The Lord of the Rings

secrets, since Baldor , son of Brego, passed the Door and was never seen among men again. A rash vow he spoke, as he drained the horn at that feast which Brego made to hallow new-built Meduseld, and he came never to the high seat of which he was the heir.
    ‘Folk say that Dead Men out of the Dark Years guard the way and will suffer no living man to come to their hidden halls; but at whiles they may themselves be seen passing out of the door like shadows and down the stony road. Then the people of Harrowdale shut fast their doors and shroud their windows and are afraid. But the Dead come seldom forth and only at times of great unquiet and coming death.’
    ‘Yet it is said in Harrowdale,’ said Éowyn in a low voice, ‘that in the moonless nights but little while ago a great host in strange array passed by. Whence they came none knew, but they went up the stony road and vanished into the hill, as if they went to keep a tryst.’
    ‘Then why has Aragorn gone that way?’ asked Merry. ‘Don’t you know anything that would explain it?’
    ‘Unless he has spoken words to you as his friend that we have not heard,’ said Éomer, ‘none now in the land of the living can tell his purpose.’
    ‘Greatly changed he seemed to me since I saw him first in the king’s house,’ said Éowyn: ‘grimmer, older. Fey I thought him, and like one whom the Dead call.’
    ‘Maybe he was called,’ said Théoden; ‘and my heart tells me that I shall not see him again. Yet he is a kingly man of high destiny. And take comfort in this, daughter, since comfort you seem to need in your grief for this guest. It is said that when the Eorlingas came out of the North and passed at length up the Snowbourn, seeking strong places of refuge in time of need, Brego and his son Baldor climbed the Stair of the Hold and so came before the Door. On the thresholdsat an old man, aged beyond guess of years; tall and kingly he had been, but now he was withered as an old stone. Indeed for stone they took him, for he moved not, and he said no word, until they sought to pass him by and enter. And then a voice came out of him, as it were out of the ground, and to their amaze it spoke in the western tongue:
The way is shut
.
    ‘Then they halted and looked at him and saw that he lived still; but he did not look at them.
The way is shut
, his voice said again.
It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it, until the time comes. The way is shut
.
    ‘
And when will that time be?
said Baldor. But no answer did he ever get. For the old man died in that hour and fell upon his face; and no other tidings of the ancient dwellers in the mountains have our folk ever learned. Yet maybe at last the time foretold has come, and Aragorn may pass.’
    ‘But how shall a man discover whether that time be come or no, save by daring the Door?’ said Éomer. ‘And that way I would not go though all the hosts of Mordor stood before me, and I were alone and had no other refuge. Alas that a fey mood should fall on a man so greathearted in this hour of need! Are there not evil things enough abroad without seeking them under the earth? War is at hand.’
    He paused, for at that moment there was a noise outside, a man’s voice crying the name of Théoden, and the challenge of the guard.
    Presently the captain of the Guard thrust aside the curtain. ‘A man is here, lord,’ he said, ‘an errand-rider of Gondor. He wishes to come before you at once.’
    ‘Let him come!’ said Théoden.
    A tall man entered, and Merry choked back a cry; for a moment it seemed to him that Boromir was alive again and had returned. Then he saw that it was not so; the man was a stranger, though as like to Boromir as if he were one of his kin, tall and grey-eyed and proud. He was clad as a rider with a cloak of dark green over a coat of fine mail; on the front of his helm was wrought a small silver star. In his hand he bore a single arrow, black-feathered and barbed with steel, but the point was painted red.
    He sank on one knee and presented the arrow to Théoden. ‘Hail, Lord of the Rohirrim, friend of Gondor!’ he said. ‘Hirgon I am, errand-rider of Denethor, who bring you this token of war. Gondor is in great need. Often the Rohirrim have aided us, but now the Lord Denethor asks for all your strength and all your speed, lest Gondor fall at last.’
    ‘The Red Arrow!’ said Théoden, holding it, as one who receives a summons long expected and yet dreadful when it comes. His