Chapter 35 - The Steward of Gondor

PLEASE NOTE: this is a long one. Sorry in advance. Long dialogue stretches incoming. Brace yourselves.

23rd March, 3019 (Third Age)

Elanor swallowed a sharp remark. Georgia stood before a mirror in her bedchamber, twirling to observe the full effects of the gown Brúnel had acquired for her. Truth be told, it was an exquisite dress; a heavy copper-coloured silk with sleeves that puffed and then narrowed at the elbows, and a square neckline. The fabric reminded Elanor of pre-Renaissance Italian designs, with it's large floral pattern woven in a slightly lighter shade thread.

"Ellie! It's like a princess's dress!"

The one addressed sighed and stepped forward to stand beside her sister.

"Indeed, Georgia." Her forehead was creased in concern as she pondered what on earth she was supposed to do with her sister.

"El?"

Georgia finished her elated pirouette, hazel eyes brimming with delight.

She's just… absolutely… incorrigible.

Wasn't she always?

Well… yeah. But it was never so important for her not to behave like… well… a silly child, before. At home, people knew she was the chattery, bouncy sister. Here she could offend every Gondorian noble within thirty seconds!

"Elanor Ingrid Ravenscroft!"

"What!"

Georgia grinned wickedly. "You're daydreaming."

"Yes. Now listen, for there are several very important things you must understand," said the elder, grasping her sister's arm and pulling her away from the mirror. "You have read Tolkien's books often enough to recognise that this is not a jest. The people of Middle-earth behave in a vastly different manner to a group of Year 12 Australian high school students."

Georgia raised an eyebrow at the poorly-veiled criticism and shook her arm free. "Oh? I thought it was about time you began telling me off again!"

"Georgia…" began Elanor, warningly. In the previous two days, she'd come painfully close to berating her sister on multiple occasions. Fortunately, weariness and tactful insistence by Brúnel had kept Georgia confined to her suite to rest and recuperate. Elanor had been profoundly thankful for the imposed incarceration, for it allowed her to visit Éowyn and Merry alone and begin to process the multitude of problems which arose with Georgia's appearance. Both woman and hobbit had been exceedingly pleased to hear that all of her family had not perished at the hands of the Wild-men. In fact, Éowyn seemed more delighted than Elanor herself that Georgia had come.

Just goes to show how wonderful an effect love has on an individual…

"I… just don't get you, El. You're being so—boring."

"Perhaps I am," replied Elanor, with prim dignity. "Yet I have managed to find my way about Middle-earth for ten times longer than you, and I wish to save you from embarrassment."

"Do you?" came the tart answer.

"Yes!" Elanor cried, exasperated. "Please, listen." The desperation upon her countenance must have stayed Georgia's hot temper, for the fire in her eyes dwindled, and she nodded.

"Okay."

"Firstly; to Faramir and Éowyn you shall say absolutely nothing. I will not have the happiness of that pair jeopardised by any kind of silly remark."

"You think I'd wreck that?" said the younger, looking affronted.

"I do not know what you would say, G, but I need you to swear you shan't interfere."

"Fine," she muttered begrudgingly. "I promise. What else?"

"You will allow me to speak to Boromir concerning the matter of our parallel appearances. There are many things which I have compiled as excuses for my peculiar arrival, and I will not have our stories contradicting one another. If there is anything that you must explain, defer to me. Yes?"

"Alri-ight."

"There are none remaining in Minas Tirith who know of my full tale; until that time in which Gandalf, Glorfindel or Elladan and Elrohir return, you must remain silent on the matter of our home world." Georgia rolled her eyes again, though said nothing. Elanor stifled her own temper. "And finally, you shall put that clever mind of yours to adapting the mannerisms and speech of Middle-earth. It is not as hard as one might expect, and it shall lower the suspicion placed upon you. Through my friendship with the Elves, Lord Boromir and Lady Éowyn, I am assumed to be a noblewoman of the far south. For the sake of everyone involved, I cannot allow you to endanger that; we are entirely dependent on Denethor's family in this matter."

"So, what, I speak like someone out of Jane Austen?"

"If that will make you sound less of a lower-class Australian, I say yes."

Georgia looked ready to spit out a fierce retort, but instead lowered her gaze. "I will try, El."

Despite her own frustration, Elanor smiled. "I am sure you will do excellently, though you must call me 'Elanor'; they rarely use shortenings here, except in private."

"I will do my best."

Satisfied that was the utmost she was going to get out of Georgia, Elanor nodded. "Then let us go; Lady Éowyn desires to speak with us—and," she added, unable to resist, "one does not simply keep royalty waiting."

