Aeardis supped alone in the library, rethinking over what had been said and proposed at the council and the impending journey that she would undoubtedly be taken on if Boromir had his say. He would not leave her to travel back to Minas Tirith on her own in these dark times. Her thoughts were interrupted by the very person that consumed them. He sat across from her at the small table and reached for both a glass and the decanter of red wine. "What do you think of the fate of the One Ring?" He asked.
He had spoken openly in the council that Isildur's Bane was a gift to the foes of Mordor and indeed that would be true if there was anyone strong enough to wield the ring and not succumb to its power. The council had ridiculed him for such a statements and Aeardis had noticed the way many now regarded him with wariness. Perhaps if the others had grown into manhood in the Shadow of Mordor then they would understand that his intentions were not evil, that he only wished for the strength to defend the realms which he loved. Though that did not change the fact that the ring was pure evil. "It must be destroyed, Boromir," her voice was tight.
"Perhaps, but think of what Gondor could accomplish with it. We could drive the enemy out of Osgiliath, restore the city, and clear our lands of orcs. No more of my brothers-at-arms would have to perish for this cause."
"No one can wield it and do such acts," she snapped, almost repeating what Aragorn had said during the meeting. She was tired of all the talk of war and the end of the dominion of both men and elves. "Not you, not your father, not even Faramir or any other soldier can use the ring." Aeardis did not regret her words though she did regret her tone. Her voice was softer now, more akin to what the Captain was used to hearing. "You may seek to do good with its power but through you, it will do evil."
Boromir's expression darkened. "Have you so little care for your home and people?" He rejoined. She was almost rendered speechless by his backhanded words.
"Listen to yourself, Boromir!" Aeardis could not bear to look at him, so she looked anywhere else. Down at her hands, the small scratches on the table, to the open balcony on her left and the shelves of books on her right. "I love Gondor as I loved Tol Eressëa. It is my home now and I do not wish to see it fall but using the Ring is not the path to be taken." She met his gaze and frowned at how muddled and distant it seemed as if he had not even been listening as she spoke. Aeardis reached across the table taking both his hands into her own and held them with a fierce determination.
"Stay with me, okay?" Her voice cracked. The trance that had taken hold of Boromir lifted like a morning fog. He frowned, slipping his hands free of hers only to lean forward and rest them upon her cold cheeks. "I feel its power too, its temptation," she admitted, "but as long as I draw breath I will not give in."
His eyes were no longer clouded with angry, but rather held a clear sort of sadness within them, "You do not understand," he said, quietly, "my father commanded me to bring the Ring to him." At one point, that would have surprised her, but now with Denethor's ailing mind and use of the Seeing Stone, it didn't seem to shock her at all that the Steward would make such a foolish request of his dutiful son.
"And you must deny him," Aeardis replied, softly, as she could see the pain it brought to his fair features. Never had he disappointed his father and yet for Gondor's sake, he would have to. Boromir met her murky gaze, still holding her delicate face between his battle-hardened hands. "What is your choice here? Do we unite as one or do we die as many?"
Boromir's hands fell away from her face at the heavy question she had asked. "This is the city of the men of Númenor we speak of. I would gladly give my life to defend her beauty, her memory, her wisdom." Aeardis's smile was fleeting, though Boromir did not see it as he stood to leave the library, having left his glass of wine untouched.
"Suilad mellon," Lord Elrond had a book tucked under his arm as he came to the library balcony. Aeardis turned and lowered her head in greeting, but said nothing for still much was weighing on her mind and heart. The elf-lord sat opposite of her at the small table, looking over the title she had chosen to entertain herself with for the evening with a soft smile of approval.
Elrond opened his book to a marked page but seemed unable to read the words on the page. His focus, instead, was on Aeardis and the peculiar, elfish way she presented herself. "You are not elf-kind, how do you know the sacred tongue of healing and magic?" She looked over at the elf-lord with a slight smile too genuine to be a smirk. "I saw you heal the Halfling yester moon," he explained, even if it were a minor incantation, it still took elvish blood to cast successfully.
"My father's people were from Númenor," she began, closing the worn book on herbology, it was Elrohir's favorite, "before its downfall some sailed to the east and came upon Tol Eressëa, by the grace of the Valar they were permitted to remain there." Elrond nodded, understanding that her tale was rooted in truth. "My elven heritage spans back to Idril, Lord Elrond, from the same line as yourself, just not as strong." Elrond and his kin were Half-Elves, Aeardis, like her father, were more Quarter-Elves than anything, even if it didn't have the same ring to it.
The Lord of Rivendell seemed momentarily taken aback, but found only truth in her words, "goheno nin," he said, but Aeardis smiled and shook her head, "There is nothing to be forgiven, my Lord."
"I see it now," Elrond mused, "The truth of your heritage lies within your beauty and slightly pointed ears." Aeardis felt her face heat up as she touched the tip of her ears. Boromir had once made fun of them for having a gentle point, but he did not know the reason behind it, only Faramir did. "Ohtar was your father," he concluded, seeing more of her father within her than her doomed mother. She nodded. "You have his bearing. May his memory never fade."
There was silence then, as Elrond poured himself a glass of wine and for a moment Aeardis believed he would return his attention back to the open book that lay before him. Yet, the elf-lord did not, "I wish to speak to you of another matter as well," this time his voice held the same grave quality that she had heard at the council meeting prior that day. "I am concerned about your companion."
