Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 7 |
| New Friends |
| The mess turned out to be a big room in the undercroft of the Hall with three long wooden tables standing on a stone flagged floor and whitewashed walls hung with weapons and tattered banners of strange design. It was empty except for the two of them and look chilly and lonely. Beregond knocked on a shuttered hatch, "Greetings, Targon," he said to the Man who opened it, "I have the Lord's new esquire here, he has just been released from attendance and is hungry, give us what you can spare." The food proved reassuringly plain and homely; cold, sliced meats, bread with butter and honey to go on it, apples and nuts and yellow cheese, and a flagon of ale. Pippin felt his appetite return with a rush. Beregond, sipping a tankard to keep him company, watched the the dishes empty with something like awe. And Pippin, feeling much more like himself now the hollow place inside was being filled, blurted suddenly: "Why do you guard a dead tree?" and wanted to bit his tongue the minute the words were out. Luckily Beregond didn't seem offended, though he looked rather sad - like Strider had when he told them about Weathertop once being a great watchtower. "The White Tree is the heart of Gondor, our banner and our device." he explained. "Yes, I see that." Pippin said carefully, and indeed he did - trees were everywhere in the Citadel, carved in stone or embroidered on banners and surcoats. "But why not cut down the dead tree and plant a new one?" Beregond smiled ruefully at that. "We would like nothing better, Master Peregrin, but we cannot find a seedling to replace our Tree. The Line of Nimloth, like the Line of the Kings, is extinct." It was on the tip of his tongue to ask 'what about Aragorn Isildur's Heir?' but this time he did bite it. Old Strider was clearly sensitive subject here in Gondor. Beregond might get just as angry as Denethor had and Pippin didn't want that. "What and where is Osgiliath, please. And why is it so important?" he asked instead. "Osgiliath was, long ago, the chief city of Gondor, of which this was just a fortress." the Man answered readily. "You can see its ruins on the banks of the Great River if you look north and east from the walls. It was deserted, then taken and burned by the Enemy. But we retook it in the time of the last Steward to hold as an outpost and a foothold on the eastern bank." Beregond shook his head. "While we held it we also held Mordor's power at bay. But I fear Faramir's return means we have lost Osgiliath." Pippin swallowed. "We have. But the Lord Denethor is sending Faramir to get it back." Beregond looked dismayed. "Surely not! How could such an attempt succeed? And it would cost us Men we cannot afford to lose - Faramir chief among them! And yet -" he frowned in thought, "you say Faramir has accepted this command?" Pippin nodded. The Man took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "He is bold, more bold than many deem, for Men these days find it hard to believe that a captain may be wise in ancient lore and yet a Man of hardihood and quick judgment in the field." suddenly he smiled depreciatingly. "And who am I to question the wisdom of the Steward? Just a plain Man-at-arms of Gondor. No doubt the Lord Denethor knows very well what he is about, and Faramir too." Pippin wished he could agree. "And where and what exactly is Minas Morgul?" he asked next. Beregond looked sad again. "Once it was Minas Ithil, sister fortress to our own city, and the seat of Isildur when he ruled as King in Gondor." "But - I thought Isildur was *our* King, the King of the North I mean." Pippin blurted, confused. "So he was, after the death of his father Elendil." Beregond explained kindly. "But before that her governed Gondor with his brother Anarion from whom descended the later Kings of Gondor, while Isildur's line continued to rule in the North." "I see." Pippin said, and he did. *Gracious me! Aragorn really is King of Gondor just as Gandalf said, but Denethor won't give up the throne to him. I wonder why?