Darkness in Minas Tirith

Chapter 1

-o0o-

"We have to press the advantage and attack now. Now, before their fleet grows strong enough to pose a real threat to Gondor!" Thorongil looked around the council chamber, trying to gauge the reaction of the assorted noble men and captains of the Gondorian army. Ecthelion looked thoughtful. Despite Thorongil's repeated warnings about the threat that the corsairs of Umbar represented, he had been reluctant to give him the permission to take a fleet to Umbar itself, to strike before the corsairs would. It had been a concession of the ageing steward already just to give Thorongil the chance to speak before the council, to put his proposal to the vote.

Some of the lords looked like they might be swayed, especially those he knew had lands along Gondor's southern coast. While not openly attacking Gondor, the corsairs had been harrying the smaller hamlets and harbours there with increasing frequency. Some of the captains, too, were eager for the chance to take the fight to the corsairs, instead of waiting for the next raid that they would be too far away in Minas Tirith to prevent or even avenge.

Thorongil might yet have a chance at gaining the council's approval.

"Attacking the corsairs in their own harbour would be a pointless waste of Gondorian resources, ships and lives." Thorongil closed his eyes and took a sharp breath as the awaited dissent was voiced. He was not surprised that Denethor, Ecthelion's son, would be the one to speak against him. While they were both captains of the citadel and trusted advisors of Ecthelion II, they rarely agreed on matters pertaining the defense of their realm. Denethor was both willful and proud, and he had not taken kindly to the idea of a ranger from the North, a former servant of the king of Rohan, advancing so quickly in the ranks of Gondor - and the esteem of his father.

"Not needlessly should we shed Gondorian blood in a pre-emptive strike that will gain us nothing." Denethor continued, "Thorongil would have you believe that the corsair fleet is a threat, yet we do not even know its actual size. No more than three ships have been reported in any raid along our coast." There was shuffling among the councilmen now, some nodding their approval, others glancing at Thorongil with unease. He was losing them.

"Thorongil warns you about the increasing strength of Mordor yet plans to attack only a distant ally of little import."

And suddenly, just before Denethor finished making his point, Thorongil understood with frightening clarity what he was about to say, what he had planned all along. Now he knew why Denethor had surprisingly suggested the council meeting in the first place, had dangled this chance to speak to the council before him. And, Thorongil realized, he was about to lose. Denethor had played him once more.

"I say we take the fight to the real enemy! Let us reclaim Osgiliath!" There was an uproar at that, sudden and frantic in its intensity. Denethor was offering them a price that most of them deeply desired. Many of the lords and captains still considered the loss of Gondor's old capital a stain on their honour, nevermind that the town had been in ruins for centuries. Gondor still held West Osgiliath, but the city's eastern part along with all of Ithilien had fallen to the enemy long ago. But the pride of these descendants of Numenor would never allow them to accept their bitter, slow defeat.

"My scouts report reduced orc activity in Osgiliath and Ithilien. The enemy deems us too weak to reclaim what is ours but he is mistaken!" Denethor had the unquestionable support of the council now. The air was fraught with excitement, with the delirious greed of the noblemen of Gondor. The army captains were calling their support of their lord's son's plan, calling his name, chanting in raucous agreement. They were looking for the son of their steward to lead them to glory.

And, Thorongil had to admit, East Osgiliath, if reclaimed, would be of vital strategic advantage. Gondor could only benefit from holding the city in its entirety, from controlling the main crossing of the Anduin. Still, that knowledge did little to dispel his irritation, to lessen the sting of losing the council's support to Denethor's machinations.

Ecthelion raised a hand and the council chamber fell silent. Despite the enthusiasm Denethor's speech had aroused, Ecthelion addressed Thorongil first. His face was apologetic, as he spoke: "Thorongil, your concerns are valid, but Denethor is right. We need to know more about the extent of Umbar's power, the size of their fleet. Only then will we be able to assess the danger they pose and the risk worth taking in attacking them openly."

He then turned to his son, "If the council agrees and the reports of your men hold true, take a force to Osgiliath as fast as it may be assembled. If the time to strike is now, then we will not delay."

No sooner had Ecthelion stopped speaking, that the council chamber erupted in fresh approval of Denethor's plan. As the steward's son tried his best to appear humble in the face of the open support, Thorongil turned away, trying to hide his frustration behind the stiff set of his shoulders as he all but fled the council hall.

"I will have my men ready to ride at sunrise tomorrow, father…" The rest of Denethor's words were lost as the heavy doors of the chamber closed behind Thorongil.

