Prologue

"I can resist everything except temptation."


I was too young to remember Lady Amaline and Lord Boromir's highly talked about courtship; but people still talked of it almost twenty years later. Lady Amaline had been one of Gondor's great beauties, and Lord Boromir was our dashing young captain, brave and handsome, and a man of the people. They met at a ball, some said a Yuletide ball, but others insisted it was in the summer, but it is generally agreed they made their first acquaintance at a dance.

She was universally admired for her grace, and even our oft-absent ranger king who is still unmarried at the age of ninety was said to have looked upon her with regard. But it was Boromir that caught her eye. They danced the whole night together, stole away to the gardens, were seen laughing (laughing? Boromir? This is where the story does not hold up) and for four weeks, they courted. He brought her flowers, they went riding together on the plain, took her to his mother's home in Dol Amroth and it's said, with his father's permission, asked her to marry him on the beach. They were spotted kissing (Boromir? The staid son of the Steward? Kissing?) openly.

Gondor was very happy for them, and their wedding was highly anticipated.

And then, to everyone's shock, she ran away and married a minor lord in the privy council.

Minas Tirith expected him to challenge the man to a duel, but instead, he pulled some strings and our mysterious king granted them a small piece of land in Ithilien where they spent most of the year.

"I reckon that she was trying to hook the king," said Menathin, a regular at The Suckling Pig, my father's tavern, as I was bringing yet another jug of ale. "Make him jealous, but it didn't work and Boromir cast her off!"

"I reckon Boromir couldn't hack it in the bedroom!" snorted his friend Britten. This was a common theory. Boromir was thought to be a soldier first and a soldier last, and not interested in anything that was not warfare. Unlike some of the other nobility, he and his brother did not seem to have affairs or liaisons - with anyone. It was most unnatural, everyone agreed.

Whereas Lady Amaline had almost as many children as my parents - and they were all girls. It was said she had wanted a son. Her husband, a rather plain looking, mild-mannered scholar, was said to be the happiest man in Gondor, despite the lack of heir. No one was sure how he had found himself married to such a beauty.

My father smacked them both on the head. Papa had been in the army with Lord Boromir and served under him despite being a few years older, and would never hear a bad word about him.

Nevertheless, it was said that Boromir was grim and grave, that there was no joy in him anymore. Certainly, their father was dour and his youngest brother always looked on the verge of tears. Melancholy fell over the whole family.

Taverns are gossipy places, and I've often found that men chit chat more than women, especially when they're in their cups.

But then, a lot of Minas Tirith's stories revolve around Boromir. How he fought with the Rohirrim at the battle of Isengard when that stupid wizard thought he could be the next Sauron. When he and his brother Faramir brokered peace with the Haradrim and rode back to Gondor on an oliphaunt. When he went with our fool ranger-king into the mountainside to release those ghost men.

And then there was that time with the dragon.

My brothers loved the stories about Boromir fighting the most, and my mother still enjoyed hearing about poor lovelorn Boromir cast off by the cruel (but still incredibly beautiful) Amaline.

But to be honest, Boromir wasn't a young man anymore, and even his younger brother (equally as handsome) was not as sought after any more by the ladies of Gondor (and a few of the men, to be sure). Denethor had married in his fifties, and so we all assumed they'd marry eventually. But there were more handsome men at court - such as the princes of Dol Amroth.

And I had bigger problems to attend to: like my future.

My father was now a quartermaster in the army as befitted an injured man in his fifties, and ran The Suckling Pig, a tavern on the lower ring, which was still fairly reputable considering its surroundings. He had lost a leg in the battle at Helms Deep and Boromir himself had pulled him out of the grip of a goblin.

Losing a leg did not stop him fathering four more children after that.

When I was sixteen, I asked the local midwife for the potion that women used to stop pregnancy from happening. She had tutted and said that I was perhaps a little young to start philandering (her words) but then I was my mother's child (also her words). But the potion was not for me.

"But I just love babies," mama said, stroking Ethel's head. I adored Ethel, but I wanted this chubby baby to be the last.

"But I am tired," I said. That day I had dressed and woken all the children, taken them to school, washed down the tavern with Sally, who was fourteen and was preparing to open the tavern.

"You're my eldest daughter, Brura," mama said. "And as such you have responsibilities."

"What else would you do?" asked my brother Sam, who was my twin, and studying to become one of Minas Tirith's law court.

"Our little scholar!" said my father, ruffling Sam's head and handing me his mending to do.

