A/N: Thanks to my reviewers for hanging in there, despite how slow I am at writing. I blame it all on school. I¡¯m sorry! And thanks especially to Yumeko/Evil Sly Queen for her extensive knowledge on horses and horse-back riding, and to my beta-er Bjam!

A/N: A lot happens in this chapter, but I really didn¡¯t want to split it into two. So, yes. If I made it a bit overwhelming, I¡¯m sorry. But onwards!

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Chapter Four - Meetings

It was two days since the night when Faramir met Lianna; two days since his world had become upside-down and torn apart. Before dawn rose from her deep slumber and peeked her eyes over the edge of the horizon, he was already half-jogging down the steep steps of the castle, already clothed in the thick green cloak and the tough, but light, armor of a ranger.

Though he spent most of the night staring blankly at the dark ceiling that hung over him, and did not sleep well from anxiety and excitement, he was wide-eyed, his heart feeling as if it was leaping up to his throat every time it pulsed from the anticipation. He was finally leaving Minas Tirith- he was about to take the first small step on a road that would lead him not only out of Gondor, but out of the little snug box that was his safety and comfort zone, and the people that tried to keep him locked in there.

He reached the stables and tried to slow his pace to a walk as he passed the small fire that a servant was tending to in front of the doors. Inside, Faramir tried to step lightly on the straw and grass so he wouldn¡¯t disturb the horses' well-earned rest, but they crackled softly under the weight of his boots and armor anyway. He glanced up at the sound of a snort and saw the noble head of his chocolate-brown stallion, Norion, rise from his stall. Faramir smiled at him.

"Good morning, friend," he whispered as he reached up and stroked the horse¡¯s long black mane. The food and other supplies that Faramir had requested from the servants were packed securely onto Norion's back along with a comfortable saddle. He was ready to go. Norion snorted, stomped impatiently, and nudged at Faramir's head, as if to push him toward the doors. Faramir chuckled softly. "So eager to leave so early? You live up to your name, Norion... 'fire.'"

Faramir often thought that Norion and Boromir were alike in spirit. They were both headstrong and fiery, bold and quick-tempered; leaping to danger without hesitation and often without regret. Perhaps these qualities were why Faramir thought so dearly of his horse- because it reminded him of his own beloved brother. When he had told Boromir this, he laughed heartily and said, "I am no more like the horse than you are to an oliphant!"

Faramir felt a sudden lump rise in his throat at the thought of his brother. He lowered his eyes to the dirty ground, the child-like excitement that had so clearly shined in his eyes dissipating. When he had told Boromir of his plans, his brother did not take them lightly, leaving the last conversation of the siblings as a heated argument.

Boromir glared stormily at his young brother, his arms crossed across his broad chest, using his full stature to try and overpower his kin's seemingly fatal decision. Faramir clearly saw the struggle on Boromir's face as he tried to maintain a cold facade to hide the shock and anger he felt. But Faramir had always been the expert at covering up his emotions, while his brother laid them out on his sleeves for all to see. He was a soldier more than anything, and a soldier had the luxury of looking his opponent in the eye, not needing to hide anything from anyone. Besides, Faramir could feel the tension in the air; the invisible fury radiating from his brother.

"If this is because of Lady Lianna..." he began, struggling to keep in control of himself.

"It has nothing to do with her," Faramir half-lied, his fingers crossed behind his back. He had just told Boromir how Lianna turned the tables on him, and set Denethor against him. He had also told him of his decision to leave Minas Tirith. Lianna was part of the reason why he was leaving. She was the one who poisoned Denethor's mind, the one who made Faramir's weaknesses surface in him. Even now, he shuddered at the memory of the fateful night.

"And what, exactly, are you looking for?" He asked the question icily. It is strange how Boromir is so much like Father when he is angry, Faramir thought. With the inquiry shot at him, he faltered.

"I will figure it out as I travel," he said weakly. "But I will not know if I stay in Gondor."

"No! I will not allow it. Have you lost your wits? You barely know how to track down an animal- you've never been in the lands beyond Gondor! I was under the impression that you were the more rational-minded between us."

"I have once," Faramir argued, steeling himself for the worst of his brother. "Do you remember? Father took us to Edoras, to meet Theoden King. We journeyed with him to as far as the Field of Celebrant."

