Faramir shifted his fingers nervously on the hilt of his sword. Behind him, past the shielding mass of stone from one of Osgiliath's many ruined buildings, the hordes of Mordor were crossing the Anduin. Despite their efforts to be quiet, the Captain of the Rangers could hear oars creaking as barges were rowed across the broad river, the shuffle of many irod-clad feet and the rumble of wheels as massive siege engines were dragged towards the remains of the bridges that spanned the great river.
There were thousands of them. Tens of thousands. Orcs from Mordor. Men from the East and from the South. Beasts from every corner of the dozens of kingdoms subjugated to Sauron. An army intended to blot out the last traces of the West from Middle Earth.
'I'm sorry, Boromir,' he thought, the unspoken apology for the fact that his brother's promise, little more than a year old, that Osgiliath would remain free from the darkness would now be broken. Every soldier in Gondor's army would not have been enough to hold the former capital, even if they had been here and not securing Minas Tirith and other, more westerly fortresses. As it was, he had only the depleted garrison, a few score Rangers and the most he could hope to do was to sting the Enemy's vanguard before withdrawing.
Then he heard the first barge crunch against the shore and Faramir son of Denethor put such thoughts aside. There was no more time for regrets. He exchanged looks with Mablung, pressed against the other side of the archway and tensed to cut down the first orc to reach their position.
And then the Sun appeared above the Anduin.
There were howls of surprise and pain from the orcs - the light of Laurelin was ever their greatest fear and coming unexpectedly, under the huge banks of cloud that had shrouded the skies for days and - most astonishingly - hours before dawn, the sudden golden light cast them into confusion.
Scarely less surprised, Faramir darted out of cover, thrusting his sword into the chest of the nearest orc, barely looking at it as he glanced up at the source of that marvelous, miraculous light and then ducked down behind cover again before he had fully processed what he saw in the sky.
Perhaps fifty yards above the surface of the Anduin, a woman hovered in the sky, suspended by lazily flapping wings of white and gold. Armour of golden sunlight and silver thread garbed her, and her long corn-blonde hair was restrained by a winged crown set with three great gemstones at her brow, rubies flanking a red-orange stone the like of which Faramir had never seen before. Blades of some blackened metal curved like fingers from her gauntlets. And around her, the golden light of Laurelin, of the Sun, blazed in brazen challenge to the forces of Sauron, taking the shape of one of the Great Eagles.
"Arien," he whispered to a curious Mablung. It was the only thing that made sense to him. For some unknowable reason, the Valar had seen fit to despatch the Maia to whom the light of the Sun had been entrusted to Osgiliath and their aid.
A shout came from the far side of the river, an angry booming voice in the Orcish tongue: "Kill her!"
Mablung and Faramir both peered around the archway, the nearest Orcs staring upwards at the flying apparation and heedless of the Rangers at their back. None near had bows but from across the Anduin, black arrows rose towards the source of the light. Some fell short - indeed, many fell upon the Orcs already across the Anduin or still on bridges and barges. Others were simply astray of the target, poorly aimed by archers who could barely even look at the supposed Arien. But some were closer and she dived. For a heart-stopping moment, Faramir thought that she had been brought low, but then he saw the wings still beating and realised she had simply moved to avoid the arrows, the wings themselves beating some arrows aside and she simply caught one before it could strike her breast.
For a brief moment as she turned, Faramir could see her face and it was fixed in an intent expression. A golden sigil shone upon her brow, a circle with radiating lines - a stylised sun perhaps?
With a shriek like the hunting cry of an eagle, the woman vanished in flames, replaced by a bird of fire larger than a warhorse. The phoenix descended upon one of the bridges, restored by the orcs using crude planks where elegant arches had been demolished. A mighty siege engine, some kind of ram, was half-way across the bridge, halted by her arrival and terrified orcs scattered - some plunging recklessly into the river despite the weight of their armour, as the fiery eagle lifted the massive construct in it's claws and then dashed it upon the eastern bank, drushing dozens of orcs.
The Phoenix stooped out of sight behind a building and a trail of fire marked its passage even more clearly than the howls of panic that resulted. Faramir drove his sword into the back of an orc, felling it swiftly. "For Gondor!" he shouted, rallying the defenders against the surprised and still isolated vanguard. "For Gondor and for Arien!"
With a triumphant shriek, the Phoenix burst into to the sky again and in the distance Faramir saw the dark, bat-serpent steeds of the Nine. The creatures and their fell riders had been a terror in the city for weeks, but now they seemed loath to approach. No wonder, he thought gladly. Wraiths would be no match for one of the mightiest of the Maiar!
