His whole body ached and his head spun. Faramir felt a strong grip on his arm and managed to pull himself up groggily, using it for support. His eyes widened with horror, his mouth opened and he just stared. And they stared back. Then laughed.

Up to thirty Orcs stood, or slouched on the rocks before them, hungry yellow eyes fixed upon the two boys who stood backed up against the rock wall they had fallen from.

The opening above stood just out of reach, enticing and frustrating.

Faramir glanced at his brother and seeing he had drawn his sword, managed to pull his own from its sheath. Boromir's face was smeared with blood, running from a deep cut on his temple he must have received from the fall. But his determination gave Faramir heart, at least they would face the enemy with pride and dignity. Together.

Boromir's mouth was set in a hard line, his eyes cold and determined. Faramir tried to look as brave as his elder brother but his heart quaked at the thought of being so outnumbered. Memories of his battle training came at him in a rush of words and movements, then his mind stuck on the one thought that he had never actually killed another creature. He had fought in many skirmishes, but had always had many others to protect him and the necessity to kill never arisen.

The Orcs came forwards in a rush, malicious grins directed at the courage in which the intruders faced such a hopeless situation. Faramir realised he had shut his eyes when the first assault came and if Boromir's sword had not blocked the downward thrust from the Orc's twisted weapon, both brothers would have been crushed.

He realised Boromir was standing in front of him, protecting him from the intensity of the battle. Faramir could not let Boromir take the full force of the assault alone, he pushed away the arm that shielded him and was immediately surrounded by the violence of the fight. Blow after blow rained down upon them and Faramir felt as though his sword arm would collapse under the strain. He parried, stabbed and did anything he could to avoid being skewered by the bent swords and scimitars wielded by the enemy. He noticed with confusion that the Orcs were not aiming at his head or chest, it was as though they were trying to disarm him. Dark possibilities lay behind this realisation but he had no time to ponder further as an Orc came at him from the side. Faramir's peripheral vision and quick reflexes saved him, he lunged forwards, ducking underneath his attacker's weapon, and felt the rush of air through his hair as the blade passed above. He rose, still moving forwards, and plunged his long sword into the Orc's chest.

Time slowed, and the horrible reality of his first kill had enough time to leave a serious impact for years after.

He heard the Orc's weapon crash to the ground and felt the horrible convulsions that ran through the creature's body as his sword pierced its heart. He wrenched the blade out and time began again.

The Orc's body slumped to the ground and Faramir's sword lay in his hand, stained with the blood of the creature. A wave of horror and nausea swept over him, he felt none of the exultation some felt when having the power over another's life. It was a precious gift, life, and however evil the creature was, what right did he or any other being have to take it.

The battle at hand overcame his senses once more. He noticed with confused horror that the Orcs seemed to be concentrating most of their energy of himself. Perhaps they thought that by taking one of them out of the fight, it would be easier to bring them both down. More Orcs had joined the fight after they saw the two boys would not be subdued easily and Faramir was finding it increasingly difficult to fend them off. The foul creatures pushed forwards, forcing them to draw back towards the wall with hardly enough room to swing their swords. All at once, a heavily armoured Orc rushed him, slamming into him so hard that he was thrown against the wall with all the air knocked out of him. He groaned, clutching his ribs with his other hand. He knew if he did not move quickly, it would be the end of him, but the struggle for breath made him dizzy and disorientated. Boromir was at his side in a second and his thick sword swiped through the air, decapitating the Orc that had pushed Faramir. Boromir's eyes lit up momentarily and Faramir saw rush of adrenalin and the enjoyment in his brother's eyes as he made the kill.

~"He has neither the skill nor the will to win"~

Denethor's words came back to him in a rush. Did Faramir's doubts about killing make him weak? Did his compassion prove his father right in saying that he could never equal his brother because of the said weakness in his disposition?

In the seconds that followed, he was drawn out of his moment of reverie as his world tipped upside-down. He saw the spear fly at him, but found he was unable to make his body react. His mind screamed at him to move but something inside him hesitated. Doubt? Fear? All he could do was watch as it flew towards him, his mind thinking numbly that his life would be over in less than a moment.

A shadow flickered across his vision and he felt a heavy shove on his shoulder. A violent shudder passed through the hand that was pushing him and he hit the ground, his head and shoulder colliding with the rock of the wall.

It was only with a tremendous effort that he raised himself again and saw the full implications of his short hesitation. His momentary amazement at being still alive changed quickly to horror when he saw his brother. Boromir was on the ground behind him, the spear that had been meant for him, lodged deep in his brother's thigh.

The sight was terrible, made even worse by the fact that it would not have happened if only he had moved faster. The wound did not seem fatal, but blood poured from it and had already soaked through his brother's pants leg.

"Why?" Faramir asked, holding up his sword and moving into a defensive position by his brother. "Why did you do it?" The Orcs, having drawn back a few paces, were regarding them with cruel satisfaction, knowing it would not take long to bring the younger boy down without the damaging sword of his brother to protect him.

Boromir grimaced, his face white, "you would have done it for me," he answered. Then he frowned. "If you get the chance," he was forcing the words now through clenched teeth, "get away, get help!"