* The Man was still talking about Minas Ithil. "- Like Osgiliath it fell to our Foe and so its name was changed to Minas Morgul, Tower of Black Sorcery, and it is become a place of evil and the stronghold of the Enemy's chief lieutenant, the Lord of the Nazgul." he saw Pippin's eyes widen and darken at the name and said: "You know of them." "We were hunted by them, my kinsmen and I." Beregond looked at him with new respect. "We in the City have seen them only from a distance, riding their fell beasts of the air, yet that little was enough to chill the blood of the bravest. To elude such hunters was no small feat!" Pippin shook his head. "We can't take much credit for it, I'm afraid. It was old Strider who saved us." Beregond's eyebrows raised in question and he hastily explained: "A Ranger of the North who was our guide and travelled with us. I think he's in Rohan now." "We have heard of the happenings in Rohan." Beregond said grimly, suddenly looking astonishly like Aragorn in one of his darker moods. "The doings at Isengard warn we are caught in a great net of strategy. This war has been long planned and we are but a piece in it, whatever pride may say. "Great Armies of Men are moving in the far east, beyond the inland sea, and south in Harad. And other things stir in the Mirkwood and Misty Mountains. All realms shall be put to the test - to stand or fall beneath the Shadow. And how shall we stand? I fear Minas Tirith will fall, and with her the world of Men." Pippin swallowed. Beregond made it sound so hopeless and yet - "Gandalf fell but has returned and is with us." he said with stubborn, Hobbitlike faith. "We may stand, if only on one leg, or at least be left still upon our knees." Beregond's grim face broke suddenly into a smile. "Well said, Peregrin! All things must come to an end in their due time but Gondor shall not perish yet. If Minas Tirith falls there are other fastnesses, and secret ways of escape into the mountains. Hope will live on in hidden valleys where the grass is green." *** When they climbed out of the cellar dining room into the open air of the Fountain court they found the sun had set, leaving a sky still fiery in the west and pale grey-blue everywhere the overcast of Mordor didn't reach. "I hope to see you again, Beregond." Pippin said sincerely. He could use a friend in this strange city. The Man smiled. "You can scarcely avoid it, Peregrin, but don't try to speak to me when I am on duty as I am forbidden to reply or to take notice of anything save my charge." Pippin looked at the four guards standing still and statuesque around the dead Tree, and nodded. "I understand. Gandalf was not at their lodging, nor did he come. A pair of serving Men were let in by the guard just after nightfall bearing a hot supper on trays which they laid out on a table in the sitting room. Then lit the fire and lamps before bowing themselves out. Pippin did not enjoy his lonely meal. And as the evening wore on his spirits fell. Where *was* Gandalf and why didn't he come home? Didn't he need to eat and sleep any more? He was lying on his bed when he heard the door below open. "Gandalf at last!" and tumbled down the stairs to come to an abrupt halt on the landing. Not Gandalf but the Lord Faramir stood, tall and somber, in the sitting room below. He bowed slightly. "Good evening, Master Peregrin. I have come hoping to trade my tidings of your kin for news of my brother's last days and of his death, if you are not too weary?" "No." Pippin said hastily. "Not at all." Even talking about Parth Galen was better than lying on his bed thinking dark thoughts. And so he told his story again, sitting with the Man before the fire, each with a goblet of wine left over from the supper in his hand. Unshed tears sparkled in Faramir's eyes when it was finished. "A valiant end, and one worthy of him. You ease my heart, Peregrin." "Lord Hurin said you saw Boromir in his boat on the River." Pippin ventured. The Man nodded. "Lapped in light as in clear water." he said softly. Then: "All his life my brother has been at war, now at last he has won peace and through a victory the like of which few Men have gained." Pippin bowed his head, struggling against his own tears. He couldn't help feeling that Boromir would have much rather have stayed alive and come home to his City. And though he knew in his head it was nonsense his heart still insisted that somehow, some way, he and Merry were to blame for Boromir being dead. "How did you meet Frodo?" he asked when he could trust his voice. "My Rangers ran across his trail as we laid an ambush for Southron troops mustering to the Enemy." Faramir answered. Smiled faintly. "I had never seen Halflings before, though I had heard of them as dwellers in the Northern lands, but Frodo refused to tell me what errand had brought him and his gardener to the marches of Mordor. And