Under the night the trees stood tall before them, arched over the road and stream that ran suddenly beneath their spreading boughs. In the dim light of the stars, their stems were grey, and their quivering leaves a hint of fallow gold. The company's hastened pace slowed, they were not yet to safety but the dangers were hours behind them. Now, however, an entirely new and different danger lurked in the silent trees.
Well within the borders of the forest, they all came to a halt and settled around a small fire to have a quick bite and tend to any injuries. Sam had procured the worst one, he had an ugly cut on his right forearm, though not deep enough to require stitches. Aragorn moved to clean it, with cool streamwater, but Aeardis pulled out the small vial of snow-flower juice.
The Ranger sat back on his haunches in awe of the finely crafted vial and the cold blue contents within. She uncorked the vial and tapped a single drop into the center of the cut. Samwise winced and glanced up from the cut, though when he looked back down it had sealed close leaving naught even a faint scar. "How did you come by that?" Aragorn inquired as she tucked it back into its sash and hid it away within her small pack. "It was a gift," she responded, "from Arethusa." The Ranger nodded, knowing now that the fairy must have had good reason to give away the last of the potent cordial.
Before night enveloped the land, they were moving on once again, further into woods. Out of the nine companions, it was Boromir and Gimli who were at the most unease, each did not have a particular fondness for the race of elves. But a certain inexplicable warmth and gladness filled Aeardis while she walked among the tall trees, it did not seem like such a strange land, but another type of home.
The Company turned from the path, and went into the deeper shadows of the woods, westward along the mountain-stream away from Silverlode. Not far from the falls of Nimrodel they found a cluster of trees, some of which overhung the stream. Their great grey trunks were of mighty girth, but their height could not be guessed, they were the mighty mallorn trees and in comparison to the rest of Middle Earth, they seemed out of place. Reminders of a fairer time, of a fairer land.
A voice spoke suddenly from the tree-shadows above them. "Daro!" it said in a commanding tone. All nine travelers came to a halt. The voice spoke in an elvish tongue that none but Legolas fully understood, he called up back using the same tongue.
"What are they saying?" asked Gimli in an acrid tone, his two-handed grip on the ax tightened.
The elf glared down at the dwarf for his imprudence. "They say that you breathe so loud that they could have shot you in the dark." Even in the dull light of the moon, Aeardis could see the dwarf's cheeks redden in anger. The affronting quip forming on the tip of his tongue was stopped when Boromir gripped onto his shoulder in warning. Legolas now wore a fleeting smirk, "but they say also that you need have no fear. They have been aware of us for a long while."
Haldir was the name of the elf who had commanded them to halt, soon after he descended from the trees with two others, his brothers Orophin and Rúmil, both as fair and graceful as their leader. "You bring evil to these lands," Haldir stated, his gaze fixated upon Frodo, "you may go no further." It was then that Aragorn stepped forward and walked ahead with the three elves, he began speaking to them in a low, grave tone.
Aeardis tried to hear the exchange but could make out little of what was being said. She turned back and stood between Boromir and Gimli. Frodo looked alone with the three other hobbits huddled together behind him and while she wished to comfort him, she knew it was not possible, but then Boromir spoke suddenly, "Gandalf's death was not in vain. Nor would he have you give up hope," he paused, looked at the halfling and could see the toll that the journey had taken, "you carry a heavy burden Frodo. Don't carry the weight of the dead."
None of the elves had been particularly pleased that the fellowship had ventured into their lands, they knew the things that hunted them, but regardless Haldir led them through the forest and up into the crown of the trees. The light that passed through the canopy gave everything a golden-silvery glow.
The Lady of the Wood had offered them sanctuary and a place to mourn the passing of Gandalf. It was not yet known how many days they would stay in the fair realm, but they would take the shelter and safety with open arms.
A pale blue dress had given to Aeardis, the young elvish woman had recognized her as their kin at once and led her away in a fit of giggles. They combed through her hair with a pearl comb and braided it in many different fashions before deciding that it best suited wear a style similar to their Lady's. When her hair had been properly tended to and wash basin filled, the young elleths left and she moved to an area she believed to be secluded where she began removing her leather armor and chainmail.
She looked down at her side and found a dark bruise blossoming across her ribs, it had come from both the Watcher and the fall. Her fingers tested the innermost, and darkest region. She gritted her teeth together to stop the soft yelp of pain. "Forgive my intrusion, lass." It was Gimli but his sudden appearance had left her startled and struggling to regain her breath "That bruise looks like it should be tended to."
There was nothing that could be done for bruises, she had learned that well enough as a child. Aeardis quickly pulled her tattered tunic back over her head and laid her hand upon the dwarf's shoulder. "Thank you for your concern, Gimli," she began, then a soft smile played upon her lips that was truly elvish in nature, "but that is the thing with bruises, they all heal, eventually."
"Something weighs heavily on Boromir it would seem." She believed she knew what the dwarf was doing if the snickering of two hobbits had anything to do with it, though what he said was true. Boromir was sitting alone on one of the roots of the Mallorn tree. Aeardis slid back into the small alcove and slipped into the dress. Such fineries were never something she craved but after the long weeks on the road and all that had passed it was a pleasant change to truly be reminded that she was a proper lady.
