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Chapter Sixteen – The Battle for Minas Tirith

Lord Elrond tapped his fingers on his desk. He was hosting a young prince, the same one who'd befriended the missing daughter of his old friend. The boy had been devastated to discover that the girl was gone, his father disappointed; he'd hoped that the pair would fall in love and be bound to one another, a hope that many, including himself, had shared. He sighed, he had to hope that the girl's disappearance didn't break the young prince.

In Minas Tirith Aica found most of her time taken up training with Imrahil's men. The prince had taken Faramir's word that she could be trusted and had asked her to join his forces; when the time came, she would ride alongside the Knights of Dol Amroth. Imrahil and his second-in-command, Dernor, found Aica armour that fit her well enough, and allowed her to fight in the way she had always done. A light breastplate covered her chest, her shoulders and forearms protected by reinforced leather armour. As well as training with the knights Aica spent time with Pippin, sharing stories of their adventures since they had last seen one another. The hobbit was delighted at how Aica had changed; she was more open, more cheerful, more likely to crack a joke than to threaten death on an ally.

Two mornings after their desperate flight from Osgiliath Aica joined Gandalf and Faramir in the throne room to watch Pippin swear to serve the Steward of Gondor. "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor." Pippin declared, down on one knee in front of the Steward's throne. "In peace or war, in living or dying." Pippin continued, stuttering through the next words. " F... from...from...from this hour henceforth until my lord release me or death take me."
"And I shall not forget it." Denethor rose from his seat. "Nor fail to reward that which is given." He held his hand in front of Pippin's face, so the hobbit could kiss his ring. Aica shifted uncomfortably, in her opinion the steward was acting too much like a king. Denethor put a hand under Pippin's chin, forcing the hobbit to look up at him. "Fealty with love. Valour with honour." He took a seat at the table that had been prepared for him. "Disloyalty with vengeance." Glancing up at Faramir, before filling his plate, Denethor addressed his son. "I do not think we should so lightly abandon the outer defences. Defences that your brother long held intact."
"What would you have me do?" Faramir asked. Aica could hear the despair in his voice.
"I will not yield the river in Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken." Denethor decided.
Faramir spoke up before Aica, catching her arm as she stepped forward to speak. "My Lord, Osgiliath is overrun." Faramir stated.
"Much must be risked in war." Denethor continued. "Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his Lord's will?"
Faramir was silent, processing his father's words. "You wish now that our places had been exchanged. That I had dies and Boromir had lived."
"Yes." Denethor whispered. "I wish that."
"Since you were robbed of Boromir... I will do what I can in his stead." Faramir bowed and began to leave, before turning back to address his father. "If I should return, think better of me father." He began to walk away again, pulling Aica with him.
"That will depend on the manner of your return." Denethor call after him.

Outside the hall Aica pulled her arm free from Faramir's grip, who turned to look at her. "Speaking up would only get you thrown in jail." He said before she could say anything. "I need you to help protect my people."
"Help who?" She asked. "Your father is sending you to your death."
"You don't know that." Faramir argued.
"I do, I do know that." Aica continued. "You said it yourself, Osgiliath is over-run. Going back there means certain death."
Faramir shook his head. "I must obey my Lord's command."
"No, you don't." Aica declared. "Your father is not thinking clearly. If you ride for Osgiliath you will not return."
"Nonetheless I must go." Faramir sighed. "But I know I can count on you to stand with Imrahil."
Aica nodded. "You can."
"Thank you." Faramir squeezed her shoulder.
"Faramir!" Aica called as he began to walk away. He paused and looked back at her. "Good luck."
Faramir gave a slight smile. "You too."

Aica watched Faramir walk away. Footsteps behind her announced Gandalf's arrival. "How can Denethor do this?" She asked quietly. "Parents are supposed to protect their children."
Gandalf sighed. "He is blind to much."
Aica shook her head, moving to lean on the wall overlooking the city. "My father would have given anything to protect me."
Gandalf looked at her in surprise. "You remember your father?"
Aica began to pace. "No, but I know that he would. More than that my heart is telling me that. Do you have any idea what it is like, Gandalf? To have no idea where you come from, if the people who love you still remain, if they still remember you." She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "Every time I think I remember something it slips away. It's like trying to grasp sand; it slips through your fingers until all you are left with is grains, fragments that don't quite fit together. I want to know, I want to remember who I am, where I come from., but I can't."
Gandalf stopped Aica's pacing. "You will, you have to believe that."
Aica let out a long breath, tears forming in her eyes. "I hope you're right. All I want is a place to belong."

Later that day Aica stood with Imrahil, watching Faramir ride down the levels of the city. "I fear for my nephew." Imrahil said, sighing. "He always was like his mother."
"I fear for all of the free peoples of Middle Earth." Aica replied. "The forces of Mordor will not stop until we are all dead."
Imrahil clapped Aica on the shoulder. "We will hold out for as long as we can."
"And what then?" Aica asked. "What happens when we can't hold out any longer."
Imrahil chuckled. "You really have a negative outlook, don't you?"
Aica shrugged. "I just know what Sauron is capable of. I've seen it."
Imrahil let out a long breath. "We'll just have to hope."
"Yes, we will." Aica folded her arms. "Hope is all we have left now."

