A/N: I have re-written a small part of this chapter because things are changing as I write this fic. Please enjoy ... again.

I do not own anything affiliated with Lord of the Rings.

Everything had been prepared. A score of chambers had been readied, a feast had been cooked, wine barrels had been stocked in the cellars and the city was looking its finest. Excited whispers ran through the halls of the Tower, whispers of, "When will they arrive," and, "How long will they stay?" The excitement, of course, was due to the coming visit from the Prince of Dol Amroth and his niece, Lady Athenril. The people guessed at their appearance, their demeanor. Rumours spread like wildfire of the Prince's temper, saying that he could only be calmed at the insistence of his council. People said that he was either fierce or lovely, cruel or gentle, meek or loud. Not a soul could know for certain yet people insisted they knew. "My cousin lives there," they would say. "Knows them personally." Others would claim to have friends in Dol Amroth, friends that had seen the Prince dole out harsh punishments. Some said he was gentle and ruled the land with compassion. Others said he ruled harshly. On and on that talk went, suspicion piled upon speculation, until the folk had run out of words to speak.

But high, high in the Tower, just below the Steward's chambers, a different sort of chatter was happening. Boromir paced his room, hands clenching at his sides or tugging at his jerkin. Else they were in his hair, pushing it flat to his head. Faramir watched in fascination at his brother's state and would have laughed had he not felt some concern for Boromir's well being. He had never seen his brother so worked up over anything. He had surely never seen him so nervous. As a little brother it was his right to take some pleasure in this. He was often at the butt end of jokes or the blunt end of a sword. He was the subject of all brotherly torment and had every right to sit back watch his big brother flounder, yet he could not.

"What of it if she's a Lady?" He drew the word out and waved a hand through the air. "You're a Steward's son. That's got to count for something."

"It's not the same. She'll be learned and have grace. People have started talking about how fair she is. Faramir," he spun and fixed his brother with a serious look. "What if she is fair?"

Faramir stood from the bed where he had sprawled out to watch his brother's dismay, and put his hands on Boromir's shoulders. "I hope, for your sake, she is a dim, ill-mannered pig of a woman." He said with the utmost seriousness.

Boromir's brow unknitted at once and he cuffed his brother behind the ear, worries forgotten for a moment. "You're terrible."

"You're the one that's fretting over having a perfect wife." Faramir looked out the window, casting an eye over the city as it bustled around to prepare. He gasped and shot a finger out to the gate. "She's here!" He called. "I can see her now. She's got long hair and … and … oh," Faramir squinted, "oh my. I may not have been so wrong before." He turned to his brother, his mouth pulled into a grimace. A look of fleeting terror passed over Boromir's features before he shoved his brother out of the way and frantically searched the city for her.

"I don't see her. Faramir, where was she?"

His panicked question was met with laughter, laughter that boomed off the walls and down the corridors. Faramir could hardly stand, managing only gasping breaths. He grasped a bedpost to keep himself upright. "Your face!" He wheezed, dodging a fist as it flew his way.

"You little-" Boromir lunged at his brother, heedless of the finery he had so meticulously cleaned and burnished. Grabbing his brother around the waist, he tackled him to the floor, fists flying as Faramir laughed still.

"Orcs, fine. An army of men, no problem. But give Boromir a bride and he flees!" Faramir squirmed beneath his taller, broader brother, only half-fighting off the assault.

"I am not afraid of her!" He insisted.

"I dare not think what you'll do on your wedding night. Pass out?" Faramir rolled and crawled away from his brother. "Wet yourself?" He taunted. He smothered a grin, facing his brother again with deep seriousness in his gaze. "No, you won't be able to rise to the occasion." Making an obscene gesture with his arm, Faramir burst into laughter again, this time not seeing the fist before it met his head.

"And what would know about that, dear little brother?" Boromir raised his brows at him, knowing full well what the answer was given the blush that had spread across the boy's cheeks. Faramir rubbed his temple and looked away from his brother, suddenly fascinated with the ties of his shirt.

"I don't … I mean … that's hardly-"

"Faramir," he groaned, mussing up his brother's hair with a grin. "I'm joking."

