I don't own LotR
Wyniel was largely unresponsive for the next day. The city was in a state of mourning, and Wyniel led them. She stared blankly out the window that overlooked the river, and once the sun had set, she climbed silently into bed and grasped Boromir's arm for dear life.
"I feel so empty." she sighed.
Boromir said nothing, just held her tighter, and neither slept that night.
The next day, military and civilian life went on as normally as possible. Black flags whipped in the wind among bartering heads, and Boromir supervised cavalry formation on the Pellenor. Wyniel, however, was kept company by Faramir, whose Ranger company that he was training with had been called out, leaving the recruits out of danger. They mostly walked around the courtyard, occasionally studying the company on the field. Faramir could only be reminded of the rush to the river, though, and he knew Wyniel felt the same.
Boromir was having his own dream-like memories return to him, but being a strong soldier, he put them to the back of his mind.
Their dinner was somber, silent, and sustained. The smaller table had not yet been restored, so Boromir placed his chair next to his wife and Winmund was called to dinner to fill the empty space. At least Wyniel was eating, though.
A few weeks later, Boromir's company was called to defend Osgiliath from a group of orcs on the other side of the river. Winmund and Faramir were with their Ranger group, patrolling the trees miles from the city. Wyniel was left alone to wander.
Going first to the lower levels, Wyniel kept close to the wall in order to see the Pellenor. On the fourth level, however, she was stopped by a woman very close in age to Wyniel.
"My lady." the woman smiled gently at her. Wyniel did the same, glancing around the steps of the house where they stood. There were herbs strung from wires and the smell of chicken emanated from the open doorway. The wind blew and both shivered, Wyniel underneath her husband's cloak, the woman under her thin wool. Wyniel glanced nervously toward the field.
"Do you worry for the soldiers?" the woman asked. Wyniel nodded.
"Is your husband with them?"
The woman smiled timidly and nodded. "Yes, but we shouldn't worry. Our men are strong."
Wyniel nodded. "But there will always be that hint of doubt. I know that Boromir is a wonderful leader, but he is mortal."
"Indeed, we are all mortal." the woman agreed. Just then a small child of about four years ran from the house. He clutched a wooden dagger and shouted with hysterical laughter. Wyniel looked upon this child with wonder. She could only be reminded of her lost son, who may have played in the same way.
"I must go." Wyniel muttered, and briskly made for the Steward's Hall.