Chapter 23 – the real one, at last!
A/N – sorry about the mix up and the delay.
The door opened and Liel and Elena entered, an older, limping man behind them, carrying carpentry tools. Liel carried Liramir who gurgled happily in her arms. Boromir stood, eager to catch his first glimpse today of his daughter.
Liel tipped the bundle in her arms a little, proudly displaying her so he could see her wispy red curls, her delicately boned face and blurry blue eyes. Boromir stood, but had to grab Aragorn's arm to keep his balance.
"Don't move. We'll sit with you," Liel said.
Aragorn unobtrusively assisted his re-seating. He gave Liel a polite little bow of the head even as he edged his way toward delayed escape. "I'll go find Legolas and Gimli. If we're to have a war conference, they'll want to be here, too."
"They've been summoned," Liel told him with a warm smile as she sat down close by Boromir. She gave Aragorn a nod of her own, toward the chair close by the bed she would normally have used for nursing. Aragorn did as she bid, his hands uneasy on his knees as he looked away from her adjusting her shawl to cover the un-swaddled baby she was bringing to her breast.
Boromir put one arm about Liel and settled his free hand on one of Liramir's pink feet and gave her a gentle tickle.
"Umm," Aragorn said and Boromir was amused to see he looked a little embarrassed.
"Strider?" Merry called from his bed across the open area. He fidgeted with the bandage sling "Can you help me with this? I can't get it comfortable."
"Coming," Aragorn said with evident relief.
"Strider?" Liel asked Boromir.
"One of his many names."
"He has the legs for it," she muttered quietly, loud enough for his ears only.
"Noticed already, eh?" Boromir murmured, kissing the edge of her ear through her hair, rubbing the small of her back through the shawl.
"After that entrance onto the Pelennor? Every maiden and half the matrons in the City are swooning over him." She sighed, and he felt her begin to relax under his hand.
"Tell them they'll get no help dusting themselves off."
"Spoken for," she yawned, nodding in understanding.
He stroked down her braid, bringing the crown of her head to rest against his chin and jaw. A glance assured him their babe was held securely by her braced arm and lap. With his free hand, he tucked the shawl between the cradling arm and the legs it rested on, making their little one even more secure.
"Rest now," he told her. "You have laboured while I slept."
She muttered something, but her eyes were closing even as she did so. Boromir kissed the side of her leaning head, then looked up as the door opened yet again to reveal Beth.
"Ahh, food!" he said.
"My name is Beth, not, 'ah food'," she told him primly. She added a nod of her head and a 'My Lord' as an afterthought.
She approached the table, several baskets balanced in her arms. Other ladies followed, all wearing white aprons and caps and all carrying platters of steaming soup or pastries and baskets full of pies. "I am glad to see you awake and hungry, My Lord. You frightened us all badly last night. You must learn to rest before you fall down!"
"That's what I've been trying to tell him, Beth," Garad said, earnestly. "Do you have any more of those meat pies?"
"Look who's talking," Boromir threw back at him, glancing down at Liel as her head nodded.
"Is Faramir still asleep?" Beth asked, worried.
"I am about to wake him," Gandalf said, startling Boromir as he again seemed to appear from nowhere to stand in the room. "He needs to eat. Boromir, would you care to assist me?"
With deep breath and much blinking, Liel brought herself back to full waking.
"Go," she yawned. "We'll be here a while."
"Coming." Boromir stood, steadying himself Liel's shoulder. Aragorn looked up, torn between helping Boromir or Merry. Gandalf made the choice for him, taking Boromir's arm and guiding him toward Faramir's alcove.
"He'd never forgive me if I let him sleep through our plans to ride out," Boromir said. "Or his niece, or Beth's pies."
"Ride out? You intend to distract Sauron's armies from Frodo's path."
"Yes. It is all we can give him."
