Author's Note: *Peaks out around door* Uhm, hullo! I'm still kicking if any cares to know? *Crickets*  It is entirely Faramir's fault that this chapter took so long. *Nods* Yes, go stone him to death or something. I kept channeling movie!Faramir (who was a giant prat) and I wanted book!Faramir but he was being stubborn and would not work with me. So I'm afraid we have some weird hybrid of the two, I shall call him boovie!Faramir! *Cough*

Anyway, you can thank (blame?) Mawgy *huggles* for this chapter finally being finished. She politely inquired about it twice, though I think she may have been threatening to run me over with a stolen double-decker bus. I am not sure, but just in case it was indeed the latter I am presenting you all with this (not so) long awaited chapter. Do enjoy! Feel free to whack me if you wish for making you wait. Yes, yes, I'm shutting up. Oh and thank you for all the encouragement! I'm afraid there are no personal thanks this time, but they shall return next chapter. Honest! I wuv you all! ^_^ I cannot thank you enough for your encouragement and kind words, your suggestions and your good points. So THANK YOU!! Kisses and chocolate hobbits for everyone! *Chews on Pippin*

Dedicated to Sly-chan, because she is just really cool deserves lots of recognition. *Glomp*

Chapter Three: Last Words

Faramir of Gondor was worried. Very worried, if truth were to be told. "Boromir, this is not going as I should like it."

Boromir, slightly older and therefore incredibly more important in the whole scheme of things, looked over his shoulder a grim look on his features. "And what ever does, brother?"

He shrugged. "Still, I like it not at all. Aragorn should have returned by now, or at least sent word."

It was Boromir's turn to shrug. He pushed his heels into his horse's sides slightly and the beast moved faster. Faramir followed suit. "Aragorn is a man of his own reckoning. It wouldn't surprise me if it had slipped his mind entirely. Besides, Faramir, we look for him now, you need not worry."

Faramir sighed silently and pushed his mare in front of Boromir's. It seemed as though they had been searching for nothing for quite a long time. His head ached dully. The woods seemed impossibly dark. "Boromir…" he began intending to ask if they should stop for the night, in case they missed something, but his brother held up a shushing hand. "What is it?"

Boromir lowered his hand, his head cocked to the left. "Something is near, do you hear it?"

The younger brother listened closely, at first nothing could be heard but the noise of the night, then what his brother spoke of became unmistakable. A deep, harsh breathing of someone or something that was obviously injured, hissing loudly now and then.

"Come!" commanded Boromir as he turned his horse toward the noise. Faramir had no choice but to follow, despite his apprehensions.

~*~*~

Wazurk felt impossibly cold. The light breeze, that on any other night would have been considered welcome and cooling, was now bone chilling. His breath would not come to him.

There was a loud rustle somewhere; it seemed to come from every direction. He tried to speak, no words would leave his parched mouth; his tongue felt like sand between his teeth. "Urhm."

"Brother! Look!"

Suddenly a face, covered in some emotion, was looming over. The mouth moved but Wazurk heard not a word. If perhaps he just closed his eyes for a moment…

A burning hand on his shoulder was enough to peel open his eyes. Another face, darker, older, was looking at him this time. It's lips moved as well.

"Elf," Wazurk said, with huge gasp. He closed his eyes and took one last shuddering breath—his last.

~*~*~

The brothers went quickly towards the source of the noise. Faramir was the first to find him. A man, overly large, with square shoulders and a weathered face lay in a deep scarlet pool. His throat slit, he lay gasping noisily. A tainted knife, which may have once been a fine weapon, rested a little way from him covered entirely in blood; the blood looked like sullied wine.

At first he could not move, but then years of lessons flew into his mind and he sprang into action. He had seen countless men die in combat or in a hunt turned bad, and of illness too, but it was still shocking to Faramir to see a man so obviously the victim of murder. "Brother! Look!" he called, successfully gaining Boromir's attention.

Faramir stooped over the man and looked closely at his wound. It was deep, too deep to do anything about but not nearly decapitation. All Faramir could offer was justice. "Who did this?" he asked, hoping the man would be able to answer.

