return

1080 the return of the king
The messengers without bow or answer turned and fled.
Now Denethor stood up and released the fevered hand of
Faramir that he had held. ‘He is burning, already burning,’
he said sadly. ‘The house of his spirit crumbles.’ Then stepping
softly towards Pippin he looked down at him.
‘Farewell!’ he said. ‘Farewell, Peregrin son of Paladin! Your
service has been short, and now it is drawing to an end. I
release you from the little that remains. Go now, and die in
what way seems best to you. And with whom you will, even
that friend whose folly brought you to this death. Send for
my servants and then go. Farewell!’
‘I will not say farewell, my lord,’ said Pippin kneeling. And
then suddenly hobbit-like once more, he stood up and looked
the old man in the eyes. ‘I will take your leave, sir,’ he said;
‘for I want to see Gandalf very much indeed. But he is no
fool; and I will not think of dying until he despairs of life.
But from my word and your service I do not wish to be
released while you live. And if they come at last to the Citadel,
I hope to be here and stand beside you and earn perhaps the
arms that you have given me.’
‘Do as you will, Master Halfling,’ said Denethor. ‘But my
life is broken. Send for my servants!’ He turned back to
Faramir.
Pippin left him and called for the servants, and they came:
six men of the household, strong and fair; yet they trembled
at the summons. But in a quiet voice Denethor bade them
lay warm coverlets on Faramir’s bed and take it up. And they
did so, and lifting up the bed they bore it from the chamber.
Slowly they paced to trouble the fevered man as little as might
be, and Denethor, now bending on a staff, followed them;
and last came Pippin.
Out from the White Tower they walked, as if to a funeral,
out into the darkness, where the overhanging cloud was lit
beneath with flickers of dull red. Softly they paced the great
courtyard, and at a word from Denethor halted beside the
Withered Tree.