Halifirien had been the last beacon outpost they had camped at and within that week they had made it to Edoras as well. Now, however, Boromir and Aeardis were truly in the wilderness as the Gap of Rohan drew closer with each passing day. More than a fortnight had passed since they set off from Osgiliath and the weariness of long days riding and short nights was beginning to show on Aeardis's delicate features. She was unused to traveling such distances, since arriving in Middle Earth the furthest she had ventured was back to Pelargir and to the seat of the Riddermark.
The Misty Mountains, at one point even before Edoras, were nothing more than ghostly shapes on the horizon, angled panes of white and gray, but as she and Boromir drew nigh, the range acquired substance. Soon after Aeardis could make out the dark band of trees along the base and, above that, the even wider band of gleaming snow and ice. Still higher, the peaks themselves, were bare stone, too high for plants to grow and even for snow to fall. Their path drove them toward the Misty Mountains, and into the dense forest at its base.
Shortly after midday, the heavy downpour began. Lightning flashed above in the dark sky and thunder cracked, sometimes shaking leaves and needles from trees. Even as the worst of the storm passed, the rain still came down in hard pelting sheets through the foliage. "Is there no dry place in this accursed forest?" Boromir questioned with his teeth gnashing together, droplets of water beaded down the hood of his leather cloak.
Aeardis rode ahead, straying from the well-worn path to find a decent spot to make camp. With the rocky soil and proximity to the mountains, she suspected they would stumble upon a cave or even an alcove created by a rockslide. Within another hour, her theory had been proven right.
There was an opening in the ground, large enough even for the horses to pass through. Boromir slipped through the entry, his sword drawn as caves were seldom unoccupied, but a moment later he reappeared. "It seems safe enough, though I would not risk a fire," he said. It would have been nigh impossible to find wood and kindling dry enough to even start a fire.
She guided her horse down the sloping entrance and hefted the saddle from the stallion's back as Boromir did the same with his own mare. The ceiling of the grotto was rock and root, sometimes water would drip down off of a hanging rootstock. Aeardis unclasped her water-sodden cloak and pulled off the soaked doublet, laying both pieces over the jagged rocks lining the back of the cave. She turned, wearing only her breeches and a thin undershirt and opened her mouth to say something but Boromir beat her to it.
"What are you doing?" He asked with reddened cheeks, not daring to meet her gaze. "We'll catch our deaths out here if we stay in these wet clothes," she explained whilst plundering in the pouches on her saddle to pull out two blankets that would serve their purpose until her clothes were dry. Despite her reasoning, the stubborn captain stood unmoving though he was soaked to the bone.
Unwilling to be caught off-guard without his hauberk, Boromir moved closer to the entrance of the cave and sat. Aeardis frowned and went over to him, resting her hand on his shoulder. "We are well hidden here, you must rest too."
He peered up at her and frowned. "Aeardis," he admonished. "Boromir," she responded in the same chiding tone. "There's room for the both of us," she motioned toward their bedrolls and the blankets that they could share until the morn. After a short while, he stood unbuckling his sword belt and loosening the silver clasps on his leather jerkin.
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Another month passed, for now, they were north of Dunland, near the ford of Tharbad. Boromir had offered to set up camp and tend to the horses while Aeardis bathed in the nearby river. It was an offer she was eager to accept as the dirt and grime from hard and long days were beginning to cake within her hair and on her skin. There were many things about traveling long distances and ranging that she had yet to grow accustomed to, being covered in filth was one of them. She had scrubbed her clothes first and left them drying on the bank.
Soon after, Boromir came shifting through the brambles and low hanging branches of the forest, even he had not gone so long without a proper bath.
Aeardis sunk down in the river, though she could not take her gaze from Boromir as he began to undress. His back was corded muscle, strong and scarred. Faramir had a certain, almost elfin, grace about his movements, but Boromir, he moved like a bull, broad shouldered and proud. She felt heat rise to her face when he began untying his trousers and only then did she turn her gaze elsewhere, not daring to look back until she was certain he was waist deep in the river.
"It didn't heal completely," she blurted out, a poor excuse for her blatant gawking. He glanced over to her and only then realized she was speaking of the scar that ran from the bottom of his ribs and nearly to his hip, at its widest it was the width of three of her fingers. Some parts had taken on a silvery pigmentation, while others were still red and angry as if the wound was fresh. "You told me that it mended properly," Aeardis berated, a twinge of something crept into her chest at seeing the mark.
Boromir wore a pensive frown and waded through the water, closer to Aeardis. "I told you that so you would not worry as much when I left for Poros," he admitted, ashamed to tell her that he had lied. Each of them had little to say after that. Having lingered in the water long enough, Aeardis picked up her clothes, though they were still damp and made her way back to their camp.
Kindling and thick branches were piled high between their bedrolls, their packs had been placed in the small clearing as well. As she pulled her shirt of mail back over head and fastened the clasps of her own jerkin, Aeardis saw that their saddles lay against the trunk of an old tree. The horses, however, were nowhere to be seen or heard. A small amount of panic ran through her blood and she drew her sword from its sheath, but there was no one and nothing around that meant to harm her in the moment.
