-Agador-of-the-Woods: I'm glad Boromir apologized too...he and Faramir should get along fairly well for awhile. -Caroly: There's not a ton about Beregond in LOTR; however, he does rescue Faramir in the book, so I thought his character for last chapter would be fairly appropriate. -Sammy: I'm writing more, don't worry. -A.Katz Omnipotent King: Mischief? Boromir and Faramir? Nah.....hehehehe -AzNnEgGrOePnOi: Thanks for reviewing my story too.

Thanks for the reviews!

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The next few months passed by rather uneventfully for Boromir and Faramir (unless you count the celebration held to honor the King of Rohan before his departure from the city). Boromir had another birthday, his 13th, and he and Faramir continued their usual wanderings in Minas Tirith. However, they also spent a lot of time in the tower, attending to their studies (to the dismay of Boromir in particular)...

It was a perfectly normal fall day in the great hall. Boromir and Faramir had just finished their daily studies, and were practicing their sword fighting skills against one another. They were creating quite a racket, but Denethor was outside visiting with some of his advisors, for the weather was pleasant enough, and no one else was around to heed the noises the two boys created.

Boromir was wielding his sword with great precision, thoroughly enjoying the rapid clinking sounds he made each time he connected with Faramir's crude chain mail shirt, though his blows were not hard, and did little more than cause a slight sting. "Take that!" he cried victoriously, as he struck yet again.

Faramir gripped his small wooden sword tightly, attempting to fend off his older brother's blows. He knew he was at a great disadvantage, facing a considerably stronger opponent, though he wished just once that he could land a successful attack on Boromir. His eyes narrowed in his concentration.

Suddenly, Faramir lunged forward, pointing his sword out in front of him. "I've got you now, Boromir!" he laughed victoriously. He was just inches from striking the chain mail worn by his brother. However, he never got any closer.

The next thing Faramir realized was that he was lying on his back, staring up at the high stone ceiling of the great hall. He groaned, not from pain, but frustration. His brother had managed to defeat him again.

Boromir leaned over Faramir. "Sorry, little brother," he smirked triumphantly. "Having an enjoyable time staring at the ceiling? You will get a better look if you chose to fight me again."

Faramir scowled slightly as Boromir pulled him back to his feet. "You may have won again, Boromir, but soon I'll be able to defeat you," stated Faramir, staring up defiantly into his older brother's face.

"Maybe, but probably not," teased Boromir, "but don't worry! Tomorrow perhaps we will find Mergil. I'm sure you could send him a powerful message, for your swordsmanship skills are much improved!" He laughed at the thought of Mergil laying on his back, defeated. "Never mind; Father will return soon, and I don't think he will be pleased to listen to our swordplay as he attends to his business!"

Faramir nodded, sheathed his sword, and slowly pulled off the chain mail he wore. Boromir followed suit.

********

Only minutes after the two boys carefully put away their weapons, the door of the great hall of the tower suddenly swung open. Boromir and Faramir, who had just settled down to relax, jumped to their feet, in anticipation of their father. However, they watched, surprised, as Denethor entered with another man, a dark man dressed in strange clothing.

The Steward introduced the man to his two sons, though he had a slightly suspicious glint in his eyes. "Boromir, Faramir," he said, gesturing to them with a hand, "this is Bardok, a man from Harad." There was an edge to his voice as he said the name of the man's country.

Boromir and Faramir courteously replied, as was the custom, though the latter seemed to share Denethor's suspicion of Bardok. Harad had been at peace for awhile with Gondor; yet lately, evil rumors had been spreading among Minas Tirith about the country, and a possible alliance with the Orcs.

After the brief introduction, Denethor motioned for Boromir, Faramir, and Bardok to accompany him to the dining area. "After all," he stated calmly, glancing at Bardok, "there we may discuss certain matters brought up earlier in more detail."

Boromir did not seem too excited about the prospect of listening to a long conversation between his father and the other man during dinner, though he did not show his feelings. If Faramir had an opinion on the matter, he kept it well hidden, simply following the others.

Apparently, the servants had received word of the guest, for four seats had been arranged for dinners, with steaming food already set out upon them. Denethor took his usual spot at the head of the table, and his sons sat on either side. Bardok settled into the remaining seat, appearing slightly nervous, as though he did not particularly wish to inform the Steward about his country.

Denethor noticed the uneasiness of his guest; though he forsook his usual noble manner in favor of impatience. "Now is the time for us to continue our conversation, Bardok," he stated firmly, giving the strange man an appraising glance. The Steward nodded towards Boromir and Faramir, then added, "They shall not interrupt any part of your speech."

Bardok shifted in his chair before speaking, in a raspy voice. "It has come to the attention of those in my country, that Minas Tirith believes ill of us. Your scouts mutter news about this so-called alliance with Orcs. Know this, Denethor son of Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor, we have not had such actions with the foul Orcs, or any others related to Mordor, for many years." As he finished, Bardok lowered his gaze, as though unable to maintain eye contact.

