As he sat in an empty tent surrounded by guards, Faramir decided that, next to his father, Théoden was quite possibly the most hard-headed man in Middle Earth.

Faramir'd caught up with Rohan's caravan (in record time) when they stopped to set up camp for the night and plot their attack for the next day. Théoden had welcomed him, but wouldn't listen when Faramir tried to reason with him about attacking Gondor.

"It's just some stupid lawn furniture!" Faramir'd finally shouted, which prompted Théoden to send him to the 'prisoner's tent', where he sat now– cold, annoyed, and not sure who he wanted to slap more: Théoden or Boromir.

"So help me, Boromir, when I get out of here, I'm going to kill you," Faramir muttered to himself, which caused a guard outside to say worriedly to another guard, "He's talking to himself – d'you think he's going mad already? There was that one prisoner we had that went insane in less than a week…"

"You mean that old goat from Gondor we had years ago? What was his name? Deathnair? Dethnoir?"

"Something like that," the other guard agreed. "And remember how we had to let him go because he got so crazy? I hear he's head honcho of some big city now…"

They went quiet again, wishing they weren't on prisoner watch and instead were asleep like everyone else.

Faramir was about to drift off when suddenly the tent flap flew open and Théoden stormed in, holding his helmet under his arm and swishing his cape behind him dramatically.

"So!" he shouted at Faramir, pacing up and down, stomping his feet angrily so Faramir would know he meant business. "You thought you could come here and distract me while Gondor prepares for war!"

Faramir resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Sir, if my brother's in charge, Gondor's probably not going to prepare at all for this war. They'll run around like chickens with their heads cut off when you show up and won't be organized at all. They'll probably even end up fighting each other. But they'll win."

Théoden stopped pacing and squinted at Faramir. "How could they win?"

"Because that's just how Boromir rolls! He can get into more trouble in one week than most people could get into in their entire life, but he always ends up on top. Never gets the worse end of a deal. Ever."

Théoden stroked his beard and thought for a while. "Ever?" he finally asked.

"Ever."

"Huh," Théoden said, stumped.

"So," Faramir said, figuring it was now or never, "you could just call off the war, and then you wouldn't have to admit defeat at the hands of a teenage boy."

"Call off a war? Never!" For some reason, Théoden reminded Faramir of Boromir right then.

"Look," Faramir said, irritated, "people, innocent people, are just going to die if you go through with this. What will your subjects say if they find out you not only lost a war to a teenager, but that you lost a war over lawn furniture?"

"Well, it was rainbow-colored lawn furniture…"

"Who cares! Lawn furniture is lawn furniture!"

"But I can't back down! I, Théoden King, will not be overcome by Boromir of Gondor, an adolescent boy!"

"You know what, fine!" Faramir finally shouted, completely and utterly done with it all. "Have a war! Whatever! But when Gondor beats you, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, Faramir stalked right past the king of Rohan, out of the tent, and started his long journey back to Gondor.

Stupid brother. Stupid king of Rohan. And stupid, stupid, stupid Denethor for leaving Boromir in charge.

How in the world was Faramir supposed to get out of this one?