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gloomwitchwrites · 5 months

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Rainy Reunion

Aragorn x Female Reader

Dedicated to @protosslady

Content & Warnings: light angst, reunion after a long absence, yearning, kissing, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.6k

Aragorn left nearly a month ago with no vow to return. But a great shadow moves across the land, and Aragorn returns to make sure you have not been swept up by the darkness.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

The rain outside is soft and warm, and it patters gently against the top of the tent. It’s the kind of rain that finds its way into the worst places. A steady rain that starts to saturate anything and everything it touches. The sort of rain that manages to slip down to the bottom of the insides of your shoes, soaking your socks and making each step a wet squelch.

Within the tent, near a low-burning candle, you flip through the pages of your book. The pages are worn and yellowed. The cover and binding are starting to come apart, the paper threatening to fall out, but you don’t dare retire it for something newer. This book is well-loved, and for good reason. It is one of the few things you carry that belong to the man that walked away from you.

Other than your tent, the rest of the camp is at rest. It is still in the early hours of the morning, the sun just starting to dawn, and most of the camp’s residents still slumber in their bedrolls and cots. Traveling has been a long and difficult journey.

A dark shadow moves across the land, pushing people from their homes. Your village left everything behind, moving with a great sea of people away from the coming darkness. There is no home for you to go to except the road. What little possessions you took with you are the ones in this tent.

But there are many things you left behind, including your heart. You wrapped it up and left it to wither for the ranger you might never see again. That man, whose name you only learned while tangled up in each other, is made for the wilderness. He is made for nature and adventure. You do not begrudge him for it.

It was never meant to last between the two of you.

Aragorn, Strider as others call him, left without a word. You knew it would happen. He told you it would, but the parting still hurt even if you had prepared yourself for it. The pain is a sharp dagger against ripe fruit, cutting through in a smooth, clean stroke. Though it has been nearly a month, it is all still fresh as if he left only yesterday.

You turn a page in your book, shivering slightly from the cold. The rain might be warm but the air has the faintest hint of chill, making the dampness in the air stick to your skin. There are others who are likely worse off than you. The tent you have is relatively warm, and you have blankets to spare.

There is a rustling near the tent opening, a soft sound like a small animal sniffing about. It draws your attention away from the ink on the page. You expect to hear or even see the outline of a fox or some other small creature. Instead, low morning light filters in, obscuring the features of the man standing there.

Not an animal, which entirely surprises you. The shadowed man lingers in the opening of the tent, and then he steps inside. You’re about to bolt up, to berate this stranger for walking in without your permission. But, once that flap falls into place, and the light from the candle hits the man’s face, your muscles seize up.

It is a dream. The man standing before you is an image plucked from your imagination.

“Aragorn,” you murmur, mostly to yourself.

He stands tall in the small space and yet seems so unsure. He looks nervous, as if you’ll run him off for entering. It’s so different from the man you’ve known. In your presence, Aragorn was always confident.

“Am I intruding?” he asks softly as if he already has one foot out the tent. You don’t want him to leave.

You stand, clasping your hands in front of you. “No. You’re not intruding.” The only thing you’re wearing is the off-white nightdress you sleep in and a large wool blanket that’s draped over your shoulders. It’s entirely too intimate for a visitor, especially a man.

“This is a surprise,” you say, because it is. Aragon left. You never expected him to return.

“I know,” he replies softly in acknowledgement.

The pain roils up, and it’s difficult to push it back down. Some of it leaks out. “You left without saying goodbye.”

Aragorn takes a step forward. “I’m sorry.” The space is small and he’s almost on top of you.

Is he sorry? He said he would leave, that he couldn’t stay with you. While you don’t resent him for leaving, the separation still hurts, and you’re not sure how much of an apology you actually deserve.

You step around the apology, not wanting to linger there. “How did you find me?”

He glances at the candle and book. Aragorn’s features soften as his gaze falls on the worn cover. The book is his. You didn’t take it, and he didn’t truly gift it. Aragorn left it—whether on purpose or by accident—but you’ve carried it all this time.

Aragorn smiles softly, and your heart melts down to your feet. “You still have it.”

“It’s an entertaining read.”

His gaze returns to your face. “The rangers I ride with have been following at a distance,” he finally answers. “A darkness is sweeping across the land, and we’ve been watching all the people fleeing its reaching hands.” Aragorn pauses a moment before continuing. “I was unaware you were here until I heard about your village.”

“Is that why you’re here in this tent? You came looking for me?”

Aragorn nods. “I did. I feared—” He steps forward and then pauses, his hand curling into a fist like he’s resisting the urge to touch you.

“What did you fear?” you whisper as the chill begins to ease.

Aragorn swallows. “That the shadow had found you, and I was too late.”

“The shadow did not find me.” Aragorn is so close. Within reach.

Hesitantly, you lift your arm and allow your fingers to brush against his rain-drenched cloak. Aragorn glances down at your hand, and then he is moving, taking your hand in his. You do not pull away. You do not draw back.

He is so warm. A bright spot of light that you wish to take into yourself. He lifts your hand to his face and proceeds to kiss each of your fingers. Aragorn rotates your wrists and kisses your open palm. Every movement and kiss is purposeful. Drawn out.

You want to berate him. You want to tell him to leave. But you don’t. You can’t. Instead of pulling back or pushing him away, you step closer. Aragorn accepts this easily, sliding one arm around your waist to hold you close.

The rain on his cloak is of little significance, even as it starts to seep into your nightdress. Aragorn is here, and he is holding you, which is all that matters.

He closes the distance and you meet him greedily, wanting to remember how the two of you come together. Your lips meet, and all those happy flashes of memory stir up like a storm and batter your brain like waves against rock. Kissing Aragorn is natural, and returning to it is easy. Like the two of you never stopped.

It is not a heated, desperate thing, but soft and lovely, the two of you coming together until you’re both breathless and smiling. Hands roam, and it is you that undoes his rain-soaked cloak, but Aragorn who allows it to fall. Your hands continue to touch, both over and under clothing. His skin is hot against your palm, and that only ignites a deep fire within you.

The wool blanket around your shoulders disappears, guided by Aragorn as he tosses it onto your cot. The dull tiredness of sleep is gone, replaced by a growing need to be with him in the closest way possible.

The rain that is in his hair and on his skin drips onto you until your eyelashes and cheeks are speckles with them. They are little gifts to you. Pieces of him that you are accepting and taking for yourself. It does not matter that you or he might wipe them away, or that they might dry. You are desperate for anything.

You are content with just this—kissing Aragorn as the rain falls gently outside. But now, with your bodies pressed close, it’s hard to ignore what you want. This separation is a wound that needs stitching, and kissing Aragon is the thread.

His hand brushes against your waist through the nightdress and you desperately want him to go lower. You want him to explore the places he’s already been, rediscovering them and the way he makes you feel.

“I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long,” whispers Aragorn, his fingertips grazing across the water droplets that now line your cheek. His other hand dips between your legs, seeking what you’ve been after. The sensation is maddening.

You whimper, hips bucking as he strokes you through your clothes. Aragorn is enjoying it too. He tugs on your dress and kisses your shoulder where it slips to expose skin. Water drips onto your skin from his hair, running in a line down your bare shoulder to below the neckline of your dress. Aragorn leans in and licks up the droplets.

It’s lovely, and you want more of him. You need him everywhere.

“I want you,” you whisper. “But I am cross with you for not saying goodbye.”

Aragorn sighs and rests his forehead against yours. “How can I make amends? I do not wish to lose you.”

Your fingers dig into the fabric of his tunic. “Will you stay with me a bit? Can you give me what you are able?”

“You shall have it,” comes his response. Aragorn’s voice is low and raspy.

He smiles, as much with his eyes as with his mouth, and leans forward to kiss your neck. He starts slow, removing the rest of his rain-drenched outwear, hanging it up to dry in the corner along with the cloak that fell to the tent floor. Once done, he returns to you, his hand sliding over and down your nightdress.

Aragorn’s words drip with lust when he speaks again. “Do you want to take it off or should I do it for you?” He tugs lightly on the fabric, making his intention clear.

You inhale sharply, momentarily surprised by his forwardness. Aragorn’s hand slips beneath your neckline. His eyes search your face but you do not answer with your voice. Instead, you press into him, and Aragorn takes that as an invitation. He guides the dress over the other shoulder, letting the fabric fall to your waist.

“To be graced with your beauty again is a precious gift,” he whispers when you’re bare to him.

Your hands fist his tunic again, tugging, and Aragorn doesn’t need to ask to know what you want. He removes it quickly, and then he is bare from the waist up too. From there, the two of you remove the rest. For you, it’s a simple sway of the hips before the rest of the nightdress drops to the floor. Aragorn has much more to remove, staring with his mud-splattered boots and pants.

Once gone, and the two of you are entirely bare for each other, his arms go around your waist, guiding you down to the small cot that has been your bed for the last month. You run a hand over his bare chest, admiring the broad muscles and strength beneath your palm. Your fingers trace over scars, some that are old and faded, and others that are fairly new and still a bit red from healing.

Aragorn seizes your roaming hand and presses a kiss to the open palm. From there, he kisses your wrist, your inner forearm, the dip of your elbow, and then up to the curve of your shoulder. Those lips of his brush against the skin between shoulder and throat, venturing upwards to your neck to tease and suck at the skin there.

“You deserve more than this, especially after such a long absence,” he murmurs just before pressing a delicate kiss against the spot right behind your ear.

“It is you that caused it,” you murmur, turning your head enough that you find his lips.

Aragorn hums against your mouth in agreement.

When he kisses you again, it is with great care and attention, like you are the most precious gift. Nothing is rushed, and Aragorn does not push for more. He lingers in the moment, savoring your scent and taste. There is an urgency, a remembrance of how much joy the two of you shared together, but Aragorn does not dive in to seek only for himself.

You are a priority for him, and your mutual enjoyment is all that matters.

Aragorn is atop you, caging you against the small cot. Your legs are spread, thighs pressed against his hips. His hand slides up to cup the bottom of your face, and his thumb strokes over your cheekbone. With deliberate slowness, he takes your lower lip between his teeth and bites down just hard enough to pull a little whiny sound from you.

It’s a reminder of all those secret nights together, with the two of you wrapped up, seeking warmth and comfort.

His mouth follows his hand at it travels downward. Aragorn kisses the space between your breasts. He traces your skin with his tongue, circling and teasing until your back arches and your core floods with pleasure. Then he moves lower, strong hands gripping your waist as you squirm beneath him. His eyes meet yours and they are dark. Sensual.

The rain is a distant, soft pattering. His hair is still wet and water drips from the end. Some of it clings to his face and neck. Aragorn’s lips are parted slightly as he watches you.

“Please don’t go,” you whisper. “Please.”

Aragorn kisses you, nips at your bottom lip. “I won’t,” he replies. “I promise.”

He keeps that promise.

Aragorn’s hand slides between your legs and seeks out that delicate bundle of nerves. His fingers circle it, culling the tingling vibration of pleasure that swirls in your belly. Then, those fingers slide down, and breach your body, spreading you open.

Your nails dig into his lower back, and Aragorn groans softly, his face falling against your neck as he pumps his fingers. Your legs fall open a bit wider, and wider still until you’re lost to him rubbing on that sensitive flesh and working those fingers in and out of you.

The end comes fast and perfect, rippling up your spine only to spike down to your core where you clench around his fingers. You whimper his name, and the last of it is swallowed by his mouth as he kisses you.

Then his fingers are gone, and his hardness is pushing in, spreading you open, splitting you apart until your nails rake down his back and he’s seated to the hilt. Aragorn holds there, not moving, the two of you breathing heavily.

Aragorn does not move until your breathing slows. He rolls his hips in short movements that are just a tease, a way to acclimate from the time apart. But your body begins to remember, and when it does, Aragorn is relentless, reminding you of every sensual night that you’ve been endlessly dreaming off.

The candle is nearly out. Almost gone. It’s light so dim that the tent is mostly shadow.

Aragorn hits deep, and your thighs quiver around his waist. You tighten around him, a little aftershock hitting you, and that takes him over the edge.

The candle goes out, but the rain remains.

A small slit in the tent flap reveals the light gray sky, and its light slashes across Aragorn’s face.

And he still keeps his promise. He does not dress or attempt to leave.

Aragorn sinks against you, limbs entwining, and for now, you can have him.

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thewulf · 2 months

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Am I Wrong? || Aragorn

Summary: Request: Could you write something about (fem)reader who's part of the fellowship and really close to Strider? When they split up to find Frodo after Boromir blows the horn, reader goes with Merry and Pippin and gets separated from Strider.... Read Rest Here

A/N: Picking up when the group reunites in Isengard after Treebeard/Hobbits/Reader sack the place :) This is really sweet and fluffy, thank you for the request @fluentmoviequoter !!

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.7k +

TW: General LOTR triggers, anxiety, fear, kidnapping, orcs,

Aragorn followed behind Gandalf as he led the small group to Isengard to deal with the dark Wizard himself. What he wasn’t expecting was to run into another part of the Fellowship after so being separated for so long.

He heard the Hobbits before he saw you standing there, radiant as ever, “I feel like I’m back at the Green Dragon after a hard day’s work.” Pippen spoke with his pipe happily placed in his mouth relieved the events of Isengard were over more than anything.

Merry spoke next, “Only, you’ve never done a hard day’s work.” That’s when he heard your bubbly laughter in response to the usual joking hobbits who were clearly very inebriated. You on the other hand seemed totally in control of the situation.

Aragorn’s heart pounded in his chest as he spotted you standing with your side facing him chatting happily with the two Hobbits that stole you away from him. You were alive. Somehow more beautiful than he ever remembered you being. His eyes scanned up and down your figure making sure they truly weren’t deceiving him. You were here in Isengard. Merry and Pippen too.

Merry stood, almost falling over, shouting at them with rosy, red cheeks, “Welcome my Lords, to Isengard!” You turned with the biggest smile on your face. Once your eyes landed on Aragorn’s you couldn’t take them away. Your smile grew as his mouth dropped in shock seeing you standing there alive and well. He couldn’t track you. He thought the worst of it. He knew right then that he had to tell you. He loved you. So deeply. He never knew if he was going to see you again, he thought the worst of the Orcs after not being able to find your tracks with the Hobbits.

“Y/N.” He spoke before nearly shoving the Hobbits away from where you were standing. He needed to be right next to you. Your smile turned to one of focus as you took him in after too long apart. Truly, you knew you loved him too. You wished to never spend another night away from your Strider. He was your home and comfort. He became your person without you even knowing it.

Without another word you through your arms around him tightly, bringing him in for an unexpected embrace. Unafraid of all the glances and knowing smiles from the fellowship and other men around you. You couldn’t seem to care about that right now, you’d deal with the embarrassment later, “Strider. What are you doing here?”

Before he could answer you Gimli shouted from behind the reunion, “You young rascals! A merry hunt you’ve led us on… and now we find you feasting and… and smoking!”

After dropping your arms from around his neck, you stepped around your missed companion taking offense to his words, “They’ve earned it Gimli!” You only smiled bigger once you felt Striders hand resting on the small of your back. He had always been protective of you but never so forward with it. The two of you had pined from afar but never acted on it as that would be seen as improper. But that was then. That was before he had feared the worst. You were alive. Breathing right in front of him with the most precious blush sitting on your cheeks. Yeah, he knew it was over for him. He needed you and was tired of trying to hide it.

Merry cheered with his pipe after you spoke and before Pippen tuned in, “We are sitting on a field of victory enjoying a few well-earned comforts.” He giggled in his non-sober state, “The salted pork is particularly good.” Pippen added for good measure knowing it would get under his dwarf friend’s skin.

You nodded along with them giggling yourself, “It is indeed.” You saw the gleam in Striders eye like he was trying not to laugh at the situation they had found themselves in. The plan certainly wasn’t running into the three of you while in an inebriated state. Aragorn knew you well and currently you were particularly giggly, a sign you’d partaken in some of their endeavors even if you tried to deny it.

The Hobbits waved their friends into Isengard, “We’re under orders from Treebeard who’s taken over management of Isengard.” Merry led the group in leaving Strider standing next to you holding onto the reigns of his horse. After the two of you shared a few moments just staring at the other he finally decided to speak to you. Neither of you were willing to follow the group at that moment. The two of you had a reunion to attend to before dealing with Saruman.

“I thought you were dead.” He admitted to you. Aragorn couldn’t meet your eyes as you just looked at him with a bit of bemusement forming along your tapered smile.

You tisked at him shaking your head, “You think so little of me Strider, no?” A growing smirk was playing at your lips as you studied his downtrodden expression.

His eyes finally looked into yours again, “Never, you know this. But I… I could not find your tracks along the Hobbits…”

“You did not think I would cover my tracks?” You eyebrows rose, challenging him now, “I thought you have always said I learned from the best?” Referring to him, naturally.

He let out a lengthy laugh. The tension in his shoulders released seeing you as the same person he thought he lost only a few weeks prior. Even though it had only been a few weeks he knew he could never part from you for that long again. He was a fool and only he came to realize that once you had slipped through his fingertips after getting taken by the Orcs. You didn’t hear his yell for you as he watched you fight. But even you, one of the best Rangers he knew, couldn’t overcome so many of them all at once. And just as he saw you, you had vanished in front of him along with the Hobbits. He had never felt such a failure before seeing you disappear with the creatures you had detested for as long as you’ve been alive.

