the words. ‘If there be in truth such paths,’ said Th?oden, ‘their
gate is in Dunharrow; but no living man may pass it.’
     ‘Alas! Aragorn my friend!’ said ?omer. ‘I had hoped that we should
ride to war together; but if you seek the Paths of the Dead, then our
parting is come, and it is little likely that we shall ever meet again
under the Sun.’
     ‘That road I will take, nonetheless,’ said Aragorn. ‘But I say to you,
?omer, that in battle we may yet meet again, though all the hosts of
Mordor should stand between.’
     ‘You will do as you will, my lord Aragorn,’ said Th?oden. ‘It is your
doom, maybe, to tread strange paths that others dare not. This parting
grieves me, and my strength is lessened by it; but now I must take the
mountain-roads and delay no longer. Farewell!’
     ‘Farewell, lord!’ said Aragorn. ‘Ride unto great renown! Farewell,
Merry! I leave you in good hands, better than we hoped when we hunted
the orcs to Fangorn. Legolas and Gimli will still hunt with me, I
hope; but we shall not forget you.’
     ‘Good-bye!’ said Merry. He could find no more to say. He felt very
small, and he was puzzled and depressed by all these gloomy words.
More than ever he missed the unquenchable cheerfulness of Pippin. The