The Two Towers (The Lord of the Rings, #2)

by J.R.R. Tolkien

‘O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days.’

‘There are some things that it is better to begin than to refuse, even though the end may be dark.

When Summer lies upon the world, and in a noon of gold Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves the dreams of trees unfold; When woodland halls are green and cool, and wind is in the West,

Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is best!

‘Of course, it is likely enough, my friends,’ he said slowly, ‘likely enough that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents.

They spoke as horses will when they meet a friend that they have long missed.’

What have you to say, Aragorn, to the reading of Legolas. Can you better it?’ ‘Maybe, I could,’ said Aragorn, smiling.

If we do not find them soon, we shall be of no use to them, except to sit down beside them and show our friendship by starving together.’ ‘If that is indeed all we can do, then we must do that,’ said Aragorn. ‘Let us go on.’

The grey figure of the Man, Aragorn son of Arathorn, was tall, and stern as stone, his hand upon the hilt of his sword; he looked as if some king out of the mists of the sea had stepped upon the shores of lesser men. Before him stooped the old figure, white, shining now as if with some light kindled within, bent, laden with years, but holding a power beyond the strength of kings.

And this I also say: you are our captain and our banner. The Dark Lord has Nine. But we have One, mightier than they: the White Rider.

‘It is not clear to me that the will of Théoden son of Thengel, even though he be lord of the Mark, should prevail over the will of Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elendil’s heir of Gondor.’ ‘This is the house of Théoden, not of Aragorn, even were he King of Gondor in the seat of Denethor,’

‘Foolishness!’ said Gandalf. ‘Prudence is one thing, but discourtesy is another. I am old. If I may not lean on my stick as I go, then I will sit out here, until it pleases Théoden to hobble out himself to speak with me.’ Aragorn laughed. ‘Every man has something too dear to trust to another. But would you part an old man from his support? Come, will you not let us enter?’

Why indeed should we welcome you, Master Stormcrow? Láthspell I name you, Ill-news; and ill news is an ill guest they say.’

Thus Aragorn for the first time in the full light of day beheld Éowyn, Lady of Rohan, and thought her fair, fair and cold, like a morning of pale spring that is not yet come to womanhood. And she now was suddenly aware of him: tall heir of kings, wise with many winters, greycloaked, hiding a power that yet she felt.

Not long now shall stand the high hall which Brego son of Eorl built.

Arise now, arise, Riders of Théoden! Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward. Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded! Forth Eorlingas!

As she stood before Aragorn she paused suddenly and looked upon him, and her eyes were shining. And he looked down upon her fair face and smiled; but as he took the cup, his hand met hers, and he knew that she trembled at the touch. ‘Hail Aragorn son of Arathorn!’ she said. ‘Hail Lady of Rohan!’ he answered, but his face now was troubled and he did not smile.

‘Speak not so!’ she answered. ‘A year shall I endure for every day that passes until your return.’ But as she spoke her eyes went to Aragorn who stood nearby.

‘I will forget my wrath for a while, Éomer son of Éomund,’ said Gimli; ‘but if ever you chance to see the Lady Galadriel with your eyes, then you shall acknowledge her the fairest of ladies, or our friendship will end.’

The Deeping Wall was twenty feet high, and so thick that four men could walk abreast along the top, sheltered by a parapet over which only a tall man could look.

‘Two!’ said Gimli, patting his axe. He had returned to his place on the wall. ‘Two?’ said Legolas. ‘I have done better, though now I must grope for spent arrows; all mine are gone. Yet I make my tale twenty at the least. But that is only a few leaves in a forest.’

‘Twenty-one!’ cried Gimli. He hewed a two-handed stroke and laid the last Orc before his feet. ‘Now my count passes Master Legolas again.’

‘That must be my hope,’ said Legolas. ‘But I wish that he had come this way. I desired to tell Master Gimli that my tale is now thirty-nine.’ ‘If he wins back to the caves, he will pass your count again,’ laughed Aragorn. ‘Never did I see an axe so wielded.’

‘What of the dawn?’ they jeered. ‘We are the Uruk-hai: we do not stop the fight for night or day, for fair weather or for storm. We come to kill, by sun or moon. What of the dawn?’ ‘None knows what the new day shall bring him,’ said Aragorn. ‘Get you gone, ere it turn to your evil.’

‘I have still this to say,’ answered Aragorn. ‘No enemy has yet taken the Hornburg. Depart, or not one of you will be spared. Not one will be left alive to take back tidings to the North. You do not know your peril.’

