Oh my, so it has come to this. The end. But…something tells me that the story is not quite finished. I will apologize in advance to all the LOTR purists out there. Honestly, I never thought I would do it, but…I had to

Enjoy!

Chapter Twenty-One: Endings and Epilogues

Emilyn waited in the dark with bated breath, the entire force of soldiers anxiously on the lookout for the inevitable attack to come. Night had fallen and they knew the assault would come soon since it was nearing dawn. Faramir had made her promise to stay hiding in one of the inner chambers and that, if he didn't come for her after the attack came, she was to run back to Minas Tirith. Emilyn had made up her mind that she would not run. If it came to it, she would fight, and die, by Faramir's side.

Faramir made his way through the city, checking on men, seeing to it they had the supplies they would need. Other than that, there was nothing more for him to do but watch and wait. They knew the orcs would attack from the river, but with the amount of men on watch, they should have plenty of warning before the attack.

Making his way back into the inner rooms, he found Emilyn, sword in hand, slicing through the air. He stood back and watched for a moment, amused. "I don't think those orcs know what they are up against. If they knew the secret weapon we had, they would run back to Mordor."

Brushing a piece of hair from her face, Emilyn frowned. "Don't make fun," she said, catching her breath.

"I would never." Faramir moved towards her, pulling her to him and placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Any word?" she asked quietly, her earlier fear gone with him so close.

Faramir sighed, "Nothing yet. I'm going to get reports from Mablung now, but I wanted to check on you first."

Emilyn shook her head. "I'm fine."

Faramir nodded and paused. "If things go badly…"

"I know," Emilyn finished for him, rolling her eyes.

"I mean it," he said seriously, not trusting her.

"Just keep yourself safe," Emilyn said, holding him tightly.

Faramir found Mablung at a lookout, watching over the city with a view of the river below. "It's been very quiet across the river," he reported. "The orcs are lying low. The garrison may have moved out. We'll send scouts to Cair Andros. If the orcs attack from the North, we'll have some warning."

Faramir nodded, but the night was silent…too silent for Faramir's liking, and the fog lying over the river didn't help matters. Around him he could hear the occasional laughter of a soldier, or the chatter of what would be done once they were home. Their attention was suddenly turned by a commotion at one of the other lookouts. Running to see what had happened, Faramir found a soldier, his armour pierced by a single arrow. He knew then, that it had begun.

"They're not coming from the north," he said quietly. Pulling out his sword, he ran, warning the men in a whisper. "Quickly, to the river." They would not be taken by surprise.

Faramir cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. Finding a position behind a broken-down wall, he could hear the orcs rowing into shore. Across from him, Mablung waited for the command. Silently, Faramir waited for the orcs to make their move. Then, Gondor would strike.

The battle began silently, Faramir waiting for the best moment to catch the orcs off guard. Quickly, everything fell to death and killing, Orcs ravaging the soldiers, the soldiers of Gondor fighting back with all their strength. But their forces were too few and the orcs continued pouring into the city.

The sun began to rise as the killing continued. Running to one of his commanders, Faramir grabbed him by the arm. "Get Lady Emilyn, we are retreating back to Minas Tirith." He then moved quickly towards the stables.

"Faramir!" he heard Mablung shout. Turning just in time, Faramir saw his soldiers, bows ready. Moving quickly out of the way, the arrows flew, missing him by inches.

"We can't hold them, the city is lost," a bloodied Mablung said to his still stunned Captain.

"Tell the men to break cover. We ride for Minas Tirith," Faramir answered, looking around him, astounded that it had come to this.

It was then they heard the sound, wings pulling through the air, a screech that left no guess as to what it was.

"Nazgul!" The cry went out, panic setting in as the great beasts swooped down, grabbing men and flinging them through the air.

"Fall back!" Faramir cried. "Fall back to Minas Tirith!"

Emilyn, seeing Faramir, rushed towards him, shocked at the amount of dead surrounding them. Grabbing her, Faramir pulled her forward, calling out the retreat to Minas Tirith as he did so.

Rushing to the horses, Emilyn began to mount one, but Faramir stopped her. "You are riding with me. I won't risk one of those demons taking you."