“I should have never doubted you.” He spoke with that twinkle in his eye. He adored you, through and through. A slow gulp overtook him as he studied you. He always knew you were beautiful, ever since you met him all those years ago. But now, after it took him losing you to realize that he was in love with you, he understood just how stunning you truly were.

You nodded with that confidence he had adored in you, “Aye. Thought you would have learned by now Master Strider.” Tossing him a wink even you did not know where this overly friendly attitude towards your partner was coming from. That’s all he was and could ever be, just a partner in work.

He bowed his head with a similar smirk gracing his face, “Indeed. Forgive me, Y/N. But I was terrified. I thought I had lost you. My thought process was… less than rational.” When his eyes met yours once more a sad smile parted his lips. It hit you that he truly thought he might have actually lost you. Thinking of what you would do had you thought you lost him had you in an instant fit of tears. There would be no rationality in your actions had you thought of Strider dying.

His striking blue eyes sent a familiar shiver down your spine. You gave him a quick nod, “I will always forgive you, my king.”

Strider let out that familiar laugh that you had adored so much. The one that sent a shiver though your body, “It wounds me that you mock me so easily, my Y/N.”

You couldn’t stop your fluttering heart at his words, my Y/N, “I would never do such thing, you are my king, no?” You rose your eyebrows in curiosity. Sure, the news that he was the heir of Isildur took you by surprise. It didn’t shock you completely though. There was always something about him that felt so other worldly. When Legolas let true of his identify at the Council of Elrond it all sort of made sense. You’d been Rangers together for nearly thirty years, both of you being Dunedin it made sense to pair the two of you together early on in your ventures. He had never told you of his true heritage throughout all that time together. While it stung when you learned you understood why he had done so.

“I see you have not lost your tongue.” He avoided your question.

You smiled knowing his usually ways of dodging, “Would you rather they take it?”

But a quick shake of the head let you know he was simply playing, “Never. Your wit is but my favorite thing about you.”

Letting out a feigned gasp you shook your head, “I should be so offended Aragorn.”

“What do you mean?” He looked surprised by your reaction unsure if you were simply messing with him or being completely serious.

“Do you find me that unattractive?” You asked a little too bluntly knowing that you were surly crossing that invisible line the two of you had danced around for far too long.

A fiery blush rose to his cheeks letting you know you had finally gotten the better of him, “Oh no. Never. No. I did not mean it like that. Please…”

You stopped his incoherent rambling with a stifled giggle, “I tease.”

Shaking his head slowly he knew he likely looked a fool standing in front of you. He couldn’t hide it though as all of his emotions came forward seeing you there alive and well. He had begun the process of mourning your death, thinking he’d never see you again. He knew he wanted to tell you exactly how he felt, right here. He wanted to waste no more time. He came to the striking realization that even no matter skilled you or he was life in middle earth was very hostile and unforgiving. The chance of death was high and even higher now that the two of you had joined the Fellowship.

“You are fortunate I care for you very deeply.” He chose his words carefully, hopeful you would pick up on his true meaning.

“Oh?” You heard his words a little surprised. There was not much he could say that took you by surprise but this was one of them that did. He had never so much admitted he cared for you at all let alone deeply in your time together. Strider was very kind to you but the two of you shared a working relationship at most. You weren’t out here letting your tightly bound feelings out and he certainly wasn’t either.

His confidence grew seeing the color rise to your cheeks at his words. You were thinking and hard at it apparently, “That cannot be all you have to say.” He stepped forward knowing that he had the upper hand on you for once. He could never seem to catch you off guard until this very moment.

You sucked in a breath not having a clue where this seemingly innocent interaction was heading. Turning around you spotted the rest of The Fellowship talking to Treebeard far off in the distance. You spun back finding him standing much, much closer than he was before. Eyes widening your head was not making sense of what was actually happening, “I was not expecting you to say that.” It was you deflecting this time which drew an arrogant smirk on the man standing far closer than you were used to. How did he smell so good? Surely he hadn’t bathed in a while. How did Strider do it? Make your mind fuzzier than ever.

He had to look down to meet his eyes with yours, “I never want to spend a day away from you again.”

If your cheeks were not already aflame with realization they were flooding with color now, “You do not?”

It was he who had the courage to make the first move on you after seeing how easily you reacted under his words. He took his hands and brushed away a streak of dirt across your cheek slowly sending your already racing heart into another frenzy, “No, never. These last few weeks have been the worst in my life. Never do I wish to part from you again. If that is what you wish for too.” Ever the man you fell in love with, he left the decision up to you.

It was your turn to be courageous now, “I wish the same.”

His devilish smirk turned into a smile of utmost joy. A smile you so rarely saw on the man. For you knew you didn’t wish to separate from him ever again either. Nearly every moment you were away you thought of him. You thought what he would do in your situation and tried your hardest to stay positive. If it were not for the Hobbits you may have stayed to fight with the Rohirrim when they had saved you from the clutches of the orcs who had you running for days on end. But you knew Strider would save them before fighting on his own, the Hobbits would never survive Gondor on their own. In a way he had saved your life countless times even when he was not there. Strider stayed with you always. You loved him always.

It was then that he realized he had nothing to lose. The way you had looked at him told him exactly what he wanted to know. You had loved him just as dearly as he loved you, “Can I tell you something?”

A nod came from you, “Anything.”

It was now or never and he wasn’t planning on missing his chance, “I love you.”

You could not help the way your mouth dropped at that, “You what?”

“I love you.” He said again with more confidence. He loved you and he couldn’t keep it from you anymore. Strider also knew that things would never go back to normal after this quest. His true identity was revealed. Things would change. As much as he longed to go back to the simple life of patrolling the woods with you he knew that’d never be in his cards any longer. And if his life was going to change he wanted to bring the one thing that brought him comfort along for the journey as well. If he were to be king he wanted you to be his queen. No, needed you to be his queen. For a majority of his success came from you being there with him helping and guiding him.

“You love me?” You asked more to yourself than to him. When he placed his hands on your shoulders with a gentle touch you knew you were a goner. The look in his eyes was like nothing like you had seen from him, “Why me? We’ve been partners for over thirty years and… where is this coming from?”

He stopped your racing mind by running his thumb along your lower lip, ever the intimate action sending your speeding heard into overdrive, “I’ve always known. But losing you… thinking you died. It all but made me realize how daft it is to hide it away when I can tell you outright when clearly you feel the same. Am I wrong?” He smiled as he held the back of your head in his hand so gently.

“No. Certainly not wrong.” You spoke in a soft whisper. When he smiled even brighter than you had truly ever seen you had to tell him too. You’d all but implied the same feelings but you needed to let it out too, “I love you too.”

The next moments felt like a blur. He pulled you close before whispering in your ear, “The next time the nosy prince of Mirkwood is not watching I will give you a proper kiss, my lady.” It was the first time he’d called you that in all your time knowing him. A rush of warmth was felt throughout your body. It felt… right. Like you were meant to be at his side.

Once he released you from the hold he had you in you turned your head over your shoulder spotting the blonde-haired elf sitting on his horse paying much more attention to the two of you rather than whatever tale Treebeard was telling the new group.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you over the absurdity of the situation. Of all the things you thought could happen today confessing your love to the man who had you enraptured ever since you met him was the last thing you thought possible. Yet here you were. Avoiding the ever-clear eyes of your elven friend, “Damn elves.”

He nodded in agreement, “Come on, hop on.” He led you to his horse where he got you situated before he got on behind you. Slowly, he led you back to the group. You caught Legolas’ side eye knowing the he had to have heard a majority of the conversation if he wanted too. And knowing him, he wanted too.

When Strider’s horse stopped he made sure to keep his hand on you, uncaring of the curious stares from the rest of the group. He loved you. They knew it. Why should he have to hide it any further? Finally, it felt like something in this journey made sense. All he had to do now was keep you safe and destroy the ring. Simple, right?

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lillianofliterature · 2 years

Note

Hi Lillian! If your preferences are still open, could I please request a preference for what the LOTR Fellowship think of a modern woman appearing in Middle Earth and developing feelings for her? Thank you!

LOTR PREFERENCES || 3/?

a/n: hi, love! thank you for your request! I’m delighted to do it! 💚 Sorry it took so long to get back to you, I’ve been working on this on and off since it was sent in to be sure I wrote a good amount for every character (although my favoritism is palpable, oops). I would get through 1-2 characters and then my brain would shut off for a while. Very convenient of it. ¯\_( ◉ 3 ◉ )_/¯

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK.

if gifs are not sourced, they were found ages ago on Google and have sat dormant in my gallery since. if they’re yours, lmk and I will credit or remove them!

some of my preferences are written like imagines, some are written like headcanons. this particular request fits the headcanon format best!

each character varies in length (I mean, some of them have A LOT and I hope you don’t mind, I just like to include everything I think of for headcanons!) and some ideas or descriptors may have been repeated a few times due to there being so many of them! On this particular request, it was so hard to make everyone’s unique because they’re all so kind and good? I feel like everyone would just dote on you and take care of you in their own way? I hope they’re unique enough!

I do my best to keep them gender-neutral for everyone! <3

warnings: repetitive ideas I’M SORRY I TRIED I PROMISE, some injuries and light gore mentioned, mental health issues implied (depression, anxiety, etc.)

(preferences below the cut-off)

| how they would react to developing feelings for someone from the modern world

aragorn | word count: 1.3k+

Aragorn was no stranger to forces of magic and otherworldly power he didn't quite understand, as he was exposed to such truths all of his life, so he wasn't as untrusting or suspicious of you as some of the other folks of Middle-Earth might be to someone claiming to be from another realm of a far advanced make and age.

He wouldn't develop feelings for you right away, he's the slow and steady sort who must get to know and become familiar with someone before even entertaining fonder, sweeter thoughts, much less full-fledged feelings. But you did have that mysterious air about you, being a stranger to his world, the era and its customs, and he always wished to understand you from the moment Elrond had introduced you to each other. You were intriguing, to say the least.

To be fair, you were slow in trusting people completely, just as he was, so your path in developing feelings for each other was equally stubborn and forgiving. He believed your story, of course, about how you'd come from another land that was quite different from his own, about the strange humming you'd heard one night and the stinging you felt in your toes and fingertips, about how you'd ended up in a forest somehow and had followed the Ford of Bruinen into Rivendell.

He was the first person to truly believe you and not just try to assuage your questions and anxieties passively. He made a point to validate that you weren't crazy or dreaming it up; he did everything he could to help you feel grounded and understood. Aragorn was humble enough to admit he didn't understand everything—and that he especially didn't have to understand something in order for it to be true.

At Elrond's request (and largely due to his own curiosity), he'd agreed to help you learn about this strange new world and its history and customs. Why he'd been tasked above any other elf of intelligence in Rivendell to be your guide and tutor, he hadn't the faintest idea, except for the fact that perhaps since he traveled more than those who dwelled comfortably in the elven lord's domain, his experiences might be of more value than knowledge gleaned solely from literature and speeches.

He was quizzical about the strange things you would do, the habits you admitted were hard to break. Such as how you would rub your knuckles against the wall by every door frame when you entered a dark room, presumably looking for "light switches''—and the way you searched for "buttons and knobs" when you entered a kitchen and asked if there was such a thing resembling a "refrigerator" or an "icebox" in this world. Whatever phantom switches and objects you were after, he found it amusing to see you chastise yourself for looking for things that weren't there in Middle-Earth. (But he also realized it must be difficult to enter a realm where nothing is the same and everything is new to you, even down to the most basic aspects of daily living.)

There was also the way you were afraid to drink from rivers and skeptical of sleeping on the ground and accepting food from people you hardly knew and constantly asking what it was you were eating or if it was cooked all the way through. He knew there was some wisdom to caution, but your caution seemed extreme, which made him wonder what sort of world you hailed from that food and drink could not be trusted and one would not be accustomed to natural resources and living off the earth.

He never once made you feel silly or cowardly, though, for whatever you discovered or worried about that made you feel squeamish. He merely taught you his own ways with generous patience; he taught you to hunt and forage, how to protect yourself from insects and parasites with herbs and salves, to trim your hair with shears, and use a specific type of tree branch to clean your teeth (you couldn't just pick up any stick on the forest floor, you know), and how eucalyptus was especially soothing for the scalp when washing your hair (so long as the water wasn't too cold when you rinsed, which you learned the hard way after bathing in the river after he concocted something resembling shampoo for you).

He'd been the one to hold you that night on your travels across lands (an idea Elrond had had to get you used to the world you'd been brought into, teaching you with firsthand exposure or something of the sort) that you'd finally broken down into tears after weeks of trying to make sense of your predicament. He'd sang to you in his elvish tongue until you'd fallen asleep in his arms under the warmth of his furs and winter coat. You missed your family, your friends, and some of the beauties and conveniences of your own land. People and things he couldn't replace. He did his best to calm your aching spirit. He knew what it was to miss people, to ache for them, to reach out and not find them reaching back, to not feel your mother's warmth any longer–no matter how much you longed for it.

It was that kind of sweetness, how in touch he was with his emotions and how readily he extended his compassion, that made you realize how special of a man he was.

And after months of helping you along in Middle-Earth and watching you blossom and grow with the changing seasons, essentially becoming part of his world, Aragorn began to feel deeply towards you. Not just his protective instinct that he'd developed for you since he'd been your confidante and ally since your arrival (he once compared you to a fawn just learning to walk in the afterbirth or a little bunny hidden away in a burrow that he had been tasked with - and obliged - to help grow and adapt) (all until you asked him to stop comparing you to wild animals), but also these funny little bouts of fluttering in his stomach and an innate need to be near you. The reprieve your mere presence gave him. The pure happiness your eagerness to learn and understand him and his world offered him.

It would be difficult for him to act on those feelings at first because the last thing he would want to do is add more pressure or discomfort to your already convoluted burdens. But when he did, after weeks of pining for you and feeling himself smile (momentarily free of any heavy thoughts or worries of his own that often tugged that smile flat) after your many failed attempts to mimic or poke fun at him for his quiet, mysterious "Strider" persona.

Luckily, Aragorn was not alone in his feelings, and his only regret was not telling you sooner.

Neither of you knew if your returning home was a possibility or not, nor especially how such a thing could even be done, but he hoped that the day would never come when you would disappear from his life. It wasn't that he wished you never to return home to your loved ones and your comforts, but that he needed closure of his own. He needed warning in order to prepare himself to lose you if he was fated to–not that any amount of preparation can teach someone how to nobly lose their soulmate. Or perhaps he needed at least enough preparation to follow you into that world if he was ever given the chance.

And if you were to stay in Middle-Earth until the end of your days, he vowed to help you in whatever endeavors you faced, as long as he could be by your side for every one of them. He would gladly go on teaching, guiding, and needing you.

boromir | word count: 1.8k+

Boromir was definitely skeptical of you, not only because of your sudden appearance in his father's city, but also because of your explanations to their inquiries of who you were, where you were from, and how you had come to enter the steward's palace without having alerted any guards or centremen were never quite believable. It seemed as though your answers just brought on more questions, which only made his father's temperament even more fragile than normal.

For his father's sake, Boromir would take over the situation, reprieving him of any responsibility of having to deal with the "nuisance of a wench" that Denethor, Steward of Gondor, had so politely referred to you when you didn't admit to his accusations of your being a spy from Edoras or some sort of conspiring assassin having come to usurp his throne (because you weren't one and in light of your very sudden and confusing teleportation into an entirely different realm, couldn't care less about some rickety old man on some throne you didn't even know about, much less want)

(which you told Boromir to his face once he'd come to visit you in your holding cell to interrogate you further).

Your relationship was a rocky start, to say the least. There wasn't torture involved or anything, you were kept fed and hydrated from within your cell, and the cell itself was much more quaint living space than the stuff of dungeons. The door even had a lock on the inside to ensure your privacy as an individual, although there were guards placed outside the door and the windows were too narrow and too high to even see out of, much less clamber out of to escape further out into a world you didn't understand. In all actuality, as the hours wore on and no one came to remove your fingernails or dunk you in a barrel of icy water until you spoke, you began to realize that the steward's son–Boromir, you think it was–had most likely placed you in the guest or servant's quarters. There was no way that this room, furnished with a single bed, a vanity, a well-stocked bookshelf, a wardrobe, and even a small washroom was in any way dungeon quality. Where was the hay all over the floor? The rusty cell bars? Mice scurrying over your feet? Mushrooms and mold growing in damp corners?

So, had he lied to his father? Gone against his orders to let you rot in a cell for your lying impotence and instead given you room and board?

As the next day dawned and Borormir came to speak with you privately, he was an entirely different person than what you'd expected from your brief encounter in the throne room. Out from his father's scrutinous and demanding gaze, Borormir was much more agreeable and even somewhat patient. He wasn't quick to condemn you as a liar or some manipulative traitor, although he obviously still did suspect it. He was commanding, but he wasn't dominating.

In short, romance wasn't even on the map for either of you due to the circumstances of your meeting. No one falls in love with the man interrogating them for days on end about losing everything they ever had in an instant, about walking into an old alleyway back home to escape the rain, only to find yourself walking into the halls of some grouchy old steward who accuses you of treason and attempted murder. And no one falls in love with the person skulking through their father's halls unannounced and dishing out insults to that said father and kingdom at first glance, wounding their pride and dignity in one fell swoop.

In fact, he'd even chastised you for speaking ill of his father.