Gandalf nodded. At the bedside he left Boromir to steady himself on the bedpost. Bending, the Wizard touched a hand to Faramir's brow, called softly to him. Faramir stirred immediately. Opening his eyes, he yawned and stretched, making Boromir smile as he appeared so child-like, so fresh. No worry yet darkened his eyes. That brought sadness to chase away the smile.
"There," Gandalf said. "Much better."
"Gandalf?" Faramir said. "What – ?"
"You took a little nap," Boromir explained. "Before dinner. Beth is waiting for us by the table."
"Oh, good, I'm hungry. Where's my trousers?"
"Hiding with mine, I suspect."
"Here," Gandalf seemed to produce them by magic. He waved his hand toward two bundles on the bedside table. Boromir was sure the clothing had not been there before.
"Eomer comes," Gandalf said, dryly. "He might feel strange being the only one of you dressed for a Council of War."
"What?" Faramir asked.
"I asked him to attend to discuss ways we may yet aid Frodo and Sam," Boromir explained. He sat on the foot of the bed, then reached for his trousers.
"Boromir…." Faramir said, his voice hesitant.
Boromir shook his head. "No word from Dol Amroth, but it is early yet. The chance of stragglers from the battle would delay us from sending a messenger as much as it would Imrahil."
Faramir nodded, accepting the answer for the moment, and picked up his own trousers.
When he was dressed, having done a lot of cursing with the effort it took to pull on his boots, he turned about to find Gandalf again mysteriously vanished. Faramir's pallor had altered to a sickly green as, finished with his own boots, he stood a little too fast.
"Steady, brother," Boromir said, deciding their sleep tunics would serve well enough for the coming conference. "Lean on me."
"So we can fall down together?"
Boromir found that funny. "Why not? We've done it before."
"We were drunk."
"Not every time," Boromir corrected. "There was that one time – "
"Oh, right," Faramir grinned, warming Boromir's heart for the task ahead. "We both took arrows, me in the arm, you in the ass."
"It hurt," Boromir said with exaggerated dignity, remembering how he had been teased. Faramir laughed at his expression and Boromir was glad. "Come, together we stand. Lean on me."
"I tell you I can walk, brother," Faramir said and at the same moment a woman's voice complained, "Put me down. I can walk, brother."
Faramir's chin came up, his eyes finding the owner of the voice. It was Eowyn, Boromir saw, cradled protectively in Eomer's arms as he stood in the open doorway. Bracing Faramir, Boromir felt something indefinable blaze through his brother, and he remembered the radiant joy that had lit Faramir's expression on the battlefield when he had first seen Eowyn.
Boromir looked from the one to the other, saw Eowyn seemed incapable of looking away from Faramir's gaze, each was entranced by the other. Boromir grinned seeing his brother and Rohan's Shieldmaiden wore identical bashful smiles.
'Oh ho, this is interesting!' Perhaps the Ladies of Gondor were about to lose yet another eligible bachelor from their clutches. Eomer broke the spell, asking whether Eowyn wanted to sit at the table or rest on one of the beds.
"The table", she told him tersely, and Boromir snorted. It was the exact same frustrated-with-the-dumb brother tone that Faramir would have used. Boromir heard Liel say something to Elena and Beth. He looked toward them, saw they were thinking what he was.
'Even more interesting. Back off, Boromir, and leave it to the experts, he told himself. Liramir would indeed have cousins, lots of them. As for the Ladies of Gondor, well…. They had the fields of Arnor and Rohan to romp in, after all. He trusted them to make hay there come rain or shine, fair enough recompense for having to leave Aragorn alone.
Seeing Faramir take his place at the table across from Eowyn, Boromir returned to the bed, sitting down next to his wife and daughter. Liel's nodding head was excuse enough to take the weight off his leg, and give Eowyn and Faramir some precious time to think of nothing more than the smiles they were sharing before the talk must turn to war and death.