With Emilyn in front of him on his horse, Faramir and the other soldiers raced across the Pelennor fields as if death itself were behind them, the Nazgul swooping down, grabbing both soldiers and horses.

Faramir ducked, pushing Emilyn down as a Nazgul passed closely above them. "If we can just get out from under these clouds we'll be safe," he said. Emilyn could tell from the tone of his voice that he was deeply frightened. She could feel his heart pounding behind her.

Suddenly a white rider appeared on the horizon. "Mithrandir," Faramir sighed happily, spurring his horse ahead even faster. Holding up his staff, a great beam of light shot forth from the wizard's staff, sending the beasts back into the darkness and allowing the men to enter the city safely.

The great doors opened and riders filed into the courtyard of the White City, their hooves clip-clopping on the stone pavement.

"Mithrandir," Faramir called, getting the wizard's attention and pulling his horse to a stop. "They broke through our defenses. They've taken the bridge and the west bank. Battalions of orcs are crossing the river."

"It is as the Lord Denethor has predicted," came the Prince of Dol Amroth's voice as he made his way through the riders towards Faramir and Gandalf. "Long has he forseen this doom."

Faramir helped Emilyn down from the horse.

"Forseen and done nothing," Gandalf growled, moving his white robes aside and revealing a small man, very much like the two hobbits they had come across in Ithilien.

Looking to Faramir, she quickly turned back her attention to the hobbit.

"Faramir?" Gandalf asked quietly, sensing their shock. Then recognition struck. "This is not the first halfling to cross your path," he said, afraid to show the emotion on his face.

Faramir shook his head, startled almost as much as the wizard.

Suddenly the hobbits face broke out in excitement. "You've seen Frodo and Sam."

"Where?" Gandalf asked, unable to hold back his own joy at the moment. "When?"

Faramir nodded. "In Ithilien, not two days ago." Gandalf and the hobbit shared a grateful smile, but it was quickly ended when Faramir spoke. "Gandalf, they're taking the road to the Morgul Vale."

"And then the pass of Cirith Ungol," the wizard finished for him.

Taking a deep breath, Faramir nodded.

"What does that mean?" the hobbit asked, sensing the concern. "What's wrong?"

"Faramir," Gandalf ordered, his voice laced with fear. "Tell me everything. Tell me all you know."

After cleaning up, Emilyn and Faramir made their way quickly to Gandalf's chambers. "Should you see your father first?" Emilyn asked tentatively. Although, seeing the Steward was the last thing she wanted Faramir to do at the moment.

"My father can wait, this holds precedence now," he answered, confident and centered.

The door to the chamber opened and Emilyn found herself wrapped in the warm, strong arms of the Gandalf she had always remembered.

"Oh, my darling little Emilyn," he said with a laugh. "I see that you have been in safe hands." Nodding, Emilyn enjoyed the peace and safety of his embrace. "I have someone for you to meet," he said, a smile in his voice mixed with a deeper emotion she couldn't quite place.

Standing back, Emilyn again saw the small, curly haired hobbit. "This is Peregrin Took, guard of the citadel," Gandalf said, a bit of sarcasm in his voice. "Pippin this is Lady Emilyn, niece of Theoden King, and Faramir, Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien, and son of the Steward."

Pippin bowed nervously, a stern little frown of concern on his face. "I have heard many things about both of you. Boromir spoke of you…" He stopped, looking to Gandalf with a horrified expression.

"It's alright, Pippin, you can speak plainly with these two," Gandalf assured him, lighting his pipe and urging him to continue.

Faramir looked at Gandalf, then at the hobbit, relief in his face. "You were there," he said without needing to be told.

Pippin nodded silently and reluctantly. "We were being overrun by Oruk Hai. Boromir tried to save us." Pippin looked to the floor. "He died protecting us." Silence filled the room, the harsh reality of hearing the words sinking in.

Moving forward, Emilyn stepped forward, kneeling down, taking Pippin's hand in hers. "Thank you, Peregrin Took."

Looking up, Emilyn saw her own tears reflected in that of the halfling's. "He was the bravest man, I've known," Pippin said. "He loved you both very much, and not a day went by that we didn't hear stories about one of you."

