Faramir gazed up at the dark sky, breathing in the cool night air. And for a small moment, he almost forgot the weight of his brother's arm around his shoulder and simply wished he could see the stars again. But either the night clouds were too heavy, or his own eyes had become unaccustomed to seeing things of such beauty, he did not know, but there were no stars that night.

He stumbled on the rocks under his feet as he emerged from the small tunnel into the larger anti chamber, and almost brought Boromir down with him, only just managing to catch himself in time. The Orc behind him gave him a shove and Faramir pressed his lips together, suppressing the urge to make a noise as pain flared through his ribs with the sudden movement and the additional weight of his brother. He had barely managed the walk through the low-roofed tunnels to the entrance, but he had not shown the Orcs any sign of this.

"If soldier boy here wants to come and see his little brother die," Lurbak had told them, "he walks on his own."

Boromir had managed only half the way before he collapsed against the cave wall and Faramir was forced to support him. Lurbak had not protested, for he was all too happy to let his opponent tire himself out before the fight. Faramir knew it would make the Orc's victory all the more impressive if it was done quickly.

Obviously, to have any hope of escape, Boromir needed to be alongside when, or IF in Faramir's opinion, he won the duel. In any case, Faramir could not see how they could make any attempt at escaping with Boromir in this condition.

Faramir grimly wished Boromir were not so heavily built for it would have made supporting him easier for the both of them. Boromir's rasping breath was close to his ear and with every step his brother took, Faramir could feel the shudder of pain as his injured leg bore his weight. When the journey through the tunnels had begun, Boromir had tried to speak, coaching Faramir on what he should concentrate on, but as time drew on, and Boromir grew weaker, he had to save all his energy for simply moving.

But as they emerged into the fresh air, Boromir seemed to regain some of his strength and his breathing grew more even. He even managed to straighten his back and look up at the sky they had missed for so long.

"The stars shine on us tonight, Faramir. It is a good omen," Boromir was breathless, but his words were comforting. Faramir looked up once again but still he could see nothing but darkness. His brow creased with worry and he began to wonder whether the cuts across his eyes were not more than what they seemed.

The Orcs spread out, forming what looked to be a rough circle. The creatures were noisy and excited. They shuffled their feet in expectation and talked in loud voices as the two boys emerged from the tunnel. Faramir suddenly found himself to be in the centre of what had become the field of combat and his heart began to thunder so loudly as to block out the shouts of the Orcs.

One of the Orcs approached them and took Boromir's arm in its black fingers. It grinned at them in an intimidating way and Faramir realised this could be the last time he would ever see his brother. He pulled him around into a hug, not caring that the Orcs yelled and whistled at his show of emotion. Boromir's eyes flickered with fear, and Faramir could feel the tremors that were shaking his brother's body. Boromir was afraid, and yet had enough faith to trust Faramir's ability. His brother had placed all his trust in him, and that meant more to Faramir than he could express. He was determined to show no weakness after this moment, nothing but anger would show upon his face and even death would be met bravely.

His brother was pulled away from him and Faramir stood, swaying slightly, while he watched with narrowed his eyes where they were taking Boromir. Inside he was trembling with fear and on the point of tears, but he took his own sword that the Orc offered him with a grave face and a steady hand.

Boromir had a clear view at the front of the circle. He was standing unaided, and Faramir tried to convince himself that through this positioning they might have some hope. It was through Lurbak's arrogance that Boromir was given a place at the front, to make sure he was watching when they killed his little brother. Faramir swallowed, no, he could not think that way. Hope brought opportunity, and if he had enough strength to believe in himself, he might just get to see the stars again.

Drawing a shaky breath, he tried to imagine there was no one watching him. Faramir's thoughts flickered back to all the other times he had been standing in this position, waiting nervously to fight a duel. Despite never winning against Boromir, Faramir's combat teacher, Master Nuridin had always been insistent that he prove himself against others of his own age. His teacher had always entered him, despite numerous protests on his part, in duels for the youngsters. Later on, when he had grown older and more adept, he proved himself among the youths. Faramir knew every stage of mental preparation, every thought he should be thinking, and every thought he should banish from his mind.

At that moment, surrounded by Orcs and staring death in the face, Faramir promised himself that if he were somehow to escape and return home, he would thank Nuridin for his vigilance.

