Hello everyone. I decided to do a rewrite because the story seemed too 'fast' and (therefore) a bit childish... or perhaps that's just me, because some of you seemed to like it :) In any case, I hope you won't find the new ideas I'm trying to develop awful, but rather that you think it's an improvement - I hope it will be. Being a medievalist by now I've gathered some knowledge that hopefully gives some more 'nuance' to the story; especially in Tolkien's medieval universe. Excuse my English, it's surely more rusty than it was when I started this story, but I'm hoping to improve and deliver a decent level for the LotR-universe, and hoping to be able to update again ;)


Chapter 1

The terraces on this side of the palace, where the family had gathered for the evening, offered a magnificent view on the sea. He had not remembered it to be so beautiful. Leaning on the white marble railing he inhaled the light, salty air, enjoying the sunset. "It is quiet, is it not?"

Faramir gazed over his shoulder. "Boromir. Aye, it is. Are you prepared for the hustle and bustle of Minas Tirith we're heading to tomorrow?"

Boromir chuckled lightly. "I fear it was ever you, brother, to appreciate the quiet; I am more the hustling type. Though yes, I shall be glad to see father again… and my wife."

Noticing the small hesitation, Faramir raised an eyebrow. "Did Nimien not wish to join us? See our family again?"

"It is not that she did not wish it," his brother replied. "She felt unwell, not so very fit for the journey. Though I wonder why she would prefer our father's company; he is not the most talkative one, especially when it comes to women's affairs."

This statement caused Faramir to laugh. "Indeed not!" They both turned to face the horizon. "How do you fare with her, Boromir? You have had time to adjust to your… situation, by now…"

"I try to be gentle and civil; she, likewise, does her best. I daresay we make a fairly handsome couple when observed from the outside. I cannot say we're not compatible at all, but she is a quiet, calm woman, and I… At times I wonder if I am to blame," he confessed. "How so?" "I do not treat her badly, not in the slightest, at least I have never heard her complain. I do not believe to not satisfy her," he uttered in a delicate yet dubious tone. "I try to. She does not have many requests and what she asks I grant her. But I fear that her existence in this marriage is… fragile. I fear she feels entrapped in our city, though without a doubt her father kept her inside as well. She is a noble Gondorian woman of high birth, fit for the son of the steward, and yet… It is not that I love her, by the gods, I doubt if I could ever love steadfastly, with the determination that some recount. But I do care for her – her wellbeing –, and I should hate to prove to be a source of her unhappiness."

"I cannot say to have experience in women, nor in marriage, brother. But I do think you treat her justly – at least for what I observe. Moreover, her high birth ensures her being accustomed to the ways of a court. Though yes, you too could be her entrapment, not solely her environment." Boromir gave a wry smile in reply. "Fear not, Boromir, your doubts will abate upon our return, I am sure of it. Not even the most resolved man in love is ever free of doubt, I believe. And I do believe she appreciates you, judging from her looks. At any rate, she is content to be the wife of the heir, and so should she!"

Boromir laughed. "Ah, little brother, were it only that simple. But I confess we fare well, we try not to irritate each other, we cross paths once or twice a day and remain civil. It does not displease me to be with her, I have a secure palace life now: warm arms and decent conversation to come home to instead of fooling around with some wanton woman, and a chance of an heir, of course." He gazed over his shoulder at his uncle, cousins and the little boy. "Elphir's boy is growing rapidly. It has only been a year."

Faramir nodded. "Aye." His eyes fell on Lothíriel, who beckoned them to join the others. Boromir continued observing little Alphros. Inwardly he felt lost, thinking of how their father urged him to beget an heir. Of course he did try, for his lineage, and because perhaps a child would give Nimien some distraction from the dull palace life. He, at least, would find it immensely boring to have nothing else to do than sewing. Though there would be maids and wet-nurses, her life would not change that much. He stood there for quite a while, feeling the breeze that played with his hair. Coming to Dol Amroth had indeed been the ideal mode to escape Minas Tirith and the obligations linked to it. He did not mind that much, he found that from an early age he had always been proud of their office and would have liked to continue it, and pass it on to his son when the time came. Even so, the preceding year and a half had been trying. Torn between his marriage with Nimien and his attempts to get to know her and make her feel at ease – in which he thought to have failed miserably – and his obligations as first son of his father, it had seemed as if he was not permitted to have a moment of peace. So when Faramir had offered to visit their relatives in Dol Amroth, it had seemed a splendid idea. Yet after these peaceful weeks he longed to be home again.

