Too much love will kill you

By Nadrilin

Characters: Boromir, Faramir, Denethor, Aewlyn ((figure of my imagination))

Cameo’s:  Aragorn, Gandalf, Pippin, Eowyn

Genre:  Romance, drama,

Rating: R Scenes of sexuality, nudity and course language (hetro)

Timeline:  Set 4 years before the fellowship, concludes as the war of the ring ends.

Jacket flap:  Two brothers’, one beautiful woman and a plotting father?  Can the bond between the steward’s sons be broken by a woman?  Can a once sensible girl choose between the two men or will the triangle break them all and destroy the will of the Gondorian troops?

Disclaimer:  I do not profess to be a historian of Tolkien’s work; I have done my best to be true to his Gondor as I see it.  Aewlyn is my character, Boromir, Denethor, Faramir, Gandalf, Pippin, and Aragorn belong to J.R. Tolkein, my knowledge is based on reading the books once and watching Peter Jackson’s directed version produced by new line cinema more times then I care to admit.

 

The beauty of the morning is lost as Aewlyn walks with her made to the seventh tier of the city.  Her eyes watch her feet as they walk as she feels the eyes of the higher born watch her as she comes to their part of the city.  She has no desire to become a lady of Ecthelion.

Her father had ridden out with his battalion to face a band of orc’s reported to the Steward several weeks ago, he had lived long enough to die in his beloved city and to soon for her to make it to his side to say goodbye.

“You are a lucky girl; your father was beloved of the Steward.”  Her maid tries to comfort her as she walks.  “You, you will become a ward of the Steward.”  There is more to this but her Lady will learn of this in her own time.

Aewlyn does not comment she has her own opinions of the steward.  Raised by her father since her eleventh year she knows more of politics and warfare them most woman.  Her father had been loyal to Denethor and the few times they shared harsh words was when she spoke against the Lord of Gondor.

She had learned to bite her tongue when speaking of the army; her father had not seen it odd that the children of the rich were trained by the masters, and those of the lower levels by their fathers. 

She was raised among the lower levels, her mother having been born there and refusing to move to the higher level of her father’s house when they wed.  Her father went against his political parents and married a lower born and to their horror made a home with her on the second level of the city.

She is all rights a lady of the court, her father was not a poor man, she has not been left helpless and penniless.    

“The Steward is awaiting you my lady.”  A guard bows to her and she nods her head gently.  Her maid smiles brightly excited about being a servant to the Steward’s ward.  Smiling Aewlyn thinks as if her father does not lie cold and dead and her glare makes her maids smile dim.

They led into the great hall it is as magnificent as her father had told her it was.  The floors are black marble and the ceiling higher then twenty men standing on one another’s shoulders.

Great pillars line the path they are treading towards the steward who stands in front of a throne, which has two seats, one above the other.  She glances at the throne, the attitude of women being lesser carries even into the halls of the great kings of old as on seat sits high above the other.

The steward is a large man not yet stooped by age; his shoulders are broad and his features sharp.  She supposes he was once a handsome man but he has aged enough that time has faded it from him.  His hair shows signs of once being black as pitched, lightened now by the graying that comes with age.

He smiles at her and she struggles to smile back. How is it he can justify such grander when those in the lowest levels scratch a living out of rock.  The only good thing that comes from the constant warfare is that the low born can earn farthings for their skills as blacksmiths, tailors, and weavers.  There is a never ending need for swords to be repaired, armor to be crafted, or banners to be woven.

To his right stands Captain Boromir, the beloved son of Gondor.  She knows who he is as does every citizen of Gondor. She has heard him crying out from atop the walls, and from the battalions stirring the hearts of men to frenzy before leading them to battle.

He perhaps is what his father once was; he is a large man with powerful shoulders.  His face is strong with proud features.  He wears his beard trimmed around his mouth and chin with clean shaven cheeks, his hair is a light brown, almost golden.  His eyes are green and most charming but they do not move her to quiver like the fools how admire him from afar.

How many laments has she heard from her peers about how handsome he is, and how wonderful.  She’s listened to silly professions of undying love for him and thought them just that.  How can one love and fantasize about a person they have never met, or would not likely say hello if he passed you on the street.

The Captain of Gondor is well known for his carousing, always with low born women.  An angry glint casts in her eyes as she considers this.  Her father had spoken often of Boromir, praising him as a son and Captain.

She looks up now, surprised at the intensity of her angry.  She looks at Boromir and does not see the great Captain.  She sees only the man who led her father to his death.

Her grief is raw and she needs someone to blame, as sensible as she is she is a girl barely into her nineteenth summer who has just lost her father.  Why is it he who leads the armies of Gondor always comes home to splendor when the men who fight with him lie dead on the field?

“Aewlyn.”  The steward steps forward and with his arms extended and a welcoming smile on his face.  She resists the urge to flinch as he places his hands on her shoulders.  “I had prayed this day would never come.”  She sees honest sorrow in his eyes.

Though raised by a man her father had insisted on her learning court etiquette, she had argued with him, insisting she would never need it.  It was a battle she did not win her paternal grandmother had taken the task upon her own shoulders after her mother’s death.  She had never felt warmness for her father’s mother and when she died of a strange malady a year ago Aewlyn had found it hard to weep.  Her only living relative after the death had been her father.  However her father was all she need, he was her best friend, and she his. 

Her grandmother had never forgiven him and her displeasure her son had chosen to marry a lower born had not lessened over the years and she had made it known to Aewlyn very young and very often that her mother was not a good enough woman to be her son’s wife.

Realizing now is not the time to become lost in nostalgia she curtseys’s slightly as she had been taught when the Lord removes his hands from her shoulders.  She is not a woman who cries easily but she feels her eyes sting.  She does not want to be here.

“Thank you for your hospitality, my father spoke often of you and your sons often.”  She glances to the left of Denethor’s throne and sees another man, Faramir; she knows his face as well though it is not nearly as public as the older sons.

He is slender and lithe, lacking the thick build of his father and brother.  His cheekbones are higher then his brother’s making his face softer but no less handsome.  They share the same proud features of their noses, and the way their brow is shaped.

Unlike Boromir Faramir’s beard moves up his face, though the cheeks themselves are shaved clean.  His hazel eyes are sorrowful and haunting.  A beautiful bluish green, his eyes are large and his best feature among many good ones.

He fills out the armor he wears, though he is slender there is definition to the skin under his neck before the sight of flesh disappears beneath leather. A bow is slung across his back and he looks battle worn as if he has rushed her from some errand to welcome her.

He catches her eyes and smiles softly at her and nods his head, he had known her father.  It had been Mynith that had trained him with the blade while Boromir studied under the masters.  He feels his own sorrows this day for Gondor has truly lost a man of quality.

“Your father saved my life once, in a battle long ago.”  The Steward draws her attention back.  “I promised him I would repay the debt one day.”

“So you take me in.”  She had wondered why the Steward would care what happened to a grown war orphan.  There are many like her, much younger who live in an orphanage run by spinster women and funded by the government.

“My son.”  He points to Boromir with pride shining in his eyes.  “Boromir.”  She curtsey’s as he steps forward and tries to hide the anger in her eyes.

“I am sorry for you loss, he was truly a great man.”  He bows to her slightly with his hand on his chest.  She simply nods hoping her anger is mistaken for grief.  She waits for the steward to introduce Faramir when it is obvious he is not going to her anger thickens.

The only ill words her father had ever spoken against his Lord had been of his treatment of his second son.  She knows he trained Faramir for years when war did not call him away.

He had love for the boy and would often speak of how Faramir would try but he did not possess the heart of a warrior.  When Faramir had taken up the bow and walked towards the path of the ranger her father had approved encouraging him to do so.

She glances at Faramir, though Boromir and Denethor stand within feet of her he lingers to the side as if he is an outsider in his father’s court.

Strong willed she gathers her skirts up and walks before him, showing him the same respect she curtsey’s and offers him a gentle smile as she rises.  He looks at her and his face shows surprise.

She is not like the other women of Gondor, in place of olive skin hers is light as if she’s never been touched by the sun.  In place of brown or hazel eyes hers are the color of the sky reflecting off a frozen pond.  He looks at her eyes, the shape is even different and remind him of two almond lain sideways.  Her nose is delicate and set above two full lips that hold a color no lip paint could mimic. 

Her hair falls over slender shoulders and even from where he stands he can smell the perfume of lilies coming from her.  Her body is that for which sonnets are written for, his eyes leave her face and trail down her delicate neck, his eyes follow the curve of her breasts which are full and high, her belly is flat, her waist is small and her hips curve out gently.  She is tall, he stands but half a head taller then she. 

He takes this all in with a single glance, she is never aware of the depth of imagery he has taken with the single stare.

“Your father was a brave man.”  His voice is soft and deep and she feels tears sting her eyes as she nods.  The exchange took only seconds but as she turns she sees the scowl Denethor tries to hide as a smile comes across his face.  He sees the tears glistening in her eyes and the scowl returns.  It fits his face so well she wonders if it his natural expression.

“Look what you’ve done Faramir.”  His tone is harsh and not at all the smooth voice of his greeting.  “You’ve upset her.”  His disgust is evident and she sees first hand that which her father spoke of concerning the steward and his sons.

“Father he said words no differently then my own.”  Boromir steps forward with a tight expression on his face.  Aewlyn looks at him and sees the flicker of pain in his eyes as he glances at Faramir who simply sets his jaw as if knowing what will fall further from his father’s lips.

“Please.”  Her voice shakes as she speaks, not wanting any contention to come from her presence.  “He did not upset me anymore then I am.  My father has died only a day ago, it will take time for me.  I will do better to control myself in expressing.”  She wants to run, she would rather live among the orphans then in this oppressive atmosphere.  The hall is beautiful as are the grounds of the seventh tier, but it not her home.  It can never be her home.

She has the inheritance her father left behind, the money of her father and his father before him.  She has no need to be cared for by another though she does not dare speak it.

She had found a letter among her father’s papers, one telling her that if death should ever find him this would be her fate.  He admonished her to behave as the lady her grandmother had taught her to be and put his raisings behind her.  She can no more do that then command the moon to rise in the dawn.

“Of course my dear.”  Denethor’s gaze leaves Faramir as he turns back towards her.  “Boromir will take you to your apartment, if there is anything you desire to make it more to your liking simply let me know.”

“You are most generous my Lord.” she tries to smile for him but it is weak at best.  Boromir offers his arm and she takes it and follows him.

The vast castle is filled with carved statues of the kings and stewards of days past, tapestries depicting battles hang from the walls and she sorrows that the history of Gondor is riddled with so much war.

There are guard’s stations along their path, dressed in full plate that shines like polished silver.

In the middle of a long corridor they stop in front of a large wooden door, the oak is stained dark and Boromir opens it.

“Your quarter’s my lady.”  He follows her in and she stares in awe, the apartment is open, the floors tiled in pink and white quartz, the ceilings are pillared at various points.  There is a wooden table with high back chairs beside a window that looks out over the King’s garden.  Further in there is a comfortable looking couch and chair, covered in white velvet.  On the floor in front of the couch is a thick pink area rug and set upon it is a smaller table of the same wood as the dining table.

The hearth is carved from white marble and the grate in front of it is bent and shaped like a garden of flowers.  She walks into the room, and turns around taking it all in.

On the wall opposite the windows is a bookcase filled with tomes of the great poets.   There is a door in the middle of the four large windows and she walks to it opening it to find a balcony.

Coming back in she walks to the alcove on the wall with the bookcase, within this alcove is a large bed, one larger then any would ever need.  Its posts raise high towards the ceiling and as her gaze follows the posts up they find a large silk canopy of soft pink.  The bed linens are the same pink as the canopy with large pillows of alternating pink and white.

A large armoire is against the wall at the foot of her bed and beside it a lady’s dressing screen.  To the right of the bed is a lady’s table with a mirror, on the table is a perfume decanter of crystal and silver, beside it lies a brush and comb of silver and behind those is a jewel box.

“You will find all your mother’s jewelry within.”  His father had set him to over see the removal of her belongings from her home on the lower level.  It had been lavish compared to the other homes around it, it had often puzzled him why after his wife’s death Mynith had not returned to his parents home on the higher level but instead chose to remain below his station.

He watches her walk to the jewel box and opens it, taking out a gold chain with a simple teardrop diamond.  He sees the reflection of her face in the mirror and the sorrow on it and feels as if he is intruding on a private moment.

“It is everything a girl could dream of.”  She turns and smiles softly some of her anger towards the Captain dying.  The way he spoke up for his brother, the pain his father’s harshness struck him with had softened her heart.  Perhaps there is more to the Captain then war and womanizing as she had led herself to believe.

“I know it is not the home you know.”  His words are gentle but hit her like a slap.  She shakes her head not trusting herself to speak.  “Your father will be laid to rest tomorrow, take some rest.”  He stares at her for a moment and would like to help her with whatever she’s feeling but he is at a loss.

“Thank you my lord.”  She puts the necklace back in the box, it is one she has never worn and was told she could not until the day she wed.  She had always loved it, and the story her mother spoke of how her father had given it to her the day he asked her to be his wife, it had not left her throat from that day forth, at least not until she had closed Aewlyn’s hand around it as she lay dying.

She forgets he is in the room as she thinks of the day her mother died, many died that year of a strange fever and cough.

Her mother had been a healer, a gifted one whose knowledge went beyond Gondor, a knowledge passed from mother to daughter for many generations.  She had been taught from the time she could understand words, and continued learning from her mother’s journals once she was gone.

Who will care for those who cannot afford the healers?  Who will take care of them now that she is not among them anymore?  Her mother had refused to leave the lower level because she knew among the nobles her healing skills would be worthless.  It is a man’s world in the higher courts and spirited to the core her mother was not content to be a noble’s wife and take tea with the ladies.

Aewlyn is much like her mother in spirit, and carries with her the strength of her father.  She prays there is a way she can slip away from court and keep helping those she left behind.

Boromir watches her as she is lost in thought, he does not have the quick eyes of his brother and they linger upon her longer though she does not sense it.  She is a rare beauty and makes him think of a single rose growing among lilies.

Faramir had not seemed to even notice her beauty, he knows there are those that wield sword and bear plate that joke that the rangers are strange men, rather seeking each other’s company then to seek out women.  He frowns as he thinks of this, if it is true his father’s wrath will be more then even he can protect his brother from.

The sound of the jewel box closing brings him from his dark thoughts and he smiles at her again.

“If there is anything I can do to help you get through this dark time just ask it of me.”  He bows to her again slightly and takes his leave of her rooms.

Aewlyn watches the door shut behind him and goes to the large iron bound trunk at the foot of her bed.  She opens it and sighs with relief as all her mother’s books are within it.

Helga knowing her had packed all that means the most to her, her clothes are already put away and she wonders what she is to do with herself.

She digs through the trunk slowly at first and then a bit more frantically, the sword her father had fashioned for her is not within it.

She gets up and throws open the armoire it is not there either.  Neither is the leather armor he had made for her in the style of the rangers within.

“Helga!”  She shouts and her maid comes from the one walled room within the apartments.  “Where is my sword and armor?”  Her father had relented to her pleadings to be taught the sword after her mother died.  They had spent hours together as she learned.  At first he had fought her and was stern, he had felt he already treated her to much like a son.  She had pouted and carried her disappointment around with her until he could stand it no more.

“They are here.”  Helga kneels beside the large bed and pulls a closed crate from beneath it.  “I hide them, I did not think the Steward would understand or approve should he see them.” 

“Very good.”  Aewlyn smiles, thankful her maid is quick thinking.  “I only needed to know where they were.  How are your quarters?”  Aewlyn asks as she walks to the window and looks out again.

“More beautiful then I could have imagined.”  Helga smiles at her good fortune, she had not lived with Aewlyn she had her own home which was bare and gloomy.  She is still a maid but feels as if she’s been turned into a princess.

“I am glad you are happy.”  Aewlyn moves to the couch and sits upon it and rests her head on the back of it.

“I am weary Helga, might I be alone?”  Her maid places a hand on her shoulder before departing again to her own quarters.

Among her friends the maid is considered lucky, her lady is not a pampered spoiled princess.  She hears tales of other maids being slapped if they bring tea that is to cold to their ladies. 

Aewlyn barely asks anything of her, she is humble despite her father’s wealth, a wealth he would have lavishly thrown upon her if she would but let him.

He had stayed on the lower level after his wife’s death because he knew it was where his daughter was happy.  Like her mother she is pained to waste time.  Always busy helping other’s with the knowledge of healing.

She glances over her shoulder as she reaches the door to her quarters and frowns softly.  Aewlyn does not know why she was brought here, at least not the truth of it.

She only knows because she overheard Mynith speaking in hushed tones to a courier from the Steward.  She shakes her head; she will not lay the troubles upon Aewlyn’s shoulders just yet.  Best to stand back and watch what will come to pass as it transpires.

Aewlyn can find no rest in the strange room, as darkness falls the fire casts shadows on the wall.   The moon is hidden from her as her gaze goes from the window.

It is Saturday and her father would be pouring over maps upon the table in their common room.  His face would be pinched and troubled, after he sat in silence for several hours he would call her over to the map.  Then as if she were a man in his army he would show her where the hot spots of battle were building.  He would treat her as a trusted advisor, never staying her hand from the map as she moved the chess pieces that represented the armies of Gondor and the battalions of orcs.

 

At the break of dawn in the morning he would dress in his armor and go to the Citadel to meet with the Captain-General, the Steward and other captains like himself.

He would come home and speak to her of it and she would worry as she listened to him speak. She would hide the fear that built within here every time she knew he would ride with the dawn.   

A fear she will never feel again for her worst fear had come to pass.  She draws in a shuttering breath as she struggles to be strong.

How she wishes she had gotten to see him one last time before his eyes closed forever in darkness.  Instead she arrived at the healing house in time to see his body being shrouded.

Her knees had gone weak as she watched him being lifted and carried to the morgue.  Was it only a day ago?  Why does it already seem as if she’s been without him forever?

They would not let her wash and anoint his body, it was not a job for a woman and no daughter should see her father so.  She had been angry and lashed out striking against Hynar the highest ranking healer.

Her mother had hated that man and she understands why, he is cold and clinical.  He was probably afraid she had her mother’s knowledge and would see that her father died of wounds he could have been spared from if only they would let women among their ranks.

Her mother could have saved him, she could have saved him, and she knows this in her heart.  They possess something none other in Gondor hold something she must never speak of.

She stands and takes her cloak wrapping it around her shoulders.  She finds her way into the night and the air bites her cheeks.  It is the dawn of spring yet the night holds onto the cold like a desperate lover.

The cold numbs her skin but does nothing to ease her pain.  She has not cried and her soul longs for the salty release but she struggles against it.  She fears if she allows the tears to fall they will never stop and she will drown in them.

“The hour is last, you should find your rest.”  She hears a smooth voice behind her and turns to see the youngest son of her guardian.

“Sleep eludes me though I wish to fall into it and never wake.”  She looks back out over the Pelennor Fields, from this height she can see across them clearly, looking up at the horizon it is as if she can see the world from this vantage point.

“I will miss him.”  His words are sincere as she glances at him and puts her hand on his arm to offer him comfort.  The wind picks up and lifts her hair from her shoulders.

            “I would see him if I but knew where to find him.”  Her ears sting from the cold wind and she takes her hand from his arm and looks away from him.

            “I can take you.”  He watches her hair flow like a banner in the breeze, when she turns to look at him her blue eyes glimmer with unshed tears and a twinge tugs at his heart.

            “Would you?”  She steps towards him and puts her hand on his arm.  “I know the council is in the morning, should you not find your rest?”

            “Come with me.”  He walks ahead of her and she quickly matches his step.  They take the winding roads to the tombs and he nods those who guard the dead.

            She follows him walking closely to him, the bodies of the dead look more like statues, bronzed and immortalized for all time.  This is where the king’s knights are laid, her father has been granted honor among them.

            There is a lantern above a bower deep within the tomb, before she can see it clearly she knows it’s her father and her strength falters and she stops.

            “It’s okay.”  He had come earlier to say his goodbyes it had been difficult for him, he cannot imagine what it would to hold the love of a father as she held his.

            Though he was never introduced to Aewlyn he feels as if he knows her.  Her father often spoke of her with adoration and pride.  Something he longs to see in his own father’s eyes for himself along with Boromir.

            She walks towards the bower, her steps echo in the silent tomb and it feels as if time has slowed around her.  With each steps she gets closer to him and his features become clearer.

            He lies dressed in his plate armor, his great sword in his hands lying down his body.  The white flag of Gondor drapes his legs beneath the sword and lies as still as he in the windless tomb.

            “Daddy.”  Her voice breaks and she forgets she is not alone.  “Wake up.”  She is a healer, she knows he is gone and the healers of legend that could summon men back to life are no more.

            She falls to her knees beside the bower bruising them as they hit the cold marble.  She puts her arm across his chest and rests her head on his shoulder once she finds her feet again.

 

            She leans over him as if willing her warmth to fall into him, she would trade her life for his and tells Valar so.  The tomb swirls around her as she accepts he is dead.  It was his face she saw being covered, this is not a cruel joke.

            Faramir watches her, his throat tightens as he witnesses her pain and he looks away.  This is like the stories told by the bards of old, sung sorrowfully along the mournful cords of a lute.  Though no bard could ever hope to stir the sorrow and compassion building within him at this moment as he watches her suffer.

            She stands and touches her father’s face, she turns her face up to the heavens and he wonders what her heart says to him.

            She draws a shuddering breath and lets it out as if she would say something but cannot.  She draws another and begins to sing, her voice is haunting, feminine and he knows he will never forget the sound of it.

 

            Sleep Warrior in this dark night,

            Your memory will forever kept in the light

            Those you left behind will make the world see

            All that you were, all we strive to be

            Sleep Warrior, Sleep

           

Gondor weeps, weeps for her sons

            They will continue the fight until it’s won

            Go now to your father’s,

            With her name upon your lips

            Sleep Warrior, you have earned your rest

 

            Her voice breaks and her shoulders shake, he has not heard the song, and realizes it is because her heart writes it as she sings.  Not knowing how else to help her he steps behind her and puts his hand on her shoulder, he begins to hum the melody of it and she takes another breath.

 

 

            Here you lay, a memory to be praised

To the end sword brandished and shield raised

Crying Gondor… Gondor….

The fields are red with your blood

As your soul flies to your father’s

Here you are not forgotten

Remember me….

 

            Battle can no longer call you away

            Rest in the arms of who went before you

            With my breath you will live, in my heart you will stay

            In my children I will see you face…

           

            She holds the last note and it drops low and her lips quiver as she closes her eyes and finally tears slip from beneath the lids.  He watches her to struggle, struggle to finish the lament that is tearing his hear asunder.

 

            Sleep warrior, find your peace

            Leave me here alone

            This pain will never cease

            Sleep

 

Her voice is stronger as it fills with anger born of grief.  He stands helpless as she again leans over her father and weeps onto his chest.  Her shoulders shake and he fears she will collapse.

            “Why!”  Her small fist strikes her father’s armor.  “You told me you’d always come home.” 

            “A promise no solider should make.” Faramir thinks to himself as he watches her.

            She stands up and her eyes fall on Faramir, she flushes and wipes the tears from her cheeks but they are quickly replaced by others.

            Though never a bold man when it comes to women he steps forward and puts his hand on her shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze.  She stares at him for a minute like an angel among the dead.

            “Why him?”  She whispers and he can barely hear her words.  “He is all I had, and now I am alone.”  Her lips tremble as two more tears streak down her cheeks.  “He left me alone.”  It’s then Faramir realizes she has lost more then her father, she has lost her whole life.  Her friends should she have any, her home, and all the things she filled her days with.  She will be expected to conform to the ways of the court and he puts his other hand on her other shoulder.

            She looks up into his blue green eyes and sees compassion in them, and understanding.  She wipes her tears again blinks new ones back.

            “You are not alone.”  His voice is gentle.  “You have all my father’s house can offer you.”  He touches her cheek and brushes a tear away with his thumb.  “It offers you my friendship.”  His kind words break the damn and her shoulders leave his hands as she collapses to her knees.  He crouches down beside her, to stay with her and is nearly knocked backwards as her arms go around him.  She buries her face in his shoulder and her tears are hot as they sink through the fabric of his tunic.

            He uses his hands to go from crouching and sitting and then pulls her close and wraps his arms around her, his back resting on the bower.  She clings to him as if she were drowning, her body shaking with the force of her sobs.

            “It hurts.”  She whimpers between sobs and clings to him tighter as if she would crawl inside him to get away from the pain.  “Oh Gods it hurts so much.”  He can offer no words of comfort instead he runs his hand up and down her back, with the other he holds her behind her neck.

            His back begins to cramp as the hours of her mourning pass but he does not shift his weight for fear she will stop her mourning.  Her sobs become less violent and reduce to shaky breathes.  He holds her and will until she pulls away from him.  She is silent and her grip around him loosens.  He glances down at her face as sees she is sleeping, or the grief has overwhelmed her and shut her down, either way he does not move.  He runs his hand down her long blonde hair, it feels like silk.

            Her innocence and fear makes her precious, he had seen her strength when her eyes flickered in anger as she glanced at Boromir, then when she glared at Denethor when he failed to introduce him to her.

            He has no idea of the time but knows the dawn must soon be upon them.  He is expected in the great hall as all Captains are this morning.  He has never been late and it has won him no respect from his father, he is torn between waking her and letting her sleep.

            She stirs as if reading his thoughts and for a moment tenses in his arms, the as sleep leaves her she remembers where she is and lets go of him.  She is embarrassed she has let anyone see her cry and she gets quickly to her feet.

            “My lord I am sorry.”  She does not glance behind her to see her father, she has said her goodbye and cannot bear to do it again.

            “It’s alright.”  He stands and his body screams from being in one position for so long.  She shivers suddenly cold without his body heat to keep her warm.

            “I must go.”  She turns and almost runs from him, he watches her go and follows her letting her stay a few steps ahead of him.

            She feels empty as she makes her way back to her room but some of the pain is faded.  Thoughts of taking her father’s sword and thrusting herself upon it had taken her mind.  Had it not been for Faramir she may have done it.

            What kind of man sits with a stranger and catches her tears?  She lies on her bed exhausted she can smell him on her.  The scent of the forest, of clean sweat, and leather lingers on her. 

            “You have all my father’s court offers.”  He had said.  “It offers you my friendship.”  She closes her eyes and berates herself for being so fragile. Her heart is hollow as she thinks of how wrong it is that she had to find comfort in a stranger’s arm.

 

            Faramir takes a breath and enters the great hall and it interrupts Denethor’s words.  He scowls at his son and Boromir looks over his shoulder away from him, bracing himself for what is to come.

            “Finally manage to pull yourself out of bed.”  Denethor’s eyes are malicious.  “It shames me to have a son of such weak constitution he cannot rise before the sun.  Perhaps this is why you are such a dismal failure upon the fields of battle, you sleep through them.”  Denethor lifts a goblet to his lips then slams it upon the table.

