One
In her bedchamber in the White Tower, Erin finished brushing her red-gold hair and laid the silver-and-ruby brush on the nightstand. Turning, she caught a reflection of herself in the mirror. Her pale skin contrasted with the richness of her green velvet gown, and the sadness of her eyes made her look far older than her young years. Erin sighed, turning away from the pale spectre of her image and brushed at her cheek furiously to dismiss the tear that threatened there. She gazed out of her window instead, across the city she now called home, and wondered how long it had been.
Was it really six months? Erin couldn't remember. All she could think of, or feel, was the distant longing in her heart and the weariness of her soul, biting and clawing at her with every passing day. Out there, somewhere, beyond the walls of Minas Tirith, her brave Boromir still toiled, searching for the answer to his dream, and the salvation of his city and his people. Out there, too, was Faramir, also toiling to save Gondor. Boromir, Faramir…Erin felt her heart leap with pride as she thought of their names. The proud and dutiful sons of Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor, her foster-brothers and closest companions, whom she loved and cherished above anyone else in all Middle Earth.
Erin raised her fair head as the noise of silver trumpets filled the air. For an instant, her heart quickened. Could it be? Then she heard footsteps in the passage outside, and someone knocked on her door.
"Enter," she called, her voice trembling a little.
One of her serving-women opened the door and curtseyed to her.
"Forgive the intrusion, my lady, but the Lord Denethor asks for you. He has visitors, and commands your presence. "
Erin held her breath.
"Who…who is come?" she asked, and the woman curtseyed again.
"T'is Mithrandir, my lady," she answered, and Erin saw the distress in the woman's eyes. "And…and a Halfling."
"I will come at once," Erin assented, and as the woman withdrew, she sighed. Not Boromir or Faramir, as she had hoped, but Mithrandir. Well, mayhap he would have word of her foster-brothers. He certainly seemed to know everything else…
Sighing, trying not to build up her hopes, Erin picked up her warm cloak and left her room. It had been a little over two weeks since she had seen Denethor, she reflected, for he had closeted himself away, seeing few, and certainly not her. It was at times like this that she wished Faramir, at least, was still in the city. They had always been great friends, for they were of almost the same age, and had been very close since the day Erin had come to their household as their foster-sister. She was greatly fond of him, and had missed him much since he left, especially since she had been worried about both Boromir and Denethor in recent times. It was unlike him to not visit her every day, to talk with her and make plans for the future. Something must be very wrong…
Coming to the Great Hall, Erin passed into it unchallenged as always. There she saw Mithrandir, sombre as always, seated upon a chair, and beside him sat what Erin supposed must be the Halfling, who had stopped speaking as she entered. She gazed at him curiously, for she had never seen one before. Finally, she let her cool green eyes come to rest on Denethor.
"You sent for me, Lord, Steward and beloved foster-father?" she asked, curtseying, and he raised his head wearily to gaze at her.
It was then Erin saw what he held. A great horn, bound with silver, lay in two on his lap. The Horn of Gondor…Erin's heart sank.
"My…my lord?" she asked, hesitantly; understanding immediately but willing desperately that he would tell her dissimilarly. "I…I don't understand."
"Forgive me, Lady Erin." It was Mithrandir who spoke, and she turned to him, the tears starting in her confusion-filled eyes. "I am afraid that Boromir, whom you did love as a brother, has died protecting this Halfling and his kinsman, and indeed the entire fate of Middle Earth.
Erin faltered. Boromir, dead? It could not be, it must not be…Erin felt a great wave of darkness swimming up around her, and she tried to steady herself.
N…no, no it is not true," she managed to whisper at last. "He…he…"
"It is true," Denethor said sombrely. "I had not the heart to tell you, Erin…I did not have the words."
Erin's head swam. Boromir, her dearest Boromir was not coming back. Her mind filled with a thousand memories; the way he made her laugh with his seriousness, his sudden smile that caught her off-guard, his dreadful teasing of her from childhood…she let out a choked sob.
"No…no!"
With that, the Lady neither knew nor remembered anything more, for she had fallen to the floor in a dead faint.
