Aeardis entered the Great Hall and curtsied, "You required my presence?" The mocking question was directed at Lord Denethor, the other council members turned in her direction as if awaiting an explanation for her tardiness; when in truth she had not been informed of the meeting at all until Ethildr pointed out that the nobles and elders had gathered.
"Yes, there are matters to be discussed," came Denethor's curt response. Aeardis took her place at the table and the meeting progressed. "This brings us to the line of succession. Boromir is my heir, it is known, though I believe it is time that he marries and secures his line," Denethor seemed unable to remove his pointed gaze from Aeardis. Unease welled up in her stomach and suddenly she felt her heart drop. You knew this day would come, she told herself, but that did not make the thought of seeing Boromir married off hurt any less.
Clorben, the eldest member of the council, placed his withering hand atop Aeardis's and she had to wonder if she was that poor at hiding her emotions or if the old man knew. "The White Lady of Rohan is an agreeable match." Aeardis couldn't pinpoint which of the darkly robed elders had spoken. She thought it had been Túrdaer, with his soured expression and white whiskers that twitched every time he spoke. He had been the one to oppose Aeardis taking Ohtar's position as he believed it improper for a woman to hold power. "Aye," the voices chimed in, it was a match that had been spoken of before and with great favor.
"Word has also reached us that there is a great beauty in the city of Dale. A descendant of Lord Girion," Nelion supplemented. Hushed whispers dispersed through the Council of Elders. Aeardis studied the lines of her palm and said nothing, only listened to the bickering of Denethor and the council members and felt her chest begin to ache with a sickening realization. I think I love him, why else would I feel this way?
"What do you think, Aeardis?" It took her a moment to realize that Lord Denethor had spoken to her and now the entire council had turned their gaze upon her.
She measured her next words carefully, unwilling to tell how her heart felt or the innermost thoughts of her mind. "I believe it is unwise to make such decisions on this matter without Lord Boromir present." Boromir would not have the council bickering over his marriage when there were battles to be fought in defense of Gondor. Unable to leave her opinions unvoiced for any longer, she stood and paced around the circular table that had been hewn from the white mountain. "Pelargir has seen an increasing number of Corsairs trying to make their way through the harbor. Lossarnach has sent word of villages being raided by Haradrim once more."
Túrdaer and Nelion followed her movements, frowns settling upon their aged faces. They had come to realize that she was far too studious in her position, just as her father had been. She had no time for frivolous disputes of marriage when a war was being threatened on the land from three different approaches. "Osgiliath is little more than a pile of rubble at this point," Aeardis paused and saw Denethor's gaze darken with malcontent, leering. "Let us defend Gondor's port city and people before focusing on the fallen city."
Clorben stood from his seat, bracing his hands upon the stone table, "I must agree with the young Aeardis, my Lord Denethor. She speaks with wisdom and knowledge beyond her years."
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"What is you wished to speak with me about, Faramir?" Aeardis looked up from her letters and books. The young ranger sighed, unsure as of how to word his concerns and questions.
Faramir pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to push the images of Lossarnach on fire and the way the people screamed far from his mind, "Does he heed your counsel?" It was clear who he meant, his father, as Boromir nearly always took her words to heart and weighed them carefully.
Aeardis frowned, "Not often." Denethor had scarcely taken her father's advice in the final years of his service and heeded hers only when one of the generals or Boromir voice their support. She knew the reasoning behind the Steward's actions, or at least, she thought she knew. "He has a Palantír and through it, the enemy convinces him that there is no hope for victory." Faramir paled. "It is a dangerous thing, Faramir, as no one knows where the remaining stones are. Those that were lost may have been found by our enemies to the South, there is no way to tell."
"This is ill news," he said, quietly.
"Yes," she began in a tone that was, even more, grave than before and with more hesitance, "For the good the realm I believe it vital to share as little information with your father as possible about our strategies and strength." Faramir sat back in the chair as if he had just been dealt a serious blow to the chest, "Does Boromir know?" he inquired. Aeardis shook her head and a somber silence fell over them that lasted until Faramir was called away.
