#lord of the rings x reader
Lindir X reader
Keyword : milkshake
"Lindir, come try this!" You called over to your elf lover after you had just come back from a trip to the modern world (A portal, teleportation, whatever you want to imagine). You heard the steps of your favourite ellon behind you and you turned around to gaze at your beloved. "Yes My love?" He strides infront of you and sits beside you on one of the many garden benches, staring curiously at the glass cup in your hand. "What is that that your drinking?" He peers up to see inside the cup that you had brought back from your trip like it was some strange creature he had never seen before.
"try some, it tastes quite nice" grabbing the cup from the bottom, you push it towards Lindir and slowly let go of the bottom while handing it over to him. His hand flinched slightly as he felt the cold bottom but he soon brought the liquid to his lips and sips a small amount. It was clear but the strange expression on your poor lover's face that he was not used to the cold and the unusual expression continued until he swallowed it. "Well?" You ask as his face finally seems to be turning back to normal.
"it's really... Something" he says, still trying to recover from the cold feeling that just filled his mouth while you resisted the urge to laugh. He continued "it doesn't taste bad just... Colder than I was expecting" you finally let out a soft chuckle and watch as Lindir chuckled with you before he spoke again "I would certainly not mind some more though, especially if it would make you happy"
This was just something I thought I would quickly upload before I start the requests so sorry if it's a bit short.
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Characters that I currently write for are:
(might add more in the future)
I can write for a reader of any gender but if the gender is not mentioned I will assume it is femme reader
I don't write smut now but I might in the future
Requests are open for headcannons, oneshots and imagines (short oneshots)
You can send requests as an ask but you can DM me too
I will write things such as self harm and suicide (there will be warnings at the start)
I write poly, female X female and male X male relationships
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desire (eomer x reader)
(not my gif)
summary: reader is a stable-hand, and catches the soldier's attention
requested by: @laurfilijames and @linasofia
a.n: so i got a couple of similar requests, so i hope you don't mind that i combined them :) you can tell i have never ridden a horse in my life :)
"Easy there, easy," you said gently, carefully running your brush over the horse's mane. "It's alright." Talking to the horses, you had found, had always been the best way for you to keep them calm, especially after the amount of battles some of them had seen. The horse in question was Hasufel, a strong, chestnut mare, and you had been instructed by your superior to take as best care of it as you could. The horse belonged to the King's nephew, and though you had never met the man before, you knew that it would be your head for the block lest anything happen to the animal.
Of course, it would not, as for many a year you had been regarded as the best trainer in Rohan, widely respected: none other would they trust with the Lord of the Mark's steed.
"Come on now," you said, brushing your hand upon the animal's coat. "Very handsome; let's see what you can do."
Placing your brush to one side, you gave one final touch to the horse's side before swinging yourself up to mount the saddle. It would be a lie to say you didn't feel an instant connection with the animal, feeling the muscular form beneath you. Hasufel had seen a many a war, and yet here you were, a humble horse trainer sitting astride it.
With a small pat to its left side, you led the horse out of the stable, and onto your field for training. You began with a simple walk, then progressing, all the while making sure you were in complete control of him. Half way through one of the more complex areas, you realised that you had an audience. Deciding it would be better to just carry on - and not taking notice of who it was that was watching you - you finished up your training for that day. Only then did you see him.
Just just a few paces off from where you brought Hasufel to a halt, stood Eomer, brother-son to King Theoden. Despite your initial surprise, you did not allow his presence to faze you, and smoothly dismounted before leading the horse back over to its paddock.
"You must be (Y/N)," Eomer called, following you. He watched you closely as you locked up the door.
"Yes," you answered simply. Giving your dress a quick wipe down, you turned away from him, moving to run your hand across the nose of one of the other horses, a dark grey mare.
"That is my horse that you were riding," he continued.
"Yes, sir, I have been informed." Again you carried on with your business, using it partly as an opportunity to hide your grin from him.
Eomer seemed a little intimidated by your disinterest, considering most of the other workers would have immediately bent the knee at his arrival, whereas all you gave him was a slight curtsy. "I am impressed with how you handled him. Sometimes he is not even that calm with me, and I have had him for many years now."
"It is my job, my Lord," you replied, "if I was not good at it, I would not keep it for very long."
Now you truly had his interest, and the subtle attitude and defiance in your voice caught him off guard. Only now did you finally turn around and face him, patting your hands together so as to remove some of the dust that lingered there.
"I had not expected you to be-" He began, though his words caught slightly, and he noted it had been the first time in many a year that he had been lost for words.
"A woman?" you finished, crossing your arms over your chest.
"Beautiful," he corrected, eyes scanning you over. A short laugh came from you; you - standing in nought but the rags you wore whilst training: you couldn't quite believe he had said such a thing.
"Looks are not important when training horses."
"No, but it helps," he said with a smug grin. You couldn't help the slight eye roll that you gave in response, though you would be lying if you said there wasn't an attraction on your part. Ridiculous, you thought to yourself, he was the king's nephew, one day to be king himself, after the passing of Theodred.
"What would your uncle think of you, down here with the horse trainer?" You chuckled to yourself, putting away one of your brushes. "Careful: you might get that nice tunic of yours dirty."
Eomer's eyes widened slightly in disbelief. No-one had ever spoken to him like this, yet here you were, a simple stable-hand making a mock of him. Had it not been for the devious grin that held your expression he may have scorned you for that remark, but your playful nature intrigued him.
"You are quite the woman, (Y/N)."
"Last I checked, yes my Lord." No more hiding: you faced him directly, and though you had to crane your neck slightly, it was the soldier who felt intimidated.
"Why horses?" he asked, voice low and questioning.
You gave a small shrug. "They are magnificent beasts, powerful yet elegant, and I have not encountered an animal alike in that respect. With a horse comes freedom."
"Is that what you desire, (Y/N)?" Eomer took another step closer, almost so that you could feel his breath feathering out across your face. "Do you desire freedom?"
"I am free." Your eyes quickly scanned over his face, noting the darkening of his gaze as he surveyed you. "I only desire that which I do not have, my Lord."
"As do I," Eomer replied, voice now but a mumble. There was a slight pause, before once again that smile came to your face, and without giving him time to react, you turned and moved to put away your equipment.
"Hasufel may need a few more sessions, but there isn't much work to do. He is a very intelligent animal - much more so than some of the ones that are brought to me," you remarked absentmindely. Just as you turned to exit the stable, Eomer reached out and caught your arm.
"Perhaps I will come to see you again tomorrow?" he said with a slight questioning tone.
You hesitated, and then, smiling, "Eomer, Lord of the Mark, nephew to King Theoden, asking my permission? Are you not allowed to come and go as you please?"
He was stunned, and with a swift curtsy, you left him as such.
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The Butterfly Effect-Where It All Begins
(I apologize, It’s a bit rewritten after my blog got deleted. Sorry!)
You had come to the renaissance festival for your friends birthday. Your friend having brought you for their birthday.
That’s how you ended up in front of a small shady looking stall. The seller is dressed as a rogue, their hood pulled low to obscure their face. You aren’t even sure how they can see anything like that. You had tried to brush off their advances. They claimed they had the perfect ring for you. You had wanted the one with the dragon curled around a pearl.
Instead they were talking up a thick silver band with topaz butterflies embedded in it. It was obviously waaaayyy out of your price range. You knew they were just trying to make a large sale. Or so you thought.
“Go on try it on!” They beam, holding it out for you. For the briefest moment you saw one of the butterflies flutter its wings. You take a step back in alarm.
You didn’t even get to finish before they’re sliding it onto you middle finger. When did they grab your hand? To your wonder it fits perfectly. The rogue grins as they clap their hands.
“Oh, I knew it wanted you! Not just anyone can wear one of these. It takes someone very very very special,” they chuckle clasping their hands together. You try to pull the ring off only to find it’s become stuck. What the hell? Did they out superglue on it or something?! You gave another sharp tug but the ring didn’t budge.
“Oh, and good luck. You’re going to need it!” They grinned pushing you backwards. You fell, a panicked shout leaving your throat. Your world tilted and you found yourself falling through leaves. Leaves? It wasn’t even fall!
