Guards set Faramir's unresponsive body before the dais in the Hall of Kings at the Steward's bidding. Denethor then dismissed everyone from his presence, including the little Halfling who was terribly upset about Faramir's condition. Many had seen how the Steward wept when Faramir was brought to the Citadel and they felt for their poor, leaguered lord, as many of them had also dearly loved the Captain of the Rangers.
Denethor paced the Hall, looking from the regal statues of the Kings over to the High Throne and occasionally glancing down at Faramir, contempt written in his eyes. "Gondor's doom is decided… the end is come," he would mutter every few moments.
Someone rapped on the door, but he ignored it. Whoever it was had been fool enough to try again and Denethor roared at him to "be gone!" Denethor paced back toward Faramir's unconscious form. "You brought this on me!" he accused. "You took my son away from me. It was your fault Finduilas left me. You ensorcelled my son into going with you to that Elven madhouse and he never came back; you had them kill him as they would have killed me! Thorongil sent you to destroy me as he failed to do; I have seen though, I have seen how you stare at the Throne because you want it for yourself, only you will not have it and nor will your villain father! Do you think I do now know your plan, first to murder my only son and heir, then to wait until the hosts of Mordor have taken me down, then Thorongil will come and steal the crown, with no one left to oppose him. Just because my fool of a father allowed him to choose his assignments, he thought I would be the same fool with you, but no! I kept you far from the dealings of the City, even if you thought your 'friendship,' your brotherhood with my son would get you in. I put you in Ithilien for a reason, but you proved tougher than I thought. I sent you to Osgiliath for the same reason, now it appears you did have a chink in your armor after all, and yet I am still not rid of you entirely. Knowing your kind, you will make a full recovery just as soon as everyone else has finished the work of this war. I tell you now, your line will never wear the Crown! There will be no Crown, no Throne, nor a White Rod when Mordor is finished with us. I have seen Gondor's fall, I have seen more terrors than you know. The White Tree is dead, the City will burn! You had my son killed because he would have done his father's will, he would have brought me the Ring so that we could stand victorious against Mordor, but now that hope is lost! You condemned yourself, your father, and all your kind to a bitter, terrible end. The Crown should have been mine, mine is the rightful lineage! But now it is over and the only Lord left will be Sauron, for no man can stand against Mordor. But I will not let them slay me and die in the dishonor of your failing! I will go to my death before they reach me and so die with honor… and you will die with me, more to my honor that you did not defeat me!"
For hours then Denethor stood alone in his tower chamber watching as the hosts of Mordor filed onto the Pelennor preparing to lay siege to Minas Tirith. Others were not so leisurely. In the Houses of Healing, all was in commotion and there was much discord. Master healers were berating people for their hysteria and alarm (healers having a tendency to discount any trouble in their environment and insist on a peaceful atmosphere in which to perform their skill. If the siege made it to the sixth level of the City, the orcs would simply have to perform their skill, killing, silently, and the people in the streets would simply have to die with as much silence.) Some healers disagreed vehemently on how to treat patients, whereas these men had never argued before and supported one another's work. Many were desperately trying to conserve essential supplies and set up triages in any safe places they could find.
One woman was doing all she could to go about her work tending the most recently arrived wounded men. Many of her countrymen from Dol Amroth were there and it took a resolute heart to accept that some of them were beyond anything but a last few moments that she tried to make comfortable. One man breathed the name of a loved one with his last breath as he literally died in her arms, but there was no time to spare to weep over the heart wrenching fate of any of these men, and she moved to the next stricken soldier. She gasped when she saw who it was, for he had been a dear friend to her for many years now.
"Mithrellas…" Eldor said weakly.
"My friend, what may I do?" she asked, lamenting that this loyal man should fall.
"Naught, I presume, I will either live or die as the gods have ordered it. I would be content to stay here a while longer, if we win. If not… well, I will be going to her anyway." Eldor spoke with such peace that Mithrellas knew he did not fear death.
Mithrellas had known of her best friend, Finduilas's, long relationship with the man who was, at the time, a stable boy of the Prince's household. She had known that Fin' had often sneaked away to visit him even before she knew who Denethor was, but because Finduilas had never spoken of it, nor had she. She understood that some things were to be kept as treasured secrets, even between the best of friends. She would have kept her own affair with Imrahil's herald, Falas, a secret, but that her friend had accidentally stumbled across them locked in an "embrace" many years ago. When they had returned to Dol Amroth after Finduilas was delivered of child for a second time, Mithrellas was well aware that the romance had rekindled immediately, though again she said nothing, as so too had her own.
