THE Yuletide celebrations had passed, winter had arrived though its icy grip had not befallen the land yet. A month passed before the first snow blanketed the city and surrounding lands, it just so happened that a faction of the army had been sent to South Ithilien near Emyn Arnen after reported sightings of orcs and shadow men from Harad. Everything seemed to point to a quick campaign yet the snow had been falling for nigh four days and travel would be difficult, especially with wagons of supplies and foot soldiers.
Aeardis looked to the south from the open balcony of the library and felt herself grow frustrated with the weather. She could not ride in the open fields nor go to the market. Despite the numerous tomes and scrolls that were still unread within the library, she found herself unable to concentrate.
Too often she would stare off into the distance, they had been due back four days ago. A strong and frigid wind came from the north and swept through the open arches of the room, cutting through her garments and extinguishing the candles, even the fire in the hearth had died down. Aeardis pulled her thick velvet and fur cloak tighter around her shoulders and shivered, hoping that the snow would not dampen the spirits of Gondor's defenders as it did her own.
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"Lord Boromir!" The herald intercepted him before he could even enter the last gate into the Citadel. He pulled the reins of his horse to a halting stop. "Lady Aeardis has fallen ill, she rests in the Houses of Healing."
Boromir's face paled, his mood instantly soured. His brown mare was passed off to a stable hand and the herald led him in the direction of the infirmary. "Why was this news not sent to me on the battlefront?" There was no shortage of anger in his voice and he tried little to disguise it. Many had come to be on the receiving end his wrath of the years and few wished to witness it ever again.
"Your father, my lord, he feared that such news would cause the battle to be lost." The herald bowed and took his leave of the Steward-Prince. His anger bubbled up into rage and betrayal, not understanding why his father would have thought news of Aeardis's sickness would turn the tides of the battle. If anything, such news would have driven him to carry out the campaign quicker and fight against the collecting snow to return.
His anger, however, subsided as soon as he entered the Houses and saw her lying there, peaceful and unbothered by duty. For a moment, he simply stared in her direction and nearly laughed at realizing this was the first time in many years where he had found her not working herself to an early grave.
He knelt next to the small cot and pulled the blanket back up to her shoulders, she stirred then and looked around with half-delirious eyes. "Boromir?" The small gasp of his name was sweeter than any music had ever been. Before he could take her hand, she had raised it to his face, his skin was cool compared to hers. Stubble had begun growing on his jaw again. She preferred him that way. "It is good to see your face."
The Steward-Prince enclosed her delicate hand in both of his, a strange feeling of guilt came over him, "I had only just returned when they told me." For a brief second, she had managed to thread her fingers through his.
Aeardis glanced over his shoulder, looking for someone else, his brother no doubt. "Where is Faramir?" she inquired in a scratchy voice. Boromir released her hand and pushed back the hair that had stuck to her sweat-slickened forehead, "He is still with the ranging party near Poros, they will not return until midweek if the weather allows."
He laid his hand on her forehead and frowned at how warm and clammy it felt, "You are burning up." Aeardis frowned at him when one of the healers scurried to her side again with a damp cloth at his soft observation. It was Trianna who had come this time. The cool cloth sent a chill through her blood.
"We've given her feverfew and other brews," the healer began, Aeardis only looked annoyed at the report, "she has been responding well, my lord." Trianna ran another cloth down her arms too. Aeardis was not the only person within the infirmary with this ailment. It was the winter sickness that came yearly, though this was the first time she had fallen victim. "Once her fever lowers she can return to her rooms and we'll have someone tend to her there," Trianna finished, collecting her supplies again.
Boromir stood and the silence was filled with the rattling and clanking of his armor and mail. Aeardis caught one of the loops on his vambrace and tried to tug him backward. "Don't go." He turned back and smiled. "I'll return. I must get this armor off."
True to his word he returned quickly, the silver mail and plate had been replaced with a coarse woolen tunic and deep blue surcoat bearing the sigil of Gondor. Aeardis had sat up now and nursed a fragrant tea that had been steeping for most the morning. "How did the campaign fare?" she asked.
"Your idea worked if that's what you care to hear," Boromir answered.
She wore a lopsided smile that he wished would be a more common occurrence, she was even lovelier when she smiled. "I knew it would." Boromir brushed back the hair that clung to her face and leaned forward, kissing her fevered forehead. "Don't do that," she scolded, pushing on his shoulder, but it was like trying to move a brick wall, "you'll get sick."
He shook his head amusedly and kissed her cheek this time, "A fever is no match for me." Aeardis laughed, indeed after victory Gondor's prized son seemed invincible. "Let's get you out of here," he whispered so the passing healers and apprentices would not notice.
