The Ring will come to Gondor
by Varda
Chapter Nineteen: The Undiscovered Country
Gandalf
took the glass of wine from Elrond and walked to the long balcony of
the Elf-lord’s study, which looked out on the terraces and fountains of
Rivendell. The wizard took a deep breath, drawing in the dark smoky
scent of the autumn woods. Soon, he thought, it would be winter, not
just for Middle Earth but for all the Elves. Well was this fair
mountain refuge named the last homely house East of the Sea…
Voices below in the garden caught his attention, and he looked down.
Frodo was walking along the little path that wound among the trees and
shrubbery. Sam was with him. Gandalf could not hear what they said, but
he saw Frodo turn to Sam, whose face was downcast, and put an arm round
his shoulder.
Gandalf sighed; he knew Sam had no desire to go any further than
Rivendell, that in his heart was only longing for the Shire. But
stronger than that longing was his love for Frodo….
‘This journey holds great peril for you, Mithrandir….’ Said Elrond behind him.
‘East or West, North or South,’ replied Gandalf with a laugh ‘everywhere in Middle Earth there is peril now…’
‘I do not mean orcs’ said Elrond quietly.
Gandalf turned and walked to where Elrond sat at his desk, staring
absently at his brass telescope, a gift of the Dwarves of the North. He
took a sip from his own glass and said;
‘I mean other perils.’
Gandalf smiled; he guessed what Elrond was about to say.
‘Such as?’ he asked. Elrond frowned and put down his glass.
‘I marvel that you can pretend ignorance of a great danger that has already almost claimed you!’
Gandalf raised his eyebrows. Elrond went on;
‘In Isengard you almost were destroyed….’
‘But I was not destroyed, in the end..’ Gandalf cut in. Elrond nodded impatiently;
‘Yes, yes, you were rescued. But what rescue next time? Maybe you will not be so lucky…’
Gandalf set down his glass and bowed to Elrond.
‘I am grateful for any counsel you might offer….’
Elrond waved his hand.
‘Oh sit down, Gandalf my old friend, and do not take what I say amiss…’
Gandalf looked piercingly at the Elf lord for some moments then seated himself opposite him and said quietly;
‘Only the foolish take good counsel badly. Speak…’
Elrond looked closely at the wizard, as if still not sure that his words would cause offence. Then he said;
‘Of all the Istari, you are the last…’
‘That we know of….’ objected Gandalf, but Elrond shook his head.
‘The others might as well be lost, for all we have heard of them.
Saruman has fallen. He is a fool, now nothing but Sauron’s puppet. And
Rhadagast has turned away from us, unaware and perhaps uncaring of the
peril of the world…’
‘You are saying that of all the Istari, I am the last left in Middle Earth….’
‘Yes!’ said Elrond vehemently. ‘and for you the danger is therefore all the greater..’
‘What danger?’ asked Gandalf. Elrond looked down into the courtyard and pointed to the hobbits.
‘The danger of wanting not to advise, but to save. To be one with them, even though you are immortal and not of their kind…..’
‘Not of their kind….’ The words echoed in Gandalf’s head. Hardly ever
welcomed warmly, wherever he went, called Stormcrow in Rohan, Gandalf
understood, with a pain in his heart, what Elrond meant. But the
Elf-lord had not been at the Birthday Party; he had not seen the faces
light up when the fireworks were set off…..how the hobbit children
loved and trusted him…
‘Have you not wondered, Mithrandir’ said Elrond softly ‘what became of the other Istari?’
Gandalf shrugged. ‘The Shadow must have claimed them….’
‘Perhaps….’ Said Elrond, fingering his glass ‘ they follow the plough…’
Gandalf burst out laughing.
‘I fear you overestimate the joys of pipeweed and good dinners in the
Green Dragon!’ he exclaimed. ‘Why should any who have been given power
such as we were given yield it up for a second breakfast?’
‘Some things are greater than power’ replied Elrond ‘even to those of us who are wise…’
‘Such as?’ asked Gandalf, his head on one side.
‘Love’ said Elrond. He looked at Gandalf and smiled. ‘Remember, I am
the Half-Elven; sometimes even the stars are no substitute for love….’
‘Gandalf? Gandalf? Can you hear me? I have brought you some wine….’
Gandalf opened his eyes and looked up. Hovering anxiously above him was
Boromir, his face pale from lack of sleep. He had a horn cup of warmed
wine mixed with honey in one hand. Gandalf sat up quickly and looked
round.
