#boromir one shot

[entishramblings]

Fuck the Forbidden Pt. 2

[Boromir/F!MermaidReader]

PART 1 | PART 3 — coming soon

Fuck the Forbidden: FTF LINK MASTERLIST

A.N: my apologies for taking so much time to update: graduate school is a tornado, plus getting sick and the craziness of holidays season didn’t help. Anyways, thank you for your patience and your continuous support! I literally read all your comment in order to inspire me to write again!

Request: none

Pairing: Boromir X Fem!MermaidReader

Summary: The Reader is a Mermaid and witnessed a shipwreck. She becomes interested in human life—particularly one human: Boromir.

Disclaimer: Any mythology relating to the mermaids of middle earth is not canon. also I tried my best with arda water/river geography plz don’t come at me—it’s not one of my finer subjects :/

Word Count: 5.7k — listen, yes, I STILL have a problem

Warnings: depression, drowning, ptsd, alcoholism, angst, comfort, fluff, stalking (idk how to make that last one sound less creepy. you’re just gonna have to read it).

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

The following day, (Y/N) waited in the depths of the Anduin River by the entrance of the Minas Tirith castle. Sure enough, the captain, decorated in silver, came out upon his steed. Though he did not have the cheer he normally held—despite his recent struggles—he seemed….different. (Y/N) had hoped that he didn't remember what he saw under the lake. Maybe he figured he was too drunk and his mind was playing tricks on him? Maybe he would forget it all together? However, that fearful look in his eyes when he glanced at the river told her otherwise. It appeared Faramir failed to convince his brother that the mer-folk were just a myth.

Boromir deviated from his routine as well. He did not go to the market for the breakfast that he seemed to love. No, no. Instead he went out towards the edge of the city–towards the docks. And (Y/N) went with him. He passed his horse off to another and walked upon the wood, passing ship and boat, until he came upon a small fishing vessel. (Y/N) swam around it and took to the surface upon its side, far enough to not be spotted, but close enough to see and hear.

“Iwar,” Boromir called out. “You there?”

“Oi!” the old man replied, emerging from the sails. “What can I do for yer?”

“You have a moment?”

“For ye? Of course I do, lad. What is this about?” Iwar stated, squinting in the sun.

Boromir huffed, and pulled something from his pocket. He lightly tossed it to the older fellow. “What do you make of this?”

Iwar frowned, holding the whale up before his face by the string Boromir had used to make it into a necklace. “Where’d ye get it?”

“In a pond. One that connects to the Anduin River.”

Iwar sent him a strange look. “Do ye know what this is made out of?”

Boromir shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s bone, Boromir,” he replied tentatively.

At this, the captain’s lips parted. “Bone?”

Iwar tossed the whale carving back to him. “Aye, couldn't tell ye what it came from. Whittled too much away for that. Ye said yer got it from a pond?”

He nodded, swallowing dryly.

“Could’ve washed up from the currents.” Iwar stated, nonchalantly, returning to the tasks of his sail. “Some trinket someone lost to the sea.”

Boromir dipped his head, his anxiety present as he fiddled with the whale.

Iwar glanced at him. “Something else, boy?”

Boromir inhaled slowly. “Iwar, do you–do you really believe those tales of the sea-folk?”

The old man sent a weary look at the captain as he tied off one of the ropes upon the fabric. “Aye. Saw one of em’ when I was just a lad. Nearly lost my life.”

Boromir focused his gaze upon Iwar. “I think–I think I saw one last night.”

At this, the older man froze. Slowly, he turned his full attention to the captain, dread slipping from his face.

Still, Boromir continued, trying to justify his sighting. ‘Though, I don't know. I was very drunk. Had a couple ales too many. My mind could’ve—”

“You were out on the sea last night?” Iwar interrupted, confused.

Boromir shook his head.

“The shore then? Never heard of em’ venturing so close.”

Boromir released a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, I was in the pond by the Minas Tirith castle.”

Iwar’s form stiffened as he walked toward the captain. He nodded at the bone carving in Boromir’s hand as he spoke in a tone that held so much anxiety that it radiated through the air around him. “The same pond where ye found that?”

“Yes.”

Iwar’s eyes widened wildly. “I’d tell ye what, lad. Ye have been marked by em.’ And that—” he dipped his head at the whale once more. “—I reckon that's human bone.”

Blood drained from Boromir’s face, replaced with sheer panic. His fingers clumsily grappled with the carving, uncertain of how to handle it. Reluctant to make direct contact, he hesitated before settling on gripping the string, allowing the whale to dangle. Disgust etched across his brow.

“I’d get out while ye can. Stay away from the sea waters, boy.” Iwar warned.

….

That night, Boromir didn't go to the pool of water by the white walls—nor the following night. He, quite frankly, didn't go near the water at all. He stayed far from the beaches and from the Anduin River. He took longer paths to where he needed to go in order to avoid such circumstances that put him near what Iwar had described to live in the sea.

And this—all this broke (Y/N)’s heart. It stirred up a tumult of emotions—sadness, anger, fear, and frustration. Therefore, on the third day, she sought solace in a secluded nook along the Bay of Belfas. Hoisting herself onto a warm rock, she sat, enveloped in her misery. Her once-vivid fantasies of the land-people and Boromir now dissolved into sorrow and regret. What lingered was the haunting image of Boromir's disdainful expression when Iwar speculated that her gift was crafted from human bone. Any mer-folk would be delighted to receive such a heartfelt gesture! But Boromir wasn't of the sea, now was he.

(Y/N) stayed upon the rock for hours, hoping the sun would soak up her melancholy mood. However, that is not what the golden beams absorbed. Her skin dried, her hair lightened and billowed freely, and the scales on her tail lacked the moisture they once held. It was at that moment discomfort struck. Excruciating, searing pain surged through her tail, a relentless agony that prompted a deep cry from her lips. Every nerve seemed to flare with an intense, burning sensation, rendering her nearly paralyzed by the sheer intensity of the pain. She couldn't move, only shake and claw at the rock she perched upon. It felt like hours as she laid there, praying to the gods to make it end. And when it did, she instinctively reached for her scales. However, to her surprise, her hand met no such thing; instead, flesh had replaced the once-familiar tail.

(Y/N) gasped.

Her father had said…

He had tested them all…

None had the gift….

He lied.

Emotions swirled around her naked form as she stared at the strange extension that replaced her glimmering scales—legs. Anger, irritation, sadness, regret, frustration, excitement all ran through her blood.

Slowly, she stood. As she took a wobbly step upon the rock, a loud, breathy giggle escaped her lips.

Was this a dream?

(Y/N) took another uncertain step, and another, and another—until she stumbled, her hand reaching out to break her fall. However, a splash came from that, for her palm struck where water had gathered in a dip upon the rock.

Immediately, she felt it.

Her skin tingled, then burned and stung, stretching and pulling in a painful dance. (Y/N) cried out as the pain intensified. With scales attempting to form on her dry legs, the tugging became excruciating once more—tears streamed from her eyes as she desperately scrambled towards the water.

Her form slipped and rolled, right off the rock and into the ocean.

Immediate relief enveloped her. Scales continued to knit together without a hint of pain. The water soothed her. It coated the soreness into nonexistence.

(Y/N) allowed her form to sink, adjusting.

There she floated, letting her body and mind adjust to what had just happened.

It was then when one of the turmoiling emotions overtook the rest of them. It coursed through her gills and surged through her veins.

How dare he…

With a decisive flick of her tail, she propelled herself toward her father's palace.

The anger granted her remarkable speed, causing other merfolk to whip their heads around in confusion as she barreled past them.

She swam directly to the grand chamber, where she anticipated her father perched upon his throne, and busted the door open with her tail.

“HOW DARE YOU?!” she screamed at him.

Heads turned instantly—her father’s, her sisters’, the guards’.

“HOW DARE YOU LIE TO ME, FATHER. HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME I HAD THE GIFT?!”

Her father rose, signaling the guards to leave. They swam away quickly, avoiding the impending wrath of the sea's king and his children.

“You lied straight to my face,” (Y/N) stated.

“(Y/N), what are you talking about?” Anahita interjected, appalled by her sister’s tone.

Mareena added to her statement. “That is no way to speak to our father!”

(Y/N)'s tail flicked with irritation as she focused her gaze on the man before her. “I have the gift to walk among the land-folk.”

Una gasped. Seria’s mouth dropped open. Rana’s eyes widened. Nerida’s brows shot upwards.

Their father swam towards (Y/N). “You went to the land?!” he growled. “It is forbidden.”

“I DID NOT GO ONTO THE LAND!” She snapped back. Taking a deep breath, she spoke again. “I was letting the sun warm me upon a rock when it happened—the tingling, the splitting, the pain.”

“You went to the surface—”

“How dare you not tell me, Father!”

“I DID NOT TELL YOU BECAUSE OF THIS!” He yelled. “Because I knew the minute you would figure it out, you would want to test out your new form. You would put us all in danger.”

“YOU HAVE PUT ME IN DANGER. YOU HAVE MASKED YOUR PROTECTION IN LIES THAT HAVE ONLY CAUSED ME PAIN. HOW DARE YOU!” (Y/N) retorted.

With that, (Y/N) swam away. She twisted through the reefs and the grass. She slipped through the schools of fish and their bubbles. She slithered through the rocks and caves. She did so until she was back in the Anduin River, where the lively markets and the hustle of people's households awaited. Breaking through the water's surface, she emerged with a cautious awareness, ensuring she remained unseen.

She swam along the edge until she came upon a line of clothing strung between two buildings. On it hung sheets as bright as a lemonpeel angelfish, a skirt holding the vibrance of an orange clownfish, a flowing wrap the hue of a blue tang fish, a pair of trousers the color of a brown leafy sea dragon, a top shaded like that of a pink fairy wrasse, and a flowing dress the cream color of a stingray’s belly.

(Y/N) looked at her surroundings.

The people were on the other side of the clothing line—all mucking about in the market. None even bothered to shed a glance behind the fabric. All were too busy going about their day.

Therefore, with little regard for the forbidden nature of her actions—because, really, fuck the forbidden—(Y/N) decided to defy the rules that had once controlled her life.

Originally, she hadn't intended to act in such defiance, but the anger coursing through her veins urged her forward into impulsive urges.

Hauling her form out of the water, (Y/N) manipulated the water clinging to her, using her fingers in twisting and rippling motions. She gathered the liquid into a cohesive ball and, with a flick of her wrist, sent the sphere dancing through the air before it plopped back into the river.

The tingling sensation began, followed by the excruciating pain, and soon enough, the transformation into legs commenced.

Anxiously, (Y/N) stood. Her shaky legs wobbled as she adjusted to their unfamiliar form. Her trembling fingers swiftly seized the cream colored dress—she didn't want to stand out, she needed to blend in—and she clumsily slipped it on. Her gaze then fixated on a brilliant blue wrap. The color resonated with the deep seas she hailed from, and she couldn't resist. The mermaid grasped the silk and yanked, winding it around her hair in a manner she had observed from land women when peeking from the river. Letting some of her locks cascade out of the twisted band, the blue fabric draped over her shoulders. She smiled.

