Wiping dust and sweat from his brow, Boromir blinked out into the golden light of the early afternoon, leaning onto his horse's stable-door, giving himself a moment of rest.

He liked working in the stables, at least some times. Much better than sitting around, waiting for news to arrive and even better by far than attending one of his father's endless, mind-draining meetings.

He grinned at the picture in his mind, his father sitting together with other nobles, cramped into a sombre, stuffy room, no air moving, no word spoken, all of them just watching each other, feeling miserably.
How much better it was to be out here, working physically, even when the warmth of the late summer’s day made the sweat run down his back and the straw's dust made his face itch.

I must be smelling like one of my horses, Boromir thought to himself, widely smiling to his dark brown gelding that had trotted next to him, eyeing him with mild distrust.
The animal loathed his stable to be put in disarray by bustling humans, but it liked his master, that for sure. For a moment, both horse and human looked at each other, then mutually turned away, both watching the sunny courtyard in front of the stables.

While the horse got itself a hearty mouthful out of his grain-bag, the prince began to chew on a straw he head found sticking in his hair, his thoughts wandering aimlessly.
The news that had been arriving from the east had become unnerving of late, tales of orcs and growing darkness, and though the worry weighted heavy on his heart, it somehow failed to seem any real danger in this pastoral moment.

Dust flicked in the amber light in front of him like myriads of fireflies, drifting along lazily. All the place seemed to be slow, peaceful, moving with the pace of golden honey.

The straw still in his mouth, Boromir threw a look over his shoulder, only to see his horse looking back at him, chewing as well, with a slight look of consternation on its huge, friendly face.

"You're a good one", He said, patting his horse's flank, thoroughly enjoying the wordless friendship with his horse.
"If only human relationships could be that simple", he said to his gelding in a low voice. "I'm no good with words, am I? But you don't mind, old one, never been a horse of many words yourself, were you?"

And with a wide smile, Boromir turned towards the light-flooded yard again, leaning his elbows onto the lower part of the stable's door, leaving the upper part standing open wide.

Then suddenly, the sound of a door banging open disturbed the silence, and both the prince and his horse watched two kitchen boys carrying a huge copper cauldron into the yard, both laughing loudly, both amiably disputing who of them was to blame for the burned soup that apparently crusted the cauldron's inside.

Boromir's grin widened just a bit when he realised that one of the two boys was his special favourite. His name was William, and his blond curls shone in the sunlight like spun gold.

But it had neither been the boy's locks nor his dazzling blue eyes or youthful, sinewy frame that caught his prince's attention.
The tousled curls on his head, dark blond at their beginning, brightening ever more until the almost shone white-gold definitely made his fingers twitch, made him wonder how it would feel to run his hands trough them.
And the boy's body was of that kind that would fill into an athletic, muscled man within a few years, but now radiated energy and an almost mercurial agility.

That alone would have been enough for Boromir to give the boy a second look, to wonder if by any chance this lively golden yearling would consent to share his Prince's bed.

But none of this was as stunning, as adorable as the quality Boromir first thought of when he thought of this boy.
Silently, he wished to stay unnoticed by the two scullions, hoped they just would walk over to the small fountain a few paces from the stables, chatting, joking.

The other boy stumbled on the cobblestone ground, and they put down their awkward load. And then, he did it.

William looked at his companion, and his face split into a grin, wide, radiating, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth. Like a second sun this smile glowed in the courtyard, and in Boromir's eyes it easily best its celestial contestant. The boy's already pleasing features turned absolutely adorable, and all threat of darkness seemed to disappear from the world.

How could a kitchen boy possess a smile that could stop an army in its tracks, Boromir mused, wondering once more why the tales only sung of graceful maidens, and never of boys that could steal hearts and minds alike with a single smile.

Sighing softly, he propped his chin into his hands, intending to enjoy the scene in front of him thoroughly.
He should get a bard to make a song about this William, he thought. It'd never be played, that for sure, but he could hum it whenever he felt like, and maybe, one day, could give it to the boy as present.

