Nemireth threw open the palace door with such force that the guards on either side jumped, watching her hesitantly as she strode down the steps. Before her, the tree of the king, wilted and dead. Beyond that on the horizon, the stewing and burning maelstrom that was Mordor.

Her heart was racing, thumping against her chest as breaths escaped her lips in long and dangerous drags. The anger was pulsing through her, overriding every other thought and feeling as she was all but paralysed on the spot. How dare he. How dare he call her a coward. He had no idea what she'd been through! What she'd lost! She was no coward! She had never been a coward!

And yet.

Alongside the anger, she could feel the guilt growing within her. The growing sense that through the hurt and the sneering and the insults, Denethor had been right. She had abandoned them. Boromir had died and she had been nowhere near him. Would she too have died in the battle at Amon Hen? Would Boromir have lived? Perhaps there was something she could have done…

Gripping at her helmet, the Princess tore it off and threw it across the courtyard with a yell, the release of days and weeks of tension and stress into a single cry that had all other activity in the courtyard coming to a grinding halt. Guards, servants, maids, merchants, they all turned to watch and she fixed each and every single one of them with a steely glare, daring them to say something, wanting them to say something. None held the gaze for longer than a second before hurrying along with their duties.

Karos exited behind her, his departure much more controller than hers had been, his footsteps steady down the steps.

"Am I insane, Karos? Is there something wrong with me?"

"I've no reason to believe so, your majesty."

"There must be. There must be something wrong that I am the only human on this whole cursed continent that cares about stopping Sauron! Is there something I'm missing? Some magical secret I wasn't told stepping off the boat?"

"I'm not in a position to say, your majesty."

Nemireth slumped down onto the steps, holding her head in her hands and staring down at the slabs between her knees. A dark feeling rose up through her stomach, a sense of terrifying emptiness, the loss of hope. Even in the darkest of days in Rohan she had not lost hope but there was no Éowyn here, no Théodred or Éomer to help. There was no Xiphos either, just Karos and she dare not look up into those calm, steady eyes. She could not bear to see the disappointment that she knew was there.

"We can make arrangements to withdraw our troops from Osgiliath, your majesty, as soon as you give the wor-"

"-We are not leaving, Karos."

A long and quiet moment but she did not care to look up.

"Your majesty," The Captain was now speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully, "You have spoken to Lord Denethor. We cannot defend the city without his help. Right now, we have two hundred men exposed and vulnerable in Osgiliath and six hundred men exposed here. If Sauron attacks as you say he will, then there is nothing we can do without the aid of the other legions."

He was right of course. Everything he said was right. The city gates were wide open, the primary defences rotten and unloved, the walls unmanned and the garrison themselves unprepared. This was not the Minas Tirith she had read about, the city that had hosted the Last Alliance of Elves and Men, the city into which her ancestor, Othion the Great, had ridden with the legions of ancient Aeanor, the men of Númenor united against a terrible evil. If she were smart, she should take the advice of her Captain and withdraw further east, join with Rohan and her own legions, then take Mordor from a position of strength. Minas Tirith was nothing more than a death trap. Yet she had made a promise to Aragorn, a passing promise but one she intended to keep.

The city will stand when you return.

She found something new within herself, a fresh fire. Karos thought this city had no hope and he was right. She would have to give them hope. She would not give up.

Rising from the stairs, she looked Karos in the eye, unblinking.
"We are not going anywhere."

Before he could reply, she walked over to where her helmet had bounced to a stop on its side. Biting down on the further guilt of having lost her temper with it, she checked over the metal for any new dents or scrapes. Thankfully, there was no lasting damage. At least, nothing compared to what it had already suffered.

"Are there any commanders of Gondor in the city?" She asked her Captain, standing upright, helmet in her hand.

"Three, your majesty; Dior, Eradan and Belegorn who commands the garrison. Captain Faramir commands the overall defence but he is in Osgiliath."

"Please summon all three to my chambers." She went to leave only to be stopped by Karos clearing his throat.

