Help From another World

by Scribe of Worlds

Gandalf's plea from Isengard Tower reaches farther than he could ever imagine. Even to four demigods relaxing in a park after the Battle of Manhattan. Naturally, they respond. The Fellowship of the Ring is formed. A grand adventure from the dark of Moria to the beauty of Lorien. Dark paths, epic battles, annoying demigods. Middle Earth will never know what hit it.

19. Allegiances

Behold! I have returned!

Hey guys! What's up? Sorry for the two-month absence, was waaay to busy moving house and everything that came with it to even think about updating. Plus I joined a three day camp also. And even after we settled in, there was no WiFi in the new house until Thursday last week. I've spent my time improving chapters 6 and 7 and typing and retyping this chapter, which had been giving me major headaches about the characterization. And like last time, after it was done I didn't bother proofreading it. heh heh. (Embarassed) Seriously, that quote down there where Gandalf reminds Aragorn "Do not then stumble at the end of the road" is something I need to take to heart. ;) As usual, it was a review that jolted me back into action. After a long period of no reviews, this one popped up in my inbox from LOTRPJOHP13133, "I was scared that you had abandoned the story, but I totally get it now." And that got me back to doing stuff. Yeah.

So anyway, you might want to go back and check out chapter 6, which I have combined with chapter 7, after erasing some seriously OOC parts and trying to generally improve it. That's partly what took up a lot of my time. (Plus that very excellent Guardians of the Galaxy movie I watched yesterday)

Thank you, also, for all your understanding for my absence. It was really touching the amount of understanding reviews and the one pm I got. You guys are the best readers. :)

So, nothing much else to say except enjoy the chapter! It was an interesting challenge writing this one.

Oh, and please leave a review! Reviews to me are like big guns to Rocket. "Oh...YEAH!" ;)

On with the Tale!

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Allegiances

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Gandalf

Reunions were taking place all over Helm's Deep. Laughs and cheers rang throughout the field. Gandalf walked through the field of victory, smiling as he watched the people rejoice. Though they had suffered losses, there would be a time for grieving later. Eomer suddenly rushed off, having seen the woman riding beside the King. Next to him, Percy suddenly found himself tackled to the ground by Thalia, with Nico not far behind.

"What took you so long, Kelp Head?" Thalia teased.

"I'll have you know that gathering an army takes time, Pinecone face!"Percy retorted, grinning.

" I got a hangover." Nico commented drily.

Eomer and his newly reunited sister made their way over, with smiles as bright as the dawning sun. Eomer knelt in front of a surprised Nico. "Thank you, Daechir Nico, for releasing me on that day."

Eowyn threw her arms around a very embarrassed Nico. "We owe you our gratitude, Nico."

"Uh, sure, yeah…no biggie." He tried his best to wiggle out of her grip, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.

Eomer then turned to Percy, saluting. "You are a man after my own heart, Gaeralogos Percy. It was an honor to fight by your side." Percy laughed and saluted back.

As the whole of Rohan made their way into the keep, Gandalf found the rest of the Fellowship already inside. Aragorn embraced him, overcome with emotion, and even Boromir had a tear in his eye when he saw Gandalf. Legolas and Gimli were enjoying a meal together with the hobbits, exchanging stories while the dwarf and the hobbits smoked pipe weed 'borrowed' from Isengard. Apparently Gimli had won the orc-killing contest, because Legolas was pouring him a mug of ale. Chuckling slightly, Gandalf turned to look for Théoden King.

He found him on the battlements of the Inner Wall, gazing pensively at the battlefield. Treebeard had made good on his word, and his Huorns had been busy disposing of the orc bodies while the elves and men paid their last respects to the dead and buried them. Treebeard had been especially pleased when he heard of the Elvish tradition of burying a fallen elf with a sapling, so that even in death an elf could still give life. Théoden heard him approaching, and turned to him. Gandalf inclined his head in respect. "Théoden King."

They stood in silence for a time.

Finally, Gandalf broke the silence. "What disturbs you, Théoden King?"

Théoden sighed. "I have been failing my duties."

Gandalf waited for an explanation.

Théoden continued, haltingly. "I have failed in my duties as a father, and in my duties as a king. Through my carelessness, I allowed Grima into my courts, and was tricked to falling under Saruman's curse." His eyes filled with tears. "I have just heard the news from Eomer, then my son…Theodred. He is dead."

"No parent should have to bury their own child." Gandalf nodded sympathetically.

Théoden gave a bitter laugh of agreement. "I did not bury him, in the end. Eomer disobeyed my orders and went back to recover his body. He buried him without my knowledge." His chest heaved. "Ah, faithful Eomer. Even he suffered because of me, locked in those dungeons. When I became King, I swore that no man would ever use these dungeons again. I have failed him also."

Gandalf said nothing, waiting for the King to finish.

Théoden gripped the stone beneath his fingers. "And even in battle, free of Saruman's influence, I allowed pride to blind me. If it was not for the efforts of the Aragorn and his fellowship, My people would have been totally destroyed. Perhaps I should just…end this right now. Eomer would take over. He is the people's champion. He would make a good King." He deflated, his emotions spent.

Gandalf sighed. "Your points are valid, Théoden King. You have done all of this. But you also have to be fair, Théoden. You have made mistakes, but then, everyone makes mistakes." He gave a soft chuckle. "Even wizards are not immune to making mistakes." His gaze turned stern. "What matters is whether we have the strength to get up."

Théoden looked up, questioning.

Gandalf patted his back encouragingly. "Despite your failings, Théoden King, the people still look up to you. You still command their respect. You are still a King. You still are able to decide what path to take next. Do you understand?"

Théoden nodded slowly. "Thank you, Gandalf. Thank you."

Gandalf's face broke into a small smile. "I believe that when the time comes, you will make the right choice. "Now come! Celebrate this victory with your people."

Both of them made their way back down to the keep, where Théoden gave a toast to the victorious dead, and together they honored those who had fallen for their country. There was beer and ale aplenty, even the normally reserved Legolas joined in the celebrations, finding himself pulled into a drinking contest with Eomer and Gimli. Nico stayed far away from the barrels, though, also warning Percy and Thalia to stay well away. The last Gandalf remembered was the hobbits gave a rousing rendition of a traditional Shire drinking song, complete with the dancing on the tabletop, ending with loud and long applause.

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"AAAAARGH!" The scream shot through the silence, ear-piercing in the darkness of the night.

Gandalf was instantly awake. One hand shot towards Glamdring, his other reaching towards his staff, and lit up the scene with a flash of blinding white light. "What is going on here?" He demanded, with Glamdring outstretched. One can never be too careful in these dark times. A lump of rock fell from his side, and his eyes widened in realization.

The hobbit was on fire. At least, that was what it seemed like. Pippin writhed on the floor, seemingly in agony, clutching the palantir to his chest. The palantir was wreathed in fire, and Pippin's eyes were wide with fear, his mouth open in a soundless scream. Merry knelt over him, horrified. "Help, Gandalf! HELP!"

Legolas burst into the room, panicked. "The Eye of the Enemy is moving! He is here!"

Dread flooded through Gandalf. The Palantir! Was it not enough that Percy had already gazed into it?! The hobbit would be powerless to resist! At that moment, Aragorn arrived with the rest of the company. Percy took in the situation immediately and unleashed a burst of water towards Pippin, but it did not quench the unearthly fire. "Stay back!" Gandalf warned. "Aragorn, help me."

"It is not for you, Saruman!" Pippin screamed."I will send for it at once!" He struggled out of Aragorn's grip. "Do you understand? Say just that!" He then tried to make for the door, but Aragorn managed to grab and restrain him from behind.

