Chapter Four: Questions

The halfling enters the room tentatively, taking care to make as little sound as possible. Halting before me, he smiles timidly, quickly averting his gaze again. Seeing his apparent shyness, I chuckle lightly to myself. To my surprise, the halfling looks up again at the sound of my laughter, bolder and more determined this time, meeting my gaze unflinchingly. I allow an amused expression to cross my face. The pride is strong in this one!

    "Are you hungry, Peregrin?" I ask, seeking to lighten the mood. He perks up immediately at the mention of food and leans forward eagerly. Then, as if realizing something, he takes a step back and gives a quick shake of his head. Staring down, he begins to study the floor intently, shuffling his feet. He is still uneasy in my presence. Does he fear reprisal if he requests for more food?

    "Do not be shy, Peregrin," I say to him. "You have not had adequate time to adjust to these times of hardship, I deem."

    "No, no! That's all right!" he protests. "Really! I'm being taken care of quite well here, and your city is wonderful!"

    I turn away from the halfling's bright, cheerful eyes. He is merely being polite, perhaps, but he has only served to remind me of what this city used to be. Wonderful? Nay, 'tis no longer so! The shadow has marred its beauty forever. I stare out at the bleak skies and sigh wistfully. My city, that was once so fair...

   "My lord?" The halfling speaks, cautiously breaking the awkward silence.  

    "Oh. Do not mind my silence, Peregrin. I had been thinking of other matters. It is only too easy to want to drift elsewhere when there is only this cheerless gloom in the air."

   "I can understand that, sir," he says, looking more comforted. "I often think of the Shire myself, and of my fellow hobbits, as well."

    "The Shire..." I turn to observe the halfling thoughtfully. I have been under the threat of Mordor for so long, it is difficult to imagine what the halfling is now going through. What must it be like to have left behind a peaceful home only to be thrust into the midst of a desperate war? Noticing the halfling's curious glance, I shake off my thoughts and motion for him to sit. "You must have many pleasant memories of your home. Will you tell me of this place? I grow weary of hearing naught but ill tidings."

   The halfling obliges happily and begins to recount tales of the Shire, some touching, some highly comical. Along the way, he also explains the customs and traditions of his land, often stopping to recall his favourite foods. What peculiar people these halflings are -- or rather, hobbits, as they like to call themselves. Eating six meals in one single day? It is no wonder this halfling has been bemoaning the lack of food here in Minas Tirith!

    Then, in the middle of one of his tales, his voice suddenly falters. He lets out a sigh and a great sadness washes over his eyes. I look over at him in concern, but he only smiles in a strained manner and tries to continue.  I shake my head slowly and gesture for him to stop speaking.

    "You must miss your companions..."

    "Yes, terribly," he replies. "And I worry!"

    "Be comforted, Peregrin." I give him a look of sympathy. "The Lord of Imladris would not have sent them away had he thought them unsuited for such a journey."

    "I-I guess not," he reluctantly agrees, his voice wavering with doubt.

    "Nonetheless I understand how you feel. It is a difficult time, and you desire the companionship of your friends." I know well how terrible it is to stand alone under the darkness, and I am sorry that you must suffer the same fate.

    He nods in response to my words, still looking forlorn. Gauging his reactions closely, I ponder my next question carefully. 

    "If you do not mind telling me this, Peregrin - why did Mithrandir take you away from the others? What possible reasons must he have had?"

    Upon hearing the question, his shoulders tense up and he blinks rapidly, almost uncomprehending. Then, recovering almost instantly, he relaxes and grins. "Well, you know Gandalf --" He trails off and turns abruptly to face me, lips pursed in a grim expression. He shakes his finger in a scolding manner and continues in a stern voice, "To keep you out of mischief, you fool of a Took!"

    So alike to Mithrandir was his imitation that I laugh out loud. Ah, it has been too long since I have been so thoroughly amused! Not wanting to destroy the jovial atmosphere just yet, I decide to keep the light-hearted tone of the conversation for now. "So I take it that you are prone to mischief, then, little one?"

    "Certainly not!" he exclaims indignantly, still retaining a serious expression. "I am an honourable hobbit."

    "Is that so?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. Assuming a proper standing position, he makes a deliberate show of dignity. Watching him, I note with interest the unusual appearance of the halfling in his full uniform. Despite his exaggerated posture, he truly does seem to have an air of formality and poise about him. How easy it is now to see why he is regarded as a prince of his people!

