#Boromir x oc

[skeleton-in-a-cupboard]

Reblog if you think Boromir would OBIVIOUSLY date a bookworm

#books #boromir #bookworm #boromir x oc #fanfiction #fandom #let me alone pls #headcanon #lotr #lord of the rings #gondor

[lathalea]

Waiting

Relationships: Boromir x OC (possibly Reader) Rating: G Summary: Boromir embarks on a mission for Rivendell, leaving the lady of his heart behind. And so she waits for his return... A/N: This is my gift for @heilith. HUGS! 💙💙💙

Waiting

She kept on waiting. 

First, she counted the days until their next meeting, after the handsome Captain of Gondor appeared at her cottage at the edge of the forest for the first time. 

Then, he started visiting her more often—as often as he could—galloping on his horse to her, leaving the White City and his worries behind. Sometimes, they would spend an evening at the nearby brook, looking at the stars, sometimes she would invite him in for a light meal, and sometimes they would walk the woods in search of the best blackberry bushes, or to that little glade she liked so much. And they would talk—about everything and anything. Boromir’s hand would brush against hers, as if by accident, and when she would look up, her skin tingling, his warm gaze would rest on her face and then slowly slide down to her lips… And then words would die on his lips, and he would look away.

On the brink of the summer, she waited for the great feast on the King’s Day, and when the day finally came, she rode to Minas Tirith in her best gown, to take part in the festivities. There was music and song in the air, the wine was sweet, and Boromir made her heart flutter, cutting a strapping figure in his tunic adorned with the emblem of the White Tree. They danced the night away, and then he led her to the highest level of the city where the view took her breath away. The view—and the kiss that came shortly after, tender and gentle. Boromir held her in his arms until the first rays of the morning sun painted the white walls of the city pink. Since that night, his murmured words of devotion, of his feelings for her, rang in her ears every evening when she put her head on her pillow.

There were shadows under Boromir’s eyes when they saw each other for the last time that summer. He was to embark on a dangerous mission to Rivendell and ask the elves for their words of wisdom. Gondor’s future was at stake. His people’s future. He did not know when he would return, but in that forest glade he made a pledge: he would return—to her. 

The ring he slipped on her finger was cool against her skin, but his hands that held hers were warm and strong. And when he asked the only question she hoped for, she gave him the only reply she dreamed of giving.

I will wait for you, Boromir, and I will marry you when you return.

And so she waited. Hours turned into days, days turned into months, but there was no word of the brave Captain of Gondor nor of his whereabouts. The summer was long gone, the autumn made way for the winter that held the land in its frosty grip. The new year celebrations came and passed, and still she waited.

February was coming to an end when she once again visited their forest glade and looked into the nearby pond. Its cold waters rippled as she touched its surface, but as they stilled, a series of images formed in front of her eyes. People in boats. Boromir among them. A forest at the edge of an unknown river. Dark shapes between the trees. A chase. Boromir drawing his sword; protecting someone. Fighting. A monstrous creature drawing a bow. A black arrow cutting through the air… and hitting its target. Boromir swaying… And then a boat going down the river, towards the falls ahead. Was it empty…? She could not see. She closed her eyes. Her greatest consolation was the ring on her finger and the words of love she heard from Boromir on the day they parted. He made a pledge. He would return to her.

And so she waited.

Reluctantly, spring came into its rights, and with it, words of a great danger casting a shadow over the whole realm of Gondor. Then, a great army was seen marching on the White City. When the local villagers took their belongings and hid deep in the safety of the forest, she went together with them. Perhaps it was for the best that Boromir would not see if the walls of his home would crumble under the power of darkness.

Several weeks passed until they saw the sun again as the village elders decided it was time to return to their homes. A messenger brought word that the enemy was defeated and that the true king of Gondor returned, just like the old prophecies said. But he did not know what had befallen Boromir.

One day before the coronation of King Aragorn Elessar, the sound of hooves against the forest ground reached her ears. She took a look through the window and could not believe her eyes. It could not be.

“Boromir!” she exclaimed, running out of her cottage towards the familiar figure of a rider.

In a blink of an eye, he dismounted and took her in his arms.

“It is me, my spring flower,” he murmured, holding her close.

“You came back to me!” She searched his face greedily, taking joy in the noble features she knew so well.

“I told you I would,” he smiled and ran his hand through her hair.

“But… I had a dream… a vision… I saw a battle… an orc… an arrow…” her voice trembled. “And then the boat…”

“Hush, my love, I am well. An orc pack attacked us, that is correct. I was merely wounded. We were on a mission of great importance. I managed to keep my wits about me and together with lord Aragorn, our future king, we sent the little ones ahead, together with the ring. We stood our ground together and defeated the enemy,” Boromir replied.

“Lord Aragorn…? The little ones? And the ring? What ring?” Her eyes widened.

“It was only a meaningless trinket, and now it is destroyed. The only ring that filled my thoughts every day since the day we parted was the one I put on your finger,” he took her hand in his and placed a soft kiss over her knuckles. “I counted days until we would meet again.”

“So did I, my beloved,” she admitted as his fingers brushed against her cheek.

Their lips met in haste, but there was tenderness in their kiss that made her weak in the knees as she drank in his closeness.

The Captain of Gondor took her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes, “Will you come with me now to my city? Will you marry me there?”

“There is nothing else I would rather do, Boromir,” she admitted, her words a whisper.

“I dreamed of hearing these words from you,” he placed another kiss on her lips. “Let us ride. We both have waited long enough.”

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#boromir #boromir x oc #boromir x reader #lotr #the lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #fanfic #boromir fanfiction #fix it

[scyllas-revenge]

Masterlist of my favorite Boromir fanfics

Note: none of these are mine, they’re just fics from across the internet that I really enjoyed and recommend to anyone (like me) who can’t get enough of Boromir.

Absolute favorites I reread all the time: 💕

Multi-chapter

💕The Traveller by @roqueamadi​​ (rated M, 30k words, complete) - Boromir/tenth walker OC, adventure/romance

The Long Way Home by Glasschmetterling (rated E, 91k words, complete) - Boromir/OC, adventure/romance

 Strangeness and Charm by aybeexinfinity (rated E, 32k words, complete) - Boromir/skinchanger OC, adventure/romance

💕Prince of Gold, Prince of Stone by daphnerunning (rated E, 25k words, ongoing) - Boromir/Theodred, smut, romance, drama

One-shots

Boromir/reader romance:

Into the Light by @heilith​​ and @averil-of-fairlea​​ - fluff

💕Now by @heilith​​  (rated M) - angst, fluff, implied smut

💕Three of Hearts by @heilith​​ - drama, fluff

💕Touchy Feely by @heilith​​ - fluff

Good Intentions by @heilith​​ - fluff

Touch Me Not by @heilith​​ - drama, fluff

Night by Night by @heilith​​  - fluff (honestly just read anything by heilith lol)

An Honest Mistake by Isabel_Kirstein - drama, fluff

The Streets of Gondor by Isabel_Kirstein - fluff, angst

Small Smiles by @legolaslovely​​ - fluff, angst

💕Anything But This by @minaturefics​​ - yearning, fluff

Death(less) Dreams by @minaturefics​​ - angst, fluff

A Stranger by @mismaeve​​ - fluff

So Close by @beautifultypewriter - fluff, yearning

💕Breathe by @sotwk​ - yearning, fluff

Boromir/OC romance:

The Right Question by alexi_ohs - fluff

In Good Hands by brigantine - fluff, adventure

Béma's ass by @i-did-not-mean-to​​ - modern fluff 

Yearning by @i-did-not-mean-to - yearning (duh)

In the Still of the Night by Aria34 - fluff

💕Dandelions by @sotwk - fluff 

Boromir/Theodred romance:

felled by you (held by you) by theMightyPen - fluff

Gen fics:

💕Black Shroud, White Feathers by Icarus_is_flying - Boromir & the hobbits, adventure/angst

💕Heart by starlightwalking - Boromir & Eowyn friendship

The Horn of Gondor by @saentorine​​​ - fluff, Boromir is five years old

A Shadow and a Thought by starryeyedknight - asexual Boromir & Eowyn, Eowyn/Faramir

Smut (please don’t judge me):

Kinkmas 2022 (breeding and against a wall) by @darthglitterfanfiction​​ - Boromir/reader and Boromir/OC, respectively

Kinktober 2022 (sex pollen) by @darthglitterfanfiction​​ - Boromir/reader

Those Eyes by LordMonday - Boromir/Aragorn

And finally:

my own fanfic list with even more Boromir content, just in case :D

If y’all read and enjoy any of these fics, be sure to let the authors know! I’ve tried to include some lesser known stuff here, since it’s so easy for fics to get lost in the crowd, especially older ones. If you have any other recommendations, reblog with your additions!

Updated June 2023! (although I’m pretty sure I forgot a ton of other great fics so I’ll probably update again soon)

#boromir #lotr fanfic #boromir x oc #boromir x reader #boromir x aragorn #boromir x theodred #aragorn x boromir #tolkien fanfic #lotr fic recs

[ass-deep-in-demons]

Can I please get a headcanon of Boromir having a crush on Gandalfs apprentice who looks after the hobbits like their mum? Boromir is kinda their dad/cool uncle so they both grow close together.

Also Boromir, apprentice and hobbits falling to sleep in a big cuddle puddle 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻

Girl (gn) thank you so much for this awesome ask! I get the feeling that you had something slightly different in mind, but I suffer from a plotter's disease and I created an entire plotline in these headcanons and also two mini-fics. There's some angst, but there is CUDDLES, as requested :D Hope you will like it :)

Boromir x Gandalf's Apprentice

headcanons and two ficlets

Found Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending, rated G, 4250 words, she/her pronouns for OC, TW: canon Moria events & aftermath

I ✦ The Pupil ✦

Gandalf has been around for thousands of years. The peoples of Middle Earth tell different stories about him, but in every corner of the known (and unknown) World one of his many names has been heard.

During his travels, nobody knows exactly when or where, Gandalf finds a young one with magical talent. He does not know what strange anomaly might have caused a child to be born with arcane affinity, normally reserved for the Ainur such as himself, but… stranger things have happened on Arda. Perhaps the Illuvatar himself willed it. If so, it would be unwise to leave the child to its own fate.

At first he visits her home from time to time and shows her his fireworks and his pipe smoke magics. Her caretakers find him strange, but he pays them no heed, comes and goes as he pleases.

His suspicions are confirmed - the child can be taught to replicate some of his simple tricks, proving she is able to tune in to the Song of the Ainur. Her power is not great, barely a wisp of magic compared to Gandalf’s own, but still, it is worth cultivating. Gandalf deems it his duty to take the fledgeling under his wing and make her his pupil.

Gandalf tells his Pupil about his travels and about the secrets of Middle Earth. In time, as she grows, she starts yearning to leave her home and go exploring with the Wizard.

When the Pupil is old enough, Gandalf takes her with him on a journey. They spend years travelling together. Keeping up with Gandalf is not easy for the Pupil, but she perseveres.

With the Grey Wizard, the Pupil visits the Western Kingdoms, the Elven Realms, and Eriador. She helps Gandalf with his quests and meets many new people.

Later, when she is more experienced, Gandalf deems her ready to spread her wings and have her own adventures. She travels doing errands and fulfilling quests that her Master assigns her.

She spends some time studying under Saruman - from him she learns the basics of arcane knowledge. However, Saruman fails to appreciate her quiet, subtle talent. He is not pleased with her progress, nor is she with his teaching methods, and they part ways on non-too-amicable terms.

