Disclaimer- I own nothing, and therefore, am nothing...I think. Dialogue
courtesy of new line cinemas. Nuf said.
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Boromir looked across the great city of Osgiliath, his viewpoint at the top of what had once been a great tower proffering a grand view. He could hear the men chanting his name as he planted the white and gold flag of the house of stewards into the broken tower, and his voice rang across the once white, now ash-blood stained ruins.
"This city was once the jewel of our kingdom, a place of light and beauty and music, and so it shall be once more! Let the armies of Mordor know this: never again will the land of my people fall into in enemy hands! The city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed for Gondor! For Gondor! For Gondor!" Cheering erupted through the ranks, and Boromir looked around, reveling in his victory.
Faramir walked up to congratulate him, clapping him on the shoulder, both laughing at the various degrees of disarray and dishevelment on the other.
"Good speech; nice and short." The older man laughed.
"Leaves more time for drinking. Break out the ale! These men are thirsty." Boromir poured two goblets from the nearest keg, and raising his in toast, drank up.
"Remember today, little brother. Today," Here he smiled, and raised the cup, "life is good." Faramir raised the cup to his lips, and drank. But he had been looking over his brother's shoulder at one figure clad in black, the silvered black-gray of his long hair framing his wizened face. Boromir saw his brother's mood darken, and asked with growing concern,
"What is it?" Faramir simply replied,
"He is here." His brother turned around, to see their father coming through the crowd. His face likened to Faramir's in mood, the once jovial smile turning to a frown of annoyance and perhaps anger.
"One moment of peace, can he not give us that?" Faramir could tell his brother was more than a little annoyed. Already, the two men could hear their father's voice, running rank with pride.
"Where is he? Where is Gondor's finest? Where is my firstborn?" Boromir quickly brightened his look for Denethor, who had finally made his way over to the duo.
"Father!" The elder man turned, and smiled.
"I am so proud of you! The captain heir's glories will be sung in the city tonight by many a bard. But let me not waste your time; There is someone else here who would like to see you." Boromir's eyes faded into joy at the sight of a young woman in the borrowed green cloak of a Ranger.
"Rhoswen!" He flung her name to the breeze, and she ran to him, the hood coming off to reveal black hair. He picked her up, and spun her around, her willowy hands slipping on his armored shoulders.
"It has been too long, my love." Oh, how that smile made him melt, how that voice made him tremble with passion!
"A thousand lifetimes." He set her down, and kissed the crown of her hair, relishing the smell of her damp hair and perfume. "Now that I see you here, I think my speech was empty words. Truly, the fairest jewel of Gondor is in my arms."
"You give me too much credit. Númenorean craftsmanship far surpasses me."
"Ah, but I would rather fight for you, dear rose, than any stonework long besieged."
"Your father was wise to not let your love be given soon- you would be torn from your work. But tell me of the battle. They say you vanquished the enemy almost single-handed." Her face was wreathed in smiles, the perfect picture of innocence and beauty, grace and laughter.
"They exaggerate." Boromir said quickly with a grin, turning to his brother. "The victory belongs to Faramir also."
"Then my congratulations are extended to Faramir as well. It has been long, brother." Faramir hugged the woman who was like a sister close, savoring the tang of her hair. Oh, to have a lover like her. "I thank you for the cloak."
"Not a favor that was ill to do, I see. It fits you well." She stood back and looked at both brothers, her face filled with laughter and light.
"I have not been all telling of what female ears may come upon- many a man has told me that both brothers were to be given merit for the triumph. See what good comes when you get your head out of your books, Faramir?" Denethor's cold tone brought him back down to earth swiftly.
"But for Faramir, this city would still be standing. Were you not entrusted to protect it?" Faramir quailed; this was so like his father. Rhoswen swallowed uneasily, her face falling intoafterthought.
"I would have done, but our numbers were too few."
"Oh, too few. You let the enemy walk in and take it on a whim." The Steward turned away from his younger son, looking at his firstborn.
"Always you cast a poor reflection on me."
"That is not my intent," Boromir's constrained even voice turned surly.
"You give him no credit, and yet he tries to do your will. All he wants is to please you!" He stalked off, his father following. Faramir and Rhoswen watched, and the younger woman sighed.
"I am sorry your father does not see eye to eye with you. Boromir does not mean to alienate you...it is evident I should not have come." The young woman looked down at her shoes. Faramir could begin to see why his brother was moved to adoration for this woman, why he wanted to protect her from anything, this delicate rose in the path of briars.
