Chapter 10 – Bealowund*

"Oi! Can't this donkey go any faster? You might just as well have left me at the end of the caravan, along with the rest of the furniture!"

Aragorn and Éowyn looked at each other, bursting into laughter simultaneously. It didn't seem to lighten Boromir's mood, who was currently propped on a wooden cart, clutching his bandaged wounds as if he could magically make them vanish. Edoras was being evacuated, seeking safety from Saruman in the stronghold of Helm's Deep.

"It's not funny, you know! Why don't you try lying in this thing for just five minutes and see how you like it?" Boromir's face darkened proportional to the brightening of his friends' faces.

"I think I will spend some time with our patient. He seems to be in dire need of the medicine of laughter." Aragorn told Éowyn with a wink.

She smiled. "He really is the worst patient I ever beheld, and I tended Éomer through many a cold or wound. One would think people never fell ill in Gondor."

"I rather would like to ask his brother about this. I have a feeling he might give an interesting answer," Aragorn responded, before he gave her the reins of his new horse, Brego, and walked back along the caravan to his morose friend.

"Have you condescended to pay the invalid a visit?" he greeted him.

Aragorn gave him his most cheerful grin. "How are your wounds?"

"Better than I am," Boromir snorted. After a moment he added, "The one on the left side is itching a bit. And the one beneath the heart is burning. Just a bit though."

Aragorn knew that when Boromir said "just a bit", the pain had to be just short of unbearable. "Let me see the first. And chew this for the second, it will help." He handed him some dried Athelas leaves.

Boromir gave him a highly doubtful look, but took the leaves without further comment. Meanwhile Aragorn frowned over the wound in his side. It had been from a barbed scimitar as far as he could tell. "It shouldn't be infected, not after bathing it in Athelas. But it certainly looks a bit red and if it itches..."

"I just said so, didn't I?" Boromir snapped, feeling rather ill at ease with being examined in public, on the road, and lying on a cart dragged by a donkey on top of that. "I think that's quite enough of an airing for my skin, thank you."

Aragorn laughed as he wrapped up the bandage again. "I think most young ladies of Edoras would disagree with you there."

Boromir blushed as he tugged down his white linen shirt much more forcefully than necessary. "Well, is it infected now or not?"

Aragorn was still laughing when he answered, though only in his eyes. "I fear it is. The scimitar was probably poisoned. But don't worry, I shall keep it down with Athelas until we reach Helm's Deep."

"And then what?" asked Boromir, "will the sight of that fortress cure it?"

"No, but there's a special lichen by the name of Ainahwan, which is only to be found in the White Mountains – it grows most abundantly in the forests of Anórien, but I've seen it all along the White Mountains as well. It's the only thing that helps when Athelas doesn't help and is even rarely known among elves."

"A lichen," Boromir repeated, expression a blank. "And what if you can't find it?"

"I will find it." Aragorn said with some finality. "And now eat those leaves, for the love of Eru."

Boromir glowered at him for a while longer, before he took a mouthful of the fragrant Athelas leaves. "This tastes like medicine." he commented, chewing.

"That's because it IS medicine," Aragorn responded dryly.

They were silent for a while; Aragorn anxiously scanning the horizon ahead, and Boromir thoughtfully munching his leaves.

"How is my honoured guest today?" Théoden had turned his horse to them and was looking rather concerned at Boromir.

"I've had worse, my lord," Boromir answered heartily. His former mood seemed completely forgotten. "I'll be up in no time and will gladly lend you a hand in defending your country, as your people have done many a time for our folk."

"I am glad to hear it." Théoden said with a smile, though he gave Aragorn a questioning glance too. The latter nodded slowly.

"Very well then. I shall leave you to rest and-"

Theóden was interrupted mid-sentence by the chaos and laughter caused by Gimli falling off his horse a few metres ahead. Éowyn was helping him up, laughing out loud.

"Maybe he should ride in the cart," Boromir commented, no sign of bitterness to be found in his face.

Théoden sighed, which made the two other men look at him in wonder. At their questioning looks, he explained: "It's been a long time since I saw my niece laughing like this. She has had a hard life and I have given her nothing but grief in addition to that."

Boromir raised himself up on his elbows, squinting up against the sun at Théoden. "My lord, I think you are too hard on yourself in this case. You didn't fall under Saruman's spell of your own will and I know that lady Éowyn doesn't resent you in any way."

Théoden gave him a sceptic look, but did not contradict.

