((Nothing reallt to say. Enjoy the new chapter!))

Arwen rode through the forests of Eregion, part of the long entourage who left Imladris. Every mile she got further from Rivendell, the incredible sense of wrongness she felt deepened.

She knew that this was not her fate. Her destiny was to be with Aragorn. She had known that since the day she met him.

Yet, here she was, leaving Middle Earth...and him...forever.

Up ahead, she saw a young boy running out of the line. She nearly called out, believing him to be someone's son, but nobody else seemed to notice him. As she watched, he ran into a room of white marble which definitely should not have been sitting in the middle of the forest.

She saw a man with graying hair turn and scoop the boy into his arms, laughing and with love in his eyes that only a father could show.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked upon Aragorn and her own son.

She closed her eyes and heard the words her father had spoken to her days before.

There is nothing for you here. Only death.

But that wasn't true.

"Lady Arwen."

She opened her eyes. An Elf was looking at her.

"We cannot delay."

Without a second thought, she turned her horse and galloped at full speed back down the road, ignoring the Elf's protests.

A few hours later, she arrived in the hidden valley of Rivendell and galloped up to the House.

She knew exactly where she would find her father. She strode into his study. "Tell me what you have seen!" she demanded.

"Arwen!" declared Elrond.

"You have the gift of foresight." she said. "What did you see?"

He sighed. He had hoped that she would not share his visions, but he had been wrong. "I looked into your future and I saw death!" he said.

"But there is also life. You saw there was a child. You saw my son!" she said.

He turned and gazed out the window. "That future is almost gone."

"But it is not yet lost."

Elrond sighed and sat heavily. "Nothing is certain."

Arwen took his face in her hand. "Some things are certain. If I leave him now, I will regret it forever. It is time."

Elrond furrowed his brow.

A voice suddenly began to speak.

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost.
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring.
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be King.

Elrond looked up as Bilbo walked in, leaning on his cane.

"Not very good perhaps, but you understand it's meaning. Lord Elrond, my old friend, the Lady is right. The time for the Dunedan to accept his fate is long overdue."

Arwen nodded. "Reforge the Sword, ada."

Elrond looked at both of them and turned away.

Suddenly, Arwen put a hand over her heart and fell into a chair.

Elrond and Bilbo both rushed over to her.

Elrond took her hands in his. "Your hands are cold...The life of the Eldar is leaving you..."

She smiled weakly. "This was my choice. Ada, whether by your will or not, there is no ship now that can bear me hence."

Elrond stood and looked at Bilbo.

The Hobbit offered him a sad smile. "I will ask Glorfindel to heat the forges."

Draco, Gandalf and Pippin had ridden hard and fast for three days. Draco could tell that Wulfga was tiring, but Shadowfax's presence kept him going.

"We have just passed into the realm of Gondor!" shouted Gandalf.

Suddenly, as they rode up over a hill, they saw it.

"Minas Tirith; City of Kings." said Gandalf.

Draco was awed. The city was built at the end of a chain of mountains and rose seven levels high, each level surrounded by imposing walls of white stone. A tall white tower rose from the top a glimmered like a spike of pearl and silver in the morning sun.

They were admitted as soon as the guards at the gate saw Gandalf, but many gave Draco and Pippin quizzical looks.

Hardly slowing their pace, Gandalf led them up and around each level until they reached the very top. They dismounted here and Guards came to lead the horses to stables.

Draco looked around the courtyard. The tower stood to one side, tall and imposing. Set back into the face of the mountain was a grand citadel. It was towards this that Gandalf led them. In the center of the courtyard, a gilded fountain stood, trickling merrily, as if unaware of the grim times it was in. But over the fountain stood a white tree, drooping and devoid of leaves or flowers.

"It's the tree!" declared Pippin. "Gandalf!"

"Yes," said Gandalf, "The White Tree of Gondor, the Tree of the King. Lord Denethor, however, is not King. He is a Steward only; a caretaker of the Throne." The Wizard stopped and stared sharply at Pippin. "Now, listen carefully. Theoden was kind to you and Meriadoc, but Denethor is of a different sort, proud and subtle. He is Boromir's father. He will not stand for idle speech, and can pick out of the speech of men many things unsaid, so say nothing of Aragorn. And do not mention Frodo or the Ring...In fact, it's better if you don't speak at all, Peregrin Took."