Together, they managed to wrest the ball from the shivering hobbit, sending it rolling across the floor. "Nobody touch it!" Gandalf commanded urgently, throwing the nearest blanket over it. The glaring red glow finally faded underneath the cloth. Now that the crisis was over, Gandalf's fear and worry started to be replaced by anger. "So this is the thief!" He whirled, glaring at the hobbit, but the hobbit was still, his eyes staring at nothing. The anger rushed out again, with concern rushing back. He scrambled to the hobbit's side, placing a hand upon his forehead. "But you, Pippin! This is a grievous turn to things!"

Thankfully, there was no damage or corruption to be found in the hobbit yet. A simple healing spell would suffice. Gandalf closed his eyes and channeled some of his power into his hand, muttering a quick blessing he had learned from the house of Nienna. The hobbit's eyes fluttered open, gasping slightly. "Look at me." Gandalf commanded. "Peregrin Took! Come back."

Pippin focused on him, his face paling as he realized just what he had done. "Gandalf, forgive me!" He gasped.

"Look at me!" Gandalf repeated, forcing the hobbit to meet his eyes. "Tell me first what you have done!"

"I, I took the ball and looked at it," He stammered. "and I saw things that frightened me. and I wanted to go away, but I couldn't. And then He came and questioned me; and he looked at me, and, and, that is all I remember."

Gandalf frowned, fear still clawing at his insides. "That won't do. What did you see, and what did you say?"

Pippin shut his eyes and shivered, but said nothing. All stared at him in silence, except Merry, who turned away. Gandalf was unmoved. "Speak!"

Pippin took a deep breath. "A tree. There was a white tree in a courtyard of stone." Sharp gasps issued from both Boromir and Aragorn. Pippin faltered slightly. "It was dead. The city was burning."

Boromir took a step backwards. "No…" He shook his head in shock. "Minas Tirith? Was it Minas Tirith that you saw?" Aragorn put a hand upon his shoulders to steady him.

"I saw a dark sky, and tall battlements, and tiny stars. It seemed far away and long ago, yet hard and clear Then the stars went in and out – they were cut off by things with wings. And I saw…I saw him." Pippin choked out. Gandalf's closed his eyes in pure Sauron had been suspicious earlier, now his suspicions would have been confirmed upon seeing the hobbit. Pippin gulped down. "I saw the Eye, and I could hear his voice in my head."

"The Eye?" Percy asked quietly. "Fire everywhere. Glaring at you?" Pippin nodded jerkily. Percy and Thalia shared a grimace.

Gandalf turned back to Pippin, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. "And what did you tell him?" He asked worriedly.

"He said 'So you have come back? Why have you neglected to report for so long? I saw the face of a mere child the last time you used the palantir. Who was that?'"

"I could not answer, so he asked again 'Who are you?"And it hurt, so I said 'A hobbit'"

"And what did you tell him of Frodo and the Ring?" Gandalf probed deeper.

"Nothing! When he saw me… He laughed…He then told me to what to say 'This is not for you, Saruman, I will send for it at once! Do you understand? Say just that!' Then a dark shape flew towards me, getting bigger every second" Pippin recounted.

Gandalf studied Pippin intently, and finally relaxed, the shadow of a smile finally on his face. "Say no more. You have taken no harm. There is no lie in your eyes." He said in relief. "You are a fool, Perengrin Took, but an honest fool you remain. Wiser ones might have failed in such a pass." He strode towards the palantir and swept it back into his robes, tucking it more securely. He sighed and shook his head. "Return to your rooms. Sauron might have sent out his Nazgul, but we have time still. We shall decide what to do in the morning." The fellowship nodded assent, some slightly reluctantly, but they all went back to their beds. Gandalf directed a slight glare at Pippin. "And I trust that incident will have taught you a valuable, if painful lesson."

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Daylight came presently, and the fellowship convened upon one of the courtyards of Helm's Deep. Gandalf brought out the Palantir in his hand, noting how Pippin flinched at the sight of it, while Percy cast an almost sad look towards it. Gandalf started speaking. "We have been fortunate. Twice the palantir has been used by us now, and though there had been damage done, it is not as grievous as we might have first thought. Peril came in the dark of the night, when we least expected. We have had a narrow escape." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Percy, Thalia. Could you please relate your encounter with the Dark Lord?"

Percy frowned, but nodded. "After we took Isengard and Saruman was defeated, Thalia and I went into the tower, where we found that ball. I picked it up and stared into it." he smiled. "There was a strong force pulling it East, but I fought it, and I found I could see everything. Rohan, Gondor, everything." His eyes grew sad. "Then I saw Annabeth. For a moment, something clicked, and I could speak with her. I think she also had one of those balls at her side. But then, I lost concentration."

"And then the ball was suddenly pulled East, and we saw the Eye." Thalia finished. "It was only for an instant, actually. Percy dropped it, and I kicked it to the other side of the room."

Gandalf leaned forward. "Yes, but did he speak to you? Did Sauron say anything?"

Thalia shrugged while Percy shook his head. "No. It was only for a split second."

Gandalf nodded. "And last night, Perengrin Took had another closer encounter with Sauron." Pippin hung his head. The rest of the fellowship tensed slightly, remembering their shock last night. "Do not worry," Gandalf continued. "He said nothing of Frodo and the Ring. It seems that Sauron was suspicious that the reports from Isengard had ceased, and when Pippin stared into the sphere, Sauron thought he had found the reason for it."

"Why?" Merry questioned, looking worriedly at his cousin.

Gandalf motioned towards Pippin. "Sauron knows that it is a hobbit that bears the Ring. Thus when he saw Pippin holding the palantir, he must have come to the conclusion that Pippin is the Ringbearer, presumably in Saruman's dungeon, thus explaining the words which he spoke last night." He poked Pippin lightly with his staff. "You were saved, and all of us too, mainly by good fortune. If he had questioned you then and there, almost certainly you would have told all that you know, to the ruin of us all. But he was too eager, he wanted you." At Pippin's shudder, Gandalf smiled comfortingly "Come now, don't shudder. If you will meddle in the affairs of wizards, you must be prepared to think of such things. But I forgive you. Things have not turned out as evilly as they might."

"We have been strangely fortunate." He mused. At the questioning glances, he explained. " Maybe I have been saved by this hobbit from a grave blunder. I had considered whether or not to probe the stone myself to find its uses., Had I done so, I should have been revealed to him myself. I am not ready for such a trial, if indeed I shall ever be so. But even if I found the power to withdraw myself, it would be disastrous for him to see me, yet – until the hour comes when secrecy will avail no longer."

"And it hasn't come yet?" Percy asked.

"Not yet. There remains a short while of doubt, which we must use. We must move."

"We have to act fast." Percy's eyes grew dark. "Every day Annabeth and Frodo move closer to Mordor."

Gandalf opened his mouth to speak, but Thalia cut in. "And don't even try to bring our hopes down. We know they are still alive. They have to be." Gandalf bowed his head and said no more.

"But what now?" Percy asked. "Pippin said the White City was burning. Is that happening right now, or was it a vision?"

"A vision." Gandalf replied. "For a moment, Sauron has revealed his plans. He is angered that men have managed to repel his forces at Helms Deep. Men are not as weak as he supposed. There is courage still. Strength enough, perhaps, to challenge him. Sauron fears this. He will not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground. If the beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war."

Théoden stood up. "And hear our decision. When Rohan was in need, Boromir and Aragorn of Gondor came to our aid. When Gondor is in need, Rohan will ride for war." Aragorn smiled gratefully, and Boromir bowed to Théoden in respect.

"Nevertheless, Gondor needs to be warned." Aragorn spoke. "I will go."

"No!" Gandalf put up his hand. "That is not the path you will take." He walked closer to Aragorn, speaking quietly. "You must go to Minas Tirith by another road. Follow the River. Look to the Black Ships."