"I will not leave you," Faramir said.

Although he knew the Orcs initial plan had been changed by Boromir's sacrifice, they were not put off in the least and they grinned in eager expectation as they closed in on him.

Faramir had done all he could. He had kept determinably calm, many Orcs had lost hands, eyes and limbs trying to break through his defence. He was fast and clever, every time the Orcs thought they had him trapped, his quick thinking got him out of danger.

Due to being outnumbered twenty to one, an Orc finally got under his sword, body-slamming him sideways so the access to his brother was cleared. Faramir was on his feet again at once, but too late. The Orc was at Boromir's side before Faramir could even get within a sword's length. But instead of cleaving Boromir's head from his body, which both boys had expected, the Orc pressed his sword against Boromir's heaving chest, its iron boot resting on his brother's sword arm. Faramir froze, his eyes fixed on the weapon that could end his brother's life in a moment.

"Drop it," the Orc growled, leaning more weight on Boromir's arm and making the young man close his eyes in silent agony.

Faramir did not hesitate. He opened his fingers and let his sword fall to the cave floor. Immediately, he was grabbed by rough hands and his arms were bound behind his back. The thick ropes were rough and so tight that they tore into his skin. He felt alone and afraid, Boromir seemed to have passed out with the pain leaving the Orcs to focus all their attention on him.

One of the Orcs shoved him roughly backwards towards the rock wall where Boromir lay. He stumbled and fell, landing on his back without being able to use his arms to cushion the fall.

He looked sideways at Boromir. His face was peaceful, free from the pain he would feel when he woke. The pool of blood beneath his leg made Faramir's stomach lurch and he thought for a moment that Boromir might not just be sleeping. Terror for his brother's life and at being left here alone overcame him and he scrambled towards the still body.

He was plucked up by another Orc who brought its face close to Faramir's, yellow, rotten teeth and foul smelling breath making him feel ill. He somehow managed to keep the fear from his face as he was lifted higher, but could not disguise the disgust and strange pity he felt for these loathsome creatures.

"He's not dead, you little runt," it laughed at him. Then grabbing him by the shoulders, it threw him back into the stone wall, holding him there with an iron grip. Faramir winced as the Orc's fingers dug into the cut he had recieved from Boromir's sword just a few hours ago.

Through angry, narrowed eyes, Faramir saw another Orc approach. This Orc was not overly large and its long bent arms and hunched shoulders gave the impression it was well adapted to their current home in the caves. There was blood running from a great wound across its eyes and Faramir supposed it had been one of the Orcs unlucky enough to get in the way of his precise swipes with the sword. The creature was obviously blind, for as it approached it seemed to be smelling rather than seeing its way.

Faramir pressed back against the wall as far as he was able, as the Orc approached, but the hands holding him prevented him from moving. The black hand reached out and finding his shoulder, it moved up to his throat, making it hard to breath.

"Tell me, boy, do you enjoy killing?" The Orc's face was a mass of torn black skin, Faramir wished he could turn away from it. The Orc loosened its grip so he could answer the question. The question to which they already knew the answer.

"I am no boy," Faramir said, avoiding the topic which he knew could lead to nothing but trouble. He bit his lip to stop himself making a sound when the blind Orc backhanded him across the face.

"Answer my question . . . boy," it said, emphasising the last word. "Do you enjoy feeling the blood on your hands, seeing the body of your foe fall in the dust at your feet?"

Faramir shuddered, "I do not," he said quietly, and heard the snickers of the Orcs behind the blind one. The Orc shook him roughly, "you are smarter than you look," it said, smiling dangerously, "there are so many things worse than death." Upon feeling Faramir's start of dismay at the comment, the Orc laughed, "Ah, I see now. You were attempting to be merciful?" He gestured to his destroyed eyes, then to Boromir's still form on the ground behind. "Perhaps your brother would like a taste of your mercy?"

The Orc let go of him, letting him take in the air his lungs craved. After the first gulp, the air tasted sick once more. The smell and feel of it was revolting, and it was not just the dirty Orc lair they were in, it was the Orcs themselves. The creatures seemed to revel in being unclean; their faces black and unwashed for who knew how long. The blind Orc moved away and drawing a crooked knife from its belt, it moved towards his brother. To Faramir's surprise, Boromir's eyes were open and he was staring at him. He wondered whether his older brother had heard everything; his weakness for killing. He prayed he had not heard. He did not want Boromir to believe he was really as useless as their father thought him.

Boromir's eyes shifted blearily to the Orc standing above him and following his line of sight, Faramir realised the meaning of the Orc's words.

"No! You can't! You can't!" He shouted and struggled to no avail, he was going to be made to watch while the Orc took vengeance by destroying for Boromir, what Faramir had destroyed for it. Boromir's life was centred around wars and battles. He thought of little else. How could his brother go on living if his eyesight was taken from him? A blind warrior would prove to be more of a hindrance than a help. This could not be happening!

But it was. The knife rushed downwards towards his brother's beautiful grey eyes. Faramir shut his own . . .