Mithrellas was aware that Imrahil, with his ever-enduring patience, had been asking Eldor to accept a commission with his Knights for years, but that Eldor had respectfully refused each time because he would not risk being away if ever his beloved returned, and, when she had, he would not leave her for a moment. It was only after Finduilas's premature death that Eldor finally consented to ride with the Swan Knight's, aware that he could not stay in the stable anymore, not now that he knew his beautiful Finduilas would never return. That much alone had earned Eldor Mithrellas's respect, but they came to be friends after Mithrellas's lover suffered death in a skirmish. She sought him out, for he had known Falas as well as Finduilas and their friendship became a source of comfort in a time of bereavement for them.
"Mithrellas, I will keep," Eldor said quietly, "across the way there, that young Ranger needs to be tended. The Prince bid me to get him back here, I know not whom he is, but someone else was bearing him back when he was struck down as well. He must be rather important, I guess, for he wears the most intriguing cloak I have ever seen and the clasp is beautiful."
Mithrellas went to the ailing man and searched for a pulse before even attempting to push back the hood that hid his face. Finding a pulse, albeit a weak one she called for fresh water and set about removing his cloak. When she glanced up at the soldier's face she had to bite back a cry. "Hurry with that water," she called again and louder, "and fetch a healer, immediately!"
"Lady Mithrellas, what is the meaning of this disturbance? As one who has studied the art of…." Suddenly the fetched healer fell silent. "Lord Boromir! Gods… how was he overlooked? Hurry, get him to his suite!"
"My Lord," said one of the young boys in attendance, "no one has a suite at the moment, all rooms are now prepared to accommodate many."
The healer clutched at his forehead in frustration. "The Steward will hang me for this!"
"That is nothing compared to what he will do if you allow his heir to perish because you are too particular about where he is healed," Mithrellas said sharply. "He does not appear to be bleeding. He needs water though, fast, and to be wakened."
Night fell over the City, though the fact was only marked because there was now even less light than usual. It was as though a constant storm was hovering, but had not yet broken, and all were tense. Several times had messengers been sent to the Steward to tell him that his son was being treated in the Houses, but after the first messenger was sent away without even being able to speak, Denethor answered no further calls.
A new day came, though no hope came with it. The siege had begun; though it was yet as cruel taunting and intimidation, not all out war. Between them, Gandalf and Imrahil managed to keep the soldiers in rank, though it was no easy task. Imrahil was unusually livid with his brother-in-law that he would dare to neglect his charge and leave this duty to him. He had heard that the Steward still had not come down from the Tower and nor would he answer anyone's call. Imrahil was starting to regret deeply leaving Faramir in his care. For years, ever since Finduilas's death, he had wondered at whom this "Faramir" was, how he had been taken away from his sister and why. Now to lose another precious link to his sister before he even got to know him was unconscionable.
By evening, the battle had begun in earnest. Siege engines of war filled the Pelennor with the obvious purpose of breaking and scaling the many strong walls of Minas Tirith. It was the most frightening thing any of the people of Minas Tirith had ever lived through. Battles had always been unsettling, yes, but they were fought far off, away from home. Now, though, it was home that was being attacked, en masse. Even the most optimistic did not have any delusions about this, their men would exhaust, and even if the city could not be physically broken, it was only a matter of time before it was overrun. Moreover, there was no way out. They were trapped, cornered with their backs against the mountain out of which Minas Tirith looked to be carved.
In the early hours of the night, the fight took a turn for the worse as the Gates of the City were assaulted. Denethor watched from the top of the Tower as his worst nightmares were happening before him. Quickly he went down into the Hall of Kings and opened the door but slightly, ordering four nearby Guards to come and bear Faramir to the Silent Street. Guards stationed about the Tower in those days were only ones who had proven themselves unquestioningly loyal to Denethor, the slightest hesitation to carry out an order was cause for demotion in the Steward's eyes. The four men lifted the Captain of the Rangers on the bier and heard him moan very softly, but none said anything nor showed reluctance to bear him to Rath Dinen as their Lord led them.
Pippin saw the procession making its way to the Closed Door, which Gandalf had pointed out when they first arrived in the City, and in his concern and ever-present curiosity, followed them. Pippin also heard a faint groan from Strider's son and realized that the Steward must have presumed him dead. "My Lord!" Pippin cried out to stop them.
Denethor stopped but instructed the Guards to go ahead of him with Faramir and to build a pyre.
"A pyre?" Pippin cried. "But you cannot, he is alive!"
The fey look about Denethor did not tolerate challenge. "You are no longer in my service, Halfling. Get thee gone from my sight!" There was a gleam in Denethor's eyes that frightened the Hobbit, and Pippin turned and fled. There was only one thing he could think to do: find Gandalf, fast.