Her hand instinctively rose to her neck, where her necklace adorned with shells, sea glass, and bones encircled her skin. A frown crossed her face. She couldn't part with it—this cherished gift from her since passed mother. Therefore, she let it remain, finding that it didn't look too out of place.

(Y/N) ventured into the market, nervously navigating the bustling city of Minas Tirith with her new, wobbly legs. The vibrant atmosphere teemed with life and excitement as diverse groups came together to weave the people into the human race. So many men, women, and children—all different sizes, all different shapes, all different skin tones—bustled through the streets.

Young children ran through the tents playing games and tricks on one another. Often enough, a woman was pursuing the chase while yelling for their halt of mischief. Men were not involved in this matter. Instead, they loudly called out the names of what they sold, along with prices, at the busy passerbyers in hopes of getting a customer. Never had (Y/N) seen something so brilliantly enthralling and engaging—not in her time under the sea with the mer-folk.

As she moved through the people, she discreetly snagged what she needed. A pair of sandals disappeared from a rack, and she swiftly turned away before anyone noticed. Vibrantly colored bracelets caught her eye at a vendor's stall, and she couldn't resist snagging a few. Additionally, she plucked food from bins and baskets. She didn't know what it was—but oh how delicious it tasted when it was not dunked in the salt of the sea.

Here, (Y/N) stayed, exploring the thrill of humanity and letting their culture enrapture her senses. So much so, that she failed to notice a soldier adorned in silver until she collided with his metal-plated chest.

Her form tumbled backwards, taking an extra moment to steady.

“Are you alright, miss?” a concerned voice inquired.

(Y/N) slowly raised her head to meet a familiar face: Faramir.

Unable to find her voice, she could only nod in reply. Shyness and anxiety filled her as she backed away from the unexpected encounter.

He acknowledged her reply with a dip of his own head before turning to another soldier a little ways away. He made way towards him and gently touched his arm. “Boromir, we should get going. Father is expecting us.”

(Y/N) went still. Her inquisitive gaze shifted towards him, and indeed, there stood Boromir. His dark, sandy hair brushed upon his forehead, tousled slightly from the refreshing breeze. Vibrant blue eyes held a sternness, concealing the sadness she knew resided in his heart. His pink lips pressed into a firm line, refraining from the warmth of a smile. Boromir was clad in the silver armor and the metal weapons that she had seen him in nearly every day. He looked fit for his position as captain, his authority nearly radiating from him. Now that she was upon the land, he seemed so much bigger—so much stronger. So much more important.

(Y/N)’s cheeks began to heat, prompting her to quickly ducked behind the fabric of a tent. After giving herself a moment, she peaked out.

Though she knew she shouldn't, she found herself following them. At a safe distance, she mimicked every turn, accentuated every step, and utilized every path they took. And when the Steward's sons crossed the threshold of Minas Tirith Castle, so did she.

Instantly, she was met with just as much business as the market. Servants flooded the halls, carrying trays of fruit and platters of meat. Maids held onto neatly folded laundry and finely pressed sheets. Guards bustled about, their steel clanking as they moved through the halls, to get to their next shift, meal, or rest.

(Y/N) was so overwhelmed that she failed to notice a group of soldiers rounding the corner. As they pushed past her, a heavy shoulder slammed into her, the edge of the metal plate catching her forehead. The impact sliced the skin open, causing her to tumble backward against the wall.

Surprising her, she felt a gentle hand upon her arm, holding her steady. A soft voice that she knew all too well, that spoke words all too similar to his brother’s, filled her ears. “Are you alright, miss?”

In a daze, (Y/N) looked up at the dark sandy hair, vibrant blue eyes, and perfect pink lips of Boromir. Too stunned to speak, she merely stared at him, every thought that had occupied her mind vanishing in the moment.

Boromir turned towards the group of soldiers who had caused the commotion and knocked her down. With a tone infused with authority and anger, he snapped at them, “Watch where you are going!”

They turned, initially confused and uncertain of Boromir's reprimand until they spotted the frightened and injured girl beside him.

“What kind of soldiers are you that you let your steel hit a woman!” Boromir added, his irritation even more obvious. “Keep better track of your things—and your forms!”

The soldiers nodded, though their indifference was evident, and they shuffled away without much concern.

Boromir turned back to (Y/N), repeating his prior question, his tone gentle once more. “I apologize for the actions of my men. I will reprimand them later, but right now you are more important, yes? Miss?”

She looked up at him, blinking. He didn’t recognize her, did he?

“You’re bleeding,” he stated softly, his finger pressed gently upon her forehead.

A quiet gasp of pain escaped (Y/N)’s lips and her expressions distorted slightly.

“My apologies. I did not mean to make your pain worse. May I take you to the infirmary? We can get that treated.”

Unsure what to say—and what an infirmary was—she nervously dipped her head.

“Alright,” he began. “Let’s get you moving.”

Gently, he helped her move away from the wall, one arm wrapped around her waist. However, with a couple steps, her vision swirled and she stumbled.

Boromir caught her quickly. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. Just a step at a time.” His brows pulled together as he looked down at her. “Are you dizzy? Is the room spinning?”

“I—I,” she stuttered. “Y-yes, uh, sir.”

He released a heated breath from his nose, the anger at the men who had harmed her simmering within him. However, he pushed it away, ensuring his attention remained on her. "How about you sit back down? Lean against the wall to keep you upright, yes?"

(Y/N) nodded, allowing him to help lower her to the stone floor. As the coldness rushed through her bones and the stillness began to steady, she looked up at him. “T-thank you,” she whispered. “Uh, sir.”

The captain smiled softly. “You may call me Boromir.”

She nodded slightly.

Boromir looked up and stopped a passing servant. “Could you please fetch me a medical kit from the infirmary? Just basic supplies.”

The man nodded, accepting the order, and rushed off. Moments later, he returned with various materials in a small box.

Boromir expressed his gratitude as he opened the kit. Without hesitation, he took hold of a soft cloth and gently swiped it upwards, collecting the blood that was now trickling down (Y/N)’s forehead. He then pressed it against the cut that was bleeding rather heavily. "Hold this there," he commanded gently.

The woman reached up to follow his instructions, and Boromir proceeded to lay out an array of little bottles and scraps of cloth. "What is your name?" he inquired as he doused a cloth in the liquids of one of the containers.

Her eyes followed his motions nervously. “(Y/N),” she replied timidly.

The Captain smiled, attempting to provide some comfort. “Are you from around here, (Y/N)?”

She shook her head.

“No? What are you doing in these parts then?” He asked.

“I—I don’t know.”

Boromir frowned, looking up at her from the medical supplies. She appeared more disoriented than he had initially expected. Perhaps the blow to the head was more substantial than he had thought?

“You don’t know?” He questioned, no alarm in his tone. Meanwhile, he began threading a needle, preparing it for the task of stitching her forehead. “Have you come with anyone? A husband? A father?”

She frowned, a blush creeping into her face at the implications of his words. “N-no. Alone.”

Boromir pressed his lips together, a sudden loneliness hitting him—one that he knew all too well—as he placed the threaded needle upon a clean cloth.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

She shook her head.

“Hmm. Alright. Let’s get you cleaned up, then we can worry about that.”

Boromir took the cloth from her forehead, his hand brushing upon hers as he did so. He then began bringing a damp cloth towards her face.

Instantly, her eyes went wide and she ducked away from the material. “It’s alright. It’s alright. It’s just alcohol.” He replied, lowering the cloth.

“N-not water?” She whispered, almost fearful.

He shook his head. “Nay. Water would not clean it properly. This will prevent any infection, though I’m afraid it will sting a bit. Is that alright?”

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

Boromir pressed the cloth to the cut and, instantly, she hissed.

“I know, I am sorry,” he murmured.

Gently, he cleaned the wound, being careful to not make any sudden movements that may startle her. When he was certain it was clean, he moved to pick up the needle.

“I will have to stitch it back together so it heals properly.” He looked into her worried gaze and he instantly felt guilt tugging at his heart. It appeared she had never experienced such an injury, or perhaps she had but never received proper treatment for one.

Cautiously, he used his other hand to pick up her own. Her soft palms brushed upon his hardened calloused, gentleness upon her touch. Placing her hand upon his knee, he spoke softly, “If it hurts too much just squeeze really really hard, and I will pause, alright? It is important that you keep your head still, yes?”

She nodded, adjusting her grip upon his knee, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety in her eyes.

Slowly, Boromir began the delicate task of stitching her skin back together. Her grip tightened upon him, only slightly, as she adjusted to the strange sensation of tugging on her skin.

"You are doing beautifully, (Y/N). We are almost done. I promise," the Captain reassured her. As he finished the last stitch and skillfully moved the thread to knot itself, he breathed out, "There we go," placing the needle back upon the cloth. He smiled gently, a reassuring warmth in his eyes, as he carefully cleaned the area around the stitches. "All finished," Boromir stated before leaning back, (Y/N)’s hand slipping from his knee.

“It will be sore for a bit,” he said. “But it should heal in a week. The stitching will fall out on its own, so if it starts to come out, do not worry. Though, I would advise you not to get it wet.”

At that last sentence, (Y/N) smiled softly. She wasn’t planning on getting wet—not anytime soon.

“Can you stand? Has the dizziness subsided?”

The woman nodded and slowly rose to her feet, taking Boromir’s hand when he offered it.

“Let’s find you a place to rest while you heal. And I would like to apologize for my soldiers’ actions once more. You are welcome to stay in Minas Tirith as long as you would like. I will make sure you get everything you need.”

(Y/N) looked up at his kind expression and spoke with that same nervous hesitancy. “Thank you.…Boromir.”

The captain guided her through the castle, arriving at a room. He opened the door and gestured inside with a soft smile. "It is yours to stay in. I will ensure the maids are alerted to provide you with adequate care. If you need anything else, my chambers are just down the hallway to the right, the second door."

She nodded in reply.

He bowed his head. “I will leave you then, miss.”

With that, he was gone.

(Y/N) moved to the center of the room and slowly spun around taking it all in. It was massive and airy. The windows were wind open, the sea breeze rushing in and caring hints of the city. The white curtains blew with that gentle wind, dancing in its whispers. The walls of the chamber were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting only what she could assume to be the legendary tales of the city. They were woven with beautiful silver and turquoise thread, catching the light so delicately. A bed sat in the middle of the room, soft white blankets and comforters piled on it. (Y/N) walked towards it and gently sat upon the fabric. It was….strange. Very different from the large shells she was used to curling up in.

Feeling a sudden tiredness take over her form, she laid down with ease. Resting her head upon the pillow, she allowed sleep to consume her.

…….

When she finally woke, the sun had set, and the stars took their place among the blanket of the sky. Cautiously, she pulled her legs from the cage of blankets and let them dangle off the side of the bed. They looked so….strange upon her form. She was used to her glimmering tail that collected light to share among the waters. Not—not this. She lowered her feet upon the stone floor, almost startled by the coldness that greeted them.

