Disclaimer: I do not own anything from J.R.R. Tolkiens "Lord of the Rings". Not Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, Gandalf, Faramir, Eowyn, Elrond (I think you got the idea) or any of the hobbits (though they are small and would fit in one of my enormous handbags.) Arnaya is mine, mine, mine!!

Now that we passed the obligatory disclaimer, lets have some fun :) Please, read and review!

Chapter 1: The fury's rage

For centuries the whole city had been waiting for this day to come. Some had eyed the perspective of the possible return of the King of Gondor with suspicion, even with disapproval. Why change the normal order of things when there was the line of the Stewards of Gondor who had been taking care of the realm so competently in the course of decades. Yet the majority of people had heard the legends that somewhere out there, roaming Middle-Earth, there was the rightful heir of Isildur and they approved of the fact that some day he would come to claim his throne.

All doubts were scattered when the crowd laid eyes on the man who had fought for them on the battlefield and protected them from Sauron. He had the regal baring of the old kings and his noble face, spoke of wisdom and experience. The people of Minas-Tirith cheered happily, giving their king- to-be a warm welcome, for in a few moments he would be crowned. Travellers from all parts of Middle-Earth had come to see this spectacle.

But there were not only well-wishers among the people who had gathered to witness the ceremony. There was one person who had skilfully managed to disappear in the loudly cheering masses, concealed from curious gazes by a huge black cloak. It was an assassin. Somebody who had been trained for long years by a hateful, but also very skilled, teacher for just this moment.

The people watched curiously as Faramir, the Steward of Gondor, walked up to Aragorn, the heir of Isildur. The future king, clad in a black mail and a white mantle, was surrounded by the most unlikeliest group of people. They were the remains of the Fellowship of the Ring who had bravely set out from Rivendell to fight Sauron and his followers. Now after they had overcome many dangers and the One Ring had been destroyed, they had gathered here in Minas-Tirith. There was Gandalf the White, and four little men, 'Periain' from the country of the halflings some people muttered, the dwarf Gimli and Legolas, the elven Prince of Mirkwood.

The assassin did neither care for important names nor for their heroic past. All that mattered was the mission. The crowd was silenced by the sound of a single trumpet and everybody listened intently to what Faramir and Aragorn were saying. A few surprised gasps could be heard when the Steward of Gondor announced that he would resign from office and yet again many were stunned by the fact that Aragorn didn't not want him to and even allowed him to keep his title. With every passing moment the crowning came closer.

The hooded murderer knew that this was a suicide mission, because the whole city was literally bursting with guards and soldiers. Winged helms and the insignia Minas-Tirith could be seen everywhere. The presence of Gandalf the White would also not ease the task.

Gandalf held out the crown to Aragorn and the right moment had come to strike, for now all eyes were fixed on those two men. She took on deep breath of air and then she started what she had been trained for all her life: kill the King of Gondor. Her voice murmured ancient chants in the dark language, that had been taught to her for many years just to be used in this particular moment. The sky above Minas-Tirith darkened immediately and angry black clouds formed over the heads of the crowd, who watched the happenings with open horror in their eyes.

"Sauron's wrath has come upon us! He has returned!", someone screamed, clearly audible in the tense silence that had seized the masses.

With the crackling of thunder all hell broke loose, as everybody was screaming and running around aimlessly. A smile flitted over her face, because the turmoil would help her conceal herself better, which was essential if she wanted to complete her task. Everything had been carefully planned and was working out nicely.

But suddenly she felt a iron grip lay itself around her delicate neck. She writhed from side to side and couldn't free herself. The grip got tighter, effectively shutting her up and keeping her from chanting her spell. She felt her body leave the ground, as she was lifted up by an invisible hand, hovering a few meters above ground, her feet dangling helplessly. Her face was an ugly mask of pure hatred and rage. She finally spotted the person who had spoiled her plans.

