The Enemy’s Greatest Strength
Author: Elanor Fairbairn
Title: The Enemy’s Greatest Strength
Challenge: The Long-expected Party Challenge
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Merry Pippin
Warnings: n/a
Summary: This is the Pyre of Denethor from Pippin's perspective, focusing on the madness of Denethor and the palantir.
Author's Notes: This quote has always been among my favorites, so I was excited to see it in the list of choices. The moment when the horns of Rohan are heard is, for me, the most uplifting moment in the entire story. I hope I have done it a little justice. 1500 words.
The Enemy’s Greatest Strength
Pippin rose to his feet, as if a great weight had been lifted from him; and he stood listening to the horns, and it seemed to him that they would break his heart with joy. And never in after years could he hear a horn blown in the distance without tears starting in his eyes.
The Enemy’s Greatest Strength
Pippin rose to his feet, as if a great weight had been lifted from him; and he stood listening to the horns, and it seemed to him that they would break his heart with joy. And never in after years could he hear a horn blown in the distance without tears starting in his eyes.
Pippin’s thoughts flew out to Merry. He pictured his friend back at the Golden Hall looking out from a balcony across the mountains to the White City, but then another image came into his head: one of Merry riding behind a knight of Rohan on a tall, proud stallion. He tried to shake the feeling away. He might be so foolish, but Merry had a better head on his shoulders than to ride into battle with big folk. What place did a hobbit have on horseback? Merry should be safe, perhaps enjoying some mead with the Lady Eowyn in Theoden’s hall. Still, the image lingered no matter how much he wished Merry safe, far far from the battle.
Then his errand came back to him all of a sudden, and he cried out, “Gandalf, Gandalf! The Lord is out of his mind, I think. I am afraid he will kill himself, and kill Faramir, too. Can’t you do something?” Gandalf hesitated, debating with himself matters which Pippin could not understand, until finally, the wizard sprang into action with alarming speed. He swept Pippin up behind him on Shadowfax as if Pippin weighed no more than a loaf of bread or a sack of wheat.
As he rode behind Gandalf up through the city, Pippin saw that “everywhere men were rising from their despair and dread, seizing their weapons, crying one to another: ‘Rohan has come!’” His heart was filled with joyous music from the Shire, music from the Ivy Bush where he and Merry so often would sing together after a few pints. But again, the image of Merry charging on a great horse behind a knight of Rohan came into his head, just as he was charging along behind Gandalf, Pippin realized. Who among the Rohirrim would bring Merry into battle? He couldn’t imagine Éomer doing so.
When they reached the door to the House of the Stewards, a dreadful scene greeted them. Beregond had slain two of his fellow men of Gondor. Pippin felt himself choke back tears of dismay. He knew that Beregond had acted out of love for Faramir, to protect him from his father’s madness, but the sight of men slaying other men was new to Pippin, and he found it far worse even than the great slaughter of the Uruks by the eaves of Fangorn. There was no sense in this. The city is as sick with fever as the Lord Faramir, he thought. He wished again that he could be far away from this place, back at Meduseld with his friend.
Gandalf strode to the door, past the horror on the step, but suddenly, “there stood the Lord of the City, tall and fell; a light like flame was in his eyes, and he held a drawn sword” As Denethor stood barring Gandalf’s way into the Hall, Pippin felt a searing pain bore its way through his head, and he was brought back to the moment when he had looked into the seeing stone, it seemed now lifetimes ago. A vision sprang forth before his eyes, shrouded in a black fog, and yet it was somehow sharp and clear also. Before Pippin stood a man, if you could call him that. He towered over Pippin, and headless he was, save for piercing bolts of red flame where eyes might have been. On his head was a crown that seemed to whisper of death. He rode upon some winged worm, with a mouth gaping, slavering, and filled with fangs, the like of which Pippin had never imagined even in nightmares. And more than this, maybe inside of it, there glowed the malice of the great and lidless eye. Pippin tried to look away, but found that once more he was frozen where he stood. The headless king, the eye, they were here! Here in the heart of the city, Pippin thought.
The Lord Denethor’s sword had fallen dully to the ground. Pippin heard it as if from inside a cave. Now the Lord was approaching Gandalf again, carrying something. Pippin recognized it right away. “He had between his hands a palantír. And as he held it up, it seemed to those who looked on that the globe began to glow with an inner flame, so that the lean face of the Lord was lit as with a red fire… noble, proud, and terrible.”
Denethor’s face is lit with the fire of the eye! thought Pippin. And now Beregond was standing against his own Lord, preventing him from burning Faramir. The city is on fire, thought Pippin, just as Lord Denethor seized a torch and set the flames to himself in his son’s stead. Denethor leaped onto the pyre. He broke his own staff, then “he bowed and laid himself on the table, clasping the palantír with both hands upon his breast. And it was said that ever after, if any man looked into the Stone, unless he had a great strength of will… saw only two aged hands withering in the flame.”
