Isildur Read online

"I wore this helmet throughout the war. It saved my life at Dagorlad and many another time. These are the wings of a gull, to remind us that we came to these shores out of the sea. Anárion and I once spoke of dividing the realm into two when our father went to his rest at last. He would take Gondor and I Arnor. And we said there on the plains of Gorgoroth that if such should ever come to pass, our winged helmets would serve us for crowns, for our realms were born in one war and preserved by another. Alas, dear Anárion will never be King of Gondor. And even his helmet is no more, for it was crushed by the stone cast that killed him. But in his memory I give you my helmet, and declare that henceforth it shall be the Crown of Gondor, to be worn by you and your heirs forever. I give into your keeping all the realm of Gondor, its mountains and forests, its towns and cities, its crops and beasts, and its noble people, their language, culture, and history. Serve and guard them well, that they may long endure."

  Meneldil knelt before him and kissed his hand. "My Lord Isildur, all shall be done as you have directed. Our two realms shall be friends and allies so long as the world lasts."

  Then the people raised a mighty cheer. "King Meneldil! Long may he live! Gondor and Arnor, friends forever!"

  * * *

  It was but a week later that Isildur prepared to depart for the north, for he wished to leave Meneldil a free hand, without the complication of his uncle watching over his shoulder. With him were his three eldest sons, with the ever faithful Ohtar and twoscore of their housecarls, all that had survived the war. With banners flying from every tower and trumpets blowing from the walls, the little party rode out of Osgiliath and turned west into Anórien. Many friends followed them, for they were loath to see them go. Indeed some accompanied them for days, and the last made their farewells and turned back only when they crossed the Mering Stream. When they had waved farewell to the last well-wishers, they turned aside from the road to Angrenost and their horses waded into the long waving grass of Calenardhon.

  They travelled thus for another week, meeting no travellers and seeing no sign of any settlements, for this was a lonely corner of the realm that had never been settled. Each day the Hithaiglin, the Misty Mountains, loomed closer on their left. They skirted the dark and ancient forest called Fangorn, for it had a strange repute. They crossed the River Limlight, and at last late on a hot still summer afternoon they topped a low rise and saw below them a broad forested valley with a river flowing through it. The trees glowed a deep golden color, their leaves like waving sheets of gold leaf.

  "The Golden Wood," said Isildur with satisfaction. "And just across the stream lies Lothlórien, the realm of Galadriel and Celeborn." They hurried forward then and were soon under the eaves of the great trees. The cool shade was welcome after the long miles of open sunny grassland. The path wound between open glades, dropping gently down toward the Nimrodel Stream. The sun hid her face behind the mountains and the heat quickly went out of the sky. The air under the trees seemed cleaner, fresher, as if it had never been hot or dusty. A faint scent of flowers hung in the air, reminding each rider of some fair place he had once visited, though none could name the memory. At last the Nimrodel stream could be seen glinting between the white boles of the trees ahead. Just then fair voices floated out of the trees, singing an ancient Elvish song, though no singers could be seen.

  They rode on in silence, listening to the music, until they came to the banks of the stream. There they were met by a company of Elvish archers, all dressed alike in green cloaks caught at the shoulder with silver clasps in the shape of leaves.

  "Greetings, travellers," said one of the Elves. "You are come to the borders of Lothlórien and strangers may not enter without permission. What name should I announce to my Lords?"

  Ohtar rode forward to herald the king, but Isildur waved him back. "Tell the Lord and Lady that Isildur and his sons have come to call."

  The Elf looked at him in surprise. "You are Isildur, King of Arnor? My pardon, my lord. I did not realize; you bear no emblems of your rank."

  "No. I wear no kingly armor for I have seen enough of arms and armor. And I bear no crown because it is yet in Annúminas."

  "Crowned or not, my lord, you are welcome in Lothlórien. Your deeds in Mordor already are sung by our minstrels."

  Isildur laughed. "Are they indeed? Your poets move more swiftly than do I."

