|
||
|
This is based on accounts described in Appendix A of 'The Lord of the Rings', and takes place approximately forty years before the events in that book.
Gondor had triumphed. It was a victory unlooked for and one achieved by but a small company of men and therefore the deed was all the greater. It had been a feat to set men rejoicing in the streets and warm their hearts with pride. For the might of the Corsairs had been humbled, their black-mantled ships burnt or scattered as they lay at Umbar and their captain challenged and overthrown on the very quays of the haven by Gondor‘s champion, Thorongil. The Eagle of the Star. It seemed he was by all loved and revered, his the name on their lips as the news of victory travelled like fire through the streets of Minas Tirith. Yet even as they spoke his praise, men wondered much at his origins. They knew not his land of birth. He had come to them from Thengel of Rohan and yet he was not of the Rohirrim. He named himself the son of no man and therefore they knew only what they perceived themselves - that he was tall, dark-haired and grey-eyed, in form and features very like to Denethor, the Lord’s heir, and that the Lord Ecthelion himself seemed to favour him above and beyond his son. And so the people looked, listened and talked, and rumour throve upon their thoughts. -------- "A great victory!" Ecthelion turned, his eyes glowing with triumph. He looked down upon his son as they stood together in the Tower Hall. In his hands, he held the message newly arrived from the South. "I never did better than when I took Thorongil into my service, and yet this time I thought his counsel in error. But now I am glad that I hearkened to his words and gave him ships and men. He has well repaid my trust, for all that at heart I deemed the enterprise doomed.’ "Fortune smiled on him," said Denethor, "As she seems ever wont to do." "You sound as if you begrudge this triumph," said Ecthelion, and some of the satisfaction slipped from his voice at the words of his son. "Not so, my father. I would only wish that it had been accomplished by some other of your captains, for I believe Thorongil to have grown over mighty in this realm. There is talk in the city –" "Talk!" Ecthelion interrupted. His eyes flashed in sudden anger. "I heed no talk. Nor should you listen to that which slanders myself!" "I meant no disrespect, my father," returned Denethor quietly. "It appears otherwise to me. I cannot help but wonder what I have raised in you. A niggard to resent another man’s good fortune? A churl who would scorn to give honour where honour is due?" "You mistake me, my father. I do but ask you to remember that I am your son and heir. Made you it less obvious that you favour Thorongil above me then maybe these rumours would cease. As matters stand now, men cannot be blamed for wondering much on his lineage." "Enough!" cried Ecthelion. "I would ask you to remember who rules in this land and abide by my judgement! Thorongil has never set himself higher than my servant and it is as such that I value him. You are my heir and will succeed me. Is that knowledge not sufficient?" Denethor bowed slightly as if accepting the rebuke. His face was impassive. "Nay, my son," said Ecthelion. "Let us not mar these glad tidings with ill humour and resentment. You should rejoice with me, for here is a man who will advise and serve you well in the years to come when I am gone and you are steward in my place, ordering all as you will." "Unless the king should come again," said Denethor. "Few of us now look to see that," said Ecthelion. "We are kings in all but name." He regarded his son in slow silence. Why was it that in comparison to Thorongil, Denethor seemed of less worth, and whatever virtues and talents he possessed seemed diminished? Ecthelion was aware of the rumours about his Captain’s birth, and he had also known a sharp guilt at his own resentment that they had no basis in truth. Though Thorongil had at times a quick tongue and was not one to suffer the foolish gladly, yet he was courteous with a grave charm that could at times turn to merriment and a pleasing wry humour. And Denethor? In comparison he seemed too silent, too proud, too lacking in grace - for he said little and was loathe to accept counsel. Men accorded him the respect his position demanded but they did not freely give him their hearts. Their love was given to the stranger, and try as he might to mask his own sympathies, Ecthelion knew that in this matter his feelings all but echoed those of his people. Denethor must try harder to win love and acceptance for himself. He must also recognise that Thorongil was worthy of praise. There should be no resentment. ‘You will go to Pelargir and greet Thorongil in my name,’ said Ecthelion. "Ride with him to Minas Tirith, for there we shall do him the honour he so richly deserves." Ecthelion smiled. It was fitting that his son be the one to welcome the victor home, and maybe in doing so he would come at last to an acceptance of the older man and at last accord him affection. -------- "Pelargir!’ Faint colour flushed the pale cheeks of Finduilas as she stared from the window of her chamber. Wide flowed the water at Pelargir, flowing to the sea... And now she was surrounded by the stone walls of the city, the cry of the gulls on the Harlond seemed only to mock her memory of the untroubled days of her childhood and her desire to look once more upon the wind-swept heights of Dol Amroth. "My Lord, I envy you this journey." ‘Do you so?" Denethor's voice seemed distant. So often now he spoke thus to her and she knew not the reason why his love seemed diminished. Cold as stone he could be and the only softening she saw was when he turned his eyes upon his son, Boromir, the child whose birth had cost her such bitter pain. Weakened she had been and weakened she remained, unable to travel any distance so that she needs must fret out her life here, mewed like some seabird. Yet she begrudged little, for Boromir was a sturdy child, fair of face and strong of body, and if the Valar were willing when she was stronger there would be other children to bless her life. She turned from the window to smile at the stranger her husband had become. "My Lord, you are troubled? Have I displeased you in some way?" "Nay, Lady, it is not you." And she saw the sternness melt a moment and knew then that whatever lay on him so heavily these days he still loved her as he had of old. "Then what ails you? Is it not excellent news that the Corsairs have been thus defeated? Ever they were a source of fear to the southern fiefs. There is great joy for me in this news of Thorongil's victory." "I know well in what esteem you hold him," said Denethor, and the coldness had returned to his voice. "I take pleasure in his company," Finduilas answered. "He brings me tidings from my father and brother, and he knows many tales that while away long evenings, tales of other lands and of the Elder Days - he is much learned in lore." "I doubt not that he captivates you with his fair words." The warmth of anger now overlaid the ice in Denethor’s voice. Finduilas faltered, at last perceiving a little of her Lord’s humour. "You do mistake my meaning. It did not seem that I was ill advised in this for the Lord Thorongil has the esteem of all. Your father loves him well, I know, and he is courteous as well as valiant. All speak his praise." "I know it well," said Denethor. "There is not one of you who will deny him any virtue. He is perfection itself in all your eyes, yet I am not so easily deceived." He turned away. ‘And so I must away to Pelargir to greet this paragon. I will deliver your greetings, Lady." With that, he bowed and left her. -------- The day dawned fair over Pelargir as if to herald the beginning of a new and brighter era. Many were the people that thronged the quays awaiting the arrival of the small fleet, for they were those who had lived in fear of the Corsairs for as long as they could remember. As the years passed, the might of Umbar might well rise to darken the coastlands once again but for now there had been won for the rich homelands of the South a little space and a peace in which to live their lives. Thorongil had freed them and given them hope for a better future, and echoes rang of Gondor’s early glory and the victories of the Ship-Kings. Their hearts were glad and their spirits high as they waited to welcome the victor home. And so the fleet sailed in to honour and renown that was still but a foretaste of what awaited them in Minas Tirith, and when all had been disembarked and greeted by the Lord Denethor, they were taken to some houses of the town that had been made ready for them. -------- Aragorn was weary for he had slept but little over the last few days and it was with no small relief that he entered into the house that had been set aside for him, dismissing those who would have brought food and drink. He needed nothing but sleep, and yet even that was to be denied to him for a little longer. In the inner hall he found awaiting him the Lord Denethor. "My Lord, I had not expected to see you again so soon." Indeed, he was more unprepared than he indicated. Whilst Denethor had always behaved towards him with due courtesy between the two men there lay little that could be called friendship, and Aragorn was uncertain what this visit signified. "I have no doubt you are weary, but there are words which must be said." The Lord Denethor’s voice was more than usually abrupt and it seemed almost that he struggled to hold in check some deep emotion. Aragorn wondered what it could be that so troubled the man, and he felt the first presage of alarm. "As you wish, my Lord. Will you eat or take wine as we talk?" "This is not a courtesy visit, Lord Thorongil. What I have come to say will take very little of your time, and then you will be left entirely to your own devices." Looking on the set, cold face of Ecthelion’s son the sense of dark foreboding grew on Aragorn, yet he answered the younger man steadily. "I cannot think what you must say that could not be said tomorrow, my Lord, but please, speak now if you feel it necessary." "This could not be said tomorrow," Denethor returned and his voice was sharp now, harsh and hard. "As that day dawns so you will depart from this land. You may take with you what you will, but go you shall. This is the message I came here to deliver." ‘And comes this message from your father? It accords ill with the words you spoke on the quays today, when you talked of Minas Tirith and honour." "Do you consider me nothing more than an