"As am I," Aeardis confessed with a heavy heart. The elves, nor even the other men, understood Boromir as she did, "he has fought for Gondor since he was old enough to wield a sword. He has led troops of men to their deaths and seen his friends perish in battles they could not hope to win. He's a captain that men will follow, even under the shadow of dark wings, yet he can find no hope in the shadow of Mordor." Her shoulder slumped forward and now Elrond could see the traits of mortality within her, even her hope had begun to wane over the long years. "So much rests upon his shoulders. I only wish I could ease the burden."
"He may be a good man, but he is a man nonetheless and predisposed to their weaknesses," Elrond told her, even if she did not wish to hear such a thing. Aeardis couldn't imagine Boromir as having a weakness, but if she had to name it, it would be Gondor. The realm which he loved.
"What can I do against such power, Lord Elrond?" For a moment, she was broken and did not know if she asked for herself or for Boromir.
The dark-haired elf shook his head, for even he did not have an answer to such a question. "In these times, that is the answer we all seek," he replied in what Aeardis thought to be a typical elfish way. "You will go with the Fellowship then?" Elrond asked.
Aeardis nodded, she would not remain idle in an elven paradise whilst her home suffered, "Gondor will have use of me before this war is over and whilst I travel with them, I will do my best to protect Frodo."
Elrond placed his hand over his chest and bowed his head, "then you shall go with the blessing of my people." Seeing as the hour had grown late, Aeardis stood and showed her obeisance to the Lord of Rivendell, "Thank you, Lord Elrond, for your blessing and wisdom."
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
"Aeardis!" She jumped at the call of her name and turned around within the courtyard, finding a frantic fairy queen moving toward her. Arethusa came before her and stopped, her violet eyes looked to be a shade darker in the evening's dusky light, but it was her silver hair and burnished diadem that stood out the most. "I fear your journey will be long and perilous, I have foreseen it," the fairy confessed and for a moment, Aeardis felt her heart stop and fall into the pits of her stomach, "and for that, I wish to bestow these gifts upon you."
She wished to protest, to say such things were not necessary, but in truth, she was frightened of this quest, rightfully so too. Arethusa held out a small brown leather bag with a thin strap, "The first is my own sabretache," the fairy paused as Aeardis opened it up to see a various assortment of herbs and flowers. "It now has an enchantment that took me many years to weave perfectly, but you should find that its stores are always replenished," she explained.
Next, the fairy queen held out sword and sheath. The handle was wrapped in a supple black leather, the pommel held a dark sapphire and the cross-guard was twisted silver, engraved with flowering vines. "Here," she pressed the blade within Aeardis's hands and watched as she slipped the rippling blade from its black sheath. It was lighter than any sword she had ever wielded, even lighter than the small one her father had given her years ago. From pommel to tip it was just longer than the length of her forearm and easy to handle. "It is one of the last fairy blades that remain in this world, trust in it and it will not fail you."
Aeardis did not have time to thank her before she pulled out another item, this one was a small vial that had been stored in a deep blue velvet sash. The vial itself was over half empty, the remaining liquid was pale blue in color. It reminded Aeardis of the winter, of snow and ice. "This vial contains the last drops of juice from a snow-flower that was only found on my home. A single drop can heal any wound." Of the three items, it was this one that Aeardis cherished the most already, it seemed a precious thing that needed to be used wisely and sparingly.
"I do not know how to thank you," Aeardis admitted, the satchel hung over her shoulder, the fairy blade and its sheath were now attached to her belt, and now she held the vial of snow-flower juice. Arethusa smiled, it seemed to be a rare occurrence as of late for the fairy queen. "I see part of myself within you, Aeardis of Tol Eressëa, and that is a rare thing," there was a moment's pause before Arethusa pressed two fingers against her lips and held them up toward Aeardis. "May the sun and moon guide you safely on this journey and may fate allow our paths to cross again."
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Time seemed to pass quickly and not at all. All Aeardis could deduce was that it was a conundrum that came with being amongst the elves for what had now been three weeks, though when morning finally broke the Fellowship would set off on their perilous quest to destroy the One Ring and thus end the power of Sauron for all days to come.
It was as she was tossing in the night that her eyes opened just long enough to catch the lone figure that had turned away from her room. "Boromir?" She called out to him and he stopped, his shoulders falling forward in weary defeat. "You should be asleep. We depart at first light." He knew that and he knew that with a long journey ahead he needed rest, yet it would not come and he would not surrender to staring at the ceiling while waiting for sleep to come.
She sat up, rubbed her heavy eyes and pushed the linen and blankets aside. The worry was etched clearly on his face, in the months since departing from Osgiliath he appeared to have aged two, perhaps even three years. The soft moonlight gave way to the dampness around his eyes. Aeardis frowned and when he relented to sitting on the edge of the bed, she was quick to wrap her arms around him and draw him backward. She knew his thoughts were troubled, her own had been filled with darkness. Boromir was a man of few words, though, he would not dispel his minds worries and hopes unless necessary and Aeardis understood that.
A hush fell over them until she ran her fingers through the beginnings of his beard with a soft hum of contentment. He stilled her hand but wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her small frame against his. Aeardis listened to the steady beat of his heart and when she believed him to be asleep, she placed a gentle kiss upon one of the scars on his chest that was half exposed by the collar of his nightshirt.
Translations:
Suilad mellon - Greetings friend.
Goheno nin - Forgive me.