The tournament drew huge crowds. Families set out blankets
and picnic baskets, and children played games of “race me”, “tag”,
and “you hide and I seek you” among the massive, ancient
trees. Even the city’s Dwarvish workmen and artisans
declared a holiday, for what Dwarf worthy of the name would miss a
chance to wager on a test of skill?
Some of the townsfolk, and several hobbits, displayed their abilities with a bow, followed by a demonstration by the King’s Men. All those watching agreed that, among them, Beren was the most skilled. Last came Hé-An’s seven companions, each holding one of their unusually-carved and decorated bows. One at a time, each man shot a single arrow at the farthest target. Six landed respectably near the bulls-eye, but that of Hé-Sokar landed dead-center. At once, there was a flurry of last-minute wagering amongst some of the onlookers.
A large board had been propped up alongside the archery range; long strips of cloth would be tacked onto it when either of the two main competitors scored a bulls-eye – green for Beren, and white for Hé-Sokar. When the time for the main event was called, both men calmly walked to the starting line and clasped arms in a token of friendship and fair play. Then they turned, bowed towards the canopy under which sat Hé-An and the King and Queen, and readied their bows and arrows.
The competition between the two men was a rarely-seen display of skill that all who witnessed it would discuss for weeks afterwards. One hour passed, then two, as moving targets were released that gradually decreased in size and increased in number, and stationary targets were set further and further back until only the keenest of eye could discern whose shot was the better.
“Ten more yards!” the Master of the Match called out, and an excited group of boys waited for the “all clear” signal to run out onto the field to retrieve spent arrows, and move the targets even further away from where Beren and Hé-Sokar stood.
There were gasps and applause, and not a few groans, as – in the third hour of competition -- Beren’s arrow thunked! directly into the center of a small plate flung high into the air at a great distance, shattering it. The scorekeeper added one more green strip of cloth to the board, again equalling the number of white strips. Many were beginning to wonder if indeed there might not ever be a clear winner, no matter how long the competition went on, and some of the onlookers began to grow restive.
“This match will last until Durin’s Day,” Gimli grumbled, and the four hobbits, seated on the grass near him, nodded.
“They’re both tiring, I can tell,” Merry said, observing the two men closely, “but neither will yield to the other.”
“Of course not,” Gimli declared. “Such marksmen as these will wish to stand victorious over a worthy competitor.”
“It’s getting late, though,” Sam sighed. “I’d like to get the children gathered up and head back to the guesthouse to help with supper.”
“I have an idea,” Pippin said suddenly. He scrambled to his feet, and went over to speak with the King. The young hobbit spoke earnestly, pointing towards the competitors. After a time, Arwen rose to her feet, and Pippin sauntered back to his friends.
“This should work,” he said proudly, watching the Queen approach the two men.
There was a murmur and a rustle among the folks closest to Beren and Hé-Sokar, and when they turned to see Queen Arwen approaching them, they both bowed deeply.
“Gentlemen,” Arwen said in a clear, musical voice, “everyone has been greatly impressed this day by your skills with the bow. You are both a credit to your teachers.”
“Thank you, Lady,” Hé-Sokar said, enraptured by the beauty of the King’s wife.
“You are kind to say so, Majesty,” Beren murmured.
“I see that you are once again even in your scores,” Arwen continued, glancing up at the board. “Firing so many shots, over so long a period, must be somewhat wearisome. Would you welcome a more unusual target to hit, which might result in a winning shot?”
“Indeed we would!” Beren said, and Hé-Sokar nodded agreement. “What do you suggest?”
“Myself,” Arwen said, delighted to see both men’s eyes widen in dismay. “I will walk out to where the farthest target now stands, holding out a fruit. The winner will be he who shoots it from my hand.”
Both men blanched, and Hé-Sokar was so startled he dropped his bow.
“I cannot fire an arrow towards any of the star-eyed ones!” he cried out, horrified at the thought.
“And I cannot shoot towards my queen!” Beren declared. Arwen glanced at him, her eyes sparkling, and he suddenly realized what she had in mind. Schooling his features into solemnity, he turned to address Hé-Sokar.
“My esteemed friend, would you agree to end this?” Beren raised his voice so that the hushed crowd could hear him. “Our abilities are equal, to which all here can attest. I formally acknowledge the skill of the archer of the north. Chieftain Hé-An is honored to count you among his people.”
Hé-Sokar slowly smiled, then pressed a hand to his chest. “And I will formally acknowledge the skill of the archer of the south,” he said equally loudly. “King Elessar Telcontar and Queen Arwen Undómiel are equally honored.”
Arwen turned towards the waiting crowd, and extended her arms to the two men.
