The horn's call rose long and clear over the marsh. As the silver note faded, Aragorn and his companions sat upon the bare rock, waiting in silence for a miracle to answer.
Cold wind slipped over the reeking water, and all around them the warped creatures of the fen circled and swam. Above, the dark sky lay strangely still.
"Do you truly think the eagles will come?" Gimli muttered.
"They will," Gandalf said with quiet certainty. "But it will take them some time to reach us. We must be patient. For the moment, at least, this rock is safety."
Through the long hours of the night they huddled upon the stone. Exhaustion pressed down on them, and one by one they closed their eyes, snatching what rest they could while the foul water whispered below.
...
At dawn's first light, when a pale blade of gold rose along the eastern rim of the world, Gimli blinked drowsily awake.
Rubbing his eyes, he glanced toward the east and froze. Dark shapes, a dozen or more, were winging out of the clouds, growing larger with every breath.
He sprang to his feet, nearly toppling from the narrow rock, and jabbed a finger at the sky. "Look… there, in the east. Eagles!"
The others jerked awake at his shout and lifted their faces to the morning. There, against the paling heavens, they too saw the great birds.
They waved, hope flaring in their chests, for this was their last chance to escape the death that waited in the water.
A piercing cry split the air as the leading eagle called out. It was vast, larger than any horse, its form proud and noble. Its talons gleamed with a metallic sheen in the sun.
The eagle wheeled above the marsh, and its followers circled with it, crying harshly. Below, the water-beasts churned uneasily. Clearly they feared these hunters of the high air. One by one they sank beneath the surface, leaving only widening rings to show where they had been.
Suddenly the eagles stooped.
They swept down in a flurry of wings, and with careful strength their talons seized the five companions, lifting them from the rock in turn. Other eagles glided in to relieve the weight, until each member of the company stood or knelt upon the broad back of a single great bird.
Gimli, clamped in the grip of strong talons for those first heartbeats, squeezed his eyes shut and did not dare open them until he felt solid feather beneath him. All his life he had descended into deep shafts and climbed high mountain paths, yet never had he been so far from the ground.
Wind roared past his ears. He could not help himself. "You feathered giants," he bellowed, clinging desperately to the eagle's neck-feathers, "for the love of the mountains, fly steady!"
Legolas was far calmer.
He sat easily astride the back of his eagle, cloak snapping behind him in the rushing air. The rhythm of the wing-beats reminded him of the winds that whispered through the Woodland Realm, and the nearness of such a great living spirit filled him with a strange joy. Being Elven, he could almost make out the simple thoughts the eagle sent through its movement and cry.
A pulse of meaning came from the leader, touching all their minds. "Ingwion foresaw your peril," the eagle's thoughts said. "He told us that if ever the horn sounded, your lives would hang upon the edge of death."
"Then thanks to the guiding stars," Aragorn answered aloud. "We must cross this land and reach Lond Daer."
The chief eagle dipped its head in acknowledgment and turned westward. The flock banked with it, bearing the company away from the tainted fen.
Gandalf called forward over the wind, "Can you tell us what has become of that place? Why has the marsh fallen under darkness?"
"Shadow seeps upward from beneath the earth," came the reply in their minds. "Dark power has soaked into this land. The light of the Vanyar can shield Laurenandë, but not the whole of Enedhwaith."
Legolas looked down. Far below, the marsh had dwindled to a grey-green stain upon the world. Beyond it, forests stretched away, their trees dyed an unhealthy purple-black.
He tightened his hand upon his quiver of silver arrows and murmured, "When the Sacred Trees are grown, this blight will be healed."
Aragorn leaned against the neck of the leading eagle, his voice low. "Do you know King Kaen Eowenríel?" he asked.
The eagle's great wings checked for the briefest instant. A wave of deep reverence washed back through its thoughts. "We know him," it answered. "He is the hope of Middle-earth, a great one not bound by Fate. He can stand before the One who made all things and be heard."
Gandalf shared a mount with Denethor. The wizard's beard blew back in the wind as he spoke softly, telling the young lord of Gondor where these eagles had come from.
"They are descendants of the messengers of Manwë," he said. "In the days when the Vanyar dwelt in Valinor, they forged an alliance with them. The eyes of these eagles can pierce cloud and storm, and even trace the patterns of hidden magic from afar."
Denethor gazed down at the land racing past beneath them, and his heart was full of many thoughts. When he had left Minas Tirith, he had believed Gondor to be the mightiest realm in Middle-earth, next only to Eowenría . Now, having seen Elven sorcery and the marvel of the eagles, he understood how much greater and wider the world truly was.
The flight lasted about three hours. At last, far away to the west, lights began to shine along the low horizon.
As they drew nearer, the lights resolved into a harbor town built upon the curve of a bay. Many towers stood along the shore, their lanterns cutting pale spears through the gloomy sky.
