Hehe, thanks, Neri

Here is Part 17... battle is coming to Gondor!

~~~

It was one day since Goldleaf had made the decision to go with Aravir to Minas Tirith. It was a cold morning, and the sky was bleak and grey. The cold bit into Goldleaf’s skin, but she steeled herself against shivering. She had endured two winters in Ithilien, and she was as weathered against such things as a ranger. Curled up at the roots of a tree, she gazed towards the vague white outlines against the sky that was Osgiliath. They were not far off now; having set off early yesterday afternoon, they were making good time. They should arrive in the city this day, and then they would go onwards to Minas Tirith.
It felt strange and unreal. Goldleaf would not let her companion see it, but the thought of seeing Osgiliath again after so long made her nervous. So much had changed. She knew that her old home was no longer populated by Gondorian citizens, that they had all had to flee for the war. It was a garrison for the soldiers, an essential garrison, for if Osgiliath fell then the unleashed power of Sauron would fall next upon Minas Tirith.
Goldleaf wrapped her cloak further about her shoulders, gazing up at the sky. It seemed to hold no light, and the clouds had utterly obscured any hint of blue. A storm was coming. She could see Aravir a little way down the hill; he was looking towards their destination too. Goldleaf was glad that she had a small chance for solitude, if for a little while; she did not dislike Aravir, but he asked a lot of questions, questions that she did not always feel like answering.
She knew that he was simply friendly, and wanted to talk with the person he was traveling with. But his warm smile could not break through the storm clouds in Goldleaf’s heart; despite her renewed determination to fight, she still felt empty and cold, as if the sun would never shine again. Boromir was gone, and he was never coming back. She did not know how to accept it. She supposed that when they arrived in Minas Tirith, the awful realisation of his passing would hit her even harder.
Aravir was walking back up the hill now. “What a bleak day!” he called up to her as he made his way up the slope. Within a few moments he was standing before her, with his usual open, honest smile. She wondered if he ever tired of being so cheerful.
She did not know that his smile was especially reserved for her; he could often be quite a grim man, but her presence, however downhearted and grieved she was, seemed to enable in him an ability to have better cheer. Aravir could see through the frown, the smudged face and the un-brushed hair, and recognise that there was more to Goldleaf than met the eye. But Goldleaf did not know what an impression she had made upon him.
Nodding, Goldleaf warmed her hands against the chill. “This is more than just the weather,” she observed quietly. Her brow creased in a slight frown, she rose from her feet and picked up her cotton bag from the ground, slinging it around her shoulders.
“What do you mean?” Aravir said.
“This is a sign, surely. Battle is drawing closer,” Goldleaf replied. “You know that orcs cannot abide the daylight.”
Realisation dawned in Aravir’s eyes. He nodded. “Yes. It’s clear now,” he said. For a moment his expression was solemn, and he glanced away. Goldleaf walked a little way past him to look out over the hill. But he turned, and when she glanced over her shoulder a small smile brightened his features.
“Don’t worry, Goldleaf. We’ll get to Osgiliath in time,” he said. “You’ll see, it’ll be alright.”
Goldleaf looked at him, wondering why he was trying to reassure her. “I know,” she replied. Her tone of voice gave away nothing. “And it would be best if we set out again with all speed. I am sure that Osgiliath has not enough men to fight off an attack. Two more swords to aid the captain in battle would be welcome.”

~~~

"I heard a maiden sing sadly, sing sadly
Her fair voice carried across the plain
I heard her then sing gladly, gladly
When her love did return to her again.

A young heart’s love is true and pure
And for heartbreak there is but one cure
To see that true love will not fade
And pain must not throw it in shade.

Who can explain the innermost depths of the heart
When devotion is shaken, life’s meaning threatens to fall broken apart
But while the tie remains true and strong
Absence of he who is loved will not prevent it thriving strong."

