I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaack! I wanted to get this posted, since would be down tomorrow, Monday, and part of Tuesday. I'm leaving Wednesday for Pennsylvania. . .spending Thanksgiving with my brother and his family. Yea! I haven't seen my big brother in almost a year. . . so yeah, I'm definitely looking forward to this.
I apologize for the delay, and thank everyone for their patience. A full explanation for my silence during the last month will come with the next chapter. For now, let me get to a quick author's note, then the reviews. This is less an author's note, and more a warning. There are references to female issues in this chapter in particular (and in later chapters). Nothing graphic, but let's face it. . .it's something Allison would have to deal with it. Just wanted everyone to be aware of it, because not everyone is comfortable with these things. That said, onto the reviews.
LalaithCat: Yippee, I did right by Boromir! Honestly, I don't get where the sexist pig idea comes from. He certainly didn't seem that way to me in the movie. . .I'm still slugging my way through the books, but I've seen little to indicate that in the books, either. Aragorn's reaction to Allison's confusion is included in this chapter, upon request. Glad you like Allison's new name, but it will take her time to get used to it.
Crecy: So glad you like it! Using the same letter for the reincarnations (D for Denethor, F for Faramir, et al) is standard for modern fics, but it avoids confusion. Sorry for the delay, but I've had other obligations demanding my attention.
Mat: Or should I call you Elenhin? (smiles) Thank you very much for your review. . .I'm glad Flynn was a believable modern teen Faramir. And Boromir/Brody. . .I don't see much fun in writing the reincarnations as exact replicas of their previous selves. They aren't the same people, they've had different experiences. . .it makes no sense that they would be exactly the same. Something I explore in this chapter, and in later chapters. Especially now that Brody and Wendy have pulled a fast one (rolls eyes).
Kelly: Isn't Alorie a pretty name? I'm not sure where I heard it, but Allison claimed it for her Middle-earth name, and wouldn't be dissuaded. Not entirely sure that you can say that Allison was Flynn's lover. . .she certainly loved him, but it wasn't reciprocated in the same way. Elf-boy. . .I'd say Elf-boy is middle-aged in Elf standards. Glad the telepathic conversation between Gandalf and Allison worked. I had concerns about that. I will try to update my Pirates story after I get back from Pennsylvania, since I had a new thought regarding that story. The characters like to change things on me in mid-stream (exasperated look)
Sailor Elf: Boromir doesn't look exactly like Brody, but the resemblance is enough to rattle Allison pretty good. I'm sorry about the delay, both last time and this time. I'll explain in the next update, promise.
Terreis: Of course Faramir had failings. I wouldn't love him if he didn't. As my oldest nephew said when we discussed it, perfection is an imperfection in and of itself. (He's twenty and talks like he's thirty-five sometimes. . .scary. I find myself wondering if that's what Faramir was like at that age). Glad Boromir sounded right. . .I was nervous about that. And Pippin. . .Pippin pretty much wrote that section between him and Allison. My fingers, his voice. And how can I tell him no? Gandalf is also a lot of fun to write. . .he and Gimli are a lot alike, when I stopped and thought about it. Both have gruff exteriors and gentle hearts where the ones they love are concerned.
Chapter Four
I Will Find You
"Hope is your survival,
a captive path I lead.
No matter where you go,
I will find you.
If it takes a long long time.
No matter where you go,
I will find you
if it takes a thousand years.'
'I Will Find You,' Clannad (Last of the Mohicans soundtrack)
River's Dale, Indiana, 2004
Detective Brody Hurley finished his search of the apartment. None of this made sense. There were no signs of a struggle, no signs of a forced entry. No blood. Her car was out in front, she never reported to work, and all of her clothes were here. Her luggage was neatly stored in her closet, though maybe that should worry Brody. Allison was not the neatest person in the world. Her room, even now, looked like a disaster area.
A knock at the door alerted Brody that someone was checking up on Allie. Robin was still checking the bathroom, so Brody warily opened the door, still wearing his latex gloves. And barely suppressed a groan of sheer frustration as he found three women standing on the other side. Wendy Stryder asked, her violet eyes narrowed with concern, "Have you found her? Is she all right?" Delia Conover and Ava Edmunds said not a word, but they were as anxious as Wendy. That right there wasn't promising. . .Ava wasn't saying anything.
"Brode, I. . .SIS! I told you, I would call you when we finished here!" Robin exclaimed, obviously exasperated at his younger sister's inability to listen. Ava folded her arms over her chest, glaring right back. If Brody wasn't so worried about Allie, he would have found the brewing argument between the brother and sister hysterically funny. The banter between Michael and Allie was always amusing, but these two could take their act on the road.
Ava was about as amused as Brody was. She retorted, "That was hours ago, Rob! You're telling me that you not only haven't found Allie, you don't even know what happened to her? What kind of a cop are you?" She just had to say that. Brody closed his eyes, mentally counting to ten so he wouldn't strangle Ava with her own hair. And then he could prevent Rob from doing the same, although given the look on his partner's face before Brody closed his eyes, he rather thought that Rob was dangerously close to strangling Ava. . .with her own intestines.
"Stop it, both of you! Ava, they can't find Allie if they have no clues. You know that, you're a cop's sister! And I'm assuming you have no clues," Wendy broke in, sounding extremely irritated. Brody opened his eyes and shook his head, rubbing at his aching temples. Wendy's jaw clenched at the confirmation, but she continued calmly, "All right. Tell me what kind of help do you need?"
"Make sure you don't touch anything. . .it's bad enough that you're here. Running the risk of contaminating a possible crime scene. I need lists. . .people from work, people with whom she's had contact during the last few weeks. Sometimes, an outsider has a better perspective. Oh, and get bratchild out of here before her brother decides to strangle her, and I forget that my job description is 'protect and serve.' I don't like people who call my abilities into question, much less someone who should know better. Oh, and I don't think I need to tell any of you three not to talk to the media?" Brody asked, glaring at Ava.
