This chapter is all Boromir and Morloth, but for those of you who aren't quite so romance-oriented, take heart! They'll be joining the rest of Middle Earth starting with the next chapter and eventually some old friends will make an appearance.
Chapter 3
The days passed and Boromir's wounds continued knitting cleanly; the chances of the fever returning lessened as he grew stronger by the day. Although it would be many weeks before he could again move without pain after a few days Morloth agreed to let him sit up, though perhaps a little sooner than she would have without his persistent and repeated requests to do so.
As his strength increased her patient spent less time sleeping, which had the unfortunate side effect that he had more time to brood and chafe at his inactivity. Morloth understood that it must be difficult for a man used to constant vigorous activity to lie abed for so long, but still, it was...trying to be constantly watched and peppered with questions about what she was doing and why she was doing it. But more troubling were the periods when he would lapse into silence for an hour or more, staring moodily into space and scarcely acknowledging her presence.
On the fifth day after their arrival Morloth noticed that Boromir was in a particularly black mood and resolved to do something about it. So with comb and scissors in hand, she pulled up a chair next to his bed and caught his attention. "Lord Boromir, since I expect your brother's men to be coming soon, I thought you might like to be tidied up a bit before returning to Minas Tirith. I know you are accustomed to doing such things for yourself, but since you have only one good arm and no looking glass, perhaps I can help."
Boromir turned to her, obviously unhappy to have his thoughts interrupted, "What?" he asked impatiently. Before responding she noticed a strand of hair had fallen in his face and without thinking, reached over to brush it away. His response was immediate; he pushed her hand away and snapped, "I am not a child to be cozened!"
Morloth recoiled in surprise, and after a moment to collect herself, replied evenly, "My lord, I assure you I do not think of you in that way."
He reddened and looked away and when he turned back to her his voice was heavy with regret. "I am sorry, my lady, you of all people do not deserve my ire. Lying here like this day after day, doing nothing when others are doing their share and more, it…it gnaws at me."
Morloth sighed, "That I can certainly understand, my lord, I have often heard similar plaints from the wives of Rangers and others who serve Gondor in war. I know it would not suit me to be idle for long."
He gazed at her curiously, "But what is it that you do, my lady? What brought you to be here in Anórien, where Aragorn found you? You have never told me."
"I suppose I have not!" she said in surprise. "I will be happy to tell you, though I wish you would call me Morloth." Morloth smiled wryly, "Anyone who knows me well enough to snap at me should not stand on formalities."
"As you wish…Morloth," Boromir replied, returning her smile.
"I suppose my husband is to blame for luring me from Minas Tirith. Before I met him I never thought to live elsewhere! I was trained in the Houses of Healing as you might expect, and one day when I was near the end of my apprenticeship I met a handsome young Ranger who had come to visit a wounded friend."
"Your husband?" he asked.
Morloth nodded. "Bregor was raised in Anórien, and preferred it to the city, so after we married we moved to a small house west of Cair Andros. I found it quiet at first but being so close to Ithilien was a great advantage; Bregor could spend much more time at home than he could have if we had lived in Minas Tirith. Our son Cirlan was born there and when he was old enough not to need quite such constant attention, I began to feel the call of my training once more. So for the past years I have traveled about Anórien offering my services to those who need them—for many who live here, going to the city for healing is just not possible."
"Then you do a great service for our people, Morloth, and I thank you for it, in my father's name," Boromir said seriously.
Morloth smiled crookedly, "I don't know about that, my lord, but I do prefer it to idleness. Besides, I have found that I would rather work without the constant scrutiny of the senior healers at the Houses!"
"Doesn't your husband worry about you, Morloth, riding about with only your son for company?"
Her face fell, "Aye, he did. He died two years ago."
Boromir took her hand, "I…I am sorry, Morloth, I did not know. Did he…"
"It was a situation not unlike yours, too many orcs for one man to defeat. But in his case, help did not come in time." She paused to compose herself, "It has been…difficult but your brother has been very kind and has made sure than Cirlan and I do not want for anything."
