Promise Me

Chapter Nineteen

The sun hung low in the sky as Gabriella knocked on the door to Boromir's apartment, only to have no response. She knocked again, but received only silence in return. With a sigh, she turned away from the door. Perhaps he was still in the Tower Hall. After all, she had no idea what work he had to do now that he was the steward.

As she neared the far end of the corridor, where windows overlooked the southern fields that sloped toward the river, she peered out to see a small figure down by the rushing water.

"She would take me, take us, to the river and let us splash to our hearts' content. She taught me to swim there and I in turn taught Faramir to swim when he was old enough. She always worried that he'd be swept away, but for some reason, she never seemed to worry about me in that way."

Gabriella smiled, her fingers brushing the cool, slightly rippled glass. She didn't need to be able to see who lingered on the banks of the Anduin. She knew.

Spring lingered the air, the breeze that blew in softly was far warmer than it had been since the previous autumn, and the dying sunlight sparkled along the Anduin's rippled current as she crested the rise of the bank and paused.

Just as she had seen from the windows above, Boromir stood at the water's edge, his back to her, hands clasped behind him, as he stared out toward South Ithilien. The breeze ruffled through his hair, made his tunic flutter and in that fading gold burn of the setting sun, he looked almost mythical. He was over twenty-five years older than he'd been that fateful day when one of his father's horses had gone missing, but to Gabriella, he had hardly changed at all.

The heat had been unbearable in the tavern's kitchen and her mother had convinced her father to let Gabriella go out and enjoy a bit of leisure time, as she'd already spent enough time as a serving girl, which she had done since she was old enough to carry a fully laden tray.

She loved the river and had since she was a child. More than once, she'd spotted both of the steward's sons along its banks or, if she was truly fortunate, in the water itself.

The first time she'd seen Boromir was at the beginning of her twelfth summer. He was all of fifteen years old, but was already more a man than a boy, as seen in the faint golden stubble that shadowed along his jaw, and the golden hairs that glinted across his bare chest. His shoulders and arms were no longer gangly or spindly, but had begun to show the swells of what would become thick, solid muscle in time.

She stood very close to where she did just then, and just watched as he sliced through the Anduin's greenish waters like a scythe and swam across to the opposite bank without slowing at all. He emerged on the far side, shook the water from his hair, turned about, and waded back toward Minas Tirith once more.

From that day on, she ventured to the river at every opportunity, but did not cross paths with the steward's eldest son. It wouldn't be until the next summer that they would meet, when he'd accuse her of stealing one of the steward's horses.

Before they parted ways, he turned to her and said, "I'm Boromir, by the way."

"I know. Son of Denethor. Heir to the Stewardship of Gondor. I am well aware of who you are." She paused by the door to the tack room. Then, she offered up a winsome smile. "But, I like you just the same, Boromir."

And from that moment, he held a special place in her heart, one he would forever hold.

On that first day, she did not move, did not wish to alert him to her presence. This time, however, she crested the slope and as soil gave way to sand, she came up to him. When he didn't so much as turn, she slipped her hand into his and murmured, "Where are you?"