Author's Note: Yes, I'm back. . .I do apologize for the delay. Boromir kept telling me about the future of the story, rather than the present. (disgruntled look) You can thank The Chronicles of Narnia for this update, at least in part. After I went to see The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe almost two weeks ago (magnificent movie, by the way. . .I was in tears before the opening credits), I got to thinking about my own stranded character. As you'll see in this chapter, things are taking a path I hadn't anticipated when I started this story, but that's all right. I hope you enjoy the new twists. On the other hand, I'm not fully happy with this chapter, but after going over it umpteen times and being unable to figure out what I don't like. . . Also, for those of you who are curious. . .when I was writing about Finduilas, I usedLaurie Holden as the model for her. (Yes, the same Laurie Holden who is co-starring with Sean Bean in Silent Hill)
I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas/whatever you celebrate. I must have been very good this year, because I was rewarded with a pair of unexpected gifts. . .Sean Bean's movie, Tom and Thomas, aired on Christmas night on WAM, and I finally managed to tape Bravo Two Zero after six months of unsuccessful attempts.Responses to the reviews for the last chapter have been sent out. . .if you didn't receive yours, let me know, and I'll email a private one to you.I'm also working on the next chapter of Heart Bound in Chains, as well as the first story in another Boromir-centric series, called Champions. (At least, I'll work on Champions as soon as I find the blasted diskette). Please continue to be patient with me, and I'll get to you just as soon as possible. With that out of the way, on with the story!
Chapter Seven
Never Say Good-bye
On the morning she was to leave Rivendell, Alorie awoke very early. In truth, however, she slept very little. She was leaving her home, leaving the Elves who had become her family, leaving with people she barely knew, and a thousand things spun through her brain. Despite her conversation with Lord Elrond, she remained uneasy. After nearly two hours of trying in vain to go back to sleep, Alorie threw back the covers in sheer frustration. She would get up and finish packing. A quick glance outside told her that she was far from the first person up. That young prince of Mirkwood, Legolas, was practicing his archery. Alorie smiled without humor. The Fellowship would leave in two weeks. He had plenty of time to practice.
She shook her head and turned her attention to getting ready. During her months in Rivendell, she had little contact with the servants. They were in her room before she awoke, filling the tub with tepid bathwater, and even when she ate with the other Elves, she never saw the servants. The same was true this morning. Her bath was awaiting her, along with her breakfast, and clothes were laid out for her. Alorie noted with no small relief that it was clothing suitable for traveling. The brown leggings and green tunic would make it easier for her to blend in while they traveled through forests. Given that she was a good bit taller than her dwarven escorts, Alorie welcomed anything that kept her from being too noticeable.
Without wasting more time, she slipped out of her clothes and into the bath. This was, she realized, the last time she would be able to bathe for quite some time, and she intended to enjoy it to its fullest. Alorie remained concerned about what would happen when she had her monthly, but Arwen promised that supplies for such an instance would be packed for her.
Alorie certainly hoped so. Even now, months after her arrival, she still hadn't had a monthly, and it worried her. Did her passage damage her so badly that she would have no more? That had both positive and negative consequences to her way of thinking. On one hand, she would happily go through the rest of her life without having another one of those things. On the other, if she was damaged that badly, she could have no children. And with a start, Alorie realized she did want children. There was still the matter of finding a man who could help with that particular project. . .but she did want children.
After bathing long enough to turn herself into a prune, Alorie got out, dried herself, and frowned thoughtfully as she noticed a few things different about her body. For the first time, she realized that she had put on a few pounds since her arrival. . .she ate more frequently, as she had more of an appetite. But these additional pounds were largely muscle. Hmm. Interesting. Very interesting. She spent most of her life being as flat as a board, it was odd to recognizethat she now had curves. Sort of. She shook her head and dressed quickly. Not because she was cold. . .actually, ever since she awoke here, Alorie couldn't remember ever being cold. Something else she never really thought about, but probably should have.
No, she dressed quickly because there was a light rapping at the door, and she didn't want to keep her unexpected guest waiting. Still barefoot, she padded over to the door, ignoring for the moment that her tunic remained untucked. And when she saw her mysterious visitor, she really didn't care. Alorie gawped for a moment, then breathed, "Boromir?" Her friend smileda bit awkwardly, and Alorie regained her composure, pulling him inside. For once, she gave no thought to the consequences (an unmarried young woman entertaining a man in her room, alone, in a medieval-seeming society). . .she was leaving soon, wasn't she?
"Good morning to you, Alorie. I hope you can forgive me. . .I did keep my promise. In a manner of speaking," Boromir said almost shyly. Promise? What promise? Oh yes. The previous night, she asked him not to come to her farewell, because she knew she would weep. And right on schedule, tears welled up in her eyes. Damn it all to hell! Curiously, or perhaps not, her anger was for herself and her overactive tear ducts. There was no anger with Boromir. Alorie angrily dashed away her tears, then enveloped Boromir in a fierce embrace. His arms folded around her, warm and secure, and the young outworlder felt as if nothing could touch her in his embrace. She felt so safe with him. Safer than she had felt since her brother's death. But. . .she didn't know if she would ever see him again. And that hurt. It hurt deeply.
"I will miss you," she whispered against his chest as tears trickled down her face, soaking his tunic, "so very much." And she would! Boromir's arms merely tightened around her. He said nothing, just held her, for which she was very grateful. If she was honest with herself (and she had been, ever since she arrived), Alorie was afraid of letting go. His dramatic resemblance to Brody aside, he was someone dear and familiar. While Arwen and Elrond were dear to her, as was Pippin, Boromir was her first human friend here. He was far more successful in teaching her Westron, and he taught her many things she would need to know. Boromir taught her what he could about Gondor and Mordor and Rohan. He even taught her a little about self-defense in this place. Just the basics. She couldn't take an Orc. But he was pleased with her progress.
