Reminder:: So utterly and completely not mine. I don't really want to take claim to Finwen at the moment, but I suppose it's a must. She's kind of grown on me.

Whoo-hoo! Over fifty reviews and a scroll bar for the chapters. We're making progress! Thanks so much everyone!

If you don't get this by the title, I might have to slap you with a fish. Eh, not really. But seriously, are you all there? Ah, just read the chapter! Read, friends, read! 'Tis an enjoyable thing. n_n

You may notice I've tried a different writing style of mine in the first part of this chapter. The voice is going to be very different from the usual, but I hope you enjoy it none the less. Must be the mood I'm in. If you like this writing style better, I might stick with it for the rest of the work. Although, I miss being behind Finwen's eyes. Well, think about that and if I could get some feedback on third versus first person, that would be great. =)

Happy birthday, Gandalf the White! Although it's written by Shire-reckoning so there's about a two week window, this is the date: February the 14th, that Gandalf rose after his plight with the balrog. Impeccable timing, no?

Note: Word automatically capitalizes 'Halfling,' so sorry for any confusion associated with.

In other news; Happy Valentine's! For the love of the rings, I spend my holiday with you. =3

Chapter Thirty-Two :: The White Wizard

The clip of hooves against cobblestone filled the ears of everyone in the city of Minas Tirith. Children sprang out of the way, women leaned out their windows, and men idly examined the face of the man upon the steed.

To Finwen's near-surprise, Denethor seemed to be expecting this. He had shed his mourning like a cloak and was wearing a mask of insincerity and pride today. She sat in one of the dining chairs brought for breakfast, watching his face and waiting for the door.

When she became impatient, Finwen marched to the great door Denethor held so intently in his gaze. The people outside were scrambling and the steady thrum of the horse approaching could be heard from what felt like miles away. Now that she knew better, the slowing of the hooves meant the seventh level. No horses were allowed in the Citadel. When the beat came to a halt, she knew they were coming on foot.

Who, she could not be sure. Why, she had no idea. But anxious was she, lady in waiting, as the unexpected pair scaled the stairs beneath her and mounted into the courtyard.

Leaning against the door to listen, Finwen heard voices fast approaching. The man in question had a deep baritone that seemed critical to his companion. "If you have walked all these days with closed ears and mind asleep, wake up now!" The soft quipping, she soon realized too late, was just beyond her barrier.

A resounding knock battered her ear drum and the girl recoiled. Taking places opposite her, guards opened the great doors, brushing poor Finwen along with them. Striding in with great haste came a very tall man dressed all in white with a gleaming staff. In further contrast, a boy barely to the man's waist came running in after him.

Finwen peered past the man who opened the right side of the door and watched them. The small one she found humorous and queer, a wonder really, that a boy should travel with a man of such seeming importance. He gawked at the statues and the height of the ceiling, much as Finwen had once stared at the White Hall. It was a shame that she had gotten so used to its beauty.

"Hail, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith, Denethor son of Ecthelion! I am come with counsel and tidings in this dark hour."

The voice belonged to the scolding one on the stoop. The tall man with the staff. Denethor was holding a staff of white with a golden top. It was one that Finwen rarely saw – a ceremonial possession it seemed. She recalled now he had it at Yuletide, but she had never noted its simple beauty.

Denethor watched the two in front of him with a sardonic expression, cold as the stone around him. Finwen crept out of the door and made her way, almost feral-like, back to the front of the hall. She wished not to be seen to disturb their conversation, but most of all she wished to wait and to listen. Finwen might learn much. Stepping behind a thick marble column, she watched.

Finwen's presence might have been that of a ghost. It went unheeded though the wizard knew perfectly well she was there and checked his counsel.

"Dark indeed is the hour and at such times you are wont to come, Mithrandir."

I couldn't believe it. This was the wizard? The wizard Faramir told me so much about? This… Gandalf? I thought he was the Grey…?

The Lord Denethor continued without a pause, leaving me little time to collect my thoughts. His diction was formal and calculated; something he never cared to use when I was about. I felt somewhat glad he was casual when I was present. "But though all the signs forebode the doom of Gondor is drawing nigh, less now to me is that darkness than my own darkness. It has been told to me that you bring with you one who saw my son die. Is this he?"

