#Boromir request

[edges-of-night]

Hi! I hope you are doing well. If I could, I’d like to request how the fellowship reacts to you walking in on them either changing or in a compromising situation. Could go the other way around if you prefer; I’ve just don’t think I’ve seen anyone do this prompt with the reader walking in rather than them

No worries if you don’t want to do this prompt :)

Hi, I hope you’re well too! I didn’t go the entirely humorous route with this one, but I did choose to do it the way you described, with reader walking in on the Fellowship.

I hope you’ll enjoy your post! Take care ♡

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Aragorn has no problem with others seeing him naked. That said, he knows it’s not like that for everybody, and he does anticipate your embarrassment and profuse apologies once you accidentally walk in on him changing clothes. He’d gently and unexcitedly assure you everything was fine – and was perhaps a bit confused by himself. Is he blushing? Why is he so preoccupied by this? Maybe this is different when it’s with you…

.

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Many soldiers are used to seeing other people naked and being seen naked themselves, and Boromir is no exception. Still, he wouldn’t be entirely comfortable with you walking in on him changing. A nervous laugh would escape him, though he’d instinctively try to play his ‘prince charming’ routine. Probably even successfully! That said, he knows this could very well be a delicate matter to you – and your comfort is always Boromir’s top priority, so he’d handle the incident according to your wishes.

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･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

Frodo, as usual, is very unagitated about your accidental glance at him changing clothes. From behind the door, you hear him chuckle: “Don’t worry about it! I should’ve closed that door, it’s my fault entirely.” He would only make a few lewd jokes about the incident when drunk at the Green Dragon, but not anymore once you ask him to keep this between the two of you. It wouldn’t change your relationship in the slightest.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Walking in on Gandalf changing clothes would probably result in a blanket magically flying over your head or even your body losing control and turning around to walk the other way, like a puppet. You’d see nothing – in fact this would happen before you even knew what was going on.

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･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Being the proud Dwarf that he is, Gimli would probably act like the incident never happened and be surprisingly nonchalant about the matter. He has nothing to hide or be insecure of, especially not with you. And after all, it was an accident! However, he’d sometimes makes jokes along the lines of “you never walk in on me anymore, dearie” after some time had passed. He takes all of this is good humour.

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･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

I feel like out of the Fellowship, Legolas would be the “flirtiest” if you walked in on him changing his clothes. He is also exceptionally good at reading your mood: Are you embarrassed? “Be at ease, dear friend. There is no harm done, and so we won’t speak of it again.” Are you curious? Eyebrows raised, he’d subtly make sure to give you the best angles. Or are you perhaps being flirty as well? “It’s a good thing you’ve come! Look here – could you help me with this girth? It’s been driving me mad…”

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･ﾟ✧ Merry.

In the heat of the moment, Merry would probably scream something at you, like ���Some privacy, please!” A minute later and he already wants to disappear into the Earth, blaming himself – how could he lash out at you like that? He’d worry and quickly walk up to you to apologise. He would accept your apology too, though he would still blush and quietly ask you to knock next time. Also: He knows how the Shirefolk can behave sometimes and wants to shield you from gossip.

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･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin let out a cry when you accidentally walked in on him changing clothes, making you turn on your heels – before remembering you’ve seen him naked plenty of times. There’s no big scandal, even though he acts like there was. Going forward, as a joke, he would play with his scarf and smirk at you like the dirtiest thing happened between the two of you. You try to keep it down, but eventually, Pip would go around telling people you keep walking in on him on purpose.

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･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Sam would be just as surprised and embarrassed as you are. He’d stumble over his words and his feet alike, trying to get distance between the two of you and cover his naked skin at the same time. Afterwards, you apologise to him profusely, but Sam knows very well you didn’t mean to intrude. “‘t was an accident. Nothin’ more and nothing less.” Still, he’d blush a little – and, just sometimes, wonder if you perhaps liked what you saw – after all, he’s too shy to ask ♡

[shirefantasies]

Hello. Could you do a slightly suggestive physical touch x reader thing like you did with the company but with the fellowship instead. If you don’t want to that’s okay. Thank youuuu

Sure 😊 Warnings: well duh 😜 but relatively minor as always

LoTR Characters + Physical Affection (Suggestive Version)

Aragorn

✧ Gives the most amazing massages that have you begging him not to stop, especially when you are on the road.

✧ Catches your hand as it roams over his chest, taking it in his and pressing kisses to it.

✧ You slipped some tongue into the last kiss, so it is only fair for him to be doing the same, no?

✧ He knows you love sitting on his lap, yes, but still you are not expecting the way he takes hold of you and sweeps you up onto it with one swift motion…

✧ His hands may be rough, but gentle are they every time they brush and cup your cheeks, tracing their outline.

Legolas

✧ Does not always realize the effect he has. Swipes his thumb across your lips to keep you clean, brows raising and smile creeping onto his face at your resulting expression.

✧ Shivers at the way your nails ghost down his spine, dragging just enough for him to feel each point.

✧ Leans back to meet you in a kiss when you find yourself running your hands over his shoulders.

✧ As if to memorize your form or write it in the very stars, Legolas is slow, intent with his motions as he traces every dip and curve of your body, eyes awed and focused.

✧ Pulls you back from harm by your waist, but cannot resist capturing your lips when he sees the grateful shine of your eyes, so innocent and yet so amorous.

Boromir

✧ Knowing of your love for physical affection gives him so many opportunities to tease you, most of all indulging his love of surprising you from behind, arms winding about you and breath warm in your ear.

✧ When he picks you up and spins you around, his hand may just find its way to give your rear end a playful squeeze as you are lowered.

✧ Training is more fun with you around- suddenly Boromir has all the motivation in the world to do push-ups... on top of you, of course, finding a new spot to kiss each time he comes down.

✧ Playfully and of course lightly sits on you to pin you down, only offering your release in exchange for a kiss.

✧ Boromir indulges your love- if you take him by the side of his face and pepper it with kisses, he will tilt his head and take you for a more passionate one.

Gimli

✧ Spins word upon word of your beauty, yet his voice is stolen completely at the teasing kisses you sneak upon him.

✧ If you’re alone, he has been known to teasingly smack your arse. Just every now and again…

✧ Pulls you down suddenly, almost roughly, to meet his height, noses and foreheads brushing before Gimli is kissing you passionately.

✧ Makes it your problem when his hands get cold, sliding them up your top to startle you!

✧ Tough as he acts, he loves your predisposition to hold him as well, allowing him to nuzzle against your chest and place kisses against anything exposed there. Possibly a nip or two or three...

Frodo

✧ It sends shivers down your spine the way Frodo’s eyes track your every movement, the small action alone feeling a bit like a dare.

✧ A habit of his upon feeling emboldened is placing kisses from the back of your hand up your arm before finally giving your lips a peck.

✧ Of course you know the effect it has on him when you wrap your legs around him- why else would you keep doing it?

✧ You almost think he is about to protest when you tuck your joined hands into the folds of your clothing, but the shy smile Frodo gives you is encouragement enough.

✧ His whole body relaxes when you rub his back, doing anything in your power to comfort him from the ring’s weight, but at times the look in his eyes tells you he is seeking more than comfort…

Sam

✧ Little does he know his flustered expression when your hands roam only encourages you to continue…

✧ Flusters you back by unexpectedly kissing smears of food off your lips, his tongue swiping out to catch anything he’s missed.

✧ He's nearly always holding your hands, whether it's when you're walking or even sitting, then he rests your joined hands upon his lap, sometimes even pulling yours over to him.

✧ If he isn't holding your hand, then his is resting upon your knee or thigh, roaming ever so slightly especially if you are beneath cover of a table.

✧ Jokes that if you don't keep your hands off him, he'll have to feed you by hand, only to realize that's exactly what you want and give in.

Merry

✧ Comes undone at the way you run your hand down his chest, his breath hitching.

✧ Often walks or stands with a hand upon the small of your back, keeping protective but also the optimal position to give your rear end the occasional squeeze!

✧ Buries his face in your neck when you run your fingers through his hair, distracting you with all the kisses he places there.

✧ Comfortable enough to just reach a hand into your pocket for things, maybe keep it there for a bit, too.

✧ Watch out, he often turns pecks on the cheek into full kisses, turning and taking hold of your cheek at the last minute!

Pippin

✧ Grins wider than anything when you pull him into your chest, especially if the height difference is just the right amount.

✧ Takes you to a meadow where you can lay and laugh and roll around to your heart's content; naturally he ends up on top of you, straddling you and gulping as he glances down, tentatively smiling...

✧ Always happy to coat you with kisses- any inch of bare skin he is granted access to is fair game!

✧ Loves the way you keep your bodies casually intertwined, throwing your legs over his or snuggling into him when you lie together, tangling them completely.

✧ Yet another benefit of wearing a scarf? The way you yank him against your body or into kisses by it, always with great fire and fervor.

Faramir

✧ Develops a little habit of slipping his hands into your sleeves, stroking your arm or simply sharing your warmth in a small intertwined moment.

✧ Eyes you with surprise when you pull his head into your chest, but never shall you hear Faramir complain.

✧ His every touch is reverent, grateful at your trust in him and awed at the beautiful dream that is your body before him.

✧ You will know what touches of yours Faramir appreciates most not only by the hitching of his breath, but by the way his hand will capture yours and hold it where it has made its home.

✧ A flush rises to his cheeks when he is laying there sprawled upon his bed with a book and he feels the weight of your body draping atop his and a lazy kiss to his cheek.

Eomer

✧ Makes his home in the hollow between your shoulder and neck, resting his head and pressing his lips against the crook.

✧ Turns instantly to capture your lips passionately the moment you emerge at his side, breath warm upon the shell of his ear.

✧ If you wear a skirt, watch out for Eomer teasingly lifting up the hem with his foot when only he can see, running it up your leg for good measure.

✧ Wide-eyed the first time you tug on his hair as your lips meet, but the look quickly melts into a smirk.

✧ Given your habit of throwing your legs over Eomer’s lap, the marshal has grown used to the weight upon his body, taking the opportunity to show you a bit of love as he caresses your legs.

Eowyn

✧ The way you two teasingly shove and butt at each other sometimes melts seamlessly into makeouts. Neither of you are quite sure how, it just seems to happen.

✧ Relaxes visibly when you run your hand through her golden hair, sending you the most delicious look of pleasure as your hand combs through her tresses and roams to her neck.

✧ Swept up in it the joy of it all, sometimes you’ll catch Eowyn biting your lip gently as you kiss her.

✧ As you tend to walk with your arms linked, every now and again the fancy will take her to fun her hand up and down yours, bringing her nails gently down.

✧ Always tilts her head to give you greater access when you take to kissing her neck.

Haldir

✧ Shoots you the occasional warning look when your hands roam beneath the potential eye of others, but well aware are you that that is simply the manifestation of how flustered you make him. Not above retaliation, Haldir teases you endlessly in your later time away from those prying gazes when he has you all to himself.

✧ Learns your sweet spot, exactly the spot to kiss, and commits it forever to memory.

✧ One of his favorite things about you is the way you seem to seek him, him of all lucky people, for as much as he teases you he cannot deny he loves the way your hands are always darting toward him.

✧ Spreads his legs when he sits, inviting you to rest between them, your head falling against his chest in surrender to his presence.

✧ Having the cover of trees is truly a blessing, for then Haldir can take you on a 'quick patrol' and make out with you behind a massive trunk unseen.

Galadriel

✧ Smirks mischievously, blue eyes glinting, at the way your hand travels up and down her leg.

✧ Takes your hand sometimes only to draw it closer, bring it to a part of her body in silent, awaiting signal.

✧ Like liquid her body melts into yours when you drape your form atop her, feeling her give into you immediately.

✧ You may initiate the kiss, but with a deep chuckle the Lady of Lórien makes quick work of taking control, her tongue dominating yours.

✧ Great is her happiness upon your habitual reach for her arm to walk side by side with her, bringing her hand, wrist, up to your lips.

Elrond

✧ Never fails to show surprise when you yank him in for yet another kiss, hands falling to his chest. Likes to rest his hands over yours in such moments.

✧ Always helps you undress at the end of the day, motions slow and intent as he unlaces and works, eyes boring into yours.

✧ Presses lingering kisses to your bare shoulders.

✧ Always do his lips brush the shell of your ear when Lord Elrond leans in for a private message, especially if it is one to hold onto for the eventide.

✧ Smiles into every kiss you deepen, grip upon your back tightening as he grants you entry, his tongue welcoming yours into a dance.

Arwen

✧ Gets bolder with your encouragement, laying adjacent to you with her head upon your thighs, her favorite cushion of all.

✧ Leans down to place kisses upon them, sometimes traveling up and down as she goes.

✧ Looks up at you with a mix of love and challenge in her eyes when you hover over her lain form, teasing kiss after kiss from you with a single look.

✧ You can't help but let her run her hands down your chest, not when it brings such a smile of satisfaction to her face.

✧ Adoring the way your hands tend to wrap around her, Arwen nuzzles into your cheek, gently rubbing against yours as she enjoys the contact.

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[mismaeve]

A Bond in Silence

↳ A Bond in Silence, Boromir x G!N Reader ↳ Requested by @wormsmith Word Count: 1.8k TW: slight angst, hurt/comfort, nothing too crazy A/N: My dear friend, thank you for your patience! I know it took a while but it's finally here! I am really hoping that you will enjoy it! As I hope that others will as well! 𓋼𓍊

The sight of him made your heart ache. Weariness appeared to have etched its lines into his face permanently, a furrowed brow now set in stone. The previously hopeful glimmer in his eyes had now turned almost crazed with desperation. You understood his burden only all too well, having lived through it yourself. In another life, in another place that no longer was called home.

