Chapter 10 - Minas Tirith

The main library is located on the first floor, but it would be next to impossible to take the hobbits there without being seen. While it is easy enough to ban all servants from his private apartment without raising suspicions, it would be far more difficult to ban them from the House itself. Instead, Elessar leads them to his personal library, located next to his study.

While significantly smaller than the main library downstairs, it is still nearly twice the size of the study. A double-sided fireplace sits in the corner shared with the study, but no fire burns. The library is open on its east and south sides and bright sunlight streams in from the eastern windows. In the middle of the library sits a long oak table and they gather around it. The hobbits stand on chairs, as Elessar selects one of many a long leather tubes from a nearby bookshelf. From the tube he pulls a map and he spreads this over the table.

The hobbits now look upon sketched lands they have never seen before, though they have heard many stories of them. Just below South Ithilien there is South Gondor, or Harondor, stretching away towards the sea. Surrounding Harondor are the vast barren deserts of Harad to the south and Near Harad to the east. Further to the east, beyond the reaches of the Mountains of Shadow, is Khand. 

“That’s how you got the Easterlings into Mordor,” Rick says to Sauron. He points to the large gap between the northern and southern ends of the mountains that surround Mordor in a crescent-like shape. “They just walked in the back door.”

Sauron only nods.

“Couldn’t the Haradrim have gone that way also?” Frodo asks, remembering the battalion that he and Sam had spied marching into the Black Gate, as well as the troop that Faramir’s men had defeated the day the hobbits met the mild-mannered Ranger.

“Those who lived closest to Khand did,” says Sauron. “For the others, it was quicker to march them north. It was also an effective way to ensure that the Gondorians knew how much manpower I had at my disposal, for I knew there would be scouts and spies, and their soldiers were spread too thin to attack or defeat every battalion that passed. It was an efficient way to both increase my numbers and demoralize the enemy.”

“You must have been a lot of fun at parties,” Rick says sardonically.

“I brought the finger foods,” Sauron replies.

“I hate to ask what constitutes as finger food in Mordor,” Rick says. 

“So how far it is to Khand?” Sam asks, bringing the conversation back to topic. He is no better with maps now than he had been before the Quest, despite Frodo’s many attempts to explain them to him. Seeing lands drawn to such a miniscule scale confuses him easily. Khand may only be a few days away, or a hundred. There is no way of knowing and he does not see how anyone can find such deceptive drawings useful. 

“You will set sail at dawn,” Elessar says, pointing to the Anduin where it curves closest to the Rammas Echor. “In a couple of days, you will reach Pelargir. You will leave there at night, as we discussed. I think it would be best to leave the road once you are a few miles out of the port. You can travel due west through South Ithilien and you should pass the downs here to the north. Once you round those, you can follow the mountains all the way to Khand. Of course, if the guide has a better suggestion, it would be best to listen to her, as she will know the land better than I do. I do insist on you following the mountains though. They will provide you with shelter during the hotter parts of the day, and it will be easier to hunt food among the brush there, where small game is readily found. You will have to take a goodly supply of water with you. You can replenish your supplies at the rivers Poros and Harnen, but once you pass the Harnen there will be no more reliable water sources until you reach Khand.”

“We will have to leave the shelter of the mountains here,” Sauron says, pointing to where the mountains begin to curve northward as they reach their end on the northwestern borders of Khand, “and continue due east until we reach Khand. We will have to save as much water as we can for that leg of the journey.”

“Couldn’t we take things that we can trade for water?” asks Rick. “Surely, we’ll come across some people along the way.”

“Even if we could rely on such a chance, we will be traveling as mourners,” Sauron reminds him. “They will not approach us, unless they be lawless rogues, and we cannot approach them. Besides, we are the enemy to them. They will not help us.”

“So how far is it?” Sam asks again. “Won’t there be orcs hiding in those mountains?”

“Look Sam,” Frodo says patiently, pointing to the scale at the bottom corner of the map. “This tells you how many inches on the map represent miles on the land. Remember?”