Éowyn was sitting proudly upon a window-seat when Elanor and Georgia entered a quarter of an hour later. Ioreth had shown the Ravenscroft sisters to the Rohirric woman's chambers; Faramir had made good his promise in finding her a room which faced east, and Éowyn took full advantage of the prospect to gaze in the direction of Mordor during those hours she was not outdoors.

"Elanor!" she said, rising with a small smile. She held out her hands, and the pair kissed one another upon the cheek in the manner of greeting amongst friends.

"Éowyn," returned Elanor, forcing a nervous smile. Then she half-turned, gesturing towards the door. "This is my younger sister, Lady Georgia."

Éowyn's grey eyes moved past her friend to the other Ravenscroft, studying her shrewdly. Georgia was three inches shorter than Elanor, with slightly wavy light brown hair. In build she more closely resembled Éowyn than her sibling, with a straighter form and wiry limbs made more compact by her inferior height. She had a squarer jaw and appeared sturdy and athletic despite two weeks of walking at Boromir's forced march pace. As Éowyn made her assessment, Elanor noticed Georgia lift her chin, as if daring the shield-maiden to find fault with her. It seemed she passed the test, however; Éowyn moved past Elanor and curtseyed briefly.

"It gladdens my heart to meet one of Elanor's kin, Lady Georgia," she said, Rohirric accent pronounced in the company of the two Australians.

"Nice to meet you too," Georgia replied.

…it could've been worse, Elanor reminded herself, restraining a wince.

"How came you to enter the White City, Lady Georgia?"

Georgia shot a glance in Elanor's direction. The latter spoke swiftly to avert indiscretion.

"Lord Boromir, Lord Faramir's brother, has returned," she said. "He had travelled to Imladris and returned from thence with some of my companions. They parted company south of the East Emnet, in Rohan. As he travelled hence he met my sister; in the—chaos which ensued following the attack by the Wild-men upon our family, she escaped and strayed far, rather than perishing as I first believed. Lord Boromir was fortunate enough to discover her."

Éowyn gave her sad smile. "It is well that it was so; few are so favoured in these times."

"Indeed," Elanor replied guardedly.

The shield-maiden turned to the window for a moment. Over the previous days, she had become even less inclined for speech than she had been at Dunharrow. The shadow in the east weighed heavily upon her straight shoulders, though it was a different burden to the one Elanor carried. Éowyn did not fear death; rather, she feared the evil of Sauron itself.

I couldn't feel the malice of the Ring when I touched it. Perhaps I'm immune because I come from another world. That would explain why Éowyn is so worried about the shadow, and I'm more concerned about a handful of individual people!

"The weather is nice."

Elanor twirled to glare at Georgia, who shrugged. As safe as it generally was, this was not an instance where the weather was an appropriate topic to fill the silence. Éowyn did not seem to hear Georgia's remark.

"Are you to walk in the gardens with Lord Faramir this morning, Éowyn?" asked Elanor, shooting Georgia another warning look whilst the shield-maiden's back was turned.

"Yes." She moved away from the window and glided across the floor with athletic ease. "Will you join us?" she asked, glancing at Georgia also.

"We shall, thank you," answered Elanor on behalf of them both. Georgia grinned broadly.

Éowyn favoured them with another melancholy smile and held the door open for them to pass through. Elanor swept out with Georgia in tow, gesturing furiously with a lowered hand that she should fall into the rear rather than walk three abreast. Unfortunately the hint was lost, and her sister trotted blithely along at Éowyn's other side.

Elanor gazed ahead, silently praying that Georgia would not embarrass herself by speaking. Fortunately she seemed too enraptured by the fairly mundane corridors to blurt out an awkward remark.

Was I this bad when I first came here? Honestly… if I was half this bad, Gandalf must've been terrified to let me see absolutely anyone! Gosh… I guess Glorfindel probably covered for me a fair bit too… Eru, let him make it through this! I just… I want to see him again… Georgia's here, and everything's… a mess… and I just want Glorfindel to tell me all will be right again…

She bit her lip till she drew blood. Missing Glorfindel was like a physical ache. It sat just below her sternum like a fractious, hungry creature which moaned constantly for the loss of those whom she loved.

No different to the feeling you had about Tim six months ago…

Two more days… two more days and I'll know if it's all ok…

Even if Sauron is defeated, you know that he might… well… you know…

All too well.

The Warden smiled in greeting as they passed through the door to the gardens. He looked pleased to see Éowyn in company with others, and made no objection to their passing. To Georgia he paid little heed. Elanor managed a strained smile, feeling too overwhelmed by pent-up tension to manage the constant risk of taking Georgia out amongst the native people of Middle-earth.

At least she looks right in the dress, with her hair and everything…

The breeze which struck Elanor as they exited was cool and refreshing. It carried with it the smell of rain and budding blossoms, caressing her hair and face.

Can something so clean and unsullied possibly forebode the triumph of the shadow?

