We, the Guards of the Citadel, think Mordor is Much too Close for Comfort
The surest way to prevent war is not to fear it.
--John Randolph
Gandalf muttered to himself, walking so briskly as we exited the citadel that Pippin and I had to trot to keep up. "All has turned to vain ambition. He would even use his grief as a cloak…" He grumbled as we walked out from the citadel and into the courtyard.
"A thousand years this city has stood. Now, at the whim of a madman, it will fall. And the White Tree, the tree of the king, will never bloom again."
"Why are they still guarding it?" Pippin asked, stepping around a fountain and looking up at the soldiers standing round the White Tree.
"They guard it because they have hope…" In curiosity, I walked ahead as Gandalf kept talking of the fall of Minas Tirith and Gondor, and Pippin caught up. The three of us halted, however, at the edge of the courtyard, a sheer drop to the wintered plains, the Pelennor Fields, where the world fell away at our feet. I glanced around at the White City while Gandalf spoke. "…A faint and fading hope that one day it will flower…that a king will come and this city will be as it once was, before it fell into decay. The old wisdom borne out of the West was forsaken. Kings made tombs more splendid than the houses of the living, and counted the old names of their descent, dearer than the names of their sons. Childless lords sat in aged halls, musing on heraldry, or in high, cold towers, asking questions of the stars. And so the people of Gondor fell into ruin. The line of kings failed. The White Tree withered. The rule of Gondor was given over to lesser men."
"Aragorn will save them," I said proudly. "He will save us."
Gandalf and Pippin said nothing, and Pippin shivered as he looked up at the towering dark mountains on Gondor's borders, beyond the city of Osgiliath far below. A burst of red light erupted from behind the mountain range, the Mountains of Shadow.
"Mordor…" Pippin murmured to me.
"Yes, there it lies," Gandalf remarked. "This city has dwelt ever in the sight of its shadow."
"A storm is coming," I pointed out. "See the dark clouds…"
"This is not the weather of the world. This is a device of Sauron's making…a broil of fume he sends ahead of his host. The Orcs of Mordor have no love of daylight, so he covers the face of the sun to ease their passage along the road to war. When the Shadow of Mordor reaches the city, it will begin."
Pippin shivered and I edged closer to him, scared of being so close to the Land of Shadow. He seemed to ease and shrugged one shoulder, then the other, and stretched. "Well, Minas Tirith. Very impressive. So, where are we off to next?"
"Oh, it's too late for that, Peregrin," Gandalf chuckled. "There's no leaving this city. Help must come to us."
He grumbled as we walked through the white city, nodding at the civilians of Minas Tirith, who pointed at Pippin and me and whispered. The people's unfamiliar words pricked my mind. It was elvish, no doubt, but what they meant I had no earthly idea.
"What do they say about us?" I asked staring in wonder at the white stone terraces and intricate artistry. The buildings were lined with columns and Romanesque windows, and I had to hold my feet steady to keep from slipping on the white cobblestones. The people stared—women in gray or purple gowns and headdresses—the men in silver armor. Everywhere flew the same flag—a pennant and a white tree.
Gandalf, all the while, said nothing in response, and we followed his brisk pace.
A quarter-hour of a walk later we descended into a columned white stone room somewhere around the fifth level, Pippin sighed and took my hand, tugging it. "Look at this," he said, walking to a low table where uniforms were laid out to us, and armor and swords. I immediately felt for the scarf around my neck and realized how I wanted to keep my old clothes and trusty sword.
"Wearers of Black and Silver," I said with a sigh, touching the threaded white tree emblazoned on the front of our black velvet clothing, and the silver mail beneath that.
"So, I imagine this is just a ceremonial position. I mean, they don't actually expect me…us, to do any fighting. Do they?" Pippin looked up, and his joking smile faded. "Do they, Gandalf?"
"You're in the service of the Steward now," Gandalf said mockingly. "You're going to have to do as you're told, Peregrin Took."
He took a puff on his pipe and began coughing. I rushed to a pitcher of water set up on the table, poured Gandalf a glass, and took it to him out on the balcony.
"Ridiculous hobbits," he chortled in between coughs. "Guards of the Citadel."
I tapped the cup against his elbow because he didn't see me.
"Oh, thank you Adamanta. That reminds me. You had asked of the words of the people of Minas Tirith. They seem to have it in their heads that you hobbits are noble kinsmen. 'Ernil I Pheriannath,' they said. 'Aranel I Pheriannath.'"
"But what does that mean?" I persisted.
Gandalf chuckled. "They mean to say you are the Prince and Princess of the Halflings. They believe you are of high rank, of nobility, because you are with me and you…well you just sparked their curiosity. Enough said. Do not drill it into your heads. Your foolishness tells the truth in all that."
I frowned.
