Where The Shadows Lie

Sorry, Rangerlady, but I'm pretty sure what's at the site is all there is of this one. Doh! But, seeing as my partner in crime is gone for a few days, I may just try to tack some more onto this one, or onto In Darkness and In Doubt, depending on where my muse takes me. ;) I'm in the mood for darkness...so one can never tell.

Anyway, thanks for reviewing!

*

It was windy on the hilltop of Edoras, carrying her dark hair across her face. Living here one acclimated themselves to such a thing, so she did not reach to brush it back, knowing it would only be replaced by other loose strands. With a silent appreciation Alisceon watched strands the color of a pale fire dance to the same moves. He was brooding. Every day she caught him and every day it was harder to lighten his mood. She sat there on the parapet with her back against the Hall, watching Faramir search the openness for any sign of the source of his anxiety. Annoyed with his restlessness, she nudged his sword with her boot, mocking, “Any second now.”

Faramir turned with a soft smile. “Quiet, woman,” he teased, squeezing her toes.

“You worry for them.” It was a statement, not a question. Faramir’s heart was for his people and his brother. Every moment between they and he could mean a multitude of pitfalls that would separate the two forever. Lady Alisceon liked not to wonder how he would fare should that day come.

The Captain sat down and ran his eyes across her form. “I worry for them. Knowing Boromir is in their company, I worry for me as well. He will not be happy with me.”

Alisceon bit her lip, brushing her hair behind her ear. She noticed Faramir’s gaze flit to the path of her fingers, then back again to the softness of her expression. “Surely he understands that your people come first.”

That was not a certainty, though she could tell by every ounce of his demeanor that he would defend his brother even if he were wrong. Faramir nodded and looked up as Éomer came into their presence. “He understands, but Boromir has some of my father’s stubbornness.”

Looking out into the grasslands, the young King grunted. “I am inclined to agree with you. Let us hope that does not get him into trouble someday.” Éomer glanced at the two of them, pausing on Alisceon. “Will you take to hiding again, Cousin?”

Alisceon frowned at him, only to have her vexation increase when Faramir chuckled. “What’s this? Lady Alisceon hiding?”

Éomer leaned against the wall beside her with a soft smile. “My sister tells me the blond Elf Aragorn kept in his company gave Lady Alisceon quite a fright.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” she stated flatly, crossing her arms. “I was avoiding. There is a distinct difference.”

Shaking his head, Faramir gave her a look. “Why should you avoid him? Did he act dishonorably towards you?”

She sighed and held her tongue, glaring at the stones beneath them. Despite her want of privacy, Éomer answered for her and she conceded it was not right to incriminate the Elf. “No, my dear cousin avoided him to the point of never having met him at all. You did not want him knowing your heritage. Am I right?”

Alisceon kept her silence and folded her hands in her lap, while Faramir and Éomer exchanged glances. Still, not one to push the issue, Faramir only said, “Then it is a shame you will not meet my brother or my King. And I shall miss your company at dinner.”

She exhaled and looked up slowly, almost absently covering her ears with her hair. “I’ll meet them. It doesn’t matter anyway. I made my choice. I’m not an Elf anymore.”

There were more questions on his mind. She could tell it by his eyes. Alisceon gave Éomer a glare for bringing it up in the first place. The King touched her shoulder, then looked upon the grasslands as a horn sounded in the distance. The line between the horizon and the earth was broken by a long stretch of soldiers bearing white flags. The number of them was great, so much so that they would have to camp outside the city walls. It was a sight to behold, one that filled her with sorrow. She could see the deconstruction of Men in the vision before her.

Ahead of the body of men were three horses. One bore the man she recognized as the King of Gondor, another had a tall rider with hair like Faramir’s and the third carried two smaller forms riding precariously on the top of their large steed. They rode out ahead towards the city, swift and steady. The city was quiet in wait for their arrival.

Alisceon looked to Faramir, who watched with a visible aura of relief as well as the dread that came from whatever words he thought his brother would say. His hair trailed across his eyes and Alisceon was almost compelled to move it, but for the presence of the King and their oncoming guests. Exhaling, she looked back as the riders came into the gates and headed on up through the city. “They are safe,” she reminded Faramir, who smiled gently in reply.

Two Rohirrim arrived at the foot of the stairs to relieve the riders of their horses. When they approached Alisceon found herself watching he who must be Boromir. His expression was grim and annoyed as he looked to his brother. He was first off his horse and once his horse was cared for, started up the steps without waiting for his king or the halflings. He was an imposing figure and Alisceon could understand why Faramir thought there would be a quarrel.