Goldleaf cleared her throat. It was an old song sang on celebration days in Gondor; usually it was the second to last song, for the night always had to be finished off with a cheerful tune. She remembered so well the bright lights, the vibrant gleam of the dancers’ attires; and her own smile. She had smiled so much then, and laughed. It seemed so utterly unfamiliar now; summoning any appearance of cheer was almost impossible.
They were nearly there; within an hour or so they would be in Osgiliath. It was growing darker still. The gloom enveloped the forest, and Goldleaf found herself wishing to see the sun shine through the dark clouds.
They had stopped for a few moments to rest, and Goldleaf had told Aravir that she felt like being alone. So he had kept his distance, leaving her to sit by herself. Osgiliath looked closer now; it was frightening, how close she was to her old home. She wondered how it would feel stepping onto the streets of the city again. It would feel familiar, but strange.
Wearily getting to her feet, she walked across the slightly dry grass to look for Aravir.
“Aravir?”
Her voice echoed in the empty valley. Moments passed, and he did not seem to respond to her call.
“Aravir?” she repeated. Time seemed to stretch on before he came walking through the trees, his step quick. His expression was slightly worried as he approached her.
“Goldleaf? Are you alright?” he said. Relieved, Goldleaf realised then that she had been worried that Aravir would not return.
“I thought you’d gone,” she answered. He shook his head.
“You thought I’d just disappear without a word?” he said. “I was just walking around, checking the area. I wanted to make sure that there was no threat of attack.” His tone was gentle as he smiled down at her in reassurance.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Goldleaf took a step back from him, suddenly brisk. “Well, I think we’ve lingered here long enough. We can’t afford to waste any more time.”
Aravir did not express his disappointment in his face, but only nodded. He had thought, just then, that perhaps Goldleaf did appreciate his presence after all.
Turning, Goldleaf walked on, and heard Aravir’s footsteps alongside hers. When they reached Osgiliath, she would prove to herself that even in the midst of grief and pain, she could fight. Even when hope seemed pointless, she could keep faith and carry on believing in everything she and Boromir had shared. Who she made the journey with did not mean anything. With love as her source of strength, nothing mattered but accomplishing her aim: to fight for Gondor. To fight for Boromir.

~~~

Osgiliath was a grim ghost town, filled with memories, many of the once grand and beautiful buildings reduced to rubble. It was eerily quiet, and dark; incredibly dark. Aravir stepped in front of Goldleaf, as if to protect her from any sudden danger. Irritated that he still somehow thought that she needed his protection, Goldleaf went to his side, their footsteps strangely loud on the empty cobbled streets.
It was beyond doubt still daytime, but that was far from obvious due to the darkness. They had left Ithilien behind, after what seemed like an age of walking. Goldleaf’s feet ached. She felt tired, but she would never admit it. Aravir’s instinct to try and protect her only made her realise that she could not give him cause to think her weak.
“Halt!”
At the clear voice that echoed down the street Aravir’s hand went instinctively to his sword-hilt, but Goldleaf stopped him, thinking that she recognised the voice. “Don’t,” she said. Aravir frowned, turning his head. A man in green and brown was walking towards them, clad in the garb of the Ithilien rangers.
This was a man who Goldleaf had not seen for two long years. In the aftermath of the loss of her family, he had tried to persuade her from embarking on a life in the wilderness. He was a stern man, a kind man, and Goldleaf had a strong cause to think well of him.
“What business do you have in Osgiliath?” the man had closed the gap between him and Goldleaf and Aravir, and saw that they were most definitely not orcs; but he was still suspicious of them. “Speak quickly.”
He was Captain Faramir, Boromir’s brother.
Goldleaf smiled tentatively and stepped forward, inclining her head. “Captain Faramir,” she said, noting that the captain’s face was marked with worry and concern. The duty lay with him, it appeared, to stay here with his men to hold back the armies that would surely try and break through the garrison. It was a heavy burden, Goldleaf knew. She had seen how Boromir had had to carry his duty to his country, and now it lay with Faramir alone.
Aravir glanced at Goldleaf, surprised that she seemed to know the captain. He regarded Faramir, as if trying to work out what manner of man he was.
Faramir’s expression remained the same, until at last recognition broke through the gravity, and he gave a tiny, perplexed smile. “I know you,” he said to Goldleaf. She nodded.
“Yes, captain,” she replied. “Two years ago your rangers looked after me, when I was wounded in the attack on Osgiliath.”
“I remember!” he shook his head, looking at the same time amiable but still wearied. Clearly a lot was weighing on his mind. “Ah yes, I remember you well now. Lady Goldleaf, that is your name, is it not? So much time has passed.” He paused, a slight frown creasing his brow. “But why do you come to Osgiliath? It is not safe here.” He took a step forward, looking at Aravir, the question of his identity hanging in the air. Noticing this, Goldleaf gestured to her companion.
“This is Aravir, of the Dunedain rangers,” she said. “We have come here to fight.”
Aravir nodded, and spoke up. “We have come here to aid Gondor in it’s hour of need,” he said. “I have not seen the city of Minas Tirith since I was a small child, but I would never have forgiven myself if I did not offer my own sword for it’s service.”
Faramir weighed up their words. When he was about to reply, he heard one of his soldiers call his name. He turned his head; it was obvious that he wanted to get back to his men, to make sure that everything was alright. But he was a courteous man, and he looked back at Goldleaf and Aravir.
“These are dangerous times,” he said finally. “Dangerous times for us all. If you had any cares for your lives then you would turn right around and get as far away from Osgiliath as possible.”
“Do you not remember how you tried to persuade me from living in the wild?” Goldleaf asked him. “That was two years ago and I stand here before you alive and well. That proves I am well able to defend myself.” She paused slightly. “And neither of us would turn around and abandon Gondor. We both will gladly fight and die for it.”
Aravir smiled slightly at Goldleaf’s words as she spoke for both of them. She spoke nothing but the truth; both of them were committed to their decision to fight for their country of origin.
Faramir sighed. He looked tired, but not defeated. He knew what was to soon come, and sweep over Gondor; an evil so great that no one could be sure if it could be defeated. His country was weak, and his people without hope. Yet here stood before him two people who knew where their loyalties lay. Two swords would not add much to a battle against the Dark Lord; but they would be wielded by warriors with true hearts.
“Very well,” he said, and his smile was warm. “Come with me.”

