Chapter Two

Minas Tirith

After her interview with Faramir, Jane had been led back to her chambers. Exhausted, she had fallen asleep immediately. She woke late the next day, surprised to see breakfast laid out on a table in her room when she got up. There was a fire in the hearth, too. Looking out the window at the bustle of Minas Tirth, she could see merchants and shoppers running around, shouting and laughing. But it seemed quieter than the previous day to her. There was a stillness in the air, and on the horizon, darkness.

She was starving. Jane sat down and ate the strange fruit in front of her, and poured herself a cup of bitter coffee. She had to rethink her plans. She was in Minas Tirith now, on the eve of the attack on the city.

If she was going to help, she had to be more prepared. Maybe she could even save Denethor, although she didn't really want to. What a miserable old man, she thought. Poor Boromir, imagine growing up with that cantankerous old sod.

No wonder Faramir looked so sad.

She pulled a plain green dress on, wondering if she was putting it on right. Well, she thought, smoothing it. I know it's not on backwards and that's just going to have to do.

Jane went to the door to open it, but it wouldn't move. Was it stiff, she thought, twisting the doorknob tightly. But it still wouldn't budge.

It was locked, she realised. They had locked her in.

Panic filled her chest. She banged on the door, slamming her fists and then her hands on the wood. When that proved useless, she yelled. But to no avail. Then she listened for a while with her ear against the door, but heard nothing.

She had thought that she seemed to be in an empty area of the castle. But it was very big.

The house of the Steward was in decay, she realised. Denethor was going crazy - people were probably giving him a wide berth.

And they had locked her in her room - like a child.
Who comes to Middle Earth and gets stuck in a room, thought Jane, manically. Panic was bubbling up, but there was nothing she could do. She paced around the room for a while, thinking how badly her grand plan had all gone wrong. She had hoped to do some real good, to be able to help her friends, return to Boromir... instead she was here. And here was a locked room.

There was only one thing for it. She would have to climb out the window. Learning out, she was far above the city and guessed that her window was a hundred feet above the ground. She was a little scared of heights, but she wasn't about to wait like a good little girl to be let out of her room. She tightened her shoelaces and mentally prepared herself. It was a long drop. But all she had to do was walk along the ledge and make her way to the balcony to her left. It jutted out of the stonework and was only about ten feet away.

But the drop.

It wasn't worth thinking about, she thought, starting down at the ground as if she were hypnotised. She tied her dress up so she couldn't trip on it and climbed out the window. It was a lot windier than she had thought, as if the very wind was trying to blow away the bad air around Minas Tirith. Clutching with all her might onto the stone, she edged on her tiptoes along the ledge slowly, breathing deeply as she heard her heartbeat pound.

But it wasn't long until she met the balcony, and with a wobble, she climbed over it and sunk to her knees. It seemed silly, but it was almost as scary as being confronted with an Orc.

She swore to herself and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she hoped that the door to the passageway would be unlocked, but instead she saw something very unexpected, which launched at her, knocking her over.

Laughing, she hugged Pippin, who was smiling and laughing in the usual Hobbit manner, and looked up at Gandalf.

"I am glad to see you two again," she said, smiling.

"Now what are you doing here, young Jane," said Gandalf, puffing on his pipe. He was wearing his white robes, which seemed to make him feel more austere. He certainly looked a lot cleaner than when she saw him last. Pippin, on the other hand, less so.

"Gandalf!" chastised Pippin. "It's almost as if you aren't glad to see her!"

From Gandalf's look - a many-layered thing - Jane wasn't sure that he was.

Pippin was full of good cheer. He told her all about meeting Denethor and how he had promised to be a guard and how much he liked Faramir.

He was a little guarded about why he was in Gondor - of course Jane already knew - and it was clear that he missed Merry. Gandalf had given him a task - he had to light the fire and call for aid, and so they needed to head outside to the market. As they walked out, mercifully past the guards who looked at her and moved towards her until Gandalf took her by the arm and steered her out into the crowd. As she looked behind her, she saw the guards talking to each other and then run back through the courtyard. Clearly they were going to tell Denethor she was in league with the wizard. Which clearly she was. And quite happily so.

