Aeardis had a woven basket in her hands that was half-filled with letters and payments that she had been over in her father's absence. Boromir and Faramir both were stripping off the training plate armor and setting blunted swords aside in the armory when she appeared. "Would you two like to accompany me to the market?"
Faramir wore a wistful smile as he shook his head, "My duty calls me away to Ithilien at sundown." Boromir looked surprised by his brother's sudden statement and Aeardis's smile fell, it was becoming a rare thing for the three of them to have time together.
"Then I bid you safety and quick return." Faramir nodded at her words and took her into his arms before retreating toward the Citadel.
Boromir offered her the crook of his arm and took the basket from her hands. They left the armory and passed the Houses of Healing before entering the level of the city that was home to esteemed merchants and established nobles of Denethor's court. Her rounds on this level of the city passed by quickly, many of the recipients were out for the day and the notes and scrolls were left with wives or handmaidens.
"How is it you know them all so well?" He questioned, awe in his voice, she seemed to know every person that owned a shop and roamed the street.
Aeardis looked up at him with her wide and murky eyes. "This is my home now, it would be a disgrace if I did not interact with them," her words left Boromir in a daze while she wandered over to a potter and peddler, speaking to them as if they were her closest friends. She asked about their wives and recalled the names of their children too. Seeing her among his people made Boromir's heart feel odd, but it was not the first time that such a feeling had swelled in his chest at her doing.
She had learned to love the city and its people and spent many hours among the commons. Aeardis knew many of their names, who their siblings and children were as well. It had long been rumored in the markets that it was actually her father and the steward's sons who kept the realm from falling apart at the seams. Those rumors held more truth to them than she cared to admit.
"Dis!" A young girl of six ran up to Aeardis with a bouquet of wildflowers that she had picked in the small patches of grass and weeds that sometimes grew between the white bricks within the city. Upon catching sight of Boromir though she backed away with wide eyes, some of the flowers slipped from her grasp. "Prince Boromir?"
The Steward-Prince looked to Aeardis in question and shock. She laid her hand on his shoulder, speaking softly so the girl would not overhear, "Her name is Miriel. She fancies you."
He knelt and took the girl's left hand into his own, "Not a prince, Lady Miriel, just Boromir." The girl blushed and nodded, unable to speak. Boromir plucked a purple vetch from the arrangement of flowers and tucked it behind her ear, pushing back her coppery curls as well. Lastly, he brought her small hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles as a prince would his lady.
The bouquet fell to the ground and if was even possible her cheeks grew all the redder. Miriel's bright smile could have rivaled Boromir's as she took a step back before turning away. The girl ran down the street, laughing and singing of her sweet prince.
Aeardis shook her head, smiling and went to continue on to the market, though Boromir had scooped the flowers up off the cobbled street and held them out for her to take. "I think these were meant for you, my lady." She took the bouquet of winter flowers and tried to recall what each of them was named.
"She's a very sweet girl," Aeardis commented as they walked into the next level of the city, "Her father is a tailor. On one of my errands, I went to his shop, she was struggling to tie off a needle properly. I showed her the trick that our seamstress had taught me on Tol Eressëa."
Armories passed by, as did bakeries and taverns. The two had come to the open market on the fourth level of the White City. Vendors had set up with their crates and wagons of fruits, silks, spices, and odd little trinkets from distant lands. Aeardis quickly spotted the winter fruit she had become so fond of during her stay in Gondor. "Pomegranates!"
The vendor looked up, a smile hiding behind thick white whiskers, "Yes, my lady, fresh from Lossarnach, just in time for Yule." She gave the man a silver coin in exchange for one of the heavy red fruits. Boromir snatched the pomegranate from her hands, though. Before she could object, he had already sliced the crown off with his dagger and broke open the tough skin to reveal the deep red arils within. The Steward-Prince passed Aeardis half of the fruit and the two continued down one of the streets where blacksmiths and seamstresses alike had their shops.
"Are you ready for Yule?" Boromir asked. Between the feasts and merrymaking, it was one of his favorite times of the year. The only thing that could rival the occasion was when spring was welcomed back into the realm of Gondor.
"I suppose," she responded, not exactly looking forward to the absence of her father at such a festive time. Boromir knew this though, and so in hopes to lift her spirits and give her something to look forward to, he ushered her into one of the fabric and dress shops. Faramir had told him that many ladies fancy clothing and jewels, though Aeardis did not fall into that particular category, it did not stop him from doing so.
