Lotr Fic - Tumblr Posts

We Will Meet Again

(Haldir x reader)

-Part 1-

request thanks to the lovely @SierraSama from Wattpad. Anyway this is her request and enjoy. "Could you possibly do a Haldir imagine in which the reader is injured when she arrives in Lóthorien with the fellowship and he helps her back on her feet?"

Warnings: Angst, fluff

Word Count: 951

'So help me if we live to see another day I'm going to kill Mithrandir.' I thought to myself. Why? You may ask, well I, along with the Fellowship, were currently in Moria in a bit of a conundrum. You see my friends and I were having to run for our lives away from thousands upon thousands of goblins. Not to mention the fact we had to escape from a Balrog as well. Gimli had thought it would have been a wonderful idea to traverse through the abandoned mines. A few loud noises later; curtsy of Pippin, the group and I were dashing through the old halls to the nearest exit as quick as possible. And at the current moment, I was holding up the rear of the group to make sure none of the hobbits were left behind and to let some steam off while shooting goblins in the head with my arrows. And I'm not guilty to say I imagined their heads to be Gandalf's. Then running across a narrow bridge with Gandalf staying behind to make sure everyone makes it safely across, the Balrog made his appearance. For the first time in my immortal life I saw Mithrandir afraid for his life and ours. He started to make his way over to the center of the bridge. Raising his sword and staff saying " You shall not pass!" Then slamming the butt of his staff to the ground braking the bridge beneath the beast. We let out a sigh of relief too soon, because a fiery whip rapped itself around Gandalf's leg and pulled him until only his head and arms were visible over the edge of the broken bridge. Looking to us with sadness and slight fear, "Fly you fools," was his last words before releasing his grip and falling to the chasm below. I screamed in heartbreak along with Frodo, standing there in disbelief of losing a close friend and a father figure to Frodo. Boromir grabbed Frodo and slowly walked backwards with a sword in hand to protect him and himself. Looking in my direction Boromir yelled. " (Y/N)! We need to go!" I broke out of my stupor and made my way to the exit, but before I could make it fully through I felt a sharp pain in my right side from the back. I looked down to see a poorly made arrow stuck in my flesh. Standing behind the wall separating the orcs from their target to pull the arrow out. I looked at the tip of the arrowhead to see a dark substance. 'Poison.' I thought to myself then throwing the object to the side. I tore a piece of my tunic underneath my cloak and rapped it over my wound. Making sure that it was out of sight I ran out of the Mines to finally feel the sun on my (S/C) skin and feel a light breeze ruffle my (H/L), (H/C)hair. For a moment I felt better until reality set in. 'Mithrandir is gone.' I told myself. I look at the others and realized they knew this too. I felt a signal tear run down my face and drop to the ground below.

We had been traveling for about half a day and I could feel myself losing strength quickly. Everything was fuzzy around the edges of my vision, I could feel vertigo starting to set in. I could hear Gimli talking to the hobbits ahead of me but it was muffled by the sound of blood pumping in my sensitive ears. Suddenly the Fellowship had stopped. I looked up and tried to focus my sight. That's when I saw him. He looked like he was one of the Valar descending from the halls of Mandos. He was beautiful in my eyes. Perfect blonde hair in warrior braids running down to his shoulders. I thought I was dreaming, but to soon was I pulled from my revery. I felt a sharp pain over the flesh that was pierced by that foul arrow. Everyone looked to me in confusion and worry once I opened my cloak to look at my wound only to see that blood coated most of my right side. Dark spots started to set in when the blonde elf walked over to me with concern in his baby blue eyes. I realized he was speaking to me, but I could not hear him. Then I felt myself lose balance and start to fall, but before I could hit the hard ground beneath me the elf caught me and was yelling to his men and to the Fellowship asking what happened. They didn't know because I didn't tell them. I wouldn't want them to worry. Soon an elf brought a horse over to us, the beautiful blue eyed elf lifted me up bridal style, put me on the horse, and hopped on behind me. He pulled me in to his chest so I didn't put strain on my wound or fall. While one hand carefully slid around my waist and the other grabbed the rains of the horse. Then every thing fell into darkness with my head leaned into the chest of my savior. I hoped I would live long enough to know his name.

We Will Meet Again

(Haldir x reader)

-Part 2-

Warnings: None that I can think of

Word Count: 718

When I gained consciousness the first thing that I noticed was how bright it was. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times for my sensitive eyes to adjust. 'A healing ward.' I thought to myself when I finally looked at my surroundings. "Ah, good you are awake my lady, we were afraid you would not live through the night. How are you feeling?" Said an ellon with caramel eyes and light blonde hair, who I assumed was the healer that treated me. "Yes I am well, just a little sore is all." I answered. The ellon walked closer. "Good. I'm just going to check your wound and then you will be able to see your friends." Nodding, I sat up in my cot. "What is your name?" I asked while he handed me a cloth to cover my upper body while he checked my wound. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry, my name is Nestaron my lady. And you are (Y/N)." I smiled and nodded my head slightly in greeting. "Nestaron, has the elleth awaken ye-." The healer turned around and greeted the soldier who saved my life. "Haldir, yes as you can see I'm checking the healing progress of her wound now, if you would just give me a moment." I turned slightly to look at the ellon I now knew as Haldir. He was looking at my half naked form in surprise and a hint of embarrassment. "Yes, I-I... I will wait for you outside my lady." He bowed quickly with his eyes to the floor and walked out of the room. I smiled to myself. 'He's cute when he blushes.' I shook my head from those thoughts. I didn't need to be thinking about how he looked.

Once Nestaron did a once over of my wound he let me leave the healing ward. I walked out into the hall to see Haldir leaning against the wall opposite to the doorway I stood in. He looked up at the sound of my light footsteps. "I see you are well?" He asked with a straight face as if what happened earlier had no affect on him. I laughed to myself and answered. "Indeed. I suppose I owe you my thanks for saving my life." The corner of is lips twitched into what I assumed would have been a smile. "There is no need. I simply did my duty as March Warden." I grinned slightly at this. "Well, thank you none the less." He nodded then stretched his right arm out to the right with is palm facing upward toward the exit of the healing ward. "I will take you to your company and then we shall head to Minas Tirith to meet with the Lord and Lady." I walked forward and we began our walk to the rest of the Fellowship.

I could hear Aragon speaking with Legolas when me and Haldir were close to our destination. We turned passed a large tree to see the company resting and conversing about topics unknown to me. I was glad to see my friends again. I realized that I could have died and I would have never seen the people I cared for again. I could not do that to them, we had already lost Gandalf and I would not want to add more grief. My thoughts were interrupted by two small Hobbits. "(Y/N)!!! You’re okay, Pippin yelled, We thought you were dead." Added Merry. I smiled down at the cousins and laughed. "It will take a lot more to get rid of me my friends." Haldir smirked at this from my side. They grinned more and hugged me tighter. Legolas was the next to approach me. He put his hands on my face and placed is forehead against mine. "I am very grateful to see you well melon." With my hands on his wrists I smiled lightly. Legolas was the closest thing I had to a brother and I was very lucky to have him. "Aye I'm happy to see you as well." Without me seeing, Haldir was irked by the close proximity of Legolas, but quickly masked it. 'Why am I suddenly angered by him being close to someone I've just met.' Haldir thought to himself.

𝒯𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓊𝑒𝒹

Hi! Could you please write a dialogue prompt 4 with Thranduil? Thanks!

“the interrogation”

author’s note: of course! this prompt seems very canon as something the elf king himself would say, so i’m excited to dive into this for you <3 I'm gonna stray a little further from my normal way of writing Y/N by making them a person who somehow woke up in their favorite book, “The Hobbit”!

Pairing: Thranduil / Gender-Neutral Human Reader

Word Count: 886

summary: after waking up in the world of your comfort book, you find yourself in the midst of a terrifying power: the Elvenking.

content warnings: I mixed the lore of the book and the movies together for this

DO NOT REPOST OR COPY. MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

Anxiety rushed through your body as your heart seemed to be leaping out of your chest with each beat. You were being led through the twists and turns of some sort of extravagant castle as two elven guards held you firmly by the arms. Where they were taking you, you weren’t sure. A tiny voice in the back off your head wondered if you were dreaming, but the pain from the guards’ grips was more than enough to reassure you that this was your new reality.

How you had come to find yourself in this new world was beyond the comprehension of your mind. The last thing you remembered was being curled up on your soft, worn-down couch while reading your favorite book, "The Hobbit". It was a tale you knew well, as you had read it countless times when in need of a pick-me-up. You hadn't seen all of the movies yet, as you usually fell asleep halfway through the second one, but the book was usually enough to satiate you. It had been another cozy night of reading when you had fallen asleep in the middle of the chapter "Flies and Spiders", and the next thing you knew, you had awoken in some sort of woodland realm!

Oh, how you desperately wished you could return to your cozy couch and your soft blankets, but it seemed those pleasantries were far away from you now, and incredibly out of reach. 

More twists and turns led you to a wide room, all entirely made of tree branches and wood. In the center lied a magnificent throne of ancient antlers, its steps leading down to the space you now occupied. A cold, regal voice cut through your thoughts, and suddenly your eyes shot up to look at the person before you.

"First you have me deal with lowly dwarves, and now there's another? Who are you?" He sat proudly on his throne, and you found yourself speechless at his beauty. His long hair draped over his shoulders delicately as you met his cold gaze. He was like a star, cold and distant and icy. You couldn't believe the sight before you. Slowly, things started connecting in your mind. Dwarves, elven guards, oh no.

This was Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood. And your very life had now been placed in his beautiful hands.

"We found this one an hour ago, reports say they simply appeared in a cloud of smoke before the gates," one of the guards said, and the king's brow tensed. He wasn't happy.

"Some dark magic, then?" He stood, slowly descending the stairs as he approached you. "And yet, you come without weapons or anything other than the clothes on your back. Tell me, who are you?"

"Y/N," you said, finally finding your words. "And you must be Thranduil, King of the elves.” You spoke carefully, treading lightly with your words.

“So you know who I am,” he said. “Good, then you must know of my intolerance for outsiders. Speak quickly of your intentions and perhaps I’ll do you the mercy of imprisoning you.”

“Prison?” You said, eyes wide. Oh no, you couldn’t imagine living the rest of your life in the prisons of Mirkwood.

“I’d speak quickly if I were you,” he warned. “You’re losing my interest, and that is very dangerous.”

You searched your brain for the words to speak, now panicking. “I came here from another realm!” You said, trying to re-iterate your predicament in a fashion that suggested you were much more wise than you found yourself to be. After all, you knew this story like the back of your hand, and it was the only leverage you seemed to have right now. “Another realm filled with scrolls, and I am the reader of those scrolls.”

“What scrolls do you speak of?” He raised his brow, leaning closer.

“Scrolls of the histories of this land. I know the past, I’ve read the present, and I’ve seen the future!” You had no idea where you were going with this; at the very least, you were trying to save the skin on your back. And you were hoping to god that your favorite author’s tomes could help you.

“Such as? Prove to me you’re not some petty liar.”

“You’ve imprisoned Thorin Oakenshield and his company for his refusal to pay you back that which was rightfully yours!” Please believe me, you thought. “He aims to reclaim the Lonely Mountain and defeat the dragon that lies in its depths.”

“So you’re a liar and a spy. Guards, take them away.”

“No, please!” You cried out desperately. “The gems, they were for your wife! The White Gems of Lasgalen!”

The king froze in his place as he returned to his throne. Finally, you thought. Surely you had him now! He raised a pale hand that was decorated with rings, his voice cutting through you as he issued out another order.

“Guards, unhand them.” He said, turning around to face you as he approached. You swallowed hard, your heart thrumming in your chest as everything seemed so unknown right now. Time seemed to freeze as you fell to your knees, your limbs now free.

“It seems that you would know more than I would like,” he chirped. “So enlighten me, Y/N. What else do you know?”

here’s my middle-earth playlist

i made a fun little playlist that was meant to give a cozy hobbit ambience, but lately i’ve been finding dwarven and elvish kind of vibe songs to add. anyways, i just wanted to share it with y’all if you guys were interested <3

Hi! I love your writing, would you be able to do prompt 5 "Please stop talking so I can kiss you." With kili? much love x

"traced feelings"

author's note: wow. it's short but this piece really brought me out of the abyss for a second. sorry I've basically dropped dead on the face of the earth when it comes to writing, but hopefully this is enough to feed you guys for now <3

Pairing: Kíli / Gender-Neutral Reader

Word Count: 1,226

summary: while you admire the view for your sketches, Kíli admires an entirely different view

content warnings: fluff

DO NOT REPOST OR COPY. MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

It was long sunny days like this where Kíli felt as though he could sit in the grassy knolls with you forever, the shadow of Erebor behind you two as you sketched little drawings of the nearby flowers in your book. This was one of the many times Kíli had met you here, enjoying the stillness with you in your favorite place to relax, and now your favorite place to come to because of a certain dwarven prince.