"And I will miss you, dear Alorie. I will miss you terribly," came Boromir's hoarse voice. Alorie didn't answer. She didn't know when she would see him again, if ever, and she wanted to make the most of this moment. Unfortunately, she knew she would have to release him. If only to get a good look at him. She wanted to burn his face, his smile, into her mind, for she knew it would bring her comfort in the days to come. Just as reluctantly, he released her, allowing her to step back.
His dark blond hair was neatly brushed, though his bangs fell into his eyes. Alorie smiled and reached up with her hand, combing his hair back with her fingers, so she could see his eyes. Yes. That was much better. His green eyes were steady and focused on her, and they smiled when Alorie whispered, "Be safe, my dear friend. You said it yourself. This quest will be terribly perilous, and I do not want to lose you. Take care of Merry and Pippin for me." That made Boromir smile broadly. He was quickly growing to love the two youngest hobbits, and how could he not? Boromir already told her about the first encounter he had with the mischievous cousins, weeks earlier.
"It would be my honor. And take care of yourself. Be wary, and listen to what Gloin tells you. I've had many opportunities to speak with Gimli during these last few weeks, and if the father is as sensible as the son, Gloin is a very wise dwarf. Take no unnecessary chances, for I very much wish to see you again," he told her. She smiled as he cupped her face in his palm. She tilted her head sideways, allowing his warm hand to press against her face more fully. Boromir added seriously, "Remember, once this quest is over, and if we both still live, it will be my greatest joy to show Gondor to you."
"I will look forward to it, my friend, my champion, my prince," she replied with a smile. Boromir looked sad, and the outlander could have kicked herself. His inheritance was now in question, thanks to Aragorn, but Alorie told him, "Regardless of Aragorn's choice regarding the White City, it is Boromir, son of Denethor, who has protected her these many years. You are the son of the Steward, a prince in all but name, Boromir, and you have ever been her champion. Just as you are mine."
Unexpectedly, Boromir smiled and repeated, "If only this quest was not so perilous. But it is. And Lord Elrond wishes not to change the number of our company. . .Nine Walkers to match the Nazgul. Balance, you see." Alorie nodded. Yes, she did see. She told the part of her mind which remained in her own time to keep silent about balance and patterns. Boromir added, "And I wish for you to be safe. Dangerous times lie ahead, my friend. I cannot ensure my brother's safety. I would ensure yours, as much as anyone can be safe now."
The sentiments caused Alorie's throat to tighten. Once a big brother, always a big brother. Whether the big brother was Boromir, Brody. . .or Michael. Unable to continue on that mental path, Alorie whispered, "For so long, Boromir, I feared that my affection for you was because you resembled Brody. But now, I know that I was wrong to fear. You are you, and Brody is Brody. Be safe, my dear friend, until we meet again." It was good-bye. It had to be, because any moment, she would break down. Boromir understood. However, he had one last thing to say. Perhaps, one last piece of assurance to give to her.
He grasped her shoulders and pressed a light kiss to her forehead, whispering, "Both my father and my brother have the gift of farsight. But I need no such sight to know this. This will not be our last meeting, Alorie. I promise you. We will meet again." Alorie closed her eyes, accepting the truth she heard in his words. Boromir kissed the top of her head and bowed, his hair falling into his eyes once more. The young Lord of Gondor slowly backed out of the room, his eyes never leaving her.
The second Boromir silently closed the door behind him, Alorie drew a deep, shuddering breath. The desire to cry was gone. She would be all right now. She had to be all right. Gloin couldn't keep her safe alone. She had to carry her share. Once she regained her composure, Alorie straightened her shoulders, finished dressing, then began to organize her belongings. It was time for her to go. Only moments after Boromir's departure, Arwen arrived in her room, her deep blue eyes searching Alorie's face.
The young mortal wasn't sure what the elleth was looking for, and so she said softly, "I'm almost ready. . .just a few more things to pack. Lord Boromir merely wanted to say good-bye." Arwen said nothing. Only looked at her with a bittersweet and breathtaking compassion. Alorie swallowed hard and turned her attention to the few items not yet packed She really didn't have that many belongings. Not here. Not even in her world, now that she thought about it. That disturbed her, and she wondered why.
Once her pack was. . .well. . .packed, she turned to face Arwen, who took her hand. Together, they left the room and made their way through the Last Homely House. Along the way, Arwen gave her plenty of time to say good-bye to Bilbo, to Erestor, to Glorfindel and others. As ever, Erestor and Glorfindel were very kind to her. Bilbo squeezed her hand and promised to remember her in song. (Why? She wasn't anyone important). The twins, Elrohir and Elladan, were out on a scouting mission. But she had very little to do with them, so Alorie doubted if they would even be concerned that they hadn't the chance to say good-bye.
And through it all, Arwen remained at her side, holding her hand. Just as Wendy would have done. . .just as she had done, after Michael and Flynn's murders. At last, her nerves jangled by the countless 'good-byes' and 'we will miss you' sentiments, Alorie reached the outside, where the dwarves, including Boromir's new friend Gimli, waited with Lord Elrond and Gandalf. The dwarves bowed to her, a courtesy which made Alorie a bit uncomfortable, but by now, she had accepted that it was part of this society. Gandalf simply winked at her. The gesture made her feel a little less. . .whatever she felt. Nervous? Frightened? Something.
