A/N: In the years before the Fellowship and the War of the Ring Gondor was under constant attack from Mordor. The city of Osgiliath had lay in ruins ever since a plague had ravished the city and the seat of command was taken up in Minas Tirith. While I have combed the appendices, I have never quite found evidence on whether or not Boromir, who was forty-one years old when he set out for the Council of Elrond, was married when he left Gondor for Rivendell. However, since Faramir assumes position of the Steward when Aragorn returns to the throne in Gondor, it is often assumed that Boromir left no certain or legitimate heirs. In this story, I have taken it upon myself to show that Boromir was in fact married, but circumstances hid this from the public eye. If you have evidence that shows for a fact that Boromir took no wife, please speak up and site your evidence like a scholar. People make mistakes, and I'm not afraid to admit that I'm a person.
Chapter One: The Miller's Daughter
Laughter trickled into the hallway from the closet behind him and young Faramir rolled his eyes emphatically before leaning backward to catch the promise of his older brother's smooth whisper. As that practiced promise of fidelity left Boromir's lips, Faramir couldn't help stifling a snort of laughter. He would be true to her forever, all she had to do was wait for him, just one kiss, it was all he was asking. One kiss and he'd be hers forever. Faramir rolled his eyes again. How many times had he heard that line before?
However, on the other side of the closet door was a young man more sincere than he had ever been in his life as he leaned down and whispered against her waiting ear, "And after I win back Osgiliath, we'll be married."
Outside the closet Faramir nearly choked. Surely he had misheard "Now that's one I've never heard before," he muttered softly to himself. "Promising to marry her to get her into your arms... Honestly, Brother . . ."
Determined Reyenna's strong willed voice replied, "And what makes you think I would even have you, Boromir son of Denethor? Just because you're the Steward's son, because you'll be Steward one day yourself? You make it sound as though I'm a fool to throw a catch like you away."
"I would be the fool to let you get away," he played against her jest. "Kiss me, Reyenna, please. I leave for Osgiliath in the morning and it would be a shame to die in battle having never tasted those sweet lips of yours."
"All right then," she conceded. "Just one kiss, and that is all."
"One kiss is all I need to make my task worthwhile."
Boromir leant downward and brushed his trembling lips to hers. Sweet merciful fate, he was trembling. Had he ever trembled in the wake of a girl before? Not as long as he could recount, but Reyenna was no girl. . . she was the one, the young woman he had fantasized and daydreamed about since he was just a lad no more than twelve summers. They had played and learned together as young children, and the power of imagination had carried all of them away time and time again, but as they had gotten older, and he'd become more arrogant in his place as the Steward's son, she had withdrawn to a distant place and refused to even give him the pleasure of her time. He had pawed after her for years, while she wittingly drug him panting behind. Seven years had passed since he'd decided she was the one. Seven years and now she was finally ready to negotiate their future.
He wasn't surprised at how warm her lips and body felt against his, but when she pressed the palm of her hand into his chest and drew even closer to him, inborn confidence assured him he had won her. "Won't you marry me, Reyenna?" His breath stroked her cheek in a slow, warm gust.
"One kiss and already you're talking about marriage? Honestly, Boromir! Even I know that's no way to win a girl."
Boromir felt the sly draw of her lips as he swept in for a second kiss, "Ah, but such a kiss is worth the future to me, and I assure you that you've already won me over for yourself. Now let me kiss you one more time." She didn't pull away or protest as he lowered his forearm into the small of her back to sweep her closer. Bodies pressed insanely close together, he started with gleeful surprise when she willingly opened her mouth to accept the full power of his kiss. He had never kissed anyone like her before, not to say he hadn't tried.
He drew back and in the slice of light peeking through the crack of the door at them, he studied her with a stupid smile. "Marry me," he hugged her tight against him.
"Perhaps when you come home we can discuss such things, Boromir, but for now," she drew upward on her tiptoes and brushed her lips to his once more, "just come back to me alive and in one piece."
"Boromir," Faramir called from outside the door. "Keep quiet!" he warned. "Someone's coming."
Boromir playfully covered her mouth his hand and instructed her to, "Shh."
Reyenna reached up and covered his hand with hers, kissing sweetly at the rough, callused fingers that covered her mouth. Boromir withdrew his hand, having decided that perhaps it would be much more useful to keep her quiet with another kiss. He tasted the sweat breath of her kiss and drank her in like wine as he closed his eyes and sunk into that moment. He wanted to remember it forever—to be able to call upon the memory of it on the battlefield when he was in desperate need of comfort.
"Good evening, Mathogon," Faramir spoke too loudly and Boromir grinned at how utterly suspicious his younger brother sounded. Reyenna was so still before him that he questioned whether or not she was even breathing, and just to make certain that she was, he lifted her chin into yet another kiss. She tilted easily into his touch, and fell perfectly into the trap of another kiss, ". . . waiting for my brother to return from the western gate."
"And does your father know your brother's gone off to the western gate?"
