Sons of the Steward

The door opened and Boromir looked up from where he sat with a bottle tucked within the curl of his hand. “Get the hell out of here,” he said without much conviction. His brother ignored him and sat down anyway, taking the bottle and sampling from it. He coughed and set it back in Boromir’s hand. The flames from the fireplace nearby caused shadows to dance along his playful face.

“What has you so cross?” he asked with a sly expression.

Boromir glared, knowing that look. “You think her coming here is nothing, but I assure you it is something to be considered. Our little visitor is the sister of the Elven woman that came two years ago.”

Faramir’s eyes widened at that, displaying a rather satisfactory amount of surprise. “You’re not serious, are you?” he asked, reclaiming the brown bottle of liquor. “This changes everything then.”

The elder nodded matter-of-factly. “She was actually trying to test me today, to see if I would rape her. She accused me of luring her out so I could use her and kill her. Unfortunately, I was being an ass at the time, which gave her the perfect grounds to believe me guilty.”

“So she is here for revenge?” Faramir surmised, shaking his head in thought. “We should tell Father, then.”

Gaining another expression of shock from his brother, Boromir shook his head. He rubbed his temples as he felt a headache starting to form. “Not just yet, anyway. Things will progress from bad to worse if something happens to her. I think I have her convinced that we are not guilty.”

“We?” Faramir raised an eyebrow.

Boromir nodded. “She was told we both did it, not just me. If she is given any reason to believe either of us, we may both end up dead or in the Healing Houses. At any rate, I would watch your back from this point on.”

“So she was not here for the Ring, then.”

Shrugging and sinking further into the comfort of his chair, Boromir threw his booted feet upon the coffee table before him. “Who knows what all they think they can accomplish. I’m sure peace isn’t the first thing on their minds, however, but if we can head things off before they become dire we can hopefully prevent a war. I’m sick of having people to fight. Sauron is enough for all of us to think about.”

Faramir took a long drink, then nodded, looking at the fire. “That’s true enough, I suppose, but we’re playing a dangerous game.”

“So are they.”

The younger frowned depreciatively. He was right, of course. It was very dangerous, allowing those Elves to roam free with death threats in their thoughts. But Boromir knew also that if she fell to the same fate as her sister, Lothlórien would retaliate this time. For all their delicacy, he knew Elves had a strength about them. Just as easily as any other man, he could recall what happened in Rohan. He didn’t like the idea of something similar happening here. Faramir was eyeing him thoughtfully. “What’s on your mind?”

Boromir glared at him, then looked ahead, examining the flames before them. “Nothing, I suppose, except the desire for an to all of this nonsense. Remember when there used to be peace in our lands?”

Faramir gave his brother a wry smile. “I remember. I remember a Bor tha that cared for nothing but battbattle and for honor.”

“The battle got old and honor is dead.” The elder grunted, feeling his age just now.

“So dramatic,” his brother chided him, but Boromir simply didn’t care just now and let that show in his refusal to respond. Faramir exhaled and leaned back, mirroring his image with a thoughtful expression that turned serious after a few moments. “What if she finds out about the child?”

That was another source of Boromir’s brooding as of this evening. Watching the flames move, he let the darkness of his mood take over his features. “We will handle that when we come to it.”

*

Morning came with another guest to the city of Minas Tirith. Minuial and Haldir had left their rooms for breakfast and found the halls abuzz with whispers. Curious, both Elves traveled to the main dining hall with questions aside from their usual wonderings. And when they entered they saw the source of the commotion sitting at the head table beside Lord Denethor. His expression was different than when he had visited Lothlórien after his transition in wizardly rank. They had found him naked, eyes wide and gazing up at the stars in fascination, as if he had seen more ages pass than any Elf could lay claim to. Now the gaze of Gandalf the White was cool, attuned to the present and lined with hours of tension.

Noticing their arrival, Denethor raised his hand and beckoned them forth. “Our guests are now together at one table. Perhaps we can find an answer that will appease all.” Somehow Gandalf appeared dubious at that.

Haldir stepped forward and bowed to the White Wizard respectfully. “The last I heard you were at Rivendell,” he said, sitting with a mild expression. “You recall Lady Minuial, I assume?”