"Has he indeed?" Boromir asked in surprise.
"But I would rather not talk about that now, my lord. At least I have not forgotten the reason I risked your wrath in the first place—I wanted to trim your hair and beard."
Boromir groaned. "Must you?"
Morloth smiled, "I'm certain it would please your father and your brother to see you looking as neat and fit as possible despite your wounds, since you will be unable to dazzle them with displays of swordsmanship for the foreseeable future." Her tone became more serious, "I do think it would also hearten the people of Gondor to see the Lord Steward's heir coming back from his long absence looking as handsome as the day he left. And you never know; it might actually make you feel better."
He gave her a long look and sighed, "I suppose you're right. But be gentle! I hate having my hair pulled!"
Her lips quirked in amusement, "Yes, my lord, I will be gentle and I will try my best not to remove anything you'd prefer to keep."
Boromir gazed at her suspiciously for a moment but then allowed her to begin combing through his hair.
As she worked, Morloth addressed Boromir again. "Don't think I didn't notice, my lord, that you have asked many questions about my life but have said nothing about the journey you have been on, which is bound to be the more interesting tale of the two. I understand you may not be able to tell me everything, but surely some things…the halfings, for instance, what can you tell me of them? Merry and Pippin are certainly light-hearted names, is that also their nature?"
"Yes, indeed! Halflings are remarkable. I have never met beings that take so much joy from the simple things in life. Always ready for a joke or a prank but even with that, not childish, if you follow, and despite their size they are very brave and extremely loyal to their friends and companions."
He paused for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was rough with emotion. "They would not leave me, Morloth. I shouted at them to run, but they would not leave me to face the orcs alone. When I could fight no longer, they charged the Uruks—creatures that were fully twice their size and more! The orcs simply picked them up and carried them away—it near broke my heart to see such bravery rewarded thus. I cannot bear to think of them in the hands of such beasts!"
"In just the short time I was with them, I could tell that Aragorn and his companions are very capable and determined. You must trust that they will be able to free Merry and Pippin," Morloth said firmly.
"I…I know. I do. Aragorn is a remarkable man and Legolas and Gimli would follow him to the ends of the earth and beyond if need be. If anyone can save Merry and Pippin, they can."
Morloth had questions regarding Aragorn's background and was intending to ask Boromir about it when he continued, shaking his head in wonder, "The halflings had never learned to use swords because there is no need in their land, 'the Shire' as they name it."
"I find it heartening that there is still such a place in Middle-Earth! I would not have not thought it possible," Morloth responded.
"I agree, and I pray it can remain as free and peaceful as it is now. They asked me to teach them swordplay on our journey so they could defend themselves in need and I was glad to help. Aragorn had found swords for them suitable to their size and Frodo had a very fine elven blade given to him by his uncle, a bold, adventuresome hobbit in his day, by all accounts."
"Frodo? I have not heard that name before. Was he another of your companions?" Morloth actually had heard the name before; it was one that Boromir had often cried in his fever, begging this 'Frodo' to forgive him, although for what he did not say.
Boromir stilled, and after a moment, continued, "Frodo, yes, there were four halflings in our company, Frodo and Sam as well as Merry and Pippin."
"Where are Frodo and Sam now? I hope no evil has befallen them!"
"I…I do not know. They took another path at Amon Hen. I also pray that they are safe, wherever they are," Boromir replied, looking troubled.
Morloth wanted to ask why Frodo and Sam had left the company and what their path was but some instinct warned her against it. Instead, she said, "So eight of you set out. What a remarkable company!"
"Nine," Boromir corrected, "nine set out. We lost Mithrandir the Gray Wizard in the Mines of Moria." He shuddered, "What an evil place."
"Mithrandir, the wizard, lost?" she said in astonishment. "How can that be?"
"You knew him?" Boromir asked.
