#boromir imagine

[thefreewoman]

[beautifultypewriter]

I’m not gonna lie… things are not good over here, but also… I have so many feelings about this and it’s the only thing that is keeping me going. Boromir was born to be a girl dad and while the poll I did was for a different story where he doesn’t get to be a dad, I had to write a universe where he actually got to raise his daughter. Also I’m going to use my oc, but only her name, there’s no description and I’m going to write in 3rd person. I have so many thoughts about this. Keep your eyes peeled for some new Gondor Girl content. And quick timeline Boromir and Limmeth get married about 2 years before he leaves for Rivendell and their baby is born a month before he leaves. Also warning: brief mention of labor/childbirth, but nothing detailed or graphic. It's over 2k words, so it's under the read more. @streets-in-paradise Lu, sorry to bother you, but I need you to see this.

Boromir as a dad:

Boromir is ecstatic when Limmeth tells him that she’s with child. Like he is so beyond happy… for about 2 minutes and then the worry starts to settle in his chest, he keeps smiling though as she’s smiling up at him because the last thing he wants to do is worry his sweet wife.

But he can’t help it. There is a WAR going on and Mordor is RIGHT THERE and he already has so much on his shoulders, worrying about his people, his city, his father and brother, Limmeth herself, and now this? Man is stressed.

And although he tries to hide it, Limmeth sees right through him. She puts her hands on his cheeks and gently kisses his lips, “This is a good thing. Everything will be fine.”

He repeats those words to himself nearly everyday for the duration of the pregnancy. It helps keep him grounded and it helps the happiness shine through. He’s able to focus more on the pregnancy and the fact that soon there will be a little baby, that hopefully looks just like Limmeth, in the world. And a little baby that looks like his sweet, perfect Limmeth will certainly bring light to the darkness that they often find themselves in during these times. 

Then the day arrives. Boromir is with Faramir and few other men, making plans and going over resources when a maid scurries into the room and whispers in the captain’s ear.

Boromir doesn’t think twice before rushing from the room, with zero explanation to anyone else by the way, and making his way to where his wife has started her labor. He beats the healer to the room, and he rushes in, quickly grabbing Limmeth’s hand and placing a kiss to her forehead. 

Hours and hours later, Limmeth is propped up by some pillows with their baby girl in her arms as Boromir sits next to her on the bed, his own arms wrapped around her. He’s blinking back tears as he stares down at his little girl. 

Unfortunately the peace is interrupted as Denethor enters the room, Faramir trailing behind him. The steward is smiling as he approaches the couple, but that smile quickly drops as Boromir introduces him to his granddaughter. 

Denethor glares at Limmeth, blaming her for this in his twisted mind, before he storms out. Limmeth is on the verge of tears and Boromir is seething. 

Fortunately, Faramir is still there, and he steps up and gushes about how beautiful the baby is and how lucky they are that she looks more like Limmeth than she does Boromir, which makes his brother roll his eyes and his sister by law laugh. 

Then he asks what his niece is to be called and Boromir and Limmeth look at each other for a moment. Because they never really discussed names and now they have to navigate hazy thoughts of what their daughter will be called for her entire life. They both get what they believe to be a brilliant idea at the same time. 

An argument breaks out over whose mother they should name her after. Limmeth wants to name her after Boromir’s mother and Boromir wants to name her after Limmeth’s mother. Both of them refuse to back down. Faramir is rubbing his temples as the little baby snoozes through the argument. Finally, he steps up and suggests that they choose a new name, one not related to either of them. 

The idea is considered for a moment before they ultimately agree and then they start to brainstorm. It’s hours before they land on Amathael (Glimmering Shield. Glimmering for Limmeth and Shield for Boromir). 

When Boromir holds his daughter for the first time, he cries. He tries so hard not to, but not even Gondor’s mightiest warrior can hold back tears as he looks down at what he is positive is the most beautiful baby to ever be born. Limmeth watches him with a smile on her face, tears brimming in her own eyes as Boromir gently traces a finger over Amathael’s cheek.

Unbeknownst to them they only get a month together before Boromir is traveling to Rivendell and Limmeth is left to wonder if she will ever see her husband again and whether or not Amathael will have a father. 

At some point between these two events, Denethor goes on a verbal rampage about how Boromir’s wife is useless as she did not provide Boromir with an heir and that they would have to have another child as quickly as possible to ensure that their bloodline continues, and Boromir loses it. He is able to remain pretty calm which is surprising as he sets his father straight. “You will not speak of my wife and daughter in such a manner. If I hear it again…” his jaw tightens and his fist clenches and he turns and walks away. 

He goes to his and Limmeth’s room to see her cradling Amathael and quietly singing the same Dol Amroth lullaby that his own mother sang to him and Faramir. All the tension leaves his body as he stands in the doorway and watches his whole world. 

Boromir dreads having to tell Limmeth that he’s going to Rivendell. He knows that it’s unfair to her and Amathael, but he really has no other choice in this. He tells himself that this could be the key to finally defeating Sauron and creating a better world for his daughter to grow up in, a thought he repeats to Limmeth as she cries in his arms later.

He makes Faramir promise to look after and protect Limmeth and Amathael while he’s gone and of course his brother agrees. He was going to take care of them without having made the promise. Boromir hates having to leave his girls at all, but he especially hates having to leave them with his father when the man still has not gotten over the fact that Amathael is not a son.

Amathael is only a month old when Boromir leaves for Rivendell. She’s still so tiny as he cradles her to his chest in the early morning light. He’s humming quietly, soaking in these last moments with his little girl. He doesn’t know if this will be the last time he sees her. Limmeth wakes and quietly makes her way over to the pair, resting her head against Boromir’s arm.

It’s nearly nine months later when Limmeth is reunited with her husband. Battle worn and full of grief, Boromir stumbles into the Tower of Ecthelion. He has already been given the news of his brother and father and all he wants is to see his wife and daughter.

His wish is answered when he steps into the throne room, followed closely by Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, and Éomer, to see Limmeth standing in the middle of the room, Amathael in her arms. Boromir doesn’t think twice before rushing forward and wrapping Limmeth in his arms.

Amathael fusses a little bit, not used to having Boromir around (something that breaks his heart a little bit, but he’ll never admit) and he is struck by how big she’s gotten. Limmeth has tears in her eyes as she hands the baby over to Boromir before tucking herself into his side, staying close to keep things peaceful.

Boromir holds Amathael close, his eyes closing as he gently rests his forehead against his baby girl. She soon stops fussing as she stares at Boromir with big eyes that mirror his own.

Because while Amathael is Limmeth’s twin in every other sense, her eyes are her father’s. Something that Limmeth absolutely adores.

So Boromir gets a very short amount of time with his family before he’s marching away again and although she tries to hold onto hope, Limmeth feels almost sure that he’s marching away from her for good.

BUT because I have made everything beautiful and wonderful, Limmeth’s fears are never realized and Boromir rushes into her arms once again. Amathael fusses less and even reaches towards Boromir’s face as the three of them are pressed close together. His heart soars and he takes her from her mother’s arms.

Aragorn is crowned King and Boromir is made steward. There is a lot of work to be done in the aftermath of Saron’s defeat, but Boromir always makes time for his family. He’s already lost so much time with them, and he doesn’t want to miss another second of Amathael growing up.

Family walks through the markets of the lower city. Boromir carries Amathael, smiling and tickling her as her laughter rings out. Limmeth smiles as she watches the two most important people in her life.

Boromir 100% throws Amathael up into the air and catches her and she shrieks with laughter. As she gets bigger, it gets harder, but all she needs to do is pout for a second and he’s lifting her and tossing her as high as he can.