Lord Elrond extended his hand to Alorie, who smiled nervously and stepped closer to him. He put his hand on her back as he turned to the dwarves, intoning, "I give into your care, Gloin, son of Groin, one who has become as a daughter to me. I ask that you protect her and shield her, from all who would do her harm." Gloin inclined his head, which evidently meant he agreed. Well, duh, of course he did. . .she wouldn't be here, otherwise. Then Lord Elrond turned to her, saying, "Alorie, daughter of Aidan, always remember that you have the love of Elrond Peredhil and of Arwen Undomiel. Never will we forget you."
Wow. Just how did you answer something like that? In some ways, that was why she found Boromir's presence such a comfort. For this time and place, he was very plain-spoken. Something she knew. Something comfortable. There was never a concern about how to talk to him. With him, there was no hesitation. . .she could always be herself with him. To Elrond's words, really, there could be only one response. Alorie, choked up and barely able to speak around the lump in her throat, rasped out, "I. . .I'll never forget you, either."
The atmosphere was becoming too thick. Arwen was blinking back tears. Even the dwarves looked affected. Into that atmosphere, a young voice blurted out, "Oi! You won't leave without saying good-bye to us! We won't let you!" Pippin, in an eerie and amusing replay of his entrance at the Council, exploded out from behind a tree. He wasn't alone, either. . .his cousin Merry was right beside him. Of course. Where else would he be? Alorie hid a giggle behind her hand, and looked to her other companions. Gandalf rolled his eyes and mouthed to Elrond, 'Hobbits!' As if that said it all, and didn't it? Of course it did.
Alorie turned her attention to the cousins, laughing through her tears as she knelt to embrace both Merry and Pippin. Each returned the hug happily as Alorie told them, "I wouldn't dream of doing any such thing! I could never leave without saying good-bye to my two dearest hobbit friends!" Pippin squeezed a little tighter than he probably needed to, but Alorie welcomed the twinge of pain in her side. It focused her attention. She whispered, "You two take care of each other. . .and take care of Boromir for me, too." At this last, her voice dropped.
Of course, both hobbits puffed up with pride at this request. Indeed, Merry informed her proudly, "Of course we will!" Not that Alorie ever doubted them. Either of them. During the last few weeks, she noticed the two youngest hobbits becoming close to the blond warrior. Hobbits were interesting creatures. . .fond of eating, smoking, eating, taking care of their friends, and eating. And Boromir most assuredly was one of their friends. However, unlike Merry, Pippin had no wish to just leave it there.
Instead, he proudly proclaimed, "Don't ye worry a bit about that, Alorie! We'll take care of Boromir. And Frodo, and Strider, and Legolas, and Gimli, and Sam. . ." Merry just rolled his eyes, cuffing hiscousin in the back of his head. Back home, Alorie reflected with some amusement, that would have been called a brain-duster. Or something similar to a brain-duster. And just like back home, it resulted an indignant look from the victim. However, just like the perpetrators of the brain-duster in her own time, there was absolutely no remorse from Merry over the action. In fact, he muttered, 'I think she gets the point, Pippin!'
Alorie was now trying very hard not to laugh. Pippin, however, ignored that, and his cousin after his initial, indignant glare. Instead, he looked at Gloin, informing him in no uncertain terms, "Ye take care of her, too! She takes care of everyone else! Even if they don't notice it!" This was said with a determined nod, and Alorie frowned. Just how did he come up with that? She didn't take care of other people. They took care of her. Elrond and Arwen saved her life, teaching her Elvish. . .Boromir and Bilbo taught her the Common Tongue, along with other things.
She had no chance to ask Pippin what he meant, for Gloin told the young hobbit, "There is no need to worry, young hobbit. We dwarves are not careless with our honor or with our loyalties. Mistress Alorie will be most safe with us." There was a significant Look at Elrond and Gandalf. The young woman sensed Elrond's irritation, but she wasn't sure about the reason for it. She remained unclear about the reason for the tension between the dwarves and the Elves. However, one thing was clear. She vastly preferred 'Mistress Alorie' to 'Lady Alorie.'
"And for that, Master Gloin, you have our gratitude. All will be well, young hobbit. Go in peace, my mortal daughter," Elrond said, turning his attention to the woman in question. He embraced Alorie with a fierceness he never demonstrated before. Once he released her, Arwen took Alorie into her own arms. It was once more necessary for the young mortal to fight back tears. It was easy, earlier. She truly believed she would see Boromir again. Now, it became hard. She had no idea if she would ever see Arwen again. . .or any of the Elves.
"You are my own sister, as dear to me as kin. We will see each other, dearest Alorie, I promise you that. Before you go, I have a gift for you," Arwen whispered. Alorie frowned, rubbing at her tears. A gift? But Arwen had already given her clothes, a hairbrush, soap, and a traveling pack. Now, however, she gave her something beautiful as well as practical. It was a hair clip. . .barrette. . .a way to hold her hair back. Arwen pulled her hair back, then placed the clip in the dark mass, whispering, "Seek out my grandmother, Lady Galadriel of Lorien, if ever you are in need of aid. She will know you to make you welcome by this."
Once more, Arwen embraced her, then stepped away. Alorie smiled wanly at her, Lord Elrond and Gandalf. Then she stepped to Gloin's side, nodding to him. Gloin put his hand over hers, saying, "Come along, then, lass. We've a long journey to make." Alorie nodded, and thus it was that Allison Norman, now known as Alorie, left Imladris and the protection of the Elves. The next stage of her journey was about to begin.
They were scheduled to leave in two weeks, but that was subject to change. The Ranger from the North, and his Elven brothers, the sons of Lord Elrond, were now on a scouting trip. Truly, they could stay there, for all Boromir cared. But. . .on the other hand, the sooner they returned, the sooner the Fellowship could leave Rivendell, the sooner the quest would begin, and the sooner Boromir could return to Gondor. To his people. . . to his men. . .to his father. . .to his brother. Tis where he truly longed to be. Gondor. Minas Tirith. Home.