Boromir brought Liel gently up against him, drawing her head down onto his shoulder. She was asleep almost immediately. Boromir shifted to make her more comfortable, wrapping his arm about her back and holding her close against his side. He tilted his head closer and pulled the edge of the shawl out to check on Liramir's progress. She was no longer suckling, one tiny hand patting at her mother's breast while the other was shoved into her mouth.
"I think you're done," Boromir told his daughter with a fond smile. "And only Dada gets to play with that."
"Aragorn?" Boromir called, seeing that the other Man was trying to fade into the walls again. "Lend me a hand here, would you?"
"Of course," Aragorn replied, eyeing the situation somewhat dubiously.
"Take the baby," Boromir instructed, putting his wife back into her bodice before pulling the shawl from under her arm to allow Aragorn to take Liramir. His lady shifted, stirring.
"Hush," Boromir said, kissing her forehead. "Uncle Aragorn has her."
Liel immediately settled back into her doze. Turning to Aragorn, he grinned at the startled expression he found on the other Man's face.
"No throwing up your king," he instructed his daughter. "That's probably the only clean tunic he has!"
"And it's borrowed," Aragorn added, shifting the baby to one arm to accept the generous towel Boromir took from Liel's shoulder to hand to him.
"Do you know how to burp a baby?" Boromir asked with some amusement.
"Oh, I've done it once or twice," Aragorn answered, all his attention on the cooing, burbling enchantress he was bringing to his protected shoulder.
"Try the flaky ones," Faramir said, and it took Boromir a moment to realize his brother had plucked up the courage to actually say something to Eowyn. A quick glance saw that Elena and Garad had managed to pull Eomer a few steps from his sister's side by virtue of asking his opinion of the maps brought to discuss the campaign, giving Faramir room to work.
"I'm not very hungry," she confided.
"I know," Faramir told her, nonetheless placing one of the pies on a waiting plate. "But you must eat, to regain your strength." He picked up a mug, one of the small ones brought for the Hobbits, and filled it half full with warm soup, managing the ladle with enviable finesse.
"Here," he instructed, with a firm, concerned air Boromir knew well. "Drink this, and I promise your appetite will return."
"Beer will do the same," she told him, but as he placed the mug down in front of her she reached out for it. Their fingers touched, and Boromir watched blushes that had nothing to do with modesty colour both of their faces.
"So it will," Faramir murmured, taking his hand from hers only long enough to pour a delicate goblet full of beer from the closest of the many pitchers scattered around the table. He held it out to her, though mindful of her injury, he kept its base firmly on the table.
Her fingers found his again, but not to take the cup he offered. Instead, she took his hand in her good one, studying the still darkened fingers with a frown. "You are injured, Lord."
"It's nothing," Faramir replied, with his best nonchalant air. "It's you who are injured, Lady."
"A broken arm," she said, with a shake of her head. "Not a true wound of battle."
Faramir snorted. He put some effort into it, Boromir noted, and it not only got Eowyn's attention, it made her smile.
"I was there, Lady. I saw the wounds you took – and the wounds you dealt. I owe you a debt I cannot repay, for the Witch King has long stalked my brother. I have killed his mounts several times, but I could never harm him…."
The truth of what he was saying silenced Faramir, and he dropped his gaze, rubbing his chin with his free hand to school his features.
Eowyn smiled and she gently pressed the fingers she held. "You are Dithen," she said.
Faramir turned beet red, and Boromir winced. "Little One" was an old, old nickname he had foolishly let slip in Theodred's hearing, and he could well understand it was not one his brother would care to hear from the lips of a lady fair.
"My name is – "
"Faramir," she interrupted. "I have heard all of Rohan cheer it."
Somehow, Faramir's blush deepened, but he rose to the occasion beautifully, lifting Eowyn's hand to bend his head over it, all without ever taking his gaze from hers.
"You shall hear Gondor cheer yours, Eowyn Wraithbane."
It was her turn to blush, and lower her eyes to look at the table.