"Your highness, I do not believe you have been given chambers."

A deep sigh. The Princess reached out and halted a servant mid-stride who looked rather alarmed at the armoured woman and tall man behind her, "Has Gan-Mithrandir been assigned rooms to rest in while he's here?"

"Of course, my lady?" The poor man was looking between Nemireth and Karos constantly.

"Then I would like my rooms to be as close to his as possible. I am sure it's only right given my status. Once you've shown them to me, can you please inform Captain Karos here?"

"Yes…of course. Please follow me." He scuttled off and she followed with a long look back at the Aeanorean soldier. Though he remained as impassive as ever, she was sure she caught a flicker of a smile as he disappeared from view.

Had it been another time and another place, Nemireth would have been deeply impressed with the lodgings she was offered. They were as spacious as the Golden Hall in Rohan, three rooms with paintings adorning every wall and rugs on every floor. The back room had a vast bed, as large as any she had ever called her own, while the largest contained chairs and long leather couches on which to recline as well as a broad table. At the very end of this room was a balcony out of which she could see all of Minas Tirith and the plains before it. Nemireth's eyes, as ever, were drawn not to the fancy decorations nor the musty smell that betrayed how few had stayed here before her but to the swirling black clouds on the horizon.

The third room, she did notice, had a bath and though she longed to make use of it for the aches and pains she had suffered on the journey to Gondor, there were more pressing matters at hand. Leaning all her weight on the back of a chair and placing her helmet on the table, the Princess closed her eyes and found they'd grown very heavy indeed. She'd no idea how long she dozed in place before there was a knock on the door.

"Enter," She tried to make her hair as presentable as possible alas, she had to accept the windswept look as four men entered. One was Karos, the other three wore the armour of Gondor, not dissimilar to that she had seen Boromir wear on their journey across Middle Earth. The man in front was tall with a noble bearing and a suspicious, hostile gaze. The second was shorter with longer hair and a more curious, perhaps guarded air about him. The third seemed the youngest of them all and uncertain in his posture as if he had been invited in for a scolding.

"Captains Belegorn, Dior and Eradan, your majesty." Her own Captain introduced them. Even when standing amongst the officers of another nation, Karos looked to be the one most in charge. That effortless authority. None of Gondor's men seemed to have it.

"Thank you, Karos," She nodded to him, "Samar?"

"He is in Osgiliath, with his men."

A pity, she would have liked another Aeanorean to even things up but she could hardly complain he was on the frontline, not when things were so grim as they were. Clearing her throat and licking her lips, the Princess gave herself as much time as she could before speaking. This was going to have to be done delicately,

"My Lords," A good start, she thought, "Thank you for coming. I've brought you here to discuss the measures needed to secure this city against potential attack."

The men of Gondor looked amongst themselves, expressions varying wildly. Eradan looked alarmed, Belegorn more annoyed.

It was he she fixed her gaze towards, "You doubt this is needed?"

"Lord Denethor has made no mention of a threat to the city," Said Belegorn.

Even mentioning the stewart's name had the Princess clenching her teeth but she dispelled that anger as best she could with a sigh. She had lost her temper in his presence, she would not lose it again here, "We have received word that Sauron intends to unleash his full might against Osgiliath, then Minas Tirith."

"Osgiliath cannot fall," Dior had his own helmet tucked under his arm but his eyes were wide and gaze jumping anywhere but her own, as if he were looking for an escape route from this meeting.

"Why is that, Captain?" She leant against the table, watching him intently.

"It has not fallen before, it can't fall now."

A small smile crossed Nemireth's lips, "Do you wish to gamble this city's safety on that confidence?"

No answer. Belegorn stepped forward, eyes now narrowed, "Lord Denethor has been told of this threat?"

"He has. He has chosen not to act."

"Then what are we doing here?"

"Lord Denethor has chosen not to act, sitting in his tower and blind to the problems of the world. You, on the other hand, have much more experience at fighting them than he does, than I do. Look out there," She pointed beyond the balcony to where Mordor, conveniently, threw a column of fire into the sky, "Have you ever seen it do that before?"

