#boromir you fool

[gandalf-the-fool]

#aragorn broken toe #the lord of the rings #the lord of the rings memes #lotr #lotr memes #aragorn #viggo mortensen #gandalf #merry and pippin #middle earth #jrr tolkien #tolkien memes #elrond #legolas #gimli #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #the fellowship of the ring #the two towers #the return of the king #did you know #viggo mortensen broke his toe #aragorn kick #sauron #gandalf the grey #gandalf the fool #gandalf the white #rivendell #boromir #orcs

[erotetica]

Also if the silmarillion is lotr where the grand valor is futile, bc there is no small folk B plot, then fingolfin is theoden who gave into the desire to be selfish in his grief

#headcanon #I mean the hobbits is A plot but you get me #*movie theoden but like. fuck you #it’s *theoden. #’who am i gamling’ ‘you are our king’ ‘ok that’s not what I asked but more fool me for asking you; specifically’ #the party after helms deep where he tries to tell eowyn how he lost it during the battle and Aragorn had to pick it up #and Miranda Otto plays it like *stares in incapability to be parentified PLUS THE LAYER of fealty for a sovereign* #‘ever has this flower grown on the tombs of my forebears’ ‘you have four bears?’ is my favorite meme #but Gandalf is. not much gentler tbh!! nor is he to denethor abt boromir! #which is valid bc happs are fuckening. which is my point. #king responsibility trumps personal grief #FINWE NOLOFINWE SAID FUCK YOUR DOOR #he rode out for death and glory and there was no Aragorn to remind him it was for Rohan. #there was no eowyn to pull him out from under morgoths nasty ass foot!! fuck!! #tolkien #lotr #it’s about [the burden of insurmountable stress] #this works just roundly speaking but I guess I should mention I think lalwen died in the bragollach. so. that too

[samwises-potsandpans]

Welcome!

This is an LOTR/Hobbit blog! I will be posting things about my favorite characters and such.

Everything on this blog will be SFW, except for minor cuss words when necessary.

I am creating a tagging system of sorts. It’ll be for all of the stuff I’ve either reblogged or created. It’s still a work in progress:

#leggy your ada is here: Any Legolas content

#samwise my brave samwise: Any Samwise content

#kili how dare you die (angry/affectionately): Any Kili content

#tauriel deserved better: Any Tauriel content

#my dear frodo: Any Frodo content

#nearamir faramir: Any Faramir content

#aragorn son of arathorn son of….: Any Aragorn content

#arwen got what she deserved which is aragorn: Any Arwen content

#pippin you fool: Any Pippin content

#blibo baggins of bag-end: Any Bilbo content

#thranduil your leggy is here: Any Thranduil content

#eowyn is no man: Any Eowyn content

#merry you not-fool: Any Merry content

#boromir shouldn’t have died: Any Boromir content

Enjoy!

#leggy your ada is here #kili how dare you die (affectionately) #samwise my brave samwise #tauriel deserved better #my dear frodo #nearamir faramir #aragorn son of arathorn son of….. #arwen got what she deserved which is aragorn #pippin you fool #blibo baggins of bag end #thranduil your leggy is here #eowyn is no man #merry you not-fool #boromir shouldn’t have died

[edges-of-night]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request something? Fellowship x reader where the reader gets injured in a battle or something and confessed their feelings before passing out… and when they wake up they find out their feelings r returned 🤭 I love ur requests they r so very cute! Thank u!

That was such a lovely request to write, nonnie! I’m really sorry you had to wait for it so long. Also, thank you for your kind words!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Initially, Aragorn would not treat you much differently after your recovery – so much so that you start wondering if you actually confessed your feelings to him or hallucinated that whole part. But all Aragorn wants to do is find the right moment to talk to you. Once he does, he’d gently take your hands in his and tell you how much you mean to him – and that your feelings are in fact reciprocated! Confessing your love first gave him the courage to do the same. “I am not well versed in these fields. But I hope I can show you my heart just as bluntly as you did yours.”

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir would not be around when you wake up. The others tell you he was simply shocked by your passing out and that he needed time to adjust and would be overjoyed to hear you’re fine – but you suspect it would be something else that scared him away. You’d find him pondering in a lone corner, afraid of how he’ll react to seeing you again – only to see his hardened face light up when your eyes meet his – and then he’d rush to kiss you! “I’ve been a fool for not understanding it sooner. Forgive me…!” ♡

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

I like to think that out of the Fellowship, Frodo would be the most mature to handle your love confession. After all, he knows your injuries aren’t lethal and worries not about what happens next, since he is very clear in his own feelings. After you wake up, he greets you with a smile, takes your hand to make sure you’re fine – and lowers his voice to say, “I’ll call the others right away. But before that, I need you to remember the last thing you said to me. I feel the same.” He’d give you the cutest smile, shining all the way up to his blue eyes.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf, being the one who tried to heal you in the moment you passed out, tries ignoring your dramatic love confession and silently urges the others to forget what they overheard. That said, he is very flattered – after all, he’s been enamoured with you for a while now. Still, his romance is quiet and subdued. He’d sit next to you with a smile when you wake up. At first, you thought his behaviour was unchanged – until he ends his sentences toward you with “darling” or “my dear”. There is a playful spark in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know. (Eventually, he would also spell out ‘I love you too’ in fireworks or butterflies!)

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Gimli stays with you during your recovery, guarding your bed day and night, so dutifully that the others need to remind him of eating. Once you wake up, you’d meet his soft eyes, only to watch them harden when you try to speak to him: “Don’t do that again! Ever!” – “What? Talk to you…?” – “Scare me like that!” he corrects, grumbling into his beard. “What’s a lad supposed to do when his sweetheart passes out in his arms?” You smile blissfully as you understand and offer him a hug that Gimli more than eagerly returns!

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Legolas is entirely stumped when you pass out after that dramatic “I love you”. There is a frown on his pretty face for the next few hours, waiting for you to wake up again. When you do, you’re terribly embarrassed by the way he’s staring at you through his Elven eyes. He’d fixate you and ask, “Did you mean it? What you said to me?” You’d blush and retort that yes, of course you meant it – and that is enough to make his bright smile and joy return. “What a relief! I feared that if it had been but a fever, my reciprocation would ring false, or sound like a mockery. Please know it’s nothing but the truth!” And he’d take your hands and lean in for a quick and happy kiss!

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

At first, Merry would not believe what he heard just before you passed out. During your recovery, he retreats into dark corners to think and rationalise – people say all kinds of stupid things when they thought they were about to die, right? You couldn’t possibly be in love with him – not when there are so many other people – taller people – all around you. So, imagine his surprise when you do ask him for a private conversation after waking up, to set everything straight. Only Merry doesn’t accept your apology. “What’s there to apologise for? You said what you felt in that moment. It’s not like I didn’t like what I heard, I feel the same, after all…” And then, you both share an ‘oh!’ moment before you laugh and fall into the other’s arms!

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin would initially be overwhelmed by your confession and subsequent passing out. However, he’s positive you’ll be fine, firmly believing that no matter how important, these matters needn’t be so dramatic. He’d treat you as casually as always after your recovery, though you can’t deny there is a spring in his steps and a smile on his face whenever you’re talking. You now know that your feelings are returned, and yet you still blush when he tells you over a shared bowl of strawberries: “I don’t think I’ve told you yet, but I love you, too! Very much so! I’ve thought of a few different pet names to call you, but I wanted to clarify that first. So, just tell me which one you like best…”

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Sam would not leave your side, no matter how long you were passed out. Whenever someone would try and tear him away, he’d explain that he has something very important to discuss with you when you wake up. He would practice romantic speeches and poems to recite for you, really thinking the whole thing through – only to remain absolutely speechless when your eyes do meet his. After your initial greeting – “Thank goodness you’re alive!” – he’d just hold your hand and ask you to stay with him ♡

#lotr imagine #lotr headcanons #lotr x reader #aragorn x reader #boromir x reader #frodo x reader #gandalf x reader #gimli x reader #legolas x reader #merry x reader #pippin x reader #samwise x reader #* ask #* request #* hurt/comfort #* fluffy #also sidenote: i love love love that giffed moment of sam rushing to frodo's side haha <3

