In this chapter, Damrod arrives and we hear something of what's happening outside the cave.

Regarding Boromir and Morloth, a good subtitle for this chapter would be "Boromir Ups the Ante". :-)

Chapter 4

Damrod approached the cave, a twist of anxiety roiling his gut. Their journey here was uneventful, but now came the moment of truth; was he bringing the wounded heir back home as a hero, or simply recovering his body to return to his grieving father and brother?

He sighed; there was no point in waiting. He called, "Hail the way post! My lady, are you there? It is Damrod."

A moment later, Morloth emerged from the cave, looking tired but not noticeably grief-stricken. For the first time, Damrod considered how horrible it would have been for her if Boromir had died on the first day and she had had to stay tending his body for nearly a week.

He swung down from his horse and approached her. "Is he…" he asked quietly, wishing to know whether Boromir lived in case he had to break the news of his death to his men.

For a moment, Morloth seemed startled at his concern, then her face cleared, "Oh, of course, you would not have had news since Cirlan left. He is fine, recovering well and getting stronger by the day."

Damrod blew out a long breath in relief, "Thank the gods! I did not relish the idea of bringing his body home to Faramir and Lord Denethor."

She nodded, "Nor would I have enjoyed explaining his death to them." Then she smiled, clasping his hand, "But it is good to see you, Damrod! Did Cirlan come with you?"

"Aye, he did. And he did a fine job delivering the message, you should be proud of him."

"Oh, I am, very proud, though I'm not sure he'll like it if I say so," she replied with a rueful smile.

"He might surprise you. Cirlan!" he called, "I believe your mother would like to see you."

Cirlan, who had been patiently waiting with the men, now vaulted off his horse and was with them in a moment, seemingly not at all reluctant to be gathered in his mother's arms.

Once they'd had a chance to greet each other, Damrod asked, "So how's he been, my lady? I know from experience that my lord Boromir is not the easiest of patients."

Morloth suppressed a smile, "I've had worse," and then added under her breath, "but not many. Come see him for yourself; I'm sure he'd be happy to talk someone other than me for a change."

Damrod snorted in amusement and followed her in. Some men have all the luck, he reflected. Even wounded, spending a week alone with Morloth was not what he'd call hardship duty. In fact, the other Rangers were evenly split on the question of Bregor's widow. All respected her, but some who preferred their women pretty and soft thought she was too tall, too willful and far too outspoken to be attractive. Others, Damrod included, admired those very qualities; and for them her unconventional beauty just added to her appeal. A fine, fine-looking woman, he thought, as he watched her back retreat into the cave. Whoever wins her heart will be a fortunate man.

"I hear there's a wandering prince hereabouts, so careless as to get himself shot full of arrows. I don't suppose you've seen him, my lady?" Damrod asked heartily. And there was Boromir, sitting propped up on a cot at the back of the cave, looking pale and thin but otherwise healthier than he expected for a man who was close to death a few days before.

"Damrod, you old dog!" Boromir grinned, and they clasped hands in greeting. "It is good to see you after all these months! Still following at my brother's heels, are you?"

"Well, someone has to. Although it's been a lot less risky lately, without you to lead him astray!" Damrod laughed. "You look good, my lord," he added, "much better than I thought given Cirlan's first report."

Morloth and Boromir both began speaking over the other; Morloth crediting his strength and stamina for his recovery, Boromir praising her healing skills. Realizing what they were doing, they awkwardly stopped speaking. Damrod thought he noticed some tension between them—they both seemed to avoid looking at the other. He snorted to himself—it was probably 'my lord' being his usual pain-in the-neck self.

"Well, my lord, you were in the best of hands, that's for certain." He turned to Morloth, "How soon could you be ready to leave?"

"It'll just take a few minutes to gather my things, but I'm not sure what Lord Boromir can wear, he had just the one extra shirt in his pack and that won't be warm enough by itself. His other clothes are far too torn and bloody to use—it's a shame, really, they were lovely. Oh, and there is this cloak, it is still in good condition," she showed them a grey cloak clasped with an exquisite leaf-shaped brooch. "It must be of elven make, I have never seen such fine workmanship. His companions wore cloaks identical to this one."

"No!" Boromir said sharply, "I cannot wear that." Realizing that Morloth and Damrod were surprised at his reaction, he moderated his tone, "Thank you, Morloth, but please leave that in my pack."

