The Ring will come to Gondor
by Varda
Chapter Fifteen: A Saucer of Stars
By now the strange mist and the approach of nightfall had cast
Minas Tirith into deep shadow. People fled into their houses,
remembering the great plague which had befallen the city years before
and fearing to breath the noisome air. Even the battle-hardened
soldiers of Gondor at their guard duty pulled scarves across their
faces and considered the unthinkable, to desert their posts. For
Denethor the Steward had suddenly left his seat in the Great Hall and
shut himself up alone in his room in the Citadel, and Faramir had been
swallowed up by this evil fog, and Boromir was nowhere to be found…..
‘Follow me, Gandalf!’ said Boromir in a loud whisper. ‘I will bring you where you are safe….’
But Gandalf seemed not to hear him, and stood leaning against a great
wall of stone, fighting for breath, his face grey and his eyes closed.
To Boromir he was like a man who had been mortally wounded…footsteps
passed the end of the narrow street where they stood and Boromir
gripped the Wizard’s arm.
‘Gandalf! You must hurry! If you stay here the guards will find you and take you to my father. He will imprison you and….’
Boromir’s voice trailed off; he did not want to admit his father had
taken to executing those who opposed him, but Gandalf opened his eyes
as if reading his mind and said in a weak, strained voice;
‘You are right, Boromir. Better your father and I do not meet. Not right now, anyway….’
Boromir thought there was a hint of Gandalf’s former wit in the reply,
but he had not time to ponder it. Taking the wizard’s arm he helped him
along the street, through a narrow gate and down a long stone tunnel.
The great gates divided Minas Tirith into seven unassailable levels,
but like many inhabitants Boromir knew many secret ways. However
Gandalf was struggling to walk, and seemed in more pain with every step.
‘How could the casting of one spell so harm him?’ thought Boromir. ‘It must have been some great sorcery….’
Just then Gandalf indicated he needed a rest, and Boromir lowered him
onto the step of a deserted house. The mist swirled round them, black
and heavy with the smell of decay.
‘Once…’ gasped the wizard. ‘..I was the guide and support of men and
Elves. Now I must be guided and supported myself.’ He shot a wry look
at Boromir and added;
‘We make a fine pair, Boromir!’
Boromir coloured and bowed his head. He said quietly;
‘I know what I did was wrong. But I am sorry. When do I stop paying for what I have done?’
To his surprise, Gandalf laughed. He put a hand on Boromir’s arm and said;
‘When you admitted you did wrong, when you tried to put it right, that was enough for me.’. Then his face grew serious.
‘But you put in train things that cannot be stopped, even by me. I
cannot see into the future, but this much I know; oftimes those who do
wrong are not the ones who pay the price…’
Boromir was silent, thinking of Pippin and Merry. Gandalf got to his feet unsteadily;
‘Come!’ he said in a stronger voice. ‘You are concerned about the
hobbits. Let us try to find Merry, for Pippin is safely out of the
city….. ‘
The dank mist oppressed Pippin’s spirits, but with Legolas,
Éomer and Théodred to protect him the hobbit did not feel
afraid. But a feeling of dread grew on him.
‘We don’t get mist like this in the Shire!’ he thought. ‘There it is
silver and lies in the hollows on October mornings and clears to good
walking weather! This feels like the breath of a foul marsh….’
The mist made Pippin think of Gandalf; the wizard would know what caused it. Pippin shook his head in irritation.
‘Gandalf is dead, you ninny, fallen in Moria!’ tears formed in his eyes
despite his efforts not to cry. ‘Come Peregrine!’ he said sharply to
himself. ‘You will be no use to Merry or anyone if you give in to
tears….’ And he fell to wondering what had happened to Merry. When they
had lost Gandalf in Moria Merry had comforted him, holding him while he
wept. Now Merry was gone….
‘Merry is in danger!’ Pippin said suddenly to Legolas. The Elf turned to him and the two princes of Rohan looked round.
‘We left him in Minas Tirith and I know something terrible is going to happen to him. Oh Legolas, we must find him!’
Éomer and Théodred looked bemused, but Legolas stood as
still as stone, his bow in his hand, his sleek head on one side like a
hawk scouring a bleak hillside for prey. Then as if he had heard some
unseen speaker he said;
‘The hobbit is right; we must make for the city without delay…’
Legolas knelt down to bring himself level with the hobbit and his eyes were bright with the light of the Elves.
