Ch 7 - The Journey
3002 - Anórien and Rohan
~*~
Fifteen minutes later Mellamir ran into the stables where Gandalf held the bridles of two horses, groomed, fed, saddled, and ready to go. "Up you go," he said. "We need to hurry now." Gandalf helped her into her saddle, then mounted his own horse and with one "Hyah!" the two rode out of the stable and through the city.
Minas Tirith was built against the mountain Mindolluin and was divided into seven circles by walls. Each of these circles save the first was split in half by a great rock spear. The only way from the Citadel in the Seventh Circle to the great gate in the First was by way of a long road that snaked its way down the mountain, passing through the rock wall seven times. No one could travel far through the city, certainly not from one circle to the next, without the guards knowing about it, and also the citizens who lived along the road if they were awake. As Gandalf wanted to leave with as few people knowing as possible, he and Mellamir had to leave before the city woke up.
They rode out of the stable and down the main road through the city, past the boarded up and sleeping houses and through the seven gates, at last reaching the great gate. The guard saw them and came down the stairs.
"Where are you going, and on whose authority do you take the lady Mellamir?" asked the guard, whom Gandalf recognized as a new soldier named Ingold.
"Your lord's," Gandalf replied as he handed Ingold a letter. Ingold read it over, then scowled at the wizard. "How do I know this is not some forgery?"
"You do not," Gandalf replied, "which leaves you three choices. You may go and wake the Steward and ask him yourself, but if you value your position I would advise against that; Denethor will not look highly to such foolishness. You may detain us here, though again, I would not advise it: the Steward has trusted me for these two years with his children, and he is a better judge of character in this matter than you." Gandalf took back the letter and placed it in his robes, then turned his gaze on Ingold. "Or you can do your duty as a guard of the gate and speed us on our way without detaining us any longer."
Ingold turned away quickly, eager to avoid the wizard's gaze. Something about those piercing eyes made him think Gandalf could see into his very soul. He knew he should probably ask the gate-warden what to do, but he didn't want to tell Gandalf that, for whatever reason. And the letter did look legitimate. At last he waved his hand toward the wall, the gates slowly opened, and Gandalf and Mellamir rode out of Minas Tirith.
They rode along the Great West Road for several hours, and at first Mellamir was content to let the hills roll by. Gandalf rode a fine horse, a gift from King Théoden of Rohan several years earlier, back when Gandalf was still welcome at Théoden's court. The wizard hadn't yet been banned from Rohan so he and Mellamir could ride openly through that country, but Gandalf felt less welcome in Edoras than he had in the past. The king wasn't any less Gandalf's friend when the two spoke alone, but the king's new advisors didn't like the wizard and whispered poison in the king's ears whenever Gandalf came to court. So Gandalf rode through Gondor and toward Rohan on one of the king's horses, not hiding but not calling attention to himself either. Mellamir's horse, the offspring of a Rohirric stallion and a Gondorian mare, was no match for Gandalf's steed, but the child was an able rider and for some time she kept up with Gandalf. After a while, though, she felt her horse tiring under her, his hooves stumbling ever so slightly and his strides a little forced, not fluid like they had been in the early hours of the morning. At last Mellamir said, "Gandalf, we have to either rest or slow down. If we don't, my horse might fall from the heat, and wouldn't that slow us down even more?"
Gandalf nodded. "You are right, of course. Let us make for that grove of trees -- slowly, your horse really is overworked -- and we will rest and have breakfast. It is near the third hour in your city. Breakfast is overdue, especially for two travellers such as us. I think we have put in more leagues this morning than most men of your city do in a week."
Gandalf opened his saddlebag and produced fresh baked brown bread, a bit of butter, and fresh fruits, the best of early summer. Then he walked down to a nearby stream and filled their water flasks. When he returned he saw that Mellamir had sliced some of the bread and buttered it and was waiting on him to start. He handed her a flask and nodded for her to begin, and they were quiet while they ate. When finally they had eaten their fill and Mellamir was packing the leftovers into Gandalf's saddlebag, Gandalf said, "While you're over there, get my pipe, and yours too. I can see you've got questions on your mind."
She took her time answering. First Mellamir stuffed her pipe full of weed and lit it, then blew several smoke-rings and gazed at the western horizon where she imagined great forests loomed, though she couldn't see them yet.
"Well, yes, actually," Mellamir said at last. "Quite a few, but two for the moment. One important, one not."
"All questions are important," Gandalf replied.
"All right, then," she clarified, "one seems related to Fangorn and the other's completely random."
He pondered that for a second. "Ask me the random one first," he said at last.
"You remember when I first came back from Uncle Arabôr's farm," Mellamir continued, "and you gave me this pipe? I asked you then what 'mathom' meant, and you said that I wouldn't understand, but that someday I might. But I don't understand, and I've been curious about it ever since, and I'd just like to know what that word means and why I wouldn't understand right away."
"Mellamir, I commend your memory. We had that conversation almost six years ago. It's better, though, that you hear the truth of the matter from me. If you asked a Hobbit they would answer you as long as you sat still to listen."
"A Hobbit?" Mellamir asked.
