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Year 26 of the Fourth Age
Osgiliath
“Wave goodbye to your mother,” Boromir cooed as he grasped the tiny hand of his grandson and moved it back and forth.
The three ladies paused in the doorway and turned around. The one in the center—the only one with light-colored hair like his—cracked a smile for a moment before forcing a pout onto her face and planting her hands on her hips.
“If you keep making him do cute things like that then you’re going to make us late for tea with the Queen,” his oldest daughter chided.
“You will have to deliver my apology to Her Majesty. It is too hard to resist,” he said with a laugh. The smile was back on his daughter’s face and she cupped her cheeks.
“I know, he is just the cutest!” She blew a kiss at her son before looping her arm through her younger sister’s and all but dragging her toward the door. “You two behave while we’re gone!”
Boromir just snorted and shook his head. That was rich coming from her. Then again, she did take after him more than her mother, so maybe she had a point. As if she had heard his thoughts, his wife turned to him and smiled serenely. He blew out a puff of air as he felt that familiar fluttering in his chest whenever he looked at her. Even now, she still drew out the same reactions from him as she did nearly thirty years ago when they were first becoming acquainted, in a place that he first heard about in a dream that would change his life forever. Perhaps it was because she looked the same, thanks to her Elvish blood, though there was a change in her demeanor that he was not sure he wanted to reflect on too much. Even in the months before their wedding, Anael had been through a lot, and those experiences had greatly affected her… changed her. She was much better off than she had been when they first met, but a lot of who she had been back then had faded over the years.
She held his gaze for a moment longer before she slowly closed her eyes and followed their daughters out to the waiting carriage that would bring them through the streets of Osgiliath, across the River Anduin, and past the seven gates of Minas Tirith to the gleaming Citadel where Queen Arwen awaited them.
Boromir continued to stare at the closed door in the entry hall, finally snapping out of his stupor when his grandson began to squirm. He shifted his hold on the toddler and turned him around so they were face-to-face.
“Well, Cirion, what shall we do to entertain ourselves while your mother is away?” The child giggled and began to smack his palms against Boromir’s chest. His grandson had visited often enough that he knew what this meant. “An excellent idea! However, let’s get you changed into some better clothes, first.”
~*~
“I know you are eager to play in the water, but you need to wait for me to take off my boots.” Boromir had his left arm around the squirming child while he attempted to remove his boots with the other. He had managed to get one of them off fairly easily, but the second one somehow got twisted around. And of course he didn’t want to ask for help. “There!” he grunted as he tore off the boot and tossed it away.
He pulled the woven basket next to him closer so it was within reach and placed one of the small wooden boats in the pool. It had been a gift from Boromir’s cousin, Erchirion, when Cirion turned a year old and had been handmade by Cirion’s great-uncle, Iorlas.
Boromir sat closer to the edge of the pool and placed his feet in the water before lifting his grandson and setting him down. Almost immediately, the child’s arms flailed about, splashing water and making waves.
There were two pools at the Steward’s estate in Osgiliath, although one was more like a pond. The pool that was closest to the manor contained only water in it and was shallower than the other; the water only reached a couple of inches above Boromir’s ankles, and up to Cirion’s chest if he was sitting upright. The other pool was deeper and contained water plants, stepping stones, and a variety of fish. On the left side of it was a single weeping willow tree that cast its shade over the pond, its branches almost long enough to touch the water. Separating the two pools was a wide lawn with footpaths cutting through the grass, stone benches and green shrubs, and a large pavilion with a table and chairs for entertaining guests—or to be more accurate for entertaining Boromir’s cousins from his father’s side of the family whenever they invited themselves over without warning.
“You certainly do love the water, don’t you?” The entire time they had been sitting there, Cirion’s splashing and giggling never let up, though now he was also dunking the boat into the water and watching as it floated back to the surface. He didn’t need to imagine that bath time was a messy affair since he had experienced it first-hand. He looked into the basket at the rest of the toy boats, which had all been sent from his cousin. He took out a couple of them and placed them in the water and allowed them to float away. “I think Uncle Erchirion is trying to bribe you into joining the navy. You still have a little time left to decide, but I promise I will still love you even if you choose not to join the army.”
Cirion grew quiet. His curious gray eyes stared up at him and his mouth moved soundlessly like a fish. Boromir mimicked him, making a popping noise with his lips. Cirion squealed and raised his arms toward Boromir’s face. He leaned his head down and Cirion patted his chin, sometimes pulling on his beard hairs. Boromir made a clicking noise with his tongue each time until he dissolved into laughter, himself. The smile and laughter of a child truly could cure all ills.
“How about we practice your walking for a little while?” he asked when he no longer had feeling in his behind.
