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LOTR: TMCP Ch. 388
🕑 Added 2025-12-16 23:43:23 +0000 UTC"The Paths of the Dead. This valley on the highlands is far from peaceful. Countless have tried to pass through, yet none ever returned. Among them was even a prince of Rohan."
On the eve before Rohan's army marched to war, Aragorn stood gazing toward the direction of the Dark Door, recalling the grim history of that place.
Behind him, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, and Halbarad were making their final preparations, ready to follow Aragorn into that perilous land.
"Lord Aragorn!"
A clear and gentle voice called out from behind.
"Éowyn."
Aragorn turned, not knowing what had brought the princess here at this hour.
"You mustn't go, my lord," Éowyn said, her eyes full of feeling. "That place is too dangerous. You may never return. Please stay, for the sake of those who believe in you... and those who love you."
Aragorn shook his head. "That is precisely why I must go."
"Go back, Éowyn. This is not where you should be. Rohan still needs you."
With that, Aragorn turned away and continued giving instructions to his companions.
Éowyn hesitated, seemingly swayed by his words.
Yet, just as Aragorn and the others were about to depart, she returned once more.
This time, she wore armor and bore a sword at her waist. Dropping to one knee before him, she said, "If you truly mean to go to that accursed place, then please, take me with you."
Aragorn looked at the proud and resolute princess, struck silent for a moment.
He gently helped her to her feet, looked into her tearful eyes, and after a pause, said softly, "What you love is but a shadow, a dream, and what you seek, I cannot give."
"May peace and joy be with you, Éowyn."
Having clearly refused her affection, Aragorn turned away without hesitation.
Éowyn stood motionless, and at last understood.
To him, she had only ever been someone to care for, like a father or elder might care for a younger soul. Nothing more. And the love she had longed for belonged elsewhere.
"Wasn't that a bit cruel?"
In the shadowed valley that led to the Paths of the Dead, Gimli, having witnessed it all, shook his head. To him, humans were a complicated lot.
But Aragorn disagreed.
"To leave behind a hope that is empty and impossible, that is what's truly cruel. Now, we must focus on what lies ahead."
As he spoke, the company rode swiftly along the narrow trail.
Not long, they reached a desolate, eerie gorge devoid of life.
Before them loomed a great stone gate, black and lightless, swallowing all sight within.
"My blood feels like it's turning to ice," Gimli muttered, glancing around nervously, his whole body tense.
They soon stood before the dark stone doors.
Before that place, littered with bones and shrouded in an aura of malevolence, Aragorn took a deep breath and stepped forward first.
Legolas followed close behind. Elves viewed the world differently from Dwarves or Men. They did not fear the spirits of the dead.
Seeing Legolas stride ahead without the slightest hesitation, Gimli grumbled, "If an Elf goes in without fear, how could a Dwarf not? They'd never let me live it down!"
"Fine then!"
And so Gimli hurried after them.
Behind them, Boromir and Halbarad exchanged a glance, smiled, and went in without a second thought.
"I see many shapes..."
Halfway through, Legolas murmured quietly.
"Men on foot... and horses too. They linger still."
"Where?" Gimli whispered, glancing wildly around, cold sweat forming on his brow.
The Elf must be trying to spook me on purpose.
"Hey!"
A hand suddenly clapped down on his shoulder.
"Ahhh!"
Gimli yelled, swinging up his axe.
Only to find the "attacker" was no threat at all.
"Boromir! Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to grab a Dwarf from behind without warning?"
"Ah, my apologies," Boromir replied with a half-smile. "I only meant to tell you, watch your step."
Gimli looked down.
"Ah!"
He jumped back again.
There, sprawled across the ground, was a skeleton, its face twisted in a grotesque death grimace.
Aragorn knelt to examine it.
"He wore the armor of Rohan. This armor... and that sword, they're no ordinary make."
At that, Gimli leaned in for a closer look as well.
"Indeed, not ordinary. The blade's edge is curled. I must've struck something extremely hard."
Aragorn said quietly, "I've heard the tale. They say Baldor, son of Brego, the second King of Rohan, once set foot upon the Paths of the Dead... and never returned. He was an unfortunate man."