He remembered how amazed he had been to find that he seemed to have a natural talent for swordplay. Nuridin had seen this and made it his own duty to train him. Perhaps he could have even improved upon his talent, as Boromir had, instead of 'burying himself in the library' as Denethor had put it.

Despite having fought many duels, never had he fought under such pressure, with so much depending on him. This was most likely their last chance of escape, and if they did not use it, he would die and Boromir would be trapped here until the Orcs found a way to claim their vengeance.

Lurbak sauntered out from within the group of Orcs, he circled Faramir once, looking the boy over as if, Faramir thought, he was sizing him up for a coffin. But if he died here, there would be no such reverence, his death would be painful and drawn out. His body . . . perhaps they would burn it. Faramir shuddered, fire was such a powerful and terrible force. Or maybe they would send his body to Denethor. What would the Steward say and think, would his thoughts only be for the one left behind, praising the heavens it was the younger lying dead and not the elder?

Lurbak was the first to make a move, and Faramir was hardly ready for it. The great Orc thrust its sword towards him with such power that parrying the blow sent him sprawling backwards. He hit the ground, his sword still clutched tightly in his hand. The surrounding Orcs erupted into yells and cheers. Faramir thought he could hear Boromir's voice among the foul cries and although he was quite possibly imagining it, it gave him courage.

Lurbak moved forwards, raising his sword and preparing to strike before his opponent could rise. Faramir waited till the moment before the stroke fell, then rolling out of the way, he clambered to his feet. Lurbak's sword cut deep into the earth and for a moment the Orc had to struggle to retrieve it, giving Faramir the time to recover himself.

Lurbak turned, his eyes blazing with hot fury at being taken in by such a simple trick. Faramir took the opportunity to wipe his sweaty hand upon his shirt before steadying both hands upon the hilt once more.

Lurbak came at him again, and Faramir carefully noted that patience was a virtue Lurbak did not posses. He dodged the advancing blade, making use of one of his few advantages, speed. He managed to also avoid the next few blows, forcing Lurbak to change his position if he wanted to attack. The battle had already gone on for longer than the Orc expected, Faramir could see it in the Orc's face.

"Stand still and face me like a man!" the Orc growled, his frustration clearly showing. Faramir was tiring, and knew that although he was trying to drag the fight out for as long as possible, he was going to have to slow down. Faramir focused his hopes on Lurbak's anger and frustration being a weakness, and tried to think of a way of turning them against the Orc.

He slowed to a halt, pretending Lurbak's comment had affected him. The Orc was breathing hard, holding his twisted blade before him as he slowly advanced. Faramir backed up towards the line of Orcs behind him. He did not turn his head, but soon he could feel their presence and after taking one more step, he raised his sword.

Lurbak smiled, still moving forwards, obviously relieved that Faramir was going to play by his rules. Faramir let the Orc come so close to him that he could hear it's heavy breathing.

The giant sword came up and rushed straight at him and he flung himself to the ground, feeling the blade pass over his head. A sickening crunsh marked the moment Lurbak's sword passed into the chest of the creature who had stood behind him, and Faramir wasted no time in rolling away before the dead body slumped to the ground. Faramir raised himself to his knees while Lurbak was trying to retrieve his blade from the body of his dead comrade, and using both hands, Faramir drove his sword into the toe of Lurbak's boot.

The Orc let out a horrible yell and spun around, his arm out stretched so that it glanced off the side of Faramir's head. He was thrown backwards with the force of the blow, and to his horror he felt his sword slip from his grasp. He landed on his back, his head spinning and so dizzy that he could not tell which way was up.

While he lay there, unable to comprehend movement of any kind, he heard Boromir's voice shouting for him to move. He swallowed his nausea and tried to search around the dusty ground for his sword. His eyes were so dim that the shapes of the Orcs around him were only black shadows, and the night sky, becoming brighter as dawn approached, was grey and dark.

Suddenly, even the faint glow of the sky disappeared as a shadow towered over him. A foot slammed into his wrist, preventing any further attempts to recover his weapon and his vision cleared enough reveal Lurbak standing over him. To Faramir's great relief, he saw that the Orc had not had enough time to retrieve his sword before being stabbed in the foot. Even if Faramir's small attack had done nothing to injure the Orc, at least now they were both unarmed.