"Yes, a Hobbit," Gandalf replied. "That is the crux of your question, though you do not realize it. Where to start?" He took a puff on his pipe, deep in thought. "You know, of course, that in the days of the kings, Gondor was much larger than what your father governs today? Far to the north and to the west the kings used to claim allegiance. If you were to pass Edoras and go through Fangorn, you would at last come to the Elven woods of Lórien. And if the queen were to let you pass through the lands and you went over the Redhorn Pass to the lands west of the Misty Mountains, and on for many more miles, finally you would reach Rivendell, the Last Homely House. And if you kept going north and west you'd come to another great wood, though less great than it used to be, and beyond that the Brandywine and the far-off land known as the Shire. And if they let you in -- which they probably wouldn't; they don't like outsiders -- then you would meet the Hobbits.
"Now, no one knows exactly where they come from. They are not Elves, or Dwarves, or Men, though they are more like Men than anyone else. Much shorter, though; the tallest rarely pass four feet. They do not like machinery more advanced than a plow, though they can use tools, and they are skilled in most crafts save cobbling. Hobbits have extremely tough feet so they don't need shoes, even in the coldest of weather. Not that that is much of a concern since it hasn't snowed in the Shire for several years now and they seldom if ever leave it. They like regular meals, plenty of everything, and well-laid gardens. They still know how to fight, however -- though few have ever made use of that skill.
"The first tales I know of them -- and I have studied them for many years now -- have them living along the upper Anduin, between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains. I do not know what first prompted them to move, but move they did: across the mountains and Eriador. There were three main types originally, the Harfoots, the Stoors, and the Fallohides, but today few hobbits come purely from one of those branches and they generally identify themselves with one of the families, for example the Bagginses or the Brandybucks. Somehow, they all came to the Shire at last and they have been living there for years. Forgotten by most, but some still watch over them, though the Hobbits themselves don't know anything about their guardians. I'm talking about the Dúnedain."
"Dúnedain?" Mellamir asked. That word sounded familiar, though she couldn't place it.
"Men of the West. Back from when the king ruled there; they are rangers and scouts, and they watch over the Shire to make sure no evil thing gets in. Now, about your pipe." Mellamir looked up at him, trying to stifle her yawn -- as usual, he was taking entirely too long to answer the question -- but he pressed on, seeming not to notice her waning interest.
"The Hobbits haven't done much that has carried over to the world at large, mainly because most people don't even know they exist, but pipe smoking might be the one exception. I know the art, as do many others, but precious few Gondorians do. Yet I remember a day when most of the people smoked. Kings, even. The question is, did it start with the Hobbits and spread to Men, or with Men and spread to the Hobbits? I do not know for certain, but I think the Hobbits most likely came up with the idea: it is just such a hobbity notion. Only people who organize their day around meals would come up with the idea of sitting around and breathing in burning plants. But no matter. Your pipe is a gift to me from a great hobbit, a patriarch. He was known as the Old Took -- the Tooks are one of the most important Hobbit families -- and most of the Hobbits worth speaking of today are related to him by blood or marriage. He scored 130 years, and that is old, even for Hobbits, who usually reach 100. He gave me this pipe after a particularly enjoyable party. Whenever I was in the Shire he would throw a party, and I would bring the fireworks. We would sit and smoke, eat and drink, until the early hours of the morning. Good times; but, yes, that is the pipe. I think it came down to him from Isengrim the Second, so you should be honoured."
"Isengrim the -- what?" she asked, looking up.
Gandalf chuckled. "I should have known that name wouldn't mean anything to you. A giant among Hobbits. If you were a Hobbit, having something that belonged to Isengrim would mean something. This particular party was for the Old Took's birthday, and that is why he gave me the pipe. They have a custom -- I wish more people would follow it; it would do them some good -- of when they celebrate a birthday, instead of other people giving them gifts, they distribute the presents." Mellamir blew another smoke ring, then returned her attention back to the ants marching along not far away.
"Years later, when I learned what it was, I tried to give the pipe back to another hobbit-friend of mine, Bilbo Baggins. Years ago, there was a battle at the Green Fields. The battle was neither great nor terrible by the accounting of Men, but it is the only one ever to occur in the Shire. The Hobbits were threatened by Orcs, and the three Took brothers Bandobras, Isenbras, and Ferumbras organized the Hobbits and led them into battle. There Ferumbras died, along with many other Hobbits, and Bandobras made this pipe to honour his brother. One of the first true pipes. So when I found out all this I tried to give it back to Bilbo, but he wouldn't take it. He said he had seen enough adventures and didn't want any reminders of other peoples' goings-on." He paused for a moment and looked at Mellamir, an amazed look on her face as she stared at her pipe. She knew almost nothing of hobbits or their ways, but she was still clearly impressed.
"Now you asked what the word 'mathom' meant," Gandalf continued, pointing out the word on Mellamir's pipe. _Ah, now he was finally coming to the point!_ Mellamir thought to herself, though she didn't dare say it. "It is an old word, one I have never heard outside the Shire. A mathom is something you do not want to throw away but don't really have a use for. Hobbits pass around mathoms, often, for birthday presents. Estella would give it to her cousin Drogo on her birthday, and then two weeks later he'd pass it along to his wife's sister's next-door-neighbour Primula, and so on. Amazing people. I hope you will meet them someday, but, as I said, they live very far away. Maybe someday." He blew a smoke ring that shaped itself into a giant eagle and flew away. At last Gandalf continued, "You had another question?"