Your eyes followed Boromir’s frantic pacing from where you sat perched upon a log next to the small campfire, the crackling flames warming your tired bones after a long day’s journey. The camp was veiled in heavy silence, the tragic passing of Gandalf still lingering in the hearts of the Fellowship, doubts of what would now become of their quest weighing heavily on their minds. Even the hobbits – ordinarily a chattering and merry gang – had become increasingly withdrawn as your journey progressed.

The Fellowship was quiet, barely a dozen words exchanged since you had made camp not too far from the riverbank. The trees provided you with enough cover, and the short distance to the river ensured a quick getaway should the need arise. By the company’s reckoning, you were safe for the night to come.

It was your turn to stand guard and keep a watchful eye for the enemy while the rest slept. You didn’t complain, your sleep had long turned restless and plagued with nightmares too dreadful to ever be spoken about out loud. Vivid dreams that showed a time long gone but never forgotten or forgiven, a family that no longer was among the living. A marble city, once splendid and vast, filled with finery and riches, songs and music – now brought down to a pile of rubble, forever silent where not even ghosts would care to dwell. Was that to be the fate of the White City of Gondor too?

Before your thoughts could drift any deeper into the black pit of heart-wrenching memories, the sound of quiet footsteps caught your trained ear, pulling you out from the horrors of the past and back to the bleakness of your present. You cursed yourself for your reckless behavior – allowing your mind to drift when it had to remain sharp and focused - and counted yourself lucky that the soft and measured steps belonged to your beloved and not an orc with far more questionable intentions.

An endearing smile, beckoned by the love you bore for him, blossomed onto your features as Boromir took a seat next to you, the log groaning and creaking softly in protest of the added weight of pure muscle and unwavering strength. You opened your rather large riding cloak – which happened to double as a sleeping blanket – in an unspoken invitation to share your warmth. Boromir shifted closer, snaking his arm around your waist as you draped your cloak around his broad shoulders before moving your legs to hang over his in an attempt of much desired closeness and belonging.

Huddled underneath your woolen cloak with your head resting comfortably against the crook of his neck, you hummed contentedly as you breathed him in – the familiar scent of Earth intertwined with leather and smoke filling your lungs and warming your heart.

“It’s a true pity indeed, this sense of serenity being nothing more than a false illusion,” Boromir murmured quietly, his velvety voice laced with the weight of his burdens. “I would rather see it for what it truly was – a quiet before a violent storm,” he breathed out.

“Do not despair for not all hope is lost,” you said softly.

“Is it not? My city cannot withstand the evil that would see it burn for much longer. Without aid, even the bravest and most valiant of men will falter and fall.”

You winced at the sound of his words, filled to the brim with his fear for his people, his undying loyalty to his duty as Captain of Gondor. Boromir’s sense of honor would also be his curse and undoing - you thought to yourself but dared not utter the words for you knew that they would fall on deaf ears. He would not hear it, not while unyielding fealty ran as thick as the blood in his veins.

You adjusted your position slightly so that you could face the man who carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders. Unbending and firm in the midst of a raging storm - steadfast and faithful he was - battling the doubt that threatened to take his heart and leave him hopeless and lost.

“Do not be quick to give up on them. Or yourself,” you whispered as your hand went to cup his face, the scruffy stubble prickling and tickling the softness of your palm. “You are strong, as is your city and your people. Do not settle for doubt when your own heart aches for faith.”

Boromir’s grey eyes softened at your words, the depth of his weariness dwindling while he regarded you in loving silence. A ghost of a smile formed on his lips before his own hand went to the back of your neck, pulling you closer and allowing him to plant a tender kiss on your forehead. With closed eyes you hummed in satisfaction as his lips lingered there, seeking solace and companionship, an understanding soul that knew of his burden and offered to share a little bit of it. If only for a heartbeat and a shared breath.

You could hear the river running its course -unbothered and untouched by your cares and burdens- and the sound of crickets, forever the minstrels of the night. The two of you sat silently, sharing this rare moment of peace when you could close your eyes and listen to the world around you and feel content. How painfully few and rare such occasions were, and thus that much more precious beyond any measure.

“Tell me of your home,” Boromir’s voice stirred the pleasant silence between you. An innocent question, a sincere attempt at forming a deeper bond on his part, yet to your heart it was another wound ripped open and bleeding.

“There isn’t much to tell,” you breathed out whilst biting your lip in hesitation. The last thing you wanted for him was the bitter knowledge of faith sometimes not being enough.

“One thing, if it please you. The dawn is hours away yet and I would be glad to learn more about you while we stand guard.”

You sighed quietly in defeat.

“The tale of my home will hardly cheer you. On the contrary, it will only add to our grief. But if that is truly your wish, then I will tell you all of it,” you answered after a while.

Boromir listened as you spoke of the dark smoke and fire that had come to pillage your city. He sat quietly and patiently while you told him of the Mordor-orcs and the Easterlings, and the blind and raging hate they smeared the marble walls with, the reckless and needless death that was dealt that fateful day, when hope was long forgotten, and faith a distant memory of the past. You told him all of it, even as it broke your heart anew, and kindled your guilt and fed your everlasting shame - you told it all and true, to the last bloody and mangled body your eyes saw as you had fled from the doom that had descended upon your home and unleashed its wrath.

“All this time, you’ve carried your past in secret. Why?” Boromir asked once your shameful past had been revealed to him.

“I have been, and still am, ridden with guilt. Nothing I do will ever replace it or lessen it. It is a heavy burden to bear, but it is mine and thus I choose to carry it in silence,” you answered truthfully.

“You are wrong,” he countered at once. “This weight of guilt you carry is unfounded and false. You grieve the loss of your home, and in your grief, you’ve misplaced the blame.”

“Am I not at blame for abandoning my city in its hour of need? Am I not guilty of leaving the people – good and honorable people - to a fate worse than death?” you asked in bitter anger that had taken you without a warning. Anger born and bred by years of merciless resentment towards yourself.

“It would have been a folly to stay. To retreat was your only choice, you must understand that,” Boromir insisted fiercely. “What good would it have done to stay and be slain? There is no honor in death for honor dwells in the hearts of the living, willing to fight, knowing when to retreat and regroup and come down upon one’s enemies with a vengeance in retribution.”

Boromir’s palms went to clasp your face, his grey eyes burning with fierce certainty as he beheld your tearful eyes and quivering lips.

“You had to live that day. You were meant to escape. The dead can’t avenge themselves, but you now can,” his voice was thick with his conviction, his spoken words taking on a ring of prophecy. You could only whimper in response, overwhelmed by the unexpected weightlessness of your heart, no longer chained and smothered by your unjust penitence.

“Do not settle for doubt when your heart aches for faith,” Boromir spoke your own words of wisdom to you, earning him a choked hiccup in response as you felt your spirits slowly lifting through the silver curtain of your tears.

The Captain of Gondor took you in his arms and gently stroked your back while with each new tear that trickled down your cheek you unburdened yourself at last. Shedding years’ worth of anguish and self-loathing, you felt lighter with each loving stroke that dribbled down your back, slow and measured and offered in knowing compassion. A new bond – deeper and stronger – had formed between you, tying your hearts together as one for all the days to come. Long had you understood Boromir’s burden and shared its weight without him knowing or even suspecting. Now he knew and regarded you as a kindred soul, gifted – or plagued – by the same unwavering sense of duty as himself.

“Thank you,” you whispered gratefully and felt his hand pause on your back.

“For what?” Boromir asked in return.

You disentangled yourself from his arms and looked upon his face. His brow was furrowed, marks chiseled by his worries and fears creating a map of all that he had lived through. But there was kindness there too, and wisdom beyond his years shone bright in his eyes. An honorable man bearing an honest face which you had come to love so dearly.

“For giving me hope,” you smiled. For saving me, you thought to yourself. “For allowing me to forgive myself,” you added before leaning in and kissing him softly.

𓋼𓍊 Forever Tag → @heilith @fizzyxcustard @lathalea @kanafinwe-makalaure If anyone wishes to be either removed or added to my taglist, let me know ♡

Gif by → @boromirswife

↳ Requests ↳ Masterlist

[secondratefiction]

could you maybe do Boromir relationship headcanons (or headcanons for him in general)? i love him so much and he deserves happiness

Let me go ahead and put the disclaimer out there ahead of time... your girl has been day drinking, so pls forgive me if things go a little off track, or I miss correcting something...

Also... everything I have so far is an unofficial little series of Boromir x Reader snippets

-

He's secretly a romantic. Maybe not so secretly...

Actually, he's really bad at hiding how much of a sap he is... Faramir teases him relentlessly about this.

Very good about carving out time for his significant other wherever he can... be that asking you along with him when he has to go out on inspections of the surrounding lands, or coming to see you before he heads off on some special assignment by his father that is going to take him away from you for an extended period of time

Man is absolutely infatuated, would move heaven and earth for you. Waltz straight into Mordor if you asked it of him.

Being Denethor's favorite is a double edged sword... so please, even if he acts like he doesn't need it- dote on the man wherever you can.... He's slowly coming to accept that love isn't always conditional.

[lathalea]

Yes, it is finally happening!

Lathalea’s

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If you’ve just ran out of fic ideas or there’s something here that speaks to you, please add one or two prompt numbers to your ask:

1. “I lost my way. Twice.”

2. Regency AU

3. "It was an... accident?"

4. Pirate AU

5. “You did this for me?”

6. Neighbor AU

7. “We could just stay like this, cuddling all night, if that is what you wish."

8. Forbidden Love AU

9. “Whose wedding is this?” “Ours.”

10. Soulmate AU

11. “Tell me what you see.”

12. Library AU

13. “Where am I?”

14. Best Friends AU / Friends to Lovers AU (you pick)

15. “Is anything you say to me true?”

16. Modern AU

17. “The stars are bright tonight, aren't they?" "Not as bright as you…”

18. Stranded AU

19. “This quest is yours alone.”

20. Room Mate AU

21. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

22. Fake Dating/Engagement/Marriage AU

23. “Make a wish.”

24. Amnesia AU

25. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

26. Hurt/Comfort AU

27. “What does your heart tell you?”

28. Meet-awful AU (funny!)

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[southaway]

Boromir for @they-of-clay

[inkedmoth]

Favourite Weather

For Anon, who requested a one-shot of an innkeeper's daughter unwilling to let Boromir continue through the storm. But oops! There's only one room left... Hers. I spent far too long dithering on how far to push the spice, so we have a fade to black to be safe! Hope you enjoy it!

Torrential rain was Eathril’s favourite weather, not only did the steady drumming of rain upon the roof tiles drown out any rowdiness from the common room, but it also covered the sounds from the rooms of the inn, be it snoring or other noises. Rain was calming, it was soothing, and it meant that the inn was utterly filled to capacity, therefore the lockbox would also be full, and they’d be able to eat come winter.

But a storm like this, meant the Silver Stallion Tavern wasn’t just full, but fit to burst.

Already every room in the building had been sold off, the summer traders having gotten in quick and some even doubling up, then the following travellers and merchants had to make do with bedding down in any free corner of the common room or the leaky stables. This late at night, there was scarcely any room to walk, let alone sleep.

Which meant when the room to the inn was flung open as a gust of wind and a figure bullied their way inside, more than a few disgruntled voices rose in protest.

Thankfully the door didn’t remain open for long.

Having almost been finished cleaning up behind the bar, Eathril bit back a sigh of frustration at the sight of water being dripped all over the floor, as the rather tall figure carefully made their way towards her. But she stood up straight, set aside her cleaning rags, and fixed a pleasant if forced smile upon her face.

It was late, she wanted to sleep, and then this hulking great brick outhouse of a man just let half a river and several trees worth of leaves into the common room. The common room she’d only just finished sweeping. Ugh.

“Can I help you?” she asked, through slightly gritted teeth.

“Apologies for the mess.”

Eathril blinked. Those weren’t the words she’d expected to hear, let alone what followed next.

“If you have a brush, I’ll clear it up.” The cloaked and hooded figure was saying, looking back over their shoulder towards the wet trail of dirt and muck. “Since it’s my fault I’ve dirtied your floors, the weather is rather vicious out there…”

She was staring. It wasn’t polite.

He –judging by the voice she was fairly certain it was a he– was tall, having to mind his head least he get clipped by a rafter. Broad too, with a heavy pack on one shoulder, a great round shield strapped to it that looked Rohirric in design, and a long sword at his belt. But beyond that, she couldn’t make out much.

He didn’t seem to be wearing armour like a solider, was he a mercenary? They often meant trouble, and trouble was the last thing she and her father needed with a crowded inn and irritable patrons having to kip on the floor.

Whoever he was, he turned to her, reaching up, and pulling his hood back. Dark hair plastered to his face, a short well-kept beard, and grey eyes with laughter lines at their corners. A gloved hand dragged through his hair, slicking it back out of his face.

He was, admittedly, rather handsome for a mercenary…

“Miss?”

Oh shit she’d been staring she should say something.

“No.” Well that was eloquent. “I mean I’ll clear it up in the morning,” she hastened to add. And then braced for what she had to say next. “But if you’re here for rooms we’re all sold out.”

Judging by the way his broad shoulders dropped in defeat, it had come out a little blunt.

“Ah, I should have guessed,” he said, with a rueful smile that made his grey eyes crinkle pleasantly, “the roads are empty from here to Gondor, as are the streets. I’m not surprised everyone has sought out shelter.”

He… he wasn’t pissed? Annoyed? Upset that there was no room left?

Eathril reassessed her earlier thought of him being a mercenary. He was armed, but so were most men in this region. Was he just a traveller? Although… now his hood was down she could see the collar of his tunic, a rich red satin with gold embroidery. Not a mercenary, or a solider… maybe a lord?

“Is there any chance of a hot meal? Or just a hot drink?” he was asking.

