Aeardis hurriedly tied off the front of her dressing gown after the Steward's youngest son came barging through her chamber doors with a piece of parchment in his hand. "Faramir?" The heated flush that had risen to his cheeks at the state of her previous undress had faded, as had any remaining discomfiture.
"We received news from your father, he is set to return to Minas Tirith," he said, passing the scroll to her so that she may read over her father's letter. "It is likely he has already landed on our shores." Indeed, Ohtar would likely have landed on the shores of Middle-Earth by now, a bright smile stretched across her lips.
"Will you ride out with me to meet him?" She did not wish to wait until her father arrived in the White City before they could be reunited again. They had already been parted for three months and now she had numerous questions to ask about the position she had come into.
Faramir glanced down at his boots with a disheartened sigh, "I wish that I could, but I must meet with Madril when he returns from the ranging." Aeardis knew that he would not forsake his duty as a ranger, but perhaps, if she asked sweetly enough, Boromir would go with her. Her sweet pleas worked, or perhaps the young lieutenant wished for a break from the both Denethor and the Captain-General's assigned duties. The two set out that day before dusk.
Boromir and Aeardis met the traveling party by the river Anduin not far from the city of Pelargir. Ten riders had set out on cloudy morn from the gates of Minas Tirith, now on the return journey, there was only six. Ohtar was not among those six riders. A hard lump rose in her throat that made it hard to breathe and swallow.
Aeardis pressed her heels into the side of her silver mare and raced toward the group with Boromir close behind. "Cadarn, where is my father?" Her voice was shaking. The solemn expression that the guard wore did nothing to ease the growing sickness she felt. It seemed enough to tell her what had happened.
"An orc ambush, my lady," the longtime friend and household guard spoke with a weariness that she had never heard before, "there were too many." He turned on his mount and glanced back at the flatbed wagon covered with an intricate saddle blanket that bore the sigil of Tol Eressëa.
She slid off her horse, as did Cadarn. "Aeardis," Boromir reached for her but she was already too far away.
Aeardis lifted the blanket that had been laid over the wagon and saw her father lying there with a peaceful expression that could have been mistaken for sleep if not for the arrows that had pierced his torso. At first, there was no despair, only anger, at herself, at the guards who had failed her father and then disbelief set in. When she bit down on her bottom lip, Aeardis could taste the salt of the tears that had slipped down her cheeks and a tinge a blood.
Her gaze had grown hollow and a sickly pallor washed over her countenance. Boromir pulled her back from the wain that carried Ohtar's corpse and tucked her into his side. If orcs were roaming freely in Gondor then they would not be safe in the open, they needed to return to Minas Tirith with haste.
Her father's body had been brought back to the city and prepared by the silent sisters of Gondor. Five thick black arrows had been pulled from his body and the open wounds sutured. His pale skin was scrubbed clean of blood and filth, the silver whiskers on his chin trimmed.
With shaking hands Aeardis held onto one of the black-feathered arrows. "A single arrow may bring down the mightiest of men and he was pierced by many," those were the words of consolation that the sisters could offer. She supposed they were supposed to make her feel better yet they did the opposite.
"He should be with the sea," she finally said. It would not do to have her father buried or placed in a crypt. He was from Tol Eressëa and lived by and on the sea, that was where he belonged, alongside Ulmo, with the spray of salt water and the sound of breaking waves.
"It shall be done," one of them said. For only the second time in her life, Aeardis wore black from head to toe in mourning.
Ohtar, son of Rirosdaer was laid to rest in a boat with his cloven shield lying at his feet and the sword Seregruth clasped within his hands. Aeardis leaned over the boat and kissed her father's brow one last time with warm tears streaking down her cheeks. The six pallbearers had placed the boat into the river. "I want to do it," Aeardis spoke quietly, but the men understood what it was she wished to do.
She waded into the river, pulling the boat along at her side. For a moment, she paused and looked down, tasting the salt of her tears. He would not wish for me to weep.
Aeardis gave the boat a gentle push downstream and the current carried her father into the night. Those that had gathered to see the Sword of Twilight make his final departure from the realm of Gondor stood on the bank, watching. Denethor looked on with a grim expression that did speak of sympathy or grief, in truth there was no discernable emotion.