"But…!"

"I will warn Minas Tirith, Aragorn. You must go by another road." Gandalf said firmly.

Aragorn seemed reluctant, but he finally nodded his assent.

"And what of I?" Boromir stood, his eyes burning. "Minas Tirith is my home. You cannot deny me this, Gandalf."

Gandalf frowned and laid a hand on Boromir's shoulder. "Boromir, you will have to be reasonable. Think of it. Minas Tirith would undoubtedly be glad to have you home, but will that be the best place for you to be in this time? Will you not be better suited riding with Théoden, showing the alliance of old still stands?"

Boromir struggled with the thought, his face downcast, before sighing. "Again, your wisdom wins out, Mithrandir." He nodded towards Théoden. "I will put aside my own desires for now. Men must make sacrifices in war." Théoden nodded his thanks.

"Do not doubt that you will return, Boromir." Aragorn gripped his shoulder. "I still remember the promise I made to you under the boughs of Lothlorien."

"What about us?" Nico asked. "Where are we going?"

"Pippin will have to come with me." Gandalf decided. "It seems as if it will be the only way to keep you out of trouble. As for the rest of you," He gave a sad smile. "you must remember that I have no hold over you. Choose your paths as you will, and may the Valar guide you." The demigods nodded their understanding.

"Aragorn." Gandalf called. When he looked up, Gandalf drew the palantir of Orthanc from his robes and presented it to him. "Take this. Few are worthy or have the strength of will to negotiate the palantir, but you are an heir of Kings, and this is yours by right. Your hour draws near."

Aragorn bowed his head in thanks. "You honor me with your trust. I will take it."

Gandalf laughed. "you have more than earned it, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Receive it, Lord, in earnest of other things that shall be given back. But if I may counsel you in the use of your own, do not use it – yet! Be wary."

"When have I been hasty or unwary, who has waited and prepared for such long years?" Aragorn smiled.

"Never yet. Do not then stumble at the end of the road." Gandalf advised, before turning. "Pippin, prepare yourself. We leave in an hour."

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The hour of departure came all too quickly for hobbits, it seemed. Gandalf hurried to the stables, with Merry and Pippin trailing behind. "Of all the hobbits you are the worst Perengrin Took! Hurry now!" The two hobbits were running fast, both almost in tears.

"Why did you have to look? Why do you always have to look?" Merry cried, hurriedly stuffing more clothes into a pack.

"I don't know, I can't help it" Pippin answered, feeling strangely detached from the situation, as if he still couldn't believe what was happening.

"You never can!"

Tears were streaming from Pippin's eyes now "I'm sorry, alright, I won't do it again!" He turned a tear-filled gaze on Gandalf. "Do we really have to leave?"

Gandalf sighed, hating to force this on them, but he had no choice. "Don't you understand, Pippin? The Enemy thinks you have the Ring. He is going to be looking for you, that's why we have to leave."

Pippin sighed, slowly climbing atop Shadowfax. "But why can't Merry come too?"

"I'm sorry, Pippin." Gandalf checked his preparations, mounting Shadowfax.

"How far is Minas Tirith?" Merry questioned, throwing another pack to Pippin.

"Three days ride as the Nazgul flies, and we better hope we don't have any of those on our trail."Gandalf muttered brusquely.

Merry sighed, then brought out a leather pouch, handing it to Pippin. "Here, something for the road."

"The last of the Longbottom Leaf?"

"I know you've run out, you smoke too much, Pippin." Merry tried to smile, but it didn't quite work.

"We'll see each other again soon, won't we?" Pippin asked hopefully, glancing at Gandalf. Gandalf bowed his head, not answering. Pippin turned back to Merry, panicking. "Won't we?"

"I don't know!" Merry cried, upset. "I don't know what's going to happen!"

Gandalf sighed, shaking Shadowfax's reins. He decided he had to leave now, there was simply no time for long goodbyes. "Run Shadowfax. Show us the meaning of haste."

"Merry!" Pippin cried, just as Shadowfax reared, and immediately started into a gallop. Helm's Deep grew further away every second. Gandalf did not have to look back to know that the hobbit had broken into tears.

He turned back to Shadowfax. "Away now, Shadowfax! Run, greatheart, run as you have never run before! Run now! Hope is in speed!" If Shadowfax had been running before, now he was flying.

To Minas Tirith.

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Frodo

Among the rocks, a shadow moved. Annabeth reacted in an instant. "Get down!" She cried, throwing both Sam and him to the rocky floor just in time as a figure sailed over them, crashing into the walls opposite them and scrabbling to get up. Sting was out in an instant in his hand, and an unfamiliar feeling crept up red hot inside him. Hate. "Gollum." He growled. Beside him, Sam leapt to his feet and ran for his saucepan. Annabeth's bronze knife glinted in the evening light.

Gollum managed to get onto his feet and snarled at them. "Bagginses. Nassty hobbitses. Nassty little girl" His long bony fingers clenched and unclenched, as if imagining them closing around a neck. Frodo didn't need to guess whose neck the creature was aiming for. "Preciouss." Gollum almost groaned, looking at Frodo's neck. "Gollum! Gollum!"

"Frodo, watch out! He's going to spring!" Annabeth warned.

Frodo saw Gollum's legs tensing and hurriedly raised Sting high, angling it to catch the light. "STOP!" At the sight of the blade, Gollum hissed violently and crouched back, glaring at the blade with hate, and just a little bit of fear. Frodo almost smiled. "This is Sting. You've seen it before, haven't you…Gollum? Stay where you are, or I'll cut your throat!" He was surprised by his own voice. So determined, so angry, not betraying a hint of the fear which shook him. Even Annabeth and Sam looked at him askance, as if surprised by this new side in him.

Gollum continued to glare at him, his eyes smoldering with pure hate, yet the fear of the blade kept him where he was. Frodo walked closer to him, Sting outstretched. Suddenly, he felt no fear, only anger. This creature was the one that had betrayed them to Sauron. This creature had haunted the company for weeks, even through the darkness of Moria. This creature had almost killed his uncle, and now had attempted to murder him for the second time. Gollum cowered slightly before him, backing up against the stone wall. "Don't hurt us! Don't let him hurt us, precious! Nice little hobbitses?"

Behind him, Sam snorted. Frodo glanced back for a fraction of a second. Sam was scowling heavily, glaring at the creature, while Annabeth just stood there, her face concerned. She was considering him with her grey eyes, watching to see what he would do. "I wouldn't turn my back on that creature, Frodo." She cautioned.

Frodo turned back to Gollum, who was now groveling and whimpering at his feet. "Please don't hurt us, precious! Wretched we are! Wretched! Gollum! Gollum!" Frodo didn't buy the act for a second. Sting descended slowly through the air and rested on Gollum's bony neck, nicking it slightly. When Bilbo had given Sting to him, he had plunged it into a wooden beam with the ease of a knife sinking through butter. Gollum's neck would be no harder. Gollum started wailing again. Frodo's breaths were deep and fast.

"Whatever you're going to do, Frodo, do it fast, or the wailing would bring unwelcome attention." Annabeth calmly spoke up from behind him.

Frodo nodded, not taking his eyes off the miserable creature cowering in front of him, and suddenly, unbidden, a memory flooded into his mind. He heard plainly, but far off, voices out of the past. His voice, distressed. What a pity Bilbo did not stab the vile creature while he had the chance!

Pity? It was pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and mercy: not to strike without need.

I do not feel any pity for Gollum. He deserves death.

Deserves death! I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death, and some die that deserve life. Can you give that to them? Then be not too eager to deal out death in the name of justice, fearing for your own safety. Even the wise cannot see all ends.