Morloth and Damrod exchanged a glance, and Morloth replied, "Of course, my lord."

Damrod added, "Fortunately, the Captain anticipated the problem, and sent some extra clothes that should fit him."

She brightened, "Wonderful! If you could help him dress, I will pack up and then we can get him to the wagon."

"Wagon? What? No! I will not be hauled around like a sack of meal," Boromir protested. "Find a horse for me, I can ride."

Before Damrod could speak, Morloth said firmly, "Absolutely not, my lord. The journey to Minas Tirith will take several days and you aren't even able to sit up for more than a few hours at a time. Riding would be far too exhausting, and you might re-open your wounds."

"But…but I can't be carted into the city like, like…an invalid!" Boromir objected.

Morloth and Damrod exchanged an amused look. "If three arrow holes in your chest don't make you an invalid, I don't know what does," Damrod said under his breath.

"I propose a compromise," Morloth responded, her voice steely. "If you are willing to use the wagon for most of the journey, you can ride the last leg into the city on horseback. However, if you insist on riding and injure yourself, I will tell your brother that you need to make your triumphant return to Minas Tirith flat on your back in a cart."

Damrod's eyes widened in admiration and amusement, but knew better than to speak. Finally, Boromir said, with no good grace, "All right, Morloth, I agree."

"Good," Morloth replied, settling the matter, and went off to begin her tasks.

Damrod retrieved the clothes Faramir had sent for his brother and started helping Boromir into them. "Looks like you met your match in stubbornness, my lord." Boromir grunted sourly but did not respond. Then, more loudly, Damrod added, "And if you give the lady any more trouble, I can tell the driver to look for the deepest ruts he can find on the way back."

Morloth smiled, "You needn't do that for me, Damrod. Besides, I'm sure the Captain would have something to say if we treated his brother like that!"

Damrod chuckled, "Yes, Faramir would say he deserved it, and well my lord knows it too!"

As Damrod moved to help him stand, Boromir scowled, "I won't forget this, old friend."

Damrod felt a pang of sympathy for him, he must be feeling rather put-upon at this point, "Sorry, my lord," he said under his breath, "but I'd rather have her favor than yours."

Boromir looked startled for a moment, then snorted with amusement, "That I can understand, Damrod."

As they began their slow progress toward the cave entrance, Morloth approached them. "Wait a moment; let me put the sling on so you don't wrench that shoulder wound." She quickly wrapped the sling around Boromir's arm and tied it securely at his neck. "There you are," she said when finished, smiling and patting her handiwork.

Boromir ducked his head and smiled a little sheepishly, "My thanks, Morloth."

Damrod gazed at him in dismay, Damn me, I know that look! The prince has gone and fallen for her too! Damrod sighed to himself. As far as he was concerned, that was one group that needed no increase in numbers.

As they emerged into the sunlight there was a rousing cheer from the men, pleased to see their Captain-General alive, and if not precisely well, then at least clearly on the mend. They had padded the wagon to make it more comfortable than the bare boards would have been, and Boromir was soon situated, though Damrod could tell that their invalid was chagrined by how much help he needed to get into the wagon bed.

Before they left, Morloth showed Damrod the location of the elven boats hidden by Boromir's companions. Damrod grunted, "Elven made, you say? They don't look like they'll hold much, but I'm sure we'll find a use for them. It's better we have them than the orcs, in any case," and detailed two men to take them downriver to Cair Andros.

Soon they were on their way, Damrod riding close to the wagon to keep Boromir company. After traveling for some time in silence, Boromir turned to him and asked, "So how goes it, Damrod?" Damrod could tell from the look in his eyes that easy platitudes would not be welcome.

Damrod sighed, "Badly, my lord. We're like a dog nipping at the heels of a Mumakil. We may annoy it, and even hurt it sometimes, but we know sooner or later it will turn and crush us underfoot."

"So they're coming." Boromir said flatly.

"No doubt about it," Damrod replied, "I figure by this time that Mordor is so chock-full of orcs and Easterlings and Southrons and Eru knows what else that they'll run out of room for more and have to come out. Captain says it'll start in a week, two at most."

"A week? So soon?" Boromir asked in surprise.

Damrod nodded and said with a grim smile, "Maybe you should have stayed up north with the elves, my lord."

Boromir met his eyes resolutely, "My place is here."

"Aye, and we're glad to have you, whether you can swing a sword or not."

