Boromir grew stronger as the next day wore on. The healing elixir had sealed his wounds, though had done nothing to make him an ideal patient. When Alianor had to remove his shirt to see his wounds, he fussed like a newborn babe because the shirt was stuck to his skin because of the blood. She had to threaten him several times to make him compliant. He had seen the part elf-part human in battle and did not want to find himself on the other end of her sword, not at all. Anytime he would complain at all, she would give him this dark look that told him he should just be grateful he was alive and that she had had the heart to save him at all, and then she would scold him for acting like a child.
Boromir felt like he was seeing a new side of the half-elven princess. She was a fierce warrior, a wise adviser, and a loyal companion and friend to all she met, but he had not pictured her as the type to be nurturing. Yet here she was nursing him back to his full strength, much quickly than he had reason to hope for. His injuries should have killed him, yet he lived, all thanks to one woman and her pure heart and soul.
Alianor began to notice the change in Boromir as soon as their three companions left. He seemed to be more carefree, open and had a glint in his eyes when he looked at her that she had seen before. It was the same glint that Aragorn had in his eyes when he gazed at her. She would say nothing of it to Boromir, but she knew that he would use their time alone to his advantage, and then she would have to hurt his feelings to discourage him from his desires. They were unseemly desires, and if he attempted to act upon them, she would have to act rashly herself. She belonged to Aragorn in every sense, and he to her. No one could ever hope to tear them apart. That would be like trying to steal a star from its very place in the night sky or asking the Sun to stop shining so brightly. All of them impossible feats that maybe even the Valar could not do.
That first full day, however, with just the two of them was an experience that Alianor was sure she would remember. Between the Son of Gondor's moaning, they shared some profound conversation. He requested that she tell him of the wars and battles she had fought in, and all about her life with the elves. He regaled tales of his victories in battle, and of him and his brother, Faramir. He had not heard the woman talk so much, but he did not mind. Her voice, like most elf-kind - or in her case, half elven - her voice had a bell chime quality to it, and he felt soothed by it and her ethereal beauty. Yet when he asked about her family, her human family, she grew quiet.
"What is wrong, my Lady?" Boromir questioned, because of her sudden silence. She lowered her eyes to his chest, and a disturbed look crossed her face, as though she were having some horrible vision of the past or future that scared her.
Alianor helped her mother clean their house, keeping it in order for when her father and two elder brothers returned from battle. Alianor had ached to join them, but she was only seventeen and according to her father women are incapable of protecting themselves or doing anything that was deemed men's work. So she scrubbed the floors, polished the silver and gold, mended some of her brothers' clothes and mucked out the stables with the servants. Most of what she did was not her place to do so, but the serving staff knew that she was antsy so accepted her help.
She did not realise that she had not seen hide nor hair of her younger brother, Hadrian, for hours…since the men had left to battle a small army of Dunlendings that had tried to cross into their land. She shook her head of any panicked, dark thoughts and mused that he was probably waiting at the edge of the city for the men to return. She knew that her father had asked her to keep an eye on him, but she had her chores to do. Hadrian would be fine.
But when a horn rang out, and she heard the pounding of hooves approaching, she rushed out of the stables to see the Rangers hurtling towards her at full speed, her father leading them. She smiled, seeing both of her brothers with him, until she saw the body in Haelan's arms. Her stomach threatened to empty its contents, and her heart pounded furiously in her chest.
"No. No!" She screamed, as her brother dismounted his horse, passing her youngest brother's body to their elder brother, Silas. She ran towards them, as Silas laid his brother on the floor so he could help carry the wounded to the healing houses.
Alianor sobbed, but pressed her head against her brother's chest to see if his heart was still beating. She grew silent as she strained to hear the tell-tale thumping, but there was nothing.
"No!" She sobbed, lifting Hadrian's body into her arms, and crying into his hair.
