Author’s note:

Inspired by this meme, which I saw almost two years ago. I thought about it, and thought about it, and thought, and I had some ideas, but it was only recently that I had finally figured out what to do and what to write. I hope you'll like it. Link to the picture:

https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/ellynn_ithilwen/24584632/191645/191645_original.jpg

Don’t skip it – it’s so funny!

-x-x-x-

March 15th, 3019

Gandalf closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief. The battle of the Pelennor Fields was over. The victory was theirs. With a huge price, but still, it was theirs. It was something almost unimaginable in the beginning, when they saw how immense Sauron's army was. And not just unimaginable; it was crazy.

Nevertheless, it happened.

He stood in the first circle of Minas Tirith, near the destroyed city gate, and looked around. So many soldiers of Gondor and Rohan had been killed, and there would be many more widows and orphans after this battle. He, on the other hand, was very fortunate – all his dear friends were all right. Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas were unhurt, Peregrin was also fine, and even the foolhardy hobbit who had just been taken towards the Houses of Healing was lucky enough. "Hobbits really are amazing creatures. You can learn all that there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet after a hundred years they can still surprise you at a pinch."* He had uttered that sentence more than once, and now it proved to be true again. Instead of staying in Edoras – in safety – Meriadoc had set out with the army of Rohan. Gandalf shook his head. So silly and reckless of him, indeed!

Meriadoc had no physical injuries, but that didn't mean that he had gone without consequences. Just a superficial glance was enough for Gandalf to notice dark shadows enveloping the hobbit. Not that he was surprised, though, considering the fact that Meriadoc had been in direct contact with the Nazgul; nay, it would be strange if it was the opposite. Many soldiers were under the influence of the Black Breath too, because the battle had lasted for hours, and the Nazgul had been attacking during all that time all over the battlefield. But it was over now, and he hoped that the skill of Aragorn and other healers would save them.

You should help them, Olorin, don't just stand idly! He shook his head. Oh, he was so tired, his whole body ached, and most of all, he wanted to lie down and rest for one whole day. But no, he wouldn't do that; he'd go to the Houses of Healing and help Aragorn. He turned to leave, and for a moment his gaze wandered through the gate towards the fields. There, in front of the gate, the monstrous battering-ram still stood in front of the city; while retreating, Sauron's army had simply left it behind, as well as many catapults and siege-towers. He frowned. In time, there would be much work to clear all that. So much work.

But now wasn't the moment to think about it. Now – the urgent business. The wounded men. Clearing the piles of metal, wood and debris – later.

-x-x-x-

"Lord Mithrandir!"

He stopped grooming Shadowfax and looked over his shoulder. A boy of around ten stood at the door of the stables. His face was red, and he breathed fast and heavy.

"I am Bergil son of Beregond! I help in the Houses of Healing, I work as a messenger for the healers. Lord Aragorn is looking for you, he urgently needs your help! Let's go right now!!!"

He gazed at the boy. The kid was frowning, clenching his fists, and repeatedly casting glances back from where he had run from. For some reason, he seemed very upset and in a hurry, and Gandalf moved towards him.

"What happened?" he asked the child when he came closer.

"My friend is very ill!" The boy seemed to be on the edge of crying.

Ill? The call was because of some illness? His eyebrows raised. How odd! Indeed, what illness could it be that Aragorn hadn't already seen? Why would he ask for his help? Moreover, if Aragorn really needed help in healing, wouldn't he first call Elrond's sons?

They passed the way in just a few minutes, and despite much shorter legs, the boy was in front of him the whole time; he almost ran, and every now and then he looked back as if checking if Gandalf was following him fast enough.

In the Houses of Healing numerous wounded men still lay on the blankets in the corridors; there simply weren't enough beds in the rooms. Healers and their assistants were passing among them, carrying bandages and medicaments. The room to which Bergil led him was big, but it was crowded too: in addition to the four wounded on the beds, two more patients lay on the floor. One of those two was a child, and Aragorn knelt next to it. Gandalf looked at the small motionless body, and frowned. The air over there seemed thicker, and even though the window was just above it, that part of the chamber was darker.

