The Strangers in Middle Earth

I own nothing but my OC's

AN: So where have I been? Basically my computer died on me and at the moment I'm writing this on one I've borrowed. I'm sorry this update took so long but it's here at last. Have a great time folks.

Chapter Twelve

The White City

As I have said before, in the writing of this account of the War of the Ring from my own perspective, I have often thought about whether or not it is right of me to include the affairs of other parties. However, I have decided that it is best for the sake of making this work as complete as possible to discuss the great feats done by the men who defended Minas Tirith with all they had before the ai of Rohan could come.

The ride from Edoras to Minas Tirith was a hard one, and without a doubt if it had just been Gandalf and Pippin they would have ridden without pause. However, as my uncle and his men were a part of their group, they stopped each night for a few hours. Even with these brief moments of respite, the journey was hard on everyone, my uncle in particular. For a man of his years he was in excellent health but going on these long rides served as a reminder of his age. The journey itself took them along the Great West Road, a name my uncle considered to be ironic as it was little more than a dirt track with the occasional paving stone here and there, still syubbornly clingling into place, refusing to be moved by the ruthless passage of eternity. Many of those men in our company could almost imagine it as it once was, a great example of the skill and ingenuity of the ancient men of Numenor stretching from the far-off north lands and down to Gondor. Now though, it was long abandoned, a tragedy in a way. It was not too different to the old Roman ruins still found in many places across England. Many times my cousins and I with a few other boys would explore the crumbling forts and watch towers, once we even rode along the remains of the mighty wall of Emperor Hadrian in those lands. I remember, during that adventure when I was thirteen years old I stood on the remains of a tower and wept, thinking about how once a mighty empire ruled England, and it fell to never rise again. Was Gondor like that long gone Empire? Was Minas Tirith about to fall as Rome did to the namesake of my sword or as Constantinople to the Turks? As boy I stood on those walls and towers, continuing their vigil long after the men who guarded them had gone. Would boys do the same on the walls of Gondor?

On their first nights rest my uncle got an hours sleep before waking up and seeing that Gandalf was sitting on a rock at the edge of their camp, smoking his pipe.

'Gandalf,' my uncle said and sat on another rock next to him.

'James. Shouldn't you be sleeping?'

'I can't, not when a battle is so near.'

'There are fewer better times to sleep, you'll need rest for the fight to come.'

'I can rest afterwards. I've had an hours rest, that's all I need. I have questions.'

'Ask if you wish.'

'What is the political situation in Gondor? Who will we be dealing with? I know that Lord Aragorn is the heir to the throne of Gondor, you said so yourself, so is the leader in Minas Tirith his father?'

'No. Aragorn is descended of the line of Isildur, who died thousands of years ago. Gondor was then ruled by other dynasties until it's last king died many years ago. Since then it has been ruled by the Stewards. The current Steward is Denethor.'

'And what is his character? Is he a good man?'

'He is dedicated with all his heart to protect his country, but he is arrogant and does not trust me.'

'Doesn't he?'

'He believes I want to use his kingdom as nothing more than a shield without care for the lives of his soldiers.'

'Do you?'

'No. I want to see Gondor stand against Mordor, but I will never throw away a life.'

'I'm glad to hear it. Will Denethor accept my and my men's help?'

'I see no reason why not, he is outnumbered and as long as you stay away from his politics he should be more than willing to accept you into his service.'

'Politics,' my uncle growled. 'I hate getting involved with politics, being stuck in London with petty little men trying to get attention from the king. Give me twenty good men and a boar to hunt and I'll be a happy man indeed.'

'Not one for the politics of court?'

'Absolutely not.'

'I can't say I prefer small towns and villages to larger cities as well, though Minas Tirith is a city of men unlike any other.'

'You know, the strangest thing I've found since coming here is the kinship between men by being of the same race. I suppose when you're beset by Orcs and other monsters it comes naturally.'

'I suppose so, and that's why I find it so terrible that so many men have come under the influence of Sauron.'

'I'm not surprised to be honest. People can terrible things. That's the other matter I wanted to talk about, though it's a bit more personal. When we were at Isengard, Saruman said some things about me, things that only I and a handful of people, even my own sons don't know.'

'The Palantir.'

'The glass ball?'

'Yes. It is capable of showing its user many things, I dare say he could have seen your own past in it.'

'I see. It's just, what he saw could get me in a lot of trouble in England.'

'Why? What is it you did?'

