It was the last day of the year, and winter finally seemed to have come to Minas Tirith. Snow covered the white city's many towers, gleaming in the brilliant winter’s sun, lasting for the first time this year.
Despite the harsh frost, children seemed to be everywhere, playing with the snow, yelling and shouting gleefully, filling the crisp air with innocent joy.

Trotting up the ramparts to the palace on his horse, Prince Boromir returned from patrol along the eastern border. He and his men had been gone for two weeks by now, missing out on their families’ solstice celebrations. At least, they would be home for the turning of the years.

Not that there would have been much to miss out on, Boromir thought gloomily. Since mother’s death, there wasn’t much of a family left to celebrate with, and father’s moods had been increasingly sombre lately.

No small wonder, though. They had run into several bands of orcs during their ride, quite boldly roaming through the lands west of Minas Morgul. Everywhere they had come to, the group of soldiers had found evidence of Mordor’s ever growing influence, Sauron’s hand stretching out for the free people of Middle-Earth once again.

Obviously, it hadn’t been a pleasant trip, given the circumstances. Not only had the bad news they were bringing home been sitting heavily on the soldier's hearts, but the sudden cold and the snow had slowed down their movements and weighted down their moods even more.
Boromir couldn’t think of a single man in his team who wouldn’t sigh happily once they were back in their warm houses, safe again with their wives and children. At least for the time being.

With an annoyed grunt, Boromir remembered that there wouldn’t be a wife or kids waiting for him at home, though. Not necessarily even a home. Father was sitting on his throne like Father Winter himself, cold, implacable, stern.
Probably, he thought, I will end up drinking with the guards again this year. Maybe Faramir’s here at least. So there will be some family around, after all.

Though it didn’t look like a good year that’s coming up, he mused, the gloom around him so deep he didn’t even notice his brother Faramir standing on one of the walls, silently smiling down on him. Neither did he see the kids running around in the streets, cheering him and the other soldiers, nor did he realise just how beautiful this morning was. The bright sun made the pristine snow gleam with countless sparkles, each one of a different colour, making the already beautiful Lady that was Minas Tirith look as if dusted with ground diamonds.

But the heir to the Steward’s throne only noticed his aching back, his cold hands and feet, and the fact that he hadn’t been sleeping in a proper bed since he and his men had left. To say he was in a sombre mood was flattering at best.

They entered the palace’s grounds through a wide gate, bearing the symbol of the silver tree that had once been growing in his Father’s yard. Boromir exchanged a few words with the guards at the gate, then released his soldiers and rode on to the yard where he and his immediate family kept their horses, some bit higher up in the maze of buildings that composed the Palace of Minas Tirith.

Everybody knew Boromir took pride in caring for his horse himself, at least every now and then, and so no-one thought of disturbing him with requests to let someone else take care of this task so ill-suited for a Prince. He genuinely looked forward to unsaddle his horse, brush it dry, see that it had enough hay, maybe even some oats as it had been very faithful during their ride. It made him feel at ease with himself to work physically, and more at home than watching his servants fussing around to lit the fire, heat the water for a bath, and do thousands of things he could quite well have done without.

All he longed for right now was a silent hour in the warm stables, the wordless friendship of his brown gelding and no-one else around.

Blinking in irritation, Boromir had to reign in his equally surprised horse as a snowball impacted on the wall next to them, showering both horse and rider with bits of white. Apparently, even this far into the restricted palace grounds, young people couldn’t refrain from playing stupid games, frolicking in the snow as if there was nothing else to worry about. Yells and mock battle-cries were heard from the courtyard the prince was about to enter, and he couldn’t help but snort in anger.

Stupid lads, Boromir thought. There are stinking orcs out there, walking through the snow right now, stealing your country bit by bit. You’ll be fighting real wars soon enough.

Peeking around the corner of the wall that separated the yard from the path, careful not to be hit by another stray projectile, Boromir tried to figure out if simply to ride on, yelling at whoever dared to threaten his peaceful time with his horse, or merely ignore the commotion and let them scuttle away as soon as they notice who was entering the scene.

They always did, and right now, it perfectly suited Boromir’s foul mood.

But to his surprise, the prince didn’t find a bunch of useless courtiers running around the yard, but a handful of boys out of the kitchens. Despite his gloom, a smile stole itself into the corner of the prince’s mouth.

He had a favourite among the scullions, a blond, lively youngster just about to grow into a respectable man. Maybe William even was one of the under-cooks by now, Boromir wondered. He hadn’t really looked after the boy’s doings lately. Too many orcs, too little time.

