Automatic Disclaimer: I claim nothing you do (or don't) recognize from HP and LotR.

A/N: I now believe it possible to overcome writer's block by sheer will of force. This may also have worked because I was staring ferociously at a map. Either way, I am so very sorry for having stayed away for so long.

Also, I will not be using the movie versions of Denethor and Faramir. In the books, Denethor is so much more insightful.

Back to the Beginning

Chapter Twenty

Of Stormcrows and Strategies

Frodo

They all felt a bit more cheerful after they'd left the caves. Though there was no light as it was nighttime, the fresh air was more than enough to refresh their spirits.

"I thought I'd forgotten what fresh air smelt like." Sam said, inhaling deeply.

"I didn't realize how stale the air in the caves were." Frodo admitted.

"Master should enjoy the outside, yes he should. Soon we'll be inside caveses again." Sméagol warned. He turned to Legolas and said gleefully, "And the elf must make itself smaller, it should. It's too tall, and the things on its back make it even bigger."

Legolas looked somewhat grumpy at this, and Frodo could sympathize, eyeing the elf's wings that were stretched free for the first time in days. Reluctantly, Legolas folded his wings.

The wings reminded Frodo of Holly, and the hobbit wished once more that the cheerful maia was with them. If only for Legolas' sake. Frodo was still not sure whether he'd done the right thing when he hadn't told Legolas about his vision. But in the end, he'd lost the timing to inform elf about the possibility, and did not want to drudge up something that the elf wanted to bury.

Whether it was the fresh air, raised spirits, or Sméagol's frequent urges for them to hasten, the four of them made good time until sunrise, when Gollum demanded they hurry out of the open and hide.

"They mustn't stay out in the open! They mustn't be silly." He hissed at Legolas in particular, "Elf must make itself even smaller! If orcsies notice us, it is at fault!"

It was a testament to Legolas' patience that he endured Sméagol's berating, and willingly crouched close to the ground. He even covered his eye-catching hair and wings with his cloak, until he looked like a peculiarly shaped boulder. All Frodo knew was that the position couldn't possibly be comfortable.

"Hobbits can rest while Sméagol goes hunting." With these words, Sméagol vanished.

Sam almost jumped from their hiding place behind a boulder. "He's gone, Mister Frodo!"

Though he felt a bit doubtful, Frodo soothed Sam, "He said he would be going hunting. We should listen to his advice and rest."

"Rest?" Sam repeated with dismay. "With the sun beating down on us?"

"The creature is well-versed with this terrain, but also sly as well." Legolas' voice, although muffled, was unmistakable. "He knows that it is unwise to move during the day, when it is easier for the enemy to spot us. If he does not return by nightfall, we will decide what to do then."

Frodo was trying to follow Sméagol's advice, but Sam's furtive glances in his direction could only go ignored for so long.

"Yes, Sam?"

But Sam seemed unaware of his own actions, as he asked in confusion, "Mister Frodo?"

Before, this wouldn't have fazed Frodo, but he was strangely irritable as of late. "Is there something on your mind, Sam?"

"No, I'm just…" Sam hesitated, "I'm just worried about you, Mister Frodo."

A tired smile tugged at Frodo's lips. "What about you, Sam? I'm worried that you've lost nearly half your weight from when we left the Shire."

At this, Sam ducked his head in slight embarrassment, but he wasn't finished. "We've been travelling for so long, and still no sign of a mountain pass. Are you sure we can trust Goll- I mean, Sméagol?"

Of course it came back to this. Frodo heaved a sigh. "I'd be lying if I said I was, but what better choice do we have?"

"We could find another way – "

Frodo snapped. "What other way? Let's just sleep, Sam. I'm tired, and you're probably the same. No use in worrying about the inevitable."

So they fell into a fitful sleep.

Thankfully, as night fell, Sméagol returned.

"Wake up, hobbits. Did they sleep well? Are they well rested?" Slimy hands roughly shook Frodo awake. "Then they must go."

Sam grouchily replied, "Alight, we're up. No, we haven't, and no, we aren't. But we'll go if we must." Frodo chuckled a little at how Sam answered Sméagol's every rhetorical question quite literally. But he too felt very heavy and tired.