The war council that had been summoned was not on what strategy would best defend the borders of Gondor, but on reclaiming and restoring the city of Osgiliath. Despite her attempts to drive the meeting away from the ruined city, Denethor had overruled her council and ordered the city to be retaken. When the Great Hall had emptied out, Aeardis watched in a remorseful silence as the Steward turned away and scuttled up the stairs to the sole room in the Tower of Ecthelion.
In silence, she followed him, a sense of courage and fear swelled in her gut as she entered the room on which the seeing-stone of the White City sat atop a white pillar. A sharp contrast to the black polished stone that now swirled with greys and reds. Denethor had almost laid his hand upon the smooth surface when she spoke out. "My lord, Sauron deceives you. There is still hope, the Palantír has blinded you to it."
Rage overtook his expression. "There is no hope, woman," he spat.
Aeardis took another hesitant step forward, her hands clasped in front of the silver chain that sat around her waist. "Lord Denethor, I beg you for the safety of your sons and city, do not use the Palantír." She did not wish to see Faramir or Boromir come to harm for their father's foolishness, nor did she wish for her home to fall into the hands of the enemy.
"Do not speak to me of my sons!" He roared with a voice that quivered on the verge of madness. Aeardis flinched, her murky eyes clouded with some unreadable expression. Denethor stepped toward her, his face a mixture of rage and sadness. "You're the reason Boromir will not marry! You're his bed-warmer?! Nothing more than a common half-blooded whore." It took a moment for the words to register and when they did it felt as if her world had crumbled.
In a meek voice, she excused herself, leaving Lord Denethor's presence with a lowered head to hide the tears that had begun streaming down her cheeks and the way her bottom lip quivered. Aeardis went to her study, finding comfort in the maps and paintings that adorned that stone walls.
The letter to the Prince of Dol Amroth was half finished and when she sat at her desk and dipped a quill into the inkpot she found that her hand was shaking far too much to attempt to write something legible. Soon, she found herself sitting on the balcony of her bedchamber, staring blankly over the far horizons. She was chaste, untouched, unsoiled. She wondered if the words would have hurt as much if she was indeed a whore.
The evening passed and she had scarcely left her room but to fetch a scroll from the library. "Aeardis?" He had somehow managed to enter her chambers in silence, though when his hand found her shoulder she felt the tension in her body fade into almost nothing. She laid her hand atop his and sighed. "What is the matter?"
Aeardis quickly wiped her eyes and stood, "Nothing." But Boromir would not accept that as an answer, his thumbs brushed over her damp cheeks, just beneath red and puffy eyes. "If you have been crying then it is not nothing."
She stepped away from him and turned her cheek, not sure she could meet his gaze after what Denethor had said. "Please, I do not wish to speak of it."
Boromir sighed and knew that it would be senseless to try and goad her into speaking of what had caused her tears. "Very well, I will not force you to, but at least come share supper with Faramir and I. It's growing late."
It was in Finduilas's decaying garden that they took their meal, under the golden light of a setting spring sun. The main conversational topic was the campaign to take back Osgiliath and dread filled Aeardis's stomach at the thought, yet she provided her insight and suggested that the attack begin during the late hours of the evening so the surprise could remain on their side for as long as possible. Faramir was the first to depart, he wished to retrieve some of the scrolls that depicted the layout of the ruined city. Soon after both she and Boromir left together to retire for the night.
They both stood at the entrance to her room, a good night farewell was on the tip of Boromir's tongue but before he could speak, Aeardis clasped his hands within hers. "Don't go!" She pleaded. Confusion worked its way onto his face with furrowed brows and a small frown. "Don't go back to Osgiliath." She said, this time softer.
Boromir searched her face to find an explanation for this sudden outburst but found nothing that seemed plausible. He raised his hand to her cheek, "You know that I must." Aeardis swallowed the lump in her throat and felt ashamed that she had asked him to abandon his loyalty to Gondor for her own sake. "It is my duty to the realm." He added, softly but those words seemed to mean something else. It is my duty to you.