Reminder:: Because of my excessive quoting in this chapter, I feel I really must actually cite this. The Return of King, section of The Lord of the Rings, Book Five, chapters 4: The Siege of Gondor, 6: The Battle of the Pelennor Fields, and 7: The Pyre of Denethor. Yeah. Because most of this chapter is actually Tolkien's, it's going to be a pretty awesome chapter. xD

The title may not make much sense at first, but it refers to Denethor's vision in the palantír. Hope that helps~

Here we go! Stick with me guys; I need you. =3

Chapter Thirty-Eight :: The Messiah in the Smoke

Running back up the stairs with my medicine, I was stared at by nearly everybody, almost distracting actually. It wasn't something to boost my ego or anything – if I saw a girl with a wooden bowl in Minas Tirith in the middle of battle, I'd stare, too. Quite odd really.

And then I was stopped by one of the last guards who kept the passwords. There was no arguing with him.

"Please, I need to go back! I—"

"I cannot let you go without a password, maid." The guard denied.

"It's a war, dammit! Let me through! This medicine is for the Lord Faramir!" I stomped my foot impatiently.

"The Lord Faramir has been dead for a few hours now – they took him to the Silent Street. Back to the houses with you!" He shouted. Obviously, I had taken the wrong approach.

At first, his comment didn't sink in. Faramir? Dead? It didn't fit quite right. Honestly, it was like telling me I really wasn't a girl; I had been an ape all my life. It didn't sit right at all. It simply wasn't true. I didn't believe it. I couldn't now.

I turned around like I was going to listen to him, but I suddenly sprinted at him to get by. He caught me like a young child with only one arm and pushed me back. I lost my bowl and it clipped to the ground, spilling its contents onto the stone.

I shouted in alarm and anger and he let me go. Before he could get a word out, I went for his crotch. The man caught my foot and sent me reeling backwards, falling to my bum.

Throwing the hair from my face, I snarled at him: "You will regret this! I am a Lady of the Citadel!"

"Lady of the Citadel? Be gone!"

"It's true!" I defended myself, standing already. "I am the Lady Finwen!"

"Never heard of her. Now get along – before you get yourself killed!"

I was already forgotten? Now that was a bruise to my ego. But that was a bruise I could do nothing about. It seemed I had no other choice.

Glaring at him, I could think of no retort. Not bothering with the bowl, I ran in the opposite direction.

For whatever reason, the guards were few and far between as I went lower. Actually, I didn't run into another guard at all. Every man was off somewhere else fighting.

Running like a lunatic through the White City wasn't exactly the easiest thing either. I was winded, having sat around for too long, and the streets wound about in the most confusing manner. When I thought I was following the main road, I would soon find myself dead ended in an alley. Curse this beautiful city.

The rising smoke became more and more prominent as I neared the ground. I hadn't realized I had been living so high – my ears popped constantly and I felt light-headed. I was like a caged bird, tasting fresh air for the first time. Or a sweaty girl running for my last hope. That, too.

I suddenly knew where all the men were. Running by me in droves, fleeing the first level, those who remained were at the Gate and all else were escaping for their lives. Fire burned and bodies piled on one another. Cast aside for the time. For a time when time could be given for them. The atrocious smells of blood, sweat, innards, and urine released after death filled the air in the most horrific scene I had ever been a part of. I suddenly felt very small.

But Faramir could not be dead… He couldn't be…

Poor Pippin watched in horror as guards poured into the White Hall. He was the only one left to open the doors now that nearly everyone was off fighting, but he would do so to serve his lord.

"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."

But Denethor would not hear a word from the soldiers. He was as a statue, or a man before the gallows. He was ready to die. "Why? Why do the fools fly?" He asked in a rasped, tired voice. "Better to burn sooner than late, for burn we must. Go back to your bonfire! And I? 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."

The fear in the young hobbit rose as he understood what his lord was saying. He had gone mad!

"We will burn like heathen kings before ever a ship sailed hither from the West. The West has failed. Go back and burn!"

The guards fled without a word, scared out of their minds and shaken by their trusted lord. Their last hope had failed. Now everything relied on the wizard.

