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  ‘Going to Mordor!’ cried Pippin. ‘I hope it won’t come to that!’

  ‘Do not speak that name so loudly!’ said Strider.

  It was already mid-day when they drew near the southern end of the path, and saw before them, in the pale clear light of the October sun, a greygreen bank, leading up like a bridge on to the northward slope of the hill They decided to make for the top at once, while the daylight was broad Concealment was no longer possible, and they could only hope that no enemy or spy was observing them. Nothing was to be seen moving on the hill. If Gandalf was anywhere about, there was no sign of him.

  On the western flank of Weathertop they found a sheltered hollow, at the bottom of which there was a bowl-shaped dell with grassy sides. There they left Sam and Pippin with The Pony and their packs and luggage. The other three went on. After half an hour’s plodding climb Strider reached the crown of the hill; Frodo and Merry followed, tired and breathless. The last slope had been steep and rocky.

  On the top they found, as Strider had said, a wide ring of ancient stonework, now crumbling or covered with agelong grass. But in the centre a cairn of broken stones had been piled. They were blackened as if with fire. About them the turf was burned to the roots and all within the ring the grass was scorched and shrivelled, as if flames had swept the hilltop; but there was no sign of any living thing.

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  Standing upon the rim of the ruined circle, they saw all round below them a wide prospect, for the most pan of lands empty and featureless, except for patches of woodland away to the south, beyond which they caught here and there the glint of distant water. Beneath them on this southern side there ran like a ribbon the Old Road, coming out of the West and winding up and down, until it faded behind a ridge of dark land to the east. Nothing was moving on it. Following its line eastward with their eyes they saw the Mountains: the nearer foothills were brown and sombre; behind them stood taller shapes of grey, and behind those again were high white peaks glimmering among the clouds.

  ‘Well, here we are!’ said Merry. ‘And very cheerless and uninviting it looks! There is no water and no shelter. And no sign of Gandalf. But I don’t blame him for not waiting - if he ever came here.’

  ‘I wonder’, said Strider, looking round thoughtfully. ‘Even if he was a day or two behind us at Bree, he could have arrived here first. He can ride very swiftly when need presses.’ Suddenly he stooped and looked at the stone on the top of the cairn; it was flatter than the others, and whiter, as if it had escaped the fire. He picked it up and examined it, turning it in his fingers. ‘This has been handled recently’, he said. ‘What do you think of these marks?’

  On the flat under-side Frodo saw some scratches: ‘There seems to he a stroke, a dot, and three more strokes’, he said.

  ‘The stroke on the left might be a G-rune with thin branches’, said Strider. ‘It might be a sign left by Gandalf, though one cannot be sure. The scratches are fine, and they certainly look fresh. But the marks might mean something quite different, and have nothing to do with us. Rangers use runes, and they come here sometimes.’

  ‘What could they mean, even if Gandalf made them?’ asked Merry

  ‘I should say’, answered Strider, ‘that they stood for G3, and were a sign that Gandalf was here on October the third: that is three days ago now. It would also show that he was in a hurry and danger was at hand, so that he had no time or did not dare to write anything longer or plainer. If that is so, we must be wary.’

  ‘I wish we could feel sure that he made the marks, whatever they may mean’, said Frodo ‘It would be a great comfort to know that he was on the way, in front of us or behind us.’

  ‘Perhaps’, said Strider. ‘For myself, I believe that he was here, and was in danger. There have been scorching flames here; and now the light that we saw three nights ago in the eastern sky comes back to my mind. I guess that he was attacked on this hilltop, but with what result I cannot tell. He 193

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  is here no longer, and we must now look after ourselves and make our own way to Rivendell, as best we can ‘

  ‘How far is Rivendell?’ asked Merry, gazing round wearily. The world looked wild and wide from Weathertop.

  ‘I don’t know if the Road has ever been measured in miles beyond the Forsaken Inn, a day’s journey east of Bree’, answered Strider. ‘Some say it is so far, and some say otherwise. It is a strange road, and folk are glad to reach their journey’s end, whether the time is long or short. But I know how long it would take me on my own feet, with fair weather and no ill fortune twelve days from here to the Ford of Bruinen, where the Road crosses the Loudwater that runs out of Rivendell. We have at least a fortnight’s journey before us, for I do not think we shall be able to use the Road.’

  ‘A fortnight!’ said Frodo. ‘A lot may happen in that time.’

  ‘It may’, said Strider.

  They stood for a while silent on the hilltop, near its southward edge. In that lonely place Frodo for the first time fully realized his homelessness and danger. He wished bitterly that his fortune had left him in the quiet and beloved Shire. He stared down at the hateful Road, leading back westward - to his home. Suddenly he was aware that two black specks were moving slowly along it, going westward; and looking again he saw that three others were creeping eastward to meet them. He gave a cry and clutched Strider’s arm.

  ‘Look’, he said, pointing downwards.

  At once Strider flung himself on the ground behind the ruined circle, pulling Frodo down beside him. Merry threw himself alongside.

  ‘What is it?’ he whispered.