"Nay, sweet Rhos. Your coming is good for me, and for Boromir. All his thoughts have been at home. He needs you to live like fish need water. It is Father who should not have come." They turned at Boromir's angered yell from the corner where he stood talking with Denethor.
"My place is here with my people! Not in Rivendell!" The tall man began to pace away, Denethor laid a hand on his arm, attempting to pacify the stung ox. Faramir looked at his gauntleted hands, and stepped forward.
"If there is need to go to Rivendell, send me in his stead." Boromir looked at his brother, hopeful. Denethor's sneer returned.
"You? Oh, I see. A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality- I think not." Faramir's face fell ever so slightly, and Rhoswen saw the slightest of slumps in his proud shoulders at the graze to his pride. "I trust this mission only to your brother. The one who will not fail me." Boromir looked at Rhoswen, and then at Faramir, and his face fell.
"I am staying in the city for the night, as is Rhoswen. Be ready to leave at dawn's light tomorrow." Denethor turned on his heel and went through the ranks, a false smile back on, congratulating men as he went. Boromir looked at Rhoswen, his eyes regretful. Rhoswen took one of his gloved hands, and they walked silently to his quarters.
Once the door had been shut, Boromir sat down heavily at the plain table, head in his hands. Rhoswen's voice seemed small in this stark room.
"The wedding will have to be postponed."
"Forgive me, dear heart." Boromir's voice was heavy, as though he were trying not to cry.
"All is forgiven. The country matters more than I. Gondor needs her captain heir. Rhoswen can wait for Boromir." The captain looked up from his hands.
"It is a long road to Imaladris, precious."
"Then my patience will be tested."
"And mine wears thin! Father thinks only of Gondor, Gondor, Gondor. The captain heir does not want to go- he would rather stay and people think him a coward than be away from his rose." He sunk back into Rhoswen, standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders, gently massaging. "My country is a fickle mistress." He mumbled. Rhoswen chuckled.
"The rose will be taken care of, I assure you. There are many at its plot that know that the lord who grows the roses would be unhappy ere its color fades. And it will not care that country is paid more heed then it. Go to your councils. Make your father proud." Boromir turned to look at her at the mention of his sire, and stood.
"The Steward said you were to stay in the city tonight..." Rhoswen stepped back, her eyes showing fear.
"You would not...Boromir, the city is filled with men..."
"Who will be drunk, and not hear us. Please, Rhos, I beg you...I burn with unquenchable flame!"
"Your brother will hear!"
"Faramir will not care. Please...it is a three month journey...three months without seeing your delightful face..."
"It will not happen." Boromir's smile changed from contrite into thoughtful, and he rushed on the young woman, pinning her to the bed.
"Who wins?"
"Not you! Please, Boromir, it is I who beg you! What if you die?"
"Then it will be all the better for having had you in my bed."
"I will not be maiden! Who will marry me then?"
"No one...I've ruined you utterly, so now you shall have to pray I don't die!" He laid a series of kisses on her throat, taking in the warmth of her skin, the feeling of her breathing on his brow. He loved this feeling of another body beneath his, the rising and falling of her chest.
"For you, my dearest rose...I would pass all the circles of this world...slay dragons for your smile...swim oceans to hear your voice...die to feel your love again."
"High words, for a man who must have his reward now or perish for want of it." Boromir examined the bodice of her dress, and unsheathed his dagger, holding the blade so the light glanced on it.
"I think this will do nicely..." Rhoswen looked at the dirk with hostility.
"For what?"
"Why, to force your dress open, my dear woman."
"Boromir! Please, I have not brought a second dress."
"Then I shall find a way into this dress...perhaps a rebel inside will open the gates for me?" He pleaded with his eyes, fingers dancing amongst her hair, draped across the furs spread on his bed.
"Such things are for after dinner." Boromir lifted her legs on the bed along with the rest of her, and laid his head on her neck, nuzzling.
"Then I think I shall take rest while I wait." There was a pause. "This is sinfully comfortable. You should let me do this more often." The vibrations of her laughter reverberated through his head.
Boromir lifted his head from Rhoswen's gently moving chest a few hours later, opening the shutters to an inky sky, and stole out the door for dinner, leaving the soundly sleeping woman in his bed. In his bed, he thought with a smirk.
