*AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Hehehe... I finally finished the cover for the story.. ^~^ hope you like it...  and ALSO I have added new parts to the chapters already posted... I forgot to add them or that I really wanted to add them... For readers who have been reading this from the first posting of my story I sincerely apologize. though they are not vital scenes... And for new readers, this will not happen again... besides me editing my grammar and all that jazz. Again I'm sorry >_<

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~Chapter Fourteen~

The Ruling Steward of Minas Tirith

Ba da bum ba da bum ba da bum. Ba da bum ba da bum ba da bum.

Ba da bum ba da bum ba da bum. Ba da bum ba da bum ba da bum.

The rhythm of the thundering hooves of Shadowfax and Eruanna through the Foothills of the White Mountains. Thin dark trees towered scraping the night sky above. It had been two long days since the departure from Edoras. Gwiliweth and Gandalf steered their horses side by side south dodging around trees in their way. The wizard had a protective arm around the sleeping hobbit as Shadowfax continued to crash through the forest. 

"How many days left, Gandalf?" Gwiliweth questioned the wizard. The red-head had not been known to be so impatient. Although after her vision all she wanted was to be in Minas Tirith to prevent the Ring from getting handed over to Sauron. 

"Two." Gandalf replied calmly, earning in response an agitated huff from the red-head. 

Along the countryside they continue to ride through the night into the dawn. Pippin awoke from his long sleep huddled in front of Gandalf. The wind sailed through their hair as the sun slowly rose from behind mountains, "We have just passed into the realm of Gondor!" The wizard announced.

The horses gallops up onto a low ridge, an magnificent scene comes to view. Before them is the dark mass of Mount Mindolluin as its tall white face whitened in the rising sun. Upon it's out-thrust knee is the guarded city: Minas Tirith. Seven walls of white stone, so strong and old that it seems to have been not built, Minas Tirith looks craven by giants out of the bones of the earth. The great city of Minas Tirith built on seven levels, each delved into the hill, and around each was set a wall, and in each was a gate. But the gates were not set in a line: the Great Gate in the City wall was at the east point of the circuit, but the next faced half south, and the third half north, and so to and fro upwards; so the cobblestone road that climbed toward the citadel turned this way and that.

"Minas Tirith... City of the Kings." 

The Sun climbs over the eastern hills, sending forth a ray of sunlight that gleams against the face of the city. The Tower of Ecthelion stands high within the topmost walls. White banners flutter from the battlements in the morning breeze. Gandalf and Gwiliweth steer their horses up the steep streets of the White City. Frightened stares of Gondorians watch the foreigners as they thunder by through the winding streets. 

Eruanna and Shadowfax carry Gandalf, Pippin, and Gwiliweth towards the seven level of the massive tower. A towering bastion of natural rock shaped like a sharp ship's bow bisects the city from the second level to the top. Climbing the last slope of rock the riders arrive at a great citadel on the summit of the city about 1,000 feet above the Pelennor Fields. Quickly they dismount, leaving the guards of the citadel to tend to Eruanna and Shadowfax. 

Gandalf hastily approaches the citadel with Gwiliweth and Pippin following behind him. In the middle of the court stood a dead white tree four solemn citadel guards standing sentry around it, "It's the tree." Pippin whispers, "Gandalf! Gandalf!"

"Yes, the white tree of Gondor. The tree of the King." the wizard replied impartially. The White Wizard lead Pippin across a flat court of white stones, surrounded by green land towards a Great Hall, an elegant gleaming white tower.

The wizard lowered his voice to the two as they approach the tower hall,  "Lord Denethor, however is not the King. He is a steward only. A caretaker of the throne." Stepping onto the steps Gandalf turns to the hobbit and Elf, "Now, listen carefully. Lord Denethor is Boromir's father. To give him news of his beloved son's deaths would be unwise ..." The wizard turns towards the door than back to Pippin, "And do not mention Frodo... Or the Ring... And say nothing of Aragorn either." Again Gandalf hesitates, "In fact, it's better if you don't speak at all, Peregrin Took."

Pippin deflated by Gandalf's mistrust in him nods sadly, as the wizard faces the giant doors in the Tower Hall. Two guards pull the wide doors open revealing a long courtly hall with rows of black marble pillars. Between the pillars stood tall Kings carved in cold stone, a silent crowd of majestic persons of their day.

Gandalf strides down the hall, with Pippin and Gwiliweth following obediently behind.

