Morning of 9 March, Third Age 3019, the Old Palace in Sunspear:
Just as Quentyn himself had been when witnessing the shocking scene, the rest of the Martell family was horrified to hear what he had found out during the night.
"Monster…monster, monster! I can not find another word for this Dark Lord and his twisted idea of ensuring that your ancestor remains at his side as a servant!" Mellario whispered in her native tongue, her horror very visible on her face as she could not stop thinking of a similar scenario happening to her husband, their children and everyone else they held dear. Not to mention, it reminded awfully close to the events fourteen years ago during the Rebellion, when Elia and her children had been held as hostages by Aerys, in order to make Dorne fight for the Targaryen dynasty against the rebels led by Robert Baratheon.
"You speak for us all, dear," Doran whispered to his wife, laying his hand on her shoulder as a way to show support for her reaction.
"Actually, this says a lot about that despite basically being a overnatural being, Sauron has studied mortals long enough to find out how to use their weaknesses and turn them into his servants of evil. Wanting eternal life because some ruler fears death, the request for revenge for something that happened a very long time ago…" Daemon admitted in unease from his place next to Arianne, feeling the same unspoken fear as his mother-in-law. Against his shoulder, Ramses was sleeping as the infant heir to Dorne had refused to get back to sleep without some close body contact from either parent.
"Rhaenys? Is it yourself or Mara that is crying now?" Arianne asked in worry, seeing the strange reaction of her younger cousin. The oldest daughter of Elia was staring blankly out in space, not focusing on anything, yet the flow of tears did not seem to stop after that horrible reveal from Quentyn.
"Everyone…everyone…" she whispered in a thin voice, empty of any other feeling than horror and sorrow.
"I think it is both of them who are crying right now…Mara for learning that the souls of her original family are held as hostages by Sauron in order to make Khamûl be reminded of why he chose to become a Nazgûl and joining the Dark Lord, and Rhaenys for fearing that we may end up in the same situation…."
A small jerk from Rhaenys was noticed when she heard her uncle say this, and the new tears was a sign of him being correct.
"...I…"
It was the voice of Mara, which came out from her mouth as the eyes changes into amber:
"...I know that it is a very small chance for Father to make amends, after everything he has done as a servant of Sauron, even if he may end up regretting some of those actions…but I refuse to let my birth mother and everyone else he once held dear, be used against him!"
Given her own memories of that horrible day, no one of the present Martell members blamed Mara for wanting to try freeing her birth family.
"Of course, Mara. Those are the souls of people who you loved as the Princess of Kemet, it is a perfectly normal human reaction to desire that they should regain their freedom instead of spending eternity as captives, but please, do not do anything in a manner that may bring harm to Rhaenys," Doran gently responded and gave Rhaenys a comfort hug, again reminding the soul of his niece that this current body of hers risked injury if something went wrong.
"It may be wiser to make a plan first, and then see what sort of move Sauron does next to Gondor and Rohan. Everything points towards that he will first lay a siege of Minas Tirith, since Gondor lies closest to Mordor, but we have also seen that he has sent out armies towards the Kingdom of Dale, and its neighbors, the Dwarven Kingdom Erebor," Ishan reminded his younger relatives in a grave voice, and at hearing that reminder, more than one of the younger Martells mentally cursed the fact that they were unable to spread out so far north, but a Dornish army risked to be mistaken for Easterlings in the service of Mordor and they could not afford to risk losing needed soldiers in a such misunderstanding.
"If Master Gimli is a prime example of the Dwarves as warriors, then we can trust that Erebor will not leave the Kingdom of Dale alone in this fight while we are stuck to the south. It may be a serious loss of lives, but if they win…"
All they could do now, with no other way to send aid, was to pray that Erebor and the Kingdom of Dale would manage to stand together against the Enemy.
~X~X~X~X~X~X
Meanwhile, the travel towards Dunharrow for the Rohirrim and Dornish riders led by Oberyn and Harmen went smoothly even if it the paths though the hills were slower than riding straight across the steppes of Rohan.
"No potatoes at all?!" the riders heard Merry express in honest disbelief and almost terror at hearing Tirwald telling him about what sort of world that Elia and Lysa came from as a way to pass the time.