Faramir laughed softly. "Most of them exaggerated I'm sure."

Standing, Gandalf spoke softly. "Isildur's heir has come forth."

Faramir looked at him. "It's true?" he asked, having difficulty even finding the words.

"His name is Aragorn," Pippin chimed in excitedly.

Emilyn moved in front of Faramir. "Are you certain?"

Blowing out a puff of smoke, Gandalf nodded. "He set out with us from Rivendell and is currently in Edoras with your family, my dear. He led them to victory at Helm's Deep."

Emilyn grew concerned. "Is everyone…"

"Perfectly fine, but that is a story for another time. For now, we must know of the ring."

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. "Captain Faramir," a guard said, entering. "The Steward is requesting your presence."

Sighing, Faramir nodded. He turned to Gandalf. "I knew it would be inevitable." Reaching out, he took hold of Emilyn's hand and gave her a nod. "We will speak more soon, Mithrandir

Standing in the great hall next to where the table was set for the steward's afternoon meal, Emilyn was extremely uncomfortable. She heard the words Pippin spoke as he said his oath to Denethor without listening. Occasionally she glanced up, watching Faramir across the hall from her. Their eyes met occasionally, but they didn't speak, they didn't dare.

"...until my lord release me, or death take me." Pippin finished awkwardly, trying to remember the words.

"And I shall not forget it," Denethor said, actually smiling, amused, "nor fail to reward that which is given." He held out his ring for the hobbit to kiss. "Fealty with love," he said kindly. "Valor with honor. Disloyalty with vengeance." Denethor moved to the table and looked to his son. The point of his speech did not go missed. Throwing back his robes, the Steward sat, glancing first from Emilyn then to Faramir. "So, tell me, my dear," Denethor said addressing her. "What do you plan on doing now that you are left without a future husband? Will you find another? Where, I wonder?" Emilyn looked away from him, not wanting to justify him with an answer, but unable to let it go.

"I loved Boromir, my lord, more than you could ever know. His death has grieved me, and I have wept more tears than I knew I had."

"Hmmm," Denethor said in response, placing some food on his plate. Emilyn turned away, refusing to let him see the pain on her face.

"I do not think we should so quickly abandon the outer defenses," Denethor continued. "Defenses that your brother long held intact." For a moment he actually seemed like a general, until he looked up and Emilyn saw the disgust on his face.

"What would you have me do?" Faramir asked.

Denethor pretended not to hear his son. "I will not yield the river in Pelennor unfought. Osgiliath must be retaken." Emilyn risked a glance at Faramir, knowing that Osgiliath was far too gone to risk a counter attack.

"My lord, Osgiliath is overrun," Faramir said, trying to make his father understand.

Denethor looked up stoically at his son. "Much must be risked in war. Is there a captain here who still has the courage to do his lord's will?" The air was silent. Faramir looked to Emilyn, his eyes sad, knowing what his father wanted.

"You wish now that our places had been exchanged," he said softly. "That I had died and Boromir had lived." Closing her eyes, Emilyn couldn't listen anymore.

"Yes, I wish that," Denethor whispered.

Nodding slightly, sadly, Faramir spoke, resigned. "Since you are robbed of Boromir," he said, his voice breaking, "I will do what I can in his stead." Bowing, Faramir turned, his eyes meeting Emilyn's as he did so. She saw that the light of life that had once burned there had gone out. He was destroyed, diminished. She could see that plain as day. He had nothing.

Turning back to his father, he spoke. "If I should return, think better of me, father."

"That will depend on the manner of your return," Denethor said to his son's retreating figure.

Emilyn made to go after him, but the steward's voice stopped her, cold and heavy like the iron bars of a cell.

"You will not go after him. You will, for once, mind your place."

Emilyn didn't see the riders leave. She didn't hear the words Gandalf spoke to Faramir as he left, ready to give his life for his father, ready to face death for his country. She reached the doors as they closed with a wrenching bang. The vast expanse of the Pelennor fields closing in front of her. Determined, she sat down on a small stone bench in front of the gates, feeling a presence behind her.

