The entrance to Rivendell was but a passing shadow over the horizon. When the Ringbearer had asked what direction Mordor was, the grey wizard replied 'left,' and so the Fellowship turned south. Gandalf led the way with Frodo trailing close behind him, the rest were scattered in an unorderly fashion though Merry and Pippin chose to totter alongside Aeardis and Boromir.
Sometime after midday, they stopped at a stream that flowed out of the Misty Mountains to fill waterskins and take a short rest from the already long hours of walking. Boulders were scattered over the land, some next to the stream and others further away marking where past floods had once raged. Aeardis sat on one of the large rocks that had been weathered smooth and watched as Samwise tended to Bill the Pony with gentle affection. She had spoken with Sam prior in the day, asked about the pony and learned that once he had been mistreated by the men in Bree and thus this long quest was the best thing that had happened to him.
Boromir approached her, a stoic expression had come over him since their departure and with no preamble, he spoke, "You'll travel with us until we reach the borders of Gondor, from there you must return to Minas Tirith and tell my father to prepare for battle." She opened her mouth to protest but he knelt, took her hands into his own and alas had some resemblance of a sincere emotion playing on his countenance. "I do not want to put you in any more danger than is necessary."
Aeardis freed one of her hands and placed it upon his cheek, brows furrowed in hard determination, "And I do not wish to be parted with you." Boromir sighed, reluctant to accept her stubbornness and disregard for her own well-being. He pulled her hands away from his face and held them both near his heart. "Aeardis," he breathed her name in a low voice that spoke of his worry, his fear, his love, his longing. It was enough to break her heart.
"So be it," she whispered, eyes downcast as relief washed over the Steward-Prince. She would be of more use commanding from within the White City than she could ever be in true battle.
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"Gandalf," Aeardis said as she came up next to the Grey Wanderer's side. He glanced down at her from under bushy brows with soft blue-grey eyes that reminded her of her own father's. They spoke of hardships and unspeakable darkness, but despite that, the wizard held high spirits and was always quick to laugh. "My dear," he started with a twinkle in his eyes, "the last time I saw you, you were but a young thing trailing around after your father."
She couldn't remember exactly how old she had been when he had rushed through the streets of Minas Tirith on official wizard business as her father so fondly called it. "You have blossomed here," he commented, and she knew that he spoke of Middle Earth as opposed to the sheltered life that would have awaited her on Tol Eressëa. His slight amusement then faded and for a quick second, he glanced back toward Boromir and the rest of the Company. "I have heard troublesome tales of the state of Gondor's ruling Steward. Tales of madness."
A deep shadow crossed over Aeardis's face at the mention of the Steward. It was no secret between her and the two brothers that she and their father were not on the best of terms. "They have truth in them," she sighed, "ever since Finduilas passed, Denethor has sunk into despair." It was despair and grief that planted the seeds of madness and crippled his rule. "I did not understand when I was younger," Aeardis began, "so my father explained it to me like this: that there are times when the mind or heart is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind. That is what he has done, Gandalf, he lives in a dark world where this is no hope."
The wizard paused, allowing time for the others to catch up, and placed his hand on Aeardis's shoulder, "You have done more than you know for the realm of Gondor, nemir." With that single endearment alone tears sprung up in her eyes. No one had called her that since Ohtar's passing.
Only the scattered ruins of elven cities and the few remaining holly trees indicated the former glory of what once had been the realm of the Noldor. Several long days had already come to pass and many more lay ahead. Once more they stopped to make camp, this time it was below one of the skeletal watchtowers that stood guard over the land.
Aeardis spread her bedroll next to Boromir's and soon after helped Sam fillet and debone a handful of trout that Aragorn and Gimli had managed catch before it grew too dark. Boromir, along with Legolas were off gathering firewood while Gandalf entertained Merry and Pippin with a few measly acts of magic, as he had called them.
While the stew was brewing, Boromir began tutoring the youngest hobbits in swordsmanship with Aragorn watching with a keen eye. The elf and dwarf were bickering about something, Gandalf and Sam smoked their pipes and Aeardis had taken to speaking with Frodo about the stories of old, even telling him about the Lonely Island on which she had been born. Despite the long road ahead, everything felt right.
Boromir had taken the watch for that night, everyone else had succumbed to sleep, almost everyone at least. The Ringbearer sat up, unable to find rest with the burden that rested upon him. "What is it like?" Frodo asked after long moments of silence spent between them, simply sitting. Staring off into the fire or into their surroundings. "Your city, I mean. The cities of men... What are they like?"
