Capítulo 64: Shadows of the White City
Morning sunlight streamed through the high windows of the great hall, casting long shadows across the polished stone floor. The air inside felt heavy.
I stayed behind one of the great marble pillars, leaning against it just enough to stay out of sight but not so far that I couldn't hear the argument unfolding. My Wargs were elsewhere, resting, leaving me to observe without distraction.
Denethor's voice was sharp, slicing through the air like the edge of a blade. "You lost the outpost, Faramir. Ithilien was ours to hold, and now it lies with Orcs swarming over it like maggots on a corpse. How could you allow this?"
Faramir's voice, calm and measured, carried a hint of weariness. "We fought as long as we could, Father. Our numbers were too few, and their forces too great. Had we stayed, it would have been a slaughter."
"A slaughter?" Denethor scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. "And yet here you stand. You chose to abandon Gondor's lands and return empty-handed, leaving the enemy to grow stronger."
I clenched my fists at the biting accusation, my nails digging into my palms. Faramir stood tall, his voice unwavering as he replied, "I made the choice to save what men I could. To fight another day, when we might stand a chance of victory."
Denethor rose from his seat, his imposing figure towering over his son. "You speak of saving men, yet you have damned this city to further attacks. Every piece of land we lose brings the enemy closer to our walls. You should have fought to the last breath!"
For a moment, silence fell between them. I could feel Faramir's restraint, the way he bit back the words he likely wanted to say. He was a soldier and a son, which seemed like an even worse combination.
"And what of Boromir?" Denethor's voice turned cold, his attention shifting. "He too has failed me. He was sent to Rivendell to bring me the weapon we need, and yet he returns with nothing."
Even behind the pillar, I winced at the harshness in his tone. Boromir had risked everything for this city, for his family, and to hear his father dismiss him so casually.....
"Father," Faramir began carefully, "the One Ring is not a weapon to be wielded lightly. You know this. Boromir saw the danger—"
"Danger?" Denethor interrupted, his voice rising. "Danger lies in our hesitation, in our fear to grasp what could save us. I trusted Boromir to do what was necessary, but he has failed me. Just as you have. Just as you always do!"
The words struck like a hammer, reverberating through the hall. From where I stood, I could see Faramir's shoulders tense, though his voice remained steady. "The Ring is a curse, Father. Boromir did not fail, he made the right choice, for Gondor and for all of Middle-earth."
Denethor's laugh was bitter, devoid of any warmth. "You defend him, just as you always defend your failures. You and your brother, are both disappointments."
Faramir's voice lowered, carrying an edge of defiance. "We have given everything for this city. Everything. But if that is not enough for you, then perhaps it is not us who have failed."
Denethor's voice dropped, low and venomous. "If Boromir had been in Ithilien, he would not have fled. A real captain would've stood his ground. Your brother would've found a way to win."
I rolled my eyes, leaning more heavily against the pillar. Just then, the heavy doors swung open, and Boromir strode in from where I was standing I saw his face, his expression darkening.
"Father, what's going on?" Boromir demanded, moving quickly to Faramir's side.
Denethor turned his cold gaze to his eldest. "Your brother thought it wise to abandon our outpost, handing victory to the enemy."
Boromir frowned. "I'm sure Faramir had his reasons."
"Reasons?" Denethor's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Excuses for cowardice, more like."
Faramir's jaw tightened. "We couldn't hold the position. Staying would've meant needless deaths."
"Better to die for Gondor than live as a failure!" Denethor snapped.
I couldn't keep quiet any longer. Stepping out from behind the pillar, I spoke up. "that's a load of crap."
Denethor's eyes widened, turning his full wrath toward me. "And who are you to speak in my hall?"
"Name's Ellehish," I said, meeting his glare without flinching. "I've fought beside your Boromir since Rivendell. And I'm telling you, Faramir made the right call."
His eyes raked over me dismissively. "A woman daring to lecture me on warfare? Know your place."
My temper flared, a cold energy prickling beneath my skin. "My place? I've been knee-deep in orcs and wading through battlefields while you've been sitting here on your throne. Maybe it's you who should know your place."
"Ellehish, stop," Boromir urged, a note of desperation in his voice.
Denethor's face twisted with rage. "Guards!"
The doors burst open as armored men rushed in, hands on their weapons.
I felt my eyes shift, a familiar blue glow tinting my vision. The air around me chilled as frost began to form on my fingertips. "Oh please do fucking try" I warned, my voice low.