He sighed heavily, and his blade lifted from Gollum's neck. "Very well. Your life is spared." Even as he did so, he was filled with warm relief, because it showed that he had not lost himself entirely in spite of all he had endured. Not a killer. Never a killer.

"FRODO! WATCH OUT!" Annabeth cried.

For in that instant his resolve had weakened, Gollum took the opportunity to lash out with his legs, catching Frodo in the stomach. He fell to his knees, gasping, as Gollum hared off on his long legs. Sam immediately ran to him, while Annabeth shot off after the traitorous wretch. "I'm okay! I'm okay!" He wheezed. "Where's Gollum?"

Sam looked at the direction where he had gone, disgusted. "He's scarpered off. Annabeth's chasing it." But Annabeth returned empty-handed a few minutes later, shaking her head in frustration.

"I'm sorry." Frodo sighed, weighing Sting in his hands. "My pity got in the way of my good sense. I won't make that mistake again." Next time, he was going to slit Gollum's throat without the slightest tinge of regret.

"NO." Annabeth said calmly, yet firmly. She knelt to Frodo's level and put a hand upon his shoulder. "No. Do not apologize for that, Frodo. I watched what you did, hoping you would make the right choice, and you did. You proved that after everything you had been through, you can still be yourself and make the right choices. Never apologize for sparing someone's life, Frodo, never." Her eyes misted over. "Last year – Gods, was it only last year? Feels like at least ten – We were captured. Percy was put in an arena and forced to fight another demigod to the death. To everyone's surprise – even mine – Percy saved him instead, only to have him betray us moments later. But only a few months ago, Ethan Nakamura redeemed himself at the Battle of Manhattan, turning on Kronos and buying us the time we needed to destroy Kronos." She smiled reassuringly. "Not even the wise can see all ends."

Frodo nodded slowly. "That's just what Gandalf said."

She shrugged lightly and smirked. "Great minds think alike, it seems. Right now, we need to trap Gollum."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "How are we going to do that?"

A crafty grin was on her face as she recited.

"Alive without breath,

As cold as death;

Never thirsting, ever drinking.

Clad in mail, never clinking"

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The sky was dark. Frodo waited, crouched behind a rock. All three of them held their breath, tense. The bait was laid upon a natural stone plinth. Annabeth had seared it briefly before leaving it, and its smell was wafting all over the area. It was fortunate that they had eaten before laying their trap, or Frodo would have difficulty restraining his hands from grabbing the bait himself.

"Stay quiet, he's coming." Annabeth put a finger to her lips.

"Waste of a good fish, if you ask me." Sam grumbled slightly.

Frodo said nothing, he was so tensed.

Finally, Gollum crawled into the valley. He crept forward on all fours, putting one paw cautiously in front of the other, slitted eyes glancing around warily. Luckily, Annabeth had positioned them downwind, so the creature wouldn't be able to catch their scent.

His eyes widened considerably at the sight of the dried fish set out on the stone. "Fissssh! Fissssh!" He leaped forward, grabbing the fish in both hands, eagerly tearing into it. "Fissh, nice fissh. White Face has vanished, my precious, at last, yes. Now we can eat fish in peace." He continued to bite, hissing all the while. "Fissh, makes us strong, makes eyes bright! Gollum. Eyes bright, fingers tight! Yes. Throttle them, precious, throttle them all if we gets chances."

"NOW!" Annabeth called, and immediately Sam stretched out the rope he had between two rocks, while Annabeth leapt up from the other side with a flaming brand. Gollum shrieked with shock and leapt as fast as he could away from the fire, running right into the rope and tripping over it. Frodo then leapt out of his hiding spot with a loud yell, landing right on top of the creature, and Sting once again found itself right next to Gollum's thin neck.

Gollum shrieked and flailed in anger, eyes spitting hate and fire, but he could do nothing with a blade by his throat. Behind him, Sam busied himself tying Gollum's long bony legs securely, while Annabeth held them down to prevent him lashing out with his feet. "NASSSTY! NASSSTY HOBBITSES! NASSSTY HUMAN!" Gollum wailed.

"QUIET, GOLLUM!" Frodo hissed, digging Sting further into his throat. A thin line of blood trickled from the tiny cut it made. Gollum fell quiet, though his eyes still communicated clearly the desire to drain the life from Frodo slowly and painfully.

"Alright Frodo. You can get off him now" Annabeth called. Frodo nodded and slowly, carefully, eased back up, careful to keep out of reach of Gollum's arms.

The second his blade left Gollum's throat, though, Gollum began to wail as loud as he could. "It huuurts! IT hurts us! It freezes, it bites! Elves twisted it, curse them! Cruel hobbitses! Cruel girl! They visit elves, fierce elves with bright eyes! gollum! Take it off us! It hurts us!"

"Quiet, you!" Sam cried hastily, giving the rope a hard jerk. Gollum fell, but continued wailing and shrieking loud.

Annabeth shook her head angrily. "We have to get him to shut up. He's going to bring every orc in Mordor unto us!"

Frodo frowned. "We could tie him up and leave him here…" He ventured.

"That would kill us! Kill us! Cruel! Cruel! Ties us up in the cold hard lands and leaves us! gollum, gollum!" Gollum continued to scream. "Take it off us!"

"It would be no more than he deserves." Sam muttered. Annabeth shot him a look, and he bowed his head, suitably chastised.

Frodo walked forward, holding the elven rope in his hands. Gollum went quiet, staring at him with his wide eyes, watching him carefully. "Take it off us, yess. Nice hobbits! Nice hobbits!"

Frodo was unmoved.

Gollum was begging now. "We be nice to them if they be nice to us! Take it off us. We swears to do what you wants. WE swears! " He pleaded, looking so wretched that Frodo couldn't find it in himself to torture the creature anymore, though he knew it was only an act.

"Annabeth?" He questioned without looking back.

"It's your choice, Frodo. Though I would say there's no promise he makes that you can trust." Annabeth replied, still considering the possibilities…"Unless…" Frodo turned to see Annabeth staring at the chain on his neck. Slowly, he reached for the chain and pulled it out of his shirt. The Ring gleamed in the light of the fire.

Gollum's eyes widened greedily to the size of dinner plates at the sight of his precious. His fingers made an involuntary twitch, and he started whispering to himself. Suddenly, he turned to Frodo. "We swears to serve the master of the preciousss. We swears on the preciouss! gollum, gollum!"

Frodo gazed at Annabeth worriedly. "Are you sure about this?"

Annabeth nodded slowly. "The Ring is treacherous, but it will keep him to his word."

"On the preciouss, yess, on the preciouss."

"And what do you swear?" Frodo questioned.

"To be very very good!" Gollum whispered. "Sméagol will swear never, never to let Him have it. Never! Sméagol will save it! I will serve the Master of the Precious! Good Sméagol! gollum, gollum!"

Frodo stood over him imperiously, his hand touching the Ring by his sternum. "You have sworn by the precious. Remember that, it will hold you to it; but it will seek away to twist it to your own undoing. The desire of it may betray you to your bitter end. If you betray us, Sméagol, I should put o the Precious; and the Precious mastered you long ago. If I, wearing it, were to command you, you would obey ,even if it were to leap from a precipice or to cast yourself into the fire. And such would be my command. So have a care, Sméagol!"

Gollum whimpered and cowered, mumbling and squeaking, with cries of 'Nice master! Be kind to poor little Sméagol!" Frodo reeled back briefly, wondering how he had learned to speak in such a voice and tone. Sam looked upon him with awe, while Annabeth had a worried look on her face.

Frodo took a deep breath, calming himself down, then motioned to Sam. "Sam, untie him."

"But we can't trust him! He'll just as soon throttle us in our sleep than look at us!" Sam protested. Gollum hissed at him, and Sam kicked him. "Down! I say, down!"

"Samwise Gamgee!" Annabeth scolded softly. "You are better than that!"

