Chapter 2

Title: The Whip

The Stewart had sent down beautifully detailed maps of the entire city, including four copies of the first level. He promised to send down four copies of the next level each day, as the scribes in the library finished them. In turn, Frodo was to consolidate our reports and send them back to Faramir, who had daily meetings with the King. Faramir was coordinating the actual rebuilding of the city, including assigning of troops to help civilians.

Our surveying started on the most-damaged level: the first. We meet at the destroyed main gate about an hour after lunch and split into three groups: Frodo and Sam taking the Southward side street; Merry and Pippin the Northward street; Gimli and I the twisting side streets leading into the heart of the mountain. Each group had their map of the first level, charcoal, a small notebook, and a signed letter of authorization from the Stewart.

Merry and Pippin elected to wear their formal armor, as Pippin thought the uniforms would lend an air of authority to their task. Sam rolled his eyes at the two. "We're never going to hear the end of argument as to whose uniform is prettiest."

"Most beautiful," Frodo corrected him.

"Everyone knows I'm prettiest," Pippin smugly assured everyone as they left the group.

"Are not." I could hear Merry's retort as they turned a corner. "Black is so plain. Look at the wonderful detailed leatherwork on this…"

It took time to write down everything which needed tending. I took notes while Gimli surveyed. I thought I would be the one who could best see the needs of the city, but Gimli proved early on that dwarves, in deed, do have a natural affinity for this sort of work: not only stonework, but the inner workings of a city carved into the face of a mountain. We detailed debris to be removed, holes filled in, structures to be reinforced or rebuilt, infrastructure problems (such as destroyed or damaged water storage tanks, water distribution lines, sewer lines), what debris could be salvaged, what was beyond repair and must be torn down, what type of labor and skills would be needed for each job. The list was extensive and I was glad to have a dwarf to do the inspection. Faramir and Aragorn would get as detailed a list as they could ever want.

Citizens of the city are already at work removing war debris. Many horses, carts and wheelbarrows were moving through streets slick with manure and mud on the normally pristine white cobblestones. There were a few Gondorian soldiers directing the labor; some Rohan cavalry housed in the lower level stables; and citizens who lived and worked on the first level who were trying to salvage what they could find. Considering the lack of coordination, chaos was not present. However, there was a lot of noise and smell. As Gimli and I wound our way through the twisting labyrinth I could glimpse and smell thick, black smoke. At one point I could see through a breach in the outer defense wall and into Pellanor field. Past the ruined gate a large bonfire was burning another rotting Oliphant carcass. Disgusting, but necessary.

We were to all meet at the central plaza after completing our surveys. Gimli and I were heading down a particularly narrow, crooked street when we saw Frodo and Sam walking down theirs. The sight of two hobbits slowly pacing the street, pausing to discuss a problem, and then scribbling into a workbook caused the Gondorian workers to stop and stare. I could hear some whispering to each other, recognizing the two as the fabled halflings of the King. A few even bowed to the hobbits as they passed. Frodo seemed genuinely embarrassed by the attention, but I could see that Sam was quietly relishing it, smiling back and engaging a few people in conversation while Frodo scribbled. Gimli and I also caused a similar reaction in the population, as most had never seen a dwarf or an elf before.

Frodo and Sam were coming to the last house on their street; one which had sustained tremendous damage from battering rams and trolls' hammer blows. The front of the building had been smashed, with large stone blocks and splintered wooden beams clogging part of the street. A man with a piteous dappled grey mare and small wooden cart had overloaded it with heavy stone for hauling off. He was trying to get the bony horse to start the heavy cart, pulling on her bridle and yelling obscenities at the beast. She could not manage it, slipping on the muck and straining against the harness.

A woman leaned out of an upper window of the house next door, dust pan in hand. "Jandolin!" she yelled, "can't you do nothin' right? You were supposed to be here yesterday. There's twice as much rubbish to move now. You're holding us all up."

"Shut up, Neva," he snapped back without looking up. "I been working from daybreak to nightfall without so much as a thank you. An' this ole nag is all I can get since mine was taken for the army." He yanked on the horse's reigns again. "Come on, you! Gee up! Move it!" The horse strained again, but still could not manage the heavy weight of the cart.

