Plans for Rebuilding

            Pippin and Captain Faramir rode across the temporary wooden bridge that spanned the Anduin between the west and the east banks, saluted as they went by soldiers and workmen who were involved in seeing the ruins of Osgiliath cleared of bodies and abandoned weapons and the road east made safe.

            “The first time I visited Ithilien I must have been all of eight years of age,” the Man was saying as he returned the salute of one of his Rangers involved in the cleanup.  “I accompanied my father, riding before him upon his saddlebow, and Boromir accompanied us on his first horse.  I could ride as well, of course—I had a pony from Rohan I’d named Steelsheen after the old Queen, Morwen, who came from here in Gondor.  But Father had insisted that Steelsheen was too small to make so long a journey and think of keeping up with full-sized horses.  So it was that I rode with my father, although I’d rather hoped to ride with Boromir instead.  Still, I knew that I was safe in my father’s arms.”

            Pippin shuddered slightly, and did not bother trying to hide his feelings from his companion.  “This pony doesn’t appear to be having any difficulty in keeping up,” he commented, reaching forward to pat his mount’s neck with a gloved hand.

            “But we are not in much danger of coming across enemies lying in ambush for us,” Faramir pointed out.  “I think this was Father’s greatest worry, that we would need to flee out of danger and a pony would not be able to keep pace with the horses, and that I would be more likely to be pulled from a pony’s back than from his arms.  I suspect, in fact, that this was why he carried me rather than allowing me to ride double with my brother as I often did out upon the Pelennor." 

The Man sighed and looked to the road ahead.  “We will soon enough be upon the North-South Road and will then turn south and then back east toward Emyn Arnen.  Of old our family had a keep there, and it is there I hope to build anew.  I only hope that my lady not find it too difficult, living not upon the plains as she has been accustomed all during her life, but instead amidst forestlands and farms, with rather more shepherds than horsemen.”

            As they approached the edges of the ruined city they were joined by outriders who’d been to scout the road ahead.  “No signs of any sort of enemies,” commented one of the scouts.  “But we found this token—it appears that Prince Legolas has been this way before us.”  He held out one of the Elf’s distinctive arrows for his Prince to take.  “It was settled upon a tree’s branch, pointing toward Emyn Arnen.”

            “What say you to this, Pippin?” asked Faramir, taking the arrow and holding it out for the Hobbit to see more plainly.

            “It’s one of his, so it’s likely that there aren’t any enemies to be found,” Pippin said, remembering the signs that Legolas and Aragorn, who usually served as scouts during the quest, would leave to mark their trail.  “If there were orcs or evil Men out there, he would have used one of their arrows to indicate what kind of enemy we might run into if we kept going straight ahead.  He had a few orc arrows and Men’s arrows he’d use, and we’d gather them up when we found them and return them to him.  If there was some other reason we should turn from the path he’d leave a broken arrow with the point facing whichever way it was safest to take; and if he wanted us to stop he’d leave half an arrow, usually the back half with the fletching, or the end with the point if he wanted Strider to go to him.  But if he left a whole arrow it meant that we should carry on at least another league, going the way the arrow pointed.”

            “Then he appears to be intent on us joining him there,” Faramir noted, returning the arrow to the scout.  “Let us not keep him waiting longer than he must.”

            It took several more hours to reach the reopened lane that led to the ruins of the old fortress.  Faramir had told Pippin that several of his Rangers had volunteered since the return of the Army of the West to Minas Tirith to go to Emyn Arnen and make certain that it was free of enemies and to begin clearing the site so as to make it easier for the masons and engineers to begin their surveys and construction when the time came.  “All of us are looking forward to the time when Ithilien again is a princedom to be envied,” he’d added.

            Pippin looked up at the rocky mount on which the ruins of the old fortress rested.  “It reminds me of the Weather Hills, and particularly Weathertop,” he said rather uncertainly, “although with rather more trees,” he added, his expression clearing somewhat.  “That was where the Black Riders attacked us in Eriador, and where the Witch-king stabbed Frodo with a Morgul knife.”

