A/N: It's like 3 AM and I have work tomorrow but I was DETERMINED to get a chapter out today so here you go! Happy Hobbit day, my dudes (even though it's technically not September 22nd anymore as I'm uploading this)!
To Whatever End: Chapter Six
-Kaia-
Ever since Gandalf, Erin, and Pippin left Edoras, things had gotten a lot quieter in the Golden Hall. Not that anyone had expected otherwise, given that the two loudest and wildest members of our Fellowship were now gone, but still. It took some getting used to. For once, everything wasn't a chaotic mess, although in a weird way, I almost missed it. Everything felt so different without Erin around in particular to complete our little trio and make terrible jokes all day. Of course, Kathryn and I still had each other to keep ourselves entertained most of the time, though it wasn't quite the same with just the two of us. The world just seemed off. There wasn't really another way to explain it.
It quickly became apparent that Kathryn and I weren't the only ones feeling the loss, though. From the moment Erin had ridden out of sight, I'd kept an eye on the elf in our party, somehow feeling obligated to look out for him since she'd gone. Despite his damn good poker face and incredibly calm demeanor, I could tell Legolas wasn't happy about the situation. He hid it well, but by now I knew better than to assume nothing was wrong. And so, after several days of quietly observing from afar, I finally approached the prince one morning after breakfast, determined to get him to open up to me. "Hey, Legolas."
He turned from where he'd been speaking with Gimli, who was now off in search of more food despite the meal being over. "Yes?"
"You got a minute?" I asked innocently. "I just wanted to talk to you for a second."
I could see the instant shift in his eyes as he paused, cautiously nodding as I pulled him off to the side in hopes of getting some privacy. Once I was sure we were out of earshot, I turned to face him, watching him carefully. "Are you alright?"
The elf drew back slightly, almost laughing at the question. "Of course," he answered. "Why would I not be?"
Now it was my turn to frown. "No, Legolas, I'm serious. I want to know how you've been these past few days."
There was a brief flash of recognition in his eyes then - clearly he realized what I was getting at - but still, he shook his head, smiling politely back at me. "I have been well."
"Legolas."
"I assure you, you have no need to worry."
"Dude. Come on."
He took a half step back, feigning confusion as he tried to begin his escape. "Forgive me, Kaia, but I do not understand-"
"I know you're upset about her leaving," I bluntly interrupted. That got his attention, and he stopped, his smile faltering. "You don't have to hide it from me. I can tell it's been hard for you, and... I just wanted to make sure you knew that if you needed someone to talk to, you could come to me."
As I spoke, his expression shifted, the carefully constructed façade falling away to reveal a softer, more vulnerable Legolas underneath. He looked at me for a moment, as if unsure of what to say. "...Thank you." There was another hesitant pause, but then his gaze fell to the ground, and he sighed. "It was not easy to watch her go. She rides to what may be the most dangerous place in all of Middle-Earth now, second only to Mordor itself." The elf almost seemed to scoff at himself, an oddly bitter edge to his words. "How could I not worry for her?"
My frown deepened at his tone, confused. "You sound more frustrated than concerned." At first, he said nothing, and the gears slowly began to turn in my head as I read between the lines. "Frustrated with yourself."
Legolas shook his head, still absentmindedly staring at his feet. "...When we separated, I thought it was for the best. I was questioning all of it - whether or not we were right for each other; whether or not she was the same person I'd once known after all she'd done... and I let her go because I thought it was the right thing to do. For both our sakes."
"And what about now?" I asked. "Do you still think you made the right choice?"
He finally lifted his gaze to meet mine, clouded with uncertainty. "I do not know."
There was a moment of silence as Legolas' eyes glazed over in deep thought once again, and I continued to watch him carefully before I sighed. "Listen, Legolas... I'm not going to sit here and say that I have all the right answers for you. I don't. And I know there were a lot of other factors that made your relationship difficult from the very beginning, so there's really no simple answer here at all." I paused. "But I don't think it's about making the easy choice. It's about making the right choice." That drew the elf's attention, as he suddenly looked back to me with a slight frown. "I don't know what that might mean for you," I said truthfully. "Only you can figure that out."