"The children of the Tower Guard knew him and loved him; there was always great excitement when he would come to visit the Steward." She smiled in remembrance, "Once when he was walking through the streets I saw a crowd of children following him, calling his name. Finally, one was bold enough to dash forward and tug on his robes. Mithrandir rounded on him, scowling as if in anger, and then began to laugh and handed out sweets to all the children."
Boromir chuckled, "That sounds like him. He would regularly come to the Citadel in my grandfather's day, though not so often of late." He sighed, "Mithrandir and my brother were very close. I do not look forward to telling Faramir that he is gone."
"I did not think he could die!" Morloth exclaimed, "My grandfather told us tales of Mithrandir's visits when he was a child, looking exactly the same as he did when last I saw him. And he said his grandfather told the same tales!"
"It took a mighty enemy to do so," Boromir replied, shaking his head. "Mithrandir called it a Balrog, a monstrous demon that had survived since the days of the Great Enemy. I cannot imagine a more fearsome foe, lest Sauron himself comes forth from the Black Gates. Yet Gandalf was able to strike it down, though he perished as well."
Morloth shivered, "What a terrible loss; I am glad I did not have to witness it." She had been working all during their discussion and now put down her scissors. "If you do not mind a change in the conversation, I am done. I hesitated to say so before but to my eyes you looked like a barbarian king with your hair so wild and your beard untrimmed. As a girl I always thought that the fierce warrior-kings of Rohan would appear that way."
Boromir chuckled, "You might be surprised how civilized the horse-masters of Rohan can be. These days, they rarely sling Gondorian maids across their horses and carry them away," he continued with an amused gleam in his eyes.
"Oh, now I am disappointed!" she laughed. "In any case, I think you look much better and very handsome, a proper Man of the South, and I don't believe that's just pride in my own handiwork. If you'd like to see it yourself, I'm afraid I have no mirror, but I can try to find something else that would serve."
Boromir smiled and shook his head, "No need, I am sure your eyes are much more discerning than mine, or Faramir's, or my father's. I trust that if you find me handsome, others will too." He met her eyes, and his smile broadened, "Thank you Morloth, both for your care and for putting up with my foul moods. And you were right, I do feel better."
Morloth nodded her thanks and left, more than a little disconcerted by how his smile and the look in his eyes made her feel.
-ooo-
Boromir awoke from his nap and, as if by instinct, his eyes found Morloth. She was on the other side of the cave, doing one of the various small tasks that she used to fill her days; cooking, preparing medicines, repairing clothing or gear. In fact, he spent most of his day watching her. Since the only other activities possible for him other than sleeping were staring at the extremely uninteresting roof of the cave and worrying about things he could not change, it was the most appealing option.
Moreover, if truth be told, he quite liked watching her. Always graceful and efficient in her movements, she seemed to float effortlessly through her tasks, her slim hands never still. Even in repose her face was beautiful—not pretty, no one would call her that, and besides, 'pretty' seemed far too insipid a term to describe her. Instead, her features were strong and striking, with full lips and large gray eyes that seemed to look right through into his soul. The rest of her was comely too; as tall as many men and strong, but generously curved in all the places a woman should be.
Boromir sighed. The day before when she had told him that she was a widow, his first feeling was, quite properly, sorrow for her loss. But he was not prepared for the thrill of excitement he felt when he realized she was unattached. He had then finally admitted to himself how very attracted he was to her, and had been since the first day when he had awoken to find her nestled against him, her hair spread like a fan across his shoulder. Her hair! Unbound, it fell in dark waves down her back past her shoulders, with curling tendrils framing her face. He wanted nothing more than to touch it, touch her…
It had been many months since he had seen—much less been with—a woman of his own kind, and as an adult he had never been alone with a woman for so long in such tight quarters. Perhaps that was why he was having such difficulty coping with his desire for her. Just this morning Morloth had decided that he should try to walk a few steps from his bed to a chair. A successful experiment and one he was all too happy to try since it meant she was there to put a supportive arm around his waist when his steps faltered. Besides learning that he was still too weak to walk more than a few steps unaided, the experience taught him two things: that she was only a hand shorter than he was, and that the feeling of her body pressed close to his was just as pleasant as he remembered from that first morning.