She had the grace to blush and dip her head in acknowledgement. Satisfied that his point was made, Brody continued, "I can also make you this promise. We will find her, and we will bring her home. Mrs Conover, I need something from you as well. . .you helped to get her that job at the factory. They. . .her supervisors, I mean. . .may be more willing to talk to you. If you're willing, I'd like you to play informant."
"Whatever it takes," came Delia Conover's steely reply. Wendy steered a protesting Ava out of the apartment, the former glancing over her shoulder at Brody apologetically. Robin nodded to his partner, then returned to his search of Allison's bathroom. Brody really didn't expect his partner to find anything, but they had to be thorough. Delia Conover said quietly, "You don't trust me, but you're willing to trust me to help find Allie."
"It isn't you I don't trust. . .it's your bastard husband. He murdered my little brother and my best friend, Mrs Conover. It's wrong, but it's hard to forget that. And right now, the past isn't nearly as important as the future. I screwed up, I screwed up big time, and Allie is paying for that screw-up. Just like my father did. There's nothing I can do for my father now. But if I have anything to say about it, nothing else will hurt her. Whatever it takes," Brody replied, using her own words against her.
Delia smiled unexpectedly, answering, "Maybe it's wrong, but at least you're honest. I'll help you, Detective Hurley. We can't bring back Flynn or Michael, but there's still a chance with Allie. I'll head over to the factory now." She started to leave, then stopped just past the threshold of the door, adding, "Have faith in her, Detective. No matter what she thinks of herself, Allie is a strong woman. She came through Flynn and Michael's deaths reasonably intact. She'll find her way back to us."
With that, she turned and left quietly. Brody said softly, "I hope so." He looked at another picture, a larger one, taken maybe a year earlier. There were some silver strands in Allie's dark hair. But she wasn't even thirty yet. . .it wasn't fair, dammit! This new picture showed Allison with the rest of her little posse. Her arms were around Delia and Wendy, hands resting on each shoulder.
In spite of his worry, he couldn't help smiling. She had short fingernails, even as a kid. Ava used to tease her about that, particularly before Flynn died. She liked getting a rise out of the younger teen for some reason. Probably because Robin was right, about his sister's jealousy of someone who knew Flynn a lot longer than she did. Funny. He hadn't thought of that in years. And maybe it was a strange thing, to be paying attention to Allie's hands and fingernails.
But he hadn't looked at his little sister in years. She wasn't here now. And Brody wanted to focus every detail in his mind. The nails were cut nearly to the quick, and the skin on the back of her hand was abraded. She worked in a factory. . .that was to be expected. But it still looked painful to Brody. . .red, abraded, and painful. He touched her face, murmuring, "I won't let go so easily this time, baby girl. One way or another, I will find you. You can count on that, take it to the bank, whatever phrase you wanna use. We will get you back. I promise."
With that one last touch to her face, Brody called over his shoulder, "Rob! I'm heading along the hall, to talk to the neighbors. Call the techs in when you're done. Dust for fingerprints, whatever has to be done." His partner called back an assent, and Brody left the apartment without a look backward. He had done too much of that. It was time he looked forward, because he had a feeling that was the only way he would get her back.
"On a scale of one to ten, ten being the highest rating, I'd have to rate that a thirteen on the stupid scale. What in the hell were you thinking, Ava?" Wendeline Rose Stryder growled as she swept down the hall, Ava Edmunds and Delia Conover in tow. She heard an inhale, as if Ava meant to answer her, but Wendy didn't give her the opportunity. Instead, she continued, "In the first place, I should have never let you talk me into coming over here."
"We had no way of knowing that she disappeared and we were walking into a crime scene, Wendy," Delia said reasonably. The older woman was right, she knew she was right, but at this particular moment, Wendy really didn't care. Her 'little sister' was missing, and while Ava was just as worried as she was, pissing off their two best hopes of finding Allie was not the wisest idea in the world. Delia continued, "On the other hand, she has a point, Ava. That was not one of your smarter ideas."
"I know, I know! You know how I get when I'm worried. . .I shoot my mouth off first, and think later. I'll apologize to my brother tonight. Do you two have any ideas where we should start? I mean, the only person I ever heard Allie mention from work was that jerk who is dancing right along the edge of a harassment complaint. You know the one I mean, the one she once called a 'wanker.' Right while we were eating pizza," Ava pointed out.
Wendy barely managed to suppress a grin at that. She was actually being polite when she called the guy a 'wanker.' Delia murmured, "That might not be a bad idea, but there's one problem with the idea that he has something to do with her disappearance. . .I did some looking around. No sign of forced entry. And he would have to force entry into her apartment, because there's no way Allie would let him into her apartment."
Delia was right. As much as Allie hated him, there was no way in the world she would ever allow him into her apartment. Ava muttered something very nasty under her breath, then tried again, asking, "Okay, what about this, then? She's been kidnapped by space aliens, because that's about as likely as anything else, and. . .OW!" Wendy turned in time to see Ava press her hand to her side, glaring at Delia at the same time.
"Don't. . .start. Just don't start. I really don't need to hear about space aliens or little voices inside your head. I got enough of that from Saul," Delia retorted. Wendy flinched. Like Ava, she had forgotten that, although it was something that Delia lived with every day. In the months before murdering Flynn and Michael, Saul Conover often mentioned hearing voices. It was those voices which led him to stake out the convenience store where Flynn worked.
