PART ONE: ANACHRONISM

Chapter LXIII: The Stewards Of The White City

Someone screamed. The ground shook, and a blast of heat shot through the air beside me. It took my eyes a minute to adjust to the daylight, but when they did, I saw that I was standing on a white-stone street with a row of two-story stone buildings to my left and a towering wall to my right. Soldiers with pointed helmets ran about the wall, shouting things to one another that I couldn't quite hear.

There was a crashing sound, followed by another scream. Then, from the stone wall above me, pieces of wood, stone, and fire came showering down.

I threw my hands over my face to protect myself, but some wood scratched my wrist and a burning cloth scalded my forearm. I shrieked and leapt away, almost knocking over a tall woman.

"Watch yourself!" she cried. She grabbed her children by the hands, pulling them away from me and debris that came toppling down from the stone wall. Her thin face was darkened with soot. Her two children, a boy and a girl, were pale and trembling as they stared up at me.

"Where am I?" I asked.

She didn't answer, and I didn't expect her to as she dragged her children up the street. I watched them for a second, but another large piece of rock fell onto the road not two yards away from me, and I scurried away as quickly as I could.

A shrill, piercing cry filled the air. I stumbled. My ears bled as the cry, thin a sharp like a dagger, filled my head. I clamped my hands over my ears, but I could not keep the sound out.

"Skip, Skip, Skip," I muttered under my breath. "Please let me Skip."

A great, black beast appeared in the sky, soaring over the white walls and streets. I stared up at the fell beast. Its head was cove. red in thick, metal armor, and a bit had been placed between its teeth. The reins were held in the metal hands of a nazgûl, who sat on the fell beast's back.

I knew where I was.

The good news: There was a high chance that Gandalf was here in the White City. He had saved Faramir and the other soldiers from the nazgûl when Osgiliath was attacked. The bad news: The White City was currently under attack. From somewhere beneath the city, someone was launching giant boulders at the battlements.

There was another cracking sound from behind me, and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw the broken pieces of white stone lying on the cobblestone street. A couple soldiers of Gondor, the outline of the white tree stamped across their metal chests, emerged from one of the houses. They looked around before stepping out to allow two women and their children to hurry up the street.

After them, a small, child-like figure emerged from the building. He squinted in the sunlight, while my jaw dropped. The curly light brown hair and wide blue eyes were familiar, though the black armor bearing the image of a white tree was not usually associated with him.

I blinked. "Pippin?"

The hobbit saw me, and his eyes widened. "Ana?"

As I bounded over to Pippin, the two soldiers gave me curious glances, but there were more important things to occupy their attention—such as the frigging nazgûl attacking their city.

"You came at a dangerous time," said Pippin.

"Yeah, well,

I glanced around at the street and silently agreed. It was a wreck. Half of the buildings were burning and the other half were piles of rubble that could barely be recognized as buildings. Women and children were fleeing in the direction while soldiers, dressed in silver armor, ran in the opposite direction, their weapons raised and their faces set. The city was almost unrecognizable.

I had visited the Houses of Healing after I'd been shot, so I knew that the Rohirrim would arrive and Gondor would survive the Battle of Pelennor Fields. But now that I stood among the broken walls of the city, I realized that future might no longer exist.

The image of Minas Tirith from long ago formed in my mind. I'd stood on Pelennor Fields and watched the armies of Mordor celebrate as the city burned. The bodies of men littered the fields, their blood staining the brittle grass. It had been the end of the world, the beginning of the age of orcs. Frodo and Sam were dead, and now that future was coming true.

My breathing quickened, and all of a sudden I felt light-headed. I had to grab Pippin's shoulder to hold myself upright. It was coming true. The White City would fall, and Sauron would win, and it was my fault, all my fault.

"Ana?" Pippin placed a hand over mine and stared up at with those blue eyes of his. He looked so genuinely concerned about me that I tried to calm myself for his sake.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice hoarse. I took a deep breath and then another and another, until finally my chest didn't feel like it was being crushed. "How long has this siege been going on?"

"The armies of Mordor marched across the fields in the night, but the attack itself did not begin until the sun rose," said Pippin. He glanced up at the gray sky and added, "Not that you could tell. The soldiers are calling it at dawnless day."

Through the thick, gray clouds, I could see the faintest outline of the sun, and I guessed that the siege had been going on for three or four hours at this point.