Sometimes, he’d ask you thousands of questions just to hear the sound of your voice mingle with the wind and grace his ears. And though he genuinely listened, it was hard for you to tell with the way he would gaze at you with a dreamy look in his eye. But you never could complain, not when you admired the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed or smiled. It was a precious time you two spent together despite the unspoken growing feelings you had begun harboring for one another.

Here you were with him, the clouds peppering the sky and giving you moments of breezy shade followed by the gentle winds from the mountain; Kíli had come soon after you had set up your spot under a tall oak tree, some water and art supplies by your side as you had come today to sketch and rest your mind for a little. Like clockwork, he had memorized your favorite times to come out and enjoy the sunshine. The flowers around you were in full bloom as they ebbed and flowed against the breeze, mingled with the weeds and grass.

“Did I keep you waiting?” He had asked before seating himself, laying the grass across you as he gave you a warm smile.

“Not at all, I was simply admiring the view,” you shook your head, turning your sketchbook around to show it to him. It was a simple drawing, still quite early in its birth, but it made him smile.

“Is that so? I could give you another view if you’d like,” he said, a teasing tone in his voice as he stretched out among the soft green grass. You laughed but kept your gaze fixed to your sketch to avoid blushing. 

“As lovely as that would be, I’m not sure you could handle being my muse,” you replied with an amused voice, the soft scribbling sound of your pencil filling your mind as you carefully etched the softness of the flower petals into the landscape on your page. 

“You wound me, Y/N,” he said, his hand coming to his heart to feign hurt. “And I thought we were friends, truly.”

“We are, Kíli,” you said. “Which is why I’m being honest with you.”

“Well, go on then. Tell me why I would make a terrible muse,” he spoke, pressing you for more information as he admired the way the wind played with your hair. Your gaze was still pressed to your drawing, which gave him plenty of opportunity to appreciate your beauty. 

You chuckled, rolling your eyes with a slight scoff. “Alright then. For starters, you never sit still,” you began, speaking slowly in between strokes of your pencil. Now the trees and the little pond were coming into view on your thick page, the scene truly coming together as you outlined the clouds in the background. This piece was almost done, you thought to yourself. “Everytime you sit with me, you fidget about like a little dog.”

“I do not!” He gasped, though he did so while twirling the grass between his fingers, their green blades intertwined in his grasp. He looked so beautiful, you thought, as he rolled around among the grass and the weeds and the flowers.

“My point exactly.” You smiled, and it was just as radiant as a flower to him. In this forested field full of flora and fauna and all of nature’s beautiful creations, you were the prettiest flower in the entire glade.

“You always move around, I can never get you to sit still,” you continued. “Even when you had me paint your portrait, it took so long because you can only sit still for a little while at a time.” In truth, Kíli’s commissioned portrait had taken quite some time for you to complete, and it was completely and utterly his fault. But what you didn’t know is that he had purposely made the process much longer than necessary as a means of being able to be so close to you on a routine basis. “And then when you do sit down for me, you always keep cracking jokes to make me laugh.”

“Would you prefer me to be melancholy?” He asked, his smile growing but his eyes seeming distant as he couldn’t do anything besides look at you. But he didn’t feel far away, no. He felt almost too close, as if he could see all of you right now as the wind brushed around you two. It was intimate.

“Not at all,” you shook your head. “I adore your jokes. But it’s hard to paint or sketch or carve or anything when I’m too busy laughing at something you’ve said or done. You’re very mischie–”

“Please stop talking so I can kiss you,” he muttered, staring into your eyes in a wistful trance, and it was more than enough to stop your thoughts completely.

“I’m sorry?” You responded, completely taken aback by his soft-spoken statement. It seemed he too was startled, eyes widening as if he had just realized that he had such a thing out loud. He hadn’t meant to, in all honesty; his thoughts had just become far too loud. And you were also quite caught off-guard, finally caught out of your sketching to look at him face to face. Silence fell over you for a second as your grip loosened around your pencil, and suddenly Kíli was all too aware of what he had just uttered.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to–” He began, but you quickly abandoned your art supplies, tossing them aside as you shuffled closer to him, your hands now resting on the sides of his face as you looked deep into his dark eyes.

“Did you mean it?” You asked, wanting clarification before you went any further in your current impulsive display.

“What?”

“Did you mean it? Can I kiss you?” You asked again, now growing a small worry that his question had been ingenuine.

His lips cracked quickly into a smile as his eyes danced between your eyes, your hair, your lips, and then your eyes again. “Mahal, yes. Yes, you can.” He breathed out, an airy laugh ringing in your ears before you leaned in and pressed your chapped lips to his gentle ones, your eyes closed as you pressed yourself closer to him with his face in your hands. Eager to accept your feelings, his hands snaked their way to rest along the curve of your waist, his touch gentle as he massaged small circles with his thumbs, wanting to enjoy this moment for however long it lasted.

And within a moment, you pulled away. Your cheeks felt warm as you could do nothing else but look at the beautiful dwarf in front of you. His cheeky smile returned, a brow raising in amusement. “You don’t suppose we could do that again, do you?”

pride and prejudice but in Erebor. what if i wrote that. 👀

here’s my middle-earth playlist

i made a fun little playlist that was meant to give a cozy hobbit ambience, but lately i’ve been finding dwarven and elvish kind of vibe songs to add. anyways, i just wanted to share it with y’all if you guys were interested <3

Hello! If it’s not too much to ask, can I request platonic headcanons for the Fellowship with a female reader that’s a human teenager? She’s not as good as fighting as them, and at first glance she seems approachable and easygoing, but she’s clever and can oftentimes outwit her opponents with creative combat moves. She’s also sort of a little sister to them, albeit a quite reckless and charming one.

I just love platonic LOTR because I feel like they would all be such great friends in their own way :’) Please take your time with this request, and I wish you a lovely day/night ❤️

Hey anon, so sorry it took me this long to answer but I hope you enjoy! I'm absolutely a sucker for platonic Lord of the Rings fiction, all of the characters are so sibling-coded! You have a lovely day/night too, and thanks so much for requesting!

*･༓˚✧❝𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « headcanons »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Gimli ○ Boromir ○ Pippin ○ Merry ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○

GN!Reader | No TWs | Wordcount : 2.1k

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ Years of putting up with being the younger brother of the twins has finally paid off.

✧ Never truly got the appeal of younger siblings until you came around.

✧ (Understands better than most that family is not just blood, but is based on who you choose and who you want to be around. Genuinely hopes he falls under that for you.)

✧ Worries about you but tries not to make it obvious, checking up on you in a more casual way like slowing his walking speed so he can be in time with you then ask about your day.

✧ Understands that your skills mean you should be in this fellowship - but did you have to give him a heart-attack after almost not parrying the cave troll? Poor man is already trying to keep up with the hobbits, and now you.

✧ Does admire the creativity you use in your attacks and is quick to praise it, occasionally shares anecdotes of his less-than-ordinary ‘weapons’ and how he used them.

✧ Subtly tries to get you to pick up more combat skills by offering to spar with you when Boromir spars with the hobbits.

✧ Is a very patient teacher, willing to go over things multiple times and demonstrates what to do very well.

✧ Does not appreciate the recklessness either; you have made him realise just how much he needs to apologise to Elrond and the twins for his youth. Tries to stop you from doing it under the guise that you’re ‘encouraging the hobbits’.

✧ You realise this is a ruse when he tells you it at Helm’s Deep, with precisely no hobbits to be found. Aragorn does not apologise for this.

✧ Notices you actively being charming and takes you under his wing in that regard, teaching you about diplomacy.

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Legolas doesn’t understand just how young you are until the topic of the Fellowship’s ages comes up and you’re the youngest by a decade. Doesn’t think this is a big deal until he sees Boromir do a slight double-take.

✧ Talks with you after and realises the age, you try and reassure him with the ‘I’m mature for my age’ and he doesn’t accept it.

✧ Firmly next to you for the first few days after it, although he doesn’t baby you - he’s just overprotective.

✧ Feels bad about not realising previously.

✧ Is a single child, to a single father, so doesn’t really realise how closely he regards you as family until he starts teaching you elvish words and family comes up. How the first words he thinks of, that he believes you should know, are ‘brother’ and ‘little sibling’.

✧ Does one of his odd elven stares at you with this realisation. You ask him and he blinks before apologising, stating it’s an elf thing.

✧ You don’t believe it and ask Aragorn. The ranger looks from you to Legolas, sees the worry in Legolas’ eyes, and decides on mercy by backing it up.

✧ Insists on teaching you archery. Isn’t sure whether to be impressed or offended when you stab an orc with an arrow instead of shooting it. It works… he supposes.

✧ Never slips up until he’s introducing you to his father in Elvish, and accidentally calls you his younger sibling instead of his friend.

✧ You know just enough elvish to realise what he’s said (combined with the look on Thranduil’s face) and smile. Then ask him later if he could have given you that realisation anywhere except in front of his father.

𝐆𝐢𝐦𝐥𝐢

✧ Immediately loves you for your charm, and the fact you engage in deep conversation with him instead of assuming all dwarves only speak basically and are incapable of eloquence.

✧ Certainly teaches you a lot when it comes to charm and wit, and by the end of your journey your speaking with a few too many dwarf idioms for a human teenager.

✧ Would totally be willing to teach you Khuzdul if you wanted to. Refuses to tell you what the terms of endearment he calls you are (‘little treasure’, ‘spark’, and sometimes ‘younger sibling’)

✧ Is very grateful none of the rest of the Fellowship know enough about dwarven culture to call him out on the little things he does for you, like making sure your weapons are polished to an immaculate degree or keeping your food warm for you using rocks.

✧ Offers to braid your hair for you before Helm’s Deep, both grateful you don’t understand dwarf customs and not.

✧ (He’d be much too embarrassed to offer you his familial braid if you knew what it meant).

✧ When you ask to braid his hair he helps you create a unique braid, with dwarvish meaning. That’s how you figure out what the braid he gave you means.

✧ As long as you’re winning your fights he doesn’t care how you’re using a weapon - he still admires good tactics.

✧ Complains that teenagers are too busy growing awkwardly to use the proper dwarven techniques of fighting.

✧ Laughs a bit too much when he tries to teach you his style and you fall over while trying to swing his hammer in a circle.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ Literally an older sibling. Adopts Merry and Pippin in all but law, and will do exactly the same to you as well. You have little choice in this manner.

✧ Shows his affection to you mainly by spending time with you and listening to you because that’s what he’s always done with Faramir. However he’s fairly observant, and if he can tell you’d rather be doing something else (like whittling or scouting) he’ll happily do that.

✧ Cares more about the fact he’s spending time with you than what he’s doing with that time.

✧ Also has a minor heart attack when he realises how old you are. Knows he’s had recruits the same age as you, but this is different. He’s not actively trying to lead those recruits with him to Mordor.

✧ Very good combat teacher, as it was his job for a while. Best with a sword and shield but will adapt to your weapon of choice, he can use pretty much all of them.

✧ After he witnesses you mess up a sword-thrust and almost gets impaled he gives you his shield. You protest, and he says you can give it back to him once you’ll be able to protect yourself without him.

✧ Highly complimentary of your wit in battle, is aware of how often people overlook wisdom in combat compared to brute force (*cough, cough* Denethor) and makes sure you’re praised enough for your actions.

✧ Often speaks about introducing you to Faramir and how he hopes you’ll like each often, shares a lot of anecdotes from when the two were younger. (Has very occasionally called you his brother’s name by accident.)

✧ Tries to make sure you spend time on your journey exploring the world, like Rivendell, so that you can keep your sense of wonder. Hopes you’ll retain it even after everything.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ Closest in age to you, which he very much appreciates. Hobbits generally aren’t considered adults until their thirty (and he’s only twenty-nine) so jokes about the two of you being so much better than all the old corpses over here.

✧ Tries to convince you to make fun of Boromir and Aragorn’s age with him. One of his ways to cheer you up is to point at the ranger and simply say ‘old’.