At long last Lothíriel felt Boromir had been left out and came to fetch him. "Come now, cousin," she pleaded, "tomorrow you shall have an incredible amount of time at your disposal to sit sulking on your horse. It is your last evening, do us the pleasure of your presence. As it is we see you and Faramir so little. And how fares Nimien? Could she not join you?" Rattling on to distract him, pulling him along with her at his elbow, as if he were a horse taken by the reigns, he wished she would stop tormenting him, and leave him one more night of peace.


It had taken them longer than anticipated, but the brothers were content to have returned home. The only problem was that the journey had already tired them – the effects of their calming sojourn at Dol Amroth had abated until not a trace of it was noticeable. This could be noted in Faramir's scowling and his very obvious will to escape to the library instead of seeing their father first, and Boromir's insulting the stable hands and eagerness to see their father first instead of his wife. Both cleaned up after the long, dusty voyage they had undertaken and very rapidly they seemed to return to their habitual comportment. Boromir visited their father, describing their time at Dol Amroth and how their kin prospered; Faramir decided to continue his reading where he had left it, trying to have at least one more day of tranquillity before his duties would demand his presence. Indeed it seemed as if these lived a life of their own, intent on pestering him.

In the late afternoon it was Nimien, and not his duties, who found him. "Faramir."

"Ah, my dear sister." He rose and kissed her cheeks gently. "How are you? Did father treat you gently or did you miss my brother's protection?" he laughed quietly. "Have you seen Boromir already?"

"Nay, I did not," she smiled. "I thought I'd find you here." Nimiel did not seem eager to follow through that conversation. Instead, she asked him to tell how their family fared. "I was sorry not to accompany you, especially wanting to find a friend in Lothíriel, she seems very kind. But I did not feel all that well and thought you and your brother could use some time alone, too."

Faramir scowled. "You need not fret about our relationship, it is quite stable." He looked at her then, thoughtfully. "You and Boromir?" It was not his intent to pry, which he added quickly – but then again, he hoped they fared well, he would have liked to see this arranged marriage evolve for the better, instead of ending in disaster, as he could observe daily at court.

"It could be far worse," she smiled, as if she wanted to joke but failed. She had always been calm and reserved. "He is very kind to me, and seeks to bring me at ease. He does not force me to do something I would not want – though you could think it is because he does not care, I do not believe it to be so." She stopped for a moment. "I have seen far worse at this court and at home, husbands who beat their wives and other such unpleasantries. My father arranged me a good match in this respect, to be sure, though he could not have foreseen it had it not been so. Do not worry about us – or me – Faramir, for I have noticed that you tend to be too attentive to others, and less to yourself. I am… content."

"Well I would never have believed it if he mistreated you; Boromir is no romantic, but neither a complete brute," Faramir chuckled lightly, content with her diplomatic yet personal answer. "You have had some time to adjust to each other, and know each other, I presume."

"Surely," she replied, and then: "What are you reading?"

He easily settled in a long explanation about the book and plot he was reading, indulging her in the change of conversation. He sensed that she was at ease with him, and he was perhaps the only companion she had at the court of Minas Tirith. There were no women like Lothíriel to turn to, unless she had to make friends with some of the more uptight, narcissistic ones present. For this she was too downcast, too tranquil. She was not vain; proud, yes, but not too much so. Any one with her lineage would be proud of it, and Boromir had been the "lucky bastard" – so the nobles thought – to have had her. Perhaps he was, perhaps not. It was not lineage to determine people. And Faramir doubted if the nobles that had wanted her would have been content with her shy, complying demeanour; he gathered they preferred the outgoing ladies that loved to dance and whisper social atrocities in eager ears. Nimien was not that kind of almost promiscuous woman trying to advance in such ways, nor the woman who claimed the ballroom as her own. In this she was perhaps not so very much suited as wife of a worldly leader, who benefited of splendour and performance. On the other hand, Boromir was not much of a dancer and would not have made much of a figure.

Footsteps approached, tearing them both out of the literary reverie they had finished into. Nimien stood calmly. "Boromir."

"Nimien." Boromir stopped dead for a moment. "I had expected Faramir to be here…" He recovered and kissed her cheek. "How have you been?"

She smiled uncomfortably. "Well enough. Faramir told me all was well in Dol Amroth?"