"That is correct, and while Dorne does not have the right climate for growing potatoes, Lysa believes that if this crop was to be intruded to Westeros, the commoners would quickly welcome it after a few doubtful first years because they do not know how to cook it or what dishes to make with this, in their eyes, unknown root vegetable."
"No potatoes….no potatoes…" Merry whispered for himself, his face blank in horror over the very idea of there being places where potatoes were unknown as a source of food. Of course, Gandalf had mentioned that potatoes was being grown in Rohan and Gondor despite not yet being counted as a staple food, and as a Hobbit, Merry knew that some crops simply needed a certain climate to be grown in else the attempted harvest became a massive failure and sometimes simply could not be grown for various reasons.
"I think you broke him with this information, Tirwald! That neither your Lysa or Queen Elia even knew of potatoes before coming to Rohan!" one Rider joked from behind them, as the pony Stybba stopped next to the path to snack on some grass while the still shocked Merry did nothing to stop it from taking this small break.
"Stybba, no sneaking off from work before the pre-agreed break at midday," Tirwald ordered gently, taking the reins so the pony kept walking beside his own warhorse.
At his side, Théoden could see Éomer being in deep thought where they rode at the lead. With little doubt, his sister-son was thinking of his young wife and child that would await them at Dunharrow, whatever it may be the last meeting between them as a new family, if he may not return from Gondor.
"Are you worried for Lothiriel and Elfhilda, Sweostor-sunu?"
"Of everything that may go wrong, fedra. That Lothiriel may join the numbers of widows from this war, and Eldhilda being one of the many children to lose a feder…"
Of course. It was the same feeling that Théoden himself struggled in his heart, the knowledge that his survival in the war could not be guaranteed, and the family members that would be left behind. Truly, he did not know who would take his death the worst: Morwen, who already had lost three of her five children with Thengel since her own widowhood started, or Laywyn, who was his sole sister still alive, the two of them being oldest siblings yet also already having outlived the three younger sisters.
"A bitter reality to face, indeed, and many would wish it to be different. But remember, for what little comfort it may bring, that we are fighting in this war for future generations like Eldhilda and my own grandchildren, Éomer. Were your father still alive, he would not hesitate to ride to Gondor and fight in the battles to come, if it meant he could secure a future for his descendants where they can live in freedom without any threat from Mordor, just as I myself intend to do."
Had Théoded not been so gravely injured at the end of the previous month, the former King did not doubt that his son would join in and tell his cousin the same thing, because Théoded was a married father and husband as well. With this vulnerable facial expression, his sister-son looked younger than his actual age, maybe because he had realized the odds stacked against them even with the allies they now had thanks to Elia, and what they would leave behind while riding towards Gondor.
"I know, fedra, and it burdens my heart to know the unwanted outcomes that we may face."
It was bittersweet, they both knew it, to be fighting for the freedom of Middle-earth yet also knowing that your own life may be among those lost to ensure that the survivors would be free from Sauron.
~X~X~X~X~X~X
In Gondor, something different was happening:
Now after Gandalf had ridden for some time the light of day grew in the sky, and Pippin roused himself and looked up. To his left lay a sea of mist, rising to a bleak shadow in the East; but to his right great mountains reared their heads, ranging from the West to a steep and sudden end, as if in the making of the land the River had burst through a great barrier, carving out a mighty valley to be a land of battle and debate in times to come. And there where the White Mountains of Ered Nimrais came to their end he saw, as Gandalf had promised, the dark mass of Mount Mindolluin, the deep purple shadows of its high glens, and its tall face whitening in the rising day. And upon its out-thrust knee was the Guarded City, with its seven walls of stone so strong and old that it seemed to have been not builded but carven by giants out of the bones of the earth.
Even as Pippin gazed in wonder the walls passed from looming grey to white, blushing faintly in the dawn; and suddenly the sun climbed over the eastern shadow and sent forth a shaft that smote the face of the City. Then Pippin cried aloud, for the Tower of Ecthelion, standing high within the topmost walls, shone out against the sky, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, tall and fair and shapely, and its pinnacle glittered as if it were wrought of crystals; and white banners broke and fluttered from the battlements in the morning breeze' and high and far he heard a clear ringing as of silver trumpets.
