It's a few hours before dawn. Boromir's already up and around. I can hear him banging around outside.

Wanna hear something funky? Somehow Boromir wrangled it that my rooms are in the family apartments. He's taking this protective-big-brother thing a little too seriously. According to Faramir he always has. It could get irritating in a hurry.

Outside, I hear something slam into the wall, and then Faramir yelling for quiet. Boromir starts to swear.

OK. Dude. Enough's enough.

I roll to my feet and start strapping on my blades. There's more banging from outside. What the HELL is he doing?

111

Insanity's hereditary, right? It'd explain alot.

My darling brother is in the sitting room, ramming his shoulder into the wall. He's already wearing his armor, which explains the banging. He steps away from the wall, shrugs his shoulders, and takes another running start at the wall.

I wince at the noise it produces. Faramir chucks something breakable at his bedroom door, which shatters, then calls his brother a series of really obscene names.

I don't get it. I mean, I followed the names, which were quite creative, and I understand Faramir throwing stuff, 'cause it's loud and it's really, really early. What I don't get is why Boromir is ramming himself into the wall. Unless he's followed in his father's footsteps down the path of insanity.

"All right, call me stupid, but what the HELL are you doing?"

Boromir glances at me. "Oh. Good morning, little sister." He rolls his shoulders under the armor, nods, then switches positions so his other shoulder is facing the wall. I grab his arm before he can charge.

"Boromir. What. Are. You. Doing?"

He blinks at me. "I'm straightening my armor."

OK, now I'm really confused. "Wouldn't it be easier to take it to a black smith?" Faramir yells something about Boromir's mental capabilities. "And less noisy?"

My dear, challenged brother shrugs. "I never think about it until the last minute. A smith will never have it ready in time." He smiles at me, and I swear there's an edge of viciousness I thought I'd never see in Boromir. He pats my hand. "I'll be done in time, Kayli, fear not."

I can almost hear Faramir cursing the day he was born. I'm just hoping the hall's empty so I can get a couple more hours of sleep.

111

The citadel is dark and silent, everyone else, lucky bastards, still tucked snug and warm in their beds without insane relatives beating themselves on the architecture. I long ago realized I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world.

I wander into the hall, and, naturally, it's not empty. Seated at the table is the one person I was really, really hoping to avoid.

Yep, got it in one. Legolas.

He's bent over an arrow, paying insanely intense attention to the fletching process, which I still don't understand. A neat pile of completed arrows is on the table infront of him. His hair is loose over his shoulders, and he seems completely oblivious to his sorroundings.

Right. I know better.

"Good morning," he says quietly, not looking up. "You're awake early."

I nod, yawn, and flop down in the chair next to him. I can almsot hear my Gramma's voice lecturing on posture. "Boromir's beating himself against the walls."

Now he looks up, eyebrows raised. "Pray tell why?"

I yawn again. "Straightening his armor."

He frowns. I can almost see him turning that statement over in his mind and coming to the inevitable conclusion. "Wouldn't it be simpler to take it to the smithy? And quieter."

"He never thinks of it in time. Or so he says. I think he does it to annoy Faramir."

He smiles slightly. "Brothers, irritating? Never."

I look at him curiously. I really don't know anything about his family, except that his father's the King of Mirkwood. And his mother's dead. Elladan and Elrohir are fonts of information on many things, but not him. Of course, I've never asked. Seemed to much like digging for information. "Speaking of up early..."

"The Dwarf is awake as well, and complaining. He seems to think we're undertaking a suicide mission."

I make a face. "Gee, I wonder why."

He laughs lightly and returns his attention to his arrows. He carefully completes attaching the feathers, then picks up a small knife and begins carving runes along the arrow-shaft. I lay my head down on my arms and watch his hands as they carve. My eyes slip closed, and before I know it, I'm dreaming.

111

My dreams find me wandering the halls of the citadel. I'm wearing a red and black gown, the sleeves caught around my arms with embroidery and the skirt catching around my legs. It's dark, the torches on the walls burnt out. There's dust on the floor, and cobwebs in the corners.