Pippin stood in front of me, dark shadows under his eyes and dirt on his face and chin. Despite the exhaustion, he looked pretty impressive. He was dressed in uniform of Gondor with a black tunic over chainmail and the branches of a spidery white tree spreading over his chest. He still wore the elvish cape that the Fellowship had been given by Galadriel. He was not fully Gondor's yet, I noted; the Fellowship lingered with him even though many miles separated him and the others.

It startled me to look at him now. Pippin had changed a lot. Perhaps he did not know it himself, but he was no longer the naïve hobbit who had stumbled into the Inn of the Prancing Pony and bragged that he knew Frodo Baggins. He now stood a soldier of Gondor, and even though the city was crumbling around him, he remained strong. In fact, when I had been panicking about the future, he'd placed a hand on mine, spoke evenly, and managed to calm me down.

A small smile crossed my face. "You're incredible."

Pippin's eyes widened. "I-I am?"

I nodded. A small part of me was even jealous of Pippin. I only hoped that one day I would be able to grow as much as he had over the last couple years. It seemed that no matter how hard I tried, I was the same babbling idiot I'd always been.

Well, the first step to change was saving Frodo and Sam's lives. "Do you know where Gandalf is?"

Pippin didn't even seem surprised by the sudden request for Gandalf. How many people in the last three hours had come to him, looking for the wizard?

There was another cracking sound somewhere in the distance, followed by the thunder of falling rocks. Even if we weren't near the destruction, both Pippin and I winced.

"I am looking for Gandalf," said Pippin when the sound faded. "He should be somewhere on the battlements."

"Oh good," I said. "We can look for him together." I didn't add that I felt much safer with Pippin around.

Pippin led the way through the streets of Minas Tirith. We jogged around the piles of broken debris and even, at one point, had to climb over the remains of a stone wall. I scraped my knee on the stone, tearing a hole in the wool trousers that I'd gotten in Laketown.

"Why do you need Gandalf?" asked Pippin as we reached the third level of Minas Tirith.

I hesitated. Telling Pippin that Frodo and Sam had died—and it was probably my fault—wasn't exactly the best way to go about saving Middle Earth. Pippin didn't need to know what had happened to Frodo and Sam, especially since I was going to change it, instead he needed to focus on survive this war.

"It's for his ears and his alone," I said, trying to sound mysterious. As we climbed the steps onto the walls, I added, "I really do need to find him. It's important—"

I stopped. For the first time, I saw over the white wall at what was happening down on Pelennor Fields.

I had been at the Battle of Helm's Deep. At the time, I'd thought that Saruman's armies were the most horrifying thing I would ever see. They'd brought with them ladders that latched onto the walls of the fortress, and of course, they'd had the explosive that had blown a hole in the defensive of the Hornberg. The Battle of Helm's Deep haunted my dreams, the pale eyes of the orcs following me wherever I walked. I'd thought there was nothing more horrifying. But now, as I looked out at Pelennor Fields, I realized I'd been wrong.

The army of orcs seemed to stretched on for miles. How many of them were there? Hundreds of thousands. They stood in formation, their blades at their sides and their armor painted with the red eye of Sauron. There were mountain trolls as well, some with metal armor and spiked clubs and others with harasses chaining them to the war machines. There were at least a hundred catapults, the orcs around them constantly in motion as the machine hurled flaming boulders at the city. At the back of the army, I could see the battering ram—a metal wolf that hung suspended in a flames dancing in its mouth. Towers of steel loomed over the walls of Minas Tirith, metal bridges at the tops of the towers rested on the battlements and orcs ran across the walls of the lowest level of the city, killing any humans they encountered. Corpses of soldiers, women, and children littered the streets.

My hands started shaking, and bile rose in my throat. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to watch. Not when I knew how this ended. With a burning, broken city and a field littered with corpses. And how could it not like that? How could the people of Gondor survive this war? There were hundreds of thousands of orcs knocking at their gates. No, I didn't want to be here. And I knew how to escape.

I took a step closer to the edge of the wall. I could see the white roofs of the second-level buildings far below. All I had to do was jump, and I would Skip away again. I didn't have to find Gandalf in Minas Tirith. I could find him in Rivendell or Hobbiton during on of his visits there…

"What are you doing, Ana?" Pippin grabbed my wrist before I could take another step closer to the edge of the wall.

