Chapter Eleven – Oaths and Loyalties.

"Open the gates," Gandalf repeated somewhat irritably.

"But, sir," the armoured guard at the main gate said, "Osgiliath burns. It is under heavy attack. Are you sure?"

"Certain." Gandalf scowled darkly from atop Shadowfax. "I must speak to Faramir without delay!" The guard sighed heavily but nodded and turned to his companions who would move the giant levers that controlled the gate. Gandalf frowned down at Pippin. "Perhaps you had best remain here."

"I'll be safe with you," Pippin said. "Please, I want to know about Frodo and Sam. And to surprise Gimli."

"Very well. But stay close and do exactly as I tell you."

"I will."

The gates finally parted, leaving Pippin again awed at their towering size and strength. Awed and reassured. Surely nothing could ever break through the gates and walls of such a mighty fortress city. The rolling plain of the Pelennor spread before them, reaching all the way to the gleaming Anduin, the same river he had once travelled upon with The Fellowship. That time in the elvan boats now seemed much more than mere days in the past. So much had happened since.

Shadowfax gave a sudden, smooth leap forward, eager for this new task, and Pippin fell back against Gandalf's chest. The Lord of the Mearas, Gandalf had named him, king of all horses. Pippin would never have believed a horse could gallop so effortlessly, with such incredible speed, for days without tiring. They were soon more than halfway across the plain and Osgiliath became more clearly seen. Smoke billowed high into the dirty grey sky from its ruined towers and walls. It must once have been at least as large and beautiful a city as Minas Tirith. It saddened Pippin to see it so utterly destroyed.

"Look!" Gandalf cried with some dismay. "The Nazgul attack!"

Pippin swallowed hard, and felt the blood drain from his face. He'd heard of the Ringwraith's new mounts, the giant flying reptiles that could strike terror into the bravest of hearts. Even from so far away he could plainly hear the awful whoosh-thump of unbelievably huge wings. And there was another sound that set his teeth on edge though it was yet faintly heard.

"The Witch King of Angmar!" Gandalf growled. " And two others. Seeking fresh kills to feed their mounts."

Then, suddenly, they could hear shouts mixed with the thunder of hooves and men and horses' screaming. "Sauron's army has moved even faster and in greater numbers against the garrison than I expected," Gandalf said sadly. "Faramir must withdraw! Fly, Shadowfax! Take us closer!" The mighty white horse, already galloping at amazing speed, lunged forward and the wind whistled about Pippin's ears, his hair streaming back from his face. Shadowfax' long white mane whipped at Pippin's arms and bare feet.

A hundred or more Gondorian soldiers were fleeing the burning ruins, arrows and spears hurtling toward them from the cover of the ancient walls. Orcs stood high on the stones, jeering and yelling, more and more joining them. Never had Pippin seen so many, Osgiliath swarmed with them like bees coating honeycomb. "There are hundreds of them!" he yelled to Gandalf.

"Thousands! Faramir has done well to hold so long." Pippin felt Gandalf's heavy sigh rather than heard it. "If only we had known. So many are dead."

"Why didn't Denethor send help or tell them to leave?"

Gandalf did not answer, instead he urged Shadowfax to even greater speed. And, looking forward again, Pippin gasped in horror. The Nazgul were swooping down, their beasts' great cruel claws extended, grasping, snatching away several riders at a time then flying high only to drop the poor men to their deaths. Tears blurred Pippin's sight, but not enough that he could not see another beast succeed in lifting and throwing both horse and rider.

Then, a great white light blazed up into the sky, its beam widening to ensnare all three Nazgul. They wheeled from it in terror, their monstrous mounts' wings beating frantically at the air as they retreated eastward. Pippin exhaled in relief, aware now that the light had come from Gandalf's upheld staff. Pippin grabbed at Shadowfax' mane to steady himself as the horse turned more quickly and sharply than seemed possible, spinning about to join the fleeing riders. The gates and walls of Minas Tirith shone white ahead, beckoning them on to safety. Pippin could not see the smaller form of Gimli among the riders and he did not know Faramir to pick him out. Awful fear tightened his chest as he wondered if perhaps he would not find them. If perhaps they had been killed. "Are Gimli and Faramir with them?" he shouted over the rumble of galloping hooves.

"Yes!" Gandalf replied. "At the rear, helping the wounded."

