Disclaimer-I doesn't own it, though precious, I wish I did. I shall
go and cry now-NOT!
'It was a pretty picture, full of grace,--
The slender form, the delicate, thin face;
The swaying motion, as she hurried by;
The shining feet, the laughter in her eye,
That o'er her face in ripples gleamed and glanced' -*-*- Boromir stood on the tailor's stool, pins poking his arms and a frown on his face. He surveyed himself critically in the mirror, frowning more.
"Having fun, are we?" Faramir peeked around the door, coming in to show off his snow-white doublet, the pearls flashing in the light from the window. Boromir huffed. He turned, rather stiffly, to face his brother, a small shower of pins in his wake.
"It is not amusing, brother, to poke fun at me while I am thus attired in pins, Faramir, else I would wound you grievously where you stand. And yes, I am having masses of fun." At the dangerously sarcastic tone, the younger man backed up.
"Well then, I shall be sure to make certain you are being fitted for your wedding garments the next time I decide to 'poke fun' at you." He chuckled. "You look rather handsome, though." Boromir smiled as well.
"And I should like to say that you, too, brother, look rather handsome. Of this I am quite glad, since the best man at my wedding should be in proper fashion." He grimaced; a pin had jabbed his midriff. "However, I would like it to be noted that proper fashion can be-somewhat painful." Faramir chortled.
"Brother, you look fine, and I assure, the pain is well worth the gain." He danced around the pin-constrained Boromir. "And I tell you, Brother, that your bride-to-be's dress is coming along very nicely. Although..." he whispered his cheeky remark about getting the dress off in his brother's ear, to which the older man fumed, and rounded his brother upside the head, getting poked several times in the process.
"Back to the tailor's with you, Faramir, and I wish the same discomfort to you on your wedding night, which I await with great joy and greater mirth." The younger backed out of the room, still laughing at his brother's crimson face.
-*-*-
Maire looked out the door as the still guffawing Faramir went past, a disapproving frown on her face.
"Someone's quite the merry-andrew today. Rhos, please hold still. This dress does not pin itself together, and I am loath to prick you with a pin."
"I am sorry, Maire, but I cannot be still. I have too much on my mind. Getting married is a big event."
"And a royal marriage even bigger. And I assure you, Boromir looks positively dashing. The ladies of the court will envy you greatly." The younger sighed.
"Already they envy me, those his Lordship's age, and those my senior, those he could have married and those who already have husbands, they all scorn me, look at me like dirt, and grudge me even the slightest of kindnesses." Rhoswen looked at her maid, still anxious.
"Is he really handsome?" Maire chuckled.
"You know that answer well enough yourself. Yes, Rhos, he's the very picture of a god. The ladies' envy is not misplaced." The lady in waiting got off her knees, standing back to survey her handiwork, straightening the shoulders and tugging the bottom down a bit.
"And you, milady, look every inch the goddess. Let me get you out of the dress, and you may go sit and play your harp, if that is what you desire." The servant began the tedious task of unpinning the dress, the flighty young woman shaking with anticipation. Sliding the weighty white cloth over her head, Maire handed her mistress her green day gown, which the latter slid over her head with a pleased sigh.
"It is a welcome change to be out of the heavy damask, Maire. How long is the ceremony to be?" The serving woman slid the frock over a wooden dummy, and sat with a needle, carefully making stitches as Rhoswen laced up her gown. A sudden rap on the door caused Rhoswen to half drop the unlaced dress, and Maire to prick herself, turning on her stool to see Boromir rather sheepishly knocking on the door. Rhoswen felt a flush rise in her cheeks at being half-dressed in front of her future husband. Maire, sensing Rhoswen's discomfort, barked-
"Milord! If I may be so bold as to ask you to avert your eyes until the lady is properly attired?" Boromir raised his eyebrows, and, at seeing the blushing Rhoswen, standing in the middle of the room with her dress half on, quickly turned around to face the tapestry in the hallway. Rhoswen quickly knotted the stays on her dress, and smothered the gathering wrinkles in the skirt.
"You may turn around now." Maire, looking from the steward's son to her mistress, smiled slightly and bowed out of the room, suppressing a snicker.
