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minaturefics · 24 days

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Of the Earth

Request: Could I request a fic faramir x reader where she has stumbled into ithilien and he comes across her? he's all angry at first because it's dangerous, but it ends well :) (they don't have to know each other either)

A/N: This one has more ranger!Faramir which was fun to write. Boromir lives because I say so lol Hope you all enjoy it!

Faramir x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

4.1k words

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You inhaled the cool evening air, breathing in the scent of fir and cedar. You followed the worn path, now dotted with primroses and overgrown with fragrant herbs of thyme and sage, and swept your eyes over the trees and shrubs. Where was the entrance to Henneth Annûn? Idhron mentioned that it would be along the side of the mountain. The dying light of the sun filtered in through the trees and the forest was bathed in a dreamy glow. Ithilien truly was such a beautiful land, even now, still sullied with the lingering darkness of the orcs.

Something rustled behind you and your hand flew to your short sword. Your eyes darted around, breath hitched in your chest. Were there orcs about this evening? Most of them had been driven away, especially after the destruction of the Ring, but there was always the risk of stray orcs around. The forest settled, still and silent, but you kept your steps light and quiet as you continued on.

You neared the rock face and raised a hand to the rough surface. Idhron had said that the entrance looked little more than a crack, just wide enough for a man, and that what differentiated it from other cracks was the feeling of the stone. He had said that it would be cool and damp, and that there would be a change in the air, a subtle rushing in of the breeze. You continued past a few fissures until you felt exactly what he described. With a final glance behind you, you slipped into the stone.

You felt along the wall of the crevice, eyes adjusting to the dim, careful not to stumble on any errant stones or steps. There was a faint glow on the wall ahead, orange and warm, and you frowned. Torches? A fire? But Henneth Annûn was supposed to be empty. You drew your sword and rounded the corner.

“Do not move if you value your life,” a voice said, low and stern.

You froze and blinked at the hooded figures in front of you. Their weapons were drawn. Your eyes darted to the white tree on the leather breastplates of the men and you relaxed a fraction.

“Peace,” you said, lowering your sword. “I come from Minas Tirith.”

“We were not informed of any other parties dispatched to Ithilien. And you do not look like a messenger.”

“I come on behalf of Ioreth, of the Houses of Healing.” You sheathed your sword and offered the pommel, where the crest of the white tree was embossed, to the man. “Would the Enemy carry a sword from The White City? I think not.”

The figure threw his hood back and you flinched. Captain Faramir.

Prince Faramir.

“My lord,” you murmured, stunned, and he gestured for his company to lower their weapons.

His grey eyes were cold and stern, his lips set in a displeased line. “What are you doing here? Do you not know that there are still dangers lurking in Ithilien?”

“I am well aware. But I have come on a matter of urgency — I am in search of a plant, a herb, that they require. I have been searching for the last two days.”

“And you would dare venture out alone?” He frowned. “Why were we not informed of such an errand? My men and I could have found the plant for you.”

“By the time Ioreth realised what plant she required, your men had already departed. And it is not as though we, in the Houses of Healing, are told where the rangers go.”

His brow cleared a little but his jaw was still tense.

“As for leaving the city alone — there were no others we could spare to come with me. Our little band of foragers are not as well staffed as the rangers and guards,” you muttered, a hint of bitterness lacing your tone. “I was not going to let some woman die simply because I had no companion on this quest.”

“I cannot decide if you are brave or foolish,” he muttered and nodded to dismiss his men. They took one final glance at you then wandered off further into the cavern. “How did you find this place?”

“Idhron told me. It was getting dark, so I thought such a shelter would be a good place to camp for the night.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Come, my men were just about to sit and eat before we were alerted to your intrusion. Join us, and we can talk.”

He led you to one of the caverns where a few worn tables and chairs were scattered about. Some of the Rangers ate at the tables, but most were seated on some woven mats on the floor. Braisers lit and warmed the space and the distant hush of the waterfall echoed above the chatter. Faramir handed you a bowl of stew and a piece of bread and sat with you at one of the empty tables.

“How do you know Idhron?” he asked.

“He is a friend of the family. They did not wish for me to join the rangers as they thought it would be too dangerous but I did not wish to be designated to a life of weaving or scribing. He had suggested foraging for the Houses of Healing as a sort of compromise. It allows me to be in the wilds, but the work is far less perilous than that of a ranger.”

He hummed. “He is a wise man.”

You nodded and went back to your stew. How strange it was to be seated at a table with Faramir. Prince Faramir, you reminded yourself. You tucked your dirt stained fingernails under your palm and tried not to slurp while you ate. You glanced up, eyes trailing over his wavy hair, to his proud brow, down to his lips and short beard. He truly was handsome up close; it was no wonder the Houses of Healing were all a flutter with gossip after he had stayed there. His eyes met yours and you nearly choked on your stew.

You cleared your throat and let your eyes fall to the table.

“Tell me about this plant,” he said.

“I do not know what its proper name is but we call it Dawn Root. It is leafy and unassuming and the only way to find it is to listen for it.”

“To listen?”

“Yes, it… it chimes. It is easiest heard at dawn, hence its name.”

“How curious. I have never heard of such a thing,” he murmured. “Will you be searching for it tomorrow morning?”

You nodded, and he said, “I would like to accompany you, if you are amenable to that.” His gaze had softened, the firelight melting the steel in them. “It is not because I think you are incapable. I simply wish to see this strange plant.”

Your stomach lurched and you gave him a hesitant nod.

”I must confess to some curiosity about how a practised forager goes about it. We are taught some basics, enough to keep us alive, but I’m certain there’s still much more to learn. Even after the sun has risen, perhaps we can still forage, if you do not mind sparing some time to show me.”

Your eyes dropped to your half-eaten stew. Faramir wished to learn from you? “What would you wish to know about?”

“Mushrooms,” he murmured, a slight smile in his voice. “We’re taught mostly to avoid them unless we are absolutely certain they are not poisonous, and even then, most of us are wary. I am fond of morels, but I know they have a deadly counterpart.”

You shrugged. “They are easy to differentiate. In fact, it is the season for them now. We might find some while we are looking tomorrow.”

“I suppose, then, I can trust you to pick some?”

Your eyes rose to meet his. They were unguarded now, so different to how he looked before, and a gentle smile was on his face. He looked like the sort of man you would cross paths with in the market or in the library. Just an ordinary man, eager for mushrooms.

“And then you’ll cook them for us?” You asked with a chuckle and he nodded. “I did not think there would come a day where I would see Prince Faramir standing over a campfire, cooking.”

The moment the words left your mouth you snapped your jaw shut. What were you thinking? Teasing him like that?

You opened your mouth to apologise but his eyes crinkled with amusement and a breathy laugh escaped from him. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Only well enough to survive.”

He grinned. “Ah, then perhaps this is something I can teach you in return.”

Faramir held the torch aloft and swept his eyes across the trees and shrubs. It was so dim, the sun still yet to break the horizon, that he could scarcely see beyond the torch’s little sphere of light. Every morning for the past week, he had set out with you to search for this plant. You walked beside him, steps so silent he wondered who had taught you to stalk and creep through the land, your eyes fixed on the darkness, focused yet distant.

The light illuminated your profile, highlighting it in a soft orange. He followed the line of light down from the line of your forehead to the swell of your lips. You had shown up at the cave with your hair mussed and your skin shiny with sweat, and yet, in that moment, you seemed to him more beautiful than the courtly ladies of Gondor.

Ever since his appointment as Prince of Ithilien, it seemed like there was no end to the subtle romantic overtures from the nobles.

There was no need for an advantageous match, both Boromir and Aragorn assured him, but even if there was, he could not betray himself to pick someone based on some arbitrary checklist of what would make a good partner. It wrenched his heart each time he spoke with the ladies — they were lovely and polite, intelligent and funny, but they were all lacking a certain something he could not name.

It seemed, to him, with each passing day, that he was destined to be a bachelor like his brother, though unlike Boromir, it would not be of his choosing.

When his brother had offered to temporarily take over the post of Steward while Faramir cleared and reestablished Ithilien, Faramir had marshalled his men and left the city within the week. It would be good to get away from the empty rooms and halls, away from the hollowness that echoed the loneliness within him.

Some part of him missed the warm and dry library, the scent of books and paper, but there was peace to be had in the wild too, in the quiet of the caverns, the stillness of the morning. And even now, in the silent understanding between two people united in the quest for something.

He squinted out into the dark and sighed. “We can hardly see in such low light. Perhaps we set out too early this morning.”

“You are not using the right sense, my lord,” you said, a sly smile growing on your face. “As I said, it chimes.”

“I cannot hear anything.”

“Perhaps if your steps were not so loud…” You flashed him a smile and he chuckled, a strange warm feeling growing in his chest. How long had it been since someone, anyone, aside from his company and his brother, dared to joke with him?

“My steps are hardly making a sound. You move like a cat; it is unnatural.”

“What is unnatural is seeing you out here.” You laughed. “I thought that —” Your smile vanished and you glanced away. “Forgive me, sometimes I forget myself, especially away from the city. I did not mean any offence.”

“I am not offended.” He smiled. “I would like to hear what you were about to say.”