"Lond Daer," Gandalf said, his voice carrying back along the line of great birds. He pointed toward the tallest white tower rising at the harbor's heart. "Since the Elves of Light have returned, the Falmari have taken this port as their haven. Their kin of the Sindar dwell in the forests beyond. See there, upon the land, how the trees now roll like a green sea to the far edge of sight."
The eagles circled once above the harbor, their shadows sweeping over the walls and quays. Elven sentries below took note, horns sounding from the watchtowers. Slowly the gates of the harbor opened, revealing the white-hulled ships moored within.
The eagles descended toward the central square. Their talons struck stone with heavy thuds that made the paving vibrate.
Gimli stumbled as he climbed down, lunged for a nearby column and clung to it, his face ashen. He retched dryly. "Never again," he groaned. "I will never again ride any cursed bird that flies."
Elves soon crowded around the square. They wore robes of sea-blue, and at their waists shells and bits of polished driftwood hung as ornaments. Their eyes were curious yet wary.
When they saw Gandalf's grey cloak, the murmur of voices rose.
"The Grey Pilgrim."
"And the prince of the Woodland Realm. I know him, he is of our kin in the far East. He greeted us at the Grey Havens, and stood upon the quays when we first came ashore."
"That is Lord Denethor of Gondor."
"And there, the northern Dúnedan, Aragorn."
"They are carrying something of great worth."
Their whispers spread through the crowd, and the tautness of their stance eased.
Then the Elves parted to clear a way.
A figure walked through the opening, clad in a coat of mail that shone like silvered frost. His hair was grey-white, his eyes the deep blue-green of the sea in a sheltered bay, and at his side hung a sword with a pearl set in its hilt as large as a dove's egg.
When he saw Gandalf he inclained his head in courteous greeting. "It has been long, Wizard Gandalf," he said. "I am Prince Eluréd of Doriath, brother to King Elurín . I hold Lond Daer in his name."
"And it is good to see you again, Prince Eluréd ," Gandalf replied, bowing in return.
The others saluted him with respect.
Eluréd 's gaze settled upon the bundle in Denethor's arms, and a glint of reverence stirred in his eyes. "King Ingwion's messengers reached us," he said. "We know something of the perils you have faced. My brother has raised Doriath anew in Minhiriath and has waited long for you there. Come, you shall sail with me at once to him."
He turned and raised his voice to the harbor-guard. "Prepare the fastest ship. Close the gates. No one is to enter or depart until we are gone."
At the word "ship," Gimli's face went pale again. "More boats?" he groaned. "I would sooner walk every mile."
Eluréd smiled. "Our vessels are made from the heartwood of white poplars," he said. "They ride the water as smoothly as glass. You will hardly feel them move at all, my Dwarf-friend."
He spoke truly.
The white-poplar ship that bore them out into the mists of the bay glided so gently that one could almost forget the waves beneath. A faint silver glow lay over its hull, and at the prow a swan, sigil of the Teleri, had been carved so delicately that it seemed a living bird poised to take flight.
Gimli sat in the cabin, peering through the small round window at the fog-wreathed sea. His hand clutched his star-iron axe like a talisman. He had to admit the craft rode far more steadily than any eagle, yet the veiling mist on the water still made him uneasy.
"Have no fear," Eluréd said, handing him a cup of pale wine pressed from fresh fruit. "The mists of this bay are natural. They are no weaving of the Shadow. When the Sindar migrated westward in elder days, these very mists helped them pass unseen beneath Morgoth's gaze."
Gimli took a cautious sip, then blinked in surprise at the light sweetness upon his tongue. "Have you any more of this?" he asked.
"Not for now," Eluréd laughed. "But in Doriath there is plenty." He said no more, and Gimli drank the rest with relish.
The ship slipped from the bay into a broad river-road that wound between ancient woods. They passed untroubled, though they saw many slender Elven boats plying the same waters. Along the banks the trees themselves gave off a soft glow.
Their leaves were a clear, bright green, and the bark shone faintly as if washed in silver. They were unlike any trees that grew elsewhere.
"These are not like the dark forests of my home," Legolas said, staring up with keen interest.
"They are a breed of magical trees that the Sindar have tended," Eluréd answered. "This land was once soaked with the darkness of Morgoth. We labored long before the forest would take root again.
"The protections that lie over this wood are ancient Elven spells, passed down from my great-grandmother Melian. She was a mighty Maia who, in the First Age, wove a girdle of enchantment about Doriath. Even Morgoth himself found it hard to break."
The ship entered a narrower channel where the trees on either side leaned together above the water, forming a living vault.
Sunlight slanted through the small gaps between the leaves, falling in broken patches upon the river. The air was full of the scent of flowers and fresh grass.
When at last they came to the end of the waterway, a wide plain opened out before them.
Across that plain grew a broad oakwood, and among the trees rose white Elven halls. Slender towers with pointed roofs gleamed like spears of silver in the daylight.
Farther off, the mountains curved gently along the horizon, their peaks mantled in unmelting snow that somehow did not chill the heart.
"There lies Doriath reborn," Eluréd said, pointing toward the tallest hall at the center of the plain. "My brother Elurín awaits you there."