SEAL ON MY HEART

by Soledad

Disclaimer: see Introduction

Warning: this story contains implied m/m interaction – don't read it if it's not your thing.

Rating: PG-13, for implied m/m relationship

Author's notes:

Now we are slowly coming to the really important changes. Events will take a wholly different turn from now on. As earlier, the descriptions and a few lines of dialogue are taken from the HoMe-books ''The Return of the Shadow'' and ''The Treason of Isengard''. This is especially true about the names of the places our heroes visit – I decided to use the old ones, in order to create a different atmosphere – so beware of the footnotes!

As always, many heartfelt thanks go to Isabeau for beta-reading.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

''I went down to the nut orchard,
to look at the blossoms of the valley,
to see whether the wines had budded,
whether the pomegranates were in bloom.''

(The Song of Solomon, 6:11)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER FIVE: THE REALM OF THE HOLLY-TREES

When they had been about ten days on the road, the weather grew better.  The wind suddenly veered southward.  The swift flowing clouds lifted and melted away, and the sun came out.

They came at dawn to the end of a long, stumbling night march, reaching a low ridge crowned with ancient holly trees, whose pale fluted trunks seemed to have been formed out of the very stone of the hills.  Their berries shone red in the light of the rising sun.  Far away south the dim shapes of mountains could be seen, that seemed now to lie across their path.  To the left of this distant range a tall peak stood up like a tooth: it was tipped with snow but its bare western shoulder glowed redly in the glowing light.

Gildor came to a halt, followed by his small friends.  He looked at the land lying before them, and in his otherwise so cold eyes there was a deep sorrow, as if he were looking at the events of a past long gone – events that still burned in his heart with an old pain that could not be healed.  Boromir wondered what memories the Elf-Lord might have of this place, but when he turned to Elladan to ask, his Elf only gave him a slight shook of his head, and mouthed soundlessly, ''Later''.

Gandalf stepped up to Gildor and nodded in satisfaction.

''We have done well,'' the wizard said.  ''We have reached the borders of the country called Hollin – or Nan-eregdos(1) in the Elf-speech.  Many Elves lived here once in happier times.  Fifty leagues as the crow flies have we come, if we have come a mile, and we have marched quicker than winter from the North.''

''The land and the weather will be milder now,'' Gildor added softly, ''though mayhap all the more dangerous.''

''Danger or not, a real sunrise is mighty welcome,'' said Frodo, throwing back his hood and letting the morning light play on his face.

He looked pale and weary, like a child that had to carry a grown man's burden, and yet, his eyes were not the least child-like.  Boromir had to remind himself that – despite his fragile looks – the Halfling was a grown member of his peculiar race and actually more than ten years his elder. In fact, every one in the company was older than him, save the Ring-bearer's faithful manservant. The thought was somewhat… unsettling.

''Mountains ahead,'' said Samwise, as if he had known that Boromir's thoughts circled around him, eyeing their way full of doubt and mistrust. ''We seem to have turned eastward.''

Gildor shaded his eyes with a slender hand, looked in the same direction and laughed.

''Nay, we have not,'' he soothed the agitated hobbit with more patience than anyone would have expected from him. '''Tis the Mountains that have turned. Do you not remember Elrond's map in Imladris?''

''We-ell, I did not look carefully at it, if you know what I mean, sir,'' Sam admitted, blushing ashamedly. ''Master Frodo has a better head for those sorts of things.''

''That is your loss,'' Gildor shrugged, but smiled at the hobbit nevertheless; ''for had you looked at the map, you would know that away there stands Taragaer(2) or Ruddyhorn – that mountain with the red side.''

''I need no map,'' Gimli the Dwarf came up to them and was now gazing out before him, his deep eyes burning with a dark fire. ''There is the land where our fathers worked of old, and every Dwarf remembers the shape of its mountains. Tall and proud they stand in our dreams:  Baraz, Zirik, Shinbar (3).''

''Dwarves are not the only ones who remember,'' Gildor answered quietly. ''Many times did my feet walk these paths in the days of my youth. They are etched into my memories of an Age where our people were less estranged and our gates open for each other. Have you ever been to these lands, child of Durin?''

''Alas, nay,'' Gimli shook his head regretfully. ''Only once before did I see them from afar in waking life, but I know them and their names, for under them lies Khazad-dúm, the Dwarrowdelf, that is now called the Black Pit – Moria in the Elvish tongue.''