Once outside the House of the Stewards, the sights and sounds of everyday life began to return to Pippin. He felt the wind on his cheek. He could smell the ash of fires burning in the city below. He followed Gandalf and Beregond as they carried Faramir to the Houses of Healing. Suddenly, “they heard a great cry that went up from the field before the Gate… So terrible was the cry that for a moment all stood still, and yet when it had passed, suddenly their hearts were lifted up in such great hope as they had not known since the darkness came out of the East; and it seemed to them that the light grew clearer and the sun broke through the clouds.”
Pippin felt a chill in his arm, but the ashen fog of the palantír was now completely blown away, as insubstantial as the smoke from a burning pile of leaves near the Bindbole wood. Without thinking, he began to walk down through the city towards the gate. It seemed that that was maybe where he could do the most good in this hour…
At the very same moment, Merry was laboring his way slowly up through the city. His strength was failing him. His eyes had filled with clouds. The great buildings of the White City slid past like phantoms.
“But suddenly into his dream there fell a living voice. ‘Well, Merry! Thank goodness I have found you!’ the voice said. He looked up and the mist before his eyes cleared a little. There was Pippin! They were face to face in the narrow lane, and but for themselves it was empty.”
Pippin rubbed his eyes as did Merry. Neither could believe that their reunion wasn’t a dream. “I knew it, Merry! Somehow, I knew you were here, when you should have been safe back with Eowyn in-“
But the look on Merry’s face silenced Pippin. Merry said, “My Lady, Eowyn is here. She slew the Black Captain and is badly wounded… well… I helped, and my arm has gone numb from where I - no, I shall not speak of it…”
“Rest now, dear Merry. We must get you some help. I will get you to the Houses of Healing. But first you must rest a little.”
“He let Merry sink gently down on to the pavement in a patch of sunlight, and then he sat down beside him, laying Merry’s head in his lap.” He felt that his friend’s hand was terribly cold as he held it. But he knew that Merry would be alright, just as he knew that Merry had come to the White City.
Maybe, Pippin thought, there was a power in Middle Earth greater than the wickedness of the Black Land - a power more subtle - the bond that lives and grows between good friends.
end notes
The Return of the King, J. R. R. Tolkien, Houghton Mifflin 1965, at p. 126.
The Return of the King, at 126.
Ibid., at p. 127.
Ibid., at p. 128.
Ibid., at p. 129.
Ibid., at p. 130.
Ibid., at p. 132.
Ibid., at p. 134.
Ibid., at p. 135.
Title: The Enemy’s Greatest Strength
Challenge: The Long-expected Party Challenge
Rating: PG
Pairing/Characters: Merry Pippin
Warnings: n/a
Summary: This is the Pyre of Denethor from Pippin's perspective, focusing on the madness of Denethor and the palantir.
Author's Notes: This quote has always been among my favorites, so I was excited to see it in the list of choices. The moment when the horns of Rohan are heard is, for me, the most uplifting moment in the entire story. I hope I have done it a little justice. 1500 words.
The Enemy’s Greatest Strength
Pippin rose to his feet, as if a great weight had been lifted from him; and he stood listening to the horns, and it seemed to him that they would break his heart with joy. And never in after years could he hear a horn blown in the distance without tears starting in his eyes.
The Enemy’s Greatest Strength
Pippin rose to his feet, as if a great weight had been lifted from him; and he stood listening to the horns, and it seemed to him that they would break his heart with joy. And never in after years could he hear a horn blown in the distance without tears starting in his eyes.
Pippin’s thoughts flew out to Merry. He pictured his friend back at the Golden Hall looking out from a balcony across the mountains to the White City, but then another image came into his head: one of Merry riding behind a knight of Rohan on a tall, proud stallion. He tried to shake the feeling away. He might be so foolish, but Merry had a better head on his shoulders than to ride into battle with big folk. What place did a hobbit have on horseback? Merry should be safe, perhaps enjoying some mead with the Lady Eowyn in Theoden’s hall. Still, the image lingered no matter how much he wished Merry safe, far far from the battle.
Then his errand came back to him all of a sudden, and he cried out, “Gandalf, Gandalf! The Lord is out of his mind, I think. I am afraid he will kill himself, and kill Faramir, too. Can’t you do something?” Gandalf hesitated, debating with himself matters which Pippin could not understand, until finally, the wizard sprang into action with alarming speed. He swept Pippin up behind him on Shadowfax as if Pippin weighed no more than a loaf of bread or a sack of wheat.
As he rode behind Gandalf up through the city, Pippin saw that “everywhere men were rising from their despair and dread, seizing their weapons, crying one to another: ‘Rohan has come!’” His heart was filled with joyous music from the Shire, music from the Ivy Bush where he and Merry so often would sing together after a few pints. But again, the image of Merry charging on a great horse behind a knight of Rohan came into his head, just as he was charging along behind Gandalf, Pippin realized. Who among the Rohirrim would bring Merry into battle? He couldn’t imagine Éomer doing so.
