#Boromir really inspirates me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

entishramblings · 4 months

Text

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.

…..

Everything Tag: @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @swimming-in-stardust @elvish-sky @red-riding @hey-its-nonny @mirclealignr @laneynoir @straysugzhpe @runningfeather @finallyforgotten @kaiawrites @commanderawkward @xxbluestrifexx @slytherinambitious @desert-fern @skairipakomtrikru @genderfluid-anime-goth @sotwk @sirenofavalon @hobbitsesoftheshire @asianbutnotjapanese @mgchaser @heavenshumour @heavenshumour @clairealeehelsing @starenemy @ceruleanrainblues @casuallyeating-blog @cheari @aheadfullofsteverogers @imthebadguyyy @beehivehappy @queenmariex @newjsns01

Everything But Spice Tag: @goldfearless @cauliflowertree @heranintomyknife23times @mxmia @unethicallypleistocene @amessofmultifandom

Boromir Tag: @scyllas-revenge @lord-westley @callistobalisto

ADD YOURSELF TO MY TAGLIST(S)

#vayawrites #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #boromir #boromir x reader #Boromir/reader #boromir fic #boromir fanfic #boromir fanfiction #boromir x you #boromir/you #boromir one shot #boromir oneshot

120 notes · View notes

wordbunch · 11 months

Text

GREAT MIDDLE EARTH BAKEOFF: the fellowship edition

aka this is what happens when my mind runs free

Aragorn mixes unusual flavors but somehow makes them work

However, making aesthetically pleasing cakes isn't his strong suit

Legolas, on the other hand, has the most beautiful and intricate decoration

Sometimes mixes interesting flavors, but the rest of the time his stuff tastes just a bit too bland; he will give a very poetic detailed description of why it is the way it is

Merry is there mostly for friendships and having fun (and trying others' recipes) HOWEVER he becomes ambitious and actually quite quite good

Frodo is the one who seems very put together until like the last 5 minutes when something goes terribly wrong (just imagine those compilation videos of like, cakes utterly falling apart and stuff)

Gimli as inspiration always uses flavors and traditions from back home (why is it spicy)

Also his ultimate goal is to just be ranked higher than Legolas but they're both pretty mid-tier

Boromir has a relatively weak start, but eventually gets gradually better and better; however he plays it pretty safe

Gandalf seems to be working extremely slowly most of the time and everyone wonders how he always manages to get everything perfectly done on time; and he has random smoking breaks and just wanders off to who knows where

Pippin is there because his cousins are there, but he turns out to have very whimsical, creative and Unconventionally good ideas; sings to himself while working

Sam makes the most calorie-rich stuff with really good quality ingredients, but he has to work on the presentation and the visual aspect

at the start he is unsure of himself and feels a bit inadequate but his confidence grows over time

He always jumps in to help anyone who needs helping

The judges are Eowyn, Arwen and Bilbo (I will not take criticism) + guest judge Elrond??

do i even tag people in this bs?? i guess so YOU WILL SUFFER ME

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

342 notes · View notes

lady-merian · 8 months

Text

For artists:

Years ago, when I was just beginning to more seriously teach myself how to draw, I didn’t like drawing from real life, or photos. I hated the results every time. Learn to draw books were all well and good, but they taught me how to draw specific things rather than how to use a reference. So, purely for my own private use, I would seek out artists online with styles I liked, and would try my hand at recreating it. Something about it was disarming to my self-consciousness.

This was well before I had an account anywhere, and even if I had, and had thought my own copy good enough, I wouldn’t have posted any of it.

Looking back, I still think it was a really good thing for me, and now I’m much more confident drawing from life or photos. Still, I’m curious about something and want to see what any of you think.

Even on my paper, I took to writing the original artist’s name/url/whatever their signature was on the back of it so I’d never forget where I got the inspiration from. (How I remembered the name of the artist who drew young Boromir and Faramir)

if you want to put in the notes whether you’re a self taught artist or have taken lessons/classes/whatever, that would be interesting to know, but no pressure!

#I see option 2 as an impromptu #Draw this in your style #because try as I might I couldn’t truly copy someone’s style #But the attempt was helpful to me #I don’t see the next to the last option getting a lot of votes but I do get the idea from some that my method of teaching myself was odd #Also this was all before I’d heard of the idea of a master copy #But I also didn’t take on extremely complicated art for a while because it was less disarming to my self-consciousness #Someday I’ll try this method with color

97 notes · View notes

anghraine · 11 months

Text

I was just thinking about how Tolkien gradually establishes that there are quite a lot of people in Gondor. In ROTK, he even specifies where they live (Belfalas, Lebennin, etc), but we don't see those places except in general descriptions/songs, and most of those people are defending the regions they live in and thus offstage.

It's easy to kind of forget that the Minas Tirith scenes are happening in a pretty big country with a large population (and that the weight Boromir felt in leading Gondor's defense wasn't just about the inhabitants of Minas Tirith, but a whole damn country with what would have to be over a million people, likely well over that). Even when people are talking about how the outlying forces that arrive to help defend the city are only a tenth of the fiefs' actual forces, I think it's something that often doesn't sink in.

So (for me, anyway), there's something both unexpected and really satisfying when book!Aragorn uses the dead to secure the armies of Gondor and then those offstage southern Gondorians we keep hearing about show up to lift the siege of Minas Tirith. We knew they were out there, but it wasn't real until they come leaping off the ships at the Pelennor.

I've talked before about why I like that Aragorn uses the army of the dead to liberate the southern Gondorians, but I do think there's something very effective about Aragorn arriving at the head of an overwhelmingly Gondorian army he convinced to follow him and saving Gondor that way—through providing very real assistance to the people he means to rule, inspiring them to follow him, and those people being necessary and critical to saving their country. It'd feel a lot more deus ex machina, too, if Tolkien hadn't reminded us that they were out there multiple times. But he does set it up in a kind of unobtrusive way, so I really enjoy how it winds out.