He would do anything for her, like seriously, she has him wrapped around her finger. It delights Limmeth to no end. And Boromir is completely oblivious to it too. Like he does not even realize that he is being unintentionally played by this little baby.

Once Amathael starts walking, she is following Boromir everywhere he goes. Her absolute favorite place to follow him to is the small meeting room where Aragorn holds council. She stands in the doorway and watches her Da and her two uncles settle themselves at the table, nodding to the few other men who come in. Aragorn notices the little girl in the doorway first and he smiles as he waves her over. She runs in and Aragorn scoops her up and sets her in his lap. She laughs as Boromir looks over with a fake look of hurt on his face. Amathael doesn’t last long before she’s scrambling off of Aragorn’s lap and running over to Boromir.

She’s grinning as she climbs into his lap and pressing her face against his chest. Boromir wraps his arms around her and chuckles quietly. Faramir and Aragorn are laughing along with him. Amathael stays in Boromir’s lap as the meeting begins. She falls asleep rather quickly and Boromir cradles her as he half pays attention. Limmeth comes to retrieve Amathael and her husband reluctantly lets the little girl go. Limmeth presses a kiss to his temple before she carries Amathael out of the room.

Boromir starts to bring Amathael to the training yard with him and she very quickly becomes interested in learning about fighting. She loves watching Boromir, Faramir, and Éowyn train together and she wants to be part of it.

Limmeth will come watch them all and Amathael is constantly stopping to call out to her mother, telling her to “watch me!” and to “look at this!” Limmeth is only too happy to watch everything and cheer as Boromir lets Amathael disarm him.

Limmeth teaches Amathael how to ride horses and the three of them go on family rides together. Before Amathael was old enough to ride, she would sit with Boromir on his horse and continually challenge Limmeth to races. Limmeth would laugh as Boromir would groan and then she would take off, forcing her husband to kick his own horse into gear to catch up to her. Amathael would laugh loudly as they rode and a grin would stretch over Boromir’s face.

Amathael loves to run around with her cousins and Aragorn and Arwen’s children. Boromir loves to see her having fun with and playing with the other children. It reminds him of his own childhood and he’s glad that Amathael has friends to play with.

Boromir loves to dance with her at any kind of feast or celebration that they have. When she was really little, they did the whole standing on his feet while they dance thing and it was the most precious thing in the world.

Boromir loves and hates watching his little girl grow up. He’s so proud of her and the person she is becoming, but he wishes she could stay his little girl forever. Limmeth needs to constantly comfort this man about this. One thing that never changes about Amathael though is how much she loves her parents.

I see her future playing out in one of two ways… she becomes the first female Captain of Gondor or she marries Eldarion, Arwen and Aragorn’s son, and becomes the next Queen of Gondor. Or maybe both?

[aerynoakenshield]

[Boromir] - All I Ever Wanted

♫ - Perfect - Ed Sheeran

A/N: It's 2024 and I still adore this man, hopefully now this has been written the  brain worm leaves and I can move on with my life (i am lying to myself i have not moved on since 2007).

Thank you for reading, enjoy! <3

It was a joy to live in Gondor, the kingdom and its people were, in truth, simply beautiful. For you, there was everything here you could ever want. Kind people, a community, and most of all the man you loved.

Boromir and yourself had grown up together, as your father was a nobleman and therefore held position on King Denethor's council. With Boromir's father being that king, he was always looking for something to do or someone to talk to, which was when you stumbled into each other's lives as children. 

You often saw each other in the castle courtyard. At first, you barely spoke, nods of acknowledgement here and there and sometimes a greeting. You could not have been more different as people. 

Boromir was a boy who loved fighting, loved running around and learning how to wield weapons. You preferred your books, to write and study history and nature. The pair of you could often be found together outside the older you grew; you with your nose stuck in some ancient literature while you  sat under the tree as Boromir practiced sparring techniques in front of you. 

One was never really seen without the other. You were both like shadows, and never tired of being around each other. Your father was not upset by this, hoping one day perhaps you may marry the young prince. King Denethor, however, hoped quite the opposite. Nevertheless, that would not stop you from spending your free time together.

Boromir was there for you through every bad time you had, always offering a shoulder to cry on and a gentle hand when you would walk through the gardens. You were there for him whenever his father had been harsh on him. As the eldest son, Boromir was looked upon to be a leader, to have an heir to the throne one day and keep the family line in tact. 

He wanted none of that, not until he was older, maybe. He told you all the time of adventures he wanted, how he wanted to live first before thinking of that sort of thing. You grew to adults together, but your hobbies and interest had not changed.

Here you were, a bright morning in Gondor, sat in the gardens on your favourite bench reading a book. The area was secluded, barely anybody walked here, but it was filled with flowers and a lake with a fountain front and center. Before you, Boromir was practicing movements with his sword and a young guard. He had become a master swordsman, and had been trusted to train up new soldiers for Gondor's army should the need arise.

Setting your book down, you watched them spar. Boromir was quick on his feet, but so tentative in helping the young man with his own technique, and you couldn't help but stare. Something in your heart soared to see him smile, to watch him doing the thing he loved. For a brief second Boromir looked to you, catching your eye and winking.

"Back to your books, you."

Boromir had not dealt with his own feelings for you, yet. Each day you met, his heart grew fonder of you and it was at a point in which it became hard to contain. When you sat there and lost yourself in writing, he would look on at you in wonder. Often, his thoughts would drift, and he would ask himself what was stopping him from pushing you against a wall and kissing you. The fear of rejection, of you not feeling the same, was what pushed those thoughts away.

You had picked your book back up, though you were no longer reading it. You held it as though you were, but your eyes peeked over the brim, eager to watch him instead. His face lit up differently when he was training, his features became more beautiful than they already were. He had a love for swordsmanship, and it showed. 

"Agh!" 

You were snapped out of your daydream by Boromir's exclamation. Dropping your book, you noticed the young guard's sword on the floor and a look of horror on his face. Your eyes flicked over to Boromir, who was holding his arm. It appeared the man had caught the prince's arm with the sword, though it didn't look too bad. 

"My prince, I am sorry, I did not-"

"It's okay, lad. You run back to the castle and have a break, we'll keep you on the wooden weapons for now," Boromir said with a chuckle, and the guard nodded and ran off. 

How he could joke in this situation was amazing, but you knew it was to calm the other boys nerves, which were presumably sky high. Boromir caught your gaze and you beckoned him over.

"Are you okay? Seems like that's quite the gash." You gestured to the blood on his tunic, and reached into your bag for the first aid essentials you always carried. It wasn't the first time he had been injured in your company, so now you always carried them just to be sure. 

"I'm alright, got you to patch me up, haven't I?" Boromir winked at you, and you felt butterflies in your stomach. 

"Sometimes," you replied, swatting his nose with your finger. "I think you do it on purpose."

He feigned shock, but said nothing as he let you work on his arm. Your concentration face had him in a trance as he watched you work, eyes darting from your face to your gentle hands. There was no wound he had ever gotten that you could not fix with a bandage and some herb or salve, so the books were paying off. 

"You know," you started, working carefully to stitch the cut in his arm, eyes not moving from it as you spoke. "You are wonderful with those guards. You have always had a gift for combat, but it shows more and more each day. You look happiest when you're training."

Boromir could not help the smile creeping up on his face.

"It does make me happy, I love the art of swords, the craft of it all. The beauty of wielding a weapon is quite a thing. Though, I have to admit, I am my happiest whenever I am with you."