‘Where am I?’ he asked. Boromir raised a reassuring hand.
‘It is all right, we are safe. No-one ever comes here now; it is the Library…’
Gandalf smiled wryly. He was lying on a low couch in a dusty alcove at
the end of a tall gallery lined with shelves. Piled high on all sides
were scrolls tied with black and fading red silk.
‘I remember this place’ said Gandalf ‘I taught your brother Faramir
here. So no-one in Gondor ever seeks the lore of their forefathers any
more?’
‘Only Faramir’ replied Boromir. ‘When father spares him from his duties
with the army. But how goes it with you, Gandalf? I thought you would
never wake up….’
Gandalf chuckled, and took a drink of the wine. Boromir gazed anxiously at him. Gandalf said;
‘Stop fretting, Boromir. It won’t do either of us any good….’
‘But how are you? I mean, what happens now?’
Gandalf sighed. He looked down at his robes; the lustrous white had
dimmed to a dusty grey. His hair likewise was lank and streaked with
grey. His hands were thin and the skin was dry and yellow as paper. But
he felt stronger, even strangely lightened. He felt for his sword,
Glamdring, and found it laid beside him. He took hold of the hilt and
drew it from its scabbard. He raised the great blade with ease, then
sheathed it again. He looked at Boromir and winked.
‘There are no rules for me now. I have entered the undiscovered country….’
Boromir stared at the wizard. But Gandalf just smiled and asked;
‘How goes the day outside? I think I see sunlight at the window…’
‘The mist you raised has blown away, Mithrandir’ replied Boromir. ‘and it is a fair morning…’
‘Then why so disheartened?’ asked Gandalf, seeing grief in Boromir’s face.
‘Faramir has returned to the city!’ he blurted out. Gandalf at once grew tense, rising to his feet.
‘Returned? The fool! He should have sought refuge with Théoden….’
‘He might have purposed that, but he met with Pippin, and a wounded Elf….’
‘Elf?’ asked Gandalf sharply.
‘Yes, Gandalf.’ said Boromir in a broken voice. ‘It is Legolas…’
‘Legolas, wounded!’ exclaimed Gandalf. Boromir nodded.
‘That was why Faramir came back, to try to save him. But now Father has
imprisoned him. I fear you saved my brother at great cost, only for him
to be lost in the end….;
Gandalf took hold of Boromir’s arm.
‘I saved your brother the last time. This time, you must save him!’
‘But how?’ asked Boromir in anguish.
Gandalf let him go. He turned and buckled on his sword belt. Then he looked at Boromir and laid his hand on his shoulder.
‘Boromir, it is time for you to undo the evil you did when you took the
Ring. It is time for you to take the Ring back from your father….’
The day dawned clear over Minas Tirith; the strange mist was gone, but
the sun was too hot for March, burning in a parchment-coloured sky and
casting a harsh brassy light. As soon as the curfew was rung, the
people began to venture out of their houses, fetching water from the
city fountains, and carrying bread and fodder through the narrow and
still deeply shadowed streets. On the wall the guard was changed, and
the new watch took up position and looked out over the plain. One
sentinel, on the walkway over the Great Gate, leaned forward over the
battlements, rubbing his eyes. Then he turned and shouted to his
captain;
‘The Rangers have returned, and Lord Faramir is with them!’
Faramir has returned! The news ran through the narrow streets like
fire. People hurried out of doors and rushing down to the lowest level
of the city they thronged the front square. It was beyond hope, that
Faramir had been spared! But under Denethor’s harsh rule such a gloom
lay on the city that the people only dared to whisper their hope to
each other. At the gate, the black-clad Citadel guards waited for the
patrol to enter the city…
The great doors were hauled open; the massive chains slid through the
machinery that lowered and raised the portcullis. Creaking, rattling,
the gate was opened, and in came, first of all, the captain of the
Rangers. Then, still mounted on the great Rohan warhorse and bearing
the body of the wounded Elf Legolas before him, Faramir, son of the
Steward. Behind him, causing the townsfolk to point and murmur among
themselves, the runaway hobbit Pippin, perched high on Faramir’s
charger Rua, his feet far short of the long stirrups, looking about
self-consciously, aware of all eyes upon him….