At the far end, upon a dais of many steps, sits a large empty throne and on the wall behind is the image of a flowering white tree set in gems. At the food of the dais in a small stone chair, sits an old man of dark grey gazing down at his lap. 

"Hail, Denethor, Son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor." Gandalf lauded. The steward does not remove his eyes from his lap to the approaching three, "I come with tidings in this dark hour - and with counsel."

Slowly Denethor raises his set of cold eyes, "Perhaps you come to explain this?" he bitterly vocalized. The steward held up Boromir's broken horn, "Perhaps you come to tell me why my son is dead?" 

A troubling silence looms over the hall until the hobbit steps forward, "Boromir died to save us... my kinsman and me... he fell, defending us from many foes." 

Denethor's glacial eyes set on Pippin as a spark of pain flickers in cold blue orbs. 

"Pippin!" Gandalf hissed quietly to the hobbit, advancing towards the steward. 

The hobbit drops to his knee offering the Steward his sword, "I offer you my service, such as it is, in payment of this debt."

Deathly eyeing the hobbit kneeling before him, "This is my first command to you: how did you escape and my son did not? So mighty a man as he was."

Pippin lowered his head to the steward before him, "The mightiest man may be slain by one arrow, and Boromir was pierced by many."

Silently the steward continue to stare at Pippin blankly, overcome with grief. "Get up!" The Gandalf whispered to the hobbit, nudging the side of Pippin with his white staff. The White Wizard looks to the steward, "My Lord, there will be a time to grieve for Boromir, but it is not now. War is coming... the Enemy is on your doorstep. As Steward, you are charged with the defence of this city, Where are Gondor's armies?"

Denethor's frigid gaze turns slowly to the wizard.

"You still have friends - you are not alone in this fight. Send word to Theoden of Rohan. Light the beacons."

A dark smile stretches on the steward's lip as if he was amused by something, "You think you are wise, Mithrandir, yet for all your subtleties you have not wisdom. Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? 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."

Gwiliweth's eyes glanced to the wizard, to see an expression of shock overriding his wise face. Her silver eyes flickered back to Denethor. The steward's eyes narrowed at the White Wizard, "I know who rides with Theoden 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." Denethor spat, insulting the line of Kings.

Gwiliweth viewed the scene before her, disgusted and irked that such a horrible man had ever procreated such a good man like Boromir. If she had Medlinya's powers, just her deadly glower alone could set ablaze the steward into soul-consuming flames. 

Gandalf was stung by this, his expression turned dark. "Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the King, Steward!" the wizard hissed.

Denethor picked himself out of his stone chair, "The rule of Gondor is mine, and no others!" 

Pippin stared at the steward, horrified by the outburst. Gandalf on the other hand closely studied the angered Denethor for a moment than spun on his heel to leave. "Come." the wizard voiced. 

Gwiliweth and the Hobbit quietly followed after the wizard out of the majestic hall of Minas Tirith as Denethor slumped back into his chair.  The she-elf peered back to see the steward back staring at his deceased's son's horn, gloomily. Never had she despised another being so much till this cold man. Another storm of anger brewed nearby the Elf, a raging displeasure shrouded over the wizard like a invisible robe. Gandalf's stormy grey-blue eyes stared forward to his exit from the ill-mannered steward of Gondor. "All has turned to vain ambition!" The White Wizard scoffed, "He would even use his grief as a cloak."

The door of the hall creaks open by the royal guards to reveal the courtyard, its white tree, and in the distance, Mordor.

The company stepped outside and down the white stone steps into the courtyard. "A thousand years this city has stood. Now, at the whim of a madman it will fall. The White Tree, the tree of the king, will never bloom again."

 Pippin gazed up to the wizard curiously, "Why are they still guarding it?"

The wizard's tense shoulders slightly relaxed as the three approached the tree, "They guard it because they have hope. A faint and fading hope that one day it will flower. A King will come, and this city will be as it once was, before it fell into decay." Gandalf lead the two past the tree heading towards the end of the bastion, "The old wisdom borne out of the West was forsaken. Kings made tombs more splendid than the houses of the living, and counted the old names of their descent dearer than the names of their sons."

Gwiliweth gazed ahead to the end of the cliff. A large stature of a man stood before the bow of the bastion, the founder and builder of Minas Tirith. Gandalf's serious voice cut through her thoughts. "Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry, or in high cold towers asking questions of the stars. And so the people of Gondor fell into run. The line of kings failed. The white tree withered. The rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men."

