Disclaimer: Based on LOTR. Don't own anything in here although my Muse helped me create Seana.

The first seed of this story popped into my head when I was listening to "World's on Fire" by Sarah McLachlan. If you know the lyrics, you'll see some of them absorbed into the dialogue of this story. My apologies to Ms. McLachlan – her rendition is far more eloquent than mine – so I hope she will forgive me.

Fallen

It shouldn't have taken this long to die. Lying in the hot sun, Seana's lips felt cracked and her tongue was no more than a lump of clay in her mouth. The past two days were little more than a hazy mirage in her mind. The battle for Minas Tirith was one that would be recorded in song and legend for ages to come.

Her name would not be part of those songs, those tales. She knew that, but she was not bitter. She would be part of the whole tapestry. When tales were told about the valor of the soldiers of Gondor, and how they were willing to die fighting against unbeatable odds, she would be among those nameless fallen heroes.

The sharp pain of her wounds wasn't as pronounced as before. Now it was merely a throbbing steady pain. In her thigh was an Orc arrow; the shaft snapped and there was no way to get it out, but that was the least of her problems. The other arrow, which was buried deeply in her side, was a fatal shot and she knew it. The slash from an Orc scimitar that flared across her middle was merely an afterthought.

"Here," a voice cried. "This one is alive!"

Seana turned her head slowly and squinted, and realized the Healer was talking about her. Judging by the solemn expression on the elder Healer, Seana guessed she wouldn't be alive for long. They picked her up and put her gently on a litter. The trip back to the White City was nothing less than excruciating. Each shift, each stumble sent another lance of pain through her. The only relief was the one moment they stopped and the younger Healer squeezed a little bit of water into her parched mouth. Seana managed a wan smile, grateful for the small kindness.

The next two days blended into a turbulent stream of pain, medicine and delirium. Once, she thought she remembered hearing a Healer talking about her. Talking about how surprising it was she had not succumbed to death yet. Submerged in her pain, Seana's mind wandered among her memories. She remembered Boromir, Captain of Gondor and Heir of the Steward, standing proudly atop the walls of Osgiliath when they drove the Orcs out.

But Captain Boromir is dead, she remembered. It is Captain Faramir who will be Steward after Denethor's time has passed... Then she shuddered as the horrific memory returned – the memory of Faramir, riddled with arrows, being dragged back through the gates of Minas Tirith by his mount after trying to retake Osgiliath with too few men. A tear escaped down her cheek.

In the hallway, Aragorn saw Faramir. The young Steward moved a little stiffly; he had only been allowed out of his bed two days before. Aragorn hurried down the hallway to catch up to him.

"Faramir!"

The newly appointed Steward of Gondor turned to look at his new King. His eyes were sad.

"You seem to be feeling better today," said Aragorn.

"I am. Each day I feel stronger. I was going to walk in the Houses of Healing," said Faramir. "Visit the men. Thank them for all they have done."

Aragorn nodded. He liked Faramir although he had only known him a few days. The young Steward was serious and loyal, and obviously cared deeply not only about his city, but also about the men in his service.

"I would walk with you, if you are willing." Aragorn, too, wanted to thank these men. They were his subjects and they made these sacrifices to protect his country. The public acclaim and crowning would come later – later if the gods allowed Frodo to succeed in his mission – but word that the King had returned was already dancing through the White City.

"I would be honored, my Lord." Faramir bowed slightly at the waist and his eyes tightened as the partially healed wound in his side stretched.

Together, the two men turned a corner and came to one of the many rooms in the Houses of Healing. The walls were white but covered with tapestries. Each bed had a small table near it and on each table a small bowl and also a cluster of lavender flowers. The scent of lavender lay lightly on the room, just enough to be sensed and to help a person relax.

Very few beds were filled but Faramir went in nonetheless. He would have felt guilty if he had passed this room by simply because it was not full to the seams.

"Faramir, is that a woman?"

Faramir turned toward where Aragorn was looking. He flinched and sighed, and Aragorn looked at him curiously. Obviously, the Steward recognized the woman.

Seana, who was sleeping lightly, felt their presence at the edge of the bed and slowly opened her eyes. She looked for a moment at Aragorn, studying his face and then she shifted her eyes to Faramir and they widened in surprise.

"Captain," she said softly. "You're alive? I saw you after Osgiliath. When your horse returned..."

"I was barely alive," he answered, "but the Healers used their skill, as did my Lord Aragorn. And I'm sure the Healers shall do the same for you."

