As Aragorn trundled into the stables with the bridle and saddle from the last horse, he allowed his rage to vent, kicking a booted foot into a large bale of hay. It sent a plume of scattered straw across the floor. He sighed deeply and scrubbed one hand over his face.
It was only two hours after midday, but he felt that a weeks worth of patience had been utterly spent. The dwarves had arrived at the rendezvous point three hours late. Aragorn had not minded, for it gave him a chance to spend some much-needed time with his beloved Arwen. When the dwarves arrived, they insisted upon taking a hour to rest their aching bodies. When Aragorn suggested that they ride the extra horses that had been brought along, the dwarves refused, making several unrepeatable comments about the worthiness of elven horses. When the group finally moved on to Rivendell, they moaned and complained the whole way there. Arwen had offered to take some of their baggage on the horse with her.
Again they refused stating outright that they did not trust her.
Truly Aragorn was livid. It was only the Arwen's soothing presence and manner that had kept his dagger away from the dwarfs' backs'. It was beyond his comprehension why Elrond would seek to include them in this undertaking, for when last the dwarves were faced with the tasked with challenging Sauron, they fled into their caves, and buried their heads in the hope that when they resurfaced, the threat would have receded. But who was Aragorn to question the Elf-lord's judgement, for Elrond had a knowledge accumulated over millennia and the wisdom of a thousand men.
"You are very angry." It was a neither a question nor an accusation, merely an observation. It carried on the sweet sound of his lover's voice. He turned to see Arwen standing in the doorframe. She had changed her clothes, for they had travelled along muddy ground. Somehow, despite all the frustration and irritation of the morning, she retained that ethereal, serene quality that seemed inherent in all elven folk.
There were many times when Aragorn felt that his own limited patience and tolerance was completely inadequate when compared with these qualities so enduring in her kind.
"Yes. I am angered at their rudeness and their stubbornness. I am angered that they would willingly let your kind fight their war and accept you hospitality so readily, only to insult your customs and offend your sensibilities. And most of all I am angry at myself for not having a self-restraint equal in measure to yours. For my short comings, I apologise most humbly!"
Arwen smirked at him, raising one eyebrow in response to his ravings.
"Are you quite finished?" He nodded, returning the same knowing smile.
"Good. I am glad that you have expelled that deep rage from you mind, for I could see that it has accumulated since we departed." She strolled over to him casually, and circled him slowly. She stopped when she stood side by side with him. Without warning, she tilted his face toward hers with her fingertips. She looked deep into his dark eyes, still flashing with emotion.
"You have nothing to apologise for. You hold my heart just as you are. If I yearned for the qualities of an elf, I would have fallen in love with an elf. I have not done so because it is your sweet heart that has so captured my own."
As so often happened when he was with her, words seemed so utterly insufficient. There was no response to such a unashamed declaration, so Aragorn leaned in and captured her soft lips with his own, tasting her and breathing in her scent.
As quickly as she had pounced on him, she drew back. Shaking her head disapprovingly, she held one hand against his broad chest, as though she was
fending him off.
"There will be time enough for that later. You must wash and change, for we have meal to attend. Set aside your frustration with the Dwarves for the moment, and come and enjoy the company of friends, new and old."
**********
Arwen took the offered hand of her beloved and they entered the large, exquisitely decorated dining hall together. Already the group of men from Gondor had gathered at the far end of the long table. In one corner, Lord Celeborn and her father sat, deep in conversation, though the remainder of the Lorién elves seemed not to have yet arrived. As they stood surveying the scene, Arwen heard the heavy footfall of what could only be the group of Mori_ dwarves, for no other beings at Rivendell could produce such a sound.
She led Aragorn over to where her father sat. Elrond and Celeborn stood to greet them. Both elves bowed formally in greeting and Arwen and Aragorn returned the gesture.
Elrond gestured to Aragorn with a smile.
"Lord Celeborn of Lothlorién. Aragorn, son of Arathorn." Celeborn smiled and extended his hand in greeting. Aragorn smiled in return, for it always amazed him how the elves made the effort to be aware of the customs of other races.
"I believe that you are also heir to the Thrones of Gondor. It is indeed a great honour to meet a descendant of the great Elendil." Aragorn merely inclined his head at the compliment.
Sensing her lover's discomfort, Arwen drew the conversation to matters more
mundane.
"Will Gandalf and the Hobbits be joining us, father?
"I believe that Gandalf will, but Frodo is not yet recovered, and his companions rest with him, for they will not leave his side."