  ‘I do not know, but I fear the worst’, answered Strider. Slowly they crawled up to the edge of the ring again, and peered through a cleft between two jagged stones. The light was no longer bright, for the clear morning had faded, and clouds creeping out of the East had now overtaken the sun, as it began to go down. They could all see the black specks, but neither Frodo nor Merry could make out their shapes for certain; yet something told them that there, far below, were Black Riders assembling on the Road beyond the foot of the hill.

  ‘Yes’, said Strider, whose keener sight left him in no doubt. ‘The enemy is here!’

  Hastily they crept away and slipped down the north side of the hill to find their companions.

  Sam and Peregrin had not been idle. They had explored the small dell and the surrounding slopes. Not far away they found a spring of clear water 194

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  in the hillside, and near it footprints not more than a day or two old. In the dell itself they found recent traces of a fire, and other signs of a hasty camp. There were some fallen rocks on the edge of the dell nearest to the hill. Behind them Sam came upon a small store of firewood neatly stacked.

  ‘I wonder if old Gandalf has been here’, he said to Pippin. ‘Whoever it was put this stuff here meant to come back it seems.’

  Strider was greatly interested in these discoveries. ‘I wish I had waited and explored the ground down here myself ’, he said, hurrying off to the spring to examine the footprints.

  ‘It is just as I feared’, he said, when he came back. ‘Sam and Pippin have trampled the soft ground, and the marks are spoilt or confused. Rangers have been here lately. It is they who left the firewood behind. But there are also several newer tracks that were not made by Rangers. At least one set was made, only a day or two ago, by heavy boots. At least one. I cannot now be certain, but I think there were many booted feet.’ He paused and stood in anxious thought.

  Each of the hobbits saw in his mind a vision of the cloaked and booted Riders. If the horsemen had already found the dell, the sooner Strider led them somewhere else the better. Sam viewed the hollow with great dislike, now that he had heard news of their enemies on the Road, o
nly a few miles away.

  ‘Hadn’t we better clear out quick, Mr. Strider?’ he asked impatiently. ‘It is getting late, and I don’t like this hole: it makes my heart sink somehow.’

  ‘Yes, we certainly must decide what to do at once’, answered Strider, looking up and considering the time and the weather. ‘Well, Sam’, he said at last, ‘I do not like this place either; but I cannot think of anywhere better that we could reach before nightfall. At least we are out of sight for the moment, and if we moved we should be much more likely to be seen by spies. All we could do would be to go right out of our way back north on this side of the line of hills, where the land is all much the same as it is here. The Road is watched, but we should have to cross it, if we tried to take cover in the thickets away to the south. On the north side of the Road beyond the hills the country is bare and flat for miles.’

  ‘Can the Riders see?’ asked Merry. ‘I mean, they seem usually to have used their noses rather than their eyes, smelling for us, if smelling is the right word, at least in the daylight. But you made us lie down flat when you saw them down below; and now you talk of being seen, if we move.’

  ‘I was too careless on the hilltop’, answered Strider. ‘I was very anxious to find some sign of Gandalf; but it was a mistake for three of us to go up and stand there so long. For the black horses can see, and the Riders 195

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  can use men and other creatures as spies, as we found at Bree. They themselves do not see the world of light as we do, but our shapes cast shadows in their minds, which only the noon sun destroys; and in the dark they perceive many signs and forms that are hidden from us: then they are most to be feared. And at all times they smell the blood of living things, desiring and hating it. Senses, too, there are other than sight or smell. We can feel their presence - it troubled our hearts, as soon as we came here, and before we saw them; they feel ours more keenly. Also’, he added, and his voice sank to a whisper, ‘the Ring draws them.’

  ‘Is there no escape then?’ said Frodo, looking round wildly. ‘If I move I shall be seen and hunted! If I stay, I shall draw them to me!’

  Strider laid his hand on his shoulder. ‘There is still hope’, he said. ‘You are not alone. Let us take this wood that is set ready for the fire as a sign. There is little shelter or defence here, but fire shall serve for both. Sauron can put fire to his evil uses, as he can all things, but these Riders do not love it, and fear those who wield it. Fire is our friend in the wilderness.’

  ‘Maybe’, muttered Sam. ‘It is also as good a way of saying ‘here we are’

  as I can think of, bar shouting.’

  Down in the lowest and most sheltered corner of the dell they lit a fire, and prepared a meal. The shades of evening began to fall, and it grew cold. They were suddenly aware of great hunger, for they had not eaten anything since breakfast; but they dared not make more than a frugal supper. The lands ahead were empty of all save birds and beasts, unfriendly places deserted by all the races of the world. Rangers passed at times beyond the hills, but they were few and did not stay. Other wanderers were rare, and of evil sort: trolls might stray down at times out of the northern valleys of the Misty Mountains. Only on the Road would travellers be found, most often dwarves, hurrying along on business of their own, and with no help and few words to spare for strangers.

  ‘I don’t see how our food can be made to last’, said Frodo. ‘We have been careful enough in the last few days, and this supper is no feast; but we have used more than we ought, if we have two weeks still to go, and perhaps more.’

