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none upon the City walls large enough to reach so far or to stay the work。
At first men laughed and did not greatly fear such devices。 For the main wall of the City was of
great height and marvellous thickness； built ere the power and craft of Númenor waned in exile；
and its outward face was like to the Tower of Orthanc； hard and dark and smooth； unconquerable
by steel or fire； unbreakable except by some convulsion that would rend the very earth on which it
stood。
'Nay；' they said； 'not if the Nameless One himself should e； not even he could enter here
while we yet live。' But some answered： 'While we yet live？ How long？ He has a weapon that has
brought low many strong places since the world began。 Hunger。 The roads are cut。 Rohan will not
e。'
But the engines did not waste shot upon the indomitable wall。 It was no brigand or orc…chieftain
that ordered the assault upon the Lord of Mordor's greatest foe。 A power and mind of malice guided
it。 As soon as the great catapults were set； with many yells and the creaking of rope and winch； they
began to throw missiles marvellously high； so that they passed right above the battlement and fell
thudding within the first circle of the City； and many of them by some secret art burst into flame as
they came toppling down。
Soon there was great peril of fire behind the wall； and all who could be spared were busy
quelling the flames that sprang up in many places。 Then among the greater casts there fell another
hail； less ruinous but more horrible。 All about the streets and lanes behind the Gate it tumbled down；
small round shot that did not burn。 But when men ran to learn what it might be； they cried aloud or
wept。 For the enemy was flinging into the City all the heads of those who had fallen fighting at
Osgiliath； or on the Rammas； or in the fields。 They were grim to look on； for though some were
crushed and shapeless； and some had been cruelly hewn； yet many had features that could be told；
and it seemed that they had died in pain； and all were branded with the foul token of the Lidless
Eye。 But marred and dishonoured as they were； it often chanced that thus a man would see again
the face of someone that he had known； who had walked proudly once in arms； or tilled the fields；
or ridden in upon a holiday from the green vales in the hills。
In vain men shook their fists at the pitiless foes that swarmed before the Gate。 Curses they
heeded not； nor understood the tongues of western men； crying with harsh voices like beasts and
carrion…birds。 But soon there were few left in Minas Tirith who had the heart to stand up and defy
the hosts of Mordor。 For yet another weapon； swifter than hunger； the Lord of the Dark Tower had：
dread and despair。
The Nazg？l came again； and as their Dark Lord now grew and put forth his strength； so their
voices； which uttered only his will and his malice； were filled with evil and horror。 Ever they
circled above the City； like vultures that expect their fill of doomed men's flesh。 Out of sight and
shot they flew； and yet were ever present； and their deadly voices rent the air。 More unbearable they
became； not less； at each new cry。 At length even the stout…hearted would fling themselves to the
ground as the hidden menace passed over them； or they would stand； letting their weapons fall from
nerveless hands while into their minds a blackness came； and they thought no more of war； but only
of hiding and of crawling； and of death。
During all this black day Faramir lay upon his bed in the chamber of the White Tower；
wandering in a desperate fever； dying someone said； and soon 'dying' all men were saying upon the
walls and in the streets。 And by him his father sat； and said nothing； but watched； and gave no
longer any heed to the defence。
No hours so dark had Pippin known； not even in the clutches of the Uruk…hai。 It was his duty to
wait upon the Lord； and wait he did； forgotten it seemed； standing by the door of the unlit chamber；
mastering his own fears as best he could。 And as he watched； it seemed to him that Denethor grew
old before his eyes； as if something had snapped in his proud will； and his stern mind was
overthrown。 Grief maybe had wrought it； and remorse。 He saw tears on that once tearless face；
more unbearable than wrath。
'Do not weep； lord；' he stammered。 'Perhaps he will get well。 Have you asked Gandalf？'
'fort me not with wizards！' said Denethor。 'The fool's hope has failed。 The Enemy has found
it； and now his power waxes； he sees our very thoughts； and all we do is ruinous。
'I sent my son forth； unthanked； unblessed； out into needless peril； and here he lies with poison
in his veins。 Nay； nay； whatever may now betide in war； my line too is ending； even the House of
the Stewards has failed。 Mean folk shall rule the last remnant of the Kings of Men； lurking in the
hills until all are hounded out。'
Men came to the door crying for the Lord of the City。 'Nay； I will not e down；' he said。 'I
must stay beside my son。 He might still speak before the end。 But that is near。 Follow whom you
will； even the Grey Fool； though his hope has failed。 Here I stay。'
So it was that Gandalf took mand of the last defence of the City of Gondor。 Wherever he
came men's hearts would lift again； and the winged shadows pass from memory。 Tirelessly he
strode from Citadel to Gate； from north to south about the wall； and with him went the Prince of
Dol Amroth in his shining mail。 For he and his knights still held themselves like lords in whom the
race of Númenor ran true。 Men that saw them whispered saying： 'Belike the old tales speak well；
there is Elvish blood in the veins of that folk； for the people of Nimrodel dwelt in that land once
long ago。' And then one would sing amid the gloom some staves of the Lay of Nimrodel； or other
songs of the Vale of Anduin out of vanished years。
And yet – when they had gone； the shadows closed on men again； and their hearts went cold；
and the valour of Gondor withered into ash。 And so slowly they passed out of a dim day of fears
into the darkness of a desperate night。 Fires now raged unchecked in the first circle of the City； and