            “I apologize father I was detained.”  He hears someone whisper and muffled laughter.  None of his captains are included in these council’s.  He knows despite all the good they do the rangers are considered a joke.  To those bearing plate they are an army of weak men to cowardly to choose the sword over the bow unless they have to.

            He lifts his chin and stares his father in the eye which only angers Denethor further.

            “Since you did not see fit to come arrive on time there is no need for your presence.”  Denethor waves his hand in dismissal.  Boromir takes his feet and glances at Faramir then turns to his father.

            “You will not send him away.”  Boromir’s voice is louder then he intended it.  “I am late most weeks.”  Faramir shakes his head, as if to tell Boromir not to bother but he is ignored.

            “You are busier with all you do, you have reason.”  Denethor’s voice is softer with his older son.  Most everyone in the room knows when he is late it’s because he has not been able to untangle himself from whatever whore’s arms he is with.

            “I am sure he had reason.”  Boromir cannot think what it might be but knows Faramir would never put himself through his father’s wrath without a good one.

            “What reason is it then boy?”  Denethor watches Faramir and his eyes flicker.  He will not betray Aewlyn’s grief.

            “I had a friend who was in need.” He offers no more and ignores a few snickers which are silenced as Boromir casts a dangerous glare down the table.

            “Then I suggest you find your way back to him since he is so much more important then the defense of your city.”  Denethor turns back to the maps and Faramir’s gaze lowers to his feet.  Once again he is humiliated and reduced to ashes in front of his brother and his brother’s army.

            He turns on his heel and leaves ignoring Boromir’s voice calling his name.  It is several hours later when Boromir comes to his quarters.  He sits next to his brother and sniffs and looks at Faramir then as if not trusting his senses she leans closer to him and sniffs again.

            “You smell of a woman.”  Boromir sits back up, a wave of relief filling him, he had never believed the rumors of his brother being one who lies with other men or had he begun to wonder?

            “You seem shocked.” Faramir knows all of the rumors, and it is true there are those among his men who find love with one another.  He is sure if Boromir looked he would see them among his own men.

            He does not understand the horror of which it is thought of, in these dark times love is needed more then ever.  Why does it matter to any where another’s love comes from?  What business is it of anyone who falls into each other’s beds and more importantly whose arms anyone finds comfort in?

            He has lain heartbroken in the arms of the man he trusts more then any man save Boromir.  He has wept into Dyntin’s chest and taken comfort from his embrace, as Aewlyn did last night he fell asleep there.  He knows if Boromir knew this he would be horrified but he feels no shame in it.  It was the embrace of his friend that pulled him through that night, when he would have gladly ended his own life.  Would Boromir scorn that?  Knowing it saved his life?  He glances at his brother and decides he probably would regardless of the reason.

            He shakes the memory from his head, he had never spoken of that night nor had Dyntin but he will remember it. He had found comfort in a strange place that night and understands those who find comfort there and it is not strange to them.  He will scorn no one for who they love, at least these men are lucky enough to love and be loved back.

            “Who was she?”  Boromir brings him from his thoughts.  “Was she beautiful?”  Boromir doesn’t want to talk of their father and Faramir even less so.

            “Like none other.”  A soft smile touches the corners of Faramir’s mouth, a rare smile and it warms Boromir to see it.  To often his brother is brooding, or sorrowful.

            “An army of orcs are marching towards Mordor, we do not know where they hail from but they are heading straight towards the mountain.”  Boromir’s face turns serious.  They come though the lands of the horse lords along the west road.”  Boromir stands and walks to the map table they each have in their room.

            “Who knows what they left behind them in the wake.”  Faramir gets up and looks at the map.  “Where were they spotted?”  He watches as Boromir places his finger on the map on the edge of Firien Forest.

            “If we make haste we can ambush them as they come from the forest.”  Boromir leans over the map.

            “How many?” 

            “Four hundred is the estimate, they travel on foot, we leave in the morning on horseback we should be able to overtake them.”  Boromir stands up and scratches his beard.

            “We’ll leave tonight.”  He knows his men can be ready in less then an hour.  “I will take a hundred men with me, with us flanking them and you pushing them from the front I should not need more then that we have the cover of the forest.”

            “I would not wish to tread in their shoes.”  Boromir says and Faramir glances at his face, so use to his father’s abuse he even takes compliments as insults at first thought.  Boromir’s face is serious and Faramir glances back down at the map as his throat tightens.

            “With your bows at our back, we have no other option then victory.”  For all Denethor denies him his brother makes up for it.  In many ways Boromir is his father, his mentor, and his best friend.  Since they were boys Boromir has always shielded him from his father, taught him to swim, Boromir even got one of his admiring fans to give Faramir his first kiss on his thirteenth birthday.  He smiles at the memory and clasps his brother’s shoulder.

            “Let’s show these things what happens when they venture to near our lands.”  He is in good spirits.  He summons a servant and has word sent to his rangers to gear up.

            “Faramir, what do you think of father’s ward.”  Boromir looks down at the map.  He thinks having a woman like her around may be distracting and his reflection is based upon her looks.  He does not even know her yet.

            “I think she’s nice enough.”  He wonders if Boromir is testing him, to see if the rumors are true, to set his mind at ease.

            “Nice?  She is beautiful.”  Boromir smiles slightly as her image flickers to his mind.  “She will be a nice distraction.”

            “I am a gentleman unlike you, if I were to speak of her plainly I would lose this quality.”  He dresses in his armor, the boiled leather etched with the King’s tree.  Boromir laughs as he watches his brother fastens his wrist guards.

            “It will certainly make life a little more pleasant.”  Boromir glances out the window at the noonday sun.

            “She is trusted to our father Boromir, don’t get any ideas.”  He half jokes. “Besides you’re too old for her.”  He smirks and Boromir laughs.  He walks over to his brother and embraces him slapping his back.

            “Come home little brother.”  Boromir lets him go and Faramir is about to promise he will but remembers Aewlyn’s grief at her father’s broken promise.

            “I will do my best.” He leaves his quarters and heads down the stairs towards the stables.  He bumps into Aewlyn on the stairs of the third level as he travels down to the second level.

            He stops short, her dress is covered with blood and he grabs her and looks her over for a wound but there is not tear or cut in her dress.

            “I’m okay.”  Her face is lit up by a smile that reaches her eyes.  “I just delivered a baby girl.”  She wipes her hand across her brow.

            “You shouldn’t be doing this, you don’t have to do those things anymore.”  He had not realized she worked as a midwife.

            “I am who I always was, and something I will not conform for your father’s court.”  There is an edge of challenge to her voice.

            “Just don’t let father find out then.”  He glances down the stairs and she senses he must be off.  “I will see you if I return.”  He nods his head and turns to leave her but she grabs his arm.

            “If you return?”  She looks at him, sees he is fully armored with his sword at his side and his quiver and bow upon his back.

            “What is it?”  Her eyes widen in fear?  “Why do you ride again so soon?  The army just returned.”  She still has a hold of his arm and her blue eyes are intense.

            “Orcs are moving in the west.”  He isn’t sure why he is telling her, it is nothing she needs to be concerned with.

            “How many men are you taking?”  Her blue eyes demand an answer and her hand closes tightly around his arm.  “How many?”

            “A hundred, Boromir rides with three hundred.”  He answers quickly. 

            “If you took more rangers there would be less for the army to face hand to hand.”  Her father had often spoken of the power of the ranger’s bow.

            “My men are spread thin through the lands others are wounded or exhausted from the last battle.”  He doesn’t add his army doesn’t consist of the numbers Boromir commands.

            “You did not sleep last night.”  She lowers her eyes ashamed she kept him from his rest.  “I should not have kept you from your rest.”  She does not look up, he rides without sleep into battle because of her.

            “I go many days without sleep for reasons not so important.”  He glances down the stairs.  “Do not bear yourself ill will for needing a friend in your grief.”  He bows to her.  “I am honored you allowed me to be that friend.”  He rises and with the grace of a cat bounds down the stairs towards the main level.

            She goes back to the top level and quickly changes her soiled clothing, the moment the baby had come into the work had renewed her spirits.  The screaming baby had reminded her that new life replaces old and some how it comforted her.

            She runs through the King’s Garden out onto the needle that juts from the city and stands on the end.  The rangers are riding out, looking little more then green and brown speck atop horses from this height.

            She raises her hand in goodbye wondering how many of them will come home.  She does not like to think about.

            Faramir glances back over the city and sees a form standing at the edge of the needle.  He cannot see her clearly but he knows it’s his father’s ward.  The wind whips her hair up behind her head and he raises his hand in farewell.  Part of him looks forward to coming home a little more then usual.

 

            Aewlyn rubs the back of her neck as she walks back to her quarter’s, her father was remembered in the great hall of feast this night, his name read along with the others who had died in the last battle.   She shakes her head, there had been so many. 

            The army rides out in the morning, she has to admit with the army meeting the orcs head on and the rangers flanking them it should be a fast battle.

            There is a knock on the door and her maid answers it, she hears heavy footfalls and looks over her shoulder and stands as the Steward approaches her.

            “My lord.”  She curtsey’s and he smiles at her.  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

            “I wish to show you something.”  She watches as he walks to the door to her balcony, he beckons for her to follow him and she obeys.

            Once outside he removes a great leather tarp from a full size harp.  Her eyes widen and her face breaks into a joyous smile.

            “Lord Denthor!”  She runs the hand up the wooden frame, flowers and birds have been etched into the hardwood then their forms brought out by ichor rubbed into the notches of the carver’s blade.

            “I have heard that you enjoyed playing the harp.”  He stares at the instrument.  “It was my wife’s.”  She glances up from the instrument and he smiles sadly at her.

            “I cannot accept such a gift!”  She exclaims even as her fingers itch to pluck the string.

            “Since you cannot move it by yourself, you have little choice.”  He takes a seat on the small iron couch and leans back against the cushions upon it.  “Would you play for an old man?”

            “When ever he wishes.”  She sits and stretches her arms out and runs her fingers along the strings.  The sound is perfect with not a single string out of tune. Her fingers strum the strings as she plays the songs of Gondor.  They sit there for well over an hour and he listens to the music with his eyes closed.

            When her fingers can bear no more she stops, the harp she had used at her grandmother’s was not as fine as this.  He opens her eyes as the music stops and she is surprised to see tears in her eyes.

            “That was beautiful.”  He stands.  “I wish for you to play in my hall.”  It is almost a command.

            “I would be honored to play for you.”  She means it.  “My Lord can I ask a blessing of you.”  The music has softened and she senses now is the time to speak.

            “Anything.”  He is pleased she has come to his house, he had always wanted a daughter.  When his wife carried Faramir it had been his hope that the child would be a girl.  His smile fades for a minute, it is just another dream Faramir robbed him of.

            “My Lord, I love Gondor with all my heart.  I cannot lift a sword or draw a bow in her defense as the men do.” She pauses as his eyes study her in confusion.

            “Of course not.”  He shakes his head.  “What is it you ask of me?”  It is not hard to tell she is nervous, or that whatever she would ask of him is important to her.

            “Among the lower levels my mother was known as a healer of great skill, I assisted her, she taught me all she knew and when she died I continued to learn through her journals, and through taking care of those who could not come to the healing house.”  She holds her breath as he shakes his head.

            “You wish to continue to do this?  Among the lower levels?  I cannot allow this, you are a lady of my court now.”  He sees the disappointment on her face.  “It is not your duty any longer.”

            “Then who will do it.”  She thinks bitterly, she tries to hide her disappointment.  He cannot watch her at all hours she decides she will do as she wishes.

            “Perhaps Hynar could use your help in the house of healing, he will not be happy.” Denethor crosses his arms.  “This is not something a woman usually fills her days with.”

            “I am no ordinary woman.”  She holds her head high.  “My Lord, with the dark times that are upon any with skill to ease the pain of Gondor’s sons should be given the chance to do so.”

            “I will speak to Hynar and see how he feels about it, I am sure you could help with something there.”

            “My Lord, I do not seek to go there to fetch water, make beds, or roll bandages.”  She puts her hand on his arm and her blue eyes glaze with intensity.  “I have skill, I have saved lives, and I go to heal.”

            “A woman does not belong in a hospital full of wounded men.”  He frowns torn between giving the child what she wants and what he sees as proper.

            “A battle looms before us, when the men return there will be wounded.  If I can save one of them, it is one more then would be saved if I was not there.”  Her words have wisdom to them.

            “I will think on it.”  It is more then she hoped for and she smiles which lifts his spirits.  He does not regret bringing her here.

            “The army rides out in the morning, would you like to come with me when I see them off?”  She can see the concern in his eyes.

            “I would love to.”  He smiles and takes his leave and the sound of the harp echo through the garden as she takes to it again.

            Her mind works as she runs her fingers out the harp strings Perhaps Denthor will allow her to help in the hospital, it would be something to give her life meaning and fill her days.

She prays he does not expect her to sit and spin, or do needle work with the daughter’s of the other nobles.  Her friends are few and live with those on the lower levels of the city.  She has found no kinship with other’s of high birth.  She is not like them.

She cannot fill her days day dreaming of balls and of men.  Her father had insisted she spend one afternoon a week at tea with girls of the court and each hour had seemed a tortured eternity.

They cared not for the war that is upon them, their concerns always seemed to be centered on what color silk they could find to make their new gowns, or giggling prattle about Boromir.

She misses her father, she would like to have talked to him about the campaign Boromir and Faramir are leading at this moment.  Her father would have been pleased the two brothers are set out together.

She stands and covers the harp with the great hide tarp to protect it from the weather and then goes into her room.

Helga comes out and brushes her hair, it is the one thing she will allow her maid to do for her.  She enjoys it and it makes her remember her mother.

“Do you think you can be happy here?”  Helga runs the brush through the girl’s smooth hair.

“I don’t know but I will try.”  She closes her eyes as the brush runs over her scalp.  She has warmth for Helga though she never allowed the woman to replace her mother.

“The steward’s son is handsome.”  Helga smiles.  “He is such a powerful man.”  Helga sets the brush down and fluffs Aewlyn’s hair with her fingers.

“Of which son do you speak?”  Why is Faramir so invisible?  She doesn’t understand it.  It’s as if Denethor’s neglect of him fills the kingdom.  She knows of who Helga speaks.

“Boromir.”  Helga goes and pours a cup of tea bringing it to the girl.  “What the envy of all the woman of the land you must be, to be in the house of such men.”

“I have no desire to be the envy of any.”  She sips her tea and a frown touches her lips.  “My heart is cold Helga, I do not seek love from any in this house, or any at all.”

“So you say.”  Helga chuckles.  “You heart is still filled with the grief of losing your father and you’ve been here but a day.”

“Yes, I have been her but a day so please contain your desire to settle me with a man for a time yet.”  She sets her tea down with a cross look on her face.  “I am tired and I have to be up at dawn.”  She watches Helga leave and goes to her bed, she rolls onto her side and looks out the window filled with a nagging feeling that there is more to her being here then a debt owed to her father.

 

The dawn is clouded and Aewlyn looks at the sky as she walks down to the main level with Denethor.  She holds his arm and is very away of the glares of those they pass.  Her father’s lineage forgotten most of the finely dressed women they pass see her as an intruder.  One who does not belong among them and a threat to whatever fantasies they may hold for Boromir.

Aewlyn lifts her dress to keep it from becoming soiled among the horses as they go to the stable.  It is noisy the men talking among each other, the horses whinnying in anticipation of the ride ahead and the clash of steel armor and the men move.

“Father!”  Boromir walks towards them and Denethor lets her go to embrace his son.  The man looks powerful in his armor, his broad shoulders made larger.  She wonders how the men can move in such a cumbersome outfit but they move with ease.

“Do not tarry, get the job done and return home.”  Denethor releases his son from the embrace.

“We will and when we return we expect the ale to be flowing.”  Boromir’s face shows no fear of the battle ahead and his green eyes shine as if there is nothing he would rather be doing.

“Do not be confident my son, even the mightiest can fall to a blade.”  Denethor’s voice is tense.

“My brother will have my back, you have no worries.”  Boromir’s confidence in his brother makes Aewlyn smile.  She had her own opinions of Boromir before she had come here and they were not kind.

“Another has come to bid you farewell.”  At Denethor’s words Boromir’s attention falls on her and she shift uncomfortably.  Not knowing what else to do she steps forward and bows to him slightly.

As she bows her dress falls away from her cleavage sending a jolt through Boromir, he does not let it reflect on his face as she rises again.  She truly is a lovely woman.

“I wish you safe travel My Lord.”  She smiles at him, there is an impish gleam in his eye.

“Keep my father company, he grows sullen and brooding if I am gone to long.”  He winks at her and Denethor grumbles though there is no anger in the sound.

“I shall do what I can to cheer him.”  She smiles at Denethor and watches as Boromir mounts the great horse that will bear him away.

“Go with my blessing my son.”  Denethor looks up at Boromir and his son nods then spurring his horse he rides out of the stables to the fields where his men are forming.  There is a great blast of a horn and it is followed by the hoof beats of three hundred horses.  For a moment Aewlyn is caught up in the excitement and she runs up the stairs of the battlement and watches the men ride out.

Realizing she has left the Steward without being dismissed she runs back down before the men have completely faded from view.  He watches her bemused at her young and energy.

“Gondor is blessed to have such sons as these.”  She catches her breath.  “I pray for their safe return.”

“As do I child.”  Denethor takes her arm and they begin walking up the stairs again.  Their pace is slow and the sun begins to break through the clouds.

“I thought on what you asked of me.”  Denethor glances at her.  “I have instructed Hynar that you are to be treated as any other healer in his house.”

“My Lord.”  She smiles brightly.  “I will not let you down.”  Surprising him and herself she hugs him and her returns it, delighting in the girl’s happiness.  He would spoil her as his daughter if she would let him.

“Understand he was not happy, and I doubt you will be welcomed with open arms.  I am not sure of this myself, you are a lady of the court.”

“I am a daughter of Gondor and I serve her as I can.”  She releases him.  “I was blessed with a wise mother, a mother wise enough to not allow me to become pampered so that my only use to our city is to bear sons.”

“Do not joke about that, it is a great thing when women risk their lives bearing children.  It is something when warriors come home defeated, or heart broken and have the warm arms of someone they love to hold them.”  His grey eyes mist for a moment and she guesses he must be thinking of his wife.

“That is not my desire, at least not now.”  She smiles as his frown deepens a bit.  “I do not wish to be a spinster, but I am young and there is much more I can do now.”

“Are you always so bold in your confidence?”  She truly is like any other maid he has ever met.  Every aspect of her appearance is feminine, she moves gracefully, speak well but there is strength within her he admires.

“Yes my Lord.”  She gives him a crooked smile and he can well picture her as a mischievous child.

“You had better go to the house of healing, I told him you would be there by mid morning.”  He touches her arm.  “I pray you are as strong as you seem to be, for he will do all he can to break your confidence.”

“Don’t worry My Lord.”  Her smile widens.  “If he wounds my soul to much I shall come to you.”  She winks with one eye.  “As my guardian I would expect you to cleave him.”  She laughs and his joins with her and he shakes his head as he watches her bound up the stairs.

“Mynith you did not lie about her.”  His friend had spoken of her often, always with deep love and awe.  He very much felt for her how Denethor feels for Boromir.  Once again he ponders what life may have held for him if his wife had not died and his house had been blessed with a daughter.

Once again he wishes Faramir had been a girl and he frowns as soon as his son comes to mind.

Faramir is an embarrassment to him, with his nose always stuck in a book.  Perhaps if he had spent more time in practice with his sword he would be a warrior like his brother but he never had the fire that burns in Boromir’s soul.

It seemed the only way to save face for the weakness of his youngest son was to allow him to become a ranger.  Faramir seemed to take better to the bow and the forest campaigns.  Denethor’s face darkens as he returns to the hall and sits upon the borrowed throne.

Thinking of Faramir always darkens his day.

 

As Denethor warned the healers are not pleased but wise enough not to question their Lord’s decision as the girl moves among them.

She is not shy as she moves among the house as if she owns it.  She does not like what she sees. The place is ill equipped considering the warfare they face.

The first thing Aewlyn does is inventory the pharmacy, writing down what is low and what she feels is missing takes most of the day.  She presents it to the man whom she assumes is in charge and he glances at it before discarding it.

Angered Aewlyn picks it up and puts it in front of him again, he glares at her and glances over it once more.

“Most of what you ask for is not available to us, we use to gather it in the wilds but it is too dangerous now.  We make do with what we can grow within our gardens.”

“Forgive me, but you have no supplies of Asilith, how do you ease their pains when you operate?  How do you set them to sleep?”

“With a lot of brandy.”  His reply is curt. “You are here because it is Denthor’s instruction, do not think child that you will purge me from my spot.  This is my hospital and I run it as I see fit.”

“What of Osilith?”  She ignores his comment.  “You use Nyrim to fight infection, which in the early stages is fine but how do you treat serious infections?”

“There are bandages to be folded woman, I suggest you busy yourself with that and leave the real medicine for the men.  Or I can give you a list of women near the end of there confinement, perhaps you would serve us best looking in upon them.”

“What do you have to ease their pain?  I saw nothing, of course they are women and the pains of birthing are not worth easing.”  Her teeth click sharply together in her rage.  The hospital is pitifully stocked and arrogantly run.  It is a small wonder to her that any survive a stay here.

She goes to baskets of bandages that have been brought up from the laundry and begins to roll them.  Stocking the shelves with them she then stares out upon the ward.  There are few men left within them.  The battle that took her father left few survivors.

 One man with a stump left where his sword arm had once been sleeps fitfully.  She can imagine the pain of his wound and is angered that the herbs offered are not enough to ease his suffering.

Tired she returns to her quarters and falls onto her bed clothed.  She ignores the tray of food Helga places on her table and allows herself drift.  In a week the hospital will be a different place. 

 

The rangers stay hidden crouched in the forest along the west road, in the distance they can hear the hoof beats of their comrades horses as can the orcs.  The orc camp breaks as the dark skinned creatures scramble to gather their swords.

Faramir notches an arrow and makes the sound of a bird chirping several times and his men draw their bows.  The estimation of four hundred orcs had been at least a hundred short.

The orcs charge forward to greet Boromir and his army, it is a large battalion at least five hundred strong.  Boromir and his men charge forward with battle cries on their throats and the sound of drawing steel echoing it.

A hundred bows creak as they draw and the rangers prepare to reduce the ranks, these orc’s are strange, bigger and move swifter then the orc of the past.

As the swords clash arrows reign out from the trees and the orcs at the back of the fray fall.  As quick as the orcs around those who are simply wounded fall the rangers move changing their positions.  The orc’s mutter guttural cries as another spray of arrows fall upon them taking down another layer.  Snarling the back half of the battalion turn and stare into the forest.

Again arrows reign down on them and those that are not hit begin to charge towards the woods.  The rangers do not panic as they draw their bows again.  They continue firing until the orc’s are upon them.

“Swords.”  Faramir calls and draws his, the rangers are not easily seen as the orc’s move in.  The thirty men stationed in trees continue to provide cover for the sixty on the ground.  These men are newly married, or have small children and though they objected when he ordered them to the trees they obeyed their captain.

Too many times as Faramir held a weeping woman as he showed up at their do to apologize for the loss of their loved one.  Those on the ground understand and support protecting the younger men.  He would put them all in trees and keep them safe if he could.

He hears a strangled cry of pain and whirls to see on of the younger men being slammed into a tree, his feet dangling as the orc holds him up by his throat.  He charges forward driving his body into the orc.  It frees the man and turns on him and sneers he raises his sword and raises it as the crude cleaver comes down upon him.

They circle each other and he draws his blade across its belly, the orc doesn’t react to the pain and he doesn’t get his sword up in time to block a swing and feels the flesh at his side slice open.

He continues to fight it and finally if falls whether from its wounds or his last blow he is not sure.  He has no time to care as he turns to meet another.

The sound of battle fills the night as those on horse back mow through the orcs, every now and then the dying scream of a man breaks through the din.

Faramir pulls his sword from large orc and looks around, bodies litter the ground, and the dead orcs smell polluting the night air.  He sees several of his men have fallen but there is no time to stop.  He picks his bow and head out of the trees towards the battle his brother fights.  Already they have fought half the night and exhaustion threatens them all like a blade.

The orc’s numbers have fallen and again the ranger’s arrows take Orc’s in the back.  They cannot simply fire randomly now; Gondor’s men are mixed in the fray.  Each target is chosen and aimed for.

The last orc falls and Boromir’s men let out a whoop, Faramir rushes back into the forest to see to his men.

Twenty are dead and he hears sobbing and walks to Jenthor one of the youngest rangers who leans over a fallen man.  He puts his hand on the man’s shoulder, he is aware they were lovers and considers his grief no less then a woman who mourns her husbands.

  He thinks quickly of Aewlyn’s grief and compassion fills him.  He crouches down and puts his hand on the man’s shoulder.

            “I am sorry Jenthor.”  The man looks up at him with the same haunted pain that was in Aewlyn’s eyes.  The man wipes his eyes as if ashamed to cry in front of his captain, afraid that his leader knows about their love.

“He was my best friend.”  The man’s voice breaks as he looks down at his dead lover.  He looks very young and very lost.

“He was more then that Jenthor, you have no need to be ashamed.”  The look of gratitude that fills the mourning man’s eyes is vast and he claps Faramir on the shoulder.

“Given the choice between Captains Faramir, you will always be mine.”  He tries to smile through his tears and Faramir stands and glances away.  The man’s words touched him, for he never feels as if he is good enough.

“Take the time you need to grieve.”  Faramir moves among his men, there are wounded and he knows he will lose more before the night has ended.           

Making sure those who are wounded are seen to and bandaged.  He heads back out to meet Boromir.

“What are your numbers?”  He looks over the battlefield, too many Gondorians lay prone.

“We lost fifty, seven more may not make it back to the city, and another thirty are wounded but not mortally if we can get them back swift enough.  Then the normal cuts and bruises.”  Boromir curses.  “We should not have lost so many, these orcs were different, better trained, better weapons, more organized.”

“Get the wounded back, we will see to the bodies of the orcs.”  He spits how he hates this war.  “And to our dead.”  There is no way to drag the bodies back such a long way.  Not without risking disease and by the time they are returned they do not resemble the men they were.

He notices the plate armor is split at his brother’s shoulder, and sees the red of a wound beneath it.

“Make haste little brother, we do not know if there is another troop following this one.  I would not have you or your men caught up in it.” 

“Leave those you can spare behind in case you are right.  Get yourself looked at. Faramir turns from his brother to give instructions.  His cloak hides the wound in his side.

Boromir and half of his army ride out, the wounded behind them on litters, the ride back will take twice as long as the ride there and he worries they will be ambushed again or that Faramir and the men they left behind will be overtaken.

 

Boromir smiles as he can see the white city in the distance, the sight of her banners caught high in the breeze is a healing balm he is not sure any would understand.