[ironmandeficiency]

the fellowship + romance

characters included: aragorn, boromir, gimli, legolas, pippin

word count: 1177

summary: just some soft shit bc these men are all sappier than any tree in the greenwood

a/n: there’s still an overwhelming lack of gimli content that needs to be fixed and i will do my part

aragorn 🗡️

aragorn’s quiet presence is the warmest blanket on a cold night, the first bite of a meal you slaved over for hours, every comfort you’ve ever experienced

he’s never been one for overwhelming displays of his affections; instead, he shows you in simple ways that add up - giving you the more full bowls of broth, laying his blanket over you if he notices you shivering during night watch, sharpening your weapons (this one had gimli nearly brought to tears by the devotion it spoke of), anything that helps your days pass easier

he grew up around stories of elves who committed astounding feats in the name of those they loved, fighting wars and risking their lives with alarming frequency. but none of them ever talked about the everyday ways they showed love. his mother taught him what she could about those things, stories of his father’s steady presence and stalwart love for his family. a young aragorn took these lessons to heart and used them when the time was right

it was why, when he caught his heart skipping beats around you, he let his actions do the speaking for him. without fail you would thank him with a soft smile, slowly coming to realize that aragorn felt something much deeper for you than camaraderie. when you woke up early one morning to find your weapons sharper than they were the day before (not for the first time), you went straight to aragorn and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. he nearly dropped your bowl of stew in his flustered state

having your affections secured didn’t mean he stopped his small acts of kindness, it did quite the opposite. it just made him bolder and more confident in his actions

boromir 🍻

this man is so damn tactile it’s ridiculous

if you’re the cuddly type like he is, it makes him all the more eager to always have some form of physical contact with you, no matter where you may be

unless you tell him to back off, he is always touching you one way or another. a gentle hand on the small of your back, your pinkies interlocked, an arm wrapped around your shoulder, anything to keep you close to him

his favorite time of day eventually becomes the end of it, because that’s when he can hold you close and whisper soft words of love in your ear while he holds you. he makes it his goal to give you a goodnight kiss every night you spend together

the best cuddle position in his mind is you leaning your back against his chest, one of his hands resting on your hip where his thumb rubs small circles above the bone, and his chin resting on your shoulder just right to where he can turn his head to kiss your cheek or burrow his face into your neck

gimli 🛡️

valiantly is the best way to describe how gimli approaches any situation he comes upon, including (and especially) matters of the heart

this is a dwarf who says what he means & means what he says, who does nothing that he wouldn’t be proud of the next day. because of this, you couldn’t find it in you to not believe him when he professed his love for you with such unwavering confidence you were nearly brought to tears. gimli never said anything just because his lips could move so you simply had to believe him

will do you favors big and small simply because he wants to help you however possible. you can’t remember the last time you carried your own pack or made your own bowl of soup. if you encouraged him (which you wouldn’t), this romantic fool would not let you lift another finger for as long as you both live

he grew up watching his parents with keen eyes, his adad showing him by example how a true dwarf treats their one. he embodies these lessons with every interaction with you, striving to be the one you deserve him to be. it ranges from the ferocity of his protection to opening doors for you. may mahal strike him down if he ever hurts you

he just wants to be a dwarf you’re proud to love, proud to call yours

legolas 🏹

physical affection can be difficult for him, but one thing legolas is good at doing is speaking his mind and his heart

if you thought his regular speaking pattern was overflowing with poetic descriptors, you’ve heard nothing compared to when he’s being truly romantic. no one you’d been with before had ever described you with such beautiful prose, never whispered soft poetry about your eyes to lull you to sleep

and he’s a cheeky bastard about it too! it’ll be a regular conversation between friends, nothing important, then BAM! he’s making quippy one-liners about your overwhelming skill/beauty/personality that catch you off guard and has your friends cackling at your flustered reaction to his flattery

even better, his praise will often include sindarin and on the off chance you don’t speak it, you’ll have to gauge the meaning from the silent looks shared between your dear elf and aragorn (doesn’t really work). eventually legolas tells you what some of them mean; after all, he needs to have an element of intrigue about him or his name isn’t legolas thranduillion

he carries a lot of pride for you and will brag about you to anyone who listens, his melleth being one of unparalleled skill and beauty and bright laughter that carries his soul on great wings

pippin 🥕

his already strong need to be silly and foolish grows exponentially when he finds out how happy it makes you

pip doesn’t care what it is you ask of him, he will do anything to hear your laugh. he’ll put baby carrots in his nostrils, respond to conversations exclusively in farm animal noises, he will even do his spot-on impressions of the rest of the fellowship and make them say all sorts of silly things

the best one to date is him doing an aragorn impression that consists of all the different ways he says legolas’s name

you’ve never heard such astounding colloquialisms from anyone until you met pippin - “don’t eat half the berries and say the pie shell’s too big,” “his cornbread isn’t done in the middle,” “if brains were leather, he wouldn't have enough to saddle a junebug” - and each time he says one, there’s always a not-so-subtle look to you so he can see your reaction. the ones that get the most laughs are used a little bit more, just enough to not lose their appeal but enough to hear your laughter all the more often

there is a single-minded determination to hear your snort when you laugh at something he says, and he will not rest until you do. his personal goal to do this resets each time you do actually snort, him now aiming for the next joke or prank that will bring it out again

#gimli x reader #legolas x reader #aragorn x reader #boromir x reader #pippin took x reader #lotr x reader #lord of the rings imagine #lotr imagine #lord of the rings fanfic #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings reader insert #lotr reader insert #aragorn imagine #boromir imagine #gimli imagine #pippin took imagine #legolas imagine

[supreme-leader-stoat]

The "deathmatch between your current and childhood favorite characters" post has got me thinking about the inherent comedy that you could wring out of dropping Reepicheep into. basically any other fantasy setting as a detour on his way to Aslan's country. Here's what I've got so far for dropping him into Middle-earth:

Ideally he gets dropped somewhere random, wanders around for a while, and then winds up at Rivendell at the same time at the rest of the Fellowship

Reep might be vulnerable to the One Ring a la Boromir, but there's a chance his faith in Aslan would have some sort of mitigating effect on that

He would absolutely try to fight the Balrog though

Gandalf, trying to hold back a helldemon: "Fly, you fools!" / Reepicheep: Seen 2:41 pm ✔️

He would also try to fight Saruman, or at the bare minimum call him a coward from the foot of Orthanc

And possibly would challenge the Ents before realizing they were friendly

Wormtongue is definitely going to lose a foot or something

“Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!" "It is, then, my good fortune not to be a man!"

#chronicles of narnia #lotr #reepicheep #reepicheep the mouse #please feel free to share any funny reepicheep isekai thoughts you may have

[shirefantasies]

How would the fellowship confess to their crush??? 🤭🤭 ty<3

oh hoo yes ma'am/sir/friend 😌 the pleasure is all mine! Expanding this to everyone cuz I wanna as always & incorporating some TH fanon (?) lmao

How LoTR Characters Confess to You

Aragorn

Upon your ride into battle he would hardly be parted from you, and you him, so it suited you very well to remain alongside the Three Hunters. Gimli had quickly leapt from his mount, axe blazing in what little daylight remained, and Legolas had not strayed too far behind. Aragorn had become surrounded in that time, crowds of striking enemies surrounded. With a cry, you charged through them, alerting numerous other fighters to your rapidly growing cause. All but seeing red, you fought hard, leaving none spared until your dear friend was safe again. When you dismounted, Aragorn pulled you aside under the guise of checking your wounds. "What would you have done if none joined you?" At that question, you smiled. "I had faith. But had that faith failed, I still would have rode to you." Steady though his gaze was, his hand briefly faltered before it took yours. "As would I for you, my love," he replies and you feel a tug, giving in to the sweat and adrenaline and letting him pull you into his lips.

Legolas

"What are you thinking of?" The words almost startled you, turning your head swiftly to face the woodland prince striding over, that curious look alighting his dark eyes. Heat crept to your face, for your thoughts were hardly ones you would have shared with the object of your feelings. "The future," you replied. Not entirely a lie. Legolas's brows knit. "Uncertainty? Even in these times, there is hope. For you especially, I think there is brightness ahead yet." His words bring the pensive downward tug of your face back up into joy. "Really? And why is that?" You cannot help asking, unsure what Legolas sees for you when it is so unclear for yourself. "Meleth nîn, you care so deeply for others and yet so little for yourself. All that you bring into this world is that brightness. Whether it is to others or you keep it to yourself...or even a family." A look of...questioning? Bashfulness? illuminates the elf's face. "Perhaps I have my own dreams for your future. I am sorry." At once you rose, throwing your arms around his neck. "Do not be. Perhaps our thoughts were more alike than I realized!"

Boromir

“I thought I would never see you again.” “Don’t say that,” you shake your head, peering tearfully down at Boromir. His wounds were grave, far beyond anything you thought he could have survived, and yet there he remained. Hardly had you left his side, even sleeping there with his gloved hand in yours, hoping against all hope. By the Valar’s grace did he speak to you, his voice a low rasp that had you leaning in even closer. “No, it is true. For all my thoughts of Gondor, of laying eyes upon the white towers glistening in the sun once more, I thought of you also. At what pain would it be that I never see you again. I would be a fool if I never spoke my love to you.” Tears rush again to your eyes, this time with the soar of your heart as you grip Boromir’s hand tighter, leaning down to stroke his cheek and finally press your lips to his.

Gimli

“I…got you something.” Pausing, you swivel back to face Gimli, taking a step closer and seeing the way his eyes bore into yours. “‘Tis nothing so fair as you deserve, but, well, I hope you might think to accept it.” Your brows furrow a bit as you tell him whatever it is, you’ll surely treasure his gift. Smiling bashfully, the dwarf extends a hand and produces a beautifully engraved bead. The writing is unmistakable, a short Khuzdûl inscription, and on either end lies a tiny cut of your favorite stone. “Gimli, this is beautiful,” you breathe, eyes wide and shining. “Not half so as you,” he shoots back, lashes fluttering a bit, “do you know what it is?” You smile. “Yes.” “Are you sure?” “Yes,” you repeat, leaning down to rest your forehead against his.

Frodo

So long. So long has it been since he has seen you. He has no right to you, not such as the dear hopes falling almost silently from his lips that you had waited for him. Especially having been given nothing to wait for! Yet upon return to the Shire, much as Sam’s is of Rosie Cotton, Frodo’s first thought is of you. The first night he returns to the Green Dragon with his beloved friends, celebrating adventure and pain and wonder and darkness and light beyond their wildest nightmares and dreams, Frodo’s eyes meet yours. Before he can wonder what to say you’re dropping the spoon that was in your hand and rushing over to him, falling into his arms and nestling into his embrace. “I missed you,” you say, and those three words are all it takes for something to snap in Frodo’s heart. “And I you. More than missed you, I saw you like a guiding light, a beacon in darkness. All the time I was away I loved you.”