And it was those voices that led him to kill Flynn and Michael. The voices told him that the two had to die. They learned these things during the trial, and it only enraged Allie further. The bastard would get off. . .the lawyer was using the insanity plea. Except, it didn't work out like that. The jury was unconvinced that he was really crazy. . .although, the fact that he stole the money out of the register after shooting Flynn might have had something to do with it.
The media, however, was another story. . .Allison, still reeling from the deaths of her brother and dear friend, was caught in a media firestorm. Saul Conover was just an innocent victim, according to the media. Some reporters went so far as to accuse Allie of 'letting' Flynn and Michael die. Morons. What did they expect her to do? Flynn died instantly, the coroner said later. And the bullet tore through Michael's lung. There was nothing she could have done. For either of them, but that didn't stop the reporters from playing Monday morning quarterback. Jackasses. They weren't there. . . and Allie was a nineteen year old college student. She had no idea how to deal with crazies!
And that was far more devastating. A person could learn from mistakes, learn what not to do. But what happened when there was nothing to be done? Nothing, except not go to the convenience store in the first place? No one could have saved Michael. No one could have saved Flynn. There was no lesson to be learned. . .except what complete and utter bastards the press were. On the other hand, there were moments to be enjoyed.
Such as the return of the 'guilty' verdict. Such as Ava when she punched out one reporter for asking her if she blamed Allie for failing to save Flynn's life. Unfortunately, neither the guilty verdict, nor the immense pleasure of seeing that bimbo hit the ground, could bring Flynn and Michael back from the dead. For ten years, Wendy devoted herself to taking care of her boyfriend's sister. It was what Michael would have wanted.
And through the years, as Allison stabilized herself, she returned the favor, taking care of Wendy when she could. . .and when the older girl would let her. As the three headed back to Delia's car, Ava asked their friend, "Is it possible that one of your husband's cronies arranged for Allie to be kidnapped? He's out of appeals, and this could be a last attack against the one he couldn't kill ten years ago."
Delia shook her head, replying, "I doubt it. Anything is possible, of course, but I really don't think that's the case. The simple truth is, Saul has gone so downhill during the last year or so, I don't think he even knows the difference between reality and fantasy. He doesn't recognize me, nor does he recognize pictures of Allison when she's pointed out to him." She paused, then added in a choked voice, "There's nothing left of the man I married."
Wendy stopped and turned to put her hand on Delia's shoulder, saying softly, "I'm sorry." It was lame, really. She didn't even know why she was saying the words. Was she apologizing to the older woman for all the times she blamed Delia for her husband's sins. . .or was she just sorry that even now, ten years after her husband destroyed their lives, Delia was still paying for something she didn't do?
That was a question to which Wendy didn't have the answer. Delia smiled weakly, and said, "In a way, it's a relief, you know? Because the Saul Conover I married would have never done that. Flynn and Michael, the man who killed them. . . that's not the man I married. When the execution finally goes through. . .it'll be a relief. It'll finally be over, and Saul will be at peace. Maybe then, we all can find our own peace."
Personally, Wendy had her doubts about that, but she wasn't about to rob Delia of whatever slim comfort she could find. Saul Conover's descent into madness angered and frustrated Wendy, because now there was no one there to tell her 'why.' Why the man she loved was now six feet under ground, why a sweet young man with his whole life ahead of him would never accomplish any of his dreams.
As a psychologist herself, Wendy knew there were no easy answers, especially where criminals were concerned. . .and sometimes, there were no answers at all. It didn't make it any easier. In fact, it made it harder.
And there was something else. While she would never admit it to either of her companions, Wendy blamed herself for Allie's disappearance. It was Wendy who directed Allie to that bitch therapist. She didn't think it was a good idea to be Allie's psychologist. She was afraid she would allow their friendship to blur the lines. But looking back now, maybe that would have been better than to send her to someone who would deliberately undermine her, just to make herself feel needed.
No more guilt, she told herself, guilt won't bring Allie back. Focus on the task at hand. Still, even as she got in the car, Wendy couldn't help but wonder. Ever since his arrest ten years earlier, moments after Michael died, Saul Conover maintained that his name was 'Saruman,' a great and powerful wizard. He called Michael 'Aragorn' and Flynn 'Faramir,' saying they had to die. What caused Conover's mental breakdown, and why did those three names sound so familiar to Wendy?
Well, she would figure that sooner or later. Right now, she, Delia and Ava had a missing sister to find. . .or rather, Brody and Robin did. And they couldn't do that if Ava was constantly underfoot. Ava meant well, but half the time, she ended up making things worse. It was true ten years earlier, and it was true now. She became worse after Flynn's death. . .Ava never blamed Allie for that. She blamed herself.
It was the classical case of 'what if.' What if I was there that week, instead of the following week. It was also a certain recipe for disaster. Sooner or later, Ava would go too far. She would push Robin too far, or get herself arrested. Delia and Wendy were able to protect her, but only so much. She was a grown woman, after all. And they couldn't be there all the time. When Ava crossed the line, and it was just a matter of time before that happened, Wendy feared all she could do was pick up the pieces.
That was all she could do for Ava, but it was better than this situation. There was absolutely no way for her to help Allie. They didn't even know where their missing sister was. She, too, was a grown woman. She might be beyond their aid. In which case, all Wendy Stryder could do. . .was trust that her little sister was as strong as Wendy thought she was.
Her name was Aveline Theodosia Edmunds, and from her earliest memories, she hated her name. Fortunately for her, her older brother Robin saw fit to call her 'Ava,' as he couldn't pronounce 'Aveline' properly. That didn't prevent people from using her real name, especially in high school, when the bullies crawled out of the wood-work. On more than one occasion, she heard whispers of 'Call her 'Aveline.' She hates that.'
