Denethor:
Denethor and Húrin met Faramir at the entrance to the Engine Room. Faramir was clad in a long, white robe.
"Is it not enough that you are a wizard's pupil?" scoffed Denethor. "Or do you think yourself the equal of the head of the Istari?"
"It's the colour of the Stewards, Father," explained Faramir. "I thought it would be appropriate. Besides, if the Balrog thinks I'm that powerful, so much the better."
"So it's not enough to shame us by Uncloaking in the first place," bemoaned Denethor, "you also have to deliberately tie it to my office!"
"Well, it's too late now," said Faramir. "We have a job to do."
"No, you have a job to do."
They entered the Engine Room, and a terrifying sight met their eyes. The once clean and well-ordered Engine Room was dark, lit only by the fiery light of the Balrog. Machinery littered the floor, torn from the walls, mishapen and bent. The Balrog was twisting a long rod into a pretzel as they entered.
Faramir drew himself up. He spoke sternly. "You will be a fool if you continue, Balrog! You make that clearer with every piece you break. It has got far too much danger for you. Let it go! And then you can go and be free."
"Wot's that?" the Balrog blinked, shadowy eyelids temporarily obscuring his fiery eyes. "I'll do as I choose and go as I please."
"Now, now, my dear Balrog!" said Faramir. "All your long life you have been careful, and you owe yourself something. Come, do as is safest: stop it."
"Well, if you want my Engine Room for yourself, say so!" said the Balrog. "But you won't get it. I won't give my Engine Room away, I tell you." His hand strayed to the handle of his fiery whip.
Faramir's adam's apple gulped. "It will be my turn to get angry soon," he said. "If you say that again. Then you will see Faramir the White Uncloaked!" He took a step towards the Balrog; and he seemed to grow tall and menacing; his shadow filled the room.
"Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of shadows! Leave the Engine Room in peace!"
The Balrog backed away to the wall, looking wary, his hand clutching at his whip. He answered in a cold (for such a hot being, it was quite cold indeed) voice: "Come not between the Balrog and his lair! Or he will slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, why thy flesh shall be rended, and thy shrivelled corpse be left naked to Flaming Whip."
"Do what you will, but being Uncloaked was my plan!"
"Uncloak at me? Thou fool. No living (or dead) wizard may Uncloak at me!"
Then Denethor heard of all the sounds in that hour the strangest. It seemed that Faramir laughted, and the clear voice was like the ring of steel. "But no living wizard am I! You look up a man. Faramir, I am, Denethor's son. You stand between us and our race. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will Uncloak at you, if you do not depart!"
Then apparently winged creature screamed at here, and yet the Balrog made no answer, and was silent, as if in sudden doubt. He approached Faramir, tall and threatening, towering above him. With a cry of hatred that stung the very ears, Faramir let fall his cloak.
The Balrog shrieked in horror and pain, and Denethor and the others saw the room lit up with a pasty whiteness. The Balrog began to contort and twist, losing his form, becoming a mere swirling mass of shadow and flame. Then all was silent. For a second.
"Faramir! Put that cloak back on right now!"
"Yes, Father!" Faramir, somewhat stunned looking, hastily donned the cloak. "Well, it seems that the foul beast is defeated... Now what? He has wrecked our Engine Room."
"Sirs," interjected Húrin, "the swirling mass of shadow and flame is still there. I bet you that my men could jury-rig a way to harness it's energy to power the city, at least until we can get the engine repaired."
"Make it so," said Denethor. "Faramir, go get changed into something decenty and un-wizardy. I shall be in the Control Room. We make
WEST-SOUTH-WEST"