Aragorn turned his head in that moment and noticed them, and he stood up.

"How is Hallatan? Will he be all right? Will he recover?" Bergil's voice trembled, and Aragorn patted his head.

"He will, do not worry. In a few days you'll play with him again." Aragorn smiled at the child.

"Oh, all right then!" The little one breathed a loud sigh of relief, and his face brightened in an instant.

"Exactly. Everything will be fine." Aragorn nodded, and then got serious. "Until then, there is much to do here. Go to the kitchens and help in carrying the meals."

"I will!" Bergil exclaimed, still cheerful because of the good news, and then he turned on his heel and hurried out of the room.

Aragorn then turned towards him. "Thank you for coming."

Gandalf nodded. "Of course I responded immediately. However..." He twisted his lips, looking the small sleeping patient. Yes, the boy was under the influence of the Black Breath, but there was a pot of athelas tea next to his head, and the dark shadows around him were not very thick and black. No, this was not a particularly difficult case; as Aragorn himself said just a few moments ago, everything would pass in a few days. Was this just an excuse for the call, and the real reason was something else...? He looked at Aragorn.

"I understand what you must be thinking," Aragorn said. "Yes, Black Breath is something I can handle, especially because I have athelas at hand. But..." Aragorn shook his head. "What I don't understand is – how and why Black Breath? Why is the child under its influence? Because he shouldn't be. He is one of the children who help the healers, and they also work as couriers. I've been seeing him during these two days after the battle, and he was all right. And now – this. I do not understand. I wanted to see you, hoping our talk will help me figure out something I missed."

Gandalf slowly nodded. So, that was why Aragorn had called him. Black Breath – seemingly out of nowhere? Mysterious, and disturbing. "Have you found out anything about his activities during the last two days?" he asked.

"According to other boys, nothing unusual happened. They carried the messages, helped the wounded, and played a little bit in the first circle of the city in their free time, and that's all."

"And in the last two days the Nazgul didn't fly towards the city at all, let alone came close enough to be in contact with anybody," Gandalf muttered pensively. No wonder Aragorn was confused.

"The only thing coming to my mind is that the boy was exposed to a Nazgul's influence while the siege lasted, and that this might be a belated reaction to the events from the previous days, during which they often flew above the city," Aragorn said.

Gandalf tilted his head. Hmmm... This wasn't impossible. It really could be so. However... Tightness gripped his stomach. A slight one... but he could feel it. He rubbed his forehead.

"I'll try to think about it. If anything crosses my mind, I'll look for you." He nodded.

Aragorn smiled softly. "Thank you. I ask for no more than that." After those words, he turned to his patients again.

Gandalf went after his own business. And pondered.

Soreness... susceptibility to the influence of the Enemy... because of grief, if the boy lost a father or other close person in war these days... belated reaction... The thoughts swirled. And maybe it is not belated... maybe Aragorn didn't notice symptoms in earlier occasions when he had seen the boy... He stopped. Could this be the solution of the riddle? You know it could not, Olorin, because Aragorn is an experienced healer. On the other hand, Aragorn had been extremely busy for the last two days, just like all the other healers, and perhaps he hadn't paid much attention to the boy, especially if he’d seen him only briefly passing by. And even more – because Aragorn's eyes could not see those dark shadows like his own could. That was something intrinsic only to his kind and, to a smaller degree, to some elves especially gifted for healing, like Elrond.

It must be the explanation, it must be that Aragorn simply didn't notice the symptoms at first.

He repeated those words three more times... but the unease in the stomach was still there. The well-known unease that he always felt when he knew something was wrong.

Don't be stupid, Olorin. You know there is something more at work, don't you?

The problem was – he couldn't figure out what. He sighed and frowned.

Much later that day, while he was getting ready for bed in the room given to him in Echtelion's Tower, a messenger knocked on his door and brought Aragorn's note. It was short, and judging by the untidy handwriting, it had obviously been written in haste.

Three soldiers who had been cleaning the debris around the city gate and two more eleven-year-old boys were admitted that evening to the Houses of Healing – because of the symptoms of Black Breath. Symptoms that they didn't feel until today.

The well-known tight sensation in his stomach got stronger.

