Sons of the Steward

Even after an hour she still found it difficult to speak. Minuial sat in a chair beside Haldir’s bed, her hands folded and her eyes cast upon the floor. She was not alone. Haldir had been carried out already, but remaining were various individuals investigating what had gone on—a group that included both Gandalf and Boromir. She glanced up and looked at the wizard, who was having another look around the room. He brought comfort to her frayed nerves, for now that this had happened she could not be sure what would happen next. There could be any number of outcomes to this, including her death, but somehow it seemed to her with Gandalf here the Steward would not take it so far.

He looked down as Boromir handed him a slip of parchment. The wizard took it, looked it over and then looked at her. “It’s to you,” he stated flatly and she could tell he was all the more disgusted.

Standing finally after having remained in the chair for an hour, Minuial crossed the room and took the note and gazed at the face of it, reading the bold black script. It read: A warning, Lady Elf.

Her first gaze was aimed at the Captain of Gondor, who narrowed his eyes at her suspicion. “You know damn well I was with you tonight so turn that angry little look elsewhere,” he said harshly.

“Faramir wasn’t at dinner,” she retorted darkly as she gave Gandalf the paper upon his beckon.

Boromir raised his hands in frustration. “Neither was more than half of Minas Tirith! You ungrateful little bitch…”

“A wise man remains silent when uncertain, lest he appear a great fool,” Gandalf mumbled, looking the note over again with a thoughtful expression. “I advise you both do the same for now.” His penetrating blue eyes raked them over in an unspoken command to obey. He frowned and scratched his head, pacing a moment. “Do you recognize this handwriting, Boromir?” he asked finally.

The Captain of Gondor approached him, then looked the paper over once more. “No. Not immediately. But handwriting may be changed. Anyone could have done this.”

“Anyone with a motive,” Gandalf added mildly, moving on towards the door. “I have some things to consider. In the meantime try not to add another murder to the list by useless argument. I’ll have to have a word with your father.” He shook his head and departed, carrying the note with him.

When he was gone both Minuial and Boromir glared at one another. The Elf took the advantage of being the first to speak. “If Faramir did not do this, who did? Someone one of you asked?” she asked in a low tone that she fought to keep under control. “My friend is dead, Lord Boromir. I cannot simply assume those that would see our mission fail are innocent.”

His expression was hard and he was poised to give a swift, angry retort, but he thought better of it. Smoothing his hand through his hair, he sank down on the couch. “You assume we would see your mission fail and that is the mistake. I want peace. I have always wanted peace.”

“You knew taking the Ring would turn this world upside down,” she responded harshly.

He frowned at her, pointing his finger. “No, I damn well did not!” His shout jarred her already frail nerves, but she did not let it show. He shook his head and fiddled with his bracer, looking like a man searching for words. When he found them he went on in a gentler tone. “I thought I would prove you wrong. That we could win against Sauron by using his weapon against him.”

“And now what do you think?”

Instead of the arrogant reply she had been waiting for, Boromir watched as she sank down into a chair across from him. He did not appear comfortable with whatever he was going to answer. “Now, now I don’t know what to believe. We have done nothing about this war and it seems my father is content despite the Orcs that creep into our lands. You see Mortal Men in a very black and white sense, Minuial. We’re not all prideful like my father.”

Leaning back in her chair, resting her arms against the arms, she assessed him with a smirk he glared at. “Are you trying to say you aren’t prideful?”

He raised his chin up. “Not if it hurts my people.” For a long moment all was quiet between them. She noticed his eyes trail to the bed where Haldir had lain. “I wonder who was trying to warn you.”

She narrowed her brow. “Perhaps Haldir asked too many questions,” she said sharply, having already supposed what the warning was about. “Perhaps someone did not want me to find out Faramir impregnated my sister.”

Boromir flinched in surprise at that, jerking his eyes from the bed to her face. His hesitation could not cover the truth his surprise had yielded. He knew it just as well as she. “How did you find out about that?”

“Then it is true?” Minuial demanded with an unwavering, cold stare.

He laughed a bitter laugh and brushed his hair back. “All right. It is true. They were lovers.”

Her fists tightened as his admission shot through her. Right now she needed someone to be angry with and she could think of no one she would rather aim it at. “And then he killed her? Or did you do it for him?”

Boromir sat forward in his place, speaking with a low, terrible fury, “We did nothing of the sort and so help me, if you do not stop throwing that accusation in my face I’ll teach you what a man of Gondor does to tongues that lie.”

“Does it include rape?” she hissed smartly.

He was off his chair in an instant. Minuial stood up to defend herself, holding her arms up to keep from being hit. But he did not do that, instead grabbing for her wrists and jerking her into him. “I do not rape women!” he growled, then yanked her towards the couch. He threw her down onto it, then shoved her back down as she tried to rise. Raising his hand caused her to pause a moment. “Sit down and shut up for a moment and I’ll tell you everything.”

She moved herself to the farthest end of the couch as he sat down. “Tell me then,” she dared him, waiting for his lies.

Boromir grunted and shook his head. “My brother cared for the Elf that came here two years ago. That much I know. There was no need for him to force her, for she returned his affections. They slept together and she became with child. I do not know for certain who killed her, but I have an idea.” He gave her a sidelong glance.

“Who?”