When Rhoswen awoke, Boromir was silently lighting candles, two plates of steaming food at either side of his table.
"What is this?"
"Dinner."
"How long have I been sleeping?"
"Nearly three hours. You are well rested, and that is good- I may not let you sleep tonight." Rhoswen groggily rose from the bed, looking warily back at it, and seating herself at the table, where Boromir was pouring wine into goblets. He drew up his chair, and sat with arms folded, staring entranced at her as she raised the cup to her lips. She looked over the lip of her chalice, and met his eyes, setting the cup back down.
"Why do you stare so?"
"I am drowning in your beauty, Rhos."
"Let us eat, before you steal my appetite and my heart." Boromir chuckled, and forked in a bite of the still steaming meat.
There was a resigned silence as they finished dinner, neither wanting to speak. Rhoswen drew back from the table, Boromir laying his hands on her shoulders. She looked over her shoulder.
"Why must you torment me so?"
"Love is torment, and I suffer as much as you, ablaze with insatiable passion. Can you not feel it? My blood boils!" He guided her quivering hand to his hip, her breathing quickening. His hand began to unlace her bodice, and the soft cloth fell to the floor. She turned, and ran a hand over his coat, her breathing striving to stay level, his catching in his throat. A coat joined the dress on the floor, followed quickly by a shirt and pants.
There was a furious scuffling, and a muffled groan of ecstasy as the candles guttered and went out in the quarters of the captain.
Faramir was nursing a headache. He'd been up more than was healthy, hunched over his papers. Boromir's saddlebags stood in the corner- he'd packed them right after dinner as his brother had asked. Massaging his head, he stood and stretched, peering out his window at the still darkened sky. There was an ardent groan from his brother's room next door, and Faramir, cocked an eyebrow, tiptoeing over to look through the crack in the door between the rooms.
Boromir's golden head was resting on a naked white shoulder, raven hair spilling across his tanned back. A hand- a disconcerting familiar female hand- spilled off the side of the bed, it's owner still in the throws of sleep. Faramir thought for the tiniest of moments that his brother looked rather good there before realizing that Rhoswen had probably spent the night there...a rather disquieting thought.
Rhoswen roused herself as the sun hit her eyes, uncomfortable with the weight of her lover pushing her into the bed.
"Boromir? Boromir, wake up please...the sun is nearly risen...your father will want you to leave soon."
"I don't want to leave...I want to stay with you like this forever."
"Not possible. Now get up...you're crushing me." Boromir shifted his weight, easing off of Rhoswen's willowy white frame, burying his nose in her spread out hair.
"Mmm...you even smell like roses..."
"You jest!"
"I do not, Rhos. You remind me of spring, full of blossoming beauty. " He gently ran a calloused finger over the whitened scars on her shoulder, her skin quivering at his touch. "A grievously paid reminder to take heed to all that which is fair."
"Get up, or your brother will wonder what kept you." Rhoswen pushed his hand away from her scar. There was too much emotion in that bite-what it meant, what it would forever be. A sign that she was weak and merited protection, a badge of frailty. It boded not well to be reminded of such things.
"Fine, I'll get off..."A chagrined heir of Gondor got up, stretching in the sliver of sun from the slightly cracked shutters. Rhoswen propped herself on an elbow as she watched Boromir look for his clothes, pulling a shirt and pants from a chest, and pulling them over his head. Rhoswen yawned.
"I suppose I shall have to get up too." She pulled a sheet from the bed and retrieved her clothes from the floor, stepping into the corner where anyone watching from the window couldn't see her.
"Boromir, be quick...your horse will need to be readied, and you still have to pack."
"Faramir packed for me...I would forget anything of consequence." He turned to go out the door, but Rhoswen hurled a slipper in his direction, catching him on the head. He turned, picked up the projectile, looked it over, and then looked at the thrower.
"Help me...my dress needs to be tied." Boromir smiled, and tied the stays with a practiced hand.
"I want to give you this..." Rhoswen picked up her necklace from the bedside table, a finely cut white stone on a silver chain.
"Wear it and remember me."
"Every waking moment...my dreams shall be full of you while I sleep. Rhoswen...if I should not return...I would like it be known that you should marry Faramir." The young woman stared.
"Do not speak so! You will return." Boromir shook his head soberly, painfully aware that this might be the last time he saw Rhoswen, and they would part in tears.
