Isildur Page 38

  Isildur looked up sharply at that, meeting the deep grey Elven eyes that had seen so many years. "No," he said. "No, I agree, it would be most unwise for you to put on the One. You are Narya's master, your power is associated with it. Who knows what might befall if you were to merge its powers with mine… with this Ring's? No, the One must remain where it is safest — in my hands, where none will be tempted to use it for evil. I understand your concerns, Master Cirdan, but you may be assured that I will use it wisely and with the greatest care. I have seen the evil that Sauron did with it — who more than I? But I believe the malice lay not in the Ring itself, but in the hand that bore it. If a man slays another with a knife, do we destroy the knife? No. As you have said yourself, the Rings are not weapons, but useful tools for those strong enough to wield them. With our lands despoiled would you have me destroy the one instrument that could cleanse them? No, let us use what we have wrested from Sauron. Eru knows the price was high enough."

  Cirdan sighed. "I see you are not to be dissuaded. And you may be right. Perhaps after all it is only my own fears and not Sauron's power that casts such a shadow over it whenever I look upon it. Were it held by any other I would fear more. But I know you, Isildur, and I have known your fathers and their line for many generations. If I were to choose any Man in the world to guard the Ring and keep it safe, I would choose you. Let us then end this debate."

  Isildur smiled again. "It is good. I would not have your mind uneasy about the path I have chosen, nor would I have any discord between us after all we have endured together. Ohtar! Bring more mead. I would ease Lord Cirdan's anxious mind."

  They drank and talked together late into the night, but at last Cirdan took his leave to see to the striking of his tents and the loading of his horses. Isildur went to his bed and lay a long time fingering the Ring and pondering Cirdan's words. At last he fell asleep with his hand clasped tightly about the Ring on its golden chain.

  * * *

  The Elves departed the next day but the work at the Barad-dûr continued. Tower after tower was toppled or pulled down stone by stone, but the fortress was so massive that progress was terribly slow. Weeks passed, then months, and still the walls loomed into the sky. The men grew restless and clamored to be allowed to return to their homes. All were sick of the fetid plains where they had suffered for so long, but Isildur would not be swayed. Summer faded into autumn and the grumbling increased. At last Isildur relented and allowed the men of Arnor to return home before the onset of winter closed the high passes over the mountains. A few weeks later he sent the men of Ithilien to Minas Ithil so that the Galadrim might return to their Golden Wood. The others stayed on, many voluntarily pitching in beside the orcs to hurry the work along. Gradually, tier by tier, the walls came down.

  Then in early spring, when the last sections of wall were being dismantled, the toiling orcs uncovered a foundation of hard black rock, without joints of any kind. No tool would bite on it. Soon it became clear that the entire fortress was built on a monolithic stone as hard as diamond. How Sauron had caused it to be worked and shaped none could discover. Isildur's engineers studied it and dulled their tools upon it. Miners drove shafts down its side but could find no bottom. Eventually the entire site was cleared and the last massive blocks were dragged with immense labor to the edge and toppled over into the abyss. The Barad-dûr, the mightiest fortress ever built, for millennia a symbol of Sauron's invincible might, was reduced in the end to a single gleaming platform of featureless stone. At last even Isildur realized that no more could be done. He had all the prisoners assembled and addressed them one last time.

  "The Barad-dûr has followed its master into oblivion," he said. "You who once followed him are absolved and pardoned by this deed. Your task here is finished. You are free to go. But know you this, and let it never be forgotten: the Dúnedain again guard the mountain passes. We hold Cirith Ungol and the Morannon and the Rath Romen. The mountains and all the lands to the north and west are forbidden to all who served Sauron. We are watchful and alert, and our blades well remember the taste of orc flesh. Go now in peace and leave the lands of Men and Elves forever."

  Then the black host turned and fled with many a backward glance and curse. Isildur watched them go, then turned to address his men. Looking out over them, he saw weariness in every face.

  "Good Men of the West," he cried. "For eight years we have labored in this place. Your deeds will be remembered while our race endures. Now our work here is done. Let yonder slab stand forever as a monument to those who died here, and as a reminder to all the world of what happened here. Let it never be forgotten that evil so nearly triumphed here, so that our guard shall never weaken and never again shall we be taken by surprise in the night.

  "But our labors are not finished. Ithilien and Minas Ithil must be cleansed of Sauron's poisons, and Osgiliath rebuilt even fairer than before. And the kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor shall grow in power and beauty until they rival even bright Númenor that went before. But our first task is a joyous one: let us go home!" Then every throat cried out and the plains of Gorgoroth rang with joy for the first time.

  * * *

  The King's Army returned in triumph to Osgiliath in high summer of the year one of the Third Age. The streets were lined with cheering throngs. Isildur found to his pleasure that the rebuilding of the city had already begun. The eastern half of the city had been cleaned and repaired and the buildings were freshly scrubbed and whitewashed so they gleamed in the sun. Many of the residents had returned to their homes, but other houses still stood dark and empty. The army crossed the Great Bridge and rode through the high arch of the Arannon. Already the massive wooden doors had been removed and it was again a triumphal arch.

