Author's Note: I never thought I'd be writing silly one-shots in the LotR universe, but here we are. This is just a little something I came up with to feed my muse and (hopefully) please my readers while I work on my next epic installment in the Boromir Cycle (Yes! I am planning another one! Scary, I know…). It takes place about two years after the epilogue of The Steward's Tale, and it isn't in any way important to the overall story. It's just a bit of fun. But be warned that it won't make much sense if you haven't read the earlier stories in the cycle.

I hope you enjoy it!

— Chevy

Your Daughter…

— June, 16 IV (S.R. 1437) —

Eldarion, son and heir to King Elessar, was supposed to be tucked away in a musty corner of the library with his tutor, plowing through the endless—and endlessly repetitive—annals of the Kings of ancient Númenor, but the sun was shining and the birds were singing and the streets of Minas Tirith were calling to him. It was a call no lad with an ounce of spirit could ignore, and young Eldarion had more than his share of spirit. And so, with barely a qualm for his act of blatant disobedience, he abandoned his tutor to the questionable pleasures of the Númenorean Kings, slipped away from him, and fled into the lower city for an afternoon of illicit fun.

All fun, illicit or otherwise, required a like-minded companion to share in it, and for Eldarion, only one companion would do. Ducking down the lane that ran behind the library, he went in search of this indispensable person. He had nearly reached the end of the lane and his goal when he spotted a small boy crouched down by the wall of a house, peering into a sewer grating. There was no mistaking the velvet breeches and embroidered tunic the child wore—they had been Eldarion's own until he had outgrown them a year ago—nor the burnished hair half hidden by a dark cap. It was no boy, but the very person he sought.

Halting in his tracks, he hissed, "Merry!"

The bright head came up and around. A smile broke over Merilin's face, and she bounded to her feet. "Eldarion!"

"Hush," he warned, throwing a glance toward the house at the end of the lane and the windows that faced onto it. Merilin's father always kept the windows open, which meant that Merilin's mother—a far sterner taskmaster than her lord would ever be—could hear everything that passed in the street. "Your mother will hear."

"She cannot. She is in the kitchen."

"Still…"

He cast another nervous look toward the house, aware even as he did it that it was foolish to be afraid of Gil. She was a small woman—only a few inches taller than Eldarion himself—of few words and calm temper, who had never done more than give him the occasional stern look. And yet he was far more wary of her than of Merilin's father, the Lord Boromir, who could reduce the bravest squire to dry-mouthed terror with a glance. Gil did not scowl or growl or fix one with a bandaged gaze that ought not to be able to find one at all. She merely disapproved. And that was enough.

Grabbing Merilin's hand, he started back toward the library. "Come along, Merry, do not dawdle."

Merilin followed without objection, only asking, "Where are we going? To the practice yard?"

"Nay." She huffed in disappointment, and he threw a long-suffering look over his shoulder at her. "I am not scheduled for training today, but for study!"

She laughed at his grimace of distaste, gave a delighted skip, and picked up her pace until she was dragging him forward. "Let us escape quickly, then!"

Together they scampered up the lane, through the Court of the Fountain, and into the shelter of the tunnel beneath the wall. No guard accosted them. No cry from the library or tower halted them. And soon they were strolling happily through the streets of the city, headed for the lower circles.

To any casual observer they would look like a pair of well-born boys on holiday. Merilin's fine bones and long hair might have betrayed her sex were she a few years older, but in her breeches, with her hair pinned up under a cap, she easily passed as a boy of five or six summers, and she frisked about as wildly as a young colt let off its tether. Eldarion, only a year her senior, had known and loved her as long as he could remember, and he thought of her as neither a boy nor a girl. She was simply Merilin and necessary to his happiness.

"What shall we do?" she asked, as she trotted along beside him.

"We can go down to the Old Guesthouse. Mayhap the boys will have a game of sticks and balls going," Eldarion suggested.

Merilin pulled a face at that. "They will not let me play."

"They will do as I say," Eldarion said, with all the lofty assurance of a king's son.

"I had rather go to the Harlond."

Eldarion considered this, then grinned in agreement. The last time they had visited the Harlond, they had met a fishing boat coming in off the river, and the men aboard had let them help to clean their catch. They had both come home slimed to the eyeballs with fish guts, scratched raw by scales, stinking of the docks, and thoroughly happy.

They were speculating as to what delights they would find at the waterside today when they came around the curve of the Third circle to see a group of stripling boys gathered by a public fountain. One of them held out a burlap sack that twitched and writhed frantically, while the others urged him to drop it in the fountain. In the same moment that Eldarion realized what he was seeing, the boy with the sack plunged it into the water.

"Hey!" Merilin shouted, making Eldarion jump. "Stop that!"