Boromir was always using Faramir as his guard and alibi in the event that he had snuck some pretty thing into the castle to beg for a kiss. Mathogon should have known better, in fact from the sound of his pressing conversation as he asked Faramir about everything from his lessons to the most recent hunting excursion Denethor had taken with his sons, Boromir realized he was simply trying to outwit them. If he stood chattering long enough, Boromir and his young lady would tire of the dark and come out to shoo him away, bribing him with a good armor polish if he promised not to tell their father what he had caught them up to.
"You really should come out now, Boromir," Faramir grumbled, leaning his head into the darkened space. "I think it would be in all our best interest if we took this little masquerade out of doors and away from watchful eyes."
"Excellent idea, little brother," Boromir clapped his sibling heavily on the shoulder and slipped out of the shadows tugging Reyenna by the hand behind him. The couple quickly separated, and both cleared their throats uneasily now that they were out in daylight again. "Why don't you walk to the gates with us? I've got to take Reyenna home."
"Boromir," Faramir bit his own tongue. "Boromir, if Father finds out you've ridden beyond the gates. . ."
Boromir shot Faramir a daunting look, "Father won't find out anything if you keep your tongue from wagging!"
"I wouldn't tell Father anything, Boromir," a hurt look crested on the young man's brow, his grey-green eyes filling with disappointment. "You know that."
"Yes, I know you wouldn't, come on then, let's go."
Reyenna withdrew her hand self-consciously and offered Faramir a slow smile, "How are you, Faramir?"
He nodded once, "I'm well."
"Have you finished your testing this term," she asked.
"Not quite yet, but I hope to before the month is out."
"You'll do well," she guessed. "You always were a bright boy."
"And what about me?" Boromir thrust himself in the middle of their conversation.
"If I remember correctly, you were always a trouble maker, Boromir." He took note of her gentle laughter and felt a strange tug from within him. Did she not like trouble makers? Was she saying that she thought Faramir the better pupil for it? "I remember that our master could no sooner than start a lesson before you and Sirion were sneaking off to practice your sword arm and other such battle play."
"And my sword arm is all the better for it now," he assured her, extending the well-muscled appendage for her approval.
"And let me see your sword arm, Faramir," she cast a smug glance upward at Boromir and then looked toward the younger boy with encouragement in her eyes.
"My sword arm is nothing compared to Boromir's," he muttered into his leather breast-plate.
"Oh, come now," she waved. "I'm sure you're equally skilled with a blade, but in a battle of wits I would place my bets on Faramir, who dutifully attends his studies." Boromir could not deny that in matters of competition he hated coming in second best to his brother, and Reyenna knew this. She was deliberately pushing his buttons just the way she'd always done, and while he should have been put off by her game, he found himself drawn even further into her web.
He glanced back and watched his younger brother's face color crimson atop his cheeks and slowly spread in splotchy patches downward. "Faramir is the family scholar." He admitted without the slightest hint of jealousy. He wanted to watch the smugness fade from her glance, but as he turned to look at her he noticed that the look she wore hadn't been smug at all, but encouraging. "One day he'll amaze us all with his scholarly renown."
Faramir rolled his eyes, "Please. Wasn't it you who told me just yesterday that my sword arm would get stiff from holding a book one handed? That I needed to get out more and practice my. . ."
"How is your father, Reyenna?" Boromir swiftly changed the subject.
The smile faded slowly from her face, "He hasn't been well at all, lately, but we'll manage. Things have been a lot harder on him around the mill with my brother gone to Osgiliath. Even I have had to abandon my studies to help out for several hours a day."
"Has it really gotten so bad?" Boromir asked.
"I'm afraid it has, but what more can we do? We lost Siolleth two summers past in battle, and it seemed as though only seconds later Elethan was swept away at the prospect of glory and vengeance. Father is just too old to run the mill alone."
"Perhaps if we ask Father he could spare someone. . ." Faramir began, but Boromir cut him off with a sharp look. "Or better yet, why don't I do it myself? I would be happy to help you and your father every day until your brother comes home from Osgiliath. With Boromir in command it will only be a matter of days before the men have come home."
Reyenna turned her smile upward and reached back to take Boromir's hand again in hers, "That is my greatest hope."
He became lost in the wake of her praise. "Really?"
She nodded, and leaned in closer as they walked together, and it seemed with each step they took toward the gates they drew further and further from the world until it was just the two of them. "You're a strong man, Boromir, with a good sense for things in battle. I have great faith in your ability to win back our city and bring the men home again."
"I'll do my best not to let you down," it was now his turn to humbly blush.
For the remainder of the walk to the gate, and then beyond to the mill Boromir and Reyenna walked closely huddled together as though they shared some sort of secret. Boromir was memorizing everything about her, so that when recalling the memory of her kiss he could envision all of her in total. The dark violet of her eyes, the flow of her brown hair and the subtle curve of her pink lips—he wanted to remember it all. The closer they leaned together, the easier it was for him to commit her to memory, including the curve of her body against his when they occasionally pressed too close together and the sweet scent of her hair whenever he leaned downward and breathed her in.