Pippin joined us once more, in his nightclothes. I left the balcony for a moment and closed myself in a small closet to pull off my red gown, stuff it hastily in my pack. When I returned to Pippin I too, had my nightclothes and shift under it. We rested our arms on the balcony that was about as high as our necks, and looked down at the world below.
"There's no more stars," I said with a shudder. "Is it time?"
"Yes."
"It's so quiet," Pippin said in a hushed voice.
"It's the deep breath before the plunge," Gandalf replied.
"I don't want to be in a battle," Pippin said firmly, "but waiting at the edge of one I can't escape is even worse." He was quiet for an instant, and then changed the subject. "Is there any hope, Gandalf, for Frodo and Sam?"
"There never was much hope; just a fool's hope. Our enemy is ready, His full strength's gathered; not only orcs...but men as well. Legions of Haradhrim from the south, mercenaries from the coast. All will answer Mordor's call." He paused for a moment to smoke again. "This will be the end of Gondor as we know it. Here the hammer-stroke will fall hardest. If the river is taken; if the garrison at Osgiliath falls, the last defense of this city will be gone."
"But we have the White Wizard," Pippin grinned. "That's got to count for something. Gandalf?"
Gandalf couldn't meet our eyes. I recognized the look. It was the look when one so eager to hear words of comfort and hope cannot hear because there is none left. And when the truth cannot be hidden, the terrible and ghastly truth that takes happiness and strength and courage and crushes it in its fist. Sauron could do that, and he was just a flaming eye. Even Gandalf could not hide his worry, and he was stronger than anything. He broke the White Wizard's staff, and taken over! Defeated a Balrog! Him, worried, was something that made me clench the balcony wall and hang as though my life were about to leave if I should let go.
"Sauron has yet to reveal his deadliest servant. The one who will lead Mordor's armies in war…the one they say no living man can kill. The Witch King of Angmar." Then Gandalf looked straight at Pippin and me. "You've met him before. He stabbed Frodo at Weathertop."
I blinked back flashes of Frodo's pale face and the screams that followed, and the fear that came after that, the fear that Frodo would not live the night…and Pippin's comforting me…
"Yes," I murmured. "We have met him before."
"He is the Lord of the Nazghûl, the greatest of the nine. Minas Morgul is his lair."
As we watched, a bright green flair rose into the air from Minas Morgul, somewhere hidden in the mountains. It didn't seem Minas Morgul did that every day normally, and suddenly Mordor felt uncomfortably close. I jumped back and edged closer to Gandalf, Pippin the same.
"We come to it at last. The great battle of our time," Gandalf whispered. Gandalf whispered, and he beckoned us to bed. Pippin and I climbed into a bunk together, and Gandalf stayed out on the balcony, murmuring to himself. Pippin threw a blanket over us and wrapped his arms tight around me.
"I'm scared," he whimpered, his voice muffled by my shoulder. He released his grip and relaxed, getting comfortable and sinking down into the pillows. I groped for his hand and squeezed it, giving a reassuring smile, which he returned. Gandalf spoke one last sentence before I drifted off to sleep, which I know he had purposely wanted us to hear.
"The board is set. The pieces are moving…"
The Chess Game begins, and the Beacons are Lit Against Orders
The future is lighted for us with the radiant colors of hope.
Strife and sorrow shall disappear. Peace and love shall reign supreme.
--John Fiske
10 March 3019, of the Third Age
20 Rethe 1419, Shire-Reckoning Time...
The next morning, after the sun had risen, Gandalf led us through the streets of Minas Tirith until he at one point turned around. "Peregrin and Adamanta, young hobbits, there is a task now to be done; another opportunity for one of the Shire-folk to prove their great worth."
He looked up and our heads followed, to a beacon tower set high above the citadel.
"You must not fail me," Gandalf said urgently. "Or Minas Tirith will not last."
I nodded and knew Pippin was nodding next to me. Our task, as Gandalf and Frodo's words echoed, was to light the beacons that would signal Minas Tirith's need for aid. Once they reached Rohan, Théoden King would answer it. We held hands and walked briskly to the tall peak, preparing to climb. "Pippin, you go first," I said.
"No, you," he replied. "That is, if you should fall or lose your grip, you have me behind you."
"You have no one," I said. "Besides all, we're hobbits. We shan't lose our grip on anything."
"That is my idea," Pippin grinned, and the climb began.
We climbed for a long time up the tall peak, knowing Gandalf was watching and hoping no one else noticed. No time to turn back now, and no way for onlookers to reach us. We kept climbing.
"I don't expect we'll be staying here long," Pippin said cheerfully from underneath me. "I'll probably end up angering Denethor somehow just so I don't have to fight, or annoying Gandalf so much with my foolishness that he'd send me home."
