"Isildur my king," he cried with a stately bow. "I have the honor to welcome you to Pelargir in the name of Barathor, Lord of Pelargir and Keeper of the Gate of the South. I am Duitirith, his son and heir."
Isildur greeted him saying, "We thank you, Duitirith, son of Barathor. We have met before, though you would not remember it. The last time we were in your father's court, you were but a child on your father's lap."
Duitirith blushed. "Too many years have passed since last you honored us, Sire," he said. "As you see, I have grown to manhood in your absence. And yet I do indeed remember you, Sire, for it was the sight of you and your kind words that have stood always as my model and my inspiration."
Isildur's laugh rang out. "Is that so? Well, young Duitirith, your fair speech complements your appearance and bearing. I am pleased to see you again and to find you grown tall and straight. Lead us now to your father that we may speak with him."
Duitirith bowed low. "It is my honor as well as my pleasure, Sire, for the city is prepared to greet you and bid you welcome." So saying, he mounted and rode with them down to the bridge. The garrison there had lined both sides of the bridge and stood now at attention, their arms held aloft and their panoply gleaming in the setting sun. A trumpet sounded high above their heads and the banners of Gondor and Pelargir broke from every tower in the city. As they cantered over the span, Isildur turned to his guide.
"Duitirith. Your name means Guardian of the River in the Eldarin tongue. Are you then commander of this garrison, charged with the keeping of this bridge?"
Duitirith laughed. "I am indeed charged with that honor, Sire, and a good company they are. I chose and trained each one myself. But my name does not refer to the Sirith, but to Anduin himself. One day I shall rule Pelargir and guard the Great River for Gondor. You may be assured, Sire, that no enemy shall ever pass this city when I wear the Lord's Ring."
"I doubt it not," smiled Isildur, watching the eager, intent faces of Duitirith's men, now lining the parapet with their spears arching above the road. Then they came to the gates of the city, but the gates were yet closed. The column halted. A voice called down from the parapets above the gate.
"You are come to Pelargir upon Anduin. State your name and your land and the name of the lord you serve." Duitirith turned to the king. "We mean no disrespect, Sire. We know well who you are. But that is the traditional gate challenge and it has been asked of every traveller to cross this bridge for over a thousand years. None may enter without replying satisfactorily to the challenge."
"We are not offended, good Duitirith. It pleases us to see the Gate of the South guarded yet against our enemies. We know the challenge well. I answered it first when my people arrived at these quays out of storm and tumult at the downfall of Númenor." He stood in his stirrups and called out in his booming clear voice.
"I am called Isildur Elendilson of Gondor and I serve my liege, Elendil, High King of the Realms in Exile."
"You are then a friend of this city," cried the unseen voice. "Enter in peace, Isildur of Gondor." The great gates creaked slowly open and a tall black portcullis rattled up into the shadows above the door. A group of knights in the livery of the Lord of Pelargir waited beyond.
"These men will escort you to the Blue Tower, Sire," said Duitirith. "I must excuse myself, for I may not leave my post until I am relieved. I shall see you at dinner. Farewell and welcome again." He wheeled his horse to return to his post at the bridge.
Trumpets rang out again, and Isildur and his army rode into the city amid the cheers of thousands of people. They were dressed in every bright color and were very fair to look upon. Petals of rose and elanor fluttered down on the men from the balconies and rooftops, while minstrels strummed citterns and lutes and winded their pipes. The people's faces were shining with joy and wonder as they gazed upon their king, for they loved him well. Often in the old days before the war Isildur would board the ferry to visit Pelargir and walk among them with his open countenance and his great rolling laugh. Few of these people had ever visited far-off Osgiliath, and Isildur had been to them the symbol of the royal might of Gondor. Now they welcomed him as a friend returning after a long absence, and they felt his gladness too.
As the long column wended through the streets of the city the infectious mood of gaiety began to spread among the soldiers and the long grim march turned into a joyous parade. From somewhere in the ranks a deep baritone voice burst into song and soon others joined in, blending their voices of many lands in an ancient song of homecoming. The words were in the ancestral tongue of these people of the Southlands, and they spoke of the days before the coming among them of the people of the West. The people of the city joined in joyfully. The Dúnedain among the host, though they could understand but few of the words, felt their hearts lifted at the sound of tens of thousands of voices raised in welcome. The Uialedain tongue is at its most beautiful in lyric song and poetry, and the people's voices blended as in a choir.
And so they came at last in song to the Blue Tower in the heart of the city. There they were ushered into the great court where sat Barathor, Lord of Pelargir. He sat in a tall throne fashioned after the outspread wings of a sea bird, as if the seat were about to take flight. It was set with uncountable tiles and stones, each a different shade of blue. The floor too was of blue mosaic, with wide bands of gold radiating from the central dais. Barathor wore a long cloak of white feathers and on his hand was a ring of mithril, the Lord's Ring. His hair was gray and his face lined, but his back was still straight as a lance and his eyes clear. He rose as Isildur entered and went to greet him.
"Welcome, Isildur, my king and my friend."
Isildur clasped arms with him. "So, Barathor, we meet again as of old, though the world has changed much since last we feasted together in your hall."
"Aye, the world has changed, but you have not, my liege. Ten years' leaves have withered and fallen, but you look just as you did then. It is your royal blood. The heirs of Elros have ever been a long-lived line."
At that moment a striking woman with flaming red hair appeared and came to Barathor's side. He took her hand and turned to Isildur. "I hope you have not forgotten my lady?"
Isildur smiled at her. "How could I forget the lovely Heleth? I have spoken with your son, lady, and his bearing and countenance are a compliment to you."
She smiled. "You are kind, Isildur King. We are indeed proud of him."
"But come," said Barathor. "You must be tired. First you must bathe and rest. Then tonight we shall sit at board together and it will be again as it was."
Isildur called to his squire. "Come, Ohtar, a bath calls us. Let us scrub the soil of Lebennin from our limbs."
Later, washed and dressed in fresh garments, they dined with Barathor and his family. It was a noble feast, full welcome after the weary months of marching. When at last the groaning boards were cleared, they sat and sipped good wine and listened to the strains of music. There sang the lute and the recorder, sweet and pure, soothing to their hearts. Barathor called for Isildur's cup to be refilled.
"My king," he said. "you march with a great army at your back and glad we are to see the banners of our allies before our walls in these troubled times. But I fear your errand is not the defense of Pelargir. Whither are you bound?"
Isildur met Barathor's level gaze. "We march to Osgiliath to meet with our allies the Elves. There will be assembled a host so mighty that the servants of evil shall quail before it. Then shall Ithilien be freed at last, and I shall once more sit in the high seat of Minas Ithil."
"Such is our wish also, my king," said Barathor. "Nothing would gladden our hearts more than to see you restored to your own and the fields of Ithilien swept clean of the foul orcs. They are a sore trial to us. Our villages near the river are often raided by roving bands of orcs from South Ithilien, but they have done their foul deeds and crawled back to their holes before we can come against them.