Tolkien, J R R - 3 - The return of the king

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J. R. R. Tolkien — The Lord Of The Rings. (3/4)

-----------------------------------------------

Part 1: The Fellowship of the Ring

Part 2: The Two Towers

Part 3: The Return of the King

THE RETURN OF THE KING

Book V

Chapter 1 Minas Tirith

Chapter 2 The Passing of the Grey Company

Chapter 3 The Muster of Rohan

Chapter 4 The Siege of Gondor

Chapter 5 The Ride of the Rohirrim

Chapter 6 The Battle of the Pelennor Fields

Chapter 7 The Pyre of Denethor

Chapter 8 The Houses of Healing

Chapter 9 The Last Debate

Chapter 10 The Black Gate Opens

Book VI

Chapter 1 The Tower of Cirith Ungol

Chapter 2 The Land of Shadow

Chapter 3 Mount Doom

Chapter 4 The Field of Cormallen

Chapter 5 The Steward and the King

Chapter 6 Many Partings

Chapter 7 Homeward Bound

Chapter 8 The Scouring of the Shire

Chapter 9 The Grey Havens

-----------------------------------

THE RETURN OF THE KING

_being the third part of

The Lord of the Rings_

_Chapter 1_

Minas Tirith

Pippin looked out from the shelter of Gandalf's cloak. He wondered if he was awake or still

sleeping, still in the swift-moving dream in which he had been wrapped so long since the great

ride began. The dark world was rushing by and the wind sang loudly in his ears. He could see

nothing but the wheeling stars, and away to his right vast shadows against the sky where the

mountains of the South marched past. Sleepily he tried to reckon the times and stages of their

journey, but his memory was drowsy and uncertain.

There had been the first ride at terrible speed without a halt, and then in the dawn he had

seen a pale gleam of gold, and they had come to the silent town and the great empty house on the

hill. And hardly had they reached its shelter when the winged shadow had passed over once again,

and men wilted with fear. But Gandalf had spoken soft words to him, and he had slept in a corner,

tired but uneasy, dimly aware of comings and goings and of men talking and Gandalf giving orders.

And then again riding, riding in the night. This was the second, no, the third night since he had

looked in the Stone. And with that hideous memory he woke fully, and shivered, and the noise of

the wind became filled with menacing voices.

A light kindled in the sky, a blaze of yellow fire behind dark barriers Pippin cowered back,

afraid for a moment, wondering into what dreadful country Gandalf was bearing him. He rubbed his

eyes, and then he saw that it was the moon rising above the eastern shadows, now almost at the

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full. So the night was not yet old and for hours the dark journey would go on. He stirred and

spoke.

'Where are we, Gandalf?' he asked.

'In the realm of Gondor,' the wizard answered. 'The land of Anórien is still passing by.'

There was a silence again for a while. Then, 'What is that?' cried Pippin suddenly, clutching

at Gandalf's cloak. 'Look! Fire, red fire! Are there dragons in this land? Look, there is

another!'

For answer Gandalf cried aloud to his horse. 'On, Shadowfax! We must hasten. Time is short.

See! The beacons of Gondor are alight, calling for aid. War is kindled. See, there is the fire on

Amon Dîn, and flame on Eilenach; and there they go speeding west: Nardol, Erelas, Min-Rimmon,

Calenhad, and the Halifirien on the borders of Rohan.'

But Shadowfax paused in his stride, slowing to a walk, and then he lifted up his head and

neighed. And out of the darkness the answering neigh of other horses came; and presently the

thudding of hoofs was heard, and three riders swept up and passed like flying ghosts in the moon

and vanished into the West. Then Shadowfax gathered himself together and sprang away, and the

night flowed over him like a roaring wind.

Pippin became drowsy again and paid little attention to Gandalf telling him of the customs of

Gondor, and how the Lord of the City had beacons built on the tops of outlying hills along both

borders of the great range, and maintained posts at these points where fresh horses were always in

readiness to bear his errand-riders to Rohan in the North, or to Belfalas in the South. 'It is

long since the beacons of the North were lit,' he said; 'and in the ancient days of Gondor they

were not needed, for they had the Seven Stones.' Pippin stirred uneasily.