At first, Legolas was silent, taking deep interest in what I'd said. As he mulled over the advice, though, his face fell again. "...It may prove to be worth nothing in the end now," he said softly, mind once again turning elsewhere. "Sauron could strike Minas Tirith at any moment, and she-" He stopped abruptly, and I noticed a pained, fearful expression pass over him. "She could be gone long before I would ever reach her again."
"Then you'd better fight like hell to get back to her before the Enemy does," I said, "just like I know she's going to do for you." I reached out and placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder, forcing him to look me directly in the eye. "And then, when you do see her again, the first words out of your mouth had better be whatever decision you end up making. Got it?" He nodded, and I fixed him with an intense stare. "Don't make me come after you later because you went back on your word, Greenleaf."
He shook his head, fighting back a smile at my attempts to intimidate him. "I would never dream of it."
I gave a curt nod. "Good. Because you know I'd drag you to hell and back if I had to."
A small smirk appeared on his face, and he laughed to himself. "I have no doubt of that." He drew back, and I let my hand fall away as we both turned to begin our exit from the great hall. "If it were up to you to deal me any sort of deserved punishment, I imagine it would be horrendous in every sense."
"You're damn right it would be," I shot back, though also grinning by now as we closed in on the doors leading to the back corridors. "Don't you ever underestimate me!"
–
-Kathryn-
For maybe the tenth time in a week, I sat cross legged on my bed, the familiar, rhythmic scrape of whetstone against metal the only sound in the room. It served no practical purpose to be doing this again, really - I hadn't practiced with my throwing daggers in a few days, so they certainly didn't need to be sharpened. But it gave me something to do while Kaia was out doing whatever for the day, leaving me on my own for a few hours. I didn't mind at all; in fact, I actually enjoyed the brief time of solitude to recharge and collect myself. The repetitive sound of scraping stone helped fill the otherwise empty silence in my bedroom as I took time to just sit still and think. And boy, did I have plenty to think about these days.
Currently my thoughts were centered on Minas Tirith, the great white city in the south. I can't say I didn't resent the fact that Erin was headed there instead of me. I had more cause to go than she did. For a moment, right after she'd left, I'd thought about throwing all my stuff in a bag and following after them, but didn't. I felt like I had to stay in Edoras with the others, even though, truthfully, it was the last place I wanted to be right now. I had so much unfinished business with Faramir... so much I wanted to say to him, and a lingering fear for his life as Sauron now set Minas Tirith in his sights. I momentarily paused in my sharpening, glancing to my belt laying next to me on the bed. There was an empty spot on it which Boromir's dagger had once occupied, and it was strange not feeling the weight of it carried with me anymore. But it had felt right, leaving it with Faramir. It belonged to him more than me, after all. And if nothing else, the young captain of Gondor might've seen it as a peace offering, at least. Maybe I should've left a note with it or something, I thought. "Hi, Faramir. I know you wanted to take me to your crazy dad, but I'd rather ditch and go back to horse country. Sorry I scarred you for life with horrible memories of your dead brother's final moments. Here's his knife. We're cool, right?" I laughed to myself, shaking my head. I'm sure that would've gone over well.
In reality, though, I had no idea what Faramir thought of me. The last time we'd spoken was when I'd dumped the full, unaltered truth of how the Ring had affected Boromir and I on him, which had been months ago. And then I'd disobeyed his orders by jumping ship before we left for Osgiliath, which I imagined he wasn't too happy with me for. I sighed, finally abandoning the whetstone and knife in my hand to set them aside. I need to get back to him somehow. To make sure he's okay, and to explain myself... but I have no idea how I'm going to do that. I don't even know where Faramir is right now.
I turned my head slightly, gazing out the window at the soft blue sky. I wondered if he'd gone to Osgiliath after all, and if Frodo and Sam were with him. If he'd kept the dagger. If he'd listened. If anything I'd said had made the slightest impact on Faramir at all. Keep him safe, Kathryn. Boromir's distant voice echoed in my head, and I couldn't help the dull sting in my chest as I remembered my promise. I did all I could. I just hope it was enough. My eyes traced the edges of fluffy white clouds passing over the sun. Wherever you are... I hope you're okay.