the garrison upon the outer wall was already in many places cut off from retreat。 But the faithful
who remained there at their posts were few； most had fled beyond the second gate。
Far behind the battle the River had been swiftly bridged； and all day more force and gear of war
had poured across。 Now at last in the middle night the assault was loosed。 The vanguard passed
through the trenches of fire by many devious paths that had been left between them。 On they came；
reckless of their loss as they approached； still bunched and herded； within the range of bowmen on
the wall。 But indeed there were too few now left there to do them great damage； though the light of
the fires showed up many a mark for archers of such skill as Gondor once had boasted。 Then
perceiving that the valour of the City was already beaten down； the hidden Captain put forth his
strength。 Slowly the great siege…towers built in Osgiliath rolled forward through the dark。
Messengers came again to the chamber in the White Tower； and Pippin let them enter； for they
were urgent。 Denethor turned his head slowly from Faramir's face； and looked at them silently。
'The first circle of the City is burning； lord；' they said。 'What are your mands？ You are still
the Lord and Steward。 Not all will follow Mithrandir。 Men are flying from the walls and leaving
them unmanned。'
'Why？ Why do the fools fly？' said Denethor。 '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。 We will burn like heathen kings before
ever a ship sailed hither from the West。 The West has failed。 Go back and burn！'
The messengers without bow or answer turned and fled。
Now Denethor stood up and released the fevered hand of Faramir that he had held。 'He is
burning； already burning；' he said sadly。 'The house of his spirit crumbles。' Then stepping softly
towards Pippin he looked down at him。
'Farewell！' he said。 '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！'
'I will not say farewell； my lord；' said Pippin kneeling。 And then suddenly hobbit…like once more；
he stood up and looked the old man in the eyes。 'I will take your leave； sir；' he said； '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。 But from my word and your service I do not wish to be released while you live。 And if they
e at last to the Citadel； I hope to be here and stand beside you and earn perhaps the arms that
you have given me。'
'Do as you will； Master Halfling；' said Denethor。 'But my life is broken。 Send for my servants！'
He turned back to Faramir。
Pippin left him and called for the servants； and they came： six men of the household； strong and
fair； yet they trembled at the summons。 But in a quiet voice Denethor bade them lay warm coverlets
on Faramir's bed and take it up。 And they did so； and lifting up the bed they bore it from the
chamber。 Slowly they paced to trouble the fevered man as little as might be； and Denethor； now
bending on a staff； followed them； and last came Pippin。
Out from the White Tower they walked； as if to a funeral； out into the darkness； where the
overhanging cloud was lit beneath with flickers of dull red。 Softly they paced the great courtyard；
and at a word from Denethor halted beside the Withered Tree。
All was silent； save for the rumour of war in the City down below； and they heard the water
dripping sadly from the dead branches into the dark pool。 Then they went on through the Citadel
gate； where the sentinel stared at them in wonder and dismay as they passed by。 Turning westward
they came at length to a door in the rearward wall of the sixth circle。 Fen Hollen it was called； for it
was kept ever shut save at times of funeral； and only the Lord of the City might use that way； or
those who bore the token of the tombs and tended the houses of the dead。 Beyond it went a winding
road that descended in many curves down to the narrow land under the shadow of Mindolluin's
precipice where stood the mansions of the dead Kings and of their Stewards。
A porter sat in a little house beside the way； and with fear in his eyes he came forth bearing a
lantern in his hand。 At the Lord's mand he unlocked the door； and silently it swung back； and
they passed through； taking the lantern from his hand。 It was dark on the climbing road between
ancient walls and many…pillared balusters looming in the swaying lantern…beam。 Their slow feet
echoed as they walked down； down； until at last they came to the Silent Street； Rath Dínen；
between pale domes and empty halls and images of men long dead； and they entered into the House
of the Stewards and set down their burden。
There Pippin； staring uneasily about him； saw that he was in a wide vaulted chamber； draped as
it were with the great shadows that the little lantern threw upon its shrouded walls。 And dimly to be
seen were many rows of tables； carved of marble； and upon each table lay a sleeping form； hands
folded； head pillowed upon stone。 But one table near at hand stood broad and bare。 Upon it at a sign
from Denethor they laid Faramir and his father side by side； and covered them with one covering；
and stood then with bowed heads as mourners beside a bed of death。 Then Denethor spoke in a low
voice。
'Here we will wait；' he said。 '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！'
'By your leave； lord！' said Pippin and turned and fled in terror from the deathly house。 'Poor
Faramir！' he thought。 'I must find Gandalf。 Poor Faramir！ Quite likely he 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。'
At the door he turned to one of the servants who had remained on guard there。 'Your master is
not himself；' he said。 'Go slow！ Bring no fire to this place while Faramir lives！ Do nothing until
Gandalf es！'
'Who is the master of Minas Tirith？' the man answered。 'The Lord Denethor or the Grey
Wanderer？'
'The Grey Wanderer or no one； it would seem；' said Pippin； and he sped back and up the
winding way as swiftly as his feet would carry him； past the astonished porter； out through the door；
and on； till he came near the gate of the Citadel。 The sentinel hailed him as he went by； and he
recognized the voice of Beregond。
'Whither do you run； Master Peregrin？'