The Chronicles of the Fellowship

By Michael Weyer

The White City

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Edmund was no stranger to long rides but the pace of the last few days was getting to him. He and Boromir were hard-pressed to keep their horses up with Shadowfax as Gandalf drove his steed on as hard as he could. Their rests had been brief and Edmund was pushing aside any fatigue as he remembered the threat they were trying to prevent. He was aware of the changes in the terrain as they rode on, the plains of Rohan giving way to more forested areas and then even wider fields with more of a chill in the air.

Boromir had been silent for most of the trip, lost in his thoughts. Obviously, the idea of the hordes of Mordor descending on his home was heavy in his mind but Edmund also sensed some misgivings over returning. He didn't want to press and they had no time for idle conversation as it was but he hoped it wouldn't interfere with their coming mission.

Pippin was affected by this dark mood as well, not speaking or even much eating. He had gotten more sleep held by Gandalf on his saddle while they rode onward through day and night. He was no doubt still feeling guilt over his part in all this although no one seemed to blame him for it. Edmund knew all about making a horrible mistake and felt there was no use for recriminations now.

It was the afternoon of the fifth day of riding when they came to some short hills and Boromir's mood seemed to brighten. "Almost…" he whispered. He kicked his heels into his horse to drive him on, pulling even with Shadowfax. Edmund pushed his own steed to keep up as they came over the hill and saw the massive structure before them.

When Edmund had heard of the White City, he had thought of the classic city, a huge set of buildings spread out over a wide area. What he did not expect was to see that city stacked on itself. In essence, it was a tower, as wide as Helm's Deep twice over but much higher, miles of buildings and towers set in levels with wide roads circling about. It seemed part of the mountain behind it but still retained the essence of a city, white flags billowing in the breeze above the ramparts. What made it more unique was the fact it was all in white, the brick walls and buildings gleaming brilliantly in the sun. From one corner of the highest peak jutted a long precipice that gave an elegant touch to the already amazing sight.

"Minas Tirith." Boromir had a wide smile on his face. "City of Kings. Home." He breathed in the air as if inhaling a sweet scent. "It's far too long since I was here."

"We can sightsee later," Edmund interjected even as he stared at the edifice.

"He's right," Gandalf said. "We must see Denethor at once." He kicked his heels into Shadowfax and led the others racing toward the large marble wall surrounding the lower part of the city. Edmund craned his head up to look as a pair of sentries outside the gates stiffened and lowered their spears at the oncoming horsemen.

"Hold!" one called out. "By what right do…" He trailed off, his eyes widening as he saw the man in the middle. "Lord Boromir?" He and his colleague immediately raised their spears and bowed their heads. "My Lord, we did not expect your return!"

Boromir nodded to them. "Is Faramir here?"

The soldier shook his head. "No, my Lord. He is at Osgilath, aiding the garrison at the river."

Boromir took that in. "I see. We must meet with my father."

"We'll send a messenger at once!"

"It's faster for us to reach there ourselves," Gandalf declared as he kicked his heels into Shadowfax. He rode hard with Boromir and Edmund quickly following. As they rode, the people reacted at seeing Boromir in, talking among themselves. They raced around the wide streets, allowing Edmund to see more of the massive city and be even more impressed at the sheer strength in constructing such an area. He kept the riding up behind the others as they raced along the wide streets, feeling his ears pop at the height as he realized they were easily a mile above the ground and still riding higher. Even Narnia had no cities as grand as this.

They finally came to the top area as the stone walls and buildings gave way to a wide spot at the top of the jutting tower. A courtyard with a grassy plain was there with a fountain surrounding a large white tree. At the far end, set against the mountain, was a huge hall that was obviously the palace. Soldiers in elegant armor stood at attention, bowing in recognition of Boromir as he dismounted.

Edmund took a deep breath of the air which was so crisper at the top of the city. He gazed over the edge of the tower, feeling a bit dizzy at he fully realized how high they were. He blinked to get himself back on track as he followed the others across the courtyard. Pippin was staring in awe at the large tree before them. "Gandalf, that's the tree!"