In truth, she had little use for human beings, outside her own family, until she met Flynn Hurley more than thirteen years earlier. She was eighteen at the time, competing in equestrian events at the local college. It was there that she met Michael Norman. Looking back at the events of that time, Ava could only blush with embarassment and more than a little shame. He was handsome. . .everyone agreed upon that. . .and kind.
And something deep inside Ava told her that she knew this man. He seemed so terribly familar to her. As if they met before, but Ava knew for a fact that it was impossible. It was her first time in River's Dale. . .indeed, it was her first time outside of Kentucky, where her uncle Dennis ran a horse farm. Many times, her brother asked her to come for a visit, since he was on the local police force, but she had other things she wanted to do that weekend.
For six months after that first meeting, Ava pursued Michael. She ignored Robin's warnings. . .she ignored the territorial attitude of his annoying little sister. She even ignored her brother's partner, Brody, who was also Michael's best friend, when he warned her that Michael was spoken for. His fiancee Wendy was in Europe, finishing up her second Master's Degree. Ava paid little attention to the details, at least at the time. Wendy Stryder was in Europe, and to the hormonely-charged eighteen year old, that meant that Michael Norman was fair game.
To this day, Ava preferred not to think about the confrontation that resulted when she realized that Michael would never love her the way she thought she loved him. It was an ugly scene, and Ava behaved like a child. She could freely admit that now. What was much harder for her to admit was just how surreal it felt at the time. As if she went through something like this in the past. It was as much due to that surreal feeling as her own hurt pride that she did something stupid. Several stupid things, in fact.
One night, about three weeks after the confrontation with Michael and Allison, Ava didn't pay attention where she was going. It could have cost her life. Instead, it brought Brody Hurley's little brother Flynn into her life, forever changing it. He was handsome and gentle, listening as she spewed her venom against his brother, against her own, against Michael, against Allison, against Wendy.
She didn't know he was Brody's brother. Not during that first meeting. It took about three or four meetings to discover that. Instead, once she finished her venting, Flynn would be silent for several moments, then start talking about his friends, Mike and Allie. For some reason, it never occurred to her that he meant Michael and Allison. After all, Allie could have been short for 'Alicia' or 'Alexandra.'
They lost their parents years earlier. . .their father left when Mike was seventeen and Allie seven. Their mother's body remained with them , but her soul was another story. Care of his little sister fell increasingly to Mike, though he was in the process of graduating from high school and starting college. It was because of his little sister that he chose to live at home. His little sister, and his inability to pay room and board. The siblings were utterly devoted to each other. . .Allie was just as protective of Mike as he was of her.
Slowly, with each story told, Ava began to suspect that Mike was actually Michael Norman. With each story told, her hardened heart began to melt toward the siblings. With each story told, she began to realize that it really didn't matter what Michael did or would have done. She chose to believe that she could win his heart, and she refused to listen to reason. With that discovery came another.
She believed herself in love with Michael. . .but during their conversations, she actually fell in love with Flynn. By the time he introduced her anew as his girlfriend, only a few weeks passed since her embarrassing confrontation with the Norman siblings. Not surprisingly, Allison wasn't inclined to trust her. Ava could see the wariness in her eyes. And even if she couldn't, there was no way she could have missed the younger girl's suspicion when she whispered, for Ava's ears only, "Break his heart, and I'll break your face."
They planned to be married, Ava and Flynn, once Flynn was finished with college. The summer he was killed, they were making wedding plans for the following year, after he graduated. That was actually why Ava wasn't there that particular weekend. She had 'wedding' things to do. And never stopped regretting it. If she was there, Flynn would not have been at his job that week. He would have had that week off.
Or so she was reminded by Devin Hurley when she blurted out that Allison did nothing to save Flynn. The former police chief heard this only hours after his baby was buried, and rounded on her with such fury in his eyes, Ava literally took a step backward. He actually growled, "So help me God, if I ever hear that come out of your mouth again, it will be the last thing you say! You wanna blame someone? You blame Saul Conover, or you can blame yourself. After all, if you were here this week. . .like my son asked you to be. . .Flynn wouldn't have been working. I suggest you remember that!"
Ava took another step back, sick with rage and guilt, because she knew he was right. Maybe that was why she lashed out at that idiot reporter the way she did. She certainly didn't regret decking the bitch. If she regretted anything, it was that she didn't hit her harder. Unfortunately, Wendy grabbed her before she could beat the living hell out of the woman. Or maybe not so unfortunately. Ava would have been little use behind bars, after all.
Besides, Allison was really the only one who would accept help after it was all over. After he found Flynn's journals, Devin slid into a deep depression that no one could pull him from. . .not even his honorary nieces. And Brody wouldn't accept help. He lashed out at anyone and everyone who crossed his path. His father, for only seeing when it was too late what a wonderful child he had; Allison, for doing nothing to save Flynn and Michael; Wendy, for being away again; and Ava, for not coming that week, as Flynn asked her to.
No one was safe. . .not even himself. Wendy, though shaken by Brody's attacks, realized long before Ava did that Brody's attacks were fueled by guilt. Though he lashed out at his father and 'sister,' among others, in truth, he was angriest with himself. He was a cop. . .what kind of a cop was he, that he couldn't protect his own brother and his best friend from a lowlife scumbag like Saul Conover?
And that brought the final member of the sisterhood into the mix. Delia Conover. Or rather, if anything, she was a mother figure to the three younger women. She was twenty years old when she met and married Saul Conover, then a respected and rising young star in the world of academia. After ten years of marriage without children, it was discovered that Saul was infertile. And that was when the problems began.
They both wanted children. . .Saul even more than Delia. It was believed that in the beginning, he simply began spending more and more time at work. Next came drugs, perhaps to enable him to stay awake. Then came harder drugs, and alcohol, and the changes in his personality. And then the dreams started. Shortly thereafter, he struck Delia for the first and last time. Last time, because that day, she moved out. A promise to her college roommate, who never entirely trusted Saul.
