Once Alana was out of the doors she ran after Faramir's quickly retreating form. Alana sprinted down the stone corridor, her footsteps echoing loudly in the empty space. She caught up to Faramir just as he was about to descend the stairs leading to the courtyard.
"Faramir, wait!" she called out breathlessly, reaching for his arm.
He turned, surprised to see her. "Alana, what are you doing? You heard my father's orders."
"I don't care what he says," Alana replied fiercely, her grip tightening on his sleeve. "I'm not letting you ride off to Osgiliath alone. I'm coming with you."
Faramir's eyes softened as he gazed down at her determined face. "Alana, it's too dangerous."
"I don't care! I can't bear the thought of losing another person I love!" Alana lifted her chin defiantly. "I won't stand by and let you face this alone!"
Faramir was silent for a long moment, an internal war raging behind his gray eyes. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and turned to gaze at Alana.
"Alana," he said softly, his voice husky with feeling. "I have battled with my heart, but I can no longer deny what it yearns to confess." He took a step closer to her, gently taking her delicate hands in his. "From the moment I first beheld you, I was captivated. Your strength, your courage, your fierce beauty - they have ensnared me, body and soul."
"Faramir…" She breathed.
"Which is why I cannot allow you to follow me. My father is right, you need to stay here." Faramir continued.
Alana's emerald eyes flashed with hurt and anger. "How can you say that? After everything? After last night?"
"It is because of that I cannot bear the thought of any harm befalling you," Faramir insisted, his voice rough with emotion. "If anything happened to you, Alana... it would destroy me utterly."
"It can't destroy you if you are dead! That would destroy me!" Alana retorted, tears glistening on her lashes. "Faramir, please. Let me stand by your side!"
Faramir closed his eyes, his brow furrowed as if in pain. "Alana, I..."
But she silenced him by pressing a slender finger to his lips. "Do not make me defy you, my lord," she whispered. "For I will follow you, whether you permit it or not. I am yours, Faramir. In life and in death."
A shuddering sigh escaped him and he gathered her close, burying his face in her raven hair. What she didn't see was that he had signaled to the guards standing at the doors of the throne room.
Alana felt Faramir's strong arms encircle her, holding her tightly against his broad chest. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to be lost in his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent of leather and pine. But then she sensed movement behind her.
Before she could react, rough hands seized her arms, yanking her away from Faramir's hold. She cried out in shock and fury, struggling against the iron grip of the guards.
"Faramir!" she screamed, feeling a sense of betrayal slice through her heart. "What are you doing?""
Faramir's face was a mask of anguish as he watched the guards restrain her. "Forgive me," he said hoarsely. "But I will not have you follow me."
"Faramir, don't do this! I beg of you!" Alana raged, hot tears now streaming down her face. She kicked and thrashed with all her might, but the guards held her fast.
Faramir stepped forward, gently cupping her face in his hands. "I'm sorry." he murmured, his thumbs tenderly brushing away her tears.
Alana stared at him in disbelief, her heart shattering into a thousand pieces. How could he do this to her? After all they had been through together? "If you leave me behind, you will destroy me just the same," she choked out between sobs.
Faramir's resolve seemed to waver for a moment, his eyes filled with torment. But then his expression hardened once more. "Better to live with a broken heart than to perish needlessly by my side," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I do this because I love you, Alana. More than my own life."
He leaned in and pressed a fierce, desperate kiss to her lips. Alana wanted to lose herself in that kiss, to forget the cruel reality that was tearing them apart. But all too soon, Faramir pulled away.
With a nod to the guards, he turned and strode towards the doors, his crimson cloak billowing behind him. Alana watched him go, a wail of anguish building in her throat.
Just before he disappeared from view, Faramir paused and looked back at her. In his eyes, she saw a world of sorrow and regret, mingled with unwavering love and determination. Then he was gone, the heavy doors slamming shut with a resounding finality.
Alana sagged in the guards' grasp, her strength and will to fight draining away. Tears flowed unchecked down her face as despair crashed over her in relentless waves. How was she to go on, knowing Faramir was riding into grave peril without her by his side?
