Minas Tirith.

My breath caught in my throat as my eyes scanned the magnificent city, taking in every detail of the place. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. It was weird. Across from Minas Tirith, I could just make out the river and the city of Osgilith, in shambles after the many battles that had been fought. And beyond that, the mountains where the lair of the Witch King was hidden – Minas Morgul.

"Many men have died here, and many more are set to die here if we fail," Gandalf said quietly, his eyes cast to the river and the ruined city beside it.

"Many men have died everywhere. That's the nature of things. A single person's life is insignificant in the scheme of things. If you serve a bigger purpose, then sacrifices have to be made. Lives are lost." I replied, unthinkingly. I glanced at the wizard and felt a twinge of guilt when his intense eyes grew just a hint colder and something flashed through them so quickly I hadn't the time to identify it.

"No land that I have seen can make the clothes you wear, or the weapons you carry – indeed, I have not heard of such a place either. But I know in my heart of hearts you serve a great purpose here … be it terrible or good. But 'tis truly a pity that you clutch your anger so close to your heart that it has made your soul so hard," he said gravely.

Pippin looked supremely uncomfortable.

Shadowfax galloped into the distance quite suddenly without warning. Eosye followed suit and I was nearly flung off the goddamn horse when his powerful flanks suddenly tensed and he shot forward like a bullet.

I was unsettled by Gandalf's words – 'You serve a greater purpose here, be it terrible or good' – what had he meant by that? Be it terrible? What did he think I was? A fucking traitor!? A coward!? Or did he think I would end up a burn out, one of those weaklings who would curl up into a little ball during battle and bawl for their mummy!?

My blood began to boil and I found myself grinding my teeth and gripping the reigns until my knuckles were white – anger was coursing through me, giving me enough strength to sit up on the horse properly as we galloped towards the gates of the city. That's what anger does. It gives you that extra push you need – in a battle, it's that extra push that can save your life, so I suppose I've learnt to allow my anger to rear it's ugly head whenever it pleased so that was why I was often so easy to set off. Oh, and teenage hormones? They don't help.

Going through the gates of Gondor was … a blow. I had always imagined it to be sparkling white – it is the White City after all – but as usual, the reality of the city hits hard. The walls are white, yes, but that makes it easier to see the grime on the streets and the filth visible on the houses. It wasn't a painting – it was a functional city with dirt and pain just like every other city fighting a war. There were beggars and vagrants, widows and orphans, pain and loss. Evidence that Gondor had been at war for far too long. There was a familiar weariness about the place – like hope had been dashed and battered too many times.

Gondor wasn't anything like we had all imagined.

"Gandalf …" I began.

"Stay here," he interrupted, raising his staff. I didn't argue. Shadowfax galloped up the steep incline with he and Pippin, and I was left alone. I bit the inside of my cheek, the anger returning full force. So, the old coot didn't want me to join them in meeting Denethol, Steward of Gondor? Fine, I won't follow them. But I'll be damned if I'm going to stay right here.

"Hey!" I shouted at an old man, shuffling along the street and begging for coins. I fished in the pocket of my tunic and found a grimy bit of silver. "Where be the nearest ale-house?" I asked. He blinked at me sluggishly, scratching his balding head.

"That'd be The White Torrence, young sir. Down that 'a way," he said, pointing left, his beady eyes transfixed as I held the silver in my hand.

"Thank you." I flicked the coin at him and kicked into Eosye's sides without looking back. Soon enough I found myself outside a scabby little hole in the wall, with the words 'White Torrence' scrawled across the once-grand doorway. The sounds of laughter and boyish singing emitted from the narrow entrance. It looked encouragingly seedy.

I dismounted from Eosye (which in itself was quite a feat) and tied him to the post with the other horses. My legs buckled under me and I glared at the horse contemptuously.

"Bloody horse," I mumbled, gingerly stretching my muscles before striding (more like hobbling) into the pub.

"I think I'm very drunk," I mumbled, blinking at my fourth mug of frothing ale. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

"I think you're extremely drunk, my friend," laughed my new drinking buddy… Uilliam, was it?

"So we both think I'm drunk. Interesting," I said, gulping down the ale.

"And yet, we are still no closer to discovering from where you hail," my other drinking buddy intoned, raising an eyebrow expectantly. What was his name? Athol?

I snorted as another mug came sliding towards us, and waggled my finger accusingly at him, "you, m'dear, are too curious for your own good," I said, picking up his mug and claiming it as my own. I took a swig.

Mm. Honey mead.

Uilliam and Athol laughed good-naturedly and Uilliam shook his head, "And you, m'dear, are too secretive. These are dangerous times - friends are few. You should not draw so much suspicion … a young man, alone, donned in the attire of a Rohan warrior, but your accent is clearly from afar. Your discomfort shows you are not used to riding a horse. But," He paused, taking a drink, and looking at me more closely, "you have honest eyes."

"Your eyes aren't too bad yourself," I said, a grin threatening to spread.

He looked at me strangely, and I realized too slowly (the alcohol!) that what I had said could be misconstrued. I had to be more careful. Trying to clear my head, I coughed, saying, "in a – warrior, manly, kind of way."

Mistake.

"Aye! We warriors should stand together!" Athol shouted, lifting his mug into the air.