As the orange and black colors swirled around you realized they weren’t leaves at all. They were Monarch butterflies! The persons gleeful cackle was swallowed up amongst the tiny wingbeats. Small rays of light peeked through the mass of butterflies. It almost felt like you were floating. You reached your hand out to tentatively touch on. Your fingers barely brushing against a papery wing.
And just like that they left you. Swirling up into the sky leaving you to free fall to the ground below. You landed with a harsh thud. Pushing yourself upright you met the eyes of someone who shouldn’t exist. That you’d seen in maybe a movie or fan art. Read about in books. But there was no way-
“What the hell was that all about?” They blurted.
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a thousand times (eomer x reader)
(not my gif)
requested by: @tolkien-fantasy
summary: the reader gives eomer a few lessons in reading and writing, but the soldier appears dead set in his ways
a.n: second of the eomer fics! there's a few more to come with maybe another pairing in between, but since he is in such demand i'll probably get these posted first. thank you for requesting :)
"I fail to see how words on paper will serve me during battle," Eomer sighed, leaning back in his chair, arms firmly folded across his chest.
This, you were beginning to think, was hopeless.
For the past hour or so, at his own request, you had attempted to educate your husband in the ways of reading and writing. The armies of Rohan had always passed down their history through songs and spoken word, yet when the Lord of the Mark had spied you caught up in a book, he suddenly became interested. Ever since you were a child, you had loved losing yourself in the tales of old that your ancestors had recorded; sharing that gift with your husband had seemed like a great opportunity.
Only now his stubbornness was beginning to shine through. Though you loved him for it, the man nearly had you pulling your hair from your head.
"Do not pretend that writing has no place in war," you said, almost smugly. Eomer cocked an eyebrow, as if saying 'you believe you know more about war than I?'. "Wars are often started by writing. Small pieces of paper that fall into the wrong hands. Imagine your enemy handed you a surrender written: you would not be able to read it."
"That is yet to happen, my love."
"But that does not mean it never will. Now will you please try again?" you pleaded, reaching your hand across to grasp his as it lay rested upon the large volume you had brought out.
"For me?" Casting his gaze to yours, you gave him your best pout, and even he knew that he was unable to resist your charm.
"Alright, for you," he mumbled. Once again, he shifted slightly in his seat and glanced down at the pages in front of him. Most of it seemed like nonsense, just scribbles on page after page of aged paper. Eomer gave his dirty-blonde hair a slight scratch, before moving to rest his chin upon his palm.
"This is one of my favourites," you said with a smile. "It is the tale of Beren and Lúthien, the lovers." You looked down at the ancient text, lovingly running your fingers along the lines. It had been hard to get your hands on a copy of it, since within Rohan there was little time for reading, but through a chain of requests, it had found its way to you. "My mother used to read it to me when I was a child."
"You expect me to read a child's book?" Eomer questioned, suddenly seeming offended.
You paused slightly, rather distraught as his dark brows furrowed. "No, I just-"
"I may not be able to read some stupid fairytale, but I am far from a child, (Y/N), and I cannot believe you would think of me as such."
His words pained you, and it was no use trying to convince him of your true intentions. Without another word, he gathered his sword and helmet, and swiftly exited the room.
"I just wanted to help," you whispered to yourself. With great haste, you slammed shut the cover of the book, so as to make certain your tears would not stain the paper. You wiped your eyes, though remained in the library, ruminating on the interaction.
Days passed, and you did your best to avoid your husband, despite his efforts to catch your attention. Eomer seemed not to realise how deeply he had wounded you, that perhaps he should not speak to you as forcefully as he spoke to his fellow soldiers. Most of your hours were spent tending to your duties, seeking them wherever you could find them, be it aiding the carers of the sick, or working away at a piece of needlework. Your only want was to distance yourself from him.
After three days or so, your husband began to realise the error of his ways, and knew he had to put his own pride and stubbornness aside if he wanted to rectify his behaviour. So Eomer hatched a plan of his own in order to restore your relationship, and hopefully to brighten your dampened spirits.
One evening, you were seated by your desk, stitching away at a blanket you had been working on amidst your frustration, when a knock rapped upon the door. You gave no admittance, but when it opened regardless, you knew your husband was present.
"Eomer, I don't want-" You began, but he quickly interrupted you.
"Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days, there are yet some which amid weeping there is joy, and under the shadow of death light that endures."
Your ears pricked up at the familiar words, and you set aside your craft to look upon him. Adorned in his best armour, Eomer stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, holding in one hand your book, and with the other ran his hand along the lines. His words came out slowly, but you couldn't help the sweet smile that came to your features upon admiring his deep concentration. "And of these histories, most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien."
Seeing his struggle, you rose from your seating and strode over to him, carefully closing the book.
"You learned all that for me?" you asked, reaching out to caress his coarse beard.
He gave a small shrug, though you could see his elation at your touch.
"I'm very impressed," you continued, and placed a gentle kiss to his cheek.
"You should be impressed," he grumbled, though you could tell his mask was slipping once he had shut the door. "I had to sacrifice my pride and ask the mad, old woman who polishes my armour for help. She was happy to oblige, though I do not wish to know what she hoped to gain from it."
"Oh no," you chuckled, "I hope someone isn't trying to steal my husband away from me."
Brow cocking, Eomer leaned down to your height, and in one swift movement raised you from the floor, holding you as he did on your wedding night. "Have no fear, fair maiden, I shall protect you."
"You have my thanks, brave sir." You swung both of your arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to press upon yours. Soft was his embrace, contrasting the cool feeling of his armour through your dress. "Are you going to finish the story?"
"Oh, (Y/N), you must have heard it a thousand times before," he mumbled, preoccupied with dotting kisses about your jaw, eliciting a laugh at the tickle of his beard. You pulled away, again displaying your best puppy-eyes. With a sigh, he pressed his forehead to yours, "And I shall read it to you a thousand more."
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I've decided I'm going to write little prompts/lines for LOTR/TH that others can use. I don't know if anyone will be keen but I thought it would be cool to see how different authors use them. If you do choose to use them then please tag where it came from or just reblog and write under that. Cheers :)
(I don't mind if people change them slightly to make them fit in their story)
"Look at my hair Aragorn. I certainly didn't get it this soft by leaving it caked in the blood of my enemies" Legolas sassed.
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brave (eomer x reader)
(not my gif)
requested by: @shethereadinghobbit
summary: eomer teases the reader after she has a little too much to drink
warnings: alchol mention (?), just general flirting, minor cursing while drunk
a.n: okay so thank you all for requesting, i've got a couple more eomer fics coming and honestly i'm so excited thank you guys so much
"I thought you were a man of Rohan, and yet you're sick off a few pints? Don't make me laugh!" you joked, slamming your tankard onto the table. After a ten or so minute competition between yourself and the man now half-asleep across from you, you had proven yourself a much worthier drinker. What respect this gained you, you did not know, yet the men surrounding you - who all seemed to have taken great interest in the game - began a great uproar of applause. Before you knew what was happening, a few of the soldiers behind you hoisted you up onto their shoulders, cheering your name as they carried you about the tavern.
Some song was taken up, and you managed to join in, though never remembering learning the words. You were heavily intoxicated, but of course, you could not allow them to realise this, otherwise your whole persona would fall apart, and those few gold coins you had just won may have found themselves in jeopardy.
Luckily for your stomach, they did not keep you in the air long, and soon enough you were placed back down at the closest table they could find. Another pint of ale was placed down in front of you, and your hand immediately found its way to it.
Just as you were about to raise it to your mouth, another hand rested itself upon your shoulder. Had you been on guard, you would have jumped in fright, perhaps making a move to defend yourself; however, in your current state, the eye of Sauron could have been boring into you, and you would have still made a merriment of it.
"Perhaps, my Lady, you may want to slow down a little bit," the voice came from behind. Only when it moved to sit beside you did you realise you were in the presence of Eomer, Lord of the Mark. Sober, you may have bent the knee, but all you found yourself doing was letting out the most ridiculous laugh, nearly collapsing into his lap in your inebriation.
