Sun was setting behind the great Mindoluin and the last rays of fading light fell upon the pinnacle of the White Tower, the brightest spear of a kingdom reborn on its way to reclaim the old glory. Two riders closely followed the river, winding its way down into the southern lands. They kept away from the wall of the City, whose shadow now covered much of the Pelennor Fields and moved ever towards the East and the dreaded mountains of the past. And while the foremost rider pressed onward hard, urging the horse to greater speed with quiet words in a strange, harsh - sounding language, the other kept looking toward the City, as if eager to change course and ride to Minas Tirith. At length, just when their path led them directly opposite to the great gate, and the leader showed no signs of halting, he decided to speak out.
“My lady, we are almost past the Gate. Are we not to enter the City and seek help?” Beregond’s voice was muffled by the rising wind, and as he got no answer in return, he ventured another try. “My lady, the gate…”
“Our help must be in our secrecy and speed. No one must know, Beregond. Although, I dare say they shall find out soon enough,” she sighed, and slowing the horse, allowed Beregond to catch up and ride at her side. “The King would try to prevent this attempt, seeing as all others have failed as well,” her voice faltered, and Beregond again turned to look to the City, wishing there was a way of both informing the King and not betraying her Lady’s trust. He knew her words echoed the truth, yet he feared Lady Éowyn’s heart had conquered her mind. Two people could never hope to cross the lands to Haradrim territory undetected and attempt the rescue of a man of whose whereabouts they knew nothing about. It was preposterous to believe it would ever succeed!
When finally he managed to draw his eyes away from the place he hoped to get the help from, he saw Lady’s face and almost fell of his horse in an uncharacteristic display of surprise. Her hood was thrown back, and although her hair was tightly bound, still enough sunlight lingered to light up fair strands into melting gold. But it was not her beauty that left Beregond staggered. The young woman was smiling. She had not smiled for many a day, ever since she heard of Faramir’s disappearance. Her eyes were lighted with an inner fire, and he had heard enough tales and songs of her deeds to know that fell mood was upon her once again. He shuddered, thinking that if his feelings had not led him astray, he was now riding with one who would either find Faramir or find death, but would not give up until one of those two had come to pass.
“We will rest in Emyl Arnen, and with the first light tomorrow we must leave. The King will have found out about this before noon, and we must ride hard if we are to lose Gondorians we shall have on our heels as soon as Aragorn can muster them,” she chuckled, and Beregond, clasping hard upon the reins wondered at the events of this evening, and mused at the punishment he would get if the King’s riders proved the faster.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.