I gulped. He knew what I was doing. He had to. He'd spent enough time around me to know that I would Skip away. But he was looking at me with those solemn eyes again, and I remembered that I was trying to be a better person. Running away wasn't the right answer. I wouldn't die here, so I should stay as long as I could and do what I can.

"Nothing," I said, turning away from the ledge. "Where is Gandalf? I need to talk to him—it's really, really important. And why do you need to find him? You never told me that."

Pippin frowned. "He has to be here. We do not have much time… Denethor is burning Faramir alive."

I froze. For a second, I could only stare at Pippin, willing what he'd said to be a joke, but Pippin was still scanning the battlements, searching for the white wizard. I grabbed his shoulder and forced him to look at me. "What? What did you just say? What is Denethor doing now? What in Earth and Middle Earth caused Denethor, who could win shittiest father of the year award, to burn his son alive?"

Pippin winced, and I quickly released his shoulder; I didn't even know I was strong enough to hurt him.

"Denethor ordered Faramir to retake Osgiliath," said Pippin, rubbing his aching shoulder. "But Osgiliath was overrun." Pippin gulped. "Two days later, Faramir returned to Minas Tirith…bound to the back of his horse. The orcs had returned him to his father, though it was not kindness on their part. Faramir was half-dead, and the orcs were standing outside the gates of Minas Tirith."

"And how does this result in Denethor burning his son alive?" I asked, my voice unnaturally high.

"Denethor has lost his mind," said Pippin. "At first, he believed Faramir was dead even though I, and many healers, told him that Faramir was not lost. Then, Denethor saw the armies of Mordor at the gates of the White City, and he declared that the end has come. He would depart this world with his beloved son."

My jaw was somewhere around floor level, and I was having a hard time processing exactly what was happening. "While it's nice to see Denethor finally appreciating his youngest son, I'm afraid we're going to have to murder him."

Pippin blinked. "Ana?"

I turned away and started across the battlements, searching for any signs of white robes. "Faramir is not allowed to die. I have a list of people who aren't allowed to die—you, Merry, Frodo, Sam, Éomer, Thorin, the list is rather long—but Faramir is one of those people. He has future. I've seen it. There's a beautiful, sad woman named Éowyn who needs him as much as he needs her—and Denethor is not allowed to ruin it. Minus a thousand Cool Points for that asshat!"

"What are you talking about?" asked Pippin as he hurried after me on the wall.

"Never mind!" I was not explaining the Cool Points Scale to anyone in the middle of a war. "Let's go dump our problems on Gandalf! Where is he?"

As we progressed on the wall, heading down to the second level, it became harder and harder to navigate the city. The destruction was worse on the lower levels, and at times, we had to lie down on our stomachs and crawl through holes in the stone. There may have been an easier path to reach Gandalf, but we didn't have time to find it—not when Faramir's life was on the line.

For the most part, the soldiers of Gondor ignored our presence, too preoccupied with defending their city to pay attention to us. However, some of the soldiers shot us annoyed glares as we passed. Some of them even had the nerve to tell us to turn around—a girl and a child had no place in a war. I flipped them off and kept on running. Except the middle finger has no meaning in Middle Earth, so I think I only succeeded in confusing the soldiers.

"Where's Gandalf?" I cried after twenty minutes of useless searching. "Where is he?"

At my question, one of the soldiers—a burly man with a bloodied forehead—spun around. "Mithrandir?"

I had no idea what that meant, but Pippin did and he asked, "Have you seen him? Where is he?"

"He is busy," said the soldier.

Pippin and I exchanged glances. Our expressions mirrored each other's—a mix between fury and hopelessness.

I gritted my teeth. This soldier had no idea what Pippin and I had been through. He had no idea why we needed Gandalf or how important our missions were; he just thought that we were unimportant because Pippin was a hobbit and I was female.

"What do you know?" I snapped. "What do you know about us? Pippin here is running around, risking his life, trying to save your captain from being burned to death. And me? I've been Skipping through time and worlds for days, trying to find Gandalf, and you think an asshole like you is going to stop me? I have jumped off buildings so I can find that wizard! And you know why I'm doing it? So I can save Middle Earth—your world—from the reign of an evil Dark Lord who is currently marching on your city. If I do not get my message to Gandalf, the all your fighting will be for naught because the Dark Lord will get his full strength back and the Middle Earth will fall anyway. So, you know what, whether I get this message to Gandalf or not is far more important than you or your life or your stupid little city!"