"You mean the man who just called me a nuisance? And a wench?"

Your pension for being very...communicative despite speaking to the son of the steward shocked him to say the least. Boromir wasn't used to being spoken to with such reignless freedom—especially not from strangers under lock and key.

He apologized for Denethor's crass and demeaning insults. You wouldn't have accepted his apology if it hadn't been for the forlorn sincerity in the man's eyes when he explained that his father was a changed man–and not for the better. Regardless, he asked that you respect the steward and his position of power, but even more so, respect that he is his father and he couldn't tolerate ill words being spoken about him.

You agreed to speak no such insults in his presence out of respect for Boromir in return for the patience and hospitality he'd shown you, but you made no vow to be tolerable of Denethor himself. He found that agreeable.

As the questions wore on and your answers remained much the same, Boromir realized that this story you kept explaining, about the alleyway and the rain, the smell of the bakery across the street, the soggy socks in your shoes, it was obviously what you believed–even if he wasn't sure if he could believe it yet. It was hard for Boromir to believe without seeing for himself. It's ye old "I believe that you believe it happened," two hairs shy of calling you crazy sort of response.

That is, until his brother gets word of the new visitor a few days after your arrival. Faramir was his name. He remembered how strange that passageway deep in the stone walls of the palace near the eastern wing had always made him feel when he passed through it. And when he heard of your predicament, he actually seemed rather aware of some sort of power or legend that once spoke of beings traveling between realms in some rare instances. Apparently, Boromir was much more trusting of his little brother. He took Faramir at his word, especially once shown several tomes and scrolls from across the ages of rare but unexplainable instances such as yours.

With Faramir's help (whom you found much more agreeable than his suspicious and impossible older brother), Boromir actually believed in what had happened to you. Not just that you thought it was true, but that such strange things do happen, things even the bravest warriors from great kingdoms cannot explain away.

When it was revealed that it did make factual sense, given your odd apparel that day you'd arrived and the baggy "sweatshirt" you'd refused to let them confiscate, the difference in your accent and dialect, the contrast to your world and Middle-Earth, how very little you understood about his kingdom and the way of basic living, you were then given a proper room in the guest housing just outside the palace courts, a few blocks from the courtyard and stories above the inner city.

You were viewed as an intellectual advantage (or at least that was how he explained it to his father in order for it to make sense to the paranoid steward to keep you nearby), given access to the libraries and studies under Boromir's supervision, and were assigned servants to help you learn to bathe without running water, how to brush your teeth without paste and a brush, how to lather your hair with only water and sweet-smelling oils and rinse within a basin, and a myriad of other daily changes you needed to adapt to. When you refused assistance beyond being taught how to live and function in his world, Boromir found it almost insulting–but it made him curious.

He'd never gone a day without servants, almost like shadows ushering about him, unseen and avoided beyond what they were needed for. He appreciated his people and had great pride for them, but your point of view (from someone of the working class) helped humble the entitled nobility woven into his countenance.

As time passed, Boromir found that it was he who took you for walks throughout the palace courtyard rather than silent guards or obedient servants under order; it was he who excitedly showed you his prized steeds and explained each of their individual personalities, who insisted that you venture into every reach of Gondor until you are as familiar with its villages and rivers as you are with the backs of your hands.

It was his idea, then, to show you parts of Gondor you'd never seen. Forests, plains, meadows, farms, and mountain passes, even the distant horizon of a vast beach shore toward the south. All of it grand, all of it foreign, all of it breathtaking. It was there, on horseback and walking through his father's kingdom, that you really saw who Boromir was. Free of armor and duties, he was just a man desperately in love with his country and his people.

He was flawed, yes. Greatly so. But then again, everyone bears flaws as much as any other person. Some are just skilled at hiding them from the world. Others use them to their advantage. But Boromir–Boromir just seemed like a boy some days when he was beyond the walls of Minas Tirith. The tours he gave you of his beloved land, free of expectation and any sense of obligation, were what allowed you to see everything differently, everything way back to the beginning, to months ago when you'd stumbled through those passageways between royal chambers.

And evidently, Boromir had started to realize much the same for himself. He wasn't one to take ladies for strolls about courtyards and offer them wildflowers that he nearly trampled under his boot; it wasn't like him to look forward to the days when he could spend his time riding into the villages and forests with company rather than being alone; it wasn't like Boromir, son of Denethor, heir to the stewardship of Gondor, to find himself lost in laughter as he tried to teach you how to start a fire without a "lighter" contraption that you were used to and watching you fail miserably into the evening hours and cursing under your breath with risqué words he'd never heard. It wasn't like him to feel such relief, to feel so light and free of his father's burdens.

But love comes when you aren't looking for it, and it often brings people together who would never have noticed one another in any other circumstance.

So maybe that's why you were brought to Middle-Earth, to Gondor, to the halls of his very home, out of all the places and realms you might've ended up in. Whatever might've happened, it must have been fate, or some destiny tied to love. For Boromir, the greatest warrior of his father's vast army, to find himself believing in miracles and accepting the truth of the unknown and uncertain–it could be little else but love. For the first time in his life, not knowing was enough, as long as it meant having you.

faramir | word count: 1k+

Your meeting would definitely be in a forest somewhere, perhaps in Gondor or somewhere you can't even pronounce when he tells you. He's with his rangers, scouting and securing the borders of his country–but truly, his purpose for being all the way out there was to be far away from his father to drown out his disdain and favoritism.

The way you would meet would provide him with comical relief somehow, I just think that's something that would give your relationship such a different beginning than all the other people in his life. Not bound by blood or duty, just victims of circumstance, although he wouldn't want to say he was any sort of victim in having the privilege of meeting you.

He would be knelt by the river, scooping crisp water with his hands and sipping it as his men are some ways down the bank, offering him a moment of silence and reprieve from his own duties. His men, the rangers he lead as their captain, were more than just his "Inferiors" (as his father put it), they were his friends and most trusted advisors. They weren't sworn to serve Faramir, son of Denethor, younger brother to the great warrior Boromir, only because duty and station required it of them. They were both fond and loyal to him, to his humility and wisdom, to his feeling nature. His strength was different but no less honorable. So when their captain wandered off alone, they knew him well enough to give him space.

Although, that's not exactly what he would get.

One moment, you were on the hiking trail you'd taken near your local park for the scenic terrain and perfect reading spots when suddenly the trail had twisted in a way it hadn't before until it had completely disappeared from beneath you in the rapidly appearing overgrowth. Now in a forest you didn't recognize, with panic and anxiety pulsing through your body, running back the way you'd come from in desperate search of the trail you'd been vigilant not to wander from.

That's when Faramir hears the rustling in the forest behind him, he stands as he shakes the water from his hands and poises his bow, knowing his men would never rush him unexpectedly while in the wild (and they weren't even in that direction as far as he knew from where he left them). Before the poor man can react, your bodies collide as you appear out of the thicket and slam into him. I mean, you absolutely take this man out.

You'd both crash in a heap by the river, sliding down the bank and into the shallow edges of the freezing water. Your comfy tennis shoes? Sopping wet. His cloak? Might as well hang it on the laundry line next to the linens.

You'd scramble to your feet, still rushing from adrenaline, while he'd take his time getting up as he rubbed the sore spots you'd brandished him with. With one look in your direction, he'd do a once over and a double-take, completely befuddled by your apparel and whatever reflective material your tight leggings were made of. Not to mention the strange device in your hand with a long cord dangling from its end and the sack of books that had tumbled into the damp dirt at the river's edge.

Once he regained his footing with an adjustment of his jaw and posture, he'd be bombarded with your frantic questions of where you were, where the trailhead was, if his "phone" device had any cell power (whatever that meant, he hadn't a clue) or if he was a "LARPer" based on his apparel (which, mind you, he had several questions about your very strange clothing of choice as well). Simply put, you were quite confused by one another.

Much akin to how he would be of aid in Boromir's version, Faramir would be adamant in his studies and knowledge of many mysteries and forces in his world, from long ages past. He was quite the scholar, given his neglected childhood. He would at first be skeptical of your explanation, but it wouldn't take him as long as his brother to believe you. Faramir could sense things about people, he had that sort of discernment that helped him know whether people were honest or insincere. And you were honest.

He would be very empathetic to your situation. He would offer himself as a guide and a protector, teaching you gradually how to arm yourself in the wild during the long trek back to his home of Minas Tirith. Once there, you would be kept out of his father's reach and safely somewhere you could be comfortable and adjust to the changes of his world.

Apart from being a very mature aide to you in your time of crisis, Faramir would be as excited as a kid in a sweet shop. Your presence in Middle-Earth, the circumstances which brought you to him, were absolutely incredible. It was as if his whole life sort of made sense—all the hours spent with his head in the clouds and books upon books flitting through his hands as a young boy and into adulthood, it had all prepared him for you. This fantastical miracle that came hurling at him by some stream in the eastern forests and defied any and every law of science and physics he'd ever been tutored about.

Over time, once his feelings matured into something more than honorable duty (and giddy curiosity), he'd be absolutely devoted to you. He would spend his life trying to find the answers you needed, even if it meant finding a way for you to get home, despite how much he wanted you to remain in his life. He would cross seas and brave mountains to seek out others who knew of anything like your situation, he would risk himself to keep you safe.

Faramir would do absolutely anything for you, at all times, with the utmost sincerity and adoration from the deepest parts of himself. He would vow himself to you and leave you no room for doubt or insecurity.

eomer | word count: 800+

Eomer, Lord of the Mark and future King of Rohan, would definitely place duty above curiosity and emotion when first meeting a stranger claiming to hail from another much different world completely unrelated to Middle-Earth in its entirety. Albeit a respectful and honorable man, he would have his suspicions about whether or not your predicament was at all possible. And if possible—that was a big if—he would doubt your sincerity (if it had really happened or not). He's the type to need proof and evidence so he can work out how to respond and execute a plan of action. He wasn't one to meddle with ancient powers and mysterious magic—he was a man of law and combat.

What you don't know for the first few weeks, though, is that there's a reason behind his doubt and scrutiny of you, his blatant distrust and sheer callousness. He'd seen what the dark powers of wizards and warlords had done to his uncle Theoden. He'd witnessed firsthand how it had torn his family apart, stricken with grief and remorse. His sister had been plagued and stalked by one such man who was an ally to such dark arts. Magic and powerful entities had never brought Eomer or his people anything good.

Eventually, when you learn about all of this, you're more compassionate to his point of view and not so frustrated with him for being so darn suspicious all of the time.

However, despite his reservations about your situation, that would not affect his efforts in helping you (after you've been ruled out as a threat). You would never be treated like a prisoner or an enemy, nor as any sort of asset or property. You were simply a traveler, a person in need, and eventually a friend to Rohan and the people that dwelled within Edoras.

Something you noticed early on was his absolute devotion to his family. Not just his lineage or his people, not solely to the crown that still sat upon his uncle's head. His sister was his closest friend (and she soon became yours as well) and there was a bond between them you had never born witness to in your disconnected world. The loyalty and affection he showed freely were quickly one of the traits of his character that attracted you to him, as well as his consistent sincerity—there was never a word uttered from his lips that he did not mean or a promise that he failed to keep. He spoke with bluntness plainly, you never had to solve any riddles or secrets. There were never any tiresome games. He just was. The "once loyal, always loyal" sort of person.

And as someone used to a world full of people more concerned with themselves rather than those they claim to love, it's refreshing.

Because of Eomer's need for proof and evidence to be able to believe and understand things that were presented to him, your relationship was also rocky at the start. Yes, you knew he was trustworthy and you felt safe under his care as his sister showed you the ways of their people and clothed you in their garments. You knew no harm would ever come to you as long as Eomer kept watch over your wellbeing. But there was the disconnect between you where emotions and souls come into play–a need for him to have faith in your story, a need to be trusted above reason and common sense.

That would be the great battle throughout your developing feelings for each other; to understand and accept each other and your very different origins. It would be that discourse and the eventual change of heart that would convince Eomer he was in love with the one person who had appeared wandering aimlessly across the Riddermark. And when he was able to accept the heavy truth that you spoke—that not only were the myriad of powers and mystics of his world very real and prevalent, but there was another realm far beyond his own—it would not only prepare him for the throne he would one day succeed, but open his heart to the reality of love itself. That there is more beyond honor and duty, beyond loyalty; there is love, devotion of the heart, and the binding of one soul to another.

Truly, your crossing into Middle-Earth was more than mere chance. It was the dealings of fate, the weaving of a tapestry that spans beyond lands and stars, that brings union and contentedness to those it touches.

To Eomer, you would become more than a dangerous risk or a misunderstanding or a wearied traveler between lands. You would be his life source in a more intimate way than even what he had always known with his family–the love of one's life is one incomparable to all else. His fierce loyalty that you'd observed since your first meeting had become an unsplintering shield. You were now bonded by that same sort of unwavering devotion.

eowyn | word count: 800+

Eowyn, Lady of the Mark, would react much like her brother at first. Suspicious and protective of her people, she would do all she could to ensure that those around you were taking all precautions necessary when you are first brought before the throne. She wouldn't take as long to come around to you as Eomer would, however. She was more prone to trust people and offer them a chance to prove themselves.

You see, Eowyn has a sense about people. She could always read them like an open book, whether they meant to be read or not. And you? Well, she had a feeling you were a good book. Shrouded in mystery and understandably met with fear at first by most of her kin, Eowyn would be the first person of her people to reach out to you as an individual after the initial shock of your sudden arrival and concerning origins.

She'd be the one to bring your meals and stuff extra pastries under the napkin for you (she'd conceited her brother and his men to allow you a room with humble furnishings rather than a cell until they were sure you would not pose a threat) and offer up small talk as best she could. Eventually, though, that small talk turned into stories and memories shared between two fast-growing friends. You told her all about your world, about your home, about the technology and amenities you missed, about the pretty lights of the city at night and the twinkling strings of lights decorating your bedroom walls.

"They're like little bursts of fire within tiny shards of glass, led along a wired string of sorts", you'd tried to explain. You loved the way she listened to your every word, her smiles growing bigger and her eyes reflecting the warmth of the hearth.

You told her about your family and friends and some of your most memorable moments with them. Several of which derived a very contagious laugh from the fair Lady of the Mark. "Tell me more about your homeland!" She would exclaim, offering an encouraging nudge to your knee.

She would spend hours helping you adjust in whatever way you needed. Didn't know how to brush your teeth the medieval way? No problem; Eowyn walked you through the steps. Kept burning your fingertips while trying to light the lanterns and oil-glazed candles? She'd show you how she got around that herself as a child. Wonder what it would be like to fight like the soldiers training in the yard? Eowyn would teach you better than any man could.

You'd always wondered what it was like to experience that best friends to lovers sort of romance—and that's exactly what you found in Eowyn. Although her protective loyalty had set a boundary between you for the first week or so of your unexpected arrival, that loyalty was soon extended to you. She'd be the first person you would really trust, the one you would call for when your dreams turned sour or your loneliness weighed too heavily in the night. She'd be the one who would lead you around Edoras, showing you the beauty of her home and people. She would teach you to bond with your own horse and train you well to become a proficient rider yourself.

The horses (and Eowyn, of course) were really what made you hesitant to ever leave this realm called Middle-Earth if you could. Rohan, their whole culture, was surrounded by the rich history and generous communion with horses. Everything here was tied to legend or powers beyond humanity's limited understanding—but everything was beautiful and enchanting. Their ancestors resided in great halls of kings in the stars. Everything about these people was so rooted in family and kinship. You'd never known anything like it back home.

People in Edoras were kind to each other, save the occasional drunkard. And Eowyn—Eowyn was the brightest star among them all. Compassionate, loyal, and brave. Those were the words you thought of when she came to mind (which was more often than not).

It wouldn't be long after becoming best friends, perhaps a few months, that you would feel things slightly shift between you, and she, you. You wanted more of Eowyn. More hours spent riding together across plains of tall grass and wildflowers. More evenings unraveling the debris of the wind from her unkempt golden hair. Eowyn wanted to share with you her greatest secrets and desires, her darkest fears. She wanted to sleep alongside you, her hands entwined with yours, to ward off the nightmares she often suffered. Eowyn found herself always in want of you; your voice, your presence, your scent. You become her comfort.

No matter how harrowing your appearance had been and the implications of other worlds beyond hers—Eowyn would never once wish that the fates or ancestors hadn't brought you to her across realms. You were everything she'd needed and yearned for in a friend and a partner her whole life, just for someone to see her and hear her.

You'd become everything to each other.

elrond | word count: 1.1k+

The Lord of Rivendell would be no stranger to mysterious visitors happening upon his halls unannounced. In fact, he'd begun to think it almost routine at the rate hobbits, dwarves, and all manner of beings showed up on his doorstep. But there was definitely something different about you, the visitor who claimed to hail from another land—no, you clarified, not just another village or region; another world.

Where cars and trains and buses rattled the bones of the earth and ushered time and society forward at a harrowing speed. Where kingdoms and governments warred endlessly and stars were a rarity to see above the lights of growing cities.

He would be interested in this "advanced" world of yours and desired greatly to learn more about its vast variety of life—but not as much as he was interested in making sure you were acclimating to such a drastic alteration of life itself.

