Chapter 4: The Journey to Tolfolas
"The sunshine feels good on your face, doesn't it, Merry?" Pippin asked as the two hobbits strolled lazily on the banks of the Brandywine River. Merry and Pippin were going to the Green Dragon in Bywater when Merry decided to walk alongside the Brandywine, for no reason whatsoever save that he wanted to, and so they did. "Merry? You're quieter than a hawk on its perch, and that is saying something. What is wrong, cousin?" Merry turned to him, and said with a smile, "I am thinking, Pippin. Nothing is wrong with me. But look!" Merry pointed to a mound of earth and rock, "What is that glowing there?"
"What are you seeing, dear cousin? I should say, I am a little too old for such tricks." But Pippin nevertheless looked in the direction Merry was pointing in, and he could see a glint of something glowing too,in the mound, and by the base of a tall pine that was growing close to the river. "What is that? Not there... but over there, by the base of the tree, Merry." Merry now looked in the direction Pippin was looking in, and he could see a faint glow. "I see it, cousin! What do you think it is? Bilbo's old treasure? Maybe Sam has stumbled on something. After all, he did inherit Frodo's fortunes."
"No, but why don't we investigate? I will look at the base of the tree. You can look in that frightening mound."
Merry felt a strange desire to find whatever was that was glowing and claim it for himself. He looked at Pippin, and he could see in his eyes that he felt the same feelings too. "Okay, my good Pippin! I will investigate that mound, since you are obviously too frightened to do so!" He ducked a swing from Pippin and walked slowly up to the piles of earth and stone.
He found it before he saw it. It was a stone, a stone that glowed a warm yellow, a beautiful yellow, as bright as liquid gold, as pale as the sun behind the clouds, for it was the Stone of the Sun. He lifted it up in his hands, and he felt the warmth billowing out of the stone as if he had sunk into a hot bath. He ran his fingers over it. It was not cracked or scratched, and no stains marred its graceful, timeless beauty. Merry knew in the depths of his hobbit-heart that this was not an ordinary stone, for nothing could be more beautiful, save for the Sun herself. He looked sideways at Pippin, who was turned away from him, pottering about the base of the pine, and carefully, as if he did not want to stain it with his touch, he put it in his pocket. Then he arose, and felt a great warmth inside of him, he felt joy and carefree laughter spread through his veins, and he laughed to himself, clear and soft.
Pippin felt drawn to the glow before he saw its cause. He brushed away dirt and leaf with his hands, and beheld what no other mortal or immortal will ever behold: a clear stone, as clear as glass, darkening sometimes to the lightest grays and blacks. Here lay the Stone of Wind, created by the greatest of powers and hidden from all only until its time, and its Keeper, found it. Pippin felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his mind, as if he had found what he had been seeking for all his life. He reached out with both hands, and lifted the stone, which was lighter than a feather, and he thought that if he dropped it, it would not fall, but hang in the air like a drop of dew. He felt it. It was not warm, and it was not cold, but it felt fluid and breezy, as if it was the wind made solid. Looking around to see that no one could see him, he put the stone in his pocket, and arose. He felt a light wind in him, blowing, rushing carelessly through his blood, and it filled him with joy.
"Well, Merry! What have you found?" he said, and his voice was as ringing and as toneful as the wind through the mountains.
"I have....I have found a stone made of the Sun. It glows a beautiful yellow....it is more precious to me than all the gold in the world!" Merry said joyfully, his voice bright and clear. He felt the cloak of secrecy removed from him, and he suddenly knew that there was no wrong in Pippin knowing what treasure he bore with him. He drew the stone from his pocket, and said, "Behold! The stone of the Sun!" Pippin gazed in wonder at its beautiful glow that shimmered delicately like the threads of a harp. Merry put it back in his pocket, and said, "So, my cousin, you have seen the treasure of this Brandybuck! What then have you found?"
"Look upon this, and wonder!" Pippin drew the Stone of Wind from his pocket in turn, and Merry looked at it, his mouth agape, for nothing so clear and that looked so fragile could have withstood even the lightest touch of a hobbit's finger. But there it was, light gray, and then as clear as ice, and shifting and shimmering like a shadow upon the wind. Pippin put it carefully back in his pocket, laughed at Merry's stunned look, and said happily, "So, cousin! On to the Green Dragon?"
Merry smiled, replying, "Yes cousin, I believe that this is a good time for a drink and good food."
"He is magnificent." Tiansom proclaimed, eyeing the graceful white steed that Eomer had lent to Aragorn. "All the pride of the Rohirrim, all their love for their beasts, is in him. His skin shines like moonlight, his mane is thick and flowing. Truly he is greatest of all the horse-kind!"
"Nay," laughed Aragorn, "none, even this fellow, can rival the King of Horses, Shadowfax. He alone was the greatest, and you have not beheld his speed and power yet. But I do not doubt that this is a horse of great breed."
"Now to more serious matters, my good friend. Is it safe to go clad in the raiment of Gondor? For the Enemy is unceasing in his hatred for all that is fair and beautiful, and I do not wish for me to be the cause of him setting his foul hand in this fair city. I would never live for another day with that guilt hanging like his Shadow over my head!"