As the three stopped at the end of the bastion, Pippin soaked in the view in front of him, "Mordor."

The wizard took a moment to gaze out to the mountains sheltering the dark land of Sauron. "Yes, there it lies. This city has dwelt ever in the sight of its shadow."

"A storm is coming." Pippin whispered. The clouds above were ominously huddled together forming a giant dark blanket over the land. Slowly the black clouds began to advance over the field of Pelennor to Minas Tirith. 

Gandalf shook his head at Pippin, "This is not the weather of the world. This is the device of of Sauron's making. A broil of fumes he sends ahead of his host. The Orcs of Mordor have no love of daylight. So he covers the face of the sun to ease their passage along the road to war. When the shadow of Mordor reaches this city, it will begin."

Pippin bowed his head in understanding and glanced up to the wizard with a innocent smile, "Well… Minas Tirith. Very impressive. So where are we off to next?"

The wizard again shook his head at the naivety of the hobbit, "Oh it's too late for that, Peregrin. There's no leaving this city. Help must come to us."

 ~~~

The three companions quietly resided in Pippin's quarters. Gwiliweth placed herself on the balcony resting her hands on the stone railing, gazing out to a still pristine city below. Gandalf stood beside her smoking his pipe studying the Mountains of Shadow a few leagues from Minas Tirith. A cold zephyr nipped the The hobbit tentatively laid his small uniform of the royal guard on a bed, "So, I imagine this is just a ceremonial position ... I mean, they don't actually expect me to do any fighting..." His worried eyes glanced up to Gandalf, "Do they?"

"You're in the service of the Steward now." Gandalf replied distastefully with a quick roll of the eye never glancing back to Pippin,"You're going to have to do as you're told, Peregrin Took."

Gwiliweth reclined her back against a pillar as she stared into the sky above, "There's no more stars. Is it time?" The she-elf questioned with uncertainty. 

The grey blue eyes flickered up to the dark heavens above. Where there once was twinkly celestial bodies of light dispersed were seemingly covered by a heavy black veil, "Yes."

Pippin strolled to the railing of the balcony and lean against it. His guileless eyes gazed out to the city outstretched below the terrance, "It's so quiet." The hobbit whispered in astonishment. 

The wizard grimly bobbed his head, "It's the deep breath before the plunge."

Glancing over to Gandalf, Pippin frowned. "I don't want to be in a battle, but waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse! Is there any hope, Gandalf?... For Frodo and Sam?"

"There never was much hope. Just a fool's hope." The wizard replied expressionlessly staring at the Mountains of Shadow. "Our enemy is ready, his full strength gathers. Not only orcs, but men as well, legions of Haradrim from the South, mercenaries from the coast… all will answer Mordor's call. This will be the end of Gondor as we know it." Gandalf stated pensively. "Here the hammer stroke will fall the hardest. If the river is taken, if the garrison at Osgiliath falls, the last defense of this city will be gone."

Pippin stared at the dour old wizard beside him desperately looking for reassurance, "But we have the White Wizard… that's got to count for something." The hobbit voiced trying to lighten the mood. The wizard's face only turned darker as he looks down to Pippin saying nothing. The unnerved hobbit stared back, "Gandalf?"

Gndalf stares into the distance as if seeing something in his mind's eye, "Sauron has yet to reveal his deadliest servant. The one who would lead Mordor's armies in war. The one they say no living man can kill: the Witch-King of Angmar." The wizard peered down to the startled hobbit, "You've met him before..." Pippin meets the wizard's eye afraid to ask, "He stabbed Frodo on Weathertop." The hobbit paled at the memory.  "He is the lord of the Nazgûl, the greatest of the nine. Minas Morgul is his lair."

It was Gwiliweth's turn to be curious, "Minas Morgul?"

The wizard bobbed his head, "It was the sister city of Minas Tirith built by Isildur, the son of King Elendil who defeated Sauron in the War of the Last Alliance. His grand fortress was built to prevent the return of The Dark Lord blocking the path into the plateau of Mordor. However the tables turned as the Great Plague of 1636 devastated the city. The Witch-king and his Nazgul sacked the city of Minas Morgul claiming it as his own. The fortress was known to be the Tower of the Moon, very beautiful at night under the pale beams. The city is overridden with enemies... many have tried to seize back the city... all had failed with death."

Silence followed after the wizard finished. The company of three refused to meet the other's eyes as they overlook the still city. 

RUMBLE.

