A/N: Welcome back! I hope you enjoy the second installment. Please review
and let me know what you think. A special thanks to Anja Summers, my new
beta!
.
Stone. No, my bedroom wall was gone. In it's place, a stone wall.
"What the..." I reached out and touched it, finding it solid beneath my fingers. I drew away and looked wildly around me. I sat on large pebbles, poorly-ground gravel. Around me men in metal armor lay sprawled with arrows protruding from them, horses too I looked to my other side and saw the same. Shocked, I stood, my head spinning from what I was seeing. Surely this was the dream.
I froze when I heard something. Again, but what was it? A third time and I recognized it—a groan. I knelt down by the figure beside me and gasped. It was he, the man who introduced himself to me as Faramir! He was alive! I frowned at seeing the arrow which pierced his metal armor.
I didn't think. All I knew was I couldn't let him die...again and if I was in Middle-earth like I thought I was, I couldn't sit here and do nothing.
I looked around, trying to think of what I could do. Something moving caught my eye, and spurred an idea in my mind. I jogged over to where a horse was pacing, I assumed was his and was obviously startled by the attack. Carefully I walked around him so he could see me and carefully placed a hand on his head which startled him even more, sending him to his hind legs, neighing fiercely.
"Shh! Shh!" I tried, racking my brain. "Oh, Ryder, what should I do?" I prayed to my horse-loving friend.
Yelling was heard from behind me and I could only assume one thing: orcs. "Oh, crap."
Looking around me wildly, I suddenly had an idea. I went over to a dead soldier and began removing his armor, putting it on my to the best of my abilities...which was not very good and involved much cussing. I felt like a grave robber and I silently apologized profusely. The armor was obviously designed for someone to put on the warrior, but having only myself, the armor unceremoniously hung off me at odd angles.
'What am I doing?' I asked myself, 'Isn't it obvious that this didn't save them?'
'We'll its better than nothing.' I chided as I tightened the final straps and placed the helmet over my head. The armor was much too large and I stumbled as I walked, clanging noisily.
'They're going to hear you even more now!' I thought as I shifted my arm plates which were slowly sliding off my arms. The horse cooperated a little bit better with me, recognizing the armor. I led him over to Faramir who was fairing no better. The orc voices were getting nearer and my heart was racing. I was going to die not even fifteen minutes after falling into Middle-earth!
'This isn't Middle-earth and you know it,' the voice in my head scolded. 'This is another one of those dying dreams your mind concocts.'
I ignored the voice and concentrated at my task at hand. Dream or no dream, I would make the best effort to survive because this was like nothing I experienced.
I heaved Faramir up by his armpits and staggered to keep upright. I don't know what I expected, but all thoughts of getting Faramir on the horse were dismissed from my mind. I used all my energy and hauled him once more, only succeeding getting a little more than his knees off the ground.
My energy spent, I gently laid him back down, kneeling beside him. The orc voices were close now, and it would only be a matter of minutes until they found us.
But something unexpected happened. The horse knelt down on the other side of Faramir, nudging him with his nose. I sprang to my feet and hauled Faramir up, swinging his leg over the horse. The horse then stood and tossed its mane from its eyes. I heard a yell from behind me and turned to find a group of five orcs, some holding swords and at least two holding bows. I put my foot in the stirrup and stepped up to mount the horse. Two arrows whizzed by, narrowly missing me, and spooking the horse into starting forward. I lost my balance and fell to the ground and Faramir began to slip. I managed to grab the stirrup and hoist myself up just as the horse started into a canter. Locking my arms around Faramir, I spurred the horse forward.
It was more than difficult steering the horse to Minas Tirith since I couldn't even see over the man's head. It didn't help that I had never ridden a horse before and there were orcs madly chasing us. There were no longer just five of the enemy; the number was quickly reaching the hundreds and arrows were raining down around us. A few clanged against my armor, making only dents, but not piercing. However, the horse wasn't as fortunate. Two arrows streamed straight into his back flanks, causing him to slow significantly and yell in pain.