so I was distrustful and detained them. Then I captured the creature Gollum -" "Gollum!" Pippin burst out. The Man shot him a quick, keen look. "You know him?" "I know *of* him. Uncle Bilbo got the -" he stopped himself in some confusion, just in time. "That is to say -" Faramir smiled, a little grimly. "Your kinsman Bilbo Baggins, the fame of whose deeds has reached us even here in Gondor, got the Enemy's Ring from this Gollum who had fished it up from the bottom of the Great River where it had lain for many centuries." Pippin stared, unsure whether or not to be alarmed. "Yes, Peregrin, I know of the Ring." Faramir continued quietly. "It was Gollum who told me. Only then did Frodo confess his mission." The Man sighed. "I was reluctant to let him go. It seemed madness to send the Ring into the Enemy's own country in the hands of two little Halflings. But in the end Frodo and Sam made me see this is a case where wisdom and prudence fail and only in folly is there any hope at all." "That's what Gandalf said," Pippin agreed as somberly, "'just a fool's hope' but all we have. But what was Gollum doing with Frodo?" "He had taken the creature for his guide." the Man answered. "I do not trust it, and told Frodo so, but he said it had been faithful to its word and he believed it would remain so." "Frodo must know what he's doing." Pippin answered, trying hard to believe it. "And Sam will take care of him." "I hope so." said Faramir. There was silence between them for a time, then Pippin, fishing for information, asked: "Why is it Gondor has no King?" Faramir smiled wryly. "You mean why won't we give our allegiance to your friend Aragorn?" Then laughed out loud at the look on Pippin's face. "Yes, Peregrin, I know about him too. Aragorn son of Arathorn, Isildur's Heir. I hear he is in Rohan. Does he mean to come to Gondor?" "I don't know. I don't think he wants to, but Boromir thought he should. I heard them arguing about it." "So Frodo said as well." Faramir shook his head. "I cannot see any good coming of a confrontation between my father and this Aragorn - for all Boromir thought otherwise." Pippin couldn't help agreeing. Denethor had practically foamed at the mouth at the very mention of poor Strider's name. Who knew what he might do faced with him in person. "But why are you so set against Aragorn?" he asked plaintively. "Because the Kingdoms in Exile were divided between the sons of Elendil and Gondor is the patrimony of the younger son, Anarion." the Man explained. "Though his line has failed the Northern line still has no right to the crown of Gondor - or so I was taught, and Boromir too." "Boromir changed his mind. Maybe you will too after you meet Aragorn." Pippin suggested hopefully. "Maybe." Faramir said, but doubtfully. "What happened to your Kings that there are none at all left?" Pippin asked curiously. It certainly did seem strange that Aragorn's line had managed to keep going for generations, living as Rangers in the Wild, while the rulers of this great city had vanished altogether. "The last King died without begetting an heir." the Man explained. "And in those days the descendants of the Kings had become few. For since the Kin-strife, when the Princes of the Blood challenged the true heir's right to rule, our Kings had become jealous and watchful even of their closest kin. "To escape suspicion and persecution some Princes fled into exile. But others chose to renounce their lineage, for themselves and their heirs, by taking wives not of Numenorean blood. "Thus it was that no claimant to the crown could be found who was of the pure blood of Westerness, or whose claim all would allow. And so it is that Gondor has no King but is ruled by Stewards." "I see." said Pippin, though he didn't really. Hobbits were no strangers to family strife but what Faramir described went far beyond any such feud. "It seems very sad." "It is indeed." the Man agreed heavily and got with some effort to his feet. "The hour grows late and we both have duties on the morrow." offered his hand. "Thank you, Peregrin, our talk has comforted me." The clasp of the big, warm hand and the kindly voice along with the gleam of firelight on fair hair brought Boromir back to Pippin so vividly he had to blink back tears. "You're welcome. I feel better too - I think." After seeing his guest to the door Pippin climbed back up the stairs to lie again on his bed. He had a great deal to think about - but instead he fell right asleep. |