Good grief she needed to stop staring.

“The chefs finished up for the night, but we’ve got some cider warming and I can see about finding some cold cuts if you’d like?” she offered cautiously.

“That would be wonderful, thank you…?”

“Eathril.”

“Thank you, Miss Eathril.”

Gesturing to a barstool for him to settle, she passed him a dry cloth for his hair and face, before setting about finding a mug and plate for him. If he’d been a dick, she’d have quickly turned him away. But no, this possible Lord was surprisingly polite, so since he wasn’t able to stay, the least she could do was feed him and get him something warm to drink. She didn’t know many Lords that would be willing to sweep the floor…

Then again she didn’t know many Lords at all.

“Here you go,” she said upon her return, a tankard of steaming cider, and a plate with the last rolls of bread, several slices of chicken, a few cold roast potatoes, a hunk of cheese, and a slightly bruised apple. “I’m sorry it’s not much.”

“It’s more than enough, thank you Eathril.”

Oh well now she was feeling guilty.

Especially as he tucked into the scant meal as though it was the first food he’d eaten in days. Maybe it was, it had been raining near constantly for the past three, if he’d been caught in the deluge then perhaps he had ridden through it in a bid to find shelter.

Only to find that the inn was full.

And not complained.

Well shit now she really felt guilty…

“Is it just you running this place?” he asked, apparently having noted her watchful gaze.

“No, my da owns it, while I do the accounts and help run the bar,” she replied, moving closer to lean upon the countertop while he ate. “Have you travelled far?”

“From Minas Tirith.”

That was a solid four-day ride east, which meant he probably had ridden through the storm.

“Do you live there?” She already knew the answer to that, could tell by the finery of his clothing, but it was politer to ask than assume. “Are you a lord?”

“I do and I am,” he replied with an amused smile, and then held out a hand to her. “Lord Boromir, at your service.”

Amused, Eathril set her hand in his to shake, and then blinked owlishly as he bowed over her hand. It looked a little ridiculous, considering he was sat down and still had a good foot of height on her, but the intention was there regardless.

She wasn’t a doe-eyed teenager, but she could feel her cheeks burning at that simple gesture.

“You’re more polite than most the Gondorian Lords we get round here.”

The words were blurted in a bid to cover up her flustered reaction, but it was too late to take it back, as Lord Boromir’s brows shot towards his hairline. For a heart-stopping moment, Eathril feared she’d just insulted the man, but then he grinned, a smile so broad and bright it shifted his face from noble to almost… boyish.

“Well I’m both glad and disappointed to hear that,” he replied, finishing his meal and neatly stacking the knife and fork to one side, before wrapping his hands about the warm mug of cider. “Any names you can think of? I can always punish them once I’m back home.”

Alarmed noise rose in her throat, eyes flying wide at the thought.

But then Boromir chuckled, a deep rumbling sound that had Eathril’s stomach flipping. “I jest my Lady—”

“Lady?” she interrupted incredulously.

Ladies of Gondor were tall, elegant, beautiful, sophisticated, with stunning dresses, polite airs and graces, and skilled in conversation, dance, and the arts. She, on the other hand, was a barmaid, too stocky and well-built for her own tastes, and more than a little scuffed up and sweaty from the life of labour, wearing homespun clothing that had been patched one too many times. The one thing she was proud of, her long black hair, was nearly always dragged into a tight bun for practicality’s sakes. No, she wasn’t a Lady, no matter what he might say.

“What part of me makes you think I’m a Lady?”

“All of you.”

The sincerity of his words had Eathril’s mind going blank, staring at him in outright surprise and no small amount of doubt. Another blush was rising to her cheeks, unable to prevent her confused stare at the Lord sat at her bar.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable, forgive me,” Boromir apologised, taking an awkward sip of the warmed cider, as though he needed to give his hands and mouth something to do.

She wasn’t uncomfortable, not really. But watching his hands absently turn the mug, tracing the old engraving across its surface, Eathril found herself wondering what they were like without the gloves. Calloused from years of battle? Scared? Warm? Cold? She wasn’t uncomfortable… and she wouldn’t be complaining if he flirted some more.

 “It’s fine,” she managed to say, voice slightly more breathless than intended. Clearing her throat, Eathril straightened up, gathering his empty plate, intending to return it to the kitchen. “I’m just not used to… compliments.”

“Really?”

Lord Boromir sounded so perplexed by that, that she hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at him from the kitchen door. It wasn’t just his words, even his expression was confused, as though she’d posed him a riddle and demanded an answer. With an amused huff, she’d left him to it, let him wonder, let him puzzle it out.

Stepping into the kitchen, the door swung shut behind her, and Eathril let out a pent-up breath.

Maybe he had an ulterior motive, maybe he was just trying to get into her bed, maybe he was trying to get a free meal and drinks. It didn’t matter, she might not be accustomed to compliments, but that didn’t mean she was oblivious to the manipulation tactics of men. Especially soggy men who were hoping for a soft bed and possibly some company too.

Scraping the remains of food into the waste bucket, she left the plate alongside the sink, she’d see if he needed a refill, and then clean up and turn in for the night.

Stepping back out into the common room, Eathril froze.

The barstool was empty.

Except for two gold set alongside the now empty tankard. Enough for a room, and certainly far more than the meal and drink had been worth.

Had he left?

Shit. He thought she was uncomfortable with his flirting and had decided a fucking rainstorm was the better option? Was he going to sleep in the stables or was he going to keep riding and brave the elements? Was he insane?

Probably.

Which made Eathril utterly batshit crazy when she snatched up a cloak and bolted after him.

The full force of the storm slammed into her the second she made it outside, and the cloak hastily flung about her shoulders was rendered pointless immediately. Rain sleeted into her face, soaking her hair, her clothes, her skin. It felt like she was drowning on dry land.

One hand thrown up to try and shield her eyes, Eathril staggered to the stables, and ducked inside. It was noisy, it was leaking, but at least she could open her eyes, even if she couldn’t hear that well.

“Eathril?”

Thank the Valar he’d not left yet.

“I lied,” she blurted, earning an utterly bewildered look from the Lord in the midst of saddling his horse. Yes apparently the lunatic was planning to keep riding. “There is a room, we, we keep one in reserve for visiting dignitaries.”

A slight lie, since if she knew her Gondorian Lords, Boromir was that dignitary.

For a moment he didn’t move, remaining alongside his large mare, one hand on its mane the other on the leather saddle. But his eyes were very much on her. What must she look like? Shivering, soaked through, stood in the middle of the stables all but begging him not to ride out in the storm.

“You can’t ride out in this, the storm’ll kill you off,” she tried instead.

“It would take more than some rain to kill m—”

As though answering the challenge in his voice, a crack of thunder sounded, rattling the walls of the stable. Eathril jumped, a startled noise leaving her throat, and even Lord Boromir cursed, his horse tossing its head in alarm.

“Please, just, come back inside!”

“Alright, alright,” he relented, “one moment.”

It didn’t take long for him to unsaddle the mare, and even less time to lead her back into the stall and fling a blanket across her back. That done, he gathered up his pack, and joined Eathril at the entrance to the stables. For a moment, the pair watched as the rain moved in clear ripples and waves, the path between the stables and the inn turned into a quagmire. It was a miracle she’d made it to the stables without slipping and breaking her neck.

With a glance up at him, Eathril dragged her cloak tighter about her shoulders, and lead the way.

For all of two steps.

The wind and rain slammed into her, forcing her back a step, almost losing her balance. It was only the broad arm of Boromir hooking about her shoulders that prevented Eathril from taking a nasty tumble. He said something, voice snatched away by the wind, but she found herself tucked against his side, and the pair made it back towards the inn.

It was shockingly quiet once the door shut.

“T-this way,” she chattered, leading him towards a corridor.

On route, she snatched a pair of rough blankets from the storage cupboard, blindly passing one to the Lord following in her footsteps, and wiping at her own face. The spare room wasn’t upstairs with those of the other patrons, but tucked behind the kitchens, utilising the lingering warmth of the hearth. It was smaller, cosy, but the bed was comfortable and there were thick blankets.

Stepping inside, Eathril was quick to move across the room and pull the little lead paned window closed, and the sound of the thunderstorm dropped from a loud roar to a dull hum.

“It-it’s not much, but it’s a room,” she managed to say, beginning to sort the blankets heaped upon the bed, and trying not to drip too much water as she did so.

“This is your room, isn’t it?”

The quiet comment had Eathril pausing in surprise, looking over from where she was turning down the bed, and finding the tall Lord inspecting the shelves by the door. A couple of books, a few nicknacks, gifts from family and friends, dried flowers, and even a few trinkets from traders of distant lands. Boromir was careful to look, but not touch, which she appreciated.

But he’d caught her lie, knew that this room wasn’t reserved for dignitaries.

“It is,” she admitted, turning back to the bed, “w-we’re out of regular rooms, father’s already given up his to a horse trader from Rohan, so now it’s my turn.”

“And where will you sleep…?”

“The kitchens hearth will still be warm,” Eathril answered, turning away from the bed.

“No, no, you remain here, my Lady,” he countered, and picked up the bag he’d set down. “I must insist that you take the bed, I’ll take the kitchens.”

“You’ve already paid good gold for the room, and the bed.”

“I’d rather lose the gold than sleep in your bed while knowing you were uncomfortable.”

Oh.

Oh he was good.

Eathril breathed a laugh shaking her head in mock disbelief.

“I’m insisting you t-take the bed, you’re insisting I take the bed,” she murmured, “both of us are too stubborn to consider the ra-rather obvious solution.”

“And what would that be, my Lady?” he asked, pack now resting on his shoulder, looking fully prepared to head back out into the storm once again, no matter how dangerous it would be. “As far as I’m concerned the answer is clear, you’ll take the bed and I’ll—”

“Join me.”

Whatever Lord Boromir had been intending to say was silenced instantly with a click of teeth. Staring at her once more in confusion and shock, like she was a foe or opponent, he scanned her face for any misgivings, sought out any signs of distrust, of unwillingness.

Arms wrapped about herself to stave of the chill, she met his gaze levelly, watching as he blinked and then gave a low huff of surprise, shaking his head ruefully. Had she crossed a line? She wasn’t quite throwing herself at him, but it made sense to share if they were both so insistent.

“Are you sure, Lady Eathril?”

“I am.”

Apparently the fact she didn’t hesitate or have to reconsider, was surprising, as his brows rose briefly, but was quickly schooled. His head tilted, as though considering her anew, eyes roving across her face before dropping to her soaked clothing.

“Then I’ll see if any of my clothing survived the storm,” Lord Boromir relented, and unbuckled his pack. “And give you a moment to get changed.”

It didn’t take long for him to pull free a shirt and pair of breeches which were mostly dry, at which point he stepped from the room.

And Eathril tried not to exhale explosively.

Valar what had gotten into her, offering a Lord her own room and then suggesting they shared. Good grief was she really deluding herself that he had been flirting?

No, no if he’d been flirting, he’d have not resisted so strongly to sharing her bed, nor would he have stepped out of the room while she changed, or any number of things that he could have used to get closer to her or approach her or, or, or…

Okay maybe she was deluding herself.

Or he was being polite.

Shoving any more salacious thoughts from her mind, Eathril was quick to dry off the best she could. Her hair was damp against her back, but she’d need to leave it loose to dry quicker, and while a braid would have been more appropriate, her scalp felt tight after wearing a bun all day. Changed into one of her nightgowns, she threw a thick shawl about her shoulders in a bid to stave off the chill air, with minimal success.

A light knock at the door had her stomach flipping.

Squashing down that reaction, Eathril opened the door and immediately struggled to keep her eyes on his face.

Lord Boromir was tall, he was broad, he was well built, and that white undershirt was leaving very little to the imagination. Her scandalous thoughts became considerably harder to ignore when his chest was on a level with her eyes, and the dampness of his hair and body had it sticking to his skin in the most interesting of ways.

As the Lord stepped into the room her bed chamber abruptly felt cramped, not cosy. Like there wasn’t enough room, there wasn’t enough space between them. The bed shoved into the corner beneath the window didn’t look large enough anymore. Lord Boromir was tall, his feet were bound to hang off the end of the bed, Valar why did she think this was a good idea.

“I’ll take the window side, if that’s amenable to you?” Boromir offered, lifting a hand to slick his still damp hair back from his face.

The motion drew her eyes to the shift of his muscles.

With a thick swallow, Eathril dragged her eyes to his face, considering his offer. It would mean she’d take the side of the bed closest to the door, which meant she’d be able to leave without having to clamber across the bed, which meant she wasn’t trapped between the wall and this brick outhouse of a man. A surprisingly touching gesture.

“Th-that would be g-good.”

At her stammering, Boromir’s attention landed squarely on her face, brows furrowing in concern.

“You’re shivering,” his voice sounded shockingly loud in the quiet of her room, even with the rain pelting against the glass window.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking, I can see it,” he repeated, “I’ll bring you some cider.”

He turned towards the door and Eathril moved, putting a hand up to stop him, her palm landing squarely against his chest. There was a sharp inhale from him, but she applied pressure, and he stilled, staring down at her.

“I’m fine,” she repeated stubbornly. “T-the bed’ll warm up soon enough.”

He was the guest, if she needed a warming drink, she could get it herself, but right now the bed was far warmer than her room and her room was far warmer than the corridor. She had little intention of leaving it. She would warm up. It would be fine. She just had to wait for the shivers to subside. It would be fine.

A broad hand landed on hers, and with a jolt Eathril realised she’d not removed her hand from his chest.

Valar he was warm. The sheer heat radiating from his chest, from his hand, from his body, was enviable. Apparently noticing how cold her hand was, Boromir took her hands between his and lightly rubbing, breathing into his cupped palms, the heat of his breath tingling across her skin.

