Gandalf lifted Faramir up and turned to leave the Silent Street. Denethor hesitated, his gaze torn between his feverish son and the oil-soaked bed.

“Come, my lord Steward,” the wizard entreated. “Your City has not yet fallen, and your son is not yet dead. Do not abandon hope until there truly is none left.”

Pippin waited at Gandalf’s side, the tension strung so tight he felt as if he could have lifted his sword and sliced through it.

Then Denethor moved, striding past Gandalf. “The Houses of Healing!” he commanded, and the wizard looked at Pippin with a glint in his eye. The hobbit ran after them, and the Silent Street became noiseless once more.