Sam

He’ll confess nowhere but the most beautiful spot he can find, that’s for certain! Sam leads you eagerly to the Shire’s finest garden, taking your hand softly to guide you beneath an arching trellis covered in sweet pea blossom. “I knew I had to take you here,” Sam tells you, reaching down to take both of your hands. You feel a flush of heat under his sweet gaze. “Why is that?” “Well, it’s the perfect place to tell you how long I’ve loved you. Surrounded by all these beautiful flowers and yet I’ve got the best one.” “I don’t know about that,” you tell him, almost losing your composure at the way his face falls before you continue, “I think I do.” Blooming across Sam’s face is the purest look of pleasant surprise, and you can’t resist cupping his cheeks before the both of you close the gap completely.

Merry

Beautiful accident. That was the phrase you had heard so often used, and such was it. One last stand had been gathered, one final fight for Frodo, and you were rising to the occasion, though not without protest. “They want me to stay behind,” you complained to your dear friend Merry, “but my leg is mostly healed. Only illness or grievous injury could prevent me from joining everyone I love in defense of this world.” At that, the hobbit grinned. “That’s why I love you.” Stunned, you gaped at his flippant confession, watching his own jaw fall open in shocked pause. Smiling, you grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him in for a searing kiss, uncaring of the way your armor clanked together or the jolt of pain in your side with the sudden motion. The feeling of Merry’s lips against yours claimed all your head and heart.

Pippin

Confesses his feelings quite unexpectedly in Lothlórien. Long have your days been and heavenly is it to have some rest. Pippin remains there at your side as you take in the astounding city in the trees, and again when you retire for the evening, taking to your makeshift quarters. You speak there, sighing and recounting without many words all that the journey has brought you through. "More than we ever would have dared imagine has happened, even just in the past few days," you comment. "Yes," Pippin agrees, fixing you deeply with his green eyes, "but one thing has come from that." "What?" You ask. "Telling someone I love them doesn't seem so scary now." He pauses, searches the surprise on your face. "You don't- you don't have to-" His words are utterly cut off, though, by the passionate fall of your lips upon his.

Faramir

What place is more wondrous than a library? None for you, thank you. Faramir was well used to finding you there and soon joining you, poring over books from his childhood and whatever dusty tome you insisted on dragging out next, grinning at the way he chuckles. He knows it’s the very place to tell you how he feels, having found the perfect way to do it. It begins with a tale of two lovers, simple as that. He means to ask your thoughts on it but you give them freely. “This is a favorite of mine. How I long to live in such a story as this one,” you sigh at the sight of it. “And how I long to give that to you,” Faramir replied simply, hand creeping toward yours across the illuminated pages.

Eomer

Comes running to you before anything else after a battle. Panting, he stops before you, eyes wide. Concern cuts across your face at the sight of him there, sweat still upon his brow and chest heaving beneath his armor. You say his name, ask it more like a question, and he slides his helmet off, giving you a better look at his intent visage. Before you can speak further, his hands are upon your waist, pulling you into him as his lips collide with yours. Even beneath the salt of his exhaustion, you can taste him, feel the fervor until he pulls away, eyes glistening with pride. “We won!” Hand on your hip, you fix him with a look. “Will you celebrate with me, my love?”

Haldir

Retiring to the meadows was a favorite pastime of yours, taking time to yourselves beneath the gentle brush of the breeze. Pensive as ever, Haldir stares off at seemingly nothing, brows knit. Laying a hand upon his arm, you stir him from his thoughts with a look as your gazes join. His eyes search yours, you nod encouragingly. Haldir tucks the flower he’d been twirling idly between his fingers and tucks it behind your ear. “You can imagine what has been on my mind, I trust.” Attempting to lighten whatever clouds rolled across his mind, you nudge him, smiling. “Not at all! You are a mystery as always. Proceed.” “Have I not made it clear that I am in love with you?” Feeling heat surge to your face at the intensity of his words, you let yourself get swept up in emotion, smiling and tucking a strand of golden hair behind his ear. “Well, perhaps we should make it even clearer.”

Eowyn

Eowyn is so giving and caring to you, you feel as though your heart might burst. She cooks for you even if it isn’t the best, bless her. She gives you extra blankets when you’re cold, defends you against the slightest of negative words. Never leaves your side, fights for you in every sense you could state it. So of course you thank her, tell her again and again that you do not know what you’d do without her. That her gracious heart is a true gift. But one day? One day you question instead. “Why,” you ask, “do you give so much? Sometimes I feel I have so little to offer in return.” “Do you not know?” She replies in earnest, blue eyes shining. “Are you not aware I love you?” Fear colors her words. She wants to be enough, you realize. All her actions were to show you that. Caressing her cheeks, you tell her that she is all you could have wanted and more, smiling into the kiss you share.

Arwen

Memories abound as Arwen makes her feelings known. “Do you recall when my father first summoned you here?” “Yes,” you giggle, “I told him his home looks like a painting!” “He was charmed by that,” she assured you, “as was I. When I first saw you, I knew you were different. Not just as one from outside our borders, but that you brought some quite splendor.” Heart struck by her words, you try to even half-echo Arwen’s compliments. “I felt the same. There you were practically glowing as you welcomed me, beauty and strength beyond that of this world. Now that I know you, such is only multiplied, tenfold when one sees your heart.” Blue eyes swimming, Arwen embraces you, whispering her love for you in her native tongue.

Elrond

This is a private conversation. Thus Elrond leads you upon the most peaceful night of the season to a bridge beneath the stars. Twinkle as they do from their home far above your heads, the stars are the last thing to gain Elrond’s focus, his attention affixed solely upon your eyes. “You have drawn my thoughts more and more of late, meleth nîn.” “Oh?” You inquire simply, summoning a chuckle from deep in Elrond’s chest. “Indeed you have,” he lays a hand upon yours, “for to know you has been one of the greatest honors afforded to me. I care about you.” You mirror his soft smile when your name escapes his lips, gentle as a wish. “Then it is as I could only have dreamed,” you reply.

Lindir

Playing the most heart-wrenchingly gorgeous melody you’ve ever heard, Lindir watches you the entire time. Heart aflutter, you send him a smile and he looks pleased. Upon finishing, he strides over, looking with amusement at the little applause you give him. Words pour forth from you before you even realized you’ve formulated them, gushing again and again about the way his song touched you. “To know such love…what a dream,” you sigh. Lindir almost starts at that, raising his eyebrows. “Well, the song was about you, you know.”

#lord of the rings #lotr #lotr imagines #lotr x reader #the fellowship of the ring #aragorn #legolas #boromir #gimli #frodo #sam #merry #pippin #faramir #eomer #haldir #eowyn #arwen #elrond #lindir #ask #anon #requested

[sotwk]

Taken (Eomer x Reader) - Part 3 of 3

Part 1 / Part 2

Summary: After having his proposals and professions rejected by the woman he loves, Éomer still refuses to be dissuaded. He vows to continue fighting for a future with her--even if that means having to let go for the time being.

Word count: 6.7k

Dedicated to anyone who has ever known the pain of loving someone you could not have. <3

Content: Boromir lives (!), angsty romance, declarations of love, jealousy, mutual pining, class division, shield-maiden, Éomer King, Rohirrim OCs, post-RotK, non-canon pairing

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Sensuality gets steamy, but nothing explicit. Mentions of old battle injuries.

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken 

PART THREE

Third Age 3019 May 6

Minas Tirith, Gondor

“If you would allow me to propose something your Grace, I--”

“Éomer.” The King of Rohan growled the ungentle correction with an irritated shake of his head. “If I have leave from your king to continue calling him Elessar, then I will not abide frivolous formalities from you…Captain. And speak freely! It is your candor that I came here for, as much as your counsel."

Boromir chuckled faintly. “Very well.” He downed the last of the wine in his goblet before picking up the jug to refill it, then reaching across the table to serve his guest as well. 

While Éomer took a hearty swig, Boromir used the extra seconds of silence to weigh his next words. The noble horse-lord had done most of the talking since his arrival at the house not an hour ago, rambling on with barely contained agitation that would have frightened or offended anyone unfamiliar with his character. But Boromir had known Théodred’s cousin since he was a child, and while he was not nearly as close to Éomer as he had been with the late Prince of Rohan, their friendship had deepened enough--especially over the past few months--to familiarize Boromir with the trigger points of his temper. 

And Boromir had never before seen him more sensitive about a topic than the matter they had at hand. 

Love certainly wields such terrible power over a man, the Captain-General of Gondor mused, before clearing his throat. 

“I will gladly fulfill your request of watching over her in your absence, making sure she is well-treated and wants for nothing,” he began. “But a soldier can quickly grow restless without sufficient martial exercise.” 

“I agree.” Éomer leaned forward to fold his arms across the table. “Has she not been here long enough for your men to grow accustomed to seeing her at the training grounds? None of them need spar against her or even alongside her if they do not wish to. She would be content to practice drills on her own. In fact, she may even prefer it.”  

“My men will tolerate her presence just fine. The valor she showed on Pelennor was well-witnessed, and stories of it have circulated around our garrison,” Boromir said. “I admit she may inevitably overhear crass remarks from some passing boor among the citizenry. A woman warrior still remains an oddity in these parts. But I am sure she did not come to her status without learning how to weather such criticisms.” 

