Hey once again...to whoever is reading anyway. This is the third installment of my story. So far, everyone seems to be taking pleasure in Aragorn's misery, in the story I mean. Elrond was kidnapped by someone or something bigger than he had imagined, yet no one has noticed his disappearance yet. Aragorn, although reluctant, returned to sleep. Much to his great pleasure, his prophetic dreams were replaced by his usual reoccurring dream. He dreamt of himself and a woman conversing in a beautiful garden. Each night before, he had that dream. He found great joy in speaking with the woman, the woman of his dreams. So, that's basically the recapitulation of the previous chapter I had uploaded. I hope this story progresses. Do not forget to review!

Chapter3

The Veracity of Reality

Aragorn groggily skulked through the corridors of the school. He and the twins had gotten to school even earlier than usual, and he wasn't ready to wake from his deep sleep and enjoyable dream. He let out a huge yawn and continued staggering through the bright hallway.

His bag was loosely slung over his shoulder and his body was completely slouched. His hair was completely disheveled and his eyes were dropping. He let out a huge yawn and stretched his stiff arms as he neared his locker. He racked his muddled brain for the code and opened it. He carelessly dropped his belongings inside the locker and continued on with his skulking ways.

"Well don't you look presentable today?" A derisive, yet audibly familiar, cocky voice punched at his sleepiness. It was Legolas. His hands were in his pockets and his pale face was formed into a smirk, "You look terrible..."

"Nice to see you too Legolas," Aragorn muttered, running a hand through his thick hair. He hadn't noticed his arrival, but he couldn't really care less anymore. The two continued walking through the hallways.

Legolas studied his friend as they walked, "What happened to you? You look as if you hadn't slept a wink last night." He raised his eyebrow speculatively, "Did you stay up at night because of the dream you had the night before?"

Aragorn shook his head, his dark hair flying everywhere, "Nah, I went to sleep last night," answered Aragorn, "I didn't have another prophetic dream... I slept pretty good last night." He smiled as he thought of his dream.

"So, you dreamt about your dream girl?" Legolas flashed his friend a genuine smile. Aragorn gave him a quizzical scowl, "I'm putting on my 'good friend' face now!" Legolas protested, "I won't tell the others."

After hearing that, Aragorn got a goofy grin on his face, "Yeah... I did dream about her. I told her about my dreams and she actually listened to me. Legolas," He began, looking straight at his friend, all his grogginess had gone away, "You said that you would not tell anyone, meaning I'm going to hold you to this until your death or mine, provided which comes first," A dangerous, sadistic tone appeared in his voice and Legolas could see a faint glint of insanity.

"Yeah, don't worry Aragorn," Legolas assured him. They had stopped walking through the empty hallway, "I swear that you can shave me bald if I tell the others," responded Legolas, "This isn't legally binding is it?" He gave a weak chuckle.

"You swore didn't you?" Aragorn asked him brusquely, and he grabbed his friend's arm tightly, "Legolas," He repeated, "She spoke to me, in words I doubt that I will ever forget. She told me of my destiny, she told me of the Light, and she told me of the Darkness... She told me that I would banish the Darkness within my heart..."

Legolas looked genuinely surprised, "Aragorn, I doubt that she is real," His voice was steadily rigid. "It may seem that you are speaking to her, but this is merely your subconscious showing images in your mind while you sleep."

"You don't understand," he released the grip he had on Legolas's arm, "Every time I dream, every time I talk to her, we actually speak. I am actually conversing with her. It was all real! We were in a garden, and I felt her touch!" Aragorn was fuming slightly.

"I know that you have very realistic dreams Aragorn, and I know that you can remember them all very well, but this does not seem like a prophetic dream, nor does it seem like the truth..." Legolas was trying to remain logical.

"Why don't you believe me now? Did you not believe me when I told you of the Enethui Rodon," his voice was rising, luckily the hallway was still empty, "She spoke to me before the dream! She told me that she wished to speak with me as well!" He was very peeved at that moment.

"Aragorn, as much as I am your good friend, I cannot take away my own logic and opinion just to make you happy!" Legolas snapped at Aragorn. He was a rather fractious at the fact that Aragorn had gotten so livid at what his opinion had been. "Even when you say that you suppose she is real, am I obligated to believe you? I may be wrong or right, but you cannot force me to believe in such claptrap that interferes with my own principles!"

"You don't understand Legolas!" protested Aragorn, refusing to believe that Legolas had made a very good point, "She spoke to me before the entire dream! She was the reason I decided to fall asleep. She said that she wished to speak to me, for something was troubling her. Why would my subconscious conjure up anything like that?"

"No one knows how the subconscious works!" hissed Legolas, "But who are you to tell me that I should believe that you have somehow been able to speak with another living person through your dreams!"

"Well why had you believed me when I spoke to you of my dream concerning the Enethui Rodon?" challenged Aragorn, "What makes that reality so different from the reality of all these other dreams I had?"

"I had already known that you had the Vision! I had overheard Sir Elrond talking to Sir Celeborn about that little subject a long time ago," Legolas retorted, nearly yelling at him, "Everyone knew that the Enethui Rodon was bound to escape sooner or later! When you told us of what you saw, I was certain that you did truly have the Vision, but this dream with that woman has nothing of a prophetic likeness!"

Aragorn was about to snap back at Legolas, but a booming voice cut through their argument, "Aragorn, Legolas?" It was Sir Mithrandir, another teacher of theirs, although he was usually called Sir Gandalf by the students. He was a very wizened man, yet very sharp and intelligible. He taught many of the subjects, not exactly having his own certain area, "What is happening between the two of you? Are you having some sort of a row?" his voice was not accusing, yet authoritarian all the same.

"No, sir," Legolas answered quickly, "We were only having a debate over a little matter."

Gandalf seemed to believe Legolas, "Right then...Aragorn, I must have a word with Sir Elrond," informed the old teacher, "Since you are here, I should assume that he has arrived as well, and yet he has not... Do you have any idea where he is?"

"Forgive me Sir, but I am as confused as you are," replied Aragorn, ignoring Legolas, "I was told by Elladan and Elrohir that when they had visited his office yesterday, he was no longer there, yet he had left a note. I believe they said that it read that he had gone away regarding some urgent business."

"Hmm..." Mithrandir scratched his chin, hidden behind the grey mass of his beard, "I see...Well thank you Aragorn, you may carry on with what you were doing. Have a good day," he waved them goodbye and left off in his own direction, yet the two boys could barely make out a gleaming twinkle in the wizened man's eyes, as if he was aware of what he had walked into.

