PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter XXIV: The Theory Of Reincarnation

The four of us—Faramir, Gandalf, Pippin, and I—moved to a more private setting, which turned out to be one of the guard houses on the third level of the White City. Faramir led the way inside, and Pippin scurried in after. I made to follow, but Gandalf raised his staff to block my entrance.

Gandalf usually tried to interact to me as little as possible, so the fact that he was going out of the way to talk to me meant nothing good. I wracked my brains, trying to think about what Gandalf could possibly have to say to me, and then it hit me: the Senturiel. With the discovery of Nick in goblin town and the news of Boromir's death, I had plain forgotten about our meeting in Lórien.

I gulped. "Hey, Gandalf."

There were shadows under Gandalf's blue eyes. I didn't know how much time had passed or what he'd been through since Lórien, but whatever burden had weighed on his shoulders back then, it had since doubled in size.

"Look," I said, trying to be as reasonable as possible, "I know you want me to be the second coming of Atanalcar or whatever—"

"I do not wish you to be Atanalcar," said Gandalf.

"Oh good, because I can't be."

"Atanalcar lost his mind to the knowledge the Senturiel revealed to him," continued Gandalf, as if I hadn't spoken. "I do not wish that fate upon you. But you must understand that to ignore the knowledge given to you by the Senturiel is to neglect Middle Earth."

I glanced longingly at the door of the guard house. I longed to go inside and hang out with Faramir and Pippin. Fighting back a sigh, I turned to Gandalf and said, "I don't know what kind of great knowledge you think the Senturiel gives me, but it really isn't all you make it out to be. I just stumble through things and make it up as I go along. That's it. There's no great secrets to the Senturiel, really."

"There is no guide to help you understand the Senturiel," agreed Gandalf. "But you should not disregard your responsibility so easily."

"I don't avoid responsibility," I said through gritted teeth. "Responsibility avoids me. Skipping doesn't allow for responsibilities."

"Thorin told you once," said Gandalf, "that you engage Middle Earth half-heartedly."

I cringed at the mention of Thorin's and my argument on the mountainside. How many years had passed since then for Gandalf? How could still remember Thorin's words? In a dark voice, I muttered, "What does Thorin know?"

"Very much, it seems," said Gandalf. "For your half-hearted disposition is why I struggle to tolerate you. You have been given a gift and a burden in your abilities, and yet you deny that you are the Senturiel. You could use these abilities to help the people of Middle Earth and yet you are set in your ways and refuse to acknowledge that you have this power to save people."

"Refuse to acknowledge it?" I asked. My voice came out louder than I intended, and it took me a second to regain control. "I saved the Fellowship from the Gap of Rohan. I tried to save you from the balrog—before you were brought back to life—and I am trying to save Boromir from his fate. Don't you dare tell me that I don't try to help people."

"You only help those you know," said Gandalf, "You have only helped to satisfy your own wants, and you do not consider how your actions will affect them. Did you plan to stop me from fighting the balrog? Do you plan on stopping Boromir from saving Merry and Pippin? Did you know I only insisted on the Gap of Rohan because I did not think you were prepared to endure the mines of Moria? You have not been saving this world but disrupting it with your selfishness."

My jaw dropped. I was filled with the overwhelming desire to hit something. And then, all at once, the rage disappeared, replaced by a sort of hollowness. I could only stare at Gandalf's knotted staff, which barred me front entering the guard house. Was Gandalf right? Had I really done nothing to help the Fellowship? Was my presence in Middle Earth really nothing more than a disturbance?

Thankfully, I didn't have to answer Gandalf, because Pippin chose that moment to stick his head out the door and ask, "Will you two be joining us inside?"

"Oh yes." I pushed Gandalf's staff aside and hurried into the guard house. Now wasn't the time to be having an existential crisis. I was here, in Middle Earth, and I might as well make the most of it.

The chamber Faramir and Pippin waited in was a simple stone room with an unlit fireplace, wooden chairs, and a long oak table. Seated at the head of the table, Gandalf and Faramir talked about important matters of warfare for a good hour. Neither Pippin nor I truly understood what was going on. Though we tried to listen, our conversation quickly drifted away into more simple and ordinary topics.

"Reincarnation?" asked Pippin.

I nodded. "You know, where you die and are born again in a new body, but you don't remember your past life. And everyone always claims they used to be Cleopatra. I prefer to be original. I'm deciding between dwarf or sloth."

"Hm." Pippin twisted his mouth and pondered this. "If I were to be reincarnated, I would still want to be a hobbit."

"But that's boring" I pouted. "You're already a hobbit. Don't you want to try something new?"