#the catalogue of incoming troops is such an interesting visual way of setting the rest of gondor up too #anghraine babbles #legendarium blogging #long post #aragorn #gondor #ondonórë blogging #anghraine's meta #boromir

181 notes · View notes

sotwk · 1 year

Text

Breathe (Boromir x femReader)

Summary: You have harbored a deep, secret crush on Boromir for years, and have now been asked by him to dance.

Word count: 1.5k

Content: Romance, pining, yearning, longing (you get the point) Regency-inspired dance, fluff, started as a drabble but got way out of hand

Warnings: None

To Read on AO3: Link

A/N: This was supposed to be a Dance of Romance + Scars from @fellowshipofthefics’s January Trope Roulette, but the “Scars” part just never came out. Whoopsie. I guess I can’t claim credit for fulfilling the challenge, but FotF can claim credit for providing the prompt!

Update: This one-shot has been formally upgraded to the prologue of a multi-chapter Boromir x OC fic. More to follow soon!

Dedication: For @scyllas-revenge, a fellow Boromir stan whose talent I admire. My first ever Boromir fic is just a small thank you for being a cheerleader to me and other writers.

Divider credit: @firefly-graphicsphics

Breathe

Third Age 3008

Minas Tirith, Gondor

“I cannot breathe,” you whimpered to Anarlas, grasping at the sleeve of his tunic as he guided you from the edges of the crowd towards the center of the Great Hall.

But your brother knew you too well and merely chuckled at your dramatics. “That is a bit problematic, given that a good air supply is necessary for dancing." He felt you pull back in resistance and stopped to examine you closely. "Do you really not wish to do this?" he asked softly. "Should I not have accepted the invitation on your behalf?"

You stared up at him, wide-eyed as you struggled to process the last two minutes. One moment you were puttering back and forth aimlessly behind the pillars, content at the fringes of all the merrymaking, with just a cup of wine and your daydreams for company. All of a sudden Anarlas appeared and asked you to come with him, which you did in full trust…until he started to lead you into the noise and commotion instead of saving you from it, dashing your hope that he had decided to go home early, as you had implored for from the start.

"There must be some mistake," you stammered. "Perhaps you heard him incorrectly."

"The Captain was clear about his request. He could not have spoken more plainly: ‘Might I ask your sister for a dance?’.” Anarlas squeezed your arm and grinned. “And since he knows well that I have only one sister, there can be no mistake.”

You bit your lip before you could blurt out a ridiculous argument, that you still believed it possible Lord Boromir had you confused with some other woman. What other explanation could there be for him asking for you? On the evening of a kingdom-wide celebration, when every fair lady in Gondor was clamoring to gain even just a few moments of his attention? Who were you? Just a produce vendor with your own little stall in the lower markets of the White City.

Your family, at least, was worthier of note. Your brother served directly under the Captain of the White Tower, and your father had been an even closer friend to him. He had trained the Steward’s young son in swordsmanship before falling in battle almost twenty years ago. You had been a mere infant then, still nursing at your mother’s breast. Then a few short years later on a particularly harsh winter, your mother succumbed to consumption, leaving you with Anarlas.

Perhaps that was the logical explanation. Lord Boromir was granting you, a poor Gondorian orphan, this kindness in honor of your gallant father. Why he chose this particular occasion to do so, that was the greater mystery.

Anarlas chucked you under the chin to call back your wandering mind. “You look beautiful,” he said gently. “If you ever wonder what Mother looked like, just find yourself a mirror.”

Hope bloomed inside your heart at his words, hewing through the shadows of anxiety and doubt. You wore her dress that evening, the finest article of clothing in your wardrobe, and had been delighted to discover you had finally grown up enough to match her womanly form and fill out the bodice properly.

“If you refuse to believe in yourself, then believe in me,” your brother added firmly.

Confusion knotted your brow, but before you could ask his meaning, someone cleared their throat behind you.

“Forgive my interruption…”

You froze at the arrival of this voice, one you knew intimately despite having had barely any conversations with it. It was the light in the sweetest of your dreams, a sound you committed to memory, plucked from many years of brief and often stolen encounters. Public speeches, overheard conversations, and precious greetings from the incidental crossings of your paths.

“My lord Boromir." You dipped into a curtsy, tightly clutching the skirts of your mother’s dress as you willed yourself to channel her reputed grace and poise.

“My lady…” He bowed to you and spoke your name, ending all doubt of his familiarity. As it rolled off his tongue, the joy that thrilled inside you bolstered your meager courage.

Your mind had already sailed to the clouds and did not register whatever he else might have said or asked. But when he stretched out his hand for yours, instinct and years of pining took the place of thought and good sense, and you slipped your fingers over his, giving your consent.

The crowd parted to give respectful berth to the Son of the Steward as he led his chosen partner to the dance floor. Boromir released your hand to take his place on the side of the men, leaving you to stand with the rest of the women. Open stares of scorn and envy fell upon you, beating at you with silent hostility as you waited for the music to begin.

You wrenched your tearing eyes off the ground, and in trying to force your chin up high, you caught sight of Anarlas standing down the line of men. The love and pride that shone on your brother’s face revitalized your shaky confidence. Believe in yourself, you could imagine him saying. He tilted his head in a pointed signal.

Your gaze shifted to the right and fell straight upon Boromir, and found him staring right back at you, lips slightly parted. The second your eyes locked, he startled, caught off guard. His stare collapsed to his feet in discomfort and, to your amazement, he appeared to blush.

Your breath hitched and you pursed your lips to stifle a giggle that escaped your throat.

The music started. A slower tune, one familiar enough for you to coax the steps from your body’s memory. You loved to dance and did so as often as you could, but your shy nature limited your audience and partners to only Anarlas and yourself.

As the two lines stepped forward to begin the dance, Boromir raised his eyes to you again, defiant of his own embarrassment. As you glided by him in the first pass, you offered him your soft smile. His features immediately relaxed, and his lips curled back upwards, making you shiver.