"Besides," Boromir added with some heat, "the only one to blame for this mess is Saruman and not you. Direct your anger at him, and we shall be rid of him forever."

This time, Théoden smiled like a father would at his reckless son. Aragorn had feared that Boromir's strong words might have angered him, but it seemed that the king was not as impatient with the Gondorian as with Gandalf or himself. "I thank you for your words, Boromir. I only fear that Saruman won't be as susceptible to mere righteous anger as you say."

With that he bowed his head to both men and spurred his horse forward. Boromir followed him with his eyes and watched him talk to Éowyn, when he heard a suppressed sound of mirth beside him.

"And what in the name of the White Tree is there to laugh about?" He asked Aragorn, giving him a look of pure indignation.

"It's just that you give such good advice, one wonders why don't you heed it yourself." Aragorn was only laughing more after seeing the expression on Boromir's face.

Boromir looked like he tried to say something to this. But he settled for a snort and crossing his arms, the cart beneath him creaking as if to emphasise his anger.

Aragorn was about to make another comment, when they heard Legolas cry from the head of the caravan. "Orcs!"

At once panic broke out. People were screaming, horses neighing, and through it all Théoden quickly gave directions for the warriors to gather round him.

"Give me my sword! Aragorn, where did you put my sword?" Boromir shouted, making motions to scramble out of the cart, though sinking back down with a groan immediately.

"It's in a chest on one of the carts in the back," Aragorn answered calmly, watching his friend struggling with a shake of his head. "And a good thing too, I would add."

"Oh, would you now!" Boromir hissed through teeth clenched in pain, shooting him a dark look.

"You'll open your wounds if you continue like this," Aragorn warned.

"I can fight!" came Éowyn's angry shout from ahead, mirroring what Boromir was feeling. She turned abruptly, giving them a look in passing by. For a moment, Aragorn feared that she and Boromir might start a mutiny together, but the moment passed and he had to leave.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do. And lie still!" were his parting words to Boromir, before he turned the calm donkey and gave it a slap that set it running. Then he rushed to Brego, where Legolas was waiting impatiently.

"You can bet I will do only things you wouldn't do!" Boromir called after him, turning around in his cart with some difficulty.

Aragorn smiled as he rode off towards the wargs.

"So this is Helm's Deep." Boromir examined the fortress looming before him with a critical eye. "And it has never been conquered, you say?"

Éowyn nodded proudly. "Never. But it's also the first time that I see it," she added, staring up the high walls.

Boromir looked at the parapet, shading his eyes from the sun. "Could you do me a favour?" He suddenly asked.

"What favour?" Éowyn looked at him in surprise and curiosity.

"Aragorn said my sword was in a chest on one of the carts from the back of the caravan. My other stuff is probably there too. Could you bring them to me?"

Éowyn frowned at him, the corners of her mouth twitching. "Why do I get the feeling that Aragorn wouldn't agree to this at all?"

"Damn what Aragorn would think! He's not my babysitter! I hate sitting here, completely helpless. It's horrible!" Boromir burst out.

"I know how you feel." Éowyn commented quietly, but with steel in her voice.

Boromir looked at her, searching her face, but it was unreadable to him.

"I will get you your things. But first we need to get you off this cart and into a room." With that she walked away, in search of some men to help her with this task. Boromir sighed and tucked at one of the pillows in the cart. He felt just as useless.

After Éowyn had seen to Boromir being brought to the hall (he would insist on walking the last few metres after the stairs, even though two men had to support him, and it took him ages), she went to organise the food storage and helping people out where she could.

When a servant of the king's household asked her where to place the chest with Théoden's armour, Boromir's request came back to her mind. She directed the whole cartload to be brought into the chambers adjacent to the hall and then unfastened and unlocked all chests and boxes she could find. Her instinct had been right, seeing that she found what she was looking for soon.

She carefully took out the sword, the dagger, the vambraces, and the Horn of Gondor. His shield she found not far away, wrapped in a cloth. Looking around and finding herself alone, she carefully unsheathed the sword and tried a few moves with it. She soon decided though that she preferred the short swords of the Rohirrim. Remembering her conversation with Aragorn at a similar moment only yesterday, she had to smile. Just then Gimli walked in, and she put away the sword quickly.

After Gimli had gone, Éowyn had to sit down for a moment. She couldn't quite comprehend the news that he had brought her and consequently didn't know what to do. A look in her uncle's eyes though was enough to confirm what Gimli had told her and she felt even more confused. How could this be? She stared at nothing for a while until a mist clouded her eyes.