She was not sure what to believe when next he spoke. “My father.” He held up his hand to forestall her exclamations. For all his irritation and pride it appeared this troubled him to speak of, so she waited. “I don’t think he did it of his own hands and in fact, I do not know he did it at all, but when she turned up missing and later dead Faramir and I both surmised that Father had found out about the pregnancy and had someone attend to it.”

“You never found out?” she retorted hotly.

Boromir frowned at her darkly. “I never asked my father and neither did Faramir. What could we do? And now that you suppose it could be true, what could you possibly do against those odds? My people would never let you out of here alive if you attacked him and I guarantee you would fail if you tried.”

She bit back a reply and then it hit her. Haldir’s poison. Where was it? Had they found it? She fought to hide her concerns, masking it beneath her grief. “I can do nothing. Not for her, not for Haldir if this is what I am up against.”

Impulsively it seemed he moved towards her, reaching a hand out to brush her hair behind her ear. “Whatever the case, I caution you to be careful if you do not wish someone to take steps against you as well. I know it is hard, but you have to think of yourself and not be overtaken with sorrow.” With an exhale he looked towards her bedroom door. “You should rest.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed, though how she would get to sleep was beyond her. Not if she saw Haldir’s face in her mind’s eye all night.

“I’m coming with you.”

Her eyes widened. “Absolutely not! I have not changed my mind, nor do I need comfort from the likes of you!” She pushed his hand from her ear.

Laughing at her reluctance, he stood as she stood and followed her to the door where she paused, not willing to open it just yet. His expressiored red her to deny him what he was bent on doing. “I’m coming in there, even if I have to go and get a key to open the door. And don’t worry your pretty head over sex. That’s not what I want this time. Perhaps later, however.”

Minuial slit her eyes, giving him a dirty look as she jerked the door to her room open. She tried half-heartedly to shut it in his face, but he caught it in time and shoved it aside, entering as if he were a welcome guest. The Elf sighed as he took up residence on one of her couches. Wandering to the bed, she lifted her pillow and removed her dagger, holding it up for him to see. “Elves have excellent senses even while in rest, so I would think twice if you’re planning on anything.”

With an insulted glare, he waved his hand at her in dismissal, grunting, “Stay awake for all I care.”

She wasn’t sure what to do with that. His being here was not exactly a comfortable situation, given the circumstances. He may well be here to kill her, but logic defended him against her wishes. If he did with Gandalf here everyone would know what had happened. Gondor wouldn’t be free of hatred from the Elves and whether or not they believed the Elves were a thread, they would be active enemies. Save ave her dresser a glance, then flopped down on her bed with her dagger in view. She was not going to wear her nightgown while he was here. “Would you care to enlighten me as to exactly why you’re here?” she pressed, feeling a need to fill the emptiness.

Boromir yawned and looked up from the couch. “Because I want to be here if the killer decides you’re next.”

To that she said nothing, feeling less comfortable than before. Sitting back against the headboard, tucking her pillow comfortably behind her, she kicked her shoes off and retreated into her own thoughts, allowing him whatever privacy he wished. She hoped for his mortality to get the better of him and drag him into the depths of slumber. A smirk crossed her features. She could recall Haldir remarking on the failings of mortality, how they seemed to drop every hour or so because their bodies were so frail. An exaggeration, unfortunately, but amusing nonetheless. Biting her lip, she took the pillow on the other side of the bed and cradled it against her breast.

She could recall how Haldir used his scathing wit in different situations, to defend Elves against the opinions of Men, to point out the ridiculous to any that happened to speak in such a way in front of him. Minuial herself had been under the lash that was his tongue a few times and even though he could be downright obnoxious and condescending, she found herself wishing for just that right now. And she would have it never again. She would cry her grievances to the Valar for whom she had been named if she thought it would do any good. But there were many who had been slain and sent to the Halls of Mandos. What was another?

A few tears came unbidden to her eyes. She forgot Boromir all together as she thought about Haldir. He would tell her to be strong, to stop crying do do what it was they had set out to do, but she had not counted on doing it alone. Not that it mattered. She would do his part now, for finding the Ring and understanding what was afoot in Minas Tirith was more important than vengeance. And more likely than not she would be joining him shortly if it came to killing Denethor to get the Ring. Gandalf’s presence in that case was a blessing, for she could give it to him before they executed her. Perhaps this was the Valar’s way of pointing her in that direction.

She sniffled and rolled her eyes at her morbid thinking. Her inadvertent noise caused her unwanted guest to stir and look up at horroorrowful state. Minuial glared at him for noticing, then curled her arms around herself, turning her head away as he stood. His presence intruded itself above her shortly after and soon upon her bed as well as he sat down. Boromir smoothed his hand along her arm, brushing against the sheer sleeve, then pushing it aside the fabric where a slit from wrist to above the elbow had been delicately cut. His fingers were warm against her flesh. “I am sorry,” he told her gently.

Minuial brushed his hand away, hiding her face from him. Even unwanted comfort drew out her emotions like venom from a bite. She did not want him seeing her weakness.

Of course he didn’t care about her wishes. Kicking his boots off, he slung his feet up onto the bed and settled in beside her. For a long time he said nothing and she let him be, not touching him, not speaking.

Not until he had gathered the courage to say something. “Would you mind surrendering one of those pillows? The headboard is terribly hard.”

Rolling her eyes, she took the pillow in her arms and slammed it against his chest, then flattened herself against the bed, curling up to rest. She would not allow herself to sleep; couldn’t being in so dangerous a position as this. Yet when his hand dropped into her hair in a gentle rub she found relaxation hard to hold back. Her eyes drifted shut and soon her life was left in his hands.

