Agador-of-the-woods: Here is more now :) including what happens to Faramir.

AzNnEgGrOePnOi: Sorry the update was a little slow...I'll try to update more often (whenever I can find some time).

Aragorns Evenstar: Glad you like the way I wrote the characters. I try to keep them pretty close to the way they seem to act in the book.

Shlee Verde: Thanks :) Yeah, Faramir probably shouldn't be out there...although I find it interesting that in Return of the King Bergil (Beregond's son) wants to go to battle and I believe he is around the same age.

akin: Lol, I think most 10 year olds get involved in things that are a little over their heads sometimes...

This chapter is kind of short. The fighting style is similar to Helm's Deep from The Two Towers, but considering the way Minas Tirith is built, it seemed appropriate. Oh yeah, and the rating is upped to pg-13 for violence, just to be safe.

~~~~Sorry it took so long to update! I have hardly had any time to do so, until now~~~~

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Faramir was half lead, half dragged to a position along the outermost wall of the city, not far from the main gate that opened onto the Pelannor. A million different thoughts were racing through his head at once, and he felt utterly lost amongst what seemed to be masses of bodies gathered in one area of Minas Tirith.

Once again, Faramir attempted to speak to the man who had ushered him into this area of the city. "Why-?" he began, but was immediately cut off by the various other conversations around him. Men and boys seemed to be trying to shout over one another, simply to be heard.

Suddenly, amidst the clamor, there was a vaguely familiar shout. "Faramir!"

Faramir turned his head wildly, looking for the source of the shout. He felt someone pull the helmet off his head, and saw as Mergil emerged from within the chaos of the crowd. "What are you doing here?" the older boy demanded. "Surely you were not meant to be summoned here by the cry of the horn?" He seemed almost annoyed to see the younger boy there, but was attempting to mask his feelings.

"I'm.....I'm not sure why I'm here," answered Faramir, attempting to put his confused thoughts into coherent words. "I just left the tower, to find one of the guards at the main gate. Suddenly I heard a horn. A man came up to me saying that I must come with him, and I ended up here with the crowd. What is all this?"

"They've been preparing for war these last few weeks: war with Harad, the men say," replied Mergil. "We were told that all men and boys of sufficient age were to report here the instant the horn was sounded. Enemy troops must be in sight! But you are not of sufficient age, no?" He glanced at Faramir. "Where is the man who said you must come here?"

Faramir glanced around, but did not see the man. "He must be gone somewhere in this crowd. But I have no mind to fight in a war anyway!"

At that moment, Denethor himself was spotted, near the main gate, standing on a makeshift platform of sorts.

"Looks like it's a bit late for misgivings now," remarked Mergil, his face excited. "Your father is up there, preparing to speak! We are likely to fight soon!"

Faramir attempted to call out, but the crowds were beginning to silence at the sight of the Steward, and the boy was promptly hushed by a few nearby men before he yelled the first syllable.

Denethor raised his hand for a brief moment, then began speaking. "Men of Minas Tirith, of Gondor," he said. The Steward seemed to have the remarkable quality of making himself heard by all the Men without appearing to strain his voice. "You have been summoned here at this time. Enemy troops from Harad have been seen marching directly towards the city. Apparently, they managed to slip past some of our keenest Ranger patrols by choosing a path close to Modor, then cutting directly west towards us."

A few people grumbled at the sneakiness of the Haradrim, but soon grew quiet.

"Now," Denethor continued, "they are in the fields outside these very walls. I believe they will be here before long. Their numbers do not seem to great for us, and we have the advantage of our defenses; yet they are poised to fight. But we shall be ready for them!"

That seemed to be the end of the Steward's very brief speech. However, it seemed to have accomplished much, for the Men roared with approval. Denethor stepped off the platform and disappeared into one of the nearby buildings, where many of the extra swords and arrows were stored. It was vital that the city have enough weapons to fend off the attackers.

Immediately after, some of the commanders, who appeared to know exactly what was expected of them, began to divide up their forces along the wall. Faramir attempted to squeeze through the crowd towards the building where Denethor had entered, but one of the commanders grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Do not run away!" he said sternly. "We are supposed to report over there." The man pointed; then gave Faramir a glance. "I've not seen you around before, but no matter! You'll catch on soon enough. Where is your weapon?"

Faramir obediently showed him the small sword at his side, causing the commander to stifle a scoff. "That!" he exclaimed. "That will hardly defend you from Harad! Come now, surely you have a better sword?"

Faramir shook his head.

"A bow then?" the man persisted.