The soldier's eyes narrowed. I don't think he understood ninety-percent of what I'd said, but he understood that I'd insulted him and called his city "stupid" and "little".

"Listen to me," said Pippin. Unlike me, his voice was calm. Pippin, despite being the height of a human child, looked strong and confident as he glowered up at the soldier. The white tree printed on Pippin's chest looked as though it belonged there. "The Captain of the White Tower and the heir to the House of Húrin is in great danger. None can save him save for the white wizard. I know that Captain Faramir has trained the soldiers of Gondor so that they can defend the city for days on end with small numbers and limited supplies. I know that you can spare Gandalf for an hour so that he can save the captain's life."

The soldier was still glaring at me, but then, slowly, he turned to Pippin. "He is fighting on the wall." He gestured behind him before placing a hand on Pippin's shoulder. "Save our captain."

Pippin nodded once before sprinting past the soldier towards Gandalf.

"Thank you!" I cried as I followed Pippin. I knew the soldier hadn't done it for me, but I was thankful all the same.

"Look out!" shouted the soldier.

Pippin and I spun around just in time to see a flaming boulder come smashing down on the wall where we'd been standing moments before. Pippin grabbed my arm and dragged me backwards. We fell onto the stone as the wall cracked and flames danced in front of our eyes. I couldn't see the soldier who'd helped us anymore. He was gone, and all I could see was fire and broken stone.

I screamed, calling out to him, but Pippin hauled me to my feet and pulled me away.

"Ana," he said, "we cannot delay. We have to find Gandalf."

My throat was thick, and I felt like my legs were going to give out beneath me. The soldier had to be okay. He had to be. He was the one who'd told us to look out, so he'd probably gotten out of the way before the boulder had landed. That had to be it. I refused to accept anything else. I turned a followed Pippin along the wall.

As we stepped around one of the guard towers, we were greeted with a cry of "Orcs!"

At first, I didn't know what the soldier was referring to—had he just called us orcs?—but then, I saw a group of orcs racing up the stairs onto the wall. Their bloodied weapons flashed as they released a battle cry in the black speech. Soldiers swung their swords, desperately trying to stop the orcs from reaching the wall. The corpses of orcs and men filled the stairs, making it difficult for the orcs the climb. Some of the orcs got through and started attacking everyone in sight.

As Pippin drew his little sword (more of a dagger really), his expression hardened to one of determination. He leapt forward as one of the orc's approached. I let out a little shriek as Pippin swung his sword and managed to slice open the orc's forearm. The orc howled as Pippin drove the sword through the orc's stomach.

My hand fumbled for the Sword Breaker. Fili had given me a belt and sheath for it when we were getting new clothes in Laketown. I drew the comb-toothed blade and watched as one of the orcs charged towards me, his sword raised over his head.

I raised the blade, praying that this would work, but at the last second, the orc adjusted his stance and started swinging his sword from the side rather than from above. Oh God, I couldn't move in time. I wasn't fast enough. He was going to slice me in two unless I Skipped out of there. But I wasn't Skipping. Oh God, I wasn't Skipping.

And then a sword buried its blade in the orc's throat. Purple blood spurted on my face and neck, and I tried not to gag.

"Ana? When did you arrive here?" The white wizard sat astride his white horse, the bloodied Glamdring in one hand and his staff in the other. For once, there was no irritation as he stared down at me; I think he was too exhausted to be irritated.

"Gandalf!" I cried. "Frodo and Sam—and Faramir—and there are so many things wrong that I don't even know where to begin! Frodo and Sam—you have to save them! But Faramir first! Where's Pippin?"

Gandalf didn't have time to consider what I was saying. Another orc had decided to try and kill me. Gandalf swung Glamdring and managed to block the orc's sword. I twisted around and found myself staring into the orc's pale eyes. And then, Gandalf sliced off the orc's head. I stared at the stump before Gandalf grabbed me by the back of the shirt and lifted me onto Shadowfax behind him.