You eyed him, hesitant, then looked away and spoke your words to the woods instead. “I… I thought that you would prefer to be in the city. I am well aware that you were, are, a good captain and ranger, but your love of literature and lore is just as fabled. I did not think you would return to your former roles now that we are in a time of peace.”

“Such a sentiment certainly isn’t unfounded,” he mused. “But sometimes even I, too, find the city a little stifling. It is nice to simply exist as oneself, unobserved by people.”

“I shall do my best to keep my eyes to myself then.” You laughed and he relished the sound before you pursed your lips and forced yourself to stop. “Um, what about your men?”

“We have travelled a long and weary road together. We see each other as friends.”

You opened your mouth then closed it with a snap, forging forward, and his chest tightened. He had thought that all the nightly conversations at dinner would have put you at ease with him but alas. He wished you would speak freely, like you did late at night when your tongue was loosened with fatigue.

He adored the way you would speak of your little adventures out of the city, eyes aglow with a fond smile on your lips. How you had one too many mishaps with a collapsing tent, how one of your companions taught you the shapes of the stars, how there was no greater thrill than discovering some strange new herb.

And just last night, you had leaned close to him while he fried the morels. The cavern was loud with chatter, but he had deliberately kept his voice low and gestured for you to move closer when you said you could not hear him. He could smell you, musk and moss and lemon from the homemade bar of soap you said you brought. You were so real, so alive. And when an errant strand of hair fell over your forehead, his fingers twitched to tuck it behind your ear.

If he were to do such a thing, would you welcome it? Or would the height of his station prevent you from entertaining such a notion? It vexed him, the way you would speak to him as an equal, a friend, then suddenly pull back, withdrawing to formalities. Perhaps he should make it clear to you that there was no need for such things.

“I was thinking…” he began.

“Hush,” you whispered. “I hear it.”

He stilled, straining his ears, and there, just faintly to his right, was a clear tinkle. You followed the sound, pausing every other step to listen, and he trailed after you. The first of the sun’s rays spilled through the trees, casting the forest, and you, in a hazy glow. His eyes lingered on the lines and curves of your body, marvelling at your grace.

You let out a triumphant cry and knelt a few paces in front of him. Just as you had said, the plant, leafy and unassuming, was chiming softly. You gently dug it out and cradled it in the palm of your hand. Its roots were a deep crimson and remained undamaged. You grinned at him, so open and so genuine that his heart ached with some unknown feeling.

“I must head for the city at once,” you said, tucking the plant into a canvas bag.

“You do not have a horse, correct?”

“A horse? Valar, where would I get a horse? They have been in short supply since the war, and Rohan are yet to send more over. And should the city even have some, the guards and messengers would take precedence over the foragers.”

“I did not realise your company was so ill-equipped.” A strange discomfort settled in his stomach. “It is no matter. We have some horses, please, take one.”

You blinked at him, astonished. “Where do you keep them?”

“There is another tunnel in the rock face not far from the cave entrance. It is large enough for horses to pass through and widens onto a grassy plateau. Come, let us make haste.”

You nodded and the both of you hurried back to Henneth Annûn. While you gathered your things, he untied and retrieved a horse for you. When would he see you again? He supposed he could always visit the Houses of Healing and ask for you, but perhaps you would not appreciate that. You still seemed a little ill at ease with him and, despite his own stirring feelings towards you, he would not wish to discomfit you further. With a sigh, he led the horse out to meet you.

Saddled and ready, you gave him a lingering look, then turned and galloped away.

You handed Ioreth the most recent bunch of gathered herbs, trying to ignore the curious glances the other women gave you. Ever since you arrived in the city three weeks ago on Faramir’s horse, the Citadel and the Houses of Healing have been abuzz with rumours. It did not help that a couple of days after your return, a messenger had arrived at the Houses of Healing with a letter for you with the bright blue wax seal of Ithilien stark on the envelope. Your foraging company knew better than to ask, but it seemed everyone else was not above gossip.

Iotheth gave the whispering women a stern look, thanked you for your herbs, and handed you another list of plants required.

You grumbled to yourself. Faramir’s horse! You did not know it was his, but perhaps you should have noticed the round medallion on the bridle which bore the newly created crest of Ithilien. Still, in the quiet of the night, you wondered why he had chosen that particular horse for you. Perhaps it was the most agreeable one they had, or maybe it was the most well rested, or he thought that sending you on his horse would be the most efficient way for you to reach the city without anyone stopping you.

Or perhaps… perhaps he simply wished to send you on his horse.

No, no. What a foolish thought. Evenings spent in conversation and mornings spent foraging and letters sent with the supply carts and messengers was hardly a basis for anything more than friendship.

Still, the letters had been unusually intimate. There were the usual inquiries about the patients and medicinal herbs, how the outpost in Henneth Annûn was coming along, whether the resource changes he and Boromir agreed on were helping your company of foragers, but there were also little personal comments and questions.

Other women here in the city might beg to differ, but I think the Rangers’ uniform is far more attractive than the guards’.

You’ve never used a bow? They can be quite handy, especially when hunting dinner. Perhaps when I am back in the city I can teach you.

Thank you for the pressed primrose you sent, they remind me quite fondly of my time in Ithilien. Do you have a favourite flower?

We’ve had another delicious morel dinner. I must confess that the sight of them makes me think of you.

It would amuse you to know I overheard some ladies mourning your absence from the city. Though, I begrudgingly admit that I share their sentiment.

The lily perfume Ioreth made for you sounds lovely. I imagine it must smell wonderful on you.

No, I do not write to you out of a sense of obligation. I look forward to your letters; you bring me more joy than you can ever know.

And each time he had signed his letter as ‘Faramir’. Not ‘Captain Faramir’ or ‘Prince Faramir’, but just… Faramir.

Your heart fluttered when you thought of that, but you squashed the feeling as soon as it arose. He was a prince, for Valar’s sake. And you were just… just…

Ioreth’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Girl,” she said, amusement in her eyes. “You have a visitor.”

“Who in Arda would come see me here?” you groused, pocketing her plant list. “All my friends are out —”

Faramir stood in the archway, his cheeks red from the wind and his cape hem muddied.

“Not all your friends, I hope,” he said, an unsure smile on his face.

“Fara — My lord,” you muttered, bowing your head a little.

His brows drew together. “Please, I am certain we are past such formalities.” You cast a nervous glance around the room and his frown deepened. “Shall we speak elsewhere? There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

You nodded and led him to one of the secluded gardens outside. “I did not know you were returning to the city,” you said.

“I had thought of sending a letter but I thought what I wished to discuss would be best done in person.”

“That sounds serious,” you murmured. “Not ill tidings, I hope?”

You paused by one of the shrubs, rubbing a waxy leaf between your fingers, avoiding his eyes. What could be so important he would make the trip back from Ithilien?

“I hope you will forgive me for being selfish,” he said. “Coming to the Houses of Healing and seeking you out. I am not oblivious to the… the rumours circulating around the city.”

You took a hesitant look at him. “So why did you come?”

“I wished to see your face when you give your reply.” He swallowed and clasped his fidgety hands behind his back. “I have read your letters again and again, trying to find some sort of hint or clue in them, and in your last letter… You said I brought you joy.”

You stared at him, the sound of your heart loud in your ears. The words had slipped from you before you realised, but you had left them in, a cautious declaration of how you felt, hoping that he would take it as a friend being overly sentimental.

“I must know,” he said. “Is there… Is there a chance you might return my feelings?”

“Your feelings?” you stuttered, scarcely believing what he was saying.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “You are a most singular person to me and there has been no other who has captured my heart so.”

He paused and looked at you, hopeful and apprehensive all at once. You gaped at him.

Singular… Captured his heart… All this time, he felt the same?

“Ah,” he said, voice flat, eyes shuttering. “I suppose your silence is enough of an answer.” He took a step back. “Forgive me, I —”

“Wait, no, please.”

He stilled but his face remained impassive.

“I am simply in disbelief,” you said in a rush. “I did not think… I dare not hope…” A strangled laugh burst from you. “Of course, of course I share your feelings.”

A smile spread slowly across his face and he offered his hand, palm up, to you. You reached out, but the sight of your hands, rough and dirt stained, stopped you.

“Why do you hesitate?” he murmured.

“Faramir, you are a prince. And I am not of equal standing or birth.”

“I do not care for such things. You are kind and brave, and smart and good-humoured.” He offered his hand once more and you tentatively curled your fingers around his. “And you are beautiful.”

He tugged on your hand and you stepped closer. Slowly, slowly, he brought his forehead to yours. You sucked in a deep breath, inhaling his scent of leather and musk, relishing his nearness after so many weeks. He nudged your temple with his nose and pressed a kiss to your temple.

He hummed, low and satisfied. “The perfume really does smell wonderful on you. I suppose I must smell a bit ripe in comparison. Though, in my defence, it was a swift ride, and I was far too eager to see you.”

“I think you would benefit from a bath, yes.” You chuckled and drew back. “But Faramir, what about the court?”

“Tongues will always wag, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “But we shall face them together. And besides, you have already shown your service and care for the people. What more could Gondor ask of you as my partner?”

“I suppose I cannot argue with that.” You grinned. “But maybe, we could proceed slowly? I do not think I would fare well if I were immediately tossed into society.”