    Unsure of the sudden silence, the halfling sits down and inspects his surroundings, casting occasional glances at me. As the gloom settles back into the room, I proceed further with my questions. 

    "An honourable hobbit you are, indeed, and brave. But why it is that Mithrandir does not treated you as such?"

    "I b-beg your pardon?" he stammers, clearly caught off-guard. "I am not being mistreated, sir!"

    "So you mean to say that you do not object to being torn away from your companions, and then left entirely to your own devices in a land unknown?" I ask harshly, a feeling of impatience suddenly rising from within. Why does he still defend Mithrandir?

    The halfling cringes at my accusations and sinks down into his seat. I sigh in resignation. Of course he would not think critically of Mithrandir; it is unlikely that he would be aware of the true extent of Mithrandir's designs. I rise from my seat and walk closer to the halfling, giving him a hard look.

    "You never thought of Mithrandir's treatment of you as... unjust? What crimes could you have committed to merit a punishment so cruel?"

    The halfling immediately starts to protest, but I hold up a hand to silence him.

    "He has taken you from your friends, then proceeded to ignore you, only speaking to chastise you on perceived ill-doings. Why should you tolerate this treatment?"

    "No!" He raises his voice to meet mine. "Do not blame Gandalf! I did make a mistake! I should not have looked--"

    He stops in mid-sentence, aghast at what he has just revealed.

    "Where should you not have looked, Peregrin?" Grasping his shoulders tightly, I lean forward and look into his eyes. A brief flash of recollection hits me.

    "What do you know of the Seeing-Stones?" I ask on a sudden impulse. His eyes widen and he begins to struggle fiercely against my grip, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The panic evident in the halfling confirms my instincts, and I let go of him abruptly. He falls back on his chair with a thump. Small, and huddled against the back of his chair, he nearly resembles a frightened child, looking suddenly out-of-place in the attire of the Tower. A pang of regret surges through me, and I look away from his fearful expression.

    "Forgive me," I say quietly. "I sought to speak of happier things with you."

    "That is all right," he replies with a shaky voice. He wraps his arms around himself and shivers. I step further away from him, allowing him more space.

    "Do you regret now your oath to me, Peregrin?"

    "No, I do not, my lord," he replies resolutely. He still does not look up at me, but he appears to be calmer.

    "Why did you come here?" I ask sadly. Did you know that you would be walking to your doom? No one should endure the trials you have undergone, and I am sorry to have added to it. If circumstances were not so dire, I would not have put you under such duress; but I must find out all that I can, before Mithrandir leads us all to our deaths!

    The halfling clears his throat uneasily. "Well, Gandalf brought me here, sir."

    "But why did you leave the Shire? Did he have something to do with that, as well?"

    For a moment, he does not reply, unsure of his response. "Maybe... I mean... Frodo was the one meeting with Gandalf, for some adventure, I would assume. I suppose I just went along because I was one of his friends." He lets out a nervous laugh. "After all these years, Bilbo's sense of adventure must have rubbed off on Frodo somewhat. And-and I'm quite sure that Sam's been wanting to see the elves for quite awhile now!"

    I look at him with mild skepticism. If Mithrandir had anything to do with the departure of these halflings, there must be more than mere restlessness behind their reasons. Why put the halflings through such a perilous journey?

    Doom is near at hand, for Isildur's Bane shall waken, and the halfling forth shall stand.*

    The Riddle mentions the halflings in its last line. Is this journey of theirs a portend of our doom? Frodo... He is the one that Mithrandir wanted to meet...

    "Your friend Frodo - of what importance is he to the quest?"

    The halfling refuses to make a sound, his hands clutching the arms of his chair tightly, his knuckles turning white.

    "Please do not think me troublesome for being so persistent." I soften my tone. "Many questions have plagued me since Boromir left on that unfortunate errand to Imladris. I have learned much through tidings from afar, and the scrolls from this city, but not enough to put my mind at ease. Can you understand?"

    "Yes," he says in a small voice, hesitating briefly before continuing. "But Gandalf says that I should not say too much!"

    "But what is there to fear if you should tell me?" I restrain the anger that threatens to overtake me, remembering the halfling's earlier reactions. So it was Mithrandir who told the halfling to keep quiet!

    "The air is heavy with the presence of the shadow, and it has tarnished much with its darkness, but its reach is not so far that it can reside within this very chamber!" I pause momentarily, gathering my composure again. "I only ask you this - Isildur's Bane, the Ring of Isildur - is Frodo the one that is carrying it?"

