I don't own LotR
For a year, life in the Steward's Hall went on as normal: Faramir would be in Ithilien with the Rangers, Boromir would help lead the infantry and cavalry, and Wyniel would read from books, visit the city, or tidy her suite. She wasn't plagued by any more nightmares, until the moon was full once again, and fog shrouded the Pellenor.
In her dream, Boromir was dressed in his riding gear. His leather surcoat was covered in mud, and his face was dirty and tired. He seemed much older.
Boromir was running through a leafy wood, his sword unsheathed, and what sounded like waterfalls could be heard from a distance. Wyniel stood as an onlooker amid the trees, and what Boromir ran to was hidden by fog. It was after she had given up peering into the mist that Wyniel felt a bundle in her arms. She was holding Ecthelion.
That morning when she awoke, Wyniel told Boromir of this dream. He dismissed it as nothing.
"It's just a dream, Wyniel. You know that. It cannot be true, become true, because…" Boromir stopped himself.
"But Boromir! Just before…that, I had a dream about him. It was just the same!"
"Wyniel!" Boromir was almost shouting. "He's dead! Ecthelion is dead!" he saw the hurt in his wife's face and moved toward her, softening. "You couldn't have been holding him."
Wyniel crossed her arms and buried her face in his chest.
"I'm sorry." Boromir whispered, kissing the top of her head.
"Just be careful." Wyniel told him. He nodded and readied for the day.