Sam looks at the scale and then back at the map in general. He does remember, and he is as good with numbers and simple calculations as any other hobbit, but he cannot see how such a tiny scale can tell him much tucked away in the corner as it is. “Shouldn’t the scale go all the way across then?” he asks.

“That would be more helpful,” Frodo agrees. “Looking at it without measuring, I’d say it’s easily many hundreds of miles.”

“Nearly 800,” Elessar confirms. “Traveling by foot will take far too long, which is why you will be supplied with horses. The journey will take about a month to complete, depending on how far into Khand you will have to travel to find the Blue Wizards’ lair.”

“It will be about five days once we cross the border, just shy of a month if we have no delays or unexpected adventures,” Sauron says. “As for orcs, by now the few bands that remain have retreated deep into the mountains, for they are hunted by all. They will not be a threat to us. If they do appear, I can deal them a swift defeat without any of you having to draw sword.”

His questions now answered, Sam loses interest in the continuing discussions of the map and the journey. He will find out soon enough what the lands are like, and he learned long ago that it is better not to know too much in advance what possible dangers might lie ahead. He wanders away from the table and begins to explore the shelves of the library. 

The hobbits had spent much time in both libraries during the weeks following the Quest and much has changed in the time since their departure. Books and tomes from one library have a way of ending up in the other, and Elessar and Arwen both have been bringing their most used resources to this library over the years. Sam discovers that the two walls of the library are covered from top to bottom in shelves crowded with tomes, books and scrolls. Only the small section of wall above the fireplace is bare of books. Instead, an oil painting has been placed there. The painting depicts a man in mail and armed with a magnificent sword standing before the doors of Minas Morgul. 

“That is King Eärnur, the last of the southern kings,” says Rick, coming to stand at Sam’s side. “He rode to Minas Morgul with a small battalion of knights to answer the challenge of the Witch King. None of them were ever seen again.”

“Was he mad?” asks Sam.

“None of the tales say so, but perhaps he was,” Rick says, considering this possibility for a moment before continuing. “It is clear he was much too proud of his valor and vigor. He was considered a champion of his people; he would not be taunted and called a weakling. Mardil was the steward at the time and for a while he was able to restrain the King’s temper and keep him from riding to Minas Morgul. But a time came when King Eärnur could no longer be held back. Whether he died in battle before the gates or after some long and terrible torment, no one knows. Some have even postulated that he turned coward as he rode towards his challenge and rather than return to the city in disgrace he rode into exile.”

“No one knows what happened to him?” asks Sam with a backward glance at Sauron, who is bent over the map, intent on his conversation with Elessar. Frodo notices his glance and comes to join them as Rick finishes his tale.

“No one, then or now, and since none knew for certain if the king was dead, Mardil ruled Gondor under the king’s name. That is when the reign of the Ruling Stewards began. No heir of pure blood could be found to claim the crown, and of those few who came forward not all would allow to take rule. They all feared another kin-strife, and knowing that if such an event was allowed to occur it would be the end of the realm, the Stewards remained in rule in the hopes that one day a rightful heir to whom all would agree would come forth.”

“You are familiar with all the old tales?” asks Frodo.

“I grew up listening to them,” Rick says. “Sometimes, my father would allow my brothers and me to stay up late to hear a particularly long tale told in full. When I started traveling with Sauron, one of the first places we came was here. The vastness of the Citadel library and archives were so overwhelming. I stood in the middle of that grand room, surrounded by all those stories of legends and myths, and I thought of my older brother and how he would have loved to hear all those tales were he still alive, and I wept. I asked the master archivist if he could teach me to read and I learned as quickly and as much as I could. I’m still only a moderate reader at best, but I carry any tales I learn with me back home, where I sit at my brother’s plot and tell them to him. It’s a silly thing to do, I suppose, but I think he can hear me.”

“You must have loved your brother very much,” Frodo says. “He will know when you visit him.”

“It’s real thoughtful of you to share your new stories with him,” Sam adds kindly. 