You twirled and turned back towards him, reaching out with both hands. As his thick, calloused fingers encased yours, you thought you heard him draw a tight breath. Your own heart thundered madly in your chest as his light grasp slipped away once more.

As the spinning and swaying carried on, every reunion of your hands dizzied you with tingling, while each departure from his touch struck in pangs of yearning. The bittersweet longing you had borne for him from afar and for so long now surged sinfully into profound craving. For his touch, for his gaze, for the very warmth of his body next to yours.

His eyes never strayed from you, even as the routine separated you over and over. They were storm-grey, you realized, confirming what you had always fantasized but never truly saw. After every turn they quickly sought out your face again, as though ravenous for the sight.

When your hands joined for several prolonged beats of the song, you heard him murmur your name. In mindless insolence, you returned the favor and addressed him in kind.

“Boromir…”

His fingers suddenly closed around your hand, trapping and enveloping it and preventing you from slipping away again. With a soft tug, he urged you close and cupped his other palm on your hip, stalling you both in the middle of the floor.

“I…” You braced your hands against his chest, summoning the last dregs of strength in your legs to support yourself, when everything else within you begged to melt in his arms.

His hold around you tightened in painstaking slowness, as he ascertained your approval, watching for signs of objection that you never showed. The only distance that now separated you was his towering height, which he breached by leaning down, closer, closer, until you were drowning in his nearness, and felt the sweep of his sigh on your brow, the graze of his nose on your temple. Long dark lashes fluttered over those keen grey eyes that now seemed dazed with the wonder of you, of this moment.

Valar, he was more beautiful than anything your imagination ever conjured over the years.

“I cannot breathe,” you finally whispered.

A chuckle rumbled from his chest and his hands rose to cradle your face. "I know exactly how you feel.”

His thumbs savored the soft skin of your cheekbones, his fingertips explored the delicate shells of your ear. His ministrations were almost enough to eliminate all awareness of your surroundings. While the music carried on, several other couples had finally stopped to gawp at the Captain of Gondor's scandalous display. But for once in your life, the unspeakable, glorious joy that overflowed in your heart simply left no room for concern of anything or anyone else in the world.

“Perhaps we should continue this outside," Boromir suggested, his voice heavy with a promise that ran goosebumps through you. "Where we can have all the air we shall need.”

Tags: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard (Sorry if I missed anyone; I have no formal tag list but will likely put up a tag request form soon!)

For more stories, please see My Masterlist.

Requests are open! Please check my Guidelines and send an Ask.

Thanks for reading!

#boromir #boromir fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #boromir x reader #boromir x you #boromir fanfic #lotr fanfic

243 notes · View notes

witchthewriter · 1 month

Text

𝓢𝓱𝓲𝓹 𝓯𝓸𝓻 @pinezki.

𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫! Now, I don't know if you're the type of person who doesn't like Boromir's character - but I am not. I love him. I think he's such a charming man, with big dad energy. He would be the perfect husband for you. I think you have a lot of ambition, and he would completely encourage everything you want to do.

𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒔

Half-Elf!

Half-elves, particularly those who choose the elven path, become guardians of elven knowledge, lore, and artifacts. They are instrumental in preserving elven culture and history, passing it down to future generations.

𝑷𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓/𝑨𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚

Enhances senses

Immunity to certain diseases

Extended life span

Wisdom and Knowledge: Half-elves inherit the wisdom and knowledge of both elves and humans. They possess a deep understanding of history, languages, and lore, making them highly knowledgeable individuals.

Healing Abilities: Half-elves, particularly those trained in the healing arts, possess healing abilities.

Resistance to Corruption: Half-elves, due to their elven blood, exhibit a certain resilience against the corrupting influences of evil. They can resist the allure and control of dark forces more effectively than regular humans.

Leadership and Influence: Half-elves often possess leadership qualities and the ability to inspire others. They command respect and can rally people to their cause, making them influential figures in the events of Middle-earth.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Boromir is such a protective partner. He has an ingrained protective instinct towards you, valuing your safety and well-being. He strives to be a source of strength and support for you.

Takes initiative in decision-making and problem-solving. Even though I think you like making decisions, I think it would feel like a load off your shoulders if someone came in and took the responsibility from you

Boromir is one to learn from his mistakes - not run or hide from them. He wants to do better, be better. Don;t worry about an arrogant partner; Boromir acknowledges when he's in the wrong. And likes being open to feedback and self-improvement. He encourages growth and learning within the partnership.

Loves telling you stories of his childhood; especially the embarrassing ones - he doesn't mind being laughed at. Especially by you. He would do anything to see you smile.

Boromir, beneath his warrior exterior, possesses a sensitive and romantic side. To your surprise, he loves lighting candles for a dinner just the two of you (usually you eat dinner with everyone else). But a lot of the time, that can become too much.

Likes to dote on you a lot. This includes physical touch, but also gift giving. Your most cherished gift, is the bracelet he had made for you.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

An Early Sunrise by Randy Edelman

Wolves by Bruno Coulais

Hurricane by Possessed by Paul James

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Different Cultures

'You'll Always Fit In With Me.'

"You wear the pants in this relationship" (You) x "oh I wish, I cannot control you at all" (Boromir)

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Star-crossed lovers

Unbreakable Bond

Sacrifice and Devotion

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

He would never really admit it, but Boromir loves that he doesn't know what you're going to do next. Although you do have similarities like understanding responsibility, you love doing things that no one does.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Legolas! He understands you on a different level than other elves. Not that you encounter a lot of undesirable comments; it's just that being around Legolas makes you feel more like yourself. I also think you would be great friends, like absolute besties, with Éowyn. Both of you are powerhouses in your own right, but together, no one can tell you what to do. Seriously.

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

I think you're a mix between Arwen and Éowyn. Soft, gentle, feminine, yet passionate, open-minded and ready to stand up for what you believe in. You make your own path, you do not follow others nor what others expect of you.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

(yes it's a wild animal who decided that YOU were the person it was going to protect forever).

