Sword and Arrow

Chapter 52

Gandalf and Pippin rode on and on, and they didn't take a break for food as often as Pippin would have. Pippin dozed off plenty of times, and when he awoke Gandalf would be reciting some old poetry to himself.

Shadowfax splashed through a river, spraying both the riders with cold droplets. "We have just passed into the realm of Gondor!" Gandalf said above the wind.

It was many hours later when Shadowfax crested a hill and a huge city came into view. Gandalf reined the horse in as they stopped to admire it. The city was built up against the side of the mountain, and built in part along an arm of the mountain that extended like a pinnacle. The whole city was built of spotless white stone, built in layered rings like a cake.

"Minas Tirith," Gandalf affirmed. "The city of kings."

Gandalf and Pippin rode straight through the gates and up the wide ringed pathways that were not made for an angry wizard riding at full gallop. "Make way!" Gandalf called every now and then, and peasants and workers jumped out of the way to avoid being ridden over.

The two finally dismounted in a wide courtyard of white stone at the top. As they walked across, Pippin noted a green lawn divided into fourths with pathways leading to the center. A ring of stone stood around a tree that was white and dead. Guards stood around the tree's base and at the beginning of the pathways, holding beautiful spears. They wore helmets with elaborate winged patterns and stood still as statues.

"It's the tree, Gandalf!" Pippin said, recognizing it as the burning tree from his vision.

"Yes, the White Tree of Gondor, the tree of the king," Gandalf said hurriedly. "Lord Denethor, however, is not the king. He is steward only, a caretaker to the throne." Gandalf paused before the steps of the Citadel, leaning on his staff to talk to Pippin. "Listen carefully: Lord Denethor is Boromir's father. To give him news of his beloved son's death would be most unwise." Gandalf turned to enter, then back to Pippin. "And do not mention Frodo and the Ring." He lifted a foot to take a step, but looked back at Pippin again. "And say nothing of Aragorn either. In fact, it's better if you don't speak at all, Peregrin Took."

With that, he entered the Citadel, Pippin on his tail.

The throne room of the Citadel was a grand building with a lofty roof chased with gold. Tapestries depicting past kings hung from the walls, and guards stood at the base of each pillar. At the end of the long hall, a grand throne sat on a dais. A chair stood at the base of the stairs and a grey figure sat there, his head lowered.

Lord Denethor, the Steward of Gondor, looked nothing like his son. He had long grey hair that could have been raven long ago and a noble face that was lined with worry and grievance. Pippin recognized the cloven horn that rested on his lap: it was Boromir's horn.

Gandalf drew himself up before Denethor's chair. "Hail, Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor. I come with tidings at this dark hour... and counsel."

Denethor looked up at the wizard, holding the broken horn. "Perhaps you've come to explain this," he said. "Perhaps you've come to tell me why my son is dead."

Pippin looked up at the lord, and before his common sense (or what small amount of it he had) could kick in, he walked up before Gandalf and addressed the Steward. "Boromir died to save us, my kinsman and me. He fell defending us from many foes."

"Pippin!" Gandalf chided.

But Pippin knelt before the Steward's chair. "I offer you my service, such as it is, in payment of this debt."

Gandalf momentarily closed his eyes, sighing. He had brought Pippin all the way here to keep him out of whatever danger Sauron could bring to him, and here he was, pledging his service to the lord of Gondor. A perfect way to put oneself in danger. "Get up," he snapped, knocking the young hobbit in the side with the butt of his staff.