Then, after another while, the things lying before her on the table came into focus again. Seeing the sword and thinking of her innocent actions only minutes ago made her heart ache, but it also brought something very important to her mind.

She got up, as if struck by lightning, and earnestly beseeched her uncle not to talk to Boromir about what had happened, at least not so soon. When she had gotten his reluctant consent, she went in search of Gimli and Legolas to ask the same of them. None of them seemed too eager to bring him the news and so they readily agreed. Could she have hoped to conceal it before him as long as it would take for his wounds to heal completely, she would have done it without a moment's hesitation. But she knew that that would not be possible.

Aragorn was- had been, she corrected her thoughts- continually checking on Boromir and his absence would not go unnoticed for long. That brought another painful thought to her mind, one that made her stop in her fast steps. Who would tend to Boromir's wounds? Elfgifu had come with them and she was a good healer, of course, but she had no doubt that without Aragorn's help Boromir wouldn't have survived. She could only hope that his healing process had progressed so far now that he was out of the worst danger.

Aragorn felt as if a cave troll had dragged him across all of the rocks and boulders in Rohan. There wasn't much more space in his head except for this thought and the fact that an army of ten thousand Uruk Hai was marching towards Helm's Deep. Whenever he felt like falling down from his saddle, the latter thought brought him upright again.

When he finally arrived at the deep, he tried to find the king and tell him about this urgent news at once. However, there were several obstacles. The first was Gimli, who first threatened to kill him and then hugged him so tightly Aragorn feared he would realise his threats in this manner. Then there was Legolas, who told him he looked horrible and then handed the Evenstar pendant to him. Elves still surprised him after all these decades. But he was grateful to him. He thought he saw a familar flash of golden hair from the corner of his eye when he talked to Legolas, but when he looked, there was no trace of Éowyn.

Having successfully delivered his message, he went to inspect the wall and fortification with the king. His advice to send for help wasn't taken with much enthusiasm though. After that, he decided that he needed to wash himself and then he should look in on Boromir. That man needed to be looked after like a baby.

"And how is the Captain of the White Tower feeling now?" he greeted him, as he walked into the room he had been given.

Éowyn, who had been pouring water into a mug at a table, startled and almost ran out of the room. Aragorn gave Boromir as questioning look, but he only raised his eyebrows in confusion.

"You really took your time coming here. I thought you were on your way to get that miraculous lichen, but I see you don't have it with you."

"Did the itching get worse?" Aragorn asked with a sombre look.

"Well," Boromir squirmed, "not to make too much of it, but since you ask: yes. Not that it's unbearable or anything."

Aragorn sighed. He hadn't thought of that before now. There was little time left before the army would arrive at Helm's Deep, and he was terribly tired. He supposed he could send someone to find the lichen, but it was hard to find if one didn't know what to look for.

"What is it?" Boromir asked, discovering a new gravity in his friend's face.

"Saruman's army is on its way here. Ten thousand strong, at least. They'll be here by nightfall."

Boromir looked shocked for a moment, but recovered quickly. "And now you're debating whether there's still enough time to go and search for that magnificent fungus. Well, of course you won't do that. You look as if a warg had chewed on you for a while. Go and get rest and then prepare for battle. You won't be much use to Théoden or anyone, if you're scrambling through the rocks at the time of need."

Aragorn shook his head and Boromir took it as a cue to further reassure him. "Don't worry about me, this itch won't run away. I can still endure it for some time." He laughed, as if the mere thought of Boromir of Gondor being so much as inconvenienced by an itching wound was utterly ridiculous.

"My friend, your words are brave, but foul events may spring from them nevertheless. This matter should not be taken lightly." Aragorn warned.

Boromir only rolled his eyes and assured him once more that he was fine and that Aragorn should be off already.

"Nevertheless, I still want to take a last look at the wound," the ranger insisted.

Making an enormous show of annoyance, Boromir reluctantly pulled off his shirt. Aragorn carefully unwrapped the bandages, gasping when he uncovered the wound. It was black.

*inspired by Théodred's Funeral Song in The Two Towers, where you have "bealocwelm" = an evil death. "Bealowund" = an evil wound.

I'm so sorry. Send reviews to throw at the Uruks in Helm's Deep. What colour do you guys think the fantasticulous lichen should have?:) Are you excited for Helm's Deep?