“Of course. And it shall give me time to court you, properly. I will be returning from Ithilien soon, and then I assure you, there will be flowers and walks and picnics.”

“And mushrooms?”

He laughed and kissed your cheek. “Yes, and mushrooms.”

---

A/N: Lowkey feel like the pacing was a bit off. I originally planned for it to be longer, but my brain decided to be shitty lmao so I had to pare it back. I hope the flow is still okay.

Nirnroot was inspiration for the Dawn Root, lmk if anyone picked up on that lol

#faramir x reader #faramir x you #faramir x y/n #faramir #lotr fic #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #lotr

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entishramblings · 4 months

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Fuck the Forbidden Pt. 2

[Boromir/F!MermaidReader]

PART 1 | PART 3 — coming soon

Fuck the Forbidden: FTF LINK MASTERLIST

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

Request: none

Pairing: Boromir X Fem!MermaidReader

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

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

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

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

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

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

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

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

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

“You have a moment?”

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

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

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

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

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

Boromir shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

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

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

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

He nodded, swallowing dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boromir shook his head.

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

….

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

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

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

(Y/N) gasped.

Her father had said…

He had tested them all…

None had the gift….

He lied.

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

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

Was this a dream?

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

Immediately, she felt it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How dare he…

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

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

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

“HOW DARE YOU?!” she screamed at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You went to the surface—”

“How dare you not tell me, Father!”

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) looked at her surroundings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shook her head.

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

“I—I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

“Do you have a place to stay?”

She shook her head.

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

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

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

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

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

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

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

“I know, I am sorry,” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you stand? Has the dizziness subsided?”

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

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

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

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

She nodded in reply.

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

With that, he was gone.

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

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

…….

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

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

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

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

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

“Boromir?” she called out.

Silence.

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

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

He had kept it.

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

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

(Y/N) jumped, startled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you believe that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The captain raised a brow. “How far?”

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

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

She glared at him.

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

“Are not all truths complicated?” he responded.

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

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

“When have you last eaten?” Boromir asked.

Her brows pulled together as she looked at her stomach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shrugged. “Far.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck the forbidden indeed.

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

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

…..

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hottpinkpenguin · 1 year

Text

Knees - Boromir X Fem!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A King in a long line of Stewards

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

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

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

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

Your blue eyes are there when I close mine,

Your voice chases me while I dream,

My heart cries out in the darkness for you,

The roots of the world shake with its scream.

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

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

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

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

**********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Boromir, what is thi-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#boromir #boromir x reader #boromir x y/n #boromir x you #boromir imagine #boromir fluff #boromir lotr #sean bean #lotr fic #lotr imagine

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leighsartworks216 · 4 months

Note

Right on for wanting to write for LOTR! 🫶 In fact, how about #24 from the kisses prompt for Aragorn, where he and the reader have been crowned King and Queen of Gondor? Good luck!

24 - "We'll face this together" kisses

Aragorn x fem!Reader

My first ever Aragorn fic! Really really short but sweet

Warnings: anxiety

Word Count: 258

Kiss Prompts

Main Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You'd fought wars, faced down hordes of orc and Uruk-Hai, stood up against certain death and come out the victor. And yet, nothing could hold a candle to this.

The crowd, full of friends and strangers alike, stared up at you. It was as though Sauron's eye was upon you, burning you alive from inside your head. You were not suited to this. Arwen had always carried a torch for Aragorn, she would be a much better queen to these people than you could ever hope to be. Eowyn, too, but she had found love with Faramir. Perhaps Gandalf knew someone who could-

A hand, donned in fancy rings but no less calloused, held yours. You look to your side and find Aragorn smiling at you, a bit too knowingly.

He lifted your hand to his lips, eyes never leaving yours as he placed a delicate kiss to the back of your hand. You found the surface of the ocean of fear that drowned you, and at last you felt you could breathe again.

His eyes flit over you, reading every telltale sign that you were okay. He grinned and placed another kiss over the first as he saw your shoulders relax. Satisfied he had calmed down his closest friend and dearest heart, he turned back to the crowd and guided you down the steps to greet your friends and the brave souls of Minas Tirith. Their eyes still burned into you, and perhaps they always would, but you would not have to face the crowd alone. Never.

---

Tag List:

@furblrwurblr @puppyg1rl666

#request #requested #fanfic #fanfiction #aragorn #aragorn x reader #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr x reader #x reader #x female reader #x fem reader #fluff #drabble

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samantha-rae-velcher · 1 year

Text

What I write and who I write for

Movies/shows

Gotham

Star wars

Spartacus

Boardwalk Empire

Marvel

The Walking Dead

The Witcher

Salem

Star Trek

Harry Potter

Fantastic Beasts

Barry

Stranger Things

The pirates of the Caribbean

Lotr

The Hobbit

NCIS

___

Gotham characters I write for

Oswald Cobblepot

Jerome Valeska

Jeremiah Valeska

Jim Gordon

Harvey Bullock

Ed Nygma

Alfred Pennyworth

Mr. Freeze

Victor Zsasz

Butch Gilzean

Star Wars characters I write for

Darth Maul

Kylo Ren

Darth Vader

Han Solo

Poe Dameron

Lando Calrissian

Finn

Boba Fett

Jango Fett

Din Djarin

Paz Vizsla

Spartacus characters I write for

Ashur

Gannicus

Crixus

Agron

Spartacus

Glaber

Caesar

Boardwalk Empire characters I write for

Al Capone

Richard Harrow

Eli Thompson

Frank Capone

Ralph Capone

Nelson Van Alden

Arnold Rothstein

Meyer

Lucky Luciano

Gyp Rosetti

Marvel characters I write for

Tony Stark

Steve Rogers

Scott Lang

Stephen Strange

Zemo

Loki

Thor

Clint Barton

Bruce Banner

Peter Parker

Bucky Barnes ❤️

Ultron

Pietro Maximoff

Peter Quill

Drax

Yondu Udonta

Ronan

Rocket (platonic! We ain't furries here!)

Groot (platonic)

DC characters I write for

Superman

Batman

Bane

Joker (Heath ledger or Jared Leto)

Captain Boomerang

Chato Santana

Rick Flag

Oliver Queen

Slade Wilson (Manu Bennett)

X-Men characters I write for

Victor Creed

Wolverine

Colossus

Deadpool

Cable

TWD characters I write for

Aaron

Father Gabriel

Rick Grimes

Negan Smith

Shane Walsh

Daryl Dixon

Merle Dixon

Eugene Porter

Abraham Ford

Paul "Jesus" Rovia

The Witcher characters I write for

Geralt

Jaskier

Filavandrel

Mousesack

Eskel

Salem characters I write for

John Alden

Cotton Mather

Beelzebub/ The Sentinel

Samael

Sebastian Marburg

Star trek characters I write for

Captain Kirk

Spock

Dr. McCoy

Quark

General Martok

Weyoun

Damar

Dukat

Garak

Julian Bashir

Shran

Captain Archer

Malcolm Reed

Trip Tucker

Phlox

Harry Potter characters I write for

Harry Potter

Draco Malfoy

George Weasley

Fred Weasley

Neville Longbottom

Lucius Malfoy

Remus Lupin

Sirius Black

Severus Snape

Fantastic Beasts characters I write for

Newt Scamander

Percival Graves

Albus Dumbledore

Gellert Grindelwald (Mikkelsen or Depp)

Jacob Kowalski

IT characters I write for

Richie Tosier

Ben Hanscom

Bill Denbrough

Eddie Kaspbrak

Henry Bowers

Pennywise/ Bob Gray

Barry characters I write for

Barry Berkman

Noho Hank

Monroe Fuches (As father figure)

Stranger Things characters I write for

Steve Harrington

Billy Hargrove

Dustin Henderson (platonic or as little brother)

Eddie Munson

Pirates Off The Caribbean characters I write for

Jack Sparrow....."Captain! Jack Sparrow!"