He would be wary of you, due to his wealth of knowledge on all manner of strange magic and ill-boding omens (do you know how many peddling sorcerers and distasteful necromancers this man has had to turn away at his doorstep?). However, Elrond would be much more hospitable from the very beginning than any of his kin. He wouldn't be as off-standish or suspicious of you—at least, not to your face.

You would be given lodging and hearty food almost immediately rather than a cell and modest portions, as well as a servant-guided tour of Rivendell and access to most of the beautiful city (save for the sacred archives and private chambers). He would not only meet with you in the hours he could spare each day to decipher your journey into Middle-Earth, but he would recommend several pieces of history and literature to get you acquainted with the customs and cultures around you. He would let you into the library at any hour you needed, even in the wee morning hours when you couldn't sleep.

A gentleman through and through, your experience with him would be much different than with any other host you might have stumbled across.

He would be undeniably patient as you're thrust into an entirely different way of living in every possible aspect, down to the very brass tacks of human nature. It feels like you're having to be raised again, like how children are taught to take care of themselves and understand the way things and people around them work and operate. There is never a grievance expressed or muttered from him as you excelled with some aspects and struggled through others.

His graciousness and soft-spoken wisdom were just the cusps of how intelligent and tender-hearted the kind elf truly was—all of which you would come to know well when he had had plenty of time to adjust to you. His introvertedness would definitely be a bit of a stunt in the development of your relationship from acquaintances to romantic partners.

He wasn't one to speak just to engage in conversation and keep busy; he only spoke if he truly had something worth saying. That of course makes it difficult for you to try to communicate beyond discussions about your unprecedented situation. But if you asked a question or politely pressed for conversation, he wouldn't deny you his attention either. While this leaves you being the one to strike a majority of the conversations between you (outside of his devoted interest in learning about your situation), you don't mind all that much. You could push through your own social anxieties as long as the person was receptive and open to engagement, and Elrond certainly made extensive efforts to be as much and more.

You liked his quietness, though. It was attractive in a way that made you hang onto every word he did decide to share. It gives you a sense of comfort. It's startling at first, the way you're able to trust him so fast, especially given the absolute madness of your traveling between realms themselves. Surely it was wiser to have your guard up at all times when in a strange new world with such stark contrasts to your own, right?

But you just couldn't bring yourself to doubt someone so compassionate and sincere.

All the while you're slipping fast into fonder feelings with every day that dawns over Rivendell's many waterfalls and etched forests, Elrond is slowly dissecting every thought pertaining to you as it surfaces in his mind. He had already had one great love in his life, the mother of his sons and daughter, a loving lady who had led their kin alongside him. He would feel such a heavy burden of guilt when he realizes the same patterns of infatuation and fondness start to swell over him. The same fluttering, freeing feelings that he had felt with his wife in their early years together. The same wandering of thought, despite his very disciplined nature. The instinct to return to your side when he wasn't busy, as if that was suddenly where he belonged more than in his study or his chambers.

Within a mere few months, it was Lord Elrond who was escorting you to peer at moonlit waterfalls and forests set ablaze with fireflies and starlight. It was he, rather than a servant or guard, who taught you how to mount a steed more than half your height and ride with all the elegance of an elleth. It was he who felt his zeal for excitement return to him when you dared to race him beyond the forest and across the rushing ford. It was Elrond who sat with a smile on his face as he listened eagerly to the cultures that thrived in your world, specifically the details of your own home and heritage.

Although it took time to trust his own heart enough to feel more than politeness for someone, Elrond was no stranger to love or what it felt like. That's probably what would scare him so much when he first starts to feel himself becoming attached to you—the realization that somewhere along the discussions about your homeworld and the hours poured over tomes and memories...he was falling in love again.

Another facet of your growing relationship that would shock him would be the fact that he'd fallen in love with a human? Of course, he was the most tolerant of the race of men across all of his elven kin, but even that tolerance hadn't prepared him for the day he would face the same risk of love that his daughter had faced (you know, the courtship with a human that he'd told her to leave behind for immortality? Well, now he's facing the same question, darn it). He would absolutely need the approval of his children before even making a single stride in pursuing something beyond friendship with you, something permanent (spoiler alert, they would absolutely bless your courtship).

arwen | word count: 500+

Arwen Undómiel would be very open and intrigued by your arrival, especially when she notices how out of place you seemed to be, not only among her people but with the way of life itself in Middle-Earth. It isn't until she inquires about your odd behavior (the asking about cellphones and electricity and other foreign amenities) to her father that she realizes you had hailed from another world entirely—not just another region or from somewhere beyond the mountains. Learning this, her intrigue only grows.

She was a lady who adored her people and the comforts of her home, but was not a stranger to adventure and the restlessness that accompanies a free spirit. Because of her love for exploring and learning, you're like a perfect mixture of mysterious and confusing. She might not have understood how travel between realms was at all possible, but she didn't mind not knowing. After all, many of her kin were gradually departing to the Undying Lands beyond the sea—a place that, in its simplest explanation, was a sanctuary divided from the common world of Middle-Earth. If such a place as that could exist just beyond the western horizon, then surely it was not so outlandish to think that there were even broader realms beyond that.

Arwen, as stated before, is a very open individual when it comes to expressing her feelings and saying exactly what she means. There is no loitering about wondering about this or that—when Arwen desires to become your friend rather soon after your arrival in her father's halls, she does just that.

She would help you adjust to things with an abundance of patience and sincere interest. She would be excited to teach you about her people and her world—about its histories and legends. But even more so, Arwen would be of even more aid when it came to helping you work through your sporadic emotions as the shock and remorse of your situation became clearer with each day. Of course it was exciting to suddenly find yourself in a world as illustrious and peaceful as this one—but there was a home, a family, and a slew of friends and interests that had been left behind without warning. She doesn't belittle or rush your grieving process, and instead becomes your confidante and place of refuge.

She would speak on your behalf to her father, about what you might need or what you were struggling to understand. She would be your voice until you were able to get your bearings and become more and more comfortable while so far from everything you once knew to be true.

In short, she isn't one to be afraid of her feelings or have any reservations of expressing them the moment she becomes aware of them for herself. Because of that kind of communication and the way she would devote herself to helping you from the very first day, it doesn't take long before she confesses that she harbors a fondness for you, like how the moon has a fondness for the sea; how her father harbored a fondness for her mother, and still does.

It's her openness and her lack of fear in expression herself that draws you both together from the first moments you share. From then, your friendship developed naturally into something of romantic permanence. As your place in her world became cemented, your place in her heart flourished with unabashed sincerity.

legolas | word count: 500+

Legolas would be very suspicious and observant of you for quite some time before even engaging with you, much like his friendship with Gimli. Already being someone of very few words, Legolas would take his time in getting to know you before having even said a word to you. He was raised to be suspicious and discerning of "outsiders"; woodland elves, specifically those native to Mirkwood, were known for their suspicion and distrust of others, even their own kin.

So getting acquainted and close to someone who's not only not an elf or from Mirkwood, but also not even from Middle-Earth itself? That's gonna be a big barrier for him to get around and it's going to take time to achieve that familiarity and comfortability around you.

But when he does—it comes from seeing how you are with his friends, such as Aragorn and Gimli. His gradual trust builds up not from interacting with you for himself, but from observing how you communicated with others and treated his friends and allies. When he's more or less sure of your character, he would then venture into becoming friends. What he doesn't expect, however, is how quickly that friendship became something so much more to him.

Perhaps because he'd been getting to know you from afar and seeing how kind and generous you were with his loved ones despite the sheer confusion and fear you must be feeling every day in his strange world. It was one thing to venture away from home in search of adventure, even among unfamiliar faces, like he had. It was another entirely to be ripped from your world and everyone you knew, away from your kin and your people, away from your family, without any sort of warning or choice. He comes to admire you and the bravery you displayed every day just by choosing to exist in his world and trying your best to become a part of it.

Then he would notice how you'd been taught to fish with just a shaft and some thin twine by Aragorn's hand. How you kept absorbing skills as though you were a sponge, desperate to cling to any sort of help. This is when he would reach out and offer you archery lessons because "everyone should learn to have some skill with either a blade or a bow. It is better if you know both—but in your case, I think we should start with one." And you chose the bow, telling him how you admired how beautiful of a weapon it was, how graceful. You'd seen it in movies and read about great archers—you'd always wanted to be one. And so Legolas, though he had no idea what a movie was, vows to make you proficient with a bow.

It's really your devotion to learning about his world, about his friends, and eventually about him that really snares him in the end. The way you refused to wither and panic within the shelter of one of many great cities in Middle Earth, but instead wanted to see the world and get your bearings, despite how obviously unsteady it often made you feel. For you, you'd not only been brought to another world, but a world that was supposedly far behind in its technology. Everything had completely changed for you and yet you still worked hard to make something good out of your predicament. It's that bravery that pulls him to you.

galadriel | word count: 300+

Someone as wise and clairvoyant as the Lady of Lothlorien would not be surprised at your unprecedented arrival across realms. She had probably (listerally) seen you coming long before your arrival (remember that magic basin of psychic water she traumatized Frodo with?). Her ability to read the minds of others offered her an immediate leeway into your intentions and sincerity. This meant that while she was still careful with you, she was well aware that you posed no threat or harm to her people.

You, on the other hand, were more than wary of her upon your first meeting. It wasn't just the shock of entering a new world that made your heart uneasy to trust—but something about the ethereal, untouchable power about the Lady Galadriel herself that left you teetering into doubt and discomfort. While her beauty and gentleness made her alluring and with time to develop that trust, your doubts faded. Her goodness and generosity proved time and time again that her power wasn't something to fear.

Something that made her so wonderful once you grew trusting of her was how much she believed you—largely due to her ability to read minds and people themselves—and never doubted your character or motives.

Hailing from a world hewn with distrust and malice, the calm pace and sincerity in which Middle-Earth (and Lothlorien especially) was governed made you hopeful for what sort of life could be made there.

With the help and generosity of your hostess, you soon considered Lothlorien your home. Not just for its beauty and its sort of magnificence that you'd never seen in your world before—but also for the lady who watched diligently over her forest and her people. In time, you came to consider her your closest friend, someone you could wholeheartedly trust with your life.

Galadriel would find your naivety of her realm intriguing and would be more than happy to offer herself as your guide. She would find your tendency for loud bursts of laughter and curt outspokenness refreshing in a culture of hushed voices and gracious tones.

All in all, you're both quite a mystery for each other to solve. Luckily, neither of you mind the adventure of getting to know one another.

haldir | word count: 600+

To say that your first meeting had also been a bit of a rough start was the understatement of the century. I mean, who would react well to having a dozen arrows poised inches from their face while trying to find their way out of an unfamiliar forest? Your fear had quickly turned to frustration and anger, despite the threat of being pierced with the polished shafts of their arrows. Your quick turn to anger stunned the very poised marchwarden—it wasn't often that intruders grew hostile when threatened at the neck. Typically, people would stare back in silence like a doe stunned by fear.

A mixture of terror, exhaustion, hunger and dehydration had driven your more cooperative senses from your caliber of responses, evidently.

After you'd recovered well enough to be questioned over a generous meal, it was very obvious you were simply lost. Very, very lost. Of no threat to his people or the sacred forest they dwelled in, Haldir would have no issue in setting his pride aside to apologize for frightening you.

Soft-spoken and introverted, Haldir would have that wall of kind politeness that was at first almost polarizing to someone who'd just had the shock of their life by entering an entirely new realm in a split second. It would be many awkward attempts at sifting through your explanations and anxious emotions before Haldir was able to gauge how you would feel more inclined to trust him. And in order to achieve your trust, he would need to let you (a stranger, mind you) break through those carefully learned guards to see the real him behind the graceful countenance and elegant sentences.

It was your desperation to find answers, to understand if you had gone mad or if something so radical could have truly taken place, that sparked in Haldir the great need to console you. Generally, elves were calm and uninvolved beings—to those not understanding of their ways, they might even appear void of emotion. But that couldn't be any further from the truth. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

As your time in his homeland spanned from weeks to months, Haldir grew more and more attached to your side. Devoted to your wellbeing, he became more of a confidant and friend than the simple guide he had volunteered to be for you at the start. The softhearted nature that flourished within him bloomed around you, finding a home to take root in.

Your knowledge and straightforwardness about what you needed at any given time, whether it was a hot bath or an audience with the Lady Galadriel herself, struck a chord of admiration with Haldir. He didn't like having to piece together the riddles that strangers often gave when they were prejudiced or distrusting. Your sincerity in such matters, no matter how embarrassing or seemingly insignificant, quite honestly inspired the skilled marchwarden. With such honesty, he didn't have to work so hard to get the answers he needed to best help you.

In return, it's his diligence in his help that draws you to him. The absolution he promised with every request he listened to—there was never a question or a need he left unresolved for you. If you'd asked for your favorite meal from your world, he'd find some way to have it made for you. If you'd gone to him in a fit of tears and in need of comfort, his arms would be the first to be open to you.

It wasn't that you were a basket case, mind you (and if you were, he'd never let you or anyone around you use such insensitive terminology for your very validated expressions of distress). It was simply that you'd never been so vulnerable and in need of someone before. And Haldir, well...Haldir had never felt so inclined to a soul before, so effortlessly devoted and tethered as if some string was being pulled taught between you.

Haldir relished in being able to be of service to you.

And you held fast to the curious needing you felt for him.

gimli | word count: 400+

From the moment he met you, Gimli knew something wasn't quite right. Sure, you weren't waving the tips of pointy weapons or spitting out slews of evil curses at people—but you were like a shard of sea glass among grey stones. Everything about your stature, the way you spoke and carried yourself, the way you interpreted the world and its people around you...it was all so different from anyone he'd ever met before.

For starters, you're much more outspoken than anyone he'd come to know. You weren't afraid to speak your mind (and even include the occasional profanity to get your point across) in any given occasion or setting, even among elven nobility. The time you practically cursed his fair-haired elven friend Legolas out was an afternoon he'd not soon forget. Especially since the whole ordeal, which he conveniently didn't recall the details of, had most definitely been Gimli's fault rather than the prince's.

He wasn't too keen on trying to understand all the details about your predicament or how you came to be in this realm of all places. Gimli never asked for more of an explanation than you were willing to give, which was something you found quite refreshing amidst a slew of people who had been asking questions upon questions since your peculiar arrival to Middle-Earth. You knew you didn't have to explain yourself to him or try to make sense of it all in order to be believed—the red-haired dwarf simply nodded through his pipe smoke and moved on.

In all honesty, Gimli hadn't thought much of you at first, the same way he didn't think much about anyone until it was apparent their paths would cross more than once. He didn't give much effort into friendships that weren't of substance, despite the loss of much of his kin. If anything, it was harder for him to attach himself to friends now than it ever had been before due to the great losses he had suffered.

But when he does get accustomed to you, it's all over for him. Once Gimli gets attached to a friend or partner, his dwarven passion for loyalty and honor kicks in. He understands you're not familiar with this place, whether that meant Gondor or Edoras or any other region beyond Middle-Earth, and that's enough for him to believe you and offer some sympathies to your situation. He was kind of the same, you know. Far from home without any of his kin left to visit or send word to.

All in all, Gimli likes your modern gumption, your fighting spirit, and that occasionally sour tongue of yours. And although it's obvious he didn't have to protect you when you were very efficient in doing so for yourself, he would gladly spend an age or two by your side offering his services as a companion—and someday, perhaps as much more, if you'd allow it.

frodo | word count: 400+

Somewhat of an expert in the joys and terrors of adventuring, Frodo Baggins would be a most empathetic and compassionate companion to have upon crossing into his realm from your own homeworld. More than anyone, he would understand the pressures of having to keep it all together in the presence of unfamiliar faces. When he had been the ring bearer, shouldering an object with the very sentience of darkness within it, the fear and desperation had nearly overtaken him as he traveled into forests and mountains he'd never ventured to before. He couldn't imagine traveling between worlds—realms of existence entirely.

He would value the trust that you placed in him, handling it with the utmost care. His skill for listening is unparalleled, as is the wisdom he offers in return for your woes.

Frodo would find your situation extraordinary and fantastic. He wouldn't be able to resist asking all of his questions and brimming with excitement about this realm of yours beyond his reach. He would, however, do his best to temper his ecstatic humoring in favor of handling your delicate situation with attention and care. He found himself reminded of the years he spent as a young boy listening to Bilbo's stories of his grand adventures with goblin kings and dwarf lords and fire drakes from the north.

Imagine hours of pouring over books and scribbled notes his uncle had left behind for him, huddled near each other by a warm fire in his home. Papers and stacks of sifted lore and myth, anything pertaining to what had brought you to Middle-Earth, littering the floor around your folded legs and shared quilt. He would dedicate himself to helping you find the answers you were looking for, even in his small corner of the world (don't worry, he has this friend who's a king somewhere out on the southern plains who would be more than happy to lend some scrolls and tomes).

To Frodo, your mere existence is illuminating. Just having you pop up in his favorite glen while he was spending his usual afternoon reading was enough for him to strike an interest in you. You were yet another adventure, living and breathing, waltzing into his life. Sure enough, you become an answer to the hobbit's dwindling hopes for normalcy, thinking perhaps he was destined to the fate of bachelorhood and haunted memories, the same as his uncle.

You show him that it is possible for Frodo to have another adventure—one that won't cost him his soul or his life. (Just maybe his heart.)

samwise | word count: 500+

Samwise Gamgee knows a fool when he sees one—after all, he'd grown up with Merry and Pippin in his circle of friends. So when he's the first to believe you out of the tale-spinners and prank-weavers of the Shire, it's a relief to say the least.