''So it is,'' Gildor agreed, ''though in the days of its glory it was not black but great and wondrous and fabulously rich… when Durin the Deathless sat on its throne and Narvi's hands carved the stone of it to never-ending wonders.''

Gimli shot him a surprised and even a little suspicious look.

''How is it that an Elf speaks so highly of the dark depths of the Dwarrowdelf?,'' he asked. Gildor shrugged.

''I visited Khazad-dúm a few times in my youth. I saw its greatness and beauty, and it pains me that they are now gone. Besides, both my father and my grandfather were stone-carvers and though I did not inherit their skills, I was taught to see the beauty in things made by hard work and magic.''

He paused and stretched out a long arm, pointing out the three great peaks for the rest of their company, one after another.

''Yonder stands Barazinbar, as the Dwarves call it, the Ruddyhorn, or cruel Taragaer; then Zirakzinbar(4), the Silvertine, Celebras(5) in our tongue; and finally, the farthest away, Udushinbar(6), the Coudyhead.''

''There the Misty Mountains divide, and between their arms lie the land of Caron-dún, the Red Valley,'' Gimli added. ''When we climb the Red Pass of Cris-caron, under Taragaer's side, we come straight into Caron-dún that is also called the Dimrill Dale, or in the Dwarven tongue Uruktharbun(7).''

''And it is for Dimrill Dale that we are making,'' said Gandalf, ''the deep dale of the Dwarves that the Elves call Nanduhiriat(8). There the River Redway(9) rises in the black waters of the Mirrormere.''

''Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram,'' murmured Gimli, ''and mirrors only the far sky and three white peaks; and cold is the water of Buzundus(10). My heart trembles at the thought that I might see them, soon.''

''I hope your heart finds its pleasure in them, my good Dwarf,'' Gandalf said gravely, ''but we cannot tarry there long.  We  have to follow the River Redway – to the Great River, and…'' he trailed off.

''Aye, and what then?,'' Boromir asked quietly, speaking for the first time since they stopped.

''To the end of the journey – in the end,'' said Gandalf, and Boromir scowled, for the shadowy answers of the wizard raised his mistrust again.

''We will not look too far ahead,'' the Lady Arwen added. ''Let us be glad that the first stage is safely over. What are your plans for today, Mithrandir?''

''I think we shall rest here for a whole day. There is a wholesome air about Hollin. Much evil must befall any country ere it wholly forgets the Elves, if once they dwelt there.''

''That is true,'' said Gildor grimly. ''But the Elves of this land were a strange people, very different from the woodland folk that dwells merrily under trees. They belonged to the Noldor, the Elven-wise, who delighted in creating things of great power and beauty. Even now, thousands of years later, all the stones about cry to me with many voices: They built high towers to heaven, and delved deep to earth… and they are gone. They are gone.''

''Did they seek the Havens long ago?'' Samwise asked in a small, almost frightened voice, for the grief of the Elf-Lord could nearly be touched by hand.

''Nay,'' Gildor answered slowly, ''they did not. They were trapped in their high towers, among their strong walls that yet could not resist the endless hosts of the Dark One when he came to take the city. All those Elves that remained here to protect their work and their homes were slain. There were but a handful of survivors. After that, the woods took back the place again, so that even the ruins are covered and only can be found when one knows where to look.''

''Yet it seems that you know where to look, do you?'' Samwise continued his inquiry.

''Yea, I do,'' answered Gildor, a dark shadow of painful memories clouding his hard, beautiful face. ''For in my youth often did I visit the fair city of Celebrimbor, Lord of the Jewel-smiths, as he was an old friend of my parents – and mine, too.  And I saw that same city in smouldering ruins and her Lord slain in the most cruel way.''

''Her Lord,'' Sam repeated, a little surprised. Gildor gave him a fond smile; the two hobbits had begun to grow on him.

'''Tis an ancient custom among Elf-Lords to speak of their cities as if they were fair ladies,'' he explained. ''Some say that the Lord of an Elven city is as much espoused to his realm as he is to his own wife. Some us have never known any other spouse,'' he added with a sigh, casting a meaningful look at Arwen.

''Would you tell us about this city and her Lord?'' Frodo asked quietly. ''I know that Celebrimbor was the one who made the Three, but there is little else known about him.''