They explore the library until Sauron and Elessar finalize the travel plans. Elessar rolls up the map, places it in its tube and gives it to Sauron. The Maia then joins the others while Elessar takes his leave. He must be in court shortly, for the duties of running a kingdom will not wait for him to spend a day with friends, dear as they are. After the morning delegations, he will have a meeting with his counselors but he promises to return in time for tea with the hobbits.

“I take it we aren’t supposed to be going downstairs, much less outside,” Sam says and sighs after Elessar has departed. He would have liked to visit some of the shops and inns, but if no one is to know they are in the city then there will be no wandering about for him or Frodo. 

Sensing his friend’s need for the outdoors, Frodo takes Sam’s arm and steers him towards the hall. “Come lad, we can go upstairs to the roof garden. I asked Strider and he said there would be no one up there today. If we stay away from the edges, we won’t be spied. We can sit in the garden and enjoy the warmth and sun of day now that we are not having to travel through it. There might even be weeds for you to dig out of the flower beds. Will you join us?” he asks the others.

Rick considers the offer but after a quick glance at Sauron, he declines. The hobbits leave them in the library and go outside. 

The garden is full of late winter and early spring blooms, which they had not been able to enjoy the previous night. They do so now, strolling along the paths of the vast garden, Sam pointing out the flowers he planted during their previous stay. He is delighted to see them doing so well, and there are even a few new ones that he is not familiar with. He leans over to inspect these blooms more closely, noting the type of soil they are plotted in and the amount of shade or sun in which they are located. 

After a time, the hobbits rest on a bench facing the mountain and they look at each other knowingly, each sharing the same thought.

“I wonder how you open that secret passage from this side of the garden wall,” Frodo says.

Sam shakes his head. “We don’t even know how to do be opening it from the side we came out from,” he points out. “I doubt we’ll have a chance to go down there and take a good look at it.”

“Maybe you can’t open it from this side,” Frodo says. 

“What would be the point in that?” Sam asks. 

“Well, let’s say that a king’s advisor turns against him and decides to use the tunnels to surprise the king at night in his sleep,” Frodo begins.

“I don’t like this supposing,” Sam says but Frodo continues.

“It would still be difficult getting into and out of the House without being seen, but if one could accomplish it, they wouldn’t be able to escape back through the secret passage. They’d have to navigate the streets of the Citadel, thus increasing the likelihood of being seen by the guards.”

“What if the guards are in on it?” Sam asks despite himself, curious to see what his master has pieced together.

“What if the guards stood by and did nothing while their king and queen were being murdered and then failed to apprehend or name a suspect? I’d imagine they’d be hung for treason. They could abandon their posts and flee the city with the culprit, but they all would be hunted men for as long as they are able to run.”

“They could frame someone else, or the assailant could kill them too,” Sam suggests, then shakes his head vigorously, as though trying to clear it from cobwebs. “Let’s talk about something else, sir. Let’s see if we can find those rose bushes Mr. Pippin helped me plant.”

They return to their strolling and continue their inspection of the colorful grounds. After a few hours, Arwen brings them elevenses and Rick and Sauron join them. Arwen tells them of life in court and the city, of the preparations that are already under way for the New Year celebration, and of the friends she has made here. The hobbits have many questions for her and they follow her to the kitchen after their meal to continue their conversation while they clean and begin making luncheon. 

After luncheon, the travelers return to the library, where Rick has unearthed a large and ancient tome. The book cover is cracked in many places, and the spine flakes like fine ashes at the slightest touch. The pages too are fragile and covered with strange runes that are blurred and faded with time. Even the illustrations are a faint promise of their one-time glory. 

“I found this just before we joined you for elevenses, as you call it. Queen Arwen says it’s a book of legends from the First Age,” Rick tells the hobbits in an impassioned whisper. The parchment crackles as he leafs gingerly through the pages. 

“This is Huan,” Sam says without hesitation, pointing to an illustration of a great hound shaded in black before a bleak tower.

“That it is,” Sauron affirms and notes with relief the lack of fear or grief Sam displays from the brief remembrance of his visions. Sauron looks closer at the faded text and reaches back into his own memories as he tries to decipher the ancient runes. “This is an early form of Quenya, written in the Tengwar of Fëanor. This is the Lay of Lúthien,” he announces, equally as surprised as the others at this revelation. “This must be one of the first copies, if not the very first.”