Hunger settled into her stomach as she moved towards the door. However, she found herself at a loss, unsure where to find a meal at this time. The markets were long since closed and she knew not where the kitchen in the Minas Tirith castle was. Of course, she could wander down to the tavern that Boromir frequented regularly—she knew the way well enough, but she didn't have any means to pay.

(Y/N) shifted on her feet. Boromir did say she could come to him if she needed anything….

Almost as if it were an excuse to see him again, she slipped through the door and began following his directions to his chambers. With every step, her heart pounded harder. She would get to see him again—and it wouldn't be through layers of water.

Upon arrival, the door stood ajar, allowing a whisper of cold air to drift from his open windows. Cautiously, she peered into the room. It was shrouded in darkness, with only the soft glow of the moon reflecting upon the vast room—oh, and what a beautiful room it was. The room eluded a captivating chaos, in the most exciting way. Tablets and shelves were filled with various items—maps, books, stones, germs, inventions, and trinkets. The room held a multitude of objects, each beckoning to be looked at, studied, and pondered—igniting a sense of wonder and an urge to guess the intention. Oh, it was a captivating sight.

“Boromir?” she called out.

Silence.

Slowly, (Y/N) stepped in. She let her feet carry her throughout the room, her hand brushing upon every object that her eyes could consume. She picked things up, examined them, then put them down for another. She did so continuously, urgently, the thirst for knowledge of the humans’ customs eager in her blood. She did so, until she came across something familiar—something she was surprised to see.

(Y/N) picked up the bone carved whale from the shelf that it rested on.

He had kept it.

A little grin formed on her face, for after his conversation with Iwar she didn’t think he would.

“Does that one interest you?” A soft tone asked.

(Y/N) jumped, startled.

Boromir chuckled lightly, stepping into the room. “I am sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

She glanced down at the whale carving before looking back to him.

“I am not quite sure how that one came into my possession,” he continued as he moved to stand beside her.

She frowned, looking up. Her eyes were now direct at him, focused and stern—for the first time since he had met her. He would be lying if he said it didn't startle him a bit.

“You don't remember?” she asked, her tone strong.

“Well, no it’s not that. Of course, I remember how I got it. It just was a bit peculiar.”

(Y/N) tilted her head, not understanding.

Boromir sighed, his tone was distant as he spoke, his blue gaze not wavering from her curious eyes that suddenly seemed so bold. “A friend of mine says it's a dark omen, ment to mark me for death.” His vision trailed across her face. “He says it is made of the bone of my fallen brothers, urging me to follow them to their deaths.”

“Do you believe that?”

He blinked, his gaze lingering upon the whale. “I do not know what to believe.” Boromir looked at her expression. “What are your thoughts on such a statement?”

(Y/N) shrugged, placing the whale in its spot upon the shelf. “I believe people don’t understand other cultures and customs. I believe they make their own assumptions out of ignorance and fear.”

The captain raised a brow at her intelligence. “You are feeling better then?”

“Hmm?” (Y/N) hummed in question as she moved to another object.

“Well, that is the most I have heard you speak since I met you. You are wiser than you appear to be.”

She only shrugged in response, picking up a telescope and looking through its glass—by the wrong end.

“Though,” Boromir continued in a teasing manner as he plucked the object from her grasp, turned it the correct way, and placed it back in her palms. “That wisdom seems not to extend to everything.”

She frowned, looking through the glass once before placing it down. She then went for a music box, her confused expression deepening. “We do not have all these….these things where I am from.”

Boromir reached across her and twisted the little lever, releasing the gentle music from its hold. “And where is that, may I ask?”

At the twinkling sound, her smile, born of pure delight, extended from her expression. Her response to his question, however, was only that of a simple word, “Far.”

The captain raised a brow. “How far?”

(Y/N) shot him a strange look, placing the music box down and picking up a crystal sphere instead. “You ask a lot of questions,” she mumbled.

He grinned playfully. “You do not seem to give many answers, Miss (Y/N).”

She glared at him.

With that playful smile, he spoke again. “Would it help if you got to ask a question?”

(Y/N)‘s eyes crinkled with thought as she placed the object down and turned towards him. She saw how his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, how the circles under his eyes appeared so dark, how his expression was so hollow. Softly, she spoke again. “Why are you so sad, Boromir?”

Taken aback by this, his lips parted. “I—I do not know what you mean.”

She took a step closer to him, a step that nearly eliminated the space between them, and her piercing gaze burned up at him for the truth.

Hesitantly, he whispered that truth, as if she compelled it right out of him. “I—I recently was in a shipwreck. I thought, well, I thought I was dead—left for the watery graves below.” He paused, just for a moment. “But yet I am here and I do not know why. And, I am beginning to question things that I know, well, thought I knew, for the world appears different now.”

Silence.

Boromir's soft voice then picked up again, his breath warm upon the woman’s face. “Why are you so sad, (Y/N)?”

At this, her shy nature returned. (Y/N) turned her head away, not wanting to look at the source of her sadness.

Gently, Boromir tugged on her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You implored me to tell you such a truth,” he whispered. “May I not ask the same of you?”

(Y/N)’s tone was soft. “My truth is complicated.”

“Are not all truths complicated?” he responded.

With that, she withdrew from his grasp—a hold she desperately craved—and created enough distance between them, leaving him to wonder if such closeness had occurred at all.

A loud grumble then echoed through the dark room—splitting the darkness with something else, something much for lighthearted.

“When have you last eaten?” Boromir asked.

Her brows pulled together as she looked at her stomach.

He chuckled, offering her his hand. “Come. Let’s get you some food. I can take you to my favorite place.”

“But I—I have no coin,” she whispered shyly.

“You are a guest of Gondor, Gondor will see you fed.”

(Y/N) smiled, that innocent gaze returning. She hesitantly took his hand and he led her through the castle and towards the tavern.

The two arrived at the tavern rather quickly. Urine, stale ale, and sweat flooded (Y/N)’s nostrils—familiar aromas reminiscent of her vigilant watch over Boromir along the Anduin River. The lively atmosphere enveloped the pair. In the corner, a bard sang to the patrons, his melodic voice resonating throughout, enticing some to join in. Drunk men, tapping their feet along to the beat of the tune, howled in laughter and glee as they clinked their ales together and shoveled food into their mouths. Requests for additional drinks prompted maidens, adorned in long skirts and aprons, to gracefully deliver brimming glasses, the foaming liquid sloshing about.

(Y/N) smiled, taking in the environment.

Boromir cast a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “It’s just a tavern.”

She turned to him, her grin unwavering. “We don’t have taverns where I am from.”

He raised a brow. “And where is that? You never said.”

She shrugged. “Far.”

(Y/N) moved deeper into the tavern, with Boromir following suit. He motioned towards an available table, and they both took a seat. Before long, a serving maiden approached. Boromir signaled for two meals and two ales, and they promptly arrived.

The woman wasted no time and eagerly indulged in her food, swiftly emptying the plate.

Boromir tried to suppress a smile as he saw this, for he was glad she was getting proper nutrition after her likely long and hard journey. He, of course, wished to know more of her origins; though, he could see she wasn't quite ready to discuss such things. Instead, he opted to answer any and all questions she had which began with her curious tone.

“Boromir, would you be willing to tell me of your city? How you live in these parts? I wish to know.”

His soft gaze made contact with hers and he nodded, chewing his food and swallowing before he spoke. “What would you wish to know?”

“Everything—its structures, its people, its culture, its history.”

Therefore, Boromir spoke of such things. He described the White City's towering architecture, the valor of its people, and the complexities of the various beliefs held. He relayed its history and tales, showcasing the values of the Gondorian people.

His narratives ignited a spark in her eyes, drew laughter from her lips, and filled her heart with joy.

Fuck the forbidden indeed.

As the hours stretched on, Boromir’s friends joined them. (Y/N) could see the gleam in their eyes and catch the less-than-subtle teasing tones as they whispered about Boromir bringing a lady to their tavern. Faramir, arriving shortly after, seemed prepared for a night of dealing with his drunken brother, only to find himself pleasantly surprised by his brother's apparent sobriety and the joy the unknown woman seemed to bring to his melancholy soul.

Yet, amid the cheerful atmosphere, a pair of shifting gray eyes belonging to an old man that (Y/N) recognized as Iwar, kept her uneasy heart alert.

…..

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[thewulf]

My Queen || Aragorn

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

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

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 10,000 +

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes crumbled in confusion. Who was Aragorn?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rest.” He commanded.

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

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

“What are they?” Frodo asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Athelas?” Sam asked confused by the question.

“Kingsfoil.” Strider tried a different name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye. She is beautiful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded, “You are correct.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They are back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This day does not belong to one man… but to all.” His voice now boomed filling your chest with the utmost pride for the man you loved, “Let us together rebuild this world… that we may share in the days of peace.” He smiled as the crowd erupted in cheers for their newly crowned King. You joined in happily clapping and cheering along with the city folk.

He sang as the flower petals began to fall. You watched as his company and all those around him bowed to him as he walked amongst the crowd. Your heart sped up rapidly as he was moving along closer, and closer to you.

Elrond pulled you back behind a shield at your protest as Legolas stepped forward. Being none the wiser you shot your elder a precarious look as he told you to be quiet and wait a second and you would see what was going on. He did not lie to you. Lord Elrond never did.

The elf beside you pulled the shield away leaving you staring right into the icy blue eyes of the man you had loved so dearly. You gulped but stepped towards him. He looked just as entranced as you felt.

Feeling overwhelmed at the entirely of the situation you bowed your head to your King once you were mere inches in front of him. Never before had so many eyes been on you. Yet he had made it feel like it really was just the two of you at that moment.

He would have none of that though. He took his hand under your chin and pulled it up, so you were looking at him. He too forgot that thousands of people were watching. It felt like it was just you and him. You had that effect on him. Your doe eyes staring up at him so desperately is what did him in. He could simply wait no longer to have what he wanted… you.

When you smiled at him he did not care any longer. He went straight in for the kiss. You wrapped your arms around him as he spun you around, happier than ever before. He had let his intentions be known. You were his for forever, his forever.

You would be embarrassed later but now it was just you and him. A giggle erupted from you as you hugged him once more. He grabbed your hand and pulled you along as he went to search for the Hobbits.

You took a knee after Aragorn spoke, “My friends… you bow to no one.” A smile erupted on your face as you watched the kingdom take a knee for them. Frodo’s face told the story. Aragorn gently wiped off the tears that were streaming down your face.

“I love you, my Queen.” He whispered in your ear.

“Your Queen?” You gasped looking up to him. Surely you did not think you would take

“Are we to be wed no?” He asked curiously.

“Aye.” You nodded, “I just did not believe to have such a title.” You looked away from him as he directed everyone to stand once more.

“I am King. You are to be my Queen.” He said so matter of factly you could not believe you were questioning yourself.

“As you wish.” You smiled so gleefully not truly believing this was actually your life now.