The falling night brought silence. Aeardis looked up at the stars and then back to the river. She could no longer see her father's burial ship. Her cries came then, soft and strangled, she would never see her father's like again in this world.
A deep nauseating sentiment arose in Boromir as he heard the cries that Aeardis had tried so hard to keep hidden from those who stood on the bank of the Anduin. He unclasped his thick cloak and laid it on the winter grass, there was no thought in his actions when he stepped into the frigid water and waded to Aeardis. His arms encircled her and immediately she turned, pressing her forehead into his chest while her hands feebly clutched at the clasps of his fine surcoat that the water would surely ruin.
The gelid water had turned her skin to ice and she shuddered as the cold sank deep into her bones. Boromir lifted her from the water and turned back to the shore. Many, including his father, had already turned away to return to the city and villages. He draped his cloak around her shoulders and placed her on his mount, guiding them back to the city.
"Your father will be remembered, Aeardis, he was a good man," his throat was growing dry with the words he spoke, providing comfort and consolation was not his strong suit. Yet he could not bear to see her sadness. She was quiet as Boromir began, but soon, hot tears welled up in her eyes. Her father had always been kind, more than kind; he was a good man with a good heart, noble in deed and spirit. Few men such as that remained in the world.
And so she was carried. His forearms were iron beneath her legs, and after a time, she began to let her head lull forward. The linen shirt was dry and warm on his shoulders, and her eyelids bobbed with the slow sway of his step. As the light faded to a golden red, she wiped her nose on scraps of cloak and saw the earth grow greener beneath his boots.
"Lord Boromir," Nimmien nearly dropped the dirtied dresses and underthings from her arms at the sight of her ladyship cradled against Boromir's chest in such a frightful state.
"Draw a hot bath and have something warm brought up for her to eat," he instructed.
"Of course, milord," Nimmien curtsied and scurried away to carry out her assigned duties. His legs were almost numb from the cold air and damp fabric that clung to his skin, right now though, that did not matter. All that mattered in this very moment was Aeardis. Boromir knelt in front of the hearth and struck the piece of flint with a rock, sparks quickly caught to flame. The room was rid of darkness and its chill.
A train of women began bringing pitchers and buckets of warm water to pour into the stone bathtub. Boromir sat Aeardis in front of the fire and helped her out of the soaked velvet overdress, leaving her in naught but a thin shift. He took the slippers off her waterlogged feet too and placed them aside to dry. She shivered when his warmth left her but before she could speak he had lifted her into his arms again and was carrying her toward the steaming water that filled the bath. He placed her on the edge and kissed her temple, promising his return.
By the time she had dried and put on a nightgown, Boromir had returned to sitting in front of the fire. No longer wearing his damp garments, instead, they were replaced by an undyed cotton tunic and a loose pair of brown trousers. She knelt in front of him and reached forward, taking his shadowed face into her hands. "I don't want to lose you," her voice quivered and the words pierced Boromir's chest. She's afraid, he realized, though he did not know how to comfort her.
Gently, he pulled her hands away from his face and kissed the palm of each one before gathering her into his arms. "You won't," he promised and silently he cursed himself for making a promise he could not keep.
He woke with stiff muscles, pillows and blankets had been strewn on the floor from the night, but Aeardis was not among them. Boromir called her name, but there came no reply. The sky over Minas Tirith was grey and heavy with forlorn rain. She was not in the library nor the Fountain Court so he went to the one other place she often frequented. The training grounds.
The sword felt like lead in her hand but she swung it with all her might and struck the straw stuffed target. She hacked at it until her arms were almost numb and each swing was painful in itself. "You'll exhaust yourself," it was Boromir. She gritted her teeth together and swung the sword again, her shoulders slumping forward.
"That's the point," Aeardis replied, a dark bitterness rooted in her voice.
"Aeardis," with the way he spoke her name she was almost tempted to turn, but instead she reared back for another swing, "your form is wrong," he caught her wrist before she could strike the training stake again and immediately the sword fell from her grip and clanged against the cobble.
"Boromir," she turned to look up at him with red eyes and tears streaking her pale cheeks. Aeardis pressed her face into his chest and held onto his tunic. "I should've been with him. I-"
"Hush," Boromir whispered, his arm wrapping around her waist, "such words will not help him now." She knew that he was right but that did not mean the wound had been healed yet.