THE LAST GREY SHIP
A Tale of Many Partings
Work of Erin Rua, not panisonic81
2. Chapter Two
Dawn waxed cold and clear as it spilled upon the spires of Minas Tirith,
and twin to the newborn day was the month of March. Brilliant gold capped
the frosty crown of Mindolluin, washing them to ruddy rose, and in the low
fields lambs frolicked at play. Yet within the city all hearts turned but
one way, towards a humble westward gate in the wall of the sixth circle.
Seldom ever did that gate open, and sorrowful were the twisting ways
beyond. For there beneath the mountain's stony flank lay Rath Dínen, the
Silent Street, and along it stood the mansions of the great dead of Gondor.
Kings and nobles, lords and princes slept here, and at last also rested
the two gallant hobbits, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrine Took. Here
would pass Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the last of the great Kings of the
Elder Days, and thence he should not return a living man.
In the house given them for lodgings, Legolas swept his grey cloak about
his shoulders and laid a hand to the door. Gimli, however, stood with his
feet planted square on the floor, and did not move.
"Let the dead keep the dead," he announced. "My heart holds remembrance of
a living man, and I would keep it so."
"But he is not yet gone from us," Legolas said. "There is still a little
while."
"And what more is there for us? Will you say farewell until there is no
breath left to speak it?" Gimli spoke as if in anger, but other emotions
often mask themselves so, and his tone then gentled. "There are those who
love him more than even us, and to them this day belongs. Here I shall
wait, until the bells tell me he has gone."
Distress marked itself clearly on the Elf's smooth brow, but he saw the
grievous truth in Gimli's words. Slowly he sank down upon an open window
ledge, and turned his face towards the quiet city beyond. There they
waited, in a silent room where a breeze brushed the window coverings aside
and brought a moist promise of rain. Anon the Sun hid her face behind a
soft floss of cloud, and the mighty ribbon of the Anduin was slowly hidden
behind the drawing of a misty veil.
As the morning waned the streets began to whisper with the soft tread of
the people. Not to duty nor market did they come, but hither to the
winding streets upon which their King had passed. They gathered on its
curbs and waited, although to what purpose most could not say. The quiet
assemblage grew and waited more, as the mist crept from the river and
veiled from sight even Mindolluin's lofty, rugged crest. At last Gimli
