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caffinated-and-sleepy · 2 months

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Amazing work as usual!

Haunting Me

[Legolas/F!Reader]

A.N: I have been struggling to write (like usual), so I figured I would whip out a no pressure Legolas fic. ANYWAYS, I strangely loved writing this!!! Thanks for the request XOXO

Request: @goose-gremlin — “Could you maybe do a Legolas x Reader on their period?”

Pairing: Legolas X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Reader is a member of Greenwood's Guard and is struggling with menstrual/period pain. Legolas takes care of her.

Disclaimer: I don't know elvish. I use the gracious elvish dictionary. Sue me lol

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: blood, menstruation/period, pain, PMS, slight nakedness (not anything spicy you filthy fools), fluff, sweet precious elf boy

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

(Y/N)’s nose twitched, the pungent, musty scent of the incoming vile beasts invaded the fresh earthy tones of the Greenwood forest. Her keen ears picked up on subtle scurrying, the sound carried by the drift of the soft wind. Her jaw clenched and her fingers adjusted the grasp of her sword as she felt the aura of the trees shift—a surge of adrenaline fueling her anxiety, worsening the pain in her abdomen. Briefly locking eyes with the other elves in her sector, spread among the trees alert and ready, she knew their moment of action was imminent.

(Y/N) summoned the little energy she had through a deep inhale, praying to the Valar that these spiders wouldn't be in such a frenzied state. Because, if so, fuck that. For at the present moment in time, she really didn't have the capacity to deal with that absolute, motherfucking horseshit.

Because, truly, getting killed due to slowness from fatigue and cramps from one’s bloodmoon cycle would be rather unfortunate and deeply regrettable. However, facing expulsion from the guard and losing her reputation as one of the hand-picked defenders of the royal line because of it would be even worse.

(Y/N)’s gaze narrowed as Prince Legolas, leader of the Greenwood Guard, raised a closed fist.

Nêl (Three).

Tâd (Two).

Mîn (One).

He opened his palm, signaling the command: Kill them. Kill them all.

With a firm thud, (Y/N)'s boots landed on the soft soil as she sprung from the trees. She was quick with her blade, hunting the spiders as if they were meaningless prey. Her weapon was an extension of her form. Every movement was fluid and graceful, a testament to her mastery of combat. Despite her pain, she spun and twisted with ease, severing the arachnids' limbs effortlessly.

As she fought, she made sure to keep an eye on the Prince, knowing that if anything were to happen to Legolas under her watch, the king would surely banish her. Besides, she harbored no desire for him to meet his demise. She found him rather…admirable. Nothing more than that—of course not.

As (Y/N) advanced upon one of the vile beasts, her senses tingled with warning. Abruptly, she halted in her tracks, narrowly dodging an arrow that whizzed past her stomach. Her eyes narrowed as she wiped her head to see just who fired that arrow. A scoff escaped her lips as she locked eyes with him: Rekón.

When the battle came to an end, (Y/N) strutted towards Rekón, who was wiping the edge of his blade upon his thigh.

“What the hell was that out there?!” She snapped at him.

“What is it you speak of?”

“You nearly put an arrow in me!”

He shrugged. “Perhaps, you should have been faster, Shadowfoot.”

She scoffed at Greenwood’s nickname for her. “You're lucky I am fast. I can assume you don’t want elven blood on your hands—especially my blood.

He sheathed his blade and crossed his arms. “Don’t exaggerate, (Y/N). It’s unbecoming. Besides,” he leaned in and his voice lowered, taking on a snarky tone, “I don't care if you're handpicked by the King to be the Prince’s shadow, you're a pain in the ass.”

“Really, Otuuk Fe`Saign (warg kisser)?! I could have you and your ass in the mud faster than you could say—”

The rather tense interaction was interrupted by Legolas clearing his throat beside the pair. “What is going on over here?” he demanded.