Captain Barbossa

William Turner

Bootstrap Bill

Davy Jones

James Norrington

Cutler Beckett

Salazar

Lotr characters I write for

Boromir

Faramir

Samwise Gamgee

Mary

Pippin

Aragorn

Haldir

Legolas

Elrond

Èomer

The Hobbit characters I write for

Bilbo

Thorin

Fili

Kili

Bard

Elrond

Thranduil

Legolas

Azog

NCIS characters I write for

Tony Dinozzo

Tim McGee

Joshany Gibbs

YouTubers I write for

Mully VR

Josh dub

Your favorite Narrator

Juicy

Eddie VR

Smashing

Jacksepticeye

Markiplier/Mark's egos

Angry Cops

___

What I will write

Smut/NSFW

fluff

Male character x Fem reader

Traumatized reader dynamic

Mentions of abuse

Mentions of Death

Mentions of Blood

Slight torture

Knife play

___

What I won't write

Male Character x Male reader (Unless platonic)

Fem Character x Fem reader (Unless platonic)

Incest

Rape (depends on Character and how graphic)

Pegging

Gore

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thethreeeyed-raven · 2 months

Text

⋆♱ LOTR/THE HOBBIT ♱⋆

navigation

🕷️fluff | 🕸️angst | 🐈‍⬛suggestive | 🪦platonic

⋆♱ Aragorn II Elessar ♱⋆

🕷️ • after the storm | x gn!reader x boromir [🪦]

⋆♱ Boromir of Gondor ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Faramir of Gondor ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Kili ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Legolas Greenleaf ♱⋆

🕷️ • 🕸️ • i think you are beautiful | x fem!elf!reader

⋆♱ Thorin Oakenshield ♱⋆

nothing yet

⋆♱ Thranduil Oropherion ♱⋆

🕷️ • 🐈‍⬛ • eyes | x dwarf!reader

⋆♱ Fili ♱⋆

nothing yet

@lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom • @fangsp1der-2099 • @knight-of-flowerss

#lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings #lord of the rings x you #lord of the rings x y/n #lotr x y/n #lotr x you #lotr imagine #lotr x reader #lotr fanfic #lotr #the hobbit x y/n #the hobbit x you #the hobbit x oc #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit

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elficially-done-with-life · 3 months

Text

Request Rules

Requests are open!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

♡ only x reader, fics and hc ( and I will only write for fem reader or gn reader, since I indentify as she/her and thats why I'm most comfortable with that, when it comes to NSFW content only fem reader )

♡ I have nothing against people who love Rings of Power, but I haven't watched the show so far, so I won't write for it (maybe I will once I watched it though)

♡ I write SFW and NSFW ( but I will NOT include anything problematic )

♡ I also won't include anything that breaks a character unnecessarily ( angst is obviously fine though )

♡ Sometimes I may be more motivated to write my own ideas or won't feel like writing at all, so it can take a LONG time until I finish something

♡ If a request makes me uncomfortable or I just don't really like it, I will just ignore it

♡ You have to tell me if you want headcanons or one shots (I won't write multi chapter fics), otherwise I will decide

♡ Characters I will write for: Elrohir, Elladan, Glorfindel, Lindir, Kili, Fili, Thorin, Bofur, Celebrían, Arwen, Maedhros, Haldir, Maglor, Caranthir, Celebrimbor, Erestor, Celegorm, Maeglin, Faramir, Boromir, Finarfin, Finrod, Aredhel, Argon, Rog, Idril, Elwing, Nerdanel, Amrod, Amras, Eärendil, Egalmoth, Elenwë, Yavanna, Oromë, Lalwen, Gil-Galad, Nienna, Elrond, Lùthien

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

#request #silm #silmarillion x reader #tolkien x reader #x reader #lotr x you #elves x reader #tolkien #silmarillion #silm fanfic #silm fandom #the hobbit x reader #lotr x reader #reqs open #requests are open

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justsomerandomfanfic · 1 year

Note

the fanfic friday releases are great 💖 im looking forward to the faramir story! if another faramir request is ok, can i request a faramir x f!reader with a friends to lovers trope but reader is oblivious at first? ty 💖

Thank you for requesting and requesting Faramir! I'm simply Mclovin him right now ;) I'm sorry it's a bit short, but I hope you love it nonetheless! Feel free to request anytime! <3

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cauliflowertree · 2 years

Text

┊͙ ˘͈ᵕ˘͈ WHO I WRITE FOR—

FANDOMS & CHARACTERS— [subject to change]

gilmore girls -> jess, tristan, dave, rory.

harry potter -> harry, hermione, luna, draco, fred, george, blaise, ginny, cedric, tom, theo, mattheo, sirius, james, remus, regulus, lily, narcissa, bellatrix.

lord of the rings / the hobbit -> aragorn, legolas, eomer, eowyn, faramir, boromir, haldir & bard, thranduil, kili, thorin.

the maze runner -> newt, gally, thomas.

stranger things -> steve, dmitri, joyce, hopper, chrissy, nancy, robin.

star wars -> anakin.

the mentalist -> patrick.

grishaverse -> the darkling.

pretty little liars -> aria, jason.

timeless -> flynn.

the vampire diaries -> damon, stefan, elijah, katherine, klaus, kol, rebekah.

twilight -> bella, edward, carlisle, charlie, jasper, alice.

bridgerton -> anthony, benedict, eloise, daphne.

criminal minds -> aaron, spencer, jennifer, emily, derek.

anne with an e -> gilbert, anne.

dead poets society -> neil, todd, charlie, knox.

little women -> amy, jo, laurie, beth [platonic!].

teen wolf -> stiles.

pirates of the caribbean -> jack, will, james, elizabeth.

the hunger games -> finnick, peeta, haymitch, katniss, johanna.

pride and prejudice -> mr darcy.

RULES—

don’t request any smut. nsfw themes are okay but i don’t write full blown smut.

i will write platonic fics & romantic fics but please specify which you want when you request.

i will write: oneshots, blurbs / drabbles, headcanons & dialogues, fem!readers and gn!readers. if you don’t specify in your ask which you prefer, my default is usually gender neutral.

i don’t write male readers, sh, professor x minor!student, poly relationships, parent fics or pregnancy fics.

i only write marriage fics for bridgerton & pride and prejudice!

request status; CLOSED

#gilmore girls fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #lotr fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #pretty little liars fanfiction #vampire diaries fanfiction #twilight fanfiction #bridgerton fanfiction #flower patch

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minaturefics · 1 year

Text

Once More (With Feeling)

Prompt: Faramir invites an old friend back to Minas Tirith

A/N: It's a little different, just slightly, to how I usually write. It's a rollercoaster, and it's long, so get yourself a hot beverage and prepare yourself for 6k words worth of brainrot.

Faramir x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

6.2k words

---

You paced the lavish sitting room, throwing irritated looks at all the doors. Faramir was a busy man, you knew, but he had always been punctual. With a groan you sank into the cushioned bench and stared out of the tall, pointed windows.

Minas Tirith had changed since you were last in the city as a girl. Gone was the heavy atmosphere, the distant encroaching darkness on the horizon, The Dead Tree, its gnarled branches cold and bare, the darkened halls, haunted by Denethor’s bitterness.

The city had thrived under the new king’s rule and the new steward’s management. The white stone glowed in the sunlight, vines grew across walls and flowers blossomed in window boxes, there was chatter in the streets and laughter in the halls.

It was no mystery then, why Faramir wrote to invite you back into the city, now renewed and reborn. No, the mystery was why he wrote to you at all.

You had only known him for a year, more than ten years ago. Just two young teenagers, bickering with each other over readings while the tutor tried to calm the both of you. He had been a scrawny thing then, growing taller, but not broader. Not quite a man, like his brother was growing into, not quite a boy, like the other children in the Citadel. His hair too, had been at an awkward length, shaggy around his ears, falling about his forehead and into his grey eyes.

But while Boromir might have been the bolder of the two back then, when it came to academics, Faramir was just as eager. He had been relentless in his pursuit of knowledge, hounding the tutors and dogging the librarians, and, more than once, your spirited debates with him had drawn a small crowd of curious onlookers in the Citadel. There was even a time where you had to race him to the library to get your hands on some coveted book before he did.

But perhaps, the most infuriating thing about him was his kindness.

How he would smile softly after an intellectual argument, as though consoling you, if you had lost, or congratulating you, if you had won. How he would share his notes with you if you had missed lessons, or gift you with chocolate in return for a peek at your own writings. How he would walk you back to your rooms after classes, showing you shortcuts and asking about your day.

How he had offered you his handkerchief and wiped your tears away the night before you left the city with your uncle.

Your heart clenched and you blinked yourself back into the sitting room.

There were voices in the corridor now, and hurried footsteps. You stood and straightened yourself, smoothing the creases in your dress and schooling your features into something neutral.

The door swung open and a man walked in.

He was tall and broad with the build of an archer, with steady legs and strong arms. His light brown hair fell in gentle waves to his shoulder, and his beard was short and well-trimmed. You took in his sharp jaw, his pink lips, his face, handsome, noble, familiar somehow.

His grey eyes sparkled in the late afternoon light and a jolt shot through you.

Faramir.

You stared at him and his barely-there smile grew.

“You’re late,” you blurted.

His eyes widened in shock before he shook his head and chuckled. “And I was told you arrived early.” His voice was low and rich, inviting and warm.

Faramir. This man was Faramir. Solid, handsome, real.

“You have my apologies,” he continued. “There was a meeting that ran over. I did not intend for you to wait so long for me.”

“It’s no matter, I was just admiring the city. A lot has changed.” You turned away from him, scolding your racing heart and chastising your rapidly flushing cheeks. You sucked in a breath and straightened your spine. It was just Faramir.

He came to join you by the window and you kept your eyes fixed on the plains beyond the buildings. “Your letter surprised me,” you said. “I hardly thought I ever crossed your mind.”

A laugh escaped from him, short and sharp. “You’re still the same.”

Your head snapped towards him and you narrowed your eyes. His easy, unfazed demeanour rankled something in you. “It is quite a slight, being told one hasn’t changed in so many years.”

Did he still see you as that awkward, graceless girl? Someone who had not filled out her dresses yet, who made ill-timed comments in conversations, who battled with her skin, her hair, her sharpening mind and her rapidly fading childhood.

He blinked at you, jaw agape. “I did not mean… I simply meant…” He laughed again and gave you a rueful smile. “Forgive me. What I should have said, I suppose, is that I am glad to see you again.”

