Disclaimer: I hate this stuff...
A/N: HEY!!!! After a long while of sorry and pathetically lame stories, I've finally returned!! YAY ME!! Well, to tell you the truth I wouldn't have even started a new story if it wasn't for Helluin, who's helping me out! He likes to say he's the brain of the story but I always tell him otherwise... LOL! Well, enough rambling, ONWARDS!! This is more of an introduction, later on it will only get better and better! Hope you enjoy, and please, please, pleeeease... REVIEW!!! D
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Chapter I: Of Minas Tirith And Gondor
The bright sun was starting to descend in its final approach of the distant horizon. Mindolluin's stretching arm, aimed to the northeast, was already keeping the nearly horizontal sunrays from spreading freely over the eastern-most half of the city. The inhabitants were beginning to return to their homes, but, from the cloud-reaching top of the white tower of Ecthelion, King Elessar gazed upon his Kingdom's capital city, Minas Tirith, with pride. The late afternoon breeze brought with it the winter chill from the mountains, but Elessar still found it more soft and soothing than anything else as it swept past his face.
He pondered on how different his Kingdom had become since he had claimed the throne, realising how much it had improved. Gondor had left its decadent period behind, rising to great prosperity and bliss from the aftermath of the War of the Ring like a phoenix from the ashes.
The Elves had helped to embellish and repair the city, bringing undying trees and growing gardens that were the envy of all of Middle-Earth, only to then establish a small realm in Ithilien that afterwards became one of the fairest regions of Middle Earth. The Dwarves had also helped by carving the stone, building magnificent works for the city's squares and buildings, repairing the city's gate with both mithril and steel.
But the city had not only been rebuilt in a physical way. People who had had no hope before now rejoiced in the newfound peace. Business and dealings had flourished, and Gondor had achieved a stability on all levels it had rarely ever acquired in the past days. Thanks to that, Minas Tirith had become the greatest and most important city in Middle Earth, a place where all, be they Men, Elves, Dwarves or perhaps Hobbits were welcome. As king Elessar was considering this, the sun completely set and bells rang throughout the city to announce the end of another uneventful day in the Fourth Age of the World.
Unfortunately, for him, the bells were also announcing other matters, affairs he had to take care of as the King he was, and he groaned out loud with the incredible prospect as he made his way towards the palace.
Hours later, Elessar found himself marvelling at his mind's ability to separate itself of the present and wander freely through happier memories, considering all the noise inside the fine stone chamber. Not that he wished to return to the past days, perilous as they were, but he almost rathered the times when he was naught but a ranger of the North. He had travelled through the four corners of the known world - from Gundabad to the Far Harad, and from the Ered Luin to the farthest reaches of Rhûn. The dark lord Sauron might have been powerful and orcs might have roamed the lands then, but, by Elbereth!, those days did make him feel more alive and useful than now.
Being a King was not all of what he had expected. Well, perhaps at first it was, but now that the city was rebuilt and things were back in order, he found himself imprisoned without bars in his own city, his constant escort closer to jailers than protectors, and his agenda permanently full of petty, insignificant matters. Thus it was at the time.
Elessar sat at the head of a great table, facing dozens of Gondorian representatives and politicians of every kind – his so-called table of counsellors. Contrary to what their name might have suggested, these men formed an assembly of great strength, with ruling power of its own. Although the final word on a meeting belonged to the King, the general opinion bore considerable weight, and the were a sort of unwritten law that dictated that a consensus had to be attained in order for any decision to be made.
Presently, all were fiercely arguing amongst themselves and for more than once did Elessar have to interfere in order to peacen and ease the tempers in the discussion. It didn't take long, however, for him to give up on the ungrateful and clearly useless task and adopting a new tactic – to let them all tire and then strike his blow.
"Who would have thought that the irrigation of the corn fields could have led to such a lit fight?..." He despondently thought to himself. Tempers kept heating, until the King ultimately decided it had gone far enough.
"My Lords, that will suffice!" He yelled, standing up and pounding his fist on the table as he did so. The shouting immediately broke down. "The hour grows late and we have yet to reach the borders of any sort of consensus. I say we leave the subject for the day and continue at a later date. It will be nightime soon." Many bowed their heads in respect for the decision, but Aragorn almost disliked them more for that. "You shall be summoned at a later date. You may go."
