Hi! This is my first story on I'm really, really sorry for grammar mistakes, but english is not my native language. Please review... it would make me really happy. Ok, so on with the story.

Chapter one

A horse walked tiredly through the forest. The rider didn't look better, he held with difficulty on the saddle. It could be seen a nasty wound.

A rider, that's strange, thought a woman, watching this spectacle from shrubs. He doesn't look like he could make problems. Probably he won't belong to the enemy. But what would a Gondorian do here, so far in south, on the borders of Harad? It's only one way to find it out.

Boromir woke up and foun out, that he is laying in bed in a small room. He looked around and saw his equipment and his clothes set in the corner. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his shoulder reminded him quickly on the wound. It was cleaned and bandaged, but it still hurted. He laid down and fell in a restless sleep.

„Faramir!" shouted Boromir and woke up.

„Don't move," said a woman and continued in treating his shoulder.

„Who are you? Are you a Gondorian?"

„I'm Nirien, daughter of Niramar and yes my family comes from Gondor, but I have never been there. And you, what's your name?"

„I'm Boromir, son of Denethor."

„The Steward of Gondor," she bowed her head,„ I'm sorry, my lord, I didn't recognized you."

„Why are you living here, so close to the Dark land? Are you serving The Enemy?"

„No, no m'lord. I was born here, my mother died when I was young, so I'm still living here."

Boromir was still. He thought about the fate of this woman, which couldn't be older than 25. Years of hidding and looking for food. A life in danger that, she will be once slower than the servants of The Enemy.

„Why are you staying here? Come with me to Minas Tirith, you can live there in your own house, as a thank you from the Steward for saving his life.

„Thank you, m'lord, but I must refuse. I cann't leave this place."

"Why? Do you not like the White City? Choose a another one."

„No, m'lord, I'd like to move to Minas Tirith, but I must stay here. A Dark Numenoran is living here, on the borders of Mordor. My ancestors put a curse on him. He can't leave his tower as long as one of their descendants is living here. I must stay."

Boromir looked into her grey eyes and saw sadness and fear. And even if his heart didn't pity fast anyone, he felt sorry for those grey eyes.

„I can't allow another evil in Gondor. Show me that tower!"

Nirien looked at him with tears in her eyes:„No, m'lord, you can't do that. You can't throw your life away! He can't be defeated."

„Who are you to tell me, what I should and should not do?! Show me that tower and don't care!"

She crouched for his anger and bow her head down. Boromir felt sorry, that he shouted at her. At her, who cared about him, even if she didn't know, who he was. He took her face in his hands:„ Show me that tower, please." She nodded slowly.