Doubtlessly awe-inspiring, was the sight of Minas Tirith. I could see it shimmering, even from the hill in the distance on which we stood. It was a grand picture, but not quite as grand as I had quite hoped. I remembered the line from my Lord of the Rings book that likened the Tower of Ecthelion to a �glimmering spike of pearl and silver�, yet as I looked out, that wasn�t exactly what I saw.
Curious, I pondered this for several moments in my head, but then I realized that the tower was named after Ecthelion, the Steward who rebuilt it. The Last King of Gondor had just been lost and there weren�t any ruling stewards yet. That explained why it was just the regular tower I saw, bearing the standards of Gondor and of the White City. I was pulled out of my reverie when Aratan shifted into his �I�m proud of this� stance and spoke.
�Minas Tirith, the heart of Gondor and our home!� he said. I smiled to myself because Aratan was not the first man to feel so passionately for his home, nor would he be the last. The horses were urged onward as we crossed the Pelennor to the Great Gate of Minas Tirith. Horns sounded and the gate began to open before us. I assumed that the guards on the walls of the First Circle of the city had recognized the King�s little entourage, and thus identification was not needed.
We rode throughout the city without stopping. It was a peculiar experience, not only because the people were expecting to see their king and he wasn�t there, but because there was a strangely garbed blonde person riding on the back of the front guard�s horse. I could feel my face start to turn bright red, like it always does when I�m nervous or embarrassed. I forced myself to ignore the gazes of these bewildered Gondorian people and center on the architecture of the city. Even up close it was still a sight to behold, white stone walls and shimmering banners blowing in the wind along the streets.
Minas Tirith, which was a seven-tiered city, took us little time to get through. Separating each circle of the city was a gate. We were not stopped, asked for passwords, or otherwise hindered, for the guards recognized the livery in which members of our company were garbed, and knew better than to obstruct the king�s escort.
Eventually we made it to what I assumed to be the Citadel, due to the fact that we had just passed through the seventh gate, not like it appeared that we could really go any higher. The horses stopped suddenly and five small boys (I assumed them to be pages or stable boys) ran over and grabbed hold of the horses� reigns whilst we dismounted. Aratan was off our horse in one swift movement and was helping me get down when a robed figure appeared from the other end of the stone courtyard. It was then that Aratan bent his head down and whispered in my ear.
�That is the steward, Mardil Voronw�. He has served under King E�rnur and his father before him. It is to this man that we bear our ill news. I advise you say naught unless you are required to do otherwise.�
I nodded and trailed along behind the tall Gondorian as they approached the steward. Mardil, who I had imagined being a grumpy, old, political, lout, was a noble and lordly looking man. He appeared anxious, and considering the circumstances, I could not blame him. He was slightly disheveled, but this was probably caused by frantic pacing and worry over the safe return of the king. Upon seeing us I could tell his heart just stopped, for the king was not with us, nor did we come bearing his body.
�What ill has befallen E�rnur, King of Gondor?� he asked, already partially knowing the answer.
�My lord,� answered Aratan, �the king was betrayed by the Nazg�l. It is our belief that he was carried of into Minas Morgul, never to return.�
The steward just started at Aratan, as if absorbing all of this information in. Then, suddenly, he looked up at the sky and let out a despairing wail. A rather painful thing to listen to, I must say, not only because it was loud and it hurt the ears, but because I knew the agony he was going through mentally and emotionally; it was heart wrenchingly painful. Just as suddenly as this outburst had begun, it was over, and Mardil Voronw� was prepared for details of his lord�s ruin.
�Did you see this happen? Did any of you bear witness to his account?� he asked.
�No, my lord, we had been ordered to stay alongside the road and anticipate the king�s return,� said Aratan.
�Then how do you know of this treachery of the Nazg�l? Perhaps he is yet living under the shadow of that dark tower; mayhap he waits in eternal slumber for his body to be collected and returned to the city!� he exclaimed, clearly becoming distressed over the entire situation.
There was silence. I knew Aratan did not wish to bring me into this. Truth be told, what knowledge I had, and had shared with all of them, didn�t really provide any viable proof that E�rnur was truly dead. In my heart I knew he was dead. The Witch King would have tortured him in ways unknown to human kind and then would have killed him. Even if he still was alive in Minas Morgul, we couldn�t get him back, and if we could, I doubt that he would ever be properly qualified to rule again.
I figured it best to be honest now then have them find out somehow that we had all lied. Besides, the guy was bound to wonder what was up with the strangely clad blonde girl hiding behind the head of the king�s escort. I would definitely have to explain myself somewhere along the line, and who knows, maybe this guy would be able to find me a way to go home. I weighed out the risks in my mind and what it all boiled down to is that either way I might end up dead, but if I came clean I�d be able to know I died being honest. I stepped out from behind Aratan.
�I am their sole proof to these claims.�
Then I clasped my hands anxiously and resigned myself to my fate.