As soon as Mithrandir was out of sight and hopefully out of earshot, Aragorn and Legolas faced each other, "I have nothing more to say to you," muttered Aragorn. He turned on his heel and strode off, "I may offend even more of your principles!"

Legolas glared a hole into Aragorn's back as he strode away from him, "Your stench offends more than just my principles," he grumbled under his breath and sauntered to the direction, opposite the direction Aragorn chose.

Aragorn wasn't quite sure on what had set him off. Legolas had said that what Aragorn had told him questioned his logic. Somehow, that had been the catalyst to the big argument. They had had a lot of brawls before, some getting rather violent, yet this seemed to be more important than all the others.

Yet neither of them could figure it out...

"That was not very smart was it?" asked the male to the female. They were still in a room shrouded in the darkness, with only a sphere to cast a light. The sphere showed two men arguing, "That boy with the Vision is rather defensive wouldn't you say?"

"His name is Aragorn you twit, and that other one is Legolas," muttered the girl languidly. She was not peering into the sphere as her companion was, "What is happening now?" asked the girl to the boy.

"You do realize that to attain that information, you must look into the sphere!" His voice was rather irate from the sound of it.

"Yes, I indeed do realize that, yet why bother when you are already watching," answered the woman, "Are you not capable of recapping the situation for me?" The man groaned in annoyance and slightly laughed. He brushed it off and complied with her wishes. He continued watching the sphere.

"They are still fighting," announced the man, "Oh wait, their professor, has approached them. He seems to have noticed the disappearance of Sir Elrond," He gazed at his companion queerly, "You would not happen to have any idea of the whereabouts of Sir Elrond, would you?" asked the boy suspiciously.

Pale white teeth shone in the darkness, "Destiny is unprepared to reveal any information relating to that matter," answered the woman curtly, "I am restrained to release any answers to you as well."

"I would have figured that much," he grumbled angrily, "They have gone their separate ways after that slight encounter with Sir Mithrandir," reported the man, "Whom should I follow Aragorn or Legolas?"

"You may shut it off now."

He groaned, but expunged the moving images away, "Are you planning anything?" he asked her askance, yet she remained shiftily silent. He cried in frustration, "Fine! If you are not going to answer me, I shall alter the topic to your liking!" He heard a slight snigger from her end of the room, "This little spat between Aragorn, and Legolas, will it be any sort of impediment?"

"The scenario itself is inexorable," blandly, she spoke to him, "Lest their pugnacious ways be altered from the times of yore. As congenial as they may be with one another, their eye levels are not on the same plane."

He shook his head in petulance, "By literally paraphrasing that they do not see eye to eye, you have completely lost the point of the maxim itself!" He fumed good-naturedly at the mordant girl.

"There is no animation when an old axiom is stated over and over again with no change to it," the girl protested half-heartedly, "The song remains sound, yet the lyrics are merely altered to my liking!"

"And yet the message it portrays changes..."

"Only to your chagrin..."

The day wore on mercilessly, as it seemed to Aragorn. He had encountered Boromir and Eomer after his row with Legolas, yet he remained silent about the dream he had, yet he mentioned that he and Legolas had a verbal brawl. They silently reassured Aragorn that they would walk with him, having known Aragorn at a longer period than Legolas. Although neither Boromir nor Eomer wished to commit to any side, Aragorn had approached them first, thus their loyalties had to align with Aragorn's for the time being.

Lunch soon came, and the three had met up with each other by Boromir's locker. Eomer who was the last to arrive spoke as they walked on to the lunch room; "Apparently Legolas is going to be eating with Haldir, Elladan, and Elrohir..." He shot Aragorn a quizzical scowl, "Why can't you just tell us why you are fighting?"

Aragorn didn't answer. He jammed his hands into his pockets and walked a foot or so ahead of the two of them. Boromir and Eomer exchanged glances then shrugged, "Speaking of which, Eowyn is going to be here tomorrow," added Eomer, talking mostly to Boromir.

"I suppose that Faramir is going to be schooling here tomorrow as well, yet I am not too certain." He gave Eomer a wry grin, "You had not better let this information about Eowyn to leak out into the ears of that Wormtongue. He'd seize the opportunity and strangle it to his advantage." Boromir knew full well the reaction he would receive from the disgruntled, overprotective brother.

"I was trying to forget about Wormtongue," Eomer's voice was coated with mock threat. He then added with his voice lathered with sarcasm and hinted with a bit of petulance, "Thank you for reminding me..."

Boromir falsified his voice with feign innocence, "You know me, ever the caring soul..."

With that remark Aragorn let out a startling snort. The comedic timing seemed so right that Aragorn could not pass up the chance, "If you are a caring soul, then I'm an alcoholic domnoddy!" sniggered Aragorn. He pivoted to face them, yet his expression became serious, "Listen, I'm sorry for being a jerk about all this..."

"Don't bother," Eomer waved his hand flippantly, "We're already used to you being a jerk, it's like we're used to Boromir being an idiot..."

"Hey!" the third of the party protested.

Aragorn made equal the pace of their strides, "So, you were saying that Eowyn is to start her schooling here tomorrow?" he asked Eomer casually, recalling what he had said not even a few moments ago.

"Yes, and I suppose she is looking forward to it," Eomer shrugged, "She never really did like her old school that much, and I am hoping that she adjusts to this old wreck of a school much better than she did at the other one."

"You're probably going to pound any kid who says otherwise," ribbed Boromir. Aragorn gave a slight cough that sounded strangely like 'Grima.' Eomer gave Boromir a scowl, yet there was a hypocritical demeanor to his expression.

"Right, and you are going to let every kid step on your little brother," retorted Eomer.

"Are you kidding?! Any kid who so much as looks at Faramir funny will either be put on the Stretcher or in the Iron Maiden!" Boromir cackled sadistically. Aragorn and Eomer exchanged uneasy glances. It was known that Boromir's family owned a grand estate. It was old and had quite a lot of history to it. Past lineage of theirs had been in very high power and was supposedly permitted to persecuting those who offended them. The estate was quite vast and the brothers were forbidden to explore some parts of it, yet Faramir had done some research and it was said that a few of their predecessors did have some sort of torture chamber, both were quite sure that some of the morbid items were hidden away through the myriad or corridors and rooms...

"As much as I love to see you two express your brotherly love," Aragorn drawled dryly, "We have some lunch to eat..."