Ava realized that she should feel some compassion for Saul. . .but she didn't. Her compassion was limited to Saul Conover's victims. His wife. . .Ava's dead fiancé. The man who ultimately became like another brother to Ava. The people whom Saul Conover hurt and killed. And that brought her right back to the present day. With a sigh, Ava slouched down in her seat, resting her booted feet against the doorframe.
She ignored the slight discomfort caused from her ribs straining against the seatbelt. Ava screwed up today. She knew that. She screwed up and hurt her brother with her remarks about his abilities as a cop. And she also knew she was lucky that Allison wasn't here, since her 'little sister' would have kicked her butt for saying those things. As it was, she was lucky that Brody didn't wring her neck. Ava didn't think she could get away with saying that she was worried about Allison. They all were. But she didn't always think before she spoke. Even now, a grown woman of thirty-one, she still reacted before she spoke, she still reacted before she thought. Somewhere along the way, she stopped taking care of Allison. . .and Allison started taking care of her. She just hoped that her friend would find her way back to them. . .if only to keep Ava from doing something even more stupid in the future.
Imladris, 3019 of the Third Age
Boromir had to admit. . .both Lady Alorie and Lady Arwen were quite correct in sending him to bathe. Not only was he rank, but the bath went far in easing his aching muscles. Boromir came to the distressing conclusion that he was no longer twenty years old. Aye, that was stating the obvious. He was not an old man, particularly not in terms of his line. His own father was eighty-eight years old.
No, Boromir was not old. Indeed, he was not even middle-aged by the reckoning of his line. But his muscles protested the hard riding. With a sigh, he raised himself up from the bath, reaching for the towel kindly provided by one of Lord Elrond's servants. Lady Arwen promised to take him to the room where the shards of Narsil lay once his bath was complete. Even as he dried himself, Boromir's mind was racing with what he learned during his ride and just in the last few hours. He was not the only new arrival here, Boromir learned, during the last few days.
Dwarves came from Erebor, other Elves from Mirkwood, and rumors reached his ears of beings called 'Halflings.' And, of course, he knew about the arrival of Mithrandir. As ever, he enjoyed making a dramatic entrance. As for halflings, Boromir never saw one with his own eyes, and he would not believe such stories until he saw one. That meeting was to come far sooner than he anticipated, for as Boromir began to dress in the clean clothes provided for him until his own clothes were clean, he realized was peculiar. His leggings were. . .
That of a child? Boromir frowned, trying to remember what he heard about Elves during his younger brother's conversations with Mithrandir. Were there any Elven children left? He could not remember, not for certain. In truth, Boromir was not nearly as curious as his little brother. In so many ways, they were so different. Perhaps that was why, or at least part of the reason why, Boromir adored Faramir as he did. He was Boromir's little brother, of course, but Boromir liked him as well as loved him.
A giggle came and in spite of himself, Boromir smiled faintly. He allowed the leggings to drop once more and instead, put on a robe. This, he was pleased to see, was adult-sized, and he made a mental note to thank Lady Arwen for her kindness. He was on the verge of reassuring the children that he was not angry, when a voice whispered, "Pippin! Shhh! He'll see us!" Now Boromir's smile widened.
While he was not a Ranger, Boromir was quite capable of stealth when he so chose. On silent feet, he padded over in the direction of the whispers, giggles, and a half second later, a muffled yelp of pain. Well remembering such games with his little brother, Boromir located the source of laughter. Now, was this not a surprise? It came from a large cloth box. . .perhaps used for the assorting of dirty clothes?
Biting down hard on his lower lip to keep from laughing, Boromir pulled back the top sheet to find two children staring up at him in shock. Nay, not children. He stared back, unable to believe what he was seeing. This, then, had to be halflings. They were no bigger than children of nine or ten, but the faces were of men. Young men, aye. . . perhaps nineteen or twenty years of age. These would have to be halflings.
"Oi! Merry, he found us!" the younger of the two. This would have to be Pippin. He was also observant, because a moment later, the halfling exclaimed, "He's smiling, Merry, he's not angry with us!" Boromir couldn't help himself at that point. . .he threw his head back and laughed outright. He laughed even harder when the one called 'Merry' smacked Pippin in the back of his curly head. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see a similar, indignant expression on his younger brother's face in years gone by.
"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but it was Pippin's idea. I. . .agh!" that one said as Boromir, still laughing, slid his hands under the little one's arms and lifted him bodily up and out. The Man held the halfling in midair, laughing green eyes making contact with bright blue eyes. Merry smiled back then, saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you. . .I'm Meriadoc Brandybuck, and this is my cousin Peregrin Took. But we all call him 'Pippin' most of the time." Boromir chose not to ask what they called him the rest of the time. Based on what he saw of the cousins so far, he was quite certain he did not wish to know.
"Tis a pleasure to meet you, Master Brandybuck. I am Boromir, son of Denethor, of the line of Hurin," the Man answered instead, and settled Merry on the floor, and only just prevented himself from ruffling the little one's hair. He scooped up Pippin next, and the little one gave him a heart-melting smile. Aye, Boromir knew many such as Pippin Took. A mischievous smile confirmed this suspicion, and Boromir shook his head mentally, adding, "And I am pleased to meet you as well, Master Took."
He settled Pippin down beside his cousin, adding, "That was quite a good joke. Might I presume that you are the Halflings of whom I have heard so much?" The cousins looked at each other, and Boromir could almost hear what they were thinking, 'he's heard of us?' Boromir continued, "I thought as much. I heard of such beings, but never believed the stories. Now, I can see they are true."
