Work Text:
Their first meeting hadn't been on the best of terms. It began with a swordfight in the gardens of Rivendell and a backhanded compliment.
Sírdis had been practicing with the newly crafted blade that Glorfindel had gifted her from the forges of Lindon. It had been when Sírdis spun to carry out a smooth slash that Steward-Prince of Gondor raised his own sword in challenge, halting her movement.
Boromir had arrived in Rivendell a week ago, but now the anticipation of the council meeting and tranquility of the elven settlement was gnawing on his patience. He had ventured into the gardens for the same purpose, training. Even a seasoned soldier like he still needed time with a blade.
The sparring match had begun with silent acknowledgment by both parties. With the first blow and parry, both Boromir and Sírdis knew they were equals.
She swung at him again, the blade swinging neatly through the air as it came at Boromir. His blade met hers easily, and the impact sent a jarring reverberation down Sírdis's arms. The Gondorian used a broad, two-handed sword, but he wielded it confidently with a single hand.
Using his strength, he shoved Sírdis back, trying to throw her off balance and leave an opening for his attack. Gritting her teeth, she quickly moved backward, recovering the poise and stance of one who had wielded a blade for far longer than Boromir had. Sírdis swung at him again, using the force of her twisting footwork to add more power to the sword's strike.
The blades shrieked as they met, sharp edges grinding together between their bodies. The stalemate made Boromir pause. He looked down his nose at the elf maiden.
The great wall of his chest rose and fell with his labored breaths. Something like a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You fight almost as well as a man," Boromir remarked stepping back.
When he saw the soured expression overcome her fair features, he realized his mistake. The apology was on the tip of his tongue when Sírdis smirked and slipped the shining steel back into the sheath on her hip. "Funny," she mused, "I was going to say the same about you."
---
Sírdis fell back at Boromir's side after the two young Hobbits raced ahead to catch their kin. She had lived a sheltered life in Lindon and Rivendell. Only venturing as far as Lady Galadriel's realm when the famed blacksmith, Celegorm had offered to take her as an apprentice. That must have been several centuries ago by now, though.
"Tell me about Gondor," she said suddenly. Having heard him speak of Gondor with such affection and pride at the Council had stirred something within her. A burning curiosity to learn of the world that she had been hidden from.
Boromir looked to his side and adjusted the shield on his back. He had grown incredibly fond of Sírdis in their short time of acquaintance. The Steward-Prince imagined that the fair elven maid would enjoy Gondor and his city. "I think you would be happy there," he noted.
"Boromir," she chided, pushing the loose strands of dark hair that had come loose from her braid. "That's not what I meant." Sírdis wanted to hear the admiration in his voice, to see the wonder glistening in his eyes. "Tell me about Minas Tirith." He looked to his side again and offered a fleeting smile. "Your beloved city," she added in a soft whisper.
"The White City is hewn from the mountains," Boromir began, "the Tower of Ecthelion glimmers like a spike of pearl in the morning sun..."
---
He pulled the cloak off his back and held it out for her to take. Sírdis shook her head and pushed the dark cloak back toward its owner.
"I won't let you freeze because of my own folly." She had fallen into a stream while helping make camp. Dealing with Merry and Pippin's churlish antics was no easy feat. Sírdis had paid dearly when the two Hobbits bounded out from behind two trees near the stream where she had gone to refill the company's waterskins. Elven grace could not save her and she tumbled backward into the fast flowing stream.
Obstinate, Boromir moved closer and draped the heavy woolen material around the two of them. Legolas looked across the fire at his friend and the Gondorian soldier with a knowing expression.
---
The Battle of Helm's Deep was over. Sírdis looked around at the field of corpses. It was Legolas's fair head that she had first spotted. The elf turned the only other member of his kin that had survived the night and gave a worn smile and nod in her direction.
Boromir came forth and dropped his bloodied sword, immediately taking Sírdis's face into his hands. He leaned his forehead against hers. She laid her hand on his chest but frowned when her fingers came away stained with blood that did not belong to the fallen Uruk-hai. "You're hurt."
She helped Boromir back to the Keep to have his wounds tended. He had not been fit for battle to begin with. Not with still mending wounds from the events of Amon Hen. His fingers fumbled alongside hers in attempts to remove a damaged shirt of mail.