''Among Halflings and Men mayhap there is not,'' said Gildor grimly. ''But his name is renowned among our kin. For he was the only grandson of Fëanor the Great – from his fifth son, Curufin, who inherited most of Fëanor's skills. Yet Celebrimbor's skills exceeded his father's by far, which is why he was called the 'Silver Fist'.''

''Was he born in the Blessed Realm?'' Sam asked, his eyes wide with awe, and Boromir  became interested, too, for though Celebrimbor's name was not unknown for the lore-masters of his home, little of the Elf-Lord's deeds and history were mentioned in the old scrolls and tomes kept in the Hidden Archives of Minas Tirith.

''He was,'' Gildor nodded, warming up to the topic. ''He was brought back to Middle-earth by his father as a young elfling, and lived in Nargothrond for a long time, helping Finrod Felagund to build his city. Later he became estranged from his father (which is a long and sorrowful tale – one I shall tell you another time) and remained in Nargothrond when Curufin and his brother were driven forth. After the War of Wrath, when Morgoth, the Great Enemy was overthrown, he lived in Gil-galad's court and helped my father to design and build the castle of the High King ere he went to build his own realm in Eregion.''

''Gildor forgot to mention that Finrod Felagund, the King of Nargothrond, was his grandfather,'' Arwen added with a smile. ''Though I know not when modesty became one of his virtues.''

Both Boromir and Gimli stared at the Elf-Lord with newly-found respect (for Nargothrond and his Dwarf-friend Elvenking had a great place among Dwarven legends), but Gildor only shrugged.

''The days of our glory are long gone, and I am but the last twig of a once-great House, now fallen from grace,'' he said.

'''Tis not entirely true,'' said Gandalf. ''For is your great-grandfather not still the High King of the Noldor in the Blessed Realm?''

''So I have been told,'' Gildor replied. ''Yet my true place would have been here, in Middle-earth, for here I was born and here have I lived all my life. And though I shall leave for the West one day as all of us have to, this will always remain my home, however small it has become since passing of our days of greatness.''

''You wanted to become King very much, did you?'' Boromir asked quietly, for the longing on Gildor's face was unmistakable.

''I am not the only one,'' Gildor replied, shooting a pointed look towards Aragorn. ''Only there is no realm left for me to take over from those who had ruled it for hundreds of years in the name of my forefathers – nor an Elven Princess promised to me, should I succeed. But you were asking about Celebrimbor,' and he changed the topic with one smooth move, turning back to the hobbits as if the fuming Ranger did not exist. ''Sit with me at the fireside, and I shall tell you his tale and that of the rise and fall of his fair city.''

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That morning they lit a fire in a deep hollow shrouded by the great holly trees, and their supper was merrier than it had been since they left the house of Elrond. They did not hurry to bed afterwards, for they had all the night to sleep in and did not mean to go on until the evening of next day. Only Aragorn was moody and restless. After a while he left the company and wandered about on the ridge, looking out on the lands south and west. He came back and stood looking at them.

''What is the matter?'' asked Gildor with his arrogant smile. ''Do you miss the east wind?''

''No indeed,'' answered Aragorn, biting back an angry retort. ''But I miss something. I know Hollin fairly well, and have been here in many seasons.''

''Not more frequently than I have, I deem,'' Gildor countered, his eyes glittering with something Boromir could not truly recognise – was it mischief or true arrogance?

''True,'' Aragorn reluctantly admitted. ''Yet my visits in this land have been somewhat more recent than yours, I believe. No people dwell here now, but many other things live here, or used to – especially birds. But now it is very silent. I can feel it. There is no sound for miles round, and your voices seem to make the ground echo.  I cannot make it out.''

Gandalf looked up quickly. ''But what do you think the reason is?'' he asked. ''Is there more in it than surprise at seeing a whole party of hobbits and Elves (not to mention Boromir and me) where people are so seldom seen?''

''I hope that it is,'' said Aragorn. ''But I get a feeling of watchfulness and of fear that I have never had here before.''

''Very well! Let us be more careful,'' said Gandalf. ''If you bring a Ranger with you, it is best to pay attention to him – especially if the Ranger is Aragorn, as I have found before. There are some things that even an experienced wizard does not notice. We had better stop talking now, and rest quietly and set a look-out.''