The illusion of the oddly shaped boulder broke when Legolas' hood came down. He briefly looked around and rose from the crouch into a nominally more comfortable looking position. "Lead the way."

"Yes yes, Sméagol will lead the way, he will, even if elf doesn't tell him to." Sméagol muttered. "Make haste! Mustn't waste time!"

Frodo held back a sigh. Finally, after skittering along the hedges, they saw a city fortress nestled into a valley.

Frodo felt his blood drain out of his face at the mere sight of it.

Despite Sméagol's distressed croaks, they couldn't help but stop and stare at the structure. The city fortress was a sight that Frodo found hard to describe, both dark and pale at the same time. The pallor of the walls reminded Frodo of the candles in the Dead Marshes, but on a completely different scale. Pale as a corpse, the massive city glowed in the darkness. The city of the Ringwraiths was hypnotic in all its horrifying grandeur.

"So this is what became of Minas Ithil." Legolas' voice woke them from their stupor. "A perversion of itself from a millennia ago."

Everyone turned to look at the elf.

Hesitantly, Frodo asked Legolas, "I have heard tell of Minas Ithil, the long enduring, from Bilbo, who likely heard it from the elves of Rivendell. How did the wood-elves describe it?"

Staring flatly at the corpse-lit city fortress, Legolas answered, "When it was renamed Minas Morgul, I, not yet having lived a thousand years, had not ventured very far from my homeland, so I only have hearsay to compare. It was said that the marble walls of Minas Ithil were like captured moonlight, illuminating the valley and even the mountains. Nothing like this…" Legolas seemed to struggle to find the proper words, "…this husk of a place."

They gazed upon the ghostly place until Sméagol intervened. Urgently and fearfully, he tugged at Frodo and Sam. He ignored Legolas, who still stared at the tower.

As soon as he tore his eyes off the fortress, Frodo abruptly felt very weak. He hoarsely called to Legolas. "Legolas!"

Legolas heeded Frodo and caught up with them in one bound. "Fret not, Frodo. I am here."

Harry

The journey to Gondor was uneventful, if rather slower than their usual pace, due to Aragorn's horse having to take on more weight than it was used to, carrying both Aragorn and Pippin.

Due to Nessa's song, they were able to ride until the sun threatened to vanish behind the horizon. Harry glanced at his companions. "Right, should we set up camp for the day?" The hobbits looked tired, besides.

Aragorn agreed. "Aye. We can camp for tonight. Minas Tirith will be in sight tomorrow."

The hobbits brightened at this news. "We were going so slowly that I thought we wouldn't make it till spring!" Pippin admitted after he was helped down from Aragorn's steed.

Harry shot Pippin an amused glance as he himself helped Merry down from Déaþscúa. "We're making good time, actually. We may be resting often, but the speed is comparable to horses in regular conditions."

Aragorn unsaddled and patted his steed. "Besides, Minas Tirith is only three days' ride from Edoras."

After performing the usual campfire spells, Harry produced much welcomed food from the invisibly extended bag and heated it.

Stomachs full, the hobbits went to sleep, while Harry and Aragorn kept watch.

Or at least, that was the plan.

"So how long did you think you were a human?" Aragorn asked.

Such was his surprise that Harry wasn't able to refute it quickly enough. "Huh?" And when he did answer, it wasn't a refutation so much as a blatant admission that he was playing dumb.

Scoffing, Aragorn rolled his eyes. "Do not try my patience. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

Afterwards, Harry and Aragorn initiated a staring match, but even after nearly five minutes of complete silence, Aragorn would not back down.

Knowing the jig was up, Harry reluctantly gave in; any more denial would be met with skepticism at best, and he'd lose what little trust Aragorn had placed in him at worst. "…Eighty-five years. I turned eighty-six when we were in Bree."

Seeing Aragorn's incredulous face, Harry snorted. "No, I did not spend those years in this body. No matter what you think of me, I'm not so entirely oblivious to think it normal for a human to have a physique like this at an age where all others are old and wrinkly." Giving Aragorn the stink-eye, Harry added, "Aside from you dúnedain, but you're not normal humans." Looking up at the stars, Harry murmured, "I was born a baby like a regular human. I grew old like a regular human. I was, by all rights, truly a human. Until I woke up in this body."

