a/n: This takes place in a sort of alternate universe where Faramir and Eowyn aren't together yet, just friends. Boromir lives because this is a lighthearted tale and to have it marred with the grief of Boromir's absence would hurt too badly. I hope you all enjoy it!

A Captain and a Hobbit's Love Story

Chapter One

Diamond of Long Cleeve, a particularly pretty Hobbit girl with a particularly pretty un-Hobbit name, strode down the empty streets of Minas Tirith with tears glittering in her eyes and running down her cheeks. She was walking out on who she thought to be the most selfish, stupid, and ridiculously shy Hobbit she had ever laid eyes on and would not stop if he had called her back to apologize or propose marriage.

I suppose that is how she found me. I just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when the pretty Hobbit girl showed up and because of it my world, well, crumbled from that moment on.

I was stargazing. I do that quite often, especially on nights when solitude suits me. I had wanted to be alone that evening because there was a huge banquet going on that the King had pitched to honor the guests from the Shire on their third visit to Minas Tirith. I had been invited – come to think of it, everyone had been invited - and I made an appearance, but just to greet Peregrin, Meriadoc, Samwise and Frodo, whom had become my friends in the past two years.  I had no idea there were more little folk visiting, and had not been prepared to greet them!

My friend, perhaps the dearest friend in all the world to me, Eowyn, had come all the way from Rohan with her brother, King Eomer of the Mark, and would be staying for a while to see the Hobbits again, and to visit the King and Queen (along with my brother and myself). She arrived a fortnight ere that day and had fully expected me to make more than just an appearance at the banquet; so when she saw me leaving after the first five or so minutes we parted with bitter words.

Before I go on further, perhaps I should give you the reasons why our bitter parting had me so downcast that night.

Put simply, I was in love with her. I loved the ground she walked on, I loved the air she breathed, I loved every word she spoke, I loved her golden tresses of hair, I loved her piercing eyes, I loved her musical voice – I even loved her when she was scolding me! I loved her more than I had ever loved anything. When she walked by me my heart would fall into my stomach and I would become sick with a joy I had never felt before.

It had all started from the first moment I saw her, when she had been eager to go back to the battle and resented being shut up in the House of Healing; but me? I was content to just look at her; just to hear her voice as it danced with the sounds of the wind.

Even after all of the battles, all of the grief and the heartache and the war and peace I had been through I still could not summon the courage to tell her this. Eowyn was a shieldmaiden and would have nothing to do with love, or marriage, that I was sure of. She saw me only as a friend, but I knew that one day we would be together. The stars and the moon insisted upon it. I could feel it in my bones so deeply, so madly…it was such a burning, wrenching feeling that I would often forget to breathe and my brother would have to revive me (it was particularly embarrassing when I would be meeting with my King and forget to breathe in his presence).

So now you know why I loved her, and why my spirits had fallen so that night.

I was lying on my back on the ground – yes, on the street. Rather the side of the street. My brother and I had given up our past…very large homes in the tower for homely sized lodgings just right for a solider in separate buildings about six streets apart from one another. My brother was now the Steward of Gondor, and I was the Captain. Boromir, however, whenever approached with the topic, vowed that at any sign of attack he would drop his duties as Steward, grab his sword and run into battle himself if no one would give him a horse. My brother drank in the glory of battle.

Forgive me, I strayed from the subject.

So I was lying on my back, on the side of the street and looking up into the dark, cloudless sky. She was a very dark color; a rich navy blue or black, I could not determine which and that was why I was so absent of myself when the Hobbit girl threw herself at me. The wind was sweeping gently through the streets and even went low enough to sweep through my hair and make the skin on my bare arms prickle. I smiled faintly as my eyes followed a nameless trail of stars that winded beyond my vision, and my voice hummed in my throat.

I was only smiling and humming because I had been remembering what Eowyn had looked like when she had verbally assaulted me about missing the banquet for the shire folk visitors. I was so caught up in memories that I did not hear the footsteps of the girl.