Her stay in Mirkwood is much more fruitful. From the Silvan Elves, she picks up the basics of scouting and learns how to read the signs of the Forest. She is fascinated with Radagast, and dedicates time to assist him in his tasks as the Guardian of the Woods - learning about the powers that lie dormant in the ancient trees. Radagast teaches her how to care for animals and heal what is broken. Nurturing and patient by nature, the Pupil responds well to the Brown Wizard’s tutelage.

The Pupil is present in Mirkwood when Aragorn brings Gollum there for safeguarding, and later when Gandalf comes to question him. She learns of the Ring and of Sauron’s return.

Gandalf assigns her a mission to go to Erebor, to enlist the help of the Dwarves. She arrives at Rivendell with Gloin, Gimli and the rest of the Dwarven deputation.

She is not deemed important enough to join the Council of Elrond, and besides, Gandalf has other plans for her. He sends her forth to scout the gap of Rohan, in case they need to pass there on their way to Mordor.

After the Council and the period of preparations, the Fellowship sets off. The Pupil finds them on the trail further South. She is able to clear any doubts for them: the Gap of Rohan is overrun with Saruman’s spies, and so the passage is closed to them.

They decide to go through the Redhorn Gate. Gandalf orders his Pupil to return to Rivendell, but to his surprise, for the first time since he took her as his ppprentice, she defies him. She wants to travel with the Fellowship, intent on helping her Master in any way she can.

Faced with her obstinacy, Gandalf finds a task in which she can indeed be of use. He’s been growing more and more irritated with the Hobbits’ mischief. They are loud, impish, and unused to living in the wilderness. “So long as you keep the Hobbits from pestering me, you may travel with us. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, my stubborn Pupil,” he grumbles.

The Pupil, who is of a gentle and giving nature, but also stern when she needs to be, quickly forms a familial bond with not only the Hobbits, but the entire Fellowship.

She has met Aragorn during her earlier travels with Gandalf. The Ranger knows he can rely on her scouting, and is relieved to have someone beside himself and Legolas who knows their way around the woods. She helps Aragorn gather herbs and imbues his mixtures with her subtle healing spells.

Though she’s met Legolas in passing during her Mirkwood days, she only becomes better acquainted with him during the Fellowship’s trek south. Legolas is glad to know someone who is well acquainted with his home, and shares his love for the woods.

Because of her earlier mission to Erebor, and the shared journey from the Lonely Mountain to Rivendell, she is well acquainted with Gimli. The dwarf teases her for being “too elfy” and a “tree lover”, but he is very grateful for her kindness and her efforts to ease tensions within the Fellowship.

Frodo has long known her as Gandalf’s Apprentice, and the rest of the Hobbits warm up to her quickly. They are delighted to be around someone, who, like themselves, isn’t so strongly focused on the topics of warfare and survival. Istead, they bond over their shared appreciation for a good meal and a good laugh. Tasked with keeping them out of trouble, she often mother-hens them, especially Merry and Pippin, who are the youngest.

Boromir is the only one who, not knowing her prior to their meeting on the trail, has some trouble trusting her at first. He is generally suspicious of magic users, and also a little bit jealous of how quickly she builds good rapport with the Hobbits (though he will not admit it).

That being said, he might not be so immune to her caring touch as he thinks…

II ✦ Soup for the Soul ✦

I should not let them fall asleep like that. True although it was, this realisation came to Boromir rather late.

After their failed excursion through the Redhorn Pass, the Fellowship had descended to once again take shelter under the canopy of the woodlands of Eriador. They now had only one route open, through the Mines of Moria, and all save for the Dwarf did not take well to that prospect. They were travelling South, slowly and reluctantly, still recovering from the snowstorm that cut their path.

Earlier today, once they had set up camp, Boromir had organised a fencing lesson for Merry and Pippin. He had hoped that some light exercise would speed their recovery and help them regain some of their lost strength. Even Frodo had joined on this occasion, which gladdened Boromir. Their journey had not lasted long, but the first signs of wear and discouragement could be already seen on the young Baggins.

After their sword practice (sword being a generous word for the dirks that the Hobbits carried), they all sat down under a tree to sharpen their blades. Pippin had trouble with maintaining the angle, and asked Boromir to show him how it’s done. As Boromir expertly whetted the dagger, the three hobbits leaned in on him, supposedly to better observe and learn. Boromir was none the wiser, and only Meriadoc’s loud snore made him finally realise that the three Halflings had fallen asleep, using his padded shoulders and arms as pillows. Now he was stuck under them, not wanting to disturb their sleep - not when Frodo was peaceful at last, after several nights during which Boromir had heard the Hobbit toss and turn.

Tired and hungry, Boromir resigned himself to his fate. As he could not move without waking the little ones, and it was gradually getting dark, he quietly observed the Fellowship’s campfire from a distance. Gandalf was sitting on a log by the fire and smoking his pipe, clearly content to have some peace and quiet. Samwise was busy cleaning after the meal - a stew which Boromir did not have the chance to taste yet, and probably wouldn’t now, not while it was hot at least. Gimli had been assigned with securing the perimeter - it was his turn to scout the surrounding forest and make sure they were safe for the night. Aragorn and Legolas were seated together some distance away from the campfire and discussing something in hushed tones - likely their strategy for approaching the Gates of Moria. Boromir was rarely included in their talks, which sat ill with him. Not for the first time he regretted their less-than-optimal introduction during the Council in Imladris.

There remained one more member of their party - the woman who everyone except Boromir seemed to already know. They called her the Pupil, likely because of Mithrandir. My young Pupil this, my clever Pupil that, my stubborn Pupil, my silly Pupil... - the Wizard  would always say, and it stuck. Boromir could not tell her age - she looked neither old nor young. She did bear elven nor dwarven features, nor orcish for that matter… and yet he could not be sure she was wholly of the race of Men. Boromir did not know what to make of her.

Right now she was crouching next to the campfire, her back turned to Boromir, so he could not see what she was doing. He had not trusted her, at first. She hadn’t been part of their original team. She did not seem proficient in combat, nor very sturdy. He had been angry when she had declared they couldn’t travel through the Gap of Rohan, as he himself would have preferred that route to any other. And yet her intel had proved correct. She was also useful in other ways. During the snowstorm atop Caradhras, he had witnessed her magic - not flashy, like the Wizard’s fireworks, but rather slow and subtle. Mithrandir refused to light a fire for fear of drawing the wrong kind of attention, but she had used her quiet talent to keep the little ones from freezing with potions. She had imbued Boromir’s leather grieves with some sort of a warming spell, too, even though it had seemed to sap at her strength. He had to assume she was loyal to the Grey Pilgrim, and so, by extension, loyal to the Ringbearer’s mission.

He noticed that she stood up, then. Instead of addressing the Wizard, she turned around to face Boromir, and he noticed a bowl in her hands. He then guessed what her purpose by the fire had been: she was heating up the leftovers of the stew. Slowly, carefully, so as not to spill anything, she approached Boromir and the Hobbits’ resting place under the tree.

She kneeled and set the steaming stew on the forest floor beside them. Then, once their eyes met, she touched her lips with her finger signalling him to remain quiet. That he could do. She noiselessly stood up and scampered off back to the campfire, leaving Boromir once again. The smell of the stew reached his nostrils and he cursed quietly. Some help she was, leaving him to smell the meal, but without the means to taste it! Not without disturbing the Hobbits, at least.

But he was not left to pine after the stew for long. Soon she returned to him, carrying a bundle that she then unfolded to reveal a chunky warm blanket. She covered them with it, Boromir and the three sleeping hobbits, tucking the edges in gently. It did help to ward off the evening chill, Boromir admitted.

Then she plopped down to the forest floor next to Boromir, sat cross legged and picked up the bowl once again. Is she going to make me watch her eat it? Boromir thought and felt a surge of irritation at her inconsiderate behaviour. She scooped up a hearty portion of the stew with a spoon, but, to Boromir’s alarm, she did not bring it to her  mouth. Instead, she directed the spoon surely and smoothly to Boromir’s own lips.

In that moment, Boromir would sooner open his mouth from sheer shock than for the sake of any sort of cooperation. He was a Man grown! It has been… nigh to four decades since he had let anyone spoon-feed him last. He turned his head away firmly. The Pupil, however, would not give up so easily. She reached out with her free hand and gently swept Boromir’s hair away from his face.

The gesture made him flustered. It has been… quite some time since any woman has touched his face. He was thankful for the shroud of dusk. He had nowhere to run however, and he felt her nudge his lips with the spoon, urging him to open his mouth. He was forced to meet her gaze once again. 

What he found on her face was not amusement, nor condescension, but rather... gentle pleading. She really was only trying to help.

"Let me", she mouthed silently.

He shook his head and pursed his lips even tighter.

Then, as if his own body wanted to play tricks on him, they both heard his traitorous stomach give out a loud growl.

The Pupil raised her eyebrow at Boromir.

Well? Are you going to deny that you’re hungry now? her expression seemed to demand.

He rolled his eyes as a universal way of saying whatever, I care not, and finally opened his mouth.

A spoonful of warm stew finally landed on his tongue, and he felt the most delightful warmth spread through his body. He had to fight an urge to growl at the pleasant sensation.

The Pupil smiled.

There. That wasn’t so hard, Boromir read from her content face.

This was a good idea, after all, he thought after the second spoon. He had been ravenous, he realised, and the stew was doing wonders for his mood. It was surprisingly nice to have someone take care of him that way. For too long a time he had been only attending to the needs of others, not accepting any help for himself.

He met her concentrated gaze, as she continued to feed him the stew, restoring his strength with each spoonful.

“You did good,” she mouthed silently and Boromir furrowed his brows, confused. “With the little ones,” she added, and vaguely indicated the sleeping Hobbits with her head. Oh, she means the sword-practice, he thought, and felt no small satisfaction from her compliment.

He was reminded of how taking care of Faramir was always a duty that filled him with joy and pride. This was not dissimilar, he realised, and it was nicer still to have someone help him and share some of that responsibility. He felt contentment at what they’d accomplished together: Pippin breathing deeply, with his head resting on Boromir’s arm, Meriadoc snoring quietly slumped against his friend, and Frodo - looking strengthened and at ease, sleeping soundly propped against the tree on Boromir’s other side.

Is this how being a father feels like? What if I had a child of my own one day? he asked himself. But this thought of parenthood that came to him, perhaps for the first time in his life, was so strange and foreign, and so surprising, that he dared not dwell on it any longer. Instead he resigned himself to the gentle care of the strange woman, who turned out to be… not so strange, after all.

III ✦ Picking up the Pieces ✦

Boromir was sure he would never forget the moment Gandalf fell.

He remembered the unearthly heat and the fumes of sulphur that wafted from the hellish chasm. He remembered Mithrandir’s white knuckles, holding on to the collapsed bridge’s edge, and the Wizard’s desperate last message to the Fellowship: Fly, you fools!

But what he remembered the most, and what was was going to forever haunt him, was the cry of Gandalf’s devoted Pupil. Her broken, desperate wail, the kind that a mortally wounded animal might give out, as if her very heart was rent out of her chest and thrown into the fiery pit.

She wanted to jump in after her Master, and would have, but for Boromir’s interference. Unmoved by her screams of protest, he had hoisted her up over his shoulder and heeded the Wizard’s last bidding. He ran.

He ran after the others, despite the army of orcs upon their tail and despite her angry trashing in his grip. He ran to the open sky and to safety, so that they both could live to fight another day.

But right now it did not look like she had any fight left in her. They were, all of the Fellowship, cooped up on the border of Caras Galadhorn, the elven realm of Lothlorien. Aragorn and Legolas were currently negotiating their safe passage through the woodlands with the elven Marchwardens. It was a heated dispute in Sindarin, of which Boromir could catch only certain words, but he understood enough to know they were not likely to face a warm welcome.