-x-x-x-

Morning came, and the army of the West gathered on the Pelennor Fields; the time for the campaign to the Black Gates arrived. Gandalf went to the stables for Shadowfax, and there he met Aragorn, who worked in the Houses of Healing until the very last moment. From there, they rode together towards the first circle.

"Were there new cases of Black Breath since last evening?" Gandalf asked.

"No, and I hope there won't be any more." Aragorn shook his head. "I am not very worried about yesterday's patients because none of them is a serious case, and now everyone knows how to treat Black Breath, including those who haven't known about athelas till now. Still..." He stopped and sighed. "I am worried for other reasons. Will there be new, seemingly inexplicable cases? I cannot be at ease and I will surely think about it along the way. I hate it when I don't know or understand something."

"Neither do I, and it really troubles me." Gandalf frowned. None of yesterday's assumptions sounded right to him, and even this morning he didn't come to the conclusion that would feel right. And as things were, maybe he'd never know. "Maybe we would find the explanation if we stayed in the city, but now we must go." And will they ever return to consider it further? It was something only Iluvatar knew.

Soon they reached the first circle. Gandalf stopped and glanced around. Here, almost not a single house remained whole; wherever he looked, he saw ruins, debris and stones. Still, even amid all this destruction, there was life: a group of boys played near the city gate. The boys peeped through the gate, whispered and giggled.

Children. The future of Gondor and Middle-earth.

That was why they went on this quest in the first place – to give that future a chance.

He smiled to them as he and Aragorn rode next to them, and the boys got quiet. After they passed through the gates, the babbling behind their back was heard again.

Children! Who knows what antics they are up to?! But a smile was still on his face. The very fact that they were able to make up games in the midst of this war meant that they were all right – at least for now.

When they came out to the Pelennor Fields, right in front of them stood the dreadful battering-ram. He looked at it. The eyes of the wolf did not glow now and there was no fire in the jaw, but even like this, it was hardly less horrifying than it had been three nights ago. Both steel and wood parts of the huge ram were pitch black – like Sauron's spirit, he thought – and it seemed that the air around it was darker than elsewhere on the field. As if it eclipsed the daylight.

He shivered.

Aragorn led his horse to the left to go around the ram and they slowly continued to ride, and he didn't take his eyes off it. They came a little closer, and sunlight faded. It became cold. The air was thick and darkened, and dark shadows burgeoned and spread. Right next to him, Aragorn's horse shied violently away. Shadowfax held fast, but he too neighed in distress.

Gandalf froze and stopped breathing. His heart skipped a beat. What if...? He jumped in his saddle and swiftly turned to the gates through which they had just passed. Three little heads were peeping behind the edge of the wall, and then quickly disappeared.

"Aragorn! Follow me!"

He gave a sign to Shadowfax and turned back, and crossed the short distance to the gates in an instant. He entered and stopped in front of the boys, and just a moment later Aragorn stood right next to him. The boys were standing in a circle, seemingly occupied with an important conversation, and were pointedly ignoring the two of them.

"Boys!!!"

They jumped and turned their heads. He fixed them with his gaze, one by one.

"Have you been going near that ram?" As he spoke, he stretched his arm and pointed backwards with his hand, towards the gate and the ram behind it, but he didn't take his eyes off them.

His question was answered by coughing from several throats.

"Khm..."

"I mean..."

"Kh-kh..."

More coughing.

"We..."

"Uhm..."

"Have you or have you not?! Speak!!!"

They recoiled because of sharpness in his voice and lowered their eyes. The smallest one in the group squirmed a little bit.

"We, err, we did..." His voice was low.

"How? When? How close?"

The boys exchanged glances, and then the biggest and probably the oldest one – Gandalf thought he might be around twelve – made a step forward and raised his head with defiance written on his face.

"We contrived a game – we've been daring one another to prove courage. The ram is, like, totally scary, so to see who has the courage to come to it and touch it. There."

He stared at into the child. Touch it?!

"At first it looked totally ominous to me," the oldest boy continued. "In fact it's still creepy and everything is sort of dark and cold near it. But today I said, there is no more fire in it, it's now only a pile of steel and nothing more. So today I wanted to approach it. I am no less brave than Hallatan and Beredon and Magor! We only waited for you to pass so that I can move."