The four days it has taken to reach the fields have been exhausting, they lost his seven along the way and more lay dying and five of Faramir’s men perished also.

The silver trumpets announce their arrival once the tower guards saw them and he knows that the city will be alive in preparation for their arrival.

He glances back at the small army of wounded, many men still ride but with great difficulty.  Those on the litters seem more dead then alive and he lifts his hand and rubs his face.

He is not like Faramir, he does not go from home to home to bring news of death to his men’s families.  He once had when he was younger and his heart was not so hardened but now, now he lets those of his men who know the families take the ill news of death.

He supposes it is cowardly but he is the Captain and he cannot take all the responsibilities of in forming families on his shoulder.  Lately there have been too many dead.

The cheers emit as soon as his horse sets foot inside the gate, there is laughter and mixed in with the rejoicing faces are those pinched with worry.   As the army files in he hears the screams of the women who see their lovers on litters.

He sees the pale faces of those who have not spotted their loved ones among the wounded or living.

He blocks the images from his mind and dismounts his horse, looking forward to a hot bath a good meal and a comely woman.  His traditions never change and he is sure the old guest house will be filled with much drinking and celebrating this night.

Considering the number of the orc’s and the new breed they did well, he knows it is in part because of the rangers, their arrows cut the number of his dead down.  He knows this even if his father doesn’t.

“My son!”  He turns and sees his father coming towards him with his arms outstretched.  He winces as his shoulder sears at the embrace.  Denethor pulls back from him and looks him over, seeing the wound he frowns.

“Let us go to the house of healing.”  Denethor begins to walk away but Boromir does not follow.

“There are those who need the healer’s more then I father.”  He gives instructions to a stable boy for the care of his horse.

“Nonsense you are the Captain, your wounds are to be seen to above all others.”  Denethor leave little room for argument.

The walk and Boromir takes in every stone of the city, he never knows what day will be his last within her embrace.

“There is a new breed of orc father, larger, meaner, the sun does not tire them, nor does pain affected them as it does man.”  Boromir’s eyes are dark.

“You prevailed, let your mind rest we will discuss this at the next council.”  Boromir notices his father does not climb the stairs as he once did.

“If it were not for Faramir and his men the battle would not have gone so well.”  Denethor does not comment on his statement as they arrive at the house and enter, the smell of blood and bile greets them and the pain filled cries of the wounded fill the air.  It is a somber scene at best and Boromir would rather not be here.

“Sit I will find someone to aide you.”  Boromir does as he’s told like a compliant child.  His heart is heavy though he tries to guard it as he looks around the room.  Healers and their assistants work over men who a week ago were whole.   There are men here who will never see again, or walk and he knows that it could be him at any battle.

“My Lord.”  Hynar comes towards him.  Boromir has never cared for the slight man.  His face reminds the captain of a rat and his words though always respectful and sometimes to flattering drip with oil.  “I will see to your wound personally.”  He speaks as if his attentions are a great honor.

“No Hynar, your skills are needed for more then administrating stitches.  There must be another who can do it.”  Hynar pauses as if slapped. 

“They are all busy, I just finished who I was aiding and am free to help you.”  He is slightly insulted.

“Hynar.”  Denethor’s face is grim, he has not liked what he has seen as he searched for someone to help Boromir.  The men are left in agony, many of them begging for death.

He saw one healer sewing up a man’s belly without even the offer of medicine to ease his pain.

“My Lord I was just about to work on your son but he is being stubborn.”  He expects Denethor to set his son straight.

“Why is there no relief from pain for these men?  I do not remember such agony in my days as a soldier.

“Alas my lord, many of the medicines once used are not afforded to us.  The plants are rare and in the wilds and we dare not tread there.”  Aewlyn comes in from outside where she has run to fetch clean water and frowns.  What would she risk if she speaks now?

“Why was I not made aware of this?  How long has it been going on?”  Denethor’s anger surrounds him.

“It has been years.”  Hynar glances at his feet he sees the Steward’s ward in the doorway and his eyes threaten her.  She sees the look and it only challenges her.

“My Lord.”  She steps forward.  “I inventoried what is lacking, their uses, and where it can be found.”  She glances at Boromir and sees his shoulder and a worried frown comes across her lips.  “I gave it to this man, perhaps if he relinquished it to you there might be a way to search for the plants.  If we could bring live plants back we could cultivate them to seed and renew our stocks over time.”  She holds her head high and Boromir doesn’t try to hide the smirk on his face as Hynar’s face reddens.

“Excellent Aewlyn.”  The steward looks pleased, in the two weeks his son was gone she has done exactly as she promised and kept him from being lonely.  She has played her harp for him while he ate despite his protests for her to dine with him.  His appetite has improved as has his mood.  “I would see this list.”

Boromir watches Aewlyn’s face turn up into an evil smile, it is easy to tell there is no love between Hynar and her.  He wonders why she is here, and what she is doing listing the supplies.  She is a lady of the court and she dirties her hand on the wounded?  It does not make since to him.  Where would a woman gain such schooling?  Of course he remembers that she is no ordinary woman from the lower levels.  Born between classes and raised among both.

“I do not have the list.”  Hynar takes a step back struggling to control his temper.  “This girl has no schooling, I have run this hospital for many years and we do well.”

“You do not even have Osilith within your stores; you treat infected wounds that are mortal with herbs that are good to treat infected toenails!”  Her cheeks flush and her eyes glimmer with rage.  “You will lose men from this battle that need not die.”

“You speak out of your place child.”  Hynar glares at her.  “My Lord I believe the carnage here is too much for such a delicate creature.  No lady speaks to a man like this, she is forgetting herself.”

“Delicate?”  Denethor laughs.  “In body yes but her spirit is strong.”  He crosses his arms and looks stern.  “You would do well to remember that she is a ward of my court Hynar and show her the respect she deserves.”

“But my Lord…”  Hynar seems to shrink under Denethor.  “I have been your master healer for many years, do you not trust me?”

“Of course I do old friend, but the times are changing, our wounded out number those we have to heal them.  I will not lose a single man if she can save them because you dislike a woman within your realm.”

“There has never been a woman within the ranks of our healers.”  Hynar does not know when to stop.  “Her mother even sought to be among us, with the same attitude that she knew more then those who were learned by the masters of old.”

“My mother forgot more then you will ever know.”  Aewlyn’s eyes glitter with hatred.  “You mocked her and tried to belittle her skills.”  Aewlyn shakes with anger.  “Simply because she tried to show you a different way, skill passed through our family for generations.”

“Your mother was a witch, what she proposed as treatments were barbaric.”  He looks down his crooked nose at the girl.

“Allowing the men to suffer like this?  This is compassion?”  She picks up a flask of brandy and hurls it at him forgetting the Lords are in the room.  Both of them watch the exchange with a bit of amusement and awe.  Both think they would not like to be at the receiving end of her wrath.

“My Lord.”  He looks to Denethor for help.  “It is too much for her here, women are not suited to this work.”

“Why do you think my father never came here when he was wounded?  Because he knew how poorly this place is run.  He came to my mother and when she died to me.  I closed up a belly wound on him when I was thirteen and he lived, how many of the men that come to you with such wounds find comfort in their own beds again.”

Boromir looks at her, he remembers that battle, and he remembers that wound.  A woman had healed the man.  He shakes his head a little amazed.

“I do not have time for this our lord is wounded.”  He walks towards Boromir who raises his hand.

“You have other tasks to see to Hynar, Aewlyn will attend my wound.”  Boromir glances at her and smiles and she beams at him.  Her smiles makes her eyes dance and he feels warmth for her.

“As you desire.”  Hynar’s voice seethes as he storms away.  He begins barking orders at those beneath him and they feel the wrath of his anger.

“Aewlyn, I would have council with you later and discuss what must be done to this place.  I had not realized the state of things.”  Denethor looks sorrowed.

“Very well My Lord and I apologize for my behavior.”  She lowers her head.  “He just aggravates me.  If his skill were as great as his pride he could raise the dead with a word.”  Her teeth are clenched as she speaks and both men laugh at her words.

She helps Boromir remove his armor and then cuts the ripped and bloodstained padding he wears beneath it.  His chest is thick and every muscle defined and she blushes slightly.

Denethor notices and is pleased at the flicker of attraction in her eyes.  He takes his leave after assuring them he will return.

“That is deep my lord.”  She frowns as she looks at the wound.  “I need to clean it.”  She crumbles some herbs into a basin of water.

“Do what needs to be done.”  He watches her, even in a simple work dress of dark linen she is stunning, the light apron she wears over it is tied behind her and reveals how tiny her waist is.

She wets a cloth and starts by washing the dried blood away, she puts her hand on his other shoulder and her hand is hot against his flesh.  He sits and she stands and her bosom in near his face and he flushes the pain the last thing on his mind.

“This isn’t going to be pleasant.”  She moves away from him and wets the cloth again, this time the grip on his good shoulder is firm and the tips of her fingernails touch his skin.

“It’s alright to scream.”  Her words catch him of guard and when he glances up at her she is smiling down at him with a crooked grin.  Her teasing makes him growl in his throat and the sound of it makes her flush.

“There are better ways to make me scream woman.”  He thinks to himself and pushes the thought away.  She is not barmaid, she is a lady of his father’s court and above his lust.

Her face softens as she prepares the clean the wound, as she begins she feels the muscles under her hands tighten and glances at his face.  His jaw is clenched tight but he makes no complaint.

“It’s not infected.”  She tosses the bloody cloth away, it hadn’t begun to heal either, and she imagines the constant scraping against the armor had prevented this.  The leather padding he had worn under his armor is drenched with old and new blood.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood.”  She washes her hands and takes a set of scissors and a curved needle from a tray she has brought over.  He watches her thread the need, many women faint at the sight of blood but she is neither pale nor trembling.

“I still breathe when my men do not.”  She hands him a flask of brandy and he takes a few swallows.  “I will be alright.”

“I’m going to start.”  She pierces his flesh with the needle and he pales a little.  Her stitches are small and delicate and seem to take forever.  “I’m almost done.”  It takes twenty stitches to close the wound but she knows that the scar will not be so terrible.  She glances over his chest again the bronze flesh is littered with scars but it does not repulse her.

“The wound is deep My Lord.”  She puts the scissors and needles in a basin of water.  “It is best those stay in for two weeks.”  She is tired, it is a long day and there is much yet to do.

“Thank you.”  He stands up and she tosses him a linen shirt, simple yet will cover him until he can return to his quarters.

“Your brother, where is he?”  She had seen rangers among the wounded but not Faramir.

“He remains on the field disposing of the corpses with what’s left of his men and some of mine.  Do not listen to the rumors you hear of him, my brother is a fine fighter.”

“I did not doubt it.”  She has heard many rumors about Faramir and his rangers, none of them kind.  “You must not tax that shoulder.”  She tucks her hair behind her ears, much of it falling from the bun she has twisted it into.

“If there is a need to ride out to battle once more I will heed it.”  He pulls on the shirt and her eyes do not stray from his chest while he pulls it over his head.  She looks away quickly as his head comes from the top.

“You will not.”  She crosses her arms.  “If I have to tie you to your chair.”  She gives him the crooked grin again and he feels a wave of heat pass through him and is glad he is still wearing the plate greaves to hide the evidence of the heat.

“You and what army?  I command this one.”  He grins at her and stands.  “I must speak with my father. I must say this is the most fun I’ve had being healed.”  He walks away from her and she stares after him.

She feels strange, warmth that seems to center in her belly and travel lower.  There is a tingling in her womanhood that causes her to blush as she realizes it.  Her nipples feel tight beneath her dress and she walks quickly to a basin of water and splashes it on her face.

She has never allowed herself to fall fancy to a man and has not plans to do so now.  Especially not Boromir, she will not become one of the girls she use to scorn who sat and wrote his name over and over again. 

She stays until well after nightfall before returning to her quarters, Helga has kept a bath for her and she lets the wooden tub soak away the grim and stress of her day.  She thinks again of Boromir and the way his jaw tensed as she stitched him and of the growl he made in response to her teasing.

The strange feeling returns and she gets out of the tub and dresses quickly setting her mind away from him.  She may have never lain with a man but her mother had taught her of it.

She laughs as she remembers hiding her face behind her hands as her mother explained the relationship between a man and a woman.  She was young, only ten but when her bleeds began her mother told her more then she would ever need to know.

She was open and honest telling her to expect pain the first time, but assuring her that after the initial shock it was wonderful, something a woman has every right to expect and demand enjoyment from.  It is not only a man’s pleasure.

Aewlyn had listened half heartedly giggling and hiding her face but her mother had made her listen.

Until now she had never given the matter much thought.  Perhaps it’s because she is a woman now that the feelings are beginning.  Or perhaps it is because she no longer has the safety of her father to drive any man that looked upon her with warm eyes away.

She had no been allowed to court, any man that sought her father’s permission was shown to the door quickly.  She never understood why but perhaps now she does, perhaps he knew that as she grew older these feelings would stir in her and it was what he could do to protect her virtue.

She takes her cloak and puts it around her shoulders hoping the night air will take her mind from such things.

She walks to the gardens and goes to the wall and looks out over the land, Faramir is out there somewhere and she silently prays he is alright.  She rests her arms on the top of the wall and leans forward.  He is so unlike his brother, gentle, proper and she remembers his arms around her in the tombs and the smell of his hair.

The annoying warmth fills her again and she lets out a sigh, in one second she is warm for Boromir and the next Faramir.  She wonders what kind of woman she is.

“Do you never rest?”  She turns as Boromir approaches.  “Surely you are tired.”  He stands at the wall beside her.

“I will rest when I am dead.”  She turns looking out searching the horizon for any trace of riders. 

“My father is in the best spirits I have seen him in a long time, I believe I have you to thank for this.”  He leans against the wall.

“Your father is a lonely man, though with two sons it is his choice to be so.”  The wind blows her hair from her shoulder.

“What do you mean?”  He looks at her, her delicate face is reddened from the wind.

“He puts all his hopes and dreams in you forgetting the other.”  She turns her head so she is looking at him.  “He denies himself the love of his other son, the invisible child, and places all his expectations on you.”  She looks back over the wall.  “This must weigh you down, this expectation that you will make all right.”  Her eyes are gentle and she places her hand on his arm.

“You speak as if you know me.”  It is true, being the center of his father’s universe crushes him at times. It is not something he speaks of.

“How is it that your father can love you so deeply, yet barely acknowledge your brother?  I do not understand.”  She watches as his eyes harden and removes her hand from his arm.

“You ask things that are not your concern.”  His voice is harsher then he means it to be and she flinches and looks away.

“Forgive my Lord.”  She bows slightly and begins to walk away.  He calls her name but she shuts his voice out.

She goes to her quarters and closes the door, exhausted but her mind to heavy to rest she steps out onto the balcony and begins to pluck at her harp.  The music is soft and gently, she dare not play anything considered more then a ballad at this late hour lest she disturb anyone.

The music floats up to the Garden and Boromir listens to it and is reminded of his mother.  Her one love other then her family had been the harp.  It has been long since he has heard the strained strings being plucked.  He wonders who is playing and leaves the garden returning to his own quarters.

His shoulder is sore but does not ache as it has and when he pulls his tunic off he glances at it.  The flesh around the wound is well colored and already appears to be healing.

He lies in the middle of his bed staring up at the ceiling, the music of the harp wafts in his window on the cold breeze.

He does not think of his mother often, he had been but a boy of ten when she died and some of his memories of her have all but faded. 

He remembers her gathering him on her lap as her time came, her face had glistened with sweat as she tried to hide her pain from him.

“You will be a big brother soon.”  She had smoothed his hair back from his face.  “Promise me you will always look out for this little one.”  He had often thought back on that day.  Had she known something was wrong?  Had she known Faramir’s birth would take so much from her and make her weak?  She had never regained her color after his birth, she had been tired and then when Faramir was five and he ten she simply slipped away.

He rolls on his side as he thinks of Faramir; he has done all he can for his brother.  No words can soften his father’s heart.  It makes him ill the way his father showers love upon him and neglects Faramir.

He stands and walks to his balcony stepping out onto the door he sees where the music is coming from.  Aewlyn sits at his mother’s harp her eyes closed as she plays with the grace of a master on her own balcony.

Her legs straddle the harp, her white nightdress pushed up to her thighs and Boromir cannot take his eyes away.  Her body moves with the music as she plays and he has never seen anything more sensual in his life.

A crack of thunder fills the sky and she jumps startled, brought back from wherever the music has taken her.

She stands quickly and pulls the hide tarp over the instrument. It is thick made from the hide of the great elephants in the east and will protect the harp from anything nature can throw at it.

Instead of rushing inside as the first drops of rain fall she turns her face up into it.  He watches her open her mouth to catch the rain, the sky opens wetting his clothes but he does not notice.

The light linen nightdress that covers her body becomes drenched as well, he can see her body beneath it and it is perfection.  Her breasts are high and formed and her nipples tightened from the cold rain are like rosebuds.  The light from her room spills out from behind her and a cloud moves from the moon and she laughs and turns around to take her face from the wind.

Her legs are long and lead up to a tight bottom, the silks she wears are darker then the linen dress and hug her high up on the hip tormenting him, hiding what lies beneath.

She turns and he steps back so she cannot see him, he looks at her through the trellis that hides him moving ivy that blocks his sight.

She looks frightened for a moment as if she senses she is being watch and coves her chest with her arms and moves quickly into her quarters.

His need for a woman is intense and he doesn’t change from his wet clothes as he leaves and heads down to the Old guest house.  The inn is filled with his men, some there with their lovers others nestling whores on their laps.

What he does after coming home is not uncommon, many men forget the days behind them nestled between a woman’s legs.  He is just careful of who he lies with, and never with a high born.

Whores are so much simpler, they know what they are and what he wants and do not beg him to stay with them in the morning.  Any fantasies they have of him they allow fulfilled in the night he gives them.

High born women feel betrothed to him if he chooses to dance with the same one more then once at a ball.

He notices a dark haired wench in the corner and she smiles coyly at him.  She is tall and well endowed.  The lacings of her tunic are pulled taunt across her breast and the short barmaid skirt she wears shows well toned legs that seem to go on forever.

She is not a wisp of a woman but there is not an ounce of fat upon her lean frame.  She licks her lips and nods towards the stairs and he meets her upon them.  She takes him to a room and locks the door.

He does not try to kiss her, he has no want for intimacy and she instead kisses his neck as he removes her clothing. 

She slips from his grasp and pushes him, turning him so he is standing with his back to the wall and kisses down his chest.  He closes his eyes as her mouth finds him and she bathes his length with her tongue.

She knows how to please man and he feels pressure build, his mind filled with images of his father’s ward dancing in the rain.  He pushes her away before it is too late and ignores the screaming throb in his loins.

He looks down at her with eyes filled with lust and comes down upon her. She spread her legs open with no shame as he kisses down her neck.  With one hand he grasps her breast while he toys with her nipple with his teeth.

She lets out a moan as he works his tongue across the pert nub.  She had heard from the other girls what a lover he is, so often she is left unsatisfied, she knows this will not be so tonight.

His tongue leaves her breast and she shudders as it runs along her belly, she gasps in pleasure as she feels it slide between her body’s opening and slide inside her.  Her head spins as he licks her inside and she grips his hair with one hand.  She screams as he moves up to her button and continues the sweet torture.

She feels her body clench and she whimpers as the heat begins to build in her pelvis.  She feels his rough fingers pushing her apart and cries out as two find their way inside her.

His tongue and fingers work in perfect rhythm and she bucks her hips up but his mouth stays on her.  His fingers prod at her as she tightens around them, letting out cries that can be heard in the rooms adjoining.

The coupling seems to go on forever and she fears she will lose her mind, he is a rough lover but not mean and she feels the bed becoming wet beneath them from her response to him.

He says nothing to her nor gives her time to catch her breath before he lies atop of her.  His eyes are frenzied with need and she lifts her legs and pulls them to her shoulders offering herself to him.

He needs no encouragement and with one powerful thrust he is buried inside her, she moans, she is woman who has been with many men and this man stretches her like a virgin.

Boromir takes the woman hard, driving thoughts of the battle, of his men, his worry for his brother out of him with every thrust.  She is hot and wet and feels wonderful around him.

He reaches down and squeezes her breast and she moans dropping her legs to the bed and digging her heels in moving with him, meeting every thrust.  He feels her tighten and her hands go to his back, he feels her nail dig into his flesh and lets out a groan.

She begins to moan and he thrusts harder struggling to hold back just a little longer.  She writhes beneath him and tightens around him almost painfully.  Her nails dig into his back and he can fail them raking his flesh.  The sensation of pain mixed with the building pressure is his undoing and he thrusts deep and hard into her, pushing her down in the bed and moans as he empties into her.

He looks down at her for a moment, his arms shaking and gasping for breath.  She reaches up and touches his face but he turns his head away roughly.  She nods forgetting for a second she is only a whore but quickly reminded. 

He confuses her as he doesn’t move off her but lies upon her resting his head on her breasts.  She does not resist though he is heavy and chances running her fingers through his damp hair.

Her body is sore now that it is over but she is warm and finds it hard to believe a desire for him is growing again.  She wonders if he could perform again, many men cannot and with the zest and zeal he took her with she would be amazed if even the Great Captain of Gondor could rise to battle again.

She has no shame in what she does.  He is not the only solider that seeks comfort in the arms of strangers after battle.

She loves them all, at least during the act of making love, and forgets them all when they leave.

She sees no shame in offering comfort in war weary men, some of them cry when she holds them but the Captain of Gondor is not one of these men.

He moves from on top of her and surprises her by pulling her against him.  She rests her head on his chest and listens to his heart until it slows its normal beat.

He has his arm around her and she glances up at him.  His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, lost in thought.

He sees the battlefield and hears the screams of his men as they lay dying.  The dread of what is to come and the expectation that he will find the answers darken his eyes.

Sensing where his mind is she runs her hand down his powerful chest.  She turns her head and trails kisses down the path her hand had followed.

He lets out a soft sigh and closes his eyes as her mouth finds him.  He is not like most men and responds to her, despite the energy just spent.

She pulls his thoughts from the darkness as her mouth caresses him and he buries his fingers in her hair.

He relaxes as another crash of thunder rumbles above them and as the next crack of lightening strikes he pulls her up from him and watches her as she straddles him and takes control.

The lightening brightens the room behind her as she rides him, her large breasts rising and falling as she bounces.

He turns her only this time his thrusts are controlled, not desperate.  The thunder continues to roll as he takes her until dawn.

He leaves before she wakes leaving the coin on the table, he is generous as he always is leaving enough that if the girl so chooses she can take rest from her work for a few weeks.

His shoulder aches and he loathes going back to get the stitches replaced, he had ripped every one of them the night before. He will try to find time to go later.  Right now he needs to seek council with his father.

His father is in his study, the one place even Boromir is forbidden to disturb him.  He goes back out into the courtyard.

           

            Four days pass and there is no sign of the men left behind on the horizon.  The celebration of the first army returning is dimmed as fear of the other never coming home grows.

            Aewlyn plays the harp but keeps her ears strained to hear the men’s conversations.  They are worried, Boromir’s face is a mask as he eats or pretends to.

            She frowns as she notices blood on his shoulder and when the meal is finished she seeks him out.

            “You pulled your stitches.”  She falls in step behind him.  “Come to my quarters, I will fix you there, I have had enough of Hynar for one day.”  He starts to argue then stops.  Her maid will be in her quarters, it is safe enough.

            She leads him inside and gets him to sit on one of the chairs by the table.  She digs in a trunk and comes over setting a carpet bag on the table.  She takes things out and he notices many vials of liquid and dried and crushed herbs he does not recognize.

            “Your private stash?”  He picks up a vial and she takes it from him as she continues to dig through the bag.  Finally she finds the small leather kit that holds a curved needle, thread and scissors.

            “Take off your shirt.”  She threads the needle as he complies and the traces of red along his back catch her attention.

            “Well I guess that answers how this happened.”  She dabs the wound with a moist cloth and uses tweezers to pull the old thread from the wound.  Boromir isn’t sure why he feels as if he has done something wrong. He doesn’t know what to say.

            “When I told you not to wield your sword, I should have included the one attached to your body as well I guess.”  She laughs as his eyes fly open at her comment.  It is unladylike and seems so out of character for her.

            “Do not look so surprised Boromir. I was raised by a man.  I heard way too much way to young when I sat at my bedroom door listening to him and his friends talk.”  She chuckles a little.  She stitches him up again and dabs the wound gently, her fingers itch to run down his chest and again she pushes the thoughts away.

            “Now my Lord, I suggest when the need arises in either case, you leave your sword sheathed.”  She winks at him and he fells his member twitch.  He cannot remember wanting a woman so badly, but it is more then that.  She intrigues him with more then just her body, she is independent, strong, and fearless.

            She opens a vial that has a strange smell and wets a ball of cotton with it and moves behind him.

            “What is that?”  He glances behind him.  “What are you doing?”  She answers by running the cotton down one of the scratches and his back screams with stinging pain.

            “What the hell!”  He is more surprised then anything and she puts her hand on his shoulder as she finishes cleaning the wounds.

            “You have no idea what might have been under your lover’s fingernail.  I would hate to see you felled by an infection of lovemaking.”  There is a mild disapproval in her voice.  “You release there are risks in visiting women of low virtue.”  She has seen women afflicted with these diseases and none of them are pleasant or easily gotten rid of.

            “You act as if you care.”  He tests her and makes no move to put his shirt back on letting the breeze that blows through the window ease the sting.

            “Of course I care.”  She does not blink as she answers him.  “You are the heart of Gondor, many rely on you, and if you fall this city would mourn and let darkness take it.”  She puts her things back in the bag and he shifts uncomfortably.

            “I never asked it to be this way."  He now reaches for his tunic.  “I would that father would put more trust in Faramir.

            “I know your love for your brother is one of your endearing qualities.”  She smiles at him.  “You are not at all as I supposed you to be.”

            “How was it you thought of me?”  He nods to her maid as she comes from her quarters having heard a man in the apartment.  Seeing Boromir she bows and smiles and goes back into her own room which puzzles both Aewlyn and Boromir.  Should a maid not be more protecting of her Lady’s virtue?  Both shrug it off and continue their conversation.

            “I figured you would be full of yourself, a pride filled brat.”  She smirks.  “There was only one thing I was right about. You are a user of women.”

            “I use no one.”  He is insulted and his face shows it.  “I promise them nothing, you are a girl you do not understand the stresses of war and the need to forget.”

            “Because I am a girl I do not understand the pain war brings?”  Now she is insulted.  “A woman’s grief is just as precious as a man’s.”

            “I did not mean it the way it was spoken.”  He frowns.  “It is just nice to be with a warm body and to lose yourself in it and forget.”  He looks away from her.

            “Then why do you not find the same one every time you return?  It seems to me an act such as the one you find comfort in would be more pleasing when love was part of it.  There is no end of women who desire to be your wife.”