"So this skeleton..."
"Yes."
Aragorn stopped Gimli from approaching any further. "Do not disturb the dead."
Then he knelt on one knee before Baldor's remains to show his respect.
After a moment, he rose and gestured for the others to continue.
Before long, they came upon a massive block of black stone, the very one upon which the Oath and Curse of the Men of the Mountains had been laid.
Whoosh.
A pale green specter appeared, making everyone start in alarm.
His face was ghastly and grim, and upon his head sat a crown. He was the King of the Mountains, last ruler of the cursed people.
"The Paths of the Dead allow no living man to pass," the ghostly king intoned.
"But you will allow me," Aragorn replied, stepping forward.
"Hahahahahaha..."
The King of the Dead burst into terrible laughter, and as the echo spread, an entire army of specters manifested around them, sealing both their way ahead and their retreat behind.
"This road was built by the dead and guarded by the dead," the King said. He drew his spectral blade. "To pass here, you must die."
But how could the dead strike the living?
Whoosh.
Sensing the king's killing intent, Legolas loosed an arrow instantly.
But it passed harmlessly through. As with the Nazgûl, ordinary weapons could not touch them.
The King of the Dead swung his phantom sword, only for Aragorn to block it.
"Impossible! That bloodline was broken long ago..."
"Broken or not, that's not for you to decide."
Unable to bear it any longer, Boromir stepped forward, drawing his iron sword and intercepting the ghostly blow.
"What?"
For the first time, the King of the Dead faltered.
Even Aragorn was slightly surprised, until he saw the sword in Boromir's hand, and then he understood.
Ah, that explains it.
Boromir pressed the edge of his sword against the King's throat, driving him back step by step until the spirit could retreat no farther. Then Boromir roared, "This is the one to whom you owe your allegiance, spirit!"
The power in his voice made even the spectral host waver. They hesitated, uncertain whether to strike or to free their king.
"Has he always been that brave?" whispered Gimli, who had feared ghosts the most but now found himself stirred.
"As you can see," Legolas replied lightly.
At that moment, Halbarad stepped forward as well.
He unfurled the royal banner that Aragorn had entrusted to him and declared in a ringing voice behind his lord, "Behold, the Heir of Isildur! You shall heed his command and fulfill your oath!"
Aragorn looked left, then right, opened his mouth, and said nothing.
After all, they'd already said everything worth saying. Nothing left for him to add.
So he simply raised the reforged sword, Andúril, and proclaimed, "Fight for us. Reclaim your honor. And when victory is won, I will deem your oath fulfilled, your curse lifted, your torment ended. I swear it."
"What say you?"
That day, the Paths of the Dead trembled with sound. Tens of thousands of ghosts broke into mad, echoing laughter.
When the eerie laughter faded, they vanished, slipping into a realm unseen by mortal eyes, yet circling around Aragorn, following his lead.
The King of the Dead gave his answer.
"We shall fight."
---
Dust and wind burst from the mouth of the Paths of the Dead, rising like a pillar toward the mountain sky.
The sight was so vast that even from the Bay of Belfalas, it could be glimpsed faintly in the distance.
"Looks like their business there is done," Garrett said with a smile aboard the lead flagship. "We'll be seeing them soon."
"Who?" Pippin asked curiously beside him.
"Aragorn. They went to summon the Army of the Dead. Their goal now should be the same as ours. Are you afraid of ghosts, Pippin?"
"Ghosts?"
"Yes, the kind that press their rotten, ghastly faces against your window while you sleep, staring with empty eyes until you freeze in terror, unable even to dream. And when you open your eyes, they vanish. But when you finally drift back to sleep, still filled with unease..."
"They... show up at the window again?" Pippin guessed nervously.
"No."
Garrett shook his head, voice dropping to a dark whisper.
"This time... they float into your house, hide beneath your bed, and then..."
"And then...?"
"Then they grab the foot you left outside the blanket!"
"Ahhh!"
Pippin let out a terrified yelp.
From that night on, the world gained one more Hobbit who never again slept with his feet uncovered.