As it waoromoromir embraced his brother. “It is good to see you alive,” he said with true joy.

Faramir clapped him on the shoulder and stepped back. “And you as well. How is the King?”

“I am well,” Aragorn answered for himself, coming onto the stairs with the Hobbits trailing after. He and Éomer exchanged bows, then the King of Gondor gave his people a final look as they settled on the plains for camp. “There is much to discuss, Éomer.”

Her cousin nodded gravely and the glint in his dayes yes reminded Alisceon of the discussion he and Faramir had had concerning employing the aid of the Elves. It would be forefront on his mind, she knew. A part of her worried that the Elves would not respond kindly. She had never known an Elf except her father, knew only what was said of their ways.

Alisceon watched Éomer retreat with Aragorn and the Hobbits into the Hall, and feeling out of place with just the brothers as they spoke, said, “Lord Faramir, I will leave you to your greetings.”

Faramir shook his head, taking her hand in his and pulling her closer. His brother watched this action with a narrowed brow. “Wait for a moment, Lady. I would have you meet my brother.” At that she stopped and looked up into Boromir’s scrutiny. She had never asked if Faramir spoke of her to anyone, nevhoughought it important. By Boromir’s expression she guessed he at least had gleaned there was familiarity between she and his little brother. He did not appear to approve. “This is my brother Boromir. Boromir, this is the Lady Alisceon we spoke of once.”

Being half-elven, Alisceon was not entirely the same as the young ladies of Rohan. She was older, more experienced and carried the grace of her father’s people in her. She was accustomed to being sought after for company by mortal males or at least making a fair impression upon meeting one. She was not prepared for hook ook her up and down, bow his head curtly and say, “My pleasure,” in a hurried tone of voice. Alisceon frowned and he ignored it, looking to his little brother. “If we are done with the pleasantries, I have something to discuss with you, Faramir.”

Giving her an apologetic look, the young Captain of Gondor released her hand. “I will see you at dinner. Please sit with me at the King’s table.”

Not bothering to look at Boromir, Alisceon nodded with a soft smile. “I look forward to it.” With that she turned away, not giving the elder another glance or a farewell. As she entered into the Hall and retreated towards her rooms Alisceon decided something very quickly. She did not like Boromir.

*

“Éomer doesn’t like him either.” Éowyn stood behind where Alisceon was seated before her mirror, brushing through her dark locks. The blond was fiddling with her own hair in preparation for the dinner Éomer was holding to honor Aragorn’s coming. It was a rushed banquet, so there would be none of the typical fanfare or intricate preparation, but Alisceon had the feeling it would serve the King of Gondor just fine. Looking up into the reflection at her cousin, Alisceon wondered what was going through Éowyn’s mind where he was concerned. “You recall the trip to Minas Tirith that my uncle took with his son and my brother?” Alisceon nodded, abandoning her brush for a pretty hair ornament engraved into the shape of a horse and a butterfly. “Éomer told me he met Boromir then and immediately took a disliking. Boromir is older, of course. He saw Éomer and Théodred up to no good, my uncle told me, and brought them to him.”

Alisceon frowned at her reflection, then dipped her fingers into a berry substance she used to stain her lips. “He’s rude,” she said amidst blotting the juice onto her lips. “He looked at me like I was a spoiled little child. There was no cause for that.”

Éowyn smiled and laid her hands on her cousin’s shoulders, drawing the hair back. “It bothers you so.”

The half-elf looked up with an annoyed expression. “It does not bother me. I’m only remarking on how different they are.”

The mortal girl nodded, but the humor in her eyes didn’t leave completely. Sitting down on a cushioned chair beside Alisceon, she said, “It’s natural for you to want Faramir’s kin to like you. There is nothing wrong with that.”

Alisceon gave Éowyn a sidelong glance. “Why should I care what Faramir’s kin think of me?” She pinched her cheeks and looked in the mirror. “I hardly care what Faramir thinks of me.”

Her cousin chuckled at that, nudging her shoulder before looking herself over again. “We all want the men we love to think well of us, they and their families.”

“I do not love Faramir,” Alisceon stated flatly, noting with pride that there wasn’t any doubt hiding away in her heart. There was sorrow, though. Living so long she felt the need to be careful, for she had seen what her mother’s death had done to her father. Glaring at her reflection now, Alisceon yanked her hair over her ears and frowned at Éowyn for uncovering them again.

The blond watched her eyes in the mirror with a gentility that made the half-elf sigh. “I do not pretend to understand, Alisceon. But I think it would be better to have loved and let go than to want it from afar, believing you may never have it.”