"I would not have your soup get cold," Faramir reminded her, releasing her hand with the gentlest of pressure from his fingers, keeping his possessive thumb well away from touching her knuckles.
With another shy little smile, she indulged him by taking up a spoon from its waiting pile and having a few sips of soup before reaching for the beer. Boromir shot a glance at Aragorn, wondering if the other Man had noticed the beginnings of something his gut told him was much, much more than gallant flirtation. He found Aragorn to be oblivious to anything other than the child in his arms, replying to her gurgling in a sing-song whisper of Elvish.
Something moving near the door caught Boromir's eye. A very young soldier hovered there, nervously peering inside but uncertain of how to announce his presence. The youngster was wearing the livery of the Tower Guard and his chest rose and fell in a heaving sigh of relief as finally he caught his commander's eye.
"Sir?" he called hesitantly, still not daring to cross the threshold. His voice broke on the single word, revealing he was just coming into manhood, still just a boy. Given who was assembled inside, Boromir couldn't fault him for his trepidation. He shook his head and grinned, imagining the effect if Aragorn had been wearing full regalia rather than a simple borrowed tunic and rocking a baby to sleep, singing softly to her.
Boromir fought down the urge to tell the youngster to come in and swear fealty to his king, just to see the look on Aragorn's face. Not to mention the boy's reaction…. He would no doubt spend the rest of his life relating this story. Boromir frowned, hoping there would be many years ahead for him. The frown was a bad move, making the boy swallow hard and take a half step backward.
"Come in," Boromir said, with a friendly smile. He lay Liel's head back down on the pillow so he could stand. Then he bent to pick up her lower body and stretch her out properly on the bed. The strain on the leg wound he had so badly jarred in yesterday's battle had him wonder if he might not break a tooth as he clenched his jaws hard to hold back a groan that would surely have alerted every mother hen in the room.
"Sir," the boy said again as he straightened. Boromir sighed. Raw recruits seemed to start every sentence with 'Sir'. He entered and came to a crisp attention and saluted a bare pace from Boromir, apparently finding him the most familiar if not the safest person in the room.
"Stand down, son. What's your name?"
"Claurion." Pause. "Sir."
Boromir sighed a second time. "Are you hungry?"
He waved a hand at the laden table with its steaming tureens of soup and mounds of savory pies and sweets. Claurion, still rigid nonetheless managed to loosen up enough to turn his head. His blue eyes rounded and he had to swallow to keep from drooling.
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
"That's enough of the sirs for now, Claurion," Boromir said heavily.
"Yes, sir!" the boy flushed, "I mean, umm, Captain, umm, My Lord Steward?"
"Over lunch it's Boromir."
Disregarding an amused snort from Garad who was enjoying the show from his front row armchair view with his bandaged foot prominently on display, Boromir took the boy by the arm and urged him toward the table. Claurion almost tripped over his feet, staring at Garad, the Rugged Ranger Captain, The Wounded Hero enjoying the lavish attention due his courage as Elena cuddled at his side. Boromir smirked a little, wondering if Claurion would be so awe-struck in Boromir's presence if he knew how Garad had come by the head injury, at least. He watched, amused, as the boy's nervous regard swept quickly over all present, everyone preoccupied with one thing or another.
Boromir doubted Aragorn would notice anything short of a cave troll entering, so entranced was he by Liramir. Boromir smiled and found he himself had trouble looking away from his daughter who was blinking and cooing up at her king.
Faramir and Eowyn were equally rapt, caught by the other's eyes and hanging on every word, every glance.
Eomer was the only truly stern military-looking presence as he brooded over the maps spread over a cramped corner of the table where plates and trays had been shoved aside. He was, however, eating, chewing on a savory pie that dropped crumbs and gravy on the parchment. Eomer blotted up the stains with a napkin handed to him by Gandalf.
