March 14, 3019, Third Age

Dear Diary,

Heavy is the weight of the Palantír on my mind and heart. Knowing what I do of Sauron's power, Gondor's part in the war for Middle Earth is good as over. No longer will the optimistic yet deceitful words of that Grey Fool, Gandalf poison my thought with a false hope. I have no reason for such hope with Boromir fallen and Faramir on the brink of death. The line of Stewards has failed and the great Eye of Sauron rests on Minas Tirith. Who but Gandalf would look for battle at this hour? Unlike him, when doom knocks at my door, I choose a death worthy of my position, a death of nobility, not a death on an orc-blade. I choose such a death for my son as well, for he is injured and he does not deserve to see the time when all of Gondor has fallen to the Enemy, as it inevitably will.

The immensity of Sauron's power alone, even when it isn't concentrated on battle is mind numbing. Too often have I seen these horrors of stone, fire, and flesh through the Palantír. This knowledge only makes me fear more for the fate of Minas Tirith, for Gondor, and for all of Middle Earth. Every one of Gandalf's futile attempts to hinder the Dark Lord only encourages his wrath and brings these realities closer.

Tomorrow, I will free myself from these terrors forever. With Faramir by my side, I will wipe the cares from my mind and rest as the last Steward of Gondor.

--Denethor