Alisceon crossed her arms and muttered, “Then why don’t you take Faramir?” but her heart wasn’t in it. It wasn’t love of Faramir that troubled her, it was something else. Maybe everything else. Looking at her gray dress, Alisceon stood up to find another. This one was too plain for tonight, too high cut and not flattering enough. As she rummaged through her closet she consoled herself with unkind thoughts of her lover’s brother.

By the time she had found the appropriate dress and clothed herself, Alisceon felt better. The upcoming troubles were a heavy burden on everyone and she dreaded what was to come for her people, but could find no more energy to worry about it right now. Tonight she was going to have some fun and forget heritages and rude Lords of Gondor and the war.

*

If nothing else at least Éomer of Rohan provided music and a good table to feast upon. The dinner was less than a happy occasion, but that was not unexpected. There within GoldGolden Hall the assorted dignitaries of the two countries of Men congregated and made small talk, most hoping to postpone the heavy subjects that would later arise. All except Boromir. He was most eager to get to the bottom of what was to be done of the threat of Mordor. Faramir took a sip from his wine goblet and looked across the table at his tense brother, who was fixing a glare upon their King. “Can you not relax?” he asked, knowing the answer already.

Boromir had a mug of ale and nursed it well before answering. The younger winced at the force of it hitting the table when his brother set it down. “What do you think?” he asked, looking Faramir in the eyes. They had had a little conversation earlier and despite all Boromir had said of wishing to lay aside his vexation—what was done was done—the younger could tell it still smarted. He couldn’t blame his brother, either. The Valar knew every time he thought of his home his heart panged in longing.

Absently Faramir looked to where Aragorn sat beside Éomer, looking as lost and as troubled as he felt inside. “No, I do not suppose any of us can fully relax this night. Does he know what Éomer will demand?”

The subject brought his brother more frustration. Boromir leaned back against a column he had seated himself in front of, taking his ale mug up in his hand, but not drinking. His eyes followed Faramir’s to Aragorn as he reacquainted himself with one of the elder soldiers he had fought with at Helm’s Deep. “Aye, he knows. We spoke of it.”

“And?” Faramir prodded.

Boromir shrugged and took a long drink, draining his cup. “What do you think?” he asked, reaching for a pitcher on the table.

Annoyed with his brother’s mysterious mood, Faramir leaned forward with his brows knit. “Will you stop answering me with that question? Honestly, Boromir, I did what I thought I had to do. Would you truly have had me stand there at the South Gate, watching my men die and the waiting for the butcher to continue on to the refugees?”

Boromir leaned back, took a drink and shrugged again. He looked out across the people crowding the Golden Hall with a mild expression. “What do you think?”

Faramir eyed the elder with a steely look. Sighing, he resigned himself to the knowledge that these subjects could not be approached until his brother was in better spirits and he knew Boromir would get over his displeasure only when he was good and ready, not before. The Captain of Gondor swirled his wine glass around, watching the red liquid splash against the sides. Movement across the room drew his attention away from the sight quickly, however. He looked up and saw her enter, immediately greeted by Éowyn. Alisceon spared him a look, then ignored him and Faramir laughed. “So you will keep me waiting?”

His brother followed his amused gaze, then made an annoyed face. “Go now and have your fun while the world falls around you,” he stated dryly.

The younger frowned. “Must you be so difficult? You were downright rude to her earlier.”

Boromir crossed his arms before him. “Since when should you care how I act with your toys? Am I to be impressed that you managed to bed yourself an Elf?”

“You are cold, Boromir,” Faramir accused testily, getting aggravated with his brother’s sour disposition. The elder seemed unaffected by his anger, firm in whatever distrust he had of the Elven kind. Which brought Faramir to his next question. “You knew she is an Elf?”

He shrugged. “Her hair blew away from her ears. Is she some sort of spokesperson for Rivendell?”

Faramir shook his head, watching her move closer and yet refrain from approaching. “Nay, she has grown up here in Edoras. A cousin of sorts to King Théoden. She doesn’t say much of her past, but I gather she is not familiar with her other kin. I’ll not have you mistreat her, Boromir. She is a kind soul.”

Boromir frowned at his little brother, but relented in this at least. “Very well, if you say she is no spy or mouthpiece of that accursed Elrond, I will hold my tongue.”

“She isn’t,” the younger asserted as the subject of conversation came towards them, having decided she had waited long enough.

Alisceon came to the table, made her bows to both her King and that of Gondor, then came to Faramir with a sly expression. She looked very beautiful this night and knew it. “Is my invitation still open?” she asked, sliding her gaze to Boromir before returning to the younger.