He leaned in for one more gentle kiss to please the crowd, “My Queen.” He whispered letting you know he had every good intention in the world with you. For the first time in his already long life, he could not wait to get his life started with you.

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[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.

[thebugthatruinsyourpicnic]

when you're watching LOTR but your sibling starts loudly playing music in the kitchen so now Boromir is dying to Everybody Wants To Rule the World

[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.”

[parabelled]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[theoppositeofprofound]

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

[borom1r]

Who Let Him Out Of Minas Tirith Dressed Like This.

(I understand range of motion for an actor but there were better ways to do this from a character standpoint as well)

[anghraine]

I'm still really attached to my headcanon that Ivriniel of Dol Amroth has an acerbic, scholarly personality but is intensely loyal to her family, both by blood and marriage. I imagine she went with her sister Finduilas to Minas Tirith, was largely entertained by the Denethor/Finduilas courtship, but also entranced by the Houses of Healing and the depths of the archives.

As a result of all these things, she ended up firmly entrenched as Finduilas's companion, confidante, and general advocate of her interests. She never tried to replace Finduilas after she died, but she wasn't about to leave her grieving sister-sons, and Minas Tirith had become her home. With Denethor's and Adrahil's leave, she stayed in the City for years as a respected member of the Steward's family, until (to her great indignation) Denethor evacuated her ahead of the Battle of the Pelennor.

She's even more hardened after his death—they had otherwise gotten on very well—but remains a fiercely affectionate aunt towards her nephews and nieces, and despite the occasional personality clash with Imrahil, loves him dearly. After losing Finduilas, Adrahil and her mother, Boromir, and Denethor, she's all the more determined to do as much as can still be done for what remains of her family.

[nihilizzzm]

YEEEEEEEEEEES!!!!!!

Do you think Boromir tried to protect Faramir from their father’s wrath when they were kids? Do you think when Faramir scraped his knee Boromir tried to make him laugh to distract him because he knew their father would come to chastise Faramir for weakness?

Do you think the golden boy of Gondor had to grow up too fast because his father didn’t know how to treat him like a child?

[thewulf]

Until the Morning Light || Aragorn

Summary: Request - I wanted to see if I could request an Aragorn x reader. You don’t have to write anything! No pressure <3 It is a bit cheesy, so…Maybe something where they started having strong feelings for each other during their travels to destroy the ring and are so desperately longing after the other, just that they never confess and even the encouragement of the fellowship doesn’t help... Read Rest Here

A/N: Gosh I just adore this man! Thank you for the request always!!

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k +

TW: Violence, orc violence, death, blood, crying, angst, Battle of Helm's Deep, lotr warnings

Born under the vast skies of Rohan you grew up amidst the rolling plains and the echoing calls of horses. From a young age you were not just a child of the land but its protector, honing your skills with a blade as well as you could listen to the whispers of the earth. Your heart was fiercely loyal and brave and tempered by the tender tales of your mother. She bestowed upon you a rare gift, a deep connection with nature that allowed you to sense and communicate with the world around you in ways few others could.

This unique ability was distinct from the innate affinity that elves hold with the forests and rivers. Unlike the elves whose communion often involves a harmonious coexistence and a capability to influence nature’s growth and health your gift did not extend to bending the will of the woods or the waters. Instead, it manifested as an intimate understanding. An almost magical perception that let you hear the secrets of leaves rustling in the wind and feel the subtle shifts of the earth beneath your feet. It was a communion, but of a different kind. A silent dialogue that did not seek to alter but to understand and empathize, providing guidance and comfort where it was most needed.

Such a profound connection to nature brought with it a heightened awareness of the creeping darkness that threatened to engulf Middle earth. The very land you communicated with now echoed with the distress of encroaching evil. A warning you felt deep in your bones. It was during this time of growing shadows that tragedy struck your life profoundly. You lost a beloved family member to the dark forces spreading across the land. An event that shattered the peace of your world but also forged a new resolve within you. Carrying the weight of this loss, you vowed with a heart heavy yet unyielding to protect your homeland and its people. This vow was sacred and resolute. It sharpened your resolve as much as your blade and became the echo of your every step on the path of the Fellowship.

It was during these turbulent times that Gandalf the Grey came to your village. The wise wizard saw in you not just a skilled warrior but a unique spirit whose abilities were as rare as they were needed. With words as compelling as the winds of your homeland he requested your presence in the Fellowship. "Middle-earth needs hearts like yours," he said. His eyes twinkling with a mixture of seriousness and kindness.

Thus, with a heart full of resolve and a spirit called to a greater cause, you joined the Fellowship. Not just to honor your vow but to fulfill a destiny that seemed written in the very leaves of the trees you so loved. As you set out from Rohan the wind seemed to carry whispers of encouragement and the land itself seemed to nod in approval. Its daughter now a guardian in its most desperate hour.

Upon your arrival at the rendezvous point where the Fellowship was gathering you were immediately aware of the intense gazes of many. Their eyes scrutinizing every new face—evaluating, assessing. Yet, when you first met Aragorn his gaze was different. It was calm, welcoming, devoid of any judgment that demanded you prove your worth. He seemed to see right through the facade that others often expected you to wear. The mask of a warrior constantly proving herself. Instead, Aragorn acknowledged your capabilities as if they were as clear to him as the daylight.

As you both shared the duties of setting up camp that first evening Aragorn asked you about your journey from Rohan. His genuine interest was refreshing, and soon you found yourself teaching him about the unique properties of the athelas plant found in your homeland. Its healing powers far greater when used with the right incantations. A secret you had kept closely guarded. To your surprise he not only listened intently but also shared his own knowledge creating a beautiful exchange of wisdom.

As the journey progressed Aragorn often sought your company for the watch shifts. During these quiet hours under the vast, starlit sky, you both would sit by the fire. The crackling flames casting flickering shadows on your faces. It was here in the solitude of the night that you shared stories of your pasts. You spoke of your family in Rohan. Of the laughter and tears of your childhood and the deep connection you felt with the land.

Aragorn, in turn, shared tales of his travels. The burdens he carried and the hopes he harbored for peace in middle earth. These exchanges that were filled with laughter and sometimes a comfortable silence laid a strong foundation for your growing affection. There was an ease between you. A mutual respect that flourished without the need for words making each shared moment a treasure.

One evening deep into the journey after a particularly taxing day when tensions within the Fellowship seemed to strain the very air around you Aragorn noticed your weariness. Without a word he took up your watch insisting you rest. "We all have our strengths," he said softly with a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Tonight, let me watch over you." It was a simple act. But in that moment his kindness felt soothing to your soul. It solidified a bond that was quickly becoming as vital as the quest itself.

These moments under the stars with Aragorn where you didn't have to prove yourself but were simply accepted were what you cherished most. They were reminders that in the looming shadow of war there existed moments of peace and deep, unspoken understanding.

Aragorn's presence became a constant in your days and you found yourself increasingly seeking his company. Whether strategizing for the next leg of the journey or sharing a quiet moment away from the rest of the group his steady demeanor brought a comforting consistency to the unpredictable days. After a particularly fierce skirmish against a roving band of orcs you sustained a slight wound. Aragorn was quick to your side. His fingers skilled and gentle as he tended to the injury. His touch was always gentle and careful. It sparked an unfamiliar warmth in your chest. His concerned eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip.

As Aragorn wrapped your wound Legolas strolled over with an amused twinkle in his eye. "I see our esteemed leader has found yet another calling… nursing the wounded with such tender care," he commented lightly. His gaze flickering between you and Aragorn with a knowing smile. Aragorn responded with a dismissive grunt. His cheeks tinged with a faint blush, but his eyes remained warm and soft as they met yours again.

Gimli has overheard the exchange and joined in with a hearty laugh. "Ah, but it's a good thing we have Aragorn for both fighting and mending. Saves us calling for Elrond every time someone gets a scratch!" he boomed before clapping Aragorn on the back with such force that it drew a surprised smile from the usually reserved ranger.

This playful banter brought a light-hearted moment to the group easing the tension of the long journey. Later that evening as you sat by the campfire the teasing continued. Gimli’s loud snoring eventually became the subject of jest, and you all shared a hearty laugh. Emboldened by the relaxed atmosphere you nearly confessed your growing feelings to Aragorn. But just as you gathered your courage he turned contemplative, his gaze lost to the horizon.

"I sometimes wonder what lies ahead for all of us," he said softly. A distant look in his eyes. "The weight of this quest, it's much to bear—for all of us." His words were heavy with the burden of leadership and the uncertainty of the future, and they momentarily stalled your confession.

Despite this the bond between you only deepened, strengthened by each shared challenge and quiet moment of understanding. Legolas and Gimli’s lighthearted teasing served as a gentle reminder of the friendship and affection that blossomed even in the darkest of times, adding a touch of warmth to the journey's cold nights.

As you and the Fellowship arrive at Helm's Deep the air is thick with the weight of impending conflict. The massive stone walls of the fortress loom over you, their stark, gray surfaces a harsh reminder of the battle that awaits. Shadows stretch long across the ground as the sun dips below the horizon casting an ominous glow that barely penetrates the gathering dusk.

Around you, soldiers move with a sense of urgency. Their faces set in grim determination. The clanging of armor and the sharp ring of sword against stone fill your ears. A constant reminder of the stakes at play. Despite the hustle and bustle a heavy silence hangs over the assembled troops, each person lost in their own thoughts of the coming night. The air is cool and carries a hint of moisture. The breeze whispering through the battlements as if in mourning for lives yet to be lost.

In all of this your gaze finds Aragorn. His expression is one of resolve marked by the burdens of leadership and the knowledge of what everyone is fighting for. His presence is a steady force amid the chaos, and you feel a strange mixture of comfort and unease as you stand beside him knowing the challenge that lies ahead.

In the midst of this anxious bustle your childhood friend, a charismatic warrior named Ealdred from your village, unexpectedly arrives to aid in the battle. His arrival brings a sudden surge of warmth to the cold stone surroundings of Helm's Deep. As soon as Ealdred sees you his face lights up with a wide, infectious smile and he strides over with open arms.

His greeting is loud and joyous in the subdued murmurs of the assembling warriors. "Ah, if it isn’t the bravest shield-maiden of Rohan!" he exclaims while enveloping you in a hearty hug that lifts you slightly off your feet. The familiarity and comfort of his embrace, reminiscent of your shared past filled with training and childhood adventures, momentarily lift your spirits.

Laughter rolls easily from Ealdred as he sets you down. His presence a stark contrast to the tense air around. "I told myself I wouldn't miss a chance to fight alongside you again," he chuckles before clapping you on the shoulder with a warrior's camaraderie. The sincerity in his voice and the joy in his eyes are a balm to the unease that has been gnawing at you since your arrival at the fortress.

From a short distance away, Aragorn watches this reunion unfold with a complex whirl of emotions. He notices the brightness in your smile. A glow he has seldom seen during the long and perilous journey. Your eyes sparkle with laughter, reflecting a happiness that stirs a pang in his heart. The ease of your interaction with Ealdred, the way your body leans slightly towards him in familiarity and comfort, does not escape Aragorn’s keen observation.

