[Formendacil]

Denethor:

Denethor paused for a moment to consider Faramir's question. What SHOULD they do with the traitor.

"Burn him!" said Denethor, following his first instinct. Faramir, Húrin, and everyone else in the engine room- except Vérmïndil- looked at each other uneasily.

"Unfortunately," said Faramir. "We can't. Or rather, we can't do it legally. The Steward of Gondor doesn't have the authority to order executions outside the Realm of Gondor, nor can he order them there without the King's permission, save at times when the King is in Arnor, or outside of his realms."

"Besides," interjected Húrin, "we need him alive to find out what will lure the rats out!"

"Burn it all!" swore Denethor. "You: Vérmïndil! Tell me, what is your deepest, worst fear?"

"You don't actually expect him to tell you?" exclaimed Faramir.

"Why not?" said Denethor. "I am the Steward of Gondor. He is honour-bound to obey my direct command."

"Then ask him what will lure the rats out," said Faramir. "Either way, he's not going to you."

"Says who?" piped up Vérmïndil. "I'll do what I like. My deepest fear is... is... is... is...."

"Well?" said Faramir impatiently, "what IS it?"

"I cannot speak his name!" Vérmïndil shuddered.

"It's a person!" exclaimed Faramir. "I know: Sauron."

Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Aragorn! Gandalf! Elrond!" said Denethor. Again, Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Gothmog? The Witchking? Saruman?" Faramir questioned.

Vérmïndil continued to shake his head.

"Is he tall?" asked Denethor.

"Is he Gondorian?" asked Faramir.

"No and no," replied Vérmïndil.

"Rohirric?" asked Denethor.

Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Is he Human?" asked Faramir.

Vérmïndil paused a moment, then said: "sort of."

"Sort of?" said Denethor. "How can one be sort of human?"

"I know!" said Faramir. "A hobbit!"

Vérmïndil nodded, eyes wide with fear.

"Frodo! Bilbo! Sam! Merry! Pippin!" Denethor ran off the names of the famous hobbits. Vérmïndil shook his head to each.

"Sméagol! Gollum! Stinker! Slinker!" said Faramir. Vérmïndil and Denethor both looked at him strangely. Vérmïndil shook his head.

"Well, that's all the Hobbits I know the names of!" said Denethor.

"Me too," said Faramir.

"Can't you just tell us?" demanded Denethor. Vérmïndil shook his head in terror.

"Why not just tell us what will lure the rats out?" said Faramir. "Then we'll drop this whole line of enquiry."

"Never!" cackled Vérmïndil. "Never!!!"

"Húrin," said Denethor, "go to the Archives, and get me the Red Book. I'll run through every name in the Geneologies if I have to."

And so they did.

"The Gaffer!"

"Old Noakes!"

"Ted Sandyman!"

"Old Rory!"

"Fatty Bolger!"

"Folco Boffin!"

"Wait!" said Faramir. "He's shaking! Go back to Fatty Bolger!"

But on the second mention of the name, Vérmïndil began to shake uncontrollably.

"Fatty Bolger!" roared Denethor. "Fatty Bolger!!!"

"Yes, yes, it's him!" squeaked Vérmïndil. "Now PLEASE stop saying the name!"

"Not until you tell us how to lure the rats out!" Denethor told him.

"N-n-n-never," said Vérmïndil, biting his lip.

"Fatty Bolger! Fatty Bolger! Fatty Bolger!" Denethor, Faramir, and the support staff began to sing.

"All right!" wailed Vérmïndil, big fat tears streaming down his face. "I'll tell you! It's marmite."

"Marmite!!!" said Denethor in disgust. "Are you completely insane, man?"

"Oh come on, Father," said Faramir. "It's not that bad. It's especially good on toast."

Denethor gave his son a vile look.

"I swear to the Valar that it's true!" pleaded Vérmïndil. "Try it! You'll see. Just don't say... HIS name again."

"What? You mean 'Fatty Bolger'?" asked Denethor cruelly. Vérmïndil lost complete control of himself. Denethor turned to Faramir. "Find us some marmite!"

So, while the support staff cleaned out the engine room of banana peels, perfumes, liverwurst, Aragorn's gym socks, and other smelly miscellany, Faramir set off to retrieve his marmite. As soon as he'd opened it, rats began to pour out of the pipes.

"Quick!" cried Denethor. "Lead them out of the city."

"What do I look like?" asked Faramir. "A pied piper?"

"Do you want my honest answer?" said Denethor.

"Okay, okay! I'm going."

Faramir took off at a sprint for the gates, an army of rats streaming after him. The lead rats were drawing closer and closer, and Faramir was in a mortal panic that they would catch him and swarm him. In the nick of time, he reached the gates, which he burst through, tossing the marmite as hard as he could away from him.

The rats streamed past, dead set on reaching the marmite.

Faramir returned to the engine room weak-kneed, only to find Denethor gone back to the tower, and Húrin's team revving up the engine.

"Due WEST!" called Denethor from the tower. "We make for Mt. Gundabad!"