Imrahil felt a sense of rising panic as he saw the flash of light and heard the crack of the gate succumbing to Mordor's battering ram. He had left his knights in charge of defending the Gate and the outer wall along with the City's garrison and was on the upper levels of the City in order to gather more men to prevent the enemy entering the Gate once it was breached. The defense of the Gate had been stout, but it was not enough; they needed reinforcements without delay.

I must hurry! he thought, even as he gestured to those who had gathered to follow him down to the first level. Mithrandir is there, but can he hold back the horde of Mordor alone, if the Gate is breached and the garrison cannot withstand the onslaught?

They moved as quickly as they could through the winding streets of the city and the tunnels down to the lower levels. At the second level Imrahil met Húrin, the Warden of the Keys, who had also been working at gathering more men to defend the gate.

"It is well that you are here with men at your back!" he called as he closed the gap between himself and Imrahil. "The Gate has fallen and there is no telling who is left to defend the City from being entered by the enemy. Mithrandir is there, I believe, but will he be enough without men behind him to support the defense? I have gathered all those I could find here from the lower levels."

"I have gathered as many from the upper levels as are able to leave their assigned posts," Imrahil answered. "It will have to be enough. Let us go swiftly to support Mithrandir!"

Even as they turned towards the tunnel leading down to the first level and the gate, another sound halted them in their tracks. Horns were sounding in the distance, echoing in the streets and off the mountainous wall above them. The music swelled then ebbed as a slight breeze caught it and carried it away. Swelling again, the horns built to a crescendo then died out to be replaced by the murmur and shouts of hope from the men listening keenly the announcement that help had arrived at last.

"The Rohirrim!" cried Imrahil. "The Rohirrim have arrived!

*** 

The sound of clattering hooves as Imrahil led his men through the streets echoed in the air, almost drowning out the sound of approaching hoof beats coming towards them. Gandalf on Shadowfax unexpectedly rode up out of the tunnel to the lowest levels, Pippin sitting before him clinging to the white mane. Imrahil reined in his mount and signaled the men behind him to halt, even as Gandalf slowed Shadowfax to a standstill.

"Mithrandir!" he exclaimed, confusion in his voice. "Where are you headed with such haste?  The Rohirrim are here, fighting on the fields of Gondor! We must gather all the strength that we can find and go to aid them!"

"Indeed, I have just come from the Gate and the battle is fierce there; you will need every man and more," Gandalf responded. "Make all haste!  I will come when I can. But I have an errand to the Lord Denethor that will not wait. Take command in the Lord’s absence!"

Imrahil froze in sudden fear at Gandalf’s words.

“Has something happened to Denethor?” he gasped. “Or Faramir -- is it Faramir?”

“Nay, not as yet,” Gandalf replied, quick to reassure the Prince. “Faramir is still very ill, but he has not succumbed as yet to his injuries. Denethor, on the other hand, has fallen into grave and dangerous despair -- but I bring news that will surely lift him out of it and bring hope as nothing else can!”

“Tell me!” cried Imrahil. “Can it be? Can it possibly news of Boromir?”

“It is indeed news of Boromir. I have seen with my sight that Boromir has come. He rides with King Théoden and even now approaches the City and the battle before the Gate. You go now to lend aid to Théoden King; watch for Boromir and tell him if you can of the situation in the City. Let him know I have taken charge of the situation with his father and Faramir. He need not fear for them.”

“I will tell him!” Imrahil nodded.

“And tell him I am waiting for him!” Pippin cried. “Say Pippin is waiting to see him as soon as he can manage it. Tell him not to worry, that everything will be okay, Gandalf and I have it well in hand!”

Imrahil smiled and saluted the Halfling. “Indeed, I will deliver your message, Knight of Gondor!  May your reunion with your friend not be delayed!”

***

Dûrlin watch Denethor carefully as he sat silent, his face set, eyes fixed upon Faramir. Though the look on his face was stern and sad, it seemed softer than before, as if owning his own weakness and despair had made a difference in his outlook. Not a big difference, perhaps, but even a small change in Denethor’s harshness was a vast improvement and opened up the possibility of hope, which for Dûrlin was the key to all things.

After a time, Denethor spoke, without taking his eyes from Faramir’s face.

“Tell me, Dûrlin.  Do you truly believe that Mithrandir will see something of Boromir alive, when all I can see points to the certainty of his death?”

“I do,” Dûrlin replied, his voice strong and certain.

“Why do you believe so, with no doubt whatsoever?”

Dûrlin was silent for a long moment, then he spoke slowly, as if measuring his words, or recalling them from the distant past.

“No doubt whatsoever? I confess I have at times doubted, at least early on. It is hard to keep one's spirits up in the face of everyone else's sorrow! But of course, I have known Boromir to cheat death so many times I find it difficult to believe this is not just another of those times! And I am at heart a positive person who struggles to not see even the smallest spark of light in the darkness. That is what makes me such an encourager of those who are downcast, I suppose; I see people sad and discouraged, so I will do all I can to counteract the sadness, and in doing so I am able to see the light in the situation and convince myself to hope.”

