Yesss! And the sequel. I hope you enjoy this as much as you did the first. And I'm assuming you did enjoy the first, or you wouldn't be reading this. I hope. Because if you didn't enjoy the first, you'll hate this. Anyway. Yeah. Here comes the big obvious next thing:

Disclaimer: As I said before I do not own any of these people. Or places. Etc. I already said this in M: S 1 so I don't know why I'm repeating it.

Yes, I'm crazy. I knew that.

Before I start though, a HUGE thanks to everyone who read and reviewed Mission: Suicide. I love you guys! I'm obsessed with reviews. They make me so happy.

Here it is, finally: The epic Mission: Survival. Tada!

Denethor sat once more upon his throne, wrapped in a blanket and shivering uncontrollably. He was still trying to recover from being dunked in the inner-city swimming pool, and was afraid he was catching a terrible cold.

'Faramir!' he called. 'Faramir!'

His youngest son staggered in, and fell to his knees before the throne.

'Ah, Faramir,' said Denethor, rather taken aback by his son's unusual entrance. 'Call Dr. Crane.'

'I already did,' said Faramir. 'But I didn't think you'd care enough about me to have me call the doctor.'

'I don't,' snapped Denethor. 'I want the doctor for myself. Why do you need a doctor, anyway?'

Faramir looked at him incredulously. 'Can't you see?' he demanded. 'I've got, like, fifty arrows sticking out of me!'

'Oh, get over it,' said Denethor unfeelingly. 'Boromir had, like, a hundred.'

'And he died!' moaned Faramir. 'Physician! Quick!' He fell completely to the floor, just as the doctor rushed in.

'Don't bother with him,' said Denethor. 'I'm catching a derrible gold id by dose.' He sneezed.

'Take that,' said the doctor, tossing him a bottle. 'Faramir!' He shook the prostrate form. 'He's very badly wounded. I must operate immediately,' he said.

'Yes,' said Denethor, 'take him away. He's getting blood all over the marble floor.'

The physician lugged Faramir out of the room. Denethor felt uncomfortable. Faramir was glaring rather disconcertingly at him over the doctor's shoulder. He looked dangerous.

!

'I've had enough,' yelled Faramir, when they were out of earshot of his father. 'He treats me like a dog. I won't stand for it any more! I'm calling Social Services!'

'I don't think you should do that,' said the doctor, who was a good friend of his. 'He is the Steward of Gondor.'

'But Jon, he won't be for long. That ranger is going to appear any day and kill him off, anyways.'

'But if you have the Social Services investigate, they might find out about his frequent suicidal attempts. And Boromir doesn't want anyone to find out about that!'

'Hang Boromir!' said Faramir. 'Boromir's dead! I don't need to do whatever he says anymore.'

'Still,' said the doctor, 'I thought it might be a better idea to get him admitted to Banwell. I could help you out with that. It would be easy, and also it may get you the position of Steward.'

Faramir's eyes lit up, rather like Denethor's often did. 'Yes, that's true!' he said. 'Do it at once. Quick, man!'

The doctor hurried off to sign the correct papers. As a licensed psychologist he had the authority to declare Denethor insane, and he was rather happy to. He was not a little fond of incarceration.

!

Faramir paced back and forth in front of the throne room door, biting his nails. From the room there came loud shrieks and shouts of 'No, never! I won't!' Faramir paced quicker.

Out the door, after several minutes of this discomfort, came several men carrying out a body. It was hard to recognize the Steward of Gondor in his brand new pale blue strait jacket. He looked very different from the father Faramir knew.

'Faramir, don't let them do this to me!' begged Denethor, as he was dragged away. Faramir watched nervously. Denethor would never cease to be intimidating to his youngest son, even when safely strait-jacketed.

The late Steward was put into a horse-drawn cart, and started the trip to Banwell Asylum.

!