"Keep going, boy. Come on, you can do it,' I whispered in his ear as best I could. He tried to go forward, but he couldn't make it. His legs buckled, but he remained standing. I looked back, we covered only half the distance and orcs were spilling out of the city after us. I looked down at the arrows and contemplated ripping them out. I had no idea whether allowing the wound to bleed or letting the arrows stay would be a better idea. The horse slowed and I took a chance. I grabbed the shaft of the arrow, closed my eyes, and pulled. The horse screamed in pain and shuttered under me. Warm liquid covered my hand and I felt my stomach flip. Quickly, I opened my eyes and pulled the other arrow out. The reaction wasn't to the extent and the horse was able to gallop slightly further. I was within a hundred yards of the gates when the horse gave out, his back legs buckling, sending Faramir and I to the ground. While untangling myself, I lost the metal armor from one of my arms, but I didn't bother with it.
I caught my breath and risked a glance behind me, but the orcs were retreating. I threw off my helmet in disbelief. Why would they be running?
Then, my movie-mind kicked in. The enemy only ran if something bigger was coming.
"Like in Moria..." I whispered, my eyes growing wide. I froze, paralyzed with fear, afraid to turn around. 'I'm toast,' I thought as I slowly turned my head.
The gates to Minas Tirith were wide and four guards, armed in familiar shiny silver, were running out. Archers and other guards stood on the wall above.
I exhaled and closed my eyes, my adrenaline steaming through my pores. 'Thank God the bigger enemy is friends!' I thought to myself. Surely a friend of Faramir was a friend of Gondor, right?...Surely, I was a friend of Faramir...right?
I was suddenly unsure of myself, of my entire plan. But what could I do? It was either be killed by orcs or men.
The orcs actually sounded more appealing. At least I wouldn't feel as ridiculed and worthless by my own race.
Strong arms hauled me up by my underarms. "I can walk!" I objected stepping away. "It's him. I think he's been poisoned." I motioned to Faramir.
"Captain Faramir!" one of the men gasped. "Hurry! He is near death's door." Two of the guards hauled him up, grasping his ankles and wrists and began running to the gate.
"Are you sure you can manage?" a guard asked me.
"I am not injured."
"But, sir, you have three arrows in your back!" the other, and seemingly younger guard, stated, motioning to my back.
I turned, trying to see what they were talking about and I noticed a few orcs making their way over. "We'll worry about those later," I told them, motioning to the orcs and starting at a job toward the gate. I could hear the others follow behind me.
-
The gate closed with a bang behind us, my head spinning. How could it be that I had been shot, yet feel no pain? I sadly deduced that I must be in a dream.
I moved away from the crowds in the square and struggled out of what was left of my armor. I must have looked like a fool to the Gondorians, only a few articles of protection left and those were hanging off me at awkward angles. Slipping the breastplate over my head, I turned it over and almost gasped at what I saw. Three arrows protruded from the metal, their tips ledged into the armor. The only reason I was unharmed by them was because the size of the armor. It was so big it did not touch me, but literally hung off me.
Maybe I wasn't in a dream after all...
No one really took notice of me while I stood there, wide eyed and in shock. That simple realization ran through my head and with it the proximity of year-old dreams. My eyes slowly raised from the 'arrow platter' I held in my hands. What I saw was amazing; pure white stone that was as smooth as marble extended far above me and seem(ed) to lead to the heavens themselves.
"'Its seven walls of stone so strong and old that it seemed to have been not builded but carven by the giants out of the bones of the earth'..." I quoted, my voice but a whisper dissolved in the people bustling about.
A loud voice cried out, and all fell silent. I had an eerie feeling everyone was looking at me. I slowly lowered my head, temporarily forgetting about my armor in my hands.
"Where is he who accompanied Lord Faramir?" the voice repeated. "The Steward demands his presence!"
I instantly decided I did not want to be discovered or meet with the Steward. Denethor seemed like a shady character to me—then again anyone who burns themselves alive is a little queer.
"Sir," a guard stepped up to be, I recognized him and my heart sunk, "if you will join me..." He turned and began walking toward the second gate. I dropped the remaining armor on the rest and slowly followed behind. Another soldier fell into step behind me. No way to escape.
I looked in wonder as we passed by shops and homes, all created from matching stone. It was unreal how such a magnificent place could be made.
At the third level, the first guard addressed me. "You are no soldier of Gondor."
I tripped on a stone in the road. "Excuse me?" I asked, wanting to make sure I heard him correctly.
"You are no soldier of Gondor," he repeated. "How did you come to be clad in our mail and with our ranks?"
