The Ring will come to Gondor by Varda

The Ring will come to Gondor

by Varda

Chapter Eight: Pippin's Friends

When Denethor sent word that the princes of Rohan could return home, Éomer and Théodred hurriedly prepared to leave Minas Tirith.

'I can't believe he is letting us go!' said Théodred under his breath as he fastened his long green and gold-embroidered cloak with a bronze clasp shaped like a horse's head.
'I thought we would be kept here by that mad old man till the end of time….'
'Hush!' said Éomer, glancing at the half-open door.
'We're not out of the trap yet…..'

In the stable yard two lads held the princes' horses groomed and ready. Éomer's great dappled grey charger Liath raised his head and pulled at the reins when he saw his master approach while Théodred's glossy chestnut mare waited quietly. As Éomer fastened his bedroll behind his saddle he said to Théodred in a low voice;
'I sense the hand of Boromir in our release; I hope he did not pay too dearly for our freedom…'

Scarcely had he spoken the words when a voice called out to the Rohan princes from the archway that led out into the narrow street;
'Éomer! Théodred! I am glad I caught you before you left….'

It was Boromir. He hurried across the yard towards them and slapped Éomer on the shoulder and shook Théodred's hand.
'I wanted to say farewell, and wish you both well….'

Éomer looked hard at Boromir. The Steward's son was pale but sweating, and a spot of colour glowed on each cheek. He wore a great black travelling cloak which was clasped at his neck. There was dust and cobwebs on the dark woollen material, as if the wearer had been traversing underground passages…Boromir seemed agitated and glancing round he called out to the two grooms.
'Here, lads! Go and buy yourself a breakfast!'
And he tossed each of them a gold coin. The boys caught them deftly and grinned with delight.
'Thank you, Lord Boromir!' they shouted and ran off through the stable gateway.

When they were gone Boromir turned to the princes. His smile had faded and a worried frown had taken its place.
'We have no time, my lords, my father could change his mind about letting you go….'
'I thought as much…' said Éomer grimly but Boromir held up his hand and went on;
'I must speak with you before you leave….'
'It is about Éowyn!' said Éomer. 'You have a message for her..'
'No' said Boromir in surprise; that was obviously not what he had been thinking of. But then he smiled and said;
'Bear my father's proposal to her, then let the Lady decide for herself…'
'Just make sure her sword is not to hand…' muttered Théodred.
'What if she agrees to marry you?' demanded Éomer. Boromir looked at him, realising that his sister's happiness meant more to Éomer than the threat of war.

'If she agrees….' Boromir said. 'In winter she will grace the fire-lit halls of Minas Tirith, attired in black velvet sewn with silver thread. The harpists will sing for her and she will be mistress of the Hall of the Stewards. In summer, she will ride out over the grasslands of her homeland the Riddermark, chasing the skylarks and sitting in state in the Golden Hall, but now as a guest, The White Lady of Gondor ….'

He stopped. Éomer was looking intently at him, and Théodred was gazing wistfully at his feet.
'Even if my sister accepted the proposal..' said Éomer. 'King Théoden is so much under the spell of Grima Wormtongue that he will never give in to Denethor's requests. For Grima is Saruman's servant, and Saruman will not yield Rohan to Gondor…'
'Then there will be war between Rohan and Gondor …' said Théodred.
'Not if I can prevent it!' said Boromir fiercely. He pulled a ring from his finger, a gold signet with a black stone engraved with a star, and gave it to Éomer.
'This is my seal; a sign of our friendship. Send it to me as a token if you need my help….'
Éomer took the ring and replied;
'For what it is worth, Boromir of Gondor, I believe you, and I trust you. Let this be a token of our friendship, then…'

For some moments no-one spoke, then Boromir unclasped the brooch that held his cloak. Glancing cautiously around he said;
'If you do trust me, let me beg a great favour of you…'
Éomer nodded, looking surprised. Boromir took hold of the cloak and said;
'Will you take this little burden with you out of the city?'

And Boromir pulled aside the cloak and Éomer looked and saw a curly head and a tiny pale face, asleep or unconscious.

'A child!' he said in astonishment.
'No' said Boromir. 'Not a child, a halfling, or holbytla, as you call them in Rohan. Although among his own people he is accounted little more than a child….'