"Yes, yes. You should see how Alphros is growing. You would have liked to see – I believe… that is… I apologize; I would have preferred you to join us and see Lothíriel, you could use female company, I daresay."

"Fret not, I have been more than all right here."

They fell silent for a moment, as if unsure what to say. Faramir intervened quietly: "Why did you need me, Boromir?"

"Ah – oh, it was nothing. Father wanted to see you, and it is nearly time for dinner."

"I see. We should depart, then?" Faramir exited the room and left the married couple standing there awkwardly. "I… I looked forward to seeing you again," Boromir smiled. Nimien returned his smile enthusiastically. "Did you? I am glad. We are quite all right, are we not, husband?"

Boromir felt marvelled seeing her broadish smile. How did she see him? "I believe so. We could be worse, in the end. They could have married me off to the lady Arthien," he jested, knowing how much she disliked said lady.

Nimien laughed sweetly. "Oh you vile man! Do not let her hear you! I have missed your and Faramir's company, dearest," she ventured. She did not recall ever calling him thus, and quite liked the diminutive. Glad he smiled, she added: "I would not want to tear you away from your duties, but I do prefer having someone to talk to. I admit that the company available is lacking very much. And… and the nights were lonesome," was uttered quietly.

At this he regarded her strangely. She had never rejected him, neither had she welcomed him warmly, though. They were a stable couple, supported each other well enough, they were neither high nor low, perfect nor horrid, they were just… what they were… balanced, tranquil. "How so?" he asked tentatively.

She bit her lip and started a nervous laugh. "Oh, no, not in that way. I mean, yes – but – I have missed someone to talk to. I have missed your presence. That is all." She smiled. "You were not away for such a long time that I could not bear it, mind you! But it was a very… lonely feeling."

Boromir pondered on this for a moment. She was all alone here, after all, except for her maids. He had no knowledge of any meaningful acquaintances, at least. "Aye, you are right," Boromir murmured, "it is… pleasant to have someone to come home to." Though I have missed you in that way too, he added in thought. That is, the act, not her per se. In the beginning of their marriage he had been very tentative, had always been around to watch her and comfort her, but after a year or so had continued – or restarted – occasionally frequenting his soldier friends in the taverns, which at times had included some loose one night fling with some woman present. It had been far easier than trying to approach his wife. But gradually she had warmed up to him, and still did, he sensed, and in this period at Dol Amroth, in which he had not touched nor looked at anyone, he had felt a light displeasure. He, too, had felt the loneliness of the nights, the sadness that had enveloped him at times upon entering his rooms. Seeing the interaction between Elphir and his wife, too… He had decided that though those tavern women were easy to come by and seduce, he had reached an age in which it was more pleasurable to have someone in your bed waiting for you after a long trying day. Even more so his behaviour had been positively disrespectful towards his wife – his wife – who was complying and sweet, he had to admit. So he would try to change his ways for the better, starting with today. They had started off well enough, and he would hate to throw away the balance they had managed to construct, this seemingly solid yet still fragile foundation. He had never seen himself as someone who would consider his wife very much, but looking at her now, so young and unspoilt, he decided that he could not treat her badly. "It is good to see you again, Nimien."

She smiled again. "Aye. Shall we take our leave? They are waiting to be sure."


Dinner proved to be a trying affair. Boromir had already made a long report about what they had done while away, but the steward insisted on hearing it again, mainly for his daughter-in-law. So the brothers had recounted their stay again, occasionally picking up where the other left off. But their father was kind and interested, just like Nimien, though she said little and smiled often. Then Denethor gave an account of what had transpired while they had been away, and urged Nimien to tell something too. It seemed that Boromir's wife had been lonely indeed, for she did not have the brothers' tales to tell of wild horse rides and swimming in the sea. Instead she had been typically womanly occupied, sewing and gossiping with other women of the court – which meant that they gossiped, and she smiled without commenting. Tonight, however, she dared comment their impertinence.

Faramir was aware of the idle talk about her, she was considered a bad wife for Boromir: not entertaining, not outgoing, too quiet, too shy. She was not and would never be a woman like most at court, the ones that giggle, gossip, behave as if they and they alone are the centre of court. She would never be the centre of court, despite her upbringing as second daughter of one of the mightiest lords of Gondor – the first being married to a very rich merchant from Harad who had worked very hard to become a respectable man of semi-nobility, much to the dismay of Denethor, for "What sensible man with a lineage such as him would ever hand his daughter over to a Southron! A most immoral folk without loyalty!" Her introvert nature did not bother Boromir, but definitely was not the classical image of the perfect noblewoman.

