(Tolkien Time: 50 years after the death of the Dragon)
“Guilty.”
The single word rang through the courthouse of Minas Tirith, which was filled to the brim with its citizens. Everyone began whispering, some approving, others angry. The only people who were silent were the nobles who issued the verdict and the man standing in chains before them. The tall, light-haired soldier - his physique made it clear he was so – stood stock-still, his head down, as the crier who spoke for the jury of nobles continued. “Captain Bruidhor, as punishment for the theft of a large amount of gold and silver from the city treasury, which, as has been addressed, you had access to because of your rank and which was found in your possession, you would receive the capital punishment of the Gondorian kingdom. Death by hanging.” The muttering grew to a clamor. “However,” the crier said, raising his voice to quiet the audience, “In light of your past service to your steward and your country, the jury has decided on a somewhat lesser verdict.” The man looked up at the crier. “Instead of death, you shall be banished from all the lands of Gondor, and may never return.” The man gave a small cry; it was impossible to tell if it was a cry of relief or one of distress. “You have one day to gather your belongings and say your goodbyes. Then, you must leave Minas Tirith, and all the land of Gondor, and never come back. Court is adjourned.”
Twenty-four hours later, the soldier, leading a bay horse loaded down with supplies, belongings, and other items, made his way through the bustling streets of Minas Tirith. When he was almost to the gate, he heard a voice behind him. “Captain! Wait!” He turned to see his (former) lieutenant, Cuairpharn, holding a crate, pushing through the throng of Gondorians, trying to reach him. Bruidhor halted. He knew what Cuairpharn was going to say. When the younger man had caught up with him, and was catching his breath, the ex-captain simply said, “No.” Cuairpharn opened his mouth to speak, but Bruidhor cut him off. “No, you may not come with me. Yes, I know that I didn’t steal anything, and I thank you for believing me, but I will not allow you to ruin your future by chasing after me." Cuairpharn stared at him for a moment. Then, after a brief silence, he grinned slightly. “You knew I would try to come. Nothing gets by you, sir.” Bruidhor returned a sad smile. “You need not call me ‘sir’ any longer. I no longer hold the rank of captain.” The younger lieutenant’s grin morphed into a scowl. “And it’s all because of that damn noble, Huruthuil. Huh, noble indeed. He framed you somehow. He’s had it out for you ever since you revealed that plot his son was hatching to assassinate Lord Denethor. I don’t care how much he denies it; everyone knows he was in on it.” “Stop,” Bruidhor said sternly. “The only evidence linking Huruthuil to that scheme was circumstantial. Emongorn, his son, was executed, that is true, and Lord Huruthuil has disliked me ever since, but that does NOT mean he tried to assassinate our young steward.” Cuairpharn stuttered angrily. “But-but, he was the noble on the jury who pushed the others to banish you! All the other nobles only wanted you to pay serious fines, but he was pushing them to have you executed! He could only get them to banish you, but, Bruidhor, he tried to kill you!” Bruidhor smiled sadly at his oldest and dearest friend. “Loyal to a fault,” he said, clapping his hand on Cuairpharn’s shoulder. “That will serve you well when you take my old position. After all, that has been your dream since you were a boy, has it not been? To be a captain of Gondor.” The younger man, still breathing heavy, looked at him mournfully. “Not like this,” he said. “I wanted to one day fight side-by-side with you, our own separate companies behind us.” Bruidhor looked away. “Well, beside me or not, Gondor will be lucky indeed to have you leading their armies.” He turned to look up towards the barracks. "Listen...keep an eye on Commander Mitchem. He's...a great leader in battle, but...well..." Cuairpharn was already nodding. "Of course, sir. I feel the same way."
Bruidhor nodded, his thoughts preoccupied briefly. Then he looked back. “What is in the crate?” Cuairpharn smiled a genuine smile. “My parting gift,” he said. “I managed to convince the wardens to release it.” He handed the crate to Bruidhor. Bruidhor looked at him curiously, then cracked open the crate and peeked inside. A large smile came over his face, and he laughed loudly, causing several citizens to look at the soldiers oddly. “My friend, you have done me an enormous favor with this,” he exclaimed, shutting the crate and putting it on the horse. “You have my thanks,” he said, looking back at his friend. “And my eternal friendship” The two looked at each other for a long time, both knowing they could no longer avoid the inevitable. Bruidhor’s twenty-four hours were up. “Well,” said Bruidhor after a while, “The time is late, and the road is long.” He looked once more at his lieutenant. “Farewell, my friend.” He turned and led the horse through the gate. “Farewell!” Cuairpharn called out sorrowfully after him. “May our paths cross again!” The guards closed the gate behind Bruidhor.
That was the last Cuairpharn and Bruidhor ever saw of each other.
Outside the city, all the emotions Bruidhor had kept bottled up now overcame him. He wept openly, and for a long time, he stood there as his tears watered the ground. Then he felt the crate. He looked up from his mourning. He opened the crate and looked again at the contents. His tears fell anew, but now they were happy tears as old memories flooded his mind. Refreshed, he took one last look at the White City behind him, waved farewell to it and all its people, and began his journey west.
And on his horse, the crate shook, and the purple armor within rattled.