It was a kind gesture, but also incredibly… intimate.

A shaky exhale left her lips, and Boromir’s deep grey eyes glanced to her in concern.

“Come here.”

“What?” Her voice was little more than a strangled whisper. “Why?”

“Come, here,” he ordered, and gently pulled her hand.

It was far too easy to obey, too easy to step towards him, too easy to allow herself to be drawn into his warmth. One moment Eathril was trying to keep her distance, the next she’d all but plastered herself to his chest. Head tucking under his chin, face pressed against his collarbones, hands bundling into fists and gripping his shirt.

It was soothing, he was warm, it felt… safe.

Which was ridiculous really, considering he was a total stranger she’d invited into her bedroom on a whim, but at this point she didn’t care.

It would have been embarrassing how she clung to him, if it wasn’t for the fact his own arms had wrapped about her, gently running through her long black hair and moving the damp lengths from her back. His hands smoothed across her shoulder blades, skating up and down her back, gently rubbing warmth into her, the rough skin of his hands snagging lightly on her nightgown.

What would his hands feel like on her skin?

The thought was so unexpected, that a slight jolt ran through Eathril’s body.

Immediately Boromir froze, hands still resting on her back, but ceasing in their path. She didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want his hands to leave her back, didn’t want him to move away or put distance between them.

“Are you alright?” he asked, breath ghosting across the crown of her head.

“Y-eah.”

Fuck, that wasn’t convincing.

“Just cold, but th-this helps,” she forced herself to add, in the hopes his hands would resume their path. To her relief, they swept down her spine again, the motion was enough to have Eathril sighing.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more to warm you.”

“You could.”

The words slipped out without conscious thought, and once again Boromir’s hands froze, as did his breathing, it was only the drumming of his heart against her cheek that told her he was still alive. That was a little concerning.

“Do you want me to get the cider?”

The hoarse offer suggested he was oblivious, or perhaps polite, although Eathril was willing to bet a hefty sum of gold on the later.

“No.”

“Then what do you need?” he asked, voice dropping to a low rumble that made her own body buzz in delight. “What do you want, Eathril? Tell me…”

Nervously licking her lips, Eathril splayed her hands across his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, how his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, how the heat warmed her skin even through his undershirt. She lifted her head, so close to his own face, that their noses grazed, the dark grey of his eyes all but filling her vision.

“You,” she breathed.

There was a surprised inhale, and then shaky exhale, his breath feathering across her skin, scented with the cider she’d given him. Would she be able to taste it if she kissed him?

“Eathril.” Her name was little more than a whisper against her skin. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to.”

Her hands skated over the planes of his torso, fingertips dragging across the stubble at his throat, as she closed the gap between them. His lips were soft and warm beneath her own, hesitant and restrained, gently brushing, cautious and careful.

There was a low groan in his throat.

And then his hands resting against her back increased in pressure, fingers all but digging into her softness, pulling her flush to his chest. Lips moving against his, a thrill running through her body as she felt how eagerly he responded. One of his hands was in her hair, gently tilting her head to a better angle, the other digging into the soft curves of her waist.

There was a soft brush of his tongue across her lower lip, but Eathril didn’t hesitate to respond in parting them. The heat of his mouth was almost overwhelming, the teasing flicks and caresses of his tongue against hers, encouraging her to join, coaxing her to play. She could taste the cider, she could taste him, she wanted more. Hands sliding into his hair, she dragged her short nails across his scalp, and was rewarded with the most delicious groan against her tongue.

He stepped back, and she more than willingly followed, another step, a third, on the fourth, his legs hit something, and the man in her grasp toppled backwards.

Pulled along with his fall, a surprised yelp was pulled from her throat, which became a startled whoof of air as she landed on his chest. Pushing herself up slightly, Eathril found herself… straddling his hips, hands planted in her mattress, staring down at Lord Boromir sprawled on her bed.

That was a little unexpected.

But not unwelcome.

Boromir was panting heavily against her lips, his hands kneading at her flesh, his body pressed against hers. Eathril wanted more, wanted him, needed him. Why did he stop, did he want to stop, why was he stopping—

“Eathril,” Boromir panted, “Eathril, are you sure? You don’t, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

The eagerness of her response wasn’t lost on him, she caught a brief glimpse of a smile pulling at his lips, before his mouth claimed hers once again.

What she didn’t expect, was for his broad hand to drag lower, fingers kneading at her waist, her hip, her ass, her thigh. Each curl of his fingers, each possessive grip dragging a quiet gasp, a whine, a huff from her.

His hand hooked behind her knee and then he rolled towards her.

A startled gasp left her lips, but was quickly soothed away by a myriad of fleeting kisses. The weight of his chest against hers, the feeling of his hips settled between her thighs, the instinctive need to hook her ankles about his waist. It felt like she was burning up, any lingering shivers and chills chased away by the Lord between her legs.

“Valar, you’re stunning.” It felt like she was underwater, his voice muffled as his lips pressed to the soft skin just beneath her ear. “Beautiful.”

“Y-you don’t, have to say that,” she protested, all but panting against him. “You don’t have to lie.”

Lord Boromir froze, growing tense against her, his head lifted from her throat, staring at her with such a heated look, that something tightened about her chest. Pupils blown wide, lips bruised, hair dishevelled from her hands running through it, he looked wild.

He also looked utterly bewildered.

“Lie?” The word was said so incredulously that Eathril winced. “Why would I lie?”

It already felt like her body was burning up, which meant the embarrassment that flooded her face would easily be missed. It became imperative that she not meet the rather intense look in Boromir’s eye, instead finding a great deal of interest in the rafters of her room.

“I’m, I’m not a lady I’m not elegant.” That wasn’t quite what she wanted to say, but it was close enough. “I’m…I’m stocky, I’m strong, well-built, I’m not—”

“And I’m a soldier, not a poet,” Boromir said, making her blink at his words. “I can’t sing your praises, or write sonnets about how your eyes look like starlight, or that your hair looks like the darkest night, or how your skin is sun kissed and golden—”

“I thought you weren’t a poet.”

There was a low chuckle in his chest, head shaking.

“But I can say that you’re beautiful,” he said, and kissed her brow. “Stunning.” A kiss to her cheek. “Gorgeous.” A kiss to her lips. “Lovely.” A kiss to her jaw. “Glorious.” A kiss to her throat. “Divine.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Do you not believe me?” he growled, head lifting just enough to meet her gaze, her stomach flipping pleasantly at the look in his eye.

“No.”

“Hm, then I’ll have to try harder.”

Boromir’s teeth grazed her pulse, making her groan softly, only to be replaced by burning open mouth lathing, his beard brushing across her skin, lips mouth tongue teeth, tracing the precarious neckline of her nightgown.

Eathril was all but panting beneath him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other finding the hem of his shirt, sliding across bare skin, raking her nails through the hair of his chest.

A satisfied growl that rumbled from him, was only reinforced by the nips and sucks along her collarbone. Leaning on one forearm, his free hand had found the bare skin of her calf, and was slowly creeping upwards, rough fingers caressing the back of her knee and earning a shiver, before tracing further.

The hem of her nightgown slid up, exposing her thigh to the cold night air. It should have been cold, but with Lord Boromir kneading at her skin and worshiping her body –worshiping her– with his mouth and tongue and hands and body, Eathril was more than warm enough.

Rumbles of thunder rattled the windows, rain drummed steadily upon the rooftiles, and Eathril’s favourite weather drowned out the sounds of the tavern perfectly.

*

Sunlight slanted through the lead paned windows of her room, spilling across the bed and managing to shine directly into Eathril’s eyes. Squinting against the disturbance, it took a groggy couple of minutes to realise what was wrong.

Maybe not wrong, just… unexpected.

She was warm, tucked beneath the covers and blankets of her bed, and unless she was very much mistaken, naked. That was a little alarming, but with wakefulness came more awareness, and the memory as to why she wasn’t wearing her nightgown.

Oh.

Oh.

A girlish giggle bubbled up in her chest, but didn’t escape past her clamped lips, unwilling to disturb Lord Boromir’s sleep. His muscular arm was slung over her hips, pulling her back against his broad chest, warm breaths brushing the skin of her neck with gently rumbling snores.

He was so warm it took a concentrated effort not to wiggle deeper into his embrace, because as pleasant as this was, it was morning, and that meant there was work to be done. With any luck the chef had gotten in and started on breakfast, which meant she could at least wake Lord Boromir with a hot meal.

Shifting her weight, Eathril started to extricate herself from his arms, only to squeak in surprise as his grip tightened. Dragging backwards, her back pressed against his bare chest as Boromir gave a low grumble in his sleep, fingers curling into the plumpness of her hip, unwilling to let go. His face tucked into the back of her neck, beard grazing her shoulder as he inhaled and sighed heavily.

Maybe she could stay a little longer…

But no, there was the sound of patrons rising for the day, and she really needed to pee.

Another shift of weight had his arm tightening once more, so she changed tack.

“Boromir,” Eathril murmured, “Boromir wake up.”

“Hmmno.”

His voice was so thick was sleep it was a miracle he’d even managed that.

This time, she shifted towards him, and Boromir’s arm loosened just enough for her to roll over. Now face to face, his arm tightened once more until her breasts were flush to his chest, and their legs were tangled. She smoothed her hands across his face and jaw, earning a sleepy grumble.

“Do you want breakfast in bed?” she whispered.

And just as she knew it would, one eye cracked open to peer at her.

“Br’kfst?”

“Mm hm, bacon, eggs, toast, fried tomatoes, mushroo—”

“You?”

A surprised snort left her throat, but she grinned as he smirked at her, starting to actually wake up.

“Only if you let me up to get breakfast first,” she suggested with a cheeky grin.

“Y’drive a hard bargain,” he grumbled.

His mouth found hers, and Eathril almost forgot her plan at the taste of his lips and caress of his tongue. Or would have, if not for the pressure in her bladder.

“Let me up,” she chided, breaking off the kiss, “breakfast first.”

There was a sigh, but the arms about her loosened, and against her own wishes, Eathril rose, finding her nightgown abandoned on the floor, pulling it on and tossing a shawl about her shoulders.

“I won’t be long,” she reassured, looking over to him.

It was an effort to drag her eyes away from the exposed lines of Boromir’s chest, from the sleepy smile on his face, from his dark eyes locked on her. The sunlight streaming through the little window throwing every detail of him, of the Lord in her bed, into stark relief. But Eathril forced herself to go in search of breakfast.

She’d been right, the chef had gotten started, customers were already eating and beginning to get ready to go about their days, and barely anyone’s eyes turned to her as she weaved through the people bare foot and wrapped in a shawl.

With a large plate loaded up for two, she slunk back towards her bedchamber and drew up short at the familiar face leaving the next room down. Her father also paused, eyeing her, and her half-dressed state, eyes dropping to the hefty plate, and then to the door of her room.

A brow raised in silent question.

“A late arrival,” she answered, keeping her voice down, “a lord from Minas Tirith.”

“A lord?” her father asked sceptically.

Two could play at that game, she wasn’t the only one that had sacrificed her chamber for a guest, only to remain with the guest.

“A horse trader?” she countered in challenge.

He was quick to capitulate, hands raised, and palms shown in surrender. “You’re alright though?”

“I am,” she relented, not wanting him to worry, “now shoo, the patrons are leaving.”

Her father rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest as she slipped back into her chambers.

It was nice, eating breakfast with Lord Boromir, settled cross legged on her bed like she’d used to do with the other girls of the village. Talking quietly, stealing glances at one another. Her cheeks ached with how much she was smiling, a near constant blush staining her cheeks at his attention.

But it wouldn’t last, and his next words confirmed it.

“I… need to leave today,” he said quietly, “I have a long road ahead of me.”

She knew that, she truly did, but still Eathril’s stomach sank.

“Will you be travelling back this way?” she managed to ask around the lump in her throat.

“With any luck, yes.”

“Ah, good.” Eathril floundered for the words she wanted to say, but it didn’t take long to find, smile broadening as she said them. “Then I’ll make sure we keep a room set aside for you.”

“Reserved for visiting dignitaries?”

“That’s the one.”

Lord Boromir grinned. “Then I look forwards to it.”

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Hi and congrats on your milestone!! I've been following for a while and it's been awesome to read other matchups and your fics (I'm a little behind but that's what this weekend is for 🤩)

If it's possible to submit a matchup request here are my details:

I'm 32, 5'8, weight is being worked on - back in size 16 pants, Strawberry blonde shoulder length- slightly wavy hair, gold/brown eyes. Pronouns are she/her and I'd like to be matched with a man.

Personality: Overprotective, overthinker, worries about everything, caring, creative, introvert, likes to be competitive and silly sometimes. Aesthetic style: licenced logo shirts - bands, tv shows, movies, anything colourful and cotton based clothing. I dress for comfort rather than fashion and style. Favourite colours: ocean blue or rainbows. Hobbies: Swimming in the ocean, collecting shells and rocks on the beach, browsing new or second-hand bookshops, eating out at fun family or steak restaurants, reading fantasy or scifi books from 90s-2010s.

Favourite movies: What's Your Number? James Cameron's Avatar, Crazy Rich Asians, Sleeping Beauty. Favourite TV shows: Westworld, 1883, Gargoyles, Resident Alien. Favourite artists: Empire of the Sun, Nickelback, Human Nature, Coldplay. Favourite songs: How Bizarre by OMC, Rocketship by Llunr, Friday Night by McFly, I See You by Leona Lewis.

And the three fandoms are Lord of the Rings, Marvel or X-Men, and happy for both platonic and romantic matchups

Thanks and hope you are having a wonderful weekend!

Hi!

:)

I am so glad that you like all my fanfics and matchups! Thank you for all of your support! <33333

I hope you like your matchups!

