Open your heart

I am calling you

Right from the very start

Your wounded heart was calling, too

Open your arms

You will find the answer

When you answer to the call

- 'The Call', Celtic Woman


9 March 3019

We rode for nigh on four days, breaking now and then to allow the horses and Pippin a rest. Often, I would glance across to see Pippin dozing to sleep upon Shadowfax, lulled into a sleep by the stallion's smooth gait and the support of Gandalf behind him. I would smile to myself each time I noticed. For Gandalf and I there was no rest. For me, there was too much plaguing my mind, too many thoughts to comprehend sleep. Thoughts of my mother's words to me before I had left Lothlorien for Helm's Deep. Words I had pushed from my mind until now. Now they were needed.

Soon we passed into the realm of Gondor, and finally we crested a hill and paused the horses. Alrohar stretched his neck down and rubbed a foreleg with his muzzle.

Before us, rising from the mountain, the great white city. A creation of triumph, no one could deny it. I had only been to the white city a few times through my long years, mostly as an ambassador for my people.

"Minas Tirith," Gandalf sighed, as Pippin stared. "City of Kings."

"Tal erain," I repeated softly, but in my own tongue. City of kings.

We pushed the horses forward again, the last stretch to the city and then we were within its gates, cantering through the streets with all haste, the people of the city hurrying to move out of our way as we ascended each sloping level of the city, up and up until we reached the royal summit.

I swung down from Alrohar and by the tree of Gondor, and noticed Pippin look up at it. "It's the tree! Gandalf! Gandalf!"

"Yes the white tree of Gondor," Gandalf agreed as we strode towards the throne room, Pippin hurrying to keep up. "The tree of the King. Lord Denethor however, is not the King. He is a steward only, a caretaker of the throne."

"Not that he should believe so," I murmured and Gandalf glanced at me. Denethor had long ago been corrupted by power and Gandalf knew it as well as I.

At the door, Gandalf paused and turned down to the hafling. "Now listen carefully. Lord Denethor is Boromir's father. To give him news of his beloved son's death would be most unwise. And do not mention Frodo or the Ring." Pippin nodded, but suddenly Gandalf turned back to him again. "And say nothing of Aragorn either." He paused again. "In fact, its better if you don't speak at all, Peregrin Took."

"Mithrandir," I said softly, with a vague smile. Pippin had a compulsive nature, warnings would not make a great deal of difference, I doubted. Gandalf gave me an innocent look.

The guards opened the doors forward and we passed through into royal throne room. It had seen better days. I remembered times when a king sat upon the throne, a steward at his side, and a queen welcoming great lords to the city. Now the room was near empty but for a fe guards and the one steward. Denethor. Hunched over in his chair, something in his hands. I frowned for a moment before recognizing the horn. It was broken now, but there was no doubt as to who it had once belonged to. Boromir's horn. I swallowed. Gandalf's warning had been in vain, Denethor already knew of his son's death. Our welcome already felt colder.

"Hail Denethor son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor," Gandalf announced, raising his staff in acknowledgment. "I come with tidings in this dark hour and with counsel."

"Perhaps you come to explain this," Denethor growled, raising the horn to us. "Perhaps you have come to tell me why my son is dead."

I gave a long sigh. For a brief moment I wondered if coming here had been the best idea; Théoden might not listen to me but Denethor listened to no one. He was beyond reason. But I cast the thought aside; I knew I had to be here.

"Boromir died to save us; my kinsman and me," Pippin explained regretfully. "He fell defending us from many foes." He knelt down upon one knee.

"Pippin!" Gandalf began but Pippin ignored him.

"I offer you my service, such as it is in payment of this debt," Pippin offered. Denethor eyed him. "This is my first command to you. How did you escape and my son did not? So mighty as man as he was."

"The mightiest man may be slain by one arrow and Boromir was pierced by many," Pippin replied.

Denethor said nothing.

"Get up!" Gandalf knocked Pippin aside with his staff and I placed a light hand of the hafling's shoulder. "My lord, there will be a time to grieve for Boromir but it is not now. War is coming. The enemy is on your doorstep. As steward, you are charged with the defence of this city. Where are Gondor's armies? You still have friends. You are not alone in this fight. Send word to Théoden of Rohan. Light the beacons."

"You think you are wise Mithrandir," Denethor hissed and I narrowed my eyes curiously. "Yet for all your subtleties you have not wisdom. Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know. You come here, stating welcome, bringing the Halfling who caused the death of my son, and an elf, whose people have ever looked on Gondor with scorn-"

"Careful, Denethor," I suddenly warned. "My kin have always held Gondor as our ally."

Denethor glowered at me. "You will remember your place, elf!"

"And you yours, Steward," I replied swiftly.

Denethor looked back to Gandalf, choosing to ignore me. "With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor and with your right you would seek to supplant me. I know who rides with Théoden of Rohan. Oh yes, word has reached my ears of this Aragorn, son of Arathorn. And I tell you now. I will not bow to this Ranger from the North! Last of a ragged house long bereft of Lordship."

"Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the King, steward," Gandalf admonished.

"The rule of Gondor is mine and no others!" Denethor bellowed, lunging forwards.

Gandalf stared at him for a moment before turning on his heel and striding away. "Come."

I nudged Pippin after him and with a last glance at Denethor, followed them both.

"All had turned to vain ambition," Gandalf muttered as we left. "He would use even his grief as a cloak! A thousand years this city has stood and now at the whim of a madman it will fall! And the white tree, the tree of the King will never bloom again."

We passed back through the open courtyard past the tree.

"Why are they still guarding it?" Pippin asked.