What a stupid, love-foolish idea; a part of him thought.
Yes; another one answered dreamily. Maybe I could sneak into his room, to cover his bed with flowers?

You'll make a complete fool out of yourself, you know that.

Wouldn't even a single smile from his lips be worth the risk a hundred times? If he'd smile for me, just once?

Gruntingly, the other voice succumbed to defeated silence.

With another soft smirk, Boromir acknowledged the conclusion the discussion in his head had brought him to.
He knew he would make a fool out of himself, maybe even scaring away William for good, but what's life when you don't take risks?
You'll never catch a star if you don't at least try.

Though it seems to be more the sun than a star what I'm after, he thought, still smiling wryly. Hope I will not burn my fingers.

The two boys by now had managed to carry their load towards the fountain, cursing the size of the cauldron that reached up well over their waists. With much laughing and teasing, they realised they had brought neither sand nor rags to clean out the cauldron, and the other boy was volunteered to go and fetch some, while William was to stay in the yard and soak the crusted grime with fresh water.

I'll never understand how a thatcher's son got so outlandish a name, Boromir mused while he watched the second boy run like a hare back into the building.

He had done some research on the boy, once he had seem him smile on day when he passed through the kitchen. The son of a thatcher, who, by untraceable means, had ended up as a scullion in the King's kitchen in the palace of Minas Tirith.

Lucky me, Boromir thought, and smiled at the general direction of his latest target. William was standing in the yard close to the fountain, blinking in the bright sunlight, apparently thinking of a way to begin his task without getting himself doused as well.

The prince's eyes widened as the kitchen boy began to tug his tunic out of his breeches, and when he pulled it over his head, Boromir realised hat it just got definitely hotter in the stables.

Lucky me, he thought again, but this time his thoughts were filled with anticipation of an encounter that might never happen, filled with images of passionate love-making.

He could almost smell the sweet scent of William's body, could feel his smooth skin underneath his longing hands. In his mind, Boromir saw the boy's eyes widen underneath him, saw him writhe in passion, groan with desire.

Would he smile if I kissed him?

Boromir sighed once more, noticing how tight his own breeches had become, and shook his head.
Now here's the Prince of Gondor, getting all hot about a kitchen-boy who's just growing the first hair on his chin.
For a future King, my choice of mates truly leaves a lot room for improvement.

Snorting, he pictured himself on the Steward's throne, William standing on his left, smiling, dazzling the court like so many flowers turning their faces to the sun.
How hilarious! It would never work.

He'll probably find a lovely girl one day, marry her, and sire countless lovely, blond-curled children.

He watched the boy pulling a bucket of cold water out of the fountain's basin, pouring it into the cauldron with a flourish, laughingly dodging the resulting splash of water.

Maybe just for one night?

Never before had he met a boy so precious, no warrior so compelling, no man so adorable as this boy, and he'd be damned if he didn't at least try his luck.

Just as Boromir had decided to leave his cover in the shady stable, the other boy returned with a small bucket of sand and a heap of rags, puffing, explaining in chopped-off sentences that he had been ordered back into the kitchen, and that he'd come back soon, and that he was awfully sorry to leave William alone with this task, and off he was again, running as if his very life depended on it.

William stood next to the cauldron, scratching his head in bewilderment one moment, then turning around to the cauldron, eyeing his foe pensively.

All the Valar, Boromir thought, how could you allow a boy to be so lovely? I am tempted to lock him up in my father's treasure chamber, never to let him go again.
But that would take his happiness, his innocence, and would make his smile fade away. The prince's heart sank at the thought, and he knew that he'd rather have William be happy in somebody else's arms than wilting away in his own.

Love does do strange things to a man's mind, he thought.
Of course you cannot think clearly, the one voice in his head commented again. All your blood's busy elsewhere.
Shut up, he thought. You're right, but that does not imply that you're allowed to mention it.

Snugly, the voice said nothing.

Oh Valar, when I wait a moment longer, I'll just melt away into mindless adoration. But what could I say to him?

Hello, haven't we met before?

Surely not.

