Promise Me

Chapter Thirteen

He sighed softly, raking a hand through his hair. "Of course."

"She is a lovely girl, you know. And I believe your father would have approved of your match with her." Ioreth's hand came to rest on his shoulder, her touch almost maternal. "When you first returned, she wouldn't leave your bedside for any longer than was absolutely necessary and she drove me and my staff mad with all of her questions and her insistence on being kept updated with your progress." Ioreth offered up one of her rare smiles. "I do believe she loves you, Boromir."

He smiled then and nodded slowly. "I do not deserve her, Ioreth. It is a mystery to me why a woman like her would care for me at all."

"Nonsense. You are a good man, Boromir. Do not sell yourself short, either."

The truth lingered at the tip of his tongue but he held back. He'd known Ioreth since he was a boy and he trusted her as if she was family, but even so, this was not something he was at all proud of doing.

"I'll make sure to speak with Gabby," he said as he rose. "And I will keep an eye on my wounds."

"And you will come to me to let me keep an eye on them as well," she told him sternly.

He moved the door, where he nodded. "Of course."

When no further lecture was forthcoming, Boromir left the Houses of Healing and made his way down to his apartment, his thoughts far weightier than he'd expected them to be.

In truth, he'd given very little thought to being careful where Gabby was concerned. It wouldn't be long before they were married and no one would think twice, should a child arrive less than nine months after. After all, they would hardly be the first couple expecting when they took their vows.

Still, he had to admit, he'd not given any serious thought to whether or not Gabby might want children to begin with. They'd never discussed it. He'd told her he wanted to have children with her, but aside from commenting that she'd never heard him mention such things, she gave no opinion on the matter either way. So, he simply assumed that if she became pregnant, she would bear the baby.

But what if she had no desire to have children at all?

And did he want children?

He paused, his hand hovering over the handle of his apartment door. Yes. He did.

Or did he?

The truth was, despite what he'd told Gabby, he'd not given it more than a passing thought for himself, either. He'd always assumed his would be a bachelor life. A dalliance here and there, perhaps, but he hadn't met any women he wished to build a life with, so children were no more than a fleeting thought when he'd see someone else with their offspring.

The door opened without a sound, the silence that greeted him as loud as thunder, and yet softer than his own thoughts.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized, yes, he'd like to have children with Gabby. They would be older than most of the new parents in Minas Tirith, but truth be told, the thought of having a child with her was one that made him smile. He rather liked the idea of a little one bursting into their room far earlier than should be allowed, liked the idea of a little one who looked to snuggle with them. Rather liked the idea of passing his own knowledge on to his son or his daughter. He recalled the dream he'd had, the one of him teaching his son how to wield a sword while a pregnant Gabby watched and encouraged them both, recalled how it felt to lift that boy in his arms and hold him close.

It reminded him of how Denethor had been in the days before Boromir's mother, Findullas died. Patient. Kind. Loving. That all died when Findullas did. Boromir had been ten when that happened and from that point on, gone was the loving, smiling, adoring father he and Faramir had known. In his place was left a scowling angry man who saw his older son as everything a boy should be while his younger son was, in his eyes, a disappointment. Faramir was a dreamer, always eager to sit at Gandalf's knee and listen raptly to the wizard's tales and legends. Although he trained as a soldier alongside Boromir, Faramir did not have what their father saw as the killer instinct. He was gentle, with children, animals, anything he saw as weaker than him and in need of protection. And to Denethor, his was not how a man presented himself.