My most sincere apology for the *extremely* long wait between chapters this time; a number of Real Life things caused the delay, plus I'm finding this section of the story to be quite challenging to write. I just want to assure you all that I have no plans to abandon the story, and will do my best not to have such a long gap between chapters next time.

I also hope you don't mind that this chapter takes a break from the siege for a bit; as you may recall, something else rather important was happening at the same time...

EDIT: a minor change to make this chapter more consistent with the book and with subsequent chapters.

Chapter 21

Morloth sank gratefully into the chair in front of the Warden's desk. He gazed at her thoughtfully, "You can find no reason for the fever, you say?"

"That's correct," Morloth affirmed with a weary nod. "He had just the one arrow wound, and it is healing well. I would think it some kind of illness, but there are no obvious signs of it—and I can't inquire about other symptoms because he's still unconscious."

The Warden nodded, "That is also a worry, I take it?"

"Indeed. I can find no cause of either the fever or the unconsciousness, which makes it all doubly baffling!"

"I can see how that would be. The only thing similar we've seen recently is 'The Black Shadow'," the Warden said with a shudder, "among those who have endured close contact with…" his voice fell, "the Nazgûl."

Morloth nodded grimly, "Yes, I have lost several patients to that malady as well. But those patients grow cold and still before succumbing. None that I know of have been fevered like Lord Faramir."

"I know," the Warden sighed. "I wish I had more counsel to give. What will you try next?"

"I am treating the fever, of course, and I was also hoping that the presence of Lord Boromir would spur him to awaken. But his brother has other pressing duties at the moment," she noted wryly, "and cannot spend much time with his brother, though I know he would wish to. I can only do my best to keep him alive until the siege is lifted."

"As time permits, Morloth, I will search the archives to see if I can find anything that might be of use," the Warden said, giving her a comforting pat on the hand.

"I would be most grateful for that, sir," Morloth told him as she got up to leave. She made her way back to the ward with both her mind and her heart aching.

The ward was quiet for the moment, but she knew it was a temporary calm; more casualties could arrive at any moment as they had throughout the seemingly endless siege. Morloth approached Randir, the healer she had asked to watch her patients, favoring him with a smile that she did not feel. He had never been especially friendly to her, and she strongly suspected that he resented that another healer—and a woman—had been given more responsibility than he had.

"All is well?" Morloth asked pleasantly.

"Hmph," Randir replied, "well enough. The patient in bed four was restless earlier, but he's fallen asleep now. Oh, and one other thing," he added as if it was an afterthought, though it was apparent to Morloth that he was quite eager to tell her. "The Lord Steward sent his men to take Lord Faramir to the Citadel. Sorry you missed it," he said with a smug smile.

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment before stepping close and glaring angrily down at him. Morloth knew from previous encounters that her height made him uncomfortable, but she no longer had any patience with his insecurities. "What?!" she cried, tempted to grab his tunic front and shake the answers out of him. "You let them take him? Why didn't you inform me? You knew I was in the Warden's office!"

He stepped back, alarmed by her tone and the look on her face. "They…they were the Steward's men, and Lord Faramir is his son. Why would you need to know that they were taking him?"

"Because he is my patient, and my responsibility, you blithering fool. Lord Boromir gave strict instructions that his brother was to stay here, in my care!"

"But…but…" Randir sputtered. "They were the Lord Steward's men!"

Realizing that trying to explain further was pointless, she rolled her eyes and demanded curtly, "Which way did they go?"

"Out the main ward door," he shrugged helplessly, "I didn't see them after that."

"Stay here," Morloth ordered. Then, giving him one last cold glance, she said, "You had best pray his brother comes to no harm, or you will have to answer to Lord Boromir—and to me."

Leaving him to ponder which prospect was the more alarming, she made her way back to the Warden's office to explain what had occurred. After giving him a quick summary of events, she continued, "I…I wish I could tell you why this development is so disquieting, but I can only ask that you trust my judgment. Lord Boromir must be told. He will want to know, though it is doubtful that he will be able to take time to challenge his father at the present time."

The Warden nodded, "Go on then, we can spare you at the moment."

Before she could reach the main exit from the Houses, the door opened and stretcher bearers carrying more casualties began pouring in. She glanced despairingly at the Warden, who had followed her out of his office. He gave her a reassuring smile, "Go. We will take care of this."

She returned his smile thankful for his understanding, and in a moment she was outside, the darkness lit only by the torches at the House entrance and fires on the battlefield below. Morloth started toward the gate to the fifth level, but quickly paused. She was certain that it was no coincidence that the Steward's men had come when she was away from the ward; that suggested a guileful hand guiding their actions. Denethor would be expected to order them to return to the Citadel with Faramir, but what if he chose not to do what was expected? If only she was more confident that she knew where they were going!