Boromir appeared to be paying little attention to the conversation, only occasionally looking away from his plate, where the food was rapidly disappearing. Faramir, likewise, was concentrating on eating, not talking, although he stiffened at the sound of the strange visitor's voice. He seemed to sense some ill of him, probably due to his country of origin.

The Steward was silent for a moment after listening to Bardok, thinking deeply about how to react to this guest. Eventually he spoke in a strangely cordial voice, yet his gray eyes did not lose their hardness. "So, the Men of Harad pledge that they are not allied with Orcs? That they remain friendly towards, or at least indifferent towards Gondor? This news is welcome indeed, though I still remain somewhat doubtful."

A gleam flashed briefly across Bardok's face. "Aye, Lord of Gondor," he stated, "it is truthful. In fact, I even have a gift from the Men of Harad, as further proof that we desire nothing more than continued peace." He drew a small drinking flask from under his robes. Denethor's eyes narrowed, but he soon relaxed as Bardok took a few sips from the flask before carefully handing it to the Steward. "You see," Bardok continued, "we offer a taste of one of our finest drinks to you. And, as you have observed, I drank first, to show that no foul play is intended."

Denethor seemed to relax then, and took a small sip from the flask. "You are right, Bardok," he admitted after a moment. "The drink is certainly of superior quality. However, I must still have time to ponder over your words. You may stay here in the hall tonight; someone will escort you to a room, and we shall speak again in the morning."

The two Men then exchanged some casual conversation, though Denethor still maintained the air of a steward. Boromir and Faramir grew increasingly bored, and the former suddenly sighed. It was not loud, but audible to the ears of Denethor.

"Boromir." Denethor reproached him firmly, but excused both his sons from the table with a wave of his hand. They left quickly, eager to be free from the dinner conversation, which had become, in their eyes, quite dull.

In the hall, Boromir turned towards Faramir, saying, "That was certainly boring! I could have been practicing some sword fighting, in the time we sat there after eating." He yawned, then chuckled a little. "See, it is still early evening, and I am nearly asleep from their talking."

Faramir nodded, but seemed to be lost in thought. Eventually, he looked up at Boromir. "I don't trust Bardok," he said flatly.

"Why not? I'll admit he's a little strange, and Father seemed opposed to him at first, but he appears mostly harmless."

"It's just a feeling," muttered Faramir.

"I know," teased Boromir. "Your mind is simply playing tricks on you in your sleepiness. Perhaps it was all that sword fighting earlier. Come on! Rest a little if you want. Tomorrow we can get up early, and hunt down Mergil." He walked into his room, with Faramir following behind him.

********

In the middle of the night, not long after the setting of the moon, Boromir suddenly awoke. His throat was slightly dry, and he had the urge to hunt down a drink of cool water. "It must have been the garlic in the food last night," he thought to himself, smirking slightly. "That was the only interesting part of the entire dinner." Yawning, Boromir crawled out of bed, and wandered out of the room, towards the kitchen.

As he reached the kitchen, he halted suddenly. Somewhere behind him, there was a strange noise, as though someone else was awake. Normally, this was not unusual, for guards did inhabit the tower by night. However, they generally wore hard boots, and made a soft, but distinct clunk as they paced about. This person seemed to be walking upon bare feet.

Within seconds, the sound ceased. Boromir glanced about, then shook his head. "I must be imagining things," he thought to himself, "or perhaps it's simply Father. He sometimes wakes up at night."

Turning back to the kitchen, Boromir continued his search for water.

********

Faramir heard his brother leave the room, though he pretended to be asleep. He vaguely wondered why he chose this particular hour for a stroll around the hall, but soon assumed he had left for either a midnight snack, or perhaps to take care of business. Faramir didn't care either way, for he was eagerly anticipating the following morning, when he might have the change to defeat Mergil in a sword fight.

The young boy smiled. Maybe he could not beat Boromir, but Mergil was a little younger. At any rate, he could probably put up a good fight against him.

Suddenly, a figure entered the room. Boromir must have returned from whatever he was doing. Faramir decided, since his brother was already awake anyway, he might speak to him about tomorrow. "Boromir," he mumbled, "Can we leave early in the morning? Mergil is always up early, and I want to have the chance to defeat him before lunch."

The boy waited for a response, but none came. Perhaps he had spoken to softly, or Boromir did not realize what he was referring to. "Boromir?" he asked again, speaking more clearly. "Remember, you said we might find Mergil in the morning, to sword fight?"

Still, there was only silence.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across Faramir's face. He bolted upwards, but heavy hands grabbed him. He attempted to yell, but found his face covered, and found himself hardly able to draw breath, much less speak.

Bardok placed a the sharp metal blade of his sword against Faramir's throat. "I wouldn't struggle," he hissed. "You wouldn't want your family to have the job of picking up pieces of your body everywhere, now would you? Now, lets go have a little chat with your father."