Pippin sighed relief and decided that Faramir must be much like his older brother – always putting others before his own safety. Finally, they all charged through the gates, the horses' hooves making an even louder clatter on the cobblestones of the great square with its towering statue. One of the riders immediately drew closer. He was blue-eyed and strands of sweat-streaked red-brown hair clung to his dirty brow and cheeks. He wore The White Tree on his leather cuirass, and he was visibly exhausted, breathless, and somewhat pale despite the blood-stirring ride. The resemblance to Boromir was evident, though Faramir was younger and slighter of build than his older brother. Pippin thought he could see Gimli's mail-clad form sitting behind him.

"Mithrandir! I knew you could not be dead!" Faramir said, relief flooding his eyes. "Never has your arrival been more timely. I thank you!" Gandalf nodded, but Faramir's eyes suddenly widened, fixed on Pippin so intently that he was discomfited. Pippin turned his head, avoiding those piercing blue eyes even though they were gentler in their regard than Boromir's could sometimes be.

"Timely!" A much deeper, wonderfully familiar voice called, half-laughing, half-sobbing. "Gandalf has returned from death itself to save us, and you call it timely! But you were right about him, Faramir! By the Valar! You were right!" Faramir was jolted forward as Gimli slapped him jubilantly on the back. "And Pippin! Surely my eyes deceive me!" The Dwarf jumped down from the horse, stumbled a little, then stood staring up at them, grinning broadly, but tears gleaming in his deeply set eyes.

"Your eyes do not deceive you, Gimli, my friend," Gandalf smiled down at him. "We are indeed both returned safely."

"How? You fell in Moria!"

"I have not forgotten," Gandalf said dryly. "I am sorry for your grief, but I was unable to return sooner."

"Gandalf killed the Balrog," Pippin put in with cheerful pride.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you helped!" Gimli laughed and held his arms wide in greeting. "Come here!"

Pippin happily climbed down to run to Gimli's embrace. "It is so good to see you again, Gimli!"

"How did you escape? You are a very lucky hobbit! Where is Merry?"

"Safe. In Edoras."

"This is another of the Halflings that travelled with my brother?" Faramir asked Gandalf sharply. "Has my father yet seen him?"

"Yes," Gandalf said. "But thus far our secret is safe. Pippin and I arrived from Edoras but yesterday morning."

"That is a long way to ride!" Gimli said.

"It is good to see you safe, Pippin," Faramir said, and looked down at him. "Since Gimli told the tale of your capture, I have shared his and Boromir's fear for you and your kinsman. I am most glad to meet you at last."

Pippin looked up at him and as their eyes met, he saw in Faramir's expression both keen intelligence and a sad wisdom that oddly made him seem older than his brother. Then Faramir smiled and it lit his face with youth and vigour. "Have you yet spoken with Boromir? He will be overjoyed to know that he did not fight in vain to save you. And that Merry, also is safe."

Pippin smiled in return, feeling an instant liking for the young ranger captain. "I have talked with him," he said. "It took a while to convince him he wasn't dreaming! Then, I think he shed a tear or two though he tried to hide it."

Faramir snorted. "He would!" Then he dismounted and turned back to help his men unload some of the wounded to a wagon that had been found to carry them to the sixth level and the Houses of Healing. Gandalf did not dismount from Shadowfax but waited as patiently as he could. Gimli and Pippin stood, cheerfully exchanging news, Gimli insisting he wanted to hear all about the escape and of Gandalf's battle with the Balrog.

Finally, Faramir reappeared. He collected the reins of a fresh mount brought to him by a groomsman and swung himself up into the saddle then reached an arm down for Gimli. Gandalf likewise called Pippin back to him. Shadowfax matched his great stride to the smaller paces of the cavalry mount, and together they began to climb through the streets from one winding circle to the next.

"How does my brother fare?" Faramir asked. "Have you managed to keep him abed?"

"With some argument, but yes, he begins to recover strength. Faramir, tell me, you were with Frodo and Sam yesterday in Osgiliath?"

"Yes. I let them go soon after." Faramir lowered his eyes, his expression crestfallen. "I am shamed to tell you that I had been holding them against their will. I cannot now understand how I could have behaved in so cold a manner toward them."

"The Ring," Gandalf said almost inaudibly. He cast a wary glance at the soldiers and people milling about them.

Faramir sighed and nodded, his head still bowed. "I felt great freedom and relief when finally I turned it away, far beyond my reach."

"Boromir told us you had let it go, that Frodo and Sam, along with Gollum, are once again set out on their quest. Tell me, Faramir, do you know which road they take toward Mordor?"

"The Morgul Vale." Faramir lifted his head and his eyes were dark with worry. "Gollum leads them to Cirith Ungol."

Gandalf gasped a sharp breath, his body tensing so much that Pippin looked to him in alarm. "What's wrong? Is that a bad way to go?" Gandalf did not answer.

