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shut out the immensity in a quiet room by a fire。
He was very tired； for though they had ridden slowly； they had ridden with very little rest。 Hour
after hour for nearly three weary days he had jogged up and down； over passes； and through long
dales； and across many streams。 Sometimes where the way was broader he had ridden at the king's
side； not noticing that many of the Riders smiled to see the two together： the hobbit on his little
shaggy grey pony； and the Lord of Rohan on his great white horse。 Then he had talked to Théoden；
telling him about his home and the doings of the Shire…folk； or listening in turn to tales of the Mark
and its mighty men of old。 But most of the time； especially on this last day； Merry had ridden by
himself just behind the king； saying nothing； and trying to understand the slow sonorous speech of
Rohan that he heard the men behind him using。 It was a language in which there seemed to be
many words that he knew； though spoken more richly and strongly than in the Shire； yet he could
not piece the words together。 At times some Rider would lift up his clear voice in stirring song； and
Merry felt his heart leap； though he did not know what it was about。
All the same he had been lonely； and never more so than now at the day's end。 He wondered
where in all this strange world Pippin had got to； and what would bee of Aragorn and Legolas
and Gimli。 Then suddenly like a cold touch on his heart he thought of Frodo and Sam。 'I am
forgetting them！' he said to himself reproachfully。 'And yet they are more important than all the rest
of us。 And I came to help them； but now they must be hundreds of miles away； if they are still
alive。' He shivered。
'Harrowdale at last！' said éomer。 'Our journey is almost at an end。' They halted。 The paths out of
the narrow gorge fell steeply。 Only a glimpse； as through a tall window； could be seen of the great
valley in the gloaming below。 A single small light could be seen twinkling by the river。
'This journey is over； maybe；' said Théoden； 'but I have far yet to go。 Last night the moon was
full； and in the morning I shall ride to Edoras to the gathering of the Mark。'
'But if you would take my counsel；' said éomer in a low voice； 'you would then return hither；
until the war is over； lost or won。'
Théoden smiled。 'Nay； my son； for so I will call you； speak not the soft words of Wormtongue in
my old ears！' He drew himself up and looked back at the long line of his men fading into the dusk
behind。 'Long years in the space of days it seems since I rode west； but never will I lean on a staff
again。 If the war is lost； what good will be my hiding in the hills？ And if it is won； what grief will it
be； even if I fall； spending my last strength？ But we will leave this now。 Tonight I will lie in the
Hold of Dunharrow。 One evening of peace at least is left us。 Let us ride on！'
In the deepening dusk they came down into the valley。 Here the Snowbourn flowed near to the
western walls of the dale； and soon the path led them to a ford where the shallow waters murmured
loudly on the stones。 The ford was guarded。 As the king approached many men sprang up out of the
shadow of the rocks； and when they saw the king they cried with glad voices： 'Théoden King！
Théoden King！ The King of the Mark returns！'
Then one blew a long call on a horn。 It echoed in the valley。 Other horns answered it； and lights
shone out across the river。
And suddenly there rose a great chorus of trumpets from high above； sounding from some
hollow place； as it seemed； that gathered their notes into one voice and sent it rolling and beating on
the walls of stone。
So the King of the Mark came back victorious out of the West to Dunharrow beneath the feet of
the White Mountains。 There he found the remaining strength of his people already assembled； for
as soon as his ing was known captains rode to meet him at the ford； bearing messages from
Gandalf。 Dúnhere； chieftain of the folk of Harrowdale； was at their head。
'At dawn three days ago； lord；' he said。 'Shadowfax came like a wind out of the West to Edoras；
and Gandalf brought tidings of your victory to gladden our hearts。 But he brought also word from
you to hasten the gathering of the Riders。 And then came the winged Shadow。'
'The winged Shadow？' said Théoden。 'We saw it also； but that was in the dead of night before
Gandalf left us。'
'Maybe； lord；' said Dúnhere。 'Yet the same； or another like to it； a flying darkness in the shape of