Sam sighed. "Alright. But I warn you" He glared at Gollum. "I'll be watching you very closely." With that, he knelt down and freed Gollum from the Elven rope, coiling it and stowing it back into his pack lovingly.

"You know the way to Mordor?" Frodo asked cautiously.

"No! Yes!" Gollum hissed. "We've been there! No precious, no! Ashes, ashes, and dust! And thirst there is; and pits, pits, pits, and orcs, thousand s of orcses! Nice masters mustn't go to those places!"

"You know the way there, I believe." Annabeth spoke up, her voice steely.

Gollum shuddered, but he nodded. "Yess, yess. gollum"

"and you can take us there?" Frodo pressed. It wasn't a question.

Gollum nodded slowly. "Yess, we knows the way to the Black Gate, yes we does, we does! Sméagol can take you there!"

Frodo was about to agree, but then Annabeth stepped in, shaking her head. In a flash, she had Gollum by the throat, her own knife poised. "Another attempt to trick us, Gollum? The Black Gate is closed and guarded by orcs day and night. You know that, don't you?" She released Gollum, who retreated to a safe distance, glaring at her.

"Is that true, Gollum?" Frodo fingered the Ring by his neck. "Will you have me walk to my death? You know as well as I do the Enemy will pluck it from my dead body if I am captured."

"No!" Gollum hissed, wringing his hands, "no! There is another way, Oh yes, indeed there is! Another way, darker, more difficult to find, more secret. Bit Sméagol knows it! Let Sméagol show you!"

"Darker?" Sam frowned doubtfully. "Are you sure, Frodo?"

Frodo considered the offer. "You did not speak of this before."

"Master did not ask!" Gollum protested "but Sméagol is very good, always helps." Sam snorted, but Gollum ignored him.

"Wait here." Frodo commanded. He went over to Sam and Annabeth, revealing the emotions he had held in check so far. Fear, despair, doubt. "Should we trust him?" He asked. Annabeth had sat down, rubbing her temple with one hand, obviously deep in thought. Sam was seemingly busy trying to bore holes into Gollum with his eyes.

"No." was Sam's instant opinion. "That old villain has tried twice now to kill us, and we know it has been stalking us all the way from Moria."

"there's something else." Annabeth remarked, still studying Gollum closely. "Did you notice that he was referring to himself as 'Sméagol'? And he wasn't making that horrid gulping noise when you spoke to him."

"Sméagol! That was the name Gollum once wore! Remember at the council of Elrond? Gandalf told us the story of Gollum!" Frodo realized.

Annabeth cast a wary glance at Gollum/Sméagol. "To me, at least, this is starting to look like an extreme case of schizophrenia…" She muttered.

"Schizo-what?!" Sam raised an eyebrow.

Annabeth gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Split personality, like there are two different halves of him, the Gollum half, which might be the worse part, and the Sméagol half, which is what he once was."

"Slinker and Stinker?" Sam ventured with a wry smile.

"Exactly." Annabeth chuckled.

"The point remains, should we trust him?" Frodo asked once more.

Sam looked over again, where Gollum was still staring at them warily, but making no move to leave. "To me, at least, I think they have come to a temporary alliance: neither wants Sauron to get the Ring, and both want to keep Frodo from capture, and under their eye as long as possible. At any rate, as long as Stinker still has a chance of laying hands on his 'Precious'. I doubt that there really is another way into Mordor."

"Well said" Annabeth nodded approvingly. "Exactly what I was thinking."

"And it's a good thing neither half of the old villain knows what Frodo means to do. If he knew that Mr. Frodo is trying to put an end to his Precious for good and all, there'd be trouble pretty quick, I bet." Sam finished.

"Annabeth?" Frodo turned to her.

"I agree with pretty much everything that Sam has said." Annabeth said slowly. "Gollum is set on one thing and one thing alone, he wants the Ring, and as long as you have it, he cannot allow you to be captured by the enemy, that's a good thing. There's also the fact that once he thinks he has a chance of taking the Ring, he will not hesitate to betray us and leave us to our deaths." She looked up. "Ask him to describe this 'other way' to you, Frodo."

Frodo nodded and nudged Gollum with his boot. "You heard her, Gollum. Tell us of this other way, and show me, if you can, what hope there is in it."

"In the South." Gollum began, "There is the fortress, very old, very horrible. We used to hear tales from the South, when Sméagol was young, long ago, O yes. Tales of the South, with tall men with shining eyes and houses like hills of stone, Oh, yes, there was the Moontower, with great white walls!"

"Minas Ithil!" Annabeth and Frodo realized at the same time.

"Yes, master, there it was and there it is, the tall tower and the white houses and the wall; but not nice now, not beautiful. He conquered it long ago. It is a very terrible place now, Travelers shiver when they see it, and creep out of sight, and they avoid its shadow. But master will have to go that way, that is the only other way, for the mountains are lower there, and an old road goes up and up, until it reaches a dark pass at the top ,and then it goes down, down again to Gorgoroth." His voice sank into a whisper, and he shuddered.

"But how will that help us?" Sam asked dryly. "Surely the Enemy knows all about his own mountains, and that road will be guarded as close as the Gate! The tower's not empty, is it?"

"Oh no!" Whispered Gollum, "Not empty! It seems empty, but it isn't. OH no! Very dreadful things live there, Orcs, yes, always orcs, but worse things, worse things live there too. The road climbs right under the shadow of the walls and passes the gate. Nothing moves on the road that they don't know about. The things inside know, the Silent Watchers."

"So that's your advice, is it?" Sam remarked. "that we should go a long march south, to find ourselves on a pass guarded by things that are possibly worse than orcs when we get there?" Under his breath, he muttered "If we ever do?"

"No, no indeed!" Gollum shook his head. "Masters must see, must understand! He does not expect attack that way. His Eye is all round, but it attends more to some places than to others. He can't se everything all at once, not yet, You see He has conquered all the country west of the Shadowy Mountains down the River and He holds the bridges now, He thinks no one can come to the Moontower without fighting big battle at the bridges, or getting lots of boats which they cannot hide and He will know about!" He explained.

Annabeth put her hands on her hips. "You seem to know a lot about what He's doing and thinking."

"Mistress not sensible!" Gollum complained. "Sméagol has walked very far, and talked to many peoples before he met you. And what he says now many peoples are saying. Its here in the North that the big danger is for Him, and for us, He will come out of the Black Gate one day, one day soon, That is the only way big armies can come, But away down west He is not afraid, and there are the Silent Watchers."

"And what then? Are we to walk up and knock at their gate and ask if we're on the right road for Mordor? Or are they too silent to answer?" Sam managed a quip, in spite of the situation.

"Don't make jokes about it," Hissed Gollum, "It isn't funny. Oh no! Not amusing at all. Its not sense to try and get into Mordor at all! Don't take the precious to Him! He'll eat us all if he gets it, eats the world. But masters and mistress says that they must go. This is where Sméagol helps, nice Sméagol, though no one tells him what it is all about. Sméagol helps again. He knows it, he found it."

Annabeth continued to scrutinize Gollum for a moment, then in a moment of inspiration, she snapped her fingers. She quickly reached into her backpack and bringing out a dinner plate, which Frodo knew from experience could shift into a shield. Annabeth activated it, placing the full sized celestial bronze shield on the ground. "Show me Minas Ithil." She commanded.

For a moment nothing happened. Annabeth frowned and tapped the shield impatiently. "It's been quite some time since I used it. Maybe it just needs some more time." Finally, an image appeared on the shield, of a stark white tower in the middle of a dark city.