"Worry not, Tiansom! If the Enemy chooses to follow, then he will know not that you are of Gondor, for he is older than the city or the land, and his roving eyes will only be fixed on what you carry with you: the Stone of Fire. Spies abound here, I doubt not, but you and our dealings have so far remained in the greatest secrecy. So go on, with the speed of the wind, and may Elbereth protect you from all that is fell in this world!"
"Goodbye, dear Elessar!" cried Tiansom as he mounted the steed with no saddle or bridle. "May you always remain true to what is right, and be wary of all paths that seem easier! I go now, to find the land from which no mortal has ever returned! Goodbye! And may the stars guide your way, Elfstone!" With these parting words, he whispered into the ear of his steed, who shot off into the darkening South, and was soon lost to Aragorn's sight.
"Goodbye, my dear friend, and may you return with merry tidings of all who dwell in the Blessed Realm," whispered Aragorn, and he strode back into his castle from the Garden of the White Tree, where Tiansom, son of Sauron, had embarked upon the greatest journey that was, or ever will be made by a mortal, save for the journey of the Fellowship.
He had ridden for a night and a day, when the Shadow began to follow. He felt its foul presence, for his heart was heavy with dark thoughts and mindless shadows. He was close to the Bay of Tolfolas, where many a mariner had laid down anchor in the days when the Eldar were still plentiful in Middle-earth. He slowed the steed, for his heart was overflowing with doubt, and he looked around him, surveying the empty treeless plains with a keen eye. His hand crept to his sword-hilt, and his other hand pressed the Stone of Fire to his breast. He was clad in silver and black, with the White Tree embroidered upon his coat and cloak. Unknown to him, Arwen Evenstar herself had made these garments at Aragorn's bidding, and an Elvish power lay within them. He was invisible in the dark, and his shadow was faint, for the power of the High Elves of Luthein's line, to which Arwen belonged, was strong.
But there are powers greater than that of the Eldar, and the wraiths of Thangorodrim lived in the shadow-world of that power. They sensed Tiansom's blood and beating heart long before he sensed their dark thoughts. They too were clad in black, with silver coats of mail under their black cloaks and hoods. They rode no horses, as their weaker Nazgul brothers had, but moved swiftly like owls in the night air. They were faceless and formless, but they handled swords and other instruments of death or torture with ease. The leader, who had on garments of silvery gray to indicate his rank, drew his sword, which was the deadliest ever forged: the Sword of Thangorodrim, made for the Lord of Wraiths. It had the darkest curses carved on blade and hilt, and it was a black blade, fouled with stains that could never be cleaned. The mere touch of the blade to skin would kill all those who lived in service of the Secret Fire. It was an evil older than Sauron himself, for it was crafted by Morgoth, and gifted to the Lord Wraith, who was his chief slave.
Tiansom drew his sword out, for he could smell the Evil that lay heavy in the air. It glowed ceaselessly, a deadly blue and flaming red. In its light, he made out the form of the Lord Wraith, and his nine followers, who had surrounded him quietly while he had stared in horror at the Lord Wraith. Tiansom cursed, and the Lord Wraith looked at him, his sword in hand, his unseeing eye fixed on Tiansom. "You fear a power...a great power that could gift you all that you desire...why do you fear the Lord of Lords?" he hissed, looking at Tiansom's face. At that instant, the horse of Rohan took fright and fled, disappearing into the darkness that now encompassed Tiansom. "I will not ever go back to the service of the Dark Lord. I have waited twenty-five years for freedom. And never again will I go back." The Lord Wraith snarled, and hissed, Ten there are of us, and only one of you, for your beast has fled our terror. How, you young fool, will you withstand the wrath of the Lord of the Wraiths, Bearer of the Sword of Thangorodrim?"
Tiansom fixed his eyes on his enemy, and he pressed the Stone ever closer to him. His fingers ran over the embroidered Tree of Gondor on his coat, and he felt, for some strange reason, lightened of his load. "You speak not to any mere mortal, Lord Wraith. I am Tiansom, Bearer of the Stone of Fire!"
With that, the Lord Wraith uttered a terrible cry, and lowered his sword in a sweeping stroke. Tiansom blocked the blow with his own sword, which broke at the force of the blow, and the evil of the one who dealt it. Tiansom drew out the sword which Aragorn had given him, but though it was of good craftsmanship, it was nowhere near the lineage of his own sword, and it felt heavy and unwilling in his hand. The Lord Wraith laughed, a high wailing screech of a laugh, and smote Tiansom with the flat of his sword-blade. Tiansom fell, and his sword slipped from his grasp, and fell heavy at the feet of the Lord Wraith, who laughed as the blade of Tiansom melted away into the air, unable to withstand the evil of the Lord.
Tiansom felt his head hit hard stone, and he was lying prone at the feet of the Lord Wraith, as if he was a beast of sacrifice. The Nine Wraiths of Thangorodrim surrounded him in the manner of ghastly vultures, wailing in cold tones, screeching high calls of death. He felt a foul pain in his chest, and he knew that one of the Wraiths, though not the Lord, had stabbed him in his heart. The blade was cold, and the blood that welled from his wound was little, for he was freezing, chilled as all the wraith's victims are. His hand groped weakly at the Fire-stone in his pocket, and he drew it out, and it blazed forth, but it was already very late, for his eyes had already closed, and his blood had stopped flowing out of the wound in his heart entirely. The screams of the wraiths were all that filled his ears, and the Stone of Fire was all that his hand could feel as he lay still and knew no more.