Claurion's gaze settled on Merry and Pippin and at last the boy's uneasy expression softened into a smile. Pippin, his cheeks bulging with the two kinds of sweet pastry he was eating, waved a hand and pointed at the pies. Merry grinned cheerful greeting and swatted Pippin's hand away from taking more food.
"Best eat, my friend," Merry called. "There are two hungry hobbits present!"
Boromir laughed and went to the table to sit down next to Faramir and pile some food on a plate for the boy. To Merry he said, "I am glad to see you well enough to be hungry." Merry said something garbled for his full mouth, that Boromir thought was 'Me too."
"Sit," Boromir told the boy.
"But, sir, I mean… Captain…." that seemed the most informal Claurion could manage. He flushed and dipped his head toward Eowyn, the seat close at her side was the only vacant spot.
"She won't bite," Gandalf put in tersely, making the boy jump as if he had been addressed by one of the Valar. Eowyn gave him an encouraging smile, which slightly reassured Claurion and thoroughly charmed Faramir.
"Ahh, thank you, but could I, that is, may I, please… I have an urgent message."
"Urgent?" Boromir snapped.
"Yes, sir, Captain, uh, Boromir. Umm, no one else would, I was delegated to come here and tell you because they….They said you will think it a joke, but it's not, I swear, it's real! They're real, I mean…."
"Claurion?"
"Sir?"
"A deep breath, in, out," Boromir advised and the boy obeyed.
"Garad," Boromir growled warning and the Ranger managed to choke off his laughter. Merry and Pippin too were engrossed in the impromptu entertainment.
"Good," Boromir told Claurion. "Now, tell me, straight and simple."
"If you say so, Sir Boromir."
Garad snorted and Boromir flicked a bread roll at him. Claurion looked down at his boots, his face reddening as he blurted out, "There are two, umm, trees, walking toward the city gates." After a long pause he added. "Sir."
"Are they carrying anything?" Boromir demanded.
Claurion dared to looked up. "Sir?"
"The trees, Man, the trees – are they carrying anything?"
"Yes, Sir. Captain. Lord Boromir. Captain Aradan has the watch. He was worried that the trees might be enemies carrying weapons. They have something in their uhh, arms, that looks like big barrels, and more strapped to their, er… backs."
"Yes!" Boromir stood, grinning jubilantly. "The Ents are here!"
"Ents?" Claurion blinked. "But that's a… a children's story!"
"They said the same about the High King, and yet he stands before you!" Boromir laughed, indicating Aragorn.
The boy turned his gaze to where Aragorn was worrying a gentle knuckle on Liramir's chin, the Ring of Barahir gleaming with the sheen of baby drool. Claurion gulped again, but the shine Boromir had been hoping for came into his eyes.
"They're very nice when you get to know them," Pippin took time out from eating to explain. The boy turned to him, blinking some more.
"Claurion?" Boromir commanded. With the boy's attention again fixed on him, he said, "Take my spot. Eat my share. I'm going to greet them."
"There's still time to eat, Sir Captain," Claurion stammered. "They've only just passed the Ramas Echor. They're big trees…. Er, Ents, Sir Boromir, you can see them from a long way off."
"The Ents are here?" Finally Faramir's attention had been won.
"They said they would come," Merry pointed out.
"But not when. Knowing them, it could be for Liramir's twenty-first birthday," Boromir grumped, but he settled back onto his seat gingerly, his leg trembling with the strain. He was secretly glad he would indeed have time to appease his rumbling stomach.
"Barrels?" Merry exclaimed. He and Pippin slapped each other's shoulders in celebration. "They brought the water?"
"Water? Then it's not…." Claurion said. "I mean, we were told about the explosion at Helms Deep, Orcs dropping flame onto a barrel of something they emptied out under the Deeping Wall. The Captain wanted to send word, though he didn't want to disturb your rest, Sir."