After a short beat of silence, Aragorn prompted, "That does not explain everything."

Harry struggled with himself, whether or not he should tell Aragorn the full story. Slowly, he revealed, "I attended an institution called a school. Where children learn skills, history, trades…" What was the school's name again? Harry shook his head sharply.

"I had a life of my own. Friends. Two close ones." Red hair, bushy hair… Harry struggled to recall. Temporarily abandoning what he couldn't remember, Harry tried again. "A family…" What were their names again? Harry scrubbed a hand through thick, tangled hair. Well, he knew his parents hadn't raised him, as they had been killed early on, but he had to remember his significant other, shouldn't he? If not, at least his – "Children. Two sons and a daughter…" Yes! He remembered them! He had named them after… who had he named them after again? He also had – "Grandchildren…" How many did he have again?

Every word that fell from his lips drove Harry further into despair. More and more he realized that even if he wanted to tell someone, he couldn't. He couldn't remember. Memories of his old life were overwhelmed by dreams from Sataressë, memories that weren't his. Knowledge that wasn't his. Acquaintances that weren't his. Nothing was his. Did he even really exis –

Harry almost jumped when Aragorn placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Sleep. I'll wake you for your watch."

Harry barked out a laugh, bitterly reminding the dúnadan, "This body doesn't have to sleep, remember?"

For the first time, Aragorn gazed at Harry with something akin to pity. "You may not have to, but you're in the habit of sleeping, are you not?"

If he wanted to, Harry could have chosen to take offense at the reference to the multiple slip-ups he'd had when the fellowship had still been together. But he knew that Aragorn didn't mean it as a malicious jab. Even though Harry had regressed with respect to his maturity, he still had the ability to recognize compassion, disguised though it may be.

Murmuring his thanks, Harry lay himself down and eventually fell into a tired slumber.

Gandalf

Not wanting to get too close to men who might shoot them down, Gwaihir and his brother let their two passengers down a league outside Rammas Echor*.

[*Rammas Echor: translates to Wall Circle, and is the outer defense of Minas Tirith that surrounds the city and grass/farmlands (called Pelennor Fields) around it.]

It was past dusk when Gandalf and Gimli arrived at the Great Gates of Minas Tirith.

The gatekeepers saluted Gandalf. "Mithrandir."

Gandalf nodded to each Gondorian. "Ingold, Ohtar."

"We know you, and you know the passwords to the seven gates. You are welcome here." The guards eyed Gimli. "But what character is it beside you? We would not have any strangers – "

Gandalf hastily interrupted before Gimli could. "His name is Gimli, son of Gloin. I, Mithrandir, will vouch for his identity and character before the seat of the steward of Gondor, Denethor II."

When the guards were still hesitant, Gandalf fairly bristled. "Would I bring a suspicious character into this city at such a time? It's as if Denethor ordered you to keep me out!"

Ingold protested, "You do us injustice, Mithrandir. We were merely being careful. You are known as a bearer of grim news to us Gondorians."

"So rather than hearing the news, you would turn it away?" Gimli snorted. "As if that would make the news any less true."

The Gondorian guards looked affronted at Gimli's rude, but admittedly true statement.

"I have great need to speak with Lords Denethor and Boromir." Gandalf said firmly. "You will find out whether the news is grim or not from your lord."

Rather reluctantly, the guards stepped aside to open the gate for them. Gandalf sighed, shaking his head as he and Gimli entered.

They passed through the next six gates in more or less the same manner, with Gandalf becoming increasingly irritated. He was allowed passage, yes, but apparently the guards had been instructed to make things as difficult for him as possible. By the time they passed the seventh gate and reached the Citadel, Gandalf wanted to shake Denethor until his teeth rattled. It was the nature of men to want to shoot the messenger, he supposed, but since when had he become the bearer of bad tidings? He may have accrued a somewhat grim reputation in Minas Tirith, but this was too much!

As he was storming to the throne room, he paused at the mess hall, where a great ruckus was being made.

Scowling heavily down at his dented armor, Gimli rumbled, "I need to fix my armor and eat."

"Food first, I should think." Gandalf too, was frowning, but for a different reason. The mess hall should not be so active this late in the evening. What was going on?