*

She felt as though she had slept for days. Coming to awareness, Minuial catalogued her surroundings with senses other than her eyes. Her dagger was not in her hand. There was a distinct warmth at her side that betrayed Boromir’s presence. Yet she was not injured or slain. Listening with keen ears she discovered by the sounds of his breathing that he was still asleep, so she opened her eyes. Sometime in the night he had drawn her blanket up over her, but had not extended it over himself. He lay on his stomach, weapons and bracers on the table beside him, and his face towards hers. His hair was falling across his eyes again. She frowned at that and sat up, shaking his shoulder.

“Hmm?” he hummed sleepily, taking a deep breath and turning in the other direction.

“Are you going to sleep all day?” she asked, reaching over him to brush his hair out of his face. “This can’t continue or we’ll both keep waking up overtired.”

Boromir sighed and waved his arm, then promptly returned to his slumber. Shaking her head, she stood up, went to her dresser and picked something a little less feminine. The truth was she did not feel like trying to dress up like a simpering Lady Elf today. She chose her hunting pants and her wrap around tunic, then disappeared into the bathroom for a half hour. By the time she made her exit she had expected he would be awake and moving, but he was still in bed and Haldir’s sneering comments came uncomfortably back to mind. She sighed and approached him with an evil little plot.

Her hair tumbled down as she leaned close to his ear. Quite suddenly she grasped his shoulder and shook hard, hissing, “Your father is coming!”

That got the desired effect. Boromir sat up quickly and fumbled for his bracers, then peered at her amused expression. “If he were really coming and stumbled upon this we both would be in severe trouble, Lady Elf.”

“That doesn’t seem to bother you when you’re trying to get in bed with me,” she remarked snootily.

He smirked at that, pulling his boots on. “Nor you, I noticed.” He stood up. “I could have killed you, you know. I hope the fact that I did not holds in my favor.”

Minuial crossed her arms with a mild expression. “We’ll see.”

Boromir grunted. “Head on to breakfast. I’ll be there soon enough. Do not leave alone.”

“Any more orders, Captain?”

He smiled. “Just one. If Faramir is there keep your mouth shut. Not only for his sake, but yours as well.” At her annoyed expression his eyes became very grave. “This is no laughing matter. Aside from a killer I have my father to protect you from.”

“You would protect me from him?” she asked with an upraised brow. That he would go against his father seemed very unlikely to her.

“If I am with you I highly doubt my father would send anyone to kill you.”

She gave him an aloof look as he headed towards the door. “If you think you’re spending every moment with me, think again.”

He shrugged, jerking the door open. “Naturally not. Faramir can baby-sit as well as I can.” The Captain of Gondor ducked out of the room just as she ed aed a nearby statuette at him.

Brushing her hair back, she gave herself a look in a nearby mirror, then strapped her dagger to her waist. Instead of leaving her rooms, however, she decided to take full advantage of being without her irritating new guardian. Rushing towards the door leading into Haldir’s rooms, she fumbled with the handle, then entered. The was was empty of anyone but herself, thankfully, but a quick glance at the dresser showed her that his things were still present.

Making an effort to ignore the bed, trying to distance herself from what this place meant to her life now, she concentrated on the more important task at hand. The first place she went was the dresser, jerking open the top drawer and rifling through it. She came back without what it was she had been seeking and cursed, reaching into the next one. It too was devoid of anything but a mixture of Haldir’s belongings and those that the Steward had gifted him with.

When she reached the bottom drawer she learned the dresser was useless. Standing, she glanced around the room until she spotted an armoire. Minuial searched it quickly and still came back with nothing expect his sword that had been propped up within the closet space. With a pang of the heart she removed the item, intent on keeping it with her until the end. She looked around the room with a growing sense of panic. Where was the poison he had been working on? If the guards had found it in their search last night then surely by now she would have been questioned about it. Boromir should also have mentioned it had it been he that had done the finding. No, it could not be any of the Men.

That left Gandalf. She did not understand him fully or his affairs. The Is Wiz Wizard was ever a mystery whose doings could not always be predicted. It was entirely possible he had found it and put it in some inner pocket of his thick, white robe and carried it off, but to what purpose? Would he have been preventing a war, having guessed what Haldir meant to do? That prospect was not without inherent problems. If she were to carry out Haldir’s mission then having that poison would make it more likely she would succeed. At any given time Denethor had guards around him that could stop her from winning into his personal space with a dagger. She was not so sure the wizard would relent and allow her to have it back, or even how to broach the subject with him.

Minuial frowned and headed out to breakfast, sure if Boromir did not see her there he would look or send someone to do it for him. With him around she certainly could not ask about the poison.

The trip to the dining hall was filled with stops as servants and assorted advisors and other dignitaries gave her their condolences. While she appreciated that mortals would are enough to offer their time in such a way, she wished they would not. It only served to open the great emptiness inside a little deeper. In the end she donned a mask of intense grief and that caused many of them to shy away from speaking to her.

The breakfast hall was abuzz with talk. Boromir had not arrived yet, much to her satisfaction. The Steward was also gone, but she did see Faramir sitting at his customary place. The younger Captain of Gondor noticed her arrival and motioned her over towards him. Crossing her arms, Minuial ventured to sit across from him beside Gandalf, who seemed brooding in his own little world. Faramir’s expression was one of genuine concern. “Lady Minuial, I…I realize we have not spoken since…well, I just wanted to tell you how deeply sorry I am.”