  "The Lay of Isildur is our most popular song these latter days. It is requested nearly every night. The people will all wish to see you. I am called Brethilrond, my lord. I shall ride ahead to announce your coming. My friends will escort you and show you the path." He whistled, and a beautiful white horse stepped out of the shadows. He leaped lightly onto its back and splashed across the stream, calling over his shoulder, "Welcome to the Golden Wood, my lords!"

  They chatted with their Elvish escort as they rode along a broad lane through the trees. The dusk was falling, but the wood never grew completely dark. The smooth white trunks of the trees were so pale they seemed to glow in the twilight, while the golden leaves above caught every glimmer of light and set it shimmering. When the last purple tint was fading from the sky, they saw a golden glow high in the trees before them. Then they came out into a large clearing and saw before them a great high-crowned hill, set about with a thick hedge behind a moat. The hill was a solid mass of the tallest trees they had even seen, towering over all the rest of the forest. Among those mighty branches could be seen many lights; white and gold and yellow. Brethilrond was waiting for them at the near end of a bridge that spanned the moat and ended at a massive wooden gate covered with flowing, beautifully carved letters.

  "Welcome to Caras Galadon, the city of the trees," he said.

  He led them across the bridge and the gate swung open at their approach, though they could see no guards or gatekeepers. They walked along neat well-tended paths and climbed many broad stairs, the way leading always up toward the summit of the hill. Finally they came out in a wide glade with a fountain tinkling musically into a pool. In the center of the clearing stood the tallest tree any of them had ever seen. The mighty bole stood fully thirty yards across and swept up into a mass of golden foliage that shaded the entire glade. A wide white-painted ladder was fastened to the trunk. Brethilrond turned at the foot of the ladder.

  "The Lord and Lady await you in their hall."

  "And where is their hall?" asked Isildur, looking around, for no buildings could be seen.

  "Right above you, my lord," said Brethilrond with a smile. "We make our homes in the mallorn trees. If you will follow me, my friends will attend to your horses." And he turned and climbed quickly up the broad ladder fastened to the massive trunk.

  Somewhat more slowly and tentatively, Isildur and his men followed. When they reached the lower branches, already so high that they didn't like looking down, they found a vast platform. As large as some mansions in the cities of men, this one platform, or talan, as the Elves called it, contained living quarters for more than a dozen families. The mallorn's branches were so huge that they were quite wide enough for four men to walk abreast on the broad upper surface, and a laughing group of Elf children dashed along the branch to stare at the visitors as they passed.

  But Brethilrond did not pause. Already he was high above them, still climbing up the main trunk. The men climbed on. The ladder was wide enough for many climbers on each rung, and now and again a group of Elves would pass them, carrying burdens in packs upon their backs. They called cheerful greetings to the Men as they easily passed them. They passed talan after talan, each slightly smaller as the immense tree's branches diminished with height. The men's shoulders and thighs began to ache and complain with the unaccustomed effort.

  "By my sword," muttered Elendur, "how high are we to climb? I would swear we must be above the clouds by now."

  "Above the sun, you mean, "gasped Ciryon. "We must be close to her now, for I am dripping with sweat."

  "I know," agreed Ohtar, "but I am loath to complain, for these pretty young Elf-maidens pass us by as
easily as if we were nailed to the trunk. I would not have them know how much I am aching."

  "Perhaps you had better hold your breath, then," laughed Isildur. "You are wheezing like a strong wind in a pine forest."

  At last they reached a large white talan built right around the massive trunk. They climbed through a square opening in its base and stood gasping, glad to be standing on a floor again. Brethilrond was waiting for them.

  "I have already spoken to the Lords. They bid you attend them at once."

  He led them into a lofty hall, oval in shape, with walls of green and silver and a roof of gold. The trunk of the mallorn, still a dozen feet across, formed the central column of the hall. Against this column and beneath a canopy of a leafy bough of the tree, stood two thrones side by side on a gilded platform. There sat the Lords of Lothlórien, dressed alike in white robes. Their hair, Celeborn's silver and Galadriel's gold, flowed from beneath golden crowns. They stood and came down to greet Isildur warmly.