Gandalf strode over to the double doors leading to the mess hall and flung them open, causing a sudden hush to fall over the room. The wizard's eyes skimmed over the previously boisterous room, with soldiers in the middle of a toast, aimed mostly in a single direction.

Eyes landing on the person the toast was directed to, Gandalf acknowledged, "Boromir."

"Gandalf!" Boromir's voice was filled with surprise. "Gimli!"

Denethor, who sat crookedly on the throne at the head of the mess hall, interrupted, "Hark, Mithrandir! Have you come to join us?" There was a hint of mocking in his tone.

Nodding to Denethor, Gandalf said perfunctorily, "Hail, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith, Denethor son of Ecthelion." After the niceties were over and done with, Gandalf paused. It would be unwise to reveal that an army was most likely headed their way in public, if only because it would lower the soldiers' morale. However, it would not be inappropriate to ask what the event was about. "Lord Denethor, what is the cause of this celebration tonight?"

Rising to his feet, Denethor spread his arms. "Why, the safe return of my firstborn, of course. I half feared he would go and perish on that fool's errand that kept him away from Gondor for more than half a year."

A man a bit slighter than Boromir rushed to support Denethor, saying in a low voice, "Father, you've had a bit too much to drink."

But Denethor shook him off, "No need to force yourself, Faramir. I know you've always been closer to Mithrandir than me. Go show your teacher and Master Gimli to their rooms." Addressing Gandalf and Gimli directly, he said, "I hope it wasn't presumptuous of me to have rooms prepared for you, Mirthrandir, Master Gimli, but I guessed you might be coming."

Gandalf was not surprised that Denethor knew Gimli's name even without introduction – whether by foresight or by Boromir's description – but Gimli's was not the case, and was therefore caught completely flatfooted.

Of course Denethor would take advantage of the foresight he had inherited from his elfin ancestors to catch any relative stranger off guard.

Sharing a resigned look with Boromir, Faramir approached Gandalf and Gimli, as the hall slowly returned to its previous clamor. "Have you just arrived, Mithrandir? And so you are Gimli son of Gloin. My brother spoke highly of your valor in battle. I am Faramir, son of Denethor and brother of Boromir."

Gimli placed a fist over his heart and bowed. "Faramir, it is an honor."

Casting one last disapproving look at Denethor, who had returned to praising his elder son, Gandalf remarked, "We have ridden a long way and could do with a bit of sustenance."

Faramir looked abashed. "A thousand apologies, Mithrandir, Gimli. We should have offered you two refreshments as soon as we saw you. Follow me, the kitchens should be more suitable for dining quietly than out here."

He led them to what Gandalf remembered were the kitchens, and had the resting cook whip up something for them.

"What of your companions?" Faramir asked as he poured them two tankards of ale.

Grandalf narrowed his eyes, grip briefly tightening on his staff. "I intend to ask that same question to your brother when I next see him."

Faramir handed out the mugs and defended, "My brother only arrived today. He said that the others would soon follow."

Gimli took a heavy gulp of the offered drink. "As for us, we got separated from our companions. Hopefully, the two hobbits are with the elf."

"So they are still on their way…" Faramir's face was set in a thoughtful moue.

"Yes, they are carrying out a mission of great importance, that very few can know about." Gandalf guessed Faramir's line of thought, warning him not to say any more about the token* that heralded doom he had dreamt of many months before. He knew not whether Boromir had told Faramir of the Ring, but it was better to err on the side of caution.

[*token, referring to the rhyme that he and Boromir dreamt, spoken of back in chapter 10, of the Council of Elrond]

"'Tis precisely what I was worried about." Faramir affirmed with a nod. "We must find a way to distract the enemy to keep the great Eye off of them while they… carry out their mission." His youthful face briefly aged with worry, "Yet we may not be able to withstand them."

Gandalf dipped his head and acknowledged the issue, even as he cast his thoughts back to a certain maia with green eyes doing her best to distract the enemy.

"If we are speaking of distracting the enemy, some help may come in that corner," Gandalf hedged, "But we would do well to make preparations of our own."

Though he looked somewhat intrigued about what Gandalf meant, Faramir affirmed, "On our part, Father will most probably send me or my brother to Osgiliath sometime soon, to probe the enemy first, to see it is feasible to mobilize our troops and strike first."