Mellamir nodded. "Just one more, though. Why are we going?"
"I told you that already," Gandalf replied. "Your father and I agree it is time you journeyed out of the city and saw some of the world."
"Ha!" Mellamir cried. "You I believe, but Papa? For him the world ends at the ancient boundaries of Gondor, and he cares nothing for trees and distrusts your 'Elvish magic'. Talking trees, ha! I can hear him saying it. And why now?"
"My dear Mellamir," Gandalf replied, a hint of a smile playing at his lips, "your curiosity and frankness will get you in trouble some day. To answer your question, for myself at least, I need to see Treebeard. I have read all of the scrolls in your father's libraries that I think could likely be useful, but I have not found anything. I need direction and advice. Treebeard is a good help to an old wizard in these matters. He is wise beyond measure and, more importantly, he will give me the whole truth, not only what he wants me to hear. I want to see him, and this is a good opportunity for you to meet him as well. You will certainly never meet him through anyone else in Minas Tirith."
"And Father?"
"He has his reasons," Gandalf replied, "but to explain them thoroughly I would have to tell you much about this Treebeard, things which you would do better to hear from him, in his own words. He looked up at her, saw that unconvinced look in her eyes, and continued. "Mellamir, you must give your father more credit. He is a great man and has had a hard life, lost everything he ever cared about. His parents are long dead, he has lost his brother and his wife, and now he fears he might lose you and Faramir to my 'wizard's meddlings', as he puts it -- no, not to my face, but I have heard him say it to other people." Mellamir's unconvinced look was quickly replaced by one of shocking disbelief, but Gandalf hardly noticed. "He is a complicated man, and he fears the unknown, that which he cannot see and understand."
" But why --" Mellamir began, but Gandalf held up his hand for silence.
"Lately, the unknown includes you and Faramir. He is a great man, Mellamir, but he thinks he is greater than he is, and that is dangerous. Yet he is not so simple as to be easily understood." He sighed. "Did you know he wanted to send you to Dol Amroth?"
"Dol Amroth?" Mellamir repeated, now confused. "Why?"
"Because," Gandalf answered gently, "you are a girl and he thinks it is time you acted like one. Try to see through his eyes, Mellamir. You spend all your day with your brothers, something the ladies of his court do not hesitate to point out to one another, and he hears their gossip. One day you must marry, but he cannot see any prince or lord marrying such an unruly lady as you have become."
Mellamir started to protest but stopped. She disagreed with this assessment of her personality, but she could at least see how her father could think such things. "So I'm going to Dol Amroth when I get back?" she asked, a pained look on her face.
"No," Gandalf answered. "I said he wanted to send you to Dol Amroth; I did not say you were going. This Treebeard I am taking you to -- I will let him tell you why, however he chooses to do so, but your father feels that he can help you learn to be a lady, however strange that might sound. And he did not want to send you away from your brothers, nor from himself, so when I suggested Fangorn he reluctantly agreed." With that, Gandalf blew his last smoke ring and snuffed out his pipe. "Now it really is time to go. We have miles to go before the sun sleeps."
~*~
Gandalf and Mellamir rode for two more hours until at last they reached the Druadan Forest where they left the road. Mellamir knew if they had kept to the road they would have eventually come to Edoras, the capital of Rohan. The Rohirrim, famous far and wide for their fierce loyalty and their resilient, sturdy horses, had long been allies of Gondor. At one time Rohan had been a part of Gondor, but when Éorl answered the steward Cirion's call for help, Cirion gave Éorl the land that became Rohan as reward for his services.
But Gandalf and Mellamir weren't going to Edoras, and this road would lead them too far south. No roads led to Fangorn because hardly anyone went there, certainly not enough to wear a path through the rough country. Gandalf's horse was familiar enough with the terrain, but Mellamir's mare found every root and all the undergrowth. When Gandalf noticed how badly her horse was struggling, he dismounted and walked over. He placed his hands around the horse's neck under his head, leaned over, and whispered words of a language Mellamir couldn't understand into the horse's ear. Suddenly an arrow flew through the air past Gandalf's ear and pierced the tree behind him. The horse's nostrils flared and he started to rear, but Gandalf held him steady, and slowly the horse calmed down. A short, swarthy man walked out of the woods carrying a bow on his back, his thick brown hair and sparse beard unkempt. He met Gandalf's eyes as he walked forward slowly.
"Why you stop?" he asked.
"Her horse is tired," Gandalf replied. "I was --"
"You leave now," the man interrupted.
"If I let go of the horse," Gandalf answered patiently, "he will bolt. Your arrow spooked him. As soon as I calm him, we will leave."
The swarthy man suspiciously eyed the pale girl sitting on the horse. "Who she?" he asked Gandalf plainly. Mellamir looked at Gandalf, a similar question in her eyes.
"Mellamir," Gandalf said reluctantly, "this is Ghân-buri-Ghân, chief of the men of these woods." He paused, then grudgingly finished the introduction, "Ghân-buri-Ghân, this is Mellamir, child of the steward."