She glanced around the expanse of the sixth level she could see, but nothing was out of place. Then her eyes were drawn to the faint glimmer of torches near where the city met the slopes of Mount Mindolluin. Morloth stopped for a moment and looked again, puzzled. Why would anyone be approaching the Rath Dínen now, in the middle of the night? Before she could decide whether to investigate further, a stealthy movement caught her eye, a small figure flitting from shadow to shadow, bare feet silent on the flagstones. He appeared to be following the line of torches.

Morloth's eyes widened and she moved to intercept the figure—there was only one person it could be! She caught up to him just as he was about to dash from one concealing shadow to another, and he did not hear her approach. She tapped him on the shoulder and hissed, "Pippin, wait!" as quietly as she could.

Pippin gave a loud gasp and turned to her, his face pale, one hand clutching his chest, "Oh Morloth, you nearly scared the life from me! But thank heaven you're here, they've got Faramir!"

"I know, they came for him when I was away from the ward," her lips thinned, the memory still bitter. "But how do you know about it, and how did you come to be here?"

"I was on duty in the Citadel," Pippin explained, "and about halfway through my duty shift Lord Denethor came down from the Tower." The hobbit shook his head, "Very odd he looked, gray and bent, with a fell light in his eyes. He called for the leader of his guards and gave him some instructions, but I was too far away to hear what was said," Pippin added ruefully.

"After that, he just sat in his chair, muttering to himself but speaking to no one else. Every once in a while he'd cry out in a loud voice…let me tell you, it gave me quite a turn the first time it happened! Finally, his guard chief returned to report something—whatever it was, it pleased the Steward mightily; he laughed—" Pippin shuddered, "it was not a happy laugh—and made ready to leave. Then his eyes fell on me as if it was the first time he noticed I was there, and he said, 'You, Master Took, may go.'

"I was quite surprised—my duty shift wasn't quite over, you see—so I asked him, 'Is there anything else you need from me, my Lord?' He looked at me, his eyes fever-bright, and says, 'Nothing from you or from anyone. Do you not know? We have failed; the West has failed. Go now, and die in what way seems best to you!'

"Well, Morloth, as you can imagine I didn't like the sound of that at all! So I went as ordered, but waited nearby out of sight to see what he would do. He and his guards left the seventh level and came here, and shortly after they arrived more of his men brought Faramir out on a stretcher. You know the rest."

"I was going to tell Boromir what had happened when I saw you. Is that Denethor and his men?" Morloth asked, nodding toward the torches in the distance. At Pippin's assent, she said, "We should follow, but…" she added, her face troubled, "it makes no sense!"

"What do you mean, Morloth?" Pippin replied as they started after the torches. "None of this really makes sense, I agree, but…"

"The only thing in this direction is the Rath Dínen, The Silent Street. But why would they be going there?" she asked plaintively. Then she stilled. "No…" she whispered, her unease growing stronger by the moment.

"Well, what is it?"

She met his eyes, "It leads to the tombs of the Kings and Stewards of Gondor, Pippin."

Pippin gasped in alarm, "Faramir! Do you think…"

Morloth shook her head firmly, "No, he was fevered but still strong when I left him. There's no reason to think he would have died suddenly. Besides, Randir might be a vain idiot, but he would surely have told me if Faramir had taken a turn for the worse while I was gone. I am certain he was alive when they took him from the Houses."

"But then why…" Pippin began, looking as perplexed as Morloth felt. "You're right, it makes no sense. We have to find out what Denethor is doing with Faramir."

While they were speaking the group with the torches passed through a sturdy door set into a stone wall, and the door closed firmly behind them.

"I agree wholeheartedly," Morloth told him, "but first we have to get through that door. That is the only entrance to the Rath Dínen, and it's called the Closed Door because it's always locked and guarded."

"What are we going to do?" Pippin asked, his eyes wide.

She sighed, "If necessary, we can bring Boromir here, no doubt he could convince the guard to open it. But that would take time we may not have…so," she met Pippin's eyes, "I propose that we try to talk our way in."

"Right!" Pippin said with a firm nod, "Let's try it."

With some trepidation they made their way toward the gate guard, a dour man who eyed them warily as they approached.

Morloth greeted the guard with a nod and a pleasant, "Good evening," hoping that she projected more confidence than she felt. "I am Lord Faramir's healer," she continued, "the Lord Steward has sent for me to attend him."

"Did he?" the guard replied with an appraising look. "He said nothing to me of that sort. On the contrary, he told me no one else was to be admitted."