With a gloomy voice, Gimli intoned, "Better send your troops north to prepare for an attack from the Black Gate."

Faramir looked confused at this, for this made very little geographical or tactical sense, but had no time to answer as the cook placed down dishes on a wooden table. Looking upon this, Gandalf declared, "Let us talk of war on the morrow! Tonight, it is better for us to dine and rest."

Legolas

As an elf, Legolas was more sensitive to darkness than others. Even as he turned his back to Minas Morgul, he could feel the chill spreading and settling in his bones. Observing Frodo's wan form in comparison to Sam's slightly more sprightly one, he suspected Frodo was more sensitive to the darkness as well, but because of the Ring. Briefly, and guiltily, he thanked Elbereth's stars that he was not in Frodo's place. He could not bear such a burden.

But he had sworn to support Frodo until the bitter end, and he was an elf of his word.

His thoughts turned to creature who was leading the way; Gollum was an effective guide, though also a very irritating one.

Before, Legolas had forced himself to get used to Gollum's constant screeches like, "Hurry!" and "No time to waste!"

Yet now, the creature seemed to shrink in on himself, in fear.

Suddenly, Frodo clutched at his chest, where he had been stabbed by the morgul blade on the way to Imladris. Legolas too, felt it. A cold terror filled the air. Almost unwillingly, they all looked toward the direction of Minas Morgul and saw a black shadow rise from the turret and an unearthly screech filled the air, causing the hobbits to flinch violently and cover their ears.

A fell creature that looked more wretched than the one that had attacked them at the edge of the Dead Marshes rose higher into the air and the gates yawned open, an army emerging from within.

Legolas' breath hitched. The army looked to be at least ten-thousand strong, with hundreds on oliphants, thousands on wargs, followed by even more on foot.

Hearing a wheeze, Legolas whipped his head around in alarm. The Ringbearer's hand was inching toward his neck, and Legolas realized too late the fell creature bore a wraith – most likely the Witch King.

"Fight it! Do not give in, Frodo of the Shire!" Legolas whispered fiercely.

For what seemed like an eternity, Frodo seemed to struggle with himself. Finally, he took out a glowing phial* that he kept in his breast pocket. Blue eyes focusing, he drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

[*Phial with water containing the light of Eärendil's star that Galadriel gave Frodo]

Legolas did not quite dare heave a sigh of relief, but a knot loosened in his chest.

He glanced back at the army led by the wraith and dread filled him for his separated comrades. They were headed west for Osgiliath. Should Osgilthiath fall, Minas Tirith would be next.

Aragorn

After her breakdown, Holly took on an emotionlessness that Aragorn found quite unsettling. She became passive and silent, and Aragorn almost regretted pushing her so far; but he knew that Holly would've reached this breaking point at some point, and he was glad that it was sooner rather than later, when there was a greater chance they would be in battle.

She still occasionally sang the song of fleet feet, but her voice was flat and Aragorn did not feel the effects as strongly as before.

The only other sign that she gave that she was still mentally present was when the black walls of Rammas Echor came into view.

A few leagues in, the white mass of Minas Tirith finally emerged as well.

The capital of Gondor was a grand city, fortified with both walls and a mountain range. It had been twenty some years since Aragorn had been in Minas Tirith. He hoped Denethor hadn't changed the passwords, and Boromir had warned the guards of his coming.

The hobbits were in awe of a city-fortress like Minas Tirith. For their sake, if not Holly's, since he couldn't tell whether she already knew or was even listening, Aragorn slowed his horse as he started speaking, "This place was built in the Second Age year 3320. It is set into a hill, with seven levels. It was first dubbed Minas Anor, meaning the tower of the setting sun."

"But it's Minas Tirith now." Pippin pondered, "Why'd they change the name?"

Trying to keep regret out of his voice, Aragorn answered, "They changed the name because the tower of the moon, Minas Ithil, changed its name as well when the enemy forcefully took over."

"Minas Morgul." Holly spoke for the first time that day, and Aragorn saw Merry's minute flinch at the sudden sound coming from behind. Holly smiled hollowly down at the hobbit. "Sorry, Merry. I haven't been a very good riding partner today."