Gandalf sighed, as we moved along the parapet towards the tip of the courtyard. "They guard it because they have hope. A faint and fading hope that one day it will flower. That a king will come and this city will be as it once was before it fell into decay. The old wisdom born out of the west was forsaken. Kings made tombs more splendid than the houses of the living and counted the old names of their descent dearer than the names of their sons. Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry or in high, cold towers asking questions of the stars. And so the people of Gondor fell into ruin. The line of Kings failed. The white tree withered. The rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men."

I sighed. "N'ner edain… Denethor naa n'ner athan edainath n'ner." Lesser men… Denethor is less than all lesser men.

"Mordor…" Pippin murmured.

"Yes, there it lies." Gandalf agreed. "This city has dwelt ever in the sight of its shadow."

"A storm is coming," Pippin noted.

"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 of daylight, so he covers the face of the sun to ease their passage along the road to war. When the shadow of Mordor reaches this city it will begin."

"A fight of all our lives," I murmured.

"Indeed," Gandalf agreed."

"Well… Minas Tirith… very impressive," Pippin suddenly perked up. "So where are we off to next?"

I half laughed.

"Oh, it's too late for that Peregrin. There's no leaving this city. Help must come to us."


Later that evening we had been settled into accommodation. The people of Gondor remained hospitable, regardless of their Steward's less-than-warm feelings towards us.

I sat upon the balcony's sill, my legs hanging over. I was not afraid of falling, I was perfectly at ease where I was. I wondered where Legolas was now, was he safe… Concerns followed for Aragorn and Gimli, and Merry. Then my thoughts turned to my own people, hoping Haldir had been bourn home safely. And then my mother… and finally her words came back to my mind.

"So I imagine this is just a ceremonial position," Pippin suddenly piped up, his voice interrupting my thoughts. "I mean, they don't actually expect me to do any fighting… do they?"

"You're in the service of the steward now," Gandalf replied. "You'll have to do as you are told, Peregrin Took." His voice quitened, but my ears still picked up his words. "Ridiculous Hobbit! Guard of the Citadel! " I smiled fondly.

Gandalf suddenly coughed, and the murmured "Thank you" before I noticed Pippin approach to lean his chin upon the balcony beside me, gazing out into the darkness.

"There's no more stars," Pippin observed. "Is it time?"

"Yes," Gandalf nodded, approaching beside us.

"It's so quiet," Pippin murmured.

"It's the deep breath before the plunge," Gandalf replied.

"I don't want to be in a battle," Pippin said quietly. "But waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse."

I glanced down at him. "That's a wise thing to feel."

Pippin looked up at me. "How many battles have you fought, Arnuríel?"

I gave a weak laugh. "Too many to name. I once knew the number. But I lost count many years ago."

"Does it get easier?" Pippin asked.

I shook my head. "The fear becomes lesser but it never leaves entirely. But you can use your fear. I use mine as strength."

"So you are afraid to die?"

I shook my head again. "I have never been afraid of death. My fear of a battle comes from fear for the cause. That what I am fighting for will be lost. A life, a city… Now my fear is for Ennorath." Pippin frowned. "Middle Earth. And for the future of the people I love."

Pippin swallowed and stared out over Gondor for a moment. "Is there any hope Gandalf, for Frodo and Sam? "There never was much hope. Just a fool's hope. Our enemy is ready. His full strength's gathered. Not only orcs, but men as well. Legions of Haradrim from the South, mercenaries from the coast. All will answer Mordor's call."

"Which is why as many must answer Gondor's," I added. "If a fool's hope is to prevail."

"This will be the end of Gondor as we know it," Gandalf continued. "Here the hammer stroke will fall hardest. If the river is taken, if the garrison at Osgiliath falls, the last defence of this city will be gone."

"But we have the white wizard. That's got to count for something."

The hope on Pippin's face was heartbreaking and Gandalf looked from his face to mine pitifully. Gandalf and I both knew that Gandalf's strength could only count for so much.

"Gandalf?" Pippin asked, our hesitation worrying.

"Sauron has yet to show his deadliest servant," Gandalf explained. "The one who will lead Mordor's army in war. The one they say no living man can kill. The Witch King of Angmar. You've met him before. He stabbed Frodo on Weathertop. He is the lord of the Nazgûl. The greatest of the nine."

I sighed and looked back out across the landscape, and suddenly I froze, and sat up a little straighter. A column of great emerald light exploded from beyond Gondor's boundaries. Minas Morgul.

"We come to it at last," Gandalf said softly. "The great battle of our time. The board is set, the pieces are moving."


It was not long after that Pippin retired to sleep, but I remained where I was. Upon the balcony, waiting, watching. Gandalf returned to stand beside me, his pipe still in his hand.

"There has been something on your mind, Arnuríel, for many days now," he observed quietly. "What burdens you?"

My thoughts were as easy to hide from Gandalf, as they were Legolas. I gave a long sigh. "My mother."

"Ah," Gandalf nodded. "What words did she speak this time."

"I don't think I'm going to outlive this war, Mithrandir," I replied softly. "I've fought so many fights and for so long. I think my luck has run out." Gandalf said nothing but watched me, waiting for me to explain. "She told me before I left for Helm's Deep… that should Rohan survive, I would be needed in Gondor. That the city would need one of her kin. That through me, she and I could perhaps give this city one last defence. But I don't believe I will survive it."

Gandalf sighed. "I have known you many years Anruriel, and I know few stronger. You may yet survive this."

I did not reply.

"Tell me, did you tell Legolas of this-"

I instantly laughed weakly. "Of course not. He would never have let me come to Gondor if I had."

Gandalf nodded. "Have faith. This war will claim many lives. I am not so sure that one of them will be yours."

I smiled sadly at him, not undermining his word. But I didn't truly believe him. And he knew it.