"I...uh—I..." I stuttered. 'I really should have thought about this!' I mentally scolded myself. "It's a long story and I don't think you'd believe me if I told you...I don't really believe it myself."
He stopped and looked at me. "You did not leave from here. You are a woman. Prepare your tale, for the Steward will be expecting it. Anyone who can be shot yet have no wounds must be fooling with witchcraft." He turned and started again with a renewed pace.
I gulped. Maybe falling into Middle-earth wasn't such a great thing after all.
-
The view was amazing as we walked, winding around the city toward the citadel. Everything was white. I immediately thought of Tolkien's use of black and white; those who allied with Sauron and evil and their cities and garb chiefly black and dark colors, those who opposed the enemy were white, their colors light. Then, there were those that were indifferent or chose a side, but did not involve themselves in the battles. They were not known for a singly color, but all of the colors. I thought of the Shire; would it start to be overrun by Saruman—or had it already?
There were also the Elves, very colorful people who were against Sauron, but kept to their own affairs, for their time is ending. Rohan also strikes me as a more brown country.
Then it hit me. It was the white city versus the black and the 'colored' fell into place around, choosing sides. 'I've been in World Literature and Comprehension for too long,' I thought.
The ground beneath me leveled out so we were no longer walking uphill. We were in the courtyard of stone. Ahead of us loomed the citadel, and I shuttered. Denethor's rule would not do me justice. He was quick to judge and based most of his knowledge on what he saw in the palantir. I hoped he would not see me as a spy from the dark side.
We passed under the dead white tree and up the citadel stairs. There, the guards, clad in their silver-winged helmets and dark cloaks adorned with the white tree of Gondor, opened the doors. I looked at them closely, wondering if ether of them was Beregond. The thought of him suddenly put a plan in my head to get me out of this mess.
The doors opened and a large hall was exposed. Large widows on the side walls sent rays of light into the marble room. Rows of tall black pillars extended high into the roof and stood out greatly against the rest of the white room. Between each of the pillars were statues of, what I could only guess were, former kings of Gondor. They extended down the isle to an empty throne, set upon many steps. Behind it, the tree of Gondor's branches, carved into the marble wall, spread wide to almost touch the seven stars around it. My eyes drifted to the seat below the chair, which Denethor sat, poised on the final step. The black chair caused my eyes to flicker at the site and return to my previous musings. Denethor was the evil of this magnificent hall. The power of the Ring also plagued men, creating the darkness of black pillars in their hearts.
The guard's armor clanged loudly as they walked, the sound echoing in the silence. I noticed they had fallen into step beside me, allowing Denethor full view of me. He looked at me carefully and spoke, a white rod clutched in his hand.
"The hour grows darker when spies enter city gates," he spoke to me. The guards turned and left me standing before him.
I was reminded of Gandalf's meeting with him and how similar this conversation seemed to be heading. "Dark are the days when you treat friends as foes," I replied, trying to find a place to rest my arms without looking like a fool. I found myself wishing I had a sword to put a hand on.
"Friends? Gondor's allies have long chosen to abandon us," he spat. I found the urge to yell at him to shut up then realized what was about to happen to him, so I kept my temper at bay—temporarily—and kept to my quickly conceived plan.
"You speak of what you do not know."
He paused, eying me closely. "Boldly spoken, but I have resources you cannot imagine."
"Indeed, imagine them I will, but others have equally resourceful knowledge which could aid you," I said with a soft smile.
"There is nothing that you could tell me that I do not know."
"Your palantir will deceive you to your death. Your eldest son was killed by one of Saruman's Uruk-hai by the name of Lurtz, I believe, who shot him three times with a bow. Your youngest son returned to you telling you of his travels in Ithilien, and you sent him to his death along with hundreds of other good men, parting with him by telling him you would rather have him dead than Boromir." I paused, allowing the information sink in. "Do not judge before you see what is under their skin for you may be surprised."
"What do you take me to be?" he asked. "I have seen all that will come to be of this city."
"Then have you seen your death?"
The question hung thick in the air of the citadel, and I could only hear the pounding of my pulse raking my body. I tried to compose myself and keep a look of calm composure, but I knew I had said too much. I took my knowledge too far. What if Middle-earth was different than it was in the books and movies? What if I was wrong?
"Your imagination is great."
I smiled slightly, "Thank you."
"What do you want? Who are you?"