The rest of the Fellowship had been allowed to rest. They were, all of them, in foul spirits. Gimli had been quiet ever since he had learned of the tragic fate of Balin’s Kingdom, and Boromir could only surmise that the Dwarf needed his space to fully take in the bad news. He was loath to intrude upon his friend’s quiet contemplation. Frodo and Pippin were weeping openly and Sam was trying to offer them whatever comfort he could, mostly by wiping their wet cheeks and noses time after time.

The state of Gandalf’s Pupil worried Boromir the most. Since he had carried her away from the danger, once she stopped resisting the rescue, she went completely still and quiet, her eyes unseeing. She had not spoken a word, not responded to any attempts at conversation. He could only suspect she was in some sort of shock. He’d seen it on the battlefield enough times to recognize the signs. It made sense;  as Boromir understood it, Mithrandir had been a father figure to the woman, someone she considered family. In a way, with the Wizard, her entire life had fallen down that chasm. He felt helpless; he wanted to console her, but the sheer magnitude of her loss left him overwhelmed.

He felt a tug at his gambeson and looked down. It was Meriadoc.

“Go to her,” the Hobbit whispered.

“I… I would not presume. I do not know what to say to her,” Boromir confessed, dejected.

“Then do not say anything,” Merry insisted. “Just go there and hold her,” he added. “Trust me, it will help.”

Boromir took a hesitant step in her direction. Then another. He spared a thought to his appearance… he was bone-tired, aching and covered in goblin ichor head to toe. Not exactly conducive to physical intimacy. Then again, she was in a similar state, and, really, vanity was the least of their concerns.

Tentatively, he sat next to her on the wooden platform. Up close he could see that, although she was sitting motionless and staring ahead, her eyes were damp. The tears had washed away the dust from her face, forming clean streaks down her cheeks.

He had long since stopped regarding her as merely Gandalf’s Apprentice, or just an ally in a dangerous quest. Instead, upon seeing the state she was in, his heart wept with her…

*

Gone. 

Her mind could not comprehend it. Everything she had learned about the Wizard during their life together contradicted this truth. Her Master could not die, he was simply too powerful, too wise, too… godly, for the mundane laws of life and death to apply to him. And yet, what had happened - happened. She’d seen it with her own eyes and his fall would now play out in her mind again and again, each time shattering the ground that she had built her life on.

Such kindness, such wealth of knowledge as her Master’s would never again grace Middle Earth, she was sure of it. And now that light was gone. Extinguished forever with a mere flick of a monster’s whip.

What shall I do now? Wherever shall I go? she wondered. Was she even welcome in the Fellowship anymore? Ever since she could remember, she had been Gandalf’s Pupil. And now that there was no Gandalf, who was she? A nobody. Aragorn and Frodo likely had no use for a nobody. But such thoughts were too painful to bear in her current state. So, instead she let them go and simply drifted in the darkness of her inner world, that was now forever marred by grief. She did not know where she was, or how much time had passed. A million years wouldn’t be enough to mourn her Master.

The first thing, the first sensation that managed to break through the dark shroud that surrounded her consciousness, was that of the warmth of another. Someone’s arm was on her back, rubbing gentle, soothing circles. Then that very same arm encircled her form and drew her into a hug. She had no wish to be consoled, she didn’t want any comfort. She wanted to cry, to wail and to tear at her clothing… But then she felt Boromir’s familiar presence. Him, she could let close. He had been a comfort to her during their travels many a time. She relaxed gradually and let her head fall back to find support against him.

Slowly but surely, his steadying touch made her come back to her senses and to the present moment. She was seated on the forest floor, she noted, in Lothlorien most likely, if her geographical knowledge had not failed her. Boromir was seated next to her, his back propped against one of the giant trees. He was also holding her in his arms, close to his chest and stroking her shoulder soothingly. His cheek rested atop her head. She had no strength nor care left in her to wonder what this closeness could mean for the two of them. She was just… immensely relieved and thankful for the comfort that his arms offered. She was at her lowest and most wretched, and yet he was willing to share that moment with her. For that, she would be forever thankful.

Boromir’s compassion moved her and tears spilled down her cheeks once again. Against her wishes she started sobbing. She felt the Man next to her stir. For a moment, she thought he would let go of her and leave her to her sorrow. Instead, Boromir tightened his embrace. Then he gently but surely pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“...mise me you’ll never do that again.” She realised he was whispering something to her halfway through his sentence.

“Never do what?” she asked.

“You… Back at the Bridge… at Khazad-dum,” he said quietly, “you wanted to jump after him, didn’t you?” This was no question. “I couldn’t bear it,” he said simply. “Promise me you’ll live.”

“What reason to live do I have left?” she asked. There was no bite to her words, just a simple statement of the facts, as they appeared to her.

“I could help you find a new purpose, if you would but let me,” he whispered to her ear and held her fast in his embrace. Against her better judgement, and despite their tragic circumstances, her heart did a flip. 

“Boromir, I…” she began, but her sentence was cut short when she felt a firm shove upon her side.

“Oi! Move!” a voice sounded from behind her. She turned around and saw the four Hobbits standing next to the tree. “Make some space for us! We all need a hug, and you’re hoarding all the best cuddles to yourself,” said Pippin and sniffed.

She regarded the Halflings: their red, puffy eyes and their wet cheeks. They were grieving too, no less than she was. Even so, Pippin was making an attempt at levity. For her sake, to help her bear the pain, she realised. The little ones had the gift of laughter, and it would not fail them even in their darkest hour.

Suddenly, her purpose became clear to her anew: Gandalf had bid her to take care of the Hobbits. And so she would continue to do that. Her Master might be gone, but his legacy yet lived. It lived through her, through the Fellowship, and their quest. She would not abandon them now.

“Of course, Master Peregrin,” she said, her voice creaky from all the crying. “There is cuddles enough for everyone.” And so Meriadoc weaselled his way between her and Boromir, and the rest of the Hobbits piled up atop them like hens on the roost.

*

“Do you think we ought to wake them?” asked Legolas. The Elf and Aragorn were back from their negotiations with the Marchwardens. The Lady of the Golden Forest had intervened on their behalf, and so not only the passage was now open to them, they would be provided rest and comfort in Caras Galadhorn. What the Elf and the Ranger did not expect was the sight of all their companions, even the Dwarf Gimli, passed out from grief and exhaustion atop one another in one giant group hug.

“Let them rest a while,” said Aragorn gently. “After what we've all been through, I’ve half the mind to join them myself.”

[fanfiction masterpost]

#lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #lotr headcanons #boromir #boromir x oc #gandalf #[arda] #ass deep in demons #ass deep in asks

[mimilind]

Stranger of the Falls (Complete)

Summary: You gather healing supplies below the Falls of Rauros when a boat with a dying man drops at your feet. As you take the stranger home, you resolve to achieve the impossible: to heal him, find out who he is, and figure out why he is so determined to die.

For @scyllas-revenge

※※※

Pairing: Boromir x Reader (no specified gender)

Tumblr Links: [ 1. The Stranger ] [ 2. Lord Främling ] [ 3. Healing ] [ 4. Convalescence ] [ 5. Boromir ] [ 6. Defense ] [ 7. Free ] [ Bonus: Love (E-rated) ]

AO3 Link: Stranger of the Falls

Rating: T (apart from the bonus chapter)

Complete Word Count: 18 400

Tags: Hurt/comfort, Injury Recovery, Healing, Boromir Lives, Only One Bed, Falling in Love, Orc Attack, Kissing, Wholesome, Sex (bonus chapter).

Warnings: Injuries, Blood, Suicidal Character

#boromir #boromir x reader #boromir x oc #lotr #boromir fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr x reader #hurt/comfort #boromir lives au #lord of the rings #boromir x you #boromir lives #only one bed #bed sharing #Stranger of the Falls #mimi lind

[sotwk]

random no pressure ask: share a bit of oc lore you've been working on recently/haven't shared before💛

feel free to pass this ask on to others!

Thank you for the Ask and wonderful opportunity to drop more fic spoilers! <3 And thank you for supporting OCs!

Those who follow me closely enough would already know I am focusing on two multi-chapter stories this year, both of them spin-offs from my Canon x Reader Insert fics:

From "Breathe":

From "Taken":

The two love interests in these fics will actually become good friends in "Change the Stars" (which takes place post-RotK), to go hand-in-hand with the brotherly friendship between Boromir and Éomer that I wish to expand on. Although these two ladies are very different, they also find plenty of commonalities and shared experiences to bond over (not just about their men). Their shared qualities include:

Both are orphans (lost both parents very early).

Both come from controversial backgrounds. (details to follow)

Both are viewed as "unsuitable" for the men they love, due to class division and prejudice.

Both are fiercely loyal to their homelands and their people.

Both stand up for themselves and pursue their chosen paths successfully despite being underestimated and looked down on.

Both are very much in love with their men, but are prepared to sacrifice futures with them to do the right thing.

Now, without further ado, just because I can't sit on this any longer... I would like to introduce the names and faces of these new OCs:

Aerdis, Lady of Gondor

SotWK Fancast: Freida Pinto

"What other explanation could there be for him asking for you ? On the evening of a kingdom-wide celebration, when every fair lady in Gondor was clamoring to gain even just a few moments of his attention? Who were you? Just a produce vendor with your own little stall in the lower markets of the White City." - Excerpt from Breathe  

Signyr, Shield-maiden of Rohan

SotWK Fancast: Katheryn Winnick

"He had forgotten what a vision she made outside of armor, so long had they lived in battle gear. The gown she wore to the coronation ball had distracted him all evening, but it painted her beauty too foreign. The plain clothes of their people suited her best. On her, the wine-red dress underneath her green Rider’s cloak outstripped any fine silk confection. Her hair, usually held back in tight braids or trapped underneath a war helm, flowed in free waves that tumbled to her waist and made his fingers ache with longing." - Excerpt from Taken

Thank you for coming to my sneak peek, and I hope you continue to be patient with me as I work towards getting these fics going! <3 Your encouragement is SO invaluable and helps SO much.

Tagging a few friends who might be interested (if not, please excuse the frivolous tag XD): @scyllas-revenge @ass-deep-in-demons @konartiste @emmanuellececchi @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @hippodameia @heilith @lathalea @unethicallypleistocene @hesperioae @pinkerflamingo78 @hobbitwrangler @hesperioae @alwayssevvy

#sotwk answers #sotwk oc #sotwk fancast #boromir #eomer #boromir x oc #boromir fanfiction #eomer x oc #eomer fanfiction #sotwk fanfiction #sotwk spoiler #sotwk update #sotwk preview #lotr #tolkien #tolkien oc #rohan #gondor #freida pinto #katheryn winnick #anon asks #i have the best anons

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 26: Fireplace - Boromir/OC [1,656 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here, and my currently ongoing main fic about these two is here 💜✨

This was originally going to be an AU of Boromir and Sybil meeting in a different way, with him coming to the cabin injured before Bera dies and Sybil having to patch him up immediately upon meeting him…but we’re all enjoying the established relationship stuff so much that I wanted to write more of it. I maaay still write the other one at a later date? But this approach leaves much more room for fully fledged fluff (try saying those last three words three times fast).

This one skews more towards hurt/comfort than pure fluff, but they’re still cute.

Word reached them in Minas Tirith before the men did. What was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission on a pack of orcs rumoured to be skulking around the nearby wilderness had turned into an ambush – some men had been slain, more still were injured. After he’d announced it to those who had filtered out into the courtyard, the messenger pulled Sybil aside and she felt like the world was giving way beneath her feet before he placed a hand on her shoulder and told her that Boromir was fine. He had, it turned out, been given specific instructions to reassure her as to that fact.