“Yes.” Éomer stared at the empty goblet he rotated slowly between his hands. “She has had to bear with a lot of ignorant talk over the years.”

“Which is why I propose taking her as a member of my company while you are away. Just temporarily,” Boromir added quickly, noting the immediate change in the horse-lord's demeanor. “It will help her feel more at ease while here, separated from you and her countrymen, if she had a group to belong to.”

“She has already taken a strong liking to your Aerdis. Which, I must confess, took me by surprise.”

Boromir smiled at this, his fool heart ready to burst with joy at every casual mention of his betrothed. “My lady is an easy one to love,” he said simply. “And indeed, the two seem to enjoy each other's company. I am certain Aerdis would be happy to continue acquainting her with all of her treasured haunts within the city and even beyond its walls. But…” 

He rubbed his jaw slowly, ever the unconscious tell of his discomfort with the situation at hand. But it was no use dancing around the real counsel he wished to present to Éomer King. “When it comes to daily labors, a shield-maiden will likely be happier with work better suited to her talents.”

Éomer cocked an eyebrow, clearly undeceived by Boromir’s attempts at off-handedness. “What sort of work? I sense you have something specific in mind.”

“I do,” Boromir admitted. “And I shall explain it to you plainly, although I will first say that it is both a suggestion and a request for a favor.” At this point he considered offering Éomer another refill of his drink, but the deepening scowl on the man’s face made him think better of it. “As you may have heard, I have been charged by King Elessar to lead the delegation that will treat with the Southrons. Sadhar has already come forward with an offer to parley, as soon as next month.”

Éomer’s eyes widened; he caught on even faster than Boromir had expected him to. “And you wish to include her in your delegation?”

“With your approval, yes.”

“You do not have it!” Éomer exclaimed. “And how could you propose such a thing?! Have you forgotten how she was so nearly dragged off by those animals to be taken who knows where for purposes I dare not even think of?”

“Are you really asking that of the man who came to her aid?”

It was a risky move to prod at that wound, but Éomer looked properly chastised by it. “You rescued her,” he conceded. “And for that I shall eternally be in your debt. But I cannot pretend to understand why you wish to involve her in any dealings with Harad.”

“You must see why I thought of her,” Boromir insisted. “You, who can personally attest to what she is capable of.” But Éomer continued to look too distraught to think, so he laid the rest out. “I can count on the fingers of one hand every person I know who can speak a Haradric dialect with reliable accuracy. Half of them died in the war.”

Éomer rose abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in his state. Muttering indistinctly, he turned his back to Boromir to glare out the nearest window and brood at the rain lashing against the glass panes. 

“When Théodred used to boast to me about her, I dismissed it as a mentor's pride in his fanciful protégé,” Boromir continued. “I suppose I too allowed myself to be distracted by her sex. But she really is a hidden gem in your Éored, is she not? Your cousin invested in her training with great thoughtfulness, and it has borne fruit marvelously. He really believed--”

Éomer slammed the heel of his hand on the window frame. “Théodred was not the one hopelessly in love with her for so many years! There lies the difference!” he snapped. “So when you ask for my consent to take her to meet with our enemies, consider that you are asking me to risk the life of the woman I absolutely refuse to live my own life without!”

And while Boromir reacted with silence, he stood there, breathing hard, one fist on his hip and the other hand pressed over his forehead. “Forgive me,” he mumbled. “The wine, I…and I have scarcely slept since--”

Boromir waved off the apology. “I understand your agony well. It was not long ago that I lived through the same, and just mercifully survived to a happy end. I am on your side, Éomer. I know politics and duty might make the lines difficult to discern, but I hope you can believe that.”

“I believe it.” Éomer made another weary swipe of his hand across his face. “At least I think I do. Too many things are changing too quickly, and I fear a failure to keep in step shall result in my simply being dragged along behind everyone else like an unhorsed sot.”

“Then maybe there is wisdom in her request to stay behind and out of your way. The time apart may provide you the focus you need to regain your footing.”

The tired lines on Éomer’s face tightened again. “And why must time apart involve setting her on a perilous road?”

“The mission carries little chance of peril. Peace talks, even with Harad, are nothing compared to everything she has survived to get this far. You know this.” Éomer brushed past Boromir to return to the table, but the captain’s frank reproach pursued him. “Separation from her is what you dread, not the Southrons.”

So furiously did Éomer scowl at the table surface that for a moment Boromir thought he might turn the heavy shelf over in a fit of rage. Instead he seized the wine jug, poured himself a gobletful, and drank it in two forceful gulps. 

“I had hoped you could give me counsel on how I might change her mind, and convince her to simply come home,” he finally said. “Perhaps even quell her doubts in the future she can have with me.”

Underneath the anger and frustration, Éomer’s raw misery lay bare to Boromir, and suddenly he felt a swell of compassion for the young king. Would that he could offer a swift resolution to his predicament, instead of mere commiseration for the challenges that still lay ahead. 

“However hard it is to hear, separation is the soundest advice I can give you today,” Boromir said. “Time and distance are most effective at calming the storm in one's mind, so that the heart may have its chance to be properly heard. Many have learned this from experience, myself included. I believe it shall be the same for your lady.”

Éomer's shoulders heaved in a ponderous sigh. “If only it did not feel like such a gamble.”

Boromir could not help a chuckle. “Then I regret I must tell his majesty, that you cast your first of many dice the moment you let her take your heart. But in the end, you shall be the one to decide how much you are willing to risk, and you alone decide when you are done.”

The anguish that resurged on Éomer's face was almost a relief to Boromir. The King of Rohan was wise enough to already know the graver half of the truth: that his new throne was in many ways a cage, and there was very little a good ruler could afford to risk in pursuit of his own desires. 

* * *

“Take the names of any fools who might give you trouble,” Léodor said, unhooking the reins of his horse to start leading it across the muddy yard. “I can sort them all out on our return.”

You laughed as you followed him to the edge of the farmland property, marked by the scorched ruins of what had once been a granary. “Do you really think I could wait that long without sorting such fools out myself?” 

“Anyone with the gall to harass a rider of the king’s Éored deserves a second dose of thrashing, or a third or fourth.” Your friend turned to grasp your forearm and give it a firm squeeze. “Although I sincerely hope these men of Gondor would know better, for their own sakes.”

“They are our allies, now more than ever before,” you reminded him. “And I have every confidence in their courtesy and hospitality.”

“Perhaps if you were less of a recluse and better at making friends, I would not worry so.”

Your knuckles barely grazed his sleeve as he darted away and promptly swung up to the safety of his saddle, chortling and calling, “You are only proving my point, sister!” 

“Waste not a thought or care on me, and focus them all on your family!” you retorted, and stepped back as he spurred his horse forward. “Westu Léodor hál!”

You watched him gallop off across the plains of Pelennor, back to the distant towers of the White City. Tomorrow, he and the rest of the Éored would finalize preparations for the greatly anticipated journey home. But as soon as he heard that you had been tasked with staying behind, to remain with the body of Théoden King, Léodor alone took the time to come looking for you. 

Whatever his suspicions regarding Éomer's selection of you as the one to leave in Gondor, Léodor spoke nothing of them. He was content to spend his entire visit sharing the cask of ale he brought, and talking your ears off about all the things he planned to do with his wife and son and infant daughter upon their reunion.

How far your relationship had come, you mused, as you watched the shrinking speck finally melt  into the shadows of the deepening twilight. With him and with the rest of the men in your company, when you had once sworn, in tears hidden, that they would never accept you. Now their departure would sting as though you had been orphaned for the third time. 

It is only for several weeks, you told yourself, to ease the weight of doubt that sat upon your chest. As you turned to walk back toward the cottage, a fierce wind rose and ripped off the cloak that was loosely draped over your shoulders. With a startled cry you grabbed for it, but not quickly enough to save it from landing in a large puddle.

You retrieved the soaked fabric from the mud with a sigh. A fat raindrop landed squarely on the top of your uncovered head, and was immediately followed by another and another. Spontaneous rain had been pouring on and off over Gondor since the King’s coronation, and you heard the locals welcome and praise this tumultuous weather as a blessing, a sign of war’s filth being washed away to cleanse the lands for rebirth. 

Shielding your eyes from the sudden deluge, you looked up at the roiling clouds overhead, further entranced by the sight of jagged lightning flashing over the White Mountains.  But when your gaze dropped back down to the horizon, you were alarmed to notice a horsed figure crossing the fields through the storm, approaching fast, in your direction. 

It was him. Without proof of his face or voice, or even the support of logic, you just knew. It was him. 

The very thought of that froze you, mind and body, in place. Pale and immobile and increasingly drenched, you stood like a deeply rooted tree while the rider drew closer and closer, on a horse powerful enough to sustain its determined gait over the sodden ground and lashing winds. Dumbfounded and dazed, you remained, until at last he came to a stop just several yards away. He dismounted Firefoot, his heavy boots squelching in the muck, and that sound snapped you to your senses. 

“My lord,” you rushed forward with the soiled cloak twisted uselessly between your hands. “The stables are around the back. Let me take Firefoot there while you get out of this rain.”

“I shall stable him,” Éomer said sternly, but not unkindly, to warn you against arguing. “Go and wait for me inside the house.” 

Without speaking another word or sparing a backward glance, you obeyed your king. You shut the cottage door behind you to keep out the ill weather, hung your wet cloak on a peg, and crouched by the warmth of the fireplace to dry off as best as you could. You kept your jittery hands busy feeding the flames with more wood, but your mind refused to be calmed as easily. 

