A clueless Maiar decides to alter history and the outcome of the war by saving Boromir's life. But is sending a suicidal Irish dancer really the right way to go about it? Rated T for utter carnage.
"My Lady."
I blink blearily and look around. The world is a blur, an endless spinning blur and there is a man's voice echoing around my head. I feel like I want to throw up. I'm soaked with a warm substance and my forearms burn like white fire.
"My Lady!"
That voice again. I'm cold too, I can feel myself shuddering. Maybe if I just sleep for a bit everything will go away and I can have peace and quiet, just like Kate always said.
Kate. Oh fuck. Kate.
I force my eyelids to open and I push myself to a sitting position. Big mistake. My forearms flare and I feel very woozy. My stomach is doing weird things, constricting and squeezing. I groan and turn to the side and retch but nothing comes up but bile. Sobbing a little I try to lie back but a hard arm catches me. It's wearing some sort of metal which digs into my back through my thin cotton dress. The insistent man is shouting for somebody. Eragon? The dragon guy? My head spins and I try to surrender to the peaceful darkness but the arm shakes me awake.
"You must stay awake or you will die! Do you want to die?" he roars into my ear before shouting for the mysterious Eragon. Do I want to die? Somebody asked me that before. A high, fluting voice. Not like this man. I remember my answer.
"Yes." I moan and try to squeeze my eyes shut.
"No!" He shakes me again. "Have faith!"
"He stumbled into faith and thought. Oh God, is this all there is?" I sing hoarsely, my mind spinning around in circles. I choke and fall silent. There are more footsteps and a different voice starts talking to me. I can't hear the words. They're too quiet, little whispers. He's tying things on the top of arms. Too tight. It hurts. I flinch away. Suddenly I feel the world twist around me and I am surrounded by a warm vice. The man again, not Eragon, is talking in my ear.
"Go away!" I mumble and try to push out of the firm grip. It tightens. My forearms suddenly explode with pain. Somebody is pushing sharp things into the fire and I cry out. I am automatically hushed by the deep voice in my ear.
The anguish seems to go on forever but they won't let me out. What did I do? Suddenly the pain drops to be replaced with a fiery ache.
The voice tells me that something is going to happen, and it will hurt, but I mustn't scream. I shake my head and try to free myself but I am weak and make no effect on this giant clamp.
I smell heat and it is coming close, too close to my mutilated arms. I struggle and try to escape but I can't move.
"Please." I beg. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry." Something is shoved in over my tongue. It tastes bad and I try to spit it out but a hand is quickly placed over my mouth. The heat comes closer and finally is pressed firmly onto the mangled pieces that were once my forearms.
Every nerve in my body shoots up in protest and my eyes roll up in my head and finally, the blessed darkness takes over.
Boromir always seemed to be looking for firewood. It wasn't really his express wish that it was his special job but he wasn't going to complain. He bent down to sweep up some likely twigs when an almighty crack shook the forest around him. His body seemed to react without his permission- he span around and drew his sword, adrenalin making him alert and sharp.
His eyes seemed to mislead him.
A figure seemed to appear out of thin air, a flash of water flying in an arc around it as it landed with a loud thump on the forest floor. It lay there, shaking slightly. Boromir held his defensive stance for a moment longer before carefully sloping down to assess the danger.
A tiny woman lay on the ground, her skin ashen. Her lips seemed unusually red and her closed eyes were surrounded by some sort of black dust. Her hair was what interested Boromir the most. It was a mass of black, matted tentacles. It smelled faintly of lavender and enunciated how tiny and fine boned her face was.
"My Lady." He said politely. Something was soaking into his boot. He glanced down and swore. It was dark red blood, curling around the leaves. He looked for the source.
Boromir, son of Denethor, heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, from a long line of noble and brave men who were afraid of nothing, flinched and swallowed. Her forearms were a mass of slashes and deep cuts that were welling and spurting with blood.
"My Lady!" he said again. Her eyes fluttered and suddenly opened before she pushed herself to a sitting position. Boromir was shocked. That shouldn't be possible! She groaned and retched, throwing up bile before lying back. He caught her with a gauntleted arm. He'd seen wounds like this before, if she closed her eyes she'd be dead.
"ARAGORN!" he roared, hoping that the Ranger would hear him. "ARAGORN!" He checked his charge, she was trying to sleep again. He shook her awake.
"You must stay awake or you will die! Do you want to die?" he shouted. "ARAGORN!"
Her pale brows furrowed and smoothed.
"Yes." She said quietly. Boromir looked down in shock.
"No!" He shook her again. "Have faith."
She crunched up her face and sang a tiny song before coughing and going quiet. Aragorn finally arrived and took in the scene. Boromir saw his eyes widen in horror before he assumed a healers expression.
"Rip your tunic." He said quietly to Boromir who nodded and quickly tore the bottom half off. Aragorn grabbed two strips and tied them tightly around the top of her arms as tourniquets, talking softly to his patient all the while.
"Boromir, hold her up." Boromir picked her up gently and held her against his chest, feeling her tiny heartbeat and fluttering breaths. Legolas sprinted in with the hobbits and Gimli, who sat on the side looking terrified.
"Make a fire!" Legolas called to them and they sprang to attention. Aragorn began to stitch the multitude of cuts. She cried out in pain and Boromir hushed her, rocking her gently. She was struggling feebly but soon stilled, and put her tentacle head into the crook of his neck. He looked down in surprise. It seemed like hours before the cuts were finally sewn up, hours of pain for this tiny being. They were going to have to cauterise the wounds soon…
"My Lady, we have to do something now. It will hurt a lot, but you must not scream. Yes?"
She began to try and escape, but was too weak and almost fainted with the effort. Legolas passed him a leather thong and he placed it in her mouth. She indignantly spat it out but Legolas caught it and held it between her teeth. Aragorn placed the brand on her arms and she stiffened, her eyes wide, before finally slipping down into unconsciousness.
When Aragorn was finished, Boromir stayed the night by her side, making sure she lived. It would save his life.