"You have to save Frodo and Sam," I gasped, clinging to Gandalf's white robes. "They're in Mordor, but Sauron had more armies there. So many… And they're blocking the path to Mount Doom."

"What has happened to Frodo and Sam?" asked Gandalf.

"I can't tell you the details," I cried.

Shadowfax galloped across the wall to where Pippin was trying to defend himself from an orc. As the gripped his sword, Gandalf asked, "How am I supposed to do that?"

I opened my mouth and closed it. I had tried to think of a solution during all my Skipping about—I really had—but nothing had come to me. I'd just assumed that I would tell Gandalf my problems, and he would fix them for me. That's how Gandalf operated, wasn't it? Finally, in a small voice, I said, "I don't know."

Gandalf didn't answer as Shadowfax leapt into the fighting. I wish I could tell you that I was helpful, that I made a difference in the soldiers' fight against the orcs, but that would be a lie. Mainly, I just clung to Gandalf and tried not to fall off the horse. The only thing I can say to my credit is that I didn't get in Gandalf's way too much.

And then, the nazgûl arrived.

A shrill, dagger-like scream filled the air. I clutched my ears, trying to block out the pain that seared through my head. Around me, Pippin and the soldier of Gondor did the same.

I could see it, the winged black shadow in the sky. The fell beast's black eyes blinked beneath its metal helm as it scanned the ground, searching for its next target. I swear, its eyes landed right on me. And then, the nazgûl on the fell beast's back turned to look at Gandalf. His hands tightened on the reins, and the fell beast spread its wings.

"It's coming," I whispered.

Gandalf spun around just in time to see the fell beast dive towards the wall. Shadowfax reeled backwards. Gandalf managed to hold on, but I lost my grip and tumbled off the back of the horse.

My back hit the stone ground, sending spasms of pain through my body. The horse's hooves came dangerously close to my legs, and I cried out, but Shadowfax danced away. I lay there for a moment, the world spinning and my body shuddering with pain. Then, everything came back into focus. And God, it was frightful.

The fell beast was perched on the edge of the wall. Its long neck twisted like a serpent as it looked at the people on the wall. Then, fast and vicious, It snapped out and caught one of the soldiers between his teeth. With a crack, the bones broke and the metal gave way, and then the soldier lay limp in the beast's jaws.

I crawled backwards. Gandalf was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Pippin. Soldiers had their swords and spears lifted towards the fell beast, but they were trembling even as they tried to fight.

I was lying on my back, my face was lifted off the ground. My eyes met the fell beast's black ones, and a scream formed in my throat. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Please let me Skip out of here.

"I taste bad," I said, inching backwards. "Really bad."

The fell beast spread its wings and—with a gust of wind—it took off from the wall, leaving me and the soldiers alone and alive.

For a second, we all stood there, gasping for breath. The soldiers exchanged incredulous glances, and some of them even hugged. None of us could believe we'd been spared.

"Ana, there you are!" Pippin, the side of his face splattered with orc blood, extended a hand and hauled me to my feet.

"What happened?" I gasped. "Where were you? Where's Gandalf?"

"Gandalf had to get me away," said Pippin. "The blackriders believe I have the Ring."

"That's why it landed?" I asked, my voice squeaking a little. "To get you?"

"Gandalf thinks so," said Pippin. "We were below the wall and I told Gandalf about Denethor and Faramir, but then some orcs attacked us. I came to get you—"

The thundering of hooves filled my eyes, and I turned to see Gandalf and Shadowfax galloping up the steps onto the wall. Another soldier in silver armor rode a chestnut mare followed. Gandalf paused just long enough to place Pippin in the saddle behind him, and the soldier gripped my hand and pulled me onto his horse. I wrapped my arms around the soldier and tried not to scream as the horse started to run.

"Calm down," said the rider. "Daisy won't let you fall."

"Daisy?" I asked, through clenched teeth. "I'll be honest, I don't have much confidence in a horse named Daisy."

"Would you be less afraid if you were on Shadowfax?" asked the soldier as Daisy leapt over a piece of rubble.

I squeaked. "No. You try lying across a horse's back while being chased by nazgûl and see if you survive without having a fear of horses."

"You are the girl that Captain Faramir found on Pelennor fields."

"Am I famous among the soldiers of Gondor now?" I closed my eyes and squeezed him in a hug. I was half-joking, half-holding on for dear life. "I'm Ana Stonbit."