~~~

The soldiers of Gondor were grim, waiting to know when the next attack would come, and where from. The dark mood was almost tangible; sitting on a lump of rubble, Goldleaf knew that the wait before the battle must be nearly as bad as the battle itself. It was a time to wonder whether you would survive, whether you would live or die; to think about those who you loved, and who loved you. Goldleaf, as she sat sharpening her sword, had her thoughts fixed on her family, and Boromir.
What would Boromir think, she wondered, of the idea of her fighting in a battle with his brother? He had known that she was able to wield a blade, and he had not scoffed at her; rather, he had been impressed by her ability. He had known that she loved Gondor as much as he did, and when the time came, she would gladly lay down her life for it, if that was what was needed. Never once had he laughed at her, or thought that her intentions were foolish.
It was surreal, being back here in Osgiliath. So many memories came flooding back just to be here; she remembered the day of the battle two years ago, when her parents had died, and when she had been unable to save her sister. She would never forget that day as long as she lived. The old guilt came rushing back, reminding her that she had not saved them. She should have been able to protect them. Tears threatening to spill from her eyes, she fiercely blinked and refused to cry. She would not shed tears, not here, not now; not when she so badly needed to keep her courage and strength.
None of the soldiers had spoken a word to her; they were too wrapped up in their own thoughts, which were concentrated on the fight to come. In any case, Goldleaf was a woman, and they regarded her presence as strange, an odd decision on the captain’s part. There were many who would have said that she should be turned away. However, the rangers of Ithilien here knew that Goldleaf was a vagrant of the forest, and was fierce in battle. One day when a little band of orcs had strayed into the forest, she had felled three of them dead at her feet before the rangers had arrived. Any orc in battle would fear the flash of her eyes, the severity of her appearance, for she was weather-worn, smudged with dust and mud; certainly no feeble maiden. She did not tremble with fear at the thought of bloodshed. She had known so much pain and suffering in her life, and she had the will and outlook of a soldier.
But she could not keep herself from thinking of those she had lost. And she could not help thinking of her old life, who she had once been. The house she had lived in with her family was far from this area of Osgiliath, but she could picture it vividly in her mind; she wondered if that, too, had been reduced to a crumbling wreck.
Aravir had been sitting with one of the rangers in quiet discussion, but now he rose up and approached Goldleaf carefully, noting her grave expression.
“No regrets in coming to Osgiliath?” he queried.
She shook her head resolutely. “None whatsoever.” She did not regret her decision to come here. But she despaired of the pain that had accompanied her on her journey.
“The atmosphere here is so odd,” Aravir said, sitting beside her. She looked away from him, wanting to be alone with her thoughts. “The men here clearly despair of any chance of overcoming the forces of Mordor. But they are valiant; strong, amidst their broken hope.”
Goldleaf raised her head slightly. “That is because they can do nothing else,” she said. “All they can do is fight; there is no question of fleeing. They must be strong for their country. They are men of valour, men of honour.”
Aravir nodded. “I know it. I admire them.”
Goldleaf gave a tiny smile, though she felt far from cheerful, and was about to reply when she heard a commotion, calls and pounding feet. She stood up and followed the noise, Aravir at her side. When they arrived at the staircase a group of soldiers were surrounding, they saw a soldier lying dead on the ground, an arrow in his chest.
Goldleaf’s heart sank, looking at the dead young man. Before she could speak, Captain Faramir came rushing past, and looked at the body. Determination and realisation dawned in his eyes.
“They’re not coming from the north,” he said.
The attack was upon them. It was all too clear now that there was an army approaching by the river; one of the orcs had clearly seen this soldier looking through the fog, spotting them, and had fired an arrow at him, striking him dead.
Before anyone had time to fully take in the gravity of what was happening, there was a rush to get ready for the attack. Men handed each other weapons and hurried each other along, rushing to be able to meet the orc army and come upon them unawares, when they had hoped to catch the men of Gondor in a surprise attack.
Goldleaf unsheathed her sword and went with them, her footsteps swift.
The soldiers pressed against a wall, listening to the sound of the boats, the pounding orc feet. They waited for the captain to commence the attack.
Goldleaf closed her eyes.
I am doing this for you, Boromir.
Opening her eyes, the sound of a felled orc alerted her, and she darted forward, wielding the Gondorian broadsword which she had trained with since she was a little girl, bringing it singing through the air with deadly precision to cut the throat of an orc and then behead the creature, it’s body toppling to the ground.
The horrible cries of battle were now surrounding her, filling her ears with pain and struggle; the orcs surrounded them, lethal in their intention to wreck havoc and evil upon Gondor. The dark hung thick around them; it seemed that hope for their country was all but gone.
As Goldleaf fought with all the strength she could summon, she had to believe that there was still hope. Even amidst this raging battle, and the utter desolation in her heart, she found that there had to be something more to life than death and darkness; or else she could not carry on.

