Disclaimer: Me no own Lord of the Rings. The sheer horror of that fact just scared all the grammar out of me.

Chapter Two

In which the Nameless is admitted into Minas Tirith.

She awoke to thirst, hunger, dizzying heat, and a hard surface beneath a bruised shoulder. In other words, same as usual for the past months, except the hard surface was smoother and colder this time.

A voice, nearly as smooth and cold as the floor, asked: 'Are you awake?' in response, she forced her eyelids open.

The first thought that crossed his mind was that she resembled Gollum. Although she had none of the creature's agility or strength, her grey eyes were similarly haunted and had an almost luminous look. As she struggled into a sitting position in the dust, he prepared to question her.

'Who are you?' he asked her. Instead of replying, she made feeble gestures of drinking and pointed at her throat. Gandalf made one of the sentries fill a bottle from the storehouse with river-water, and the prisoner fell upon it at once. She spat out a smooth rock, and then drank liberally. She swallowed the last mouthful with a particular look of enjoyment.

'Thank thee, lord Mithrandir. This water of the Great River Anduin, 'tis most sweet and fresh. Thou wouldst know who I am?' here she paused, looking quite more troubled than before. 'I am a daughter of Men. My good father was a soldier of Gondor and my mother was a planter of wheat. Rest assured, I am no villain turning from her former allies.'

Gandalf knew she spoke the truth, and relaxed a little more as most of his doubts fell away. 'Tell me from whence you came, and why. And worry not, you do not have to speak so formally, for you are not a foe, not have you ever served Evil willingly, and thus are among friends.' His lips formed a small smile.

She let out a long breath, but did not smile. 'From Mordor, my lord, as you have probably guessed, and correctly. I had once lived in this very city, the fair and prosperous Osgiliath, but now I see that it has fallen into ruin. Alas! It was most beautiful, this city of stone.' She frowned, and asked: 'what year is this, my lord Mithrandir?'

'It is the year three thousand and nineteen of the Third Age.' her frown deepened.

'That long? Surely 'tis not. Yet I do feel the years that have passed…' she whispered to herself, while Gandalf did some calculations in his mind. If she had lived in Osgiliath, the latest date possible was the year two thousand, four hundred and seventy-five. He was just about to ask her to clarify when she asked timidly: 'May I tell you something? It concerns the palantír, which I see you have by your side. The full tale is long and full of woe, but here I ask for your help in understanding some parts…'

'Why, certainly.' And she whispered into his ear a few choice sentences, which did indeed clarify the matter a little. However, he would need to delve into research again to find the truth of this Tower of which she spoke, if that would help at all.

'But now that you are free, what would you do and whence would you go? For it seems to me you have neither kin to take you, nor indeed any property of your own. Bear in mind that you will still be regarded as an enemy of Gondor. The people are still wary, and distrustful of those who claim to have escaped from Mordor.'

'Then I shall go to the King Elessar, and hear his fair judgement. Nay, I will not be turned aside by my own country when I have finally returned.'

'Your decision is well.' Gandalf stood up, and so did the woman. 'I would go with you, but perhaps you would like some rest beforehand? You may stay at Osgiliath tonight, if you so choose.'

'Thank you, my lord. I accept you kind offer and am very grateful.' Here she finally smiled, albeit it showed a great weariness, the winced. 'Although I wouldn't say no to some food right now.'

When the next morning dawned, she was standing by the river and gazing into its waters. Its currents flowed relentlessly, past the stone underneath her feet and continued for many miles until they reached the sea. How she loved the gentle wind blowing by, the comforting presence of food in her stomach, and the absence of dust in her skin! For many years she has endured the harsh winds, poor nourishment, and gritty dust of Mordor, and this moment by the river seemed most exquisite. She made her way to one of the temporary bridges that stretched over the water, where Gandalf waited on a white horse. Together they headed towards Minas Tirith, Minas Anor that was.

When they had left the city behind them, she sighed and shifted her leather bag uncomfortably. In it were the clothes she had come in, and also the red cloak. They were in such poor condition that she was almost immediately given a shirt and breeches along with the food. Only her shoes were not broken down, it seems.

She looked over to Gandalf, who rode Shadowfax at a leisurely pace, and considered conversation. However, she still felt a little faint from the exertion only days before, and decided against it. When they finally spoke, it was past noon and they were resting after a meal. They had already passed the wall that encircled the city a while ago, and can now clearly see the gate of Minas Tirith. She fumbled with the bandages on her hand for a while, then asked: 'lord Mithrandir, have you looked in the palantír?'

'Indeed I have, but nothing new can be said of it. Shall we depart?'

So they continued towards the city, taking only a few rests on the way. In the late afternoon they passed through the gate, which still had no doors, and climbed the levels of the city, occasionally passing piles of rubble that have not yet been cleared. By the time they reached the King's hall underneath the tower of Ecthelion, she was again feeling utterly exhausted. However, she walked past the guards with Gandalf, and continued down the long stone hall, and finally set her eyes on the King Elessar.

He was a magnificent sight indeed, everything from the jewelled, winged crown on his head to the black-sheathed sword at his side to the solid throne on which he sat. She knelt hastily before him, and said: 'long live the King, who is at last returned!'

'And who would you be, lady?' he enquired.

'One who would ask for your pardon.' Said Gandalf. 'She has long been in unwilling service to the Lord of Mordor, and has travelled back to the kingdom of her birth to perhaps resume life as she had known it.'

'Unwilling, you say? Then she is forgiven. However, I would ask this,' the King looked directly at her, 'would you choose to serve a different master?'

'If thee wouldst allow me. It would be a great honour to work for thy causes, if my services be required.'

'Then you may go through yonder door, to be assigned a suitable job.' He gestured towards a small door in the side of the hall.

She stood up. 'Thank thee, my good King. May thou rule in peace.' Her footsteps echoed as she made her way towards the door. She stepped through to find a woman with a rosy and kind face smiling at her. The woman looked at her as if sizing her up, and she was mildly annoyed, for she was short for someone of Númenorean descent.

'And what is your name, lady? For you have not mentioned it to the lords in the hall.' The woman asked.

'They call me Sayre.' She replied, and they began walking down a long hallway.

'So how might you make yourself useful? Although with that hand, it might be a while before you can help. You'd been eager to redeem yourself, I wager?' the woman frowned, as if still sensing the evil Sayre had served. Inwardly, Sayre was glad that she had cut her hair, to cover the hideous mark on her forehead until it healed. It would not do to have it showing around Minas Tirith.

'Yes,' she replied, 'yes I am. Perhaps I can help in the bakeries? I have had some experience with working there…'she trailed off, as the delicious smell of cooking food wafted through the hallway.

Sayre felt finally at home.

Not her real name. Sayre is a mispronunciation of something else, which will be better explained in a later chapter.

Author's Note: I know this is a slow start, but there's only one more intro chapter left before the main body begins. Bear with me, and review please.