This startled me. I had been with Denethor this entire time, save for his visits to his tower. No one had brought any news of Boromir. The orb…!

"It is," replied the one known as Mithrandir. Somewhere in his unreadable eyes, I could feel he felt the same as me. We both knew about the orb. "One of the twain. The other is with Théoden of Rohan and may come hereafter. Halflings they are, as you see, yet this is not he of whom the omens spoke."

A Halfling? What on Earth does that mean?

Now that I was facing the smaller one, I could make up my own definition of Halfling. He was not old, but he was certainly not the boy I took him to be when I saw him from behind. He was… a miniature man, I wanted to say, but that is an injustice. His hair was curled from head to toe – quite literally on bulbous feet – and his mannerisms decried his ignorance, nervousness, and light humility. I admired him from afar, trying to dream up a world where there was more than one of these strange creatures.

I had missed some conversation in my idling of Halflings, but my ears were open enough to take note of Faramir. It was Denethor speaking. "Faramir should have gone in his stead."

"He would have gone. Be not unjust in your grief! Boromir claimed the errand and would not suffer any other to have it." The wizard said.

I did a mini victory dance. This was the first time I had seen someone openly stand up against Denethor on Faramir's behalf. I liked this Mithrandir already.

"But you speak of his death. You have had news of that ere we came?"

Denethor went on to show him the cloven horn that had been resting on his lap at all times. I was almost surprised to see him lift it – it had become an appendage of sorts to his robes. I had half a mind to think he had it sewn to himself.

I had missed more of the talk again and the Halfling was given a chance to speak. Denethor was not challenging him, per say, but baiting him to speak more of his beloved Boromir. If the Halfling knew Boromir, then I say Denethor had the right to interrogate all he pleased. Had it not been for the impatient air of the wizard who wished to speak of more trying matters.

"Thirteen, thirteen days. Yes, I think that would be so." The Halfling's surprisingly normal voice stated. I had assumed his voice would be as tiny as he was. What marvelous creatures! His reference to the thirteen immediately drew recognition to mind. We, the city, had heard Boromir's call as well. "Yes, I stood beside him, as he blew the horn. But no help came. Only more orcs."

Fear instilled within me. Orcs. I had not heard tell of them since Osgiliath and before that – my days in Rohan. My heart ached with pain and hatred when I heard their race breathed aloud.

"Tell me more! Why did no help come?"

"The mightiest man may be slain by one arrow and Boromir was pierced by many." So that is what had become of my betrothed. Although I did not know him, the small Halfling's presentation of my late groom made me sorrowful to have missed such a warrior and a friend.

The Halfling had finished his tale and was full of pride and honor as he stood before the Steward of Gondor. "Little service, no doubt, will so great a lord of Men think to find in a hobbit, a halfling from the northern Shire; yet such as it is, I will offer it, in payment of my debt."

I held a hand over my mouth in affection for the presentation of his small sword to the Lord Denethor. This little half – no, he had said – hobbit, was a being of great courage and valor. I was honored to witness such a display. Denethor seemed glad of it, too.

Taking up the sword, Denethor accepted the service. "Swear to me now!"

"Take up the hilts and speak after the Lord, if you are resolved on this." Mithrandir instructed.

"I am." The hobbit nodded surely.

I listened, now feeling bashful to be present, as the hobbit named Peregrin son of Paladin recited the oath I had taken myself only last night under the moon.

This delighted Denethor, who was a very good actor I could see, and he had chairs and food and drink brought out for them. I was not insulted I had been forgotten, but I felt privileged instead. Denethor knew I was behind the pillar just as much as Mithrandir knew. Incredible how they could keep from saying things and yet still say so much to each other.

The Steward was so enthused to hear tell from the hobbit that he had practically snubbed Gandalf. This was not to go unheeded as assumed. "—there is much else to heed. Much more import, it may seem, and yet to me less pressing. But maybe we can speak again at the end of the day."

The wizard looked slightly insulted. He was obviously pressed for time and the one who claimed to be so was most assuredly not. "And earlier, it is to be hoped. For I have not ridden from Isengard, one hundred and fifty leagues, with the speed of wind, only to bring you one small warrior, however courteous. Is it naught to you that Théoden has fought a great battle, and that Isengard is overthrown, and that I have broken the staff of Saruman?"