And so they sat, in companionable conversation, for long had it been since Arwen had last seen Celeborn, and longer still since Aragorn had met him.
Not minutes later, Legolas and Nephryn joined them. Many in the hall stood upon their arrival, for to the dwarves and men and even to some of the elves, they were strangers, and so regal in appearance that it seemed some mark of respect was due. Legolas had donned robes of silver and green, and a wreath of wrought of elegant silver. Beside him, Nephryn stood, as though she was his beloved queen. Equally fair they were, but Legolas stood half a head taller next to Nephryn for while she was tall by the standards of Woodland elves, only Gandalf bettered Legolas in height. They seemed to be the perfect match to all who observed. Legolas in elegant green and silver, his hair the colour of white gold while Nephryn in blue, stood in contrast with her raven tresses. It was a sight such that elves rarely saw.
With a slight wave of his had, Elrond beckoned them near. When they arrived, Aragorn bowed deeply for although Nephryn had now spent neigh on three days at Rivendell, she had never met Aragorn and he had only seen her injured and insentient.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn- " He did not get the chance to finish his introduction for Nephryn had interrupted him.
"The last descendant of Elendil!" She breathed in awe. The whole group looked at her in surprise, for though all knew of Aragorn's true identity, it was had not moved beyond the five present, and they had faith that Legolas had not revealed the well-guarded fact.
Elrond raised an eyebrow and regarded her carefully as he spoke.
"Indeed it is true. But tell me, how did you know this, for long has this identity been well kept."
"I did not know until now. During my studies with the Lady Galadriél, I was tasked with tracing the descendants of the last of the Numenoréans. I had traced the line to Arador, and some questionable records had suggested that he bore a son, who was known in by elves as Ethris. This translates to the Westron Arathorn. Therefore you, Aragorn are by blood the last descendant of Elendil."
All eyes were fixed on the Elf-maid, for it seemed that all, save perhaps Arwen, had underestimated the young apprentice. She had derived this truth where thousands, both elves and men, had failed. And though long she had suffered recently, her flair for lore and history had not diminished.
Arwen finally smiled, taking her friend's hands in her own.
"It seems that you great intellect has remained steadfast, for you have surprised the wisest and most knowledgeable elves of the Western Shores."
Nephryn merely nodded her thanks, for she could see that though they were impressed by her deductions, they were equally aware that the truth was now divided and less guarded.
"I presume that this fact is not widely known, and that perhaps you would wish this to remain so?" She murmured quietly.
"We do. It will be revealed to all at the council in due course, but for now we believe that such knowledge, if it fell into the wrong hands, could put any hope of defeating Sauron into doubt."
Elrond spoke seriously, as though trying to impress upon the elf-maid the importance of the secret, but in truth something in the girl's demeanour compelled Elrond to believe that knew more of the current situation and its weight than anyone had told her. He trusted her instinctively, as he would his kindred.
"We shall speak further on this later. Come let us eat." Elrond lead his guests to the long table for the last of the visitors had arrived.
As he watched the mysterious Nephryn, Aragorn knew that, had Legolas not accompanied her, he would never have thought her one and the same with the elf that was rescued days previously. It was as though her brief stay at Rivendell had revived the ethereal qualities in her; such as he had only ever seen in Undomiél and Galadriél. He could see now, as the fair elf-prince escorted her to the table, that she stooped slightly from her full height, as though protecting her wounds from further injury.
As he sat, he felt Arwen's hand squeeze his own. She smiled at him, and as though she were reading his face like an open book, she reassured him quietly.
"Do not fear that your secret lies now with Nephryn. I believed that it would only be a matter of time before she would guess or be told. She is wise and brave, and she will guard it as she has all the knowledge of Lorién, with her very life."
Arwen's unfailing trust in her friend did ease Aragorn's fears, though his dread of the days ahead could not be fully allayed. He had lived all his life as 'Strider', or as 'Estel' the elven name bestowed upon him by Elrond. He was not sure if he was ready or able to live the role of a true and great leader, such as his ancestors were regarded.
On the far side of the table, Legolas regarded Aragorn's worrisome expression. Legolas knew that it was in part due to Nephryn's revelations, but also because of the upcoming council. Beside him, Nephryn leaned in close and whispered to him, her soft breaths tickling his ear.
"He may not believe in himself, but he has the manner and countenance of a great leader. He may fear his ability, but he has no reason to doubt himself." Legolas smiled at this, for he along with Arwen and all who knew his true identity could also see this.