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~

Part 18 =)

~~~

Exhausted, smeared with blood, Goldleaf walked into the courtyard of Minas Tirith alongside the soldiers she had fought and fled alongside in the hopeless defense of the garrison of Osgiliath; a thin red cut marked her cheek, but she did not seem to heed it. A rush of sound hit her as the ordinary citizens of the city, families of the soldiers, rushed into the courtyard to greet them, to look for their loved ones; many would see that their son, husband or brother had not returned. They had lost so many, and those assembled here were lucky even to be alive. Goldleaf felt sick to her stomach thinking about the horrifying scene she had just left behind. So much death, so much pointless death. What had followed afterwards seemed like a blur; all she knew was that she had been running with shadows close at her heels. Wraiths had swooped above the fleeing soldiers, merciless and sinister. But a bright, white light had cast them away, protecting the men of Gondor.
Only now did she begin to see such a thing as curious, and she wondered where the light had come from. Searching the courtyard with a gaze that seemed blank, utterly bereft of it’s usual vibrant light, Goldleaf’s attention fell upon a cloaked figure in white. A figure in white, accompanied by what seemed to be a curly-haired child. A halfling.
“Goldleaf!”
Goldleaf’s head turned as she heard Aravir’s voice from behind her, and she saw him standing there, leaning upon the hilt of his sword, looking unusually slumped. She started towards him.
“Aravir? Are you alright?”
“Never mind me,” he said, and reached out with a frown. She flinched as he touched her cheek, and his frown deepened as his fingers came away stained red with blood. “You’re hurt!” he sounded incredibly worried, but Goldleaf shook her head impatiently.
“It’s just a scratch. It doesn’t really hurt – it won’t turn into a scar,” she said, going to his side. “Are you sure you’re not injured?” It wasn’t really a question that needed answering; there was something obviously wrong with him, it was just a matter of finding out what.
“Well… it’s just… my shoulder,” he managed. He was almost doubled over now, and seemed in great pain. It amazed Goldleaf how he had been able to worry about a mere scratch on her cheekbone when he quite clearly had taken an injury.
Linking her arm through his to keep him steady on his feet, Goldleaf looked at his shoulder, and saw that the material of his shirt had a long, thin rip along his shoulder blade; the skin beneath was scarred, and seemed to be bleeding at a fast rate.
“You’re not going to argue with me about this,” Goldleaf said. “I’m taking you to a healer.”
There was a pause, and Goldleaf wondered if he was going to try and protest. But, to her great relief, he simply nodded and heaved a ragged sigh. “Very well,” he agreed.

Finding a healer was easier said than done. Goldleaf knew that if they wanted to reach the houses of healing a huge trek through the city was required, and Aravir wasn’t well enough for that. They managed to walk up a couple of streets, Aravir leaning on Goldleaf’s shoulder, before he let out a hoarse cry of pain and stopped dead in his tracks, dropping down to sit on the cobbled ground. He clutched his shoulder, his head stooped. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
Shaking her head, Goldleaf sat down beside him. “It’s not your fault. It’s a bad wound, it’s to be expected,” she said. She reached out and gently moved Aravir’s hand aside, to take a look at the cut. Aravir flinched slightly as she touched his shoulder; the cut seemed to go quite deep. “We can’t just let it bleed,” Goldleaf said finally, a frown creasing her brow in worry. Suddenly, she tugged the cotton bag she always had slung about her shoulders over her head and begun to rip the material apart. Aravir raised his head at the noise.
