Chapter Five: Greater Vision
2996; the Rammas Echor
As the rest of Minas Tirith gathered around the food tables laid out by the servants of the steward, Denethor led Gandalf down through the Seven Gates, past the deserted houses and the empty streets. Some houses were deserted because the people living in them were at the celebration but others because their owners no longer trusted the strength of Minas Tirith, preferring strongholds further from Mordor. Finally Gandalf and Denethor reached the outer wall. They climbed a stair of stone and walked along the wall until at last Denethor stopped. He looked out over the fields of Pelennor, brooding, and the sight of the many crops still to be harvested calmed him, reminded him of the glory of Gondor. Gandalf, though, looked outward over the land that stretched beyond the horizon until at last it met the woods of ancient legends.
"I know what you want me to do, Gandalf," Denethor said at last, "but you need to remember, Gondor is mine." He stared at the wizard for a long moment before remembering to add, "Until the king returns."
"Until the king returns," Gandalf repeated. "What hope is there of that, in this lonely time? But hope, or doom, will find you before death does, Denethor Steward of Gondor. Yet you, lore-master of Gondor, you who know the thoughts of Men, Elves, and now even Wizards. Tell me my thoughts."
"You wish to tutor my children," Denethor replied, his eyes burning with anger. "My heirs. You desire it like you desire Gondor itself --"
Gandalf, who had been looking out over the land, snapped his head around and looked intently at the steward. His eyes were penetrating, intense, but they lacked the hatred that he say in Denethor's. "I never have. I do not govern any realm, nor do I desire it. Any help I could provide, it is yours for the asking."
"On your terms," Denethor answered.
"I give what help I can. And I have absolutely no interest in tutoring your children. Denethor, even you must realize by now that I am hardly mere parlour entertainment? I came to your city for one reason, and one reason only: your libraries, which are famous as far as the libraries east of the sea go. Know this, I am not just searching your libraries to satisfy my own curiosity. The fate of kingdoms you have never seen, and indeed your own, depends on my finding the information I seek, and quickly. I _do_ fear for your house, though. I do not have time to set off fireworks tonight, but I will make the time." He paused. "Denethor, you and your brother both have brown hair, as did Ivriniel and Finduilas. Didn't you ever wonder why your daughter has red hair, when it is so rare in the city?"
Denethor thought on that for a moment. At last he said, "I do not have the idle time to ponder such things. If the Valar wished Mellamir to have red hair, then what concern is that of mine?"
"You speak more truth than you realize by saying that, Denethor," Gandalf replied. "The Valar did indeed wish your daughter to have red hair; it was not mere chance, as it is with some. Your brother-in-law Imrahil received a prophecy once, years ago. Has he ever spoken to you about it?" Denethor shook his head and Gandalf nodded. "As the prophet, it is his privilege and duty to reveal to you the full prophecy when and how he chooses. I will give you just the first part, since it concerns you more than you know. Imrahil stood on top of a mountain looking out over the land. In the east he saw Mordor and all that lay beyond, and in the west, Gondor and Rohan. Orodruin began erupting, and the whole plain caught fire. But then a girl ran out of the forest beyond Rohan and the fires slowly died away. Then a voice came out of the West: "The one with both a visible and a secret fire will save your world from the coming conflagration."
"Your daughter, Denethor, has a fire the world can see, her hair, which is red as hot flame. She also has a fire in her soul that few can see. That fire must be protected and built into a roaring flame, Denethor. Your daughter is important, and I need to protect her. She has a hope and a beauty that defy explanation. That is why I will show her fireworks, and teach her how to smoke a pipe, and tell her of people far away. But, Denethor -- tutor her? No, that is asking too much."
They looked at each other for a long time. At last Denethor asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I do not want you spoiling the girl," Gandalf replied. "She is far too important. I won't say more just yet. Ask your brother-in-law, if you prefer."
Denethor thought about that for a moment. "For the time I understand enough. I love the child, want what is best for her, and if that means you ... then so be it. But I do not understand, Gandalf, how you can offer your help, and then the first thing I ask of you, you refuse. You give what you want to give, not what I need."
"Wrong, Denethor," Gandalf replied. "I said that I would give any help I could. And I also said my time is precious ... too precious to waste it teaching children simple calculations. Find them a tutor to teach them what they need to know, sums, scripts, and swordsmanship."
"Then what exactly are you offering?" Denethor demanded.
"I will teach them what no one else can," Gandalf said. "Of legends long forgotten and peoples you have never seen. Trust me in this. These things are important, because the Shadow is falling. In their lifetimes -- yours as well -- nations that have long since forgotten about each other will come together, or else they will fall one by one to the might of Mordor."