The youngest swatted his hand away with a grimace. "I know that." He righted his jerkin and ran a hand through his hair. "I honestly don't know why you're scared-" a look from Boromir made him pause. "Okay, nervous about this. You've known about the arrangement for ages."

"I know, I know." He blew the air out of his lungs, unable to quite meet his brother's eye. "It's real now. She's actually here. I'm actually getting married. There will be kids." He said the word as if his mouth couldn't get around it properly. He looked to his brother then, eyes wide just as Faramir's were.

"Mahriel," they both muttered, remembering the day they had eagerly agreed to watch a child for an afternoon. People still muttered about it but never in polite company.

"Maybe stay clear of kids for a while." Faramir suggested. Saying those words made it seem real. His brother was getting married. Boromir would have a family. It felt strange to admit, and stranger still was the equal feelings of loss and longing that flooded him. Boromir would still be a warrior, but his time away from the company would be spent with his wife, not with the other men, not with his brother. And as much as Faramir might have longed to be someone separate from his brother, he did not want to lose him.

Like everything else in his life, Faramir longed for something Boromir had. If his brother was to have a family, he wanted one too. He wanted a wife to go home to and kids. Maybe.

Without warning, Boromir pulled his brother close and hugged him tightly. Faramir didn't hesitate to clap his brother on the back. He felt Boromir draw a breath, let it go then draw another. Just like he did before going off to fight. Faramir grinned into his brother's shoulder, the words, "A wedding, not a war," on his lips but left unsaid.

A horn sounded in the distance and the great whine of the opening gates could be heard. Boromir tugged a hand through his hair one last time before they descended to the Hall to meet the Prince of Dol Amroth and his niece.

There was fanfare and cheers as they rode into the city. Boromir stood just below his father in the Hall and watched the door for what felt like an eternity. Their approach could be heard at some distance with the horses and the armour, yet they never appeared at the open doors. It was excruciating to wait there, especially when he could see Faramir gnawing at his lip to keep from laughing at his brother's obvious discomfort. Pushing his shoulder back, he looked up at his father to see him looking down at him.

"This is it." His father smiled fondly, face clouded with some memory of his wife, no doubt. "You'll become Steward when I am gone and your children will take your place." He spoke gently as if speaking of an often dreamt dream, a hope harboured for years. Boromir could only smile back, however fleetingly and swallow down the growing unease.

"Prince Imrahil and Lady Athenril of Dol Amroth!" A herald announced and not even Denethor could hold back a chuckle when Boromir started.

Seven swan knights walked behind them, and Athenril walked behind Imrahil. She kept her eyes straight ahead, not on the floor as so many maidens did, with her shoulders back and her head held high. Boromir looked everywhere but her face, watching her long, dark hair sway as she walked. He saw her slim fingers and small hands, the curve of her waist, the way her belt hung across her hips. He followed her dress up past the swell of her chest, not trusting himself to look there too long. Her neck was pale and slender, adorned with only a simple chain and pendant that settled in the hollow of her throat. Only when he was sure he could put it off no longer did he look upon her face. Beautiful wasn't the word. For a moment Boromir wondered if there was a word wonderful enough to describe her. Her lips were dark, her cheeks rosy, but her eyes, her eyes were the storm grey all those from Dol Amroth had. He had seen them before on other men but on her they were devastating. They were dark and glinted with something he couldn't place but wanted to know.

"Prince Imrahil, Lady Athenril." Denethor said, bowing to each of them in turn. "I hope your journey was not too taxing."

"We were blessed with the fairest weather," Imrahil said with an easy smile. "A good omen, I think." He shared a look with the Steward and a quick chuckle passed through the room.

"Lady Athenril, may I present Lord Boromir, your betrothed." Denethor motioned to his son and he stepped forward, bowing quickly to her and coughing when she smiled at him. It wasn't a smile of a shy maid or servant or even the woman serving ale in the city. It spoke of something else entirely and he hastened look away from that look in her eye.

"Let them learn about one another," the Prince said with a wave of his hand. "We have much to discuss, Steward."

Denethor released them with a nod and Boromir, after a moment's hesitation, offered her his arm and led her away. Faramir, far less interested in trade and politics, followed after them.