–
-Faramir-
The city had fallen silent behind me, save for the low murmurs of men moving about on the ground as we settled into our position along the eastern bank of the river. Perhaps I should have been watching to assure each man was doing his duty, but my thoughts were elsewhere as I stood along a stone bridge between two watchtowers. My gaze rested on a small, insignificant entryway far to the side; one which granted access to the sewers of Osgiliath running beneath the river and out onto the western shores. To any other man, it would seem useless, but I had been staring at those sewers for hours now, my mind fixed on the halflings and their insufferable guide. The last I had seen of Frodo and Sam had been three days ago, when I'd granted them passage through the sewers to aid them in escaping the city unseen. They had thanked me graciously and then vanished, taking with them the greatest weapon of our age as they continued on with their quest to destroy evil forever.
I remained still, my eyes never leaving the spot in which they had once stood. It had all happened so fast once we came to Osgiliath. Even as we had journeyed through Ithilien, I had felt uncertain in my decision not to release them. Kathryn's words granted me no peace as we traveled, haunting me day and night as I recalled her account of the evil fate that had befallen Boromir. For a moment, I had convinced myself to doubt her words, believing Kathryn had developed an overly irrational fear of the Ring. She had not seen what I had seen befall Minas Tirith. She did not know our desperation. The Ring was not to be feared if we could control and wield it ourselves. But then we had arrived at the ruined city on the riverbank, and within an hour, everything had changed. In a fit of frustration, Sam had lashed out, confessing the very same things Kathryn had, which had shaken me. And then the Nazgûl had come, terrible and fierce, hunting the weapon of their master. I could still remember the horror of it all - fear pumping through my own veins, coupled with Kathryn's distant warning of the evil the Ring would always draw near. And there it had been, sweeping over us in the skies above, as real as anything I had ever known. So I let them go. All other hesitancy was cast aside - no matter what my father wanted, it was not worth it. Such an evil did not belong in Minas Tirith, and would never save her from ruin, only draw her closer to it. In that moment, I had understood. And I had let them go.
Now I stood in watchful silence among my men, staring at the sewer's entrance and knowing I had done what was right. My hand came to rest on the hilt of the bronze dagger in its place at my side, and I let out a breath. He always warned me the right choice was not always the easiest to make. I knew there would be consequences for my actions. Even now, as I glanced to Minas Tirith on the horizon, I feared the wrath of my father which I would surely face upon returning empty handed. But it is done, I thought. I cannot take it back now. My thoughts shifted to Kathryn as I turned away from the White City, looking to the north. I wondered if she had returned to Edoras and been reunited with her companions there. If she worried for the halflings. If she thought me a fool for not heeding her advice sooner. This is something that's going to save us all if Frodo and Sam can finish what they started. I could hear Kathryn's voice in my head even now, and despite my fear, I felt the smallest spark of hope kindle in my chest. I have done all I can, I thought, clinging to it hard. Let us hope it will be enough. My eyes traced the thin rays of sunlight piercing through clouds, wondering if I would ever see Kathryn again. Wherever she may be... I hope she is well.
–
-Erin-
I squinted against the wind as it whipped through my hair, daring to coax Fréa a little faster as I followed behind the wizard in front of me. Honestly, I was surprised the mare had been able to keep up with Shadowfax's consistently high speeds for the duration of our journey. Either Gandalf was going slower on purpose, or my horse was just an absolute beast when it came to endurance. But regardless, we'd covered an incredible distance in a little under a month. Rest stops came few and far between, and there wasn't much talk any other time, as we all understood it was urgent we make it to the White City as soon as possible. Gandalf was super focused on getting us there, and I was focused on keeping up with him more than anything else. Or... that's what I'd been trying to focus on, anyway. I was kicking myself for it day and night, knowing I shouldn't be this distracted, but despite my efforts, my thoughts kept tracing back to Rohan. Specifically Edoras. Specifically a particular elf I'd left behind in Edoras.
