Hey, there. Little snafu in the last chappie: I forgot that female elvish names aren't supposed to end with an "a", so "Telepalda" is actually a stupid name for an elf maiden. However, seeing as you're all in such awe of my elf-naming abilities (or lack thereof), I figure we can ignore this little glitch and get on with the story. Right?

Ooh, look how long this chapter is... Can you tell who Breck's favourite character is??

6

BOROMIR

God... Where to start, where to start...

Um, I guess everybody gets a little confused sometimes. I mean, nobody's always... you know... on top of everything, right? No, of course not. I mean, I don't think so... Shit, what am I saying?

Fuck it. Anyway, I was back to school this week. Yeah, I know... party! Well, it's not like I was really enjoying my summer anyhow. I mean, Faramir was always out, for one reason or another, and Aragorn was off "finding himself" up north, and... well, Lord knows I can't hang out with Éomer when Aragorn's not around. Believe me, you've never seen anything so pathetic in your life.

So I guess the good part of it is I'm not feeling so lonely anymore... But then, I sort of still am. I guess I kind of forgot how hard it was to just be... me... in front of other people. I mean, with Dad, all I have to do is agree. All I have to do is go running every morning, work out an hour or so every day, and basically give every indication of wanting to run the Armed Forces once I escape from high school.

Which I do... sort of. I mean, I think I do... Fuck, what else can I do?

I'm guess what I'm saying is, at home, living this lie is just so damned easy. Dad wants to be in denial. He's real happy with it. But I know what everybody else sees... a great big idiot. Shit, you know, I can't even convince Dad I failed science last year. He thinks the teacher was prejudiced against me, or something. And the scariest thing is, he almost has me believing this crap, half the time...

Oh, Christ, I wish I was more like Faramir. He's so... what's that word? ...Articulate, that's the one. He always knows what to say... or, rather, how to say what he means. God, nobody ever knows what I mean. Even I don't, most of the time.

I dunno, I guess that's why I can't get away from all this physical crap. You know, rugby, and punching stuff, and whatever. It's not that I don't see that it's stupid, it's just that... Well, I think it's pretty much all that I can do.

I'm glad I admitted that. It feels good... Dad won't let me say that kind of stuff; he tells me I ought to realize what a great person I am, that sort of crap. Huh. Great, eh? Yeah, so great I got a thirty-eight in science last year. And that's workplace science, boys and girls... That's right, the easy one, the one the idiots are supposed to be able to figure out. Honestly, my baby brother is a year behind me in school and he could do all my school work a hundred times better than I can. He could pass all my stupid tests without studying, and he could get all those grades and awards that Dad's already convinced I deserve. Argh... What I'd give, to be just... not so stupid... for one day...

So, anyway, I got home first yesterday. I guess I always do; I mean, I'm the one with the car. I would give Faramir a drive, but he's always doing something after school anyway. And, even when he isn't... Well, if Dad sees him in the car with me, he always makes some scene out of it, demanding that Faramir pay half the price of gas whenever he gets a lift from me. Right, real logical. Especially considering Dad pays for all my gas, and all my repairs, and has never once even suggested that I get a job in order to contribute in the slightest to these things.

Anyway, I guess I wasn't intentionally being sneaky... I mean, ask anybody I know, I'm the least-capable person on Earth when it comes to being subtle... But, anyway, I guess I was trying not to stumble across dear old Dad upon arriving home, so I sort of... um... climbed through the bathroom window. Um, yeah... that's a bit embarrassing. ...But at least I fit through! Ha...

Right. Well, Dad stays home all day. He really doesn't get out much at all, anymore... Just likes to sit in his office, watch the news, read his books and make his plans. I try not to ask too many questions, but he's always telling me stuff I don't want to know, anyway. Like, well... Okay, everybody knows Dad isn't particularly fond of Aragorn, but I wish he didn't feel the need to share his "conspiracy theories" regarding how my friend is getting such high marks in his classes. I mean, really, I don't need to hear this stuff. It's enough that I'm a total loser; do I really have to have my dad constantly reminding me that he's a complete spazz, as well?

Um... I think I just went off on a tangent. (Is that the right word? ...Crap, I've got to start reading more.) So, anyway, I got in through the first-floor bathroom, and from there I was able to sort of quietly make my way down to the basement. I spend a lot of time down there, especially in the summer. I mean, it's nice and cool, and it's got all my gym stuff... And it's the least likely place for Dad to be, considering he doesn't like stairs these days. (He's having trouble with his hip.)