'You see, King Richard of England, he had enemies, two boys, his nephews, who were declared bastards. Still, the older boy was at one point declared king before being recognised as a bastard.'

'Did King Richard harm the boys?'

'I found out that he, or at least one of his supporters, planned to have them killed. Their mother, Elizabeth Woodville, was a friend of my wife so she came to me and asked me to help her. We got the princes away from the castle they were being held at and replaced them with a pair of boys suffering from a coughing sickness who were not long for this world. Only a day after we got the boys out, the replacement boys vanished.'

Gandalf looked at my uncle, astonished at the story.

'Even after he tried to kill innocent boys, you still served Richard?'

'England had been bleeding for years Gandalf, and she needs peace. Sometimes even the peace of a tyrant who restricts violence to his enemies is still peace. This was the only bad thing I can say of Richard's character, he was a great warrior and brave commander, I followed him in battle at Berwick and as Lord of the North of England he served honourably. I've had this argument with myself many times Gandalf, and I've grown tired of it. I've grown tired of wars and battles, and I want to retire from it all.'

'Do you ever wonder, James, what you would have done if war did not demand your attention?'

A faint smile crossed the old mans face and he sighed.

'I would have been an architect, in a way I was as well. After my father vanished, management of Widford went to my uncle on my mothers side and he mismanaged everything. When I became a man, I got to work and they were truly the most satisfying years of my life. I built a bridge over the ford, rebuilt my villages walls and designed a new church and tavern for my castle.'

'You enjoy building things?'

'I do. Sometimes when I was younger I would just draw out designs in my free time. It was a long time ago. I am a soldier now, Gandalf. My world made me a soldier, and I am good at it.'

'The battle to come may be the hardest of your life James. Either way, no matter what happens, your father will be proud of you. Now, to prepare for the greatest battle in history, I suggest you get another hours sleep.'

For the rest of the journey there was little conversation amongst the party, riding as fast as they could through Rohan and then they crossed the Mering Stream into Gondor at dawn on the final day of their journey.

'How much further?' Oswald shouted from his horse.

'Not much further, only a few hours.'

'We're almost there, boys!' Jason roared to the cheers of the rest of the men.

Finally they reached the top of a hill and there they encountered a sight which took their breath away.

'Minas Tirith,' Gandalf proudly announced. 'The City of Kings.'

'It's beautiful,' my uncle said when he first saw the white city.

The incredible city before them was unlike any they had ever seen before, made of white stone against the side of a mountain and around an out jutting shoulder of rock,and the whole city was divided into seven levels, each one higher and higher until at its top was a palace and tall tower. The lowest level of the city covered a great area and appeared to be formed up of a complex network of houses and streets, and its outermost wall was made of black stone.

'I've never seen its like before,' said Jason.

'A city built in a time of greatness long gone,' the wizard told them before leading them towards the city.

They rode through Pelennor, that great collection of farms and fields surrounding the city until at least reached the massive iron and wood gates, ornately fashioned to show reliefs of the great heroes of Gondor's past. Upon reaching the gates they were opened at once as soon as they saw Gandalf, many of the soldiers and people they past in the city cried out one of his many names. Through each level they rode, each level blocked off by a gate, until at last they reached the stone steps leading to the final level. There the stone stairs leading up to the top and the palace there was blocked by a line of soldiers not wearing the plate of the normal soldiers but plate of a quality seen on the finest of knights and with black cloaks.

'Captain Beregond,' Gandalf said to the leader of these men.

'Mithrandir, surely your return to Minas Tirith is a sign that the feared attack of the enemy is nigh.'

'I'm afraid so. I must speak with the Steward at once.'

'I understand of course, but I cannot allow so many armed men inside the citadel.'

'Of course. The Hobbit I ride with shall remain with me, as for Baron James, how many of his companions will you allow with him?'

Beregond looked at my uncle for a moment before deciding.

'You may bring two guards with you.'

'Thank you, captain.'

He selected Richard and Thomas Fendrel as his guards while the rest remained at that spot with Sir Jason in command. The group of five were then led up the stairs onto the great courtyard at the top of the city before the doors of the palace. Walking towards the doors they past an ancient white tree which Pippin was excited to see.

'Gandalf. Gandalf it's the tree.'

'Yes Pippin, the White Tree of Gondor, the tree of the King, but Lord Denethor is only a Steward. Pippin, it will be best for you to not say anything to Lord Denethor.'

'You mean about,' he didn't finish the sentence, but the look on his face was one where both he and Gandalf knew what he meant.