"Oh come on!" you half-yelled. "None of that, my Lady shit. We are drinking: alcohol has no ranks."
A smug grin came to the captain's face as he observed your near-bumbling state, and he too joined in with your laughter. "Perhaps you are right. (Y/N) it is then."
"And you are..." you trailed off, finally getting that sip of ale.
Eomer shook his head slightly in disbelief, and too took a drink. "Eomer, do you not remember my face?"
"I don't remember very much, Eomer, and I'm sure I would be able to recall a face as handsome as yours." Again the giggling. Thankfully, Eomer seemed to find it rather endearing, even going so far as to shuffle his seat a little closer to your own so that your legs were practically touching.
"Maybe you have not seen it enough without a helmet."
"Oh no, no-" and before you knew what you were doing, you reached your hands across to cup both of his cheeks. "You should not cover such a nice face with a helmet."
He let out a low chuckle and moved his hand to rest against your knee, rubbing his finger ever so subtly over the material of your dress. "I am glad you are not of our army, (Y/N), I would hate to dream of covering your face. Such striking eyes." Upon that remark, you turned as red as a wine glass, and half turned your face away so as to not be affected any further by his darkening gaze.
Then you saw it. Resting just to his left, Eomer's helmet sat; and seizing the opportunity, you swiftly lunged forward whilst his attention was occupied with your leg to snatch it. You rose to your feet in an instant, moving to stand on your stool, and clutching the helmet close to your chest.
"I've always wanted to wear one of these." Eomer's eyes were fixed on your feet, watching as you swayed ever so slightly upon that small area of chair. Regardless, you did not care, and quickly placed the helmet on. It was a very large fit for you, but anyway, you put your hands and your hips, attempting to look as desirable as possible, though in your stupor it looked rather comical. Eomer would have found it endearing, had he not been more concerned about you falling and breaking your neck.
"How do I look?" you slurred, and by now you had caught the attention of some of the other soldiers.
"Stunning, now would you please come down from that chair?"
"Maybe I will," you giggled, moving to bite your nail, "maybe I won't."
A few whistles sounded from behind you, and Eomer pulled a rather cocky expression, crossing his arms loosely across his chest. "I'm going to count to three, and then you're going to get down. One-"
"Ooh, am I in trouble?" you slurred, raising your hands up. This was not a good idea, and you suddenly realised that you had worsened your balance.
Eomer was playing to the crowd, and shot a quick smile to his fellow soldiers, therefore briefly taking his attention from you. "Two..."
But you were already beginning to stumble, and some of the men closer to you began to say your name; it fell on deaf ears, and before you had time to stop yourself, you were tilting forward. Being such an experienced soldier as he was, Eomer's reactions were very well developed, and just before you were able to crack your head from the floor, he lunged forward, catching you with a firm grip.
You could only laugh at the dizziness that enveloped you, reaching up to run your finger along Eomer's suddenly sober expression.
"You nearly died," he near-whispered, carefully removing his helmet from you. Laughing as you had been for the entire night, you quickly took a hold of the back of his head, gathering a handful of blonde hair, and pulled it down to your own. You pressed your lips against his before he had time to protest, and just as speedily, you pulled away again.
Eomer was completely dumbfounded. It took a moment for him to register what had just happened, considering his status, nobody had ever had the audacity to do such a thing.
"What was that for?" he asked.
You shrugged, still laying in his arms. "For saving me, brave sir."
Smiling his half-grin once again, Eomer (less forcefully than you had) brought his forehead to rest against your own, before leaning down to replace his lips onto your own. You felt time slow, and for the first time that night, you were fully aware of your surroundings. Slinging an arm up to wrap around his neck, you pulled him even closer, deepening the kiss; in response, as was custom, the spectating soldiere brought up a loud cheer, again whistling.
Neither of you noticed, eyes sliding shut as you pressed yourself flush against him. Once you finally came up for air, that blush returned to you, and he was once more his smug self that had initially enticed you.
"You're quite the woman, (Y/N)," he muttered just for you to hear, moving you upward to sit on his knee.
"Do you say that to all of the ladies?"
Eomer shook his head slightly, reaching a coarse hand out to push a strand of hair behind your ear. "Just the ones who take my armour from me. Most of the men in this room would not be so brave."
You grinned, placing a soft kiss upon his temple, before resting your chin to his shoulder. "Oh I'm incredibly brave."
"And you're incredibly drunk."
"Drunk and brave," you muttered close to his ear. Eomer turned his head to the side, scanning all your features entirely. Had it not been for the striking up of the band, he truly could have watched you all night, never tiring of the sight of you.
However, in your state, your attention span was completely diminished, and you snapped out of your trance. "Oh, this is my favourite song-" which was the third time you had said this that night. "Come and dance with me!"
"Oh no," Eomer laughed, glancing about at the company around him, most of whom were his men. "I'm not really one for dancing."
"Everyone likes dancing, don't be so sour. Come on!" You were already standing up from his lap, tugging on his hand to get him to stand.
"Fine: if you won't dance with me, I'll just get one of the other men to. I am sure none of them would have any objections."
And almost immediately, Eomer was on his feet, much to your pleasure, following your lead as you began to find the beat. All thoughts of the spectators evaporated, and for the rest of the night, he was yours completely.
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does anyone have any eomer requests because i really want to write something for him but i'm not sure what? thank you guys xx
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Hello! Since I see you are posting a lot of the Lord of the rings content (and I love it!) could I ask for some Eomer headcanons realizing that he may developed feelings for healer!reader?
Yeah, I did a rewatch of the movies so I was super inspired for the fandom! I’m glad you like the LOTR posts 😊 Here it is, I hope you like it, thanks for requesting!
EOMER FALLING FOR HEALER!READER
Eomer has known you for a long time now, years even
After all you had been the one to care for his wounds most of the time
Him being a rohirrim, there have been many times he’s gotten injured
Sometimes Eowyn patched him up if it was small wounds
But when they were a little more serious, he came to you
He found himself always talking to you while you healed him
Partly because it distracted him from the pain and the strange sensation
But also because you were a great listener and he was comfortable
He told you about his battles, about his victories and defeats
About wanting to defend Rohan and trying to keep it safe
You always showed him a sweet smile and said you were proud of him
That he was very brave and Rohan was lucky to have him
That you admired his courage and his leadership as well as his kindness
Eomer could only smile at you, not knowing what to say in return
All those encounters made him start paying more attention to you
To your constant smile, always so sweet and reassuring
To your gentle hands, making him remember your soft touch
To your light and softness, and how you were always so delicate
Every single person you healed was graced by your magic, literally
After that, Eomer starting realizing he had developed feelings for you
You were like the hope in his war-filled life, the gentleness in his violence
So he found a great deal of comfort in your persona
Not only because you healed his body with your magic touch
But because you were also healing his soul with your gentleness
Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @fandomxreaders / @dancewaterdance02 / @fortheloveofbenyandtom / @of-stardust-and-dreams / @caswinchester2000 / @ikemencrossedmyth / @dancingwith-sunflowers / @lxncelot / @ta-ka-shi-ma / @okay-j-hannah / @suenami3 / @swanimagines / @lovinghufflepuffgirl / @fedorable-killjoys / @eru-vande // Send an ask if you want to be added to the tag list for these fandoms or characters!
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just like the wind (part iii)
summary: trying to save Frodo's life, you separate from the group
word count: 1'655
warnings: fight scene, frodo being sick
Wrath, anger, rage, fury
(Translated from Latin)
You travelled non-stop until you were about a day from Rivendell. You were, not literally but very figuratively, dying. You probably looked just as bad as Frodo, if not worse.
The purple bags under your eyes were a reminder of all the nights you had spent walking instead of sleeping. You had been too selfless and had not taken enough food for both you and Frodo and had naturally given it all to him, which lead to the colour draining from your slightly hollowed cheeks. You had acquired even more bruises (and quite a nasty cut) from a very conveniently timed wild-boar attack.
You reach a river a promptly collapse after gently laying Frodo down. You splash some water onto your dirty face before helping Frodo drink out of your hands. You freeze when you hear a small crunch of leaves behind you.
