(AN: And now, we come to it at last... "Another Journey...Return of the King". I would like to thank the person who alone has reviewed. Glad somebody likes these. Here we get a lot more action and deviation from the main film story. Don't worry, it's all good. Prepare for the climactic conclusion...)
Minas Tirith
The huge mountain of white stone rose from the bones of the mountains from whence it was carved. Yet no mountain was this, but a great city, built upon seven levels, with a great keel of stone running down the middle, where stood the White Tower.
This was Minas Tirith.
Set against this was the White Rider, an almost insignificant speck of light against the mammoth city. It rode up to the city gates, where the guards, who knew him, stood at attention.
"Mithrandir!" one of the guards shouted. "Now we know the worst has come."
"Yes, the storm is breaking," Gandalf said, panting. "I have ridden upon his wake. Now let me pass! I must speak with the Steward while his stewardship still stands!"
The guards heaved open the giant doors of iron and steel, and without another word, the White Rider rode on into the city. Up the seven levels the horse went, to the very top of the citadel, upon the courtyard that was the top of the keel.
Here, the White Wizard let the guards take Shadowfax down to the stables and removed Pippin from off his back. That done, the Wizard removed his tall-peaked white hat and set it upon the ground. He passed his white staff over it, and it was gone.
Where the hat had once been, there was now Glinda from Gilikin. She was wind-swept, her curls hung about her all in a mess, and she was shivering violently.
"Get up." Gandalf said, taking her arm by the hand and lifting her to her feet. "We've arrived in Minas Tirith."
"I thought," Glinda said through chattering teeth. "I didn't want you...turning me...into anything!"
"When that Nazgul passed over Cair Andros," Gandalf said. "I had no choice. You're not exactly good at blending in."
"What about me?" Pippin said. "If she was turned into something, why wasn't I?"
"Because Hobbits are better at hiding than Men..." he then turned to Glinda. "Or women."
She frowned a little, but was not shivering anymore. The sun beat down upon the stone on which they stood, and it warmed her.
"I must speak with the Steward of this city," Gandalf said. "You, Miss Glinda, must wait my return here in the courtyard."
"Wait, why I can't I go with you?" she inquired. "I was dragged around as your hat, shouldn't I be allowed to see what's going on? I'm not stupid, you know!"
Pippin tried to stifle a laugh, which Gandalf heard and hit him none too gently with his staff.
"You will be introduced to the Steward upon the appropriate time." he said. "Now is not the time. Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, by now must know of the loss of his son Boromir. Therefore he is grieving, and it would be most unwise to have too many guests in his presence. Please, wait out here."
"What about Pippin?" she asked, pointing to the Hobbit.
"Master Took will not say anything, will you?" Gandalf replied.
"I won't?"
"Especially of Boromir's death or Aragorn."
"Why? I thought Strider was going to come here as it was."
The two argued all the way to the door. Glinda was left to slump down upon the warm pavement.
Once again, feeling like baggage thrown aside.
Bored with sitting there, she decided to stroll over to the edge of the stone keel and look out upon the city, which she had not been able to see as a hat.
She gasped, though out of true amazement than her usual girlish "ooo-ing." The city was huge. Seven levels, all of them big enough to hold all of Shiz and the Emerald City easily, with room to spare.
At the end of the last level, there stretched out the farmlands and pasture-fields between Minas Tirith and the River. This was the fields of Pelennor, but the farms had long-been abandoned with the threat of war.
Beyond the Pelennor, she saw the River, snaking a border at the farthest end of Gondor's land. Upon the river sat the ruins of Osgiliath, what had once been the great capital city of the kingdom of Gondor, when there was still a king. Beyond that, set as a dark shadow on the furthermost reaches of the east, were the black mountains that served as the barrier between Gondor...
And Mordor.
Fear drove her eyes away from the east, and towards the south. There, set far away, nestled almost beyond view and yet just able to be spotted, was a sight that Glinda had never seen in all of her days.
The sea.