The men looked amongst themselves uncomfortably but did not reply.

"You all know better than most that something is happening. You know what I say is making sense. You all know better than I that this city is not ready. We are soldiers. It is our duty to prepare the defences as best we can. We do not act against the steward nor break any oaths, we act in the interests of this city, of Gondor. Please, help me to help this land."

Again the Gondorians looked to one another but she saw in particular Dior and Eradan were looking to Belegorn. He was the oldest. He was the senior of the three. It would be he whose lead they followed.

Belegorn licked his lips, glancing out at Mordor then back to Nemireth, then back to Mordor. He took a deep sigh, drawing himself up, preparing himself. She could see the decision was being made but she was powerless to influence it further. Please. Please see it her way. Please see sense.

"We have taken an oath," He finally said, words slow, guarded, "To the steward of Gondor. I have given my word. I will not go behind his back." He went to leave and the other two followed without so much as a word as the door was slammed at their heels.

Nemireth felt the strength leave her, sagging against the table with an exhale of her own, barely holding herself up.

"It was a good try, your majesty." Only Karos had remained.

"I don't understand," She had not looked up, voice soft, "Are they blind or just fools?"

"It's as you said, your majesty, they are soldiers. You've confronted them with something terrifying, something they're not ready for and like all good soldiers, they have fallen back to the minds of recruits. It is not their job to worry, it is the job of their senior commanders. If their commanders are not worried, then neither should they be. It is why good soldiers do not always make good leaders." Karos went to leave, "You tried your best, your majesty. For now, I suggest you get some sleep. We can decide on our course of action tomorrow."

Once he was gone, it was just her alone with her thoughts. Still she stayed in place, able to hear only the muted sounds of a city that was bedding down for the night beyond her room. After that was Mordor, always Mordor. How had the people of Minas Tirith stood for it, having the heart of the enemy so close? Was it something they had just gotten used to? Or had they always been so confident they could handle the threat that it was never something to fear; like a kitten yet to sharpen its claws?

The Princess could take it no longer. Pushing herself away from the table, she went to find which of the neighbouring rooms contained Gandalf and Pippin.

It did not take long, for it was the only other chamber occupied beyond her own. It seemed that Minas Tirith did not quite host the numbers of guests it once had. A knock on the door was greeted with a grunt which she presumed was permission to enter. The wizard was leaning against his balcony, looking out over the city in a cloud of pipe smoke, muttering and grumbling quietly as if it were only himself he could hold council with.

"Gandalf?"

He didn't turn around but by the same measure he did not tell her to go and so she approached and leant against the balcony with him, surrounded in the sweet smell of pipe weed. It was familiar, homely even, though never in Minas Luin had she smelt its like. It was a smell of the Shire, she knew, a smell of Merry and Pippin, Frodo and Sam. It was the smell of their home and for her a smell of Rivendell, of the journey around the Misty Mountains. It felt like such a simpler time.

"You've spoken with Denethor?" She asked, searching his face for a reaction.

He snorted.

"I trust then your discussion went as well as mine."

"Not so well, Princess. I did not need to be restrained from striking him."

"Oh," She looked away, feeling a little colour coming to her cheeks, shame bubbling up, "Yes…" She couldn't think of anything further to say to justify herself.

The Wizard shook his head with another snort, smoke blowing from his nostrils, "The festering heart," He mumbled, "In the dark shadows, the spirit fails and all that was strong and true becomes as smoke in the wind."

Nemireth looked back to him, eyebrow raised and head shaking. She had long given up trying to work out about he meant by his riddles. She had much more pressing question; "What do we do now?"

"What we have always done, what we can."

"And if we're passed that?"

"Are we?" Now he looked to her, "Have we passed the point of no hope?"

Nemireth had thought so, when she had left the talk with Denethor and her despair was at its deepest ebb. She had thought so when the captains had rejected her advice and all strength had left her, but no. Here she was. It was not just for companionship, it was because beneath the exhaustion and the frustration, there was still something there.