Find Gandalf, he did. The Wizard was holding off Nazgûl from the Gates but when he heard from Pippin of the extent of Denethor's madness, he knew that the Wraiths would just have to hold themselves off, just at the moment he had a madman to deal with. It caused Gandalf to wonder as he raced through the streets with Pippin, the power of Mordor was so pervasive that orcs needn't break the Gates to cause great disaster. Though Gandalf was aware that certain powers had been at work within the Citadel for a long time, and there was little difference between what had happened in Edoras and what was happening in Minas Tirith.
Beregond was not found guarding the Citadel gates and the keeper of the key to the Closed Door was found slain at his post. Gandalf's fear grew and they went quickly to find that two others had been slain and two more bearing torches stood against Beregond who knew that Faramir lived and would not allow them past, not even at Denethor's order. The Steward could be heard within demanding that his Guards make haste, ordering them to "slay the renegade" if need be. Denethor himself pulled open the door and stood there, a fearsome sight, his eyes alight with a fire of madness, wielding his sword in his wrath.
For as fearsome as Denethor stood, the Guards actually fell back when Gandalf stood forth, for now his anger had been stirred and he was in no mood for shrouding his quintessential power. The visage of a worn old man remained, but the brightness that emanated from the Wizard left no doubt of the scope of his might. Gandalf raised his hand with a commanding thrust and the sword Denethor brandished flew from his grasp. Even Denethor backed away from this strength of power, though Gandalf was rueful to have to spend it in knocking some sense into the Steward when it should have been making itself useful against the powers of Mordor. Gandalf swiftly lifted Faramir from the pyre, holding him with ease as he once did the babe who swatted at his beard, causing them both delight.
There followed what Gandalf would later refer to as the worst and most untimely waste of time in the history of Mortal Man. Denethor's madness was more obviously than ever as he argued that he should be allowed to take his "son" into death with him, time and time again referring to Faramir as his "son." Boromir and Faramir were similar enough in appearance for many to take them for brothers and now it seemed that Denethor did not know them apart, for Denethor never once said the name of Faramir. He raved in lunacy about burning and ash and wept believing he heard his beloved son calling him.
Gandalf looked upon the proud man and saw him as utterly broken, his will defeated by Sauron and in a moment of pity, Gandalf encouraged Denethor to stand where he belonged, with his men, against the power of Mordor. However, at once, Denethor was all over fey madness again. Denethor laughed at Gandalf's efforts and fetched the palantír, holding it aloft as the orb came to life in his hands, and advising all who would not fall under Sauron's thrall to flee the fight.
Gandalf recognized such advice as truly the work of the Enemy and he could see plainly just how deep into Denethor's mind and will Sauron had been able to delve; subtle, oh, very subtle, but deadlier than any poison. Denethor claimed to have done the impossible, to have seen into Gandalf's hopes and mind, and he accused him of intending to set up pawn kingdoms, from which he himself would ultimately rule. He knew of the coming of Aragorn, apparently he had seen and recognized Thorongil, and, in his mind, that proved that it had been their design to steal the Throne of Gondor from its rightful House of Anórien protectors. Denethor then drew a dagger and, keeping the Seeing Stone safely under his arm, he lunged toward Faramir, only to be stopped by Beregond. Denied yet again a chance at Faramir's life, Denethor, in naught but his last possibility of defiance, commanded those last loyal men to come forth and he took the torch before Gandalf could stop him again and ran into the House of Stewards, putting himself upon the pyre, breaking the staff of his Stewardship, and clutching the palantír to him.
Gandalf and Beregond, still in shock, lifted Faramir and bore him away toward the Houses, when they heard a cracking and looked to see the House of the Stewards collapse, and at last the two Guards who had been rooted to the spot in horror of their beloved Lord's fate fled to Gandalf. They took him into the Houses, though even Gandalf did not pretend to believe that Faramir would recover. It seemed to him that Denethor might well get his wish yet, for he knew that if Faramir did not survive, it would utterly destroy Aragorn.
ooo
steelelf: Was that last one a little too much of the old cliffhanger for you? Well, at least it's not so bad this time around. Ah, but i seem to be going a bit sarcastic again. You will have to pardon that, it's just that there's been this giant hedgehog following me around and...
Elenhin: I more than understand being pressed for time. Sometimes it seems if i am any more pressed for time i will become juice, or least some manner of essential oil. I am grateful that you do take the time to read and enjoy, though, and always extremely grateful for your reviews. I don't know if they are visible in your part of the world or how the weather will react, but may i recommend having a look for the Perseids this Friday night? If you are in a dark enough area, it should bea good show.
linda: I do kind of enjoy combining both book and movie, since some of the scenes from the films are just so vivid. I don't know about anyone else, but there were some things that, when i saw them on film, i about flipped because they were EXACTLY as i had seen them in my mind's eye when i read all those years ago, particularly Gollum. Still i rely very heavily on the books for reference. I have a copy of Return of the King sitting right beside me :)