Title: Keeping Heart: The Lost Tale of the Last Steward-Prince of Gondor

Rating: M

Warnings: Sexual situations.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. They belong to J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien, respectively.

Summary: HP/LoTR Crossover. Slash. Boromir/Harry. The Steward-prince of Gondor finds his heart in the glades of his private gardens. Now he will do anything to keep him.

Author's Note: Boromir was born in T.A. 2978, making him 32 years old.

P.S. I am really trying something new here, so let me know what you think, please! The good, the bad, the ugly…Reviews really inspire me and help me improve my writing.

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Prologue: Finding His Heart

Minas Tirith, Kingdom of Gondor
15
th of June, T.A. 3010

Boromir was passing through the halls of his castle, finally heading back to his quarters after long months of battle. He had led yet another successful campaign against the Dark Lord's forces, and he was glad for the return home.

Boromir entered his chamber tiredly, finding everything just how he had remembered it. The Man grinned.

It was good to be home.

Boromir dropped his clothes to the floor, throwing himself gracelessly upon his comfortable bed.

He was too tired to sleep.

The dark-haired Man sighed, pulling on a light dressing robe before exiting through the door that led to his private gardens. Looking at the stars often helped him relax…

The moon was large and full, hanging overhead. It illuminated the beauty of his gardens, though perhaps it would be more accurate to say it was a forest. Though there were many flowers and a small pond, Boromir preferred the large grouping of oak trees that dominated the land. The castle had been built around these old trees, setting aside this area for a garden simply because it would be a sin to destroy such beauty of nature.

Boromir walked into the small woods, knowing the way by heart. He and Faramir had spent a lot of time in their youth exploring this tiny forest, and Boromir wished to think at the banks of the small glade that inhabited the center.

As the trees got a little sparser and the small clearing that housed the glade came into view, Boromir stopped dead in the tracks. There was someone bathing in the glade…

Beautiful, pale skin glowed beneath the moonlight while rivulets of water streamed down a lithe back. Dark, dark hair, black as the midnight sky, gleamed underneath the starlight. A low, musical humming sound filled the glade as the nimble form dipped below the surface of the clear water, coming back up with a moan of such pure satisfaction that Boromir wondered how he was not kneeling in sheer want of the being before him.

The steward-prince of Gondor took a step forward to get a closer look, but the sound of a twig snapping underfoot loudly filled the quiet glade.

The figure whirled to face him, and Boromir got his first glance at pale, delicate features.

They were twisted in worry and fear.

"Shh," the Man soothed. "I do not wish to hurt you. I only wish to know what you are doing in my private gardens."

Gorgeous green, green eyes gleamed in fright and panic.

"Captain-General," the musical voice began as he scrambled to get out of the glade. "I am so sorry. I…I tend to the gardens, and sometimes I come to the glade for some private time. I deeply apologize for invading your personal space. It shall not happen again."

Boromir allowed his eyes to wander the tempting figure as a loose white tunic was pulled onto still-wet skin. It stuck translucently to pretty pink nipples, pebbled from the cooler night air.

"And what if I wish for it to happen again?" Boromir questioned.

Green eyes opened wide.

"I…Captain-general," the youth began hesitantly. "I…do not know what you mean."

The beauty was obviously uncertain and nervous, each emotion plainly seen on the beautifully expressive features.

"Let us begin by exchanging names," Boromir stated plainly. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. I am Captain of the White Tower and High Warden of the White."

Green eyes stared at him searchingly, as if determining whether Boromir was mocking him.

"I am Harry," he stated plainly, shifting from foot to foot nervously.

"Just Harry?" Boromir questioned.

"Just Harry," the beauty nodded. "I am a servant in the castle, and it is my duty to tend to your gardens. I am sorry for disturbing your peace, my steward-prince."

"I know a way for you to make it up me," Boromir replied, gently catching a delicate wrist in his hand as Harry moved to brush by him out of t he glade.

"Whatever you wish, Captain," the beauty murmured, averting his eyes deferentially.

"We can begin with you always looking me in the eye with those pretty green orbs," Boromir murmured, placing his large, tan hand under the delicate curve of Harry's pale chin and tilting those green eyes up to meet his own grey.

"Yes, Captain," Harry replied, gazing at him nervously.

Boromir smiled at the formality.

"And I wish for you to call me Boromir in private," he stated. "And I will call you Harry."

"I…that would be improper," was the shy response. "You are the Steward-prince."

"And if the Steward-prince wishes to be called by his first name by the most beautiful person he has ever laid eyes on, then that is his prerogative, no?" the much taller Man whispered.

"I…" Harry began, blushing at the implication of the larger Man's words. "I am not beautiful."

Boromir looked at him incredulously, sensing that he was not being coy and truly believed his words.

"I believe you are," he reassured. "Have you been outside the walls of Minas Tirith?"

"No, B-Borimir," Harry answered.

"I have," the Steward-prince replied. "I have seen much of Middle-Earth in my travels and battles. I have seen Men and Elves and Hobbits and Dwarves. But I would be content to remain here forevermore if I could just continue gazing upon your fair face."

It was clear that Harry did not know how to respond to that. His fingers played with the frayed edge of the tunic that hung near his knees.

"D-do you wish for…" the beauty began, clearly frightened. "S-should I remove my clothes, my prince?"

Boromir blinked in shock. Harry must have taken his silence for assent, as he began to lift the edge of his tunic.

Boromir stopped him with a light touch upon his wrist.

"Is this not what you want, my prince?" Harry whispered brokenly. "My aunt says that if one of the nobles or the family of the Steward…I am yours to do as you bid."

"She orders you remove your clothes if one compliments your beauty?" Boromir snarled, upset at the thought of this shy youth being forced

"It has not happened before, but she says that it may be expected of me, now that I am a bit older," Harry replied. "I…I am usually good at avoiding being seen."

"How old are you?" Boromir questioned gently.

"This summer will be my seventeenth," was the answer.

The Steward-prince of Gondor nodded.

"I shall have you re-assigned as my personal servant and moved in the chambers adjacent to my own," he stated firmly. "No other shall touch you."

Wide emerald eyes met Boromir's grey.

"I…I do not understand," the beauty admitted.

"You owned me from the moment your beautiful green eyes spotted me between the trees," Boromir murmured. "And I shall have to keep my heart safe."

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Author's Note: So I think this is going to become a WIP, though shorter and probably much slower to update than My Warriors, My Beloveds. Let me know what you think…

And please go check out my forums and vote in my polls. Reader feedback really keeps my muse going! *bakes brownies* *offers to reviewers and forumers and voters*

P.S. Jukka – this is an early birthday present! You wanted Boromir/Harry - you got Boromir/Harry. I hope you like it!