The guards, their task complete, released her and stepped back. Alana sank to her knees on the cold stone floor, hugging herself as violent sobs wracked her body. She felt hollow, shattered, as if Faramir had taken her very heart with him.
Time lost all meaning as she wept, the shadows lengthening and the light fading from the windows high above. A part of her wished to remain there forever, to let her grief consume her until nothing remained. But deep within, a small, insistent voice urged her not to surrender to despair. Faramir had sacrificed everything to protect her - she could not let that be in vain.
Slowly, painfully, Alana dragged herself to her feet. Her legs trembled and her vision swam with tears, but she forced herself to take one step, then another. She would not let Faramir's noble act break her. She would find a way to honor his love and carry on, no matter how bleak the future seemed.
With grim determination, Alana made her way back to her chambers. There she pulled on her heaviest armor that she had brought. Even though Faramir had left for Osgiliath there was still a battle that would rage on at the city.
As Alana strode through the stone halls of the citadel, her mind raced with thoughts of Faramir. His kind eyes, his gentle smile, the tender moments they had shared before duty pulled him away to defend their people. A fierce love burned in her heart, driving her onward. She would not sit idly while he risked all.
She found Gandalf on the ramparts giving out orders as they prepared for battle. Gandalf turned as Alana approached, his keen eyes taking in her battle-ready attire and tear-streaked face. "My lady," he said gently, "I know your heart grieves for Lord Faramir. But you must not let despair cloud your judgment."
Alana met the wizard's gaze, a fierce determination burning in her eyes despite the anguish that still gripped her. "I will not hide myself away while others fight and die for our cause," she declared, her voice steady. "If I cannot ride to Faramir's aid, then I shall stand and defend this city to my last breath. It is what he would want me to do."
Gandalf regarded her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "You have the true spirit of a Dunedain," he said, respect and understanding in his tone. "Very well. Take your place on the walls and rally the defenders. Your presence will give them heart in the battle to come."
With a grateful dip of her head, Alana turned and made her way along the ramparts. As she passed the soldiers manning their posts, she met their eyes and offered words of encouragement, her own courage bolstering their resolve. Men who had begun to despair at the sight of the vast enemy host arrayed before them found new strength in the lady's indomitable spirit.
It wasn't long after she had found her post that there were calls for the gates to open.
"It's Lord Faramir! Hurry we have to get him to Denethor!"
The name echoed through the air, barely audible from her distant vantage point atop the wall. But she knew that voice, recognized it immediately as one of the men at the front gates. Lord Faramir. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of him and she fought to see past the crowd to catch a glimpse of his face. Looking down she saw a lone horse, dragging it's rider behind it. Two arrows stuck out of the side of the armor that the soldier wore.
"Faramir..." The name escaped her lips in a hushed whisper as she frantically searched for Gandalf.
Finally spotting the wizard, she rushed towards him, her heart racing with fear and concern.
"Gandalf! Faramir has returned...but he is badly wounded. They are taking him to Denethor!" She cried out, desperation lacing her voice.
Gandalf's eyes widened with alarm at Alana's words. "I must go to him at once," the wizard declared, his voice grave. "Denethor's grief may drive him to desperate acts if he believes his son beyond aid."
"I will come with you," Alana insisted, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her sword. They both took off at the pace of a run, wanting to beat the guards to the upper courtyards.
As they raced through the winding streets of Minas Tirith, Alana's mind was consumed with worry for Faramir. The sight of him slumped over his horse, pierced by enemy arrows, was seared into her memory. She prayed silently to the Valar that they would reach him in time.
At last they arrived at the courtyard outside the citadel where Pippin lay crouched over Faramir's body, calling that he was alive. Her eyes searched for the Steward to find him close to the edge of the Courtyard overlooking the entire city.
"ABANDON YOUR POSTS!" he screamed, his arms outstretched, his crazed eyes looking down at the soldiers below. "FLEE! FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!"
The soldiers in the courtyard froze, confusion washing over their faces as they glanced up at their Steward, uncertain whether to obey his command or stay at their posts. The madness in Denethor's voice sent ripples of fear through the ranks. Denethor turned back, his eyes wild and something snapped in Alana.
She couldn't just stand by and watch Denethor unravel everything they'd fought for. Before Gandalf could act, Alana reached out and yanked the staff from his hands, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Alana, what are you—?" Gandalf started, his voice sharp with surprise, but Alana was already moving.