I baulked. I was now one of ten, caught between a father who expected much from me and had limited mobility, and a mother hellbent on single handedly birthing Gondor's next generation. I wanted more, and could only see hard work and little reward in my future. I wanted better for my siblings. Sam would be fine, as would Jecken, but what of all the girls?

And as sure as hell I wasn't entering into matrimony. I loved my father and he worked hard, and I loved my mother who meant well and loved us, but I was exhausted. This was prison, I thought. I was certain that only the deepest love and affection could induce me into matrimony.

And of course, a rich husband. But I had my doubts that would happen, and as such, must take matters into my own hands.

On my seventeenth's birthday, I left the tavern one morning and marched into the Houses of Healing. I had a long, winding walk through the city of Minas Tirith (even with the shortcuts) to think about this. Committing myself to becoming a novice was no small thing. First of all, the apprenticeship would last five years (which seemed an eternity to me) and I could not release myself. Only if they deemed me unworthy or I committed some sort of crime would I be allowed to leave. Secondly, novices must remain chaste. This was no great loss, I thought. I had no desire to marry anyone and start pushing out babies, and as I had delivered many of my mother's last children (we could no longer afford the midwife), I found it quite off-putting in general. It was known that while the Houses of Healing accepted nobility and peasantry alike, us low-lifes would be stuck with the dirty work, and had to prove that we could take on the craft of healing. And the uniform was ugly and ungainly.

But it paid. It paid money. Decent money.

My parents did not take my absconsion lightly. Papa set his tank on the table and called me ungrateful. Mama wailed and said what would she do, and then revealed she had another baby on the way.

Sam laughed.

The rest of them looked at me. I was not the sort of person, it seemed, who rebelled against her family. I took on the load. I bore all the loads.

Sally looked at me like I had abandoned her, and I knew that she would have to pick up the slack.

"I will give you half my salary-"

"All of it," said my father, quietly. "We are in desperate need, Brura. Sam's tutoring is expensive. And he has great need of candles to study. We need him to pass these exams."

I wanted to scream.

"Sam will study in the mornings, and tend the bar in the evening. Sally will be apprenticed to the seamstress on Luthien Avenue when she turns fifteen," I decided.

Sally perked up. I had caught her eyeing up the seamstress' wares on numerous occasions as we walked past. The embroidery was exquisite and she made gowns for Gondor's court (although mostly the older, more old fashioned ladies).

"Fine. And you will return every Sunday and help us out at home. You cannot neglect your duties," said mama. She knew that the novices had every Sunday free.

I agreed, wondering if this would be more, or less work than before. But money, and freedom!

A week later, I took my meagre belongings to the House of Healings and met my fellow novices. We all looked the same in our baggy white smocks and white caps, and it was then I found out that not only were the daughters of nobility fast-tracked to studying and nursing, but that we peasants lived completely separately.

Sometimes we saw them, their white robes and caps pristine, looking beautiful and stately. We were usually scrubbing the floor at the time, mucky, sweaty and covered in Valar knows what.

I made two good friends, Nadia and Rosen, who were both from Osgiliath. We told each other about our families (Nadia's father was a drunk, and Rosen's parents were dead), and they came with me to the Tavern every Sunday and helped serve our customers while I helped the children with their homework, gave them baths and cut their hair. They were always mucky when I came to visit.

Nadia and Rosen were very good looking, and women rarely entered taverns and so our pub swole with customers who tipped very generously, trying to get their attention. They both found this highly amusing and played up to it. I found it amusing too, as I did not know how the men couldn't realise that they were in love with each other.

Papa gave them good money every time they turned up to help.

"You need to do more!" I snapped at Sam. We had this conversation every weekend it seemed.

"Our mother needs to do more!"

"She's pregnant!"

Sally was struggling with it all, so I took her to the seamstress and begged for an apprenticeship. Medeline agreed after seeing Sally's quick and precise sewing, and said she could work in the back rooms three days a week hemming dresses.

Sally cried, she was so happy. "Thank you, Bru! I was beginning to think I was always going to be covered in baby sick!"

And so a year passed. Sam passed his initial exams, and moved into the inner citadel with the other law scholars.

"I got a scholarship, but it's barely enough!" he groaned.

I told him to shut up. I would love to be studying instead of scrubbing floors and lifting patients between different wards.

Sam felt pity towards me and told me how to sneak into one of the libraries.

"When am I going to have time?" I snapped. But I stored that piece of information away.

A few months later, in the summer, we were taking our lunch in the herb garden. It wasn't particularly nice, unlike all the pleasure gardens in Minas Tirith, some of which were private, but it had great views, including the main pleasure garden where we liked to watch the lords and ladies from above.

