Title: No, Probably Not.
Disclaimer: Everything recognizable belongs to Tolkien.
Summary: A short drabble about a race.
A/N: This story takes place in the same Desperate Hours AU as all of my other LOTR stories, wherein it will later be discovered that Faramir is Aragorn's son. This story is set in the Fourth Age, probably around Fourth Age Year 23.
Title: No, Probably Not.
The two princes, winded from the most desperate race of their lives, looked back at the ruins of the city of Minas Ithil as it collapsed behind them.
"Fara?" The younger man gasped.
"Yes, 'Darion?" The elder whispered.
"I'm never going to complain about you making me run with you in the mornings again."
"You probably will, but that's a nice sentiment."
"We shouldn't tell Ada." 'Darion commented, voice soft but certain.
The elder chuckled lightly. "No, probably not."
"Do you think he'll buy that the ghost of Earnur woke us up and asked us to come help him destroy the city?
"No, probably not."
"Do you think we can get back before anyone else in the camp wakes up?"
The elder brother listened for a moment to the stones of Minas Ithil continuing to crash down, wondered why no one else ever encountered the same problems that he and his brother could run into on a simple camping trip. "No, probably not," Faramir answered.