Chapter 5. If the Shroud Fits...

Faramir had ordered horses made ready, and was waiting as Elessar emerged from the Seventh Circle into the brightening day, leapt into the saddle and took up the reins. The guardsman holding the reins of the King's horse released his hold and stepped back, and Steward and King swung their horses' heads around and set off at a quick pace, clattering along the stone streets, the shoes of the horses striking sparks from the stones as the riders passed through the shadows cast by the taller buildings.

The few people who were about their business were warned by the sound of their approach, and these scattered to leave the middle of the way clear for the hurrying horsemen, turning to stare when the riders passed, not the usual messenger but King himself, with Steward at his side!

Thus they quickly reached the Second Circle, riding through the gateway and along the way to the scene of the disaster.

The damage left by the onslaught of the Dark Lord's forces was more evident here than in the upper levels, though of course the Second Circle was not so devastated as the First Circle, where many buildings had fallen to the torch, and even some of the thick stone walls of the houses had fallen in when supporting beams and struts had burned away with the roofs and wooden floors.

The inn in question was a large building that fronted the street, facing out over the Pelennor here where the street curved abruptly, passing directly under the looming wall, leaving room for buildings only on the inmost side. The building looked rather forlorn and toothless, the glass of its many windows shattered or damaged by the heat of the inferno in the lowest Circle, only a wall away, for the hungry flames had climbed high into the air and the heat and smoke had blown heavily over this part of the City.

The upper parts of the thick walls of grey stone were streaked with soot, and in one place the walls themselves had been shattered by the impact of an enormous missile, flung by one of the war machines that had stood outside the walls during the Siege. One could see through the hole, into the building, as if the sides had been purposely cut away to reveal the stories within: a bed made ready for an occupant, ewer and bowl standing on a dressing table, curiously intact, a dividing wall and in the next room the bed half-hanging into the void, linens tattered and fluttering in the light morning breeze...

'Sir,' a dust-covered workman said, stepping up to catch at the bridles of the dancing horses, 'My Lords!'

'What has happened?' the King demanded.

'The Lord Dorion had come to inspect the foundations, my Lord,' the workman said, naming the King's chief engineer in building and structural matters. 'There was some question as to whether the building might be saved, and disagreement between the chief foreman and the engineer with the charge of this project... they came at dawn to make a determination, and... We are digging now, but it is a slow and painstaking business, lest we bring down more of the structure on the rescuers' heads.'

'Saved,' Faramir echoed in startlement, and the workman turned to him with a quick bow.

'Yes, my Lord,' he said, gesturing towards the gaping hole. 'On the front, here, none of the main supporting structures was destroyed by the impact, though of course we must be wary of cracks and strains... '

'I should say so,' Faramir said under his breath, but the King spoke at the same time.

'There are trapped and injured,' he said. 'Where?'

'The north wing, my Lord, though at the moment we cannot reach them, for the ceilings and part of the wall have come down,' the workman said, 'where a great iron-shod stone dropped from the heavens and crashed through the roof in the midst of the storm.'

'A murderous hail indeed,' Faramir muttered.

The workman nodded and added, 'In any event, there can be no hurry in digging them free. We must wait for the Lord Dorion's chief assistant to be summoned from the Causeway. If you wish to see the damage it would be safest to go through the entrance into the rear courtyard, between the wings. There'll be someone watching for you there, to guide you in relative safety.'

Up the wide steps, onto a welcoming wide porch that ran the width of the building, benches waiting to receive weary guests, flower boxes fixed to the railing still sporting a few early blooms despite the wrath of the battle that had raged.

Into the dark foyer, lit by a single lamp on the desk of polished wood, overlaid with some weeks of dust accumulation, and through the doors leading into the green yard between the wings, one seeming untouched and the other partly fallen in. The courtyard was half in shadow at this early hour, and there a workman waited, covered in dust, a bright crimson smear on one side of his face shining in contrast.

'You're injured,' the King said, going to him, but seeming not to know the King, he shook Elessar off and pointed to the damaged wing.

'In there,' he said, and commenced to crawl through a window, where someone's cloak had been laid to cover any jagged glass left in the frame. Faramir followed as a matter of course, and Elessar went after, though the latter rather suspected that the royal engineers would be horrified at the prospect.

