Author's Note: Yes, I've emphasized that she is carrying the Heir. But it is an important point, and the start of her own battle in the War. Also, I had to go back through fix a major inconsistency – Amariel's name! In my carelessness, I had it spelled two different ways. That is fixed now!

Disclaimer: None of it. I own none of Tolkien's beautifully magnificent world.

Warnings: AU. Boromir/OC.

The Captain's Wife

Stunned silence greets my pronouncement.

I, too, am stunned in my own way. Not since my consultation with the Head Healer have I even spoken of the child I bear. He was unsure of how far along, but given my lord's absence, I am well into my third or fourth month. My notebook, should I find it after the maids after unpacked my rucksack, will have the definite date.

Because of the recent stress, I do not show much. Eating is difficult these days, not least because I have nausea in the mornings.

"But that is good news!" cries Lothiriel, breaking the silence. "We have an heir at last!"

I shake my head, the tears finally escaping any attempt I can give at preventing them. "No, my fair Princess. It is not."

Elphir surveys me over his goblet. "The Enemy would see to your destruction," he says. He takes a long draught. "And that makes you a target for yourself, and Lord Boromir."

My relief at being understood shows through my hot tears. "Yes. My Lord Steward would set me in a cage, and he almost did, but for my leaving the City. A messenger is likely on its way now describing my absence."

"No doubt Denethor will be angry," murmurs one of the Prince's other children. "He will seek to remove her from here. What can we do?"

"This is a dilemma," admits Lord Imrahil. "He is my governor, and to him must I submit. He has already called for troops along the River Anduin. And no ill offense to them, or my warrior-sons, but he would prize our Lady here far more than they."

"And word is already out," chimes the same son. "Already my valet tells me that the Lady Captain is a spy of the Steward."

"I am most certainly not!" I say indignantly; by this point I am flushed, and my dress suddenly feels too tight. "I came here of my own accord, seeking succor. Though," I pause, "that does not bode well for him, either."

"Peace, Lady, Amrothos," the Prince implores. "Amariel – for Amariel she must be among kin, you are under no suspicion here, honestly. But we are in a bind. If he calls for your presence, I have no choice but to yield you up to his judgment."

Feeling small, I nod. To return to the City! In shame, and like as not, chains. The Lord Steward bears none as friend.

I see the Prince's third kinsman counting something out on his fingers. By order of elimination, this must be Erchirion.

"If I may so be as to ask," he says, directing a keen gaze to my abdomen, "when did you last lie with your husband?"

"Erchirion!" Elphir reproaches, glaring at him. At least that glare is not directed at me! These children of the Prince are finely tuned for intimidation. "That is bold."

"I'll allow it. I've heard worse in the Healing Houses. But to be sure, make it not a regular question of ladies you converse with." I level Erchirion a similar stare.

He shrugs. "I will not. But when?"

It has been…I try to think of the note-book. "Three months and three weeks, I believe."

"Agh! No! I do not want it!"

My lord husband's screams wake me. I leap from bed, throwing on a dressing gown meant for this purpose, and hurry through a door. He is thrashing about on the floor of the antechamber.

How he got there, I do not know. Last I was aware, he was beside me on the bed, reviewing a final report. Often we were thus. We spent many a conversation going over strategy – I had no head for it, but I was useful for catching details he overlooked.

I fell to sleep in the middle of a question, noting a glimmer of humor in his expression. If there was no love, there was the affection time spent together brought.

The candles on the small table by the door were nearly out. I could smell the wax, their acrid scent a backdrop for what I knew were horrific nightmares.

I bend over my lord, touching him not. He warned me against it the first night we spent together, and I trusted him after he threw a fist in my direction two nights later.

"Come, my lord! It is a dream only!" I call, again and again, until I am nearly shouting. He wakes at last, covered in sweat. His nightshirt is damp, I discover, when his eyes meet mine.

"A dream," he repeats, and his voice is hoarse. I help sit him up, then fetch a canter of water. It is chilled by the cool of the chamber, but that will serve to bring him further away from the darkness.

"What did you dream this time?" I ask, handing over the canter. A mere cup will not do, and from the hoarseness, he will need the whole of the canter.

"I dreamt of a small Man, of desiring to overtake him. I dreamt of an unquenchable fire, and our City falling to ruin. So much fire!" He drinks deeply, and I see through the dim light he is paled almost completely white.

I try to find the right words. It is not the first he has dreamt darkly, nor the last, but they are becoming more frequent as the nights grow longer and the Shadow closer. I cannot reassure him, for I too, feel the fell evil growing.

I break the noise of his swallows by an offer. "I cannot take away the evil, but I can turn your mind from it, at least for a little while. Would you have me do so?"

We were not intimate recently. He was summoned by his father each morning, to review battle plans, plans, he would say to me later, that seemed sound but not enough. Never enough.