✧ Did that once to Gandalf, and then never again to Gandalf. (Also tries to get you to help him with Gandalf.)

✧ In an odd way, you not being especially skilled in combat is quite comforting to him - it’s nice to know there are folk outside the Shire who sometimes struggle with this as well.

✧ Complains in a joking manner when he sees you use skill to fend off goblins and that you lied to him.

✧ “You told me you weren’t that good at combat, not that you’re a tactical genius!”

✧ Wants to offer you pipeweed but isn’t sure if you should be able to have it. Boromir and Aragorn disagree. Goes with whatever you decide (although also would never pressure you into smoking if you don’t want to).

✧ Is genuinely disappointed when he doesn’t become taller than you after the ent draft. Insists life is unfair, and that you should be down on his level.

✧ Asks if you’ll help him and Merry finally bring down Boromir honourably. (Fails to see that you coming up behind the warrior would not be considered honourable.)

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Treats you a lot like he does Pippin, in that he’s very open with you, one of his main goals is to make you laugh, and he constantly looks out for you.

✧ Also nicknames, tries so many nicknames. Even if your name can’t be shortened he still gives you one, it’s just more nonsensical. Will see you’ve got slightly more radish in your soup than everyone else and call you ‘rad’ for the next day. Sees nothing wrong with what he is doing.

✧ Very excited to discover the Shire love for mischief and pranks is present in humans as well - or at least in you.

✧ Pippin tries to persuade you to play pranks on Merry with him, but you always side with the latter.

✧ Will not allow you to criticise your combat skills - even if it’s constructive and not self-deprecating. (“No, the orc literally almost took my arm off Merry.” “Well, with that attitude it certainly almost did!”)

✧ Tries to initiate sparring matches between you and Boromir by seeing you standing next to each other and shouting ‘fight’.

✧ This fails to work because two hobbits shouting at you isn’t intimidating, and there aren’t enough of them to circle you. He did once manage to convince Legolas to join in the chanting, however.

✧ Spends a lot of time climbing the scenery to get elevation so he can hug you without you bending down.

✧ Tells Éowyn everything about you, and is very complimentary.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Takes care of you in much the same way he takes care of Frodo. Gandalf may not have made him swear to protect you, but he’s certainly going to anyway.

✧ Often asking if he can mend any clothing that’s gotten torn, and when you get it back you’ll find a small piece of embroidery next to where he’s repaired the garment for you.

✧ It’s generally whatever you’ve been talking about and has made you smile the most in your conversations.

✧ Sometimes feels a little awkward trying to protect you, seeing how he’s only a hobbit and you’re a big folk - but he does his best.

✧ Tries to get you and Frodo to stay together so he can protect both of his friends at the same time.

✧ When he sees you fall behind in combat, he’ll sometimes offer to spar. He knows it’s not much but it puts a smile on your face and that’s what matters.

✧ Cheers you on if you spar with Boromir.

✧ Always makes sure you and Frodo have the best bits of the food. Vehemently denies this if confronted by either of you.

✧ Worries about you being on the journey, seeing how young you are, but if Frodo has put his faith in him then Sam will certainly put his faith in you.

✧ Also very complimentary of your creative thinking in combat, you can sometimes hear him talking to the other hobbits about it (absolutely with a tone of reverence/awe).

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Probably the most grateful that you’ve come of anyone, and the second most understanding family doesn’t have to be blood.

✧ Even though Bilbo is technically just his uncle he knows they behave much closer. And when he meets you he realises that family truly isn’t about blood at all.

✧ Most used to you being human, he’s spent time with Gandalf, so he knows how to talk to you and is the quickest of the hobbits to warm up to you.

✧ He’s also the first to acknowledge he sees you as a sibling, while talking about you visiting the Shire.

✧ Instantly stops and pauses to see if you’re alright with what he just said before continuing, slightly more embarrassed but still enthusiastic.

✧ After discovering Sting he’s very willing to try sparring you, and the two of you try and learn together.

✧ He’s similar in that he tries to rely on smarter moves to beat the goblins, but often talks about yours with good-natured envy.

✧ The two of you share tricks after each battle, or at least tricks that are applicable.

✧ Often likes to sit with you and Sam when the ring is particularly bad, because you help centre him. Help remind him what he’s fighting for.

A/N : Thanks for reading, and thanks again for the request! I do love platonic lotr, so feel free to keep requesting that! Also, I now have a taglist - so that's fun. If you wish to join, feel free - and no pressure if not. Really like the idea of a reader who struggles with sword-work but is creative, so honestly might expand on that as well.

thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ wish to be tagged?

A Leap of Faith (Fellowship x Reader)

This is the result of binging macha tea, Lilo and Stitch and Brooklyn 99 simultaneously. Another crackpost. Enjoy.

Pairings: Legolas x Reader—if you squint, and consider pulling on his pigtails as “romantic”, which I, personally, do. Some nice paternal! Aragorn x Reader energy going on in there too, for your comfort. 

“Cartography” is the study of maps, btw. 

Peering eyes and stolen glances, both riddled with skepticism and doubt—that was all to be found among Aragorn and Gandalf.

They each sat on a log, and warily observed the Fellowship as a whole. Both were situated within the dimmed forest by the glowing and flickering campfire.

Each of the eight fanatic Fellowship members before their eyes all naively gallivanted about in their usual bickering antics—nothing short of tomfoolery.

Merry and Pippin snickered loudly, as they each used their smoking pipe’s spouts to press in a snoring Gimli’s nostrils. He abruptly woke with a snort, and a Dwarvish shout of anger. 

As Merry and Pippin each ran away with boyish giggles—a stumbling and yelling Gimli hot on their tails—Sam and Frodo were sat against the thick trunk of a tree.

The raven-haired Hobbit wistfully sighed, and spoke of the Shire, whilst Sam adamantly comforted the sentimental Ring-bearer. 

Y/n and Legolas stood by the crackling fire, bickering, as usual. 

Keep reading

“Thanks, I owe you guys one.” (Fellowship x Reader)

Synopsis: you’re being chased by men who enjoy hunting down humans, but fortunately, you run right into the middle of the Fellowship’s camp.

The night was dark and barren throughout its snowy wasteland—a temporary home for the Fellowship to call that evening, as they set up camp around a flickering fire at the base of a pine tree-lined slope.

Low hushes made their way across the cold camp, as each tired member spoke of their glum day through the snow. They had since trekked through the forest to find their little snowy slope—a haven for mortal and immortal eyes alike to observe the stars above.

It was almost as if you could see them clearer in the piercing cold, Pippin mused at one point. Legolas softly agreed, and confirmed that to be true.

However, for all the distant howls of wolves and hoots of owls, none could possibly expect nor imagine what was happening on the other side of the slope.

Keep reading

Imagine Gandalf taking the Fellowship to you after they’ve all been turned into animals

“Why are you all animals?!” Y/n exclaimed.

She gaped down, with wide eyes, at the nine transformed Fellowship members. She was a little shocked, to say the least.

The last thing Y/n expected, upon opening her woodland cottage door, was for Gandalf to be clad in owl feathers, as well as the other eight (sworn to save her home) in a series of similar fur and paws.

Gandalf trusted no other than Y/n, for she was Radagast’s apprentice, and capable of communicating with animals adeptly.

“It’s a long story,” Gandalf sighed, flying into the cottage.

Stepping aside, with a slight stammer on her lips, Y/n allowed each member into her home.

Following after one another, was a wolf, lion, two squirrels, a chipmunk, mouse, boar and snow leopard.

They seemed in bitter spirits, understandably. Y/n merely grimaced, and closed the door behind them.

This was going to be a long night.

LOTR/TH Characters Interrupting Your Zoom Classes [Legolas, Aragorn, Kili]

A.N: so this has been on my mind FOREVER and I just needed to get it out. Also I’m from the US and I’m not sure exactly how other countries are handling corona and online classes so I’m sorry this is not what it is like for you.

(not all gifs are mine)

LEGOLAS

(Y/N) was up extremely early for her 8am class. Her hair was in a messy bun with loose strands hanging out in an unkempt manner. Her eyes felt heavy, the dark circles clearly showing up on the camera as she sat at her desk sipping on a dwindling cup of hot tea. Her professor/teacher droned on and on about a topic that she was too tired to understand, yet she still continued to scribble down incomprehensible notes.

Suddenly, she felt large muscular arms wrap around her from behind. A soft kiss was planted on her cheek as long blonde strands fell around her face.

“Good Morning, meleth nin (my love).” A gentle voice whispered against her skin.

A soft smile pulled at (Y/N)’s lips as she hummed in response. The contact of Legolas’s bare chest warmed her form and initiated feelings of security and love.

“Why are you up so early? You need rest, you have been up late into the night for the past week,” he muttered.

(Y/N) sighed not realizing that the sounds of the lecture faltered, “I have class, remember?”

“Of course I remember. I just wish for you to take of yourself.”

Legolas’s arms regrettably slipped from her body as he stood up straight once again. “Here, let me make you more tea.”

The elf carefully reached across the young woman and grasped onto the nearly empty mug before exiting the room.

“(Y/N)? Care to keep your shirtless boyfriend out of the screen?” The professor/teacher called out in a teasing tone.

A handful of laughs and giggles echoed through her computer at the professor’s comment. (Y/N) could feel her cheeks heat and turn bright red for she had completely forgotten her camera was on....thank god that she had been muted! With wide eyes she quickly scanned the tiny screens of her classmates—all expressing surprise, shock, and disbelief.

“Who knew (Y/N) had a boyfriend who looks like he was chiseled by Michelangelo himself!” One of preppy girls called out.

Another responded. “Yeah! (Y/N), where do you find him?! Hmhmm...he is sexyyyy!”

The young woman covered her face in embarrassment as more laughs and comments echoed through the laptop speakers.

Deciding to face the music and provide some sort of explanation, (Y/N) unmuted her microphone. “I’m so sorry, Professor! I completely forgot my camera was on! It won’t happen again.”

ARAGORN

(Y/N) groaned in frustration as she squinted at the math equation on her professor’s screen.

Fucking hell....what do these symbols even mean?

She sighed as her mind began to wander. It was extremely late—why she decided to select a night math class was beyond her comprehension. Simply put: she had regrets. Week after week she endured countless hours of equations and numbers. It was draining really. All she wished for was to be back in Aragorn’s arms, but alas he was off killing orcs that somehow also made it into her world. He had been gone for about a week and, quite frankly, she was starting to worry.

Her long stretch of zoning out was soon interrupted by a handful of screams and shrieks coming form her laptop speakers.

“(Y/N)! BEHIND YOU!”

“TURN AROUND!”

“(Y/N)! RUN!”

The young women whipped her body to see what was so concerning behind her only to land eyes on her boyfriend—holding his hunting knives and covered in blood and grim.

“Aragorn!” She called out, instantly standing up and running to him.

She leaped into his arms, not caring that he was disgustingly dirty. He easily caught her. The Ranger smirked, “Who did you think I was? A killer?”

She rolled her eyes before squeezing him tighter.

He planted a soft kiss against her forehead before letting her feet touch the ground once more.

Aragorn then frowned when he heard confused shrieks and comments coming from the mysterious device. He took a couple steps forwards, squinting in attempt to figure out just what these tiny people on the screen were doing.

“Oh shit, Aragorn...just...just....hold on.”

(Y/N) rushed forward and pushed herself in front of her boyfriend. Quickly, she unmuted herself. “Sorry!! That’s my boyfriend! He just got back from....a...a hunting trip!”

Silence hung in the air as her classmates and professed starred completely and utterly speechless.

The pressure of the lack of response pushed her to continue speaking, “He’s uh...he um...hunts deer...he’s a part of the wildlife service....”

Her professor was the first to speak. “Oh...uh....okay. Next time, uh just warn us?” He stated weakly.

“Yeah....yeah...sorry...”

KILI

(Y/N) spoke in response to her professor’s question on zoom, “Well, I suppose.....if you are thinking about it analytically—“

She was interrupted by the sound of Kili’s voice from the bathroom, “(Y/N)! (Y/N)?”

The young woman’s voice faltered but she ignored his calls and continued to answer her teacher, “—that um, if you—“

“(Y/N)!”

She whipped her head around only to be met with the sight of her boyfriend wearing only a towel upon his waist—in clear view for her entire class to see. His abs rippled slightly as he moved and his biceps showed off his strength.

“Are you coming to shower?” The muscular dwarf question seductively.