Then she saw the loose ropes that were meant to secure their mounts and stomped back toward the river. "Boromir!" her face was red by the time she reached the river bank where he stood adjusting his tunic and mail. He looked up, but could not begin to guess the root of her distress. "The horses," she gritted out, "are gone."
For a moment, he thought she had said that their horses were gone, but that couldn't have been right, he had tied them off before coming to the river. "What?" His tone was incredulous and disbelieving.
Aeardis clenched her hands into tight fists at her sides, seething. "The. Horses. Are. Gone," this time her voice was level and she paused after each word so Boromir's thick head could process what she was saying. He stood there, mouth agape. Frustrated, she shoved him back into the river and turned back in the direction she had come.
She had not spoken to him since the horses had been lost, she hardly even glanced in his direction. Halfway through the second day of her irritable silence Boromir sighed and took three long strides until he was in front of her on the worn path. Aeardis attempted to dodge around him but he always knew which way she would go. "I would not have you angry with me for the rest of this trip." He did not know if he could bear another hour of this maddening silence, especially from her. He was far too accustomed to her banter and laughter. It was torment to go without it for so long.
"How would you have me then?" She crossed her arms, impatient to be on their way. It would not do for them to be late for such an important meeting. Time was precious, especially now that they had to make the rest of the journey on foot.
"Perhaps here on the ground," he said in an insouciant tone, shrugging, "or against that there tree." Delight overcame him when she smiled after giving him a slight of the eyes.
"Boromir!" Aeardis scolded, half-laughing until the Steward-Prince lurched forward and covered her mouth his hand, pulling her from the main road along the Gwathló and into the dense forest. "Orcs," he whispered, his breath tickling her cheek. She felt her heartbeat hasten and found that holding onto the hilt of her sword offered a strange comfort.
"How many?" came her soft question. Boromir peered around the thick trunk of the tree and felt his heart sink as he counted at least fifty in their ranks. Even he knew it would be folly to hope to defeat that number with only two swordsmen. "More than we can hope to defeat."
So their progress halted. The tree they scaled had smooth white bark and silvery leaves that were beginning to turn gold. From the position, the party of orcs could be seen moving southeast, toward the villages near Tharbad. When the last of the hideous creatures were out of sight, they still waited for several more long minutes before returning to the road.
A sense of panic welled within Aeardis's gut, not only was time an enemy but now orcs stood between them and Rivendell in surprising numbers. Like herself, Boromir kept his hand over the hilt of his sword, thrice he had drawn the blade at nothing more than a squirrel and birds in the bordering woods. When they came to a stop once again, Aeardis dug through her small pack of belongings and pulled at a book, the title no longer visible, yet within it was numerous descriptions of the land, animals, plants, and people that inhabited it.
Pages rustled as she looked for the chapter on seas and streams, her finger ran down each page in haste until she found the single word she had been looking for, neither her or Boromir could remember the river that ran through Imladris. "We continue on the North-South road until it crosses the Bruinen, there we must turn north and follow the Bruinen to Rivendell." It still seemed to surprise Boromir from time to time that she knew so much about all of Middle Earth and the lands beyond the sea. She felt his gaze and huffed, snapping the book shut and returning it to her pack, "I spend practically the same amount of time as you do looking at maps, Captain-General, only my focus isn't solely on Gondor."
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Aeardis, in a daze, poked at the dying fire with a twig until sparks leapt into the air and flames began to lick at the dry bark of the piece of kindling she had salvaged. They had covered several long miles that day and now her body spoke of its discontent with aching feet and sore legs. She was tired, but sleep would not come, nor did Boromir find it easy to rest since seeing several parties of orcs roaming free.
He was looking at her, rather intently though, admiring the warmth that the fire cast on her pale features, but he could tell she was thinking about something much too hard and then the words slipped out of his lips without hesitance, laced with hope. "Marry me?" Her head snapped up in his direction at the abrupt question. "What?" She refuted, red faced and alarmed.
"Ah, so that will gain your attention," he chuckled as the panicked shock wore off of her expression. "Would you, though?" He asked, and this time it was sincere, there was no jest in his eyes or tone. Her heart was thudding loudly in her ears and she wanted badly to say yes, but he was the heir of Lord Denethor and she was only an advisor.
"I am to be your advisor, Boromir," she reprimanded, "not wife." Aeardis hid the pain such words brought in a manner that could have even fooled Faramir. She knew Denethor would not bless their marriage and it would not do well for the Steward-Prince to have strife with his father. Boromir shrugged, but determination crept over him, "There is no reason that you cannot be both. Some seem to think we are already wed."
Aeardis sighed, finally tossing her burning twig into the flames, "Are we truly discussing this at the moment?" She had not meant the words to sound so harsh, but so much was weighing on her thoughts, namely a dream that Boromir had told her over, a dream that soon after she had as well. Seek for the Sword that was broken.