The boys all turned to gape at her, one of them up to his elbows in the fountain, and Merilin leapt into action. She ran straight at the boys, shrieking, "Drop that sack! Drop it!"

"Merilin!" Eldarion cried, starting after her.

The boys seemed frozen in place—perhaps not believing their eyes—as the small termagant descended upon them in a fury. None of them moved until Merilin, still running full tilt, bent to snatch up a stick of firewood that someone had carelessly dropped in the street and brandished it. Eldarion had a brief, dizzying vision of Lord Boromir descending upon a hoard of orcs with his great sword in his hand, snarling in defiance, and he would have laughed if the picture weren't so terrifying. The boys must have seen something very like it, for the largest of them straightened up, his hands now ominously empty and his eyes popping.

"Oy!" he protested. "What're you doing, you mad thing?"

"Teaching you a lesson!" Merilin growled, even as she reached them and began laying about her with the stick.

In the next moment, all four boys broke and ran. They fled down the street with Merilin in hot pursuit, her weapon striking viciously at whatever body part she could find. Eldarion slowed as he drew up to the fountain, looking about him for a weapon or inspiration. He could not leave Merilin to face four such great, rough boys alone, but neither could he use the jeweled dagger he wore at his belt on them, and there was no more firewood lying about. Perhaps his fists would do.

He slowed still more, a little voice in the back of his head telling him that his father would not thank him for starting a brawl in the streets when he was supposed to be studying quietly in the library. But neither would he approve of his son and heir leaving a girl both younger and smaller than himself to fight such a brawl alone. What was a dutiful son to do? A loyal friend? A man of honor?

Then he remembered the sack.

Turning at once, he ran back to the fountain and leapt lightly onto the stone curb that circled it. Merilin, possessed as she was by the spirit of her fearsome father, did not need his help, but whatever was in that sack most definitely did. And Merilin would never forgive him if he left some helpless creature to drown.

The sack was there, half-submerged in the pool, still squirming and flailing as the thing trapped in it struggled to free itself. Eldarion snatched it out of the water and held it up, streaming with wet. Piercing, plaintive cries issued from it. Holding it well away from him to avoid being drenched, he hopped back down onto the sun-warmed pavement and knelt to open the sack.

It was full of kittens. Tiny, soggy, shivering, reaching with their oversized paws toward the light, their mouths gasping for air and crying with every breath. This is what Merilin's reckless courage had saved—a sackful of kittens.

Eldarion regarded them for a moment, wondering what to do, then he unfastened the clasp of his cloak and spread it out on the pavement. Reaching into the sack, he pulled out one little body. The kitten mewed piteously. Eldarion cradled it in his hand and used one corner of his cloak to rub the worst of the water from its fur. Then he set it gently on its feet in the middle of the cloak and pulled out another.

By the time Merilin came trotting back up the street, red-faced and triumphant, he had five kittens dried and tumbling over each other on his cloak as they tried to figure out where they were and what was happening to them. Lifting the last one out of the sack, he began rubbing it dry, as Merilin dropped to her knees beside him.

"I say!" she cried softly, reaching to stroke one of the kittens. "How lovely!"

"They seem to be well enough. This last one is coughing. I think it breathed more water than the others."

"How clever of you to save them! I should have done, but I was so angry that I did not stop to think."

"I assumed you had forgotten all about the sack." A flush rose in his cheeks, and he cast her an embarrassed glance through his lashes. "Was it very wrong of me to leave you to fight those boys alone?"

Merilin snorted derisively. "Fight? They did not fight! They ran, for they are naught but miserable poltroons—drowning defenseless kittens and cowering in fear before a stick of firewood!" She gave another snort. "If I had a proper sword, now… that would have been something to fear!"

She flourished her imagined sword as she said it, making Eldarion grin fondly at her.

"It is safer for all Gondor that you do not have a proper sword, I deem."

"You sound just like my ada. He says that that I am too much like him, and that he will never give me a sword because I cannot be trusted to hold my temper. But I say that he has been allowed to fight with a sword since he was younger than I am, and no one told him that he was not to be trusted with it!"

"They could hardly do that when he was destined to lead Gondor's armies and sit in the Steward's chair."

"Is that fair?" Merilin demanded hotly. "Just because he is a man and can lead armies he may lose his temper and chop the head off anyone he pleases, while I am scolded for mussing my hair and tearing my skirts!"

"You do not wear skirts," Eldarion said reasonably, "and I do not think your ada goes about chopping people's heads off. My ada would not let him."

He placed the last kitten on the cloak with its fellows, then regarded his handiwork with a slight crease between his brows. "They do not seem to be harmed, but they are hungry and cold from their dunking in the fountain. What shall we do with them, Merry?"