“KILI!” She hollered in embarrassment.

“What!?” He said defensively.

“I’m in class!”

He shrugged and stepped forward, “So what? Just leave.”

“Kili! They can hear you...and see you.”

The dwarf’s brown eyes widened and he took a step closer to examine the screen, “They can what?”

“Kili! Get OUT!” (Y/N) called while shoving him away from the camera.

She turned back to her class, cheeks red as a cherry.

“I....I....I’m so sorry about that I just....I....”

A little giggle erupted from one of the girl’s in her class, “Hey at least he’s hot! Does...does he happen to have a brother?”

(Y/N) slapped her hand against her forehead. Not only did Kili embarrass her in front of her entire class and Professor, but now people were curious.

Great....Just Great....

Everything Tag: @sokkasdarling @scxundress @quilledinkpen @hufflepuffinblr @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami

Sleeping In Their Clothes | hobbit / lotr

how they would react to finding you asleep in their clothes

characters: Thranduil, Bard, Aragorn, Legolas x fem!reader

warnings/tags: mentions of Boromir's death (Aragorn), age gap (Bard), romantic shipping

word count: 5,7k

an: trying something new! Have been struggling to write after some personal issues so please excuse the slow updates on this blog

requests: please check pinned post

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are much appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Thranduil:

Thranduil’s mood darkens the halls, clouds the air around him bitter and ashen. The elves he passes lower their heads at his strides, at his cloak billowing behind him as thunder rolls over the skies. No one dares to speak, no one dares to whisper or raise their voice at any volume below the hushed glances they share after he disappears behind a corner. The foul stench of anger and frustration traces his path, starting right in front of the doors he slammed after another day of negotiations and down the direct route to his chambers. 

He grits his teeth at the servants hurrying toward him and bellows a low: “Get out!” as hands reach forward and there’s enough fury in his eyes for the servants to scatter away like a heap of leaves blown apart by a particularly harsh wind. 

Even the thought of skin touching him when he is burning up… he shudders. 

There’s only one who he wants close to him right now.

He reaches out for you long before he’s in the bedroom, feeling for your fëa entangled with his in an inseparable union and he makes sure to be gentle, brushing you with his love rather than the anger bubbling hot inside him. 

The calling stays unanswered – a deep wave of security and comfort labs over him but by the tenderness of it rather than your usual playfulness, and by the time Thranduil sees the seethrough white curtains around the bed, he knows exactly what state you will be in.

And never one to disappoint him, your unconscious yet dreamy smile is all Thranduil needs to forget about the anger he yielded like a sharp sword; used to cut down any and all offers from the dwarfs and their stubborn and unreasonable trading offers. 

Instead of ripping apart conversations and insults, Thranduil’s hands are gentle as he parts the curtains and kneels on the feathery mattress with your shapes ingrained in it. All those nights spent close together and his warrior-heart will never fail to skip a beat at the sight of you wrapped in his robes. It’s one of the older, worn ones as well. Fabric that thins out at the cuffs – not that this would be a problem; you’re not close to reaching them –, a few cuts and holes in places twigs and branches bore themselves into the crimson, featherlight velvet. 

Thranduil sees your skin flashing through some of them. The one above your knee, drawn up, another one below your biceps, relaxed because you know nothing can hurt you here, and some more all over your chest, hinting that you are not wearing much else. 

He knows you well enough that you won’t be bitter if woken up and so he leans in closer from behind. One hand finds your head, cradling it into his large palm until you, still in dreams comfortable embrace, roll to the side and bury your face inside it, nose pressed right against his steady pulse while his fingers gently trace the curve of your ear. 

No time spent together will ever sicken him of this, your complete surrender into his care, the doubtless trust that wherever you laid down to rest, he would sit by and be there. The oath of protection is one Thranduil promised his folk the day he was crowned their King as well, not once has he doubted he would abandon it all for the vow he gave you the night you offered your heart and he gifted you his; you above all.

His thumb just brushes over your temple and the fine hairs that come loose of your braid when your lashes flutter, leaving him to readily dive into the pools filled with love and sleep.

While he maneuvers with cunning, a master of actions and power, playing a game of chess on a board he alone commands, you stand unrivaled with the art of words. Your tongue, sharp and precise, weaves wit and wisdom into every phrase. Whenever he acts rationally and leads by his heart, you would listen first, hearing out heart as well as brain, and come to a conclusion serving everyone. 

Your voice has the power to sway wars and balance the scales of battle. When you speak, your tone, thick with the remnants of sleep yet razor-sharp in purpose, reduces him to nothing more than a mere soldier—helpless in the face of your command, whether in war or love:

“I dreamt we were air.”

“Invisible?” Thranduil's voice is laced with a touch of curiosity as he revels in the warmth of your laughter, the puff of hot breath meeting his wrist like a secret kiss. Your presence is a balm, a reminder of everything that is tender and true.

“You, my love, know that this is not true.”

“It is not?” 

“No,” you whisper and press a kiss to the tender skin, lingering with your lips over the pulse and the veins rushing blood to the heart, your heart, inside his chest. A puppeteer of words. Even the silent ones. 

“I agree,” Thranduil muses, enticed by this playful exchange, “that the wind is what we notice, a fleeting glimpse of nature’s breath. But air – air is the unseen force that dances around us, invisible yet ever-present, until our souls merge with the very fabric of the universe.” He glides his other hand to your legs, slipping underneath his warmed robe. 

You squeak as he anchors his arm around your thigh and tugs you over to face him in a swift movement. Faced to lie underneath his larger figure, you shoot him a crooked grin. 

“You can see the air just as much as you can see the wind it turns into,” you start and get comfortable in his lap. Thranduil immediately jumps the chance to idly with the robe that’s draped all over your body. 

“In the particles that dance in the sunlight,” you continue, your voice soft and thoughtful, “in the flags that hiss and flutter. In the vapor rising from steaming ponds, and in the mist that clings to the earth in the morning fog.” He watches, entranced, as your palm flattens against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch. “I see it here,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath, and he follows your gaze as you watch your hand rise with each of his inhales and fall with each exhale.

Your fingertips, soft and gentle, curl slightly into the fabric of his current robe – soon, undoubtedly, those same fingers will find comfort in the folds of this robe, curling into it as you slip into sleep.

And in that quiet, intimate moment, he will see the air too, in the way your breath mingles with his, in the way your presence fills every space around him, making the invisible tangible, making the unseen profoundly felt.

The air catches in his throat and he sees your eyes twinkle.

Then, not looking away from you, he lies down as well. He has no need for the blanket crumpled underneath you both, the sight of you facing him, drawing your knees back to your chest and skin flashing whenever the fabric of his robes part to allow him these glimpses, is warmth enough. He loves you, even if you have a habit of taking what is his. A spray of his scents to drive him crazy, a feather that you take between your teeth as you write, or his robes but all of those mean nothing and all since you have him as well, fully and completely. 

So he will request ten new robes, in colors that you like, and await the day he gets to your bedroom and finds you sleeping in them.

“So,” Thranduil repeats slowly. His hand drifts to your face, trailing lines over the smile you give him. “You dreamt we were air?”

“Yes,” the corner of your lips quirk into a quick smirk, one that fades quickly yet leaves traces all over, “and we were invisible –”

“Oh, you little minx!”

“Ahhh – Thran, stop, oh I beg you, stop tickling me!”

Bard:

The brittle stairs heave and sigh, creak and groan under Bard’s boots, once honeyed planks now gray from the flow time, heavy rain and the dampness of the lake coloring the edges mossy green, and with the days passing by, the steps taken as he rushes down to work or tiredly drags himself up, one hand curved around the splintered railing, he wonders how many steps these stairs will endure before his house comes crashing down into the murky lake. 

This winter seems to be harsher than the ones before, with the wind howling loud at night and rattling on the walls that he wakes to frames shattered on the ground and the curtains ruffled even if the windows are closed. This winter, he swears the ice is thicker, a nearly impenetrable obstacle for his boat and his clothes are never warm enough but then, in the end, he knows the next winter will be worse and he doesn’t dare to complain out loud, doesn’t think it’s right to curse for hands shaking and feet aching and his nose running. 

As exhausted as he is, and Bard is, so exhausted, so tired, so drained, he’s mindful enough to skip the last plank of the stairs. He lifts his feet higher, ignores how the muscles in his thighs complain, and steps over the plank that always sounds like it’s waiting to break through, always moans the loudest when he needs to be quiet as if his state isn’t mockery enough. 

Bard slips through the door, opening it barely to keep the cold outside, and when he turns around, finally, warmth takes over. 

It starts in his hands, in the tips of his reddened fingers, exposed to nature's icy companions the moment he sneaks out to work before the sun rises. It creeps higher, up his arms and to his shoulders strong enough to carry his family more than he can hold himself, parting ways to fill his cheeks in the softest of glow, a simmering fire that colors his skin an ember-red and travels down through his swooping stomach, lightening a hunger he knows food will not sate, and when the heat reaches his feet, Bard releases a small sigh. 

There, in the low and flickering light of a candle burned down to a hardened wax puddle, his eyes immediately find you resting underneath the only window whose curtains are drawn open. Most of you is covered by a dark blanket, hiding your face but that doesn’t matter to Bard; he has every inch, every freckle, every crinkle of laughter and wrinkle of pain memorized. 

Not that he should; you’re kind enough to look after his children while he works, accepting no money and hearing no ‘buts’, and here Bard stands, a decade older, widowed and tired, and knows exactly that your mouth will be slightly opened and that your lashes will fan over the rosy apples of your cheeks and that your shoulders will ache because you rather sleep on the bench under the window than take away Bard’s pillow. 

Stubborn girl.

Bard crosses the cluttered floor, avoiding Tilda's drawings hung up to dry on the wooden ceiling beams and Sigrid's books and tomorrow, he will tut over Bain’s clothes left hanging on chairs and stools, but tonight he walks past them and their sight burns in his chest. 

As Bard gets closer to you, he nearly trips. 

That’s not a blanket that you hide your face in, that keeps away the winds creeping through the gaps in the wood behind you, that you use as a shield against the cold yet the greatest thing it fights are the walls Bard pulls up around his heart.

That’s his coat. 

The dark blue coat he left to dry over the oven after last night's rain. 

You must’ve taken it and that dismantles Bard into millions of pieces, chips away on his walls like nature takes layer after layer away from the stairs outside. 

While he can’t know when exactly the latter will be too much to take on any more pressure, he feels the heavy weight of his coat around your sleeping body, and just like the stairs, his personal defenses creak and groan, heave and sigh and crumble down around him in a thumping echo in his ears, that Bard fears his choked breath will wake you up.

He is helpless. 

He doesn’t dare to touch you directly, as much as he yearns to brush away the strands of hair fluttering in your even breaths. Bard’s hands are rough from his work and your soft skin deserves better than the callouses and scars he bears, so Bard gently lays his hand on your shoulder, covered by his coat – his coat, Lord how ever will he survive knowing the fabric kissed your body?

“Darlin’,” he whispers in a voice that’s horse and gravely, though it softens as he speaks your name, daring to follow it up fast enough there’s no room for a pause between the term of affection to be separated from your name.

You stir in your sleep, shift to reveal your face some more and the crease between your eyebrows and the effort it takes Bard to hold back from smoothing it out with his thump could have moved mountains. Bard ignores to notice how your nose is buried deep into the coat and that no washing could’ve ever cleaned the heavy fabric of his smell; he swallows hard. 

A low sigh blows away the hair and Bard’s eyes fall on the plushness of your lips. You wake up slowly, closing your mouth and you pull the coat tighter around you, holding onto it, while Bard lets go of his restraints.

“Darlin’,” he repeats, and this time you hear him enough to evoke a tired smile.

When you open your eyes and turn towards Bard, the candle flickers in the reflection of them. “You’re back,” you mumble into his coat, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

I know, Bard wants to say, I skip the last stair so the noise does not take away my chance to wake you up.

Instead, he shakes his head: “You shouldn’ be sleeping on this bench, it’s too hard and uncomfortable.”

“Eh,” you push yourself up into a sitting position, the coat still far too large around your frame and you don’t make any attempt to part from it, “This bench is sufficient enough for a short nap, and I–,” a yawn interrupts and you grin sheepishly, “What I wanted to say is that I wasn’t that tired anyway.”

“Sure,” Bard's laughter is quiet but fills the entirety of his lungs and his own lips mirror yours in a grin. 