"But a hobbit is best," said Pippin.

"Dwarf," I said stubbornly.

"I do not understand why you would want to be a dwarf. No offense intended to Gimli, of course." Pippin glanced over his shoulder, as if worried Gimli might appear at any second, wielding his battle axe. Once he was certain that he was safe from Gimli's dwarven rage, Pippin breathed a sigh of relief and said, "No matter how many times I pass through death, I will always want to be reincarnated as a hobbit."

I shrugged. "To each his own. Personally, I'm still torn between being reincarnated as a dwarf or being reincarnated as a sloth. I feel like sloths have more carefree lives."

Pippin shook his head. "I think that Gimli would be insulted if he knew you placed these sloth creatures and dwarves on the same level of esteem."

"Thorin would be insulted too." I leaned back in my chair and drummed my fingers on my knee, thinking hard. "That settles it. Sloths have no majestic potential. Therefore, I want to be reincarnated as a dwarf."

"If you wanted to try something new," said Pippin, "shouldn't you want to be reincarnated as something tall?"

"I don't want to hear that from a hobbit."

"What subject has you two so entertained?" asked Faramir.

I don't know if we interrupted his conversation with Gandalf or the discussios of war had come to an end. Either way, Gandalf stared at me with a frustrated expression on his weathered face.

"We're talking about the theory of reincarnation," I said. "The most simple explanation is that after you die, you come back as someone else and have no memory of your past life. Pippin would always want to be reincarnated as a hobbit—boring. And I decided to be reincarnated as a dwarf. Though a sloth wouldn't be bad either."

"A sloth?" asked Faramir.

"Adorable, sluggish creatures that hang from trees."

"Are you not afraid of heights?" asked Pippin.

I frowned. "I'm assuming that if I'm reincarnated as a sloth, my fear of heights would go away."

"What if it does not?" asked Faramir.

My eyes widened with horror. Perhaps I needed to do more research on my potential reincarnation animal.

"You had better be a dwarf," said Faramir.

"Already decided that. Dwarves are majestic." I paused. "What would you be reincarnated as, Faramir?"

"Me?" Faramir frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps a horse. Or a white tree. Then the tree of Gondor would flourish and bear white blossoms again."

"Oh my God, Faramir!" I cried, dramatically clasping a hand to my chest. "Quit being so gallant." I pretended to swoon, but the effect was ruined when I burst into laughter. After a moment, Faramir chuckled.

"What would you be, Gandalf?" asked Pippin.

"I have already passed through death and returned as the White Wizard," said Gandalf. "Once was enough."

"Ah, show off," I said. "Just because you'll actually get to reincarnate. Let the rest of us dream, okay?"

"Only you wish to be reincarnated, Ana," said Faramir. "I am content as I am."

There was a knock on the chamber door, bringing the conversation to a close. The door opened to reveal a soldier dressed in a black uniform with the image of a white tree on his chest. He stood upright, his chin held high, trying to make himself seem important. Faramir nodded once, and the man seemed to relax a little.

"My lord Denethor desires a meeting with Captain Faramir," said the soldier. "He says the wizard and the hobbit should come as well."

"And what about me?" I asked. "I feel kind of left out."

Faramir sighed. He turned to the soldier and said, "We will see my father shortly."

It was only when the soldier had left, closing the door behind him, that Faramir reminded me, "You are a wanted criminal if my memory serves me. My father would not invite you to his halls."

"Ana is a wanted criminal?" asked Pippin, staring at me in what might have been awe.

"But I don't want to be left behind. Besides." I crossed my arms. "Your dad is going to try to bully you again."

"All the more reason not to bring you," said Faramir as he got to his feet and headed for the door.

"I do not know of this past strife between Ana and Denethor," said Gandalf, rising from his chair, "but I think we should bring Ana. She could prove to be most amusing."

I grinned at Gandalf. "You just want to see Denethor try to arrest me."

A wry smile crossed Gandalf's face. "Why would I ever want that?"

We rode horses up to the top level of Minas Tirith. Well, technically, Gandalf and Faramir rode the horses; Pippin and I just sat behind them and enjoyed the ride. I tried (and mostly succeeded) to ignore the tremors of fear that ran through me as I sat on the horse. My hands clutched the saddle, and I wrenched my eyes shut whenever the horse shifted beneath me (which was often). It appeared that I had equinophobia on top of my arachnophobia and acrophobia. Urg, such was my life.

I opened one eye a sliver and watched as Gandalf and Pippin led the way along the streets of the White City. The people of Gondor sent us curious glances as we trotted past. I managed a weak smile for them and some of them smiled back. Most of them were too entranced by their captain, the wizard, and the hobbit to notice me.

