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Gandalf enters stage left
Gandalf: You sent for me Lord Denethor?
Denethor: Tis with a heavy heart I must ask your assistance to construct a bier
upon which we may place my son Faramir to be cremated, as is the tradition of
Gondor.
Gandalf looks down at the inert form of Faramir sprawled across a bed.
G: But he's not dead.
D: Yes he is.
G: No he isn't.
D: Yes, he IS.
G: No he isn't.
D: Is.
G: Isn't.
D: IS
G: ISN'T
D: IS!
G: He's not dead, he's pining.
D: Pining?
G: Pining for Ithilien.
D: Pining for Ithilien??? PINING FOR ITHILIEN?! He's passed away. He's gone
to meet his maker! He's in the Halls of Mandos!
G: No, no, no...
Gandalf reaches over and pokes Faramir's limp form
G: Look, there, he moved!
D: You did that.
G: No, no, never. He's just stunned.
D: Stunned?
G: Stewards of Gondor stun easily, you know.
D: He isn't stunned, he's passed on. He's no more. He's ceased to be. If it
weren't for the Nazgul out front he'd be pushing up the daisies. He's gone to
the Grey Havens. He's with Iluvatar now. He's left this vale of tears and joined
the bleedin' choir invisible. This is an Ex-Faramir!
Gandalf shuffles his feet and averts his eyes.
G: Do you... D'you want to fondle my Palantir?
D: I thought you'd never ask.