"Lady Aeardis!" The seamstress set aside her spool of thread and stood.
"Hello, Laimes!" She called back, her glare not leaving Boromir.
The seamstress sank down into a low curtsey as she rounded the corner of her workbench and saw the Steward-Prince within her shop, "Lord Boromir." Her tone had instantly changed to a more reverential one, "How can I serve you today?"
"Aeardis needs a dress for the upcoming Yule celebration." Aeardis glared at him from over her shoulder. He only smiled. It was tiring seeing her wear the same things repeatedly for such expanses of time. Sometimes Boromir swore that she dressed in such drab manners to dull her beauty.
The seamstress nodded, excitedly, "Of course, come, let's pick out a fabric."
At the back of the shop was a single room with material piled up in a dozen places. Aeardis shifted through the bolts of fabric, some were simple linen and others rich silks from the far south. Cool and neutral colors dominated the selection, from blues to greys, the only warmth came from a roll of red samite and burgundy cotton. Hidden away in one of the corners of the store, though, was a soft, almost purple material that caught the Steward-Prince's eye.
"What about this one?" Boromir was looking down at a roll of mauve wool.
"M'lord has an excellent eye," Laimes complimented as she gathered up the roll and placed it next to a light grey that would create a lovely combination. Aeardis knew straight away that she would not be able to say no to such a fabric. "The color will go nicely with your skin and hair, my lady." It would make her hair look all the darker and her skin look like snow.
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Boromir watched her deftly wrap the linen around his forearm, the deep cut soon hidden beneath the layers. It had long since ceased bleeding, and he had not had any intention of getting it looked at. The grip around his good arm had tightened until he yielded himself into her care. For such a small woman she was strong.
A wide smile of her own reflected his as she rolled her eyes at him, clicking her tongue disapprovingly as she wound the linen around his arm. For all his strength and prowess, he was irritatingly fond of trying to hide wounds and injuries from the healers, especially when they were obtained in the training yard.
"I did not mean to distract you," Aeardis spoke with a serious tone, but the bemused expression she wore gave truth to how she really meant the statement to be taken. Boromir scoffed, "Are you mocking me, Aeardis?" There was a playful tone in his voice that she had not heard in a long while. It was a pleasant change from the somber tone that often plagued the realm.
She turned her gaze back down to the linen wrap that had yet to be secured to hide the smile that was threatening to form on her lips. "Perhaps, my lord." Her voice was soft as she tied off the linen and dared to look back up at him.
"Devilish woman," he mused aloud and at that, she did smile.
Aeardis stood with the excess supplies gathered in her arms. "If I distract you so easily then I hope we never get tangled up in battle," she commented, stretching up to return the tin of salve back to its place on a shelf. If she knew the Steward-Prince well enough, then she would have guessed he was rolling his eyes or making a soured expression. Yet when she faced him again he was doing neither of those things. A faint flush had come to his cheeks, a crooked smile on his lips.
"Would you fancy a game of chess?" He asked, absentmindedly, chess was not his strong suit but he would endure the tedious game if it meant having an hour long in Aeardis's company.
She turned, wiping her hands on the front of her smock, and smiled, "Does m'lord desire to be beaten?" Boromir sent a cold glower in her direction that made her laugh, yet there were still matters that needed to be taken care of before there was time for games. "I must make preparations for Théodred and Éomer's arrival," she had almost forgotten about their scheduled visit if not for a raven's reminder, "perhaps tonight we may share a game."
Aeardis stirred the fire in her father's study and switched out a candle that had nearly burnt out for a fresh one. The day was growing darker and there still was much to do. She had sent letters and lists to chambermaids to prepare two of the main guests' rooms for the envoys of Rohan and several of the lesser rooms were to be prepared for their accompanying party. The stables were to be stocked with fresh straw and the only the finest stablehands were to tend to horses of the riders. Now, as she wrote down orders for the feasts that would occur during their stay, her stomach began to ache and grumble.
Boromir must have heard the cry from his solar, naught even seconds later he had come into the study with a platter displaying fruits and cheeses in one hand, a flagon of wine and two glasses were in the other. "You share you father's work habits," he noted. Aeardis smiled, she was very much like Ohtar in the sense that it was likely she would work herself into an early grave for the sake of Gondor. "Even you must take a break, Aeardis."
"I don't have a choice now do I?" Boromir chuckled and she dipped her quill into the pot of black ink to finish one final line of a possible menu, before setting it aside for the night.