She cursed to herself, feeling rather aggrieved at Denethor's precaution. "It must have slipped his mind. But as you can see, I am accompanied by a Guard of the Citadel," she said with a gesture toward Pippin, still dressed in his Guard livery.

"Huh," the man responded skeptically, giving Pippin a dismissive look, "seems awfully small for a Guard."

Morloth firmly suppressed a smile at Pippin's affronted expression and hurried to draw the guard's attention lest Pippin say something impetuous. "Nonetheless, sir," she began, and the man turned back toward her. But before she could marshal her arguments to be admitted, the guard let out a grunt of pain and he slumped to the ground, revealing Pippin with his sword drawn and a fierce light in his eyes.

"Small!" he said indignantly, "I'll have you know that I'm the tallest Took since the Bullroarer!"

"Pippin!" Morloth exclaimed, 'what did you do?"

"Oh, he's not dead," the hobbit assured her, "I just hit him on the head with my sword hilt."

She huffed in exasperation, "Pippin, a blow to the head can kill a man as readily as a sword thrust!" She quickly bent and examined the man, letting out a sign of relief when she was finished. "You didn't crack his skull, thank Eru. He'll wake up a throbbing head, no doubt, but I don't believe any lasting harm was done."

"Oh, that's a relief, Morloth," Pippin said, a brief panicked look disappearing from his face. "I didn't mean to kill him, despite the fact he was very rude." He gave her a contrite smile, "Sorry about that, but it didn't seem that he was going to let us in."

"You may be right. But why," she asked wryly, "do I have the impression that you've wanted to do that since we talked our way into Boromir's room?"

"I don't know what you mean," Pippin replied with an air of injured innocence.

"Of course you don't," Morloth responded, rolling her eyes at her friend. "Come, let's move him move him out of sight. It will draw attention if we leave him here."

They pulled the unconscious guard into the shadows behind some decorative stonework, and cautiously approached the locked door with the key they had liberated from his person. The door opened into a short tunnel with an arched ceiling of stone, wide enough and high enough for a wagon and horses and to pass through. The end of the tunnel led to a flagged path that wound its way onto the mountain, lit by a few sputtering torches. No one was in sight, so the two cautiously followed the path to the end, a wide courtyard surrounded by a number of elaborately carved stone buildings; the tombs of the kings and stewards of Gondor.

Oppressed by the silence and the knowledge of what was housed around them, Pippin murmured, "Where now, Morloth?"

"I don't know, Pippin!" Morloth exclaimed softly, frustrated more by the situation than the hobbit's question. "I've certainly never been here before, and although my father told us tales of serving in the honor guard for the interment of Boromir's grandfather, the Steward Ecthelion, none of it is useful in this situation!"

"I don't think we need it to be," Pippin whispered urgently, gently tugging Morloth's arm. "Morloth, look!"

She followed his gesture toward the far side of the courtyard to see a stone door propped open. The light spilling out was no different than that of the torches ringing the area, so it took a sharp eye to see it.

"Oh, Pippin, that must be where they've gone," the healer breathed, and without another word they hurried across the courtyard to the open door.

As they neared it they heard a raised voice echoing off the stone walls. Pippin cautiously glanced in the door and told Morloth quietly, "There's a short corridor that opens into a room, I think. No one is in sight." He met her eyes, his brow furrowed with uncertainty. "They're definitely inside, I recognize Denethor's voice. Should we risk it or fetch Boromir?"

"I…I feel I must know Faramir's condition before we report to Boromir. What if he has taken a turn for the worse and needs me?" she asked urgently.

Pippin nodded, "Yes, and it would be helpful to what they're up to—why would the Steward bring Faramir here?"

They crept along the corridor, Denethor voice becoming steadier clearer as they did so. His tone was louder and softer unpredictably, and even when she could hear him Morloth could not determine to whom he was speaking.

"The fools!" the Steward cried contemptuously, "they fight on; clinging to the vain hope that the horse-lords or that ragged Ranger will save them." His voice rose, "But I know better, I have seen what is to come. Gondor has failed…the West has failed…"

Her attention was drawn away from Denethor by the sight of Faramir, still on the stretcher that had been used to carry him from the Houses, lying against one wall of the grim stone room. He was turning restlessly, his face flushed and covered in sweat, enough to tell her that his fever had spiked again as it had periodically since he had been brought in from the field the day before. Morloth let out a gasp of dismay and rushed across the room to kneel next to him.

Pippin hissed in alarm, "Morloth, wait!" as she left his side and she realized immediately how foolish she had been. But it was too late; she was in full view of the very surprised Steward and his uniformed guards.