Gwiliweth's ears pricked up, hearing the distant sound. "Gandalf... the ground across the Pelennor are trembl-" 

A flare of  livid lightning, like blue flame, funneled into the sullen clouds above. Violent fiery flashes light to the black blanket above Mordor. Sharp thunder rolls across forty miles to Minas Tirith to the company's ears. Pippin watches in frighten awe, as the wizard sat a hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "We come to it at last, the great battle of our time." Gandalf grimly announced staring at the funnel. "This war is long planned. Sauron has hated the west through many ages... It is a hatred that flows from the depths of time, across the deeps of the Sea."

A sharp, agonizing pain pummeled into Gwiliweth's head. Squeezing her eyes shut, in the darkness a flash of an image appeared. A Nazgul mounted on a wicked flying serpent, overlooking tens of thousands Uruks marching.  A blinding pale blue light, "Gandalf!" the red head yelped. The wizard glanced back to a pain-suffering she-elf, crumbling towards the ground holding her head with her two hands. 

Wedging her eyes open, grey-blue met silver. Soaking her vision into his mind, Gandalf silently calculated his thoughts. The red head had gradually stopped huffing from the pain as her vision ceased.

"The board is set. The pieces are moving." Gandalf finally replied turning back around towards the scene before him.

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The wind gently blew the vile smell of rotted caucus of Uruks from the pitch-black waters lapping at the grey shores of Osgiliath. There is no silence, and the occasional shadow of a person leaks from tower to tower with a slight clinking of armor with every step. Complete silence would be too frightening in perpetual darkness with a lingering threat of danger in the air. A mendacious fog hung over the Anduin River as two soldiers over look the waters.

One soldier had long white hair and dark wise eyes leaning on his long bow. The other soldier, on the other hand, was much younger with locks of red hair resting to his broad shoulders. His blue eyes carefully scanned the river as his whited haired friend peered over to him, "It's been very quiet across the river. The Orcs are lying low. The garrison may have moved out. We've sent scouts to Cair Andros. If the Orcs attack from the north, we'll have some warning."

On the hidden waters of the Anduin River, dark boats filled with armed orcs row towards Osgiliath. One of their oars makes a muffled splash. A bulky orc with a deformed face commands the sailors, "Quiet!" he softly ordered. 

From an upper wall, a Gondorian soldier walks to his post gazing back to his fellow warriors finishing his conversation, "We need ten more." His eyes silently gaze out over the fog covering the winding river. Squinting his eyes sees dark boats and torches of fire approach. 

The deformed Orc sees the soldier of Gondor spotting their boats, "Kill him!"

An Orc shoots an black arrow, which pierces the night air into the soldier's armor. The soldier stumbles down to the stone staircase, landing on the ground dead with a metal thunk of his armor The thunk was within the earshot of the young red haired soldier. Soldiers hurried over to the sight as the young soldier hurried to his men down below. His blue eyes studied the arrow embedded in his fellow soldier's chest. Grimly the soldier gazed up to his men, "They're not coming from the north. To the river! Quick, quick! Come on!" the soldier rallies his men quietly for the attack.

Men, soldiers and rangers alike, gather behind pillars with weapons drawn at the riverbank as the dark boats approach.

"Faster! Draw swords!" the deformed orc hissed.

Swish.

Swish.

Swish.

The peddling of the boats grow louder and louder with every stroke against the dark waters. The red headed soldier held his sword tightly, listening to the sounds of boats landing on the shores. Splashes sounded by the heavy orcs plopping into the water, advancing past the hidden soldiers. All eyes were on the young soldier waiting for his signal. With a brief nod, the soldiers jumped out of their hiding spots.

"Fight, Fight!" Soldiers holler to others.

Men and orcs merge into battle. Slashing, cutting, severing, wounding, and lancing each other. Equal in the skills of battle both orc and man fell. Groans, battle-cries, and blood-curdling screams echo against the stone of Osgiliath. Men saw a chance of victory on this night to defense their last defense of Minas Tirith.

Though unbeknownst to the Gondorian men, more orcs swarm into the city of Osgiliath.