"Well, is it?" Gimli demanded from behind Faramir.

"Sadly, yes," Faramir replied. "But it may not be as bad as we fear. It is only a rumour that speaks of the terror of The Stairs, one that has never been proven."

"I fear the reason for the lack of proof," Gandalf said, and Pippin had the feeling he did not elaborate because he wanted to spare him.

"Is there no other way in?" Gimli asked.

Gandalf shook his head. "None that will be so loosely guarded by Mordor."

"Well, then –" Pippin began, thinking that surely made it the best way, but Faramir said, "Unguarded because such is unneeded when a worse foe may hold it against both Man and Orc."

"A worse foe?" Gimli asked. Pippin felt Gandalf half-turn to look at the Dwarf and Gimli said nothing. Pippin could only assume that Gandalf had given Gimli one of those looks that said he didn't want to speak of it in front of the hobbits. During the long days of The Fellowship's journeying, Pippin had become used to those looks, though nonetheless frustrated by them.

"I would hear all you can tell me of Frodo and Sam's time with you, please, Faramir," Gandalf said and the man nodded. "In particular I am curious to know why you suddenly decided to let them go despite the penalty you may face for doing it."

"That is a story I would prefer not to tell here in the open streets."

"No, indeed, that would be unwise. You go now to report first to your father?"

Faramir's expression was abruptly tired and bleak. "Yes. Mithrandir, I swear I will reveal as little as I may about -- that which The Fellowship guarded."

"I thank you, Faramir." Gandalf said, then added, "Boromir has asked that you allow him to take the responsibility for its loss?"

A soft smile touched Faramir's lips. "Yes. But it cannot be so, for my father has means of knowing the truth even if I were willing to try to keep it from him."

"What means?"

"He has his own men, his agents, among our ranks. They are forever watching and reporting my movements to him."

"Spies? Nothing more?" Gandalf asked intently.

Faramir met the wizard's eyes for a long moment before he said softly, "I believe we may share the same fear, Mithrandir. But I cannot know for certain that Minas Tirith holds one of the ancient Stones. I do know that my father often disappears for long hours to the highest reaches of the towers, and ever, on his return, his mood is more despairing, and more full of bitter anger. When I sent Boromir's cloven horn to him, saying that I feared Boromir badly injured but that my heart told me he yet lived, he sent a furious yet heartbroken reply. He claimed to have seen Boromir's fall in battle days earlier, and that there was no hope. He was certainly dead."

"Yes," Gandalf sighed. "It was in that mood that we found him when we arrived. He ignored all we could tell him from Aragorn who had tended Boromir's wounds and seen him safely on his way home in the care of Gimli."

Faramir shook his head. "He has ever been hostile toward the one who may claim the throne of Gondor. Tell me, does Boromir take his rest in the Houses of Healing? I would come to him as soon as I am done speaking with our father." He snorted. "If of course, father does not immediately have me clapped in irons and taken to the dungeons!"

Pippin gasped and dared to speak up. "He wouldn't do that to his own son, would he?"

Faramir looked down and gazed with infinite gentleness and sadness into Pippin's worried face. "No. He would not. If he decides to punish me, it will be in a more subtle fashion. He would not do anything that may bring "poor reflection" upon him."

"My Lord Faramir!" a crisp voice called, startling Pippin. He turned about to see they had reached the final gate, the seventh with its arched tunnel that gave access to the Citadel. Faramir returned the sentries' salute, then looked to Gandalf.

"Boromir rests in his own bedchamber," Gandalf replied. "I would accompany you and give what aid I might, but I know that I would succeed only in angering your father further. Pippin, Gimli and I will wait for you at Boromir's side."

Faramir nodded and watched as Gimli awkwardly dismounted. "Don't take any guff from him, laddie!" The Dwarf growled. Faramir smiled a little at that then kicked his horse into a trot that took him quickly across the green sward and to the steps of the Great Hall.

"He will be all right, won't he?" Pippin asked anxiously as Shadowfax turned to carry them toward the Steward's House.

Gandalf sighed heavily. "We can only hope, Pippin. We can only hope. But I will promise you this – if Denethor attempts to apply any penalty, I will find a way to stall it if any such exist. And there you may be of great help for tomorrow you swear your oath to Denethor and will be often at his side."

"Pippin!" Gimli exclaimed in some horror. "You have sworn an oath to that crabby old –" Gimli caught Gandalf's scowl and grudgingly corrected – "To the Steward? Why?"

"Well, " Pippin began, "It was just that he didn't believe us about Boromir and…"

end chapter 11