Brothers In Arms: A Middle Earth Story

Prologue: The Storm Clouds of War

I hastened up the smooth marble stairs, the White Tree on my burnished steel armor gleaming in the morning light. A chill wind caught my royal blue cloak, causing it to billow out behind me. As I felt the cold breeze on my skin I couldn't help but feel the foreboding that came with it... a sort of dread, slowly creeping upon the ancient walls and into the empty streets of Minas Tirith like a fog, one that whispered doom with each passing moment.

Two other guards stood stiffly to attention at my passing, and I gave them a quick salute as I strode ahead. I was still unused to my fellow Tower Guards showing me such reverence. It had only been days ago that I was among their ranks, and the distinctive sword of a Captain still felt unusual and unwieldy at my side.

"Captain Turin," one of the Citadel Guards, a muscle-bound man named Beregond, began with a salute as he fell into step beside me.

"Beregond," I replied with a grim smile. "What news from the outposts?"

"Cair Sirion seems to be the focus of Mordor's armies at the moment, sir," he said. "If we can hold them there, it might buy us enough time to gather all of the fiefs here before they reach us."

"Cair Sirion is a defensible position," I said, picturing the riverside city in my mind. Its white stone walls hugged the Anduin, making a siege by land all but impossible. "The bridge there is the only way to cross over into our land, unless they make the march south to Osgiliath."

Beregond's eyebrows knit together in consternation. "The Steward wishes to speak to you personally about that."

A distant rumble caused me to turn and look to the east. Dark clouds were moving slowly west from Mordor, occasional bolts of white lightning crackling from cloud to cloud. It wasn't unusual for the sky in the east to be shrouded in darkness... But this storm seemed different. Unnatural.

"I suppose he would. I need to speak with him as well. A messenger arrived from there this morning with a missive; I do not know what it says, though," I replied before drawing closer and lowering my voice. "What news of Lord Boromir? We need strong, capable leadership here when Mordor decides to attack. Not... What we have now," I finished, mostly trying to refrain from speaking in more offensive terms.

Beregond's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid Lord Denethor is all we have, sir. Besides, he can see many things that perhaps we could not."

I bit my lip, once more attempting not to say what was truly on my mind. "Perhaps. But he is hardly in the position to be leading the armies of Gondor, especially with the darkness that clouds his mind."

Beregond looked away, but I caught an expression of shame that momentarily washed over his features. "He has indeed become distant of late."

As we approached the gate that led into the Citadel itself I turned off onto a side path, one that was rarely used. After looking both ways I spoke once more, my tone furtive yet urgent.

"Have you noticed anything strange about Lord Denethor?" I asked plainly. In my years of servitude to him, I had seen him slowly fall into a state of despair, but it had increased almost exponentially in recent days. Those of us who were in his confidence knew that he often spent long hours in the White Tower, locked away to "study" the history of days past. But many of us had begun to question his true intent when he began to appear haggard and exhausted after leaving the tower. A few of the more radical Guardsmen had spoken in hushed tones of forcibly removing him from his station, citing his mental state as a cause of national concern. But I had known him for most of my life. I would not betray him unless I was given no other choice.

"Sometimes, those of us guarding the Tower at night can hear him screaming," Beregond whispered, looking furtively up and down the alley. "The men have started wondering if perhaps he has turned to dark sorcery in his despair."