"Indeed, but long has Aragorn believed himself to be below many things, even before his true destiny was revealed to him. I do not understand it, for he is a fine warrior, and a man of considerable intelligence and knowledge." Nephryn's hand, entwined in his, tightened as she relaxed into her seat.
"Fear not for I believe that, when he accepts his fate and his ability to fulfil the tasks that lie therein, he shall be a King unlike anything the West has seen in millennia." Legolas looked at the beautiful maid on his arm as she spoke, and his saw the belief in her words behind her sparkling eyes, and heard the longing in her voice that that day would come soon.
"Tell me, what other skills do you have that I do not know of?"
Nephryn seemed to consider this question with more effort than it was due, as though it was difficult to address.
"I know many things, which might be considered talents by others, but that I regard as duties and inherited traits. I trained as an apprentice with Galadriél for most of my life. While she taught me ancient elven magic, I schooled myself in the history of the first and second ages, less for my education and more because it interested me. When her father sent the Lady Arwen to Lorién, we became fast friends. Though I never met her brothers, they taught her tracking and bow skills, and she in turn passed these on to me."
Legolas smiled at this, barely able to imagine the slight elf yield a knife, much less a longbow. Nephryn mistook his expression for one of doubt of her skills.
"You do not believe I am a skilled archer?" Legolas raised his hands in a gesture of retreat.
"Of course I believe you. Its just that in your current state, you can barely carry yourself, let alone armour and weapons." She nodded, accepting his observations as truths rather than a slight on her abilities.
"Perhaps tomorrow, before the council takes you from me, we can practice." Legolas grasped her hands with his own, his eyes dancing with delight at the prospect of accompanying her on a track.
"If we survive the night, and rise in the morning, I will show you my weapons and we may practice."
"I will hold you to that promise Prince Legolas!" At this he smiled, shaking his head at her determination.
"From you I would expect no less."
**********
At the head of the table Elrond, Celeborn and Gandalf sat in quite conference. Though the mood over the table seemed easy, there were wary glances amongst the Wood elves and the dwarves, and Boromir, though engaged in conversation with two of his own company, continued to cast a wary eye toward Aragorn. It seemed to the three that only Legolas and Nephryn seemed oblivious to the tense cloud that had descended above the group.
"Nephryn appears to have improved quickly, astonishingly so in fact." Gandalf observed from his vantage. Though he had not spoken to nor even been introduced to the elf, he had observed her progress from afar upon hearing of the strange mark. The wizard had suspicions that the mark was more than just a symbol branded into her skin, for never had he seen an elf recover so quickly from a wound such as the one she had suffered.
Indeed it had been such a wound suffered by Elrond's wife, Celebrían that had forced her to cross the seas to the Undying Lands. Gandalf concluded that the mark must have had some impact on Nephryn's rapid recovery.
He voiced these quietly to the two Elf-lords before him now. Both seemed to consider his theory carefully.
"It is true that she has recovered remarkably quickly. Frodo is still quite weakened." Elrond intoned in a hushed voice.
"Is it possibly that the presence of a certain young Elf-prince has had some impact on Nephryn's recuperation?" Celeborn gestured to the pair subtly as he spoke.
Gandalf looked observed the two once more. They sat side by side, and while there remained a respectable distance between them at all times, the elf-maid's fingers lingered, entwined in Legolas's own. They spoke in soft voices, the words of the one drawing a smile from the other all the time. Gandalf could see that Nephryn still held one arm close to wound always, but other than that she seemed completely relaxed.
"Certainly it could be the case that if a broken heart can kill an elf, the a broken heart restored could cure one. But while I have always been a firm believer in the power of emotion, I cannot ignore the facts. When she arrived her three days ago, you Elrond yourself believed that she would not survive the night, and yet here she stands before us."
Elrond frowned at this observation and what it implied about the young Elf-maid.
Was she not to be trusted? Surely the fact that she very nearly died at the hands of Sauron suggested that she could be trusted. Celeborn looked distinctly uncomfortable at the implied suggestions, for the young Elf was as a daughter to
him.
Gandalf appeared to see that this line of conversation could be better pursued at a later time.
"Alas, let us forget these dark thoughts for one night. The chance to so do is not likely to come to us again soon."
But Celeborn had one other matter to resolve before continuing.