It was a long and uncomfortable journey to Banwell. The asylum was all the way in Mirkwood, a place where Denethor had never been before. The cart jostled and shook, and his new outfit was by no means comfortable. Even his traveling companions offered no relief to the dreariness, being rather boring people. Two of them were soldiers, one was his manservant, and the other was Dr. Crane, who had come along to tour the asylum for the educational experience. None of them said a word the whole journey. Perhaps it was because, though they had all always known him to be insane, a strait jacket on someone gives people a sense that the person must be dangerous; and one does not usually like to speak to dangerous people.

When they finally reached the asylum in the depths of the forest, Denethor was hot, tired and cramped. So he was very annoyed to discover that he had to go through a complete physical before getting any rest.

'Ahem,' said the Elf in charge. He was tall and blonde, like most of the Elves, and the only thing in fact that distinguished him from any of the others working in the nut-house was the silver pin on his white overcoat that said, 'Ranadul, PhD'.

'Ahem,' he repeated. 'Please come this way, gentlemen.' He led them to a padded cell. There were no windows except for one 5 by 5" one in the door. The only furniture was a metal bedstead with stark white sheets, a table with nothing on it, and a straight-backed chair. It looked perfectly calculated to make one insane. 'This will be your room during your stay here, Mr. Denethor.'

'You expect me to stay here?' screamed Denethor. 'Never!' He struggled, but the jacket could not be exited.

'He is easily excitable, I see,' said Ranadul in a low voice to Dr. Crane, looking at the former Steward as if he were a laboratory experiment. 'I may need to move him into a stronger room.'

Denethor looked at them aghast. A stronger room than this?

The Elf turned back to his patient. 'I'll let your manservant unpack your belongings while we test your physical condition,' he said. 'Come this way, please.'

!

Faramir had watched as the cart carrying his father disappeared from view. At last it was out of sight. Faramir gave a sigh of relief. Never more would he have to hear the yell of 'Faramir!'

'FARAMIR!' yelled a voice behind him. He whirled around.

'B-b-b-borimir!' he stuttered. 'I thought you were dead!'

'I was saved, by a bunch of fans!' said Boromir.

Faramir wasn't sure how to respond to this. He shifted uncomfortably. Boromir glared at him.

'I heard that you had father incarcerated,' he said sternly. 'Is that true?'

'The doctor advised it!' said Faramir nervously. 'You know as well as I do that he's a complete nut.'

'Argh,' growled Boromir, pacing back and forth. 'He's the Steward! You can't just have him admitted to a loony house!'

Faramir straightened up. 'Well I did. So there. And now I'm Steward, so I can do whatever I like.'

'No, rightfully I should be. I'm older than you. But it doesn't really matter, since that ranger is going to declare himself king tomorrow anyway. But I'm going to go get dad out of Banwell. And you're coming with me!'

'No! He'll kill me!' cried Faramir, greatly alarmed.

'That's true,' agreed Boromir. 'I don't want him to be hanged for murder.' He resumed his pacing, which had ceased for a moment. 'I'll have to go myself.'

'Go ahead,' said Faramir, 'but don't bring him back here. I don't want to. . . Oh!' He fell silent and his eyes glazed over.

'What are you ogling at?' asked Boromir, and turned around. In the doorway he found a lady with long, wavy blonde hair.

'Hello, Faramir,' she said.

'Eowyn!' gasped Faramir. Boromir rolled his eyes.

'Goodbye. I need to leave,' he said. But the two of them didn't seem to hear him. He stood, irresolute for a moment, waiting for some acknowledgement. Then he exited rather hurriedly.

'Ugh,' he thought, and shivered.

!

Ranadul, PhD, in his examinations, found that Denethor was pretty sort, for an older fellow. That's why he had such a hard time putting the strait jacket, which he had taken off for medical purposes, back on.

'Do not touch me again, mental man,' said Denethor threateningly, holding his arms in front of his face in a defensive posture. He backed against the wall.

Ranadul decided it was best to let someone else deal with this.

'Aeolia,' he said into a small black microphone. 'You're needs in room 1312.' (There were over 5,000 rooms in Banwell asylum.)

