A sweet fountain played there in the morning sun, and a sward of bright green lay about it; but in the midst, drooping over the pool, stood a dead tree, and the falling drops dripped sadly from its barren and broken branches back into the clear water.
For the imagery tag... amazing that we can go from the banner a thousand feet above the plain and towers of pearl and silver to this. The view from outside vs the view from inside or something. And I'm reminded of the Púkel men. Stone lasts a long time, even in the likeness of its shapers, but that doesn't mean there is life left within.
Of course there is life and some hope in Minas Tirith but still, as has been said, it dwindles. :(
How many times have we seen stone be the only relic of ages past. In some ways I feel places like the barrow downs haunting Minas Tirith right now, for all her banners still fly
'But I will say this: the rule of no realm is mine, neither of Gondor nor any other, great or small. But all worthy things that are in peril as the world now stands, those are my care. And for my part, I shall not wholly fail of my task, though Gondor should perish, if anything passes through this night that can still grow fair or bear fruit and flower again in days to come. For I also am a steward. Did you not know?'
Me every time I read this:
Yet in the wizard's face he saw at first only lines of care and sorrow; though as he looked more intently he perceived that under all there was a great joy: a fountain of mirth enough to set a kingdom laughing, were it to gush forth.
Presently he noticed a man, clad in black and white, coming along the narrow street from the centre of the citadel towards him.
'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.
They put all into a wicker basket and climbed back into the sun
Beregond teasing Pippin about food and then taking him on a picnic is so cute I love Beregond so much good for him
'The Black Riders?' said Pippin, opening his eyes, and they were wide and dark with an old fear re-awakened.
'I know of them,' said Pippin softly, 'but I will not speak of them now, so near, so near.'
Not all terrors fade easily from even hobbits' minds :(
'Our reach is shortened, and we cannot strike till some foe comes within it. Then our hand must be heavy!' He smote the hilt of his sword.
Pippin looked at him: tall and proud and noble, as all the men that he had yet seen in that land; and with a glitter in his eye as he thought of the battle. 'Alas! my own hand feels as light as a feather,' he thought, but he said nothing.
I'm strongly reminded of his attitude towards his own ability to be valiant (basically: only when I have to be) when Gandalf describes him as such, and of him telling Bergil he is not a fighter, and of Bergil saying he almost wishes there were no war. Took or not Pip is a hobbit for sure <3
Pippin looked up, and it seemed to him that the sky had grown ashen-grey, as if a vast dust and smoke hung above them, and light came dully through it. But in the West the dying sun had set all the fume on fire, and now Mindolluin stood black against a burning smoulder flecked with embers. 'So ends a fair day in wrath!' he said, forgetful of the lad at his side.
Lights sprang in many windows, and from the houses and wards of the men at arms along the walls there came the sound of song.
The deep breath before the plunge. This little bit about the people singing inside as the last dusk falls might be my favourite. If ever there were a liminal space it would be this: hope, or something less like hope and more like endurance, suspended in time like dust in a sunbeam.
