#Aragorn one shot

[thewulf]

Little One || Aragorn

Summary: Request -I had an Aragorn request that I wanted to send you; if it’s something you’d be interested in writing I know it’ll be perfect (but if it doesn’t strike your fancy I completely understand)!! After reading your fic with the orc attack I was thinking about how Aragorn would respond to reader being injured defending the hobbits... Read Rest Here

A/N: Thank you for the request @fluentmoviequoter !! Had so much fun writing this, hope you enjoy :) Kinda angsty but hella fluffy as always :)

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.1k +

TW: orcs, talks of blood, arrows, getting shot, yelling, angsty

You and Strider had been Rangers together for the better part of fifty years now. The two of you quickly found solace in the other. The two of you just seemed to compliment the other. What he lacked you picked up for him and vice versa. It wasn’t often he could find somebody who just understood him. So, he decided to keep you close but always safe.

He did what he wanted after all. He had a high enough ranking quickly. You were assigned nearly every patrol, raid, quest whatever the hell it was he did it with you. And you learned quicker than you had ever thought even possible with his aid. He wasn’t brutal on you, but he was not easy by any stretch of the imagination. He wanted you alive, so he trained you to stay that way. He had to be a little mean. A little too much sometime. For that was the real world. You couldn’t go out in the world as freely as one once could.

So, when Gandalf proposed the deal of getting the Hobbits from Bree to Rivendell he had agreed on the condition you could come with them. He wasn’t willing to leave you in some random village town in Eriador. No, he would never do that. Gandalf had agreed without a second thought thinking it was a good idea to have two Rangers instead of one.

You had decided fairly quickly that the Nazgûl was on your list of least favorite things in middle-earth you’d had the pleasure of coming across. You could deal with spiders and orcs buts these creatures were eerily different. Ice cold and terrifying, soul sucking. But you needed to remain stoic in the face of it all to help the Hobbits. The poor things were shaking they were so terrified. You’d tried stories of tales far and wide to shake their minds of their troubles, but it seemed no use as they only looked to the two of you in terror around every twist and turn.

When you stopped for the night to camp you’d noticed that Strider had led you deep into a dense forest. You’d never been the best at tracking, so you often led it to him. You really should’ve paid better attention before as you were often so reliant on his talents.

“I am off to gather a few plants for some tea. I will be back in an hour. Y/N, I trust they shall remain safe in your care?” He asked and you nodded without so much as a second thought.

“Of course.” You smiled to him, “Off you go. I know how mean you get without your tea.” That earned a hearty round of laughs from the Hobbit’s as they laid out their bedrolls for the night. It was nice to hear such a pleasant sound instead of hearing the screeching in the distance.

“I will remember that.” He glared at you with humor in his eyes before ducking into the night.

You turned back to the Hobbit’s with a stupid smile on your face not quite realizing how much you were giving way of your likeness towards the man, “Off to bed we go.” You shooed the silly little smirks right off their faces.

They all nodded quickly falling asleep without so much as a second thought. You were mighty jealous at the way they just did that. It took you far too long to fall asleep these days. Worry kept you up more than you liked to admit.

Thank whatever was out there for that worry that wouldn’t let you sleep as you heard the distant voices and branches breaking far off in the distance. Orcs. Had to be, they were so noisy. Your heartrate spiked as you heard them before you spotted them in the dark night. How in the hell had anything found you all the way out here?

“Up! Up!” You whisper shouted before shaking each of the Hobbits awake, “Abandon the camp we must go. Run” You grabbed for your sword and spare bow and arrow before ushering the small Hobbit’s further into the forest.

They ran ahead confused and disoriented having just fallen into a deep sleep but trusting you nonetheless. You knew you had made too much noise but did not quite realize how much the smaller ones were making as they ran.

You paused for a brief moment knowing your longer strides could catch up. You took a look behind you to see how in danger you truly were. The orcs hadn’t spotted your little group quite yet except one with keen eyes. Adrenaline shot through you as you saw the orcs arrow trained right at the back of Frodo’s head as he ran forward. He’d be dead instantly if the orc shot the arrow before you could stop it.

Panic shot through you as you ran ahead beside him pushing him to the ground with more force than you’d truly meant. You’d thought you were in the clear before the searing pain of being shot by an orc arrow throbbed through your shoulder blade sending you to the ground before you could think. Frodo rolled beside you which sprung Merry, Pippin and Sam into action as they pulled the two of you behind the thick trees of the dense forest. Fortunately for you it was mid-summer, and the forest was coated in dense foliage making it that much harder to find you and the Hobbits hiding in the trees.

Frodo looked more confused than upset before he saw the arrow protruding from your body. He’d understood instantly, “You have been hit miss Y/N!” Merry’s concerned voice only rose a few octaves as he saw the large arrow sticking right outside your shoulder. It hurt worse than it looked but you tried your best to bite back the tears as they were so unseasoned to such horrors in the world.

You looked down wincing at the arrow surely coated in poison. Thankfully you were only a few days out from Rivendell. You’d be fine… Strider not so much. Shuddering at the thought of the man who would be so mad you got hurt, you turned to the small Hobbit’s sitting in fear beside you.

Ignoring the arrow sticking out from your shoulder you sat up from the fall you took, “Listen, for there is not much time before they try and find us. Frodo and Sam run. Go find Strider. He will help end this swiftly.” You nodded watching them run quickly off into the forest. You’d sent Frodo off as he needed to be as far from the attacks as possible.

Wincing you turned yourself as best as you could towards Merry and Pippin, “Now, I need you two to be brave. You must snap this arrow as close to the wound as you can. I will fight these orcs off, but I cannot do that with this sticking out.” You huffed eyeing the rather large wooden arrow searing its mark in your shoulder blade.

Merry only gave you wide eyes as Pippin shook his head answering your request, “I cannot do that.”

“Not can I!” Merry agreed.

You looked behind you a little panicked seeing the orcs moving in closer. Far too close for your comfort. Lowering your voice, you leaned closer to them, “It does not matter any longer. Time is of the essence now. You must or we all die.” You glared at the two of them letting them both know quite how serious this was.

“Aye, turn away.” Merry stood with shaking hands grabbing at the arrow earning a hiss from your mouth. Pippin took his hands in his helping him get the leverage he needed to break the thick wood.

“All right.” You turned your head away clutching your hands into the earth trying to ground yourself. You had to fight back everything that was telling you to pass out as the arrow snapped in two under the hands of the much smaller Hobbits. A quiet whimper left your mouth as you tried your hardest to stay conscious. The orcs were close. You had to do something.

“Miss Y/N” Merry sounded concerned as he saw your face pale out and the orcs move closer, “Please be okay.”

You nodded blinking back the wave of nausea taking over your usually so agile self. This did not feel like your standard orc poison. You knew what that felt like and this was not it. This was moving faster than anything you’d been hit by them with, “I am fine mister Pippin.” You breathed trying to blink back the unshed tears. Pain only reminded you that you were alive. With another small groan you stood from the ground trying your hardest to fight the searing fire in your shoulder, “Stay quiet and hidden. It is best to attack them by surprise. Strider will be back soon. Let us try and wait this out as long as possible.” You whispered grabbing your sword from its sheath at your side.

You waited in silence as the first of the few crept into your field of vision. They must have been lost. No way a pack of orcs were this dumb. Or they were on a special mission. But you could wait no longer as they were likely to hear your breath or any sort of movement for he was a mere step away from you now.

Quickly, you sliced off its head without much of a sound. The loudness of the animals in the night covered up for its lifeless body hitting the ground giving you a second to recuperate and fight back the overwhelming feeling of pain now making its way down your arm.

When you killed the second and third the attention was finally on you. You were not able to be as graceful and let out a cry of pain as you had to use your bum arm to defend yourself. Darting behind a tree you narrowly avoided another arrow coming right for your head this time. But you didn’t have time to panic as the man you had been waiting for finally made his grand entrance. Just as you suspected it was over before it really begun. You were a fine Ranger. But Strider was an expert one.

Leaning back on the tree you let out the breath you were holding in. Never had you been so close to losing someone so quickly on a quest. Never had you been so close to being eliminated. You were usually so much better than this. Strider was getting in your head, and you were losing focus. A Ranger losing focus! That was unheard of. But Strider was your exception it seemed.

“You arrogant fool!” Strider yelled right at you as he came storming over to where you were leaning on the tree. He hadn’t seen the broken arrow in your shoulder nor the way you were holding your arm upright. He didn’t notice the sweat the coated your face or the distant gaze in your eyes. He was mad and he wanted to take it out on someone. That someone happened to be you.

You let out a cry in pain as he grabbed for the arm that you were holding gingerly. Even the smallest movement made it feel like your arm was getting ripped right apart. You had forgotten how painful poison was for it had been nearly fifty years since you’d been struck. The bastards made it as fast and as painful as possible. And whatever this stuff was seemed worse than before.

He moved his hand away from your arm after hearing your strangled cry. Pushing you back up against the tree, avoiding your injury, he felt the sticky liquid coating your outer garments. Blood. Of course, he knew what it was. He had only begun to panic as he saw the deliriousness in your gaze. You were hurt and badly at that. He was not used to this.

Frodo jumped in between the two of you, pushing Strider away just slightly, “She saved my life master Strider! Please have no anger towards her.”

His heart raced as he ordered the Hobbits to light a fire nodding at Frodo that he was done lashing out at you. He knew you needed a helping hand. Not one to hurt you while you were down. Gently, he pushed you down to the ground, “Sit down, nigol.” He’d all but ordered as he helped the Hobbit’s start a small fire. He couldn’t see your wound and you weren’t so forthcoming with information. That and he wanted to see it for himself.

A small smile came to your lips remembering the old nickname he’d given you, “Nigol… you have not called me that in quite some time Strider.”

Brushing your comment aside he asked you, “What happened?” As he sat down next to you waiting for the fire to glow so he could inspect your wound.

You turned towards him holding your eyebrows close together trying your best to bite back the pain, “Orcs happened is all. Caught a poisoned arrow to the shoulder.” Letting out a strangled sigh you sat further back against the tree.

“How did you get hit?” He clarified with more patience in his voice than you were used to. Maybe you looked worse than you felt because he never, ever cut you a break. And you appreciated him for that as you were still alive and usually avoidant of such injuries.

“Ugly bastard was aiming right at Frodo’s small little Hobbit head.” You frowned realizing if you hadn’t noticed Frodo would be sure as dead. You caught Strider’s smile at your crass language for he knew he would never grow tired of your fowl tongue. He loved it about you, “Had to push him out of the way and he nicked me instead.”

“I heard that miss Y/N!” Frodo yelled back at the two of you shaking his head at you, “Elves are not the only creatures with good hearing!” You only smiled as you watched them feed the small fire with more twigs and sticks. It surprised you that Strider ordered a fire for you’d just been ambushed. Who knew what else lurked beyond the trees that kept you hidden.

You let out a strangled laugh feeling the effects of the poison inch its way through your system. You watched as Strider looked at you with concern. It wasn’t often you were the one on the receiving end to such a look. You’d been under his wing for a better part of half a century. You’d gotten really excellent at not getting hurt. It must have been jarring to see you fighting the pain back with such a force. He’d never admit how much he had grown to love you. He didn’t like to see you in pain. Not a bit.

He sighed seeing the fleshy wound, “You must not be so careless next. I have trained you better than that.” He sighed inspecting the wound closely, “I must remove the arrow.” He spoke slowly feeling his heart drop at your startled expression.

You shook your head with a vengeance for you did not like that statement “We are but a few days from Rivendell. Surely they will have healers who can do that properly.”

He bit back the frown as he looked at your arm, “You will not have a few days if I do not get this out.” It wasn’t ominous but simply the truth.

“Is it not an Orc arrow?” You looked down knowing what his answer was going to be but trying to ignore it in your head was proving to be a challenge.

He gave you a solemn nod, “Aye, but it does not appear to be orc poison.”

All you could muster was a simple, “Oh.” Not thinking that was a possibility. You’d still concluded it was a different form of Orc poison. What could they possibly be using?

“It appears to be something much darker.” His frown only deepened as he was studying your wound. He had ripped your shirt where you had been hit to examine it closer. It was turning black far too fast to be the standard orc poison they’d become accustomed to.

You shuddered knowing the pain would be intolerable. You already seemed to be teetering on the precipice between the living world and the unconscious world, “Do your worst then.” You spoke quickly turning away and grabbing at a stick on the ground. When you tuned back he was just looking at you with such a sadness you couldn’t help but to ask, “What?”

He shook his head breaking the stare he had on you, “Nothing. Bite the stick. Don’t fight me. You know the rules.”. It had been a long time since you were at the mercy of his hands. You were but a young Ranger the last time you’d been caught in such a dreadful position. Back then you had medicine to at least dull the pain. This was going to be hell you thought as you placed the soggy stick in your mouth. Something to bite into, crucial to keep you from yelling too loud.

But you didn’t need to worry about that issue too much as darkness took over only a moment after he begun to tug on the broken arrow embedded in your shoulder. Of course, you didn’t catch the concern or the panic that overtook him when he saw you collapse into unconsciousness so easily. He didn’t waste a second longer after the arrow was removed from your shoulder to pick you up and carry you in his arms telling the Hobbits that they had to get a move on for your sake. With hushed complaints the group was off to Rivendell in the dead of night.

It must’ve been the pain overtaking the adrenaline that had subsided that made you fade out of unconsciousness. As your body stirred awake the sun rose in the sky before you. Strider only cradled you closer to his chest when he felt you squirming beneath him. A rather large sigh of relief escaped him as he looked down seeing you slowly blink your eyes back into reality.

“Did you enjoy your rest then?” Strider smiled most genuinely down to you for as much as he loved teasing you it sure made him happy to see you awake once more.

You cracked your own smile at his sarcastic words, “It was nice, thank you for inquiring.” You hummed squirming once more in his embrace. When he locked his hands around you it was only then that you realized he was carrying you like so and he had no intention of letting you out of his grasp.

He chucked seeing your startled expression. It was also new to him too and he really did not want to admit just how much he had enjoyed holding you close to him. It put his normally anxious heart at ease. He had long since found you beautiful. He knew he had loved you when he first heard you speak your mind to a superior all those years ago. For nobody, not a single man, had the courage to speak the way you did. And you had the skill to back it up. That was why he panicked seeing your injured silhouette in the forest. For if you were to go down he had no idea what he would do. You were so deeply embedded in his life he could not even begin to fathom a life without you in it.

He ran faster than he ever had before when Sam and Frodo found him foraging for plants. When they came in blabbering that you had been hit by an arrow he began sprinting in autopilot. It drove him mad feeling like it took longer to get to you. He was there in no longer than a minute to kill the ten or so orcs that were hunting you, the one he loved. He was a maniac when it came to protecting you. He hadn’t meant to yell so harshly at you but he was scared. Terrified of the thought of losing you, his person.

He noticed the pink beginning to return to your face and more relief flooded his overstressed system, “You are getting some color back.” He noticed as he held you closer, “That is a good sign. The poison must not be spreading.”

You let out a long yawn feeling the effects of it all starting to come over you once more, “That is good. It does not hurt as bad either. Just aches a bit.” Your eyes drooped as you tried to fight off the sleep that was overcoming you.

“Rest. Go to sleep, nigol.” He smiled down to you with nothing but love in those striking eyes. He’d been carrying you for hours already, what was another few anyway?

“Nigol.” You hummed remembering the times he called you that all the way back when you first had met him. He refused to tell you what it meant and by the time you finally met an elf you’d forgotten the nickname altogether, “What does it mean?” You inquired hoping he would indulge you this time as you were on the verge of unconsciousness.

He laughed, throwing his head back and all. You admired the way his dark hair framed his fair face as he looked back down at you. He was truly so handsome. It wasn’t fair he was placed in front of you like this and yet, was so unattainable, “I did not tell you fifty years ago, why would I tell you now?”

“I thought I would try.” You sighed, “Does it mean something bad? You only use it when I mess up.” You asked him once you concluded the worst. He often used that nickname early on when you two had been partnered up. It’s use seemed to fade as you had gotten more competent. Yet now when you had a bum shoulder rendering you useless he used it once more.

He shook his head quickly, “It is not bad. I can promise you that.” He eased your worried face quickly with his words.

“Well, I suppose I can accept that.” You didn’t want to push feeling oddly unlike yourself in his arms. Usually combative and wanting to pick a friendly fight you felt like doing anything but that. You just wanted to enjoy yourself in his embrace as you knew this moment would likely never occur again.

He knew you better than anybody else. He noticed how shy you were suddenly acting. Was it the nickname? Were you tired? Was the poison moving faster than he could? He looked down seeing you continue to fight sleep. Usually so powerful you looked helpless in his arms. His eyes softened as he realized how much trust you had to have in him to relax into him like so. You were always on guard, always ready. Frodo was alive because of that instinct. But now you were at his will and he felt more responsible for you than he had ever before.

“It’s Sindarin.” He admitted wanting to give you something more as you had given him exactly what he wanted, you.

Feeling your eyes getting heavier you replied with tiredness in your voice, “I had concluded that Strider. You did tell me you were raised by elves, remember?” Lazily, you smiled up to him laughing as best as your body would allow you.

“It is Sindarin for little one.” He finally admitted to you, “Or mouse.” He looked down at you nervously hoping you’d have a decent reaction to it.

“Mouse? Little one? I should be offended.” You grinned not taking offense in the slightest for you found it oddly adorable he had given you such a sweet nickname.

“Do not take offense.” He spoke quickly, “I did not mean it that way.”

“Relax, Strider.” You yawned once more feeling your head rest of his chest heavily. Sleep was coming on quick, “I am just teasing you. You are so easy to mess with.”

“Sleep now, little one.” He gave you another gentle squeeze letting you know he had you. It was alright. You could trust him as always. And trust him you did as you found yourself in a quick sleep right back in his arms.

“There you are.” Strider’s voice pulled you from the sleep that had overcome you on the road. When you blinked you were stunned to be laying in front of a fireplace in a rather grandeur room. You must have made it all the way to Rivendell which meant you had been out for days at this point.

“Are we in Rivendell?” You tried to sit up before his hands pushed you back down, gently, into the plush elven bed.

“You must lie still.” He ordered before answering your question, “Yes. You have been unconscious for nearly four days. Lord Elrond was unsure if you were to make it.” His eyes were laced with something you had hardly seen on the man in your many years of knowing him, fear. He looked scared, terrified. Yet almost relieved seeing you awake.

“Four days?” You swallowed back your surprise.

He gave you a quick not, “Almost, you even have Lord Elrond worried.”

You sighed, “I did not mean to do that.”

He moved closer, sitting on your bedside. Taking his chance he brushed your stray hair away from your face, “You always do that.”

You just looked up at him, “What?”

“It is just that you always care for others before yourself. As much as I love that about you. Think about yourself for once. Care for yourself. You are far too kind.” He spilled his thoughts to you for he was too tired. Too scared at the thought of losing you he was not going to hold back his tongue anymore for he knew he loved you. He wanted you. He couldn’t see you with anyone else but him.

You blinked back surprise at his outright confession. Sure, the two of you had danced around any feelings for quite literally years. But you would have none of that, as sweet as it was, “You did not say that when I slayed half an orc army with you.” You spoke with a hint of playfulness in your tone. It was your favorite game to play with the man.

He laughed a full hearty laugh. A laugh so pure, one you’d heard so rarely from the man. He only laughed like that when he was at peace. Happy. Comfortable and relaxed. A sight that you could really get used to.

“For that is true.” His eyes searched your for any sign of pain. Any sign that something was wrong. He could not quite believe you were finally awake and chatting with him like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t been knocked out cold for that long. When Lord Elrond had started to get nervous. Strider was not dumb. He grew up with Elves and knew their tells. When an elf grew worried he knew things were not boding well.

You felt yourself shrinking under his gaze, “What? Is there something on my face? Because that would be embarrassing. I have been asleep for three days and you let something stay on my face for that long?” You rambled not quite sure what you were doing. He was making you nervous. Strider never made you nervous. But when he gave you that earnest look you completely lost yourself to him. How fickle your brain was behaving.