“Don’t do that.”
“It doesn’t matter.” They needed something, anything, to stop the flow of blood for a while. She tore long, thin strips off from the bag and begun to wind them around Aravir’s shoulder, tying them in knots. By the time she had finished she had used up all of the material, and Aravir’s wound was satisfactorily bandaged.
Goldleaf smiled. “Now, do you think you could perhaps manage to walk without complaining?”
He glanced at her; her tone was teasing, she was not being serious. He gave a short laugh and nodded. “Perhaps. Thank you, Goldleaf.” On a sudden impulse he reached out and took her hand. It was the scarred hand, but it was not that which made her pull it away abruptly. All in a moment a shadow fell over her face and her features hardened, turning her expression into a mask.
“I…” Aravir looked at her, confused by her sudden change of mood. Instantly, Goldleaf felt awful. He had only been trying to thank her. How could he sense anything of her emotions? But she didn’t want anyone holding her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said; instantly, she felt that it was a simple, stupid thing to say. She wanted to better put into words the reasons why from now on she would always instinctively push away anyone who tried to get close to her. However, it was useless. She couldn’t possibly put any of it into words; it would be entirely impossible to explain. Giving up on her apology, she reached out to link her arm through his again.
“Let’s get you on your feet.” Even to her own ears she sounded hollow. Aravir glanced at her uncertainly as she helped him to stand up. She offered a tiny, immaterial smile, still feeling somehow guilty.
People were rushing past them through the street, presumably towards the courtyard. They narrowly missed being bumped into; the people of Minas Tirith were frantic to see the returning soldiers from Osgiliath.
Amongst the crowd, a voice that seemed to hold considerable authority called through. It belonged to a woman.
“Make way, please! We have wounded men here. If you’d please make way, we’re healers.”
Giving a little start, Goldleaf gripped Aravir’s arm a little tighter. “Did you hear that?”
He nodded, craning his head to see who the voice belonged to. A small party of people was making their way through the crowd in a little procession, carrying stretchers with wounded men lying on them; the group was headed by a tall, slim woman with red hair. She had several bags looped over her narrow shoulders, presumably containing herbal medicines and bandages.
Just as they were about to pass them by, Goldleaf darted forward, forgetting that she had been holding up Aravir, in her haste. She waylaid the red-haired woman, her expression anxious.
“I have a wounded man here with me, could you help me?” she said, watching the woman’s expression turn from one of affronted surprise to one of brisk realisation.
“I see,” she said, nodding. “Where is he?” She glanced over her shoulder, signaling to a few of the other healers to go ahead without her. They trooped up the street with the stretchers, looking tired but determined.
“He’s just behind me…” Goldleaf signaled towards Aravir, and then saw that the ranger was staggering slightly. Cursing, Goldleaf rushed forward and caught him in her arms. His head lolled against her shoulder. Her arm around him, she saw that his wound was bleeding through the bandage she’d given him. She looked up at the healer.
The woman smiled at her reassuringly; she had blue eyes, lighter than Goldleaf’s, pale skin and elegant, pleasant features. She looked like a woman who knew the value of hard work, and cared immensely about her job.
“It’ll be alright,” she said. “We’ll take care of him.” Two other healers brought up a stretcher. “Can you help us get him onto the stretcher? From the looks of things that wound of his needs stitching up, fast.”