Merry shook his head at her apology, "We all have our off days, nothing to apologize for."

In front of Aragorn, Pippin shivered as well. "Anyway, Minas Morgul does have a creepier ring to it."

Holly murmured sadly, "Tower of Sorcery. When did magic become such a terrible thing, I wonder."

Aragorn opened his mouth to reply, but it was Merry who comforted her. "It isn't magic itself that's terrible. Only how it's being used."

Truer words indeed. Meriadoc Brandybuck was a wise soul with an innocent appearance.

Ruffling Merry's hair fondly, Holly vaguely reminisced, "From my world, magic used to be judged either by the spells that were used or the people using them…"

At those words, everyone frowned. What was Holly talking about?

Apparently Holly thought the same. "What am I talking about?" Shaking her head, she changed the subject, "Let us fly like the wind! I will strengthen our horses with Tulkas' song!" She then proceeded to belt out a deep melody that sounded quite atrocious when sang with her voice, making Merry cringe and the people on the other horse laugh as the horses' paces increased from a trot to a cantor, then to a gallop.

But part of Aragorn still pondered upon Holly's words; she couldn't have been speaking of the Undying Lands; nobody aged there, and the way she referred to it seemed too casual and too active.

Eventually, Aragorn put his mind off the subject; there were bigger things at stake. Like defending his kingdom from Sauron's forces.

Gandalf

Gandalf prepared himself to meet Denethor.

Denethor had considered Gandalf his adversary for quite a few decades now, and had been less than welcoming under the surface of cordiality. Especially this time.

Arriving at the throne room, Gandalf waited only for the guards to announce his arrival before entering. Unlike the day before, Denethor was not lounging in his chair; he was sitting up straight and tall, a king-like figure.

"Greetings, Mithrandir."

"To you as well, Denethor." Gandalf replied.

"I am loathe to waste time, so I will tell you what you came for, and you will tell me if it is true or not." Denethor's soft voice did not match his curt words at all. Rising from the throne, he put his hands behind his back and started pacing back and forth. "You came because you were separated from your other companions. You thought you could kill two birds with one stone by coming to Minas Tirith, to reunite with my son and also grasp a strategic stronghold in this city, as a safeguard beyond Osgiliath." He turned sharply to Gandalf. "How am I doing so far?"

There was an unspoken tension between them, and instead of directly answering the question, Gandalf merely asked, "Are you ready for my news?"

Seating himself back onto the throne, Denethor waved his hand. "Even if I were not, I could not stop you, Mithrandir."

Gandalf made a show of looking around. "I say, we should call for Gimli and your sons. What I have to say should not be said several times." He glanced outside a window, to the east. "Not with the enemy so near."

Denethor's lips tightened. "Not so near, with Osgiliath between us," he countered, but in the end, he acceded, "but very well."

Shortly, Gimli, Boromir, and Faramir were summoned to the throne room.

Boromir clasped hands with Gimli and nodded to Gandalf.

"I was not able to greet you properly yesterday. How came you by Gondor? What became of the halflings and Legolas?" The elder son of Denethor asked, more than slightly concerned.

Gandalf had originally wanted to talk privately to Boromir before he spoke before Denethor, but he would have to play it by ear. "I would hear of what happened to your companions first."

"We decided we needed steeds, so we visited Edoras."

Face first brightening, Boromir confirmed what Gandalf had known. "And there we discovered that Lady Holly was still alive!"

Gimli let out a cry of amazement. "The lass is alive? Wait until the elf – " He abruptly cut himself off sheepishly.

Barely containing his eyeroll, Gandalf managed to keep all sarcasm from his voice, "I had a hunch that she had returned. It is good to have had someone witness her, however. From whence did you see her?"

"When the prince of Rohan returned from a battle that was victorious due to her help. At the time, King Théoden had been possessed by Saruman, and was quite out of his mind." Boromir shook his head and frowned from the mere thought.

Many things made sense to Gandalf at that time, including Théoden's paranoia the year before, when he had first tamed Shadowfax. And by the by, he should call that stallion…

"But Holly expelled Saruman and healed King Théoden. She remained in Rohan with Aragorn and the halflings to finish one last request from the King's niece. She hopes Gondor can establish better relations with Rohan."

