Legolas walked slowly out onto the porch of the house of Elrond and leaned on one of the intricately carved posts, looking out across the beautiful landscape, bathed in the lilac glow of twilight. His keen dark eyes could pick out almost every blossom on each tree. He thought of his home in Mirkwood, a fair place blighted by the name given it by history. He noticed Aragorn walking purposefully back into the gardens, no doubt to see the Lady Arwen, he thought with a smile. The lives of Men were like blossoms, fair flowers that bloomed as swiftly as they died, their lifetimes a moment in his own. There was something Legolas would never comprehend fully of Men; their deaths. Being an Elf, and immortal, he could not fathom the endings of what seemed to him brief moments in the sun. Where did the souls of Men go after death? Did they abide in the halls of Mandos or vanish forever from the earth, leaving only fading memories in the minds of those they loved?
Legolas smiled ruefully at himself and his wandering thoughts. He was about to turn back to his bed when a step on the stair near where he stood signalled a presence.
"Boromir".
The man looked somewhat abashed after his slight confrontation with the Elf at the Council. He fumbled with the sleeve of his tunic before speaking.
"I apologise for my abruptness at the Council, Legolas, I did not know of Aragorn's identity then".
The fair Elf nodded his approval. Then, smiling amiably, he turned and leaned against the post to face the man.
"What is it you want, son of Gondor?"
Boromir looked sheepish, "How did you know I wanted to ask something?"
"You would not have waited until this evening to apologise if you had truly felt the need to do so, Boromir".
Boromir knew this was true. He decided to get straight to the point. He walked up the stairs to be level with the Elf. Sitting down in the chair opposite Legolas he clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward on his knees.
"What does the name Lasmenel mean?"
Legolas smiled broadly. A man showing curiosity in the meanings of Elven names was rare in Middle-Earth.
"Lasmenel?...It is a Sindarin name, meaning a leaf green haven, that is, of the stars". Legolas noticed that the rough translation seemed to be satisfactory, as Boromir nodded half to himself in a manner that suggested he should have known the meaning.
"Why this particular name, Boromir?" Legolas asked, half guessing the answer.
The man looked at his feet before answering, not quite meeting Legolas' look.
"I chanced upon a lady while walking in the gardens. Her name was Lasmenel", he admitted.
Legolas grinned.
"Was she so fair, Boromir, that words of apology now fall from your lips as easily as cries to rally troops?" he asked mischievously.
Boromir looked up at the tall Elf.
"She was fair beyond anything I have seen in Middle-Earth, Master Elf, with eyes that were as green as - nay, a deeper shade of green than all the trees in Rivendell".
The look of awe and enchantment in the man's face did not go unnoticed by Legolas. He unfolded his arms and walked slowly back into his quarters.
"She is Lasmenel, called Calengil, daughter of Edomir and Ithiluin, son of Gondor, and a sword maiden not to be trifled with. However-", and here the Elf paused at the doorway, "t'would seem you are not the only one in the house of Elrond that sleep has not beckoned".
With this, the tall Elf left Boromir, casting a pointed look out onto the lawns before retiring.
Boromir followed his gaze and saw, to his excitement, a slender figure walking slowly across the grass towards the rooms on the other side of the house. It was Lasmenel. He rose quickly from the chair and ran softly down to the grass to intercept her before she too retired to bed.
Running swiftly he caught up with her and fell into her stride, walking beside her in silence for some minutes before speaking. Her face was even more beautiful in the moonlight, if such a thing were possible, bringing out the glint in her dark green eyes.
"My lady".
She paused and looked at him, a smile fluttering on her lips.
"My lord Boromir", she said half wryly, half expectantly, taking in his handsome face.
"I thought we would walk again through the gardens of Elrond".
Lasmenel smiled knowingly, "There is no light from the trees in the evening, Boromir".
"Then why should we not walk under the stars?".
Lasmenel nodded her assent and they turned back across the lawns, and entered the dense shadows of the trees. The night was still cool, and yet there was unrest in the air, it seemed to Lasmenel. Perhaps it was her imagination. Boromir walked a respectful distance behind her. She could feel his eyes on her and the sensation brought a wave of warmth to her face and fingertips. Shaking it off, she waited for him to catch up, signalling that he could walk level with her.