Minuial sat back as a plate was placed before her. She reached for a biscuit from a basket nearby, finding it difficult to meet his gaze. “Thank you, Lord Faramir. It…is difficult.”

“I imagine,” he replied with a sigh. “I…would also like to apologize to you. That night I was…” He stopped when she held up a forestalling hand.

“We both were. I understand and you have no need to worry.” It was a schooled response. She didn’t dare accuse him or try to pry information out of him here in public, but she was interested in getting him alone for a few minutes at her earliest convenience. “Perhaps we could speak later?”

Faramir nodded with an uneasy expression. Of course Boromir would have told him of her accusations. He expected an intense conversation, perhaps even an attack. But he was brave about it. She credited him that. “After breakfast you are welcome to accompany me to my rooms.”

Suddenly pulled out of his reveries as if someone had said something interesting, Gandalf glanced at Faramir before moving his gaze to rest on Minuial. Those crystal blue eyes were kind and grave. “How did you sleep?” he asked her.

Stirring the contents of her plate, she avoided any mention of Boromir just yet. “I slept well, considering.” His continued watch caused her to dare a question. “I wished to ask you something, if I may.”

Gandalf raised an eyebrow a n a nod. “Of course. I imagine you have a great many questions.”

This was true, but what he was getting at she was not certain—if he meant anything at all. She tucked her hair behind her ear and chose her words carefully. “You searched Haldir’s rooms last night with Boromir and I was wondering if you found anything strange. Besides the note, of course.” The Elf gazed into those age-wise windows of thought, seeking any sort of tip that he knew what she was speaking of.

He did not. Beneath his dark eyebrows she saw the wheels turning as he considered last night’s events, then shook his head. “Nothing of interest. Did you have anything in particular in mind?”

Of course the correct answer was, “No, nothing really.” She could not get into it here, if at all. He could be lying for the benefit of privacy, but if he truly did not know what she was speaking of then it would be better that she never told him at all. She sighed, frustrated by how hard this was becoming. Still, even if it meant dying she would give it her best. She owed Haldir that much.

About a quarter of an hour passed without much spoken between the three of them. Lord Denethor arrived, offered her his sympathies and then shut himself away in the trend of silence. All were in a foul temper this morning. During the course of breakfast she watched each of her companions, studying them and looking for any telltale hints that someone was privy to information she was not. None betrayed what she sought. Denethor did not keep his eyes averted in guilt, nor did Faramir. There were no private exchanges. It was a very frustrating time.

Gandalf broke the silence just as Boromir entered, looking refreshed and wearing clean clothes. He sat on the other side of Minuial and immediately took to his breakfast as the wizard said, “Lord Denethor, I was curious about what you intended to do with the unfortunate Marchwarden.” Minuial closed her eyes for a few moments, hating the meaning behind his words.

The Steward looked up with aprespression that said he had not really thought about it. Taking his napkin from his lap and wiping the corners of his mouth, he threw his gaze to Boromir. “Where has the Elf been taken?”

“He is being examined even as we speak, but the cause of his death is more than apparent,” the elder son replied dutifully. He glanced at Minuial cautiously. “Perhaps my lady would rather be sparee pae pain of hearing the details.”

She pulled herself from her grief and gave him a penetrating and cold look. “I know what killed him. If you have knowledge then share it.”

His eyes hardened and he stabbed into a side of ham on his plate. “All right. He was hit on the back of his head—more than once, the healers say. A great deal more than once. There are bruises on his body that suggest a violent struggle, as well as a cut on the back of his right thigh. His death was not easy, I am sorry to say. They have no further evidence, no fabric from someone else’s clothing, nor hairs. Nothing. He rests now in the Healing Houses, awaiting his final fate.”

Shaking his head, Gandalf waved his fork thoughtfully, then set it down to grasp his goblet of wine. “When I was called to search his room we found it in perfect order. Minuial, did you clean the room up?”

“No,” she replied softly, picturing the setting in her mind. “Everything was as it should be. He was lain upon his bed as if he had simply chosen to have a rest before dinner.”

Gandalf frowned at that. “It is possible the killer cleaned the room, but to what purpose I cannot fathom. Unless he meant you to find him, to think he was alive until the very last.” His blue eyes flashed in apology for the implications, then moved to Denethor. “What of laying Haldir to rest?”

The Steward’s reply was mild and matter-of-fact. “He will be given a service. Lady Minuial would not forgive me if I allowed it to come to pass her companion was not honored. Am I right?”

Ignoring his intimate humor, finding it ill-placed at the moment, she looked at him with a straightforward cool demeanor. “I would expect nothing less than an honorable service gifted from a man that proclaims he is a man of honor.” Across from her Faramir had a mild smirk touching the corner of his lips.

He raised his glass. “Indeed. Haldir deserves no less. I think he was a good Elf for what little I knew of him.”

“He was the finest,” she agreed gravely, then looked at her meal, feeling suddenly unable to finish.

“Tomorrow then,” Denethor stated and the matter was closed. None disputed it.

Breakfast ended and all were eager to part ways. Denethor was the first to go, exiting with a tired look. The brothers remained and Gandalf a moment as well, saying, “I am returning to Haldir’s rooms to have a look around. If his leg was cut there may be blood on the carpet. I want to know exactly where and how this struggle took place.” Once that was said, he was gone.