Her husband knew her well. But she still paced the courtyard until he arrived – grim-faced atop his horse, his right arm holding the reins and the other held awkwardly towards his body. Injured, then. Boromir’s face softened when he saw her waiting there, although it didn’t cheer much. Sweeping forth, Sybil held out a hand to offer some stability as he climbed one-handed from the horse. Ordinarily she would have hugged him, but she held back, not wanting to aggravate any injuries she couldn’t see.

But it wasn’t going to allow that, reaching out with his good arm to pull her to him tightly, nose burying itself in her hair as she pressed her face to his chest. He smelled of sweat – and blood, along with dirt from the road – but she cared not.

“You’re hurt,” she said when she pulled back. “Come, I can tend to you.”

“I was going to go to the healers,” he hesitated a little. “I just wanted to see you first.”

“The healing houses? Why? Is it…is it so severe?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, my love. I just have no wish to worry you.”

“If your injuries are so severe you have no wish for me to see them, I’m not sure I find that soothing.”

He smiled tiredly, as if conceded her point. “I suppose I’ve never known you to have a penchant for hysterics.”

“Unless your coat is the only thing keeping the arm on, I’m sure I’ll be able to hold my nerve.”

“Loss of limb is where you draw the line, then?”

“When it’s your limb, yes.”

“I shall keep that in mind for the future. I’m sure neither Aragorn nor Faramir will take your favouritism personally.”

Their teasing was a tired, half-hearted thing – with no real mirth in it, for that matter. Mostly, it was a way for them to both reassure the other that they were well…and avoid discussing anything serious until they were safely within their chambers. He did, however, catch her hand once again halfway up a staircase, urging her to turn, and then kissed her when she did. Ordinarily she would’ve just thought him playful – but ordinarily he’d have done so outside, pulling her up to him so he didn’t need to stoop. The fact that he had to wait until he could use the stairs to their advantage revealed how the injury, or injuries, pained him.

The hand that lifted to touch him faltered in mid-air, not wanting to hurt him further, but his own hand quickly found it and encouraged it closer as he kissed her. Her fingers smoothed up his neck, over the beard at the side of his jaw, threading their way through his hair, and Boromir practically purred under the attention, leaning in impossibly closer still. Even those small movement caused him to pause, a hiss of a breath sucked in sharply between his teeth, but before Sybil could pull away, he kept her where she was with his good arm, kissing her again.

This was not kissing for kissing’s sake – they’d certainly done enough of that for her to recognise it – but the seeking of solace. That she was here, and so was here. And he wasn’t the only one seeking that comfort, for she’d missed him. The tickle and the scratch of his beard against her skin, the surety with which his hands grasped her, the way he towered above her. Even here, with her two steps above him on the staircase, he was still just a touch taller than she.

But a tilt of his head had him drawing back and wincing once again, and Sybil refused to entertain even the most pleasant of delays any longer.

When they arrived to their chambers, she worked with the sort of efficiency that Bera had seen fit to install as muscle memory, back when she first came to her. A fine leather chest brimming with supplies sat where it always did – and she shot a dangerous look to Boromir when he stepped forth to help her lift it – and soon it was dragged beside a stool, and a table by the fire so she would have the best light possible.

They never got the best of the sun in here until the afternoon, and she was not content to wait that long.

Boromir already began to remove his clothing without needing to be asked. First his cloak, cast aside onto the couch, then his surcoat, and by the time he had stripped down to his tunic she was staring worriedly. For no small amount of blood had seeped through the bandages she saw poking out through his collar, as well as the white linen shirt he wore beneath that.

“Had I been wearing my armour, I would not have been scratched,” he noted sourly, taking in her expression as the tunic was discarded into he pile and the shirt swiftly followed thereafter.

It turned out that the only part of the bandage that had been visible up until then was the only part of it that remained white. The rest was dark brown, encrusted with long-dried blood. Sybil pressed her lips together worriedly, and quickly set a pot of water to boil over the fire.

“Sit,” she said softly.

He obeyed without question, only sighing and beginning to offer explanations without her needing to ask.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a battle,” he said.

“I know,” she said quietly, trickling water over the bandages so she wouldn’t rip open the wound when she tried to peel them away.

If it stung, he gave no indication. But his shoulders did tense when she was finally able to peel the soggy bandages away, undoing them from where they’d been haphazardly wound across his shoulder and under his arm. Already it was bleeding anew, bright red blood oozing out over the older dried patches.

The wound was deep. Horribly deep – in a wicked, jagged half-moon across his shoulder, suggesting the blow had been dealt by one who sought to carve meat.

Sybil cursed. “What fool did these bandages?”

“I did it myself.”

“Yourself? Boromir, it should have been stitched, you should know that! You do know that– it’s a miracle it’s not-”

“Our healer was the first to be slain,” he interrupted – with neither anger, nor bite. “In the ambush.”

Her hands stilled, then one settled on his arm, far below the wound. One of his hands found hers readily, reassuring her that there was no ill-will taken from her careless words.

The wound had been cleaned and stitched before either of them spoke again, as she was winding fresh bandages across his chest and up, over the shoulder.

“The orcs?”

In response to that, he grimaced a bitter, bloodthirsty smile. “Wiped out. That band of them, at least. Every last one.”

“Good.”

Lowering her head, she pressed a feather-light kiss over the bandage and then stepped away, ready to begin tidying up her mess. Boromir rose, rolling his shoulder apprehensively – testing the bounds of the bandages and the stitches both. Afterwards, he moved to sit on the couch not occupied by his clothing, clad only in bandages, boots and breeches, watching her progress as she tried to work the shaken nerves out of her system.

“Sit with me?” he broke the quiet they lapsed into once again.

Sybil hesitated and then did so, smiling despite herself as he guided her to practically drape herself across his lap.

“I hate not being out there with you,” she confessed quietly. “I go mad with worry.”

“As I would have, were you there,” he murmured.

The War of the Ring had been one thing. She’d had no choice but to go – but she was not made for warfare, even as far as the small skirmishes that it had devolved into in these times of newfound peace. She was a warrior of absolute necessity, little more. But none of that made it easier to watch him go, despite the fact that he never took on tasks that would see him gone for more than a few weeks at a time. She could never ask him to remain here and live a life of leisure…but she almost wished she had the heart to demand such a thing, on the days she had to watch him ride away. Only almost, though.

She kissed him again, letting it linger, and then sighed and dropped her head to his shoulder.

“I’ll have them run you a bath.”

Boromir barked a laugh – the first real one he’d offered since his return, grinning and shaking his head at her. “Were I less aware of my present state, I’d take offense to that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she snickered. “Do you forget the days we spent on the road together?”

“How could I?”

“So you’ll know I’ve smelled you in far worse states.”

“You make a habit of sniffing me, do you?”

“Trust me, there were times when I could hardly avoid it,” she teased. “In all seriousness, I’m thinking only of your comfort. It’ll ease your muscles.”

“If it’s my comfort you’re thinking of, you’ll join me in the bath,” he suggested at a murmur. “Only to make sure I don’t get my shoulder wet, you understand.”

Sybil had a vague suspicion that an ulterior motive lay within the request.

But she lost what mind she had for teasing when he pulled her closer and sighed softly.

“How I missed you, my love.”

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

#esta's flufftober '23 fills #flufftober2023 #flufftober 2023 #boromir/sybil #boromir x oc #boromir/oc #lotrfic #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #boromir fic #boromir fanfic #boromir fanfiction #flufftober

[middleearthpixie]

Promise Me ~ Prologue

Summary: Friends since childhood, Gabriella has long held back her feelings where Boromir is concerned, as she did not want to risk losing his friendship if he didn't feel the same. But, then he is summoned to Rivendell, and the night before he is to leave, he stuns Gabriella by confessing his feelings for her as well. 

But, war is coming and he cannot put off what he knows must be done. All Gabriella can do is wait for him and pray for his safe return. 

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Gabriella

Characters: Boromir 

Warnings: Some angst… 

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

“You can swing at me, you know. You are not about to hit me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Gabriella grunted as she sat up. Her sword lay on the ground beside her, her arms ached from the effort of wielding it, despite the fact that it was made especially for her. Not only that, but it was commissioned by the man now standing over her, looking more than a little smug as he folded his arms over a broad chest. 

“So, why don’t you?” Those thick arms unfolded and he held out a large hand with deceptively elegant fingers. 

She lay her hand in his and let him draw her up. “I don't know. I suppose I fear hurting you.”

He chuckled. “I think it would take more than what you could deliver to hurt me, Gabby. Come, let’s try again.”

“No. I’m sore and tired and my arms might very well fall off if I so much as think about swinging that blasted blade even one more time.”

He moved to pick up the blade in question, then handed it to her. “I don’t know when the next time I’ll be able to spar with you will come, you know.”

“Don’t remind me, please.” She took the sword from him, carefully slipped it back into its scabbard, then looked up at him, squinting as the sun sinking into the horizon behind him temporarily blinded her. She blinked the spots from her eyes and looked instead at him. Boromir, oldest son of Denethor II, Steward of Gondor, and her closest friend in all of Middle Earth. They’d grown up together, and in recent times he was away from Minas Tirith more often than he was there. But when he did come home, he made certain to come by the tavern and see her. And if he planned to be around for more than several days, he found the time to work in a sparring session with her. 

Come the sunrise, he’d be leaving. Rivendell was his destination and he would not say why he’d been summoned there, which meant it couldn't possibly be good. War was coming. She knew it. They all knew it. For the last several weeks, men had been working almost round the clock to attempt to fortify the city, to evacuate as many of the women and children as they could. 

“You’re staring,” he broke into her reverie, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“At you? Hardly,” she snorted. “Why would I stare at you?”

A lie. Of course she stared at him. How could she not, when he was, quite simply, the handsomest man in all of Gondor? He was tall and broad of shoulder and chest, with hair the color of fresh honey and eyes the same green as a lush meadow after a spring rain. He was noble and proud and kind and strong.

And he saw her as nothing more than a friend. The sister he’d never had. 

One dark gold brow rose ever so slightly. “Why, indeed.” He glanced up at the thickening clouds. “Let me see you home before the rains come.”

She nodded and they set off back toward the tavern not far from the inn. Her family ran said tavern, and lived above it and while her best friend Dora liked to tease her about someday marrying Boromir, Gabriella knew such a match was unlikely to happen. He showed little interest in any woman, and even less in the notion of marrying any time soon. Of course, the time would come when his father would decide it was absolutely time, and so would choose a suitable bride for his son.

And that bride would not be the daughter of the tavern keeper. 

They made an odd pair as it was, but no one seemed troubled by it, and she valued his friendship above all else, so if friends was all they were to be, she would treasure it still.

“Do you truly have to go? It’s grown so dangerous to travel beyond the city walls.”

“We’ve talked about this, Gabby. And yes, I truly do have to go.”

She peered up at him as they walked. He was almost a head and a half taller than her, and always gave off that feeling of security. No matter what, she was safe with him and she knew it. He made certain she did. 

“The side of my face grows hot.” He stopped and turned toward her. “Going to tell me you aren’t staring again?”

“Not this time, no.” She shook her head. “I am instead trying to find a reason to convince you to stay.”

“Gabby,” a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his lips, “please stop. Staying is not an option. You know this, so please stop asking me to.”

“I know, I sound like a child and I pout like one, but I’m terrified something will happen to you. Something terrible.”

He caught her hands in his and her heart gave a mighty leap at the way the air seemed to crackle around them. His hands were rough from riding, and large enough that they swallowed hers. “I will be fine and when I return, you will laugh at yourself for being so worried.”

“And if you aren’t? If you don’t?” She looked up at him. “I know that sounds so ominous and dramatic, but—”

“Gabby,” he broke in gently, his normally guarded eyes softening as they met hers, “I will.”