"That was when I had seen fifteen winters, and you had seen ten!" Boromir's cheeks were starting to turn pink in exasperation and anger. An upset frown creased his handsome face. "Nay, brother. I put my foot down on this. What if you are ambushed?"

"Orcs are stupid; they never lay in an ambush."

"You aren't ready. You just are not ready."

But Faramir was prepared. Firmly, he said, "Whether you will try to stop me or not, I will leave at first light tomorrow morning. Father has consented already, giving me leave with his blessings."

Boromir surveyed his brother with despairing eyes. "Why do you seek freedom from me? Why do you insist on doing things your way? Have I wronged you?"

Faramir softened. "No... No, I love you, brother, and I will always love you."

"Let me go with you. Little brother, I am older than you; I have traveled the lands of Middle Earth," Boromir neatly argued.

He hesitated. He had always enjoyed Boromir's company- he was bound to be rolling on the floor laughing whenever Boromir was around. And what he said was true- Middle Earth was no place for a lone wanderer. It was more than likely that he would run into some kind of trouble, and if he did, who will he turn to for help in the wilderness? He himself was half-trained in the ways of survival, whereas Boromir... Boromir was accomplished in all aspects of life. A frown flickered across Faramir's forehead. It was the rational thing to do to allow Boromir to come on this trip with him.

But he didn't want to. As selfish as it sounded, he wanted the glory. When he refused, Boromir lost what little was left of his self control. "Die in whatever way you choose to; may it be a clean one at the very least!" he screamed, frightening even Faramir. He had seen his brother in dark moods, but this was the worst of it. Boromir's rage seemed to stop him from speaking anymore, and he stormed off, his deliberately heavy footsteps ringing in Faramir's ears.

Faramir bit his lip at the memory. Those words had stabbed him, cutting him to the very bone, wounding him deeper than any sword could impale. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the heavy guilt that burdened him. He had not meant to hurt Boromir, for he was the person he cared about the most. But Boromir refused to understand that he had to do this alone.

Another snort from Norion brought Faramir back to the present. He blinked twice to regain his senses before he reached up to tighten Norion's girth. He then took the reins that were hanging loosely from the steed¡¯s girdle and led him outside, where a gust of fresh cold air greeted them, as well as an unexpected figure.

"Brother!" Faramir exclaimed in surprise. Boromir stood before him- sleepy eyed and in his night clothes, yes- but he was there.

"I've come to see you off," he said, looking at Faramir with sad eyes. "I did not mean the words that I had spoken earlier."

A lump in his throat forming, Faramir let go of Norion's reins, and hugged Boromir tightly. He embraced him back, kissing him on the forehead. "You better come back in one piece," Boromir said roughly. "Or else."

"I promise," Faramir grimly smiled in determination. "By Eru, I will return."

"I was planning on giving you this at yesterday night's banquet, but you did not come," Boromir said, drawing a sheathed dagger from his side. "Here. Its name is Ryngwaew, chaser of winds. It has saved me from death countless times and shed the blood of numerous Orcs, and may it serve you the same way."

"You are too kind," Faramir reverently held Ryngwaew with both hands, looking up at his older brother, his eyes beginning to glisten with unshed tears. Only now was he feeling the full impact of what he was doing; of what might happen. He hesitated before saying, "I'm sorry I'm leaving without you."

Boromir nodded, his usually proud posture bent with distress. Faramir couldn't resist hugging his brother one last time before turning to his horse, his bow and quiver of arrows slung loosely over his shoulder, his sword and Ryngwaew strapped to his belt. He swung himself onto Norion, hanging on to the mane and the reins, and landed comfortably in his saddle, his feet set in the stirrups. Automatically, Norion started to move toward the doors, his heels clicking on the stone ground. Faramir looked back sadly at Boromir, who watched his figure become smaller in the distance.

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Lianna watched the brothers' brief reunion from a window in the shadows of the tower she was in, a strange glimmer in her eye appeared when Faramir got on his horse.

"Alert the scouts," she spoke, tearing her eyes away from the man and his horse that were getting smaller in the distance. She cursed him in her mind. How could he leave like that? She thought that she had him within her grasp, but she had underestimated him. "Tell them that our little rat has decided to go exploring."