            “For all the wrong reasons, they love the man they see standing on the wall shouting of glory and Gondor.”  He leans back in his chair.  “They love the power that will come when I become steward.”  He looks at her.  “I have no desire to be involved with such a charade.”

            “You say that Boromir but one day you will be walking through the city and you will find a woman that haunts your mind and you will think differently.”  She laughs and it makes him smile.  “I think it would be warming to see you foolish over a woman.”

            “It will never happen.”  He knows he should leave but is in no hurry to go.  He glances at a chessboard on the table.  “Do you play?” 

“Yes, yes I do.”  She smiles.  “I play well do you wish to challenge me?”  She moves the board over and opens a carved box and begins placing the pieces on the board.

“Well I’ll take it easy on you.”  He smirks.  “Seeing as you are a woman and war is a man’s game.”  She cuts her eyes at him though there is the crooked smile on her lips that makes him weak.

They play through the night and the game is a long one, each countering the other’s move until finally he takes her last piece off the board.  Her face is pinched and he laughs realizing she is not a good loser.

“I must go there is much to do.”  She stands and walks to the door with him, she blinks as he touches her face then leaves without saying a word.

She reflects on the evening and frowns as she thinks of the scratches down his back, it is none of her concern what he does with other women and she had no right to scold him.

Why does it bother her at all, she wonders why she has given it any thought at all.  She sighs as she settles on her bed and rolls over and hugs the pillow.  She decides all these strange feelings must have something to do with her grief.  It is how men deal with theirs why is would it be different for women.

She wakes as there is a loud pounding on her door and sits up, the sun is barely beginning to rise and she hurries to answer it not waiting for Helga.  She opens the door to find Boromir fully armored and the look on his face startles her.

.  “A scout has ridden ahead.  Faramir’s men and the men I left behind were ambushed, more wounded are coming in.

“Faramir?”  There is a not of alarm in her voice.  “Faramir is alright is he not?”

“The scout died at the gates before he could tell us, I am riding out to meet them.”  She nods her head and without thinking hugs him, it catches him of guard but he hugs her back and smells her hair.

“Be careful and bring him home.”  Her concern for Faramir bother’s him for a split second and she shakes his head.  “Do not pull your stitches again.”  She can think of nothing else to say as she withdraws from him and watches him hurry off.

Boromir’s shoulder throbs as he mounts his horse, the plate uncomfortable with his shoulder spliced.

A group of men follow behind him, each horse supplied with folded litters.  They spur their horses and ride out. They meet the diminished army half a day from the city.

“Faramir!”  Boromir sees his brother riding slumped forward on his horse.  Faramir raises his head and nods at Boromir.

They ride through the day and into the night, trailing the wounded behind them.  Of the hundred men Boromir left behind only twenty ride, only ten more lay behind them on litters drawn by horses, it is worse for Faramir.

His men are not armored with hard steel.  The leather jerkins do not stop blades as well. Of the men he set out with only eight rides with him.  The rangers make up the majority of the wounded.

Boromir glances behind him, Faramir’s friend and most trusted ranger lies with a belly wound on the litter behind Faramir’s horse.

“Faramir.”  Boromir looks across at his brother and sees two tears streaming down his cheeks.

He is not hardened like Boromir, he blames himself for this, and he should have set better guards, or moved quicker towards home.  He has seen Dyntin’s wounds and knows his fate.  His best friend, his second in command and his comforter lies dying and his heart is heavy.  He is tired of war, tired of life and thinks for a moment it would not be so bad to slip into darkness.

A hundred orcs smelling blood and carnage had set towards them.  The smoke of the burning bodies had been a beacon.

Already exhausted and with the rangers out in the open moving among the wounded.  They had fought hard and prevailed but the cost was high.

Faramir looks up, he can smell the wound he received the first day.  It festers and he burns from the inside.

“Faramir!”  He does not realize he would have fallen from his horse if Boromir hadn’t moved closer to him.  Boromir reins his horse in and grabs the bridal of Faramir’s.

He pulls Faramir from the saddle lifting him onto his own horse as if he were a child.  He grunts in pain as under the weight of his brother his stitches reopen.

He glances behind him, the men he brought with him are fresh and can protect the wounded.  He holds his brother tight against him.

“Do not leave me Faramir.”  Fear like none other he has ever felt fills him.  “Faramir.”  His brother is limp in the arm that holds him.

He rides up to one of his men and reigns his horse, the soldier looks up at him.

“Put Dyntin on a mount and ride swiftly behind me.”  He doubts the ranger can be saved but he will try for his brother’s sake.

He rides to another and gives commands and then spurs his horse holding Faramir with one arm as he rides.

Faramir is aware of the movement but unaware at the same time.  He feels as if fire consumes him.  He hears Boromir’s words but does not understand their meaning.

“FARAMIR!”  Boromir spurs his horse, the horse’s hooves kick up clumps of dirt behind it as it streaks across the plains.

Faramir’s eyes flutter open as the silver trumps announce their approach.  He sees the banner of his city caught in the breeze and closes his eyes again.  Perhaps his father will allow him to be put to rest in the tombs of valor.

The gates open and Boromir spurs his horses up the stairs, there are cries of alarm as he charges through.

He rides the horse to the sixth level and only reins it outside the house of healing, the poor beast is gleams of sweat as he pulls Faramir down and carries him.

“Hynar!”  He shouts as she lowers his brother onto a bed.  The older healer comes rushing forward and quickly tears the shirt from Faramir.

His chest is wounded in several places but the smell of the wound in his side makes even Boromir step back.

He had not noticed on the ride, the wound is about six inches long and impossible to tell how deep it is.

Hynar begins to clean it and shakes his head sadly, the skin around the edges of the wound are black.

“We can make him comfortable.”  He looks up at the Captain of Gondor.

“Heal him!”  Boromir grabs Hynar by his robe and pushes him against the wall.  Fear widens the healer’s eyes.

“My lord the wound has turned black, the poison is in his blood.”  Boromir looks at the wound and let’s go of the healer.

“Send for Aewlyn.”  He speaks through clenched teeth.  “Perhaps she will not give up so easily.”

“Boromir.” Denthor comes into the room, he casts a look at Faramir and an unreadable expression comes across his face.

“He’s dying father.”  Boromir leans against the wall.  “This one is content to let him die.”  He looks as if he would murder Hynar where he stands.

“My lord it is not that.”  Hynar straightens his robes and tries to look regal.  “This is beyond any man’s power to heal.”

“Send for me before the end.”  Denthor turns and Boromir stares at his in disbelief.

“FATHER!”  He grabs his father by his shoulder and pulls him back.  “He is your son.”

“I can do him no good here.”  He shakes his hand from Boromir’s shoulder and walks out.  Once outside he leans against the wall gathers his wits and walks back to the castle.

“My Lord!”  Aewlyn rushes into the room having heard word that the Captain of the Ranger had been brought in.  Boromir’s face is a mask of grief and he points to the bed Faramir is upon.

She sits on the edge of the bed and lifts the bandage that is covering his side and sucks in her breath and turns her head.  She sets her jaw and will and turns back to look at the wound.  It is festered and the skin around it is black, puss leaks from it like water and his skin radiates heat from she can feel without touching him.

“Boromir go get my bag, it is in the trunk.”  She glances up at him.  “It is his only chance.”  Boromir nods and runs from the building, Hynar glares at her.

“He is beyond hope girl what do you try to prove.”  Hynar mocks her. 

“If you do not wish to help me, leave us.”  She washes her hand and calls for a girl to bring her water.   She adds herbs from what they have in stock to it and pulls the wound apart flushing it until the water runs clear.

The wound is foul but as she probes it she is pleased to see it does not go beyond the muscle.  His internal organs have not been pierced.  The wound itself is not life threatening it is the infection that has been allowed to take it.

The heat that comes from him worries her as she lays her hand on his cheeks.

“You need to do that to know he’s fevered?”  Hynar mocks her?

“I need maggots.”  She stands as Boromir comes in and hands her the bag.  She opens it pulling herbs long forgotten out and studying each one.

“Maggots?”  Hynar looks at Boromir and rolls his eyes.  “What witch craft do you wish to perform.”  Even Boromir has his doubts.

“As you said he’s all but lost so what harm.”  Her eyes cut.  “What harm can my witch craft do for him?  At least I have the courage to try where other’s lack it!” 

“Maggots!”  Hynar mocks her and Boromir frowns and crosses his arms.

“I don’t have time to argue with you pig headed fools.”  Her eyes blaze with anger and she is striking as her angry eyes fall upon Boromir.  “You can find them for me or you can watch him rot and die in this bed!” 

“Find some Hynar.”  Boromir looks at the healer whose smile dies quickly.  “Personally and make haste.”  Hynar looks as if someone has slapped him.

“Where am I supposed to find maggots?”  He looks horrified.

“The lower levels, food establishments, they have problems with them if they cannot burn their refuse in a timely manner.”  She speaks quickly as she cleans the wound again.

Hynar leave his cheeks flushed and his bellows for someone to assist him following him out.

“Why maggots?”  Boromir isn’t sure he wants to know.  He watches as she stitches the smaller wounds that cover his chest.

“Maggots eat dead flesh.”  Her voice is matter of fact and despite himself he shudders.  

“Help me roll him so I can see if he’s wounded on his back.”  Boromir rolls his brother holding him on her side and she shakes her head.

“He has another one here.”  Again she washes the wound out with cleaning herbs, though the wound is angry and hot the flesh is not rotting.  Her needle moves quickly to close the wound then she slaves it with a paste she has made from the herbs in her bag.

Boromir lays his brother down and steps back as she works feeling as if she is in his way.

“Faramir.”  She taps his cheek and shakes him a bit.  “I know it hurts but you have to wake up.”  His eyes flutter for a minute and close again.

“Faramir, you have to drink.”  She dumps white powder into a glass of water.

“Help me.”  She looks at Boromir who pulls his brother up so he is sitting.  Faramir’s eyes open and he cries out in pain.

“Here.”  She puts the glass to his mouth and a bitter liquid fills it.  He coughs and feels her hand on the back of his neck.  “You have to drink it Faramir.”  He isn’t sure where he is or who he is with him but he trusts the soft voice and manages to drink the bitter fluid.

“What is that?”  Boromir looks at the glass as he lies Faramir back down.

“A medicine, it works from the inside.”  She is beyond annoyed that the hospital is so primitive.

“He’s going to die isn’t he?”  She glances up, Boromir’s voice is soft and frightened and for a second he sounds very young.

She stands up and puts her hand on his face she would comfort him if she knew how but all she can do is try do is try to save his brother.

“Not if I can help it.”  She glances at the wounded man.  “Let’s get him through the night.”

“What can I do?”  He is helpless to help Faramir.  “Just tell me.” He runs his hand over his face, there is nothing he hates more then feeling helpless.  If this were a troll, or an orc or a dragon he could stand in front of his brother and protect him.  Against the infection in his own body Boromir’s can do nothing to save him.

“Have someone bring buckets of cold water, and clean linens.”  She frowns.  “We have to break his fever, let the water chill outside.”

Boromir nods and leaves, she hears him giving instructions and reaches behind her head and ties her hair up.  There are many who need healing but tonight her only concern is the son of the steward.

She sits on the edge of the bed and checks the wound, already it is filled with pus again.  She patiently cleans it silently thankful darkness has taken him to spare him the pain.

She begins to sing, putting her soul into the words, Boromir comes back in and the wound in his shoulder begins to tingle as does the wounds of all within the area.

She puts her hands on Faramir’s chest and sings as her mother had taught her.  She does not understand the words of the song, they are elvish but they fill her with strength and confidence she can save Faramir.  She puts her grief into the song, her hopes, her dreams and her desire to heal this man.  Her voice is strong and seems to fill every heart with hope.

The ward grows quiet as she sings, a few hardened men turn their heads to hide moist eyes.

Faramir’s eyes open and his eyes focus on her face, he lifts his hand weakly and touches her face and wonders if he’s died and the angels have come to take him to his forefather’s.

She finishes her song and two tears drip from her eyes, the memory of her mother is so strong with the melody.

“Go back to sleep.” She whispers and brushes his hair away from his brow with tenderness. 

The tranquility of the moment is broken as Hynar storms in and thrusts a jar at her.  The ward comes alive again as the wounded remember their pain.

She empties the maggots into a pan and pours water over them then swirls the pan.  She dumps them onto a thick cloth and looks at Boromir.

“If you want to leave I understand.”  She removes the bandage from the wound and flushes it again.  Faramir lets out a moan of pain.

“I will not leave him.”  Boromir’s face is stubborn and she nods.  He does look away as she starts to put the larva into his brother’s wound, and then secures a bandage over it.

“How long?”  He looks at her and she does not look up from Faramir.

“A few hours if all goes well.”  She stands and her face is pale with worry and fatigue.  “Can you lift him to a clean bed?”  She steps back and Boromir steps forward and lifts his brother moving him to the unsoiled bed next to the one he is in.

She sends for the buckets of water to be brought in and plunges a thin sheet into the cold water.  It stings her hands as she wrings as much of the water as she can from it. 

Pulling the dry sheet from his body she covers him with the wet one.  He sucks in his breath and his eyes open and she shakes her head.

“It’s going to be a long night.”  She says to Boromir and he puts his hands on her shoulders and kneads them.  It feels wonderful and she tilts her head forward.

“He’s still alive, that is something.”  Boromir is amazed, he had though his brother done for.

“Where is your father?”  She looks over her shoulder at him and his face is a mask of disappointment.

“Locked in his study I imagine.”  His hands knead the knots from her shoulders.  “I do not understand why he is this way.”

“Nor do I.”  She frowns as she looks at Faramir, the sheet that is cooling him is already warm to the touch and she takes it from his body, not at all embarrassed by his naked form.  She places another in its place Boromir has wrung out for her.

Faramir’s body is different from his brother’s. Each muscle is as well defined but lacks the bulk of the elder’s.  His skin is not as battle scarred though he will have a new one to add.

“Go get some rest, the others are capable of putting cooled sheets on him.”  His hands move from her shoulders.

“No, I won’t leave him any more then you would.”  Already the sheet is warm and she changes it again.

“You will do him no good if you die of exhaustion.”  Her skin is pale and he wonders when the last time she ate was.

“I will go check on his friend and some of the others.”  She stands and stretches and brushes past him as she leaves.

He sits beside Faramir and watches his brother’s face twitch, despite the cooled sheets his brother’s face is flushed and his brow damp with sweat.

“Do you remember when you had the measles?”  Boromir puts his hand on his Faramir’s arm.  “You were so hot you though you saw flying dogs.”  Boromir smiles at the memory.  “You were so sick, and so small, but you got through that.”  He sits back in his chair and rubs his face.

Men die in battle, strangers, companions, friends, he has had his moments of grief he is not as hardened in the quiet of his own tent as he appears on the field.

He closes his eyes, Faramir cannot die, despite the difference in their father’s heart towards Boromir and Faramir it has not come between them.  If nothing else it has made the brother’s closer.

There is nothing they do not know about the other.  He smiles softly as he remembers Faramir’s first encounter with a woman and how embarrassed he had been as Boromir tormented him about it.

Unlike him, Faramir has always held onto romantic notions of a wife and children.  Has somehow believed that despite the war that rages around them this is possible.  That someday a family is where his happiness will lie,

For all his notions his heart has been broken more then once, woman using him as a way to get closer to him.  His frown deepens as he remembers those times, and the time he fell and betrayed his brother.  It was the only time in their lives he can remember Faramir hating him.

He deserved it, but the man that Faramir is he forgave him and with a bit more time it was as if it had never happened.

“Boromir?”  Faramir’s hoarse voice brings the warrior out of his thoughts.  “Dyntin?”

“Aewlyn is checking on him now.”  Boromir clasps his brother’s arm.  “Rest, all that can be done for him will be.”

            “My fault.”  Faramir’s eyes flutter for a minute and his body begins to convulse sending Boromir’s hand from his arm.

            “AEWLYN!”  Boromir bellows and steps back from the bed.  Hynar appears frowning.

            “I knew the little witch would only cause him more suffering!”  Hynar moves towards Faramir though there is nothing he knows to do.

            Aewlyn hears Boromir even as she slides the eyes closed of Faramir’s best friend.  There was nothing she could have done even if she had all the time and supplies to treat him.  She runs back and sees Faramir flaying in the bed, the seizure is brutal and she opens her mother’s bag digging praying that there is a vial of syrup tapped from they lunis tree.

            She finds one vial and pulls the cork from it with her mouth and moves to the bed.  Hynar blocks her path.

            “You will do no more harm to him.”  She puts her hand on his chest and pushes against him.

            “Get out of my way.”  He does not move and her cheeks flush red.  “If that does not stop he will be damaged!”  She pushes past him.  “Boromir hold him.”

            The strength his brother possesses as he flays taxes every muscle in Boromir’s body.  Even with his weight upon him his brother’s body twitches.

            Aewlyn forces Faramir’s lips apart and dumps the vial into his mouth then plugs his nose until he swallows.  Boromir continues to hold him until finally the fit is over and his brother relaxes.

            “We must break his fever.”  Does she risk putting him into shock by having him submerged in cold water completely?  For a moment she doubts herself and then sets her will.

            “We need a tub, filled with cold water.”  She glares at Hynar and dares him to object.

            “You should have done that hours ago.”  He meets her glare and goes to send for one.  She leans against the wall and stares down at Faramir, her face unreadable.

            “He’s right.”  She looks up at Boromir.  “I should have sent for one hours ago, once the wound was cleaned.”

            “Hours ago you were still tending to the wound.  You can not do everything at once.”  He walks over to her and puts his arm around her shoulders.  “At least if he dies I can rest knowing all that could be was done to save him.”

            “I won’t let him die.”  She looks up at him but her eyes don’t reflect the confidence of her words.

            “His friend didn’t make it.”  She closes her eyes.  “Do not tell him of it until he is well.”  He cannot spend energy on grief, he needs it all to come through this.

            “They have been friends since they were boys.”  Boromir leans against the wall.  “I do not think there has been a battle they have not been in with each other.”  He looks at his brother.

            “Then you must have known him as well.”  She looks up at him and he nods his head.  “When will it end Boromir?  Will our people always be at the mercy of war?”  She wraps her arms around herself.  “Or will it continue until all the sons of Gondor are dead?”  She looks over the open room at the men who lay suffering.

            “Someday Aewlyn, we will know peace and our city will be restored to her former glory.  Someday the silver trumpets will not sound for war.”  He speaks with conviction and she feels some of what he brings to his people from the walls of the city.

            “I want to believe you.”  She looks at her skirts.  “I want to think that when I bear sons I have the hope of seeing them grow to old age.”  She moves away from the wall as a tub is dragged into the room and servants begin to fill it with cold water.

            She sits on the edge of Faramir’s bed and touches his face. He turns his head and opens his eyes.  She smiles down at him not sure if he can see her, his hazel eyes clouded with fever. 

            She checks the wound and he cries out and she bites her bottom lip, the larva is doing its work but slowly.  She bandages the wound and binds it to hold them in place then glances up at Boromir.

            “Lower him in slowly, don’t just plunge him.” She makes herself busy changing the bed as Boromir does as she asks.  Faramir’s eyes fly open as he is lowered but he is too weak to resist.

            The water is like being encased in ice and Faramir loses his breath, he struggles against being submerged but is no match for his brother’s strength on a day he is not wounded.

            Aewlyn moves to the tub with her sleeves rolled up, Faramir is to his neck in the water and she bathes his face. Then with a pitcher she pours water over his hair and washes it with a scented soap.

            “How long does he have to stay in the water?”  Boromir watches Faramir shiver as she rinses the soap from his hair

            “As long as he can bear it.”  She sets the pitcher down and mixes more of the white powder into water and sets it beside the bed.

            “Boromir.”  Faramir tries to get out of the tub, he isn’t sure where he is or what is being done to him.  The only thing he recognizes is his brother’s voice.  “I’m cold.”

            Boromir looks at Aewlyn who shakes her head, he has to stay in longer, and his face is still warm to touch.  Her biggest fear is he will seize while in the water.

            The minutes tick by and finally she nods her head and Boromir again lifts his brother as he would a young child.  She has laid a thick winter sheet on Faramir’s bed and as soon as he is laid upon it she wraps it around him.  He shivers uncontrollably and she touches his cheeks with both hands.  They are still warm but no longer dangerously hot.

            Once the water is absorbed into the linen she unwraps him and covers him to his waist with a dry one.  Then she cuts the wet bandages from his body and checks the wound.  Much of the dead skin is eaten away and some of the smell is gone. 

            “Faramir.”  She taps his cheek and he opens his eyes.  “Faramir do you know me?”  He studies her face, he remembers her hair and her smell.

            “Tombs.”  Is all he says and his eyes close again.  She smiles and touches his cheek.  She feels hope spring again and glances up at Boromir.

            “He remembers.”  Boromir has no idea what she is talking about and frowns a bit.  She bandages the wound again.  Her eyes are heavy, she glances at the empty bed beside his and is tempted to rest just for an hour.

            “Rest.”  Boromir says as if he reads her thoughts.  “I will set watch over him and shake you awake should he need something.”  She would argue except she barely keep her eyes open.

            She settles and pulls the cover over her shoulders and shortly after her chest rise and falls in the breaths of sleep.  He watches her as she turns on her side, her hair falling across her face and then looks at his brother.

            “What tombs brother?”  He asks softly wondering what his brother’s statement was about.

            “Her father.”  Faramir opens his eyes his body screams in pain and he struggles to sit up.  Boromir helps him and hands him the medicated water she left for him.  He drinks it grimacing at the bitter taste.

            “She wanted to say goodbye to him.”  The effort of sitting up had exhausted him.  “I took her there.”

            “I see.”  Boromir hadn’t known and he helps Faramir lie back down.  “You need to rest.”

            “Where is Dyntin?”  Faramir doesn’t know how long he’s been here.  “Where is he brother?”

            Boromir looks at his hands, his elbows are resting on his mid thighs and he isn’t sure what to say.  He remembers Aewlyn’s words but is loathes lying to his brother.

            “He is on another wing.”  It is not a lie.  “They are caring for him.”  Nor is that he reasons with himself.

            “Will he live?”  Faramir feels hope, if he made it this far then perhaps there is a chance for him.  “Take me to him.”

            “No, you are in no shape to be moved.”  Boromir panic’s what if Faramir tries to get up and find his friend.

            “Soon.”  Faramir lies back, his side feels strange as if something is crawling within him.  The thought makes his stomach tighten as if he would vomit but he fights it back.

            “Why is she here?”  Faramir turns his head to look at the bed beside his and sees Aewlyn sleeping.  He watches her face and longs to reach out and brush her hair away from her face.

            “She is the healer that has kept you alive this far, if it was left up to Hynar you would have been left for dead.”  Boromir frowns.  “She is very good at what she does.”

            “Then why is your shoulder still bleeding?”  Faramir closes his eyes, he wants to stay away, to talk with his brother but does not have the strength.

            Boromir moves the cloth from his tunic away from his shoulder and curses as he sees in the duties of the day he has indeed pulled the stitches again.

            “She’s going to get sick of stitching this up.”  He glances over at the sleeping girl.  “She’s something else.”  Faramir glances over his eyes are clear now and he watches her.  She sleeps like a child with a hand tucked under her cheek and the other above the blankets tucked under her belly.

            He remembers her in the tombs, how she has struggled and lost her battle with grief.  Grief of his own takes him, so many dead. If he had not chosen to burn the bodies the smoke wouldn’t have led the second wave of orcs on them.

            He closes his eyes, the pain almost driving him mad but he will not show it in front of Boromir.

            “My lord we are prepared to remove Dyntin’s body for burial.”  Hynar comes in unaware that Faramir is awake.  At his words Faramir’s eyes fly open and he sits up grunting in pain as he does.

            “You lied to me!”  Faramir glares at Boromir, his words are not loud but he might as well have screamed them for the pain that is in them. 

            “He was alive the last I looked upon him.”  Again Boromir is not lying and he sees his brother’s eyes glisten.  “I am sorry Faramir.”

            “Leave me.”  He swings his legs out of the bed and the room spins around him.  Boromir moves to help him but he stops him with a stare.  “I said leave me!”

            “My Lord you are in no shape to get out of bed.”  Hynar moves forward.  “Please there is nothing you can do for him.”

            Aewlyn opens her eyes and sits up unnoticed the sleep is quickly taken from her as she realizes what is happening and she stands finally noticed.

            “He is in no shape to be moved.”  She smiles softly at Faramir.  “Bring his friend to him, let him say his goodbye.”

            “You truly have lost your mind.”  Hynar glares at her.  “What good can it do him?”  He crosses his arms.  “I will not allow it.”

            “I’m not asking your permission.”  Aewlyn stands her full height and her eyes challenge the man she despises.  “Have him brought here.”

            “You wish to break our lord’s will?  To have him see his friend dead, you do not think this will set him back?”  He speaks as if Faramir is not sitting right there.

            “I would see him here, or where he lay.”  Faramir leans back against the headboard his strength is fading and he feels the fire that has consumed him earlier beginning to return.

            “Have him brought.”  The tone in Boromir’s voice is not to be argued with.  “That is an order.”  He looks at Hynar’s whose shoulders slump in defeat.  He leaves them and Aewlyn gives Faramir another glass of the bitter water.

            “Are you in much pain?”  She touches his cheek and frowns, they are warming again.  He closes his eyes and shakes his head and she knows he’s lying.

            A litter is carried with Dyntin on it and placed on the bed beside Faramir’s, the man looks to be the same age as Faramir.  The younger captain’s eyes fill with pain and there is even a glimmer of sorrow in his brother’s eyes.

            “I will leave you to say goodbye brother.”  Boromir nods his head to Aewlyn and takes his leave.  She glances at Faramir and then decides to do the same but he catches her hand as she turns to leave.

            “Stay.”  Is all he says and she does sitting on the bed beside him.  He looks over at Dyntin, the man’s face locked in the pallor of death and despite himself a sob rips through his chest.

            Of all the men he has ever fought with, this is the man he knew would never let him fall and because of his folly he is dead.   She doesn’t know what to say or do except what he did for her and she puts her arms around him.  He buries his head in her chest but for the initial sob there are no more.

            She runs her fingers through his hair and tears sting her eyes, he is suffering so much already.  He is not well yet and his healing will be a long road, will this break him?  Will the loss of a trusted friend make him sink to the darkness?

            She will not let darkness take him.  They shared something her first night in his father’s.  His grief now seals her to him in a way no one could understand she is not sure she does herself.

            “Let it out Faramir.”  He rests her chin on the top of his head.  “There is no shame in tears.”   She can feel the heat from his body and her worry grows.  Still he does not cry, she feels his body tense against her with the need to but he will not.

            He turns his head still resting against her, he had told Dyntin about her, about holding her and how good her hair had smelled, about how soft she was in his arms.  Until the moment of the final battle his friend had teased him mercilessly about it.

            “I’m going to miss you.”  He says to the corpse.  “I’m sorry.”  His voice breaks and his eyes glisten and he can bear to look at him no more.  “I’m so sorry.”

