Faramir felt a sharp sting as the sword slashed through his shirt and bit into the skin of his shoulder. He heard cheers from the spectators as he stumbled back a few paces, clutching his own sword with white knuckles.

Determination burned in his grey eyes as he stared at his brother. Their fights were always well matched and although the outcome remained constant, many of the Steward's household enjoyed watching.

Faramir could have dealt with hundreds of spectators, but it was only one pair of eyes that really affected him. Denethor watched with quiet satisfaction and it was this surety in Boromir's victory that made Faramir's desperation to prove himself so strong.

It was the same in everything he did. Boromir was stronger, broader, more skilled in battle and according to their father, more loyal to his duty than Faramir could ever hope to be.

Faramir brushed a strand of dark hair from his wet face and lunged forwards, his light sword slipping under Boromir's defence, which was slowed by the knowledge that Faramir had never yet beaten him.

Boromir took a step backwards just in time to avoid being hit and suddenly he was off balance. He tried to keep his feet but a downward attack from Faramir forced him to lift his sword to defend himself. The force of Faramir's blow, fuelled by the chance of seeing his brother off balance, knocked Boromir to the ground.

A quick smile of triumph graced Faramir's lips as he realised how close he was to victory. Suddenly, Boromir's thick sword lunged at his sword arm and he pulled away just in time to avoid loosing a finger. Unfortunately, the surprise of the attack had loosened his grip and with a heavy swing at Faramir's blade, Boromir knocked it his grasp.

Faramir, now unarmed, backed up quickly and suddenly felt himself falling. A well-placed kick to the back of his ankle had swept his feet from under him and Boromir was over him in a second, the point of his sword against Faramir's neck.

Faramir heard laughing and he tore his eyes from his brother's and looked over at the crowd.

"I thought he might have won for a moment," one voice said.

"So did he!" another laughed loudly making Faramir's face burn with shame. His eyes shifted to those of his father and he felt the old man's piercing gaze upon him.

"You must give him points for determination," a man on Denethor's left said in a voice Faramir could just overhear. "Most youths would have given up long ago."

Denethor smiled slightly, the smile not reaching his eyes. His gaze bore into Faramir's and he wondered whether his father had known he could hear what was said next, or perhaps wanted him to.

"He will never defeat Boromir in battle, he has neither the skill nor the will to win."

Faramir felt tears fill his eyes and pushing his brother's sword away from his face, he fled the hall before they could fall. His face was red with shame and disappointment and his shoulder stung where it had been cut.

He burst into his room and flung himself on the bed, burying his face in his pillow. There was no one he could talk to, no one who would listen and console him. Why DID he try? Why didn't he just give up and let things be as they were.

Faramir heard a slight noise from the direction of the door but being sure it was his father coming to reprimand him for being childish and weak, he stayed where he was. He had never displayed his disappointment in public before, keeping it all held inside. He was known for his calm disposition and he felt as though he had betrayed himself with the momentary loss of control. It was his hopes that had made him react so, the chance of defeating his brother in battle, showing Denethor he was worthy of his love.

In a few moments he felt a weight descend onto the side of the bed and memories flooded to him. In his mind, his mother reached out and took his face in her cool hands. She told him everything was going to be fine, that his father loved him despite his words. And best of all, he would believe her.

Faramir felt a hand on his shoulder and he raised his hot face from his pillow, reluctant to let go of the dreams where his mother was still living and walking in the world.

Boromir's concerned face looked down at him, still flushed from the fight. He was sitting on the side of the bed, his grey eyes showing all the apology Faramir had grown to expect. He knew his brother regretted making him fall in the eyes of their father but he also enjoyed the praise and attention he received from being the favored child. There was nothing Boromir would ever do to change this, the admiration of Denethor meant too much to him. But Boromir did his best to make up for it and show his younger brother that the distinction so noticeably applied by their father meant nothing to him.

"I suggest an adventure," Boromir said, not at all referring to the past events, "What do you think about exploring the caves we saw at the base of Mindolluin, when we went to meet with the Embassy from Rohan?"

The suggestion surprised Faramir for he did not think Boromir would risk such an obvious trigger to anger from their father. He remembered the time Boromir had convinced their father to let his younger son accompany them on a conference between the two Kingdoms. Boromir was bound to attend by his position, as Denethor rarely left the city, but their father frowned upon Faramir joining the party. Boromir had convinced Denethor, Faramir knew not how, and they had sighted an opening in the rock some miles after passing out of the Pelennor Fields through the north gate in the Rammas.