That strange, foolish feeling was rising in you, like you were fourteen again and you had said the wrong thing at the dinner table. You fought the urge to cross your arms and you nodded slowly. “I am glad to… to be back. Thank you for your generous invitation.”

The words felt strange in your mouth. So formal and distant. Polite. You gestured woodenly at the view. “My uncle would have been pleased at how well the country is doing.”

“I am sorry to hear about your uncle.”

“It has been a few years now.” You hazarded a look at him. His eyes had melted into something soft. You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I am sorry about your father and,” your breath hitched, “and Boromir.”

“Yes,” he said, voice low. “It has been quiet in the Steward’s House of late.”

Your chest constricted and you wanted to reach out, to lay a hand on his arm, to say, I too have been left alone by all who loved me.

He cleared his throat and nodded at the door. “Has anyone shown you to your rooms yet? I thought that the one on the second floor, that faces east, would be best. But if you’d prefer your old room, I’m certain we can —”

“No.” You swallowed and flashed him a smile, burying the discomfiting feeling. “I mean… No, thank you. I’m sure what you have prepared will be suitable.”

A bell tower somewhere chimed the hour and he grimaced. “I’m sorry but I have another meeting, the last of the day, in a few minutes. Would you be happy to join me for dinner? It would not be anything formal. We could even dine outside, if the fine weather holds. There is so much I wish to discuss with you.”

It was jarring to hear those words coming from Faramir’s lips. Invitations to dinner were something said between two adults, not adolescents.

But you were no longer fourteen, and Faramir was a man now. A friend.

A stranger.

“Yes, dinner outside would be lovely,” you said. “I look forward to it.”

He broke out into a wide smile. “I shall send someone to show you to your rooms, and please, if there is anything you should require, just ask.”

“Of course, thank you.”

He reached out and took your hand, large fingers enveloping your own, and gave it a light squeeze. “I shall see you in a few hours.”

He withdrew with a smile and closed the door behind him.

You stared at your hand for a moment, heat rising to your cheeks, before scowling and scrubbing it against your dress.

The evening breeze swept through the open doors and the candles on the table flickered. The temperature had dropped with the sunset, and in the end Faramir had settled for dining in one of the rooms that opened up to a courtyard. Trees rustled and crickets chirped and music from another part of the Citadel drifted over the walls. The warmth from the lit fire licked at his back and he belatedly wondered if he should have offered you the warmer seat instead.

Faramir caught his eyes wandering from some vague spot behind you to your face again. You were focused on the last bit of roasted meat on your plate, cutting it into dainty pieces before lifting it to your lips. He let his eyes trail over your hair, braided and pinned, to the softness of your cheek, the angle of your jaw.

When he had seen you that afternoon he could scarcely believe his eyes. He did not expect you to stay the same, of course, and yet… the sight of you, grown, beautiful and striking, made his pulse jump.

Where was the girl he had known? Who had picked up her skirts and clambered up walls with him, whose quick wit had both frustrated and delighted him? Was she gone, suppressed by etiquette lessons and laced up gowns, washed away by time and tempered by misfortune?

But then you had opened your mouth and bluntly stated his tardiness and he couldn’t help but laugh. No, your spirit was still unchanged, your fire still undimmed.

You looked up and his eyes skittered away. His palms grew clammy and he exhaled. Valar, he was acting like a silly boy, sneaking looks at you across the table, filling his mouth with food instead of conversation.

“What is the matter, Faramir?”

“Nothing.” He smiled.

You had an inquisitive look on your face, half-curious, half-challenging. The same sort of expression you used to wear before launching into an argument. “You were looking at me.”

Heat started to creep up his neck and he dropped his eyes back to his nearly empty plate. “I was just thinking.”

He heard your intake of breath and he prepared himself for an onslaught of words, ready for the cajoling comments and prodding persuasions that you always used to coax him to speak.

Instead, he heard the clatter of cutlery and he looked up to find you arranging your fork and knife at the side of your plate. You glanced towards the open door and, something in that small action, so intensely familiar, made the words tumble from his lips.

“Would you like to go on a walk?”

“I…” Your astonished look morphed into one of suspicion. “How did you know?”

“You used to walk after meals, if I remember correctly.”

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

He noticed. Of course, he noticed. Boromir had once pulled him aside, warning him that if he did not get his looks and glances under control, their father might start getting ideas for future marriage matches. He had wondered if your uncle had realised this and that was why he had whisked you off to the family estate back in North Lebennin when autumn arrived once more.

In truth, Faramir never found out the reason; he was never told, and he never asked.

He grinned and stood. A walk would be good. Dinner had been pleasant, with the usual, banal questions asked and answered. Proper and polite. A far cry from shared smirks and ceaseless chatter you once shared with him. Perhaps some movement would ease the atmosphere. “Shall we walk? Is there any place you would like to see first?”

You paused for a moment, biting your lower lip, before a sly smile crept onto your face. “The old lookout tower. The one that overlooked the Houses of Healing.”

“I do hope you won’t chase me up it. I do not think the excitement would agree with the food we just ate.”

“I won’t.” You looked out at the courtyard then back at him, eyes now dancing with mirth. “Are you becoming old and decrepit?”

“More like sensible and wise.” He walked over to the hooks by the door and reached for the two cloaks that hung there. “Here, you are welcome to borrow one of mine. It is cold out.”

He offered you the thicker one and watched as you ran your fingers over the soft wool before throwing it around your shoulders. It fell past your feet, pooling on the floor, and the sight of you swathed in his cloak stirred something in him.

He led you out into the courtyard and then onto the open ramparts. Hundreds of little lights flickered in the city below. It was quiet, save for the distant bustle of the kitchens and the rustle of the guards shifting on their feet. The wind carried your perfume to him and he inhaled the sweet scent of lilies.

“I have always wondered,” he said, “why you left Minas Tirith.”

“My uncle was worried about me growing up in court. I think he wanted to avoid any pressure that might have befallen me. Marriage offers and gossip and the kind.” You looked away, towards the plains. “I was sorry to leave, but I am glad that I had gone.”

His heart dropped. Had he been selfish? Writing to you and asking you to visit the city when you were clearly happy out in the country? Had you not thought of him once in all the years? He swallowed. “Does it bring you pain to be here?”

“No, not at all.” You shook your head and laughed, and his shoulders relaxed. “I simply meant that I think he made the right decision. It might have been a little boring, but I grew up unrestrained.”

“I do hope you will enjoy the excitement of the city.”

“The change of scenery is refreshing. And I will confess that a break from my responsibilities back home is welcome.”

He noticed then, the shadows under your eyes, the weary tinge in your smiles.

Yes, the both of you were no longer children.

The old, crumbling tower neared and your steps quickened. You paused at the base of the steps, throwing a mischievous look over your shoulder, before vanishing up the stairs. He chuckled and hurried after you, taking the steps two at a time. “You said you would not race me!”

“I said I would not chase you up it!”

He caught sight of the edge of his cloak and the flash of deep purple silk underneath it as he rounded the corner. “So you’ll have me chase you instead?”

Your laugh echoed in the narrow stairwell. “I have no doubt that you’ll catch up. You were always the faster one.”

“And you always the cheater.”

“It is called levelling the playing field.”

The gap between you and him rapidly narrowed, and as the both of you emerged at the top, his hand closed around your shoulder before he could stop himself. You turned, flushed and giggling, eyes alight. Laughter rose in his chest and he chuckled, breathless and buoyant. “You’ll get me into trouble. Like before.”

“Faramir, you are the steward. There is no one to get in trouble with.” You grinned at him before striding towards the merlons. “In any case, I have no plans to lob mushy apples from here so you need not worry about disgruntled guards and unfortunate citizens.”

“I always have to worry about disgruntled guards and unfortunate citizens. It is no easy feat, running a city like Minas Tirith.”

“I can imagine.” Your voice was soft, sympathetic.

He strolled towards you, and you glanced behind at him, shadows from the flickering torches dancing across your face. Your eyes were intense, searching. Valar, he could never stand to hold your gaze when it was like this. It was as though you saw through him.

“Faramir, why did you ask me here?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling boyish and clumsy. “I was… clearing some of the rooms in the Steward’s House when I chanced upon our old classroom. I found one of your old essays.”

“A beastly thing, I’m sure.”

He slowed to a stop beside you, close enough that your cloak fluttered against his legs when the wind blew. “It was rather good, actually. I’m certain you would have made a valuable advisor if you had stayed in court.”

“Well,” you scoffed. “I do not think the court missed us much when my uncle and I left.”

“Boromir and I did.”

“You did not write.”

“I was not certain I was allowed to. Father refused to tell me anything, and then there were other matters. Training, classes, scouting missions.”

He felt a pang in his chest. In truth, he had thought of you over the years, but there were always things to attend to. His father’s growing resentment, his strange prophetic dreams, city matters and trade routes.

The War.

It had been a sleepless night when he had wandered the empty halls, opening old doors and peering into neglected rooms, when he stumbled upon the old classroom. It was still and dusty, books stacked by the window and sheets of paper on one of the tables, abandoned as though someone intended to come back, but never did.

He had been hit with an intense loneliness, a hollowness, an aching.

When he had seen your familiar scrawl on the sheets of paper, along with an unflattering sketch of the tutor, the memory of your playful smile flashed into his mind. And then there was a comforting warmth in his chest, and then for the first time in weeks, he had laughed.