There was no sea in Oz, for the lands were surrounded by desert. It mesmerized her, to be able to hear, though far off and faint, the calling of gulls and the roar of the sea, though now it was but a whisper on the edge of the horizon.
After several more minutes, she heard the opening of the doors of the citadel.
Gandalf and Pippin were coming back out. The Wizard was not pleased.
"...and the White Tree, the Tree of the King, will never bloom again." he said.
"Why are they still guarding it?" Pippin asked.
"They guard it because they have hope, a faint and fading hope, that one day it will flower. That the King will return and this city will be as it once was."
"Why is hope faint and fading?" Glinda asked.
"Because the heir of Gondor refuses to accept his lineage." Gandalf said, walking up to the edge of the keel to stand at the edge with Glinda, with Pippin behind them. "And unless he accepts his responsibility, there will be no hope for men."
"How did this happen?" Glinda asked.
"This city?" Gandalf said, indicating to Minas Tirith. "The ancient wisdom born out of the West faded. Old kings sat in cold towers, musing on heraldry, asking questions of the stars, counting the names of their ancestors as more dear than the names of their sons, and building tombs for the dead greater than houses for the living. And so the people of Gondor fell into ruin, the Line of Kings failed, the White Tree withered and the rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men."
There was a moment of silence, as Pippin and Glinda, children in spirit if not in body, looked with wonder upon the lands beyond the city.
"Mordor." whispered Pippin.
"Yes, there it lies." Gandalf said. "Ever has this city resided under the shadow of Mordor." The Wizard's eyes looked up to the black clouds rising over the dark land.
"A storm is coming." Pippin said.
"This is not the weather of the world," Gandalf said. "This is a device of Sauron's making: a broil of fume he sends ahead of his host. The orcs of Mordor have no love for the sun, and so he covers the sun to speed their passage along the road...to war. When the shadow reaches the city, it will begin."
Glinda had a fearful look on her face, and she turned her gaze to the south, trying to think of happier things. How could he think that this city, the forefront of this terrible war, was safe?
"Where are we off to next?" Pippin said, with a cheery expression on his face. Glinda hoped that they were going. With that dark shadow upon the horizon, she did not feel safe at all.
"Oh, it's too late for that." Gandalf said. "There's no leaving this city. Help must come to us."
She slumped against the low stone railing, looking out upon the southwest hopefully, looking for some kind of hope.
"The sea," Gandalf said, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. "Have they no sea where you come from?"
"No." Glinda said, shaking her head.
"The sea calls us home," Gandalf said. "It was upon the western sea that Numenor, the land where the men of Gondor came from, once lived. And beyond lies Valinor, the home of the Valar, the Undying Lands."
Glinda smiled.
"The Elves heeded the call of Valinor ages ago," Gandalf said. "But they came out of the West to aid Numenor in their war against Sauron. Now they are returning home, or they will fall with the rest of Middle Earth."
"What if we win this war?" Glinda asked, trying to hope for something good.
"Win?" Gandalf chuckled. "You are optimistic beyond belief, Miss."
"There's no such thing as no hope." she said, playfully obstinate.
Gandalf smiled, looking out to the West.
"If Sauron is defeated," Gandalf said. "Then I fear that the Power of the Elves will be broken. They must then make the choice, whether to remain here in Middle Earth, fading away into obscurity, or travel into the West."
Glinda noticed that Gandalf looked upon something on his hand that looked like an orb of fire that was gleaming silently.
"And now," he said, walking towards the stairs. "I must see to Shadowfax. The people of Gondor know how to care for horses, but they have not the skill of the Rohirrim."
"What about us?" Glinda asked.
"Well, Master Peregrin has decided to become a vassal to the Steward of Gondor. As for you, well, your case will be decided tomorrow."
The next day found Glinda in the house that Gandalf and Pippin had been given for their stay in Minas Tirith. She did not sleep all that night, for the night now seemed cold and fearful. Then there was that flash of light shining from the mountains of the Black Land at midnight, a place Gandalf called Minas Morgul. She could not sleep afterward, nor was there much sleep that morning.