The look you share in the darkness makes him feel like he’s young again, filled with infinite love for a limited body, bursting through his cells and flooding every vein, rushing blood that burns hot for you up to his battered heart. Bard can see your eyes wandering over his face and he wonders if you can tell that this smile is only for you and that he fights a lost battle in telling himself he can stop what’s tugging you closer. 

He leans in further and lets his hand fall from your shoulders to run his fingertips over his coat. His knees brush against yours, and Bard tells himself it's only the late hour that makes him tender, that his weary, overburdened mind is surrendering to the forbidden's allure in the quiet moments when no one else is watching. Yet, deep down, he knows this is merely the rationalization of a lost man, drawn to the woman who cares for his children who are not her own in some ways and are in others, who sleeps wrapped in his coat, and who gazes at him as though he could reach up and give her the stars he can see through the hole in his roof. 

“C’mon,” Bard nods his head toward the back of the house, an offer he speaks out every night, “I won’t let you go home all alone this late.” 

All other nights you shrugged his offer off, had him walk you home over the planks and gurgling water until you kissed his cheek goodnight and Bard snuck back to his home, falling into bed to fall asleep to an aching heart. He prepares for it now, the apologetic smile that usually takes over your face, the tilt of your head to hide your eyes, all of it is memorized to his memory and even though they’re always quiet he hears your “I can’t, I must go home,” like the drums of war that shoot the heart that beats for you.

He awaits it. He will ask again and again, no matter how desperate it makes him seem and how the hurt will take over and push him through the day only for the night to repeat itself.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Bard freezes.

You blink up at him, eyes full of sleep and dreams that shouldn’t have the image of an old man and his children in them, but you’re never one to listen to what’s expected from you. 

There’s no ache in his bones as he gathers you up in his arms, your head resting against his beating heart.

There’s no groan in his muscles as he carries you through his house and over the threshold to the little corner where he lays you on his bed, blue coat pooling over you as you smile and pat the small free space next to you. 

He doesn’t feel the pain of work, the exhaustion of days of darkness and the fear of surviving the night to get through the week.

Bard kicks off his shoes, discards his dirt-stained pants, and shrugs off the shirt dampened by water, ice, and snow. He vows that tonight, you won’t feel the cold. As he climbs onto the bed, the mattress dips under the weight of his trembling legs. You lift the blankets without hesitation, inviting him closer, and he accepts, silently aching for the warmth you offer. Your body radiates heat as you nestle in beside him, your smooth skin brushing against his legs. Almost timidly, you curl into him, your smaller form pressing against his chest and stomach. His arms wrap around you and when he allows himself to breathe a featherlight kiss onto your shoulder, he catches his musky scent left behind by his coat. 

“Sleep well,” he whispers into the crown of your head, feeling the fast beat of your heart under his hand, “my love.”

Aragorn:

Aragorn has been familiar with the pain of war ever since his father was murdered by orks when he was two. He knows how it flits through the body like lightning through water, cracking into all the ends of a being to render them helpless, burning through whatever energy and fight is left, and killing easily and efficiently. 

And yes, he has felt the pain of war on himself before, in the years he spent fighting as Thorongil under the hands of Lords and Kings in the West. Aragorn saw good men fall, saw better men than him die to the growing threat of Sauron and there has been a cloud of thunderstorm in his heart from there on.

Nothing hurts as much as the pain that took over your lovely eyes the moment you saw Boromir lying on the ground in colorful dried crunching leaves, pierced by arrows that had been aimed at you too, though that didn’t matter – to you – then. The scream that came next pierced through Aragorn blindingly white and he could do nothing but try to grab you, as you fell to the ground, scrambling away from his strong arms to get closer to Boromir, your weak efforts nothing but agony for him. You had cried bitterly, hitting Aragorn with curled-up fists and he took every punch, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away.

It only got worse when you realized the Hobbits were gone too. 

Aragorn saw the flame of hope flickering inside your eyes, a darkness of grief and pain behind them that he knew and yet he had no idea how to help you. 

He still doesn’t. 

The sun rose hours ago, red bleeding into gold, Boromir waving a last goodbye in the clouds, and the rustle of the wind brings shivers to the four of the Fellowship who are left. You’re setting up camp for the day; Legolas and Aragorn have not much need for speed but exhaustion can be a much crueler enemy combined with death and grief. Aragorn’s gaze wanders to you ever so often as you stand in front of the burning skies, staring at the pack that was once Boromirs and he casts his eyes downwards to where his heart aches. 

You suffer, obviously, and Aragorn, who fought for more years in his life than not, doesn’t know how he can battle your demons. 

If he could he would draw his sword and head into the fight, only return bloody-knuckled, the shadows wrapped between his tight fingers. He can’t though, and that may be what pains him more than the obvious heavy weight of witnessing Boromir’s last moments; his inability to take on your emotional baggage. It tears through his heart in aggressive jibes and stings like liquor on an open wound. 

This is why he’s the first volunteer when Legolas suggests splitting up. 

Aragorn nods at Gimli and they disappear into the forest, leaving Legolas who rests even less than Aragorn, and you, the walking example of why avoiding sleep after such traumatic events should be mandatory: your eyes drop, your hands shake and no amount of effort on your side is enough to hide the sacking of your shoulders. Every day that you walked further away from when you were nine – Mithrandir’s absence not accounted for – you distance yourself more, most likely to hide your suffering yet all that this behavior accomplishes is that Aragorn notices it all. 

How could he not?

He cares for you, most ardently, and these feelings brought forth a vulnerability, an open spot in his heart for love to slip in and make itself at home.

Aragorn leaves you in Legolas' care; the trust he places in the elf to protect you in your fragile state is grander than the one he has in himself. One soft whimper as you hide your face in your shoulder and stumble over feet that won’t listen and Aragorn might do something naive as pack his sack back up and hunt the orcs that took the Hobbits, the one coated in Boromir’s blood, on his own. 

It would be reckless, ignorant, a troubled journey without Legolas or Gimli or even you.

So Aragorn goes against his heart's urges and patrols – clearing the forest and trying not to think about your frail form, hugging yourself out of desperation and grief.

Gimli and he return hours later, under the warm rays of the sun – the gentle strings far too bright and calming for the last day's events, the wind a breeze swirling through the leaves crunching under his light feet and Legolas lifts a finger to his lips as soon as Aragorn makes eye contact.

He assures his steps are as silent as possible, avoiding the logs and twigs they would collect later for a fire to warm them, and walks past the elf, nodding his head and quietly thanking Legolas for keeping an eye on you. 

A hand lands on Aragorn’s shoulder, stopping him in his movement. 

“She’s asleep,” Legolas says quietly, leaning in closer, “We shall move forward when she awakes, rested.”

“No sooner,” Aragorn agrees and lets out a relieved breath that had been lodged deep inside his chest. He looks to the elf, then to the bundle of a small human shape underneath a tree. “Thank you, my friend.” 

“Aragorn, we need your focus as much as we need hers.” The grip on his shoulder loosens, and the weight stays in Legolas’ eyes and Aragorn almost winces, would he not know his friend only means well. 

His voice is gravel, his words soft and exhausted: “I know.” He didn’t know his heart had been such an open show but then, Legolas knows him like no other, a companion that found him and a friend that he can always count on, a partner in battle and nowadays, Legolas seems to have taken on the role of fates worst messenger – reminding Aragorn that this, you, the differences, the looming war and the ones that never end… 

When Aragorn approaches you, the pain he carries with him dims, a candle dying out in refreshing winds. Bending his knees, he carefully sits down, resting his back against the tree's rough bark covering your gentle face in dancing shadows and flickering golden spots of sunlight that kiss your closed eyelids. Around your shoulders and over most of your body, Aragorn recognizes the cloak he’d asked Legolas to stow away when Gimli and him took off. Now that he sees you, finally asleep, he is glad the cloak found a better use than being shoved inside a bag where it would have never touched your skin. 

He reaches out, soft and slowly, making sure his movements will not wake you and pulls off his leather coat as well, placing it across the uncovered part of your boots and legs.

Aragorn is tired but he will keep watch, protecting you to sleep safely.

He is weak but only for you, so he will fight harder than ever before to ensure the Hobbits return to see the smile he loves so much on your face again.

There is a possibility this will all change faster than any of you could realize, these times are unpredictable and there is a taste of danger on his tongue and in the air. The journey of the Fellowship has barely begun and already the sun bleeds into the horizon in colors that mark the grounds of battlefields awaiting you.

Aragorn clenches his jaw and only unclenches it when he hears the smallest of sighs. Looking down at you, he dares to smooth away some strands of hair, leaving a streak of dirt on your sunkissed temple. 

In the grand scheme of things, there is of course the need for the bigger picture and the importance of all that connects to this journey, but in this moment, surrounded by the sounds of the forests and your breathing, Aragorn takes comfort in knowing he has this moment with you to remember all the small things count just as much. 

A cloak to sleep in.

The shadow of a tree.

Even the pain seems to have fallen into a slumber, resting to surely come back and hit him square in the chest like it has never left him but Aragorn has never felt this free as in the pain’s short-lived absence. 

And he can hear it in the silence and in the way you keep his cloak close to you.

War brings pain but you bring love.

Legolas:

Legolas may agree that abandoning his father's task of informing Lord Elrond of the disappearance of their captive to travel through the lands and destroy a ring in Mordor – whether the Fellowship will make it this far is still unknown – but then Aragorn brought you to the Council and suddenly Legolas finds himself months away from his home, listening to your laughter as you flip rocks over the lake you’re standing in front of. 

He can not remember the last time he saw someone be this amused by the ripple of water and the stones skipping across the otherwise calm reflection of the skies that cause the growing disturbance. Then again, Legolas never met anyone like you in general and every aspect of your personality that he gets to watch unfold like the meadows you ride across, the hills you climb up, the more eager he feels to find out what makes you laugh.

Stones, apparently. 

“No, not this one!” you chime in and take the stone he picked up out of his hand, your skin brushing his and sending ripples over his skin. 

“No?” he inquires and tilts his head in genuine confusion. “This one seems perfectly adequate for this, no different to the ones you chose.” 

You scoff, giddy giggling followed. “That’s outrageous! Calling this one adequate when it's clearly in no shape to even compare to these –” you lift your hand to his face and present the collection of rocks that you seem to keep in the pockets of your vest, a grin blooming across your face, “Look! They’re thinner, perfect to hop.. hopefully, four times?”

Legolas smiles, one that’s more tugged into his cheeks and corners of his eyes to really be called one. “I will leave you to find what you think–”

“I don’t think,” you interrupt him and roll your eyes, already turning your back to him again and bending your knee slightly. You turn your head over your shoulder and the sun reflects beautifully in your cheeky gaze, “I know. I feel. Look!” Then you twist your arm, pulling it into your chest at an angle before flicking the stone across the lake.

Five times.

You cackle loudly. 

And Legolas picks up the stone you thought not to be perfect and slides it into his pockets, ignoring how his heart skips five times.

The day flies by like the stones dance over water, fast, too fast for Legolas' liking yet by the time the sun burns low on the horizon, he is glad for the calmness that settles over the little camp they’d set up earlier. The others are scattered around the fire crackling behind Legolas, the warmth creeping into his bones and settling high in his cheeks, as he turns his head slightly and catches you staring out onto the water; the red fire and golden sunset basking you in a glow that pulls him into you like busy bees to the sweetest of flowers.

He can’t help but stare, even if it’s everything but appropriate. Your face is lit up, not only by the embers fluttering to you and the last of the sun's rays caressing the fullness of your cheeks but ever since you decided to tag along on this journey, nature bathes you in an aphrodisiac of wind-swept hair that Legolas wants to braid, rosy fingertips that he wants to hold and kiss each one of them. Whenever he looks at you – he could not tell how much, time is a rush of emotions, a whirlwind of hair and laughter, hands playfully slapping him and he counts the days by how often you blink up tiredly after waking up rather than the sun sets and rises – he is astounded of the beauty someone could possess and carry it out freely like it sits in your heart and not in your face. 

The sun sets and your eyes are full of wonder and molten gold, an open letter of your adoration for the nature that equally loves you back. 

Behind him, Legolas hears Merry and Pippin sing, hears the low chuckles of Aragorn, and lips that curve around a pipe, teeth clacking against shaped and glazed wood filled with smoke. He also hears your intake of breath as the wind swipes over you, gliding over the lapping water first, over the croaking frogs and wreathes around your naked arms. He hears the sound of your hand smoothing over the fine hairs that stand up on your prickled skin. 