He turned right into the tower hall, unheeding of his path, letting his feet guide him from the tower as he mused about his failure. He almost ran headlong into a servant who was rushing towards the council hall, clearly on urgent business. Thorongil had half a mind to turn around and follow him, to find out what message he might bring to Ecthelion. In the end, however, he decided against it. He was not expected to attend to any other matters of state today and his focus would be better spent on arranging guard schedules and trying to erase the memory of Denethor's self-righteous smirk from his mind. Perhaps he would also figure out how in the name of the One, he would be getting information on the size of Umbar's fleet.

His feet carried him through the open doors of the Tower of Ecthelion and into the wide courtyard of the citadel of Minas Tirith. A cold wind blew from the north, doing nothing to dispel the heavy cover of clouds that burdened the sky. He walked past the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, past the soothing trickle of its waters without paying heed, still trying to solve the puzzle of Umbar. He could not, he knew, hope to send a warrior all the way through the South Gondorian desert and half of Near-Harad to reach Umbar, yet sending someone by boat was equally doomed to fail. A Gondorian ship in the Haven of Umbar would stand out like an orc in Rivendell.

"I know it has been some time since our last meeting, but are you really going to walk right past me, brother?"

Thorongil whirled around at hearing the softly spoken elvish words. He would have recognized that voice, that gently teasing tone anywhere.

"Elrohir!" In two strides he was at his elven brother's side and enveloped him in a tight embrace. "Whatever are you doing here?" He took half a step back and glanced around warily, "and where is Elladan?"

Elrohir laughed at the suspicion in Thorongil's - Aragorn's voice. "Peace, little brother," he said holding up both his hands in a calming gesture, "he is not sneaking up on you. In fact I thought you would have run into him - he has an audience with Ecthelion as we speak."

Aragorn followed Elrohir's gaze back toward the white tower he had left behind, realizing now that that must have been what the servant was about to announce in the council chamber. It mattered little now, he would hear later of what had been spoken - or, he glanced at Elrohir, he could probably find out sooner. "You did not answer my question, brother, what brings you to Minas Tirith?"

He mustered his brother carefully, his mind still spinning with the surprise of his sudden appearance. But even though he could not put his finger on it, something here was not right. It was not only the fact that Elrohir looked uncharacteristically disheveled, for lack of a better word; some of his hair had come loose from the tightly wound braids he wore and there were scuff marks on his grey leather clothing. Only his cloak, grey and thin, looked immaculate. Aragorn recognized it as a gift from the twins' grandmother in Lothlorien, one of the 'magic cloaks' they had spun so many stories of when he was still a small child. It at least explained why Aragorn had run past his brother without taking note, the cloak blended perfectly into the light grey of Minas Tirith's stonework making him all but indiscernible in the falling twilight. Not quite actual magic, but certainly close enough for an excitable five year-old. On the whole, however, Elrohir did not look like he was going to an audience with Ecthelion II, steward of Gondor.

And suddenly Aragorn realized what it was that had seemed wrong in the first place. Why would Elladan be at that audience already, alone, without his twin brother?

It seemed Elrohir had read Aragorn's thoughts from his face and before Aragorn could voice his questions he held up a hand. "Not here!" He glanced around carefully, ascertaining that they were still alone and nodded for Aragorn to lead the way to somewhere more private.

Aragorn did not hesitate. He trusted his brothers implicitly, whatever their reasons for being here or for their splitting up, they would tell him. He led the way down the stairs next to the main building towards the sixth level that housed the guardhouses, stables and the accommodations of the citadel's guards. His own rooms were adjacent to the bottom of the staircase, allowing him to come and go quickly, and in cases such as these, unnoticed.

"We should be undisturbed here." He invited Elrohir to sit and poured them both a glass of wine. "Now will you enlighten me?"

-o0o-

to be continued...

-o0o-

Disclaimer: All characters and events belong to the Tolkien estate. I merely borrow them for a bit of fun.

Author's Notes: I have been meaning to write a story about Aragorn leading Gondor's assault on the Havens of Umbar in TA 2980 for years now. But when I actually started plotting, making sure I captured Denethor's intrigues, Ecthelion's reluctance and all the events leading up to the actual assault, I suddenly realized that by the end of my plot, Aragorn had not yet actually set sail. Consequently, this will be the first part of a trilogy, spanning Aragorn leaving Gondor, his raiding of the corsair stronghold and his subsequent journey along the edges of Mordor.

I have tried to keep events and timelines accurate as far as information was available from appendices or the books themselves, apart from the obvious addition of Elladan and Elrohir accompanying their brother on his adventures.

I'd love to hear your thoughts!