No, but… Glorfindel… and Elladan and Elrohir, and Legolas… Aragorn, Éomer, Gandalf… all of them…

Elanor inhaled slowly. It was like drinking in the scent of freshly laundered clothes, imbued with the aroma of her mother's laundry powder. At least if they were all to die, they would go breathing the perfume of spring.

Faramir was waiting by the wall as they approached. He faced east, his proud back to them and the breeze tickling his raven hair. Both hands rested upon the stone parapet. Éowyn drew several paces ahead as they approached, speaking Faramir's name in a low voice. The man—Elanor could no longer call him the Steward—turned, and greeted the collection of women with his gentle smile.

"Lady Éowyn," he bowed. "Lady Elanor; and, I believe, Lady Georgia?"

Elanor inclined her head, and Georgia dropped into a bold curtsey.

Remind me to tell her that is definitely not how it's done…

"It pleases me to see you recovered, Lady Georgia," Faramir said. Turning to Elanor, he smiled slightly. "My brother would make a request of you, Lady Elanor."

"Naturally," she replied, unsure whether to be pleased or frightened that Boromir would wish to speak with her.

"Yes; he is much occupied at present, having taken up his position as Steward, yet he wished me to ask if you might wait upon him in his apartments after the noon meal, lady."

Elanor nodded deferentially. "Of course, my lord."

"If you call for Brúnel, she will have one of the serving women escort you to his chambers at the second hour after noon."

"Thankyou, my lord."

"You are very generous, Lady Elanor," Faramir said, offering Éowyn his arm. "Come, my lady; shall we walk together beneath the trees?"

Éowyn's ghost of a smile warmed somewhat as she fell into step beside the younger son of Denethor. "If you wish it, my lord."

When the two had retreated some distance, Georgia stepped close to Elanor and laughed merrily.

"El, he's perfect!"

"Pardon?"

"Faramir! He's absolutely as I expected him to be, though more kingly; Éowyn is equally lovely, though very… stiff and cold."

"Mm," Elanor breathed, moving to where Faramir had stood at the brink of the wall and scanning the eastern horizon.

"Ellie?"

"Yes?"

Georgia moved to join her, looking over the land enclosed by Rammas Echor. From the foot of the city, the Pelennor Fields stretched into the distance; it was a full twelve miles to the Causeway Forts between Minas Tirith and Osgiliath to the north-east. Her loved ones would return by that road, making the arduous journey across the plains.

Those who survived, at least.

"Are you ok, El?"

The question took Elanor by surprise. The sentiment was a chastisement in itself, for Georgia might be impulsive and stubborn, but she certainly was not cruel. Elanor's recount of her half-year adventure in Middle-earth had only skimmed the details of what had truly occurred. She hadn't even attempted to broach the subject of her emotional rollercoaster, romance or the constant fear of disaster which had come to dog her every footstep.

"No, I'm not," she said, at last.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Elanor turned to her sister and smiled sadly. "Actually, I would."

Georgia gestured to a nearby bench, and the two moved to sit upon it. Éowyn and Faramir were settled beneath a tree about fifty metres away. Confident they would not be observed or overheard, Elanor exhaled and let her facade drop, the only time she had done so save the morning Glorfindel had berated her.

Gosh, I miss him…

Staring out into the distance, she began to speak. The words flowed as if she read from the pages of a book; rehearsed, pre-planned, intended. Every pent-up emotion spilled out, spreading like ink across parchment, the tale she had longed to tell for many months. Old ways mingled with new as she found the speech she had adopted for so long hard to fully relinquish. Many things she said had not been consciously formed within her mind, nor fully known till that moment as she poured her heart out to her sister. It felt odd, voicing such thoughts to Georgia; Elanor had always preferred her mother as a confidante, for the two were alike in temperament. Yet she found that, in that moment, none could be better than Georgia.

"Six months is a long time. When I arrived, I was angry. Furious. All I could think of was my blue striped PJs, the grey couch at home, and watching Midsomer Murders with you, Mum and Dad. I wanted to go back so badly. I believed that Boromir was crazy, at first. The walk to Rivendell was the worst thing I have ever experienced. Arriving there was a relief, I suppose, but I still had very little idea what was going on. I was alone; Boromir, silent and gruff, was my only 'friend'. I couldn't quite wrap my head around things. Watching the Elves and those who attended the Council put a few things into perspective, I suppose. I understood that Middle-earth is all the reality the people here have ever known, and I was treating it like—the book that it was, in my mind. It just couldn't be reality, not for them; how are parallel universes even possible? It defied all rational explanation, everything I'd ever told myself.

