These first couple of chapters have been sort of short, I'm hoping they'll get longer as the plot gets a little more meat to it. Anyways enjoy!

Chapter Two

I returned the next day and sat near Lord Boromir's bed throughout my entire shift. Again that day no one with pressing injuries came in. The son of Gondor didn't move at all while I was presiding over him and several times I put a hand near his nose just to be sure he was still breathing. I would be loathe to report that he had passed on during my shift.

My next two shifts during the next couple of days passed as the first one had. I sat in the Houses, reading near the Lord Boromir and taking care of the few other people who entered needing stitches or a sling. No excitement occurred and after the third day of Boromir's unconsciousness I feared he might not pull through his injury.

On the fourth day, I returned to the Houses of Healing just as I had since Boromir arrived. When I entered the Houses I saw the Steward Denethor kneeling, not sitting in a chair, next to the bed. His head was bowed and I could see his shoulders visibly shaking.

Eldacar met me in the doorway. "The Steward has been here for a while now and I don't think he plans on leaving anytime soon. Will you be okay with him?"

I nodded. "I shall be as unobtrusive as possible."

Eldacar gave a small smile. "He shouldn't be any trouble today." He glanced back at the crying man. "I changed the Lord Boromir's dressing this morning. They may require changing again soon. The poison is being drained from his blood at quite a rapid rate."

"That is good news," I smiled. The poison being rejected and expelled by his body meant progress. "I will check him when the Steward leaves."

The elder Healer left and I pulled a book out of my bag. I pulled a chair into the far corner of the room and got comfortable. The Steward's silent crying didn't bother me, but I could not resist the temptation to study the old man.

Denethor was past seventy and the lines etched onto his grey face and long, faded hair suggested he could have been older than that. His face was haggard and spoke of true misery.

When I had first arrived in Gondor the other Healers had whispered the tale of Denethor to me while we bundled herbs and rolled bandages. He had been an excellent warrior in his youth and had fended the threat in the East for many years. He spent time in many parts of Gondor and when he was older he fell in love with the Princess Finduilas of Dol Amroth. She was twenty years his junior, but I was told that it was truly a love match.

A few years into their marriage the Steward-Prince Boromir was born and he was Denethor's pride and joy. The Steward had fought off the shadow of Mordor and had time in abundance to dote on his son and heir. No one in Minas Tirith had ever seen the hardened warrior be so soft and kind as he was with his infant son.

Five years later Faramir was born. The younger brother was not born under the same circumstances as his golden older brother had been. The threat in the East was becoming more dangerous everyday and Denethor also didn't have the time to devote to his younger son. Any free time Denethor had he devoted to his wife. Finduilas had become heart sick due to the evil of Mordor. She refused to return to Dol Amroth, refused to leave her husband's side.

Five years later she died. She left behind two young sons and a destroyed husband. Denethor had never been the same after his beloved's death, except in the fact that Boromir was clearly his favorite son while Faramir would forever remain in his brother's shadow.

"Do you enjoy my library?" The Steward asked.

I snapped out of my reverie and looked at the man who was now standing by Boromir's bed.

"Oh yes, my lord. It is truly wonderful." I stood quickly to show my respect.

Denethor merely nodded and left the room. He had offered no sort of apology for our previous meeting and I realized how prideful of a man he really was. I sat back down, shocked at my most recent interaction with the Steward. I could only shake my head and return to the intriguing book from the old man's library.

I waited for almost an hour after the Steward left. I wanted to be away from his scrutinous gaze before I began to treat his son. A new batch of the antidote needed to be made and I did so carefully. If there was even the slightest imbalance of ingredients the antidote became useless and even potentially harmful.

Approaching the still man, my nose turned up. The gauze that Eldacar had applied just that morning was soaked through with a yellowish green liquid. It was the most putrid scent that smelled of rotten flesh and the lowest levels of Minas Tirith. However terrible the wounds did smell it was a good sign. The poison was being expelled from his body and his blood would be pure again.

I removed the heavy gauze. Before I could put more medicine on the man I carefully cleaned his chest and stomach off with a warm rag. The holes in Boromir's chest and stomach weren't getting any healthier and they wouldn't until his body was sure that all the poison was gone. The wounds were especially deep and wide, they would prove very difficult to recover from.

While I was applying the medicine to the second wound the man moved for the first time since he had been in Minas Tirith. I quickly took care of the lowest wound. As I was laying the clean gauze over the man's chest his grey eyes blinked open.

Lord Boromir tried to sit up, but I put a gentle hand on his shoulder to restrain him. "Where am I?" He demanded looking wildly about him.

"My lord, you are in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith," I responded calmly.

"No, that is impossible." His wild eyes finally landed on my own brown ones. "I was with the Fellowship, the Nine Walkers."

I nodded. "But you were wounded and luckily you ended up here, my lord." I sat down in a chair near the bed and watched as he struggled to make sense of his new situation.

"What of the others?" He asked urgently.

I shook my head. "I am afraid that I have heard no news of them, my lord." I didn't tell the Steward's son, but I actually had no real idea of what he was speaking. I heard briefly of the task he was assigned and those whom he assisted, but other than that I was completely clueless.

He didn't speak any more. Even just uttering a few sentences would be tiring to him for a while. We sat in silence until the older woman who would relieve me arrived.

"What is your name?" Boromir called to me as I gathered my things and went to leave.

"Lindy, my lord," I responded.

"That is not a Gondoran name," he stated.

"No, it is not," I stated simply and left the Houses.

Alright I hope you loved it! I know Lindy sounds like a modern name but I got it off this fantastic website: I highly recommend it if you need a Middle-Earth name. We'll be getting into where she's from very soon! Let me know what you think!