~~~

The healers brought Aravir up to the houses of healing, where there were already many soldiers there being treated. For some, however, it was too late to treat them. The news that they were dead would have to be taken to their families.
Aravir was shifted from the stretcher to a small bed; the healers unwrapped his wound and cleaned it up, before stitching it and re-dressing it. It seemed that he would be alright, but Goldleaf was still nervous as she hovered beside the bed, wondering if there was more that she could have done to help him; and every so often as she looked at him, she felt a pang of guilt at having snatched away her hand so abruptly.
The woman, whose name was Eleniel, oversaw everything briskly. She seemed to have a talent for authority, but her duties, it soon became apparent, went beyond merely issuing orders. She went to sit at each patient’s bedside to speak to them and check that their wounds had been treated properly, and made them up little bottles of medicine from the herb sachets she carried with her. Goldleaf watched everything, still standing near Aravir’s bed, but hesitating over whether she should directly approach him.
Eleniel seemed to notice this hesitation, and she came over to her with a warm smile, carrying a glass of water. “Hello,” she said, looking Goldleaf directly in the eye. It was such a friendly, direct greeting that Goldleaf stumbled a little over replying.
“Oh, yes. Hello,” she murmured.
“You can speak to him, you know. He’s quite well, and will probably want to see a familiar face,” Eleniel said, gesturing towards Aravir, whose head was turned away from them, and was only just out of earshot, since Eleniel and Goldleaf were both speaking quite softly.
Goldleaf nodded. “Yes. I know. It’s just…” she struggled for words. She hardly knew Aravir, and yet already she was his “friendly face”. She knew that Eleniel was scrutinizing her; she decided to meet the woman’s gaze with equal frankness. “Nothing. I’ll go and sit by him.”
Eleniel nodded with a smile, and, surprisingly, offered the glass of water she was holding to Goldleaf. Goldleaf stared at her.
“It’s for you,” Eleniel said. “Something tells me you’ve not had a good drink in a day or so; you don’t look quite well, dear.”
Goldleaf realised that Eleniel had been scrutinizing her dress stained with mud and blood, her unwashed hair, her face smeared with dust. She was probably quite an unusual sight in such a tidy, fresh place as the houses of healing. She looked like a vagrant. Well, there was no edging around words – she was a vagrant.
“Well. Thank you very much. That’s extremely kind of you,” Goldleaf said. In fact, she was very thirsty. She reached out and took the glass, raising it to her lips.
Within a few moments she had drained the entire glass. Eleniel’s smile never wavered, and she took the glass back from her. “I bet you feel better now,” she said, pleasantly. She nodded towards Aravir. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Goldleaf nodded and hesitantly went forward. She felt a lot better having had some water to drink now; she hadn’t realised just how thirsty she’d been. She knelt down beside the bed and gently touched Aravir’s arm.
Instantly, his head turned on the pillow towards her. He was more alert than he’d looked. A smile formed on his features, going right to his eyes. “Goldleaf,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes.” She nodded towards his shoulder. “I see they’ve bandaged you up better than I could have.” She paused. “I’m glad you’re alright.”
“I’m glad too.” Slowly, he reached out and touched her hand where it still lay on his arm. It was only the slightest of touches; he only very gently held her fingertips, as if he did not want to startle her again.
It seemed that there was nothing she could object to. But it was the warm look in his eyes that troubled her, the way that his gaze was fixed on her. She wanted to get up and run from the room, far away down the corridor. But she stayed and knelt there beside him, feeling ever guiltier, knowing that somehow – she did not know how, yet – she would end up hurting him.

~~~

As the day drew on, Goldleaf began to get more and more tired. She sat in a woven chair in a corner of the room, her eyelids drooping down, the sounds of the healers walking around, the general chatter, beginning to slowly fade. Aravir was asleep now, and Goldleaf had to stay here, not knowing what she was going to do or where she was going to stay. These thoughts were in her mind as her eyes fluttered closed again, before she heard someone’s footsteps approaching her, and a woman clearing her throat. Eleniel.
Goldleaf’s eyes opened blearily. Eleniel smiled disapprovingly. “We can’t leave you just sleeping in a chair – what if you start snoring and disturbing my patients?”
“I don’t snore,” Goldleaf muttered, too sleepy to realise the banality of her words, and that Eleniel was joking. She was vaguely aware of Eleniel taking her arm and lifting her up.
The last thing she remembered was being led into a room with simple interior and white cotton curtains. Her head hit a soft feather pillow, and then she was asleep.