(Y/N) huffed, not taking her eyes off the man before her. “Rekón here nearly redecorated my abdomen with a fucking arrow!”

The Prince sighed. “You know we can’t always calculate every motion on the battlefield, (Y/N). I am sure Rekón meant no harm.” He paused, turning his attention to the ellon. “Rekón, in the future, mind your arrows.”

“That’s the reprimand he gets?! Are you fu—“

Legolas looked at the elleth. “Watch your language, Shadowfoot. I expect this attitude to be gone by the time we enter my father’s halls.”

With that, Legolas walked away, calling out orders to burn the spider carcasses and move out.

As he disappeared into the mess of elves, (Y/N)’s brows pulled downward in a grumpy frown. “Princeling Ass,” she murmured to herself.

Unbeknownst to her, as she turned away, Legolas' gaze followed her, seeking out her form and lingering as she walked away.

….

The sun had not yet risen when the Prince’s sector of the Greenwood Guard arrived back in the Palace. The warriors dispersed into the armory, diligently stowing their weapons and armor in their designated places. (Y/N), however, did no such thing. Instead, with a persistent scowl etched on her face, she marched through the room and passed through the arched exit of the armory—presumably heading towards her chambers. Legolas's gaze tracked her suspiciously as she departed.

As the day progressed, the members of the Prince’s sector resumed their usual routines. Because it was their first day back from patrol, they were exempt from basic guard duties and standard positions. Instead, they utilized the early hours of the morning to bathe and rejuvenate themselves before gathering in the dining hall for breakfast. The remainder of the day was theirs to unwind and compile their patrol reports—the King sought to stay informed about all occurrences and perspectives during patrols, for a darkness seemed to be spreading among his trees.

At supper, Legolas moved among the tables in the dining hall, gathering last-minute reports from the warriors in his sector. As he did so, he scanned the long wooden benches, searching for the scowling gaze that had accompanied the last couple of days of patrol; however, there was no such gaze and no such person that it belonged to. Simply put, there was no sign of (Y/N).

She had missed all three meals and had failed to submit her patrol report.

Legolas cleared his throat before he addressed the elves from whom he was collecting papers. “Have you seen Shadowfoot? I need her report,” he inquired.

They shook their heads, more interested in their food than one missing shadow.

Legolas sighed, but refrained from pressing further. If anyone knew her whereabouts, they would have mentioned it.

Therefore, he made his way to her quarters.

When he arrived, he knocked softly on the door, but was met with silence.

"(Y/N)," he called out, his voice carrying through the wooden barrier.

Still, there was no response.

After a moment’s hesitation, Legolas reached for the door knob and twisted it slowly. The wood swung open quietly under his touch, exposing the darkness of the room beyond. Moonlight filtered in through the opened window, casting shadows that danced across the floor, the curtains billowing gently in the cold night air.

Legolas carefully stepped through the threshold and closed the door behind him. As he took in his surroundings further, surprise crossed his features. He didn't know what he had been expecting since he hadn't been in (Y/N)’s quarters, but it most certainly was not this.

The room was a complete mess. Clothing lay strewn about, along with various trinkets—small hand-carved boxes, beautiful natural rocks, and melted candles absent of flame. Several stacks of books were piled beside the bed, a few of them open and their pages still. Her weapons were scattered haphazardly, some resting on the floor, others on the table or atop the dresser. Legolas even noticed a few knives embedded into the wooden door—a sight that would surely displease Ada.

It was chaotic but calm in a sort of strange way. Typical for (Y/N), he supposed.

The Prince moved to walk further into the room, but was quickly halted against his will. His foot had gotten caught and, if it wasn't for his swift reflexes, he would have face-planted upon the stone flooring.

Legolas sucked in a sharp breath as he stabilized his form. Glancing down, he discovered the culprit—a crumpled tunic tangled around his boot, its fabric caught between the lacings.

He immediately sighed in dismay.

