A hobbit's mind was always on food. Within seconds he had found some leftovers, including the green apple that Boromir now rolled between his hands. He found himself opening up to a hobbit once more.

"I dreamt of my wife," he muttered, "I fear that I shall not see her again."

Pippin said nothing, sensing the proud man's need to speak.

However it appeared that it would not be tonight, as he was lost in thought. Pippin settled down and went back to sleep, the warrior still staring into the night.

Daya had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. It had begun years before, when he was a boy on the verge of manhood. She would be there, toddling around the city on unsteady legs, huge brown eyes watching him, following him as he walked through the palace. He paid little or no attention to her, nothing but a baby still, the daughter of his father's advisor. He would be annoyed with her, pushing her away or teasing her, hoping to make her go away. She would cry sometimes, but usually she just stayed calm, a stillness within her that had remained into adulthood. His brother Faramir had more sympathy for her; they had both lost their mothers young and now studied together under the watchful eyes of Daya's father. Boromir knew a little of her history, her grandfather Benalt had led his tribe south of the Misty Mountains when Sauron's forces had attacked them. Rhea, her grandmother, a warrior woman had been killed in the vicious onslaught, and it had been then that Benalt had led them south. Denethor's father had welcomed them, gave them refuge in the city, and they had fought against Mordor in Gondor's name. Young Veradan, son of Benalt, had learnt to wield a sword along side the young Denethor, and a friendship had formed between the young men under the watchful eyes of Auel, the weapon's master. Later when Denethor had become Steward of Gondor, he appointed Veradan his advisor. Both had married, Denethor, the beautiful Finduilas, Veradan, a woman of Gondor named Murasa. Finduilas had died, pining for the sea, while Murasa had given Veradan a single child, and died doing it. Daya had been raised by her father, who had almost rejected her at her birth, to be a woman of her tribe, proud, and fierce with a blade. Intelligent and quick like her father, she loved the city she grew up in, and trained under Auel, the man that had trained Denethor, her father, and both Boromir and Faramir.

As soon as he reached manhood, Boromir had been sent out into Gondor and the lands beyond, to secure alliances that would hold in the dark times ahead. He was a brave captain, and on his return to Gondor he would be called to fight against Sauron's gathering masses. He had no need for young girls who thought they could be warriors.

It was on one of his infrequent visits home that he went to see Auel, to ask his advice. He had taken a blade slash on his left arm, and was awkward on that side. He hoped that Auel could advise him, but when he saw Auel in the training room he was not alone. A young warrior was training with a long sword.

"One, two, three, and four... You're too open, you need to close up on your left side," he was an aging man but was still as agile as he was when Boromir had been his student.

He ran through the steps again and added a slight twist, bringing the sword up in sly undercut. The student sidestepped the blade, and brought their blade down in a resounding parry. It was a firm and neat movement, confidently done. Auel was a great believer in experience and in testing his students, throwing tricks at them at every opportunity. Boromir's first scar had come from Auel; he had mistimed a thrust and had been nicked by his teacher's blade. He paused to watch. The student wore a simple shift and trousers, dark hair tied back. They moved quickly, defending their head and face from the blows Auel aimed at them.

"And again." Auel was relentless in his teaching.

As the student swung their blade above their head, Boromir caught a flash of dark eyes that widened in recognition. Auel's blade met theirs, but the attention was lost, and the result was a bone jarring clash. Auel stepped away as the student massaged their wrist.

He sighed. "You must concentrate. If you lose focus, you lose your life." Auel gave a grim smile, "I think that will end our lesson for today, I appear to have a visitor."

To Boromir's surprise, Auel embraced the young student, and he saw how small they were, at least half a foot smaller than him. He suddenly realised that the student was a woman, no, a girl, almost on the brink of womanhood. Her dark hair was twisted up into a knot at the base of her neck, her face pink and flushed. She glanced shyly in Boromir's direction giving a brief bow, and turned to leave.

"Has the situation in Gondor grown so bad, we must ask our women to defend it now?"

Boromir spoke in jest, his face broken by a wide smile for his old teacher, but the older man paused and frowned at his comment. The young woman was still in earshot, and she paused, her back straightened and for a moment he thought she would turn to make some retort, but instead she stalked from the room with her head held high. Boromir had the grace to feel slightly ashamed that she had overheard.