What is he doing here?! The agreement had been for you to report to him the following day, to receive in full detail your last set of orders before the entire Rohan contingent departed. Éomer had granted your request to stay behind quickly enough, and with so little argument that you had hoped perhaps the issue between you was settled, at least for the time being.

If he was not prepared to completely abandon his fatuous notion of asking you to marry him, then time apart would surely set his mind back to good sense. The Éomer you knew could always be trusted to do the right thing. You clung firmly to this thought while you waited the agonizing minutes for him to return from the stables. 

As soon as he entered, you offered him the last clean towel you could find to dry himself with. He raised his eyebrows at your attempt to give him royal treatment, but graciously swiped the cloth several times over his face, neck, and hair, before tossing it over the back of a chair. 

“So this is the place.” He peeled off his riding cloak to reveal clothing underneath that was just as soaked as yours; he may as well not have bothered with the outer garment at all. “You said it belonged to Lady Aerdis’s late…uncle?”

“A relative of sorts,” you said. When you confided in your new friend your wistful desire to be housed outside the city, where you could have more quiet and solitude, she had been quick to offer the empty cottage in near Pelennor that was recently willed to her by deceased relations. “There are things I can work on to help restore it while I am here. Even my meager skills will serve a farm better than sitting on my hands in the city barracks watching everyone else in their labors. I wish to remain useful, and do my part in the rebuilding.”

“I understand. You have explained all that, and well,” Éomer said slowly. “But regretfully, I must rescind the permission I granted for you to live outside Minas Tirith. You can stay here for the remainder of this week, to rest and do as you please. But afterward, I would like for you to go back to the city and remain there until my return.”

You bit back a protest, determined, now more than ever, to reaffirm your position as his servant. “May I ask what I am to do there, then?”

“Lord Boromir petitioned me to loan you to his company, and I granted it. He shall assign your duties, and you will take your orders from him while I am gone.” 

Although it surprised you to hear this, it was a welcome prospect. Of all the men in Gondor you liked and trusted Lord Boromir the most, having known him since you were just a girl, albeit not intimately. This would provide an opportunity to improve on the connection. “Lord Boromir honors me with his request. And as always, it shall please me to do as my king commands.”

Éomer responded to your formal pledge with a weary sigh. He braced his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, and the way his knuckles whitened in the tightness of his grip, while he searched for his next words, did not escape your notice. 

“Make no mistake, this command does not align with what I desire,” he said thickly. “Leaving without you violates every instinct in my body, but if that is what must be done to make you see reason, then I shall bear it.”

“Reason?” you repeated stiffly. “What conclusion are you hoping I might come to?”

Éomer raised his eyes from the floor to meet yours across the room. “I know you believe that putting distance between us may somehow alter how I feel about you. But I in turn believe the time apart will help you accept how deeply in love you are with me.”

The heat that flooded your face burned through your mask of composure. “I am not--”

“Enough.” The sadness that bled into that single word made it a plea instead of an order. “I did not come to reopen discussions on the matter. Especially not if denials are all you have left to say to me.”

“Then pray tell, what has my lord come for?” you challenged him behind your icy courtesy. “How else may I serve you, Éomer King?”

The hurt that crossed his face came on so suddenly, looked so profound and real, it was as though you had physically struck him. He stared at you in a dead silence, and you forced yourself to hold his gaze while you held your breath, guilt sinking into your gut from the knowledge that you were the wretch who had gone too far. 

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “Clearly there is nothing more to say, other than farewell.”

He picked up his cloak, turned, and left, leaving you utterly dumbfounded, staring at the door that slammed shut behind him.

The longest seconds of your life passed before your shock and indecision were overcome by a wild hysteria that made your entire body grow cold.

You leapt for the door and wrenched it open, and stepped into the downpour in time to see him vanish around the corner of the house, heading back to the stables. 

The loss of him from your sight smashed through your bravado, and you cried out into the storm. 

“Éomer!!”

Before you could grasp your reasoning for why you did it, or what you planned to do next, he reappeared, every footstep leaving puddles as his approach backed you up into the cottage. His eyes bore down at you, his expression now guarded and inscrutable and expectant. Gusting wind drove in sprinkles of rain through the door left open and ignored. 

I am sorry. The whisper sitting on the tip of your tongue was smothered by a hostile inner voice. 

Let him go. It is your duty. It is what’s right.

But your stolid face collapsed under the weight of your anguish. A grimace squeezed out the tears that blinded your eyes, finally betraying your shameful truth. I do love you, Éomer. 

Gentle fingers settled lightly over your lips, stilling their feeble quivering. A voice even warmer and more tender than this touch eased your struggle.

“I do not need words. This is enough.”

As the hardened pads of those fingers brushed across the plane of your cheek, you closed your eyes and at once forgot all else that existed. Such was the power of his touch that for years you so vigilantly avoided, until that fateful moment of weakness after the coronation exposed your secret. That moment could never be undone, no matter how hard you tried to bury the truth now.

Éomer murmured your name, his breath warm on your temple, and then his hands stilled where they lightly cupped your face. In that pause lay a question, and the last time you answered it, you had hurt him. Foolish liar that you were.

“Yes.” The whisper passed from your lips to his as his mouth wasted no time seeking yours. You clasped your hands around the back of his neck, urging him closer as your own hunger surged. You felt the tremor that ran through his shoulders when you slipped your tongue against his. How could you have ever chosen to cause him pain, when you could have given him this instead?

He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath, but nuzzled your chin upward to gain access to your neck, so his lips could continue their quest to the hollow of your throat. You gasped at the scrape of his teeth on your collarbone, then moaned when he remedied his offense with reverent strokes of his tongue. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, pulling you greedily against him, fingers threading and tugging at your hair as he moved his worship to your shoulders.

But it was your touch, the scrabble of your hands over his hips and stomach as you held on to him for balance, that elicited a low growl. In just a few hurried steps, he backed you to the furthest corner of the cottage, until the side of the bed hit the back of your legs.

Your name was still the only thing he could utter, muffled in between the kisses he could not stop lavishing on every bit of your skin he could reach. Your hands found their way to his hips again, this time  sneaking underneath the wet fabric that clung to his torso, then brazenly gliding upward, past his belly to the taut muscles of his chest, high enough for your thumb to circle his nipple.

An ungentlemanly word suddenly rumbled from Éomer King's throat, so startled was he by the sensual touch. Within moments his shirt lay discarded on the floor, your back made contact with the mattress, and there he was, leaning over you, bare from the waist up to your hungry eyes. You gave yourself an extra second to appreciate the sight before hooking a hand over his nape to yank him back into a kiss. The fervor in his response left you writhing and whimpering and completely vulnerable in your weakness. 

A deep haze settled over you as you began to lose yourself to the pleasure of his ministrations. With every inch of you, you wanted this, and the way your body reacted to his every action, shaking in desperation for more, would surely tell him that. And yet… yet as you felt his fingers grope for the fastenings of your dress, felt his palm brush the back of your knee to your thigh, felt his hardness press against your hip… something inside of you jerked in reawakened panic.

“Éomer. W-wait.”

So soft was the protest, you were not even sure you had said the words aloud. But almost immediately, Éomer stopped and pulled back. He took one look at you, your disheveled state, and whatever expression lay on your face, and he sat up fully, turning away, dragging your heart out of your chest with him.

“Éomer, please. I am… I just…”

“No, I understand and I agree. To carry on would be unwise.”

He rubbed both hands roughly over his face, shaking away the stupor induced by his desire.

“All these years I have ordered the men to give you the respect you are due. I cannot risk your virtue or reputation now, however long I have wanted this. Wanted you.”

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You are my King, and it is my duty to protect you and your reputation. We must behave prudently.”

He nodded, but still looked so pained you could not help but lift your hand to try to soothe the scowl from his face. He angled his head to kiss the inside of your wrist.

“I will have you,” he muttered, his diverted gaze making it seem more a promise to himself than to you. But when he turned his eyes back on you, the wanton lust pooling in them stirred the heat in your belly. “I will wait for the right circumstances, however long it may take, but I will have you.”

He rose and walked a few steps across the room, perhaps in need of distance from you. As he stood closer to the fireplace, the light illuminated a view so rarely seen by anyone, many people in Rohan had come to believe that Éomer was simply hale and hard of body beyond the limits of mortal men. 

The numerous scars that decorated his body testified to both his fragility and his strength. Many of his wounds had been tended to by you on the battlefield, carrying terrible memories that were now also moments of pride and achievement that you shared with him. 

Éomer seemed to feel your intent gaze upon him, and he stretched out a hand to you, beckoning you to rejoin him. As soon as you were within reach, he wrapped his arms around you again, drawing you against him, sighing contently as your touch drifted over the bare skin of his chest and shoulders.

Your hand moved with intention, skimming down to his lower abdomen, probing carefully for the large scar you knew sat just below his ribcage. That injury was less than two years old. It still amazed you how it had managed to heal with little issue, under the constant strain of the many violent battles Éomer fought in since. 

So close. A chill ran through you as the memory rose unbidden: you pressing down hard to staunch the bleeding, screaming for someone to help carry the barely conscious Marshal to the nearest shelter, where you could safely attempt to clean and suture the wound. If the orc blade had sunk in only a fraction of an inch deeper, it would have been beyond anyone's power to save him. You came too close to losing him that day.

Eomer's lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he interrupted your reminiscence with a whisper. “How can you still doubt that we belong together, when already you are part of me?” 

