"Behold the Argonath, the
Pillars of the Kings!" cried
Aragorn. "We shall pass them soon. Keep the boats in line, and as far apart as you can! Hold the middle of the stream!"
As
Frodo was borne towards them, the great pillars rose like
towers to meet him.
Giants they seemed to him, vast grey figures silent but threatening. Then he saw that they were indeed shaped and fashioned: the craft and power of old had wrought upon them, and still they preserved, through the suns and rains of forgotten years, the mighty likenesses in which they had been hewn. Upon great pedestals founded in the deep waters stood two great
kings of stone: still with blurred eyes and crannied brows they frowned upon the North. The left hand of each was raised palm outwards in gesture of warning; in each right hand there was an
axe; upon each head there was a crumbling
helm and crown. Great power and majesty they still wore, the silent wardens of a long-vanished kingdom. Awe and fear fell upon Frodo, and he cowered down, shutting his eyes and not daring to look up as the boat drew near. Even
Boromir bowed his head as the boats whirled by, frail and fleeting as little leaves, under the enduring shadow of the sentinels of
Númenor. So they passed into the dark chasm of the Gates.
Sheer rose the dreadful cliffs to unguessed heights on either side. Far off was the dim sky. The black waters roared and echoed, and a wind screamed over them. Frodo, crouching over his knees, heard
Sam in front muttering and groaning: "What a place! What a horrible place! Just let me get out of this boat, and I'll never wet my toes in a puddle again, let alone a river!"
"Fear not!" said a strange voice behind him. Frodo turned and saw
Strider, and yet not Strider; for the weatherworn
Ranger was no longer there. In the stern sat Aragorn son of Arathorn, proud and erect, guiding the boat with skilful strokes; his hood was cast back, and his dark hair was blowing in the wind, a light was in his eyes: a king returning from exile to his own land.
"Fear not!" he said. "Long have I desired to look upon the likenesses of
Isildur and Anárion, my sires of old. Under their shadow,
Elessar, the
Elfstone, son of Arathorn of the House of Valandil, Isildur's son, heir of
Elendil, has nought to dread!"