So Gandalf and Peregrin rode to the Great Gate of the Men of Gondor at the rising of the sun, and its iron doors rolled back before them.
"Mithrandir! Mithrandir!" men cried at seeing Gandalf, for despite his changed colors he still wore the same face and voice from before, "Now we know that the storm is indeed nigh!"
'"It is upon you," said Gandalf, "I have ridden on its wings. Let me pass! I must come to your Lord Faramir, while his stewardship in place of his brother lasts. Whatever betide, you have come to the end of the Gondor that you have known. Let me pass!"
Then men fell back before the command of his voice and questioned him no further, though they gazed in wonder at the hobbit that sat before him and at the horse that bore him. For the people of the City used horses very little and they were seldom seen in their streets, save only those ridden by the errand-riders of their lord. And they said:
"Surely that is one of the great steeds of the King of Rohan? Maybe the Rohirrim will come soon to strengthen us."
But Shadowfax walked proudly up the long winding road.
For the fashion of Minas Tirith was such that it was built on seven levels, each delved into the hill, and about each was set a wall, and in each wall was a gate. But the gates were not set in a line: the Great Gate in the City Wall was at the east point of the circuit, but the next faced half south, and the third half north, and so to and fro upwards; so that the paved way that climbed towards the Citadel turned first this way and then that across the face of the hill. And each time that it passed the line of the Great Gate it went through an arched tunnel, piercing a vast pier of rock whose huge out-thrust bulk divided in two all the circles of the City save the first. For partly in the primeval shaping of the hill, partly by the mighty craft and labour of old, there stood up from the rear of the wide court behind the Gate a towering bastion of stone, its edge sharp as a ship-keel facing east. Up it rose, even to the level of the topmost circle, and there was crowned by a battlement; so that those in the Citadel might, like mariners in a mountainous ship, look from its peak sheer down upon the Gate seven hundred feet below. The entrance to the Citadel also looked eastward, but was delved in the heart of the rock; thence a long lamp-lit slope ran up to the seventh gate. Thus men reached at last the High Court, and the Place of the Fountain before the feet of the White Tower: tall and shapely, fifty fathoms from its base to the pinnacle, where the banner of the Stewards floated a thousand feet above the plain.
A strong citadel it was indeed, and not to be taken by a host of enemies, if there were any within that could hold weapons; unless some foe could come behind and scale the lower skirts of Mindolluin, and so come upon the narrow shoulder that joined the Hill of Guard to the mountain mass. But that shoulder, which rose to the height of the fifth wall, was hedged with great ramparts right up to the precipice that overhung its western end; and in that space stood the houses and domed tombs of bygone kings and lords, for ever silent between the mountain and the tower.
Pippin gazed in growing wonder at the great stone city, vaster and more splendid than anything that he had dreamed of; greater and stronger than Isengard, and far more beautiful. Yet it was in truth falling year by year into decay; and already it lacked half the men that could have dwelt at ease there. In every street they passed some great house or court over whose doors and arched gates were carved many fair letters of strange and ancient shapes: names Pippin guessed of great men and kindreds that had once dwelt there; and yet now they were silent, and no footsteps rang on their wide pavements, nor voice was heard in their halls, nor any face looked out from door or empty window.
At last they came out of shadow to the seventh gate, and the warm sun that shone down beyond the river, as Frodo walked in the glades of Ithilien, glowed here on the smooth walls and rooted pillars, and the great arch with keystone carven in the likeness of a crowned and kingly head. Gandalf dismounted, for no horse was allowed in the Citadel, and Shadowfax suffered himself to be led away by a stable groom at the soft word of his master.
The Guards of the gate were robed in black, and their helms were of strange shape, high-crowned, with long cheek-guards close-fitting to the face, and above the cheek-guards were set the white wings of sea-birds; but the helms gleamed with a flame of silver, for they were indeed wrought of mithril, heirlooms from the glory of old days. Upon the black surcoats were embroidered in white a tree blossoming like snow beneath a silver crown and many-pointed stars. This was the livery of the heirs of Elendil, and none wore it now in all Gondor, save the Guards of the Citadel before the Court of the Fountain where the White Tree once had grown.