'Yes, and Denethor is Boromir's father, telling him about his sons death would not be well for us. James, though you hate attending court, surely you know enough of etiquette for meeting the Steward.'

'Of course.'

'In that case, let's go.'

Gandalf led them into the throne room, a large hall of white stone, along each wall were arched alcoves within stood statues of the past kings of Gondor. At the head of the chamber was, on a tall dais of marble, was an ornate throne and at the foot of the steps leading to it was another, more simple chair upon which sat a man with long grey hair who looked as if he hadn't shaved in several days, draped in a black fur lined robe and clothes of the finest quality. Gandalf was leading the group, with Pippin just behind him and my uncle behind the two of them, flanked by Richard and Thomas, the latter of whom truly felt out of place in such an opulent hall, dressed in his simple clothes and carrying a bow and short falchion instead of the weapons of a knight.

At last they stopped before the smaller throne and bowed.

'Hail Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor,' Gandalf addressed him with all the respect a man of his position deserved. 'I come with tidings in this dark hour.'

'You come with tidings?' he asked and revealed in his hands something my uncle thought was strange, a horn, snapped in half, though he did not know of its significance. 'Perhaps you are here to tell me why my son is dead?'

His voice was shaky and my uncle at once recognised the signs of a once great man on the brink of shattering.

'Boromir died to save us, my kinsman and me,' Pippin said and knelt before him. 'He fell defending us from many foes. I offer you my service, in payment of his debt.'

'What is your name, Halfling?'

'Peregrin Took.'

'Then, Master Took, this is my first command of you. How did you escape when my son did not, when he was such a mighty man?'

'Even the mightiest of men will fall to an arrow, he had been struck by many.'

The look on the Stewards face was somewhat calmed by this, perhaps knowing that his eldest son died as a hero brought some comfort to him, though his sorrow was evident.

'Get up,' Gandalf told the Hobbit, annoyed at him already, before addressing Denethor. 'My lord, there will be 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 are not alone, Theoden is still in Rohan and if you light the beacons he will come, and I have already brought aid to you.'

My uncle knew that his turn to speak had come at last, so he stepped forward and bowed deeply to Denethor.

'Lord Steward of Gondor, I am James Harris, son of Bartholomew Harris, Baron of Widford. I command a company of well trained and well armed men including many knights, some of which I have brought with me, while the rest wait in Edoras to answer the call to war. We wish to enter your service and fight alongside you in the defence of this city.'

'Harris,' he said, thinking on the name. 'I do recall when I was younger a man by the name of Bartholomew Harris arriving at this city, searching for information. He spent two months looking through every archive and library in the city before leaving, saying he had not found a way home. He was a man who had crossed worlds.'

'That was my father.'

'So you found a way to him?'

'I believed he was dead for many years, until chance brought me and my men here. Learning he still lived was a relief to be sure.'

'And since arriving you stood to defend Helm's Deep in service of the King of Rohan. Tell me, why do you still not serve him?'

'I go where the war needs me.'

'I see. Tell me, when you defended Helm's Deep, you also knew of just who you stood alongside?' he then turned his attention back to Gandalf. 'Are you arrogant enough, wizard, to believe that the White Tower is blind to your schemes? I know just who rides with Theoden of Rohan, and I will not bow to that ranger from the North, the last vestige of a ragged house long bereft of lordship.'

'Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the king, Steward.'

'Rule of Gondor is mine, and no others!' Denethor then snapped at Gandalf who led Pippin out of the hall, before Denethor turned his eyes to my uncle. 'It is true that I have need of men and I will accept you and your company into my service. I'll send a messenger to Edoras to summon the rest of your company.'

'Thank you, my lord.'

'How many men do you have with you?'

'Including myself, twenty nine. Eight of them are bowmen and the rest are men at arms.'

'I wish you brought more with you now.'

'If you'd refused, I'd hoped to save them the stress of the journey.'

'I understand. Take some time to rest your men, tell Captain Beregond that you and your company are to be given use of the Green Street Barracks. This afternoon, I want you to lead your men to Osgiliath, the city across from us on the Alduin, my remaining son, Faramir,' he said the name almost as if it tasted ill on his tongue, 'is in command. Assist him in the defence of the city.'

'As you command, my lord.'

My uncle then bowed to him and turned to leave, leading Thomas and Richard with him. As soon as they were outside, my uncle shook his head.

'Pompous ass,' he described Denethor.

'Father?'

