"Oh," stammered Pippin, "he was a man who went about with us. I think he is in Rohan now."
"You have been in Rohan, I hear. There is much that I would ask you of that land also; for we put much of what little hope we have in its people. But I am forgetting my errand, which was first to answer what you would ask. What would you know, Master Peregrin?"
"Er wel," said Pippin, "if I may venture to say so, rather a burning question in my mind at present is, wel, what about breakfast and all that? I mean, what are the meal-times, if you understand me, and where is the dining-room, if there is one? And the inns? I looked, but never a one could I see as we rode up, though I had been borne up by the hope of a draught of ale as soon as we came to the homes of wise and courtly men." Beregond looked at him gravely. "An old campaigner, I see," he said. "They say that men who go warring afield look ever to the next hope of food and of drink; though I am not a traveled man myself. Then you have not yet eaten today?"
"Wel, yes, to speak in courtesy, yes," said Pippin. "But no more than a cup of wine and a white cake or two by the kindness of your lord; but he racked me for it with an hour of questions, and that is hungry work."
Beregond laughed. "At the table small men may do the greater deeds, we say. But you have broken your fast as well as any man in the Citadel, and with greater honour. This is a fortress and a tower of guard and is now in posture of war. We rise ere the Sun, and take a morsel in the grey light, and go to our duties at the opening hour. But do not despair!" He laughed again, seeing the dismay in Pippin's face. "Those who have had heavy duty take somewhat to refresh their strength in the mid-morning. Then there is the nuncheon, at noon or after as duties alow; and men gather for the daymeal, and such mirth as there still may be, about the hour of sunset.
"Come! We will walk a little and then go find us some refreshment, and eat and drink on the battlement, and survey the fair morning."
"One moment!" said Pippin blushing. "Greed, or hunger by your courtesy, put it out of my mind. But Gandalf, Mithrandir as you call him, asked me to see to his horse - Shadowfax, a great steed of Rohan, and the apple of the king's eye, I am told, though he has given him to Mithrandir for his services. I think his new master loves the beast better than he loves many men, and if his good will is of any value to this city, you will treat Shadowfax with all honour: with greater kindness than you have treated this hobbit, if it is possible."
"Hobbit?" said Beregond.
"That is what we call ourselves," said Pippin.
"I am glad to learn it," said Beregond, "for now I may say that strange accents do not mar fair speech, and hobbits are a fair-spoken folk. But come! You shal make me acquainted with this good horse. I love beasts, and we see them seldom in this stony city; for my people came from the mountain-vales, and before that from Ithilien. But fear not! The visit shal be short, a mere call of courtesy, and we will go thence to the butteries." Pippin found that Shadowfax had been well housed and tended. For in the sixth circle, outside the wals of the citadel, there were some fair stables where a few swift horses were kept, hard by the lodgings of the errand-riders of the Lord: messengers always ready to go at the urgent command of Denethor or his chief captains. But now all the horses and the riders were out and away.
Shadowfax whinnied as Pippin entered the stable and turned his head. "Good morning!" said Pippin. "Gandalf will come as soon as he may. He is busy, but he sends greetings, and I am to see that all is well with you; and you resting, I hope, after your long labours." Shadowfax tossed his head and stamped. But he alowed Beregond to handle his head gently and stroke his great flanks.
"He looks as if he were spoiling for a race, and not newly come from a great journey," said Beregond. "How strong and proud he is! Where is his harness? It should be rich and fair."
"None is rich and fair enough for him," said Pippin. "He will have none. If he will consent to bear you, bear you he does; and if not, wel, no bit, bridle, whip, or thong will tame him.
Farewel, Shadowfax! Have patience. Battle is coming."
Shadowfax lifted up his head and neighed, so that the stable shook, and they covered their ears. Then they took their leave, seeing that the manger was well filed.
"And now for our manger," said Beregond, and he led Pippin back to the citadel, and so to a door in the north side of the great tower. There they went down a long cool stair into a wide aley lit with lamps. There were hatches in the wals at the side, and one of these was open.
"This is the storehouse and buttery of my company of the Guard." said Beregond.
