Half an hour later, both boys were inside Boromir's room. It was a small room, spare of decoration or furnishings beside the boy's bed, a case full of books whose chief subjects were ancient wars and battles, and a chest of well-used arms and weapons, accumulated during a lifetime and mostly worn out or outgrown. On the walls hung naught but a few large maps heavily marked with notes and small flags pinned to the parchment denoting troop movements.

In addition to its bare appearance, the chamber sported a large open window that afforded a good amount of light. At the center of the late afternoon's glow sat Faramir, patiently perched on a tall stool, a towel draped across his shoulders. His hair was dripping wet and combed out, so that it appeared even longer than before.

"Now, this shouldn't take too long," announced Boromir with confidence as he emerged from his washing chamber, a bowl of water in one hand and a comb and scissors clutched in the other.

"Good," Faramir replied with a broad smile. "I really want to get back to my book. I was just getting to the good part when we had to leave."

Boromir chuckled as he set the bowl and implements down on a nearby table. "When it comes to you and books, every part is the good part," he said fondly. "But don't worry, in no time you'll be back reading and I'll be down in the armory with my new sword. And to think we might have wasted all this time trapped in Mistress Darwain's boring old salon!" He shook his head at the horrifying thought.

Faramir giggled. "I'm sure glad we thought of a way out of that!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," agreed Boromir as he dipped the comb in the water and shook off a few drops. Once he was satisfied with the result, he turned to Faramir and started to gently pull the comb through the child's long ginger curls.

Faramir sighed. "Why did we have to wash my hair again? It was clean already!"

"Well...it's the way Mistress Darwain does it," answered the older boy, doing his best to ease the comb through the hair. "Makes it easier to cut, I suppose. I'll just wet it down again so we can get this done quickly."

His brother fidgeted a little and scratched his neck. "This towel itches. It's all wet."

"Well...just hold still, this won't take long. How much do you want me to cut off again?"

"Um...about this much?" Faramir indicated a height just below his chin. "I think it looks funny if it's any shorter than that."

"All right," Boromir said laying down the comb and picking up the scissors. They were very shiny and sharp-looking, and he reflexively opened and closed them a few times as he positioned himself at Faramir's side.

"Right," he murmured again, staring at the side of Faramir's hair. He hesitated, then picked up the wet strand of hair by Faramir's left ear.

Then put it down again.

And stared a few silent moments more.

Faramir frowned a bit and looked at him. "Boromir?"

"Don't move," said Boromir mildly, placing his hand on Faramir's crown and very gently turning the boy's head so that it faced forward once more. "I'm, um, thinking."

"Oh, all right," Faramir replied, in a voice that indicated he had full confidence that his big brother knew exactly what he was doing. He settled down and waited.

After a few more moments of silence, Boromir muttered, "Good a place to start as any," gathered about an inch of Faramir's wet hair between his finger, and started cutting.

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The hair began to fall to the floor in long, dark curling tendrils.

"This isn't so hard," Boromir observed. He was already halfway around Faramir's head.

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"If it's so easy, can I cut your hair, Boromir?" his brother offered eagerly. "It looks like fun!"

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"I don't think so, little brother," said the older boy with a smile. "You'd need a step stool to reach my hair, for one thing."

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The last of the overlong hair fell from Faramir's head.

Surprised, the child looked up. "Are you done already?" he asked in wonder, his blue eyes wide.

The older boy was standing in front of him, surveying the results and biting his lip in thought.

"I've got most if it off," he said in an appraising tone. "You wanted it to hang just below the chin, right?"

Faramir nodded, his wet hair flopping. "Yes, please."

His brother stood for a moment, still looking at his work, then straightened, walked back to Faramir, and began fingering the strands of hair he had started with.

"I thought you were done," said Faramir, puzzled.

"I am," insisted Boromir. "It just needs some evening out, that's all. And it's still a little too long."

"Oh," was the disappointed reply, as Faramir scratched at his neck under the towel. "My neck's starting to itch."

"Don't worry, this won't take a minute," promised his brother.

He went back to the beginning again and started cutting.

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The cut hair continued to patter to the floor, and when Boromir paused in his work, Faramir couldn't help but look.

"That sure is a lot of hair," he said in awe, bending down.