Boromir felt his breath quicken as Lasmenel gestured for him to approach. Striding up to her, they continued deeper into the woods. So absorbed in their thoughts were they that neither realised how close to the borders of Rivendell they were. Darkness fell, cloying and heady. Boromir felt his head spin as Lasmenel looked at him, the moonlight flickering over her captivating features. Likewise Lasmenel felt exposed under his wondering gaze, his handsome and proud face suddenly transformed into one of yearning and unfulfilment. He was beginning to understand the power that the Elves wielded in those they loved. Lasmenel half wanted to reach out and smooth the look of consternation on his face, wipe away the grim, battle hardened exterior and reveal the man underneath.
It was only when they reached the opposite shore of the protective waters of the ford surrounding Rivendell's border that they even realised that their feet were wet, and that they were in serious danger.
Lasmenel gasped as she realised where they were, glancing around at the tall trees in front of them, which seemed ominous and threatening. Boromir, noticing that they had crossed the protective border, also grew wary.
A whispering sound made them both turn to the dark trees. Lasmenel drew her sword with one smooth, fluid movement, its blade glimmering as the moonlight wandered over the Elven runes engraved into the metal.
"What is it?" Boromir whispered.
"Something evil approaches", Lasmenel whispered back.
Another sound shattered the stillness. Boromir drew his short sword, wishing he had brought his shield with him. Lasmenel looked at him.
"You have your weapon".
"Its absence became too hard to bear", he replied darkly.
As if from nowhere, a black robed figure on a black steed crashed out from the undergrowth, wielding a dark blade and screeching unearthly cries that tore the night. Lasmenel cried out and leapt backwards, her sword Celebrith at the ready.
"A Nazgûl! " she cried part in fear and part in warning to Boromir. She knew that these were what pursued the Ringbearer. She knew the evil hidden under the black hood. The Black Rider wheeled his steed around the face her.
"Begone, foul wraith! Blight these fair lands with your presence no longer and return to your master to cower before his dark glare!"
Boromir stared agape at Lasmenel. A transformation had taken place over her. Her face was suddenly proud, fearless and fiercely beautiful as she looked upon her enemy, her sword clasped in both hands, the blade in a horizontal line before her face in defence. She looked fair and terrible all at once, and Boromir's heart smote him as he beheld her, shining like a star before the darkness of her foe.
He ran to her assistance. The Black Rider wheeled his foul steed round again, and struck at Lasmenel. Her blade rang out against his with the clarity of a bell as she fended off his crushing blows.
"We will have the Ringbearer, woman, for all your attempts to defend him", the hissing voice screeched.
"Not while the light of Telperion shines!" Lasmenel cried defiantly and swung at the Rider's arm.
The Rider was devious, however, and, rearing his steed up onto its hind legs. turned it's head to Lasmenel, who was knocked backwards trying to avoid the thundering hooves flailing wildly at her head. The Rider simultaneously delivered a pulverising blow with his sword that she bravely fended off as best she could before falling to the ground.
Boromir struck at the Rider's unprotected leg, drawing black blood from the evil flesh. The Rider screamed and turned to face him, slashing at his defenceless arm and at his face as Boromir defended himself.
Suddenly, hearing the cries of another Rider from within the woods, the Ringwraith spun his steed around and rode off into the darkness, the hooves of his black steed thundering into the distance.
Boromir stood as if in a daze and then turned his attention to Lasmenel. She got up slowly from the hard ground and sheathed her sword.
"Are you hurt, my lady?"
She shook her head and motioned to cross the water. They ran swiftly across the flowing
stream, and into the safety of the protected trees of Rivendell. They slowed to a walk, and proceeded back to the house in silence. Lasmenel lagged behind slightly, rubbing her left shoulder as if it aggravated her. They were some way into the gardens when Boromir noticed and halted.
"You arm is hurt, my lady".
Lasmenel smiled painfully and nodded. "It does not bleed".
Boromir walked to her and gently felt her upper arm and shoulder. Her arm had been torn out of the socket with the force of the Rider's blow. She was lucky it was not broken. He led her carefully over to the trunk of a nearby tree. She leant against it for support, her back to the smooth, cool bark.