  "Welcome, Isildur Elendilson," said Celeborn, clasping his arm.

  "Greetings to all your company," added Galadriel in her lovely musical voice. "You are well come to Caras Galadon."

  Isildur bowed deeply, and the other men, struck by the beauty and majesty of the Lords, fell to their knees before them.

  "May I present my sons?" Isildur said. "Elendur, Aratan, and Ciryon."

  "Elendur I remember well, of course," said Galadriel with a smile to him. "And his brothers I should have known at once, for they have the look and bearing of your line. Ciryon especially I could have mistaken for his noble forefather Elros, so alike are they."

  The brothers stared at Galadriel in wonder, for Elros Peredhil, the founder of their line, had died many thousands of years ago. This woman, so lovely and fair, had actually known the great Elros himself!

  "They look like fine bold warriors, Isildur," said Celeborn. "You may rightly be proud of them. Did they serve in the war as well?"

  "Aratan was captain of the guard at Annúminas," said Isildur, "and Ciryon commanded the garrison at Amon Sûl, a watchtower on the eastern borders of Arnor. They came to join me after the war was over and the ways safe again."

  "Alas," said Galadriel, "the ways are still not as safe as we would like them. Only last month a party of our people travelling in the Misty Mountains was attacked by a band of orcs. Several were slain, for they were not heavily armed nor expecting attack."

  "Orcs?" exclaimed Isildur. "But they were forbidden to travel into the westlands!"

  "We know not whether they are come from Mordor or if they have remained in hiding in the mountains. They seemed not to have a leader. We supposed they were but a band of renegades, making their living by attacking travellers. We have sent out several search parties, but have been unable to locate them."

  "We have heard tales from our Sindarin cousins," said Celeborn, "of similar attacks in the forests further north. Sauron may be no more, but his evil influence continues."

  "The roads shall be made safe again," said Isildur with determination in his face. "When I have returned to Annúminas and put my own realm in order, I will establish outposts and send rangers out to root out these bands of renegades. We shall not rest until all are destroyed. The roads should be open and safe for all travellers."

  "It would be a great boon to all," said Galadriel. "But again you set yourself a difficult task, my friend. As in Mordor, you want to cleanse the world of every trace of Sauron's work. It may not be possible."

  "Nevertheless, I accomplished much in Mordor. The Barad-dûr no longer exists. Osgiliath and Minas Ithil are again as they were. I have many subjects and friends to aid me in my work." He looked pointedly at Galadriel. "And I have other help besides."

  The Lady looked gravely at him. "Aye, when Cirdan passed through Lothlórien on his way home, he told us of your decision at the Sammath Naur."

  Isildur nodded. "I assume he told you he did not approve. He and Elrond did their best to dissuade me. I hope you are not going to lecture me as well."

  "We shared his concerns," said Celeborn. "You take upon yourself a perilous burden."

  "Do you then think me unable to bear it?" asked Isildur in some irritation.

  "It is not that, Isildur," said Galadriel soothingly. "It is that none of us know what its powers may be. And if it should somehow fall into lesser hands than your own, what should become of them? In hands with a propensity for evil or with a lust for power, might it not still be used for evil purpose? These are our fears."

  Somewhat mollified, Isildur smiled and patted his chest. "I can assure you it shall never leave my person while I live. Never shall any hand touch it but mine. And when I die it shall go to my heirs, with all my advice and cautions in its use. I assure you it is quite safe."

  "I would prefer the thing had been destroyed and was gone forever from the world," said Galadriel, "but I do not doubt your good will, your strength, or your wisdom. We shall rest easy knowing it is in Annúminas, safe in your care. But we urge you to use it as little as possible."

  "I rarely wear it at all," replied Isildur. "Already I have learned the limits of its capabilities. In truth it seems but a poor thing compared with the wonders you have wrought with Nenya," he added, gesturing around at the hall around them, the city, and indeed all of the Golden Wood.

  "The Three were forged to assist in good works and in building fair creations. The One was not. But perhaps you can yet wrest some good from it."

