Author's Note: A little artistic license here, but what fanfic author doesn't take mild liberties?

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the invention of Amariel. Neither is this for profit, but for pleasure.

Warnings: AU. Boromir/OC.

The Captain's Wife

We enter the seat of Dol Amroth at last. All around us, sea-folk are busy – calling orders, shouting for baskets, carrying crates of unusual creatures I have never seen before. Beside me, Methelwen's eyes are round, and from the amusement on Rhea's face, mine are, also. Her earlier wariness has melted away with my continued persistence in looking after her younger sons. The few days of relative rest have done much to improve her gaze on me, and for that, I am thankful.

Perhaps not so forsaken by the Valar, I muse, but before I can fall into a reverie, we are led into a full view of the harbor. I cannot help my own astonishment – the sea is much more vast than I could have imagined.

I have lived near the Anduin my whole life; the smell of fish is familiar enough, as are the keenings of the river-gulls. The sea, however - no word can I place to it. It is grey and continually moving, and I wonder at what it must be on a full summer day. Breathtaking, to be sure.

And the ships! They do not compare at all to the merchant ships of the City, few there are. The sea-farers here know their business; the wood appears to be light, and from the one coming into port, quick to sail. Despite the oppressive heaviness, they are able to turn adeptly.

I am brought to attention when someone shouts, "This way!" A Swan-Knight, tall and stern in blue-and-silver livery, is guiding a queue of people. Some go right, some left, and it is not until we reach him, we know where to turn ourselves.

Up close, the Knight's face is not so stern – a scar that stretches from temple to nose pulls at the cheek and makes it appear he is scowling. Nonetheless, his eyes are friendly and almost compassionate. I catch a murmur, "So many! So many from the City!"

He stops Almog and Rhea patiently. "Do you seek kin or the Court?" he asks, hand on his sword-piece. Almog answers, "We seek both; we are said to be kin of my Lord Prince Imrahil."

The Knight scrutinizes him carefully. Almog reaches into a pouch I had hitherto not noticed, and produces a stone pendant. I cannot see the details, but it serves well for the Knight, as his eyes widen and eyebrows raise.

"You may leave your wain here," he says. "It will be emptied and your possessions taken up to the guests' wing. Wait there, and you will be attended to." He nods to a lurking page, who takes hold of the wain and its plodding horse.

Rhea squeezes Almog's arm, in relief, I think, before picking up her youngest. Both mother and daughter curtsey to the Knight after Almog bows (as he is able), but before I can fall in behind their steps, I am stopped myself. Methelwen nudges her mother and they pause up the path.

When Almog turns back, they gesture him ahead, with his sons. They are safe enough in the limits, and the road to the palace is wide, and well-maintained. I can see a variety of other Knights and squires guiding horses and carts. The hum of conversation buoys my hope that I will be unnoticed, but from the doubt upon this soldier's face...

I stifle a curse, and I am drawn into wistfulness, and then nervousness. I do not know if this is a Knight known to my Lord Captain.

"Miss," he says uncertainly, no doubt thrown off by my cloak. "Do you seek kin or the Court?" He peers in at me.

My hands tremble at my side. I could risk it. The Valar have looked after me thus far…and as my Captain would say, great risk with great gain.

I pull back my hood, the fur brushing lightly against my cheeks. What does he see, I wonder, a woman or a girl? For it is as a girl I feel, taking this foolish venture. I will be caught. The Steward will drag me back to the City where he can watch my every move. If I had freedom before, I will not at all, if returned thence.

I meet his gaze with trepidation.

If I say kin – which, by marrying into the Steward's family, became a cousin of the Amrothian rulers – I chance meeting with the Prince informally. I had seen him at a distance, no more, but he was rumored to be kind. If I answer Court, then I can petition the whole family formally, and gain legitimate protection from the Steward's wrath.

I can only hope my surmises are correct. My escape from the City did not lend time to research anything more than whether I could make it past the Gates. I packed as lightly as I could manage, accounting for my condition. Everything else has been improvised.

For the first time, I realize the enormity of what I have done.

"I seek to petition the Court," I reply. "I seek audience with the Prince or his heirs."

My heart beats fast. Surely this is not a Knight of my Captain's company, or he would have –

"My Lady!"

Not the Knight present, but another one approaching rapidly. I have been made known. I turn to flee, yet the press of the crowd prevents me from moving more than two paces.