It was obvious the tower had once been majestic, with pearl white walls, reaching high into the sky, surrounded by the magnificent city. But now the tower was foreboding, menacing. The walls now resembled the bleached white of dry bones, and an air of malevolence emanated strongly from it. Dark forms flittered around the gates, the Silent Watchers. The city around it was dark, and the entire scene was lit by an eerie green glow from below.

"Minas Ithil. The Tower of the Moon." Frodo said softly.

Annabeth grimaced. "Minas Morgul. Tower of Sorcery."

"I don't fancy going within a hundred paces of that place." Sam shivered. "It gives me the creeps more than anything I've ever seen. It feels wrong, even from an image."

"Is the only way, master! Only way into Mordor, yes! Trust Sméagol! Trust Sméagol!" Gollum insisted, pointing towards the cliffs around the dead city. "The secret stairs are here, yes! It climbs up, up, winding and climbing back towards the tall shadows."

"Zoom in, please." Annabeth told the shield. The view narrowed down, and the cliff expanded to fill the entire shield's vision. Frodo studied the cliff face intently, and found that there was indeed a flight of stairs winding up the cliff face, overlooking the dead city, before entering a dark cavern. "Huh. Looks awfully convenient." She murmured.

"Problem?" Frodo questioned worriedly.

"What she means that it sounds too easy." Sam looked at Annabeth, and she smiled in agreement. "I don't like the sound of it at all. If that path is still there, it's going to be guarded." He nudged Gollum. "Well? Is it guarded?"

Gollum muttered but did not reply.

"Answer him, Sméagol. Was it guarded?" Frodo commanded sternly.

"Yes, yes, perhaps. No safe place in this country." Gollum replied sulkily. "No safe places. But master must try or go home. No other way." They could get him to say no more, not even the name of the pass.

Annabeth sighed and stowed away her shield. "Well, Frodo? What do you think?"

Frodo took a deep breath, trying to recall Gandalf's counsel, Aragorn's warnings. He turned to Annabeth, but Annabeth seemed just as torn as he was. Sam had a firm look of disapproval etched on his face as he glared at the creature sulking off to the side. He sighed, fingering the Ring. "We trust him. For now."

Gollum cheered up immediately. "Master is so wise! Follow Sméagol, yes! We goes now!"

"Aren't we supposed to sleep at this hour of the night like sensible hobbits?" Sam rolled his eyes.

Annabeth sighed, lighting a torch. "Gollum's right. Daylight will only make us more exposed to watchers, and besides, I don't think Gollum likes the sun a lot." She slung her pack over her shoulder.

Frodo agreed, unsheathing Sting. Luckily, the blade only glowed silver in the firelight. There were no orcs nearby. Sam hastily gathered up their packs and lit a torch as well.

Annabeth picked up the half-eaten fish from the trap and tossed it to Gollum. Gollum glared at the fish and dropped it. "Don't want fish." He grumbled, scampering off into the darkness.

Together, they set out into the night.

=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

Denethor

The hall was long. It was lit by deep windows in the wide aisles on either side, beyond the great hollows of tall pillars that upheld the roof, Monoliths of black marble, they rose to great capitals carved in many strange figures of beasts and leaves; and far above in shadow the wide vaulting gleamed with dull gold, inset with flowing traceries of many colors. No hangings or storied webs, nor any other things of woven stuff or of wood were to be seen tin that long solemn hall, but beyond the pillars there stood a silent company of tall images graven in cold marble. Elendil, Isildur, Anarion, and many more.

At the far end on a dais of many steps was set a high throne under a canopy of marble shaped like a crowned helm; behind it was carved upon the wall and set with gems an image of a tree in flower. But the throne was empty. At the foot of the throne, upon the lowest step which was broad a deep, there was a stone chair, black and unadorned, and on it sat Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor. He sat there, his hand resting lightly on a white rod with a golden knob, eyes staring impassively at nothing. He was aged, but not bent, and on his carven face with the proud bones and skin like ivory, with the curved nose between the dark deep eyes was the likeness of some ancient kings.

His mind swirled with a myriad of thoughts. Death and destruction he contemplated. His head was still bowed in grief, for on his lap laid a horn cleanly cloven into two pieces. Standing suddenly, he stowed the pieces away, and strode purposefully out of the hall into the courtyard. He spared but a glance for the tree, drooping mournfully over the pool. The White Tree of Gondor. A dead tree. A quick nod towards the Guards, and he entered his personal tower. In a secret chamber he finally brought out the object he sought. Holding it in his bony fingers, he gazed deep into it, allowing his senses to be swept away by the Palantir of Minas Tirith.

Mordor, the dark lands. Legions of orcs. Marching. Crying. Black ships sailing. Corsairs laughing. A black shape flashed overhead. A Nazgul's shriek. Fire. Darkness. Death. Fire, Darkness, Death. The Fiery Eye stared down upon it all, laughing. Rohan. Rohan burning. Uruk Hai marched. Villages were destroyed.

He saw everything the Enemy had mustered against them. Thousands upon thousands of orcs. The vile Haradrim, the barbaric Easterlings. Mumakil were driven towards Gondor, pulling huge siege machines behind them. Weapons and more weapons were forged and thrown in a pile. A dark hand seemed poised above Gondor, eager to snatch it and crush it. And throughout the flashing scenes, Sauron was laughing.

The painful images continued to sear across his mind. He was forced to watch, over and over again, as his son Boromir stood in the forests of Amon Hen, fighting to defend two halflings. Arrow after arrow thudded into his son's flesh, but still he fought, until finally, he fell. Denethor saw every single wound in vivid detail. He then saw the Ranger. The Usurper. The one that would take his place. The descendant of Elendil himself, bearing the Sword that was Broken. Denethor could not see his face, but it was clear that he led the company, and not his son.

Then the orb burst into flames again, at that fiery eye, staring straight into his soul. "I SEE YOU" it hissed."I SEE YOU."

With an effort of will, Denethor tore himself away. The orb was quickly hidden once more before he allowed himself to collapse on his bed, recovering.

=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=

"My Lord, Mithrandir has come to Gondor, along with a halfling. He seeks audience with you."

Denethor growled. "Tell him that it is denied. He is not to come before my sight." That interfering wizard! Will he never stop poking his long nose into the affairs of others?!

"But My Lord, he is – "

"He is Gandalf Stormcrow, the warning of a storm." Denethor snapped. "Tell him that he is not welcome."

"But he is most insistent, My Lord! He brings warning of darkness and counsel!"

"He can stand in the courtyard with his precious counsel and wait at the door for as long as he wants. I will not grant him audience." Denethor commanded. "Now, leave me."

The Guard hurried off to pass his command. Denethor muttered some choice words under his breath and sat back on his chair, thinking dark thoughts.

The guard returned, slowly. "My Lord, he says he brings news of your son, Boromir."

Denethor stopped short. He sighed. For a moment, those words had almost tempted him to cast the door open, if only to see the old fool spluttering to explain himself. He spoke, his voice quiet and even. "Tell him that the Eyes of the White Tower are not blind. Whatever he has to say I already know."

The guard nodded shakily and hurried off again. "And tell him!" Denethor called after him. "Tell him the Rule of Gondor is MINE! And NO OTHERS!"

The doors clashed shut with a mighty CRASH.

Denethor returned to his throne and bowed his head.

=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=

The orcs were storming Osgiliath again. Faramir and his men managed to repel them yet again, but where there were thousands of orcs, Faramir's men numbered far lesser. Those tactics they were using. It was not the usual tactics of the Rangers. For the life of him, Denethor could not understand the tactics the Rangers had adopted. They were working, though. The fighting was fierce. The orc's numbers were overwhelming, but strategic use of the ruins and fighting tactics helped the Rangers to keep them at bay. Still, the Rangers could not keep this up forever, while the orcs could. Doom hung heavy upon Osgiliath.