Merilin, her ire at the unfairness of the world forgotten in rapture at the antics of the tiny creatures, giggled and tumbled one of the kittens onto its back so she could tickle its tummy. "Find their mother?"

"How? She could be anywhere in the city."

"Well, then, we must look after them ourselves. It would be cruel to let them starve." She bounded to her feet and bent to catch up two corners of the cloak. "Help me tie this. Quickly, before they escape."

Eldarion rose as well and obligingly began gathering his fine, woolen cloak into a sack for stray kittens. "Where do you mean to take them? The Chamberlain will never allow them in my rooms…"

"Nay, not that stuffy, old tower. They need a proper home."

"You do not mean…"

"Our kitchen is nice and warm—there is always a fire lit there—and Lileth will give me a nice saucer of milk for them."

"But Merry!" he protested. "What will your mother say? And your father?"

"Ada will not mind, so long as they do not get under his feet. And Mother…" she faltered, her certainty slipping, but pulled herself together to declare, "She will allow it if Ada does."

Eldarion shook his head in doubt. He had infinite respect for Merilin's iron will, and he had often witnessed the ease with which she could twist her father round her little finger. But there were limits to even her powers of persuasion, and it seemed to him that she was overreaching herself in this. Even so… she was the Steward's daughter, and it was never wise to underestimate her.

Hefting his bag of kittens as gently as possible, Eldarion trudged up the street toward the Citadel, curious to see how his indomitable friend would meet this challenge.

Gil heard the murmur of voices from the kitchen but paid them no mind. She was working her way through a letter from Boromir's cousin Lothíriel, wife to Éomer King, and she always found the woman's flowery periods difficult to untangle. A burst of childish laughter brought a frown to her face, but still she kept her eyes on the parchment before her. Then more voices reached her, different voices, coming through the open window from the street. Her head came up with a snap.

"Return to the Tower," she heard Boromir growl. "I'll not need you again today."

She pushed her chair back with a scrape, drowning out his squire's response, and headed for the door. It was flung open before she reached it, and Boromir strode into the room, bellowing loud enough to make the walls tremble,

"Merilin!"

The laughter from the kitchen abruptly cut off. There came a moment of breathless silence, then Boromir roared, "Merilin, come here at once!"

"What is it? What has she done?" Gil asked, laying a hand on his arm.

He did not acknowledge her presence but turned his bandaged gaze on the hallway, where the patter of feet announced his daughter's arrival. Gil saw the girl halt in the open doorway and brace herself before stepping through it. She was dressed in a pair Eldarion's breeches, with her hair twisted up under a cap, and walked with the confident stride of a boy who had never been burdened with long skirts.

"I am here, Ada," she said, a hint of defiance in her tone.

Gil watched her march up to her father, straighten her shoulders, lift her chin to meet his ferocious glower, and felt a flare of pride. Merilin was naughty, outrageous, wild to a fault, occasionally bloodthirsty, but she had courage. There was no denying it. She was her father's daughter, and Gil loved Boromir too well not to love what she saw of him in the girl—however infuriating it might be at times.

"Are you angry with me?"

"That depends." Boromir crossed his arms and glared down at her. "Did you start a riot in the streets today?"

"A riot? Nay, Ada, not a riot, only a fight. A very small fight."

"You chased four boys into the First circle, beat them bloody with a stick, then threatened to tear their guts out and leave them as food for crows. I do not call that a small fight."

"Well, it was, for they would not fight back." Gil cast a glance up at Boromir and saw him press his lips together to hide a smile. "And anyway, I could not have disemboweled them without a sword…"

"For which we may thank all the Valar!"

"…so it was cowardly of them to run away!"

"Merilin," he began in exasperation, but she did not let him get any further.

"I am sorry if you are angry with me, Ada, but I will never be sorry that I made those boys run!" she declared hotly. "They were beastly and cruel, and if I had a proper sword I would tear their guts out, for it is only what they deserve!"

"What, in the name of all that's holy, were they doing?"

"Drowning kittens."

Boromir looked dumbstruck. "Kittens?"

"A whole sack full of them."

"You started a public brawl for kittens?"

"They were drowning them!" she wailed.

Gil witnessed the precise moment when Boromir surrendered, his anger giving way to affection, pride, and the desire to laugh. But he managed to hide it long enough to ask,

"What was Eldarion's part in this affray?"

"Oh, he was not there. He was busy rescuing the kittens."

"They are not drowned, then?"

"Nay, they are…"

Boromir was not destined to learn what had happened to the kittens, for at that moment, a delighted shriek came from down the kitchen hallway, followed by a chorus of shouts, and several children erupted into the room in pursuit of a tiny, panicked creature. Gil saw it coming, saw the impending disaster that threatened, but had no chance to stop it. The kitten streaked straight for Boromir—perhaps hoping to find shelter behind his booted feet—with Caladmir tearing after it. Estellas, Eldarion and two servants were hot on his heels, but like Gil were not fast enough to catch him.