Her mother, Caladwen, rushed out of the house to see what all the fuss was about, and almost fell to the floor in shock. Her youngest son, her little boy, was laid dead in his sister's arms, and the girl cried over him with such heartbreak that all around her were close to shedding tears too. Her husband gathered her into his arms, kissing her hair and whispering comforts in her ear, but, despite her elven hearing, she did not hear them. Her son was dead and so a part of her died with him. She had nothing but her immediate family left. Her mother and father were at least five or six days ride away in Lorìen, and her sister, Celebrìan, had sailed to the Undying Lands many, many years ago after a traumatic attack by Orcs left her mind seriously damaged. All Caladwen had left was her husband, her children and her home. And now she had lost a son.
Alianor laid her brother back onto the floor, but stayed on her knees at his side. She looked up at Haelan.
"Why?" She cried. "Why did this happen? Why would the Valar take him from us?"
"He put on my old armour, and managed to sneak away with us. He was slain by three arrows, but he fought bravely. He was just not quick enough, sister, and was too brash."
Alianor did not like the sadness in Haelan's voice, the way it shook with his unshed tears and un-cried sobs of pure anguish. She gazed back down at her brother, and gently kissed his forehead, which was cold to the touch.
"Be at peace, Son of the Dúnedain and Elves. I am sorry that I failed you. Goodbye, brother," She whispered into his ear, even if she knew he could no longer hear her. "Take him inside, Haelan. It is not right that he rests upon the cold ground, instead of in his bed."
Haelan nodded, and lifted his lost brother into his arms, carrying him inside, leaving his sister still on the ground, staring at the blood that now stained the space which he had left. The same blood stain that she was certain would be imprinted in her mind for years to come.
"My Lady?" Boromir said, resting a hand on her shoulder to regain her attention. She looked up into his eyes, and he saw in them a weariness and pain that is usually only seen in old warriors. "What is wrong?"
"My brother was slain by three arrows to the chest. He was a boy and disguised himself and rode into battle with my elder brothers and my father. My father had asked me to keep him under my watch, and I failed because I was jealous of them riding to war while I mended clothes and swept the floors," Alianor said, her bottled up emotions getting the better of her and rushing out all at once. Boromir was surprised by her outburst, but said nothing, simply keeping his hand resting heavily on her shoulder. "He died because I failed him. I failed to watch him, I failed to notice his disappearance, and I failed to save his life."
"My Lady-" Boromir started, but Alianor continued. If she stopped now, she would never get all her emotions out into the open. She had only ever opened up like this to Elrond, Aragorn, Legolas and her two cousins, but she felt that in order for Boromir to trust her completely he needed to know her story. And maybe if he thought she trusted him enough to tell it, he would cease to continue to beat himself up over his altercation with Frodo. He had not been in his right mind, and it was not fair to himself to continue to berate himself for something that was not in his control. The power of the ring was stronger than most Men, and Boromir was powerless to its will.
"Yet perhaps I have atoned for my failings by saving your life, Son of Gondor. Perhaps I can stop being haunted by the ghost of my brother, because I saved someone from his fate. Perhaps I can let go and be at peace with his death."
Boromir stayed quiet a moment, making sure she had finished before he opened his mouth to speak. He was thankful that she thought he was trustworthy enough to tell her tale to. And her last words sunk into him, seemingly into his skin, and made him feel better about losing his mind and nearly killing Frodo.
"My Lady, what was your brother like?" Boromir questioned.
"He was like Frodo. Quiet, reserved, kind, loyal, but headstrong. He could cause mischief if he wanted, but mostly left it to the other young men in our village. He was just a boy, barely fourteen summers when he died. He was tall for his age and robust, like my elder brothers, but had a young face. The Rangers did not notice that he had slipped into their ranks until it was too late," As Alianor described her brother, she could almost see him in her mind. His dark curls, blue eyes, skin that was kissed by the sun and a strong body. She sighed and continued. "He had fought valiantly, my brother told me, despite being so inexperienced."