"I...had come to ask you to take a walk with me. I, too, have been standing on a stool for the better part of the morning, and the fresh air would be a welcome change. Your company...would be most obliging in making my walk a bit more favorable." Rhoswen blushed.
"I would be honored, milord." She stepped off the taboret upon which she had been standing, taking his hand as she went. Maire brought her a light cloak, and fastened it around her neck. There was a pleasant silence as the two walked down to the gardens hand in hand, both just enjoying each other's company.
Rhoswen fingered a new leaf, the small green growing thing new and light in her hand.
"Are you nervous?" Rhoswen straightened, and turned to look at Boromir, who was standing a few feet away, watching her.
"Nervous about what, milord?"
"Nervous about marriage. You were a week ago-and some time has passed since then. Still you are apprehensive of it?" Rhoswen blushed.
"Now that I know I cannot escape this fate, it seems to have lightened it's load on my mind. Apprehensive? Yes, but the tides of time have ebbed it. I no longer cower in your presence, milord." Boromir chuckled, stepping closer and taking her hand.
"One other thing we need to fix-stop 'milord-ing' me. You are to be my wife. Boromir will do just fine." Rhoswen smiled a little. "I hear your dress is coming along?" The young woman's smile broadened, happy to be back on a subject she knew.
"Yes. It is to be white, with a belt of silver at my waist. The cloth is imported from Anfalas; the master of the weaving guild there sent it as a wedding present." She stopped, and smiled. "Why am I talking to a man of woman's work? I am sure I have you quite bored." Boromir yawned comically, and Rhoswen nudged him in the ribs as if still in her toddler years. Boromir promptly took hold of her waist and lifted her up in the air, spinning her around and setting her back down.
"See! Progress already! The last time I did that, you were within inches of screaming." He kept an arm around her waist as they walked, Rhoswen's hand on top of his, anchoring the arm there. "And yes, this morning has been very tedious. I have been mocked by my brother, been made to stand on a stool all morning to be fitted for an outfit I will wear only once, and- well, I was not a happy man this morning."
"Then let us hope to cheer you?"
"My dear Rhoswen, you are succeeding admirably. For you, all grim thoughts melt away and leave my mind as pure as fresh snow." Rhoswen chuckled.
"If you had not been born the first son of the steward, B-Boromir," she stumbled over his name, "you would have made an excellent poet." At sensing the frown that was imminent at this remark, Rhoswen drew back. "I am sorry if I have offended." Boromir's face, a few seconds ago stony, turned remorseful.
"Another thing you have yet to learn, fairest, is that you need not always seek pardon for something you have done, for I am to be at fault for that. I thought only of my brother then, and I despond of him. Our father does not hold him highest in his favors." He looked at the sky, which was beginning to darken with another spring rain. "We should get inside, else we will be sodden returning to our chambers." He offered an arm, and Rhoswen took it, a little less happy then she had been before they had come outside.
When they reached her doors, Boromir laid an arm across the door, making it impossible for the young woman to open the door.
"A kiss, darling?" Rhoswen looked up at him, and, standing on tipped toes, gave him a peck on the lips. But before she could get down, he was holding her, prolonging a moment of bliss. His tongue gently skimmed her lips, parting them. Rhoswen nearly fainted. When he set her back down, she was shaken, but- in a good way, giddy from the top of her head to her toes.
"May I expect...many more of those?" Boromir smiled.
"Many, and often, if my lady rose desires it. Good bye, my love. I shall dream of you till next we meet." Rhoswen, half in the open door, had to clutch the door to keep from falling over laughing as Boromir dramatically bowed his parting.
"Ha! Who's the merry-andrew now?" Boromir was back in his apartments, watching the rain on his window, transfixed.
"What?" He turned to look at his brother, who was standing ten feet away, brandishing his hand as if hacking orcs with a sword.
"Who's the merry-andrew now? I saw you kissing the Lady Rhoswen like it was the end of the world, and you wanted your say before death should do you part." Boromir looked at his brother, clearly bored.
"Faramir, I await the day when you fall in love and see for yourself that there will be one woman in your life for which you are willing to make an absolute fool of yourself with great amusement. Really, brother, the woman who marries you will have to either be the goddess of love herself, or some shield maid who will just barge in and steal your heart anyway." Faramir considered this.