'But why do you want me to smuggle him out of Minas Tirith….' asked Éomer. Boromir looked grave.
'Small and defenceless as he is my father wants him dead…' Éomer looked horrified.
'A tiny creature like that? Surely not…'
'It is true, Éomer' said Boromir sadly. 'In his delusion my father thinks he is a threat to him and our city. That is the power of the spell that my father has fallen under. He even….' And here Boromir pulled down Pippin's collar to reveal an angry red mark round his neck.
'..he even tried to have this little one strangled, but I was in time to prevent it….'

Éomer peered closely at the red weal on the hobbit's throat and then straightened up muttering an oath under his breath. He nodded grimly;
'We will take him with us to safety in the Mark, never fear. His life will be as safe as our own…..'
'His name is Peregrine Took' said Boromir with a smile. 'but he is known to his friends as Pippin…..'

'Climb, hobbitses, climb!'

Meriadoc was halfway down the side of a sheer wall between Fen Hollin and the city of Minas Tirith. Gollum was ahead, looking back at him.
'A right mess I've got myself into!' thought Merry, reaching for another handhold and lowering himself a bit further. He dared not look down, for there was a long drop to the next level and its jumble of roofs, shining in the mid-morning sun.

Shut into the city of the Dead, they had no choice but to climb the wall down to avoid the sentries at the Gate into the city. But that part of the wall that Gollum had chosen was endless. Merry envied the agility of the creature and the way his long splayed fingers clasped the sheer stone. But Merry, although hobbits are good climbers, felt himself tiring in the warm spring sunshine. His wounded arm ached.
'Wait up, Gollum…' he said faintly.

As if in reply Gollum dropped down to the gable end of a great long building, like a great hall. Merry followed, falling with relief onto his knees on the spine of the roof. He sat astride it for a few moments, getting his breath back, and looked around.

Below him six levels of the city lay basking in the late morning sunshine. Faint sounds rose from the streets, children shouting, dogs barking, the tramp of soldiers from guard house to sentry post. Merry felt dizzy, but Gollum gave him no chance to rest further.
'Come on, hobbitses, no time to waste! We can be seen here….'

Merry snorted in disbelief; they were high above the city, far out of the view of people in the streets. But Gollum was right; they had to go on…

Merry got to his knees and crawled painfully along the roof tree. It was a delicate balancing act but hobbits are nimble and strong, and soon Merry was almost halfway along the building. Suddenly there was a squawk of alarm from Gollum;
'Crebain! Crebain!'

Merry looked up at him and snapped;
'What do you mean?'
'There!' shouted Gollum in terror, then scampered along the roof to the end, leaving Merry stranded in the middle.

He looked up, searching the sky to see what Gollum had seen.
'Crebain?' he thought to himself. Now what were they….?'

Then it all came back to him; the Crebain that Saruman had sent to spy them out when the Fellowship had been climbing Caradhras.
'Oh no!' thought Merry, and at that moment a great black bird, larger than a crow but smaller than a raven, swooped down upon him screeching. Merry instinctively put up his arms to protect his head and he felt a sharp beak stab him in the forearm.

He gave a yell and felt himself lose his grip on the roof. He grabbed at the tiles with his free hand but then a whole horde of great black birds rushed screaming at him from out of the sun and he was beaten by ragged black wings like whips and pierced and scratched by long sharp beaks.

Merry gave a yell of fear and anger and tried to beat off his attackers, but they only grew more ferocious. Gollum was nowhere to be seen, but below in a narrow square beside the long building people looked up and a crowd began to collect, pointing and murmuring.
'They are some kind of crows….but I never saw such large ones…'
'What are they doing?'
'They seem to be attacking someone on the roof….'
'Who is on the roof? Is it a spy?'

Soon a troop of soldiers arrived and pushed through the crowd. They drew their bows and aimed not at the crows but at Merry. Surely this was the hobbit which had eluded them the night before! By this time there was a great flock of the crows, circling the hall and swooping and diving on the figure on the roof…

'Get off….get away….'

Merry strove to drive off the Crebain. He knew in his heart they were no birds of Gondor, but some winged terror sent by Saruman or even Sauron. He was torn by a hundred dagger-like beaks. Striving to hit them the jewelled knife with which he intended to slay the Steward slipped out of his belt and slid down the long roof. It fell off and hit the stones below with a clatter.

Merry closed his eyes as he saw the people rush to pick it up; he was doomed now if he fell or not. An arrow whined past his ear and he opened his eyes with a start.

Then a particularly great black bird rushed shrieking at him and his grip on the tiles was shaken off and he swayed sideways and lost his balance and slithered headlong down the long long sloped roof towards the square below….