The wizard gave her a penetrating look, then nodded at the Marchwarden’s words. “I do recall. My greetings to you both. I have come at the request of Lord Elrond. He fears this meeting may yield trouble.”

“And how thoughtful of him to send someone to ward it off,” Denethor replied dryly, sharing a look with his sons.

Minuial looked unconsciously to Boromir, who made no effort to hide that he had been watching her. His expression was unreadable. Uncomfortably she shifted her gaze towards Aragorn, who seemed oblivious to the conversation, gazing within a goblet he held in his hand. “We welcome any help offered,” she said genuinely as she turned her eyes upon the wizard. He gave her a kindly smile that somehow made her feel a little less uneasy.

“Of course,” Boromir agreed, seeming genuine about it. He gazed at Gandalf unfailingly even as the wizard glared back. He had been thoroughly angry when he had learned in Lothlórien that Boromir had coaxed the Ring from Frodo, then brought it here to Minas Tirith against his express orders to let the Hobbit destroy it. Old contentions seemed to die hard. The elder Captain of Gondor did not seem to care.

Gandalf tore his eyes away from the son of Denethor, moving along. “Yes, well, we have much to discuss. I trust you are both willing to give me audience?”

It took not even a moment for Minuial to nod her agreement, but Denethor was not so quick. He glared at the wizard for a span of time, then exhaled in uncertainty. “I do not pretend to wish this, Mithrandir. Yet I am not as unreasonable as some may believe. Very well. If it will aid these talks in coming to a close, so be it.”

“I am overwhelmed by your generosity,” Gandalf quipped, half to himself as he took interest in the wine before him. He sat back and there began a long discussion that took the breadth of the morning and did not seem them very near what any of them would tern an end. By noon Gandalf had swept from the room in frustration, followed shortly by the Steward himself. His sons retreated to the balcony without so as as a word to the Elves.

“That went well,” Haldir commented as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his head.

Minuial grunted and traced the rim of her wine goblet. “Even still, perhaps with Gandalf here some good may be done. I’ll not reach Denethor on my own, I’m certain of that.”

The Marchwarden gave her a wan look. “Yes, but…” he began, then stopped and shook his head. “Never mind. We shall see how things progress. I will see you at dinner.” He pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Where are you headed?” Minuial asked, looking up at him.

He nodded towards the door. “I will be around.”

Haldir smiled at her, then departed. With an upraised eyebrow she watched him go, then sighed. When she looked back down she noticed then the sole remainder of those that had dined together here at breakfast. He had spoken so little she had forgotten his presence. Now those blue eyes were trained upon her, without concealment andhouthout expression. “Lord Aragorn,” she greeted, more out of a need to break past his stare than anything else.

He lowered his eyes with a polite nod. “My lady. How are you? I had no chance to ask until now. I hope you slept well.”

His manner made her uncomfortable. She pushed her chair back, preparing to leave him be with his brooding. “I am well. And you?”

In a low tone he repeated her answer. “I am well.”

She stood up at that point, making her farewell as she headed towards the door. “After sitting so long I find myself in need of a walk. If you will excuse me?” He nodded and she exited the dining hall without further hesitation. Aragorn bothered her, as did just about everyone in this strange city. She was beginning to weary of this place, this mission. Perhaps it was better that Gandalf had come. Though she wanted her family’s vengeance, she was beginning to want peace even more.

*

When dinnertime arrived she felt a little more refres Ha Having taken a bath, clothed in a fine dress that had been a gift from the Steward, Minuial looked herself carefully over in the mirror. Shooting a glare at the door to Haldir’s room, she decided to stop wasting time. She had waited for him to make an appearance long enough and was tired of it. Straightening her skirts, she marched to his room and knocked, frustrated when he did not reply. Rolling her eyes, she twisted the knob after a fementments and entered without leave. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “That bastard,” she hissed, annoyed with him.

Well, she was not about to wait around for him to come and protect her. Closing her door, she left through his exit and made her way to the dinner hall. As she neared she could hear the voices of those present. It sounded like a larger crowd than had been there at breakfast. She sighed.