Osgiliath was under attack.
All the people sat upon the walls, eager to see what had happened to the garrison. Though she could see little, Glinda saw a white speck ride out to meet the routed garrison, now being pursued by flying things that gave screeches that rent her heart in two and drove all hope from her heart.
But then the White speck drove them away, leading the defenders into the city.
Glinda was rejoicing at what she saw, prancing about the room, when there came a knock at the door. She opened, and a very stern-looking Gondorian stood in the door.
"I am Beregond, of the Tower Guard," he announced. "Mithrandir, the one you know as Gandalf, sent me to tell you that the Steward expects your arrival shortly."
She wore still the blue travel dress and Elvish cloak she had worn with the Fellowship, and had her staff with her. There hadn't been any reason to change, since she hadn't slept all that night. Now she followed Beregond up the levels of the city to the Citadel.
The doors were opened, and she found herself in a huge hall, greater than the Wizard's throne room had been. It was of white and black marble, with many recesses in the hall. In those stood statues of long-dead Kings of Gondor. At the farthest end of the hall there was a dais upon which sat a high throne, and a low seat sat at the left hand of the throne, below the dais. Upon that seat there sat an old man robed in black.
"My lord," Beregond said, bowing before the Steward. "I bring to you the stranger who traveled with Mithrandir."
The Steward raises his eyes before the young woman and at length spoke.
"Who are you and where do you come from?" he said.
"I am Glinda Upland," she began. "Of the Upper Uplands of Gilikin, in the north of the land of Oz, if you please. The ga..."
"I know of no such place," the Steward said. "Are you friend or foe of Gondor?"
"I come in peace." she said after thinking over his answer.
The Steward grumbled slightly. "Why does Mithrandir bring a woman to the Tower of Guard? Are we not at war?"
"Indeed we are," Glinda jumped. She saw Gandalf was standing casually to one side, leaning upon his staff. "And I implore that you send the women and children away from the city. Send them to Belfalas, or Lebennin, where they might be safe from the coming storm."
"Better to die sooner than later," the Steward said.
"My lord Denethor," another man said. Glinda saw someone who reminded her much of Boromir. "Mithrandir is right. We should send the people away from the City before the enemy attacks us. At least send out messengers to Dol Amroth. Prince Imrahil would welcome our people in their time of need."
"I did not ask for your opinion, Faramir," the Steward said. "Nor do I desire it. The people will stay here."
"But father..."
"This city has stood for three thousand years!" Denethor roared at Faramir. "I will not dishonor the name of Minas Tirith by sending the people to hide in the mountains, prolonging the inevitable." He sighed, unwilling to continue. Without turning to Glinda, he held up a hand in her direction.
"Do as you will. Now go."
She bowed and made her way out of the throne room, with Gandalf coming up after her.
"Was that his son?" she whispered, referring to Faramir.
"Yes," Gandalf said. "Yes, Faramir is the son of the Steward of Gondor, as was Boromir of our Company."
Glinda said nothing. She saw something different about Faramir than Boromir. In fact, she even wondered if he would respond to her differently than he did.
It seemed to take forever for whatever was being spoken to finish, and Glinda was getting impatient.
"What's going on in there?" she asked.
"Faramir is the Captain of the garrison of Ithilien." Gandalf said. "As a servant to his lord, he must report the loss of Osgiliath, and all other goings-on, to his master."
Glinda nodded.
A minute later, Faramir left the hall. There was a sad expression on his face.
"Faramir," Gandalf said. "I hope your life is not forefit for letting the Ringbearer free."
The Man shook his head.
"What, Ringbearer?" Glinda asked. "Do you mean the hobbits? Frungo and Slam?"
"Frodo and Sam." Gandalf corrected.
"Right! Those two!"
"The Steward is merciful, for now." Faramir said, with a down-cast expression.
"He did not give leave for the people to leave the city?"
Faramir shook his head.
"Then I must leave you," Gandalf said. "The mustering of Gondor's armies is my duty if the Steward refuses his charge."