I missed him. There was no use denying it. I missed him and regretted having to leave him behind. Regardless of where our relationship now stood, Legolas' constant presence was something I'd gotten used to having around all the time, and now he was just... gone. It was at least some comfort to know he was safe back in Edoras, but deep down I still wished I could glance back and see him following close behind. But then I caught myself, blinking and shaking the image of his smiling face from my mind. It's not worth losing sleep over, I reminded myself. Nope. Won't happen. He's just a friend. Forcing myself to think of something other than the Mirkwood prince, I switched to Kaia and Kathryn, who I missed just as much, if not more. I felt awful for leaving them so suddenly, after just promising to stick together not long ago. We'd only been reunited for a couple weeks, and it already felt like that'd been a lifetime ago. Of course, I knew I'd see them again eventually - I didn't doubt they'd be around for the Battle of the Pelennor, but... it just seemed so far away. Anything could happen between now and then. And with Saruman's prophetic warning hanging overhead, my fears were heightened even more. Maybe it will be me, I thought. And it won't even be anything cool - I'll just die from something stupid like leaning over the edge of the seventh level too far and falling the whole way down. For a second, I chuckled, imagining the ridiculous scene, but then stopped. ...God, that's morbid. I need help.
Just as I was beginning to suspect we were riding with no end in sight, early one morning our two horses sloshed through a shallow, crisp river cutting through a grassy plain, and Gandalf shouted to Pippin and I over the horses rumbling hooves as we galloped along. "We just passed into the realm of Gondor!" At the announcement, I perked up, eyes focusing on the horizon ahead and wondering how close we were to the city.
Pippin seemed to be wondering the same thing. "How long until we reach Minas Tirith?" he shouted back.
"Not much further!" came the wizard's reply. "We should reach the citadel before high noon!"
If possible, we pushed our horses to run even faster for the final stretch, and I felt the anticipation begin to bubble up in my chest. Don't get me wrong, I was still homesick (Edorassick?) and all, but Minas Tirith was one of the only major locations left in Middle-Earth I hadn't yet seen. I'd always been astounded just from seeing it onscreen in the films, and now I'd soon be able to experience it in person. To actually go inside and walk through the city of stone, carved right out of the mountainside. Already starting to envision it in my head, I smiled. Even after all this time, I never failed to get giddy and excited over exploring a new corner of Middle-Earth.
True to his word, it wasn't long before Gandalf slowed our pace, and as we came to the crest of the final hill, my jaw went slack, seeing the spike of the White Tower of Ecthelion first as it pierced the sky above. And then the entirety of the city rolled into view as we came to a halt, gazing upon it in all its magnificence. I was absolutely speechless, my own breath stolen away at the sight of the utterly massive city, gleaming like pearls and diamonds in the bright sunlight. The seven tiers climbed up and up, thousands of feet into the air, looking like something out of another universe entirely as my eyes traced over the veins of silver running through the rock. "Minas Tirith," Gandalf announced, his voice proud and strong as Pippin and I both looked on in awestruck wonder. "The City of Kings."
After allowing us a brief moment to take it all in, Gandalf kicked Shadowfax back into a canter, and I followed closely behind on Fréa once more. A wide, stupid smile split my face and lingered there the entire time as we sped down the hill and across the Pelennor. I felt like an ant compared to the sheer scale of the city itself, but it was absolutely glorious. It felt like I was looking at an ancient marble statue you'd see in a fancy art museum somewhere, only bigger, and grander, and absolutely stunning to behold. All I could think was how incredible and huge everything was as we rode up to the great gates, beautifully engraved with depictions of old Gondorian kings and rulers from long ago. My God. Even their front doors are impressive.
If we hadn't been flying through the streets at a thousand miles per hour, I probably would've been able to see more of the smaller details as we passed by, but I didn't mind too much. Even the short, brief glimpses I caught of each level while passing through were fascinating. The first level was the largest level and clearly home to the city's common people, crammed with shops and markets of all sorts. As we moved further and further upwards, with Gandalf barreling through the crowds and shouting for people to make way, the environments became more and more upscale. I started to notice more and more Gondorian soldiers patrolling the streets in their shining steel armor; more ornate carvings in the architecture, and old statues and banners displaying the heraldry of the Men of the West. Pippin looked just as awed as I was, his jaw practically dragging behind him on the ground, and we both shared an excited glance as we pressed on. I still could barely believe it as I looked around. This was real. I was actually in Minas Tirith. In real life. Man, the things I'd do to have a camera here. As we reached end of the sixth level, we passed underneath a long white banner bearing the White Tree embroidered in gold, fluttering in the breeze. For a moment, I thought of Boromir, understanding now why he'd taken such great pride in his city.
