She must have spent half the morning searching for him. His chambers were empty, the training grounds lifeless. Not even the serving girls and chambermaids had seen him. Aeardis's annoyance progressively rose, it was like him to disappear when she needed to speak with him on urgent matters. In one of the main halls of the Citadel, she found Faramir, leaving from a meeting with Madril and Lifaen. The smile he wore at her sudden presence faded instantly when he saw her deep-set frown.
"Where is your brother?" Aeardis demanded. "I must speak with him about our plans for Poros. Hirluin has informed me that the Harad army has hastened their march." She was near breathless in her anger and exhaustion.
Faramir frowned, all his prior amusement with her frustration at his brother was gone and within the span of a second he had turned into an Ithilien ranger. "He rode out this morning." He had helped Boromir saddle his horse in the early hours of the morning, the sun had yet to break the darkness on the horizon when he set off through the gates of the White City. His sword was at his side, his shield across his back.
Aeardis furrowed her brows, "To where?" There was no need for him to leave the city, especially with the threat of a Southron invasion.
Faramir shrugged, "He would not say." Her glower deepened as she pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long, exasperated sigh.
"Have you a moment to spare?" she asked.
He nodded, "What do you require?"
"Your mind." She replied and he was happy to oblige to such a request.
Across the tables of the library were numerous scrolls and books that had been laid out, all of them on the subject of war and strategy. "The men will not be able to effectively dam the river before the army arrives, but in my readings, I've noted the use of certain items together that have been used in prior wars," she explained, eyes alight with wonder and determination. "Though I have yet to find a precise method of recreating it." She had yet to sleep for the puzzle at hand would not allow her to rest easily.
Faramir understood and immediately picked up one of the scrolls that she had yet to read and carefully they skimmed over the old texts, looking for anything that would give information on how to concoct what had been termed Blasting Fire by Men in the Second Age. The day passed and night came, only two scrolls remained. They each unrolled the delicate parchment and skimmed the last of the old text.
"What will we need?" Faramir inquired.
"Saltpetre and charcoal," she said. "Sulphur if it can be spared," he added, having found the same primary ingredients in his readings as well.
Within the hour, both Faramir and Aeardis returned to the library with their arms full of jars and tins. The saltpetre came from the kitchens and butchers who used it to preserve meat, the charcoal from smiths who used it as fuel, and the sulfur from the city's winemakers who burned sulphur candles within empty wine casks to keep the wood from souring.
Aeardis gathered a roll of paper and scooped up her quill and inkpot. They would work on the balcony, away from the precious books and scrolls that were not immune to fire. The first trial had no reaction, the second smoked but never took to flame, the third burned but it was hardly different than the fire that burned in a hearth. Ten more trials persisted where there was nothing that showed that this method could move stone and dam a river. She was growing more and more irritable with each failure. Faramir remained patient and hopeful, finding each failure a lesson.
Alas, Aeardis tried again, this time with more saltpetre than charcoal and sulfur. Faramir ground the powders to a fine dust with a marble pestle and she pressed a wooden lighting stick into the mixture and stepped back. A second later it took fire and puff of black smoke emanated from the mixture with a loud pop. She looked to her side at Faramir and smiled.
Faramir jumped to his feet, "I'll send word to the merchants and the stockers to reserve what we need." She nodded and offered a tired smile to Faramir, who left the library in haste. Aeardis pulled herself up, gathered her written records, and sealed off the jars and tins that held the necessary pieces to make Blasting Fire. When she entered her room for the first time in over a day, she fell forward onto her featherbed, careless to the ink and dust that stained her skin and clothes or the tinge of rotting eggs that was trapped within her dark hair.
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
In four days' time, the concoction had been mass produced and packed away within a hundred leather pouches with paper fuses. Aeardis brought one of those pouches to her father, who had fallen ill within the time since the last council meeting. A summer fever, the healers had said, many others in the city had been afflicted with the same ailment.
Ohtar leaned forward and looked at the mixture that had been taken from the pouch. He knew what it was at first glance. "This has not been made by Men in many years." That much was surely true, most of the accounts of recent uses had been by orcs and goblins. Men had last used the substance at the end of the Second Age in the War of the Last Alliance.
"I found records of it in the old scrolls." She took a small pinch of the powder and careful set it ablaze, it burned bright and hot for only a second before expanding into a puff of smoke. Ohtar smiled and weighed the pouch in his hand. "Do you think it will work?"Aeardis asked, despite all her knowledge and influence she always found herself coming back to her father for advice and assurance.
He nodded, pride gleamed in his eyes as he looked up at his daughter, "I believe that it will."