"Don't ask me to leave, Gandalf. I won't do it. I will be here when he returns." She wiped a tear away that threatened to fall. "I won't lose him as well. I can't." Saying nothing, Gandalf sat down next to her, and waited.

The hours crept by as Emilyn and Gandalf waited silently for Faramir's return. After what seemed an eternity there was a shout from a lookout high above and the heavy gates opened slowly, scraping on the stone pavement as they did so. Emilyn stood and ran towards the lone horse that entered, its hooves echoing on the pavement. Lying on the ground, being dragged by a stirrup was Faramir. Kneeling by his side, Emilyn pushed the hair from his face. He was gravely injured, one arrow near his shoulder, the other piercing the armor near his side.

"He is still alive," Gandalf said. "Quickly, we must get him aid."

"Faramir," she whispered, pleading with him, laying her head on his chest. "Please do not leave me, please."

"We must see to him, my lady," one of the guards said. Nodding, she stood, following after them, refusing to leave Faramir's side.

Outside the walls of the city, the battle had begun and the clamor of war was all about, echoing into the city and making itself felt in the very marrow of everyone there. With each battle cry, each boulder that was launched into the city, destroying its very foundations, the people cried and ran for safety. But in the citadel where Faramir lay on a makeshift bed, sweating with fever and delirious, the battle outside made no difference. No one paid it any attention.

"The steward has been sent for, lady Emilyn," a guard said quietly, fearing to make too much noise in the presence of death. Emilyn nodded as she continued to clean Faramir's wounds with a cloth dipped in sweet herbs to help bring the fever down and prevent infection.

Faramir began to mutter in his delirium. "Father...sorry...not me...Boromir..." Laying her hand on his forehead, Emilyn kissed his cheek.

"I am here," she whispered. "I will not leave you. You are going to get well. Isildur's heir is coming. Mithrandir told me so." She smiled through her tears as she looked at him. "He promised you would stand beside him. The King will not look kindly on upon you if fail him."

The door to the citadel was thrown open and Denethor entered, staggering at the sight of his son. "Say not that he has fallen." Rushing to the bed he fell to his knees, taking his son's hand and kissing it- grief and madness combining. "My son, my son...I caused this. I have failed you. I have failed my people." Emilyn looked at the steward. For once, he seemed almost human. At that moment, she felt sincere pity for him. Pippin hurried in behind the steward and stood beside Emilyn.

"He is not dead, my lord," Emilyn said, trying to give the Steward some hope. "He is badly injured, but death is not yet near." Denethor looked up to her. He nodded wanly, but said nothing and turned his gaze back to his son.

"Is there anything I can do, my lady?" Pippin asked.

"No, Pippin. He will get well. He must,"Emilyn added with a sad smile. "He must."

The battle raged on. The men of Gondor did their best to keep their courage, but they could not keep back the forces of Mordor. They were fighting a losing battle and they knew it. Gandalf ran through the city, trying to encourage, trying to give them some last shards of the little broken hope they still kept close at their hearts.

In the citadel the air was still quiet, now smelling strongly of the herbs steeping in hot water near Faramir's bed. Guards standing nearby whispered to each other, fearing that the young captain was dying. Wiping his hot brow with the cloth, Emilyn kept watch over him. Denethor, saying nothing, simply watched, a broken man with broken hope. Occasionally, Emilyn would glance up at the Steward. She caught his eye, and for the first time since her arrival at Minas Tirith, she smiled gently at him, trying to reassure him that everything would be fine. He saw her, a kind of sadness breaking through his eyes. He was in pain, and afraid, with nowhere to turn. She could see the thoughts turning in his head.

A soldier, hot with sweat and covered in blood rushed into the room. "My lord Denethor, the men are calling for you. Some refuse to follow the wizard and they demand your instructions."

Denethor did not take his eyes off of his son's unconscious form. "I will not leave my son," he said dismissing the man.

The hours dragged by as the city was shaken. The shrill, piercing cry of the Nazgul could be heard outside and Emilyn's heart pounded in her chest. Soon another soldier entered.

"My lord, they have broken into the city. The first level is taken and in flames. What should we do? The men need you."

