Author's Note: Double update! Yeah!

Disclaimer: Not for profit, just for entertainment. Enjoy!

Warnings: AU. Boromir/OC.

The Captain's Wife

I find the water-men, Glandur and Caranion, tending to a surprisingly large plot not too far from the cottage, of varying shades of greens and browns. There are a few leaves I know, and many I do not. Glandur, again, is red-faced; he is holding one of the chamber pots upside-down, dumping it, and I see him tuck it quickly behind his legs. To little avail; its large size means it sticks out regardless, and when he realizes this, he turns from me to yank at what I assume to be weeds.

Caranion struggles to hide a laugh as I approach. I, too, am amused; my earlier shadows start to dissipate.

"Gentlemen." I incline my head; already I can feel the dull warmth of the day. The blueness of the morning has not shifted, only deepened; a glance upward shows the clouds I noticed upon entry to Dol Amroth to be just as present. Yet the heat still hung in the air – curious.

"Lady," they intone. I am surprised to Caranion's accent. "Sir, are you from the upper Circles?"

"I am," he answers, equally astonished. "My uncle is of the merchants there; he sells jewelry to the Court. I believe they are not as well off now…" he drifts off meaningfully. I understand immediately.

Jewelry has not been as popular since the Shadow has fallen across the City. Many of our people have sought refuge, abandoning their homes and goods. As my father's business has shrunk, so have many others. The downturn means the upper Circles have emptied, and the glamour of the Court sunk.

Caranion hands me a woven, sturdy basket to hold as he pulls up vegetables. His profile catches what light there is, and he looks like…"Surely you are not related to Lady Herenya!" I exclaim.

"You know of my cousin? She is not into more mischief, is she?"

"Other than her usual, no." We share smiles, and when he does so the resemblance is impressively clear.

The two share the dimple on the right side, and an oddly-shaped mole, just to the left of the bridge of the nose. An unusual marker for the people of Gondor, rumor had it was either a blessing of the Valar or a curse of the Shadow at birth. The Lady Herenya took it as she took her life as a whole, in stride and with a careless laugh.

"Here, miss," says the maid, who bobs and leaves me. I have forgotten her name.

My first day as a wife. How strange. Already I feel out of place, and as if Arda is moving ahead of me – as if I am but a small piece on a chessboard. I am overwhelmed: by my new husband's kindness last night; by the sternness of his – our Father's greeting in the hall in the official ceremony; by the nagging headache from the wine.

I shake it off. I need to be present, and as lady-like as I am able. Perhaps all of Mother's lessons were for something, after all.

A small group of women are before me, each dressed in what I gauge to be the latest fashion of the Court. I am reminded of glittering jewels in a velvet drawer; standing before the curtained windows so, the effect is nearly the same.

"Milady," "Lady Hurin", "Good morning," the various greetings are just as melodic as the women look. Truly women of the Court: wearing and speaking elegance. An awkward silence descends as I observe them quietly; not an effusive person, especially in the mornings, and I am admittedly interested in who will speak first.

The woman on the far right, as it happens. She is tall, with bright eyes, and a defiant, humorous expression, almost sarcastic. "Lady Herenya, at your service," she curtsies. I can read underneath it – conscripted.

"The others, are much younger, and so I will speak for them – Mardil is over there, and will be presented next month, and officially welcomed as a Lady at Court." Mardil curtsies, blushing, all while staring at the floor. Why so young? But a furtive glance, and I recognize her. Ah – so this is it.

"And this is Lady Airemana – she is courting Faeron. No doubt a good match," she says, eyes slanting. "She expects a proposal any day now, don't you?"

The good lady in question nods, and folds her hands at her waist.

"And there is a fourth, to be named. We haven't yet heard; no doubt she will be as qualified as we are, that is, kept enough in Court to be adept in it, but not ruined by it." And here she laughs and sketches a mocking bow.

"Well, Lady Hurin, what do you make of us?"

"Given the other ladies have had no introduction of their own, I know not what to think," I answer, stepping forward and opening my arms. "However, I do think we will get on quite well. Lady Herenya, I know my father has done business with yours; soon-to-be-Lady Mardil, I know our fathers are great friends; and as for you, Lady Airemana, I wish you well. I will not speak for all romances, but I can assure you the marriage bed is, when both parties are content, very warm."

There. That should do it, I think to myself. A bold speech, yet humorous.

And yes – the laughter it brings forth is enough to break the tension, and we adjourn to the outer courtyard, where the sun is out and a table laid for luncheon.

"This is the garden, then?" I direct the question toward Glandur, who had yet to address me directly. Some of the blushing is faded, but underneath his collar is visibly crimson.

"Aye," he grunts.

The chamber pot is visible not a foot from him. He knocks against it and a loud metallic thunk cuts across any conversation we could have made. He flees into the cottage, slamming the door behind him.