He still thought this entire mission was folly, but he gave his word, and Boromir did not give his word lightly. His word, or his friendship. He glanced out the window of his chambers. The small group which included Alorie of the future was even now making its way out of Imladris. Alorie of the future. She told him once, during their later conversations, as she became more comfortable with Westron, that she believed she came from a time, far into the distant future. Before the Council, before the One Ring was found, Boromir might have laughed. He was not laughing now. His heart hurt too much for him to laugh. He would missAlorie. She provided him with succor during his time in this unfamiliar place.
And again, he reminded himself that Alorie's own journey was necessary. He reminded himself that this fight was not hers. Besides, she knew very little of this world, and even less of protecting herself on a perilous journey. Boromir understood this. But he would miss her companionship, her quietly protective attitude, and her sense of humor. Boromir smiled to himself, remembering the sight of Alorie stepping between him and the young prince of Mirkwood. Small, defiant, protective Alorie, defending that which was hers. And she had quite an excellent punch as well. He rubbed his chest again, smiling at the memory.
Her actionseemed to amuse the prince, though not in a disrespectful way. He smiled and dipped his head in acknowledgment, as if demonstrating his respect for the diminutive mortal. He and Gimli discussed that. . .it was an odd gesture for the prince to make. Still, Boromir had other things to occupy his mind. He once more bid his friend farewell, promising that they would meet again, then he turned his attention to the upcoming departure of the Fellowship. He had his concerns about the route they would take.
Aye, he had many concerns. The routes they would take, how the hobbits would deal with the journey. Would they have enough supplies? One thing he discovered. . .hobbits could eat an enormous volume of food. From Merry and Pippin, he learned that they traveled from the Shire to Bree on their own. That journey was fraught with danger, and it was a relatively short distance. . .a matter of days. It would take many weeks, if not months, to reach Mordor. He worried especially for the two little scamps, Merry and Pippin, who were quickly capturing his heart. Or perhaps they did that in their first meeting.
He. . . All thoughts were driven from Boromir's mind as the door to his chambers exploded inward, revealing the scamps in question. Pippin was chattering away about seeing off Alorie, and how she told them to take care of him. Boromir smiled, ruffling the young Hobbit's hair, and tried not to laugh at Merry's exasperated expression. They reminded him so terribly much of himself and Faramir when they were younger. Merry cut into Pippin's chatter, saying, "Pay no mind to Pip, Boromir. . .but it is true, Alorie did ask us to look after you."
"Aye, she did. . .and we promised her that we would do just that. And we asked Gloin and the other dwarves to take care of her, because she takes care of everyone else," Pippin added. Ah. Excellent point, and from what Boromir knew of Gimli's father, the old dwarf would have no trouble making such a promise. Pippin, however, was thinking about something else. He paused, frowning, then observed, "Boromir? She did take care of us, didna she? I thought so, but when I said that, she looked confused, as if she didna think she did that." Boromir sat down, beckoning his two new friends to join him. Both Merry and Pippin wriggled their way onto the bed on either side of him.
"Yes, Pippin, she did take care of us. But I think to Alorie, everyone took care of her. Remember, Lord Elrond and Lady Arwen found her and saved her life. Bilbo and I taught her Westron. I do not believe she realizes that she takes care of people. I believe to her, it is ingrained, and she has been taking care of the people around her ever since her brother and friend were killed, when she was but a few years younger than you, Pippin. She does not realize that she takes care of people, she simply does it," Boromir explained.
Merry was nodding thoughtfully, murmuring, "Only if they let her. Why did you let her, Boromir?" The Captain-General of Gondor could only shake his head. Twas an interesting question. He didn't think she reminded him of his mother. Unlike his brother, Boromir had clear memories of his mother. Finduilas, a princess of Dol Amroth, had pale blonde hair and eyes as green as Boromir's own. She had been a woman of haunting beauty and a quiet strength. He could remember her smile, her laughter, and her willingness to do whatever it took to defend her husband and her two small sons.
And yet, she died. Some in the Citadel said she died, pining for the sea. They said that she could not be happy in a city of stone, like Minas Tirith. And yet, Boromir had a hard time accepting that. He remembered his mother. She had loved him, loved his brother, loved his father. After a moment, Boromir shook his head, pushing away the memories and the fears. Nay, Alorie didn't remind him of his mother. So, why then, did he allow her to take care of him? The answer, he realized, was because he liked it. He enjoyed having her fuss over him. He enjoyed simply being Boromir, and allowing that little bit of a girl boss him around. He enjoyed the knowledge that he was her friend, and that was how she treated her friends, no matter whom. . .or what. . .they were.
Out loud, he said, "I suppose because she behaved so with everyone. And because she did it without even thinking about it. She simply was, and it seemed churlish to deny her something that she enjoyed, when she was bereft of so much that was familiar to her." The two hobbits thought about that for a long moment, then Pippin nodded. Boromir asked, enjoying the possibility of turning the tables, "And what of you, Master Took. . . Master Brandybuck? Why did you allow her to fuss over you, as if you were children and she your mother?"
"Not exactly like a mother," Pippin hedged and Boromir raised an eyebrow at the youngster questioningly. The curly-haired hobbit explained, "She's more like a big sister. Not just an older sister, but a big sister, since she's one of the Big Folk." Boromir could hardly argue with that point. Pippin added thoughtfully, "She eats like one of the Big Folk. Not nearly enough. Did you see how she would pass food around at dinner, Merry?" Boromir hid a grin, because to Pippin, such behavior was scandalous.