Your fingers passed over several other scars from injuries you had tended to over the years, and came to rest over the tattoo on his upper right arm. The black dragon curled around the edge of his shoulder was identical in design and location to the mark borne by every rider in your Éored. Your possession of that dragon mark bound you to Éomer intimately, but also defined your role in his life. Sharing his bed, or even being with him just once, was not your place.

“None of these give me any right to claim you,” you said softly. “You must still marry. And it is your duty to marry well.”

He caught your elbow as you started to move your hand away, and guided it back to slide over his waist, to rest over the scar once more, willing you to hold fast to the memory it carried, and hold fast to him.

“What does it mean to marry? Is it not just the giving of one's entire self--mind and body, heart and soul--to another?”

He hooked a finger underneath your chin, urging your downcast gaze to rise and meet his.

“How am I to dispose of things that are no longer in my possession? I have long been taken, solely and utterly, by you.”

And with that gaze he set upon you, you wondered: how many glances must have he given you in secret all these years, with eyes that burned with something more than the devotion of one comrade-in-arms to another? What willful blindness had you clung to for years, for you not to have noticed it?

“I must fulfill my duties to Rohan, this is true. But not even a king can be asked to do the impossible.”

“But to wed a great king to a lowly servant--” You shook your head. “Many would argue that is the real impossibility.”

A new expression akin to anger flashed across Éomer’s face. Before you could wonder what you might have done wrong, he dropped to his knees before you, both knees, his hands wrapped tightly around yours.

“My lord!” you cried, aghast that he would debase himself, even in private. You tried to force him back up, but he would not budge.

“Never speak of yourself as lowly again,” he admonished. “King or peasant, there is nothing more lowly or humbled than a man so wretchedly in love, as I am with you.”

“Éomer…” You sank to the floor with him. “If only things were so simple. I wish it could all happen as you say, but I just do not see how. I do not know what can be done.”

“Let me hold your love for a while longer, and wait for me,” he said gently. “That is all I ask. The rest is mine to accomplish. As long as your heart is mine, and I know you have given it to me freely, I will fight for my right to keep it.”

You felt his grip around your fingers grow tense in the long seconds of silence that followed. At last, you brought his knuckles to your lips, kissing the hands you adored with such devotion.

“When you leave, you shall take my heart with you,” you whispered into his palm. “But I fear it will be a greater challenge than you believe, to keep others from wresting such an unsuitable offering from your hands.” 

“They may certainly try, if they wish to test me.” The ice in his tone unsettled you, even though that veiled threat was certainly not for you, while the warm caress on your cheek was. “Not for a moment will I appear unclear or undecided when it comes to my intentions towards you. I will never make that mistake again.”

“B-but the Council of Eorl. The lords…”

“They answer to the King,” Éomer interrupted. “Do not privileges, as well as duties, come with this crown? Trust me. Please.” He bowed to rest his forehead against yours. “While we are parted, I will prove to you that it can be done, that I will do whatever I must to marry you, and to honor and protect you thereafter.”

“Marry?” you murmured. The idea still seemed no more than a ludicrous fantasy. But then Éomer kissed you again, deeply, as though determined to memorize the taste of your lips, urging you to focus on the present moment. 

Because he was yours, even if just for that night. Even if by dawn, it could all crumble under the pressures of the world outside these walls. Éomer loved you, and held you in such high regard to want you as his wife and queen. You would swear to anyone that this knowledge alone was already a dream fulfilled. 

And yet. If you were brave enough to hope, maybe…just maybe, this would not be the last impossibility to come true for you. 

* * *

They do not know. Hundreds of Gondor’s citizens bearing streamers and flowers lined the streets of Minas Tirith that morning to join King Elessar in sending off the departing Eorlingas. But it occurred to Éomer how strange it felt that none of them had any awareness of a matter that was not only monumental for him personally, but carried significant consequences for all of Rohan.

Soon that will change, the young king vowed to himself. Soon his Council will hear the truth, and afterward all of Rohan, and then the rest of their allies. But for the moment, discretion--no matter how bitter the pretense tasted. 

No one except for Lord Boromir and his betrothed, the lovely Lady Aerdis, who both stood next to her, understood what truly lay underneath the courteous gestures exchanged between the King of Rohan and his shield-maiden. A simple bow, an exchange of a few words, and a locking of gazes that was all too brief. Had they not spent that one evening together, Éomer would have remained trapped in the false belief of her indifference towards him. The memory of her kisses would have to suffice for a while, and he could only hope he had given her enough to remember him by, as well. 

He brushed the edge of his hand over his lips just as he turned away, and forced his feet to carry him down the line of assembled well-wishers. 

A noticeable hush descended on the crowd of onlookers as Éomer came to the end of the road where, closest to the ruins of the Great Gate, the King of Gondor himself met him, flanked by none other than Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and his only daughter.

“Lady Lothíriel.” As Éomer took the hand she courteously offered him and brushed a kiss on her fingers, he became aware of the wan smiles that surrounded them, and the unsubtle tittering of a few ladies watching. “Your presence this morning is an unexpected and most delightful gift.”

Lothíriel was astonishingly beautiful indeed, with such radiant grace and sweet smiles, that it would not have surprised Éomer if many citizens of the White City came out just to catch a glimpse of her. “I wish you, Lady Éowyn, and all your men a safe journey, your Grace,” she said. “And may you have great success in your labors, so that we can soon celebrate your speedy return.”

“You are kind, my lady. I certainly hope for the same,” replied Éomer. “We leave behind treasure beyond price here and shall be eager to return for our own.”

Two Rohan lords had already swooped in to engage Imrahil in quiet conversation, and only stepped aside when Éomer himself approached to exchange farewells. Éomer’s admiration for the Prince only grew the more he learned about him and spent time with him, but the unabashed thirst of his counselors for Dol Amroth’s friendship irritated him. Yet another issue he intended to settle in the ordering of his House’s affairs. 

Finally, Éomer came before Elessar, who embraced him tightly and honored him with a bow, from one king to another. “Worry not, my brother,” the man once called Aragorn said quietly to him. “I shall see to it that they are cared for, these ones whom you so dearly love.”

He smiled at the look of mixed wonder and apprehension on Éomer’s face, and dipped his head in another show of reassurance and of farewell.

With that, the Rohirrim set off on the North-way in a procession over a mile long, accompanied by the fanfare from the people that continued to line the road stretching across Pelennor. Countless flags in a multitude of colors and sigils from the different regions of Gondor fluttered in the air, and from every direction, enthusiastic cheering and waving followed the Riders across the fields.

At the head of the procession, behind his standard bearer and with Éowyn at his side, Éomer quickly fell into a brooding silence that did not escape his sister’s notice. 

“I truly did not think I would ever see the day when the two of you would be willingly separated,” she said lightly. When Éomer looked at her with raised eyebrows, she shrugged. “I am sure you have good reasons for choosing her to stay behind with our uncle.” 

“Many reasons,” Éomer grunted. 

Éowyn regarded him thoughtfully. “Has the time finally come when you would allow yourself to be open with me about these reasons? And the other concerns weighing on your mind and heart? It is just you and I now, Éomer,” she said softly, stretching out her hand to him.  “I may not have uncle’s experience or Théodred’s cunning, but I love you beyond words, and would do anything to see you happy. Let me help you.”

Éomer smiled at this, and reached over to take her hand and squeeze it. “Perhaps I can aspire to the happiness you have found with Lord Faramir.”

“Having my affections stolen by a High Man was not what I aspired to,” said Éowyn, trying to look annoyed but unable to hide the blush on her cheeks. “But love, it seems, is the wildest beast of all. It will not be tamed, or bridled, or even reasoned with. It goes where it wills. Éomer…” Éowyn’s sweet face turned stern. “You have suffered enough, and have been forced to carry so many burdens, not least of all our uncle’s crown, which I know you never wanted.”

“It is my honor to take the throne in Uncle and Théodred’s stead,” Éomer said firmly. “And why do you make assumptions about the things I want?”

“I know who it is you have wanted, for a long time now,” Éowyn said with a stout confidence that took Éomer aback. “You are discreet, brother. But I have watched you and looked out for you, more closely than you realize.”

Éomer shook his head. “I am still learning the many ways I have been underestimating you, Éowyn. Soon I shall believe myself unworthy of your care or help.”

“Someone has to care for you, during the frequent times you would not.” Éowyn glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still out of hearing range of the rest of his Éored. “Especially now that you have left her behind.” 

Éomer pressed his lips in a tight line and returned his gaze to the road ahead. “I will be back,” he said. “There is much to do in Rohan before then, but with Uncle waiting in the Hallows, I can hardly afford to dawdle or delay.” 

And she is waiting. Éomer caught a glimpse of his sister’s suppressed smile that told him she had already thought the same thing. Another person with strong opinions to contend with.

Éomer spurred Firefoot forward to signal the standard bearer, who promptly blew one quick blast on his horn. As the King took off in a steady gallop, the thunder of hooves rose behind him as nearly a thousand other Rohirrim picked up their pace to match his, drowning out the excited shouts of the Gondorians that started them off at last to their journey home.

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#sotwk fanfiction #eomer #eomer x reader #eomer fanfiction #rohan #lotr #eomer x you #eomer eadig #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #sotwk fic: taken #boromir

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine Y/N giving the answer to the riddle at the doors of Moria

Gandalf: *muttering spells at the door*

Frodo: Can Gandalf open the door?

Legolas: If not Gandalf then who? Surely the dwarf knows the key to his kin's door.