(I'm nervous, I had a lot of fun with this, and gosh, I felt like I rambled a bit)

<3333333

Enjoy!

<3333333333

Romantic and Platonic Matchups; Lord Of The Rings, Marvel, and X-Men

~~~

Romantic;

~~~

Lord Of The Rings;

Boromir -

You were personally asked by Elrond and Gandalf to join the Fellowship, knowing your unique skills and strength would be an asset to the quest.

While you were honored, you worried about the dangers ahead and overthought every possible worst-case scenario before agreeing.

Boromir wasn’t sure about you at first - not because he doubted your abilities, but because he worried about another person being burdened with this dangerous task.

He could tell you had a thoughtful mind and a caring heart, and in his experience, those were the ones who carried the heaviest grief when things went wrong.

The first time he really took notice of you was when you expertly navigated a difficult terrain, finding a path for the Fellowship that was much safer than the one Aragorn had suggested.

He respected your intelligence and attention to detail from then on.

Boromir quickly took on a protective role with you, always making sure you were safe in battle and watching your back.

While at first, you found it unnecessary (you were more than capable of handling yourself), you soon realized it was just his nature to care deeply for his comrades.

You two bonded over collecting little things from your travels - while you picked up interesting shells and rocks, Boromir would sometimes carve small wooden tokens or keep trinkets from places you passed through.

He once found a riverstone in Rohan and gave it to you, saying it reminded him of you.

You both had a competitive streak and often challenged each other to small competitions - who could walk the farthest without stepping on a crack in the path, who could catch the most fish, and once (to Aragorn’s horror), a wrestling match where you actually managed to take Boromir by surprise and pin him for half a second before he flipped you over.

He loved your humor, your sarcasm, and the way you could bring light to even the darkest days of the journey.

He often teased you, calling you "the Fellowship’s secret weapon", because you could outthink any situation and keep everyone in good spirits.

Boromir was the last person to realize his feelings.

Everyone else noticed the way he watched you, the way he automatically reached out to steady you whenever the ground was rough, and the way he seemed to listen to you more than anyone else.

He hated seeing you stressed or overthinking things.

He would always tell you, “Do not trouble yourself with worry. We will see this through. Together.”

The moment he realized how deeply he cared for you was when you got injured during a skirmish.

You brushed it off, but he refused to leave your side for the rest of the night, making sure you had water, food, and rest.

When Aragorn joked that you were in good hands, Boromir just nodded, not even arguing.

You started feeling the same way when you realized Boromir made you feel safe - not just physically, but emotionally.

He never dismissed your worries, but instead, reassured you that he would carry some of them for you.

It happened one quiet evening when the Fellowship was resting.

You were both sitting together, talking in hushed voices while everyone else was sleeping.

You mentioned that you feared what would happen after the quest, and he simply said, “Whatever happens, I will be at your side.” When you looked at him, confused, he sighed and finally admitted, “I would follow you anywhere. Not because of duty, but because I do not wish to part from you.”

He was nervous - Boromir was a strong man, a warrior, but when it came to emotions, he was unsure.

When you reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly, he finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

Boromir is the definition of protective.

He’s always looking out for you, always ready to put himself between you and danger.

He’s surprisingly affectionate - he’ll drape his cloak over you when you’re cold, sit close to you by the fire, and sometimes, when he thinks no one is looking, brush his fingers against yours just to feel you there.

He loves to hear you talk about the ocean.

He has never seen it, and he always asks you to describe it to him, picturing it in his mind.

He swears, “When this is over, I will take you to see it. I want to see it through your eyes.”

You love watching him train with his sword, and sometimes, he’ll offer to teach you a few moves.

The training sessions often end in laughter, especially when he exaggerates his movements to make you laugh.

He loves the way you take time to collect small, beautiful things.

After the journey and the defeat of the ring.

(Boromir isn't dead, but Denethor is-)

One day, he hands you a small, silver pendant in the shape of a wave.

“I had this made for you in Gondor,” He says gruffly, looking away as if embarrassed. “I thought you should have something to remind you of the sea.”

You take care of him in return, making sure he doesn’t carry too much weight on his shoulders.

You remind him that he is allowed to be vulnerable and that he doesn’t have to bear every burden alone.

When you finally do reach the sea together, he is speechless.

He stands there, watching the waves crash, before looking at you with a soft, awe-struck expression.

“It is as beautiful as you said. But I think it is even more so because you are here.”

Simple domestic moments would involve him helping you gather books to read at night, sitting beside you as you get lost in a fantasy tale, his fingers occasionally brushing against your hand.

He loves running his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, especially when you’re sitting together after a long day.

Boromir isn’t a poet, but he always finds simple ways to make you feel loved.

When you’re feeling anxious, he will press his forehead against yours and say, “You are not alone.”

He teaches you Gondorian songs, sometimes humming them softly as you drift off to sleep.

He will absolutely carry you if you’re tired.

You can protest all you want, but he’ll just smirk and say, “It’s either this, or you sleep on the road.”

If you ever cry, he will sit with you, hold you close, and let you have your moment.

~~~

Marvel;

Thor Odinson -

You were already part of the Avengers when you met Thor, your magical abilities catching the attention of the team.

Your powers resembled telekinesis, and it was clear you had a vast, untapped potential.

Thor was immediately intrigued by your strength and grace.

The first time you met, he was more than a little over-the-top in his greeting, which you found endearing, despite his boisterous nature.

He introduced himself with the charm only a god could possess.

“I am Thor, son of Odin, and this…” He gestured to you grandly, “Is a fine day to meet one so powerful!”

You were taken aback by his size and demeanor at first, but once you saw the warm smile behind that godly exterior, you couldn’t help but smile back.

Thor was genuine in his admiration for you from the start.

He liked that you were powerful and kind, two traits he deeply respected.

He instantly began to watch your powers in awe, asking you how you did what you did, always interested in learning more.

You two bonded over your shared experiences of having powers that were at times overwhelming and unpredictable.

Thor could relate to that - his own powers came with immense responsibility and control, which wasn’t always easy.

There was a bit of playful rivalry at first between you both.

He loved hearing about your interests, especially when you talked about your love for fantasy novels.

You’d spend time swapping stories about your adventures, and Thor would often tell you about his travels across realms, making you laugh with his overly dramatic retellings.

“And then, with the might of Mjolnir, I sent the beast flying through the air, and-”

You’d tease him, “You always leave out the part where you almost fell off the cliff after, though.”

He’d listen intently whenever you talked about your worries.

He might be a god, but that didn’t make him blind to human struggles.

He was there for you, always.

You realized your feelings for Thor the more time you spent together.

It was when you caught yourself smiling whenever he spoke, and how your heart skipped a beat whenever he would look at you with that unguarded softness.

Thor, on the other hand, took a bit longer.

Oblivious boi~

He wasn’t sure if you were simply being friendly or if there was something deeper there.

But when he started to notice how you would worry about him, especially after dangerous missions, he began to understand.

Your kindness, your attention, your way of caring - he realized that you made him feel truly alive in a way he hadn’t in centuries.

One evening, after a particularly grueling mission, you both sat together on the roof of the Avengers compound, watching the stars.

You didn’t speak at first, but when Thor reached over and brushed your hand lightly, it was like everything fell into place for him.

But his time to go back to Asgard was approaching fast.

“I do not wish to leave without you, my star,” He said softly, his voice unusually quiet.

Your heart clenched at his words.

You reached for his hand, holding it tightly. “I wish I could come with you.”

"Then come with me." He spoke, "To Asgard."

That moment sealed it for both of you.

The unspoken feelings were there, and you both couldn’t deny them anymore.

Thor didn’t know how to confess his feelings.

He wasn’t one for subtlety, but when he did try to speak about his emotions, he could barely find the words.

So, on one of the many balconies in the castle of Asgard, Thor finally spoke.

“I have seen many things in my time, but none have captivated me as you do,” He said, the words finally tumbling out.

You turned to him, heart racing. “Thor…”

He smiled, that same easy smile, but there was something more behind it now.

“I find that I cannot imagine my days without you in them. You make everything brighter, even on the darkest days.”

You both laughed, nervous and giddy at the same time.

Thor was a god, but at that moment, he was just a man who had fallen in love with you.

You spent your days together, training, laughing, and sometimes, just sitting together in quiet understanding.

Thor often pulled you aside when you were having a rough day, offering comfort and companionship without asking for anything in return.

Your relationship was simple yet profound - Thor would hold you after a tough mission, letting you rest your head on his broad shoulder while he stroked your hair gently.

He would surprise you with small gestures of affection: a bouquet of wildflowers, a warm cup of tea after a long day, or a handwritten note left by your bedside.

He loved spoiling you, but not in a flashy way - just little things that showed you how much he cared.

He was surprisingly shy when it came to expressing his deeper feelings, often tripping over words or becoming embarrassed.

In return, you would always reassure him that you loved his sincerity and that he didn’t need to be anything but himself.

You loved how he would make you laugh, even when the world seemed like it was falling apart.

Thor would often carry you on his shoulders after a long day, making you laugh as he pretended to be your personal “chariot of the gods.”

When you were both alone, he would rest his head on your lap, closing his eyes with a content sigh, while you gently stroked his hair.

He liked to surprise you with your favorite meals, especially when he learned about your love for certain foods from Earth.

He would try to cook them himself, often making a mess, but always with the best intentions.

Thor would also love to pick you up and spin you around when you weren’t expecting it, making you laugh uncontrollably.

~~~

X-Men;

Charles Xavier -

Charles found you one day, wandering through a second-hand bookstore in a quiet little town.

You were picking through a pile of dusty books when he noticed you, quietly flipping through a book of ancient lore.

He was immediately intrigued by you since he knew that you were a mutant.

You know, he can tell with those things.

He approached you gently, using his telepathy to read your curiosity, and asked you about the book you were holding.

When you looked up at him, there was a flash of recognition in your eyes - another mutant.

"You're like me." You had spoken.

Charles introduced himself as Professor Xavier and mentioned that he ran a school for gifted individuals, offering you a place there if you ever decided to join.

He sensed you were apprehensive but kind-hearted, and knew you’d fit in perfectly.

Charles respected your quiet nature, knowing that you liked to keep to yourself.

He admired how intelligent you were, especially with your love for books and deep interest in learning.

He started having you help with the school library, knowing you’d take care of the books with the same meticulous care that you gave to everything in your life.

You’d often find each other in the library late at night, quietly organizing the shelves or reading together.

He’d tell you stories about his own life, sharing his hopes and dreams for the future.

You would listen, offer support, and, on occasion, suggest a book he could read to relax.

Your friendship grew naturally, and soon, you were one of the most trusted people at the mansion.

Charles came to rely on your opinion, knowing that you were one of the few who would always tell him the truth, even when it was difficult.

As time went on, you began to notice the little things about Charles that set him apart from others - the way his smile would light up when he was genuinely happy, the way he’d listen intently when you spoke, and the quiet moments when he would show vulnerability, opening up about his past.

Charles, on the other hand, began to feel an intense pull towards you.

He’d catch himself staring at you during your late-night study sessions, or when you’d quietly read in the corner of the room.

You had a quiet strength about you that he found incredibly alluring.

It wasn’t just your mind - it was the way you saw the world, the way you always managed to stay calm and grounded even when things were chaotic.

You were the first person he could truly open up to without fear of judgment.

And in return, you began to admire him for more than just his intellect.

You saw the kindness and care that radiated from him, and it made your heart beat a little faster each time you saw him.

The confession came one evening when Charles was feeling particularly vulnerable.

He had just finished a meeting with the students, and he was exhausted from trying to juggle so many responsibilities.

You found him alone in the garden, staring up at the stars, lost in thought.

You sat beside him, offering him quiet company, which he appreciated more than words could say.

Without warning, Charles turned to you, “I cannot pretend any longer,” He said, his voice soft but firm. “I find that you are always on my mind, and I cannot imagine my days without you in them.”

You were taken aback, but when you looked into his eyes, you saw nothing but sincerity. “Charles, I…”

You couldn’t find the words, but your heart said it all.

He smiled gently, understanding the quiet way you expressed yourself.

“I would like to take care of you. You mean more to me than anyone ever has.”

As a couple, Charles would always encourage you to pursue your dreams and help you grow in any way he could.

He’d offer you support, whether it was telepathically guiding you through difficult decisions or just being there when you needed someone to lean on.

You often spent time together talking late into the night, discussing everything from philosophy to your childhood memories.

Charles had a way of making you feel safe, and you would find yourself seeking out his company after long, stressful days.

There was something deeply intimate about the way you both shared your lives.

Charles loved that you took the time to get to know him for who he truly was - beyond his powers and the weight of his responsibilities.

Charles would often surprise you with quiet moments, like sending you a book he thought you’d enjoy or asking you to meet him in the garden to stargaze together.

He loved listening to your thoughts without intruding, letting you talk freely about whatever was on your mind, and always validating your emotions.

He would leave little notes in your room, hidden in places only you would find, telling you how much he appreciated you and how happy he was to have you in his life.

Charles would often take you to a quiet spot, just the two of you, where he could hold you close and whisper how much you meant to him, knowing you could feel his sincerity even in his softest words.

~~~

Platonic;

~~~

Lord Of The Rings;

Aragorn -

Unlike most, you didn’t barrage him with questions or demand stories of adventure - you simply shared a companionable silence, which intrigued him.

You were the type of person who observed rather than spoke, and Aragorn found himself gravitating toward your presence, appreciating the peace you provided in contrast to the chaotic world he often navigated.

Your bond grew through quiet moments by the fire - him sharpening his sword, you browsing through an old book you found.

Occasionally, he would ask about what you were reading, and you’d end up in a deep discussion about fictional worlds, comparing them to the lands of Middle-earth.