Then we finally came to the last set of stairs, and I beamed, quietly humming the fanfare from the soundtrack as we emerged onto the flat, open area serving as the courtyard for the citadel. In no time at all, a stable hand approached us, and I quickly dismounted my exhausted horse, rubbing her nose and whispering praises to her before handing off the reins. I was still totally caught up in the surrounding scenery as I fell in step behind Gandalf, heading straight for the citadel. A perfect circle of bright green grass lay at our feet, and at its center lay a pristine marble fountain spilling over into a small pool. I, however, took greater interest in what stretched up over it - a gnarled, old white tree standing as the symbol of Gondor itself. It looked even more ancient than the city itself, and as I gazed up at it, I wondered just how long it had been standing there.
Pippin's eyes were also drawn to it immediately, lighting up as he recognized the familiar sight. "It's the tree..." he breathed, rushing to catch up with the wizard. "Gandalf! Gandalf!"
"Yes, the White Tree of Gondor," he answered. "The Tree of the King. Lord Denethor, however, is not the king. He is a steward only; a caretaker to the throne." I glanced back at it as we breezed by, the tree just as saddening as it was beautiful. Clearly it had not flowered in a long time.
At the base of the steps, Gandalf stopped suddenly, turning to both of us with his voice low in warning. "Listen carefully," he muttered. "Lord Denethor is Boromir's father. To give him news of his beloved son's death would be most unwise. And do not mention Frodo, or the Ring." Pippin nodded, and Gandalf turned to move on, but then paused to look back at us. "And say nothing of Aragorn, either." Another pause. "...In fact, it's better if you two don't speak at all."
Pippin seemed slightly confused, but agreed all the same as we followed Gandalf up the last few steps. I kept my expression passive as I brought up the rear, though knowing the wizard's advice was in vain. But I had no desire to speak to the Steward, anyway. I had better things to waste my breath on than him.
The great black doors swung open before us, and I moved to flank Gandalf on his left as Pippin took to the right, the three of us moving silently through the incredibly spacious hall inside. A multitude of sleek black pillars stretched from floor to ceiling all throughout, with marble statues of the kings of old placed evenly in between them. The second level of the hall housed a balcony around the entire perimeter, and thin, sleek windows were carved from the walls, allowing daylight to flood the room. Nothing about the hall felt evil or malicious, but it would've been a lie to say it felt warm and inviting. The eerie silence and stillness made it feel like I'd just walked into a crypt, broken only by the steady, dull tap of Gandalf's staff every few seconds against the marble floors. I almost felt afraid to breathe as I glanced around, the entire room devoid of any other life besides us and the steward himself. My gaze now settled on him as we drew nearer to where he sat, cloaked in great robes with long grey hair hanging in his face as he kept his head down. A set of intricately carved black and white stairs at the end of the hall led up to a white throne which shimmered as if it was brand new. But the man we'd come to see sat in a much smaller, simpler black throne at the foot of those stairs, hunched over and staring into his lap. He gave no reaction whatsoever as we drew to a stop in front of him, and I tried not to visibly scowl.
Gandalf's voice echoed throughout the otherwise deserted hall as he spoke. "Hail Denethor, son of Ecthelion; Lord and Steward of Gondor."
Denethor remained absolutely still. He gave no indication he'd even heard the wizard speak, clutching something half hidden beneath the sleeves of his black robes I couldn't see.
Gandalf tried again. "I come with tidings in this dark hour, and with counsel."
"Perhaps you've come to explain this." His whisper was so quiet, I barely heard it. But then he moved, lifting his hands just enough so his sleeves fell away, and I felt a pang of grief as I recognized what he held. The Horn of Gondor. Boromir's horn, cloven cleanly in two. Now Denethor raised his head to look up at us, his gaze pained and broken. "Perhaps you've come to tell me why my son is dead." Gandalf was silent, and although part of me felt compelled to answer the steward, I said nothing either.
But of course, Pippin was the one who spoke up, right on cue. "Boromir died to save us... my kinsman and me." He stepped forward from his position beside Gandalf, kneeling at Denethor's feet. "He fell defending us from many foes!"
"Pippin!" Gandalf hissed.