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was Boromir's turn to take the first watch, but Elladan joined him. They sat down a little apart from the fire, leaning their backs against each other for better leverage. This way they needed not to raise their voices, even though it was a little awkward to talk without seeing each other's face. The others soon fell asleep, one by one.

''Would you care to tell me what that was between Gildor and Aragorn?'' Boromir asked, when the camp became quiet and only the heavy breathing of their sleeping companions and the crackling of the small fire broke it.

'''Tis a very old tale,'' his Elf replied, shifting positions to lean more fully against him.  ''Gildor and Arwen were lovers for quite a few years, but that was long ago.  Centuries, in fact. Still, Gildor is not used to taking 'no' for an answer, and sometimes it seems that he keeps hoping that Arwen will return to him. I believe he hoped to found his own dynasty, reuniting the Houses of our forefathers, Fingolfin and Finarfin, again.''

''I thought he might have had something with the Lord Celebrimbor,'' said Boromir thoughtfully. ''His demeanour is always so... odd when he speaks of the Lord of Eregion.''

''The only ones who could tell you aught about that would be Father or Glorfindel,'' Elladan replied. ''Yet I very much doubt that they would do so. Elrohir and I always suspected that this had something to do with the almost-hostility Father and Gildor treat each other with at times. But there could be other reasons, too. Gildor is not one to figure out easily.''

''Is the Lady Arwen the reason for Gildor's dismay towards Aragorn?'' Boromir asked. ''Or is it more the fact that Aragorn might yet become a king while he has no chance left himself?''

''Both, I believe,'' Elladan answered with a shrug; then he gave his lover a thorough look. ''Does this mean that you  would consider stepping down in favour of Estel?''

''Not ere he proves his worthiness,'' Boromir slowly said. ''No matter what I might think of him personally, 'tis the good of Gondor I have to think of. I wish not to begin another Kinstrife and tear our land apart by my own deeds. Should he prove worthy of his forefathers' throne, I shall not deprive Gondor from its lawful King.''

''Your father might be less easy to persuade,'' Elladan remarked, yawning. ''If what you have already told me about him is any indication.''

''He is a Man of strong opinions,'' Boromir admitted gloomily. ''And I fear of what he might do, should he find out about us. I have the feeling that he already has arranged a proposition to the royal House of Edoras, and would not take it kindly should I refuse to follow his wishes.''

''I respect your given word to the Lady Éowyn,'' Elladan said. ''We have discussed this before. I know that your House needs heirs that I cannot give you. I shall release you freely when the time comes, you know that.''

''I know,'' Boromir sighed. ''Yet I wish it were the Lady Éowyn who would release me from my promise. For I would prefer to share my bed – to share my life – with you, if it were possible.''

''Even if your father would tolerate me in his court, the people of Gondor would never accept such bond,'' Elladan replied sadly. ''If you lived in the North, where the remaining people of the North-kingdom are more used to Elven customs, we might have a chance… were you truly willing to bond with me. For I know that you feel not the same way for me as I feel for you.''

Boromir looked at him with a slight bewilderment. True, he was not devoted to his Elf to the same extent that Elladan was devoted to him, for his heart was still divided between different kinds of love, but still…

''Are we not bound already?'' he asked. ''The ceremony ere we left Imladris…''

''…was to bond me to you, as I have explained several times,'' Elladan finished for him, wondering why Men had such a hard time understanding the true meaning of Elven customs. ''You, however, remain free in your choices – as free as your father and the customs of your people allow you.''

''But does such a bond not last 'til the end of your life?'' Boromir asked.

''It does,'' his Elf nodded. ''As it was said on our ceremony: 'til the end of Arda and mayhap beyond it.''

''Then why did you enter it?'' Boromir asked, still only beginning to understand the ramifications of such a bond. ''Why sentence yourself to endless solitude? The life of Men is but a wink of an eye for you – when I am gone, you shall be alone for eternity.''

''Nay, not for eternity,'' Elladan said with a smile. ''But for a short while, as Elves measure time. For I have made my Final Choice, as 'tis the right of all the children of Elrond, and just as his brother, I chose to become a mortal Man when he leaves. I might outlive you by many years – unless I lay down my life willingly – but at the end I shall die like you or any other Man.''

For quite some time Boromir was unable to utter as much as a single word. What Elladan had just revealed shook him to the bone.

''Why?'' he finally asked. ''Why sacrifice unending life and the joys of the Blessed Realm for me? I am not worth it – nor can I promise you aught but a few stolen hours, hiding from peering eyes.''

