"Don't ask me to lie to you." The words came swift and firm.

He sighed and ran a hand slowly through his dark hair. He absently flicked his wrist to gaze at his fingers, as if to see if any grey had managed to appear, intermingled with black. He felt weary, felt tired. Though exhaustion was nearly all he had ever known, was all he and his kin had known for near an age, for the first time he could remember it felt near overwhelming.

"Have I aged you so greatly?" The woman's voice softened now and he looked upwards. For a moment he thought he saw her as he once had, as a small girl with eyes far too curious for her own good, but the clouds covering the moon shifted and the illusion rippled away with them. Despite the iron set of her jaw and the anger curled in her tight lips, there was an undeniable affection in her gaze. "If you must remember me, remember me not as that, Halbarad."

"You will return," He finally replied, a faint smile curling onto his noble, worn features, "And when you do, I will tell tales of all the times you managed to get me into trouble when we were children, of how you stole Gaelenir's horse and blamed it on poor Anbin."

"Anbin was far too quick to kiss the boot of any elder he came upon, he deserved it."

"He had to muck the stables for a fortnight, Sidri."

"He should be glad they took pity on him and did not make it an entire season."

"He still detests you, you know."

Their eyes met and before he knew what was happening, she strode forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him. His will softened then and he returned the embrace, resting his head gently atop her own. "I would not ask this of you were there any other choice, Sidri, you must know this."

She was quiet for a moment, still. "I know." There was some concession in her voice but Halbarad heard a tired grief mingled with it. "But do not ask me to lie to you, Halbarad, do not ask me if I am happy in this. We both know well I am not."

"Our chieftain mentioned you by name, perhaps you might find some comfort, perhaps even in pride in that."

"Our chieftain?" The woman took a graceful step back, a black brow arching, "Where is he now, then? When we are all but overrun, when we can barely feed ourselves, where is he? Off with the wizard again, I suppose! If he cannot dwell in the North, then why would he not allow me do it in his stead? I belong here, Halbarad, with you! With the rest of our kin! Not-, not off in…" Her voice trailed off and he pitied her briefly as her head lowered, her teeth digging into her lower lip. Her reaction was not unwarranted, given that his order had come as an outright surprise to both. Sidri shifted her weight and swallowed hard, sighing quietly. "Forgive my harsh words and my anger, I mean them not. I would trust Aragorn in all that he asks of us, I would not doubt him in this."

"I know, sister."

She lowered herself into a chair, running her hands through her dark hair. A chill wind whispered through the threadbare tent then, sending a shiver up his spine, and he watched her wrap her cloak tightly over her thin shoulders. "I will miss you greatly, Halbarad."

"And I you."

The woman turned her attentions to the table aside her then, grey eyes roaming over a map illuminated by the few candles they could spare. He stood beside her, a calloused hand carefully spreading out the corners of the parchment. "It is not all that far away," He offered with a faint attempt at humor.

It was met with a small snort.

"When you return, you'll regale us all with tales of far off lands, of glittering cities, Sidri, and we'll have naught to share with you but tales of how the Brandybuck cattle got loose in Buckland yet again."

He was pleased to see that earned him a smile, even if it was clouded with sorrow.

With any luck, he'd be comfortably in Henneth Annun before his father even noticed he had gone. He knew that a letter describing his return to Ithilien had been given to one of his father's attendants, though doubted Denethor would even care to open it until the following morning. Besides, Faramir told himself with a bleak smile, he had always enjoyed traveling by night. The world was quieter when the sun fell behind distant peaks and the stars glittered against a canopy of darkness.

As a boy he had treasured the summers spent in Dol Amroth, sneaking out with his cousins after they had pretended to be asleep and slipping into the cool waters of the Bay. He and Boromir had visited there all the more after his mother's passing, given what comfort and care Denethor decidedly lacked by Imrahil and his wife. Lothiriel had ever teased him and his brother and her laughter seemed to cast away whatever grief Faramir had come bearing. Those had been good days, opportunities to escape, even if for a bit.

Shaking himself out of his revelry, Faramir returned to searching through his quarters for every map he could manage to cram into his riding bag, disappointed to see their carefully wrought designs folded and injured beneath his watch. They had few, the Rangers, and what few they possessed were grievously old in comparison to the hundreds strewn throughout the Citadel, not to mention his own dwellings. For that, he had made careful mental note to return with all that he could, hoping to surprise his kinsmen.