Minuial made her way to the balcony, not caring about speaking with Faramir anymore. She pleased there was no overbearing sunshine. This morning she was in a dark mood and the overcast, rainy weather was a perfect match. It was peaceful out here and solitary. She wandered to one corner that was left in the shadow of the towering citadel and sat down on the rail, in the shade. A cool breeze passed over her and she leaned against the citadel wall behind her, conscious that a movement to the right would see her plunging to her death. Strangely enough no one troubled her for at least two hours. Perhaps Boromir had thought she needed her space, or simply wasn’t interested this morning.

She knew she wasn’t interested in dealing with anyone right now or investigations and intrigue. She just wanted a while to be alone, to live her grief by herself. By the time she allowed her tears to surface the rain had arrived, mingling slowly at first with the salty pools running down her cheeks, then pelting her with rapid, unforgiving speed. At that point she decided she had been out here long enough. Getting up off the railing, she made her way back into the dining hall that was now empty.

Leaving a wet trail of footsteps behind her, she walked towards her rooms with arms wrapped around herself and a stray, dripping lock of hair trailing down her face. Her precious solitude was not to be allowed for the whole of the day, she soon discovered. As she rounded a corner she met up with her sour-faced guardian, who stopped short of slamming into her. “There you are,” he commented, then looked her over. His gazed lingered.

“And here I go,” she retorted, slipping past him. He put his hand on his arm and pulled her back.

“I’ve been looking for you. I thought you would want to know that there was no blood found in Haldir’s room. Gandalf thinks he walledlled somewhere else.”

Minuial blinked, thinking it over. “Somewhere else? How would the killer get him to his room without being seen?”

Boromir shook his head, looking very bothered. There was a suspicion lurking around those sea-colored eyes. She gave him a flat look and he exhaled. “We cannot speak of it here. Come with me.” He stalked on in the direction he had been heading and with a growl, Minuial followed. They came to what she could only assume were his rooms and at the door she frowned at him. “Grow up,” he hissed, ushering her inside.

They were larger than Faramir’s were and lavish. Nearby a door to a terrace had been left open and there was a minor flood along the hard, stone floor leading into the room. The wind blew the curtains inwards. “I would offer you a seat,” he commented, looking her over again, “but I would like to keep my furniture dry.”

“If you had let me change that would not be an issue,” she returned just as irritably. “So what do you want to say?”

Wandering to a cart of drinks, Boromir poured and offered her a glass that she denied. Shrugging, he downed the first drink and carried the other with him to stand before her. “If someone carried Haldir around the hallways during dinner last night then one or more things must be true. He must have had a good knowledge of the layout and where the guards are usually stationed, or he could have gotten by if he knew the guards on duty. Or he could have had the authority to keep their mouths shut if he were seen.”

She swallowed, seeing in his eyes a certain concern there. “That could have been your father.”

He took another long drink, then nodded slowly. “I’ll not say I think he did it, but I cannot lie that I know he could if so inclined.”

“Can you find out if it was him?” she asked, trying to divine intention out of those stormy eyes. “Would he tell you if you asked?”

Boromir shook his head. “Not something like that. I’m sure of it. Minuial, the reason I tell you this is because I want you to be careful.”

Her response drew his ire. “What do you care?” She had known it would, but she was tired of the games and wanted to know what he really and truly meant to get out of their strange relationship.

His eyes focused on hers coolly. “I care.”

Minuial cocked her head, stepping closer. “Do you want to comfort me, Boromir?” she asked, fidgeting with the tie to her shirt.

He drained the goblet, then put it on a nearby table. “Are you in need of a little comfort?”

“Maybe comfort isn’t the right word,” she responded, drawing the tie loose. Boromir inhaled deeply at that little action, watching the movements of her hands with interest.

After the fabric loosened he took the initiative and reached for her, sliding his hand up into the fabric, brushing his fingers along her nipple. Her reaction to the delicate touch was immediate. Her eyes closed and she leaned into his fondle with a sudden ache. He opened her shirt all the way and bent down, pressing his mouth along her throat as his strong arm wrapped around her, drawing her into his kisses that rained down her chest.

And then he stopped. Still holding her in his embrace, looking flushed and breathing deeply, Boromir looked her face over gravely, brushing her wet hair back. “When we do fuck I’ll want you wet, I think. It’s really effective.”

For a moment she stared, thinking he was jesting, but when she saw he was denying himself the pleasure he seemed to want, she shoved him away. “I don’t understand you,” she confessed, frowning at him darkly.

He nodded slowly, looking her over again. “I don’t imagine you do. I barely understand you, but now…now is not the time. But there will be.”

“You think that?” she challenged, raising her chin defiantly. “You think you can keep playing with me?”

Boromir smiled at her anger and she found that infuriating. “No, I do not think I can keep playing with you, nor do I intend to. But I do know one night I will have you writhing like you’ve never experienced before.”

She sneered at his words. “You have a dirty mouth.” He laughed at that.

“And a dirty mind as well, and probably a few dirty intentions.” He spread his hands innocently, then returned to the drink’s cart. “You’ll enjoy it when I give in to your seductive charms. Expect me to come to you tonight for your protection.”

