The Shadow Walker

99. Denethor's Rebellion

Legolas and I returned to the army camped in the outer rim of Gondor to find our packhorses, so Legolas could get his bow and arrows, and so I could dress in something queenly for the coming standoff with Denethor. We found a private corner where we could change clothes and pretended not to watch each other undressing.

As soon as that was done, I located Dwalin, who was talking to one of the younger Dwarf fighters in intense undertones. At my approach, the young Dwarf turned and hurried away, head lowered.

"What was that about?" I asked, eyebrow raised.

Dwalin shook his head. "Nothing you need to worry about, Your Majesty."

Good. I had enough on my plate. "I need you to come with me. We're about to confront the Steward of Gondor with his responsibility to turn over rulership to Aragorn, and I want every person of importance to be a witness."

He nodded, then he, Legolas and I headed up to the top of the city. With all these stairs I was climbing, I would have admirable butt muscles by the end of all this.

I dearly hoped I lived to enjoy them.

We made it to the top, where already a large gathering had circled the courtyard, and a smaller group clustered near the White Tree. Aragorn, Thranduil, Gandalf, Gimli, Èomer, Èowyn, the rascals, and Kèolyn, of all people.

Thranduil noticed our approach first, and sent Legolas and me an almost-smirk. He merely arched an eyebrow at Dwalin.

Aragorn nodded a greeting as we joined their ranks. "Glad you made it. Boromir is requesting Lord Denethor meet with us here, in the presence of Gondor's soldiers."

Legolas nodded. "Wise."

Aragorn smiled. "I cannot take credit for that. The idea was Èowyn's." He glanced at the battle-clad maiden and gave her an appreciative smile.

Èomer crossed his arms and glanced around, eyes narrowed. "I do not trust these men not to slaughter us upon Denethor's command," he murmured.

Èowyn shook her head. "Like us, these people have a strong code of honor and duty. They understand the purpose of Denethor's stewardship, and they won't support a mad power struggle. Not with the Mordor threatening to consume their very existence."

Thranduil watched with keen eyes. "You would be wise to heed your sister. She is a sharp tactitioner."

Èomer flashed her a mildly irritated glance, but said nothing.

A loud bang echoed across the courtyard, and the hum of murmurs silenced. The massive doors had opened, and out walked Denethor, dressed in a luxurious fur-lined coat, his long silver hair splayed across his broad shoulders. Boromir flanked his right side; Faramir flanked his left.

"Late is the hour and dark is the day you come here seeking to usurp me, Aragorn son of Arathorn," Denethor called, voice traveling with a practiced ease. His eyes rested on me, and he smirked.

I masked a cringe.

"I have come only to claim what is rightfully mine," Aragorn replied, his calm tenor also carrying for their extended audience. "With Gondor united, we can assault Mordor, cripple them before they even launch another attack. We can defeat th—"

Denethor laughed mockingly. "Defeat Mordor? You live in a dream. Their numbers are insurmountable, and their walls are heavily guarded. If Mordor could so easily be defeated, I, the experienced ruler, would surely have defeated it by now." He came to stop about thirty feet away, and his sons halted also.