I hate orcs. I hate them for being the pest of my country, and for distracting me from the important things in life.

This close to the mountains the city was build against, cold winds fell almost perpendicular into the yard at times, and apparently they had heaped up snowdrifts high enough to hide behind in its corners. At least two different groups were fighting ferociously for each foot of snow-covered grounds, judging by the wild storm of crossing snowballs that laced the yard’s air. Yet from his high seat on the horse, Boromir could make out the gleaming gold curls of William behind one of the drifts, and he smiled without a frown for the first time in days.

It had been in this very courtyard, earlier this year, in summer, when Boromir had seized a chance to get to know this young man better. Sure, he had been eyeing William for quite a while already then, but he had never got around to actually talk to him.
Which was not that easily done, given the fact that the blonde was a commoner and he was the heir apparent to the Steward’s throne. But scrubbing a huge cauldron together with the boy had proven rather effective in breaking down the social barriers between them, at least for a few moments.
After his initial surprise, William even had started to chat with him, and the memory of this golden, sun-lit afternoon still managed to light up the prince’s heart. That scullion had proven not only to be dangerously charming, no, he was pretty smart as well, and a complete waste to the kitchens. But Boromir hadn’t dared to influence the young man’s career, afraid that William would feel bribed.

‘Bribed to what?’, that godforsaken voice in the back of Boromir’s head asked snugly.

‘Shut up!’, the prince barked at it, less angry at the voice itself than at the fact that the remark had almost sent him blushing like a ten-year-old.
Sure, his interest in the boy was all but chaste, but he would never force things William wouldn’t want as well. And how would that work anyway? He’d make both of them the butt end of every joke at court, and while Boromir thought himself able of ignoring such chatter, he knew William would be far too proud to suffer such humiliation. The boy would rather leave the city, and the prince found himself admiring the young man for that.

Still the wild fighting in the yard went on, and the prince could feel his hands twitching with the silent wish to join the chaotic melee. It’s been years I haven’t been brawling for fun, he thought, and who would mind me joining? Father would have a fit, and that’s already a good reason.
But they would stop as soon as they see me entering the yard. So my title even prevented me from such simple pleasures.

‘And the fact that you could be the father to most of the boys out there,’ that voice added caustically.

‘Shut up!’, Boromir snapped again. ‘I’m not old.’

‘I haven’t said so. You’re just older. By far.’

‘I hate you.’

‘I don’t really like you, either.’

‘Get lost.’

Snug, defying silence was all he got as an answer.

So, before the price could get lost in even more uninspiring thoughts, he clicked at his horse, which obediently trotted calmly around the rest of the corner and into the courtyard.

„Watch out!", Boromir yelled, surprised how much his mood had bettered in the last few moments. „Rider crossing!"

Almost immediately, the commotion in the yard came to a grinding halt, and the prince found himself stared at from at least a dozen sparkling eyes, each respective face gleaming with fun and exhaustion, their breaths feathering white in the icy air.
He forced himself not to look any longer for William than would have been appropriate, but anyway the boy was busy elsewhere. As he was riding across the yard towards the stable, he watched the blond head bob up every now and then behind the concealing snowdrifts along the rear of the yard, apparently sneaking up to another person still hiding somewhere.
Then, with a triumphant yell, William lurched forward, only to disappear behind another heap of snow. He was wearing shirt and breeches of indistinguishable colour, but the gleaming red scarf strung around the young man’s neck caught Boromir’s eye.

At least he’s wearing one decent piece of clothing, the Prince commented mentally. Would it be too obvious if I’d sent him a coat? I really have to find out what his status is these days. Green would suit him perfectly. Light green...

Dismounting, Boromir noted with a certain melancholy that the fight in the yard apparently had ended with his appearance, and one by one, the combatants were leaving their respective covers. Only from behind the drift where William had tackled his target squealing mock pleas for mercy emerged. Apparently, they were having a really good time there.

Suppressing a blush again, the Prince turned his attention back to his horse.

All the Valar, he thought, am I really so much in need of a romp that I can’t think of anything else? Gotta pay visit to some of the larger inns here in town...

While he unsaddled his gelding, the noise in the yard slowly subsided, leaving the place as empty and silent as Boromir initially had wished for. Turning around to see if he was truly on his own by now, the prince was surprised to find William standing at the door leading back into the adjacent building, looking at him.

And smiling.