Pippin chattered away the whole time, clearly not paying attention, mostly talking about different kinds of pies he could smell and how he thought they might compare to pies in the Shire. He was very damning about potato pie and elucidated on the use of mushrooms for quite some time as Gandalf occasionally piped in with a preference for rhubarb pie and Pippin argued with him.

Jane and Gandalf stood in an alley as they watched Pippin climb up the tower. "He's awfully small," said Jane. "But very brave. Why are you annoyed with me?"

"I am not. But I wonder why you came back," he said.

"Well you came back," said Jane, stubbornly.

"Ah yes, but I came back different," he said.

Jane thought about this. "I think I did, too. I came back for my friends."

"You want to do things differently," he said.

"As do you," said Jane, sagely. Gandalf gave her a sharp look.

"There is only one wizard here, Jane, and I'll thank you to leave the wise but vague comments to me. Hurrmph!"

As the beacon was lit, Gandalf, Pippin and Jane watched as the line of beacons followed for a while, and then walked back through the courtyard. They stopped off on the way, of course, to go get some pies.

"Denethor will be very angry," said Gandalf, spraying pie crumbs everywhere. "Best to miss the shouting and the screaming, although I am loathe to leave it to Faramir, the poor boy."

"I can do nothing," declared Pippin, waving a beer around, "unless I am full. And very often when I am full, I do nothing!" He roared with laughter, and Jane smiled, but she could only pick at her food.

"You will need your strength," said Gandalf. "Trust me, my dear. This will all be gone soon," he said, waving at the tavern they were eating in.

"We can help though, can't we?" she said, morosely.

"Indeed," said Gandalf. "That's why we came back, isn't it?"

Jane could discern after yesterday's misadventure had led her captors to rethink their plan. If she was simply going to climb out the open air window and into the rooms of wizards and Hobbits, who cannot be trusted, then she must be supervised at all times. She was been woken up early by a servant who had led her to a different part of the building – one that seemed more inhabited. It even had, to Jane's amusement, vases of cut flowers on tables in the halls instead of nothing. Bare seemed to be Boromir's aesthetic for big halls. But the tables even had table clothes.

Jane was led into a smaller room, which looked over a garden, and was full of flowers, and women. One stood up to greet her.

"My name is Lady Gilith," she said. "And this is my circle of ladies. Here we embroider."

Jane looked at the ladies. There were seven of them, sitting in a circle with embroidery on their laps. They all nodded to her and introduced themselves.

This was her idea of hell.

I would rather be in Mordor, she thought. Please, caster sugar god thing, orcs. Orcs and swords rather than sewing needles!

Lady Gilith was very beautiful. She had thick dark hair that shined and bright blue eyes. She looked about Jane's age, although it was hard to tell, and was very elegant. Her dark red dress looked very expensive – it was much more ornate than Jane's, with pretty gold embroidery adorning the neck and shoulders. She had pretty, delicate gold jewellery on as well – earrings and a necklace. Jane felt plainer than ever in comparison. They were silent for a few minutes as Jane picked up an embroidery hoop. She hoped desperately it wasn't a silent sewing circle and that they were just as perturbed at her entrance as she was.

"Lord Faramir tells me you know his brother," said Lady Gilith, gracefully sewing and smiling at the same time. "I too claim an acquaintance with him."

"Lady Gilith and Lord Boromir danced three times together at the midwinter ball. It was the most he had ever danced with a lady," gushed one lady with red hair.

"Boromir can dance?" said Jane, amazed. Lady Gilith looked at her askance.

"He is a charming dancer," she said. "We danced the waltz together and then took a walk on the Rose balcony."

"How romantic," breathed a young lady whose name Jane hadn't caught. Jane thought she looked about seventeen.

Jane finally got her thread through the eye of the needle.

