Disclaimer: I don't own it and I'm not going to write a better disclaimer because I want to get to typing the story and you want to read it.
Chapter 2: The Fate of the Gates
"Get out!" Denethor hollered. He hurled his cup at Faramir, who barely ducked the well-aimed missile.
"Father, he may yet be alive," he pleaded.
"Do not lure those who would listen to your false hope. You know nothing, wizard's pupil. Your pathetic denial of the truth shames our family. You are not worthy to be called my son," Denethor's voice echoed through the great hall. Faramir was silent for a moment drowning in his father's accusations. When he spoke, tears clouded his eyes.
"You wish now that our places had been reversed, that . . ."
"Yes! I do!" Denethor screamed in fury.
"My lord," called a soldier, cautiously opening the doors to the throne room.
"What is it?" inquired Denethor, regaining his composure, though still glaring at Faramir.
"The Lady Elendacil is approaching the city and wishes to hold counsel with you."
"Tell her I will see no one," the steward commanded coldly. The soldier bowed and left.
"Why are you still here?" Denethor inquired, turning to Faramir.
"Father . . ." Faramir began.
"Goodnight," the steward commanded. Faramir sighed and, tears still rolling down his cheeks, left the throne room. Denethor sat down again and buried his face in his left hand.
The stars shone overhead as Elendacil sighted Minas Tirith. She sighed in relief and held Boromir closer to keep him warm. The son of the steward shivered in the night air. Elendacil urged Alaksul on toward the torches of Minas Tirith, which glowed dimly in the distance.
She saw another rider approaching, not far off. She knew it must be the messenger she had found to bring word to Denethor. She could see his hesitance as he slowed his steed to a trot. Obviously he did not bear favorable news. Elendacil patted Alaksul gently to reassure her.
"My lady," the messenger addressed her, gazing down at the ground to avoid her powerful gaze. He didn't continue, but glanced fearfully at the man the lady rode behind, who was slumped over the horse's neck. Elendacil held up her hand, showing she knew what the man would say, and sighed. It wasn't a sigh of surprise, she had expected Denethor not to hope for anything, lest he be disappointed, which would be worse than the initial grief.
"We must find a nearby house in which to spend the night, my friend," she addressed her fellow soldier. He nodded as she urged Alaksul to resume the course toward the city. Under her arms, Boromir stirred and muttered something indecipherable, but did not open his eyes. Elendacil tightened her arms around him to prevent him from falling off the horse. Minas Tirith loomed closer, shining brightly in the starlit sky. Closer it came. The gates were closed, and, trailing behind Elendacil, Thormir, the messenger, couldn't help but wonder if they would be permitted to enter. The guards, no doubt would be especially cautious in light of the attack at Osgiliath and they would be unable to be properly seen in the darkness. He needn't have worried, however. Just at the great gates, Alaksul reared onto her back feet and kicked gently at them. Much to Thormir's astonishment, the enormous barrier swung noiselessly open, as if in a dream, allowing them to pass. He gaped in awe at the open gates, then the horse, and finally at her rider, who was already inside and motioned for him to follow. She seemed as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Still utterly astounded, Thormir passed through the gates, which inched silently shut behind them. Just as he entered, four guards approached, all carrying lanterns.
"Who are you?" demanded the one nearest Elendacil.
"I am Elendacil, advisor to Denethor. His son, Boromir is injured and we need a place to rest for the night," she gestured to the motionless form in front of her. "I believe you know your fellow soldier," she hastily indicated Thormir. "Now, if you will excuse us . . . "
"You lie," declared one of the guards, "Boromir is dead. The lord Denethor told us all this afternoon. Surely his advisor would know this." He spat the last sentence as though they were mortal enemies.
"Well, here he is, and he lives. There is breath still in him. Therefore, it would be wise to allow us to proceed," Elendacil's tone was rising, becoming infuriated at the folly of the guards.
"Surely you recognize the son of the steward," Thormir said calmly. The guard who had been speaking stepped close to Alaksul and held his lantern close to Boromir's unconscious, damp, face. He stepped back and Thormir looked at him hopefully.
"That is not the steward's son," he declared, a viciously cold note in his voice. A look of panic crossed Thormir's face but Elendacil remained calm. The guard passed in front of Alaksul and two of the other guards closed in to prevent Elendacil from speeding off. The guard crossed to Thormir and held his lantern so close to the soldier's face that Thormir had to close his eyes.
"I do recognize a spy, though," he accused, not moving his lantern. Thormir's face went white.
"I . . . I was sent by Lord Denethor with a message for the Lady Elendacil," he stammered, visibly shaking.
"A likely story," sneered the guard. "It's more probable the two of you and this man," he indicated Boromir with a jab of his gloved finger, "are united in a conspiracy to destroy Gondor." He drew his sword. "All three of you are under arrest."