            “You need to rest.”  She smoothes his hair down again.  “He needs to be lain to rest.”  He nods his head but doesn’t move from her arms.  She will hold him for as long as he needs.

            They stay that way for an hour, him staring silently at his friend, his mind lost in memories of days gone by and her running her fingers through his hair.

            Boromir comes in and stops short seeing his brother in her arms, logic tells him she is only comforting him but something that is beyond logic stirs a sense of jealousy in him.

            Aewlyn sees Boromir out of the corner of her eye and looks towards him, her eyes are hollow and filled with sorrow and he shakes his head sadly.  He had no justification in what he just felt.

            Aewlyn takes her arms from around Faramir and eases him back, his eyes are clouded again and his fever burns hot despite all she has done.  Boromir sees her face pinch as she stands.

            “Send for your father.”  Two tears drip down her cheeks.  “I do not know what the dawn will bring.”  Boromir steps back and leans against the wall.  “I will not give up.”  Boromir walks blindly from the house towards his father’s quarters.  Praying with every step she has whatever knowledge needed to save him.

            Aewlyn removes the bandages and clears the wound of the larva, they have done as she hoped and cleaned the dead tissue leaving the healthy to heal, and the remaining tissue is still red and hot and there is still infection within the wound.

            The infection is in his blood as well, she has one choice, one that will be painful and she would not do it if there was no other way. 

“I can’t stitch this Faramir.”  She glances up at him.  I have to pack it and it has to heal from the inside out.  She mixes a thick paste on to a bandage.

She wants to let him sleep, the Osilith will take the remaining infection mixed with the medicine her drinks but the herb literally burns the infection away like an acid.

As affective as it is, it’s one of the most painful cures she knows and she is loathing to do it.

Boromir comes back without his father, his face a mask of fury he tries to hide it as he watches her mix the thick paste on the bandages.

“What’s wrong?”  Boromir sees the look on her face and moves over to her, putting his hand on her shoulder.  She stares at the poultice.

“This will hurt him.”  She whispers and glances up.  “A lot.”

“Must it be done?”  He glances at Faramir whose eyes are closed and his face is a mask of grief, thinking of his friends, of Dyntin.

“Boromir you need to hold him.”  She does not look at Faramir.

“There is no need.”  Faramir waves his hand as his brother approaches.  He wants to feel pain, to pay for the lives of his people.

“There is Faramir.”  The solemn tone of her voice jolts him and having trusted her so far allows Boromir to lean over him and pin his shoulders.

“Marcus.”  She calls to a large man who has been aiding the healers.  “Please come here.”

“Yes my lady.”  He comes and her face is pale and she takes a moment.

“I need you to hold our Lord’s legs.”  He nods and Faramir is held prone.

“I’m sorry.”  She looks up at Faramir and her eyes are glistening as she removes the bandage.  “Are you ready?”

“Do it.”  Faramir grits his teeth and she packs the wound, there is no song she can sing to spare him from this.

Faramir’s body tenses and struggles against the men who hold him.  A scream of pain leaves his lips and he writhes, it feels as if she’s poured molten rock into his side.

The cords of his neck stand out as he strains and he claws at the bed.  Even Boromir’s face pale as he watches the agony his brother is in.

“Aewlyn…” Faramir gasps thinking he is going to die, that she truly is a witch.  Boromir holds him, the strength born of pain is more then he imagined his brother to have and sweat beads on his forehead.

“It will diminish Faramir.”  Her voice shakes as she takes his hand and he nearly crushes it as he writhes.  He is gasping for air and for the next half hour he wishes for death.   Then the pain dulls to a sting.  His body is sheened in sweat, he fears he will empty his stomach.  He stops writhing against the pain and Boromir takes his hands from his shoulders and the other man releases his legs.

Marcus casts a dirty look at the girl and leaves seeking out Hynar, this madness must stop.  Who is a woman to come into a man’s world and experiment with the Steward’s son?

“Try to sleep.”  She brushes his sweaty hair from his brow and struggles against her tears. .

The weeping of women fills her ears, the cries of children, cries she understands so well.

“He will sleep now.”  She stands up, it is almost too much she has to get out and she runs from the healing house finding no comfort in the night hair.

She leans against the wall and lets her tears fall now that she is alone.  There is no song to ease the pain Faramir has suffered and will suffer.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time.”  She hears Boromir behind her.

“How do you do it?”  She doesn’t turn around her eyes fixed on the night sky.  “How do you ride out and lead your men knowing some will not come back?”

“The knowledge that if we do not, our city will fall to the wolves or Mordor t is this that spurs my horse and draw my blade.” 

“I wish these times were not upon us.”  She lowers her head and looks at the ground.  She feels him step behind her and his hands are on her shoulder.  They are tense under his touch and he massages the knots from them.

Tears trickle down her cheeks, she is tired and it makes her weak.  She longs for the days of her childhood, for her mother.

“Aewlyn.”  She is silent for a long time and he worries for her.  “I will not think you weak if you cry.”  His words are gentle and she turns to him and buries her face into his chest.  He puts his arms around her and she cries into him.

Her shoulders shake at the force of her sobs, she cries for him, for Faramir and for Denthor.  She cries for the city and all those who lost loved ones.  She cries for the men left behind on the battlefield and prays for their souls to find rest.

His hand moves up and down her back, as if he is comforting a child.  She is so slight in his arms and he would that he could lift her up and take her pain.

“In all my life I have never….”  Hynar comes out meaning to chastise her for her treatments on Faramir and stops short as he sees her in the Captain’s arms.  She looks up and steps away from Boromir, drying her eyes quickly.

“Do you have something you wish to say to me?”  The fragile girl she had been moments before is gone.

“You cannot come into my hospital and simply make up treatments as you go along!  Faramir’s screams could have been heard to the first level.”  His face is flushed.  Boromir would step in to defend her but instead respects her enough to let her speak her own mind.

“You condemned him to death, you would not even try!”  She steps forward and sticks her finger in the man’s chest.  “This knowledge has been in the city, yet you in your pride would not seek it out.”

“Your mother was as mad as you.”  Her mother had come to him years before, offering to teach him what she knew, her home remedies that she claimed to have been passed down for generations.  Her mother was nothing more then a nurse to the low borns.

“It is my mother’s madness passed to me that has saved Faramir’s life.”  Her eyes gleam with anger.  “How many men have died because you would not listen to a woman?”

“If he lives it is the will of the High Spirit, for that is all that could save him.”  He refuses to give her credit.

“So you save the life of one son and cry in the arms of another.”  Hynar forgets Boromir is behind him.  “Setting your position in Denethor’s court nicely.”  His words are cold.  “You will never be more then a low born, no matter whom your father was.”  Boromir shifts to step forward but Aewlyn shakes her head.

“I would that I still lived among the low borns as you call them.  There is more sense and prosperity of soul among one of them then there is among all of you who live above us.”  Her voice is angry.  “Perhaps if you administered your medicine on those of lower station you would have compassion in your withered heart.  We are all people of Gondor, without the low borns who would grow your food?  Weave your clothes?  Gather your dirty linens?”  She moves closer to the slender man.  “They could live without you?  Could you survive without them?”

“You are little more then a gutter snake.”  He glares at her.  “Do you think the way you stare at the Captain as you treat him is not noticed?  Or the way your hands move over his brother as you treat him?  You are a whore.”  He smiles smugly as she steps back finally getting a reaction from her.  The smile quickly fades as Boromir grabs him and he is lifted from the ground and slammed against the wall.

“My Lord.”  His eyes are wide with fear as Boromir’s face is filled with rage.

“I should have you thrown in the dungeons.”  Boromir’s grip does not relax.  “I should kill you where you stand, how dare you speak to the ward of my father in such a manner.”

“My lord I am sorry, I am taxed and not thinking before I speak.” 

“Let him go Boromir.”  He hears the hurt in her voice and slams the healer against the wall again.  “If you hurt him I’ll have to see to his wounds and I would rather touch a ring wraith.”

“Like I’d let you heal me.”  Hynar thinks to himself but is wise enough to hold his tongue. 

“Aewlyn go home, get some sleep.”  The sun is beginning to rise; he wonders how many hours it has been since she slept more then minutes at a time.

She says nothing and leaves the two men silently hoping Boromir kills him.  She goes to her room and throws herself on her bed and sobs into her pillow.

She did not ask to come here, she did not ask for any of this.  She longs to go back to Faramir but cannot bear to be around the carnage any longer.

Hynar retreats from Boromir quickly, the big man’s face twisted in anger.  Boromir goes back to Faramir who is sleeping as Aewlyn said he would.  He watches as Dyntin is taken from the house and puts his hand to his face.

His father would not come and anger boils within him.  He does not understand his father’s cold heart towards Faramir he isn’t sure if Denethor knows himself why he cannot love his youngest son.

When his mother lived it had been different, Denethor had taken an interest in both sons, but when she died it was as if Faramir had died with her.

He wonders if it is because Faramir is gifted with their mother’s eyes and the pain of seeing them is too much for his father to bear.

He sits on a chair beside the bed and watches his brother sleep, wishing he could trade places with him.

“Go home.”  Faramir opens his eyes.  “Let me alone.”  He turns his head slightly.  “I need to be alone.” The pain is fierce and he does not wish for Boromir to see him suffer any longer.

“No.”  Boromir’s voice is firm.  “I promised Aewlyn I would stay so she could rest.”

“Please.”  Faramir closes his eyes again.  “I will rest better alone.”  He opens his eyes again.  He needs to be alone; he needs to suffer to pay for his folly that cost Gondor so much.

“I will be back.”  Boromir stands and shakes his head before leaving.  He returns to his rooms but sleep does not find him.

 

Aewlyn wakes and bathes feeling rested, she had not asked Boromir where his father was when he returned and now in them early dawn she seeks answers herself.

She finds him in the gardens and walks up to him he turns and smiles as she approaches but his smile dies as he sees the look upon her face.

“Did he die?”  Denethor’s face does not change as she shakes her head.  “You look tired and pale, you are working to hard.”

“Never mind me.”  She has love for this man but her love is quelled by her disappointment in him.  “Your son needs you.”

“He has his brother, he has never had need of me.”  Denethor looks away from her unable to meet her eyes.

“That is an excuse you use to dodge your responsibility.”  She puts her hand on his arm.  “Will you not go see him?  He is not well yet and will not be for some time.”

“His weakness shows then.”  He moves his hand from her arm and his eyes darken.

“Weakness?”  Her voice breaks a little.  “You do not know what he has suffered; you do not know your son at all.”  She wants to scream in frustration.  “Do you know what one kind word would do for him?  What one look of concern from the man he admires so much?”

“He brought this upon himself and his men, he was foolish to burn the corpses and set a beacon for all to see, and he should have left them to rot.”  His voice is angry.

“Rot and spoil the land?  Let disease carry on the wind to those who live in the plains?  You would have had him do this or criticized him for it when he returned.”  Some color returns to her cheeks.  “You find fault no matter what he does.”

“You speak out of place girl.”  Denethor’s voice is angry and he turns to her but she does not back away from him.

“You wife’s tears are mixed with the rain whenever she looks down upon you and sees how you fail the son she loved.”  He does not feel it happen nor does she see it coming as his hand streaks out and strikes her backhanded across her cheek.  His insignia ring cuts her cheek and she crumples like a broken doll to the ground.

She puts her hand to her cheek and feels blood and looks up at him and then casts her eyes down.  Never in her life had either of her parents struck her and the shame of being hit in the face breaks something inside her.

“Aewlyn I’m sorry.”  He moves to help her but she looks away, she gets to her feet holding her cheek and runs from him.  Never wanting her father more then she does now.  She ignores the pain in her face and goes to the house of healing, no doubt Hynar would delight in knowing she had been put in her place.

She pulls an apron on and goes to check on Faramir, as she lifts the bandage that covers his wound her cheeks flush with rage as she finds the poultice has been removed and he is burning with fever.

“Who did this?”  Her voice is angry and it wakes both men.  She looks at Faramir who opens his eyes at the sound of her angry voice.  “Who checked you last?”

“Hynar.”  As soon as he says the name her face erupts in fury.  “He said you instructed him to remove it while you rested.”  Boromir notices the bruise on her cheek though with her anger now is not the time to ask her about it.

“I will kill him.”  The words come out like venom and Boromir stands and puts a calming hand on her shoulder she shakes it off roughly.

“Shall I cleave him for you?”  He makes a joke but she cuts her eyes she is not in the mood to laugh.

“There will be nothing left to cleave when I am finished.”  Her hands shake with her anger.  She does not care that he disrespects her or her abilities but to risk Faramir to under mind her is too much.

“I see sleeping beauty has returned.”  Hynar comes towards them.  “While you rested I saw to your patient.”

“You!”  Her hazel eyes nearly glow.  “Meddled where you ought have not.”

“I did what I felt best after long years of experience.”  He crosses his arms, it is still his hospital.

“If the infection returns I have to do the treatment again.”  She does not look at Faramir who shakes his head, he would rather not experience that again.

“My dear, I have taken you bag of tricks.  I will study what is within them and decide what you can and cannot use within my hospital.”

“That belonged to my mother!”  She steps towards the healer.  “You will return what is mine.”

“When I have removed that which you can cause harm with.  Then I shall return it” His eyes glitter with hate.

“You will return it intact.”  Boromir’s voice is low and dangerous.  He will speak to his father about this man.

“My Lord, you are a great warrior but in this I am the expert.  She is dangerous.”

“She saved my life.”  Faramir sits up in the bed and his head swims with the effort.

“Not as easily as she could have ended it.”  He turns back to the girl.

“Medicine is a man’s profession, I suggest my dear you return to your spinning wheel.”

“You risked the Steward’s son to under mind me, what kind of man are you?”  She glares at him.  “That is treason.”

“Perhaps it would be seen so if it were the eldest son.”  He speaks his thoughts and her hand goes back and strikes him across the face.  One would not think a woman would have such strength as his head snaps to the side and he feels his teeth rattle.

Boromir’s hand is on his sword, he will kill this man if she would just move.

Instead she gathers him by his tunic and shoves him back against the wall.  Her face is twisted rage and she wishes for a sword.

“You speak out of place Hynar, Faramir is worth every bit as much as Boromir and I will not tolerate my Lord being spoken of in such a manner.”  Her eyes do not leave his.  “What do you do to save Gondor?  Look at men that are too much work to save and declare them dead?”

“Unhand me.”  He tries to take her hand from his shirt and she slaps him again.

“You will hear what I have to say!”  He dare not force her away.  Again all in the ward are staring at the girl, many whisper she is mad while others respect her strength.

“They fight on different fronts but they both risk their lives and the lives of their men for the same purpose.  Do NOT speak ill of him or I will come to your chambers in the night and slit your throat.”  Her words spill out in venomous rage and are not at all lady like.  She lets him go still shaken with rage and storms out.  Boromir realizes if she were a man, Hynar would most likely lie bleeding on the floor.

Boromir walks up to him and now the man’s eyes show fear.  He grabs him roughly under the arm and begins to lead him out of his hospital.

“Where do you take me my lord?”  Hynar’s voice is filled with fear.

“Treason is punishable by death.”  Boromir’s voice is hard.  “Insulting my brother, risking injury, and trying to destroy a ward of my father’s court all fall under this.”

“My Lord.”  Hynar begs and digs his feet as Boromir leads him through the city.

“Take him to the dungeons.”  He hands the man over to the guards.  “He will be tried.”

He watches in satisfaction as the man is led off, he knows his father will not sentence him to death, will not even retain him.  Any who can heal are needed now but the shame of being led through the city is worse then death to one so prideful.

Faramir sits up an aide rushes to help him as he sits catching his breath.

“Get me some clothes.”  The aide looks as if he would argue but obeys. It takes him a long time to dress and he sits again.

Pain seems to be his constant companion and it rips through him as he stands.

He leaves and walks slowly to the castle having to stop often, he waves away any offers of assistance and collapses in his bed once he reaches his room.  Pain fills him and he could not move again if the building was coming down around him. 

He hears her words in his mind again and they strengthen him.  Somebody believes in him.  He laughs as he remembers the look on Hynar’s face as this tiny woman defeated him in front of his peers.

Laughing hurts and he closes his eyes and feels sweat begin to bead on his body.  The room spins around him and he closes his eyes.

            Boromir goes back to the house of healing and stares at the empty bed his brother had just been in.  Fear fills him and he looks around for an explanation which is quickly given.  He goes to Faramir’s quarters and finds his brother passed out on the bed, his body radiates heat and blood stains the side of his tunic.

            Cursing his brother’s foolishness he heads out in search of Aewlyn, she answers the door to her quarters and smiles as he hands her the bag he retrieved for her from Hynar her smile quickly fades as he grabs her hand and leads her towards Faramir’s room.

            “What is he doing here?”  She moves quickly to where Faramir lies and rips his tunic up from his wound.  The infection is returning full force and she curses.

            “Send for another bath.”  She pulls the tunic from his body and removes the bandage completely.  With clinical precision she mixes the hateful herb and prepares more packing.

            He is so weak she doubts he will resist too much Boromir’s hands should be enough to still him.

            “You foolish man.”  She scolds him for leaving the hospital as she cleans the wound.  She leans over him and whispers in his ear and then sits up and begins to sing.  Again Boromir’s shoulder tingles as her soft voice fills the room, even Faramir’s face seems to relax if only for a minute before she puts the packing within his wound.

            He stiffens under Boromir’s hand and writhes a bit and Aewlyn continues to sing.  She sings until the pain diminishes and Faramir stops struggling.

            She sits on the edge of the bed and stares down at him and hugs herself, she is so tired but she will not risk leaving him again should Hynar return.

            “Father should not have struck you.”  Boromir draws her attention away from Faramir, he stands by the window looking out.  She wonders how he learned of it.

            “It is his right, I forgot my place.”  She gets up and pours a glass of wine and sips it.  “I do no understand his pain, I should not have prodded it.”

            “He wasn’t like this when my mother was alive, it was very different.”  Boromir walks to the large couch in front of Faramir’s hearth and sits down.  “Perhaps it was because I was older, already old enough to hold a sword and did not need coddling that he did not turn his back on me as well.  Faramir was only five and sought Father to fill the void mother left.  Father’s grief was too much, he could not help my brother.”

            “Grief takes many forms; he has had many years to deal with his.  What he does to Faramir is wrong, he makes him the scorn of Gondor with his actions.”  She frowns and sits down next to him and in a very unlady like fashion rests her feet on the small table in front of the couch.

            “Does it hurt much?”  He touches her cheek gently and she shakes her head.  “He should not have done that.”

            “I will live.”  She finishes her wine.  “I’m going to close my eyes while we wait for the bath to be drawn.”  She tilts her head back and does as she says, he stares at the smooth line of her throat and resists the urge to lean forward and kiss her there.

            She opens one eye and sees him staring at her and feels her cheeks crimson, she studies him through a peaked eyelid and wonders what it would be like to kiss his firm lips.  She closes her eye again and pushes the thoughts away.

            He wakes her with a gentle shake on her shoulder when the bath is drawn by servants.  She stays back as he strips his brother and lowers him into the cold tub for modesty’s sake.

            Faramir shivers as the cold water surrounds him, his side burn as if molten rock has been poured inside him.

            “Just let me die.”  He mutters as he opens his eyes and sees clearly.  He is aware of Boromir in the room but speaks to Aewlyn as she bathes his face with the cold water.

            “I could do that but I would miss you.”  She smiles at him and brushes wet hair from his cheek.  He decides I that moment to live, she has grieved enough.

            “How can you be hot and cold at the same time?”  He shivers and leans his head back on the edge of the tub.  He feels better, the pain is still with him and very real but his head feels clearer.

            “What were you thinking walking to your room unaided?”  Her voice is terse.  “You could have collapsed on the stairs.”

            “I will heal better here.”  Is his only answer and she smiles at him and shakes her head.  “Did you get your shoulder fixed?”  He looks at Boromir who scowls at him.

            “Your shoulder?”  She leaves the side of the tub and walks over to where Boromir is sitting and moves his tunic away from his shoulder and frowns.  “How many times am I going to have to sew you up?”  She shakes her head and gets her bag taking out the small leather kit.

            “Take your shirt off.”  He does and she cleans the wound and once again removes the old stitches replacing them with new ones.  “This is the last time I do this so behave yourself.”  She winks at him with one eye and he chuckles.

            She goes back to Faramir and touches his cheeks and is pleased the fever is no longer raging out of control.

            “Hopefully we are through the worst of this.”  She rests her hand on the edge of the tub.  “I expect you to be better behaved then your brother and rest.”  Her eyes plead with him a little.  “You need to rest.”

            “I will.”  He promises her and is rewarded with a smile that dances in her eyes.  She could not bear to lose him and with that thought glances over her shoulder to where his brother sits or the other.

            “He can get out of that ice water now, I will leave you to help him Boromir.”  She stands up.  “I will be back in an hour.”  She leaves them and they both watch her go.  Boromir helps Faramir and when his brother is settled again in his bed he feels a little better.  Perhaps this time the infection is beaten.

            “You might as well go.”  Faramir glances at his brother who is near asleep in his chair.  “I am going to sleep.”

            “I’m staying here.”  Boromir crosses his arms and leans back in the chair.  “I would not suffer her wrath for leaving you.”  He smirks.

            “What happened to her face?  I didn’t do that to her did I?”  Faramir shudders at the thought of striking her even if he wasn’t aware when it happened.

            “No, you didn’t.”  Boromir’s face darkens.  “She’s alright don’t let it concern you.” 

            “Who then?  Hynar?”  Faramir sits up and holds his side as he does so.  “Boromir you know who did it, tell me.”

            “If she wishes you to know she will tell you.”  He stands up and stretches his legs.  “Go to sleep, I’ll be on the couch.”  He lies down on the couch and closes his eyes just to rest them and falls asleep before his next breath.

            Aewlyn sleeps for a few hours before forcing herself out of bed.  She eats quickly under the watchful eye of her maid and then leaves.   She passes Denethor in the halls but lowers her gaze as she goes by. 

            She knocks softly on Faramir’s door and when there is no answer she becomes concerned and opens it and steps inside.

            She smiles as her gaze falls upon Boromir resting on a couch not large enough for him to stretch out on.  She shakes her head and walks over to it and pulls the blanket at his feet up over him.

            It touches her the way he is devoted to his brother, for all the love his father denies him Boromir does his best to make up for it.

            She walks quietly to the bed where Faramir sleeps, he is covered by a thin sheet and shivers, the window above his bed still open as she instructed.   She touches his cheek gently and as she hoped the fever has remained broken.

            She gets up and pulls the window closed and brings a warmer blanket up over him.  He opens his eyes and sits up, he is still to pale for her liking and has a long road until he is hole again. 

            “How are you feeling?”  She sits in the chair beside his bed.  “Other then the pain?”  That will not go away anytime soon.

            “Better, at least my head is clear now.”  His eyes rest on her cheek and she turns her head away letting her hair fall and hides the bruise.

            “Who did that to you?”  She will not raise her face to look at him.  “Aewlyn?  Who?”

            “I tripped over my skirts on the stairs.”  She forces herself to look up.  “It was most ungraceful.” She tries to smile.

            “Are you protecting your lover?”  His eyes are hard, he knows she’s lying and he doesn’t like it.

            “Lover?”  She laughs.  “As busy as the men of your house keep me when would I have time?”  She is amused.

            “Then who?”  He is relentless, it bothers him the Boromir knows and she won’t tell him.  He wonders for a second what has come between them in the time he was gone and while he has been ill.

            “It does not matter.”  Her voice is tense, there are enough bitter feelings between him and his father she will not add to them.

            “Perhaps I thought too much of the trust between us.”  He lies back down and turns to his good side away from her brooding.  It amuses her and she bites the corner of her cheeks to keep from smiling and moves over and sits on the edge of the bed.

            “Are you vexed with me?”  She touches his shoulder.  “What matter does it make that I have a bruise on my cheek?  It did not kill me.”  He rolls back to his back and looks up at her.

            “No but I would kill he who did it.”  His eyes blaze with anger he does not have the energy to spend.  “No woman should be treated in such a way.”

            “You’d kill him would you?”  An evil smile plays on her lips.  “Then.”  She sighs.  “It was Hynar.”  His eyes blaze with anger until he sees the laughter in hers, despite himself he chuckles.  She loves the sound of it and touches his cheeks again, his skin is cool against her own.

            “I think you’ll live.”  She takes her hand away.  “You need to eat now, I’ll go see what I can find for you.”  She gets up but he grabs her hand.

            “I’m not hungry.”  The thought of food makes him queasy.  “I’ll eat later.”  He tries to look pitiful but it doesn’t work.

            “You’ll eat now.”  She tries to look stern but ends up grinning at him.  “Even if I have to feed it to you.”  She brushes her hair behind her shoulder.

            “Promises, promises.” He smiles at her and shifts his weight wincing as he does so.  She pours a glass of water and spoons more of the white powder in it. 

            “Drink this while I’m gone.”  She hands it to him and he complies.  “Don’t even think of getting out of bed.”  She walks away and chuckles as Boromir continues to snore on the couch.

            She finds a servant and sends for food for both brothers, a weight has been taken off her shoulders.  The worst is over the danger is over now it’s just a matter of him mending and regaining his strength

            She goes back to Faramir’s room and finds Boromir awake, he looks truly awful, his cheeks normally clean shaving are covered in stubble and he is wearing the same clothes since he came back from bringing Faramir home.

            “Once you eat you need to go have a bath.”  Aewlyn says matter of factly.  “Your poor brother has been near death for two days and still managed to bathe daily.”  She smirks and he scowls at her playfully. 

            “Well perhaps if I was so pampered as he and had someone to bathe me I would find more time for it.”  There’s a funny tone to his voice that catches her off guard, she is sure he must be joking.

            “Pampered.”  Faramir’s voice is sarcastic.  “Being thrown in a tub of ice by your unbathed brother is not what I’d call pampered.”  The other two laugh at him.

            “I assure you my Lord if we could find the men to lift you, in the same circumstances you would receive the same treatment.”  With the worry of Faramir’s wound eased she feels relaxed for the first time since the first wave of wounded came in.

            The change in Faramir is amazing and Boromir is not sure how it is possible.  The medicine has worked quickly, the flush is gone from his face and his eyes are only shadowed with pain as he moves.

            Hours ago he was sure his brother would die, and now he’s sitting up laughing and as happy as he has ever been.  He listens to Aewlyn and Faramir banter back and forth but his eyes are on her.

            She saved his little brother, this tiny woman with the spirit of a fighter.  She laughs at something Faramir says and tilts her head back as she does so.  He shakes his head a little to keep his thoughts from straying where they should not.

            A servant comes in with a table upon wheels and sets a fine meal of meat and potatoes on the table along with plates.  The smell of it perks Faramir’s hunger and he raises his eyebrows as Aewlyn brings him over a mug of broth.