"You know, brother, that it was not long ago indeed when the only prospect of marriage for you were the two aforementioned options, and look! Your heart's been ensnared by a rose!"
"Rose though she may be, I love her, and nothing save death could tear us apart. Besides, I am particularly fond of roses. And this one is quite beautiful. Besides, that means there is hope still for you." Faramir stopped, frowned, and then chuckled at the thought.
"Of course, Boromir, there was that time when we were- nine?- when you trampled mother's roses playing war in the garden. And that time when we were twelve and one of the maids put a rose in your hair when we went a- maying, and you declared that you'd hate roses forever." Boromir smacked his forehead. Faramir looked at him as if he had lost his marbles. "Are you quite all right?"
"Maying! That is what I've forgotten. I do hope this rain lets up soon." The younger brother looked at his elder as though he had just decided to take a picnic to Mordor.
"You never go maying. You never have, as long as we've been of age, and you've said yourself a hundred times that you never will." Boromir looked at his brother, his eyes full of mirth.
"Brother, I have a love now, and it is a perfect excuse. The whole court goes wild for a day, and I intend to be there." Faramir went back to his room, shaking his head. Boromir could just hear his mumbled
"At the touch of love, every man becomes a poet- Nay, at the touch of love, every man goes mad!"
-*-*-
* Curtain falls, audience applauds. * You like me, you really like me!
Author's notes (or her Pulitzer acceptance speech)
Lotr-nutcase- my one and lovely reviewer- BOROMIR, THOUGH SHALT LIVE! Yes, indeed, everyone's favorite dead guy will, alas, not be dead. *Snickers * And yes, this is pre-fellowship. All will be explained in due course. The next two chappies will be together, as it may make more sense, as I wrote the whole damn thing and am now posting based on reader feedback.
DID YOU HEAR THAT? I WANT FEED BACK!
However, you will have to read my other fic ' Journey through the dark' * subliminal messaging* to see how Boromir doesn't die. *heheheheh * Rhoswen does have a cameo in that one though.
The precious, it calls to us...or is it the little blue button in the corner? C'mon, you know you want to.
'It was a pretty picture, full of grace,--
The slender form, the delicate, thin face;
The swaying motion, as she hurried by;
The shining feet, the laughter in her eye,
That o'er her face in ripples gleamed and glanced' -*-*- Boromir stood on the tailor's stool, pins poking his arms and a frown on his face. He surveyed himself critically in the mirror, frowning more.
"Having fun, are we?" Faramir peeked around the door, coming in to show off his snow-white doublet, the pearls flashing in the light from the window. Boromir huffed. He turned, rather stiffly, to face his brother, a small shower of pins in his wake.
"It is not amusing, brother, to poke fun at me while I am thus attired in pins, Faramir, else I would wound you grievously where you stand. And yes, I am having masses of fun." At the dangerously sarcastic tone, the younger man backed up.
"Well then, I shall be sure to make certain you are being fitted for your wedding garments the next time I decide to 'poke fun' at you." He chuckled. "You look rather handsome, though." Boromir smiled as well.
"And I should like to say that you, too, brother, look rather handsome. Of this I am quite glad, since the best man at my wedding should be in proper fashion." He grimaced; a pin had jabbed his midriff. "However, I would like it to be noted that proper fashion can be-somewhat painful." Faramir chortled.
"Brother, you look fine, and I assure, the pain is well worth the gain." He danced around the pin-constrained Boromir. "And I tell you, Brother, that your bride-to-be's dress is coming along very nicely. Although..." he whispered his cheeky remark about getting the dress off in his brother's ear, to which the older man fumed, and rounded his brother upside the head, getting poked several times in the process.
"Back to the tailor's with you, Faramir, and I wish the same discomfort to you on your wedding night, which I await with great joy and greater mirth." The younger backed out of the room, still laughing at his brother's crimson face.
-*-*-
Maire looked out the door as the still guffawing Faramir went past, a disapproving frown on her face.
"Someone's quite the merry-andrew today. Rhos, please hold still. This dress does not pin itself together, and I am loath to prick you with a pin."
"I am sorry, Maire, but I cannot be still. I have too much on my mind. Getting married is a big event."