She was hesitant with you, and by the gods, you were even more so. But as she slowly made her way towards you, head bowed. To show that she was no threat, she lay on flat against her stomach and showed you her most senisitve parts. Her paws were nearly as big as your own hands, and when she stood against you, she reached your shoulders.

Boromir was absolutely gobsmacked. No other word for it. He'd never seen a wolf become domestic, a big shaggy beast of a thing. But nothing would stop the wolf from protecting you.

And when Boromir said, "Excuse me but that's my job," your girl snarled!

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠! Even though he was in love with your sister, (and had children with her), you always loved him. And when the rumours of Rhaenyra's children's paternal line were building, she came to you and asked if you would marry him. To skew the story that Alicent and the Greens told.

But I actually do ship you with Harwin because he has a soft heart. He doesn't punch unless the person deserves it. He's patient, caring and open-minded.

He suits you so so so well.

𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒔

A younger sister (or a twin sister if you'd like to go down that road?).

As a Targaryen, you have the signature white hair and purple/lilac eyes. Thought of as close to gods, you never let such talk get to your head. You could die just like anyone else.

But what really made you different, was your ability to dragonride. (Oh and that you were a royal???).

𝑷𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓/𝑨𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚

To understand your dragon. To know what they're thinking and they know what you're thinking. Sometimes you think you might be able to warg since you have dreams of flying high above the city, over the green fields and past the dark ocean. All to be back by morning.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Harwin is taller than you, even if you're wearing heels or boots! It was a shock to actually look up to talk to someone for once. But even if he wasn't taller, there's no reason why you should ever be embarrassed or insecure about your height!!!

Harwin has flown three times, and only once did he not throw up.

It was a shock to everyone when you and Harwin married - at first it was a ruse, a fake relationship to keep your sister and nephews safe. But you began to fall for Harwin. Become protective over him. It wasn't long before he felt the same way. Both of you felt as if you were betraying Rhaenyra. But soon enough ... she had found Daemon.

Sadly enough, you are not able to be around your sister as often as you'd like - the rumour mill would still be turning.

But as a gesture of good faith, Rhaenyra and Harwin made you something to say you are their savour in this: a beautiful necklace.

Harwin loves telling you how much he loves you. He wants you to remember that he's now married to you. You are his life. You are his future.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Violino by Piero Piccioni (the most romantic song I have ever heard)

True Love's Kiss by James Newton Howard

Scotland by BBC Orchestra

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Like Calls To Like

Aggressively Supportive & Protective (Harwin) x Would Kill For Him (You)

Malewife x Girlboss

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Marriage To Protect Those They Love (End Up Falling In Love Anyway)

Love Conquers All

Intertwined Destinies

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Harwin loves your passion and open-mind. Those that cannot change are always left behind. Therefore, you have the ability to adapt, to foresee how changing certain things can expand the world in a better way.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Of course your best friend is Rhaenyra, you grew up together, you're two peas in a pod. Two sides of the same coin. Only a few minutes older than you, meant your destinies became widely different.

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

A mix between Harwin, Rhaenyra and Aemond. It's very difficult to find soft hearted characters. You're also very much like Helaena as well. But, you aren't traditional and you don't take anyones crap. You want the best for those you love, and you're so caring and ambitious.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

More than a pet.

A mount.

Your bonded dragon.

The beautiful, and graceful Silverwing.

Her first rider was the Good Queen Alysanne, who had spoke up for women and women's rights. She was a woman who could stand on her own two feet. She changed a lot about Westeros.

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐃𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲! If he hadn't of died, I think he would've broken up with Cho and delved deep into the Order of the Phoenix. Although his death signified that Voldemort was truly back, I think Cedric would have sustained serious injurious but came out alive. He now has a large scare from one side of his face to the other, and it those are everywhere over his body.

I think you two would be great together because this would make him more noble, knowledgable and alert. (But also he'd have great PTSD).

𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒔

Pureblood Witch, also known as a Blood Traitor by Draco Malfoy (only ever said that to you once and only once.) Whenever you're around Draco and hear him say it, suddenly he has a little hex on him where his legs are like jelly.

𝑷𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓/𝑨𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚

Legilimency and Occlumency: you have the capacity to read and control minds to some extent. Legilimency would allow you to delve into the thoughts and emotions of others, while Occlumency would grant you the ability to shield you mind from intrusion.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Cedric thinks you're an actual goddess at times.

It goes without saying in your relationship that loyalty is the basis of your connection. Knowing he has your back and you have his, makes your lives so much easier. Even if you disagree, you only do so when you're alone. He's one of those men that say, "Hey, don't talk to my wife like that!"

You like to keep your gifts a secret; people wouldn't want to be around you if they knew about your Legilimency, although you don't try to look into anyone's thoughts or emotions.

However, you sometimes cannot help it with Cedric. He's very good at putting on a show, as to not worry you, but using your gift you find out he's absolutely drowning in depression and anxiety.

You're both very close to Harry Potter, both for friendship, shared trauma and his aid when Cedric starts to drown in his mind.

Cedric's Love Languages are Physical Touch and Words of Affirmation. He loves being complimented. And you both love showering each other in hugs, kissing and the like.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

May It Be by Enya

The Crown of Jaehaerys by Ramin Djawadi

Aeternum by John Lunn

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

"Do you love me or do you love chaos?" (You) x "Yes", He Says While Stroking Your Hair (Cedric)

Acquaintances to Standing Up For Him to Friends to Lovers

It's Always Been You

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Mutual Growth and Empowerment

Timeless Love

Healing and Redemption

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Cedric loves how passionate yet caring you are. You have such fierceness but know when enough is enough. Mature yet not meek. He also loves your chaos,, it comes out from time to time and he's started to egg you on just to see that chaotic nature. You both feel comfortable with that because you know he will always look after you - and never leave you behind.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Ginny Weasley and Katie Bell! You're surrounded by badass girls, you are surrounded by girls who take no shit. Because that's exactly who you are. You are the company you keep. And you feel so comfortable with both of them. Even thoughj both you and Katie were older than Ginny, you took a liking to Ginny because of how much she stood up for others.