Boromir stood and found the eldest and most experienced of the healers, Ioreth was her name, "Tell me what must be done and I will tend to her." He did not fancy remaining in the infirmary and he knew her own bed would be far more comfortable than a small cot. It was well past time that he repaid her for all the times she had taken care of him after battles when he was too stubborn and prideful to see the healers.
"My Lord Boromir," Ioreth objected but he would have none of it. Boromir slipped his arms around her shoulders and beneath her knees. Aeardis pressed her cheek against his shoulder, ashamed to admit that she enjoyed both being carried in his arms and how he was worrying over her.
"I hope you are not as strict as Ioreth and Trianna," she mused and he laughed, shielding her from the cold with his own back. Aeardis thought about the limited freedom that she had acquired and longed for a bath and her own featherbed. Nimmien was within her chambers, having just put down fresh linens and drawn the thick winter window panels together.
The chambermaid immediately set to laying out a clean shift for her lady and folding back the sheets and blankets on the bed. She had been the one to inform the healers of Aeardis's ailment when she was too stubborn to go to the infirmary. "Will you have a bath drawn?" Nimmien nodded and scurried off.
When the stone tub was filled and both oils and soaps added, Aeardis quickly slipped beneath the bubbles, feeling the chill leave her bones instantly. Though what caught her attention now was Boromir, he was leaning against the entrance to her bathing room with a raised brow.
A deep flush of color came to her cheeks, "This improperness will cause quite the rumors."
Boromir huffed and slumped down next to the side of the tub so that his head rested on the ledge, "I have little care for what they say." They spoke of the happenings both on the front and within the city, and of future plans and possible strategies.
Alas, when the water had lost its warmth she nudged Boromir, but he was a step ahead of her already with a fresh towel in his hand, which he held open. "Look away, please." The Steward-Prince closed his eyes and turned his head toward the door while Aeardis wrapped herself in the sheet of linen. But then her knees felt funny and with her first step they gave out. Boromir caught her arms and she grasped feebly at the towel.
"You've yet to regain all your strength back." She scowled at him but made no move to completely stand on her own.
"Lord Boromir?" Nimmien called softly, a fierce blush crept up to the handmaidens cheeks when she saw her lady's state of undress and the way Boromir held her next to him. "I did not mean to intrude."
"What is it?' he inquired, annoyed with the interruption.
The handmaiden lowered her head, "Your father commands your presence in his study."
He turned his attention to Aeardis, who still wobbled on her own feet, "I'll sup with you when I return." She nodded with a fleeting smile and watched him leave.
"May I be so bold as to ask a question, my lady?" Nimmien asked while drawing a pearl comb through Aeardis's tangled hair. She nodded and glanced up at their reflection in the mirror. A flush of color had come to the maid's cheeks. "You and Lord Boromir?" there was an unsettling pause, "I think he fancies you," she added in a hushed voice before she even gave Aeardis a chance to answer.
"I'm afraid I don't have the answer you probably wish for, we are only close friends," Aeardis replied.
Nimmien had returned with a platter of bread and stew. It was to be shared with Boromir when he returned from speaking with his father, but as more time passed, Aeardis grew impatient and upon her insistence that good food not go to waste, she and the maid supped together with a flagon of warm mulled cider.
She lay awake, a book on her lap when the Steward-Prince returned. "I have not seen that expression in many years," Aeardis mused as Boromir stomped back into her chambers. His brows were furrowed, face red, and lips in what seemed to be a permanent scowl. "Would you care to make me privy to what has put you in this foul mood?" She closed her book and set it aside.
Boromir paced before the warm hearth, "He's asking that I consider marriage again." It was true what Aeardis had told her father those years ago, Boromir delighted in arms and battle, his first love was Gondor. That was where his duty and heart belonged. Yet for all that he was still the heir of a noble house and more than just soldierly tasks were expected of him.
Aeardis lowered both her head and her voice, "You are his heir, Boromir. It is your duty."
He came to sit on the edge of the bed and ran his hands over his face, tiredly and irritably. "My duty is to the realm," he said, glancing out the cracked window that chilled the room despite the raging fire in the hearth. "I could not take a wife in good faith knowing that she may be widowed come the next battle."
Aeardis placed her hand on his back and her chin on his shoulder, "You've always come back to me." Her words chilled Boromir's blood and sent violent shivers crawling over his skin. He kicked off his boots in haste and removed the heaviest of his garments. Aeardis flushed. "What are you doing?" She asked, slightly more breathless than had been intended.
"Move over," was his reply. The featherbed dipped with his weight and Aeardis was given no chance to protest when he pulled her closer to him. "If you get sick, you've no one to blame but yourself," she mumbled.
Boromir chuckled and pressed his lips against her forehead, "I'll take my chances."