"Greetings, Targon!" he caled through the hatch. "It is early yet, but here is a newcomer that the Lord has taken into his service. He has ridden long and far with a tight belt, and has had sore labour this morning, and he is hungry. Give us what you have!" They got there bread, and butter, and cheese and apples: the last of the winter store, wrinkled but sound and sweet; and a leather flagon of new-drawn ale, and wooden platters and cups. They put all into a wicker basket and climbed back into the sun; and Beregond brought Pippin to a place at the east end of the great out-thrust battlement where there was an embrasure in the wals with a stone seat beneath the sil. From there they could look out on the morning over the world.
They ate and drank; and they talked now of Gondor and its ways and customs, now of the Shire and the strange countries that Pippin had seen. And ever as they talked Beregond was more amazed, and looked with greater wonder at the hobbit, swinging his short legs as he sat on the seat, or standing tiptoe upon it to peer over the sill at the lands below.
"I will not hide from you, Master Peregrin," said Beregond, "that to us you look almost as one of our children, a lad of nine summers or so; and yet you have endured perils and seen marvels that few of our greybeards could boast of. I thought it was the whim of our Lord to take him a noble page, after the manner of the kings of old, they say. But I see that it is not so, and you must pardon my foolishness."
"I do," said Pippin. "Though you are not far wrong. I am still little more than a boy in the reckoning of my own people, and it will be four years yet before I "come of age", as we say in the Shire: But do not bother about me. Come and look and tell me what I can see." The sun was now climbing, and the mists in the vale below had been drawn up. The last of them were floating away, just overhead, as wisps of white cloud borne on the stiffening breeze from the East, that was now flapping and tugging the flags and white standards of the citadel.
Away down in the valey-bottom, five leagues or so as the eye leaps, the Great River could now be seen grey and glittering, coming out of the north-west, and bending in a mighty sweep south and west again, till it was lost to view in a haze and shimmer, far beyond which lay the Sea fifty leagues away.
Pippin could see all the Pelennor laid out before him, dotted into the distance with farmsteads and little wals, barns and byres, but nowhere could he see any kine or other beasts. Many roads and tracks crossed the green fields, and there was much coming and going: wains moving in lines towards the Great Gate, and others passing out. Now and again a horseman would ride up, and leap from the saddle and hasten into the City. But most of the traffic went out along the chief highway, and that turned south, and then bending swifter than the River skirted the hils and passed soon from sight. It was wide and wel-paved, and along its eastern edge ran a broad green riding-track, and beyond that a wal. On the ride horsemen galoped to and fro, but all the street seemed to be choked with great covered wains going south. But soon Pippin saw that all was in fact wel-ordered: the wains were moving in three lines, one swifter drawn by horses; another slower, great waggons with fair housings of many colours, drawn by oxen; and along the west rim of the road many smaler carts hauled by trudging men.
"That is the road to the vales of Tumladen and Lossarnach, and the mountain-vilages, and then on to Lebennin," said Beregond. "There go the last of the wains that bear away to refuge the aged the children, and the women that must go with them. They must all be gone from the Gate and the road clear for a league before noon: that was the order. It is a sad necessity." He sighed. "Few, maybe, of those now sundered will meet again. And there were always too few children in this city; but now there are none-save some young lads that will not depart, and may find some task to do: my own son is one of them."
They fell silent for a while. Pippin gazed anxiously eastward, as if at any moment he might see thousands of orcs pouring over the fields. "What can I see there?" he asked, pointing down to the middle of the great curve of the Anduin. "Is that another city, or what is it?"
"It was a city," said Beregond, "the chief city of Gondor, of which this was only a fortress.
For that is the ruin of Osgiliath on either side of Anduin, which our enemies took and burned long ago. Yet we won it back in the days of the youth of Denethor: not to dwel in, but to hold as an outpost, and to rebuild the bridge for the passage of our arms. And then came the Fell Riders out of Minas Morgul."
"The Black Riders?" said Pippin, opening his eyes, and they were wide and dark with an old fear re-awakened.
"Yes, they were black," said Beregond, "and I see that you know something of them, though you have not spoken of them in any of your tales."
"I know of them," said Pippin softly, "but I will not speak of them now, so near, so near." He broke off and lifted his eyes above the River, and it seemed to him that all he could see was a vast and threatening shadow. Perhaps it was mountains looming on the verge of sight, their jagged edges softened by welnigh twenty leagues of misty air; perhaps it was but a cloud-wal, and beyond that again a yet deeper gloom. But even as he looked it seemed to his eyes that the gloom was growing and gathering, very slowly, slowly rising to smother the regions of the sun.