"Another of your prophecies of doom?" Denethor asked sceptically.
"If I foretell the destruction of the West," Gandalf replied, "it is because I have been watching for this day since before your father's father first drew breath. And in order to survive you need to know about lands other than the ones you have seen with your own eyes. If you refuse to learn, you must surround yourself with people you can trust who know of them. Who better than your children? But my schools are not held in a classroom. We shall walk through gardens, and perhaps some day through woods, and smoke many a pipe, Mellamir and I. And Faramir as well, and Boromir."
"Not Boromir," Denethor said resolutely. "I won't have him learn your Wizard ways. My brother went to the Elves and it cost him his honour, his family, and his life. Boromir will one day be steward of Gondor. What does he need with kingdoms he cannot see? He needs his feet on the ground and his head out of the clouds."
"I have already explained what Boromir and your other children need with kingdoms they cannot see," Gandalf replied, somewhat less patiently. "But even without this necessary foresight, what is the harm in learning? I do not understand why you refuse to have him taught. And to confound the wise is a sign of great wisdom -- or of great foolishness. Do you _want_ your son to die?"
"There are worse ways to die than in battle," Denethor said; "in a river, for one. We all have to die. I would have Boromir die in such a way that it would mean something. I'd rather him die tomorrow in battle than live a hundred years and die running from his duty."
"That choice is yet before him," Gandalf replied, "but you have your own choice: whether to groom a warrior or a prince. Choose carefully, Master Steward. I know it seems like you do not have the luxury of nobility, but I warn you: in times like ours, you cannot afford the warrior and need the prince."
"I don't understand," Denethor said at last.
"No, I expect not. Never mind, then. You are quite sure you won't have Boromir taught?"
"Less sure than I was," Denethor replied, "but how can I have him tutored, more than I already am? He is seventeen, and the time for schooling is past."
"For schooling, perhaps, but for learning?" Gandalf asked. "That is a lesson you would do well to learn: that the pursuit of knowledge never ceases. The more a man learns, the more he discovers what he doesn't know, and that brings humility. To fill one's mind with much useless information is ineffective, but to know too little, that is pure folly, because then one acts rashly, with incomplete understanding and little empathy. Humility and empathy are important qualities in a leader, more important even than knowledge at times. Would you have Boromir fall to the twin evils of pride and ignorance?"
"No, but --"
"Then let me teach him," Gandalf interrupted. "Teach, not tutor. Apprentice him to the Guard if that is what you want for him. But at night, in his off-hours, we will talk. I will teach him, when you can spare him, of humility."
"All right, Gandalf," Denethor sighed. "But do not forget -- the choice is mine."
Gandalf nodded, looking at the sky which was rapidly growing dark. "There is one other thing."
"There always is with you," Denethor replied. "Go on."
"Who do you intend to be the Lady of Gondor now?" Gandalf asked.
"Oh, that's simple," Denethor answered. "Mellawen."
"But there is no more Mellawen," Gandalf observed. "Only Mellamir."
This thought silenced Denethor. Finally he said, less sure, "She's still a lady, no matter her name."
"Yes, but it is more than a name," Gandalf replied. "She will learn what the boys learn and spend her time around men. I will teach her the art of smoking which, I fear, will crowd out all thought of embroidery. And what of your people? Who among them would marry a woman more learned than himself, a man mighty in his own right?"
Denethor was dumbstruck. Finally he said, "This is more than a problem of entertaining princes. You are not merely concerned about Minas Tirith's hospitality."
"I most certainly am," Gandalf replied. "It is my business to make sure that your court and every court goes on as it has for the last thousand years, or else has the power to change as it sees fit. Your court I consider more often than most because it is not really yours. You have managed to push that thought out of your head: remember it! Yet you are correct. I am interested in more than entertaining princes. You can choose any woman of your land to be the Lady of Gondor, but it shall not solve Mellamir's problem. She will be raised a prince, but no kingdom will have her, or if by chance someone would marry her, he would force her into a cage. I don't want that fate for her."
"She needs a mother," Denethor answered, frowning. "But, Gandalf, you must realize, I've just lost my wife. I loved her. I still do. I sacrificed my own brother to those Elves to get her. What a fool I was! My last words to her were an argument."
"You are right, Denethor. But Mellawen still needs a mother. I could teach her the things girls learn, but how to be a lady -- that is something you must experience to teach, I'm afraid." He paused, then went on. "So what is the steward's decision?"
"I cannot do it, Gandalf," Denethor said at last. "She'll be all right, I'm sure."
He frowned sceptically and looked like he was going to say something else. In the end, however, he just said, "Mellamir will be expecting her fireworks," and walked down the stairs and out to the Pelennor fields.