Frodo and Sam stood there next to the cart, making notes about the structure. They were unnoticed until the man abruptly let go of the reigns and walked around to the driver's seat. He scowled at the two diminutive hobbits and their papers. "Get out of my way, pip squeaks," he growled at them. "If yer lost, go ask one of yer playmates in the barn where Mommie is."

As Gimli and I crossed the square, I could see Sam's face darken at the insult. But the hobbits stepped back to let the man pass. The man grabbed a whip from beside the seat.

"Gee on, you old nag!" he cried out as the whip lashed across the poor horse's withers. She jumped, startled at the pain, and again attempted to move the cart. "Gee on, ya worthless pile of bones!"

I could see his right arm pulling back for another lashing, only to find the whip had been quickly yanked from his hands. "What?"

Frodo stood next to him, wearing a dark expression on his normally-placid face and holding the whip in his right hand. "I cannot allow you to continue this," he calmly said. But his blue eyes narrowed into a frightful warning.

"Who is that? Oh, my stars! It's one of the perrianath," the woman named Neva exclaimed, disappearing back inside the building. All work in the square had stopped, and all attention was focused upon the conflict developing between the hobbits and the man named Jandolin.

"A whip is only used to administer pain and fear. It has no place in the City of Light," Frodo continued, keeping eye contact with the man.

"Ya little pile of dung!" Jandolin spat, squinting his eyes in disgust. "You've no right interfering with a real Man's work. Give me my property back now, or I'll learn you a thing or two about a proper whipping." He stepped towards the Ringbearer but something caught his eye.

Merry and Pippin appeared from behind the cart, the sun shining on their highly-polished swords. The bright sunlight reflected from the silver and brass inlays on their Citadel Guard and Rohan armor as they moved beside Frodo and Sam. Jandolin hesitated. Frodo lowered the whip as Gimli and I joined the group behind the four hobbits.

"He has the authority of the King and Stewart over all work in the city," I quietly explained.

"As well as the moral obligation to stop cruelty in any form," Sam continued.

"And I have more intimate knowledge about the sting of a whip than you could ever imagine," Frodo frowned. "No good has ever resulted from the use of a whip, and I will not tolerate its use here or anywhere else in this city."

"Seems to me the solution lies in not asking the horse to do more than she's capable," Gimli matter-of-factly said. "You've overloaded the cart."

"You there! Private!" Pippin shouted and gestured to a tall dark-haired Gondorian soldier looking on. "Come help us unload this cart." The young man hurried through the crowd and gave Pippin a brief, formal salute, then began to remove stone from the cart.

"Riddermark Rider!" Merry called out to a blonde bearded man standing at a nearby stable doorway. "Help us tend to the horse." The Rider nodded a brief bow, went into the stable and returned with a bucket of water. A stable boy followed, bringing a half-full feed bag.

I watched as the woman from next door put aside her broom and began to help unload the cart. Another Gondorian appeared with a wheelbarrow. Jandolin was pushed aside as the crowd silently worked to lighten the cart's load. After a few minutes, the man's wheelbarrow was filled and removed, the horse's needs tended to, and the crowd dispersed.

Jandolin stood beside the cart, quite unsure as what had just happened and what to do next. I walked to the elderly mare's head and whispered some words of encouragement to her. As I took her lead, she gave a great heave. The lightened cart began to roll. We stopped and waited.

Jandolin began to climb into the driver's seat when he was stopped by the whip being poked into his chest.

"You walk while the mare works," Frodo sternly commanded. "You may only ride in an empty cart." Frodo broke the whip over his knee and handed it back to the man. "Make sure everyone knows about this. If I see another whip being used within the walls of this city, you will be held responsible to the King. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, uh, sir," Jandolin replied, and briefly bowed before leading the mare on to the paths leading outside the gate towards the rubbish pile.

Merry and Pippin re-sheathed their swords. Frodo closed his eyes and passed his bandaged left hand over his face. "Take me back, Sam," he whispered. "The Darkness remains and I fear Cirith Ungol will haunt my dreams tonight."

The four hobbits headed up the silent streets. Merry was holding his arm in a stiff, unnatural manner after having to use it to hold the sword. He assisted Pippin as the youngest hobbit limped slightly over the cobblestones.

I am an expert in weapons and arms. Yet to this day I will not touch a whip.