Aravan {A Lord of the Rings Story}

F•I•F•T•E•E•N

A/N: Just a quick note before we begin: I totally stole the song in this chapter from Flyleaf; I did not write it myself. x) The song (and band) is wonderful, and conveniently linked to the right ;) --> Please enjoy!

Also, this one is dedicated to Smilelaughshine for her continued support! Thanks so much for reading so faithfully! <3

F•I•F•T•E•E•N

The ride to Minas Tirith took a total of three days, most of which Pippin slept through. Neither Gandalf nor Artanis spoke a word to each other. He was too rushed, and she was too afraid of getting scolded for speaking about things that didn’t really matter all that much in their current situation. She did wish someone were there to talk to, though. She found herself longing for Éowyn, even though they had only just been separated. So, to pass the time, Artanis watched landscape as it flew by.

She took special notice of how the skies grew continually darker with each passing hour. Blue became smoke, and smoke became charcoal, and charcoal became near black. Gandalf noticed too; she could feel it. And, she supposed, that was why he rode faster every time he happened to glance upward. There was not a moment to lose.

They finally arrived in Minas Tirith at the end of the third day. Artanis felt the tension in her back release as she gazed upon the white city bathed in refreshing sunlight. She knew that if she were to look to her right, she would see the black clouds and reflections of fire from Mordor. But she chose not to look at the nearby evil, and instead, she turned her eyes to the glimmer of hope that was so much closer. She did not want to spend her energy focusing on things that were discouraging. After all, what was the point on dwelling on something that was certain to lose in the end?

Once they had entered through the gates, Gandalf immediately led her to a door that was concealed by shadows. Artanis shuddered a little at the impending darkness.

‘Go inside,’ he said reassuringly. ‘There is a kind man there who will lead you to the records of the histories. Study as much as you can. I will come and collect you when I have sorted everything out with the Steward.’

She nodded and slid down from her horse, which she tied to a nearby column. Pulling her cloak closer around her front, she opened the door and descended down the dimly lit staircase, which winded on for what seemed like an eternity. When she reached the bottom, she was met with the sight of a very withered old man sitting in an age-eaten, wooden chair. He smiled warmly at her.

‘Who has sent you, my dear?’ he asked, his voice frail, but welcoming.

‘The wizard, Gandalf,’ she replied.

His eyes widened. ‘It must be urgent, then.’

‘It is very urgent to me.’

He nodded and stood, his legs shaking. ‘Come then. Let us get you started.’

She followed him down another hallway. This one was more brightly lit, with torches lining the walls and small fires burning in each room that they passed. They finally reached a large, circular room at the end of the hallway. An old table and chair sat in the middle, and all around, the walls were lined with worn and beaten books.

‘What are you looking for?’ he asked. ‘Philosophy? Folktales? Histories?’

‘Histories,’ she answered.

He gave a low whistle. ‘That is a very large selection. But there is no hope to be lost. We shall get started this very moment.’

He walked over to a shelf and stacked a pile of books in his arms, which he set down on the old table. Artanis took a seat, pulled the book from the top, and opened it to the first page.