He hears himself talk, before he thinks: “Here, this cloak will keep some of the cold away.”

Your eyes widen.

His heart skips five times on each breath taken in the moment of silence.

Legolas is sure that you would take the offer one way, but then you nod, lower lip pulled between your teeth as if that could stop the shy smile from tugging up the corners of your mouth, and you scoot closer, lifting yourself up by your hands and leaning in, until your shoulders brush his side.

He almost freezes, not because of the cold – this he can not feel, for multiple reasons, and mostly the advantages of being an elf though the warmth radiating from your body, suddenly so close to yours and the blush that he must blame on the fire – but because the way you slid into his side as he holds up one side of the green cloak leaves only the option to drape the fabric over your shoulder and awkwardly pull his arm away or–

There must be some of his father's braveness in Legolas for he lowers his arm around you, shaking ever so slightly. 

You sigh, contentedly, and draw your legs up to your chest. “Much better at this than skipping stones,” you mumble and a tired yawn accompanies your huff of laughter. 

Despite the teasing tone, Legolas can’t stop his smile. “Is this.. perfectly adequate?”

“No,” your head drops and maybe you don’t notice but you rest it on the arm, oblivious to the halt this causes to every single thought Legolas has ever had. “This,” you whisper and he can hear the flutter of your lashes trying to stay open, “is just perfect.”

All Legolas can do is hum in agreement, and even this sounds as shaky as his words would have been had he any of them readily and not swallowed up by the swarm of butterflies swooping through his stomach.

The sun disappears behind the line of trees on the other side of the lake, throwing one last wink of gold over you both before the silver light of the moon laps over you like the waves onto the shore. By the time your hair twinkles like the stars you seem to have lost the fight of keeping your head up; it rests against Legolas, just like most of your upper body that followed one last yawn. He sits still, not daring to move much now that you’re this close to him, your nose against his chest, the bones of your knees resting against his thigh, and all of you enveloped in his cloak.

The fabric rustles slightly as his arm slips from your shoulders to your middle, tugging you closer to keep the heat encased in this cloak and moment you’re sharing.

Legolas's other hand glides into his pockets, finding the stone hidden inside. His hand wraps around it, pressing the smooth surface against his palm.

“Perfect,” he repeats.

I love your headcannons, thank you very much. How do you think fellowship would react if a reader saw two cute animals and said, "Oh, it's you and me!"

Thank you very much! I’m happy to hear you enjoy this little blog ♡ Another animal request, with another anon who asked for this, too – this prompt is super cute, I hope I did it justice!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

You’re gazing at a golden twilight forest with Aragorn when you spot two deer in the distance. Just like you, one rests its head against the other. “Look,” you chuckle quietly, “it’s you and me.” Aragorn smiles as he follows your gaze. When one of the deer nuzzles the other’s ear, he, too, leans in to give you a kiss. “What an uncanny resemblance, my love,” he says and pulls you even closer.

.

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir is scandalised when you suggest that the two cats crossing your path are “just like you and me.” He has heard stories of the ruthless Gondorian queen who used felines as her spies and flinches when one of the cats hisses at him. You go to pet it instead, and it softens and purrs – just like Boromir does when you caress him – but you don’t say that part out loud ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

You and Frodo share a cool carafe of strawberry lemonade when two butterflies flutter to the flower field beside you. “Look at those,” you say, “they’re just like you and me.” – “Sharing a delicious drink in the sunlight,” Frodo agrees with a dreamy smile. You keep watching the butterflies until one of them flies right into your face. “It gave you a kiss. I shall do the same,” Frodo says and leans in to peck you ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

You’re travelling the Shire’s hills in Gandalf’s wooden cart when two sparrows almost fly right into you. You flinch but realise they’re only doing their Spring dance through the morning air – a couple! “They’re like you and me!” you laugh. Gandalf gives you an amused look. “What a subtle way to tell me we’re going to dance at tonight’s party.” – “Indeed,” you grin.

.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Watching the puppies play on the ground makes you soften. When one of them bites another’s ear, you playfully nudge Gimli’s head – he’s been sitting silently next to you until now. “What?” he grunts. “The dogs are doing it,” you argue with a grin. Your Dwarf protests at first about this comparison. The two of you, dogs? “I reckon it is true though,” he muses. “We are both very loyal after all. And we like food. And games. And…”

.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

You’re making your way through Mirkwood with Legolas, crossing a tree over a small pond where you make a curious observation: “Look! The toad and dragonfly are sharing a lily pad.” You snort. “They remind me of you and me.” – “Indeed! The sunlight reflects on its wings just like in your eyes, in all the colours of the sky.” You blush and wonder whether or not Legolas knew you meant it the other way around.

.

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Merry is a bit sensitive about his height, but that doesn’t stop you from comparing the two of you to the horse and the pony you spot in Bree. “Hey! I’ll have you know,” Merry begins, “that ponies are very sturdy and resilient.” – “I know. Just like Hobbits.” – Merry pouts at that comment and crosses his arms, murmuring, “Fine. Just don’t braid my hair like that pony’s.” – “Perhaps…”

.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

After a proper picnic, you lie in a meadow with Pippin. Purely by chance you look to your right when two bunnies scamper out of the bushes to eat some grass. You grin and whisper, “Don’t move too fast now, but there’s tiny versions of you and me over there.” – “Tinier than me?” Pippin asks and rolls over to watch the bunnies over your belly. “Aww! They’re mighty cute, but so are we!”

.

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

You watch fondly when two ladybugs crawl over Sam’s hands, dirty from gardening but still gentle to the bugs. You smile when you hear your Hobbit talking quietly: “Right. Let me get up… there you go… over here it’s safer for you. A flower house.” You tilt your head at him. “Moving in together? Just like the two of us, you mean?” – “Hm? What? Sorry, luv, I wasn’t listenin’ there.” – “Oh, nothing…” ♡

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑)❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Lindir ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○

GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.9k (each individual around 180~ words) | TWS : Mentions of death (Aragorn), choice of mortality (Lindir & Elrohir)

« 1, 12, 13, masterlist »

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ Of course, Aragorn cannot let you meet his actual parents - not if he’s never known them that well himself - but he can introduce you to the people he calls family.

✧ Although he does not end up asking either of his brothers for advice, they know about his crush before he ends up confessing to you.

✧ Elrohir finds it lovely that their Estel has found someone, and you seem a perfect match for him, and Elladan is also happy for his younger brother.

✧ In fact, Elrohir does try to speed up the process, flirting with you in a joking manner. It isn't entirely helpful but still makes him laugh when he sees Aragorn there with you - trying to decide between not intervening and being protective, instead just hovering over you and attending to your needs.

✧ Merry and Pippin still end up being the ones to have definitive proof of your relationship, although Elrohir is quick to pop up and establish the rumour as truth.

✧ Aragorn can tell something is going on the second he sees his foster brother come over to him with a too-wide grin, before pulling him into a hug. “So, you and them, hmm?”

✧ One wholly mature push and conversation later, and you walk in just in time to see the two give a scowl before Elrohir announces that he wishes your relationship well.

✧ Apologising for him, Aragorn says he hopes that slightly eccentric in-laws will not put you off anything, and you confirm it won’t.

✧ It’s much more unnerving to be in front of the Lord of Rivendell with your relationship, but it’s also surprisingly painless. It also helps that Aragorn is holding your hand the entire time.

✧ (Aragorn does tell his parents about you, in a way. Speaking to his mothers grave about you - the traits he loves about you, the way you make him smile. He knows you will never meet, but something in his heart feels they have approved.)

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Unfortunately, Legolas is the only one who’s family is actually disapproving of you.

✧ It isn’t entirely personal, Thranduil would look critically upon any who would want to court his son, but the fact that you are human certainly does not help.

✧ The fact that when you come to tell him rumours have already reached do not help.

✧ “So, you are trying to be the Beren of this age?” Thranduil’s voice is cold as you bow to him, “Yet you seem to be even less worthy than him.”

✧ Before the words fully sink in Legolas goes to your defence. You supposed he would go to your involvement in the Fellowship, but he does not. Instead he defends his love for you.

✧ Not for your deeds or previous actions, but the way you make him feel. That no-one else could make him smile like you do, or give the light to his days in the same manner. You are the one his heart has chosen.

✧ You can feel your face heating up throughout the speech, already embarrassed from the scrutiny.

✧ But when Thranduil’s gaze comes upon you again, it seems less judging. “Tell me, do you truly love my son?”

✧ The question takes you by surprise, but you confirm your answer. That of course you do.

✧ There’s another second of silence before he meets your gaze. “You will treat him well.”

✧ Eventually, Thranduil does warm to you - taking care of you, and making sure your needs are met. It’s mostly a subtle way of caring, but once you know it’s obvious.

✧ A few heirlooms of the woodland realm will become yours as well.

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ As an opposite, Bilbo is probably one of the biggest supporters of your relationship.

✧ Although he didn’t mean to start it when he invited you to dinner all that time ago, he certainly doesn’t discourage any of your relationship.

✧ Almost as soon as you’re arrived the stars appear in his nephew's eyes, and he’s left to laugh at the wonder of young love.

✧ Not-so-subtly gives Frodo advice about what to do, how he’s seen you looking at flowers recently - and they do look lovely at this time. Maybe they’d make a good gift?

✧ Has also slipped away for a meal or two, eating in the pantry, so the two of you could be left alone.

✧ Of course he denies this, if asked.

✧ After Frodo confesses you actually ask his permission to court Frodo, to which he looks between the two of you and laughs.

✧ “Only a complete fool wouldn’t see what the two of you have together. It is far beyond me to separate two in love.”

✧ (Frodo also apologises about having the Sackville-Baggins as eventual relatives, with surprising sincerity. At least the two of you can suffer together.)

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ All of Sam’s family (all eight of them) are very supportive of your relationship.

✧ Surprisingly, he’s the first of them to find a partner - and so they all make a big deal of it.

✧ There’s also a fair bit of teasing, and Sam is one of the youngest of the family.

✧ They’re all of the opinion you’re a perfect match - and if he’s happy, they’re happy.

✧ After they come around Sam apologises if they were a bit too much.

✧ “They don’t mean to frighten you off, love. They’re just excited. I’ve told them about how much I love you, and I think they’re simply happy with how happy you’ve made me.”

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ Warns you that he’s an only child, and as such his parents are quite… enthusiastic.

✧ “If you ever get too overwhelmed, just tap me. I’ll scream, create a distraction, and you escape in the commotion.”

✧ Despite the big deal Merry makes it everything goes very well.

✧ They’re both very friendly, but Merry is happy to take the brunt of the questioning if needed - as well as always taking the pressure off you.

✧ Both Saradoc and Esmeralda express how happy they are that Merry is finally growing up and finding someone, how you’ve given him that much needed maturity, and-

✧ Merry is quick to interrupt them, but he can’t quite hide the blush that's appeared on his face.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ When you finally start to return to the Shire, Pippin isn’t sure what will be harder to explain. The fact he’s been missing for around a year and can’t really speak about it, or the fact he’s courting an elf.

✧ He tries to reassure you by talking about the line of Took’s that he already comes from - how people are pretty sure there’s some fairy, or at least that’s how rumours go, so they really shouldn’t be too surprised by an elf.

✧ Very proud to introduce you to his parents and his siblings, practically singing your praises the entire time.

✧ They are at first… bemused. It’s not everyday you see an elf, let alone when your youngest son brings home an elf and declares a courtship.

✧ Still, the Tooks are very welcoming to you - and so happy that the two of you are together.

✧ (“Of course you’d end up going for an elf, Peregrin.”)

✧ They do tease him. Quite a lot. But it’s also clear it’s in good faith.

✧ Constantly apologising for the fact you have to stoop, and you have to keep reassuring them that it’s expected hobbit architecture isn’t built with you in mind.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ As essentially Faramir’s second-in-command, Faramir is of course very approving of your relationship.

✧ Sometimes jokes that it’s all secretly a plot from the two of you for the rangers to gain more military influence.

✧ It makes the three of you laugh, although sometimes both of you will say it with slightly too deadpan a look. And then there’s a silence as the three of you stare for a second.

✧ (This also makes Faramir one of the best people to ask for advice. And eventually Boromir allows himself to get advice from his younger brother, even if it’s just your favourite flower.)

✧ Denethor is a little more awkward to convince.

✧ You’d met the Steward twice, both in military meetings staunchly on Faramir’s side, and the relationship can be described as frosty at best.