The blond-haired Prince reached down to untangle the stubborn garment. It proved to be a more challenging task than he had anticipated, requiring a few moments of quiet curses and annoyed grunts before he managed to free himself. Carefully, he folded the fabric and placed it upon a nearby chair.

Cautiously, he advanced to the large bed. At first, he could not spot the warrior within, given that the fluffy comforter and mountain of pillows were blocking his view. However, when he pulled back the blankets slightly, sure enough, she was buried deep within. The pillows were arranged around her like a protective nest and she was laying on her side. Her hair was splattered across the cushioned fabric and her expression was…one of pain. Her brows were pulled tight, her nose crinkled, and lips slightly parted.

At this, Legolas frowned, for he was now troubled deeply.

Diligently, the Prince reached out to brush some hair from her face, but just as his fingers made contact with her cheek, his action was interrupted.

(Y/N) suddenly sat up, a knife in hand. With wild eyes, she tried to slam it into his carotid artery.

He reacted quickly, Legolas intercepted her arm, preventing the blade from reaching its target. For a moment, they both froze in that tense position, the gravity of the situation sinking in as they processed what was happening.

(Y/N) was breathing quickly and she appeared very disheveled and confused. It seemed to take her a moment longer to grasp the situation fully.

"Jukkete (fuck)," she breathed out, trying to catch her breath before snapping at him. "Legolas, I almost killed you!"

The Prince still held her wrist. “(Y/N),” he began, “Are you alright?”

She huffed. "You know better than to sneak up on me like that, Princeling!" With a sharp twist, she pulled away from his grasp and settled back into the blankets. “What are you doing here?”

He raised his brows. “Princeling?” he questioned, a hint of amusement in his tone.

(Y/N) only grunted in response.

He sighed. “No one has seen you all day and—“ his sentence abruptly halted as he noticed a red stain upon the comforter. “(Y/N), you are bleeding!” He exclaimed. Without hesitation, he grasped at the blankets, in an attempt to detangle her form from them, as he continued his babbling of concern. “Why didn’t you tell me you were injured on patrol?!”

“Legolas,” she interrupted, her voice firm.

“Is it from Rekón’s arrow?! I thought you said he ‘nearly’ hit you?”

“Legolas,” she tried again.

He yanked the blanket further.” Because I swear to the Valar if it was from him, I will—“

“Legolas! Stop!” She snapped, her patience wearing thin. “I’m not injured.”

His jaw clenched in frustration. “(Y/N), I have been a warrior for all my life, I know the site of blood. That is blood. You cannot lie to me. I am your sector leader, your Prince—“

“Legolas! It’s my bloodmoon cycle!” she interrupted, sitting up to glare at him once more.

An awkward silence settled into the dark room.

“You are in pain,” he stated.

“I’m fine.”

His brows raised again. “Now, why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you're a princeling ass,” she retorted.

“No. Because for the last three days of patrol, your demeanor has been notably irritable, as you are now. You've been favoring your left side, your jaw has remained tightly clenched, and your skin a shade too pale. Not to mention, you've consistently had your hand on your hip, I'm assuming in an attempt to try and alleviate discomfort, and you even vomited behind a tree on two occasions. And, here you are, Shadowfoot, in bed, sleeping the day away in dirty clothes and not caring that you lay in blood.” He paused before finalizing his evidence. “You are in pain.”

“You have been spying on me?! I am supposed to be your shadow.”

“I have been keeping an eye on you,” he clarified.

“Why?!”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Because you are a member of my sector. You are my responsibility.”

“You are my responsibility,” she corrected.

He released hot air from his nose. “I am required to keep an eye on all of my warriors, whether they were hand-picked to guard me or not.”

(Y/N) huffed, shaking her head. “Did you know Sethna took a pretty nasty hit to her leg?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” he gruffed.

“Legolas, did you know about it or not?”

A rather long moment of silence extended into the night before the Prince reluctantly responded in a low tone. “No.”