"Well, she might be one of the Big Folk, Pippin, but she's not very big around. I think even a child's arms could fit around her waist! Boromir? Could her arms fit around your waist?" Merry asked. Boromir could no longer hide his grin, and Merry asked, almost sounding excited, "They can, can't they? She hugged you a lot! Strider commented on it once." Boromir's smile faded. Oh, he did, did he? And what did the Ranger from the North have to say about his friendship with Alorie?
"That's right. Ol' Strider, he said to Lady Arwen that Alorie was very affectionate with men she barely knew. Lady Arwen asked him what made him think that Alorie didn't know you very well. Strider started to say something, then Lady Arwen told him that just because he barely knew Alorie, he shouldn't guess that the same was true of you," Merry put in. Boromir blinked in amazement. Lady Arwen? Said that? To her betrothed?
"And then her brother said, like he was pouting, that Alorie hugged you a lot more than she hugged him, and Lady Arwen scolded him. She said that he was behaving like a jealous elfling, and that he didn't spend nearly enough time with Alorie to say something like that. What do you think? Was he just jealous because she was hugging you instead of him?" Pippin asked. Boromir had no idea, but he was sure about one thing. He wasn't about to ask Lady Arwen. Instead, he asked his two friends about the latest information about their departure. Alorie was beyond his reach now, and he had to trust Gloin and the other dwarves to keep their word, and guide her to safety.
But he would miss her.
Boromir of Gondor would not be the only one who missed Alorie. The elleth who chose the young mortal woman as her sister felt the same. Arwen Undomiel was also thinking of Estel's condemnation of her dear friend. She did not understand it. Estel and Alorie never met. . .how was it his concern, her friendship with Boromir? Elrohir. . .he was just being mischievous, trying to distract Estel from his disapproval. Arwen knew that. But Estel. . . She shook her head. It was unlike Estel, to be so judgmental with so little cause.
Arwen knew that Mithrandir was not especially pleased about the friendship that developed between Boromir and Alorie, and had no idea why. If it granted the young Lord of Gondor some succor from the whisperings of the Ring, then Arwen believed it was worth whatever risk there was. She believed that Mithrandir did care for her young chosen sister, and that affection was at the heart of his disapproval. She understood that. Estel, on the other hand, was behaving like a disapproving father. . .but again, he never even met Alorie.
Males! No matter if they were dwarf, elf, Man, or Maia, they were pigheaded! And yes, she included Boromir in that, but Boromir at least admitted that he was pigheaded. Twas in part how he survived. Arwen scowled darkly at nothing in particular. Her father was giving up on Middle-earth. Her betrothed was on the verge of giving up on himself and her. Boromir was struggling to maintain faith in this mission. Mithrandir had his doubts about Boromir's part in the Fellowship. And nearly everyone doubted the hobbits.
The Nine Walkers had not yet departed, and already Arwen keenly missed her friend. There were times when it seemed Alorie was the only other sane individual in Imladris, mortal or Elf. Once again, Arwen missed her mother. . .missed her grandmother. While she gave Alorie a way to be recognized as a friend by Galadriel, Arwen dearly hoped she wouldn't need it. However, with the perils in Middle-earth, it was all too likely that Galadriel's aid would be necessary. If such aid was required, Arwen could only hope that Alorie could find her way to Lorien.
"You are troubled for your young friend," a familiar voice stated. Arwen smiled faintly, turning to face Glorfindel. The Balrog-Slayer regarded her with affection, adding, "Tis understandable, Arwen. She is hardly more than a child, and now, she is being forced to leave the only home she has ever known in our world. And yet, despite your fear for her, I can also see your faith in her. You believe she will find a way to survive. Why is that, Arwen? Why do you have such faith in that child?" There was no challenge in Glorfindel's voice, only curiosity.
"She was brought to this world, in what we now know to be her nightclothes, Glorfindel. Brought to our world, unasked and unwanted. She knew not our language, or our ways. She was separated from everyone she loves and everyone she knows," Arwen began. Glorfindel nodded, his eyes never leaving her face. The Evenstar continued, "And yet, she has survived. She survived her injuries. Survived being cast into a world she cannot understand. Alorie learned our language, learned the Common Tongue. She could have given up. Could have simply allowed herself to die, or chosen to injure herself further by not listening to our advice. But she did not. She chose to heal and to learn. That is why I have faith in her, Glorfindel. Because in spite of everything that has happened to her, she refuses to give up."
The blond elf was silent for a long time, then observed, "I will not tell you that your faith in her is misplaced, Arwen, for all you say is true. She could have given up. She could have simply lay down and died. Instead, she learned our language, and she learned the Common Tongue. She even learned a little of protecting herself. The question now becomes, has she learned enough? What does your heart tell you?" Arwen's smile widened at that. She looked at Glorfindel, who had always been there, as far back as she could remember.
"She has not survived being brought to another world, against her wishes and against her will, to give up now. I do not believe that 'give up' is even in her understanding. She may have wished to give up after her brother and her beloved died, but it was a passing wish. If she truly desired to give up, then not even my twin in her time, Wendy, could have convinced her otherwise. No, Glorfindel. If she has not yet learned enough to survive in our world, then she will learn more," Arwen answered with conviction.
Glorfindel was silent for several moments, then asked quietly, "And what of the people in her time? Do you believe they are trying to find her?" Of course they were. Regardless of what happened between Alorie and Brody after the murders of Michael and Flynn, there was absolutely no doubt in Arwen's mind that Brody would be seeking her. Boromir would seek her, if she was missing, and Brody was very much like Boromir. Yes. Yes, they would try to find Alorie. No matter how long it took.
Evidently, Glorfindel came to the same conclusion, for he touched her shoulder and said softly, "They will. I can only hope that they are made of the same cloth as Alorie, and do not readily give up." Arwensmiled at him, grateful for his understanding. Glorfindel added after a moment, "I must say. . .I am quite grateful to her. If she was not here, I fear you would have gone to meet Aragorn and the little hobbit. That would have been a disaster." Arwen nodded. Aye, he spoke truly. Her father was notoriously protective of her, ever since the attack against her mother, and such an attempt to go to the aid of Estel and Frodo would not have been well received.