Seana's brow furrowed. "My Lord? I am lost; there is nothing the Healers can do for me. Did you not see the symbol on the door?"

Both men turned to look and their hearts sank. Carved on the door was a setting sun; the symbol that marked the doors of rooms where those who wait to cross the threshold of death were gathered. The door had been open and neither man had bothered to look before they entered. When they turned back, both looked guilty.

"Do not look so," she said. "It was an honest mistake. But tell me..." She looked at Aragorn. "I have heard that the King has returned to Gondor..."

"Indeed he has," said Aragorn.

Seana looked at him steadily. She was dying and felt no compunction to be subservient. Then she looked at Faramir. "Do you serve him, my Captain?"

"I do," said Faramir. "Lord Aragorn has my loyalty."

"Then he has mine as well, for if you accept him as King, I will not question your wisdom." She let her head sink down in her pillow a little further.

"You are Seana, are you not?" said Faramir. "You served with my brother, Boromir, and then with my two companies."

"I am honored that you remember me, Captain." Although, it is not hard to remember the name of the one woman serving as a soldier in Ithilien, she thought to herself.

"You are an excellent tracker," said Faramir, and then he looked at Aragorn, adding, "And one of the better archers if my memory serves."

The corners of Seana's mouth curled slightly. While it might seem prideful for her to agree, Faramir was right. Seana had been born in Ithilien to a woodsman and his wife, and she could track nearly any quarry. Her archery skills were above average as well, but if pressed she would have to concede that her sword-work was ordinary at best.

"But it is your loyalty and devotion to Gondor that fixed you in my memory. There are not many women who serve as a soldier of Gondor. I remember you took the men to task over loyalty and love one night..."

Seana shifted slightly, making sure the blade of her dagger still rested in the heart of the flames, and then down at the gash on her arm. It was still bleeding although it was clean. If it stayed open it would surely become infected.

"And why do you serve?"

Seana knew the question was meant for her. "For love of my Captain and..." she started to say.

"Ho, ho! For love of the Captain?" laughed one man who had only recently joined the group. "Ah, no matter what a woman's thoughts are always on love. What, do you think to make the son of the Steward notice you? Fall in love with you?" He started to laugh and Seana's face turned red.

In the shadows, just outside the firelight, Beregond started to step forward. Faramir put his hand to his friend's chest.

"No," he said, whispering. "I would hear her answer."

Seana stood up and the man stepped back a pace when he saw her angry expression. "I have heard you boast many times of your love for Captain Boromir," she said. "Does this mean you take the field, hoping he will notice you? Hoping, perhaps, that he would return your love? I fear you will be disappointed for from what I have seen, Captain Boromir prefers women to men when it comes to love of that nature."

"How dare you!" His eyes were rotten with indignation.

"How dare you?" she snapped back. She gestured at the half circle of soldiers who had gathered. "You. All of you. You have said on many a night, and many an eve of battle that you love Captain Boromir. That you love Captain Faramir and would follow him unto death if he asked you. You speak freely of your love for Gondor, and for the White City, and you are admired for it. Respected for it. Yet when I say I love Captain Faramir, you think I want nothing more than to have him in my bed?"

A few of the men looked away.

"My Lord Faramir is meant for a more noble woman than I. He is the son of the Steward and someday will marry a princess or other fine lady, and when he finds her, I will wish them well and I will serve with no less devotion or pride. Can I not love my Captain and my country in the same way you do? Is my devotion and loyalty less than yours? Is my strength and the steel in my soul less than yours because I am a woman?"

Seana bent and snatched the dagger from the fire, and as the men gasped and cried out in unison, she pressed the glowing blade to the open wound on her arm, burning the flesh and cauterizing the flesh. She did not cry out, but the tears that coursed down her face spoke of the pain.

Seana saw the respect that dawned in Aragorn's eyes and she could have received no greater gift from her King, and yet, sorrow filled her at the same time, and as her wound pained her enough to make her grimace.

"I have heard the rumors," she said. "We have driven the Orcs away but they will return from Mordor. They say the One Ring has been found. If it falls back into the hands of Sauron then all of our blood, our pain... it will have been for naught."

"Do not despair," said Aragorn. "There is hope yet." He thought of Frodo, as did Faramir. Both knew that if the young Hobbit failed, then Seana's words would become truth. During the short silence, Seana turned her head to look at the window. Outside the sun was bright but dark columns of smoke scarred the air. The fires were out, but the ruins of Minas Tirith still smoldered, a grim reminder of what had happened and what might still come.