But the man did not. The man's eyes blinked sleepily shut, Faramir closed his own and said a small prayer. Something pushed him aside, he opened his eyes to see Boromir looming, one hand clutched around the man's shoulder, and asking the same question Faramir had asked moments ago.

"Elf," the man managed to gasp out as his eyes rolled up into his skull, the lids only partially shut. He made a horrible rasping noise, which Faramir was certain would never leave his memory. And the unknown victim drew no more breath.

Boromir stepped away, sighing. Faramir closed the man's eyelids entirely and said his prayer again.

"Elf?" Boromir remarked mostly to himself. Faramir looked away from the man, whose muddy red blood was starting to dry against death-pallid skin.

"Elves do not kill innocent Men," Faramir said in an almost whisper. Boromir said nothing in return. He stood tall and silent looking into the night.

"Boromir?" Faramir asked after a moment. He came to stand beside his brother; had it been late afternoon the dead man could have been their shadow. Boromir looked at Faramir sideways but still he said naught.

"Perhaps he killed Aragorn as well," Boromir said at last, though Faramir barely heard the words.

"Whom?" Faramir said feeling a bit daft after he said it. Boromir did not answer, instead he walked forward into the soft darkness, the moonlight bathing him in silver. After a second glance to the slain man, Faramir followed unquestioningly. He would make sure they, he and his brother, would come back to give the man proper death rites.

They had left their horses a little ways off, in case they proved hindrance. But Boromir did not head that direction; Faramir resisted the strong urge to ask where it was they were going. He was trying to come up with the best possible wording to the question when he realized Boromir had stopped. He barely avoided a collision and certain embarrassment.

"Do you hear that?" Boromir asked again. Faramir wondered why he was not hearing these things first, it was usually he, not Boromir, who did scouting and other such missions; he was usually quite apt at hearing small things. But not this night it seemed.

He listened for but a second and heard…sobbing? He looked to Boromir who nodded at Faramir then started forward.

Imagine the shock of finding a bloodstained Elf with nearly no injuries of his own. Faramir stood for a long moment gaping at the being, nearly nude and caked with mud and blood. He was almost unrecognizable as an Elf, but yet there was something so fey and beautiful about him even covered in a film of drying mud that he could be nothing else. His mind raced with thought for a moment of stories of Elves and their strange ways and odd customs and eccentricities and of Aragorn who had been brought up with the Elves and could never possibly be killed by one, then he noticed Boromir had drawn his sword and was pointing it menacingly at the creature.

All Faramir did was stare, hands not even close to his blade or his bow. Boromir took a step forward and the Elf looked up. Impossibly silver eyes widened, they were bright and much too moist. It seemed as though the Elf would bolt. Farmair took a step forward, fingers reaching to grasp the unobtainable.

Boromir took much more drastic steps. He let the point of his blade rest against the Elf's throat. "Where do you think you're going?" The Elf stopped moving, but looked around wildly, like a caged animal.

Faramir let his fingers drop back to his side. His jaw remained fallen in shock. Elves do not murder Men. Do they? he thought, remembering different stories of Elves who kidnapped bad children and robbed Men who had strayed too far from the rode.

But those stories were not true. Faramir's mind reeled as all his certainties were smashed into to tiny little fragments. He tried to listen to the Elf's words over the pounding of this heart.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Another short chapter! Yes, it seems those are abundant. I am dead set on updating very soon, though. Perhaps in two days? No! Really! I will. ^_^

Do tell me if it was too awful? I mean I made you all wait five months, was the wait worth it? Please be honest! I can take it! *Puts on rubber suit* =) Seriously though, tell me what needs improvement? I'm feeling a bit rusty over here.

Next chapter: Legolas has got some explaining to do, though I don't think anyone is going to listen. Aragorn finds an Elf.  And Glorfindel comes across two most disheartening sights. Plus, return of the review thanks and more mindless babbling!  

*Insert dramatic music here*