He sent her a small smile, which she returned. She liked Boromir's brother, he was kind to everyone, even the most vicious of ladies at court whom she despised. She knew very well she would never become like lady Arthien, who seemed perfectly accomplished in everything. She, on the other hand, could sew, hunt, go horseback-riding and do everything she had been taught that made a wife a good wife, a woman a good mother – she hoped –, but she did not have that lightness in her voice, that originality to keep conversations going. She was not the perfect entertaining host who displayed the perfectness of her household and husband in everything she did. Had his father known about her calm demeanour, he would not have tried to have her as Boromir's wife, perhaps. And neither would Boromir have accepted.

During the negotiations about their marriage, courtiers of Minas Tirith had visited her father Angbor, lord of Lamedon, in their capital city Calembel. Her family had owned the vast, densely populated area in the coastal region for generations, and it was for this noble lineage that Denethor had sought in her a suitable wife for his son.

They had come with good intentions and propositions, not caring much for her character. To be sure, her older sister would have been more suitable for the steward's son, but the man of Harad had been first to claim her, and her father had found no fault in him and thus no reason to decline, unfortunately for Boromir. She had been the consolation prize, the one that would have to do. She did not mind, she found she was quite proud to have the steward's firstborn for a husband. He was not ugly, nor very old, though they differed quite a lot in age. And he had not proven to be the horror some of her old friends at home had described their husbands to be.

She had arrived at Minas Tirith without having ever seen him, had only heard some stories from her father's courtiers, as he would have heard from those of the steward's court. It had been a grand ceremony with her older sister – husband included – and younger brother present. They had been happy for her, Baineth giving her sisterly advices, Aglarân, aged nineteen thinking he was a man, had remained stern and unmoved seeing her nerves. Boromir was now nine and thirty years old; he had been seven and thirty when they'd married a year and a half ago, she four and twenty. At times when they felt at ease, jesting, she reminded him of how old he was for her – but she could have been married to one much older. Humour seemed to be their tranquil haven, where they found each other: it made everything seem less forced, less awkward.

"Nimien?" "Hm?" "Come, dear, let's retire." She nodded, fatigued as well. As they rose she bade his family goodnight – it had been a small party, just them, to exchange stories after the three weeks of separation. He offered her his arm to lean on and she let him guide her to their rooms.

"It was a good meal, don't you think?" he asked. "And father and Faramir were gentle."

"They always are," she smiled. "Especially Faramir, but your father as well. He tells better stories than me."

Boromir chuckled. "You did not indulge in so many extraordinary activities as to recount them extensively, darling."

"'Darling'?" she questioned.

His response was apologetic, stating that it had seemed sweet, that he wanted to continue where they had left off some weeks earlier: on good terms.

"True, you are right." He guided her to her door and went to his own, the next one. Naturally the rooms were adjacent, with a connecting door, but they had their own personal space. In a marriage such as theirs it was not so bad a thing. "I…" he hesitated, and she dreaded what was to come, as did he, or so it seemed. "I shall give you time to change, and then I should like to visit your chamber, if you don't mind." She swallowed and smiled. "Of course not."

In the year and a half of their marriage they had found similarities in the other, and created a somewhat stable bond. He would come to her room every now and then, at times just to talk and tell her what he had done that day, at times to carry out the physical side of their union. But it was true what he had said earlier, it was pleasant to have someone to talk to late at night before retiring. Even though they had separate rooms they tended to search each other's company quite regularly.

She entered and, hesitant about what was to come, sent away her maid to prepare for bed herself, washing her face, combing her hair and changing into her nightgown. She was in bed when she heard him come in, dressed in a night robe as well. She had tried to remember what is was like to have him in her bed in these three weeks, but it had been very vague. When she was young she had shared a room with her sister, then she had slept alone for years. Having been with Boromir for this short while had accustomed her to company again.

He crawled in next to her and touched her shoulder. "It is good to have someone close again." "Aye, I was thinking the same thing," she smiled. "Then… you do not mind me being here?" "Not yet." He chuckled. "You are a strange woman, Nimien. But I like how you jest. At least that is not awkward between us."

As if to prove that other things were, he kissed her forehead, then her lips. She liked the feeling of his lips against hers again, and felt herself smiling. "I apologize," he said suddenly. "I wanted to do that earlier, when I saw you. Perhaps I have missed you, even if only a little."

