A/N OH MY GOD IT'S HAPPENING. EVERYBODY STAY CALM.
STAY FUCKING CALM!
LIKE ME.
SEE.
I'M CALM.
Y'all.
Ain't.
Ready.
Also to answer some questions, we got a lot more coming. Like we need whole ass Aragorn and Josephine living their lives and Josephine dealing with like, full ass trauma issues time. So don't worry, I'm not shutting this party down anytime soon.
Josephine couldn't separate how she felt as she looked out through the trees. Excitement? Joy? Sorrow? It all mixed together and bound into her chest like cement. Suddenly, now far from the battle and surrounded by pine and juniper, the scent of blood and death seemed to have soaked into her skin. Everything was too much, too cloying, too loud, too bright. She retched into the bushes beside her, sinking down with her back against the nearest tree.
She needed a moment's rest, a break, a pause to try and make sense of the sudden shift. From battle to peace, victory to history. It was a while before she was able to move again. With the sun westerning, she grabbed onto the trunk of the tree and pulled herself to her feet, a pounding pain between her eyes.
Easing herself down towards the riverbank she leaned over the icy water and cupped her hands, letting the Anduin wash away Azog's blood. It faded away like black ink and when it was all but gone, thirst took her over and she drank deeply.
From her estimation, she was at least a two days' ride from the city. It would be a hike, but she was sure she'd run into a patrol of rangers sooner rather than later, all she had to do was walk. But as the sun dipped lower and the temperature dropped, so did her eyes, and she barely realized she wasn't going anywhere till morning before she fell asleep.
She woke well after dawn, clutching her cloak around her against the frigid winter air. Her stomach growled and she drank more water, having nothing else to give it. She had rested, but now she had to travel, she needed to be home and needed him. Rest could wait.
As she walked she plucked a few short green needles from a tree and chewed them, letting the citrusy taste of them distract her hunger as she turned south, towards home.
It was slow going, she felt a bit like she'd been run over by a truck and then chewed on by a warg. With nothing to eat since the morning prior, she had to occasionally fight off bouts of dizziness and gratefully stuffed a couple leaves into her mouth of late season athelas she'd come across by accident.
By the afternoon she'd barely covered five miles and when a sound came over the wind, like a whisper across the river, it was so faint she wasn't sure if she'd actually heard anything. Ahead there was a crash of brush in the distance and her hand flew to her knife, afraid it was an animal. No ranger moved through the wilds so noisily.
But then it came again, the sound, closer now.
Her name.
Barreling through the trees and down the riverbank towards her, Boromir charged like a bull.
Boromir?
"Boromir!?" She called, finally letting herself stop, too tired to run.
She let her weight drop into him the second he reached her and immediately she was in his arms.
"What are you doing here?" Rangers yes, Boromir though?
He pulled back, resting his hand on the crown of her head and kissing her forehead. I came to find you. We feared you might return somewhere in the wilds. It seems we were right."
He looked her over, touching a gloved hand to her pale, cold face. "Oh, little sister." He unclasped his fur lined cloak and pulled it around her shoulders, pulled his gloves off with his teeth and stuffed her hands into them, then he had her in his arms again.
"You look like you have walked through the very depths of Mordor and back again."
"You should see the other guy." She mumbled into his shoulder, shuddering at the memory of Azog and the mess of him that she'd left behind.
Tears were in his eyes when he looked back down at her and smiled. 'Come, our camp is not far. Do you have strength enough to walk?"
"If you don't wanna get there fast." She said wryly.
He laughed, strained as it was as he wiped at his eyes and sniffed. "Come, little sister." He drew the horn from his belt, the one she'd commissioned specially to make up for what she'd made him do at Amon Hen, and blew four short blasts over the hills. "So the others know to return."
"Aragorn, is he…" She didn't dare hope he was out there too, but she needed to know for sure.
"Well, and awaiting you in Minas Tirith. We thought it best he be there, where you knew to find him."
Not there, but not far.
In a way that was almost reminiscent of the Fellowship's journey, he stayed a step behind her, a hand ready to steady her with any stumble or slip. Those days seemed like another lifetime now, hell they almost were.
As they approached the camp, six horses stood in a makeshift pen to one side, and two rangers sat by the fire, neither of which she knew. But they knew her when they saw her, and snapped to their feet and bowed low.
Boromir sat her down by the fire and took a spare blanket that he added to the warmth of his cloak. "Are you hungry?"
"Staved." She groaned and admitted. "Haven't eaten in almost two days."
Immediately one of the rangers grabbed the cooking pot and made for the river to collect water. The other Boromir sent off, to take one of the horses and bear the news to Gondor that she'd been found.
She felt watched, not so much by Boromir, but by the other ranger. The coil in her chest was stuck tight still, straining but not loosening. She was not the Seer anymore, she was their queen, and it was not time yet for that coil to unwind.
Soon they were joined by a third ranger, and then the more familiar form of a fourth as the stew boiled over the fire.