Thunder rolled low in the distance as he held her gaze and her heart sped up as she whispered, “Promise me.”

“I promise you. And perhaps by then you will have finally worked up both the nerve and the strength to knock me down.”

“I most definitely will.”

He winked then. “Promise me.”

“I promise you.”

“Good.” He bobbed his head slightly. “Because I will be back. I have a very good reason to be, you know.”

“Well, yes, you have to take your place eventually as steward.”

“Yes, but that’s not quite what I mean.”

Her heart sped up again as his eyes grew softer still and the crackle in the air seemed louder now. Loud enough that she almost expected to see very real sparks shoot between them. The fine hairs along her arms stood and a slight, teasing chill ran along her spine. 

He leaned over and their lips met in a gentle kiss that had her curling her toes in her boots and her fingers about his. His lips were so incredibly soft, much more so than she’d ever imagined, and she had to fight back the rising sigh as they moved against hers. The neatly trimmed hair of his mustache and beard tickled, but only for a moment as he tilted his head slightly, parted those soft lips, and the tip of his tongue eased between her lips to caress hers. 

His one hand fell from hers to come to rest on her hip, then he eased that arm about her waist to tug her flush against him and her heart soared as his kiss deepened, as he bent her body back just enough. It wasn't her first kiss, but it was the sweetest she’d ever received and he drew back to press his forehead to hers, a sheepish smile playing at his lips. “I’ve wanted to do that for some time now.”

“I’ve wanted you to for some time,” she replied softly.

“So then you are not about to slap me?”

“Not this time, no.”

He chuckled softly. “Good.”

This time when he kissed her, there was no hesitation, and she melted against him as he wrapped her in his arms as if he’d never let her go.

The next morning, she slipped away from the tavern to head to the stables, where Boromir was readying his horse. She came around the corner, not wanting to startle him, and called, “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

He peered over one shoulder at her. “Trying to get rid of me, are you?”

“What do you think?”

He turned away from his horse. “I thought you’d be with the others to see me off, actually.”

“I will. But, I wanted a moment alone to give you something.”

“What’s that?”

“This.” She closed the gap between them and held out her hand. Coiled in her palm, on a delicate silver chain, lay a silver medallion with a bear etched into it. 

He lifted puzzled green eyes to her. “Gabby?”

She smiled despite her heavy heart. “My father gave it to me when I was a child because I was afraid of the dark. The first night I slept in the dark alone, I was so scared, it took me forever to actually fall asleep. But, I remained in my own bed and left him and Mama alone and so he had this made for me. He told me it was a symbol of my courage and that the bear would watch over me on the nights when I was still scared.”

“I cannot take this.”

“You can,” she caught him by the wrist to turn his hand palm up, let the silver chain spill into the middle of said palm, then closed his fingers over it, “and you will. But, just so you know, I expect it back some day.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am.”

“Very well. If you’re certain.” His eyes softened once more. “Would you put it on me? I’d rather not mangle the clasp.”

“Of course.” She took it and, despite her heavy heart, smiled as he turned away from her. “You’ll have to crouch a bit, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, sorry.” He did as she said and bent his knees to bring him low enough for her to fasten the delicate chain about his neck.

He straightened up then and turned back to her, tucking the medallion beneath the neck of his tunic. “You are certain about this?”

“I am, yes. As I said, I expect it back, so now you have a reason to return.”

“I have more than one reason, Gabby. And I will return.”

Her eyes stung as she nodded slowly and whispered, “Promise me.”

“I promise you.” He bent to her, his kiss light and gentle and when he drew back, his eyes were soft. “I will be back.”

“You had better, Boromir.”

“I just promised you, didn't I?” He stepped back and caught the reins in one hand. “And I will be.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. Her throat tightened. Her eyes stung. “Be careful, won’t you? It’s so very dangerous beyond these walls.”

“I will be fine.”

“I know. But I’ll still worry just the same.” She closed the space between them once more, easing her arms about his waist, and let her head come to rest against his chest. Beneath his tunic, his heart beat softly, and she desperately wished they had more time. She should have spoken up long before now, but she was so terrified of ruining their friendship that she kept her budding feelings for him carefully tucked away. But if she’d been brave enough to risk it, they would have had time to share more than a couple of tender kisses.

He folded her into his embrace and she bit down on her bottom lip at the gentle pressure of him kissing the top of her head. “I will be fine,” he whispered once more. 

She nodded, although she wasn't nearly as confident and he held her for another moment or two, then, with a deep breath, pulled away. “I really must go now, Gabby. I’ve a long ride ahead of me.”

“I know.” She swiped at her cheeks, at the stupid, stubborn tears that refused to remain at bay. 

“Don't cry,” he told her, reaching out to brush his thumb along her left cheek. 

“I can’t help it. My stupid eyes will not listen to reason.” She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and stepped out of his reach. “You should go. Everyone else is waiting to see you off.”

He bobbed his head and then swung up into the saddle. “I will see you soon, Gabriella.”

She managed a smile. “Promise me.”

He winked. “I promise you.”

“I’m holding you to it, you know.”

“I fully intend to keep it.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, and his horse ambled down the path from the stable to the road.

She had planned to follow, to join the others in seeing him off, but as he grew smaller, she couldn’t bring herself to move. His scent hung in the air—leather and hints of horse and cloves—and as the silence settled about her, she finally gave up trying to hold back the flood of tears burning the backs of her eyeballs. 

#Lord of the Rings #LOTR AU #Boromir #Boromir fic #LOTR fanfic #Lord of the Rings Fanfic #Fan fiction #LOTR fanfiction #AU #Boromir x OC #Is it hot in here? #Romance #Sean Bean

[asgardianhobbit98]

Never Alone - Boromir X OC

relationship: Boromir x OC

fandom: Lord of the Rings

word count: 1421

story summary: alerted something bad might happen to his love, Boromir attempts to soothe his anxiety by ensuring she knows no matter the distance, he will always be there with her. His actions might just save her life.

inspired by Bram Stoker's The Chain of Destiny.  

notes: this was written for @heilith to try and cheer her up a little bit <3 she prompted me to publish it and I’ve finally gained the courage to do so too! It’s my first Boromir fic and on top of that, I haven't written anything in AGES o.o please be gentle with me

Made a little AU, hope you all enjoy it! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated

tag list: @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @knittastically @heilith @lathalea @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know

As the only female soldier in the ranks, Elydia had her own private room to get dressed in. Chainmail rattled as it poured over her bosom, before crinkling together around her waist as she put her belt on. She let her hands slide down her thighs a bit, for no reason really other than the fact she knew she had an audience; an audience, mind you, that liked the sight of his strong woman.

Grabbing a gauntlet, Elydia turned to offer a knowing look to the man whom had attempted to sneak in, but had failed incredibly due to his squeaky boots.

Boromir, son of the steward of Gondor, stood leaned against the doorway to the small room. He didn’t look surprised upon being caught, but he also did not reciprocate her smile.

Starting to tie her gauntlet so it sat taught against her arm, she tilted her head in a silent question to him. His continued silence prompted her to voice the question: “What has my beloved warrior looking so pouty?”

“I do not pout.”

Smirking slightly at succeeding to cut through his silence, Elydia focused her green eyes down at the gauntlet once more. “Mm… I did not want to say you were ‘brooding’. It gives away too much of my thoughts on you. After all, brooding is the sexy man’s pout.”

Boromir looked away from her only to try and contain a chuckle. This was not a time for light-hearted conversation. “I wish to talk to you.”

“What of, my love?”

“I had a disconcerting dream.”

Gauntlet finally tied as tightly as she liked it, she turned her gaze to him once more. “Disconcerting? How?”

“It was of you. You did not make it back.” He stepped inside the little changing room fully, and reached out to her waist, calloused fingers moving over chainmail shakingly. “You fell. You were alone, no one near to offer you courage to keep fighting. And you did not return home to me.”

“We promised each other we would not have these conversations. That we would trust in each other’s abilities. That is what you said when I worried for you last time.”

“I know.” His fingers stopped shaking as they grew heavier on her waist, trying to offer a gentle gesture of reassurance. She understood, and nodded her head to let him continue. “It was not your abilities that failed you. It was your belief of whether you could make it out. And…” He pulled out a little handkerchief embroidered once by a far smaller Boromir. His initials were in the corner – a rough job meant only to teach him how to mend clothes should he need it when out and about. The fine skills were usually only taught those seeking work within the artistry of sewing. This was the work of a warrior, and a precious gift to offer.

But the imagery…

Elydia could not help but giggle at it.

“Are you offering me a lady’s favour?” she joked.

“Please be serious.” The heaviness of his words shocked Elydia into letting her smile fall. “I wish for you to have it, so you know you are not alone. So you know, you are fighting to come back home.” He shoved it into her hands and then backed up as if to avoid her shoving it back at him.

Despite finding it beyond silly as this was nothing but a dream, Elydia did not motion to give it back to him. Instead, she stared at the handkerchief for a while, then moved to tie it around her wrist, initials in facing outward for her to see. Without a word, she turned away from him and grabbed her other gauntlet, putting it on over the little favour he had offered her.

In silence, he watched her ready the gauntlet, then the rest of her armour, and lastly attaching her sword to her belt. Only then did she turn to him and smile. “Maybe I don’t believe dreams can tell the future, but I can tell this will calm your anxious mind.” Gently, she placed a gloved hand on his chest, fingertips over the white tree embroidered onto his noble clothing. “I will keep it. And I will come back.”

He took her hand in his to lift her knuckles up to his lips. “Be safe, my lady.”

“My lord,” she greeted back, smile and blush a heavy indication of her feelings for him and her appreciation toward his gentle gesture.

…

A village within the borders of Gondor had reported issues of Orc attacks at night. Of course Elydia, one of their greatest warriors, was tasked with going along with her men. It would have been foolish to send anyone else.

But this Orc pack was not like the others. They were smarter than expected, and having taken them for granted, Elydia was mortified to find herself in the exact situation Boromir had described he’d dreamed about.

One by one her men fell around her, the darkness of the night allowing for only their screams to reach her ears as they fell – which only amplified the fear this situation caused her.

Her horse squealed in fear, and she did not blame him for throwing her off his back and bolting to safety.

But she was alone now. Truly alone.

The last of her men’s screams had died out a while back.

Orcs were surrounding her, taking their time with the last soldier standing (or… lying down, really) for their own sadistic satisfaction. She could easily reach for her sword and fight as it was not far away, but one arm was definitely broken from the fall, and she had a nasty gash on her leg – there was no way she could make it out alive. There was no reason to fight.

With a sigh, she let her helmeted head rest in the grass, ready for the slow and agonising death these Orcs were going to give her… when her eyes caught sight of her wrist. There, underneath the gauntlet, a little piece of fabric was visible… a tiny sliver of white amidst the dark of her surroundings… the white city… Boromir…

The favour!

“I will keep it. And I will come back.”

She clenched her jaw to face the pain, before reaching out to her sword to fight.

Fight to get back home.

To get back home to Boromir, as she had promised.

…

For how long she had been unconscious, Elydia did not know. All she did know was that when she next awoke from a hazy adrenaline rush of pure survival instinct and dissociation so the pain would not stop her from fighting and walking, and moving home, fingers were brushing through her hair.

Not her fingers though.

There was pain, yes, but she was comfortably wrapped up in a warm sheet on a fluffy bed and pillow. The fingers running through her hair offered a calming sensation that dulled the pain for a moment enough for her eyes to flutter open.

The fingers stilled, almost as if in shock, before another hand touched her cheek and turned her head ever so slightly to the side – her eyes reached those of Boromir sitting beside her bed. He looked tired, pale even… knowing him, he’d stayed by her side since the moment she was rushed in to have her wounds treated.