“Faramir,” you said, and he shook himself out of his thoughts. “I am sorry I did not write either.”

“It is no matter.” A smile tugged at his lips. “We are here now.”

“Faramir, if you wobble the ladder I will drop these books on your head.” You gripped the polished wood with one hand and clutched a stack of books to your chest with the other.

“If memory serves, you were the one who had a habit of rattling stools and ladders.”

You glared down at him, scoffing at the grin on his face. He was leaning against the shelf with his arms across his chest, relaxed and languid. That night on the tower had shattered the stiffness between the both of you, and the last week and a half had been filled with nostalgic adventures.

Between his duties, Faramir had shown you the changes in the Citadel, walked with you to the markets and shops, even challenged you to a slingshot contest which he won. There had been dinners on balconies, and picnic lunches in gardens, and midnight snacks in derelict towers.

He had told you about his experience in the war. His heartbreak at finding Boromir’s cloven horn, the near-fatal Osgiliath charge, recovering in the Houses of Healing. And you told him how you had to manage the family estate, the scramble to build temporary houses for the refugees, how many of them chose to settle and work the land instead of returning to the ruins of their villages.

He had smiled at you in that soft way you knew, had given you the unbroken strip of apple skin he peeled, had discussed new theories and topics with you by the light of the fire.

“Are you coming down?” Faramir smirked at you. “Or are you going to add to that dangerously heavy pile in your hands?”

You shook your head and started down the ladder, feeling the rungs with your feet.

The library was empty, the librarian having gone home for the day. Light rain pattered on the windows and a fire crackled somewhere in the room. The library, of all places, had remained the most unchanged. There was something comforting in that, in the musky smells of books and paper, of the plush chairs and rickety stools.

As you neared the bottom, your foot slipped, misjudging the distance to the floor, and you stumbled. Instead of hard stone, you were met with a firm chest at your back and a hand on your waist.

Had Faramir always been this warm and big?

“Are you alright?”

You felt the rumble of his chest, his breath by your ear.

His hand, large, heavy, burned through the thin silk of your dress.

“Yes, thank you.” You stepped out of his touch and fumbled with the books in your arms, rearranging them into a neat stack. Valar, what has gotten into you? It was just Faramir. You shoved the books into his arms and turned away. “Next time you can go up on the ladder.”

“I think I would flatten you if I fell.”

“I’ll be sure to step out of the way.” You forced a laugh and wandered down the aisle. You heard him follow after you, his steps slow and steady.

How could such a simple thing affect you so? It was not as though you were so wholly inexperienced; there had been one or two sweethearts in the past, though most of them were short lived.

Had there been anyone for Faramir? Some pretty thing with a perfect education who could recite poetry and embroider and dance?

Your stomach churned and the twisting feeling in your heart squeezed the traitorous words up your throat. “You know, I am surprised you have not found a partner yet. I would think that the offers must be pouring in.”

“Why would you think such a thing?” He was closer now, just behind you, and you could hear the dismay in his voice.

“The maids, they love to gossip.” You laughed, but it sounded hollow to your ears. “I spoke to a couple of them when I went down to the kitchens two nights ago.”

He fell in step with you and you glanced at him. There was a small smile on his lips but his eyes looked clouded. “There have been offers, yes, but I have declined them all.”

“Unable to find a suitable one?” You arched an eyebrow at him.

“It is not a question of suitability. There is no need for me to choose a partner for their station or standing. Such things never mattered to me, even more so since my family’s passing. I would much rather have someone’s genuine love and affection.”

Of course he would say something of that sort. You smiled to yourself, heart warming at his words. They would be lucky, whoever he loved.

The rain fell harder against the glass and thunder rumbled. You glanced at the window, a memory coalescing in your mind. “Is the little alcove still here? The one behind the curtain?

Faramir grinned and inclined his head towards the back of the library. “I believe so, though it has been some years since I have sat in it.”

He led you to the back of the library where a narrow velvet curtain hung in the corner. He drew the fabric back to reveal a cosy space with a wooden bench built into the wall by the window. The lantern that hung from the low ceiling was dusty and unlit.

You padded over to the bench, bending and inspecting the corners. “It is still here,” you breathed, tracing the two sets of initials carved into the wood. “I cannot believe it.”

He leaned over you, so close that you could inhale his scent. Sandalwood and something, paper perhaps, or mild soap. “So it is.”

You looked up and Faramir’s face was mere centimetres away. Were there always so many yellow flecks in his grey eyes? And his lips… did they always look so soft and inviting?

All you would have to do would be tilt your head, and your lips would connect…

You stepped back and waved stiffly at the lantern. “Shall we light this? We could read here. If you’d like.”

He glanced at the narrow bench. There would be no doubt that the both of you would have to be pressed up in some way to fit.

“If you would like. I think there are might be some oil on the librarian’s desk, and a lit candle, I could —”

“I’ll go.”

You turned around and marched away, pressing your hands to your hot cheeks when you were safely hidden by the shelves. You took a breath. It was just Faramir. You would find the oil and the candles and sit and read with him, and think nothing of lips or kissing or how solid he had felt behind you.

Faramir was in a hell of his own making. Truly, it had been all his fault. For the first time, he cursed his gentle nature. If he had chosen not to speak and steered you away from the instrument shop…

How could he have forgotten that he was not the only friend you had made in your youth?

Elphir, the boy, no, the man who made lutes and drums had been one of them as well. And how could Faramir have denied you when you had lit up at the sight of the old shop and nearly tripped over your feet rushing to the door? And when you had asked if Elphir could come to the Citadel in the evenings to teach you how to play, he could not find it in himself to refuse you, even as discomfort settled deep in his stomach.

In some fantastical lapse of judgement, or perhaps in some foolish notion to watch over you, he had offered the sheltered courtyard below his sitting room to you and Elphir, and now music drifted into the room. Teasing, taunting, tormenting in the way it would mingle with your laughs.

He strode over to the window and slammed it shut.

For five evenings now, you had rushed off after dinner to Elphir, returning to your rooms after your lesson without seeing him. The pot of tea you usually shared with him in the evenings sat unfinished and cold on the table each night. Faramir sagged against the stone pillar and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. If Boromir was alive, he would call Faramir a fool and insist that he go over and chase the man away. But what right did he have?

He was not your lover or your partner, and even if he was, it would be unreasonable to get upset over you spending time with another, especially for something as innocent as music lessons. Faramir was your friend and…

He was your friend.

His breath hitched as the thought rippled through his body. Somewhere in the past three weeks he had forgotten that.

When he had written to you, inviting you to the city, he had only planned to reconnect with an old friend. Someone who got along with him, who understood what his family had been like, who was not a soldier or a subordinate.

He did not intend to be run away with his feelings.

He had grown used to you in the Steward’s House. Your shawl was draped over a chair, the table was always laid for two, you wished him goodnight in the evening before you retired. He had even considered clearing the set of rooms next to his own for you so that you did not have to walk through two corridors just to visit him.

But alas, you were not his.

“Faramir!” You burst into the room with a wide smile on your face and he startled. You slowed your steps, tilting your head and lowered the arm that held your lute aloft. “Is something the matter?”

He shook his head and tried to smile. “I was just deep in thought. How was your lesson?”

“There is something I want to show you.” You wandered over to the cushioned seats by the fire. “Will you sit?”

He nodded and sat in the lone arm chair instead of sharing the bench with you. Your brows creased for a moment before you shook your head and positioned your hands on the lute.

A haunting melody began to fill the room. It was simple, no more than five or six notes that changed subtly every few bars. It tugged at something in his mind, a dream perhaps, or a memory.

A woman humming, a gentle hand on his cheek, the comforting scent of beeswax.

“My mother,” he whispered, frozen where he sat. “She used to sing this to Boromir and me. To get us to sleep.”

Your playing petered out and you looked up at him. “You used to hum it when we were younger, when you thought no one could hear.” You laid your lute to the side. “Elphir taught me the basics of playing. I taught myself the song. In the night, after my classes.”

He felt the corners of his eyes start to burn and he glanced away. How could he not love you now?

“I am sorry, if I shouldn’t have —”

“Please do not apologise. I…” He shook his head and dabbed at his eyes. “ She would be happy to hear these rooms filled with her music once more.”

You came over to him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, your thumb soothing the tension in his muscles with its idle strokes. His eyes focused and unfocused on the decorative ribbons on the bodice of your dress. The crackle of the fire and the rhythmic sound of breathing filled the space between your bodies. He felt your hand drift towards the side of his neck, your thumb just grazing the edge of his jaw, and he slowly, slowly looked up at you.

Your eyes were soft and half-lidded, your lips slightly parted.

He did not dare move, did not dare breathe.

“Faramir.” He shivered at the sigh in your voice. “I—”

A knock sounded on the door and you jerked away from him. Cold air replaced where your heated hand had been.

A muffled voice came through the door. “I have your tea, sir.”

“The tea,” he muttered, rising to his feet. “Would you like to…”

“It has been a long day,” you said, snatching up your lute and striding to the door. “I… Goodnight.”

You flung the door open and he heard the startled squeak of the maid followed by the rapid patter of your footsteps.