"Hiregard, son of Begard."

"Nice to meet you, Hiregard. Now, don't you dare let me fall off this horse!"

Just as I said that, there was another shrill scream of the fell beast. I couldn't cover my ears without letting go of Hiregard, so I bore the pain. By the time the cry had ended, both Hiregard and I were exhausted. A thin layer of sweat had appeared on my forehead.

"What evil creatures," murmured Hiregard.

"The things that ride them are even worse," I said.

We galloped the rest of the way to the White Tower at breakneck speed. As we reached the higher levels of Minas Tirith, the death and destruction fell away. Crowds of elderly, women, and children filled the edges of the streets in the upper levels. They called out "Mithrandir" to Gandalf as he rode past.

Daisy was an impressive horse (despite her name) as she managed to keep up with Shadowfax. But in my mind, as I pictured Faramir at the mercy of his insane father, the horses weren't fast enough. When we reached the White Tower, I had already imagined Faramir dying in the fire a hundred times.

Hiregard tugged on the reins to stop his horse, but Gandalf charged forward, heading to a stone hall to the right of the keep. It took me a second to realize that the hall was a tomb. A chill spread through me, and I grip on Hiregard's back tightened. He dug his heels into Daisy's sides, and she followed Shadowfax.

A tall soldier with gray-blue eyes and a long, woeful face stood outside the hall. I late learned his name was Beregond. He rushed forward as Gandalf and Pippin approached, crying, "Mithrandir, Lord Denethor has broken into the tomb— I tried to stop him, but I could only stall him for so long. Mithrandir, he is going to burn Captain Faramir alive."

"You have done him honorably," said Gandalf. "Your captain will be proud. Quick!, I must enter and bring an end to Denethor's madness!"

The soldier leapt out of the way, and Shadowfax kicked down the doors of the hall. As we galloped into the hall, I saw that it contained the graves of countless kings and stewards. The walls were white and made of stone, like the rest of Minas Tirith, and decorated with black marble. The gray statues of kings long past watched us as we passed. I inclined my head to them, silently asking them to look at Faramir. Then, with a pit of dread in my stomach, I turned to see what awaited us at the back of the hall.

We passed beneath and arch and entered an oval room with a wooden pyre in the center. Several guards of the citadel stood in a circle around the edges of the room, holding flickering torches.

I stared up at the silver-haired man in black velvet robes who stood at the top of the pyre. His eyes were wide, and his skin pale. Oil covered his hair, skin, and clothes, ready to catch alight the moment fire touched him.

The last time I had seen Denethor, son of Ecthelion, he'd been trying to have me thrown in jail because I'd insulted him once years ago. I thought I'd hated him then. But that was nothing compared to my feelings now. And then, slowly, my gaze descended to the man lying unconscious at Denethor's feet.

Faramir, precious Faramir. His skin was gray and marred by cuts and bruises. Like his father, he was covered in slick oil. He lay so still that I understood how one could mistake him for dead, but when I looked carefully, I could see the shallow movement of his chest. Faramir… He deserved so much better.

"Denethor!" roared Gandalf as Shadowfax came to a halt in front of the pyre. "Stop this madness!"

Denethor lifted his head and shot Gandalf a venomous glare. "You took my son from me and made him your pupil, but now you can take him no longer. He is dead. And I—his father—shall go with him."

"He is not dead!" cried Pippin.

Denethor's gaze fell on the hobbit, and his eyes shifted from hate to something almost pitying. "Peregrin Took, I released you from service. Your interference is no longer necessary."

Peering around Hiregard, I cried, "You're losing a billion points on the Cool Points Scale—I think you might be behind Sauron at this point!"

I was hoping that the memory of the Cool Points Scale would remind Denethor of the days he spent with Boromir and Faramir, that maybe if he remembered his sons whole and happy that some of his sanity might return. But that was a bad idea. I should've just remained silent.

When his gaze landed on me, Denethor scowled and, in a low voice, hissed, "You."

"What are you doing to Faramir?" I asked. "He doesn't deserve this! He should be in the Houses of Healing!"

"Do not judge the way I raise my sons," said Denethor. He wrenched a torch from the hands of one of the guardsmen.