The guards hesitated, eyes darting between me and Denethor.
"Father, please," Boromir stepped between us, his hands raised. "This isn't necessary."
Denethor's gaze didn't leave mine. "Remove this insolent girl from my sight!"
Faramir moved to stand beside Boromir. "Father, Ellehish has been a loyal ally to Boromir. Perhaps we should all take a moment to calm down."
Denethor's eyes flicked to Faramir, disdain evident. "I see cowardice runs rampant today."
I clenched my fists, the frost creeping up my arms. "Calling your son a coward because he won't let you make a stupid decision? Real classy."
"Ellehish, enough!" Gandalf's voice rang out as he entered the hall, his staff tapping sharply against the stone floor. His eyes bore into me, a mix of disappointment and urgency. "This isn't the time or place."
I took a shaky breath, the frost receding as I fought to rein in my anger. "He wants to send Faramir on a suicide mission."
Gandalf turned his stern gaze to Denethor. "Is this true?"
Denethor lifted his chin defiantly. "Faramir will retake Osgiliath. He will prove his worth fro once in his life."
"It's madness," Gandalf declared. "You're throwing away your son's life and the lives of your men."
Denethor's eyes flashed. "I will not be lectured by a conjurer of cheap tricks!"
Gandalf's expression hardened. "Denethor, your duty is to protect your people, not sacrifice them for your pride."
"Know your place Gandalf," Denethor growled. "Guards, remove them all!"
The guards stepped forward, but Boromir held up a hand. "Father, please. Listen to reason."
Denethor glared at him. "You have failed me as well, Boromir. Returning without the One Ring. You are no better than your brother."
Boromir flinched as if struck. "The Ring would've corrupted us all. I couldn't bring that upon Gondor."
"Excuses!" Denethor spat. "Weakness!"
I stepped forward again. "Alright, that's enough. We're wasting time here. You're too busy throwing tantrums to see the bigger picture."
Denethor's face turned a dangerous shade of red. "You insolent—"
"Ellehish!" Gandalf snapped. "Outside. Now."
I met Denethor's glare one last time before turning on my heel and marching out of the hall, Gandalf and the others following close behind.
Once we were outside, I rounded on Gandalf. "We can't just let him send Faramir to his death!" I didn't save one brother to see the other kill himself for his stupid fucking father.
Gandalf sighed heavily. "I know, but confronting him like that won't change his mind. Denethor is blinded by pride."
I threw up my hands. "This is ridiculous."
Gandalf looked between us. "Our priority now is to prepare the city for what's coming. We need every capable fighter here."
Boromir nodded. "Agreed. We can't afford to lose more men."
The frost that had crawled up my arms was gone, but my fists were clenched tight, and my jaw ached from grinding my teeth. The gall of Denethor, throwing his sons under the bus while he sat high and mighty on his crumbling throne. A father is meant to protect his children not act like that, My dad would have beaten the shit out of that man, no that thing. Faramir had gone to were I'm not sure, but he better not do anything stupid or so help me gods.
Boromir paced beside me, his hands running through his hair, clearly torn between his father's demands and the reality of the situation. "Faramir's going to get himself killed trying to please him," he muttered.
"Yeah, no shit," I snapped, my voice sharper than intended. "He's got it in his head that taking back that outpost is the only way to prove himself. And your father? He's all too happy to let him try."
Boromir sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. "It's always been like this. No matter what Faramir does, it's never enough for our father."
"And you think it'll ever be enough?" I shot back. "Denethor's blind to everything but his own pride. He doesn't deserve either of you."
Boromir stopped pacing, turning to face me. "Ellehish, he's still our father."
I let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, he's doing a damn good job of acting like it."
Gandalf, who had been quietly observing, stepped forward, his voice calm. "We cannot afford to waste time dwelling on Denethor's failings. There are other matters that require our attention."
"Like what?" I demanded, crossing my arms. "Standing by while he sends Faramir to die?"
Gandalf fixed me with a steady gaze. "We need allies. Gondor cannot stand alone, and Denethor will not act. The beacons must be lit."
I blinked, I had forgotten about this part. "The beacons? You mean the ones that call Rohan for aid?"
"Precisely," Gandalf said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And for that, we will need someone capable of slipping past the guards and reaching the summit."