You slammed your room door shut behind you and leaned against it. Your breaths came short and quick, chest heaving and skin searing.

What had you almost done? What words were going to spill from your traitorous lips?

It was just Faramir.

Just… a friend.

You shook your head and slumped to the floor. There was nothing decidedly friendly about what had just passed between the both of you. And… and what? What could possibly happen between you and him? You had an estate waiting for you in Lebennin, there were people who needed your instruction and leadership. And Faramir was the Steward of Gondor; the people needed him as well.

Your trip to Minas Tirith was supposed to be nothing more than a visit to an old friend. You had forgotten yourself. For so many years you had run the estate on your own, had resigned yourself to quiet meals in the day and lonely nights in the study. There was no time, no place, to entertain such ridiculous notions like love.

And yet…

You stared at your hands, hands that had held him for just a moment, had felt the coarseness of his beard and the beat of his heart.

Want burned in you.

Want for his lips, his hands. For his gentle smile, for his joyous laughter. For a permanent seat at the table, for space on his shelves for your books.

Faramir stared at the tea tray on the table. Two cups, two saucers. A full pot of tea.

He stroked the side of his jaw, his own fingers feeling indelicate compared to your touch. There was no mistaking the look in your eyes, desire mixed with tenderness. Perhaps it was not so ridiculous to think that you might return at least a fraction of what he felt for you.

His stomach swooped and a strangled laugh burst from him.

But was it just a flash of fancy, borne from the moment? A reckless action in the dim of the night?

Were you going to slip from him, retreat back into your shell of polite distance? He would not be able to bear it, to hear your stilted words, to have you shrink away from his casual touches. To have you vanish again, taking your laughter and your light away with you.

Should he go to you? Would that be impertinent? But he had lost you once before with his inaction, and only a fool would not learn from their mistakes.

You tugged the borrowed cloak on your shoulders closer around you. It smelled like Faramir, like sandalwood and that evasive something, ink perhaps. Mist had descended on the Citadel and drifted across the parapets like sheer curtains. Your steps were soft on the stone and you wandered from torch to torch, veering closer for warmth, roaming further for the cover of shadow. The guards paid you little attention, and the stars overhead twinkled unbothered.

Twice you had tried to walk to Faramir’s room, twice you had turned on your heel and fled back to your rooms. In the end, your room had become stifling and you rushed out into the open air.

Your blood had cooled and, now in the starkness of the open night, you felt foolish.

You paused by the old watchtower, leaning on the cold stone and staring down at the Houses of Healing. You would apologise when you saw him next, and then perhaps it was time to return to the family estate…

Muffled footsteps approached and you turned.

Faramir emerged from the mist, still in his day clothes, his hair mussed and his eyes tired.

“Faramir,” you whispered, arms falling to your sides. You opened your mouth to speak, but your rehearsed speech refused to leave your lips.

He came to a stop in front of you, a disarming smile on his face. “Somehow, I am not surprised to find you here.”

“Were you looking for me?”

He nodded, and amusement coloured his smile. “I suppose, in a way, I have always been looking for you.”

“Is there something you wanted from me?”

His twinkling eyes grew serious. “I wished to speak to you.”

You turned away, suddenly unsure, but his hand reached for yours. His thumb caressed your knuckles and you lifted your eyes to him. “What about?”

“I think you already know.”

You swallowed and tried to speak, but the words stayed lodged in your throat, and your eyes fell to your joined hands.

“I have never been good at disguising my feelings,” he said, voice soft and low. “I am sure you must be aware…”

Aware? Aware of what? His feelings? That he only viewed you as a friend, and that perhaps you had taken advantage of his kindness, mistaken it for affection and…

His fingers skimmed your chin, gently urging it up. His grey eyes were alight, burning almost, with an open passion so rarely seen in him. You scarcely dared to look away. Your heart pounded in your ears.

“Perhaps I have always loved you, even before I realised what that word meant. I was too young, too naive.” He cupped your cheek and you leaned into his touch. “But we are older now. And I can say for certain that I… I —”

You surged forward and pressed your lips to his. They were pillowy and soft and carried a trace of bitterness from the tea. He deepened the kiss, pulling you flush against him. You laid a hand on his chest, fingers splaying across his heart. He sighed into your lips, his exhale hot on your skin. You felt him grin and you nudged his nose with yours.

“I think,” you muttered, “I have wanted to do that for a long time now.”

He laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You are welcome to do it any time you wish.”

“Faramir, why me? And after so many years since we last saw each other.”

“Can such a thing truly be explained?” He hummed to himself. “I suppose the simplest answer I can give is that you bring me joy. And perhaps also, I think we make good partners. We have always made good partners.”

You sobered at his words. “Faramir, we are not children anymore. My estate… I cannot leave it unmanaged. And I have neglected my duties already these past weeks.”

“We will find a way,” he assured. “It is only a full day’s ride from Minas Tirith, is it not?”

“Less, if one has a good horse.”

“Less, I think, if you had the reins.” He chuckled. “We are not children anymore, yes, but that only means that we can truly do as we wish. As we choose.”

You mulled over his words. “And you would choose to have a busy bride, to have to make trips out to the country with her?”

“I choose to have you.” He stroked your cheek. “And you, my love? What would you choose?”

“I choose, I think,” you said with a smile, “to remain where I have always belonged.”

“In Minas Tirith?”

“With you.”

He grinned and wrapped his arms around you. He laughed into your hair and you tucked your nose into his neck. You inhaled his scent, thinking of the unknown, familiar note in it that always eluded you. Thinking of how it smelled like rain and books, of apple peels and bitter tea.

Thinking of how, perhaps, it smelled like home.

---

If you made it this far, holy shit thank you for reading.

I characterised Faramir a little bit differently here. I think I have a tendency to conflate kindness with passivity when it comes to him, but I think he can be pretty intense if he wanted to be.

And also, I feel like this entire piece is tinged with the bittersweetness of growing up, but I hope that it veered more sweet than bitter. To you young'uns out there, truly, I promise you, it is not terrible to grow up ❤️

Taglist: @sotwk

#faramir x reader #faramir x you #faramir x y/n #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #faramir

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dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice · 1 year

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Tolkien Request Character Sheet

Hello again! This is my Tolkien character sheet, where you will be able to request all things Tolkien, whether it's hobbit, LOTR or something else, keep an eye out for requests opening as it's mostly first come first serve!

CHECK OUT MY TOLKIEN MASTERLIST LINK HERE

Requests for Tolkien are CLOSED

Please check out my RULES before requesting and please message the request rather than commenting.

Who I write for: (if your preferred character isn't on here, ask if I write for them, chances are I can!)

The Hobbit

Kíli

Fíli

Thorin

Thranduil

Bilbo

Bard

Lindir

Bofur?? (Maybe - I’m still debating)

Bagginshield (Though I know there are already amazing fics out there way beyond my level, so pls check those out before asking here)

The Lord of the Rings

Legolas

Aragorn

Frodo

Sam

Merry

Pippin

Boromir

Faramir

Gimli

(Personally, I don't swing towards women, but if u really want me to write for any Tolkien girls, I can consider it!)

How I write:

Chapters

Imagines

Headcanons

x reader (fem/gn since I am not male, but again I can always consider <3)

x oc (not always though)

LOVE U GUYS <333333

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judgementdaysunshine · 1 year

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Hello Hello

Pairing: Eowyn x Fem reader

Description: You and Eowyn meet on the castle grounds falling in love at first sight and starting your lives together after the war

Feet are feeling light head on out to see the sights ain't life a many splendored thing ducking up and down all these crazy sights and sounds bounce around like puppets on a string

You both remember the day you met like it was yesterday at the castle grounds not knowing that day would change the both of you for the rest of your lives.

Never gonna find anything to change my mind famous last lines of a fool just when you think you're a chain with just one link something comes to tip you off your stool

You were enjoying the sun and fresh air with beautiful flowers at your feet while the rest of the fellowship was trying to figure out how to stop Sauron not knowing you would meet the most beautiful and courageous woman you would ever know in your life.

Hello hello hello hello my my my what have we here what a surprise what a surprise hello hello hello hello i'm not alone it's good to know some's out there to say hello hello

You were picking sunflowers when you felt a hand on yours when you grabbed the stem looking up to see the most beautiful and wonderful green eyes looking into your soul laughing and introducing yourselves spending the rest of the day together.

Do a dizzy dance twirl around and take a chance nothing's easy nothing comes for free sniffing on a flower running through an autumn shower bumping into someone else like me hello hello hello hello my my my what have we here

Soon the two of you were carefully sneaking to each other and spending time together from talking in her room, picking flowers and braiding them in each other's hair, and watching the sun set to sneaking in her room for nights in a row, dancing to music playing at dinner, and holding hands as you hide in a corner giving secret kisses.

What a surprise what a surprise hello hello hello hello I'm not alone it's good to know someone's out there to say hello hello and I could fly on the back of a bird I could shake all leaves from a tree

The two of you decided to wait after the war to officially be together and announce your relationship to everyone you knew so that not only did the two of you not have to worry of losing each other but also so that the two of you didn't have to hide the love you had for each other in such a short amount of time anymore.