“Then you don't watch every warrior like you watch me.”

He inhaled slowly, trying to steer the conversation away from what (Y/N) was insinuating. “Is Sethna alright?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.”

Legolas nodded slowly, before returning to the main topic. “Why didn't you tell me you were in pain while on patrol?”

She rolled her eyes before muttering his name. “Legolas.”

“Why haven't you seen a healer?” he persisted.

She exhaled slowly, knowing Legolas wasn't going to let this go. “Because the healers document everything, and those records get attached to evaluations.”

“So?”

“So, I would be dismissed from the guard and relieved of my position!” she snapped.

He snorted lightly. “You would not be dismissed from the guard nor relieved of your position.”

“Others have gotten so for far less!”

Surprising her, his normally collected tone turned into a rough reply. “That doesn't mean that you would have!”

She frowned, her once loud voice now subdued. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He sent her a warning look, his eyes cautioning her against probing further.

Silence reigned for a third time that night before Legolas spoke softly. “Rest. I will draw you a bath.”

“Princeling, I do not need you to draw me a bath. I do not need a bath at all. Like I said, I am fine.”

He shook his head. “You are in pain. Let me help you.”

“Legolas–”

He cut her off. “(Y/N), do not try to argue with me on this. That is an order. Shadow or not, I am your superior and you will listen.”

With that, he stood and made his way into the bathing chambers, leaving the elleth alone with her thoughts.

She let out a slow, contemplative exhale before sinking back into the embrace of the bed once more. Lost in a haze of exhaustion, she must have drifted into a brief slumber, for it was only moments later that Legolas returned, his thumb brushing against her cheek. His voice, barely above a whisper, reached her ears. “(Y/N),” he urged softly. “Come. The water is hot. It will alleviate your pain.”

Groggily, she opened her eyes, confusion evident in the furrow of her brow.

“Come,” he repeated.

Gradually, she sat upwards, letting her legs dangle off the edge of the mattress. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth, praying to the Valar for the pain to settle.

“If the pain is too much, I can carry you,” Legolas offered in a gentle tone.

She scoffed, her eyes opening to glare at him. “I can manage on my own.”

With that declaration, (Y/N) stood up and took a few cautious steps forward. But before she could proceed further, a sharp gasp escaped her lips as the agony surged through her body, causing her to double over.

A comforting warmth enveloped her lower back as Legolas placed a reassuring hand there. He remained silent, respecting her pace and refraining from pressing his earlier offer.

A small whimper escaped her lips, tears threatening to escape from her eyes.

Legolas’ hand began to move in soft circles. “It will pass, Shadowfoot. I am here,” he whispered.

Slowly, she resumed her movement, inching her way towards the bathroom. Upon reaching the basin's edge, she gripped onto the sides tightly. She squeezed her lids shut once more, focusing on her breath.

Standing only inches behind her, Legolas spoke softly. “(Y/N), please, will you let me assist you? I hate to see you suffer.”

She exhaled through her nose, seemingly debating his offer. After a moment of contemplation, she relented. “Fine,” she stated, “but if you breathe a word of this—”

“I will not say a thing. I swear it,” he assured.

She nodded, accepting his promise.

“Let's get you undressed and in the bath then.”

With caution, his nimble fingers found the hem of her tunic and began to lift it over her head. Ensuring her stability by placing one hand gently on her hip, he then carefully guided her trousers downward, assisting her as she stepped out of them. Shaking slightly, she lifted each foot into the tub, one at a time, as the Prince's firm hand remained securely on her waist. Slowly, she lowered herself into the water, his touch barely trailing up her back as she descended. Her eyes closed and a sigh of relief escaped her lips, settling into the soothing heat of the water.

Legolas cleared his throat awkwardly. “I will just be in the other room. Call out if you need me.”

She simply hummed in response.

The Prince swiftly left the bathing room, making his way to the door leading to the hallway. Peering out, he caught sight of a maid. He called out to her and motioned for her to approach.