“A tie!” she cried out. As the spectators cheered long and loud, the two men again clasped arms. Hé-An and Elessar came forward then, the Chieftain bearing a gift for Beren, and the King bearing a gift for Hé-Sokar.
“That was splendid,” Frodo said happily. “Pip, I do believe you have attained a measure of wisdom over the years.”
“Thank you, cousin,” Pippin said smugly. “Just a bit of ‘plain hobbit sense’, as our dear Sam might say.”
~*~
The following day, all of Annúminas was abuzz with the news that, at sunset, the King wished to share a very special event with his people. Hence, when the Sun began to sink towards the Blue Mountains in the west, the entire populace left their homes and farms, and gathered on the eastern shore of the lake.
An excited murmur swept through the waiting crowd when Frodo, Sam, Queen Arwen, and Cîrbarad walked together to stand before the people, their backs to the southern hills. Frodo stepped forward, and everyone quieted to hear what the Ring-bearer had to say.
“Twelve years ago today,” Frodo began in a strong voice, “to the great good fortune of Middle-earth, Aragorn son of Arathorn was crowned King Elessar Telcontar.” He waited until the exuberant cries of joy and acclaim died down. “I and my companions visiting with you – Peregrin son of Paladin, Meriadoc son of Saradoc, Samwise son of Hamfast, and Gimli son of Gloín – were fortunate enough to witness this happy event. A thousand years have passed since the last king of Men reigned in Middle-earth -- so long ago, that we hobbits used to say ‘When the King comes back’ when we referred to something so unlikely as to never come to pass.” There was some laughter, and the hobbit merchants in the crowd smiled and nodded.
Sam stepped forward to stand next to Frodo, and his children waved and cheered.
“To our joy,” Sam said, “the King has indeed come back, and he now ascends alone the hill behind us to reach the hallow at the top -- first and only visited before him by Elendil himself. It was a tradition among kings of old to stand in a high place, and give thanks to the Powers for all their blessings. The King Returned now performs once again this ancient duty.”
Arwen then came to stand behind Frodo and Sam, and laid a hand on each hobbit’s shoulder.
“My husband and lord asks that you join him, in thought, heart, and spirit, as he offers the love of his people to Those who sang all of Arda into being.” As she spoke, the sky darkened, and the first stars of evening could be seen. The crowd was so attentive and quiet that they could hear the faint splashing of fish in the lake. Arwen stood with eyes closed, her head bent in concentration. At last, sensing that the time was right, she opened her eyes and nodded to Cîrbarad.
The Steward of Annúminas turned to face the south, and raised his rod of office. Everyone looked up to where the King must now be standing, high above them.
“My people,” Cîrbarad called in a glad voice, “Annúminas is rebuilt! Arnor lives again! Behold the King!”
At that moment, a brilliant light burst forth from the top of the highest hill. The incandescent beams of white and silver grew brighter, and brighter still, until some shielded their eyes from the dazzling light. Cîrbarad sank to his knees, and many in the crowd found themselves weeping.
“Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!” Frodo cried out, and Sam took his hand and held it tightly.
Awestruck, Merry and Pippin came to stand with them.
“Frodo, is that your star-glass?” Merry whispered.
“Yes,” Frodo said, his face lit with wonder. “Aragorn asked me to bring it.”
After a few minutes, Sam left them to sit among his children.
“Remember this night,“ he whispered to them all. “We’ll likely not see anything like this again in our lifetimes.”
Elanor laid her golden head against Sam’s chest. “Oh Dad, it’s so beautiful.”
“There’s a king again, Ellie-mine, and we’re at peace,” Sam murmured in joy. “Your part of the Tale is just beginning.”
There was a soft murmur amongst the people as each person sensed a ripple of energy flowing down from the hallow. It entered their hearts, and gently lingered there. And so they knew that the King’s blessing on their behalf had been humbly and reverently given, and acknowledged by Those to whom it was offered.
Slowly, very slowly, the light faded to a gentle radiance, and then the night was dark all about them, the stars glittering overhead. Cîrbarad softly called the King’s knights to him, and Pippin proudly joined them. They lit torches, and went together to light the path down which the King would descend.
From that day forward, at the end of April each year the ever-growing population of the northern lands would gather in Annúminas for several days of festival, with tournaments and horse races, and an enormous trade fair. At sunset on May 1st, everyone would gather by the lake for singing and dancing, and share a feast to celebrate the return of the King. Most anticipated of all, especially by the children, was the huge bonfire lit in memory of the radiance once seen upon the forbidden hallow. Few knew that the light had emanated from the Ring-bearer's phial, reflecting the Silmaril shining overhead on the brow of Eärendil and enshrining forever the ancient glory of the Trees; but the King's blessing upon his city was never forgotten, and those who had been present passed along the story to their children, and their children's children.