They walked into the lunch room and walked straight to the short line for lunch. It did not take long for them to get their food and reach the table they usually sat at, "Hmm..." Boromir began, scanning the crowd, "Where do you suppose Legolas is? Haldir and the twins are not in the lunch room." He shot a nervous glance at Aragorn, "Err...sorry man," He gave a feeble chuckle.

Aragorn shook his head, "I don't really care," he admitted, "You don't have to be mad at Legolas for my sake. The conflict is between him and I, and I don't want to drag you down with me," said Aragorn, trying to keep his cool demeanor, "Anyway, he's just a manicured transvestite..." He mumbled the last part to himself.

As if on cue, the lunch room doors swung open noisily and in stepped two noisy twins. They were dramatically reenacting some event that happened during their classes. Haldir was right behind them, laughing heartily, and Legolas slowly followed, not as boisterous as his companions. They got their food and headed to another table. Legolas glazed his eyes over the usual table he sat at and the people who were there, yet he skipped past Aragorn.

"You do realize that we think this is all stupid, right?" asked Boromir, tentatively.

"Not surprisingly..."

Classes had soon ended, and the students filed out of the school eagerly. Legolas had quite a lot of returned paperwork, and was pleased to see that he had gotten very pleasing results. He was in no hurry to return to home, yet he did not wish to linger long either.

Once he reached the outer grounds of the campus he found Elladan, Elrohir, and Aragorn heading off to their car. Boromir and Eomer were still there. Legolas ran up to them, seeing no reason that forbade him to speak with them, "Boromir, Eomer," he called, making known his presence.

"Hey Legolas," answered Eomer, acknowledging his presence. He and Boromir had somewhat hesitant expressions, "So, you are speaking to us?"

"Well obviously," mumbled Legolas, "Has Aragorn forbidden you to speak to me?" his voice was filled with sarcasm. It wasn't uncommon for there to be a little spat between Aragorn and Legolas, both had equally strong opinions and enjoyed voicing out what they believed in, but usually Eomer or Boromir would have been informed on what the argument was about.

"No, he has no hold over us," answered Boromir, acting indignant, "Anyway, he called you a transvestite..." he chortled shortly afterwards. The three had begun walking off farther away from the noisy mass of students.

"Hmm...He's grown far too fond of that word," muttered Legolas. Eomer and Boromir laughed.

"I suppose that you aren't going to tell us a word about what you two were arguing about?" asked Boromir, yet already knowing the answer.

"Of course not, yet I doubt that it was a very big matter," Legolas reconsidered his words, "Well, I suppose that to myself the matter wasn't big enough to stressed over, yet to Aragorn, I suppose that I struck a few nerves, unintentionally though."

"So, what I gather here is that Aragorn had said something, and then you said something else that probably contradicted what he had said, and then the two of you began arguing over who was right or wrong..." presumed Eomer, "It usually happens this way, doesn't it?"

"Scarily enough, you are actually correct. It did go somewhat like that," Legolas answered in a murmur. The three boys had gone on into a different talk. The topic had been changed when Boromir told Legolas that his brother and Eomer's sister would start their schooling tomorrow. Since the three weren't expected at home right away, they had spent an hour or so wandering around the school grounds and talking aimlessly.

Yet soon the time came for them to return to their homes. They found their rides home and said goodbye.

Legolas sighed as he entered the car. He leaned back into his seat, closed his eyes, and let out a huge groan. The driver in front of him shot him a hesitant glance, "Sir Legolas, are you alright?"

His back shot upright immediately, remembering that he was not alone in the car, "I am fine. I am only weary from the day's work." Fibbed Legolas; hoping that the driver didn't know him well enough to see that he was lying.

"Alright then Sir," replied the driver and he continued on with his motorist ways. Legolas sighed softly and waited as the car drove past the lackluster scenery.

The car drove into our estate and up to my house. I dismissed the driver and trudged up to my room. Father wouldn't be here most likely, he was either to come late at home or to be locked up in his study, yet I supposed that I was used to it already.

It wasn't that he was an ignorant father. On the contrary he was an excellent father when I spent time with him, yet those times weren't that common these days. Apparently he had a sizeable investment in a project that wasn't going very well...

The night was falling and supper was to happen soon enough. Yet I was not hungry. It seemed that I was never hungry. I felt that at times I could last days without any food, weeks even! But then again I was forbidden to even try to see if I could last that long,

As I swung the door open I dropped my schoolbag near the doorway inside my room and collapsed on my gigantic bed, face first. I let out another groan, only to be muffled by the thick sheets and mattresses.

I pivoted myself around to face at the ceiling. The houses age was noticeable with the many cracks I had found up in the high wall. Staring off into the endless abyss of nothing got me around to thinking.

What Aragorn had said had the slightest possibility of truth. Even if magic does not exist in our culture or civilization that does not mean that there aren't any forms of magic in the others...

It was said that the people of Da'havous had somehow found a way to merge their own reality with their fantasies. Some people have been able to free themselves from the shackles of the known world into their dreams. There were truly some past individuals who had fallen in love with the people they create. There was a definite ceremony for the people, mostly rich, who wished to leave the known world for their own.

Yet Aragorn seemed to be convinced that she was real...Whoever she was... From what I remember, communicating through dreams was a very ancient, forgotten art of some other civilization. And I read it to be rather taxing as well. It was written that an average individual could only communicate through his dreams once a week, twice if the person had excellent resilience, yet Aragorn had been speaking to her nearly every night...

Didn't he say that she spoke to him before the entire dream had occurred?

Such a feat like that would have been even more impressive? There were such people who claimed to have the gift of clairvoyance, although they were regarded as cranks through our people's standards, they were highly respected and glorified in other cultures. This girl, if she was real anyway, must have had some sort of telepathy to allow this. Yet even if she is a telepathist, she too would not be able to speak to Aragorn nearly every night.

I groaned as the thoughts strained my mind. I turned over on my side and gazed the window on the far side of my room, the only thing I could see was nothing. I heard a bell sound from the lower floor, apparently dinner was starting.

But I had no desire to attend. I doubt that my father would either, since his greatest concern these days was his business, which came first rather than his health or even his son. Yet I wasn't bitter...

I looked up at the ceiling once more. Putting all of my guard down and letting my senses fall. Sleep began consuming me. The intoxication of fantasy was too hard to resist. I closed my eyes and let my subconscious take over...

"Good Gog, you're an idiot?'

"Huh? What?" My voice was groggy, and my eyes were closed. I was lying down, yet it was not my bed. It was some hard surface. I opened them only to find darkness surrounding me, yet their seemed to be some sort of spotlight on myself, "What did you just say?" I searched the blackness for some sort of person. Had I been kidnapped?