Nadia was always threatening to spit on them, which amused us all greatly. There was no great love lost between us. We loved watching them, but they wanted us to be in our place.

"The princes of Dol Amroth are here, they're here in the city!" Nadia cried, hanging over the wall.

I wasn't particularly interested. They often visited the tavern, to experience "a bit of rough", and so papa and I always served them our most potent spirits and got them rousingly pissed. They were very good looking, tall and courteous. But entirely too full of themselves.

But their cousins, Faramir and Boromir were with them, Rosen said, hanging over the wall too.

Boromir looked grim, I thought, but more regal than the princes. He smiled a little, and talked to his cousins. Why was he so sad? I wondered

"That's Princess Lothiriel!" said Nadia, and commented on how beautiful she was. Rosen hit her on the arms. "Not as beautiful as you, of course," she simpered.

I laughed, but found I couldn't take my eyes away from Boromir.

I did not see him again for a long time.

My mother gave birth to another daughter, and leaned on Sally and Jenny for help. Jono and Feen joined the army, much to my father's pride. Ethel started walking. Sam made it to the next year of his law studies.

After over two years of service, I managed to impress one of the healers. I realised one of the bodies I was carting to the imaginatively named Dead Room, was in fact, still alive.

"And you say you can read?" asked Healer Artur. I replied in the affirmative.

On my twenty-first birthday, I was promoted to assistant. I would, along with my friends Rosen and Nadia (who had also distinguished themselves), finally be allowed to go to lessons. Once we passed our exams, we would be healers! And until then, I would be shadowing a healer when not in classes!

But amidst my joy, there was also worry. Mama had twelve children now.

"They aren't good for you, Bru, those potions," she told me, weaning my newest brother, wearily resting in bed.

That stupid superstition, I thought, that if you took any potions to have control over your fertility then you would never be able to have children later. But she already had twelve and four of us were fully grown.

"And soon I will be unable to bear children anymore. What will I do then?" she asked, looking up at me with watery eyes.

"Look after the children that you have!" I snapped. "Please!"

She turned away from me. I had known that her maternal grandfather had been a lord, and her mother had run away with a soldier. Mama had been taken back into the family for a while, and had been to dances in the citadel and worn dresses, before she had fallen in love with papa and moved into the tavern.

"I danced with Lord Boromir once," she said, dreamily.

I realised with a shock that mama was Boromir's age. How very different their lives had been.

But she wouldn't take the potion, and papa wouldn't listen to me either. I loved my siblings, and I would have done anything for them. Indeed, didn't half my wages go towards Sam's upkeep, to everyone's schooling, their medicines, their clothes? We should have been prosperous, I thought. But mismanagement had ruined it all.

I cried all the way up to the Houses of Healing, fearing that my mother's next childbirth would be her last.

I stumbled and fell on the steps as I took a shortcut through the tunnel.

Someone caught me by the elbow and pulled me upright.

"Thank you, my lord," I said, unsteadily. Boromir's eyes were a greyish green, as lit by the torches that surrounded us.

We were completely alone, I realised. What was Lord Boromir doing, using the tunnel entrance, I wondered, which was usually traversed mainly by tradesmen to the palace?

"You are most welcome, healer," he replied, in a gravelly voice.

I curtseyed, and he bowed (to my surprise) and he walked into the city.

I realised sadly, that not only was I wearing the garb of a healer, but also the cap, which hid my one beauty; my hair.

Soon, I was enthralled by our classes. It was pure joy to be free from hard labour, and to open books, to be taught about herbs and scalpels and poison and all the illnesses. I found I knew a lot more than I realised; I had brought up several children since I was but a child myself, and we could not afford a healer. I had nursed the babies through fevers, and cleaned the boys' many cuts, and helped mama deliver babies.

It was a new found confidence that put a spring in my step and a smile on my face. I knew I was meant to be here.

We moved from the main dormitory into a room that we shared between the three of us, and every so often, in our now abundant free time, I took myself to the library Sam had told me about, or the practice ranged to see my cadet brothers, to give my friends their much needed privacy.

One day, when I went to watch Feen training, I saw that Boromir was instructing. He was an extraordinarily good teacher; calm and encouraging, and also a little teasing. It was the happiest I had ever seen him. He told Fee that he had a good arm, and I saw my brother light up with pride.

But it was sweaty work, and Boromir tore off his outer tunic to reveal his bare, broad chest, replete with a few long scars across his back, and a little chest hair. He picked up his sword again, and struck blades with another trainee.

I forgot to breathe.

It was my destiny, I decided, as I slid inside the covers of my single bed that night. It was my destiny to seduce Boromir.


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