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Chapter Thirty-Six :: Already Burning
Fire grew. It blasted through the darkness and squelched the air with fumes of smoke. But the sky was too dim and avoided exposure – the flames were all that could be seen across the murky fields of Pelennor, lining Rammas Echor and stopping hearts within the City. Torches glowed in the distance, filling the space between the last wall and the beyond.
But where were the Men of Gondor?
Like a mother chained to the wall, Minas Tirith stood dumbly, waiting for any sign of their Lord Faramir. Tonight he was everyone's son. There was nothing anyone could do but watch. See whatever future fate brought and hope to God it wasn't slaughter.
There was the muffled sound of a horn. A long note, clear and clean, rising up half an octave before it had been extinguished.
Denethor lifted his sinking head. Realization burning in his eyes, he could already hear the cries of the last people within his stronghold.
"Sound the call!" He suddenly shouted as if he had been long unheard. Half a dozen men in the chamber of the White Hall suddenly sprung into action and a loud trumpet sounded in alarm.
The people cheered as the chains released and justice poured from the Gate. "Amroth for Gondor! Amroth to Faramir!"
The swan-knights under the Prince of Dol Amroth raced across the plain to the small party of retreat in the fog. Hundreds of orcs and evil men of the South bearing torches and mounted were chasing down the small regiment that remained; a handful of men. A fraction of what they had been.
Before them all sprinted another beast far greater and swift in heart and hoof. Shadowfax bore his White Rider ahead of the company with a great light that split the darkness like a knife to the curtain. The Nazgûl screeched in banished fury, not able to hold a candle to the light. Their heavy wings backed away in retreat and those pursuing the company quickly became the hunted. The swan-knights held their swords high and slew those who had trespassed on their field.
Minas Tirith was in an uproar. Cheers of hope and victory rang as the last of the company of orcs fell with their smoking torches and the rest fled to the darkness. When the swan-knights assembled to pursue them, the trumpet of the Citadel echoed again. The Steward deemed the deed done. The company returned to the Gate.
"Your son has returned, lord, after great deeds…"
Denethor stared in silent horror. Prince Imrahil's burden was our greatest fear realized.
Peregrin shrunk away and managed to find me by stepping into my hiding spot behind one of the great stone columns. He walked backward into my stomach, but before he could cry out in surprise, I gripped his hand – and covered his mouth with my other, waiting intently for Prince Imrahil to finish Faramir's brave tale, a poisoned dart, and of being found alone upon the open fields.
The hobbit and I watched not Prince Imrahil but the Steward Denethor. I had expected a thousand emotions to stream across his face, for him to finally cry out in grief, for some sort of angry outburst at all that had happened. But he just sat there. Silent.
When the Prince had finished and the White Hall went cold, Denethor looked at Faramir and gave the order. "May a bed be made for him. Lay him here. Before his father, woeful son of mine!"
No one needed to think twice. Faramir was set down upon a white cot strewn with blankets that resembled something of an open coffin rather than a bed.
Everyone left save for Pippin and I. I knelt numbly by the side of the cot, feeling I was paying my last respects. Denethor had disappeared up the stair I knew to contain his drug of sight. The lights flashed and played pale across Faramir's quiet face.
"He's not dead." Pippin suddenly said.
I snapped my eyes at him, warning him if it was a simple comfort. But I could see the plain honesty in his eyes. Taking great care, I leaned over the broken lord and listened for a shallow breath. I could not tell if he breathed. I reached out my hand but hesitated. Peregrin nodded, pressing me forward. I rested my palm against his tunic for a heartbeat.
There.