“Yes, my lord?” she inquired politely.

“I need you to fetch a new set of bedding and obtain the following herbs: valerian, boswellia, and athelas,” he instructed.

She nodded in understanding.

“And please, keep it discreet. I have an injured warrior in here who wishes for the injury to remain quiet.”

The maid nodded once more before hurrying off to fulfill his requests.

Legolas returned to the room, feeling the cool breeze from the open window once more. With determined strides, he crossed the space and closed it firmly, halting the chill from entering any longer. He then took to light some of the candles, casting a warm glow within the room before moving to the empty fireplace. He quickly grabbed kindling and wood from the basket beside the silent hearth, setting to task. Before long, the flames crackled loudly among the stone, radiating a comforting warmth that dispelled the lingering chill.

It was then when the maid entered, a large basket brimming with fluffy fabric in her arms. Placing it beside the bed, she then retrieved a pouch from the top. Approaching the Prince, she bowed her head. “The herbs you asked for, my lord.”

“Thank you,” he replied, accepting them graciously.

The maid took to changing the sheets, making no mention of the blood. Legolas cleared a space upon the table in (Y/N)’s room. Placing a cast iron pot—one of which was kept in each room—over the now vibrant flames, he filled it with water from a pitcher. As the water began to boil, he used a small bowl to grind the fresh herbs into a paste with a pestle. Once sufficiently smashed, he ladled some of the boiling water over it and allowed the mixture of herbs to steep, filling the air with its earthy aroma.

The maid, having finished her task of making the bed and straightening up, bid an awkward farewell to the Prince before exiting the room.

Legolas sighed, taking a seat in the chair beside the table, his ears attuned to any sounds from (Y/N)'s direction—just in case.

Nearly 45 minutes passed before she emerged from the bathroom. She was clothed in soft trousers and a loose top that hung off her shoulder, her hand pressed lightly against her abdomen.

“How do you feel?” he inquired, breaking the quietness of the night.

She turned her head towards him. “You are still here?” Her gaze swept across the room, trailing off as she took in the sight of the lit candles, crackling fire, and fresh bedding.

Abandoning the chair, he approached her and gently put his hand upon her bicep. “How is the pain, (Y/N)?”

As if suddenly drawn from her thoughts, she registered that he was indeed beside her. “I, uh, it has lessened a bit.”

He nodded, guiding her to the bed. Pulling back the clean sheets, he motioned for her to get in. Surprisingly, she complied, settling into the comfort of the fresh lavender scent emanating from the blankets and pillows.

Legolas briefly left her side before returning with a cup of tea, mixed from the healing herbs. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he lifted the cup to her lips, encouraging her to take a sip. “Drink this. It will help.”

The steam kissed her face as she took the cup from him. As she drank, the warm liquid flowed down her throat and into her stomach, providing instant comfort. When she finished, she passed the cup back to him. “How do you know how to make such a tonic?”

The Prince placed the cup upon the side table. “My father used to care for my mother during her bloodmoon cycle, before she passed from this world. She too had excruciating pain. He taught me the right herbs to mix, the benefits of heat, and—” he paused, his hand moving to her lower back, where he began to massage lightly. “—what points to press to alleviate pain.”

She exhaled slowly, letting her eyes flutter closed.

“He had said, ‘One day, you will have a wife who too suffers such pain. This you must learn for her.’ And I listened.”

(Y/N) did not open her eyes. “I am not your wife.”

Before he could stop himself, his lips betrayed his secrets. “You could be.”

At this, she opened one eye, as if she was trying to subtly evaluate what his words meant based on his body language. Sensing the sincerity upon his expression, her other eye opened too. She put her full attention on him. “What?”