After the creaking of the wooden chairs scraping the floor as each rose and left slowly subsided, it was gradually replaced by an echoing silence. When the very last one of the men had crossed the threshold and the door resounded closed, Elessar allowed himself to lean back on his seat and relax, his head throbbing with a headache provoked by boredness and unwanted idleness.
Letting go of that for now, he opened his eyes and made for the door, but stopped halfway there. There was one more occupant in the room whom he still hadn't noticed, and Elessar laughed at the similarities between them. The sound startled the other and awoke him.
"I feel exactly the same way, my friend. Do you not long for adventure, like in the old days, other than to sit here and listen to the ramblings of greedy business men?" Aragorn said, exasperated.
"Right you are, My Lord." He gave a slight bow in salutation. "And yet, we should be grateful, for it has been long since the White City has seen such peace and prosperity." The other reasoned.
"Ah, Faramir!" Aragorn's afce broke into a sort of relieved grin and he went to welcome his old friend. "I was not aware that you were back from Ithilien! Come, let us celebrate our good riddance from those leeches and your wonderful return!"
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Mondrod was closing the gate of the city for the day, cursing under his breath the detention his superior had passed him, when he heard something in the distance. He was usually stationed as guard to the palace, but an unfortunate incident with too much drinking and the world's general sense of bad timing had landed him in that position every soldier had come to laugh at: locking the door at night. Instinctively, he stopped what he was doing and looked up to see a rider rush towards him.
"Wait! Do not close the gates, I beg you!" The man shouted from atop the sweaty horse. Just as soon as the man had reached Mondrod, he added, "Please, let me in, sir! I must see the King! I bring urgent news!"
Mondrod complied. The man seemed to have been riding for a long time, and even if it was well past the King's receiving hour for personal hearings, he was a foreigner and would need a place to stay. As he was leading the way through the seven biased and unaligned gates that stood between the Citadel where Ecthelion lay and the entrance, Mondrod took the time to examine the rider more closely.
His clothing was rough and simple, stained not just by the ride but also from whatever life he had taken before it. He seemed to be a farmer, judging by his stature. Short and muscular, his skin was coloured by exposure to the sun and his hair cut short so as not to tamper with his sight. His mount confirmed it – the beast was obviously more accustomed to working on the fields pulling ploughs, other than to making long travels. Mondrod guessed he would be young, but he looked older and had the face of someone who had already seen much in his life.
"What is your name, lad?" Mondrod asked, curious. The other had been contemplating the city's every little detail wide-eyed, trying to not let anything miss, and was surprised with the question. He stood for moments just looking at the guard in that kind of stupor one gets on such a place, worsened by the nervousness and anxiety that already coursed through his veins.
"Andril, sir." Then, after a second thought, "Andril, son of Andruin, sir." Mondrod smiled. He had been right, the lad was young. He windered what it was that had rushed him to see the King, but figured it wasn't his place to ask.
"Well, Andril, son of Andruin. From where do you hail?" Trivial as the questions might be, they would keep his mind off of his news.
"Anórien, sir. From a small village a little ways below the Entwash." Mondrod thought he'd heard his voice quiver and wondered for a while if that had been a wise question.
"Is this the first time you are in Minas Tirith, Andril?" He then asked, trying to turn the course of the small conversation.
"Yes, sir. It is." He seemed more enthusiast now, having been obviously, and comprehensively, marvelled with the White City. "It is... wonderful!" Andril was searching for words, but Mondrod understood exactly what he meant.
"Well, Andril, here we are. The palace. You wait here, I will just speak to the guards." The lad was desperately trying to cover up his scared face, but wasn't doing much of a job. Mondrod just patted him on the back and walked away towards the guards that traditionally protected the Citadel and the palace, bearing the uniform of the heirs of Elendil with the black cape and white tree and the winged mithril helm. After a short talk and plenty of nodding that Andril took as a good sign, Mondrod returned. "Follow me, lad."
If Andril had thought the city itself was marvellous, then he could not describe the exquisiteness of the palace. Marble floors of black and white patterns that matched the carvings on the well-polished cylindrical green marble pillars supporting the high ceiling. But he didn't have the chance to take a good look at everything, for Mondrod was rushing him towards some doors down the hall.
The guard pointed at a rich door to the left and explained what the guards had told him. "Through there are the King's chambers, but I'm told he's already retired for the day, so I'm taking you to see one of the counsellors. You're lucky he is still here, that way you can talk to him at once without waiting for morn."
