PART TWO: SEER

Chapter One

T. A. 2475

No, actually. Although that is the year in which to more interesting part of my story begins, we must backtrack to T.A. 2471. You wanted to hear the story in its entirety, and anyway I think these parts should not be neglected.

T. A. 2471

As a modest girl of five years, my mother finally deemed me responsible enough to accompany her to the city of Minas Tirith. Although Osgiliath was in fact closer to where we lived, she had to do something I vaguely recalled as 'Making a Profit.' Apparently the price at which she could sell her goods was much higher there.

My brother, thankfully, was not to come with us. I was very happy about this, because being only four years, he had as many questions as there were stars in the sky. I must admit I had about twice as many, but at least mine did not involve finger pointing and wailing. Thus, that particular day with my mother passed peacefully, I having munched on a lunch of bread while my mother chatted with her friend the baker. She seemed very animated, but I paid scant attention and instead turned my gaze towards the streets outside.

There seemed to be an awful lot of tall people with impossibly long legs, and I dared not venture out, for the fear that I will get knocked over, or worse, get lost. To familiarize myself with the surroundings, I looked at the other stores that lined the street, and then looked up to see formidable walls, which encircled the next level of the city. There were either three or four more levels until the tower that rose far above the rest of Minas Tirith.

And I was suddenly filled with inexplicable fascination, which seemed strange, as I could see it every day from where my farm was located. I had an instant of incredible awareness, that the tower was something beyond wonderful, and that I would want nothing more than to climb to its summit and gaze at the world below. It seemed to beckon to me, somehow.

'Mommy,' I asked impulsively, 'can I climb the tower there?'

She first appeared startled, and then she smiled broadly. 'In the future, when your brother becomes a big strong guard of the King's city, you will. And it's "may I".'

Nothing more was said of this, and nothing more would be said for several years. However, I did climb the Tower in the future, the very near future. That night, in fact.

I thought I was dreaming. I even remembered lying down in bed after a day at Minas Tirith, so I reasoned that I was dreaming. It did not seem like a dream, though. The tall, handsome wooden doors seemed as real as the eggs I had eaten, perhaps even more so. Their very essence seemed to speak of reality, as so did the white wall it was attached to. I looked up to see a tower resembling the one in Minas Tirith, although they were not quite the same. This one seemed somehow older, much older in fact. I could make out a few windows at the top, and I noticed a light coming from the crack underneath the doors. Being only five, I of course did not occupy more time with merely observing. Curiosity got a hold of me, and throwing away what caution I had, I opened the door.

There was nothing but stairs inside, so I climbed them. I noted with wonder that the whole structure seemed filled with light, although there were no windows along the way. When I arrived at the top floor, I felt less tired than perhaps I should have been, and the sight that greeted me had my attention at once.

The great room was circular, and very tall. Around the walls were six enormous (or so it seemed to me) windows. I could just peek into them if I stood on my toes, and it confused me to see they were all showing different scenes. Four showed forests or fields, masses of green when viewed from above, but the other two interested me. One showed a wide expanse of water, so vast that I concluded it must be the Sea, which I have never actually seen until now. The other showed a much less pleasant sight, a pale citadel a-glow with a sickening radiance. I dared not look into this one too long, and turned around to see an impossible sight above a dais in the middle of the room.

It was another window, but to my knowledge no windows ever floated, nor did they form in mid-air. This one showed a city divided by a river, and I knew it was Osgiliath for no city was more beautiful not any river more wide. The familiarity of the sight drove away my unease about the window, and amused myself with looking for familiar landmarks.

When I finally climbed down from the top room, I was reluctant to leave the Tower. However, I did eventually walk out the door, and found myself back at home. I was very excited about this finding of mine.

The next morning I told my mother of this, and she smiled and rubbed my hair, and told me I was very brave to climb such a tower. So for four years, I wandered into the Tower frequently, and figured out I could make the picture in the centre window move if I really, really wanted to. Naturally, I kept my mother updated on this, and gave her a description of the place. She never did seem worried; just congratulated me on my imagination, for floating windows could not possibly exist. Many things stayed the same. We sold our flour to the same baker, we went to Minas Tirith to sell it, and we even left on the same day every year.

Some time during these four years, I began to again have doubts about this imaginary place. My brother, who was the only one I confided this in, said that I fell into a sort of stupor every time I went to the Tower, and that it was impossible to wake me up. Being children we of course thought no more of this, and although I have tried to take him there many times, I have never succeeded.

A matter of more pressing concern to me at the time was the fact that my height was slowly surpassed by my brother. He began to call me 'little sister', and had somehow managed to acquire a most fascinating personality, a mixture of pride and bravado as I saw it. He became increasingly annoying in my eyes, and it was this breach that would ultimately land me in the most unpleasant place possible.

Every summer, my soldier father, of whom I was very proud, took my brother and I to Osgiliath for a month-long stay that involved riding pleasant boats. These years, though, we stayed on the western shore for the eastern was no longer stable. I, being more curious than my brother, learned that the Witch-King, chief Enemy of Gondor, has been preparing a siege for many years. However, my father was confident that their forces would not strike so soon, and would like to take us there one last time. Besides, he reasoned, we would stay on the fringes of the west side, and the enemy would not be able to cross the river due to the good Steward Denethor (1)'s powerful defences, and the courageous Captain Boromir (1).

So my brother and I found ourselves in a small stone house at the edge of the city, enjoying a pleasant lunch with our father, when one of his friends came in the door, armoured and evidently in great haste.

'What is the matter?' my father enquired.

'The Enemy has attacked! I volunteered to carry the message to the west side, for the east is besieged heavily, and would require aid. I have already told a captain, and would assume my mission is complete. May I stay for a moment?' he said this very quickly, and in one breath.

My father looked startled, but then a strange expression set in. 'You may, my friend. I, however, am going to help.'

(1) That would be Denethor I, not the Denethor in the Lord of the Rings books. That Denethor also had a son named Boromir.

Author's Note: This will get interesting soon. Very soon. In about one or two chapters is what I am aiming for.

Dreamless Wind: Sayre is a mortal, as you can see here, and yes, I'm trying to work a Saruman appearance into the plot (or lack thereof, at this point). Secondly, it is the ideas, the enchantments if you will, that are drawn to honesty. Within a Stone (or something else) they may be wielded by anyone. Glad you asked, though.