Chapter 1. For All the Good It Would Do 

The way was steep and dark and he was weary, but he'd walked a steeper slope, aye, and darker still.

The stairs of Men are not made for hobbit feet, and Sam felt as if he were in a tale of Mr. Pippin's, when the latter had told of being just a little lad, climbing the steps at the Great Smials, the ones that led to the Great Door, and having to stretch his short legs to match his father's grownup stride. But he was no hobbit-child, on his way to an aunt's birthday party, and his was no light task.

In the light of the torches his shadow preceded him, tall as a man of Gondor, bringing his thoughts unpleasantly to memories of another place, another time not yet distant enough in the past, so far as he was concerned. At the landing there was a clash of arms and a soft challenge, but as shadow gave way to its owner, the Citadel guardsmen relaxed, bringing their spears once more to the rest from their crossed and inhospitable state.

'O it is you, sir,' one of them said, bowing his head in reverent salute. The King had left strict orders that he was not to be disturbed... but then again, he'd left strict orders that any member of the Company of Nine Walkers was to have immediate access. That this was the Ring-bearer's companion, himself Ring-bearer for a short time, cleared every doubt from the guardsman's mind.

Sam blushed, still not used to the deference of tall and noble men. 'I've come to see Stri--' he said, catching himself in time, 'King Elessar, and they told me I'd find him here, in the Tower.'

'The hour is very late,' the second guard said, as if to turn the hobbit aside. 'If you have a message for my Lord, sir, I will be happy to convey it to him when he comes down...'

But the gardener had met greater opposition in the past, and not been turned aside. 'This is the sort of message that doesn't take to being conveyed,' he said, and seeing the second guard set to persuade him he held up a commanding hand, much as if the tall men were young hobbit neighbours wanting to sample the strawberries he was carrying to Bag End. 'I know it's very late, but dark hours are suited to dark business, or so they say.'

The guards exchanged glances. The King, it was true, had mounted the stairs earlier in the evening, after the business of the day was concluded, on his way to the chamber at the top of the Tower, where it was said the Lord Denethor had wrestled with the Dark Lord, and been conquered by despair. Anborn, the first guardsman, himself had seen the light flashing from the high window on one such occasion.

It was evident to him that the Halfling would not be turned aside. 'As you wish, sir,' he said, and hesitated before adding, '...only I say to you this: knock upon the door, and if there is no answer, then come down again.'

'Far be it from me to disturb the snores o' the King,' Sam said amiably. He knew about the Stone of Seeing, of course, from the tales the hobbits had shared in the days after their awakening, but if the guardsmen weren't going to mention it, well then, neither would he. The thought crossed his mind that he wouldn't mind a look in the Palantir, if it would give him a glimpse of gaffer and home, but then he thought of what he'd seen in the Lady's Mirror, and shivered.

'Cold is the night,' Anborn said. 'Methinks there is a touch of frost in the air, even this late in the Spring.'

'Good for the slugs,' Sam said, 'or bad for them, which is good for the garden, or so they say back home. But that is neither here nor there,' he added. He'd caught his breath in the little space of time upon the landing, and though his legs ached fiercely he was ready to tackle the last of the climb. 'I bid you good evening... or morning, more like,' he said with a nod.

The guardsmen, seeing his determination, returned the sentiment and then became as statues once more, guarding the peace of the King.

For all the good it would do. Samwise, toiling up the steps, was determined to do what he could to spoil that peace, shake things up as it were, give Strider a good talking to such as the man deserved, if idle talk could be believed.

Certainly the people of Minas Tirith were rejoicing in their new-crowned King. Certainly the talk was hopeful, and cheerful, for the most part. The King was wise in his judgments, and fair and just, they said. He'd brought Gondor through; he'd brought Middle-earth through, and the future shone glorious on the horizon.

But there were some things not to be stood, in Sam's mind, and while Mr. Frodo and Mr. Merry had said there was nothing to be done, still, Sam could not stand by, silent, and let things take their course.

No, he'd taken this task upon himself, and he vowed to see it through, even though it did not concern him directly.

Come to think of it, the Ring had not concerned him directly--at least it hadn't seemed to, in the beginning--but he'd vowed to see that through, if you take my meaning, and so he had.