He bit back a laugh sensing your nerves, “No. There is nothing marking your face. I was simply admiring you was all.”

Was he trying to kill you? Your cheeks were sure to be a bright rosy, red for his second confession was bolder than his first, “Admiring me?”

“Indeed. I would not be the man that I am had you not been by me all these years. I thought I was going to lose you. But now that you are back I get to admire you.” He spoke with that soft voice he only used ever so often. It was fascinating to get to know an entirely different side of the man you thought you knew through and through.

“I deserve no such thing.” You laughed trying to shake off the seriousness of his gaze down on you. He did not find your statement the least bit humorous.

“While I do not agree I also do not wish to argue. How do you feel?” He changed the subject even though he might have enjoyed watching you squirm. Placing a cool hand on your forehead, he did not miss the small jump you had in response to his contact. Touches he had given you so often before had changed. Things had shifted between the two of you and for the first time in a long time he was excited. He had a purpose. His purpose.

You gulped back your argument and nodded in agreement, “I feel fine, will you let me sit up now or must I stare up all afternoon?” You quipped hoping your quick mouth would let him know just how fine you really felt.

Shaking his head, he held out a hand for your to take, “You may sit up, but take it slow.”

“I was shot by an arrow Strider. I did not get my legs cut off.” You took his hand letting him pull you up to sit next to him.

He rolled his eyes yet still held admiration in them, “That mouth will get you in trouble one day.” His eyes traced your face as you too just looked at him. It didn’t feel quite real that he could have admired you just as you him. Had you been blind?

You hummed in agreement not being able to take your eyes off his, “Not if you are there to protect me.”

It was he who broke the staring game going on between the two of you as he collected his thoughts, “Indeed, little one. There is nothing truer than that statement.” Gaining some courage, he took your hands in his giving them a gentle squeeze, “Please never scare me like that again for I cannot bear it.”

“I will try my hardest, as long as you promise to do the same.” You nodded towards him feeling bashful in front of the man you’d grown to love. The man you had only hoped to love you as he did. The man you never could have imagined felt the same. Yet here you were.

Giving your hands a reassuring squeeze, he simply nodded to you, “I promise, little one. I promise with my whole heart.”

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[entishramblings]

The Scorpion of Sarn Ford [Aragorn/F!Reader]

A.N: the amount of weird shit I had to google for this….my FBI agent definitely thinks I’m planning some fucked up crap.

Inspired: this fic was inspired by @estelofrivendell ‘s fic A Change of Heart. I adored the Assassin/Ranger relationship and had to put my own spin on it!

Pairing: Aragorn X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Scorpion of Sarn Forn is a notorious assassin. Much to Strider’s dismay, they are both hired for a job.

Disclaimer: I tried my best with geography, once again, it isn’t my best subject. heh!

Word count: 8.2k (idk why I’m like this)

Warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, humor that will have you peeing, blood, torture, death, murder, brief insinuation to sexual abuse (side character), creepy men that get what's coming to them, a little bit of spice, brief shirtless aragorn. this sounds very dark but I promise you its good, besides: shirtless aragorn. duh.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

Aragorn never thought he would be in this position. He never even anticipated such a scenario. It was, quite frankly, entirely unfathomable. Not once did it cross his mind that he might be in the same city as her, much less be forced to sit next to her at The Black Falcon Tavern and Inn with a potential contractor. You see, The Scorpion of Sarn Ford—or as Aragorn preferred to refer to her as: the heinous hellspawn that middle-earth would undoubtedly be far better off without—was a notorious assassin. She made her coin from slipping into the shadows and slaughtering her targets, leaving no trace besides a corpse—still warm from the blood that once ran through it. The men of the south-west were wise enough to be wary and the rich of such lands were stupid enough to empower her with their dark wishes. She’s rumored to have a body count in the hundreds, including kings and queens. Though, that is not how she acquired her title.

Percaric Rothswood, one of the richer dukes of Anfalas, sat with them at a table in the back of the tavern. The Ranger and the Scorpion occupied the bench alongside the wooden wall, granting them both a clear vantage point of the entire establishment, while Percaric sat in a chair across from them. Aragorn's arms were folded, a small blade discreetly nestled up his sleeve, and his ale remained untouched on the table. Yet, the assassin reclined casually at his side, her dark cloak draped loosely enough to unveil the myriad of weapons adorning her attire, with two empty pints before her and a third in her hand.

The peculiar grouping drew the attention of onlookers—it was indeed an unusual gathering, particularly with the presence of the infamous Scorpion of Sarn Ford, and her form specifically beside Strider. Nervous and inquisitive gazes, hushed conversations, subtle nods, and even more overt glances from passersby and bar-sitters were all directed towards the pair. If a meeting like this were to take place, something must be going down.

“So, what’s this job, Percaric, that requires a ranger and a shrew,” Aragorn gruffed, his scowl as deep as the sand pits of the eastern coast.

The woman beside him snorted. “A shrew. Just what a lady wants to be called.”

He shrugged. “An argumentative, ill-tempered rat. I see no difference between it and you.”

She raised a brow, twisting her head to look at him. “Technically a shrew is a mole.”

Aragorn sent her a glare in response.

She huffed at him. “A mole that will die if it doesn't eat every two to three hours.” She picked up her ale and took a swing. “That sounds nothing like me.”

“You reckon so? I bet if you didn't get new gold to chew on in that exact time frame you would also die of pompous deprivation.”

A deep chuckle escaped her throat as her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. She turned to quip back an insult; however, Percaric nervously interrupted the hostile hires.

“Well, uh, you see, it's quite a delicate matter. The-the job, that is. My client doesn't want his indiscretions aired out among the common folk because, well, uh, the matter is quite sensitive and—”

Aragorn rolled his eyes. “Just spit it out, Percaric.”

The man exhaled through his nose, nervously patting the table. “Right, right, very well then.” He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, my client, his daughter was taken by someone of high prestige and, well, he would like her back.”

Aragorn leaned back in the chair. “Why doesn't he just pay the ransom then? Instead of hiring someone to take her back. There is a ransom isn't there?”

“Of course, of course. But, well, you see, this daughter, ehem, she’s bastard-born. His wife doesnt know that she exists and he would like to keep it that way. Paying the ransom directly would cause too much attention. Like I said, he wants this discreet.”

Aragorn sighed, his morals pulling hard on his heart. “How old is the girl?”

Percaric winced. “Fourteen.”

The Ranger cursed under his breath. “She’s just a kid.”

“Yes, yes. Well, you see, that’s why my client asked for you, Strider. Not many would want to help a bastard daughter.”

The Scorpion leaned in. “Then why did he ask for me as well?”

Percaric’s face twitched. “Well, uh, Scorpion, there’s a matter a bit more delicate involved that requires your skill.”

She raised her brows.

“My–my client’s daughter is quite beautiful. Well, we can only assume what is being done to her by her captor during her stay. He, well, he wants the perpetrator killed.”

She snorted, leaning back into the wall behind her. “Why not make Strider here do it?”

The Ranger clenched his jaw. “He should be imprisoned, rotting in a cell for his crime.”

“Ah,” she started. “You would bring him in instead of kill him, and that would mean a trial.” She winked at Percaric. “Too public for this client of yours.”

An anxious and awkward giggle-like breath left the man’s lips. “Precisely.”

“So, where is she being kept?” The Scorpion asked.

The duke glanced around him before leaning in and letting his next sentence come out as a whisper. “The tower of Eastemnet.”

“Eastemnet?” Aragorn confirmed, wide-eyed and surprised. “But that would mean—”

“Lord Theovail,” the assassin interjected. “One of the richest, well-guarded men in Arda.”

Percaric bit his lip. “Yes, yes. Now, well, now you see why my client asked for you, Scorpion of Sarn Ford.”

Aragorn huffed, hot air coming from his nose, as he shook his head—now finally reaching for his ale. “We will take the job,” he stated reluctantly.

“Oi! Not so fast,” the assassin interjected. “What’s the pay?”

The Ranger shot her a glare. “A girl, a child, is being held prisoner, and you worry of pay?”

She glared right back at him before turning back to Percaric. “The pay?”

He cleared his throat. “Three hundred pieces of gold up front and another three hundred upon your return of the girl, alive, and proof of Theovail’s death. Though you will have to split it, I’m afraid.”

She raised her hands with a tilt of the head. “Fine by me.” She turned, flashing a devilish grin to the man next to her. “Let us go hunt a girl-snatching arsewipe, Strider.”

He offered no-response other than a scowling side eye.

“Fantastic,” Percaric replied, taking two coin pouches out and plopping them on the table.

The assassin was quick to snatch up one of the bundles, standing, ready to take her leave.

Aragorn, however, let his finger drift over the coin. He glanced up at Percaric. “What’s her name?”

The man’s expression softened. “Calista, daughter of Lord Kassim.”

Aragorn nodded, grasping onto the pouch. “We will bring Calista home.”

……

The pair had been traveling for approximately two weeks at this point, and their interactions during this time were characterized by sparse conversations intertwined with numerous glares and disdainful expressions. In those few moments when words were exchanged, they were often heated disagreements concerning which path to follow, strategies for infiltrating the tower, or debates over the responsibilities of meals. It was, quite frankly, the most miserable trek across Arda that Aragorn had ever taken upon. But it wasn't until they were passing through the gap of Rohan, between the Misty Mountains and Ered Nimrais, that they met any trouble.

An arrow, coming from the mountain’s rocky side, whizzing past Aragorn’s ear was the first sign of danger.

He whipped his head around. “Scorpion!” he called out in warning, his eyes meeting the assassin’s for a brief moment.

She drew her dual silver blades only seconds before a small pack of goblins began descending. She was quick to behead the first goblin whose feet hit the grassy pass they walked through.

“Goblin’s from the Mountains,” she hissed.

Aragorn too drew his sword. “They shouldn't be this far south! They stay up near Ehu Daur and Moira!” He drove his blade through one of the beasts, swinging around to slice another.

“Well, clearly, they dont give a fuck as to where they should or should be!” The Scorpion quipped back as she brought one of her blades through the neck of one of the creatures. “On your left!”

Aragorn twisted his body just in time to block a blow from a rusted scythe.

The assassin dodged the next beast that came at her and sprinted towards the biggest one. She was quick to push herself into the air, flip over the goblin, and slice its throat before her feet even landed on the ground.

She looked up to see the two final goblins, one in match with her companion and the other approaching his back.

The woman moved quickly. Her feet carried her towards the beast who held its blade above Strider’s head. Just before it was to be brought downward, she yelled out a war cry and grasped onto the few hairs the creature had. She yanked hard. The goblin fell backwards onto the ground and she pounced on top of him, sending her blade through his heart—his pungent blood spraying across her face, neck, tunic, and leather armor.

With heavy panting breath, she stood and turned to face the Ranger who had slayed the final beast. Kicking the corpse of the one she had just killed, she spoke. “Only nine. A scouting team. More will be coming upon their lack of return. We gotta get a move on.”

Aragorn’s lips were parted in surprise, realizing that he nearly lost his life. Surprising the assassin, he spoke words that she never would have thought to leave his lips for her. “Thank you, Scorpion.”

She raised her brows. “I have a name, you know, Strider.”

The Ranger turned away from her, continuing along their path. “I don't care to know it,” he gruffed out, his brief sincerity from moments before disappearing.

She snorted, calling out to him regardless. “It’s (Y/N).”

“Don’t fall behind, Scorpion,” he replied.

She huffed, her irritation obvious, before jogging to catch up with his wide strides. “I don’t like you very much either, but if we're gonna be on this job for a while, you could at least not be a dick.”

“Coming from the rudest and most corrupt person I have ever met, that's rich.”

She chuckled loudly. “Wow. Rude, okay, I deserve that. But corrupt? That’s a bit far-fetched.”

He stopped walking, twisting to glower down at her with disgust. “You truly think so? Let’s talk of why they attach the massacre of Sarn Ford to your name. You killed dozens. Women. Children. Innocents. All for what? Gold! Corrupt is too kind a word for you. Wicked, diabolical, vicious is more like it.”

(Y/N)’s brows shot upward as a pained and frustrated laugh thundered in her chest. “Really? Do you even know what was happening in Sarn Ford?!”

“They were farmers! Common folk! Living off the land in peace and you…you slaughtered them!” he yelled.

She got in his face, her hot, angry breath burning against his skin. “THEY WERE ALREADY GOOD AS DEAD, STRIDER!”

“How could you even say that?” he replied, horrified.

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, before focusing back on the man before her. “A disease was making its way through their village. Incurable. Painful. An alchemist, who had been working for weeks to try and find anything to help them, hired me. There was nothing to be done for them except extend a hand of mercy. To give them a good, painless death.”

Aragorn stared at her, his brows pulled together with shock in his gaze.

The assassin clenched her jaw. “I had mothers plead with me to end their child's life while cradled in their arms, only to follow them into death. At least, that way, they could die together.” She looked up at him, her tone privy with rage. “So, yes, Strider, feel free to bestow upon me any epithet you see fit."

He was silent, his shock radiating into the wind around him. Quietly, he spoke again, “How did you not get sick?”

She exhaled slowly. “The alchemist instructed me to wear cloth over my face and cover all skin but my eyes. Once the deed was done, I burned everything I wore and paid for new clothes with gold born of their suffering.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, compassion in his gray eyes. “I am sorry. Doing such a thing mustn't have been easy. It was an execution of mercy.” He turned, continuing once more. “Though the tales of your other kills aren't so kind. Come along, Scorpion. There’s a town a couple days ahead.”

(Y/N) snorted, anger seething in her bones, but followed him nonetheless.”

…..

The pair strode towards the Inn, located not far from Gondor’s borders. They forcefully pulled the door open, unveiling a noisy uproar of laughter and boisterous shouting, mingling with the lovely odors of urine, sweat, and stagnant ale. Creating such an environment, one the Scorpion and Ranger were used to, were the disheveled bodies of inebriated men.

With a mischievous grin, (Y/N) expertly navigated through the crowd, leading Strider to a secluded table nestled in a dim corner. It wasn't long before the arrival of steaming platters of meat and bread arrived, along with two pints of foamy ale, both of which they heartily devoured. The Scorpion raised her hand, beckoning the barmaid over and placing an order for two more pints—both of which she downed, much to Aragorn's evident disapproval.

After releasing a loud belch, she casually swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, then rose to her feet. “Gonna go get some air,” she grumbled, her balance momentarily unsteady as she gained her footing. Aragorn, in response, merely offered an exasperated roll of his eyes.

The assassin maneuvered through the bustling throng of men, slipping through the sea of people before pushing through the doors. The sudden rush of frigid tranquility enveloped her skin as she stepped into the embrace of the night. With a deliberate intake of breath, she allowed the crisp air to fill her lungs. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tilted her head upwards, letting the misting drizzle of rain kiss her skin. The sound of the tavern was muffled, and the echoes of the celebration they passed down the road drifted into the air. Though it was subtle, for it didn't drown out the sounds of the singing crickets or the croaking frogs. It was peaceful. Well, that is until a form slammed into her and pressed her against the wall.

The smell of ale-laden breath and sticky sweat filled her nostrils as her eyes shot open. Her gaze, fueled by adrenaline, locked onto the burly figure before her—a man with a rugged orange beard—who had forced himself upon her.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in a dangerous place like this?” he asked, a knife held to her throat.

She snarled up at him. “Oh, you're about to find out—”

Before she could make a move, however, the man was suddenly struck from the side, his body sent sprawling onto the weathered, muddy path.

As (Y/N) peeled herself from the wall, her hand instinctively reached for the slight gash on her neck. Meanwhile, the bearded man found himself seized by the throat, forcefully hoisted upward, and pressed hard against the unyielding stone.

“Do you even know who that is?” Strider uttered sharply.

A chuckle escaped the lips of the man, his bloodied lip spraying a fine mist of red onto Aragorn's face. “You’re whore?” he sneered.

With an unrelenting grip on the man's throat, Aragorn pulled him several inches away from the wall, only to slam him back against it once more. The impact elicited a grunt from the man. "The Scorpion of Sarn Ford," Aragorn hissed through clenched teeth, his voice seething with restrained fury.

The assailant’s laughter was dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah and I'm the fuckin’ King of Gondor.”

The Ranger clenched his jaw, ignoring the secret dig the man's comment produced. “You know why they call her that? Hmm. The Scorpion? Scorpions incapacitate their prey with venom, paralyzing them before they deal the final blow. That woman over there? She severs her targets’ spinal nerve, rendering them unable to move before subjecting them to her torture and kill. And the worst part? She doesn't even need them paralyzed. She gets off from witnessing the terror in their eyes as they're rendered helpless.”

Another laugh escaped the man, but as his gaze shifted towards (Y/N), his amusement faded. The assassin now held a dagger, twirling it in her fingers, a sinister grin stretching across her features.

He turned to look back at Aragorn, the color now drained from his face. “Ye’ c-cant be serious,” he stammered.

The Ranger merely lifted his brows and tilted his head.

Driven by desperation to escape the woman beside them, the man started to shove against Aragorn. However, a single forceful punch to his jaw rendered him unconscious, his body collapsing onto the mud once more.

“I had it handled,” the assassin stated.

Aragorn shot her a stern glare before responding bluntly, "Sure, you did."

The woman emitted a snort, yet settled into a squat beside the man, her dagger poised.

The Ranger, however, was quick to grab her by the wrist, successfully stopping her actions. "Are you out of your mind? We can't kill him. That's the last thing we need – drawing attention to ourselves."

With a huff of mild exasperation, she sheathed her blade. "Fine." She then nodded to the black horse tethered nearby, gesturing with a nod. "That's his horse. Saw him dismount as we entered. Bring it here."

Aragorn frowned, confused, but did as she asked.

“Alright,” she stated, gathering the man’s arms in her hands. “Help me with his legs.”

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Strider, just grab his damn legs.”

Exhaling audibly, the Ranger complied, reluctantly gripping the man's ankles. With a coordinated heave, they hoisted the man up from the muck. After a few groans and sighs, he was draped over his horse's back.

The Scorpion then took the leather strapping of the saddle and began binding the man’s hands and feet to it. She nodded to the young maple tree behind the Ranger. “Get me a large twig from that. Bout a foot tall. Keep the leaves on it.”

“What?” he hissed, his hands spreading wide in a gesture of bewilderment.

“Strider, would you just get the branch,” she urged impatiently.

Another loud, reluctant exhale left his lips, yet he trudged toward the tree and pulled off what she requested. He approached her, holding out the twig.

“Ah, thank you,” she acknowledged with a grin, accepting it from him.

With that she moved to the side of the horse, close to the man's legs. She seized the waistband of his trousers and gave it a yank, reaving his bare ass.

“Scorpion,” Aragorn chided.

Undeterred, she grinned, sticking the small branch between his ass cheeks so it stood upright, its leaves rustling faintly in the breeze.

“Seriously?” he gruffed out, his arms crossed.

(Y/N) looked at him with a wicked smirk. “You hear that party still going on down the road? I think they would appreciate some impromptu entertainment.” With that, she smacked the horse's rear and, with a brisk snort, it took off down the path.

Not even a minute passed, when they heard the shouts of anger and amusement funneling from the gathering.

Strider turned to glare at her, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with irritation. He grasped onto her bicep and pulled her towards the doors. "Get inside the damned tavern, quickly."

A loud, hearty laugh flew from her throat, yet she allowed him to pull her along.

Engulfed once again in the clamorous atmosphere of the inn, Aragorn wasted no time in steering her towards the bar. “You can't just put a branch up the arsehole of a person that pisses you off,” he hissed under his breath.

She grinned unapologetically. “Sure, I can.”

He blew hot air out his nose, opting to withhold a retort. With a determined demeanor, he maneuvered them through the crowd of men, navigating as close to the counter as he could get. "Barkeep," he called out, projecting his voice. "Two room keys."

The man approached them with a shrug. “Only got one room left.”

Aragorn huffed. “Fine. Well take it.”

