Far Horizons ❦ Boromir

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PAYMENTS had been delivered to the merchants and everything had been cataloged as well, for once, Aeardis had tended to all her duties and she could find nothing else to be done for the rest of the day. Several of the passing children stopped to tug on her dress or arm, asking for a story. She, of course, obliged and gathered them around one of the fountains. It took a moment before she thought of a new tale to share, "Do any of you know the tale of the Gravewalker?"

All of them shook their heads with wide and eager eyes. As opposed to prior stories, Aeardis had not grown up with the tale of the Gravewalker, it was one she had learned through poorly preserved scrolls and by word of mouth that traveled through the city. She pieced together a story about an exiled ranger, Talion, whose family and he were murdered by Sauron's minions. Somehow, he became trapped between life and death, resurrected by Celebrimbor, one of the greatest elven smiths to ever live. Together they weakened the Dark Lord's armies by sabotaging and killing Uruk captains and war chiefs. Even attempting to forge a new Ring of Power that would rival the One Ring.

As her story was coming to a close, some of the children's parents had been calling them home for the evening. The sun was setting and she promised to finish telling the story some other time, as she always did. "A somber tale for young ears." Aeardis jumped at first, not realizing that Boromir had been listening in the shadows.

She looked at the Steward-Prince with a somber expression, "They have seen and endured worse than those words." It was sad, but the truth in darkening times was rarely something to smile over. He pulled her up to her feet and offered the crook of his arm.

"Where are we going?" She asked, curious to know why they were going in the opposite direction of the Citadel, the hour was growing late, after all. He did not answer for the sign that hung outside the establishment told her enough of his intentions, the Mûmak and Keep, it read in the Common Speech, but scrawled beneath the large letters was the tavern's name in Sindarin. Minas Tirith was home to several taverns, though this particular one was frequented by soldiers.

Typical for the time of day, it was boisterous, with a minstrel singing to the tune of a lyre and men yelling back and forth with bawdy jokes and tales of battle. From the tavern alone, one would never know that a great darkness dwelled within sight of the White City. Boromir slid two coins to the keeper and in return, he slid two wooden tankards filled with ale. Aeardis raised the large mug and took a long drink. Before either of them could speak, though, several of the men took notice of their Captain and Aeardis and took to filling what had been left of the empty benches.

Roran and Enduriel flanked her sides. Faramir had come to sit next to his brother, along with Thuviel, a young ranger who had only just returned from his first outing into Old Anórien. Aeardis turned toward the bard, recognizing the song he sang to be one of the dwarves. The Song of Durin. The minstrel had a fine voice that turned the lyrics of the age old song into something new entirely. It was as if she were hearing it again for the first time.

"I believe there is another skilled singer in our midst," Boromir said. Faramir quirked his brow, glancing toward Aeardis whilst finishing his drink and the other men clapped and cheered her name aloud. "A song! A song from the fair lady!" They all called, beating their tankards and goblets on tables and bar tops in an impatient rhythm.

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips, "Very well," though before she stood, Aeardis turned up her tankard of ale and the soldiers cheered. Each and everyone knew her as they knew their own sisters. She stepped up onto the bench and quickly thought of the songs and poems that she had read and heard over the years, but there was only one she wished to sing tonight. Perhaps her choice was because of the strong ale, or because of the way Boromir was looking up at her.