For those who keep track of dates, Boromir was born in the year 2978, two years after Denethor II married Finduilas of Dol Amroth. Boromir would have been 18 in the year 2996, unless my math is wrong.  The purpose of this story is to show how easy it is for young men to fall in love (read lust). It is the women who must be levelheaded.

Forever Loved

It had been several days since Boromir's encounter with Miriel. Once they had reached the castle's main gates, Dol Amroth sentries had taken charge of the Prince's grandson and Miriel had disappeared like a puff of smoke. Boromir's wound had indeed reopened, but he refused to say how. The last thing he wanted was for her to be punished because of his carelessness. Imrahil had been adamant that Boromir remain confined in the House of Healing until he was completely recovered.

With nothing to occupy his time, Boromir found himself constantly thinking about the young woman. He filled his days imagining what she might be doing, and the nights dreaming about her beauty. More than once he awakened to find the sheets drenched in sweat. The servants feared that the soaked sheets might be due to the return of his fever, though the chief healer said otherwise. The Steward's heir had become restless and extremely moody, and they were at their wits' end to find a way to keep the young lord happy.

* * * * * * * * *

"The healers tell me that, although your health is improving, your disposition is not. What ails you?" The Prince of Dol Amroth's son did not like his nephew's depressed demeanor. Boromir sat slumped in a high-backed chair beside the room's small hearth, chin cupped on the palm of one hand, eyes staring vacantly into the fire. Imrahil could not remember a time when he had seen Boromir so low. Worried, Imrahil pulled up a chair across from his nephew and sat down. "What is wrong? You are not your usual complaining self." He waited for the caustic reply such a comment usually elicited, but his nephew remained uncommunicative. Imrahil sighed. "What can I do to make the time pass more pleasantly for you during your convalescence? I know it has not been easy for you, lying in bed with nothing to do. "

Boromir's dark gray eyes moved from the fire to his uncle. "I am bored. I have no one my age to talk with. In fact, the only person my age I have seen is that young woman you sent to fetch me. Miriel, I think her name was." Imrahil was watching his nephew closely and so did not miss the slight flush that crept up his neck as he spoke the girl's name.

Ah, he thought. Boromir pines for the lovely Miriel. Now I know what ails the lad. Aloud, he said, "The sick room is no place for young ladies. Besides, she has been busy with preparations for the feast in honor of your upcoming birthday. Miriel is a valuable member of my household. Her skills for planning parties and formal dinners for dignitaries are legendary."

Boromir turned his eyes back to the fire and attempted to make his voice sound nonchalant. "Is she one of the kitchen servants?"

Imrahil chuckled. "Nay, lad, Miriel is not a servant. She is the daughter of the Captain of my father's Swan Knights. After she completed her education she wished to find something to fill her days besides knitting and sewing. She has a good mind and a gentle disposition, and gets along stunningly with all manner of people. When her father asked if we might have some little chore to set her to until he could find her a suitable husband, I immediately suggested she oversee the entertainment of Prince Adrahil's guests."

Boromir immediately brightened and sat up straighter in his chair. "I am a guest. Could she, perhaps, see to my entertainment?" Imrahil frowned.

"Exactly what sort of entertainment did you have in mind? Miriel is not one for dalliances, and her father is extremely protective of her virtue. If it is company for your bed you seek, I must insist you search elsewhere."

Boromir was indignant. How could his own flesh and blood think him so base?! "Uncle, I would never soil her good name. I merely wish for someone my age to talk to. And to play chess with." He looked at Imrahil guilelessly and with what he hoped was a sincere expression. He was relieved to see his uncle relax and even smile.

"If that is all you want, then I will ask the lady if she is willing to make the time to keep my nephew from becoming bored." Boromir's face brightened considerably. Imrahil was suddenly worried that pairing the two was not such a good idea. "I must reiterate that Miriel will only be here to improve your state of mind. The healers say you will never heal properly if you continue to mope about. I must caution you, Boromir, not to get your hopes up that something will come of this. Miriel has dashed many young men's hopes by her unwillingness to play what she considers silly games of the heart. Her father fears he will never marry her off."

Boromir looked dismayed. "Surely you are not about to withdraw your offer to have Miriel visit me? Uncle, please. I wish only for her company, not her hand in marriage or anything related to that subject. Please tell her that, if it will set her mind to rest."

Imrahil chuckled. "I will certainly relay your feelings to the lady. Mayhap she will consent to keep you company during the remainder of your convalescence." Imrahil rose from the chair, walked to his nephew's side and placed a hand gently upon the young man's shoulder. "Do not despair, Boromir. If Miriel refuses, I personally will find ways for you to spend your free time. In fact, I could use a chess partner myself. Would that cheer you up?"

Boromir swallowed hard. He could tell by the twinkle in his uncle's eyes that he knew Boromir was not particularly interested in the game of chess. However, he certainly could not admit that he had used his request for a game of chess as a ruse to see Miriel. "That would be most agreeable, Uncle Imri. I look forward to it … if Miriel refuses."