"The world's on fire," Seana said sorrowfully, "and it's more than I can handle. I've tried to bring my share of water. I try to bring more, more than I can handle. The light has fallen amongst the living and the dying." She thought of that first night, lying on the cold, hard ground, listening to the sounds of soldiers dying around her. Listening to them call for their wives, their children. There was no one for her to call for.

"I watch the heavens but I find no calling. Something I can do to change what's coming..." Suddenly, a spasm of pain tore through Seana. She gasped and her green eyes rolled back in her head. She clutched at the sheets. Both Faramir and Aragorn leaped to their feet, for both men hand found chairs to use while they spoke with Seana. A stain of red began to appear on the linen sheet that covered Seana.

Her bandage needs to be redressed, thought Faramir. There were bandages on the lower shelf of her table. As a Captain, he was well versed in dressing wounds, and he pulled back the sheet. But when he saw what was below the sheet he paled and gently lowered the sheet back down. How can she still be alive? I have seen men die on the field from wounds far less than this.

"As you can see," said Seana stoically, "there is ample reason for me to be here and not with the healers..." She gasped and clutched at the sheets again. It cannot be long now, she thought.

"Why did you join the soldiers?" asked Aragorn. "Why did you sacrifice so much knowing in the end you would be but one of many nameless souls returned to earth? That there would be no chance for you to love or laugh again."

"And if Sauron gains the ring, who will be able to do any of those things? Leave love to the young, where it springs anew each day. I have had my fill of love. Hearts break, hearts mend. Love still hurts... And yet, I hear the Healers when they think I am asleep. There's still talk of saving souls even while the cold is closing in around us."

She started to cough, her body racked by convulsions. Without thinking, Faramir took her hand. With his free hand, he took the earthenware mug from her table. There was water in it. He propped Seana's head and gave her a sip.

"Is there anything I can get for you, Seana?" asked Faramir. "You have given so much."

She shook her head. "No, but I thank you for the offer. The veil parts for me, and I have earned enough debts on my soul. The more we take the less we become. The fortune of one man means less for some."

Silence hovered in the room for a long moment and Seana again looked at the window. "The sun seems dimmer," she said in a soft voice. Her eyes wandered the room, unfocused, for a moment. Faramir and Aragorn looked at each other.

"Thank you, Captain, for staying with me. I don't want to be left alone. I don't want to die alone. At least out on the Pelannor, the other soldiers were around me."

"We will both stay with you," said Aragorn. "I promise you, you will not be alone."

Seana's breathing became more labored and she began to shake. Faramir held Seana's hand. He had done this far too often in his relatively young life, and watching a life slip away through his fingers never got easier. Seana's trembling became harder and her face paled; her wounds felt as if they were on fire.

She gripped Faramir's hand and suddenly her shaking stopped. She turned her head, her green eyes meeting his grey ones as a sudden stillness settled over her. The sun grew dimmer and she struggled to see her Captain's face, as if that would anchor her in this world. A moment later, she gasped once and Aragorn and Faramir watched as the life dimmed in her eyes, disappearing forever. The two men were silent for a moment, and when they looked up at each other neither tried to hide the dampness that graced their eyelashes.

"I would have her buried as a Lord," said Faramir, "if you will grant me that, Lord Aragorn. She is the heart of Gondor, a small sliver of its living soul. In her you see the heart and the loyalty of those who would pledge themselves to you." He looked down at the lifeless body before him. "Gondor is diminished without her."

In the end, Seana was more than a nameless soldier. Her songs were sung and her name remembered. Faramir created a garden alcove off of the main square of Minas Tirith. At the far side of the garden was a marble tomb. The base was carved to look as if it were a table with a cloth draped over it. Lying on top of the table was a carved likeness of Seana. Her eyes were closed, her face serene. She was dressed in the uniform of a Captain, a title bestowed upon her posthumously by King Elessar. Her hands held the pommel of her sword. To her side on the left was a carved quiver of arrows; to her right was her shield. On that shield, four words were engraved:

Loyalty

Love

Sacrifice

Honor

It became tradition among the soldiers of Gondor to visit her tomb when they first pledged their service to the King or when they were about to leave for battle. They would come solemnly, reverently and say whatever prayers they felt appropriate. But before each left he would go up and touch each word engraved on Seana's shield, saying each aloud as his fingers ran over the carved letters.

Thanks for reading this story. This one is a single-shot deal. I'm not planning any other chapters. This all came to me in a rush and I'd really like to hear what you think. Please read/review!