With that, the Ranger deposited three gold coins into the man's palm, secured the key, and then swiftly tugged the Scorpion alongside him as they grabbed their bags and ascended the creaky wooden staircase.

They approached their door, marked the same as the key, and it swung open under Aragorn’s touch. Within, the room exuded a chill darkness, accompanied by a faint draft slipping in through the slightly cracked window. The space appeared quite sparse, furnished with nothing but a small dresser, a modest table accompanied by two chairs...and a solitary bed.

A muttered curse escaped the Ranger's lips as he unceremoniously dropped his bag onto the table. "I'll take the floor."

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Really, Strider? It’s the one night we get the option of having a bed. As long as you stay on your side, I don't mind sharing.”

“Fine,” was his gruff response.

With that, the pair began getting comfortable for the night. Aragorn lit the worn down candle, its feeble golden glow illuminating the area, proving slightly better light as he dug through his bag. Meanwhile, (Y/N) shed her cloak and vast assortment of weapons, earning a skeptical glance from the Ranger. Yet, when she began to unfasten the tightly-worn leather armor that clung to her figure, his reaction was far more dramatic. "What on earth is that stench?!" he blurted out, recoiling.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Remember those goblins? Yeah, I got an unexpected bath in their blood.”

“That was days ago. You reek,” he retorted. He strode over to the dresser, opening drawers until he came across a gray towel. Returning to the table, he picked up the pitcher beside the candle and gradually poured water into a small basin, also provided. After submerging the towel and wringing it out, he flung the damp cloth towards her, which she easily caught. “Clean yourself up.”

She shrugged once more. Turning away, she shed her shirt and let it drop to the floor. Her swift movements were focused as she wiped her face, neck, and chest, cleansing her skin of the grime that clung to it.

Though Aragorn didn't intend to look, his gaze inadvertently flicked towards her silhouette against the wall. It was then that his eyes fixed upon her bare back, adorned with a network of vivid, angry scars. He’d seen scars like that. He knew what they were from: torture.

“(Y/N),” he whispered sincerely, his steps leading him closer to her form. “What happened?”

Hearing her name for the first time from his lips, she was caught off guard—her heart skipping a beat. The simple utterance carried an unexpected weight, a rare vulnerability that seemed to momentarily freeze her in place. Uncertainty gripped her as she stood still, her mind racing to process the unfamiliar tone from him.

His touch was tender as he raised his hand to trace the lines on her skin. “Who did this to you?” he growled.

Brought back to the present, she instinctively recoiled from his touch. "I'm an assassin. I've earned my fair share of enemies," she replied, her voice tinged with defiance. Shifting her gaze over her shoulder, she met his eyes. "Have an extra shirt? Mine's beyond saving."

"I, uh, yes. Yes, of course," Aragorn responded, seeming to realize the sudden intimacy of the moment. He retreated to his bag, rifling through its contents until he procured a cream-colored tunic. He tossed it to her. "This should suffice."

“Thanks,” she grumbled, pulling it over her head.

(Y/N) approached the table, the Ranger's shirt engulfing her smaller frame. The fabric's loose drape hung off her shoulder. If she wasn't such a menace, Aragorn would have thought that she looked cute in his clothes.

Ungracefully, she deposited the damp towel on the tabletop before proceeding to yank off her boots and socks, placing them with a deliberate thud upon the chair nearby. “We are not that far from the tower of Eastemnet. Perhaps a two day journey or so. However, our predicament remains unchanged: we don't have a solid strategy. We don't have any floor plans. We don't know how many guards will be stationed. And we don't know where the girl is being kept. We are gonna be going in blind—”

“You’re bleeding,” he interjected, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of concern.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just a scratch,” she dismissed casually.

Aragorn grasped onto her jaw, lifting her chin up to take a better look. "A seemingly insignificant wound could easily become infected, Scorpion," he asserted, his tone insistent.”

She pulled her head from his grasp with a snort. “I’m fine, Strider.”

He crossed his arms, an unyielding resolve in his expression. “If we are breaking into Lord Theovail’s tower and stealing from him, I'd prefer my partner not succumb to infection-induced delirium, potentially endangering both our lives." Swiftly, he nudged the empty chair towards her. “Now, sit down, Scorpion.”

(Y/N)’s brows lifted, followed by a teasing expression that animated her features. “Oh? So I'm your partner now?” she quipped, her tone laced with playful amusement. "What happened to the 'vicious shrew killer that you would rather leave tied to a tree,' as I seem to recall you once calling me?"

He glared at her. “Sit, or I will leave you tied to a tree.”

Surprisingly, she did as he asked, allowing herself to sink into the chair with her legs casually sprawled and her arms folded tightly across her chest. Aragorn dug through his bag, pulling out a couple small tins and a tiny glass bottle. Grasping the towel, he located a clean section and dipped it into the basin. Squatting down between her legs, he lifted the towel to her neck. "Chin up," he instructed, and she obeyed without protest. Gently, he began cleansing the wound, meticulously removing dirt and debris from the area. Next, he uncapped the small glass bottle. "This might sting," he warned.

She clenched her jaw, but said nothing as the alcohol was poured upon her neck. Aragorn gently dabbed the liquid away. He then opened one of the small tins, extracting a dollop of green goo.

“What is that shit?” (Y/N) asked.

“Athelas leaf paste.”

“Athelas leaf?” she echoed, seeking further clarification.

“Kingsfoil. Athelas is the elvish word for it,” he replied simply, his attention focused on gently applying the paste to the wound.

She raised her eyebrows. “Elvish, huh. You're full of surprises, Strider. Where’d ya learn that?”

“Shush. Be still.”

The Scorpion rolled her eyes, but complied as he completed the task.

Standing up, Aragorn rinsed his hands and addressed her once more. "We can devise a plan for the tower tomorrow. Right now, we need rest."

(Y/N) sighed, nodding in agreement, as she too stood. She made her way towards the bed and pulled back the thin sheet, eager to climb into the softness of a mattress—regardless of how old and worn it was.

The gentle sound of air extinguishing the candle was succeeded by the enveloping darkness that reclaimed the room. Soon, Aragorn’s footsteps followed. She discerned the rustle of fabric as, presumably, he removed his shirt. The bed then creaked gently as he settled beside her, lying on his back.

She, resting on her side away from him, let her eyes close. There she laid, for a moment, before shifting. Then she shifted again. And again.

“Stop moving, Scorpion,” Aragorn grumbled, his patience waning.

“I can’t get comfortable!” she retorted.

“That’s because you keep moving.”

“It’s cold and you're stealing all the blankets.” With a determined tug, she seized more of the fabric, leaving Aragorn with a minimal share.

He merely exhaled audibly, opting for a wordless response. At the very least, she had ceased her constant fidgeting.

Aragorn remained awake during the initial hours, unable to find slumber. (Y/N)'s breathing had swiftly settled into a rhythmic pattern after she commandeered the majority of the sheets, though her small unconscious movements kept interrupting the perceived tranquility. Occasional, soft whimpers escaped her lips, her brows furrowing with evident distress. In truth, Aragorn found himself uncertain of how to respond. He held onto the hope that the disturbances would cease on their own, perhaps that whatever troubled her dreams would eventually pass. And eventually, it did stop, but not without an unexpected turn of events.

The Ranger's senses jolted as the Scorpion’s frigid form rolled towards his side of the bed, seeking refuge in his warmth. Although she had mentioned feeling cold earlier, the intensity of her chill surprised him. The wave of uncertainty that washed over him did not leave as her cheek pressed against his bare chest. Initially, the thought of infection taking hold crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it; her skin would have been hot to the touch if that were the case. It only took seconds for him to realize that the draft from the cracked window was striking her side directly. With a sigh of reluctance, he tentatively encircled his arm around her, drawing her in further.

In her state of deep slumber, she instinctively nestled into him, drawing a slight skip from Aragorn's heart. He cast a cautious gaze downward, taking in her appearance.

She seemed so different—distinctly separate from the notorious assassin he knew her to be. There was an innocence, an unexpected purity, about her in this moment that rendered her almost unrecognizable. Gone was the perpetual scowl that often marked her features. Instead, her face had relaxed into a gentle expression of repose, free from the tension. Her lips, adorned with the faintest hint of a pout, moved slightly as she drew each breath, almost as if he warded off the nightmares that had plagued her.

In this vulnerable state, the Scorpion seemed untainted by her reputation, stripped of her fearsome persona. The layers of her identity, usually shrouded in crude comments and sharp weapons, had fallen away. It revealed that the facade that she showed the world was just that, a facade. A good one at that though. Even Aragorn—a man well-acquainted with the intricacies of human nature—hadn't thought it would be a mask; but her story of Sarn Ford was the first thing that revealed its possibility to him. It was as if the walls she kept built had crumbled away, allowing him a glimpse of the person beneath the lies. And, until sleep claimed him, he allowed himself to savor this glimpse—to see her beyond the assassin.

When the first light of dawn began to filter in, (Y/N) stirred, wrapped in the warmth and safety that had cocooned her during the night. She hesitated to peel open her eyelids, savoring the sensation. However, as her senses roused to full awareness, a gentle yet distinct rhythm reached her ears—the steady thud of a heart beating beneath her. In an instant, her eyes shot open, and a surge of apprehension raced through her.

Beneath her, Strider's form lay, his chest rising and falling in slumber. Anxiety tightened her chest and clawed at her throat. Reacting instinctively, she sat up abruptly and, fueled by adrenaline, threw a punch at him.

A resounding groan of pain escaped his lips as he scrambled to sit up, his expression twisting in both surprise and discomfort. "What the hell, Scorpion?!" he managed to sputter, his hand instinctively reaching to dab at his lip.

“I thought I told you to stay on your side of the bed!” she retorted sharply.

He glared at her, his irritation obvious. “I did. If you would take a moment to observe your surroundings, you would see you are in fact on my side of the bed.”

Wide-eyed and perplexed, she twisted her upper body around, casting a glance over her shoulder. As the reality of the situation dawned on her, she faced him once more. Her eyes filtered over his form briefly, taking in his muscled biceps and defined abs. Her expression then turned into a deeper scowl. “Fuck off!” she snapped.

He only stared at her, bewildered.

….

Under the shroud of darkness, the Ranger and the Assassin stood at the base of the tower of Eastemnet on the south side. Concealed within the protective embrace of the tree line, they had spent approximately three hours observing the guards' patterns and identifying vulnerabilities in the tower's defenses. There they had hidden two steeds that (Y/N) had procured for them at the inn—most likely through theft, though Aragorn didn't want to think of that—allowing for a quick escape with Calista. Strategically, they discreetly knocked out all the guards on the outposts, binding and gagging them, for they knew the element of surprise would be their only bet. So, now they stood, with a pretty loose plan, ready to steal back what Lord Theovail had taken.

The Scorpion grasped onto the vine that entwined itself along the stone surface of the tower. A swift, assessing tug confirmed its stability. Her gaze shifted briefly to the man positioned behind her. “About two hundred feet to the top. Best guess, that’s where Calista is being held.”

He nodded. “After you.”

The Scorpion adjusted her grip upon the vine and she initiated her ascent. Aragorn doing the same only minutes after.

They moved in a synchronized rhythm, the sound of their breaths and the faint rustling of vines mingling with the night's stillness. Each handhold and foothold was chosen with precision, the texture of the stone under their fingertips guiding their progress.

(Y/N)’s movements were fluid and practiced, evidence to her agility and experience. Her lithe form seemed to dance with the contours of the tower, making it look easy. Aragorn, not as accustomed to such endeavors, displayed a determination that rivaled his unease. His powerful muscles flexed and strained as he pulled himself upward, his eyes never straying far from the path she took.

After what felt like hours, the assassin spoke. “Nearly there, just a couple more feet.”

Aragorn only grunted in response.

The woman firmly gripped the vine adjacent to the windowsill, positioning her feet against the wall in a manner resembling a vertical walk. This facilitated her upward movement as she pulled herself closer to the window. Yet, as her head reached the level of the glass, she swiftly withdrew, instinctively lowering herself. In an unfortunate circumstance, the unconventional stance she maintained resulted in her ass colliding with Aragorn's face.

He groaned. “Really, Scorpion?! Really?!”

“My bad,” she huffed out. “Hold on a second. I think someone is in there.”

“Yeah, hopefully Calista.”

She resumed her ascent, then promptly lowered herself again. This time, Aragorn effectively maneuvered his head to the side, evading her buttocks.

Regardless of this, he shot her a glare—not that she would be able to see it.

“It was a maid.” she whispered. “I think we are in the clear now.”

With that, she heaved herself up for a final time and reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh. “Duck your head,” she commanded. With as much force as she could muster, she brought the blade against the glass, tucking her face into her elbow. It shattered, falling around them both like deadly snow.

The Scorpion pulled herself upward and through the window, careful not to be pierced by any stray piece of glass, and Aragorn did the same.

The room was small, but decorated to the extreme. The prominent feature was the bed, elevated upon a platform, its tall wooden posts adorned with a luxurious velvet canopy that cascaded in graceful drapes. The mattress was covered in ornate blankets and quilts, complemented by an array of plush pillows. However, any semblance of beauty was starkly contradicted by the grim sight of chains extending from the wall and ensnaring the wrists of a young girl, shattering the room's facade of luxury.

Immediately, Aragorn ran towards her side. “Calista,” he murmured gently. “Wake up. It’s time to go.”

Calista's golden hair framed a face that appeared worn and defeated. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing a gaze void of life. Her voice emerged as a feeble whisper. "Who are you?" she inquired softly.

Standing steadfast in the center of the room, (Y/N) maintained her posture with crossed arms. Her unwavering gaze fixed on the imposing wooden door that likely remained locked from the other side. “Your father sent us.”

Aragorn carefully manipulated the cuffs that bound Calista's wrists, gingerly freeing her from their constricting hold. "I'm Strider," he introduced himself, his fingers working skillfully. "We're here to help. Come.”

As if entranced, Calista began to sit up, struggling to rise from the bed. Aragorn extended his support, assisting her onto the floor. However, her weak frame proved too fragile to sustain itself. She leaned unsteadily against him, her body unable to bear its own weight.

The Ranger looked to his partner. “She’s too weak. There's no way I can scale down the wall with her on my back. She won't have the strength to hold on."

The Scorpion uttered a quiet curse. “You will just have to come with me to find Theovail.”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. We can't bring her near him.”

“Well, we don't have any other choice,” she snapped. “But as soon as I kill him, we will have to haul ass. His guard will be coming for us then—if they don't already know we are here.”

Aragorn clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply. “Fine. Get that door open.”

With that, the Scorpion set to work picking the lock and Aragorn scooped Calista up in his arms, her golden head nestled into his chest. It wasn't long before the group was creeping down the tower, level by level. The Scorpion led the way, ducking behind walls and maneuvering around pillars, making sure the way was clear. When they came across a guard that was blocking their escape, she was quick to slice his throat and pull his body out of sight.

“Scorpion, why you can't just knock them out?” Aragorn whispered with exasperation.

She, dropping his legs as she stuffed him into a closet, glared at him. “And risk having him wake up and alert others? I think not."

He huffed, knowing she was right.

However, their path forward soon encountered a challenge they couldn't evade as easily. Just as they were on the verge of turning a corner, a young maid's panicked voice pierced the air. “The-the girl. She’s gone!”

(Y/N) slammed her back against the stone wall, Aragorn doing the same.

“What do you mean ‘she’s gone’??!” A deep male voice thundered.

A shared realization passed between (Y/N) and Aragorn—Lord Theovail had now entered the fray.

“FIND HER!” he snapped. “Or it will be your head!”

The servant scurried down the hall, running right past the Ranger and Assassin who slunk into the shadows with their charge.

(Y/N) cautiously peered around the corner. The room before them was every bit as lavish as the one that had imprisoned Calista, if not more so. A roaring fire crackled in the grand fireplace, casting flickering shadows that danced across the two plush velvet couches by it. Luxurious fur blankets adorned each sofa, hinting at Theovail’s rich indulgence. A sprawling fur carpet lay before the fireplace, while an ornate wine cart laden with deep reds was conveniently placed nearby. And there, infuriated, stood Lord Theovail himself, a glass of crimson liquid in hand, his temper fuming. To make matters worse, his guards were positioned near the room's exit—the very door that Aragorn would need to pass through in order to escape with Calista.

The Scorpion drew her knife, sending Aragorn a look. It was time. In a hushed tone, she whispered to him. “When you hear it’s over, take her and run to the doors. I'll be right behind you.”

He nodded in agreement.

She then disappeared into the shadows. Not even a minute passed before Aragorn heard the thumping of two bodies, one right after the other, followed by the telltale crash of a shattering wine glass meeting the floor.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Lord Theovail’s voice thundered, a mix of surprise and outrage lacing his words.

Aragorn cautiously peered around the corner, his heart pounding. Lord Theovail was now a whirlwind of fury and frustration, his gaze darting in every direction and a knife clutched in his hand. “I am not one to indulge in games!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber as he brandished the blade. “Reveal yourself, you coward!”

Within seconds, the Scorpion’s blade was poised menacingly at Lord Theovail's throat, her grip firm and unwavering as she held him in check from behind. Her voice dripped with a sinister malice as she spoke, her words slithering through the air like a venomous serpent. “Lord Kassim sends his regards.”

A broad chuckle bubbled from Theovail's lips, mingling with a mix of disbelief and arrogance. “A woman?! Kassim sends a woman to kill me?!”

Aragorn watched as the assassin drew another blade from her lethal arsenal, the steel glinting in the dim light. He winced inwardly, knowing what was about to unfold. In one swift, calculated motion, the Scorpion's blade found its mark, slicing deeply into Theovail's spine. The lord's body crumpled to the floor, staining the pristine white fur carpet with a gruesome red pool. His once-commanding presence now reduced to stillness. Though his eyes, wide and drifting in panic, showed his fear.

She then sat on top of him, bringing the blade to his neck once more. The Scorpion's lips curled into a chilling grin, her eyes alight with a dark satisfaction. “Not just any woman. You ever hear of The Scorpion of Sarn Ford?”

Instantly, a tidal wave of horror engulfed Theovail's blue gaze, his previously defiant demeanor shattered like the fragile glass of Calista’s window.

He knew the legend. He knew there was no escape for him.

However, at that moment, a large, burly guard burst in. Seeing what was unfolding, he was at his Lord’s assistance in a flash. His hand grasped onto the assassin’s hair, yanking her form from Theovail.

Aragorn clenched his jaw, giving her a moment before he intervened.

The collision sent shards of glass and splintered wood flying as the guard and the Scorpion crashed into the wine cart, locked in a fierce struggle. The guard, towering in his size, managed to regain his footing first and hauled the Scorpion up with him. His meaty fists struck out, landing brutal blows that drew crimson from her nose and brow.

The Ranger cursed. Quickly, he sat Calista upon the ground and rushed to his partner's aid. Unsheathing his blade, he lunged into the fray. His sword found its mark in the guard's back, the steel emerging through the man's stomach. Time seemed to freeze as the guard's bloodied gaze locked with the Scorpion's, a moment charged with shock and shared disbelief. The guard crumpled to the ground, revealing Aragorn.

With a swift motion, Aragorn twisted his blade downward and reached out to grasp the Scorpion's face, his hands marked by a blend of relief and fear. The touch, both tender and urgent, brought her gaze to his. Blood marked one cheek, while the other felt the cool press of his blade's hilt against her skin. His deep voice, a mixture of anxiety and care, called out her name. "(Y/N)," he stated, the word a lifeline that pierced through her dazed state.

"(Y/N)," he spoke once more, the urgency remaining. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, forcing a response. “Yes, yes. I'm fine.”

Aragorn released a sigh of relief, yet his hand remained for another heartbeat, a reassurance in the form of touch. "Take care of Theovail. I will get Calista," he instructed, his hands finally and reluctantly withdrawing as he moved to tend to their young charge.

