If any nobleman should enter the land of Gondor, and deign to visit its chief city of Minas Tirith, he would first pay his respects at the palace of the King. There he would come before the monarch and his beautiful queen in all the splendour of their court, and be received with the hospitality for which they were famed. And if, on his stay, he should be present for the Royal Councils, there he would meet the Steward of Gondor, Boromir son of Denethor. It had been five years since the War of the Ring had come to its end, and victory had been secured against the forces of darkness. In those five years, Gondor had once again become a place of peace and plenty. Boromir now took his rightful place at the Court of Minas Tirith.
He was a tall, broad shouldered man, clear grey eyes still shining with bold determination, although the years had added some lines to his handsome face. He spent many an evening at the King's table, for the two had become loyal comrades since he had won such renown for his valour in the battles of the Ring.
At his side sat a grave and beautiful figure, who drew the eyes like a candle flame on a dark night. Though the lamps burned bright in the halls of Minas Tirith, none burned as bright as the face of the Consort of the Steward. A strange and wonderful sight he was, to all who came there, for he was among the fairest of elvenkind, and had been a Prince in his own right, before his marriage took him far from his homeland. He possessed a noble bearing and regal countenance, and the beauty of his wild green eyes was framed by the gold of his flowing hair. And a fitting companion he made to the Steward, who was raven-haired and proud and fierce of glance. This was Legolas of Mirkwood, trusted by all as the foremost advisor of the Steward and loyal friend of the King.
Since the death of his father Denethor, the sceptre of the Stewardship had passed into Boromir's hands. Aragorn went so far as to strengthen his role beyond ceremonial duty, and entrusted to him the law and order of the state: for the King was a wise man, and he guessed rightly that the heated energy and stubborn resolve of Boromir was best channelled into this difficult and sometimes dangerous task. It was indeed a role that Boromir relished. He was given a company of almost one hundered, and he led them with vigour and courage against the villains and law-breakers of Minas Tirith. His name soon became feared by them on the the streets of the city, and he quickly won the respect of those he commanded.
His men wondered at him, so forceful and staunch-willed in his public duties, yet so tender and loving with his consort and his child. No one could miss the devotion of their leader for his lover from faraway lands - indeed, whenever he made some small slip, or overlooked some task, they would laugh and say he that he must be doting on his elf again. He lavished Legolas with gifts and favours, the same Legolas who had always wandered his forest home wearing the simplest of garments and with hair unadorned. Now the elf appeared at court in the finest raiment, as befitted the consort of the Steward, jewels sparkling at his hair and wrists - and he had in his possession armour and breastplate of polished silver which gleamed like white fire in the sun.
Legolas had found his place at his husband's side, aiding him in his duties, for he was possessed of great courage and had gained a deep understanding of the minds of men. It was Legolas above all others that Boromir turned to when in need, for through his husband's advice the right path could be sought. But he was also known for his compassion and generosity, for the poverty and injustice he saw every day in the world of men moved his gentle heart, and he was beloved by all who were wretched, outcast and miserable as their spokesperson and benefactor.
Five years had passed since the two had made their vows to each other, and it was now approaching winter in Minas Tirith. It was the season of festivity for the elves, and in a few days' time, his brother and father and a host of their royal company would be visiting the city. This yearly pilgrimage brought great comfort to Legolas, and he found delight in singing the old elven songs of his youth and dancing to the sweet music of elven instruments once again. It was wondrous for the men of the city to behold the ceremonials of the Steward's consort, as the company of Mirkwood elves spent night after night in celebration, feasting and gaeity. His child Anarion always looked forward to this season, expecting as he did a week's worth of gifts from his indulgent uncle and grandfather. For his human father, the visit was less welcome. Boromir was aware of a distinct lack of warmth between himself and his husband's family, though they always spoke to him civilly. Every year, they descended upon Legolas with presents and stories of Mirkwood and baskets of elven food, as if to to say: "Our poor Legolas! We pity him, caught as he is in this place of crude and vulgar men, bound to a human lord who deserves him not. Let us try and make him forget his ill fortune, and he will remember he is an elf again." And Legolas himself barely noticed Boromir's presence, immersed as he was among his own kind, leaving the man full of guilt for taking the elf away from the people he loved and the life that had been laid out for him.