errand boy of Gondor?" Denethor demanded, his eyes glittering with fury. "I am heir to the Stewardship and it is I who order you now to go!" "And in what way have I merited such a dismissal? I have served – " "Do not presume to argue with me!" Denethor cried. "You have tricked your way into my father’s confidence, deceived us all. I know not your true name, but I know all your purpose and be now assured that I will oppose you until the end of my life!" He paused, but only for a moment, and his next words were laced with soft venom. "The throne of Gondor is not for the taking of just any man, even if he may choose to dredge up a claim of kinship with the rulers of the North Kingdom. Once there were Kings in Arnor, aye, and now that they have lost their little lands and mingled their blood with that of lesser men, what right have they to Gondor? I will never be ruled by such an upstart when there is in my house more pure Númenorean blood than –" "You speak, my Lord, of matters of which you know nothing. It seems I must accept your ignorance as excuse for your manners." "I am not ignorant of your ambition! The days of my father’s life run short, but think not that you will stand beside him as he dies and claim my birthright!" "I have never sought to claim anything that was not mine." "So you say! And yet you claim all that should be mine - the hearts of my father, my wife, and my people. They ever hold me of less worth than you, and I have done nothing to deserve such treatment." "It was never my intention that you should feel slighted. I had not realised –" "Your excuses interest me not! I have said what I must, and now I would have you leave my land forthwith! And if you think to deny me in this, Lord Thorongil, you should know I am prepared to take up arms against you to enforce my will." Aragorn looked deep into the eyes of the man he had not been able to befriend and whose jealousy he had failed to perceive and answered him quietly. "You have given me no choice. Do you think I wish to see Gondor divided, split by war and left helpless before her enemies? Arnor fell through such folly, and I would not bring her ruin down upon this land that I have grown to love. You need say no more, my Lord. Your heart has spoken clearly tonight, and I see now that my road leads not now to Minas Tirith but beyond - to what end there is no telling. This more will I say: I did not look for, nor do I deserve, such treatment at your hands. Whatever you may choose to believe, I came not as rival but as friend." He waited for no dismissal but turned and walked from the hall. -------- A chill wind was blowing, a wind from Mordor. The treetops shuddered under its onslaught; the clouds scudded across the grey sky as if fleeing before the perceived might of the Dark Lord. Gandalf wrapped his long grey cloak around him and watched the wind whip through the dark hair of Aragorn as he stood gazing westwards as if his eyes sought still the far-off towers of Minas Tirith. "You will return there one day." "And when will that day come? And will I ever enter that City as King, or must I forever go among my people in disguise?" "It was a bitter disappointment, I know. All hearts turned to you but one. And that one –" "He knew me for who I was, Gandalf. And he saw me both as rival and usurper come to steal what was rightfully his. Maybe Ecthelion and the people of Gondor favoured me overmuch - I had not seen how it had wounded him to be placed ever second to a stranger. I did not will it so, but nor did I see the danger. And now while Denethor lives the kingship will be beyond my reach." Gandalf heard the ring of truth in those words, and rested one hand lightly on the man’s shoulders in mute understanding. There were few in Middle-earth like Aragorn, son of Arathorn; yet in Denethor the blood of Númenor ran almost true, making him alike and yet unalike, a pale shadow of Elendil’s heir. Gandalf could imagine how hard that had been to bear, for Denethor possessed in full measure all the pride and subtlety and strength of will that had won Westernesse - and that had caused its downfall. "Do not give way to despair, Aragorn. I am glad that I found you here, for at least I may counsel you before I go on my way. You are weary now, and should rest a space before going on." "I had thought to go to Rivendell." "That would be a good choice, and yet - do you know of the land of Lórien?" "I know it lies closed to all but those of Elven blood." "And you have some share of that yourself. If you will take my advice, you will pass by its borders on your journey to Rivendell, for it may be that you will be admitted. It is a fair place and there you would be able to gather strength and take up fresh hope before journeying on." "To what end, I wonder?" Aragorn’s gaze still lingered westwards. "The times are changing. I sense it," Gandalf said. "Be patient, Aragorn. Your time will come." ----------- The sun was setting. It cast a last red glow upon the face of Denethor as he stood upon the walls of the City, staring eastwards. Wrapped in a mantle of blue, silver stars about the hem and throat, Finduilas stood watching him. And a dark and nameless foreboding fell upon her, though she knew not why, as for a moment the face of her Lord seemed ringed about with flame.
THE END
|
||
|