Aragorn admired your creativity, often asking about the stories you wrote in your spare time, and he would even try to come up with tales of his own for fun (though he’d insist he wasn’t much of a storyteller).

He noticed how overprotective you were of your friends, and though he never said it outright, he deeply respected that trait.

In return, he made it clear he always had your back - whether it was keeping an eye out while you wandered alone or subtly stepping in if someone made you uncomfortable.

Long walks in nature.

Sometimes, no words are needed - just the sounds of the wind, birds, and footsteps.

Aragorn understood the comfort in quiet companionship.

Searching for unique rocks and shells while traveling.

You once found a particularly smooth stone that reminded you of the ocean, and Aragorn kept it as a good luck charm in his pouch.

Occasionally humming a tune or singing softly while tending a fire.

He found your voice calming and often encouraged you to share more.

~~~

Marvel;

Natasha Romanoff -

At first, she didn’t pay you much mind - she was always on guard, especially with new people.

But she couldn’t ignore your wit, sarcasm, and ability to make her laugh when she least expected it.

Despite your introversion, Natasha found it easy to talk to you.

You had a way of making people feel safe, and she valued that more than she could ever express.

She’d tease you about how much you overthink things, but at the same time, she’d help ground you when you started spiraling.

“You’re worrying about things that haven’t happened yet,” She’d say, pushing a plate of food toward you. “Eat first, panic later.”

Natasha loved how competitive you could get - it made things fun.

Whether it was a playful argument over who could run faster or who knew more random trivia, she enjoyed having a friend who didn’t back down.

Training sessions.

Natasha insisted on teaching you self-defense, even if you weren’t keen on fighting.

“You never know when you’ll need it,” She said, smirking.

Late-night drives.

Natasha wasn’t the type to sit still for long, and sometimes she just needed to escape for a while.

She’d bring you along, blasting music and letting you pick the playlist.

Bookstore browsing.

She wasn’t a huge reader, but she enjoyed watching you get excited about old fantasy and sci-fi books.

Occasionally, she’d pick one up just to have something to talk about with you later.

~~~

X-Men;

Ororo Munroe (Storm) -

You were the quiet guardian of the X-Mansion’s library, keeping the shelves organized and helping students find books.

Ororo had always loved literature, and naturally, she frequented the library often.

The first time she saw you carefully repairing an old, torn book, she smiled and struck up a conversation about your love for preserving stories.

Ororo admired your patience and your creativity.

She often sat with you in the library just to enjoy the peace, sometimes reading together in comfortable silence.

She found your love for ocean blue and rainbows beautiful - so much so that, one day, she brought you a tiny prism to hang in the window, letting the sun scatter colors across your desk.

She understood your overthinking tendencies and always knew how to calm you down, whether it was with soft-spoken reassurance or a gentle breeze carrying the scent of fresh rain through the open window.

Beach days.

If there was anyone who could ensure perfect weather for a day at the ocean, it was Ororo.

She loved watching how at peace you looked while swimming, and she’d collect unique shells to give you later.

Reading under the stars.

Some nights, she’d take you to the mansion’s rooftop, where you’d both read or talk about the things you wished to create.

Cooking together.

Ororo had a knack for making simple but delicious meals, and she loved having you in the kitchen with her, even if you were just taste-testing.

[live-laugh-legolas]

I’ve never written any sort of fan fiction or anything but I have wanted to and I’ve decided to just fucking do it lol.

Preferences, short one shots, or head-canons seem like a good place to start so please send some ideas, I would much appreciate it :)

I’ll do anyone in the fellowship

[thelien-art]

Gasp! Pride requests? Yes! How about Ace Boromir and Trans Faramir please please! Queer Gondor brothers YES!

They´re the most wholesome brothers ever.

🏳️‍🌈CELEBRATE PRIDE WITH ME🏳️‍🌈 - send in a character or a ship with a pride flag and I´ll draw it

[borom1r]

Hobbit heart gifs!!

(requested by @spngingerbread21)

[edges-of-night]

I love your headcannons, thank you very much. How do you think fellowship would react if a reader saw two cute animals and said, "Oh, it's you and me!"

Thank you very much! I’m happy to hear you enjoy this little blog ♡ Another animal request, with another anon who asked for this, too – this prompt is super cute, I hope I did it justice!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

You’re gazing at a golden twilight forest with Aragorn when you spot two deer in the distance. Just like you, one rests its head against the other. “Look,” you chuckle quietly, “it’s you and me.” Aragorn smiles as he follows your gaze. When one of the deer nuzzles the other’s ear, he, too, leans in to give you a kiss. “What an uncanny resemblance, my love,” he says and pulls you even closer.

.

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir is scandalised when you suggest that the two cats crossing your path are “just like you and me.” He has heard stories of the ruthless Gondorian queen who used felines as her spies and flinches when one of the cats hisses at him. You go to pet it instead, and it softens and purrs – just like Boromir does when you caress him – but you don’t say that part out loud ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

You and Frodo share a cool carafe of strawberry lemonade when two butterflies flutter to the flower field beside you. “Look at those,” you say, “they’re just like you and me.” – “Sharing a delicious drink in the sunlight,” Frodo agrees with a dreamy smile. You keep watching the butterflies until one of them flies right into your face. “It gave you a kiss. I shall do the same,” Frodo says and leans in to peck you ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

You’re travelling the Shire’s hills in Gandalf’s wooden cart when two sparrows almost fly right into you. You flinch but realise they’re only doing their Spring dance through the morning air – a couple! “They’re like you and me!” you laugh. Gandalf gives you an amused look. “What a subtle way to tell me we’re going to dance at tonight’s party.” – “Indeed,” you grin.

.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Watching the puppies play on the ground makes you soften. When one of them bites another’s ear, you playfully nudge Gimli’s head – he’s been sitting silently next to you until now. “What?” he grunts. “The dogs are doing it,” you argue with a grin. Your Dwarf protests at first about this comparison. The two of you, dogs? “I reckon it is true though,” he muses. “We are both very loyal after all. And we like food. And games. And…”

.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

You’re making your way through Mirkwood with Legolas, crossing a tree over a small pond where you make a curious observation: “Look! The toad and dragonfly are sharing a lily pad.” You snort. “They remind me of you and me.” – “Indeed! The sunlight reflects on its wings just like in your eyes, in all the colours of the sky.” You blush and wonder whether or not Legolas knew you meant it the other way around.

.

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Merry is a bit sensitive about his height, but that doesn’t stop you from comparing the two of you to the horse and the pony you spot in Bree. “Hey! I’ll have you know,” Merry begins, “that ponies are very sturdy and resilient.” – “I know. Just like Hobbits.” – Merry pouts at that comment and crosses his arms, murmuring, “Fine. Just don’t braid my hair like that pony’s.” – “Perhaps…”

.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

After a proper picnic, you lie in a meadow with Pippin. Purely by chance you look to your right when two bunnies scamper out of the bushes to eat some grass. You grin and whisper, “Don’t move too fast now, but there’s tiny versions of you and me over there.” – “Tinier than me?” Pippin asks and rolls over to watch the bunnies over your belly. “Aww! They’re mighty cute, but so are we!”

.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

You watch fondly when two ladybugs crawl over Sam’s hands, dirty from gardening but still gentle to the bugs. You smile when you hear your Hobbit talking quietly: “Right. Let me get up… there you go… over here it’s safer for you. A flower house.” You tilt your head at him. “Moving in together? Just like the two of us, you mean?” – “Hm? What? Sorry, luv, I wasn’t listenin’ there.” – “Oh, nothing…” ♡

[shirefantasies]

Hey! Recently finished LotR for the first time and just wanted to thank you for sharing so much amazing writing with the fandom!

I was wondering, after reading the how many children they’d like hcs, if you’d be comfortable writing some characters(personally requesting Legolas and Eowyn, but whoever you’d wish of course!) meeting their(/them and their partner’s if they already have children ofc) firstborn!

Either way! Tysm for reading and have an amazing day!!

Forgot I had one more finished draft lmao sorry everyone🤙🏻 here's one more post

Bro OF COURSE I love doing parent AU stuff!!! This is such a cute imagine omg. Also thanks for the kind words & welcome to the fandom 🥰 consider this part 2 of the pregnancy headcanons~

Warnings: some descriptions/mentions of childbirth/labor pain/blood (not too graphic though!)

LoTR Characters Meeting Your First Child Together (Wife!Reader)

Aragorn

Concern paints your husband's handsome features, furrowing his dark brow and glittering deeply in his blue eyes at your sudden, frantic motions. You are too quiet, too focused. Hiding something, perhaps? "What troubles you?" Aragorn asks, moving to your side, a hand caressing your shoulder as he breathes your name. Eyes widening, you start for a moment before deflating in a sigh. "I think the baby is coming. But I did not wish to worry you until I was certain, until I had more prepared and-" Saying your name, this time a little more firmly and a lot more lovingly, Aragorn takes your hand. "Worry me? Cast all your worries upon me. I am your husband. My heart is yours, and my service. Come, we will go to the healing halls at once."

~

Aragorn smooths your hair, wincing as you cry out and calmly whispering encouragement. He quiets you down as the pain and stress wash over you in nearly blinding waves, your body writhing with each push. Hours pass like this, Aragorn your one anchor until finally, blessedly, your body can fall limp against your sickbed and pant and sigh in relief, the babe proclaimed healthy and taken to be soothed and cleaned. "What a marvel. Truly you prove strength beyond measure every day. Beyond that, I simply love you more every day," he adds with a smile. Leaning up to kiss him, you fix your husband with tired eyes, loving gaze broken only by the midwives' calls. "My king," they say, "a son was born to you! The prince of Gondor!" "A son," you repeat, finally breaking back into a grin as you accept your little boy. Aragorn looks down upon him too with as wide a smile, greeting him in Elvish. "My son," he says, "how loved you are, and how blessed are we your parents. May you grow strong, healthy, happy, our little gift."

Legolas

Even as far as you had gotten, an unspoken fear had crept up between you and your husband until the very day of your labor, but your twins held fast. Such a thought echoed through your mind as much as you could bear to will it between the waves of pain. They held fast, and so would you, your husband at your side stroking your head and holding your hand, whispering calming words in the language of his people. Through tears, you smiled at the beautiful sound, at Legolas's constant reminders that you are strong, you are the most amazing gift the prince has born witness to in hundreds of years. He reminded you to look into his eyes as you were urged to push harder, your hips burning like never before...

~

"A son. A son and a daughter,” Legolas breathed, pulling you and both your twins into a gentle embrace. “And my wife. What more could I desire? Nothing. Nothing indeed.” You feel moisture, realize a tear has slid from Legolas’s eye to your hand, and reaching up you dry his eye before bringing your hand down to stroke the side of his face. You can feel the bags of exhaustion circling your eyes and your whole body aches, but all you can do is smile, smile until your face is just as sore; with your aching pleasure glowing throughout you nuzzle the babe in your arms, your son. “Our dreams are finally reality, Legolas. I would ask for no more either.”

Boromir

"What for it? What can I do?" Boromir is less calm than you expected at your sudden pain, the downward rush you can only assume is the baby coming. Not that you have told him that already. "Let us go to the healers." You try to steady your breathing, praying your water will hold out and break only upon entry to the home of the dear friend you'd selected to aid in your birth. Grateful are you for the grasp of your husband’s hand and the strength with which his arm raises you, tugging you against him for support, even if you feel his heart racing like mad when your hand falls against his chest.

~

For hours you toiled, your body rent and torn in creative horror as Boromir tried his best with jokes and sweet words to keep your wits about you… for far shorter hours than usual in your friend’s words. “I find that hard to believe,” you panted as she cleaned the child. “No, truly that was quite amazing,” your friend shot back, stepping back your way with a bundle in her hands, “We’ve had them take twenty hours before. Five is quite fast I daresay.” Every orifice in your body cried out with pain, so all you could do was incline your head until you raised it again, saw the child in her outstretched arms and felt your lips part in amazement. Eyes still closed, your child groped for you, stilling a bit in satisfaction upon your acceptance, feeling the weight fall and rest gently upon your chest. “Impatient little man and with some fire too! He fought against cleaning quite well.” “Little man?” Boromir’s head snapped so rapidly up to your friend and back to your baby you thought he might snap something. “We have a son?” “Indeed you do, you old dog, you,” she grinned. “It’s a boy!” He shouted gleefully, one hand resting firmly between your son’s and the other cupping your cheek and yanking your lips to smash against his. When Boromir pulled away, he laughed aloud, hearty and triumphant. “Bless him and bless you for giving him to me! I never knew I could be this happy, love!” Your smile widened to match his grin. Suddenly your pain didn’t seem quite so bad.

Gimli

“Push! Push!” “Am I not?!” You reply, uncaring of the raise of your voice or the vice of your hand about your husband’s. For his part and quite in spite of himself, Gimli must laugh, for such was the fire that stole his heart some time ago and the fire from which your newest love was forged- though not without some trouble first. Chip off the ol’ block, indeed! “That’s it, that’s it,” the healer encouraged, “yer doin’ great, lassie!” “Doesn’t feel like it!” Even as he winces in pain by your iron grip, Gimli chuckles again.

~

“A healthy little lad!” Six more hours have passed, but finally he’s in hand and you won’t give him up for anything. Except Gimli- he is the only one to survive your death glares when he reaches for your son, and pushing some hair off his shoulder he gently extends his arms further when you acquiesce. His lips part in an o of endearment and shock at your son, crying moments ago but now laying peacefully in his father's arms. Breaking into a wide smile, Gimli stares down with moist eyes and it is like time is frozen. “My son,” he half-declares, half-sobs. His gaze tears from the babe after a minute or two only to meet yours and bring a wide, triumphant smile to his face. "And most importantly, son of the fairest this earth has yet set forth, she who gave herself that he should be here. You did wonderful, my love. Thank you." "Thank you for being his father," you reply, "and for loving me through it all, even when I was quite ugly about it." "Ah..." Gimli replies diplomatically, "you were in a great deal of pain." Of course he forgives you, he worships the ground you walk on, after all, and you have just gifted him the honor of a son, a little flame all his own! And who, the dwarf suspects with another smile, shall look a lot like his father too!