Pausing for a second, you look up at him, and he has a cheeky smile on his face as his eyes looked at you through his brow. He was so handsome, rugged yet boyish all at once. You could not have fallen harder if you tried. Realising you were staring, you turned back to your work with a blush rising on your cheeks. 

"There," you knotted the last stitch and wrapped a bandage around his wound. "You're all fixed up."

"Oh," he sounded disappointed. "Does that mean I don't get your special treatment and attention anymore?" His smile could light up a room.

"Boromir!" You playfully tapped his non injured arm and laughed along. "I'll give you special treatment if you carry on like that." He scoffed jokingly at your sarcastic mocking tone.

Your threat was hollow, knowing that you couldn't best him in a play fight, let alone a real one. The master swordsman stared at you, seemingly taking your comment to heart. 

"Or," he spoke lowly, moving towards on the bench and taking your chin lightly in his hand. "I'll give you special treatment."

Boromir leaned in and your heart raced. He never connected your lips, waiting for you to respond. He was respectful enough to wait for you to kiss him, to make sure this was what you wanted. You closed the gap, and he pulled you into him and deepened the kiss.

This moment was what you had dreamed of. Boromir's arm wrapped around your waist and his other hand held the side of your face as his lips made their way from your own to your jawline, pressing little kisses down towards your collarbone. Your hands lay on his chest, keeping yourself as close as you could be as quiet hums of content came from you.

Boromir brought his head back up to look at you, and he could not believed how stunning you looked before him. The sun lit your face up, eyes twinkling as they looked back into his own. The red tint on your cheeks gave you an almost ethereal aura. Your hands came to cup his face.

"I have wanted this for so long, Boromir. I never thought you would feel the same way. I was scared you saw me only as a friend."

He chuckled, pressing his forehead to your own.

"You silly thing, I would be a fool to not have fallen in love with you. You are incredible. I have loved you for so long now, I have lost count. I never thought you, with your books and your writing would ever want a swordsman who just loves fighting."

"Apparently you're a poet now, too." You giggled and his brow furrowed, but hearing his words back in his head, Boromir realised the rhyme he had made. 

"Then in that case, I'm perfect for you," he boasted, nodding in agreement with himself and making you throw your head back with laughter. 

Pulling you onto his lap, you sat with your arms around his neck and just took in the moment. You had hugged him before, but never like this. You had spent hours in his arms, but never under any circumstance other than comfort. Now, it felt different. 

"Hey, look at me, " Boromir whispered, and you lifted your head from his chest to look at him. "If you wish to court me, and I most certainly would like you to, I want you to know that being with me probably will not be easy. But, if you do wish to be mine, I will promise you now that I will do all I can to protect you and keep you safe, and I will always show you nothing but love and care for the rest of our lives."

Your eyes teared up a little at his words, and you smiled down at him. 

"You are all I have ever wanted, of course I will court you. It would be an honour to be yours, Boromir. I know it won't be easy, I know there are threats out there in Middle Earth that you will one day have to deal with. I am not afraid of that, I would welcome a future with you. I have spent my youth with you, so what's the rest of our lives in comparison?"

"You beautiful thing..." he spoke, voice quiet and full of love. "My beautiful thing."

With one more kiss, a kiss filled with hope for the future, Boromir brought you off him and offered his hand to you. You accepted, and with a kiss to your knuckles, you set off on your first walk as a couple and the first walk of the rest of your days as one.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Imagine Boromir and Eomer fighting over you

Eomer: “Would you care for a dance, m’lady?”

Boromir: “I think she’d rather dance with someone who won’t step on her toes.”

Eomer: “Or maybe she’d like to dance with someone who won’t drop her.”

Boromir: “I’d never drop a woman so lovely”

Eomer: “He says that now.”

********

Y/N: “I sometimes worry that there may be another war.”

Boromir: “Worry not, m’lady, I would keep you safe.”

Eomer: “In my embrace you would find true safety.”

Boromir: “With my sword, you would never knew harm.”

*******

*Eomer and Boromir walk in behind you carry dresses, jewellery and food*

Eowyn: “This your doing?”

Y/N: “Their feud does not seem to cease and I can not decide between them, so I use it to my advantage. I did get you new riding pants by the way” *wink*

[thementallyunstablenerd]

R.I.P Boromir you would have loved babysitting

[andisinger]

Hi everyone! I’m working on a new book that’s been bouncing around in my brain for a while, just one of my projects, so if you love Lord of the Rings and Narnia as much as I do, please feel free to check it out!

[sotwk]

Statues of Boromir in Minas Tirith

@scyllas-revenge I decided to move our discussion off that poor Pride and Prejudice post before we annoy the folks who just came to look at the pretty gifs and not listen to our unrelated and unhinged Boromir simping. XD

I LOVE YOUR HEADCANONS! Furiously taking notes to fuel the scene going on my head and preparing to shamelessly steal the vibes from the P&P movie scene.

Picturing all the Gondorian maidens gazing wistfully (and not too subtly) at those portraits and statues of the Captain of Gondor! As for the "lone" Faramir statue--joke's on Dad. It was placed exactly where a good portion of his fanbase probably resides, and I'm sure it gets a lot of dreamy-eyed visitors as well.

We're plotting and I love it. I hope whoever reads this post lets it inspire their Boromir (or Faramir!) imaginings too, if they wish.

[mlmxreader]

Politics | Boromir x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Would you write prompt #4 why can’t we be together? And #38 nobody can ever take me away from you For Boromir with GN reader? If this doesn’t spark anything for you that is ok too! Thank you 🙏 - @spngingerbread21 ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Boromir have been together for a while, but there's only one thing stopping you from being together properly.

: ̗̀➛ N/A

↳ @arthurmorgansballsack

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The sprawling hills were enough to know that you were home. The village beside the valleys, so thick and so bursting with life that it was a surprise that they were still luscious and green; with the wild grasses mixing of their winter yellow paint and their springtime soft green, the wind seemed to sing amongst the gentle breeze.

For years, your forefathers and their forefathers had stood upon those hills; for years, their hearts had belonged to the country and to its sprawling hills. You were no different. The deep and lively valleys meant home, they always would; the hills tall and stoic as they watched over what the mountains were too tall to see.

From the smallest of emerald green beetles with little red triangles on their backs, all the way through to the largest stag with great antlers and dark brown coats. The hills saw everything the mountains could not, forever keeping an eye on the country as the home passed from generation to generation.

There had always been tales of those valleys and mountains and hills; once a great king had ruled over them with the hearts of his people and nothing more in mind.

He was said to be fair and just; a great political leader, but an even greater friend to the prophet and magician that he called a best friend, a brother, and to the knights that he treated as his own kin. He was said to be a great king, forever fighting for his people with a sword that had been blessed and linked to his bloodline until the end of days; but they were just tales and nothing more.

The dreams of a people who resided there.

But there were more; for years you had been told that if you were to ever go into those mountains, you would have to sing in the old language, the ancient language that everybody knew, so as not to wake the dragon that slept within them.

The dragon was a kind, fair beast who fought for his people and loved them dearly; if they should ever need help, he would always rise to the occasion and protect them with every ounce of his mighty strength. Bright red in colour, he was old and ancient, but powerful; having fought off a white dragon that threatened to steal the land and to rule its people with an iron fist, the red dragon was tired, and needed to sleep to reserve his strength.

Ever since you were a child, you always sang when you visited the mountains; even now, well into your adulthood, you still sang every time. Even old stories, you had learned, had some truth to them. Maybe too much.

Everybody sang in the mountains, though, always in the old and ancient language; even at home and during sports matches and times of togetherness, everybody sang. Sometimes in large choirs that made the songs seem so ethereal and unreal; other times just when they were sweeping and cooking on their own.