"Start at Dol Amroth," Faramir suggested. "Imrahil will be the most willing to aid our cause."
Gandalf nodded and then departed. Once the Wizard was gone, Glinda made a sad sigh.
"Something troubles you, my lady?" Faramir asked.
"I feel like such useless baggage," she said. "I've been carried across your world, through mines and forests and rivers and plains and Oz knows what else!"
"My brother used to say that women have no place in battle," Faramir said. "You must be tired, should I send for Beregond to find you some food?"
"I'd like that," Glinda said. "But I want to ask you something."
"Anything."
"When did you first meet Flippo and Scram?"
"Uh, I think you mean Frodo and Sam."
"Yes, those two! When did you meet them?"
"Not but two days ago, in Ithilien," Faramir repeated. "They wandered into our patrol when we were stalking a group of Haradrim." Upon seeing Glinda's expression, he concluded that she didn't know about them. "Wicked men of the south, they worship the Nameless One, the dark lord of Mordor, as though he were a god."
She nodded in realization.
"I asked them something of their journey," he continued. "I recall when he mentioned the company. 'Ten companions...one we lost in Moria.' Obviously, he knows not of Mithrandir's return from the dark home of the Dwarves. 'Two were my kin...' One of which, I assume, is my father's new Guard of the Citadel. 'A Dwarf, there was also, and an Elf.' From what I can recall, Dwarves and Elves never walk in company together, so this is a strange thing. 'Five of the race of men: two women, one of them green.'" He turned to Glinda. "You had a companion with you, a green woman?"
"Yes," Glinda said. "Elphaba, of...uh...daughter of...uh, the governor of Munchkinland!" She said, trying to make her friend's name sound important like those of the people she had encountered here.
"Was she indeed green?"
"Well, she had green skin. Oh, she was born that way."
"I see." Faramir nodded. "The others Frodo named were 'Fiyero, prince of the Vinkus', 'Strider, a Ranger of the North', and 'Boromir of Gondor.' Can you tell me anything of them?"
"Well, Fiyero is Elphaba's lover."
"You mean they are wed?"
Glinda made an uncomfortable face. Technically, the two hadn't officially announced their union, though it should be obvious to anyone that they were a couple. They deserved each other.
"I guess so."
"And you?"
She smiled. He was obviously rather charming, despite reminding her of his proud brother.
"I'm spoken for." she said, holding up the silver token she received from Legolas.
"Just as well," Faramir said. "I fear I would prefer a woman who could keep up with me on the hunt or on horseback. Oh, no offense."
"None taken," Glinda said. "I guess I am a little too girlish. I don't like hunting, or riding on horseback."
She rubbed her side, the memory of the first few miles through Anorien before being turned into Gandalf's hat still fresh in her mind.
"So what happened to Freedo and Spam?"
Faramir chuckled. "Frodo and Sam told me something of their mission, that they could not be halted." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "I chose to let them go. They made for Imlad Morgul, against my wishes."
"What is that?" Glinda asked.
"The valley where Minas Morgul sits." Faramir explained. "No one has ever gone that way since Earnur, the last king of Gondor, went in answer to the challenge of the Witch-king of Angmar. He never came back. It is rumored that there is a pass in Imlad Morgul, a place of death and darkness and fear..." He shuddered.
"What is it?"
"I shall not darken the daylight with a report of Cirith Ungol." he said. "It is said that even the orcs of Mordor fear that place, though no truth is in that rumor."
Glinda smiled weakly, hoping that whatever evil waited in that terrible valley would be avoided by the hobbits.
(AN: In case you were wondering, I based the exchange with Denethor around scenes from the film "Der Untergang". The main reason being, in the book, the women, children and old have already been ushered out of Minas Tirith by the time of the siege, and yet they are still there, being victimized, in the film. I thought I'd try to explain it a bit, though it definitely demonizes Denethor. Anyway, hope you enjoy this rather short chapter. And Glinda's going to have a bigger role in this one than in the others, just keep reading)