Your sword is drawn in less than a second, pointing at the potential attacker's throat. Your eyes finally meet the face of- Arwen, your friend. You let out a deep breath of relief as your sword falls to the ground.
"My apologies, I thought you were another wild boar," you admit, picking your sword off the ground and placing it in its sheath.
She laughs softly before pulling you into a warm embrace. "Do not fret, my friend, no harm done! How have you been? It's been decades!"
"It has been!" you agree, returning the touch before pulling away, "But before we rejoice, I may need your help," you motion to Frodo with a bruised hand. "Can you do anything?"
Arwen hums and takes a step closer to the frail body of the Hobbit. She gracefully kneels next to him and starts chanting an unfamiliar song. She slowly shakes her head with a frown.
"This is beyond me. He needs my father," she declares, standing up.
"I'll come with you." you decide, getting Frodo off the ground and placing him on her horse.
"I am a faster rider," Arwen tries to reason, but you shake your head.
"Yes, I am more than aware of that," you say, wordlessly referring to the countless races you and her had had. "I am also aware of how difficult, and near impossible, to fight off the Wraiths while holding on to Frodo to assure he does not fall off a galloping horse," you argue.
She reluctantly nods her head. You had a point.
"Before we go, I must just fetch something," you mumble, more to yourself than her, but she seems to understand as she goes to check on Frodo. You take a few steps backwards and finally recognize the sweet scent of Athelas leaves. You had been applying some to Frodo's wounds for the last few days in a desperate attempt at keeping the poison from reaching his heart.
You quickly grab a few handfuls and shove them into your mouth. You walk back to where Frodo was sitting in front of Arwen on her horse. You hurriedly chew the leaves before spitting them out on your fingers. You lather the thick, sticky paste to Frodo's wound before heading back to your own horse.
For the majority of the journey, you do not see the Wraiths. You were actually starting to think that you may reach Rivendell without a surprise visit from the Riders, but were soon proved wrong.
The first screech you heard made your skin crawl and your mind race. Maybe you hadn't thought this through completely. Fighting off the Wraiths? All nine of them? At the same time? While on a horse? Galloping at full speed? This was with no doubt not your brightest moment, Strider definitely would have agreed. It was thoughtless and reckless and absolutely insane, but it had to work. The Ring Bearer's life depended on it.
Your sword violently meets the first Rider's blade when he came out of the woods from behind you. You keep one hand on the rain of the horse between your legs and slash at him again. You are pushed to the side by another one and almost lose your balance. You curse before pulling yourself back up and narrowly dodging a what-could-have-been-fatal jab at your middle. You aimlessly swing your sword around you, trying to keep them all at a distance. You perceive the river marking the entrance of Rivendell and a surge of hope flies through you. Maybe you could hold them off until then.
In that mere second of distraction, you forget to steer the brainless animal beneath you and pull the rains just seconds before he slams into a tree. You groan out in pain when you feel multiple branches tearing through your skin.
As you dodge another blow from a Wraith, you make a promise to yourself to never, ever help another Hobbit. If this was what it meant to help a Hobbit, you didn't want to anymore.
Arwen stops in the river and starts to chant. You don't stop to see the river all but destroy the Wraiths as grab Frodo off your friend's horse.
You pull him in front of you with a grunt and head for the castle.
You ignore the indignant cries of the guards as you gallop into the main Hall. You ungracefully clamber off your horse and throw your hands up in surrender at all the guards aiming their bows at you.
"The Ring Bearer!" you exclaim, "He's been stabbed by a Nazgûl blade!" You turn to Elrond, who had arrived to see what all the commotion was about. "He needs healing, My Lord!" You pull Frodo into your arms and hand him over to a guard. He runs off, followed closely by Elrond.
Another guard takes your horse away but before he can leave you, you ask him where you could find Gandalf. He tells you the wizard arrived a few days ago and is probably on the balcony.
You take in a deep breath and march over to said balcony. You find him sitting on a bench next to an old Hobbit, leisurely smoking his pipe.
You can feel the rage bubble up in you as you remember all of what you had to go through while he was relaxing here.
"Where have you been?" you demand, crossing your arms over your chest, a deep frown making its way to your face.
The two old men take in your appearance silently. Your hair had multiple pieces of unknown substances (noticeably mud and blood). Your usually clear face was now orned of fresh cuts (you had a tree and a horse to thank for those) and dried blood. Your clothes were full of mud and blood and could barely even be considered as such anymore, considering how much they had been ripped and abused. All in all, you looked you had been swallowed and spat back out by Sauron himself.
"I was delayed," the old wizard answered infuriatingly calmly.
"Delayed? You were delayed?" you spat, unbelieving.
"Well, yes, that is what I said," he answered, a small, daring smile on his lips.
"It was a rhetorical question!" you fume, almost pulling your hair out of frustration. "I have been thrown over a hill! Thrown! Over! A! Hill! Have you ever been thrown over a hill like a child's toy? Don't answer that! I don't think you have! It's not very pleasant, as one can assume! I rolled off the same hill! Like a barrel! I have not slept in a week! Seven days, Gandalf! Seven days! Do you know how many hours that is? No? Well, I do! That's 168 hours! And to top it all off, my skin was ripped apart by a tree! A tree! All because a darned horse couldn't walk straight! I had to fight off nine Wraiths! While on that same, stupid horse! While it was galloping! And you're sitting here smoking your bloody pipe without a care in the world telling me you were delayed! I can't believe you! And to top it all off! I risked my life for four total strangers because my friend followed your instructions! Instructions you were supposed to follow yourself, may I remind you!" you roar furiously.
Gandalf blows out a few smoke rings before answering you with the same calmness. "I asked Strider to bring the Hobbits to Rivendell. Not Ira,"
"I didn't have a choice! He would have died as well as the Hobbits if I hadn't gone!" you cry.
"Then it's a good thing you made the decision to follow your friend," he says. You let out a sound very close to a growl before leaving, done with his attitude.
Gandalf leans back into the bench and inhaled a puff of smoke. Bilbo chuckles.
"Well that was certainly something," he notes. Gandalf hums.
"She is something," he agrees.
"You said her name was Ira?" Bilbo questions curiously.
"That is what she is called, yes, but her name is actually Alice,"
"Oh, that's a rather sweet name," Bilbo compliments, "I'm not too sure it resonates well with her personality, though," he adds, exhaling some smoke into the air.
"She can be sweet when she wants to be," Gandalf assures. Bilbo hums.
"She is an elf, yes?"
"Half-elf, half-man," the wizard corrects.
"Oh, yes, that explains her temper, then," Bilbo murmurs.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I see elves as a rather calm and collected kin. Not as- as expressive as she seems to be," Bilbo chooses his words carefully, noting how Gandlad still seemed quite fond of her after what she had done.
"Yes, she's got quite a temper on her, that one. But I do not think that her being a full elf would change much... And she didn't earn the name 'Ira' for nothing, after all," the wizard reminds. Bilbo nods along to his words, peacefully exhaling the smoke into the faint wind.
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just like the wind (part ii)
summary: trying to get the hobbits to safety, you run into some trouble
word count: 1'572
"Where are you taking us?" Frodo asks as he trails behind Strider and you.
"Into the wild," Strider answers, not bothering to turn back.
A supposed-to-be-discreet-but-not-so-discreet conversation starts between the four Hobbits not long after.
"How can we know these Rangers are friends of Gandalf?" Merry ask with rightful suspicion.
"We have no choice but to trust them," Frodo states truthfully.
"But where are they leading us?" Sam wonders.
"To Rivendell, Master Gamgee," you answer, "to the House of Elrond."
"You hear that?" Sam breathed. "Rivendell. We're going to see the elves!" he cries excitedly. You once again resist the urge to roll your eyes, he had been travelling with one for about a day. But then it came to you, the Hobbits had never completely seen your face: your hood was always up.
