Long hours passed as Pippin waited on the Steward in the dark, unlit room.  Denethor sat heedless, stroking Faramir's hand, ignoring all who came and went.  From time to time, Dûrlin would pass through to check on his two charges, and to give an encouraging word to Pippin.  The hobbit needed that encouragement, for it was a dismal time, waiting to serve a lord who did not need him and who did not even seem to realize he was there.  Several times, Pippin opened his mouth to speak words that might bring some hope back to the Steward, but the sight of tears on Denethor's face stopped him.  Denethor was no longer the stern, proud lord of the City; his spirit was broken.

Finally, Pippin could bear it no more, he felt he must speak.

"My lord!" he said haltingly.  "Please don't weep!  Faramir is very ill, but he may still get well.  If you would just let the healers care for him..."

"No," Denethor shook his head.  "He cannot leave my side.  He must stay with me, his father, though I have failed him.  He may still speak before the end."

"He may not die, sir!  If you don't want him to leave your side, then call for someone to come here to tend him; Dûrlin is doing what he can, but Gandalf maybe could do more.  Gandalf might know how to help Faramir in a way the healers don't!"

"Speak not of wizards to me!  It is because of his foolish plan that our hope has failed.  The Enemy has it and is now strong beyond all imagining.  He sends the full might of Mordor against us, and we can do nothing to stop it.  We are doomed to defeat!  Faramir will die, and my line will be at an end."

The Enemy has it? thought Pippin.  What does he mean?  Is he talking about the Ring?

Fear gripped Pippin's heart at the thought that Frodo might have failed in his Quest and that the Ring might be back on the hand of Sauron.  But how would Denethor know that?  And if it were so, wouldn't Gandalf had known, as well?  Gandalf still held out hope that Frodo would succeed, so perhaps it wasn't true, no matter what Denethor said.  The Steward was obviously grieving and had lost all hope, so maybe he was just assuming the worst...

Pippin's thoughts were interrupted by a messenger coming with the news that the first Circle of the City was burning with fire from the Enemy's siege weapons, and that men were abandoning the walls.

"Why tell me this?" Denethor responded.  "Let Mithrandir deal with it, though his hope has failed.  It would be better to face the fire and burn sooner rather than later, for we will all burn when the Enemy comes."

Denethor turned away, then turned back to the retreating messenger as if he had come to some sudden decision.  "Yes, go now; leave me to my own burning.  The Enemy will not touch me nor will my son's body be dishonored.  I will protect him from being defiled by the Enemy... we will burn together and thus go to meet Boromir..."

Pippin, horrified at Denethor's words, barely heard the Steward speaking to him, bidding him farewell and thanking him for his service.

"Nay, Lord," he stammered.  "I wish to stay with you, to serve and protect you if it comes to that.  Besides, there is still hope -- do not speak of burning and death!"

"Nay, the end is near.  Go meet it in whatever way suits you.  I will do the same, for my life is over.  Send for my servants!"

Pippin fled the room.

I do not know what he has in mind but it sounds bad! he thought as he ran.  Where is Dûrlin?  I must find him, he will know what to do.  The lord Denethor said to call his servants, but I'm afraid of what he is planning.  Dûrlin is his chief servant, though, and knows him better than anyone; Dûrlin has to have a chance to talk to him before anything else!  If anyone can break through the lord Denethor's despair, it's Dûrlin!

***

Sam tried to be quick in his search for Orc gear to disguise himself and Frodo so they could enter Mordor, but it was difficult to find things small enough to fit a hobbit-sized frame.

"I've got to hurry and get back to Mr. Frodo," he muttered to himself.  "I don't like leaving him alone in this horrid place.  Not just because of the bad time he's been through, what with getting poisoned by that wretched spider and then being captured and tortured, no doubt.  He's got the Ring back now, and it's sure a burden for him to carry!  I could see it weighing him down straight away after handing it back to him, even though I know he was relieved to have it back.  I just wish I could've kept it and carried it for him, to ease his trouble.  But I guess it's too late for that now, he can't let no one else take it!"

You could take it anyway, a thought niggled.  He'd be lighter for it, once he got used to the idea.  It's for his own good to take it from him, it's such a heavy burden...

Sam quashed the thought before it went any further.  He knew it was the Ring trying to get at him, and he knew better than to believe its lies.  He'd only carried it a short time, but that was long enough to realize what a powerful force it was on the will and the desire, and how it could twist thoughts and perceptions.

"It may be a burden for Mr. Frodo, but it's his burden to carry, and I won't stand in the way of that.  I can help him in other ways, and I will, whatever it takes!  I ain't gonna listen to those lies, or be tricked into thinking having the Ring myself is going to help anybody.  Boromir got tricked like that, and look what came of it!  Poor Boromir, I guess I know a bit what it was like now, having that Ring whispering at you all the time!  I sure do wish I could tell him so..."

***

Denethor looked up as Dûrlin hurriedly entered the room, followed closely by Pippin.

"Where are my attendants?" he asked with a frown.

"Am I not your attendant, my Lord Denethor?" Dûrlin said gently, stepping forward to stand before the Steward.  "I have long served you and your sons, have I not?"

"Yes, yes," Denethor replied impatiently.  "Of course you have, and you have served us very well.  But you cannot lift Faramir on his bier alone, can you?"

"Why do you speak of his bier, my lord?  Faramir yet lives!  Where is it you wish to take him?  Are you ready to release him to the healers in the Houses of Healing?"