In her bedchamber in the White Tower, Erin finished brushing her red-gold hair and laid the silver-and-ruby brush on the nightstand. Turning, she caught a reflection of herself in the mirror. Her pale skin contrasted with the richness of her green velvet gown, and the sadness of her eyes made her look far older than her young years. Erin sighed, turning away from the pale spectre of her image and brushed at her cheek furiously to dismiss the tear that threatened there. She gazed out of her window instead, across the city she now called home, and wondered how long it had been.
Was it really six months? Erin couldn't remember. All she could think of, or feel, was the distant longing in her heart and the weariness of her soul, biting and clawing at her with every passing day. Out there, somewhere, beyond the walls of Minas Tirith, her brave Boromir still toiled, searching for the answer to his dream, and the salvation of his city and his people. Out there, too, was Faramir, also toiling to save Gondor. Boromir, Faramir…Erin felt her heart leap with pride as she thought of their names. The proud and dutiful sons of Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor, her foster-brothers and closest companions, whom she loved and cherished above anyone else in all Middle Earth.
Erin raised her fair head as the noise of silver trumpets filled the air. For an instant, her heart quickened. Could it be? Then she heard footsteps in the passage outside, and someone knocked on her door.
"Enter," she called, her voice trembling a little.
One of her serving-women opened the door and curtseyed to her.
"Forgive the intrusion, my lady, but the Lord Denethor asks for you. He has visitors, and commands your presence. "
Erin held her breath.
"Who…who is come?" she asked, and the woman curtseyed again.
"T'is Mithrandir, my lady," she answered, and Erin saw the distress in the woman's eyes. "And…and a Halfling."
"I will come at once," Erin assented, and as the woman withdrew, she sighed. Not Boromir or Faramir, as she had hoped, but Mithrandir. Well, mayhap he would have word of her foster-brothers. He certainly seemed to know everything else…
Sighing, trying not to build up her hopes, Erin picked up her warm cloak and left her room. It had been a little over two weeks since she had seen Denethor, she reflected, for he had closeted himself away, seeing few, and certainly not her. It was at times like this that she wished Faramir, at least, was still in the city. They had always been great friends, for they were of almost the same age, and had been very close since the day Erin had come to their household as their foster-sister. She was greatly fond of him, and had missed him much since he left, especially since she had been worried about both Boromir and Denethor in recent times. It was unlike him to not visit her every day, to talk with her and make plans for the future. Something must be very wrong…
Coming to the Great Hall, Erin passed into it unchallenged as always. There she saw Mithrandir, sombre as always, seated upon a chair, and beside him sat what Erin supposed must be the Halfling, who had stopped speaking as she entered. She gazed at him curiously, for she had never seen one before. Finally, she let her cool green eyes come to rest on Denethor.
"You sent for me, Lord, Steward and beloved foster-father?" she asked, curtseying, and he raised his head wearily to gaze at her.
It was then Erin saw what he held. A great horn, bound with silver, lay in two on his lap. The Horn of Gondor…Erin's heart sank.
"My…my lord?" she asked, hesitantly; understanding immediately but willing desperately that he would tell her dissimilarly. "I…I don't understand."
"Forgive me, Lady Erin." It was Mithrandir who spoke, and she turned to him, the tears starting in her confusion-filled eyes. "I am afraid that Boromir, whom you did love as a brother, has died protecting this Halfling and his kinsman, and indeed the entire fate of Middle Earth.
Erin faltered. Boromir, dead? It could not be, it must not be…Erin felt a great wave of darkness swimming up around her, and she tried to steady herself.
N…no, no it is not true," she managed to whisper at last. "He…he…"
"It is true," Denethor said sombrely. "I had not the heart to tell you, Erin…I did not have the words."
Erin's head swam. Boromir, her dearest Boromir was not coming back. Her mind filled with a thousand memories; the way he made her laugh with his seriousness, his sudden smile that caught her off-guard, his dreadful teasing of her from childhood…she let out a choked sob.
"No…no!"
With that, the Lady neither knew nor remembered anything more, for she had fallen to the floor in a dead faint.