Denethor's face turned into an angry frown and he stood. Without a word, he disappeared, leaving the soldier's question unanswered. Minutes later he reappeared, a torch in his hand. His face was no longer that of the grieving father, the arrogant ruler had returned.

"The West has failed. It shall go up in a great fire, and all shall be ended," the Steward muttered. "No tomb for Denethor and Faramir, no orcs or seneschal of Sauron to rule our graves. We will burn like the heathen kings of old." He turned to the guards. "Take him to Fen Hollen."

"My lord?" Emilyn stood. "He is merely injured. He is not yet dead."

Ignoring her, Denethor ordered the guards once more. "Take him!" The guards did as obeyed and gathered Faramir up, carrying him out of the citadel and towards the houses of the dead, Emilyn ran after trying to stop them.

"What are you doing?" she asked one of the soldiers. "He is mad. You must see it."

"I am bound by oaths, my lady." The soldier continued walking.

Running to the front of the procession, Emilyn walked beside Denethor. "My lord, you cannot do this. It is madness. Faramir will live. The wounds are not that grievous. Men have survived far worse."

Denethor kept walking. "Keep your council to yourself. I will see to my son."

Emilyn was stopped in her tracks. She couldn't believe what was happening. She watched in horror as the men neared Fen Hollen, opening the heavy doors, carrying Faramir inside.

Pippin ran up beside her. "What will they do?" the hobbit asked, frightened.

"Master Pippin," Emilyn said. "If ever you wished to repay Boromir, now is your chance to save him by saving his brother, the last man I know who is like him in any way. Find Gandalf. He must know of this before Denethor kills himself and Faramir. Run as fast as you can." Pippin nodded and raced towards the lower levels of the city where the war raged on.

Gathering her courage, Emilyn entered the houses of the dead. The place was cold, stone and marble covering every inch of the tomb save the glass ceiling in a dome above. The men had quickly brought in bundles of wood and laid Faramir on the pyre. Emilyn ran to his side. He seemed to stir as they set him down and Emilyn used this to try and get through to the crazed steward.

"Look, my lord, he stirs. If he were dead he would not move. He will wake, I swear to you."

"Pour oil on the wood!" Denethor demanded.

Emilyn ran to one of the guards and pushed the oil from his hands. The basin fell to the floor with a crash. "You cannot do this!" she screamed.

Denethor glared at her. "Remove her from my sight."

A strong guard grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her towards the door, but Emilyn held onto the stone frame with all her might, refusing to be thrown out. "No!" she yelled. She pushed at the guard, forcing him to release her. She ran to Faramir, now covered in oil, and threw her arms across his chest. "Have you all gone mad? He is NOT DEAD!"

Undeterred, Denethor calmly strode towards her. Grabbing her by the hair he pulled her off of his son and threw her against the wall. Emilyn's head hit the hard stone with a smack and stars danced in front of her eyes. Trying to gather her breath, she took a step forward, but stumbled from the pain and dizziness. She heard the hiss of torches being lit, and the room instantly grew warmer. "Faramir," she cried out. "Wake up, please." She fell to the floor, unable to move another step. Her head was pounding.

There was a crash at the door and Gandalf stormed through, followed by Pippin. "Stay this madness!" Gandalf cried.

All motion in the room stopped. Seeing Emilyn on the floor, Pippin hurried to her and helped her to her feet. She rushed to Faramir's side determined that if Denethor insisted with his insane plan, he would have to kill her as well.

Walking to the pyre, Gandalf gathered Faramir in his arms. Denethor watching, his eyes burning with hate.

"You will not take my son from me!" He cried, making a rush for Gandalf. The wizard stopped him with a single look- anger, hate, and disgust evident in the Gandalf's face. "So! You steal my son away. Very well, go to your deaths, but you will not stop me. I will rule my own end. There is nothing here for me."

Emilyn watched in horror as the steward leapt onto the pyre, holding a flaming torch high in his hand, dropping it onto the oil soaked wood. Flames leapt into the sky. Hurrying them outside, Gandalf ordered the doors shut the door behind them, instructing guards to stand by.

