"Best we make ourselves scarce for a while, Pippin." Gandalf said as they left the wall, going down a flight of steps to the ground. "Denethor will not be pleased, and he knows me well enough to see my hand in this."

Pippin felt a sudden qualm. Was it wrong to side with Gandalf against Denethor now that he was in the Steward's service? But Gandalf was his friend, not to mention the only person he knew in this whole city, he couldn't just abandon him.

"Don't worry, my lad," the wizard said kindly, reading his mind, "you are no oathbreaker, for you have not yet taken the oath only offered to do so. And I promise once you are so bound I will not ask anything of you that would go against your duty to your lord."

"Thank you." Pippin said with heartfelt relief and gratitude as they passed under an arch between tower and hall into the Court of the Fountain. "So where are we going?"

"First to visit Shadowfax and then down to a tavern I know in the First Circle. I have spoken with the lords of the City, now I would hear what the people have to say."

Tavern… that sounded promising. "Do they brew good beer here?"

The wizard shook his head, "Just passable. I would recommend the wine over either beer or ale."

Gandalf's tavern proved to be a great grey stone building with two wings embracing a pleasant bit of garden. They sat at a small table in a sort of pillared porch overlooking the garth, slowly emptying a jug of red wine, (which really was very good - almost as good as Old Wineyards) and chatting with the
other customers.

There were tall, dark haired people, proud and light eyed, who reminded Pippin of Strider but more who were rather shorter and thicker, often with dark eyes and swarthy complexions. And even a few as fair haired and blue eyed as the Rohirrim. They all spoke in a formal, old fashioned way - just as Boromir had - and were terribly polite, calling Gandalf 'Lord Mithrandir' and Pippin 'Little Master'. And they were scared, every one of them. Even more scared than Pippin himself because they understood what was happening so much better. They were a brave people these Gondorim, had to be with that terror on their borders, but losing Boromir had torn the heart out of them - and Lord Denethor wasn't doing anything
about stepping into the breach, not even sending for Boromir's brother Faramir, who was apparently off fighting somewhere. Not but the folk seemed to have
some doubts about him.

"The Lord Faramir is a fine Man, no one questions that," An old Man told Gandalf. He is wise and noble as one of the High Lords of Old but he's not the warrior his brother was - and a warrior is what we need now, not a learned loremaster."

"He is gentle and kind and very handsome," the old Man's daughter put in thoughtfully, "but he doesn't shed light around him as Boromir did. It doesn't lift your heart just to look at him."

Pippin knew exactly what she meant. "You felt safe with Boromir," he agreed, "no matter how bad things got you knew somehow he'd get you through it." He'd be just like old Strider really in that respect, or Gandalf. Then it all came back and Pippin's eyes filled with tears. "He got us through, Merry and me, but he couldn't save himself," he choked back a sob.

The Man and Woman looked at him in surprise. Pippin couldn't talk, being too busy trying not to cry, so it was Gandalf who explained: "Peregrin traveled with Boromir, and was with him when he died."

There was a murmur and stirring among the Gondorim at the nearer tables and a number of people edged closer. "Could you - could you tell us what happened, please, Little Master?" a Woman asked hesitantly.

Pippin looked at Gandalf, who nodded slightly then he took a deep breath and began. By the time he'd finished his story every Man and Woman in the Old Guesthouse was clustered around their table and there wasn't a dry
eye to be seen - including Gandalf's.

"He was a great Man with a great heart and died a death worthy of him." the wizard said softly. "Nor was his life wasted, Pippin. Had he not blooded the Uruks as he did they might not have simply fled with their prizes but stayed to hunt out and slay your other companions."

Pippin managed a nod, speechless but comforted. He didn't like to think of Boromir's last effort as wasted.

"But it is bitter that he should be taken from us now, just when we need him most." said an older Woman standing behind Gandalf's chair.

"It is." he agreed. "But give Faramir a chance. True he is no Boromir, but he has both courage and wisdom. Give him the trust you gave his brother and I promise you he will not disappoint you."

It was just short of noon when the wizard and the Hobbit finally left the tavern - to find people hurrying past on their way to the wall with others whispering fearfully together in the arcaded porches of the nearby buildings.

"What it is?" Gandalf called after one of the hurrying Men, "What's happened?"

"Nazgul!" he threw back over his shoulder, "four or five of them above the causeway forts!"