Your small companionship walked for a bit more before you stopped for a second, catching your breath and grimacing at the weight of your weapons pulling you down. Strider stands next to you and looks back: "Gentlemen, we do not stop 'till nightfall," he calls. Confused at his words, you turn around as well and let out a small chuckle. They were adorable. The four Hobbits were sitting on the ground, unpacking their bags, probably wanting to get some food.
"What about breakfast?" Pippin asks, an indignant frown on his face.
"Well you've just had it." you furrow your brows, confused.
"We've had one, yes. What about second breakfast?" Pippin continues, raising an eyebrow. Strider sends him a strange glance and continues his path down the hill. You shake your heads at the four halflings with an amused smile before following your friend.
"I don't think they know about second breakfast, Pip," Merry notes as he picks up his bag.
"What about elvensies? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? They know about those, don't they?" Pippin panicked, hastily grabbing his bag.
"I wouldn't count on it," Merry sighs. You chuckle at their conversation and throw each of the Hobbits an apple from a nearby tree.
When the night starts to fall, you stop at the bottom of a small hill with the remains of a Tower on its peak.
"This was the great watchtower of Amon Sûl," you say, starting to walk up its side.
"We shall rest here tonight," Strider adds. You decide together to split the night in half, both taking turns of keeping watch while the other would scout the woods for any possible threat. You start the first round and begin your stroll around the base of the hill.
It is only when you hear the all-too-familiar shrieks of the Nine Riders that you start running up the hill. You can feel the panic rising in your being. Strider had given the Hobbits some weapons, but what use would they have if they do not know how to wield them? You run faster, hearing your heart beating in your ears. After what feels like forever but was probably only actually only seconds, you finally reach the top of the hill and immediately put yourself between the helpless Hobbits and the Riders.
You pull out your sword and jab at the one closest to the Hobbits. You slash at another. Dodge another one's blade. You manage to keep them off for a few victorious minutes, but that changes when the Riders decide that to get to the Hobbits, they had to get rid of you first. Everything changes and all of a sudden, all of their blows are aimed at you. You dodge, block and try to counter-attack, but nine monsters against one elleth, you knew you stood no chance.
It is no surprise when you block a jab at your neck and are suddenly pushed out of the way. You fall to the ground with a pained grunt. A foot comes down near your face and you roll out of the way just on time. You pull yourself to your knees just in time to be picked up and literally thrown off the hill.
You scream for the few seconds that you spend in the air before getting the breath knocked out of you when you plummet on the ground with a harsh 'thump'. And so you start to roll. You roll down the hill like a bloody rag doll. You can't properly breathe until you reach the horizontal ground.
You lay flat on your back, trying to force the air down your lungs for a second. You can feel everything. Your skimmed knees, your bruised elbows, the cut on your forehead, your bleeding nose...
You remember the Hobbits and sit up with a jolt. You wipe the blood running from your nose on your sleeve and try to stand up- only to fall to the ground again.
The little tumble and roll had messed with your inner ear and therefore, your balance. You try to stand again and stumble on the spot for a second. When you can more or less walk, you clumsily make your way back up the hill. You push yourself to get there as fast as you can, all things considered, but you are too late.
Sam is kneeling on the ground next to Frodo as Strider, who is now holding a torch, is fighting to keep the Riders off. You immediately join him and start slashing at them with your sword. You manage to fight four off the Tower as Strider sets fire to the other five. Their screams make your blood curl.
When they are finally gone, you expect to be met with silence and panting from Strider. Instead, you are met with the pained cries of Frodo.
"Strider! Ira!" Sam calls. "Help him!"
You kneel beside the halfling, ignoring the pain in your knees, and take a look at his wound as Strider picks up the blade he was stabbed with. The blade of the sword turns to ash the second his hands touch it. Strider is left with only the hilt.
"He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade," you explain, "this is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine." Strider nods and picks him up, Frodo still groaning in pain.
You all start hastily walking towards Rivendell and more importantly, far away from the Wraiths that were after you. Strider was making sure Frodo didn't fall off the horse while you held a torch, illuminating the path.
"But we're six days from Rivendell! He'll never make it!" Sam claims, voicing your thoughts. You don't answer, knowing he is right. Strider doesn't reply either. Sam seems to lose hope as he uselessly cries Gandalf's name into the wind. You stop as the night falls.
You turn to Strider: "If we want Frodo to have any chances of surviving, we shouldn't stop and continue until we get to Rivendell."
"That's far too dangerous," Strider argues.
"It's the only way. The poison travels extremely fast," you insist. "We won't stop and the Riders won't be able to reach us. It's the better option,"
"Look at them!" Strider snapped. "They're not made for this! They have about ten meals a day! You can't expect them to walk non-stop for six days, can you? They're stay at home creatures, they're no Rangers! Even less are they Elves!" he cried. The Hobbits sent you strange looks, realizing that you were, in fact, an elf.
"I am not relying on their strength, I am relying on their determination and their will for their friend to survive," you spit, your temper flaring. You turn to the Hobbits. "We will barely stop. We're running out of food. We're being chased by Wraiths. Make your choice."
Merry and Pippin exchange panicked looks, unsure of what to say. "Look, all I know is that we're wasting time, here! We'll ride!" Sam exclaims. You nod and send him a small smile. You admired his heart. You start to pick up what you had installed of a camp.
"This is what always gets you in trouble," Strider hisses, "You never think about the consequences!"
"Oh, I deeply apologize for not wanting the Ring Bearer to die!" you huff sarcastically. "The way I see it, either we ride slowly and stop at night and Frodo dies or we ride fast, no stops, as night too and Frodo lives!"
"So you would prefer the other three Hobbits to die instead?" Strider whisper-yells. You shake your head at him: "Well what other solution do you have?" He doesn't answer.
You stopped three days later to rest for the night, despite your constant protests. You had found a relatively safe-looking spot and soon, the three Hobbits were far away in the land of Sleep. You turn to Strider with a cold stare: "I'll take the first guard, I'll wake you up in a few hours." He nods. He hadn't been talking much to you since your disagreement.
Once you are sure he is asleep, you pack your bag with a small amount of food (making sure the four others still had some) for Frodo and yourself. You write a little note explaining your departure to Strider before you haul Frodo onto your back and just before you are out of sight, you throw a twig at Merry.
He shoots up and shakes Strider awake. Strider looks around before finding your note and pursing his lips.
You turn away and disappear into the night, not aware of the troubles ahead of you.
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just like the wind (part i)
summary: you and your friend wait for some unsuspecting visitors in the Prancing Pony
word count: 1'368
warnings: none I think, but tell me if you see any
Your hair falls in front of your face as you glare at the life around you. "They were meant to be here hours ago. Are you even sure they're coming?" you ask hotly, glowering at your friend.
You do not like waiting. Especially not in here, of all places. Dwarves, Men and other creatures seem to like being copped up in a bar with the smell of beer and smoke filling their nostrils. You, on the other hand, do not. Not at all.
"Yes, I'm sure. Gandalf told me to meet them here. He, apparently, was delayed." Strider grumbles, just as annoyed with the Hobbits' late arrival as you are.
Your slim fingers curl around the hilt of your favourite dagger as you observe the four smaller-than-average creatures enter the bar/Inn. You nudge your friend and jolt your chin in the direction of the small party. Strider's gaze follows yours and he sends you a nod. They were now sat down and talking quickly in hushed whispers. He nods and takes his pipe out, loosely placing it between his lips.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes at his attitude. You lean back further into your seat and fold your arms in front of your chest, watching the hour halflings closely.
The Hobbit sitting next to Frodo whispers something to him. Your grey eyes catch the Ring Bearer's blue orbs as he sends you and Strider an anxious look. You push your head back further into your large hood, letting the shadows fall on your face, slightly concealing it.
As the bartender passes by the Hobbits' table, Frodo reaches out and stops him. "Excuse me, those two in the corner, who are they?" he asks, his eyes nervously flitting over to the both of you. You can't hear exactly what he is saying, but with your elf hearing and lip-reading skills, you can take a pretty good guess at his words. The bartender raises his eyebrows until they reach his hairline.
"They're two of them Rangers. Dangerous folk they are. Wander in the wilds. What is frightening, is that I've never heard of them around here. Strider and Ira." he whispers as if he was scared of even saying their names out loud.
