Author notes: Hope you like this chapter. I tried my best to not rush it like the first and second, hopefully it would turn out good. Again, I am sorry for making errors and staffs. Like I have said, English is not my native language and this is the first story I had written in my whole life. Hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

Oh and Don't forget to review! It would really mean a lot if you guys review. Well, that's only if you readers want to.

Anyway, onward with the story.

Chapter 3

"It had all began by the 2955 of the Third Age..."

A peaceful day it was the time Minas Tirith received a visitor from the North. The White City of Gondor was shining like a beacon below the gray sky, like a diamond among mithrils. A dazzling city indeed, filled with joyous people. But the joyousness won't stay, it soon shall fade.

From the far North a stallion with a coat of black was coming fast into the city. Dark mane flying behind its neck and its tail was lashing in the air. Once the fair beast had reached the gate, the guards of Minas Tirith were first confuse to see this peculiar beast. That was until they had remembered that black horses were a rarity and would always symbolize something, whenever it be for the good or for the bad.

So without hesitating, the guards open up the gate wanting the horse to enter the White City. Never would they know it was a decision they'll soon regret.

The gate opened and there a black stallion was standing on its rear legs, forelegs raised in the air kicking. It was enough to draw the attention of the people. What does this black stallion mean? A threat maybe? A warning? Well, they might wanna wait first in order to know.

When the stallion's forelegs met the ground, a clash of lightning appeared behind the beast, making him a silhouette for a brief minute. And when the beast was visible again, a rider suddenly appeared sitting at the back of the beast.

The citizens gasped and stared in awe to this stranger. Frowns were plastered upon the people's faces as they observed said stranger. For he was clad in black, a travel-stained cloak of heavy black cloth was drawn close about him, the stranger also had his hood up overshadowing his face; but the gleam of the stranger's eyes could still be seen.

Like as if the stranger wasn't being noticed at all, he calmly lashed the reins of his stallion and the horse began walking. The people of Minas Tirith quickly move away from his path, not wanting to get into this man's way. Who knows what things this stranger is capable of?

So the stranger had rode the path of Minas Tirith in a slow pace. A mystery he is.

Who could this man be?

Once he had reached the citadel, the guards halted him preventing him from getting any more closer to the Watch Tower. But the Stranger just shrugged them off and raised a hand. "Please, I bring no harm." He said in a low voice, "I am here to meet the Steward Ecthelion."

The guards were doubtful at first, but all doubts left when they saw the Stranger's eyes. It was a deep shade of gray that sparks with mirth in it. An honest and trustworthy eye. So the guards had bade him enter the White Tower.

He dismounted his steed and stood in front of the door. His eyes then flashed darkly as he pushed the door open. The Stranger unsheathed his long sword and beheaded the two guards beside the door, in a single slash. Lord Ecthelion was shocked that his mind when blank and stare gaping at the scene. The Stranger sheathed his sword back to its scabbard and brought out his bow. He grabbed two arrows and shoot down the two guards beside the Steward in a swift motion one might mistaken him from an Elf. It was then that the Steward recovered from his shocked state and stood, sword ready at hand.

"You fool of a man, how dare you attack the White Tower!"

"A warm welcome to you too, my Lord."

The Stranger had took off his hood and grinned a wolfish one at the Steward. After that he had wrapped his bow around his body, kneel before the Steward and stood once again. A Gondorian warrior came to take him, but the Stranger was quick. His sword was already out and he had slashed the tight of the poor warrior's, leaving him writhing in pain at the floor. The Stranger crossed his arms and looked straight into the steward. His stormy gray eyes blazing with fire.

"I am called Thorongil, Ranger of the North."

A guard with a sword charged, but Thorongil had deflected the blown with his sword.

"I am no threat, yet as you can see, but I will be if you do not follow my desires. The only thing I ask of is to have the White City, My Lord. I pledge to not hurt the Women and Children. That I bade my word."

Thorongil pulled his sword back and stabbed the guard in the heart.

"So, My Lord, do you accept?"

This time a Gondorian Guard welding a spear came to attack. He was behind Thorongil, his spear pointed at the back of the Ranger's neck. The Guard was silently walking towards the Man, just when he was a foot behind him, he pulled the spear back and was going to hit the Ranger when Thorongil had ducked and dodged the blow. Impossible! How did Thorongil heard him? But there was no time to react because the Ranger had grabbed the spear and yanked. The unexpected move made the Guard get pulled forward, which the Ranger took advantage of and struck the guard in the stomach with his elbow. The Guard had loosen his grip of the spear,

and with that, the Ranger took it and stabbed the Guard in the chest. Weakly, the guard had gripped the spear and stared right up Thorongil hoping to find a hint of regret in the Ranger's eyes. But there were none, instead what the Guard had saw was madness and an everlasting hatred. Thorongil pulled the spear off the Guard's chest, as the blood spilled down the Guard's tunic and into the floor. The Guard fell face first on the floor, swimming in a bath of blood. The Ranger thrown the bloody spear at the side and calmly made his way towards the steward. He stopped just before the dais.

