Far Horizons ❦ Boromir

fσurtєєn: thє fαllєn cítч

"WE ride to battle on the morrow." He spoke with gravitas and she had to remind herself that he was a leader, a soldier, such mannerisms were expected of him. The night was dark, the morning light would be rising on the horizon soon and they would ride to Osgiliath and battle. Boromir and Aeardis sat beneath the White Tree before the Tower Hall gazing upward at a moonless sky.

"This always feels like goodbye," she murmured. Boromir lifted her chin and smiled, yet it could not lessen the worry that had been constantly etched into her expression or quell the deep sadness in her eyes. "Have I not always returned to you?" He pressed his forehead against hers and breathed in her scent, rosemary and lavender. Nothing in battle would ever smell so sweet.

Aeardis laughed. "It is selfish to think that you return only for me." His arms encased her and the longer she remained like that the harder it became to let him go. "Be safe, Boromir, look after your brother." She couldn't imagine life without them.

"As you command, my lady." A fleeting smile crossed her lips as she leaned back into his embrace and looked up at the stars again.

Before the sun even rose the people of Minas Tirith were awake, last-minute provisions were being packed, the last of the arrows feathered and swords sharpened. A line of horses awaited their riders and Aeardis watched from the stables as Boromir and Faramir rode off in gleaming silver armor.

The campaign was set to last two weeks. Osgiliath was meant to be reclaimed in that time and the host of enemy orcs driven back toward Mordor. But three days later when Aeardis woke to the clear ringing of silver trumpets echoing across the city, she knew something was amiss. She fled from her rooms in naught but a nightgown and hastily pinned overcoat. By the time she reached the fifth circle of the city on foot those that had returned were traveling up the street. Woman and children had begun weeping. Those too old or young to fight fell to their knees in the streets, crying.

Of the hundreds that had gone to battle, only four had come back.

Faramir came to her and placed his hand on her shoulder, she squeezed his hand and he continued up the white street to the next level of the city. Tired and defeated. She joined Boromir, now tears had gathered in her eyes. "Is this truly all that have returned?" She breathed in disbelief.

Boromir nodded and stepped forward with a pained grimace that he tried to hide, "Osgiliath has been taken and with it the men."

Aeardis looked between the two soldiers that stood behind Boromir and felt herself almost smile when she saw that they were brothers as well, twins, in fact. "Come, let's get all of you to the infirmary." She wrapped her arm around the Steward-Prince's waist and heaved his arm over her shoulders, for once he did not protest.

The steward's sons were led to joint rooms away from the bulk of the resting beds while the twins were led to the infirmary. Aeardis filed in behind the brothers with two of the healers on her tail. One of the healers knelt next to Boromir but he shook his head and waved off her aid, "Attend to Eregond and Eradan first."

Faramir had declined immediate treatment as well, "I only have scrapes and bruises," he had said, "tend to the others first." They did not question the two brothers any further and left them to tend to the twins.

A deep frown overtook Aeardis's face as she looked over Boromir with a closer inspection. "'Tis only a scratch," he muttered, already knowing what she would say. Faramir frowned, knowing his brother was lying. "Spare her from your stubbornness, brother."

Boromir glared at his brother, and at Aeardis, who now was hovering over him like a mother hen. She began with his vambraces and moved to the dented and bloodied back and breastplate under which was a damaged coat of mail. Next, she undid the buckles and ties beneath his arms with practiced ease. Only when she had moved to his right side did warm blood coat her fingertips.

The hauberk had been broken and the deep blue tunic had been ripped at the edge to reveal the bloody gash. He flinched when she laid her hand over the wound and mumbled under his breath, disillusioned with pain and exhaustion. For a quick moment she glanced down at her hands, they were on the verge of shaking and covered in blood. Aeardis bit her cheek, it was the only way she could stop tears from welling in her eyes. She pressed her hands against his side with unwavering grit and called for Ioreth.

One of the healers brought in a steaming mug of some putrid tonic, Aeardis thought she remembered her name to be Eryn. "Drink this." He had only downed half the brew when he laid back, succumbing to deep sleep. Ioreth and Talisa came and continued tending to the Steward-Prince.

Aeardis took a seat next to Faramir, transfixed by the sight of the bright red blood on her hands. "What did that to him?" She had tended his battle wounds many times, never were they this severe, or of similar depth.

"A spear," Faramir replied, reliving the fear and panic that had gone through him at seeing the orc drive the crude weapon into his brother's side. "If he would have worn his flauds then mayhap this could have been avoided."

Aeardis wished that Boromir was awake so she could have scolded him, but she only managed a weak laugh, "He says they slow him down." Faramir nodded.

"Let's see if you speak truly when you claim to have scratches and scrapes." Faramir chuckled and took a long sip of a different tonic that had been brewed for him. Unlike his brother, his claims to superficial injuries were true.

One of the young apprentices had brought a basin of warm water and clean clothes upon Aeardis's request. She knelt at Boromir's bedside and frowned as she wrung the damp cloth out before wiping the blood and dirt from his face. That was how she slipped into a much-needed sleep. The healers did not disturb her, nor did Faramir, they let her lay with a bloody rag against Boromir's chest and her forehead pressed against his arm. At one point he woke from the sedative-induced sleep but he dared not move lest he wake his diligent healer.

Denethor had come and gone from the Houses of Healing. His mood was foul over the failure of the campaign to take back Osgiliath and worsened by the realization that it was Boromir who had attained the most grievous injuries between his two sons. The Ruling Steward had said little and when he left the darkness that followed him did as well.

Neither Boromir nor Faramir seemed overly keen at their father's brash command that the old capital be reclaimed for the survival of Gondor, nor was Boromir keen to forget the harsh words that he had spoken to Faramir or the pointed glare he had given Aeardis.

Aeardis stayed with Boromir that night, whether she was sitting at his side or lying on the spare cot that they had brought into the small room. It was late when he woke again, the moon was high above in the sky and cast a silvery light through the open arches, bathing everything with an ethereal glow. She turned on her side and watched the way his chest rose and fell. He winced as he tried to move and quicker than he could blink, she was there, helping him with tired eyes and gentle hands.

Moments of silence passed before being broken. "I advised your father against it," Aeardis said, almost in tears. Somehow she felt this was all her fault, "I told him that Osgiliath should no longer be the focus, that city is lost to us." Her voice cracked, Boromir saw that she was crying now. "If only he had listened then so many lives could have been spared."

Boromir reached over and pressed his hand against her cheek despite the pain in his side and arm, and sighed when Aeardis leaned into his touch. "You are so brave and quiet," he whispered, "I often forget you, too, are suffering."