-1-

In the beautiful white city of Gondor, a family found a little boy born with dark hair wandering the outside the sixth gate. They took him in and found that he couldn't remember whom he was. The family raised him up and for ten years, the young boy remained with them. Now, the family named him Abâr that meant strength for he was strong physically but mentally, spiritually and his will was compared to that of steel. Though they were poor, they earned their money, shelter and clothing by working in and around selling baked breads & clothing. Abâr enjoyed his life with his newfound family that could afford precious little but appear healthy and happy. Many of his days as a boy were spent helping the father and taking care of the younger ones for he was the eldest of the lot.

It was perhaps on tenth year of his stay with this family that he began to feel restless. Growing strife since the shadow was growing was being overlooked and Abâr was feeling restless. With his adoptive family's consent, he enrolled to become a soldier for the City. He believed that he could change the events of things in the land but alas, he was only a soldier and young. At eighteen, no one would believe a young man found by a family who made breads and clothing.

"You are wrong father." Abâr son of Zirân said in a cool tone. "The Steward is not making the best decisions for our people. He is not even king but we all must treat him as if he is one."

Father and son sat together in the eating quarters of their small home, a very tiny wooden shack that housed the family that Abâr lived with since he was the age of eight.

"Abâr, there's nothing left to do. You will go and train as part of the city's guard. If that is the course, you wish to take so be it." Zirân replied tiredly. "The fact that we are part of those who live in poverty can not change while Denethor is still Steward. As far as I see it, he has done well. Come, get some rest, tomorrow is the day you start your life as a warrior."

Abâr said nothing and his dark eyes narrowed as he obeyed his father's order. He walked out of the eating room and went to his sleeping lodgings that he shared with his two younger siblings. He sat upon his bed looking gloomily in the darkness and listening to the calm breathing of the sleeping children. He had been given a peaceful life but now, amongst the chaos, he wanted to change the circumstances that he had been placed in. He wished to bring honour and fortune for his adoptive family. He longed to see happy faces rather than weather beaten and usually, hungry faces. There needed to be a change and even though his family baked bread and clothing, neighbours that had taken pity upon them gave most of the materials that they used to them. His father would take the occasional job at the smithy to gain even a slight amount of money for food, fire and to pay the taxes that Denethor had placed upon them. Abâr felt his mouth run dry as he thought about Gondor's 'beloved' Steward. He felt nothing but hate towards him and he let that hate consume him. One day who would see the White City fall and nothing would be done for it unless there would be a miracle.

'There is nothing for it. I should rest before the dawn approaches. Father did say I should so I could be at the Registration of the Guards and Training Counsel before noon.' Abâr thought tiredly. He lay upon his cot and tried to calm his breathing. 'Rest. That is what I need. Rest.'

Even as he thought this, a sudden burning in his chest soon became apparent. It spread through his being and Abâr couldn't describe it as anything he had felt before. It was not pain, for that he knew. Nor was it love, for that he knew as well. The burning in his chest was something different, familiar but it made him uneasy. As if something or someone was controlling him. Rest came to him suddenly as the burning in his chest made its way into his head pulling him into a dream.

He was wandering a hallway that was dim and only lit by sparsely placed torches. He followed the hallway until he came upon a door. He reached out with his hand and opened it. The burning sensation he had felt before hit him and in terror, he saw it. An eye lidless but wreathed in flame and darkness such as he had never felt before drew him in. Then the eye turned away and then the darkness took over. Abâr didn't know what to think, feel, or act. The darkness soon began to take form and to his surprise but then horror, he saw himself smiling a smile that was saturated with evil.

"Who are you?" He asked with great confusion. The other, the one whom looked like him chuckled deeply.

"You don't remember?" asked the other. Abâr shook his head and tried taking a step back but then pain shot up his legs. He groaned at its suddenness.

"Ah well," the other, continued who was now sitting in mid air in the darkness as if upon a chair or a table. "Then it is your memory that I must bring back. However, before all of that, I must congratulate you for awakening me. Pardon, we, for awakening us."

Abâr felt sick and the pain he was feeling was relentless. The other kept speaking and slowly a scene unfolded before him. There was darkness but the other he saw fighting against a bright light. Beautiful but the light soon began to dim. Something within him awoke and with it, he felt that the battle that the two were doing was wrong somehow. It was disturbing-pain once again whipped him.

"Hm, you are by far the most sentimental incarnation that I've had by far." The other said. Abâr felt his insides twitch. "That must be remedied. Oh look, it's dawn. I shall see you later tonight Abâr son of Zirân."

Dark wisps gathered around him freezing the blood in his system. The other laughed coldly as Abâr began waking to the sounds of life that he had gotten used to since he was young. The same noises that had given him peace and comfort. The same noises that had given him hope.

'A dream.' he thought. 'Nothing but a dream.'