Imrahil slapped his nephew lightly upon the shoulder and left the room. Boromir heard him whistling as he walked down the corridor.

* * * * * * * * * 

Denethor's heir was watching gulls swoop down upon the waters that formed the Bay of Belfalas. Boromir was standing alone upon the promontory, restless, waiting for Miriel. The two young people had spent a couple of afternoons together in the garden adjacent to the House of Healing. Boromir still could hardly believe the young woman had agreed to spend time with him. Although he had requested her company, he had doubted that she would acquiesce. But the lady had and now he was smitten with her.

The young captain was not certain that spending any more time with her was a good idea. Her dark beauty was driving him to distraction and he was not certain he could continue to control himself. Other than a few visits to the brothels in Minas Tirith, he had no previous experience with women. Miriel was the first female who was not a family member he actually had talked to for any length of time. The afternoon they met, he was ill at ease and extremely short on conversation. His father had been more concerned that his son learn the art of battle and so had neglected to teach Boromir the finer art of courtship. Today was his 18th birthday and his knowledge of women was limited mostly to what the "ladies of the night" had taught him between the sheets of their beds. There were times when the young heir deeply regretted that his mother had not lived long enough to round out his education. This was definitely one of those times.

He smelled her even before he heard her. The keen instincts that kept him alive in battle were now attuned to the person approaching his position. A broad smile tilted the corners of Boromir's mouth and he turned to face her.

"My lord, I am here. How can I serve the Steward of Gondor's heir?" Boromir's breath caught in his chest as he saw how beautiful she looked framed in the pink glow of the sunrise.

"I, er, I ..." Boromir stopped speaking, unable to think of words that were appropriate for a lady. He wanted to tell her how lovely she looked and how grateful he was for her company. Were she a courtesan, he would have asked her to lie with him then and there. But what could he say to the daughter of the Captain of the Swan Knights?

"Perhaps I could suggest something?" Miriel's eyes glinted with humor, embarrassing Boromir even further. "Shall we go down and walk along the beach? I promise not to overtire you, my lord." Boromir nodded in agreement and they started down the steep bluff. Boromir looked back once and saw two castle guards watching them from a discreet distance. Even within the relative security of Dol Amroth his safety was not taken for granted.

The two walked side by side for nearly half a mile before the young heir began to feel light-headed. His pride, however, kept him from saying anything and he trudged resolutely beside the much healthier Miriel. She finally noticed his color and came to an abrupt halt.

"You should have said something. You are in pain! Come, let us sit upon the grass at the beach's edge." She took Boromir's hand and led him to a grassy spot. As she began to take off her cloak, Boromir's chivalrous side took over.

"Here, now, keep your cloak. It is too cold for you to be without. We shall use mine. I feel too warm with it on and so will not miss it." As he began unfastening the silver brooch at his throat, Miriel placed her hands over his.

"Nay, my lord. We will sit on mine and share yours. Is that satisfactory?" Boromir noted a slight flush to her cheeks and wondered if she had something in mind besides sheltering from the cold. He quickly discarded that idea, however, because Miriel was, as Uncle Imrahil had said, a lady and definitely not one for a mere dalliance. He watched her closely as she shook out her cloak and laid it upon the ground. Turning, she smiled shyly and held out a hand to him. As soon as her flesh met his, Boromir's heart began to beat rapidly, his pulse jumped and he felt the familiar tightening in his trousers that was always welcome in the brothels, but was an embarrassment in this particular time and place.

Hoping she would not notice his discomfort, Boromir allowed himself to be led to where the cloak lay. He helped Miriel sit down, then eased himself gingerly into a sitting position.

"You look uncomfortable, my lord. Is there anything wrong?" Her eyes were guileless and Boromir doubted she was mocking his condition or, for that matter, was even aware of it.

"I have exercised far more than is wise for my health. It is only that my wound causes me discomfort, nothing more." He tried to look as though he was putting on a brave front just for her so that she would not guess the truth.

"We should go back. The Prince and his son will never forgive me if I bring you back in worse health than when we left. I am supposed to take your mind off your injuries, not make them worse." Boromir smiled and took one of her small hands in his.

"I know a way you can make me feel better. Mayhap you could grant me a kiss?" Miriel blushed deeply and turned her gaze away from him and to the bay.

"You ask much, my lord, for I have never kissed a man who is not a relative. I do not believe my father would approve."

Boromir felt foolish. Why would a young woman from a good family even consider such an intimacy with a man to whom she was not betrothed? "I do not know what came over me, my lady. Please forget I said anything. I did not mean to offend you." He began to rise but she took hold of his arm to stop him.

"I take no offense, my lord," she said softly.

