The gates of the White City were now in sight. Legolas halted when the first stars began to shine. Arod was sweating and trembling for a strange reason, and as the elf ran careful hands over the horse, he was concerned to find a dagger embedded in his horse's withers. He drew this out carefully. The dagger was not poisoned.
As he let his steed rest, he checked his own wound at his shoulder. It was superficial and had no real depth, but bled profusely and stung. He inwardly cursed himself for not bothering to bring his healing supplies. Instead he wrapped his cloak around the cut, hoping to staunch the bleeding.
Legolas returned to Arod and prepared to mount him, but changed his mind when he saw his horse was limping.
What now? he thought, turning to face the North.
There was a shorter way to the City that he knew, that ran through a forest to the back gates of Mina's Tirith.
He steeled himself and started leading his horse.
(Yet another lame ending

)