a monstrous bird； passed over Edoras that morning； and all men were shaken with fear。 For it
stooped upon Meduseld； and as it came low； almost to the gable； there came a cry that stopped our
hearts。 Then it was that Gandalf counselled us not to assemble in the fields； but to meet you here in
the valley under the mountains。 And he bade us to kindle no more lights or fires than barest need
asked。 So it has been done。 Gandalf spoke with great authority。 We trust that it is as you would
wish。 Naught has been seen in Harrowdale of these evil things。'
'It is well；' said Théoden。 'I will ride now to the Hold； and there before I go to rest I will meet the
marshals and captains。 Let them e to me as soon as may be！'
The road now led eastward straight across the valley； which was at that point little more than
half a mile in width。 Flats and meads of rough grass； grey now in the falling night； lay all about； but
in front on the far side of the dale Merry saw a frowning wall； a last outlier of the great roots of the
Starkhorn； cloven by the river in ages past。
On all the level spaces there was great concourse of men。 Some thronged to the roadside； hailing
the king and the riders from the West with glad cries； but stretching away into the distance behind
there were ordered rows of tents and booths； and lines of picketed horses； and great store of arms；
and piled spears bristling like thickets of new…planted trees。 Now all the great assembly was falling
into shadow； and yet； though the night…chill blew cold from the heights no lanterns glowed； no fires
were lit。 Watchmen heavily cloaked paced to and fro。
Merry wondered how many Riders there were。 He could not guess their number in the gathering
gloom； but it looked to him like a great army； many thousands strong。 While he was peering from
side to side the king's party came up under the looming cliff on the eastern side of the valley； and
there suddenly the path began to climb； and Merry looked up in amazement。 He was on a road the
like of which he had never seen before； a great work of men's hands in years beyond the reach of
song。 Upwards it wound； coiling like a snake； boring its way across the sheer slope of rock。 Steep
as a stair； it looped backwards and forwards as it climbed。 Up it horses could walk； and wains could
be slowly hauled； but no enemy could e that way； except out of the air； if it was defended from
above。 At each turn of the road there were great standing stones that had been carved in the likeness
of men； huge and clumsy…limbed； squatting cross…legged with their stumpy arms folded on fat
bellies。 Some in the wearing of the years had lost all features save the dark holes of their eyes that
still stared sadly at the passers…by。 The Riders hardly glanced at them。 The Púkel…men they called
them； and heeded them little： no power or terror was left in them； but Merry gazed at them with
wonder and a feeling almost of pity； as they loomed up mournfully in the dusk。
After a while he looked back and found that he had already climbed some hundreds of feet
above the valley； but still far below he could dimly see a winding line of Riders crossing the ford
and filing along the road towards the camp prepared for them。 Only the king and his guard were
going up into the Hold。
At last the king's pany came to a sharp brink； and the climbing road passed into a cutting
between walls of rock； and so went up a short slope and out on to a wide upland。 The Firienfeld
men called it； a green mountain…field of grass and heath； high above the deep…delved courses of the
Snowbourn； laid upon the lap of the great mountains behind： the Starkhorn southwards； and
northwards the saw…toothed mass of Irensaga； between which there faced the riders； the grim black
wall of the Dwimorberg； the Haunted Mountain rising out of steep slopes of sombre pines。
Dividing the upland into two there marched a double line of unshaped standing stones that
dwindled into the dusk and vanished in the trees。 Those who dared to follow that road came soon to
the black Dimholt under Dwimorberg； and the menace of the pillar of stone； and the yawning
shadow of the forbidden door。
Such was the dark Dunharrow； the work of long…forgotten men。 Their name was lost and no
song or legend remembered it。 For what purpose they had made this place； as a town or secret
temple or a tomb of kings； none could say。 Here they laboured in the Dark Years； before ever a ship
came to the western shores； or Gondor of the Dúnedain was built； and now they had vanished； and
only the old Púkel…men were le