Disclaimer: I own nothing, but enjoy the world of Lord of the Rings as much as the next person.
Author's Note: Not what was expected, is it? Yet Amariel assures me this is how she told the story to the prince.
Warnings: AU. Boromir/OC. AUish elements.
The Captain's Wife
I set my chin, daring myself to continue. I am no longer held in the illusion I once held of romance, even if only I knew it.
For the next several years, Mother teaches me all she knows about courtly love, wooing, and dressing, she says, fit for a Lady. I am not thrilled; I much preferred the simple daywear I wore about with Randir. But she is firm and I cannot dissuade her. As a result, we are often at odds. I withdraw into my own strength, missing my brother all the while. I feel the weight of her eyes and judgment, and lose my young liveliness, molding it into a pretty mask, a graceful curtsy, the swish of a fan at my hip.
Father, meanwhile, teaches me at night, when the candles are long and his business quiet. He shows me ledgers, of numbers and goods alike. "We serve the people," he says with pride, and with the firelight on his brow, I see what Randir could have been.
My pillow is wet with tears for many nights, but as I grow older, I grow stronger.
The Court is alight with gossip when I debut - not just with a blue gown sewn by Mother, but a quill case at my shoulder. "So Mannish," say the beauties, with envy in their mouths; my gown was the only gown like it at the White Court ("not for nothing my Mother prided herself at her sewing," I say to Erchirion. "She truly is the best seamstress.") My supposed manliness was not a new rumor when Lady Carmendil spread it about - it was as old as my Court existence.
But I strive to meet my Father's excellence, and with time and experience, I do. I listen at balls, for rumors of battle, trades, and marriages. I flirt with my fan, as Mother instructs. I attend visitations among the upper Circles with Father, sitting in on negotiations. It is me and him, or no trade, and he grows a reputation of being the most judicious and unbending of the upper Circle's merchants.
"We profit, and my little sister, Mirwen, is born. Father is proud again, for she grows beautiful in a way I am not. She takes after Mother in coloring, but Father in his intelligence. And fiercely, I protect her and learn her in the same ways Mother taught me.
"When the lords Boromir and Faramir return, it is at a ball to which I am in attendance, but not as a maiden.
It is at business with my Father, and I trail behind him with ink staining my gloves and gown. It does not bother me, nor the whispers that follow. The servants will manage, as they have for years, and I have another (in my youth, I pay little attention to those that serve me.)
"It is not with the lords themselves that Father meets, but their attendants. The lords require personal items, and I do not blush to hear of them. After all, I am a woman of Court: who among us did not know the lovering and sly manipulations of "being caught" with a man of their choosing? Who did not know the freedom to be had by the men in laying with a woman, but the women blamed for whom he chose? ("I do not slight my husband or his brother, prince," when I see Erchirion bristle at the implication. "In fact, I would not be surprised if those items were ordered at Lord Denethor's insistence. He wanted – wants – an Heir to the Stewradship.")
"I did not know it, but this was the meeting that precipitates my fate as the 'Captain's Wife'. The lords are present at the ball - as they are at many, when they came of age, thrown to the wolves - otherwise known as the hungry mamas and Ladies alike.
"Yet for all I know I am ignorant," I wryly remember, flushing at the memories of my husband's touch. In the present, I trace the moss before me, reveling in its softness. I care not for the dampness, as it soaks my current dress; I know it will dry rapidly in the heavy air.
"For you see," I finish, "it was precisely because of my staidness my parents sought to marry me. I was not bothered by what we ordered, not after my mix-up with the pigskins, nor my continued presence with the quill and pen. In fact, I love still the odors of fresh ink and vellum, and my Father often retrieved me from the upper stacks of the Court library when he had need of me. I did not pursue men with the tenacity others of my age were known for; my interest lay in learning, in keeping both Father and Mother proud.
"You may have heard of me called cold, or reserved, or even distant, but I am grateful for it. And it has been of use in the Houses, even as the battles have grown closer." I do not have to elaborate, not to the battle-hardened warrior before me.
The waters begin to lap as the hours wane; "the tide is coming in," Erchirion notes absently. The ocean is darker, and it is at Erchirion has said - I can see a shift in color and oppressiveness with time: the air is darker, but with the sun having set, a fraction cooler.
The prince finally stirs, shifting his legs to stretch them before him. They are long, lean, the complete opposite of my husband. "Why then, the revelation of my sister and Father?" He rubs his beard in curiosity.
"I did not understand the lengths to which I would be useful and not loved," I answer. And I relay to him my bitter parting with my lord Boromir, and I flush again. I lift my gaze to the horizon, longing to be - elsewhere.
"I have a heart, and it is a disappointed one," I sigh. "For I know we have affection between us, yet I want more. And we did not part with that betwixt."
I toss a clump of moss aside, far from my fiddling. The earth beneath is damp, and nearly black. Worms wriggle beneath, searching for escape. How fitting.
"If it is as I fear, then we have parted in bitterness, and not love; like Mother taught me, I hold to the belief that bitterness brings ill luck. And as you said, I am here, and my husband…"
I drift off, staring away at the deep horizon, not wanting to meet the gaze of the prince. I know grief, guilt, and fear are worn openly amongst soldiers, but amongst the Court women, it is malice, manipulation and distrust, coated in darkened lashes and paint. Not for the first time, I weep quietly, letting the tears fall, mixing with the cold dampness of my legs.
"Such disheartenment," he says quietly. "and yet, such hope." The moss I have tossed aside is replaced, the worms moved gently with calloused fingers. His nails are dirty too, and I wonder if he has bathed.
"Hope?" I ask, forlornly. "I lost it the moment I knew I was recognized in your home."
"Did you not seek help? Did you not challenge your position, strike out for your heart? I find such light and strength as befits the word. Come, Lady Amariel. It is not for idle despair that you have come thus far."
"Nor is it only for the Heir." He brings my hand to my belly. The babe moves within, and we both cannot resist a smile, if tinged with sadness. "You hold to hope though you do not know it. And I believe your husband does, as well." He drops his hand and gestures out to where my gaze follows the horizon.
"For, if your memory is correct, he carries the Song with him, does he not?"
My heart beats faster at the thought. "Yet he did not bid me farewell."
"If I may speak boldly, it is because he fears for you he spared you a close farewell. Darkness brings the desire to protect, and I suspect our Captain of Gondor desires, above all, to protect you.
"How many dark dreams did he dream? Of how many did speak?"
I stand up restlessly, remembering. "He spoke of a few. None concerned me." I say, rubbing my arms. I am chilled by the remembrance, the nights I spent waking him, and his eyes growing wearier by the day.
"None he told you." The prince calls after me as I hurry away, worn by what I revealed to him. "I would fain believe it is because he does not want the Darkness to take you."
"How would you know? How would you know of Love?" I whirl around. My skirts cling; again am I reminded of my dream, the stuck-ness, the inability to take care of whom I love. "Is my heart so transparent?" I am indignant, prideful, wounded, afraid. Afraid to hope, afraid to stir my longing deeper than it already aches.
The prince rises from his place, brushing off dark earth and a stray worm. He is steady, patient."Because, my Lady Captain, I love too where I will - similar to your brother."
-to be continued-