            Several of their guards looked to one another on hearing this.  “How is it he did not become a wraith himself?” demanded one of the older Men.

            “It was only because Frodo was able to fight its influence until we reached Rivendell—or Imladris, as you know it,” the young Hobbit told him.  “Elrond has learned how to counter the effects of Morgul knives, although I’m told it wasn’t without cost.  But it’s why Frodo often rubs at his shoulder when he is tired or uncomfortable, because that wound will ache so.”

            “He’s lucky that’s all it does,” murmured another of the older Men.  “One of the Men in my father’s company was stabbed with a Morgul knife, and he didn’t last five days.  Lord Denethor himself gave him the mercy stroke ere it turned him fully to a wraith.”

            Pippin shivered, and they began the ride up the mount.  At the call of a falcon the Hobbit looked up.  “There he is!” he proclaimed indicating where the Elf lounged along a branch that would most likely have failed to hold a Man.

            Legolas sat up smiling, and in moments was on the road before them.  “No enemies in the ruins,” he announced, “although I did induce a family of bears to seek elsewhere to shelter.  There is a fine stand of berry bushes that way half a league, and at my suggestion they made their way thither.  It is a fine vantage point on which the old keep was built, my Lord.  I can see why Aragorn suggested that you build your own home there.  It has an excellent command of the country round about and will be easily defended, as well as being beautiful.”  He glanced upwards.  “When I return with some of my people, we will help you to add to the beauty of Emyn Arnen that none regret visiting here.”  So saying, he led the way upward, and they approached the ruins.

            Rather more of the old walls were standing than had been true of the ruins to be seen in Eriador, and one could see the graceful windows that had allowed light into the rooms of the place.  “The defensive walls were down there, lower on the slope,” Faramir said, pointing to where the foundations of that circle could still be seen here and there.  “We will see them made broader, of course.  We had but a low tower here atop the mount, over there.  I would see it rebuilt also.  But mostly the buildings here were intended for comfort rather than defense.”

            He led them through a gap in the walls, and all could see that the paved floor was almost intact and had been recently swept.  “There is no proper dungeon, although there was a line of four cells under it for the keeping of lawbreakers until they could be sent to Minas Tirith to know the Steward’s justice.  But most of the rooms under the place were intended for storage of food and wine, as well as the treasury for those who dwelt here, my own ancestors.”

            He smiled and began walking about the ruins, indicating where he would see the Great Hall placed, and where his lady’s solar, and the stairs to the upper floors where the major dwelling space for his family and guests would be placed.  The kitchens would be down there, with a special lift to bring food up from them to the dining hall and the family’s quarters.  Servants' quarters would be here, and offices above them….

            Then they were outside the standing walls, looking over the grounds and examining the remains of what had once been a massive stable.  “The barns for cattle and grain storage were down there, alongside cottages for those who worked the estate,” Faramir indicated.  “There were two forges, one for the farriers here, and a second for the armorers in that direction, near the tanneries and the stream.  The barracks for Guardsmen was there, just inside the defensive wall….”

            They camped for the night inside the walls of what had been and would again be the Great Hall.  “I can imagine it,” Pippin said as he lay inside a far more substantial bedroll than he’d used upon the quest, “how it was and how it will be again.  No wonder you wish to build here again, my friend.  It’s a bit stony for us Hobbits—we prefer chalk hills to granite, after all.  But for you Stonelanders—this is indeed the proper place for you.  I only wish I could hear your people singing amidst the trees,” he added through a yawn, addressing Legolas, who sat upon one of the lower lines of wall, staring out at the comforting glint of starlight reflected from the leaves about them.  “Now, that will be one thing even Frodo would love to experience again.”

            They could make out the smile on the wood Elf’s lips, and after a moment he began to sing, softly at first, but then more loudly, a song of thanksgiving for the beauty of stars and trees sung in his own tongue.  And as he slept, Pippin seemed to hear others join him in his song, and he smiled in his dreams, knowing that Faramir and the Lady Éowyn and whatever children they gave birth to would be very happy here.