The questions took me my surprise, but I answered them as convincingly as I could, and my answer was mostly true. "A messenger...bearing the advice for you to abandon what the seeing stone may show you. I see your mistakes already run deep, but I warn you—your son lives," I paused, wondering whether to tell him not to resort to fire. 'No,' I decided, 'if he lives through Pallenor Fields then there will be a big mess for the throne.'
"Who sent you?"
"I...uh—"
"Who sent you?" he repeated, raising his voice and sitting up a little straighter in his seat.
"Mithrandir," I blurted, suddenly.
"Mithrandir? You fool, Mithrandir is here," he laughed.
"He sent me to follow three days after he departed. It happens that I do not travel as swiftly as he. You were not to know of my relation with him. If you ask him, he will deny everything."
"I have heard enough of these lies," he interrupted with a wave of his hand. I heard the quiet steps of the citadel guards nearing me from behind.
"Your downfall is soon to come. I have foreseen it. Your days are limited! You will turn to fire!" The guards grabbed my arms and I struggled against them as they dragged me out of the hall. "The Rohirrim will not abandon you, although you will not live to see them arrive!" The heels of my Nikes' squeaked as I dug them into the floor. I thrashed once more as I heard the doors open behind me. I yelled a curse at Denethor before the doors snapped shut.
The guards were determined to keep dragging me backwards—even down the steps. I lost my legs after descending the first, and I desperately tried to regain my balance and keep up with the guards' pace.
"Ah! Alright, I can walk!" I objected. I didn't expect them to drop me right there. The sudden loss of support sent me crashing backwards down the steps, sliding on my spine down the hard marble and cracking my head on the edge of a stair. My momentum sent my legs flying over my head, and I landed sprawled at the base of the steps, my face buried in the ground. I moaned in pain, unable to move. I was sure I had scraped all the skin off my back and was going to have a nasty bump on the back of my head if I didn't split it open. I should have kept the armor on.
A pair of feet appeared before my clearing vision and I felt someone grab me, pulling me to my feet. I swayed for a moment before gaining my equilibrium. I shook my head to try to clear things up a bit.
"Alright...lead the way."
.
A/N: So that's a wrap on chapter two! Thank you to Anja and Arien-Kaleniel who left reviews!
Arien-Kaleniel: Here's the update. Hope you enjoyed it.
.
Stone. No, my bedroom wall was gone. In it's place, a stone wall.
"What the..." I reached out and touched it, finding it solid beneath my fingers. I drew away and looked wildly around me. I sat on large pebbles, poorly-ground gravel. Around me men in metal armor lay sprawled with arrows protruding from them, horses too I looked to my other side and saw the same. Shocked, I stood, my head spinning from what I was seeing. Surely this was the dream.
I froze when I heard something. Again, but what was it? A third time and I recognized it—a groan. I knelt down by the figure beside me and gasped. It was he, the man who introduced himself to me as Faramir! He was alive! I frowned at seeing the arrow which pierced his metal armor.
I didn't think. All I knew was I couldn't let him die...again and if I was in Middle-earth like I thought I was, I couldn't sit here and do nothing.
I looked around, trying to think of what I could do. Something moving caught my eye, and spurred an idea in my mind. I jogged over to where a horse was pacing, I assumed was his and was obviously startled by the attack. Carefully I walked around him so he could see me and carefully placed a hand on his head which startled him even more, sending him to his hind legs, neighing fiercely.
"Shh! Shh!" I tried, racking my brain. "Oh, Ryder, what should I do?" I prayed to my horse-loving friend.
Yelling was heard from behind me and I could only assume one thing: orcs. "Oh, crap."
Looking around me wildly, I suddenly had an idea. I went over to a dead soldier and began removing his armor, putting it on my to the best of my abilities...which was not very good and involved much cussing. I felt like a grave robber and I silently apologized profusely. The armor was obviously designed for someone to put on the warrior, but having only myself, the armor unceremoniously hung off me at odd angles.
'What am I doing?' I asked myself, 'Isn't it obvious that this didn't save them?'
'We'll its better than nothing.' I chided as I tightened the final straps and placed the helmet over my head. The armor was much too large and I stumbled as I walked, clanging noisily.
'They're going to hear you even more now!' I thought as I shifted my arm plates which were slowly sliding off my arms. The horse cooperated a little bit better with me, recognizing the armor. I led him over to Faramir who was fairing no better. The orc voices were getting nearer and my heart was racing. I was going to die not even fifteen minutes after falling into Middle-earth!