Before I could muster any kind of response there were two feet planted on either side of my chest, and a tear streaked face looking down at me. It was the hobbit girl I keep talking about: Diamond of Long Cleeve, as you probably suspected. But I did not know that then, and when she dropped to her knees and gripped my collar with her little hands and pulled my lips to hers I did not know how to react. I remember making some sort of helpless shout deep in my throat, but she ignored it and continued to kiss me.

Then Diamond released me, and my head fell back with a rather discomforting thump onto the (hard) streets of Minas Tirith. My eyes were wide and my jaw slacked open stupidly– but at least I remembered to breathe. She gazed numbly down at me, but I could see in her eyes that it was not I she saw. It was something that had broken her heart and she was, in a very unusual way, taking it out on me.

Though no apology reflected in her eyes or in her tone, she still said in a weary, broken-hearted voice, "I'm sorry. I should have expected one of you big people to never have seen a Hobbit before." she got off of me and began to walk off, gathering up her delicate skirts in her little fingers and gingerly departing. I shook my head to clear away the fog and doubled to a sitting position, turning to watch her leave. After a moment of stunned silence, I only found it my duty to inquire,

"Will you be all right, little lass?"

Diamond did not turn, but replied over her shoulder, "Who knows? Will the sunrise tomorrow, will the stars still shine if it doesn't? Only time will tell." And then she turned a corner and was gone. I did not know if it had been a dream or not so I just settled back down, cast my gaze back to the darkened sky and watched the stars move ever so slowly above me. Just as slowly did I bring my hand up to touch my lips – they still burned of the little maiden's kiss, and I could not help but wonder what would have driven her to do such a thing.

Then I thought of Eowyn, and how it would be – how wonderful it would be if she had been the one to steal the kiss and not the Hobbit lass. And in turn I would steal her heart just as she had stolen mine, and the world would stop turning, the great Rivers would stop flowing and the Elves would stop chiming their song for just a moment – and it would be the two of us, caught in a moment we would never forget, while the rest of Middle Earth faded into grey and blue in the background.

Well, I was suddenly so overcome with thoughts of the woman I loved that I forgot to breathe, and the next thing I remember was the toe of a boot nudging my ribs and voices chattering back and forth above me.

"He forgot to breathe again?"

"Aye, it happens, do not worry yourself over him." Boromir's voice rumbled to my ears and I groaned, then quickly pulled in a sharp breath before slitting my eyes at the two new figures that hovered over my prone body. One, of course, was my brother and the other was

"My King!" I scrambled to my feet too fast for my own good and nearly blacked out again, but my brother steadied me with his strong arms and I was able to salute the Steward and the King. "My apologies, King Elessar. I…" my voice went softer from the humiliation I was suffering and I finished my sentence with all the dignity I could muster. "I forgot to breathe."

"Faramir, my friend, you should just tell the White Lady how you feel." Aragorn's voice held sincere concern for me, but I could not even begin to think of myself when my King had ventured all the way out here to see if I fared well. It was nothing for my brother, however. Boromir had met Gondor's lost King when he reached Imladris nearly two years ago. They had been through death and life together, and were as good of friends as the Dwarf and the Elf Legolas, if not better. Boromir rarely even addressed Aragorn as 'King' unless it was at a formal occasion, and Aragorn did not mind in the least.

I, however, had not come that intimate with my King – I was not so much a friend as I was an admirer and was content to call him 'King Elessar' like every other solider in our armies.

At the King's words I bowed my head slightly and shrugged my shoulders. "I am afraid it is not that simple, King Elessar. You know that as well as I do, Boromir." I met my brother's eyes and he smiled at me; one of those devilishly arrogant grins. The King's guards were suddenly on the three of us like flies on honey and our King finally departed for the night. My brother, however, remained with me and we both ended up sprawled on the ground once more, looking into the sky as we had in the days of our youth.