"From the Stone City?" the man asked, growling slightly under his breath. Gandalf nodded and Ghân-buri-Ghân took the reins from Gandalf's hand. The wizard backed away and mounted his own horse, looking at Ghân-buri-Ghân apprehensively. "You go _now_!" Ghân bellowed to Gandalf. He slapped Mellamir's horse sharply on its flank, and the horse galloped off through the woods as Gandalf rode after in pursuit. When Gandalf's horse caught up, he could see the other horse had some stamina left so they slowed to a canter and continued for a good half-hour, not stopping until they cleared the woods. At a signal from Gandalf, Mellamir slowed her mount, then stopped. They dismounted, and Gandalf began massaging Mellamir's horse.
"What was that about?" Mellamir asked as she offered her horse a carrot from her saddlebag.
"Hunting rights," Gandalf answered, sighing.
"What do you mean? They want to hunt our animals?"
"I wish it were that simple, Mellamir," Gandalf replied with a sigh. "No, he wants the men of Gondor to stop hunting his children." Mellamir looked at him, disbelief in her eyes. "There are many types of Men, Mellamir, many of them of noble race, but your father is wont to forget that. Any man who is not like himself is somehow less worthy to his way of thinking. But Ghân-buri-Ghân comes from a proud, ancient stock. Before the kings ever sailed from Númenor, his ancestors -- the Púkel-men, who lived in what is now Rohan -- built great fortresses. Today they hide away in these woods and want only to be left alone."
Now that the two had left the woods, Mellamir caught her first glimpse of the land north of the Ered Nimrais. She didn't see many farms, and the land was much more rocky. After Gandalf and Mellamir had ridden away from the forest, north toward the Great River, Mellamir looked back and saw over the trees a great range of mountains rising up through the clouds.
"Is that . . .?" Mellamir wondered aloud.
"Nardol," Gandalf answered. "One of the fire-beacons. Your father lights the first one, at Amon Dîn, high up in the mountains. Then the men at Eilenach see the light and kindle their own fire, and on down through the others. They can see that last fire away in Rohan."
"So this is Anórien," she said to herself.
Gandalf nodded. "The sun-lands. The land is too rocky to be much good for farming, but some people still live here, hunters mostly." He paused, then looked back at the mountains. "Your father has never had reason to light the beacons, nor did his father, back through many generations. But some day the mountaintops may burn again. Denethor will need the help they can bring." With that, Gandalf gave Mellamir's horse a final pat, walked back to his own steed, and mounted. "Come along, Fangorn is still many miles away," he said, and the two of them rode toward the Great River in the distance.
That evening they reached the riverbanks of the Anduin as the sun set, and they ate fish Gandalf caught for dinner. The next morning they rode along the western bank of the Anduin, north toward the Entwash. How many days, Mellamir lost count, probably four or five. They slept, ate, rode, and rested, all the things one does on a long journey, but Mellamir asked no more questions until at last she saw in the distance the rushing falls of Rauros.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the great, carved stone cliffs framing the falls.
"The Argonath," Gandalf answered, smiling. Mellamir was pointing at the towering stone guardians six leagues off, but even at that distance they still impressed her. She saw the crowns on the back of their heads, their flowing robes, and their great arms stretched out, forbidding others to enter. She stopped her horse and was quiet for a moment, admiring the statues.
"They mark the ancient northern boundaries of Gondor," Gandalf continued at last. "Long ago, when the Númenoreans sailed to Middle-earth from their island in the Sea, they built the Argonath to warn outsiders that they were entering the southern lands of the kings. Do not be afraid! I see the fear in your eyes. But the Argonath guard you and all Gondor."
"I am not afraid," Mellamir replied absent-mindedly. And she wasn't; she had heard of the Argonath from Dweinlunde once, she just never imagined they would be so huge. But she wasn't really listening to Gandalf or even looking at the cliffs. No, she was trying to determine what that revolting smell was, brought to her by an east wind. She sniffed the air and wrinkled her face. "Eurgh! Do you smell it?"
Gandalf nodded. "The fields of Dagorlad lie beyond the Great River, near the Black Gates."
"Dagorlad," Mellamir repeated, recognition dawning on her face. She stared off into the distance, a blank look on her face, as Gandalf continued.
"When Elendil, father of Isildur, sailed to Middle-earth, the elf-lord Gil-galad had been fighting Sauron for over a millennium. But Sauron feared Númenor and what it represented, and so he attacked Gondor to try to stamp out this world of men. Gil-galad and Elendil forged an alliance to fight Sauron, and they challenged his vast army of orcs and other foul creatures on the fields of Dagorlad, past the Great River --"
"Enough," Mellamir interrupted. "I know the old stories, and don't need reminding." Gandalf nodded, understanding, and at last Mellamir continued, trying to breathe more shallowly so she did not have to inhale the stench. "Let's leave this frightful place. The beauty of the Argonath cannot erase the stench of that ancient battle."
They left the Great River and rode along the Entwash for two more days until at last Gandalf stopped at the threshold of a great wall of trees. He turned to Mellamir and said, "You will see many things in this forest that you have never seen or heard tell of before. Remember: they are different, _not_ wrong. No matter how frightened you are, know that nothing can hurt you so long as you are with me. This is Fangorn, not Mirkwood, and there are no dark lords hiding in here, however scary the forest might seem. Just remember, when we meet the Ents, allow me to speak first."