"The same embroidery that Aragorn pointed out to be a symbol of his House…2 Pippin recalled as he followed after Gandalf. Already it seemed that word of their coming had gone before them: and at once they were admitted, silently, and without question. Quickly Gandalf strode across the white-paved court. A sweet fountain played there in the morning sun, and a sward of bright green lay about it; but in the midst. drooping over the pool, stood a dead tree, and the falling drops dripped sadly from its barren and broken branches back into the clear water.
"That tree…?" Pippin glanced at it as he hurried after Gandalf. It looked mournful, he thought for himself, and he wondered why the dead tree was left in this place where everything else was well tended.
Seven stars and seven stones and one white tree.
The words that Gandalf had murmured came back into his mind. And then he found himself at the doors of the great hall beneath the gleaming tower; and behind the wizard he passed the tall silent door-wardens and entered the cool echoing shadows of the house of stone.
They walked down a paved passage, long and empty, and as they went Gandalf spoke softly to Pippin:
"As you likely saw from a few remaining solid black banners hanging from a few windows on various buildings when we rode through the City, Minas Tirith were in mourning not too long ago for the death of the previous Steward, Lord Denethor, father of Boromir, but Gondor can not afford the unusual time of mourning their late leader because of the war. As you know, Boromir is likely to return to Minas Tirith within the coming days, but until then, his brother Faramir is in charge. Now, you do not need to worry about offending him in any manner as long as you recall your manner, Faramir is more of a scholar at heart, and I am sure that your presence will be welcomed as a distraction among everything he must handle for his brother."
Gandalf halted before a tall door of polished metal.
"See, Master Pippin, there is no time to instruct you now in the history of Gondor; though it might have been better, if you had learned something of it, when you were still birds-nesting and playing truant in the woods of the Shire, or when Boromir tried to tell you about his homeland. Recall your upbringing as the heir to Paladin Took, current Thain of the Shire, and act as if you were presenting the Shire for the wider world, let the race of Men learn all about the many sides of Hobbits but do not disgrace your culture by any foolishness!"
Pippin could only nod, imagining a mental image of the not very happy reactions of his parents, the whole Took clan and all the wealthier Hobbit families if they were to learn that he somehow had shamed the Shire in front of not only Aragorn as the last King, but pretty much a lot of other powerful Men here in Gondor.
~X~X~X~X~X~X
Author note: In his mention of the Easterling army, Ishan is referring to the coming Battle of Dale, which is incredibly important in the canon course of the War of the Ring: if Sauron's Easterling armies had beaten the Dwarves of Erebor and Men of Dale, they would have been able to join up with Sauron's forces from Dol Guldur in their attacks on the Woodland Realm of Mirkwood and Lothlórien, tipping the scales in favor of Mordor. This would have enabled Mordor's armies to flank the forces of Gondor and Rohan from the North and rear.
Despite being American food and Middle-earth being inspired by Middle Ages Europe, Tolkien wrote both potatoes and tomatoes as staple foods of the Hobbits.
The Thain was an office of great respect in the Shire. The Thain was master of the Shire-moot and captain of the Shire-muster and Hobbitry-in-arms. For nearly four hundred years after its foundation, the Shire had been part of the lands of Arthedain, and under the rule of that land's King. Ultimately, Arthedain fell to the forces of Angmar, and its last King, Arvedui, was lost in T.A. 1975, leaving the Shire-hobbits without a ruler. They remedied this by choosing a new leader from among themselves, Bucca of the Marish, who was given the title thain, a word simply meaning "chief" in their dialect. Originally a military office, Thainship passed strictly through the male line. Bucca and his descendants, a family known as the Oldbucks, served as Shire-thain for twelve generations. The twelfth Thain, one Gorhendad Oldbuck, left the Shire and crossed the River Brandywine to found Buckland. With his departure, the Thainship passed to a new line, the preeminent Tooks, of which Pippin belongs to.