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

You instantly remind me of Lily Potter, or rather Lily Evans. Who, in her youth, was bright but also stood up for what she believed in and never let anyone tell her what to do. She was a badass. But her motto would be: Do No Harm, Take No Shit.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

You couldn't help it, nor your parents. These two wouldn't split. They made a stand. No one goes without the other.

You were completely fine with two kitties, now the other wouldn't be lonely! And maybe they could snuggle in your room at Hogwarts. On your bed, waiting for you in between classes and when it was bedtime.

They actually became a sort of therapy animal for the other girls in your room as well, because they weren't took fussed with going about the castle.

#witchthewriter #personal aesthetic #match ups #headcanons #pair ups #lotr #lotr pair ups #lotr ships #hotd #hotd ships #hotd match ups #harry potter #harry potter ships #harry potter match ups #harry potter headcanon #hp fandom #harry potter fandom

23 notes · View notes

velvet4510 · 1 month

Text

I guess I’m one of those weirdos who so deeply feels the essence of an instrumental leitmotif from a film score associated with a particular character or couple, that I start associating said leitmotifs in my head with ANOTHER character from an entirely different film/book/series. And I’ve built up a whole library of leitmotifs for LOTR characters even though I ADORE Howard Shore’s original score for the trilogy. I consider these leitmotifs to be add-ons, NOT replacements.

Nor do I intend to completely dissasociate all of these themes from their intended films/characters; some of them are perfect fits for the films they were written for. It’s just my mind going wild like usual. (But I admit, in some cases, the pieces are from films I dislike, and thus I would rather see these great songs associated with something of LOTR quality rather than what they were actually stuck with, especially when the lack of lyrics gives you the freedom to let the melody take you wherever it takes you, personally.)

In the case of Silmarillion characters and relationships, well, it’s a different story - it really is my attempt to cobble together what could be a hypothetical score, if it were brought to the screen. Obviously it’d never be this exactly, but I would hope a composer for a potential screen adaptation of The Silmarillion might be inspired by themes like these.

In some cases, the characters these themes were originally written for don’t resemble the corresponding LOTR characters very much, or at all. Also some of them have titles that by themselves could not be more different from and unfitting for Tolkien’s world. It’s just the melodies on their own, without context or even name, performed by these gorgeous orchestras, that have come to remind me of particular Tolkien figure(s).

I also have found lots of “love themes”, both romantic and platonic, for character relationships, as you’ll see. I’ve included romantic themes for canonical couples, as well as for pairings that I personally ship. I know Shore already gave Aragorn and Arwen a theme, but as I said, these are all extra additions and not replacements.

And yes I have a lot of Star Wars stuff in here, because I love Star Wars…but I love Tolkien more.

For the heck of it I’ll share some of these, with links to each song on YT. It’s hard to explain why I made these choices/associations, but maybe you’ll get it if you listen to some of them.

CHARACTER THEMES

Frodo = “Romeo” by Nino Rota

Sam = “Rey’s Theme” by John Williams

Aragorn = “The John Dunbar Theme” by John Barry

Gandalf = “Yoda’s Theme” by John Williams

Legolas = “Rose Tico” by John Williams

Lúthien = “Once Upon a Time in the West” by Ennio Morricone

Éowyn = “Marion’s Theme” by John Williams

The Valar = “Guardians of the Whills Suite” by Michael Giacchino

THEMES FOR LANDS/LOCATIONS

The Undying Lands = “Out of Africa” by John Barry

ROMANTIC LOVE THEMES

Frodo x Sam = “Love Theme from Ben-Hur” by Miklos Rozsa

Beren x Lúthien = “Speak Softly Love” by Nino Rota

Faramir x Éowyn = “Han Solo and the Princess” by John Williams

Aragorn x Arwen = “Love Theme from Cinema Paradiso” by Ennio Morricone

Sam x Rosie = “Love Theme from Dances with Wolves” by John Barry

Bilbo x Thorin = “Midnight Cowboy” by John Barry

Thingol x Melian = “Indecent Proposal” by John Barry

Fingon x Maedhros = “Wuthering Heights” by Alfred Newman

Finrod x Bëor = “The Scarlet Letter” by John Barry

Aegnor x Andreth = “Laura” by David Raksin

Túrin x Beleg = “Across the Stars” by John Williams

Tuor x Idril = “Conversation Piece” by Bernard Herrmann

Eärendil x Elwing = “Tennessee” by Hans Zimmer

PLATONIC RELATIONSHIP THEMES

Legolas & Gimli = “Rain Man” by Hans Zimmer

Boromir & Faramir = “Luke and Leia” by John Williams

Bilbo & Frodo* = “The Mother’s Love” by Miklos Rozsa

Elrond & Elros = “Brothers” by Hans Zimmer

I may edit this as I think of more.

* Bilbo & Frodo’s melody is heard in the first minute of the linked track, 0:00–1:01, and again towards the end; also, the love theme I associate with Frodo & Sam starts playing at 1:03, making this whole thing fit all the hobbits even better.

33 notes · View notes

jadewing-realms · 9 months

Text

disclaimer: written pre-release

i've had this sitting in my drafts for a bit since i started playing BG3, I kept seeing a particular kind of post regarding Astarion and it really started to frustrate me soooooo. here's a vaguely coherent rant nobody asked for pff

As I got into the game, following Astarion's romance subplot, doing research on the game and characters thus far, I encountered the schism between those who love Astarion and by extension, characters like him, and those that consider said characters as little more than toxic creatures, narcissists best dealt with swiftly and harshly. The latter tends, in the posts I've found at least, to view the former as poor unfortunate souls with the dreaded "i can fix him" mentality.