The rest was a blur: (Y/N) slicing Theovail’s throat and grabbing his ruby ring, Aragorn hauling Calista into his arms, and the trio racing down the tower's corridors—fending off any obstacle that dared to stand in their path. Adrenaline drove them to the treeline, panting breath heavy and loud, as they climbed upon their horses and took off into the night—leaving behind the bloody assassination of the Lord of the Eastemnet Tower.

…..

Weeks later, at three in the morning, the trio stumbled into The Black Falcon Tavern, where they first met with Percaric. The establishment was eerily quiet, save for the slumbering figure of the barkeep, who had succumbed to the late hour with his head on the counter. At the far end of the room, Percaric and Calista's mother stood, their figures illuminated by a flickering candle on the table. An air of anxious anticipation clung to the atmosphere.

As soon as their feet crossed the threshold, that stillness was disturbed. Calista's voice pierced the quiet as she called out to her mother, her strength visibly renewed since the ordeal. Without hesitation, mother and daughter closed the distance between themselves, embracing as if they had been torn apart for eternity. Tears flowed freely, mingling sorrow with joy. The warmth of their reunion dispelled the darkness that had clouded their lives.

Percaric approached the Scorpion and the Ranger.

The assassin tossed the man Lord Theovail’s ring. “Proof of death,” she stated bluntly. “I was gonna bring you his head, but figured it would smell pretty rotten after the long journey.”

He nodded awkwardly, the thought making him feel ill. He took a quick moment to examine the ring. Seemingly satisfied, he spoke. “You did well. Lord Kassim sends his thanks.” He then tossed them both pouches of gold before turning back to the mother and daughter. As Percaric prepared to take Calista and her mother back home, he turned back to the two rescuers. His voice carried a sentiment with his words. "Thank you."

Aragorn's silent nod and the Scorpion's subtle acknowledgment conveyed their understanding and their shared commitment to a world that often demanded their sacrifice.

With that, Percaric, Calista, and her mother left the inn, leaving the assassin and the ranger alone.

“Well,” (Y/N) began, as she walked towards the snoring barkeep and leaned over the counter, fishing for the room keys. “I don't know about you, but I could do with a good night’s rest.” She pulled the ring from his waist and turned back to Aragorn. Holding it up, one key dangling, her grin faded. “You're kidding, right?” She shook her head with a huff but turned and made her way to the rickety stairs. “As long as you stay on your side of the bed this time, Strider—”

“Scorpion,” he interrupted as he followed her.

The wood creaked under her feet. “I am serious. Keep yourself in check—”

“Scorpion.”

“I will not hesitate to paralyze you—”

“(Y/N)!”

She froze upon the stairs, slowly turning to look at him on the step directly below her. Now they stood at the same height, face to face, only inches away from each other.

“You almost died out there,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her skin.

“Yeah, so did you. It happens,” she shrugged. “It’s what we do.”

“(Y/N),” he persisted.

“What?!”

With that, he grasped onto her face, his finger warm and calloused from the lifetime of travel and battle. Time seemed to freeze as the moment lingered, the air changing between them.

And then, his lips were on hers.

At first, a sense of uncertainty held her still, her mind grappling to comprehend the sudden intimacy. But as his touch deepened and the kiss became a dance, she surrendered to the moment. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling themselves among the dark waves, as her lips moved with just as much force—if not more—as his. He tasted of pine and fresh soil, she wast sure if she quite literally was consuming the dirt upon his face, but she didn't care. She couldn't stop herself from becoming enthralled by his lips.

“Scorpion,” he mumbled against her mouth.

She hummed a reply as her lips continued to move with his.

“Room. Now,” he practically growled.

She grinned, her teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “Make me.”

Aragorn pulled away from her, raising his brow with a smirk. With that, he grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her up. Her mouth found his again as he stumbled up the stairs, ignorant to the barkeep who woke and was now squinting at the pair.

“The Scorpion and Strider,” the old man huffed. “The boys aren't gonna believe this one.”

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[ransprang]

thank you @tolkien-fantasy we hope you like your match ups <3

if anyone else wants a personalized fic this is our ko-fi

your lotr match up is....

ARAGORN!!!

SFW

How you met: In the tranquil corners of Rivendell, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, found himself drawn to the sanctuary of books and knowledge. It was a day much like any other, with the soft hues of dawn painting the sky as Aragorn ventured into the library, seeking solace in the written word. Amidst the towering shelves and hushed whispers of parchment, his eyes fell upon a figure, small in stature yet radiating an aura of boundless energy. You were friendly to him when you saw him, surprised to see someone at the library at this hour and happily helped him find whatever book he was looking for. Your chipper personality cheered him up and he found himself drawn to the library more often. He preferred to come when there were fewer people around which gave you both a chance talk in peace. He began to open up to you more eased by your wise and mature personality, and eventually fell in love.

Aragorn is to be a king, so your wisdom and intelligence would be indispensable to him in his ruling years. Your ability to think quickly and offer practical solutions to complex problems proves invaluable as he navigates the challenges of governance.

Aragorn isn’t the type to give you extravagant gifts even once he becomes king. Instead he tries to find you small, sentimental pieces which remind him of you, like delicate necklaces with meaningful words inscribed upon them.

Your wisdom and cheerful personality would be a guiding light in Aragorn's darkest moments, reminding him to find joy in the simple pleasures of life and offering him respite from the weight of his responsibilities. If he ever saw you were upset he would try to return the favour and cheer you up.

Together, you and Aragorn create cherished traditions that strengthen your bond, such as sharing quiet moments in the garden at dawn, or exchanging heartfelt letters whenever duty keeps you apart.

Aragorn is a selfless man. He would often puts the needs of others before his own, sacrificing personal comfort and safety for you or the greater good in a heartbeat.

Aragorn likes going on adventures. He rarely every sits stills and would take you to different countries or cities. You would become a very well travelled person after a few years of dating him.

Aragorn would struggle with the idea of you dying before him, since his extended lifespan would mean he would have to spend his twilight years alone, living only with your memory. Your work as a death doula would equip you with the skills necessary to prepare him to deal with your loss.

When your hair isn’t covered, you catch Aragorn staring at you often, admiring your beauty. He is dazed by the way the sunlight dances off your auburn hair and the rakes his fingers gently through your waves before giving you a kiss.

Learning that you are a witch doesn’t freak him out at all. Instead it piques his curiosity. He’ll take the opportunity to learn about witchcraft from you and ask you many questions. When he’s out and about if he recognizes any materials that you use for witchcraft he’ll bring them back as little gifts.

N/SFW

All heavy makeout sessions first start with sweet, innocent kisses on your face. The kisses start moving south with Aragorn’s hands exploring your body as if he’s never touched you.

Aragorn keeps sex positions tame as he doesn’t want to overexert your body. He’ll always try to make sure you are comfortable and of course you both have a safe word to make sure you can tap out or take a break. He’s always very sweet about it, giving you a worried look.

He’s the king of aftercare. After you both cum he rolls over and strokes your auburn hair looking at your flushed face. Aragorn gives you kisses on your forehead and the back of your hand like a gentleman with a smile, happy to be able to share intimate moments with each other.

Aragorn enjoys making love to you on the soft grass, surrounded by flowers under the open sky. As he kisses your skin and you tangle your fingers in his hair, he slowly thrusts his penis deep inside. You two become one with your surroundings and a part of nature.

Aragorn eats you out, gently and picks up the speed as you pant faster. He grips your thighs, as he feels your skin against his finger tips and your soft folds on his tongue.

He likes to give you deep kisses, as he touches you all the way down, before playing with your clit and eventually inserting his fingers in, while still using his thumb to rub your sensitive bean.

Aragorn would carry you with your legs wrapped around his body, straddling him. He would thrust his cock deep inside while carrying you and fucking you around the house like this, knocking small items over in a moment of passion.

He would whisper reassurances in between grunts. “My darling, you are doing great.” he would say as he slowly increases the pace of his thrusting.

He would tangle his fingers through your hair and look deep within your eyes as you both breathe in rhythm with your heart, observing every breath you take. Aragorn pays close attention to you during intercourse, always looking out for signs of discomfort, or pleasure

Aragorn would kiss your neck softly, leaving you feeling almost ticklish. He smiles with joy watching you giggle beneath his touch, as he would continue kissing your flushed cheeks and cuddling you in his arms.

your books,

admins sar, san & sav

[lilaccatholic]

I am once again thinking about the reluctant ruler whose arc justly and correctly includes assuming the throne and taking responsibility for the people set before them

[onestormynight]

he has one reaction

[eirual-32]

Before the Birds Sang - Legolas x Reader

A.N.: As of now, it is a one shot imagine, but it could turn into a short series if you desire. Also, there might be some mistakes and I’m sorry for that but English isn’t my first language. Hope you enjoy! I really like this one :)

Legolas x Human Reader

Summary: On a certain evening when loneliness creeps in, Legolas is there to silently comfort you. Between the two of you, so many feelings are uncovered but also left unsaid.  

fluff, slight angst, hair braiding, hidden feelings

Reader isn’t aware of the meaning behind hair braiding for elves (love, courting…)

Warnings: none

Words: 1,8k

So much time had already passed since you had left your dear home. Of course, you did miss it. In your dreams, you were reminded of what made it your own: the modest but charming garden your mother was constantly occupied embellishing, the cherry blossom trees you could observe from your room’s window gently swaying with the wind flying over the valley, the numerous birds that would wake you from a peaceful sleep when you had left your shutters open for the night…

These souvenirs, the little pieces of home still residing in your mind, brought you comfort and hope that, somehow, you would come back alive to your mother. It was a dangerous adventure and death was constantly near, but you had no regrets. Indeed, the quest you had embarked on served a crucial purpose in which the faith of Middle-earth was at stake. Consequently, being a part of the Fellowship was an honor and you had come to appreciate each one of the members accompanying you. They all were great company and having them by your side eased your growing homesickness. However, late at night, when the time had come to slip into slumber, the loneliness crawled back in with an enhanced heaviness.

This is the state you now found yourself in, lying on your back on a thin layer of ferns while staring at the stars as if they would help you find the rest your body so desperately craved, but couldn’t give in to. You clung onto the thin blanket barely protecting you from the coldness of the night as you once more forcefully shut your eyes, sighing in desperation.

Your sigh must have been louder than you had wished since a worried voice quickly followed, “Are you not able to sleep Y/N?” You swiftly turned your head to the side to find Legolas, the elf on the Fellowship who had quickly creeped its way into your heart, sitting a few feet away against a log surrounding the campfire that had been put out before nightfall. As always, he was up late, not needing to sleep much.

You were unsure whether it was merely your human nature’s reaction to the refined beauty of elves, but Legolas had fascinated you from the moment your eyes had met his gentle ones all these months ago. Since then, you had been able to slightly put aside the odd feelings that had invaded your being the first time you encountered him and a lovely friendship blossomed between the two of you. Legolas was never one to judge you and you truly felt like you could be your true self around him. He was an ellon of a few words, but an attentive listener. Therefore, you were allowed to share and relieve yourself of the fears you had regarding this journey thanks to him. Secretly, he held an extra special place in your heart.

It is the reason why, as he now searched your eyes questioning what was bothering you, you felt your chest flutter and you averted your gaze to instead look back at the dark sky saying, “It is nothing new Legolas. I merely am frightened of what’s to come. You know how much I worry I will never come home to my mother.” You paused as you fought back the tears lingering in your eyes.

You heard Legolas shuffle closer and sit close to your head still resting on the ground. His comforting presence calmed you and you continued, “I am all she has left. I can’t help feeling guilty to have left her.” You sniffed slightly and closed your eyes.

For a few minutes, you both fell in a comfortable silence during which all that could be heard was the slow breaths you both let out, the faint snores of your companions sleeping nearby and the wind whistling through the countless trees surrounding you.

Your shut eyes softly opened back when a delicate hand cautiously caressed your long hair dispersed around your head. His gentle motions started at the top of your head and ended where your neck began, just behind your right ear. His touch was so light you could have believed the breeze was the one stroking your skin and strands of your hair.

As you relished in the feeling of his rare touch on you, you tempted a look at Legolas. Still sitting, his eyes were now fixed right in front of him, mindlessly surveying the woods. From this angle, observing him from below, you could see how the moon reflected on the smooth skin covering his face making it glitter subtly. As usual, strands of his snow-colored hair were neatly braided back revealing his beautifully shaped ears and his perfectly sculpted jawline. While your eyes continued to trail over his face, you couldn’t help feeling as if you were staring at an otherworldly being which technically, he was. His mere existence felt magical. Indeed, Legolas was an elf, but deep down, you knew he felt like more than that to you.

Legolas must have sensed your gaze on him because, in their inspection, your eyes finally reached his again but now, they weren’t fixed on the trees before him anymore. You were now staring directly in his soft eyes looking down at you as they seemed to silently try to read you. Slowly, a kind smile illuminated his face. Color stained your cheeks as you detected a hint of mischievousness in his expression at having caught you admiring him.

His voice was then heard again, “I thought I was helping you falling asleep. Alas, I appear to rather be a distraction to you,” he stated as his playful smirk grew even more. You lowered your eyes briefly, embarrassment creeping in, but quickly lifted them again as you heard him giggle softly.

A newfound fondness towards him filled your body at the sound of his laugh and at the realization of the subtle closeness of the moment. This time, you maintained his gaze until your eyes fluttered close when his hand that had stilled itself on your temple began stroking your hair smoothly once more.

“You like it?” he nearly whispered. You smiled softly and nodded. You opened your eyes again to find Legolas gently reciprocating your grin.

“You haven’t slept much lately Y/N. You need to rest, mellon nin. A long journey still lies ahead of us,” he said. You hummed in response as an idea crossed your mind.

Without overanalyzing it, you asked, “Would you braid my hair like elves do?” Legolas’ hand halted in its movements and if you hadn’t been gazing intensely in his eyes, you would have missed an unknown expression that subtly flashed in them. However, he quickly regained his composure as his hand resumed its path in your hair.

Since he wasn’t responding, you grew unsure of your request. Thankfully, he relieved you of your uncertainty by muttering, “Would it help you fall asleep afterwards?”

“Yes, it would. Your touch is so soothing. It has already helped put to rest all that was haunting me earlier,” you replied quietly, a grateful glint in your eyes.

Legolas scanned your features as if hesitating, but then requested for you to sit up. He delicately covered your shoulders with your blanket and tugged your forearm lightly to guide you further back in front of his crossed legs. He began by brushing his elegant fingers through your hair, untangling the knots that had formed during the day. You closed your eyes once again enjoying how his gentle touch made you feel. Afterwards, he parted your hair and took two strands he pulled together and skillfully braided into a single braid in the back. Your closed eyelids became heavier at each second that passed.  

Then, he leaned a bit closer to be able to braid the hair right above your ears, starting on your right side. A shiver ran through your body as you sensed his warm exhale on your ear and neck. Shortly after, your heart rate accelerated when you felt a tremble in his breath as if he was nervous. That is when you discerned the intimacy of the moment you were sharing. You could not recall having shared such a tender act with anyone other than your mother and the idea of you making the ellon behind you anxious filled you with feelings you were not familiar with.  

Unexpectedly, now working on the last braid, near your left hear, Legolas softly said, “Regarding what you said to me earlier about your mother and you fearing to never come back to her, I of course can’t assure you that nothing will happen to you since the dangers ahead are unknown, but…” He paused completing your hairstyle and delicately turning you around so you could sit while facing him. For a few seconds, his gaze lovingly swept over your hair and your face halting at your eyes. Finally, he finished his sentence, intently diving his gaze into yours, “I promise that I will look after you and do everything in my power for you to return home unarmed.”

At his words, you felt a soothing warmth invading your stomach and you smiled at him, again admiring his majestic beauty. His right hand still resting on your shoulder now raised itself to lightly take a hold of your cheek. His index brushed your skin tenderly and you leaned into his hand as you grasped his wrist gently. As you stared at one another, a certain tension weighed on the both of you in which so much was left unsaid. Your breaths fanning on the other’s face, a sense of surprise seized you when you became aware of your proximity as you knew Legolas was never one for physical touch, but here you were.

“Bain,” he whispered. “You look beautiful,” he completed while releasing a breath. You stared startled, heart beating furiously. What shocked you even more is when Legolas leaned in to lay his lips on your cheek in a soft kiss and then did the same on your forehead. The skin his mouth had touched was tingling and your body craved for him to lean in again. However, you stayed put, even as the ellon’s eyes briefly drifted to your lips before looking back into yours, pink now tinting his cheeks.

That’s when he put his hands on both your shoulders and leaned back,“It is time for you to rest now, ok?” he said in a low voice which broke the spell you had both fell in while you shyly had explored the other with your sight and touch.

“Yes.” You nodded. “Thank you again Legolas. For everything.” You smiled and he lightly bowed his head, his gentle eyes never leaving yours.

He stood up, leaving you yearning for his touch again as the emplacements on your skin he had been in contact with grew cold. Nevertheless, your insides were burning as you stared at the elf regaining his earlier spot near the campfire. You lay back down on the ground, glancing once more at Legolas who was now observing you from afar, a sparkle in his eyes, before your eyelids who had grown heavy shut one final time and you were transported back home, in dreams, to the birds singing melodically outside your window.

A.N.: If you desire a second part, I will write one :).

[alloftheimaginesblog]

truly {aragorn}

request: you're in love with Aragorn but you don't think he could ever feel the same about you.

character: Aragorn x POC!Female!Reader

warnings: angst, negative feelings about self

requested by uehehueheh (thank you for requesting!)

The sun was warm on your skin as you watched the Elves train down below. They fought with such ease and precision, a skill you were rather jealous of, they made it look so effortless and easy that you felt you could do it. The last time you thought that though, you'd spent five minutes in the training circle and thought you were going to die or pass out and that was only after going over the basics! Fighting was not a skill you had. You had tried but it just wasn't in you. You weren't athletic enough nor had the stamina for it. You resented yourself for it though. It made you feel weak; made you paranoid that other people saw you the same way you saw yourself.

You watched as Aragorn strode into the training circle, hair blowing gently in the wind as he smiled before he began to join in the fight with the elves. As he fought, you couldn't look away, obsessed with the grunts he emitted, the way he tossed his head back to get his hair away from his face, the way he spun and dodged weapons so expertly... By the gods, he was a work of art; a masterpiece.

You gasped as you saw one Elf sneak up on him, "Aragorn!" You yelled out and for a split second, Aragorn's dark eyes met yours, but your warning was too late, the knife had already slashed at his arm. Of course he wasn't trying to do too much damage but during training, things like this happened. It didn't seem to bother him much as he took down the Elf in just a simple few moves and then worked on the other. You couldn't really focus on the fight but more so on the slow trickle of blood that was darkening the sleeve of the off white shirt he wore.

Quickly, you stood up and hurried away from the training circle to go to your chambers where you kept a healing kit. It wasn't that far, you were away and back within 90 seconds, just in time to see him get swiped across the face by a blade but he quickly took down that Elf after that too.

By the time he left the training circle, he was sweating, hair stuck to his forehead, and bleeding from the cut on his cheek and the wound on his arm. You went to meet him as you walked down the steps, "Aragorn," you called out, giving him a small wave.

He jogged towards you, sheathing his sword back on his hip, "Good morning," he grinned, "thank you for your warning unfortunately I didn't catch it quite quick enough but..." he shrugged before his eyes spied the healing kit in your hands, "You don't need to patch me up."

"Yes," you nodded, "I do."

"Ah, it's only a flesh wound," Aragorn said with a shake of his head, "it will heal."

You rolled your eyes, "Aragorn, sit."

Your demanding attitude made him smirk, "Someone's feeling bossy today, are we?" He found your bossiness quite attractive. He was used to your placid nature so to see you be a little assertive was absolutely a bit exciting to witness.

"It'll get infected, please." He smiled. The bossiness didn't stay for long, he observed, there's the sweetness back. You were always so sweet, so kind to everyone... Aragorn loved that about you.