They walked through the Citadel to the gardens that grew behind them and there he led her through the rows and rows of trees, silence stretching over them. It was enough to make Faramir scream but he held his tongue and kept close to the trunks as they walked.

"Are you nervous, Boromir?" she asked at last.

"No!" He said too quickly and she giggled. His brow creased and he held his hands up. "Well, yes, that is, I was excited to meet you."

"And I you. To tell the truth, I almost didn't make it to the ship." She covered her face with a giggle, looking away from Boromir and into the trees. Faramir ducked down, holding his breath as she searched the trees. She frowned slightly, looking into the thicket more intensely. Faramir pressed himself against a tree, holding his breath until her gaze passed.

"Why?"

Her gaze was still stuck on the large oak tree and something she was sure she's seen. Boromir touched her arm, his own suspicions growing as to what she had seen.

"You almost didn't board the ship?"

"Yes," she finally looked away and flashed him a grin. "I've never been outside Dol Amroth. I was ... worried."

Boromir let out a laugh, like a spring that had loosed in his chest, relieved that he hadn't been the only one. They walked through the orchard, settling into an easy rhythm once they moved passed the initial hesitation. Sitting upon the stone bench beneath a great apple tree, they talked of little things, of knowing each other.

"Minas Tirith is not so unlike Dol Amroth. You'll see that in time."

"I hope to see more of this city soon. Perhaps tomorrow you could give me a tour?"

"I'd love to."

From his perch in a tree nearby, Faramir groaned and rolled his eyes. Once his brother forgot his nerves he was the same Boromir as always: confident, bold, a bit smug, and spying was becoming less and less enjoyable for the younger brother. At twenty-two, Boromir had every right to be as confident as he was. He'd been a warrior from a young age and had bested many foes in battle. He had titles and responsibilities, well on his way to becoming captain of the guard. He was tall and broad shouldered, his arms already thickly banded with muscle. Faramir was of a slimmer build, not yet grown into the manhood Boromir was. He could spar with his brother well enough, able to dodge blows more quickly than his giant older brother. Faramir was skilled with a bow as well, the range in the farthest gate marked with his arrows from years of practice. Seventeen and the youngest ranger in the company, Faramir was the sharpest archer in Minas Tirith. He could catch a sparrow at a hundred paces, hit a mark from horseback with ease, yet he never boasted. His was a quiet confidence, one that boarded on no confidence at all.

Watching brother actually woo his bride was far less entertaining and Faramir dropped down from his hiding spot to return to the Citadel. Spending time with his father was the farthest thing from his mind, so he veered toward the stables. The warm, heady smell of the stables was familiar to him and as comforting as any childhood memory. The stablemaster, Avenhir, nodded at the youth when he walked in and scooped a pail of oats for Eherit. Faramir nodded in thanks and walked over to his horse, the tall, sleek grey creature in the second stall. He patted her nose and set the oats down before getting a brush and beginning the long, pleasant process of brushing her coat. Eherit was his first horse and she had grown with him as he went from awkward and unbalanced to the rider he was today. She was patient with him and needed only the slightest word to change course. It was ritual that Faramir brushed her every other night. It was not that he didn't trust the stablemaster or his workers to do it properly; he enjoyed the simple nature of the task and the way it would clear his mind.

It was an easy rhythm to get into and he hummed quietly as Eherit ate, chuckling when she finished and tossed her mane.

"Good?" He asked her. She gave only a snuff in response and he laughed, patting her neck. "There are apples somewhere. For later."

"Lord Faramir?"

Arlaan, Avenhir's daughter, stood just outside the stall, the setting sun casting her into shadow. She was a sweet girl of age with him and had a round face with soft yellow hair. The two of them spoke often of small things like the weather or the horses or the hunt that morning. She would ask about being a ranger and what he did, listening with evident curiosity as he recalled the events of the last outing. She always listened when he needed to talk and would pass no judgement when he rambled for hours. It had been nearly impossible to learn about her for her shy nature had her blushing and silent whenever he asked. But slowly she had opened to him, her smiles still shy but she could speak of herself now without turning red.