Boromir lifted Cirion onto his feet and held his arms as he guided him further away from the ledge. He grimaced as he entered the water and stood up on his knees; either he would kill his knees or his back, and he chose to sacrifice his knees for the cause. At least the water was cool while the sun was beating down on him, but as he helped Cirion walk from one end of the pool to the other, he began to realize that there were things that he could no longer do as well as he used to. While he wasn’t considered old for someone with Númenórean heritage, he seemed to feel his age more prevalently than his brother. Then again, maybe kneeling on the hard ground for long periods of time was unpleasant for everyone.
“Alright, let’s look for something else to do before my knees give out on me.”
After he managed to stand, Boromir went around and gathered all of the toy boats and placed them in the basket. As he did so, he held Cirion in the crook of his arm, and his little legs and arms wiggled the entire time. Just like his mother had been when she was his age, he was always on the move.
Boromir left his boots outside and tried to shake the water from his feet as best as he could, but he still managed to track a trail of wet footprints into the manor. He pointedly ignored the maid’s stare as he passed her in the hall and went upstairs, though he did feel a little guilty. Hopefully, he didn’t leave behind too much of a mess for her to clean. Unbeknownst to him, it wasn’t the wet floor that she had reacted to but the fact that the Steward was walking around the manor barefoot with his pantlegs rolled up past his knees. Then again, as she had gradually discovered on her own since she first began working there, the Steward and his family were quite unconventional, to put it mildly.
“Shall I ask the kitchen maid to slice a peach and bring it upstairs, my lord?” Boromir’s bare feet squeaked on the floor as he came to an abrupt stop.
“Please. And I apologize for the mess.”
“It is nothing to apologize for, my lord. Messes tend to be inevitable when children are at play.”
The maid dipped into a curtsy, and he nodded in answer. Cirion started to wriggle again, so Boromir adjusted his hold on the toddler and continued up the stairs, leaving the basket of toys in the small room that had been set aside for Cirion whenever he stayed for the night, and went in search of some towels.
~*~
“How are you not tired, yet? I’m exhausted.”
Boromir was currently sitting in a chair in Cirion’s room and watching the toddler crawl around on the floor. He’d thought that seeing his bed would make Cirion want to lie down for a nap, but as with his mother when she was a child, he did not appear to be slowing down. He had managed to dry Cirion and dress him in clean clothes, but after eating the peaches, he needed a bath to get rid of the sticky juice on his fingers, his face, his shirt, and somehow his hair. Though he typically never relegated bath duties to the maids, preferring instead to do it himself, he regretted that he had not done so, this time. Perhaps if he had let the “professionals” take care of it, he would not have made such a mess of the washroom and used all of the towels.
His wife and daughters never said when they would return, and he didn’t know enough about tea parties to be able to estimate how long this one might last. If it was anything like the tea parties Bilbo Baggins held in Rivendell, they may not return for quite some time.
“What to do… what to do…? Do you have any ideas?” Cirion’s tiny body wobbled as he turned his head and looked inquisitively around the room. He then looked up at Boromir and promptly blew a raspberry. “Nothing comes to mind? Oh well, no matter.”
Cirion grabbed the small pillow next to him and wrapped his lips around one of the corners. When he grew bored with that, he started swinging the pillow around and smacking the floor with it. While Boromir watched his grandson, he stared at the pillow in his tiny hand, the pillows on the child-sized bed, the warm and fluffy blankets. And suddenly, as if he had been bombarded by a tidal wave, his mind was filled with memories from his own childhood, playing with his little brother and watching him when their mother had been too ill to spend time with them and their father was too busy. They’d each had a governess growing up, but they were not as fun to play with as boys their age, and they didn’t seem to know a single thing about the hobbies and interests of boys.
“I believe I have come up with something we can do. Something that will make even you feel sleepy.”
“Bo.” Boromir made a face.
“‘Bo?’”
“Bo!”
He wasn’t sure if Cirion was trying to say “no” or if he was just making a random sound, but he wasn’t above insinuating that his grandson was trying to say his name. That was ridiculous, of course, because he doubted that Cirion had ever heard anyone refer to him by name, except perhaps his son-in-law, but he was far too proud to deny it outright. He stood up and lifted his grandson into his arms, who immediately reached for his large nose and squeezed it.
“Let the record show that your first word was the first syllable of your grandfather’s name,” Boromir said as he took Cirion’s hand and moved it away from his nose. One time his oldest daughter grabbed his nose so hard that she left a bruise, and he did not want a repeat of that incident. “Come, little one. It is time for your first lesson in siege warfare.”
~*~
“First, you want to have a strong wall that will keep your enemies out. You also fortify it with other types of defenses.”
Boromir had brought Cirion to his personal chambers and grabbed all of the pillows from his bed, as well as the ones on the settee, and tossed them onto the floor. He never did understand why having so many bloody pillows was necessary, since he typically used two at the most; apparently accumulating decorative pillows was just something that people did. At the moment, however, he was thankful to have them.
He found the biggest ones and placed them in a row in front of the settee. He then separated the rest by size and began stacking them on top of each other. Once he had added the small pillows from Cirion’s room to the top, the pile of pillows was about three inches taller than the seat of the settee. He pulled the throw blanket—also something he saw no practical use for—from the back of the settee and curved it around the front of the pile of pillows.