“I found this with it,” Rick says and touches a newly-bound book with many crisp sheets of parchment. He flips this book open and they see that the text inside is similar to that in the tome. Only half of the book is completed, the last pages blank and untouched. “Arwen must be transcribing the text before the ink fades beyond legibility. There are at least four stories already copied.”

“Strider told us some of the lay while we were camping near Weathertop, or some sort of translation of it,” Sam informs them. “You remember that Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo nods, unconsciously moving his hand to touch the scar under his shirt left by the Morgul blade. He soon realizes what he is doing and very decidedly moves his hand to caress the edge of the drawing in the ancient book. “I think I actually saw this book once in Rivendell, now that I think of it. I saw Arwen with it; Bilbo was with her. She must have been working on it then as well, and this must be from whence Bilbo got all of his texts and scrolls. It’s a shame the illustrations cannot be as easily reproduced. They are too lovely to fade into the past.”

“I’m certain that the Queen will be able to find someone with a skilled hand who can replicate them adequately, if not precisely,” Sauron reassures. “Arwen herself may even be able to do so. The Lady has many talents.”

“What other stories are in here?” Sam asks, just as Rick turns to the entrance of the library and says, “Will you read it to us?”

The others turn to find Arwen coming into the library. She glides across the room and graciously takes the book from Sauron. She handles the book with great care and sits in a nearby chair to flip to the beginning of the lay. The hobbits sit on the floor before her and Rick takes the chair beside her. Sauron remains at the table, removed from the others but listening just as intently. 

Arwen’s soothing voice lilts over the words and verses as waves of the sea lap the shore. Her audience is soon lulled into a trance as she begins to read the tale of Beren and Lúthien. Their surroundings melt away as they listen, drawn into the tale that comes to life before their eyes by the magic of Arwen’s voice. Sam gasps at the first description of Lúthien, though he is not aware of doing so.

Such lissome limbs no more shall run 

on the green earth beneath the sun; 

so fair a maid no more shall be 

from dawn to dusk, from sun to sea. 

Her robe was blue as summer skies, 

but grey as evening were her eyes; 

‘twas sewn with golden lilies fair, 

but dark as shadow was her hair. 

Her feet were light as bird on wing, 

her laughter lighter than the spring; 

the slender willow, the bowing reed, 

the fragrance of a flowering mead, 

the light upon the leaves of trees, 

the voice of water, more than these 

her beauty was and blissfulness, 

her glory and her loveliness; 

and her the king more dear did prize 

than hand or heart or light of eyes.*

The enchantment lasts for the entirety of the long and tragic tale. When Arwen comes to its bittersweet end, there are tears in the eyes of her audience, save for Sauron who is troubled. Frodo dips his head and silently dabs at his eyes with a handkerchief, while Rick unceremoniously wipes his shirtsleeve across his face. 

Sam sniffles then smiles bravely. “That was some story,” he says, sounding cheerful despite the redness of his eyes. “It doesn’t seem as dark written out so pretty like that. It does seem sadder though, if you follow me.” Then he wipes away his tears with the backs of his hands and wipes his hands on his breeches.

“It’s like being inside a dream,” Frodo says, nearly inaudible. 

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like for Beren the first time he saw Lúthien,” Rick says. “I think love like that can only happen once an age.”

“That would be a shame if that were true,” says Elessar from the entryway. He is leaning against one of the pillars, watching the others, and with his appearance the final webs of enchantment break. The hobbits and Rick breathe a great sigh and everyone stands to stretch after sitting still for so long. 

“You are early,” Arwen says, walking to her husband’s side. 

“Indeed,” Elessar says and takes her hand briefly. “My counselors were surprisingly short-winded today. It was a lucky thing, it turns out. I was able to order tea to be sent up from the kitchens and everything is now ready. Frodo and Sam, will you join me?”

The hobbits join Elessar in the sitting room just behind the kitchen. The meal is already laid out, as promised, and the hobbits delight to see the seed cake, water biscuits and slices of cheese sitting next to steaming cups of fragrant tea. A hot kettle waits on the tray in case they should require more drink.

