The amazing brooding ranger, Faramir, led his men to Osgliath, dragging with them the two hobbits and they’re slave, guide, whatever.

In the distance Osgiliath burned, which while pretty couldn’t be good for the local insurance companies. Even now they ran through the streets, trying to get away from the claiments. They had explained that the fire insurance did not cover orcs, so unless they could prove that the fire was caused a potato in the oven, they were up a gumtree with out a paddle.

The orcs shot them for fun.

Faramir stood on the crest of the hill, doing what he did best. He knew that somehow, in the senile wastelands of his father’s mind, this was his and only his fault.

He was disturbed in his brooding by the squeaking voice of Frodo Baggins, who had done nothing but complain the whole way; “My feet hurt, this rope is too tight, this guy keeps grabbing me,the ring is evil and it’s getting heavier and will summon all evil to it.”

How Boromir put up with this was beyond him.

The only reason he was with them was because of the ring, which Faramir hoped would keep his dad busy so he could get in some good brooding time.

“Faramir! You must let me go!”

A couple of his men grabbed the little pain in the butt, thus sparing Faramir the trouble of knocking him out.

They decended into the city, which was reined in chaos. Arrows, rocks and insurance claims flew all over the place. They ducked, dodged and jumped around until they were greeted by someone who seemed to be in charge.

“Faramir, the orcs have taken the eastern shore. By nightfall we will be overrun.”

Faramir handed over the two hobbits, “Please take them off my hands, take them to my father, tell him to shut up and he’ll get a prezzie.”

The dude in charge looked at him quizzically, “Tell him it’s powerful, it’ll keep him busy for hours.”

Frodo was doing his way out freaky look, which Faramir had decided was just a bid for attention. His gardener however, totally milked it and started yelling at Faramir, who was about to put him on ignore, when he heard the name “Boromir”.

“You wanna know why your brother died? He tried to take the ring from Frodo, after swearing an oath he tried to kill him.”

There was a dead silence (well, not really, the battle was still going on, and insurence claims were still being made). Everyone stopped and stared at Faramir, who for once showed a slight emotion.

His one thought was, “Ah crap.”