Suddenly, there was sudden abrupt jolt, and to his shock, Faramir's face was in the orb. Faramir's face was equally shocked. "Father? How is this possible?"

Quickly gathering his wits, he snarled. "Faramir, what is the meaning of this?"

Faramir's face tightened with slight anger. "I should be asking you the same thing, father. You claimed that the Seeing Stone of Minas Tirith was long lost!"

"That is none of your concern, Faramir. What I wish to know is what do you think you are doing? Shouldn't you be at the forefront?" Denethor challenged.

Faramir glared. "We cannot hold Osgiliath. I have given the order to retreat. "

"Coward!" Denethor spat.

Faramir tilted his head. "We have fought hard for days. It is only because of a miracle that we were able to hold it this long. My men are tiring, father, and the orcs are not. There is a time to fight, and a time to desist. There is nothing more we can gain by holding Osgiliath."

"I forbid you to return, Faramir."

"What?!"

"Hold your post. You are not to return to Minas Tirith until the orc threat at Osgiliath is completely obliterated."

"Father, this is insane!"

"The order has been given, Faramir. You are not to abandon the outer defenses. Defenses that your brother Boromir long kept intact."

Faramir held his gaze steadily. "What would you have me do, then?"

"Hold Osgiliath, Destroy the orcs. Do not return until you have accomplished this task. Do you understand? Do as Boromir would have done."

Faramir considered this, his eyes fixed steadily on him. "I see what it is now. You wish our place had been exchanged. That I had died and Boromir had lived."

Denethor closed his eyes, then opened them again. "Yes." He said coldly. "I wish that."

Faramir bowed his head, upset, like the weak man that he was. He then looked up again, his eyes full of suppressed emotion. "Since you have been robbed of Boromir, I will do what I can in his stead." He turned, but then turned back to face him. "If I should return, think better of me, Father."

Denethor returned his gaze, impassive. "That would depend on the manner of your return."

Faramir's face vanished from the palantir, and again his vision was overtaken by darkness.

=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=

"Lord Denethor. A message from Osgiliath." One of the guards handed him a piece of paper.

Denethor glanced at it, flicking it open. "Osgiliath is in danger of being overrun. Send aid." His eyebrows furrowed. "Send aid?!"

The guard nodded. "My Lord, fifty soldiers of Gondor have volunteered for the mission. They are only waiting for your command. Shall I give the order?"

"No." Denethor's face was stone.

"My Lord?" The guard asked in shock.

"Tell the soldiers they are men of Minas Tirith, not Rangers of Ithilien. Their duty is to defend the city. They are not to ride out." Denethor strode away.

"But my lord, Mithrandir has advised –"

"Mithrandir? Mithrandir? What has that interfering wizard been up to now?!" He whirled angrily.

"My Lord, Mithrandir is giving us hope. Surely that is a deed worth appreciation? Faramir is beloved to all Minas Tirith. We would have gone even if Mithrandir had not advised us so." The guard protested.

Denethor held the soldier's gaze until the soldier faltered. "A false hope is worse than no hope at all. Tell Mithrandir to stop stirring up the people and undermining my authority, or I will be forced to take action."

The guard bowed his head. "Yes sir."

"And remember. No one is to leave for Osgiliath. We will see if Faramir's mettle holds out."

=o=o=o=o==o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=

The armies of the Dark Lord were still massing. Atop Barad-Dur, the Eye was firmly fixed on Gondor. He had a brief glimpse of the wings of a fell beast flashing through the sky. Darkness issued forth from Mordor. The Black Gates were opening, pulled by a pair of enormous trolls.

Minas Morgul, the City of the Dead. A sudden green light shot forth from the tower. Green as poison, created by sorcery. A signal. From the base of the city, more orcs were coming. A gigantic shape flapped its wings, and a fell beast landed on the ramparts. Atop the beast, the Nazgul had a twisted crown on its head.

The stars were going out, one by one. The sky was dark. He saw Osgiliath again, but there was no movement. He saw the Mind of the Dark Lord. This was where His hammer stroke would fall the hardest. If he was allowed to take it, it would be the end of Gondor as they knew it.

He saw the desires of the Dark Lord. He saw the majestic city of Gondor crushed to rubble, its pure white walls torn to pieces and scattered across the land. Fire and destruction raged as Minas Tirith fell. And he knew with absolute certainty that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=

"What are we to do, Gandalf? We came here to warn Gondor, but that Steward won't even see us!" A voice floated over to Denethor's ear by way of an open window into the courtyard.

"Denethor has grown unreasonable of late. He would even use his grief as a cloak! If only he would let me speak to him! A thousand years this city has stood and at the whim of a madman it will fall! And the White Tree, the Tree of the King will never bloom again." Gandalf sighed. "And now he would not even allow me to bring hope to the people. I fear my presence here is wasted."

"But surely if only he would speak to us, he would know that Boromir lives!" the halfling protested.

"I'm afraid that Denethor is beyond reasoning, Pippin. Whatever we would say he would dismiss without a second thought."

"What are we to do then? It's so…quiet now."

"It's the deep breath before the plunge." Gandalf replied.

"What were you going to ask him to do, Gandalf?"

"If he would have listened, I would have requested of him to prepare. The beacons would have been lit, calling for aid from Rohan. As it is, I fear that Denethor will doom Minas Tirith."

"Surely there must be something I can do!"

"Perhaps there is, Pippin. Perhaps…"

=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

Alive?! Alive?! Boromir lives?! Impossible!

The orb brightened again in his hands. He bent it as best as he could into his request. Boromir. The scenes flashed past. Boromir confronting another halfling, his eyes seemingly crazed with anger. Running and crying like a madman. Boromir standing tall, yet suffering as shaft after shaft pierced his body. The sunlight flashing off the black steel of an orc's sword as it cleaved the Horn of Gondor in half.

Impossible. The wizard was lying. The scenes were too vivid to be untrue, unlike the shadowy visions the Dark Lord allowed him of the future. Boromir had been slain by the orcs.

And to think. If he had granted the wizard audience, allowed him to spread his lies, giving him false hope, he would have done exactly as the wizard would have wished. Well, the wizard's plan had failed. He knew the truth. Boromir is gone. Gone.

And what of this…king? The orb obliged his request. A man, tall and dark, with kingly bearing. A Ranger of the North. This…heir of Elendil and Isildur? The man stood between the Argonath, as if paying his respects to his ancestors. He who owns the Broken Sword? The sword lay in pieces on a cloth in Imladris, and the man stooped over it, studying it. Then there was another image, of him with a shining green jewel around his neck, clad in kingly apparel, sitting on the throne of Minas Tirith while the people rejoiced and the White Tree bloomed. Denethor threw the palantir across the room in anger. Nay. He will never rule Minas Tirith. Never. Minas Tirith was governed by the Stewards. There had been no King for decades. There was no need for a king.

=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

"Lord Denethor, Gandalf has returned. He has warned that he will not take no for an answer this time."

"I care not. That wizard hopes to wear me out with persistence? He will not succeed."

"Yes, my lord." The guard scurried off to convey his message.

Suddenly there was a flash of pure white light at the doors, which flung themselves open of their own accord. Blinding light streamed from the opening, causing everyone to throw arms in front of their faces to shield them. Denethor shot up with an oath, the shock nearly causing him to fall. Even the guards themselves were thrown backwards by the shockwave. The blinding light lingered for several seconds, before finally fading. When Denethor's eyes had finally recovered enough, he opened his eyes slowly. At the centre of the door, Mithrandir stood, his staff glowing with pure white light, determination in his eyes. The halfling stood behind him, his eyes wide with awe.

"How dare you." Denethor said slowly, still trying to comprehend what had happened. He got to his feet, using his rod as support. "HOW DARE YOU!" He snarled, realizing just what the wizard had done.