Well, I chose my fate by leaving.

"My Lady Captain!"

This Knight is broad in the shoulder, his livery darker than that of the others. Too, above the Swan embroidery is a series of Seven Stars. His carries no sword; instead, a quiver, and a bow is slung over his shoulder.

I shake my cloak back completely. If I am known, then hiding suits me no more.

Callused fingers reach for my hand and he kisses it courteously. "Lord Boromir sent no word his Lady wife would grace us with her presence."

Whispers. So many whispers from around me. And they travel fast. I wince at the astonishment upon Rhea's and Methelwen's faces. The former narrows her eyes, and yanks her daughter forward. No doubt she is angry at my deception. I try to mouth an apology, but they are gone into the throng.

If they are angered, Almog will be as well. He might see it as taking advantage. Nor, I suddenly think, does it reflect positively upon the Steward, that a member of his Court makes her way unknown among the people.

"No, he sent no word, that is true," I say. And it is. "I came of my own accord. The Lord Steward –" I hesitate, knowing I tread a thin line between truth and a lie – "the Lord Steward desires to ensure the loyalty of his fiefdoms."

Plausible, but not anywhere near the reason why I am present. I am stretching my responsibilities.

"Come, then, and be welcome. I am Danaran, of the Guard of the Prince, and friend to the Lord Boromir – and his wife." He tucks my hand in his arm, and the crowd parts.

"How might a Guard of the Prince know of me?" I inquire, genuinely curious. To date, I had not met anyone of the shore-people. Meetings were closed to women, and any attempt I made at eavesdropping led to tension between my Lord and his father. After the third violent argument, I stayed away from the council's doors.

"We served early together, at the first battle of the Anduin," he answers, face shadowed in memory. "He spared me from death from an arrow's poison. He is a good man. I am fortunate to meet the woman he wrote so often of."

"Indeed he is, and my thanks," I say. We do not speak further, he apparently lost in memory, and myself in dread at recognition. A courier will be sent by evening, to note the safe arrival of the Steward's emissary.

The whispers continue as he guides me up to the palace. Despite the sweating I am doing, now that the orc is loosed from the sword, I can appreciate the wild beauty of the harbor and the veritable fortress that sits near it.

Pale stone – neither white nor gray, but some cloudlike color in between – form many arches in an exterior courtyard. Two guardtowers on either side are manned by at least two soldiers, who go to and fro steadily. The courtyard is bustling, much like the paths below. Only here, marketplace hubbub seems to take preeminence.

I wonder at that, but then Dol Amroth has been rumored to be considered the last safe port of the country. No doubt due to its lack of proximity to the Shadow.

"What duty does my Lady Captain seek of the Prince?" he asks.

"I seek audience with him, nothing more. At least," I add, "nothing more I can say here."

"I see," he responds gravely. "Many a counsel has been sought of him, and more of us march to war every day. But if this is truly a message of the Steward, then I will bring the Prince directly."

He leaves me in a parlor, taking my rucksack with him. I see it passed off to a maid, who nods at me as she leaves. The room is comfortable, with a circular window pushed open. Small couches dot the room, and I sink into one gratefully. It is cushioned with a silken fabric; a result of the trade at the port.

I am left to myself for the first time in a week. Though the crowd below is noisy, it is nothing to the thrum on the road, or the shouts at the harbor itself. My ears ring with the quiet, and I have to steady myself on the arm. It would be so easy to fall asleep...

"My Lady – Amariel," says a soft voice. "I hear you bring word from the White City."

It is the Prince, surveying me with kindness. He is weathered, and not dressed for a formal meeting, but then, this is not meant to be one, I mentally sigh. Some hot water would have been appreciated, or a chance to change into my other dress, that is marginally less dusty.

I rise, but keep a hand on the couch.

"My Prince," I curtsey. "I thank you for using my familiar name. I understand my lord husband wrote to you also of me?"

"He did," the Prince smiles. "I am sorry to have missed the wedding. We at the coast are besieged by Corsairs and the tide of battle pulls us all."

"Including my husband," I murmur.

"Yes, including him. I know he rode north, but on what errand, neither he nor his brother say. Did he speak to you of it?"

I confirm the question. "It is that in part why I seek your counsel."

"You?" he answers. "Not the Lord Steward?"

I grimace. "How long can you be spared, my Lord Prince?"

-to be continued-