"Faramir," I asked, "am I a disturbance?"

"Hm?" Faramir sat in front of me, so I couldn't see his face, but he sounded surprised by my question. After a moment, he said, "You can be frustrating at times, but you are never an unwanted disturbance."

I blinked. "Well, you're honest."

"I hope you do not except everyone to appreciate you," said Faramir. "You must know that it is impossible to please every person you meet. Some will consider you a nuisance and a disturbance, but you should know that I always appreciate your visits."

"You should take your own advice," I said.

I didn't have to see his face to know that Faramir scowled at my comment.

We fell into silence, both of us lost to our own thoughts. My thoughts quickly turned to fear, and by the time we reached the Tower of Ecthelion, I had imagined myself falling off the horse and being trampled by his hooves at least twelve times. My face had turned white and my hands shook and I'd vowed to myself over and over again that I would never ride another horse as long as I lived.

The church-like white Tower of Ecthelion was located on the highest, seventh level of the White City. Beside the tower stood, the arching, stone Citadel. There was also a vast courtyard, which I later found out is called the Court of the Fountain, the center of which contained a small, peaceful pond and a dead white tree.

And now for a brief history lesson, courtesy of Ana Stonbit:

The white trees are descended from Nimloth, the Original Fancy White Tree that grew in the King's Court in Númenor. By the year T.A. 3019, there had been three different White Trees in Gondor. The first was planted in Minas Ithil (now Minas Morgul) by Isildur; this tree was destroyed by Sauron in the Second Age. However, Isildur managed to save a seedling of the White Tree, which he planted in the courtyard of Minas Anor (now Minas Tirith) in memory of his slain brother Anárion. This second tree died during the Great Plague. The third tree was planted in T.A. 1640 by King Tarondor, but the tree grew sick and died a little over a thousand years later during the reign of the Ruling Steward Belecthor II (Boromir and Faramir's great-great-great-great-grandfather). No new seeds of the White Tree could be found and would not be found "until the King returns" (that "King" would be Aragorn). So while Gondor waits for the Isildur's heir to return to the throne, the remains of the third dead tree were left in the Court of the Fountain.

There you go, the history of the White Tree of Gondor. Faramir would be so proud of me.

Faramir and Gandalf spared only a glance for the White Tree as they passed through the courtyard and marched up the stone steps to the hall where Denethor had taken up residence. Pippin and I, however, stared at the ruined tree in awe, admiring its frosty naked branches. At last, we tore out eyes away and followed the others to the tower.

The interior of the Tower of Ecthelion (also known as the Tower of Denethor—hmm, I wonder who to narcissist is) was grand. It was made of black and white marble with thick pillars supporting the curved, stone ceiling. An elevated black throne rested at the far end of the hall, given a place of honor. Guards clad in black and white stood stiffly beside the throne, prepared to protect their steward even if Sauron himself entered the hall. A man, dressed in expensive furs, was draped across the throne, his head bent in mourning and his gray hair falling over his face.

"Father," said Faramir as we approached the throne, "you wished to see me."

Denethor lifted his gaze, and for a moment, I pitied him. I had never seen a man look so downtrodden, so heartbroken, as Denethor did at that moment. Tears glistened in the corner of Denethor's eyes, and his face sagged with sorrow. My eyes flickered down, and I saw that his withered hands clutched the broken horn that Boromir always kept with him. As I stared at the broken horn, I felt a twist of understanding for Denethor. Whatever pain I might feel over the news of Boromir's death (which I would soon correct), Denethor must feel a thousand times worse.

Denethor stared at Faramir and then, in soft accusatory tones, said, "You are a disgrace to the memory of your brother."

With that, all my pity disappeared.

"His courageous deeds won back Osgiliath from Sauron," continued Denethor. "He swore never to let our beautiful city fall into the hands of the Enemy again. Yet you now have the nerve to abandon it."

"My lord, Osgiliath is overrun," said Faramir. His voice was calm despite the slight trembling of his hands.

"We should not abandon the outer defenses so lightly," said Denethor. "We should fight back. You let the Enemy think us weak. We should not have abandoned Osgiliath."

"If we were to attack Osgiliath now," said Faramir, "we would fail. We would fall upon them like water on rock. Then, they would know us to be weak."

"You may be water on rock," snapped Denethor. "But Boromir was not. Boromir would do his father's bidding. Boromir would reclaim Osgiliath. Though he would not have lost it in the first place."

Faramir said, with all the patience in the world, "Osgiliath is overrun. Not even Boromir—"

"Do not speak of your brother that way!" Denethor clutched the cloven horn.