"We have a lot of names, Bilbo says. But we're mostly called 'hobbits' and 'halflings.' Gandalf promised to tell us what the Elves call us, but. . .ow! Merry, that hurt!" Pippin blurted out, glaring at his cousin. Boromir once more had to fight back a grin. Cousins they might be, but they behaved more like brothers. With a huff, the younger of the two looked up at Boromir and added, "Have you eaten yet? The Elves have wondrous food here!"
"One thing you must learn about hobbits, Captain-General," a wry, amused voice said, "they eat quite often." Boromir turned to face a young Elf who somewhat resembled his host, Lord Elrond, and that worthy's beautiful daughter. The Elf smiled and said, "I am Elladan Elrondion. . .Elladan, son of Elrond, and I have brought your clothes with me. If you so desire, I can also take these two imps with me, since they are hungry again."
Boromir awkwardly inclined his head to the newcomer, not entirely sure how to respond, and replied, "I thank you for that, Lord Elladan. And, little ones, I thank you for your kind offer to join you, but I am not hungry. I must finish dressing, and Lady Arwen has promised to show the shards of Narsil to me. Until later, then." With that, he made a bow to the two halflings, who were already on their way to stealing his heart.
His bow earned him twin, blinding smiles and as Elladan ushered them out of the bathing chamber (for this was no privy, as he knew them), Pippin called over his shoulder, "When you see Lady Arwen, tell her I hope Lady Alorie is feeling better!" Lady Alorie. Well, that was a surprise. It would seem that he was not the first of the visitors to meet the quiet little stranger. However, Boromir dismissed that from his mind as retrieved the clothes left for him by the young Elf Lord and began to dress. His mind was already jumping ahead.
He knew not when Lord Elrond would speak to him. . .if he would speak to all of the visitors at once, as his father did in his Council meetings, or if each meeting would be conducted separately. While the former made more sense, Boromir was uncomfortable with the idea of telling all gathered about the dream both he and his brother had. Were it left to him, only Lord Elrond would know of the dream. It was the business of no other. What made him even more nervous was the verse 'the halfling shall stand forth.'
It troubled him when he first had the dream, in part because they were a rarity for him. Dreams, portents and premonitions were normally the burden carried by his younger brother, though he knew some would call it a 'gift.' Boromir, who had to comfort his little brother after nightmares when Faramir was a child, disagreed strongly. Those who called these portents 'gifts' never had to calm a terrified child, obviously.
He was even more troubled now, now that he met Merry and Pippin. There was at least one more halfling, called 'Frodo.' He was under the care of Lord Elrond and Mithrandir, whom these hobbits knew as Gandalf. Elven medicine was far stronger than that of Men, which implied the halfling in question was badly injured. The questions which remained were. . .what happened to cause his injury, and was it important?
When Boromir returned to his own chambers, assigned to him by Lord Elrond, he found his clothes already clean. The tall blond Gondorian dressed quickly, looking forward to seeing both the shards of Narsil, and perhaps even the painting of which he heard so much. There was a great feast planned for tonight, greeting all the new arrivals. Lady Arwen told him that she would attend, but Lady Alorie would not. . .she was not yet comfortable with large gatherings.
Boromir was still uncertain about how Lady Alorie was injured. He learned as he carried her to her chambers that her ribs were injured in addition to her arm. There were no indications that she was beaten. She was shy, to be sure, but not frightened. Not even uncomfortable with him, though that might have been due to his resemblance to this "Bro-dee." Boromir hoped he was right. He had little use for those who would harm anyone smaller than themselves. Such people possessed neither honor nor courage.
As Boromir was dressing, another man was quietly reading in the chamber devoted to Isildur's slaying of Sauron. He looked to be in his early forties, to a casual viewer, but nearly all of the Elves in Imladris knew him from the time he was a small boy. At the age of two, his mother brought him here for safety's sake, after his father and her husband were killed by orcs. This man, who seemed no more than forty-one or forty-two, was in truth in his late eighties.
He was a direct descendent of Elros, twin brother of Elrond. Both Peredhil, Elros chose his human destiny, while Elrond chose his Elven heritage. To put it simply, Elros chose mortality. While the Men of his line were long-lived and slow to show their age, they were mortal. . .and they did age. Among his line, the Man was considered on the early side of middle age.
Perhaps it was odd for him to find solace in this room. Indeed, there was little solace in the reminders of his fallen ancestor, Isildur. He destroyed Sauron's body, but not the Ring. Still, it was quiet in here, and right now, that was what Aragorn, son of Arathorn, needed. He spent the last days, ever since his arrival in Imladris, his childhood home, in meetings with his foster father, brothers, and Gandalf the Grey.
Ill tidings marked these days. Gandalf was a prisoner of Saruman the White for a time, the White Wizard now revealed as a traitor. Word reached him from his dearest friend, Legolas, that Gollum escaped the Mirkwood Elves. The One Ring was found and even now, the Ringbearer was recovering. They arrived in time to save Frodo, but it frightened Aragorn nonetheless. Even with Glorfindel's aid, though, it could have easily ended in tragedy.
There was something else. Months earlier, a young woman literally fell to the ground during a bizarre storm. She wore strange clothing. . .loose trousers and an extremely short tunic with no sleeves. Injured in the fall, his foster father and betrothed quickly learned that she spoke no Westron or Sindarin. Indeed, they believed she was not from Middle-earth at all. Which left a question. . .from whence did she come?
During such times as these, there was no such thing as being too cautious when a stranger literally fell to the ground. A stranger who spoke no language understandable to the inhabitants of Rohan, Gondor, Imladris, or even Mordor. Gandalf and Bilbo both assured him that the girl was no threat to them. She was a threat to no one, not even to Sauron. Just a child brought here by a magic beyond them all, even Gandalf.