The laugh I laugh now is just as cathartic as the tears were moments earlier.

"I wonder," I say between giggles, "if he knows," I breathe again, "I worked in the Houses?"

Caranion stops laughing long enough to eye me curiously. "Indeed? Lady Herenya wrote me as much, some months back. And Guardsman Danaran spoke well of your work, when some of his kinsmen were treated by you." He pulls up to a kneeling position, holding some root vegetable – not a potato, but some similar tuber. He passes it to me, and I place it with the others in the basket. It begins to grow heavy, so I shift it to my other hip.

"I did not know I treated them. I treated all who sought help – that is, all who Healer Suiadan asked me to." I shiver then, recalling the latter days. "I could not tell you for certain who I saw."

Caranion, seeing my face darken, does not inquire further into the subject. "Well! That's enough tubers for now," he says with cheer, brushing his legs free of dirt and sand. When he stands fully, he is at least a shoulder-and-head-span taller, and broad.

"Is that all that grows here? I thought I saw some herbs just there." I point to where the chamber pot rests, amidst some greening stems and leaves. Even with the stink of the pot, I can smell at least two herbs that I knew from the Houses.

The water-man nods. "We grow a few, the hardiest kind that can stand the sea-air and salt. It makes for better mealtimes, than bland fish and roots." He goes on to explain which herb is which, and we spend the next hour discussing their properties. He is surprisingly knowledgeable, and I jump when a there's a tap on my shoulder.

"If you are ready, I can show you the lamps." Prince Erchirion waves an arm above.

"What needs showing? Your sister merely said I would be watching them." I frown at the tubers in the basket. I am no water-man or shore-man, and have little experience in the way of guiding ships. Surely they are aware of my ineptitude.

"My sister, as wonderful as she is, did not entirely have the right of it," says the prince, with a tolerant smile. "I will show you." He beckons me through the cottage, and to the main part of the lighthouse, where we first entered.

The stairwell looks even more beautiful, by the light of day, which is streaming in from an upper window. It is indeed of wrought iron, gleaming and well maintained even in this environment, and as I run my hand over it, I admire its craftsmanship. "Made by the shorefolk of old," says Erchirion quietly, and I hear near reverence in his voice. "When Lothiriel made a mess of the old tower, Father was furious. This was one of the reasons why – at present, we do not have the skills to remake the ironwork."

The iron is firm and cool – and in its intricacies I slowly see small scenes as we climb the stairs – a ship here, a fish there, and what appears to be a half-woman, half-fish beckoning to a sailor. "A siren," he explains, "calling to her love. It's an old, old story; any one of us could tell it to you, but with any number of variations. This one appears to be the happier ending, no doubt for luck. See?" he points to the landing, where a large ship rests calmly on the water. "She chooses to watch over him, rather than be taken captive by the sea-witch. If you look closely, you can see her, there." I bend as I can, and there! She is at the front of the ship, right where -

"Now that is just silly."

"Is it?" Erchirion raises an eyebrow. "It's as good an explanation as any for why we carve sirens into the prow. And the stories keep for the long, hard nights at sea, or when the babes can't sleep or the mothers need to soothe anxious children."

I cannot argue with that, seeing as I am carrying a child.

"Here we are."

Erchirion push opens the door. Another room, cozy, like the cottage. A stove, a large bed, and a tapestry to retain warmth. Different than the one in the room I slept in, it depicts a woman, waiting, next to the sea. She is fair of face and her hair is being blown back by an invisible wind – and in her face is what I recognize to be longing and grief.

Within, my heart lurches.

Also present are two large oaken cabinets, pressed against a wall. "This is part of what you will be doing," says the prince, drawing me to them, and opening one of the small wooden doors. "We use them to hold the rags for the lamps, and the polish as well as the oil. Here, and here," he gestures to the drawers, "are the smaller logs where we describe what we see during our watches, which then get recopied to the official log you saw in the main cottage. There, we can extend our notes – the weather, any animals, persons of interests, ships that do not seem like they belong. Lately, it has been the Corsairs and the Sea-Sickness which has taken the lives of many of our sea-dwelling friends." I can feel the scowl through his shoulders. "Whatever the Dark Lord is doing, it is absolutely unthinkable to these waters, and we are doing the best we can to fight it."

Taking one of the logs, he slams the drawers shut and I follow him to the back of the room, where a smaller staircase sits. "Be prepared for the view. Not as spectacular as it used to be, I'm afraid, but rewarding all the same." He gestures for me to move ahead of him.

And I do. The staircase is more uneven than the one below, and simpler, though no less sturdy. It leads up, more steeply, and I have to hold to it more tightly to keep my head from spinning. Yet the sense of risk is worth the reward – when I emerge, all dizziness disappears, and I gasp.