"And a royal marriage even bigger. And I assure you, Boromir looks positively dashing. The ladies of the court will envy you greatly." The younger sighed.
"Already they envy me, those his Lordship's age, and those my senior, those he could have married and those who already have husbands, they all scorn me, look at me like dirt, and grudge me even the slightest of kindnesses." Rhoswen looked at her maid, still anxious.
"Is he really handsome?" Maire chuckled.
"You know that answer well enough yourself. Yes, Rhos, he's the very picture of a god. The ladies' envy is not misplaced." The lady in waiting got off her knees, standing back to survey her handiwork, straightening the shoulders and tugging the bottom down a bit.
"And you, milady, look every inch the goddess. Let me get you out of the dress, and you may go sit and play your harp, if that is what you desire." The servant began the tedious task of unpinning the dress, the flighty young woman shaking with anticipation. Sliding the weighty white cloth over her head, Maire handed her mistress her green day gown, which the latter slid over her head with a pleased sigh.
"It is a welcome change to be out of the heavy damask, Maire. How long is the ceremony to be?" The serving woman slid the frock over a wooden dummy, and sat with a needle, carefully making stitches as Rhoswen laced up her gown. A sudden rap on the door caused Rhoswen to half drop the unlaced dress, and Maire to prick herself, turning on her stool to see Boromir rather sheepishly knocking on the door. Rhoswen felt a flush rise in her cheeks at being half-dressed in front of her future husband. Maire, sensing Rhoswen's discomfort, barked-
"Milord! If I may be so bold as to ask you to avert your eyes until the lady is properly attired?" Boromir raised his eyebrows, and, at seeing the blushing Rhoswen, standing in the middle of the room with her dress half on, quickly turned around to face the tapestry in the hallway. Rhoswen quickly knotted the stays on her dress, and smothered the gathering wrinkles in the skirt.
"You may turn around now." Maire, looking from the steward's son to her mistress, smiled slightly and bowed out of the room, suppressing a snicker.
"I...had come to ask you to take a walk with me. I, too, have been standing on a stool for the better part of the morning, and the fresh air would be a welcome change. Your company...would be most obliging in making my walk a bit more favorable." Rhoswen blushed.
"I would be honored, milord." She stepped off the taboret upon which she had been standing, taking his hand as she went. Maire brought her a light cloak, and fastened it around her neck. There was a pleasant silence as the two walked down to the gardens hand in hand, both just enjoying each other's company.
Rhoswen fingered a new leaf, the small green growing thing new and light in her hand.
"Are you nervous?" Rhoswen straightened, and turned to look at Boromir, who was standing a few feet away, watching her.
"Nervous about what, milord?"
"Nervous about marriage. You were a week ago-and some time has passed since then. Still you are apprehensive of it?" Rhoswen blushed.
"Now that I know I cannot escape this fate, it seems to have lightened it's load on my mind. Apprehensive? Yes, but the tides of time have ebbed it. I no longer cower in your presence, milord." Boromir chuckled, stepping closer and taking her hand.
"One other thing we need to fix-stop 'milord-ing' me. You are to be my wife. Boromir will do just fine." Rhoswen smiled a little. "I hear your dress is coming along?" The young woman's smile broadened, happy to be back on a subject she knew.
"Yes. It is to be white, with a belt of silver at my waist. The cloth is imported from Anfalas; the master of the weaving guild there sent it as a wedding present." She stopped, and smiled. "Why am I talking to a man of woman's work? I am sure I have you quite bored." Boromir yawned comically, and Rhoswen nudged him in the ribs as if still in her toddler years. Boromir promptly took hold of her waist and lifted her up in the air, spinning her around and setting her back down.
"See! Progress already! The last time I did that, you were within inches of screaming." He kept an arm around her waist as they walked, Rhoswen's hand on top of his, anchoring the arm there. "And yes, this morning has been very tedious. I have been mocked by my brother, been made to stand on a stool all morning to be fitted for an outfit I will wear only once, and- well, I was not a happy man this morning."
"Then let us hope to cheer you?"
"My dear Rhoswen, you are succeeding admirably. For you, all grim thoughts melt away and leave my mind as pure as fresh snow." Rhoswen chuckled.