He complied sitting on a stone wall as you lay out your kit. You'd been staying in Rivendell with Aragorn, Legolas and the rest of the company so you'd managed to acquire lots of different healing salves and the likes from the Elves. You let Aragorn roll his sleeve up, "It is not just a flesh wound," you said with a tut, "it's actually rather deep."

Aragorn smiled as he watched you. He liked the way you swept your hair behind your ear as your quick fingers cleaned the wound. He liked the way you bit your lip as you concentrated.

"This might hurt," you said, pouring some salve on clean cloth. You dabbed it on his arm and you glanced up to Aragorn and back down when you realised the way he was staring at you was rather intense, "What?" You asked all of a sudden feeling very self conscious as your cheeks warmed.

"You're beautiful," he murmured softly, eyes warm as he smiled.

Of all the things he could've said, you never expected those words to come from his mouth. You must've looked like a fish, mouth opening and closing with no noise coming from it. Aragorn's grin widened at your shocked expression.

"Did Legolas put you up to this?" You asked harshly, swallowing hard and taking a step back. You had confided in Legolas recently about your feelings for Aragorn and your feelings of inferiority surrounding it... Had Legolas told Aragorn to throw you a bone? Were they making fun of you? All of these thoughts spun around your head, clouding your rational mind and clogging up all rational thinking.

Of all the things you could've said, Aragorn never expected those words to come from your mouth, "What?" He asked incredulously, "No? No! I- I said it." He didn't understand why you were all of a sudden so cold and upset. Then he realised he may have overstepped, "Have I offended you? I apologise, sincerely. It wasn't my intention-"

"Then what was your intention?" Your voice was louder than you intended as two Elves who were training in the training circle turned to look at you.

Aragorn cleared his throat, "Forgive me, (y/n). My intention was just an observation. I sincerely meant it but I am also sincerely sorry for upsetting you, I didn't intend to."

You took a deep breath and slowly, your rational side kicked in and your cheeks burned with embarrassment over the way you reacted, "I'm sorry, too," you said softly as you returned to his arm, forcing your gaze to his wound and not his eyes, "I panicked... I wasn't expecting you to say that." The two of you laughed slightly, the iciness wearing off and replacing itself with awkwardness.

You patched his wound up in silence until he spoke again a minute later, "Why did you think Legolas had put me up to saying that? Do you not think I could find you beautiful?"

"I would rather not say."

Aragorn frowned and he decided to keep pushing, gently but he was going to find out one way or another, "I do find you beautiful, very beautiful in fact. The most beautiful person here."

You let out an involuntary scoff at his words, "Okay. I believe you."

His hand caught your wrist, "Look at me," he whispered. Your skin was warm from where he touched. Slowly, your eyes raised to meet his dark ones. There was no humour in his face, no, it was... care? "Why do you not think yourself worthy of being called beautiful?"

"Because look at me and look at you..." you said with a shrug, dropping the medical supplies on the wall beside him. He asked what you meant but you shook your head once again pulling away from him top protect yourself, "Doesn't matter. Don't you want to go see Éowyn instead of me anyway? I have to go, keep that clean." You pulled your wrist from his grip before gathering your healing kit and leaving.

You walked straight to your chambers before closing the door and crumbling to the ground, tears pouring down your cheeks as you silently sobbed. It was a mess, a big, horrific, ugly mess and you hated it.

Aragorn sat on the wall in utter disbelief for a while until he saw a flash of green and platinum blonde hair, "Legolas!" He called, beckoning his friend over to him. Legolas came swiftly, "I've just had the most bizarre encounter and I think you're the person to help me fix it."

It was an hour or so later when the banging on your door started. You had just been laying on your bed reading to distract yourself from the mess you made with Aragorn earlier but you didn't feel like speaking to anyone tonight so you ignored the door thinking they'd go away but they didn't.

"(y/n), I know you're in there."

You froze at hearing his voice. Why was he here? To pry more? To cause more upset? To argue some more? You groaned softly, burying your head in your pillows, you just wanted the bed to swallow you up and hide you from all of the problems in your life. You shook your head, you had to stop thinking so negatively, maybe he had good intentions. Maybe he meant what he had said earlier. You would hear him out, listen and not respond.

"Fine, if you don't want to talk, I will!" You rolled your eyes at Aragorn's stubbornness, "I spoke to Legolas." Your blood ran cold and you snapped upright immediately, heart beginning to race until it was so quick you could hear it in your ears, "He told me what you said to him, I understand why you questioned me earlier." He waited a few seconds, "Please, let me in. I want to speak to you; I must."

Your body moved in autopilot, walking to the door pressing a hand against the smooth wood with your other hand on the handle. You were torn. On one hand, you wanted to see him, wanted to pour all the feelings you felt for him out but on the other, you wanted to hide from the shame and embarrassment of his possible rejection.

"I don't want to." It was all you could manage but Aragorn grinned at receiving something back from you.

"You know, the first time I met you, I said to Legolas that you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen." He wasn't nervous to tell you this, he was relieved that it was all finally coming out now. He could only hope that you would feel the same, "He rolled his eyes, told me I would forget about you the second another woman walked in front of me but there have been plenty of women and yet, I can never find anyone that makes me smile the way you do. I've never found anyone as kind or as caring as you. You always have to look out for everyone, putting them before you."

"Why- Why are you saying this?" Your voice was quiet but he heard you, he was pressed against the other side of the door afterall.

"Because it's true," he said, "because after all this time, I want you to see yourself the way that I see you. Will you open the door, please?"

Swallowing you knew that you had two choices; push him away and close yourself off to love or let him in and take a leap of faith. Your silence concerned Aragorn to the point he thought that you had made your choice. With a heavy sigh, he stood straight, rearranging his shirt and took a step back but then... the lock clicked and slowly, the door opened and there you were.

"(y/n)," he grinned. It was rare to see Aragorn's smiles reach his eyes but you realised that when he was smiling at you, it always did. You moved aside to let him in and he closed the door gently behind himself.

"I don't look anything like the other women here though," you said once again refusing to meet his eyes, "My skin- it's- my skin is dark and they're all so pale, so fair skinned; like moonlight and I... I don't think of myself as beautiful."

Aragorn took your hand, pale skin against dark, "My love," the affection in his voice sent a wave of warmth through your entire body, "I promise you, dark skinned or light skinned, you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The way your nose crinkles when you concentrate, the way you throw your head back to laugh, the way your eyes carry warmth and love to whomever they look at... You are perfect to me."

"I'm not a- I can't fight like Éowyn can. I'm not a ranger, I'm not skilled with a weapon-"

"So?" Aragorn asked, a gentle hand coming to sweep a strand of your hair away, "I don't need you to be. I find it quite endearing that you can't swing a sword for the life of you. You're skilled with other things; taking care of injuries, you're delicate and gentle and I could never deal with wounds the way you do. You're soft and sweet and you always know what to say to someone in need. You're kind and compassionate, always going out of your way to help. You are a breath of fresh air for me and I truly mean that, my love... I don't want anyone else. I only want you; I need you, I crave you... Just you and you alone."

It was then that you finally looked up into his eyes and you could see how sincere he was. His brown eyes bore into yours so intensely yet you never pulled back, "You truly see me that way?"

He nodded, "Truly... and I promise you this, I intend to tell you and show you every single day until you believe that you are as beautiful as I say you are."

A small bubble of courage bubbled in your stomach, "And how do you intend to show me that?"

He smirked, knowing exactly what you were hinting at, "My love, may I kiss you?"

You nodded, butterflies fluttering furiously in your stomach, "You may."

He leaned in and captured your lips in the most delicate of kisses. You inhaled his scent, leather, pine and musk. You pushed into him, wanting him to know that you needed this as much as he did. He welcomed your hunger. It was all too soon when he pulled back, breathless, and pressed your foreheads together, "Do you believe me now?"

You giggled, a sound which made him smile, "I think I need you to show me again..."

"Oh, my pleasure," he kissed you again, this time harder and hungrier as his hands cupped your cheeks pulling you closer to him. He thought of you the same way you thought of him; a work of art and he was going to do whatever it took to make you believe it.

[parabelled]

I'm now vaguely irritated that in the theatrical release of The Fellowship of the Ring, Boromir was not more explicitly a foil for Aragorn, because it just makes so much more sense for both of their characters.

By the two of them growing to respect each other and Boromir beginning to see him as a king and someone to follow, he also informs Aragorn of both the courage and the frailty of Gondor. He gives him something to aspire to.

And then because we've seen that relationship develop more, when he has the "My Brother, My Captain, My King," line, it doesn't feel as much like Boromir had some weird seventh-hour conversion because while Aragorn has demonstrated he's brave in the original theatrical release, by this point of the extended cut, he's fought for Boromir's life twice despite their differences. He doesn't leave people behind, no matter what their failings. And that, Boromir sees, is the true mark of a king.

THEN THE ONE THAT KILLED ME WAS THE FACT THAT WHEN HE SENDS BOROMIR OVER THE FALLS, ARAGORN LITERALLY PUTS ON THE FUCKING GONDORIAN ARM GAUNTLETS WHY WOULD YOU CUT THAT. ARAGORN IS LITERALLY TAKING THE MANTLE AND BURDEN FROM BOROMIR AND SHOULDERING IT BY ACCEPTING HIS FATE AND ROLE TO PROTECT AND SERVE THE PEOPLE OF GONDOR.

This simple shot just makes the transition from ranger and someone who has always rejected his fate, to a future king who feely accepts his fate because of the sacrifices of others, SO much more explicit. By literally taking on elements of nobility and the White City, he is literally accepting the challenge fate has thrown down for him. This is Aragorn's first step into actually ENABLING, "The Return of the King."

BUT PETER JACKSON SAYS THIS ISN'T THE CANON VERSION BYE

[theoppositeofprofound]

the problem with lothlorien is that 180 days of the year you have to go gently wipe down your house o’ silver wood high in the treetops and it looks like this all over

[inkedmoth]

Hunting in the Hills

For @erathene, she requested a one-shot of Aragorn troll hunting with Hathiel a fellow member of the Grey Company! Hope you enjoy ❤️

The ground was slick beneath her boots.

Rain, misty and light, had slowly been seeping through the wool of Hathiel’s cloak, flattening the fabric to her skin, soaking her hair, her clothes, her very being. Despite how cold and unpleasant it was, that discomfort was something she was accustomed to. Such was life within the Grey Company.

Padding silently across the saturated ground, she drew alongside her companion, his eyes down and locked on the tracks they’d been following for the past three days.

“Anything?”

Clear grey eyes flickered her way, before returning to the ground.

“It’s close,” Aragorn replied.

His voice was even quieter than her own, almost lost to the gentle patter of raindrops, or the swish of leaves in the breeze. He sank to a crouch alongside a rain filled divot in the muddy ground, brushing aside some leaves that had fallen over it, revealing the shape more clearly. Large, round, with five thick blunt points to one side. Only one creature this far north could make prints like that.

Troll.

“It passed through here no more than a day ago…”

At his words, Hathiel lifted her head, pushing the edge of her hood back slightly, squinting across the rolling foothills of the aptly named Weather Hills. Tree cover was sparse out here, but through the rain she could make out the darker smudge that indicated a forest.

“Nightfall’s not for a few more hours,” she mused, “if I were a troll, those trees would be mighty appealing…”

They couldn’t survive sunlight, even that of an overcast day risked stray sunbeams breaching the cloud cover. So the forest was no doubt its haunt. Unless it had managed to find a cave, but the prints had been leading resolutely south-east ever since they’d stumbled across the tracks during patrols.

“Why is it so far south…”

More than accustomed to Aragorn’s quiet musing, Hathiel knew when something was directed towards her and when it wasn’t. This time didn’t necessitate an answer, but it was a curiosity she too shared.

Had something pushed the troll from its territories? Had it run out of prey? Was it seeking others of its own kind?

She hoped not.

There were settlements further south, humans, hobbits, even elves… If the troll caught them by surprise in the middle of the night, it could do untold damage.

Without conscious choice, her steps sped up.

“Hathiel,” Aragorn’s warning tone followed her stalking.

“I’m not letting it reach Bree.”

There was no argument from her Chieftain, nothing beyond a low hum of agreement or disapproval. Even if he did keep pace with her.

Still following the large dish-like prints, the pair bounded across the rain slicked and muddy ground, and despite their haste, took great care in avoiding anything that could announce their presence. Twigs and branches were cleared in a stride, puddles were skirted, long grasses were weaved through.

Before long the forest was looming overhead.

Thick boughs, dense pine needles, strong trunks. It was dark within, gloomy and shadowed from the weak light that battled to break through the dense cloud cover. Hathiel’s pace didn’t slow, darting into the gloom without hesitation.

“Hathiel.”

The hissed warning had her steps slowing, a frustrated glance thrown over her shoulder to Aragorn. If they attacked the troll now, there was every chance they could lure it out, it was still midday –technically– if they could lure it away from the trees, then maybe, just maybe, they could trick it into freezing in sunlight. They just had to lure it out and then keep it from retreating.

Easy.

“We don’t even know if it’s here,” he pointed out, as though able to read her thoughts, “we can’t just rush in.”

“It’s here.”

That earnt her a glare, but she was quick to gesture to the prints that had continued into the treeline. Not to mention there was… an odour on the air. A troll smelled like a ruin full of corpses looked. Ancient stone soaked with rain and blood, rotting meat, musk, the smell of dank earth and foul things that hid within the shadows. A stark contrast to the scent of pine and rain…

It was here. She knew it was. Aragorn knew it was. The sooner they lured it out, the safer the region would become.

“It’s here,” she repeated stubbornly. “You know it is.”

“Then we should return with more swords,” Aragorn countered.

A huff of frustration and disbelief left Hathiel’s throat. They’d spent days tracking the blasted creature already, and now he wanted to retreat, gather the others, and then spend Oromë knew how long re-tracking it? The fell creature could be at Bree, or the Shire, by the time they caught up again.

But he was right.

Probably.

“We should at least get eyes on it,” she relented, gesturing behind her, into the dense trees. “What if it’s set up a lair? Or it has company? We can’t bring the others without knowing for sure…”

The look Aragorn gave her suggested he could see straight through her flimsy attempt to get closer to the troll. As though he knew her thoughts and her plans. He knew how much she hated the creatures that had killed her family. But she also saw how a silent sigh left his body, head shaking in resignation.

“We do not engage,” he said, voice low and hard, “do you understand, Hathiel?”

“We don’t engage,” she repeated, “I understand.”

Hathiel was many things, but she knew when to listen to orders. No matter how it chaffed.

But with that promise in place, the pair resumed their stalking.

This far within the woodland, the weak sunlight was all but banished. Movement became slow, cautious, moving in tandem. One set of eyes on the prints –now less distinct thanks to the bed of fallen pine needles– one set scanning their surroundings in constant vigilance.

Aragorn was focused, moving past her as the tracks lead downwards into a hollow, but Hathiel realised she was scarcely checking the prints beneath her feet. Instead, she was quite literally following her nose. The stench of rotting meat hung heavy on the air, so strongly that she half imagined she could see the maggots writhing on dead flesh, could see the leathery skin and dense hide, could see how the troll might be camouflaged amidst the boulders littered throughout the fores—

A boulder moved.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

It was right there. It was almost in touching distance. And she was stood between the towering trees staring blankly at it like a plonker.

Without removing her eyes from the troll, she lifted one foot and took a silent step backwards. Another step. Where was Aragorn? A third step, her feet cushioned by decades of pine needles. A fourth.

At least she wasn’t right on top of it anymore. Was it asleep? It certainly seemed somewhat curled, the rough pebbled hide of its back was curved, small movements, its head down and not visible from where she was carefully moving backwards. Maybe she could back up enough to catch Aragorn’s eye.

There was a wet crunch, and the unmistakable sound of flesh being ripped.

It wasn’t asleep. It was eating. But that meant it was distracted. She could get away. But where the fuck was Aragorn?

crik

Something snapped beneath her foot, and the sounds of eating instantly stopped.

Hathiel froze, watching as the troll’s head came up –its back still to her– the creatures hearing wasn’t great, nor was its eyesight, but its sense of smell was all but unrivalled. Would it be able to smell her over the meat it was consuming? Could it smell her beneath the rain-soaked wool of her cloak and the heavy scent of pine?

Oh by Oromë’s bow she hoped not.

The seconds crawled by unbearably slowly, but finally after a Fourth Age, the troll returned to its meal.

She didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare exhale in relief. Truthfully, she didn’t dare move either. But neither did she wish to remain in proximity to the creature for any longer than she had to—

There was a flicker of movement in her peripheral.

Dark clothes, dark hair, silent steps.

Aragorn.

Walking directly towards her. Fuck.

Silently, her hand snapped up, palm held out towards him, fingers splayed wide in an unmistakable order.

Stop.

Thank Oromë he listened. Aragorn froze, one foot lifted to step, that was lowered painstakingly slowly to settle once more. His hand drifted to his sword, head on a swivel as he tried to make out what she could see. She saw the moment he froze, saw how his clear grey eyes widened in alarm, and then snapped back to her in clear disbelief.

Her grimace was a poor apology.

Hathiel didn’t dare move, with her foot already half crushing the only Valar damned dry stick in this forsaken forest, she didn’t dare increase pressure, didn’t dare lift her foot. Maybe she could time it with the wind? Or with the sounds of rending flesh and cracking bones? Or could she signal to Aragorn to make a noise, throw something, anything, to give her chance to put distance between her and the troll…

Now there was an idea.

Looking to the Ranger, she made a throwing motion, trying to convey the slapdash idea.

The look he gave her was sincerely unimpressed, but at least he began to untie the waterskin from his belt. It was light enough that he’d be able to throw it hard, but heavy enough that it should cause enough of a commotion to draw the troll’s attention.

Waterskin in hand, Aragorn glanced to her, and made a beckoning motion, earning a nod of understanding. He’d throw the skin, she’d bolt to him, and the pair would absolutely book it out of the forest and far away from the tro—

Aragorn looked back to the troll and his face went white.

At the realisation that the eating sounds had stopped, Hathiel’s own head snapped about. The troll was lurching to its feet, stretching with a deep rumbling groan, and then before she or Aragorn could react, it turned around.

There was a pause, tiny beady eyes narrowing as it squinted through the gloom at her and Hathiel did her best to Think Tree Thoughts and become invisible. Its nostrils flared, once, twice, and on the third, its black eyes widened. Thick leathery lips curling back from thicker blunt fangs in a snarl that had equally thick spittle flying every which way.

Well… Fuck.

“Run.” The breathed order from Aragorn was barely audible over the pounding of her own heart. “Run!”

Hathiel ran.

A bellowing roar filled the forest, shaking the tress, sending droplets cascading down, pine needles and pinecones clattered and bounced through the branches, striking her head, her shoulders, her arms, her back. But still Hathiel ran.

She’d been ten feet away from the troll, and with its sheer size, those lumbering footsteps wouldn’t take long to catch her. She just had to keep ahead of it, she just had to reach the edge of the forest. Hurdling a fallen trunk, she’d barely run another three paces when there was a Valar almighty crash behind her as the troll simply ran through it. She would have cursed, would have yelled and sworn, if it wasn’t for the fact she was too busy breathing.

In through her nose, gagging on the fetid air that followed her, out through her mouth.

In, gag, out.

“DOWN!”

Aragorn’s voice cut through the forest like a sword through flesh, and without a second thought Hathiel dropped into a sliding skid. There was a whoosh of air, as a fist the size of her body whipped through the space she’d just been occupying.

Rolling and scrambling, she lurched to her feet and resumed her sprint.

The frustrated snarl at her back was far too close, the foul breath was hot on her back. Darting through a narrow gap of two trunks, there was a bellow and thud, as the troll tried and failed to bull its way through the gap. Her own steps didn’t slow, and for good reason, as a ground shaking crack filled the air.

She didn’t need to look back to know it had snapped one, or maybe both, of the trees in its path.

“Left!”

Another single word order, but Hathiel jolted to the left anyway, no matter how it might be heading deeper into the forest. A trunk hurtled through the air, the very edge of the branches lashing across her back and shoulder, almost knocking her down.

