There was a gentle insistence in the poking of her arm and it wouldn't stop. Arlandria turned over trying to escape from it but the poking got worse. When she eventually opened her eyes she saw a young woman looking very nervous.
"I've been sent to wake you and get you ready for dinner, m'lady."
Arlandria just nodded, her mind still wrapped up in sleep. She blinked a couple of times before sitting up and accepting the fact that she wouldn't be allowed to sleep any longer. The young servant helped her out of bed and into the steaming bath that must have been filled before being awoken. Arlandria slipped into the water breathing a sigh of relief; it had been a while since she last had a bath like this. She was much more used to a swim in a river or a quick sponge down. She found out that the servant's name was Qannik and that it meant Snowflake. Qannik bathed her and washed her long hair before helping her out. Arlandria wasn't the most comfortable with being referred to as a lady and the idea of someone like Qannik doing all this for her was not at all in her comfort zone; but she had no way to protest without getting the young woman into trouble. Arlandria's long reddish-brown hair was tidied into one plait, hanging half-way down her back and after that had been done Qannik went and fetched an outfit that had been left by one of the other female servants.
"No," Arlandria stated. "No, I'm not wearing that."
The article in question was a green dress that hung to just above the knee. It had a low neckline that enhanced the chest and gathered in at the waist. It was a dress that showed a woman's best assets.
"Please, m'lady. It has been left for you. They expect you to wear it to the dinner tonight. The steward and his sons will be there."
"I'm sorry Qannik but I can't. I don't wear things like that. Can you get me something different? Something like what I was wearing when I arrived here."
After a couple of seconds Qannik seemed to make her mind up. "Wait here m'lady; I will see if I can get something."
Arlandria sat down and waited for the young woman's return. She got to thinking of what she was going to do. She knew she wasn't up to fighting fit which meant she had to spend some time here which was fine, except for her problem with Gondor in general and the uselessness of its ruler. She more than disliked the Steward, she hated him. It was desperation that made her head for Minas Tirith this time, if she hadn't she would surely have died. She didn't want to leave herself in the healers' hands but for the moment she must.
"Are these more to your liking m'lady?"
"Yes," Arlandria smiled at the smart leather shirt, leggings and knee-high boots. "Much better."
She looked at herself in the mirror that Qannik held up. It was more revealing than she liked but it was better than the dress. The shirt was short sleeved and tied up at the front which showed a bit of her chest. The leggings were quite well fitted but in a way she liked that, she was proud of her toned and slightly muscly legs. When she was ready Qannik led her to the dining hall. The servant stopped at the doors, leaving her to the guards, and turned and walked away when the doors started opening. Arlandria took a deep breath to calm herself and closed her eyes briefly to allow herself to soak up some confidence. When the doors were open she walked in and everyone could tell that she didn't belong. The men's eyes followed her, showing how rare it was for a woman to wear men's clothing. Most of them would think she was a whore or completely obstinate. Arlandria couldn't help this; it was how she was raised. She saw a table made up of the highest ranking city guards and then the main table which held the Steward, his sons and other highborn families. She saw Boromir and the empty chair next to him. Avoiding his gaze and the chair presumably reserved for her she sat down at the table of city guards. A servant approached her with some wine but she shook her head and pointed to a tankard. The servant looked shocked but obediently fetched a tankard of ale. The guards looked at each other not sure what to make of this thing that had plonked herself down with them. It took a few awkward moments when no-one knew what to say but after a while they started to get used to her and free-flowing ale certainly went in her direction. She was fit and good-looking; desirable to most and by the end of the meal she had been welcomed as a sister in the brotherhood. Some of them didn't approve of a woman fighting but most were impressed and eager to see if she could keep up the drinking pace. Plus, she was somewhat of an unknown entity; a woman completely different to the typical Gondorian lady.