You are distracted by another man who keeps staring at you and Strider to notice a Hobbit leave the table and head to the bar. Soon enough, he starts stupidly hollering around the room, answering the man that had been staring.
"BAGGINS? SURE, I KNOW A BAGGINS! HE'S OVER THERE! FRODO BAGGINS! He's my second cousin once removed on his mother's side..." The idiotic Hobbit continued telling the strangers about the Ring Bearer, unknowing of how thoughtless he was being.
Frodo seems to understand that yelling out his name was maybe not such a good idea since he gets up and runs to the other Hobbit talking to the strange men. He grabs his shoulder, but slips and falls on the dirty, liquidy floor. The ring falls out of his grasp and into the air. You immediately shoot up and Strider sits up straighter. The ring falls back right onto his finger, turning the young Hobbit invisible. A collective gasp is heard.
Strider takes in a sharp breath as he shoots up. You are already on it, grabbing the invisible Hobbit's arm. You and Strider drag him up to a room of the Inn. The other Ranger lets go of him and pushes him rather harshly on the floor. "You're bringing far too much attention to yourself, 'Mr. Underhill'," he warns coldly.
Frodo takes the ring off and slips it safely into his pocket. "What do you want?" he demands shakily as he stands up.
"A little more caution from you, that is no trinket you carry," you answer simply, staring down at him with a frown. Strider starts putting out all of the candles.
"I carry nothing." Frodo denies as if you hadn't dragged him up a row of stairs while he was totally invisible.
"Indeed," you snort, "I can avoid being seen if I wish, but to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift."
"Who are you?" he asks feebly. You ignore his question.
"Are you frightened?" Strider asks from where he stands, looking out of the window.
"Yes," the Hobbit replies hesitantly.
"Not nearly frightened enough." Strider purses his lips.
"We know what hunts you," you elaborate, your lips curling into a
sneer at the thought of the Nazgûl.
Seemingly out of nowhere, three Hobbits burst into the room. You drew your sword in a flash and point it at the middle one's throat. He swallows before yelling out: "Let him go or I'll have you long-shanks!"
You sheath your sword and snort again. "Oh no! Now we're done for!" you mock. Strider sends you a disapproving look.
"You have a stout heart, little Hobbit, but that will not save you. Ring Bearer," Strider turns to the dark-haired halfling, "you can no longer wait for the wizard."
You nod along to his words, all traces of previous amusement now gone: "They are coming."
Strider walks the Hobbits to another room, where you all would be spending the night, but you stay behind for a moment. You stuff everything you can find (pillows, blankets, books and candles) under the sheets of the four beds, making them look like bodies before you run off to meet the others.
When you get back to the room, all of the Hobbits seem to be asleep. Strider is looking out the window.
"They'll be here soon," he stated. You place a firm hand on his shoulder. "We have done all that we cold. Sleep, you need to rest. I will stand guard," you say softly.
"I can take the-" he tried to argue but you cut him off with a shake of your head.
"Sleep, my friend. I can never properly rest anyway." you reason. Strider nods and pulls his hood on. He falls asleep quickly.
You sit on a stool, looking up at the stars thoughtfully. Your elf ears perceive the sound of Frodo twisting and turning in his bed. He sits up and rubs his face. You realize that he never fell asleep.
"You should try to sleep, Frodo, a long journey awaits us tomorrow. You should rest while you can," you advise, keeping your eyes trained on the dark sky.
"Well, I know, but I'm sleeping in the same room as you and Strider, and to be honest it's quite scary," he confesses, wringing his hands together.
"Why is it scary?" you ask softly.
"Well, you are Ira," he reminds you sheepishly, as if you could ever forget.
"Ah, of course. I am a legend. A horror story," you smile sarcastically.
"You are the story parents tell their children when they won't behave," he adds.
"And who told you that?" you question, not denying the facts.
"The bartender." You hum.
"And do you not think that if we wanted you dead we would have already killed you?" you ask, raising an eyebrow in his direction. He does not answer. "Well, there you have your answer. But I promise you, Ring Bearer, that we only wish to get you to safety, you and your little friends," you continue.
He nods: "You can call me Frodo, Miss."
You nod: "Alice."
He finally goes to sleep a few minutes later.
Your shoulders tense when you hear the Ring-Wraiths' cries.
The four Hobbits and Strider shoot up from their previously relaxed positions. You don't even need to spare them a glance to know the Hobbits are terrified. As they rightfully should be. "What are they?" Frodo asks in a frightened whisper.
"They were once men," you say, staring holes into the room's door, "Great kings of men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine rings of power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now, they are slaves to his way up. They are the Nine Wraiths. The Ring Wraiths. Neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the one, they will never stop hunting you."
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i refuse to accept any ship or otp in any fandom i'm in because 99% of the time i am so incredibly in love with one or both participants that i cannot handle the thought of them being with another person that's not me
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Imagine being the one that Eomer found half dead on the battle field. He recognized you as the soldier that saved his life during the battle, but had no idea until now that it was you - his s/o - under all the armor.
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Imagine being Eomer’s bride to be, and he walks in on someone trying to force them self on you. He gets so blinded by his rage that he nearly kills them.
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headcanons for a platonic relationship with legolas and gimli
(not my gif)
requested by: @certainlovenacho
a.n: i really enjoyed this idea so i might also write a oneshot of it in the future :) such a cute idea thanks for requesting
after the dissolving of the fellowship, you were initially worried that you would have to go back to your former life as a ranger
all the hobbits desired to go home, aragorn had a whole new life to lead, and gandalf could never be kept in one place for very long
your worries soon evaporated when you found yourself caught up with legolas and gimli
the pair of them had developed a very strong bond during the journey, but you immediately fell in with their antics
"oh come on, lassie, you didn't think that we would let ya go home now, would ya?" gimli would joke, nudging his arm just at your knee
legolas was clearly of the same mind
"the dwarf's right, (y/n), you were a hard woman to find, but even harder is it to let go of you."
that settled things, and the three of you set out to explore the rest of middle earth together
the first step was of course the underground world that gimli had promised to give legolas a tour of
being a ranger yourself, your job had taken you into many interesting places, so you were not off-put by the cramped nature of some of the paths
gimli and yourself would joke at legolas' hesitancy
"come on then elf," gimli would tease, "(y/n) will follow me, and she is no dwarf: are you afraid?"
"come on legolas," you would laugh, "an elven prince wary of a few underground tunnels?"
legolas would mumble something under his breath, but nevertheless would follow you: you had learned already that the two of them would follow you to the ends of the earth
following the visit to helm's deep, as again promised, legolas led the both of you to fangorn forest
the idea of the ents intrigued you, and meeting them in person exceeded your expectations
hearing their voices intimated you to begin with, beings of such large stature
gimli was the most wary among you, holding close his axe to his chest, until both you and legolas suggested that such a weapon in the forest was not the best of ideas
"aye, it's not natural, lassie," gimli would grumble, constantly checking over his shoulder as you waded your way through the forest
"the ents are just as natural as us," legolas would sigh, "perhaps more natural than some of us."
"watch it, elf!"
the teasing was endless, but the bond between you was not easily severed, and the three of you would travel the length and breadth of middle earth together
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Imagine Eomer mistaking you for having a fragile feminine personality, so he is more than a little surprised when he hears you swear worse than his men and challenge his sister to a friendly drinking contest
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we may be the first to fall ❛ boromir
trashi-bee said: I also wanna request a super emotional fic with reader comforting Boromir in his final moments HAHHAHAHA SOZ
fandom lord of the rings
featuring boromir x reader (f)
rating rated o for owie
content warning canon character death, canon typical violence, boromir’s death scene but reimagined, lots of emotions, flashbacks in italics.
summary you’re his shadow, and you’d follow him into the afterlife if you could.
word count 3506
attention not proofread. do not repost or translate my work period. reblog & give feedback, pretty please!
leaves explode at your feet as you sprint over fallen logs with the thundering of an Uruk-hai stampede on your heels. your energy running low, your shoulder dips to take the brunt of a collision the moment your feet fumble, and your body careens into a nearby trunk with a breathless grunt.
you’d lost sight of everyone, the fellowship separated and each member at their most vulnerable. you feared for each of their safeties, but none so much as Boromir. call it a selfish bias, when your mission was the same as his: to protect Frodo and the One Ring, but truth was as plain as the daylight. the only reason you were here was Boromir. to ensure he didn’t go alone, to ensure that he didn’t leave you behind.