'This isn't Middle-earth and you know it,' the voice in my head scolded. 'This is another one of those dying dreams your mind concocts.'
I ignored the voice and concentrated at my task at hand. Dream or no dream, I would make the best effort to survive because this was like nothing I experienced.
I heaved Faramir up by his armpits and staggered to keep upright. I don't know what I expected, but all thoughts of getting Faramir on the horse were dismissed from my mind. I used all my energy and hauled him once more, only succeeding getting a little more than his knees off the ground.
My energy spent, I gently laid him back down, kneeling beside him. The orc voices were close now, and it would only be a matter of minutes until they found us.
But something unexpected happened. The horse knelt down on the other side of Faramir, nudging him with his nose. I sprang to my feet and hauled Faramir up, swinging his leg over the horse. The horse then stood and tossed its mane from its eyes. I heard a yell from behind me and turned to find a group of five orcs, some holding swords and at least two holding bows. I put my foot in the stirrup and stepped up to mount the horse. Two arrows whizzed by, narrowly missing me, and spooking the horse into starting forward. I lost my balance and fell to the ground and Faramir began to slip. I managed to grab the stirrup and hoist myself up just as the horse started into a canter. Locking my arms around Faramir, I spurred the horse forward.
It was more than difficult steering the horse to Minas Tirith since I couldn't even see over the man's head. It didn't help that I had never ridden a horse before and there were orcs madly chasing us. There were no longer just five of the enemy; the number was quickly reaching the hundreds and arrows were raining down around us. A few clanged against my armor, making only dents, but not piercing. However, the horse wasn't as fortunate. Two arrows streamed straight into his back flanks, causing him to slow significantly and yell in pain.
"Keep going, boy. Come on, you can do it,' I whispered in his ear as best I could. He tried to go forward, but he couldn't make it. His legs buckled, but he remained standing. I looked back, we covered only half the distance and orcs were spilling out of the city after us. I looked down at the arrows and contemplated ripping them out. I had no idea whether allowing the wound to bleed or letting the arrows stay would be a better idea. The horse slowed and I took a chance. I grabbed the shaft of the arrow, closed my eyes, and pulled. The horse screamed in pain and shuttered under me. Warm liquid covered my hand and I felt my stomach flip. Quickly, I opened my eyes and pulled the other arrow out. The reaction wasn't to the extent and the horse was able to gallop slightly further. I was within a hundred yards of the gates when the horse gave out, his back legs buckling, sending Faramir and I to the ground. While untangling myself, I lost the metal armor from one of my arms, but I didn't bother with it.
I caught my breath and risked a glance behind me, but the orcs were retreating. I threw off my helmet in disbelief. Why would they be running?
Then, my movie-mind kicked in. The enemy only ran if something bigger was coming.
"Like in Moria..." I whispered, my eyes growing wide. I froze, paralyzed with fear, afraid to turn around. 'I'm toast,' I thought as I slowly turned my head.
The gates to Minas Tirith were wide and four guards, armed in familiar shiny silver, were running out. Archers and other guards stood on the wall above.
I exhaled and closed my eyes, my adrenaline steaming through my pores. 'Thank God the bigger enemy is friends!' I thought to myself. Surely a friend of Faramir was a friend of Gondor, right?...Surely, I was a friend of Faramir...right?
I was suddenly unsure of myself, of my entire plan. But what could I do? It was either be killed by orcs or men.
The orcs actually sounded more appealing. At least I wouldn't feel as ridiculed and worthless by my own race.
Strong arms hauled me up by my underarms. "I can walk!" I objected stepping away. "It's him. I think he's been poisoned." I motioned to Faramir.
"Captain Faramir!" one of the men gasped. "Hurry! He is near death's door." Two of the guards hauled him up, grasping his ankles and wrists and began running to the gate.
"Are you sure you can manage?" a guard asked me.
"I am not injured."
"But, sir, you have three arrows in your back!" the other, and seemingly younger guard, stated, motioning to my back.
I turned, trying to see what they were talking about and I noticed a few orcs making their way over. "We'll worry about those later," I told them, motioning to the orcs and starting at a job toward the gate. I could hear the others follow behind me.
-
The gate closed with a bang behind us, my head spinning. How could it be that I had been shot, yet feel no pain? I sadly deduced that I must be in a dream.