"Yes," the wizard said, not sparing a glance as he walked toward the large building before them. "The White Tree of Gondor, the Tree of the King. Lord Denethor, however, is not King, only a Steward, a caretaker of the throne."

They came to the entrance of the large building as Boromir spoke. "You must keep yourselves calm and respectful. My father can be a…difficult man in the best of times. He may be pleased to see me but not necessarily you."

Gandalf nodded. "Say nothing of the Ring. Or of Frodo."

Boromir looked to Edmund. "I would probably keep silent of Narnia as well along with your siblings."

Gandalf nodded again. "And tell him nothing of Aragorn either." He paused and looked to the two younger men. "In fact, it's probably best if the two of you simply stand there and not say a word."

Edmund frowned as Boromir moved to open the doors which were black in contrast to the white building. Boromir led the way down the marble halls with huge white columns supporting the domed ceiling. Set around the columns were statues Edmund guessed were past kings. The wide open area of the room led to a large throne of smooth black marble which was empty. In a chair beside the throne sat an elderly man in a long black robe holding a wooden staff.

At their approach, he lifted his head to reveal himself to be an aged man in his sixties, the weight of years on his face. His hair was a long mane of silver falling near his waist and his eyes seemed to gleam with some energy in him.

"Hail Denethor," Gandalf proclaimed. "Son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor. I bring tidings at this dark hour and counsel."

Denethor ignored him, smiling at the other man. "Boromir," he said in a raspy voice. "My son. You have returned to me."

"Father," Boromir smiled back, bowing his head. "I wish my return was under better circumstances but…"

"Where is it?" Denethor hissed as he leaned forward, his face eager. "Where is the Ring? Where is the weapon that will grant us victory?"

Boromir was startled at the request, as was Gandalf. The man recovered to speak as calmly as he could. "I could not…the Ring is not with me, Father. It is being taken to Mordor as we speak."

Denethor's face fell. "It…Sauron has it?" he gasped.

Boromir shook his head quickly. "No. No, a brave hobbit has taken it, to try and destroy it."

"Destroy?" Denethor frowned deeply. "You…let him try to…destroy what can save us?"

"The ring cannot save you, Denethor," Gandalf announced. "The Ring can save no one."

Denethor scowled at him. "You are not to dictate to me, wizard. Not you nor your companions!" He glared at Edmund, then Pippin. "Why are you here? By what right do you bring yourselves to my presence?"

"We are friends of Boromir and Gandalf," Edmund said. "I'm Edmund Pevensie and this is Perrigrin Took." The hobbit nodded and tried to smile but Denethor's glare silenced him.

The Steward looked back at Boromir. "I gave you a task," he hissed. "To bring back the weapon that can save us. I gave this to you rather than Faramir as I know you could accomplish it." He reached out as if to grab at Boromir's arm. "How can you fail me in this, my son?"

Boromir shook his head. "Father, the Ring would not avail us. I know it, I held it and felt its evil. It cannot…"

"It can!" Denethor growled. "It must!"

"The Ring is far from us now, Denethor," Gandalf spoke up. "We have more pressing concerns upon us. The enemy is on your doorstep! Where are Gondor's armies? You are not alone. Gondor still has friends. Send word to Théoden of Rohan. Light the beacons."

"The Beacons have not been lit in generations," Denethor snapped.

"It's the best way to aid our cause," Gandalf said.

The aged man's eyes narrowed. "Our cause?" said Denethor mockingly "Or, rather, your cause? You think you are wise, Mithrandir. Yet for all your subtleties, you have not wisdom. Do you really think the eyes of the White Tower are blind?"

Gandalf frowned in puzzlement and Denethor sneered. "I have seen more than you know. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor and with you right you would seek to supplant me." He raised his eyebrows. "Oh yes, I know who rides with Théoden of Rohan. I have heard of this Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and I tell you now that no ranger from the north will ever rule this kingdom, last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship."

The last words were spat out to effect them all, the four exchanging uneasy glances. Gandalf managed to keep his gaze strong as he spoke in a hard tone. "Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the King, Steward."