Each laugh shared between you and Ealdred, each nostalgic look exchanged, seems to draw a line of subtle tension through Aragorn. He tries to focus on the preparations at hand, but his gaze involuntarily drifts back to you. The way Ealdred's hand lingers on your back, the warm, open smiles, the apparent joy of your reunion… it all fans a flame of jealousy that Aragorn struggles to suppress.

Though he attempts to dismiss these feelings as trivial they gnaw at him with an intensity that surprises him. The sight of your unabashed happiness with someone else plants seeds of doubt and worry that even the din of the oncoming storm cannot drown. The moment crystallizes something crucial within him. The realization of how deep his feelings for you have grown and how much he fears the possibility of not being the one who brings such joy to your eyes.

As you and Ealdred laugh over shared memories such as recalling the escapades of your youth in Rohan, his arm casually drapes around your shoulders in a brotherly gesture. The familiarity and ease between you two are evident. But to an observer like Aragorn each laugh, and touch seem to whisper of something more.

From his vantage point Aragorn watches the interaction his chest tightening inexplicably with each passing moment. The way Ealdred looks at you with such open admiration and joy, ignites a flame of jealousy in Aragorn’s heart that he can neither quench nor fully understand. His grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. A subconscious echo of the turmoil brewing within him.

Ealdred, ever observant, catches the intensity of Aragorn's gaze from across the way. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he leans closer to you, lowering his voice so only you can hear. "I believe the great ranger isn't just watching out for danger, you know," he teases nodding subtly towards Aragorn. "The way he looks at you... it’s as if he’s trying to will you to notice him. Quite the admirer, our King-to-be, wouldn’t you say?"

Your eyes widen slightly. The comment catching you off-guard. For a moment you're lost in thought considering Ealdred's words. You glance over at Aragorn observing his now averted gaze, the stoic mask momentarily fallen, revealing a hint of vulnerability. The idea of Aragorn, a king, having such feelings for you seems almost unfathomable. Yet the possibility stirs a flutter of excitement deep within.

Laughing softly, you shake your head trying to mask your sudden nervousness with humor. "Oh, Ealdred, don't be silly. Aragorn and I—we're just friends," you reply though your voice lacks conviction. "Besides, how could a king ever see anything in someone like me? I’m just a warrior from Rohan. Certainly not a lady of court."

Ealdred gives you a knowing look, his smile suggesting he sees right through your casual dismissal. "Well, even the mightiest kings need true friends and perhaps something more," he murmurs while giving you a playful wink before turning his attention back to the bustling activity around Helm's Deep. “Go to him, I will see you around.” He gives you a push.

As Ealdred walks away you're left with a curious mix of doubt and wonder, pondering his words. The thought lingers in your mind mingling with the echoes of what might be unspoken truths between you and Aragorn. The idea feels both impossible and thrilling, setting your heart racing as you watch Aragorn commanding his men with natural authority. Could there really be more to your friendship? The question hangs in the air, unanswered but increasingly impossible to ignore. Of course, you wanted more but when you learned of his destiny not so long ago you let those thoughts fall away.

Meanwhile, Legolas and Gimli, having observed Aragorn’s unusual demeanor, seize the opportunity for a bit of light-hearted ribbing. "Come now, Aragorn," Legolas chides with a graceful arch of his eyebrow, "your warrior's stare is more intense than any orc's glare we've encountered. And far more directed at our friend than any foe."

Gimli chortles, adding his own gruff commentary. "Lad, you're as subtle as a dwarf in an elf’s dance," he laughs before slapping Aragorn on the back. "Even the blind could see the way you look at her!"

Aragorn was caught between his role as a leader and his personal turmoil and offers only a rare, tight-lipped scowl in response. Though the corners of his mouth twitch, betraying a reluctant amusement at his friends' observations.

Once the teasing subsides Aragorn's gaze drifts back to you, now mingling with a quiet reflection. The light-hearted jests of his companions echo in his mind, stirring a resolve. Perhaps it was time to confront these feelings. To explore the truth behind the glances, the smiles, and the unspoken yearning that had begun to shape his heart. As night falls over Helm's Deep, the looming battle stirs a newfound courage within him. A courage not just to fight enemies, but perhaps to also voice the truth of his heart.

As the day before the battle approaches the air at Helm's Deep grows tense, filled with the weight of impending conflict. Soldiers go about their final preparations. Their movements sharp and focused, while commanders issue last-minute orders with stern expressions. In this bustle, Aragorn finds himself repeatedly glancing your way. His usual calm demeanor overshadowed by a restless concern that has little to do with the battle strategies at hand.

Finally, unable to contain the turmoil stirring within him, Aragorn approaches you. His stride is purposeful yet there's a hesitation in his eyes that you've seldom seen. "I need to speak with you," he says, his voice low, drawing you away from the others under the pretext of discussing the morrow's tactics.

You follow him to a quieter part of the fortress where the sounds of preparation are but distant echoes. As you stand there facing him in the dim light of the torches, Aragorn seems to struggle with his words. His gaze intense and searching.

"A moment ago, I was thinking about our positions for the battle," Aragorn begins, his tone tentative. "But truthfully, that's not why I asked you here." He takes a deep breath. His hands clenching and then relaxing at his sides. "I... I've noticed a distance growing between us while we’ve been here, one that wasn't there before. And I fear," he pauses, his voice tightening, "I fear it might be due to misunderstandings... emotions left unspoken." His admission hangs between you, stark and revealing. The air feels heavier as if charged with the gravity of his words. His eyes never leave yours, seeking, perhaps, a sign of your feelings.

You feel a knot form in your throat. Your own emotions a whirlwind of confusion and revelation. The thought that Aragorn might share even a fraction of the feelings you've struggled to hide sends a shiver through you. But there's also fear—fear of what such an admission means in the face of the darkness that might claim tomorrow.

"Aragorn," you start, your voice barely above a whisper, "I... I've also felt something change. But I believed you saw me only as a… friend in battle, nothing more. With the shadow of war over us I thought it best to keep my feelings to myself." Your confession feels like shedding armor you didn't realize you were wearing, leaving you exposed but strangely free.

Aragorn steps closer. His presence enveloping you in a sense of warmth and safety that contradicts the coldness of Helm's Deep. "I have long admired you, more than as a friend," he confesses, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "But I too feared to speak, to disrupt the bond we have with uncertainties of heart. Yet on the eve of such uncertainty… I find that silence is a greater burden than the risk of sorrow."

The distance between you diminishes with his words bridging gaps formed by unspoken doubts. As you look up into Aragorn's eyes, reflecting both the torchlight and his earnestness, you realize that regardless of what the morrow holds, this moment—honest and raw—has changed something fundamental between you. No longer just allies but something deeper. A connection forged not just in the heat of battle but in the vulnerability of shared hearts.

The emotional confrontation beneath the shadowed walls of Helm’s Deep leaves the air between you and Aragorn charged with newfound understanding and fragile hope. As the initial shock of your mutual confessions fades, the reality of the coming dawn—laden with the uncertainty of battle—sets in, lending a poignant urgency to your words and thoughts.

Aragorn’s eyes that reflected a mix of resolve and tenderness, lock with yours. “We stand on the brink of war, a war that may consume us all,” he says, his voice steady despite the turmoil you know roils beneath. “But this moment… this truth between us, cannot be overshadowed by what tonight may bring.”

You nod feeling the weight of every word. His hand was still holding yours. He squeezes gently trying to ground you. “I have carried this in my heart, thinking it unwise to speak, fearing the complications it might bring,” you admit. Your own voice stronger than you feel. “But now, facing the unknown, I see only the folly in silence. My heart, just like yours, cannot bear the burden of what-ifs.”

Aragorn’s face softens. The warrior’s mask yielding to the man beneath. “Then let us make a promise,” he proposes. His gaze searching yours for hesitation. Finding none, he continues, “If we survive this war, if fate grants us passage through this darkness, I promise to explore this path with you. To see where our hearts might lead us, unburdened by duty.”

Moved by his words you feel a resolve awaken within you. “I promise, too,” you respond, the night air around you bearing witness. “To find you again. In a world at peace and discover the depth of what we might become together.”

The pact, sealed with the sincerity of shared heartbeats, seems to carve out a small sanctuary against the chaos of the impending battle. As you both stand together the day turns to night and the distant sounds of the encroaching army grow louder, yet, in this secluded moment, there’s a sense of peace. An oasis of calm before the storm.

Aragorn gently lifts your hand to his lips. His kiss a feather-light promise against your skin. “No matter what comes,” he whispers, his breath warm against your fingers, “know that tonight has changed everything.”

As you part ways to prepare for the night ahead, each step back to your respective duties is reluctant but necessary. The promise of a future, however uncertain, fuels a quiet courage in your heart. A courage not just to fight, but to survive, to return, to begin anew.

The stars overhead that were witnesses to your solemn exchange, twinkle with a hopeful light. They cast a soft glow over Helm’s Deep. In the quiet before the battle, you hold onto the memory of Aragorn’s words, the warmth of his touch, and the promise of tomorrow. A tomorrow where you might explore the uncharted paths of both peace and passion.

And in the quiet before the storm with the world held at bay, it is enough.

As night envelops Helm's Deep, the distant roar of the approaching enemy fills the air. A grim reminder of the battle that lies ahead. The walls were thick with the tension of awaiting warriors and bristle with weapons as the moonlight casts long shadows across the battlements. You take your place among the defenders. The weight of your armor familiar and reassuring against the chill of the morning.

Across the way, Aragorn readies himself for combat. His eyes briefly meeting yours across the crowded space. In that fleeting glance you find a silent exchange of resolve and reassurance. A mutual understanding that whatever the day brings, you are not alone.

The battle erupts with the thunderous sound of orc drums and the clamor of arms. Waves of enemies crash against the fortress's defenses. Each assault more ferocious than the last. Amidst the chaos you find yourself fighting back-to-back with Aragorn. Each move synchronized with an instinctual precision that speaks of your deep connection. His presence by your side is both a comfort and a spur pushing you to fight with a fierceness you hadn't known you possessed.

As you parry and thrust Aragorn covers your flank. His swordplay a seamless dance of deadly grace. Every time an orc breaks through the line threatening to overwhelm you, Aragorn is there, his blade swift and sure. In return you guard his back with equal vigilance, your own combat skills honed by years of training now coupled with a personal drive to protect him at all costs.

From the corner of your eye, you catch brief glimpses of Legolas and Gimli, their unique partnership effective and deadly against the enemy. Despite the severity of the battle, you see Legolas shoot a quick, satisfied glance towards you and Aragorn, a small smirk playing on his lips as he loses another arrow into the horde. Gimli, engaged in a competition of his own with the elf, nonetheless nods approvingly in your direction after cleaving another orc with his axe.

The battle rages on. Each moment a blur of sound, motion, and adrenaline. But within this turmoil your bond with Aragorn becomes your strength. When fatigue begins to claw at your limbs it is his steadfast presence that reignites your resolve. When despair whispers in the shadows of your mind it is the promise of a future together that keeps the darkness at bay.