    The halfling lets out a startled gasp. "Y-you know of the Ring?"

    "Yes, though I should have known sooner, when Mithrandir came in search for the ancient scrolls. Alas that they proved so difficult to decipher! Only small portions of information could I glean from them. And even that knowledge has come too late. Too late for Boromir. Too late for us all, it seems, if Frodo does indeed have possession of the Ring."

    "Please, my lord, do not despair!" he pleads. "There is hope yet!"

    "Only fools have hope now," I say bitterly. "Think over the knowledge you have before you, Peregrin. What hope is there to be found?"

    The halfling gulps and wrings his hands nervously.

    "Has what I said displeased you, my lord?" he asks anxiously, his voice ridden with guilt. My anger dissipates as I look upon the earnest face of the halfling.

    "Do not worry about what you should or should not have left unsaid, Peregrin! All would have been made known to me in time." I place my hand on his shoulder gently, attempting to comfort him. "It is true that what you have told me is not to my liking, but I would like being ignorant of everything even less."

    He smiles thinly, still visibly distressed. Did I push him too hard today? I will speak to him no more, and let him be.

    "The prince Imrahil and several others will be here shortly. You may retire to your post now, if you wish."

    The halfling bows, clearly relieved, and rushes towards the door. As he reaches to open it, I call out to him again. He stands stiffly in his place for a moment, and then he turns back to face me.

    "Despite what you may think, Peregrin, you have done well. Do not hearken too much to the criticisms of Mithrandir; he is not the lord of this city, and he has not the authority to control what is revealed or kept hidden! Though you have gone against his suggestions, you have not committed any wrongs. I am ever grateful for your company, and your help."

    "Thank you, my lord." He bows again and exits the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

    Left alone in the dark, I sink into a deep state of contemplation. Why do I persist in this futile quest for more knowledge? It has long ceased to be useful or comforting. Now I know more of what is to come, yet what can I do but watch it happen? How I despise being so helpless! Can anything still be salvaged at all...?

Chapter Five: Accusations

A lull settles into the room, and I notice for the first time the fatigue etched on Faramir's face. His journey has taken its toll on him, and much as I would like to question him further, I cannot do so now, especially not before such a crowd.

    "Go now and rest as you may. Tomorrow's need will be sterner."*

    With that, I dismiss those that are present, ending the meeting. As the door closes for the final time, I sink back into my chair and shut my eyes, wishing that the past few hours could simply disappear. It is all falling apart too quickly... far too quickly! I grit my teeth as anger boils within me once more at the thought. And all of this... because of the foolishness of my own son! I slam my fist down in fury, a bitter taste strong in my mouth. The only part of this that did not surprise me, of course, is the wizard's role in this debacle. Hasn't Mithrandir always been there, subtly hinting and "guiding" any who would listen? Alas! Too late do I realize the extent of his influence now! Faramir has been blinded to the truth by Mithrandir's deceitful teachings, and he is now deaf to all words of counsel save those of the treacherous wizard.

    I stand up and begin to pace the room in my growing agitation. Indeed, I should have recognized the signs earlier -- Mithrandir has long sought to sway Faramir's thoughts in his favour -- but in my foolish pride, I did not - would not - notice how much success the wizard has had. I believed that Faramir would at least stay true to Gondor, but I was wrong. No longer is my son's heart bound to his country... or his family. Instead, he has become naught but a pawn under the wizard's command.

    'So be it,' he said to me, stubborn in the belief that his actions were justified. Gondor is doomed to be destroyed, and what does he say but those wretched words! No regret or distress does he show for his actions -- letting a witless halfling deliver the most powerful weapon into the Dark Lord's hands does not bother him, as long as Mithrandir deems it wise; hiding valuable information from his own father is of no consequence to him, as long as Mithrandir wishes it so. I wonder... If I had not learned the information myself, would he have been content to keep me in the dark, while the wizard threw away everything that has ever been dear to us?

    I laugh bitterly. I have been blind, and treason is now my reward. Pausing in front of the windows, I take in the dark skies and shake my head. Yet what use is there dwelling on the immutable now? Would I watch idly as my remaining son self-destructs and brings down the world with him? If only Boromir were still here! He would certainly be able to talk some sense into that boy Faramir. Sighing sadly, I turn away from the windows and head for the door. My patience is dwindling -- that I can feel as surely as I can feel our doom approaching.