There was a moment of shocked silence, then Denethor growled, "You! You dare come here? It is bad enough that you are my son's whore, but now he sets you to spy on me?"

Fortunately, Morloth realized in time that it would not be wise to refute his claim by telling him that Boromir had no idea she was there; instead, she met his eyes defiantly and said, "I am not here to spy, my lord. Your son is ill and needs my care!"

"Your care," he sneered, "an excuse for my traitorous elder son to keep Faramir from me! Boromir, whom I favored and showered with honors, has proven himself to be a treacherous dog! Now I know that it was Faramir that was my true, loyal son, always willing to honor me and do my bidding. You shall not take him from me again!"

"My lord," she pleaded, "surely you can see that Faramir needs a healer; if not me, then call for Narion. Your son is burning with fever!

"He burns, yes, and so shall we all soon burn," Denethor murmured, as much to himself as to her. When he glanced up and met her gaze again, the look in his eyes made her blood run cold. "Boromir and the others will find their deaths soon enough," he continued." But I will not die an ignoble death at the end of an orc's sword, nor will Faramir. A pyre, yes, we will burn like the heathen kings of old!"

The Steward seemed to realize where he was again and turned to address Morloth, a wild light in his eyes, "As I recall, the kings had maiden sacrifices to accompany them on their journey, and although you are no maiden," he noted scornfully, "you will do. Besides," he added with a grim smile, "Boromir needs to learn the cost of disloyalty."

Morloth was still frozen in horror, unable to believe what he was proposing, when Denethor met the eyes of the guard standing closest to her and ordered, "Seize her!" The guard caught her arm in a hard grip before she had a chance to move more than a step away. He gestured at two other guards and told them, "Go, gather wood and oil for the pyre. Let no one hinder you!"

She glanced surreptitiously toward Pippin, still concealed in the shadows of the doorway, silently willing him to flee before the men tasked to bring wood passed him in the corridor. Instead, he slipped into the room and hid behind a dour-looking sculpture just in time to avoid capture. She growled in frustration, why did he stay? If Pippin were caught no one could warn Boromir of his father's mad scheme!

Morloth's mind raced as she frantically considered her options. Her eyes fell on the guard still grasping her arm and she noted that it was the same man that had been posted at Boromir's door when they had found him drugged. She thought at the time he looked familiar, and now…

"Harnir!" she exclaimed softly. "Now I remember, your name is Harnir. My father brought you home to dinner one night when you were a new recruit. You must remember him…Menelgil? I was there as well; I was still living at home then."

The man paled and looked away to avoid meeting her eyes. "I…I remember him…and you," he whispered.

"Harnir," she pleaded, her voice low and intent, "you know this is not right. Lord Faramir is ill and needs a healer's care; I have done nothing but try to help him! The Steward means to burn us alive; how can you condone such a mad and evil plan!"

Harnir turned to look at her, his face anguished, "He is my Lord, and holds my sworn oath, how can I gainsay him?"

"No man thinking clearly would wish to burn to death his own son!" she told him urgently. "Can't you see that the pressures of the war and his son's illness have overset the Lord Steward's mind? Please, Harnir, let me fetch Lord Boromir and Prince Imrahil, they will put things right."

Morloth could see the indecision on his face, his conscience at war with his duty. Finally, he released her arm with a sigh. But before he could speak, Denethor's voice thundered, "Incompetent fool! Can you not control a single woman?" He pointed to one of the other guards, and ordered, "You! Assist him!"

Panicked, Harnir grabbed for Morloth's arm again but missed; she was moving already, determined to make the most of this opportunity. She made for the door as the second guard moved to intercept her. He may very well have caught her too, but Pippin chose that moment to dash out of hiding and shout, "Morloth, run!" A well-placed hobbit foot sent the guard sprawling on the stone floor, leaving the way clear for both Morloth and Pippin.

They sprinted down the hall and out into the cold night air, well ahead of any pursuit. It was only when they heard Denethor's gruff voice call back his men that they stopped, gasping for air and weak with relief.

"Peregrin Took," Morloth exclaimed, "I am extremely grateful for your assistance, but why didn't you leave when you had the chance? You could have found Boromir instead of risking yourself as well!"

Pippin cocked an eyebrow at her, "Are you suggesting that I should have gone to Boromir to report that I'd left you behind to be burned alive by his father?" He shook his head, "We Tooks are brave, but not that brave!"

Morloth snorted a laugh, "I see what you mean."

Pippin sobered, "So what now, Morloth?"

She gave a brisk nod, "We find Boromir, and Mithandir too if we can, as quickly as possible."

Pippin returned the nod, "Right," and together they trotted off toward the fifth level gate.