The past is already written.
The ink is dry.
But the future remains unset and the Valar have begun to sing a song anew.
Gondor is a kingless state falling into ruin against the Shadow of Mordor. Doomed to fail and forsaken by Men and...
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THE Elder Council had gathered once more -this time with grave news from Lossarnach and Pelargir. Raiding parties of Orcs and Haradrim had been spotted more frequently in the south. Several farms had been plundered and fields desecrated. Yet despite the council's urgings, Denethor remained unmoved, wearing a staunch expression of detachment.
Two of the members urged for retaliation or permanent stations of armed soldiers within the rural villages, the others made notions of opening the White City to whoever wished to seek refuge from the danger. When the Steward said nothing once more, Aeardis finally broke and stood. "Orcs are raiding the villages of Gondor! People are dying!" The eldest of the council's members flinched at the sudden outpouring of emotion from the young advisor and her sharp tone. "My father is dead because you have neglected the southern borders of the realm!"
None had taken notice, but Boromir had entered the Great Hall. He had only come to speak with his father, yet it put a sour taste in his mouth to see the harsh look that Denethor was giving Aeardis. It looked as if he were only seconds away from calling for her execution when the Steward-Prince came forward. That seemed enough to dismiss the elders and Aeardis.
Mallyn and Braganil were waiting in the courtyard with their own mounts when Aeardis exited the Great Hall with a red face that stemmed from both anger and sadness. The guards, however, greeted her with the utmost respect for her position and offered words of consolation. Her silver mare had been saddled and brought to the Fountain Court. She was leading a riding party to meet those that were traveling from Rohan and escort them to the city, now she was grateful for the freedom such a task would provide.
The open land in front of the white city was filled with lush grasses and wildflowers, to the eat sat neat rows of wheat, maize, barley, and an assortment of other goods that often found their way onto her dinner plate. Sentries posted on the ramparts of the Rammas Echor opened the gate along the northern wall to allow them passage into Anárion.
A group of five riders could be seen emerging on the open plains in the distance. Above them was a flag boring the sigil of Rohan in green and gold. Mallyn raised a white flag embroidered with the White Tree. The two parties converged on a hill to the north of Minas Tirith past the great wall, on which one could overlook the mountain fortress and the grasslands of Pelennor and even to the darkness of Mordor.
"Hail Prince Théodred, Éomer," Aeardis greeted as the Riddermark riders pulled the reins of their horses to a stop. Théodred and his cousin were much alike in looks and manner, though the Prince was elder and broader and unlike his cousin, wore a large grin as he looked upon her fair face for the first time since they had grown into adulthood.
"Lady Aeardis," Théodred addressed, a somber look now falling over him and his group of riders. "The news of your loss traveled to us and we have nothing to offer but our condolences." Aeardis lowered her head and felt a bitter smile growing on her lips. She missed her father, her friend, and mentor, but she knew he would not have her dwell on his passing. "Théoden King always spoke highly of him," Éomer supplemented.