3002 - Anórien and Rohan
~*~
Fifteen minutes later Mellamir ran into the stables where Gandalf held the bridles of two horses, groomed, fed, saddled, and ready to go. "Up you go," he said. "We need to hurry now." Gandalf helped her into her saddle, then mounted his own horse and with one "Hyah!" the two rode out of the stable and through the city.
Minas Tirith was built against the mountain Mindolluin and was divided into seven circles by walls. Each of these circles save the first was split in half by a great rock spear. The only way from the Citadel in the Seventh Circle to the great gate in the First was by way of a long road that snaked its way down the mountain, passing through the rock wall seven times. No one could travel far through the city, certainly not from one circle to the next, without the guards knowing about it, and also the citizens who lived along the road if they were awake. As Gandalf wanted to leave with as few people knowing as possible, he and Mellamir had to leave before the city woke up.
They rode out of the stable and down the main road through the city, past the boarded up and sleeping houses and through the seven gates, at last reaching the great gate. The guard saw them and came down the stairs.
"Where are you going, and on whose authority do you take the lady Mellamir?" asked the guard, whom Gandalf recognized as a new soldier named Ingold.
"Your lord's," Gandalf replied as he handed Ingold a letter. Ingold read it over, then scowled at the wizard. "How do I know this is not some forgery?"
"You do not," Gandalf replied, "which leaves you three choices. You may go and wake the Steward and ask him yourself, but if you value your position I would advise against that; Denethor will not look highly to such foolishness. You may detain us here, though again, I would not advise it: the Steward has trusted me for these two years with his children, and he is a better judge of character in this matter than you." Gandalf took back the letter and placed it in his robes, then turned his gaze on Ingold. "Or you can do your duty as a guard of the gate and speed us on our way without detaining us any longer."
Ingold turned away quickly, eager to avoid the wizard's gaze. Something about those piercing eyes made him think Gandalf could see into his very soul. He knew he should probably ask the gate-warden what to do, but he didn't want to tell Gandalf that, for whatever reason. And the letter did look legitimate. At last he waved his hand toward the wall, the gates slowly opened, and Gandalf and Mellamir rode out of Minas Tirith.
They rode along the Great West Road for several hours, and at first Mellamir was content to let the hills roll by. Gandalf rode a fine horse, a gift from King Théoden of Rohan several years earlier, back when Gandalf was still welcome at Théoden's court. The wizard hadn't yet been banned from Rohan so he and Mellamir could ride openly through that country, but Gandalf felt less welcome in Edoras than he had in the past. The king wasn't any less Gandalf's friend when the two spoke alone, but the king's new advisors didn't like the wizard and whispered poison in the king's ears whenever Gandalf came to court. So Gandalf rode through Gondor and toward Rohan on one of the king's horses, not hiding but not calling attention to himself either. Mellamir's horse, the offspring of a Rohirric stallion and a Gondorian mare, was no match for Gandalf's steed, but the child was an able rider and for some time she kept up with Gandalf. After a while, though, she felt her horse tiring under her, his hooves stumbling ever so slightly and his strides a little forced, not fluid like they had been in the early hours of the morning. At last Mellamir said, "Gandalf, we have to either rest or slow down. If we don't, my horse might fall from the heat, and wouldn't that slow us down even more?"
Gandalf nodded. "You are right, of course. Let us make for that grove of trees -- slowly, your horse really is overworked -- and we will rest and have breakfast. It is near the third hour in your city. Breakfast is overdue, especially for two travellers such as us. I think we have put in more leagues this morning than most men of your city do in a week."
Gandalf opened his saddlebag and produced fresh baked brown bread, a bit of butter, and fresh fruits, the best of early summer. Then he walked down to a nearby stream and filled their water flasks. When he returned he saw that Mellamir had sliced some of the bread and buttered it and was waiting on him to start. He handed her a flask and nodded for her to begin, and they were quiet while they ate. When finally they had eaten their fill and Mellamir was packing the leftovers into Gandalf's saddlebag, Gandalf said, "While you're over there, get my pipe, and yours too. I can see you've got questions on your mind."
She took her time answering. First Mellamir stuffed her pipe full of weed and lit it, then blew several smoke-rings and gazed at the western horizon where she imagined great forests loomed, though she couldn't see them yet.
"Well, yes, actually," Mellamir said at last. "Quite a few, but two for the moment. One important, one not."
"All questions are important," Gandalf replied.
"All right, then," she clarified, "one seems related to Fangorn and the other's completely random."
He pondered that for a second. "Ask me the random one first," he said at last.
"You remember when I first came back from Uncle Arabôr's farm," Mellamir continued, "and you gave me this pipe? I asked you then what 'mathom' meant, and you said that I wouldn't understand, but that someday I might. But I don't understand, and I've been curious about it ever since, and I'd just like to know what that word means and why I wouldn't understand right away."
"Mellamir, I commend your memory. We had that conversation almost six years ago. It's better, though, that you hear the truth of the matter from me. If you asked a Hobbit they would answer you as long as you sat still to listen."
"A Hobbit?" Mellamir asked.