My gaze flicked to Pippin, who stood nearby, looking between us with wide eyes. "You can't be serious," I said, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm small enough to avoid detection," Pippin said, his voice filled with nervous determination. "And I'm faster than I look."
"Yeah, and you're also reckless as hell," I muttered, though a part of me admired his willingness.
Gandalf placed a reassuring hand on Pippin's shoulder. "He'll manage. And I trust you'll see to it that your armor is repaired, Ellehish. You'll need it in the days ahead."
I gave him a curt nod, my frustration still simmering. "Fine. But you'd better make sure Faramir doesn't do anything stupid while I'm gone."
Boromir stepped forward, his expression grim. "I'll keep an eye on him. And I'll do what I can to reason with our father."
"Good luck with that," I muttered as I turned to leave. "You're going to need it." Maybe I could kill him? No, the others would figure out it was me... Looking in my storage I eyed the black soul gems.... I sighed and made my way down to the city below.
The forge was a small but well-kept space near the lower levels of the city. The blacksmith, a stout man with soot-streaked skin and arms like tree trunks, looked up from his work as I entered, the sound of clanging metal ringing through the air.
"What can I do for you?" he asked, his tone gruff but not unkind.
I placed my battered armor on the counter, the scratches and dents from countless battles glaring in the morning light. "Needs fixing," I said simply.
The blacksmith eyed me, then the armor, his gaze lingering on the faint Elven engravings. "This is fine work," he murmured, running a calloused hand over the surface. "Elven, isn't it?"
"Yeah," I replied, leaning against the counter. "Got it as a gift. Would prefer not to die in it because it couldn't take another hit."
He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. "Fair enough. It'll take some time, but I'll see to it. Should be an easy fix."
I nodded, tossing him a small pouch of golden coins from my home world. Gold was useful no matter who's face was on it. "Thanks." I waited while they did some repairs and then stored it, which surprised the smith greatly.
As I stepped outside, the city buzzed with activity, the people of Gondor going about their daily lives as best they could despite the looming threat of war. I found myself wandering.
I had made my way back up to the palace. My hands resting against the White Tree. I wondered if there would be anything to gain from waking it up and making it bloom early.
Boromir and Faramir stood nearby, their conversation low but tense. Faramir's expression was troubled, his shoulders slumped, while Boromir looked every bit the older brother trying to talk sense into someone too stubborn to listen. As I approached, Boromir caught my eye and gave a small nod.
"You can't seriously be considering this," Boromir argued, his voice edged with frustration.
Faramir shook his head, determination hardening his features. "Father has ordered it. I have no choice."
"That's bullshit, and you know it," I interjected, stepping into their line of sight. Both brothers turned to face me, surprise flickering across their faces. "You always have a choice, Faramir."
He sighed, looking between Boromir and me. "You don't understand. This is my chance to prove myself, to show Father that I am not the disappointment he believes me to be."
I crossed my arms, giving him a pointed look. "By marching straight into an army of orcs with a handful of men? That's not bravery; that's suicide."
Faramir's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and desperation. "And what would you have me do? Sit here while others fight and die? I will not be remembered as a coward."
"Who cares what anyone remembers if you're dead?" I shot back. "Ask the dead if there's any point in honor. you won't get a fucking reply."
"Ellehish," Boromir warned gently, but I held up a hand to stop him.
"No, Boromir. He needs to hear this." I locked eyes with Faramir. "Your father is so wrapped up in his own ego that he can't see what's right in front of him. Don't throw your life away trying to earn the approval of someone who doesn't appreciate you."
Faramir looked away, his jaw clenched. "It's not just about Father. It's about Gondor. Our people need hope."
"And how does dying provide that?" I challenged. "You can do more good here, helping to fortify the city, rallying the men."
He was silent for a moment, the conflict evident in his eyes. "The men are demoralized. They need a leader who is willing to take risks."
Boromir placed a firm hand on his brother's shoulder. "Then lead them here. Stand with us."
Before Faramir could respond, a distant glow caught my eye. Turning toward the mountains, I saw it, a small, flickering flame atop the peak.
"The beacon," I breathed, relief filling me. "Pippin did it."
Boromir followed my gaze, a smile breaking across his face. "Rohan will see it. They'll come."
Faramir stared at the distant fire, a glimmer of hope softening his features. "Perhaps there is a chance after all."
I grinned, clapping him on the back. "See? We don't have to face this alone."
Just then, the heavy doors of the citadel creaked open, and Denethor emerged, flanked by a pair of stern-faced guards. His eyes were fixed on the beacon, fury twisting his features.