‘Do not fear, Peregrine. We will find Merry in time…..’
Legolas straightened up and looked at Éomer who said;
‘We of Rohan do not have this strange sense of yours, Lord Elf, but we
understand when a comrade is in danger. Let us ride on as fast as we
can!’
The Elf started off at a swift, silent run and before the fog closed in
on him the horsemen gathered up their reins and followed but they had
not gone far before Legolas faltered and stopped.
‘What is wrong now?’ asked Théodred impatiently; he was not as convinced of the Elf’s instincts as was Éomer.
‘Something is approaching’ said Legolas bluntly, taking out an arrow and nocking it to his bow.
‘You do not listen, Legolas’ said Aragorn with a laugh as he walked with his friend under the autumn trees of Rivendell.
‘You feel….’
And Aragorn was right; the dim, distant throb of drums had suddenly
grown louder, as if coming closer, and there was a turbulence in the
mist as if it was disturbed by some great presence. Something of great
size was coming towards them swiftly through the fog…
A damp breeze stirred the Elf’s golden hair, darkened now by misty
rain. The riders looked round on all sides, but it was Legolas who saw
it first….
‘Fly!’ he shouted at them. ‘Take the hobbit and ride as fast as you can!’
‘Fly?’ asked Éomer in exasperation. ‘But where to? Every
direction looks the same in this accursed mist. And we would not leave
you to face danger alone….’
‘This danger is beyond your skill and courage!’ cried Legolas. ‘You must flee, and take Pippin to safety!’
Pippin did not want to escape if he had to leave Legolas and he was
about to protest but so urgent was the Elf’s tone that he kept silent
and clung to the saddle as Éomer asked;
‘Which way?’
‘Trust your horses!’ shouted Legolas, and indeed the great chargers
were by now sidling restlessly, pulling at the reins and showing the
whites of their eyes.
‘On!’ shouted Éomer, urging his horse forward into the mist…..
And then Pippin saw it. At first he thought it was some great creature
like the oliphaunts his people knew from stories, beasts which did not
exist, but tales of which served to thrill and amaze hobbit children on
dark winter nights. Then Peregrine realised it was not an oliphaunt but
something no less nightmarish, a great creature like a cold-drake, with
a tall figure clad in black armour and wearing a steel crown on its
hooded head seated high on its back…
The Nazgul was galloping forward at great speed, urging on the
monstrous creature he rode with bloodied spurs. It had wide webbed
wings and occasionally took off and flew a few yards, like a hawk
pursuing a hare. In his hand the king held a great mace with a spiked
head and he raised it as he bore down on the slender green-clad figure
of the Elf.
Pippin was unable to suppress a shriek but he did not see the Nazgul
strike Legolas, for another burst from the gloom and crashed into
Éomer’s horse and threw it to the ground. The hobbit was flung
down with great force, twisting his head round just in time to see
Éomer roll away from the black talons of another fell steed
which ran at them from the other side.
Pippin would have lain where he fell till he was struck dead by their
attackers, or trampled by their beasts. But just then Théodred
seized him and pushed him onto his horse. Then he hit the animal on the
flanks with the flat of his sword and it leaped forward with the hobbit
clinging to the front of the saddle. Pippin was borne away into the
mist, and saw no more of the conflict….
Legolas struggled to rise to his feet, holding his shattered arm with
his good hand. He raised his eyes to meet those of his attacker….
But the Lord of the Nine had no eyes; below his spiked steel crown was
a face hidden in shadow by a black hood. And in that shadow glowed two
pinpoints of light, but no eyes. From the depths of his black armour
came a long, dry laugh.
‘An Elf! What are you doing here, far from your forests and your
rivers?’ There was a taunting edge to the voice, dry as bones in a
long-deserted sepulchre. The speaker paused as if waiting for an
answer, but Legolas merely glared at him with hatred.
‘No desire to speak to the Lord of the Wraiths? And yet you are not
whom we seek. Speak, tell us what you are doing here and perhaps we
will let you go in peace….’ From some way away came the sound of
Éomer’s sword clashing with the blades of the other Nazgul.
‘Liar!’ shouted Legolas. ‘All the Ulairi are liars, and servants of the Lord of Lies!’