All the heavens, this smile could lay waste to an entire army in a heartbeat, Boromir thought, astonished once more about just HOW devastating that smile could be. William was still wearing the red scarf, but now he had slipped into a dark surcoat emblazoned with the omnipresent silver tree.

‘A squire?’, Boromir noticed with happy surprise. ‘Now that’s already quite a career for a commoner...’

Without further thinking, he found himself waving amiably at the young man, only to curse inwardly at his foolish camaraderie as William wordlessly slipped away into the building.

„Dammit!", he snapped, turning to his gelding in a gentler tone, smiling at it’s nervously twitching ears. „Don’t worry, old one. Nothing wrong. Shh... I’ve just been stupid again."

Working in practised speed, yet without haste, Boromir began to unpack his animal companion, took off his saddle and started too brush him dry. Finally thinking himself to be alone, he softly began to talk to the horse.

„You know, old friend, humans can be such a difficult race. If you are too careful, they don’t notice a thing, but as soon as you get a bit more obvious, you scare them away."

His gelding only looked at him, apparently in companionable silence.

„I really only wanted to be friendly," the prince went on. „But I think it’s really stupid for me to dream of him being interested in me, isn’t it? Sometimes I envy you, you know? So many troubles you'll never have to worry about..."

Working on silently, Boromir noticed that the stables were not as warm as he had hoped they would be. Slowly, a distinct chill was seeping into his bones, and the weariness of the last days finally came to claim it's own.

"I just wonder what his lips would taste like, " the prince mused on, still talking out loud to his animal. "I bet he's quite a Ladies' man, given his looks. And he would be stupid to reject all these offers, would he? Or maybe he's waiting for his one true love? Could be, idealistic as he is..."

Boromir took his time to search for the tools to clean his gelding's hooves, then bent down and patted the animal's flank, which obediently lifted his leg. Carefully scratching the nooks and crannies around the iron shoe, he mused on:

"I bet he's got all the girls of the kitchens trying to get a kiss from him. Wonder if I have even a hint of a chance against that competition. Though I wouldn't mind if I had to fight. He's surely worth it."

A polite cough startled the prince out of his thought, and to his unending surprise, he stared at William standing at the entrance to his horses box, a steaming goblet of mulled wine on a tray in his hands, just the slightest hint of amusement hiding in the corner of his mouth.

"Oh," Boromir said with far less grace than he would have liked to, "William. It's you."

"Your Highness," the young squire said with a sketched bow. "I know you'd prefer to be alone in the stables. But I thought you might welcome something to warm you up a bit."

"Hadn't we already agreed on you calling me 'Boromir'?"

William's smile widened, and he entered the box without asking.

"That's a rather improper way for a Prince to treat a commoner," the blond boy answered with clear amusement. "But I think I can oblige. Here, take the wine. You look like death warmed over."

Snorting in surprise at the flippant comment, Boromir put down his horse's leg and took the offered goblet, mustering William thoughtfully. He wasn't the boy he had been this summer any longer. In front of him, the Prince of Gondor found a straight, young man, his eyes still sparkling with the same idealistic fire, his smile still radiant enough to challenge the sun. But his body was different, wider in shoulders, more massive. He looked delicious, Boromir decided, good enough to eat.
Standing so close to each other, the prince could not refrain from having his looks wander to the young man's lips, imagining how they would feel if he were to touch them with his fingers, with his lips. He followed their gracious crease and curve, surprised once more that a man's lips could look sensuous and manly at the same time, noticing the traces of a neatly shaved golden beard around them with inner delight.

"Boromir?", William asked after a moment of silence, "Are you all right?"

Brought out of his reverie, the prince blinked and replied:

"No, no. I'm fine. It's just -" He broke of in mid-sentence as a wild idea took hold in his mind. "Would you mind holding that for a moment?"

Stretching out his hands, he presented William with both the iron hook he had been cleaning the hooves with as well as the pewter goblet.

"Sure," the squire replied, taking the goblet with one hand, holding the tray with his other hand for Boromir to put the hook onto. "Why?"

"Just -", the prince hesitated for a moment, then added with a tiny grin, "Just to occupy your hands."

And before William could say anything about it, Boromir stepped forward, taking the young man's head in both of his hands, kissing the young man gently, yet with all the desire he felt for him.
For a second, the squire stood like frozen, both of surprise and confusion, trying to figure out how to wriggle out of the situation without dropping any of the things he was carrying. Then, with a deftness that easily matched Boromir's passion in intensity, he kicked at the prince's shin, twice just for good measure.