Wringing her hands behind his back, feeling frustrated and annoyed, Minuial did the only thing she could under the circumstances. She turned around and left his rooms, slamming the door shut. Perhaps he was trying to prove a point, paying her back for turning him down before. She didn’t know, nor did she care anymore. Boromir was a distraction she could do without.

As she emerged from his bedroom a form coming from the right halted. M. Minuial looked up into the sorrowful gaze of Aragorn, who flinched at seeing her. Those crystal-like eyes darted to Boromir’s door, then came back with a cool edge. “My Lady Minuial, I…I have not had a chance to offer you my sympathies. Would you consider walking with me? I would like to share my grief with someone, but none here knew Haldir save for Gandalf and he is busy.”

She sighed softly, crossing her arms. Right now she wanted solitude, but she had gotten enough of that this morning. It wasn’t good for her to lock herself away and looking upon the ranger, she felt sorrowed for him. So she relented and nodded, joining him at his left. “You mourn Haldir? Even after the words of disparagement he gave you?”

The ranger nodded, fidgeting. He gave her a sidelong glance. “I know it is difficult for the Elves to understand my choices. I do not blame them, even if I believe myself just in my actions. I know that Elves are a race of true nobility and I honor that. He was…a good Elf.”

Their walk was slow and seemingly absent-minded in path. Minuial felt her grief reawaken in Aragorn’s company. “He was a good Elf. The finest. I only wish I knew who has taken him from me.”

The last of that seemed to get his attention. “Did you love him?”

She looked him over with a knit brow, feeling the question personal, but she answered it nonetheless. “I did love him, but we were never lovers if that is what you imply.”

He said no more of it. They walked on together in silence, long enough for her to question why she did not simply leave the Ranger’s company, but something about him seemed to draw her into remaining. He was no Elf, but he appreciated Elves in a way no other Man did. It was the closest thing she had to company she was familiar with. Not like being home, but enough.

Between Boromir’s rooms and here she began to notice a familiar path. When they stopped at Aragorn’s rooms she looked up into those sad, blue eyes in question. “Have a drink with me? I…have been alone ever since and would like company.”

“All right,” she breathed, entering as he opened the door. She sat down on his couch and watched as he retreated to a cart of drinks. “None for me,” she told him when he grabbed for two goblets. His hand stilled, but he did not turn, simply moved to pour his own. When he had the drink ready he came and sat beside her, near enough that she could feel his warmth. He took a drink. His eyes appeared haunted and his form declined. “You look tired.”

She saw his hand shake as he lifted the goblet and sipped. His gaze was fixed ahead of him as he nodded. “I am tired. I have had a lot on me.”

Impulsively she put her hand on his shoulder, drawing his eyes to her. “What burdens you so?”

He seemed to shy away from her touch, pulling away and rubbing at his forehead. “The pressures that come with serving Denethor. Trying not to become what it is I will become. The incessant calling, washing through my dreams, unstoppable and so loud I can hardly stand it.”

Those words brought an uncomfortable hollowed feeling to the pit of her stomach. What was he talking about? She lowered her eyes from his prostrate form, trying to puzzle through the meaning behind his response. “What do you mean, Aragorn?” she asked gravely, trying to make him sit up and look at her.

“Nothing,” he whispered in a husky voice on the verge of emotion. “Just a fool’s troubles.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” She was taken aback by this display and knew nothing of how to handle it. Perhaps he had been drinking. “I think I should go get a healer.”

His hand closed around her wrist, but he did not take his eyes from the floor. His dark hair ted ded down, obscuring his face from her vision as he whispered, “I need no healer, Lady Minuial.”

Bothered by his behavior, she scooted to the edge of her seat, poising herself to rise. She reached for his hand, trying to dislodge her arm from his hold. “Perhaps I should go get Gandalf, then. Will you talk to him? He is your trusted friend. He can…” She trailed off, spotting something on the floor after following his gaze. Upon the white carpet there was a trail of dark droplets that caught her eye and a thrill passed through her. “Aragorn, what is that?”

Finally he drew his eyes away from the telltale bloodstains on his carpet. His eyes were misleadingly soft. “Gerich i-hin o muinthel lîn.”
(You have the eyes of your sister.)

Ignoring his use of Elvish, Minuial sat back, startled by his actions. “Aragorn, did you hurt someone in here? Did you…?” She did not want to say it.

He stood up from the couch, brushing his hair back as he paced slowly to the door. This alarmed her and she stood up quickly, feeling herself become frightened when he locked it. Panic welled up in her as he turned and spoke. “I have a confession to make, my lady. I have not been entirely honest with you.”

She backed away as he started for her, darting glances, looking for something she could use as a weapon. “What do you want from me?” she asked, knowing by the situation that telling him he did not have to do this was pointless. If he had murdered Haldir and meant to do so now with her, he seemed bent on it.

“I want to talk about your games with Faramir and Boromir,” he responded with a hard tone as he approached. The resolve in those eyes was relentless. She hit a wall and he stopped before her, resting one hand on the stone behind her as he used the other to touch her damp hair. “It would have been much easier had you simply killed them and let Haldir poison Denethor.”

She flinched in surprise at that, but tried to remain strong under his dominating presence. “How did you know he was going to poison Denethor?”

He nodded towards a cabinet, but never took his eyes from hers. “Doubtlessly you wondered where his project had disappeared to. I removed it once I left him on the bed.”

“Why?” she asked quickly, finding her eyes moistening. His sudden transformation left her feeling off balance. “Of all the mortals I had never thought you would turn to darkness.”