If there's a quest I'm a knight where's there wrong I will do right two's better than the one I used to be hello hello hello hello my my my what have we here what a surprise what a surprise hello hello

As soon as the war was over you and all your friends celebrated later on during the celebration you and eowyn got everyone's attention announcing that you were together and if anyone had a problem or tried to separate the two of you they could leave and stay out of both your lives but everyone laughed and smiled hugging the two of you.

Hello hello my my my what have we here what a surprise what a surprise hello hello hello hello I'm not alone it's good to know someone's out there to say hello hello

The two of you stood side by side at Aragorn and Arwen's coronation smiling in your pink dress next to her in a yellow dress holding each other's hand next to Faramir going and hugging all your friends with eowyn watching before doing the same.

Hello hello my my my what have we here what a surprise what a surprise hello hello hello hello I'm not alone it's good to know someone's out there to say hello hello

Years went on and the two of you got married being the first two queens to rule Rohan and later moving to Ithilien and starting a family together with 5 children your eldest and third eldest being boys while your second eldest and two youngest were girls naming them Kaemon, Vanya, Sorin, Alaida, and Calia who you both loved very dearly and your friends were always happy to see the two of you and your family.

#eowyn #lord of the rings #eowyn x reader #lord of rings x reader

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ao3feed-tolkien · 1 year

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Faramir of Hurin Imagines

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Ne2OJ4r

by Bonniebird

The lord of the rings: Faramir of Hurin ; This book is for LOTR's Boromir . All of my Imagines, prompts, oneshots and moodboard for Faramir requested via my Tumblr account; @bonniebird Fics in this book are Faramir x Reader, Faramir x Fem!Reader or Faramir x Male!Reader

Words: 308, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Characters: Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Boromir (Son of Denethor II), Aragorn | Estel, Frodo Baggins, Sam Gamgee, Gandalf | Mithrandir, The Fellowship of the Ring, Gimli (Son of Glóin), Legolas Greenleaf

Relationships: Faramir (Son of Denethor II)/Reader, Faramir (Son of Denethor II) & Reader

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/Ne2OJ4r

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #Tolkien #JRR Tolkien #Tolkien works #ao3 #fan fiction

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fizzyxcustard · 5 years

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Invited by Fate (2)

Summary: Every year Fate holds a ball, inviting all of those people who have yet to meet their true love or who have somehow missed their previous chance. Fate intends to put all the guests back on track in meeting their soul mate, whose name appears as a gold tattoo on their wrist. At the strike of midnight, if you have not met your intended, you will not get the chance again.

Warnings: Bad language, violence, smut…bit of everything. But this story is still in progress, so warnings will be introduced as each chapter is written. First person perspective with a Thorin pairing, but all other readers/bloggers will be introduced.

Fandoms: The Hobbit/Lord of the Rings, Doctor Who, Marvel, Labyrinth, Once Upon a Time, Supernatural, Strike Back, North and South…whatever readers request.

Pairings: Blogger x character inserts. This story intends to take requests from readers and pair them with their favourite fictional character. Requests are still open for pairings. Send me an ask with your name, a short description of yourself and the character you choose to be paired with. I will try and incorporate as many bloggers into this story as possible.

Masterlist here

Comments/Notes: To be tagged for notifications, message me or send an ask. Those who make an appearance: @mechromancing-cinnamon-roll

Follow Forever tag list: @shikin83 @deepestfirefun@houseofrahl@nowiloveandwilllove @mynameisnoneya1991@blankdblank@captainrainbowpanda @cd1242 @c-s-stars @thorins-magnificent-ass@patanghill17 @trees-and-ink @inumorph @leah-halliwell92@greendragonette@msjava1972 @thequeenoferebor @ghostlyandee @bespectacled-bunny@raindancer2004 @dottiechan @captain-almighty @hobbitlover23@catthefearless @epicallychrissy @nelswp @adaliamalfoy

Invited by Fate tag list and all those who have requested pairings: @cd1242@bespectacled-bunny @mechromancing-cinnamon-roll @tigereyesf @autobot-fangirl-101 @nowiloveandwilllove @c-s-stars @justballoonfishthings@phantomxqueen3 @mynameisnoneya1991 @fentah @speakfriendandlovebucky@xxdragonagequeenxx @inhabitant-of-the-void @deepestfirefun@thatgirlunderarock @nobodys-baby-now @babybarrie@chloeparadis1307 @online-imagines-reader

A tap came to the door of the room I was in. A middle aged lady wearing a typical maid uniform and apron came in, smiling at me. Her dark eyes were so happy behind her silver rimmed spectacles. “Everyone is expecting you downstairs. The ball is about to begin,” she told me. Even her voice sounded jovial, full of sheer happiness. I couldn’t help but smile back at her, feeling entranced by her presence. A peace overcame me, and I knew that my life was about to change drastically.

“Who is Thorin Oakenshield?” I asked, studying the finely laced gold writing around my wrist.

“My dear, he is your soul mate!” the maid said loudly, almost laughing. “That is why you are here. Did you not know? Fate presents this ball each year, inviting those who have waited their turn patiently to be united with their true love. Sometimes through unforeseen circumstances and mistakes of the Creator, people can be pulled apart from their intended companion. I believe I’ve seen Thorin already, and you will not be disappointed. However, this ball is not only to seek true love, but to be united with friends who may have slipped past us along life’s way. Enjoy tonight that is all we ever ask of you.”

The maid opened the door for me, giving me a smile as i exited. “Follow the hallway to the very end and then there’s a staircase, just follow it down and you can’t miss the ballroom.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling my nerves begin to get the better of me. I inhaled deeply, trying to compose myself.

“You’ll be alright,” the maid said softly. “Tonight is for you; it’s the turning point. Now go, Thorin is waiting.”

“How will I know who he is?” I asked.

The maid smiled again. “You’ll just know.”

As I walked out of the room, looking down the hallway in the direction the maid had said, and then looked back, she had disappeared. My bed chamber room was now shut. I choked loudly, hoping no one heard me. Where the hell had she gone?

My heart was pounding, the blood thumping in my ears like a maddened drum. I saw other people begin to appear from their rooms; people in dresses, tuxedos, regal robes, formal attire. Tall people, short people, different skin colours. If there was ever a place that represented all kinds of diversity, it was here.

As I turned to look further back up the hallway, I bumped into someone, hitting them face first in the back. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I cried, embarrassed at my scatter brained behaviour. But I was so intent on trying to see everything.

“It’s alright,” a kind voice came and then the woman in front of me turned. She was slightly taller than me, wearing a silver gown. Her long, dark blonde hair had been half clipped up into a bun. A diamond necklace and matching earrings sparkled so beautifully against her pale skin. “I’m Sara, by the way.” Her smiled eased my nerves and we both walked together.

I offered her my name and then noticed her arm was outstretched. She was looking at the gold lettering around her wrist, that looks so much like the name I had on mine.

“I was told that the person’s name on our wrist is who we’re intended to meet tonight. It says James Buchanan Barnes on me. It won’t wash off no matter how hard I try.”

Sara then looked at my wrist, and for a second I felt distrust wash over me and pulled my arm back, not wanting her to see. A blush flooded my cheeks as I realised my behaviour and then stretched my arm out to her.

Bodies continued on rushing past us. Surely with the sheer number of people who had dashed past, there would never be enough rooms for every single guest. Had they all woke up in their own bedroom? But if all of this was magic somehow, then anything could have been possible, couldn't it?

To my amazement, Sara put her arm through mine, not mentioning the gold names again on our wrists. Together we walked down the hallway, following the red and gold carpet and descending down a huge, grand staircase.

I looked over the bannister to see an enormous ball room, full of people who were mingling. There were surely hundreds of people, there voices a hum on the air. An invisible orchestra was playing in the distance, the melody just about audible over the voices of guests. The music seemed to be beckoning everyone in.

Sara and I remained speechless, our eyes surveying the beautiful architecture of the room. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, along with canopies and gold lightning. Along the back wall were huge windows and outside I could see the sun dipping below a mountain range. “Where are we?” I asked Sara.

Before I could say any more, Sara had disappeared towards a table that was offering drinks. “Bye then,” I whispered to myself and then felt my nerves begin to twist in my gut. I swallowed hard and walked slowly towards the edge of the main ballroom. Some guests had started dancing, swirling and twisting to the quick tune that was currently playing. Lines of people, couples and single people. If only I could have let myself go like that, I thought to myself, growling under my breath at my anti social temperament.

For a few minutes I walked slowly around the room, keeping to the edge, until I caught sight again of Sara. She was conversation with a man dressed in a tux; he was an attractive young man with shoulder length dark hair and seemed to be quite taken with her, smiling often.

“I do not care why I am here!” a snarl came from behind me. Then a lighter voice, trying to reassure followed on. “Whoever is holding this ball had better send me back to Erebor.”

“Thorin, there is no one here who knows any more than we do. It seems all those in this room are guests and are in the same position as us,” the second voice came.

“I am supposed to meet my One here?” Thorin scoffed. “Fine chance of that happening, Master Burglar.”

“But look on your wrist. Where did that name come from?”

I immediately froze. Slowly I turned, breath held in my lungs painfully. Then I saw a short, broad built man with long hair and wearing dark blue robes. He stared at me for a split second, his fierce blue eyes meeting mine.

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