Chapter soundtrack: 'How Far We've Come' by Matchbox 20.

♪ = cue the music

† Chp. XXXIV †

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After two days of racing across rocky plains, through dark woods, over rolling hills, and across shallow streams, our destination comes into view.

The immensely detailed stone structure of Minas Tirith towers high above the plains of Gondor, the striking kingdom radiating great wealth and power. It is quite evident as to why this place has earnt the title 'City of Kings'.

With a curved barrier, yet astonishing height, the city of man resembles that of the looming mountains which rise behind the gleaming structure. It's pale walls carved from rich stone radiate sunlight, giving the kingdom a divine, heaven-like appearance. The city glimmers like a spike of pearl and silver. It is rather spectacular.

Okay, enough with the fancy talk. The place does look pretty awesome. Although, I'm hoping that it's appearence reflects the atmosphere.

It may come as a suprise, the fact that I have never visited, or rather 'raided' Minas Tirith. And it is for good reasoning.

The kingdom sits too close to Mordor, and that place is damn scary. I am well aware of the destruction in which evil can unleash upon man.

However, today it looks as though I am facing my fears. For although a gleaming 'City of Kings' blesses my vision, a short distance away brews the threshold of evil, darkness gnawing and writhing within it's black gates, awaiting it's chance to release wrath and terror across Middle Earth.

Well, didn't that dull the mood.

Our steeds race through the entrance of Minas Tirith, and guards chase in pursuit, however we are quick to leave them in our dust.

That's what they get for leaving their front door open.

The ivory path continues to wind and bend as if we are navigating our way through a large maze, although Gandalf seems to know where he is going, and let's just say I don't doubt the knowledge of the wizard.

"Where are we going?" Pippin questions, basically shouting above the battering of hooves against stone.

"To the top so we can chuck you over." I reply, grinning in amusement.

People jump out of the way as our steeds come barreling past, and I feel a rush of adrenaline rip through my body at the sight of our altitude.

Suddenly, it appears as though we have reached the top, for a courtyard displaying merely a turf of vibrant grass and a strewn tree comes into sight. Gandalf dismounts Shadowfax, and I follow his actions, sliding off Marian and lifting Pippin from the saddle.

"It's the tree! It's the tree I saw!" Pippin remarks, pointing a stubby finger towards the dead flora.

"Yes, the white tree of Gondor. The tree of the King." Gandalf informs, as we make our way towards the hall. "Lord Denethor, however, is not the King. He is a steward only, a caretaker of the throne."

The wizard comes to a sudden hault, as we reach the large wooden doors which mark the entrance.

"Now listen carefully, Lord Denethor is Boromir's father. To give him news of his beloved son's death would be most unwise." Gandalf informs. I feel a slight sting of grief. "And do not mention Frodo or the Ring. And say nothing of Aragorn either. In fact, it's better if you don't speak at all."

The wizard turns his head to meet my curious gaze.

"Neither of you."

"Can't promise anything, grandpa." I retort, raising my brow as we enter the white hall.

The atmosphere is empty. In fact, I feel as though my lungs are constricted due to the air sitting so still. We pace forward, and a man who seems sickly in appearence sits aside the throne, an unidentifiable object clasped between his fingers.

The old that is strong does not wither, however this man looks asthough he has already began to rot.

"Hail Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor." Gandalf announces our presence, and we hault before the throne. There is no reply, the steward does not lift his head.

"I come with tidings in this dark hour, and with counsel." The wizard continues.

My eyes lower to view the piece in which the man grasps, and my stomach drops in sudden realisation.

"Perhaps you come to explain this." Denethor seethes, lifting Boromir's cracked horn. "Perhaps you have come to tell me why my son is dead."

I lower my head, grief once again stirring within my stomach.

"Boromir died to save us, my kinsman and me. He fell defending us from many foes." Pippin states, stepping forward and kneeling before Denethor. I shoot Gandalf a weary gaze.

"I offer you my service, such as it is. In payment of this debt."

My jaw clenches at the words of the hobbit. Pippin is honourable, I'll give him that, however this 'steward' radiates a dark aura. His eyes hold so much anger and resentment, I fear for the effect he will have on the innocent halfling.

"This is my first command to you. How did you escape and my son did not? So mighty a man as he was." Denethor inquisites, a bitter mock lacing his tone.

"The mightiest man may be slain by one arrow, and Boromir was pierced by many." Pippin responds with a soft voice. The pain is visible in Denethor's expression.

"Get up." Gandalf orders, whacking the halfling with his staff. I raise my brows in subtle amusement.

"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." The wizard continues. I cross my arms. "As steward, you are charged with the defence of this city. Where are Gondor's armies? You still have friends. You are not alone in this fight. Send word to Theoden of Rohan, light the beacons."

"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." Denethor seethes, his tone dangerously low. "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."

"You won't have a choice after he kicks your ass right out of that bottom-rung seat of yours." I remark, stepping forward. A look of pure distate falls upon the sickly man.