Pippin’s stomach ached with hunger; it was breakfast time, but somehow
he did not think he was going to be given any breakfast in Minas
Tirith. Dust fell on him as the doors were opened to let them into the
city, and the hobbit felt his mouth dry and full of grit. As he passed
into the deep shadow under the gate he remembered how he had almost
been slain in this city, and now he was returning, his hands bound
before him like a captive…
‘At least I will see Merry again’ Pippin thought, trying to cheer
himself up. But when they emerged into the wide square dominated by the
great statue of Isildur on horseback Pippin stared bleakly round the
large crowd of townspeople, and saw no sign of Merry
Pippin’s horse was led by one of the Rangers in case he attempted to
escape, and the others were stern and silent. And worst of all, Legolas
was still and cold in Faramir’s arms, his face grey-white. Pippin felt
horribly concerned for his friend and longed to jump down and run over
to see how he was, but just then a Ranger stepped up and taking hold of
him carefully but firmly, he lifted the hobbit down and set him on the
ground. Almost at the same time a number of black-clad soldiers pushed
roughly through the crowd. Their leader pointed to Faramir and shouted;
‘Arrest him!’
An angry murmur went round the people. The Rangers who had brought
Faramir into the city looked uneasily at each other. Their Captain
dismounted and approached the black-cloaked guard.
‘Lord Faramir is in my charge, and I will take him to the Steward…’ and
without waiting for an answer he turned away. Faramir called to him;
‘Help me with the wounded Elf….’
But the black-uniformed soldier shouted at the Ranger captain;
‘Stay where you are! Do nothing to assist the prisoners! I am in charge
here now, by order of the Steward. We are the new Palace Guard…’
Faramir stared at the man, noticing that he did not wear the livery of
the Citadel Guard, but a plain black uniform with a white tree hastily
stencilled on the left breast. His face was familiar; lean and scarred
and sullen. Behind him, the other men of the new Palace Guard were also
grim, dangerous-looking men. Faramir realised with dismay that they
were ruffians who had previously been dismissed from the service of the
Steward or from the army.
‘My father has surrounded himself with a bodyguard of murderers and
traitors….’ he thought 'this can only be the work of The Ring....'
But Faramir did not have much time to ponder the matter, for at that
moment one of the new guards took a step towards Pippin and without
warning struck him on the side of the head with such force that the
young hobbit was lifted off his feet and flung to the ground.
‘This is the halfling who escaped!’ he shouted, but before Faramir
could speak the Ranger captain turned quickly and shot out a fist which
connected with the guard’s stubbly jaw and knocked him flat on the
stony ground.
At once the Palace Guard, as if eager for some excuse to attack, drew
theiir swords and charged at the Rangers. The townspeople scrambled out
of the way. The Rangers also drew their swords and prepared to defend
themselves….
‘Stop, stop this at once!’
It was Faramir, and even now his word was enough to halt the Rangers in
their tracks. He beckoned one of them and gently lowered the wounded
Elf into the man’s arms. Then he dismounted and strode over to stand
between the Captain and the Palace Guard.
‘There will be no fighting on my account!’ he said in a loud clear voice. A sigh went round the crowd.
‘Give way, Rangers’ he said to the green-cloaked band of Rangers who
stood. swords drawn, gazing with undisguised hostility at the guards.
‘We are all fighting for Gondor. It is not right for us to fight among each other. Fall back and return to your barracks….’
The Ranger captain looked at Faramir in amazement. Faramir said;
‘I would have no blood shed here on my account. Lead me to prison, if
that is what the Steward wills. Let there be no fighting….’
The blow on the head stunned Pippin, and he lay for a moment on the
flagstones unable to see or hear. Then he shook his head and slowly sat
up and looked around. He saw two ruffians in black step up to Faramir
and bind his hands.
‘No!’ he said, and went to rush forward. But a hand was placed on his
shoulder, gently but firmly restraining him. He looked up; it was the
Ranger captain. A black-clad guard approached him but the Ranger said
in a low warning voice, like the growl of a wolf;
‘Keep away from the halfling; we will take him to Denethor….’
The ruffian stood still for a moment, and Pippin thought he was not
going to obey, but then abashed by the tall well-armed Ranger he
snorted in derision and turned and strode off. The Ranger bent down and
whispered to Pippin;
‘I will keep you safe, Halfling, never fear….’
‘Please, my lord…’ said Pippin. ‘Have you seen the other hobbit, my cousin....
Have you seen Meriadoc…?’