Now, I'm not here to say either is entirely wrong. I think to take a side here is to do the exploration a disservice and to forget the depth of nuance in art and media interpretation.

And that's just it. Because at the end of the day, interpretation is one of the key elements involved in this discourse. In the case of Astarion, especially with the game having been in early access for so long and no complete, guaranteed details of his past or arc made public yet, with so much up in the air as the full release drops, there are worlds of interpretations that can be made regarding our infamous vampire rogue.

Is one of those interpretations that he's both emotional and literal vampire who's every action is a trap for the protagonist in order to use them, and that he's irredeemable? Yes. Is another that he's simply trying to survive in a situation he's never been in after spending two centuries living like an animal? Also yes.

The error here, I think, is to treat one interpretation like it's more "right" than another. Which is what I've seen a lot of online threads do... Insisting one perspective is superior to the other. Which is bad faith even on a good day when either perspective is based in concrete, unchangeable fact. Even moreso in this case, until there's complete canon material to bank on, and even then that will have so much variety to it since most of it will depend on the actions of the player. It's a choice-based game. There is so much space for varied experiences, and none of them will be "right" or "wrong."

I feel like in modern media discussion, when considering whether a character is actively harmful or just flawed, it can be easy to forget that some of our most popular stories are ones in which someone is deemed beyond hope or redemption, a danger to all they encountered, only for their arc to raise them from their Pit of Dickishness and set them on pedestals as some of the most memorable, inspiring characters we know.

The timeless story of the Christmas Carol gives us an absolutely despicable old geezer who literally spells out the horror he'd inflict upon the poor if he could, simply for the sin of poverty. But in an effort to fixate only on how problematic he (very much intentionally) is, we might lose sight of how the whole point of the story is to watch him be forced to confront his ways, unpack all his crap, and become better for it in the end.

Characters like Prince Zuko, Edmund Pevensie, Greedling, Steve Harrington, Boromir, James Ford, friggin Darth Vader, we wouldn't have any of them if we only read them at surface level as toxic assholes and then left it at that. But through learning the nuances of these characters and watching them confront their actions and consequences and learn from them, they not only grow and change into better people, but we love them because they hold pieces of ourselves in them, despite their sharp edges. We can understand why they are the way they are, and maybe, if we're honest with ourselves, we can acknowledge that we might have done similarly awful things under their circumstances. It makes them relatable, admirable, and cautionary all at once. It makes them human.

None of that is to say that there are never characters built purely and solely to fear and loath, not at all. True scumbags can and do exist, both in fiction and reality. To try to enforce the idea of finding empathy for a true monster is often a tactic used in reality to gaslight people into excusing said monsters' behavior.

Which leads into the "i can fix him" argument. When applied to situations dealing with real dangerous and horrid people who can't or won't change? Absolutely Not Great (though that's not to say it can't be included in a story, there are valuable themes in that on its own). Condoning this dynamic as something good is what leads to abusive relationships and innocent people staying in unhealthy situations for far too long. I'm among those who can attest to that personally.

That said, when it comes to Astarion, no one can rightly say going through his romance arc or not is condoning anything. Because it once more comes down almost entirely to perspective and interpretation, because he's a video game character comprised of pixels and a well-written script and there are limitless ways he can be interpreted and interacted with.

Like, personally, yes, there are some dynamics I'd feel uncomfy pairing him with, even with the empathy I feel for his character. Platonic or romantic, doesn't matter. Does that mean I'm going to apply my interpretation and personal boundaries to the next person playing the Astarion romance? No. That would be assuming I've somehow discovered the "correct" way to interpret the game, which I have not and can never do because RPGs like Baldur's Gate 3 are such personalized experiences. People are 100% free to play a fictional game however the hell they so please, because stories are not inherently 1-to-1 reflections of reality.

Especially when it comes to the narcissism accusation, it sparks an extra layer of discomfort for me when it seems like characters who act selfishly or spin lies get called "narcissistic" when that's kinda severely over-generalizing what narcissism actually is??

Narcissism is inherently selfish, but not all selfishness is narcissism. Gaslighting is built on lies, but not all lies are gaslighting. This separation was literally bugging me so much, I talked with my therapist about it last week. And she agreed.

Some folks seem to forget is actual NPD isn't just about selfishness and manipulating. It's fragile ego and delusions of grandeur and the mind games, dysregulating highs and humiliating lows that they will weave in a web around you so that you, as a victim, can never get your mental and emotional footing. Usually for the purposes of then swooping in to offer themselves as your only source of stability. The whole "rely on me because your judgment is clearly faulty and you need to be protected from yourself" shtick.

You know. Kinda like Cazador.

The way I see Astarion, by contrast, is that he has an honesty to him that lacks such delusions. As much as he desperately tries to maintain this veneer of poise and sass and devil-may-care out of self-preservation, it's paper thin and crumples under the barest pressure. Like, the equivalent of a thematic sneeze and down he goes. Then you see him as he is. Which is just... frightened. Sad. Kinda pathetic, really. And absolutely, positively lost. All things he knows, but he legit believes he will be killed if he lets any of it show.

Comparing that to, say, Wyll, who's blissfully ignorant bluster reminds me painfully of self-aggrandizing family members that I love but can't interact with honestly because of the forest of self-delusion around them... well, it's not much of a contest.

If somebody interprets Astarion as a slimy, manipulating power-monger and gets rid of him the first chance they have, that's their story to tell and power to them for it. But the same must be said for the opposite. I don't appreciate the thought that there's a whole sect of the BG3 fandom that probably genuinely considers me "less than" or "unhealthy" or "problematic" in some way for being among those who like this character or others like him and their potential thematically and narratively. But if my interpretation is that he’s a frightened man who just wants to feel safe and free, that is also its own story and it's mine to tell if I wish. And both can be good or even powerful stories!