"But you haven't done it yet." It was not a question. Actually, it was quite clear that he hadn't, because he was not enveloped in dark shadows yet.

"I haven't."

Gandalf shook his head and rolled his eyes. So that's what happened. Reckless fools. He looked at Aragorn.

"This is the resolution of the riddle. The boys with Black Breath symptoms touched the ram. The soldiers from last evening – they probably came very close to it, but at least they weren't stupid like these rascals here, but they came close because their duties led them this way." His eyes pierced the boys again. "This is a device that broke the city gate with dark magic! You didn't think that it was dangerous to touch it because of that magic?"

Their astonished faces clearly said that they hadn't. After all, their deeds said the same. Only that smallest boy, and the one next to him, muttered something that might have been "we told you it was dangerous", but they spoke in too low voice for him to be sure.

"And that magic is still in it," Gandalf continued. "No, this is not 'only a pile of steel and nothing more'! Three of you ended in the Houses of Healing after touching the ram! You didn't associate the two facts?"

No, obviously not!

Aragorn came a little closer to him. "Are you sure?"

"I am," Gandalf replied. "The fire in wolf's jaw is quenched, but the device has lost none of its power. Darkness and evil radiate from it, very strongly."

Aragorn nodded. "True. I feel it too when I'm near it, but I didn't realize that it might be the answer to the riddle." Then he frowned. "We must not leave before we warn everyone who stays in the city. They have to know that they mustn't come near it."

Yes, they should warn everyone, because this thing was very dangerous. Gandalf was to move already, but then he stopped. Hmmm... He pondered. And perhaps... He tilted his head from side to side, frowned and juggled his staff from one hand to the other, again and again. Perhaps he could...

Yes. His idea was better than Aragorn's.

Will he make it?

Once, on that occasion in Edoras, he had overcome the power that had once been greater than his. How strong a power lies in this ram now? Will he make it this time too?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

But before that, there was one more thing he had to take care of. He turned to the boys and gave them a stern look. "You! Listen to me! Go away from here and don't come near the ram again! If anybody tries to do it, I'll turn him into a mouse!"

A wizard's staff pointed to them, a sharp look and even sharper voice achieved the goal. The boys ran as fast as they could.

And when they disappeared from sight, he smiled. It is all right, no harm will come to them anymore. Then he turned to Aragorn.

"We'll do as you suggested, but I'd like to try something first." He dismounted, handed the reins to Aragorn and set off towards the ram on foot; Shadowfax was the chief of the mearas and his spirit was stronger than those of ordinary horses, but there was no need to upset him by leading him close to the monstrous device.

He stopped in front of the ram and lifted his head. Tons of steel and heavy wood rose above him, and the wolf's head leaned towards him as if it would devour him. He took another step, and now that he was so close to it, everything changed: as if in only a few steps and few moments he passed from a warm spring day into a cold night. The sky was dark-grey, and the fields around him black.

But he was the light, he was White.

He closed his eyes and slowly cleared all thoughts from his mind. The fields disappeared... and the sky... and the scents... and the wind... The only thing that remained in the world was the huge, hideous ram. He directed his spirit towards it, and examined it. He met blackness, thick and impenetrable... and an entity. Dark and evil. Powerful, menacing, strong. Very strong.

But he didn't recoil.

You can not do anything anymore. You will disappear.

Dark shadows encircled him from all sides.

He opened his eyes and spread his arms.

You can not hurt me! I am light.

Shadows retreated a little bit.

Leave!

He reached deep inside himself and invoked all his power.

My light is stronger than your darkness.

The shadows retreated more, but then they swirled and merged – forming a single one. A huge one. It assailed him and the blow shook him; his whole body shuddered under the strong wave of darkness and evil. But he clenched his fists and teeth, and lifted his head even higher.

Fall back!

The light spread from his spirit. Dark shadows flickered and attenuated slightly. They halted for a moment, and then they encircled him again.

You have no more power! You are nothing but an empty shell!