  Isildur led his men into the great square and took his place on the steps of his palace as the men formed up in their companies. The grateful residents of the city cheered them. The crowds surged as the citizens of each province tried to get close to their warriors. The men stood proudly at attention, but here and there a man dared a wave to a friend in the crowd. Isildur gave a brief speech of thanks and farewell, but knew better than to draw out the ceremony. When the men were dismissed they looked on one another with emotions that could not be spoken. Then each turned and went to his own home. Those from Osgiliath returned to the houses from which they had fled the night of that first terrifying attack and found their families living there again. It was almost as if the intervening years had not occurred, save that children too young to go to war were now grown and hard at work building new houses or tilling again the green fields of Ithilien.

  When he entered the palace, Isildur was overjoyed to see two tall young men coming forth to greet him, their faces wreathed in smiles. "Aratan! Ciryon!" he shouted. "I did not know you were here!" He rushed forward and embraced his sons, while Elendur happily waited his turn.

  "Ari!" Elendur said with mock severity. "Have you left your post unguarded?"

  "No, elder brother. Annúminas is in safe hands. But when word at last reached us of your victory, I turned its rule over to Thinros and rode here as quickly as I could. I have been here over a month."

  "Thinros is guardian of Annúminas?" asked Isildur in surprise. "But he is only a boy."

  Aratan laughed. "It is long since you left, father. He is a man of thirty, a seasoned warrior and a father of three. Long was he in command of the southern marches of the realm and he drove back several orc raiding parties."

  "I see all has not been quiet at home," said Isildur gravely.

  "Oh, there has been no trouble at all for nearly a year. I think the orcs lost all their will to fight when they learned of Sauron's fall. The last time we saw any was when one of our patrols spotted a party trying to get over the high pass of the mountains. And they were going east, trying to escape from Arnor. I think they will not trouble us again."

  "And Ciri!" said Isildur, turning to his third son. "How you have grown. When I left you were but a boy still in kilts. And look at you now. Why, you ha
ve a beard!"

  "That's not a beard," laughed Aratan, punching his brother's shoulder. "He forgot to wash his face this morning." Ciryon looked grieved, but then laughed. "It is a better growth than that line of fuzz on Valandil's lip."

  "By Eru!" exclaimed Isildur. "I still think of him as a babe of two, bouncing and laughing on my knee."

  "Vali is twelve now, father, and his sling is a terror to all the squirrels and rabbits in Rivendell."

  They laughed and stood looking at each other in wonder. Finally Ciryon said quietly, "It is good to see you again, father."

  "How I wish your grandfather were here to see how you have grown," said Isildur, standing back and looking at his sons together. Their smiles faded.

  "It was a terrible price to pay for the victory," said Aratan. "The news of Sauron's fall and grandfather's came together, and we knew not whether to cheer or weep."

  "We should cheer," said Isildur. "He died bravely, in battle against his greatest enemy. If he knew that Sauron was destroyed as well, he would have gone to his long sleep with joy. Nevertheless, I miss him terribly. He had reigned so long that somehow I thought he would always be there. I find kingship more of a burden than I had expected, especially since the Elves departed. I could always look to them for wise advice.

  "But now tell me, how is your mother? Is she here as well?"

  Aratan's face fell. "No. She remained at Rivendell with Valandil. She said she was not up to the journey. She has never been well, you know, since the flight north. It seems she is always sitting silently in some quiet corner, thinking."

  Isildur nodded. "She is mourning for her home in Minas Ithil. She loved it so. It nearly killed her to think of orcs living in our palace, destroying her lovely gardens. But now they are gone. I mean to restore it all just as it was."

  "Do you think to bring her and Vali back, then?" asked Ciryon.

  Isildur shook his head. "I think not. I have given it a great deal of thought these last few months. With your uncle Anárion gone, Meneldil has ruled here in Osgiliath. He has ruled well and he is loved by the people here. He has fought long and well for Gondor, and it is meet that he should be its king. I have it in mind that when our work here is done, we shall go to Annúminas. Now that the roads are safe again, we shall go to Rivendell and fetch your mother and Vali. We shall live in father's palace there on the shores of Nenuial. She will be mistress of her own house with her family about her, and I hope she will then shake off her melancholy and become herself again."

  "But we forget our duties as your hosts," said Aratan. "We did not expect you this week, and cousin Meneldil is away in Minas Anor. Come in, and let us drink mead and hear your tales."

  * * *

  And so Isildur and his sons worked all that autumn and winter in Osgiliath, overseeing the repairs and the planting of crops in the fields that had lain fallow for so long. In those first weeks it seemed he was always saying farewell to old friends as one by one the companies of warriors departed for their homes. He was especially sorry to wave goodbye to Ingold and his men, but they were eager to return to Calembel.

  Isildur spent many hours closeted with Meneldil, instructing him in the ways of kingship and teaching him the ancient lore of their line. He also spent many days alone in the archives of Gondor, reading the ancient scrolls there, many of them brought from Númenor. Now and again they were visited by friends: Duitirith, Lord of Pelargir, was a frequent visitor, and sometimes he was accompanied by his mother Heleth, though now grief had slashed a wide streak of grey in her lovely red hair.