Boromir kept glimpsing Arlandria's relations with his guards and couldn't believe what he was seeing; he had invited her here, provided clothes and procure her a chair on the high table but she had rebuffed him. It was rude and wrong; no lady should be able to do what she had done. On top of it all she had sat with the guards. She hadn't sat with some high-born women, no, she had sat with guards. The other thing that bothered him was how easily his guards had appeared to accept her; they were joking with her, touching her, sharing stories with her and having drinking competitions with her. He was disgusted but he also couldn't deny how much he felt for this stranger who he had only spoken to for thirty seconds. He watched her all evening, barely taking his eyes off her.
Arlandria couldn't believe the ease with which most of the guard had accepted her. Within minutes she felt like she was one of them and had been all her life. They spoke disparagingly about the Steward, albeit in lowered voices, but they had no bad words to say about either of the Steward's sons. They spoke of their missions and how the grip of Mordor was spreading. It was more common to see Orcs or Wargs on their travels. She could feel Boromir's eyes on her back throughout the evening. Eventually, there was no more food to be brought out and everybody stood after the high table had departed. The tables and chairs were moved to create an area that people could dance if they wanted to. It was at this point that the guards started to leave. Arlandria went to follow but a gentle hand on her arm stopped her.
"One dance at least before you leave, you owe that at least."
Arlandria turned to the voice and saw the younger brother, Faramir. He spun her round with ease and led her into the space. He kept a respectable distance while dancing but his good-manners didn't stop him from asking questions.
"Where do you call home?" He asked while moving her round with ease.
"Nowhere," Arlandria replied while trying not to step on his feet. "I don't stay in one place for long; I'm always on the move."
"How did a lovely lady like yourself come to be fighting orcs outside the walls of our city?" He twirled her and pulled her close waiting for her answer.
Arlandria froze. She stood there only an inch from his face studying his eyes. They appeared unconcerned at their closeness and held a sparkle of fun. Arlandria could feel her heart beating in her chest as well as eyes on her back. She tried to step back but the hands holding her tightened and she found a foot keeping hers where they were.
"I ask because you look like you want someone to talk to; someone to share your burden with. It's obvious that you want to be anywhere but here and I thought that I could help."
Arlandria just shook her head and pulled herself free. She looked at him toying between shouting at him and bursting into tears. She settled for walking calmly out the room and out into the streets below. She walked for an hour before finding herself at the door to a tavern. She entered and sat in one corner paying no heed to the four or five patrons who glanced up from their tankards. She was surprised when two tankards hit the table in front of her and Boromir sat opposite. His eyes connected with hers and she could sense drunken anger pouring out of him. After a few seconds she lowered her gaze and picked up her tankard, taking a long drink of the golden ale.
"Why did you sit with my guard?" His voice was lowered so that other people didn't overhear. "I invited you, I provided you with clothing worthy of a lady of Gondor and you chose to ignore that. You should have sat with me and used that as an opportunity to be accepted here. I doubt many people will want you to stay in the city."
The tavern keeper could see that this was a private conversation and quietly ushered the other drinkers out of the building before shutting the door, leaving the key on a table and retiring upstairs. Arlandria didn't fail to notice the empty room and closed her eyes wishing she had not come to Minas Tirith. She took a deep breath and resolved to be polite to the Steward's son to make sure she couldn't be locked up anywhere.
"I am not used to wearing such clothes and it's been a long time since I was among a large group of people. I was nervous and I didn't know what to do. I am used to spending my time with men similar to those in your guard." She gritted her teeth and carried on "if it please you m'lord, I would like to return to the Houses of Healing and leave your city in the morning."
She stood up and started walking away but Boromir pulled her so that she was sitting in his lap. He placed one hand behind her head, entwining his fingers in her hair and kissed her roughly. His tongue darted out and flicked at her lower lip. His other hand was wrapped around her waist keeping her in place. After a few seconds Arlandria pulled herself free and stood up, her hair coming out of its plait and falling across her face. She was panting and shook her head slightly. Boromir was shocked that a woman would not capitulate to him and his mind supplied images of fire and dark words.
"No Lady of Gondor refuses me".
"I am no Lady of Gondor!" Arlandria shouted not caring about the consequences anymore. She strode to the door, throwing it open and made her way back to the houses of healing. She didn't see Boromir drop his head into his hands nor the look of regret on his face.