The curly-haired hobbit ignored him, taking a deep breath before going on. "...I offer you my service, such as it is... in payment of this debt."
Gandalf closed his eyes and muttered something along the lines of "Oh, Valar save me." I would've laughed, had the situation not been so tense.
"This is my first command to you," Denethor said, staring down at the hobbit with a stony expression. "How did you escape and my son did not, so mighty a man as he was?"
Pippin stared straight back at him. "The mightiest man may be slain by one arrow, and Boromir was pierced by many." Denethor took a shaky breath, visibly upset by the harsh truth.
Gandalf, who by this point had clearly had enough of Pippin's antics, proceeded to lean over and smack him with his staff. "Get up," he ordered, stepping up as Pippin flinched and returned to his place. "My lord, there will be a time to grieve for Boromir. But it is not now." Denethor's gaze fell back to his lap. "War is coming. The Enemy is on your doorstep! As steward, you are charged with the defense of this city; where are Gondor's armies?" His tone softened to a more comforting one. "You still have friends," he said. "You are not alone in this fight. Send word to Théoden of Rohan. Light the beacons."
When Denethor looked up again, however, his face was twisted into an ugly sneer. "You think you are wise, Mithrandir, yet for all your subtleties you have not wisdom." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gandalf's lips twitch in a scowl. "Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know - more than even this murderous witch you bring with you!" I bristled as the steward turned his hateful glare in my direction, eyes boring into mine. "One who would call herself a hero of war, and yet is no more than a catalyst for all that has befallen us."
My jaw clenched, and I wanted nothing more than to deck him in the face then and there, but I held back. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Lord Denethor, but I'm none of those things. I am only here to help rid this earth of evil in whatever way I can."
At that, Denethor smirked. "Is that what the son of Elrond was to you, then? Evil to be washed away by your hand?"
As soon as he said it, the blood in my veins turned to ice, and I felt the sting of the words as if he'd come forward and slapped me across the face. I did not miss the worried look Gandalf cast in my direction, and my hands balled into fists from where they were clasped behind my back. "...I am not a murderer." My voice trembled slightly as I spoke, despite my best efforts. Liar. You know you are. You know he's right. "Forgive me, but I don't believe you were actually there to witness what happened that night. Perhaps you should base your assumptions of me off of facts rather than the latest city gossip." I tried to sound as brave and biting as I could, though I knew it didn't hold. The words felt hollow even as I spoke them aloud.
Denethor's smile only lingered, his eyes darkening as he spoke. "My knowledge of you stretches far beyond gossip, Lady Erin of Fornost," he sneered, sarcasm saturating his words. "You are not so well concealed as you believe."
My face fell, and I froze, staring at Denethor in shock. Any retort I would've spat back at him disintegrated into dust, and I could say nothing as Gandalf quickly stepped back in to redirect the steward's attention. "We are not here to trade insults," he stated firmly, now visibly irritated with the other man. "This city stands on the brink of war under your command, and it is your duty to defend it! Send word to your allies!"
"Do you take me for a fool?" Denethor sneered. "A half-wit to be bent to your will like a frail tree in the wind? I know who rides with Théoden of Rohan... oh yes... Word has reached my ears of this 'Aragorn, son of Arathorn,' and I tell you now, I will not bow to this ranger from the north; the last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship."
Gandalf matched him with an equally fierce stare. "Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the king, steward!" he spat.
In an instant, Denethor was on his feet. "The rule of Gondor is MINE!" he barked. "And no other's!"
Gandalf's jaw snapped shut, and he stared Denethor down, as if daring him to come even a half inch closer to us. The thick, tense silence that followed was chilling, and for several seconds, no one moved a muscle. I also looked to the old steward, but now saw him as the weak, broken man he truly was instead of a leader. His black robes seemed to swallow him as he stood hunched over before us, crippled by his own grief and madness with gnarled fingers clenched tighter around the remains of Boromir's horn. He seemed more tragic than threatening, and for a moment, I almost pitied him.
But then the standoff was broken when Gandalf abruptly turned on his heel. "Come." No more needed to be said as he began briskly walking back out of the hall, with Pippin and I following immediately. But even as we left, I could feel his eyes on me, and I shot one last glance back over my shoulder as we made our exit, an unnerving feeling still clinging to me.