“My love…” Elydia whispered through a dry throat. Relieved she had made it, she attempted to move in some way closer to him, but the pain stopped her and so did Boromir’s hushing.

“Relax… You’re home.”

“Thanks to you.” Boromir’s eyes flickered down to the handkerchief still around her wrist. Despite her half conscious state of mind, she’d refused to let anyone touch it, not even to wash it of filth and blood. It was too precious to her, now for two reasons. “I should have listened to your dream…”

“It is alright. You made it back. And you will recover.”

“I will.” Elydia’s words were filled with determination, her stubbornness not going to let her body do anything but recover.

It made Boromir chuckle a bit. His beloved Elydia.

“Good.”

He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, but as he went to straighten back up, he regretted it halfway and instead leaned down to press another kiss to her nose… then her lips…

“I wasn’t alone…” Elydia whispered, sleepy once more. “That’s why…”

“And you will never be either,” Boromir promised before kissing her lips once more, lulling her to sleep...

AO3 link (limited access - only those with an account, sorry)

my carrd

thanks for reading. if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment

#the lord of the rings #boromir #boromir x oc #the lord of the rings fic #fanfiction #oneshot #my tolkien writing

[dancerinthestorm]

Fic Recs: Awesome OFCs edition

For some reason OCs tend to draw a lot of fire in certain fandom circles but I love them unapologetically. For me they are a brilliant way to add something new, something unexpected to a well known and well loved story. So, here‘s my utterly incomplete list of „fics that should be read for their awesome OFCs alone“.

Make way Lizzie Bennett, Sophie Hatter and Tiffany Aching, there are a some new girls in town! 😁

Theodora Byrne in @esta-elavaris epic "Catch the Wind" (AO3).

Oh dear, where to start. I am forever in love with Theo. I'd kill for her, I'd die for her. Her sass, her indomitable spirit, her way of throwing poor James Norrington off kilter. The whole story is just shy of 418k words and a beautiful, terrifying beast to behold. I unwisely started it on a Friday night shortly before going to bed and simply could not stop until my darling, long-suffering husband put his foot down on Sunday and made me eat, drink, shower, sleep and (most cruelly) sent me off on Monday morning to resume adulting.

I'm not sure if I should own up to it in public but to tell you the truth: I have not been able to pick it up since that day. Not because I do not want to (oh how I want to!) but because I am afraid. Afraid that the story will end and I am not ready for it. Afraid for what might happen to Theo and James. When I left them in chapter 63/101 they were happy, comfortable and (relatively) save but with the whole ordeal of "At World's End" still ahead of them.

Should you still put down everything else to read it? Yes! Absolutely! Go! Now! Shoo! And don't be a wuss like me, the story deserves so much more!

Pirates of the Carribeans. James Norrington x OFC. Rated E.

***

Nika in "This Destiny is Mine" (AO3) by @messy-insomniac-bookgirl

I knew I was done for when one of my favourite authors decided to let one of her gorgeous female leads tackle one of literature’s most heinous crimes: The fate of Boromir. No way I would not root for her, rage with her, fear for her, laugh with her. A beautifully nuanced and overall kick-ass female lead that I cannot get enough of.

The story itself is not too long yet and is intriguingly hard to place. The author calls it a fix-it. And it is... but also not... not really... It gives us an OFC but she's no 10th walker. It has already made me feel everything it is humanly possible to feel, sometimes within the span of one short chapter alone.

Amazing storytelling and I cannot wait to find out where this journey will take Nika.

Lord of the Rings. Boromir x OFC. Rated E.

***

Jenya in Bramandian0336's "Black Honey" (AO3)

Having to deal with the emotional hot house that is Kylo Ren/Ben Solo is nothing for the faint-hearted and calls for especially intrepid female leads. So, this list would be utterly incomplete without her.

Meet, Jeyna: historian, archeologist and - suddenly and unnervingly - subject of Kylo Ren's scrutiny. I absolutely devoured her stroy with all it's amazing world building, obscure Star Wars lore and action.

Star Wars. Kylo Ren/Ben Solo x OFC. Rated E.

***

Asta in "Where I am needed most" (AO3) by @scyllas-revenge

Unable or unwilling to commit to any of the literary behemoths above? Then I have just the thing for you! A beautiful one-shot set in the chaos of the Battle of Helm's Deep. Wonderfully dense story telling garnished with spot on characterizations. Headstrong, brave, resourceful, sharp-tongued Asta is a sight to behold and I could not get enough of her clashing with Eomer.

Eomer/OFC. Idiots in love, shouting matches and kisses. Rated T.

****

As mentioned: this list is totally incomplete. Please feel free to yell your own favourites at me in the comment section, regardless of fandom! 😁

And as always: a huge shout out to all the authors for your time, your talent and your dedication! You guys are absolute rock stars!

#fic recs #fanfiction #kick ass women in literature #james norrington x oc #kylo ren x oc #ben solo x oc #eomer x oc #eomer eadig x oc #boromir x oc #dancerinthestorm reads #and rambles #stories to cherish and re read for all eternity

[skeleton-in-a-cupboard]

You just can't look me right in the eyes and say that Boromir wouldn't be hanging on every someone's word who can talk about the Iliad, the Odyssey and Alexander the Great for hours.

#boromir #boromir au #boromir x oc #lotr #headcanon #fantasy #ancient greece #greek mythology #classical mythology #classical studies #books #lord of the rings #modern girl in middle earth

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Y - Yearning

For @lathalea. With a special mention of @scyllas-revenge's cat :D

Words: 1,1k

Pairing: Boromir x OC

Warnings: Boromir is not doing so well...

Boromir reread his letter for the 40th time—already, the paper was worn thin by his fingers in some spots and the creases of the repeated folding and unfolding had marred the once beautifully smooth paper.

He knew that he could have asked his younger brother for help, but his pride didn’t allow him to admit his doubts and insecurities openly—especially not to that smug scholar.

Faramir, of course, was now married to the Lady Éowyn and, thus, he was perpetually gleaming with happiness and self-satisfaction.

It was not that Boromir resented his brother for having found his well-deserved bliss, but he was also not eager to lay out his own shortcomings before one who was undeniably winning at life.

The mere idea that Faramir could pity him made him cringe and he forced his eyes to return to his truly unfortunate letter.

He had not been feeling this out of his depth for many years—once upon a time, he had suffered a great deal under the fact that his brother and their father shared a good many character traits and habits, and he had ever had the sensation that he was an outsider in his own family.

In times of war, his nature and hard-won skillset were exceptionally useful assets but in this period of the strenuous aftermath of a world-changing battle, he felt at a loss again.

If only he had paid better attention to his tutors, droning on and on about grammar, syntax, and poetry. Back in those days, all Boromir had been able to think about was martial and military prowess—and the safety of his realm in the face of the growing darkness.

He had done well, he told himself comfortingly; he had played his part in the victory of the free people against their terrible foe!

Even though he was ashamed of it, he had to admit that a part of him had not expected to return from that quest and, sometimes, he wondered dejectedly if it would not have been for the better if he had died a hero’s death far from Gondor.

His country needed a strong leader—a man both wise and temperate—and Boromir suspected that his gentle, intelligent brother would have been better suited to the role of steward in times of peace than he ever could.

Especially because King Elessar’s decision not to abolish their hereditary title meant that Boromir was to find a wife.

In order to achieve this—in the absence of his father and due to his petty refusal to ask his brother for help—Boromir would have to locate, woo, and win a lady of good standing on his own.

Finding one he would have died a thousand times over to call his had not been nearly as hard as he had expected it to be, but this made the subsequent steps all the more gruelling.

How could he possibly delude himself into believing that a woman like her—beautiful, well-bred, witty, and charming—would ever consider someone as uncouth as him as a romantic partner?

It was an extraordinarily stroke of bad luck that the lady who had utterly bewitched Boromir had told him explicitly that she would never marry for wealth or station.

“Only a true love match will sway me,” she had claimed with a wicked twinkle in her eyes.

Boromir had to admit that he had reacted rather haughtily to that statement, believing that she was insinuating—oh, it had been his hurt pride and fragile heart speaking—that he could only win over a lady by dangling his title in her face.

It was hopeless—he was doomed.

Again, he cursed himself for not having developed and cultivated his courtly manners more, because—as he perused his clumsy letter obsessively—he realised that his words didn’t even sound convincing to him, even though he had written them straight from the heart.

The tingling of a tiny bell—announcing the arrival of an unexpected but certainly not unwelcome friend—tore him out of his dark thoughts.

“Buisine,” Boromir called and, as he was completely and woefully alone, he even made little kissing noises at the animal to draw it closer. “Your mistress must be very worried about you!”

Jumping on the exceedingly comfortable-looking lap of the famed hero, the feline visitor rubbed his furry head against Boromir’s equally hairy chin in a wordless expression of support.

“Maybe I should let you walk over a fresh sheet of paper,” Boromir cooed at the cat. “I am sure that your inky pawprints could not be significantly less eloquent than whatever gibberish I have come up with.”

Buisine blinked slowly up at Boromir, inviting pets and purring encouragingly.

“If only your mistress was as easily charmed by me as you are,” Boromir chuckled as his rough, calloused fingers slid through the silken, elegantly striped fur of the stately animal.

The cat had taken to him instantly and they had been fast friends ever since the day Boromir had found it pawing at a clump of insects.

“I have food,” Boromir went on musing aloud, “and hands to hold and to caress. That is enough for you, but…What does it say about me that it seems so easy to me to confess all my grievances to you when I swallow my tongue as soon as I find myself in your lady’s presence?”

After accepting the strip of dried meat Boromir offered him, the rotund tomcat started cleaning himself on his lap; it was a calming situation and, slowly, Boromir’s nerves settled.

What was the worst thing that could happen? He’d simply send his awkward letter and hope for the best—if she was dissatisfied with it, he would at least get the chance to explain himself to her in person without having to bring up the subject without prelude.

“Buisine?” a melodious, distinctly female voice resounded. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Stretching out across Boromir’s thighs, the treacherous feline gave a loud, plaintive call.

“Traitor,” Boromir hissed and—for a second—it seemed to him that the cat was laughing at the sudden nervous flutter in his heart, betrayed by entirely unnecessary fidgeting with the straps and fastenings of his coat.

“Oh…there you are. My Lord Boromir,” the object of all his desires said, clearly taken aback, “you must not let him badger you so! Come here, you naughty bugger.”

Her eyes fell on the partially folded letter. “What have we here? Are you penning letters together?”

“Yes,” Boromir admitted dryly. “Buisine is helping me find the right words.”

“I sincerely doubt that, with all due respect,” she replied—amusement dancing in her eyes—and sat down by his side. “I could take a look though.”

Buisine gave a loud purr before curling up again, evidently considering that this was a job well done.

@fellowshipofthefics here's my second entry for the April Alphabet.

Special thanks to @lathalea (a great author, go check her out) for the request and to @scyllas-revenge for letting me borrow her cat (another great author, Scylla...not the cat).

Lots of love from me...

Tomorrow...Gondolin OT3

-> Masterlist

#og post #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt #LOTR #Boromir #Boromir x OC #Yearning #Y #April Alphabet #fotfics april alphabet #fellowshipofthefics

[scyllas-revenge]

Hi there! Just wanted to reach out as I'm going to start my annual re-read of BLCI and thank you for this work of art (no joke here) you have put out into the world :)

Know its been a while since the last chapter and completely understand that life can get in the way but I sincerely sincerely wish you do have plans to continue it :) If you have any Beeromir (?? not sure if there is a ship name? Can't figure out how to do the squared symbol on my laptop for B squared...) tidbits that you are willing to share I would be forever grateful.