Peregrin watched in sorrow as the men fled and the door shut. He turned to the Steward who was leaning over his son, wiping the sweat off his brow. "He is burning, already burning… The house of his spirit crumbles."

He suddenly turned to Pippin, standing and staring him down. "Farewell! Farewell, Peregrin son of Paladin! Your service has been short, and now it is drawing to an 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 to this death. Send for my servants and then go. Farewell!"

Pippin stood his ground against the high lord, feeling every bone in his small body a hobbit. "I will not say farewell, my lord. 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."

In short, Peregrin was thrown out. Forced to helplessly watch as Faramir was bore away to the Silent Street, Rath Dínen. The door was unlocked and swung aside where they disappeared within. Pippin sprinted, at his wit's end, and followed after his lord.

A lantern was the only light in the tombs. Vaulted ceilings seemed to leer down at the young hobbit in shadowed faces. Stumbling to keep up, he found himself directly behind the bier bearing the Captain Faramir. Denethor strode resolutely ahead with the porter holding the swaying lantern light.

Denethor suddenly stopped. The room had a door that the keeper quickly opened with a soft click. The Lord of the City strode inside and stopped in the middle of the cleared floor. "Here we will wait. But send not for the embalmers. Bring us wood quick to burn, and lay it all about us, and beneath; and pour oil upon it. And when I bid you thrust in a torch. Do this and speak no more to me. Farewell!"

Shaken, Pippin realized he was referring to him. "By your leave, lord!"

He dashed from the tombs as fast as his little legs could carry him. "Poor Faramir!" But what could he do? The young Lord wasn't dead – Pippin knew that much. But what could a small hobbit like him do? Well, when he didn't know what to do, there was always one way he could turn. "I must find Gandalf. Poor Faramir! Quite likely needs medicine more than tears. Oh, where can I find Gandalf? In the thick of things, I suppose; and he will have no time to spare for dying men or madmen."

And so Pippin ordered the wood and oil but restricted any fire from entering the Silent Street until Gandalf could arrive. Though, these men did not trust Gandalf like Pippin did. They would do what their Lord wished – even if it meant setting fire to the last son of Gondor.

"What are you doing away from the Citadel? Prince of the Halflings! Halt!"

I spun around to see Pippin barreling down the path after me. Men were calling to him because of his uniform – he was not to leave the Citadel as a guard. By the look on his horrified face, he was just as terrified by the battle and surprised to see me as I was to see him.

"Oi! Lady Finwen! What – What are you doing here?" He stammered, catching his breath.

"Looking for Mithrandir! Is it true? Faramir is—"

"No!" Pippin shook his head, still breathing hard. "Lord Denethor – he's gone mad! He wants to burn him alive!"

Mouth gaping, my heart stopped. Denethor? Mad…? My heart was breaking. He had finally given up. And I wasn't there to convince him otherwise. But then there was the matter of his son… There was no time to lose.

"We must find Gandalf!" Peregrin spoke for me, having to yell over the shouting and rattle of swords.

I agreed and we continued to run down the path together.

Here it was strangely quiet. The soldiers by the Gate were petrified, staring into the face of their doom. And outside the gate, a loud chant rose from voices and mouths of creatures that were not Men. "Grond! Grond! Grond!"

There was an enormous smashing sound that shook the Gate to the core. Shivers seemed to run through the metal and chain as well as the spines of those watching. Pippin and I were frozen, hearts stole away as we too waited.

I was suddenly holding Pippin's shoulder tight, scared half out of my mind. I had been safe and sound up in my little tower for so long and now here I was – on the front lines. Quite literally, this was as close as I could get to danger.

The cries for 'Grond' continued with the steady beat of heavy drums.

"You are soldiers of Gondor!" A familiar voice boomed over the men. "No matter what comes through that gate – you will stand your ground!"

A voice unlike any other I had ever heard screamed over all the noise and horror, creating a terror of its own design. I wished to cover my ears, but the voice spoke a tongue I could not understand. The voice was like twisting metal. A car flashed before my eyes, an old rusty Volvo, and a line of pine trees caught in bright headlights.

The smash came again, but this time, the door could not take the beating. A giant, wolfish face of iron and flame rammed its way through the Gate creating a hole for its head. Mithrandir's voice continued to echo over the cheers and drums on the other side. "Hold your ground! Hold your ground!"