"The strangest thing just happened…" I began to tell him of the beautiful Hobbit lass that had kissed me, but his deep voice drowned mine out.

"The White Lady was not happy when I last saw her, Faramir." Boromir turned his head sideways so he could look at me fully. His green eyes held sympathy and I resented that. Everyone, especially my brother, saw me still as a lovesick boy, not a solider stricken with the sight of the embodiment of love. "I would advise caution when you speak to her next."

"I will. Eowyn and I never quarrel long."

"That is good to hear." He blew a piece of light hair from his eyes and looked back to the stars. "You know I grieved when Denethor left us, Faramir. You know that." His voice had become serious now, and I folded my hands behind my head, mirroring his position. I nodded.

"Aye, of course, Boromir. Why do you think I would doubt it?"

"Well…despite my grief for his death, one good thing has come of it." I knew his words made him feel much guilt, and all I could do was listen in silence. "If Denethor was alive today he would never allow me to consort with one such as Selma at all."

I felt a faint smile come onto my lips. Selma was a commoner that Boromir had met some years ago. She ran an inn and eating house on the outside of the city, and when Boromir had departed for Imladris they somehow became acquainted and when he returned he paid her more and more attention. I met her once before, I suppose, and thought she was quite respectable for someone of her class. But unlike my brother, I did see her as anything but a soul to talk with every now and then.

The problem had been that in life Denethor had wanted the marriage between Boromir and Eowyn (though he never openly came out and told us, it was found in his diaries when my brother and I searched his books), and would have denied Boromir his inheritance if he were to wed the inn keeper. I had been surprised that my father would deny his beloved son anything.

"You will come to the wedding?"

I grinned this time, shooting him a practical glance. "I will, brother, but before I do it seems necessary for you to propose first."

Boromir snorted. "What an event that will be – the Steward wedding an inn keeper. I admit, Faramir, I fear the reaction of the people." I could say nothing to ease his discomfort, for I too at first had been cold to the idea of Selma and my brother being anything other than friends, but I had learned so much in the past two years that I found it hard to judge any person because of their social status. Daily did I still hear voices singing of the Halfling, no more than a simple citizen of the Shire, that had saved all of Middle Earth. In my heart, I knew class meant naught.

"You? Fear?" My teasing was all the comfort I could offer. "Well, I never – "

Boromir reached over to swat at me playfully. I saw a grin breaking on his stern face once more, and we lay there for sometime in silence, just watching the stars go by. Finally, he pulled heavily to his feet and dusted himself off.

"I must get to bed, Faramir, the ale and the hours of the day are finally getting to me." he extended a hand and pulled me up to meet his still proud gaze. "Will you meet us for breakfast tommorrow?"

"Where shall we dine?" I asked, repressing a laugh. "Or needn't I ask?"

"You know me too well." He replied, pursing his lips and knitting his brow for a moment out of a long held habit. He seemed to be looking down my street at something, but I did not know what it was, nor could I possibly try to weasle my way into my brother's thoughts.

Finally, Boromir turned to me and offered, "Why do you not bring the White Lady along? Would she mind dining outside the walls of nobility?"

"Of course not, but she may mind dining with me." I finished my sentence gravely and met his eyes; then we both broke down in peals of laughter. Before long, however, he wished me a good night and made for his own chambers. I watched him go as I stood, folding my still bare arms across my chest and lazily allowed the memories of our youth run about my thoughts. This happened all too often ever since I nearly lost him over a year ago; I would remember the times when he would try to teach me how to use a sword and I would end up staring at the wings of a butterfly, or when I would attempt to sing him an Elvish tale and he would end up trapping me in a head lock death grip until I promised that it would be the last one I would sing.

With a smile on my lips I silently thanked the fair folk that had found my brother and saved his life, and brought him back to me. If ever I tried to picture myself standing alone while regarding the silent stars, the image would not come. Without him, I was nothing.