"Good Gog, you're an idiot," the voice replied calmly.

"Who are you?" I asked brusquely, regaining control over my senses. I stood up waveringly, yet regained my composure. I put on my most courageous demeanor, yet it seemed useless since I had no idea of what was happening.

"I am afraid that I cannot tell you."

"First encounters usually mandate first introductions, otherwise those two people would get horrid first impressions," I muttered, feeling rather foolish talking to someone currently intangible.

"I do not care for how you perceive me Thranduilion."

I was shocked; apparently this voice knew who I was. "You know who I am?" I asked, regretting it instantly. I knew how much stupidity went into that question. It was extremely evident that this 'person' knew me.

"Apparently so."

I glared at the nothingness around me. I stayed silent for some moments, recollecting the recently past events. As I thought, a new thought arose. "Why am I an idiot?" I snapped at the open air.

"For someone who appears to be smart, you are rather slow, aren't you?" the voice responded evenly, "Your idiocy was proven just some hours ago. If it was not idiocy, it was indeed some narrow-mindedness."

"What are you talking about?" I had a growing suspicion of what it was though.

"You have read countless books on magic and mythology. You have studied ancient scrolls of fallen civilizations and you have researched endlessly on the different customs and cultures. You have been living your fantasy in the past," before I could cut in, the voice continued, "You realize that most magic no longer exists in your world. You have come to accept that fact, in fact you believe it wholly, even if you do hope that one day you might discover some," the voice held a reasonable pause, "And yet when the Son of Arathorn, who is gifted with the vision, approaches you about his problems. You stagger, casting the blame on the subconscious."

My mouth was agape, but I quickly recovered, "It is not like that!" I snapped angrily, "I am almost certain that it is impossible for Aragorn to communicate with that woman, whoever she is! It is a long forgotten art, and the physical weariness Aragorn would go through would be enough to kill him if it was true!"

"You cabbageheaded domnoddy," the voice insulted me in the same relaxed voice, "The method you had read about was only one of the several. There are other ways for those who do not have the gift of extrasensory perception, such as the Method of Tybastuss or even the Method of Granmelch, only to name a few of course."

"So you are saying that Aragorn had indeed been speaking to some actual woman?" I asked incredulously, all the information was hard to digest, "How do I know if what you say is even true?" I challenged.

"This is a dream. And you are soon to wake up."

My eyes widened in surprise once more, "Then this is all folly! What you have said is not real! This is just the subconscious playing games in my sleep this isn't real!" I screamed into the darkness, the little light I had began to fade slowly.

"If this were all a game of your subconscious, then you would not still have that bruise, not would you be holding a bow in your hand and have an arrow pierced through your leg when you wake."

"I don't have a-"

"Legolas! Legolas!" a voice called me, shaking me from my sleep. I looked up to see the concerned face of my father, along with many of our helpers. They were crowding around my bed, yet when I awoke they took some paces back. My father helped pull me to a sitting position. Apparently, I had gotten under the sheets of my bed.

I looked in horror as I found my pristine white sheets stained with a dark red, "My son," my father looked at me with grave concern, "When I arrived at your room, I found this," One of their helpers brought forth an arrow, its tip stained with blood, "imbedded into your left thigh, and that in your hand." He pointed to my right hand. With a wave of his hand, all the other people in the room dispersed.

I looked over to my hand and my mouth dropped once more. It was a bow, a wooden longbow. My grip on it had been so strong, so numbing, that I could not feel it, "Your hand was clasped tightly around it," My father kneaded my hand in a fatherly manner. The feeling returned to my hand gradually, "What had happened?"

"I...I don't know Father," I murmured, knowing full well what had happened, "I don't remember anything from last night, excluding the fact that I fell asleep as soon as I had reached home. I don't recall waking up in the middle of my slumber either." My voice was faltering, not because of my shock, but because of the fact that I wasn't the most skilled liar. Luckily, my lack of skills paid of somehow.

"Sir Thranduil, you wished to see us?" Two of the security guards of their estate entered my room.

"Yes, of course, regarding the estate's security," Before he went to leave, he faced me once more, "Legolas, son, if there is anything at all you wish to tell me, you have my permission to break down the hall of my study when I haul myself inside there."

I nodded silently. He pecked me on the head and went of to discuss the security of the estate outside of my room. I was left inside, though I was not along. I had all my blasted thoughts to keep me company.

The voice was right. The voice had been telling me the truth. Aragorn had been telling the truth... I truly was a fool... I had indeed been narrow-minded. Magic was an impressive factor in other cultures yet not in ours, but I had quickly dismissed the fact when it was right there in Aragorn. My hand flew to my cheek, there was no numbing pain. I reached for the mirror on my bedside table; the blackish-blue discoloration was gone.

I looked to my side, there was the longbow. I picked it up and scrutinized it. It was simple enough. The only titivation was the thin, twisting gilder of gold that went from the top to the bottom. It was of fine craftsmanship though.

I held the bow through both of my hands, enjoying the feel of the polished wood. I had always been dreadfully interested in archery, yet I did not like the bows they offered to me. There were far too many modifications and complicated technologies. I wanted a simple bow, not those fancy metal ones with all that technology to make things easier. In my opinion they only complicate it all. Instead I took up marksmanship with a shooting rifle.

I wanted a bow like this, if I was ever to take up archery. The rifle was all well and good, yet somehow the notion of actually drawing the bowstring and feeling the arrow fly from your grasp reminded me of the past, where my eccentricity today would seem natural before.

I motioned to get out of my bed, yet when I tried to stand upright there was a sharp pain in my leg. Of course, it was the arrow wound. I looked at my leg. There was a makeshift tourniquet, stained with the redness of blood. I grimaced at the pain, but I stood up anyway. I used the longbow to haul me up and it became like some sort of crutch for me. Slowly, I got ready for school...

"Boromir! Faramir!" their father, Denethor called from the bottom steps of the main staircase, "School is to start in an hour and thirty minutes, and I have to be there in twenty! Hurry up!" As if on cue, his younger son, Faramir, came shooting down the stairs.

His hair was neatly combed and any loose strands were held back by some invisible hair gel. He wore some sort of black jacket, which was straight, unwrinkled, and buttoned up. Underneath the jacket was a white, buttoned up shirt. His pants were black as well, and they were pressed straight to the bottom. His shoes, black of course, were polished with great care, as if he had spent the night working on them. He looked like he was ready for some sort of business meeting.