"I will not tell you that you are incorrect, Glorfindel. But she was here. . .and she needed me far more than Estel did," Arwen replied. She returned her attention to the slowly-departing company. It would take time for the dwarves to return to their mountains. Arwen silently wished her sister well, then asked, "How are the preparations proceeding? Have there been any further. . .accidents involving the Hobbits and food?" One would think that after seventeen years of Bilbo Baggins, the Last Homely House was prepared for anything. One would think so.
However, having one hobbit in Imladris was far different from having five hobbits. And Bilbo, while a hobbit, was quite old among the reckoning of his people. A far cry from Merry and Pippin. Arwen didn't think there was a brand of mischief invented which the pair didn't know about. Glorfindel replied with a wry smile, "Fortunately, no. Thanks in large part to the young Man from Gondor. Meriadoc and Peregrin are entirely too fascinated with him to cause further mischief for the cooks."
"I must thank Boromir for that. His good humor has been invaluable with the two younger hobbits. I do believe he enjoys helping them plot pranks against my brothers," Arwen admitted. Which reminded her. She still had to pay back Elrohir and Elladan for pulling Boromir into their prank. As for the others. . . Samwise Gamgee fussed over Frodo Baggins, which kept those two out of trouble, but additional help was needed with the younger cousins. Boromir provided that help, and ideas for pranks against the twins. Glorfindel laughed, and Arwen asked, "Glorfindel? What do you think of him? Of Lord Boromir, that is."
"He is a most capable warrior. . .fiery. Stubborn. Perhaps I should be angry with him for his dismissal of Estel, and yet, I cannot be. The boy has grown up believing that he would rule after his father as the Steward of Gondor. He came to us, looking for aid with a riddle that haunted his dreams and the dreams of his brother. . . and instead, his life, his very world, is turned upside down. Unfortunately, Estel did not help his own cause, by not even giving the boy a name. Not necessarily his true name, but a name," Glorfindel replied thoughtfully. Arwen listened intently, for the Balrog-slayer was not finished.
After a moment, he continued, "I fear for him, Arwen. In him, I see myself long ago." Arwen frowned, not entirely understanding the significance of that, but kept silent. When Glorfindel spoke so, it was not wise to interrupt him. And so, she held her tongue. The warrior went on, "He wishes only to protect his home, his family, his people. Such a simple, heartfelt desire. . .one that will be all too easy for the Ring to manipulate. It does such things." At this, he shuddered, then murmured, "Even Elves cannot trust themselves with the Ring. I have heard young Greenleaf dismiss Boromir, and yet, he fails to understand. Men live such short lives, and to them, the One Ring is a legend."
"Which makes it even more dangerous to them," Arwen guessed and Glorfindel nodded, looking troubled. She continued, taking it further, "Because the Ring has been merely a legend to Boromir, a myth, he is even more vulnerable to its evil. He cannot understand its manipulation. . .there is also the matter of Gondor's precarious position. Alorie told me something once, which seems appropriate now. The most dangerous man is the one who is cornered, with no way out. He will take any way out he can get, any way he can see. Even something as evil as the One Ring."
She shivered, fearing anew for the young Gondorian. That evil piece of jewelry would try to take the Captain-General. It would feed on his fear for his people, his resentment of Aragorn, his desire to protect what remained. It would feed on his frustration, his grief, and yes, his loneliness. And there was absolutely nothing Arwen could do to save him. He could only save himself. She prayed that Boromir was as strong as she believed him to be, for she had no wish to see someone with such a kind heart fall to the Ring. Too many had already fallen. Boromir deserved better. They all did.
By the time Allison Norman departed from Rivendell with the dwarves, nearly three months passed since her disappearance in her own time. In the early days, Brody Hurley and Robin Edmunds pursued the usual leads. The factory where she worked, her co-workers. Anyone who thought they had a reason to hurt her. The partners had learned the hard way that even the nicest, least offensive people in the world had enemies. People who didn't like them for reasons that normal people found totally unbelievable. But that was a mistake too many people made. Not everyone was reasonable. It was a mistake that cops couldn't afford to make.
Brody was in danger of becoming obsessed, but he couldn't help it. . .and really, he didn't care, either. He had failed Allison, failed her so terribly. Yes, he tried to reach out to her, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough. The terrible trio had kept him posted on anything new they learned, but it wasn't much. As the months passed, and the trail grew colder, it became more difficult to keep searching. The fact was, there was no indication that Allie was even kidnapped. There were no signs of forced entry. . .in fact, there was no sign of any entry, period. Her apartment was locked when she disappeared. . .dead-bolted from the inside.
He was on medical leave now, due to return to work in a few more days (give or take). As he had countless times since his brother's death and his father's suicide, he returned to the river where they swam and played as children. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the sound of laughing teenagers and shrieking young girls. He was preparing to join the police force in London when his father announced that he and Flynn were moving to the United States.
His father, tired of the memories that were around every corner in England, took a job in a small town in Indiana upon the urging of an old friend. The police chief in River's Dale had just retired. Devin's friend, Emmett McMahon, was on the town council, and suggested Devin. He spent time in the States before Brody and Flynn were born, before he met Fiona, and so found the transition between the United Kingdom and the US quite smooth. And Flynn. . .