Without a second thought, she swung the staff with all her strength, the white wood making a satisfying crack as it hit Denethor square in the face. He stumbled backward, clutching his nose in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Alana, her face set in a mask of barely controlled fury, wielded Gandalf's staff with precision. Without hesitation, she brought it down again, this time across Denethor's back, sending him crashing to the stone floor with a painful thud.
The entire courtyard fell silent. Denethor lay on the ground, groaning in pain, his body curled up in a defeated heap. Alana stood over him, breathing heavily, her knuckles white as she gripped the staff. Her eyes were blazing with anger, but there was no satisfaction in her expression—only cold, simmering rage.
Gandalf, watching in surprise but not without a glimmer of approval, extended his hand. Alana turned to him, her eyes softening slightly as she silently handed the staff back to him. She didn't say a word, but the look in her eyes said everything. Gandalf nodded, understanding the depth of her frustration, and took the staff from her without comment.
Without sparing Denethor another glance, Alana spun on her heel and rushed to Faramir's side. Her heart pounded in her chest as she knelt beside him, her hands immediately going to his face, feeling for any sign of life. Faramir's skin was pale, his breath shallow, and the heat radiating from his fevered body was overwhelming.
"Faramir," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "Hold on. Please."
"Prepare for battle. Hurry men! To the wall! Defend the wall! Over here! Return to your posts." Gandalf called, hoping to negate the damage Denethor's words had caused.
Gandalf, now beside her, placed a hand on her shoulder as he assessed Faramir's condition. Alana's hands shook as she smoothed Faramir's hair away from his face, willing him to wake up, to speak, to do anything that would tell her he wasn't slipping away from her.
Behind her, Denethor groaned, trying to lift himself off the floor. Alana's attention, however, remained fixed on Faramir. Nothing else mattered—not Denethor's madness, not the chaos around them—only the man lying in her arms, fighting for his life.
"We need to get him out of here," Gandalf said quietly, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "The Houses of Healing can help him."
Alana nodded, her jaw tight with determination. She wouldn't let Faramir die here, not like this, not after everything he had endured. She would fight for him, just as she had fought for him all this time.
"Stay with me, Faramir," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the soldiers beginning to reassemble below. "You don't get to give up that easily."
"Gandalf, go. The men need you." Alana urged, knowing that the battle was starting. The roar could be heard from the fields at the front gates.
Gandalf hesitated for a moment, torn between his duty to defend the city and his concern for Faramir. But Alana's words rang true—the men needed his guidance now more than ever. With a final, reassuring squeeze of Alana's shoulder, the wizard rose to his feet and hurried away, his staff in hand and his voice booming out orders as he went.
Alana turned her attention back to Faramir, her heart aching at the sight of his pallid face and labored breathing. She knew she had to act fast if she was to save him. The men carrying the stretcher hesitated for a moment before she yelled at them to get moving.
The journey to the Houses of Healing seemed to stretch on forever, each step a battle against time and the chaos that engulfed the city. Soldiers rushed past them, their faces grim and their weapons at the ready, while the sounds of battle grew ever louder in the distance.
At last, they reached the sanctuary of the Houses of Healing, bursting through the doors right behind Faramir. The healers inside looked up in surprise, their eyes widening at the sight of their Captain.
"Quickly, bring him here," the chief healer instructed, gesturing to an empty bed. The men carrying Faramir's stretcher hurried over and carefully transferred him onto the clean white sheets.
Alana rushed to Faramir's side, grasping his hand in hers as the healers began their work. They cut away his blood-soaked tunic, revealing the grievous wound in his chest. Alana's breath caught in her throat at the sight, but she forced herself to remain calm.
The healers worked with expert precision, cleaning the wound and applying healing salves and poultices. They murmured ancient incantations, their hands glowing with a soft light as they channeled their healing magic into Faramir's battered body.
"There isn't much you can do other than wait my lady." One of the healers told her, guiding her out of the way.
"Will her make it?" She breathed.
"We don't know for certain. But you have duties elsewhere. This city can use every soldier it can get." The healer told her, ushering her out the door.