'Sleep again, and do not be afraid!' said Gandalf. 'For you are not going like Frodo to

Mordor, but to Minas Tirith, and there you will be as safe as you can be anywhere in these days.

If Gondor falls, or the Ring is taken, then the Shire will be no refuge.'

'You do not comfort me,' said Pippin, but nonetheless sleep crept over him. The last thing

that he remembered before he fell into deep dream was a glimpse of high white peaks, glimmering

like floating isles above the clouds as they caught the light of the westering moon. He wondered

where Frodo was, and if he was already in Mordor, or if he was dead; and he did not know that

Frodo from far away looked on that same moon as it set beyond Gondor ere the coming of the day.

Pippin woke to the sound of voices. Another day of hiding and a night of journey had fleeted

by. It was twilight: the cold dawn was at hand again, and chill grey mists were about them.

Shadowfax stood steaming with sweat, but he held his neck proudly and showed no sign of weariness.

Many tall men heavily cloaked stood beside him, and behind them in the mist loomed a wall of

stone. Partly ruinous it seemed, but already before the night was passed the sound of hurried

labour could be heard: beat of hammers, clink of trowels, and the creak of wheels. Torches and

flares glowed dully here and there in the fog. Gandalf was speaking to the men that barred his

way, and as he listened Pippin became aware that he himself was being discussed.

'Yea truly, we know you, Mithrandir,' said the leader of the men, 'and you know the pass-

words of the Seven Gates and are free to go forward. But we do not know your companion. What is

he? A dwarf out of the mountains in the North? We wish for no strangers in the land at this time,

unless they be mighty men of arms in whose faith and help we can trust.'

'I will vouch for him before the seat of Denethor,' said Gandalf. 'And as for valour, that

cannot be computed by stature. He has passed through more battles and perils than you have,

Ingold, though you be twice his height; and he comes now from the storming of Isengard, of which

we bear tidings, and great weariness is on him, or I would wake him. His name is Peregrin, a very

valiant man.'

'Man?' said Ingold dubiously; and the others laughed.

'Man!' cried Pippin, now thoroughly roused. 'Man! Indeed not! I am a hobbit and no more

valiant than I am a man, save perhaps now and again by necessity. Do not let Gandalf deceive you!'

'Many a doer of great deeds might say no more,' said Ingold. 'But what is a hobbit?'

'A Halfling,' answered Gandalf. 'Nay, not the one that was spoken of,' he added seeing the

wonder in the men's faces. 'Not he, yet one of his kindred.'

'Yes, and one who journeyed with him,' said Pippin. 'And Boromir of your City was with us,

and he saved me in the snows of the North, and at the last he was slain defending me from many

foes.'

'Peace!' said Gandalf. 'The news of that grief should have been told first to the father.'

'It has been guessed already,' said Ingold; 'for there have been strange portents here of

late. But pass on now quickly! For the Lord of Minas Tirith will be eager to see any that bear the

latest tidings of his son, be he man or-'

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'Hobbit,' said Pippin. 'Little service can I offer to your lord, but what I can do, I would

do, remembering Boromir the brave.'

'Fare you well!' said Ingold; and the men made way for Shadow fax, and he passed through a

narrow gate in the wall. 'May you bring good counsel to Denethor in his need, and to us all,

Mithrandir!' Ingold cried. 'But you come with tidings of grief and danger, as is your wont, they

say.'

'Because I come seldom but when my help is needed,' answered Gandalf. 'And as for counsel, to

you I would say that you are over-late in repairing the wall of the Pelennor. Courage will now be

your best defence against the storm that is at hand – that and such hope as I bring. For not all

the tidings that I bring are evil. But leave your trowels and sharpen your swords!'

'The work will be finished ere evening,' said Ingold. 'This is the last portion of the wall

to be put in defence: the least open to attack, for it looks towards our friends of Rohan. Do you

know aught of them? Will they answer the summons, think you?'