    Still, I cannot let this go so easily. There will be another council called tomorrow, but I must speak with him privately before that. Perhaps if he has not yet retired for the day, I can seek him out and see what comes of it. Just one more time... one last effort. For the sake of our people, I will do this. For Gondor... for duty.

    I take a deep breath and walk out of the room, closing the door lightly behind me. Heading down the corridors steadily, I brush past the multitudes of servants. Curious murmurs follow me as I walk, but I pay them no heed, intent only on my purpose.

    Stopping in front of chambers, I knock on his door lightly, waiting patiently as the sound of shuffling feet is heard from the inside. The door opens with a rattle, and a mildly irritated, and no doubt tired, Faramir appears in the doorway, barely stifling a yawn. Upon recognizing me, however, his eyes widen and he tenses up immediately. Quickly recovering, though, he bows and greets me politely.

    "You are not resting," I remark as I enter the room.

    "I will soon," he replies. I nod, acknowledging his response, and take a look around the room. As usual, the room is kept in perfect order, with most everything where it should be. My gaze flickers over to his desk, expecting to find the newest book to catch his fancy. I wonder what fantastical tale will have caught his attention this time? Almost absent-mindedly, I let my hands stray to his desk, about to pick up the book for closer examination. To my surprise, the top of his desk is empty save a few pieces of paper, arranged neatly at its corner. How odd... he tends to keep those books of his around even at the most dire of times. Has he truly changed so much? I shake my head, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came. Nay, he has only just returned to Minas Tirith, I tell myself. Let not such trivial matters bother you.

    I smooth the frown from my features and turn to Faramir. Does he have nothing to say? Surely he knows why I am here... Studying him carefully, I silently wonder when - or if - he would speak. Never one to be very forthcoming with me, he seems even more withdrawn today. An uncomfortable air descends upon the room as we come face-to-face, each scrutinizing the other with caution.

   Finally, Faramir breaks the silence. "We are now alone. Why have you come to speak to me?"

    "I do not need to tell you that," I reply curtly, giving him a severe look. Turning away, Faramir lets out a sigh of exasperation.

    "I know that you are displeased with my choice, father," he says with an almost imperceptible edge to his voice, "but the halfling's mission was too important to hinder! For me to have done as you wished would have been far too perilous!"

     "No less perilous than leaving it to a powerless halfling, who will no doubt deliver this weapon straight into the hands of the Enemy!" I remind him sternly, making sure he catches my look of disapproval. Since when does he dare speak to me with such an impertinent tone? "Do you truly fail to see the folly of your actions?"

    "Nay," he denies, shaking his head. "I have spoken at length with the halfling and his companion; they are anything but weak. In my heart, I believed that what I had done was right!"

    "So you decided the fate of everyone with your intuition alone?" I ask pointedly. "Did you ever think to even consult your father before such a critical decision was made?"

    "It was not a decision I made lightly, but under the circumstances, I could not see any other way." He looks at me sadly, imploring me to understand. "It was not my wish to displease you, father."

    "Aye, as it was not my wish that my younger son would betray me!" I respond bitterly.

    "But how have I betrayed you, father? I would never--"

    "Silence! Do not think your father so blind that he would not notice your new-found allegiance to the wizard, Faramir. You have made your choice, when you allowed yourself to be manipulated by Mithrandir. You have betrayed me, and you have betrayed your country!"

    For awhile, only silence lingers in the air as Faramir struggles to maintain his composure. Finally, he raises his eyes to meet mine and speaks up.

    "You wrong me with this accusation, father," he says slowly. "I know that Boromir would have done otherwise in my place, but you cannot fault me for not being my brother! You may say that I acted differently than you would have liked, perhaps even foolishly if that is what you believe, but do not say that I acted to betray!"

    I raise my eyebrow slightly at this unexpected outburst. "Very well," I reply, yielding to his request for now. It matters not what his intentions were, at any rate, I muse. Arguing over this will not remedy the situation. Seeing that he is appeased with our temporary truce, I continue. "In any event, it is already too late to dwell on past blunders. Tell me, Faramir, will you still heed my commands?" 

    "Of course," he replies somewhat indignantly. "What would you demand of me?"

    I again let the an uneasy silence hang in the air as I evaluate his words. Undaunted, He merely gazes back at me evenly, unwavering in his resolve. Satisfied with his answer, I proceed with the conversation.