Is all of this based on my own personal nuances, biases, and priorities? Absolutely. And that's kinda the whole point... There's not a wrong answer with this, really. I experience these games and these characters through a lens that is mine and mine only, and I give meaning to the worlds I enter based on what makes the story feel most interesting and satisfying for me. And at the end of the day, what else is art for but to help us explore ourselves and learn a little bit more about what it means to be human. In all its glory and ugliness.

And that's a wholly personal journey nobody deserves to have micromanaged or belittled. I'm certainly not gonna go around looking down on anyone for having a different reading than mine. You do you, boo. But let me do me too.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #my musings #in this essay i will #half of this feels incomprehensible because i added tidbits over the span of a week #but maybe someone somewhere will get something out of it #it was cathartic for me anyway #narcissism #character analysis #media literacy #art interpretation #thanks for coming to my ted talk

89 notes · View notes

estelofrivendell · 9 months

Text

It was no secret that Legolas was not particularly fond of you. Not that it mattered, because you felt the exact same way about him. To you, he seemed to be a bit of an airhead. To him, you had an ego the size of a whale. It was a miracle how you two managed to do the bare minimum and respect each other for the sake of the Fellowship, because you both knew Aragorn would lose his mind if his companions were bickering endlessly, and you knew better than that.

“A shame, really, because I was looking forward to get to know them,” said Legolas. “They are intelligent, beautiful and know exactly what they are talking about, unlike some of the Men at the council.”

“Give it some time,” said Aragorn. “Eventually, they will come to understand your worth.”

Legolas frowned. “Will they?” He looked at you and Boromir, seeing you two in what seems to be a pleasant conversation. “I should think if there was anything to like about me in their eyes, they would have seen it a while back.”

A/N: This was originally going to be a one shot but I lost inspiration midway. Maybe I'll expand on it one day.

#lotr imagine #lord of the rings imagine #legolas x reader #legolas imagine

116 notes · View notes

lamemaster · 9 months

Text

Men Reacting to Meeting Elves First Time

AN: Inspired by this post- by @actual-bill-potts. Idk I just felt the urge to bring this to the world. No elves were harmed in writing this.

Summary: A series of interviews brought to you by yours truly :)

Ulfang: (stares directly into camera with deadpan expression) the first time I saw Maedhros, I held his arm, his only arm (chuckles) to help him cross the road.

(Camera zooms in)

Ulfang: (shuffling in his seat) I thought he was blind. I though he was poor blind elf with no pupils. I even told the kids to be kinder to him...

Interviewer: Andreth please put down the book for now.

Andreth: (annoyed Edain noises) Ah yes the shadow in the East-

Interviewer: Nope not this again (Athrabeth flashbacks). We're talking about your first meeting with Aegnor

Andreth: He was so still I walked past him confusing him for a lamp. (Love crazed smile on her face) Gangly limbs and wild gleaming hair and very eerily still. And then I jumped ten foot into the sky when he suddenly called for me.

Andreth: Flame and moth, (dreamy sigh) thats what they call us.

Beor: We really could not see anything but a blob of light and follow the music that filled the air. I mean what else would anyone assume. Only gods hold such prowess.

Interview: (muttering under breath) Well Celebrimbor and Ar-Pharzon would disagree...

Beor: What (confused dad smile)?? So I approached Nom, whose form stood shrouded by glowing hair that seem to carry the notes of his music.

Beor: At that moment I knew I fell in love, he would be my people's salvation.

Turin: The first time my mother took me to Thingol I scream cried for an hour (Embarrassed head shake).

Interviewer: You lived after that??

Turin: I did because Thingol thought my reaction after seeing a semi-transparent Melian was better...I thought she was the ghost of the crazy lady who lived next door...can you image the childhood trauma of all that in one day...(continues shaking head vigorously. I was scarred. That damned Saeros never let me live it down...

Beren: (Cuddling into Luthien) Society says twisted taste, I say man of culture.

Luthien: They won't dare love (percariously taps her claws on the interviewer's table).

static noises

Aragorn: (barging into Boromir's interview) Why was I not invited?

Interviewer: part elven and the Dunedain don't count...too desensitized.

(Bickering continues)

Interviewer: What was it like meeting the king of woodland realm?

Bard: I was half delirious and running on adrenaline I think I saw four of him and rolled with it. Altough Tilda and Sigrid did complain about unfair hair privillages.

Interviewer: I see (agressively scribbles crying emojis)

#the silmarillion #tolkien elves #crack fic #finrod #andreth #aragorn #beren and luthien #turin #Beor #Ulfang #Maedhros #pls don't come for me elven simps #bard

57 notes · View notes

asgardianhobbit98 · 11 months

Text

Never Alone - Boromir X OC

relationship: Boromir x OC

fandom: Lord of the Rings

word count: 1421

story summary: alerted something bad might happen to his love, Boromir attempts to soothe his anxiety by ensuring she knows no matter the distance, he will always be there with her. His actions might just save her life.

inspired by Bram Stoker's The Chain of Destiny.

notes: this was written for @heilith to try and cheer her up a little bit <3 she prompted me to publish it and I’ve finally gained the courage to do so too! It’s my first Boromir fic and on top of that, I haven't written anything in AGES o.o please be gentle with me

Made a little AU, hope you all enjoy it! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated

tag list: @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @knittastically @heilith @lathalea @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know

As the only female soldier in the ranks, Elydia had her own private room to get dressed in. Chainmail rattled as it poured over her bosom, before crinkling together around her waist as she put her belt on. She let her hands slide down her thighs a bit, for no reason really other than the fact she knew she had an audience; an audience, mind you, that liked the sight of his strong woman.

Grabbing a gauntlet, Elydia turned to offer a knowing look to the man whom had attempted to sneak in, but had failed incredibly due to his squeaky boots.

Boromir, son of the steward of Gondor, stood leaned against the doorway to the small room. He didn’t look surprised upon being caught, but he also did not reciprocate her smile.

Starting to tie her gauntlet so it sat taught against her arm, she tilted her head in a silent question to him. His continued silence prompted her to voice the question: “What has my beloved warrior looking so pouty?”