He laughed triumphantly. "Hah! When I heard Boromir's horn I dared not hope, but once again you prove my pessimism wrong."
"Halbarad!" She was so cocooned in blankets and cloaks that she had to find her hands again to get them out and reach for him to come over.
He took her hand, holding back out of respect, and knelt beside her with a bowed head. "My lady."
"None of that, come here." She wrapped her arms around his neck so suddenly he nearly lost his balance
He plopped down next to her as Boromir spooned broth into a bowl and handed it to her. "Slowly, or you'll regret it." He reminded her, as if she'd forgotten some of their leaner days of traveling.
"Once I'm done we can set out." She said, sipping at the edge of the bowl.
Boromir and Halbarad exchanged a not so subtle glance. Halbarad cleared his throat and shifted a bit awkwardly. "My lady, you should rest for the night. Riding in your current state-"
"I've ridden in way worse shape than this. I want to go home."
Boromir's expression fell, seeming to wonder what state that could've been, because it hadn't happened during the war. "Please, little sister, we can set out again before dawn. You will fall asleep riding if we leave now. Aragorn would not wish you to travel like this."
Josephine looked away bitterly, knowing Boromir was right in what Aragorn would want. But she was so close, it hurt to not keep moving.
Halbarad added in another two cents. "The nights are too dark to travel safely through these hills, there is no moon tonight to guide us. Besides." He gave a dramatized yawn. "I'm far too weary to set out tonight, we do not all bear your stamina my lady."
"Fine, first light then." She hesitantly conceded. "But you will wake me up when it's time to leave, no matter how hard I'm sleeping."
She did sleep, eventually. In the low glow of the fire with Halbarad sitting not two feet from her head, she stared up at the stars. Exhaustion fought the aching of her body, which fought her yearning to be home, all of which had to fit heavily with fresh memories of a battle that had ended eighty years ago.
By her feet, Boromir snored and it reminded her of the dwarves, all thirteen of them chugging away like a freight train all night long. At least two of them had been lost to her already.
"Have the stars taken your fears or are they merely reflecting them back to you?" Halbarad asked her quietly, glancing over his arm at her.
"Neither." She said after a moment, glancing up at him. His worn face and graying beard were barely different from what she remembered, and she kept looking at him and Boromir as if they'd disappear like a mirage, even though it was her that did the disappearing.
He cleaned the bowl of his pipe, lit it, and gave it a couple puffs, then set it in one hand and wrapped the other hand around hers. He was grounding her, tethering her to home so she could sleep without being afraid of drifting away. That was finally when sleep took her.
Boromir woke her the next morning, helping her to her feet as she got up, stiff as a board. They'd all broken down the camp as she slept and as soon as she mounted her horse they set off. During the day they barely stopped except to rest the horses and eat small morsels. Josephine was running on fumes, but if she stopped she wasn't sure she'd get moving again, and nothing was going to stop her from getting home.
Boromir and Halbarad took turns glancing concernedly her way, but she'd be damned if she spent more time without Aragorn than was absolutely necessary. They rode into the evening, reaching Osgiliath by midnight. But regardless of the hour, word had reached the city from their messenger and people came out of their homes as their group passed.
Boromir and Halbarad drew their horses back and left her at the head of the column. Josephine squared her shoulders and sat up straight for the first time in hours. No matter how much her chest ached for her to cry at the sight of Osgiliath, she held her composure just like she was expected to. Battle worn and travel weary, but still steady.
They departed Osgiliath quickly, switching to fresh horses and gaining a company of soldiers that took formation around them and secured the road ahead.
There, across the Pelennor, it sparkled in the darkness with countless lanterns and torches. A short ride, one she'd made countless times during the beginning of reconstruction, one she'd feared she'd never see again.
"Welcome home, little sister." Boromir said gently, following her eyes towards Minas Tirith.
The gate at the Rammas was open for them and they continued on. Finally, before her stood the gates of Minas Tirith. They opened in anticipation and shut smoothly behind them as they filled the courtyard.
A trumpet sounded, alerting the gate wardens to open at each level up to the citadel. Josephine looked up, over the tiers of her city, her home, to the spire of Ecthelion where he waited. Still, it seemed so far away. The ride from the first level to the seventh could easily take an hour at a walk. There was no way she could bear it.
She looked over at Boromir and shifted in her saddle. Whether he understood or not, she didn't know, but she dug her heels in and spurred her horse into a gallop. Not one more second longer, she'd paid enough time and her hurts could wait.
Through each gate she flew, bent low over the horse's neck, a trumpet sounding at each gate behind her to harken her coming.
Past the upper stable, through the passage without stopping to dismount, she shot into the courtyard where, wide eyed, he was waiting.
Josephine dropped the reins and jumped down, using her last to close the gap between them as he ran to her.
And just like that, instantly she was in his arms again, her knees buckling as he clutched her body to his. Him. His smell, his warmth, his touch, all just as she remembered.
He breathed her name and buried his face in the cook of her neck as they sank together onto the ground.
