Disclaimer: The aforementioned people are mine.
CHAPTER FIVE
We ran past a few guards and through the large, carved door, but no one tried to stop us, for I fortunately had access to all of the official buildings in Minas Tirith. "I'll look in their private quarters; you check in the library."
"What are we looking for?"
"The wizards, my brother, or both."
"Yes, sir." He saluted and we parted, scouring the halls from the antechamber near the door to our allotted destinations.
I entered into a bare hallway, and instantly, a splitting headache doubled me over. Being a ranger, I could sense some magic, but this overwhelmed me; oppressed me. As I forced myself to move along, it caused voices inside my mind to filter into my ears as if I was actually hearing them.
The first had a strange, rustic accent that I did not know, though I assumed it belonged to one of the City's squires by his words. "Do not weep, lord," he said. "Perhaps he will get well. Have you asked Gandalf?"
"Comfort me not with wizards!" was the sharp response from my father. "The fool's hope has failed. he Enemy has it, and now his power waxes; he sees our very thoughts, and all we do is ruinous. I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed, into needless peril, and here he lies with poison in his veins. Nay, nay, whatever may not betide in war, my line too is ending, even the House of Stewards has failed. Mean folk shall rule the last Remnant of the Kings of Men, lurking in the hills until all are hounded out."
I subsequently heard a garble of voices, which seemed to be asking my father a question and begging for an answer until once again his voice rang out, echoing inside my head. "Nay, I will not come down. I must stay beside my son. He might still speak before the end. But that is near. Follow whom you will, even the Grey Fool, though his hope has failed. Here I stay."
Shaking my head, I cleared it of everything except the room I now stood before: Tarfea's chambers. Taking out my dagger, I expertly picked the lock then threw open the door, half expecting to see three wizards standing there dressed in glimmering robes and pointing staffs at me. There were, of course, several things wrong with that picture, none of which I stopped to ponder.
Instead, I searched both of his rooms thoroughly until I was satisfied that there was no one there. I also explored Nenloms's chambers, which were adjacent to Tarfea's. Then I hurried shut the door carefully behind me and hurried from the vicinity towards the stairs, which I would have to ascend before coming to Dinanna's three rooms. But as I continued along my course, I heard, starting at no more than a whisper then growing in strength, another voice. This time, I did not even try to fight it.
"The first circle of the City is burning, lord. What are your commands? You are still the Lord and Steward. Not all will follow Mithrandir. Men are flying from the walls and leaving them unmanned."
"Why? Why do the fools fly?" Father asked of him. "Better to burn sooner than late, for burn we must. Go back to your bonfire! I will go now to my pyre. To my pyre! No tomb for Denethor and Faramir. No tomb! No long slow sleep of death embalmed. We will burn like heathen kings before ever a ship set sail from the West. The West has failed. Go back and burn!"
I heard the sound of footsteps running away, then an echo. At first, I disregarded either as being real, but then I discerned the echo to be Boromir's steps, so I continued forward, my resolution renewed, but soon my point of view was skewed again as I heard my father continuing to speak, more sadly this time.
"He is burning, already burning. The house of his spirit crumbles."
I heard his soft tread moving away from me, and he said, "Farewell! Farewell, Peregrin son of Paladin! Your service has been short, and now it is drawing to and end. I release you from the little that remains. Go now, and die in what way seems best to you. And with whom you will, even that friend whose folly brought you this death. Send for my servants then go. Farewell!"
"I will not go, my lord," said the squire I had heard before. Then, almost in contradiction, he said, "I will take your leave, sir, for I want to see Gandalf very much indeed. But he is no fool, and I will not think of dying until he despairs of life. But from my word and your service, I do not wish to be released while you live. And if they come at last to the Citadel, I hope to be here and stand beside you and earn perhaps the arms you have given me."
"Do as you will, Master Halfling. But my life is broken. Send for my servants!"
I felt someone grab my arm and yank me to the right of the direction I was going. I tried to clumsily struggle against whoever it was, but it was to no avail. "Faramir," Boromir hissed. He shook me roughly until I focused again on my surroundings and on reality. "What's going on?" He looked at me critically. "Were you drinking?"
"No, I was just... There's so much magic here..."
"You were drinking," he concluded.
"Of course I wasn't. In any case, I think it was Siriandil who attacked us.
Boromir shook his head. "Why would you think that?" Then before I could respond, "It was Dinanna. He knocked you out with a spell, then me before I could retaliate."
"But Anborn didn't revive us from... Never mind," I said quickly. "Were they in his quarters?" I figured I knew what I meant without me having to explain. I was right, and he shook his head. "Good. Let's get down to the library."
"You can think of books at a time like this?"
"Hardly; but the wizards probably spend a lot of time there, and since Calmacil hasn't come back yet, that probably confirms it."
"That lieutenant?" He sighed. "You've been letting things happen without me, haven't you?" I didn't reply.