Frodo

Frodo walked you all the way to the bed and laid you down by himself before he would finally relinquish any care of you to the midwife, despite the fact that he had selected her. You knew it was borne of no distrust of her, however, only a sign of the immense care in his heart he felt for you and the sum of all the kindnesses done upon Frodo in his most difficult years. When you love someone, after all, you carry them up a mountain. You lay them down and take their hand and kiss their forehead, telling them you will never leave them in their greatest pain. Just as your husband now did, just as he spoke upon cradling you close, grip only tightening as you cried out in pain.

~

"You're doing so well," Frodo encouraged during your last pushes, stroking your sweat-beaded forehead, "This is almost over." Indeed it was, for minutes later your final whimper broke Frodo's heart, sending spikes of dread shooting down his spine until a new set of cries stopped them cold. "She's here," the midwife tells you, standing up and fetching the cloths she'd dunked earlier. "A girl," Frodo breathes, "A little girl!" "Our little girl," you agree, reaching out to accept the tiny babe. Frodo's heart melts at her now-calmed face, the way her tiny eyelids flutter and the spray of tiny dark curls already visible on her head. "Hello there," he whispers, "my beautiful little girl. Never did I think my heart could give any more, and yet here it is, doubly taken."

Sam

"What's wrong? You look a little peaky. Here, why don't we-" "Sam, I'm fine. I just think I twisted my- hngh!" Crumpling in half with a grunt of pain you cannot even complete your sentence. Sam is rushing to your side, taking your hand and leading you back to your shared bedroom. "Shh, shh, it's going to be ok, you'll see. I'll get the midwife and she'll know everything to do, alright?" Sam's green eyes are warm as ever, his tone the sweetest and most soothing thing you've ever heard and ever will. Despite the waves of pain and the gush you begin to feel soaking the sheets around you, you find yourself nodding and willing up a faint smile.

~

"You're a strong lass, aren't you?" The midwife remarks as Sam returns to the room with more boiled water, looking at you with wonder in her pale blue eyes. Panting, you manage to reply that you suppose so with a faint smile of amusement before being wracked with the pain of another contraction. The only thing that keeps you going is the way your husband is there, leaving only to help you both before tumbling back against the bedframe to grip your hand, never once losing his smile even as you crushed the life out of him. It feels like a lifetime and yet no time before cries fill the room, your head immediately whipping to Sam's and meeting the tears spiling from his kind, loving eyes. "You did it," he whispers your name with awe, kissing your head, then your cheeks sweetly and softly again and again until the midwife is ready with your bundle of joy. "She's beautiful," the older hobbit comments, handing your baby off to you and beaming as you pull your daughter into your chest, loosening her swaddle enough to see her peaceful face. "Lovely," Sam replies, tone even more awed now despite its faint sob, "she looks like her mother. Her mother who worked so hard. Look, she has your hair." "She sure does," you agree, "but I hope she got your eyes." "Nah," he shook his head, "that can be the next one. I love that she's the spitting image. You've earned it after all that, I fear." You laugh at that, still smiling down at your daughter's face, which is still red and calming from her cries of alarm. "That I have. But the only reason I could at all was because of you, Sam." Tears falling anew, he shakes his head one more time. "The thanks are all yours. I knew you could do it all along. It's 'cause of you we have our little beauty."

Merry

"Come on, come on, that's it," Merry coaxed, lowering you down into the squatting position you'd asked for. Inside he was screaming bloody murder, but it was no good letting you know that, not when he had a duty to do and the most important one at that. No indeed, courage was far beyond necessary. Just as he'd had on the battlefield, he was to have with you. For you. Merry only could thank his lucky stars that you began your labor at home while he was there. Once you'd gotten settled, he reluctantly began to pull away his hand from yours, face falling at the way your fingers trembled. "I'm just going to get help. I'll come right back for you." "I know," you whispered with a smile, and just as it had been broken Merry's heart was up and skipping beats.

~

What a good sport the midwife was, for she had been in the middle of her afternoon tea when Merry found her, but never had he seen a napkin thrown down so fast. She rushed with him back to you and found you there still squatting and wincing, this time with sweat beading upon your brow. For hours there you remained, flanked on both sides by husband and midwife, until suddenly your skirts were lifted even further and the lady was calling "He's out!" You cried out in pain and relief and Merry just laughed and gave a big smile before remembering you, looking down at you with great concern. At that, you gave a chuckle of your own. "Sounds like we have a son, Merry." "We have a-" "Certainly you do and quite a big one! Here, you can hold him if you like, but not after the missus has a turn," the midwife cut in, laying your son in your arms. Merry's jaw positively dropped at the sight of him, and he leaned down to speak at once. "Hello there, little one. It's me, your dad. You remember the sound of my voice, don't you?"

Pippin

“Pippin, it’s time.” “Time? Time for what?” You loved your sweet, wonderful, clueless husband, but now was simply not the time. “The baby is coming! Get my supplies, please.” Your command came out as more of a whimper, your face twisting into a grimace at the feeling of moisture trickling down your leg. Water’s broken, then. Pippin caught sight of this, paled, and tore off down the hall, a crash sounding and a handful of stomps before he emerged again, bag slung over his shoulder and a pile of rags in one hand. "You know, for your..." "Yes, I know," you nodded, smiling in faint amusement as he took hold of your arm, barely giving you any time to straddle the rags at all.

~

"Push!" "What am I doing, then?" Your reply shattered Pippin, for it dripped with no sarcasm, only broken tears as you struggled with the pains of labor. The midwife shed a tear of her own, promising you did well, but this went on for hours until suddenly, finally, cries pierced the room's tense air and a massive smile spread across Pippin's face. "You did it!" A loud, triumphant laugh. "You did it, my love!" "She sure did," the midwife agreed, handing the babe off to another older hobbit and chuckling at the way Pippin's open hands followed them. "Don't worry your head off, he's just getting cleaned up." "He? It's a boy! Love, it's a-" "I heard," you grinned, "A little mini-Pippin. Just what I always wanted." "Are- are you joking?" "No," you shook your head, accepting your son with open, grabbing hands, "Not at all. Oh, look, he really does look just like you, too! Oh, Pippin!" Another little Pippin. This time hopefully not one who'll make the same mistakes. No. No, he won't, because he'll have the big one to guide him. And you, oh, his lovely wife... "Pip, are you crying?" "Of course I am," he replied in a quiet, awe-filled voice, leaning to press his curly head to yours, "Our son. Yours and mine. What a glorious gift you've given me. I'm going to work every day to pay you back."

Faramir

Faramir would have given anything to escape the meeting he had become entrenched in, the droning on about some law or another that- Slam! A messenger came bursting in through the door, one of the young page boys whom Faramir had sent notes off with. Rather than pass a message, though, the young man strode right over to his seat and leaned in to whisper to him. Feeling his face contort in shock, then a smile, Faramir rose from the chair at once. “My apologies, gentleman, but my wife has gone into labor. I will review all notes taken at my earliest convenience.” So it seemed the twins inherited their mother’s sense of humor.

~

Watching you strain and hearing your ragged breaths, listening to every cry of pain, stabbed Faramir in the heart with a hurt of his own. He never let go of your hand for a moment, though, despite the ache in those muscles as well. For hours he whispered you words of encouragement, reminding you that you were his hero and that you were doing great, even if it didn’t feel such. And finally your grip was tightening one final time, one final cry of pain as the second twin was born. First your daughter had come. “A girl!” Faramir breathed. “We have a daughter.” And with that last push Faramir himself caught your son. “A son as well. Two beautiful children.” Tears welled up in his eyes, which quickly turned to you as your son was cut free, lifted from his arms, and cleaned. Thumb stroking over the back of your hand, Faramir leaned over, head resting against yours. His stubble tickled your face as he shifted to press a kiss to your cheek. “We got the most difficult one out of our way first, hm?” You joked. Breaking into a tearful grin at your words, Faramir nodded.

Eomer

He should never have agreed to ride out on that patrol, but the others were pushing harder than usual and Eomer knew they trusted him. Trust went far in the Riddermark. Hence his shouts of frustration upon returning to a herald rushing his way and telling him that you had gone into labor. Luckily only about an hour and a half back. He had plenty of time. Running to the halls of healing and all but throwing open the great doors, Eomer barreled in and was met with your smile, then your cry for him, to which he ran to your side and took your hand at once.

~

"It's a boy," he panted hours later, hand aching from your grip and mind fatigued by pained screams, "our son is here." How in this world could you have endured it all if it drained even a bystander so? What a warrior you were. And what a warrior your son would be! Taking in the cleaned babe being placed in your arms, the enamored smile upon his beloved wife's face, the great rush of joy finally overtook him, all pain and exhaustion melting away for a brief moment. "Our son is here!" He called out again, this time louder, more triumphant, and when you spoke it also in your softer tone Eomer pulled you gently by the back of your head into a kiss that spoke volumes, every year of your love story thus far and all of them to come.

Eowyn

The pains of birth were no stranger to your wife; in fact, Eowyn recognized them before you did, cutting into your panic that something was going wrong with the reassurance that things were going quite right. “Our baby is coming,” she told you with a small smile that quickly faded back down when your knees buckled. She was prepared for this, very prepared. Having been forced into work as a nurse for so long had some benefits, after all, and very quickly your things were in hand, your body settled into the most comfortable position possible, and your wife rolling up her sleeves and pulling back her hair to get to work. Her own child would not be the first she had delivered, simply her favorite by far. Spikes of pressure fought their way up Eowyn’s chest, but just like in the heat of battle they spurred her on and she got to work with renewed courage.

~

“You are doing so well, my love, there we are,” your wife coaxed, “almost done, in fact! Our little one is almost here!” “Really?” You smile widely before your next wince and Eowyn can see her words have encouraged you. You pushed with all you had, and crying out finally forced the head, then finally the whole of your child, out into the world. Eowyn cut the baby free quickly as she could, all her focus tied down to making sure she heard breath before she let herself truly look. At the first call of little lungs she sighed and collapsed down upon her knees, hugging the baby to her chest. “Healthy, perfectly healthy.” Hurriedly cleaning your child, Eowyn saw that you had delivered a girl. “You’ve birthed a healthy girl. We have a daughter, my love!” Hearing you sob, she hurried quickly over to your side. “We both did,” you told her, reaching out to caress your daughter’s reddened cheeks, “Both her mothers birthed her. Where would I be, after all, without you?” It was Eowyn’s turn for tears to fall at your words, smiling as she was when you pulled her close and kissed the crown of her golden head.

Haldir

Long, difficult months had led to the moment of your doubling over with the first pains of birth, hobbling out to where you could find a hand to lead you to the midwives. You were half-knelt at the side of a bed, gripping its post for dear life, when your husband burst in. “Your patrol,” you inquired between waves of pain. “Safely in the hands of another,” Haldir responded, hand groping for one of yours, hastily taking it, “and no, they blame neither of us. Nothing but the pain of death could have separated me from your side.” A smile crossed your face, but moments later another wave of pain split your smile into a cry of agony. “The little ones are coming very rapidly,” one of the midwives told you, “your labor will not be long, at the very least.” At that, you heard Haldir exhale in relief. After such difficultly carrying them, your struggles with the twins would soon abate. Soon they would be in your arms.

~

True to her word, the midwife saw you through every push of labor in just under three hours’ time, one of the fastest she had seen in her many years. Haldir’s grip upon your hand never faltered until the very moment one of the twins was placed wrapped up in his arms. The other held by you, exhausted, shocked, but joyous, tears of relief and celebration flowing. “Two daughters. Two fair and healthy little souls all our own,” Haldir remarked, his voice barely above a whisper and a stunned smile upon his lips as he glanced back your way. The moment your eyes met, tears fell from his, too, and you both let out another exhale in relief; shifting the little one in his arms, Haldir grasped your hand. Smiling up at your husband, despite every strain of pain and exhaustion upon your body, all you could feel was the glow of utter triumph and bliss. “I have said it countless times, I am sure, but you my fair maids have my sword, my word, my heart, my everything,” Haldir told you, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on your head, then that of the baby girl in your arms.

Galadriel

How Galadriel managed to remain so calm amidst your heaving breaths and calls of alarm, amidst a healer and midwives forgetting their place and trying to move her from your side, surrounded by bodies and screams and heat and fluid so serene, you would never understand. The way you’d doubled over in the middle of your wife’s vision, failing to smother the choked cry that escaped your lips, and she’d simply risen from the water with wide eyes and a nod, taking your hand. Had she let go? Not as you could recall, though memories blended and faded through great waving curtains of pain. Your strength is beyond admirable, my love. Head swiveling to meet your wife’s intense blue gaze, you smiled faintly. Comparable only to your beauty, her voice teased in your mind. Smile growing, the rush of joy gave you strength for another push…

~

“A daughter,” Galadriel breathes your name, joy permeating every faint crack of her so even voice, “you have borne us a daughter!” You see her extend a hand, accept a cloth you assume shall dry your little one off, but the midwife swipes your newborn for a moment and your wife dabs your tears, then the sweat clinging to your forehead. Setting the small piece of white fabric on the table by your head, Galadriel lets her hand drop down to trace the curve of your cheek, the ring you placed upon her finger some years back on your wedding day sliding over it with a pleasant cool. Your daughter, clean and swaddled, is placed in your arms, and beaming down upon you, your wife takes your hand. “A beautiful gift unlike any this world has seen,” she speaks out loud this time, though it is a whisper, “and surely with a heart as strong as her mother’s.”