Those haunted eyes of his caused her no pity now. His tone softened as he finally looked away, trailing his eyes down a strand of hair he touched. “The Dark Lord is far stronger than I could have imagined. Do you know what it is to be preyed upon, night and day, for years?”

The Elf took on a frosty expression. “It would seem Denethor is stronger than you, then!”

His free hand slammed to the wall beside her and she jumped. He gazed up with a hard look, moving closer to her, his husky scent invading her senses. “It does not matter why I fell. What matters is now you will listen to me as your sister listened.”

“What do you mean?”

He did not back away from her angry question. As the truth tumbled from his lips she felt herself go numb inside. “You want to know what happened to her? It was I that raped her.” The ranger leaned in, coming close to her cheek as if he would kiss her. “I fell to Sauron’s torment and raped an innocent girl to fill the emptiness inside.” His mouth pressed against her skin, trailing to her jaw. “She resisted my advances until she could take no more, allowing herself to succumb. It was…breautiful.”

Tears filled Minuial’s eyes. “Why did you kill her?”

There was no triumphant smile, no look of warning. Just an expression of acceptance. “She threatened to tell of what I had done. I could not let all that I had worked for die to my desires.” He turned his shining eyes on her firmly. “Now you know what will happen to you if you tell anyone.”

Without waiting for him to move she pressed her hands to his shoulders, shoving him as hard as she could, then bolted around him as he stumbled. Minuial raced for the door and reached it, but trying to open it proved pointless. Footsteps behind her filled her with dread. She was going to have to fight him. Arms surrounded hers, jerking her back into his warmth as he urged her towards the bedroom. She fought against him hard, pulling him off balance long enough to dislodge his grasp, but he came at her with an irrepressible fervor that saw his arms around her again, this time with her facing him.

“Let go of me!” she shouted, repaid with a slap that sent her reeling backwards. He grabbed her steadily before she could fall back, then put his hand to her cheek, shoving her head against the wall. Stars flitted before her vision and for a moment all went black. By the time she recovered she was aware that he had her walking, his arms around her. “No,” she murmured, fighting to keep her eyes open.

Aragorn picked her up and tossed her onto his bed, then descended upon the mattress. She raised her hands to block him off, holding his shoulders away from her, which aggravated him into grabbing her wrists. “Stop this!” she hissed, trying to jerk free of his hold.

Her face slammed to the side when he hit her again and she moaned out, shocked by his violence. Forcing her onto her belly, he drew her wrists behind her back and opened a drawer in the nightstand beside his bed. As she squirmed and struggled he bound her wrists with something rough, then let go to claim the rim of her hunting pants. As she felt the fabric ease down her hips she moved, trying to hold herself away, but it did no good. He shoved her boots off, then removed the pants. They hit the floor with a thud, heavy with rainwater. The air assailed her moist skin in an unpleasant sensation.

It was suddenly replace by warmth as he leaned over her, brushing her hair back so he could kiss her neck. His hand slid down the backside of her undergarments invasively as he spoke in low, hungry tones, “Remember yet?”

“What?” she demanded, trying to look away from his kisses. He put his hand on her head, shoving it to the pillow so he could continue tasting her jaw line.

His dark little laugh filled her ears. “You were much too drugged I suppose to recall the night we spent together after you left Faramir’s rooms.” Her stomach pained her in anxiety as she considered the implications of what he was saying. His lips pressed into hers once, stealing her breath away as he rubbed her behind warmly. He touched to spark feelings and did not fail in that. When he drew away she noticed the hazy desire in his expression. “Did you not even wonder how you ended up in your gown the next morning? Your fucking Faramir was an accident. I had meant to bring you to my rooms by the time the drug took effect to make you insatiable, but he beat me to you. Still, what I took afterwards was not unpleasant.”

“You violated me,” she surmised in a disgusted voice.

Aragorn smiled lightly as he lapped at her ear. “Ah, but you enjoyed it so. From the first time I saw you I have been hunting you, Minuial. I saw you bathing in the stream, I watch you at dinner and elsewhere.” He gripped the fabric of her panties and began sliding them down her legs gently. “Arwen may never love me again, but I will have all I desire soon.”

He rolled her over and looked down her body as she crossed her thigh over herself to hide from his gaze. Aragorn reached then for the ties to her shirt and parted the wet cloth, revealing her breasts for his vision. As he devoured her nudity she kicked at him, but he caught her foot easily. He threw her leg aside and bent over her midsection, pressing his mouth against her stomach. She tensed as he kissed her enough to bruise, then moved higher. He placed a tender kiss on her hardened nipple, then slid his tongue out and up, drawing her flesh into his gentle suck.

Spreading her thighs apart, he smoothed his hand up the inner side of her leg until he reached the warmth between. Meshing his hand to her heat, Aragorn began petting her, trailing his fingertips through her curls in a relaxing stroke. “Stop this,” she whispered raggedly, feeling her body respond to his touching. She tried to push his hand away with her leg, which made him touch her all the deeper. As his fingers sank into the wetness he had coaxed out of her, she bit back a moan.

Aragorn looked into her face with a softness about him, as if they were lovers. As a tear trailed her cheek he watched it, then brushed it away gently. “It need not hurt.” His hand fell into her hair, rubbing languorously. “I only want pleasure.”

She sneered at that, stilling beneath his touch. “Is your hunger what made Arwen turn against you?” she hissed, slamming her leg into his arm, knocking his hand away from his caress.