I'm the Prince, he's the kitchen boy.
He'll either run away as soon as he sees me or freeze in awe and do everything I ask just out of fear. That's unfair!
I'm just a man, and if I don't mind his rank, why then should he?

Because you're the one who can have him beheaded on a moments notice, that stupid voice replied unasked-for.

He silenced it with a mental punch into ist equally mental balls.

Meanwhile, William had decided that the cauldron was too big to clean it while it was still standing upright, and struggled to turn over the huge thing, the water inside slopping heavily, dousing the boy and a good measure of the courtyard in the process. Them finally, the cauldron succumbed and fell to the side, it's contents spilling over the yard like a small flood, tiny charred islands drifting on top of the greyish waves.

Pea-soup, judging by the smell of it.

Cursing lowly, William poured the rest of the water out of the huge copper kettle and armed with a wet rag and some sand, knelt down to clean the cauldron's inside.
Unfortunately, the round metal container was almost impossible to fix on the uneven ground, and several times tried to roll away with William still halfway into it.

Oh Valar, this is just too cute, Boromir thought exasperated, fiercely trying to banish the thought of playing puppies from his mind. Whoever thought me worthy of this, thanks for giving me a chance.

Maybe dirtying my hands will help me win a heart that no flower or ballad could have won for me.

Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt even more, the Prince of Gondor left the shady stable and walked out into the golden sunlight of the yard, the kitchen-boy still busy inside his cauldron, oblivious to the person approaching him.

I hope he does not run away immediately, Boromir thought to himself. Maybe I manage to make him give me a smile before he realises who I am.

Everything else will be a gift I'd not dare dreaming of.

Then Boromir had reached the cauldron, and braced himself before he gently knocked onto the cool metal.

William jerked up in surprise, knocking his head on the cauldron's rim, cursing silently inside the ominous thing.

"What's up!", he called angrily, obviously thinking his companion back to help him.

"Err", Boromir began, all words apparently having fled his mind. "You need some help?"

"Who's that? Darren, that's you?"

William sounded annoyed, and Boromir wondered why the boy still kept kneeling in that pot while there obviously was someone out there, trying to speak with him.

"It's, err, Boromir", he said, cursing himself for his utterly sheepish ways.

"Yeah, sure. And I'm Denethor. Get off!"

Raising an amused eyebrow, Boromir replied:

"My father never would be found scrubbing pots in the castle's yard, I'm pretty sure of that."

A moment passed in stunned silence, then William pulled his head out of the cauldron, blinking at Boromir with an utterly blank expression.

Great, the prince thought. Now I've scared him off completely. Great.

Small drops of water glistened in Williams hair, on his cheeks, on his chest, and the sunlight turned each of them into tiny jewels, sparkling and shining, his hair like a crown of woven gold.

I'm in love, Boromir thought like admitting utter defeat, 'must be love if a wet and dirty kitchen-boy to me looks as breathtaking as a fairytale-prince.

"Your... Highness...", William finally managed to say, the expression in his face changing from blank to shocked.

"Yep.", the prince said, smiling shyly.

"I – I am – about your father, I - "

"Never mind. Need a helping hand?"

Please, let him say yes. Please!

William blinked in complete bewilderment.

"You want to – ", he asked, mentioning towards the dirty cauldron, still looking painfully perfect, sitting on the puddled ground as he did.

Oh father, and you said spending my time in the stables wouldn't get me anywhere.
And now I'm in heaven.

"Yes, why not? I was doing the stables when I noticed you might need some help."

The boys eyebrows arched up in surprise, and Boromir felt his heart beating even faster.

"Yeah, why not...", William said, wiping some droplets off his cheek, then shrugging, saying:

"I truly would need someone to hold that blasted thing, your Highness."

"Then I'll help you."

He said yes! He did it!

"Your Highness?", William asked as he was just about to re-enter the cauldron.

"Call me Boromir."

The boy hesitated just a moment, then said:

"Boromir?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

And then, like the dawn banishing every last trace of darkness forever, he smiled at me.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Osiris Brackhaus

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