "Tell me, is your sargent always so cheerful?"

"He's just tired, Princess. We all are. Marched for four straight days to get here. Well, marched is maybe the wrong way to put it. More ran." He looked it too, stooped and all but using his bow as a crutch. Was all the garrison in this state? "Course, we'd have been quicker had it not been for the prisoners."

"Oh, you took prisoners?" She raised an eyebrow, "I wouldn't think orcs would react in kind."

"Oh they weren't orcs ma'am. Strange little fellows, like children really. Or well, two of them were, the third one was this strange creature-"

She grabbed his arm and he flinched but she couldn't have cared less, mouth suddenly dry, "Like children? Did they wear green cloaks? Hairy feet?"

Damrod's look of panic was swiftly replaced by one of confusion, "Why yes. Have you seen them before?"

"Damrod," She took a breath to compose her yet she prayed to the Valar, to the Winds, to anyone who would listen. Please. Please don't let it be here, "Where are they?"

"Captain let them go, I think. Never really found out why. Never found why he'd bought them here either."

She released him from her grip. Only then, when she saw the tears in his cloak, did she realise how tightly she had been clenching him. The Princess forced herself to keep her breathing steady, "Damrod, I must speak to Faramir immediately. How far is he?"

"Just a little further, ma'am."

"Then lead on," She gave him a smile to mask the growing panic she felt.

Frodo and Sam had been here.

They had been brought here by Faramir. Why? Why else would he have brought two innocent hobbits to a battleground like this, so close to the enemy? Did he know? Had he taken it? Valar's mercy, had he tried to use it?

If he had, then all her concerns of Osgiliath's defences were pointless. The defences being prepared at Minas Tirith were pointless.

If Faramir, Captain of Gondor, had slipped the One Ring onto his finger, the free lands of Middle Earth had already fallen.

AN: Finally, I have time to work on this again! Sorry it took so long but life has been mad recently! It's a little short and maybe slow but things will pick up soon. Thanks for every one reading and reviewing, I appreciate it so much!