"Faramir, where is your brother?" asked Denethor, eyeing his watch impatiently, "Boromir!"

"Last I checked he was in the bathroom," answered Faramir, picking up his satchel on the floor, "He told me that he would be down in three minutes or so." Denethor let out an exasperated groan.

"I have a very important meeting with Galadriel, Thranduil, and Theoden!" muttered Denethor, pacing neurotically, "Boromir!"

A clomping sound of trudging feet caused Denethor to look up the stair case. There was his eldest son, practically slouching down the steps. He showed a much greater contrast when compared to his brother's decorum...

His hair was in an upheaval. The usual unruliness seemed to be multiplied by his groggy stagger. His eyes were half closed and there were light rings of grey beneath them. His clothes hung loosely around his body. His simple tee shirt had a yellow splotch on it and he wore a worn brown leather jacket. His pants were denim and there was a long rip near the knee. The bottoms of the pants were sullied by dirt and soil. His shoes were caked with dried mud. His beaten up backpack hung loosely over his shoulder.

"At last, son!" cried Denethor, waving his suit case in the air, "Let's go!" The three men entered the car and Denethor drove off in haste. They reached the school parking lot in a matter of minutes, teetering within the speed limit.

The three exited the car and Denethor faced his sons, "Faramir, hopefully you will have a nice first day and Boromir guide your brother so that he doesn't make a blunder." With that he bade them farewell, "Goodbye sons!" And he dashed off towards the school were his meeting was about to commence.

Faramir sighed as he walked towards his brother, "So, how horrible is this place? I mean you rant on and on at home, but what is the truth!" He had a languid look on his face, which made him look older. The clothes that he wore didn't help make him any younger as well.

Boromir eyed his younger brother wryly, "Well, they'd you out if you went in dressed like that!" He pointed to his brother's pedantic attire.

"What's wrong with how I dress?" he asked defensively, scanning over his clothes, "I wanted to look good on the first day!"

"Well, if you're my brother you're going to have to loosen up!" Boromir ginned sadistically, "What kind of girl would want to go out with some kid pretending to be a prudish old man?" With that he began to work on Faramir, much to his brother's chagrin. Boromir ruffled up Faramir's hair, removing whatever he had put in it, making the dark strands become unruly. He unbuttoned Faramir's black jacket and tossed it aside. He reached into his stuffed bag and put out a black leather one, "Here, were this and change into this when we get inside," He handed his brother the jacket and a black shirt, which seemed to have a lot of lint in it. "I suppose your pants will do, but we have to get some wrinkles into them." He scrutinized his brother.

"Since when have you been a fashion consultant?" asked Faramir, not enjoying this one bit, but knowing full well that if he resisted, Boromir would put him into a headlock until he gave in. Boromir continued shuffling through his bag, searching for something, "You had really come prepared for this, haven't you?"

"You know me well Brother," muttered Boromir, "As I knew that you would dress up all stuffily for the first day. Here," Boromir handed Faramir a pair of sneakers, "Give me those old people shoes now." Faramir rolled his eyes as he unlaced the shoe's laces and handed them to Boromir. He put the sneakers on; they were actually quite comfortable, "Hmm..." Boromir studied his brother once more, "You still look too clean, maybe if I throw some dirt at you..."

"No!" protested Faramir hastily, swatting his brother away, "You wouldn't dare do that!"

"Your right," laughed Boromir, "I wouldn't want to sully my hands, now would I?" He inspected his brother for the final time, and gave him a contrived, sad look, "My Wittle Faramir! All grown up and going to high school," Boromir promptly let out a bawling cry, unable to hide his grin, "Soon all the ladies will be chasing you and you'll finally realize that there's more to life than books and research!"

"Are women the only thing you think about?"

"Of course not!" protested Boromir, "But haven't you ever been on a date," Boromir paused after his question, then immediately went into fits of laughter, "Why am I asking?" he howled with mirth, "Of course, baby brother Faramir has never asked a girl out! He's too afraid!" crowed Boromir, clearly enjoying himself, "After all, his dear big brother got all the family charm!"

"You're as charming as a walrus's backside," retorted Faramir, "And it isn't that I am afraid! It is just that I am not interested in any of the girls I met in there! They all seemed so superficial and contrived! I don't care if I have many women or not! I just want one who isn't like all the other shallow women you seem to be so fond of..."

"That was actually profound in some sort of way," admitted Boromir, "I suppose that you are right Brother, but I will come to realize and digest what you had just said in a few years or so. I may not be as articulate with my words as you are, but I do intend to enjoy myself while I am still young, unlike my priggish little brother!"

"Well I just don't want to date anyone yet, alright!" fumed Faramir. They had reached the steps to the main building and soon enough they entered through the swinging doors of the high school building. Boromir expected Faramir to be in awe, but the boy just shrugged, "It looks a lot like junior high..." commented Faramir.

"Oh come on!" cried Boromir, but then he studied the long corridor, realizing that his brother was right, "Well, look how the walls are painted! Back in junior high the walls were white with like a yellow tint in it, but now the walls are white with a green tint!"

Faramir raised an eyebrow towards Boromir's direction, "And you call me pathetic?"

"Being the older brother I get those privileges."

"Yeah, and since I am the younger brother I am supposed to have the privilege of squealing to Dad, but since I do not get that privilege, it cancels out your privileges," retorted Faramir dryly, yet Boromir knew that there was some bitterness within all his cynical mirth.

"Hey, sorry Faramir," apologized Boromir openly, and sincerely as well.

"You have nothing to be sorry about Older Brother," Faramir's voice became noticeably soft. There was a lingering silence that wafted over their heads, it was not that they were in discomfort; it was that neither had a thing to speak of. But Boromir broke the quiet with his thick voice.

"So, what are you supposed to do first?" asked Boromir.

"Well, Father had told me that I was supposed to go to the Principal's Office for some sort of orientation or whatever," responded his brother, "Where is the Principal's Office, anyway?" he asked his brother.

"I'll bring you there," he told his brother, and he led his brother through the hallways and corridors and they had reached the Principal's Office, a place Boromir which had Boromir has a frequent visitor. Galadriel's secretary, Bilbo Baggins, Frodo Baggins's uncle, was there reading some sort of book, "Hello Sir Bilbo, my brother, Faramir, is new here. Our father said that he would have to stop here for some sort of orientation from Lady Galadriel."