The Princess shook her head, "No."

"No, we haven't." Gandalf smiled, "There is still hope. There is still time."

The door opened behind and when Nemireth turned, she saw Pippin dressed not in his jacket and trousers but rather in the uniform of Gondor, sword at his side and the white tree emblazoned across his breastplate.

"So," The hobbit was checking his belt, having not yet looked up, "I imagine this position is purely ceremonial. They don't expect me to do any…oh, Princess," He had finally seen Nemireth, who leant back against the balcony, arms folded across her chest while he spread his, "How do I look?"

"Very noble," She smiled broadly but the confusion remained, "You're wearing it because…?"

"Young Peregrin Took," Gandalf hadn't spared a glance but was now looking back out over Minas Tirith, "Is now in the service of the steward as per his pledge of loyalty."

Nemireth closed her eyes, for what other reaction could she have. Did he ever truly think out the consequences of what he was doing? Now he couldn't leave, his fate tied to that of the city, "Oh Pippin. Why ever would you do that?"

"Um," He looked at his hair-crowned feet, kicking at the tiles beneath him, "It was…payment. Y'know…for Boromir."

Annoyance swiftly gave way to pity, pity at the look in his eyes. She knew well what she saw there, the desire to make amends, the feeling of helplessness that he had not been able to do so before. Approaching him, she knelt and took him into an embrace, "He'd have been proud of you," She whispered, tying a strap he had left undone on the breastplate before she even realised she was doing it, "I know he would."

"Thank you," The young hobbit smiled hesitantly, but beyond them came a fit of coughing. Gandalf was still talking to himself but between each he took a gasp of breath. Pippin hurriedly filled a cup and brought it to him, which the Wizard drank thankfully.

"There's no more stars," Pippin was not looking to Mordor but up, at the sky. Nemireth had not so much as spared it a glance but now that she did, she saw that he was right. The stars she had become so used to seeing were hidden, as if a blanket had been thrown atop the world.

"It's a great cloud that Sauron sends ahead of his host," Gandalf was grave, "The orcs of Mordor have no love of daylight. It is the deep breath before the plunge."

So it was. Sauron's time was near The chances of their victory slowly melting away.

Nemireth took for the door.

"Princess?" Pippin half went to follow her, "Where are you going?"

She did not tell him, for in truth she was not sure. Ideas were running through her mind so quickly that it was hard to slow them down and make sense of them all. She made eyes with Gandalf and received from him a nod. They were not yet done. There was still hope.

She would not give up.

Striding the corridors, she found one of the many servants who dashed about at all times of the day and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, "Tell me, this city has a carpenters guild?"

"It…um…it does, my lady?"

"Send for its leader immediately. And fetch Captain Karos for me at once!" As he went to leave, she stopped him again, "And find me the merchant of the nearest quarry please!"

Before she knew it she was back at her own rooms, but it was not for rest. Indeed, she could barely keep herself still, pacing back and forth throwing glares any time Mordor erupted or rumbled to interrupt an otherwise peaceful night and her runaway thoughts.

It wasn't long before there was a knock on the door. First through was Karos as immaculately dressed as ever, helmet tucked under his arm though it must be now the middle of the night. Following him was she presumed the city's master carpenter, wrinkled of skin and grey of beard but with arms like barrels and broad hands gnarled and hardened. Nemireth took a deep breath, for once she started there was no going back. To her surprise she found she did not even wish to.

"Thank you for coming at this late hour," She was speaking clearly, quicker than normal as she took a grip of a chair to stop herself from pacing, "It occurs to me that I have been neglectful in my protocol."

"My lady?" The carpenter frowned, the irritation evident in every movement he made. This was a long way and a late hour to come for such irrelevant news.

"Yes indeed. It should have been custom for me to present to the Steward of Gondor a gift, as befits his status. Alas, in the rush and confusion, I have forgotten to bring one. Instead, I would like to make amends. The catapults around the city, your men have worked on them before?"

