Feasts are a rare thing in Minas Tirith. Firstly, it seemed that the white unshakable walls, wide streets and majestic halls in the tower-palace were not suited for small, insignificant celebrations, did not accept songs without a special reason. Secondly, the last years were hard for Gondor: darkness thickened over the land of Mordor; smoke sometimes covered the entire sky in the east.
Attacks of orcs on the border cities now occurred more often. The sons of the Steward now spent little time in the capital, busy, like many warriors, with the protection and security of the borders of their homeland. Boromir, the eldest of the two brothers and the future owner of the throne of Gondor, especially distinguished himself in any battle: he himself threw himself into the thick of the battle, not restrained by fear or concern for his own life, with the sound of his strong voice he raised the spirit of tired soldiers, made wise decisions and always tried to get by with fewer losses. Not without reason the people of Gondor loved the future Ruler!
But even the strongest sometimes need rest; so when the situation on the borders, albeit temporarily, stabilized, the cities that had been lost were recaptured, Boromir returned to Minas Tirith with some of his soldier. On this occasion, which seemed quite important, it was decided to hold a feast.
The sounds of cheerful voices, laughter, opening bottles of ale and wine were muffled by the growing music; according to custom, dancing, in which everyone could take part, began.
Boromir, dressed in a ceremonial caftan with the White Tree embroidered in silver on the chest, looked like a hero from ancient ballads; stately, tall, with a sparkling smile. Of course, he, already in the center of attention, could not deny himself the pleasure of dancing with some beautiful lady... More precisely, not with any, but with one of the most beautiful at the feast: with you.
"Wound you mind a dance, lady?" Boromir inquired gallantly, but without artificial sweetness, upon approaching you.