"Well yes of course," he was a stunted man, much shorter than both Boromir and Faramir, "Faramir was it? I am Bilbo Baggins; call me whatever you like, disregarding anything insulting of course..." He glanced at Boromir who was grinning sheepishly, "Hopefully your tongue isn't as brutally honest as your brother's," Bilbo shot Boromir a mockingly superior glare. "Just wait over there," he pointed to a row of three cushioned seats, "The Lady Galadriel is in a meeting with Sir Theoden and your father, methinks."

"Alright Sir," replied Boromir politely, but unable to hide his awkward look. He then turned to Faramir, "Is it alright if I leave you here?" He was and forever would be the overprotective older brother, just as Eomer had been, yet Boromir should it in a more subtly manner.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," answered Faramir, silently thanking his brother for helping him along the rocky path, "I will see you later right?"

"We'll probably have the same classes, kid," grinned Boromir, soaking up every fact that he was older with great relish, even if their age gap didn't give him much of a right to call Faramir 'kid.'

"See you later than Boromir..." Faramir waved his brother goodbye as Boromir exited the Principal's Office. He walked over to one of the cushions and plopped down on it, dropping his school bag in the seat next to his. He glanced towards his side to find Bilbo, deeply engrossed into his book and scribbling down notes into this ragged piece of tissue paper.

The surroundings, though foreign to him, were pleasingly different from Junior High. To him, this was a whole new, different place. It seemed, in fact, that Boromir knew his way around this vast building adroitly. It was both exciting, yet nerve racking at one fell swoop. He felt a soft fabric in his hands, realizing that he was still holding the shirt Boromir gave him. He shook his head and just stuffed it into his satchel.

How far Boromir would go for his little brother was a distance that surely would have been immeasurable. Even if he did not openly express his feelings, Faramir had always known that Boromir would be his anchor. Faramir feared the day when his older brother may tire of him and desert him completely, though it was not that Faramir depended wholly on Boromir's capabilities.

It was that he depended on the certainty of his brother's love...

"Theodred, Eomer, Eowyn," Theoden called hastily, he shot his watch a harried glance, "Have a nice day at school! Eomer, take care of your sister, and Eowyn I especially wish you great luck on your first day, but I have to get going. I'm late for a meeting!"

"Goodbye Father," called Theodred as his father bolted to the main building from the parking lot, "See you guys later. Eowyn I hope you have a nice day, and don't worry, if Eomer doesn't fulfill his brotherly duties, you can always run to me!" He grinned cheekily and began walking off. Although the three relatives were very close, Theodred traveled with another group of friends.

"Oh please, Theodred!" retorted Eowyn good-naturedly, "How could you ever think that Eomer would pass up the opportunity to scare away any strange-looking person who'd come within ten feet of me?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot that he had the overbearing, overprotective, older brother complex," snickered Theodred, he was some feet away from them already, "Bye guys! Eomer take care of Eowyn or else!" With that he sprang and headed for the building.

Once he was gone Eomer faced Eowyn, "So, are you nervous Little Sister?" asked Eomer with all the brotherly love he could muster.

"Of course, I'd be lying to you if I said otherwise," She fidgeted slightly, very uncommon from her, "But I can't help, but feel exited and-"

"Great!" Eomer cut her curtly, "But since you are my little sister, you'll have some ground rules to follow," said Eomer in all seriousness. Eowyn gaped at her brother, checking to see if he was kidding, but it was clear that he wasn't, "First of all, boys," before Eowyn could interject, Eomer continued on, "If you are interested in any boy in that school, he'll have to talk to me first. I have to make sure that anyone going out with my sister isn't a psychotic lunatic!"

"Eomer, I am not as inclined to the opposite sex as you are," muttered Eowyn, pushing her brother forward as they headed towards the building.

Eomer ignored her and continued on with his blathering, "Next of all, if there are any people, any people at all, who are bothering you or...stalking you, just let me know so that I can beat the crap out of them!"

"Oh yeah," Eowyn bit her lip fretfully, "Wormtongue, he studies here right?" Her forehead creased in worry, "I don't want to see him again..."

"And you won't have to," Eomer said firmly, yet affectionately. He put an arm over her shoulders and gave her a one-armed hug, "The guys and I will make sure that Wormtongue, and all the other weirdoes out there stay away from you!"

"Are your ground rules finished yet?"

"Pretty much, until something else comes to my attention though," shrugged Eomer; he ruffled his little sister's hair warmly, "Don't worry they'll love you," He added as an afterthought, "Okay, if the guys saw me, they'd never let me hear the end of it..."

Eowyn let out a laugh, "You're just a big softie inside, and you know it!" She pinched her brother's cheek affectionately.

"Hey! Don't do that!" complained Eomer as he swatted her hands away. She snickered at him and the two reached the building's swinging doors, "Anyway, what do you have to do first? You have to go to the Principal or something, right?"

"Yeah, Uncle said something like that. Is Lady Galadriel anything like my old principal?" asked Eowyn curiously. Her old principal, Sir Oneas DeMercia, was a gravely strict teacher. His punishments were infamous and spoken only through hushed words.

"She can be strict, but I suppose that she's an okay lady. Most of the teachers in this place are pretty much like that. They may seem really strict and kind of scary at time, but you can talk to them easy enough when you aren't in your classes." Eomer smiled at his sister and she returned the grin weakly, "Come on, I'll take you to the Principal's Office."

He led her past the halls and the few students that had arrived earlier than usual. Eomer made sure to skirt the corridors that he was certain Wormtongue would be lurking in. After only some minutes they were there, "I can go in myself Big Brother," reassured Eowyn. She gave her brother a more realistic smile, to show that she could handle herself, but inside she was blanching.

"Really?" asked Eomer with genuine concern. She nodded enthusiastically to hide her anxiety. Eomer gave her a pensive, apprehensive look, knowing his sister well enough. But then he got a wry expression on his face, "Great, I didn't really want to go in anyway. Lady Galadriel might've found out that I tinkered with some of the clocks..." He smiled as she laughed and gave her one more hug, "I'll see you later, and don't you dare tell anyone that I hug you!" He threatened her lightly.

When he released her, she gave him a fake punch, "Thanks Eomer. I'll look for you later..."

He gave one final wave, turned on his heel and set off. He turned the corner and he was out of eyeshot. Eowyn sighed and let the doubts and worries fly through her head once more. But then she shook her head to rid herself of them and faced the door.

She put her hand on the brass doorknob and twisted it slowly...

Faramir was stuck there waiting, on the cushion seat. Probably twenty minutes had passed and Lady Galadriel, or any other person for that matter, hadn't entered through the door. The Secretary, Bilbo Baggins was too deeply engrossed with his book to give Faramir a second glance.