Faramir walked behind them, watching the strange display, how quickly Reyenna had changed her teasing tune to a muttering sweetness and the whisper of an occasional secret only Boromir was privilege to. He understood why his brother continually pursued her. Of all of the girls they had known since childhood, Reyenna was the only one that had shown true individuality. She walked with her head high, to the tune of her own song, and while her place was well beneath them in the ladder of their society, even Faramir could see that she was rich enough in spirit to be wife of the future Steward.
Their father, on the other hand, would never agree. In his eyes the girl was a waste of his son's time. More than once Faramir had heard him instruct his oldest son to bed the girl and be done with her. As long as he lived the miller's daughter would never be socially acceptable, never be good enough to marry Boromir, his precious firstborn son. Taste the fruit and then toss it from the vine. . . but hadn't he heard his brother tell the girl he wanted to marry her? Was he serious? What would their father say? Faramir could never imagine defying their father with such outright determination, but Faramir was not Boromir. . . he was not their father's favored son. Would he really push the limits of their father's love so far in marrying a girl he did not approve of?
"I don't think I'll be gone long, really," he was saying as they drew near the mill. "And when I come back I'll ask again."
"And I assure you my answer will remain the same."
"But you've said maybe," he pointed out.
"Perhaps by then I'll have a more definite reply," she withdrew her hand from his and quickened her step as they approached the dwelling she shared with her father and brother.
A bell sounded from the tower that alerted the brothers, "We best hurry home before Father questions our whereabouts," Faramir suggested.
"Go on and start out, I'll catch up in a moment," Boromir replied. Faramir gave him a strange look, but he nodded him forward, adding, "Go on then."
Once they were alone, he turned toward Reyenna who had rested her hand on the gate, "You should go with him, Boromir. I wouldn't want your father to be cross with you on my account."
"I care nothing about what my father says on your account," he held his hand out to her and she reluctantly placed hers inside it. He drew her near and stroked a gentle finger down her cheek, "I really meant what I said."
"I'm frightened to admit that I believe you," she gave a nervous laugh, tilting her eyes upward to study his.
"I want to marry you when I come home."
"Did you not want to marry Giselda just last week?"
"I've never wanted to marry anyone but you," he leaned inward, hovering dangerously close to her lips with his own. Despite the fact that the mill was so far away from the city, they could easily have been seen by someone on watch, or even worse her father. "Kiss me goodbye," he asked. "One last memory of you that I can carry with me into battle."
"If I kiss you one more time, what will I have to give you when you return?"
He turned his head, perplexed by her question, "You mean to deny me one last kiss?"
"With the promise to bestow it upon your safe return."
His slow arm lowered down her back and swept her inward so that there was nothing between them but their garments. "Is it your intention to drive me mad then?"
"I mean to give you something to look forward to," she countered almost defiantly. "This way you have no excuses. You'll have no choice but to return home if you wish to get this kiss."
A stern, soldier's disposition drew at his face. She was really going to make him wait. . . After all those years he had chased her, she had finally kissed him, but now she wouldn't kiss him goodbye. "How will we say goodbye then?" She stepped out of his arms and held her hand out in a gesture of friendship. His eyes widened with disbelief. "Reyenna," he sighed. "You can't be serious."
"Of course I can," she smiled. There was impish mischief in her grin that made him want to kiss her all the more. "I do not wish to say goodbye to you, Boromir, so let us part as we always have, in friendship. That way I will not even feel as though you've gone."
At last he understood, or at least he thought he did. "All right then," he put his hand out and took hers, giving it a firm, sturdy shake. "Although I would rather kiss you again, I will take whatever you have to offer."
"Boromir," she withdrew her hand and started toward the gate. "Tell me this one thing. Will you not think more about what that last kiss might have been like now that I haven't given it to you?" She said nothing more then as she turned around and disappeared inside the miller's cottage.
He stood for a long moment trying to gather his thoughts together before he could pick up his feet and head home. Faramir had already gotten quite far ahead of him, and so he had to sprint to catch up with him. Arriving beside him, he slowed his pace and let out a deep sigh.
"Did you really ask her to marry you, Boromir?"
"Whoa, little brother," his mischievous grin lit up his entire face. "See if I ask you to keep watch for me anymore if you're going to spy on what I'm doing."
"I wasn't spying," Faramir countered. "I simply overheard."
Boromir laughed with good nature, "That sounds like spying to me."
"Well, either way, did you?"
"Did I what?"
"Really ask her to marry you?"
"Indeed I did!" Boromir had never looked so smug as long as Faramir could remember. "And she didn't say yes, but she didn't say no either."
"What about Father?"
"What about him?" Fearlessly Boromir puffed out his chest. "He can't do anything to stop me. She is the woman I choose and if he doesn't accept that. . ."
"He will never accept it," Faramir said sadly.
"Then perhaps we shouldn't mention it to him just yet," he decided, changing the subject. "And I am very proud of you. You did a noble thing offering to help Reyenna and her father at the mill. I would do the same were I not leaving tomorrow."
"I know you would," Faramir replied. "Which is why I offered myself in your stead."
"Thank you," he clapped his brother on the back. "You're a good brother, Faramir, and a good man."
Basking in Boromir's praise, Faramir could say nothing else, and so the brothers carried themselves contentedly in silence for the remainder of the walk back to the city.
