Disclaimer: Tolkien owns everything in this story.
Author's Note: I have had this idea in the back of my mind for a while. Ah, being inspired to write fan-fiction in World History. I love being a geek. This is rather short, and the actual action probably only takes, oh, three minutes or less.
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The men were tired. That was all there was to it. They did not want to go on, and they did not want to risk their lives in another skirmish.
"My lord, I am sure that if we remain quiet, they will not spot us. We could simply wait out the night at camp," Mablung pleaded in vain, even as he and the rest of the Ithilien rangers made ready to fight.
The men were murmuring with discontent to each other. Morale had been low ever since the Lord Boromir's death had been make known. They had slept only sparingly the past few days, and wanted nothing more to dream in peace for a night.
Faramir sighed. He wanted just as much as his other men to curl up and let sleep overtake him. He could not, though. These were not just only his orders, but it was necessary- letting Orcs go would only lead to more troubles later. As much as he disliked this, he would dislike it even more if these returned as part of a larger company.
The men stared at him, hoping against hope that he would let them return back to camp. Instead, he gave the order to advance.
There was no response.
A few men looked uneasy, and most felt sorry for their Captain- they did not wish to cause him grief, for he was a good man and treated his soldiers well, and a few stirred apprehensively. Still, they would not move.
Faramir understood. They refused. They refused, but he could not abandon his orders, or the protection of Gondor. His head swam, and for a moment he closed his eyes and let his breath out. Then, with grim resolve, he turned around. Giving a great battle-cry, drew his sword, the hard steel glinting coldly in the moonlight, and sprang through the trees towards the Orcs.
The men were startled, and watched with sick horror.
"Does he really mean to…" one solider stammered.
"He's going to get himself killed!" cried Mablung.
And then, signaled by nothing but love, they charged after their Captain.
---End---
Author's Endnote: History buffs will note that inspiration from this story is drawn from Alexander the Great. His troops were already rich and content with their conquest, so he had to leap over the wall to get them to attack. (I don't know whether or not this is in that movie they made about him, as I haven't seen it.)