''You understand not,'' Elladan smiled, though his smile was tainted with sorrow. ''For three thousand years have I waited for you – now that you have come into my life, however briefly, 'tis no sacrifice at all to choose a life that is akin yours, in the hope that once we might be reunited beyond the Rim. I might have made the same choice without you – but now that I have found you, I also found a reason for that choice. I only wish for Arwen to be as sure in her choice as I am in mine.''

''Are you in doubt that she has a good enough reason to choose?'' Boromir asked, remembering the scene between Arwen and Aragorn they had both witnessed back in Imladris, during the Council.  Elladan sighed.

''I know not. Yet I cannot help noticing that she seems less than devoted to Estel. She seems more devoted to our quest than to the Man she is supposedly going to wed.''

''She made no promise so far – did she?'' Boromir asked. Elladan shook his head thoughtfully.

''Nay… and I fear that her indecision could drive Estel to despair. Even though at times I know not who it is he loves – my sister or the Princess of Imladris.''

''Is there a difference?'' Boromir wondered.

''For one who wants to become the King of both Arnor and Gondor, yea, there is,'' Elladan answered grimly. Boromir frowned.

''I thought he only wanted to become King so that he might be allowed to wed the Lady Arwen,'' he said.

''So did I, for a long time,'' Elladan agreed. ''But the longer I watch them on this quest, the less sure I am about it. I cannot tell you why. But my heart is heavy with concern, and not alone for the burden that the little Halfling has been chosen to bear.''

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To that Boromir could say naught, and so they sat there quietly as time passed by, watching the weary sleep of their comrades. The silence grew till even Boromir felt it, though his senses were less keen than those of his lover. The breathing of the sleepers could be plainly heard. The swish of a pony's tail and the occasional movements of his feet became loud noises. Boromir seemed to hear his very joints creaking if he stirred or moved. Over all hung a blue sky as the sun rode high and clear. The last clouds melted. But away in the south-east a dark patch grew and divided, flying like smoke to the north and west.

''What is that?'' he said in a whisper to Elladan. His Elf made no answer, for he was gazing intently at the sky, but before long Boromir could see what it was for himself. The clouds were flocks of Birds going at great speed – wheeling and circling and traversing all the land as if they were searching for something.

''Lie flat and still'', hissed Elladan, drawing Boromir down into the shade of a holly-bush – for a whole regiment of birds had separated from the western flock and came back flying low right over the ridge where the travellers lay. Boromir thought they were some kind of crow of a large size. As they passed overhead one harsh croak was heard.

Not till they had dwindled in the distance would Elladan move. Then he went and wakened Gandalf and Aragorn.

''Regiments of black crows are flying to and fro over Hollin'', he said. ''They are not natives to this place. I do not know what they are after – possibly there is some trouble going on away south: but I think they are spying out the land. I think too that I have seen hawks flying higher in the sky. That would account for the silence(11). We ought to move again this evening. I am afraid that Hollin is no longer wholesome for us: it is being watched.''

''And in that case so is the Red Pass, and how we can get over it without being seen I do not know,'' said Gandalf. ''But we will think about that when we get nearer. About moving on from here tonight: I am afraid you are right.''

''It is just as well that we let our fire make little smoke,'' added Boromir. ''It was out again (I think) before the birds came over. It must not be lit again.''

''Well, if that is not disappointing!'' said Samwise. The news had been broken to him as soon as he woke (in the late afternoon): no fire, and a move again by night. ''I had looked forward to a real good meal tonight, something hot. And all because of a pack of crows!''

''Well, you can go on looking forward,'' said Gandalf. ''There may be many unexpected feasts ahead of you! Personally I should like a pipe of tobacco in comfort, and warmer feet.  However, we are certain of one thing, at any rate: it will get warmer as we go south.''

''Too warm, I shouldn't wonder!'' said Sam to Frodo. ''Not but what I would be glad to see that Fiery Mountain, and see the road's end, so to speak. I thought that this Ruddyhorn or whatever its name is might be it, till Mr. Gandalf said not.'' Maps conveyed nothing to Sam, and all distances in these strange lands seemed so vast that he was quite out of his reckoning.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The travellers remained hidden all that day. The birds passed over every now and again; but as the westering sun grew red they vanished southwards(12). Soon afterwards the party set out again; and turned now a little eastward making for the peak of Taragaer, which still glowed dully red in distance. Frodo thought of Elrond's warning to watch even the sky above, but the sky was now clear and empty overhead, and one by one white stars sprang forth as the last gleams of sunset faded.