But as your hand rested upon the hilt of your sword, you couldn't help but to smile. A bright red blade, it had been in your family for so long that no one remembered how it had come to be in the first place; it glowed with the colours of fire when you wielded it, but even the elves with their bountiless knowledge did not understand it.

It was ancient, they had said, going back even further than their own time. You watched with great curiosity as a horse galloped up the hills, panting heavily as its rider waved with one hand; you smiled even more, taking your hand from the sword so that you could wave back.

Boromir.

He pulled his horse to a stop when he was close enough, dismounting and smiling at you brightly, causing his eyes to squint.

"Your Grace," he hummed, earning a playful smack to his shoulder.

"Who sent you?" You asked, raising a brow. "I know it wasn't your father."

"No," he admitted with a shake of his head. "Faramir did."

"No, he didn't," you bit back a laugh as you tilted your head to the side. "Who sent you?"

"Alright, alright," he breathed out, doing his best not to laugh. "My father sent me on patrol, and we were in the area. So I asked around if anyone had seen you."

"Good," you smiled at last, licking your lips. "You interrupted my patrol, so you can come with me."

Boromir nodded, falling into step beside you as he resisted every urge not to lace his fingers with yours. It was too risky, if any of his men saw him then they would surely tell his father.

He might have been his own man, and the golden boy of his family, but that wouldn't stop his father from using his political positions to demand that Boromir stay away from you.

"I don't understand it," he sighed. "Why can't we be together?"

You glared at him from the corner of your eye. "Your father would never allow it. We're not politically important enough for you to be caught with me in any compromising positions."

"But your family is older than mine," he pointed out. "You have good history and alliances with the elves."

You shrugged, your hand wandering to the wooden spoon you had in your back pocket, protected by your dark grey cloak. "We do, but you know how Denethor feels... he's a powerful man, but he's also embittered and full of despair."

Boromir frowned, taking a look around before gently linking his fingers with yours and giving your hand a little swing. "When I am the steward of Gondor, you'll be there with me."

You raised a brow as you laughed softly. "And what makes you think I'd leave my home?"

"We could share," he started, "spend half of our time here, the other half in Gondor."

"It's a good dream," you told him softly. "But dreams lie."

"I had a dream once," he mused. "You were a great monarch - beloved and fair. Just and kind. That sword of yours was the fear of every orc and troll and goblin in the land. You woke up that dragon in the mountains, and it served with you."

"It's just a dream," you said with a soft laugh. "Little more... besides, you're the one who's going to be a great political leader - not me. You inspire people, Boromir, and you have the right heart for it."

"But I'd want you there with me," he admitted. "Nobody can ever take me away from you. Not even politics."

You smiled as you paused, leaning into him slightly. "Look, over there."

He looked where you pointed, smiling a little at what he saw; amongst the grey skies were two birds.

Hawks.

Flying together as they hunted, the phantoms of the forests with their dark brownish grey backs, their stomachs littered with dark tipped feathers against a large white background; their golden eyes keened in on the nearest little vole or mouse as they swooped down with great yellow legs tipped with long and sharp charcoal claws. They made not a single sound.

Boromir always loved to see them, and looked forward to it every time he visited you; there was something so fascinating about watching them easily glide through the skies before swooping down like an arrow from a bow. He smiled, leaning into you.

"Do you remember when we went onto the mountain path?" He whispered. "I got caught on a fragile rock, and you swooped down and grabbed me... just like the phantoms."

"I still think about it," you admitted with a soft laugh. "You were so scared."

"And you just kept singing," he laughed softly. "I'll never forget it, you always sang when you're in the mountains."

"I don't wish to waken something," you hummed. "Come on, I know where there's some ripe berries - we can sit for a while and talk properly."

"I'd like that," Boromir admitted with a smile. "Lead the way."

"I also have something to give you," you confessed as you gently tugged at his hand. "It's nothing big, but promise me you'll look after it."

"Of course," he agreed without hesitation. "If I can, I will always keep it with me."

"Good," you nodded. "I spent a long time on it... and I hope you like it."

You couldn't help it, reaching into your back pocket to fumble with the spoon again to make sure that it was hidden; you had spent countless hours on it, carving the phantoms of the forest into the wooden handle as best as you could and chipping away at the spoon just to make sure that it mimicked the pattern of their feathers properly. You chewed at the inside of your lip.

You really hoped that he would like it.

"While we walk," Boromir looked at you with a slight smile. "Would you sing?"

"Why?" You asked with a soft laugh. "You're not scared of dragons, are you?"

"No!" He huffed. "But I do like to hear your voice."

[incorrectships-and-fandoms]

Y/N: You’d be stupid to lay a hand on me.

Boromir: Oh, you’d be surprised how much stupid shit I do.

[estelofrivendell]

Hi i see that your requests are open and i was wondering if you could do some platonic headcanons or a one shot where the reader is a young adult/teen in the fellowship. Perhaps something where aragorn or boromir are sort of a reluctant father figure, kinda like a joel and ellie dynamic from tlou!

A/N: How is everyone doing? I haven't written anything in two months.... I have a bad headache distracting me from schoolwork which means I get to work on this! I need to rest but I miss writing! Anon, I played TLOU a long time ago and I know little to nothing about the second game so this is based on how well I know the first game (probably not that well). I'm sorry this isn't a one shot, I'm trying to keep this simple since I'm trying to adjust after so long of not writing. I'm sorry if this is also bad, but life got in the way and I have other hyperfixations that I currently prioritise over LOTR.

ARAGORN

You had to be the most difficult person Aragorn ever met. He understood life treated you like shit, but that did not excuse your attitude. Life was not kind to him either yet he knew how to remain polite and respect authority. He is a man that keeps his word, however, and would not leave you in a ditch even if it spared him the annoyance you brought him. Once he cooled down and got used to watching over you, he reflected on what he knew about your life and felt pity for you. So young, yet seems older beyond your years. It took a traumatic near death experience for Aragorn to realise he saw you as a daughter, a feeling he did not understand from not having any children of his own (yet) but at that moment he knew he would kill for you.

BOROMIR

He saw so much of him in you that it scared him. It explained how you two just could never get along at all. Okay, you both respected each other enough to not be at each other's throats, but you had no love for seemingly rude men that thought they knew everything and he had nothing but contempt for little brats. Legolas' passing comment about you reminding him of Boromir led him to start feeling as if he should go a little easier on you, treat you with more respect and view you as the adult you are while reminding you you've yet to see the worst of the world with your young age. He also felt the world was much more beautiful than you know it and he would die for you if it meant you can experience true happiness, and that he did.