He'd invite you into his home, seeing as you were so far away from yours and had no way of going back. He would offer you his pantry, his sunroom, his best linens and finest silk nightgown. There would be afternoons of gardening and learning a trade for yourself that would both provide food on the table and a bit of coin in the markets. Sam would be more than delighted to have a houseguest to cook for, seeing as his Old Gaffer wasn't one to spice up the recipes very often. But for you, Sam would cook a feast. He'd even sit down with you and help you write out recipes that reminded you of home, meals that wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a cold day. He'd grow flowers you remembered seeing in your mother's garden.

Somehow, even so far away from your world and your home and your friends and family, Samwise Gamgee would give you a sense of home you'd never encountered before.

It was so exceedingly rare to find people so willing to lend such a selfless hand to others in need. Helping a strange person he'd never met find their way through Hobbiton was one thing—but inviting them into his home and giving them a place to stay and warm meals to eat without anything in return? Quite literally offering the (night) shirt off his back? You'd never been extended such kindness before.

When Sam realizes how much of a stranger you are to such hospitality, he would go all out with everything he possibly could. Finding it rather sad that you'd come from such a dismal world that was void of such simple acts of kindness, Sam can't help but want to display every possible act of kindness he can think of.

And Samwise found in you the purpose he'd yearned for all his life—the chance to be something for someone that no one else could, the chance to make a difference simply by being himself and doing what it is he does best. Although it was difficult for you to navigate through the differences and the culture shock of his world and his land—there was really very little to complain about when you find yourself in the Shire (except maybe those pesky neighbors who have nothing better to do than to stick their noses in your business between meals).

Eager to be at ease and belong, you are more than willing to learn all that Sam can teach you and his way of life. Your acceptance and sense of humor, joking about things he didn't quite understand (What was that you'd said about looking "at all those chickens"? Those had definitely been ducks swimming in the pond that day), worked together to win Sam's heart in no time.

It really didn't take long before Sam was fonder of seeing you disheveled in the mornings and in his borrowed nightgown than fixed up for the day ahead; for him to cherish those small domestic moments you'd both begun to share as time wore on. Before long, Sam found himself daydreaming of dances and the music of flutes and fiddles to set the pace.

merry | word count: 500+

This rascal would absolutely not believe a word that comes out of your mouth about whatever peculiar land it is you keep droning on about. Automobiles? Airplanes? Lanterns that work without fire? Portion control and food pyramids dictated by the government? What the bloody hell was all that nonsense? (Dark magic or the result of some soured Old Toby, he was sure of it.)

He'd volunteer himself to be your official tour guide to Middle-Earth, claiming he'd been as far as Mordor once (wherever that was, you had no idea) and was, therefore, the best guide anyone could ask for this side of Brandywine River.

For the longest time, Merry really thinks you're spinning tall tales about this world you came from with all these fancy doohickeys he hadn't a clue about. As someone proficient in telling exaggerated memoirs and pulling indulgent pranks, he would for the longest time assume that your explanation of origin was one and the same. Listen, he'd seen the weird stuff out there, probably as much of it as there was to see, and there definitely wasn't any Europes or Americas or Indias or anyplace else you kept mentioning.

When he's taking you on a stroll along his favorite trade route all the way to the Breelands and back home, any mention of your predicament (beyond being a lost traveler far from home) was met with a mischievous scoff and a twisted grin. Once, with a mouthful of fresh summer berry bread, he'd made such an expression of dubious skepticism that he hadn't needed to even utter the "uh-huh, sure" along with it.

He meant no harm in his teasing disbelief, of course, but sometimes the gradual accumulation of it got on your nerves. While Merry was fun, kind, and a very joyful and admirable hobbit to be around...sometimes it felt as though you were trying to convince a toadstool that its colors were indeed brown and not blue.

He's fond of you already, of course, nearly upon the moment he met you—who else was he taking on his little adventures across the many borders within the region of Eriador apart from Pippin and a batch of Old Toby?

As weeks pass and one day, his distrust in your explanations pricks a little too far beneath your skin, your bout of aggravated and fearful tears came as a shock to the hobbit. It's in that moment sat across from each other with a small campfire between you that his carefree persona faltered with guilt.

Oh, he thinks. You're telling the truth about all that.

From that moment on, he would be the most expressive and compassionate person you had ever met. He'd be sure you were getting your daily dose of sunlight and ale for the day, as well as whatever desserts or hearty meals you felt inclined to indulge. You'd become attached at the hip and wherever Merry (and usually Pippin) went, you were there with him (them). He'd already been welcoming and friendly to you, but now he had this sort of tenderness in his gaze that you thought might melt you through like a chocolate drop in the oven. And if anyone were to express the same sort of doubts or contribute to the rumor mill around Hobbiton about you, he'd put an end to it before it had gone beyond the hedges of Bagshot Row.

pippin | word count: 400+

Much like his rapscallion counterpart, Pippin's first impression would be that your whole story about arriving from another realm was a fabrication of your very active imagination. He and Merry had spun their fair share of tall tales and mischief as far and wide as the town of Bree and the little villages along the Brandywine river.

Unlike Merry, though, Pippin's reason for skepticism wasn't even so much skepticism as it was ignorance. He'd never knowingly poke fun at what you were going through, whether he thought it exaggerated or not. Pippin just truly didn't think it was at all possible for other places to exist. He really thinks you're joking or unsure of what you're even saying for the longest time.

But when Pippin figures it out after you become a sordid mess of blubbering tears over a pint of ale outside the Green Dragon Inn, he realizes everything you'd been trying to explain hadn't been a "really wonderful story" you'd been working on. It was how you'd come to be in the Shire, in Eriador, in Middle-Earth at all.

"There's no use cryin' ov'r a pint, (Y/n)! Ded someone let the barrel sour?"

You sniffled, trying to dry your eyes with the back of your hand before they were too heavy to extinguish. "It's not—it's not soured, Pip."

"Oh. Then what—?" He took a moment to understand. You'd been talking about a dog with two mismatching socks on its paws. A bedroom with fairies for lights and walls made of printed paintings. The way you'd been describing everything was almost too detailed to be off the top of your head...and then he realizes.

Pippin would buy you another pint, one untainted by salty tears. He'd do his best to listen more, although he still misinterpreted much of what you tried to explain. But it was better now, knowing that he was trying to comprehend this world of yours, rather than committing it to his memory as a tavern story.

He'd be excited to learn about what sort of drinks and food and pipeweed you had in your world and what sort of music your village danced to at seasonal festivities.

While Pippin may not be able to really grasp the extent of what you're explaining, that perhaps entire realms exist beyond the very vast one he had traveled across himself, you are reassured that he does at least believe you and understands the jest of it. And somehow, that's all you really needed—someone to just listen to what you were trying to say, to take your truth for what it was.

(Of course, this confirmation that you're really an "other-worlder" as he coined it means that he's designated himself to acclimate you to the life of a hobbit to its full extremities. This includes seven meals a day, which you're more than happy to oblige.)

TAGS: @moony-artnstuff @wellfuckmyexistence @tessaem @izbelross @bloodblossom73

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mlmxreader · 15 days

Text

Soldier, Sellsword | Aragorn x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ “We can do this together, if that’s what you want” With Aragorn please? ❞

: ̗̀➛ Aragorn knows who the right person to ask is when he wants help with something that he cannot do alone.

: ̗̀➛ n/a

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The wind blew harshly, tumbling over trees and pushing the bushes around with thick, strong howls; so little sunshine visible that almost everything looked simply as if it had been sketched with charcoal. Varying shades of grey and little else.

The hills, rolling and steep, seemed to cheer the wind along; the thick grasses growing on them a facade to conceal the dense and deep clay and mud puddles that littered every step of the way. The trees offered no coverage and no shelter from the wind at all, and going to one side of the hills only meant getting wet and cold.

Yet Aragorn still perked up when he saw heavy, bright red, armour and a black stallion; he knew exactly who it was, and although relief left him, a smile was left on his face as he raised his arm and waved his hand for a moment.

Purposefully giving his position away as he ran towards the black horse as quickly as he could; hoping that he did not lose a boot in the process.

But the horse met him halfway, and when you got off of it, you immediately removed your helmet and smiled. Aragorn would never get sick of seeing any of it.

The bright red armour made of shed dragon scales, embellished with a great red dragon on the middle of the breastplate so that its mighty claw sat over your heart; its pointed and triangular tongue sticking out and matching the tip of its tail.

The sword on your hip, an old family heirloom, was forged from dragon teeth and could cut through almost anything; yet it wasn't your armour or your sword that he was interested in as he cleared his throat and took a step back.

"My favourite sellsword."

You shrugged as you let one hand lay on the hilt of your sword. "My favourite ranger."

"Tell me," he hummed. "What word comes of the Kingdom of Song?"

You wanted to roll your eyes as you grinned at him, shaking your head. "You know I despise that nickname... but not much. Some orc scavengers to the far East, but their King can deal with that - when he isn't too busy stealing from everybody else."

Aragorm smiled so fondly, it was difficult to believe that he had ever smiled like that before. "And what news of their King?"

"Still preening for Sauron," you admitted, scowling. "The North and the island Kingdom still seek an alliance with us, and the likes of Gondor."

He nodded slowly, making a mental note of it all to pass onto Elrond when he could. "I see. And what of you?"

"Well, I still have yet to find that pretty spouse my King told me about," you joked. "But he did ask me something... rather odd."

Aragorn raised a brow. "And what would that be?"

"He asked, when the time came and we no longer could hold back the East King," you started, "that I should go into the mountains, and I should speak the dragon's tongue and wake him up."

He swallowed thickly. There had not been a dragon seen since... he couldn't even remember when. "I will send word to Elrond and-"

"No!" You snapped, clenching your jaw. "It's an odd request, yes, but... Aragorn... you must understand."

He paused, chewing at his lip for a second before sighing and nodding. "My apologies. I meant no offence."

"I don't take any," you said softly, patting his shoulder as you smiled. "Or did you forget I was once a soldier?"

"I did not," he promised. "But I must tell you, I have to make my way to Bree... and I would like it if you were to come with me."

You shrugged, not thinking that it could be of any particular importance; Bree was relatively quiet, and you had only visited there a handful of times in order to look for extra work in nearby farms. "Of course, but... can I ask why?"

"There is a Hobbit," Aragorn told you. "And I have to intercept him. Under no circumstances is he to be hurt."

You still didn't think much of it as you hummed and nodded. "Of course - we can do this together, if that's what you want. You know this, Aragorn, I am always at your side. Always."

You were about to drop to your knee and offer him your kingdom's oath, when he shook his head and pulled you up.

"Please, do not bow to me," he whispered. "I do not want your oath, nor do I want your word - I want your loyalty."

"And you have that," you promised quietly. "Just as you have my heart."

You saw his shoulders slump as he let out a shaky breath. "Promise me, though, if something happens... you will get to the Hobbit, and you will never let him out of your sight. Promise me you will not let him get hurt."

You furrowed your brows, worried what could be so dangerous about fetching one Hobbit; you figured it was maybe orcs or spiders, but you couldn't understand why.

"Alright," you agreed. "I promise."

Aragorn seemed more than relieved at your answer as he swallowed thickly, waiting for you to take one of your gauntlets off before he took your wrist in his hand; muttering in Elvish as he gently kissed the skin of your palm.

His eyes fixated on you as he looked so terribly fond. You couldn't help but to smile, shaking your head fondly. You always hated it when he did that.

"If we're to make it to Bree by dawn, we ought to leave now," you told him, grinning. "Come on."

Aragorn nodded, all too easily falling into step behind you; he knew he made the right choice in asking for your allyship. He knew that you had a good heart, better than most. He knew he could trust you, and he could follow you for as long as you would follow him.

Aragorn knew that you were the perfect person for the task at hand.

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homeofthelonelywriter · 2 years

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RW: Nin nethel? - Aragorn x Reader

(A/N) Another request by a lovely Anon! I really hope you like it! I used two elvish translators, but I can’t promise that everything is correct. Translations are below!

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader, Legolas x sister!Reader

Translations: Cin a nin nethel? - You and my sister? nin mel - my love hanar - brother ada - father

Warnings: nursing, fighting

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“Cin a nin nethel? Tell me this is a just a rumor Aragorn.” My eyes widened at my brother’s words directed at my secret partner. The wrath in Legolas’ face was unmatched and the fear that coursed through me was worse than the fear I felt during all the battles I’d fought.

How did he find out?

“Legolas…” My brother’s fist connected with Aragorn’s jaw, sending the Dunedain falling to the floor.

“Aragorn!” There no longer was a point in hiding my feelings, so without hesitation, I rushed to his side, carefully cradling his face. “Are you alright, nin mel?” Aragorn nodded, smiling softly at me. I couldn’t help but smile back.

Then I turned to my brother.

“Legolas, listen to us, please.” My voice was pleading, something that pulled Legolas’ mind out of the rage it was consumed by. His face softened and turned from plain enraged to a concerned frown. He turned to me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I shook my head, slowly getting to my feet.

“I didn’t dare hanar…I know how protective you are of me. Hell, you scared away every suitor I’ve ever had. Although you are no comparison to ada.” The last line made Legolas’ chuckle in agreement.

There was a pause where a heavy sigh left his lips before he approached his long term friend who was still on the floor. He hesitated before reaching out his hand, pulling Aragorn back to his feet.

“I am sorry…it was rage that spoke and acted through me.” Aragorn nodded and pulled Legolas in for a hug. I sighed in relief that the two of them had made up. The last thing I wanted was to tear the two apart after all those years of friendship and companionship. One of the reason Aragorn and I agreed to keep our relationship secret.

A few years later:

“Where is my favorite little niece?” The giggles echoing through the clearing brought a smile to face as I watched Legolas chase after Y/D/N. Butterflies and bees rose from the flowers as the two of them ran by.

The sound of quiet mewling brought my gaze back to the bundle I was holding in my arms. My smile grew as I watched my son’s eyes move around, trying to take in the scenery above him. I moved my hand and gently stroked his cheek making him turn his face and latch onto my finger. Aragorn chuckled beside me.

“I think someone’s hungry.” I agreed with a laugh and quickly freed my left breast, watching my song drink happily.

Before I knew it, Legolas returned, carrying the small princess on his shoulders. Aragorn got to his feet and picked up his daughter, spinning around in circled while holding onto her tight. Her laughs echoed around us and caught Y/S/N’s attention as he stopped nursing and instead turned to look at his sister and father.

A smiled spread on his little chubby face and he started to flail his arms around as if, he too, was being spun around. I chuckled as I watched him before quickly covering myself again.

Legolas sat down next to me and used a small twig with a few leaves on it to catch his nephew’s attention. I chuckled as my son reached up trying to catch the leaves that were being held just outside his reach.

“You know…I still think about the day I punched Aragorn sometimes.” I turned to look at my brother and frowned.

“Why?” Legolas looked at me, a soft smile on his lips.

“Because I can’t believe that I was actually trying to prevent this future. Your future, with him and your children. And me. I am happy everything worked out.” I smiled at my brother before I let my eyes wander to my husband and daughter.

“Yeah…me too.”

#aragorn #aragorn fanfic #aragorn fanfiction #aragorn oneshot #aragorn x reader #aragorn imagine #lord of the rings #lotr #lotr x reader #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr imagine #lotr oneshot #request wednesday #legolas #legolas x sister!reader

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mimilind · 1 year

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Hooded Stranger - Part 5

Gif source.

♕ ♕ ♕

Pairing: Aragorn x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 1050

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

♕ ♕ ♕

5. Village

Before leaving, Estel packed a few things, and donned his cloak to hide his bandaged leg and the crutches.

The village looked no more cheerful in daylight, and you felt a bit sorry for its inhabitants – who seemed to be almost exclusively male.

“Where are all women and children?” you asked.

“Further north, near the ruins of Fornost. This is only a ranger outpost,” he explained. “There are several places like this in the wildlands surrounding Bree and the Shire.”

“Weird that nobody knows about this,” you said. “Or do they, and I’m just ill informed?”

He chuckled, but then turned very serious. “We don’t advertise our presence; it’s not a good idea to draw the wrong people’s attention. There are evil powers at work in Middle-earth.”

You felt a chill trickle down your spine at his ominous tone. Seeing your expression, he added: “But there's still some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for.” The way he looked at you made you feel included in that ‘good’.

“There certainly is,” you agreed earnestly. Your eyes met.

He broke eye-contact first. “That building over there is the stables,” he said, a bit breathlessly.

When you entered it, you drew in the pleasant smell of horses and hay. They only had a few horses, and Estel explained they were mostly used for sending messages between the ranger settlements.

“Is it alright if we share a horse? Otherwise I must lead the spare one back afterwards, and it’s a bit cumbersome.”

“Of course.”

Despite his injury, Estel had no trouble mounting the large bay he had chosen. Reaching down to take your hand, he pulled you up to sit behind, and soon you were off at a canter.

A short way outside the outpost he stopped to remove his cloak, which was too warm for a summer ride. He gave it to you to sit on instead, since the saddle was only wide enough for one.

You bravely snuck your arms around his waist, pretending you needed it to remain seated, and leaned your head against his broad back. His stomach felt hard and flat under your palms.

On horseback, it only took a few hours to reach your home. When you neared it, you suddenly wanted the journey to last longer. You did not want Estel to go.