The Nazgul’s beast shook its great broad snake-like snake, and regarded
Legolas hungrily with its small red eyes. Its master raised his mace
again and said calmly;
‘There is no river at hand to overwhelm me this time, as your kinsmen
commanded once before at the Ford of Bruinen near Rivendell. You cannot
defeat me, Elf…’
Legolas, drew one of his white knives from its scabbard with his left hand, and said with a smile;
‘I can try…’
'I hope, Legolas...' said Aragorn 'If I ever am forced to make a last stand, that you are near me..'
'I hope no less for myself' replied Legolas with a laugh.
The Nazgul did not think a wounded Elf could pose a threat, and he
charged straight at Legolas, who bent backwards and let the great beast
thunder past. But while it was still within reach, he lunged forward
and before the dark king could bring down his mace in defence the Elf
stabbed him in the upper thigh.
The blow seemed to pass through the black graveclothes yet meet no
resistance. Legolas thought he had missed, but the dark king suddenly
gave a hiss of anger, and veered his mount aside.
‘No living man can kill me!’ he thought. ‘yet an Elf is not a
man……those born of the stars do not fear the dark. This is a danger I
must end….’
And the king halted his mount and raising his head he looked at the
mist, now thinning. Soon it would be day, and he had allowed his thirst
to kill to draw him away from his master’s errand. Slowly, his head and
unseen eyes turned towards Legolas, he dismounted and began to walk
towards the Elf.
Legolas waited. When the Nazgul had almost reached him he darted
forward, seeking to stab the tall black-clad figure in the unarmoured
spot at the base of his throat. But the dark king seemed to know what
he would do and before the tip of the white Elven blade reached its
target he brought up his mace in a deadly arc and it descended and even
as Legolas dodged aside the flail caught him round the wrist and there
was the snap of a bone and the white Elven blade spun away into the
trampled grass. Legolas tried to leap back but he was caught by the
chain. The dark king forced his wrist down to the ground, and Legolas
looked up and saw the Nazgul draw his long sword of black steel….
‘Elbereth…’ he whispered.
It seemed hours before the great warhorse bearing Pippin slowed to a
halt, and then only because it had run lame. Pippin had all the time
clung onto the saddle, afraid to even loosen his grip, the tears dried
on his face by the passing wind of his flight. When the horse at last
stopped, Pippin slid from the saddle and fell senseless to the grass,
and knew no more.
When he woke it was about an hour after midnight, and to his surprise,
the mist had gone. He sat up and looked round, and saw the plains of
South-East Rohan stretch away on all sides in the moonlight, sparkling
with frost. Nearby, shivering, stood Théodred’s horse.
Pippin looked up; the sky was now clear, and scattered with thousands
of stars. It seemed like an upturned saucer painted with silver, only
no earthly craftsman could paint so many stars. For a moment, despite
his danger, Pippin was lost in the beauty of the sight. No wonder the
Elves held the stars in such reverence....
At last Pippin shook himself and sprang to his feet and walked over to
the horse. Remembering something Boromir had taught him, he pulled some
grass and held it out to the animal as he approached it. The horse
flicked its ears forward and after hesitating it nibbled the handful in
the hobbits grasp. Pippin stroked its neck and murmured encouraging
words to soothe it.
Hobbits are nimble and light, and seeing the horse calm Pippin took
hold of the stirrup leather and pulled himself up into the saddle. He
picked up the reins left lying on the horse’s neck and said quietly
‘Come on, old fellow. Let us find out what happened to our friends….’
Pippin could not remember in what direction he had come, but the horse
began to walk due south, then East, and Pippin allowed him to continue.
He looked about all the time, hoping to see one of his companions.
After nearly two hours, when Pippin thought they must have reached the
place where the Nazgul attacked, the hobbit’s keen eyes picked out
something grey lying on the dark grass. He urged the horse towards it,
leaning forward impatiently to see what it was….
When he drew close enough Pippin gave a cry of anguish and jumped from
the saddle. For one so small it was a long way down to the ground, and
Pippin stumbled and fell when he landed. But at once he picked himself
up and ran over to the spot. When he reached it, he sank to his knees,
and began to weep, for Legolas lay there still and cold, his face pale
and his Elven tunic raked and bloody from the mace of the Nazgul…..
Overhead the stars began to pale towards dawn....