Gandalf was still seething as we approached the doors. "All has turned to vain ambition! He would even use his grief as a cloak!" He also cast one last disgusted glare back towards the steward before we reemerged into the courtyard, though from this angle the view had become a lot more menacing. My eyes were instantly drawn to the black clouds which all but covered the expanse of the sky by now, with a crimson red center split by flashes of flickering light from Mount Doom. I frowned as I remembered how close Mordor was now - we were practically next door neighbors with Sauron himself. As we descended the steps leading out from the citadel, a hint of bitter grief crept into Gandalf's voice. "A thousand years, this city has stood... and now at the whim of a madman it will fall!" His gaze shifted to the tree at the center of it all. "And the White Tree; the Tree of the King, will never bloom again."
"Why are they still guarding it?" Pippin asked.
"They guard it because they still have hope," he replied, "faint and fading hope that one day it will flower. That a king will come, and this city will be as it once was... before it fell into decay." As we continued on past the tree and out toward the great walkway sticking out like a spike over the city, I wondered what Minas Tirith had once been like in its prime. "The old wisdom born out of the west was forsaken," Gandalf went on. "Kings made tombs more splendid then the houses of the living, and counted the names of their descendants dearer than the names of their own sons. Childless lords sat in aged halls, musing on heraldry, or in high towers asking questions of the stars." We finally came to the edge of the parapets, the whole of Minas Tirith and the Pelennor stretching out before us. "And so the people of Gondor fell into ruin. The line of kings failed. The White Tree withered. The rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men."
I stepped up to the edge, saddened as I ran my hand along the edge of the smooth white wall. It felt like a tragedy, to see such a great city that had fallen so far from its true magnificence. My gaze drifted downwards to the levels beneath us, picking out tiny pinpricks moving about as the people of the city walked through the streets, and something stirred in my heart as I looked at them. All those people... all those innocent people who never should've suffered such a fate. Who sit within these walls, cowering in fear of the evil Sauron means to unleash upon them. I looked back up to the dark, jagged mountains in the distance, cutting into the sky like razor sharp teeth.
Pippin also gazed out at the forsaken land with no small degree of fear. "...Mordor..." he whispered, coming to stand next to me.
"Yes," Gandalf sighed, "there it lies. This city has dwelt ever in the sight of its shadow."
I stared at the heart of the clouds stained red and black, remembering the horrible things I'd seen in the palantír. "This city will be torn to shreds before the war is over," I said softly. "Thousands will die." I closed my eyes, already feeling despaired just by thinking of it. I don't want that to happen to these people. But I don't know what I could possibly do to help save them now.
"A storm is coming," Pippin commented, drawing my attention back to the skies overhead. I looked up to the darkening clouds, slowly billowing outwards and consuming the blue above us.
"This is not the weather of the world," Gandalf warned. "This is a device of Sauron's making. A broil of fume he sends ahead of his host. The Orcs of Mordor have no love of daylight, so he covers the face of the sun to ease their passage along the road to war. When the shadow of Mordor reaches this city... it will begin."
It fell silent for a moment, and I continued to stare upwards, able to hear the distant rolling thunder even now. Those clouds were already far too close for my liking, steadily creeping towards us like a ticking time bomb. My mind raced as my thoughts refocused on the coming battle, scrambling for some sort of idea to help save the people of Minas Tirith from utter ruin. There must be something, I thought, though now I was only grasping at straws. I can't just sit here and watch it all go to shit without doing something to help them.
Pippin then suddenly broke the silence, drawing both myself and Gandalf from our brooding. "...Well. Minas Tirith! Very impressive." He turned to Gandalf expectantly. "So where are we off to next?"
I glanced down at him, eyebrows raised. "There is no 'next,' Pippin. We're staying here."
He frowned. "But... what about going to get help? Denethor said he wouldn't-"
"No," Gandalf said, cutting him off as he also turned towards the jagged black outline of Mordor. "The steward will be of no use to us, and we have no other allies left to turn to." I felt like I could feel Sauron's eye on me as I stood there, staring out towards the horizon and feeling my heart sink with Gandalf's foreboding words. "We are truly on our own in this city. Help must come to us now."