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The large glowing sphere rose slowly into the dull morning sky above, casting sunbeams toward the beautiful city of Minas Tirith. Earlier this morning, the wizard had woken up Pippin and Gwiliweth from deep slumber to walk them towards the top of the Great White Tower. Gandalf had been silent along the way, as well as his lethargic followers. The she-elf stared at the back of the wizard, questioning his reasoning to wake them up at the crack of dawn. It had been a long time since she had slept and did not particularly want to be woken up. 

Suddenly Gandalf spun around to the hobbit, "Peregrin Took, my lad, there is a task now to be done. Another opportunity for one of the Shire-folk to prove their great worth." The wizard's grey-blue eyes stared into the blue eyes of the hobbit as Gandalf knelt down setting a hand on Pippin's shoulder, "You must not fail me."

Gandalf glances up to a distant tower on top of a sheer cliff of rock, higher that the Citadel of Minas Tirith where Denethor sits. Pippin bobbed his head seriously at the wizard, before charging towards the tower in an alleyway.

Watching the hobbit disappear, the wizard turned to the she-elf. "Follow me." 

Hastily the two traveled through allyways to a street with a clear view of the tower. Casually the wizard leaned back against the wall, glimpsing over to the tower every now and then. Gwiliweth joined Gandalf obediently by smiling and bowing her head at passing folks and guards. 

'Gandalf, what have you made Pippin do?'

A mischievous smile appeared on the wizard's face, 'You shall see.'

~~

The hobbit ran along the streets without gaining any unwanted attention from the guards. The pitter-patter of his feet slowed as he approached the monstrous cliff face before him. His blue eyes stared at the sight, in a frightened awe. Before swinging his arm to turn around and retreating back to Gandalf, the hobbit froze. The wizard entrusted him out of all people to do this important task. Nodding his head determinedly, Pippin knew he was not gonna let Gandalf down again. With a confident grin the hobbit began to climb the sheer face of the rock tower.

Inching further and further off the ground, Pippin egged himself to continue to climb the outcrop. The jagged, sharp rocks pinched against his flesh, although the young hobbit felt no pain. His adrenaline surged throughout his body, wanting to please Gandalf with all his heart. Of course the hobbit was deathly afraid of falling, but his determination to reach the top overcame his fears. Reaching two fourths the way up the rock, there were about 1,320 feet left on his expedition. His body began to ache from the use of muscles the hobbit had never used before. 

His eyes peered up the tower on top of the cliff and slightly grumbled at how far his destination still was. Inching up the rock, the climbing space grew smaller and smaller as the rock became separate from the mountain. The wind seemed chiller from these heights compared to bastion of Minas Tirith Citadel below. Biting his lip, the hobbit refrains from looking down to the gleaming white city and pushes on. 

Using great skill and patience, Pippin climbs the rock tower quietly to the top. Gripping the stone slab with his small fingers, the hobbit pulls himself beside a neatly piled wood. His curious smiled at the sight, a beacon.  Gandalf had wanted him to light the beacon of  Minas Tirith. Voices sounded from behind the woodpile, causing the hobbit to press against the wood. Slowly he poked his head off to the side of the wood seeing that the guards payed no attention to the beacon. 

Mutely Pippin climbs onto the wood pile, noticing the oil and fire just above the woodpile ready to be used in emergencies. Reaching for the lamp hanging over the beacon. A rope snaps, spilling oil on the wood. Finally able to reach, Pippin tosses the lit lamp onto the wood, which quickly catches fire, to Pippin's surprise. Marveled at his work, Pippin stares at it happily. When he finally came to his senses, the hobbit climbs down off the beacon and back to climbing down the rock.

Seeing the burning beacon, Gandalf smiles radiantly. Catching the sight of a few guards approaching, the wizard acted natural and bowed his head at them politely. With a flick of his robes, Gandalf takes off to the seventh floor of the seventh wall of Minas Tirith's battlements with Gwiliweth following behind. 

Watching the mountains the wizard murmurs, "Amon Dîn."

Gwiliweth studied the mountaintops and soon enough a spec of a flaming beacon is lit on a nearby mountainside.Guards on watch behind the two company take notice of this, "The beacon! The beacon of Amon Dîn is lit!" he hollered. 

From the shadows Denethor looks out of a window hearing guard's words and darkly frowns at the sight.

The wizard stared at the distant beacon with a smile, "Hope is rekindled." Gandalf whispered. His smile and words were so full of happiness and relief. This was something Gwiliweth had not seen in such a long time.

It felt marvelous to feel hope in her again. 

(End of Chapter Fourteen)

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