He closed his eyes. For a moment, his spirit strayed to the forests and meadows of Valinor, and even further away through space and time – to the very song in the beginning of the world in which he had participated too. He drew power from it, his spirit became even stronger, and the light that flashed from him became even brighter.

Leave!

The shadows paled – their blackness turned into grey. One more time they rushed onto him, but this time the attack was just a superficial, harmless brush on his spirit. The light radiated from him in all directions, and the shadows retreated from it.

You can't harm anyone anymore.

He pushed them further away. The shadows were weakening, shrinking and receding. Some of them still tried to attack, but they were unable to come close to him anymore.

You are defeated. Broken. Leave!

The shadows paled and retreated more.

Your essence is destroyed.

Darkness was no longer darkness – now it turned into a barely visible pale-grey mist.

LEAVE!!!

And then both darkness and shadows dispersed completely – as if they never existed. The sun shone in its fullness, and it was nice and warm again. He looked at the ram. It was no longer black, like until a few moments ago; wood was brown and cracked in places, not compact as before, while the steel frame and chains were grey – just like any other piece of steel. The device was empty and lifeless; not even the smallest hint of the spirit earlier instilled in it now remained. The entity ceased to exist.

Gandalf exhaled the air he had been keeping and lowered his head, and his shoulders slumped. Suddenly he was so tired.

Something touched his shoulder. When he turned and looked, he realized it was Aragorn's hand. Aragorn stood next to him and watched him worryingly.

"Are you all right?"

Gandalf nodded.

"I am, don't worry. This was somewhat exhausting, but it'll soon pass." He sighed, and then pointed with his finger towards the ram. "This thing is now harmless. It doesn't matter how close someone will get, and the boys can play as much as they want."

"Thank you," Aragorn said seriously, and then looked to the distance in the east, where their path and their destiny lay. "We can set off now."

-x-x-x-

April 30th, 3020

The morning came, and Gandalf smiled at the new day. His journey was near its end. Today he'd reach Osgiliath – just in time for the big celebration of the first anniversary of Aragorn's coronation, which was to begin tomorrow. He hadn't been in Gondor for the whole past year, but he received Aragorn's letters so he knew all the news. Post-war renewal went well, and it made him very happy. Still, when he came near his destination this morning and the view on Pelennor Fields opened before him, he stopped – his mouth wide open in astonishment. Had it really been only a year since he'd last been here? He stared at the view in front of him and he just couldn't believe his eyes.

"...the weather has been consistently favourable, and agriculture labours go smoothly – as if the Valar have decided to make up to the people in Gondor for all that they had suffered in previous years. After a painstaking restoration and much sweat, it seems we'll have a year of prosperity..."

However, the words from the letter couldn't come even close to reality. So much had changed in just one year. What was lifeless black soil last spring, harrowed by Sauron's massive war towers and devices and soaked with blood, now turned into golden wheat fields, green orchards and vegetable gardens. There was great vivacity: people and cattle worked on the fields, many carts were being driven around the whole vast fields, and many cattle were grazing around. He almost couldn't recognize it as the same field from last year!

His gaze then wandered a little bit to the east, to the white-grey city on the blue river. A capital, very long ago, with magnificent architecture, and the famous Dome of Stars. During the War of the Ring, though, it was no more than long ago abandoned ruins.

"...for now, there was not enough time, means or men to rebuild the whole Osgiliath. However, we made progress there too, and a part of the city already shines with its old glory. During the journey of Fellowship, Boromir often used to say: 'This city was once the jewel of our kingdom. A place of light, and beauty, and music. And so it shall be once more.'** I will do all in my power for it to come true, and the celebration will be held in Osgiliath..."

How did the city look now? What did Aragorn and Faramir prepare for the festivity? He urged Shadowfax forward and they continued along the way. The distance to Osgiliath slowly shrank, and he finally rode into the city.

Of many houses nothing but bare walls remained – destroyed partially or almost completely – and plants conquered some of the abandoned buildings. Their windows gaped like empty, lifeless cavities. Some houses were burned and black, while stones and rubble lay all around.

However, some houses were whole – built anew from bright white stone, there were green gardens around them, and he could hear children's laughter too. As he went towards the centre, there were more and more such houses full of life. He smiled, and his heart sang.

