~ Chapter Three ~

Minas Tirith was quiet. Then, the palace doors smashed wide and the king stormed out. The city shuddered, as a sleeping dog when it has been woken. It seemed to stretch and yawn and, wearily, the residents began to arise. Aragorn passed furiously down to the stables. He was buckling his belt, pinning his cloak and trying to calm his frenzied thoughts. He entered the stables and inhaled the musty air. Then, he ran to the back of the chamber, rousing the equine family as he moved. He swung open the door and patted his steed on the rump.

"Come, boy. Up with you now," he said sternly. Brégo glared at him but, letting out a snort, he got to his hooves and waited patiently while his master loaded him up with saddle and harness. Then, Aragorn swung one leg into the stirrup and then settled into place. It felt good to be astride a horse once more. He felt in charge once more. No cares in the world but for justice to prevail. Making sure that Andúril was safely in its scabbard, he kicked his heels back into Brégo's fawn sides and then sped out from the stables and back into the sunlight.

Half-awake stable boys leaped out of the way as the king came galloping past. He cantered down, from level to level until he reached the golden doors of his kingdom.

"Open in the name of the king!" he ordered. The man on guard jumped and bowed low. He then hurriedly woke his companion and they ran to obey him. Aragorn gazed in awe at the countryside flowing out before him. It had been too long since he had felt this free. But now he was bound north. Brégo raced out into the broad fields and the citizens of Minas Tirith watched as their king rode out, faster and faster and looked at each with consternation as he dropped below the horizon.

--

The day was cold. It was the twenty-first morning and it held mixed feelings for Samwise. He lay next to his wife, gazing up in the ceiling in thought. His restlessness had subsided. All seemed calm. More so, in many ways, than it had ever done. Stretching, he climbed out of bed to go and wake his children. (A.N: I am awfully sorry if I get Sam's children wrong. It is unforgivable if I have)

He crept into Elanor's room and was about to call out softly but then decided against it. She looked so peaceful, her golden hair spilling out like sunshine around her pretty face. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she suddenly burst out into a fit of giggling. At first, Sam thought that she had woken but he realised that Elanor was still fast asleep, engrossed in a happy dream. He quietly retreated and went to see if Frodo-lad was awake. He was.

"Mornin', my love," Sam said, walking over to the bed. His son blinked at him and grinned.

"I had lovely dreams, Daddy!" he cried, reaching out to put his arms round his father's neck. Sam embraced him warmly then sat down on the nearby chair.

"And what did you dream about then?"

"I dreamt that I was sittin' on a long wooden thing-y. It stuck out into the water and I was sittin' on the end of the thing-y and looking out to the water. It was huge!" Frodo spread his arms very wide to try and get across the enormity of this scene. "Bigger, even than this! And there was a little boat bobbing on the waves. And it was filled with nice people. They were wavin', like this." He waved both his hands over his head and Sam laughed. Frodo grinned at him and then continued, eyes shining. "Oh, it was wonderful, Daddy! There was a dwarf with a bright red beard and two other hobbits and a big man with a golden crown and there was an elf too! A real an' proper elf, Daddy! And they were all wavin' like mad." He waved his arms again. Then he yawned sleepily. Sam smiled and walked over to kiss his child on the forehead.

"You sleep as much as you like, Frodo-lad. And I'll get us some breakfast."

"Alright, Daddy," the little hobbit said, already buried under his covers again. Sam walked back out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. The smile on his face had been replaced by the frown of bewilderment. That dream had to mean something. You always did get meaningful dreams about this time of year. But there was no doubt who his son had seen. But he had never mentioned his friends to anyone before. He padded downstairs to the kitchen and slung his apron on over his night-clothes.

"Now then," he said, "Breakfast."

--

Light streamed through Osgiliath. The river splitting the city gleamed silver in the light and the buzz of voices started to grow in the narrow streets. In a small house sitting at the end of a road, Faramir awoke and yawned loudly, waking his wife. Eowyn groaned and lashed out with a hand before he could get up.

"Ssh," she scolded, "Can you not stay still for just a few moments?"

Faramir sighed and fell back onto the covers.

"Go back to sleep," Eowyn murmured.

Just then, there was a hammering on the door. Both of them leapt up, flinging on robes and shoes. They hurried to answer the frantic knocking. Faramir flung the door wide and peered outside. His face lit up.

"Aragorn! What a-"

The man stopped him with a raised hand.

"I need your help," he said.