The Stranger in Middle Earth

I do not own anything to do with the Lord of the Rings

Chapter nine

The White and the ruined cities

For the next several chapters of this story I shall be following the events experienced by my uncle and cousin in Gondor.

It was a three day ride which was hard on all of the travellers. They had to ride hard and fast along The Great West Road and only stopped for a few hours each night. The journey was particularly hard on my uncle. He was in very good condition for a man of his years but he was old. On the early morning on the third day of riding the three horses galloped across a small stream named the Mering.

'Are we far away from Minas Tirith?' my uncle asked Gandalf when they crossed the stream.

'The stream we have just forded marks the border of Gondor. I'd say we are about ten miles away from our destination.'

'Excellent,' Rickard said loudly. 'A chance to sleep without twigs in my back.'

The others ignored him as they rode on but my uncle apparently looked relieved.

A few hours later they rode over a hill and then, my uncle and Rickard became the first Englishmen to see Minas Tirith. It was a majestic city made from white stone against the side of a mountain. The city was built in seven, one hundred foot high levels which were circular in shape. Going through the centre of the city was a rock face that split the city in two.

'Blimey,' Rickard said when he saw it.

'Incredible.'

'Minas Tirith,' Gandalf said proudly. 'The City of Kings.'

'Now why couldn't we build a city like that in England?' Rickard asked his father,

'There isn't a mountain in an important place to build one.'

'Well they could have built one in Cumbria to stop the Scots from coming down. There's plenty of mountains there. When I landed in Rohan I thought that's where I was.'

While Rickard said this my uncle was looking at the field in front of the city and then his eyes rested on the River Anduin, twenty miles from Minas Tirith. Around the river was a ruined city which spanned both sides of the river.

'What is that place?' my uncle asked the wizard.

'Osgiliath,' Gandalf answered. 'The Eastern Half of the City is controlled by Mordor while the west is held by the Gondor. Mordor's attack will most likely come from there.'

'And if Osgiliath falls Minas Tirith will be open to attack,' my uncle assumed.

'That is correct.'

'What about those mountains?' Rickard asked him.

The mountains, standing tall, brooding and dark over the surroundings, lay to the east of Osgiliath. The mountains stretched on for miles and were darker thanks to the sky above them. The sky was a thick black cloud which sucked in all the sunlight leaving nothing but darkness. But there was more than black. There was a deep orange red in it, as if from a giant smiths forge.

'Mordor,' Gandalf answered. 'Gondor lives under the shadow of Sauron.'

At that the four of them then rode towards the White City.

The entrance to the city was a massive gate made from iron and steel known as The Great Gate. The gate was adorned with images of soldiers and warriors. When they reached the gate they remained closed as one of the sentries looked down on the four travellers.

'Speak. Identify yourselves.'

'It is I, Gandalf the White and I have come to speak with the Steward,' the wizard answered.

'And what are the names of your companions?'

'Riding with me is Peregrin Took of the Shire,' Gandalf told the sentry and then looked at his two companions.

'I am Sir James Harris of England,' my uncle told him. 'Knight of England and member of the war council of His Majesty King Richard the Third.'

'I'm Rickard Harris,' my cousin told the sentry. 'That man's son and holder of no titles apart from being known as the best drinker in the city of York.'

My uncle groaned and then shot a glare at his son.

'Mithrandir,' the sentry said to Gandalf, using the name that many knew him as, 'you and your companions shall enter the city and go to the Tower of Ecthelion.'

'Thank you soldier,' Gandalf said and then the gates opened.

The four of them raced through the city past Gondorian soldiers and civilians. My uncle assessed to soldiers as they rode past them. Each Gondorian soldier wore plate and mail armour and carried a large shield. Each mans helmet was slightly conical and had nose and cheek guards. On every shield and breast plate was the image of a white tree. Altogether they looked like the professional armies of Rome which he had read of. As they rode through the city every person in their path quickly got out of the way. Each level was packed with shops and houses squeezed together. As they rode up a level they passed through a wooden gate with a squad of soldiers stationed next to it. Eventually they reached the top level of the city, known as the Citadel. They left their mounts at the stables and walked into the Citadel which was built on top of the rock face which went through the city. Covering the Citadel was a courtyard of white stone in front of a massive towering structure known as The Tower of Ecthelion where the centre of power in Gondor was located. Standing in the centre of the courtyard was a white, leafless tree. It was twisted and dry, looking as if no rain had fallen upon it in centuries.

