This is a long one but I wanted to give a cliff hanger so I added on another section with Threwen. Enjoy!

Threwen felt like she was about to collapse when she finally crested the hill that she had been waiting to see for hours. Her face curled into a tired smile.

There it is. Finally.

She didn't think she'd ever ridden that hard before. She had made it in a day and a half and there it was. The White City. When one just peeks over the hill there is a huge valley below and the great White City looks like a stacked and layered cake. Now a dark shadow was stretching from Mordor, its charcoal black fingertips trying to mar the brilliance of the beautiful city.

Threwen looked down at her destination, wondering how in the world she was going to find Gandalf, let alone that little hobbit, in such a vast place. She was just about to start her descent toward the city when she looked in the direction opposite it.

Osgiliath.

The only time Threwen had been there was a long time ago when some orcs were occupying it. She had a message to the leader from Saruman and she had seen the place briefly. She didn't understand how valuable it was since it was all ruined, but she wasn't educated in matters of strategy so she assumed there was something about it that was essential. Its location, she decided. It was right in between Mordor and the city.

There seemed to be a commotion coming from the ruins of the town. Threwen gazed at it, straining her eyes to see what was occurring there. Suddenly everything became clear and her green eyes widened to the size of large marbles. Tiny black specks were crawling all through the rubble and she knew exactly what they were.

Orcs.

With disgust, Threwen turned her gaze away and back toward the city. The people there needed the hope of their allies coming to help. And she was there to bring it.

"Come on, Asimma. Just a little ways to go."

She tapped her heels and the horse and rider began their decline down the hill and towards Minas Tirith.

"Did you hear that the half-ling is in the service of the king?"

Rannyn listened and watched as the men laughed at this comment. The half-ling was one of two hobbits that had been in Edoras after Helm's Deep. They had been with the Ents and were friends of Aragorn and his companions. One of them went with Gandalf to Gondor. The other stayed behind.

"What good can he do?" asked another. He had a scraggly beard and a scar cutting across his left eyebrow.

Blaennyn spoke up in his light-hearted and joking voice, as usual. "Oh come now, my boys. Imagine what a little thing like that can do! He'll lob their legs right out from under them!"

The men laughed at that picture and the subject was put to rest. Blaennyn came and sat down next to Rannyn who was sitting outside the circle of firelight. They were at Dunharrow, gathering troops. They had heard that they were leaving in the morning because the need was more urgent than they had originally thought. Blaennyn smiled kindly at his friend.

"Why the long face? You look so…" The younger of the two paused, studying his companion. "So…thoughtful…" He stopped again and then grinned. "Nah, you look bored."

Rannyn laughed. "I was just thinking about what they were saying."

Blaennyn took a sip from the mug that was in his hand. "What, about the Shire-ling?"

He nodded. "I can't help thinking that they're being too hard on him. He has a stout heart."

"Have you talked with him or something?"

Rannyn shrugged. "I've seen him and judging by my impression of him he's a very courageous little thing. From what I've heard, he's a rather bold fellow."

"Or a fool," came Blaennyn's reply.

The older of the two men sighed and ran a hand through his hair. They both sat there for a while- Blaennyn with his drink and Rannyn with his thoughtfulness. Finally the silence was broken when a commotion was heard a ways away.

What's going on?

Blaennyn and Rannyn stood up and walked in the direction of the crowd that was gathering. Finally they got to the point where they could go no further because men were beginning to get packed. They were at the wall of the mountain where it split into a narrow opening, allowing a single file line to pass through. But no one had ever dared to go into that mountain. No one went there and came out alive. Eomer had said that the mountain was evil. Rannyn struggled to see over the people and then murmurings went through the men.

"Lord Aragorn is leaving."

Leaving?

"Why is he leaving on the eve of battle?" someone near Rannyn asked quietly. This question was echoed by those around him.

"He leaves because there is no hope," was the reply.

Rannyn felt and heard the whole crowd go abuzz with comments of lost courage and despair. He looked toward that opening, seeing a few figures fade into the darkness and gloom and he felt something in himself fail.

No hope?

But then a voice spoke up, strong and deep. "He leaves because he must." It was Théoden, King.

The same man countered him. "Too few have come. We cannot defeat the armies of Mordor."

There were whispers of agreement and the men looked to Théoden, awaiting his answer. At first it was not what they had expected.

"No, we cannot." He paused as he watched the men's reaction. Then he said with fierceness, "But we shall meet them in battle nonetheless."

After that comment, in an instant, Rannyn felt that something come back to him, the something that seemed to have faded slowly but surely and then seemingly went out. But it was back. It was courage, valor, and the want to protect his country and his fellow men, even if that meant death.

Threwen and Asimma finally straggled up to the gates, both exhausted. Luckily someone saw her there from above, a soldier. He poked his head out and shouted down to her.

"Who are you?"

She sighed and swallowed. Her throat was parched. "I come with a message for Mithrandir." She paused and then remembered something. "And for the Half-ling." She didn't think this would matter much, but she threw it in, just the same.

The soldier studied her briefly before turning to converse with someone beside him.

Come on! I've come all this way and they won't even let me in!

Suddenly she heard the creaking of the gate. Asimma stamped her hooves, ready to get to a stable and some food. Finally the huge doors were open enough for them to pass through. They were quickly shut behind her. A soldier approached her.

"Mithrandir is in the higher levels of the city. I will have someone escort you to him. The Shire-ling is with him." He started to give her directions when he stopped and stared at her. Apparently he hadn't gotten a good look at her until then.

"Will my horse be taken care of?" Threwen asked, uncomfortable. Why was he staring at her?

He continued to look at her and Threwen began to wonder what it was that had him so entranced. Certainly it wasn't because she was so incredibly attractive. She had been riding on a horse through mud for a day and a half. That does things to your appearance, not to mention your body odor. Her hand began to instinctively go toward her hair, but she contained herself. She looked him square in the eye.

"My horse, my lord?" she repeated, looking at him evenly.

He was broken from his thoughts and there was a strange look in his eye. "Yes, of course." He motioned for another man to come take the horse. Then he gestured for her to follow him.

"Come, my lady. I must take you to Lord Denethor first." The soldier began to walk.

All the way up there? Threwen leaned her head back to look at the citadel and the hall that was at the very top of the stacked city. That's a long walk…

The soldier asked her for her name. She hesitated and then answered. The man glanced back at her, looked her up and down and then nodded. His pace quickened.

"Make haste, my lady. The sooner we get to Lord Denethor the sooner your message can be delivered."

Threwen nodded and accelerated after him, wondering at his strange behavior.

This is turning out peculiarly, she thought to herself. I wonder what's going on.

"Lord Denethor is the steward, is he not?" she asked timidly. It had been a while since she had been there.

The man nodded. "His son, Boromir, was recently found to be dead."

Threwen's eyes widened. "Dead?"

Again he only nodded. "I had served with him. Helped him take back Osgiliath a while ago, driving the last of the orcs back to Mordor."

Threwen wondered why it was now again occupied by orcs. She had seen them with her very own eyes and she knew what they were doing – preparing for battle. She was given little time to think on this though. The man turned back to look at her again and there was something in his eyes when he stared at her that startled her. Something she hadn't been able to place before but she knew exactly what it was now.

Recognition.

"Have you ever been to Osgiliath, my lady?" he asked coldly and meaningfully. He was looking right at her, penetrating.

Her blood ran cold.

Oh no.

Bwahahaha! Don't you wonder how this guy recognizes her? Hahaha. You'll have to wait and find out. Hehe.