"Don't let go." She whispered, begging. "Don't…" Her voice cut out, a million things stuck in her throat.
"Sidh, Josephine." There was a crack in his voice and a tremble in his tone.
They finally pulled away, after how long neither of them knew, though they only parted far enough to see at each other. He brushed his hand over her hair and looked at her face worriedly. "Muin meleth nin."
He ever so gently pressed his lips to her and she drew into his kiss like it was the only thing that could save her from dying.
Nothing else mattered. She was finished. Finally, it was time for rest. Numbly, she let him draw her arm over his shoulder and helped her back to her feet. Slowly, so slowly, they made their way towards the King's house. But now, haste didn't matter.
Aragorn could have burst with all the emotion churning in his chest, but there would be time for that later. Ciril was waiting for them just inside, and hurriedly took Josephine's other arm.
"I simply cannot tell you how relieved I am to have you home." She said.
Josephine smiled at the older woman wearily. "Hey, Ciril. I missed you too."
Muddy boots or no, they went straight to the bedchamber without stopping and Ciril started making quick work of her breastplate while Aragorn knelt to take off her greaves.
"I've drawn you a bath." Ciril said, gathering the breastplate under one arm and taking the greaves from Aragorn. "I will take my leave, but I shall be in the sitting room if I'm needed."
With damp eyes, Ciril bowed her head to Josephine and slipped out, shutting the bedchamber doors behind her.
"A bath?" Josephine sighed longingly. "What's that?"
Her nearly ever present humor, oh how he'd missed that too.
Methodically, he went on taking the rest of her armor, setting aside piece by piece before carefully easing the mail tunic off of her. He couldn't miss the pained expression that passed across her face and more worry knotted in his gut. Sore, he reminded himself. That was likely all it was, nothing a salve could not ease.
Down to her pants and sweat stained linen tunic, he couldn't help but think she seemed so much thinner than when she'd left. Too many days with too little fare, stress and exertion and who could say what else.
With her tunic went the last curtain over bruises that mottled her arms, her neck, and her sides. Blood had dried brown in places on the back of the linen and he frowned. It could be no blood but her own.
He stepped around her and saw a flash of fear in her eyes as he did. His gaze fell on her back, its once smooth skin now puckered in waves of raised scars, white tissue sucking hard at pink flesh. Several places were scabbed and weeping, as if the very skin had ripped apart like a shirt seam.
There was no way to mistake the wounds as anything but what they were. He's seen such wounds before, far in the south and it made him feel sick. He swallowed hard, remembering the screams he'd heard in his dreams and knowing that she'd probably done the same as the lash came down on her.
Tears rolled down his cheeks and he was glad she couldn't see them. He gave himself just those few seconds before wiping them away, steeling himself to face her again.
"I will see to them." He promised, brushing his fingers along her jaw. He tried to cover and hide his own pain from her, but he knew she was picking up on it, even in her exhaustion. At least she seemed eased by the calm that he barely managed to carry.
He helped her out of the rest of her clothes and half carried her to the bath, holding onto her as she sank into the steaming water. He let go just long enough to roll his sleeves up to the elbow and shift to kneel next to the tub by her head.
She drifted as he carefully unwound her braid, finding bead after bead tucked into it like a spell until her hair fell down the edge of the tub in waves. In washing the blood and sweat and grime away, he found every bruise and scar. Her neck was a mottle of old and new ones and her nose was still tender from a break. Pale, less noticeable, were scars circling her wrists, jagged shallow cuts from rough ropes. Ropes she had struggled to escape.
It was unspoken between them that the story would wait. Tonight, she needed him to tend to her, bear the weight, and he would ask nothing of her in the way of answers.
He felt the new length in her hair as he rinsed it clear, and the gauntness of her cheeks as he wiped away splatters of orc blood. Aragorn hoped the hollowness behind her eyes would fade with sleep and rest and full meals again.
The water was brown when he lifted her from the water and set her at her dressing table to dry her, bandage her wounds, and slip her shift over her head. Finally, he picked up her brush and ran it gently through her hair, smoothing it and braiding it again.
When he looked up he saw her watching him in the mirror, but her eyes were blank. Her chest started heaving. Quick breaths sucked up into her lungs and barely left them. She trembled, like a dear that had just escaped certain death from a pack of wolves.
Sinking to his knees in front of her he took her face in his hands. "You are safe, Josephine. I am here."
Tears poured from her eyes and whether she was aware of the whimpers that came with each breath he couldn't say. They called it shock, she had told him one, but he cared not what its name was now.
Scooping her into his arms he laid her in their bed, putting her on her side with her knees tucked up to her chest. He climbed in beside her and wrapped his body around hers, feeling it shake against him.
"Sidh." He said softly. "I am here. Sidh."
Hours or minutes passed, he couldn't say which. He measured time in her short, quick breaths, laying in agony until they grew longer and fuller again. With that she finally fell asleep, too spent from everything to go on without it. And just like that, they didn't move again until dawn.