Flynn immediately fell in love with the small town. He loved everything about it. And the town loved him, as well. He was regarded as a bit of curiosity, because of his English accent, but accepted nonetheless. Besides, he was only sixteen. Brody only remained in England for a few weeks after his father and brother left. They hadn't even moved into the new house yet, due to a tornado that swept through the town and caused devastating damage. The move was far more difficult for Brody, though remaining in England without his brother and father, and with the memories of his mother haunting him, bordered on impossible.
Everyone talked about how easy Brody found the move, because he was tall and handsome and athletic. They thought it was so easy for him, going through the police academy all over again. But it wasn't. Things were so bloody different here. The truth was, he would have never survived the police academy, or his first year in the States, with his sanity intact if not for the Norman siblings. It was the oddest thing, really. . . how quickly he became friends with Michael. He heard of love at first sight, of course. . .but never friendship at first sight. Yet, that was how things were with Michael.
And Allison. Brody smiled in spite of himself. She was such a cute little girl. Now he laughed, because she would have hauled off and slapped him silly if she ever heard him call her a little girl. Even though that was exactly what she was. All of thirteen years old. . .a skinny, coltish girl with short dark hair and freckles. How she hated those freckles! Brody's smile broadened a little. Not long aftershe met Flynn, she started to allow her hair to grow out. Did she fall in love with him, that far back?
Hard to say. Brody moved the wrong way, sending a spasm of pain through his gut. He pressed his hand to his midsection, fighting back a groan of pain. Dammit. He leaned against a nearby tree, breathing through the pain. After a moment, it receded, but the tree continued to support Brody's weight. About six weeks earlier, he and Robin responded to a call, at the very same convenience store where Michael and Flynn died. He responded to calls there countless times through the years. The first few times, he almost shut down. . .the first few times, Robin had to talk him through even getting out of the car.
But this time. . .this time was different. He managed to put his paralysis behind him years earlier, and managed to mostly forget what happened there, ten years earlier. This time was different. . .somehow. And yet, he really couldn't remember how it happened. One moment, he was talking down a terrified-looking teenager with a gun, a teenagerwho seemed strangely familiar, and the next moment, he was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The bullet had torn into his side, missing all vital organs. But it had hurt like hell, and the last thing Brody remembered before passing out was the teenager screaming something about him taking some ring and he didn't mean to do it, the ring was making him do it.
When he woke up, he was in the hospital, with Wendy Stryder at his side. She held his hand tightly, her face wet with tears, and she kept whispering, "Please, you can't leave me. I can't do this. I can't lose you. Not you, too." When he opened his eyes, Wendy burst into tears all over again and buried her face against his shoulder. He was too tired and in too much pain to do anything other than mumble that he was all right, even though he wasn't, not really. And it wasn't necessary, because in a matter of moments, Wendeline Rose Stryder brought herself under control once more.
But as she stroked his hair back from his eyes, she repeated, "I couldn't have gone through that again. I've lost Michael, and Flynn, and we may have lost Allison as well. I can't lose you, too, Brody. Promise me that. Promise that I won't lose you." What could he do, but make that promise? He wasn't sure if he could keep the promise he made. He never deliberately broke a promise before, but he was a cop. And cops sometimes died in the line of duty. Sometimes, too, they died off the job. There were simply no guarantees in life.
"I thought I might find you here," Wendy said quietly, interrupting his reflections. Brody turned a bit as she approached him. Her lovely face was serene, at least to someone who didn't know her well. Brody did know her, however. She continued, looping her arm around his waist, "Sit down before you fall down. Keep this up, Broderick, and your medical leave will last a lot longer." Brody rolled his eyes, but did as she told him, easing himself to the ground. She helped, and once they were both seated, she lay her head against his shoulder.
"And I know what you're thinking. . .how did I know to find you here. You always come here when you're worried about something. It's not just Allie, is it? You know the boy who shot you. . .Francis Baylor. . .he's been asking for you. Ava's spenttime at the jail, and every day, he asks if you're all right, if you'll be all right," she said at last. Brody didn't answer. What could he say? The boy talked about as crazy as Saul Conover. And he was still a bit put out with Ava for accusing him and Robin of not trying hard enough to find Allie.
"It makes no sense. That boy was talking crazy, but he wasn't doing drugs. Wasn't even drunk," Brody finally answered. He closed his eyes, his cheek settling against Wendy's dark hair as her hand began to move in rhythmic circles on his back. She had become very tactile since he was shot. Sometimes, after the doctors checked his wound, Brody would curl on his uninjured side, exhausted and in agony. She was almost always present during the examinations, and would rub his back afterward. Just enough for him to relax, and once he uncurled, she would caress his hair instead. The end result was always the same. . .him falling asleep.
"I know. Robin told me about the results of his tox screen. He tested clean for drugs, and there was absolutely no alcohol in his system. He's haunted by something. I talked to his parents. . .they've been terribly concerned about him for the last few months. About three months ago, give or take, he started having horrific dreams. He would wake up, screaming in terror. . .scared his mother half to death the first few times it happened. Especially since he couldn't explain what scared him so badly. He's a good kid. . .does well in school. Up until three months ago, he was a normal, relatively well-adjusted teenaged boy. I also talked to his best friend, Sebastian Gannon. He was just as baffled as the rest of us," Wendy told him.
Brody made a face. Yes, he was quite familiar with Sebastian Gannon. The teenager burst into Brody's hospital room only days after the latter woke up, demanding to know what Brody had done to set his friend off. Robin, not surprisingly, wasn't at all amused by Gannon blaming Brody for the shooting. While not nearly as hot-tempered as he was when he was a rookie, Robin still had a temper, and he was fiercely protective of Brody. That was the way things were with cops.