He remembered well the fear and anxiety he had endured on visiting Mirkwood for the first time, after Legolas had accepted his proposal. He had been almost certain that he would face the wrath of the King of Mirkwood, that Thranduil would not suffer to let Legolas become a mortal to be bound in marriage to a human, and that he would realise the truth behind his son's decision. But Thranduil, in fact, was not of the same kind as Elrond or Galadriel. Those were High Elven, and would have seen through any deception at once. The King of Mirkwood, on the other hand, had no power to tell what had happened to Legolas, or know the true father of Anarion: his concerns were mainly with his kingdom, its safety and its wealth. And it was his younger son that he prized above all, for through Legolas he believed the key to Mirkwood's power would be forged.
It was only as the years passed that Thranduil realised how true this might be. For the prince grew tall and stately, and his figure matured, and he lost that childish awkwardness of gait. No elf in Mirkwood had ever known anyone to be as beautiful, as gracious, and as loved by all, as Prince Legolas Greenleaf. And his father saw that it was so. Soon, kings and statesmen from all over Middle Earth came to the palace, each brought by tales of the Prince's nobility, and asked Thranduil for his hand. But he never accepted. None were good enough. He had his eyes on one prize alone.
At last the time came when matters of court took Elladan, son of Elrond, to Mirkwood on an errand. There he found that the little elfling he had once known had grown into a creature who snared his heart. In an instant, he had made up his mind to make Legolas his consort. And when he let this be known, Thranduil rubbed his hands in glee, for he had been waiting to ally his house with that of Elrond for many years, and multiply his power through the glory of such a union.
But at that moment, the brother of Legolas stepped forward and said:
"There will be no engagement. My brother has not yet reached his maturity, and is too young to be wed."
Thranduil had turned to his eldest son and heir in astonishment. He could not let such a chance slip between his fingers. Elladan, too, was nonplussed.
"He is young, to be sure," he said, "but he is ripe enough to bear children."
"Maybe so. But I will not be moved. There will be no engagement."
The king and Elladan wrangled with him for many hours, using all manner of pleas and arguments. But the brother had a stubborn will, and refused to authorise the marriage, which by law required his sanction as the guardian and keeper of Legolas. In doing so, he earnt the displeasure of his father for several ill-tempered months, and lost the friendship of the sons of Elrond. But this did not appear to over-trouble him.
Boromir well remembered his first meeting with the brother of Legolas, and had been loath to any meeting since. It had been the evening after their engagement, and they had ridden direct to Mirkwood. His beloved elf was still weak from childbirth, and he had gently taken him down from their horse, supporting him beneath his slim shoulders.
"Let me go in and speak to them alone," said Legolas quietly. "It will be easier that way."
Boromir saw the determination in his eyes. "Very well. You have your story ready?"
"Yes. But I am afraid, Boromir. I have never lied to my family before. I have always opened my heart to them."
Boromir put his baby into the elf's arms. Anarion was fast asleep and clutching the clothes they had wrapped him in with his little fist.
"They will be ashamed of me," continued Legolas. "They will think I lost all sense of decorum and virtue, to lie with a man and have his child out of wedlock."
"But they love you. They will not cast you out, I am sure of it."
"My father will not, no. He is very kind hearted. Angry and shouting one minute, and loving and contrite the next. But my brother - my brother is very strict. He does not like humans."
Boromir laughed, despite the trials they had been through in the last week.
"Since I will be his brother-in-law, he will have to get used to us. Come, now. Go speak to your family. I will wait for you, my love."
Breathing in deeply, Legolas approached the royal rooms with Anarion held tightly against him. Boromir smiled encouragingly at him when he looked over his shoulder. Then he opened the door, entered, and let it close with a snap.