"Yes, a Hobbit," Gandalf replied. "That is the crux of your question, though you do not realize it. Where to start?" He took a puff on his pipe, deep in thought. "You know, of course, that in the days of the kings, Gondor was much larger than what your father governs today? Far to the north and to the west the kings used to claim allegiance. If you were to pass Edoras and go through Fangorn, you would at last come to the Elven woods of Lórien. And if the queen were to let you pass through the lands and you went over the Redhorn Pass to the lands west of the Misty Mountains, and on for many more miles, finally you would reach Rivendell, the Last Homely House. And if you kept going north and west you'd come to another great wood, though less great than it used to be, and beyond that the Brandywine and the far-off land known as the Shire. And if they let you in -- which they probably wouldn't; they don't like outsiders -- then you would meet the Hobbits.
"Now, no one knows exactly where they come from. They are not Elves, or Dwarves, or Men, though they are more like Men than anyone else. Much shorter, though; the tallest rarely pass four feet. They do not like machinery more advanced than a plow, though they can use tools, and they are skilled in most crafts save cobbling. Hobbits have extremely tough feet so they don't need shoes, even in the coldest of weather. Not that that is much of a concern since it hasn't snowed in the Shire for several years now and they seldom if ever leave it. They like regular meals, plenty of everything, and well-laid gardens. They still know how to fight, however -- though few have ever made use of that skill.
"The first tales I know of them -- and I have studied them for many years now -- have them living along the upper Anduin, between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains. I do not know what first prompted them to move, but move they did: across the mountains and Eriador. There were three main types originally, the Harfoots, the Stoors, and the Fallohides, but today few hobbits come purely from one of those branches and they generally identify themselves with one of the families, for example the Bagginses or the Brandybucks. Somehow, they all came to the Shire at last and they have been living there for years. Forgotten by most, but some still watch over them, though the Hobbits themselves don't know anything about their guardians. I'm talking about the Dúnedain."
"Dúnedain?" Mellamir asked. That word sounded familiar, though she couldn't place it.
"Men of the West. Back from when the king ruled there; they are rangers and scouts, and they watch over the Shire to make sure no evil thing gets in. Now, about your pipe." Mellamir looked up at him, trying to stifle her yawn -- as usual, he was taking entirely too long to answer the question -- but he pressed on, seeming not to notice her waning interest.
"The Hobbits haven't done much that has carried over to the world at large, mainly because most people don't even know they exist, but pipe smoking might be the one exception. I know the art, as do many others, but precious few Gondorians do. Yet I remember a day when most of the people smoked. Kings, even. The question is, did it start with the Hobbits and spread to Men, or with Men and spread to the Hobbits? I do not know for certain, but I think the Hobbits most likely came up with the idea: it is just such a hobbity notion. Only people who organize their day around meals would come up with the idea of sitting around and breathing in burning plants. But no matter. Your pipe is a gift to me from a great hobbit, a patriarch. He was known as the Old Took -- the Tooks are one of the most important Hobbit families -- and most of the Hobbits worth speaking of today are related to him by blood or marriage. He scored 130 years, and that is old, even for Hobbits, who usually reach 100. He gave me this pipe after a particularly enjoyable party. Whenever I was in the Shire he would throw a party, and I would bring the fireworks. We would sit and smoke, eat and drink, until the early hours of the morning. Good times; but, yes, that is the pipe. I think it came down to him from Isengrim the Second, so you should be honoured."
"Isengrim the -- what?" she asked, looking up.
Gandalf chuckled. "I should have known that name wouldn't mean anything to you. A giant among Hobbits. If you were a Hobbit, having something that belonged to Isengrim would mean something. This particular party was for the Old Took's birthday, and that is why he gave me the pipe. They have a custom -- I wish more people would follow it; it would do them some good -- of when they celebrate a birthday, instead of other people giving them gifts, they distribute the presents." Mellamir blew another smoke ring, then returned her attention back to the ants marching along not far away.
"Years later, when I learned what it was, I tried to give the pipe back to another hobbit-friend of mine, Bilbo Baggins. Years ago, there was a battle at the Green Fields. The battle was neither great nor terrible by the accounting of Men, but it is the only one ever to occur in the Shire. The Hobbits were threatened by Orcs, and the three Took brothers Bandobras, Isenbras, and Ferumbras organized the Hobbits and led them into battle. There Ferumbras died, along with many other Hobbits, and Bandobras made this pipe to honour his brother. One of the first true pipes. So when I found out all this I tried to give it back to Bilbo, but he wouldn't take it. He said he had seen enough adventures and didn't want any reminders of other peoples' goings-on." He paused for a moment and looked at Mellamir, an amazed look on her face as she stared at her pipe. She knew almost nothing of hobbits or their ways, but she was still clearly impressed.
"Now you asked what the word 'mathom' meant," Gandalf continued, pointing out the word on Mellamir's pipe. _Ah, now he was finally coming to the point!_ Mellamir thought to herself, though she didn't dare say it. "It is an old word, one I have never heard outside the Shire. A mathom is something you do not want to throw away but don't really have a use for. Hobbits pass around mathoms, often, for birthday presents. Estella would give it to her cousin Drogo on her birthday, and then two weeks later he'd pass it along to his wife's sister's next-door-neighbour Primula, and so on. Amazing people. I hope you will meet them someday, but, as I said, they live very far away. Maybe someday." He blew a smoke ring that shaped itself into a giant eagle and flew away. At last Gandalf continued, "You had another question?"
