Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or Boromir. Denethor and Faramir are mentioned in passing, but I don't own them either.
He couldn't say when the feeling started or even how to describe it. It was just there and it wouldn't go away.
The feeling of… not-rightness, I suppose you could say, started creeping up slowly, until it completely consumed him.
He should've known it had something to do with her.
They had met one night, walking in the gardens on the west side of the city. He couldn't sleep, so he had gone out for a walk, and his feet had carried him there. She had been picking roses for her mother when he'd seen her. That night was the best he'd ever had. When they had parted that night he had never felt so empty, so alone. She filled his every thought, every feeling. The next day he vowed to find her.
And find her, he did.
It took hours of searching, and asking people, and wrong turns, but he finally found her.
She was walking along the river with white water lilies in her fair black hair that shined under the sunlight. Her gown was a deep violet that matched her eyes. It was cut low in the front and back, with sleeves that pooled from her elbows like the lilies she was holding. She turned when he came up behind her, and smiled.
"I knew you'd find me." They had walked and talked some more, even kissed, before he took her to the inn she was staying at.
He would've saved her, he knew had would have, no matter what the cost.
She had given her his name that day and it had been forever imprinted in his heart, like the image of her then had been forever burned into his mind.
They had been courting only a few days when he took her to meet his father and brother. They had loved her. Everyone did. It was impossible not to love her. He remembered being surprised; his father never liked any of the women he liked. He had grown to accept that fact.
It had been about two months after they had started courting that the news came by messenger. Her lord father, Andrew, had been slain in a battle with a band of Orcs, and they had plundered and burned her village until there was nothing left standing.
She hadn't been the same after that. Her father had been the only family she'd had left since her mother had died, years and years before. The more days that passed, the more silent she grew. The smiles came less frequently, and the laughter died on her lips. She still talked, but only when asked a question.
He could've helped her. He tried to, he really did.
He brought her flowers of every shape, color, and size. The white lilies were her favorites, so he picked some fresh and brought them to her every day. She would smile and laugh and kiss his cheek, and for that moment, that single, tiny, moment, she was herself again.
Then the moment passed, like the sun disappearing behind the clouds, and she was sad once more. The next day was when the feeling had reached its high.
She had gone out riding the next day, faking smiles and laughs, alive and well.
She had come back, wounded and dying.
The master of healing had sent for him, and come he had, in time to say his last goodbyes. She had smiled then, a real smile, and said, "It will be okay, my love. I will see my father, and my mother, and brothers and sisters. It will be okay."
He had kissed her, that one last time, and she had smiled again.
She had died smiling, and he vowed that day that he would never smile again. They felt empty on his face, like he no longer had a reason to smile.
His father had pulled him out of his 'stupor' and demanded that he get back to normal.
"The people expect more of you, son, than a man grieving over a woman he knew in only in passing."
His brother had been more gentle and kind.
"I know you loved her, but she's gone now. You couldn't have saved her. It just wasn't meant to be."
But it had been, he tried to tell them, it was perfect, and good and sweet, and why, why did she have to go? They had been happy and in love.
Happiness does not last forever. The man who said that had been a wise man indeed, he thought.
He had gotten up, though, dried the tears that had spilled silently down his unsmiling face, lived. It was what she would have wanted.
He buried her in the violet gown she had worn the day he learned her name, and he put white lilies in her hair.
He should have saved her.
But, every year, on that dreadful day, he would visit the place he had buried her. Always bringing white lilies to lay there.
Under the tree where the white lilies and other beautiful flowers grew all around, you will find a stone that says:
Here lies Luna, Daughter of Mira,
Daughter, Sister, and Friend to all.
Though the sun may not shine, there is always some inside of us.
She had said that once, when they were walking in the gardens. He had complained of how the sun never shined in that part of the city, and she had said that in reply. He had argued, she got mad and turned away; he chased after her, and kissed her 'til she smiled and laughed.
He could have saved her.
When he died, his brother buried him there as well, in the same clothes he had been wearing when he first met her.
In the small forest of white water lilies and bright, colorful flowers, you will find two stones, side by side. One, old and withered, and another, newer and made of white stone, that says:
Boromir, Son of Denethor,
Son, Brother, and Defender of the People.