"The feast is about to start." She said, stepping in to pet Eherit. The horse sniffed her and nosed her arm until she released the apple she'd brought. "You've spoiled her, Lord Faramir."

He smiled at how fondly she treated his horse, going through the trouble to sneak some treat for her.

"I've done no such thing." He insisted, coming to stand beside Arlaan. "She's been through enough to deserve an apple or two." Arlaan looked down when he smiled at her, her own smile easy to see though she tried to hide it.

"Thank you, Arlaan." He turned to go, patting Eherit one last time before going to the doors.

"You can't go like that!" She gave a huff and left the horse to finish the apple. Faramir frowned and looked down at his clothes. With a grimace, he plucked the hay from his boots and brushed the dirt from his toes.

"Here," she straightened his jerkin with a tug and pulled a piece of straw from his hair. Scrunching her nose up, she pointed to a table near the door. "There's scented water over there. Can't go to dinner smelling like a stable."

He jogged over, splashing his face and running a bit through his hair for good measure, before coming to stand before her for inspection.

"So?" He asked and a queer look came over her face. She blushed right to the tips of her ears, looked away and nodded.

With what seemed like an enormous amount of effort, she looked up at him and brushed a final speck of dust from his shoulder. Her hand rested there for a moment, her eyes wide as they looked up at him.

"Thank you, Arlaan. You're amazing." He touched her arm before running back to the Hall and didn't see the look of disappointment that passed over her face.

Thankfully the feast hadn't yet started and Faramir was able to walk in without causing a scene. It would be his luck to walk in late, smelling of horses and have every eye turned to him when it was Boromir's night. With little notice, he stood behind his seat and waited for his father to sit. Faramir was seated on the opposite side of the table from Boromir, with a noble to his left and Denethor to his right at the head of the table. The Prince sat to Denethor's right, with Boromir beside him and Athenril beside him. The table was long, with other nobles and knights sitting further down, but narrow, allowing those sitting across from one another to be heard with ease.

Before sitting, Denethor cast a glance at his youngest son and his face soured. With a sniff, he turned away to motion the guests to sit. Faramir used the movement to smell his shirt. He still smelled of stables beneath the weak florals Arlaan had provided. He looked to his father as the wine was poured, but no apology would be accepted. Faramir frowned into his goblet and let the sweet wine pass over his tongue without tasting it. He looked up when something tapped his leg and sent Boromir a quick, false grin. His brother saw through it easily and kicked his leg with greater force. Managing to keep his goblet steady, Faramir landed a sharp kick to Boromir's shins.

"My lord?" Athenril asked upon seeing the veins in his neck stand out.

"Nothing, nothing at all." He grunted and fixed Faramir with a look that promised he wouldn't get away with it. But the look faded when Faramir gave a genuine smile.

"How is Dol Amroth this spring?" Denethor asked as the food was being served. Large platters laden with whole pigs were brought forth, mouths stuffed with roasted apples. The Steward was given a choice cut, as were the Prince and Lady Athenril. A fresh roast was brought out so both Boromir and Faramir could have their choice as well. With the arrival of food, the noise in the hall increased, those lower down the table already lost in their own conversations.

"It is good. It was busy a season for trade and the last of the spring merchant ships were sent out. Athenril didn't want to leave before getting the first sweet cherry shipment but our journey could not be delayed." He gave his niece a soft look and gently touched her hair. Faramir suspected from the fondness in Imrahil's eye that he was far more than just an uncle to her.

"Our crop should be ready in a few days." Faramir said, remembering Arlaan telling him days ago. "I'm sure my brother will take you to the market to get the first picking."

Boromir looked up from his meal and smiled slowly at his betrothed who was looking at him hopefully. "Of course. I'd love to." He said at last and flashed his brother a grateful smile. Athenril clapped her hands in delight and Boromir chuckled at her antics. They looked happy together, all smiles and laughter, her hair dark and straight against his fair locks, grey eyes and green. They looked regal, each wearing their finest clothes and Faramir did not doubt for a second that they would lead Gondor one day. For all his fears that morning, Faramir was happy for his brother.