-ooo-

The journey was a slow one since they had be certain not to outpace the wagon, though Damrod sent out faster scouts periodically to watch for trouble and to keep in contact with Captain Faramir. Wanting to give Boromir more independence, Morloth had taken to riding just behind the wagon so she could keep an eye on her patient without making him feel like she was coddling him. Considering the severity of his injuries he was very doing well. Even without her urging at every rest stop he would leave the wagon to stretch his legs and practice taking a few steps, with Damrod or one of the others close by in case he needed a supportive hand.

Seeing him like this was a revelation; he'd laugh and joke with the men, taking their often crude jests in good humor. When one of them carved a rough walking stick and presented it to Boromir he pretended to be outraged that they would think him so infirm, but there was no question in anyone's mind that he was touched by the gesture. As she watched, he moved among the men, a head taller than most, his height and dark blond hair—a rarity among Gondorians—marking him as a distinctive figure. Morloth realized she was seeing him as he truly was; a proud warrior and an inspiring leader rather than the invalid she had known. She wondered in what other ways she might have misjudged him.

On the third day, Morloth happened to overhear a rather puzzling conversation between Boromir and Damrod concerning their route, shortly after one of the scouts reported in.

"What have you heard from Faramir, Damrod?" Boromir demanded, "I wish to speak to him before going on to Minas Tirith."

"Funny you should mention that, my lord," Damrod drawled, "it seems you two are of like mind because he gave me strict instructions to bring you to him first before taking you to the city. I just heard he's on his way to Osgiliath with some prisoners, so that's where we're going."

"Indeed? Out of curiosity, Damrod, has my father been notified that I am alive and back in Gondor?"

"Well, I can't say for certain, my lord, but I think not. I believe the Captain said that he'd rather see you alive with his own two eyes before sending word, not wanting to get your father's hopes up and then cause him grief."

Boromir snorted in amusement, "My clever little brother."

Morloth didn't understand why they waited so long to inform Lord Denethor that his son was alive and on his way home. Certainly when Faramir had heard the first report that Boromir was so gravely wounded she could understand it, but once Damrod had confirmed that Boromir still lived they could have sent word. Obviously, the Steward's sons had even more complicated lives than she had thought.

They camped that night, and would reach Osgiliath in the morning. Morloth felt unusually restless and lay awake long after the others had fallen asleep. Tired of fidgeting on the hard ground, she got up and leaned against the wagon to do a little thinking and star-gazing. A few moments later she heard Boromir's distinctively slow steps behind her.

She turned to him, red-faced, "I am so sorry, my lord, I didn't mean to wake you…please, you need your rest."

Boromir shook his head in exasperation and said, "Morloth, do stop apologizing—I wasn't asleep so you couldn't wake me. I get so much rest during the day that I often have trouble sleeping at night."

"That's not unusual for someone who has been as ill as you have been. Your body will adjust as you heal and become more active. And you've been doing so well practicing your walking; soon you won't need me anymore."

"Eager to be rid of me, are you?" Boromir asked dryly.

"Oh, no, my lord, not at all!" Even as she said it, Morloth knew it to be true. One of the reasons she was finding it hard to sleep was the thought that the next day this unusual interlude in her life would be over. She was surprisingly unsure how she felt about that. "But tomorrow you'll go back to being the Captain-General of Gondor, and I'll go back to my life."

Boromir sighed, "I'm sorry, Morloth, but you can't go back to your life, at least not any time soon."

"What? What are you talking about, my lord?"

"War is coming, Morloth. Sometime in the next few days, perhaps a week, the Black Gates will open and the hordes of Mordor will come forth to assault Gondor. Everyone in Anórien must go to Minas Tirith for protection or be crushed by their passing."

Morloth shivered. This serious, almost austere Boromir was a far cry from the genial patient she had known. "If you're trying to frighten me, my lord, you're succeeding!"

His voice softened, "My apologies, Morloth, that was not my intent. But I need you to understand that this is a matter of life or death. Do you and your son have someplace or someone to stay with in the city?"

"Yes, my sister and her family live on the fourth level. They will take us in."

"Good. When the fighting begins we will need skilled healers, so you need not be idle," Boromir said, almost to himself.

"Oh! Of course," Morloth replied, feeling rather foolish for not having that of that herself. "Of course I'll help."

They both fell silent, Morloth feeling that her life had suddenly been turned on its head.

After a moment, Boromir spoke, "There is another choice, Morloth, one that I hope you'll consider." He paused and took a deep breath before continuing, "Stay with me."