"AYE!" the pub roared after him, clicking mugs, slapping backs and … worrying me slightly, to be honest.

My back was pummelled by various large hands. It felt distinctly uncomfortable. And it also caused me to choke far more than would be considered healthy.

"Poor lad can't handle his ale!" Someone laughed, causing guffaws and snorts around the small room.

I pulled myself to my feet, swaying dangerously, "Who said that?" I slurred, with a good many hiccoughs, throwing my clenched fist up. A man from the other end of the pub – larger than I had anticipated – stood.

"That would be me," he bellowed, to jeers and catcalls from around us. Now let me explain. I am not one to back out of a fight. Ever. Which, as you can imagine, had landed me in one too many sticky situations. However, when faced with a man, whose fist was roughly the size of my head, and whose beard was thoroughly drenched with more ale than I had ever drunk, I began to have second thoughts. And thirds, and fourths…

"Right then," I nodded, "good on yer." And sat back down.

Which, to be honest, is one of the best decisions I have ever made. I did not survive Word War Three, fall off a cliff, survive Helm's Deep, get shot by a poisoned arrow, come back from the dead AND escape Saruman alive, to be killed by a overly zealous Gondorian thug.

"That was a wise decision, my friend," Athol said sincerely. Uilliam looked amused. I nodded and poked his chest,

"I'm a wise sort of … person." I said decidedly, laughing suddenly for no real reason at all. "Sir! Another round for my friends and I!" I called to the barman, smacking my lips when I finished another mug. Money was not an obstacle, due to the unfortunate luck of a fellow patron who had earlier bet me loads of silver pieces that I couldn't drink two shots of 'Warrior's Glory' without throwing up. Hah. Two shots later, I was light-headed and rather rich to boot.

Three hours later I stumbled out of The White Torrence, arms slung over Uilliam and Athol's shoulders as they steered me to the edge of the cobbled pavement. Athol called farewell and said that he hoped he would see me again before I moved on. "… I may have won us more drinks if you hadn't have dragged me out while I was on a roll!" I slurred at Uilliam when Athol had left, narrowing my eyes at him accusingly.

"You have proven enough for one night. You may be a Ranger, but that does not mean you are invulnerable." He said, steadying me with a strong hand when I wobbled sat down, resting my head on my knees. When did the world decide to spin so fast? And what was that about Rangers? Hm. Ranger Faith. Sounded like a cheesy tellie show. Cheese. Urg.

I shoved Uillium out of the way and scrambled into a narrow ally beside the pub, emptying the contents of my stomach. When the fountain of puke (and what a lovely mental image that description invokes) had finally run out, I slumped back onto my heels and wiped my mouth. Uillium was laughing far too loudly and if my limbs would just cooperate I may have smacked him one. But, I settled for glaring meekly as he handed me a flask of water, make of some sort of animal skin. Didn't matter to me. I pulled the cork out and drank deeply, splashing my mouth to take away the foul taste.

"Here, an infusion of Greydew leaf and Fleora. Eat, it shall waken you." he said, fishing in his pocket and producing a few dubious leaves. I took them and sniffed them warily, recognising the smell of mint. Ah hell, good enough.

I shoved them into my mouth before my brain could protest. Woah. My senses were suddenly filled with mint and something else – sharp and bitter. Within two minutes I felt the worst of the dizziness ebb away and I stood.

"You are very kind. Thank you," I said sincerely. Enough time had been wasted now, I had to get going. Uilliam grinned, and suddenly I realised he must not have been more than, what, nineteen? Huh.

"You paid for my ale. It was the least I could do. Farewell, may your path lead you to happiness," He said, placing a heavy hand on my right shoulder. I smiled and placed one hand on his left, squeezing.

"Farewell, may the stars smile on you," I said. Uilliam smiled again and walked away, disappearing amongst the houses. I sighed and looked at Eosye, who was munching on a hay bale set in front of the pole, occasionally stopping to drink the water from the trough.

"I think we'll walk," I said decidedly, untying him. I walked up the road, towards the spot where Gandalf had told me to wait. Well. Tried. Eosye was refusing to budge. Stupid horse. I wasn't in the bloody mood to deal with this. "Come on you irritating bloody animal, we have to go and …"

'The Book is beneath the place where the heathen kings once watched the flames of mortality lick their fellow man away. The flames have the power to save the future, use them well.'

I blinked.

Where did that come from?

I ran the words through my head again, wholly confused. Where did that voice come from? And more importantly, what did it mean? "Why does everyone feel the need to talk in riddles!?" I shouted into the air, growling. It was like playing an incredibly important game of Clue.

I tugged hard at Eosye's reigns, muttering obscenities under my breath. He still wouldn't budge. "Hey, ever heard of a glue factory?" I asked him, looking up into his huge brown eyes. He looked unimpressed. "Look," I said, pulling his head down to my level, "I don't like you and you don't like me. But I have to save the world and all that, and you're supposed to be my loyal steed, as my other loyal steed was too knackered to come here to Gondor. So. If you cooperate now, I promise I'll let you rest the whole night, undisturbed. Hell, I'm probably going to die in the next few days anyway. Okay?" I pleaded, hoping vainly that the horse would get it.

Eosye still wouldn't budge.

Oh yes, Gamling would most certainly pay ... and there would be tongs involved - possibly hot irons too.

TO BE CONTINUED