Into the West (A Lord of the Rings Fan Fic)

Chapter Twenty Five

“I am leaving for Gondor today Arwen,” Amaruil said as she saw her friend walking through the garden.

“Why must you leave so soon?” she asked curiously. “What is there to hold your interest in places other than Rivendell?”

“I have a strange feeling that the long battle is come to an end,” she replied. “Though I cannot say why it seems to me that I must away and head to the south and the cities of Men.”

“And so you will leave for Minas Tirith, perhaps to reunite with the ones which we love?” Arwen questioned.

“Tancave, I will ride out and celebrate if my feeling is correct.”

“And if it is not?”

“I do not doubt it,” Amaruil said as she smiled at Arwen.

“I do not think that we will set off for Minas Tirith for a while, for there is much for Ada to organise before we leave – he will not admit it openly but once Aragorn is crowned he will sail for the Undying Lands and I think that he is loath to leave Imladris for fear that it marks the beginning of the Dominion of Men. In any case we have received no news from Gondor and can do naught but hope,” she said with a quirk of her lips which resembled a small half smile that didn’t reach her sad eyes.

“But will not you miss Aragorn’s coronation then if I am right?” Amaruil questioned as Arwen frowned.

“I believe so if that is the case but there is little I can do about it; in any case we must make preparations for what is to come, both his and my mother’s mother’s departure from Middle Earth but also events which bring much joy, such as our wedding, should all that we wish for come to pass,” she said, her face falling as she considered being separated from the remainder of her family forever.

“Yes… your wedding,” Amaruil said slowly. “I cannot wait… I will see you in Minas Tirith before too long then?”

“Of course my friend,” she replied, hugging her tightly and trying to draw strength from her before Amaruil nimbly mounted Ninquelote and rode away, her long cloak billowing out behind her as she cantered through the trees.

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Minas Tirith was different from anything Amaruil had seen before, a towering white citadel which glowed in the light of the sun and seemed to be hewn from the very mountains which surrounded it. It loomed over the plains which surrounded it, an impenetrable fortress which, even after the damage that it had suffered during the battle against Saruman, seemed to be majestic and strong as well as beautiful. It gleamed in the afternoon light, its white stones shimmering as Amaruil rode towards it; even from afar she could see Aragorn’s banner fluttering in the breeze and proclaiming him as the King and as she approached the sound of its inhabitants as they busied themselves and hurried through the streets began to reach her ears. At the top of the city the towers of the palace speared the sky, trying to rival the mountains around and standing like a giant which overlooked everything which went on below.

Ninquelote clattered through the gate and onto the cobbled paths of the city, the sound of her hooves ricocheting off the walls as people scrambled to avoid her, some – especially children – pausing in curiosity to watch this beautiful newcomer process through the streets. About halfway through the second street Amaruil realised that she had no idea where she was headed or where the Fellowship were. Spotting what she assumed was one of the city guards she dismounted swiftly and asked him for help. “Do you perchance know where I might find Legolas Greenleaf?”

He shook his head as she tried someone else, “Aragorn, son of Arathorn? The new King?”

“I am very sorry but I cannot help you,” he replied.