For a moment she was too shocked to speak, "Stay with you?" she stammered, "What do you mean? Why?"

He looked down at her, and their eyes met and held, "Because I want to know you better, and I do not want to leave it to chance whether we will see each other again." Boromir reached up to touch her face, then thought better of it and dropped his hand.

Morloth was becoming increasingly aware of his nearness and the warmth of his body. She was accustomed to seeing eye-to-eye with most men and had never noticed how much taller he was than her. She found it both attracted her and made her feel a bit unsettled. Morloth felt her heartbeat quicken and her breath come short; unable to bear the intensity of his gaze she looked away.

When she felt a little more composed Morloth asked warily, "What would be expected of me, my lord?"

Boromir winced at her tone, "A fair question, given the circumstances. I am not a perfect man, and even less so lately, it seems. But I take pride in learning from my mistakes; nothing will be expected of you, or asked of you that you do not wish to do. You can live where you like, come and go as you please. All I ask for is the opportunity to show you that my regard is not a passing thing, or just a matter of convenience."

"But…but why now? With the war coming…"

Boromir looked amused. "Faramir, Damrod and many others will attest that I am not by nature a patient man. You surely have reason to know that, too. But I can be, if the reward is worth the wait." He sobered, and his eyes strayed east. At night the red glow from Mount Doom was easily visible. "In this, though, it seems to me that to wait is to give up hope, and that I am not prepared to do."

"Won't people think it…odd if I go to Minas Tirith and keep company with you for no reason?" Morloth asked plaintively, still feeling very out of her depth.

He shrugged, "If you feel an explanation is needed, we can say that I trust only you with my recovery, or that you saved my life and I am exceedingly grateful—which happens to be quite true." Up to this point, Boromir had been calm, almost business-like in the presentation of his extraordinary proposal. Finally, some of the anxiety he must have been feeling began to show through, "Morloth, if this is something that you feel you cannot even contemplate, please tell me. If there is no hope I would prefer to know now!"

Morloth felt a surge of dismay at his distress, and hastened to reassure him, "It's not that, my lord, I promise you! I have enjoyed your company very much, and had hoped that would think of me a friend, as I consider your brother to be a friend. But this is so much… more than I expected that I am feeling quite overwhelmed. I…I cannot give you an answer just yet, I need some time to think."

"That I can give you," Boromir said with a sigh. "Though at the very least please travel with me to the city. In these times I would not feel easy if you were to make the journey alone or with just your son. After that, the choice is yours."

Morloth simply nodded, and they stood together for a brief time without speaking. Then he moved closer, and she thought for a moment that he might be intending to kiss her. She tensed in anticipation, but he simply gave her a fleeting caress, his hand warm against her cheek, murmured, "Good night, Morloth," and was gone.

She managed to make it back to her blankets before collapsing, boneless, on the ground, limp with astonishment. Morloth lay quietly for some time, breathing hard, desperately trying to order her whirling thoughts. After the incident in the cave, it was clear that Boromir was attracted to her, but he had been scrupulously polite to her and neither of them had mentioned it since that time. Consequently the idea that he might want more than a night's pleasure seemed so far-fetched that she had never bothered to examine her feelings for him.

Morloth had never been one to shy away from hard truths, and now she forced herself to honestly consider how she felt about Boromir as a man, rather than as a patient or even as Lord Boromir, the Steward's son and heir. How just a short while earlier when she thought he might kiss her, rather than fear or disgust at the prospect, she felt excitement. How he had touched her with his deep affection for his friends and comrades and charmed her with his gallantry and wit. How he cared so deeply for his country and its people, and worried so desperately for its future. How handsome he had looked, standing in moonlight, imploring her to let him prove that he cared for her.

She moaned softly and covered her face with her hands. She was in deep, deep trouble. Morloth had not felt this way about any man since Bregor had died and the fact that she did now for this man terrified her. Knowing that he wanted her should have made things simple, but made it infinitely worse. She fought down a desire to giggle hysterically. No sensible woman in her position would be wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by the Lord Steward's heir! Though she longed to follow her heart and accept Boromir's invitation, she was afraid she would be very much out of place in his world amongst Gondor's most noble and powerful men.

A thought came unbidden to her mind, Why me? Why me of all the women in Gondor? As she finally drifted off to sleep she realized to her dismay that that was the one question she had forgotten to ask.