As the tide of the battle shifts with every orc felled and every moment you and Aragorn continue to stand, the hope for victory grows. It was fueled not just by the strength of arms but by the power of the unity you have forged in the heart of conflict. The knowledge that someone fights beside you not just for the fate of middle earth but for the promise of a shared tomorrow is more potent than any weapon forged by dwarves or elves. Together, you fight not only to protect Helm's Deep but to preserve the future that you vowed to explore. In the heat of battle that promise binds you ever closer. A promise that against all odds you will survive to see what lies beyond the war.

As the echoes of battle fade and the sun begins to rise over the now-quiet walls of Helm’s Deep, the air is filled with the heavy scent of rain and renewal. The fortress, though scarred by the night’s ferocity, stands resilient. A showing of the courage of those who defended it. Among the weary soldiers there’s a palpable sense of relief mixed with sorrow for those lost. A bittersweet victory.

In the aftermath as others tend to the wounded and recount the close calls you find yourself seeking out Aragorn. You find him standing alone looking out over the battlements at the dawning day. His profile etched against the lightening sky. His stance is one of a man who has carried too much, seen too much, yet stands ready to face whatever comes next.

Approaching quietly, you stop beside him, sharing the view in silence. After a moment he looks down at you, his eyes reflecting the myriad emotions of the night. Without a word he takes your hand. His grip firm and warm, anchoring you both in the now.

“Aragorn,” you begin but he shakes his head slightly, asking you to stop.

“Let me speak before the world rushes back in,” he says softly. His gaze holds yours, intense and unwavering. “Last night in the middle of this mess I realized something beyond the fear of losing what is precious. I realized what it means to truly love.”

He pauses, searching your face for understanding. “I have loved before,” he continues, “but never like this. Never with such clarity and raw hope. Last night I fought not just for middle earth but for the chance to see what lies ahead with you.”

Tears gather in your eyes as his words wash over you. Each one landing with the weight and warmth of a cherished caress. He continues as he uses his thumbs to wipe away your shed and unshed tears. “You have given me a reason to fight. A reason to return no matter the odds. And if this battle has taught me anything it is that I want to face whatever comes next. Not as a king. Not as a ranger. But as a man hopelessly in love with you.”

Aragorn's confession was simple yet profound. It stirred something deep within you. A surge of love and commitment that mirrors his own. You step closer diminishing the space between you and rest your head against his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart. “And I, too, want nothing more than to face the world with you, Aragorn. To build a life where love is our strength.”

Aragorn begins to speak, his voice low and filled with emotion, confessing his love and the revelation that had come to him amidst the chaos of battle. But as he speaks, something within you stirs. A fierce, overwhelming rush of feeling, amplified by the adrenaline that still courses through your veins.

Before he can finish you close the distance between you were driven by a surge of emotions too powerful to contain. Your hands find his face pulling him down towards you, and your lips meet his in a kiss that is anything but gentle. It's a kiss full of life, of survival, of shared battles and shared dreams. Your bodies press together, each curve and angle molding into the other, as if you could somehow merge into one being united against whatever may come.

Aragorn responds with equal fervor his arms wrapping around you to lift you slightly off the ground deepening the kiss with a passion that mirrors your own. His touch is both a claim and a surrender. A recognition of the bond that has been forged in the heat of battle and sealed in the quiet of dawn.

As you finally part, breathless and hearts pounding, you rest your forehead against his, eyes still closed as you savor the closeness. "I love you," you whisper. The words barely audible but heavy with meaning. "I fought for this, for us."

"And I," Aragorn replies. His breath warm against your lips, "will continue to fight for every day we have together. For a chance to love you as you deserve, fiercely and freely, without the shadow of war."

The promise hangs between you profound and sacred. As you step back still encircled by his arms the world around you seems to awaken. The sounds of the fortress stirring to life, the calls of soldiers and the distant cries of those mourning their fallen. It all fades into the background as you look up at him, seeing not just the warrior or the king but the man who holds your heart.

The sun was now fully above the horizon. It bathes you both in golden light, its rays like a benediction over your newfound commitment. You prepare to face the new day with him. Not just as survivors but as partners bound by love. Each beat of your hearts proof to the battles you’ve endured and the future you will fight for together.

(Taglist Sign Up): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @dnfhascorruptedme 

[xenosagaepisodeone]

it's kind of crazy that every LotR-inspired film that came out in the aughts-10s was completely unwilling to ape the physical intimacy of the fellowship. sam and frodo are the obvious poster boys for physical affection, but all major character relationships on screen are deeply enlivened by a consummate closeness. the main four hobbit boys aren't fussy about personal space. aragorn spends like a third of his screen time carrying frodo around in his arms. boromir casually ruffles frodo's hair and plays with mary and pippin. there's a very sweet shot of legolas tenderly helping gimlii into a boat in the first film. everyone hugs. there's no distance when they sit beside one another. they were all sucking and fucking off screen. we need this in big budget fantasy movies again.

[meidui]

#i would say that he could make it to mordor but not destroy the ring#maybe he could have if he had been in isildur's place and had only been carrying it for a short time#but not if he'd been in frodo's place#he's very difficult to corrupt#but i don't think any human has the ability to withstand prolonged contact with the ring without succumbing at least in part ( @bulkyphrase )

[inkedmoth]

Training Sessions Over

A request for @celeluwhenfics of Boromir training up an overconfident new recruit! Want to request a one-shot? Here's the post with details!

“The new recruits have arrived for training, Captain.”

Boromir looked up from the reports sent in from Osgiliath, finding the familiar face of Lastor at the door to his office. Corking his inkwell and rising to his feet, he was quick to roll the sleeves of his tunic back down over his forearms.

“How are they looking?” he asked, knowing the guard would have already cast a critical eye over them.

“Green.”

Not ideal, but that was something that could be fixed.

“There’s a few that have more experience either with the sword or fighting in general, but the rest of them are young and inexperienced,” Lastor continued as Boromir strapped his sword belt on, and gathered up his round shield. “But… there is one who claims to have more experience.”

“There’s always one,” Boromir sighed. “Very well, lead the way.”

Located in the sixth level, the recruit barracks were constantly teeming with newcomers, older soldiers training the younger, or curious young men looking to prove their worth. Admittedly the military of Gondor was constantly seeking new hands to assist in battle, but sometimes it felt like there were two dozen new recruits every week.

All of whom, needed assessing.

True it was a task that could have been delegated to another of the Captains under his command, and often was when he was called away for battle. But Boromir like to meet with the newcomers, to welcome them into the army, to assess their skills, and to ensure that each and every man within the chain of command, could trust him.

Before they’d even entered the barracks, Boromir could hear the commotion coming from the training ring in the central courtyard. As expected, two dozen young men of varying heights, builds, and confidence were forming uneven ranks, being corralled into place by Deputies. Keeping to one side for a moment, he watched with a keen eye, assessing them from a distance and trying to gauge just how full he’d have his hands for the rest of the afternoon.

Not too bad, by his guess.

The majority were listening to the commanders, and only a smaller group were proving difficult.

A group of five, with a clear ringleader who was speaking to the others, all but ignoring instructions, standing casually at ease and out of line. He was young, early twenties at the most, dressed well and immaculately groomed. A lord’s son by Boromir’s guess.

“What’s that one’s name?” Boromir asked quietly, head tilting to the guard at his side.

“Magron, sir.”

The fact Lastor answered so quickly and without hesitation, told him that this Magron had already made a name for himself. Only confirmed by the irritation hidden in the guard’s voice.

“Son of a Lord by any chance?”

“Aye, Gledrong of Lossarnach’s youngest.”

The Vale of Flowers? Lord Forlong currently ruled, but his son Gledrong was a fine lord and Boromir counted him amongst friends, so for Gledrong’s son to be acting out already, let alone the fact he’d been assigned to the soldiers of Minas Tirith rather than Forlong’s own men… It spoke volumes.

Just how troublesome had he proved to his own father?

“Well, lets get this over and done with,” Boromir muttered, mostly to himself, but Lastor huffed in mute agreement.

Stepping forwards Boromir strode out from the shadows of the doorway, approaching the ranks of recruits with purpose and confidence. At his abrupt arrival, they snapped to attention, admittedly not forming true ranks and lines but their postures certainly straightened up, that was fine, the uniformity required training just like everything else. His eyes rapidly scanned across the faces of the men before him. Yes, this time around it was all men, and while female soldiers were few and far between, they did occasionally join the ranks.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted, “I appreciate that you’ve all elected to join the ranks of men defending this city and our lands, but I wish to get one thing straight. Those of you who’ve signed up seeking glory, you will not find it here.”

Boromir paced slowly from one end of the lines to the other, letting his eyes rove across their faces and searching for any sign of glory hunters. They were paying rapt attention, a few heads cocked, a few puzzled expressions, but so far nothing that concerned him.

“War isn’t like the stories, it is brutal, it is cruel, and it will break you many times over. Honour and renown are found far from bloodshed and battle, it isn’t found with your blade in the gut of orc or man,” he continued. “True glory and true honour is found in the strength of your shield and your aid to your fellow soldiers.”

Silence, the shift of weight either from discomfort or concern, but no protests.

The Magron lad, however, was barely paying attention. His arms folded and weight settled on one leg, a stark contrast to the upright, hands behind back, steady stances of the other recruits. It took a concentrated effort not to frown at him in admonishment. They weren’t trained soldiers, they weren’t coached in the correct way to stand or how to show their attention was focused.

Not yet anyway.

“If anyone takes issue with this, if anyone wishes to leave, it will not be held against you,” Boromir started to wrap up, “I’d rather those who were unsure stepped aside now, than come to regret it or fall on the battlefield.”

The last lot of recruits had three people choosing to back out, and Boromir had been quick to direct them towards the admins of the barracks. Maybe they’d not be brave enough to battle, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t assist in some other way. But in this group, not one person stepped aside, no one awkwardly cleared their throat or raised their hand.

“No one?” he asked, “I promise not to hold it against you if you can’t stand my face any longer.”

There was a quiet huff of laughter from a few of the men, but they still all held fast.

“Excellent, I’ll start by assessing your skill level with the blade, and then with blade and shield,” he explained, “If everyone could move to the sides, my assistant Lastor, will instruct as to when it’s your turn.”

The scuffing of feet, the shift of bodies, and the quiet murmurs of conversation.

Or mostly quiet conversations.

“Really?” Magron was grumbling rather un-quietly, “I’ve been training with the sword since I was five.”

Oh joy.

Boromir barely managed to school his expression, turning his back to the group and moving towards the centre of the sandy area. His shield was set to one side and drawing his sword he went through a few basic motions to loosen his joints. Ideally, he’d have warmed up first, but this was to be testing the recruits’ abilities, not an actual fight.

Not that true battles would allow chance to warm up.

At Lastor’s instruction, one of the recruits was called forwards, handed a suitable sword, and sent towards Boromir.

The poor lad looked utterly terrified to be facing the Captain so quickly.