Gandalf further assured him that she had no part to play in the coming battle. And a battle there would be. Aragorn knew it. It was only a matter of time. The Ring was found, and it was time for a final confrontation with Sauron. He could only hope he could avoid the pitfalls which led to the death of his ancestor. Aragorn smiled without much humor. 'I have given hope to the Dunedain,' his mother said years earlier, 'I have kept none for himself.' Odd, was it not. . . that a Man whose Elvish name meant 'hope' could have so little when it came to his own strength, his own will?
While he had little time to spend with Arwen since his arrival, Aragorn knew that his beloved began teaching this newcomer Sindarin. That was excellent, for how else could they communicate with her and determine her intentions in this world, if she did, indeed, have intentions. Aragorn learned of these lessons from the twins, who took the opportunity to tell him that the child thought him a woman at first. They learned this not from their younger sister Arwen, but from eavesdropping outside the child's room. It seemed in her world, 'Hope' was the name of a woman in many languages.
Not surprisingly, this little piece of information amused the twins. They could not wait to share it, in fact, with their little 'sister.' In truth, Aragorn thought little about his name while he was growing up. That was simply his name. . .why should he think further on it? On the other hand, he did find it amusing. If, in her world, only women were named 'Hope' in a variety of languages, why would she not assume that he was a woman? Twas what she knew, and twas her only basis for comparison, as Gandalf would say. Things found strange by the Elvenkind were common place among Men. Why should this girl be any different?
In addition to Sindarin, Aragorn learned, the young stranger was also learning Westron from Bilbo. Not surprisingly, the old hobbit pitied a frightened child far from home and in a place she understood not. She. . . Footfall alerted Aragorn that he was no longer alone in the room and interrupted his thoughts. A tall, blond-haired man entered, and despite his coloring, Aragorn realized immediately that he was from Gondor, rather than Rohan.
For one thing, he knew a man of Gondor arrived in Imladris. This, he knew from the twins. For another, the newcomer had the fair coloring of his late mother, Finduilas of Dol Amroth. Aragorn knew Boromir years earlier, when the Gondorian was a child and Aragorn served his grandfather Ecthelion II as 'Thorongil.' In his eighty-seven years of life, Aragorn carried many names, including 'Estel,' which his Elvish friends and family still called him.
Boromir moved quietly, reverently to the painting depicting Isildur's confrontation with Sauron. When he came to terms with the knowledge that he was Isildur's heir, Aragorn would sometimes stare at that painting, searching for similarities between his own face and the face of his distant ancestor. Twas a double-edged sword, heritage. . .Aragorn, especially when he was younger, ached for a connection to his family, to those who came before him.
Along the River Anduin were two great statues. . .two great monuments of Isildur and Anarion. They were the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings. Each held out one hand, as if protecting the now-lost Kingdom. He never saw the Argonath, though he was the heir of Isildur. Not even while he served Ecthelion did he have the opportunity to see the Argonath. Only Minas Tirith, the White City, and that was an impressive sight on its own. At the same time, he knew the story of Isildur, and could not help but fear that he would not be strong enough to resist the One Ring and its temptation.
Aragorn watched the young Captain-General in silence as he breathed, "The shards of Narsil." Boromir picked up the shattered sword and winced as he sliced open his finger, murmuring, "Tis still sharp." Aragorn said not a word, for in truth, he knew not what to say. About Isildur, about Narsil, or about Gondor. While in Minas Tirith, Aragorn was caught between Ecthelion and his son Denethor, a servant beloved as a son.
Though he had little desire to become king, though it would mean the hand of Arwen in marriage, Aragorn always listened to word of Gondor. He knew when Ecthelion died, and when Finduilas gave birth to her second son, little Faramir. Who was, Aragorn realized with a start, no longer so little. The boy was thirty-five now, if Aragorn's memory served. Hardly a child. . . except to a Man of Aragorn's age.
The eye contact maintained for a few more moments, then Boromir shrugged as if it was no importance to him, adding, "But still no more than an heirloom." However, Aragorn realized that it meant far more to the soldier than Boromir wished to admit. The captain-general drifted from the room. Aragorn lay his book to one side and rose to his feet. He approached the painting, and the shards.
With a sigh, Aragorn raised his eyes to the painting, seeking answers to questions not even he could ask. A soft voice from the shadows to his left drew his attention away from the painting, and his beloved stepped into the light. She was so very beautiful. The most beautiful woman he ever saw, aside from his mother. And he had so little time with her during this visit to his childhood home. Never enough time.
She would seek to comfort him, as she always did. It was an old argument between them, if indeed it could be called an argument. She had such faith in him, his Arwen. His beautiful, fiercely devoted Arwen. He did not deserve her. This, he knew. But she loved him, and would accept no other. She was prepared to sacrifice her immortality for him, a sacrifice that never failed to astonish him. What had he done, to be so fortunate? As Arwen once more tried to share her faith with him, Aragorn wondered if he was meant to prove himself worthy of her.
There was a great feast tonight, and Allison chose not to attend, though she was invited. Many people would be there, and with her arm still healing, she found it difficult to eat properly. And in a crowd, she knew she would be even more uncomfortable. On the other side, since all the others would be at the feast, she would be alone. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. Ever since she arrived here, months earlier, she had little opportunity to be alone.
There was always someone with her. . .Arwen, Lord Elrond, one of the twins, sometimes even Glorfindel or Erestor. Glorfindel would tell her stories about days gone by, and Erestor would help her with her Sindarin. The twins still didn't have much use for her, but that was alright. Allison was twenty-nine, not twelve. . .not everyone would like her. And they certainly weren't unkind about it. They just had better things to do with their time than spend it with a girl who barely spoke their language.