Boromir shook his head. "Aradan is on duty? He did the work of ten Men in the battle yesterday. I gave orders he was to take the day off…." It was his turn to blink, as his memory turned to a foggy jumble of images without any particular relation to one another. "Didn't I…?"
"He was, Si – Boromir. But he heard word that something strange was coming across the Pelennor and – "
"I see," Boromir cut him short.
"Eat," Faramir commanded, raising an eyebrow sternly at Boromir. "You're fading."
"I am?" Boromir blinked at his brother and realized it was true. Faramir's face was blurring and spinning edged with black dots in his vision. It would be most embarrassing to faint right now, Boromir decided, and grabbed a meat pie and took a bite.
It was such a wonderful sensation after so long without that he found it difficult to concentrate on anything else for a moment. Faramir and Eowyn didn't help, doing a tag-team on him, he filling a tankard with beer and she pushing a full plate across the table to Boromir.
The beer tasted so good that it was all Boromir could do to restrain himself from issuing a pleasured sound that had he been beside her would have been sure to wake Liel from her slumber, no doubt with her usual offer of assistance. Boromir grinned at the thought and wondered how much more time he could take off duty today.
Eomer tapped the map and looked up and around in a fashion that needed no words to remind them all that they had been called to a Council of War.
Boromir's smile faded, not much time to be had at all, it appeared. He definitely had to find a Lady or three of the Court to take some interest in the First Marshal of the Riddermark.
"Get some food into you," he told Claurion. "And get back out there and tell Aradan all is well, and he should get back to rest where he's supposed to be."
"Yes, sir!" the boy saluted, smashing the pie into his forehead.
Only years of practice kept Boromir from laughing as the youngster regarded the ruin of his treat with utter dismay.
"Here," Pippin said. "A whole plate full. Throw that one away."
Boromir turned to Eomer, "Right. We need to take the most visible approach this time. Legolas can scout… Where is he, anyway? And Gimli?"
"Ents," Merry reminded.
"He loves talking to them," Pippin continued.
"I hope he told Gimli not to take his axe out there."
Boromir nodded and was glad when Faramir pushed the map toward him, saving him trying to get up and go to Eomer.
"She's asleep," Aragorn said, coming up next to him, half his attention on the babe he held, and half his attention on the map.
Boromir pushed hard on the table, ready to prop himself up again, wincing with the effort.
"Sit," Faramir snapped. "I'm sure our King can handle putting a baby to bed."
"And he doesn't have a wounded leg," Eowyn finished.
Boromir managed a polite smile as he sat down again, but privately he was beginning to see a very hen-pecked future, indeed. Faramir had found the perfect ally. His Little Brother and Eowyn, his oft-named Little Sister, were scarily of one mind. Eomer had seen the exchange, Boromir noted, registering the Man's amused and rather approving smirk.
Aragorn returned from putting Liramir down in the crib by her parent's bed, still wearing a smile Boromir had never before seen on his face. He wasn't sure how to label it, but guessed it could only be called avuncular. Boromir clapped him on the back as Aragorn bent to the map. He no longer seemed quite so alone.
Soon, all were engrossed in plans for making Sauron imagine the army coming at him was much more worthy of his attention than a ragged band of survivors might otherwise merit.
"Good thing for you, that Ent water arrived when it did," Boromir mused, looking over at Garad.
"Why?"
Elena tugged his hair. "You can't walk, dummy."
"So? I can still ride a horse… and shoot a bow, a damn sight better than most."
That last comment had been aimed squarely at him, Boromir realized.
"We won't be fighting from horseback," Boromir reminded the big Ranger.
"Use the horse to get there," Garad replied, unperturbed. "Once we get there, I'll stand behind you idiots in the shield wall. No running necessary."
Boromir shook his head.
"I go where my Captain goes," Garad said, not a trace of jocularity in his manner now. "My Lord."
"The point is moot," Aragorn said with his quiet firmness. "Thanks to the Ents, all who wish to try the Black Gates may."