Boromir settled next to her again, pleased that she still wanted his company. "Please, call me by my name. 'My lord' sounds so informal."  Miriel smiled shyly, whispered his name, and they sat silent for several minutes. He thought he could hear her heart beat, but deemed it more likely that it was the sound of his own racing heart. Unexpectedly she leaned against him and placed her lips lightly upon his. Boromir had to fight the instinct to put his arms about her, for such an action could lead to more intimate contact. After what seemed an eternity, Miriel pulled away from him. Her eyes, however, remained locked upon his.

"You requested a kiss, and a kiss I have bestowed, but only because it is your birthday. Are you satisfied?" Instead of answering her, Boromir moved forward and attempted to kiss her back. She placed two fingers upon his lips and he froze. "Do you see a future for us?" Boromir looked perplexed and Miriel continued, "Would you even consider marrying the daughter of a soldier? I am not of noble birth. Think you that your father would give us his blessing to wed should we wish it?"

Boromir sighed. "I believe I am falling in love with you, Miriel. I cannot think beyond this moment." Her light laughter startled him.

"I believe you are confused, my lord. My father has warned me against such pretty words spoken by a man who hardly knows me. I believe you want something more than I can give. Perhaps we should return to the castle." Boromir frowned. He felt as though she was mocking him.

"I am not an inexperienced fool who does not know his own heart. I believe that my feelings for you are true ones. Who are you, an innocent maiden, to judge the sincerity of my feelings? You know nothing of men; therefore, how can you know their motives?"

Miriel threw back her head and laughed until tears sprang from her eyes. "Do you honestly believe that a few nights spent in a brothel make you wiser than I?" She smiled knowingly at his surprised look. "Aye, Boromir, I have heard of your exploits -- both on and off the field of battle. You have been the main target of gossip since you arrived in Dol Amroth. Even though you say you may be in love with me, I believe you will agree that we shall never have a future together as man and wife. Therefore, I suggest we content ourselves with being friends. I should truly consider it an honor to be your friend." Saying this, Miriel held her breath, afraid that the young man beside her might become angry. He was, after all, Prince Adrahil's grandson and the future Steward of Gondor. She doubted that too many women refused his advances.

Boromir looked deeply into her wide, gray eyes and saw that she was sincere. Surprisingly, he felt relieved. The whole situation had become far too complicated for him. "I should be honored to have you as my first female friend. And, despite your protestations, I do love you." His tone challenged her to disagree with him again.

Miriel sighed. She was grateful that there would be no ugly confrontation. She smiled shyly and leaned toward him. "To seal our friendship, I grant you one more kiss -- but only one. Do you agree? You may consider it my birthday present to you."

Boromir nodded solemnly and remained unmoving as she again pressed her soft lips upon his. He longed to take her into his harms and kiss her the way the women in the brothels had taught him, but knew that was not the way mere friends should kiss. When the kiss was finished and Miriel had moved away from him, Boromir was surprised to find that he was not aroused. "When I leave Dol Amroth, will you write to me?" he asked.

Miriel looked surprised. "Why, whatever could I write that would be of interest to a warrior such as yourself? I fear that my life will seem dull compared to your life as a captain of your own company."

Boromir grimaced. Only someone who had never been to war would think of a soldier's life as glamorous. "I should enjoy hearing about life in Dol Amroth. As you can see by my wound, there is nothing attractive about battle. I would be grateful for the distraction. So, is it settled? Shall we be friends?" Miriel nodded enthusiastically. "Then I shall write to you of my life in Minas Tirith and about my battles. And in return, you shall tell me all the boring details of your life here by the sea."

Miriel looked out over the Bay of Belfalas. "I would not trade my life for yours, even should I know I would some day become the most powerful person in Gondor." Turning to face the young man beside her, Miriel said solemnly, "I pledge my loyalty and my friendship to you until death us do part."

Boromir picked up a corner of his cloak from the ground and unfastened the silver brooch. He hefted its weight in his hand before offering it to Miriel. "I should like you to keep this to remember me by."

Miriel shook her head. "Nay, I cannot. It is far too grand a gift for a mere friend. Were I to wear that it would certainly set tongues to wagging. It is the emblem of the House of the Stewards and it must be worth a king's fortune. Nay, my lord, you keep it. It is enough that you leave me with such a happy memory and that you have asked to be my friend." Boromir nodded his understanding and replaced the brooch upon his cloak. "Now, we must away. It is your birthday, you know, and it would not do to be late to your own party. Besides, I believe that your Uncle Imrahil has sent guards to fetch you back."

Boromir placed a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. "Nay, Miriel. Those are your father's men. It is well we did not share but a kiss. Even my position as the Steward's son could not save me had we done aught else."

Miriel grinned impishly, took his arm and helped him stand. They began walking toward the guards, hand in hand. They would remain friends until the day Boromir died at Amon Hen.

Authors Note: Despite Miriel's protestations, Boromir left the silver brooch in the keeping of his Uncle Imrahil, who became Prince of Dol Amroth in TA 3010. After the War of the Ring, Imrahil gave the brooch to Miriel, who was by then married and the mother of two strapping boys, one of whom was named Boromir.

THE END