Faramir stood up as a gentleman would for a lady and his brother gave him an amused look that he chose to ignore. “You are more than welcome, Lady, you are much desired. Doesn’t she look lovely, Brother?” He added a certain edge to his tone that caused his brother to sigh.

“As lovely as any of the other maidens here,” Boromir replied, biting back a grin at Faramir’s annoyance. He then brought his eyes to Alisceon, bowing his head. “My brother says I was rude with you earlier. If that is so, I apologize.”

With a cool expression Alisceon said, “Indeed. No doubt you are unaccustomed to interacting with ladies. I understand completely.”

As he sat Faramir shot his brother an amused look of his own, which was met with a flat stare. The younger coughed and touched her back affectionately. He would have spoken, but for King Éomer drawing all attention to he and Aragorn, tapping his glass with his knife. “We have eaten, we have talked and spoken idly of the weather, but we all know the true purpose of this meeting,” he said gravely. “We must discuss what is about to happen in the land of Rohan, for no doubt can be had, Mordor will turn its eye to the realm of the Horse-lords. I say now for all to hear that in the fashion of my uncle and predecessor, King Théoden, Rohan will give Gondor the aid it needs.”

There was a micheecheer after that, from both the Gondorians and from the Rohirrim, for it was expected. It didn’t last long. When all was quiet King Aragorn stood and bowed his head. “I give thanks to Éomer King and to his people. The need is dire. Though I regret that the last stand comes to Rohan, I say that I am proud to fight along side the Rohirrim once more.” Another cheer came, this one shorter than the last.

As Aragorn reclaimed his seat Éomer lifted his wine goblet. “To business, then. Aragorn, my friend, we are all prepared to fight, but in exchange for my hospitality I ask a boon of you.”

“So here it comes,” Boromir muttered, glaring at Éomer. He wanted the aid of the Elves no more than did Aragorn wish to disturb their peace. Faramir nodded gravely.

Something in his expression said he at least suspected what was going to be asked. Aragorn exhaled wearily and said low, “What boon is that, Éomer?”

The Rohirrim King fixed the other with a relentless gaze. “I ask that you consider seeking the aid of the Elves. You are on good terms with Elrond of Rivendell, are you not?”

There were assorted whispers, hushed voices that debated the need of involving the Elves. Most men thought if the Elves were so aloof as to decline help, let them be slaughtered when the war came to them. Others wondered why they had not departed to the Grey Havens as they had intended, for while they were in contact with no one, the evidence of their remaining could not be denied. Still others believed that to survive Mordor all Middle-earth was going to have to band together.

Aragorn nodded, his suspicion confirmed. His expression was not surprised or angry, merely uncertain. “I have not spoken with Elrond in a year. I have had no word from any of the Elven lands, nor has Legolas of Mirkwood contacted me. I know nothing of what has become of them.”

“Is it not a worthy time to find out?” Éomer pressed, fidgeting with his goblet. “Do you not think we would all have a better chance if we stood together, Man and Elf? Let us put the question to your trusted advisor, the one that counseled your move here. Lord Faramir, what do you say to my suggestion?”

Faramir had not expected this. His King fixed him with a gaze that asked for complete honesty and he knew that was what he must give, despite anyone else’s feelings on the matter. He took a drink, then a breath. “I must concur with King Éomer, my Lord. We have lost much. I cannot say I agree with wisdom that would allow Men to perish only for the war to come to the Elves anyway.”

Aragorn nodded quietly, likely having considered all these arguments a hundred times before now. All knew his affection for the Elves, his reluctance to stir them to war. Which was why there was much surprise when he agreed quickly, needing no convincing. “I did not want this to happen,” he confessed, looking at Éomer. “I would have had us stand on our own and come to victory. I see now that was only a dream. If even my own men see the need, I will listen, for I would not become so enamored of my power as to ignore their words. I will go to Rivendell.”

*

The door slammed shut. Faramir smiled against her mouth, holding her against it. “Sorry, love,” he whispered at her annoyed expression. “I am in haste.” His mouth closed over hers, tongue tempting her lips to part for him to plunder her again. Leaving her breathless, he pulled away and trailed his hand down her breast, smoothing the soft fabric. “Curse the morning that will take me away from you.”

The trip was set first thing in the morning. Aragorn had cited both Faramir and his brother to join him, leaving King Éomer in charge of both armies. The King of Gondor was reluctant to leave his post, but no other could speak on such open terms with the Lord of Rivendell. Faramir was not looking forward to leaving so soon. “I’ll be here,” she said breathlessly, her eyes fluttering as he pulled the top of her dress open, reaching inside. His fingertips were chilled as they traced her, causing her to shiver against his touch.

