"Nanny Ogg looked under her bed
in case there was a man there.
Well, you never knew your luck."

― Terry Pratchett, Lords and Ladies

41. Secret Paths

Drúedain tents were made of animal skin stretched over thin willow poles. Looking up into the canopy, Nellas wasn't sure who she felt more sorry for, the animals that had been killed for their hides, or the baby trees that had been cut down to make the frames, but she had to admit the tents were warm and cozy inside – especially the very small one Boromir and she had been assigned. The Drúedain apparently assumed they were husband and wife, and Nellas had certainly not set them right on that account.

She could feel his warm form against her back, like a too-large cloak, and he had flung one arm over her protectively. Yesterday when they went to bed he carefully kept a distance between them, mumbling something about decency, but in his sleep that had been remedied. Hopefully he would not wake up anytime soon, and ruin the moment with his prudency.

Smiling to herself, Nellas thought of how easily he was embarrassed by such things. Like yesterday evening, when a couple of her new Drúedain friends had helped them put the tent up. Boromir had been exceptionally flustered to work along the half naked women, with flaming cheeks the whole time, poor thing.

Her gaze left the tent and landed on his arm on her blanket. The cut on his thumb was less inflamed now, but still not quite healed, and she itched to check it – but that would disturb his sleep. Instead she admired the beauty of his hand, how large and strong it looked, and how attractive forearms he had.

She couldn't resist touching the black hairs growing on the back of his arm. Humans really were the most curious beings, with their body hair that seemed to serve no particular purpose apart from just being there – and look good.

Boromir moved slightly behind her, and his breathing became less even; he was waking up. Yet, to her surprise, he didn't pull back. It almost seemed he pretended to be still asleep, which was rather strange, but Nellas was glad he remained close and didn't call him out on it.

Instead she traced his underarm to his wrist, and followed a sinew to the tip of his index finger. After exploring the rest of the back of his hand, she returned to his elbow and continued to where his arm disappeared into the loose shirt he slept in, and slipped her fingers under it to continue upwards.

The last time she tried to touch his bare skin like this he had hindered her, but not now. Maybe that was why he feigned sleep? If awake, that dumb honor of his would demand he tell her to stop.

If that were the case, she heartily approved of a little harmless deception.

Boromir's upper arm was firm and muscular, and made Nellas' hand feel small in comparison. He must be very strong.

To reach his shoulder, she needed to move. Turning carefully until she faced him, she continued her exploration. His eyes were firmly closed and his face impassive, quite convincingly looking asleep. He was a good actor, it would seem.

From his shoulder she continued to his collarbone, and then down to his chest. More hairs tickled her fingers, and she felt his heart throb. He breathed faster too, and his skin was almost burning against her palm.

The combination of his hard planes, masculine scent and reaction to her touch stirred a curious emotion in Nellas, something new and different awakening deep within.

Her eyes were drawn to his face, to his bearded chin and cheeks that had become unusually rosy – and to his slightly parted lips. She couldn't recall a time when he had been more beautiful.

"Can I kiss you?"

Her question effectively ended his fake sleeping; his eyes popped open, wide and bewildered. "I..." he murmured, but didn't continue the sentence. He appeared to debate with himself, conflicting emotions passing across his features and a slight frown marring his forehead.

At least he had not said no at once. That was an improvement.

"Please?" she tried.

His conflict was replaced with a look of defeat. He touched her cheek softly, his gaze intensifying. "Oh, Nellas..." Entangling his fingers in her hair, he drew her closer.

Then at last their lips met.

The kiss was soft and sweet at first, just a touch – but very soon it changed into something much more earnest. Nellas closed her eyes, her senses narrowing down to what was happening between them; the feeling of his firm lips moving against her own, his fingers in her hair, his warm breath, his beard scratching her chin, his scent, his taste.

This. This was what she had wanted for so long.

After an indeterminable amount of time, Boromir released her and caught his breath. "Only kissing," he murmured huskily, almost to himself. "It can't... It cannot hurt."

Nellas smiled at him, and pulled him in for another one. She could go along with 'only kissing'.

For now...

ʕll ಠ ‿ ಠ llʔ    q( ಠ ‿ ಠ )p

It was time for a short break. Gnawing on a piece of venison jerky, Nellas kneeled next to an anthill that leaned against the base of a thick pine trunk. She regarded the busy insects with curiosity, glad to rest a little after a long day's trekking – if one could call it 'day' with that horrible darkness covering the sky like an evil blanket.

The forgotten road to Boromir's city went through the densest part of the Drúadan forest, through a pass called the Stonewain Valley. Being little more than an animal track, the path was almost imperceptible where it wound its way between moss-covered old boulders and through dense thickets, and without their Drúedain guides they would have soon gone astray.

Boromir restlessly paced back and forth behind her, as was his habit during breaks. If it were up to him, they would probably have made no stops at all, but he had to allow the guides to set the pace.

"I wish we could go faster," he muttered. "My people need to know that Rohan is able to come, despite the fall of Cair Andros. The Riders should be on this road too by now, if Ghân-buri-Ghân managed to intercept them, and that means they are only half a day behind us. That knowledge could be truly helpful to my father."