“How are you celebrating Midsummer Day?” you asked.

“Not much. Perhaps splitting a keg with the men. Why?”

“Well, now you had the trouble of riding all this way, perhaps I could invite you to our village feast? There will be plenty of food, dancing, games, all sort of things.”

To your surprise, Estel promptly accepted your offer. “That sounds fun!” Then he added: “But don’t tell them my name. Call me Thorongil.”

“What? How many names do you have?”

“Several. This is my alias. For safety.”

You shook your head amusedly, but agreed to do as told.

When you entered the main road, everyone stared at the horse, and even more so at the tall man in front of you. Your parents seemed a bit suspicious of your guest at first, but when you explained how you had helped him, and gave them the three silver coins, they instantly changed to become very friendly indeed.

He was even offered the only bedroom, forcing your parents to sleep with you and your younger siblings in the kitchen.

As much as you enjoyed being with your family after spending a year apart, you very soon got tired of their chattering and many questions, but Estel seemed not to mind at all. He answered everything readily, making up clever lies about who he was and why he had broken his leg. And thus both the evening and the morning after were spent amiably.

The next day was Midsummer, and the celebration lasted all evening. Estel could not join the dance or the games with his leg, of course, so neither did you. Instead you ate, and drank, and talked, and laughed, and had just about the best day of your life.

The more you got to know Estel, the better you liked him. He smiled almost constantly now, and was so handsome your chest contracted whenever your gaze fell on him – which was often.

In the evening, you did like many other couples, leaving the feast area to take a walk in the twilit summer night.

He took your hand, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to walk hand in hand with him.

The sound of chirping crickets filled the air, and it smelled faintly of wild roses. Around you, the trees were covered in the fresh new greens of Midsummer.

"Did you enjoy your day?" you asked after a while.

“Much.”

“Me too.” Your eyes met, and this time neither of you looked away.

Estel cupped your cheek. “I should not do this,” he admitted, and closed the distance between you to press a kiss on your lips.

He was right, you should not do this either. You should not respond to his kiss so fervently, and certainly not let your hands slip around his waist and explore his back and shoulders. You were a decent, orderly person; not a flirt like some inn staff.

But right now you did not care about decency.

His lips tasted from the sweet fruit wine you had shared, and he smelled of pipeweed, and when your exploring fingers traveled under his shirt, his skin was warm and smooth. You loved all of it. He overwhelmed your senses.

As your kiss intensified, you felt his hands on your body too. Everywhere they went, your skin burned.

You paused to breathe. Estel’s face was flushed, and his eyes dark with want. Knowing that he could read the same emotions in you, you took his hand, pulling him down with you on the soft grass.

He spread his cloak, and you lay side by side, gazing deep into one another’s eyes. He kissed you again. In the heat of the moment, the surroundings faded, everything narrowing down to the two of you. Here, and now. Like you were alone in the world.

It was Midsummer; the longest night of the year, and you would make the most of it.

♕ ♕ ♕

Note: The next part is optional, and NSFW lol (pure smut).

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#aragorn x reader #aragorn x you #aragorn #aragorn fanfiction #aragorn fanfic #strider #lotr #lotr fanfiction #fluff #Hooded Stranger

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queeniesrose · 1 year

Text

Happy New Year's y'all. Hope you all are having a good day! Each one will be NSFW and a part of the Modern AU series! I will also be having each character's drabble in its own post!

Master Post

Warning: This is NSFW so if you’re under the legal age or uncomfortable with content like this, please skip over this one!

New Years - Middle Earth

Aragorn: Kiss me.

It had been on your bucket list to watch the ball drop as the new year started. This year, Aragorn had surprised you with tickets to New York to watch it live at Times Square. To say you were excited was an understatement; while the cold was annoying, the atmosphere made up for it. Between the music and the people, you couldn't contain your excitement.

With minutes left before the ball drop, the more excited you got. Aragorn watched as you were bouncing from foot to foot. He smiles down at you, as he pulls you into him. "Almost time Love." He whispers into your ear, placing a kiss on your temple. He turns the both of you towards where the ball, "I glad I was able to bring you here." It wasn't long until people were starting to count down.

With the amount of liquid courage you had downed, you were feeling a little frisky. You couldn't help, but grind against Aragorn as you moved to the music that was still playing as the final seconds were being counted down. As people yelled out 'one', you turned around to face Aragon, "Kiss me, Aragorn. Gods, I love you." The kiss was sweet, but short.

Aragorn cut off the kiss quickly, before he dragged you away from the crowd, getting to a relatively empty area. "I can do more than just kiss you my love." He says, slipping a hand down your pants, teasing your dripping cunt. "You're so wet my love. Seems like you need some help with that."

#The Hobbit #Lord of the Rings #LOTR #Middle Earth #Middle Earth x Reader #Tolkien Universe #Reader #Reader Insert #X Reader #Spicy Queenie #Aragorn x Reader #Aragorn #Middle Earth Aragorn #Reader x Aragorn #Aragorn Fic #Aragorn Fanfic #Middle Earth Aragorn x Reader #Queenie's Modern Middle Earth

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mirkwoodshewolf · 2 years

Text

I am the Celestial of Death Chap. 3; Into the wild

*Author’s note*

Alright and here’s where things take a dark twist with the arrival of the Ringwraiths and the journey of the Ring begins now! Also our hobbit’s first meeting with our beloved Ranger Aragorn. Also the hawk I’ve envisioned Hela to be is a Red Kite hawk so just look up a picture of that and you’ll see why she’s been dubbed the name ‘White wing’. Enjoy this next part my lovely readers!

NEXT CHAPTER

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@byersboys

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queensdivas

@queen-paladin

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Seventeen years later. That’s how long it would be before myself and Aragorn would receive word from Gandalf. And seventeen years that I had to keep up this guise as a hawk.

When I first awoke after my transformation, I took to the skies (of course I’ll admit it took some time to practice flying without Celestial magic helping me). But when I finally got the hang of it, I flew towards the borders of Mirkwood where I met up with Aragorn.

He was at first curious as to why a hawk was always near him but then one night he awoke from his sleep gasping for air and when I went to check on him, he called me by my real name. It made me think that Cain had given him a vision of what happened and he agreed to have me stay at his side until the time would come for me to reveal my true identity.

And so I traveled the wild with Aragorn, or as he was known to the Wild as “Strider” and I was his faithful pet (although I hated being called that). I would be given many names but the most common one that seemed to stick was the name ‘White Wing’ due to the pure white feathers that took up most of my underwings.

I was currently soaring through the stormy night sky heading back to Bree after spotting Frodo and Sam, just like Gandalf had said in his last letter to Aragorn. However unaware to Gandalf’s word, Merry and Pippin also unexpectedly joined alongside with Frodo and Sam. Those two I swear, more trouble and mischievous than Fili and Kili.

And just as I feared the Nazgul were hot on their trail, bidding their time until they would make their move. I flew over the gates of Bree and found myself back at the Prancing Pony Inn. I flew to the window of Aragorn’s room and tapped the window with my beak.

Hidden within the corner smoking his pipe was the heir of Isildur himself. He removed his pipe from his lips and came up to the window and opened it. He extended his gloved hand to me and I perched myself onto it and he closed the window.

“What news mellon?” I let out a series of squawks and thrills, all the while my wings flapping and shaking myself dry. “Two more hobbits?” I squawked in a yes. “Very well. What’s done is done.” Agreed. Even though I did not wish for the others to get involved, especially Pippin. Being the youngest Hobbit out of the three, he’s more likely to get into trouble and not really understand what’s going on.

Aragorn then placed me on his shoulder and I adjusted myself as comfortably as I could get and he walked down the stairs. He set himself down in his usual corner just behind the grand fireplace. The heat from the fire really starting to warm my small bird body up and the single candlestick lighting up our table to give our dark corner some light.

The Inn was fully crowded with the likes of Men and some Hobbit employees surrounding the Inn. All of them feasting and drinking their ale proudly. One drunken fool soon caught sight of me and thought it was best to try and call out to me.

“Oi! Pretty bird! Here pretty bird pretty bird….wanna nice piece of bread.” Even in bird form I still have to suffer catcalls. My narrowed eyes stared at the man as he stumbled his way towards me. I hunched over Aragorn, burying myself into his cloak warning the man to not touch me.

“I would not antagonize her.” Aragorn simply warned the man as he took a sip of his ale.

“What do you know? Your it’s master you can make it do what you want. Come ‘ere yah stupid thing.” I then launched at the drunken fool and attacked his face. Flapping my wings frantically and clawing his face with my talons. He screamed as he fell to the ground waving his arms trying to push me away.

Some people turned our way and it took about 2 minutes for two men to final have the courage to save the man from my wrath. Aragorn whistled and extended his arm and on command I flew back to him, preening my feathers and shaking out my nerves.

“Here now! Don’t you know any better than to mess with a Ranger and his pet bird!?” the Inn-keeper chastised the drunken man. “Get him out o’here.” He told the two men. “M-my apologizes sir. I’ll be happy to give you a cup of Ale and a nice warm loaf of bread, on the house.” The Inn-keeper stammered to Aragorn fearfully.

“That won’t be necessary. But this hawk could do with some your freshest meat.”

“Right away sir.” He bowed his head before quickly scampering off. Aragorn then set me down on the table and said in Elvish. “You did not need to go that far.” I let out a few squawks as my feathers ruffled angrily. “I understand mellon. But I might advise you to be cautious next time. The next person you strike like that might have an arrow or a dagger with your name on it.” I grumbled before turning away from him.

I soon felt his finger scratch and rub against my neck and my annoyance soon faltered and I submitted to his gently touch. I heard him softly chuckle, knowing that he had won me back over.

“You know it’s only because I care for you, right?” I flew back onto his shoulder and nuzzled his jawline with my head squawking lovingly, telling him I felt the same way. My attention soon turned to the door and coming inside were our Hobbits.

I let out a low thrill and Aragorn looked up at the door and whispered in Elvish.

“Are those them?” I gave him a nod. “Keep an eye on them.” He adjusted his hood so that it hid more of his face and he proceeded to go back to his pipe. Soon enough my meal had arrived and Aragorn tore a part of the meat off and lifted it up for me to eat.

I got off his shoulder so that I could feed myself. Even after almost 2 decades of keeping this form, I’m still not used to eating the way a bird eats. Sometimes I do miss having my hands to eat, drink and clean myself.

All the while we kept an ear open to what Frodo was telling the Inn-keeper that they’d wish to see Gandalf. Even giving a false name of Underhill (guess he was inspired by Bilbo’s tale on how he fooled Smaug into telling him where he came from). The Inn-keeper at first perplexed about Gandalf’s name but then he remembered the description before telling Frodo that he hadn’t been seen here in six months.

“What do we do now?” asked Sam. Without much choice, the four hobbits decided to get a table, some food and ale to drink while they would wait for Gandalf. 15 minutes passed later and still no sign of Gandalf.

“Sam, he’ll be here. He’ll come.” Frodo assured him. Merry soon sat back down at the table and Pippin asked him.

“What’s that?”

“This my friend is a pint.”

“It comes in pints?” Pippin asked amazed. Merry hummed in a nod as he took a sip of the large pint of ale he had just received. “I’m getting one.” Pippin said urgently before getting up and heading for the bar.

“You’ve had a whole half already!” Sam lectured. But, as usual for Pippin, he didn’t listen to Sam and perched himself up on a stool asking the bartender for a pint of ale. That’s when I saw Sam turn his attention towards Aragorn and I. I let out a squawk and flapped my wings eagerly before perching myself back up onto Aragorn’s shoulders. “That fellow and his bird has done nothing but stare at you since we arrived.”

Frodo turned to look at us and I lowered my body as I kept my eyes focused on him. Sensing the One Ring that I knew he now possessed.

“Excuse me.” Frodo asked the Inn-keeper who was passing by with a tray of bread and three mugs of ale. “That man in the corner there with the hawk. Who is he?”

“He’s one of them Rangers. Very dangerous folk, they are, wandering the wilds. What his right name is, I never heard. But around here, he’s known as Strider. And that hawk of his has clawed out more eyes h’re than I can count. Heard it’s name in passing to be ‘White Wing’.” The Inn-keeper walked away from Frodo to deliver the bread and ale to the next table.

“Strider? And White Wing?” I preened my wings before shaking my head as Aragorn continued to smoke his pipe. My keen hawk eyes caught sight of the Ring being fiddled between Frodo’s hands and from there I could hear Sauron’s voice in my head once again.

‘Hela……Celestial of Death……’ I shook my head and curled into Aragorn’s neck. He reached up to stroke my back with his two fingers soothingly bringing me back from the temptation of the Ring.

“Baggins? Sure I know a Baggins. He’s over there, Frodo Baggins.” Pippin’s voice soon rang out loudly over the chaotic pub. He then began to explain to the men at the bar how he and Frodo were related to one another, as Frodo quickly raced up to shut Pippin up.

“Pippin!”

“Steady on Frodo!” whine Pippin as he took back his arm from Frodo’s grip. Frodo then suddenly slipped and the Ring was tossed up into the air. Aragorn perked up as the Ring also caught his attention. Frodo lifted his right hand, and as soon as the Ring slipped onto his finger…..POOF! Frodo disappeared.

The pub was in an uproar of chatter and gasps of shock, amazement but most of all fear. Oh if I could use Druig’s powers right now I’d make this entire pub forget what they had just seen.

“We need to make our move. Find him Hela.” I flew around the pub and still being connected to my own Celestial power, I was able to pinpoint Frodo’s exact location.

When Frodo suddenly reappeared by the leg of a table I came right at his face shrieking and squawking at him. Flying around his head frantically.

“Go away!” Frodo swatted at me. I dodged his feeble attempt to shoo me away when Aragorn finally came up and grabbed Frodo by his shoulder and pulled him up against the wall.

“You draw far too much attention to yourself, Mr. Underhill.” Aragorn sneered before forcing him up the stairs and into our room. He shoved Frodo down to the ground before shutting the door behind him. Frodo stood up beside the fireplace asking.

“What do you want?”

“Little more caution from you. That is no trinket you carry.” Aragorn said as I landed by the window.

“I carry nothing.” Frodo argued but Aragorn immediately responded back.

“Indeed.” He licked his fingers before dousing the candlelight by the window as he explained the Frodo. “The hawk and I can avoid being seen if we wish, but to disappear entirely. That is a rare gift.” Aragorn removed his hood before turning to Frodo, allowing the young hobbit to see his face.

“Who are you?” asked Frodo.

“Are you frightened?” Aragorn asked snidely. After a brief pause, Frodo responded with a ‘yes’. However that answer did not please Aragorn. “Not nearly frightened enough. We know what hunts you.” I turned to the door and let out some frantic squawks and screeches warning Aragorn that someone was coming.

He took out his sword and turned towards the door just as it opened to reveal Merry, Pippin and Sam. Pippin and Merry armed with a stool and an iron candle holder respectively, while Sam had only his bare fists up.

“Let him go! Or I’ll have you, Longshanks.” Sam growled defensively. Aragorn stood down and said as he put his sword back into its sheath.

“You have a stout heart little Hobbit. But that will not save you. You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They’re coming.” Too late!

Frantically I flew around the window squeaking in warning. The Four of the nine were here in Bree! Coming for the Ring and to kill the Ringbearer who now possesses it.

“What is your bird so frightened of? Who’s coming?” Pippin asked.

“There’s not much time to explain. It’s best if you all get some rest. We have a long journey ahead of us come first light.”

“We’re not sleeping until we—” Sam started but Frodo stopped him by saying.

“He’s right.” Sam, Merry and Pippin looked at Frodo in shock.

“Frodo, you can’t be serious trusting the man who tried to capture you.” Merry said.

“You’ve seen what is hunting us. I can sense that they are here. Just like White Wing senses them.” Frodo turned to me and I tilted my head at him, my inner eyelids quickly blinking at him.

“There won’t be much light in this room. We cannot risk being exposed to them. So if anyone fears the dark, there is worse that you need to fear.” Aragorn stated as he began to dim the fireplace down.

A bit of time went by and soon Merry, Pippin and Sam had fallen dead asleep in Aragorn’s bed, while Frodo remained awake staring at Aragorn and I. The two of us sat close to the window at the inn building across from us where we made our disguise up for the Wraiths.

My keen eyes seeing through the darkness as the Nazgul silently crept up towards the four Hobbit-sized beds that were stuffed with pillows to make it seem like 4 Hobbits were fast asleep. Each one holding their swords downward over the beds before stabbing the sheets frantically and rapidly.

Merry, Sam and Pippin woke up in fear as they heard the sound of the black horses the Wraiths came riding in on, go frantic outside. Sensing their Masters’ hatred and rage. Soon the piercing scream of the Nazgul echoed as they figured out they had been played for fools. Turning the beds over before quickly retreating back outside to their horses.

I winced at hearing their agonizing shrieks. Now that I was more in tune with my own personal magic, I could not only hear their screams but I could feel their hatred, their pain, their rage. Aragorn gently stroked my back before whispering to me in Elvish.

“Steady my friend. Easy. They’ll be gone soon.” As the Nazgul mounted their horses, Frodo asked us.

“Who are they?” as their piercing screams continued to echo in the night, Aragorn and I turned towards the Hobbits and Aragorn told them the tale of how the Nazgul came to be.