It was a long, long wait in the corridor outside, watching the shadows moving where the lamplight from other rooms was cast onto the wall in front of him. Every moment he was waiting for sounds of surprise and anger, but there came none, only the murmur of low voices for many minutes. At last he heard a movement, and looked up to see a tall figure at the door. It was an elf with dark blonde hair and a severe face, and a slight resemblance told Boromir that this must be the elder brother of Legolas. This was as well, for the elf did not introduce himself, only stared at him with an unfathomable look.
"Come take a walk with me," he said, and gestured Boromir to follow him into a large, dimly lit hallway. The man nodded and their slow footsteps echoed loudly on the smooth stone floor as they walked together in silence. The brother did not look at him again, but Boromir looked at the brother, and he was surprised by how weary and tired his face was. It was as if he had lost the ever-youthful beauty of his race. Determined that relations be civil between them, he began:
"I understand that this is all a surprise to you, Prince. Let me first thank you for wanting to speak with me, and be assured that . .."
The elf, who was named Thorongil, fixed him with a sharp eye.
"How did you come to win my brother's hand?" he interrupted brusquely, as if he had not listened to Boromir's speech at all. "You are not at all what I imagined he would choose."
Boromir took a deep breath, for he had been expecting a hostile reception. He endeavoured to keep his voice steady as he explained:
"Legolas and I were comrades, and have been through many battles and adventures together. Little by little our affection grew, and when I made so bold as to ask for his hand, he accepted."
"You are lying," came the reply. "You loved him, of course. Everybody does. But he would not be moved by you."
Boromir was a little taken aback by the certainty in the brother's voice, but he shook his head.
"Nevertheless, the fact is that he did accept me. If you want his reasons, you must ask him yourself."
The brother smiled, but it was a very grim smile.
"His reasons, I imagine, you took good care of. It is lucky for you he bore your child. He will have to marry you now, for his reputation's sake."
"It is not like that at all," began Boromir.
"Then what was it like?" he countered. "How you seduced him I do not know, but you did, and now you have won him for the rest of his life. You are either very cunning, or very fortunate. Do you know how many elves have hoped to have him for their own?"
"But he chose me, of his own free will, out of all those others. Surely that means something to you?"
"I doubt you are worthy of the choice," was the cold reply. Then he seemed to reflect for a moment while he regarded the man. "I love my brother dearly," he said in a quieter tone. "I have even offended Elladan, the son of Elrond, because Legolas did not love him and asked me in private to speak out against his arranged marriage. I was happy to do so - without my intrusion, he would have had no choice but to wed him." His gaze was levelled directly at Boromir, like an unspoken challenge. "I may speak out again, if you should fail him, and if your vows to him prove false."
"I am not so weak," said Boromir, with a dark fire in his eyes.
"Men are weak," replied the brother, with a finality that brooked no dissent. "Their thoughts and desires are like leaves falling in the wind. Nothing binds them strong and true. They follow what best pleases them, never mind what hurt they cause to others. Can I have your word that you will honour Legolas as he deserves?"
"I swear to you, he will never suffer anything as long as I live."
Thorongil raised an eyebrow and appeared less than impressed.
"I doubt that you could swear such a thing. Swear that you will do your best by him, that you will never try and cause him harm, if you will. But our lives lie unforeseen, and we know not how our luck will change. You cannot protect him from everyone, or everything. And no more can I," he added, as an afterthought.
Boromir turned to him, and thought again how tired and lined his face looked. He was stung by the sense that Thorongil lacked any faith in him.
"I intend to hold true to my vows," he replied quietly. "If by my power I can do anything to relieve his pain or grant his happiness, I will do it. There are many fears and evils in the world, to be sure, but from now on I will be the shield that stands between them and your brother."
Thorongil looked at him directly for a long while, as if to judge the truth of his words. Then he sighed.
"So be it. I place him in your hands, then. Though it is not what I would have chosen."
"Begging your pardon, but it is not your place to choose." Boromir thought Thorongil might be angry at these words, but he only shrugged.
"No, perhaps it is not. I only want his happiness, after all. And if you are what makes him happy, it will have to do."
With such a reception was Boromir welcomed into his husband's family.
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