"And then I made friends. Lord Elrond was so—attractive, but not in a romantic sense. He just seemed to ooze warmth and comfort, and he reminded me of Dad more than I could handle at first. I longed for consolation and sympathy, and he gave it to me. He called me daughter, and welcomed me into his household as long as I wished to stay there. Legolas taught me how to spar, and kept me company when others were busy. Glorfindel read with me, teaching me Sindarin and chess and—to laugh again. Bilbo was as sweet as Tolkien wrote him. I found that I rather liked this Middle-earth.

"Perhaps that frightened me most of all; for I was flustered at the thought of losing home, and yet I enjoyed my existence in Rivendell. I read and rode horses, sparred and wandered in the gardens. It was rather like a holiday, save that I had to reconcile myself to never seeing my family or friends again. It was rather nice. The Fellowship was chosen, and it wasn't like a fan-fiction. I wasn't pushed into a hideous adventure scampering across Middle-earth with Gandalf.

"Still, it wasn't all hunky-dory. As the Fellowship's departure drew closer, I found myself starting to wonder what I was supposed to do here. All I could think was that there had to be a reason I'd been dragged out of my real life to come to an alternate universe. Surely fate wouldn't be so cruel as to snatch me out of a nice home for the sole purpose of sitting in Rivendell? I couldn't believe that. I wouldn't. So I tried to rationalise things and figure out some 'task' I was supposed to fulfil.

"After the Fellowship left I went from depressed to elated to determined and all the way back through again. I felt like I'd been rejected and abandoned, though it was irrational and I knew it then too. Lord Elrond was still lovely, and it was in this time that I became acquainted with Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir. Arwen is very kind, though I never grew as close to her as the twins. She was more remote, more contemplative and I found many of our pursuits didn't line up. But I enjoyed talking to another female. And the twins were like the brothers we never had. I couldn't remain there forever, though; when Galadriel sent a missive summoning the Rangers, I convinced Elrond to let me go with them.

"I suppose when I initially left, I was still wrapped up in some hifalutin notion of being a hero, of changing something and being useful. Truth be told, the fact I had tipped Glorfindel off about letting Gandalf face the balrog and saving Boromir were perhaps the only helpful things I have actually done; and both endangered another, and not myself. I rode with the Rangers, but got coddled by Elladan and Elrohir. If they hadn't looked after me, I never would've made it at the fast pace the Rangers set.

"Seeing the results of Helm's Deep made me sick. I was exhausted, angry and desperate all over again, and as we reached Dunharrow the people I knew were off again. I'd scampered from Rivendell to the White Mountains to stick close to them, the familiar ones, and I found that I was not equal to following them; nor could I, in fact, do anything even remotely close to aiding them. I said farewell, and found myself with Éowyn.

"You have no idea how much I wanted her to be the best friend I'd missed for five months. But I found her cool and stern and hopeless. I tried to give her hope—perhaps that was my mission? She was so upset, so demoralised and drained of optimism. I could understand that, knowing what she'd been through, but I wanted her to be happy! And I felt like I made headway for a few days. I convinced her it would be ok, I agreed to go with her into battle, and for a little while I thought that maybe she wouldn't attempt the suicide mission thing. I deluded myself into it, I guess. And Éowyn did open up to me, to a certain degree. We're as close to friends as I suppose we can be, at this stage, and with everything that's going on."

Elanor paused and swallowed several times. Georgia had moved closer to her as she spoke, and now gently squeezed her hand. She hurried on before emotions could overtake the quiet recitation.

"The battle was the worst thing I've ever seen. I think I begin to understand what the veterans at home go through. For days, it was like all I could see was the people who were killed; some were killed by my hand. I felt like a murderer. I still see them, sometimes. When I'm not distracted… the pictures fly before my eyes more clearly than real life. When I woke up after the battle, Glorfindel was there, and—it made me feel better, speaking to him. I've made friends here, friends who aren't just figments of my imagination. It doesn't make the prospect of going home any easier, having set up a life here where people know me, and… like me, I guess.

"Before I rode with Éowyn and Merry into battle, I accepted that I was in Middle-earth. I had gotten to the point where I knew that I wasn't going home. I was ok with it. And I realised there was no point not investing myself. I didn't have a special 'job' to do; I think I figured that out a fair while ago. But what was stopping me from doing my part? Why shouldn't I ride with Éowyn and do what I could? It might be fruitless, I might die, but so could all of my friends. I needed to be prepared to risk it for the survival of Arda, the place I was stuck in."

"Ellie, I didn't—I didn't realise," Georgia whispered, as silence fell for a moment.

Elanor shrugged, blinking rapidly to dispel the thought of any tears. She squeezed her sister's hand firmly.

"I know, G."

"So what are you going to do?"