"Lord Elrond if you agree, as soon as it is deemed safe, I would like to send Nephryn back to Lothlorién. I fear for her safety here, for it shall not be long before she will wish to venture beyond your safekeeping again." Elrond nodded his head in agreement, taking a sip of his wine before answering.
"Though it will upset Arwen, I believe the elf's expertise and knowledge can best be put to use with the Lady of Lorién. The scouts will take a week, perhaps ten days to scout the way to Lorién. After that I will grant you as many as I can spare to accompany her there."
Celeborn accepted this with a deep bow of his head.
They turned the conversation then attention to Bilbo Baggins, who was quite happy to amuse all the guests with stories of his adventures throughout Middle Earth.
The meal proceeded long into the night, and there was no more talk of the Ring, nor of issues regarding Sauron. The dawn was broken when all had settled for the night. While interaction between most of the groups had limited, there had been no conflict. As he retired to his bed, Gandalf was greatly thankful for this, for in the coming weeks and months, there would likely be nothing but conflict and bloody war.
**********
Before retiring to his own bed, Elrond summoned Aragorn to his study. He was seated in front of a blazing hearth between two carven pillars, when Aragorn at last arrived. Elrond had shed the glorious robes he had worn during the meal, and now seat in his throne wearing a light silver tunic. He had also removed the silver chaplet that he had worn. Though Aragorn knew that elves did not need sleep or rest in the conventional sense that mortals did, the wise Elf-lord seemed worn and weary as he sat. The flickering flames played shadows on his face, making the dips and falls of the fair-faced elf seem greater, and so older.
"You wished to speak with me?" Aragorn spoke at last.
Elrond turned at the sound of his voice. Aragorn knew that the elf had heard him enter, but so lost in thought was he that his presence had not registered with the elf. With a wave of his hand, Elrond beckoned the man before him. Aragorn obliged and sat slowly on a chair opposite him.
"Though the council has yet to convene, I would like the Dunedáin to scout the route from here to Lothlorién tomorrow. Is this possible?" Aragorn nodded slowly, but the in light of all that was happening, it seemed a strange request.
"It is possible start tonight if you so wish, but surely it is better to wait until matters have been discussed and decided at the council, for all who remain at Rivendell are safe for the time being."
Elrond nodded at this, but there was a shadow in his eyes that betrayed some other event that Aragorn did not know of.
The seeming troubled Elf-lord spoke at last.
"Lord Celeborn has asked me to send Nephryn Istriél back to Lorién as soon as it is deemed safe, preferably before the council is convened."
Aragorn considered this for a long time. Though he had spoken only few words to the Elf-maid, she seemed to him to be a being of great knowledge and intellect, for she had deduced that which had eluded thousands before her. If, however, Celeborn thought that Rivendell has not a safe haven for Nephryn, why too did Elrond not send Arwen with her? He voiced his question to Elrond.
"While Celeborn insists that Lorién would be safer for Nephryn, Gandalf also believes that the elf's rapid recuperation is linked to the Ring and the mysterious mark on her arm. Since she long dwelt under Sauron's thumb, Gandalf feels that her presence may put the security of the Ring at risk."
Aragorn looked anguished at the thought. "Do you believe that she is a servant of Sauron, sent to ascertain the whereabouts of the Ring?"
"No!" Elrond stood abruptly, as though to cease the words before they came.
"Far from it! In fact her knowledge and abilities coupled with the appearance of this symbol, may well be our salvation. Gandalf feels, and I tend to agree, that Galadriél could best decipher what her destiny in all of this is. Clearly she is implicated, for if Sauron had taken her merely to gain knowledge, he would have dispensed with her rather than hold onto her."
Aragorn stood and bowed.
"I will prepare to ride come the morn. The scout will take two days. I will return in time for the council."
"Aragorn!" Elrond's call stopped the man as he walked toward the door.
"For the sake of my daughter and for the fate of all Middle Earth, be sure to return safe." Aragorn nodded solemnly and departed.
The glowing embers of the hearth had dulled to a sullen brown, and the chill dawn air lingered near the windows. Elrond now had the gravest of tasks now, for he must inform the young Elf-prince that the elf-maid that he had come to care so deeply for in the last days would depart Rivendell soon, and it was possible that they might never again lay eyes on one another.
If it happened that the matter of the Ring could be laid to rest quickly, and without bloodshed perhaps there would be a reunion, by the likelihood of such a resolution was small. Elrond knew this, as would the intelligent elf. But if Legolas cared for Nephryn as deeply as it appeared, he would see that though the parting would be bittersweet, it was the best and safest course of action. If worst came to worst, and Sauron came to power again, Lothlorién would be one of the last strongholds to fall, and Nephryn would be safe until it did.
