Jack Redhawke: Apologies for the delay in answering your question. The war hammer is a one-hander so it can be carried on Cass's belt as a secondary weapon, since her main is the halberd. Thank you for the interest!
Also many thanks to my other wonderful reviewers and readers! Stay safe out there!
Chapter 13: Confusion
In the months since that strange caravan came through Minas Tirith, life had largely returned to normal for Boromir. He still had to mediate between his ever more irate father and submissive brother, still had the never ending responsibility to keep Mordor at bay. The constant emotional exhaustion continued.
Despite that, there was ever more talk of those same strangers. When news came that Prince Theodred was marrying one the following spring, Father had been so angry that the Citadel practically emptied until he calmed, no one willing to risk his wrath. Only Boromir had been able to get any kind of civility out of him and even then he was tense, expecting a barrage of snappish comments; he advised Faramir to stay far away for a while.
Now here he was, not quite believing his ears at the command he had just been given. "My Lord, forgive me, but aren't I needed on the front more than for diplomacy?" he asked cautiously. Were it not for Father's awful mood, he would have advised that Faramir be sent instead; his little brother was the better diplomat of the two.
"Were this anyone except for the Crown Prince of Rohan marrying, then I would agree. As it is, we cannot insult our ally," Father sneered at the word, "by sending anyone less."
Carefully Boromir tried to not think of how unjust his father's disdain was for the Rohirrim. It wasn't their fault that they did not suffer as Gondor did; it was a matter of simple geography. "Yes, my Lord," he murmured instead.
"The wedding is in a fortnight. Choose something acceptable for a gift," Father ordered and dismissed Boromir.
He bowed and backed away several paces before he turned to leave.
What does one give a newly married couple? Boromir had been to very few weddings and none so nationally important as Theodred's. For nearly an hour he browsed the markets, finding nothing that seemed right.
Only when he was about to give up for the moment did he remember- not all of the strangers had moved on. The Haradrim girl, the effeminate man, and the nerve-wracked auburn headed girl had stayed in Minas Tirith.
Looking for the Haradrim girl (Indian, he reminded himself of the strange word the scarred woman had used), he found himself at the Halls of Healing. Upon asking for her, however, he only got sniffs of disapproval. "She left, and good riddance," the lead healer told him, "Please do not let her come back."
Boromir frowned thoughtfully. "Was she a terrible apprentice?" he guessed.
"She's Haradrim," the lead healer told him like that explained anything, "Our enemies have no business in our houses of healing." He was then called elsewhere and excused himself graciously.
Something about that disturbed Boromir and he couldn't quite say why. On the long walk to the lower levels where the other two (hopefully) lived, he contemplated his few interactions with the unwanted woman. She had always been very friendly when they crossed paths, asking after his and Faramir's health and listening to his news with a smile. He couldn't remember her saying a single uncharitable thing even when he asked after her work in the houses of healing; her smile had simply wavered before it came back bright as ever and she told him enthusiastically how much she was learning.
Perhaps her sister would have answers, Boromir thought. It felt strange to refer to such different looking women, clearly not related by blood, as sisters. Yet that was what they had said and it would be rude to say otherwise.
Eventually he found the woman in a bakery on the second level, sweating over dough that she was busy beating. "Hello," she greeted him, pulling her sticky hands from the mass, "What can we do for you?" She tried wiping her hands on a flour covered apron but stopped with a sneer when she realized it wasn't working.
"The Lady Andromeda is your sister, correct?" Boromir asked, just to be sure. Cousins and aunts and such had traveled with them as well, he remembered.
She nodded quickly. "Yeah, she's getting married, right? To some guy from Rohan?" she asked hopefully, a hungry look in her hazel-green eyes.
"Yes, to Prince Theodred. You know your sister I would think. Can you help me find a wedding gift for them?" Boromir requested painfully.
At that point the baker appeared, a stout man who had clearly eaten a few too many of his own wares. "Lord Boromir!" he exclaimed in surprise at seeing the Steward's son on the second level, "Please forgive my apprentice, Brise doesn't know when to stop talking. What can I help you with, my Lord?" He bowed deeply.
Upon receiving a stern look from her employer, Brise practically slammed her face into her knees with the depth of her curtsey.
"I am actually here for Brise's assistance, master baker," Boromir told him, "I need her help to find a wedding gift for her sister. When is she off work for the day?"
Very confused, the baker nonetheless offered, "If it's your need, then I can spare her for the rest of the day."
Appreciatively Boromir agreed. The faster he got the shopping done, the better.
It took a few minutes, complete with the baker barking at her to not keep their distinguished guest waiting, for Brise to clean her hands and shed her apron. She exited the shop with Boromir, chewing her lip and glancing worriedly back at the shop.
