“Bring wood and oil!” Denethor commanded loudly which caused the
servants to immediately begin carrying bundles of sticks and a fifty
gallon drum of cooking oil out of a nearby storage room.
“And while you’re at it how about a bag of those big white
marshmallows!” Faramir suddenly added eagerly while quickly sitting up
on his litter. “Father I could use some of those sticks and toast
marshmallows for us!”
“Are you crazy?! Your marshmallows always go up in flames and become a
burnt mess! Now if only Boromir were here then I would have perfectly
golden marshmallows,” Denethor sighed.
"Thus departs Denethor, son of
Ecthelion..." intoned Gandalf as the flames lit the darkened street,
perhaps the most useful thing Denethor'd done as it gave the tall
wizard enough light to not trip over his small companion.
"Hey, two down one to go, right Gandalf?" asked Pippin. "I really do
think this family needs a new shot of genetics, seein' as they keep
"For once you show wisdom, young Took. Indeed. We'll have to encourage
Faramir to take up with someone elsewhere. Perhaps of Rohan."
"A Rohan lady? Where would you find one o' those around here?" Pippin
The citizens were amazed at the death of their Steward. How could it
happen, had enemies broken into the Citadel, past the guards? Had there
been some betrayal?
Nay, twas whispered that he had, in a fit of madness, sought to burn
himself and the Captain but drowned.
"Drowned?" asked the astonished people, "How?"
"Well, he was standing there carrying on and on about how Mithrandir
was undermining his authority and how he really knew what was going
on... then he threw down a torch upon the wood..."
"The sprinkler heads came on but he wouldn't shut his mouth!"