The hobbits sit on the chairs provided for them and Elessar sits on the divan. They serve themselves and for several minutes they speak of nothing but the food and fine weather. After the first serving is consumed and they serve themselves seconds, they go on to talk of more important matters, explaining the state of things in the Shire and of their travels with Rick and Sauron.

“And what of your lessons?” Elessar asks. “Have you dreamt since they began?”

“I have not,” Frodo says, “at least, not that I can remember. I believe it is because of the lessons. I can control my thoughts better now, both in sleep and in waking day. I would not have thought it possible, as it seemed so contrary to my own thinking. How is it that only by embracing the powers given to me by the Ring I have been allowed to resist them?”

“Because you are not resisting them,” Elessar says simply. “Think of it this way. If you are arguing with someone, and you push them away, what is the most likely outcome?”

“They push you back,” Sam supplies.

“And if you do not push them, but empathize with them, take them aside and hear them out?”

“They calm down, and the conflict goes away or is resolved,” Frodo says, understanding.

“That isn’t to say that the conflict won’t return at a later day,” Elessar continues, “but when it does you will be better equipped to handle it. And what of Sauron? How does he seem to you?”

“A bit terse and close-mouthed at first, but he's starting to open up a bit more. Other than that, he’s quite the opposite of everything I expected,” Frodo says.

“I didn’t trust him at first,” Sam admits, “but I do now.”

“Should we not?” Frodo asks when Elessar only nods at the table. 

“I have worked with him several times over the last few years, especially with our emissaries to the south. His methods are effective, if not always ones that I agree with,” Elessar says. “He knows what he is doing and it is fair to say that once he sets his mind to something, it always gets done. Or almost always.” He smirks at Frodo. “Some are more determined than even him, but thankfully such people are few and far between.”

“But,” Frodo prompts, “you trust him, don’t you?”

“You must, if you showed him those tunnels,” Sam says, confused by this sudden turn.

“He already knew of the tunnels from Denethor,” Elessar replies, “but yes, I do trust him. While I do not always agree with his methods, know that I would not allow you to go with him if I thought for a moment his intentions were not just. I ask that you watch him and be mindful of all you see and hear. There is much the two of you can learn from him, but much of that you will have to read under what he says or glean from his actions.”

Frodo nods. “Very well. We have already learned much of his ways. Even if he sounds terse and disapproving, you can often tell by the way he holds himself that he is jesting or play-acting. Rick has been invaluable to us in teaching us of his companion’s many moods.”

“Rick is a good lad, full of compassion and humanity,” Elessar says. “He is good for Sauron.”

After dinner, the travelers prepare for their journey to the ship. Elessar has brought them all mourning clothes, long heavy robes of black velvet, tied at the waist by a red sash. The robes are large enough that they can conceal their regular travel clothes underneath them, and therefore also their weapons. The hobbits hesitate when they spot the boots sitting on the floor by the bed. They stare down at the odd contraptions and share a dubious expression. Sam holds back, happy to wait for his master to take the lead. 

Finally, Frodo sits on the floor and picks up the boots, formed from two pieces of supple leather sewn together. Holding them at eye-level, he examines them from every angle, and the only thing he can find pleasing about them is that they do not have those confounded lacings that he has seen on other shoes and boots. He pulls them on and wriggles his toes inside their newly-confined space. The boots are a size too big for him but that is still not enough room for his feet to be comfortable. 

Aware that Sam is watching him closely, Frodo stands and tentatively paces the room. He walks as normally as he can but he still feels uncomfortable. It does not help that the soft underside of the boots slip on the marble floor so that he has to be careful of his footing. He returns to Sam and smiles at him triumphantly. “I don’t see how the hobbits in the Marish can manage such things, but they are not as bad as I would have thought,” he announces, though he is secretly waiting for when they board the boat and go down into their rooms so he can remove the boots and free his feet from their leathery prison.

Sam hums at this declaration, then he sits and pulls on his pair. He giggles helplessly as the boots tickle his foot hair, but once they are in place he is able to stand and walk without laughing. 