The door gave a small creak and Faramir had been jostled out of his thoughts. He had jerked from his seat and apparently Bilbo had given notice to it as well, "What? Oh yes, come in!" he called to whoever was behind the other end of the door.

Another creak sounded and the door began to slide open. Faramir watched as the door opened wider and a foot stepped out, soon to be followed by a body and a head of long golden hair. It was a girl, and judging from her uneasy smile, she was new as well.

"Hello there," greeted Bilbo, "You must be new here! I am Bilbo Baggins, Lady Galadriel's Secretary. You may call me Sir Bilbo or Mister Baggins, whatever you see fit," He smiled at her and she returned the gesture, "The Lady is not here yet, you may take a seat." He pointed to three cushioned seats, one of which was occupied by Faramir, and the other occupied by his schoolbag. As he swung his hand, he swiped the book of the table and the bookmarks, and notes inserted in it scattered on the floor, "Oh dear," he immediately went to pick them up. When Faramir and the girl motioned to help him, he declined, "No, no, no... It is alright, I'm just a bit muddled today," He then glanced at the girl, "What did you say your name was?"

The girl took the only remaining chair and smiled at Bilbo, "I didn't, but my name is Eowyn, Sir Bilbo."

Bilbo did not reply, but he gave her a pleasant nodded and continued on shuffling through the mess of tissue and scratch paper. Eowyn glanced at the boy who was a seat away from her, "Excuse me, do you mind if I put my bag here too?" She asked him cautiously.

Faramir had been watching Bilbo, trying to restrain from laughing, but his head snapped around when he heard her voice, "Of course! Of course," replied Faramir. He made room for her bag in the chair, "My name is Faramir. I am new here too." He held out his hand after his introduction.

"Eowyn," She smiled as she shook his hand, "I was hoping that you weren't new so that you could tell me more of this school." said Eowyn after she had let go of his hand, "My brother and cousin were very vague when they told me of this place."

"My older brother was like that as well," replied Faramir, "The pep talk he gave me right before I arrived at the building wasn't very encouraging," Faramir remarked dryly. Surprisingly enough, the girl laughed.

"I know exactly what you mean," She shook her head with mirth, hoping that she had actually found her first friend. Back in her old school, she wasn't exactly the most popular girl, "My brother had given me some ground rules and put on his overprotective face."

Faramir smiled at the girl. There was something so brutally honest, yet sensitively sympathetic at the same time, about this girl, "That's how older siblings are supposed to act," muttered Faramir dryly.

"Yes, but my brother is simply the worst, do you-" She clamped her hands to her mouth and glanced at Faramir tentatively, "Forgive me for my candor... I should not be slandering my brother in front of some person I had just met. I wouldn't want you to think the worst of him even before you meet him. He is truly a nice person, if not a bit overbearing at times," she gave him a weak grin in apprehension.

"Don't worry," he reassured, patting her chair's armrest, "I vilify my brother a lot of times as well. What else can we do? We are the younger siblings; we have a right to complain about our older brothers, even if mine would put me in a headlock if he had found about it."

Eowyn let out a short snicker, "Thank you for understanding the true horrors of-"

She was cut short by the door abruptly opening. Eowyn's eyes hardened when she saw who stepped in...

Legolas limped up to his locker and found Aragorn, standing in front of his own. Legolas took in a deep breath and grasped his cane tighter, realizing that apologizing was harder than it really seemed, "Hello Aragorn," greeted Legolas, making sure that his voice wasn't too curt.

Aragorn glanced quickly at him and his face acquired a stony resemblance, "Legolas," he replied. Legolas winced as the brusqueness of his voice. Aragorn continued skimming through his locker and he ran his hand through his disheveled hair, making it even more disorderly. He refused to make eye contact with Legolas.

"Listen Aragorn," Legolas took a step closer, but as he did, a black, greasy-smelling blur barreled through him, "Wormtongue!" yelled Legolas in frustration.

"I am in a hurry Thranduilion!" snapped the overbearingly oily student. He picked himself up and scuttled away, "You should watch were you put forth your gigantic feet!" drawled Wormtongue, he hitched up those grimy, black cloaks he always wore and then he bolted off.

"Lousy, good for nothing, dunderheaded pig's bottom..." He trailed off, remembering the real reason of his presence at that moment, "Listen Aragorn," he began once more, fidgeting with his cane, "I thought about what you had said to me the day before, and I came to realize some things."

"Such as?" asked Aragorn, still refusing to look at him, apparently Legolas had really struck a huge nerve within Aragorn to get him as mad as he was at the moment. Legolas winced at his coldness once more.

"Perhaps I had dismissed the idea too early," admitted Legolas, "I don't have the widest knowledge about these areas that what you spoke of revolve around. But there are some theories I found that would probably explain why you have been having these dreams."

"So, you are admitting to me that she truly is real?"

"It is a huge possibility," shrugged Legolas, "I suppose that I was too brash about the fact that I said that it was impossible. Just understand that I was trying to remain as logical as possible."

"I understand what you are saying and I understand as well that I am at fault as well," Aragorn lowered his head into his locker, "I know it was wrong for me to force you to believe in what I was saying when it went against your own principals. I am sorry for that Legolas..."

Aragorn turned around slowly with a grin on his face. He put his left hand on Legolas's right shoulder. It was their usual greeting, Aragorn would place his left hand on Legolas's right shoulder and he would do the same, yet this time he did not, "Thank you Legolas. What made you change your mind?" But then Aragorn became puzzled when Legolas did not bring his hand up to his shoulder.

"Sorry Aragorn," Legolas motioned to his hand which lay on the wooden cane.

"What happened to you?" Aragorn asked, perhaps with a hint of concern in his voice.

Legolas obtained a sheepish look on his face, "I had a dream..."

"What are you doing here?" Eowyn asked the newcomer icily. Bilbo paid no attention, too lost in his book, and his desk was some distance away from where they sat. Faramir glanced at the character that stood in front of him, simply oblivious to whom he was, though it was apparent that Eowyn knew.

"Eowyn," the other boy's voice seemed to be lathered with slipperiness, as he walked towards the chairs, "So, it is indeed true... You have transferred here," Faramir scrutinized the boy. His back was slightly bent and his clothes seemed to have been used repeatedly without wash. His hair was dark, yet extremely stringy and seemingly oily enough to set his head on fire. His face was tinted by a sickly shade of green and there was some sort of maniacal glint in his flinty eyes.