And the new Dome of Stars caught his sight long before he reached the very centre, because it towered above all other buildings in the city. It rose at the same spot and was of similar height as the previous one, but still from the distance he saw that this new dome was even more impressive than the old one. He slowly rode through the streets towards it and stared, unable to take his eyes off it.

He finally reached the main square, stopped and gazed at the magnificent building. From the ground to the top it was almost three hundred and fifty feet high. It was built of white stone, and the facade was adorned by many reliefs, arches, statues and pillars. But what was most impressive was its upper part – the dome itself. The diameter of its base was about one hundred and twenty feet, and it was composed of many glass plates, dark-blue like the night sky. The plates were set onto a steel construction consisting of round base and beams that converged into the pinnacle. Bright silver dots shone all over its surface. Dome of Stars indeed, he thought. While the former dome had only had the night sky painted on its inner side, this one truly lived up to the glorious promise of its name.

The square was full of people and it was very lively. Most of them were occupied with preparations for the celebration: they were putting big wooden tables and benches around, rolling barrels, preparing the hearths, carrying wood for the fires and so on. And then, from the direction of the dome, Aragorn emerged from the crowd. A step behind him were two soldiers in the uniform of the Citadel guards.

Gandalf dismounted, smiled broadly and hugged his friend. "It is great to find you here! I wasn't sure if you were still in Minas Tirith."

"I arrived here last evening," Aragorn replied. "I am so happy to see you."

"So am I," Gandalf said and looked around. "This will be a wonderful celebration. I see that you did a great job in renewal, and especially..." He paused, and his gaze wandered towards the Dome of Stars again. He couldn't stop watching and admiring. "Especially with this."

"We weren't alone in it. We had a lot of help from the Elves of Greenwood the Great led by Legolas, and from Gimli's people. All the glass plates were made by the Elves, and the Dwarves gifted us mithril beads for the stars."

"Oh, that is a very valuable gift!" Gandalf looked upwards again. "The old dome was beautiful too, but this one is much more impressive. I am sure that so much effort was put into it and that it wasn't easy."

"The best craftsmen of all three peoples worked on it," Aragorn said and nodded. He then grinned. "We needed a lot of all sorts of material, some easier and some harder to find, but at least we didn't have problems with steel supply."

Gandalf observed his friend's face, and then the dome again. Surely, tons and tons of steel were needed for the load-bearing structural support beams. He knew there were mines in the White Mountains, and the trade with the Dwarves was surely in bloom, so Gondor most probably didn't lack steel. However, something in Aragorn's expression – who looked like he had a lot of fun – made him think that the trade was not the correct answer.

"I will say no more, except that it's to your credit that we could use all that steel," said Aragorn merrily.

Gandalf looked at him dismayed for several moments. Is it...? Can it really be what he thinks it is? Corners of his lips raised in a hint of a smile. Is it possible...?

"Exactly," Aragorn continued and nodded. "If it hadn't been for you, that ram could have caused so much more evil even after we had won the battle of Pelennor Fields. I do not know how we would have solved that problem by ourselves. But you made it harmless and turned it into ordinary steel – steel that could be used for something good, to the contrast of what it had been created for. So I gave orders to melt it and to use it for the dome. In defiance to Sauron. That little revenge was so sweet."

Gandalf's eyes widened and his eyebrows raised. By Iluvatar's beard, so that was it! The thing that was meant to destroy – that did destroy – was now embedded into one of the most beautiful creations of the new Gondor. His initial slight smile transformed into loud delighted laughter. What a crazy and unexpected twist, indeed!

"What a great idea!" he exclaimed. "If only I could bring Sauron back at least for a moment and show him the dome! And tell him where the steel comes from, so that we could see his face!!!"

He laughed so hard that his stomach started to hurt in the end. Not even in his wildest dreams could he have imagined such a final fate of the terrible ram. He nodded, still smiling.

The best surprise in his long life.

-x-x-x-

* Direct quote from The Fellowship of the Ring, Ch. 2 – The Shadow of the Past

** Direct quote from The Two Towers extended edition movie