Hera you go, it's a one-shot. It almost sounds like it's gonna go on, but it's not.
The blue banner of Dol Amroth fluttered wildly in the wind as the mounted soldiers thundered toward the retreating men. Imrahil, at their head, was already searching for his nephew, though they were too far away to see faces. He had almost gone ahead with a charge when word came from Denethor to go to their aid. Ahead, men were running and screaming as the Nazgûl flew above them and the orcs and Haradrim chasing close behind. With each horse and each man lifted screaming and writhing in the air, Imrahil prayed that it was not Faramir.
A white light suddenly flashed before them-Mithrandir! Valiantly the white figure bore down on the enemy, causing the dark creatures to flee. The men of Dol Amroth were not far behind. Swiftly they chased the enemy, slaying only a few before turning back. With careful speed they checked for those still alive.
"My lord, Imrahil!" a Gondorian soldier called.
The Prince turned to see the man bending over a still figure. Imrahil came quickly toward the man, fearing what he may be greeted with. As he neared, he could make out an arrow sticking out of the stricken man's chest, previously hidden from view by the former man's body.
And then he recognized the stricken man. "Faramir!"
He immediately dismounted and bent over his nephew. Faramir's face was a deathly hue, void of any signs of life. The shaft, Imrahil noted, was southron.
"I saw him go down," the soldier began. "I was running close behind when the arrow hit him. He was holding off a Harad, who would have surely destroyed him if you hadn't arrived. The arrow seemed to have come from above, so I fear that it is a dart from the Nazgûl."
Imrahil looked up sharply. Such a dart could easily kill a man. Imrahil searched for a pulse, praying that Faramir was alive. Thankfully, he found it, but it was weak and slow. He gripped the shaft with a strong hand.
"The arrow is shallow enough to be drawn out, but we must hurry! The enemy will not stay for long." The Prince pulled the arrow out, gently pushing down on Faramir's chest to ensure that he didn't pull his nephew up as well.
When it came out, Faramir's eyes fluttered open with a gasp of pain. The young captain tried to move, but was hindered by the wound.
"Lie still, Faramir."
Faramir peered at the face above him. "Uncle?"
Imrahil smiled sadly at the pitifully weak voice. "Aye."
Tearing cloth from his own cloak, Imrahil staunched the wound, whilst calling for his horse. Mounted, the Prince reached down as Faramir was lifted to him. Imrahil speedily called out orders, reforming his men, and then marched toward the city, with Faramir cradled in his arms like a child. Imrahil felt his nephew's forehead, grimly noting how hot it was.
At this touch. Faramir stirred and mumbled, "First to charge, last to retreat."
Imrahil stroked the sweat soaked hair. "Hush, Faramir. We will be home shortly."
A weak hand touched Imrahil's reign guiding one. "Uncle," came the quiet and weary voice. "first to charge, last to retreat. I cannot enter Minas Tirith until all of my men have."
"Faramir, you are sorely wounded. Why must you be the last to come through?"
Faramir gazed at the citadel, where his father surely was. "I have already failed my father by not taking back Osgiliath. I must not fail my men by not making sure that they are safe."
In silence the Prince guided his horse to the back. Faramir slumped limply against him, losing all knowledge to his surroundings. Ahead, he could hear the people praising the Gondorian soldiers. But he knew their moods would change when he entered. Imrahil passed through the gates, carefully supporting his precious burden. The cries that greeted him made his heart ache.
Up the winding road he went, hugging Faramir close. Everyone he passed looked toward him mournfully. It was painfully obvious how much Faramir was loved by the people. How was it that Denethor treated him so?
Memories passed though Imrahil's thoughts. Memories of his sister, of Faramir and Boromir as young children. He blinked back tears, thinking of how those memories could soon be all he had of Faramir.
They reached the citadel and Denethor came striding out, the Halfling close behind. Imrahil dismounted and let Faramir slide into his arms. He turned to face Denethor, the steward's face was full of shock.
Almost bitterly, Imrahil said, "Your son has returned, lord, after great deeds."
Well, it's not my best. But, please review anyway. -Jimmy