✧ After you are formally introduced as Boromir’s partner the Steward asks to speak to his eldest son alone, to which Boromir refuses.

✧ Stating that he is glad his father cares about him, but he will not listen to advice on the matter of his heart.

✧ That he knows who he loves - and that person is you.

✧ And even his Lord cannot command his heart.

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ Boromir is very supportive of the two of you. Not quite aggressively supportive, but absolutely ready to defend either of you and your honour.

✧ When Faramir says he’s dating you he doesn’t miss the way his older brother’s eyes light up, proclaiming that he’s proud of him - and he’d like to meet you.

✧ When you finally need to be introduced to Denethor, both of the brothers are by your side.

✧ Your hand is in Faramir’s - although you aren’t sure which of the two of you is gripping the other harder.

✧ To your surprise Denethor accepts the two of you courting rather quickly, expressing he is glad that Faramir has been able to find someone.

✧ You hear the subtext under it, but keep your tongue. And then immediately comment on it once the two of you are gone.

✧ Faramir is just happy it went well, and implores you not be too discouraged. That his father could forbid him from seeing you again and he still would.

✧ That your love means much more to him than so many things in this world, least of all his father’s approval.

𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧

✧ Éomer and Théoden both notice Éowyn’s feelings for you before she does. They watch it fade from Aragorn, and then come back even stronger with you.

✧ And this time they get to watch you fall in love with her as well. 

✧ If she had been aware of her feelings, Éomer probably would have teased her about it - but he wants to wait until she has realised.

✧ That time comes when he sees her with your sword a second time, his gaze looking downwards and then looking up to his sister. “It is fine steel. And a finer choice.”

✧ She tries to deny it, but he laughs - attempting to ruffle her hair - saying he approves, and that if anything happens he’ll defend her honour.

✧ Éowyn simply responds that she trusts you’d never do something like that. And even if she did, she could defend her honour by herself.

𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫

✧ Éowyn takes the crown for the most supportive family member, setting the two of you up on your first date.

✧ When Éomer finally takes you home after it, he can’t take his eyes off you. It is only once you finally leave then he becomes aware of eyes on him.

✧ Turning around, Éomer realises that his sister is staring at him with a knowing grin. She gives a small curtsey to him, “You’re welcome, brother.”

✧ The statement makes him laugh, but he does sincerely thank her.

✧ Because without her interference - he would not have you.

✧ Meeting Éowyn the next day she shares a grin with you, saying that she hopes you and Éomer will enjoy your time together. And that she truly thinks you are a good match, a match that will both survive but also go far.

✧ Éomer does inform his uncle of you - asking for permission for your courting - and this is given freely by Théoden.

✧ The next time you see your king he congratulates you on your courting. It is a small gesture but it seems to genuine, head dipped in respect and appreciation.

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐝

✧ All of Bard’s kids love you - and all of them knew before he did (although Tilda didn’t truly understand what the interest between you means).

✧ Sigrid is the most supportive - she respects you for the job you do, thinks you’re fairly cool, and also feels slightly bad that the first time you met she got you in jail.

✧ She’s probably the one who interacts with you least, but it just comes from her being older.

✧ Although she and Bain still love to tease Bard.

✧ It gets better, but the first few times that Bard is romantic with you - and the kids are within eyeshot - they’ll either fake wretches or whistling. He always laughs them off, and then grin before asking the two of you to get a room.

✧ Bain and Tilda both like you a lot, and are more willing to spend time with you - although Bain asks more nicely.

✧ Bard does make it clear you have no responsibilities to them, but you assure him it’s fine. After all the kids are respectful, and never too overwhelming when you do spend time with them.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥

✧ Legolas is still too young to fully understand what’s going on when the two of you first get together, so you try not to be too romantic in front of him.

✧ He also doesn’t really understand the concept of you wanting to keep it secret, so will do things like tugging on his fathers robes and asking why Ada’s been staring at you all day instead of him.

✧ At first it makes you laugh, especially to finally see the elvenking flustered, although it gets less funny when he does it to you.

✧ Overall, Legolas is more than happy to accept you into the family - even if he gets confused at times.

✧ Thranduil also stresses that he doesn’t expect you to deal with Legolas, but makes it clear he will be a father for his son.

✧ You always reassure him that you love the both of them - and you certainly wouldn’t leave Thranduil over this.

✧ As he grows up and understands Legolas is just as supportive, although this time he actually realises what he’s supporting.

✧ Revels in the fact he’s the only one who can truly tease Thranduil about his love for you.

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Like most elven families would be, they’re more than a bit cynical when they discover that their child is courting a mortal human.

✧ However, they’re much more accepting than you would have mentioned.

✧ In fact - Lindir is almost more nervous than you are.

✧ You can so clearly tell he wants everything to go well, and it’s honestly adorable.

✧ When he finally introduces you to each other you can see the hope and nerves in his eyes, and watch it slowly melt away as you all begin to get to know each other.

✧ Afterwards, you ask why he was so nervous and he confesses he doesn’t know.

✧ “I suppose, I simply wanted the most important things to like each other. Almost as much as I love you.”

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Both of Haldir’s brothers, Rúmil and Orophin, are with him when you first meet him. And both have rather mixed opinions about your first impressions.

✧ Rúmil is, understandably, frosty about the first thing you did when you saw his brother was to almost shoot him. Orophin is, understandably, amused about the fact that’s the first thing you did.

✧ Eventually, once he’s been around you enough and you’ve continued to apologise, Rúmil forgives you - and the two of you get on better terms.

✧ When the Fellowship finally leaves Lothlórien you’re on good terms with them, and they’re sad to see you go.

✧ They’re also the first to see Haldir pining over you, and recognise it.

✧ When you finally go back to Lothlórien they’re quick to congratulate you - before you even say.

✧ Seeing your confusion they simply laugh, before exchanging a glance from you to Haldir.

✧ “Everyone can see his eyes light up when he looks at you.”

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧

✧ Long ago, it was Elrond who had introduced the two of you - although his foresight hadn’t quite foreseen what the two of you would become.

✧ He does quickly, however, see the way his son lights up when he sees you. That the otherwise introverted Elladan would rise from his seat to greet you with a wide smile, the two of you instantly starting to talk for hours on end.

✧ Elrond is in no way surprised the two of you finally realised your feelings for each other, he’s just surprised it took you this long.

✧ Elrohir - knowing the two of you - is not surprised that it takes the two of you so long to confess to each other.

✧ It is a fact that makes him both laugh and want to claw his eyes out. Everyone except the two of you can so clearly see your love for each other.

✧ Pushing the two of you into a cupboard is one of his more genius ideas, so of course he’s not at all surprised it works. At all.

✧ (The whistle that comes with the two of you emerging from there together definitely isn’t him, either.)

𝐄𝐥𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐫

✧ You actually end up approaching Elladan before his twin confesses to you, although you are seeking his advice about love.

✧ Privately, Elladan finds it (darkly) amusing that both of his siblings have fallen deeply in love with Gondorian nobles.

✧ (This is a sentiment shared by all his siblings, that they try very hard to keep from their father.)

✧ He’s good in answering your questions, and reassures him that Elrohir’s not actually this annoying - only somewhat - and he’s simply pining over you.

✧ Aragorn very much approves of your relationship, and he’s a helpful friend in accepting Elrohir’s choice of mortality. There’s a quiet companionship between the two of you, and he’s finally found someone to share his worries with.

✧ Despite what he wants to feel, Elrond can see you’re the perfect one for his son.

✧ And after spending so long fighting it with Arwen, he is more ready to accept it with you.

✧ You still remember seeing the light in Elrohir’s eyes as he comes running up to you, eyes shining with a smile.

✧ “I told you he’d have to accept you! I knew our love was going to be that obvious.”

✧ (Also holds this victory above Arwen’s head for a little too long.)

A/N : Sorry for this being late... hopefully it was still enjoyable! To make up for the lack of romance next one shall be their first 'I love you' - so look forward to it. Also thank you so much for passing 200 followers! When I first made this I didn't think I would even get fifty, so seriously thank you all! Love you guys <3

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A delight to read, a shame it's over... Thank lord I can re-read it 💜

Hard Words: Epilogue

Boromir/Original Female Character, Boromir Lives, a Shire wedding, culture clashes

Rating: T (adult humor, language, and themes)

Chapter wordcount: 3300

See pinned post for all tags and flags

<Previous Chapter

The previous March

“Enjoy it,” Aragorn said. “Just enjoy it. That’s the main thing. If you can’t enjoy a Shire wedding in June, something’s wrong with you.”

“You’re not answering my question,” Boromir said. “Because you didn’t look at the schematics I sent you, did you?”

The king sighed, releasing a stream of pipe smoke into the air. He dropped his head back against the black damask cushion. He was packed awkwardly onto the very end of the day couch, his lanky arms and legs bent up at awkward angles, because it was the only free space available amid the meticulous inventory spread throughout Boromir’s sitting room. Military camping provisions in oilcloth packages marched in crisp rows. Spare shirts, trousers, and tunics were folded into sharp bundles. The standard of Gondor was rolled in a tight spiral around its pole, ready to be slotted into its leather sheath. A velvet-lined lockbox stood open, showing a tidy array of valuables—a coin purse, a duplicate of the king’s seal, and wedding gifts: chased silver goblets from Faramir and Éowyn, fire opal cabochon fibulas from Aragorn and Arwen. The formal Class A blacks of the Captain-General were laid out like a dead man, taking up most of the couch.

“Did you know one of your uniform sleeves is starting to fray?” Aragorn asked.

“Don’t change the subject,” Boromir said, squinting at the edge on a hunting knife. “The schematics.”

“Yes, yes. I did, in fact, review them, but I didn’t need to, because the information hasn’t changed from when we went over them two days ago.”

“The Baranduin bends more to the east before it reaches Lake Evendim than we initially plotted,” Boromir said. “Originally, we’d thought I would scout the ruins of Annúminas before traversing across to Fornost, but the bend in the river brings me closer to Fornost first. Do you want me to scout Fornost first?”

Aragorn threw a long leg over the back of the couch to avoid setting it on Boromir’s uniform. “Do whichever the fuck you want first, Captain. I just want an estimation on how long they’ll take to rebuild. How much of the city is flooded? Are the cisterns ruptured? Has the plumbing gone to shit? And all the other things we’ve been talking about for the past eight weeks.” He drew on his pipe and blew another cloud into the air. “And be sure to call it the Brandywine, not the Baranduin, or you’ll be laughed at.”

Boromir, satisfied the hunting knife was keen enough, sheathed it with a snap. “I’m hardly going to be fussed about making social blunders. I doubt I’ll be in the Shire long enough.”

“You might be surprised,” Aragorn said. “Perhaps you’ll want to stay and enjoy the fruits of the country. There are few finer places to be on a summer day.”

“This isn’t a pleasure trip.”

“You’re going to Pippin fucking Took’s wedding,” Aragorn said, picking his head off the cushion. “It better fucking well be a pleasure trip. The survey of Evendim is just a bonus, since you’ll be in the region anyway.” He tilted his head to follow Boromir as he moved around the far side of the couch to set the knife with his other weaponry. “I’ll order you if I have to. Shall I order you? I order you to have a fucking great time.”

Boromir gave a mocking heel tap without turning around. “Sir. I promise I’ll have a fucking great time.”

“Not just at the wedding, mind you. Take the whole month of June. Take July as well. Eat cheese and cakes until your belt doesn’t fit. Get drunk in every tavern in the four farthings. Take all your clothes off and roll around in a meadow for a few days. Let a pile of pretty hobbit lads and lasses give you a bath.”

“I wasn’t going to bring my shield,” Boromir said, looking down at his weaponry. “But now I’m having second thoughts. Should I bring my shield?”

“Boromir!”

Boromir pivoted around and tossed up his hands. “Yes, I will have a delightful time at the wedding and visiting with our friends, all right? I’ll drink your ale and eat your cheese and keep my clothes on, if you don’t mind. But you gave me a job to do, and I’d like to do it thoroughly. I’m not traveling over rough country for six weeks to laze around the Shire.” He gripped the back of the couch and leaned down. “Get your dirty fucking ranger foot off my blacks.”

Aragorn blew a stream of smoke in his Captain’s face and dropped his bare foot to the floor. Boromir puffed an aggravated breath to clear the smoke, neatened the hem of his uniform trousers where the king’s toe had creased it, and straightened.

“I’ll send you weekly reports from the north marches,” he said.

