towers

Chapter 6
THE KING OF THE GOLDEN HALL
They rode on through sunset, and slow dusk, and gathering
night. When at last they halted and dismounted, even Aragorn
was stiff and weary. Gandalf only allowed them a few
hours’ rest. Legolas and Gimli slept, and Aragorn lay flat,
stretched upon his back; but Gandalf stood, leaning on his
staff, gazing into the darkness, east and west. All was silent,
and there was no sign or sound of living thing. The night
was barred with long clouds, fleeting on a chill wind, when
they arose again. Under the cold moon they went on once
more, as swift as by the light of day.
Hours passed and still they rode on. Gimli nodded and
would have fallen from his seat, if Gandalf had not clutched
and shaken him. Hasufel and Arod, weary but proud, followed
their tireless leader, a grey shadow before them hardly
to be seen. The miles went by. The waxing moon sank into
the cloudy West.
A bitter chill came into the air. Slowly in the East the dark
faded to a cold grey. Red shafts of light leapt above the black
walls of the Emyn Muil far away upon their left. Dawn came
clear and bright; a wind swept across their path, rushing
through the bent grasses. Suddenly Shadowfax stood still and
neighed. Gandalf pointed ahead.
‘Look!’ he cried, and they lifted their tired eyes. Before
them stood the mountains of the South: white-tipped and
streaked with black. The grass-lands rolled against the hills
that clustered at their feet, and flowed up into many valleys
still dim and dark, untouched by the light of dawn, winding
their way into the heart of the great mountains. Immediately
before the travellers the widest of these glens opened like a