VIII

I was positioned above the gate. I could not see the battle, for it was shrouded by the thick dawn mist. I was wearing the heavy armor.

"There is one thing I hate about this armor," said I to Ioden.

"What is that, Eorl?" said he.

I writhed. "I cannot scratch my back! It's annoying me." Ioden laughed. He turned back to look at the Field. Suddenly, he gripped the edge of the wall and squinted. "What is it, Ioden?"

"Look! Look! Can you see it? Something brown yonder. Can you see it?" Ioden said. He pointed. I followed his gaze. Something brown was clopping slowly toward us. Was that...?

Oh Valar. No...

"Yes," I said. "I see it."

"Should I call the gate-keepers to open the gate?" asked Ioreth.

"Nay. We should wait for it to come closer. It could be an orcish trick." I glanced at him. He nodded and we continued to look. My stomach was being wrenched painfully. Oh Valar... Oh Valar... Oh Valar... I squinted. Now, I could see it. Faramir was being dragged by the horse, his boot snagged on the stirrups.

"Open the gate!" I cried out, keeping tears in. "Open the gate! Hurry!"

The ancient gates, built by the founding fathers of the city of Numenor, whined and creaked as men strained to push it open. I have been on guard duty before. I know it is no easy task.

"Ioreth," said I. "Wait here..." I have him my spear and scrambled down the stairs. I yanked my confounded helmet off and tossed it to the side. The gate opened. The horse clopped in slowly. Faramir's lips were cracked, blood stained his face, his hands, and his wound on his cheek looked worse than ever. I unsheathed my dagger and cut the stirrup. Two arrows stuck out of his breastplate.

How long ago was it, when we were having fun in Ithilien? killing the Harads?

"Get a stretcher," I said to no one. Six men stared dumbfounded at me. "Get a stretcher, you dotards!" I screamed. They bobbed their heads and ran up. I touched Faramir's face. It was burning, as hot as a fireplace.

The stretcher came. We lifted Faramir onto the stretcher and carried him up five levels to the Citadel. Lord Denethor and a little boy, no the hobbit, rushed out of the hall. Lord Denethor's face was grey. I could not help thinking, I told you we were outnumbered.

Lord Denethor, with a sweep of his black fur cloak, bent down over his son. "Oh my son! Say not that he has fallen!" he cried and touched Faramir's face. His face was a very picture of pure agony.

"Shall I take him to the House of Healing?" asked I, knowing Faramir was probably dying of a fever.

"Nay," Lord Denethor whispered. I saw something flicker and grow in his eyes. I did not like that... "Nay, take him to the tombs. And you, Eorl, shall come with us."

But Faramir was not dead! I thought angrily. Instead, I bowed and said, "Aye, m'lord..."

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"No tomb for Denethor and Faramir," the steward was muttering under his breath, "no long sleep of death embalmed. We will burn like the heathen kings of old." He turned to us guards. "Bring wood and oil."

He meant to burn Faramir!

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I rushed out of the tombs, despite Lord Denethor's screaming at me. Where was Mithrandir? I saw something... the lower levels were in flames. A war has begun.

"Mithrandir!" I shouted, running blindly. My head throbbed from the excitement.

Someone was shouting Mithrandir's other name. "Gandalf?" The hobbit was running, wearing the black-and-silver of the guard. "Gandalf! Where is Gandalf? Mithrandir! Gandalf!" The hobbit saw me. He pounded his little fists on my breastplate. "Where is Gandalf?" we screamed at each other. Despite the circumstances, we laughed.

"The steward is burning--" the hobbit began.

"I know."

"Go upstairs and see that he does not do anything stupid. I will search for Gandalf."

I must have shown doubt on my face, for the hobbit declared stoutly, "Ho! I am Peregrin Took, mind you! I run fast, despite the length of my legs." I bit my lip and nodded. He ran off, screaming Mirthandir's name at the top of his high and clear voice. I watched him go before racing up the path.

I tripped over something. I fell. My hand landed on something soft and... boggy. I opened my eyes and screamed. A face screamed back at me. I raised my hands. They were covered in blood. I had placed my hands on faces. All of them had terrible expressions. They died a terrible death, I saw. The face I had seen first was Duhildir's. I wanted to cry. Stop! You are a son of Gondor and a friend of Faramir's, I told myself. Get back to the tombs Eorl, and try to stop this madness.

I ran as fast as I could.

"Wait Gandalf!" Peregrin's high voice... "Look! There is the soldier!" Someone grabbed my hand and with incredible strength, pulled me onto the horse. Peregrin sat infront of me, Mithrandir behind me. Peregrin flashed a quick smile at me as the horse, as white as snow, ran up the winding road. Everything was a blur.

Suddenly, we burst into the tombs. They were prepared to light the wood. Lord Denethor's hair was shining with oil.

"Stay this madness!" Mithrandir cried as I swung off the horse.

"So, it is you Mithrandir," Lord Denethor said and grinned maliciously. "Oh I know... you planned to use me as a shield against Mordor. With your right hand you seeked to suplant me. You think you are wise, yet for all your subtleties you had not wisdom. Did you think the eyes of the White Tower were blind?" Lord Denethor shouted. And from inside his cloak, he pulled out a black ball made of marble. I think it was a marble. It had an orange light flickering inside.

"A palantir! A seeing stone!" Peregrin gasped.

"I know what will happen to Minas Tirth. A new power is rising, Mithrandir. A new power that cannot be stopped." Lord Denethor was smiling maliciously. An evil glimmer shone through. He turned to an attendant. "Set a fire to our flesh."

Mithrandir rode up and knocked the steward off with his white staff. The flames touched the pyre. "No!" I cried. And then the hobbit with his stout hobbit-heart leaped into the flames and attempted to push Faramir off.

"Help!" Peregrin Took cried.

"Do not take my son from me!" Lord Denethor shouted angrily.

I reached into the flames, not caring that I burned my arms. My love for my friend conquered all of the pain that exploded on my skin. With a last burst of strength, I pulled Faramir off the pyre. His head knocked the floor. A big bruise appeared. Faramir moaned from his feverish dream. He called for his father.

"My son," Lord Denethor whispered, his face changed, "is calling for me..." Lord Denethor got up and attempted to push me away. Peregrin and I were beating the flames. Lord Denethor pushed me away and grabbed Peregrin by the collar. "You shall not take my son away from me!" he cried.

Mithrandir gave a great swing of his staff and the steward fell back into the flames, the palantir rested upon his chest. He gave one great cry and was never seen again by mortal men. Mithrandir looked away in horror.

"So passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion. Lord and steward of Gondor," Mithrandir said softly. He turned to me. "Take Faramir up the House of Healing so that he can sleep or die, if that be his fate."

With tears in my eyes, I bowed low and with the help of another attendant, I carried Faramir up to the House.