The large but thin cut spanned from his right shoulder to his collarbone. A glistening coat of sweat on his chest stung the open wound. "You're the bravest, half-witted man I've ever met," Sírdis admonished as she wiped away the grime and slow flowing blood. Boromir took it as a compliment.
She returned with a filled wineskin. Boromir wore a toothy grin at the sight. "I could use a drink," he mused, reaching forward to take the filled skin. With the cork unstoppered, Sírdis dumped most of the dark red contents over the cut.
He hadn't been expected that and it shone in his expression and sharp groan. Boromir unknowingly squeezed her thigh as the burning persisted. "Feels like a twenty-nine-eighty Dorwinion," he choked out.
"Second or third age?" Sírdis asked, biting down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing. Boromir glared at her as she used her cloak to wipe the wine from his skin. "I'm sorry," she whispered. It wasn't right of her to make light of his injury and pain.
Boromir held the strip of linen in place over the cut as Sírdis wrapped it around his chest and over his shoulder again. "You were right," he admitted, "I was foolish for partaking in this battle." That didn't matter, though. The stories of this night had been written in blood.
Sírdis tied off the bandage and found she had allowed her hands to linger on his strong chest. Boromir reached for one of her hands when Aragorn passed them with Théoden. Legolas and Gimli followed behind. The elven maid kissed Boromir's brow and rose. "Stay here," she told him.
"Legolas!" The elf turned and greeted Sírdis with an arm crossed over his chest. He looked over her shoulder toward Boromir, who now leaned back against the stone wall, basking in the morning sun.
"He'll be fine," Sírdis responded.
Legolas knew the question she had stopped him to ask, though. "Saruman's treachery must be addressed." With the Uruk-hai defeated, Isengard was vulnerable and so was the White Wizard. Legolas clasped her shoulder and offered her a soft, reserved smile. "Tend to your Captain. We will all be together again soon." He turned to rejoin Aragorn and the others.
"They ride for Isengard," she said, returning to his side. The Steward-Prince pushed himself off of the wall, meaning to stand but Sírdis stilled him with a hand on his shoulder. "And you will not be joining them, Boromir. We must return to Edoras with Éowyn."
---
Boromir's elation faded when he looked around the Mead Hall and saw that she was no longer present. Aragorn told him she had stepped out some time ago. The overbearing warmth of Meduseld had made her long to be near the sea once again. The air wasn't as thick there.
Sírdis sat on the top step, eyes trained on the night sky. There weren't many stars shining and the moon was veiled by a patch of clouds. Glorfindel had told her that when the stars were scarce it was because they were mourning. She had not known Haldir and his men well, but the sacrifice of her skin was not something she was like to forget.
The Gondorian pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped out into the night. A deep sadness stirred within him upon seeing her sitting alone that grew tenfold when he noticed her forlorn expression. He draped his mantle over her shoulders and sat by her side.
Sírdis laid her hand on Boromir's knee and leaned into him when his arm wrapped her shoulders. The night was oddly quiet, only disrupted by a muffled cry or song from the celebrations.
Talks after Helm's Deep had shifted from the defense of Rohan to that of Gondor. Soon the time would come to return to the White City to mount the final assault on Mordor.
Boromir would not deny he had missed his city and people. It was Faramir he missed most of all. Now though, he did not wish to think of a future without Sírdis. "When the time comes to return to Minas Tirith-" the Steward-Prince slipped his fingers through hers "-will you stay?"
There may not have been man stars in the sky, but Boromir saw a wealth of lights in her pale eyes. "I don't think that's the question you really meant to ask," Sírdis challenged.
He lifted their entwined hands and kissed her knuckles. "Will you stay with me?" Boromir amended. There was a flush of color on her cheeks. Sírdis freed her hand and raised it to his cheek. His face had not escaped the battle unscathed, a scabbed over cut ran down his cheek to the scruff on his jaw.
The tips of her fingers ghosted over the mark before she leaned into him and placed her lips upon his. Boromir shifted closer toward her, taking her face into his hands as to deepen the kiss. Sírdis gave a started gasp, her hands rising to his chest and shoulders.
Boromir parted with a smile, forehead now resting against hers. "I hope that meant yes," he said with a quiet chuckle. Sírdis nodded with a soft smile and kissed his cheek before settling against him under a nigh starless sky.