"This will cause you pain for a moment", he said.
She nodded, her face calm and withdrew her hand from the injured arm. Boromir grasped her arm and shoulder firmly with his hands. He marvelled at the slender limb and the strength it held. Looking deep into Lasmenel's eyes he pushed the arm back into the socket with one forceful movement.
Lasmenel turned away and her face contorted into a grimace of pain. But she did not cry out, however much the motion hurt her. Boromir felt his admiration for her swell at her bravery.
She turned back to face him and rubbed her shoulder ruefully.
"I should have been wiser, more careful".
"You were facing a foe beyond your power, my lady, with the courage and skill of a seasoned warrior".
Lasmenel briefly frowned, "I should have turned back before we reached the border-this would never have happened".
Boromir defended her from her own criticism, "No, I was the one in the wrong, asking you to accompany me to walk under the stars. It is my fault you were hurt."
Lasmenel looked at him intensely.
"We are both to blame, then. Our minds were on other things".
Boromir half grinned, half blushed at the truth in her words. Did she know what he had been thinking while they had walked in silence? How he had longed to caress a strand of her hair, shining like silver in the moonlight, to bring a lock of it to his lips and pay it tribute? Boromir shuddered pleasantly at the thought. His had been a long and solitary journey to Rivendell.
Lasmenel looked down at the blossom strewn grass.
Boromir realised he was still standing inches from her, one arm leaning on the tree trunk as he stood over her. Lasmenel looked up at him again and he was ensnared in her gaze, in the light of her eyes.
Boromir placed his other hand on the other side of the trunk by her waist, hesitantly, but emboldened by her silence, the palms of his hands burning.
Lasmenel drew a hand up to his face and stroked his cheek. Boromir closed his eyes at the touch of her fingertips on his skin.
"You are hurt".
Boromir opened his eyes. Lasmenel showed him her hand. The fingertips were smeared with blood. He hadn't even realised he was bleeding.
She slowly pulled a dark scarf of thin green material from her dress sleeve. Winding it around her hand she subtly wiped away the blood and cleaned the cut on his proud cheek. The look of concern in her face dared him to believe that she was beginning to feel for him as he did her. Lasmenel lowered her hand after finishing stanching the wound. Boromir intercepted the hand midway through its journey and clasped it in his. The movement shifted his balance and he leaned in closer to her. His hand released hers and dropped powerless to his side.
Tentatively he lowered his head towards hers, hoping fervently that Lasmenel would let him. He paused, his mouth hovering uncertainly a fraction away from hers.
Lasmenel exhaled slowly, her breath breaching the gap between their lips. Boromir blinked in order to keep a grip on reality as the woods swam around him. Her mouth grazed his achingly slowly, a searing sensation flooding to his lips. Boromir gasped, his breath escaping in a shuddering breath. Never had a woman instilled such sweet torture in him through such a small gesture before. Lasmenel stroked his cheek again, drawing him in closer. He froze.
And then she turned away and began to walk out of the clearing. Boromir looked up as if he had just acknowledged her departure and reached out a pleading hand.
"Lasmenel, don't leave me again -"
She looked at him, her face a potent mixture of conflicting emotions. Afraid to reveal her true emotion she smiled a little sadly at Boromir, standing before her looking almost bereft, an emotion in sharp contrast to his normally morose face, his hand stretched out for her.
"I am sorry-I will escort you back to the house", he apologised, resuming his warrior stance and replacing the look of loss with one of responsibility and indifference. She inwardly sighed, recognising that he was unwilling to display this hidden side to himself for long.
Lasmenel retraced her steps back to him and, taking his hand in hers, wound the green scarf around his palm, securing it around his wrist, his tense muscles covered by the sheer material.
She pressed her hand to his chest, above his heart. He could feel it pounding wildly beneath her smooth palm. Lasmenel fixed his wavering eyes with her own searching green gaze, roaming his masculine face.
"I have seen the heart of the warrior this night, Boromir - I have yet to see the heart of the man".
With this epitaph she left him, floating away into the gardens like a fleeing spirit.
Boromir stood motionless, and briefly fluttered his eyelids closed before setting his jaw in a stern line and returning to his quarters.