"Why has this harlot been granted access into my hall?!" Denethor shouts with clear vexation, and I place a hand on my heart in mock offense.

"Don't act as if I'm the first"

This statement seems to piss the man right off, and he calls for his guards. Gandalf shakes his head in my direction, and I simply shrug my shoulders as two firm sets of hands grip onto my biceps. I hiss in pain as one guard grasps my bandaged wound.

"Get her out." Denethor seethes, and I allow the guards to walk me to the door, rather happy to be escaping the tight atmosphere.

Once outside, the two men push me from the entrance, before slamming the wooden doors shut. I sigh and step forward, the view of Mordor suddenly grabbing my attention, as my senses pulse with alarm.

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↚third persøn↛

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"With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor, and with your right you would seek to supplant me." Denethor continues once the outlaw has been removed.

"This ranger, last of a ragged house long bereft of Lordship, will not sit upon the throne of Gondor." He spits. Pippin tenses at his leering, cold demeanour.

Tension arises at the words of the steward, before Gandalf speaks with a force of power behind his words.

"Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the King, steward!"

Denethor shoots up from his seat, pure resentment seeping from his hunched figure.

"The throne of Gondor is mine! And no others!" He shouts, anger heavy in his tone.

Gandalf examines the sickly steward, before turning on his heel and exiting from the hall. Pippin scurries after the wizard.

"All has turned to vain ambition! He would even use his grief as a cloak! A thousand years this city has stood, and now at the whim of a madman it will fall!" Gandalf remarks, as the two step back into the courtyard. "And the white tree, the tree of the King, will never bloom again."

"Why are they still guarding it?" Pippin questions, referring to the dead flora which centres the court and the guards who stand around it.

"They guard it because they have hope, a faint and fading hope that one day it will flower, that a king will come and this city will be as it once was before it fell into decay." Gandalf explains. They spot Robin observing the landscape from the end of the parapet, and slowly amble their way over.

"The old wisdom born 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. Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry or in high, cold towers, asking questions of the stars."

The wizard continues to explain Gondor's past, gently running his hand across the stone barrier of the parapet.

"And so the people of Gondor fell into ruin. The line of Kings failed. The white tree withered. The rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men." Gandalf finishes, and the two find they now stand beside Robin. The outlaw observes the darkened skies which cloak Mordor, her eyes glazed over as her heart beats with a rapid pace.

"It was nice to see you both obeyed my orders of remaining silent." The wizard remarks with heavy sarcasm.

"You didn't mention the steward is an asshole." Robin retorts with a snort, however the atmosphere sits too heavy for any form of amusement.

"Mordor." Pippin utters, his gaze drawn towards the black mountains and blood-tinged clouds.

The sight alone is enough to wreak havoc within the strongest of men.

"Yes, there it lies. This city has dwelt ever in the sight of its shadow." Gandalf informs.

"A storm is coming." Pippin wearily exclaims. Daunting cracks of thunder echo throughout the vast plains, as heavy clouds creep against the clear sky of Gondor, corrupting the atmosphere with the threat of leering death and destruction.

"This is not the weather of the world, this is a device of Sauron's making. A broil of fume he sends ahead of his host." Gandalf states, causing Robin to
tense her jaw. "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."

Robin's mind drifts past the wizard's words, and across the land in which the fellowship has travelled.

They have come so far, experienced heavy losses, achieved great victories, and here is where it all comes to an end. Beyond those dark mountains is where the last battle must commence, and quite frankly, she is terrified.

Although with the knowledge of evil informed since their departure from Rivendell, witnessing the brewing pit of Mordor, and experiencing the intimidation first hand makes the reality of possible death all the more frightening.

But she has already come this far, dedicated herself to the fellowship, and upheld her values whilst protecting those around her. She sure as hell won't stop now. Yes, there is a chance that Middle Earth might burn to it's roots from the wrath of Sauron, but what fun would it be if they gave the conquest to evil upon a silver platter?

Humanity, or any race for that matter, will not go down without a proper fight.

Suddenly, Robin feels a light weight upon her hand. She looks down to see Pippin, his fingers interlocked with her own.

"Robin, I'm scared." The halfing speaks in a strained voice. The outlaw's brows knit together in concern, as the hobbit's eyes sit wide with worry and doubt, his figure seeming smaller and more frail than usual. He displays such child-like innocence, and it tears her soft heart.

The same fear resides within the outlaw, although she'd never admit it. To display confidence is to encourage strength, a value which her father had taught the girl many years ago.

"Don't worry, little lad." Robin assures her short friend, as she firmly grips his stubby hand. "Sauron won't be coming anywhere near you. If he does, I'll cut off his balls and toss them into Mount Doom."

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Hey guys, ya girl's officially off on a holiday! I'm flying from Aus to spend Chrissy in New York and New Years in Vegas!!

Don't worry, I have the next four updates of Hood all ready to be updated on schedule.

If you wanna watch my holiday shenanigans, follow me on Instagram - savannah_clements (;

Peace out and the Merriest Christmases to all my merry men/ women <3