A/N & Standard Disclaimer: Don't own anyone except Iomidaira. I would be willing to trade her for a slightly used Sean Bean, David Wenham, or Karl Urban. This is a departure from my norm of Faramir emotional torture. Boromir and OFC fluff. Set many years before the War of the Ring, it is actually a larger bit of a Boromir story that will be gasp of shock angsty and dramatic. J Really I am a mostly happy go lucky person.
Oh no, it has been sold!" Daira's disappointment was palpable. She looked up at Boromir accusingly, "I told you if we did not hurry the locket would be gone. But you felt your little meeting was far more important."
Boromir's mouth twitched into something approaching amusement, a mad Daira was an adorable Daira. Come to think of it a happy Daira was adorable, even a sad Daira, though he could not bear to see her cry, was adorable. Her plump bottom lip stuck out begging to be nibbled on…
"Oww!" Boromir rubbed a bicep that had been the recipient of Daira's ire. "Now I know why you gifted me with bracers instead of pauldrons."
Drawing herself up to her full 5 feet hands on hips, Daira stared pointedly, "Perhaps my lord will take the time to remember what other armor he was not gifted with before he laughs at someone."
"I was not laughing milady, it was merely a...a…spasm. No doubt an old war wound flaring up again. And my 'little meeting', as you so quaintly put it, was a war council with King Theoden, Prince Imrahil and my father. Ithilmir of Lossanarch has a new way of pressing the yew wood of our long bows that increases their--"
Daira shrugged, "—Hmpf. Boys and their toys. Come, mayhap he has another similar one inside."
Rolling his eyes in mock annoyance he allowed himself to be dragged into the shop.
The shop was quite cluttered with trinkets from the four corners of Middle Earth, but not a single locket could be found that compared to the one the shop keeper had sold earlier.
As he heard a potential customer rummaging around the front of his store the shopkeeper left his supper to make one last sale for the day. When he recognized his customers his eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"My lord Boromir, I did not expect…", he broke off at the grimace on Boromir's face. He nodded knowingly as Boromir inclined his head in Daira's direction.
"..such noble customers in my humble shop today," he finished smoothly.
Daira turned to the shopkeeper, "Goodman Merenth, earlier today you had a mithril locket on display. It has not been sold has it?" Her voice and eyes held such hope that Merenth did not want to disappoint her.
"I'm sorry my Lady Iomidaira. It was sold to a gentleman earlier today. He was planning to give it to his lady love as a betrothal gift."
Daira shot daggers at Boromir, who pretended to be very interested in a Harradic style helm.
"You would not have a second would you?"
At the shake of the shopkeepers head Daira's face fell.
"I'm sorry my Lady, it was one of a kind."
Daira sighed, "Thank you, good sir. I am sorry to have taken you from your supper." And with that she left the shop.
The shopkeeper cleared his throat drawing Boromir's attention to the fact Daira was no longer in the shop.
He hadn't realized she had left. His sham study of the Harradic helm had actually led to a few interesting ideas on how to exploit some of its inherent weaknesses.
Boromir gave the man some coppers and tucked the helm under his arm.
He looked up the street and found Daira moving haltingly towards an alleyway. He caught up to her in a few strides.
"Daira, I'm sorry I became absorbed in this helm." He held it up for her inspection, "I hadn't noticed before but this notch here at the nose guard creates a weak spot that if a shot can be angled correctly will…" Boromir trailed off when he noticed Daira did not share his enthusiasm in his latest discovery. He bit his lip, bowed his head and looked contritely at her through lowered lashes.
"The 'I'm a bad boy' look will avail you nothing my lord." Daira sniffed, but Boromir could see that she was softening. As he found her pouting adorable, she found his boyish eagerness charming.
Boromir whispered "I'm thorry."
Daira rolled her eyes, but a smile began to play about her lips. It never failed to make her laugh this childish side of Boromir. Perhaps because she was the only one who would ever see this side of him. For all others he was the fearless Captain General, the savior of Gondor. But sometimes, just for her, he would let her see that even he could be afraid and need comfort.
She turned back and reached up to caress his ruggedly handsome, utterly beloved face, "It a small thing, merely a locket."
Reaching into his pocket, Boromir grinned and it was like the sun rising. "Oh, alright, I'll just go back and return to this to Master Merenth then. 'Tis a good thing too, I was a few coppers short for the helm."
Daira gasped to see dangling from Boromir's fist, the mithril locket. She squealed with delight and reached for it.
Boromir quickly drew it out of her reach, "Ah, ah, ahh. Do you not remember, my heart, this locket is a betrothal gift for the lady love of a certain gentleman."
"Do not let any wayward thoughts fill that pretty head," Boromir said sternly, though his mouth was quirking up at the edges, "I am merely holding it for him." He pretended to look up and down the alleyway, "He should be along shortly to retrieve it."
Daira looked up at him, her eyes so full of love it took his breath away. He swallowed hard in the face of that adoration.
"Lady Iomidaira of Rohan, will you marry me?"