[wordbunch]

Boromir with a hyper partner

a/n: requested by the sweet @aphroditesmoon​ - headcanons of Boromir with a hyper reader who likes to talk abt their special interests!! i did my best and I hope you all like it! 😊 let me know, and reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated! 💖💖💖

okay he is also a high energy person but in a different way

sometimes (though not often) he finds you hard to keep up with, but over time he figures out how you function

loves going to social gatherings and occasions with you cause you’re so captivating and other people love talking to you, meaning that he can hang back half the time and just be a trophy husband lmao

he will stand there with the biggest, most obvious heart eyes while you’re having other conversations and he will basically fail to notice when someone else tries to approach him

however sometimes he gets just a tiny bit worn out after dancing with you for a while because you take it seriously

regarding your info-dumping, he is a fan

listening to your voice is like coming home, especially when you’re passionate about something and want to share it with him

it melts Boromir’s heart that he is the first person (and often the only one) to whom you come to talk about something that’s very important to you, or just when you generally confess things to him

he will treasure them and everything you tell him is always safe with him

sometimes he will listen attentively and other times he will ask you some questions

he never fails to notice the twinkle in your eyes when he asks you to elaborate further on something

personal headcanon - he loves a healthy debate with good arguments

of course as long as you’re both being respectful

actually it’s kinda hot when it gets heated and both of you are Into It, so don’t be surprised when he just cuts you off with a passionate kiss

on rare occasions when he’s extremely tired and overwhelmed by what happened throughout the day, he will very politely ask you if you can just be quiet together a little bit

he will certainly tip-toe around that for a bit, not wanting to hurt you or discourage you from doing it again tomorrow in the future

but it’s fine, you understand, and you know that on most days your rambling helps take his mind off of bad things and dull responsibilities

pleasepleaseplease run to this man when he returns home PLS

literally go tackle him in a hug so he can lift you up and spin you around as you both laugh and then kiss (at this point it’s basically canon that Boromir would do that and I am never letting it go)

✨ taglist my beloved ✨ @lotrnonsense​​​​​​ @starlady66​​​​​​ @queenmeriadoc​​ @entishramblings​​​​​​ @thesolarangel​​​​​​ @silversword7000​​​​​​ @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog​​​​​​ @averys-place​​​​​​ @valkyriepirate​​​​​​ @emmaarenstarr​​​​​​ @noldorinpainter​​​​​​ @asianbutnotjapanese​​​​​​ @adamgetawaydriver​​​​​​ @fenharel-enaste​​​​​​ @ironmandeficiency​​​​​​      @starryeyedrogue​​ @dinofromspac3​​  @wisheduponastar​ @lady-of-imladris​ @frodo-cinnamonroll​

thank you to everyone who joined the taglist!

[beautifultypewriter]

The Eighth Day of Christmas ~ Boromir

Prompt: Driving around late at night to look at Christmas lights

Pairing: Boromir x reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 565

A/N: One for my husband. I adore him.

You hummed quietly to yourself as you looked out the window, barely flickering lights painting the lower city. It was late and you should have moved over to the bed, but your husband had yet to return and you had always had trouble sleeping without him. You supposed it was some leftover feeling, wanting or needing to know that he was safe before you could lay your head down. Things were different now, but you still couldn’t shake that feeling. So you sat at the window and watched the lights, letting the warmth of the season wash over you.

The door clicked open, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away, instead speaking quietly with your cheek pressed against the window pane, “You work too hard.”

Boromir sighed as moved into the room, “I must.” You nodded and he sighed again, “”What are you doing up, my love?”

You smiled, “The lights are beautiful, don’t you think?” Boromir didn’t say anything, but you could hear him shuffling around the room. Probably getting himself ready to sleep. You ran your fingertips over the cool glass, preparing yourself to leave the comfort of the window seat. As you turned though, you were met with the soft gaze of your husband. Boromir was standing next to you, your boots hanging from his fingertips. He kneeled down and gently placed his hand on your calf. His skin was warm as his fingertips traced up to your knee and back down again before he gently pulled your leg close to his chest. You watched him, your head tilted, “What are you doing?”

He stayed focused on his task, pulling your boot over your foot and doing up the laces, “Helping you put your boots on.”

You stifled a laugh, “Yes, but why?” He had just finished lacing up the second boot when he looked up at you, a smile spreading over his lips. He stood and offered his hand to you. Hesitantly, you put your hand in his, raising your eyebrows as he avoided your question, “Boromir?”

He pulled you to your feet, “You’ll see.” He said nothing else as he grabbed your cloak, wrapped it around your shoulders and pulled the hood up over your head. Lacing his fingers with yours, he led you from the room and down the empty corridors until you were in the courtyard. You followed him willingly, no other questions passing your lips as the cold air nipped at your skin. 

Boromir navigated the streets with ease, taking turns without any thought, the map of his city ingrained in his mind. You kept pace with him, moving easily into the lower city. You came to an abrupt stop as Boromir halted his movements and wrapped his arm around your waist. In one quick movement, he spun you around so that you were looking down the winding street. You gasped as you took in the sight of the house before you. Every window was lit with a candle, the light casting a soft glow on the stones. You took two small steps forward, turning in your spot and letting the light dance across your skin. Boromir smiled as he watched you, moving closer and lacing his fingers with your once more. You grinned at him, pressing yourself into his side as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, the candlelight glowing around you.

[ironmandeficiency]

the advice of hobbits

pairing: boromir / reader

word count: 728

summary: boromir is educated on the hobbit language of flowers, but is woefully uninformed about how your body reacts to said flowers

a/n: my april piece for the year of themed creation! maybe i’ll catch up eventually? who knows 🤷🏻‍♀️ tagging @oonajaeadira & @yearofcreation2023

“oi merry! boromir has a cruuuuuush!” “who do ya think he fancies, pip?” “do i even have to say?” “no, i don’t think you d-AAAH!”

boromir interrupts the gossiping hobbits with a (mostly) playful tackle, clotheslining them both with one arm each

he knows they’re both young, pippin not even of majority by hobbit standards, but it’s moments like these that have him wanting to wring their necks like freshly washed laundry

the topic was changed once merry and pippin were freed from boromir’s wrath, but the young hobbits were far from deterred

for days after, they continued to pester their friend about you, from teasing comments about the puppy eyes boromir gave you to preposterous claims that your eyes mirrored his

the risk of you overhearing their silly banter was far too taxing on his nerves. he’s a warrior who has seen the darkest things humanity has to offer & faced them all with limitless courage, but that courage disappears when he thinks about you learning of his harbored affection

he didn’t believe he could survive the heartbreak that would come with your inevitable refusal of a courtship offer, so he chose instead to brood about it

“i still think you should tell ‘em,” pippin remarked out of the blue one day, catching him off guard. boromir couldn’t play dumb enough to avoid thinking of what you would say and he hated how your rejection circulated in his ears

“even if i wanted to, which i don’t, i do not believe a proposition in the ways of our people would end well.” the young hobbits knew this was code for “you deserve much better and i’m too much of a chicken to offer it to you” but wisely didn’t call him on it

“then do it the hobbit way, with flowers!” “why didn’t we think of that before? absolutely genius!”

the next half hour was spent educating the captain about the hobbit language of flowers: which ones were useful in romance, which ones he’d be wise to avoid, and how to arrange the good flowers properly to convey the right meaning

once the right flowers were retrieved, it was time to teach the skill of crown weaving. in one word, that whole ordeal could be described as dismal

it took dozens and dozens of flowers and endless patience for there to be a decent flower crown, but it finally happened

boromir was losing his nerve as time went on, you making a very clear effort to avoid him that slowly broke him down

even the younger hobbits were concerned at this strange development. you didn’t start avoiding boromir until he started using the flowers, but they were positive that you shared the same feelings as the gondorian. what gives?

it got to the point where boromir was starting to toss pieces of his hard work along their walks in hurt frustration. the boys wouldn’t let their friend give up on love so easily, so they collected each of the discarded pieces and saved them

they confront you on your avoidance of boromir in the most inconvenient way possible (because that’s how these two operate) by approaching you with some of boromir’s arrangements

you had no warning when the two hobbits plopped a massive pile of flowers in your lap, the residual pollen invading your nose in the most uncomfortable fashion

sneeze after sneeze wracked your body (even legolas looked concerned at the spectacle from across the fire) until you were saved from the flowery pile by boromir, who looked pissed as he discarded the blossoms yet again

your body was too busy rejecting the pollen that you didn’t notice the harsh looks merry and pip both were wearing before the took’s eyes betrayed the appearance of an enlightenment

“merry, they’re averse! they don’t hate boromir after all, it’s just the flowers!” this certainly caught merry’s attention and led to an enlightenment of his own.