The ground beneath her feet was angling downwards into a dell, it was sparse of trees, more open, easier to move around in, with a generous layer of pine needles coating its floor. Already she could see Aragorn up ahead, also running but looking back to her frequently. His steps started to slow, as he turned about, drawing his blade.

What had happened to reinforcements? Did he really plan to take on the troll? Was he joking? No, no his feet were settling his stance low and ready. Well shit, she couldn’t just leave him here—

Something struck her and Hathiel found her body being flung.

One moment she’d been running, the next, a fist bigger than herself had slammed into her spine, her feet being lifted clear off the floor to hurtle through the air in a tangle of limbs and cloak. Her flight was rudely interrupted by the trunk of a tree, and then the unwelcome embrace of the ground.

For a moment, everything went dark.

And then things began to filter back into her consciousness.

Her ears were ringing. Blood pounding in her head. Vision flickering and pulsing in time to the stuttering of her heart. It hurt, she couldn’t breathe, it hurt, was she dead? It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

But there was yelling. The bellowing of some beast. Her name. Did she have a name? She must do, as it was being yelled with increasing panic.

“Hathiel!”

Inhaling had pain blossoming across her chest.

“Hathiel!”

Moving her limbs had pain rippling up her spine.

“HATHIEL!”

It took far too much effort to sit upright, it took far too much strength to lift her head, it took far too much energy to focus her eyes.

The troll was lurching about the clearing, meaty fists swiping at a figure who was darting and flitting about. The entire scene was oddly akin to the time she’d watched a sparrow evading a buzzard. The sheer size difference, the fleetness of the smaller, the lumbering but deadly movements of the larger. But some very disorientated part of Hathiel’s mind recognised that it was her kin being perused.

The trolls fist slammed into the ground, almost knocking him down.

Her steps were unsteady –when had she climbed to her feet? – but she moved forth regardless. She didn’t know how she’d drawn her sword either, but she was upright, she was breathing, and her steps were steadying with every pace forwards.

She’d lost kin to trolls before, but she was stronger now. It wouldn’t happen again.

The creature was hardy, with thick skin and pebbled hides, most blows would rebound, would fail to cut. But this wasn’t the first troll she’d faced. Wasn’t the first she’d had to fight. So preoccupied with Aragorn, the troll didn’t learn of her presence until her sword had lashed out towards it.

The hide might be tough, but there were weaknesses, and her blade found it.

Slicing through the skin on the back of its knee, a pained bellow was wrenched from its chest. The troll whirled, and Hathiel lurched backwards, narrowly avoiding a second strike from its massive fists.

No longer the sole focus of its wrath, Aragorn darted forwards, his own blade parting the wrinkled skin of its other knee.

It staggered, but didn’t fall.

Between the pair, they harried it back and forth, darting in to nip at its heels, slice at its weak spots, flitting away from its retaliations. Again, again, again, again. Her sword was coated in black blood, the trolls’ steps were slower and uncoordinated, Aragorn’s teeth were bared in a snarl. They were wearing it down and they were beating it back and they were so so close to bringing it crashing to the leaflitter and loam.

And then it lunged.

Her own lurch back was rudely interrupted by its meaty hand closing about her arm. There was an audible crack of bone, barely drowned out by her agonised scream.

For the second time in as many minutes, Hathiel was flung.

Thankfully it wasn’t a tree that halted her flight this time, slightly less thankfully was that she’d been flung into Aragorn.

There was a yelp and curse from the Ranger as the weight of her body sent the pair crashing to the floor, one of his arms wrapped about her waist, the other shielding her head. Tumbling and skidding across the clearing, there was a grunt as she all but landed atop him.

A victorious bellow came from the troll, leaving them no chance to recover as it surged towards them.

“Move, move!” Aragorn barked, shoving at her.

Hathiel staggered to her feet, broken arm hanging uselessly, her free hand snatching up her fallen sword. A hand at her back told her Aragorn was with her, following and encouraging her to keep going. The banks of the dell weren’t steep, but it felt so, as she all but dragged herself upwards, feet sliding and pain blazing across her left side.

She could feel the ground shake as the troll gained on them.

“Get down!”

She dropped, yelping with pain as her arm was jarred. Feeling how Aragorn had all but covered her with his own body. Feeling the rush of air as the troll’s fist narrowly missed them.

An arm wrapped under her shoulders, all but hauling her up the slope, but her legs gave out, and Hathiel hit the ground once more. Unwilling to remain prone, she rolled onto her back with a grunt, pushing with her feet until her spine met that of a tree. A moment later and Aragorn was alongside, lashing out and managing to cut across the arm of the troll.

It only seemed to enrage the creature more, rearing back.

And then it lunged.

“Sword!”

There was no choice in the matter as Aragorn seized her wrist, bracing her arm with his. Her eyes snapped shut as the troll slammed into them. A sickening crunch, a shower of fetid black blood, a long wheezing gasp of putrid breath, and then…

Silence.

Long. Painful. Crushing. Silence.

“Hath?”

The voice of Aragorn was croaky, little better than how her own might be should she have the strength to speak. But she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe.

“Hathiel?”

Cracking one eye open, it quickly became apparent why, as the rough hide of the troll’s shoulder was pressed against her chest, scraping her chin. She could fee its blood soaking into her clothes, could feel her sword hand all but inside its fucking chest.

“Talk to me Hath, are you alright?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but all that left her throat was a strangled whine.

“Fuck!”

Alongside her, she felt Aragorn struggle, shoving and pushing at the troll’s body that had all but pinned them. Each jostle and jolt sent pain through her body, until finally, he broke free. Hands latched onto her shoulders and pulled.

The scream that left her was shockingly loud.

Immediately Aragorn stopped, the pressure on her body eased, and darkness flickered at the edge of her vision.

“Hathiel? Hath I’m sorry I need to pull you free.”

“Hurts…”

“I know, I know,” Aragorn said, voice strained but trying to sooth her in the same breath, one hand brushing her face, pulling limp hair out of her eyes. “On the count of three I’ll pull, I need you to push with your feet, understand?”

“Yea-h.”

“One, two, three!”

She pushed, he pulled, it hurt, everything flickered, and darkness fell.

The next thing she became aware of, was something tapping her cheek, an insistent gesture which was incredibly annoying. Her brows furrowed, head turning in a bid to get away, but a light shake had her senses snapping back into her body as pain flared through her arm, her chest, her spine, everything everywhere all at once.

“Hath?”

Prizing her eyes open once again, she squinted against the falling rain, squinted against the weak grey light of day. Aragorn was hunched over her, one arm about her shoulders, the other wiping at her face, either to clear her of the rain, or get the troll blood off her skin.

“Are you with me?”

“Ow.”

There was a harsh exhale of relief, and Aragorn’s head thumped onto her shoulder. “Oh thank Fuck.”

Despite her disorientation, despite her pain, despite the fact she’d just had the shit beaten out of her. Hathiel’s brows shot up at Aragorn’s curse.

“Tha’ bad?” she croaked.

“You’ve been out for almost an hour,” he replied hoarsely, “I thought you were dead.”

“Why the fuck’re you still ‘ere then?”

That earnt her a withering glare, although it didn’t last long as Aragorn shook his head and dragged a hand across his face, smearing the mixture of blood and troll across his skin and beard. He was sat back against a tree, she was half in his lap, half sprawled across the ground. He’d splinted her arm it seemed, and bound it with strips of a cloak.

Ah, that was probably why he’d hung around. Had to patch her up first.

“Is’t dead?”

“It’s dead,” he confirmed with a harsh exhale, “I checked. Our swords are lodged in its chest deeply enough that I’ll have to do some digging to get them out again. But its dead.”

“Good.”

It was getting hard to talk, so Hathiel gave up, letting her head thump back against his shoulder and her eyes fall shut once more.

“Something’s bothering me,” Aragorn was continuing in that tone of voice that told her she didn’t actually need to answer. “Why’s it so far south? It’s a mountain troll, and the Weather Hills hardly count as mountains out here…”

Her non-committal grunt was input enough.

“Elladan and Elrohir have reported of orcs and wargs gathering closer to the Misty Mountains,” he was continuing to muse, and Hathiel was half inclined to fall asleep listening to the rumble of his voice, “and Halbarad mentioned seeing orc prints in the South Downs… Are they gathering?”

A sobering thought.

Despite the need to rest, despite the urge to fall asleep in this clearing –no matter the stench of troll– and despite the fact her entire body was screaming in protest at the thought of moving, Hathiel stubbornly lifted her head.

“D’you… Do you think we should head to Rivendell?” she asked, “if, if they’re gathering, we’ve gotta, got to warn them.”

“You can barely breathe right now,” he countered, “I’ll warn Elrond, but for now you need to rest.”

“Can rest, in Rivendell.”

That earnt a huff of quiet laughter, jostling her head. “It’s many days walk away.”

“Bet’er get goin’ then.”

“You’ve done enough for today,” Aragorn chided gently, and very pointedly pressed his hand to her forehead and pushed her head back to rest against his shoulder once again. “Rest. We’ll figure out more come morning.”

She didn’t want to. She wanted to head to Rivendell. She wanted to warn Bree. She wanted to protect the Shire. But… Aragorn was warm at her back, his cloak was shielding her from the worst of the rain, and her body was begging for her to rest.

“Rest, Hathiel.”

For once she didn’t protest, and instead let her eyes fall shut once more. She would rest. But in the morning, there was work to be done.

[orangeboulevard]

The Comforts I Find In Your Shadows

(Rick x Gojo, Gojo x Aragorn, Aragorn x Rick)

I can't even say I was double dog dared to do this because I wasn't. Also I haven't watched jjk I watched one video of Gojo for this amazing opportunity.

Words: 842

In a world ravaged by the undead, Rick Grimes had learnt that good things don't often come by but when they do, you better hold onto them.

Gojo Satoru was his good thing. Gojo was his best friend, his support through the hard times -when they were starving and dehydrated, burning under the summer sun, when Lori died and when they were being threatened and attacked by The Governor.-, he had saved his life countless amounts of times back when Rick was still a naive and wide-eyed sheriff from Atlanta and he was what was keeping him up in the dead of night. Those blue eyes stirred hot feelings in his lower abdomen, they were in his mind when he was gasping and whimpering, they were in his mind when he felt disgusted with himself afterwards.

He shook himself from his thoughts, they served him no purpose besides conjuring painful feelings of want and desire in his chest, and clambered out of bed, he was due for patrol around the perimeter of Alexandria in about twenty minutes which left him with just enough time to brush his teeth, change his clothes and grab a bite to eat before leaving the house. He rubbed at the stumble that was starting to break on his jaw as he breathed in the fresh air, this was something he had missed and would never take for granted again- waking up to a beautiful neighbourhood and feeling somewhat secure.

He greeted the few people that were awake and about their business at the early hours of the morning, one of these such people was Aragorn. Rick offered a friendly smile that was met with a respectable nod. Aragorn.... Aragorn was a tricky subject to approach, the poor man did not speak English nor any other language the residents of Alexandria spoke.

His steely grey eyes were aged by years beyond him, Rick guessed that they were around the same age- late thirties, early forties-. His rugged countenance was emphasised by his choices of clothing, archaic looking trousers and shirts- when he'd first arrived, he was wearing a cloak, an actual cloak. Rick figured that either when the apocalypse had started, Aragorn had been at a fancy dress party or Aragorn was some sort of LARPer, it made some certain degree of sense, the man did bear a sword on his hip at all times and his mannerisms were entirely bizzare- it may just be a mental disorder, however.

Rick found himself forced from his musings by a gentle touch against his lips, he flinched back as his eyebrows raised in shock and confusion. Aragorn was holding a strawberry to his lips with an expectant look. Rick couldn't help but break out in a smile, sure the man was... odd but he was sweet and he took his job as a gardener in Alexandria very seriously. Rick closed his lips around the strawberry as he took a bite, he missed the way Aragorn flushed and had to look off to the side.

Rick's eyes closed and he let out an involuntary sound of satisfaction, it had been too long since he'd savoured the sweet taste of a strawberry- another good thing he'd better hold onto. He opened his eyes to see Aragorn gazing at the ground beside him, Rick offered him the last of the strawberry and tried to convey how good it was with his bright grin. Aragorn pushed Rick's hand towards his mouth, taking the rest of the small fruit. Aragorn let a small smile paint his features, making him look a lot younger than he did normally.

Rick patted the man's shoulder before continuing on his journey to Alexandria's gate, he missed the way Aragorn's disappointed gaze followed his shrinking figure.

Gojo was there to greet him at the gate and Rick hoped to God his best friend couldn't hear how his heart sped up at the sight of him, the traitorous creature that it was.

"Rick! My student, there you are! I was starting to wonder if I'd somehow been scheduled for a double shit," Gojo joked as he ran a hand through his platinum locks, his eyes locked onto Rick's own behind his dark shades.

"Ahah, sorry, got caught up back there by Aragorn. Didja' see? He's got some strawberry plants goin' on, real ripe," he swallowed, why did every word seem to stick to his gullet and refuse to come out?

"Aragorn?" Gojo's voice became slightly higher, "No way! I gotta get some of those."

"Uh, yeah but befo-"

"Sorry, Rick, I'm just gonna go see Aragorn, I'll see ya later, buddy," Gojo playfully punched Rick's shoulder and Rick just grinned and nodded, hoping his disappointment wasn't too evident on his face.

Rick sighed as Gojo practically skipped off, he decided to concentrate on the task at hand: boring, monotonous walking around the whole of Alexandria.

[thewulf]

My Queen || Aragorn

Summary: Request - Can I pleeeease send you an idea where he finds a girl in the woods, hurt and not conscious but he feels the need to help her and be close to her. So he takes care of her wounds till she wakes up and it's like true love at first sight for both of them... Read Rest Here

A/N: OH WOW, this got out of hand QUICK but I had SO MUCH FUNNNN writing this way! It was a challenge but it felt invigorating to write. I am obsessed with Aragorn and I just love him. Margot Robbie is so right for her cinematic crush! Thank you for the request anon, hope you love it :)

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 10,000 +

TW: Violence, orc violence, poison, death, blood, crying, angst, lotr warnings, Aragorn being hot af

Just a few more stumbling steps. You could do it. Glancing down you grimaced at the crimson coated and tattered dress that you’d been wearing for the last five or so days. It used to be so gorgeous, a gift from the man you were meant to wed. Truly it was the only exquisite gift you’d ever received in your entirety. However now it looked as if it’d seen a thousand lives, just like the elves had. It bore this resemblance due to the attack on your home. You ran. Running far away from everything you knew. It was tough to grasp just how much you’d been through in the five days since you had to flee your small village just outside of Eriador.

You’d had a good life. Good but rather simple. Almost too simple for your taste. You were engaged to be wed to the local jewelers son at your father’s doing. He had assured you over and over again that going through with the wedding would lead you to a life that he could not provide you. A life you were destined for. Your mother, Valar rest her soul, had been killed a few years prior in an attack on your village leaving you with your father and a small place to live. But it was home.

The local jeweler boy, Newall, had asked you to take a walk around the village right before the tragic events occurred. One moment you were giving him your kindest smile. The next he pushed you into the woods after hearing the screaming coming from the village center. Not making your most brilliant decision you decided to follow behind him only to come to the horrifying realization that your seemingly insignificant village was being brutalized by Orc’s. You stood there frozen in fear as you witnessed men, women and children being slain as if they meant nothing. 

It was only when you came face to face with one that you realized how much trouble you were in. Valar save you. He must’ve listened because the Orc simply look at you, growled and pushed you into the side of the house you were standing next to. But then it dawned on you that he wasn’t done. The creature walked to you terrifyingly slow, standing over you before driving it’s sword into your side. Before you could even yelp out in pain the orc vanished leaving you to die presumably. But it was a shallow wound. It didn’t seem like it was trying to do too much damage. Orcs knew one thing, killing. It was odd that one would have spared you.

When you finally came back to the reality of the situation you knew you had to go. Run to Bree. Your dad always instructed that’s where you needed to go. You had an uncle up there that could look after you. Deciding not to waste another second you rushed inside the house grabbing whatever clothing you could find. Tying a pair of Newall’s pants around your waste to hopefully stop the bleeding you only grabbed a little bit of food before you made for the forest. You’d have to find something along the way. The trek to Bree would take nearly a month on foot.

Using the stars as guidance you moved through the forest you knew very well. It started out fine. You were trained to do just this. Your father had made sure of it. What you hadn’t considered was the poison from the orc blade that was slowly taking its toll on your body. It was the fourth night that you realized you were in serious trouble. On the fifth day you decided you weren’t going to be able to go any further. No wonder the Orc didn’t just kill you there. He left you to suffer. What a vile creation. 

It didn’t take you long to decide on where you wanted to die. You found a nice tree under the shade of the leaved with a comfortable base. You were just going to go to sleep and hopefully never wake up. Hopefully the poison would just do what it wanted to and let you finally go. 

That did not happen though. You felt a light kick on your boot forcing your eyes to open. What you weren’t expecting was a rather handsome looking ranger with ice blue eyes to be staring right at you. Considering what to do.

“Miss,” He knelt down after whispering something to his horse, “Are you injured?” His surprisingly concerned eyes spotted the blood that coated your worn-down dress.

Taking a long breath, you mustered enough strength to answer the stranger, “Yea, Master Ranger.” You let your head lean back on the trunk of the tree relieving the strain it seemed to put on year mere consciousness.

“Forgive me, but you do not look it miss.” His head was level with yours as he moved closer to you. He didn’t dare touch you without your permission, but he wanted too, you were not all right like you so miserably tried to convince him.

A shallow breath escaped you, “I fear I have been stabbed by an Orc blade Ranger. I do not have much longer.” Your eyes flicked away from his in a pathetic attempt to rid him of the conversation. He would have no such thing though. Leave a fair maiden to perish on her own? Not on his accord.

“Strider.” He corrected you. It wasn’t often he’d give out his Ranger known name to strangers, but you seemed harmless enough. What could a human woman such as yourself have done to deserve such a fate he wondered before continuing on, “We are but a half days journey to a small town called Sarn Ford. Have you heard of it miss?” He asked in hopes of seeing your eyes open once more.

You did as he wished and looked at him again, “Sarn Ford? Oh dear. I’ve gone the wrong direction.” You grimaced in pain as you tried to sit up higher on the tree trunk.

“Where are traveling to miss? On your own?” He held out an open hand for you to take. He left the decision on if you’d accept the help up to you.

Eyeing his hand, you knew he was prying. But he seemed trustworthy. The Rangers of the North were meant to be. Strider as he called himself. Your eyes met his again and you caved right then and there. He looked genuine, like he thought he could actually help you. Like you were not too far gone. With all the strength you could muster in your quickly fading body you put your hand in his, “Aye. My village was attacked by orcs. Third time in the last five years. They got me this time.” You sighed trying your hardest to stay conscious, “I was meant to travel to Bree. But I must have taken to the wrong direction. I will be blaming the Orc poison for the misdirection.” You let out a pained laugh trying to lighten the tone of the conversation going on between the two of you.

“All right. Off we go. What is your name?” He asked you needing to know to continue.

He watched you intently sputter out the words you were trying to get out. His fear of orc poison was right, you truly did not have that much time left. With your permission he scooped you up in his arms, called his horse over and positioned you in front of him while he rode. He knew you did not have enough strength to hold on from behind. He knew It would be a challenge to keep you upright on the journey back to Sarn Ford. He was meeting Gandalf there, anyway, might as well help the woman who he had taken a fast liking towards. Even Strider could see the beauty in things, and you were mighty beautiful in his eyes. Even coated in layers of dirt and grime he knew you shined like a star above him.

“Y/N.” You admitted to the man not feeling up to lying to him. You would likely be dead before dawn anyway. You would have hoped he would find a way to let anybody surviving know of your unfortunate fate. But in reality you were just another causality of war. A human life cut far too short.

“Lovely name.” He smiled lowly as he held you into him. He could feel you were fading in and out of consciousness as he held onto your waist tightly.

You hummed in thanks not having the strength to reply to him.