“Is everything packed?” Frodo asks.

“Never unpacked,” Sam says. “Didn’t see the point in it, what with us only being here a day. Maybe on the return journey, if we come this way again, we can stay longer.”

“I would enjoy a longer visit, but if everything goes as planned, we will have the wizards with us and won’t be able to return this way,” Frodo says, explaining to Sam what he had missed earlier in the library. “We will have to sail again when we get back to Pelargir, sail all the way to the Sea and then north to the Grey Havens. From there it will only be a three-day journey home.”

Sam nods, disappointed that he would not have more time with his friends, but he is not about to complain if the journey gets him home that much quicker. He is missing his friends and family, Rosie especially. “We best get going then. It’s near nightfall and Strider said as we’d be leaving soon as it’s dark.”

They shoulder their packs, supplied only with their water bottles, a blanket, and a change of clothing; the rest of their supplies will already be waiting for them at the gate. They pick up their veils, which will hide their faces once they are outside the apartment, and join the others in the parlor. Elessar and Sauron are going over the details of the trip one final time. Rick stands next to Sauron, listening closely also and interrupting now and again with questions. 

Arwen comes just as they are setting out. She kneels down and hugs the hobbits, then stands and hugs Rick. She curtsies gracefully to Sauron, who bows in return. At a nod from Elessar, the hobbits pull on their veils and Arwen fixes them, tugging at the corners to ensure that their faces and ears are fully concealed and that the veils will not be disturbed by the winds outside.

Elessar leads them from the apartment. The guards at the door bow as the King passes, their right hands fisted in salute over their hearts. They keep their faces turned downward until the King and his guests have rounded the corner and are gone from sight. The guards in the courtyard of the White Tree do likewise, as do the guards at either end of the tunnel to the sixth circle.

Night hangs thick over the city. The air is chill and the gentle wind blows in cool gusts. Lanterns are lit along the streets and the candlelight flickers as tiny flames dancing in the darkness of the pool of the White Tree. Despite the dark, the tree seems to glow with a light of its own and even behind their veils the hobbits are amazed at the height to which the tree has grown in the few years since its planting by the King’s hand.

The hobbits walk between Rick and Sauron, an arrangement silently agreed upon by the young man and the Maia. It will keep up appearances of the hobbits being children, but more importantly they can tell how the hobbits struggle to keep their footing in the slick-soled boots. Rick and Sauron keep a steadying hand on the hobbits’ shoulders, guiding them as best as they can. 

The hobbits’ strides are shorter than normal and once they step onto the cobblestone streets, they begin to stumble more often. After a time, they start to step forward with their toes rather than their heels, a strategy that proves successful until they come to a particularly sharp turn. Sam stumbles but Rick quickly slides a hand under the gardener’s arm and beside him, Frodo does the same. After that, Elessar slows the pace, preferring to be late than to risk the hobbits being injured, and Rick and Sauron slip their hands into those of the hobbits, the better to help them.

As they walk, the hobbits look around them at the city. It is difficult to see under the veils and the accompanying cover of night does not help their vision. The few lanterns that light the streets and the doorways are of little help to them. Here and there lights pool out of windows and as they pass the inns, there is faint music and laughter from within, promising good beer and warm fires. They pass only a few people on the streets, usually patrons of the inns stumbling towards their homes. They bow to the King and glance curiously but respectfully at the King’s companions before continuing on their way.

When there is no one about to overhear them, the hobbits point out the few places they recognize. Frodo tugs on Sauron’s hand and points up a darkened alley shortly after passing the gate into the fifth circle. “That’s where the rat catcher’s shop is,” he informs, his voice loud against the silence and reverberating stone. When he speaks again, it is in a whisper. “We found rats in our apartment one day and Merry refused to go back inside until they were all removed. For a good week afterward, he would jump at the slightest sound. Sometimes, Pippin would pretend to be a rat just to see Merry hop onto the table.”

“Sir Meriadoc can help the White Lady to slay the Witch King but he’s afraid of a little rat?” Rick says, chuckling. He is well-acquainted with the gentle rodents and can’t imagine how anyone can be afraid of them.