"If you feel unwell or uncomfortable, we can go another day," Boromir offered. He still had a few days before he needed to leave.
Immediately she shook her head and gave him a nervy smile. "No, no, it's fine. I can find another job if I need, I think," she tried assuring him.
It only made him frown. "If there is any kind of penalty for you leaving early today, I'm sure I can take care of it," he offered. There shouldn't be since it was him asking.
Again she refused. "If there is then I'll tell you, I'm just worried about being fired anyways." She laughed uncomfortably. "I'm not good at anything so I'm lucky Mr Fornereg gave me work."
At least in Boromir's opinion, she sold herself short. "Everyone has some skill to offer the world. I am sure that you will find yours," he assured her.
"What kind of price range are we looking at?" Brise asked rather than responding. Now that they were in the market proper, her head swiveled to see every possible stand and shop.
"A minimum of one hundred gold pieces for your sister's gift and another hundred for Prince Theodred, and three hundred for a joint gift," Boromir answered. The money that the treasurer had given him for it all weighed heavily on his belt, in several pouches to distribute its weight better.
Brise openly gaped at him. "You really mean it when you say my sister is marrying a prince? Like, an actual prince, crown coming up and all?" she questioned incredulously.
Hadn't the news reached her? Boromir swore that the entirety of Minas Tirith had been talking of little else all winter. "Yes, the Crown Prince of Rohan. I need to find a gift worthy of the next Queen of Rohan and one that she would appreciate. That's why I need your help," he explained.
Shaking her head in disbelief, Brise let out a gust of a sigh. "I mean, I guess if any of us would become a princess, it would be Andy," she conceded.
What Boromir remembered of their family pointed that way as well. She had been bright and beautiful and quite the warrior during her family's sojourn through Osgiliath, things that he thought his old friend would appreciate in a woman.
Despite that, the least likely of all the sisters lingered in his own mind. Or perhaps the most likely, since he had never heard anyone else tell his father such a disrespectful, rude, and profane thing. It was most likely shock that had allowed Cassandra to leave with her head still on her shoulders.
Quickly Boromir turned his attention to the task at hand. Brise took him into a shop that he had no business being in otherwise, the perfume shop, and he was very nearly nose-blind by the time they left with four purchases. One particular scent, made of the peel and rind of a fruit that came up from the south, was very nearly extortionate in its price but Brise had insisted that her sister would love it.
The shopkeeper had at first assumed, asking Boromir what his lady would like, until he mentioned that they were gift shopping. Then gold coins seemed to appear in the man's eyes and he was more than eager to help them. The most expensive and exquisite of scents were displayed but Brise eschewed most of them aside from what she called "lemonade with grass".
Following that was the glassblower, who had a small number of beautifully crafted tiny perfume bottles. The colored glass sent glints of colored light pleasingly throughout the shop and delicate strands of metallic wire glinted under the low light. This time the purchases made Boromir's wallet considerably lighter- Brise chose one each with gold, silver, and copper wiring plus a purple glass vial that even he thought was ridiculously priced.
"Back home, she loved perfume," Brise explained happily while they waited in line for a snack of grilled potatoes from a street vendor, "She couldn't wear it often because it was against regulations or something, but whenever she was home, she always smelled so good."
"Which regulations?" Boromir asked, absently paying for the food even when the vendor tried to give it to him for free.
"She, Mackey, Cass, and Electra were all in the military back home and they're really strict about appearances," Brise explained while they walked away, "Like, they used to measure Matt's hair to see if it was too long and everything. So Andy, Mackey, and Electra saved the primping for when they were home and kept themselves plain when they were deployed."
"And Cassandra?" Boromir couldn't help asking.
Brise gave him a knowing look. "Before Cass got blown up, she used to do the same thing, but it seems like she stopped caring about what she looked like after that. It's a shame, she used to be really pretty," she answered almost pityingly.
What she meant by Cassandra getting blown up, Boromir wasn't sure, but he assumed it had something to do with the scars on her face. "Is there anything else that I should know about Andromeda and the rest of your family?" he asked, rather than betray his curiosity further.
For a long moment Brise thought about that. She chewed her lip and looked deeply indecisive, almost worried. "Can I come with you?" she asked meekly.
"To the wedding?" Boromir checked.
She nodded emphatically. "If I can get the time off from work- I don't think I can, but if I can, would you allow it?" It sounded like she didn't dare hope.
"I would not be so cruel as to deprive you of your sister's wedding," Boromir assured her, "If he has any concerns about it, please have him direct them to me." Not even Father would prevent a woman from going to her sister's royal wedding, he didn't think.
Brise brightened up, for the first time showing dimples.
"Is there something wrong with the food?" Boromir asked politely, noting that while his potatoes had been sucked down, her bag was still untouched.