Observing Denethor's face expression during the tale, Gandalf gleaned that he had heard all of this before. He also noticed that Boromir was heavily emphasizing Holly's contributions. It was his own way of protecting Aragorn, Gandalf realized. Good man, Gandalf thought approvingly.

But from the way the steward's eyes sharpened at the name 'Aragorn', Gandalf was aware Denethor suspected more than he let on.

"They said they would catch up soon enough." Boromir finished. "Now, it is your turn to tell your tale."

Having gathered all the information he needed, Gandalf knew what he should say in front of the shrewd steward.

"Our journey started out smoothly, as I suspect yours did as well. Trouble started right after the Dead Marshes, where we encountered a Ringwraith, and overtook us right before we reached Morannon."

Everyone save Gimli sucked in a sharp breath twice, first when Gandalf mentioned the Ringwraith and the second at the Black Gate. "The enemy was prepared for us, whether it be by Sauron's sight or treachery from that pitiful creature called Gollum. I told Legolas to take care of the hobbits while Gimli and I held off the attacks."

"We escaped the attacks eventually, but saw that same army come out from the gates, heading toward the Anduin River. An army of five-thousand will probably arrive by next week, at the latest. The next five days at the earliest."

There was a dead silence at Gandalf's words.

Boromir suddenly stood up. "Then we must rally the soldiers at once."

Denethor added, "…and also evacuate the women and children." He sighed, "Mithrandir, not once do you depart from the label of Stormcrow. You always arrive, heralding trouble."

"It is you who labeled me as such, Denethor. I come when I am needed." Gandalf harrumphed.

In the end, it was Faramir who pointed out, "But why from there? Minas Morgul is much closer to our cities than Morannon. It does not make sense."

Gimli demanded, "Are you doubting Gandalf?"

Faramir raised his hands. "Peace, Master dwarf. I am merely pointing out the strategic anomaly."

Steepling his fingers, Denethor suggested, "Unless they are going for a two-pronged attack, one from the north, and the other from the southeast."

Gandalf sighed heavily. "That is indeed what I fear. If the enemy succeeds in overtaking Osgiliath to the east, there is little chance Minas Tirith will survive on its own against one large scale attack, much less two."

A dreadful silence followed that statement.

Finally, Denethor broke it, commanding, "All guests will have to leave, while I confer with my sons on what actions we should take next."

It was as polite a dismissal as it could get, when Denethor was in such a bad mood, Gandalf mused.

Gimli looked up at him and said, "Well, that went as well as could be expected."

Aragorn

After riding for a couple more hours in a considerably more comfortable silence than before, the walls of Rammas Echor drew near. Bringing his horse to a stop, Aragorn addressed the guards. "Togitham ad claur na dúnedain iônnath*."

[*We will bring again glory to Numenor's sons]

The guards first looked taken aback, looked over Aragorn's party – a ranger, a woman, and two halflings – and their expressions cleared. "Password?" One of them asked.

Aragorn replied with what had been the password over two decades ago. "Thalion*."

[*Thalion: Sindarin for dauntless, steadfast, hero]

The guards moved aside, allowing them passage.

Normally, Aragorn would have found not changing the passcode for over two decades sloppy and bad security in general, but he had seen the guards check the members of their party and was fairly sure they weren't indiscriminately letting in everyone who knew the passwords. He assumed Boromir had informed the guards who would be in their party beforehand, and to let them in if the descriptions matched.

The orchards and farmlands of Pelennor Fields seemed mostly unchanged, though Aragorn thought he saw a few acres of uncultivated land overtaken by weeds. A waste, to be sure, but such were times of unrest.

The closer they drew to the second gate, the more abandoned buildings they passed. Aragorn felt a deep sorrow for his city. The hobbits didn't say anything, but he knew it was merely a courtesy; the Shire, though less grandiose, must have seemed much more homey and warm.

He knew the rest of the passwords, but was stopped just short of the citadel.

"Apologies, but I simply cannot allow you to pass, no matter what Lord Boromir has instructed me. These days outsiders," the head guard's eyes lingered on Holly and the hobbits, "cannot enter, even if they are with one who knows the passcode." The guard stood firm. "My only master is the current steward, Lord Denethor, and will continue to be so unless the rightful King returns."