Gimli: *grumbles*

Merry and Pippin: *throwing rocks into the water*

Aragorn: *hurriedly* Do not disturb the water.

The Hobbits: *turns to Y/N*

Y/N: Don't touch the water little ones. You need not disturb it. You know not what the depths of the abyss holds.

The hobbits: *surprised to see Y/N serious*

Frodo: It's a riddle is it not?

Y/N: Correct my dear.

Legolas: Then pray tell what is the answer.

Y/N: *grins* Mellon

Legolas: *frowns* Are you talking to me-

The doors open

Y/N: Try to be more obvious about how you feel hm? *smirks*

Legolas: I know not of what you spea-

Boromir: *interrupts* Enough of the flirting. Quickly, I am not eager to find out what the waters of this cursed place holds.

All quickly walk inside

Legolas: *grins at Y/N's back*

Gandalf: *Shakes his head* Young fools.

#legolas x reader #thorin x reader #thorin's company x reader #thranduil x reader #kili x reader #lotr imagine #lotr x y/n #lotr #lotr shitpost #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings x y/n #lord of the rings x reader #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings #legolas x y/n #legolas x you #legolas #lotr gimli #the fellowship of the ring #the fellowship x reader #the fellowship of the ring x reader #gandalf #the hobbit x y/n #the hobbit x reader

[ass-deep-in-demons]

The Fellowship at your local Fitness Club

(I'm at the bench press with Gimli, ogling Boromir probably)

#lord of the rings #legolas #gimli #boromir #aragorn #merry brandybuck #pippin #samwise gamgee #frodo #frodo baggins #merry #gollum #gandalf #fellowship of the ring #tolkien #ass deep in demons #peregrin took #meriadoc brandybuck #[arda]

[frodo-cinnamonroll]

How the Fellowship Would Sleep

a/n: Here's another headcanon! These are just the dumb things I think of lol. I feel kinda bad bc some of them have half a sentence and some a whole paragraph but whatever ig I have more headcancons with them in it

________________________________________

Gandalf: You can hardly catch him sleeping at all, or at least, no one can tell when he's asleep or awake. Sometimes he has his hat on his face but when Merry or Pippin try to pull a prank on him, he'll yell at them.

Aragorn: He doesn't sleep all that much and only is "resting his eyes." Always makes sure the hobbits get rest. hobbit dad #1 Always makes sure he knows where his sword is.

Legolas: He can sleep while he's walking, like all elves, and prefers to walk among the stars. Is often heard singing some old elvish tune, and Gimli usually tells him to stop (but he doesn't)

Gimli: very heavy sleeper. He snores the loudest--it sounds like an army of orcs going over a waterfall, as Legolas describes it. He always has his axe by his side. He grunts whenever he moves. Once, Merry and Pippin braided his whole beard while he was asleep and he would have strangled them had it not been for Aragorn and Legolas talking sense into him. Gimli always has an eye on them.

Boromir: also a heavy sleeper. He snores, but not nearly as loud as Gimli (he denies it though). He'll shout battle-cries in his sleep every now and then and scare everyone awake. He turns into a watch dog when the hobbits fall asleep. hobbit dad #2 Takes up all the space he is physically able to.

Merry: snores occasionally, but mostly just breathes loudly. He always sleeps on his back with his hands behind his head. Always makes sure he has his pipe in his pack before he goes to bed. Also, makes sure Pippin doesn't sleep too close to a cliff or anything. sweet big brother cousin. aww

Pippin: talks or sings in his sleep all the time. He can sleep forever and a day, but once he's awake, everyone is. Has a designated blanket that no one touches which he claims is for "good luck purposes" baby fool of a took

Sam: snores lightly and is often embarrassed about it. Hates waking up with a bed-head (but all the hobbits do). Has a small teddy bear that hides in his pack, and when it's found out, he claims he "doesn't know how it got in there" while blushing as red as a tomato (it's okay, Sam, we all need our teddy bears)

Frodo: is generally a light sleeper but can sleep for a good long while. Sleeps curled up (babyyyy). He dreams a lot but they're usually not pleasant. Mumbles in his sleep. He gets cold easily.

#lotr #lord of the rings #hobbits #lotr fandom #lotr fanfic #lotr x reader #lotr fellowship #lotr headcanons #fellowship headcanon #gandalf #aragorn #boromir #gimli #legolas #merry brandybuck #pippin took #pippin #sam gamgee #samwise gamgee #frodo #frodo baggins #sleeping habits

[minaturefics]

In My Place

Request: hey ! 🥰 i was wondering if as a fic, you could write about maybe the reader and aragorn being friends for a long time and when the fellowship forms, the reader starts to form a friendship w boromir too, except aragorn starts to get a little jealous, and he and the reader are at odds w each other? but then the group gets attacked and split up, and aragorn kinda reveals how he feels while they’re arguing and looking for the rest of the group? @sebstanshit

A/N: This came out angstier than I thought it would, but I hope you enjoy it all the same! Also 100% convinced Aragorn can be a little bitch when he wants to be ("and i will die as one of them" smh legolas was talking in elvish for a reason aragorn)

Aragorn x Reader

Gender-neutral reader

No content warnings

3k words

---

The cool evening air blew through the open window of Aragorn’s rooms, and with it came the faint sound of music from Elrond’s Halls. The scent of rosemary lingered in the air, the sprig still floating in the wash basin in the corner. You leaned back on the wall, your arms crossed over your chest, and watched Aragorn fiddle with his hair. His fingers carded through the damp strands, untangling and smoothing the locks so accustomed to neglect. 

Your fingers twitched. How easy it would be to cross the room, to offer to help him. A few paces and you would be by his side. A few paces, and the distance you tried so hard to maintain would vanish under your feet. You shifted and tore your eyes away from him. It could not be. Could never be. Aragorn was a friend, and that was enough.

“What is the matter, my friend?” Aragorn glanced over his shoulder. “If you are impatient to join the party, please go ahead. I will be there soon.”

How could you tell him? What words could possibly convey the maddening desire to be near him? The constant pull at your heart and tug at your limbs, the draw of your gaze to his hands, his eyes, his lips. 

You nodded and forced a smile onto your face. “I will leave you to your battles.”

You slipped out of his room and down the open corridor towards the farewell celebration. Owls hooted in the distance, and crickets chirped in the bushes nearby. You inhaled, sucking in the comforting smell of pine. When did the silent torture of his presence start? A few months? A year? 

All you knew was that a month ago you had reached out to place a comforting hand on his arm, and when his own hand came to rest on top of yours, you felt as if you wanted to stay there, enfolded in his touch. 

You had ripped your hand back, had turned from him and fled. 

You were no fool. You knew how others looked at him, how their eyes would linger on his form, how they spoke of him when he was not around. How could you compare to any of them? Aragorn was an heir, a king. You were just another orphan, common as the daisies in the fields. It was only by sheer chance and Elrond’s kindness that you found your way to his side. 

Ever the constant companion, ever the unwavering friend. No one else knew how he liked his pipe filled, how he favoured his left just ever so slightly when he fought, how he sometimes dreamed of his father’s voice. 

You shook your head and took another breath. It would be no good showing up to the party bitter and brooding. You rounded the corner into one of the empty halls and stumbled into someone. Warm arms came around you, steadying.

“Forgive me, I was not watching where I was going,” Boromir said, a rueful smile on his face. 

“I am equally at fault, my lord.” You stepped back and straightened your robes. “Are you not attending the party?”

“I am on my way there, but I must admit that I am lost. Lord Elrond’s halls are maze-like, and I am unfamiliar with them.” He chuckled. “My companions left me to wrangle my hair so I had no one to guide me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You are not the only one who suffered such a fate. I have just abandoned my friend to his tangles.”

“It seems that we are well matched then! Seeing as you have deserted your companions and I have been deserted by mine. I trust you know the way?”

“We have just a few more rooms to pass through and we shall be there.” You started and he fell in step with you. 

“I am looking forward to a good celebration, even if it is one for our leaving. Valar knows we all could use some cheer.” He flashed another smile at you and you felt your lips curl up. “And those halflings, the hobbits, I expect they shall be good fun.”

You thought of the troublemaking hobbits unknowingly shocking the elves with some Shire custom. “I expect they will be dancing on the tables and making a fine mess of Elrond’s hall.”

“They are good additions to the Fellowship, I think.”

You arched a brow at him. “You do not think they will slow us down? Or are unnecessary burdens?”

Aragorn had expressed such a thought to you, worried that they may not be fit for such a journey.

“Perhaps, but swords and bows are not the only things that win battles. A little bit of hope and joy can be the difference between a person choosing to stay down, defeated, or to stand up, determined.”

You glanced at him, heart lifting at his words. Hope and joy. Perhaps you could afford some of that, some lightness, some cheer. Perhaps you shall never have Aragorn, perhaps the world will be engulfed in darkness. But there was still happiness to be had. 

The music grew louder and the both of you approached the open door. Merry and Pippin were dancing, arms linked, while the elves looked on with amused smiles. 

“I see we have not missed too much,” Boromir said, laughing. “Those little hobbits are yet to raise any hell.”

He looked at you, mirth in his eyes and you chuckled. “Perhaps we could be persuasive.”

--

The late evening sun streamed through the trees and casted the forest in a soft gold. Aragorn trudged through the shrubs and bushes, twigs snapping under his heavy steps. Behind him the hobbits chatted, comparing recipes, and further behind, you were speaking to Boromir. Your laugh rang out in the air, one of pure joy and happiness. 

