Children of the Storm: Prologue

"Blast it all!" Boromir cursed over the clashing din of battle. "Where did they come from? Where are the scouts?"

The Orcs had been lying in wait for them as they crossed the river, just under cover of the forest. The Gondorians had been caught unaware, and more than one man had been killed or wounded in the fumble for weapons. The men were struggling to rally to his repeated call, but the Orcs kept up a furious onslaught.

"Gondor! Push them to the water!" Boromir shouted, finally working his way out of the Orcs that had hemmed him from all sides. Not finding any Orc to hand, Boromir was perplexed to see that there suddenly seemed many more men than the thirty he had started with.

Just then a noise from him made him jump. "Boromir you idiot, what are you doing here?" Boromir whirled around to find a grim and dirty Faramir finishing off an Orc with one hand and supporting his drooping second-in-command, best friend to both the brothers, with the other.

"Faramir? What?—They ambushed us as we were crossing."

"And we were chasing them!" Faramir groaned. "Of course we all had to meet here. What a dismal mess!"

Boromir grunted in agreement. "Aye-Look out!" Over Faramir's shoulder Boromir could see an immense Orc swing his scimitar, ready to cleave Faramir's head. Hampered by the unconscious man he supported, Faramir could only duck as Boromir's sword cut the air overhead. Out of reach, Boromir deflected the Orc-scimitar but rather than rip into Faramir's head it sunk into his shoulder, cutting Boromir's hand deeply in the process. Even with his sword slipping through his bloody fingers, Boromir managed to finish off the creature. As the soldiers dealt with the few remaining Orcs, Boromir dragged the two men to the sidelines. Boromir gently lay them down and, kneeling, ripped a strip of fabric from his tunic to use as a makeshift bandage for his brother.

"We've got a healer round here somewhere," Faramir said, coming to rather suddenly.

"Where?"

"Here," someone answered softly. Surprised by the light tone, Boromir jerked his head up. At first glance, the person in front of him looked like a regular Ranger, cloaked in dark breeches, boots of whisper-soft leather, and a green cloak. Only when she knelt down to Faramir and her cloak open to reveal her body did Boromir see her womanly features; the strands of hair escaping from the thick braid to wisp around her face, the gentle curves outlined by the form-fitting wear.

Digging into her pack, she pulled out some green herbs and ground them in her mortar and pestle. With Boromir's aid, she carefully slipped an arm around Faramir's shoulders. "Hold him up, please. His wound needs stitching but his shirt is in the way. I'll have to cut it." she said. When he took him from her, she reached into her pack again and took out needle and thread, taking time to cut through the sleeve of his shirt with a dagger.

Finishing her stitching job speedily, she used the tips of her fingers to scoop up the stringy paste into a ball and smooth it into the cut, apologizing as she felt him tense with her touch. Then taking the bandage she wrapped it around his neck and arm. "There. Lay him down, please." She said, accepting Boromir's hand up. Boromir stared fascinated at her dark clothes now stained a lurid black-red by Faramir's blood. Following his eyes down her front, the Woman turned a shade whiter than usual, but all she said was, "Would you get a bed for him, somewhere, or at least a pillow to raise his head?"

Boromir nodded. "Thank you," he said.

"Think nothing of it," she said, seeming suddenly uncomfortable. Abruptly, she turned around and bent down again to tend to Faramir's second-in-command, Damrod.

"You did well," Faramir said from his position on the ground. Boromir turned and found Faramir sitting up and leaning on his uninjured arm.

"Thank you," she said. "This one's just stunned. He'll sleep it off."

"It's her first time out," Faramir continued to Boromir.

Boromir raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well done. What's your name?"

"Sedryn, daughter of Norlad," The Woman answered.

"My father's treasured advisor," Boromir said.

"No," Faramir interjected, "Not since Father decided that Norlad wasn't noble enough to be an advisor." Faramir said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Oh…" Boromir said, abashed. "My apologies."

She inclined her head. "Never mind. We manage. Your hand, please."

"Beg pardon?" Boromir said, having forgotten his wound in his excitement.

"You wounded your hand, didn't you?" she said, reaching towards him

"What? Oh, it's nothing," he said, wiping his hand off on his breeches. "I can take care of it myself."

"Don't do that!" she scolded. "You've got Orc blood all over your clothing; you could infect yourself that way! And, scar tissue could end up making your hand useless. So if you please, your hand!" she said pointedly, her hands up on her hips as she glared up at him.

"Better give in," Faramir interjected, "I know Ioreth's voice when I hear it."

Boromir barked a laugh and acquiesced, offering his hand palm up for Sedryn's inspection. For the first time, Boromir thought he saw a hint of a smile on her face, masked as she bent over Boromir's hand, using a dampened bandage to wipe off blood and grime.

"Yes, Ioreth did teach me," she said, looking up suddenly. "Spent rather a lot of time telling us of your wounds, both of yours.