~*~
With the blessing complete, the day came at last for the hobbits to return home. Sam, Merry, and Pippin were anxious to return to their wives, with Sam hoping fervently that all was well with Rosie and their youngest children. Gimli, as before, would be traveling with them, stopping in Bag End before continuing south to Rohan.
When the carts were packed and the ponies readied on the lawn of the guesthouse, the Snowmen came to see them off. With a fond smile, Hé-An stepped forward.
“I have something for you, my friends, as a parting gift.” He knelt before Gimli and the four hobbits, and reverently drew forth from a pouch five small pieces of his precious amber.
“But you said these stones could only be owned by your leaders,” Frodo said uncertainly.
“Not precisely,” Hé-An said. “Amber is only permitted to be worn by the leader of a Ruling Clan. Pippin...” He turned to the youngest hobbit, placing one of the golden stones in his hand. “You hold the Shire in your keeping, and all those who dwell within it. You may wear this, and pass it on to your son.”
“Thank you,” Pippin said, quite overcome.
“Gimli son of Gloín,” Hé-An continued, giving one of the stones to the Dwarf, “I have been told of the wondrous new land far to the south, carved from the living rock, over which you are lord. You may wear this, if it pleases you.”
“I am honoured,” Gimli said, bowing low. He solemnly unwrapped several strands of finely spun gold from his beard, and pressed them into Hé-An’s hand. “As you know, my kin dwell in the mountains north of here, near to your lands. They send you this message: You will be made welcome there should your footsteps bring you to their door.”
“That pleases me greatly,” Hé-An said sincerely. “Such trades and goodwill as have been forged during these weeks have gone a long way towards bringing our peoples together in fellowship.”
He then turned to Frodo, Sam, and Merry.
“In honor of your valiant deeds against the Dark Lord and the Witch-King, we gift you with our thanks.” Hé-An placed amber in the hands of the three hobbits. “But Samwise, you, also, may wear your stone.” He grinned broadly. “As I understand it, your good wife is expecting your eleventh child, and you hope for even more? Such a clan as that will be a mighty one indeed over which to rule!” He burst out laughing, and the hobbits joined him in his mirth. Hé-An was startled – but greatly moved – when all four of the small folk embraced him.
“Remember us,” Hé-Tyana said softly to the hobbits. “We never knew there were folk like you in the world, and you likewise did not know of us. Do not let our peoples once again become only a legend amongst you.”
“And visit us,” Hé-Mir urged. “Bring your families, and your hounds for our blessing.”
“Perhaps we will,” Merry said thoughtfully. “What an adventure that would be!”
“Please, dad?” young Pippin and Rose-lass begged. The younger children were in tears at the thought of being separated from Hukara and Huma, currently sporting garlands of bright flowers in their fur that Elanor and Frodo-lad had woven for them.
“Perhaps someday,” Sam said with a smile, reaching up to pat the nearest dog.
Once they had all wished each other a safe journey back to their homes, the King and Queen emerged from the guesthouse to say their farewells. The Snowmen courteously withdrew, to allow them privacy to speak to their friends.
After the children had said their noisy and tearful goodbyes to the King and Queen, Elanor once again curtseyed deeply. Elessar and Arwen each bent to kiss her, and welcome her once again to their family. As she left to help the other children find seats in the cart, Sam reached up to take the Queen’s hand.
“My Rosie and I are grateful for your kindness, Lady,” Sam said. “What a young lady Elanor has become in just these few weeks! She’ll miss you so. We’ll see you again, as soon as may be.”
The King knelt, and opened his arms wide. Merry and Sam hugged him, followed by Pippin, whose heart beat with such love for his king he felt it might burst.
“Keep an eye on us in your seeing stone,” Pippin said earnestly, “especially on your next birthday. Hobbits really know how to party.”
“So I have heard!” Elessar laughed.
Finally, Frodo came forward, tears streaking his face, and rushed into his arms.
“Namarië, little one,” Elessar whispered in his ear. “I Belain tiria-or le [the Valar watch over you].”
Frodo laughed through his tears to hear these words, first spoken to him by his friend Estel when he was but a tween.
“Namarië, Aragorn,” he whispered back. “No band [be safe]. We’ll come back to see you while you’re here, and we’ll visit Minas Tirith as soon as we can.”
“That will be a day of great rejoicing for my people, but especially for me,” Elessar said. As he held Frodo close to his heart, he felt Vilya blaze with recognition and purpose. Frodo went limp for a second and sighed deeply, and Elessar sensed that his small friend had been gifted with a final, penetrating infusion of healing energy. With the ring warm upon his finger, he caught a brief, clear knowing that Frodo’s life would be long and blessed. And the King bowed his head, his heart full of gladness.
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