I am sooooooo sorry this is short, but I wanted to get this out before what happens next. If I didn't stop there, I'm afraid it would have been too long.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy I will try to update sooner this time, but I've been trapped in research.

Chapter Nine: The White City

Garen had ridden for what had seemed like endless days. He was tired. He was sore. He stunk, but he loved it. It didn't take much for him to make up his mind about what to do. He'd had his questions about who the man staying with Mara was, but when he'd heard the reports coming out of Gondor, he was fairly certain of the man's identity.

A couple of farmers near the river had reported seeing a body floating in the water and had come to him with their concerns. He, being the chief soldier and protector of their small little bit of middle-earth, had gone to investigate, but found nothing. He could only assume that Mara had been the one to find the man and, in her quest to appear as noble and good as possible, took him in.

Mara. The thought of her drove him from one extreme to the other. Garen had no plans of remaining in this small province forever. He had plans for himself, great plans, and he wanted her with him. At the moment, though, the thought of her disgusted him. There was no telling what she had allowed that stranger to do to her while she would barely allow him close enough to touch her. Why didn't she see what a wonderful life he could give her. He would treat her like a queen, unlike that foolish husband of hers. Who would bring a woman like her to a place like that? Alone…isolated from the rest of the world was no way to live. She deserved nice things, beautiful things, someone to make sure she didn't get into trouble. She was in desperate need of someone to keep her in her place and keep her safe.

Lost in his thoughts, it took him a moment to look up and see the White City of Minas Tirith in front of him. His breath caught in his throat at both the grandeur and the destruction he saw even from this distance. On one side, he could see Osgiliath nearly in shambles. On the other stood the glory of Gondor, sections crumbled and in desperate need of repair from a hard won battle.

He'd been to Minas Tirith twice in his life, and this trip would make it three. The first had been in his teen years with his father. They had travelled there to see if Garen would be accepted as a soldier. He had made it as far as the training fields before being sent back. "He simply wasn't ready," they had told him. The second time was alone, after his father had died. He had tried again. This time he was sent back to be put into the local guards, still just not good enough for Gondor's elite.

This time, though, he hoped things would be different. This time, he was here for his reward, for glory and honor. This time, he would not walk away empty handed.

He was ushered into the city through a side door, his horse taken by one of the guards as he dismounted. The soldiers looked him over, their expressions more disdain than curiosity.

"I am Garen of the homeland guards and I demand to see the King. It is of utmost importance!" he pronounced.

In his mind, he had played this scene through his head over and over. He would come into the city, announce his arrival, and ask to see the new King. He would be ushered into the hall of Kings with great excitement and fanfare, everyone anxious to hear what he had to say. Instead, they laughed.

"You want to see the King?" one of the soldiers managed to get out in between chuckles.

"No," corrected another. "He demanded to see the King."

"Yes, yes," the soldier snorted. "He demands." He stepped closer to Garen, looking over his dirty, road-worn clothes, his greasy hair, and obvious lack of hygiene. "And put who do you think you are to demand to see King Elessar, High King of Gondor and Arnor?" the soldier frowned, his disgust of Garen obvious.

Trying to maintain some pride, Garen stood up straight. Doing his best to not sound defeated, he spoke. "I have news regarding Lord Boromir, the late steward's son."

The second soldier stepped forward, nodding to a couple of other soldiers nearby. "Lord Boromir is dead. Go back to where you came from."

Garen's arms were suddenly seized as the soldier readied to usher him out of the city.

"No!" Garen shouted, refusing to be moved. "No! He is not dead. He is alive!"

The two young soldiers who had hold of his arms paused, looking to their superiors for further instructions.

"What?" asked the soldier who had attempted to intimidate him.

"He's alive, not dead," Garen repeated, pulling his arms free and brushing away some of the hair that had fallen in front of his face. "His body washed up on the banks of the river. I've seen him with my own eyes."

"And you are absolutely certain of this?" the soldier asked, his disgusted expression suddenly intent.

"Absolutely," Garen answered, his arrogant pride shining though.

The soldier stepped forward, this time his voice was a harsh whisper. "You had better be certain, do you understand? If you are wrong, you will pay with your life."

Garen grinned. "Then let me pay."

Nodding, the soldier stepped back, looking towards the other soldiers. "Go find Lord Faramir," he ordered.