"I'll judge as much as I want!" I caught sight of Faramir, twisting uncomfortably in his sleep. My grip on Hiregard tightened. "You've been a terrible father—to both Boromir and Faramir!"

"Ana," said Gandalf, his voice sharp with warning.

"I was best friends with Boromir!" I shouted. "He told me all about you! He loved you, yes, but he also pitied you. He pitied you for the years you lost after his mother died. He pitied you for how you couldn't love your youngest son. He pitied you for your failings as a ruler and a father."

"What do you know about Boromir?" asked Denethor, his voice filling the hall.

"You did!" I screamed. "You placed so many burdens on them! Boromir needed to bring the Ring to you to live up to your expectations, and Faramir needed to ride on Osgiliath to earn your love! This war didn't kill your sons, you did! You are! Faramir is still alive—let him go!" I was desperate, desperate to make Denethor understand. Even if Boromir wasn't here, I could feel him. His brother and his city were everything to him. He couldn't lose them, not all in one day. "Please, Denethor. All those years that you lost with your sons, you can make it up to both of them in this moment. Please, let Faramir go to the Houses of Healing."

"Ana, stop," said Gandalf.

I did stop then, but it was too late. Denethor's eyes were bright with rage, and he lifted the flickering torch above his head.

"They are my sons," said Denethor. "Mine." And then, he threw the torch onto the pyre.

The wood caught alight in an instant. Orange flames spread across the wood, crackling and dancing around Faramir's head.

I screamed. "No, stop!"

Denethor didn't stop. He spread his arms wide, as if welcoming death, and closed his eyes. I thought I saw Faramir's eyelids flicker, but I couldn't be sure.

Why hadn't I stopped Denethor? I knew both Boromir and Faramir—I should've been able to say something, do something, to stop Denethor. Make him remember his sons and how much they loved him. Make him feel guilty for tarnishing Boromir's memory. Make him love Faramir as he ought to. I should've been able to do something. But I hadn't, I'd failed. And now I had to watch the fire make its way towards Faramir's body.

"Faramir!" I screamed his name until my voice was hoarse. "Faramir! No!"

Gandalf muttered something to Shadowfax, and the horse spurred forward.

At the sound of hooves on stone, Denethor opened his eyes. He did so just in time to see Shadowfax rear up and slam his front legs into Denethor's chest. Bones cracked, and with a cry, Denethor fell backwards of the pyre, flames dancing on his black robes.

Pippin leapt off Shadowfax and landed on the pyre. He let out a yelp as the fire bit his hand. However, rather than escape, Pippin gritted his teeth against the pain. With all the strength he possessed, the hobbit shoved Faramir off the pyre. The two of them rolled to the ground together.

Faramir's coat and pants had caught fire in places. Beregond and Pippin tried to pat the fire out, while on the other side of the room, the guards of the citadel were trying to help the fallen Denethor.

But Denethor was beyond help. He started screaming, the agonizing, gurgling pains of a man being burned alive. Flames ate at his flesh and bones, and soon the rest of us could do nothing but watch as the Ruling Steward of Gondor died writhing in pain and fire.

"And here passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion," murmured Gandalf.

I didn't have time to mourn a man I hated. I practically fell of Daisy's back in my haste to get to Faramir. Once the flames were out, Beregond stepped back to let me collapse at Faramir's side. I cried, "You're alive, right? You have to be alive! You have to meet Eowyn in the Houses of Healing and fall in love and be happy. You have to! Please! You have to!"

"Ana, be quiet."

I blinked. I glanced at Pippin and then at Beregond, both of them were staring at Faramir. His mouth had barely moved, but he had still managed to get out the words "be quiet". I had never been prouder.

"Faramir!" I wailed, burying my face in my hands. "You're okay. I know it probably doesn't feel that way, but you are. You'll get through this. For me, for Boromir, for your father… You'll be okay and you'll be happy. That's all we want for you." Salty tears were dripping down my cheeks.

"He has passed out," said Beregond gently.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "I know."

Gandalf dismounted from his horse and stepped closer to Faramir. "He must be taken to the Houses of Healing."

I stepped back to let the guards of the citadel take Faramir. Normally, I would have commented on how the guards of the citadel switched sides very easily, but at the time, I was just relieved that Faramir had made it out alive. And now, of course, I had to talk to Gandalf about Frodo and Sam properly. But before I could get the words out—

Skip.