Now that's the biggest problem…

"I honestly don't have any idea. I like it here, and I don't even want to contemplate the notion of leaving now, because I've become so accustomed to the idea of never seeing you, Mum, Dad or Tim, ever again." She hesitated, wanting to fully commit to the self-disclosure, but unsure how to broach the subject. "Look, Georgie. After I'd been here a while, I knew that I'd pine away if I kept loving Tim like I did. So I convinced myself to give him up, to get over him."

Georgia nodded slowly. "I never loved anyone the way you loved Tim, but I think I can see why you'd do that."

"Yeah. I mean, you and Mum and Dad are always going to be my family. I didn't have to put you aside to enjoy being with Elrond or the twins. But if I was going to live out a life here, I didn't want to be stuck back on Earth loving Tim and never being able to go back."

"I understand."

Elanor glanced down at her hands, then, blushing slightly. "It seems a bit silly, really. Tim and I were committed, but—well—it wasn't like we'd ever even… well… you know…" She trailed off.

"But you'd known each other for years," Georgia said, comfortingly. "You were friends before you started dating. You were traditional, and didn't sleep together, but you loved each other. Doesn't mean it's easy to get over a boyfriend that amazing."

"No."

Go go go! Now's the time to say it.

"Thanks for telling me all of this, El," said her sister, smiling slightly. "I'm sorry that I didn't think about how you were feeling at all. I didn't even begin to recognise all the problems you might encounter, coming to Middle-earth and learning to live here permanently."

"It was hard. But there's another thing, G. Something I need to say, and I hope—based off what we said before—that you'll understand."

Georgia grinned. "Try me."

Elanor took a deep breath, her mouth feeling dry. "Ok, well, as I said, I forced myself into moving on from Tim, and found that many people were willing to befriend a lonely, 'orphaned' woman. The twins and Legolas were always like brothers to me, and I thought Glorfindel was too. But I'm in love with him, G. I don't know how it's possible when I've known him for less than half a year, but he's amazing. Everything about him is graceful and athletic, and he's kind and wise and cheerful all at once. I thought of him as a friend at first, but a few days ago—before they rode to Mordor—he confessed he loved me. And I realised I loved him."

She turned to Georgia, hoping to gauge her reaction. The girl was silent, face tilted downwards in contemplation so Elanor could not read her features.

"Perhaps," she continued, feeling flustered, "it's because he saw me when I arrived in Rivendell, absolutely exhausted and upset. He knows where I'm from, heard my tale, and listened to me. Plus, when I was feeling extra lonely and in need of friendship and kindness, he was always there—in the best way. He became one of my greatest, most supportive companions, and when he said he loved me it was so easy to imagine him as something more." Elanor paused, helpless in the face of Georgia's silence. "Look, I don't know how else to explain it, but I love him! He's wonderful, it's—"

"Ellie, stop, it's ok," laughed Georgia, glancing up from her pose of contemplation. "It just took a while to sink in, that's all. That you and an Elf are in love with each other. I didn't expect it, but I can totally see… don't think for a moment I'd be angry with you over it."

"So… you don't think I'm… betraying Tim?"

"Is that what you think?" asked Georgia seriously.

Elanor frowned. "I guess I did, for a while. I worried that I moved on to Glorfindel so easily, and of course I felt sad knowing I'd stopped loving Tim."

"Well don't think like that," Georgia said, firmly. "You're not the kind of person to cheat, El."

I take back every bad thing I said about her in the last few days. She may be seventeen and every inch the impulsive teenage girl, but she's my sister. And I love her.

"Thanks, G," Elanor mumbled, reaching over to hug her tightly. "I am exceedingly glad to get all of that off my chest. I used to journal stuff, back in Rivendell, but I haven't been able to do that since I started touring Middle-earth."

"Touring Middle-earth?" laughed her sister. "Is that what you call it?"

"Well… rustic touring," Elanor admitted.

Georgia laughed at the comment, and then fell silent. For some time, the two sisters rested in each other's arms and listened to the crisp spring wind teasing the trees.

I feel like I've just delivered a 2-hour lecture, Elanor moaned, internally. I don't think I've talked that much… ever.

Come on, admit it. Helps to talk it out, doesn't it?

Yeah.

And now Georgia knows.

Mmhmm.

"You're going to have to introduce me to him, you know Ellie."

"Huh?"

"You'll have to introduce me to Glorfindel."

Elanor's stomach tensed.

"If he comes back."

"What do you mean? They win, El! Sam won't fail us. They're going to win," smiled Georgia, glancing at her earnestly.

They've got to!

"Yeah," Elanor nodded, at last. "I guess they do."

Georgia squeezed her hand again. "It'll be ok, El."

They lapsed into silence for a time. There was still a certain degree of anxiety which lingered in Elanor's mind, especially concerning Glorfindel's survival—a fact that was not guaranteed by the books. Yet the fear which dogged her had fallen some metres behind, driven off by the sisterly understanding.