            “You expect me to drink this when that.”  He points to the roast meat.  “Is over there?”  He scowls at Boromir who comes to sit by his bedside with a plate heaped full of the steaming meat.

            “Every drop, if you’re good I’ll let you eat solid food in a couple days.”  She shakes her head as Boromir eats with exaggeration to torment his brother.  She slaps the back of his head with a grin as she walks by to pour herself a glass of wine having eaten in her own quarters.

            Boromir finishes eating and wipes his mouth.  Sure now that Faramir won’t die if he leaves him for more then an hour or two he has to go to his father.  Explain to him what they are up against and together try to figure out what is brewing in Mordor.

            “I have to go.”  He stretches.  “Father needs to be filled in better then I’ve had time to do.”  He glances at Aewlyn.  “Can I walk you back to your room?”

            “I’m going to stay and make sure he eats.”  She grins and looks up from her wine.  “At least what he’s suppose to.”  Boromir pauses then leaves the room shaking the uneasy feeling that fills him.

            Despite his desire for real food it is all he can do to eat the broth.  He finishes it and sets it aside.  His side sears as he reaches over to set the mug on the end table by his bed.

            “Have you seen my father?”  His face is blank and she can’t bring herself to meet his eyes.

            “Briefly, he has been busy with the war council.  With both you and Boromir tied up it has all fallen on him.”

            “You mean with Boromir tied up, my presence would not be missed.”  His voice is bitter.

            “It should be.”  Her voice is gentle.  “You should sleep more, I can give you something to ease the pain to help if you want.”

            “I feel like I’ve been asleep for weeks.”  He inches up in the bed and sits up straighter gritting his teeth as he does so.  “Hopefully Hynar will not give you any more trouble after Boromir humiliated him as he did.”

            “It will only be worse, he will just be more careful as he does it.”  She frowns.  “It doesn’t matter, he only resents me because I make his lacking so visible.”

            “Can I ask you something?”  He looks at her and catches her eye.  “How do you heal?  I know you use herbs, and things your mother taught you but I should not be as well as I am.”  She shifts uncomfortable under his gaze.  “When you sing, it calms the soul and eases the pain.”  His eyes do not leave hers.  “How is this possible?”

            She is silent for long moments, her mother had told her to never share their secret with anyone, not unless she trusts them completely.

            She lowers her eyes from his, does she trust this man?  Enough to share the secret of her family.  She looks up at him again and realizes she does.  The bond that was formed in the tomb, the night a stranger held her as her heartbroken brings such trust.

            “If I tell you, you must promise not to share it with anyone, not your father, not Boromir, not anyone.”  She bites her bottom lip.  Will he believe her?  Will he mock her and call her a witch?  As he smiles the fear fades.

            “I promise.”  His face is serious as he waits for her to speak.  She doesn’t want him to tell Boromir?  That means his brother doesn’t know, the thought cheers him though he isn’t sure why.

            “Many generations back, I’m talking thousands of years ago, one of my foremother’s was an elf.”  She looks at him and he nods his head and she continues.  “I do not claim to be a descendent of the great queen of legend, there were other elves other then the great queen who gave up her immortality for a human man.”

“That explains your eyes.”  He smiles and she tilts her head to the side as if confused.  “You have the eyes of an elf, the shape of them though not so defined.  I noticed the day we met.  Like almonds lain sideways.”

            “I have never seen and elf so I’ll take your word for it.”  She smiles.  “The blood is thin after so many generations, but my mother was passed the healing knowledge as it has been passed from mother to daughter since.  She taught me the songs of healing, there is the magic of the elves in my blood though very weak.”  She waits for him to doubt her but there is not doubt in her eyes.

            “I cannot command the elements, or close a wound, or call souls back from the dead.”  She wishes she could.  “I am not like the clerics of legend, but I can add my song to medicines and make them stronger, I can sooth pain and ease souls as you put it.”

            “Amazing.”  Is all he says and she feels drained as if she’s bared her soul.  She stands up and walks to the window and looks out at the sun high in the sky, it will be dusk soon.

            “I can not restore you with a song.  You still need to rest and let your body mend itself.  I will have to take that packing out and replace it.”  She sees the dread in his eyes and shakes her head.  “Without that herb that sears, the infection should be gone, it’s just matter of keeping the wound clean as it heals.”

            “All this you will pass on to your daughters.”  He watches her as she gazes out the window. 

            “I would have to have children to pass the knowledge on.  This is not something I plan to do.”  Her voice is serious.  “This world is to evil to bring new life into.”

            “I thought all women longed for children.”  She stares silently out of the window.  It is something she has given a lot of thought to.

            “Not this one.”  She turns back and looks at him.  “I’m sure at some point your father will expect me to marry.  All men think a woman needs someone to take care of them.”

            “You don’t long for marriage either?”  She truly is baffling.  “I suppose with marriage comes children.”

            “No, I know how to prevent conception of a child.  I could marry and pretend I am barren.”  She frowns.  “Why would I want to marry knowing that I face widowhood every time the war horn sounds?”  Her voice is bitter.  “My worst fear is someone will tell me who my husband is to be, that I will not be given a choice.”

            “I don’t think my father would do that to you, I’m sure he fear the fit you would throw if he tried.”  He smirks but it fades as she touches the bruise on her cheek and looks back out the window.

            “Aewlyn.”  She doesn’t turn to look at him.  “Aewlyn.”  She stares out the window.  She has seen the dark side of Denethor and she doesn’t trust him anymore.  She puts nothing past him.

            “What of you my lord?  Do you desire a wife and children or are you content to be as you are?”  She turns and her face has softened.

            “I’m like you, I will not be told who I am to marry and all women I have ever been interested in have used me to get closer to Boromir.”  His eyes flash with anger for a minute as some unspoken memory stays within his mind. 

            “You have every reason in the world to be jealous of Boromir but you are not?  How is it that you do not resent him?”  She walks back to the bed and sits on the edge of it.

            “It’s not his fault.”  He knows as her scent fills his senses he’ll never be able to smell lilies without thinking of her.  “Father’s adoration of Boromir pains him as much as it pains me but it is deserved.  I can never be the captain that he is, I don’t want to be.  I don’t have the heart of a warrior.”

            “That is not a bad thing.”  She smiles softly at him.  “You and your brother are two very different people.”

            “I don’t think Gondor could handle two of him.”  He laughs.  “If anyone can save her it will be him, and I will be behind him every step of the way.”

            “You devotion to one another is touching, I almost had a brother.”  Her smile fades.  “It was not meant to be.”

            “Almost?”  He isn’t sure of her meaning and she falls silent again.  “You don’t have to tell me.”

            “My mother fell ill when the plague hit Gondor.”  He remembers it well, many of the low borns fell ill and died.  No medicine could touch the malady.  “She was with child and her time to deliver came early, and when she was at her sickest.”  She hugs her arms.  “There was nothing I could do to save her, she was too weak and the baby died shortly after she did.”

            “How old were you?”  He does not remember much about the time of his mother’s death.  He just feels the void of not having had her as he grew.

            “Eleven.”  Had it really been nine years since she died?  She still remembers her face, and hears her voice sometimes as she’s about to fall asleep.

            “Your father loved you very much.”  Faramir tries to comfort her.  “He spoke of you with the pride most men reserve for their sons.

            “He was a good father.”  She smiles and blinks quickly.  “I was blessed with who my parents were.”

            “If I ever become a father, I will be one like he was.”  He looks away from her for a minute.  “Though I fear my lack of a father will make this difficult for me.”

            “You will be a fine father Faramir.  You are a warm and gentle person, I can never see you treating a child the way your father treats you.”  She puts her hand on his arms.  “Before you can think of being a father, we need to get you well enough to walk again.”  She winks and he laughs.  She touches his cheek and her hand lingers longer then it needs to check for fever.

            “I am very glad you didn’t die.”  Her blue eyes sparkle for a minute.  “It would have given Hynar no end of pleasure to hold it over my head.”  She winks and he laughs again.

            “Lie down I need to change those dressings.”  She gets up and goes to the supplies she had sent to his room.  He does as she asks and he shivers as she pulls his tunic up over the wound and struggles to control the look on her face as her fingers tug his breeches down at the side a little.

            Her face is set in concentration as she takes the bandages from his side, she looks at him and he nods his head as she pulls the packing from it.  His body tenses and he grits hit teeth but she is quick and the searing pain does not last long.  She inspects the wound relieved to see that the flesh is returning to a healthy color and there is no sign of the infection that almost claimed him.

            She mixes more herbs in a mortar and pestle then adds water forming a thick paste.  She bites her bottom lip as she fills the wound again.  He makes no sound but his body jerks as the wound is filled with the packing.  She puts her free hand on his chest stilling him as she finishes.  She then bandages the wound again and makes another glass of the bitter water.

            “You don’t have to stay with me.”  His eyes are heavy.  “I am no longer at death’s door thanks to you.”  He doesn’t bother to sit up again.

            “If you have need for me send someone to fetch me.”  She pulls the blankets up over his chest.  “Sleep, I will see you in the morning.”  She touches his cheek for a minute, his beard is getting shaggy and she scratches his cheek under it.  “Perhaps tomorrow I’ll let you shave.”

            “How exciting.”  He shakes his head and she turns at the door and smiles at him before she leaves.  Her heart is lighter then it has been in days and she thinks finally she will find a nights rest.

            She worries about the next time, by the time Faramir is well she will have exhausted her mother’s supplies of Osilith is the time the lunis tree’s sap flows and is at it’s strongest.  She needs to get into the forest and find these things, but she dare not speak to Denethor about it.

            Helga has a bath waiting for her and the scented water is a welcome comfort.  She relaxes in the water and listens to the rain that’s beginning to fall outside.  She thinks about Faramir and the ease at which she was able to talk to him.

            She glances out the window as she thinks of how he listened to every word she spoke.  It was as if he understood how she felt, even if it isn’t proper thinking for a woman her age and did not scorn her for it.

            She slides forward in the tub letting the water cover her face and stays beneath it until she needs air.

            Boromir comes to her mind, the way he makes her body flush with a look, or simply by the tone of his voice.  She frowns as she realizes she has a growing attraction to both of them.

            With Boromir it is raw and exciting, he fills her with a sense of adventure and appeals to the part of her that is wild.  The part of her she struggles to hide and keep at bay.  Faramir touches the part of her that is as a woman should be, his soft voice, the way his eyes tell you what his words do not.  The strength he shows in his father’s rejection, and the love and loyalty he has for his brother despite this touches her soul.

            The way he had held her as she cried, or gently brushed her cheek with his hand as she was healing him.  There is a flush for him as well, but not as primal as what Boromir fills her with.

            She gets out of the tub and puts her robe on and continues in her thoughts as Helga brushes her hair out and braids it.  She will have to return to the house of healing at some point.  She is sure by now Hynar has been released from the prison.  Denethor would not be as angry with him as Boromir was.

            She is tired and knows she should sleep but she is restless.  On a whim she dries herself and pulls the box from beneath her bed and dresses in the armor fashioned much like the rangers.    She belts the sword belt around her waist and coils the braid into a bun and hides it under a leather cap.  Putting her cloak around her she glances in the looking glass.  In the dark she may be able to pass for a young boy and she slips out of her chamber.

            She walks quickly to the arena never drawing a second glance from the guards who stand watch.  She finds the arena empty and shadow which suits her just fine.

            She unsheathes the blade and sets it in front of her, then begins to swing at invisible foes.

            She feels close to her father as memories of the hours he spent training her as he would any son.  She twirls and raises the sword as if to block a heavy blade holding the hilt with both hands.

            The cloak is heavy and she wishes she dared remove it but it would reveal who she is should anyone walk by and only fuel the rumors and gossip about her.

            Her damp hair warms as she begins to sweat under the cap. She ducks and dodges blows only she can see.

            She runs through the exercises her father had drilled into her, and misses him terribly.  How much will she never learn because he is not around to teach her?

            She tries to recall the last set of defenses he taught her and side steps quickly three times and twirls with her blade in front of her.  She stumbles a little and stops to catch her breath then tries once more and stumbles again as she turns.

            Boromir stands watching the young boy practice. The boy has potential though his movements are timed as if he is counting in his head.  He watches him stumble once then again.  It brings back memories of when Faramir was younger and the rare times he had to help him with his practice. 

            The boy’s armor is similar to that which even then Faramir favored and he can well imagine this child will be a ranger.  He is slight, not built for war, tiny even for a young boy.  He doubts he will ever grow to have the strength to fight in plate armor.

            “You’re raising your blade to soon.”  A voice comes from behind her and she freezes recognizing it at once as Boromir’s.  She takes a few steps into the shadows before turning to look at him hoping he cannot see her face.

            Boromir walks down into the dirt yard of the arena and draws his sword.  The two handed sword is an impressive blade, once his father’s.

            “Let’s see what you have.”  The boy doesn’t say anything and keeps his head down.  Boromir steps forward and he steps back.

            “Don’t be afraid.”  He steps forward again and the boy steps back further into shadows.  Boromir doesn’t give him the chance to retreat and thrusts his blade forward with a controlled swing forcing the boy to raise his blade in defense.

            He swings again carefully and the boy meets his blade, they go like this for several minutes before he pushes the attack forcing the boy to think, not allowing him to count his steps.

            The boy’s blade falters and he pulls the strike as it hits his chest, for a moment the boy’s jaw sets.

            “Point.”  Boromir chuckles as the boy becomes the aggressor, he easily blocks the boy’s swings.  He senses anger or frustration perhaps a little of both and the boy becomes careless.  With a twist of his blade the child’s sword flies from his hand and lands point down a few feet away.

            “Two points.”  Boromir waits until the child retrieves his blade and they circle each other.  The shadow does not seem to bother the boy’s vision as it does Boromir’s and he lurches forward.

            “You’re becoming angry.”  Boromir’s voice is purposely taunting.  “That can get you killed.”  With his words he swings his sword and it stops across the child’s belly.  “Stomach wounds are the most painful and deadly.”

            Aewlyn’s temper is getting the better of her and she is missing the lesson’s he is trying to teach, she is intent on hitting him, if only once and she calls on all the grace of being  a woman as she ducks and weave around his blade.

            Sweat trickles down her face as she twirls out of his sword’s reach and she continues the circle and her blade stops across his back.

            “Point.”  She forgets herself and speaks and he lowers his blade and turns around to face her.  She doesn’t flinch and in his shock she puts the blade to his throat.  “Two points.”

            “Aewlyn?”  He steps closer to her and pulls the leather helm from her head, the coiled braid falls down her back.  “What in hell are you doing?”  He is aghast.  “I could have hurt you.”

            She stops now to catch her breath and grins at him, the truth is she was enjoying herself and is afraid he is going to send her to her quarters and report her to Denethor.

            “Did you think it impossible that my father would train me as he did so many others?”  She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand.

            “I suppose not.”  He still isn’t sure what to think of this, caught up in what could have happened.  Accidents happen in practice, no matter how hard you try to prevent them.

            “I still have a point to gain.”  She slashes at him without holding the blow and his sword comes up to block it.  He looks at her eyes, seeing them now as hers even in the shadows and can see the mischief that defines her for him.

            “Good luck.”  He grins and returns the attack, she stays on the defensive waiting for a window to strike him.  It does not come and her arms are tiring.  He pushes forward making her step back, he disarms he again and as she steps back she feels a rock under her boot.

            She falls backwards and he sees her head strike a rock, she lay motionless and she hears him curse and drop his sword.  He leans over her, she can feel his breath on her face and silently she pulls her leg up and retrieves a dagger from her boot.

            She keeps her eyes closed as he taps her face and calls her name, doing all within her power not to smile and give herself away.

            “Point.”  With a quick motion she brings the dagger up and puts it to his throat.  His eyes widen as he looks down at her and she grins up at him.

            “That’s cheating.”  He grumbles and neither of them moves.  She tilts her head back and laughs and puts the dagger back in her boot, her knee brushes his side as she bends it.  She looks up at him for a minute and her face softens, reaching up she rubs his cheek.

            “There’s no cheating in war.”  She grins at him. “I see you found time to shave.”  She keeps her hand there her breathing changes and she suddenly sees herself leaning up and kissing him.  She takes her hand away quickly and he sits up on his knees.  She scoots up on her bottom and sits up and hugs her knees.  She looks up at the sky and frowns a little.

            “What’s wrong?”  He stands up and helps her to her feet and they walk to the bleachers surrounding the arena.

            “It’s the first time I’ve sparred with anyone but my father.”  She tries to smile.  “I miss him so much.”

            “It will never go away, but the pain eases with time.”  He thinks of his mother.  “He would be proud of you.”

            “I hope so.”  She brings her knees up onto the bleacher and leans back against the one on the next level of seating.  She hugs her knees and rests her head on her chest.

            “Are you happy here?”  He turns so he can look at her and she is silent as she stares out on the empty arena.

            “As happy as I can be.”  She turns her head so she is looking at him.  “I’m afraid Boromir.”  It pains her to admit it.

            “You?  I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.”  The wind blows across her face tickling it with a strand of loose hair.

            “I’m afraid of whatever grows in mount doom.  I hear the talk among you and your father and the other nobles as I play the harp.  I understand the talk of war.”  She frowns.

            “Our city has mourned all through history. I fear it will never end.  That all the blood that has been shed will be for naught and Gondor will fall.”  Her words are heavy.  “I long for peace.”  Her blue eyes stare into his soul.  “Our city is in trouble, one day there will be an army upon us.”  Her voice shakes a bit.

            “I will not let our city fall.”  He puts his hand on her shoulder.  “Not so long as there is breath in my body.” 

            “That is another thing I fear, what of the day your men ride home without you?  You are the heart of Gondor, people look to you for leadership.  It is Captain Boromir they put their trust in, not Denethor.”  Her eyes blaze.  “Not Faramir, you, you carry this incredible mantle that would crush most men yet your rise to withstand it.”  She looks away from him.

            “If you fall, the city will be lost in mourning and darkness will take it.”  She grows quiet and he is silent as he slides his arm around her shoulders.  The mantle weighs heavy this night.

            “I would that my father would place some of this on Faramir’s shoulders.”  Boromir’s face darkens.  “Faramir is a man I will never be, he may not have the heart for war but he has compassion and understanding for the grief of our people.”

            “Then together you could offer all our people need.”  She leans into him a little without thinking about it.  “Your father loves Faramir even if he does not admit it.  I see his face when he thinks no on is looking, when he’s spoken harsh words or insult.”  She rests her head on his shoulder enjoy the warmth of him next to her.

            “I think in these dark times it is better not to love, it is too easy to lose that love.”  Her voice is bitter.

            “So you would rather be alone?”  He looks down at her, she thinks much the same way he does.

            “I think its better not to invest your heart in one person, lest they take it with them and you never get it back, like your father.”  His arm tightens around her for a minute.  “Better to spread love among friends then to center it on a single person.”

            “Is that what you do Aewlyn?  What friend do you speak of, you never leave the hospital, it is whispered that you are a snob.”  He teases her and she smiles though this time it does not reach her eyes.

            “It is whispered I am more then this.”  The smile fades.  “I have two friends I love very much.”  She looks up at him and her heart sinks like a stone as she realizes the truth of her words.  She is in love with two men, and the love is not that of friendship.  “What more could I ask for.”

            “I would give you more.”  He is surprised as the words cross his mind.  He had first lusted after her for her beauty but it is more then this now.  She is like no woman he has ever known or will ever know again.

            He swallows hard as he looks upon her face, he is surprised to see her lower lip tremble and her eyes shine with tears.  She has never looked more beautiful.

            “I’m afraid.”  She whispers but this time it’s her heart speaks of.  How can she love two men?  How can she sit with one and think of the other.  What kind of woman is she?  She closes her eyes and a tear slides down her cheek.  She only prays she can hide it, that when she is properly rested she can banish this folly.

            “Don’t be afraid Lynn.”  He shortens her name and she draws in a breath, her mother had called her Lynn and she has not heard it spoken in a long time.  She looks up at him and he puts his hand under her chin and tilts her face up further.

            “I would banish every fear if I could.”  He thinks as he leans down to kiss her, he expects her to run or to slap him but when his lips meet hers her hand goes to the back of his neck and holds him close.

            His lips are strong and demanding as they cradle hers, she lets out a surprised cry that spurs his kiss and she feels his tongue push past her lips.  She has never been kissed and the sensation of it makes her want more.   She runs her fingers through his hair and lets him kiss her.

            Her body comes alive as his kiss deepens and he pulls her against his chest, she is about to lose herself in it when she remembers the scrapes down his back.  Is this all he wants from her?  Does he have need and she is there at this moment.  She doesn’t want to think this as the kiss deepens but the image haunts her and she pulls away from him.

            His breath is heavy and the look in his eye has changed, her own breath is labored and there is an ache inside her she wants him to fill but she exerts her will and controls it.

            “This is wrong.”  She stands up.  “I can’t do this.”  She starts to walk away from him and she catches her hand as Faramir does and it jolts her.  “No.”  She pulls her hand away and runs up the stairs and does not stop until she is safely in her quarters.

            Throwing herself on the bed she covers her head with a pillow and wishes she could scream in frustration.   She does not want to love, she should be immune to it.

            Cursing himself Boromir stands and walks to the Old Guesthouse with the intentions of ale only.  He should not have kissed her, she is young and innocent and she trusted him.  He can still taste her mouth, he sits with his ale and reflects on the kiss.  She hadn’t kissed him like a girl who is frightened, there was want and need in her kiss.

            He tries to figure out what changed?  What made her pull away from him?  He drains his flagon and wonders if his folly will cost him her friendship.

            “Is this seat taken?”  A light haired beauty sits across from him without waiting for a reason.  Her eyes are light and her skin light though tanned as if sunlight has kissed her often  She resembles Aewlyn though she is not built so slight.

            “I’m not looking for company tonight.”  He looks out over the tavern but she does not leave.  He feels her foot slide up his leg and rest between them.  He looks back at her and she gives him a crooked grin, so much like Aewlyn’s and it is his undoing.  Dropping coin on the table he takes her hand and leads her upstairs.

 

            Aewlyn goes to Faramir’s room at first light. He is awake and sitting in the chair by his desk.  She is not in good spirits when she enters and they darken as she sees him out of bed.

            “What are you doing?”  She demands and the curt tone of her voice startles him.  “You’re not supposed to be out of bed.”

            “I feel fine.”  She looks nearly distraught.  “What’s wrong with you?”  The look of concern on his face softens her somewhat.

            “I’m just tired, I’m sorry.”  She tries to smile.  “You really feel so much better?”  She walks over to him but does not look him in the eye.  She has no idea why she feels as if she’s betrayed something between them and the feeling is killing her.

            “The pain is down to a dull throb.”  He stands up and moves and lifts his tunic, the wound is beginning to close and even she is amazed.

            “I better take the packing out, you won’t need it.”  She points to the couch and he lies on it and she kneels beside it and takes the packing out.  The wound is clean, now it will just be a matter of it healing and closing from the inside.  At the rate it is going she doubts it will take more then a week or two rather then the months she had expected.

            “That’s amazing.” She stares at it and traces her finger around it.  “It’s truly a miracle Faramir.”

            “You are gifted Aewlyn, don’t ever let Hynar make you doubt it.”  She takes the packing to the fire and tosses it in watching it burn.

            “Faramir, I don’t know if you knew this but my father loved you like a son.”  She turns her words catching him off guard.  “He would be proud of you, he would not want you to blame yourself for those who fell.”

            “Your father was always too generous with his praise when it came to me.”  He appreciates her words but no one will rob him of the penance he deserves.

            “I have a favor to ask of you.”  She looks at him and smiles.  “When you are well enough I would like it if you would show me how to use a bow.”  She grins at the surprised look that crosses his face.

            “Why would you want to learn this?”  He sits up unsure of how to answer her.  She is wild enough to go hunting on her own if he taught her, he has no doubt of this.

            “Because I need a hobby other then medicine, I need something to concentrate my frustrations on.  I just wish to see if I can learn.”  She walks over and sits beside him.  “Please?”

            “Only if Boromir and Father never find out about it will I teach you.  They would not approve.”  He doubts he could deny her anything.

            “Good then hurry up and get well.”  She taps his cheek playfully.  “Since you’re doing so well I will take my leave and go suffer under Hynar.” 

            “Give me the word and I’ll fill him full of arrows for you.”  He grins at her and she laughs.

            “I might hold you to that ranger.”  She leaves him and it’s like the sun going behind a cloud.  He goes back to his desk and the map he was studying.  So far the lands have been quiet but he knows it will only be a matter of time before there is need to ride out again.

            He soon tires of the map and walks to his bookshelf taking down a tome of sonnets and starts reading one.

           

            Aewlyn now free of worry for Faramir begins to work among other men with similar wound to his.  She does not have enough of the medicines she used on the ranger and their battles will be longer and harder. 

            Some of them balk as she treats them with maggots but do their best not to show their fear to a woman.  Hynar is in the hospital again but keeps a wide birth of her, whatever Boromir threatened him with is working.

            The days pass quickly and she keeps herself busy in the hospital, knowing if Faramir has need of her he will find her.  It is almost a relief to only see the two brothers in the great feast hall and the supper hour when she plays the harp for Denethor.

            He has not spoken to her since he struck her, whether he is still vexed with her, or too filled with shame she might as well be a stranger in his house.

            Boromir comes in on the day she asked him to have his stitches removed, as he pulls his tunic off she notices scratches, fresher then the ones she cleaned before.  She sets her jaw, was it the night he kissed her?  Something that resembles pain clenches around her heart.

            He feels her eyes on his back and closes his eyes; he can imagine what she is thinking.  He has no words for her as she begins to remove the stitches; she wipes the closed wound with a wet cloth and tosses him his tunic as she walks away from him.

            “Aewlyn.”  He calls after her but she does not look back and he stands and leaves.  He grows angry at himself for acting so foolish.  What does he care if she is mad at him?  He owes her no promises, he belongs to no one.  He remembers again why he never messes with high borns they lay instant claim to a man.

            He shakes his head, she is not like that and he knows it, he’s hurt her and he can imagine he was just trying to seduce her for sport.  What was he trying to do?  He isn’t sure himself.  Cursing he heads towards his father’s quarters, it is safer to play chess with Denethor then to go out this night.

            Faramir looks up as there is a knock on his door and it opens.  He smiles and puts the book down as Aewlyn comes into the room.  His smile fades as he sees her face, she has a pained look in her eyes.

            “Would you teach me tonight?  If you feel well enough?”  She glances towards his bow. 

            “I feel fine.”  He stands up and gets the bow and quiver, it is late enough they should be alone in the arena.   They walk and she is unusually quiet but he doesn’t push, if she wants to tell him what’s wrong she will.

            Faramir takes the bow off his back and draws an arrow, taking aim and firing takes him less then a few seconds and the arrow strikes a bale of hay at the far end of the arena.

            He hands her the bow and an arrow and watches her trying to notch it.  It is not as simple as he makes it look.