Despite the numbing pain that was shooting through his hand, Faramir still managed to manoeuvre his fingers enough to search for his sword. When the tip of his finger suddenly touched something hard and cold, he almost wept with relief. Lurbak would have to lift the foot that was crushing his hand in order to make any further move in the way of attack, and when he did, Faramir might have just enough time to recover his sword. Despite being completely at the Orcs mercy, Faramir had to smile when he thought of the way he had been in the Orc's position only two or so days ago, thinking he had won against Boromir Yet his brother had still won. There was hope. If only he could stay calm and focus on what he had to do, there was a chance.

Faramir closed his eyes as Lurbak shifted more of his weight onto the foot pinning his arm to the ground. He tried not to imagine what Boromir would be thinking at this moment, and just continued using his trembling fingers to edge the sword towards himself.

"So," Lurbak said loudly, in the direction of Boromir. "You said even your brother could defeat me? Did you really believe this little runt could have any chance?"

Lurbak lifted his foot, and Faramir just managed to close his fingers around the sword hilt, before the heavy boot smashed into his already injured ribs. A searing flash of light and pain exploded his senses, and he could not help crying out. Through all this though, his fingers remained tightly wrapped around the sword-hilt. The roaring in his ears faded and he heard all the other Orcs laughing and yelling. They had obviously been warned not to interfere. Faramir wondered whether their loyalty came from devotion to their leader, or fear of being punished for disobeying orders. If it were the latter, Boromir would be correct when he said the band of Orcs would weaken without their leader. Therefore, Faramir's mind finally cleared and became focused on one thought. Lurbak had to die.

Lurbak was still turned towards his brother, and Faramir began to drag himself to his knees. With his left hand pressed against his ribs, and his right holding the sword he had finally reclaimed, he gazed over at Boromir.

"I did believe my brother could defeat you," Boromir said steadily, and to Faramir he looked stronger and braver than he had for days. "And I still do believe it."

Faramir smiled grimly, and edged up behind the Orc as Lurbak took several steps towards Boromir. Faramir was pleased to see Lurbak was limping on his right foot; his attack must have done some damage after all. The Orc laughed at Boromir and spat viciously at the ground in front of him.

"Well then," Lurbak said triumphantly, "I'll enjoy watching your faith die as I kill him."

Lurbak turned, expecting to find Faramir on the ground. He was not in the least ready for the sword thrust that sunk deep into his abdomen. Faramir wrenched his sword free, and the Orc staggered back a few paces, swaying on his feet. Faramir stared in dread anticipation to see whether the wound would be enough to take the Orc down. But whether through not being unaffected by the blood spilling from the wound, or realising that he had been defeated and had nothing left to lose, Lurbak swung a heavy punch at Faramir's head, who was able to avoid it easily. Unarmed and slowed by his injury, Lurbak could do nothing more than spit a curse at the two boys and make another swing at Faramir.

The Orcs around Boromir moved back to accommodate for their captain and the battle, not having seen Faramir's sword pass through the Orc's stomach. Lurbak, showing surprising intelligence for his kind and amazing endurance to the wound that must have been sapping his strength, seemed at last to realise that even before he had accepted the duel, the two boys had planned this as their escape attempt.

Faramir watched in horror as the injured Orc threw himself at Boromir. Lurbak's face showing his intention that if he were to die from the wound Faramir's sword had given him, he would take Denethor's heir with him.

There was a struggle in which Faramir could do nothing for fear of hurting Boromir as well as Lurbak, while they tumbled over each other in a desperate wrestling match. The other Orcs were in the same position, unable to act while their captain was in the fight. Faramir risked a quick glance to where they stood, it seemed for a moment that they wanted Lurbak to lose, he was not a good captain to them, and the chance of seeing him killed would give the others hope that they might become the next leader.

There was a sound like a weapon striking armour, and Faramir swiftly looked back to where his brother was fighting. All was still, and even the other Orcs seemed paralysed with confusion over who had won. Faramir felt as if time itself had stopped, and had to force himself to break the spell and throw himself down beside the two bodies.

Both lay still, and for a moment Faramir feared both Lurbak and his brother had been slain in the struggle. There was no doubt Lurbak was dead. A great patch of dark blood gradually soaked the back of his clothes. And though he would have liked to feel pity for the Orc, Lurbak's deep hatred and malice had destroyed any compassion Faramir could have felt for him upon his death. With a great effort, he pushed the giant Orc's dead body away from his brother. To his delight and overwhelming relief, Boromir lay on his back, breathing hard with Gorburg's small knife stained with Lurbak's blood clutched in his hand.