Groaning, Boromir reluctantly opened his eyes with morning's light. He'd hoped that he might not remember the chat he'd had with the Wizard the night before, but, naturally it was right there at the fore of his mind, first thing. Growling, Boromir moved to try to get himself out of bed, thoroughly disgusted with all this laying around.

"Don't even think about it," Faramir said from the other side of the room.

"It feels fine," Boromir protested, knowing that his little brother was worried about his ankle.

Faramir rolled his eyes, Boromir was a terrible liar. "Listen, Bor'… I was talking with Mithrandir last night and -"

"So was I, sure he told you the same thing he told me, eh?"

Reading the slightly defeated look in his half-brother's eyes, Faramir nodded. "I'm so sorry about all of it. I had no notion that my coming here would cause such terrible -"

"Wasn't your coming, Far'. It was his own fault for inviting the bleeding Dark Lord right into the fu- the Citadel. Brother…." Faramir rushed over hearing Boromir's voice break like that and held onto him tightly. "You've gotten me through so much. I would not be here if not for you. And honestly, my ankle does feel fine."

Faramir had tears standing in his eyes to hear the ragged quality of his big brother's voice, until he heard that last line. "Damn you, you fool," Faramir said softly. "Broken bones do not heal over night. Especially not ones that have been treated as miserably as you treat yours!"

"I love you, too, brother," Boromir pouted. "And that means I don't lie… to you, more than necessary. And anyway, I need to take a swing at someone and I would rather it be that Dunlending scum waiting my interrogation than you."

"Well, I would rather it be me," Faramir said seriously. "They might not be the most trustworthy of Men, but that man doesn't deserve to bear your anger over your father's fate either."

"Fine, I won't hit the bastard, too much, as long as he answers my questions to my satisfaction," Boromir conceded.

Faramir shook his head though. "I still think you should stay where you are. Elsewise it might just be easier for the surgeon to take that leg off. Hurt it any further and I can't guarantee that you won't end up with blood poisoning."

"I'm telling you that it feels just fine. I don't know why, but it does, and I am not about to argue with it."

"And I'm telling you that that is not possible, Boromir. Believe me, it just doesn't happen."

"Oh, I think that Boromir's ankle had a little… assistance," said the familiar, conspiring voice of a wizened Wizard at the door.

Faramir cocked his head just slightly, unknowingly looking almost exactly like his father.

"After you drugged me?" Boromir said, sounding just a little accusatory.

"No! After you drink a bit of Miruvor. Of course, it wouldn't work well with you wide awake, would it?" Gandalf said.

"Well, fine then, that means I can go have a chat with Faramir's friend now and my dear brother can't keep me off my feet any longer," Boromir said with something approaching glee.

"Oh, you are certainly able to go about whatever business you might need to attend to. But be warned that after so much time abed, you might not have as much energy for all things as you are used to having," the conjurer cautioned.

"I'll deal with that," Boromir promised. "Let us break fast first of all, though. And not here, what they call food here is only for the dying and otherwise extremely ill who don't recognize swill when it's put in front of them. I was given some kind of stew yesterday that would have killed a wraith!"

After taking an impromptu meal in Merethrond with his brother, uncle, and inherited pesky Wizard, Faramir hurried back down to the Houses of Healing. He'd wanted to make sure he was near when his brother woke that morning after the talk he'd had with Gandalf the night before, but he also wanted to spend a bit of time with a certain lady who was making the Houses her abode for the time being. Seeing as how Boromir intended to busy himself with a prisoner, Faramir decided to stay out of his way.

Faramir was directed to the garden to find Éowyn by Mithrellas who in turned asked Faramir where his brother had gotten off to. She promised that if he was fool enough to go running about on that abused ankle again, she refused to do anything to treat it further. Faramir just laughed, not blaming the Lady from Dol Amroth a bit, but he also reassured her that everything was all right, only having to say that "Mithrandir had a hand in it." As Faramir went off toward the garden to find his lady, Mithrellas couldn't help but think of what her dearest friend Fin' would have thought to see both her boys grown up and having taken so to each other. She could just see Finduilas's laughing smile at their brotherly antics.

