July 3 - Apartments of the Steward

It was unusual for the brothers to argue, and their hissed voices carried through the corridor.

There were no servants about. Lothiriel had sent them all away. She made her footfalls deliberate, and neither brother was surprised to see her appear around the corner, as only she or Lord Denethor could be expected here at this hour.

"It was a fell dream," Cousin Faramir insisted again. "I would that it were I who rode, instead of you."
"But it is I whom father commanded, and I who shall go," Boromir said in low tones.

"Stubborn – " Faramir's eyes darted to Lothiriel, and he checked himself. "I will accompany you to the gate tomorrow, and then I leave for Ithilien. Brother - " A look passed between them. They embraced briefly, and then Faramir inclined his head to Lothiriel and strode past.

Lothiriel nodded in acknowledgment and turned her attention to her betrothed. "My lord. You leave at dawn?"

Even on this night, before he was to ride off alone into the unknown, he would barely look at her. "Do not trouble yourself, Cousin."

He was twenty years her senior, but at this moment it did not matter to her. She could feel the burn of the Eye behind her, the one she had glimpsed in her uncle's study. The reticence she had felt upon the betrothal three years ago had already been slipping, and the nightmare vision of her cousin's doom had seared the last of it away. She rested a hand on his arm. "Boromir."

Now he dropped his gaze onto her face, but his eyes were still grave and troubled, seeing past her to his unknown quest.

"Boromir." She put both hands on his shoulders and stood on tiptoe. She could not draw him to her, for he was unyielding and she was too small, so she pressed herself closer instead.

Now she had his full and startled attention. "Cousin?" He tried to pry her white fingers from his shoulders, but she held fast. The knot of his belt dug into her stomach through the pale silk of her dress.

"My lord, it is not my place to ride with you, nor to protect you, but I would comfort you as I can."

Boromir gasped. "Lothiriel!" He stepped away from her, aghast, and she stumbled. By reflex he was forced to catch her around the waist.

Lothiriel breathed into his tunic, her heart racing. "Please, Boromir. What would you have me do?"

"Not this!" Boromir caught her hands up, retreating from her again. "Lothiriel, we can be married – sooner – I had thought you too young, but when I return – "

And if you do not return? "I would give you a good memory to return to." Lothiriel spoke quickly, willing away the image of the black arrows. "Let us have this one night, Boromir. Please. It is my greatest wish that you should forget your troubles and be happy for one night, and then return to me."

Boromir dropped her hands abruptly. "I could not take advantage of you like this." But his eyes darted across her face.

"It is not an advantage. We are betrothed." Lothiriel slipped the shawl from her shoulders, leaving them bare. The chill whipped away the image of Boromir's body falling to the ground.

"Betrothed but not yet married." Boromir shook his head sharply, like a wet dog. "Princess, await my return, and I – "

Lothiriel reached out a hand, letting her shawl drop to the floor. She rested her hand on his arm and drew him closer, and this time he did not resist. She put her other hand to his cheek. "Boromir."

Boromir followed her as she stepped backwards into his chambers, and he shut the door behind them.