“Hold on miss Y/N. We will be there soon.” He spoke into your ear startling you back onto the middle earth side of consciousness.

But as much as he tried you had succumbed to your own fate. Blackness took over before you reached the village of Sarn Ford.

Much to your own surprise your eyes opened once more. You peaked around seeing all sorts of supplies. You must have been in some sort of healers room you concluded quickly. Looking down you were not in your attire you had been found in but a simple dress that you were more accustomed too. Being so caught up in your own accord you had yet to see the two men. Well one man and one wizard standing off to the side conversing as you came back to reality.

“Welcome young one.” The wizard spoke. You had never seen one before. Thought they were the thing of legends. But sure, as it would be one stood before you. They were easy to spot. Had an aura about them.

Your eyes snapped back to Striders looking at him in surprise. He was more handsome than you remembered as the sun beat down on his features through the window in the hut you were in, “It is all right.” He nodded at you, “This is Gandalf the Grey, he is an old friend of mine.”

“Hello Gandalf.” You broke your eyes away from the stranger your somewhat knew and turned your head towards the wizard.

“How are you fairing?” He asked whilst leaning onto his cane.

“Fine now. Thank you.” You turned toward Strider who made his way closer, “Thank you Strider. For without you I fear I may have been dead by now.” A shiver of realization ripped down your spine as you admitted it out loud.

He bowed his head, “I am honored to have been of service miss Y/N.” You looked over to him giving him a bashful smile. He was really so handsome. More handsome than any of the boys or men in your small village.

“Are you well enough to travel?” Gandalf asked breaking the trance the two of you had been locked in for a moment too long to be just friendly glances. Gandalf was considered wise for a reason. He had an inkling feeling there was something budding between his usually broody friend and the pretty human girl he had found in the woods. Maybe you were his gift from Valar. Every great leader needed one. Who was Gandalf to question the gods.

“I believe so.” You sat you wincing only slightly as the wound in your side. Strider wanted nothing more than to push you back down and curse the wizard who suggested you move so soon.

“Miss Y/N. You need to rest a little longer.” He insisted placing a gentle hand on your shoulder preventing you from standing.

Gandalf grumbled, “You must get to the Prancing Pony Inn. I’m going to meet Frodo now. Time is of the essence Aragorn.”

Your eyes crumbled in confusion. Who was Aragorn?

He did not leave you time to question as he grabbed at your hand, “Come miss Y/N. We have a ride to take.”

You sat at the bar table with Strider who had hood of his robe covering his face. You grew more uneasy as the night wore on at the Prancing Pony. The horse ride was quick thankfully. And much to your delight the Hobbits Gandalf was speaking of finally appeared. Right on time.

Strider shot up from his seat, “Wait here miss Y/N. I must save the Hobbit.” He sighed before bounding off into the depths of the bar. You felt even more uneasy as the eyes around you made their way to your shaking frame. You were nervous.

After far too many moments alone he grabbed you by your arms, “Come Y/N. We must hide.” He directed you to another room than the ones you had planned on staying in.

“Strider?” You asked following him up a set of stairs you were unfamiliar with.

“Nazgul. I’ll explain later. For now, you must sleep. We have a long journey to Rivendell. Especially with the Hobbits.” He let a long breath while opening the door for you. Quickly, you were attacked by questions from the four little Hobbits. Happily, though you answered every single one before lying next to Strider who promised to keep watch.

“You should get some rest too.” You whispered hoping not to wake the sleeping Hobbits.

He nodded, “I shall. In due time. I fear we have something coming.”

Your frown was evident as he continued to try and comfort you, “Do not fret. I am keeping watch for a reason. We are safe.”

“I believe you Strider.” You yawned not being able to keep the tiredness away for much longer.

“Rest.” He commanded.

You were far too tired to argue that as the darkness crept in.

You were woken when the screeching next door commenced. The Hobbits must’ve had more sensitive ears as they were already up and staring at Strider who looked glum.

“What are they?” Frodo asked.

He sat at the window looking at the five of you, “They were once men. Great kings of men. The Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power.” You felt a shiver ripple across your body. You’d heard the legends and did not believe those either. Yet again, another thing coming true right before your eyes.

“We must move.” He commented seeing the Nazgul retreating away from the inn.

You must have walked for miles until Strider had the five of you rest at the old watchtower of Amon Sul. You stood there behind the Hobbits staring up the decaying rock structure before you. It must have been grand in its time.

Once you were seated next to the Hobbits he stood and tossed each of you a weapon, “These are for you. Keep them close. I’m going to have a look around. Miss Y/N, will this blade be too large for you?” He handed you a smaller sword for you to try.

“I fear you have too much faith in me Strider.” You unsheathed the sword holding onto it carefully, “But this will work.” You nodded towards him.

“You shall not have to use it. In case only.” He pointed at each of you, “I will be back. Rest. Make no noise or sound.” His command was easy to follow. A natural born leader it seemed.

You woke when you heard Frodo yelling from beside you, “What are you doing?” He yelled a little too loud. You rose from the ground you had managed to sleep on and watched the interaction unfold. You cursed when you saw the fire going. He had not explicitly said no fires, but the intention was there.

“Put it out you fools!” Frodo cried. You rose from your slumber and haphazardly helped him put it out.

The horrifying cry you heard from the Nazgul the night before rang out from outside the watch tower.

“Oh no.” You spotted them coming towards you, “No Strider?” You turned to Frodo with a horrifying realization.

He shook his head, “Go! Up!” You followed the Hobbits to the top of the tower and waited. You shivered when you saw them come from the shadows. You heard nothing but your hammering heart in your chest. This was it. This could be the end. You sword was shaking in your hand.

“Back you devils!” Sam screamed trying to shield them off. You blocked a shot but was stopped when Frodo pulled the ring out. You gasped when they all ran from him. To your horror when he put the ring on he disappeared.

Strider came out of nowhere blocking back the Nazgul from all of you. You ran to Frodo in horror seeing the man defend the five of you with ease. A few of them went up in flames as kept fighting them off. They had enough when he got another went up and flames and ran off. Strider quickly came over to the five of you surrounding Frodo. You had your hand on his horrifyingly black wound. You’d never seen poison like that before.

“Help him Strider!” You cried in a shaky voice once he kneeled down next to you.

He picked the sword up shaking his head slowly, “He’s been stabbed by a Morgul blade.” The blade vanished in his hand as Frodo writhed beneath you, “This is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine.”

You looked down at the Hobbit in pain and let a single tear fall, “We will get you the help you need mister Frodo. Rest assured.” He picked the Hobbit up and began running, “Let us go.”

The four of you trailed Strider in a daze. The Nazgul screams seemed to ring out from every direction as you ran, “Hurry!” he shouted at the four of you with Frodo crying in his arms.

“We are six days from Rivendell! He will never make it!” Sam cried sending a shuddering realization through you.

You simply heard a faint whisper come from Strider ahead of you, “Hold on, Frodo.” From Strider who kept running and did not acknowledge Sam. As tired as you were you had to keep moving for Frodo’s sake. You ran and ran until you could no more and then you ran some more.

He only stopped when he ran into three petrified trolls. He set Frodo down looking around frantically. You and Sam went over to look after him. Same placed a gentle hand to the despondent Hobbit.

Sam shuddered at the touch, “Mr. Frodo! He’s going cold.”

“Is he going to die?” Pippen chimed in. You stood back looking over the shivering Hobbit who long since stopped crying out in pain.

Strider turned to the five of you with a concerned look crossing over his features, “He’s passing into the Shadow World. He’ll soon become a Wraith like them.” He stated so calmly. Your face grimaced at the horrifying realization. Frodo becoming a Nazgul?

Strider continued, “Sam, do you know the Athlelas plant?” You listened in but bent down to hold Frodo’s hand hoping some comfort would help the gasping Hobbit. His eyes were glazing over with something of a blue sheen that sent shivers down your body.

“Athelas?” Sam asked confused by the question.

“Kingsfoil.” Strider tried a different name.

Sam nodded, “Kingsfoil, aye, it’s a weed!”

“It may help the poisoning. Hurry!” He pushed the Hobbit off, “Miss Y/N. Stay with Frodo. We will be back with help.” You nodded holding onto his hand dearly.

Not a few moments later you saw the help arriving. A beautiful elf strode over and down to the quickly fading Hobbit. You took a step back as she took a step towards him. You gaped at the beauty that she was leaning down to your newfound friend. An elf in real life. She was beyond your wildest imagination. You had been told of their beauty, but this was bordering on ethereal.

“I am Arwen. I have come to help you.” She whispered into his ear, “Hear my voice. Come back to the light.” She grabbed at his hand while Strider handed her the plant.

“Who is she?” Merry asked quietly as Frodo was tended to.

“Arwen, an elf.” You whispered repeating what you heard her speak to Frodo not seconds ago, “She’s going to save him.” You said out loud to convince yourself more so than the group of Hobbits.

“Frodo,” She whispered, “He’s fading.” She sounded concerned as she looked over to Strider, “He’s not going to last. We must get him to my father.” The two of them stood as Strider grabbed at Frodo, “I’ve been looking for you for two days.” She said to Strider. You watched as the scene unfolded before you not wanting to get in the way of whatever was occurring.

“Where are you taking him?” Sam asked confused and terribly concerned for his friend.

He was ignored as Arwen continued, “There are five Wraiths behind you. Where the other four are, I do not know.” You watched as Strider put Frodo onto the horse with ease.

Suddenly Strider started talking in what you assumed to be Sindarin as you could not understand what they were saying. They must have agreed upon something as Arwen hopped onto the horse and took off with Frodo. Your mind was sent into a spiral as you guessed where he was going and off so quickly.

“She is taking him to Rivendell. To Lord Elrond for him to be healed. She is the faster rider and will get him there sooner. Come, we must go.” He motioned for the group to keep moving, “Miss Y/N, will you walk with me?”

You nodded speeding up your pace to match his, “Master Strider.”

“Strider is fine.” He hummed as he led the group out of the forest somehow knowing exactly where to go.

“Is he going to make it?” You had to ask him. The thought of his passing was eating at you.

He nodded, “His best chance is with Arwen. The sooner we get to Rivendell the sooner we will find out.”

“Well then let us speed up our pace then.” You smiled up at him.

He chucked and nodded. The two of you walked in a comfortable silence as you occasionally made sure the chatty Hobbits behind you were faring all right.

“She is pretty.” You spoke after a while of not being able to get Arwen’s face out of your mind.

“Arwen?” He questioned you giving you a curious once over seeing that the statement seemingly came out of nowhere.

“Aye. She is beautiful.”

“She is. Most elves are.” He agreed with you, “She is wed to another healer. Her father set the marriage up ages ago before you great great grandmother was even a thought.”

“Oh, to have the lifespan of an elf!” You laughed feeling the weight of whatever tension you were holding onto about Arwen be lifted.

“I bet it is not all that it seems to be.” You nodded as the two of you continued on the trek to Rivendell occasionally chatting about random things back and forth. You were so caught up in him you failed to notice the Hobbits watching the two you of converse the entire journey back as if you were already a married couple just strolling the lands.

“Welcome to Rivendell miss Y/N.” Aragorn smiled when he saw your gaping face taking in all the scenery stretching beyond your wildest imagination. He too was struck in awe by its beauty the first time he had come across it all those years ago.

“This cannot be real.” You gasped as he took your hand, pulling you along to look along the city.

“Aye. It is. Come, I want to show you your living quarters for the time being.” He pulled you along knowing exactly where to go in Lord Elrond’s castle. He stopped in what you assumed to be the center seeing two people walking towards the two of you. The wizard and a dark-haired elf stopped just short of you.

“Ah, welcome young one.” Gandalf walked up with who you assumed to be Lord Elrond, “It is wonderful to see you in one piece. Unlike our young Frodo.” He chuckled not realizing what he had said sounded bad without knowing how he was.

Your face dropped, “Oh no, did he not make it?”

Gandalf shook his head hastily in realization of his error, “He is fine young one. A few more hours and he would not have made it.” Gandalf stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder in reassurance, “Aragorn here will show you to your chambers.”

You cocked your head to the side, “Aragorn? You said that back in Sarn Ford as well. Who is Aragorn?” This really was not your place to speak in front of so many important people. But you were always a curious one, so you had to ask. The worst they could do is refuse to elaborate any further and you would not press. You did understand boundaries even if you pushed them.

Strider looked at Gandalf with a question in his gaze. Gandalf always had a plan. He could see the feelings bubbling to the surface for Aragorn for his newfound human companion that had to be a gift from Valar himself. Gandalf knew the longer he kept his identity from you the harder the breach of trust would befall the two of you.

Gandalf nodded giving his friend a push towards you. He knew Aragorn had to admit this to you himself. You saw Lord Elrond cock his head in confusion watching the interaction go down. He must not have been privy to what had been going down in Gandalf’s mind.

“Ah, miss Y/N. Strider is my Ranger name. It is my identity. As is Aragorn. Son of Arathorn.” He spoke slowly watching as your face twisted from confusion to realization. You may have been from Eriabor, but you surely knew who Arathorn was.

He continued, “I am also called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dúnadan, the heir of Isildur Elendil's son of Gondor."

“A rightful King?” You asked him with widened eyes. You had no clue that you had been traveling with such a company. You had been so crass it made you want to run away right then and there, especially with Gandalf and Lord Elrond’s amused gazes watching the interaction between two humans.

He nodded, “You are correct.”

“Aragorn.” You spoke for the first time giving him a wide smile, “I do like it. It suits a King such as yourself. Would you mind if I continued to call you Strider though?” Bowing your head slightly you felt a rush of embarrassment pulsate through you. Why were you so unladylike? It was all so thoughtless when he was just a Ranger. Not a bloody King of Gondor.

He waited until your eyes met his again, “No need to bow miss Y/N. And thank you. You may call me either.”

A quick head nod was interrupted by Gandalf, “We must be off. Aragorn drop the young one off at her residence. You are free to explore the castle and Rivendell. But we will need you to meet us in the gardens. We have much to discuss before the Council of Elrond shows up in a few days.” Gandalf spoke directly to Strider who just nodded in agreement.

“Come miss Y/N.” He took your hand and pulled you along quickly, “You will enjoy your stay here. It is a wonderful place. There is quite a bit to do, and the elves are very kind.” He tried his best to reassure you knowing that Gandalf was right. You could not go on. You were not prepared for this kind of journey to any extent. Gandalf also revealed of Aragorn’s known feelings for you. You would be a distraction he could not have along the journey.

“It seems like it.” You grinned thankful you were able to do your own thing for the afternoon. You felt bad for Strider or Aragorn. He seemed to have quite a bit of business to attend to.

He stopped at a door letting you inside. It was small but quant and rather extravagant. Fine details laced every surface. You’d come to expect nothing less from the elves, “I will find you later. Enjoy your day miss Y/N.”

The days went by slowly as you got acquainted with Rivendell. You had the sneaking suspicion your journey was also stopping as Strider was not so keen on giving you any information even though he was gone for days on end.

It was on the day of the gathering of the Council of Elrond that you had all but given up. That was until there was a rapid knocking at your door. Thankfully your elf maiden Nimloth had made sure you were dressed as Strider stood before you with a smile on his face, “Come miss Y/N. The Council of Elrond is starting soon.”

“I am invited?” You were sure there was a dumb look on your face.

He nodded slowly, “Gandalf insisted. Lord Elrond relented.”

You followed him in silence to the gathering of the council. You sat behind Frodo closer to Lord Elrond and away from all of the action that was sure to go down.

It was not long after you took a seat that Lord Elrond stood gathering the council to begin, “Strangers from distant lands, friends of old and new,” His eyes met yours giving you a small wink before continuing on, “You’ve been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fail. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom. Bring forth the ring, Frodo.” A shiver ran down your spine at his straight to the point opening. This was not good.

You watched as Frodo stood and dropped the ring on the stump in the middle of the council.

You heard the man called Boromir speak up, “So it is true.” He looked at the ring with something of desire lacing it. You looked at Strider who was watching the man skeptically. He continued, “The doom of man. It is a gift.” Your heart raced at such a senseless statement. You watched as Strider grew angry at his arrogance.

Nevertheless, Boromir continued, “A gift of the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father the Steward of Gondor kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against them.” He passionately spoke hoping to gain the agreement of the Council.

But Strider would have none of that false speak, “You cannot wield it. None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.” Your heart rate sped down at the sensible statement to the man you had grown quite fond of in your week or so of traveling. You had grown a strong liking to the handsome Ranger who saved your life without a second thought.

Boromir looked skeptically at Strider, “And what would a Ranger know of this matter?” He asked with a smug look to his face. You wanted to slap that look right off of his face for he had no clue who he was talking to! A king!

But the elf called Legolas stood quickly in his defense, “This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, Son of Arathon.” You watched as his face scrunched up in a minor irritation. He had tried so hard to keep that a secret and now it was out, “You owe him your allegiance.” He finished looking just as irritated as Strider did. It still felt weird to call him Aragorn. So, you kept up with Strider.

Boromir turned back to him, “Aragorn.” He spoke with a hint of shock in his tone, “This is Isildur’s heir?”

“An heir to the throne of Gondor.” Legolas spoke earning a glare from Strider who spoke to him in Elvish quickly. You wondered what he said because Boromir looked suddenly very angry.

Boromir nearly spat with vengeance while looking at the blond elf, “Gondor has no king.” He turned to look back at Strider and shook his head, “Gondor needs no king.”

Gandalf spoke up breaking the tension among men, “Aragorn is right. We cannot use it.”

Lord Elrond stood, “You have only one choice. The Ring must be destroyed.”

The dwarf called Gimli stood then, “What are we waiting for?” He grabbed his axe and sliced at it in attempt to shatter it. Of course, that did nothing but startle the entire council into submission.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin... by any craft that we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade.” Lord Elrond spoke matter of factly. You watched as Frodo nearly collapsed from the pain and realization. You laid a gentle hand on his shoulder hoping he would find some solace in the touch.

Lord Elrond continued, “It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came.” Your heart was hammering in your chest at the realization. This would be no easy task for anybody let alone a Hobbit and human group, “One of you, must do this.” Lord Elrond commanded sending your head into so many different directions. Would Strider go? Would the Hobbits? Surely you would never be able to go. No, Strider would never allow it. He had made that very clear.

Boromir sighed, “One does not simply walk into Mordor. It’s Black Gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland riddled with fire, and ash, and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with 10,000 men could you do this. It is folly.”

Legolas was angry now. He shot up from his seat spitting his words at the man, “Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed.”

Gimli spoke up next, “And I suppose you think you are the one to do it!” The tension grew in the air as everyone began to feel uneasy of the task at hand.

Boromir stood next, “And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?”

Gimli continued, “I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!” He shouted. Your eyes went wide as everything seemed to be going away from the goal at hand, “Never trust an Elf!”

The group erupted in bickering as you and Frodo sat back in fear of what was going to happen. All but suddenly you watched as Frodo stood. He shouted, “I will take it.” It took him a few attempts before the group heard him.

“I will take the Ring to Mordor.” He said again once everyone had quieted down. You gulped as you watched the scene unfold.

He spoke again, “Though, I do not know the way.”

Gandalf nodded, “I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins as long as it is yours to bear.”

You sat further back into your chair as you watched Strider stand, “If by my life or death I can protect you I will.” Your heart sunk at his words. He caught your forlorn gaze and gave you a simple smile. He walked to Frodo and knelt before the small Hobbit, “You have my sword.”

Legolas stepped forward, “And you have my bow.” Your heart raced seeing the elf walk forward. Thank goodness he volunteered. You had heard stories of the mighty elf warrior of Mirkwood.

“And my ax.” Gimli agreed as he walked towards the growing group. You stood from your spot away from the group, closer towards Lord Elrond. Almost as if you had already known your assigned fate.

Boromir joined slowly, “You carry the fates of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the Council then Gondor will see it done.” He stood by the group.

Suddenly the other hobbits joined in earning a hard-earned smile from Lord Elrond.

