Archive of Our Own

Boromir heaved a dramatic sigh as he shuffled along behind his father. Denethor glanced back at him over his shoulder before looking ahead once more.

“No amount of sighing is going to get you out of your responsibilities. You are going to be attending events at court in a few years, and you need to know how to dance properly.”

“I don’t want to dance. I want to go back to my sword training.”

“Think of this as part of your sword training. You practice footwork in your sword training, and this is another sort of footwork. It will even make you more agile and also a stronger opponent.” Boromir huffed.

“I guess. But why does my partner have to be Airamírë?”

Denethor came to a stop so suddenly that Boromir nearly ran into him. His father regarded him with deep frown lines creasing his forehead.

“What is wrong with learning to dance with Airamírë? She is your cousin, the eldest daughter of my sister, Imloth.”

“She’s always so bossy. And she always has a scowl on her face.” He crumpled his face into a scowl and scrunched up his nose as though he smelled something foul while jutting out his chin. “Like this.” This time, Denethor let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

“You only have to dance with her during these lessons. You will be able to dance with other partners once you begin attending social events.”

“But I don’t want to dance with anyone or go to social events.”

“You are going to have to attend banquets and dance with young ladies, one of whom you will one day wed. And when you are Ruling Steward, you will have to host banquets and balls, whether you want to or not. Now, enough of this. You must be on your best behavior with Airamírë and listen to your dance instructor.”

The guards opened the doors to the feast hall and Denethor walked inside with his hands clasped behind his back. Boromir groaned and trudged in after him.

Boromir knew it was going to be an unpleasant afternoon when he saw his cousin standing beside her mother with her hands on her hips, looking like she was primed to give him a scolding. He averted his gaze from hers and allowed his eyes to wander. At some point, they landed on his aunt. He didn’t know how she did it, but somehow she was able to scowl and look pleased at the same time.

“Ah, brother, you made it. I was starting to think you were not coming.”

“I would not leave you hanging like this, sister. It just took a bit of convincing to get Boromir to leave the training grounds.”

“I hope his reluctance does not have to do with my daughter being his partner.” Crow’s feet creased around her eyes as she sneered.

“Of course not. Boromir merely enjoys sword training and has gotten quite good at it.” Imloth hummed before settling her gaze on Boromir. Her thin lips curled in an odd shape.

“I hope that he is as good at dancing as he is at playing with swords.”

“We should leave them to it.” Denethor nodded to the dancing instructor, who was about that same age as the two siblings. “We will return in two hours.”

“Two hours?!” Boromir blurted out.

Airamírë huffed and crossed her arms while tapping her foot impatiently. The two adults ignored his outburst and departed through the doors. Boromir slumped his shoulders dejectedly.

“Alright, young lord and lady, please stand close to each other,” the dance instructor said and clapped her hands together. Boromir shuffled forward with his shoulders hunched. Even if he had been standing at his full height, he was still shorter than his cousin. He was also younger than her by two years. “Now, you first bow and curtsy to each other.”

“My father says I don’t have to bow to anyone,” Boromir protested. Airamírë scoffed and rolled her eyes. The instructor sighed.

“I will not assume Lord Denethor’s intentions, but perhaps he was referring to other public settings. In dancing, partners always bow or curtsy to each other.”

“So much for not making assumptions,” Airamírë muttered. The instructor flinched and scrambled to think of a way to regain control of the situation.

“Now, please bow to each other,” she repeated.

Airamírë pinched her skirts and lifted them slightly as she bent her knees, looking bored and completely unaffected. Boromir’s mouth twisted into a pout as he pressed his right palm to his heart and bowed slightly at the waist, taking great care to look anywhere but at his cousin.

“We can work on that. Now, young lord, please take the lady’s left hand in your right hand and place your left hand on her waist.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, my lord. That is how it is done. And if the young lady would please place her right hand on his shoulder.”

Boromir flinched even before her hand touched his shoulder. He suppressed a shudder as he took her hand, which was already raised, and wished he had worn his gloves he used during sword practice. His fingers curled and flexed a few times. He was trying to mentally prepare himself for this, but it wasn’t working.

“Oh, hurry it up, would you?” Airamírë snapped.

Boromir growled in frustration and set his hand on her waist a bit rougher than necessary. He squeezed her hand in his, hoping that it would be enough to get her off his case. But it didn’t work as he had intended. Instead, she squeezed his hand back, harder, and also curved her fingers and pressed her nails into his shoulder. The dance instructor was sweating profusely.

“Very good…” she coughed into her fist. “Now, since you are the man, you will be leading, Lord Boromir, so step forward with your right foot while Lady Airamírë steps backward with her left.”

“Ouch! You’re not supposed to step forward that far, you idiot!” Airamírë chastised when he stepped on her foot.

“Well, maybe you should have moved your foot further back so it wasn’t in the way!”

“And anyway, you’re supposed to be leading, and yet I have been doing most of the work!”

“We haven’t even done anything, yet!”

“Hmph! That’s what you think!”

“Alright, let’s take a break for a few minutes and cool off,” the instructor said as she dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief. Airamírë ripped her hand from Boromir’s grasp and stormed off to another part of the hall. The instructor started muttering to herself. “Oh dear, oh dear…”

Boromir started heading towards a column to lean against when he saw a brief flash of movement. The tablecloth had fluttered for a moment. He lowered his gaze and noticed a pair of tiny shoes peaking out from underneath a chair. He went over to the long table and lifted up the cloth, revealing a four-year-old girl crouched down.

“What are you doing under there, Marilla?” The girl said nothing and only looked up at him through her big brown eyes. He smiled and held a hand out to her. “Why don’t you come out from under there?”

Instead of taking his hand, she crawled on her hands and knees underneath the chair, dusting off her dress when she stood up. The dancing instructor had ceased her muttering for a moment to watch the pair with curiosity.

“I want to dance, too. But Mama said no. I’m too little.”

“Hmm…” Boromir mused. “I don’t think anyone is too big or too little to dance. And here, if you put your feet on top of mine, they should fit just right.”

“Won’t you get yelled at? Mama will yell at me.” Boromir shook his head.

“We’re taking a break, anyway. And I’m still practicing, even if it is with a different partner.” He held out his hands with palms facing up. Marilla stared at his hands uncertainly before reaching for them and stepping on top of his feet. He started turning in a circle. “See? Perfect fit.”

“I’m not heavy?”

“Nope. You’re just right.”

As Marilla seemed to relax more, Boromir began taking slightly larger and quicker steps. Her nervousness also began to fade, until she was smiling and giggling, the sound creating an echo in the large hall.

“Hey, want to try a spin?” Marilla nodded eagerly and stepped off of Boromir’s feet. He held her arm up above her head while she twirled once, twice, thrice.

“Alright, it is time to resume,” said the instructor. Marilla sighed and pouted.

“I was having fun.”

“We can do it again during the next break,” said Boromir. Marilla squealed excitedly and hugged his leg before scampering back to the table and disappearing under the cloth again. He grumbled under his breath when he turned his gaze back to Airamírë, who was still frowning as though she smelled something foul. “You know, you should try smiling a bit more.”

Her eyes creased just like her mother’s as she curved her lips into a blade-thin smile. Her expression seemed to be saying, "Like this?" Boromir rolled his eyes and blew out a sigh through the side of his mouth as he listened to instructions. This was going to be a long two hours, but at least he had realized something he hadn’t thought of before. Dancing could be enjoyable, as long as one's partner wasn't completely insufferable.