The dress itself was different shades of blue with inserts of silk and velvet, finer than any of the dresses that Gondor or Rohan could produce. Its sheer sleeves dusted along the ground, sweeping away what few leaves had fallen. The Steward-Prince glanced up hearing her soft footfalls and felt his heart clench and skip, she was an ethereal vision and more beautiful than any being in Arda.
Aeardis sat next to Boromir, her hands clasped together in her lap. The silence was solemn and frightening. She feared sleep would not come to her and feared for the fate of the quest and all those involved. Aeardis closed her eyes and breathed the cool night air. It felt odd to have the assurance of safety for the night, yet she welcomed it.
"She spoke to me," Boromir said quietly and suddenly, unease in his voice. Aeardis looked at him as he spoke but it seemed the rest of the sentence had become stuck in his throat. Galadriel's gaze had landed upon her several times but the White Lady never spoke. Aeardis could see the pain and forlorn expression that had come over her companion even with his misplaced and forced smile. "She said there is hope," his voice was broken.
Aeardis reacted immediately and cupped his face in her hands, saddened to know that he had forsaken the hope that Gondor could be restored. "There has always been hope, Boromir." Tears glistened in her eyes. It was then she saw the cut across his palm that he had been picking at. It was only half-scabbed over. Blood ran down his fingers and onto his tunic, staining the rich burgundy material a shade darker. "Let me tend to your hand," she murmured. Boromir meant to object and insist that it was only a scratch, at least this time it would have partially been true.
She was gone for only a moment before returning with a basin of water, a dish of salve, and a strip of cloth draped over her arm. Aeardis knelt and took his hands. They were scarred, dirty, and calloused, yet for those flaws, she loved them more.
There was a shallow cut on his cheek, too.
Gentle fingers had brushed past the wound, delicately covering it with alfirin salve to stop the bleeding and seal it, an elven remedy. Aeardis sat back, wiping her hands on her breeches to clear away the leftover stickiness and to admire her work. Within a few days, Boromir's fair face would be as it was before, with nothing to mar it.
What came over her, she could hardly tell, but she was struck with the urge to lean forward and press a soft kiss to his cheek, as she had done before, when sending him off to battle or when welcoming him home. She felt heat rising in her cheeks, but shook her head to rid herself of the embarrassment. He is my friend, she told herself. Friends could share a small moment of affection, they had done so numerous times before now.
At least, that was what she told herself as she leaned in, lips pursed to press a kiss to the side of his face. But her lips never made it, never felt the slight stickiness of the drying alfirin on his wound.
Instead, she found her lips against his and little desire to shy away.
He had turned his head at the last moment, probably to see what she was doing. Dark murky eyes widened in surprise and looked up to meet shining silvery blue. In all her foolish daydreams, she had never been able to imagine how his lips would feel against her own, and they were softer than she had expected and much more gentle. Boromir must have thought she was made of glass for his caresses were feather light, there was hardly any force behind the kiss.
Cheeks aflame with heat and color, Aeardis pulled away with a gasp. Shame and embarrassment flooded through her, and an apology began to form, but no words came out. She just gaped, staring at the great hero she had loved in secret for so long and had now kissed, and her face turned bright red.
A pause. A beat of silence. Unusual for Aeardis when he found himself in her company. Boromir expected a tut, or some sigh of exasperation as she finished her work. A smile had already begun to form; mouth open for a retort. But, her lips never formed a quip. They brushed against his again with the smallest amount of boldness.
It was only for a moment. In that moment his heart broke, burst, and reformed. Boromir had admired and loved her for years. Thoughts of her tender touch faded all pain from battle-won wounds. Her smile, her disappointed frown, all manipulations of those lips which he finally kissed. Never would he forget a detail of this and he hoped that she felt the same.
His eyes were wide with surprise, but certainly not dismay, or disappointment. She pulled away, cheeks turning the same shade as her lips. Now his smile appeared, fully. "Is this your new method of healing?" He asked. Boromir's past and suffering had changed his nature and his ability to see the joys in the world, making these few moments when he smiled more precious than all the treasures in the world.
Still flushed, Aeardis looked away, but he moved closer and placed his hand upon her cheek to guide her gaze back to him. This moment was something he had dreamt about since he was old enough to understand his feelings for her, he had waited just over twenty years to know what her lips felt like, what her kiss tasted like. He kissed her this time, softly, and realized now that he would have waited two lifetimes for this moment. Boromir pressed his forehead against hers and brushed back the dark strands of hair that had fallen in front of her pale face.
"We should rest," she finally said, her voice was airy and the words danced over his lips. Boromir nodded and kissed her forehead, his bandaged hand lingering on her cheek. On this night they slept a fraction of an inch closer but each had an arm outstretched toward the other, their fingers loosely entwined, and in the distance, two giddy young hobbits celebrated what had just occurred in silence.