'Gandalf,' Pippin excitedly said to Gandalf, 'it's the tree. Gandalf.'

'Yes the white tree of Gondor,' Gandalf confirmed. 'The Tree of the King. Lord Denathor however is not the king. He is a Steward only. A caretaker of the throne.'

The group stopped at the bottom of the steps which led into the Tower of Ecthelion.

'Now listen to me,' Gandalf said to Pippin, 'Denathor is Boromir's father. It would be most unwise to give him news of his son's death. All of you make no mention of the Ring. Peregrin Took, it would be wise if you don't say a word at all.'

'That goes for you as well Rickard,' my uncle told his son.

'I'll do my best,' Rickard said with a smile and then they stepped into the Tower.

The inside of the tower was made from white marble with tall white pillars holding up the ceiling. Going along the length of the room were white statues of the King's of Old. At the very head of the room was a raised dais and upon it was a magnificent white throne. A throne which no man had occupied in millennia. Beneath of the throne, at the base of the dais, was a far simpler black throne in which sat Denathor. Denathor was an older man with long ragged gray hair and a short layer of stubble on his face. His weary eyes held years of fighting and struggle. Held in the Stewards hands was an ivory horn broken in half.

'Hail Denathor,' Gandalf said when the four of them approached the Steward, 'Son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor. I come with tidings in this dark hour, and with counsel.'

'Perhaps you come to explain this,' Denathor said wearily and then held the fragments of the horn up for Gandalf to see. My Uncle didn't understand what that meant but both Pippin and Gandalf did. Pippin looked at it with sorrow in his eyes. My family in that city didn't know that was the Horn of Gondor, carried by Boromir, the eldest Son of Denathor. 'Perhaps you come to tell me why my son is dead.'

'Boromir,' Pippin said to the Steward, ' died to save us, my kinsman and me.'

Pippin then stepped forwards and Gandalf tried to stop him.

'He fell defending us from many foes,' Pippin said as he knelt in front of the Steward. 'I offer you my service, such as it is, in payment of this debt.'

Both Gandalf and my uncle rolled their eyes while Rickard shook his head.

'Pippin,' my uncle said to him, 'get up and be quiet.'

Pippin stepped behind Gandalf while my uncle stepped forwards.

'My Lord,' my uncle started, 'I offer you my condolences for the loss of your son but I fear that soon many more will die. We have information that suggests that Mordor will soon attack this city.'

'War is coming,' Gandalf assured Denathor. 'The enemy is on your doorstep. As Steward you are charged with the defence of this city. Where are Gondor's armies? You still have friends. You are not alone in this fight.'

'England is behind you,' my uncle then said to the Steward. 'Seventy of my men will soon be riding to this city to aid you in war.'

'And not just England,' Gandalf took control again. 'Send word to Theoden of Rohan. Light the beacons.'

A smile slipped onto the Stewards lips which unnerved Rickard slightly.

'You think you are wise Mithrandir. Yet for all your subtleties you have not wisdom. Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor but with your right you'd seek to supplant me. I know who rides with Theoden of Rohan. Oh, yes. Word has reached my ears of these "Englishmen" and where they come from and of Aragorn, Son of Arathorn. I tell you now, I will NEVER BOW TO THAT RANGER FROM THE NORTH! The last of a raged house long bereft of Lordship.'
My uncle glared at the Steward while Gandalf angrily proclaimed,

'Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the King, Steward.'

Denathor then rose from his chair and spat back,

'Rule of Gondor's mine! And no others.'

'And if you do not ask Theoden to help you there won't be a Gondor for you to rule,' Rickard told him.

'My son is right. Do you want to be remembered as Denathor, the man who's pride allowed Gondor to fall?'

'Do you seek to die, soldier?' Denathor asked my uncle.

'No, but if Middle Earth falls to Mordor then my home will be destroyed also. I will not allow that to happen, even of my death is required for that.'

The Steward sank back down into his chair and looked at my uncle.

'And is your son prepared to die with you?'

'Yes,' my uncle answered for Rickard.

'Then I may find use for you. You have served in war have you not?'

'That is correct.'

'Then you shall go to Osgiliath,' the Steward told my two relatives. 'There you shall report to Captain Faramir, my remaining son.'

'When will you have us go?'