"Are you making off with half the damned library, brother?"

A familiar voice laughed from his doorway and Faramir looked up with a broad smile, stress immediately melting from his shoulders. "One of us has to ensure the intelligence of our line is properly carried on. You think I've read all I have out of joy, then? No, I fear it is out of naught but duty."

That warranted another laugh and he cringed as Boromir rested a sweaty arm upon his shoulder. "Where are you headed off to? I saw them prepare your horse in the stables."

"You smell horrible, Boromir."

"That, dear Faramir, is the scent of victory." Boromir grinned and swept a handful of linens from the dresser, wiping his brow off. "Or, at least, furthered victories, I suppose."

"Everyone knows you're already Gondor's finest warrior," Faramir snorted and stuffed another pair of trousers into his bag, "No need to go and make yourself its most pompous, as well."

He furrowed his brow then, searching for any truth to be taken from the statement, and finding nothing but jest he shrugged. Boromir sat on his bed, flicking sweaty strands of his auburn hair from eyes, "You should come train tomorrow, with Beregond and I. His son watches too now. Berg-, Berg something. He's his father's son, both in countenance and in bearing. I think you'd like him a great deal."

Faramir set his jaw, swiping a tongue over his lower lip before returning to packing. "Yes, but perhaps another day, Boromir."

Boromir arched a brow and stood, moving to his brother's side. "You're leaving again, aren't you?"

Faramir sighed softly. "I am."

Boromir remained quiet for a long moment only to move to the window. Faramir knew the view well. It was one of the finest anywhere in the city and even as a child he had appreciated its splendid beauty. It had seemed to him cold sometimes, the pale marble that glittered beneath both moon and sun, but as he had grown older he had thought it a proud beauty, something beyond the brief whims and fancies of men. Something truly wrought from their deepest ambitions, something that might stand even against the craft of the firstborn.

"Were you going to leave without telling me?"

A simple question, but one that pained him. Faramir glanced upwards, unable to read the expression on his brother's features. "...I had not cared to inconvenience you nor-, nor Father."

"Inconvenience? Faramir, you would not inconvenience me." There was a brief, aching pause as they both realized he made no mention of their father, but Boromir continued, "How long are you to be gone then? And to where? I would not wish to see you off without a proper farewell."

"Henneth Annun, I had hoped to leave in the next few hours and as to when I return, I should think no longer than a fortnight."

Boromir scrunched his nose. "Off to Ithilien again? What need have they now? And Faramir, regardless of Father you need not sneak off like some thief in the night."

"They have many needs," Faramir correctly gently, carefully tying his bag shut, "More than you know and more than any here realize."

"I'll not deny that," He finally replied and Faramir was pleased before he continued, "They lack any sense of humor and could use something to replace those perpetual scowls. I shall be relieved to know you'll oversee such, brother."

Faramir rolled his eyes.

"Forgive the jest," Boromir waved a hand and paused to retie the laces binding Faramir's bag, "But truly, what reason have you to return? Something aside from your typical duties?"

"Yes, Madril has requested I return." Faramir nodded in appreciation as his brother stepped back, noting the bag was far more secure now, "I know not the details, but he had sent word to those in the North. The Haradrim have been bolder of late, that much has worried him and rightly so, but why he sought the counsel of his kin in the West I cannot say."

"The Haradrim have always been a nuisance. If they are bold for a fortnight, whatever organization they may bear will fade a fortnight thereafter." Boromir shrugged, visibly unconcerned. "You know well they fight as but children. No doubt your men in Ithilien angered one of the chieftains, but within a week that chieftain will have a feud with another and any conquests of Gondor's lands will be long forgotten."

"I know, Boromir," Faramir added quietly, "But he thinks this is different."

"Then you will do what you must," Boromir clapped him gently on the back after a thoughtful pause, "And return to us safely, and preferably within a fortnight, and upon your return you'll come spar with me. How sounds that?" His expression softened. "I'll see to it Father hears of your departure...tomorrow."

"Thank you, Boromir," He smiled then and looked upwards to meet his brother's gaze. He had always been taller, Boromir, fairer and braver and near everything he could think of. "I will write if I can, you've my word."