Out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn thought he saw Holly's temple pulsing and he deemed the situation too dangerous to push any further.

"It was not my intention to press you." Aragorn. "I only ask that you relay to Lord Boromir that his companions have arrived in Gondor, and await him at the Old Guesthouse." He thought he'd seen that inn open in the lowest tier.

The head guard inclined his head in assent.

Holly snapped her steed around so abruptly that Merry almost lost balance. Seeing her seething form, Aragorn was glad he had backed off when he had. Even if she made a valiant effort to put the hobbits at ease, Holly was not back to her former self, and Aragorn feared that if he had stayed any longer, the guard would not have walked away from the encounter whole.

"So we're going to stay at this 'Old Guesthouse'?" Merry asked.

Pippin chimed in, "Will there be dinner there?"

Aragorn's mouth tilted up faintly at the hobbits' appetite for food. "If I remember correctly, yes, there will be food."

They went back to the lowermost tier, on the Lampwrights' Street. The inn itself had seen better days, but they were welcomed easily enough.

Here, the hobbits, who had been given frequent glances on their way here, were sheltered from curious gazes as they sat and ate at a proper table for the first time in days.

"What do you tell yourself to make it more bearable?"

Aragorn turned toward Holly, who was staring at him through hollow eyes.

"That this too, will pass."

Harry

He couldn't understand how Aragorn bore it all with a straight face. Briefly, he'd even thought Aragorn was composed mostly of stone, as he'd rarely shown any wavering in his decisions and emotions.

Was it because a sense of duty and destiny that Elrond had instilled in him from a young age? Harry was not sure what made Aragorn so much more emotionally stable than he himself had been back when –

…Right, he couldn't remember the details of his own life.

All Harry had were impressions of a nemesis larger than life who had simply turned out to be someone afraid of death.

"This too will pass, eh?" He repeated softly.

He didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. Because time would not bring his memories back. On the contrary, it might even wear away at what memories he retained.

'This is not the time to lament over things you cannot change.'

Upon hearing Sataressë's thoughts, Harry rocketed from despair to anger. Banging his fist on the table, Harry exclaimed, "Morgoth take it all!"

The hobbits' spoons clattered into their dishes and they shrank back. Aragorn stared at Harry with no little shock. "H-Holly?"

"I'm going to Valinor." Harry declared, standing up.

"The Undying Lands?" Aragorn sounded horribly confused.

"I'm going to go meet Mandos. I have a bone to pick with him." As did Sataressë, but he wasn't going for her. She didn't even want to go back, but what could she do? Give him debilitating headaches? Take over his body? At least he'd have tried. Anything would be better than sitting around and moping pointlessly.

"That would not be wise." A wizened voice sounded from behind him and Harry froze.

"Gandalf!" "Gandalf?"

While the others were still processing what was happening, Pippin was panicking. "Gandalf! Holly says she's going to the Undying Lands, but – " he stumbled over his words, "Why are you here? Where's Frodo and Sam? Has the rin – "

Gandalf raised a hand. "Peace, Peregrin Took. I'll answer your questions at a later time, when there are no prying ears." He turned to Harry. "As I was saying, Holly, it would not be wise to leave now."

Harry first wanted to ask why it would not be wise, but he had other questions. Suddenly, he realized the implications of Gandalf's presence and felt like ice water had been poured onto him, so he asked the most important one.

"You're not with Frodo?"

A/N part2: Even with a reference for how long it would take to travel (the Arda Timeline), various architecture (the movies/descriptions from the books)… there were some things that I had to research and calculate.

Using the Pythagorean theorem, (with some trouble, as it's a bit tough keeping track once numbers reach the trillions) I calculated that: from horseback, 1,000 foot tall objects are visible from about 38.57 miles out.

With the following assumptions…

- That my map is to scale, Edoras is roughly 300 miles from Minas Tirith.
- That Gandalf's correct and the journey is a three-day-ride (the timeline says four days), which makes 75-100 miles per day.
- That Middle Earth has the same radius as our planet Earth…

Minas Tirith would have come into view on the last day of travel.

All those calculations just for Aragorn to say: "Minas Tirith will be in sight tomorrow."

…ARE YOU KIDDING ME. T^T