The lad's eyes quickly jumped from the door to Mondrod, who seemed to have turned his attention back ahead. Without warning, he took off towards the King's door. The guard heard the hurried steps, but when he looked, it was already ajar. He could just see another detention coming and ran after him.
Andril crossed the antechamber in a flurry and didn't wait to go through the second set of doors with the guard calling after him.
Opening them unexpectedly, the nervous and restless Andril found himself before the two imposing and noble figures of King Elessar and his Steward Faramir, who presently looked surprised at him.
"My Lords, Andril, son of Andruin, of Anórien." Mondrod announced halting next to the boy seconds later and bowing his head.
"I'm sorry for barging in like this, sir, but I came to warn you of something awful that has happened in my hometown." Andril could almost see the shakiness in his legs waning. He bowed and spoke with a voice so clear he never knew he had.
Overcoming the inicial shock, Elessar figured he might as well hear what he had to say. "Speak, Andril, what brought you here before me?" The King encouraged him, looking mildly concerned.
"My village, in Anórien, was attacked by a group of orcs. I fear that it may have been burnt to the ground and that I may be the sole survivor... They chose me to come warn you of this before they could reach the village."
"You did well, lad. I shall think of the appropriate action to take. For now," the King motioned at the guard, "you will stay in a room that Mondrod will prepare for you and worry not, I will inform you when I decide what to do."
"But sir! I-" Andril reacted, distressed by the way the King was so lightly dismissing him. He was silenced by Mondrod, who immediately bowed again and left the room again dragging him, solidly closing the doors behind them.
Echoes of their voices on the hall slowly vanished, as the King turned to Faramir to ask for his opinion, "Well, Faramir, here we were, asking for one more adventure and..." He stopped mid-sentence. Faramir was looking thoroughly disturbed. "Are you feeling all right, my friend? Need I call a healer?" He asked.
"Oh, no, no need, my Lord. But I have a bad feeling about this attack... A bad omen, a warning..." The steward said, pensively.
"Nonsense! Surely 'tis no more than the work of a group of strayed orcs! Tragic, yes, but no more than that and certainly not threatening! The war is over, Faramir. No more enemies to be fought. There is no need to worry," the King disagreed.
"If M'lord thinks so, but I still say that..." Faramir continued, but Aragorn cut off his word.
"Enough, Faramir! We will not worry thus just because a couple of strayed orcs attacked a tiny village!" The King said.
Faramir looked at him, utterly astonished with the King's reaction. It wasn't like Elessar at all to have spoken like that. But the other didn't see the look on his Steward's face, or if he did, he didn't mind it in the least, and added: "I will ride out and get rid of these orcs personally!" And Faramir decided not to argue further with the King.
A disturbing silence fell in the room, like a veil of dust setting upon every object of a deserted room. Aragorn felt it and almost regretted his earlier rudeness, but he did not admit it, for even though remaining much the same as always, one of the things he had developed with his years of kingship was his pride.
He bid his goodnights to Faramir and left the room, heading towards the courtyard where was the White Tree of Gondor. Once no more than a dead and sad trunk, the Tree had regained life at the same time Gondor had been reborn and now accompanied it's flourishing. It had blossomed and the fountain next to it sprinkled its leaves in a beautiful manner, like a constant shower of tiny stars from which the rainbow would occasionally peak on a sunny day.
While he was looking at the small white flowers reflecting the fair moonlight from above, hoping the light would clear his thoughts, a little girl's voice calling to him brought him back from his state of reverie.
"Father! Eldarion is teasing me because I miss Legolas!", she said as she ran out of a door to his right.
"Silly! He has more to do than to hang around playing with you! He has his own affairs in Lasgalen and Ithilien!" A more grown up boy was running after her, jumping out of the very same door.
"Come on, children, behave! Eldarion, stop nagging your sister, you're too old for that! Faeniel, my dear, Eldarion is right. Legolas cannot stay here the whole year, he has many things to do outside Minas Tirith", he said sweetly to the little lass.
Faeniel still looked sad, but she always listened to her father, whom she loved most. He kissed them and, looking up as he was about to lead them inside to their rooms, he noticed Arwen standing by the door, looking at the threesome. She and Elessar shared a smile and took the children to their beds, bidding them goodnight. Feeling tired, he retreated to his chamber, eager to sleep. It had been a long day.
TBC...