And, for once, she didn't interrupt every two sentences!

Suddenly Elanor smiled, and gave Georgia a gentle nudge in the ribs. "Hey sis, I've got one more confession for you."

"Yeah?"

"You know that staff and knife belt you had at the festival?"

"Of course! Mum had it commissioned for me. You don't mean you've got it here, do you?!"

Elanor grinned wickedly. "Not quite. In fact, I've been agonising over those items for months, because—I lost them within the first few days of my traipsing through Middle-earth."

Elanor smoothed her skirts as she followed Brúnel down the echoey corridor towards Boromir's suite. Her features smooth, and she no longer felt as if she clung to her composure by slippery threads. Her confession to Georgia had heralded several hours of cheerful banter, after which they had conversed with Éowyn and Faramir. Shortly before noon, her sister had professed an insatiable hunger, and they had retired to Elanor's chambers for an early lunch. Two hours following, she had left Georgia reading and summoned the housekeeper to escort her to the interview with Boromir.

The prospect of speaking with the now-Steward was somewhat unsettling. Aside from the day of Georgia's appearance, Elanor had not spoken to Boromir since his departure from Rivendell with the Fellowship. They had parted as friends; yet still it remained a distinct possibility that he should adopt his cool and haughty manner once more. Added to this was an utter bewilderment as to what he might ask her; had she dishonoured the House of Húrin?

Fortunately, the journey from the guest wing to the Steward's apartments was not an overly long one; Elanor had little time to ponder her uneasiness before Brúnel paused and curtseyed.

"If it pleases you, my lady, I will announce your arrival to Lord Boromir."

"Of course, Brúnel. Thankyou."

Smiling, the housekeeper tapped upon the door.

"Come in!" came the stern reply. Brúnel slipped inside, leaving the door ajar.

"Lady Elanor to see you, my lord."

"Thankyou, Brúnel. She is welcome to enter."

The housekeeper reappeared through the ebony archway and curtseyed once more. "I shall return to my duties, my lady."

Elanor smiled in thanks, and gently pushed the door open.

BREAK

Boromir watched as Elanor appeared, moving with graceful caution. As she made her entrance he was permitted a moment to study her, and took full advantage of the opportunity.

The particulars of their first meeting were vivid within his memory, stirred by the second peculiar encounter with her sister. Yet this Elanor of Rivendell bore no resemblance to the lady of Lands Unknown whom first he had been acquainted with. Her short-cropped hair had lengthened considerably, and the golden curls were striking amidst the almost uniformly-black tresses of Gondor. The attire which his housekeeper had provided suited her well; far better even than the raiment of Rivendell. She was clad in blue-grey silk which bore a beautifully-crafted pattern of birds and leaves. One of the maids had seen to her hair, and someone had acquired a silver circlet which sat in queenly fashion upon her brow. Her face, once so child-like, had filled out with months of plentiful food. Still, there was an edge to her jaw which he had not observed when she first appeared amidst the sea of grass the fall before. Her wide grey-green eyes were full of light and intelligence, but she had undoubtedly hardened and grown sterner than the helpless girl of their first meeting. The sight of her calm face and proud carriage pleased him, for he recalled all to well the vulnerability which had stirred fatherly pity in his heart.

"Lord Boromir," she said, her tone measured and even. Smiling slightly, she curtseyed.

Climbing to his feet from an armchair, Boromir bowed. "Lady Elanor. It is a pleasure to see you. I must beg pardon for my unseemly state when I returned in the company of your sister."

"Not at all, my lord, for the gratitude I felt at seeing her once more far outweighed all else."

Boromir's lips curled in amusement.

Her speech has grown fair and courteous indeed.

Elanor watched him silently for a moment, as if reciprocating his surveying of her. Still, her implacable features revealed little of her assessment of him.

"Is there aught you wish to speak to me of, my lord?" she asked after a moment, smiling slightly as she spoke.

Boromir nodded. "Will you make yourself comfortable, Lady Elanor?"

She thanked him, seating herself regally upon the lounge opposite whilst he returned to his armchair. Boromir would not have ever professed her to be a striking beauty, though as her countenance warmed she grew in his estimation. Her hair was admittedly very fine, and her smile compensated for any lack of perfection in her features. She would never compare to the loveliness of any of the Elven kindred whom Boromir had seen, nor had she the beauty of some of Minas Tirith's ladies. Nevertheless, she was memorable.

"Forgive me," he said, realising he had lapsed once more into silence. "The burden of the city weighs heavy upon me."

She smiled sympathetically. "Of course, my lord. You have my deepest sympathies for the passing of your father."