  ‘There is food in the wild’, said Strider; ‘berry, root, and herb; and I have some skill as a hunter at need. You need not be afraid of starving before winter comes. But gathering and catching food is long and weary work, and we need haste. So tighten your belts, and think with hope of the tables of Elrond’s house!’

  The cold increased as darkness came on. Peering out from the edge of the dell they could see nothing but a grey land now vanishing quickly into 196

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  shadow. The sky above had cleared again and was slowly filled with twinkling stars. Frodo and his companions huddled round the fire, wrapped in every garment and blanket they possessed; but Strider was content with a single cloak, and sat a little apart, drawing thoughtfully at his pipe. As night fell and the light of the fire began to shine out brightly he began to tell them tales to keep their minds from fear. He knew many histories and legends of long ago, of Elves and Men and the good and evil deeds of the Elder Days. They wondered how old he was, and where he had learned all this lore.

  ‘Tell us of Gilgalad’, said Merry suddenly, when he paused at the end of a story of the Elf-Kingdoms. ‘Do you know any more of that old lay that you spoke of?’

  ‘I do indeed’, answered Strider. ‘So also does Frodo, for it concerns us closely.’ Merry and Pippin looked at Frodo, who was staring into the fire.

  ‘I know only the little that Gandalf has told me’, said Frodo slowly. ‘Gilgalad was the last of the great Elf-kings of Middleearth. Gilgalad is Starlight in their tongue. With Elendil, the Elf-friend, he went to the land of —-’

  ‘No!’ said Strider interrupting, ‘I do not think that tale should be told now with the servants of the Enemy at hand. If we win through to the house of Elrond, you may hear it there, told in full.’

  ‘Then tell us some other tale of the old days’, begged Sam; ‘a tale about the Elves before the fading time. I would dearly like to hear more about Elves; the dark seems to press round so close.’

  ‘I will tell you the tale of Tinúviel’, said Strider, ‘in brief - for it is a long tale of which the end is not known; and there are none now, except Elrond, that remember it aright as it was told of old. It is a fair tale, though it is sad, as are all the tales of Middleearth, and yet it may lift up your hearts.’ He was silent for some time, and then he began not to speak but to chant softly:

  The leaves were long, the grass was green,

  The hemlock-umbels tall and fair,

  And in the glade a light was seen

  Of stars in shadow shimmering.

  Tinúviel was dancing there

  To music of a pipe unseen,

  And light of stars was in her hair,

  And in her raiment glimmering.

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  There Beren came from mountains cold,

  And lost he wandered under leaves,

  And where the Elven-river rolled

  He walked alone and sorrowing.

  He peered between the hemlock-leaves

  And saw in wander flowers of gold

  Upon her mantle and her sleeves,

  And her hair like shadow following.

  Enchantment healed his weary feet

  That over hills were doomed to roam;

  And forth he hastened, strong and fleet,

  And grasped at moonbeams glistening.

  Through woven woods in Elvenhome

  She tightly fled on dancing feet,

  And left him lonely still to roam

  In the silent forest listening.

  He heard there oft the flying sound

  Of feet as light as linden-leaves,

  Or music welling underground,

  In hidden hollows quavering.

  Now withered lay the hemlock-sheaves,

  And one by one with sighing sound

  Whispering fell the beechen leaves

  In the wintry woodland wavering.

  He sought her ever, wandering far

  Where leaves of years were thickly strewn,

  By light of moon and ray of star

  In frosty heavens shivering.

  Her mantle glinted in the moon,

  As on a hilltop high and far

  She danced, and at her feet was strewn
/>
  A mist of silver quivering.

  When winter passed, she came again,

  And her song released the sudden spring,

  Like rising lark, and falling rain,

  And melting water bubbling.

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  He saw the elven-flowers spring

  About her feet, and healed again

  He longed by her to dance and sing

  Upon the grass untroubling.

  Again she fled, but swift he came.

  Tinúviel! Tinúviel!

  He called her by her elvish name;

  And there she halted listening.

  One moment stood she, and a spell

  His voice laid on her: Beren came,

  And doom fell on Tinúviel

  That in his arms lay glistening.

  As Beren looked into her eyes

  Within the shadows of her hair,

  The trembling starlight of the skies

  He saw there mirrored shimmering.

  Tinúviel the elven-fair,

  Immortal maiden elven-wise,

  About him cast her shadowy hair

  And arms like silver glimmering.

  Long was the way that fate them bore,

  O’er stony mountains cold and grey,

  Through halls of iron and darkling door,

  And woods of nightshade morrowless.

  The Sundering Seas between them lay,

  And yet at last they met once more,

  And long ago they passed away

  In the forest singing sorrowless.

  Strider sighed and paused before he spoke again. ‘That is a song’, he said, ‘in the mode that is called ann-thennath among the Elves, but is hard to render in our Common Speech, and this is but a rough echo of it. It tells of the meeting of Beren son of Barahir and Lúthien Tinúviel. Beren was a mortal man, but Lúthien was the daughter of Thingol, a King of Elves upon Middleearth when the world was young; and she was the fairest maiden that has ever been among all the children of this world. As the stars above the mists of the 199

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