Boromir, hearing the noise, took a step toward his son. Suddenly every voice in the room, including even Gil's, cried out at once, with Merilin's piercing tones cutting through all the rest, calling frantically, "Ada, STOP!"

He froze, one foot raised precariously. In the next instant, Caladmir collided with him, sending man and boy crashing to the floor together.

"ADA!" Merilin screamed, and the room exploded in chaos.

Caladmir burst into tears. Estellas gathered him into her arms and tried to soothe him, but he only howled the louder. Merilin clutched at her father's clothing and tried to drag him to his feet again by sheer force of will, while Eldarion uttered shocked apologies to all and sundry for allowing Merilin to cause such havoc, the servants joined in to declare their innocence, and Gil tried to silence them all so she could determine if her husband had actually injured himself.

Boromir lay in the middle of this pandemonium, gazing woodenly up at the ceiling, positively seething with embarrassment, until his control finally snapped and he roared, "Be still!"

Silence fell, broken only by Caladmir's sniffles.

Then he said, with awful restraint, "Please tell me that I did not just trip over a kitten."

It was late, the children were abed and, after a very trying day that had involved many tears and pleas, the house was finally quiet. Boromir lay back against a fat pillow, listening to Gil potter about their bedchamber. He was feeling a trifle bruised—in dignity, if not in body—and inclined to grumble when she began hunting about on the floor for a missing hairpin instead of joining him in their large, comfortable bed.

"Leave it and come here," he ordered.

"So your bare foot can find it in the morning? I think not."

He flipped back the covers invitingly and said, "After you allowed your children to fill my home with vermin, then laughed at me when I nearly broke my neck, the least you can do is come kiss away my hurts."

"I did not laugh. Nor did I allow Merilin to install a litter of kittens in our kitchen. It was all her doing." She paused to pick up the pin and set it in a bowl with the soft clink of metal against china. Then she padded over to the bed and slipped beneath the blankets, remarking as she did so, "Your daughter is incorrigible."

"My daughter?" Boromir countered, brows raised. "She is only following your example. I well remember a time when every youth in the King's service went in fear of the Steward's squire."

Gil rolled half atop him, planted her elbow on his chest, and bent over him. When Boromir lifted a hand to cradle her cheek, he could feel her smiling. "I never once resorted to violence with my fellow squires. Nor did I threaten to disembowel them. The girl gets her unseemly bloodlust entirely from you, my lord."

Boromir grinned at that and guided her down into a lingering kiss. She came to him willingly, but the moment he freed her lips, backed off to say, "She cannot go on this way, Boromir. What are we to do with her?"

"Get her a sword."

Gil reared up in alarm. "A sword? Are you mad?"

"We will get her a sword and train her to use it. That is the only way to teach her the proper respect for such a weapon. And it will keep her out of mischief."

He could almost hear Gil's mind working as she turned his words over in it, and when she lowered herself down to lie upon him again, her hands folded on his breast and her chin propped on them, he knew that she was giving those words due consideration.

Finally she ventured, "Who would you have train her? The Master-at-Arms?"

"Nay, Éowyn."

Her head came up again. "Éowyn!" Then, more thoughtfully, "Éowyn…"

"Who better to teach our daughter how to wield a sword without tripping over her skirts?"

"Aye, that would serve… if you can get her to wear skirts…" Gil fell quiet again, thinking, then asked with a hint of laughter in her voice, "And the kittens? What shall we do with them?"

"Drown them," was his prompt answer.

"You would not!"

"'Tis the only thing to do with vermin," he said stubbornly, then laughed at Gil's huff of annoyance and kissed her again.

"Wretch," she said sternly, when free to speak once more. "Do not even say that in jest, or you will have Merilin threatening to disembowel you."

"She can try," he taunted, grinning.

"You would not wound her so," Gil insisted more quietly, wiping the smile from his face. "Nor would you deprive Caladmir of his pet."

He gave a resigned sigh. "Nay, I would not. But neither will I have a swarm of kittens running all over the house. One! That is all I will tolerate! And it must stay upstairs where I will not be forever treading on it!"

"Two," Gil countered. "One for Caladmir and one for Merilin."

"What of Estellas? Is she to be denied a pet?"

"That would be three and half a swarm."

"I'll not have my girl forgotten, simply because she is not as loud as her siblings." He abruptly rolled over, spilling Gil onto her back and pinning her to the bed with his weight. "Three. That is my final word."

Laughing, Gil reached up to pull the bandage from his eyes and toss it away. Her hands clasped his face lovingly. "As you will, my lord," she purred, then she pulled him down into a kiss.

Finis