Men were bracing the walls with sturdy beams, and others were pulling stones and debris from the collapsed section, where a foot protruded from the rubble, a boot of soft leather, such as a nobleman or one of the higher-ranking artisans might wear. I know the look of a hobbit's foot when I see one rang in his mind as Elessar knelt to take the boot in his hands. This was no hobbit's foot, but it was likely that of the chief of the royal engineers.

' 'Ware, sir; the wall is not stable here,' one of the workmen said, straightening from his task.

'I should say so,' Faramir repeated, again under his breath, and the workman turned, his eyes widening.

'Sir,' he said, 'you ought not to be here--certainly, we expected you to come, but to observe from the safety of the greensward...' He took the Steward by the arm as if to lead him out again, adding, 'The healer, of course, may stay, but you...'

Elessar had worked the boot free from the foot, and shook his head at his findings. 'This heart beats no more,' he said, leaving off his hold and rising again. 'How many are trapped?'

Faramir easily shook himself free of the workman's grasp as the man, belatedly recognising the King, stiffened.

'My Lord!' he said. 'You ought not to be here. If you please, my Lord.'

Faramir, taking advantage of his restored freedom, moved to where the workmen were pulling debris out, working slowly and cautiously, with many a nervous glance to the wall and the remnant of ceiling above them. 'How many?' he said, bending closer.

'The crew had just started working when the Lord Dorion entered,' came the answer. 'The foreman called him to examine the wall, there in the next room, where he thought there might be a crack leading down into the foundation. Up until now they had thought the foundation sound, and that is what they'd based their calculations on, when planning the work to repair...'

'A costly miscalculation,' Faramir said, for he thought he knew the owner of the fine boot that lay empty beside the cold foot.

'Look out!' came the shout, and the Steward looked up to see the wall before them bulging ominously. With an effort he pulled the nearest workman to his feet, shoving him out of the way, and then there was a sudden roar, as if all of the City were falling about his ears.

The dust in the air made him cough, and there was much coughing and confusion surrounding him, and breathing dust was altogether an unpleasant sensation... though it was better than the alternative. At least he was breathing. He'd felt himself pelted with falling matter, and yet he'd somehow ended in the clear--well, relatively clear. He was sure he'd find bruises, when he removed his dust-soaked clothes, but for the moment he was numbed with shock and feeling no after-effects of collapsing wood and stone.

It was a moment, indeed, before he felt the hands clutching at him, but the dust was settling, and soon he saw Elessar beside him, still holding him in an urgent grasp, and he had a sudden realisation.

'You've saved me, once again,' he said.

'It is getting to be a habit,' Elessar agreed, his casual tone belying the tightness of his jaw. It had been a very near thing, for the both of them. A part of his mind wondered just what Gondor would do if Steward and King were both wrenched away in the same instant. 

'What ever am I to do, when I'm gone to Ithilien, without you or Peregrin to watch over me?' Faramir said, straightening and brushing all too ineffectually at his clothes, caked in a thick layer of dust and debris. His head was clearing, but he didn't protest as workmen seized both himself and the King and propelled them from the building.

Elessar was a sight to be seen, white with dust, his eyes shining out from a pale mask of a face, his mouth strangely red in contrast when he opened it to issue orders.

More crews were arriving from other worksites in the damaged parts of the City, and healers from the Houses of Healing, and it wasn't long before King and Steward were feeling themselves superfluous.

'I want a full report,' Elessar said in parting to Dorion's chief assistant, as he and Faramir stood out on the street once more. They'd look like wraiths, riding back to the upper levels, but that couldn't be helped.

'Yes, my Lord,' the man said with a bow, and turned back to the work at hand.

'I'll have to bathe before Beregond's hearing,' Elessar said, settling into the saddle with a grimace as the grit that had worked itself under his clothing scraped against his skin.

'There's time,' Faramir agreed, glancing at the angle of shadows. 'I am glad you won't put him off; he's waited long enough already, and is ready to make an end of the miserable affair.'

'I'm sure that he is,' Elessar said, regret in his tone. If only...

Later, perhaps, when he'd established himself as King, he could find more leeway between the letter of the law, and the spirit thereof, but with the whole City watching and judging his every move, he felt constrained at the moment to show he was no tyrant, ruling at whim, no upstart or usurper, but the true King, placed in the position in accordance with history and tradition.

He saw Faramir's shoulders rise and fall in a sigh, and added his own silent exhalation, his shoulders heavy with the responsibility that lay before him this day.