The wizard stood frozen for a moment, his eyes focused on something far away, then abruptly blinked back to life. "Faramir! Pippin, run up to the stable and fetch me Shadowfax. Bring him to the Great Gate as fast as you can."

Pippin did run all the way up the six levels of the city. By the time he got to the stable he had scarcely enough breath left to gasp out: "Shadowfax, Gandalf needs you!" The great stallion lifted up his head, his dark eye alert and eager as it fixed on the Hobbit. Pippin dragged open the stall door, pulled over a mounting block and scrambled without grace onto the broad back, clutching a double handful of mane. "Now, quick, down to the Great Gate."

And Shadowfax launched himself like an arrow from a bow tearing down the winding road to the first level in a bare fraction of the time it had taken Pippin to run up it. After the first moment Pippin released his death grip on his handfuls of mane, so smooth was the great steed's gait that he felt in no danger of falling despite the breathtaking speed and the lack of saddle or stirrups. As Gandalf had once said; if Shadowfax consented to bear you he made it his business to see you stayed on his back.

They barely paused in the great square behind the City gate, halting just long enough for Gandalf to swing himself up behind Pippin, then the three of them flashed through the half opened gates and out onto the Pelennor field. In the distance ahead Pippin saw a troop of horsemen, some in armor others in dark leather, under attack from Nazgul mounted on fell beasts like the one Legolas had killed over Sarn Gebir. As he watched hideous bat winged creatures stooped upon the riders to snatch up one or two at a time, horse and all, and hurl them again to earth to be broken or trampled by their comrades.

Clutching again at Shadowfax's mane with a worse terror than that of falling, Pippin wondered what even Gandalf could do against four or five the Wraiths and their mounts. He soon found out. As they neared the fleeing horsemen the wizard raised his staff and beams of fierce white light broke from its tip striking the Nazgul aside as they stooped upon their prey.

The fell beasts wheeled, screaming in frustration, and gave way. Shadowfax changed direction heading now back to the City with the fugitives close behind. The gates swung all the way open and they thundered inside, filling the square with exhausted and shaken Men and horses, as the folk of the City came hurrying down the side streets to greet them. Even Shadowfax was slightly winded, dipping his head to drink from the square's fountain.

"Mithrandir!" a voice cried and Gandalf twisted to look over his shoulder at the speaker. "They broke through our defenses," the voice continued. "They've taken the bridge and the west bank. Battalions of Orcs are crossing the river."

The fair haired captain from the Citadel pushed his way through the horsemen. "It is as the Lord Denethor predicted! Long has he foreseen this doom!"

"Foreseen and done nothing!" Gandalf flared. Finally Shadowfax finished his drink and wheeled away from the fountain to let his riders face a tired looking Man also on horseback.

This had to be Faramir, Boromir's brother, Pippin decided. He was tall and fair haired just as Boromir had been. Very like indeed he first thought, then their eyes met and Faramir's weren't like Boromir's eyes at all but like Elves' eyes; wise and gently sad. They stared back at Pippin, and into him, with an intensity that quickly became uncomfortable. Pippin turned his head aside, wishing the Man would look
elsewhere.

Gandalf said "Faramir?" in a puzzled sort of way then, enlightened: "This is not the first Halfling to have crossed your path!"

"No." said the Man

Pippin looked up eagerly at that. "You've seen Frodo and Sam?"

Faramir nodded, those eyes still fixed on Pippin but somehow less unnerving now he knew why he was being stared at.

"Where? When?" Gandalf demanded with a strange mixture of anxiety and hope in his voice.

"In Ithilien, not two days ago," Faramir answered.

Two days. Just two days ago Frodo and Sam had been alive and well. Pippin looked up at Gandalf. The wizard too seemed reassured, even happy. But then Faramir said: "Mithrandir, they've taken the road to the Morgul Vale." and Gandalf's face froze.

"And then the Pass of Cirith Ungol?" he asked and was answered by a grim, silent nod from Faramir.

This wasn't good, Pippin could see that plainly enough, but why? "What does that mean?" he pleaded. "What's wrong?"

Gandalf said urgently: "Faramir, tell me everything."

"My Lord," it was the captain of the Citadel again, speaking to Faramir. "You must report to your father at once." and there was a tone of warning in his voice
that Pippin didn't quite understand.

Nor did he understand the sudden, grim set of Faramir's face as he answered. "I intend no delay, for my tidings are dire indeed. Ride to the Citadel with me, Mithrandir, we will speak as we go."