'He saw us arrive with Gandalf and now he's getting rid of us while still gaining more men for the defence of his city. Clever but stupid at the same time, he's paranoid.'

He then saw Gandalf and Pippin standing at the edge of the courtyard looking east, so my uncle decided to tell him what he had been ordered to do.

'Gandalf.'

'He's sending you to Osgiliath?' Gandalf asked.

'How did you know?'

'I don't need my powers to understand the ideas of a paranoid fool. The battle that will decide the fate of Middle Earth will begin soon. Look.'

My uncle followed Gandalf's pointed finger towards the east where he saw a river and faintly he could make out a city on its banks, and beyond it a land of trees and woods and there, in the distance, a dark line on the horizons, mountains he realised and then remembered a map he had been shown in Edoras.

'Mordor. The land of our foe.'

'Do you see the clouds over the mountains?'

'Just.'

'Orcs despise the light of day, so Sauron will send forth the clouds to block out the sun. The battle will be fought in darkness.'

'That may be so, but it will be won by a few brave men. Good luck here, do whatever it takes to light the beacons.'

'Good luck to you James.'

The two of them shook hands and then went back down to where the rest of the company were waiting, some had struck up conversations with the Royal Guard. As soon as Jason saw my uncle he cleared his throat and got the attention of the men who were silenced.

'Captain Beregond, the Steward has given my company use of Calen Othrand Street Barracks.'

'My men will show you the way.'

The barracks in question was a large building, large enough to house two hundred men, but it had clearly not been used in a while. There were beds and straw mattresses, but it was not one of the buildings used by the majority of the garrison. My uncle took up residence in the commanders room on the top floor and was glad to find a cupboard in there to store some items of his, such as the papers he took from Isengard. After that he went downstairs to the mess room where he was glad to see that Denethor had sent a few servants there to prepare some food, a hearty soup containing ham and several types of vegetable, and each man had a large bread roll and some ale. The mess hall itself was large enough for the two hundred men the garrison was meant for, but it felt empty with less than forty men inside. Still, the lunch they had was a welcome one, and as usual, Oswald played on his pipe after wolfing down his soup and bread. After they had eaten, my uncle went to the head of the room with Jason who he nodded at and Jason got a mischievous grin on his face.

'SHUT UP!' he roared and in shock Oswald accidently let out a painful screech on his pipe and a moment later everyone else was silenced.

'Thank you, Sir Jason. Lord Denethor has given us our first duty in the service of Gondor. We are to go to the city of Osgiliath, it is close by, at a hard ride less than an hour by my reckoning. There we will join the defenders under the command of Lord Faramir, Denethor's son. To save time we will ride in armour, be ready in one hour.'

'Don't we even get one good nights sleep?' asked Peter of Pevensey.

'No,' my uncle said shrugged. 'You have an hour to get ready, though I do say it's odd that a young man like you Peter complains about our orders when I, a men three times your age, does so with no issue at all.'

That earned Peter a few laughs at his expense, and afterwards no one even grumbled at their predicament.'

They all helped each other put their armour on and prepare their weapons before, in the early afternoon, they stood in the barracks training yard, the building was in the shape of an L with the yard forming a square when combined with the building itself. Before heading to Osgiliath, my uncle decided to inspect the men and altogether he was impressed. Aside from the archers, who universally wore some style of coat of plates, about half of the remaining men at arms were wearing a fair amount of plate. As for weapons, half of them were armed with billhooks of some type, and the rest carried a mix of shields, swords, falchions, axes and spears. While not the best of the company, they were all good fighters.

'Alright men, mount!'

Each of them climbed onto their horses and rode through the yards gate, into the street where a few passers-by watched them without much interest, my uncle guessed that armed men on the streets was a common sight in times of war. As they at last approached the cities gates, they opened to allow new arrivals to enter the city, my uncle and his men waiting at the side of the square, as a line of two hundred men armed with long axes marched into the city, led by a large, portly man with a long white beard sitting on a strong horse.

'Forlong!' the people nearby chanted as he entered. 'Lord Forlong!'

'Who are they?' my uncle asked a local soldier nearby.

'The men of Lossarnach, and Lord Forlong is the lord of those lands.'

'And does Lord Forlong have a good reputation?'

'He's a veteran warrior and a great commander.'

'Good.'

When the last of these men arrived my uncle led his men towards the gate and they rode along the road towards the ruined city, soon to enter the next great battle of the War of the Ring.

Review Responses:

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