----

A kiss to the forehead, reverent as it might be, seems too simple. Indeed, our entire acquaintance seems too simple. We cut through all the dance-steps people tend to take and aimed straight for the target. Your words to me told me we should treat each other as rivals for Gondor's favors.

That never was my desire. Far rather than the crown, I would have had your friendship and loyalty. Far rather than the crown, I would have you living.

For I won you, Boromir; do not now, in death's silence, deny it. We never were rivals except in name. We were allies, and slowly taking the steps toward friendship.

And we were . . . ah, even in death I can see the flush creep up your face. We were lovers. Or if we were not, we played a fair imitation of them. Ours was not a love born through tradition, but in our similar reactions against it.

Your father knew me, did you not know? But unlike you he hated me. Unlike you he never knew me as well as he thought he did. Unlike you he never learned to love me.

There was a darkness in you, yes, but it was not so dark. Your crime was only love of your (our?) people, and the desire to help them, not the desire for power itself. A forgivable offense, but the consequences would have destroyed you, had you succeeded in taking the Ring from Frodo. We would have all been destroyed.

When first I saw you, I thought you a brash youth with little care for any other people or any other custom besides your own. You glorified Gondor at the expense of the Rangers, whose deeds have been no less than yours. You insulted the sword of Elendil, the blade I will one day carry, Anduril forged from Narsil.

But as we fought through pain and loss and hardship together, we found respect for each other. You were no youth, but a man grown, a man who had seen much and lived well. And you slowly learned of me, my own desires and pains and passions.

That night in Moria when you asked me about the necklace that I wore and I told you about Arwen. That day in Lorien when you confessed your fears to me. That cold, long night on the mountain, when we both fought with all our strength and lost. That moment when Gandalf fell, and I so caught in my grief that I could not help the Ringbearer. The moments flash before me like dreams, thoughts of you and me together.

That night on the river when we spoke soft words to each other and you confessed that I held a place in your affections shall always be bright in my memory. Gentle kisses followed that confession, soft touches in the night, and you shivered underneath me for the first and only time.

No, Boromir, I'll not weep for the memories. You were too bright, too fair to die, and forever you shall be living in my heart.

This is my promise to your body, growing cold beneath me. This is my vow to you.

END