Boromir's Journey Amon Hen to Minas Tirith

CHAPTER SIX: NEWS COMES TO MINAS TIRITH.

Shadowfax galloped on and on, climbing ever higher through the streets of Minas Tirith. The first sight of the white city from atop a hill to the west had awed Pippin. He thought then that he could well understand Boromir’s often impassioned and beautiful descriptions of his home. But now, inside the walls, climbing through the sixth level, Pippin realised Minas Tirith had far exceeded the romantic imaginings he’d formed in his mind as he’d listened to Boromir. He craned eagerly around Gandalf as they entered the arched tunnel that led from the sixth to the seventh and final level. Surely, the topmost would be the most spectacular. And then he saw it, an emerald green lawn, backed by magnificent buildings. But it was a much more sombre, sparser place than he’d expected. The fountain in the centre court was pretty enough – but why would they decorate it with a dead tree? And leave guards standing about it at that?

Then, as they dismounted and Pippin jogged to keep up with Gandalf’s long strides, he remembered. “Gandalf! It’s the tree!” He had seen it in that awful evil black stone, the Palantir that had so entranced him. He had seen the tree and a courtyard of stone – and flames.

“Yes,” Gandalf replied. “The White Tree of Gondor.” As they climbed the steps he gave Pippin instruction on what he could and could not say. They were to meet Boromir’s father. Finally, Gandalf concluded, “In fact, perhaps it’s better if you don’t’ speak at all.”

Pippin nodded, more than happy to obey. He was feeling completely overwhelmed by his surroundings. And the memory of the vision reminded him of past error. He had learned his lesson – he would stay in back, remain silent and let those who knew better and had vastly more experience deal with such vital matters. Still, he was looking forward to the moment when they could relay to Denethor the good news – Boromir was on his way home, albeit severely wounded.

The guards closed the huge hall doors and the sound echoed hollowly about them as Pippin and Gandalf entered a vast mostly empty chamber with a high domed and arched roof. Despite its size and magnificent architecture, It was not quite what Pippin had expected of the Steward’s Hall in the capital of Gondor. Where were all the courtesans? Where was the hustle and bustle of all the business and the war preparations that surely must be conducted here? Other than the guards, there was no one. Just Denethor sitting alone on his throne. There were two thrones and Denethor’s, The Steward’s, stood much lower than the other. The higher throne, Boromir had said, awaited the return of the king. Pippin could not imagine Aragorn wanting to sit all the way up there on such a high, lonely and overly superior-looking throne. And how could people hear him from way up there in any case? Pippin stared, tyring to take it all in – there were so many marvellous statues in black pillared alcoves to either side of the hall, and the floor had such lovely inlaid mosaic patterns. .

Then Gandalf stopped. “Hail, Denethor, Son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor. I come with tidings and with counsel.” Gandalf gave a small bow and Pippin moved to stand at his side. He looked up the hunched shouldered dark-haired man on the throne. His head was bowed over something he was cradling on his lap.

Denethor lifted his head and Pippin felt and immediate pang of heart-wrenching sympathy. Pippin well knew what it was like to imagine Boromir dead. All the long hours of his capture, before Merry had regained consciousness, and he’d been all alone with his thoughts, it had been all Pippin could see – Boromir falling one final time, dreadfully wounded by not one but three arrows. Surely he must die? That terrible grief had near consumed Pippin, and only his concern for Merry had kept him going.. Never would he forget the great weight that had lifted from him when they’d met Aragorn and Legolas at Isengard and been told of Boromir’s survival. Now, recalling that despair, and seeing it reflected in Boromir’s father, Pippin felt tears sting his eyes. Every line of Denethor’s face spoke of utter sorrow and hopeless grief. His eyes were red-rimmed and gleaming with unshed tears, his hair lank and unkempt, his jaw unshaven.

“Perhaps you come to explain this?” Denethor said, and he lifted the object he’d been cradling. Pippin gasped in shock. Boromir’s horn! It was sliced in two. Completely broken, shattered. Aragorn had not said anything of this. Could Orcs have set upon Gimli and Boromir a second time as they travelled the great river? Boromir would never let that horn from his sight. The blood ran cold in Pippin’s veins –what had happened? “Perhaps you come to explain why my son is dead?”