The leather-work binding the hilt of Boromir's sword needed gentle tending. He had nothing handy to re-bind it, and so oils and a tighter wrap would have to do. It was pleasant and quiet work as the fire crackled before them, a nice reprieve.
But his efforts were forgotten when the hobbit's voice broke through the quiet, the man turned a curious gaze toward Frodo's questioning expression. He was quick to smile, homely affection touching kind creases to the corners of his eyes as he tried to form the words needed to answer. Faramir would not have taken such time to respond and surely Aeardis would have already strung together an alluring description, but Boromir was not one for words.
"Cities of men are as varied as men themselves. To look upon Meduseld, the Capitol of Rohan, you would be strengthened by its rugged beauty. The thatch of its halls gleam golden in the morning sun and horses run wild in the green fields below it. It is warm, worn and wooden. A good home." And he sighed, for truly to think of Meduseld brought him comfort and reminded him that they might pass that way again on this dark road of theirs. Still, his tone of utter adoration and love was reserved for another.
"But my City," said with the affection one might reserve for a mother, "Minas Tirith is white stone. A bright spire that reaches high up a bold and black mountainside. It's gates are iron and depict some of our greatest Kings in the prime of their glory. Banners of white satin never sit still, for her walls are so high that the wind never dies. Guards upon the walls gleam silver and she glows in high moonlight, every brick. She is a bastion of hope against the darkness at her back."
Another sigh, this one accompanied by a rueful chuckle as his eyes cast down to his weather-worn hands. "We all must be missing home." A rumbled and pensive observation, but he shook himself of it quickly, his gaze falling upon Aeardis, sleeping peacefully. "And you, master hobbit? What are the lands of your people like?" Frodo smiled, thinking of the Shire, of Bag End, of Bilbo.
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The torrential downpour thundered angrily against the earth outside, the subtle roar echoing softly against the cave walls. It wasn't exactly the warmest place and the company had had a sense of defeat and ill-manner when they had finally fled the rain. Aragorn had silently disapproved, Gandalf had very verbally disapproved and the Hobbits were shivering and unhappy. The Company was miserable.
That was until Merry decided to sing. With hindsight, the young Hobbit really lived and breathed his name. Jovial, warm, laughing, but with a lick more sense than his friend. Boromir was the first to start grinning, along with Gimli, as the man jogged delightfully around their bunched forms, laughed as Pippin eventually joined him and was eager to start up the clapping. Before long, he had caught the tune and sung along with boisterous delight. Aeardis laughed joined in, clapping with the rhythm and urging the two Halflings to continue.
Boromir looked down at Aeardis as she walked beside him the following day, but then his gaze returned to Merry who happily carried his shield, despite it being nearly as tall as he was and then to Pippin, who proudly carried a small sword that matched his cousin's in length and girth. He couldn't be sure what it was that he saw within the two hobbits that made him so fond of them. Perhaps he considered them to be children, or maybe even little brothers, regardless of which it was, he had sworn to defend them with sword and shield.
At some point, Boromir had fallen behind to speak with Gimli, it was then that the youngest hobbit ran up next to her. There was something akin to mischief on his expression, it reminded her of a certain captain when he was younger and would hide her books, or tug on her braids. "Yes, Pippin?" Aeardis asked, sensing that there was a question he was itching to get out.
A faint flush of color darkened his already rosy cheeks. "Are you," he paused, not knowing the exact words to use, and nodded back to Boromir, "–you and he?" Aeardis laughed even though her own face had taken on a flush of pink. Merry suddenly appeared at her other side, "What he's trying to ask is if you and Boromir are rustling in the carrot patch."
She looked over her shoulder, her gaze falling to Boromir who was listening as Gimli must have told a great story, for the dwarf was swinging his arms as if he held the axe on his back. What she hadn't expected was for Boromir to look toward her and for a brief, intense, moment, their eyes locked. Aeardis quickly turned away, a deeper shade of red crept up on her countenance. "No, master hobbits, we've known each other for a very long time though," she explained.
Merry and Pippin both exchanged an impish look as if they knew something she did not, or maybe it was because they didn't quite believe her. After all, there had to be a reason for the longing glances and gentle touches between the two of them. Merry and Pippin decided then that Aeardis and Boromir of Gondor belonged together and they would make them see that.