Denethor stood up, almost frothing at the mouth in his anger. "The rule of Gondor is mine, and no other's!" he snarled.

Boromir appeared stunned at his father's words. Gandalf merely pursed his lips before turning to march away. Pippin and Edmund both started but quickly followed him. Boromir hung back, gazing at his father, who slumped back in his chair. "Father…" he began.

"Leave me," the aged man whispered. "You…" He looked up with pain in his eyes. "You have disappointed me so much, Boromir. To look upon you now is to look at your brother. For now, leave me."

Boromir bit his lip, keeping his face impassive as he turned to follow the others. They found themselves outside, silent as they digested the events they had just witnessed. "That could have gone better," Edmund finally drawled.

Boromir was naturally troubled, running a hand through his beard. "This…has been a difficult time for him with me away. He is under so much pressure and…

"Do not make false defense of him, Boromir," Gandalf coldly said. "All has turned to vain ambition," said Gandalf as they went out.

Edmund looked around, noting how the sky seemed darker around the city.

Gandalf glanced back at the citadel and sighed. "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 flower again."

"Why are they still guarding it then?" said Pippin.

"They guard it because they still have hope," Boromir said. "A faint and fading hope that one day the king will return and make it flower."

"That a king will come and this city will be as it once was, before it fell into decay." Gandalf's voice reminded Edmund of one of his teachers. "The old wisdom borne 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."

Boromir frowned. "That's a rather harsh assessment, Gandalf."

"But sadly accurate," the wizard stated. "And you well know it, my friend."

Boromir shook his head. "There is still strength here, Gandalf. Strength that will be needed when the battle comes."

They walked to the end of the parapet which faced the east and looked across the plain to the horizon. In the distance not far off, Edmund could see a range of mountains and above them a familiar mix of black clouds, lightning and red light. "Mordor…" breathed Pippin.

"Yes, there it lies," said Gandalf wearily. "Ever has this city dwelt in its shadow."

Boromir sniffed the air. "A storm is coming."

"This is not the weather of the world," Gandalf declared. "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 the city, it will begin."

There was a long pause before Pippin spoke up in a bright voice and smile. "Well…Minas Tirith. Very impressive. So, where are we off to next?"

While admiring the effort, Edmund doubted Pippin's tactic would work and was borne out by Gandalf uttering a mirthless chuckle. "We have nowhere else to go, Master Took. "This is where the hammer shall fall hardest. Here is we make our stand, come what may." His eyes fell on a set of ruins in the distance. "If the river at Osgiliath is breached, if the garrison falls, the orc armies will sweep upon us in hours. We must find a way to light the beacons and gain aid from Rohan."

Edmund stared at the horizon with a sad expression. "Is there any hope, Gandalf? For Frodo and Sam and…Lucy?"

"There never was much hope," the wizard offered with a sad smile. "Only a fool's hope."

Boromir shuffled his cloak as he turned and began to stride away. Edmund frowned as he followed, moving quickly to catch up. "Where are you going?"

"You heard Gandalf," Boromir said. "Osgilath is the key." He looked up at the darkening sky as the sun began to lower in the horizon. "It will be night soon, the perfect time for an orc attack. I can be there before it happens."

"You mean, we'll be there," Edmund said. As Boromir opened his mouth, Edmund shook his head. "Don't try, I'll be helping. Gandalf can keep an eye on Pippin in the meantime and another sword can help."

Boromir had to acknowledge that as he checked his sword. "Very well. We can get fresh horses at the stables and perhaps I can rouse a few more soldiers to join us."

"Will your father approve of you leaving so soon?" Edmund asked as he followed the elder man.

Boromir sniffed. "At the moment, my father would approve of nothing short of my handing the Ring to him on a platter. Hopefully, he can soothe his temper soon."

Edmund somehow doubted that as he moved to follow then paused. "I'll meet you there. I have to see Pippin about something." He turned back to race toward the large courtyard and saw the wizard and hobbit walking across it toward a side of the large palace, no doubt to find quarters. "Gandalf!" he called out.

