thírtч-thrєє: gσldєn αffєctíσnѕ

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SHE remembered looking out over the open plains before Minas Tirith. The city was quiet, the calm before the storm as come the morning light Gondor's defenses would march to Osgiliath. The fortress on the Anduin was but a pale speck against the darkness of the Mountains of Shadow.

Aeardis needn't look to know who had come to stand beside her. "Please come back in one piece," she pleaded. Boromir wrapped one of his arms around her waist, pressing his nose into the crook of her neck. She smelled of flowers, sugar, rain, and sorrow.

"I have fought against the Dark Lord's forces for three decades. Danger has been my guide, and luck, my companion," he whispered. She looked back at him with a sad smile. He had spoken the truth but that did not help ease her mind, nothing did in these dark times. Boromir pressed his lips against her temple, "Fear not for me, my sweet sea bride."

He loosened his arms and she turned in his embrace. Aeardis raised her hands to his face, her fingers loosely combing through his beard and tracing over the small silvery scars on his cheeks. There was a lump in her throat that she forced herself to swallow. Boromir eyes flitted down to her parted lips. In all his years, he had never wished to kiss her more than now, even if it was so he would have something sweet to remember while marching into almost certain death.

Boromir tipped her chin up and meant to bend down to kiss her if not for the herald that approached them under the White Tree. "My Lord Boromir," he said, "your father wishes to speak with you." The Steward-Prince nodded and settled for placing a soft kiss on her brow instead.

Aeardis woke in a cold sweat, her hand reaching for the cool metal necklace around her neck. It took a moment for her stomach to settle and for her to remember that she was safe within the borders of Lothlórien. She turned and looked at Boromir to find him still sleeping.

*:・゚✧*:・゚✧

It took three days for him to wake, but when he finally did, it was in the dead of night. His grey eyes were open wide and his lungs quickly filled with air with a strangled gasp. "No, no, slowly." Aeardis reprimanded when he tried to sit up too quickly. Her hands were like ice on his chest, her touch had always been cool but never cold. Boromir shivered as he lay back down, a sharp ache encompassing the whole of his body.

He glanced down at the thick white bandages that had been wrapped around his torso and then back to her, thinking that it was all some type of cruel dream. "Aeardis?" He placed his hand on her cheek, not quite believing that she was there, but her skin was soft and real. "It is good to see your face," he murmured. She leaned into his palm, nodding, and he could feel the dampness of her tears.

Then despair overcame him as he recalled the frightened expressions of Merry and Pippin as the Uruk-hai carried them away. He feared for them, he feared that they were beyond saving. "The little ones?" Came his soft inquiry and by the way Aeardis's gaze fell to her clasped hands, he knew it was an answer that he would not find favorable.

"Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas search for them," she told him. Their whereabouts were now unknown, perhaps they had caught up with the Uruk-hai troop, perhaps they still tracked them across the countryside.

Boromir pressed down on the wound closest to his heart and moved to stand from the bed, "I must," he started, but the pain was too much and he collapsed backward with labored breaths. Carefully, Aeardis peeled back the bandage and saw that in the low light of the moon and stars the three wounds had nigh begun bleeding again.

She cursed his stubbornness, "You'd be of no use to them when you can barely even sit up under your own will." He looked at her and found that she wore an expression he had seen many times before when she had taken on the role of his healer. It almost made him smile if not for the grief and guilt that plagued him.

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