Entering, she searched the room instinctively before heading towards the main table as usual. A quick survey produced Lord Denethor and his accursed eldest son, who looked up at her entry. She made a show of ignoring him, hoping she would see Haldir somewhere in the mix. Strangely, he was nowhere to be found. For that matter both Faramir and Aragorn were also absent. Knitting her brow, she stalked to the table and sat down across from Boromir and at the right of Gandalf. “Good evening, Lady Elf,” Boromir said, enforcing his presence.

She looked up with a frown, then painted a sarcastically polite expression upon her face. “Good evening, Lord Mortal.”

“Now there’s a name that has a terrible ring to it,” he commented, giving her a mocking toast with his glass. “My apologies, Lady Minuial. You look beautiful this night.”

Opening her mouth to speak a retort, she found herself cut off by Denethor’s glaring at the both of them. She felt fairly certain he did not like their interaction. Settling for a quicank ank you, she turned her attention upon the business at hand. “Shall we pick up where we left off?”

“I think that would be wise,” Denethor agreed, giving his son a steely look. “Mithrandir, do you wish to take the lead? I am certain Lord Elrond has filled you with all sorts of suggestions.”

“You go too far,” Gandalf replied mildly, stroking his chin and leaning back. Whatever anger he had displayed openly earlier was replaced by an unreadable expression.

The night did not progress too well. The first few exchanges between the group had set the tone for the night. There would never be an alliance between Men and Elves. Not so long as Denethor kept the throne of Gondor away from it’s rightful owner. She found her own voice rising on occasion until finally they called for dinner to cease. By the end she had stalked off to the balcony for some air. Unfortunately, she had been followed. Footsteps echoed behind her and she fought the urge to lash out as soon as he spoke. “Tonight did not go well.”

Minuial frowned as Boromir approached her with eyes alight in purpose. She felt very alone just now, but did not allow it to show. “No, it did not. That should please you.”

The elder put his hand on her arm and turned her to face him. Those stormy eyes were annoyed with her. “Why should it please me? You sorely misjudge me at every turn. I want this coming war no more than you do.”

That set her off. Shoving his hand back at him forcefully, she hissed, “You and your damnable father seem to beg Sauron for this war! You parade around with your pride held high and as you do it the numbers increase. People are dying because Sauron still retains power. And if you do not believe he will gain his Ring back from your pathetic hands, then march across the face of this Earth, you’re a damn fool!”

Gripping both of her arms this time, Boromir jerked her close to him, his eyes flashing along her face until he made his choice. “Quiet,” he growled, then plunged his lips into hers. Thoroughly shocked, she was still for a moment as he forced his tongue into her mouth and along hers fiercely. His mouth was heavy and warm with the taste of wine.

When her senses returned she pulled herself away from his invasion, then put her hands on his shoulders, giving a great shove. “You son of a bitch! How dare you!”

Coming for her with a grin, he fought to gain control of her wrists while pressing her backwards until she came against the stone railing that separated her from the depths below. “Where’s your protector?” He pushed himself against her relentlessly, leaning his hands on the stone to trap her as he kissed her throat, her cheek, her lips—wherever she was not blocking him from at any given moment. “I’ll dare a lot of things before the night is over. You are an arrogant little harlot.” He nipped at her throat softly.

“You disgust me!” she retorted as he pulled the sleeve of her silvery dress down, exposing her shoulder. Bending down, he kissed along her shoulder blade, his tongue lapping hungrily at her skin. “So you would do this? You would force yourself upon a woman?”

Stopping for a moment, he looked up into her face. His skin was flushed and his eyes hazy in desire. “Tell me in plain words that you do not want this. Say nothing else but that you despise my touch and I will stop right now.”

Minuial stared with wide, furious eyes as he pressed his hands along her hips. “Get away from me!” she warned and was not heeded. Boromir was fervent in his actions, finding her mouth again and delving into it with obvious pleasure. His tongue sought every corner of her mouth, forcing her cooperation as he stroked, seeking pleasure. Sparks flew to life within her even as she tried to push him away.

After a suffocating kiss he held back and too took advantage to turn her head, panting for air. He kissed along her jaw, up to her ear where he nipped the soft flesh of her earlobe. “What makes you do this?” she whispered into the cool night air, conscious that only a short walk away there was a door leading to other people that could come out and see this. One scream and she would be saved, but her voice would not cooperate.