"It is a long road, and a hard one, and there are many dangers. But if I do not return, at least think better of my brother." Rhoswen looked about to speak, but it caught in her throat, and she turned away as he shut the door, crying into her hands.
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Well, I'm glad that's over. Having taken all considerations to heart when I added some things after the massive amount of reviews, I will now attempt to respond to all the LOVELY FEED BACK.
DID YOU SEE? I STILL WANT FEEDBACK! Truly, it does help me.
mystery science seed 3000 - I'm glad you think so! Thanks so much.
LOTR-nutcase-I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU! * faithful reviewer music starts*
Any way.... I have this problem wherewith I spout dialogue that my friends swear sounds like Shakespeare- believe me when I say that they think I'm the reincarnation of the Bard as a female.
The other review- Faramir shall not die either, and he will marry Éowyn (You saw/read all the good junk about him getting married and how Boromir will be laughing.). To destroy love, something that beautiful, that pure, is sacrilege in the highest of degrees. And Boromir is serious about marrying Rhoswen, but the CoE may be an axe in the works as far as going on with the wedding at the right date goes. And the steward thing...well, you have to read the rest of Gabrielin to see what happens there. (Do I see any review there? NO. Read and leave review! *Subliminal messaging*) As for the maying thing, I'm going to respond with a quote from 'Camelot' the musical I just finished being in.
"Gone a-maying, your majesty?" (see where that chapter got it's name!?) "Yes, It's a sort of picnic." "Pic...nic, your majesty?" "Well, yes...you eat grapes, and chase girls around trees...it's the time for flower gathering." "Knights gathering flowers, your majesty?" "Well, someone's got to do it!"
shalindra - I'm glad we're on the same page. (I don't want either to die, either.) And Rhoswen does have wits, you just haven't seen them yet. Right now, she's still in the uber-emotional stage. This is a big life change(read: getting married to someone you've never met) and she's mentally on a shaky ladder-read: unstable- but in chapter 4, she does show she has a brain, as evidenced above, and is not so quick to cry. Once she's gotten used to the fact that Boromir is not Boribble, she'll calm down a bit. Right now she wants to take the blame for everyone because she's just the kind of person that doesn't want anyone else to get hurt, showing (I think) immense strength of heart.
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Boromir looked across the great city of Osgiliath, his viewpoint at the top of what had once been a great tower proffering a grand view. He could hear the men chanting his name as he planted the white and gold flag of the house of stewards into the broken tower, and his voice rang across the once white, now ash-blood stained ruins.
"This city was once the jewel of our kingdom, a place of light and beauty and music, and so it shall be once more! Let the armies of Mordor know this: never again will the land of my people fall into in enemy hands! The city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed for Gondor! For Gondor! For Gondor!" Cheering erupted through the ranks, and Boromir looked around, reveling in his victory.
Faramir walked up to congratulate him, clapping him on the shoulder, both laughing at the various degrees of disarray and dishevelment on the other.
"Good speech; nice and short." The older man laughed.
"Leaves more time for drinking. Break out the ale! These men are thirsty." Boromir poured two goblets from the nearest keg, and raising his in toast, drank up.
"Remember today, little brother. Today," Here he smiled, and raised the cup, "life is good." Faramir raised the cup to his lips, and drank. But he had been looking over his brother's shoulder at one figure clad in black, the silvered black-gray of his long hair framing his wizened face. Boromir saw his brother's mood darken, and asked with growing concern,
"What is it?" Faramir simply replied,
"He is here." His brother turned around, to see their father coming through the crowd. His face likened to Faramir's in mood, the once jovial smile turning to a frown of annoyance and perhaps anger.
"One moment of peace, can he not give us that?" Faramir could tell his brother was more than a little annoyed. Already, the two men could hear their father's voice, running rank with pride.
"Where is he? Where is Gondor's finest? Where is my firstborn?" Boromir quickly brightened his look for Denethor, who had finally made his way over to the duo.
"Father!" The elder man turned, and smiled.
"I am so proud of you! The captain heir's glories will be sung in the city tonight by many a bard. But let me not waste your time; There is someone else here who would like to see you." Boromir's eyes faded into joy at the sight of a young woman in the borrowed green cloak of a Ranger.
"Rhoswen!" He flung her name to the breeze, and she ran to him, the hood coming off to reveal black hair. He picked her up, and spun her around, her willowy hands slipping on his armored shoulders.