With a surprised grunt, the Boromir let go of his 'victim', an odd mix of guilt, pain and happiness in his face. Yet in the young squire's face, he only found confusion and anger, and suddenly, he could have beaten himself senseless for acting this rude.

William's eyes blazed with wordless anger, his brows furrowing, his teeth clenched. With a sudden flourishing motion, threw the goblet's content's at Boromir's face, thoroughly drenching his unexpecting prince in spiced wine. Flinging the tool from the tray onto the ground simultaneously, he abruptly turned around and left without a word, closing the stable's door with a resounding bang.

"Now, that's what I call a passionate man," Boromir muttered in stunned confusion, wiping some of the luke-warm liquid out of his face. "What a shame about the wine. Valar, is he gorgeous when he's angry!"

Turning around to face his horse again, he added in a defeated voice:

"I'm such an incredible idiot."

The silent look of his gelding seemed to agree wholeheartedly.

----

After this, the Prince didn't stay in the stable much longer. For one, he had been almost finished with his horse, and then drenched in wine as he now was, he definitely wanted a bath and a change.

So only minutes after the prince's adored young squire had left the place so flamboyantly, Boromir once again stepped onto the sun-lit courtyard, blinking at the unexpected brightness.

Seldom he had felt that stupid. But the situation had been just too tempting, and maybe, well, maybe it would have worked.

'Even if he had been interested in the first place,' that most annoying voice started off again, 'Now you'd have him scared away for good anyway.'

Boromir felt too defeated to even react. After all, that voice was right, for a change. How could he be so rude? Now William would surely take great care never to come close to the prince again, and carry a grudge against him in his fierce heart that would bother Boromir more than the orcs at his country's borders. Well, at least for a few days.

Why do I always have to act before I think, the prince scolded himself silently. How will I ever become a bearable ruler when I can't even rule in my own temper? Or control my passions?

When he came up to the small wooden door that led from the courtyard into the Palace, he stopped for a moment, seriously contemplating to bang his head against the sturdy green panels.
Maybe that would help, he thought grimly.

With a sharp, smacking sound, a well-aimed snowball impacted on the back of Boromir's head. The unexpected attack and the sudden wet cold in his collar set the prince's already foul temper flaring, and he flung around, hand on his sword-hilt, scanning the yard for the audacious fiend.

But no renegade band of orcs was there, no sword-wielding brigands.
Only William stood in the otherwise deserted yard, one foot firmly planted on a snow-drift, a second ball of snow in his right hand. Clad completely now in the sombre garb of a squire of the palace, the red scarf he was still wearing stood out even more. His face more contemplative than angry, he struck Boromir once again as an admirable young man, and however much he wanted to, he could not really hold onto his wrath in face of William's innocent revenge. Again, the icy cold made the blond man's breath feather white in the brilliant sun, and it was an image Boromir swore to himself he would take to his grave.

So when the young squire walked over to him, the prince visibly relaxed, curious to learn what William was about to say, and to his own surprise more than just a bit afraid it might be something rather rejective.

Only a few steps away from his prince, the young man stopped, still weighing the snowball in his hand as if still not sure if he wasn't going to use it after all.

"If that ever happens again," William began, his voice firm, yet not as angry as Boromir might have feared, "I'll kick your balls, not just your shin."

"All right," the prince replied carefully, happily surprised to see that apparently, William considered this incident not a sudden death of their friendship. Pushed by his relieve, he added without thinking: "So no more kissing?"

The young squire only rolled his eyes in reply, throwing away the remaining snow-ball over his shoulder. With an amiable smile, he walked past his prince and opened the small door. Already half-way into the hallway, he looked back at Boromir and said gently, as if talking to a slightly dense child:

"What about asking, next time?"

And before the stunned prince could muster any of his wits to say anything worthwhile about this, William actually winked at Boromir and slid into the dark hallway, silently closing the door behind him.

For a whole while, Gondor's heir apparent stood in the snow-covered yard as if petrified. Only when realisation of what William had actually suggested with his last words dawned in his mind, a wide smile blossomed in his face.
Spreading his arms, turning around himself, he hooted of joy like small child, feeling as if all the Valar had listened to his silent pleas. Without thinking, Boromir let himself drop on his back into one of the large snow-drifts, blinking up into the brilliant winter's sun, grinning full of joy.

He felt cold, dizzy, stupid, dirty and exhausted.
But also, for the first time in years, he felt very, very happy.

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

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