Denethor scowled.

“It seems to me your hope is built upon a weak foundation, if it is simply a glimpse of light that no one else can see and the ability to convince yourself that bad things cannot be true!”

“I could say the same to you, my Lord!" Dûrlin countered.  “You see through eyes dimmed with despair and miss the light that is there, and thus assume there is none, and look no further, convinced there is no reason to hope.  Tell me, you were convinced the Rohirrim would not come, were you not?  Not perhaps because the King would not heed your call for aid, but because it seemed impossible for Rohan to break through the enemy lines.”

“Yes, I was convinced it was impossible. All the news I had received from various quarters revealed there was no way through for them, even if they responded to the Red Arrow.”

“And yet, what has happened? You heard the sound of the horns just now as clearly as I did. The Rohirrim have come! Against all odds, they have come! Your interpretation of the news and your evaluation of the situation preventing them from coming turned out to be inaccurate, because they did indeed come, though it was impossible to you. If such an impossible event can occur, then why not a similar miracle with Boromir?”

Denethor looked thoughtful.

“Perhaps,” he responded slowly. “But you have believed in Boromir's coming all along, while everyone else doubted. There was ample evidence of his death, but you did not accept it. Was that because you saw some kind of light of hope that no one else could see, or were you just being stubborn?”

“Perhaps!” Dûrlin laughed quietly.  “I have been known to be so stubborn! But I do not believe I am stubborn for no reason. I am not trying to avoid pain or reality by clinging to hope. For me, hope is a choice, and I when I choose to hope, I am able to see that the evidence of Boromir's death is only circumstantial, it is not positive proof.”

“You think the sundered horn that returned in pieces is not proof? What of Faramir's vision of Boromir in battle, wounded with black arrows? Even the Halfling confirmed that vision as true! And he later saw Boromir again in a second vision, as if dead, being mourned by the men Faramir sent to find him in the wilderness. We have spoken of this already, when Mithrandir first came to us with the Halfling.”

“Yes, I remember well. It seems long ago, yet it has only been a matter of days! You said you knew much of visions and that they do not lie. You must also recall my reply: that visions are not the same as seeing an event with the eye. To my mind they cannot tell a whole truth. Visions should not be relied upon as proof of anything.”

Denethor leaned forward, startled and frowning. “You do not believe that visions are true?”

“They can contain truth and therefore are possibly useful as a guide to some extent, but to have full faith in them and base all your decisions upon them is folly!”

“Folly...” Denethor's voice died away and he was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, it was as if he was struggling to understand. “If it is folly to rely upon visions, then is it not also folly to base all decisions on a false sense of hope that things do not mean what they actually mean, as you do? That is not realistic!”

“Perhaps not, but how realistic is it to base all your decisions on a viewpoint colored by despair? I would rather choose hope as the glass I look through, and trust that it is not false.”

“Just now you said my eyes are dimmed with despair and I cannot see light even when it is there. Now you are saying I choose to despair, and therefore all I see points towards death and loss, whether that is actually the case or not.”

“Yes, my Lord. Yes, I am saying just that.”

Denethor did not speak for a time, as Dûrlin watched him with some trepidation. At last, the Steward nodded to Dûrlin, and though he did not smile, his face was not stern.

“I thank you for your honesty, Dûrlin. You have always been faithful to me and my family, ready to speak the truth we needed to hear, yet kindly and with love. I know you are speaking thus now, though it is hard to accept what you say. Even so, not long ago, I acknowledged that I have been on the verge of making decisions that were not for Gondor's best good in my despair, and I submitted myself to your hope. I do not understand it, but I find myself strangely heartened in the face of it. But I have one more question for you, if you will allow it.”

“Of course, my Lord Denethor! You may ask as many questions of me as you wish, I am at your service!”

“You say visions are folly, and yet you are putting your faith in Mithrandir now to see something to confirm your hope. How is this different?”

“You ask a good question!” Dûrlin replied, a thoughtful look on his face. “I am not certain I can tell you how it is different, except that I believe Mithrandir has great power and sees with true sight, more truly than even our eyes can see. That is why I trust him with this matter.”

“No doubt you are right. But if he sees nothing? What then?”

“I do not know!" Dûrlin sighed. “It is hard to think of what I might do if there is nothing to substantiate my hope. I believe strongly in Boromir's survival, not only because I have seen little to prove it is otherwise, but also because there is so much despair around me, I feel I must keep hoping to provide some light in the darkness for everyone. That will be easier if Boromir returns alive, but if Mithrandir cannot confirm that, then I have no doubt I will simply go on believing he will still come! If positive proof comes of his death, then I will have to accept it. That will be hard to bear indeed -- but even that will not be enough for me to give up my choice to hope.”

“You are a stronger man than I, Dûrlin!” Denethor exclaimed, smiling sadly. “It takes a special kind of strength to hope as you do!”

"You have that strength, Lord Denethor. You just need to find it again. Let go of the despair, even just a little bit, and that strength will return.”

“I will try, Dûrlin. Perhaps the news Mithrandir brings will help me with that letting go.”

“That is my hope, indeed!”