"My Lord, I do not wish to spill further more blood. Stop with the orders and accept my request."

But he was not answer, instead a sour look was on the Steward's face when he raged out the command:

"GET HIM!"

The Ranger shook his head, a look on his face was saying "You should have just go with my way". A group of Men lead by the Captain then began charging towards Thorongil, but the Ranger just stood there not making a move. It was until the soldiers were a foot away, then did the Ranger raised a hand. Unconsciously, the Men stopped and stared at the Ranger. Out of nowhere, they realized an odd noise coming from outside.

It sounded like the wind... a hurricane maybe coming towards the City.

The group of Men had narrowed their eyes at Thorongil and gripped their weapons tightly, but the Ranger simply said. "I am no longer the threat here, Gondorians. It is out there."

The Captain cocked an eye to the Steward, and the Steward gave them the approval to abandon Thorongil and investiga this threat. The Steward's heart was saying something dangerous was getting closer the City, far more dangerous than this Ranger. The Captain nodded and made his way to the door but stopped when a single word was shouted by the people of Minas Tirith.

"DRAGON!"

The Steward raced his way to the Citadel. He couldn't believe it. A red fire breathing Dragon was flying up in the sky casting flames into the City. A Dragon... A Dragon!

"Is this all you got, Men of Minas Tirith?!" The Dragon said as he flew into the air and breathed another fire by the side of the city.

The Dragon was loud. Roaring and growling at the same time as he burned down half the City, but not truly damaging it. It would also make an arrogant remarks here and there.

"So, my Lord, I will ask you this once again. Surrender now and no one gets hurt."

Thorongil said who was leaning by the door, viewing the Steward with amusement gleaming in his eyes.

But the Steward wasn't going to give up the City without a fight. Even if this Ranger had a Dragon beside him. He. Will. Not. Abandon. Minas Tirith. He gripped his sword and made his way to the arrogant Ranger. Thorongil on the other side had pushed himself off the door and also made his way towards the Steward. Once the two were face to face, the earlier group of Men had encircled them.

"I will not give the City to a filthy ranger like you. I would rather die than surrender like a coward! I am the Steward of Minas Tirith and had plagued my name to protect the city by my life! I do not care if I burn dying."

The Ranger send a deathly glare at the Steward.

"You are making this harder, My Lord."

His voice had grown deeper and dangerous.

"But if you indeed, insist. Taste my wrath!"

Thorongil raised his sword and made to struck the Steward just to turn at the last minute and had slashed the man behind him instead.

"KILL HIM!"

So they shall try.

The group had charged towards Thorongil. The Ranger began slashing and brought damaging blows to the Guards. Soon metal by metal was heard and the cries of agony echo the Citadel. Sadly to the Steward, Thorongil was having the upper lead. He is still not wounded only drenched by his opponent's blood. The Ranger was far more skilled than the guards. He was as swift and graceful as an Elf. But keen and deadly like a Wolf. Everything was not going well, and ironically, disturbing noise had broke into the sky.

Everyone stopped and looked up.

It was by then that they realized the sky had grown awfully dark, like a storm was going to begin.

Thorongil made eye contact with a warrior beside him. A smug look was plastered in his face as he said,

"Have you seen a Ring Wraith before?"

SHRIEK!

Just above the citadel were Nine Nazguls staring down at them, each one having a sword in hand. The Witch-King of Angmar was just above Thorongil. The Guards had rigid and stared fearful above them. Another shriek and soon the Nazgul began taking the guards one by one, leaving only the Steward alive.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

The City was filled with screams, shrieks and a Dragon's roar.

Ecthelion can feel his knees shaking as he turn around and saw how destroyed and chaotic the once lawful City now.

"Ho-how?"

Ecthelion couldn't believe his eyes. Who exactly was he dealing with? First this Thorongil had attacked the White City wanting to claim the Throne, next he had sent a Dragon which was still unbelievable since a lot had believe Dragons had gone extinct. And now?! Nazguls?

The Steward turned and face the dangerous man. Fear was visible in his eyes as he stare upon the Man. Who stood darkly in the center, eyes filled with malice.

"Who are you?!"

Thorongil chuckled darkly and his face suddenly turned stern. The Ranger slowly approached the Steward, eyes locked to those of Ecthelion's. The Dragon had burst a flame just behind the Ranger making him have a rather frightening background. By just a brief minute, Ecthelion swear he had seen the Ranger's eyes ignite a flame similar to those behind him.

"I am the Dark Lord's Second-in-command. And I am entitled by many names, but my birth and true name is..."

He grinned darkly.

"Aragorn."

To be continue...