Robin had wrestled the boy out of the hospital room, threatening Gannon with ridiculous charges. Not that Robin cared at that particular moment. He only cared about getting the irate teen away from the shell-shocked Brody. However, the unpleasantness of the encounter was fading away as his companion continued to rub his back. The motion, as ever, was lulling him to sleep. She pressed a light kiss to his forehead, murmuring, "Rest, Brody. I'll watch over you." Brody was too drowsy to protest, no matter how unfair her tactics were, and drifted off to sleep, cradled against her body.
Three months. Three months since this nightmare began. Brody was still healing from being shot, so it probably hadn't occurred to him that around the same time Allie disappeared, Francis Baylor started spinning out of control. Then again, why should it occur to him? To the best of her knowledge, Brody wasn't hearing voices inside his head. Not like she was. She shuddered, lying back against the grass, drawing Brody down with her. He lay against her, sleeping like a trusting child. Ava would have made a face at the scene, but there were things Ava didn't understand. She needed to hold Brody close. The voice was quieter when she did.
The voice actually sounded like her own, but it spoke in a language she didn't understand. Wendeline Stryder was a psychologist. . .if she tried to tell anyone that she was hearing a voice, which sounded like her own, she would have been locked away. And what was worse, she wouldn't have blamed anyone for it. A crazy psychologist was no good to anyone. So, she was on her own. The voice began not long after Allie's disappearance. The same time Francis Baylor started having those terrifying nightmares. An instinct told her that the three were linked.
She had no such dreams. Only her instincts. And. . . The woman's tones always grew more fearful when Wendy was around Brody. It would have been a logical assumption, that Wendy was in danger from her fiancé's best friend. . .but her instincts told her otherwise. They told her that she should fear for Brody. . .not the man himself. Wendy tightened her arms around Brody protectively. After he was shot, and the women rushed to the hospital, the voice inside her mind nearly howled in grief and terror, quieting only when they learned that Brody would live. That scream of anguish nearly sent Wendy to her own psychologist. By now, she feared she was a danger to others.
A conversation with Delia changed her mind. . .that, and a reluctance to tell anyone what was happening to her. Delia knew about voices. She was visiting Saul again, and he was starting to sound normal once more. He would likely die for his crimes, and he accepted that. He was genuinely remorseful for what he had done to Michael, to Flynn, and to Allison. But he kept telling Delia that an alien presence seemed to be in his mind. A presence which told him that Aragorn and Faramir had to die, if Saul wanted to live. If he wanted to redeem himself for his previous failure. Delia never heard either name, but they seemed eerily familiar to Wendy.
As a psychologist, Wendy was, of course, familiar with the idea of regression. . .and the whole notion of reincarnation. As a scientist, she was skeptical. . .there simply wasn't enough proof to convince her. Too many times, much to her horror and dismay, regressed memories turned out to be planted memories. But as a human being. . .on a personal level, on an instinctive level, she did believe in reincarnation. So. . .what if the voice she was hearing was her own previous incarnation? What if Francis Baylor's nightmares involved his previous incarnation? The question then became. . .were these tied to Allison's disappearance? If so, how? That was where it all fell apart. How could Allie's disappearance be tied to this, aside from a simple matter of timing?
She didn't know. She just knew that this female who spoke to her in a language she didn't understand was desperate for her to protect Brody. Something that she would have done willingly. Like Allie, Brody was a sacred trust from Michael. By taking care of him, she was fulfilling a promise, a vow, she made to the man she had loved so very much. Michael often worried about Brody. In his own way, he was just asprotective of the blond Englishman ashe was of his greatly-beloved younger sister.
Michael explainedonce, "When I look at Brody, I have this overwhelming sense that I failed him once before, some time in the past. I know. . .I know. We didn't meet until just a few years ago. But that sensation is there, and along with it is this. . .desire, this determination, to never fail him again. Promise me, Wendy. . .promise me that if. . .promise me that if I can't, then you'll watch over Brody. Promise me, love." Frightened by her fiancé's words, by his very intensity, Wendy agreed.
She would have agreed anyhow. She loved Brody, too, in the same way she had loved Flynn, in the same way she loved Allie. And losing either of them. . .that was something she couldn't do. She couldn't bear to lose either of them. Allison was beyond her aid now, wherever she was. . .but Brody was still here. Wendy hugged him again, drawing a soft groan of protest. She kissed the top of his head, murmuring an apology. But Brody remained asleep, and that was all to the good. He needed to rest.
There were many times, during the last ten years, when it crossed her mind. . .to find comfort in Brody's arms. Or, perhaps to offer him comfort in her own. Given their shared loss, and the fact that Michael had been his best friend, it wasn't so far-fetched. Brody was an extremely attractive man. . .especially when he smiled. There were times when she nearly ached with the loneliness, and she longed for arms to hold her tight. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Brody deserved better. So did she.
It wasn't even a matter of betraying Michael. Her fiancé had been a devastatingly practical man, almost as practical as Brody himself. He told her more than once that if he died first, no matter how old they were, she wasn't to spend the rest of her life mourning him. Taking Brody into her bed wouldn't necessarily mean a betrayal of Michael. At least, not according to him. She just. . .she just couldn't do it. She didn't love Brody that way. If she had given in, she would have betrayed herself and Brody.
And that brought her right back to her need to protect Brody. He was just as lonely as she was, and guilt-ridden over the chasm between himself and Allison. In his eyes, he should have tried harder to reconcile with her. They both could have done more, but that was beside the point now. He wasn't to blame for her disappearance. . .and he wasn't to blame for Francis Baylor shooting him. She nearly came unglued when Robin told her about the confrontation in Brody's hospital room. If Sebastian Gannon ever tried that in her presence. . .
It didn't matter. But it did. Francis Baylor's nightmares. Her voices. Allison's disappearance. The three were connected. Her instincts were screaming at her that they were connected. But how? How were they connected? How did she prove it?
And how did she protect Brody from whatever happened next?