Boromir pulled himself from her for a moment, his hands still present along her arms. “I took something from you,” he said breathlessly, then darted glances around. “I would like the chance to repay that debt. Truthfully and honestly.”

“You want me to forget what happened to my sister,” she retorted with a sneer, finally shoving him back. This time he did not pursue her.

Instead, he crossed his arms and paced, his head down and his hair falling carelessly along his face. “And what of it? You wish for me to reveal to you where the Ring is, no doubt. So we both have ulterior motives. That does not mean we should deny ourselves what we want.” A smile touched the corners of his mouth.

Minuial frowned at his words. “You bother me, Lord Boromir.”

His smile was infuriating as he trailed her with his eyes with a penetrating gaze. “That means I’m getting under your skin. Be careful or you might desire me someday.”

“You’re a jackass,” she accused him.

“And you’re a bitch.” Inhaling a deep breath, he gazed her up and down, then nodded. “Let me know if you change your mind.” He bowed his head and made a slow retreat.

If ever there was a moment that she found herself sorely lacking something to hurl in childish rage, it was now. She watched him go with an incredulous stare. He was simply disgusting. Faramir was indeed far gentler than his elder brother. Crossing her arms, she glared out at the night. His boldness simply astounded her; that he would so openly try to manipulate her. Perhaps that had not been his intent, she reflected angrily. The more she considered it, the more she wondered if he weren’t mocking her instead. She would sooner give herself to Mithrandir than change her mind about letting Boromir pleasure her!

Rolling her eyes, she decided to find Haldir and take her vexation out upon him. Sweeping from the dining hall, she walked hurriedly towards his rooms, hoping for his sake he would be there, for if he was not she was going to be even more frustrated. This would mean trouble for him later on, she was sure of it. Maybe it was unfair, but Haldir loved her anyways.

Coming to his door she gripped the handle and turned, then entered with firm intent.

The room was dim and silent. Only a few candles here and there betrayed an interest in illumination. Her arms folded together, she stalked on past the sitting area and into his bedroom, calling, “Haldir?”

Minuial stopped short, seeing lyinlying on the bed. He was on his back, his arms folded across his stomach and dressed for dinner. Moving to his side with a frown, she sank onto the mattress and gripped his arm, shaking him a little harder than was considered polite.

Instead of complaining about the rude awakening, he did not move. Surprise thrilled through her. He was trying to trick her. That had to be it. “Haldir?” She shook him yet again, then noticed something that she had missed. It was barely visible beneath the tumbling strands of his pale golden hair, but this close up it definitely stood in contrast to the white fabric beneath his head.

There was blood on his pillow. Her pulse suddenly raced as she eased him to his side to see if it were really true, if she weren’t just seeing things as she was beginning to fervently hopeut tut there was no escape from the truth. Blood covered his hair, hidden before beneath him but now all too visible, and a sinking, sick feeling washed over her. Her chest suddenly pained her as she shook him more urgently, hissing, “Haldir!” He had to answer her. If he didn’t…

Her eyes stung as tears filled them. She sat in indecision a moment, not sure what to do, feeling as though the very breath had been knocked out of her lungs. Almost numbly she eased him back and touched his face gently. His skin was cold.

She would have expected a whispered whimper of grief, a cry of pain, anything, but she found herself unable to voice any display. A part of her refused to believe it, it sent such a shock through her. He had not been here when she had checked earlier. Has she looked on the bed? She just couldn’t remember now. Standing up quickly, she looked down upon his prone form again, feeling a swell of panic and despair. Who hade the this? Her mind searched the list of those absent from dinner tonight.

She had to find answers to these questions and she would not leave this city without justice. Rushing towards the doorway, Minuial left the rooms open and sought out the first official she could find. A young man with a bored expression stood guard at a stairwell not far from her rooms and she bolted for him, sliding to a stop. Hardly able to speak, she pointed breathlessly, feeling her resolve crumble as the realization of what had been taken from her began to find reality.

His voice was concerned, but she barely noticed. “What is it, Lady Elf?”