‘Welcome, my lords, to Isengard!’ he said. ‘We are the doorwardens. Meriadoc, son of Saradoc is my name; and my companion, who, alas! is overcome with weariness’ – here he gave the other a dig with his foot – ‘is Peregrin, son of Paladin, of the House of Took.

The hobbits bowed low. ‘So that is the King of Rohan!’ said Pippin in an undertone. ‘A fine old fellow. Very polite.’

He held up a small pipe with a wide flattened bowl, and handed it to Gimli. ‘Does that settle the score between us?’ he said. ‘Settle it!’ cried Gimli. ‘Most noble hobbit, it leaves me deep in your debt.’

‘Now let us take our ease here for a little!’ said Aragorn. ‘We will sit on the edge of ruin and talk, as Gandalf says, while he is busy elsewhere. I feel a weariness such as I have seldom felt before.’ He wrapped his grey cloak about him, hiding his mail-shirt, and stretched out his long legs. Then he lay back and sent from his lips a thin stream of smoke. ‘Look!’ said Pippin. ‘Strider the Ranger has come back!’ ‘He has never been away,’ said Aragorn. ‘I am Strider and Dúnadan too, and I belong both to Gondor and the North.’

‘One who cannot cast away a treasure at need is in fetters. You did rightly.’

‘It must have been about midnight when the Ents broke the dams and poured all the gathered waters through a gap in the northern wall, down into Isengard.

There’ll be the Lord of the Fields of Rohan, mark you! You must welcome him as well as you know how: his men have fought a great fight with the Orcs.

I shall not forget them. I have put their names into the Long List. Ents will remember it. Ents the earthborn, old as mountains, the wide-walkers, water drinking; and hungry as hunters, the Hobbit children, the laughing-folk, the little people,

‘All right, I’ll tackle Strider by the camp-fire: he’s less testy.

‘Let go! Gollum,’ he said. ‘This is Sting. You have seen it before once upon a time. Let go, or you’ll feel it this time! I’ll cut your throat.’

We only wish to catch a fish, so juicy-sweet!

Sam’s guess was that the Sméagol and Gollum halves (or what in his own mind he called Slinker and Stinker) had made a truce and a temporary alliance: neither wanted the Enemy to get the Ring;

In the last need, Sméagol, I should put on the Precious; and the Precious mastered you long ago. If I, wearing it, were to command you, you would obey, even if it were to leap from a precipice or to cast yourself into the fire.

‘And did you escape out of the darkness, Sméagol? Were you not rather permitted to depart, upon an errand? That at least is what Aragorn thought, who found you by the Dead Marshes some years ago.’

But the name of Aragorn had put Gollum into a sullen mood.

Its name was Cirith Ungol, a name of dreadful rumour. Aragorn could perhaps have told them that name and its significance; Gandalf would have warned them. But they were alone, and Aragorn was far away, and Gandalf stood amid the ruin of Isengard and strove with Saruman, delayed by treason.

Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness.

What’s taters, precious, eh, what’s taters?’ ‘Po – ta – toes,’ said Sam.

fried fish and chips served by S. Gamgee. You couldn’t say no to that.’ ‘Yes, yes we could. Spoiling nice fish, scorching it. Give me fish now, and keep nassty chips!’ ‘Oh you’re hopeless,’ said Sam. ‘Go to sleep!’

The tall green man laughed grimly. ‘I am Faramir, Captain of Gondor,’

‘Seven companions we had: one we lost at Moria, the others we left at Parth Galen above Rauros: two of my kin; a Dwarf there was also, and an Elf, and two Men. They were Aragorn; and Boromir, who said that he came out of Minas Tirith, a city in the South.’ ‘Boromir!’ all the four men exclaimed. ‘Boromir son of the Lord Denethor?’ said Faramir, and a strange stern look came into his face.

Sam drew a deep breath. ‘An Oliphaunt it was!’ he said. ‘So there are Oliphaunts, and I have seen one. What a life! But no one at home will ever believe me.

‘So!’ he said. ‘You bid me mind my own affairs, and get me back home, and let you be. Boromir will tell all, when he comes. When he comes, say you! Were you a friend of Boromir?’ Vividly before Frodo’s mind came the memory of Boromir’s assault upon him, and for a moment he hesitated. Faramir’s eyes watching him grew harder. ‘Boromir was a valiant member of our Company,’ said Frodo at length. ‘Yes, I was his friend, for my part.’ Faramir smiled grimly. ‘Then you would grieve to learn that Boromir is dead?’

‘As to the manner of his death, I had hoped that his friend and companion would tell me how it was.’

‘You asked how do I know that the son of Denethor is dead. Tidings of death have many wings. Night oft brings news to near kindred, ’tis said. Boromir was my brother.’