"Wormtongue, my brother will hunt you down if you come any closer to me," threatened Eowyn, her voice was clipped, and she hid her panging fear well, "Go away and never even think of me again! I will not have my days darkened by your presence."

"Eowyn?" murmured Faramir quietly, facing the girl tentatively. She glanced at Faramir quickly, but then forced her eyes down to the floor.

"Who is this boy Eowyn?" hissed the other man in the room, aside from Bilbo and Faramir, who was apparently called Wormtongue, "Is he one of your brother's little friends?" Faramir raised an eyebrow at Wormtongue's rather boorish behavior, "He seems rather ungainly, wouldn't you say?" Faramir had to hold in a snort and a snide comeback.

"Go away Wormtongue! I shall tell my brother, my cousin, and my uncle if your refuse to leave!" snapped Eowyn, refusing to raise her voice any higher, "You have no right to speak to me and my company in this manner!"

"Eowyn," Wormtongue said once more as he advanced his steps towards Eowyn and placed a deathly pale hand on Eowyn's own hands. She recoiled at his touch, yet he had a firm grasp on her hand before she could pull away, "I have longed to see you again... I have longed to see your beauty..." His other hand rose up slowly and reached to brush her cheek.

"Stop it!" resisted Eowyn, trying to wrench her two hands free from his cold, rough grasp, and jerk her head out of the reach of his other hand, "I said stop it!" she repeated, snapping a bit louder.

Yet at that moment, Wormtongue gave a high-pitched yell. His roaming hand had been caught by Faramir, and he was obviously gripping it tightly. Eowyn could hear the bones creaking, "You insolent fool!" spat Wormtongue, "Who do you think you are?"

"Who do you think you are harassing a woman who clearly does not want a thing to do with you," hissed Faramir in a calm, yet deadly voice. He released his hold on Wormtongue's hand and jerked the other one of Eowyn's hands, "You will respect Eowyn's wishes and never bother her again!"

Wormtongue glared at both Faramir and Eowyn. Yet moments after his menacing gaze he turned on his heel and hastily trudged out of the room. Only then did Bilbo notice him, "Oh hello there Grima. I didn't see you come in..." greeted Bilbo, only to have the door abruptly slammed shut. Bilbo looked slightly appalled. He faced Faramir and Eowyn, "Strange boy, and rather rude as well," Bilbo sniffed disapprovingly, "It wouldn't hurt if he took a shower as well..." With a laugh he returned to his books.

Regarding what had happened, Eowyn and Faramir did not laugh at what Bilbo had said. Faramir glanced at Eowyn tentatively, "Are you alright," He looked over her hands. They were only a swollen red, yet there were no signs of any bruises.

"I am fine, thank you for helping me out," she flashed him a genuine, appreciative smile.

"Who was that?" asked Faramir quietly, hoping not to disgruntle her, after all they had only just met a few minutes ago.

Eowyn sighed, her smile faltering, "He is just an incessantly dark reminder of my unhappy days before," answered Eowyn, casting her eyes down, but then regaining her sense, "Forgive me for troubling you with my tribulations, as I said awhile ago, we have just met and I don't want to worry about some girl you had just met."

"It does not bother me when I ask a question and I receive an answer," replied Faramir frankly, yet it was smoothed off by a nice mildness, "Though it is alright if you do not wish to speak to me about your problems. You are probably uncomfortable with confiding rather personal things to a person you have barely spent an hour with." He gave her a short smirk and patted her hands lightly.

Eowyn glared good-naturedly at him for his flippant manner, "You are a very logical person Faramir," she smirked at him, "I am sorry for that horrid display you witnessed just awhile ago. Wormtongue used to shadow my steps when he stayed at our estate. I prayed that I would never have to see him again and yet he studies here..."

"Why not complain to your brother?"

"He already knows," answered Eowyn, "I swear, he's beaten Wormtongue up countless of times, but that lunatic can seem to get it through his head to stop! I swear that he is the only person in the entire known world whom I loathe the most!"

"Rather grimy person wasn't he?" stated Faramir, trying to lighten up the strangled mood. He scoffed mockingly, "Where do you suppose he gets off calling me 'ungainly?' If your brother wouldn't beat him up, my brother would jump to the task if he knew..." Eowyn let out a laugh, but it wasn't forced chuckle, it was an undiluted giggle.

"So, your brother has the overbearing, overprotective, older brother complex too, huh?" remarked Eowyn, "Thank you again Faramir, for making me feel better. I just doubled my debt to you." She gave a weak grin.

He smiled at her in response, "I'll remember that in the future..."

"That kid Wormtongue is slightly maniacal, wouldn't you say?" The boy asked the girl, wanting any form of conversation, and since she was the only other one in the room, he wanted to speak with her.

"Everyone is slightly maniacal, some more than others," she coughed, clearly implying something. The boy shot her a glare that was lost within all the darkness of the room, "Though you must admit that he is very persistent, if not a little thickheaded. Shut the sphere off."

He obliged, as he had always done for her, "That argument seemed to resolve quickly don't you think? Especially since that Legolas fellow had that dream of his," his voice was sardonically accusing, "But wasn't shooting him in the leg a bit too much?"

"Pain is an excellent reminder for reality, even if the reality of reality is hardly real anymore," murmured the girl dismissively, "I suppose that idealists have a much better time than the realists..."

"I suppose that's why you are always so miserable..."

"Yes, I suppose it is..."

Yeah! I have finally finished the third chapter. So, Legolas and Aragorn's little spat, didn't last very long did it now? Who was the voice speaking to Legolas in his dream? Who exactly are these two other people whose names have yet to be revealed? Where is Elrond? So many questions that I haven't answered yet, even if I sort of have it all planned it my muddled head. Faramir and Eowyn have met each other and had a very unpleasant encounter with one Grima Wormtongue. Overprotective siblings can be a real pain, but a real blessing at times as well. I hope that I am writing them all in character, maybe altering it slightly, but in character nonetheless. Mind you that I was up all night writing this and I'm a real procrastinator mind you... I don't know how I managed to pull this off, but I am glad that I did. I hope that you all enjoyed the story. I will try to update as soon as possible, but I don't know how long you'll have to wait exactly. Heh...Heh... I love my 'heh...hehs...' Have I put them in each chapter? I have no idea, but I will start on the next chapter as soon as I can. I hope that people are actually reading my story, and if you are, don't forget to review! You can criticize my work, I don't mind; just keep in mind how brutal you will be with your words. Do not forget to review!