When Elrond arrived at the Elf-prince's room, Legolas was nowhere to be found, and when he checked Nephryn's room, he saw that she slept alone, in peace. As Elrond walked across the terrace, past the gardens, he spied the lost elf.
Legolas sat on a branch that bowed down into the Bruinen. So still and so quiet was he that Elrond would have missed him had he not been contemplating a walk through the gardens. He descended slowly into the peaceful grounds. The grey morning sky hung low over the mountains and the one tall peak broke through the cloud like tooth tipped in snow. Though light-footed and nimble, Elrond's approached did not go unnoticed by Legolas, for renowned was the prince for his acute and honed tracking skills.
"It is late for you Lord Elrond." Legolas spoke without turning to face him.
"Something troubles you, other than the obvious concerns of course, else you would not seek refuge from your own thoughts here at this quiet place."
Elrond peered at him in the dim light. Legolas did not smile or frown and the accuracy of his observations went unseen to the elf. Elrond strolled over to him, standing now between the elf and the gurgling river, such that Legolas could now see Elrond's face. Though he did not outwardly react to it, Legolas could see plainly written on the Elf-lord's face that there was something that weighed on his thoughts.
"I would speak to you regarding Nephryn." Elrond spoke at last.
"Celeborn has asked me to send her to Lorién when scouts return with news of the safety of the path. I am in agreement with his view that it would be safer for
her there."
But Legolas, just as Aragorn, could not be fooled, and so Elrond had to recount to the elf, Gandalf's observations on the matter. There was discord written plainly on the younger elf's face. It was this that confirmed to Elrond that there had grown a strong bond between Legolas and the captivating Elf-maid.
"It is true that never before have I met anyone quite like her. When she is at her full health she will be a great asset in the war against the Dark powers. But I will miss her company greatly, though I do not understand why. Our time spent together has been counted in hours, not days or months. To elves this is but a moment in a single grain from a life that is measured in barrels. But I do not doubt the sincerity or depth of my feelings for her, but I cannot think from whence they came."
Elrond smiled kindly at the young elf, for in his many years Elrond had witnessed love, long and short-lived and truly the most eternal was that which was recognised in a moment. Such was the way for he and his wife Celebrían, though long had they now been parted by cruel fate, and it was the way for Aragorn and Arwen.
"In my experience, the greatest and deepest loves are predetermined, and so those for whom it is their destiny do tend to know and accept it without hesitation."
At this Legolas looked up at him in surprise and jumped down to stand eye to eye with the elf-lord.
"You believe that we are destined to be together?" Elrond held up his hand, trying to quell the hope that shone in Legolas's eyes.
"I believe that if your feelings are true, and I think they are, that you are destined to love each other. But you and I know well that that does not necessarily mean that you will be together. If woe befalls our cause, it is possible that you will never see Nephryn again, as will be the case for many.
But let your feelings for each other sustain you through the next weeks and months, for little else will."
Elrond started to walk away from Legolas, satisfied that he had convinced the elf-prince of what had to be done, when he stopped and turned to Legolas.
"You have one day, two at most. Do not squander this time, for it may be the
last for a long time."
Elrond turned on his heel then, leaving Legolas in silence save for the soothing burble of the river.
**********
When Boromir retired to his room, there was an immense weariness in him that weighed his limbs and clouded his mind. His long journey was finally at an end.
He had found the mysterious Imladris and within the even more enigmatic Elrond.
His strange dreams were given partial meaning, though he suspected that in the
coming days there would be further explanation.
The room was larger than that to which he was accustomed. He sat on the bed and began to remove his heavier outer clothing. He removed his leathern tunic and cloak, and removed they heavy steel-toed boots. He lay back on the bed and allowed a slow breath seep from his body. The tiredness that came over him was not a battle-worn weariness that was often accompanied by restless mind and limbs, but a feeling of comfort and well-being.
Though the sun had risen and now cast pale yellow shades across early morning clouds, Rivendell, nestled at the foot of tall mountains lay bathed in an eerie light that was a mixture of silvery moonlight and pale gold of the Elanor bloom. There was silence interspersed with the murmur of flowing water, and in the background the clear sweet sound of elves in song.