She glanced down like she had forgotten about it. "Oh no, they smell great, but I'm trying to lose weight," she assured him, "Do you want them?"
The concept of losing weight was an utterly foreign one. "Why would you want that?" he asked, noting that she was as skinny as anyone else on the lower levels.
The mere question seemed to boggle her. Looking at him like he had grown pointed ears, she replied, "To be pretty. I mean, nobody likes a fat girl." Scowling, she pinched at her hip.
Perhaps it was a cultural misunderstanding. Everything else about her family was strange to him, from their accents to their short hair, so why not this? "Here, it is considered very desirable to have a little extra weight. Winters can be difficult and crops sometimes fail, so having reserves of energy can be the difference between life and death," Boromir explained. A few memories of his childhood flashed behind his eyes- the one large famine he had seen, when even the Steward and his family went hungry and common folks died. He'd never rejected food since unless it was obviously unfit for consumption.
"Wow," Brise replied, shaking her head incredulously, "I mean, I know that's how it's supposed to be but where I come from, everybody's fat because bad food is cheap. Fried stuff, sugar, carbs, meat…" She wrinkled her nose.
How rich must her country have been to have such abundance? Why would anyone leave a place like that, unless they were driven away? "What is a carb?" Boromir asked awkwardly.
"Carbohydrates. Bread, potatoes, pasta, all the delicious bulky stuff that makes you fat," Brise answered cheerfully, "Like this!" She held up her cold potatoes in example. "Only this is worse than usual because it's fried. That stuff clogs your arteries, you know."
Puzzled, Boromir watched her give the potatoes to a beggar. "You mention fat often. Is that a fear of yours?" If they were to travel together to her sister's wedding, he would need to know the important things- fears, dietary needs, skills.
She shrugged. "I mean, it's not fat itself I'm afraid of," Brise answered rather moodily, "It's being fat again. People made fun of me when I was, and if I gain too much weight Lance will leave me for somebody actually pretty, so I'm not going to be fat again. I refuse." Her words would have sounded powerful, were it not for her fear. Her jaw was clenched tightly enough that the tendons in her neck pulled tight with it.
This was far out of Boromir's comfort zone, so he was terribly grateful when they reached the house she had been renting. He only had one last thing to say when he dropped her off: "Thank you very much for your assistance this afternoon. I will see what I can do about you seeing your sister's wedding."
Once he was out of her sight, he let out a sigh and scrubbed at his face. These people were almost more trouble than they were worth.
Faramir caught him in the market, this time with some idea of what he was doing. "Are you finally going to start combing your hair daily?" he teased, looking over the selection. Everything was there from plain sturdy wood to delicate pieces meant to decorate a woman's hair.
Despite the shopkeeper's efforts, Boromir had his eye on one piece in particular. It was a wonderful creation of fine-grained silver-white aspen wood, mother of pearl, and the very ivory that the strangers had brought out of the South. "No, it's for Theodred. You remember our old joke." He smiled wistfully at more innocent times when he and Faramir had spent a few months in Rohan; they had been sent as a diplomatic gesture to strengthen a strained alliance and it had worked well.
"Ah yes, because Theodred actually takes care of his hair you teased him about being an elf," Faramir said, bright eyes happy for the first time in too long, "So he started braiding it too."
King Theoden had been so confused, but he had seemed content with it all. If he were honest, Boromir had been more relaxed, felt more like family, when he was in the Golden Hall than here at home; he and Faramir had not wanted to leave when duty called but forced themselves to.
"I may as well tease him if I'm to be sent to the wedding," Boromir told his brother, smile tight-lipped. "How much is that comb?" He pointed to the one he wanted.
As he and the shopkeeper haggled for show and relationship building, Faramir watched on with interest. Thankfully he saved his commentary for a few feet away. "I heard that Theodred isn't the only one courting a foreigner," he said far too lightly.
Immediately Boromir shook his head, frowning. "No, far from it. I needed Brise's help picking a gift for her sister," he explained. "She's such an odd one."
Thoughtfully, and a bit sadly, Faramir nodded. "Fearful of everything," he murmured.
"You understand women- why the fear of having a little cushion?" Boromir asked suddenly. Between the two Faramir had better emotional intelligence and some female friends. If anyone would know who he would ever dare ask, it would be his little brother.
All he got was a shrug. "The ladies I know always complain that they don't have enough curves, so I haven't the slightest," Faramir admitted.
"Women," Boromir muttered. He'd never understood them before and doubted he ever would.
Silently Faramir chided him, but sympathetically. "Father is going to start trying to matchmake again," he stated quietly as they ascended the long, winding roads of the city.
Every few years since Boromir came of age there had been some attempt. Now that he was in his forties and still on the front lines of the war, he was aware that his father was getting desperate to further ensure the line of succession. "His taste in daughters in law hasn't improved," Boromir replied.