"I'm not serving him—Denethor, I mean, alone," I said, finding a handhold in the stone. "Not someone who thinks hobbits vermin and servants."
"When I get home…" Pippin sighed, changing the subject, "I'm finding the…the biggest barrel of Longbottom leaf, and I'll smoke all of it. Then I'll go to the Green Dragon and have ale with the best barmaids in the Westfarthing."
"And I shall write every adventure as Bilbo did once," I said, sighing with happiness. "And every day, we can read a chapter together and remember all that we went through, curled up next to Bag End's cozy fire…and we'll cook sausages and good meat every night! No more bread and Lembas and weak tea."
When we reached the top, Pippin crept along behind the tall stack of oily wood behind me, shaking as we climbed the wood, trying not to catch the attention of the guards sitting not more than a hundred feet away. I reached for the lamp hanging above a bowl of oil, but the rope that held the oil snapped and spilled some. Pippin assisted me. He reached for the lamp and dropped it on the wood, before quickly jumping down when we saw that the rest of the wood would soon catch. We gripped hands in celebration and we laughed as the soldiers stupidly shouted and pointed at the blazing beacon, while Pippin and I safely climbed down. In midair, clinging to a rock ledge, I allowed the wind to blow my hair and cloak around while watching the next beacon see the signal and light their beacon.
"Yes," I breathed, while people below us pointed.
"The beacon!" They shouted. "The beacon of Amon Dîn is lit!"
"Hope is kindled," I whispered.
"Aye, it is," Pippin grinned, and we continued to climb down as one by one, the beacons edged closer to Rohan.
When we reached Gandalf he was both pleased and not. "Osgiliath is falling," he said. "The men are retreating." As he spoke, he ushered us to follow as he retrieved Shadowfax from the stables on the fifth level. Along the walls people watched as the defenders of Osgiliath fled. My stomach kinked as I recognized the squeals of the Ringwraiths, and hoped the watchers weren't ashamed of their soldiers. If only they knew the danger! Gandalf helped us up and wasted no time, leaping up on Shadowfax's back, urging him to gallop out at a full sprint out to the retreating men on their horses. Ringwraiths on wings flew above them, lifting men and horses and dropping them in the air while the others edged their mounts to go faster. Both sets of men, the attacked and not, were screaming pitifully from fear as they tried their best to avoid the fell things. Pippin and I cried in agony as the wraiths shrieked, and Shadowfax thundered towards the scattered herd of frightened men. Gandalf sat tall and ignored the shouts.
"It's Mithrandir! It's the White Rider!" The soldiers cried with hope.
Gandalf lifted his staff which began to glow white as we approached the soldiers, and the bright light drove the Ringwraiths away, squealing, their mounts writhing and twisting in the air as they retreated. Shadowfax snorted and galloped faster as Gandalf released his staff's light and joined the rest of the soldiers on their way back to Minas Tirith.
"I never want to see another again," I whispered, fiercely clutching Pippin's waist.
The gate guard saw the band of horses fleeing towards the city. "Pull!" He ordered, and the gate opened as Shadowfax and we trotted in with them.
"Mithrandir!" A handsome, young soldier shouted breathlessly as he halted his horse and Shadowfax stopped next to him. "They broke through our defenses. They've taken the bridge and the west bank. Battalions of orcs are crossing the River!"
"It is as Lord Denethor predicted! Long has he foreseen this doom!" His companion added.
Gandalf glowered. "Foreseen and done nothing!" He spat, and turned back to Pippin and I, who were staring at the mysterious leader of the brave soldiers. He caught our eye with curiosity, staring, and we turned to one another, embarrassed, averting our eyes.
"Faramir? This is not the first Halfling to have crossed your path?" Gandalf said, in an almost accusing tone.
"No," Faramir said, looking down.
"You've seen Frodo and Sam!" I exclaimed, exchanging smiles with Pippin.
Faramir nodded, lifting his head to make eye contact.
"Where? When?" Gandalf asked in amazement. Pippin and I squealed with happiness and hope, as Shadowfax shifted beneath us.
"In Ithilien, not two days ago. Gandalf…" He stared at Gandalf, looking grave. "They've taken the road to the Morgul Vale."
"And then the Pass of Cirith Ungol," Gandalf finished, looking horrified. Pippin and my smiles vanished.
"What does that mean? What's wrong?" Pippin cried.
"Faramir, tell me everything. Tell me all you know," Gandalf said, ignoring Pippin, and ignoring me.
Shadowfax and Faramir on his horse galloped to our quarters, where Gandalf helped Pippin and I dismount. "You will begin your servitude quite soon, Peregrin and Adamanta, and in full consequence of your stupidity. Peregrin, get dressed and wait in the citadel for Adamanta. Denethor has requested her alone. I must talk with Faramir."