"If you had not been born the first son of the steward, B-Boromir," she stumbled over his name, "you would have made an excellent poet." At sensing the frown that was imminent at this remark, Rhoswen drew back. "I am sorry if I have offended." Boromir's face, a few seconds ago stony, turned remorseful.
"Another thing you have yet to learn, fairest, is that you need not always seek pardon for something you have done, for I am to be at fault for that. I thought only of my brother then, and I despond of him. Our father does not hold him highest in his favors." He looked at the sky, which was beginning to darken with another spring rain. "We should get inside, else we will be sodden returning to our chambers." He offered an arm, and Rhoswen took it, a little less happy then she had been before they had come outside.
When they reached her doors, Boromir laid an arm across the door, making it impossible for the young woman to open the door.
"A kiss, darling?" Rhoswen looked up at him, and, standing on tipped toes, gave him a peck on the lips. But before she could get down, he was holding her, prolonging a moment of bliss. His tongue gently skimmed her lips, parting them. Rhoswen nearly fainted. When he set her back down, she was shaken, but- in a good way, giddy from the top of her head to her toes.
"May I expect...many more of those?" Boromir smiled.
"Many, and often, if my lady rose desires it. Good bye, my love. I shall dream of you till next we meet." Rhoswen, half in the open door, had to clutch the door to keep from falling over laughing as Boromir dramatically bowed his parting.
"Ha! Who's the merry-andrew now?" Boromir was back in his apartments, watching the rain on his window, transfixed.
"What?" He turned to look at his brother, who was standing ten feet away, brandishing his hand as if hacking orcs with a sword.
"Who's the merry-andrew now? I saw you kissing the Lady Rhoswen like it was the end of the world, and you wanted your say before death should do you part." Boromir looked at his brother, clearly bored.
"Faramir, I await the day when you fall in love and see for yourself that there will be one woman in your life for which you are willing to make an absolute fool of yourself with great amusement. Really, brother, the woman who marries you will have to either be the goddess of love herself, or some shield maid who will just barge in and steal your heart anyway." Faramir considered this.
"You know, brother, that it was not long ago indeed when the only prospect of marriage for you were the two aforementioned options, and look! Your heart's been ensnared by a rose!"
"Rose though she may be, I love her, and nothing save death could tear us apart. Besides, I am particularly fond of roses. And this one is quite beautiful. Besides, that means there is hope still for you." Faramir stopped, frowned, and then chuckled at the thought.
"Of course, Boromir, there was that time when we were- nine?- when you trampled mother's roses playing war in the garden. And that time when we were twelve and one of the maids put a rose in your hair when we went a- maying, and you declared that you'd hate roses forever." Boromir smacked his forehead. Faramir looked at him as if he had lost his marbles. "Are you quite all right?"
"Maying! That is what I've forgotten. I do hope this rain lets up soon." The younger brother looked at his elder as though he had just decided to take a picnic to Mordor.
"You never go maying. You never have, as long as we've been of age, and you've said yourself a hundred times that you never will." Boromir looked at his brother, his eyes full of mirth.
"Brother, I have a love now, and it is a perfect excuse. The whole court goes wild for a day, and I intend to be there." Faramir went back to his room, shaking his head. Boromir could just hear his mumbled
"At the touch of love, every man becomes a poet- Nay, at the touch of love, every man goes mad!"
-*-*-
* Curtain falls, audience applauds. * You like me, you really like me!
Author's notes (or her Pulitzer acceptance speech)
Lotr-nutcase- my one and lovely reviewer- BOROMIR, THOUGH SHALT LIVE! Yes, indeed, everyone's favorite dead guy will, alas, not be dead. *Snickers * And yes, this is pre-fellowship. All will be explained in due course. The next two chappies will be together, as it may make more sense, as I wrote the whole damn thing and am now posting based on reader feedback.
DID YOU HEAR THAT? I WANT FEED BACK!
However, you will have to read my other fic ' Journey through the dark' * subliminal messaging* to see how Boromir doesn't die. *heheheheh * Rhoswen does have a cameo in that one though.
The precious, it calls to us...or is it the little blue button in the corner? C'mon, you know you want to.