He introduced intimacy on our wedding night. I had no objection, knowing my duty, yet he made it more pleasurable than duty by far. It was an agreeable evening pastime for the both of us, as I learned what entranced his attention and he mine.

Despite the intimacy of body and conversation, there is yet lack in our marriage. He remained reserved, a reserve I sought to get beyond, piece by piece. I rearranged our shared bedchamber to suit both our needs – he preferred the sunshine in the mornings, I the starlight in the evenings, so the bed was set nearest the window. His wardrobe was scant, while mine, by necessity of its many pieces of the dresses, was much larger. I used the antechamber for my two wardrobes, so he could have a bedside table brought in for his reports.

I often sent some small token to him, a reminder I thought of him throughout the day. He was receptive to these gifts, I found out, and warmth grew somewhat between us.

It is against one of the wardrobes we now sit. Its oaken wood is a contrast to his pallor. It is better, but not much.

"Would you have me do so?" I ask again, eyeing him closely.

He finishes the canter, wiping his mouth. "I would, but I caution you, it will not be gentle. For I find my heart is heavy and my thoughts anxious."

I am not afraid. In any lovemaking, he is considerate. Gentility aside, he will be aware of my needs, and his - this is where I discover he is an honorable man in every aspect of his life.

I stand, pulling him up with me. He straightens, and I see a gleam of – ferocity, is an apt word, and the best even in memory I can think of to describe the depths of his expression. When I shed my dressing gown, it shines the brighter.

Dawn finds us still abed. I am sore, and roll over as if asleep. Lucky I do – I hear a tenderness of a sudden, one that startles me to tears that, fortunately, stay behind closed lids.

"My lady-wife," he is murmuring. "If I could but tell you all I have dreamt. But I would not have you despair, as I do. Sleep well, Amariel, more sweetly than myself."

He wraps his arms around me, and his breath is warm upon my neck. It evens, and he and I slumber some more.

"A good memory?" The family is eyeing me with mild grins.

I shake myself. "You could say that," I answer with a tentative smile of my own. I could, too, I think. It was the beginning of a period of far more affection he had shown me since we married. Too brief – hardly a week passes ere he spoke of the errand his father bid him take.

As attention is brought to my abdomen, I can now rest my hands freely upon it. "I do not know if I carry a boy or girl," I caution. "I do not recall a living daughter in the line of the stewards."

Erchirion finishes counting. "I might have a plan, but it depends on some other news. Is there else you would have from us, your kinsmen?"

He emphasizes 'your kinsmen', and at last, tension bleeds from my shoulders. I am among family here.

The weight of their gazes is heavy with significance. If the line of the Stewards is supplanted, what does that say for the future kingship? I knew the line of the Stewards as well as anyone in Gondor. Being under Lord Denethor's tutelage as his married daughter, I also knew that the stewardship would be difficult to wrest from him if for no other reason than his belief in his own will.

"I would seek counsel on one other matter," I say slowly. "There came a messenger in the last sennight that brought word of the Dunedain to the north. Is there truth to the rumors of a king, and this 'grey company'?"

All food is ignored at my latest question. I know I have long since taken a bite.

The Lord Prince responds first. "We, too, have messengers of the Dunedain visiting. As a matter of fact," his lips train upward, "you traveled with one here."

What?

"But they were farmers!" I say, amazed.

"The kingdom of the North has many warriors, but a kingdom is also its people. Think they not have need for food, and the bearing of children?"

The air is lightened by the jest. It comes at my expense, but as I am too relieved at sharing my heart's unease, I am not too upset. "No sir, they simply spring from the ground!" I jest in return.

"I'm afraid I cannot answer that question to-night – the moon has risen, and I must confer with Almog how much I may reveal. But let us convene again on the morrow," he says, more seriously. "Perhaps by then, we can solve this dilemma of your presence."

I get to my feet stiffly, and so do the rest. "Lothiriel, if you do not mind accompanying the good Lady back to her rooms? She is in the Sunset Shell chambers."

"It has a name?" I ask her, as we disperse. The men go ostensibly to make plans, judging from Erchirion's words. Their voices fade as Lothiriel leads me through the maze of corridors. Sconces in the walls are lit, their flames friendly.

Lothiriel chuckles. "They are nicknames. This part of the palace was formerly only guesthouses. When Father's father added more wings at the back, we had to start naming portions so as not to get lost." She describes other rooms for me, including a nursery. Pointedly, I think, and I catch a note of yearning. But any question is lost when she says she has her own research to do.

She bids me good-night at the door, reassuring me, "We will think of something. You need not worry, Lady Amariel."

Despite my earlier naps, I find the bed needful and cool. I brush away the maids after they unlace me, seeking my own thoughts.

The Prince and his family – my family – have been much more than kind. I have been made welcome. With that thought, I rest and dream.

-to be continued-