"It has been too long, my love." Oh, how that smile made him melt, how that voice made him tremble with passion!
"A thousand lifetimes." He set her down, and kissed the crown of her hair, relishing the smell of her damp hair and perfume. "Now that I see you here, I think my speech was empty words. Truly, the fairest jewel of Gondor is in my arms."
"You give me too much credit. Númenorean craftsmanship far surpasses me."
"Ah, but I would rather fight for you, dear rose, than any stonework long besieged."
"Your father was wise to not let your love be given soon- you would be torn from your work. But tell me of the battle. They say you vanquished the enemy almost single-handed." Her face was wreathed in smiles, the perfect picture of innocence and beauty, grace and laughter.
"They exaggerate." Boromir said quickly with a grin, turning to his brother. "The victory belongs to Faramir also."
"Then my congratulations are extended to Faramir as well. It has been long, brother." Faramir hugged the woman who was like a sister close, savoring the tang of her hair. Oh, to have a lover like her. "I thank you for the cloak."
"Not a favor that was ill to do, I see. It fits you well." She stood back and looked at both brothers, her face filled with laughter and light.
"I have not been all telling of what female ears may come upon- many a man has told me that both brothers were to be given merit for the triumph. See what good comes when you get your head out of your books, Faramir?" Denethor's cold tone brought him back down to earth swiftly.
"But for Faramir, this city would still be standing. Were you not entrusted to protect it?" Faramir quailed; this was so like his father. Rhoswen swallowed uneasily, her face falling intoafterthought.
"I would have done, but our numbers were too few."
"Oh, too few. You let the enemy walk in and take it on a whim." The Steward turned away from his younger son, looking at his firstborn.
"Always you cast a poor reflection on me."
"That is not my intent," Boromir's constrained even voice turned surly.
"You give him no credit, and yet he tries to do your will. All he wants is to please you!" He stalked off, his father following. Faramir and Rhoswen watched, and the younger woman sighed.
"I am sorry your father does not see eye to eye with you. Boromir does not mean to alienate you...it is evident I should not have come." The young woman looked down at her shoes. Faramir could begin to see why his brother was moved to adoration for this woman, why he wanted to protect her from anything, this delicate rose in the path of briars.
"Nay, sweet Rhos. Your coming is good for me, and for Boromir. All his thoughts have been at home. He needs you to live like fish need water. It is Father who should not have come." They turned at Boromir's angered yell from the corner where he stood talking with Denethor.
"My place is here with my people! Not in Rivendell!" The tall man began to pace away, Denethor laid a hand on his arm, attempting to pacify the stung ox. Faramir looked at his gauntleted hands, and stepped forward.
"If there is need to go to Rivendell, send me in his stead." Boromir looked at his brother, hopeful. Denethor's sneer returned.
"You? Oh, I see. A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality- I think not." Faramir's face fell ever so slightly, and Rhoswen saw the slightest of slumps in his proud shoulders at the graze to his pride. "I trust this mission only to your brother. The one who will not fail me." Boromir looked at Rhoswen, and then at Faramir, and his face fell.
"I am staying in the city for the night, as is Rhoswen. Be ready to leave at dawn's light tomorrow." Denethor turned on his heel and went through the ranks, a false smile back on, congratulating men as he went. Boromir looked at Rhoswen, his eyes regretful. Rhoswen took one of his gloved hands, and they walked silently to his quarters.
Once the door had been shut, Boromir sat down heavily at the plain table, head in his hands. Rhoswen's voice seemed small in this stark room.
"The wedding will have to be postponed."
"Forgive me, dear heart." Boromir's voice was heavy, as though he were trying not to cry.
"All is forgiven. The country matters more than I. Gondor needs her captain heir. Rhoswen can wait for Boromir." The captain looked up from his hands.
"It is a long road to Imaladris, precious."
"Then my patience will be tested."
"And mine wears thin! Father thinks only of Gondor, Gondor, Gondor. The captain heir does not want to go- he would rather stay and people think him a coward than be away from his rose." He sunk back into Rhoswen, standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders, gently massaging. "My country is a fickle mistress." He mumbled. Rhoswen chuckled.
"The rose will be taken care of, I assure you. There are many at its plot that know that the lord who grows the roses would be unhappy ere its color fades. And it will not care that country is paid more heed then it. Go to your councils. Make your father proud." Boromir turned to look at her at the mention of his sire, and stood.