            “Slide the shaft along the notch.”  He moves behind her and puts his arms around her guiding her hands.  “Now pull it back.”  She pulls the string back surprised at how it resists, as she draws the string all the way back her arms shake.

            “Now look down the shaft at what you want to hit, use it to guide you shot.”  Her arms continue to shake and she moves so the arrow is aimed at the bale of hay.

            She lets the arrow go but it falls short of the bale by several feet.

            “Not bad.”  He hands her another arrow and guides her hands again.  His breath is warm on her neck and she wonders for a moment what it would be like to kiss him as she had his brother.  His words of instruction are lost on her as she berates herself.

            “Now try to get more distance, aim your bow up a little after taking aim.”  She does as he says and this time the arrow falls to the left of the bale.

            “Let’s hope the fate of Gondor never rests on my archery.”  She laughs at herself as she notches another arrow.  Again she misses but she doesn’t care.  There is something soothing about the song of the bow.  The way it creaks when it’s drawn back, the way the string twangs and the arrow slices the air.  There is something disturbing about how comforting it is to have him behind her with his arms guiding hers.

            She fires the last arrow in his quiver and hands him his bow before running across the arena to gather the arrows.  She brings them back and put them back in the quiver.  She would stay and practice but the hour grows late.

            “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”  He takes the bow from her and she freezes guilt washing over her.

            “I’m just tired.”  She tries to smile as she lies.  “I wish I had more of the medicines I used on you, there are many in need of it.”  The wind whips at her hair and dress.

            “You need to take more time for yourself.”  He brushes a lock of hair from her cheek a bold move for him.

            “I’m afraid if I stop I might never find my feet again.”  She smiles.  “You know.”  Her voice is low and very serious.  “You are worth every bit as much to Gondor as your brother.”  She wishes he could see it.

            “It’s a nice dream Aewlyn, but it is just a dream.  I am the forgotten son. My father could not even find time for me when he thought I was dying.”

            “He is a fool.”  Her eyes blaze.  “He misses what is right in front of him and when it is too late, when he is old and haggard and struggling for his last breath he will look back and realize it.”  Her words come out like venom.

            “What do you see Aewlyn?”  His words catch her off guard and she looks at him with wide eyes.

            “I see a son of Gondor whose blood runs as red as Captain Boromir’s.  I see a man with moral, who loves his people by loving them, not just bleeding for them.”  Her voice breaks a little.  “I see a man of quality.”  She steps forward and touches his face.  “I just wish he could see the same.”  She takes her hand away and feels a vice gripping on her heart. 

            “You see too much.”  He covers her hand with his own and there is a lump in her throat as she looks at him.  She wishes he could see himself through her eyes, she wishes she could show him how wonderful he is.

            “How many crops have you saved?  You and your rangers by taking down orc’s before they can get close to the fields?  How many lives have you saved of those who choose to live away from our cities?  Who do you think these people call their Captain?  Not Boromir, it is you and your men that save them.”

            “How do you know so much of what the rangers do?”  He thought it was hidden, there is certainly no talk of their victories in the councils.

            “My father told me, he always watched over you, even when you out grew his training.”  She smiles and takes her hand away from his cheek.

            “I did not know.”  He wishes he could feel as he feels now always.  He doesn’t feel invisible, he feels loved.

            “It is late.”  She feigns being tired and they walk back silently, he bids her goodnight at the door and she asks Helga to draw a bath.

            Her heart is in turmoil as is her body most of the time these days.  How is it that what Boromir made her feel with a kiss, Faramir can do to her with a look?

            A dream has plagued her since the night Boromir kissed her.  It is always the same.  She had dreamed that she walked a battle field, before her eyes Faramir and Boromir had both fallen at the same moment in front of her.  Each reached their hand out for her, and she could only save one.  The force and emotion of not being able to make the choice had been powerful.  As she had stood undecided an orc had come upon her and as its sword came down upon her and she wakes with a scream

She thinks of Boromir’s kiss, how it had made her alive and wanting more.  She closes her eyes and thinks of how Faramir can do that to her with a look.

            She wonders again where Boromir’s steps led him when he had left, she has made up her mind that it was that night the new scratches found his back.  What were his intentions with his kiss?  Had he simply been toying with her?  She opens her eyes again, she is not experienced with the hearts of men at all but she is sure she felt something more then lust in his embrace.

She pushes the thoughts away, what does it matter.  She can no more decide her feelings about the brothers then she could make the choice of which to save in her dream.

            She has no right to be angry with Boromir, and she isn’t her heart is heavy with disappointment.  She realizes she is as foolish as the girls she used to mock who stared up at him with adoring eyes.

            She goes to bed and sleeps fitfully, in the morning her head pounds and the light blinds her.  She decides to stay in bed which sends Helga into a panic.  She calms the maid and asks her to go to the market for her and is glad when the woman finally leaves her alone.

            She spends the day in bed convincing herself she is not in love with either man, that these feelings are born of stress and her loneliness.  Nausea follows the headache and she begs Helga to shutter the windows and block out the light and falls into another dreamless sleep.

            Her presence is missed in the great hall at suppertime as the harps sits silent.  Even those that claim to disapprove of her miss the cascading sound of the harp as they eat.

            Boromir and Faramir both go to her quarters to check on her and both are sent away but her maid.

            Boromir who has been in a sour mood since the morning when she walked away from him tries to bully the woman to let him pass but she stands her ground.

            Had he imagined the longing in her kiss?  Or was it there and she feels betrayed?  He is furious with himself and will give her until the dawn before he breaks the door down.

            She forces herself out of bed in the morning and goes to the hospital, her face is solemn as she moves against the wounded.  She looks up and sees Boromir watching her and he motions for her to come speak to him.

            She follows him outside and won’t look at him, he starts to apologize and she looks up her eyes blazing with anger.

            “I am sorry My Lord, I should have remembered myself and stepped away from you.”  She looks away from him. 

            “I wanted to kiss you.”  He touches her cheek and she snaps her chin away.  “I’m sorry if somehow I’ve hurt you.”

            “Hurt me?”  Her voice is cold.  “How could you hurt me My Lord?”  Sarcasm builds.  “You kiss me then run to a whore.”  She hates herself for the tears that glisten in her eyes.  “I am simply thankful it was only a kiss I let you steal.”  She blinks quickly but it only releases the tears instead of holding them back.

            “Lynn.”  She winces as he speaks.  “I am sorry.”  He reaches for her and she spins away from him and storms off.

            She runs up the stairs until she thinks her heart will explode, her tears aren’t because he hurt her, her tears are tears of shame.  What right does she have to be angry with her when her heart is split?  Is what everyone whispers about her true?  Is she simply a whore?   Her head feels like it is filled with led and the more she thinks on her troubled heart the more it hurts.

            She realizes she could lose them both, or worse somehow come between them and her stomach clenches.  The stone walls around her begin to spin and she does not feel herself faint.

            “Aewlyn!”  Faramir sees her fall and runs up the stairs gathering her in his arms.  His wound being little more then a bad memory he lifts her and carries her to her quarters kicking to door open when he arrives.

            Her maid comes from her chambers and lets out a fearful scream as he puts Aewlyn on her bed and brushes her hair away from her face.

            “Send for Hynar, my father, and Boromir.”  Aewlyn does not stir on the bed.  “Tell Hynar if she does not answer my call he will feel the blade of my sword in his belly!”  He doesn’t glance away from Aewlyn as Helga runs from the room as fast as her aged legs can carry her.

            Aewlyn opens her eyes a little and sees Faramir and closes them again.  Ever wound in her battered heart opens up.  She wants her parents, she wants to go home.  She wishes she had never come to Denethor’s house.  She wishes she had never gotten to know the stewards sons.

            She feels Denethor’s hand across her cheek again and knows she deserved it, she has not rights to this family, she cannot fix it, and she will only make it worse.

            Tears slide from her eyes but she does not open them, she does not want him to comfort her.

            His father comes into the room followed by Hynar who holds Aewlyn’s wrist between two fingers.  His face is grim as he looks her over and touches her face to feel for fever.

            “I think the poor girl is simply exhausted, her toils in the healing house have worn her down.”  Hynar’s voice is grave and she would challenge him if she had the energy.  Of course he would use this to his advantage but she finds she does not care.

            “She spent many sleepless nights caring for your wounds young Lord.”  He looks at Faramir never missing an opportunity to stir trouble.

            “She has not had to attend to me for many days.”  Faramir glances at her filled with guilt.

            “She has not slowed to take proper rest since, it has all heaped upon her narrow shoulders and brought her to this breakdown.”

            “Are you sure that is all it is.”  Denethor remembers how he had struck her and shakes his head sadly.  He wishes he could take it back, he has great love for the girl and misses their walks.

            “There is one other thing.” Hynar pauses and considers his words carefully.  “Does she have a lover?”  Both Faramir and Denethor’s head snaps towards the healer.  “Woman with child often faint and have days of weak spells.”  He lowers his eyes and his voice as he speaks is filled with sorrow as if he’s loathing to speak the next words.

            Aewlyn sighs, she cannot believe he would try to destroy her virtue; still she does not have the energy or desire to defend herself.

            “How dare you suggest such a thing?”  Denethor’s voice booms as Boromir enters the room.  Faramir glances at Aewlyn and then at his brother and the thought comes to his mind.

            Boromir was home days sooner then he was, and whole the entire time he was healing.  He remembers now every warm glance they gave one another as they were with him and his jaw sets.  It cannot be.

            “Suggest what?”  Boromir demands his concern for Aewlyn making him edgy to begin with and his dislike for Hynar making it worse.

            “He suggests Aewlyn could be with child.”  Boromir stops short and his gaze falls on Faramir.  His jaw sets as the two brother’s eyes meet each sees accusation in the other’s eyes.

            “I am not with child.”  Aewlyn sits up, it is enough.  “When would I have time to lay with a man?”  Her bold words make each of them stare at her with wide eyes.

            “I am tired, I miss my father and saw a man who resembled him.  It was more then I could bear.”  She does not look at Boromir, she will not let him take the blame for her weakness.

            Both brothers breathe a sigh of relief and watch as their father walk to her and puts his arm around her shoulders.

            “My poor child.”  He prays she forgives him and is relieved when she leans into him and lets him embrace her.  Denethor falls very short of her father but right now she needs him.  He is the closest thing to a father she has.

            “You will limit your hours at the hospital from dawn till midday.”  He strokes her hair and she does not have the strength to argue with him.  She needs to get away from this place for a while.  Away from both Boromir and Faramir until she can figure her heart out.

            “Once Faramir is well he will take you into the wilds, you can gather the plants we are lacking.”  He glances at Faramir.  “I have seen first hand what your knowledge can do.”

            “You will let me go?”  She looks up surprised.  “I thought you feared it to dangerous.”

            “You will be safe with Boromir traveling with you.”  He smiles down at her but she cannot find a smile for him.  Days of traveling with both brothers’ will be torture.

            “Thank you my lord.”  She hugs him because it’s expected of her.  “I would rest now if you’ll all allow it.”  One by one they leave, Boromir lingering behind.  Faramir stands outside the door waiting for him.

            “Lynn.”  Boromir takes a step towards the bed and she takes a pillow from the bed and hurls it at him.

 “Let me be!”  Tears spill from her eyes, tears of shame, and tears of embarrassment.  “Please Boromir, just let me be.” 

            He shakes his head and his eyes grow angry and he leaves the room.  In his mind he curses her as his feet echo on the marble floor.

            Denethor is outside her door with Faramir as Boromir walks out, he looks at both his sons with a frown on his face.  He suspects there is more to what is wrong with her then she is telling him.  She is protecting one of them.

            “You protect her as if she is the gate of Gondor.”  He admonishes them both.  “She is dear to me.”

            “Don’t worry father, I will die before I let anyone harm her.”  Faramir’s eyes glitter with anger.  “That should make you happy for both reasons.”  Denethor doesn’t comment and storms down the hall.  They both watch him go and when they turn towards each other there is an air of tension between them.

            “Do you want to tell me what you did to her?”  Faramir steps back from his brother.  “You have something to do with this, I just don’t know what.”  The accusation in his eyes burns.  Faramir has spend his life in Boromir’s shadow, he has faired well with all of it.  With the laughter at his expense. The jokes that Boromir received all that was good in their heritage and Faramir is comprised of what was left over.  He has stepped away from woman after woman who desired his brother and used him to try to lure Boromir to their beds.  He has lived through all of this and never resented his brother for it.  Not this time, not with Aewlyn.

            “Mind you business little brother.”  Boromir starts to walk away but Faramir grabs his shoulder and pulls him back.  Boromir stares at him for a minute at first amused but then his eyes darken.  He senses a storm in his brother’s eyes.

            “Did you take her and throw her away as you do so many?”  Faramir’s voice carries through her doorway and she stands and moves closer.  Faramir’s mind flashes and he sees Boromir touching her and his fists ball.

            “I would not do that to her.”  Boromir’s voice is sorrowful.  “I made a mistake, one I regret, and one that could cost me her friendship.”  Boromir suddenly understands Faramir is in love with her.  His frown darkens, it would be the first women more then his groin stirs for that Faramir would love.

            “What did you do brother?”  Faramir spits the word.  “What did you do to cause her grief that brought her to her bed?”  Faramir’s voice is loud and carries down the hall.

            “I kissed her.”  Boromir’s voice is lower and Aewlyn barely hears his words through the door. “On the night of the full moon I kissed her.”  The look of horror on Faramir’s face sends Boromir deeper into turmoil.  This is like a bad dream, only one you can’t force yourself to look away from.

  “She pushed me away.”  There is little relief on his brother’s face.  “Then saved I saved my ego in the tavern.   Aewlyn is not stupid woman, she knew when she removed my stitches I had been with someone.” He cannot look at Faramir.

            “You ass!”  Faramir glares at his brother.  “So you made her feel as though she were a whore?  So easily replaced?”  His fist curls so tight his nails draw blood in his palms.  “Do you have any idea how special that woman is?  How few women there are in the world like her?”

            “You don’t have to tell me.”  Aewlyn had moved to the door when she heard Denethor talking behind it, she turns and puts her back to the door and realizes her worst fear is realized.  They both have feelings for her.

            “You bastard, is it not enough you have father’s love?  You seek to take hers as well.” Faramir shakes his head and leans against the wall.

            “What?”  Boromir’s voice is stunned.  “Faramir what are you saying.”  He knows but hopes it is not true.

            “It does not matter Boromir, you always get the girl.”  He storms down the hall and slams the door to his quarters.

            A few minutes later Boromir’s footsteps trail away from the door.  Aewlyn runs to her trunk and rips clothing from it.  She searches until she finds what she seeks. She grabs a large purse from her closet and dons the cloak.  She slips into the pantries unnoticed and fills the purse with food before going back to her room.   She dresses in her armor and buckles her sword to her waist then whispers a prayer as she heads to the stables.

            She waits until all within the stables are busy and mounts a large horse already saddles.  The gates are open as it is only mid day and she spurs the horse and charges out of the stables and through the gates before the stable hands can raise the alarm of thief.

            The horse moves like the wind and she spurs it west, towards the forest.  She does not fear the orc armies.  She drives the horse on fear, fear that somehow she will destroy the love and bond between the two brothers.   Tears are wiped away by the wind as she continues to ride.  She does not belong in the Steward’s house, she is a witch, a whore, the destroyer of brothers.

            She mourns the loss of both of them, she does not know where she is going or how she will get there but anywhere is better then where she was.

            She runs the horse for hours before stopping to let it rest.  It grazes and drinks water from puddle of water left from the rains.

            She eats some dried meat without tasting already realizing she will have enough food for a few days.  What will become of her then?  Perhaps she can find lodging with a farmer and hide there.  Or she can forage for food in the woods.  That is now, what about when the snows come.

            The forest is within sight as she mounts her horse again, her doubts begin to gnaw at her and as she passes the burnt corpses of the orc’s Boromir and Faramir’s armies had destroyed and she begins to panic.

            She would be no match against one of these brutes, but death seems a better option then facing what awaits her in the white city.

            She rides the horse to the edge of the forest and dismounts taking her pack from behind her saddle.  Someone had once told her horses will always return home and she leaves him free to do so.

            She enters the forest and stares with in.  She sees the plant Osilith in the first scan and goes and begins to fill her pack with it.  She isn’t sure why since she never plans to go back to Gondor.

            She is sore, dirty and feels very alone.  He continues to walk for an hour, not sure what she is doing.  She decides she is being foolish as dusk begins to fall and turns to go back hoping the horse is still waiting for her.  She panic’s as she realizes she is lost and a wolf howls in the distance.

            “They will look for me.”  She thinks to herself and turns quickly as something makes a strange sound behind her.

            The air is warm and mist rises from the forest floor, in the distance she can hear the sound of a waterfall and follows it.

            She sits on the bank watching water cascade down from where the trees touch the mountain.  She feels dirty and decides to take advantage of the falls. She can do nothing else until dawn without risking getting herself lost even further.

            Boromir and Faramir barely look at one another as they enter the hall of feasts, Denethor notices the tension between them and frowns.  It is not good for the moral of the people to see them in discord.

            He has watched his sons and Aewlyn over the past few weeks, studied every look that passed between them.  It is obvious to him and perhaps everyone in court that she has feelings for them both.  Though why she could see anything in Faramir is beyond him.  Faramir could not just step back and let what should be happen, as always he has to complicate everything.

            Aewlyn does not come to play the harp and Denethor worries for her, he glances down the table and Faramir has not touched his food.  Such a weakling his youngest, he behaves like a woman whenever upset.  Boromir eats but his expression is somber.

            “Boromir go check on Aewlyn.”  It is not a request it is a command and Boromir wipes his mouth with a napkin and pushes his chair back.  Once gone Faramir feels his father’s glare upon him and turns to face it.

            “This is your doing.”  Denethor glares at him.  “You could not let her alone?  You could not just stand back and let her fall in love with your brother.”

            “What are you talking about father?”  Faramir is in no mood for his father’s riddles. 

            “I have seen the looks that pass between you and her, only they pass between her and Boromir.  You will stay away from her and let the better man have her.”  Denethor sets his wine glass down.  “Do you understand boy?”

            “She sees no one but him.”  His words are hard.  “She is just like everyone else.”  He stands and is about to leave the hall when Boromir comes back in with his face grim.

            “She’s gone.”  He looks at Faramir as he speaks.  “Her room is in disarray, some of her clothing is missing.”

            “What!”  Denethor stands up and glares at Faramir.  “Do you see what you have done?  You have confused her and she’s out there alone.  A small woman like her, alone with orc’s out there.”  Denethor slams his fist on the table.  “Do you realize what they will do to her?”  Both men wince.

            “This is not his fault.”  Boromir glances at Faramir who shakes his head but Boromir continues.  “It was I who betrayed her, it was I who broke her heart.”  For a minute Denethor stares at his son.  He is well aware of Boromir’s sport with women.

            “What did you do?”  His voice is cold as he speaks to Boromir, something his eldest is not use to.

            “Not what you think.”  Boromir lowers his eyes ashamed of himself.  “We will talk when we return, we have no time to waste.  Come little brother.”  The two men go from the hall to their rooms and emerge armored.  Faramir’s leather’s are a dark contrast to Boromir’s plate and they run to the stables.

            They hear an angry man screaming at his stable boy about a stolen horse.  Boromir reins his horse towards them.

            “When?”  They look up at him and the Captain’s face looks wild as he demands and answer.  “Answer me!”

            “Midday, a blonde boy came in and stole the master’s horse while I watered another.”

            “Did he wear leather like the rangers?  A leather cap?”  The boy nods his head.  “Which way did he ride out of the city?”

            “West, Milord.”  The boy stammers and Boromir’s face tenses and he curses.  He rides up to Faramir.  “We ride west.”

            “Why do we follow a horse thief?”  Faramir keeps his horse to speed with Boromir’s.  “Boromir?”

            “She dresses like a boy sometimes.”  He kicks his horse again and it gallops across the land.

            “What are you talking about?”  Faramir can barely hear Boromir over the hoof beats.

            “She has armor her father had made for her, she wears it sometimes, and it was her.”  Boromir doesn’t look at Faramir.  His mind is too caught up in what might have happened to her already.

            How does Boromir know this?  What else does Boromir know about her that he doesn’t?  Faramir looks straight ahead and kicks the side of his horse, it spurs faster driving it ahead of Boromir’s.

            Did she tell Boromir about her lineage after swearing him to secrecy?  Had he thought too much of the affection she showed him?  Or the way she looked at him sometimes and seemed to only see him.

            He curses at himself, the long weeks of his healing he had let himself believe she cared for him with such tenderness that there was a chance she loved him.  He wishes he was bold like Boromir, that he had the courage to tell her he loved her.

            He glances over his shoulder, Boromir’s horse weighed down by a bigger man in plate armor cannot keep up to his own.  He is tempted to leave Boromir in a trail of dust but his loyalty stays his flight.

            They ride for hours without rest, each realizing with ever moment she could go deeper within the forest.  Faramir silently hopes on of his rangers posted throughout the forest will see her and stop her.

            There are wild Borgs in the forest, hideous doglike creatures with a lust for blood and flesh.  They are a fierce foe for a plated man, she would not have a chance against on.  The thought makes him spur his horse faster.

            He reigns in at the edge of the forest and hears a horse whinny; looking down the edge of the forest he sees the missing horse half a league from where he reigned in.  He pulls his reigns and rides to it, Boromir having seen him change course from the distance changes his ride and soon pulls up beside him.

            He dismounts and checks his horse over quickly both rubbing the beasts down of the sweat that gleam on them.  It will be a long ride back if the horses die of chill once the night grows cold.

            “Boromir do you love her?”  Faramir looks over the back of his horse.  “Or is she just a toy to you.”  The wind picks up blowing dust from the plains and ruffling leaves in the trees.

            “Yes.”  He wishes he could lie but he realizes no more then ever that it is the truth.  He loves the girl but as she sees the pain that flickers in his brother’s eyes he wonders which of the two love her more.  He doesn’t know if it’s the same kind of love he saw his parents share, or if it is something else but there is love in his heart for her.

            “Is this going to destroy us?”  Faramir’s hazel eyes bear into him.  “I can no more walk away then you can.  Is this woman going to ruin our bond?”  He is pained to think something could come between them but he doesn’t know how he could stand back if Boromir should win her heart.  Not this time, not with Aewlyn.

            “We will not let this destroy us.”  Boromir’s eyes are soft and he feels the same fears as his brother.  He is not sure he could walk away either, but he knows no matter what he will never forsake his brother.

            “Let’s split up.”  Faramir changes the subject.  “We can cover more ground I’ll go west, you go south.”  They both have small horns hanging from their belts, Boromir also has the horn of Gondor with him.  The smaller horns will allow them to communicate with each other, Boromir’s horn will draw the armies of Gondor to them should they need it.

            “If you find her blow the horn three times and I will head towards the sound.”  Boromir checks his sword.

            “You do the same.”  Faramir ducks into the woods and looks for any sign of her passing.  She has not so much as broken a twig in her travels.

            He hears a river in the distance and thinks it’s a safe bet she headed towards it and begins to walk.

            So far he has seen no sign of orc or borgs and he breathes a sigh of relief as he continues on.

            Boromir makes more noise as he crashes through the trees, he hears a low growl behind him and turns.  A borg is crouched as it prepares to pounce him, he pulls his sword quickly.  It growls, saliva dripping from its razor sharp teeth and its muscles bunch as it leaps into the air.  Boromir steps back and as it is air born he slashes his sword across its belly.  It lets out a yelp and falls like a stone whimpering and twitching on the ground.

            Had it not growled Boromir knows he would have been knocked prone, borgs are horrible beasts.  He frowns, where there are borgs there are goblins.  His worry for Aewlyn grows as he moves, looking for any sign of her.

 

            Aewlyn sits on a log and stares at the pool of water at the bottom of the fall, looking around she sees no one and abandoning caution she begins to strip from her armor.   She shivers, it is the beginning of the second month of spring and though the air is warm now, it can turn cold quickly.

            She walks into the water and sucks her breath in, the water feels as if it has run off ice but it refreshes her.   She walks to her waist and dives forward and then stands sputtering and lets out a scream.  Her skin aches from the cold and she stands shivering for a few minutes her body numbs enough so she can stand it.

            She swims to the waterfall and stands under it, the water pounding her shoulders and making it hard for her to keep her feet.  She turns her face up into it and unties her hair letting the water rinses the dirt and sweat from it.

            She swims again, not noticing the cold anymore and realizes she is getting tired.  It will be good to sleep.

            She knows she has to go back, she will not survive the wilds and she is not sure what she was thinking.   She stares up at the sky and sees a shooting star and wishes upon it.

            There are so many things she could wish, but she wishes for her heart to be free from both of the steward’s sons.  The dream haunts her now every time she closes her eyes and she wants to know what it means.  Does choosing one mean death to the other?  Or does it symbolized that her love for them will destroy them all?

            She tries to imagine her life with one and as happy as she pictures it she knows it will always be shadowed by the other.

            Tears slide down her cheeks, when she goes back she will ask Denethor to find her a husband.  If she is another man’s wife Boromir and Faramir have no claim to her and will realize there is someone more worthy of them both in the city somewhere.  They just have to find her.

            Her body tingles and it feels as if the water is stealing the heat from her bones.   She swims towards shore and climbs out, the night air is growing colder and the wind bites her skin.

            She realizes her folly now that it is too late, in her haste she had not brought a flint and steel.  She does not even have a blanket.  Her teeth chatter as she wraps her cloak around her shoulders.  She tries to pull on the leather breeches but her legs are wet and the leather cold and she decides to try when they are dry.

            She touches her hair and finds it stiff the cold wind that is coming down from the mountains cold enough to freeze it.

            She is going to freeze to death and she shakes her head and pulls her legs under the cloak with her.  The night wind does not cease making the trees creak around her.   She hears a huff in the forest behind her and stands up and turns around.

            A puff of breath comes from the shadow of the trees mixing with the mist but it is low to the ground, to low to be a man’s breath.

            She clasps her cloak around her and reaches down and grabs her sword with numb fingers and her eyes widen in horror as a deformed dog steps out.  It is four feet high with shoulder that span two feet across.  Its body is a mass of defined muscle and its maw drips drool from behind thick fangs and sharp looking teeth.

            She steps back and her feet touch the edge of the water, it crouches down and she screams.  She is not a woman who scares easily but as it comes towards her she has no control over her voice.

            She lifts her sword as it comes at her and slashes it, forgetting everything her father ever taught her and just slashing out for survival.

            Faramir hears her scream and she is close and he runs with speed born of fear.  He jumps over fallen trees and comes out on the shore of the river.  His bow is from his back before he can see her clearly and he runs with an arrow notched.

            He can see her through the mist at the same moment the borg’s teeth clamp down around her sword and its mouth snaps it in two as if it were a twig.

            Faramir raises his bow and release a shot, the borg whines and steps back from the girl looking for the source of its pain.  Another arrow follows the first, and it yelps and stumbles back.  It sees the hooded man coming towards it and lowers its head to charge forward.