Faramir smiled as she fiddled with his pants, drawing them open. “Too long have I been without the warmth of your body to keep me company, Alisceon.”

Reaching inside she gave him a heated, half-lidded look, caressing his hardening flesh. “Do you not have other lovers?” she asked him in a pitying tone.

The Captain of Gondor nuzzled his forehead against hers, pushing his hips against her touch. “None like you. Certainly none that will be coming with me tomorrow.” He let out a groan when she stopped stroking him. Faramir kissed her lips gently. “Do you miss me when I am gone?”

Alisceon smoothed her hands over his warm hips, encouraging his pants down further. “I do,” she replied sincerely, looking up into his eyes. “I…”

The door behind her was suddenly being knocked upon. Loudly. Alisceon frowned at the vibration it sent through her body. Giving the door a glare, Faramir jerked his pants up and stepped away as she fixed her dress. Straightening her hair, she opened the door and saw someone unexpected standing there. “Lord Boromir?”

Boromir looked past her. “My brother is not in his rooms. Is he here?”

Ruffled by his attitude, Alisceon stepped back to allow him into the room. The elder nodded his thanks and entered, fixing his gaze upon Faramir. “Aragorn wants to speak with you,” he stated, taking in his brother’s slightly disheveled appearance.

“Now?” Faramir asked, brushing his hair back with a frown of malcontent.

Boromir smirked, crossing his arms and leaning against the threshold that led from the sitting room into Alisceon’s personal bedroom. “He is in his rooms. Would you like me to tell him you wish to wait about an hour?” He gavramiramir a speculative look. “Perhaps a few minutes should suffice in your case?”

His little brother made a dirty face. “Funny, Boromir. I will return, Lady Alisceon.”

Faramir left, likely expecting his brother to follow, for he left the door open. Alisceon wondered then why Boromir still stood there in her room, watching her. “Was there something you wanted with me?” she asked tersely, not caring for his unwavering gaze.

He pushed himself up and came near. “You may wish to know of something I heard my King discussing with yours. It seems you will be joining us.” He seemed annoyed with that fact.

“What?!” Alisceon exploded, startling the smart-tongued Lord of Gondor. She glared at him, but her anger was meant for her cousin. “Who made that decision?”

Boromir stifled his surprise at her reaction. “King Aragorn suggested if Lord Elrond saw you, knew that Men and Elves were not so separate as he, a half-Elf himself no less, would like to think, he might be softened to the idea of joining our people together to fight. King Éomer said perhaps it wase yoe you learned about your other half.”

Furious, Alisceon planned a whole string of words for Éomer. He had told Aragorn; he must have. “Just how does King Aragorn know I’m part Elf?”

“I imagine it is because you both look and act like one,” Boromir replied flatly, unimpressed by her show. He looked up and down her very suggestively. “Do you have any skills, Lady Alisceon? Blade? Bow?”

“I am a Shield-maiden of Rohan,” she answered, seeing no reason to explain further. His tone was mild, but she could hear the mocking in it. “What business is it of yours?”

Boromir took a step towathe the door. “None, except if we are attacked I would prefer not to have to come running to the rescue of a weeping, terrorized Elf-maid that can’t protect herself.”

“Get the fuck out of my room,” Alisceon hissed, coming close to the brink of her fury. When Boromir failed to move at her angry command she put her hands on his shoulder, pushing him as hard as she could.

The infernal mortal snickered at her attempt, grabbing for her wrists. “How will you fight an Orc if you cannot defend against me?” he asked, pushing her back into the room.

Jerking away, struggling and wondering what Boromir thought he was doing, Alisceon made a move to kick him. He groaned when her foot hit his shin, then pushed her back against the wall he had been shoving her towards. He held her wrists back hard, mercilessly as his warm breath hit her face softly. His eyes traveled her over as she struggled in his hold. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you better let me go,” she warned him in dark tones.

After a long moment Boromir did as he was told, backing away and fixing his bracers with an uncomfortable expression. “If we are attacked make certain you guard your wrists, Lady Alisceon, for the servants of Sauron won’t be as quick to release them.” He bowed his head once and departed.

Alisceon leaned against the wall after the door had shut, her breath coming a little faster and her heart pounding. She did not know what had just occurred between her and Boromir, but she knew that not only did she not like him, she wasn’t sure how she was going to stand his presence on this trip to Rivendell.