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Minas Tirith Was silent.

The tower of Ectelion clashed wildly with the first walls, unaware of the appropriate colour to have that day. The city mourned its king, dressing in black and dark violet, as the shadow of Mount Mindolluin grew. Life proceeded as usual, as all things must go on, even when you'd wish they could stop, and honor a departing soul. Gandalf was in the libary (as often he was there, to enrich his knowledge of the kingdom of gondor), when he heard the voices: "What's going on, why are you shaking like a total idi..."

"The King is dead." Aelandil and Anardil. His ears stretched, trying to capture as much as he could. He eventually left the small room, since they went too far.

"...bury him in Minas Tirith. With the other great kings." "Oh, I thought the first idea would have been to toss him in a mass grave." Gandalf interrupted them roughly. "What kind of proposition is that? Naturally he's going to lie near the other rulers of Gondor. Well, except one." A sad smile crossed his face. "So? Hurry up, start the preparations, inform whoever you wish." He stormed out from the room, leaving two badly confused men and a very disoriented elf

After some time

.Aerendyl found him smoking on the parapet of the citadel. The Ephel Duath were as always looming on the horizon. The elf approaced the old wizard, uncertain."You know, sometimes it happens to me to see the great events of this age." Gandalf smiled. "Well, maybe not 'sometimes'. Maybe not 'happens', but I 'make them happen'." The thick smoke flew from the pipe, slowly fading west. "Death is only the beginning." Murmured. "Every journey has it cost, sometimes the price is paid even by others." Aerendyl didn't reply, still unsure about the meaning of his words. A small laugh interrupted the silence. "I recall the day it was all lost. Another time. Sauron and Saruman were on the brink of total war." He puffed. "Gondor was almost signing a separate peace treaty. You know? The north looked doomed, the south like the last beacon of hope. I was basically here." He pointed at the floor of the citadel. "I told him: we're going to fight and fall toghether, or rise above the challenges on our way." Gandalf creased his eyes. "More or less that. First I told him he was an idiot, then argued like two peddler on the price of a pan." Aerendyl didn't quite get the synonim, but stood still and kept his mouth shout. Better not to interrupt him. "After a couple of days of screaming, planning, giving up and resisting, we acted."'

"And how did it went, Mithrandir?" Asked him the elf, more to be polite than other. Gandalf smirked "How? My dear boy, aren't you here, in Minas Tirith? This is not called Minas Dannen (Note: Minast - Tower, Dannen - Fallen, aka 'Fallen Tower'). It was one of the best plans. I had only to start the gears, then everything went in the right way... The north recovered, Gondor remained in the fight, we defeated them." There was some silence, at last. Aerendyl thought that, maybe, it was the time to ask him... "You know? I thought he was dead long before, in that catastrophic battle in Adornland. I thought I would have seen him surrounded by the bodies of fallen uruks, orcs and trolls. He didn't look like he was going to let the death coming at him. But I should have expected he would have messed my plans, as always." The wizard patted Aerendyl on the shoulder. "Take care now, Elf of Gondor. Let me know when you will say goodbye to him for the last time."