Boromir nodded in gruff thanks. He rubbed his palm with a roughened thumb. He had met the death of his father with surprising equanimity; his brother's quiet grief had been more poignant than his own sentiment. Perhaps it was not as it should be, yet he could find little compassion in his heart for the man—kin or no—who was responsible for Faramir's brush with death.

"I believe I ought to thank you for the safe conduct of my sister to the city, Lord Boromir," Elanor smiled, and her eyes were full of quiet kindness.

"It seems I am fated to save you both."

She laughed, the sound tinkling like a clear bell.

"We shall be forever indebted to you, my lord. I never believed that Georgia might have survived the ordeal, and it gladdened my heart immeasurably to find that you had encountered her. Nevertheless, I do not believe that you summoned me hither to elicit my thanks for your goodwill. What would you speak to me of, my lord?"

Boromir's grey eyes met hers for a moment, considering her keen glance and thoughtfulness. For a time, he had believed her undeserving of the esteem which Lord Elrond and his household bestowed upon her. Her moment of indiscretion that evening in the dim corridor had revolted him, and yet now he deeply regretted his coolness. She was young, indeed, but certainly not foolish; nor was she coarse.

Perhaps she and Faramir… they would not be unsuited to one another, though she is yet very young. Scarce more than twenty, if I recall… Still, it is the way of things in Gondor, and her temperament matches his quite well…

"You are right once more, Lady Elanor," he said, tossing the notion aside. "This was not the purpose for which I called you. I will not tarry with elegant words, for there are duties to which I must attend. There are many things which strike me as peculiar, not least of which the fact that I stumbled upon both your sister and yourself by chance, and at so great a distance from one another."

The statement hung in the air a moment, and the corner of Elanor's mouth quirked.

"You ask no easy questions, my lord."

"And yet I would know the answers to them." He hesitated, then shifted slightly so he was sitting on the edge of the armchair, leaning forward. "Lady Elanor; will you not speak truly?"

She faltered, and then nodded. "If you desire it. I confess that the tale of the attack by the Wild-men is a falsehood, my lord, for Gandalf believed that tale to be a more palatable one than the truth. Yet it was not so, for I was transported by magic from a distant land; so it also appears, was my sister."

Boromir's stern features displayed little reaction to her announcement. He had journeyed for many weeks in the company of Gandalf the Grey, and it did not seem entirely improbable that such an event could have occurred. He knew little enough of the precise skills of wizards—Faramir had better understanding of such things—and chose not to question the assertion.

"From a land far to the south of here, you say?"

"Ye-es."

"It appears that the affairs of mortals are ever guided by the will of wizards," he sighed, frowning at the carpet. Glancing up, he asked, "Have you discovered aught of the path to your home, Lady Elanor? Perhaps a ship, sailing south, might—"

She smiled wistfully and shook her head. "No, my lord. I have no knowledge precisely where it lies, and would not wish to endanger any so, in sending them on such a perilous voyage."

"Might Gandalf be able to—?" He held out his hands. "Forgive me, I know very little of the workings of magic."

"As do I," she smiled. "I thank you, but I must decline. I am also unable to discover the peculiarity which drew both of us near to your path, though I am glad it was so. There is little honour in perishing in the wilds, alone."

Boromir lowered his gaze. The younger woman of house Ravenscroft had borne up better than Lady Elanor under the hardships of a lengthy journey on foot. Still, Lady Georgia lacked something which her sister possessed; Boromir felt quite unequal to pondering the precise details of this deficiency, though it lingered in his mind.

Glancing up, he studied Elanor's face once more. She appeared more at ease in his company than she ever had before, sitting quietly with a soft smile upon her countenance; for a moment he berated himself for neglecting the woman's acquaintance. There was an utter lack of the wily and coy in her manner, for which he was grateful. The courts of Minas Tirith were littered with sharp-eyed individuals of both sexes, bent on power and utterly taken up in the intrigue of politics. Whether Elanor was herself free of guile, or if the Elves had influenced her so, he could not tell; it was nonetheless refreshing, and made him think once more of his younger brother.

"Have you heard aught of the journey to Amon Hen, Lady Elanor?"

Her smile faded slightly at this, but she managed to elicit a light laugh. "A little, my lord. Lord Glorfindel conversed with me briefly on the matter. I confess I was gladdened to hear that your wounds were not mortal in the battle which occurred upon the banks of the Anduin."

"Indeed," he replied dryly, recalling vividly the unpleasantness of having an arrow embedded in his shoulder. He watched her sharply for a moment. "'Twas quite unnatural."

"Oh?" Elanor asked, an eyebrow raised.

Is she truly as ingenuous as she appears? For in that moment I was sure that I would die, and yet somehow fate was turned aside.

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "I confess I had hoped you may have known more, Lady Elanor. Yet if it is not so, there is little point in pressing the matter. I am indebted to Lord Glorfindel—and Lord Aragorn."