Aeolia, a tall dark Elf, appeared in the doorway. He stood for a moment, taking in the spectacle, before entering and advancing towards Denethor.

'Hold still,' he said menacingly, pulling a hypodermic syringe and a bottle from his overcoat, 'this will only take a minute.'

'Noooooooooooooo!' screamed Denethor, but it was too late. With a quick deft movement, Aeoria jabbed him with his needle.

He felt the cold steel enter his flesh. He renewed his wail, but it dwindled into a strangled gulp as he sank to the floor unconscious.

Ranadul observed him calmly before glancing at his watch. 'Tuck him away,' he said, leaving the room to harass some other unfortunate victim.

Aeolia accordingly did, putting the strait jacket upon the prostrate form and dragging him away to room 1313, where he would be staying.

!

Boromir had survived. As I have not yet explained this curious occurrence I think it wise to do so now.

Boromir had, of course, been travelling with the fellowship of the Ring, until one day they were attacked by not-just-any-Uruk-Hai. In his brave defence of the poor, weak, helpless, adorable... anyway, the two Hobbits, Pippin and Merry, he was pierced by many arrows. Unable to aid the hapless Halflings, he watched helplessly as they were dragged away towards Isengard. Merry and Pippin suffered much at the hands of the Orcs, but that is another story.

As he lay perishing, lagging Legolas, lingering Gimli, and loitering Aragorn finally showed up, late as usual. Aragorn rushed to his fallen enemy and knelt beside him, and after a long and arduous speech to him, Boromir expired.

Or he seemed to expire. In actuality, he had only fainted. But unfortunately his loyal companions did not realize that life still coursed through his veins, and decided to give him an indecent burial. So they shoved him in a boat, and let him drift peacefully down the river towards the 1,000 foot drop of a waterfall.

They watched as the boat neared the crest of the waterfall, and then turned away. They turned again rather quickly though when they heard a blood-curdling scream from the boat as it tipped over the edge.

Gimli winced. Aragorn raised an eyebrow. Legolas looked pained. Deeply.

'He wasn't dead,' he observed. As an Elf, he was very fond of stating the obvious.

'Oh, well,' said Aragorn, looking fondly at the mithril wrist guards he had taken from Boromir's helpless body.* 'Too late now. Let's go hunt some Orc!' They did, but this is another story also.

But somehow Boromir had survived the thousand-foot plunge, and since the water at the bottom of the falls was quite deep, he missed banging his head on a rock. He rose to the surface sputtering, and grabbed for his horn, but it floated away down the river.

'No!' he cried. This shout was heard by Eomer of Rohan and his band of men, who rode to the bank of the river in curiosity.

'Hey, look,' said Eomer. 'There's Boromir in the river! Let's fish him out.' So they did, and Boromir decided to name Eomer in his will. But that is one more story to be told at a different date.

!

Unfortunately (there are a lot of unfortunates in this story, so get used to it), Denethor didn't know that Boromir survived, or that he was at that moment riding full speed for Mirkwood. In fact, he didn't know anything, because he was unconscious from Aeolia's sleeping medication.

When he awoke, he was back in the stark white room, laying on his back, in the incorrigible strait jacket. It was silent; no one came or went, and there was no clock in the room, so he didn't even know the time. He lay there for a great while, perhaps hours, so he had lots of time to think. And after a great while he came to a conclusion.

He concluded that he didn't want to die after all.

And this makes sense. After all, if you're going to die, you should do it properly, by poisoning yourself, or jumping off Minas Tirith wreathed in flames. You shouldn't do it against your will in a loony house.

Now another question came to his thoughts. How would he keep from dying? This was a very hard question to answer, because, for one, he didn't know who was more dangerous: the nuts in the nut-house, or the nuts that ran it.

He unfortunately didn't have much time to think about this, because in the door walked Aeoria. He was carrying a silver tray. Denethor was horribly worried that this tray contained something awful like medicine or scalpels, but these fears were relieved when the dark Elf placed the tray upon the table, and Denethor could observe the contents.