It was a sobering thought, quieting the company.
"You must be there," Boromir lifted his mug to Garad in salute. "I would have it no other way. Faramir deserves the best." He smiled as Garad flushed at the honest praise. "So, as I said, I am most glad the Ents are here." He snorted. "We can all use some patching up, myself included."
Garad returned the salute, and Boromir let the enticing smells of the food chase his gloom away. There would be time enough to worry about the Black Gates later, but Beth's pies had waited long enough for his attention, and so had his stomach
"But," Pippin put in, "You lot are already too tall! Best be careful how much you drink!"
"It made you taller?" Garad asked, with the clear message that he could not imagine his Hobbit friends as being any shorter.
"It did," Pippin said proudly. "Though I've always been taller than Merry."
"Have not," Merry snorted.
"So," Eomer said heavily, "We're agreed on the north east road through Ithilien?"
"Yes," Boromir said, turning back to the map, "Faramir will know where best to set out scouts."
"This tree…. Water, " Eomer said hesitantly, "It truly heals wounds rapidly?"
"It does." Faramir said, holding out his hands. "My fingers were badly broken but a few days ago."
"Oh?" Eowyn said pointedly.
Faramir flushed and smiled at her, wriggling his fingers. "Nothing of importance."
Eowyn raised an eyebrow that told Boromir she was letting the matter rest only for the moment. She would want all the details, later. Boromir determined he would be somewhere else when that happened.
"Then…?" Eomer prompted.
"Of course, there is enough for all," Boromir assured. "Shadow wounds and broken bones take a little longer to regain complete strength, but the Lady Eowyn's arm should be fully healed before the week is out."
"I would be most grateful," Eowyn dipped her chin in acknowledgment to Boromir. "One day with this arm an annoyingly useless package is enough for me."
Boromir snorted. "I know the feeling!" With that decided, he at last took one of the pies from the basket. For long, blissful minutes, the only thing in his world was the melting of flaking butter pastry against the roof of his mouth and the rich flavor of mushrooms and onions and beef in savory gravy, all washed down by the dark mellowness of a winter's smooth ale.
Finally, his stomach was full, and he sat back in his chair with a happy sigh. If truth be told, it was over-full, and he felt the pleasant torpor of digestion tugging his eyes closed.
"There you are!" he heard Aragorn say, and he sat straight up straight, rubbing his hand over his face. Blinking and yawning, he saw Legolas and Gimli had at last arrived, filling the doorway. Aragorn stood at the end of the table, facing them.
"Are the Ents arrived?" Aragorn asked, when the two made no move to enter the room, despite the food and the beer and the wine and the places waiting for them.
"Presently," Legolas said, and Boromir frowned at the unholy twinkle in the Elves eyes. He might have credited it to the proximity of the Ents, if Gimli's dark eyes had not held a matching sparkle. These two were up to something….
"But in the meantime…." Gimli said.
"…we have a surprise for you," Legolas finished, and Boromir had to smile at how much they sounded like Merry and Pippin. Gimli went left, Legolas went right, and despite his leg, Boromir rose to his feet as Arwen was revealed standing behind them, the dirt of hard traveling on her face and a shirt of Mithril rings under her grey cloak.
Aragorn gasped like a Man taking a gut-punch, and Arwen's smile trembled on her face as if uncertain of her welcome. A moment later, Aragorn was taking her in his, all uncertainty finally gone for both of them.
"Mir…?" Faramir asked, coming to his feet and Boromir realized he was crying.
"It's all right," he said, thinking it a stupid thing to say. Of course it was all right, how could it not be? Any fool could see the two belonged together, but there was something more in this, something like the rising of a tide strong enough to raise the mightiest of ships.
A moment later, he was clutching Faramir in turn, as behind Arwen came her father and her twin brothers, and behind them, Celeborn and another Elf he didn't know, but who was enough like Legolas he had to be Thranduil, King of Mirkwood. They came as quietly as a breeze into the room, and behind them….