Engulfed in a bright white light Gandalf the White was gleaming like a star in the darkness. Energy bolts were flashing from the tip of his long staff and his long white hair was blown back by the wind, glowing in a white-blue colour. His eyes bore into her mercilessly like to daggers. Even though the vicelike grip around her neck almost strangled her she tried to chant again. She was now running on pure hatred, as it cursed through her veins angrily, giving her the strength to continue the fight for her already lost cause.

"Silence," Gandalf's terrifyingly dark voice resounded over the city and in her head.

She whimpered and instinctively brought her hands up to protect her ears. The wizard made a movement with his hand and she flew towards him without being able to do anything against it. When she was only mere inches from him her bottled up anger broke loose and she did the only thing that was left for her to do, as she could not move or fight. She spit at him, but Gandalf's expression stayed deadly calm and grim. He trusted his staff forward, knocking it with a mighty blow into her stomach. With a hissing noise the air escaped her lungs and she suddenly felt very dizzy and light- headed. The old wizard began to chant himself and she felt the magical energy radiate from him, surrounding him like a mantle. Then it began. She could only watch in horror as his staff suddenly formed something she identified as tiny tentacles that entered her body and slowly sucked all her magical power out of her. The stone sitting on top of Gandalf's staff absorbed the mystical energy, glowing in an eerie green colour.

Angry screams escaped her throat, when she realised that she had been defeated. Floating in the air, with her tangled black hair blown back by the wind, she looked very much like a fury. A monstrous creature that only exists in old legends and chills the blood of the living with its inhumane screams.

When all her power had been absorbed by the stone, the black clouds retreated and gave away to the clear starry night sky again. She slumped to the floor unceremoniously and saw the old Istari tower over her threateningly. "Seize her!", he ordered and immediately two soldiers forcefully dragged her to her feet. Her head was rolling from side to side and she was about to lose consciousness. The last thing she saw was the face of the man who she had tried to kill hovering in front of her. Aragorn's voice was cold and disgust was ringing in it when he said, "Lock her up in prison! I shall concern myself with what is to become of her later."

A contemplative look was on Aragorn's face when he watched as the guards dragged the unconscious witch away. He asked himself silently if this was the life that was awaiting him from now on. The former ranger shook his head amazed about how one person could hate him so much without even knowing him. Gandalf stepped up to him and his voice ripped him out of his thoughts.

"She should pose no more threat. I have taken all her magical power away from her and I will keep a close eye on her."

Aragorn nodded numbly and his eyes were searching for his friends in the crowd. The hobbits looked confused and Frodo had a preoccupied look on his pale face. Gimli was leaning on his axe with a frown on his face and Legolas eyes were nervously scanning the crowd as if he was searching for further attackers.

He turned around to face the old wizard that was still standing there in silence as if he was waiting for him to take a decision and announce what would happen next. "What kind of king would I be if I would give up at the first difficulty that would block my way?" he paused and when he continued his voice resounded loud and clearly over the heads of the people for everybody to hear, "The ceremony will continue!" Gandalf smiled at him and nodded.

So the crowning continued. Aragorn took the crown from Gandalf. Holding it high above his head, he spoke the oath that would determine his fate and that of the future kings of his line. His voice was calm, but his heart was nervously beating inside of his chest. He knew that this was probably the most important moment in his entire life.

"Et Eärello Endorenna utùlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar- metta! (Out of the Great Sea to Middle-Earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.)", his strong and firm voice declared with determination.

Then he did something nobody would have expected. Instead of putting the crown on his head, he handed it back to Faramir, expressing the wish that I should be set on his head by Gandalf, if he agreed to do so. To Aragorn this was the only logical course of action, because the wizard had just minutes ago proven again, that he had been the one to make this possible for him. Without the wizard he would probably still be ranger who would rather be roaming Middle-Earth, concealing his origins from everyone, than proudly standing here in Minas-Tirith, accepting the crown that was rightfully his by heritage. Gandalf had been his guide, teacher and adviser in this times of trouble and deserved to be honoured in this way.

The old Istari's face stayed serious, but his eyes shone with pride and affection. Gandalf set the crown on his head and said, "Now comes the days of the King, and may they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!"