2996; the Rammas Echor
As the rest of Minas Tirith gathered around the food tables laid out by the servants of the steward, Denethor led Gandalf down through the Seven Gates, past the deserted houses and the empty streets. Some houses were deserted because the people living in them were at the celebration but others because their owners no longer trusted the strength of Minas Tirith, preferring strongholds further from Mordor. Finally Gandalf and Denethor reached the outer wall. They climbed a stair of stone and walked along the wall until at last Denethor stopped. He looked out over the fields of Pelennor, brooding, and the sight of the many crops still to be harvested calmed him, reminded him of the glory of Gondor. Gandalf, though, looked outward over the land that stretched beyond the horizon until at last it met the woods of ancient legends.
"I know what you want me to do, Gandalf," Denethor said at last, "but you need to remember, Gondor is mine." He stared at the wizard for a long moment before remembering to add, "Until the king returns."
"Until the king returns," Gandalf repeated. "What hope is there of that, in this lonely time? But hope, or doom, will find you before death does, Denethor Steward of Gondor. Yet you, lore-master of Gondor, you who know the thoughts of Men, Elves, and now even Wizards. Tell me my thoughts."
"You wish to tutor my children," Denethor replied, his eyes burning with anger. "My heirs. You desire it like you desire Gondor itself --"
Gandalf, who had been looking out over the land, snapped his head around and looked intently at the steward. His eyes were penetrating, intense, but they lacked the hatred that he say in Denethor's. "I never have. I do not govern any realm, nor do I desire it. Any help I could provide, it is yours for the asking."
"On your terms," Denethor answered.
"I give what help I can. And I have absolutely no interest in tutoring your children. Denethor, even you must realize by now that I am hardly mere parlour entertainment? I came to your city for one reason, and one reason only: your libraries, which are famous as far as the libraries east of the sea go. Know this, I am not just searching your libraries to satisfy my own curiosity. The fate of kingdoms you have never seen, and indeed your own, depends on my finding the information I seek, and quickly. I _do_ fear for your house, though. I do not have time to set off fireworks tonight, but I will make the time." He paused. "Denethor, you and your brother both have brown hair, as did Ivriniel and Finduilas. Didn't you ever wonder why your daughter has red hair, when it is so rare in the city?"
Denethor thought on that for a moment. At last he said, "I do not have the idle time to ponder such things. If the Valar wished Mellamir to have red hair, then what concern is that of mine?"
"You speak more truth than you realize by saying that, Denethor," Gandalf replied. "The Valar did indeed wish your daughter to have red hair; it was not mere chance, as it is with some. Your brother-in-law Imrahil received a prophecy once, years ago. Has he ever spoken to you about it?" Denethor shook his head and Gandalf nodded. "As the prophet, it is his privilege and duty to reveal to you the full prophecy when and how he chooses. I will give you just the first part, since it concerns you more than you know. Imrahil stood on top of a mountain looking out over the land. In the east he saw Mordor and all that lay beyond, and in the west, Gondor and Rohan. Orodruin began erupting, and the whole plain caught fire. But then a girl ran out of the forest beyond Rohan and the fires slowly died away. Then a voice came out of the West: "The one with both a visible and a secret fire will save your world from the coming conflagration."
"Your daughter, Denethor, has a fire the world can see, her hair, which is red as hot flame. She also has a fire in her soul that few can see. That fire must be protected and built into a roaring flame, Denethor. Your daughter is important, and I need to protect her. She has a hope and a beauty that defy explanation. That is why I will show her fireworks, and teach her how to smoke a pipe, and tell her of people far away. But, Denethor -- tutor her? No, that is asking too much."
They looked at each other for a long time. At last Denethor asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I do not want you spoiling the girl," Gandalf replied. "She is far too important. I won't say more just yet. Ask your brother-in-law, if you prefer."
Denethor thought about that for a moment. "For the time I understand enough. I love the child, want what is best for her, and if that means you ... then so be it. But I do not understand, Gandalf, how you can offer your help, and then the first thing I ask of you, you refuse. You give what you want to give, not what I need."
"Wrong, Denethor," Gandalf replied. "I said that I would give any help I could. And I also said my time is precious ... too precious to waste it teaching children simple calculations. Find them a tutor to teach them what they need to know, sums, scripts, and swordsmanship."
"Then what exactly are you offering?" Denethor demanded.
"I will teach them what no one else can," Gandalf said. "Of legends long forgotten and peoples you have never seen. Trust me in this. These things are important, because the Shadow is falling. In their lifetimes -- yours as well -- nations that have long since forgotten about each other will come together, or else they will fall one by one to the might of Mordor."