⚔️ 🛡 ⚔️ 🛡 ⚔️ 🛡 ⚔️
“Do you intend to be my shadow?” Boromir chuckled, heaving the dark saddle on to the back of his steed. his back faces yours, but you can still hear the smile he wears in the bemusement of his tone, the fondness in which he adds. “I take up my shield and you do the same. I draw my sword, and you unsheath your own.”
you smile to yourself, thinking about the question for a brief moment. “Your shadow…” securing the saddle on your own horse, you pat the blonde mane once, twice, thrice. “To be with you as long as the sun is shining upon us.” gathering the delicate flesh of your bottom tier between your teeth, you pause. “Yes, I intend to be your shadow.”
Boromir is quiet, almost unnervingly so, and you consider turning to face him, or perhaps calling his name, but your actions stall the moment you feel his arms coil around your midsection from behind, pulling you against his armored torso. you melt into the embrace. much too cumbersome is your gear against his own to feel any sort of skin to skin contact, but his closeness was enough for now. the warmth of his breath on your ear as he nudges tresses aside to plant a soft whisper of a kiss against the flesh of your throat. to know that he’s right here, with you. goosebumps raise in his lips’ stead the moment they abandon the area.
“Then,” he begins, a husky murmur against the shell of your ear, “you must never leave my sight. If I lose my shadow, I may lose my way.”
⚔️ 🛡 ⚔️ 🛡 ⚔️ 🛡 ⚔️
to avoid a hulking orc-breed with a bloodied blade ripping through the air in your direction, you pirouette with a gust of dust and debris disturbed by your boots. the weapon lodges itself in the toughened bark with a muffled thud. gripping the hilt of your silver companion, the blade aimed parallel to your waist, you drive it back into the demon’s gut and out again in the blink of an eye. the ground may have mumbled when the orc fell, but you couldn’t be for certain; not for the forest alive with the battle- screams for help and Boromir’s horn sounds out amidst the chaos.
and then you spot him.
it was as if a wave of relief had washed over your shores seeing him fighting, seemingly unscathed. he was just at the base of the hill upon which you stood, defending the two hobbits Merry and Pippin, from a battalion of Uruk-hai. you could be to him in moments, you could reach his side and fight the remaining enemies back to hell where they belong. you felt a sense of hope returning, one that had been growing thin the longer Boromir strayed from your sight.
you will your feet to carry you to his side, to his aid, and fallen leaves and brittle twigs break beneath them. your eyes are fixed on his back, watching over him like a guardian angel, though Boromir had never needed such a thing. the strongest warrior you’d ever known, the most skilled with a sword, and a man that possesses a steel determination. he didn’t need your protection, nor did he need a celestial helping hand.
your eyes flicker upwards, through the trees of another rolling hill, to see a river of Uruk-hai spilling over the forest in his direction. your brows furrow; concern beginning to nip at the edges of your mind. no, you tried to tell yourself, these beasts are no match for him. Boromir will win. Boromir will -
the arrow slices through the atmosphere and pierces him.
it’s as if the damned thing had gone straight through him and sought you next, because you felt your pulse stutter, your feet skidding against the dry earth. in an instant, your whole world seems to stop turning. the wind stops blowing, the waves cease their assault upon the beaches, and the sun slinks behind a veil of thick, dark clouds. you can’t scream his name nor can you move from where you stand, terror has cemented you in place.
your sword slips through your fingers and must’ve hit the forest floor, though you don’t hear it do so.
however, even as you remain frozen, Boromir has yet to stop fighting. the arrow protruding from his chest and he still slays them, much to your dismay.
you need to move, to fight, to get to him and help him, and yet your body isn’t obeying anymore. this isn’t right. this is all wrong.
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you watch his face, studying the stoic countenance. for all the bravado he possesses, it seems to be a performance for your sake, for when you push the needlepoint through his supple flesh, he winces.
“It’s allowed to hurt,” you offer with a softness few other men would ever know from you, your free hand steadying his shoulder. the muscle beneath your palm is pulled taut, to the point that you wonder how painful it is for him. “It doesn’t make you weak.” the tips of your lithe fingers dance along the freshly-rinsed skin, though the smell of blood, both his and the enemies’, still lingers there.
sat upon your knees, you pull the thread to cinch his split skin together, and he lets out a vicious grunt. “It feels worse than when the bastard sliced me with his sword.” he spits, though the curse that follows beneath his breath is coupled with a tight-lipped smirk. Boromir grinds his teeth, head tilting back as you begin a new stitch. “And yet? I didn’t wish to insult your skill.”
“It would hurt regardless of my skill,” you reply with an expression that mirrors his. “But, it’s not fatal, at least.” you pause, and allow your gaze to drink in the sight of him. a mess, through and through, but not seriously injured. svelte fingers flee to his jaw, where they graze the hazelnut beard found there. “They are lucky they didn’t kill you.”
Boromir’s eyelids flutter, and in a moment, crystalline hues pour into yours. “Is that so?” he hisses through grit teeth.
you nod, cradling the side of his face in your palm. “I would’ve taken up your sword and cut them all down where they stood.”
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another arrow screams through the air and embeds itself in him- his ribs.
this time, however, the mere sound of it is enough to elicit one of your own. a sorrowful howl of his name that may as well have echoed in every corner of Middle Earth. every king in their castles must’ve heard your lament; every elf in the forest brought to tears by your grief.
it was then, when Boromir’s knees hit the dirt, that your own bend. bubbling above the initial shock was white, hot rage, and with your fury you found the strength to force yourself to move. you leave your sword buried beneath the rotten leaves. instead, your feet pound against the forest floor, legs burning yet determined to reach Boromir before death.
as you dart towards the valley, the archer to blame for skewering Boromir comes into sight, marching towards his downed figure. you grit your teeth, eyes closing tight as one more arrow soars from the dreaded bow. the sickening sound of it sticking into Boromir’s gut has your hands trembling as they ball into fists, head dipping to avoid low-hanging branches and the grappling arms of enemy soldiers.
running like the wildest mare, you reach the bottom of the hill in a matter of seconds. most of the Uruk-hai had passed, having taken the hobbits as they intended, and while you should’ve chased them down and freed the halflings, you can’t force yourself to focus on anything but the man slumped on his knees before you.
your lungs are burning, heart thumping furiously against your ribs as you look to him. the lumbering orc leader now stands a few feet from Boromir, drawing his blade. a grotesque snarl erupts from somewhere behind his rotten teeth as he rests the edge of the sword against the Son of Gondor’s shuddering shoulder.
you’ll never forget the visage, as horrible as it was; Boromir peering up at the creature in a hopeless defeat, coupled with the wheezing and bubbling as he attempts to breathe. an arrow must’ve pierced his lung, made evident by the way the air whistles as he tries to bring it into his body, and the exhale is met with dribbling rubies down his chin.
you almost freeze again, but the terrible realization that you only have a few more seconds before Boromir’s head is to be separated from his shoulders overwhelms whatever hesitation found in your body, and you charge the Uruk-hai.
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“Do not send me away!” exclaiming, you are guided by the firm grip on your bicep towards the boat.
“It’s much too dangerous this time, my love.”
“Who are you to say?” you demand, shaking free of his grip. you take a step away from him, brows knit together. “Do not send me away.” again, only this time, it’s more of a plea.
looking upon him now, you can see fear in his aquamarine couplet, concern pulling the lines in the corner of his eyes. “This isn’t a battle, nor do I have the soldiers of Gondor to bolster the Fellowship.” Boromir explains, rubbing the side of his jaw. “I would be much more at ease knowing that you are safe at home,” a soft smile briefly masks the cloudiness ever prevalent in his expression as his hand then reaches out for you. the roughened palm, calloused from battle, glides along your shoulder and upwards to catch your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I would imagine you are being fitted in sparkling white gowns while I am gone. The thought alone will be enough to ensure my safety. For how could I fall when I’ve got such a fair bride awaiting my return?”
you want to agree to return to Gondor for his sanity’s sake, but you find yourself still reluctant to board the waiting vessel. reaching up to cup his hand with your own, you hold it steady before your tiers and shower each finger with a faint kiss.