“That he is, but he’d never admit it,” Sam says. “He denied it was him as was scared, trying to put it on Mr. Pippin if you can believe that.”

On the third circle, Sam points at the door of an inn and sighs. “That there is the best mug of ale in Gondor, almost as good as Shire ale.”

“The innkeeper offered Merry and Pippin all the free ale they could drink,” Frodo adds, “until he found out just how much ale that was! If he thought our small stature meant we’d not drink so deep in our mugs, he soon learned the truth.”

“Aye, but Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin always brought in so much business, what with folk wanting just to meet them, that the innkeeper never charged them much for the beer in any case,” Sam finishes. 

They point out other places of interest until they reach the last circle and the main gate. The guards jump to attention at the sight of their king, and they bow to salute him in the same manner as the guards in the Citadel. Elessar speaks with one guard and soon the gate is opening, revealing the moonlit plains of the Pelennor beyond. 

Just to the left of the gate waits a grand carriage. Behind the carriage on a small trap is a box which for all appearances contains a casket and not supplies for a month-long journey through the desert. The driver stands and jumps down from his perch on the coach. He bows gracefully before the King then opens the carriage door for his passengers to enter. 

“I leave you here, my friends,” Elessar says, kneeling to hug the hobbits. “Good luck and take care. I will keep watch on you for as long as I am able.”

“Good-bye Str— my lord Elessar,” Sam says, catching himself just in time from being familiar in front of so many strangers.

“We will do our best to honor and serve you, my lord Elessar,” Frodo says.

Elessar rises and bows to Rick and Sauron, who return the gesture in formal salute. “We thank you for this opportunity, sire,” Sauron says.

“May you bring swift justice to those who have wronged you,” Elessar says. 

Rick only nods and he enters the carriage first to help the hobbits up. Soon they are all seated and if Elessar hesitates for a moment to turn and leave, the hobbits are the only ones who notice. The gate closes behind the King and when the locks slide into place, the driver mounts the coach. The carriage starts with a jolt and the hobbits remove their veils, shaking out their curls, and slip off their boots, stretching their feet and spreading their toes. 

The carriage follows a dirt lane through the fields and farmlands across the darkened Pelennor. They chat easily with Rick, who points out a couple of the farmlands and tells them of the people who live there. Though their talk is light, Sam can feel his master trembling. His own hands break into a cold sweat, and he has to force himself to keep from rambling like a ninnyhammer and instead let Rick explain the customs of the people of Gondor and of Rohan. Sauron keeps quiet, tucked into the shadows of the carriage, peeking out the drawn-curtain at the lands passing by. 

They feel and hear when the lane changes from dirt to stone, and when the carriage stops, the hobbits expect to exit. Now Sauron shakes his head. “We are at the wall,” he explains. 

The hobbits hear the driver speaking to someone, followed by the familiar sound of locks sliding out of place and great wooden doors yawning open. A snap of the whip and the carriage is moving again, jittering back and forth over the stone road, the wheels sounding like apples tumbling from a barrel while the horses’ hooves clip-clop steadily against the road. 

Now a faint sniff of salt air sneaks into the carriage. The scent grows stronger as the carriage follows the road south to the quays of Harlond. At length, the carriage slows and comes to a stop, and the driver jumps down from his seat. The hobbits quickly don their boots and veils and a moment later the door opens, revealing a vast port with many docked ships. A crew of four men walk up and down the planks of the nearest ship, readying the boat for sailing at dawn. 

The hobbits share a silent moment of unease. They are about to go into lands unknown, to fight an enemy they know of only from near-forgotten legends. They wonder now if they truly are up to the task, but they know there is no turning back once they step off the carriage and onto the dock. Sam waits for Frodo to lead the way, reaching out to squeeze his master’s hand briefly. Frodo nods and draws a great breath. Letting it out slowly, he steps down from the carriage and onto his next great adventure.

To be continued…

GF 1/19/07

<* - From "The Lay of Leithian" from The Lays of Beleriand, HoME Vol III.