He says the one thing Faramir has been waiting a lifetime to hear his father say. Gandalf pierces straight to Faramir’s main problem: his perpetual need to please his father in order to gain acceptance and love. This is home and as such he proudly takes steps towards his own death in order to defend it. There is nowhere else to belong to than here. Faramir focuses on the city itself, on his duty to it and its people. He looks on without giving Gandalf a second glance or considering his words. This is his last chance to have reason prevail over madness, however, it does not sway Faramir’s intentions.įear covers Faramir’s eyes. He is honest in his opinion of Denethor’s rule and imperatively urges Faramir to save his own life. Gandalf’s hope of ceasing this useless attack on Osgiliath lies now in reassuring Faramir and making him see reason. I will gladly give my life to defend her beauty, her memory, her wisdom.” Do not throw away your life so rashly.”įaramir: “Where does my allegiance lie if not here? This is the city of the Men of Númenor. Gandalf: “Faramir, Faramir! Your father’s will is turned to madness.
There and back again is a sure gamble with lives lost. Similarly, the cavalry isn’t even sure they will be able to reach Osgiliath, let alone return to Minas Tirith unharmed. As Gandalf already mentioned, the success of their quest was only a fool’s hope, one in which not even Frodo believes anymore. This march toward Osgiliath is in some ways similar to Sam and Frodo’s quest. Their faces express grief and pain, for this may well be the last time they see them. All involved fear what awaits them and all know their fear is soon to be realized. There is a sense of imminent defeat in the air. The people of Minas Tirith look on at their men, their husbands, sons, fathers, friends passing by. They cannot but do what they are told, but still, their self-preservation mechanisms are rebelling against what is obviously going to be a one-way quest. Their expressions are not that of sadness for their own fates, but rather an unemotional detachment from their own inner rebel. And as faithful servants of the Lord and Steward of Gondor, they are obliged to follow his orders. They understand the sacrifice this mission will take. The men themselves have resigned themselves to their fate. They are aware of what peril they now march. It is eerie how it makes it seem as if the flowers were strewn onto their graves. With every step they take, a flower marks its path. The scene resembles a funeral, with people throwing flowers at the men’s feet. The White City in all its glory and all its inhabitants standing by, watching the procession.
The cavalry moves through the stone-paved streets of Minas Tirith. Denethor, in all this stubbornness and lunacy, has decided to send his men on a suicide mission. The order has been given: the army of Minas Tirith is to depart for Osgiliath and reclaim it for Gondor.
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