The road was already heavily trodden and deeply rutted by the time I made it outside the city. A light rain fell that filled the ruts with dirty, rank water that had likely already been there for some time. Wagons full of wounded troops were accompanied by columns of those able to walk, their hobbling march like that of dead men. All of them had the same haunted look in their eyes; a look that, though eerily vacant, was filled with an unspeakable terror of the horrors they had seen. Most of the soldiers were missing armor or weapons, and many of them wore blood-soaked bandages that were dirty and drew large black flies that buzzed lazily about them. The officers would occasionally look up at my passing, but they too had been scarred by war and almost immediately looked back at the ground when I met their gaze.
A sickly smell rose to my senses, too. Rotting, infected flesh, sweat, and the coppery odor of blood mixed with medicinal herbs in a combination that churned my stomach and forced me to cover my nose with a scarf.
I had been in enough battles to know that they were anything but glorious. The screams of the dying, the blood, the severed limbs lying to rot in the mud while their owners passed away into shadow... These in themselves were enough to make lesser men flee. But this was different. There was an overall feeling of hopelessness that pervaded the air that I had never before sensed after a battle.
"The road to Ithilien," I asked an officer who seemed more coherent than the others as I reined in my steed. "Is it safe?"
The officer, an older man sporting a short-cropped grey beard, shrugged as he helped one of his soldiers sit down against the low stone wall that ran along the road. "Can't rightly say, sir. They've been hitting Osgiliath hard though, you'll have to cross elsewhere. By now Cair Sirion may be under attack as well."
I gave a measured nod as I surveyed the road ahead. "Are the defenses still holding?"
The officer put pressure on the other soldier's wound with a blood-covered hand. "For now. We'll need reinforcements if we're to last though. We've been taking heavy casualties, as I'm sure you've noticed. Soon we won't have enough men to fill all of the gaps."
"That's where I'm headed," I replied reassuringly. "My orders are to pull the Rangers back to provide support."
"You better make for Ithilien then as if the Dark One himself is behind you," he grimaced as the younger soldier let out a cry of pain. "We won't last much longer."
As I rode away, I could tell that he meant more by those last words than just the army at Osgiliath.
=======================
The rest of the road was much the same, though in some places I noticed that the bodies of those who had been too weak to make the journey back had been left behind in the muck, some of them still moaning in pain as they crawled forward while others lie motionless with glassy eyes cast skyward. A thin veil of fog descended upon the road, and eventually I lost all sight of the men who most likely would never be seen among the living again.
I let out a shiver of revulsion as I pulled my cloak closer about me. I wanted to help the injured, but if I were to save those still standing in Osgiliath I couldn't afford to stop.
I took a small, little-known footbridge across the river just to the south of Osgiliath, careful to make sure I hadn't been seen crossing. Though it was far too narrow and too fragile for a contingent of soldiers to cross, the enemy was almost certainly watching it.
I slowed to a halt as I noticed a body hanging from a nearby tree. He wore the armor of a Gondorian soldier, but the Tree upon his breastplate was crudely scratched out and a sign hung from his neck that read "deserter". A feeling of nausea washed over me as I studied the expression of agony that would perpetually mar his young features. He was little more than a boy, perhaps 18 or 19. Killing deserters was almost unheard of, so desertion was most likely happening at an alarming rate for them to execute this unfortunate man. I surmised that they hung him here to deter others from attempting to flee across the bridge, though the fate that awaited them in the hands of the Enemy would have been far worse than hanging. He must have truly felt as if he had no choice if he had attempted to escape Gondor.
I continued on, eager to leave the grim scene behind. Almost immediately after I reached the other side of the bridge the terrain changed from grassland to thick forest, the clouds parting somewhat to let a few rays of weak, wan sunshine through. Though it was more beautiful and colorful than the grey, muddy road on the other side, the young deserter's face still filled my mind. The road grew less well traveled and more overgrown, and the trees pressed upon either side of it in a wall of green. An ambush could be around any corner, I thought to myself uneasily.
This was the enemy's territory. Though rangers still patrolled the forest, the road itself had been occupied for some time by the forces of Mordor. Dark-skinned Haradrim warriors from the south used it to travel to the Black Gate, their massive war beasts trodding heavily upon the road and keeping it from becoming completely overgrown. Orcs, too, used it to travel south to the coast, where they would raid or coerce the tribes there into serving the Dark Lord.
I had personally taken part in several skirmishes along it, the greatest of which involved nearly five hundred soldiers on each side. It had been the first time I had killed a man...
I was torn from my thoughts by a whistle just to the right of the path. I immediately drew my sword and wheeled my horse around, prepared to face whatever threat might be hiding.
"Who goes there?" I commanded, my tone harsh. I caught a flash as the sun reflected off of steel before a hooded man emerged from the underbrush, sword drawn as well. He wore no device on his garb, but his light beard and pale features suggested that he was of Gondorian heritage.
"What brings you to this forsaken land, guard of the Tower?" He asked with a grim smile. "This place belongs to Mordor."
"A bit green for a place tainted by the self-titled 'Dark Lord' don't you think?" I quipped wryly, sheathing my sword as a sign of peace. Though he could very well be one of the bandits that roamed the road, I decided to chance a guess that he wasn't. His sword was that of a Gondorian soldier, even if nothing else was. "I seek the captain of the rangers here."
He lowered his hood, releasing shoulder-length brown hair. "He's right behind ya."