Guided by Gildor and Gandalf as usual they struck a good path. It looked to Frodo, as far as he could guess in the gathering dark, like the remains of an ancient road that had once run broad and well-planned from now deserted Hollin to the pass beneath Taragaer. A crescent Moon rose over the mountains, and cast a pale light which was helpful – but was not welcomed by Aragorn or Gandalf and Gildor, possessing keen Elven eyesight, needed it not). It stayed but a little while and left them to the stars(13).

At midnight they had been going on again for an hour or more from their first halt. Frodo kept looking up at the sky, partly because of its beauty, partly because of Elrond's words. Suddenly he saw or felt a shadow pass over the stars – as if they faded and flashed out again.  He shivered.

''Did you see aught?'' he said to Gandalf, who was just in front.

''No, but I felt it, whatever it was'', said the wizard. ''It might be nothing, just a wisp of thin cloud.'' It did not sound as if he thought much of his own explanation(14).

Nothing more happened that night. The next morning was even brighter than before, but the wind was turning back eastward and the air was chill. For three more nights they marched on, climbing steadily and ever more slowly as their road wound into the hills and the mountains drew nearer and nearer. On the third morning Taragaer towered up before them, a mighty peak tipped with snow like silver, but with sheer naked sides dull red as if stained with blood.

There was a black look in the air and the sun was wan. The wind was now gone towards the North.

Gandalf sniffed and looked back. ''Winter is behind,'' he said quietly to Strider. ''The peaks behind are whiter than they were.''

''And tonight'', said Gildor, ''we shall be high up on our way to the red pass of Cris-caron.  What do you think of our course now? If we are not seen in that narrow place – and waylaid by some evil, as would be easy there – the weather may prove as bad an enemy.''

''I think no good of any part of our course, as you know well, Master Elf,'' snapped Gandalf. ''Still we have to go on.  It is no good whatsoever our trying to cross further south into the land of Rohan. The Horse-kings may not be in the service of Sauron, but there still is Saruman to consider(15).''

''Now, I know that,'' Gildor looked as if he wanted to roll his eyes but reconsidered at the last moment. ''But there is a way – not over Cris-caron, as you are well aware.''

''Of course I am. But I am not going to risk that, until I am quite sure there is no other way.  I shall think things out while the others rest and sleep(16).''

TBC

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

End notes:

(1) This is the first occurrence of Hollin; but the Elvish name Eregion does not appear. In the Etymologies the Elvish name of Hollin is Regornion. In FOTR Gandalf says that they have come 45 leagues, but that was as the crow flies: ''many long miles further our feet have walked.

(2) Caradhras, originally. The ''red horn mountain'' had  seven (!) different names ere the Great Maker settled for Caradhras.

(3) In LOTR: Baraz, Zirak, Shathúr.

(4) Zirak-zigil.

(5) Celebdil.

(6) Bundushathúr.

(7) Azanulbizar. The whole geography is rather messed up here, but I swear I went straight after the HoME-books, so Tolkien is the one to blame for the confusion – this time.

(8) Nanduhirion.

(9) The Silverlode.

(10) Kibil-nâla. Means still the Silverlode, by the way.

(11) While in FOTR Aragorn says that he has seen hawks flying high up, he does not say as Elladan does here, ''That would account for the silence.''

(12) ''southwards'' changed from what was originally ''northwards''. Obviously, in this part I swapped lines among characters. But hey, so did Tolkien, several times, ere LOTR was completed!

(13) It was now 28 November (since they walked for three nights after this and attempted Cris-caron on 2 December).

(14) 'This incident was retained in FOTR, but it is not explained. The Winged Nazgúl had not yet crossed the River, according to TTT.

(15) This is unquestionably the point at which the name Rohan arose. The sentence itself was changed to ''Rohan where the Horsekings or Horselords are'', and later in FOTR to ''Who knows which side now the marshals of the Horse-Lords serve?''

(16) In the original story Strider favoured the passage of Moria and Gandalf the pass; in FOTR it was Aragorn who favoured the pass. I simply gave Strider's opinion to Gildor who knew the paths of Moria the best of all of them.