"If all warriors in Gondor fought like that young woman, we would have little

trouble from Mordor."

Auel was not a man to give idle praise, but the pride was evident in his voice. "She reminds me of a warrior I once taught, reckless and pigheaded. I believe they made him a Captain... If I could only recall his name,"

Boromir laughed, "But not all the women of Gondor are learning to wield a sword?"

Auel gave a wry smile. "That was no ordinary woman of Gondor, that was the daughter of Veradan."

"Daya?" Boromir couldn't quite equate the girl that had followed him around as a child, with the reasonably skilled warrior he had just seen.

"In most Northern lands women are allowed to become warriors. Veradan requested that I train Daya in the art of her ancestors. She is an excellent swordswoman, on foot or horse... When she concentrates."

"But she is just a child."

"In a years time she will make her Appearance." Auel was referring to the ceremony that marked a girl's coming of age, the first time she dressed as a woman. "Veradan is very proud of her, and he has every right to be so."

Boromir was not present for Daya's Appearance; in fact it was four years before he saw her again. He had almost forgotten the day he had insulted her, but Daya had not. She had told him later that she had been angry and humiliated by his comments, but she had noticed him that day, and had hoped he would not be absent from Minas Tirith for long.

He returned to Minas Tirith, older and perhaps a little wiser. He had immediately headed for the Great Hall, to greet his father. To his shock his father had aged dramatically in the time of his absence, and for the first time Boromir saw his father as a man of age. His father greeted him warmly, and bade him to sit on the chair next to his. It was then the doors had opened, and a woman had entered the room. She wore a heavy gown, but moved gracefully towards the two men, carrying a cushion that bore a small branch. The branch came from the Tree of Gondor and was used to welcome Gondor's sons back to the city. The woman knelt before him, holding out the branch for him to touch, and as he stretched out a hand, her eyes, a rich warm brown, had flickered upwards, and met his. He recognised her then.

Daya, in his absence, had grown beautiful, or perhaps she had always been beautiful, and he was only seeing it for the first time.

Her pale skin seemed translucent, and he thought it would be warm if he touched it. The light of the candles in the hall caught in the shine of her hair, she was confident and graceful, and he felt his heart beat faster as she caught his eye. The contact lasted for the briefest of seconds, it was against tradition that she should raise her eyes, it appeared to be an accident, but Boromir would think of that moment for many days to come. He could barely believe that this was the same girl he had mocked years previously, mocking her as he had done as a child, and pushing her aside, a child to his man. Boromir realised that she was no longer a child, but a woman, and he ached for her.

At the feast, held that night in his honour, he watched her, distracted by her presence. He knew that Gondor prized their women, for they were beautiful and intelligent, but on that night, none could compare with Daya. She wore a robe of gold, and her hair tumbled to her shoulders. Boromir tried to eat, but could not focus on his food, for he was aware of her every movement, every time she turned to speak to the man on her right, he would burn with jealousy. He heard her laugh, and at the sound he lifted his head towards her, and caught her eye.

For the briefest of moments they stared at each other, and then she ducked her head.

When she glanced shyly back at him, he was still watching her, and she smiled at him, before looking away once more. For Boromir it felt as if the hall had vanished, and left them alone. He could not draw breath, so strong was his desire.

Denethor had noticed the look past between his son and Daya, and he was not displeased by it. Daya's family was a proud one, a line of chieftains, and a joining between the two families would be a strong one.

His father had found him the next day and they had spoken of her.

"She is a beautiful woman, my son. Her father tells me that she is intelligent too, well versed in our history. She understands the nature of war, and is deadly with a sword. It would be a strong match..."

Denethor had paused, wanting to gauge his son's reaction. When he had not objected to the idea, Denethor had smiled, and left the matter there. Boromir understood that the marriage would be a political arrangement for his father, but he wanted Daya to love him, if they married, and to love her in return.

It had been purely by accident that they had met for a second time. Boromir had gone to see Auel to discuss the training of the young soldiers, and had been persuaded to practice with his master as they spoke. Halfway through the routine, Daya had interrupted, and Auel, claiming his age was against him, had let Boromir partner her as she ran through the moves she knew so well. She was smooth and fluid, with a lethal speed that Auel was skilled in developing in the young warriors of Gondor. She seemed eager to prove herself, remembering his comments of years ago, but he could not be persuaded to fight back too hard, for fear of hurting her. In retaliation she lunged suddenly, and it took all his skill to block the blade with his own inches from his face. She had used both her hands, and was forced close to him, her weight behind the sword, and he pressed back. In a deadlock they had stood, and he had been close enough to kiss her, and he had wanted to, but suddenly she laughed and stepped away, sheathing her thin blade.

