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."

I frowned. It wasn't impossible, but he would have had to search long and hard for such magic, as it was not easy to acquire in any part of Gondor. "Let us not assume the worst just yet. I shall speak with him and deign for myself whether his mind has fully been given over to the darkness."

"And if it has?" Beregond questioned.

I gave him a dark look. "Then we shall do what we must."

========================

The Citadel itself was beautiful, its carved stone walls as white as snow. Statues of kings long dead lined either side of the main court, great men whose names I could recite by heart. King Elendil, King Isildur, King Anárion, and many more stared down at me with cold regard, seemingly watching my every step with dead eyes of marble.

My steel-shod boots echoed hollowly with each step, heralding my arrival to Denethor himself. A noble man, Denethor still kept up an almost kingly demeanor despite the slow decay of his sanity. He gave me a slight smile as he waved me forward.

"What does the most recent captain of the Tower Guard want of me?" He asked, his tone friendly and welcoming. I bowed reverently before responding, my icy blue eyes meeting his.

"I come with news, my lord," I said, producing a piece of parchment from the pouch at my side. He leaned forward from his seat and took it, slowly unfolding it.

"Hmm..." he grunted, looking over the paper. "Where came you by this?"

"A scout from Cair Sirion rode in just before dawn, m'lord," I replied. I vividly remembered the man, wounded and exhausted, riding through the gates that morning. He had said that the roads were no longer safe, and that Cair Sirion was under threat of an imminent siege, but he did not reveal the true nature of his errand to any of us. He merely gave me the letter and went to the healing wards.

"Indeed," Denethor mused. "Tell me, Turin son of Altir, have you ever been to Cair Sirion?"

I nodded. "Aye, my lord. 'Tis a beautiful place, save the lower city."

"Do you know of the main bridge into the city?" He asked, leaning forward in his chair.

I nodded once more. "Cair Sirion sits upon an important trade route, m'lord. The bridge is massive to accommodate the caravans."

Denethor stood and strode to his table, reaching for a quill and some paper. "I have a mission for you. A chance to prove that your new title was not given in vain."

I watched in silence as he sat down, waiting for him to continue. Strangely enough, he seemed more resolved and clear of mind than usual. Perhaps he had merely been ill before...

"You are to go to Ithilien. Tell my son Faramir that he is to evacuate his men from Henneth Annun and make for Osgiliath. I anticipate an attack there," he said as he began to write. "Take with you this missive. It grants you permission to take five of his men under your command. Your mission then will take you north to Cair Sirion, where you are to destroy its bridge at whatever cost."

I adjusted my helmet in an attempt to hide my surprise. "Wouldn't it be a priority to keep that bridge open, in case reinforcements arrive from Dale or the Dwarven realms?"

Denethor shook his head dismissively, as if the very idea of allies attempting to help us was ridiculous. "The only men that will be attempting to cross that bridge will be unwashed Eastmen, and the dwarves wouldn't help us even if they were able to. No, my young captain... We are alone."

=======================

Beregond met me as I left the tower, Denethor's words still echoing in my mind. We are alone.

"Well?" Beregond asked, removing his helmet as he came to my side. "Were your fears confirmed?"

I shook my head, removing my own helmet and freeing my dark hair from its captivity. "He didn't seem strange at all," I replied, my tone betraying my own confusion. "But he gave me a mission."

"And that was?" Beregond questioned curiously.

"He wants me to destroy the bridge at Cair Sirion," I answered dejectedly, slowing my pace as we came to the edge of the wall. Aside from a small parapet that reached about to my knees, there was nothing to prevent me from plummeting hundreds of feet into the city below... Something that was slightly tempting at the moment.

"That's a fool's errand!" Beregond replied, his tone indignant. "Cair Sirion is most likely already under attack by now, if not already in the hands of the enemy."

I nodded slowly. "How we'll reach the bridge is beyond me... And once we get there, how would we even go about destroying it?"

"Ah," Beregond began, clearing his throat. "That is where I can help. Though the supports are stone, the bridge itself is sturdy wood. Douse it in oil and the whole thing will go up in flames."

"And where would I go about finding oil?" I asked.

Beregond shrugged, the mail of his hauberk clinking as he moved. "It's a trade city. I'm sure you'll figure out something."

I remained silent, my eyes landing upon the forest of Ithilien. Its verdurous boughs were covered in shadow, the distant mountains looming dark over them. The clouds above it appeared to be dousing the forest in rain, the dark streaks of water blanketing the land below. It would not be a pleasant ride to Ithilien.

"You had better hurry if you're to reach Faramir in time," Beregond asserted, resting a hand upon my shoulder. "Take my horse. You'll need haste on this errand."

"Thank you my friend," I replied with a smile. "Hopefully I shall return soon."

"I should say so," Beregond laughed. "Sarina wants to have you over for dinner!"

I embraced him one last time as the rain reached the city, the soft patter of occasional raindrops landing on the pavestones somewhat soothing despite the impending danger I was about to be in. "I wouldn't want to miss it."

Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you like the prologue, keep an eye out for another update at some point today!