"I had hoped it would not come to this, Steward, but you have left to me no other path." Mithrandir strode up the aisle, his white robes flowing. It was not the Mithrandir he remembered. This Mithrandir was dressed in white, with long white hair and a smooth white staff. He could have almost been mistaken for Saruman. "I came to warn Gondor of the coming darkness and to lend my aid. I had to speak to you, and when you deliberately scorned me and refused me audience, I had to take matters into my own hands."

"You had no right to force entry into the Hall of Kings! NO RIGHT. " Denethor hissed. "This is Treason, Mithrandir!"

"Denethor, war marches upon your borders. Your city has ever been in the shadow of Mordor. Surely you have seen the signs?" The wizard calmly stated.

"I have told you, wizard, the Eyes of the White Tower are not blind. There is nothing I do not perceive." Denethor snarled.

"Then why do you not act, Denethor?" Gandalf thundered. His voice turned pleading. "I adjure you, light the beacons. Rohan will answer. Aid will come."

Denethor strode right up to the wizard, glaring at him. There was a battle of wills. Denethor almost felt as if there was a line of fire between their eyes, neither willing to back down. In the end, the wizard overcame Denethor, for now. "That does not give you the right to undermine my authority, wizard. For the last time I command you, stay out of the affairs of Gondor. You think you are wise Mithrandir. Yet for all your subtleties you have not wisdom. I have seen more than you know. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor and with your right you would seek to supplant me. 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. Last of a ragged house long bereft of Lordship."

The wizard furrowed his eyebrows and frowned. "Authority is not given to you to deny the Return of the King, Steward."He countered.

"You have gone too far, Mithrandir." Denethor spoke in his deadliest voice. "You have undermined my authority one too many times." He strode forward. "You arrive at my city as a guest, but then begin spreading false hope, or crying out warnings of doom. I have given you warning, but still you continue. You have even had the gall and audacity to force entry into the Hall of Kings, and on top of all that, you are still openly taunting my authority. You have gone too far." Mithrandir actually backed up for a moment, taken aback.

With a grim smile, Denethor held up the Rod of Gondor. "With the power and authority invested in me as Steward of Gondor," He paused, to give weight to his next words and to savor the wizard's shocked expression. With a triumphant air, he pronounced the words. "I hereby banish Mithrandir the Wizard, known also as Gandalf, from Minas Tirith and all its lands. He is never to return, and never to be welcomed. So I have proclaimed, so let it be done."

Mithrandir took another step back, horrorstruck. "Denethor! You cannot - !"

"I am the Steward of Gondor, Mithrandir. My word is Law, even to passing wizards like you." Denethor spat. "You would do well to understand that, Mithrandir. Gondor has no King, and Gondor needs no King." He smirked and turned to the shocked guards. "See Mithrandir out of the city."

Mithrandir looked as if he was going to protest, but then he relented, allowing himself to be led away by the guards. The halfling looked devastated, and made as if to follow him, but a look from the wizard stopped him, leaving him to bow his head as the wizard was escorted out of the city. Denethor stalked to the long walkway to the edge of the wall, and finally caught a sight of the wizard riding away from Gondor on his white horse. He allowed a satisfied smile to appear on his impassive features. The wizard had been taken care of.

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"The beacon! The beacon is alight!" The cry rang from the city.

"Amon Din! Amon Din has responded!" The people cheered.

"Hope is kindled!" The Tower Guards rejoiced. All over Minas Tirith, voices were raised in hope and relief.

Eyes wide in disbelief, Denethor rushed over to the windows, gazing out across the land. It was true, the beacon of Gondor was blazing proudly, and across the mountains, answering beacons roared to life. They would carry the message over mountains and valleys to Rohan. Denethor gritted his teeth, his fingers clutching the windowsill so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"WHO GAVE THE ORDER FOR THE BEACON TO BE LIT?" He roared, striding into the courtyard. The Tower Guards saluted smartly, but none admitted to it. "Well?" He demanded.

"It was me." Denethor spun around to see the halfling that had arrived with the wizard. The halfling was the size of a child, yet his face and his bearing was that of a young man. He stood steadfast, with no sign of backing down. "I lit the beacon." He spoke clearly.

Denethor glared at him, but to his surprise, he did not quail under his gaze. "And who put you up to it?" He could already guess the answer.

The halfling stood firm. "Gandalf."

Denethor gnashed his teeth silently. That interfering wizard! Even in exile he has made plans. "What possessed you, master halfling, to light the beacon?" He growled.

The halfling swallowed, but didn't falter. "I did what I judged to be right."

"Oh?" Denethor harrumphed. "What you judged? Or what the wizard judged to be right?"

"Gandalf gave me a choice, Lord Denethor. I chose to do it."

Denethor laughed sardonically. "So the halflings are a noble race as well."

The halfling said nothing.

Denethor took several deep breaths, calming himself down. Perhaps there was something to be gleaned from this. Abruptly, he turned and walked back into the hall, signing to the guards not to follow. "Pray, tell me your name, Master Halfling." The halfling looked young, with stature of a young youth, but better spoken. His mind had obviously been filled by the wizard with dreams of nobility and grandeur. Still young and impressionable, perhaps. The beginnings of a plan were starting to stir in his mind.

"My name is Perengrin, sir, Perengrin Took. I am a hobbit of the Shire, many leagues south of here. Gandalf brought me here to Gondor." The halfling, hobbit, replied hesitantly, walking into the hall after him.

"Ah, do not worry, Master Halfling. I do not fault you for your connection with the wizard. He has a way of drawing innocent people into his plans." Denethor attempted to soothe the halfling. Mithrandir may have thought himself clever by leaving an agent inside Minas Tirith, but Denethor was craftier, and he would turn this situation for his own advantage.

"I will wager that you are a rarity among your kind." Denethor observed, finally reaching his seat and sinking into it. The halfling sat opposite him, kneeling before him. "An adventurer, well spoken and noble as well. You also must have had a great deal of determination. Lighting the beacon is a heavy task. Made perhaps heavier by your stature. And, you were also befriended by my son Boromir. He is a hard man to impress, as am I."

The hobbit gave a small smile, but remained silent.

Denethor put his plan in action. "All these are qualities I would value in my own men."

The hobbit looked up in surprise.

Denethor smiled. "Tell me, master halfling. Would you be opposed to becoming one of my men, a protector of Gondor? You would be playing your part in the grand scheme of events, taking your place in the war effort. A halfling with your talents surely cannot be allowed to go to waste."

The halfling contemplated it long, his eyes slightly troubled. For a moment, Denethor almost feared that he would reject his offer, in which case he would have to turn to less…pleasant methods. But finally, the halfling glanced up, his eyes full of resolve. "I will." A deep breath. "Lord Denethor, I offer my services, such as they are, to you."

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Dressed in formal livery of the Tower Guard, the halfling knelt before him. "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor in peace or in war, in living or dying. From…" he hesitated briefly, before firming his resolve. "From this hour henceforth until my lord release me or death take me."

"And I will not forget it." Denethor smirked, an air of triumph surrounding him. "Nor fail to reward that which is given. " He extended his arm, offering the halfling his ring finger. The halfling closed his eyes, and kissed the ring. Denethor held up the halfling's chin and lifted it. "Fealty with love. Valor with honor." His tone darkened. "Disloyalty with vengeance."

"I understand."

"Excellent. Now. Tell me what you know, of these lines. "There will be shown a token, that Doom is near at hand. For Isildur's Bane shall waken, and the Halfling forth shall stand."

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Yes, I know there is little action here, but this is mainly a filler chapter. I really hoped you liked it!

Oh, and thanks to all those newcomers who keep following and favoriting this story! There were quite a lot these past few months! Thank you so much!

At the risk of repeating myself, review!

PJCrazy signing out