Thank you again!! :)

ANNUAL REREAD??

I'm trying- and failing- to find the right words to express how much this means to me. Thank you so much!! I am hugging this ask to my heart (or I would if I wasn't scared I'd break my laptop). And thank you for not giving up on me- I never meant to go on a hiatus at all, although I did realize that there were still some plot points I needed to iron out before I could move forward with the fic. And then yeah life got in the way. Still, things are looking up- I turned 30, found a therapist, am taking ADHD meds, got an inhaler, traveled solo overseas for the first time, saw the northern lights- I am unstoppable!! XD

ANYWAY! I am very much still working on this fic, and I have a good chunk of the next chapters done. I don't trust myself to give a specific date lol, but it'll be updated again, I promise!

I'm pretty sure at some point I shared the first few paragraphs of the next chapter on tumblr in another ask, but I'll post the beginning of the chapter here as proof that progress is underway and as a thank you for such a wonderful ask! Feel free to reach out any time to chat about fanfics or fandom stuff in general <3

Chapter 33 snippet:

Damn it, the AC is out again.

That was my first disoriented thought as I woke up, overheated and uncomfortably flushed. I tried to wipe the perspiration from my forehead, but my right arm was trapped at my side, numbness buzzing down my fingers. Huh? Sluggishly, my eyes creaked open—and all at once my heartbeat accelerated so fast the cabin seemed to spin.

Boromir’s chest was pressed against my face. The warmth of his skin nearly burned through his rumpled undershirt, and the weight of his torso was squashing my nose into a pancake. He must have rolled over in his sleep, because he was nearly sprawled out on top of me now, his chest and shoulder pinning the right half of my body to the mattress, one of his legs thrown over mine from inside his crumpled bedroll. He was snoring softly.

Oh. A giddy, guilty laugh bubbled up in my chest, and I smiled against his skin. How had I thought this was uncomfortable? I could have stayed here forever, Boromir’s body draped over me like a weighted blanket, his slow exhales ruffling my hair. 

But beyond the bulk of his torso and our tangled mess of blankets, a weak ray of sunlight had filtered into the cabin through the crooked shutters hanging over the window. It was morning. 

Arm’s length, I’d promised myself. Keep him at arm’s length, starting tomorrow. And now tomorrow was here.

My heart sinking, I poked at his side with my free hand. “Boromir? Hey—Boromir? You have to wake up.”

“Y’r voice…” His voice was thick with sleep, slurred and low, and his right hand slid blindly along my bedroll to splay possessively against my hip. “Mmm, Valar, say m’ name again…”

Heat of an entirely different kind flooded my limbs, and I shoved at his chest in a near panic. “Boromir, wake up!”

“Eh?” Boromir staggered to his feet so quickly I thought the bed frame might break under us. “Beatrice!” He was breathing hard as he turned to face me, dashing a hand through his hair. 

I stared up at him, unable to move, trying and failing to look as though I wasn’t about to burst into flames. “Good morning,” I croaked.

#answered! #burn like cold iron #lotr fanfic #boromir x oc #i have the nicest mutuals i want to cry

[mimilind]

Stranger of the Falls - Part 6

Pairing: Boromir x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2400

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

Full story: [ AO3 ]

※※※

6. Defense

You twirled a smooth horn between your hands. Boromir had made it from a curved ram’s horn, drilling a hole in it and turning it into a sort of trumpet. Should the enemy approach you would blow it and alert everybody. 

You were on the lookout that evening; Boromir had divided the nights into watches and now it was your turn. You sat on a rooftop and observed the deserted plains in the growing darkness.

A few days had passed since the village prepared for war, and the dreary darkness from Mordor had finally disappeared, blown away by a fresh south-west breeze. Nothing had happened yet, and you were hoping it never would. Without the strange darkness to hide them, the orcs probably wouldn’t dare venture this far.

Even if Boromir had a plan, no plan was foolproof.

You wished you knew how the war went, but no news had reached you since you learned about the attack of Cair Andros. It felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for something – be it good or bad. 

It made you restless and nervous.

You heard steps from below and turned to see Maja approaching you. “My mama needs you. It is time!”

You were about to climb down and fetch a replacement lookout when something else caught your attention: a group of people coming running across the southwestern plains. They were far away still, but heading to the village. 

No… not people. Orcs! You noticed their crooked swords and axes now.

The sight filled you with cool tendrils of fear. This was it. War. War was upon you!

You remembered the horn and blew it, producing a dull hoot. As you climbed down from your post, you blew and blew and blew, and from all doors around you people came out.

Boromir was among the first to reach you. He looked alert and strangely excited.

“The enemy army is here,” you told him. It came out like a terrified squeak. 

He observed the orcs briefly. “No, just a minor band, thirty or so at the most. Raiders perhaps, or deserters. With our precautions we should take them easily.” He turned to Vidar. “Take a lantern and wait for my signal over by the trench. Be sure not to drop it until every orc has crossed.”

You tried to swallow but your throat felt too narrow and too dry. Was this the last time you saw these men? Vidar… and Boromir.

You wanted to tell him to be careful but no longer trusted your voice.

“What about Mama?” Maja asked, pulling at your sleeve. “The child is coming.”

Boromir looked at her, then you. A fierce, crooked grin broke out in his face and he pressed your trembling shoulder encouragingly. “Then you deliver the child and I deal with the orcs. I will be seeing you!” 

You nodded. Deliver the baby. That you could do.

As soon as you entered Sigrid’s house you became completely calm. There was a patient needing your help and until she and the baby were safe you had no time to worry about orc attacks.

※

You could not say how much time had passed when you finally laid the wailing infant on her mother’s chest. It had not been an easy birth.

“Thank you,” Sigrid said tiredly. “Damn Torsten for putting this little monster in me and then riding off to war.” She stroked the baby’s damp head. “He thought it was a boy but I knew it would be a girl. When he returns I shall gloat at him that I won.”

Something about the way she said ‘when he returns’ made you want to cry. She did not think he would. 

But then you remembered about the orcs and your heartbeat increased. Had Boromir made it? 

You ran out. Guttural yells and clangs of steel reached you from beyond the palisade and you ran to the gate, expecting the worst. 

You were met by a spectacular sight. A burning ring surrounded the village, sending sparks and bright tongues of fire high into the air. Within the ring lay a litter of dark corpses in the grass, and others hung skewered on the sharp lances along the palisade. Some were still writhing in death throes; Vidar walked among them, grimly beheading anyone moving.

Boromir was chasing two last orcs on Svarten. He sat tall and formidable, driving them before him like Béma the Hunter himself. His face was streaked with soot and his hands covered in black blood.

This was his right element, here in the midst of battle, bravely protecting people.

You had never admired him more.

Desperate to evade the menacing pursuer, the orcs leaped through the fire, but the burning tar stuck on their boots and turned them into living torches.

Svarten easily jumped over the trench and followed them. Two neat sword slashes later and the orcs fell to the ground in reeking piles.

It was over.

※

Other villagers had joined you at the gate, now a loud cheer broke out. He had made it! The village had withstood the attack!

Boromir dismounted. Standing there tall, proud, victorious. Beautiful.

“After tonight, I will no longer call you ‘Främling’,” said Vidar. “You are no stranger to us anymore. Hence, since you still do not remember your name, I say we name you ‘Hjälte’! For, you are a true hero, and we are blessed to have you among us.”

His words were met by an even louder cheer and Boromir graciously bowed. “It was the least I could do after you took me in so generously.”

Everyone then helped put out the fire with buckets of sand and refill the trench with tar in case of new attacks. Like Boromir had said, this had only been a small band. They could be forerunners or scouts from a larger army.

Afterwards, you walked home beside Boromir almost shyly. For the first time, you had seen warrior-him in action. You wanted to hug him and tell him how glad you were that he had survived, but felt too intimidated.

“Thank you for saving us,” you said instead. “The ring of flames was fantastic.”

“It worked better than I had dared hope,” he said proudly. “I got the idea from a place called Moria where I once saw orcs hesitate before a burning chasm. Not one of my best memories, but this time it was helpful.” 

Back in the house, you noticed red blood in the water when he cleaned his hands. 

“You are hurt,” you said worriedly.

“A mere nick.”

“Let me treat it. There could be poison on their weapons this time also.”

Like the other day, your concern seemed to amuse him, but he obediently sat at the table and held out his hand.

You sat next to him, putting a generous amount of ointment on the cut and binding it neatly.

Still with his hand in yours, you looked at his beautiful face. You could not express your gratitude with words. He saved you; all of you. Maja and her mother, the newborn baby, Vidar, little Kalle, everyone had him to thank for their life.

This handsome, kind, generous man was truly a gift to your people. To you. You had never met anyone like him.

You admired him so much. Held him in such high regard… no. More than that.

You loved him.

Part of what you felt must have shown in your eyes, for Boromir gently eased his hand from yours and rose. “We must get some rest.” But instead of stretching out on the bed, he leaned back in your comfortable chair. 

At your surprised look, he explained: “Long have I been imposing on your hospitality. You should have your bed to yourself.“

“I do not mind sharing,” you said earnestly, feeling a lump in your throat. He was pushing you away. Creating a distance.

“You already did so much for me,” he said seriously. “I never even thanked you for saving my life. Twice. First you healed me, and then your faith in me and stubbornness hindered me from taking the cowardly way out. This way is better; I can do some good now. And for that, you shall always have my heartfelt gratitude.”

His words shook you to the core. This way is better. 

Did he mean to die in battle?

Now you saw the scene earlier in a new light. Boromir’s excitement before the fight; his heroic charge against over thirty orcs. It was not courage. It was the fearlessness of one who had nothing to lose. 

Was he still choosing the cowardly way out, but disguising it as bravery?

You did not say anything of what you were thinking. Instead you tried to hide your dismay and make your voice steady. “I am a healer; it is what I do. Think nothing of it.” 

You went to bed, ignoring how large and empty it felt, and exhausted after the long night’s events you fell asleep almost immediately.

※

The next morning, Boromir, Vidar and you went out to gather the orc carcasses, piling them up and setting them on fire. While you were working, a group of riders approached from the same direction the orcs had come. They were Rohirrim!

As they came closer, you felt your heart soar with relief. It was people from your village, as well as the neighboring ones. Jan, Ragnar, Karl, Torsten, all the rest of them. They had survived! Did that mean the war was over?

“Welcome back!” Vidar waved excitedly. 

The men looked weary, but relieved when they saw your pyre. “Béma be blessed. We were worried we would find naught but smoking embers like in so many other villages. We have been tracking these orcs for days and found only ruins and homeless refugees in their wake – until now. How did you defeat them?”

You proudly indicated Boromir. “We had help.”

Torsten cut in: “Why, if it is not Lord Främling! You look well. I am glad you made it.”

“He is Lord Hjälte now,” said Vidar.

"Congratulations on becoming a father again, Torsten,” you said.

“The child is born? And everything went well?” He leaped off the horse in a smooth jump. “I have to go see them at once. Was it a son? No, say nothing, I know it was. I have a talent for guessing these things.”

You smiled smugly as he hurried off.

Meanwhile the other riders filled you in with news from the war, at long last. A lot had happened. Théoden King and his riders found their way to Gondor blocked by the orcs at Cair Andros just as Boromir had feared, but got unexpected aid by a people who dwelled in the mountains and took them on a shortcut to Minas Tirith, capital of Gondor, just in time to save the day and help defeating Sauron’s enormous host. 

They then described the battle in detail, encouraged by a barrage of questions from Boromir. 

There had been many losses and injuries. Théoden King was dead, and his niece Éowyn, who unexpectedly joined the army, was badly hurt. Her brother Éomer would become the new King of Rohan. 

Another man who died was Denethor, the Steward of Gondor. Boromir’s father. 