The third time Grond hit the door, he succeeded. With a heave, the great Gate swung open wide.

All but Mithrandir fled. A great shadow like smoke enveloped the door and poured through. Out of the dark, a slithering head appeared with a mouth of knives. Great, leather wings snapped up and claws on the ends like those of a bat lunged forward, bringing its rider through the Gate. Upon his mount, a great shadowed figure sat tall.

My world had gone silent. The empty face of the hood turned towards me. I could hear my own breathing, my own heart within my chest beating rapidly. I had let go of Peregrin's shoulder. He seemed to notice the change and he reached out to me. I couldn't feel him. I was numb to all else save for the being at the door.

His steed opened its great mouth and a long, lashing tongue dripped out. Carrion fowl – like a snake, bat, and bird in one. I could not stop staring. And before I realized I was walking forward, I was standing beside Mithrandir, lost in my trance.

God Child… Ssssarahh…

He said my name. My name.

Child of Eru…

Curious and confused, I looked where eyes might have been.

Come… Home…

Home! Oh, to be home again! But… what did that mean? Where would I go? Who would I leave behind? A tempting offer though… Did Sauron hold the answers? Could he really help me?

An arm wrapped about my waist and I was suddenly lunging forward. Pitched over the side of a horse, I snapped out of my stupor and stared at the sweating neck of Shadowfax at my nose.

"You cannot enter here!" Mithrandir shouted, alone where he stood but for silly little me and the cowering Peregrin. "Go back to the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your Master! Go!"

The creature took his steel gauntlet to his face and tossed his hood aside to reveal a great crown of metal set upon red fire. He presented a sword wreathed in flame. Somehow, he mocked the wizard in laughter with a voice colder than ice. "Old fool! This is my hour. Do you not know Death when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!"

A horn blasted through the twilight.

With barely time to blink, the great black rider thrust himself into the air, the fell beast carrying him to battle away from the Gate.

"What are you doing here?" Mithrandir asked. To my surprise, he was referring to the young hobbit that came running up behind us. At the present, I was to go ignored.

"The Lord is out of his mind, I think. I am afraid he will kill himself, and kill Faramir too. Can't you do something?"

Mithrandir looked out the Gate where the horns were blowing and then down at me in his saddle. "I must go. The Black Rider is abroad, and he will yet bring ruin on us. I have no time."

"But Faramir! He is not dead, and they will burn him alive, if someone does not stop them."

"Burn him alive? What is this tale? Be quick!"

Because I had not actually heard the story either, the two of us listened to Pippin explain. Wood, oil, bier, Rath Dínen, and a locked door. I was convinced.

"Can't you save Faramir?" Pippin breathed despairingly.

Mithrandir looked suddenly older and forlorn. With a sigh he said: "Maybe I can, but if I do, then others will die, I fear. Well, I must come, since no other help can reach him. But evil and sorrow will come of this. Even in the heart of our stronghold the Enemy has power to strike us: for his will it is that is at work."

Taking up Pippin as well, fitting three people upon Shadowfax, Mithrandir summoned up the reigns and turned the horse about to climb the stairs of the City.

Pressed between the wizard and hobbit, I couldn't exactly hold on and I didn't feel the need. I was finally doing something – I was about to be of use. And I would save them.

Shadowfax carried us straight up the stair and across the stone courtyard, passing by the Withered Tree. His hooves clipped along the causeway and to the Silent Street where the door hung open wide. A small lump was strewn on the ground and grew into the form of a man as we approached. The keeper of the keys.

"Work of the Enemy!" Mithrandir muttered. With a quick snap, Shadowfax shot forward into the dark hall.

The great beast slowed as we entered the antechamber. Just within the next room beyond a small door, Faramir lay upon a tall stack to wood doused in oil. In the way of the door stood one of the Guards of the Citadel, sword drawn and coated in the blood of two servants he had slain who had threatened to bring torches within.

"Stay! Stay! Stay this madness!" The wizard shouted. I flung myself off Shadowfax, regaining my bearings only for a moment before running forward and nearly slipping in the pooling blood.

Denethor's voice echoed from the room with Faramir. "Haste, haste! Do as I have bidden! Slay me this renegade! Or must I do so myself?"