"Who has lit the beacon?" he demanded, his voice echoing across the courtyard.
Gandalf appeared at the top of the steps, his expression calm but unyielding. "Gondor calls for aid."
Denethor's gaze snapped to Gandalf, his eyes blazing. "You had no authority to do this!"
"I have the authority of someone who wishes to see this city survive," Gandalf replied evenly.
Denethor's face reddened, his hands clenching into fists. "You overstep your bounds, wizard."
I stepped forward, unable to contain myself. "Right cause its so much better to have your people die for your stupid fucking twisted pride."
Denethor's eyes narrowed dangerously. " I should have had you thrown in the dungeons when I had the chance."
"Yeah, well, missed opportunity," I shot back, meeting his glare without flinching.
Boromir quickly moved between us, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Father, please. The beacons are lit. Rohan will come. This is a good thing."
Denethor scoffed, his expression twisted with disdain. "Rohan? They will not come. They have abandoned us."
"That's insane!" I exclaimed, frustration boiling over. "You can't just—"
"Silence!" Denethor roared, spinning to face me once more. "I will not be questioned by the likes of you she-elf. My decisions are not yours to question. Guards, see to it that she is confined to quarters until further notice."
Two guards advanced toward me, hands on their weapons. I glanced at Boromir and Faramir, both of whom looked torn.
"Don't bother," I snapped, raising my hands in surrender. vanishing In red smoke as I appeared near my wargs that were in the stables.
The stables were dimly lit, the soft snorts and shuffling of horses filling the air. My Wargs stirred as I appeared in a swirl of red smoke, their eyes glinting in the low light. One of them let out a low growl, sensing the tension radiating from me. I crouched to rub its neck, the fur coarse beneath my fingers as I muttered, "We're not staying here. They can kill themselves for Denethor's pride if they want, but I'm done."
The door to the stables creaked open slightly, and I froze. For a moment, I thought it might be one of Denethor's lackeys, but it was only Pippin. His wide eyes scanned the space until he spotted me. "Ellehish, what are you doing?"
I stood, brushing stray hay from my cloak. "Im leaving."
Pippin hesitated. "But the city needs you. Boromir and Faramir—"
"Boromir can handle himself, and Faramir…" I paused, my fists clenching. "I can't sit here and watch them tear themselves apart for a man who doesn't give a damn about anyone but himself. Not like I did in the past." I thought of my friend back on earth the one I had a date with before I died. "I'm going to Mordor."
Pippin's face paled. "Mordor? Are you out of your mind? That's certain death!"
I equipped my armor as it appeared on my body, the Elven steel gleaming even in the dim light. "And staying here isn't?' thoughtfully things were going as the story should have, I didn't know if Rohan would make it, would Aragorn have the sword? would the ghost army even come to help? "They're waiting for the enemy to knock on the gates with no real plan. If I can end this, then I will. I'm not asking for permission." I needed to catch up with Frodo and get that ring destroyed.
He shuffled his feet, clearly conflicted. "Gandalf won't like this."
"Gandalf doesn't get a say," I snapped, a little harsher than intended. I softened my tone, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Stay here, Pippin. Help where you can. Rohan will come, and they'll need you. But me? My path is somewhere else."
Before he could argue further, I climbed onto Mister Snuffles, its massive body shifting beneath me. I leaned down to Pippin, my voice low. "Tell Gandalf to be careful of the witch king."
With a soft nudge to the Warg's side, we slipped out of the stables. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional murmur of voices and the clatter of armor from passing guards.
When we reached the main gate, I dismounted, my boots crunching softly against the stone. Placing a hand against the cool metal of the gate, I closed my eyes and let the Green Lady magic flow through me. Vines and roots sprouted from the cracks in the stone, winding their way around the mechanisms and sealing the gates shut. I breathed heavily, as I looked over my work before I heard guards shouting from the other side.
The Wargs growled softly, impatient to move. I mounted again, my gaze fixed on the horizon. The dark lands of Mordor loomed in the distance.
There was no turning back now.
With a sharp command, the Wargs surged forward, their powerful legs carrying us swiftly away from the city. The wind whipped past me.
As we rode through the wilderness, the landscape grew darker, the air heavier with each mile. The weight of Mordor's presence pressed against my mind, but I kept moving. I'd need to reach the mountain path Golom would take them on. Memory don't fail me now.
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