  "It is not wholly evil, I assure you, Lords," said Isildur. "I find that it can be most useful when rebuilding that which Sauron spoiled."

  "Is Ithilien then renewed as clean as before?" asked Galadriel with a knowing look. "Is its produce as sweet?"

  Isildur caught Elendur's eye. "Well, perhaps not as much as before," he admitted. "But we have rebuilt Minas Ithil, and we have hopes that after the rains of spring have flushed the poisons from the soil that it will produce as it once did."

  "Perhaps it shall," said Celeborn. "We shall see. And our hopes are with you. It was clearly a lovely land before Sauron got his claws upon it."

  "But we are remiss as hosts," said Galadriel. "You have had a long journey and must be tired. Sometimes we forget that you Men desire your nightly periods of rest. Show our visitors to the best guest chambers. We shall talk again in the morning."

  The men were led to a series of rooms along the outer wall of the palace. Before he went to sleep, Ohtar stood at the window and looked out over the city. The ground below was too far away to see, lost among the lower branches and the many houses below. All about them were spread the tops of the other mallorn trees. Lights of gold, yellow and white glowed from among the foliage, and he could hear singing and the voices of sweet instruments drifting up to where he stood. Far away to the east, the moon was rising above the eastern reaches of the wood, setting silver glints upon the golden leaves.

  Ohtar crawled gratefully into the heap of soft woven Elven blankets and slept more comfortably and peacefully than he could ever remember.

  * * *

  They spent a few days resting and visiting with the Elves. The men strolled about the city, observing the Elves at their daily duties and entertainments. Isildur and his sons had many talks with the Lords or with the greater of the Elves, learning of their lore and hearing their counsel. The evenings were spent feasting and listening to singing of the ancient Elvish sagas. Verse after verse of the doings of ancient heros, most went on for many hours. One by one the men drifted off to sleep, their dreams full of the brave deeds of former ages. On their last evening the minstrels performed their newest saga, the Lay of Isildur, and Isildur congratulated the talented composer. On the following morning they prepared again to depart. The Lords accompanied them to the gate of the city.

  "Go in peace, friends," said Celeborn. "I would recommend that you do not attempt to cross the mountains by way of the pass of Caradhras. Our scouts report that the snow lies especially heavy there yet. It would be very difficult for men and heav
ily laden horses."

  "We had thought to go further north and cross by the pass that lies east of Imladris," said Elendur. "It is lower and it will have another few weeks to melt before we arrive there."

  "Yes, that would be best," agreed Galadriel. "Take care in the mountains. Remember the raiders."

  Isildur laughed. "I do not think orcs would attack such a numerous and well-armed party. If they did they would get a most unpleasant greeting."

  "No doubt you are right," said Celeborn. "Take our greetings and good wishes to our friend Elrond. Namarië."

  "Namarië, my Lord," said Isildur. "My Lady, farewell."

  "Farewell, Isildur. May all your hopes and plans come true."

  Then the men turned and with many waves and shouted farewells rode north around the moat that guarded Caras Galadon. Passing along a broad lane through the trees, they rode under the golden mallorns for another day before emerging blinking into the bright sunlight. The land here was low rolling hills cut by many shallow streams. The hills were covered with bright yellow grass, though their cooler northern slopes were thick with oaks. Day after day they rode over these hills, keeping the mountains on their left hand. From some of the higher hills they could catch occasional glimpses of the broad and muddy river Anduin away to the east.

  On the fifth morning after leaving the Golden Wood, they topped a ridge and looked out over a wide flat land marked by many bright green fens and bogs. Beyond they could see a river coming down from the mountains and winding across the marshes to join Anduin.

  "That is the Greenwood River," said Isildur. "There is a ford just to the west of the fens. And beyond are the grassy lawns the Elves call Loeg Ningloron. When father and I rode this way to the war we met some hunters there; men, but of a race we had never seen before. Their speech was strange and we could understand very little of what they said. But one thing I can recall is the name of this place, for it struck me as an odd name. Both the river and the lawns are known by the same name in their language: Gladden, they said it was called."