    "I ask that only that you serve your country as you should, and that you cease all contact with the wizard Mithrandir, whose loyalties are yet unknown."
   
    At that, his eyes widen in dismay. "But father--"

    "Yes? What is it?" I interrupt. "Am I asking too much of you?"

    "No," he replies after a lengthy pause. "You are not." Lowering his eyes, he bites his lip lightly, as if holding back further words of protest. It upsets him to be asked to abandon his wizard friend, I note to myself, feeling my frustrations mounting again. But willingly or not, these two will be separated. 

    "Do not forget that your first and foremost allegiance is to Gondor, not to any 'friend' of yours." I watch as he cringes at my words. No, this will not work. It would be best not to pursue this any further. Another time perhaps... "A council will be called early tomorrow morning. I expect that you will be there...?"

    "Yes, father," he says softly, his shoulders slumping. As I start to leave, I could not help but sigh, seeing his dejected form. I wish it did not have to be so, Faramir, but until you realize the dangers of dealing with Mithrandir, I cannot let you be near enough to him so he can pollute your mind.

    "Tomorrow, then." Do not be angry with your father, Faramir. This is for your own good. "Rest well, my son," I add softly.

Chapter Six: Regret

I wonder... How long has it been since I sent Faramir away in rashness? A few days, I suppose, by the reckoning of others... but an eternity it has seemed to me. Hours... days... they all passed, but my feelings of forboding never left me once. I remember watching him silently as he prepared to depart, standing some distance away from him so he could not see me. I knew well that I should have bid him farewell, but I could not bring myself to do so. What else is there to be said? What use have any of us for empty words of well-wishes in these times of evil? And I remember frowning as Mithrandir approached him, but I did not move. What could the wizard have been saying now? More lies to poison my son's mind, no doubt. For a moment, Faramir glanced back in my direction, as if he sensed my thoughts from afar, but I pulled back, letting the shadows obscure my face and conceal my presence. This should not have been any different from his mission to Ithilien, but as I watched him ride off into the distance, my heart misgave me.

    Now, I see that these feelings have not been unfounded. What a terrible sight it is that greeted me today! How could it have been that now my youngest has fallen to the darkness as well?

    'If I should return, think better of me!'

    I look over at Faramir as his final words echo through my mind. If you should return, indeed! But tell me, Faramir, what manner of return is this?

    'I have fought well, father. My heart has never strayed. Do you see, now?'

    I smile grimly as I imagine Faramir's response. Alas, my son, for though I see now, it is too late!

     'Your son has returned, lord, after great deeds.'

    This time, it is Imrahil's voice that sounds in my mind. Faramir would have been pleased to hear such words from a man he admires thus. Faramir, can you hear us? Why do you not speak?

    "I'm proud of you, my son," I whisper, taking his hand in mine, watching sadly as he lies motionless on the bed. "Can you hear me?"

    I shake him lightly, but to no avail. Sighing sadly, I draw him closer into my arms. Faramir? Will you not speak to your father once more ere the end? I touch his face, feeling his skin burning, as though a fire rages within him. What must he think of me now?

    'On one occasion at least your counsel prevailed...'

    Aye, and now it has prevailed again to send my remaining son to his doom! Oh, Faramir, what ill fate is this that would take you away from me? Is it not enough that my wife left me all too soon, her gentle spirit fleeing from the horror of Mordor? Now, ere both my sons can live their lives to the fullest, the darkness closes in and bears them away as well! Such hasty departures that should never have been!

    Holding Faramir's hand tightly, I shake my head. Forgive me, son, for what I have done. I failed your mother when she was ill, unable to give her comfort and refuge from the darkness; and I failed your brother when I let him set off on that foolish errand. Yet, dearest Faramir, it is your forgiveness that I most desperately seek now, for it is you who I have let down far too often. There is naught I can do to atone for my actions, but please know that you are my son, and I love you.

    I close my eyes tightly, letting the darkened room fade away from my view. For a moment, I let the world slip away as well. I can see Finduilas again, smiling radiantly as she hands a small infant into my arms. Next to me, Boromir is jumping up and down in excitement, reaching out with his small hands, anxious to hold his little brother as well.

    "Not now, Boromir," I say, smiling at his antics.

    "Faramir!" Boromir tugs at my sleeves insistently, pointing to his brother with a slight pout on his face. Chuckling lightly, I kneel down and let Boromir have a better look at Faramir. A wide smile spreads across his face and he tickles his brother playfully.

