Night's frost clung to the morning air as the sun climbed slowly into the pale sky, above a new day in Gondor; the coming winter brought with it a silence, for the birds of warmer seasons had not long since left, and thus their absence was still marked in the quiet dawns. In an old hunter's house, built onto the city walls, a well known couple were stirring: their breathe now making more frequent clouds of steam, as their fire started to dwindle in the cold, damp air...

"How long has it been, Boromir?" Amela asked, full of fervour; she'd always been the quicker of the pair to be fully roused by a risen sun. Boromir let out a low groan, clearly still not accustomed to his wife being so awake so quickly every morning. This morning, in particular, followed quite a long night of feasting and celebration, for the repairs to The White City were finally complete.
"4 years and about 18 hours, have you already lost count? And there I was, thinking you'd actually remember our wedding" was the Steward's eventual reply.
"Not since that, you ill-tempered old warhorse." She teased him, turning his obvious disdain for mornings against him. "How long since the end of it all?"
He grunted, not amused. "Well, in that case, four years, 8 months, 15 days and about 4 hours. Better?"
"Much." Amela confirmed as she planted a cheerful peck on Boromir's unshaven cheek. "The city looks amazing, like new almost; we've all done so well."
Nodding in agreement, Boromir rose from the bed, strode over to a small pile of clothes near the marble windowsill, and began to dress himself.
"Busy day today, though, almost two dozen new troops fresh from the training yard to the citadel. Valar knows something will go wrong; always does."
"Not since Faramir and you were sworn in as stewards, maybe there should always have been two."
Laughing, Boromir scooped his wife up into a gleeful swing, causing them both to giggle childishly. "I guess I should thank you and Lord Aragorn for suggesting it then."
"Well... I think you've given me enough thanks to carry..."
Suddenly perplexed, Boromir queried Amela's suggestive remark, not wanting to jinx what he was hoping for. "To... carry?"
She nodded.
Without warning, a wave of emotion hit Boromir, so strongly that he fell to his knees in glee, and wrapped his sturdy arms protectively around Amela's belly.
"A... a child..." He breathed, his eyes closed and his forehead resting gently on his wife's lower torso.
"Yes," she replied, as she ran her fingers lovingly through his hair, "our child."

Not long could they stay to cherish that moment; they both had new responsibilities. For Boromir, that meant beating his brother to the Citadel on the first day of every month, or facing buying both of their drinks until the next. For Amela, life had changed so much; she was now captain of Gondor's prestigious Rangers of Ithilien, and spent her days training, selecting, and leading the Gondorian troops most proficient in scouting, ranged attacks, and surviving in the wilds of the terrain they patrolled.
"You'd best be going," she reminded her husband, "I don't think we can afford another month of paying for two stewards' ales and wines, do you?"
Chuckling lightly as he rose, Boromir dried his eyes, and made ready to leave.
"I shouldn't worry about that; my brother was walking quite late with the Lady Éowyn last night, and I have a few safe bets on his being a little late today. And anyway, at least I know we won't be paying for your drinks for a while now."
Together they left their house, and made their respective journeys to their duties and passions - second to each other, of course - fully prepared to act as though nothing that day was more perfect than the last.

After a few weeks, the couple were ready to make their announcement to the people of Minas Tirith: word was sent out that all were welcome to gather at the city's great front gate to here from Boromir, steward of Gondor, and Amela, leader of the Rangers.
And gather, the people did, in their droves, to hear them. Understandably, the couple were some of those who had become loved by the people for all they did in the war, and after it. Among this group too, were Faramir and Éowyn, who joined their friends atop the city walls when the announcement was due - having already been told in private.
When the people of Minas Tirith were told of the upcoming arrival, all rejoiced, for the birth of a steward's child clearly meant great feast and many parties were to come. That night was the first of them, candles lit the stones of every street in the city so that all the buildings glistened as the population sang and danced and made good memories. All that was left, was to wait.

And so the months drew on, as they would: the winter passed with little trouble, the spring brought the return of the birds (and a few bands of stray orcs, which were quickly dispatched, with the skill of the Rangers), and the summer began. Warm and bright, the season was dragging on, until finally the day came: a humid day with an unyielding sun. But, after all the pain and the tears, as the sun fell, a steward of Gondor and the leader of the Rangers of Ithilien looked out over the lands they were sworn to defend, cradling the life they lived to protect, and all was well in Gondor.

So that's it, Saving Boromir is finished! I just want to say a huge "thank you" to everyone who's followed/favourited/actually taken time out of their lives to read what I've written, it really means a lot, and has massively boosted my confidence as a writer. So, thank you for that, all of you. :)
Also, I promise to be better at regularly updating if/when I write something else.
Thank you!