"The Steward said you were to stay in the city tonight..." Rhoswen stepped back, her eyes showing fear.
"You would not...Boromir, the city is filled with men..."
"Who will be drunk, and not hear us. Please, Rhos, I beg you...I burn with unquenchable flame!"
"Your brother will hear!"
"Faramir will not care. Please...it is a three month journey...three months without seeing your delightful face..."
"It will not happen." Boromir's smile changed from contrite into thoughtful, and he rushed on the young woman, pinning her to the bed.
"Who wins?"
"Not you! Please, Boromir, it is I who beg you! What if you die?"
"Then it will be all the better for having had you in my bed."
"I will not be maiden! Who will marry me then?"
"No one...I've ruined you utterly, so now you shall have to pray I don't die!" He laid a series of kisses on her throat, taking in the warmth of her skin, the feeling of her breathing on his brow. He loved this feeling of another body beneath his, the rising and falling of her chest.
"For you, my dearest rose...I would pass all the circles of this world...slay dragons for your smile...swim oceans to hear your voice...die to feel your love again."
"High words, for a man who must have his reward now or perish for want of it." Boromir examined the bodice of her dress, and unsheathed his dagger, holding the blade so the light glanced on it.
"I think this will do nicely..." Rhoswen looked at the dirk with hostility.
"For what?"
"Why, to force your dress open, my dear woman."
"Boromir! Please, I have not brought a second dress."
"Then I shall find a way into this dress...perhaps a rebel inside will open the gates for me?" He pleaded with his eyes, fingers dancing amongst her hair, draped across the furs spread on his bed.
"Such things are for after dinner." Boromir lifted her legs on the bed along with the rest of her, and laid his head on her neck, nuzzling.
"Then I think I shall take rest while I wait." There was a pause. "This is sinfully comfortable. You should let me do this more often." The vibrations of her laughter reverberated through his head.
Boromir lifted his head from Rhoswen's gently moving chest a few hours later, opening the shutters to an inky sky, and stole out the door for dinner, leaving the soundly sleeping woman in his bed. In his bed, he thought with a smirk.
When Rhoswen awoke, Boromir was silently lighting candles, two plates of steaming food at either side of his table.
"What is this?"
"Dinner."
"How long have I been sleeping?"
"Nearly three hours. You are well rested, and that is good- I may not let you sleep tonight." Rhoswen groggily rose from the bed, looking warily back at it, and seating herself at the table, where Boromir was pouring wine into goblets. He drew up his chair, and sat with arms folded, staring entranced at her as she raised the cup to her lips. She looked over the lip of her chalice, and met his eyes, setting the cup back down.
"Why do you stare so?"
"I am drowning in your beauty, Rhos."
"Let us eat, before you steal my appetite and my heart." Boromir chuckled, and forked in a bite of the still steaming meat.
There was a resigned silence as they finished dinner, neither wanting to speak. Rhoswen drew back from the table, Boromir laying his hands on her shoulders. She looked over her shoulder.
"Why must you torment me so?"
"Love is torment, and I suffer as much as you, ablaze with insatiable passion. Can you not feel it? My blood boils!" He guided her quivering hand to his hip, her breathing quickening. His hand began to unlace her bodice, and the soft cloth fell to the floor. She turned, and ran a hand over his coat, her breathing striving to stay level, his catching in his throat. A coat joined the dress on the floor, followed quickly by a shirt and pants.
There was a furious scuffling, and a muffled groan of ecstasy as the candles guttered and went out in the quarters of the captain.
Faramir was nursing a headache. He'd been up more than was healthy, hunched over his papers. Boromir's saddlebags stood in the corner- he'd packed them right after dinner as his brother had asked. Massaging his head, he stood and stretched, peering out his window at the still darkened sky. There was an ardent groan from his brother's room next door, and Faramir, cocked an eyebrow, tiptoeing over to look through the crack in the door between the rooms.
Boromir's golden head was resting on a naked white shoulder, raven hair spilling across his tanned back. A hand- a disconcerting familiar female hand- spilled off the side of the bed, it's owner still in the throws of sleep. Faramir thought for the tiniest of moments that his brother looked rather good there before realizing that Rhoswen had probably spent the night there...a rather disquieting thought.
Rhoswen roused herself as the sun hit her eyes, uncomfortable with the weight of her lover pushing her into the bed.