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Faramir had been riding on for five days, never letting the Anduin River out of his sight, and was far past the boundaries of Gondor and well into Rohan. He has been riding all day and resting at night out in the wilderness if he could not find a nearby town to go to. The people he had run into recognized his clothing, and therefore him as a Gondorian. They asked why he was in the lands, and he told them the truth- that he was looking for a gift for his father- in case some kind man wanted to help him. And by this time, he was tired of his clothes being drenched in the rain and drying in the sun. He was also beginning to doubt that he would find what he was looking for... and his own sanity for leaving the comforts of Minas Tirith.

The stars began to shine through the darkening sky on the evening of the sixth day. Faramir took out the folded map from his breast pocket and began to spread it out.

"By my reckoning, we should be... here," Faramir said to his horse, prodding at a point on the piece of paper. "Near Fangorn Forest. I doubt you want to go in there, though."

Norion snorted and jerked his head away. Faramir smiled. "I thought as much." He surveyed the rocky plains that surrounded him. "Let us make camp there," he gestured to an indent in a particularly huge rock that looked somewhat like a cave. He nudged Norion forward, but the horse refused. Shaking his head, Norion started to head off in the opposite direction. "No! This way!" He chastised him firmly, pulling the reins over to the side. Ignoring his master's command, he whinnied loudly and began to rear up on his hind legs. Faramir was unprepared for this, and found himself tumbling out of the saddle, though by luck he was able to catch himself on his hands and knees. He landed on the rocky ground with a dull thud. In anger and pain, he glared up at the steed, but the fright that was evident Norion's wild eyes made his annoyance subside. He pushed himself up by the scratched palms of his hands, ignoring his aching knees, and grabbed the reins that were hanging over by the horse's twitching ears.

"Be at peace, Norion..." he said soothingly, trying to stroke the thick mane. "At peace..."

Norion began to quiet down, though he still snorted nervously. It was then, when Faramir felt the hairs behind his neck rising, his shoulders involuntarily stiffening. Though he spoke to his horse softly, he glanced around. An unsettling feeling draped over him, like he was being watched by more than one pair of eyes, but he could not see through the dark veil that was descending over Rohan as the last of the sun's rays disappeared. Faramir tightly grasped the reins with his left hand, but slowly, his right forefinger rested on the cold metal of his sword's hilt.

A rustle of grass from his right. Faramir's eyes quickly scanned the area, his thumb easing down the hilt, his hand slowly closing over it. Could it have just been the wind?

Another crackle. A whisper. Faramir slowly began to draw his sword from its sheath, careful not to let the metal ring. He could now etch out silhouettes of three disfigured shadows advancing on him. Orcs.

"Well, well. A horse and a man, all alone," one hissed in common speech, his voice heavily accented, drool sputtering out of his deformed mouth.

"They stinks of Man," another muttered.

"Not after they've been cooked in Maurarz's pot."

Norion stomped and tossed his head restlessly, unnerved by the presence of the orcs. Faramir was silent, his heart beating rapidly, his hand gripping the hilt tightly as a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He was outnumbered; three to one. How could he have been so stupid? How could he not know that they were there? He weighed his options carefully- should he stand and fight, or should he take flight upon Norion? Faramir glanced up at his stallion... he could just swing on and ride off...

A merciless cackle broke out from behind him. Faramir sharply turned his head, only to find another orc sauntering toward him. Norion neighed, trying to back away from the advancing creatures.

"Norion! Stay!" Faramir yelled, but the horse took off. The blood was rushing to his head, and he was nearly deafened by the thundering sound of his own heartbeat. He had no chance but to fight now. He drew his sword, his hands shaking, trying to face all of his enemies at once, trying to find an opening that he could slip through.

"Come on, let's get on with it!" The first orc that spoke leapt forward with a crudely shaped dagger that glinted in the fading light. Instinctively, in one fluid motion, Faramir crouched low to dodge the blow and drew out the rest of his sword and quickly positioned it in front of him, the sharp tip piercing the orc's soft chest armor. When he heard the soft gag of surprise that was quickly stifled by death, even he was shocked by his own actions. The dead orc fell to the ground with a loud thud as Faramir pulled his bloody sword out. He looked at the remaining orcs, whose faces showed a mingle of perplexment and confusion.

"He killed Thrukburg...?" an orc finally asked after a short moment of silence.