That afternoon she worked on receipts and payments that would need to be made to the people that had offered what was required to make the weapon. A young squire had taken the notes to the Master of Coin and she and immediately took up working on the next set of ledgers that Denethor was neglecting. A shadow loomed over her, irritably Aeardis returned her quill to its inkpot and looked up from the ledger and orders that she had been working on.
Boromir stood in front of her desk, grinning, but Aeardis was scowling. "Where have you been?" She demanded of him, angry and relieved all at once and his smile faded.
"Do not be upset with me, sweet lady." She crossed her arms and frowned at the endearment, he only ever called her that when he was up to no good. "I brought you a gift!" He declared. From beneath his cloak, he revealed a large conch shell and placed it on her desk with a small leather pouch.
Aeardis gasped as she took the shell into her hands and run her fingertips across the polished pearlescent interior with a melancholy smile that faded as soon as she raised the shell to her ear. Within it lie the call of the sea, with waves gently crashing against a rocky shore. For only the briefest of moments, she had been transported back to her home and was standing on her black beach beneath a white stone castle.
She sat the shell aside and loosened the tie on the pouch, white sand lay within, speckled with dark material and fragments of sea shells. Boromir watched the way the corner of her eyes crinkled as she smiled down at the sand and did not miss the single tear that escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek. Aeardis stood from her seat and moved around the desk. For a moment she stood in front of Boromir, but then leaped into his arms with no forewarning. Aeardis pressed her face against the crook of his neck to hide the tears falling from her eyes yet he could still feel their warm dampness on his skin. "Thank you, Boromir." He held her close, smiling into her hair and she could not remain upset with him any longer.
In the remaining hours of the day she had briefed him on the newest revelation of the Harad army and showed him the Blasting Fire that she and Faramir had concocted to damn the Crossing of Poros. The pair supped together in her solar and after the table had been cleared she brought out the black stone chessboard and set the red and white pieces.
She took his pawns first and then his bishops and knights. His queen had fallen to her rook, but he claimed it was a tactical sacrifice and not folly. With a smile pulling at the corner of her lips she pushed her queen forward, "Checkmate." Boromir ran his hand down his face, not quite believing that she had defeated him so easily. Aeardis stood and poured both she and her guest a small glass of wine. "You have your sword and brawn," she began, "but I have my tricks and mind. We play with the toys we are given."
"Infuriating," he grumbled, still looking down at the chessboard. Aeardis took a sip of the summerwine and glared at him, resetting the pieces. Boromir could not keep a straight face for long, though, and a broad grin broke out beneath the copper tinged facial hair. This verbal sparring had increasingly become his favorite form of fighting and Aeardis his preferred partner. Being on the receiving end of her glare was a prize onto its own.
Silence crept over them, "Faramir and I depart in the morning." She had suspected as so, that had been what Hirluin had mentioned when she presented a pouch of the explosive to him. Most of the army had been readied, swords sharpened, armor polished, and supplies packed.
Aeardis dreaded the night before battle for a multitude of reasons. She feared that her strategies would fail, that the death toll would be beyond the count of grief, and most of all she dreaded the days of emptiness not knowing whether Boromir or Faramir were alive. "Then you should rest," she told him.
Boromir shook his head and leaned forward, moving one of his pawns forward. "One more game," he insisted and she could not deny him that.
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
The morning trumpet called Boromir to his position, though before he could depart he went to Aeardis. She was still sleeping. The lines of care and toil on her face had smoothed and virtually disappeared. He could not, in good conscious, wake her. Instead, he laid the dusty pink cockle shell on the table next to her bed and left. When she did wake there was already a certain emptiness that she could feel. She saw the shell and took it, running her fingers along the ribbing but after a moment she simply clasped it between her hands and held it beneath her chin, smiling.
Ohtar had told her two days ago that she needed to rest, but she believed that he did not understand the twisting and nagging feeling she felt in her gut that something was wrong. On the fifth day since the campaign begin Ohtar grew tired of seeing his daughter pace and worry. He gently took her face into his hands. "Remember spring swaps snow for leaves," he said, "everything will be alright." Aeardis bit down in her bottom lip and nodded. She found herself in her father's arms, clinging to him like she once did as a small child.
Neither took notice of the herald that had entered the room until he cleared his throat and gave a small bow, "My lord, my lady, we've received word about the Fords of Poros." He was holding a small piece of parchment with trembling hands. Aeardis felt her heart sink. "Your weapon deployed as expected and the battle has been all but won. The first regiment is returning as we speak."
She was thrilled to hear such news yet despite the relief and swell of confidence in herself, none of it showed. "And Lord Denethor's sons?" At first, she thought she had asked the question, but it was her father.
"Unharmed," the herald answered. It was then that her elation showed. Now all she could do was wait to hear the ringing of silver trumpets as they welcomed home the Gondorian army.