"Nay, not to the healers!" Denethor objected.  "What more can they do?  It is too late!"

"As long as he has life, it is not too late..."

"Nay!" Denethor interrupted.  "What use is living now if it only brings us to death and mutilation at the hands of the Dark Lord's evil creatures?  No, we go now to Rath Dínen to meet our fate together and prevent just that.  I will not allow my last remaining son to be dishonored in death by the minions of the Enemy.  I shall take him where no evil can reach him, and I shall go with him!"

Pippin gasped in fear, as Dûrlin took a long deep breath to steady himself.

"My lord Denethor!" he implored.  "I am under oath to Boromir to see to your good health and that of Faramir, also.  I am happy to call your other attendants if your desire is to allow Faramir the healing attention he needs -- but I will not allow you to even contemplate a plan such as this, bringing harm to yourself and your own son simply because you have lost hope!  How does an act such as that honor anyone?"

"You will not allow it?" Denethor scowled.  "I am your lord!  You must obey me!"

"You are indeed my lord, but I cannot obey you in this.  No lord of Men takes himself out of the battle in such a manner, leaving his people destitute, conceding defeat before the victory or loss is even decided."

"My people..." Denethor's shoulders slumped.  "I have already failed my people.  All I have done for Gondor has been for naught!  What else is left but to concede?"

"You have not failed Gondor," Dûrlin objected.  "But you will indeed do so if you go forward with this folly.  What will Boromir say when he comes to find you making such decisions that harm yourself and Faramir, leaving Gondor leaderless, open to the whims of the enemy?"

"Boromir!"  Denethor sighed heavily.  "He is gone and will not return.  Why do you speak of him as if he lives and will be affected by what I do?"

"I know he lives and he is coming to us!" Dûrlin declared boldly.

Denethor straightened, looking at Dûrlin as if seeing him clearly for the first time.  "How... how can you know this?  I have seen nothing... nothing!  Have you -- have you seen him?  How do you know, in truth?"

"I have not seen him, but I believe it to be true."

"You believe!" Denethor scoffed angrily, looking away in disappointment.  "Always you are so certain, even when all others despair.  It is impossible!"

"Have I ever been wrong in my strong belief, my lord?"

Denethor hesitated, then shook his head.  "No... no, you have not.  But it is foolishness!  I cannot accept this, it is not enough to sway me.  You have no proof.  I need proof!"

"Then I will give it to you," Dûrlin said resolutely.  "Let me send for Mithrandir.  You may doubt his intentions towards you and this City, but you cannot deny that he has power, and sight that allows him to see that which others cannot.  Let him look for us to see if Boromir comes."

Denethor frowned.  "I, too, have sight, and I have seen nothing -- nothing, though I have searched and searched..."

Dûrlin laid a gentle hand on Denethor's shoulder.  "It is true, my lord.  You have great insight and see more than any man in Gondor, and it has aided you in your rule of Gondor's people.  But no longer; you are not yourself!  You are broken and your wisdom is lacking.  This is not the time to be making decisions that bring harm to you and your son -- nay, to all of Gondor and the West!  Can you tell me truthfully that what you now contemplate is a course the Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor, would take -- that Lord Denethor whose goal has always been to do whatever is necessary for Gondor's protection and success and best good, even at great cost?"

Denethor hesitated, then hung his head wearily.  He said nothing for long silent moments, gazing at Faramir's pale face.  Faramir, in his fever, moaned faintly and shifted slightly on his bed, his hand brushing his father's knee as he sat close beside him.  Denethor grasped Faramir's hand firmly, blinking away tears.

"Is that a course the Lord Denethor would take?" he repeated slowly.  "No... no, it is not.  The welfare of Gondor and her people has always been my charge and my great desire, no matter the cost.  Yet that cost has been great!  Would that I had considered my own sons as highly as I have my people!  Perhaps I would not have come to such grief..."

Denethor stroked Faramir's hand gently, then sighed deeply.  "Very well, then.  I will wait.  Send to Mithrandir.  We shall see if his sight is greater than mine.  My heart tells me he will see nothing, if he even deigns to look on my behalf, I who have opposed him for so long!"

"You do Mithrandir an injustice if you believe him an enemy, my lord," Dûrlin replied.  "He honors you and your sons highly!  I have no doubt whatsoever he will look on our behalf, and do so gladly.  To see Boromir living and coming to Gondor's aid would encourage him, as well, I deem!"

"Yes, yes!" cried Pippin, who had been breathlessly watching the exchange between Denethor and Dûrlin.  "Gandalf has great power and sight, I know he has looked with eyes of power in such a way as this, to see what might be coming.  He loves Boromir greatly and honors you, my lord, I heard him say just that!  I'm sure he will be happy to help us find Boromir, especially if it will help relieve your despair."

"So Dûrlin has convinced you to hope, as well, has he?"  Denethor said, regarding Pippin thoughtfully.  He sighed again, but his face seemed less grey and drawn.  "Go, then -- I submit to your hope, at least for now!  But if it should prove false..."

"I have faith that it will not prove false,"  Dûrlin responded.  He turned to Pippin.  "You have heard what has passed between us; my lord Denethor needs something to rekindle his hope.  Perhaps Mithrandir can provide that spark, if he is willing.   Seek him now swiftly, and put this request before him, if you will.  You know him best of all who are here in the city, save Faramir; may he heed you and come to our rescue and encourage our hearts with fresh hope!"

"Of course I will" Pippin agreed.  "I'll fetch him now, I'm sure he'll come.  We'll be back before you know it!"