'By sunset.'

'I understand. When the remainder of my men arrive can they be instructed to go to Osgiliath also?'

'Yes.'

'We shall go there as soon as we can.'

A few hours later, after eating a small meal, my cousin and uncle walked to the stables where their horses were being kept.

'Father,' Rickard said to my uncle, 'was I the only one who got the sense that the Steward wasn't completely sane?'

'You weren't,' my uncle told him. 'If Denathor doesn't light the beacons then the only help he shall receive will be from fifty knights, twenty men-at-arms and one old priest.'

'It could be worse,' Rickard reminded him as they climbed onto their horses.

'Not by much. The positive is that by fighting at Osgiliath we may gain the Stewards trust even though I doubt that's why he wants us to go there.'

'Why do you think he wants us there then?'

'To get us out of the way,' he answered. 'By removing us he's removing two of Gandalf's allies.'

'But I thought we were here to pave the way for the rest of the men arriving.'

'We were but he knows, somehow, of where we come from so he probably knows we're not spies. Now our mission is to gain trust and the best way to do that is to fight for his country.'

'Then let's go and kick some Orc up its backside,' Rickard said and then the two of them quickly rode down through the city and towards Osgiliath.

The distance from Minas Tirith to Osgiliath is roughly twenty miles but on their destrier warhorses they made the journey in less than an hour. Osgiliath was once the capital of Gondor centuries ago but war had levelled the city to ruins. Empty shells remained of houses and rubble littered the streets. The once noble statues of brave warriors were no more than brooding echoes of the glory Gondor once had when a king sat on his throne in the White City. That is what my relative encountered when they entered the city. The rear of the city had been made into a field hospital for the soldiers wounded in the fighting. Dozens of men hobbled on crutches and lay down on sheets being treated for the injuries they had suffered. Some of the soldiers there were not injured but were resting after days at the front. Most were wearing the same armour of the soldiers in Minas Tirith, although many suits of armour were dented and scratched. Some though wore leather and mail, looking like scouts or skirmishers.

'Who goes there?' a Gondorian soldier armed with a spear confronted my uncle and cousin.

'James Harris,' my uncle answered. 'The Steward has sent my son and I to aid the fight here.'

'Why would my father send you here?' asked a new voice.

The question came from a soldier with dark hair and a short beard. He was young, not even thirty by look of him, and wore leather armour and a green cloak.

'Captain Faramir I presume?' my uncle asked and the soldier nodded. 'My son and I have been sent by the Steward to assist in the fight here and report to you. The rest of my men will be arriving in a few days.'

'Good,' Faramir said as he walked towards my uncle and cousin. 'Any help is welcome.'

'Where will you need us?'

Faramir thought about it for a minute until he decided.

'You will stay with me and my company. Do you have any armour?'

'We do.'

'Then get ready. We move to the front tonight.'

It was late at night. My uncle, Rickard and the rest of Faramir's company had spent a few hours patrolling a section of the riverbank but it was a quiet night. However, instead of feeling relief at this the men felt uneasy. This was the calm before the storm. Osgiliath was the safest place to cross the Anduin for miles up and down river thanks to its bridge. However, the centre of the bridge had been destroyed to prevent the Orc's from crossing. Everyone believed that Mordor's assault would come from across the river in boats so that was where most of the troops were located. So far that night there had been nothing and Faramir had led his company back to their barracks located in a mostly intact building when it happened. From the other side of the mountains around Mordor a blinding sinister green light launched into the sky.

My uncle and Rickard were outside the building when it happened.

'What on Earth?' my uncle shouted.

Faramir rushed out and took one look at the light.

'To the river!' he shouted back at his men.

'What does the light mean?' Rickard asked the Captain.

'It's a signal to Sauron's forces on the other side of the river,' he answered. 'They're about to launch their attack.'

Dozens of men poured out of the barracks and into the ruined city, rushing towards the river. My uncle and cousin looked at each other. They were still wearing their armour and their weapons were ready.

'Here we go again,' Rickard said and then pulled down his helmets visor before they both joined in the rush to the river.

AN: Two chapters in one day. A special treat because all of you are brilliant people! I hope you enjoy them.

Also, I forgot to mention this last week but this story past a thousand views. I'm happy because of this so take a minute to rock out to "Into the West" and if someone reading this doesn't know what this song is then go and listen to it right now!