Note: Obviously, we don’t own the characters or places such as Denethor, Faramir, Anakin, Murtagh, Eragon, and Minas Tirith, but the ideas, such as the plot are original.

Chapter One: House Arrest

Faramir leaned against the high wall of Minas Tirith, looking up at the twinkling stars. However, hearing his father’s shout, Faramir reluctantly turned and went inside to see what had befallen the steward. He found Denethor seated at his desk, rummaging through papers. He paused, looking over a paper angrily, then stuffed into another large, untidy stack, then resumed rummaging through another mound, stopping every couple of papers to throw one into the quickly-growing heap.

“What’s the problem, father?” Faramir asked.

“You’re the problem!” Denethor shouted. “I brought this stack of papers from Boromir’s desk, but these papers are in your handwriting!”

Faramir glanced over the unfortunate sheets.

“Oh,” he said as sighing with relief. “I gave these to Boromir. He loved them, and said I was a great writer.”

“Humph,” Denethor muttered, irritably. “I don’t like you copying my conversations with people.”

“That wasn’t just a regular conversation!” Faramir defended.

“Of course it wasn’t a regular conversation. This is the one of when I almost got terminated as steward!” Denethor bellowed. “But I don’t like you spying on me.”

“Wait, which conversation was that?” Faramir asked eagerly.

“That’s the problem with you, Faramir!” Denethor barked. “Your head is always in the clouds. Not like Boromir,” he added, changing his tone. “Boromir is always very attentive of what is going on around him.”

Faramir shifted uncomfortably. Whenever his father started talking this way, he would go on and on about Boromir’s astonishing accomplishments, and Faramir’s unsatisfactory undertakings. But this time he didn’t. Instead he began silently reading one of the papers Faramir had written.

“Bring in the three men that have attempted murder on their lordships, Lloyerand, Barandor, and Trufnels,” Denethor said flatly.

“Yes, my lord,” Beregond said, obediently. He exited, and soon reappeared with three tall, foreign-looking men, one with almost black hair and dark appearance, another with pointed ears and angled features, and a third with brown hair and a daring look on his face.

“What are your names?” Denethor asked coldly.

Having read this, Denethor protested childishly, “I didn’t sound cold!”

“I just wrote what I saw and heard,” Faramir said mischievously.
Denethor humphed, but continued to read silently.

“Sauron,” the first answered sarcastically, in a low, controlled voice, with surprising emotion.

“I’m serious!” Denethor snapped. “What is your name?”

“Fine,” the dark haired young man said. “This is Eragon,” he said pointing to the freakishly elf-like young man. “This is Anakin Skywalker,” gesturing to the tallest young man with brown hair. “And I’m Murtagh.” He bowed with mock humility.

“Very well, Murtagh, Eragon, and Anakin Skywalker,” Denethor began, ignoring the disrespect paid to him. “You are charged with attempting to murder their lordships, Lloyerand, Barandor, and Trufnels. How do you plead?”

“Guilty!” Anakin piped up.

“Shhh,” Murtagh hissed at him. “Not guilty,” he answered, with superiority, addressing Denethor.

“Yes we are!” Anakin said, gamely.

“No we’re not,” Murtagh said, with a meaningful glance at Anakin.

“Oh, right. We’re not,” he said smiling innocently at Denethor. Denethor was not convinced.

“Actually, we weren’t trying to murder their lordships, we were just trying to…”

“Anakin!” Eragon hissed at him. “Don’t tell! Remember?”

“Oops! Sorry. I forgot. Oh well. Me Lord Denethor, we are guilty.”

“Not guilty!” Murtagh yelled at him, smacking his head in frustration. “Take it back. Just don’t say anything.”

“As you were caught red-handed, you are guilty, however you plead,” Denethor said, trying to sound stern to cover up his confusion. He succeeded very well.

“Unless you are colorblind, however you look at them, anyone can see our hands are not red,” Eragon said readily.

