DEFINING MOMENT

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

TA 2990

Minas Tirith

It had been a year since Denethor last looked into the Anor-stone. He still shook as he remembered what he saw. Terrible destruction, so awful he had to force himself not to cringe. Sauron's main objective was to overthrow Gondor.

He didn't know when it would happen, but it would eventually come to pass. But he couldn't let Sauron destroy the White City. Unfortunately, Gondor was the closest region to Mordor. Sauron had his eye on them.

Denethor almost hated himself as his feet took him towards the Tower once more. Every passing day he grew more worried. The One he had forbidden his people to name was becoming stronger every day, and Middle Earth continued to sleep under a false sense of security.

The Dark Lord was a powerful threat.

Once again, Denethor commanded all to leave his presence. Once again, he entered the secret room and positioned himself South of the palantir. And once again, he saw the horror of it all. He saw armies of Easterlings, and Men of Harad and the East. He saw foul beasts, Orcs, and trolls multiplying in Sauron's tunnels and lairs.

Denethor couldn't tear his eyes away from the palantir. How could Gondor, the greatest threat against Mordor, stand against it? Yes, Gondor was free. But after seeing the multitudes of Sauron's minions, he wasn't sure he could keep Gondor free.

Sauron was too powerful.

Finally, Denethor turned his eyes away from the palantir left the chamber. He would call his council together. They would start preparing for the coming war. And the right, nay, the burden, fell on him to look to Mordor. Always look to Mordor. And always be anticipating the Enemy.

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"There is talk of a growing Shadow," Denethor's voice rang out clearly in the Citadel.

Boromir noticed the shadows beneath his father's eyes. He'd been much more astute as of late, and Boromir wondered what had caused the change in his father.

"It is led by the spirit Sauron, whom we will not name, and who was defeated in the War of the Last Alliance."

It was the first time his father had uttered that name before Boromir, and he felt his ears tingling.

The Citadel erupted in a roar of protests and wonderings.

"How can that be possible?"

"Where is he?"

"Is he the Shadow?"

Denethor appeared far too tense, almost as if he'd snap if someone came close enough. "We all know that this growing evil has wreaked havoc on our lands, as well as ended the line of Kings in Gondor. Kingdoms around us have crumbled. Think of Dale! Think of the Kingdom Under the Mountain!"

"They've been rebuilt, thanks to Mithrandir!" Lord Harnon called out.

Boromir perked up. Mithrandir. However, his father's face visibly darkened.

"Do not mention him to me," Denethor growled. "He seeks to tear down the fragile balance of Gondor. He is a conniving, deceptive man who would set up a man without father as king." Denethor's face paled, as if he had said too much, and he set his mouth in a thin, grim line.

There was momentarily silence. No one knew how to respond to this. There had been no king in Gondor for an Age now. And no one truly cared if there was a king. Denethor, a man with a face like the kings of old, had gained the respect as one of the greatest Stewards Gondor had ever had. And no one knew how to change their way of life that they'd lived for so long now.