"Lord Boromir was entirely proper, Lady Bronwen," chastised Lady Gilith. "Exactly as the son of the Steward should be."

He hadn't tried to snog you then, thought Jane. What was she supposed to do know the needle was threaded? She stuck her needle into the cloth and pulled it out the other side.

"The line of Hurin lives long," remarked another lady. "But I think it is best Lord Boromir marries soon. He will be in need of a wife upon his return."

"If I remember rightly, Lord Denethor married just before he turned 50," said a different lady. Jane peered at the woman next to her – on her piece of cloth she had embroidered an intricate purple flower.

Maybe I'll do the white tree, she thought.

"Lord Boromir is now forty two years of age," said Lady Gilith.

"And he looks it," muttered Jane, unpicking thread. Her tree wasn't working out at all.

"Lord Boromir is a fine looking man," said Lady Gilith, sounding scandalised.

That's not what Jane meant. But she was hardly about to say that she loved the lines on his face – especially his laughter lines. Just thinking of Boromir laughing made her sad.

"It is good for a man to look his age," she said, blandly, continuing to sew.

"That is true, Lady Jane," said another lady.

"You are not married, Lady Jane," said the young girl. "How old are you?"

"I am twenty-five," said Jane, who had accidentally stabbed her finger and now was bleeding all over her white tree.

"And you cannot sew," commented Lady Gilith. The women tittered. "It is inauspicious that you have bled over the sign of the house of the Steward."

Jane thought it probably was. She gave up. "Where is Gandalf?" she asked.

Lady Gilith wrinkled her nose, daintily. "The wizard?" she asked. "Indeed no, he is unwelcome in Minas Tirith. There are none who would speak with him."

"Gandalf is my friend," said Faramir. "I would speak to you, Lady Jane." Jane turned and saw Boromir's younger brother standing at the door. She smiled and stood up, following him into the hall. She was surprised that while the seven women all bowed their heads in recognition, none of them stood up and said hello to him - especially after gushing about Boromir. After all, Faramir was just as noble. But then, he wasn't the favourite son.

"I am to ride to Osgiliath later this morning," he said, heavily. He looked worried. "I am uncertain if I will see you again. I have made arrangements for your protection should Minas Tirith be attacked."

"No!" snapped Jane. "No you must not go. The city is in danger."
"It is the wish of my father," said Faramir, morosely. He agreed with her, she realised, but he was bound by loyalty.

"You can't go! Your father is wrong!" she implored. "Let me speak to him." Nodding silently, Faramir led her back to Denethor's hall, their feet making loud sounds on the stone beneath them. Jane thought he might be trying not to cry.

She felt small and her voice was echoey in the large hall. "My lord Denethor, Lord Faramir and his army must stay in the city and guard it from the horrors of Mordor as they are coming soon."

There was a long pause. She wondered if he had fallen asleep - he certainly looked like stone, grey, pallid and unmoving on the throne.

"Who are you to question my orders?" roared Denethor, spitting all over her. "YOU ARE NO ONE!" He winded himself and fell back into his seat.

"Boromir would never forgive me if I let Faramir go to Osgiliath," she said, firmly. "We must prepare for war."

Jane looked up at Faramir's face and was shocked to see tear stains on his cheeks. What had Denethor said to him before? He didn't seem the type of person to be scared to be going to battle - he looked far more stoical than that.

"Put her in the dungeons," snarled Denethor. Jane felt hands clasp around her shoulders and upper arms, and she saw two huge guards behind her.

Where were Gandalf and Pippin, she thought, desperately.

She was thrown into the cell and the door was slammed shut. Jane felt utterly defeated and started to cry.

She had failed Gondor, she had failed herself and worst of all, she had failed Boromir.

ONE IS BACK FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE! I joke, I was still alive. Barely. I wrote most of this chapter back in 2017 but I've spent the last hour tidying it up for your reading pleasure. Send positive feedback please I am very sensitive and needy. Yours, Larry xx