Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 3 |
| Hope Is Kindled |
| Denethor, ever conscious of his daughter's rank as First Lady of Gondor, required her to dress in a fashion that became it. Idril herself tolerated the inconvience of cumbersome gowns and heavy jewels with the resignation of long habit. And if they didn't become her what of it? She'd never had much claim to beauty - and now had no reason to make the best of such looks as she had. One piece of jewelry she had retained when her maids took the others to put away in the row of chests that filled a whole table in her dressing room: the locket signed with Boromir's cipher, a simple tengwar 'B'. She opened it, indifferent to the presence of the maid unraveling the intricate braided coils of her hair and combing it smooth. The good ladies of Gondor could say what they liked as long as she, Idril, didn't have to listen to their twitterings. And she didn't. She'd not been given to girlish gossip and confidences even when she was a girl, and certainly was not now. Her maids in waiting learned quickly to speak only when spoken to. She did not consider this cruel or unreasonable. The little creatures were free to whisper and giggle as much as they wished whenever they were out of her immediate presence - as three of the four were now, and Luinil would be joining them soon with a nice fresh bit of gossip to share. For inside the locket was a beautiful ivory miniature of Boromir. Doubtless Luinil would take this as proof that Idril's feelings for the Steward's Heir had not been those of a sister. And why shouldn't she? for it was true. And the only person in all Gondor who had never suspected anything of the kind was dear, dense Boromir himself. But that was her fault rather than his. She'd never tried to make him see - fool that she was! To expect a Man absorbed in matters of life and death, such as the war in the East and the undeclared war between his own father and brother, to notice what was under his nose without a bit of help was quite unreasonable. Father had seen it all right - and been delighted. Idril knew very well why but didn't hold it against him. It had, in it's way, been an elegant solution to the problem of ending forever the pretensions of the Line of Isildur - assuming this Aragorn actually existed at all. (1) It was all moot now anyway. Boromir was dead, as they all would be soon, and Gondor destroyed. There was nothing left for them now but to make an end worthy of the Heirs of the Kings of Men. Her hand closed tightly over the locket. They could not win but they could make Sauron's victory come hard - that was what Mithrandir wanted and Idril was with him hand to glove. Elendil's blood, however thin and dilute, in her veins demanded it - and Boromir would have expected no less of his city and his sister. Suddenly the dressing room door slammed open without a knock. Idril's anger vanished instantly at the sight of Pharinzil's terrified face. "Oh my Lady, come and see, come and see!" She and Luinil followed the agitated girl through bedchamber, antechamber, presence chamber and gallery, out on to the terrace where Annalind and Faelivrin huddled, clutching each other, and staring north-east. Idril followed Pharinzil's trembling finger to the twisted column of icy light rising from Minas Morgul and was at first surprised, then slightly alarmed, to find she felt no fear but a sense, almost, of relief. Even perhaps of anticipation. She was wise enough to know this was not courage but the fearlessness of despair, and so both sin and folly, but couldn't manage to care. "Well," she said calmly, to her terrified maidens, "at least the waiting is over." *** Pippin hadn't expected to get another wink of sleep, what with his long afternoon nap and now the fears for Frodo, and himself, kindled by that awful light. Even Gandalf had been shaken, and that had scared Pippin half to death. But to his surprise he'd dropped off the minute his head hit the pillow, comforted by the homely presence of Gandalf, smoking quietly on the balcony, his eyes still fixed on the north. And it was Gandalf who shook him awake in the dim grey predawn. "Get dressed and come with me, Pippin, I need your help." was all he'd said. Thoroughly astonished, but wanting badly to make up for his blunder with the Palantir, Pippin obeyed, shrugging into his clothes and then following the wizard through the little alleys winding their way between the service buildings and workyards behind the grand halls and mansions of the the Citadel. "Peregrin Took, my lad, there is a task now to be done." Gandalf told him over his shoulder. "Another opportunity for one of the Shire-folk to prove their great worth. "The Witch King has marched forth from Minas Morgul, already his army of Orcs and Trolls seeks to force a crossing over the Anduin. There is no time to be lost, the beacons must be lit, Gondor must call up her levies and summon her ally Rohan. But I fear Denethor, in this strange mood of his, will refuse to do what must be done - or at least not until it is to late." The wizard came to a stop at last in an abandoned yard crowded with old crates and other debris, pointed upward. "See, there stands the beacon tower of Minas Tirith, high on the flanks of Mindolluin." then he looked down, very seriously at Pippin. "That beacon must be fired, any delay could be fatal to Minas Tirith and all the Westlands. You must not fail me" Pippin looked at the mountainside. Higher than he was used to but with plenty of hand and footholds. "Don't worry, Gandalf," he said confidently, "I'll get it done." He had grown up in the Green Hill Country, climbing its little rocky cliffs for sport with his friends and cousins. He'd even climbed the Redwall, a high hill in the North Farthing, on the very borders of the Shire. This mountain was easy by comparison, but he was careful to pace himself. It was much farther than he was used to and it wouldn't do to tire too soon. There were two Men on watch, sleepy eyed and drinking something from bowls, paying no attention to the ready laid pile of wood - and why should they? Luckily the rope holding the oil was frayed, it broke at a tug. Pippin threw the brass lamp into the pile then waited a moment, to be sure the fire had taken hold, nearly singeing his toes, before starting back down. Gandalf was no longer in the little deserted yard but Hobbits have a good sense of direction, and one who'd been brought up in the tangled mazes of the Great Smial wasn't likely to lose either his head or his way in the winding alleys of the the Citadel. He found the wizard on the wall smiling quietly to himself, eyes on a bright little flame burning on a mountaintop some distance due west. "Has something happened, Gandalf?" Pippin asked with an elaborate pretense of innocence that was probably wasted on the nearby sentries. But not on the wizard, his smile became a mischievous grin meant only for Pippin. "The beacons of Gondor are alight, calling for aid. See, there is fire on Amon Din, and a flame on Eilenach; and from there the alarm will go speeding west to Nardol, Erelas, Min-Rimmon, Calenhad, and finally the Halfirien on the borders of Rohan." *So I'll be seeing Merry again soon.* Pippin thought with satisfaction. *But what about Aragorn, is it really a good idea for him to come here?* he quickly shrugged the thought away. *Not my problem. Strider knows his own business." The sentry nearest them moved down the wall a space to whisper excitedly with some comrades. Gandalf leaned down. "Thank you, Master Took." "You're very welcome, my Lord Mithrandir." **** 1. Idril believes, probably correctly, that Denethor was ploting to make Boromir King. His eldest son was well loved, in a way Denethor himself had never been, and marriage to Idril, last descendant of the Anarioni, (by way of princes disqualified for the throne by their mixed blood) would have forged a tie with the former dynasty. It would have required new statutes approved by the Council and people of Gondor but he might well have pulled it off. |