Faramir chuckled. "Ioreth does get to be rather voluble at times, but—"

"She's a good heart," Sedryn finished, bending back down to her work. "Er, would you mind sitting down? You're too tall for me, and I think there's something, a pebble or a shard of stone, in the cut. I'll have to fish it out." She told Boromir.

"Certainly," he answered, sitting himself down on the ground, next to Faramir. Bringing his hand close to her face, she scrutinized it so closely Boromir felt embarrassed. With a new needle, she carefully scraped into the cut until the shard from the sword showed black amid the crimson blood. Digging underneath it, she pushed it up and flicked it into the ground. She retrieved a glass vial filled with a milky liquid from her pack and tipped a few drops onto his hand. With a finger, she rubbed it into the cut before taking a roll of clean bandaging and wrapping it around his hand.

"Your hands are much callused, but I believe that helped in protecting your hand; you don't need stitching." She told him, smiling.

"Good. Thank you; you have a most gentle touch."

She nodded in thanks. "I'd best get to the others," Seeming suddenly uncomfortable, she stood up and abruptly walked to the next wounded soldier, hefting her pack with her.

He didn't see her again until late that night, until the battleground had been cleared of the dead and wounded, and the Orcs dispatched with. But for the few clustered round the fires or standing guard, most of the men had already laid out their tents and bedrolls, weary from the excitement. Boromir had seen Faramir to a tent and had helped him into fresh clothes and into a bed, waiting for him to fall asleep before slipping out of the tent into the darkness in search of his own bed when he saw her staggering toward the river, a lamp in one hand and a bundle in the other. She heard him as he neared her.

"Good evening, Lord Boromir," she said, her voice heavy with weariness.

"Sedryn," he answered, concentrating at keeping his surprise at her still bloodied and grimy appearance out of his voice. The woman looked exhausted. "You're still awake."

"I just finished tending to the last wounded," she said.

Boromir's trepidation must have shown on his face, because she hastened to add, "Many are wounded, but all things considered, it went better than it might have. There are only three men I need to watch tonight." She said gently. "If you'll excuse me, I need to wash quickly and get back before they wake."

"Of course," he said courteously, but before he could turn away, she stumbled. He caught her as she fell.

"I'm sorry," she said, embarrassment seeping into her tone. "It's been a long day."

Boromir waved it away. "Never mind. It has indeed been a long day. Have you eaten anything?"

"What? Oh. No, I haven't."

"And you're the healer. Sit here—" he said, guiding her down to the ground, against a tree. "I'll be back presently with a plate."

She nodded. "Thank you."

Though he had only been away a few minutes, Sedryn was asleep when he returned, her head resting on the tree. What to do? Kneeling down, he put the plate down beside her, but his motion had woken her up. In the dim lamplight he saw her open her eyes.

"Thank you, again." She said.

"My pleasure."

The food disappeared quickly. She ate, Boromir realized with a start, like a man.

Boromir felt angry, again, at the injustice that his People lived under. Women, especially this small, dainty one, should have no need whatsoever to go into service. Why did she do it? Wasn't there some man -- her father, her brother, her husband – wanting to protect her and keep her safe?

Probably they already did all they could by fighting. Perhaps they were already dead. He knew the city was emptied of nearly all but the women and children and old men.

"What is it?" she asked.

Boromir looked up at her, questioning. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "You're staring off into the distance as though you are trying to pierce through stone and wood. What troubles you?"

"May I ask you a question?" he asked.

She nodded once.

"Why do you serve?"

Her eyes flashed and her body took on a rigid pose. "My father is old before his time because he loves Gondor. My mother is dead because she could not bear to see Gondor ensnared by Shadow. My brother is dead because he loved Gondor." Suddenly her body slumped, the fight in her snuffed like a candle. "I too will die because I love Gondor. I serve, my Prince, because Gondor was once great, and I would have her become great again. Though," she said sadly, "My death will not be enough to save her."

"Do you so deeply despair?" he said.

"Do I so deeply despair?" she repeated. "Does it matter? It is simply, fact."

How could she tell him? How could she tell him of the anger that threatened to send her berserk when she saw her beloved City take another hit? When the buildings sported gaping holes in their framework, like eyes ripped out from corpses by crows? How could she tell him of the despair that threatened to overcome her barriers when she saw the children, pinched and starved, sitting on steps and stones because they were too weak to run and play? When the old women no longer had that sparkle in their eyes because life was simply too much even for the staunch women of Gondor to bear. Yes she wanted to scream. I do so deeply despair. As do you, Boromir, and your brother, though you hide it so well.

She inhaled sharply, hoping he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. "I should go," she said. "I've spent too much time away as it is, and I haven't yet bathed."

Boromir leaped to his feet and offered her a hand. Gratefully, she accepted his help up. Seeing the bandage, she asked him, "How is your hand?"

"Very well, thanks. And, Sedryn—" he said as she turned away, his hand lingering in hers. Her eyes lifted up to meet his intent gaze. "Thank you. For answering me."

Something in the proud dip of her head reminded Boromir of long-forgotten queens.