Early May, 3018
"Have you sent word?"
"Yes. She should receive the message late tonight, arriving tomorrow afternoon. Though, I assume she will send the healers straightaway out of necessity, as per usual."
"As it should be. All's well."
Removing his gloves, Boromir sat on the ruined stone by the ramparts of the large building in which he rested. He set down his sword and sighed with satisfaction, pleased with the knowledge that decisive victory had finally come after such long and bloody battle. Running a hand through his dark hair, his thoughts moved to the past two weeks and what they could come to mean for the future of his country. It had been an arduous time of constant fighting, and he was glad it was over, at least for the time being. For while he eagerly met his foes in such battle, taking pride and honor in defending the greatest city of Gondor and its people, whom he loved without question, he hated to see his forces decimated beyond repair. And while that had not happened this time, due to the combined will and wit of he and his brother, he knew in his heart such a thing could easily occur the next time if they were not cautious. Thus, they could not take this victory for granted; they must soon begin plans for defense of the outer regions, hopefully driving back Sauron's forces once and for all. Only then could light and beauty come back to the country he loved.
Next to Boromir stood Faramir, leaning on his longbow, one foot resting on the mound of smashed stones at his feet as he overlooked the ancient stone ramparts, his sea-grey eyes quickly scanning the scene below. Thousands of men ambled back in forth in the ruined, war-torn Osgiliath, their campfires dotting the landscape as they shouted relieved greetings to each other, searched for missing friends, and gathered their wits and weapons about them; generally the things men are want to do after a victorious battle, especially true in this case when such a thing proved so hard fought and hard earned. Faramir's eye wandered over to the makeshift tents, home to the wounded, their cries of pain and injury echoing into the night. The sound pulled at him, his heart filling with pity at those who had made such great sacrifices and now paid for it with their pain, and in many cases, their lives. With a steady sigh, he thought to the future, hoping that his people would live to see the shadow lifted, the magnificence and splendor of old return to their country. It was that to which he looked forward to the most, richer than any reward any man could hope to grant him.
"Why do you do sigh so, brother?" Boromir asked, opening his eyes, battling back the sudden wave of exhaustion that crept upon him.
"I only wish it were tomorrow, 'tis all," Faramir replied quietly as he looked over the ramparts, still studying the scene below him, his shoulders hunched in concern.
"As do I. But she will arrive soon enough. She always does."
"You're right. She worries too much not to," Faramir replied, voice suddenly becoming less serious as he turned to face his brother, a slight grin on his face. "You remember how long she took to say her goodbyes a fortnight ago?" he finished.
"I think she acquired that gift from watching you," Boromir replied, his own smile matching his brother's as readjusted his position, sitting up straighter. "One can never have too many people to worry over them, though," he added seriously.
"I cannot argue with that."
"We should go down to them," Boromir said after a long pause, standing and taking a place next Faramir, he too studying the scene below them. "Make the proper arrangements and such…"
"Aye," Faramir replied, looking to his brother, studying his face has he scanned the crowd. "You can never stand to be away from them too long, can you?" he asked softly. Boromir was silent for a few moments, eyes still scanning the crowd as his picked out some of his lieutenants, glad to see that at least some still lived.
"Can you?" he quietly countered.
"No."
"They fight for us, for home. It is the least I can do."
"As can I."
"Then it is answered. Shall we?" he nodded towards the ancient and worn stone steps leading down to the courtyard. Faramir began his descent, Boromir following.
"She will come," the elder brother said, as though reading his younger brother's mind, though he did not inherently contain such gifts.
"Then," he continued, eyes sparkling with renewed energy, "it will be a good day."
The old nurse pulled strings on the back of the dark blue dress tightly, tying and giving them a good tug to ensure they remained together, clucking in disapproval at the younger woman who kept fidgeting. Buttoning the sleeves of her dark purple shirt with silver edging and putting on her black riding gloves, the younger woman leaned down to fold the hem under, the candlelight serving as the only illumination in the room, for the sun had yet to rise. Stifling a yawn and speedily wiping the dust from the pattern of silver tree surrounded by seven stars embroidered onto the front of the hi-cut dress, under which she wore the collarless shirt, she quickly grabbed the black, fur-lined cloak from the back of chair, tying it around her throat and heading to the door.
"M'Lady, your hair!" the old nurse called to her. Grumbling, the young woman turned around and headed back to her room, sitting down in the chair and quickly grabbing a brush off the tabletop. Vigorously brushing her dark hair, she quickly finished, wrapping it a simple bun, grabbing the silver headband that lay to side of the brush and pushing it back onto her head.
"I really wish you would take more time…"
"They are simply just my cousins, Meniath. I assure you, they have seen me in worse states," she quickly said, rising out of her chair and grabbing the black velvet pouch from the table, tying it to her belt and walking over to where her nurse stood.
"I'm sure they are not the only ones you are keen on seeing," Meniath replied with a knowing smile.
"I do not know of whom you speak," the woman replied. She did not smile, but she was pleased as her thoughts went to the one she loved.
"Still," the nurse continued, "You should not rush."
Seeing the disappointed look on her nurse's face, the woman stopped, frowning at her own previous rude response.
"Forgive me, Meniath. I should not have been so cross," the woman said, taking the older woman's hands in her own and giving her a quick peck on the cheek.
"No need for such haste, 'tis all," Meniath replied, frown leaving her face at the woman's apology.
"You worry far too greatly over me, Meniath. It simply brings me joy that they sent word directly of the victory…It has been a long time since such news has come. And in all this, I forget my haste. You are right," she replied.
"Fine. But you still should spend a bit more time preparing to leave…"
"Do not worry over it," the younger woman replied quickly. "I really must go. Osgiliath isn't that far. I shall be there within the day at the most, if I ride hard," she continued, letting go of her nurse and heading out the door, stifling yet another yawn.
"Then why the rush, M'Lady?" Meniath countered.
"Because Gondor is victorious and Captains of Gondor send word to do so. And when they call, I go."