"I do not mean Boromir any disrespect," said Faramir. "I am only stating the truth."

Denethor released a trembling breath. "Is there a captain here who will still do his lord's wishes? Or should I find someone else?"

Faramir did not respond for a second. I hoped—I really hoped—that he was about to tell Denethor just where to put that shit he was spewing out of his mouth. But Faramir only nodded and said, "Of course, Father. We will depart before the afternoon." He paused. "If I should return, think better of me, Father."

Denethor snorted. "That would depend on the manner of your return."

"Why would you say that, Denethor?" I cried.

Everyone turned to stare at me. I could recognize the same frustration and anger I felt in Gandalf and Pippin's eyes (though neither one of them said it aloud). Denethor glowered at me, his gray brows knitted together. Faramir, however, did not look at me but kept his eyes fixated on the marble floor. I'm sure internally he was telling me to shut up. But I would not shut up.

"I mean really. I love Boromir too, Denethor—but you have another son! Show him some love sometimes! Pat him on the back and give him a hug. He's such an amazing, gallant human being who does so much for Gondor and you just talk to him like he's nothing. It makes me sad just looking at you. Hug him, damn it!"

Denethor's eyes narrowed. "You."

I swear, I slapped my hand against my forehead and sighed. "Really? That's all you got out of this?"

"Arrest her," said Denethor.

At their steward's commend, the two guards positioned on either side of the throne started to move towards me. I let out a little squeak and took a step back, wondering if I could flee the Tower of Ecthelion before they caught me.

"Leave her be, Father," said Faramir, stepping between me and the approaching guards. "I will go to Osgiliath, but please leave her be. She is harmless and only suffers from a lack of control over her mouth."

Denethor glowered at me for a second longer, but then he turned to his son and said, "You must take back Osgiliath."

The guards took this as confirmation that they shouldn't arrest me, and they returned to their positions beside the throne. Pippin was audibly relieved that I hadn't been arrested, while Gandalf seemed genuinely disappointed. For once, I agreed with Gandalf. I was not happy with this turn of events.

"Hey, Faramir, wait. You can't do this. This is crazy. You know it's crazy. If Osgiliath is overrun…"

"We cannot let the enemy think us weak," said Faramir.

"Not you too—"

"Ana, stop." A small, soft smile crossed Faramir's face as he looked down at me. "Perhaps I shall be reincarnated into a White Tree, and you shall see Gondor in all its splendor."

"God damn it, Faramir, stop being so gallant!"

But he wasn't listening to me anymore; his head was filled with his father's cruel words and the death of his brother. With a bow to his father and then to Gandalf, he exited the hall. I stared at the black doors as they swung closed behind him.

"That boy's nature has always been so," said Denethor, shaking his head. "Weak."

"He's not weak," I snapped. I probably would have slapped Denethor, consequences be damned, if Gandalf had not caught me by the back of my shirt and held me in place.

"She is distraught. Forgive her, Lord Denethor," said Gandalf before Denethor could try to have me arrested again. Keeping a firm grip on my shirt, Gandalf addressed Denethor, "You wished to speak with myself and the hobbit as well."

Denethor stared at me for a moment longer before shifting his gaze to Gandalf. In a low voice, Denethor said, "Mithrandir, I know why you are have come."

"Do you now," murmured Gandalf.

Finally remembering that picking fights with the Steward of Gondor was probably not a good idea, I gave up my struggle against Gandalf's hold on my shirt. Silently, I stared up at the steward. Denethor no longer looked like the pitiful, grieving man who wept over his son's cloven horn. Instead, Denethor's face had become twisted with hate. He leaned forward on his throne and leered at Gandalf, his voice little more than a venomous hiss.

"You seek to supplant me. You bring a Ranger from the north, calling him the lost king of Gondor. Both you and I know that line was broken. You bring an imposter, hoping to control my lands—but I see through you, Mithrandir. First, you take Boromir from me, and now you seek to take Minas Tirith from me. Well, I will not yield. Gondor is mine and no other's."

"You're crazy." I turned to Gandalf. "He's crazy."

"Silence," muttered Gandalf. (Secretly, he agreed with me. Which is saying a lot. You know how much Gandalf hates to agree with me.) He addressed Denethor next. "I have no desire for the throne of Gondor except to return it to the rightful king. Your family has cared for the throne for generations, but now the true owner has come forth and you must surrender it."

"I will not bow to some Ranger from the north. The last of a ragged house long forgotten."

"It is not for you to deny the return of the king!" snapped Gandalf.

"Oh," I muttered to Pippin. "My money's on Gandalf to win."

