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.