Denethor: A treaty with Rohan?
Boromir: *guiltily sticks his head in the door* A what, Father?
Denethor: the little sycophant mentioned something to that effect.
Boromir: Can't imagine where he got that idea.
Denethor: from you?
Boromir: You know, I was not exactly at my best then...
Denethor: mmhmm. Now that you're better, try explaining.
Boromir: It was nothing, Father. Just a drunken fancy. *eyedart*
Denethor: so glad my son is spending his nights drunk while we're at war.
Boromir: *Ouch.* I beg your forgiveness, Father. My men and I were merely celebrating our return to the city.
Denethor: begging is undignified. And I suggest you find a new way to celebrate, if that's what you think of when inebriated.
Denethor: now slink off and do something useful.
Boromir: Um ... like what sir?
Denethor: ...they always ask that.
Denethor: *evil eye*
Boromir: Right. I'll just go ... check the armory.
Boromir: *skitters off*