Hell, that sounded like news!

Now incredibly disturbed that I was allowed to hear all of this, Denethor let this comment slide as uninteresting. …Or he already knew these things. Must have been the latter.

"Yea, for though the Stones be lost, they say, still the lords of Gondor have keener sight than lesser men, and many messages come to them. But sit now! Finwen!"

I was too shocked that Denethor was openly rubbing the strange orb I thought so secret in their faces to hear my name. Mostly Mithrandir's face, might I add. Then I realized the hobbit Peregrin turned to me for the first time in surprise and all three looked upon me now from my hiding spot behind the pillar of stone. I stepped out sheepishly, feeling guilty and uncomfortable.

"Finwen, come now and sit with your father and his guests. A chair will be brought for you as well. Come hear the story of Boromir." Denethor motioned beside his blackened throne.

Tingling, I marveled at the prestige he had given me. Father! Father he had said! I sat numbly in the chair brought beside him and tried to look sweet and innocent and plaintively stupid as girls are supposed to be.

"We both know two sons are your fortune. Whence has a daughter arrived?" The wizard asked.

Denethor shook his head. "Finwen's tale is long and for another day. Come! Tell me of my son!"

Mithrandir took me into account with a short gaze and went back to eying Denethor. Mystified, I listened and took steady sips from the cup given me. Peregrin went on for his promised hour, relating the events of himself and a company including Gandalf that had left with Boromir from some elven place. I did not have to feign ignorance – I simply was. So I smiled and refused cake and remained for the remainder of Peregrin's story. It truly sounded like a story, though he was often vague in the parts I found interesting. Denethor would ask questions every now and again, prompting the hobbit to say more, but he never received much of an answer. Peregrin had been told to 'wake up' after all. He was trying to be careful, too.

As the plate of cakes cleared, mostly at the hobbit's quick hand, the supposed counsel ceased and Denethor had the servants take all the empty platters away. This time, I was not so welcome to listen to Mithrandir and the Steward speak, and he instructed me to clear the cups like a servant girl. I didn't mind of course, but I was disappointed I missed the rest of their counsel.

When I re-entered the room, Mithrandir was in the middle of a heated monologue. "But all worthy things that are in peril as the world now stands, those are my care. And for my part, I shall not wholly fail of my task, though Gondor should perish, if anything passes thorough this night that can still grow fair or bear fruit and flower again in days to come. For I also am a steward. Did you not know?"

The wizard and the hobbit exited the White Hall without another word. Peregrin turned once to glance back and was greeted by a contemplative Denethor and myself biting my lip. He ran after Mithrandir and the doors closed behind them.

The Steward kept to himself and took no notice of me, so I raced after them and threw the doors open, following them out. "Wait!"

The fresh air hit me like a brick. March 9th and I had spent far too long brewing in the White Hall. No wonder Denethor was so cold; he resembled the statues that surrounded him all his life.

Frivolous it seemed now that I was so close, but Faramir had told me Mithrandir may know more of me. He might help. I was insignificant and small, but I felt I still may play a role, one that I did not know myself. Faramir trusted Mithrandir. And I trusted Faramir's word. I could trust the wizard, too.

Of course, this little outburst came as a surprise to Peregrin who quickly stopped and turned around. Mithrandir was not one to simply whirl about – he seemed to already be waiting for me, leaning on his staff. Was I so predictable? No – I was just before an extraordinary person. That didn't help my nerves much.

"I… Sorry." I lamely began.

I was not given a response. The wizard and the hobbit stared at me, making me feel out of place.

Diving right in, I said: "P-Pallando. And Alatar. I knew them."

Peregrin looked to Mithrandir who was watching my face. "How the world holds its surprises; I will never understand."

I furrowed my brow. What?

Peregrin was looking at me now with wide eyes and a slightly gaping mouth. "She?"

The wizard Gandalf nodded.

Leaving me staring back, the two were escorted by some of the guards of the Citadel to the place where they had promised lodgings.

Well… that didn't go as planned.