“I do not pout.”

Smirking slightly at succeeding to cut through his silence, Elydia focused her green eyes down at the gauntlet once more. “Mm… I did not want to say you were ‘brooding’. It gives away too much of my thoughts on you. After all, brooding is the sexy man’s pout.”

Boromir looked away from her only to try and contain a chuckle. This was not a time for light-hearted conversation. “I wish to talk to you.”

“What of, my love?”

“I had a disconcerting dream.”

Gauntlet finally tied as tightly as she liked it, she turned her gaze to him once more. “Disconcerting? How?”

“It was of you. You did not make it back.” He stepped inside the little changing room fully, and reached out to her waist, calloused fingers moving over chainmail shakingly. “You fell. You were alone, no one near to offer you courage to keep fighting. And you did not return home to me.”

“We promised each other we would not have these conversations. That we would trust in each other’s abilities. That is what you said when I worried for you last time.”

“I know.” His fingers stopped shaking as they grew heavier on her waist, trying to offer a gentle gesture of reassurance. She understood, and nodded her head to let him continue. “It was not your abilities that failed you. It was your belief of whether you could make it out. And…” He pulled out a little handkerchief embroidered once by a far smaller Boromir. His initials were in the corner – a rough job meant only to teach him how to mend clothes should he need it when out and about. The fine skills were usually only taught those seeking work within the artistry of sewing. This was the work of a warrior, and a precious gift to offer.

But the imagery…

Elydia could not help but giggle at it.

“Are you offering me a lady’s favour?” she joked.

“Please be serious.” The heaviness of his words shocked Elydia into letting her smile fall. “I wish for you to have it, so you know you are not alone. So you know, you are fighting to come back home.” He shoved it into her hands and then backed up as if to avoid her shoving it back at him.

Despite finding it beyond silly as this was nothing but a dream, Elydia did not motion to give it back to him. Instead, she stared at the handkerchief for a while, then moved to tie it around her wrist, initials in facing outward for her to see. Without a word, she turned away from him and grabbed her other gauntlet, putting it on over the little favour he had offered her.

In silence, he watched her ready the gauntlet, then the rest of her armour, and lastly attaching her sword to her belt. Only then did she turn to him and smile. “Maybe I don’t believe dreams can tell the future, but I can tell this will calm your anxious mind.” Gently, she placed a gloved hand on his chest, fingertips over the white tree embroidered onto his noble clothing. “I will keep it. And I will come back.”

He took her hand in his to lift her knuckles up to his lips. “Be safe, my lady.”

“My lord,” she greeted back, smile and blush a heavy indication of her feelings for him and her appreciation toward his gentle gesture.

…

A village within the borders of Gondor had reported issues of Orc attacks at night. Of course Elydia, one of their greatest warriors, was tasked with going along with her men. It would have been foolish to send anyone else.

But this Orc pack was not like the others. They were smarter than expected, and having taken them for granted, Elydia was mortified to find herself in the exact situation Boromir had described he’d dreamed about.

One by one her men fell around her, the darkness of the night allowing for only their screams to reach her ears as they fell – which only amplified the fear this situation caused her.

Her horse squealed in fear, and she did not blame him for throwing her off his back and bolting to safety.

But she was alone now. Truly alone.

The last of her men’s screams had died out a while back.

Orcs were surrounding her, taking their time with the last soldier standing (or… lying down, really) for their own sadistic satisfaction. She could easily reach for her sword and fight as it was not far away, but one arm was definitely broken from the fall, and she had a nasty gash on her leg – there was no way she could make it out alive. There was no reason to fight.

With a sigh, she let her helmeted head rest in the grass, ready for the slow and agonising death these Orcs were going to give her… when her eyes caught sight of her wrist. There, underneath the gauntlet, a little piece of fabric was visible… a tiny sliver of white amidst the dark of her surroundings… the white city… Boromir…

The favour!

“I will keep it. And I will come back.”

She clenched her jaw to face the pain, before reaching out to her sword to fight.

Fight to get back home.

To get back home to Boromir, as she had promised.

…

For how long she had been unconscious, Elydia did not know. All she did know was that when she next awoke from a hazy adrenaline rush of pure survival instinct and dissociation so the pain would not stop her from fighting and walking, and moving home, fingers were brushing through her hair.

Not her fingers though.

There was pain, yes, but she was comfortably wrapped up in a warm sheet on a fluffy bed and pillow. The fingers running through her hair offered a calming sensation that dulled the pain for a moment enough for her eyes to flutter open.

The fingers stilled, almost as if in shock, before another hand touched her cheek and turned her head ever so slightly to the side – her eyes reached those of Boromir sitting beside her bed. He looked tired, pale even… knowing him, he’d stayed by her side since the moment she was rushed in to have her wounds treated.

“My love…” Elydia whispered through a dry throat. Relieved she had made it, she attempted to move in some way closer to him, but the pain stopped her and so did Boromir’s hushing.

“Relax… You’re home.”

“Thanks to you.” Boromir’s eyes flickered down to the handkerchief still around her wrist. Despite her half conscious state of mind, she’d refused to let anyone touch it, not even to wash it of filth and blood. It was too precious to her, now for two reasons. “I should have listened to your dream…”

“It is alright. You made it back. And you will recover.”

“I will.” Elydia’s words were filled with determination, her stubbornness not going to let her body do anything but recover.

It made Boromir chuckle a bit. His beloved Elydia.

“Good.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, but as he went to straighten back up, he regretted it halfway and instead leaned down to press another kiss to her nose… then her lips…

“I wasn’t alone…” Elydia whispered, sleepy once more. “That’s why…”

“And you will never be either,” Boromir promised before kissing her lips once more, lulling her to sleep...

AO3 link (limited access - only those with an account, sorry)

my carrd

thanks for reading. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment

#the lord of the rings #boromir #boromir x oc #the lord of the rings fic #fanfiction #oneshot #my tolkien writing

58 notes · View notes