Mellamir nodded. "Just one more, though. Why are we going?"
"I told you that already," Gandalf replied. "Your father and I agree it is time you journeyed out of the city and saw some of the world."
"Ha!" Mellamir cried. "You I believe, but Papa? For him the world ends at the ancient boundaries of Gondor, and he cares nothing for trees and distrusts your 'Elvish magic'. Talking trees, ha! I can hear him saying it. And why now?"
"My dear Mellamir," Gandalf replied, a hint of a smile playing at his lips, "your curiosity and frankness will get you in trouble some day. To answer your question, for myself at least, I need to see Treebeard. I have read all of the scrolls in your father's libraries that I think could likely be useful, but I have not found anything. I need direction and advice. Treebeard is a good help to an old wizard in these matters. He is wise beyond measure and, more importantly, he will give me the whole truth, not only what he wants me to hear. I want to see him, and this is a good opportunity for you to meet him as well. You will certainly never meet him through anyone else in Minas Tirith."
"And Father?"
"He has his reasons," Gandalf replied, "but to explain them thoroughly I would have to tell you much about this Treebeard, things which you would do better to hear from him, in his own words. He looked up at her, saw that unconvinced look in her eyes, and continued. "Mellamir, you must give your father more credit. He is a great man and has had a hard life, lost everything he ever cared about. His parents are long dead, he has lost his brother and his wife, and now he fears he might lose you and Faramir to my 'wizard's meddlings', as he puts it -- no, not to my face, but I have heard him say it to other people." Mellamir's unconvinced look was quickly replaced by one of shocking disbelief, but Gandalf hardly noticed. "He is a complicated man, and he fears the unknown, that which he cannot see and understand."
" But why --" Mellamir began, but Gandalf held up his hand for silence.
"Lately, the unknown includes you and Faramir. He is a great man, Mellamir, but he thinks he is greater than he is, and that is dangerous. Yet he is not so simple as to be easily understood." He sighed. "Did you know he wanted to send you to Dol Amroth?"
"Dol Amroth?" Mellamir repeated, now confused. "Why?"
"Because," Gandalf answered gently, "you are a girl and he thinks it is time you acted like one. Try to see through his eyes, Mellamir. You spend all your day with your brothers, something the ladies of his court do not hesitate to point out to one another, and he hears their gossip. One day you must marry, but he cannot see any prince or lord marrying such an unruly lady as you have become."
Mellamir started to protest but stopped. She disagreed with this assessment of her personality, but she could at least see how her father could think such things. "So I'm going to Dol Amroth when I get back?" she asked, a pained look on her face.
"No," Gandalf answered. "I said he wanted to send you to Dol Amroth; I did not say you were going. This Treebeard I am taking you to -- I will let him tell you why, however he chooses to do so, but your father feels that he can help you learn to be a lady, however strange that might sound. And he did not want to send you away from your brothers, nor from himself, so when I suggested Fangorn he reluctantly agreed." With that, Gandalf blew his last smoke ring and snuffed out his pipe. "Now it really is time to go. We have miles to go before the sun sleeps."
~*~
Gandalf and Mellamir rode for two more hours until at last they reached the Druadan Forest where they left the road. Mellamir knew if they had kept to the road they would have eventually come to Edoras, the capital of Rohan. The Rohirrim, famous far and wide for their fierce loyalty and their resilient, sturdy horses, had long been allies of Gondor. At one time Rohan had been a part of Gondor, but when Éorl answered the steward Cirion's call for help, Cirion gave Éorl the land that became Rohan as reward for his services.
But Gandalf and Mellamir weren't going to Edoras, and this road would lead them too far south. No roads led to Fangorn because hardly anyone went there, certainly not enough to wear a path through the rough country. Gandalf's horse was familiar enough with the terrain, but Mellamir's mare found every root and all the undergrowth. When Gandalf noticed how badly her horse was struggling, he dismounted and walked over. He placed his hands around the horse's neck under his head, leaned over, and whispered words of a language Mellamir couldn't understand into the horse's ear. Suddenly an arrow flew through the air past Gandalf's ear and pierced the tree behind him. The horse's nostrils flared and he started to rear, but Gandalf held him steady, and slowly the horse calmed down. A short, swarthy man walked out of the woods carrying a bow on his back, his thick brown hair and sparse beard unkempt. He met Gandalf's eyes as he walked forward slowly.
"Why you stop?" he asked.
"Her horse is tired," Gandalf replied. "I was --"
"You leave now," the man interrupted.
"If I let go of the horse," Gandalf answered patiently, "he will bolt. Your arrow spooked him. As soon as I calm him, we will leave."
The swarthy man suspiciously eyed the pale girl sitting on the horse. "Who she?" he asked Gandalf plainly. Mellamir looked at Gandalf, a similar question in her eyes.
"Mellamir," Gandalf said reluctantly, "this is Ghân-buri-Ghân, chief of the men of these woods." He paused, then grudgingly finished the introduction, "Ghân-buri-Ghân, this is Mellamir, child of the steward."