So, right... I got downstairs, and I sat down and opened my backpack. Did I pull out my homework, you ask? No, of course not, that would have been the normal thing to do! Nope, I pulled out pamphlets. Dozens of 'em! Ha... Stupid things, I ripped them all up afterwards, anyway... They were those employability pamphlet things. You know, get them in your guidance office, that sort of crap. I guess I just wanted to see if there was anything out there in the world besides getting blown to pieces before the age of thirty. There isn't, really... not for me, anyway, unless you consider a career as a professional rugby player an actual option.

This isn't something I've ever actually told anybody, but I'd actually like to join Peace Keepers... Instead of the Army, you know? But, well, the issue came up one day at dinner... not the issue of me joining, of course, just the idea in general... And you know what Dad called them? "Glorified social workers", that's what he said. And then he laughed, of course, and told me how much better I was going to be than all those "deluded attention- seekers".

Crap, I my life is screwed.

So, anyhow, after ripping up these stupid pamphlets and basically giving up all hope of ever making anything worthwhile of myself, I got to work doing what I do best – punching my old bag. (No, not my dad! Ha... That was too close to the truth to be funny.) It's nice and... how do you call it? Monotonous, I think that's it. I like how you can sort of just drift away, how your arms just sort of tense up and start going all on their own, finding that rhythm... Of course I know rhythmic exercise is terrible in terms of self-defense, but honestly, who's ever going to pick a fight with me? I figure I can take things at my own pace.

I don't know how long I was down there, but I was pretty sweaty by the time Faramir found me and told me to "take it easy". Take it easy, he says! When was the last time I was seriously taking things easy? God, everything's stressful these days, even the things that are supposed to kill the stress. I guess I kind of blew him off, but he took it pretty well. He sort of just sat down on one of the benches, and asked me to sit down with him.

"Why don't you go hang out with your friends?" he wondered.

"They're busy," I muttered. It may or may not have been true – it's just my generic excuse for not wanting to be around people.

Faramir sighed and crossed his arms. "You gotta get a girlfriend, or something."

"Ha!" I snorted. "Yeah, right. That's going to happen in the next century."

"Well, you have to do something," he insisted. "Get a hobby, honestly... It's not good for you, being so super-focused."

"I'm not as focused as you think," I said.

Faramir sighed again, then rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I know," he said. "I guess I mean that you ought to be focused on something positive, something you enjoy... Not just on what Dad wants you to do."

Yeah, easy for him to say. The hard part is, these things Dad wants me to do are the things he's trained me to do my entire life. So now I can't do anything else. I'm stuck, I'm stuck in this stupid trap and I can't get out. What a hellish existence, to be totally skilled at doing the one thing you're totally sick of having to do... I'd give anything to be like Faramir, to be able to write, and sing, and think... But I can't, it's not me. I am what I am, no matter if that's not much at all.

Don't worry about me, though, I'll get over it... I just have phases like this, you know? Ha, I bet you that by this time next week, I'll be so totally into this so-called life of mine that I'll deny ever having written this.

Anyway, I guess I'm seeing people tomorrow... Aragorn, and them. That'll be good; it'll get me out of the house, at least, and that's something. Faramir needs the car for work, though, so I'll have to walk. Won't Daddy be proud – his darling little boy getting even more physical activity, getting even closer to his goal of being a lieutenant, or a general, or being sent home in a coffin with a little medal for Dad to remember me by... I'm sure he'd be happy with any one of those, so long as nobody else he knows does any better.

I guess that's it. I'll see you again later – hopefully when I'm feeling a little more sane.
This has sort of turned from "LOTR crew get schooled" to "LOTR crew go to the shrink" over the last few chappies, so I figure the next bunch will be a little more light-hearted. And... um... unless somebody else is fascinated by Théodred's limp and lifeless body in the Two Towers film, I'm just going to leave him out. (Sorry, Carolyn, I'm really having trouble inventing his personality... Maybe YOU could write a tribute to him!)

NOTE TO HOOLOOVOO: Your vote doesn't count. You like Legolas, so your brain is obviously made of peanut butter and no one can take you seriously as a result. Go drown your sorrows in a bucket of cauliflower, spazzmuffin. (There will eventually be a Legolas chapter, though, if that makes you feel any better.) I love you!!

NOTE TO VOLDIE: I thought I told you to ignore the "age difference" stuff! And even if you had missed that, isn't the Éowyn/Éomer age difference a bit of a random one to pick on? I mean, consider the Boromir/Faramir one that I've just ignored. Consider the difference between Frodo and Pippin. Consider Aragorn and Arwen, for that matter! Some people's kids, I tell ya... I love you, Christie. Please come back and review some more, O queen of randomness.

NOTE TO EVERYBODY ELSE: You're all beautiful and I love you.