"You fight well," his words came out thickly, "As well as any warrior."

He smiled at her, a light sheen of perspiration dotted her brow, and she seemed to have enjoyed the brief combat.

"Thank you, Lord" she was surprised at his praise, but took it as one who knew they were skilled would.

"Lord? So you do remember me."

 It was rare that anyone used his title, but she was aware of it and used it accordingly.

"How could I forget Lord Boromir? The Great Boromir?" she teased him, hiding shyly behind her hair. "You locked me in the battlements for eight hours when I was five. But perhaps I should ask if you remember me?"

He coloured, recalling the incident of which she spoke. He had promised to take her to see the elves, and instead locked her in a small damp room in the wall of the battlements. It had only been Faramir risking his brother's wrath that had led to her being found.

"I did not treat you kindly, Daya, daughter of Veradan."

To his relief she smiled again.

"We were children. I did not care then, and I do not care now. When you mocked me, it meant that you noticed me," Daya had flushed then, and turned her head away.

"You would have me notice you?" He asked her. He could see the effort it took for her to look at him.

"I would always have you notice me, Lord Boromir."

She had left the room then, and Boromir had loved her for her confession. It heartened him that she might return any feeling that he had for her, she was like a dream, and he was lost in her, but for some reason their paths did not cross again for many days.

Boromir would catch sight if a dark haired woman, walking ahead of him in the palace, or standing on the battlements, and he would catch his breath, his heart leaping in the hope that it might be her. Denethor was pleased by the development of the relationship, but had not tried to influence his beloved elder son in anyway, letting it progress naturally.

The warrior was falling in love, seeing beauty everywhere, because of the young woman. He felt as if he was surrounded by her, and discovering to his surprise that a romantic heart did beat somewhere inside him. Finally, summoning his courage, he asked a soldier to deliver a message to her, to arrange a meeting. He had waited for her, in the White Tower, pacing along the small balcony that looked out across the city. The sun had been setting, and his heart beating so loudly he had feared it would drown out his words when he spoke. Then she had arrived.

Dressed in a deep red, she had waited for him to speak, bowing her head slightly. He had seen the way the fingers of her left hand played with the folds of her heavy skirt, betraying her nervousness.

"Daya, daughter of Veradan, I ask forgiveness for my behaviour."

"Son of Denethor, you need not ask for my forgiveness, for nothing you have done warrants it."

"I have been remiss in not seeking your company sooner."

"You have it now."

"Yes," it was difficult to speak, "Do you, do you think of the future?"

"Sometimes. I dream of it. The same dream for many years now."

"Would you tell it to me?"

"I dare not. For if you laughed, my dream would be destroyed."

"Will you not trust me? If on my oath, I swear not to laugh or ridicule."

She paused as if an inner struggle was taking place somewhere inside her. When she finally spoke her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I feel that I am destined for something. A higher fate carves out my future. For many years now, my destiny has been visible to me, and has walked closely to me. He is a Man, of pride, and of dignity. A man of strength and honour, and I dream that I will walk near him, on the path that life takes. It may be the same path that we walk together, or one that runs in parallel to his. My destiny and fate is entwined with his."

For a moment Boromir had remained silent, and with his blood pulsing in his veins, torn between jealousy and hope, he had asked who this man was. It took vast amounts of courage for her to answer.

"It is you, Boromir. You and no other. I have known you since I was a child, and loved you since before I understood what the feeling was. Since we last met I have thought of little but you, and your return to Minas Tirith has been all that I have desired for four years. That you might return and..."

She had fallen silent suddenly, as if she thought she had said too much.

"And?" He had pressed, elated by what he was hearing.

"I hoped that you might find me worthy, Lord Boromir."

 He could see she was trembling, and had kissed her then, drawing her into his arms, and planting his mouth firmly on hers, feeling her tense, and then relax into his embrace.

After that first kiss there had been many more, and when the opportunity arose, they would meet in some private place, even for the briefest of moments. Finally Boromir had gone to his father and announced his intent to marry Veradan's daughter.