The two turned to see him coming up, fumbling for something in his pack. "You mentioned those beacons," Edmund began. "The ones that can let Rohan know we need their help."

Gandalf nodded. "Yes. But Denethor will not allow them to be lit."

"So maybe we need to take the initiative," Edmund pressed. "I respect his standing as a ruler but if he can't see the danger and take the right steps to stop it, someone else has to." He pulled out a lantern handing it to Pippin.

The hobbit frowned at it. "This was a gift from the Lady in the Wood."

Edmund nodded. "She said it could light our darkest hour. This certainly seems to qualify." He winked at Gandalf. "I believe you two may find some use for it."

Gandalf let a soft smile come to his lips. "I believe you are right, my young king."

"But Denethor…" Pippin began.

"We'll discuss it later, Master Took," Gandalf said as he hustled the hobbit away and gave Edmund a grateful bow of the head. Edmund returned it as he made his way back to the stables.

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The chill of night came across Osgilath, casting dark shadows on the ruined city. It was quiet, the chaos of Orc attacks having pulled back so the defenders were taking the opportunity to rest, eat and tend to their wounded. Sentries were on guard but saw nothing out of the ordinary, hoping to enjoy these moments of rest. Thus, none saw the dark shapes that slowly rowed down the river. Each was loaded for bear by orcs who, for once, were choosing the stealthy route, keeping their rowing motions quiet as they could.

One sentry did catch sight of them, his eyes widening at the dozen boats making their way down the river. He was opening his mouth to set off an alarm when an orc archer fired a single bow that struck him in the neck. The soldier gurgled and fell back but even in dying, he managed to do his duty as the sound of his armor clashing down stone steps was enough to rouse those within earshot.

Faramir shot to his feet by his campfire, knowing instantly what had happened. "To the river!" he called out as his soldiers immediately followed him. They moved to the buildings by the river, seeing the oncoming boats. Faramir leaned by a column, trying to keep out of sight, most of the other soldiers doing the same, their weapons at the ready. The tension was high as the boats hit the shore, the bows falling like ramps to disgorge a horde of orcs with their battle howls.

Faramir waited until the first of them was nearby before launching himself around the column, slicing one down before moving to another. The other soldiers were soon engaged in battle, fighting against the orcs as best they could but the sheer number of attacks, not to mention their ferocity, soon led to casualties.

Arrows flew from behind as archers fired from their hidden places at the ruins. Orc archers fired back, striking down some while more orcs left their boats to attack. Faramir was doing his best to keep going, cutting down orc after orc. He caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and turned but knew he wouldn't be in time to block the oncoming axe.

Suddenly, a silver blade caught the axe and then moved to stab the orc holding it. Faramir whirled to see a bearded face smiling at him. "You simply cannot keep out of trouble, can you little brother?"

"Boromir!" Faramir gasped. He forget the battle and lunged forward to embrace his older brother. Other soldiers saw it and cries soon filled the air. "Boromir!" "Thank the Valar, Lord Boromir has returned!" "Boromir is here!"

Faramir pulled back, his face showing amazement. "How did you…"

"We'll have time to talk later," Boromir said as he lifted his sword. He nodded to the young man with him. "Oh, Faramir, this is Edmund Pevensie, a valued comrade."

Farmir raised his eyebrows. "Pevensie? I believe I met your young sister."

It was Edmund's turn to be surprised. "Lucy? You saw Lucy?"

A loud howl distracted them and they saw another trio of boats filled with orcs landing. "I believe we have more pressing matters at hand," Boromir noted.

Faramir nodded as he looked to the soldiers around them. "For Gondor and those you love, fight on!"

"Follow the Sons of the Steward!" a soldier cried out, lifting his sword, others taking up the cry. The rallied troops surged forward to attack the orcs. Edmund was right with them, cutting down every creature who came nearby. He felt they had a chance but the enemy troops were still coming in more boats and the darkness overhead seemed to be growing more. He could only hope it would be enough for the light of the White Wizard to shine through.