The feast carried on with course after course, wine after wine until at last, when the last sweet cake had been cleared, they were released. The festivities, the ball and the tournament were to happen on the morrow for the Prince and Lady Athenril had travelled a great distance and grew weary as the night dragged on. Boromir, leading her by the hand, showed the Lady where her chambers were as well as those of her uncle and her knights, should she have need of them.

"And where," she asked as they stood before the door to her chambers, "will you be? Should I have need of you." Her lashes pressed against her cheek for a moment before she looked up to him. Boromir froze. He had never seen a sight so devastating as she was then, her face pale and clear in the moonlight with the stars full in her eyes. Her lips were stained red from the wine. He wondered if she tasted of it. Heat burned right from his toes to the tips of his fingers at the thought. He was no stranger to the lips of a woman but hers were so close, so teasing, as if he could read the unspoken words upon her lips and reading was not enough. He wanted to hear them, feel them against his own lips.

Boromir pressed his lips to hers, felt her stiffen in shock, then quickly return the kiss with a grin. His hand slid to her waist, held her tighter still, his own lips pulling into a smile. Sweet wine was still on her tongue but he knew now that she tasted sweeter than any nectar. Her shock disappeared and she gripped the front of his tunic, unwilling to quite let go. His heart jumped when her slim fingers brushed the hem of his shirt, searching for the skin beneath. His stomach tightened and he pulled away with a brow raised. She pouted up at him, looking disappointed yet teasing as if she could never quite control that glint in her eye.

Boromir stepped back and kissed her hand. "Good night, my lady."

"Good night, my lord." She replied, her eyes downcast as she turned to the door. Unable to resist, Boromir pressed one last kiss to her lips and left to sleep with a grin on her face.

"I suppose it's a bad thing you didn't bring her up here." Faramir said when he brother burst in. But the remark faded at the grin on his brother's face. "Why are you smiling? She's not here."

Boromir rushed to his brother and mussed his hair up. "Brother, little brother, you have much to learn. There's joy to be had in the build up." He looked at the bed Faramir was sitting upon and shot him a filthy grin.

Faramir sat up from the bed and looked down at it then remembered vividly all the things that had been done on it in the past. With a groan, he stood and wiped his legs off. Boromir liked to brag of his conquests and who made a better audience than his curious younger brother? Of course Faramir had long since moved from curiosity and now anything that involved his brother and a woman was met with an immediate shudder.

"Sure," Faramir said slowly once he was sure he was clean of whatever lurked in Boromir's sheets.

Boromir shed his jerkin, tossed it aside and kicked off his boots. Then paused, looking past his brother, and laughed a true, joyous laugh that left Faramir frowning.

He fixed his brother with a serious look, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. "Are you feeling well?"

"I'm fantastic, brother! My bride is beautiful, the night is lovely." Boromir worked at the ties of his shirt, pulling the tunic over his head and adding it to the pile of clothes on the floor. He walked over to the window and simply breathed in the night air. "Don't you have a horse to brush or a book to read?" He suggested when he saw that Faramir was still in the room. Faramir rolled his eyes and shoved off from the wall, leaving his brother to whatever it was that had changed his night. It wasn't that Boromir was never happy, it was just curious given how the morning had played out. It made Faramir think that he would never truly know how his brother, or women it seemed, worked.

He walked the familiar path to the library and settled there to take his brother's advice, even if it hadn't been meant as such. There was a stack of books on one of the desk. What had once started as only a few books that Faramir meant to read, it had steadily grown over the past year and for every book he read two more were added to the pile.

Faramir lit a taper and set it upon the desk, settled deep into a chair and lifted the first tome from the top of the stack. Nerguin and the Lost Lands, a classic he'd been meaning to read again. Around him the Citadel prepared for sleep and the moon shone brightly in the sky, but within the library it was quiet and warm and Faramir knew he would have the night to himself to read.

This is my first LotR fic. I finally watched the movies and am currently getting the books. I had this idea and couldn't get it out of my head, so now it's here.

A huge thank you to Bridge for being my fact-checker, editor and motivation to actually get into Middle Earth. You're the best.

This will be a short fic, probably under ten chapters and I will update as often as I can.

Let me know what you think. It means the world to me.

Dahlia