“the flowers held no hobbity weight at all when they just made them sick! oh this is a great development!” “now they can confess their love for each other without fear of an attack!”

if looks could kill, pippin would be dead several times over (but he paid no heed to this of course, that’s just his nature)

boromir, now more than ever, wonders why he took the advice of these two silly hobbits

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Prompt: 25.“If I’m being mean to someone, I’m probably flirting.” “Is that why you’re always mean to (character)?”

Charachter: Tolkien - Boromir

The only note I leave you is that the companion for Boromir is a woman, then if human or of a different race I leave it to your imagination to decide 😊

Thanks in advance even just for the attention and compliments for all the stories you always give us, I adore you and your writings 😍 sending hugs 🤗

Teasing As Flirting- Boromir x Elf!Reader

A/N: Thank you for the love! Tiny bit of Gigolas in here too. Italics is in elvish

“If I’m being mean to someone, I’m probably flirting,” you spoke with your friend Legolas, as you sit together on a large rock, watching the other members of the fellowship enjoy a nice break.

“Is that why you’re always mean to Boromir?” Your friend asks with a teasing and knowing smirk.

Turning to him with a shocked expression you slap him across the chest playfully.

“Is it a similar reasoning as to why you’re so mean to Gimli? Yes, see, two can play at that game, my old friend. Besides, I’m not being mean to him, I’m being honest. He does smell and he does need to control his movements with his blade more.” You try to defend your obvious crush to your oldest friend.

“Hmm, I must be confused with another friend of mine, but I remember you once telling me that you found the smell on men interesting, and not as appalling as others complained. And I know you well enough, old friend, to know that you recognising how he handles his blade means that you’ve been watching him rather closely.” Legolas challenges you, as his knowing smile grows

“Shut up, Legolas. You take a chance with the dwarf and I’ll take a chance with the human. Huh, what a pair we are.” You half laugh, and half scoff to yourself as you walk to check on the halflings and Boromir.

Boromir immediately notices your approach and stops helping the halflings. Walking over to you, he has his usual sweet smile on his face that seems to radiate sunshine, and you try your best not to let it affect you too outwardly.

“You know when you talk that elvish language it does sound beautiful, but I often wonder what you say.” Boromir compliments; both his words and the way he says them making you swoon internally.

“Maybe you should learn then, you stupid man,” comes your insult, that is definitely not flirting.

“Well maybe a certain beautiful elf maiden should teach me,” he continues to flirt, his grin widening and his compliment is followed by a cheeky wink.

“If only there were one around who’d have the patience,” you retort with a sly smirk.

You hand lightly touch his shoulder and down his arm as you pass him and make your way to the little ones.

Definitely not flirting.

[bisexualbumblebee-writes]

Fluffuary 2023 Day 16: Established "I Love You"- Boromir x OC

Boromir x Citra

Description: Citra finally gets to see the love of her life at her new friend's coronation.

Word Count: 1.1k

Challenge made by the lovely @darthglitterfanfictionnfiction

Citra ran through the halls of the MapleElm palace in a panicked state. Netra wasn’t far behind her, though she was trying to calm her sister down rather than panic as well. The elder Underlake burst into the throne room, where the Queen and council were discussing something, likely the trip they would be taking to Gondor. Upon the girl’s abrupt entrance, they instantly quieted down and faced her in shock. 

“Citra,” Annisa started, but was further surprised when the girl cut her off (something that she never did). 

“Where is he?” She demanded, alarmed and sounding as if she were near tears. “Where has the Steward of Gondor’s son gone? Has he-” 

“Citra,” Indah called firmly, instantly silencing the girl. She stood from her throne and walked towards her, ultimately resting her hands on her shoulders when she reached her. 

“Sir Boromir hasn’t been in MapleElm for almost a month,” she explained, which made the girl freeze in place. “He thanked us for our help in his revival, informed us that he was going to go fight for Gondor as well as look for you, then left when the final fleet of Wanita Hutan left the forest.” 

Citra had no idea what to say. She was expecting them to say that his health had ultimately failed and he had passed while she was gone fighting. The absolute last thing she anticipated was them saying that he had willingly left while he (knowingly) should still have been resting. 

“What?” She asked, almost breathlessly. “But…but I thought that he was still healing.” 

“He was, but he insisted on fighting as well. It’s not like we could really force him to stay, Citra.” Logically, she knew that the Queen had made a logical point, but that didn’t make her any less upset. Without another word she walked out of the throne room, actively moving out of her sister’s reach. 

Her mind was reeling with this information. Surely Boromir hadn’t been that idiotic that he ran blindly into battle without being fully healed, right? Wrong. Despite her continuing to look for him, she knew that he was too valiant to not fight in arguably one of the biggest battles in all of Middle Earth. But she didn’t want to believe it because that meant two things: 1) there was a very high chance that they literally crossed paths and didn’t know/realize it, and 2) there’s also a huge chance he died in the battle. She didn’t even want to consider the second part, it was just too painful. Yet, it was still a very real possibility. He likely hadn’t been fully healed before he went off to battle, and that would hinder him significantly against the enemy. Citra felt her heart shatter into a million pieces for the second time in a matter of months. 

Citra stood at the forefront of the Wanita Hutan in the Pelennor Fields along with Indah and her council. A proud look appeared on her face as Gandalf placed the crown on Aragorn’s head. It truly looked like it belonged there.

“Now come the days of the King,” the wizard announced with a proud smile. “May they be blessed.” The entire field erupted in cheers and applause. Aragorn, meanwhile, walked up the steps and turned towards the crowd. 

“This day does not belong to one man, but to all,” he announced, holding his arms out a bit. “Let us together rebuild this world, so that we may share in the days of peace.” That caused the people to cheer and clap once more. Petals began falling down upon everyone, which made the scene all the more magical. 

She tore her gaze away from Aragorn as he began to sing the song of Elendil and her eyes scanned the crowd idly. After he sang, he began walking towards the people. Faramir and Eowyn bowed low to him followed by Eomer. Once he returned the gesture, he faced the Wanita Hutan. 

“Words cannot express how grateful we are for all of your help during our journey,” the King spoke truthfully, bowing to her as he had done to Faramir, Eowyn and Eomer just moments ago. “Thank you.” Indah stepped forward then bowed to him, followed by the rest of the Wanita Hutan in thanks for his kind words. Wordlessly, he beckoned Citra forward, which she did after shooting a confused glance at Indah, who offered her a knowing smile. 

“There is someone waiting for you to your left,” he muttered just loud enough to hear before moving away. Citra only became more confused, that is until she turned to her left. Her eyes widened as she realized someone she held very dear to her heart was standing there, watching her with a patient smile. Instantly the rest of the world fell away to Citra as she stared at him in shock. 

“Boromir,” she whispered. It was as if the man could hear her voice because he held his arms out for her. Without a second thought she began walking over to him, gradually picking up her pace until she was almost running at him with full force. She slowed herself down just before she reached him so that she wouldn’t knock him over, then basically jumped into his still open arms. 

“I can’t believe it,” she whimpered, looking up at him with happy tear-filled eyes. “You’re alive.” 

“I am,” he whispered, a bright smile gracing his face. “And so are you. You look absolutely radiant, Citra.” The girl blushed at his compliment, then shook her head amusedly. 

“You are the only one I know that could almost die twice in a row then flirt with me right after seeing me.” 

“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t find it charming,” he retorted, mimicking her mirth. The girl shrugged, hugging him closer to her. 

“Maybe so,” she muttered shortly before her amused expression morphed into a more sincere one. “I missed you so much.” 