By this time, Allison learned that Elves lived for thousands of years. They didn't reach their majority until they were at least one hundred years of age. The Elven version of twenty-one, she figured. Arwen was just shy of three thousand years old, a staggering number to the young human. In the early twenty-first century, people were living longer, even into their hundreds, but that still was a short life compared to an elf.
Lord Elrond was around seven thousand years old. . .which was all the more bizarre, considering he looked no more than forty or forty-five. He certainly didn't look old enough to have a grown daughter. And then there was Mithrandir, who was no Elf. She still didn't know what he was. . .just that he was very old and very powerful. He belonged to an order of magicians or wizards. She wondered if it was like Anne Rice's Talamasca, but decided not to ask. It would take entirely too much explanation.
And there were too many things in that category already. One, she had no choice but to bring up with Arwen. She wasn't even sure if this was something Elven women had to deal with, but she had to risk the embarrassment. She learned that there were physical similarities between Elves and humans. . .that it was necessary, in order for Peredhil to exist. There were few of those, and Arwen was among those few.
Summoning her courage, Allison asked Arwen about her monthly. In the months since her arrival, Allison (for she still thought of herself as 'Allison,' rather than as 'Alorie'), she had not yet had a monthly, and it worried her. She never thought such a thing would worry her. But it did. Arwen, thankfully, took her concerns seriously and explained that while she had no answers, not for certain, it was Arwen's opinion that Allison's body was still recovering from the fall. . .among other things.
In other words, Allison surmised to herself, between the magic in this world and the trauma of falling through time and space, my body is still getting used to this new place. It made sense, and she thanked Arwen. Of course, that opened another can of worms, though she was careful not to share that saying with Arwen. She really didn't want to try to explain that in Sindarin. . .much less Westron.
While she realized that this could all be a coma-induced dream, Allison started thinking about how and why she ended up here. Her instincts told her that she was not on a different planet, but her own. While her interest lay in languages, Allison kept up with history and archaeology, and she knew if her instincts were correct, she either traveled back in time. . . or forward in time. However, she looked at it, this was a problem.
If she traveled back in time, when exactly was she? And where? It made sense that she traveled back in time, but if that was the case, she was in very dangerous position. For one thing, this totally blew all theories about the beginning of civilization right to hell. Then again, this could be the First Times she heard about while reading about ancient Egypt. For another thing, she was all too aware that any changes she made in this time could impact her own. She and Michael read enough Ray Bradbury and Dean Koontz to know that.
The trouble was, how did she know if she was changing something? She wasn't even supposed to be here! Unless, a soft voice in the back of her head, you were meant to come here. Not to change things, but for some reason you know not. The voice was not Arwen's, but it was female. And it most definitely was not Allison's. She had a hard enough time thinking of herself as Alorie, much less thinking in Sindarin or Westron. No. . .the voice wasn't hers, and it wasn't Arwen's. It was someone else. But whose?
Of course, if she was thrown forward in time, that was something else. Allison was sure there were problems associated with that as well, but by this time, her head was pounding. That wasn't a surprise. Science was never her strong suit in school, and as Brody said when they talked about the possibility of time travel, 'Temporal mechanics give me a headache.' Brody. She smiled in spite of herself.
Boromir, whom she met today, was so very much like Brody, the Brody she remembered from before Flynn and Michael's death, it made her heart ache. True, his hair was longer. . .a lot longer. And Brody was clean shaven. But their eyes were the same, their faces were the same, and their smiles were the same. Boromir made her miss her other older 'brother' keenly. Especially when he carried her to her room.
It was something that Brody would have done. . .something she remembered him doing once. She was about thirteen or fourteen at the time, and Flynn fell asleep on the floor while he and Brody were at the Norman house. Allison left her seat to at least make him comfortable, but Brody shook his head. He scooped his brother into his arms and carefully carried him into the room once used by Michael and Allison's mother.
Michael had snagged a belt loop and gave a yank, pulling her into his lap. Since Brody wasn't in the room, Allison didn't put up a fuss. She adored her brother, but she was uncomfortable with public displays of affection. Since Brody was otherwise occupied, Allison very happily made herself comfortable in Michael's arms, leaning her head against his shoulder. She fell asleep that way, as she often did.
Allison shook herself, feeling tears clogging her throat. Since her arrival in Rivendell or Imladris, the memories became easier to bear. The pain remained, and always would, but it was somehow more manageable. She asked about Lord Elrond about that once, and he smiled, telling her that his lands were a place of healing. And perhaps that was why she was there. Allison considered this, and for once, didn't ask about the pain she saw in his eyes.
There were a lot of questions she wasn't asking. Why she sometimes saw pain in Elrond's eyes at strange times. What happened to Arwen's mother. And a much more recent question, after overhearing a conversation between Elrond and Mithrandir, or Gandalf, as he was also called. 'She must not come into contact with Aragorn. It is vital that they remain separated, for as long as possible.'
She knew that Aragorn was the true name of Estel, Elrond's foster son and Arwen's betrothed. What she didn't know was why it was important that she had nothing to do with Aragorn. Allison sighed, rubbing at her forehead. The burn mark from her original fall, months earlier, was long healed. But even without a scar, the spot still pained her at times. Now was such a time, and she was tired. She sat down on her bed, hoping she could at least focus on the Sindarin book of poetry that Arwen left for her.
However, that was not to be. Instead, Allison lay back and closed her eyes. She didn't intend to fall asleep. She slept earlier in the day, and when she slept during the day on weekends, it was impossible for her to fall asleep that night. Here, however, things were different. She didn't wake when a servant quietly carried a tray of food in for her. She didn't wake when Bilbo came to check on her after the feast. Nor did she wake while Pippin and Mery demolished the tray of food left for her. Her body was still healing. . .and there were several months of neglect which required healing.