With words of encouragement, Boromir coached him through the first few strikes, allowing him to gain some confidence, allowing him to grow accustomed to the weight of the blade. It didn’t take long for the lad to release he wasn’t going to be battered to within an inch of his life, and soon settled into it a little more.

His own arming sword was so familiar that Boromir barely needed to think, he simply moved. But then again, he’d spent close to thirty years training, and then twenty years utilising this sword specifically. Of course it was second nature, but for these new recruits, it could very well be the first time they’d handled a sword for more than a few minutes.

“Good!” Boromir praised at a more powerful strike from the youngster. “You’ve got a knack for this.”

A grin of relief flickered across their face but was quickly snuffed out by a scoff from the sidelines.

It wasn’t hard to guess who from.

Several other recruits stepped up and went through the motions, each of them with skill levels varying from rudimentary, to basic, to intermediate, but none of them stood out as being unsuited for the role of soldiers. It was a group he’d be able to work with, they’d learn quickly and improve even quicker.

“—so basic.” Boromir caught the tail end of Magron’s latest complaint. “I’d mastered this by the time I was eight.”

That was enough.

Glancing across the courtyard, Boromir caught Lastor’s eye, and gave him a nod.

The guard knew him well enough to need no other explanation, no hints or nudges. He simply glanced down at the parchment of names, and as though reading from a list, and called out.

“Magron, you’re up next.”

“Finally.”

The youngster sounded far too eager to show his worth to his gaggle of sycophants, quickly hoping up and moving forwards. And waved off the offered sword. True, one hung from his hip, an elegant weapon with an ornate basket hilt and slender blade.

Ah.

Boromir recognised that make of blade, and knew what style of fighting typically came along with it.

‘Oh this could be interesting.’

Careful to keep his expression impassive, he waited patiently for Magron to trot across the sandy surface and settle to a stop just out of lunging distance. A smart move Boromir had to give him credit, but it wouldn’t do him any good.

“Do you have much experience?” Boromir asked the same question everyone else had been asked, despite the fact he’d spent the better part of an hour listening to this young lord crow about his prowess with a blade.

“I started training with the sword when I was five,” Magron replied, looking pleased with himself. “My grandfather insisted, you see.”

“Ah yes, Lord Forlong of Lossarnach, am I correct?” he asked as though unaware, receiving a nod of confirmation. “Let’s see how well it’s served you then, shall we?”

Settling into a low guard, Boromir watched as Magron did the same. The position of his feet turning his body to the side to narrow his profile, his one-handed grip of the basket hilted blade, the other hand tucked into the small of his back.

Had he really spent all this time watching the others fight and not recognised the vastly different style?

“Ready?” Boromir warned. “Begin!”

Magron lunged, a neat step forwards, his sword arm extending in an elegant thrust.

One that Boromir knocked away with ease. His longsword whipped about towards the lad’s legs, slightly faster than he’d been with the others, and was rewarded with a startled noise and hasty leap back from Magron.

He was quick, Boromir would give him that.

The clash of blades rang out, Magron stood his ground a moment, his blade weaving through the air with a sinuous serpentine grace as he lashed out towards Boromir.

Only to be knocked aside again.

Watching his stance, the way Magron ground his feet into the sand, Boromir could see how he was customed to keeping his footing, short sharp lunges and occasional bursts of speed. Sharper thrusts, swift flicks, graceful slashes, and far too many unnecessary movements thrown into the mix. Magron’s style of fighting was elegant, it was stylish, it was suitable for the lofty lords of Gondor to while away the hours in friendly competition.

And had no place in this training ground.

“Move your feet!” Boromir instructed, “holding your ground is only going to get you killed.”

“That’s not how I was taug—”

Magron got no further as Boromir’s blade whipped about, twisted across the smaller blade, and with a flick of his wrist, the sword was sent flying across the sandy ground.

Before the lad could so much as curse, the longswords point settled at his throat.

For five seconds neither of them moved.

He’d gone rather pale, so Boromir took his cue and backed off, giving Magron breathing room.

“Lastor, a sword please,” Boromir requested.

The guard was only too happy to trot across the ring and press a long sword into the lad’s hands, and on his return trip, was quick to collect the other blade from where it had fallen. Preventing any swapping of blades.

“This isn’t, it’s not my sword.”

“I am aware,” Boromir replied, not bothering to hide the amusement from his voice, “but if you’re to join the military, a uniformed fighting style is required to protect the whole. Ready?”

The expression on Magron’s face could only be described as ‘rabbit who just heard a hawk’. But to give him credit, he gripped the sword, took up position, and tried to ignore how his arm trembled slightly with the weight of the larger blade.

“Begin!”

Magron’s lunge was considerably less elegant and refined, easily countered by Boromir’s own parry. Knocked off balance, the lad hastened to get his feet into position, only to find Boromir raining down blow after blow.

The fight felt slow to Boromir, almost clumsy, but it seemed the strikes were barely deflected in time by Magron. His face had become pale, sweat slid down his brow, but his teeth were gritted and there was a scowl of concentration on his face as he parried again and again and again, as he all but staggered back across the sandy ground from the onslaught. No matter how little chance he had to launch attacks of his own, but at least he was deflecting and parrying, no matter the strain.

A sweep of the longsword, and Boromir’s blade struck Magron’s calf with the flat, flinching to the side

Boromir moved, darting forwards, his longer stride quickly bringing him to bear down on the younger man, one hand seized Magron’s sword wrist, twisting his hip and all but flinging him up and over.

There was a crash, a startled yelp, and the lad went down, landing flat on his back in the sand, staring up in outright alarm as the point of Boromir’s sword once again hovered at his neck.

He looked… cowed.

“Not bad,” Boromir said, sheathing his sword, and extending his hand to the kid, “you’ve got the fundamentals down, it shouldn’t take long for you to improve.”

It was no small amount of reluctance, that Magron reached up, and was hauled to his feet. Face flushed with exertion and embarrassment, he was quick to move to the side of the ring, and retook his place. Head down, tail between his legs, and utterly refusing to meet the eyes of those he’d been gloating with.

No, there’d be no more comments, no more posturing. Magron had just learnt a hard truth and wouldn’t be crowing his virtues any time soon.

“Right, who’s next Lastor?”

*****

“Captain?”

Boromir looked up at the familiar voice. The sky was starting to darken, and after the recruits had been dismissed from their first day of training, he’d hung back with Lastor and the others to discuss their potential. It was looking positive, with only a couple of men with far less experience.

However it was Magron that was loitering in the door to the armoury. His basket hilted sword once more at his hip, even if his eyes were downcast and awkward.

“Magron,” Boromir greeted warmly, despite his initial wariness, setting aside the sword he’d been sharpening. “What can I do for you lad?”

There was an awkward silence, the clearing of a throat, and the shuffling of feet as Magron clearly struggled to find his words.

“My grandfather wants me to become a captain and lead the Rose Knights when I’m older,” he blurted.

Boromir barely had chance to take that it, as it seemed with those words, a dam had been breached and the words kept coming.

“He insisted my brother and I trained from when we could hold a sword and he’s been relentless in our continued training, but while my brother is excelling I’ve always struggled with the larger blades so when I realised I was good at fencing I stuck to it in a bid to show I could do something, but now I’m here on his insistence and I’m not very good with the larger blades and now—”

Boromir held up a hand, and the stream of words came to a halt.

“Living up to a father’s expectation is hard, let alone that of a grandfather,” he said frankly, all too aware of how his own father expected more and more from him and Faramir with every passing day. “Is this something you want to do?”

The genuine question seemed to take the younger man aback, as he rocked onto the heels of his fine leather boots, hands twisting and fidgeting as he considered the question. A serious expression on his face, at odds with his prior smugness and eventual shame.

“I want… to be useful,” Magron admitted honestly, “I can fence, but todays taught me that fencing it very different to the longsword, let alone the shields.”

“It does take practise,” Boromir agreed, “there’s other ways you can assist, administration, recruitment, supply chains, the armoury…”

“None of which will make me a Captain like my grandfather wishes.”

It wasn’t said petulantly, but Magron’s voice was strained regardless.

“If you wish to continue with being a solider, then I’ll not discourage you,” Boromir replied gently, “but even if you did, it doesn’t mean you’ll make it to the rank of Captain, it takes more to command the men than your skill with the sword.”

There was a subtle wince from the lad.

“But, I can see that you’ve got the determination, and you’ve already shown you have the aptitude to preserver with your prior training. With that sort of dedication and focus, you’ll quickly learn to manage the longsword,” Boromir pressed on, the positive reinforcement aimed to encourage the youngster. “Stick it out a little longer with the other men, see how it goes in training, if you still feel this way after a couple of months, come speak with me again, and we’ll see what we can do.”

Even if that was finding him an alternate path within the military.

“Thank you, sir,” Magron relented.

“Alright, now off to the mess hall with you lad.”

Not everyone was cut out for the life of a solider, and there was no shame to it. But would Magron and his grandfather see it that way?

Boromir hoped so.

[rivendell-poet]

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧

○ Lord of the Rings ○ The Hobbit ○

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Lindir ○ Tauriel ○ Thorin ○ Fíli ○ Kíli ○ Dwalin ○ Bofur ○ Bilbo ○

romantic unless it says otherwise

𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 :

𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬/𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 (𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬) :

How you first met (Wordcount : 4k)

Your second meeting (Wordcount : 4k)

Your third meeting (Wordcount : 4.1k)

You become friends (Wordcount : 3.2k)

When they realise they like you (Wordcount : 3.2k)

What they do with this realisation (Wordcount : 3.7k)

They get jealous (Wordcount : 3.7k)

They confess their feelings (Wordcount : 4.2k)

Your first date (Wordcount : 5.2k)

Your first kiss (Wordcount : 3.3k)

Telling others (Wordcount : 2.9k)

You fluster them (Wordcount : 3.4k)

Their families opinion (Wordcount : 2.9k)

First 'I love you' (Wordcount : 2.9k)

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 (𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬) :

Trick-or-treat masterlist (Each 'treat' is a short oneshot around 100-200 words)

Holiday gifts masterlist (Each 'gift' is a short oneshot around 100-300 words)

Fellowship with a sassy/crude tenth-walker (GN!Reader | Platonic or Romantic | Requested | Wordcount : 1.2k)

Fellowship with an oblivious-to-flirting tenth-walker (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 1k)

Fellowship seeing the reader as a younger sibling (GN!Reader | Platonic | Requested | Wordcount : 2.1k)

Fellowship with a reader who's terrified of thunderstorms (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 1.6k)

Fellowship with a short reader (GN!Reader | Platonic or Romantic | Requested | Wordcount : 1.7k)

Fellowship (& co.) with a reader with hypoglycemia (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 2k)

Fellowship (& co.) and a tandem-bicycle (GN!Reader | Requested | Crack | Wordcount : 0.7k)

"Can you hold this [your hand] for me?" (Fellowship) (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 0.6k)

Elves with a very affectionate reader (GN!Reader | Elves = Legolas, Thranduil, Haldir, Lindir, Meludir, Feren & Glorfindel | Wordcount : 1.3k)

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧 :

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.4k)

Reader who looks like Aragorn & Arwen's child (Scenario | Platonic | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 0.6k)

Dance with me (One-shot | Wordcount : 2.6k | TWs : Dark-ish/hints of possession | Requested)

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬 :

I can't speak Elvish & (story from his POV) (Two-shot | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.3k & 4.3k | No TWs | Love confessions/misunderstandings)

I love (everything about) you (One-shot | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.6k | TWs : Body-image issues | Requested | Hurt/comfort)

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.7k)

x reader who was part of Thorin's Company (Scenario | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 0.5k | No TWs | Fluff)

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨 :

Hang the stars for you (One-shot | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 1.9k | No TWs | Love confessions & fluff)

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.8k)

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧 :

Mishaps & Musicality (One-shot | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 1.9k | No TWs | Requested | Love confessions & fluff)

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 :

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 2.1k)

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫 :

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 2.7k)

𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫 :

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 2.2k)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭 :

Thorin's company with a short reader (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 1k)

Thorin's company with a contortionist reader (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 1.2k)

Thorin's company and your first kiss (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 1.1k)

Thranduil and a dragon-scarred reader (Scenario | Platonic | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 1k | TWs : Discussion of scarring | Comfort)

Fíli SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 2.1k)

Thorin SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 2.7k)

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ (last updated 29/01/2025 - uk date)

[shirefantasies]

Can I ask for a request?