  * * *

  Early in the year two a procession arrived from the north and Amroth the Elf stopped with them. He was on his way to visit the shores of Belfalas which he had come to love. That summer he and his party started building a small settlement they called Dol Amroth on a lovely uninhabited promontory that reached out into the bay. When it was finished, he hoped to persuade his beloved Nimrodel to forsake the Golden Wood and abide with him there. Amroth and Duitirith became close friends and often sailed together from the quays where they had first met. The sight of Elves walking in the cities of Gondor no longer elicited stares of surprise.

  When the spring came Isildur and his sons led a party of the residents of Minas Ithil back to their home. They drove great wagons loaded with food and tools and seed for the fields. They found that although the garrison guarding the city had started the work, the cleansing of the city proved much more difficult than they had hoped. The walls were white again and the various repairs effected. The filth was swept from the streets and houses, but there remained an odor of decay that could not be removed. They set fires of sweet-smelling herbs and wafted the smoke through the houses, they tried various oils and perfumes. But for all their efforts, the buildings stank as if something dead had lain too long within.

  They planted crops again in the fields, but these too seemed blighted. Some would not sprout at all; others bore only shrivelled, bitter fruits. Many that ate of them complained of nausea and a lingering flux. Some of the residents who had returned with Isildur closed up their homes and moved to Osgiliath or went to establish new farms in south Ithilien or across the River in Anórien. Many of the younger men who had served in the war moved to Dol Amroth to help the Elves establish their new colony.

  Although discouraged and frustrated, Isildur refused to admit defeat. Many times he told his sons that he was not to be disturbed, and he was not seen for many hours. They thought he was resting or planning new policies, but in fact he was attempting to use the One Ring.

  He found when he put it on that the Ring transported him into a shadowy world, separate from the world of sun but occupying the same space. The Ring also made him invisible when he wore it, and he could move about without being detected. Wearing the Ring, he could see the houses and buildings of the city but they were still stained and filthy as they had been when the Ring-Wraiths ruled there. It was as if all their efforts had carried away the physical filth, but left the noisome leavings of evil untouched. But the Ring gave him no new powers to cleanse it away. The inscription inside the Ring, once as bright as fire, was now fading and barely legible. Isildur copied it down lest it be lost.

  The Ring also gave him great pain. The circular scar on his palm which he had received when he first touched it had never faded. Especially in damp weather it still pained him unmercifully. When he wore the Ring, the wound flared up anew and it seemed he could again feel the heat of it.

  * * *

  At last he had to admit defeat. Even the most dedicated settlers were giving up and moving away. Leaving a strong garrison of soldiers stationed there and at the much-strengthened fortress at Cirith Ungol, he and his sons prepared to depart for the last time.

  But before he left Minas Ithil he had one important task to perform. The White Tree, seedling of Nimloth and the symbol of the House of Elendil, had been burned by Sauron's minions when they took the city. But even in the confusion of their flight that terrible night, Isildur had taken away a seedling of the Tree. Protected and carefully tended, the seedling had been carried with his family to Arnor. There it had grown in the court of Elendil's palace. Like all its line, the tree grew very slowly and it was still but a sapling in a pot ten years later. And when the news of the end of the war came, Aratan and Ciryon had carefully brought the tree to Gondor with them in a wagon especially built for that purpose.

  Isildur had thought to plant the tree again in the court of his Citadel in Minas Ithil. But now he feared that the contaminated soil of Ithilien might harm the tree. He resolved to plant it in Anárion's memory in his city of Minas Anor, across the river on the slopes of blue Mount Mindolluin. And so one day, attended only by his sons and Meneldil, they stood in the great Court of the Fountain in the topmost circle of the seven-walled city of Minas Anor.

  Isildur knelt and planted the tree with his own hands, patting the soil gently around it. Then he called Meneldil to his side.

  "This is the White Tree," he said. "It is a seedling
of the tree that grew in my court in Minas Ithil, and that was grown from the fruit of Nimloth the Fair that grew in the court of the King of Númenor at Armenelos before Sauron burned it. Nimloth had grown there since the founding of Númenor, for it had been given to Elros Firstking by the Elves as a memorial of their friendship for his aid in the first war against Sauron. And Nimloth was a fruit of the Tree of Tirion that grows in Elvenhome, and that is an image of the Eldest of All Trees, White Telperion, sung into being by Yavanna Kementári before the world was made.

  "Tend and guard the tree well, nephew, for it is said that it is tied inextricably with the fortunes of our house, and that while it lives our line will rule. When it puts forth fruit, take the seeds up carefully and plant them in secret and untrodden places, so that if ever the tree fails, our ancestors yet might find its offspring and continue its line."

  Then they went down to Osgiliath and called all the people to the city to witness Meneldil's coronation. Standing beneath the Dome of Stars, Isildur took from his head the old battered war helmet he had worn for so many years. He turned it slowly in his hands, his fingers running along the many dents, remembering the blows that had made them. Then he looked earnestly at Meneldil.