            Faramir stops and tempts it to come, it has all but forgotten Aewlyn as it’s hind legs bunch and it begins running towards him as if there are not two arrows buried to their fletching in it’s side.

            Faramir resists the urge to let his arrow fly, Borg’s favor knocking their targets down then ripping out their throats.  He waits until it is as close as he dares and lets the arrow go.

            It yelps again and falls dead twitching, the arrow sticking from its eyes.  He looks down at it for a minute then runs to where Aewlyn is standing staring with horrified eyes.

            “Aewlyn.”  She doesn’t look at him her eyes still fixed on the dead borg.  It takes him a minute to realize that all she wears is her cloak and begins gathering her armor up.

            “You went swimming?   He shakes his head, she is slow to respond and he knows he has to get her warm.  “There’s a cave not far from here.”  He helps her sit and forces her boots on her feet which are discolored.  “Aewlyn you know better then this.”  What was she thinking?  Does she not know how dangerous the cold is?

            Aewlyn forces one foot in front of the other as they walk.  He has put his cloak around her shoulders and his warmth cradles her.  Her teeth chatter and all she wants to do is sleep.

            Her body is numb and her mind slow, his hand is warm in hers as he leads her up a hidden path and into a cave.  It has been used before, there are supplies within and a fire pit.  They move to the back of it where no wind can touch them.

He opens a crate and pulls out a blanket and wraps that around her as well then sets to making a fire.  The cave is filled with a soft glow as the sparks land on dry wood.

            “I’m so tired.”  She leans against the wall and closes her eyes.  “I’m going to sleep.”  He moves over to her and puts hands on her shoulders and shakes her.

            “Aewlyn don’t you dare go to sleep.”  Her eyes flutter open and she looks at him, his eyes are so beautiful.  “Aewlyn.”  Her skin is cold and he lies her down on a bedroll, his intentions are noble as he removes his own clothing leaving just his silks.  He removes the layers of cloaks and blankets from her and lies down next to her covering them both.

            He has to warm her, she clenches his teeth as she curls into his heat, and she is as cold as a corpse.  Her hair is melting and he brushes it from her cheek.  She is half asleep as she puts her arm across his chest and on of her legs across his.

            He grits his teeth against more then the cold as the soft down between her legs brushes against his thigh.  As noble as he’s trying to be he is a man and this is the woman he is in love with.

            He calls to mind the battles he’s fought, the carnage of war, his father’s sour face, anything that will help him deter the growing want for her that’s filling him.

            “Your heart is pounding.”  She murmurs and her breath is warm across his chest.   He closes his eyes and stares up at the ceiling of the cave as he puts his hand on her head.

            She moves herself tighter against him, on her side with a leg draped across his, her head resting on his heart.  She begins to warm and as she does her mind clears.

            She is aware that she should be embarrassed or horrified about lying next to a naked man.  She knows what he does and that it is not for his own gain.  She turns her head and looks at his neck, he is swallowing hard every time she moves.

            He has not laid a hand on her other then the one that cradles her head and rest on her shoulders.  Would Boromir treat her with such respect?  She closes her eyes and banishes the warrior from her mind.  She is not being fair to him, he made her no promises and she has no claim to him.  It is not her right to judge him because he left her that night.

            She turns her head, she shivers her feet and hands ache but he found her in time.  Even now warmth returns to her as she lies with him in the flickering fire light.

            She moves her leg down so it is only resting on one of his, moving her body away from his a little.  His leg pressing between her legs brings the pleasant sensation with it and her cheeks flush.

            “You could have been killed.”  His voice is husky as he speaks.  “The borg would have been the kindest death.”

            “I’m sorry.”  She really means it.  “I heard you and Boromir fighting outside my door.”  He feels her tears fall on his chest.  “I would never come between you.”  She closes her eyes as his fingers go through her hair.

            “I need to let Boromir know I found you.”  As loathe as he is to move he get up and moves to the mouth of the cave.  She has seen him naked when she was treating him but it’s hard to see a man as anything but wounded as she saw him.

            Now as he walks across the cave she takes in his body.  His skin is bronzed, he is built well though his chest is not as thick as Boromir’s and the muscles are not as bulky.  The way he moves reminds her of the grace of cats, across his belly each abdominal muscle is defined, as is each muscle group in his legs.

            Gods she wants to touch him, the heat that has been plaguing her since going to Denethor’s court erupts within her for him.  She loves him, she loves his gentleness, his compassion, she loves it when he reads to her, the way he changes the tone in his voice to bring alive whatever verse he is reading.

            His hair falls in light brown waves just below his shoulders and she watches as he lifts a horn to his lips and blows it three times.  After several minutes the sound is returned but it is far away.

            He turns back to her and she is sitting up, the blankets wrapped around her.  She is still shivering but her eyes are more alive then they had been.  She glances away from him as he turns and blushes and he realizes she was watching him.

            He knows he should tell her to get dressed, she is warmed enough that the danger is not real any longer but he doesn’t.  All he wants to do is hold her if that is what she will give him.

            When they return to Gondor he faces losing her to his brother, until then he wants her to be his to hold.

            Shamelessly she lies back down and lifts the blankets and he moves beside her and they lay on their sides facing each other.

            Her eyes well up with tears as she looks at him and they fall when he touches her cheek.

            “What am I going to do?”  She whispers as his thumb catches a tear and wipes it from her cheek.

            “About what?”  He can see the turmoil in her eyes and can do nothing to help her.  He could step back, make the decision for her but he will not concede her love to his brother.  Not this time, it is the first thing he has denied Boromir that was in his power to give him.

            “I love you.”  She turns her face into his hand and kisses his palm.  The confession is bitter sweet because he knows he does not have her heart completely.

            “You love him too don’t you?”  His eyes aren’t angry as she looks up into them and her tears come quickly as she feels torn in two.

            “I love you Aewlyn.”  There he has said it.  “I will wait for you to make up your mind.”  He tilts her chin up.  “I’m not going to leave you.”  He watches her close her eyes and bite her bottom lip as she fight the emotions welling inside her.  Her face is filled with suffering and it shows him she is not simply playing with him.  This is torture for her as well as for them.

            He leans down, not caring about how Boromir feels for her and puts his lips to hers.  Boromir took a kiss and if he risks losing her forever he will taste her lips once.  He hadn’t known what to expect but she doesn’t push him away, her hand goes to his shoulder and she presses her body closer to him.

            He licks her lips with his tongue and she opens her mouth, her tongue meets his and there is no image that can withhold his arousal.

            Aewlyn feels him grow against her leg through the silk and a spasm of heat rips through her belly more intense then any she has ever felt.  His hand moves down her side and rests on her bottom and he pulls her tighter against him.

            She darts her tongue in and out of his mouth, there are not thought but him in her mind.  Her senses are filled with his scent, his touch, and the soft sound he makes as she pushes her body against him.

            Boldly she puts her hand on his hip and rolls to her back pulling him atop her, she wants to feel him above her, and she wants every inch of her body to be covered by him.

            She feels his hard member against her opening and gasps, even through the silk the feeling is amazing.  Her fingers are buried in his hair and their lips have not parted, he thrust his hips down and increases the pressure against her and he lets out a moan as the heat builds.

            She wants him to touch her everywhere and moves her hips up against him, He breaks the kiss and she feels his lips on her neck and tilts her head back.  The gentle rhythm he rocks with drives her mad and her grips his shoulder with the hand that is not buried in his hair.

            Faramir grits his teeth and struggles, he would take her now if he was a weaker man but he knows this isn’t right.  He will not take advantage of her and kisses her again before moving away from her.

            “Faramir?”  She is breathless and she doesn’t understand.  “Did I do something wrong.?”   He lies next to her staring up at the ceiling trying to control his desires.

            “No, I did.”  He closes his eyes as she moves beside him and kisses his chest.  “Aewlyn don’t.”  He doesn’t push her away.

            “I’m yours tonight.”  Her voice is low and sultry and he realizes she isn’t trying to make it so.  He turns and looks at her and she puts her lips to his again, between kisses she whispers.  “Be mine tonight?”

            His resolve breaks, he is only a man and they are known to fall to temptation.  He pulls her close and his hand finds her breast, it is firm but the skin is soft under his hand.  He breaks away from her kiss and puts his mouth to it and she moans softly as he draws the tight bud into his mouth.  His tongue circles it and her hand tightens in his hair.

            Aewlyn tilts her head back as an ache fills her, like a wanting whore she moves her legs apart.  She looks at him as he lies along her side and she tucks her arm under his and moves closer to him.  He is on his side and leans over to suckle the other breast.  The arm that isn’t around his back she rests across her eyes and she moans again as another spasm of heat takes her.

            He runs his hand down her flat belly and she tenses as the tips of his fingers brush across the tufts of blonde hair between her legs. 

            Faramir gasps a little as his fingers find her wet, proof that she truly does want him.  He lifts his head from her chest and smiles down at her, she reaches up and touches his face and at least for now he sees no confusion in her eyes.  She spoke the truth tonight she is his.

            He watches her face as his fingers move down her opening and he draws one finger up the center parting her lips.  She jerks and her eyes widen and he grits his teeth against the mad desire to plunge himself into her.

            He will not take her virtue, not in a cave, not like this.  He will not let the memory of the first time they lay together be in stolen moment hidden from the world and her brother.

            Aewlyn hears a moan escape her as his fingers run up and down her womanhood, his fingers tease the opening and she pushes against them but he pulls them away.  She feels two fingers slide up and jumps and gasps as they find her swollen nub.  Fire dances in her belly and the ache deep inside her builds.

            Her mother had told her there was pleasure in the acts between men and women but she had never imagined it would make you wish for death and immortal life in the same moment.

            He circles the nub letting the heat build, watching her face loving the way her eyes flutter.  He loves the feeling of her honey on his fingers, some women need oils for this type or any type of lovemaking but she doesn’t.

            He feels her spasm under his fingers and watches her belly tense and she cries out, as she grows closer to release he can see fear flicker in her eyes and he leans down and kisses her.

            “Trust me.”  He whispers and she nods her head and nearly screams as his mouth find her nipple again.  His hand works her and she feels herself moving with it.  His mouth is warm and she feels her nails dig into his back as she begins to whimper.

            Frightening heat fills her belly, her womanhood throbs and she feels the wave of pleasure begin to crest.  It explodes and she lets out a cry the echo’s through the cave, her bottom up and falls back and comes up again as he continues to massage her.

            “Gods.”  He whispers as he watches her writhe under his touch. She cries out again as he sucks her nipple into her mouth and flicks his tongue across it.  She gasps and gently pushes his mouth away and inches her body away from his hand.  She can feel her heart’s beat in her vulva and thinks if he touches her again she will die.

            She feels like laughing and crying at the same time.  She has never felt so alive and she smiles at him.  She feels no shame, only an overwhelming desire to join her body with his.

            She leans up and kisses him and tries to pull him atop her again but he puts his arm hand on the ground by her side preventing her from doing this.

            “Faramir?”  She looks up at him and he shakes his head, his breathing is ragged and he wants her.  Gods knows he wants her but if he has any quality in his soul he will not take her innocence in a cave, not when her heart is undecided.  She wants him now but what of when his brother returns?  He does not want her to regret him, not now, not ever.

            “Don’t you want me?”  There is hurt in her eyes and he kisses her again.  “What’s wrong?”  She asks him when he breaks away. Did she do something wrong?  Did she insult him by moving with him?  Was she supposed to lie there and allow him to pleasure her without responding?  She panic’s she knows so little about these things.

            “I want you more then life.”  His voice is husky.  “Not like this.”  He kisses her again.  “In a bed, when you know it’s me you want.”

            “I want you now.”  She touches his face and tears stream from her eyes.  She had not thought of Boromir once the entire time he touched her, even now she banishes the warrior’s image from her mind.

            “It is not enough.”  He touches her face.  “I want you forever.”  He smiles sadly at her.  His passion aches for her and she sits up making no attempt to cover herself as she does.  There is no strangeness between them, no shame, at least not now he is sure it will come upon her.

            She looks at him, she wants to make him feel what he gave her, she wants to make him moan and call her name.  She pushes him on his back and leans over him kissing him.

            “Please Aewlyn don’t tempt my resolve.”  He turns his head from her and she kisses his neck and he lets out a strangled cry as she slides her hand under his silks and closes her hand around his member pulling it free of the confining undergarment.  The skin is soft like silk but it is covering hard steel.  She explores it with her hand feathering her fingers over its length.  He jerks against her hand and she closes her fingers around it, the tip is wet and she takes the wetness down it.

            “Aewlyn.”  He gasps.  “You don’t have to.”  He says the words but if she stops he’ll go mad.  He feels her lips on his abdomen and grips the edges of the bedroll as she kisses lower.

            Aewlyn had listened to women of the lower levels giggling about please their customer’s with their mouths.  She had been horrified and they had laughed at her.  One had even bragged she had made a man weep doing it.

            Aewlyn had thought she had never heard anything so wicked, so vile and vowed she would never do such a thing for her husband.  Now there is nothing she wants to do more for a man who is not her husband.

            She is cautious; she has no skill and fears disappointing him.  She tentatively runs her tongue down its length and he shudders.  She looks up at him as she takes him in her mouth and her eyes meet his before he throws his head back in a moan of pleasure.

            Faramir stares into her eyes and sees a mixture of love and lust, the blue orbs bear into his soul.  He can only hold the gaze for a few seconds as her soft mouth closes around him.   She is slow and shy and it makes him love her more.

            Her tongue massages the underside of his shaft as her cheeks hug the sides.  Her hand moves up and down as she suckles him.   He moans as she begins to take him in further and with each time her head raises it lowers further.

            He struggles not to buck his hips driving himself to the back of her throat, the pressure is building begging for release and her shyness and inexperience is blessed torture.

            She feels him grow thicker in her mouth, there is a vein she can feel protruding with her tongue and she traces it.  He gasps and moan and his hips thrust up nearly gagging her.

            She continues to stroke him and moves her other hand and caresses the pouch beneath his penis.  He whimpers and heat flickers through her again, his breathing is becoming ragged and he puts his hand on the back of her head and buries his fingers in the blonde silk.

            Lost in passion he doesn’t realize he is guiding her head with his hand, at first she fears he does it because she is doing something wrong but as she glances up and sees his face locked in passion and need the fear quells.

            “Aewlyn.”  He tries to move her head off him, not sure if she understands what is going to happen but she resists him.   She feels him grow even harder and his body becomes rigid.  There is a quick shot of salty brine in her mouth and he moans and jerk and she sucks it from him, with another moan another shot fills her mouth, she can feel him pump and swallows quickly sucking him through his orgasm.  The pumping stops and she sucks down him again causing him to jerk and he gently pulls himself from her mouth.

            She moves back up him and lies with her head on his chest, he plays with her hair as she listens to his heart thunder against his chest.  The refuge in each other’s body’s leaves quickly as the sound of Boromir’s horn cuts into their thoughts and it is much closer then it had been.

            Faramir doesn’t bother getting up, he reaches across her and gets his horn from where it lay and returns the call.  Boromir’s making his presence known has taken any joy from afterglow from them.

            “I’m sorry.”  He whispers as he gets up and pulls his clothes on, he walks to the mouth of the cave and does not watch her dress.  She pulls on her armor and stares at his back.

            “What are you sorry for?”  She puts her hand on his shoulder and when he looks at her she sees the sorrow in his eyes.

            “I should not have tempted you.”  He says nothing else and leaves the cave. It will be easier for Boromir to find them at the water.  He is sorry because now that he’s been this close to her he can never let her go.

            She follows behind him her body still weak from what he did to her, her heart breaking for the pain she is causing him.  Gods she loves him and she wants to scream it at him but it isn’t fair of her.  Not now, not until she decides which of them her heart holds dearer, or if she can’t decide she must let them both go.

            He stops at the river and washes his hands in the cold water. She crouches down beside him and brings water to her mouth swishing it before swallowing it.  Washing the taste of him from her mouth.

            He watches her and she doesn’t look at him and curses himself for not taking her, perhaps he could have planted his seed inside her and then she would be his.  He pushes the selfish thoughts away.  He could never do that to her.

            He wonders what she is thinking as she turns to look at him, the pain in her eyes is real and she wonders if she feels shame, if she feels as if she has betrayed Boromir, if she regrets him.

            “I do love you.”  She whispers as she looks at him and then she stands.  Their solitude is broken as they hear Boromir crashing through the trees.

            The first thing Boromir sees is the borg he nearly trips over and fear fills him then he sees Aewlyn standing beside the river a few feet from Faramir.

            “You crazy girl!”  He shouts louder then he means to.  “You could have been killed.”  He nods to Faramir as he passes him and crushes Aewlyn with a hug, she returns it but he notices its reaction not instinct.

            “I’m sorry.”  She murmurs into his chest.  “I’ve made so many mistakes.”  She begins to cry and Faramir steps back.  Her words like daggers in his heart?  What mistakes?  Does she consider what they just shared a mistake?  Now that Boromir has returned to her sight is he a regret?  He walks away from them and towards the cave again, his mind reeling.

            “It’s alright.” Boromir holds her as she weeps, he glances at the borg and shudders.  It would have made short work of her.  “Where did Faramir go?”

            She pulls away from Boromir and looks around the ranger is gone and she hadn’t noticed him leaving.

            “There is a cave.”  She doesn’t look at Boromir.  “He said we would be best served camping there tonight and leaving in the dawn.”  She lies Faramir said no such thing but how else could she explain how she knows where it is.

            They walk to the cave and when they walk inside the bedroll is made, neat as if they had never lain upon it.  Faramir sits staring at the fire lost in his own thoughts and she aches to go to him.

            He gets up when they enter and walks to the mouth of the cave and leans against the wall staring out at the night sky.

            Boromir goes to stand by him and his brother says nothing for a long time.  He stands waiting to be acknowledged.

            “I wish I could just walk away.”  Boromir’s voice is a whisper, “Just let you have your chance to win her heart.”

            “You can’t any more then I can brother.”  Faramir’s voice is filled with sorrow.  “I would that I could do the same for you.”

            “I know little one.”  Boromir puts his hand on Faramir’s shoulder.  The nickname has not been used in years.  Despite the fact that Faramir is a man now, there will always be a part of Boromir that remembers the five year old who worshipped his steps and begged to shine his swords after practice.

            He knows in many ways he is all Faramir has ever had, other then Dyntin’s his brother’s childhood was lonely. Scorned by his father, and scorned by other children because of it.  He glances back to where Aewlyn lies pretending to sleep, now he’s found this woman and risks losing her to his own brother.

            “We will have to wait to see who she chooses.”  Boromir turns his head back to look at Faramir whose jaw sets.

            “She will not choose she will not set one of us against the other.  She knows despite our words and promises to each other there will be hard feelings.”  He wonders if his brother’s words would be so sure or so soft if he knew that only a short time ago he held Aewlyn naked against his body, that she offered herself to him.  He shakes his head no he doubts his brother would be so sure she could choose.

            “Then we all lose.”  Boromir leans against the wall.  Faramir looks at him before going back to the fire.  It is easy for Boromir to promise there will be no hard feelings between them should she choose him.  Boromir will most likely win her heart and her hand.  He cannot compete with his brother, not in looks, or skill, or power.  A woman would be a fool to turn away from his brother’s love.

            “Sleep little brother, I will keep watch.”  Boromir puts his hand on his brother’s shoulder.  Aewlyn hears Boromir and as always he is putting Faramir’s need for rest first.  How can she choose between two men she loves so dearly?

            She cannot look at Boromir, she betrayed him, she knew he loves her and she took pleasure with his brother.  She betrays Faramir for feeling guilt for what they did.  She realizes now the wisdom of him holding back from making love to her and she is amazed by him once again.

            She wants to scream and bolt from the cave, she wants her mother, her mother would know what she should do, and her mother would have turned her from this course before she was so dangerously upon it.

            She hears Faramir settle in the bedroll behind her and longs to roll over and sleep in his arms.  The pain faded as he touched her, the confusion left her, and there was none of this torment.  She wishes he could take it from her again and she sighs.  Sleep will not find her this night, though she pretends so she doesn’t have to look in either set of eyes.

            She lies still for as long as she can bear it and turns over opening her eyes, Faramir sleeps on his side facing her.  His chest rises and falls and he looks like a sleeping angel.  She stares at his lips and tastes them on her own again.  How can they ever go back to simply being now?  How can she hear him laugh or embrace him without feeling the fire burn within her?

            No one can make her forget that, he was the first man to make her body sing and this cave is the most beautiful place on middle earth to her.

            She shivers and gets up, Boromir stands at the mouth of the cave and she walks to him.  Intent to tell him that she loves his brother and that she cannot be with him and can not stand divided any longer.  Then he turns and looks at her, his mouth turns up in a soft smile and he looks like a gentle giant in the moonlight.

            Her resolve fails as his eyes flicker with concern and she moves closer to him.  He puts his hand on her shoulder.

            “Are you alright?”  His voice is filled with concern.  “You scared us.”

            “I am sorry.”  She glances at her feet.  “I heard you and your brother fighting, I would not come between you.”

            “You should know there is nothing that can destroy our bond.”  He tries to reassure her.  “We might get sore at each other but we will always be what we are to each other.”

            “Those are easy words to speak Boromir, harder words to live by.”  She glances over her shoulder to where Faramir sleeps.

            “I kissed you because I love you.”  The words come out quickly and she looks back at him.

            “Don’t.”  She turns her head she cannot look at him.  “I cannot bear it.”  She closes her eyes.  “You had need and I was there.”

            “It was more then that.”  He takes her arm.  “I have need for you yes, but not just in my bed, in my life.”

            “Don’t.”  She pulls her arm away from him.  “We cannot be.”  She looks up at him with tears brimming in her eyes.  “We cannot be.”  Her heart feels as if it is shriveling up in her chest.  She can have neither of them the cost of her selfishness would be to high.  Boromir is all Faramir has and she will not rob one of the other.

            “I have never let myself feel for a woman Aewlyn. I feel for you somehow you’ve pierced this armored heart.”  He touches her face.

            “Do you love me?”  Her voice quivers.  “Or simply what you cannot have?”  Her words sting him.

            “Do you love me?”  He takes her arm again holding it firmly but she won’t look at him.  “Do you have love for me?”

            “You know I do.”  She wishes the earth would open up and swallow her whole.  “You know I do.”  She whispers.

            “Then do not regret love whatever comes of it.”  He touches her cheek and feels they are wet.  “I will never regret what I feel for you.”

            “How can you say that?”  Her voice is filled with frustration.  “I never asked you to love me.  I never asked him.  I did not know I was falling in love with either of you, it just happened.  I did not flirt, I did not bat my eyelashes.”

            “You didn’t have to.”  Boromir’s eyes are soft.  “Any man worth his salt would love you.”  He glances to where Faramir sleeps and then pulls her to him and puts his lips to hers.

            She pushes him away roughly and he grabs her again pulling her to him and kissing her, his tongue demanding her lips open to him.  Her knees go weak and her head swims for a minute before she pushes him away again feeling like a whore for wanting his kisses.

            “I can’t do this.”  She balls her hands into fists and pushes against his chest again.  “I can’t do this anymore.”  Tears steam down her cheeks. He tries to hold her but her fists strike his chest.  He stands there letting her take her frustrations out on him, her fists doing little to him.  She strikes out until her strength is spent and then cries into him as he pulls her close.

            He had tasted longing and sorrow in her kiss and it was the sweetest kiss he has ever tasted.  As hard as this is on himself and his brother it must be tenfold for her.  She is the one who has to choose.  They are the ones who will have to live with the choice. 

            “Sleep Aewlyn.”  He kisses the top of her head.  “We will ride back in the morning.”  His father will be relieved to see her.

            “Like sleep can find me.”  She thinks to herself as she settles on the bedroll next to Faramir’s.  She wonders if perhaps it would have been better if the borg had killed her.

            Dawn breaks and none of the three are rested.  Aewlyn stops as they walk kneeling and gathering plants and stuffing them in her pack.  A few she digs and pulls out complete with roots.  If she’s luck she can bring them to seed in the gardens.  If they survive the trip home.

            She works silently not saying anything to either man and neither say a word to each other.  She tries not to look at either one of lest it causes the other pain.  If this is what her life is to be she dreads it.

            She can imagine the talk of the courts, she wonders what Denethor will say to her.  What he will do, she has tasted his rage.  There is no punishment he can merit on her that she does not deserve.  She thinks of poor Helga, her made must be beside herself.  When did sense leave her?  She glances behind her at the two men that follow her and knows that all sense left her the moment she let them into her heart.

            When did it happen?  It is easy to draw the moment to her mind for Faramir, it was her first night as the Steward’s ward.  When he gave up a night’s rest to comfort a stranger, when he added his voice to her song.

            Boromir it is not as simple to place the single moment.  The attraction grew slowly but was always there.  The way he always stood up for Faramir to his father and to the other men.  The way he watched over him when he was wounded.  When he send Hynar to the dungeons.  There are many reasons why she loves him.

            They reach the edge of the forest before mid morning and with a hard ride they can be back at the castle by midnight.   She mounts her horse and waits as the men take to theirs.

            She spurs her horse charging ahead of them and they follow behind her, each one’s eyes fixed on her back.   She pushes her horse so she is ahead of them, she does not want to ride abreast them.

            They sense this and keep their horses back.  She pushes her horse until she senses the animal’s weariness and slows it to a trot.  Boromir and Faramir slow their animals down and ride side by side giving her the space she needs.

            She has not spoken to Faramir since she has woken, she doesn’t know what to say and Boromir is always close at hand.  She wonders what if anything he feels and closes her eyes as the horse carries her closer to the city.

            “As hard as this is for us it’s harder for her.”  Boromir moves his mount closer to his brother’s so they can talk.  “Do you think if you knew it would come to this you could have closed your heart to her?”  Boromir looks at Faramir who stares at the girls back, his hazel eyes sorrowful.

            “No, the first night she arrived, I took her to see her father.  I held her all night as she wept.  She was so frightened, so innocent and then when I rode out to battle in the morning I looked behind and saw her standing on the edge of the needle.  She had my heart at that moment.”  He looks at his brother and shrugs his shoulders.  “I should have known better then to dream someone like her would be mine.”  He spurs his horse forward a few steps coming out of line with Boromir.

            Boromir glances ahead at Aewlyn and questions himself, he wonders if his love for her is stemmed from wanting what he cannot have.  Then he thinks of the night in the arena, the way her body moved and her face flushed as she tried to land a hit on him.  The way she and lain under him as he leaned over her. 

            He wishes it was mistaken love, that it could be traded for lust.  Her lips and the way they sought his, the love he felt in her kiss.  He cannot forget this, he wonders if Faramir has kissed her?   Or if he’s touched her, or taken her to his bed?  He stares ahead its best not to think of some things.

            When had his heart stirred for her?  He frowns as he thinks of how he had watched her dance in the rain.  Unlike his brother’s memory his is tainted with him little more then a peeping Tom.