“They were once Men. Great Kings of Men. Then Sauron the deceiver gave to them Nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question. One by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgul, Ringwraiths. Neither Living nor Dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you.” I pulled a strand of his hair with my beak and lectured him to cease this talk of horror before bedtime.

He gave me a slight narrowed glare but I glared back at him. He sighed deeply and said to them.

“We leave at first light.” The four of them nodded and without any more questions, they got some more needed rest. Because once we left, we would not stop again until nightfall.

When the first light came into the sky, Aragorn woke the Hobbits up and we prepared for our departure from Bree. After saddling up a horse named Bill with all their supplies, we walked deep into the wild to get as far from the Nazgul as we could.

“Where are you taking us?” asked Frodo.

“Into the Wild.” Replied Aragorn. As he walked on ahead. I flew on to scout ahead while keeping close to my friends. I spotted a safe trail for us to cross without the Nazgul able to follow us. Aragorn stopped by a tree and I flew beside him squawking out my response. “Well done White Wing. Lead us on.” I flew ahead and Aragorn followed right behind me.

“How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?” I heard Merry say to Frodo.

“I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer, and feel fouler.”

“He’s foul enough. Plus he’s as mad as a loon, talking to a bird and all.” Merry muttered. I softly let out a series of squawked laughter when a small pebble was tossed in my direction. I turned only to see Aragorn looking ahead marching on as if nothing happened.

“We have no choice but to trust him.”

“But where is he leading us?” asked Sam who was in the back, handling our carrier horse Bill.

“To Rivendell Master Gamgee.” Aragorn answered. “To the House of Elrond.”

“Did you hear that? Rivendell. We’re going to see the Elves.” Sam asked excitedly. Much like Bilbo in his younger years, Samwise Gamgee has always longed to see the Elves of Middle Earth. He was also fascinated by the old stories of their magic, strength and wisdom.

Onward we continued through the wild, over hills and mountain trails until we reached the snowy passage. A semi-steep hill over some mountains before we would reach the marsh pits. Aragorn extended his hand and I landed on it.

“Any sign of them?” he spoke softly in Elvish. I told him that they had to back-track from the steep mountain cliff we had climbed earlier this morning. The trail they were on would take them twice as long to meet us if we kept this pace.

He gave me a gentle stroke on my back before turning to the Hobbits who were about to prepare for Second Breakfast.

“Gentlemen, we do not stop till nightfall.”

“What about breakfast?” asked Pippin.

“You’ve already had it.” Aragorn said to Pippin, almost as if the young hobbit had forgotten why we had delayed our leaving from the borders of Bree.

“We’ve had one yes. What about Second breakfast?” Pippin retorted back. Aragorn didn’t respond but walked further along as Merry told him.

“Don’t think he knows about second breakfast Pip.” As I could hear Pippin name out all seven Hobbit meals, pleading if Aragorn knew of it, I let out some squawks as I flew around him.

“Seven meals a day?” I nodded. Aragorn sighed heavily, placing a hand over his face. “At this rate we’ll never get ahead of them if we have to keep stopping.” I looked around and spotted an apple tree. I flew towards the branch and using my beak, I broke the twig that held the stem and it dropped to the floor.

Aragorn walked towards it and picked it up. I continued to break apart a few apples and he picked them up as well. He looked up to me and I down at him as the feathers around my chest and head ruffled up affectionately and I let out some cooing sounds.

“You really do care for them, don’t you?” I nodded. He relented and tossed one apple over the trees to which I knew Merry had caught. Aragorn tossed another one and I heard it hit Pippin’s head and Merry called out his name. I flew down and perched myself onto Aragorn’s shoulder and gave him a grateful nuzzle into his neck. “Can’t very well let them starve.” After tossing all the apples overhead and the four hobbits soon appearing out from the trees we continued onward.

We soon arrived at the marsh pits. The foul smell of swamps, the annoying buzzing of flies, gnats and mosquitoes flying around us trying to get under our skins, in our eyes and noses, or suck out our blood. The hobbits and our pony Bill were the ones struggling most through this swamp.

“What do they eat, when they can’t get Hobbit?” Merry asked as he kept slapping his body from all the mosquitoes that were trying to get at him. Pippin tripped over some muddy moss and found himself face first in the muddy water.

I flew over and grabbed his shirt and pulled his arm up telling him to stand back up. He shook his head like a dog trying to rid of the muddy water which in turn got on me. I flew and shook myself dry as I flew overhead.

“Sorry.” He said and I let out a squawk at him before flying back towards Aragorn.

When nightfall came, we finally were able to rest. Aragorn had come back with a large buck for him and the Hobbits to feast on while I flew with a dead snake in my talons. I landed on a large rock and set the snake down before grabbing it with my beak and slamming it down on the rock a few times. The Hobbits staring at me in disgust and horror at my display of violence before I finally tore into the snake and began to devour it.

“It’s purely nature my dear Hobbits. All creatures need to eat, no matter the means. Unless for sport which White Wing never does, she takes whatever she can get her talons into.” Aragorn explained to them as he began cutting into the deer meat.

“How did you find her exactly?” asked Sam.

“Yeah. She almost seems—to tamed to be a wild hawk. With the way she is around you Strider.” Merry added.

“Believe me gentlemen. She is as wild as any other bird you see. But to answer your question she actually found me.” As I swallowed some of the snake meat, I turned towards Aragorn and softly thrilled as I ruffled my feathers and then preened them. “She was shot by an Orc arrow when she managed to collapse at my camp. The poison had spread throughout her entire body, I thought she wasn’t going to last. But with time and patience, she began to recover in my care until 4 months later I sent her away. A couple years after that, I had accidentally came across a mother bear and her cubs. The mother bear nearly mauled me to death when White Wing found me and attacked the mother bear. Clawed out one eye and gave a nasty scar to the other, the mother bear retreated. From that day on, she hasn’t left my side. A life for a life. She is my golden eye in the sky, and I am her healer.”

Aragorn spun the tale that we both agreed to share if anyone asks of who or what I was doing with Aragorn.

“A mutual understanding.” Sam said.

“An animal’s loyalty holds no bounds. But I never try to tame her nor treat her like a common pet. She is free to leave me if she deems it. Plus I have not the heart to cage her.” I lovingly squawked at Aragorn before returning to my snake dinner.

After prepping the deer meat as he told the story, he passed it out to the Hobbits who then roasted their meat over the very small fire they had made (so that we wouldn’t be spotted by the Ringwraiths).

As the night went on, the Hobbits were now fast asleep after the long day they had while Aragorn and I took watch for the night. As Aragorn smoked his pipe, he sung underneath his breath the ballad of Lúthien.

While Aragorn continued to sing, I flew down and curled myself onto his shoulder. I stretched out my wings and let out a yawn before curling up close and falling asleep to his gentle lullaby. It also helped when his fingers began soothingly run down my head and neck.

“Who is she?” Frodo softly asked. I felt Aragorn turn around which caused me to wake back up. “This woman you sing of.” Aragorn turned back away from Frodo before saying.

“Tis the lady of Lúthien. The elf-maiden who gave her love to Beren. A mortal.”

“What happened to her?” asked Frodo. Aragorn was silent for a moment before he replied solemnly.

“She died.” Now I’ve told him the true tale of Lúthien and Beren so there is more to the story, but there was a feeling in me that he wasn’t referring to the real Lady Lúthien, but his Lúthien. His elf-maiden, Arwen. “Get some sleep Frodo.” He said gently to the Hobbit. Frodo nodded before drifting back to sleep on his bedroll.

Aragorn sighed heavily and I gave him a gentle head nuzzle on his cheek. He turned to me and I let out some soft trills and squawks.

“How can you be so sure of that? You know that Elves can die of a broken heart. Even if I did marry Arwen, she’d have to suffer a great loss when I passed on into the next world.” I let out a few squawks telling him that it is better that she found love in you than never have loved at all. That she wanted no one but him, just like Lúthien before her wanted only Beren.

He softly scoffed but smiled at me sympathetically as he gave me a gently scratch under my chin.

“Get some rest White wing. You especially need it.” I trilled softly before tucking my wings back in and curled myself inward on Aragorn’s shoulder before falling fast asleep again. This time Aragorn singing an old Celestial song I taught him that Ajak used to sing to all the newborn Celestials.

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ironmandeficiency · 11 months

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the fellowship + romance

characters included: aragorn, boromir, gimli, legolas, pippin

word count: 1177

summary: just some soft shit bc these men are all sappier than any tree in the greenwood

a/n: there’s still an overwhelming lack of gimli content that needs to be fixed and i will do my part

aragorn 🗡️

aragorn’s quiet presence is the warmest blanket on a cold night, the first bite of a meal you slaved over for hours, every comfort you’ve ever experienced

he’s never been one for overwhelming displays of his affections; instead, he shows you in simple ways that add up - giving you the more full bowls of broth, laying his blanket over you if he notices you shivering during night watch, sharpening your weapons (this one had gimli nearly brought to tears by the devotion it spoke of), anything that helps your days pass easier

he grew up around stories of elves who committed astounding feats in the name of those they loved, fighting wars and risking their lives with alarming frequency. but none of them ever talked about the everyday ways they showed love. his mother taught him what she could about those things, stories of his father’s steady presence and stalwart love for his family. a young aragorn took these lessons to heart and used them when the time was right

it was why, when he caught his heart skipping beats around you, he let his actions do the speaking for him. without fail you would thank him with a soft smile, slowly coming to realize that aragorn felt something much deeper for you than camaraderie. when you woke up early one morning to find your weapons sharper than they were the day before (not for the first time), you went straight to aragorn and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. he nearly dropped your bowl of stew in his flustered state

having your affections secured didn’t mean he stopped his small acts of kindness, it did quite the opposite. it just made him bolder and more confident in his actions

boromir 🍻

this man is so damn tactile it’s ridiculous

if you’re the cuddly type like he is, it makes him all the more eager to always have some form of physical contact with you, no matter where you may be

unless you tell him to back off, he is always touching you one way or another. a gentle hand on the small of your back, your pinkies interlocked, an arm wrapped around your shoulder, anything to keep you close to him

his favorite time of day eventually becomes the end of it, because that’s when he can hold you close and whisper soft words of love in your ear while he holds you. he makes it his goal to give you a goodnight kiss every night you spend together

the best cuddle position in his mind is you leaning your back against his chest, one of his hands resting on your hip where his thumb rubs small circles above the bone, and his chin resting on your shoulder just right to where he can turn his head to kiss your cheek or burrow his face into your neck

gimli 🛡️

valiantly is the best way to describe how gimli approaches any situation he comes upon, including (and especially) matters of the heart

this is a dwarf who says what he means & means what he says, who does nothing that he wouldn’t be proud of the next day. because of this, you couldn’t find it in you to not believe him when he professed his love for you with such unwavering confidence you were nearly brought to tears. gimli never said anything just because his lips could move so you simply had to believe him

will do you favors big and small simply because he wants to help you however possible. you can’t remember the last time you carried your own pack or made your own bowl of soup. if you encouraged him (which you wouldn’t), this romantic fool would not let you lift another finger for as long as you both live

he grew up watching his parents with keen eyes, his adad showing him by example how a true dwarf treats their one. he embodies these lessons with every interaction with you, striving to be the one you deserve him to be. it ranges from the ferocity of his protection to opening doors for you. may mahal strike him down if he ever hurts you

he just wants to be a dwarf you’re proud to love, proud to call yours

legolas 🏹

physical affection can be difficult for him, but one thing legolas is good at doing is speaking his mind and his heart

if you thought his regular speaking pattern was overflowing with poetic descriptors, you’ve heard nothing compared to when he’s being truly romantic. no one you’d been with before had ever described you with such beautiful prose, never whispered soft poetry about your eyes to lull you to sleep

and he’s a cheeky bastard about it too! it’ll be a regular conversation between friends, nothing important, then BAM! he’s making quippy one-liners about your overwhelming skill/beauty/personality that catch you off guard and has your friends cackling at your flustered reaction to his flattery

even better, his praise will often include sindarin and on the off chance you don’t speak it, you’ll have to gauge the meaning from the silent looks shared between your dear elf and aragorn (doesn’t really work). eventually legolas tells you what some of them mean; after all, he needs to have an element of intrigue about him or his name isn’t legolas thranduillion

he carries a lot of pride for you and will brag about you to anyone who listens, his melleth being one of unparalleled skill and beauty and bright laughter that carries his soul on great wings

pippin 🥕

his already strong need to be silly and foolish grows exponentially when he finds out how happy it makes you

pip doesn’t care what it is you ask of him, he will do anything to hear your laugh. he’ll put baby carrots in his nostrils, respond to conversations exclusively in farm animal noises, he will even do his spot-on impressions of the rest of the fellowship and make them say all sorts of silly things

the best one to date is him doing an aragorn impression that consists of all the different ways he says legolas’s name

you’ve never heard such astounding colloquialisms from anyone until you met pippin - “don’t eat half the berries and say the pie shell’s too big,” “his cornbread isn’t done in the middle,” “if brains were leather, he wouldn't have enough to saddle a junebug” - and each time he says one, there’s always a not-so-subtle look to you so he can see your reaction. the ones that get the most laughs are used a little bit more, just enough to not lose their appeal but enough to hear your laughter all the more often

there is a single-minded determination to hear your snort when you laugh at something he says, and he will not rest until you do. his personal goal to do this resets each time you do actually snort, him now aiming for the next joke or prank that will bring it out again

#gimli x reader #legolas x reader #aragorn x reader #boromir x reader #pippin took x reader #lotr x reader #lord of the rings imagine #lotr imagine #lord of the rings fanfic #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings reader insert #lotr reader insert #aragorn imagine #boromir imagine #gimli imagine #pippin took imagine #legolas imagine

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pastanest · 1 year

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if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to the very lovely friends who have relentlessly sifted through tumblr archives to recover them, thank you all so much!! ♡

LOTR Characters - Falling Asleep With Him

Thranduil

The Elven King prefers to sleep with his head on your chest or in the crook of your neck; he tells you that this is because he can only fall asleep when you are running your fingers through his hair, and this is true, but it is not his sole motive for this sleeping position - in his mind, sleeping on top of you provides you with added security against any potential attack. While he isnt paranoid about this, he is protective of you, and if he can provide you with further safety in any circumstance, he will. Thranduil believes that by lying on top of you, any attacker would quite literally have to go through him before they could get to you, and he is by no means against saving your life by sacrificing his own. He would rather you not know this, because if you did, you would not allow him to sleep on top of you ever again, but in truth, your motivations for wanting to sleep on him are the same. Considering he’s around 6’10”, he is considerably taller than you, and his body smothers yours in a way that is beyond comforting. Thranduil enjoys listening to your heartbeat, it soothes him greatly to feel you so close to him, to hear the very essence of your life force, and he has done well to attune himself to the beat of your heart; so much so, that he will often tease you by kissing your neck in order to feel your heart splutter frantically. Elves do not have much of a need for sleep, but this is not to say that they do not enjoy sleeping, and when it comes to the act of slumber, there is no better place to sleep than in the arms of a King who loves you.

Legolas

Physical affection and various forms of intimacy are all unexplored areas for this Elf, and it will be up to you to introduce him to those when the two of you are ready. At first, falling asleep with Legolas is a little awkward, given that he is fully alert and his entire body rigid, because he doesnt quite know what to do with himself. He lies awake, watching your sleeping head rise and fall on his chest with a look of bewildered love in his eyes. After a few hours, he slowly wraps his arms around you, and in your sleep, you smile. Your reaction causes Legolas’ heart to skip a beat, and he is once again unsure of what to do next. He does not sleep that night, instead stays conscious and studies your sleeping movements, trying to learn the habits of your subconscious so that he can adjust himself to them. Over time, Legolas becomes progressively more comfortable, and even manages to fall asleep himself. His movements with you are careful and calculated, never wanting to disturb you or cause you discomfort. Legolas knows how important sleep is in keeping up your strength and preserving your health, so he makes sure you get enough sleep each night, and if anyone’s presence threatens to wake you, Legolas will not hesitate to request their exit in a hushed whisper and perhaps an icy glare if they are deserving of it.

Frodo

Both during and after his adventures, Frodo is plagued by nightmares whenever he closes his eyes, and this has often resorted in him attempting to completely avoid sleep. More times than you can count, you have caught him desperately trying to keep his eyes open, his head lulling into unconsciousness for a fraction of a second before Frodo jerks himself awake again. It was during your time with him on his adventures, shortly after you’d met through the Fellowship requesting your assistance, that you offered your services to him. On the first occasion that you saw him trying to stay awake, you happened to be on watch, making you the only other member of the Fellowship that was awake with him. You recognised his struggle, the cause for his reluctance, and you sat down beside him, causing him to jump in surprise because he had been so focussed on keeping his eyes open that he hadnt seen you move. You wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into your side, he naturally curled into you, but the poor hobbit was overcome with awkward hesitance. He smiled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at your comforting gesture, and after a short conversation in which you promised to protect him in the land of dreams, Frodo allowed himself to drift into sleep. From that moment on, you were at his side the moment he showed signs of tiring, and throughout his adventures you were the only being that could calm his tormented soul into a peaceful slumber. He would either be tucked into your side, or resting his head on your chest, whatever position felt most comfortable each night, but always with your arms around him, and always with a soft smile on both of your faces. He wouldnt dare tell you, but from the first night you held him, you have appeared in his dreams and fought off all dark forces that swarmed him, and no existing words could express his gratitude for your existence.

