return

1168 the return of the king
gathering mirk the Nazgûl came with their cold voices crying
words of death; and then all hope was quenched.
Pippin had bowed crushed with horror when he heard
Gandalf reject the terms and doom Frodo to the torment of
the Tower; but he had mastered himself, and now he stood
beside Beregond in the front rank of Gondor with Imrahil’s
men. For it seemed best to him to die soon and leave the
bitter story of his life, since all was in ruin.
‘I wish Merry was here,’ he heard himself saying, and quick
thoughts raced through his mind, even as he watched the
enemy come charging to the assault. ‘Well, well, now at any
rate I understand poor Denethor a little better. We might die
together, Merry and I, and since die we must, why not? Well,
as he is not here, I hope he’ll find an easier end. But now I
must do my best.’
He drew his sword and looked at it, and the intertwining
shapes of red and gold; and the flowing characters of
Númenor glinted like fire upon the blade. ‘This was made
for just such an hour,’ he thought. ‘If only I could smite that
foul Messenger with it, then almost I should draw level with
old Merry. Well, I’ll smite some of this beastly brood before
the end. I wish I could see cool sunlight and green grass
again!’
Then even as he thought these things the first assault
crashed into them. The orcs hindered by the mires that lay
before the hills halted and poured their arrows into the
defending ranks. But through them there came striding up,
roaring like beasts, a great company of hill-trolls out of Gorgoroth.
Taller and broader than Men they were, and they
were clad only in close-fitting mesh of horny scales, or maybe
that was their hideous hide; but they bore round bucklers
huge and black and wielded heavy hammers in their knotted
hands. Reckless they sprang into the pools and waded across,
bellowing as they came. Like a storm they broke upon the
line of the men of Gondor, and beat upon helm and head,
and arm and shield, as smiths hewing the hot bending iron.