When they reached the door to the House of the Stewards, a dreadful scene greeted them. Beregond had slain two of his fellow men of Gondor. Pippin felt himself choke back tears of dismay. He knew that Beregond had acted out of love for Faramir, to protect him from his father’s madness, but the sight of men slaying other men was new to Pippin, and he found it far worse even than the great slaughter of the Uruks by the eaves of Fangorn. There was no sense in this. The city is as sick with fever as the Lord Faramir, he thought. He wished again that he could be far away from this place, back at Meduseld with his friend.
Gandalf strode to the door, past the horror on the step, but suddenly, “there stood the Lord of the City, tall and fell; a light like flame was in his eyes, and he held a drawn sword” As Denethor stood barring Gandalf’s way into the Hall, Pippin felt a searing pain bore its way through his head, and he was brought back to the moment when he had looked into the seeing stone, it seemed now lifetimes ago. A vision sprang forth before his eyes, shrouded in a black fog, and yet it was somehow sharp and clear also. Before Pippin stood a man, if you could call him that. He towered over Pippin, and headless he was, save for piercing bolts of red flame where eyes might have been. On his head was a crown that seemed to whisper of death. He rode upon some winged worm, with a mouth gaping, slavering, and filled with fangs, the like of which Pippin had never imagined even in nightmares. And more than this, maybe inside of it, there glowed the malice of the great and lidless eye. Pippin tried to look away, but found that once more he was frozen where he stood. The headless king, the eye, they were here! Here in the heart of the city, Pippin thought.
The Lord Denethor’s sword had fallen dully to the ground. Pippin heard it as if from inside a cave. Now the Lord was approaching Gandalf again, carrying something. Pippin recognized it right away. “He had between his hands a palantír. And as he held it up, it seemed to those who looked on that the globe began to glow with an inner flame, so that the lean face of the Lord was lit as with a red fire… noble, proud, and terrible.”
Denethor’s face is lit with the fire of the eye! thought Pippin. And now Beregond was standing against his own Lord, preventing him from burning Faramir. The city is on fire, thought Pippin, just as Lord Denethor seized a torch and set the flames to himself in his son’s stead. Denethor leaped onto the pyre. He broke his own staff, then “he bowed and laid himself on the table, clasping the palantír with both hands upon his breast. And it was said that ever after, if any man looked into the Stone, unless he had a great strength of will… saw only two aged hands withering in the flame.”
Once outside the House of the Stewards, the sights and sounds of everyday life began to return to Pippin. He felt the wind on his cheek. He could smell the ash of fires burning in the city below. He followed Gandalf and Beregond as they carried Faramir to the Houses of Healing. Suddenly, “they heard a great cry that went up from the field before the Gate… So terrible was the cry that for a moment all stood still, and yet when it had passed, suddenly their hearts were lifted up in such great hope as they had not known since the darkness came out of the East; and it seemed to them that the light grew clearer and the sun broke through the clouds.”
Pippin felt a chill in his arm, but the ashen fog of the palantír was now completely blown away, as insubstantial as the smoke from a burning pile of leaves near the Bindbole wood. Without thinking, he began to walk down through the city towards the gate. It seemed that that was maybe where he could do the most good in this hour…
At the very same moment, Merry was laboring his way slowly up through the city. His strength was failing him. His eyes had filled with clouds. The great buildings of the White City slid past like phantoms.
“But suddenly into his dream there fell a living voice. ‘Well, Merry! Thank goodness I have found you!’ the voice said. He looked up and the mist before his eyes cleared a little. There was Pippin! They were face to face in the narrow lane, and but for themselves it was empty.”
Pippin rubbed his eyes as did Merry. Neither could believe that their reunion wasn’t a dream. “I knew it, Merry! Somehow, I knew you were here, when you should have been safe back with Eowyn in-“
But the look on Merry’s face silenced Pippin. Merry said, “My Lady, Eowyn is here. She slew the Black Captain and is badly wounded… well… I helped, and my arm has gone numb from where I - no, I shall not speak of it…”
“Rest now, dear Merry. We must get you some help. I will get you to the Houses of Healing. But first you must rest a little.”
“He let Merry sink gently down on to the pavement in a patch of sunlight, and then he sat down beside him, laying Merry’s head in his lap.” He felt that his friend’s hand was terribly cold as he held it. But he knew that Merry would be alright, just as he knew that Merry had come to the White City.
Maybe, Pippin thought, there was a power in Middle Earth greater than the wickedness of the Black Land - a power more subtle - the bond that lives and grows between good friends.
end notes
The Return of the King, J. R. R. Tolkien, Houghton Mifflin 1965, at p. 126.
The Return of the King, at 126.
Ibid., at p. 127.
Ibid., at p. 128.
Ibid., at p. 129.
Ibid., at p. 130.
Ibid., at p. 132.
Ibid., at p. 134.
Ibid., at p. 135.