~~~

All around her Goldleaf could hear the soft trickling sound of water. A calm haze seemed to wash over her, and she was only just aware of birdsong high up above her. Everything seemed peaceful and quiet; she was in a place where nothing could harm her, where she could never feel pain. She opened her eyes, and she now saw that she was slowly floating down a river which led through a forest. The treetops arched high over her head, and the sun gleamed through the leaves, which flickered in the wind, gleaming green.
The breeze tousled her hair, which lay loose over her shoulders. She wore a white gown, the long, pointed sleeves wafting softly. She was kneeling, and the skirts were spread out neatly. She could feel a slight weight on her lap, and as she looked down, she could see that she was supporting someone.
She was kneeling in a boat which sailed, unaided by sails, down the river, and she was not alone. A man lay there with her, his head resting gently on her lap. His eyes were closed; as she looked down, she recognised Boromir’s beloved features. She sunk her hands into his hair, smoothing it back from his face. A small smile crept up on her. She was with him.
She sat there watching him for a few moments. But after a while, his eyelids slowly opened, and he gazed up at her. A small smile lit up his features, and she looked down at him, her heart filling with the acutest love, amidst the tranquility that flowed through her very being.
“Goldleaf,” he whispered, reaching up a hand to meet hers. She threaded her fingers through his. “It’s you.”
“It’s me,” she said, softly. “And I promise that I will never leave you.”
She stooped down and gently kissed his forehead. His eyelids softly closed again. His hand stayed holding hers, and she smiled down at him, feeling in this moment that there could be no sorrow in the world, when there was such happiness to be had.
“I’ll always love you,” she promised him. “Always. Even until the end of my life.”
“And I you. Always – forever,” Boromir said. A smile remained on his lips, even as he started to go back to sleep. Goldleaf smiled down at him.
“This isn’t goodbye,” she whispered.

~~~

Goldleaf’s eyes snapped open, and she found herself lying in a bed in a small room, blankets pulled up under her chin. She slowly sat up in bed, knowing that she was in the houses of healing. It was still light in the room; she could only have been asleep for an hour or so. But her dream stayed vivid in her head; it seemed so close, so real, as if she could reach out and touch it.
Wrapping her arms about herself, she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.
She would never forget him. Never.

_________________


~~Siggy by Lembas~~