For the fellowship men? So they get wounded and their crush have to nurse them? And she is total calm with that like "Hun your leg is bleeding you have to take off your pants so I can treat the wound" and she's total obvious and didn't get the longing looks she get oder when he ist flustered and shiver because she touch his skin. ("Sry for the cold hands")

I’ll do my best! Tried to vary up the scenarios a bit 😉 thank you so much for requesting 😌 Warnings: some blood & injury mentions, minor language, some suggestive jokes!

The Fellowship When Their Crush Cares For Their Wound

Aragorn

"Won't you please sit down?"

The tender urgency of your words finally ran a shock through Aragorn, who complied. Perhaps it truly was no good to continue pressing on at the detriment of the group.

"Very well. We rest!"

"That was not so hard, was it?" You asked him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Now, if you please." Pantomiming removing your shirt, you nodded his way.

Aragorn's brows furrowed, blue eyes fixing you with concern, questioning, as he sat and tightened his bootstraps.

"I saw that slash you took," you breathed, "let yourself be cared for."

Inhaling, he nodded, unlacing and shrugging down his tunic. Never had you made such a request before, but giving as you were, it made sense. Such nature was what inevitably drew Aragorn to you. Your touch was soft as you reached out to caress the skin above where he had been injured. Cleaned it just as gently.

"What?" You suddenly broke the silence, tilting your head and fixing Aragorn with an innocent bat of your eyes. You truly had no idea.

He shook his head, a smile playing upon his lips to swallow the wince of pain as you began wrapping his cut flesh in bandages. "Nothing. Only gratitude at the care of your heart and the ease of your hands."

You smiled back, sending Aragorn's chest leaping somewhere far deeper than the pain could reach.

Legolas

"You're bleeding."

"It is nothing, really," the elven prince tried to brush you off, but shaking your head, you stepped in front of him.

"Keep not your pride so tight about you," you chastised, hands upon your hips and a teasing look upon your face, "the dwarf can't see you. Come. Let me at least wrap it up for you."

Legolas's expression softened at your words, and with a slight nod, he followed. Wordlessly he removed his layers when you reached a spot off to the side, dark eyes never leaving you as he revealed the entirety of the wound, a slash near his collarbone. Unthinkingly, your hands went right to the area around it.

"Oh, Legolas, it's worse than I..." You paused, feeling him shiver. "I'm sorry, are my hands cold?"

"A bit," he replied with a bit of a smile, resting both of his hands over yours.

Flushing, you shake your head. "I am supposed to be caring for you."

Legolas just smiled at you. "Can we not have both? This is the least I can do."

"True," you teased, "I suppose it benefits us both, does it not?"

"Indeed," he nodded, "but mostly yet I know no other way to show my heart's gratitude."

Boromir

"I can hardly believe you!"

"Believe what? We are safe again," Boromir replied, a hand tightly clasping your shoulder.

"You are well aware what, you hero of a man," you shot back, waving a hand up and down his form, "now go and lie down for me already!"

"Oh?" His brows shot up at your words. "Is that how you like it?"

"No matter me, you've been wounded! Being surrounded upon all sides and grazed with arrows does that to a man. I saw the one that caught your side and while I'd like to hold you up as much as you need, first we'd best patch you up."

"Oh," Boromir said again, this time a bit dumbly as he lowered to the ground with a nod. His teasing tone quickly returned, however, "Yes, indeed, whatever you say. I forget what a great healer you are."

"Well, I certainly may not be the best, but there is no reason to burden oneself with wounds already inflicted. Not to mention it mostly got your back."

The moment Boromir exposed himself, he glanced back at you, catching the trace of your eyes over his skin. Your hands soon fell upon it, working quickly to clean and wrap up the bloody graze nice and tight. What surprised him, though, was the work of your hands after this, your fingers kneading the skin around it. Pleasure and pain rolled in equal waves through him as you did so.

"My apologies, does this hurt too much? I felt you start a bit just now. My brother just told me that we heal better if we're relaxed."

"And I believe that wholeheartedly," Boromir agreed with a smile, "please continue. I must confess I have never received such fine treatment before."

Giggling at his comment and eliciting a chuckle from him in return, you continued with a smile of your own.

Gimli

“Sit still!”

“I can still fight!”

“Like hell you will,” you shot back, stopping Gimli again with a hand across his chest, “I don’t care what you think you can do, you just could have been killed! Now stay there, please. I’m worried about you.”

Spoken considerably softer, those last four words were what halted Gimli’s protest the most, a glow of warmth and hope ringing out in his chest. His lips parted a bit in surprise. “Oh. Alright, then, do what you need.” For all his bravado, it had been a nasty case, his body slammed down so hard and his now-pounding head taking the brunt of the force.

“Thank you.” Reaching your hands up, you slid his helmet off first, tucking his hair behind his ears. You could feel the way he tensed up at your actions as you pulled one hand away to fetch your cloth. "Sorry, did that sting?"

He had to get out his head- all you were doing was taking care of him. "Not at all. Please-please continue." Perhaps his words sounded desperate, but Gimli barely cared when your hands were on him like that.

Speaking of which... You took firmer hold, tilting him by the chin to get a better angle with which to dab the warm fabric over the wound.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Frodo

"Would you not like to do something about this?"

Frodo simply peered up into your eyes with his glistening blue stare, tilting his head inquisitively and tugging at his sleeves, which you then took a hold of.

"No, no, take this all off is what I meant."

"Take- take it all...?"

Hand crossing over your shoulders, you drew lines down in an impression of the chain Frodo wore, the impossibly heavy burden he bore burning into his skin at all times. "Surely you feel it. You must. Keep it on, I won't touch it, but please let me ease the pain."

Blinking, Frodo inhaled, nodded. "Very well. What will you do, then?"

"Just put some salve up there around where the chain is. Here, just take your shirt off a bit," you told him, fussing with his jacket but allowing Frodo himself to undo the top buttons of his shirt.

He glanced up, followed your gaze and saw it lie not upon the ring, but upon his, and visibly relaxed, a smile finally working its way to his soft lips. Nodding again, he sat back as your hand pushed the metal chain up from its place, spreading your healing concoction upon the opened skin. When your hand got lower, you could feel how rapid his heartbeat was thumping beneath skin and bone.

"Don't worry, really. All I care about is you." Did it pick up again?

"I am at ease, the first of such I've felt in some time. I cannot thank you enough," he replies with a shake of his head and a kiss to the hand you weren't using.

Sam

"Alright, Sam, open up your shirt."

"I beg your pardon?"

Shaking your head, you chuckled at his wide eyes. "I heard you got a nasty scrape, and if so, I've got just the thing for it."

Shock still swam in his green eyes, his fingers hovering over the buttons hesitantly as he glanced between them and you.

Flushing, you spoke once more, much more hastily as you held up the jar of medicine in question. "Oh! Er, well, if you'd rather someone else take a look, I can give this to Aragorn and he can-"

"No!" Sam cut you off, shaking his head. "No, no let's not trouble Strider, you're all right. Here we go."

Glancing back and forth, he sat down upon a rock and undid the top three buttons of his shirt, wiggling the fabric loose to reveal the wound you'd been told of. Your eyes wandered a bit before guiltily returning to Sam's; he smiled faintly as you dipped your fingers into the cool contents of the jar and reached back up to smear some on. Sam, surprisingly, did not flinch but he did shiver a bit.

"Oh, my apologies, I should have warmed it up a bit better first, shouldn't I?"

He sat up a bit straighter at your words. "Not at all, I can take it. Just...just startled me a bit is all. Don't worry your pretty head."

Merry

"Trousers off. Let's see it."

"Right now?" Merry loudly whispered, eyes going round.

"Yes, right now," you fussed, "or else you'll bleed out! Come on."

"Oh. Oh, the wound, yes. Bit of a close one there, wasn't it?"

You put a hand on your hip as Merry lowered into a seated position and undid his belt. "Had Boromir not been there with his shield, you could have lost your leg. What were you thinking?"

"Well, if you really must know," Merry shot back, shimmying his outer garments down to reveal a glistening red gash upon his right leg, "thought charging in might impress you."

He shuddered under the cleansing water you pressed against it, likely due to the cold. Your brow furrowed equally at the wound as it was at him, your eyes darting up to search his. "Impress me?" You replied incredulously.

"Yes," he agreed with a crooked, devious smile, "and with that first line of yours, I thought it'd worked."

Pippin

“Alright, take off your trousers.”

Pippin’s eyebrows shot up as his hands slid to his belt. “Is that what we’re doing? Well, all right then…”

Head tilted and brows furrowed in confusion, you fixed him with a look. “Of course we are, you got a huge gash above the knee. Lucky for you Aragorn harvested us a whole lot of poultice herbs the other day.” Your gaze slid between Pippin and your work of crushing the leaves as he sheepishly loosened his garments.

“Right, right, I knew that, yes. So the leaves are going to go down first, then?”

“Indeed,” you nodded, dabbing at the remaining dribble of blood before you began gently dabbing the poultice on.

Your eyes traveled back up to meet his, their deep green sheen bringing a shy smile to your face. Beneath your hand, he shuddered faintly.

“Sorry, does that sting?” You asked him, glancing again between your work and him.

Puffing out his chest a bit, Pippin shook his head. “Not at all. Not when I have the best nurse in all of Middle Earth to take care of me. Feels a bit good, in fact.”

Flushing, you gave a full smile at his words as you tied off his bandage. “Well, having the best patient helps, too.” Feeling a bit bold, you reached up and patted his cheek. “Let me know if you need anything else, alright?”

A wide grin spread across Pippin’s face. “Oh, I can think of something."