I turned to see Faramir himself standing behind me, accompanied by several other rangers. Had I been an enemy, they easily could have killed me without me knowing it. I gave him a nod, attempting to hide my surprise, producing the missive from my belt. "I'm glad to see you well, Faramir. I have a message from your father."
The slightly older captain took it, looking me over with a measured eye. "I see father finally saw fit to recognize you for your service."
I dismounted from my steed, now at eye level with the rangers. "It took a near scrape with death, but yes. Alas that the war's taken a turn for the worse; Gondor needs more captains."
Faramir nodded in agreement. "Indeed, dark days lie ahead of us, old friend. The number of Haradrim passing through the forest has nearly doubled in recent days. They're preparing for an assault."
"Which is why I'm here," I began to explain. "You are to make for Osgiliath. Your men are needed there, and this forest is as good as fallen already. The missive states that I have authorization to take five of your men under my command for my own purposes."
He raised an eyebrow, giving me a curious look. "And what purposes would those be?"
I glanced around, shaking my head as I stepped closer. "Not here. Take me to your outpost. There, I shall explain my mission in full."
=======================================
The rangers led me off the road into the forest, following a path that only a skilled tracker could have seen. After a short time I lost all sense of direction, for it twisted and turned almost constantly as the trail maneuvered through the thick underbrush. I attempted as best as I could to avoid the brambles and thorns, but I was no ranger. I was soon sporting several scratches and was painfully attempting to extract a long black thorn from my thumb. One of the rangers, a tall man who would have been quite intimidating save his infectious smile, seemed to notice.
"You don't leave the cities much, do ya guardsman?" He asked with a subdued laugh.
I shook my head. "Not as much as I should like," I replied as I tried to hide a wince of pain.
"The thorns curve on the end; you won't easily remove it like that," He advised, producing a pair of small tweezers from a pouch at his side. "Use these."
"Thanks," I replied as he tossed them to me. Though still painful, the tweezers were easier to use than my fingers and I had soon removed the thorn. "What name do you go by?"
"Folk 'round here call me Strongarm," he smiled, flexing a bicep that was easily the circumference of a small tree. "But my name's Ohtar, if that's what you're asking."
"Ohtar," I murmured, mentally noting the name. He would make a good addition to my team. "A pleasure to meet you."
"If you think that, you don't know me well enough yet," He replied with a wry wink before moving ahead to the front of the line. Faramir noticed our exchange and nodded approvingly.
"Ohtar's one of our best," He stated as he adjusted the pack on his back. "A bit rough around the edges, but I have a feeling he's just the kind of soldier you're looking for."
"I agree," I nodded. "Once you know what we're doing, however, you might reconsider sending your best with me."
"My curiosity is piqued," Faramir replied. "We're almost there, though. I can wait a little longer."
It turned out that he was right. As we rounded a corner, I immediately saw several rangers standing guard over a small pool, a crystal-clear waterfall flowing into it from a cliffside far above us. They allowed us through as we made our way up a small path, watching me with keen eyes that nonetheless betrayed their surprise at seeing someone of my standing here.
Faramir and his men led me into a small, well-furnished grotto that sat behind the waterfall. From the direction of our approach, it hadn't even been visible until we were nearly upon it. Rangers hurried to and fro, some of them gathered around a large table upon which sat a crude map of the area.
"Now then," Faramir said as he came to a halt. "What is your mission?"
I explained to him as best as I could, careful to mention any details that I thought would be useful for him to know. He digested the information as I spoke, the expression on his face remaining unreadable. When I finished he gave me a slow nod.
"You know it's a suicide mission, most likely. Correct?"
I took a deep breath. "I had considered the chances of my team making it out unscathed. They certainly aren't high."
Faramir let out a grim laugh. "Not high? Cair Sirion is miles north of us. To get there you'll have to pass countless enemies making for Osgiliath themselves, armed for war and eager to kill any tark they see. And once you get there you'll have to get through a city that's most likely already under siege. If Eru is truly watching over you and somehow you've made it that far, you'll still have to find a way to destroy that bridge."
"I have a plan for that," I interjected. "But you're right. It will be difficult."
"Impossible, more like," he murmured, moving over to the map. "But I can provide you and the men you choose with horses. That should make the journey somewhat less perilous. Take the road north," He continued, tracing his finger along the map. "When you get to Cair Sirion, your best chance is to cross the river just south of it. Crossing on the bridge itself would see you to an early grave."
I nodded. "Any suggestions for where to go afterward, should we survive?"
The Ranger pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Provided all goes according to plan, make for Osgiliath. If it still stands, we'll need all of the help we can get."
If it still stands. Osgiliath had fallen before, but this time it was different. If it fell again, I had a feeling that it would never again be reclaimed.
"Well then, if fortune favors us we shall meet again there," I replied with a tone of optimism that I didn't feel.
"Indeed," Faramir said, taking a moment to whisper a hurried command to one of his subordinates. "You had better start choosing your team, we shall be leaving for Osgiliath soon. Though it is not yet under siege, I would like to get there beforehand to shore up the defenses."
"I would leave as soon as possible," I replied grimly. "I'm sure your scouts will hear of an attack soon."
"Hopefully we can at least slow it first," Faramir said as he pointed to a spot on the map. "A contingent of Haradrim warriors are moving north toward the main enemy camp, bringing siege machines and Mumakil with them. If we can ambush them, it might buy us some time."
I gave a nod, nonetheless feeling concern in the pit of my stomach. "I only hope that will be enough."
==============================
Double update!! I hope y'all enjoy, it might be a little while before the next update!
Is it good, bad, or horrendous so far?