“If you have a moat, then that will add an extra layer of protection and will make it more difficult for the enemy to get close enough to inflict serious damage.” On the seat of the settee he had a line of various objects and trinkets, including his wife’s hairbrush and a few socks. “Your archers are posted along the wall here and will fire upon the enemy if they attempt to use ladders to invade the city. They also shoot at anyone manning catapults.”
Boromir looked down at his grandson, who was currently on his back and holding onto his feet. He leaned over and pulled a chair towards him, placing it to the left of the settee.
“Here is the watchtower so you can keep an eye out for an approaching army. Any questions?” Cirion rolled over onto his stomach and started crawling. He grasped at the blanket moat and gave it a hard tug, which jostled the pillows and caused the entire fort to fall. “Oh no, the city has been breached! This is an architectural and strategical failure!”
Boromir checked to make sure that Cirion was a safe distance away from anything more dangerous than a pile of pillows that could fall on him and crossed the room in three long strides to the double doors that led to his study. As expected, his secretary was hard at work carrying the load while he took the day off to spend time with his grandson.
“Indor!”
“Sir!” the secretary yelped in surprise before scrambling to his feet and snapping to attention, an old habit from his time in the army.
“Remind me to ask Gimli the next time he is in Gondor to pay us a visit so that he can build a sturdy pillow fort that won’t collapse!”
“Sir?” Boromir only chuckled and grinned as he pulled the doors shut, leaving the poor man to ponder what that had been about and to question whether his employer and former commander had suddenly gone mad.
~*~
“I am surprised that Father and Cirion were not here to greet us,” said Finduilas. She, her mother, and her sister had returned from having tea with Queen Arwen later than they had planned, because she had insisted on waiting for her husband to come off duty so that they could ride back to Osgiliath together. “It is far too quiet…”
“If Cirion is sleeping now then that means he will be up all night,” said Bergil. Finduilas sighed.
“I can hear Boromir and Cirion upstairs.” Finduilas turned to her mother. Since her mother was an Elf, she probably could hear them all the way from the main foyer.
“Doing what?” Anael looked at her with a sympathetic smile.
“They appear to both be sleeping.” Finduilas groaned, but she instantly relaxed when Bergil laid a hand on the small of her back.
“We should probably go and have a look at what we are dealing with.”
“I suppose…” She was already exhausted from having to spend several hours with a bunch of noble ladies and their daughters, trying to be polite and to avoid revealing what she was really thinking through her facial expressions.
“I do not need to report to the Citadel tomorrow, so I can stay up with him,” Bergil added with a grin.
“That is music to my ears.” Finduilas took the lead going upstairs, and when she reached the second floor, her head turned side-to-side as she tried to listen for noises in any of the rooms.
“Ada is in his room,” said Aerdis calmly.
Though Finduilas had sharper hearing than typical mortals, her younger sister had inherited more of their mother’s Elvish traits, whereas Finduilas definitely took after their father, in more ways than one. Sure enough, halfway down the corridor, she heard the first hints of her father’s snores.
A mischievous smile spread across her face as she tiptoed the rest of the way. She gently pushed the door open wider and poked her head inside.
“Goodness…” Bergil whispered from behind her.
There were pillows all over the floor and a chair in the middle of the room. There were also socks, a hairbrush, a couple of small books, and an empty cup scattered amongst the pillows. Boromir was fast asleep on the settee with Cirion dozing on his chest, his left arm hanging over the side and his left foot, which was lacking in footwear, was flat on the floor.
Finduilas crept into the room with Bergil trailing behind her. They both approached the settee, and without hesitation, Bergil carefully picked up their son. Without fail, Cirion barely stirred and continued to coo in his sleep. Boromir’s snoring continued undisturbed.
“Some things never change,” Finduilas whispered, smiling fondly at her father, knowing that she had driven him to exhaustion like this many a time when she was a child. She pressed a kiss to his forehead and then followed Bergil out of the room, saying goodbye to her mother and sister.
Anael entered the room and picked up the throw blanket from off of the floor. She unfolded it and draped it over Boromir. He flinched and choked on a half-snore as he was stirred to wakefulness.
“You’re back.” He started to sit up and then looked around suddenly, panic flashing in his eyes.
“Finduilas and Bergil have already returned home with Cirion. They just left.”
“Oh.” He yawned and stretched, rolling his shoulders and his neck. “How was your tea?”
“It was lovely. But that can wait. You should sleep some more,” she said when he yawned again and rubbed at his eyes. “And I look forward to hearing all about your afternoon once you are rested.”
She grabbed one of the pillows and placed it under his head. Already, his eyelids were beginning to flutter as he was drawn into slumber. She kissed his forehead and remained at his side until his breathing evened out and all of the tension in his brow departed, leaving behind only a relaxed smile that was brimming with contentment and a testament to a life well lived.
