The battle of the Pelennor fields has come to an end. The wounded have been healed. The city of Minas Tirith is resuming its normal pattern of life as much as possible. Grief and sorrow still permeate the consciences of the inhabitants and it will take time to accept the deaths of their loved ones. However, peace has returned to their homes, thanks to the sacrifices of the same people. There is a feeling of elation as well as that of remembrance. 

For all the charges and breaches of gates that have taken place in Gondor, Frodo finds himself lying alone in a tower. He does not know what brought him here, how he ended up there or why his clothes are missing. As he wakes from Shelob’s stinger stupor, he is overtaken by panic and fear. What else could he possibly feel? Alone, almost naked in an unwelcoming place with his hands tied. That he managed to keep his composure as he awoke is an incredible achievement.

Within the walls of Minas Tirith, there lie the Houses of Healing. In those houses, women, and men who have knowledge of healing herbs, rudimentary medical practices use their knowledge to help the inhabitants of the Citadel. As the battle of the Pelennor fields has taken its toll on the men, and woman, there is a dire need for their healing knowledge. Since there are only a limited number of healers, everyone who is able to help is welcome. 

As per usual, Legolas and Gimli count their casualties in a competition against each other. However, as opposed to their efforts at Helm’s Deep, their relationship has grown and matured in many ways. They are now linked together stronger than ever in their fight against the common enemy.

Without a captain or a crew, the Corsair ships sail along the Anduin River, a ghost ship only not as haunting or creepy as it would normally seem. The ships seem abandoned as if the crew left it to drift alone. Given the welcome that the Corsairs would have gotten from their allies, it would only be fair to reply in kind. However, the reply comes from someone they did not expect to find aboard a pirate ship.

The Orcs have taken the city of Minas Tirith, almost all seven levels. The fields of Pelennor are scattered with Rohan casualties as well as that of the enemy. Their struggle continues. This is, however, small comfort for the remaining soldiers of the Citadel. They stand behind the doors of the penultimate level, their spears askew towards the entrance.

On Pelennor Fields, unaware of the tragic suicide that has taken place on the highest level of the Citadel, the battle between the Rohirrim and Mordor Orcs continues. With all their will and strength they smite at the enemy. Their charge might have been seen as a suicide mission, however, as they broke the Orc ranks, the wave of energy and determination has not only had the effect of driving the Orcs back but also given them the initial success of their mission they craved for.

In an almost delirious state of mind and body, Denethor pours a pitcher of oil over his face. This simple and subtle ritual comes off as a kind of absolution of sins in a way. He may be cleansing his soul of all that he had done wrong, which would, in turn, mean that he has recognized and accepted his mistakes such as they are. Alternatively, he may just be finding peace in knowing that he is about to be put to death. It must be a calming and soothing sensation.

At long last, the Riders of Rohan have reached their goal. Riding through the night, filled with exhaustion and elation they come in sight of the war zone. It is much worse than they may have anticipated. The Orcs have breached the city walls. The levels of Minas Tirith are being overrun by Orcs leaving their casualties dead on the streets of the Citadel. The mayhem continues as the unstopping force of the enemy ravages all in their path. Even the mighty White Wizard has fallen to his knees unable to face his worst fear. 

Denethor’s plan of executing himself and his only living heir has come to its final stage. His madness has grabbed hold of his thoughts as well as his actions, and nothing will deter him from his goal. His guards do not hesitate in building the pyre in which both Denethor and Faramir will burn. They will be burning the only current ruler of their realm as well as his only son and heir. As they place Faramir’s body on the platform, an almost inaudible sound escapes his lips.