"So passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion." The old wizard's face was lined with grief and fatigue, weariness in his voice. He turned to the soldiers standing in shock, looking at the heavy stone door in front of them. The glass ceiling that rested above cracked, smoke and flame rising into the sky.

"Come," Gandalf ordered. "We must see Faramir to the houses of healing."

The morning sun burst through the windows. Emilyn, having fallen asleep by Faramir's bedside woke suddenly, certain that she had missed something in the hours she had slept. All was still and healers scurried quietly and calmly from one room to another, caring for those in need. She turned to Faramir, still hot with fever, his breath shallow, and kissed his forehead. She ran a hand along his cheek and went in search of help.

Entering the hallway, a familiar voice caught her attention. "Where have they laid lady Éowyn of Rohan? We have come to find her."

Running towards the voice, Emilyn found herself standing in front of the impressive warrior that was her brother. Éomer looked down to his youngest sister. He was covered in dirt and blood; his face streaked with recently shed tears. He embraced her with a cry of joy and fiercely kissed the top of her head, holding her tightly.

"You are safe," he cried. "My sisters are alive."

Emilyn looked up to him. "Where is Éowyn? Why do you look for her here?"

Éomer held his sister back at arm's length. "She rode with the men." His voice was weak, but he managed to tell the story. "When our uncle was slain, she stood by his side. She destroyed the Witch King and was injured, but we come with one who will help." He turned as Gandalf entered the hallway, Aragorn by his side.

"We must see first to Faramir. His injuries are the most desperate," Gandalf instructed. Aragorn nodded and they entered the steward of Gondor's room.

Emilyn knelt by Faramir's side as Isildur's heir worked, leaning close to him speaking quietly. "Walk no more in the shadow."

Slowly, Faramir stirred and his eyes opened. "My lord...my king," he said weakly. "I saw you in a dream. I knew you would come."

Aragorn smiled kindly at him. "Rest," he looked to Emilyn and motioned for her to take his place sitting on the bed beside Faramir. "You owe your life to her." With that the king left, moving to his next patient, leaving the two alone.

Emilyn took Faramir's hand. Looking to her, he smiled lovingly, squeezing her hand in thanks. Emilyn leaned forward, not able to stop the tears as she leaned her cheek against his.

Faramir pulled her close and ran a hand through her curls, breathing in the scent of her as if it gave him strength. Sitting up slowly, he held her face in his hands. "Shhh," he said, wiping away her tears. "I am all right. I will be well."

"I was so scared," she whispered. "I didn't want to lose you." Her dark eyes met his and locked there, seeing the trust, the admiration, the friendship, and more. "I love you," she whispered. The words finally said. She smiled through her tears, a nervous giggle escaping. "I love you," she said again, the words wonderful to say. "I love you."

Faramir pulled her towards him, kissing her with a passion he had never felt before. Finally he was able to claim her as his own, without guilt, without hiding, without regret. He held her tightly, never wanting to let go. "My love, my life."

Epilogue

The afternoon sun warmed the small cottage while a couple loaves of bread and a scrawny rabbit roasted in the fireplace. It was all that was left from the storage house, and Mara knew she would have to send Terin out to do some more hunting. She just hoped it was safe enough now. With so many troops moving along the Anduin she had been reluctant to send her son out to hunt. Now, though, it appeared there would be no choice.

She had finally agreed that both he and Maris could wander down to the river for some fresh water. She only hoped that things had settled down. The last thing she wanted was to send her children into dange, and regretted not just going herself, but they had been cooped up for too long.

"Mama! Mama!" The door crashed open and both children rushed in, cheeks red, eyes open wide.

"What happened?" Mara asked, rushing to Maris. The little girl looked like she had seen a ghost. There was no telling what they had witnessed from the reports she had heard lately.

"There's a man at the river!" The little girl answered excitedly.

Confused, Mara turned to Terin for an explanation. "There's a man on the river bank," he explained, trying to catch his breath. "He looks dead." Terin paused and Mara could see that he was attempting not to appear as shook up as he felt. "He looks important. A warrior. There's a tree on the front of his breastplate."

Nodding, Mara stood. "Show me."

Stay tuned for the next story: A Life Lived Apart