"Just you and I," Boromir went on, undaunted by Faramir's doubtful looks.

"But Boromir, you are not allowed to leave the city without the palace guard. There are said to be Orcs roaming the plains."

Boromir smiled, "Just a story to make us too scared to go exploring. What do you say?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In less than fifteen minutes, Boromir had dragged Faramir up to the sixth level of Minas Tirith and he found himself standing self-consciously outside the stables with his hood up and grey cloak wrapped around him, listening in disbelief while Boromir bullied the young stable boy into giving them some horses. Threatened with being brought before Denethor if he refused, the boy relented and Boromir emerged a moment later with a broad smile and two strong horses.

Boromir handed the reins of the white one to his brother and jumped upon his own with the practiced ease of one who had been riding since infancy. His horse was black as night and its shining main glistened in the late afternoon sunlight.

"Race you to the gate!" Boromir shouted as he dug his heels into the horse's sides and thundered down the street. Faramir spared a quick grin before racing off after his brother.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The horses' hooves kicked up rich smelling dust from the plains as they galloped towards what they thought had been a small raised network of caves in the side of Mindolluin. It was north of the city, some leagues after they passed through the gate in Rammas Echor.

In the orange light, the dark and twisted passages held a promise of an exciting exploration and Faramir's heart leapt at the thought that they were free.

Being cooped up the city of stone gave Faramir some of the feelings it had occasioned to his mother. Although he without doubt loved the White City as a home, a place he could always return to, and as a symbol of who he was, he needed to have enough freedom to be able to roam the outdoors, exploring and learning.

His mother, Finduilas, had fallen into depression when Denethor took over the full duties of being the steward of Gondor. Faramir had always thought since that even without the companionship of her husband, she would have been happier if she had been able to leave the city and see nature again. She had died when he was only five years old.

Back then, Orcs had been said to be seen roaming the lands outside the city and as many of the creatures Denethor's army destroyed, the more appeared. This had prevented Finduilas from having the freedom she needed so desperately, and now it seemed to be happening all over again. The same problem was haunting her son.

Faramir hoped, rather than believed in Boromir's skepticism of the recent Orc sightings but as they grew nearer to the circle of caves, he began to grow uneasy. There was a change in the air, although Boromir told him he was imagining it. He could smell something other than the crisp evening breeze.

They neared the caves as the orange sun slipped below the horizon and the silhouettes of the rocks and shapes on the landscape became all the more threatening.

"Boromir, is it not time we turned back?" Faramir said quietly as the steadied their horses, the noises they made becoming uncomfortable in the silence of the evening.

"You're not afraid are you?" Boromir teased.

"You should ask yourself that question," Faramir responded readily, determined not to be branded a coward as well as his other faults, "you were the one who slowed the pace." He spurred his horse past his brother's and left Boromir smiling at his back.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Faramir kept his hand on the hilt of his sword as they entered the cave, urged on by the friction and the unspoken bet between them that proclaimed the one who turned back first to be the weaker.

The darkness swept over them in a wave, the cold air blowing in their faces as they ventured further into the rocky passage. The floor was sandy and in the light from Boromir's torch, Faramir was alarmed to see what looked like foot marks in the sand. There was a smell too, foul was the only word fit to describe it. Faramir now knew something was wrong; the caves were plainly lived in, and from the smell it was obvious the inhabitants were not friendly.

He was about to call his brother a warning when his breath caught in his throat. The passage had suddenly sloped heavily down and they found themselves having to run to stop themselves from stumbling.

Instead of evening out, the tunnel grew even steeper and their feet began slipping and sliding on the sand. Their alarmed voices echoed loudly in the confined space, bouncing of the walls eerily.

As he tried to steady himself, Faramir noticed vaguely that the tunnel was widening and the entrances opening on either side were becoming less frequent.

All at once, Boromir disappeared from sight and Faramir called out his name, searching with wide eyes for any sign of his brother. As he skidded closer to the place where he had lost sight of Boromir, he suddenly felt the ground under his feet fail and he pitched forwards, tumbling over three metres before hitting the ground hard.