Boromir thought back to the various beings he had encountered on the day of the end of his long search. Elrond was truly the illustrious elf-lord spoken of in the lore of the fist and second age. Boromir found it difficult to grasp that Elrond had seen millennia of the history of the Western lands. He had fought beside the noble heroes of old: Gilgalad, Elendil, Isildur, Círdan. He carried with him the expertise and knowledge of thousands of years. And yet, to the stranger, he appeared only slightly older than Boromir himself. Time took no toll on his body, but behind Elrond's eyes of clear evening grey Boromir saw the memories of many things both glad and sorrowful. He was a king crowned with many winters, and no doubt when men repeated mistakes of old over and over, Elrond watched in pity.
Then there was his striking daughter Arwen, whose heart it seemed was captured by a mere mortal such as himself. Though they had never openly displayed their affection, Boromir's shrewd eyes caught the way they inclined toward each other.
When they conversed, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. Not only in those too did he see this, but also in the mysterious Legolas and his beautiful companion. Boromir's shrewd eyes missed neither the way that their gazes locked nor the way the elf-maid carried her arm over some unseen wound. The Elf-prince appeared highly protective of her, as though she was frail or weak. As an immortal elf though, the elf maid was stronger than Boromir himself. It seemed that there was more to that particular pair than first met the eye.
He felt his eyelids droop, as though leaden weights were strung from his eyelashes. Unbidden eyes slipped closed and his mind wandered to the paths of dreams. His breathing slowed and his grasp on his dagger slowly released, though some rational thought caused him to place it near his side.
The silence and stillness of his being engulfed him and a spinning sensation began to take hold as his body stopped completely for the first time in many weeks. Images flashed randomly before his eyes, and though his unseeing mind caught them, his brain was slow to assign recognition to each image. Elves and strangers reeled madly through his brain, people and beings that he knew not of. Some were in the instance at which Boromir had first met them; elves in Elrond's throne room and courtyard; Arwen's unknown companion, with his dark eyes and suspicious air; Legolas and his Nephryn in the gardens. Without warning the scene shifted and his mind's eye fell on a single being standing alone in a hazy mist. The figure was tall and slender, shrouded in a dark unadorned cloak, appearing perhaps to be an elven maid. It turned to meet his eyes, and he saw that it was Nephryn, though she was alone and appeared heavily scarred as though wounded from battle. She looked down at her midsection and his eyes followed. To him horror he saw there a dagger, buried to the hilt deep into her abdomen. Her hands were awash with blood. When he looked back to her face, he saw that it had morphed into that of a seeming young boy. Much smaller he was, than the elf-maid, and he too donned the same unassuming cloak. Though Boromir could not see any wound, the boy's hands were stained with blood, but it was darker now, as though it had dried to a sickly burnt black on his hands. Before Boromir had a chance to glimpse his face again, in the hopes of recognising him, the small tainted hands clouded over, and when clarity returned, there before him were a large pair of steel gloves, as those that were worn in battle. They were shaped into fists and though it seemed that they were empty, as the slowly rotated,
Boromir caught a flash of silver. As the gnarled armoured fingers uncurled, he could see in one palm the bloodstained knife and in the other a small ring that glowed as though the fire of the sun burned beneath it. Suddenly, the hand bearing the ring rushed toward his face. Boromir's mind imagined the searing pain that came from the steel hand that now glowed a white-blue. A scream rose up his throat, and only as he sat up abruptly, realising his whereabouts, did he manage to quell the reflex. A quivering hand went to his face, in search of scorched welts. The pads of his fingers found only rough skin, and as he licked his lips he tasted coppery blood from where he had bitten down in fear.
Boromir swung he legs off, and as he stumbled toward the door to the terrace beyond his room, he pulled roughly at the clasps of his tunic, pulling them apart as he struggled out of the garment. With a gasp, he burst out from the seeming molten heat of his room into the biting early morn air. As he sucked in deep breaths, the chill bit deep in his chest, and the cool breeze clung to the sheen of sweat on his bare torso. Boromir leaned heavily on the wrought iron rail, the damp air whetting the walls of his arid throat.
Though his senses had come to him quickly, Boromir's racing heart and shuddering limbs could not be soothed. Returning briefly to his room to pull around him his heavy, fur-lined cloak, Boromir sat on the cold stone floor of the terrace in silence until his frenzied shaking subsided. There he lay in a dazed stupor, until weak sunlight began to trickle through the dips and peaks of the mountains to light the dark reaches of his soul and ease the cold fear that filled his heart.
**********