I lift my skirts slightly, to keep it from tripping me. My feet are bare, and I wiggle my toes against the floor. The stones are cold.

This isn't right. Why is it so dark? It's never this dark in the middle of the night. At least some of the torches are lit, and there would never be cobwebs. After all, this is the home of the King. Or it will be, again soon.

I shrug and walk slowly forward. Perhaps my subconciousness has a reason for bringing me here. I hope so, anyway. This is mighty depressing. Now, which way to the hall...?

I walk slowly forward. There are lights burning in the hall. I peak around the door, then just as quickly jerk back. My hands drop to my blade, only to discover... Yep, you guessed it. Not a bloody weapon in sight. Dammit. Sometimes, brain, I really hate you.

The room is filled with orcs. And prisoners. My overactive imagination needs to take a flying leap.

See, when your little Jiminy Cricket mental friend sees that your having reservations about something that you KNOW needs to be done, it will send you a nightmare of the consequences of your non-actions. Or, at least, mine does, courtesy of my overactive imagination.

I've never understood why my dreams never let me have a fucking knife.

There's a scream from inside the room, a decidedly Hobbit-y scream, and then Boromir calling Pippin's name.

111

Legolas lightly touches my shoulder, and I jerk awake, my hand bringing up a blade. He catches my wrist and frowns at me. "Are you all right?"

I nod, trying to catch my breath. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine...just...bad dream. Very, very bad dream."

He nods and sits back down, returning his attention to his arrows. "You cried out."

I nod again and blow out a breath. "It was a doozy."

He looks up at me, smiling slightly. "Did you know that I only understand about half of what you say?"

And some things never change. "Same as back home, honey."

Gimli comes stomping in the room a second later, holding two axes. There's a small one in his belt and another on his back. The Dwarf does not like to be caught unprepared. "There ya are," he growls at Legolas. "Aren't you done with those blasted arrows yet?"

"Patience, Master Dwarf," Legolas says calmly, reaching for the little knife again.

"Ye're taking forever." Gimli plops himself down in the chair next to me. "Mornin', lass."

"Morning."

"Amazing, this from a Dwarf who spent four hours sharpening his axe?"

"An axe is more useful than that poncy bow of yours."

And they're off! Yes, they're always like this. It's like having a front row seat to an episode of Jerry Springer. With out the transexuals and the hookers.

I tune them out and lay my head down on my arms, trying to go back to sleep. A few seconds later, the door slams open and Faramir comes stomping in, muttering under his breath. Something about 'idiocy' and 'hope he's eaten by a Warg.' He slams his sword down on the table and drops into his chair. After a second, he notices Legolas and Gimli are both staring. He smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, my Lords. It's just...Boromir's..."

"Straightening his armor," I mutter, and bury my head back in my arms.

Faramir makes a rude noise. "My horse's ass. He does it to be irritating." A pause. "Kayli, what are you doing?"

"Napping."

"Ah."

The door slams open again, and I can hear Merry and Pippin arguing, loudly, about -- you guessed it -- breakfast. "I still think we should've gotten that roast. It's gonna be a long road, and we'll need our strength."

"Oh, I don't know, Pip. We have ham, and turkey, bread, butter, plenty of fruit...Maybe we can get the roast for second breakfast."

I lift my head and squint at the Hobbits. Both of them are carrying large trays overflowing with a wide variety of food. Ah, kitchen raid. Faramir's looking at them with wide eyes, probably wondering if all that food can fit into two such small beings. The answer is yes. All that and more in a couple hours. It is impossible for a Hobbit to ever be completely full.

Merry looks at us gathered there and grins. "Good morning, my Lords, my Lady. We brought first breakfast.

Across from me, Faramir mouths the words 'first breakfast' with a disbelieving look.

Legolas leans over and whispers. "If you're hungry, get what you can. It disappears faster than it appears."

Faramir slowly shakes his head. "There are times I wonder if I shall ever adjust to my brother's companions. And then there are the moments when I know I won't."

Gimli snorts and pulls out his pipe. "Lad's learning."

TBC...