Pippin’s knees near went out from under him. He drew a shocked breath and swayed where he stood. Gandalf’s hand settled on his shoulder but the wizard did not look down at him. All his attention centred on Denethor. “My Lord, we have news from those who travelled with Boromir. He was severely wounded but his companions tended those wounds. One who provided that aid assures me that even now Boromir is safely on his way back to you, travelling by boat with another companion to see to his care.”

Pippin let out the breath he’d been holding. Gandalf sounded absolutely certain, his hand at Pippin’s shoulder calmly reassuring. He would know. But Denethor did not seem at all relieved, or even pleased. He stood, stooped and angry and his eyes were hard as stone as he fixed Gandalf with a sneering glare. “I know my son will not return! This is the proof!” He held out the cloven horn. “You seek as ever to deceive me, Mithrandir!”

“I do not deceive!” Gandalf snapped. “Boromir was caught in the midst of fierce battle. He fought for his very life, and for the lives of others!”

“It’s true!” Pippin cried. He stepped forward then went to one knee in homage and a gesture of humility and gratitude. “Boromir was hurt saving us, my kinsman and I. He fell defending us from many foes. There were so many Orcs. The horn could have been cut away from his side after he was wounded.” Pippin dared not look up to gauge the success of his words. The fact that he had not been interrupted was good enough. He drew a deep breath and said, “I offer you my service, such as it is, in payment of this debt.”

“Get up!” Gandalf said and nudged him with his staff. Pippin stood, eyes downcast, still afraid to judge the effect of his words.

“Take courage, My Lord,” Gandalf said. “Boromir will return home and soon. War is coming. The enemy is on your doorstep. Where are Gondor’s armies? As Steward you are charged with the defence of this city. You still have friends. You are not alone in this fight. Send word to Theoden of Rohan. Light the beacons.””

“My duty is to protect Gondor from treachery as well as from war!” Denethor took another pace forward, coming down one of the steps. Pippin almost took a backward step, driven by the force of the hatred in the man’s expression. “And you would give Gondor nothing but treachery and false hope! I have seen my son’s death! And from a more reliable source than travellers’ rumours! You think you are wise, Mithrandir. Yet for all your subtleties you have not wisdom. Do you think the eyes of the White Tower are blind? I have seen more than you know. My son is dead, or dying, and my line approaches its end. With your left hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor and with your right you seek to supplant me. I know who rides with Theoden of Rohan. Oh, yes. Word has reached my ears of this Aragorn, Son of Arathorn. And I tell you now I will not bow to this Ranger from the North. Last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship!”

“Authority is not given to you to deny the return of the King – Steward!”

“The rule of Gondor is mine, and no other’s!” Denethor was all but spitting with fury. Pippin stared at the man, aghast and disbelieving that this could be Boromir’s father.

“Come, Pippin,” Gandalf said. Together they turned and left the hall. Outside the day was bright, the air clean and cool. Pippin drew a deep breath. “He was so angry!” he said. “Why wouldn’t he believe us about Boromir?”

“Because he allows anger to rule his mind! He is blind to reason!”

“But--” Pippin had to steady himself before he could say it. “He is wrong? I mean, when I saw the horn, it made me wonder. Maybe he knows something more, maybe Boromir and Gimli have been –“

“My dear Pippin, calm yourself.” Gandalf shook his head. “I assure you that my heart tells me Boromir and Gimli are alive and not too far off returning to the city.”

Pippin exhaled hugely. “Well, that’s a relief! I trust your heart over anyone or anything else!”

Gandalf chuckled, and the sound put Pippin at last completely at ease. Inside that cold, echoing hall, he had almost begun to think something awful had happened to his friends. “I am glad to hear that I have your confidence, Master Took! Now, come along, we must find lodgings, and I know just the place. I’ve been here several times in the past, and despite Denethor’s hostility, have been made welcome. How would you like a hot bath and a large soft bed?”

“That would be wonderful! And, and food! Will there be good food?”

“The finest fare this side of Rivendell!”