'Yes, they will come. But they have fought many battles at your back. This road and no road

looks towards safety any longer. Be vigilant! But for Gandalf Stormcrow you would have seen a host

of foes coming out of Anórien and no Riders of Rohan. And you may yet. Fare you well, and sleep

not!'

Gandalf passed now into the wide land beyond the Rammas Echor. So the men of Gondor called

the out wall that they had built with great labour, after Ithilien fell under the shadow of their

Enemy. For ten leagues or more it ran from the mountains' feet and so back again, enclosing in its

fence the fields of the Pelennor: fair and fertile townlands on the long slopes and terraces

falling to the deep levels of the Anduin. At its furthest point from the Great Gate of the City,

north-eastward, the wall was four leagues distant, and there from a frowning bank it overlooked

the long flats beside the river, and men had made it high and strong; for at that point, upon a

walled causeway, the road came in from the fords and bridges of Osgiliath and passed through a

guarded gate between embattled towers. At its nearest point the wall was little more than one

league from the City, and that was south-eastward. There Anduin, going in a wide knee about the

hills of Emyn Arnen in South Ithilien, bent sharply west, and the out-wall rose upon its very

brink; and beneath it lay the quays and landings of the Harlond for craft that came upstream from

the southern fiefs.

The townlands were rich, with wide tilth and many orchards, and homesteads there were with

oast and garner, fold and byre, and many rills rippling through the green from the highlands down

to Anduin. Yet the herdsmen and husbandmen that dwelt there were not many, and the most part of

the people of Gondor lived in the seven circles of the City, or in the high vales of the mountain-

borders, in Lossarnach, or further south in fair Lebennin with its five swift streams. There dwelt

a hardy folk between the mountains and the sea. They were reckoned men of Gondor, yet their blood

was mingled, and there were short and swarthy folk among them whose sires came more from the

forgotten men who housed in the shadow of the hills in the Dark Years ere the coming of the kings.

But beyond, in the great fief of Belfalas, dwelt Prince Imrahil in his castle of Dol Amroth by the

sea, and he was of high blood, and his folk also, tall men and proud with sea-grey eyes.

Now after Gandalf had ridden for some time the light of day grew in the sky, and Pippin

roused himself and looked up. To his left lay a sea of mist, rising to a bleak shadow in the East;

but to his right great mountains reared their heads, ranging from the West to a steep and sudden

end, as if in the making of the land the River had burst through a great barrier, carving out a

mighty valley to be a land of battle and debate in times to come. And there where the White

Mountains of Ered Nimrais came to their end he saw, as Gandalf had promised, the dark mass of

Mount Mindolluin, the deep purple shadows of its high glens, and its tall face whitening in the

rising day. And upon its out-thrust knee was the Guarded City, with its seven walls of stone so

strong and old that it seemed to have been not builded but carven by giants out of the bones of

the earth.

Even as Pippin gazed in wonder the walls passed from looming grey to white, blushing faintly

in the dawn; and suddenly the sun climbed over the eastern shadow and sent forth a shaft that

smote the face of the City. Then Pippin cried aloud, for the Tower of Ecthelion, standing high

within the topmost walls' shone out against the sky, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver,

tall and fair and shapely, and its pinnacle glittered as if it were wrought of crystals; and white

banners broke and fluttered from the battlements in the morning breeze' and high and far he heard

a clear ringing as of silver trumpets.

So Gandalf and Peregrin rode to the Great Gate of the Men of Gondor at the rising of the sun,

and its iron doors rolled back before them.

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'Mithrandir! Mithrandir!' men cried. 'Now we know that the storm is indeed nigh!'

'It is upon you,' said Gandalf. 'I have ridden on its wings. Let me pass! I must come to your

Lord Denethor, while his stewardship lasts. Whatever betide, you have come to the end of the

Gondor that you have known. Let me pass!'

Then men fell back before the command of his voice and questioned him no further, though they

gazed in wonder at the hobbit that sat before him and at the horse that bore him. For the people

of the City used horses very little and they were seldom seen in their streets, save only those

ridden by the errand-riders of their lord. And they said: 'Surely that is one of the great steeds

of the King of Rohan? Maybe the Rohirrim will come soon to strengthen us.' But Shadowfax walked

proudly up the long winding road.