    "Faramir," he repeats, gazing at the infant with awe.

    "Yes, you now have a brother and a companion, Boromir." Cradling young Faramir gently in my arms, I look up at both Finduilas and Boromir, and we share a heartfelt smile.

    Too quickly, however, that fleeting moment of happiness disappears, and I am thrust back into the bleak present. Faramir's body is limp in my arms, and his breathing is becoming more laboured. Alas for Faramir, that his end should come so soon! And what of Gondor now? Our forces are depleted, and the Rohirrim are nowhere in sight. What to do? The darkness will not wait. What to do? The darkness advances.

    'You know what you must do,' a small voice whispers.

    "Must I?" I answer aloud, though I know that no reply would be given. "I grow so weary."

    Only silence greets me, and after a few moments, I reluctantly lay Faramir back on the bed and stand up. There will be no time to grieve. Indeed, there is never time to grieve. Leaving the chamber behind, I make my way up the winding stairs. My footsteps echo loudly around me, each sound filling my heart with dread.

    Finally, I reach the small chamber at the summit, and my eyes fall immediately upon the Palantír. As if in response to my gaze, it starts to glow softly, enticing me to come closer.

    "But I am so weary," I repeat, even as my hands reach out to touch the glowing stone. It lights up brilliantly at my touch, and the world around me is no more. This time, I do not strain against its will, and stand passively as it fills my mind with visions. Blood. Decaying flesh. Death. Rooted in my place, I stare helplessly at the sights before me.

    Barely can I recognize the once-great city of Osgiliath, which is now defiled by the vile creatures of the dark. Orcs run rampantly through the city's ruins, snarling with pleasure at the destruction and havoc. Dead bodies are lying about everywhere; there will be no proper burial for these soldiers, no escape from the darkness. For even as their bodies rot, the orcs feast on them, their blood-covered snouts greedily rending and tearing the flesh away from arms, legs, and torsos. My stomach turns in revulsion as I notice two orcs sharing a chosen morsel, snapping at each other as they fight for their food. Such abominations of nature! Is this the fate of all those who fall in these dark times?

    Suddenly, the scene changes and I am plunged into the dark. Slowly adjusting to my surroundings, I look around cautiously. What is this place? It has never been shown to me before. A slight movement to my left startles me, and I turn to see what has caused the commotion. Orcs again. My blood boils at the sight of them, and I clench my fists in anger. One of them turns around, its hideous eyes flashing, and holds up something in his hands.

    Straining my eyes to see better, I frown as I get a better look at the item in the orc's hands. It looks to be an elven cloak, yet what could such an item be doing in the hands of an orc?

    Abruptly, I am wrenched again from the scene ere the answers to my question could be gleaned. I am now in a place with more light, and I can see rushing water. The Anduin! Vaguely, I see a dim shape off in the distance, gradually growing larger as it approaches. I lean forward, trying to discern what it is. Ships! They are ships! It is a fleet of ships, looming large in the horizons, their black sails billowing in some unnatural wind. Ever closer they come, deadly in their silence. My eyes widen in surprise. The fleets of Umbar! They have come for Gondor! What fell stroke of fortune it this that befalls us? How many are there? How strong are their forces? These are ill tidings indeed! I struggle to force the stone into revealing more information, but it does not heed my commands.

    Why can I not control this any longer?

    The cloak... the cloak that was shown to me...  it was far too small to have been made for a man or even an elf. My heart sinks as the realization dawns upon me. This is the same cloak that Peregrin wore when he first arrived at Minas Tirith! The halfling Frodo must have been captured!

    So great was my shock and dismay that I stumble backwards, pulling my hands back from the Palantír. The chamber snaps back into view, and I breathe in deeply, my heart pounding rapidly. The Palantír still glows brightly, taunting me with Gondor's imminent defeat. Turning away, I stagger back towards the door, and climb down the stairs.

    I can no longer use the Stone. The halfling has been captured, and the Dark Lord has regained control over the Ring. He now controls all, and the fleets of Umbar will bring us our dooms.

    Returning to the chamber where Faramir lay, I sigh softly and sit down next to him. Why must he be taken away from me as well? Am I to be deprived of any comfort or love, even in my final days? How I weary of this world and its sorrows... Bowing my head in anguish, I silently lament the fall of Gondor.

    It is over. The Dark Lord has won.