Why Pelennor Fields?

It was night. On either side of the road the host of Rohan was moving silently. Now the road passing about the skirts of Mindolluin turned southward. Far away and almost straight ahead there was a red glow under the black sky and the sides of the great mountain loomed dark against it. They were drawing near the Rammas of the Pelennor; but the day was not yet come.

…[Théoden] turned to the men of his household who were near, and he spoke now in a clear voice so that many also of the riders of the first éored heard him:

‘Now is the hour come, Riders of the Mark, Sons of Eorl! Foes and fires are before you, and your homes far behind. Yet, though you fight upon an alien field, the glory that you reap there shall be your own forever. Oaths ye have taken; now fulfill them all, to lord and land and league of friendship!’

(The Return of the King, “The Ride of the Rohirrim”)

The “Pelennor Fields” are the lands surrounding Minas Tirith of Gondor. Literally, “pelennor” means “fenced land” (the Quenya/Sindarin root is pel-, meaning “go round, encircle”). The “Rammas of the Pelennor” in the passage above refers to the wall (”Rammas” means “wall”) that surrounded the fields. In what is my hands-down favorite part of The Lord of the Rings, the Pelennor Fields are the stage of a mighty battle in which the Rohirrim ride to the rescue of the besieged city of Minas Tirith.

It is important to note that the reader must discard any imagery picked up from the movie “The Return of the King”, by Peter Jackson. The movie did not even come close to doing this scene justice, and the whole backdrop of the Pelennor Fields was largely bogus (for one thing, Tolkien’s plains described in the books bear no resemblance to the Palouse in Washington State, unlike their cinematic counterparts). So bear in mind that when I describe these things, the movie picture is the farthest thing from my mind, as it should be from yours. With that said, back to the topic at hand.

At this point, Denethor (the Steward of Gondor) had dispatched messengers bearing the Red Arrow (a symbol calling desperately upon its recipient to honor old treaties and come provide military aid to Gondor) to Théoden. Théoden had received the Red Arrow, mustered the forces of Rohan, and ridden with haste in hopes of coming to the White City (Minas Tirith) before it was overwhelmed by Sauron’s forces. When the Rohirrim finally arrived at the Rammas of the Pelennor, the city was already burning.

After a while the king led his men away somewhat eastward, to come between the fires of the siege and the outer fields. Still they were unchallenged, and still Théoden gave no signal. At last he halted once again. The City was now nearer. A smell of burning was in the air and a very shadow of death. The horses were uneasy. But the king sat upon Snowmane, motionless, gazing upon the agony of Minas Tirith, as if stricken suddenly by anguish, or dread. He seemed to shrink down, cowed by age. Merry himself felt as if a great weight of horror and doubt had settled on him. His heart beat slowly. Time seemed poised in uncertainty. They were too late! Too late was worse than never! Perhaps Théoden would quail, bow his old head, turn, slink away to hide in the hills.

Then suddenly Merry felt it at last, beyond doubt: a change. Wind was in his face! Light was glimmering. Far, far away, in the South the clouds could be dimly seen as remote grey shapes, rolling up, drifting: morning lay beyond them.

But at that same moment there was a flash, as if lightning had sprung from the earth beneath the City. For a searing second it stood dazzling far off in black and white, its topmost tower like a glittering needle; and then as the darkness closed again there came rolling over the fields a great boom.

At that sound the bent shape of the king sprang suddenly erect. Tall and proud he seemed again; and rising in his stirrups he cried in a loud voice, more clear than any there had ever heard a mortal man achieve before:

Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!
Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!
spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,
a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!

With that he seized a great horn from Guthláf his banner-bearer, and he blew such a blast upon it that it burst asunder. And straightaway all the horns in the host were lifted up in music, and the blowing of the horns of Rohan in that hour was like a storm upon the plain and a thunder in the mountains.

Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!

Suddenly the king cried to Snowmane and the horse sprang away. Behind him his banner blew in the wind, white horse upon a field of green, but he outpaced it. After him thundered the knights of his house, but he was ever before them. Éomer rode there, the white horsetail on his helm floating in his speed, and the front of the first éored roared like a breaker foaming to the shore, but Théoden could not be overtaken. Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young. His golden shield was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the Sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet of his steed. For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and darkness was removed, and the hosts of Morder wailed, and terror took them, and they fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath rode over them. And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing that was fair and terrible came even to the City.

(The Return of the King, “The Ride of the Rohirrim”)

Before us stands a field of darkness, and the White City is beleaguered. We are called to blow a mighty blast upon our horn, and charge into battle with honor and valor. The field is ours for the taking, and we are instructed to take it, spreading light before us as we ride with the grass flaming green beneath the hooves of our steeds, striking fear and wonder in the hearts of our enemies. For we are Christians, and at the end of the day, we are guaranteed the victory. The Church in our day may well be the City, hard-pressed, but though the situation be dire, the City shall not be overcome. Christ yet rules over His Church and this world, and He will continue to do so until His enemies are His footstool.

Therefore Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!