As Faramir approached the garden gate he heard gales of laughter that sounded distinctly feminine, and animated words that were distinctly masculine. Éowyn, he could see, was sitting with a dark-haired man, his back to Faramir, but looking rather familiar. Neither noticed him as he listened to the tale being told:

"And then the Captain nearly fell over the ledge and down with the falls into the pool. And all I could think to say to my old friend was, 'Mab', if he falls into the Forbidden Pool, do we still get to shoot him?'"

Faramir blushed over remembering the tale that Damrod was engaged in. It was years ago in Ithilien, they had just received a little provisional consignment that included what was supposed to have been the regulation watered-down wine that was delivered to the stationed Rangers each season. Only the wine hadn't been watered down at all. In fact it had had its potency added to by some fool back in the City who did not realize that such an idiotic and immature action could have seriously jeopardized the Rangers. Now, however, Faramir wondered if there wasn't something (or someone) more vengeful to the incident after all.

Damrod shook his head at the recollection and smiling at Éowyn, said sincerely, "you are a very lucky lady, if I may say so, Lady Éowyn. Captain Faramir is of the absolute highest quality."

Éowyn had just caught sight of the Captain in question over by the doorway, and looking directly at him she responded proudly, "I know that he is, and there is no luckier woman than I, not in all of Middle-Earth."

Boromir made his way down through the City on horseback. Though he would have preferred to walk it, since he had been off his feet for so bloody long, he accepted the wisdom of his uncle's advice that riding would be much quicker and more intimidating, should the prisoner he spoke of see him coming. Boromir accepted the salutes, greetings, and well-wishes he was offered, but when anyone asked him of the Stewardship, he would only smile and wink. As far as he was concerned, he was leaving that hornet's nest for the King to deal with – as first order of business, hopefully.

It took quite some time getting all the way down to the first level of the city and over to the prison. Boromir had the jailer open the door to the cell where the Dunlending was laying, presumably asleep, in a rather unclean corner – not that any of it was any more cleanly. The prisoner shifted slightly forward when the cell door was opened, indicating immediately to Boromir that he had not been mistreated, but fed and given medical care, all per his own instructions. That was well, as far as Boromir was concerned, not only did he need this… person, to answer some questions, but then it was wholly his pleasure… erm… responsibility to see justice done.

"Welcome to Minas Tirith," Boromir said, with a broad smile and extended hand.

The stranger apparently did not instantly grasp that an extended hand was a greeting, the ways of Dunland were so strange to the rest of the world of Men. Boromir did not react, leaving his hand outstretched, and after a moment the other got the gist and reciprocated the gesture with the hand he still had left. Boromir quickly closed strong fingers about the hand just offered and in one swift, expert motion, pulled the prisoner to stand whilst simultaneously delivering a punch to knock him back down.

"In case you don't understand, I am Boromir, Gondor's Captain-General, and that was my little brother you rats attacked out there," he explained with false geniality, figuring it best to keep the titles less than complicated. A slight sweat was beginning to form on the warrior's brow and with it he realized that it had been quiet some while since he remembered having any strength to speak of. He was going to have to either make this quick or conserve his energy a little better.

"Impossible!" the Dunlending spat, still grimacing from that blow to the solar plexus. Had that punch been a little harder it might have had much more severe effects.

"That's what I thought at first as well," Boromir said, then lowered his voice to a quite menacing level, "but it is so and I will be consigned to the fires of Mount Doom before I let someone get away with harming my brother."

"No harm was done him," the prisoner protested.

