Denethor
Minas Tirith was again running, but Denethor was in a rather bad mood.
"Porcupines! Of all the nasty creatures! Why couldn't it have been platypuses or something?" he muttered. "We're probably leagues behind the other teams! Confound them all!"
He shook his head. It had been a long night, and he was tired.
"Father," Faramir poked his head into the control room, "you're looking very tired. Should I take the helm?"
"Nonsense!" said Denethor. "I'm as fit as a fiddle."
"More like a bass fiddle," muttered Faramir to himself.
"What was that?" demanded Denethor sharply. "You're starting to mumble. It's time you went to bed! It's hours past your bedtime."
"I'm a grown man!" protested Faramir.
"You're still beholden to obey the Lord and Steward of the Realm, though, are you not?" snapped Denethor.
"Yes, but you're no longer the Lord of the Realm- that's King Elessar," pointed out Denethor.
"I'm still the Steward though!" said Denethor, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You. BED. Now."
"But we aren't even in the realm..." protested Faramir.
"You are a citizen of Gondor, no matter where we are!" said Denethor with a glare, "and Minas Tirith is a part of the Realm of Gondor, no matter where she drives!"
"All right! All right! I'm going to bed!" said Faramir. "Maybe you should park the city while we both sleep."
"Nonsense!" scoffed Denethor. "We've been held up long enough as it is. You sleep, I'll drive."
Still looking hesitant, Faramir exited the tower. Denethor continued to mutter under his breath long after his son had fallen asleep.
"Thinks me senile... Ha! I'm only a year older than Thorongil- and you don't hear people calling HIM senile... Fall asleep indeed.... Calls me a bass fiddle does he? At least it's manly... He's nothing but a piccollo! Why isn't Boromir here, anyway? Great man, Boromir... Takes after his father... Good man, his father.... Wise man... never uncloaks, him... Yes, I never uncloak... Confound Mithrandir... definitely confound him... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz......"
The next thought that Denethor remembered came to him when he awoke suddenly, face splayed against the helm. Faramir was shaking him awake.
"Father! Father! Are you all right? Have you had a stroke? Or heart attack???"
Denethor roused himself, and stood up.
"Nonsense, I just dozed off... How long have I been out?"
"Probably three hours," said Faramir. "Húrin said he noticed the city start to veer at that time, but he assumed that you were just taking us on a new course. But when we got stuck in giant spiderweb, he went and got me- and here I am."
"It can't be three hours," said Denethor. "It was just a moment or two, I'm sure. Wait- you said something about a giant spiderweb?"
"Yes, the city is stuck in one," replied Faramir, and gestured out the window. Denethor peered out. His jaw dropped. An huge orb web hung between two tall peaks of the Misty Mountains. And the front of the city was stuck right in it, from the bottom circle up to the top of the spine of stone on which the troll statue was set.
Denethor licked his lips anxiously, swallowed, and turned to Faramir. "Any sign of the spider?"
"Not yet..." replied Faramir.