Chapter 388: Do You Get Seasick?
Whether they would return safely from this journey was still unknown.
From Levi, Théoden learned exactly what they were facing.
Nearly twenty thousand Haradrim with their great mûmakil. More than ten thousand Easterlings. Over seven thousand Far Harad warriors. And tens of thousands of Orcs and Uruk-hai. Altogether, it might reach a hundred thousand.
And the hosts were led by several Nazgûl.
Worse still, that was not even the whole of it. Far away, a massive black fleet of corsairs was sailing toward the war.
And how many did they have?
Rohan, hastily gathered, could scrape together ten thousand Riders. Add the garrison of Minas Tirith, and whatever reinforcements could reach the White City from the fiefs of Gondor.
Would it even reach thirty thousand?
No one knew.
All they could do now was gather as many as possible, as quickly as possible.
"Twelve thousand."
Théoden stood on high ground, counting.
After days of preparation, in Edoras, twelve thousand Riders had come in from every direction.
Some were seasoned veterans, hard-eyed and steady. Others were grown men called up by duty, and youths who still carried a trace of boyishness in their faces. Not all wore fine armor. Some rode light, with little more than a spear and a shield.
But every one of them had a horse.
For now, these troops were mostly drawn from garrisons in western Rohan and the lands around the capital.
"It could be more," Théoden said. "From the East-mark, from the northern uplands. We could call more men in..."
"But I fear we don't have that time," Aragorn said beside him, shaking his head.
"By the time more Riders gather, Minas Tirith may already be in flames. Then it will be too late."
"And the East-mark also needs defending."
"Then we ride," Théoden said.
"Today."
He gave the order.
"Gondor will not stand alone."
No. It would not.
After leaving Rohan, Gondor's messenger rode hard westward still, aiming for the Water City far beyond.
But before he even reached it, he met the Water City fleet already moving downriver toward the sea.
"Friend of Gondor," a soldier called to him from the bank, "what brings you here?"
Not long after, Levi received what the messenger carried, Denethor's letter pleading for aid.
"There's no need to worry," Levi said aboard ship, his answer firm. "I'm going to Gondor."
He paused, then added, "We'll just take a slight detour first."
One ship after another slid along the river toward open water. At a temporary harbor built in Enedwaith, Levi transferred to the flagship of the Expedition-class, bringing Pippin with him.
And one more thing as well, retrieved from Roadside Keep through the Water City's hell passage.
The Orthanc stone.
Inside the flagship, in a wide, bright room, Levi and Pippin stood side by side, staring at the stone on the table, hidden beneath a black cloth.
"Are you ready?" Levi asked quietly. "You can still back out. No one will blame you. Just standing here already proves your courage. What comes next is something only a handful in all of Middle-earth could endure."
"I'm ready," Pippin said, voice steady. "For Frodo. For my friends. For the Shire and the Free City-States. I won't shrink back."
He was making the vow again, and this time it carried weight like iron.
"Good."
Levi nodded, then reminded him once more. "Remember what I told you. Don't answer his questions. Don't reveal anything about Frodo and Sam. All you need to do is prove that you are the hobbit taken by the army commanded by that Ringwraith at Isengard. Say nothing else."
"I remember."
"Good. Then we begin."
Levi pulled the black cloth away and set his hand on the stone, fingertips brushing its surface.
In the next instant, his will was drawn in. The link snapped into place.
Levi entered the contest of minds, and the evil flame within the stone guttered, even seeming to be pressed down.
Boom!
High in Barad-dûr, the fire-wreathed Eye turned at once and fixed on them, meeting Levi's will head-on.
It saw Levi.
And it saw Pippin at his side.
Under that stare, searing in mind and in body alike, Pippin could not help holding his breath. Sweat beaded on his brow and ran down in cold drops.
"Long time no see, failure," Levi said, his voice calm. "Are you still using those little tricks of yours, trying to force false visions on people?"
Levi had not forgotten. For decades, whenever Denethor used the stone, Sauron tried to interfere from the other side. He could not break Denethor's will, hard as iron, so he showed him again and again visions of Gondor's ruin, hoping to shake his mind.
It had to be said; it worked a little.
Only a little.
Because where those visions met Denethor, there was also a reliable ally on the other side.
Denethor might have been anxious for years, might have lived beneath crushing pressure, but he had never truly despaired.
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha... That is no illusion..."
Cruel, evil laughter poured from the stone. Pippin clutched his chest, as if a knife had been driven into him.
"Wait. A hobbit?"
Sauron's will slid past Levi and settled on Pippin.
"Tell me," it hissed, "is the precious thing with you?"
Pippin's eyes widened. Cold sweat poured from him. His mouth fell open, and an overwhelming urge rose up, the urge to spill everything inside him, every secret, every thought.
Tap.
A hand came down on his shoulder. The warmth of it steadied him at once.
"You tell me," Levi said lightly.
His will pressed forward, taking the brunt of the crushing pressure off Pippin.
He raised an eyebrow at the flaming Eye within the stone, the corner of his mouth turning in a faint, knowing smile.
Then he severed the connection.
From that moment on, Sauron knew no peace. His gaze swung northward, and even Gondor before him began to draw less of his attention.
Whoom.
Back in the room, Pippin stumbled backward, nearly falling.
Levi caught him from behind. "We achieved our goal. Well done, Pippin."
"That's it?" Pippin gasped, one hand pressed to his chest as he sucked in air. Even now, he hadn't fully come back to himself.
A shadow had settled over his heart. Even his sight felt dimmer, as if countless fiery eyes were watching him at every moment, making him restless, unable to sit still.
Even though the Eye was no longer looking here.
As fear threatened to swallow him, a bottle of milk was pressed against his cheek.
"Drink this and rest for a bit," Levi said. "We're setting out soon."
Hmmm...
As Levi spoke, a clear, vigorous horn-call rang out.
Pippin swayed, suddenly feeling the ground shift beneath him.
No. Not the ground.
The ship was moving.
He looked up at Levi. "Where are we going?"
"Pelargir," Levi said. "A battlefield crawling with vicious enemies."
He tilted his head slightly. "What, scared?"
Pippin swallowed hard, tightening his grip around his short sword. His voice was firm.
"No."
"I'm ready to fight."
"Good," Levi said.
He studied the hobbit in front of him, no longer mischievous as before, his face often set in a seriousness that hadn't been there. Then Levi added, almost casually:
"But there's one more thing. Sailing on the open sea isn't like sitting in a little boat on the Brandywine."
"I just hope you don't get seasick."