A Healer's Touch

Chapter 10

By the time supper came around at Dunharrow, Anneth was exhausted. Many riders required last minute checks on wounds, various painkillers for the upcoming battle, or tonics to sooth their nerves. Many of the other women who travelled with them aided her, as they had some skill in healing themselves, but the thousands of men far outnumbered them.

As she scraped at her now-empty stew bowl, Anneth contemplated the course the next several days would take. It would be almost a two days ride to Gondor, and then the Riders of Rohan would face their greatest challenge yet. If the chance of victory at Helm's Deep was slim, victory in Gondor seemed nigh impossible.

Taking a deep breath, Anneth began boxing away her fears. Her fear for her father, and his headstrong nature, as he prepared to rush into battle; her fear for Eomer and Theoden King, the people she had viewed as family for as long as she had known them; and her fear for the travelers, new to her as they may be, yet dear now all the same. Emryn especially, as she felt a kindred spirit in the confident girl from the North. Anneth feared that the worst would come to all of these people she let come so close to her heart.

And yet, the fear for them paled in comparison to the fear she felt when she thought of Boromir riding out with them. Every night since they left Meduseld had been plagued by nightmares, where every man in a cot was Boromir, dying, and she could do nothing. Worse still were the nightmares where she was back at Theodred's deathbed, but instead of the Rohirric Prince, Boromir lay in his place, his blood staining her hands, her clothes-

Anneth stood quickly, forcing the nauseating thoughts from her mind. She had to hold on to hope; without it, the men were lost. Without it, a healer was lost.

With a shake of her head, Anneth wandered over to where she thought Boromir's tent to be. She craved the comfort of his arms, and wanted to spend these last few moments with him, if it was indeed all they had left.

She had supped late, and most of the men had already retired in preparation for the long ride ahead of them. Indeed, she didn't see any movement at all until she passed several horses tethered to a tree, one being tended by just the man she was looking for.

"Why are you still up?" Anneth queried as she approached, and Boromir jumped, his hand flying to the sword on his hip.

Upon seeing her, he relaxed, but not all of the tension left his body. "I-" he started, and then paused, seeming to think hard about his next words. "I am preparing to leave, dear Anneth."

What? Now? Anneth then realized he was not tending to his stallion, but saddling him. "Leave? You do not ride until the morn."

Boromir shook his head. "Aye, Rohan does. We have a task that has been set before us that must be completed," he replied, abnormally distant.

Anneth felt her heart grow cold; his clipped words held a heaviness she didn't like. "Task? We? Speak plainly, Boromir. I am a healer, not a mind reader."

Boromir turned to her then, having finished tightening the straps, and looked into her eyes. He saw the worry and confusion in them, and his heart ached to assuage that worry; but he could not. "We ride into the Dimholt to summon the army of the dead, my companions and I."

"You what? That's madness, Boromir! None who venture there ever return!" Indeed, many had tried to, even a Rohirric King; but not a single soul was seen or heard from again. Only riderless horses made it back. And now Boromir stood before her, telling her he was going to attempt the same thing they had.

"It is the only way," he said, greater urgency in his voice. "It is the only way we can hope to win this battle, Anneth. If we do not go, then none of these men will ever return," he said, gesturing to the tents around them. "Gondor will fall if we do not. We must go."

"Boromir, I-" she began, fighting the tears that threatened to spill down her face. How could this be happening again? It was exactly like Theodred: here he is before her, just as he's about to leave. "Boromir I can't do this again, not you too," she said, voice clenched, and Boromir swiftly pulled her into his tight embrace.

"Dear Anneth, I promise you, I will do all in my power to return to you. It would take a thousand undead hosts to stop me from doing so," he said fiercely, and Anneth believed every word of it; she only feared that there was that many in the mountains that lay before them.

Boromir pulled away far enough to see her face, moving his hand up to wipe away a stray tear. "I must go, Anneth."

Fear coursed through Anneth in waves, and she spoke almost without thinking. "I love you, Boromir."

Boromir froze, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. Though he had declared his love to her, she had yet to do the same until now. Now, when he was about to march to his likely demise at the hands ghosts. But she loved him, and even if he should never see her again, he could now die in peace.

So he smiled, so wide and happy that even Anneth followed suit. Then Boromir slid his hand behind her neck and placed another on her waist, pulling her close as he kissed her. He poured every ounce of love and passion and promise into the kiss, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't the last.

"I love you too, dear Anneth. And I will return to you," he promised when they finally broke apart. Then, with great difficulty, he released her, already feeling cold without her touch, and mounted his horse.

No more words were exchanged as he went away to join his companions, and Anneth stood where he left her for a long time, her mind ill at ease.