Not knowing if she should see this as a compliment or not, which she told him, she said it was the same for her. They were sitting upright and, being tired, she laid down against the thick pillows. Boromir joined her, stroking her hair. "You are a beautiful young woman, dear one," he whispered. Was it to convince her, or did he really speak his mind?

"If you say so."

He kissed her again, and she felt herself leaning in against him. "I have wondered what you looked like, I had forgotten," she admitted.

Boromir grinned. "You were not the only one. I have yet to determine if this is better or worse compared to my imagination."

She slapped him. "Oh you insolent man! Despicable creature!"

He laughed against her cheek. She liked this feeling of their cheeks touching. Boromir had proved a gentle husband, not forcing her, or maybe only once, though she feared he had other ways to satisfy himself, and the thought of such possibilities hurt her deeply as a wife – love or no love. She wanted to suffice him, and felt nauseous thinking of what he could have done at Dol Amroth, or the nights when he returned to his room very late.

This evening it seemed she would do, for Boromir caressed her cheek, descending to her legs, moving up her nightgown. "Boromir…" "Mhyes…?" "Please… I am tired." In some way it felt wrong to do this now, so shortly after his return. She felt as if they had to readjust again, get reacquainted, perhaps it was too soon to go… there again…

His hand did not stop tracing its soothing lines. "I shall make you change your mind, little one."

She smiled, not able to contain herself. He had never called her thus and it sounded adorable. He sensed it even in the dark. "What?" "Little one." "Ah. Yes, I thought you would like that. Women…" He returned to kissing her. "Please, Boromir. I think we should… I think we should get accustomed to one another again. We have built something quite pleasant despite our being different, despite the nature of our union. I would not wish to throw it away so easily."

"I understand," he muttered, moving away slightly. "Though I think it could only bring us closer."

"Not now, please. It has been a trying day for us both, and you have travelled a lot." She tugged at his arm, urging him to move closer again. "Oh do not hate me… I am not the right woman for you, am I? Come here…" "Hush," he whispered, complying. "We do not need to do this every waking minute," he comforted her. "Nay, but still…"

Boromir moved his hands back to her nightgown again, caressing her gently. "May I?" She sat up and did not answer, unsure of what it was he asked. Regarding this as an assent, he straightened up as well and pulled the gown over her head, observing her body. "I am sorry," he said, uncertain. "I had tried to imagine what you looked like… I did not recall and, well… I have not seen you in this particular state very often," he said smiling. Indeed, often he had not undressed her during the act – perhaps he did not find her beautiful, or he avoided it to spare her any possible embarrassment. She could see his expression in the moonlight entering the window, and was consoled by it, guessing that he could not find her that hideous, and by his voice.

"You should redo me the favour," she whispered in turn, and undressed him as well. Seeing him now she remembered his features, the lines on his chest, neck, arms, it seemed silly that she had not been able to recall his forms and face before. There was too much space between them and, though she did not want to take it very far tonight, on impulse she moved closer, caressing him. They embraced and both finished back unto the soft thick pillows. She absolutely adored these pillows, at home they had luxury, but she had never possessed such perfect pillows. Also, she adored the feeling of his body against hers. It had been the only intimacy of this kind she had ever known, and it was tender, and pleased her. "We are quite all right, are we not, Boromir?"

He grinned against her cheek. "You already asked me this, little one," exploiting her professed love for the diminutive. "I beseech you, do not fret. I am here now. We are both here. We shall be fine, you and I. I for one am quite content that they chose me a wife so humble and sweet, and not a narcissistic hot-headed one like your best friend Arthien. She should get a husband to keep her under the thumb, I daresay. Wouldn't you agree?"

Nimien laughed. "Quite right, my future steward, I perfectly agree."

They laid still, tangled up in each other, enjoying each other's proximity after being separated. Nimiel was still unsure of what they were, and how to behave when they were in company, or alone – though the awkwardness that had existed between them earlier that day seemed to have abated. For now, at least. However, he tranquillized her a great deal, she noticed, lying here like this in his arms. "And…" Boromir murmured drowsily, "we do have a beautiful embrace, little one." She could only agree, and kissed him gently on the nose to prove it.


Aglarân = 'glorious one'

Arthien = 'exalted one'

Baineth = 'beautiful one'

Nimien = 'white one'