"No harm? Knocked unconscious and dragged away is no harm to you?" Boromir was getting angry and angrier as images of what Mithrandir had explained the night before kept resurfacing. Faramir had said that morning that the Dunlending didn't deserve to bear Boromir's anger over his father's fate, but it wasn't Denethor's death that was plaguing Boromir at the moment as much as what he'd sunken to just before his suicide. It was the realization that his mother might have lived longer had she been permitted to visit Dol Amroth more often. It was the fact that, after his father's one visit to Dol Amroth when Finduilas had finally escaped, there were no communications from him whatsoever. Boromir, seeing nothing but red, grasped the prisoner by the neck, hauled him up against the cell wall, and rained the blows against him.

"Why were you after him?" Boromir shouted his inquisition, and the wretch had best answer to his satisfaction, because his rage was only going to give him a certain amount of strength at that moment.

"We were not," Boromir's captive snarled through the pain rapidly making itself known.

It was not the right answer. "You and your party came here specifically after my little brother," Boromir hissed. "Now tell me why."

"Are you his keeper?" sneered the Dunlending. "He came riding out to us, as you might know."

Boromir glowered deeply and drew out a knife, not a particularly impressive weapon at all, but it would serve his purpose, he was rather sure. There was a steely look in the captive's eye, defying Boromir to go ahead and slit his throat before he got the answers he sought. Only, Boromir did not bring the knife upward, but downward, pressing it against something much more valuable to a man than his miserable life. Boromir smirked when the steel in those eyes suddenly evaporated into terror.

"Now then… why Faramir?" he asked, resuming that cool geniality. Truth be told, he would have loved to beat the words out of the scum, but he really didn't have the strength for it and he knew too well that he could end up in a bad situation if he didn't calm down and conserve energy.

"The White Wizard…" the captive ground out. "It was him who sent us."

"Saruman?" said another voice back by the cell door, "what does he know of me?"

"Faramir, go, this does not concern you," Boromir growled at his brother.

"Clearly it does. I won't stop you, by all means, go on. But I should like to know why I was targeted. How am I known to Saruman?"

The Dunlending did not answer immediately, and Boromir pressed the knife a little deeper. A whimpering yelp was heard, quickly followed by the explanation that was sought. The White Wizard had seen the man as a baby boy being secretly stolen away by a Ranger and another Wizard. Saruman knew that he'd been taken to Imladris and had only returned to Minas Tirith some 20 years later. It was Saruman who sent forth the false letter and had instructed the Dunlendings on how to maintain the appearance of an Elven company from a distance.

"Why?" Faramir asked evenly.

The Dunlending stared directly at Faramir, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in Arda. "Because Sauron failed," he answered simply.

"Failed to what?" Boromir growled, beating Faramir to the question.

"To destroy him," the Dunlending replied quickly and rather quietly, certain that the Captain-General would not like that answer.

Boromir did not and slammed the man's head against the cell wall.

"Stop, Boromir!" Faramir shouted. "He's telling the truth… I understand it now, much of it."

"You promised you wouldn't stop me!" Boromir protested. "Justice is owed yet, and I would see it done."

"Let my father decide?" Faramir asked of his brother, the sincerity clear in his eyes.

Boromir glared at his little brother for wearing that look and sighed dramatically. "Fine," he capitulated, shoving the prisoner away from him with a quite dirty look and walking away. "Don't know what's to decide…," he was heard grumbling up the long, dark hallway out of the prisons.

There was a slightly uneasy quiet between Faramir and the Dunlending for a few moments before the prisoner rasped out, "why'd you do that?"

"Because it was not your fault," Faramir replied. "I have seen too many enemies fall without ever understanding them. My father tells me that thanks in part to your people I survived my first few months of life, otherwise I would have surely starved. I am willing to see that side of your folk and find a way to reconcile our peoples, if at all possible."

The Dunlending just looked at him.

"We shall speak again?" Faramir said. "Just now I think I had best talk with my brother, he shall understand this less than you do. My name is Faramir… though you likely know that already," Faramir said extending his hand.

The prisoner drew back swiftly at the outstretched hand, so Faramir let it drop. "I am called Baugcoru in your tongue," was the reply.

"Cruel-cunning?" Faramir translated. "I have yet to see the cruelty," he said kindly with a smile as he departed.