"Boromir? Boromir, wake up please...the sun is nearly risen...your father will want you to leave soon."
"I don't want to leave...I want to stay with you like this forever."
"Not possible. Now get up...you're crushing me." Boromir shifted his weight, easing off of Rhoswen's willowy white frame, burying his nose in her spread out hair.
"Mmm...you even smell like roses..."
"You jest!"
"I do not, Rhos. You remind me of spring, full of blossoming beauty. " He gently ran a calloused finger over the whitened scars on her shoulder, her skin quivering at his touch. "A grievously paid reminder to take heed to all that which is fair."
"Get up, or your brother will wonder what kept you." Rhoswen pushed his hand away from her scar. There was too much emotion in that bite-what it meant, what it would forever be. A sign that she was weak and merited protection, a badge of frailty. It boded not well to be reminded of such things.
"Fine, I'll get off..."A chagrined heir of Gondor got up, stretching in the sliver of sun from the slightly cracked shutters. Rhoswen propped herself on an elbow as she watched Boromir look for his clothes, pulling a shirt and pants from a chest, and pulling them over his head. Rhoswen yawned.
"I suppose I shall have to get up too." She pulled a sheet from the bed and retrieved her clothes from the floor, stepping into the corner where anyone watching from the window couldn't see her.
"Boromir, be quick...your horse will need to be readied, and you still have to pack."
"Faramir packed for me...I would forget anything of consequence." He turned to go out the door, but Rhoswen hurled a slipper in his direction, catching him on the head. He turned, picked up the projectile, looked it over, and then looked at the thrower.
"Help me...my dress needs to be tied." Boromir smiled, and tied the stays with a practiced hand.
"I want to give you this..." Rhoswen picked up her necklace from the bedside table, a finely cut white stone on a silver chain.
"Wear it and remember me."
"Every waking moment...my dreams shall be full of you while I sleep. Rhoswen...if I should not return...I would like it be known that you should marry Faramir." The young woman stared.
"Do not speak so! You will return." Boromir shook his head soberly, painfully aware that this might be the last time he saw Rhoswen, and they would part in tears.
"It is a long road, and a hard one, and there are many dangers. But if I do not return, at least think better of my brother." Rhoswen looked about to speak, but it caught in her throat, and she turned away as he shut the door, crying into her hands.
-*-*-*-
Well, I'm glad that's over. Having taken all considerations to heart when I added some things after the massive amount of reviews, I will now attempt to respond to all the LOVELY FEED BACK.
DID YOU SEE? I STILL WANT FEEDBACK! Truly, it does help me.
mystery science seed 3000 - I'm glad you think so! Thanks so much.
LOTR-nutcase-I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU! * faithful reviewer music starts*
Any way.... I have this problem wherewith I spout dialogue that my friends swear sounds like Shakespeare- believe me when I say that they think I'm the reincarnation of the Bard as a female.
The other review- Faramir shall not die either, and he will marry Éowyn (You saw/read all the good junk about him getting married and how Boromir will be laughing.). To destroy love, something that beautiful, that pure, is sacrilege in the highest of degrees. And Boromir is serious about marrying Rhoswen, but the CoE may be an axe in the works as far as going on with the wedding at the right date goes. And the steward thing...well, you have to read the rest of Gabrielin to see what happens there. (Do I see any review there? NO. Read and leave review! *Subliminal messaging*) As for the maying thing, I'm going to respond with a quote from 'Camelot' the musical I just finished being in.
"Gone a-maying, your majesty?" (see where that chapter got it's name!?) "Yes, It's a sort of picnic." "Pic...nic, your majesty?" "Well, yes...you eat grapes, and chase girls around trees...it's the time for flower gathering." "Knights gathering flowers, your majesty?" "Well, someone's got to do it!"
shalindra - I'm glad we're on the same page. (I don't want either to die, either.) And Rhoswen does have wits, you just haven't seen them yet. Right now, she's still in the uber-emotional stage. This is a big life change(read: getting married to someone you've never met) and she's mentally on a shaky ladder-read: unstable- but in chapter 4, she does show she has a brain, as evidenced above, and is not so quick to cry. Once she's gotten used to the fact that Boromir is not Boribble, she'll calm down a bit. Right now she wants to take the blame for everyone because she's just the kind of person that doesn't want anyone else to get hurt, showing (I think) immense strength of heart.