"I do not think we should bet on this," whispered Pippin.

"You just don't want to bet against Gandalf."

In the middle of his spiteful battle with Gandalf, Denethor caught sight of me. His entire body quivered with rage. He lifted his right hand and pointed a boney finger at me. "You. You should be in prison, rotting away in the depths of Minas Tirith where your wretched face may never be seen again!"

"Me?" I squeaked. I glanced at Pippin and Gandalf, hoping for some support, but they gave me none. "That's a little harsh. I mean, sure, I insulted you—but rotting in prison? Can I just mildew a little and then go free?"

"Guards!" roared Denethor. "Guards! Seize her! Throw her behind bars so I might never hear her crude language again!"

The guards stepped forward again. This time, their swords were drawn, and there was no Faramir to save me. I backed away slightly.

"You know," I said. "This isn't really necessary. I won't do it again, promise. You should really arrest Gandalf instead. He's the troublemaker. I think your throne is a very nice throne. You look good on it. If you let me go, I'll run through the streets of Gondor, singing praises of what a good steward you are. Think of it as free PR."

The guards kept coming.

"Lord Denethor," said Gandalf wearily, "Ttis is not necessary."

"This unruly cretin has been wandering behind my walls unpunished for far too long," sneered Denethor.

Well, flattery and bargaining weren't getting me anywhere, so I might as well say my piece. I glowered up at Denethor and said, "You're just jealous because Boromir and Faramir like me better. Oh, and Aragorn would make a much better ruler than you."

I yanked my shirt out of Gandalf's grasp before turning and sprinting out of the hall. I think Gandalf and Pippin might have tried to stall the guards, even a little, but there wasn't much they could do without joining me in the cells of Minas Tirith.

I raced through the throne room and pushed open the doors. The doors didn't even have time to close behind me as the guards kicked them open and continued the chase. I sprinted across the courtyard, past the White Tree, my feet slamming against the stone pavement. I tried to sprint down the stairs to the next level of the city, but seeing that I was being pursued, more guards cut me off.

Left. Right. Behind. Guards were slowly closing in around me. The prison cell was starting to look like a very real possibility.

I ran in the only direction I could—towards the edge of the seventh level.

The courtyard had a long, pointed platform that jutted out towards Pelennor Fields, cutting the city in half. When I reached the end of this, I came to a screeching halt. There was a gap in the railing, looking out at the city of Minas Tirith—thousands of feet below. Down, down, down, down, down. I'm going to be sick just thinking about it.

"Oh hell no." I spun around and found myself face to face with dozens of guards, their swords drawn and pointed directly at me.

"You cannot escape," said Denethor, who had emerged from the Tower of Ecthelion to see my arrest. "Surrender now."

"Can I get away from the ledge before we have this stand off?" I asked. "I'm afraid of heights."

"Ha!" sneered Denethor. "As if we would be foolish enough to believe such lies."

"It's the truth." I tried not to glance over my shoulder at the gap in the railing. The ground was so far away. "Boromir had to piggyback me up a tree once because I was too afraid to climb it myself."

"Do not dare speak his name," snarled Denethor.

"Man," I said, "you don't get it. Boromir was my bro. Don't you try to get in the way of our friendship."

"She speaks strangely," said one of the soldiers.

I stared at the sharp swords reproachfully and tried to ignore the feeling of dread that was building in my stomach.

"What I mean is that Boromir and I were good friends. He would be mortified so see his father treat me so poorly." I took a step backwards. My heels reached the end of the stone. Nothing but air was behind me.

"Lies," said Denethor. "You cannot escape. Surrender now."

"But she can," said Gandalf.

"You," I said, pointing at the wizard. "You and your stupid magic rock!"

Gandalf look at me, his gray eyes flickered with something, perhaps triumph, but other than that he showed no emotion. Damn that wizard and his incredible poker face.

"Seize her!" cried Denethor.

I jumped. Off the edge of the cliff.

Down, down, down. The wind whistled through my hair.

Down, down, down. Denethor, Gandalf, the guards. They all fell away. Or I fell away.

Down, down, down. Skip.

"Ow," I groaned and rubbed the back of my head.

"Are you all right?"

I opened my eyes and saw a Caribou Coffee employee holding his hand out to me. I took it gratefully, and he helped me to my feet.

"You, um, had a nasty fall, I think," he said, stammering.

"I trip a lot," I said. "One moment, no one realizes I'm there and then—wham—I hit my head and suddenly I'm the center of attention, you know?" I grinned at him.

"Um, yeah…" The employee hesitated. "Can I get you anything? Ice? Something for the head?"

"Coffee," I said instantly. "The hotter the better."