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"They're gone! Our sons, they're gone!" Theoden exclaimed.

"What?!" Denethor sat up in his chair. "What did you say?!"

"Boromir and Theodred have run away!"

"And what makes you think that?"

"I went to the Houses of Healing to make sure that Theodred had taken his sinus medication and Boromir had applied that salve…"

"-to his buttocks, yes, continue," Denethor finished. Everyone in the hall snickered except for Denethor and Theoden.

"And they weren't there! The healer on duty there just said that they'd decided to leave and had left a note in case either one of us went to find them," Theoden held up a piece of paper and handed it to Denethor who then began to read it out loud.

To both of our fathers,

Theodred and I have decided that we've had enough of your cruel humiliation. At this rate, when we would both take up our rightful positions, there would be no respect left for us. Thus, we are running away. Far away. With no intention of returning.

We shall both roam all of Middle Earth to try to find a suitable place to hide: a place so isolated that nobody will know us or our shame. I shall not tell you where we are headed as that would be counterproductive. But let it be known that there is no hope in finding us. We are like Tom and Huck in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer where they both run away to an island where nobody can find them and everyone thinks that they are dead. Only we will not be on an island. And we will not be dead. But I've said too much.

This is the last that you shall hear from either of us. Know that we both hate both of you and that this whole mess is entirely your fault!

Love,

Boromir & Theodred, masters of their own destiny

p.s. I, Boromir, would like to have Faramir replace me as the heir to the Stewardship… and as Captain of the White Tower.

p.s.s. Theodred would like his cousin Eomer to replace him as the heir to the Throne of Rohan.

p.s.s.s. How's your itchy region? Did you get a chance to read those helpful books I sent you?

p.s.s.s.s. Theodred would like to inquire upon the condition of his Father's overly active sweat glands. He would also like to know if his sweat still smells like rotten bananas.

p.s.s.s.s.s. Are you reading this out loud? If so, you are quite daft and should consider resigning the Stewardship right now (if Denethor is reading this, which I think he will be). Theoden can be excused as this would be his first time reading a runaway note. Though Theodred has been tempted to write one for a very long time.

p.s.s.s.s.s.s. I like postscripts.

Denethor blinked and then said, "Bananas, really? And I thought I had problems…"

Theoden huffed but chose not to say anything; he was above such petty comments. Though personally he thought his physical ailment was a lot better than Denethor's 'itchy region'.

"So what are you going to do about your sons?" Imrahil asked.

"We will wait. In time they will realize their mistake and then come crawling back to us," Denethor said.

One of the guards poked his head into the room at this moment and said, "Steward, there's someone who wants to see you and was wondering if you were still taking complaints."

"Yes, yes, send him in," Denethor said. "Theoden, would you care to watch? You might be some help after all."

"Well, I have to do this all the time at Rohan. It should be amusing to see someone else suffering for a change."

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into," the advisor muttered as Theoden stood beside Denethor.

The doors burst open and in waddled a small mountain of lard, making a thumping noise each time one of its feet hit the floor.

The advisor winced and said, "Oh boy, not Ted."

"Ted?" Theoden asked in curiousity.

"My beyond-obese brother. He's a bottomless pit and will eat anything on sight."

Theoden just blinked in surprise. The area around them started to smell vaguely like rotten bananas.

"Ah, Ted, you have a complaint?" Denethor said.

A tiny circle on top of the mountain moved. That was his head. Ted then said, "Yes, I do. See, you have fired me from my position as tutor and this now leaves me broke and without a source of income."

"I gave you a generous severance payment, how could you be broke?"

"I had a small snack."

"…" Denethor was speechless and his mouth was hanging open.

"So… can you give me my job back? Or some more money? Or some food? I'm starving and I don't know how much longer I can last."

"I wonder how many loaves of lembas he'd go though," Imrahil mused to the advisor, who went white.

"I saw him go through ten once. And then he ate a whole meal ten minutes afterward."

Imrahil was now speechless.

"Well, Ted, I'm not sure. In your job before being Faramir's tutor, you were in charge of keeping track of all of our archives. And you ate the whole tale of Beren and Luthien!"

"Yeah, that was a tasty book. I'm terribly sorry, of course."

"Right, well, the point is that I don't know where to put you as your eating habits have become quite a hazard and – Ted, will you please put that statue down?"

Ted, who had been about to take a bite out of the large statue of Isildur, put it down sheepishly.

"Perhaps you should give him some more money for now and decide what he shall do later," Theoden suggested to Denethor, "I find that thinking things over before I make a decision makes things turn out better. That way I know I'm not rushing into anything."

"… Theoden! That's a brilliant idea!" Denethor then turned to the advisor. "Why didn't you come up with that? All you do is sit around and make snarky remarks! You're useless!"

"…" The advisor could think of nothing to say. He just shot Theoden a death-glare. Theoden pretended not to notice.

"If it makes you feel any better, I appreciate those snarky remarks," Imrahil said, "You know, I could use talent like yours back at Dol Amroth…" he noticed Denethor was staring at him and then whispered, "We'll talk later."

"Anyway, Ted, I will give to you the sum of 60,000 gondorians until I find a position requiring your particular talents," Denethor said. "You are dismissed."

"Thank you, Steward," Ted said, bowed, and then waddled out of the room, barely fitting through the large doors.

"Very well, then. I guess I should resume taking complaints. Guards, send in the next-" But before Denethor could finish his sentence, the doors flew open and in walked three silhouettes.

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