Early the next day Aica and Imrahil were in the war room making plans when a commotion outside caught their attention. They hurried out to the courtyard just as Denethor emerged from the throne room. "Faramir!" He hurried towards the stretcher bearing the body of his son. "Say not that he has fallen." He crouched down as the stretcher was lowered to the ground.
"They were outnumbered, none survived." The Gondorian captain who'd escorted the stretcher from the gate explained.
Beyond the walls Aica heard a shout from an orc ordering catapults to be fired. Aica hurried to the edge if the parapet in time to see the heads of the fallen soldiers flying into the city. The soldiers below made sounds of fear and dismay.
"My sons are spent!" Aica turned back at Denethor's sobs.
Pippin crouched at Faramir's side as Denethor moved away. "He's alive!" The hobbit called.
"The House of Stewards has failed." Denethor continued, ignoring Pippin.
"He needs medicine My Lord." Pippin called urgently.
"My line has ended!" The steward cried as he reached the battlements and saw, for the first time, the army bearing down on the city.
"My Lord!" Pippin called once more.
Denethor stared at the army assembled before the walls of Minas Tirith. "Rohan has deserted us." He rasped. The orcs fired their catapults again, this time sending rocks flying into the walls and towers of the city. "Theoden's betrayed me." The orcs reloaded and fired again, the rocks crashing into the city, sending debris and dust raining down on the defenders. The screams of the panicked citizens rose from the streets below. "Abandon your posts!" Denethor cried suddenly. "Flee! Flee for your lives!"
Denethor turned back to look at his son and suddenly Gandalf's staff made contact with the steward's face, and then his stomach, knocking him out.
"Prepare for battle!" Gandalf ordered.

Aica and Imrahil returned to the war room and, in silence, they strapped on their weapons and armour, helping each other where necessary. Once everything was in place Aica tied half her hair up in a braid, in much the same way Legolas wore his hair.
The pair stepped back outside. Aica could hear Gandalf rallying soldier throughout the city. Aica and Imrahil were joined by Dernor and made their way to the battlements on the lower levels.
Once at the battlements Aica joined the archers from Dol Amroth. The sound of the orc's drums rolled over the defenders of Minas Tirith.
Gandalf gave the order and the catapults launched their missiles into the orcs.
As the rubble fired from Minas Tirith hit the ranks of orcs the orcs panicked but held their positions as they returned fire with their own catapults.
The Gondorians were using rubble from their own city as ammunition for the catapults. Soldiers who were not on duty were called out to battle, many of the strapping on their armour as they hurried to the battlements.
Aica stood with the archers from Dol Amroth, waiting for the orcs to get close enough to the walls from them to fire their arrows.

Some of the rubble from Minas Tirith hit the siege towers that were being pushed towards the city, but not enough. Then, with an ear-piercing shriek, the Nazgul descended on the city. Many soldiers covered their ears, trying to block out the noise, cowering in fear. The winged beasts were deliberate in their attacks, using their powerful talons to crush the Gondorian catapults and to pluck soldiers from the battlements and dropping them to their deaths.
"Hold them back! Do not give into fear!" Gandalf cried, his voice echoing throughout the city. "Stand to your posts! Fight!"
The Nazgul continued to target both soldiers and catapults, the arrows that archers fired seemingly having no effect on the beats.
The archers in Gondor released their arrows as the siege towers came within their range. The towers were heavily armoured, and their arrows could not pierce them. "Not at the towers!" Gandalf cried, joining one group of archers. "Aim for the trolls, kill the trolls! Bring them down!" The archers shifted their aim to aim for the trolls, but it was too late.

The towers reached the walls, their ramps crashing down. Dust and debris flew from the damaged wall, obscuring the orcs as they swarmed into the city. Imrahil and Dernor drew their swords, Aica drew her knives, and they threw themselves into the battle.
Despite being hopelessly outnumbered the defenders fought valiantly and, for a time, managed to keep the orcs at bay.
Blood quickly began to coat the armour of the soldiers and the cobbles of the city.
Aica and Imrahil fought side by side, they'd lost Dernor somewhere in the melee. Around them the Knights of Dol Amroth fought just as fiercely.
Imrahil cut down a particularly large orc. "I don't know how long we can hold out!"
"As long as we can." Aica declared.
Suddenly a crash sounded from the gates. Aica caught a look over the battlements. "They're trying to break down the gates." She stated.
Imrahil cut down the last of the orcs that had stormed the section of battlements they defended. "It's going to take a lot more than a simple battering ram to breach the gates of Minas Tirith." He informed her.
Aica took a deep breath. "I hope you're right."
The pair looked out over the plain of Pelennor. They had a long fight ahead of them.