The women Father approved of were all demure and soft and perfectly bred; flowers that would shatter in the slightest frost. He needed someone able to help him bear his burdens, someone with strength to match his spirit at least, if not his sword arm. A gem that only grows stronger under pressure. Those two ideals of a wife hadn't coincided yet and he doubted they ever would.
Bless Faramir for understanding. "I'm glad you refuse to settle for someone who will not make you happy," he said with a little smile.
"Even if I don't find the right person, I know you will. He has nothing to worry about," Boromir said, not quite dismissing his father's worries. Both he and Faramir had dangerous roles in this war but he was sure that Faramir would survive; it was a given in his mind that his little brother would live, find someone to love, and eventually bring children into the world. He didn't need to rush into a sham marriage when that was on the (possibly distant but sure) horizon.
All too soon they were at the doors of the Citadel. Nodding to each other in an unworded statement of readiness, they entered.
From the high bridge overlooking Tharbad, Andy gasped at something I couldn't see. Damn my nearsightedness. "What's going on?" I questioned tensely. Was there some kind of orc raid?
"They're digging by the funeral pit," Mackey answered, expression struck where she stood on the driver's bench of the wagon.
My stomach dropped into my pelvis. Who had managed to die while we were gone?
"Let's go down and see," Matt suggested.
The bridge felt much more secure during this crossing but I barely noticed. My thoughts were too busy racing, praying that no one was dead and something else was happening, as I urged Damascus forward.
The noise of the wagon on the bridge drew Aunt Libby toward us. "Thank god you're back," she told us with such relief that it must have hurt. As I got closer I saw that she looked haggard, hair a mess like she had been putting her hands through it all day and eyes red and bloodshot.
"What happened?" I barely dared breathe.
Please, please let it not be a death.
"It's Stevie." Aunt Libby's voice cracked on her only child's name. "There was an accident- part of his arm got crushed. Aditi's done what she could for him but could you look?"
"Is he at home?" I demanded.
She nodded jerkily.
"We'll be right there," Mackey assured her.
Quickly Andy and Matt volunteered to take the horses and wagon to the stables, so Aunt Libby led Mackey and me at a half-run to the tower we had come to call home.
"How did it happen and when?" Mackey asked, beginning to formulate a plan.
"Yesterday some leverage went wrong, his arm got trapped under that rubble over there for a couple hours." Aunt Libby jerked her head at where they had been working when I left; part of one of the walls had fallen in.
I winced in sympathy. "What did Aditi say about it?"
Aunt Libby slammed the front door open before she answered, "She wanted to see if you would get home before she had to make a decision." She nodded jerkily to her mother, currently stirring some of the usual pottage, and opened the door to her parents' room.
Stevie could be heard before I saw him, blocked as the view was by his wife tending to him. His moans of pain were dull and punctuated by whimpers, slightly slurred.
Upon our entry both Anahera and Aditi's heads jerked up hopefully. "You were right," Anahera told Aditi with a weak smile.
"I was lucky in my estimation of travel time," Aditi corrected. She then waved Mackey and me over, pointing to Stevie's right arm.
To an average onlooker it was fine, if swollen and bruised up to the elbow with many scabbed cuts. But there was something wrong about the way it laid on the straw mattress. "How many breaks did you find?" The more I examined the injured limb, the more nauseating it became.
"I got to six before he started screaming again." Aditi pointed to a place about halfway up his forearm.
"Did you find anything for the pain?" Mackey questioned, wrinkling her nose as she did her own visual examination.
Aditi nodded emphatically. "Some of the herbs I learned about in Minas Tirith. Some for pain and some to knock him out. It isn't enough but it's the best I could do," she explained, expression guilty.
Mentally I noted a need to ask about those for later. "You did alright," I assured her. Gingerly I touched one of Stevie's swollen fingers, only to find the tip turning blue-black. Wordlessly I drew Mackey's attention to it.
She sucked in a harsh breath.
"What is it?" Anahera demanded, grip tight on her husband's undamaged hand.
This was one of the last things I ever wanted to do, but it looked like we didn't have a choice. I swallowed some of the bile that crept up at the mere thought.
Just to make sure, I did my own gentle probe of my cousin's arm. It was feverish and he shifted restlessly, clearly in agony despite being unconscious. Understandably so; in my count from wrist to elbow alone, there were ten different breaks and innumerable fractures.
"Here and now, there's no way to repair that much damage to a bone. Even back home there'd be plates and pins and I don't know how many surgeries for minimal effect, if it would be possible," Mackey said, breaking the news, "Tissue death and gangrene are already setting into his fingers."
Aditi winced.
"What does that mean? Is he going to die?" Anahera questioned, voice going high with distress.
No, it was possibly worse than that.
"We're going to have to amputate his arm," I answered bluntly.