Denethor's eyes flew open. His heart was screaming in his chest. He groaned. How could this have happened? He had missed the meeting. His father would be livid. Why had no one woken him? He lay, huddled in his bed, trying to think what he could say, what excuse he could give, but he knew there was none. Slowly, he moved the covers and swung his legs off the bed. The cold of the marble floor made him grimace and tightened his toes into a fierce cramp. He opened the drapes. The sky was dark. It had been a dream.
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.