Denethor Reaches the Boiling Point of Insanity and Ignores the Siege of the City

I allowed the tears to fall down my own cheeks, holding my head high, as outside, the orc army was chanting loudly and the shouts of men and horses could be heard.

"Open the gate, quick!" Someone shouted.

Denethor rushed down to the courtyard of the citadel with Pippin and I hot on his tail, stumbling down the stairs to see who had lived through the battle.

Pippin stopped and stared, openmouthed. Faramir's horse walked into the gate, dragging Faramir behind him, with arrows protruding from his armor.

"No," I whispered. "It cannot be…"

Several soldiers placed Faramir's body on a pallet and carried it to the White Tree. Denethor ran to the soldiers.

"Faramir!" He said. "Say not that he has fallen!"

Pippin and I knelt by Faramir's body. I put my head to his chest. "He is not dead!" I told Pippin, whose eyes lit with hope immediately. He too listened for the breaths and living heart, desperately looking up to Denethor.

"My sons are spent!" Denethor howled, his eyes wild. "My line has ended!"

"He's alive!" Pippin and I shouted simultaneously, exchanging looks.

"The House of the Stewards has failed!" Denethor seemed not to hear us, approaching the wall of the courtyard.

"He needs medicine, my lord!" Pippin cried, stroking Faramir's forehead with his hand.

Denethor instead walked to the wall of the citadel, down at the orc army beneath him. He quivered as I approached.

"My lord!" I said, not daring to touch him to grasp his attention.

"Rohan has deserted us!" He moaned.

I couldn't help but think, Rohan has no reason to help those who did not come to their aid…

A catapult was shot at the first level. Screams rang around the walls as they crumbled and crashed around them.

"My lord!" I cried. "Please listen to me!" I was very aware of the siege on Minas Tirith, even if he was not. Something had to be done before the city fell to pieces around us. Already I could feel hear the screams and feel the shuddering as the stone walls were destroyed. "My Lord!" I yelled again.

"Théoden has betrayed me!" Denethor screamed. As boulders fell, he added, "Flee! Flee for your lives!"

Gandalf rushed behind him and delivered a smack to his head, once, twice, three times. "Prepare for battle!" He ordered.

I retreated to Pippin and Faramir as Gandalf rode down to where they needed him—to fight against the orcs.

"We must do something!" I shrieked.

"Down to the lower level!" The citadel guards told us. "Double up and come, quick!"

We followed them in a daze, not bothering to take out our swords.

14 March 3019, of the Third Age

24 Rethe 1419, Shire-Reckoning Time...

As we ran down levels, the siege continued, orcs catapulting huge chunks of stone into the city. Around Pippin and me, the walls collapsed, and we cried aloud as we were jostled and thrust aside, falling to the ground. In panic I shouted Pippin's name, reaching for his hand. The big people around us screamed and held their children as the city crumbled in front of their eyes. Fire rained from above and Pippin let out a devastating scream as the Nazghûl flew over on their winged beasts, screeching aloud and plucking soldiers from their posts, only to drop them hundreds of feet into the wreckage below. The dead and wounded littered the street which we stumbled through. Pippin yelled and pulled me down as a stone came crashing down near our heads and the building near which we were hiding roared with flames. We had to find Gandalf…

An orc speared a Gondorian, another struck down a woman, and yet another shot arrows as we ran past, down an empty staircase to where, at last, in the chaos we could hear Gandalf. We trudged along, trying to ignore the orcs and dead around us, stopping where Gandalf was barking orders.

"Fight them back!" He cried. "FIGHT THEM BACK!" Then he caught sight of us, smacking an orc with his staff and stabbing it with his sword.

There were orcs everywhere. My sword was unsheathed before I knew what I was doing, my breaths in my throat coming fast and sharp. Adrenaline. Anxiety. Hyperventilation.

I wanted to kill them.

I charged forward, my sword out, and struck out, slamming one's skull with the butt of the hilt and stabbing another through the eye.

"Peregrin Took!" Gandalf shouted angrily. "Go back to the citadel!"

I paused, my sword soaked.

Pippin stood in a daze, wide-eyed.

Gandalf struck down another orc.

Why not me? I wanted to scream. Have you forgotten me? Acknowledge me, Gandalf!

"They called us out to fight," Pippin said softly.

"Pippin, get out your sword!" I shouted.

A siege tower arrived at the wall and orcs streamed out. Gandalf waited for them to come. I stood in front of my friend, who was rooted to his square of white stone, paralyzed with fear. One had spotted Pippin; it charged at him while Pippin shrank back. I easily struck it down and Gandalf finally turned back to us. "This is no place for a hobbit!"

Gandalf and I began battling more orcs as Pippin watched, tense and unable to help. One came up behind Gandalf, about to strike, and I couldn't get there. "PIPPIN!" I shrieked, and with a battle cry, Pippin pulled his sword out of its sheath, stabbing it in the back at the moment I raised my sword arm to strike it down. We were able to exchange a smile before withdrawing our swords.

"Guards of the citadel, indeed!" Gandalf said proudly. "Now back; up the hill, quickly, Peregrin! Adamanta…" His voice grew old. "We need you here."

Pippin ran, and I feared for him- hearing bits of cries and the squeals of the Ringwraiths—he stopped for an instant as he saw a mother reaching out for him, clutching her three young children. How powerful he looked in armor and holding a sword, even though he and I were half the size of normal soldiers. A little boy was eyeing him with envy as his mother wept. Pippin put his hand on the boy's head and kissed his brow before fleeing to the citadel parapet.

Then Gandalf touched my arm and I remembered what I was to do. From a dead man's hand he gave me the flag of Gondor, a pennant with the White Tree. "Hold this, be brave, and fight," he explained. "Do what you must and go where you must. But do not let it fall!"

I nodded and suddenly was caught up in a great battle. Orcs and trolls rushed through me and my arms were rushing through them. Fearful men backed away, watching me fight, and I watched them die. Leaving Gandalf's side I held up the flag and stopped as a troll swung a club over my head. It was like in Moria, except Gondor's men were scared witless. And, from nowhere, something told me I knew I had to lead them. And I did as Gandalf had said—I raised the flag, turning down a street and shouting, swinging my black-bloodied sword. "Come to me, Come to me!" In a small courtyard perhaps twenty-five men were sheltered, waiting for the city to be breached.

"We do not wait!" I cried. "We do not cower and count the hours till death!" They turned in confusion to see me, a tiny Halfling, waving their flag around and directing them. But it didn't matter, for I had their attention. "Men of Minas Tirith!" I began. "This city belongs to you. It belongs to your heathen-kings, and your sires and mothers and children. And you have lived and loved this city!" I stared all of them down. I could hear the orcs coming, and I was ready to go out and meet them. "Why now, in one day, will you let it fall to filth? Why are you willing to give it away? You act as cowards do! You are not cowards! They are cowards! Take back the city, make it yours!" A few men shifted. It wasn't the most inspiring speech, I knew. I took words and thought. "MAKE SAFE THIS CITY!" Several confused men and I cheered, and together charged the orcs.