For the fashion of Minas Tirith was such that it was built on seven levels, each delved into

the hill, and about each was set a wall, and in each wall was a gate. But the gates were not set

in a line: the Great Gate in the City Wall was at the east point of the circuit, but the next

faced half south, and the third half north, and so to and fro upwards; so that the paved way that

climbed towards the Citadel turned first this way and then that across the face of the hill. And

each time that it passed the line of the Great Gate it went through an arched tunnel, piercing a

vast pier of rock whose huge out-thrust bulk divided in two all the circles of the City save the

first. For partly in the primeval shaping of the hill, partly by the mighty craft and labour of

old, there stood up from the rear of the wide court behind the Gate a towering bastion of stone,

its edge sharp as a ship-keel facing east. Up it rose, even to the level of the topmost circle,

and there was crowned by a battlement; so that those in the Citadel might, like mariners in a

mountainous ship, look from its peak sheer down upon the Gate seven hundred feet below. The

entrance to the Citadel also looked eastward, but was delved in the heart of the rock; thence a

long lamp-lit slope ran up to the seventh gate. Thus men reached at last the High Court, and the

Place of the Fountain before the feet of the White Tower: tall and shapely, fifty fathoms from its

base to the pinnacle, where the banner of the Stewards floated a thousand feet above the plain.

A strong citadel it was indeed, and not to be taken by a host of enemies, if there were any

within that could hold weapons; unless some foe could come behind and scale the lower skirts of

Mindolluin, and so come upon the narrow shoulder that joined the Hill of Guard to the mountain

mass. But that shoulder, which rose to the height of the fifth wall, was hedged with great

ramparts right up to the precipice that overhung its western end; and in that space stood the

houses and domed tombs of bygone kings and lords, for ever silent between the mountain and the

tower.

Pippin gazed in growing wonder at the great stone city, vaster and more splendid than

anything that he had dreamed of; greater and stronger than Isengard, and far more beautiful. Yet

it was in truth falling year by year into decay; and already it lacked half the men that could

have dwelt at ease there. In every street they passed some great house or court over whose doors

and arched gates were carved many fair letters of strange and ancient shapes: names Pippin guessed

of great men and kindreds that had once dwelt there; and yet now they were silent, and no

footsteps rang on their wide pavements, nor voice was heard in their halls, nor any face looked

out from door or empty window.

At last they came out of shadow to the seventh gate, and the warm sun that shone down beyond

the river, as Frodo walked in the glades of Ithilien, glowed here on the smooth walls and rooted

pillars, and the great arch with keystone carven in the likeness of a crowned and kingly head.

Gandalf dismounted, for no horse was allowed in the Citadel, and Shadowfax suffered himself to be

led away at the soft word of his master.

The Guards of the gate were robed in black, and their helms were of strange shape, high-

crowned, with long cheek-guards close-fitting to the face, and above the cheek-guards were set the

white wings of sea-birds; but the helms gleamed with a flame of silver, for they were indeed

wrought of _mithril_, heirlooms from the glory of old days. Upon the black surcoats were

embroidered in white a tree blossoming like snow beneath a silver crown and many-pointed stars.

This was the livery of the heirs of Elendil, and none wore it now in all Gondor, save the Guards

of the Citadel before the Court of the Fountain where the White Tree once had grown.

Already it seemed that word of their coming had gone before them: and at once they were

admitted, silently, and without question. Quickly Gandalf strode across the white-paved court. A

sweet fountain played there in the morning sun, and a sward of bright green lay about it; but in

the midst. drooping over the pool, stood a dead tree, and the falling drops dripped sadly from its

barren and broken branches back into the clear water.

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Pippin glanced at it as he hurried after Gandalf. It looked mournful, he thought, and he

wondered why the dead tree was left in this place where everything else was well tended.

_Seven stars and seven stones and one white tree._

The words that Gandalf had murmured came back into his mind. And then he found himself at the

doors of the great hall beneath the gleaming tower; and behind the wizard he passed the tall

silent door-wardens and entered the cool echoing shadows of the house of stone.