“And I missed you as well. Every moment without you felt like an eternity. And now that there is no longer a threat to us, I can finally say that I love you without fear.” Citra’s heart soared at his words, and without thinking she leaned up and kissed him passionately. He was quick to reciprocate it, but was ultimately the one to pull away for air. Citra didn’t mind though, she simply rested her forehead against his as a sign of affection. 

“I love you too,” she muttered genuinely, receiving a chuckle in response before he pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her even closer as they turned back to the King. It wasn’t the first time they’d said those three special words to each other, but for some reason it felt equally as special to them. After all they’d been through they managed to make it out on the other side and were able to say it to each other again. It was like an affirmation that they could make it through anything.

[hottpinkpenguin]

Knees - Boromir X Fem!Reader

Oneshot, word count: 3,167 Summary: You've tried to keep your feelings for Gondor's favored captain a secret, and done a damn good job. Until now. Warnings: angst, fluff, heavy steam, implied oral sex A/n: the poem in this oneshot borrows heavily from the lyrics of 'Old Gods' by Emily Scott Robinson (highly recommend her music if you enjoy Nanci Griffith, James Taylor, or Joni Mitchell)

Boromir could feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing at his temples. The din of the crowd milling around the Tower Hall was grating on his last nerve. His father had insisted on an extravagant banquet to celebrate his recent successes as the High Warden of the White Tower, but Boromir would have preferred to rest and spend the evening strolling through the streets of Gondor unbothered. Eager to get away from the crowd, Boromir strode out of the busy throne room onto the south facing balcony.

The night air was warm and smelled of jasmine. Boromir took a deep inhale, leaning his hands on the rail of the balcony and gazing out over the Pelennor Fields, the expanse of grassland that stretched out from Minas Tirith’s feet towards the banks of the Anduin. Boromir strained his eyes against the dim twilight; he thought he could make out the parapets of Osgiliath, Gondor’s first capital, now little more than a ruined river crossing. Faramir was there, as commander of the city’s garrison. Boromir had ordered his brother to oversee repairs to the old city to prepare for the coming battle. Beyond the dark smudge of Osgiliath’s long-vacant towers, an ominous blackness loomed over the land of Mordor. His thoughts turned bleak as he wondered what was stirring behind the mountains in that black land. Scouts reports had confirmed that orcs were-

Boromir jumped at the tinny clang of something metal hitting the stone floor in a darkened corner of the balcony. Instinctually, Boromir’s right hand grasped at the hilt of his sword and unsheathed it in barely more than a breath. He crouched into a warrior’s pose, his sword held out in front of him and his features steely as he looked for the source of the noise.

The quickness of his movements startled you almost as much as your clumsiness had startled him. You were glad for the darkness as you felt your face flush with embarrassment at your discovery. You hadn’t expected the High Captain of Gondor to skip out on his own banquet; in fact, you’d been counting on having the balcony all to yourself, so you’d be able to write in peace. There certainly wouldn’t be anymore of that, now that the small candelabra you’d been using for light was in two pieces on the stone floor. 

You leapt to your feet, muttering apologies and trying to keep your heart from beating out of your chest. You’d never been so close to Boromir before, and certainly not alone in the dark. Your mouth went dry at the realization. 

As one of the Steward’s personal scribes, you’d spent most of your life in the Tower Hall of Minas Tirith. On occasion, your work brought you into close contact with both of Denethor’s sons. Faramir was something of a friend to you, despite the difference in your stations. You both shared a love of the written word and his quiet temperament mirrored yours, making you fast friends. But it was Faramir’s older brother, the handsome and lordly High Warden, that made you go weak in the knees. It had been that way since you’d been old enough to notice such things.

You’d always admired him from a distance and kept your desires to yourself, confiding your feelings only in the pages of your journals. Nothing would come of your infatuation, you knew; Boromir was next in line for the Steward’s role, which was the closest thing Gondor had to a king. His title required him to wed someone of noble birth, and you knew his father would have nothing but the best for his favorite son. While your family was not poor and your duties as a scribe were a great source of pride to them, you did not have the aristocratic heritage needed to be a worthy match for the High Warden. And even if you did, he’s never looked twice at you, a harsh inner voice reminded you, causing your fragile heart to crumple at the reminder.

“Forgive me, my lord, I didn’t wish to disturb you.” Your voice sounded small and pathetic, and you felt your cheeks blaze with renewed embarrassment. 

Boromir relaxed at the sound of your voice, dropping his sword and chuckling softly. 

“You shouldn’t make a habit of startling armed men, you know,” Boromir chided you gently as he bent to pick up the fragments of the broken candelabra at your feet. He was so close that you could see the seams on his blue brocade tunic. When he stood, the candelabra in his hands, he stood almost a half foot taller than you. If you’d been bold enough to hold his gaze, you would have been forced to incline your chin up at him. But you kept your eyes fixed intently on the gray stone floor, hoping he couldn’t hear the erratic thudding of your heart in your chest. He was so close you swore you could feel the faint tickle of his breath on your temple. Your skin erupted in flames where his breath danced over it.

“I’ll make a note of that, my Lord,” you stammered in reply, barely able to keep your voice from breaking. 

“Please, Y/N, how long have you known me? Dispense with the ‘my Lord’ nonsense, I beg you. I’ve heard enough of that tonight.” The sound of your name in his voice sent a thrill running up your spine. You hadn’t realized that Boromir knew you apart from the dozens of other faces he saw on a daily basis around the halls of the Steward’s quarters. That fact, coupled with the High Warden’s closeness, scattered your thoughts like marbles on a smooth floor until you didn’t trust yourself not to press yourself against him, twine your fingers in his hair, press your lips to his, run your hands along the planes of his stomach, pant his name until you were breathless, grab his-

You audibly let out a small, breathless gasp as you tore yourself away and bid your feet to run. You knew that if you stayed that close to him for one more second you would do something irreparable and shameful. All you heard as you left, practically sprinting away into the relative safety of the well-lit throne room, was the blood pounding in your head. It drowned out the sound of the night breeze, the sounds of the party, and the sound of Boromir calling after you…

**********

Boromir watched as y/n scurried away like a frightened animal into the banquet room once again. He must have misread the signals, must have misinterpreted the tension in the air between them. Boromir wasn’t used to being rebuffed in his advances; most people were swayed by his easy charm, his skill with a sword, and his title at the very least. But y/n seemed immune to him, always preferring the quiet company of Faramir. Feeling frustrated and embarrassed, he called out after y/n, but his voice was swallowed up by the sounds of merriment in the throne room. 

“You damn fool,” Boromir cursed to himself as he ran a regretful hand through his hair. He tossed away the broken pieces of y/n’s candelabra, anger at his misstep boiling in his chest as he made to stride off. It was then that he saw it, resting precariously on the balcony’s railing. A small, leather-bound journal. 

Boromir hadn’t noticed it earlier, although he recognized it instantly. Y/n always carried such a journal. Aside from Faramir, it was y/n’s most steadfast companion. 

Boromir froze, eyeing the diary, a conflict raging within him. He knew that whatever contents the journal held were private and to open it constituted a violation of honor. The thought twisted like a knife in his gut. But, on the other hand, Boromir had always longed for a peak into y/n’s mind. For reasons he couldn’t quite articulate, Boromir knew that there was beauty there, if only he could access it. 

He hesitated for only a moment, casting a wary glance back towards the banquet hall. If y/n saw him, Boromir’s far-flung hopes would be dashed forever. No one was looking, and y/n had disappeared into the crowd. It was now or never.