"Uncle!" Faramir cried, torn between supporting Boromir and his desire to go right over the table to get to the weary Man limping into the room behind the Elves. Boromir gave Faramir permission with a shove that was half a boost. One step on the table was all that was needed to land Faramir in Imrahil's arms, their laughing relief at finding each other alive perilously close to tears.
Their cousins were behind their father and pushed Faramir and Imrahil into the room, filling it with their laughing greetings rather than crowding it. Boromir's grin grew wider to see Faramir pulling their Uncle into the room toward Eowyn to introduce them, even before demanding an explanation for the Elves that yesterday would have been all his delight.
There was one more surprise waiting in the hall, grinning in all his irritating beauty.
"Long Ears!" Boromir bellowed, his fist hitting the table in plate and cup rattling triumph. "You're too late, damn it! You've missed all the fun!"
Faramir left off his laughing reunion with his uncle to stare aghast at his brother.
"Not I, Round Ears," Glorfindel replied. Faramir snorted and relaxed, exchanging a roll of eyes with Garad and Boromir realised his brother would surely have heard the tale from Frodo and Sam. In detail. Glorfindel made his way into the room and around the oblivious Aragorn and Arwen to extend his arm to Boromir. "While you've been taking your ease behind these great walls, I've been doing real work with our cousins in Dol Amroth!"
Laughing, Boromir grappled the radiant creature into a hug, grateful for the strength he found there. Cheering, Merry and Pippin threw their arms around them both, mindful of Boromir's wounded leg and protecting their own bare toes by the simple expedient of standing on Boromir and Glorfindel's boots. Then Imrahil was pounding Boromir on the back, and Faramir too, and the room was one glorious, laughing, chattering mass.
"What is that?" Celeborn demanded, every Elf, even Arwen and Aragorn turning suddenly to face Boromir's bedroom. Instantly, silence fell, and the irritated crying of his daughter could be plainly heard.
"My niece!" Faramir replied instantly, his arm once more around his Uncle's shoulder. "We have a niece!"
The crying settled, and a few moments later, Liel appeared with Liramir cradled in one arm, the small finger of her free hand being sucked happily by her daughter. She surveyed the much changed room with her usual frowning aplomb, and Boromir knew she was ticking over all the things that must be done to accommodate their new guests as well as the future implications for their kingdom and their family. Even before he'd seen her beauty, he had loved her for such competence and aplomb and he had to grin at her.
"A niece…." Imrahil repeated, untangling himself to go to Liel's side and look down at the tiny thing.
"Valar," he breathed, touching the little feet bunched under their blanket with a gloved finger. "She is the image of her grandmother!"
"I'm sorry," Boromir apologized, limping toward his wife. "I forgot she was sleeping…."
Liel raised an eyebrow at him as his arm went around her shoulders. "I can imagine."
"Can I…." Imrahil asked, hesitating as he looked down at his stained clothes and grimed armor. He looked to have been swilled off to remove the gore of fighting, but the dust of the ride across from the Pelennor had stuck the harder for it.
"Babies wash," Liel replied, handing the now sleeping child to her great-uncle. "Come , sit down," she ordered, and Boromir knew the command was as much for him as it was for Imrahil as she guided them both back to the table. He caught the subtle direction of Liel's chin and let his gaze follow it, to find Eomer had found his cousin Lothriel's smile more interesting than his maps.
"Elena, we'll need another table and more chairs," Liel continued briskly, as if finding her home full of Elves in shining armor was something that happened to her every day. "And let Beth know we have more guests…."
Reaching out, he took her hand and drew his wife into Faramir's chair, as his brother had now claimed the chair by Eowyn's side. There would be time enough to decide the details of their already decided course tomorrow, he decided. Today and tonight they would take to remind themselves what they had to fight for.