“Nine companions. So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.” You watched as Elrond anointed the group complete. Your downcast eyes found Striders who looked at you with all the care in the world. You were more than nervous for the man you had grown so fond of so quickly. Dare you say you might actually have real genuine feelings for the man standing in the group of nine.

“The journey is no place for a lady.” Strider insisted as he pulled you away from the fellowship. He had conjured up a hundred scenarios in his mind and decided you could not come after seeking the guidance of Gandalf. It was far too dangerous for someone as delicate as you were. He shuddered at the thought of seeing you with a sword far too big for you trying your best to defend not only yourself but the Hobbits from the Nazgul. He never wanted to see or put you in such a situation as that ever again.

Your look broke his heart ten times over. It is not like he wanted to leave you in Rivendell with the elves. He would do anything to take you, but it was just far too dangerous. The encounter with the Nazgul did it in enough for him to hold firm on the decision, “I’m not a lady Aragorn, and you know it! But I understand.” You countered but admitted your faults. You were nothing but a lowly peasant from a tiny village near Eriador. You didn’t mean much to middle earth, a place holder for whatever Valar had planned.

He twisted his head to the side giving you a once over and a sly smile, “Not yet anyway.” He walked towards you, stopping right in front of you. Wanting to say the next word so all the elves and Hobbits behind him couldn’t hear. Having to turn your head up to make eye contact he leaned forward and whispered in your ear, “I have every intention of making you one, my lady.”

Your eyes growing wide and the rosiness that formed on your neck and cheeks made the elves behind him laugh in unison amongst themselves. You noticed the confusion lining the Hobbits faces, no doubt wonder what he had said to you to illicit such a reaction.

You looked back to him with the hint of smile dancing on your lips, “They can hear you Strider.”

He brushed the pads of his fingers along your jawline, “Let them.” He had yet to be so forthcoming with his feelings so far. Sure, you had only known him a little over a week but you had not left his side since you met him. It had already felt so long ago. And when the heart knew it knew. It knew it had feelings for the handsome man with the most beautiful blue eyes that looked at you so kindly standing before you.

“Please be safe.” Your eyes welled with unshed tears as you accepted his command. You could not go along with them. You’d be nothing but the burden you so desperately wanted to avoid. But you also did not want to stay in Rivendell. The elves seemed welcoming enough but who knew how long he would have to be gone. You would surely overstay your welcome.

A curt nod came from the man you’d grown to love in such a short amount of time, “As you wish.” He moved his fingers to your eyes brushing away the tears that had managed to spill over, “Do not cry. I will be back as soon as I can.” The moment felt far too intimate to have the whole company trying not to watching but paying close attention anyway, they were not being sly about like they thought they were. They had all grown to adore you in some capacity, more some than others. Pippen was especially sad your journey had ended there. He had quite enjoyed getting to know you along the short trek from The Shire to Rivendell. You were unlike any other mortal he had met.

“I know. But you will find me in Bree.” You answered him letting the tears fall even as you tried your best to stop them.

He shook his head quickly, “No, you will stay here. In Rivendell. You will be protected here. Lord Elrond has assured me of that.” That sounded more like Aragorn than the Strider you knew. It hit you that the rightful King of Gondor was standing right in front of you. No wonder he had seemed so effortless in leading the group to Rivendell. It was in his blood.

“I do not belong here Aragorn.” You spoke in a plea muttering his actual name for just the second time. It still felt foreign, but you welcomed it on your tongue. Aragon, King of Gondor.

His eyes piqued up in utter curiosity at the sudden name change. You had seemed so adamant on continuing to call him by his Ranger name despite finding his true identity through Gandalf, “You can find an identity here my lady. Lord Elrond will not let that falter. Do you not believe me?” He frowned not enjoying seeing you in such a distressed state. He too had grown to have deep feelings for you. You were kind and compassionate. Smarter than you knew. Made him smile more than he ever had in his life in the short time he had known you. You kept him on his toes, and he adored that about you. He grew to like maybe even love you in mere days.

“I am a burden here. Useless. They will get sick of me.” You were pleading to him now. If you knew better you would not be pushing somebody of such high stature.

He gulped not knowing what to say. He could pick up on your stress through your expression and the way you picked at your fingernails. A habit he’d seen both at the Inn and when the group was attacked by the Nazgul. Just as he was about to open his mouth he heard Elrond from behind him. And bless him he thought for he had no idea how to calm your racing mind.

“Have you not enjoyed your stay here at Rivendell? Do you not wish to stay?” Lord Elrond spoke up after hearing the concerns you had spoken in private to Aragorn. He knew he likely should have just stayed quiet and let Aragorn handle the situation. But his overly sensitive ears could pick up the frantic panic in your voice towards the man.

You shook your head quickly, “No my lord. I wish to not be a burden to your home. You see I… I do not have much to offer your city.” You hung your head in shame hoping you did not fully insult Elrond. He had already been so kind to you.

“A burden?” He shook his head walking over to the two of you. All eyes still watching the interaction with the utmost curiosity, “You would hardly be a burden. I will be honest with you. With many of the elves planning to take to the sea I will need some help preparing. You will have a place here. Rest assured.”

A small sigh let out from your chest. Aragorn watched you intently with a bright smile on his face seeing the Elf relax your mind in mere moments. Leave it to Elrond to calm you down so easily. He needed to take a page or two from his book.

“Are you sure Lord Elrond?” You asked timidly to the much, much taller elf. Why’d they have to be so beautiful and intimidating at the same time?

He gave you a quick nod before turning, “I have already made up my mind child. Now let us go. The Fellowship has much planning to do before they are off in a few days.” He motioned for you to follow him.

You turned back to Aragorn before you left, “I wish you luck. I will see you soon. Be safe.” Taking a risk, you grabbed for his hand giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Anything for you my lady.” You caught the brief wink he had given you before bowing his head.

You walked over to the rest of the group, “I wish you all nothing but the best. Please take care of each other. I want to see you all when this is over. Yea?” Your voice broke at the end.

The Hobbits crowded around you giving you one last hug, “We will take your word to heart Lady Y/N.” Pippen smiled as he hugged your side.

“I am no lady.” You laughed once more. Where had they all gotten this ridiculous notion from?

“That’s not what Legolas told us.” Frodo smirked while looking over at Aragorn was deep in conversation with Boromir not paying a lick of attention to the goodbyes you were giving. It hurt him just as much as it was hurting you so he distracted himself with the other man in the Fellowship.

Your eyes found the blonde elf who attempted to feign innocence for the second time that afternoon, “You are a rightful menace Legolas.” You muttered to him almost finding enjoyment out of his butting in.

He shrugged innocently, “I am not sure what you are talking about Lady Y/N.”

You smiled shaking your head while giving each Hobbit a quick squeeze, “Good luck Legolas. Please watch out for him?” Your request may have been too much for the elf and you knew it. A big ask that you would have never of done had you not fallen for him so quickly.

But he agreed, “You have my word, my lady.” He smirked sensing your aversion to the formality you so desperately tried to avoid.

A quick shake of the head and you went off to follow Elrond you was waiting for you patiently in the distance, “I will see you all soon.” You waved, not waiting for their response as it felt to be too much in the moment. It amazed you

“Thank you for your hospitality Lord Elrond.” You said quickly once you caught up to the dark-haired elf.

He gave you what you was sure was a genuine smile, “It brings me a great pleasure to host you Lady Y/N.”

Your mouth gaped, “Is he forcing you to say that?” Surely you were going to have to get used to the title if Elrond had agreed to it. It would be shameful to try and correct the ruler of the land. Even you had some semblance of sanity and preservation.

Elrond shook his head quickly. He gave you a serious expression, one that you were not used to seeing from elf, “Aragorn is the rightful heir to the Throne of Gondor. We recognize the title here in Rivendell. I respect what he wishes. If he has given you that title you should wear that as a badge of honor.”

“You think so?” You thought you might have been pressing your luck with the lord. But he had the patience of somebody you had never met before. He was like no human you knew even if he was half of it.

If he was offended at your questioning he hid it well. A small smile adorned his features as he led you down the path to an empty room in the castle he had placed you in earlier, “I know so. When you have been around as long as I. You tend to notice these small things.”

He stopped in front of a door you had not been privy too in your prior explorations, “Your quarters for the time being. I had Nimloth move your belongings from your previous room to here. I suspect you will find it adequate.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets when he opened the massive wood doors. The most intricate carvings of wood was placated on every surface of the room. The detail and craftsmanship was beyond anything you had seen in your tiny little village. You ran your fingers along the different sets of furniture admiring the fine detail that was crafted into every surface, “More than adequate Lord Elrond. Thank Nimloth for me?” You asked after finding all your belongings neatly put away.

He bowed to you. An elf bowed to you! What had this life become? Once so lost now you were somebody a lord found pleasure in conversing with.

“I will see to it. She will fetch you for dinner as well. Welcome to Rivendell.” Without waiting for a response, he shut the doors behind him letting you be with your thoughts. And oh, were they racing beyond your wildest measure.

It had been 414 days since Aragorn and the Fellowship had set out to destroy the ring. You refused to give up any sort of hope as you heard bits and pieces of information from Lord Elrond. You had grown close to elf in your stay at Rivendell. He had given you sage life advice time and time again. You were there for him when Arwen and his sons went off to sea not to be seen again until he were to take his trip. You knew he was utterly lonely and wanting nothing more than to go be with his wife and children. But he had a duty to middle earth that he would see too. He would see that the age of man had a true leader in Aragorn to guide peace and prosperity forward. He knew the age of elf was done and good. Frodo just had to finish it by destroying the ring.

You were sitting in the study reading a text in Sindarin, Lord Elrond had taught you enough of the language to get by, when you heard the doors to the study open with a loud thud. You set the text down on the desk as you peaked your head towards the door.

“Lady Y/N?” Lord Elrond’s voice called out.

You stood from your chair, “Yes my lord?” You caught him smiling ear to ear at the front of the study. A giddy feeling of shock shot throughout your body in anticipation for what might come next.

“They are back.”

You felt like your heart might have actually stopped beating there for a second, “Aragorn?” You asked breathlessly.

“Alive and well. Come.” He motioned you to follow him just like he had all those days ago when you first got to Rivendell.

When you spotted him out in the courtyard you did not give a second thought about being a lady anymore. You all out sprinted to the man who had consumed you whole in his time away. He wrapped you in his arms once you ran right into his chest. Letting out a small grunt from the impact he started laughing. A full-on belly laugh rang out from the man as he held you in his arms once more.

“You came back.” You felt the tears forming in your eyes as you buried yourself in his chest.

He held you in his arms as tightly as he could relishing in the moment of just being there with you, “I gave you my word, my lady. Did I not?” He pulled you back so he could look at you. Ethereal. Rivendell had been nothing but good to you he concluded. He would have to thank Lord Elrond for being so hospitable towards the one he had loved.

“You did. Thank you.” You grasped him a little tighter as he clinged onto you just the same.

You gasped opening the letter from the Shire, “Sam and Rose!” You ran over to Aragorn with a gleeful smile on your face, “Look, they are to be wed in six months! Long after you are crowned King. I would like to go.”

“Ahh, finally.” Aragorn grabbed the letter from your hand with a smile on his face. You admired him as he read the joyous news of the union. He was so handsome. And he was soon to be crowned King of Gondor, Gandalf had shared with the group the night they came back. He was due to be crowned in two months’ time in Minas Tirith. It gave time for all parties to travel to the desired destination to see the rightful heir be crowned king.

“I was worried he would never go for it. We shall go if you will have me?” Aragorn noted as he smoothed out the robes for tomorrow’s crowning. He had felt more nervous of the thought of proposing to you than he was about being crowned King. Valar calm his nerves.

“Aye. I would love to go with you Aragorn. But is that so? Had he been shy about her?” You asked your love that you were almost afraid to admit to.

He nodded recalling all the time Samwise made comments about the Hobbit he had loved from afar, “He was never the most risk adverse. I think the journey changed him.”

“Yea.” You nodded, “It was good for him.”

He nodded his head. His soft expression hardening just a tinge as he took you in, “You are so beautiful. When I did not think that I was going to make it… the thought of you kept me going. I am so honored to have you by my side.”

You leaned your head back into his chest letting the sun beat down on the two of you as he had helped you prepare for the journey to his rightful home. He had been to Minas Tirith many times before, but never as the King. He was overjoyed at the thought of bringing you to his home. He was not lying before when he promise to make you his lady. He was planning to wed to you not too long after he was crowned King.

“It is my honor Aragorn.” You felt him squeeze his hand along your waist.

He had taken you to his new home by horse. Just the two of you heading to his Kingdom. He wanted to spend the time with you and get to know you. And he was more than glad he did. He did not think it to be possible, but he had fallen more deeply in love with you on the month-long trek to Gondor. It had solidified what he had planned to do, propose to you as soon as he was crowned King. He had gotten Lord Elrond in on the plan as well. Surely, you would be more than irritated at the public display, but he knew you would soon get over it.

Your eyes lit up in amazement at the city that had spring up before you once you had finally made it after a little over a month on the road. It was more massive than even Rivendell had been. You had no idea such structures existed within the human world and was slightly ashamed you knew so little about your very own brethren.

“Welcome to Minas Tirith my lady.” A breathy whisper in your ear he watched below as you took in the city.

“This is… incredible Aragon.” Your eyes traveled everywhere in awe as he rode up the main street on his horse. You were pleasantly surprised at all the greetings even you were getting from all the citizens that resided within the city.

He led you straight to the castle at the center of the city knowing you were probably more than overwhelmed. Sure, he had warned you but actually seeing it and doing it was entirely different thing. He bowed to his guards as he made his way to his, and soon to be your, chambers.

“You will sleep here tonight.” He said matter of factly as you explored his chambers.

You shook your head, “I cannot. This is your room. You need to rest before tomorrow! You are being crowned King. That does not happen every day Aragorn.” You protested but he simply shook his head.

“It is all right.” He led you to his bed, “I insist my lady. I have made up my mind and you will not be able to change it.” He grinned beautifully as you sat down on the bed, accepting defeat so easily.

“So stubborn you are.”  You mused at him with a delighted look on your face. It felt like a step was being taken as he insisted you stay in his quarters. Protected by the best of the best. He saw you as nothing but precious to him.

He chucked softly, “I must leave you to it. Feel free to explore. One of the guards can show you around if you would like. I must see to a few things before tomorrow. I will see you after the ceremony?” He asked watching you carefully. He wanted you to be comfortable before he left you. He knew it would be tough to go a night without each other after spending so much alone for the better part of a month.

“All right.” You nodded quickly, “I will see you tomorrow, my King.” You grinned right back at him knowing you would never tire of calling him that. It was a far cry from the Strider you had met so long ago now.

He brushed his hand along your jaw. Giving you a brief bow, he spoke once more, “My lady.” Before walking out his chambers and leaving you too it. A wave of exhaustion coupled by the softness of the mattress below you sent you into a slumber much sooner than you were expecting. Maybe you would get the grand tour another time. For now, sleep overtook you..

You watched in awe as Gandalf crowned Aragorn with amazement in his own eyes. You had truly never seen anything so grandeur in your life. All this for your Aragorn. Yet, you felt he had deserved this and so much more.

“Now come the days of the King.” Gandalf’s voice boomed throughout Minas Tirith as thousands stood to watch Aragorn be crowned. You felt your eyes well up with proud tears as the crown laid atop his head. He was so striking. So Kingly. Your breath was taken away as he turned to the crowd. He was your King.

“This day does not belong to one man… but to all.” His voice now boomed filling your chest with the utmost pride for the man you loved, “Let us together rebuild this world… that we may share in the days of peace.” He smiled as the crowd erupted in cheers for their newly crowned King. You joined in happily clapping and cheering along with the city folk.

He sang as the flower petals began to fall. You watched as his company and all those around him bowed to him as he walked amongst the crowd. Your heart sped up rapidly as he was moving along closer, and closer to you.

Elrond pulled you back behind a shield at your protest as Legolas stepped forward. Being none the wiser you shot your elder a precarious look as he told you to be quiet and wait a second and you would see what was going on. He did not lie to you. Lord Elrond never did.

The elf beside you pulled the shield away leaving you staring right into the icy blue eyes of the man you had loved so dearly. You gulped but stepped towards him. He looked just as entranced as you felt.

Feeling overwhelmed at the entirely of the situation you bowed your head to your King once you were mere inches in front of him. Never before had so many eyes been on you. Yet he had made it feel like it really was just the two of you at that moment.

He would have none of that though. He took his hand under your chin and pulled it up, so you were looking at him. He too forgot that thousands of people were watching. It felt like it was just you and him. You had that effect on him. Your doe eyes staring up at him so desperately is what did him in. He could simply wait no longer to have what he wanted… you.

When you smiled at him he did not care any longer. He went straight in for the kiss. You wrapped your arms around him as he spun you around, happier than ever before. He had let his intentions be known. You were his for forever, his forever.

You would be embarrassed later but now it was just you and him. A giggle erupted from you as you hugged him once more. He grabbed your hand and pulled you along as he went to search for the Hobbits.

You took a knee after Aragorn spoke, “My friends… you bow to no one.” A smile erupted on your face as you watched the kingdom take a knee for them. Frodo’s face told the story. Aragorn gently wiped off the tears that were streaming down your face.

“I love you, my Queen.” He whispered in your ear.

“Your Queen?” You gasped looking up to him. Surely you did not think you would take

“Are we to be wed no?” He asked curiously.

“Aye.” You nodded, “I just did not believe to have such a title.” You looked away from him as he directed everyone to stand once more.

“I am King. You are to be my Queen.” He said so matter of factly you could not believe you were questioning yourself.

“As you wish.” You smiled so gleefully not truly believing this was actually your life now.

He leaned in for one more gentle kiss to please the crowd, “My Queen.” He whispered letting you know he had every good intention in the world with you. For the first time in his already long life, he could not wait to get his life started with you.

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[elrondsimp]

Fellowship x GN! Teen Reader

“Not the end”

A/N: hi guys a heads up this isn’t romance it’s platonic. Wanted to give a heads up since it is teen reader.

—————————————————————

Y/N stood at the gates of Rivendell, watching as the members of the Fellowship of the Ring prepared to go their separate ways. They had joined them on their journey as a young, inexperienced 17-year-old, but now they felt like they had grown so much.

As they looked around at the group, their heart felt heavy. They had forged such strong bonds with each of them during their journey together, and the thought of never seeing them again was almost unbearable.

"I guess this is the end," they murmured, feeling a lump form in their throat.

But the members of the Fellowship quickly reassured them. Gandalf placed a gentle hand on their shoulder and smiled.

"This is not the end, my dear Y/N," Gandalf said.

"We may be going our separate ways for now, but we will see each other again. Of that, you can be sure." He continued.

Aragorn stepped forward and placed their hand over Y/N's. "We will always be bound by the friendship and loyalty we formed on this journey," they said.

Legolas added their own words of encouragement, their clear blue eyes sparkling. "We may be leaving, but we will carry each other in our hearts always," he said.

Y/N felt a warm glow spread through their chest as they realized the truth in their words. They may be saying goodbye for now, but the fellowship would never truly be over.

As they watched the group disappear into the distance, Y/N smiled to themself. They knew that wherever life took them, they would always carry the memories of their time with the Fellowship of the Ring, and the love and loyalty they had shared would never fade away.

[borom1r]

Who Let Him Out Of Minas Tirith Dressed Like This.

(I understand range of motion for an actor but there were better ways to do this from a character standpoint as well)

[cafffine]

girl scout boromir is so real say more 🎤

So the girl scouts in Gondor are serious business, (though tbh they can’t hold a flame to the shire girl scouts 😤) and I think Boromir took it dead fucking serious. Like he wasn’t mean and competitive, he just understood that it was his duty and his right to go on camping trips and sell cookies and earn patches and he is nothing if not a man of duty.

Also he stays STOCKED on his cookies. to the great benefit of Merry and Pippin, of course

(ID in alt)

[fox-bee926]

any tips on how to actually write instead of infinite planning