"He sounds like me at a young age. I often yearned to go into war when I could not." Boromir said in a soft voice that Alianor had not known he was capable of.
"I was much the same, yet it was worse for me because I am a woman and was seen as fragile, weak and incapable of anything more than bearing children and tending to the affairs of the house," Alianor said, a small smile gracing her face, and Boromir noticed the amusement that then seeped into her eyes. "Yet perhaps if, for one day, the roles were reversed, men would see just how strong women are."
"You are the symbol of the strength there is in women, my Lady. There is no need for the roles to reverse." Boromir replied, making the woman smile.
"You just dread to think of all the chores you would have to do, my Lord, if you were to take on the job of a woman," Alianor teased him, and he nodded with a smile. It was nice to see her smile, when she was full of such despair and guilt. Many emotions that a woman should not have to feel. That a man should have protected her from. "I should make you something to eat. If you have your strength and the elixir does as promised, we will leave in three days for Rohan. We can seek refuge there and wait for our companions to arrive."
Alianor didn't wait for him to reply to her. She just stood and moved to the centre of the room where she had a fire burning. She already had hot water simmering, so it wasn't long before she was thrusting a hot bowl of stew into his hands. She didn't eat with him; she sharpened her sword and every so often her eyes would flicker to him to make sure he was still fine. He welcomed her concern; it was the first time she had reacted positively towards him since they first met. Boromir had thought that her initial distrust would colour her view of him forever, but he had hope now that they could move forward towards something wonderful.
Once he had finished eating and she was finished with her blade, she forced him to sleep. Sleep could only do him good, as his body would strengthen more rapidly if he was rested. Alianor moved her chair by the entrance of the Ranger's outpost, her sword and whetstone still in hand, and watched the world outside through the vines that hid the door.
As she continued to sharpen it, her mind ventured back to when she received the blade she held in her hand. She had never had a sword of her own before, though her brothers had taught her how to wield one, and when Aragorn took her to Imladris for the first time, her cousins were eager to continue her training. A smile graced Alianor's face as she thought back on her first few weeks in Imladris. How she had been so nervous and sure that she wouldn't have her kinsmen's love, but Aragorn had reassured her that they loved her. Yet she had still had doubts about it, having just waltzed into their lives, but when Elrond presented her with her beloved Hadhafang, she knew that she had their love. And in Alianor's eyes, other than her two royal circlets, the dagger Aragorn had given her, the bow her cousins had made for her and the Evenstar, Hadhafang was the most precious thing she owned.
Looking down at her blade, a vision burst forward and she gasped at the surprise of it.
Alianor was hiding away from her family. It was the anniversary of her birth, and she had never liked this occasion. Her family had never celebrated their birthdays…well her mother had always given them something small when their father wasn't looking. Her father wasn't a cruel man, but he didn't like celebrating something so trivial as a birth of a child. So when she was smaller, Alianor had always hidden herself away for her birthday, isolating herself because that was what she knew.
"Why are you hiding away here?" Her uncle, or ada as she called him now, questioned, and he would have made her jump if she were completely mortal and had not heard his approach. He sat down next to her on the cold, stone bench she was perched on, and turned his wise eyes onto her.
"I suppose that I am still used to isolating myself. My brothers were rarely at home, always going to defend our borders, and my mother was always busy with tending to the house and trying to find me a husband," Alianor replied. "I am quite used to being alone."
Elrond nodded and she knew that he understood her. He always understood her.
"Well, we are having a feast this eve in celebration of your birthday, but I wished to give you this in private. I thought that you would prefer it that way. I see that your grandmother has already given you your gift," He said, lifting the Evenstar from her chest to inspect it. Celebrian, his wife, had given it back to her mother before she left the shores to sail away to the Undying Lands. Galadriel promised to give it to the next elleth in her lineage, and since her other daughter, Caladwen, had left home to marry a ranger, she had held onto it. Until now. Elrond let it go, and it nestled back against the soft, pale flesh of her chest. "I saw that you would enjoy this gift just as much as hers."