Like a man dying of thirst, Boromir grabbed the journal greedily and cracked it open, his eyes roving the pages and drinking in the words. It was a journal, but so much more. There were smatterings of poetry: some of it original, Boromir deduced, but some of it copied down from y/n’s work in Minas Tirith’s library. Every so often, Boromir found a sketch. Most of it was of Minas Tirith, drawn from the vantage point of the mountains that rose up behind the city. A few horses, children, nondescript landscapes. They were beautiful renderings, detailed and delicate in the linework, incredibly lifelike. 

He continued to flip through the journal. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but in his eagerness to scour the entirety of the book he found he couldn’t focus on any one page for longer than a moment. 

Not until he found his own likeness staring out of the page up at him. 

Boromir recognized himself in y/n’s drawing immediately, although the pen-and-ink Boromir seemed finer somehow. Boromir’s heart pirouetted in his chest as he drank in the drawing, trying to decipher where it was that y/n’s drawing deviated from reality. Y/n had captured the line of his jaw perfectly, even the small scar above his right eyebrow. His hair was rough and unkempt looking, as if he’d just returned from a horseback ride, and he wore his simple fighting leathers. The eyes and lips were a perfect mirror to his own, but still there was something about the drawing… 

His eyes slid down the page to where, at the very bottom of the drawing, he saw a single line of small, impeccably neat handwriting:

A King in a long line of Stewards

Boromir felt the breath hitch in his throat. The sentiment was simple but beautiful, and it touched something very deep inside him. 

The feverish hunger to devour the journal’s contents in a single gulp from moments before slowed and dwindled to something much more tender. Boromir flipped the page slowly, the same neat handwriting covering the backside of the sheaf of paper where his portrait was drawn.

You must be a trick of the memory that the old gods are playing on me,

You travel with my love over plains, mountains and seas.

Your blue eyes are there when I close mine, 

Your voice chases me while I dream,

My heart cries out in the darkness for you,

The roots of the world shake with its scream. 

I’ll drown in this desire and choke on this need,

Say you’re mine once and I’ll fall to my knees.

Boromir read the lines more times than he could count, luxuriating in the words until he could hardly breathe. He knew y/n’s words when he heard them, although he’d never heard anything close to this. Never dared to hope that anything approximating this was in y/n’s heart. His mind danced with a misty light, his heart suffused with warmth. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, using the fading light of the banquet inside to read the lines over and over again until he had them memorized. 

At some point he surfaced from his reverie, his heart beating erratically against his ribs. He stood up from where he’d sat against the railing, smoothing the front of his tunic and the sides of his hair. With a final inhale, he strode off purposefully, weaving through the thinning crowd of Gondor’s nobility, ignoring their greetings. He didn’t hesitate until he found himself standing in front of y/n’s door. Shakily, unsure of what he was about to say, he knocked twice. 

**********

You heard two soft knocks at your door. You glanced at the moon outside, surprised that anyone would pay you a visit this late. It was nearing midnight, you guessed. There was a fluttery feeling in your chest coupled with a pit in your stomach that you hadn’t been able to soothe with either tea or a warm bath. You felt as if you were losing your mind by inches. You’d spent your entire life, more or less, in Boromir’s home and you’d crossed his path hundreds of times before. Why now were you suddenly undone like a smitten child? Your feelings for him weren’t new, so why were you abruptly unable to control them?

You tried to push those thoughts from your mind as you crossed your chamber and unlatched your door. You suspected it would be Teithand, the master scribe. On rare occasions he gave you a special assignment and made a habit of visiting your private chambers to discuss the details of these duties at all hours of the day or night. 

But the figure darkening your doorway wasn’t dressed in the long, cream robes of a scribe, but instead in the formalwear of Gondorian nobility. 

Boromir smiled at you, and the sight of him, leaning casually against your door frame and close to you set your heart ablaze again. The thoughts you’d tenuously strung together shattered and your breath hitched in your throat. 

When you saw the small journal clutched in the High Warden’s hands, however, your stomach fell into your feet. Horror and something deeper than shame consumed you in an instant. 

You hardly had time to process what was happening before Boromir stepped into your chamber confidently. He tossed your journal onto the bed behind you, his now empty hands coming to the small of your back and the side of your face as he caught your lips with his.

You froze. You’d lost all semblance of coherent thought. The whiplash of emotions had left you feeling terrified. Thankfully, your body reacted faster than either your head or your heart. 

As if you’d done it a thousand times before, your lips moved in sync with Boromir’s and your hands tangled in the thick strands of his auburn hair. You gave yourself over to instinct as your mind dissolved under the pressure of his lips. His breath washed over you - warm and ragged - as the two of you pressed your bodies against each other, eager to melt together in the quiet dark of your chamber. His hands roamed over you, tentatively at first, but faster and firmer as you responded to his touch with neediness. You heard a small, desperate groan escape from the back of his throat; the sound of it almost sent you catapulting over the edge of the logic. 

You caught yourself in the instant before you lost all control of yourself, breaking the kiss and pulling back just enough to catch his eyes. 

“Boromir, what is thi-”

“I’m yours,” he whispered back, cutting you off with his words followed by another kiss. This time his lips refused to stay contained to yours. He tipped your head back, exposing your neck to him as his mouth moved along its length. The places where his lips connected with your skin burned like a brand. You felt a heat building deep inside your core. 

“I’m yours, Y/N” he said again. This time it was him who had the sense to pull away. You were panting, and you would have been self-conscious if it weren’t for the fact that he too was on the verge of gasping. His hands came to either side of your face, framing them as his eyes bored into yours. 

“Aren’t you…” Boromir’s question died on his lips, replaced by an impish grin. He raised an eyebrow at you, his eyes moving between your face and the ground beneath your feet. Between the confusion starting to coalesce in your head (what the hell is going on? the rational part of you screamed) and your body alight with desire, you didn’t have enough wherewithal to decipher his meaning. 

“Aren’t I what?” you asked dumbly. A sliver of anxiety spliced its way into your chest… maybe what you were seeing in Boromir’s eyes was just the neediness of a lord looking at someone he knew was game for a tumble in bed, and not the mirror image of your satisfaction at the fulfillment of a long-denied devotion. 

“Going to fall to your knees,” Boromir replied, placing a soft, gentle kiss on your lips. It was almost a question, as if he were asking you. The brazenness of his request startled you, but the heat in your core blazed in response. There was also something familiar about his words…

“In your journal… you wrote, ‘say you’re mine once and I’ll fall to my knees’… I’ve said it twice now, and yet here you stand.” He chuckled softly, his lips dancing along your jaw and over your cheeks as you tried to catch up to his meaning. 

Then, like a clap of thunder, it clicked. The poem. You’d written it over a year ago, the night after Boromir had left Minas Tirith with a garrison of Gondor’s guards to ride to an outpost at the southern border. You’d almost forgotten your words - you’d written so many of them, all of them for him. 

You let you a small laugh in surprise and a hint of embarrassment.

“Didn’t anyone tell you it was rude to read another’s writings, my Lord?” You emphasized the last two words, shooting him a wicked smile as you made good on your written promise and sank to your knees in front of him. Your fingers went to work on the lacing of his trousers, the urgency of the moment rekindling between you. Boromir caught your chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to catch his gaze. He looked breathtaking, standing over you. A King in a long line of Stewards, you thought as you drank in the sight of him. 

“Call me Boromir,” he said simply. “I won’t have you calling me ‘my Lord’ for the rest of our days together.” His tone was casual, but you could hear the intention of his words. You hesitated only momentarily before returning to the task at hand. You broke into a smile, wide and triumphant, and although your attention was focused elsewhere, Boromir’s expression matched yours exactly…