I moved away from the crowds in the square and struggled out of what was left of my armor. I must have looked like a fool to the Gondorians, only a few articles of protection left and those were hanging off me at awkward angles. Slipping the breastplate over my head, I turned it over and almost gasped at what I saw. Three arrows protruded from the metal, their tips ledged into the armor. The only reason I was unharmed by them was because the size of the armor. It was so big it did not touch me, but literally hung off me.
Maybe I wasn't in a dream after all...
No one really took notice of me while I stood there, wide eyed and in shock. That simple realization ran through my head and with it the proximity of year-old dreams. My eyes slowly raised from the 'arrow platter' I held in my hands. What I saw was amazing; pure white stone that was as smooth as marble extended far above me and seem(ed) to lead to the heavens themselves.
"'Its seven walls of stone so strong and old that it seemed to have been not builded but carven by the giants out of the bones of the earth'..." I quoted, my voice but a whisper dissolved in the people bustling about.
A loud voice cried out, and all fell silent. I had an eerie feeling everyone was looking at me. I slowly lowered my head, temporarily forgetting about my armor in my hands.
"Where is he who accompanied Lord Faramir?" the voice repeated. "The Steward demands his presence!"
I instantly decided I did not want to be discovered or meet with the Steward. Denethor seemed like a shady character to me—then again anyone who burns themselves alive is a little queer.
"Sir," a guard stepped up to be, I recognized him and my heart sunk, "if you will join me..." He turned and began walking toward the second gate. I dropped the remaining armor on the rest and slowly followed behind. Another soldier fell into step behind me. No way to escape.
I looked in wonder as we passed by shops and homes, all created from matching stone. It was unreal how such a magnificent place could be made.
At the third level, the first guard addressed me. "You are no soldier of Gondor."
I tripped on a stone in the road. "Excuse me?" I asked, wanting to make sure I heard him correctly.
"You are no soldier of Gondor," he repeated. "How did you come to be clad in our mail and with our ranks?"
"I...uh—I..." I stuttered. 'I really should have thought about this!' I mentally scolded myself. "It's a long story and I don't think you'd believe me if I told you...I don't really believe it myself."
He stopped and looked at me. "You did not leave from here. You are a woman. Prepare your tale, for the Steward will be expecting it. Anyone who can be shot yet have no wounds must be fooling with witchcraft." He turned and started again with a renewed pace.
I gulped. Maybe falling into Middle-earth wasn't such a great thing after all.
-
The view was amazing as we walked, winding around the city toward the citadel. Everything was white. I immediately thought of Tolkien's use of black and white; those who allied with Sauron and evil and their cities and garb chiefly black and dark colors, those who opposed the enemy were white, their colors light. Then, there were those that were indifferent or chose a side, but did not involve themselves in the battles. They were not known for a singly color, but all of the colors. I thought of the Shire; would it start to be overrun by Saruman—or had it already?
There were also the Elves, very colorful people who were against Sauron, but kept to their own affairs, for their time is ending. Rohan also strikes me as a more brown country.
Then it hit me. It was the white city versus the black and the 'colored' fell into place around, choosing sides. 'I've been in World Literature and Comprehension for too long,' I thought.
The ground beneath me leveled out so we were no longer walking uphill. We were in the courtyard of stone. Ahead of us loomed the citadel, and I shuttered. Denethor's rule would not do me justice. He was quick to judge and based most of his knowledge on what he saw in the palantir. I hoped he would not see me as a spy from the dark side.
We passed under the dead white tree and up the citadel stairs. There, the guards, clad in their silver-winged helmets and dark cloaks adorned with the white tree of Gondor, opened the doors. I looked at them closely, wondering if ether of them was Beregond. The thought of him suddenly put a plan in my head to get me out of this mess.
The doors opened and a large hall was exposed. Large widows on the side walls sent rays of light into the marble room. Rows of tall black pillars extended high into the roof and stood out greatly against the rest of the white room. Between each of the pillars were statues of, what I could only guess were, former kings of Gondor. They extended down the isle to an empty throne, set upon many steps. Behind it, the tree of Gondor's branches, carved into the marble wall, spread wide to almost touch the seven stars around it. My eyes drifted to the seat below the chair, which Denethor sat, poised on the final step. The black chair caused my eyes to flicker at the site and return to my previous musings. Denethor was the evil of this magnificent hall. The power of the Ring also plagued men, creating the darkness of black pillars in their hearts.