"From the Stone City?" the man asked, growling slightly under his breath. Gandalf nodded and Ghân-buri-Ghân took the reins from Gandalf's hand. The wizard backed away and mounted his own horse, looking at Ghân-buri-Ghân apprehensively. "You go _now_!" Ghân bellowed to Gandalf. He slapped Mellamir's horse sharply on its flank, and the horse galloped off through the woods as Gandalf rode after in pursuit. When Gandalf's horse caught up, he could see the other horse had some stamina left so they slowed to a canter and continued for a good half-hour, not stopping until they cleared the woods. At a signal from Gandalf, Mellamir slowed her mount, then stopped. They dismounted, and Gandalf began massaging Mellamir's horse.
"What was that about?" Mellamir asked as she offered her horse a carrot from her saddlebag.
"Hunting rights," Gandalf answered, sighing.
"What do you mean? They want to hunt our animals?"
"I wish it were that simple, Mellamir," Gandalf replied with a sigh. "No, he wants the men of Gondor to stop hunting his children." Mellamir looked at him, disbelief in her eyes. "There are many types of Men, Mellamir, many of them of noble race, but your father is wont to forget that. Any man who is not like himself is somehow less worthy to his way of thinking. But Ghân-buri-Ghân comes from a proud, ancient stock. Before the kings ever sailed from Númenor, his ancestors -- the Púkel-men, who lived in what is now Rohan -- built great fortresses. Today they hide away in these woods and want only to be left alone."
Now that the two had left the woods, Mellamir caught her first glimpse of the land north of the Ered Nimrais. She didn't see many farms, and the land was much more rocky. After Gandalf and Mellamir had ridden away from the forest, north toward the Great River, Mellamir looked back and saw over the trees a great range of mountains rising up through the clouds.
"Is that . . .?" Mellamir wondered aloud.
"Nardol," Gandalf answered. "One of the fire-beacons. Your father lights the first one, at Amon Dîn, high up in the mountains. Then the men at Eilenach see the light and kindle their own fire, and on down through the others. They can see that last fire away in Rohan."
"So this is Anórien," she said to herself.
Gandalf nodded. "The sun-lands. The land is too rocky to be much good for farming, but some people still live here, hunters mostly." He paused, then looked back at the mountains. "Your father has never had reason to light the beacons, nor did his father, back through many generations. But some day the mountaintops may burn again. Denethor will need the help they can bring." With that, Gandalf gave Mellamir's horse a final pat, walked back to his own steed, and mounted. "Come along, Fangorn is still many miles away," he said, and the two of them rode toward the Great River in the distance.
That evening they reached the riverbanks of the Anduin as the sun set, and they ate fish Gandalf caught for dinner. The next morning they rode along the western bank of the Anduin, north toward the Entwash. How many days, Mellamir lost count, probably four or five. They slept, ate, rode, and rested, all the things one does on a long journey, but Mellamir asked no more questions until at last she saw in the distance the rushing falls of Rauros.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the great, carved stone cliffs framing the falls.
"The Argonath," Gandalf answered, smiling. Mellamir was pointing at the towering stone guardians six leagues off, but even at that distance they still impressed her. She saw the crowns on the back of their heads, their flowing robes, and their great arms stretched out, forbidding others to enter. She stopped her horse and was quiet for a moment, admiring the statues.
"They mark the ancient northern boundaries of Gondor," Gandalf continued at last. "Long ago, when the Númenoreans sailed to Middle-earth from their island in the Sea, they built the Argonath to warn outsiders that they were entering the southern lands of the kings. Do not be afraid! I see the fear in your eyes. But the Argonath guard you and all Gondor."
"I am not afraid," Mellamir replied absent-mindedly. And she wasn't; she had heard of the Argonath from Dweinlunde once, she just never imagined they would be so huge. But she wasn't really listening to Gandalf or even looking at the cliffs. No, she was trying to determine what that revolting smell was, brought to her by an east wind. She sniffed the air and wrinkled her face. "Eurgh! Do you smell it?"
Gandalf nodded. "The fields of Dagorlad lie beyond the Great River, near the Black Gates."
"Dagorlad," Mellamir repeated, recognition dawning on her face. She stared off into the distance, a blank look on her face, as Gandalf continued.
"When Elendil, father of Isildur, sailed to Middle-earth, the elf-lord Gil-galad had been fighting Sauron for over a millennium. But Sauron feared Númenor and what it represented, and so he attacked Gondor to try to stamp out this world of men. Gil-galad and Elendil forged an alliance to fight Sauron, and they challenged his vast army of orcs and other foul creatures on the fields of Dagorlad, past the Great River --"
"Enough," Mellamir interrupted. "I know the old stories, and don't need reminding." Gandalf nodded, understanding, and at last Mellamir continued, trying to breathe more shallowly so she did not have to inhale the stench. "Let's leave this frightful place. The beauty of the Argonath cannot erase the stench of that ancient battle."
They left the Great River and rode along the Entwash for two more days until at last Gandalf stopped at the threshold of a great wall of trees. He turned to Mellamir and said, "You will see many things in this forest that you have never seen or heard tell of before. Remember: they are different, _not_ wrong. No matter how frightened you are, know that nothing can hurt you so long as you are with me. This is Fangorn, not Mirkwood, and there are no dark lords hiding in here, however scary the forest might seem. Just remember, when we meet the Ents, allow me to speak first."