On it were some sandwiches; his dinner, he rightly guessed. But with this discovery came a new fear.

Poison? ? ?

'Eat,' said Aeoria.

'No!' said Denethor.

'Eat,' said Aeoria.

'NO!' said Denethor.

This went on for quite some time. Denethor discovered that there were others as strong-willed, or almost, as himself. But after a while, he thought he was getting the upper, for the dark Elf walked huffily out and slammed the door.

But he soon returned with Doc Ranadul, who sat down in the strait backed chair and glared at Denethor.

'Now, there, why doesn't the nice food suit the nice Steward, hmm?' he said insipidly. 'Eat it!'

'No!' cried Denethor. 'It's poisoned!'

Ranadul turned on Aeolia furiously. 'What are you doing?' he cried. 'I'm the one experimenting here! No poisoning my inmates!'

'I didn't!' squealed Aeolia, cowering. 'I didn't, I swear!'

Ranadul glared at him suspiciously. 'We'll have to test that,' he said. 'Go get Amara.'

The tall dark Elf quickly dissipated, and re-accumulated again with another dark Elf. This one was very odd; he was short and shrimpy and wore a black shirt with a skull on it. Denethor liked it. The shirt, that is. Not the patient.

'Eat this,' said Ranadul, throwing Amara the sandwich.

'Why?' asked the Elf suspiciously.

'Just do it,' said Ranadul through gritted teeth. The Elf scowled, but did as he was told.

Ranadul leaned forward, and Denethor sat up, gazing intently at Amara, both expecting him at any moment to collapse on the floor. This did not happen, though they waited uneasily for quite a while. Finally Ranadul turned back to Denethor and flashed him a ghastly smile.

'See?' he said. 'Nothing to worry about. Aeoria, take away the patient. Eat it.' Denethor was quite disturbed for a moment, thinking that the doctor had told Aeoria to eat the patient, but soon realized that Ranadul had been addressing him with the 'eat it.' He wondered how he was expected to eat when he was strait jacketed.

'That is an interesting idea,' mused Ranadul, gazing after the two retreating Elves. 'I wonder if poison does affect the insane differently?' He turned and gave Denethor a sickening smirk. 'We'll have to test that, won't we?' And with these terrifying words, he left.

!

Boromir approached the forest. He was rather nervous; he had no idea how to get his father un-incarcerated. How could he convince them to let him out? Suddenly he realized with a sickly shudder that there was no way to. It wouldn't be easy, in fact it would be impossible to persuade the doctors that his father was not insane. It was obvious that he was; everyone knew it. And if he tried to convince them he wasn't, he was likely to get thrown in the asylum, too.

'I must rely upon trickery, or force,' Boromir decided. He stopped his horse and gazed at the blackness beneath the trees of Mirkwood. He thought.

He found force more to his liking. It seemed as if it would be easier to beat everyone up and drag Denethor out than to subtly slip past millions of guards to recover his father. 'But I need a plan of attack,' he added to himself. 'What kind of force?'

Suddenly it hit him. 'Light bulb!' he exclaimed in glee, snapping his fingers. Turning his horse around, he galloped back towards Minas Tirith at full speed.

*He did this in the movie, the dirty thief! But I'm not sure whether they were mithril or not. Probably not.

Note: A character from another film gets a special mention in this story. Can you find it? He/she's not supposed to be in Middle Earth, but oh well, who cares!

P.S.: This is NOT THE END! Yes. Another chapter is coming. I just couldn't wait to post this, so I only did half at a time. I'm not just dropping Denethor in an asylum and leaving him there. . .wait a minute, wasn't that how I was going to end it? Anyway, we'll see. So you better watch out for chapter 2. Sorry, I shouldn't split it up, since I didn't split the first one, but. . .I can't resist. :) Now: Review. Or there will be no crevice in all the universe where you can hide from my unending wrath.

Oops! Disregard that. My pet cave troll hacking into my account...