THE LAST GREY SHIP
A Tale of Many Partings
Work of Erin Rua, not panisonic81
1. Chapter One
Being a view of what may have transpired at the end of King Elessar's days.
Sharp echoes of hoof beats battered the stone walls, as a grey horse hove
near the gates of the White City. Long-legged and powerful, the animal
bore the proud, unmistakable lines of Rohan, for its master still held
friends among those people of the North. Though its limbs reached and
flicked fast at a tempo held for many a mile, its smooth stride showed no
weariness, nor was it troubled by its double burden. Indeed the only
weariness may have rested in the bones of him who rode pillion, yet he
begrudged not the pace. Urgency that had no name gripped both riders,
unspoken save by the horse's master. Even he could say no more than he had
heard a beloved voice as from afar, but the words were unclear. There
remained only the unease that grew upon his mind, and so once more old
comrades took to the long roads of Middle Earth. Nor did any manning the
gates to the lower circle of the city hinder them, for the travelers were
long known here.
A startled Guardsman stood forth to greet their clattering approach, as
they neared the garrison stables. The face above the black and silver
Tower livery was young, far too young to have known the dark days, but he
had grown to manhood steeped in the mighty sagas of Minas Tirith and the
great War. Well over a century had passed since the Ring was consumed in
the fires of Mount Doom, yet among the people some legends still walked.
Now the Guardsman's eyes widened as he recognized the faces of the riders,
and in his shock he looked less soldier and more awe-struck boy.
"Master Legolas!" he exclaimed. "Master Gimli!"
Quick boots scrambled on the pavement, as he seized a mounting block and
set it in the open. Slender hands drew rein there, and the rider bent a
long arm to lend his passenger support to dismount. Wide-eyed still, the
young Guardsman's look wavered between reverence and breathless chagrin.
"I had no word - no one told me - forgive me, m'lords!"
"No word was sent," the rearmost said, as he pulled a leg stiffly over the
horse's round haunches. "We come by our own reckoning. Although I will
say that I am beginning to get too old for such unseemly hurry."
The heavy, grey-streaked ropes of his beard fairly bristled with this
statement, and the Dwarf, for so he was, grunted heavily as both feet found
the sturdy block. Yet a quick hand swatted away the anxious concern of the