The guard's armor clanged loudly as they walked, the sound echoing in the silence. I noticed they had fallen into step beside me, allowing Denethor full view of me. He looked at me carefully and spoke, a white rod clutched in his hand.
"The hour grows darker when spies enter city gates," he spoke to me. The guards turned and left me standing before him.
I was reminded of Gandalf's meeting with him and how similar this conversation seemed to be heading. "Dark are the days when you treat friends as foes," I replied, trying to find a place to rest my arms without looking like a fool. I found myself wishing I had a sword to put a hand on.
"Friends? Gondor's allies have long chosen to abandon us," he spat. I found the urge to yell at him to shut up then realized what was about to happen to him, so I kept my temper at bay—temporarily—and kept to my quickly conceived plan.
"You speak of what you do not know."
He paused, eying me closely. "Boldly spoken, but I have resources you cannot imagine."
"Indeed, imagine them I will, but others have equally resourceful knowledge which could aid you," I said with a soft smile.
"There is nothing that you could tell me that I do not know."
"Your palantir will deceive you to your death. Your eldest son was killed by one of Saruman's Uruk-hai by the name of Lurtz, I believe, who shot him three times with a bow. Your youngest son returned to you telling you of his travels in Ithilien, and you sent him to his death along with hundreds of other good men, parting with him by telling him you would rather have him dead than Boromir." I paused, allowing the information sink in. "Do not judge before you see what is under their skin for you may be surprised."
"What do you take me to be?" he asked. "I have seen all that will come to be of this city."
"Then have you seen your death?"
The question hung thick in the air of the citadel, and I could only hear the pounding of my pulse raking my body. I tried to compose myself and keep a look of calm composure, but I knew I had said too much. I took my knowledge too far. What if Middle-earth was different than it was in the books and movies? What if I was wrong?
"Your imagination is great."
I smiled slightly, "Thank you."
"What do you want? Who are you?"
The questions took me my surprise, but I answered them as convincingly as I could, and my answer was mostly true. "A messenger...bearing the advice for you to abandon what the seeing stone may show you. I see your mistakes already run deep, but I warn you—your son lives," I paused, wondering whether to tell him not to resort to fire. 'No,' I decided, 'if he lives through Pallenor Fields then there will be a big mess for the throne.'
"Who sent you?"
"I...uh—"
"Who sent you?" he repeated, raising his voice and sitting up a little straighter in his seat.
"Mithrandir," I blurted, suddenly.
"Mithrandir? You fool, Mithrandir is here," he laughed.
"He sent me to follow three days after he departed. It happens that I do not travel as swiftly as he. You were not to know of my relation with him. If you ask him, he will deny everything."
"I have heard enough of these lies," he interrupted with a wave of his hand. I heard the quiet steps of the citadel guards nearing me from behind.
"Your downfall is soon to come. I have foreseen it. Your days are limited! You will turn to fire!" The guards grabbed my arms and I struggled against them as they dragged me out of the hall. "The Rohirrim will not abandon you, although you will not live to see them arrive!" The heels of my Nikes' squeaked as I dug them into the floor. I thrashed once more as I heard the doors open behind me. I yelled a curse at Denethor before the doors snapped shut.
The guards were determined to keep dragging me backwards—even down the steps. I lost my legs after descending the first, and I desperately tried to regain my balance and keep up with the guards' pace.
"Ah! Alright, I can walk!" I objected. I didn't expect them to drop me right there. The sudden loss of support sent me crashing backwards down the steps, sliding on my spine down the hard marble and cracking my head on the edge of a stair. My momentum sent my legs flying over my head, and I landed sprawled at the base of the steps, my face buried in the ground. I moaned in pain, unable to move. I was sure I had scraped all the skin off my back and was going to have a nasty bump on the back of my head if I didn't split it open. I should have kept the armor on.
A pair of feet appeared before my clearing vision and I felt someone grab me, pulling me to my feet. I swayed for a moment before gaining my equilibrium. I shook my head to try to clear things up a bit.
"Alright...lead the way."
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A/N: So that's a wrap on chapter two! Thank you to Anja and Arien-Kaleniel who left reviews!
Arien-Kaleniel: Here's the update. Hope you enjoyed it.