Beregond closed the door and returned to Faramir's side.
"How fares the city, Beregond?" asked Faramir.
"It still stands, my lord", answered Beregond, his voice plainly showed his amazement. He could not decide which one amazed him more: that the City was unconquered, or that the Lord Faramir was alive and recovering. "The enemy broke the Gate, but no one entered the City. The battle was in the Pelennor, not inside the city. Mithrandir withstood the Black Captain, and Rohan came to our aid. I did not see it, but I heard that men from the Southern fiefs came also in a fleet led by an unknown captain."
"So the White Tower is not ruined?"
"The White Tower? No, surely not, my lord. The enemy forces did not enter the first circle, let alone the Citadel."
"And the Lord Steward, how fares he?"
"The Lord Steward was wounded and was brought hither." Beregond hoped Faramir would not ask further. He could never lie to him, but it was at least true that the Steward is in the House of Healing. Why, he was right in front of Beregond!
"But how came he to wounds, if the enemy did not enter the City? Did he ride to the battle?"
Beregond answered hesitantly, "No, he did not."
Faramir looked at him, but he did not pursue the question further. Instead, he turned to Bergil and asked for water. To Beregond's relief, no further question on Denethor was raised afterward. Faramir was still weary and he soon fell asleep.
It was near dawn when Faramir stirred. He could see a glimmer of sunlight from the window. The shadow no longer lingered in his city. His heart rejoiced. He had not thought that he would have lived to see the Sun shining on his city again. He looked to his left and found Beregond asleep in the chair. Bergil was no longer in the room.
He closed his eyes again. He had much to think of. He remembered vividly the retreat from the Causeway Forts. In his mind he could still hear the sound of flapping wings, the piercing shrieks of the Nazgul and the cries of Orcs. He remembered seeing the blue banner of Dol Amroth, and the red southland sword that was raised to hew him. He presumed that he was taken to the City by the swan-knights.
He had dreamt about many things. They had seemed so real, but now he realized he had been in a dream. Or had he been shown what in truth happened after he fell? He saw Minas Tirith besieged by thousands upon thousands of Orcs and wild men, he saw the mutilated heads of the guards. He saw the Gate of Gondor broken by a cruel device of the enemy, he saw the Tower of Ecthelion in ruins. Was it all a dream? Beregond said that the Gate was broken, but the Tower is untouched.
What about the King? Even before he learnt from Beregond that Minas Tirith did not fall, he had felt a strange calmness within him. He still felt keenly his sorrow and weariness, yet he could almost say he was content. The reason of his contentment he knew not. This strange contentment encouraged him to believe that his encounter with the King was more than a dream.
He still remembered the King clearly. Keen eyes and a smile in a weary face. His face was stained with dusts and blood, and so was his simple garb, yet Faramir could not fail to recognize a king, though one in exile. He remembered Frodo the Halfling mentioned Aragorn, someone from the North claiming to be the heir or Elendil. Was it him last night? How did he, or whoever the King was, come to Minas Tirith on the very night it was besieged? It sounds like a long-forgotten tale: the king returned when his city was in deadly peril.
Was it the King who led the army? But how did he convince the Steward to let him take the lead? If the King appeared years ago, Denethor would have perhaps acknowledged him. But now, Faramir knew, his father would not even listen to the claim of any kings. He had hardened his heart in the recent years. Or perhaps the growing shadow had hardened his heart. Then a terrible thought came to Faramir. Beregond said that his father was it the result of his confrontation with the King? But he immediately dismissed the thought. It was inconceivable that a man should injure the father and heal the son in one night.
He began to wonder how bad his father's injury was. Though they parted bitterly, Faramir knew that his father would not fail to sit beside his wounded son, unless he himself was bed-ridden. Did he fall in the defence of the City? He remembered how in his dream he saw his father looking pale and bent on a staff, and how he sensed a dark foreboding concerning his father. He hoped that part of his dream was not true. He knew Beregond had not been entirely truthful to him the night before. Yet he would not have troubled the good guard further. Some things, he had learnt, must wait.
His thought went to his men. He wondered how many of them made it safely to the City. He knew some of them fell before the sortie was released to aid them. He wanted to find out about them, but decided that it has to wait until he had strength to do so. He felt so weak and weary. Soon he fell back into a deep slumber.
When Faramir woke, the sun was shining with her full splendour. For a moment Faramir stared at the window in awe. Is this how the people in the First Age felt when they saw Anor for the first time?
Seeing that Faramir was awake, Beregond went out to call a servant. Soon broth, white bread and wine were brought for Faramir. After Faramir had broken his long fast, Beregond asked whether he needed anything else. Faramir asked of his father. He spoke calmly, but it was clear that this time he demanded answer. Beregond had no choice but to tell him that the Lord Denethor had fallen.
"So it was true," was all Faramir said. He then asked Beregond to see how the rear guard from Osgiliath was faring. Beregond needed no time to find them; in fact those who made it safely to the City were all impatient to see their captain. Yet Beregond did not make haste, for he wanted to give Faramir time to mourn in private. When Beregond came back with Mablung at about the ninth hour of the day, he found the young Steward calm and composed.