Faramir nodded. "But it is at home..."

"At home! At home!" The man scowled. "It will hardly do you any good here, boy!" The man muttered to himself about the irresponsibility of young boys, but quickly found Faramir a bow. "Here," he stated. "Now come along! We don't have all day here."

Up until now, Faramir had mostly just listened to the imposing commander, but now, he attempted to explain his situation again. "But I am not-" he began.

The man gave him a glare, then said, "There will be no insolence here."

Faramir sighed, and was forced to follow the threatening man through the crowds.

********

By this time, Boromir had caught up with Denethor. "Father!" he said, panting slightly. "I was unable to locate Faramir at the tower. Did he wander back down here with you?"

Denethor turned away from the swords he had been inspecting, a puzzled expression on his face. "I've not seen your brother at all," he replied, thinking. "Perhaps you missed him at the tower?"

"It is unlikely, Father. I looked everywhere, save the very top of the tower, for I would have seen if he had climbed it." Boromir was confused. Where was Faramir?

"Perhaps there is somewhere you failed to look?"

"No, I am sure of it. He was not at the tower."

The Steward was about to speak again, but he was cut off by the sound of another horn outside. "The enemy approached quickly," he muttered. "They are close to the city now." He turned to Boromir. "It is doubtful that Faramir was too far from the tower," Denethor said, although he did not seem fully confident. "You may return to your own duties, but keep an eye out for him. If you do see him, tell Faramir to report to me at once."

Denethor waved a hand, and Boromir left.

Outside the building, Boromir could now hear the faint sounds of marching, and shouts from men who had positioned himself on top of the first wall. He still wondered about Faramir's whereabouts, but the air was whispering tales of battle, and he soon became more interested in the fighting he felt would occur quite soon. Boromir joined one of the groups of men, and found a spot on the wall.

********

Faramir too had a spot upon the wall, and in fact, it was not a great distance away from Boromir. Still, many men separated them, and Faramir's great anxiety was beginning to take over his normally thoughtful mind. He could see the shadows of an approaching army, and fear rooted him to the spot. The two hands that gripped his bow shook, the knuckles turning white as each second passed.

All around him, men and boys were peering into the growing darkness. Mergil had ended up on Faramir's left side. The older boy did not speak, but his eyes were glowing, and he did not seem to share his companions fear of the impending battle.

Suddenly, the commander who had spoken to Faramir earlier took up his bow. He snatched an arrow from his quiver, lit it on fire, and shot it up into the air. A bright flame was visible to all those upon the wall, a signal to take up their bows. Hundreds of hands grasped arrows, and fitted them carefully.

Many of the hands, including Faramir's were shaking. He found himself having a bit of difficulty getting the arrow properly fitted to his bow. Mergil scoffed slightly next to him.

"Having trouble?" The older boy seemed a little resentful to see Faramir side by side with him during battle. He didn't want to baby-sit.

Faramir did not respond, for he was too terrified by the shadows he saw approaching. There was an army of men from Harad, just coming into arrow- range. They wore black helmets over their faces, and carried huge shields in front of them.

All eyes were upon the Haradrim. For a moment, it was completely silent on the wall, save the sound of marching, dulled slightly by the golden grass of the Pelannor.

Then, as if the man were responding to some unspoken signal, a volley of arrows was released from the wall. Faramir closed his eyes for a split second; then they shot open again as he let his arrow loose. He could not see if it hit a target or not, and indeed, he did not really care to know.

Mergil let out a whoop. "Let them have it!" he cried, launching his second arrow. He followed its path with his eyes, pointing when one of the Haradrim seemed to fall suddenly.

The Haradrim held their shields up in front of them, but they could not block the endless arrows that rained down upon them. Many fell upon the fields, and did not rise again. However, they did not seemed too discouraged. At a command from one of their men, they stopped suddenly, dropped their shields, and drew their bows. Then, they fitted arrows upon the strings, and loosed them upon the city of Minas Tirith.

Faramir heard a quick shout from the commander to duck for cover, and raise their shields. Then, he saw arrows zipping overhead, far too many to count. Having no shield, he crouched behind the wall as well as he could, and held his bow out in front of him, though it was unlikely to offer any protection.

As the initial wave of arrows began tapering off, Faramir suddenly heard a loud cry next to him. His head snapped to his side, where Mergil had previously been standing. However, the boy was no longer there.

Faramir felt a rising dread consuming his mind, but as the last arrows fell, he crawled slowly to the edge of the wall, and looked down. Mergil lay at the foot of the wall, a single arrow piercing his heart.