"Ah, ah, please stay still, little brother," Boromir said rather quickly, placing his hands on both sides of his brother's head and carefully pulling it back to an upright position. "I'm trying to keep everything, um, even."

"How much are you cutting off?" asked the child as one hand snaked out from under the towel and began to feel around his ear. "It feels like an awful lot..."

"No, no, it's fine," Boromir assured him as he lightly took Faramir's hand and pushed it away from his head. "Don't touch it, you'll, um, disturb it."

"What's wrong?" inquired Faramir, suspicion creeping into his voice.

"Nothing's wrong," insisted the older sibling as he grabbed the comb and wetted it again. "I've just got to even it out. Your hair's drying and the curls are making it look all crooked."

"If you keep making my hair wet, I'm going to get a cold," warned Faramir as Boromir pulled the wet comb through his hair.

"You're not going to get a cold," was Boromir's somewhat testy response. "Now just...just be still, this has to look as if Mistress Darwain did it."

Faramir sighed and sat as still as he could while Boromir returned to his work, the older boy muttering to himself as he plied the scissors.

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"Now this just has to match that part..."

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"Hmmm. This needs to be shorter..."

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"Still a little too long, there..."

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"Hmmmmmmmmmm."

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"Boromir?"

"Yes?" said Boromir distractedly, still snipping away.

"Didn't you already cut that part at the back of my head? Twice?"

Boromir coughed. "It didn't look right."

Faramir turned his head. "What's the matter with it?"

"Nothing!" was the quick reply, as Boromir once more gently pushed Faramir's head into a forward-looking position. "Nothing. Just relax, I'm almost done."

"Can I see?" inquired the younger boy eagerly.

"No! Er, I mean, I don't have a mirror. When I'm done you can look in the glass in my bathing chamber."

Faramir frowned. "I want to look now," he announced, and began to slide off the stool.

Gently, Boromir, grasped his brother's shoulders and pulled him back up onto his perch. "Just a few more minutes, little brother, then I'll be done, I promise," he said firmly. "Where's that candy you were eating?"

Faramir looked at the table beside them and pointed as best he could with his hands covered by the large towel. "It's right there."

Swiftly Boromir picked up the sticky green candy and handed it to his brother. "Here, just finish that and I'll be done before you know it."

Faramir worked one hand free of the towel, took the candy and studied it. "It's got fuzz on it now."

Boromir sighed, plucked the candy from Faramir's grasp, swished it around in the bowl of water, and placed it back in the child's little hand. "There, it's clean."

The younger boy seemed unimpressed. "Isn't that the water you were washing your dirty old comb in?"

"Well, I can hardly go wash it in the Great River at the moment," was Boromir's somewhat irritated response. "Now please, be still, or there will be no time to have fun before dinner."

At this thought, Faramir grew quiet, and as he had no desire to put his candy stick in his mouth any more, contented himself with breaking it into increasingly smaller pieces as his brother worked on his hair. He did notice, however, that Boromir had stopped talking to himself, but he wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign.

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There was a long moment of silence.

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Faramir began to notice that his head was feeling much lighter and cooler than before.

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Boromir wetted the comb again and slicked down Faramir's locks.

"My comb's not that dirty," he muttered as he returned to his work.

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"Hmmmm..."

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There was another long moment of silence.

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And another.

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At last, Faramir noticed that his brother was standing behind him, not moving or saying anything for a very long time.

"Boromir? Are you done?"

There was no reply.

"Can I see now?"

Still nothing.

"Boromir?"

Unsure as to whether Boromir was still going to cut his hair, Faramir remained still until his brother finally spoke.

"Faramir?" He sounded rather anxious.

The younger boy wasn't sure he liked that at all. "Yes?"

A few moments of quiet passed.

"I love you, Faramir."

This was not at all what Faramir had been expecting to hear, and he scowled in bewilderment.

"Um, I love you, too, Boromir," he said. "Are you done? Can I see my hair now?"

After a moment, the very damp towel was slowly pulled from Faramir's shoulders.

"Yes," was Boromir's answer, in a dull tone even more worrisome than before. "Yes, you can see your hair now."

Some distance away, two charwomen who were scrubbing the steps of the palace suddenly stopped in their chores and looked up at each other in surprise. After a moment, one of them spoke.

"Did you just hear some poor child scream?"