They walked down a paved passage, long and empty, and as they went Gandalf spoke softly to

Pippin. 'Be careful of your words, Master Peregrin! This is no time for hobbit pertness. Théoden

is a kindly old man. Denethor is of another sort, proud and subtle, a man of far greater lineage

and power, though he is not called a king. But he will speak most to you, and question you much,

since you can tell him of his son Boromir. He loved him greatly: too much perhaps; and the more so

because they were unlike. But under cover of this love he will think it easier to learn what he

witches from you rather than from me. Do not tell him more than you need, and leave quiet the

matter of Frodo's errand. I will deal with that in due time. And say nothing about Aragorn either,

unless you must.'

'Why not? What is wrong with Strider?' Pippin whispered. 'He meant to come here, didn't he?

And he'll be arriving soon himself anyway.'

'Maybe, maybe,' said Gandalf. 'Though if he comes, it is likely to be in some way that no one

expects, not even Denethor. It will be better so. At least he should come unheralded by us.'

Gandalf halted before a tall door of polished metal. 'See, Master Pippin, there is no time to

instruct you now in the history of Gondor; though it might have been better, if you had learned

something of it, when you were still birds-nesting and playing truant in the woods of the Shire.

Do as I bid! It is scarcely wise when bringing the news of the death of his heir to a mighty lord

to speak over much of the coming of one who will, if he comes, claim the kingship. Is that

enough?'

'Kingship?' said Pippin amazed.

'Yes,' said Gandalf. 'If you have walked all these days with closed ears and mind asleep,

wake up now!' He knocked on the door.

The door opened, but no one could be seen to open it. Pippin looked into a great hall. It was

lit by deep windows in the wide aisles at either side, beyond the rows of tall pillars that upheld

the roof. Monoliths of black marble, they rose to great capitals carved in many strange figures of

beasts and leaves; and far above in shadow the wide vaulting gleamed with dull gold, inset with

flowing traceries of many colours. No hangings nor storied webs, nor any things of woven stuff or

of wood, were to be seen in that long solemn hall; but between the pillars there stood a silent

company of tall images graven in cold stone.

Suddenly Pippin was reminded of the hewn rocks of Argonath, and awe fell on him, as he looked

down that avenue of kings long dead. At the far end upon a dais of many steps was set a high

throne under a canopy of marble shaped like a crowned helm; behind it was carved upon the wall and

set with gems an image of a tree in flower. But the throne was empty. At the foot of the dais,

upon the lowest step which was broad and deep, there was a stone chair, black and unadorned, and

on it sat an old man gazing at his lap. In his hand was a white rod with a golden knob. He did not

look up. Solemnly they paced the long floor towards him, until they stood three paces from his

footstool. Then Gandalf spoke.

'Hail, Lord and Steward of Minas Tirith, Denethor son of Ecthelion! I am come with counsel

and tidings in this dark hour.'

Then the old man looked up. Pippin saw his carven face with its proud bones and skin like

ivory, and the long curved nose between the dark deep eyes; and he was reminded not so much of

Boromir as of Aragorn. 'Dark indeed is the hour,' said the old man, 'and at such times you are

wont to come, Mithrandir. But though all the signs forebode that the doom of Gondor is drawing

nigh, less now to me is that darkness than my own darkness. It has been told to me that you bring

with you one who saw my son die. Is this he?'

'It is,' said Gandalf. 'One of the twain. The other is with Théoden of Rohan and may come

hereafter. Halflings they are, as you see, yet this is not he of whom the omens spoke.'

'Yet a Halfling still,' said Denethor grimly, 'and little love do I bear the name, since

those accursed words came to trouble our counsels and drew away my son on the wild errand to his

death. My Boromir! Now we have need of you. Faramir should have gone in his stead.'

'He would have gone,' said Gandalf. 'Be not unjust in your grief! Boromir claimed the errand

and would not suffer any other to have it. He was a masterful man, and one to take what he

desired. I journeyed far with him and learned much of his mood. But you speak of his death. You

have had news of that ere we came?'

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