Ch. 17: The Race to Minas Tirith

After three days of hard riding, Théoden's forces came to the Hold of Dunharrow. Gandalf had been there three days before, and the muster had begun at his urging. The assembled army was many thousands strong. To reach the Hold, the army had to climb a steep, looping mountain trail. No enemy would ever conquer that hold, save perhaps from the air.
They were greeted by Éowyn, who put up a strong appearance, but she looked like she had been crying. Aragorn had passed through, arriving late at night two days ago and leaving the next morning, on his way to the Paths of the Dead, and the Rohirrim gave him up for dead.
Merry and Worf were both left to their own amusement for a while, both wondering what these Paths of the Dead might be. They had given up the attempt at even guessing and Merry had launched into a long account of his genealogy, when a trumpet sounded, calling them to board. Merry waited on the king before the old man invited him to sit beside him. Worf sat beside Éomer and was treated like any of Théoden's captains; he had expected to be treated like a common soldier, not a captain. Merry asked the king about the Paths of the Dead, but even he was unable to answer much. This was no laughing matter, but Worf had to smile to himself at the hobbit's insatiable curiosity.
As they ate, a messenger from Gondor arrived. Worf was shocked at his similarity to Boromir, but said nothing. The messenger told grave tidings from Minas Tirith, and begged the Rohirrim for aid, presenting an arrow whose tip had been painted red, obviously a sign of ancient alliance. Théoden told the man that it would be a week before they could arrive with aid, and he replied, "You are like to find only ruined walls in seven days, unless other help comes. Still, you may at least disturb the Orcs and Swarthy Men from their feasting in the White Tower."
Despite the urgency, nothing could be done, for the Rohirrim needed rest. They would be no aid if they arrived too exhausted to fight. Worf woke early the next morning, as was his habit, but there was no sun to greet the day. The sky was brown; the brown air was as still as a tomb. He soon learned it came from Mordor, a sign that the war was begun. He quickly woke Merry, lest the young hobbit be found asleep when the king called for him, which happened only minutes later.
To the hobbit's dismay, Théoden told Merry that he could come with them as far Edoras, but no further. The hobbit rode a pony, which would not be able to keep up with the horses on the open plains as they raced to Gondor's aid. Éowyn pulled him aside and gave him armor, prepared at Aragorn's request. She also clothed Worf in the livery of the Mark. He bore the device of the white horse on a shirt over his mail, since he would carry no shield.
Coming down to the plains below the Hold, they were met by the assembled forces. There were 5500 fully armed knights, and many more with extra horses bearing only light loads. Worf rode with the king's household, just behind Merry and the messenger from Gondor. He noticed a slender young man watching the hobbit intently, but there was nothing to do about it, and no real reason for suspicion, anyway.
At Edoras, Merry was finally sent away, unhappy, but unable to do anything about it. Worf glanced back at the young man who had been watching him, only to see the rider approach the young hobbit. He was unable to see anything more, but he noticed that the young man appeared less slender as he rode from then on, as if he were hiding a hobbit-sized bundle. The deception rankled him, but Worf would say nothing; the little hobbit was his only friend on this strange trip, and Merry's presence was a strange comfort. With that, they rode hard the hundred and two leagues to Minas Tirith.