The effect was instant. His eyes flashed in sudden rage and his hand drew back. When it impacted with her cheek she whimpered out in pain. After that he was an unstoppable force. Aragorn opened the ties to his pants and fell upon her like a flood, pinning her legs apart with his own and thrusting sharply inside, stretching suddenly the tight flesh with his hardness. Minuial squirmed hard and curled her legs against him, trying to draw herself away from the pain, but it did no good. His erection stabbed through her abdomen without forgiveness as his arms pressed beneath her, caging her to his intense warmth. His hard body molded against her, holding her in a suffocating and demanding embrace as he nailed her hips with his own again and again.

Nausea spread through her from the pain. Never had she been taken so roughly and the stinging pressure brought tears to her eyes. She had not expected this, not when she had set out from Lothlórien. It had always been a possibility that she had thought she was prepared for, but it was not like what she thought it would be. It tore at her to feel so violated and possessed.

Aragorn dropped his lips to her shoulder even as he pulled her up against him. A pleasured, husky groan emanated from his throat, deep and proclaiming his joy at her pain. Minuial slid her foot along the bed, drawing it up, trying desperately to block his rolling weight, but he was too quick, too powerful to be stopped. “Just relax,” he soothed, tangling his fingers into her wet hair.

His anger fled him, replaced by desire that caused him to slow the punishment. Minuial whimpered softly, unable to stop herself from squirming. His dark hair framed his face as he watched from above, his eyes locked onto hers, lips parted slightly to aid his ragged breathing. She blinked uncontrollably a few times, trying to acclimate herself to the feelings she was experiencing. But it was so uncomfortable and hurtful. His clothes were rough against her and hot, causing her skin to moisten not just with rainwater, but a fine sheen of sweat.

“Shh, meleth,” he whispered, rubbing her cheek with his fingertips as he pulled back once, then drove forward. His mouth caught hers as she cried out, but didn’t obscure the sound completely. “It will be over soon.” With a soft smile he leaned in cloo heo her ear and whispered, “Unless you would rather it continue.”

She didn’t reply; couldn’t. Her breathing was too labored and her mind too set on what was going on. Her legs began to ache sharply from being separate for so long, but he kept moving towards his pleasure without regard or even acknowledgement that he caused her pain. His eyes spoke of a deeper feeling besides mere lust, however. She couldn’t speak, but she could see and watched as his blue eyes trailed her skin. He was looking at her flesh as his fingertips traced a path down her shoulder to her breast where he pawed and pinched. His thrust slowed as he concentrated, having the look of a man that examines a thing he owns with quiet enjoyment.

He looked up at her suddenly, his expression marred by sorrow and resolve. She knew he was forever lost now. He seemed to sense her realization and it brought him back into the moment, which filled her with dread. Removing his hand from her breast, Aragorn pressed it along her side and caressed down until he came to her hip where he rubbed softly. He started moving within her again and what little rest she had gained from his pause was gone. He dropped his mouth to her shoulder and ignored her after than, intent on getting what he wanted now.

She hated his proximity, his human scent that was strong in her nose. She hated his whispery voice as he breathed his pleasure and groaned in gratification as he pushed into her hips roughly. The rape seemed like an eternity of suffering, but when his movements became uncontrolled she knew at last it would be over. He plunged up into her with a single thrust that sent him over the edge, then dropped his forehead to her shoulder as he moaned low in his throat. Minuial shifted, trying to make her sore, tingling arms comfortable. She had to think of anything that would take this terrible moment from her.

But the ordeal was not over yet. When he caught his breath he looked up at her, reaching to his right for the drawer again. He took a small vial out and opened it right before her eyes, then gazed down softly. “Open your mouth,” he said flatly, expecting to be obeyed.

“What is it?” she asked, keeping her mouth aloof.

He sighed and rubbed her cheek softly, then forced the opening of the bottle to her lips. It was a bitter liquid that burned as it went down and brought tears to her eyes. When he was satisfied he tossed it away, touching her shoulder as she coughed. “Worry not, meleth. I wish only to protect from putting a child in you.” He twirled her hair around his finger, then without warning pulled her hair so she was trapped into facing him. His eyes took on a dangerous glint as he forced himself to remain an intimidating presence. “This is how it will be, Minuial. Our affair is secret. The Ring calls to me. I know where I can get it should the need arise and recall your sister did not prevail against me either. Speak of this and you too shall perish. You’re going to kill Boromir and Faramir. Tempt them with your seemingly free sexuality and get them together. Use a sword, a dagger, poison. Anything. I will take care of Denethor. There will be no one left to question my claim to the throne. Do you understand me?”

Minuial glared at him furiously. “I understand you’re a bastard that needs to be killed.”

The ranger smiled at that, then covered her mouth with his hand. Using the other, he rubbed at her throat before cutting off her air. Immediately she writhed, trying to free herself, but she couldn’t. He watched her face as she struggled. When he let go she panted, trying to revive her fading consciousness. “Do not trifle with me,” he warned her, then pulled himself from her worn body. Minuial turned herself and coughed as he settled in behind her. Her face fell to the pillows softness and she closed her eyes unconsciously. Exhaustion settled into her limbs and even if she wanted to flee from here she wondered if she would fall to the floor instead.

Aragorn rested his hand along her hip, petting her softly. “Rest now, meleth. I will wake you before dinner.”

*