“You will be lost,” you whisper. “Without your shadow.” nibbling on the fleshy inside of your cheek, you tilt your head, looking up into his eyes. you can see it there- he doesn’t want you to leave him, either, but he’s frightened. “I would proudly storm the gates of Mordor with no one but you at my side, Boromir.”
“I will not let you put yourself in this danger. Not this time.”
“That isn’t your choice to make,” you reply, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, “I choose who I live for. And who I die for. I choose you. Do not send me away, let me fight by your side until the end. I’m not afraid of Sauron or death, I only fear distance between us.”
Boromir is torn. torn between keeping you close or keeping you safe. however, he knows you’re right. he’s never tried to collar you before, and now should be no different.
he sighs, head dropping. “Very well, as long as you promise to stay close to me always.” you nod, closing the gap between you and him, for him to pull you against his frame, and press his warm lips to your forehead. “You are very brave, my love.” he whispers, muffles against your skin. “Foolishly so.”
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the moment the Uruk-hai raises his weapon is the same that you reach to retrieve Boromir’s sword from the ground, gripping the hilt. you’d held it before, and yet in this moment it was much heavier. it must’ve been your exhausted muscles that make it difficult to wield. for a moment, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to lift it all.
however, as the beast’s arm comes down with a furious purpose to behead your lover, the metal is met with chivalrous silver. both hands wrapped tightly around the handle, you steady it just above your head to meet the Uruk weapon before it reaches Boromir, as you’ve stepped in front of him.
“You should’ve fled while you had the chance,” like an animal attempting to use a common tongue to communicate with man, it sounds unnatural when he speaks. gritting his teeth, the bulging muscles in his arms tighten and you feel the force of them pushing down against the blades crossed.
the pressure is enough to force them both closer to you, your arms bending against your own strength. it’s painful, and you let out a faint grunt, teeth grinding. you bare them, though not as intimidating as the Uruk-hai, your eyes are more fiery than the depths of Mordor, angrier than the Great Eye itself. “You are wrong,” you hiss, feeling the scrape of the rusted orc blade against your cheek. it breaks the skin, and the demon has a wicked grin on his face. “It is you who should’ve ran away.”
a vile chuckle erupts from him as he presses harder and your knees start to buckle. “Such brave words from such a weak, little mortal.”
your name falls from Boromir’s bloodied lips from behind you, accompanied by a raspy, “Run…” you want to tell him there’s no way you’re going to leave him, but the Uruk-hai beats you to it.
“Not dead yet? Good.” he glares down at you, bore down with all his weight. you can feel your own strength waning; your body reaching a breaking point. “You must care deeply for him, which is why I’ll filet him before your very eyes.”
that was a blunder, and he had no idea. the rage returns, twice as hot like molten lava, and burns through every muscle in your body, giving you enough energy to scrape Boromir’s sword down the length of the orc weapon with an ear-splitting scream of metal against metal. you take the opportunity of the newfound leverage to knock the weapon free from his grip. narrowing your wild eyes, you pay no mind to the weapon clattering against the ground a few feet away, and instead grip his sword tightly to thrust it at the orc-breed’s neck. the intention was to decapitate him, however he’d leaned forward to roar in your direction, and the blade slices clean through his open mouth and pierces the base of his spine.
he doesn’t gurgle until you jerk the sword free, and the now dead Uruk-hai collapses in a bleeding heap of rotten flesh and meat on the ground.
whirling around, the sword hits the ground at your feet with a muffled thump as you follow shortly after, catching Boromir’s shoulders as he starts to waver. you want to scream, to cry, and kill everything in sight, but you settle for a stream of hot tears overflowing from your eyes as you cradle him in your lap.
“Please,” you whisper, though your voice is breaking and the lump in your throat makes it difficult to form the words. “Hold on, Boromir, you’ll all right.”
Boromir clenches his jaw, blood spilling from the loose seam of his chapped tiers. you gasp, eyes wide, and in a desperate attempt to convince him as well as yourself that he’s okay, you swipe the blood away.
“They were taken… the little ones were taken-“ Boromir writhes on your lap, turning to look in the direction in which they disappeared, despair ever present on his countenance. “I failed them. I’ve failed you all.”
you’re quick to catch his face and direct it back to face you. “No,” you can feel your heart fracturing with each word that leaves his lips. “No, you defended them with your life, my love. They know that.” in order to calm your shaking hand, you pet the unruly, soaking tendrils away from his bloodied forehead. “You’ve not failed us, but you must stay with me now. Aragorn will know how to help-“
“It’s much too late for that, love,” he groans, one hand clasping yours with a weakened grip. it was a far cry from his norm, it is so far removed from who he was that it shakes you to your core. a little whimper of protest is all you can muster as more tears flood your cheeks, but you shake your head. “It’s all right. You are with me now, and that’s enough.”
“I want to go with you,” you whine; there’s no denying there’s a childish determination in your shaky voice. “I’m supposed to be your shadow, remember? How will you find your way? Look, the sun is still shining upon us. You said…”
the smile to grace Boromir’s lips is an earth-shattering, heart-wrenching bitter smile of acceptance. acceptance that he’s a dying man. “Sometimes,” he mutters, pained through clenched teeth, “even the brightest days will have the darkest nights. Dark nights where shadows- shadows cannot follow…”
he was running out of time, and you knew that. you also knew that his final moments shouldn’t be of you bickering or fit-throwing, your selfish need to have him with you always could be set aside to ease his fading. you lean forward to press your forehead to his, his sapphire gaze wet with tears that mix with the dirt and blood upon his face, streaking his cheeks. “Even the darkest night will pass,” you insist, pressing a kiss to his lips. “And when it does, I will run and jump into your arms. I love you-“ you pause, batting tears back to see his eyes are open, frozen like marbles. they aren't jarring or startled, but peaceful, in company with the faint smile upon his stiffened lips. “Please don’t leave me here alone.” you whisper; now that it was moments too late, you allowed your own selfish grief to overtake you, and you hug his corpse to your chest and weep for your fallen love.
with every passing moment now without Boromir’s light, your heart aches, as if an aperture has ripped through it, and your whole world comes crumbling like shattering stone walls around you.
there’s a crackle from over your left shoulder, someone breaking a twig beneath a heavy step, and you snatch the sword up once more, turning in the direction with the blade outstretched and wavering weakly. your cheeks are stained with blood and tears, eyes puffy and nose red.
Aragorn, joined by Legolas and Gimli, is standing a few feet away, but both hands raise, a signal that he’s not a threat. “It’s only us,” he murmurs, taking a step forward.
“Don’t.” you hiss, pointing the sword directly at him. “Just stay back. Stay- stay away.” you were aware he wouldn’t hurt you, but the fear of him forcing you to abandon Boromir’s body in the woods has made you wary of his very presence.
Legolas is nearly side by side with Aragorn, and he’s the one that speaks instead, both halting in their tracks. “We cannot stay here, you know this. Let us help you.”
your chest rises and falls with heavy, ragged breaths, on the cusp of hyperventilation, and you look down at the dead man in your lap, before back up at them. “I won’t leave him here like this.”
Aragorn takes a slow step forward, and then another when you no longer threaten him with Boromir’s sword. instead, you allow it to rest in your lap while you cradle him, and Aragorn kneels beside you. “I wouldn’t have you do so.” his voice is low, gentle- knowing. “Legolas and I will prepare a boat. We will send him on his final journey like the hero he was.”
you nod, holding the sword. “He will need this.”
you almost place it in his cold fist, but Aragorn stops you. “No, you keep it. Boromir would want to be with you always, and this is how he can. Don’t ever let it go. Keep Boromir close.”
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