"You killed Thrukburg!¡±

Faramir barely had time to blink when the rest of the orc drew out their weapons and charged toward him. He stepped to the side to avoid a thrown dagger, swinging his sword wildly to meet the sharp knife of another, quickly stepping from the left to the right, lunging at the orc that called him "bastard." He succeeded in catching the monster offguard and stabbed it in its midsection with an agile thrust. Not a split second later, a sudden sharp pain erupted in his stomach as the plated knuckles of an orc punched him, making him grunt in shock. He stepped back, crouching over, his abdomen throbbing, and succeeded in tripping over a rock. Gasping, he fell to the ground, losing his grip on the sword that was still embedded in the other goblin. The orc that punched him now crouched over, an evil knife in his grubby hands, a triumphant grin smeared on his gnarled face. In panic, Faramir felt at his belt, desperate for another weapon that he still might have-

His hand closed on a shaft. He momentarily froze at the icy touch of brass, then drew it with a high-pitched clang, lashing out fiercely with it. As he did so, his fingers gave way, and the dagger flew at the orc's shoulder, who jerked back with a howl. Faramir turned himself over and began to scamper away on his bloody knees, when a whiz by his ear made him freeze. He looked up through the hair that had fallen over his eyes admist all the commotion, and saw four dark figures on horses approach. What now? he thought desperately.

"Elves!" The fourth orc, who was pulling Faramir's sword out from his friend's body, screeched. "Bladvok! Go!" he began to rush away to the rocky hills. The orc that had been so close to killing Faramir followed his lead, leaping away from the man as fast as he could, despite the dagger that was driven into his shoulder. Faramir stared at his saviors, his mouth half agape. Elves?

Indeed, they were. One figure gracefully dismounted from his white horse- no saddle, Faramir noticed- and strided towards him. He struggled to stand up to meet his saviors. The elf pulled back his hood and drew closer, and Faramir could make out the pointy ears, the young but solemn face, and smooth skin that clearly distinguished his race from others. He wore an armor that was of the best workmanship Faramir had ever seen. It looked light and supple, but tough at the same time. A green cloak, that slightly resembled his own, draped the elf's shoulders.

"Thank you," Faramir spoke in the common speech, his voice hoarse and out-of-breath.

"What is your name? What business does a Man have in these lands?" the elf demanded bluntly, his sharp eyes boring into Faramir's.

"I am Faramir of Gondor," he answered, surprised and taken back at the lack of hospitality and the open hostility. "And I am grateful for your aid."

"Faramir, son of Denethor?" Another elf soundlessly walked up, the thick grass quiet beneath his light steps. "Should you not be at Minas Tirith, celebrating the coming of the Unveiling?"

"I am looking for a gift for my father," Faramir answered, "When I was ambushed by orcs, my horse became frightened and left me."

"We thought you were one of our kind," the second elf said, disappointment clear in his elven features. He sighed. "Ai, an elf was kidnapped by orcs. We are tracking them down. Have you seen anything?"

Faramir shook his head. "Nay, I did not run into any orcs or elves until now."

"He is of no help, Haldir," the first elf mumbled softly, a hint of annoyance in his whisper. He clearly did not want Faramir to hear what he was saying, but he was able to catch his words anyway. "Let us move on. The tracks show they went east."

Haldir nodded before turning to Faramir again. "We must be leaving. Well met, Faramir of Gondor." he and the other elf began to turn away to their horses and the rest of their company. Faramir looked away to where his fallen sword was, stained with dark-red blood, and impaled into the chest of a now-dead orc. He stared at it before grabbing the hilt and pulling it out, a strange feeling dawning over him. Did he lose something? Was he missing something? For a few moments, he stood absolutely still, contemplating what had just happened before the elves came. And it clicked in his mind. Faramir quickly turned to the elves, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open with shock.

"Wait!" He called out frantically as he regained his wits, waving his arms. The elf Haldir, who had just mounted on to his horse, glanced at him in confusion.

"Wait!" he yelled again, half-running to where the elves stood "Let me come with you! The orcs- they have taken something of importance from me."

"You will slow us down," an elf said, the impatience clear in his voice. "You do not even have a horse."

"Let me ride with you," Faramir said desperately. The dagger Ryngwaew- the orc still had it! The gift from Boromir was gone- Boromir¡¯s favorite dagger, lost in the thick flesh of an orc. He had promised to bring it back- Faramir cursed himself in his mind. "Please! I will not burden you."

Haldir glanced at his companions, who looked back at him uneasily.

"You are the captain," an elf said to him. Haldir gazed down at Faramir for a moment before reaching a decision.

"Come, you may sit with me." Haldir held out a hand to Faramir, who took it gratefully. "We go east."