When Nellas didn't reply, he squatted next to her. "What are you doing?" he asked.

She gave him a surprised glance; wasn't that obvious?

"I look at ants," she explained patiently.

He rolled his eyes. "I can see that." 

"Then why do you ask?"

He drew a deep breath and replied in a slightly strained voice. "Why are you looking at ants, Nellas?"

"I find them fascinating." She put a morsel of dried meat on the ground, where an ant quickly picked it up.

"All I see is a black mass milling around."

"Then look closer." She pointed at the ant that carried her meat, a burden at least twice its own size. "Look at that worker, how strong she is, and how tireless. All day long she brings food to her queen."

The ant crawled through a tiny opening and disappeared.

"She?"

"All workers are sisters and the queen is their mother. They feed her so she can give birth to new workers and new queens. And kings, once in a while."

"And you can see all that, just by looking at an anthill?" Boromir sounded involuntarily interested.

"Of course not." Nellas shook her head at the silly notion. "The queen lives in the deepest halls of the hill, so I cannot see her. But I asked one of the workers."

Boromir laughed. "You never cease to amaze me." He cast a sly glance at their guides, making sure their backs were turned before giving her a quick kiss.

"One more?" Nellas suggested.

Still chuckling he obeyed, adding a third for good measure.

Then all of a sudden, his expression turned serious. He stroked her cheek with a callused finger, his gaze earnest. "I think I'm in love with you."

She smiled at him. "Good. Don't stop."

ʕll ᵔ ‿ ᵔ llʔ    q( ಠ ‿ ಠ )p

Late in the afternoon they emerged from the forest, and Nellas spotted a wide band of dark stones paving the ground ahead – the Minas Tirith road.

Their guides remained under the eaves of the trees. The older of the two bent his head slightly, saying something that sounded like a farewell, and Boromir bowed elegantly in return, shaking the other's hand while replying in the same language.

Then they were alone again, but Nellas didn't mind. Without an audience she could steal as many kisses as she wanted, and this she did at the earliest opportunity.

After a short while, Boromir pulled away. "As much as I enjoy this, we have to hurry," he said regretfully.

They continued along the road, and with every mile Boromir's steps quickened. He was pointing out landmarks in passing, becoming ever more eager.

"There! See that rock formation? When you can see it, only half an hour remains until you reach Rammas Echor – that is the outer wall surrounding the fields beneath the city. And look at that hollow in the cliff – I once spent the night there with my brother and our friend, because a rainstorm had caught us by surprise. We were mere boys at the time, and my father was so angry. He came looking for us personally the next morning." Boromir's eyes grew distant. "My dear father, I hope he is well. I haven't seen him since last summer."

Nellas took his hand and squeezed it.

"I wonder what he will say when I bring a lady," Boromir mused, a small smile appearing on his lips. "He always told me I must marry well. If I choose an elf-maid, he will be pleased I think, though it is perhaps not the kind of alliance he had anticipated..."

Still with her hand in his, Boromir continued talking amiably about his family and his home until they had passed through a copse of trees and found the view to the south open.

He looked up and began to say something, but then stopped apruptly, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. Nellas felt his hand clutching hers almost painfully.

"No..." he whispered at last.

Beyond the broken Rammas wall, Minas Tirith burned.

ʕll ಠ _ ಠ llʔ   q( ಠ _ ಠ )p

Sneaking closer, it was soon obvious the fair city was in dire need. The Pelennor Fields were swarming with enemies, making them look like the anthill Nellas had studied before. Large, wooden contraptions were spread out at even intervals around the lowest circle of the city, and sent a continuous rain of burning projectiles over the once white walls. Wherever they landed, fires sprouted, and Nellas distantly heard the rumbling sound of breaking buildings and wall segments.

"The enemy is sure of himself, it would seem," spat Boromir. "The Rammas is almost abandoned. All the better for us, because it will make it possible to climb over unseen."

They had almost reached the wall, when they came across the remains of two horses and their riders laying at the roadside. One of the men gripped a black arrow with stiff fingers. Its point was dyed scarlet, like dipped in blood.

Nellas bit her lip to refrain from crying. Such pointless killing! But there was a war ahead; she knew this was only the beginning.

"The Red Arrow!" Boromir hissed. "My poor people, how they must worry!" He explained that when in need, Minas Tirith would call for aid from Rohan, their allies, and that the sign was this arrow. If the messengers brought the arrow back to the steward, that meant the King of Rohan had agreed to help. "But with the messengers killed, my father cannot know what the reply was. He must be in great despair by now! A huge host surrounding the city, the first circle in flames, and no allies in sight..." He set his jaw. "Well, I shall set him at ease on the latter, at least. Come!"

"But how can we get past the enemy army?" Nellas asked.

Boromir smiled grimly. "I know a secret way. Follow me!"

A/N:

So... This chapter was for all the Boromir fans out there! Personally, he's not my type, but I do think he deserves a better ending than he got in the books/film. :)

If you wonder about the path he and Nellas (and later the Rohirrim) takes, I've added a map below from the Encyclopedia of Arda, with the Stonewain Valley marked out, as well as the Rammas Echor wall.

Source: https://www.glyphweb.com/arda/m/minastirith.php