“Don’t,” Aragorn said. “I don’t want to hear from you until you’re back through the Gap of Rohan.”

“I’ll send them just to spite you.”

Aragorn stretched. “If you want to spite me, spend all summer indulging in hedonistic Shireling pleasure.”

“You’re going to be disappointed, my king.”

Aragorn smiled and closed his eyes. “You might be surprised.”

---

---

“You should stay for Midsummer,” Fern murmured from his waist.

“Oh fuck,” Boromir gasped, gazing down at her. “Oh fuck.”

---

---

To Éomer Éadig, son of Éomund, King of Rohan and Lord of the Mark, from Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain-General of Gondor and High Warden of the White Tower, Greetings:

I trust this missive finds you well. On my departure from Edoras in the spring, you bid me inform you when I began my return journey so you might look for my coming. I write to you now on the sixth of August.  I have spent two months in the Shire, and though my heart grieves to leave this bountiful land and its good folk, I shall be departing south tomorrow morning. You will be glad to hear our friends are all in fine health and spirits, and they send you their greetings, which I shall deliver in full upon my return to your esteemed city. With fair fortune, I estimate I shall be under your roof again within the second week of September. I shall send you a more accurate arrival from the Tharbad outpost.

With best regards to you and dear Lothiriel,

Your servant,

Boromir

---

---

“I’ll convince you one way or another,” Fern said a little while later, her voice warm and breathy. “It’s a great deal of fun, Midsummer. I think you’d like it. What do you say?”

Boromir didn’t answer. She looked down, and he looked back up at her from under hooded eyes. She smiled and brushed a strand of hair off his forehead.

“I’ll ask again when your mouth is free,” she said.

---

---

Dear Faramir,

I shan’t bother posting this letter until I reach Edoras, but you asked that I write from the Shire with an account of the wedding and my travels north. I recognize I have neglected this duty, not out of lack of inspiration but rather out of distraction. I hope you’ll forgive me. I have spent much time in the company of our old friends but have also been kindly embraced by others of their kin. They have shown me great hospitality, as well as encouraged me to sample the delights of their country. I admit I have not been drawn into such merriment since the days surrounding the coronation, so much so that I ended up staying far longer than I meant to. I had the benefit of experiencing a Midsummer in Tuckborough, which I feel I am still recovering from, and witnessed the Overhill kite festival (it turns out I have an unexpected knack for kiting). I spent a great deal of time swimming, not least because I am still a wretched boater, though I do claim that Brandywine watercrafts were not built to accommodate someone of my stature. I was able to assist with the digging of new domestic holes in the Greenhill country, which I found to be a fascinating process, and I helped a new acquaintance replant her summer garden, which taught me a great deal about   She’s   To my surprise,  about plantlore. Most notably, I also had the privilege of being on hand to celebrate the birth of Samwise and Rosie Gamgee’s fourth child, a boy they’ve named Merry, much to Pippin’s chagrin.

I shall spare the details of my reconnaissance of the northern marches until we’re together again. Regrettably, I was only able to conduct a cursory survey of Annúminas and didn’t make it to Fornost at all. I make no excuses for my dereliction, except that my hosts in the Shire were extremely persuasive and terribly loth to see me leave, and I felt I could not insult their generosity with a hasty retreat. Perhaps this means I shall have to return to supplement my rash work, which I shall gladly do if my king commands it.

I hope the diplomatic visit from Harad went well. I look forward to hearing about the restoration of the South Gondor road, though I look forward even more to seeing you on my return, for I have missed you greatly. Samwise, Merry, and Pippin send their greetings and the love of their families. I have been asked by Pippin to pass on his thanks for your generous gifts to him and his new wife Diamond, and by Merry to remind you that you still owe him six crowns from cards.

Give Éowyn my greetings and Elboron my love.

Your devoted brother,

Boromir

---

---

“Yes, yes,” he groaned, his body tight as a strung bow. “Yes…”

Fern lifted her head, eyes alight. “You’ll stay?”

“Yes, I’ll stay, I’ll stay as long as you like.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“Please,” he choked.

She bit her lip in flushed happiness and resumed her patient work, kindly now, and he broke apart in agonized glory.

---

---

To his Majesty Elessar Telcontar, Aragorn II son of Arathorn II, High King of Gondor, Lord of the White Tree:

You weren’t FUCKING kidding.

-B

---

---

When Faramir received word that his brother had returned to Minas Tirith in the last week of September, he packed up Elboron, kissed Éowyn goodbye, and made the short journey from Ithilien to welcome him home. If Boromir seemed particularly effusive when greeting them the afternoon they arrived, Faramir put it down to his brother’s fondness for his nephew and the extra inch or so Bo had grown during his uncle’s absence. Boromir doted outrageously on Elboron, always bringing him gifts, and this reunion was no different. But if Faramir noted that instead of a Rohirric cavalry toy or wooden blade, Boromir flourished a Shire-made kite shaped like a red bird, he attributed it to the novelty of a trinket from a far-off land.

“I shall teach you how to fly it,” Boromir said enthusiastically, showing Bo the way the bird’s tail was crafted to flutter out behind it. “I am quite good, actually. And it flies well—I tried it out for you on the long ride back home.”

If Faramir noticed, too, while reclining in his brother’s sitting room as he unpacked the last of his kit, that he spoke with unusual verbosity about Pippin’s wedding—the merriment of it all, the flowers and lace the lasses wore, the mead and strawberries, the games and dancing—then he put it down to the fact that his brother had spent most of their lives in a constant state of militant vigilance, with barely a pause or anything close to a holiday. If he noticed, while Boromir shook the wrinkles from his dress blacks, that one of the uniform sleeves was missing its star-embroidered hem, he figured it had frayed off on the journey.

He did puzzle over the small, dried posy bound up in a lace ribbon that Boromir handled with unusual care. It was an anomaly in his brother’s stern, stark rooms, though he realized the little bud vase containing the ancient dried rockroses had moved from high up on the dusty bookshelves to his desktop. He couldn’t tell what the flowers in the posy were—bluets, perhaps, or forget-me-nots, and some curled greenery that could be ferns. Boromir didn’t comment on it, and Faramir simply assumed it was a memento from the wedding, and he smiled inwardly at the thought that his brother was finally—after four and a half decades of a captain-general’s asceticism—nurturing a few seeds of sentimentality.

The sight of fresh flowers in his brother’s room was highly unusual, though. He couldn’t recall the last time Boromir had requested any kind of adornment, not even in the infrequent stretches when he was occupying his apartment in the White Tower full time and not out in the field camps around Osgiliath. The rooms were handsome but dark, the bedclothes plush but slate gray and white, the paintings fine but impersonal, the furniture rich but hard-edged. And yet, in the window overlooking the courtyard of the White Tree and the Pelennor plain stood a glass pitcher spilling with autumn flowers.

“And just what are those?” Faramir asked, gesturing with his boot to the window as Elboron scrambled over the couch, giggling as Boromir playfully stalked him. Did Boromir have a paramour in the city who was welcoming him home? Had Queen Arwen gone out of her way to make the Captain’s stark rooms pleasant for his return? Was a gardener in the city offering a gift of their labor?

Boromir snatched Bo up and flipped him upside down to shrieks of delight.

“Dahlias,” he said—exclaimed, really, in an enthusiastic way—through Bo’s kicking legs. “I spotted them in a vendor’s cart on the fourth tier as I rode up. They’re red,” he added, unnecessarily, as Faramir could see their color for himself, though he didn’t know why his brother might sound disappointed about it. “Still. I hadn’t realized they were grown here. The city’s gardens are flourishing, are they not?”

“I suppose they are,” Faramir said, wondering if his brother had taken a fall and knocked his head sometime on the return journey.

“All that ash,” Boromir added cryptically.

“Again!” Bo squealed, wriggling out of his uncle’s grasp. Faramir stared as Boromir crouched back down behind the couch to start the hunt again, and he marveled that his brother seemed to finally be letting his city embrace him, instead of fighting tooth and nail for its survival.

But the thing he couldn’t explain away came near the autumn equinox, when he and Éowyn and Elboron were back in the city for the harvest parades. They were at the midday meal together when a courier arrived, bearing a travel-stained letter on a tray. Faramir didn’t recognize the handwriting on the front—it wasn’t Éomer’s or Lothiriel’s, and the vellum wasn’t sealed with the green wax of the Greenwood or the red stamp of Erebor of any of their various acquaintances abroad. And yet, he watched in consternation as his brother’s face ignited at the sight of the letter. His cheeks went rosy and round, and he split into a delighted smile that crinkled his eyes. He plucked the letter up, thanked the courier, and pushed back from the table.

“Beg everyone’s pardon,” he said, with an amusing attempt to look remorseful and stoic, which was undermined by the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “I must attend to this correspondence.”

“Who’s it from?” Faramir asked. “I don’t see a seal.”

“No?” Boromir turned the letter, which was small but thick. “Perhaps it fell off. It’s a long journey.”

“From where?”

“From wherever it came from.” He bowed to the table even as he backed toward the door. “My king. My queen. I shall join you in the courtyard before the procession.”

He couldn’t leave the room fast enough, hitting the doorframe in his haste to get out into the hall. Faramir stared after him, and then looked at Éowyn. “Did you recognize the handwriting?”

She shrugged, wiping jam off Elboron’s face. “No. Why?”

Faramir looked at Queen Arwen, who was nursing Idril. She smiled but said nothing.

“Is he exchanging letters with someone?” he asked.

“I’m sure he exchanges letters with many people,” the queen said pleasantly.

Faramir looked at Aragorn and was surprised to find the king leaning back on two legs of his chair, gazing pointedly at the ceiling.

“You know something,” Faramir accused.

Aragorn’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t meet his gaze. “Indeed, I do not.”

“You suspect something, then.”

There was a thump as the king’s chair landed back on the floor. “I suspect our Captain had a pleasant journey, and I suspect I need better information on Evendim and Fornost than the scant report he brought back. The rivers should be passable by May.” He seemed to say this last comment to himself.

“And why should the Captain-General of Gondor be sent north again so soon after his return, when we have two dozen generals kicking their heels since the war?” Faramir asked.

“Because I am deplorably sentimental,” Aragorn replied.

Faramir ground his teeth at his king’s opacity, and Éowyn put her hand on his arm. “Boromir has received a single unknown letter. Why does it bother you so?”

“Because I’ve lived with that ridiculous man for forty years, watched potential suitors bounce off him like pea gravel on plate, and never once have I seen him react to a correspondence like he just did.” He waved to the door. “Did you not see him? He lit up like the Tower beacon! Who’s he writing to?”

“I know!” Elboron exclaimed, bouncing. “I know who it is! He told me!”

Faramir stared at his son. “He told you who he’s writing letters to?”

“Remember that time when I was little?” Elboron asked, wriggling in his seat. “And you brought me to see him when he came home from his trip?”

“That time three weeks ago?” Faramir asked.

Bo nodded and kicked his feet, making his juice cup wobble. “And I wanted to play horses and you were sleeping and told me to go find Uncle Boromir instead, and I did and he was writing a letter? And I asked if I could draw a horse on the letter, and he said yes? And I said who is it for, is it for someone who likes horses?”

“And?” Faramir prompted, but Bo chose that moment to stuff an entire jam scone in his mouth. The whole table watched and waited while he chewed, his round cheeks going red with the effort. Crumbs trickled over his embroidered shirt.

“Smaller bites next time, Elboron,” Éowyn said. “Drink some juice.”

Bo grabbed his cup and gulped a mouthful of apple juice. Faramir bit his tongue until his son had swallowed everything down and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“So?” he finally asked. “Who did Uncle Boromir say the letter was for?”

“He said it was for a deer friend,” Bo said. “And I said like a deer friend with antlers on its head and he laughed and said no like with flowers on its head, and I said can I draw a flower and he said yes, that would be nice. So I drew a big flower, really big.” He stretched his little arms up. “Like if a tree was a flower. I covered up some of the words, but he said it was okay, that the words weren’t very good and the flower was better.”

“A dear friend…” Faramir shook his head in bewilderment. “But who was it?”

“A deer friend with flowers on its head!” Bo repeated. “So I drew a flower!”

He smashed another jam scone into his mouth, beaming. Faramir looked with exasperation to Éowyn, who smiled, then to Arwen, who was humming to the baby, and finally to Aragorn, who was smirking at the ceiling again, while upstairs, under a dried posy of forget-me-nots and ferns, Boromir read his letter and laughed.

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Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed!