The usual: I don't own the characters, I don't make money off of them, ect. Actually, a couple very minor characters are made up, but that's about it.

One more thing: Right now, Boromir is supposed to be 8, and Faramir is only 4. Any misunderstanding is my fault, I wasn't really clear enough. Don't worry though, they will grow throughout the story. Thanks for reading!


The eight year old boy carefully crawled through the grasses near Minas Tirith. His small wooden sword was in his hand, and his bright gray eyes were eagerly surveying the landscape. To his right, he could hear the slow gurgling of the great river, the Anduin, as it crept slowly on its course towards the sea. He was not interested in the water, however, for his eyes were focused on a tall figure ahead of him, a soldier who was currently watching over the lands around the city. The boy needed to get just a few feet closer, a few short feet....

"Bor..o..mir!!!" A high pitched, stumbling shout caused the boy to jump. He groaned as he heard the shuffling footsteps of his younger brother approach, then stop beside him. "You got to go back home before Daddy finds you!"

Boromir dragged himself to his feet, and attempted unsuccessfully to brush some of the dust from his clothes. "Faramir, did you HAVE to shout?" he started. "I was thiiiiissss close to catching the soldier off his guard." He held his thumb and forefinger close together. "And now look, you had to go and ruin it." He was disgusted with the spoiling of his plans.

Faramir failed to notice the look on his brother's face. Instead, he waved eagerly at the soldier, who was now watching both boys, turned around, and toddled away. "Just like a baby, a little four year old baby," thought Boromir. He knew however, that he was doomed to follow the other's lead, or risk getting caught outside the city walls and face the wrath of an extremely angry father. Sighing, he picked up the wooden sword he had dropped, and trotted after his brother.


The distance back to the city was not great, for Boromir did not dare travel far from its walls, lest he be unable to make it back unnoticed. Soon the two brothers were within sight of the first gate. Faramir thought nothing of simply walking casually past, and would have done so if the other had not grabbed him and dragged him to the ground.

"Are you crazy?" snapped Boromir. "We have to sneak in when the eyes of the guards are elsewhere, unless of course, you want to get caught." He slowly began to move through the grass, motioning for Faramir to follow. Faramir was about to say something, but stopped when he saw the look on his older brother's face. Boromir was scanning the gate, checking for any sign of the guards. Normally, there were people on watch at all times; however, today had been rather unusual. There was something akin to a festival being held in the city, not a true festival of course, for there were currently many problems with Mordor, and no reason for great celebration. However, the Steward Denethor had noticed the sadness of the citizens of late, and, as there had been less fighting this month than previous ones, he arranged for a modest holiday to improve city mood. Fewer guards than usual were on watch (though scouts were still about), and occasionally, the guards would sneak a few moments away from their post.

Boromir knew that, even if he saw a guard at the gate now, he could count on him leaving briefly at some point. However, at that moment, he did not need to worry, for no one appeared to be keeping watch.

"Look," he whispered. "The post is clear. We must take this opportunity and!" He leaped to his feet and bolted towards the gate as fast as his young legs could carry him. Faramir got up after him and followed, though his shorter steps caused him to fall back a bit. Within a minute's time, they were back inside the great white walls of the city. The guard had not yet returned.

Boromir had a boyish grin on his face. "See, now that's how you get back into Minas Tirith!" he exclaimed. "Now, hurry up! We have to get back to the festival before father discovers where we've been. And, by Valar, if you see anyone you know, don't say anything! Then it's sure to get back to father." Faramir nodded emphatically. His eyes were shining with admiration of his older brother, and as Boromir walked away, he stumbled after him.

Boromir was very familiar with this part of the city. He often snuck through the main gate in an attempt to escape the confines of the walls surrounding his home. Now he led his brother through the streets, dodging people and carts, towards the second gate. There were many gates to go before they reached the highest level, where the Steward resided, and the distance was long, for the gates did not neatly line up together. It took a long time before they reached the final gate, but Boromir was not worried, for he saw that the festival had not ended, and knew his father would still be occupied.

A white paved court greeted the two boys as they strode past the last gate. There were many people about, eating and chatting around a beautiful white fountain. Nearby was a tree, though it appeared completely devoid of life, and seemed out of place in the white, living splendor of the city. Boromir decided that his best course of action was simply to blend in with the crowd, and pretend that he had not gone anywhere. He casually slipped in amongst the people, forgetting about the dust that lay upon his body. Faramir copied him, though being younger, did not fully understand his brother and thus was not quite as discrete. Nobody appeared to notice anything unusual.


While Boromir and Faramir attempted to blend in with the crowds and enjoy the small celebration, Denethor was touring the city, along with a few others. He carefully examined the expressions on the faces of the citizens; the festivities, after all, were meant to improve morale. Denethor sighed slightly. Times were becoming difficult for his people, the people of Gondor. Evil seemed to daily creep upon their borders, coming ever closer. For awhile, they had successfully been repelling Orc attacks on the outskirts of the country, but the death of many young men weighed heavily on the hearts of the Steward. "Alas," he thought to himself, "times are becoming darker as the days pass. Right now, Gondor is still strong, but slowly, slowly these attacks will wear us down, and one day we may be too weak to repel them." He sighed again, more openly this time, and one of the others with him glanced at him questioningly.

"Is something wrong, my lord?" asked the man, called Retegor.

"No, nothing now, but alas! I fear for Gondor."

Retegor was about to speak again, but suddenly another man ran up. "My lord, my lord!" the man cried, panting. "Two boy...were seen...entering the city gates, unescorted. Apparently they were sneaking back after being outside, alone in the Pelennor! I thought you ought to know."

An angry look appeared on the Steward's face. He had a fair idea as to what children would be foolish enough to venture outside the city walls. Silently he cursed his eldest, and quickly turned towards on the street, striding in the direction of the great hall at the city's peak. Retegor faithfully followed him.


Boromir felt slightly relieved when, a half hour after his arrival, nobody made any comments to him regarding an excursion outside the city. He relaxed, and decided all was well. Faramir, meanwhile, seemed to be having the time of his life. He was thrilled to be tagging along behind his brother, almost like a second shadow, and the excitement of their short journey outside the city shone in his face. All thoughts of being caught seemed forgotten.

Suddenly, a tremendous roar of fury echoed through the courtyard.


Denethor had returned.