The Steward threw the door back and drew his sword, threatening the man who still stood for his Captain.

Throwing a light from his hand, the Lord of the City lost his sword to the wizard. "What is this, my lord? The houses of the dead are no places for the living. And why do men fight here in the hallows when there is war enough before the Gate? Or has the Enemy come even to Rath Dínen?"

Denethor gave his cool reply, not seeing Pippin or I beside him. "Since when has the Lord of Gondor been answerable to thee? Or may I not command my own servants?"

"You may, but others may contest your will, when it is turned to madness and evil. Where is your son, Faramir?"

"He lies within, burning, already burning. They have set a fire in his flesh. But soon all shall be burned. The West has failed. It shall all go up in a great fire, and all shall be ended. Ash! Ash and smoke blown away on the wind!"

Stepping forward, I let out a cry as tears held thick in my eyes. "You're going to kill Faramir! My lord, please! You're going to kill him! He's your son!"

Though different from his vision, Denethor stared in horror as the familiar scene unraveled before his eyes. Eyes still aflame, face as desperate, though she was held back now by the Guard of the Citadel – now traitor to his lord. Rather than realizing the palantír may tell lies or futures may be changed, he saw the truth the palantír held and recoiled.

"See what you have done!" I pleaded, only now realizing the force keeping me from entering the chamber with Mithrandir was that of two arms holding me back with an iron grip.

Denethor briskly walked up to me. The man holding me back stepped rapidly backwards, thinking he would do me harm. Instead, Denethor gripped my face in his hands, his eyes wild and searching. "You…! Finwen, friend, and daughter! You have not betrayed me."

"Never, my lord and father. I am by your side." I assured him.

He seemed relieved, but I could not understand. I would never understand.

Mithrandir appeared in the doorway, carrying Faramir out. Denethor suddenly grieved and pathetically whimpered, reaching out to his son. "Do not take my son from me! He calls for me."

"He calls, but you cannot come to him yet. For he must seek healing on the threshold of death, and maybe find it not. Whereas your part is to go out to the battle of your City, where maybe death awaits you. This you know in your heart. Come! We are needed. There is much that you can yet do."

The Lord Denethor retreated to the small chamber and appeared once more, holding a rounded orb. It was the seeing stone.

"Pride and despair! Didst thou think that the eyes of the White Tower were blind? Nay, I have seen more than thou knowest, Grey Fool. For thy hope is but ignorance. Go then and labour in healing! Go forth and fight! Vanity. For a little space you may triumph on the field, for a day. But against the Power that now arises there is no victory. To this City only the first finger of its hand has yet been stretched. All the East is moving. And even now the wind of thy hope cheats thee and wafts up Anduin a fleet with black sails. The West has failed. It is time for all to depart who would not be slaves."

"What then would you have, if your will could have its way?" Mithrandir asked carefully. All eyes rested on the mad ruler.

"I would have things as they were in all the days of my life and in the days of my long-fathers before me: to be the Lord of this City in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master and no wizard's pupil. But if doom denies this to me, then I will have naught: neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honour abated."

"To me it would seem that a Steward who faithfully surrenders his charge is diminished in love or in honour. And at the least you shall not rob your son of his choice while his death is still in doubt." Mithrandir said.

"So! Thou hadst already stolen half my son's love. Now thou stealest the hearts of my knights also, so that they rob me wholly of my son at the last. But in this at least though shalt not defy my will: to rule my own end."

"My lord! NO!" I screamed, but I was too late. Denethor stole a servant's torch and leapt upon the pyre, lighting it aflame. Palantír in hand, he stared at me a moment with sad, determined eyes and lay down upon the wood.

I was frozen, but I would not fail him. He closed his eyes. Mithrandir shut the door at the lost cause, but I threw myself against it. "No! No! I cannot fail him! No! Please! Help!"

Pounding on the door like a maniac, the key somewhere amongst the chaos but not in my possession, I helplessly listened as the Steward gave a final wail and was silent but for the crackle of fire within.

Breathing heavily, I fell against the barrier and slid to the floor. I had no words.

Mithrandir was the only one who could speak in such an hour. "So passes Denethor, son of Ecthelion."