“Poor old fellow; they say he lost his mind and burned himself alive, broken with grief after what happened to his sons,” said Ragnar, unaware that one of them was standing right in front of him. “The eldest was killed in battle in the north prior to the war, you see.”

Boromir did not betray any emotions at the news, but you saw his fists clench and his whole stance become rigid. 

You wished you could hug him. What a gruesome way for a man to die!

“And the youngest?” His gaze was intent.

“Hurt in battle, but Lord Aragorn healed him. He is greatly improved; they say he will survive.”

Boromir grew visibly less tense. “And what now? You said this mysterious heir to the throne has appeared, this Lord Aragorn. What are his plans? The Dark Lord lives, and although he lost a battle, he will return with renewed force soon enough.”

Ragnar shifted uneasily. “Lord Aragorn is on his way to Mordor. It is a ruse, and he does not expect to survive, but…” He lowered his voice. “There is a secret, powerful item, you see… a ring, they say, a ring of power. It was forged by Sauron a long time ago and if he can get it back he will use it to usurp the entire world. But a brave young halfling is on a secret mission to cast the ring into the fires where it was once wrought. A halfling is–”

“I know what a halfling is.” Boromir had grown very pale.

“Oh. Well, so Lord Aragorn has decided to make this decoy attack to distract the enemy, hence increasing the chances for the halfling to succeed. I know, it sounds impossible, but Aragorn believes it might work, and nearly everyone is following him there.”

“But not you?”

He blushed hotly. “He sent us to free Cair Andros. Us and some others…”

“We were afraid and did not want to die,” Karl cut in. “We have families waiting for us. He saw that and released us. A good man, he is. And a great king, if he survives.”

“We bested the army at Cair Andros,” said Ragnar. “This group we were tracing were the last survivors.”

After exchanging a few more words the men left you, eager to go see their families now that their task was finally over. 

Boromir left too, with a curt “I shall take a walk” that made it clear he did not want company.

You looked long after him.

※

That night Boromir moved out of your house. He said he was no longer a patient, and did not want to impose on your hospitality. Therefore he had arranged with Vidar to sleep in his spare room.

Your stomach grew tight; you knew what this was about. He wanted to keep a distance from you, and you were fairly sure it was because he suspected you had feelings for him.

“I am happy for Vidar’s sake,” you said, smiling forcedly. “He has been lonely since his wife passed away.”

“Goodnight then.” He bowed and left.

”Goodnight.”

You went to lie in your empty bed. And then you cried.

※※※

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

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#boromir #boromir x reader #boromir fanfiction #boromir x oc #boromir x you #boromir lives au #lotr #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings #hurt/comfort #healing #heroism #Stranger of the Falls

[sotwk]

I am pleased to announce the fanfic projects I have decided to prioritize and tackle for my attempt to participate in this year's NaNoWriMo event!

This announcement is also my way of requesting everyone's patience for any delays in fic/hc requests, asks, or messages that I have yet to respond to. I am slowing down or putting those on hold for this month so I can properly give my attention to the NaNo goal.

My personal NaNo goal is not so much to hit 50K words, but to write fanfic words every single day for the whole month. Therefore, none of these projects will likely be finished by the end of November (except maybe the THAUC fic because deadlines), but I hope to make at least some decent progress on them.

I hope the works I produce from this month will sufficiently reward your patience and understanding. ❤️

Project One:

This is for the @fellowshipofthefics writing event, "The Hobbit: An Unexpected Collaboration". I cannot reveal any details other than it will feature Legolas!

Project Two:

Other Paths We Might Take - Boromir x OC - Multi-chapter

Spin-off sequel to my Reader one-shot, "Breathe". This is my "Boromir Lives" story, rooted in the SotWK AU. (Every story in the SotWK AU links to Thranduil and/or his family to some degree.)

This tale focuses on Boromir's romance with a commoner from Gondor, which began in TA 3008 when he was a newly-appointed Captain of Gondor. Their relationship encounters numerous obstacles leading up to his departure for Rivendell. How does Boromir survive Amon Hen, and will this AU path lead him back to his true love?

Special thanks to @scyllas-revenge who is the muse of this story and my untiring cheerleader.

Project Three:

Change the Stars - Eomer x OC - Multi-chapter

Spin-off sequel to my Reader fic, "Taken". Also set in the SotWK AU, this story will continue the angsty romance of this pair (and switch out of "Reader" mode to OC), once I've completed and posted "Part 3" of "Taken".

It will delve into the history of Eomer and his beloved shield-maiden, with flashbacks to their shared youth, while taking us through the rest of their seemingly(?) ill-fated but sweeping love story.

I would love to discuss any of the above with you, so please don't hesitate to send Asks or Messages or Smoke Signals!

Please support all your writer friends during NaNoWriMo, as this can be a bit of a stressful month for us. (Yes I know it's self-inflicted, but honestly we are doing it because we are trying to improve ourselves as writers!)

Thank you as always to the kind friends who regularly send me love and support. <3

#sotwk fanfiction #sotwk announcement #lotr #tolkien #eomer #boromir #legolas #thranduil #the hobbit #fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #nanowrimo #nano 2023 #sotwk does nano #eomer fanfiction #boromir fanfiction #legolas fanfiction #eomer x oc #boromir x oc #lotr fanfic #lotr au

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 22: Picking - Boromir/OC [1,366 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here, and my currently ongoing main fic about these two is here 💜✨

Sybil cast a sidelong glance in Boromir’s direction for the hundredth time that day – and, for the hundredth time that day, was promptly caught.

“If you keep looking at me thus, I’ll begin to think you suspect me of planning a sneak attack,” he teased.

“I only worry that you’re-”

“I am not bored.”

He had been sitting on the same boulder for some time now – watching her pick her way through various patches of flora, discerning what she might take and what she would leave. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have been too concerned, but this was the fourth or fifth such perch he’d had to find so far, as they’d come here in the pale morning and now the midday heat was finally easing up. None could blame him if he sought a more exciting venture.

“And watching someone pick herbs and flowers is a source of fascination for you, is it?” she asked.

At present, she was picking her way through a patch of delicate red berries, depositing handfuls here and there into the wicker basket at her elbow. Her hair rebelled against the braid she’d bound it into that morning, and the knees of her breeches muddy from kneeling so frequently on the damp earth.

“When the one doing the picking is the most beautiful maid in all of Middle-earth, it most certainly is.”

She scoffed at him, but the flush that took over her cheeks ruined the effect rather.

“You think I jest?” he prodded as she worked.

He had to find his fun somewhere, and evidently he had decided that place would be in teasing her.

“When a man who has looked upon the Lady Galadriel says such things, he must know his words have the sound of a lie when he speaks them,” she replied.

“I should think that only proves the point in my words,” he countered lazily. “I looked upon the Lady of the Golden Wood, and in comparison to you, I found her wanting indeed.”

Sybil laughed. How could she not, in the face of such absurdity. It seemed her mirth was something he was hoping to pry out of her, for he grinned in turn as she dropped her hands to her lap and knelt back as she responded.

“Do not let Gimli hear you say such things. He’d challenge you to a duel on the spot.”

“I would take that challenge in a heartbeat - against any who might suggest my lady love has an equal that walks under this sun.”

“You are a dreadful flirt.”

As she levelled her conclusion his way, she stood and straightened.

“I speak the truth and she calls me dreadful,” he sighed fretfully to himself – with no shortage of melodrama. “What hope have I in winning her heart?”

“Plenty, considering you’re married to her.”

“Ah, but it would not do to grow complacent. I won your hand once, tis true, but I mean to never stop winning it.”

Sybil felt her smile soften.

“You do that solely by breathing, you do realise?”

“Come now, you mustn’t make it too easy for me. Name your challenge and I will take it on, all for the honour of your hand.”

Giggling a little, she shook her head and then looked up. Her progress across the course of the morning had brought her to the foot of a steep rocky outcropping, so steep that what was as good as a cliff face towered over her. There was a small patch of weeds, huddled together on a small shelf a few feet above her head – but she didn’t much fancy trying to climb while wielding sharp implements. Not least because if she fell, she’d land straight into the plants she’d just been sifting through, and most of them had thorns.

“Use your great height to fetch me those plants, then?” she suggested.

It looked as though he’d truly meant it when he sought a challenge from her, following her gaze and nodding readily as he stood.

“Here, take my shears – don’t pluck them, but cut them. At an angle, like so.”

As she spoke, she made to show him the ones she’d already collected, but he scarcely glanced at them, eyeing the shelf.

“I have a better idea. Set the basket down. I’ll lift you.”

“Lift me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“One would think I’d never done so before.”

Her face heated. For she knew what occasions he was referring to, and they weren’t the ones that had occurred on their travels – not based on the lopsided grin that tugged at his lips.

“That is very different.”

“True – on those occasions I’m far more distracted. So if you can trust me then, you can trust me now.”

“I trust you always,” she snorted. “I’ve just no wish to fall while holding sharp, pointed objects.”

“Then do not fall,” he said with a cheeky grin.

Sybil huffed a laugh, but relented and set the basket down – out of fall-breaking distance, should she go toppling. It was unlikely that she would, he was right, but a basketful of squashed spoils would be poor reward for a day of gathering.

“How do you propose we do this, then?” she asked.

Rubbing at his jaw, he cast his gaze up towards the plants, considered them a moment, and then her.

“Here,” he said. “Stand straight, and keep your lower body tensed. Are you ready?”

Following his instruction, she turned to face the rock face and nodded. Boromir crouched down low – stupidly low, as he had to in order to wrap his great strong arms around her legs. Then, slowly, he stood, lifting her as he did so. Sybil wobbled.

“See, when I said to remain tense, I did not mean that you should go lax and do that. But it was an easy mistake to make, I suppose,” he teased.

“Oh, shut up.”

He barked a boisterous laugh in response, nudging his head against her hip, his arms wrapped securely about her legs, hands gripping her thighs. It was tempting to accuse him of having far too much fun – but it wasn’t as if she wasn’t enjoying it, either. After a moment she managed to gain her bearings.

“Steady?” he asked, upon feeling her muscles tense beneath his grip.

“A little higher, if you can?”

“If I can,” he echoed with a scoff as though offended.

Perhaps he had a right to be, too, for he obeyed with alarming ease – his strength never failing to thrill her as he heaved her upwards another foot or two. The move put her perfectly face to face with her quarry, and a few seconds were all she needed to snip what she needed.

“I’m done,” she said. “You can put me down.”

“What if I have no wish to?”

“Then your arms will grow very tired.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Absolutely not,” she said emphatically – for she knew better than to level challenges his way.

“Cast the scissors aside a moment,” he jerked his head, indicating where she should throw them.

“Why?”

“Because your lord husband commands it.”

And he should have known better than to say things like that to her. Sybil got her revenge by taking up a handful of grass from the shelf and sprinkling it down atop his head. He seemed woefully unbothered by her sophisticated method of attack. With a sigh – and the knowledge that she’d be up here ‘til sunset if she didn’t concede – she cast the scissors aside.

It was a good thing, too, for one moment he held her aloft and the neck she was plummeting down, some alarmingly swift manoeuvring on his part had him catching her in a bridal style carry before she could even cry out or brace for the impact of the ground.

“How did you do that?” she breathed a laugh.

The hand that hadn’t come to cling to his shoulders of its own volition still grasped her prize – and they weren’t even all that wilted in the fall. In response to her question, he merely grinned and then offered a very self-satisfied wink. The effect was not ruined by the grass that still clung to his hair.

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

#esta's flufftober '23 fills #flufftober2023 #flufftober 2023 #boromir/sybil #boromir x oc #boromir/oc #boromir fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #lotrfic #lotr fanfic