Elrond pulled a sword hidden in a dark brown sheath from inside his robes, and held it towards her in both of his hands. Alianor blinked at him, owlishly, surprised by the gift. Her father had never allowed her to train with a sword. He had said that a woman's place was in the home, not on a battlefield. It never stopped her learning. Her brother taught her first, and then she carried on practicing by herself until she had mastered it, like she had the bow.
"This was my sword. Now it is yours. It is called Hadhafang. It once belonged to my grandmother, Princess Idril, and truly belongs to a noble lady. It has seen many battles with me, and with you it shall see use again." Elrond said, as he placed it into her hands.
Alianor grasped the hilt and pulled it out of its sheath, and held it aloft, marvelling at it. She had seen it a mere couple of times when she had watched from afar as her ada sparred with her cousins. Now, she had a closer look and she could see more clearly the inscription along the blade.
"'Aen estar Hadhafang i chathol hen, thand arod dan i thang an i arwen'," Alianor read aloud, her voice quiet as she tried to reign in her emotions. She had never been given such sentimental, meaningful gifts before now, and it warmed her heart and pricked her eyes to know she had such a loving family out there the whole time and never knew. "'This blade is called Hadhafang, a noble defence against an enemy throng for a noble lady'. Thank you, ada. Thank you so much."
She sheathed the sword again, and, after placing it beside her, she wrapped her arms around her uncle and hugged him tight. She expected him to calmly pat her back a couple of times before shifting away from her, like her father used to, but he hugged her closer to him and stroked her long, dark tresses not dissimilar to his own.
"I always wanted a daughter. I am glad the Valar had seemed me worthy of one now," Elrond whispered against her hair, and she squeezed him tighter in response. Her own father had never shown her so much love. He had never wanted a daughter, only sons. Now she felt loved by a fatherly figure and it was a strange feeling. "I gave you the sword because I know that, despite my wishes and misgivings, you have a heart for battles and wars and that you would need a blade worthy of yourself."
"I promise to take good care of it, Ada, as it will do the same for me."
Alianor had fought many battles with that sword, the most memorable being in the Battle of Five Armies with her aunt, Legolas, Tauriel and the Elven-King of the Woodland Realm. It was her first battle fought alone since she had met Aragorn. After the dwarves and Master Baggins had sneaked away before daybreak, she had had a vision of them passing through the Woodland Realm, and then a snippet of the battle itself, so she had made haste after them. When she followed the dwarves through Mirkwood, she travelled ahead of them and was welcomed by Thranduil, the King of the Woodland Realm and his kin. When the call for an army came from Gandalf, she joined her friend Legolas with the rest of the warriors.
She looked back towards the sleeping man, and wondered how she went from being a warrior to a nurse-maid. Her talents had never really laid in healing. She was amazing at nurturing a person's emotional state, but she was not as attuned to a person's physical needs. Her mother had tried to teach her because she herself had been a healer but she had always been a fighter. Always. She'd always wanted to learn how to fight, how to ride a horse, how to string a bow and hit a target precisely, how to hunt, how to live off the land, but that had never been an option until she found the courage and left her abusive father behind her, leaving to find a more supportive family. That was how she had met Aragorn.
Her heart yearned for her dark-haired ranger. She had made a vow to herself and to him, though not to him directly, that she would never allow them to be apart again, and yet she had broken her promise to aid another man. Yet she could not allow herself to feel guilty for saving Boromir's life and for electing to stay behind to tend to him now. He was alive and he would return to his home in Gondor after their quest was done.
But first, he had to heal so they could continue their quest. The wounds themselves were closed and there were just three pink welts that remained, but it was more the soreness that Boromir still needed to recover from. When she felt that he would be able to move without too much discomfort, then they'd begin their journey to Rohan.
Alianor could only hope that it wouldn't take too long.