“Humph,” Denethor muttered.

“I didn’t humph!” Denethor griped to himself.

“Did too!” Faramir said, with a roguish glint in his eye.

“Did not!” Denethor shouted.

“Look, just keep reading, father. Please.”

“…Very well.”

Denethor paused.

“Very well. I condemn you…” Denethor paused for a moment, and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “To seven years of house arrest!” he finished impressively. To his disappointment and consternation, the three convicts did not seem at all dismayed at what he thought was a harsh punishment. Instead they began to turn red with suppressed laughter.

“Ummm,” Denethor began again, “I mean, instant death!” said Denethor condemningly. Anakin doubled over with laughter. Murtagh and Eragon stared at him.

“Stop it,” Denethor muttered.

“Make me,” Anakin said, swaggering forward.

“Quiet!” Murtagh hissed, although he was laughing himself.

“Ha-ha?” Denethor asked. “What’s so funny about being condemned to immediate death?”

“I don’t know. Anakin started it,” Eragon whined.

“Yes Anakin, why did you start laughing?” asked Murtagh.

“Because I’m as good as dead when Obi-Wan figures out I successfully stole and crashed his ship!” Anakin said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Although…” he added meditatively as an after thought, “Technically he shouldn’t care because he hates flying and never uses it.”

“Um… ok.” Denethor said. “ANYway, I’ll place you under house arrest, no matter how much you laugh, even if you laugh for the next seven years!” he stopped. “Tell me where you live,” he commanded. “I will have my guards escort you there immediately.”

“Make me,” Anakin repeated, swaggering forward once more.

“Anakin!” Murtagh said through his teeth. “How come you always get us in trouble?”

“I don’t know,” Anakin said thoughtfully.

“Never mind.” Murtagh sighed.

“WHERE DO YOU LIVE?” Denethor asked them in a bellow, bringing them back to the topic.

“Anakin already said it: Make us!” Eragon said.

“I said make me, Eragon. Not make us,” Anakin contradicted.

“Oh, right.”

“Well now I’m saying, make us!” Anakin continued. “Murtagh, are you with us?”

“I suppose I’ll join you,” Murtagh said.

“You’ll never get the information out of us, you fiend!” Eragon said, dramatically.

“Fine,” Denethor said. “Beregond, do we have any empty houses?”

“Too many,” Beregond murmured.

“Did he really say that?” Denethor asked the author of this commentary, Faramir.

“Uh… yeah,” Faramir said.

“Humph,” Denethor said, scowling.

“Humph all you want,” Faramir said grinning. “Just keep reading.”

“Then take some of your men, and transfer these criminals to an empty house in Minas Tirith,” Denethor commanded, smiling secretly.

Beregond and 8 of his soldiers escorted the three convicts to 7 years of house arrest.

“Thanks for the absolutely horrifying punishment!” Eragon called back to the sulking Denethor.

“ERAGON!” Murtagh and Anakin scolded together. “He’s not supposed to know we like his sentence!”

Then the three convicts, the eight soldiers, and their captain disappeared into the shadows of twilight.

“They liked their sentence?!” Denethor asked angrily.

“That’s what they said,” Faramir said carelessly.

“Humph- I mean, argh,” Denethor said, determined not to humph anymore. “I’ll keep it reading.”

“But you can’t,” Faramir said, smiling.

“Oh, yes I can!” Denethor replied, irritated. “Just watch me! Wait- is that the end of the story?”

“Yep,” Faramir answered him.

“But… I want to… Faramir! That was awful! How could you leave your readers…? How could you… How could you just… just stop right there?!”

Faramir looked smug. “Because then you found me, and you wouldn’t let me write anymore,” he answered Denethor.

“Faramir!” Denethor shouted at him. “Go to your room this instant!”

“Fine,” Faramir growled in reply, stomping off.

Please, please, please review, or (muahahahaha) i won’t add another chapter!

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