Pippin nodded glumly.

"What should I do, Gandalf?" asked Draco.

"Say no more than you must. Denethor will likely question you about Boromir's doings, since you have been with him since the beginning, but still say little or nothing of Aragorn and Frodo."

The guards opened the doors to the Citadel as they approached, and they entered.

The place was a long hall, as Meduseld was, but there were no further similarities. Unlike Meduseld, this place was devoid of any hangings or decorations. Everything was of white and black. High windows gave light, but did little to break the hard, cold feeling of the place.

In deep alcoves to either side, stood statues of past kings, tall and with grim faces.

At the end of the hall was a high dias, at the top of which was a gilded throne of white, behind which was the carven image of a tree in flower. But the throne was empty.

On the lowest step of the dias was a black chair, unadorned. On it sat an old man, gazing into his lap. He did not look up as they walked towards him.

When they stood three paces from the seat, Gandalf spoke.

"Hail Denethor, Son of Echthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor."

Denethor still did not look up.

Gandalf cleared his throat and said, "I come with tidings in this dark hour, and with council."

"Perhaps you come to explain this." said Denethor. He picked up what he had been staring at, a great horn cloven in two. Draco suddenly recognized it as the horn Boromir had worn before it was cloven during the battle with the Uruk Hai. He remembered Boromir throwing it into the river. But why was Denethor upset about that? "Perhaps you come to tell me why my son is dead?" he said.

"Dead?" asked Gandalf. "Lord Denethor, your son lives. He is in Rohan as we speak."

Denethor glared at him. "Do not try to assuage my grief with lies, Mithrandir. Do I not know my own son? Were he alive, he would not remain abroad while his city was in need. He was loyal to me."

"But I have seen him!" said Pippin suddenly.

"Peregrin Took!" Gandalf said sharply, but Pippin ignored him and knelt before Denethor.

"I have traveled far and wide with him. Many times has he saved my life. I have had no opportunity to repay him, so I offer you my service, such as it is, in payment of this debt."

The faint ghost of a smile crossed Denethor's face.

Gandalf sighed and lightly hit Pippin with the end of his staff. "Get up! My Lord, even if Boromir were dead, the time to grieve for him would not be now. War is on your doorstep. As Steward, you are charged with the defense of this city. Where are Gondor's armies?"

Denethor glared at him.

"You still have allies." said Gandalf. "You are not alone in this fight. Send word to Theoden of Rohan. Light the beacons."

Denothor snorted derisively. "You think you are wise, Mithrandir, but 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! 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 Theoden of Rohan. Oh yes. Word has reached my ears of this Aragorn, Son of Arathron 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." said Gandalf icily.

Denethor shot up from his seat. "Rule of Gondor is mine and no other's!" he shouted.

He and Gandalf glared daggers at each other for a moment before Gandalf turned on his heel and strode away. Draco and Pippin quickly followed him.

"All has turned to vain ambition!" said Gandalf angrily. "He would even use his grief as a cloak!"

As they walked out the doors, Gandalf continued. "A thousand years, this city has stood. And now, at the whim of a madman, it will fall. And the Tree, the White Tree of the King, will never bloom again."

"Why are they still guarding it then?" asked Draco, indicating the four guards who were positioned around the fountain.

"They guard it because they have hope." said Gandalf, "Faith and fading hope that one day, it will flower, that the King will come and this city will be as it once was before it fell into decay."

"What happened to it?" asked Draco. "Why did it fall into decay?"

Gandalf sighed. "After the death of Isildur, the old wisdom borne out of the West was forsaken. The Kings who came after 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."

Pippin walked slowly to the edge of the wall and gazed out. Filling the view was an imposing sight. Tall black mountains rose up sharply from the plains. Behind them could be seen a deep red glow, like a raging inferno.

"Mordor." said Pippin nervously.

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

Thunder suddenly rumbled far off. Draco looked up and saw a rolling mass of clouds moving slowly towards the city. "A storm is coming." he said.

"This is not the weather of the world." said Gandalf. "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."

They were silent for a moment. Finally, Pippin cleared his throat and said, "Well...Minas Tirith... very impressive. So where are we off to next?"

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