Arwen

Pain rushed to you so rapidly it was as though you were stabbed. Crumpling and crying out was how your wife found you, rushing in with skirts held at her sides and dropped just as quickly so Arwen’s hands could close around both of yours, words of worry followed by encouragement whispered between you. Her father was the greatest healer you knew, thus he was to aid in his grandchild’s birth, the first of his family. Elrond was calm when through the veil of your pain you saw your wife bring him into the room, brows faintly furrowed as he pulled back his sleeves. Your hearing practically faded- or was it simply your memory?- as he began giving quiet but firm commands to another elf that followed.

~

Vision blurred with tears, you fell back against the downy pillow, breathing ragged. Much as Lord Elrond could do for you, the pain was still great. "The cord is severed!" You heard him announce and your head snapped back up to see your son in his grandfather's arms, hear him wail as breath filled his lungs. "Our little boy," Arwen grips your arm, grinning down at you, "He is here! Go on, Ada, keep us waiting no longer." Shaking his head at her teasing, Elrond gave you a wide, tearful smile as he lowered your son. Smoothing his dark hair, Arwen gazed down at him with loving eyes before leaning over to you, kissing your lips with such love and joy both of you were smiling into it. "My dearest love, he is so beautiful. Just like his mother."

Elrond

"My lord, your wife-" Lindir needn't say more. Elrond is already gathering up his robes and abandoning entirely the parapet on which he stood, regretting leaving you for a moment even if you had insisted he take some time while you rest. Hurrying down the staircase to your shared room, Elrond finds you sitting bolt upright in bed, brows furrowed and hand resting upon your middle. "I must get to the-" "No," calm as he is, Elrond seems to have developed a habit of interruptions, he thinks, "the midwife will come to you. Lindir?" "Sending for her now, my lord." At Elrond's side, you whimper. All too well does he remember this anguish; nodding, he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Lie still. You will be well."

~

Thank the Valar for healing magic; soon your screams melt into whispers shared between you and your husband and winces become faint, tired smiles. Elrond feels the strain of each push upon you, but marvels at your strength, the midwife all but telling you to slow down. "I beg your pardon," you reply, gritting your teeth, "but I must be free of this!" And free you are, for not long later cries fill the air and tears of relief and joy spill down your cheeks. Elrond caresses your face and meets your eyes with a tearful smile; never does this moment stale, in fact nothing in this world can compare. As soon as the bundle is placed in your hands, you hold your newborn out between you, Elrond taking hold and reaching out his other hand, which your daughter grasps. "She looks just like her mother," he tells you with a smile. "But hopefully she inherited her father's wisdom," you tease back with a tired grin.

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[frodo-cinnamonroll]

Forgive Me

Plot/Summary: In an AU, Borormir survives the Uruk-hai and lives to see the Ring destroyed. He travels with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, and reunites with his brother. When Gandalf and the eagles bring Frodo and Sam back from Mount Doom, Boromir waits anxiously, seeking forgiveness for trying to take the Ring from Frodo, an act that had burned his heart and torn it in two ever since.

Paring: Boromir x the Fellowship

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of many wounds and some blood, vague mentions of battle, angst

A/N: I apologize this is so very late :( Requested by @fan-of-pretty-much-2-much, @animallover81, @mistyeyesofthemountainpeaks

This fic is based off of this work of art by @bamboocarbon-ver-2-0

—------------------------------------------------------------------

Boom!

The volcano roared and spewed lava.

Crack!

The tower split and fell into oblivion.

Rumble!

A rush of wind gusted from the dark land, signaling the end of its power.

A mix of triumphant shouts and terrified roars arose from the battlefield.

“We won!” some were shouting. “They did it!”

“Fight ‘em while you can!” said others.

“After them! Don’t let them escape!” others commanded.

And others, “Run if you want to save your filthy skins!”

Boromir stood in awe, watching the great tower of Barad-dûr fall with an ear-splitting crash. Orc-blood was splattered over his breastplate and his hair was a tangled mess, but he cared not.

“The eagles!” someone cried. “The eagles are coming!”

Boromir turned to see the majestic eagles with bronze feathers swooping low overhead. One came especially low, and Gandalf leapt up and rode high on its back. Boromir barely heard him say, “Make haste! Make haste!” as it flew swiftly in the dark land ahead.

The shouts of the army brought Boromir back to the present. The throng, led by Aragorn, chased after the fleeing swarm of orcs who were squealing and roaring wildly. Other soldiers who had been wounded stayed back and made their way to the temporary medical tent off the battlefield. Boromir went with the last traces of the army and succeeded in hunting down any remaining orcs. He stayed near the camp, awaiting Gandalf’s return. It wasn’t very long before Boromir heard the cries of eagles again. He looked up and saw the three of them descending. In the claws of one was the shape of a person, as well as the other (which Gandalf was riding on).

“Boromir!” Aragorn cried to him as he ran forward to meet the eagle nearest to him. 

The eagle carrying Sam landed first, and Aragorn began carrying him back to the tents. Then the one carrying Frodo descended right above Boromir. He held out his arms and the eagle dropped the unconscious hobbit gently into them. Boromir looked at Frodo’s grimy face covered in ash, sweat, and a little blood. The halfling smelled of smoke and something else Boromir couldn’t name. His arms trembled as he followed Aragorn to the tents. He now noticed one of Frodo’s hands was covered in blood, and one of his fingers was missing. He held it close to his chest, not caring if it stained his own hand or armor. There were two empty cots available, and they lay down the hobbits in them.

Aragorn proceeded to tend to their wounds, starting with Frodo’s hand. Boromir stepped back and watched, a sickening feeling rising up in him as he saw their wounds. Sam had a faint scar of a bite mark on his shoulder and a gash on the back of his head. Other than his finger, Frodo had four other nasty scars. Aragorn told Boromir one was from a Morgul blade and one faint one was from a cave troll (but would have been much worse without the protection of mithril). The third looked almost like a burn along Frodo’s neck and Boromir guessed it had something to do with the chain that carried the Ring. The last looked odd, like a giant sting.

“It may be,” Aragorn said gravely. There was worry in his voice.

Boromir shook his head as he knelt next to the cot. “Look what they’ve gone through,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of the heartache he felt burning within him. “I should have been there.”

Aragorn remained silent for a brief moment. “You couldn’t have. You know that. I couldn’t have.”

Boromir let a few tears fall and he places his hand on Frodo’s head. The halfling moaned quietly as Aragorn dressed his remaining wounds.

“How could I have done this?” Boromir said barely above a whisper. He closed his eyes and he could see Frodo’s face of distrust and fear at the Great River. He looked at him now. This wasn’t the same hobbit. This one looked wiser and sadder.

What things he must have seen and felt. Boromir thought.

Aragorn finished cleansing Frodo’s wounds and dressing them. With Boromir’s help, he put a clean shirt on him (that was quite oversized for the halfling). He went to fetch water, leaving Boromir alone. He sat down heavily on a wooden stool near the feet of the two cots, putting his head in his hands.

***

He now stood outside in Ilthien, listening to the breeze that sighed with relief. Boromir’s heart did not agree. Yes, he was relieved that they had succeeded, but he felt weighed down. Every step on the way back from the Black Gates had made Boromir’s heart feel heavier and heavier. Over and over Boromir had tried to figure out what he was going to say to the halfling once he awoke, but his efforts were to no avail, as the scenes he had caused those months ago were flashing in his mind.

“Boromir!” It was Pippin’s voice. Hope sailed on it. “He’s awake!”

Boromir felt a stab of dread and simply nodded. “Good.”

Pippin almost ran off, but stopped when Boromir didn’t follow. “You are coming, aren’t you?”

Boromir wanted to walk away, but he followed Pippin. “Yes. Of course.”

When they arrived at Frodo’s room, there were joyous shouts from the hobbits as they ran in. Aragorn stood near the doorway, about to enter. He paused when he saw Boromir’s countenance.

“What am I going to say?” Boromir whispered in distress. “He probably hates me. The last time he saw me I tried to take it.”

“Peace,” Aragorn whispered back. “You will find he is different now. He will forgive you, if you accept it. He has forgiven others who have done much worse to him.”

Boromir was confused as to what that entailed. He followed Aragorn inside.

Boromir couldn’t read the expression on Frodo’s face when he saw him, but he was ready for whatever rebuke he would face. The hobbit said nothing. Boromir knelt, unable to hide his tears.

“My dear hobbit,” Boromir began. “I have not the words, nor the right, to ask for your forgiveness for what I did. I know not how to express the regret I have felt ever since that day. If there is anything you would have me do to show my remorse, please tell me.”

Boromir looked up. To his surprise, he saw great mercy in Frodo’s eyes. “No man, or hobbit, could have destroyed the thing alone. You have been valiant, Son of Gondor. But where you have failed, I forgive you freely, for not even I could resist. As for action, your words and heart say all that needs to be said. I need nothing else, but for you to forgive yourself. Let it be forgotten.”

Boromir cried aloud and grabbed the hobbit’s hand and kissed it once. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“We are a Fellowship,” Frodo said, looking at each of the Fellowship’s members whom he had come to love. “We are eternally bound by friendship and love.”

[dropthecop]

why did my boromir post get notes i'm scared

[sparklebyte]

Legolas fic pls?? Anything fluffy really 💕

Sure thing anon! Sorry if this took too long, I haven't really been in the LOTR fandom for awhile🩷

Summary: Legolas has been acting strange lately, even for an elf, and Aragorn is worried

"Quick, Merry! He's right behind you!" Pippin and Merry dashed past Aragorn, giggling and giddy with mischief.

"GET BACK HERE YA QUICK-FOOTED DEVILS!" Gimli roared, chasing after them. As he ran past, it was easy to see what exactly the two Hobbits had done. His beard was covered in flowers, so tightly woven in that they'd be impossible to get out without help. In fact, there were so many flowers, it seemed as if Gimli's beard was made of flowers instead of hair.

Aragorn smiled slightly as he trekked through the woods. "Hobbits." he said softly. "They sure know how to cause mischief." Frodo chuckled at his side.

"It's their Took blood in them." Sam frowned in disagreement.

"No, its the Brandybuck in 'em!" As the two squabbled, Aragorn glanced at Legolas. He'd been awfully quiet the past few days, having been known to space out.

And he was doing it right now. Legolas was walking slow, dragging his feet. His face was pale and slack, his eyes not focusing on anything.

"Legolas. Legolas!" Aragorn snapped his fingers in front of the elf's face. The pointed-eared man jumped and then turned to face Aragorn.

"Oh, I apologize. Did you say something?" Aragorn frowned.

"What is the matter with you? You've been acting strange for a while. I-" Aragorn cuts himself off, noticing something peculiar. "Legolas, are those dark circles under your eyes? Have you been sleeping at all?"

Legolas blinked owlishly. "Someone had to keep watch."

"Yes but not the whole night! I'm surprised you're not keeling over right now." Aragorn said. Legolas dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"Do not worry. I can go without a few hours of sleep." And with that, Legolas continued walking, going ahead of Aragorn.

Aragorn sighed, watching his friend stumble forward. Frodo and Sam, having finished bickering, joined Aragorn's side, staring at Legolas. "Mr. Strider, what's the matter? Do we need to take a break?" Sam said, almost eagerly, as if ready for rest. Which he probably was, considering their journey.

"Perhaps not you and me, but our elven friend for sure. He's had many sleepless nights, ensuring our safety and I am worried for his health. Only, I know not how to help him." Aragorn said, wistfully. Frodo glances at Sam before beckoning Pippin and Merry over. The two mischief makers were slung over Boromir's shoulders, probably as punishment for earlier's transgression. They wriggled off and scurried over.

The 4 Hobbits huddled together, whispering to one another. "What are you conspiring to do, my impish little friends?" Aragorn asked, bending down slightly. The Hobbits grinned.

"You'll see."

●~~~~~~~●~~~~~~~●~~~~~~●~~~~~~●~~~~~●

Legolas trudged forward, his mind drifting every second or so. His bones ached wearily and his eyelids felt heavy. He'd never felt like this before. But, then again, he'd never gone so long without sleep.

He heard Gimli say something about his aching knees and then Boromir beckoned everyone to sit. A fire was being started, but why would they need a fire in the middle of day? Oh, but it was night already...time really was passing quickly...

Legolas felt a small hand tug his cloak and looked down to see Pippin leading him to the shelter of the cliff edge that they had set up camp. Legolas often marveled at how small the Hobbits were. Pippin's hand was like that of a child's in his palm, and felt just as fragile.

Drifting off in thought, Legolas hadn't realized that the young Hobbit had gotten him to sit on a blanket next to the fire. He wanted to protest but it had been so long since his eyes had closed and his mind was nearly begging for peace.

A sudden warmth and pressure at his side startled Legolas. He looked down to see Frodo wedging himself in the crook of his arm, with Sam right next to the dark-haired Hobbit. Their eyes were closed and Frodo's breaths were slowing down to the steady rhythm of sleep. Legolas felt his other side become heavy and he saw that Merry had mimicked Frodo and curled up at his side.

Legolas let out a small wheeze as Pippin flopped himself onto Legolas' chest, resting his cheek on his ribcage. The steady heartbeat seemed to be lulling the youngest Hobbit to sleep. His curls brushed the top of Legolas' chin and his small head seemed to tuck perfectly against Legolas.

The elf sighed at the sound of Gimli's chortles and at the sight of the ranger's smile, but he allowed himself to close his eyes as well. Comforted by the small bodies surrounding him, Legolas finally got his much needed rest.