"Of course. Most of them are worn and rotten."

"And that's such a shame for I happen to find them quite beautiful. I very much like your guild to restore them please, to help assuage my guilt and to gift this beautiful city another piece of art."

Behind the carpenter, Karos' brow furrowed.

The carpenter, on the other hand, was beginning to grin, realisation having dawned on wizened features, "Normally it wouldn't be a quick job. There's a lot of work needs doing. We may need to rope in some of the city engineers to help us repair them."

"I'm sure I can leave that in your large and capable hands," She gave him her sweetest smile, "You can report your progress to Captain Karos and he will in turn keep me informed. Unfortunately I cannot pay you up front but if you'll take my word as a lady and princess, your people will get their due and more."

"I think I can live with that."

"Excellent! Obviously the longer this goes undone, the deeper my shame grows so the sooner you can start, the better."

"I'll round up our members and begin at once."

"Then don't let me keep you," She bowed her head as he left, then turned her attention to Karos.

Her most senior Captain was now frowning at her but far from feeling shamed, she felt exhilarated by it, "Your majesty…"

He got no further before there was another knock on the door and a portly man entered, a coat thrown over silken robes, eyes red.

"Ah! I assume you represent the nearest quarry to Minas Tirith?"

"I do, your majesty," He bowed, "White Cliff Mines, a league from the city."

"Well, I frankly love the look of Minas Tirith and I would like to place an order for some stone."

"…your majesty?" He looked confused while Karos sighed.

"For construction at home. They need only be block size, nothing too large. Of course, I will have to defer payment until my treasury catches up and sufficient transport arrives. If you could see your way to storing the stone in the city until that time, I would be very much in your debt. Oh, and the sooner you can fulfil my order, the better. Captain Karos can keep you informed as to the measurements I will need."

"Yes…of course…" The merchant still looked baffled but still he left, once again leaving Nemireth with a now scowling Karos.

"Your majesty, what you're trying to do will achieve nothing. Even if this scheme works, the city cannot defend itself."

"I agree, Karos," Now she was through the herself, half jogging though the taller man was able to keep pace easily, "That is why I'm going to Osgiliath."

A hand gripped her shoulder and hauled her back. The scowl on the Aeanorean's face had turned very ugly, "Out of the question."

"You said yourself. This city cannot yet defend itself. So instead I'll defend that one."

"You are going nowhere near that place."

"I have men in that city. Captain Samar is in that city. As both princess of Aeanor and Captain Commander of the King's Guard, I have as much a right to be there as anyone."

"No, you don't."

She threw off his hand, a move which evidently surprised him as he didn't resist as she knew he could, her voice bold and eyes ablaze, "I know you think me a fool. And maybe I am, but I won't give up. I won't leave this city to burn, not while I have strength left. You want me to lead, Karos. You've always wanted me to lead. Let me do so now, as I see I need to. Please."

For the first time, perhaps in her entire life, she saw Karos hesitate. The Aenorean, veteran of countless campaigns, who had all but taught her how to hold a sword shook his head and let out a most unKaros-like growl, "I'm coming with you."

"No, I need you here. To make sure the defences are as ready as you can make them. I trust no one else with this task. Just this once, you must have faith in me."

He did. She could see he did, but a lifetime of protectiveness, a career as a guard of the royal family fought with that trust. He took a slow step back.

"If there is so much as a whisper that the city may fall, you must withdraw."

"I will."

"No," He grabbed her again to keep her from leaving, his expression fierce, more terrifying than she had ever seen before, "Promise me, Princess. Promise on Eru and the Winds alike that you will not risk yourself."

"I promise, Karos," She was taken aback, words whispered. It was not just anger in his eyes, it was something else, something she had never seen before. Fear. "I will return as soon as I can."

He let go of her and stood as she headed for the stables, slipping her helmet atop her head, sword bouncing at her side.

Until Minas Tirith was ready, there was but one choice.

Hold Osgiliath.

No matter the cost.