Elanor's lips pressed together slightly. "Lord Aragorn is a skilled healer, my lord. He claims credit for the life of your brother."

"Then I owe him more than I first supposed," managed Boromir, attempting a smile.

Truth be told, he had professed little love for the Ranger. His father had been Steward, and he succeeded him at his post. It had been many years since Gondor had been ruled by a King, yet…

"Lord Aragorn will make an excellent king, Boromir," said Elanor softly, as if reading his thoughts.

His expression was scarce short of a scowl. "You speak boldly, lady; the armies of the West have yet to be declared triumphant against the power of Mordor. I confess I have little hope that it shall be so."

"Perhaps," she admitted, "yet it I would not speak if I did not believe it to be true."

Boromir clenched his teeth together. Many things troubled him, his position as Steward pushed aside in favour of more pressing, introspective concerns. In Rivendell, he had scorned Aragorn's claim to the throne. The man was noble enough, and had led the company well, but Boromir found himself protesting fiercely at the notion of a King ruling Gondor once more. His father had denied such developments; had not the Steward managed the affairs of the city well enough these many years? And then, there was the matter of the Ring…

Aragorn did what you could not.

It rankled with him, for lost in the pain of his wounds he had confessed his moment of weakness to the Heir of Isildur. Samwise had fled from his mindless wrath, and journeyed safely at least as far as Ithilien, where Faramir had hastened him onwards. There was no guarantee that Gondor would prevail, but were it to be so, the sons of Denethor would be required to step aside in favour of Aragorn as King.

Faramir would make a better Steward than I, for the blood of Númenor flows more strongly in his veins, as it does in Aragorn's… He was not overcome by this weakness!

As he raised his head, Boromir realised that Elanor was watching him with tender pity in her eyes. He was again struck by the uncomfortable sensation that perhaps she could read his mind.

"What do you think on, my lord?" she inquired.

Boromir snorted dryly. "You are well-spoken, Lady Elanor, and correct in your assessment; Lord Aragorn shall rule justly and well, and I would not hinder him. I—" The words died in his throat, strangled by his fierce sense of dignity. He could not admit his weakness, even in the face of Elanor's compassion; he was ever the son of Denethor, fuelled by pride and a longing for power. Yet something stirred within him, so confronted was he by a sudden awareness of the extent of his faults. He spoke almost without thinking: "I will not maintain the Stewardship for long, my lady. I intend to abdicate in Faramir's favour."

Elanor's countenance registered her great surprise, swiftly replaced by a peculiar expression of admiration. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then hesitated a moment. Finally, she smiled.

"You are both wise and strong, my lord; a weak man could not make such a choice."

The statement was rather unexpected, and it took Boromir a moment to regain his implacable guise.

How does she…

"You have my thanks, Lady Elanor," he replied gruffly, severely unsettled. He rose from his chair. "Still, Faramir remains in the care of the Warden, and the city must be governed in his absence, or until Aragorn returns to claim kingship. I must beg leave to return to my duties."

Elanor smiled as she stood. "Of course, my lord."

Boromir bowed swiftly, barely acknowledging the curtsey she did in return, and strode towards the door. He held it open as she swept out, a knowing expression still written upon her features. With a soft "farewell", she was gone, and he closed the door behind her.

Happy 35 chapters guys!

I know there is a ginormous chunk of Elanor dialoguing with Georgia in the middle of this chapter, but I really felt it was necessary for her to verbalise her feelings about the journey. Honestly, I feel like once I finish this fic I'm going to have to go back over and edit the heck out of a lot of it.

Then there's the rather-intense Boromir POV conversation. I wanted him to abdicate the Stewardship of the city, because a) Faramir will do a great job of it, and b) occasionally the book likes to reassert it's dominance. I think this is an important part of Boromir's growth, coming to recognise that his desire for power (rather like Denethor's) could drive him to ruin, but choosing to get out before it does him harm. Boromir isn't a central character in the story, but as he finds both Elanor and Georgia I thought it was important to include a bit of information about what happens to him after he arrives back in Minas Tirith.

I would super appreciate it if you as the readers would consider reviewing with your thoughts on Elanor's character development; I have read over a few older chapters and in some parts I'm really happy with how she's progressed. In others, I feel disgusted with her haha. Feel free to voice your opinion on the subject. Ultimately, she's imperfect but I don't want her turning Mary Sue. She's not perfect, by a long shot. She's still super focused on the people that matter to her, and not so much on the outcome of Middle-earth as a whole (because she doesn't really feel Sauron's nastiness).

Anyways, I'm just holding my 140k word creation and looking at the mess I've created and wondering whether I should go back and clean it up, or charge on and hope for the best. D:

Thanks for your support. :)

Finwe.