His cheeks flushed, the tips of his elvish ears reddening, though the warm glow of the fire hid his embarrassment. He turned his head away. “Forgive me, (Y/N). I—I didn't mean to be so…so forward.” He hesitated, then looked back at her, seeing her flabbergasted expression. “I–I suppose there is no hiding it now. The reason I keep such close watch over you is because my heart won't let me do otherwise. I fear, well, I fear that you are not just a shadow following my path.” He exhaled softly. “(Y/N), you haunt me in the most beautiful way.”

She shifted from the pillows, drawing closer until her face was mere inches from Legolas’. “You–you care for me?” she whispered.

His hand tenderly cupped her cheek, his thumb moving in a soft motion. “More than I could ever put into words.”

“Legolas,” she whispered. “Your father did not assign me to your sector. I was supposed to be appointed to protect him. I—I requested to be assigned to you.”

The Prince’s gaze met hers. “Why, (Y/N)?”

“Because you too have been haunting me.”

Legolas wasted no time. He pressed his lips to (Y/N)’s in a gentle kiss and she responded eagerly. She tasted of herbal tea and hope, while he tasted of honey and peace. His hands gently cradled her face, while hers found their way to the back of his neck, fingers entwining in his hair. The scent of fresh lavender surrounded her, mingling with the aroma of pine that clung to him. In their embrace, their minds intertwined, both haunted by the other's presence—in the most beautiful way.

Slowly, they parted. Legolas pressed a kiss to (Y/N)'s forehead before speaking softly. "Lay down. Rest. I will watch over you."

She looked up at him. “Won't you lay with me? I am cold.”

He snorted, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips like the stem of a flower being plucked from a spring meadow. “You only want me to alleviate your pain, don't you?”

She grinned back at him. “Perhaps, Princeling. Though, I did not lie, I am cold.”

With a playful roll of his eyes, Legolas kicked off his boots and drew back the covers. He allowed his body to melt against (Y/N)’s, providing warmth as he gently began to massage away her tension.

A content sigh escaped the woman’s lips as she snuggled further into him, eagerly stealing his warmth and accepting the pain relief he offered.

“Princeling,” she murmured, “You better not breathe a word of this either.”

He chuckled lightly, “I will not say a thing, Shadowfoot. I swear it.”

…

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

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Legolas Tag: in the comments

#vayawrites #lord of the rings #lotr #legolas #legolas fanfic #legolas x reader #legolas fic

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caffinated-and-sleepy · 3 months

Text

Y’all are too good at writing! Stop I might start simping for another fictional man!

Fuck the Forbidden Pt. 2

[Boromir/F!MermaidReader]

PART 1 | PART 3 — coming soon

Fuck the Forbidden: FTF LINK MASTERLIST

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

Request: none

Pairing: Boromir X Fem!MermaidReader

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

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

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

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

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

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

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

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

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

“You have a moment?”

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

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

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

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

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

Boromir shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

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

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

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

He nodded, swallowing dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boromir shook his head.

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

….

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

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

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

(Y/N) gasped.

Her father had said…

He had tested them all…

None had the gift….

He lied.

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

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

Was this a dream?

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

Immediately, she felt it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How dare he…

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

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

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

“HOW DARE YOU?!” she screamed at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You went to the surface—”

“How dare you not tell me, Father!”

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

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

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

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

(Y/N) looked at her surroundings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shook her head.

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

“I—I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

“Do you have a place to stay?”

She shook her head.

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

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

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

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

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

Slowly, (Y/N) nodded.

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

“I know, I am sorry,” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you stand? Has the dizziness subsided?”

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

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

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

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

She nodded in reply.

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

With that, he was gone.

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

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

…….

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

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

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

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

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

“Boromir?” she called out.

Silence.

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

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

He had kept it.

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

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

(Y/N) jumped, startled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you believe that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The captain raised a brow. “How far?”

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

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

She glared at him.

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

“Are not all truths complicated?” he responded.

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

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

“When have you last eaten?” Boromir asked.

Her brows pulled together as she looked at her stomach.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shrugged. “Far.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck the forbidden indeed.

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

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

…..