Samwise

Samwise Gamgee’s shyness got the best of him around you for a long time, you merely mentioning the prospect of cuddling was enough to enflame his cheeks and expect a stuttered response, and after a little while you decided that its best not to voice these things with Sam. Instead, you choose to casually initiate them. Whether it be holding his hand while in discussion with others, kissing his cheek whenever you had to leave his side, or resting your head on his shoulder as you sit around a campfire with the Fellowship, your actions without explanation left Sam flustered, but not hesitant, because by surprising him, you showed him that these actions were perfectly alright. This extended to falling asleep with him, too. You started slow, pretending to be asleep and subtly snuggling up to him, just to judge his reaction. Apparently, when you’re asleep the idea of affection is far less daunting to Sam, because he was quick to pull you into his arms and place a kiss on your forehead, and you could feel the smile on his lips. Considering how well that went, you decided to open your eyes and kiss him, revealing that you had been mischeviously pretending to sleep the entire time. Sam chuckled and shook his head as he blushed, but he seemed at ease, and after that his hesitance towards affection all but evaporated into thin air. He will adapt to whatever sleeping position you find most comfortable each evening, but you know that his favourite sleeping positions involve your head on his chest with one of your hands in his hair, and the other held tightly in his hand, and unless either of you are wounded to the extent of that position being uncomfortable for you, you will almost definitely wake up in that position every morning.

Aragorn

The angsty King of romance is slow and tender with you in every area of your relationship (wink wonk), and falling asleep is no exception. Considering the sheer mass of occasions in which you have seen him almost die, it is no surprise that you value the moments spent in his arms, and Aragorn is very aware of this. He has heard your shallow, panicked breaths calm as soon as you feel his arms around you, his kiss on your forehead, his wordless reassurances that remind you he is still there, still breathing with you. No matter how wonderful your day with him as been, once you are in bed with him and the night is silent, you remember the nights you’ve fallen asleep sobbing into the sheets because someone has delivered you the news that Aragorn is dead, dead from some heroic deed, sacrificing his life for another, being the brave knight you knew he was, and that makes it so much harder to disbelieve every time. But every single time, Aragorn has returned to you, and you have felt your heart beat back to life at the sight of him. These memories haunt you, and your wounded heart can only be healed by feeling the beat of his. As a result, you often fall asleep with your palm or ear pressed to his chest, the sound of his heartbeat lulling you into a blissful sleep, his arms holding you tightly against him as his fingertips play with your hair or dance along your back. Sometimes, after long days spent apart, Aragorn will sing you to sleep with the most beautiful songs, some in languages that you dont understand, but all beautiful sounds regardless. Though you’ve never told him for fear of plaguing him with guilt, Aragorn knows your heart is splintered because of him, and he will lie awake every night with you in his arms, not allowing himself to fall asleep until he is certain you are already exploring your unconscious mind, and sometimes, just before he chooses to fall asleep, he will hold you just a little closer to him and kiss the top of your head, a single tear escaping his eyes as they close. A tear being a mixture of sadness for the pain he has caused you and the bliss at being able to hold you again, is the last telltale sign of Aragorn’s consciousness.

#aragorn x reader #legolas x reader #frodo baggins x reader #samwise gamgee x reader #aragorn #legolas #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #lord of the rings #lotr #imagine #imagines #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil

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theglassofmiddleearth · 10 months

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Imagine you enter the woods of Lothlorien with the Fellowship.

Gimli: Stay close, young hobbits! They say a great sorceress lives in these woods. An Elf-Witch.

Y/N: *Smirks* Of terrible power?

Gimli: Tis no joke m'lady. All who look upon her fall under her spell.

Galadriel: *Telepathically* Frodo..

Gimli: And are never seen again.

Y/N: Do not fear little ones. We will keep you from harm.

Samwise: We should be saying that to you Y/N.

Galadriel: You're coming to us, is as the footsteps of doom.

Galadriel: *Telepathically* You bring great evil here. Ring bearer.

Sam: Mr Frodo?

Gimli: Well, here's one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox.

The elves of the Lothlórien woods appears with bows.

Y/N: *Unsurprised* Is that right?

Haldir: The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark.

Y/N: *Stifles a chuckle*

They walk to Lórien

Haldir: *In elvish* Well met, Legolas son of Thranduil.

Legolas: Our Fellowship stands in your debt. Haldir of Lórien.

Y/N: Yep, I love it when he speaks elvish. *She smiles down at the hobbits.*

Haldir: Ah, Aragorn of the Dúnedain. You are known to us.

Aragorn: Haldir..

Haldir: Pethryn.

Y/N: *Nods silently.*

Gimli: So much for the legendary courtesy of the Elves. Speak words we can all understand.

Y/N: *Grins* They are greeting eachother. Be patient my friend.

Haldir: *In the common tongue* We have not had dealings with the dwarves since the Dark Days.

Gimli: And you know what this Dwarf says to that? Ishkhaqwi ai duru- (I spit upon your gra-)

Y/N: *Stops Gimli with her hand and gentle taps his shoulder.* Now now Gimli.

Aragorn: That was not so courteous.

Haldir: *Turns to look at Frodo.* You bring great evil with you. You can go no further.

Aragorn: *In elvish* We need your protection, the road is fell. Please we need your support.

Legolas: Y/N, you understand Sindarin?

Y/N: What, me solving the riddle wasn't enough for you? *She grins*

Aragorn: *In Elvish* I wish we may come with you. The road is very dangerous Haldir.

Boromir: Gandalf's death was not in vain. Nor would he have you give up hope. You carry a heavy burden Frodo. Don't carry the weight of the dead.

Haldir: You will follow me.

They travel to Caras Galadhon.

Haldir: Caras Galadhon.

Y/N: The heart of Elvendom on earth.

Haldir: Realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light.

Y/N: *Smirks to Aragorn.* I get to see the pretty elves again.

Aragorn: *Rolls his eyes*

Legolas: *Mutters* Am I not a pretty elf?

Y/N: *Laughs* You are the prettiest of all elves Miluir ("Lovely one" in Sindarin)

Legolas: *Gapes in surprise.*

Y/N: *Chuckles and walks away.*

Legolas: Wait! What did you just call me? Say it again!

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thewulf · 1 month

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Veiled Allegiance || Aragorn

Summary: Request: I was wondering if I could request an Aragorn x reader where the fellowship is already on their quest and maybe the reader is a ranger or just a good fighter but maybe she saves Aragorn’s life and he asks her to join them... Read Rest Here

A/N: Ahhh loved writing this one! Thank you so much for the request. As always, please keep them coming!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.5k +

TW: General LOTR triggers, anxiety, orcs, bows, knives, killing creatures

The forest whispered secrets to those who dared to listen, its ancient boughs swaying in a silent dance with the wind. Among the shadows, you moved with the grace of a predator, your cloak melding seamlessly with the darkness that coated the land. You were a Ranger of Ithilien, a ghost in the night, your past veiled in mystery and your purpose known only to yourself.

It was amidst the tangled undergrowth of the woods that you stumbled upon them; a ragtag group of travelers bound by a common purpose. The Fellowship, they called themselves, their faces etched with determination and the weight of their quest heavy upon their shoulders. And yet, amidst the weariness and uncertainty, there burned a flicker of hope, a flame that refused to be extinguished. You followed and listened to the nine males walking towards their sure death, so you learned. Who in their right mind would travel to the dark with such determination?

At first, you observed from the shadows, your keen eyes taking in every detail, every nuance of their interactions. You watched as they argued and laughed, their friendship a testament to the bonds that bound them together. And though you remained on the periphery, a silent observer in a world not your own, a part of you longed for the connection they shared.

It was on a fateful night, beneath the shadow of darkness, that your paths would intersect in unexpected ways. The Fellowship found themselves beset by enemies; their camp surrounded by creatures hungry for blood. With blades drawn and hearts pounding, they prepared to face their assailants, unaware of the silent watcher in their midst.

As arrows flew and steel clashed in the night, you swiftly engaged, a lethal force amidst the chaos. Closer to the heart of battle with each fallen foe, your presence epitomized death's fury. Amidst the aftermath, you stood amidst carnage, your cloak stained by enemy blood.

Silence fell heavy, punctuated only by fallen breaths, before the Fellowship turned to you, eyes filled with gratitude and wonder. Bonds formed, destinies entwined, as you found your place among them amidst the battle's ruins.

"You have proven yourself a true ally this night," he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority and respect. "Will you join us on our journey?" For he knew the value of having another person skilled in battle would be for the Fellowship.

His words hung in the air, heavy with significance. You met his gaze, your own eyes searching his for any hint of deception or ulterior motive. But all you found was sincerity, a genuine desire for your companionship on their quest.

For a moment, the weight of his request bore down upon you, the magnitude of the decision looming large in your mind. You had spent so long walking the path of solitude, guarding your heart against the pain of betrayal and loss. To join the Fellowship was to forsake the shadows that had been your home for so long, to step into the light and embrace the bonds of friendship and camaraderie.

But as you looked upon the faces of your newfound acquaintances, their expressions filled with hope and trust, you knew that your journey lay not in solitude, but in the company of kindred spirits. With a nod, you accepted Aragorn's offer, your voice steady as you spoke your oath of allegiance.

"I will join you," you said, your words a solemn vow. "Together, we will face whatever trials lie ahead, united in purpose and bound by the ties that bind us."

And as the Fellowship gathered around you, their voices raised in a chorus of affirmation, you felt a sense of belonging wash over you, a feeling long forgotten amidst the shadows of the past. For in that moment, amidst the ruins of battle, you had found not just allies, but friends—companions on a journey that would test the limits of courage and compassion, and forge bonds stronger than steel.

As the days turned to nights and the Fellowship journeyed ever onward towards their destiny, you found yourself gradually forging connections with each member, your bond with them growing stronger with every shared hardship and triumph.

With Legolas, it was amidst the tranquil beauty of the forests that you found common ground. As fellow guardians of the natural world, you shared a deep appreciation for the wonders of the wilderness, your spirits entwined with the song of the trees and the whisper of the wind. Together, you roamed the woodlands, your laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves as you regaled each other with tales of your travels.

Gimli, though gruff and stubborn at first, soon warmed to your presence, his respect for your prowess in battle matched only by his loyalty to his companions. Through shared trials and triumphs, you earned his trust, your determination and courage earning his admiration. And though your banter was often filled with jests and barbs, beneath the surface lay a bond forged in the fires of battle, unbreakable and true.

With Frodo and Sam, it was a connection born of shared burdens and the weight of destiny. As guardians of the Ring, they bore a heavy burden, their hearts weighed down by the knowledge of the perilous quest that lay before them. Yet, despite the darkness that threatened to consume them, there burned a flicker of hope—a hope that you found yourself drawn to like a moth to a flame

The connection you forged with Gandalf was one steeped in wisdom and guidance. As the Fellowship's guide and mentor, he possessed a wealth of knowledge that proved invaluable on their perilous journey. From the depths of Moria to the towering peaks of Caradhras, Gandalf's wisdom and foresight guided the Fellowship through the darkest of times.

With Merry and Pippin, it was your kindness and compassion that endeared you to them, your willingness to lend a helping hand in times of need earning their undying gratitude. Together, you shared in their mischief and their merriment, your laughter echoing through the halls of Moria and the fields of Rohan alike. And though their innocence sometimes tested your patience, their unwavering loyalty and steadfast friendship were a constant source of comfort in the darkest of times.

Boromir, though burdened by the weight of his own fears and doubts, found solace in your steadfastness and determination. In your presence, he saw a kindred spirit—a warrior forged in the crucible of adversity, yet unbroken and unbowed. Together, you stood against the tide of darkness, your courage inspiring him to rise above his own limitations and fight for the greater good.

With Aragorn, the bond that blossomed between you was one of mutual respect and shared determination. From the moment you saved their lives in the heat of battle, a bond was forged, strengthened by the trials and tribulations of the journey ahead.

As a fellow Ranger, Aragorn understood the weight of duty and the burden of leadership, and in you, he found a kindred spirit—a warrior forged in the crucible of adversity, your resolve unyielding in the face of danger.

Together, you stood at the forefront of the Fellowship, your skills in battle complementing each other's strengths and weaknesses. In Aragorn's steadfast leadership and unwavering courage, you found inspiration, his presence a beacon of hope in the darkest of times.

But it was not just on the battlefield that your bond deepened. In the quiet moments shared around the campfire, you listened as Aragorn spoke of his past and his struggles, his voice tinged with the weight of responsibility that lay upon his shoulders. And in those moments, you offered words of wisdom and encouragement, your own experiences serving as a guiding light in the darkness.

Yet, it was not just Aragorn's strength that drew you to him, but also his compassion and empathy. In the face of adversity, he remained steadfast in his commitment to protecting those under his care, his heart a wellspring of kindness and understanding.

And as the Fellowship pressed on towards their destiny, you found solace in the quiet moments shared with Aragorn, his friendship a source of strength and inspiration. For in the heart of darkness, even the smallest gestures of kindness can illuminate the path forward, forging bonds that transcend the boundaries of time and space.

You and the Fellowship journeyed onward towards the treacherous lands of Mordor, each step a reminder of the perils that lay ahead. It was amidst this backdrop of uncertainty that the gnarled creature, a servant of the dark lord Sauron, lunged at Aragorn as he led the group, its claws poised to strike. In a heartbeat, you interceded, your instincts guiding your blade to block the blow meant for him. The impact sent shockwaves of pain coursing through your body as you staggered back, blood seeping from the wound at your side.

Aragorn's eyes widened in disbelief as he reached out to steady you, his voice laced with concern. "Are you alright?"

You offered him a grim smile, trying to downplay the severity of your injury. "Just a scratch."

But Aragorn would not be dissuaded, his gaze lingering on the blood staining your cloak. "You saved my life," he murmured, his gratitude evident. "I owe you a debt I cannot repay."

With a weary sigh, you shook your head, attempting to deflect his gratitude. "There is no debt between comrades in arms."

Legolas and Aragorn took it upon themselves to tend to your deep wound, their skilled hands gentle yet firm as they cleaned and dressed the injury you had sustained. In their care, you found a measure of solace, their presence a soothing balm to the ache that lingered in your body and soul.

But it was not just the physical wounds that they sought to heal. With each passing day, they offered words of encouragement and support, their unwavering faith in your abilities serving as a reminder of the strength that lay within you. And in their company, you found yourself opening up, sharing the trauma of your past and the burdens you carried with a vulnerability you had long thought lost.

It was during one such moment of vulnerability that Aragorn's gaze fell upon the myriad of scars that marred your skin, his eyes widening in silent horror at the evidence of the pain you had endured. "Who did this to you?" he whispered; his voice thick with emotion.

For a moment, you hesitated, the memories of past betrayals and heartache threatening to overwhelm you. But then, with a steadying breath, you met his gaze, your voice raw with emotion. "There are shadows in my past that I would sooner forget," you admitted. "But perhaps, with time, I can learn to trust again."

Aragorn's expression softened; his eyes filled with understanding as he listened to your words. He reached out, his hand gently tracing the outline of one of the scars, a silent gesture of empathy and solidarity. "I cannot undo the pain of your past," he began, his voice gentle yet resolute, "but I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to ensure that no harm befalls you under my watch."

His words were like a soothing balm to your wounded soul, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that had long clouded your heart. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, there was still light to be found in this world.

In the days that followed, Aragorn remained true to his word, his steadfast presence a pillar of strength and support. He watched over you with a quiet protectiveness, his keen eyes ever vigilant for any sign of danger or distress.

And as the Fellowship pressed on towards the heart of Mordor, you found yourself drawing closer to Aragorn, your walls slowly crumbling in the face of his unwavering kindness and compassion. With each passing day, the bond between you deepened, built through adversity, and tempered by the trials of the journey.

One evening, as the campfire crackled merrily and the stars twinkled overhead, you found yourself sitting beside Aragorn, your shoulders touching as you stared into the dancing flames. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding that transcended words.

Finally, Aragorn broke the silence, his voice soft as he spoke. "You have faced much hardship in your life, haven't you?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the fire.

You hesitated, the memories of past betrayals and heartache threatening to resurface. But then, with a sigh, you nodded. "Yes," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I have lived much of my life alone, guarding myself against the pain of letting others in."

Aragorn turned to look at you, his eyes filled with empathy and understanding. "I know what it is to carry the weight of past pain," he said, his voice tinged with sadness. "But I also know that true strength lies not in solitude, but in the bonds we build with others."

His words struck a chord deep within you, resonating with a truth you had long denied. And as you looked into his eyes, you saw something there that mirrored your own pain—a vulnerability that he had long kept hidden beneath a mask of stoicism.

Something shifted between you, a silent acknowledgment of the shared scars that bound you together. And as the night wore on, you found yourself opening up to Aragorn in a way you had never thought possible, sharing your fears and insecurities with a vulnerability you had long thought lost.

As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself gradually softening towards those around you, your heart thawing in the warmth of companionship and camaraderie. And though the road ahead was still fraught with danger and uncertainty, you knew that as long as Aragorn walked beside you, you would find the courage to face whatever challenges awaited you and emerge stronger in the end.

For in the heart of darkness, even the most jaded souls can find redemption in the light of love and friendship, their scars transformed into badges of honor by the steadfast kindness of those who refuse to give up on them.

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