Denethor:
*BUMP!*
"What in blazes was that!" roared Denethor. Something had just caused Minas Tirith to careen to one side.
"Slow down!" cried Faramir. "We've popped a tire!"
"Did we drive over a sword or something!" replied Denethor. "It'd take something long, hard, and sharp indeed to puncture tires that can hold up a city!"
"I'm not sure!" said Faramir. "But we'd better stop anyway."
Denethor eased Minas Tirith into a park. With one tire punctured, the city was set on a somewhat crooked angle. Denethor and Faramir quickly descended to the citadel. Húrin of the Keys was running up to meet them.
"Milords!" he gasped. "Milords, it is terrible!"
"What is terrible?" demanded Denethor.
"Porcupines, Milord!" replied Húrin, still gasping for breath. "They've attacked our tires!"
Even as Húrin said this, explosive noises could be heard as the other tires were blown open by the porcupines. Minas Tirith rocked unsteadily, then settled to the ground, all its tires popped.
"Porcupines?" said Faramir, raising an eyebrow.
"Dreadful porcupines!" replied Húrin. "Porcupine guerillas of doom! Worse, they invaded the city and stolen our only spare!"
"Sirs!" Beregond came running up. "We've managed to drive the porcupines away, but they stole one of our tires, as well as the spare. They were giggling something awful as they made away."
"What do we do?" asked Faramir.
"Beregond, order a watch," was Denethor's first command. "If any porcupine shows its face within sight of the city, I want it captured or shot. Húrin, see if you can patch and re-pump the tires we still have. Faramir, you and I shall see what we can do about procuring another tire."
"We could hunt down these porcupines and steal them back," suggested Faramir.
"No," said Denethor. "It's too dangerous. We don't know the terrain, and we don't know how dangerous an enemy we're facing. No, we must create a new tire."
"But Father!" protested Faramir. "That's more rubber than we have in the city! We're talking about enough rubber to put the Gondorian army in sneakers for two years!"
"My decision is final," said Denethor. "Or least until I change my mind. What other options have we?"