But although she was easy to talk to and quick to laugh, he honestly could not tell what she felt for him. At times there was a touch or a lingering glance that gave him hope that she was also attracted to him, but at other times he was certain that was just wishful thinking on his part. Most of his experience was with women who were all too eager to reciprocate if the Steward's favored son and heir showed the least interest in them, but he knew this lady was very different.
Boromir heard Morloth's step and looked up to see her approach. She smiled in greeting and sat down next to the bed before untying the sling that held his left arm in place. "I think that you may soon be able to do without the sling, at least part of the time."
She began to gently bend his arm in various ways, to determine what was still painful and what was not. "As I suspected, you'll soon be able to use it with little pain, though I suggest that you wear the sling while walking, lest the weight of your arm pull at the shoulder wound. It will be some time before you can carry any substantial weight with it, especially that beast," she nodded toward his shield, which was propped against the wall with his sword. "The Houses of Healing have those who specialize in returning injured limbs to full function, so I recommend that you seek one out when you return to Minas Tirith."
He looked up and caught her eyes. "So I'll have two good arms?" he asked casually.
There was no question that Morloth caught the reference; she reddened and made a noncommittal noise of amusement, "You could say that."
When she bent over him to examine his shoulder some of her hair had come loose from its binding and had fallen into her face. With a sigh of annoyance she pulled the binding out of her hair in order to tie it up again; he had seen her do this often when too many of the unruly curls had escaped.
Emboldened by her response to his previous comment, he added, "Your hair is really quite lovely, my lady, you should consider wearing it down."
"That would not be very practical considering the work I do." Morloth smiled ruefully, "However, my lord, since you have hit upon my one vanity, I can only say thank you."
Boromir smiled and laid his hand over hers. He felt her tense, but she did not pull away. "One only? I would think a lady as beautiful as you are would have many," he said lightly.
Morloth snorted in amusement, "Yes, I suppose I'm quite comely compared to all the other women here."
Boromir gazed at her in surprise; did she really not now how attractive she was? He met her eyes and said softly, "I think you are very beautiful, my lady, a beauty that is yours alone. I would be happy to…demonstrate my belief, if you wish." He reached up and rested his hand on the soft skin of her neck under her ear. Heart beating hard in anticipation, he wondered whether she would let him kiss her…or more than kiss her?
Morloth caught her breath sharply and her eyes widened in surprise. Recoiling slightly, she removed his hand and placed it on the bed. After taking a moment to compose herself, she met Boromir's eyes and said, "You ask me to trade the memory of a husband I loved with all my heart for a night's pleasure with a high-born lover. I do not think that a good bargain, no matter how handsome the lover or pretty the invitation."
Stung by her dismissal, Boromir asked, "You do not believe my regard is sincere?"
Morloth's answering smile did not reach her eyes, "Oh, I believe that here, in this moment, it is quite sincere. Whether it will be equally sincere when you reach Minas Tirith and have many more…attractive options to choose from is another question entirely."
Boromir did not know how to respond. In truth, caught up in the desires of the moment, he had given no thought to what would happen when they reached the city. Morloth started to stand, and unwilling to let her go, he quickly reached for her hand to stay her. Too quickly; the sudden movement wrenched his wounds and he fell back on the bed, gasping in pain.
She was back at his side immediately, helping him settle himself comfortably. "I cannot help but think you may have been over-optimistic in your offer, my lord," she said dryly, "given your current condition."
Damn it, she was laughing at him! "I'm sure I could manage," he growled, defiantly meeting her eyes, "with a little assistance."
Her eyes widened briefly and without speaking she bowed her head in acquiescence, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