"Another of your prophecies of doom?" Denethor asked sceptically.
"If I foretell the destruction of the West," Gandalf replied, "it is because I have been watching for this day since before your father's father first drew breath. And in order to survive you need to know about lands other than the ones you have seen with your own eyes. If you refuse to learn, you must surround yourself with people you can trust who know of them. Who better than your children? But my schools are not held in a classroom. We shall walk through gardens, and perhaps some day through woods, and smoke many a pipe, Mellamir and I. And Faramir as well, and Boromir."
"Not Boromir," Denethor said resolutely. "I won't have him learn your Wizard ways. My brother went to the Elves and it cost him his honour, his family, and his life. Boromir will one day be steward of Gondor. What does he need with kingdoms he cannot see? He needs his feet on the ground and his head out of the clouds."
"I have already explained what Boromir and your other children need with kingdoms they cannot see," Gandalf replied, somewhat less patiently. "But even without this necessary foresight, what is the harm in learning? I do not understand why you refuse to have him taught. And to confound the wise is a sign of great wisdom -- or of great foolishness. Do you _want_ your son to die?"
"There are worse ways to die than in battle," Denethor said; "in a river, for one. We all have to die. I would have Boromir die in such a way that it would mean something. I'd rather him die tomorrow in battle than live a hundred years and die running from his duty."
"That choice is yet before him," Gandalf replied, "but you have your own choice: whether to groom a warrior or a prince. Choose carefully, Master Steward. I know it seems like you do not have the luxury of nobility, but I warn you: in times like ours, you cannot afford the warrior and need the prince."
"I don't understand," Denethor said at last.
"No, I expect not. Never mind, then. You are quite sure you won't have Boromir taught?"
"Less sure than I was," Denethor replied, "but how can I have him tutored, more than I already am? He is seventeen, and the time for schooling is past."
"For schooling, perhaps, but for learning?" Gandalf asked. "That is a lesson you would do well to learn: that the pursuit of knowledge never ceases. The more a man learns, the more he discovers what he doesn't know, and that brings humility. To fill one's mind with much useless information is ineffective, but to know too little, that is pure folly, because then one acts rashly, with incomplete understanding and little empathy. Humility and empathy are important qualities in a leader, more important even than knowledge at times. Would you have Boromir fall to the twin evils of pride and ignorance?"
"No, but --"
"Then let me teach him," Gandalf interrupted. "Teach, not tutor. Apprentice him to the Guard if that is what you want for him. But at night, in his off-hours, we will talk. I will teach him, when you can spare him, of humility."
"All right, Gandalf," Denethor sighed. "But do not forget -- the choice is mine."
Gandalf nodded, looking at the sky which was rapidly growing dark. "There is one other thing."
"There always is with you," Denethor replied. "Go on."
"Who do you intend to be the Lady of Gondor now?" Gandalf asked.
"Oh, that's simple," Denethor answered. "Mellawen."
"But there is no more Mellawen," Gandalf observed. "Only Mellamir."
This thought silenced Denethor. Finally he said, less sure, "She's still a lady, no matter her name."
"Yes, but it is more than a name," Gandalf replied. "She will learn what the boys learn and spend her time around men. I will teach her the art of smoking which, I fear, will crowd out all thought of embroidery. And what of your people? Who among them would marry a woman more learned than himself, a man mighty in his own right?"
Denethor was dumbstruck. Finally he said, "This is more than a problem of entertaining princes. You are not merely concerned about Minas Tirith's hospitality."
"I most certainly am," Gandalf replied. "It is my business to make sure that your court and every court goes on as it has for the last thousand years, or else has the power to change as it sees fit. Your court I consider more often than most because it is not really yours. You have managed to push that thought out of your head: remember it! Yet you are correct. I am interested in more than entertaining princes. You can choose any woman of your land to be the Lady of Gondor, but it shall not solve Mellamir's problem. She will be raised a prince, but no kingdom will have her, or if by chance someone would marry her, he would force her into a cage. I don't want that fate for her."
"She needs a mother," Denethor answered, frowning. "But, Gandalf, you must realize, I've just lost my wife. I loved her. I still do. I sacrificed my own brother to those Elves to get her. What a fool I was! My last words to her were an argument."
"You are right, Denethor. But Mellawen still needs a mother. I could teach her the things girls learn, but how to be a lady -- that is something you must experience to teach, I'm afraid." He paused, then went on. "So what is the steward's decision?"
"I cannot do it, Gandalf," Denethor said at last. "She'll be all right, I'm sure."
He frowned sceptically and looked like he was going to say something else. In the end, however, he just said, "Mellamir will be expecting her fireworks," and walked down the stairs and out to the Pelennor fields.