He fought the urge to glance behind, to see your smiling face, and he ground down on his teeth. After a month of your shifting eyes and feeble smiles, all it took was Boromir’s arrival to change that. 

Aragorn had tried all he knew to cheer you but you had been determined to evade him with every attempt. His invitations to walk in the wilds went rebuffed more often than not, and his little dry comments about things had not elicited anything more than a forced smile from you. 

What had happened? For it seemed that one evening you were fine, and the next you were not. You had made your excuses to him, fatigue from the constant scouting, fear for what lay ahead. But it seemed that all that vanished when you were in the company of other people. That evening at the farewell party in Rivendell had only served to confirm his observations. 

You had been standing close to Boromir, clapping along to the music, and when he had slung his arm over your shoulder and drew you in, you did not recoil. All night long, you had laughed at Boromir’s words, had nudged him with your elbow when the hobbits beckoned him to join them, had shared his goblet of wine when you had misplaced your own. 

How strange it was, for Aragorn to see the both of you the way he expected others had seen you and him before. Was his place not there, where Boromir had been standing?

Ever the constant companion, ever the unwavering friend. No one else knew how you would raid the kitchens at night for food, how you would sing little made up songs when you thought you were alone, how you traced the scar on your arm when you were nervous. 

Was it possible that you had seen what was in his eyes, the adoration plain on his face, and were repulsed? He had tried his best to disguise it, to keep hidden the tenderness in his heart. But from the way Elrond would sometimes look at him, compassion mingled with amusement, he sensed perhaps he was not as successful as he thought. 

He had thought of speaking to you, but the words never came. His eyes would linger on your face, on the line of your nose or the curve of your lips, and when you looked up at him, head tilted in question, all he could do was shake his head and look away. How could he burden you with his love? Risk confining you to a throne when he knew you belonged out here in the wilds?

He could never have you, so what good would it do to have the words spoken?

“Aragorn,” you called and he blinked out of his thoughts, turning. 

The hobbits were leaning on each other, cheeks flushed and foreheads sweaty. Legolas and Gimli were circling the small clearing, and you and Boromir were frowning at him. 

“What is the matter?” His eyes darted between his companions. “Why have we stopped?”

“We have tried to call you twice,” you said. “We are all weary, it is best if we camp here for the night.”

Aragorn glanced at the woods, the darkness growing closer as night began to fall. “We should walk another hour or so. We can light torches if we must.”

“Aragorn, there is little point. It is better to rest well and start early tomorrow.”

“I agree,” Boromir said, laying a hand on your shoulder. 

Aragron’s heart twisted at the sight. He opened his mouth to protest, to mention the urgency of the quest, when out of the corner of his eye he saw Legolas slowly shake his head. He exhaled, willing the tension in his chest and shoulders to ease. “Very well, but we leave at dawn.”

The hobbits gave each other tired smiles and went about setting up camp. Aragorn sat down against a tree and rummaged through his pack. Footsteps approached and he looked up to see you walking towards him. 

“Are you alright, Aragorn? You seem ill at ease.”

What could he say? What words could convey the wretched ache in his chest when he saw you with Boromir? When he looked at you and saw the ghost of himself by your side where Boromir was. 

He shook his head. “I am simply weary.”

“Boromir mentioned teaching us some game he and his brother contrived to entertain themselves as children. It involves twigs and pebbles I believe. Would you care to join us?”

“No, I am alright as I am.”

You glanced back to where Boromir was teaching Legolas. The elf knocked two twigs together hesitantly, his brows furrowed in confusion. Merry flicked a rock at Sam who tossed it back. A smile crept onto your face. “Are you certain? It will be quite fun, I imagine.”

Fun. When was the last time he allowed himself such a thing? Years ago, perhaps, running wild and feral through the woods with you. Back when crowns and kings did not matter, where shadow and doom did not loom so close. He could not afford such a thing, but that was no reason to deprive you of it. 

He nodded towards Boromir and forced a smile. “You better go or you will miss out.”

He watched you kneel beside Legolas, watched Pippin lean against your shoulder, and tried not to stare as you looked up and smiled at Boromir. 

--

The clash of steel rang out in the air. You reached into your quiver and knocked your last arrow to your bow. Aragorn was behind you, fighting off one of the orcs. Another one made its way towards you, lumbering in its heavy armour as it stepped over the bloodied bodies of its company. You took a breath and let your arrow fly. 

It hit its mark true, the arrow protruding from its neck. The orc let out a spluttering cry as its eyes rolled back. It fell to its knees and you turned to look behind you. 

The orc lay dead at Aragorn’s feet and he cleaned his blade before sheathing it. How handsome he looked, windswept and flushed from battle, his eyes bright and his lips parted. A stray leaf was lodged in his hair and your fingers longed to pluck it out. 

He turned to you, a grim smile on his face. “It has been some time since we fought together, has it not?”

“Our luck has run out,” you grimaced, walking over to him. “The Enemy has found us.”

He looked around, eyes darting between the trees. “They have led us away from the rest. I suspect that was what they intended all along.”

“We should find them, head back to camp.”

He nodded. “I fear for the hobbits, especially Frodo. I worry what may happen if he and Boromir are alone.”

You frowned at him. “What do you imply?”

“You saw the way he looked at the ring on Caradhras. I fear he will not be able to resist the temptation.”

Your stomach lurched at the thought of Boromir trying to tear the ring from Frodo. Laughing, cheerful Boromir, driven to madness by the cursed thing. “What you fear may not come to pass. Let us go.”

You found your bearings and started towards the camp. Aragorn walked next to you, his shoulders tight and his face drawn. There was something on his mind, you knew. It was the slight puckering of his lips, the subtle sucking in of his cheeks. Something on his mind he was trying very hard not to speak. 

“What is it, my friend? I know that look.”

He glanced at you, face pained before he let out a long breath. “I wish you would not let your feelings for Boromir cloud your judgement.”

You blinked at him. Your feelings for Boromir? Was it such a terrible thing to have some faith in a friend? “Cloud my judgement? We are his companions, we should have more trust.”

“Your trust in him does not extend to mine.”

What did Aragorn mean by that? Was he aware of something you were not?

Ever since the fellowship left Rivendell he had been cold and distant to Boromir. Aragorn only ever spoke to him when he needed to, his tone short and clipped. Boromir had asked you about it once, but you could not offer any explanation for Aragorn’s behaviour. Perhaps the presence of the steward’s son was too strong of a reminder of the throne he was fated to take. 

But that did little to explain his disposition towards you. Since the journey began it felt as though an undercurrent of disharmony ran between you and him. Insisting on walking more instead of resting, arguing over which clearing would be better for camp, declining the buttered mushrooms you knew he loved. 

Even your attempts to coax it out of him by the fireside yielded little more than a few dismissive words. Why, after so many years, did he decide to shut you out? At a time where trust and faith were needed the most? You shook your head and sighed. 

“Aragorn, you have been in a foul mood since we left Rivendell. What has been on your mind?” His jaw tensed and he glanced away. 

“It is nothing.”

You let out a mirthless laugh. “Have you also lost your trust in me?”

Aragorn stopped and turned to face you. His grey eyes were stormy and his lips were twisted. “Have you lost your trust in me?”

“What do you mean?” You crossed your arms, frown growing on your face.

“For weeks, you have been sullen. You refuse to confide in me, you reject my attempts at cheering you.” He glanced away and let out a sharp exhale. “And yet when Boromir arrived, it took little more than a few days for the both of you to become fast friends.”

You blinked at him. He was bothered by your closeness with Boromir? 

“If I have betrayed your trust in some way, you should have told me,” he said, voice a little lower. “I do not have your love, I know, but it is far too difficult to also lose your friendship.”

What was he saying? Why did he sound so resigned, so bitter? “Aragorn—”

He sighed. “It is out at last. My words, my feelings.”

Your heart raced in your chest. His feelings? Aragorn felt for you what you did for him? All this while he had shared in your feelings of longing. Had you missed his glances, so wrapped up in your own pain? So determined not to love him that whatever tenderness he might have shown was lost to you.

You took a steadying breath. “You have never lost my friendship, and you have always had my love.”

His eyes snapped to yours, the irritation melting away into confusion. His frown softened and his jaw grew slack. His lips parted and closed, and he shook his head. “How can this be?”

You reached up, hand trembling, and cupped his cheek. His skin was warm, his beard rough. He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut. You stroked his cheek with your thumb, relishing the feel of him under your hand. You tugged gently and he brought his forehead to yours. You inhaled his scent, musk and moss, pipeweed and woodsmoke. 

“I fear I have been foolish,” he whispered. “I had thought you and Boromir… You have been so distant of late.”

“I have been foolish as well. I thought if I was not so close to you, it would ease my aching heart.”

He drew back and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Did it work, meleth nin?”

You chuckled. “It only served to make it worse.”

He beamed at you but his expression sobered. “The throne—”

“Aragorn, my place is here with you. No matter where you may go. I am more worried about what people may say. I am not…”

“I do not care,” he muttered and brought his lips to your forehead. “I would not be parted from you.”

“Then do not be parted from me.” You reached for his hand and squeezed. His eyes were bright and a smile lingered on his lips. His arms came around you, strong and safe, and you tucked your nose into his neck. He leaned against you, the tension melting away from his shoulders. 

 “Come,” he said, pulling back. “We have tarried too long. I do fear for the hobbits. They are ill-equipped to defend themselves.”

You reached for the leaf in his hair, a smile growing on your face. He caught your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm. “Then let us hurry. We will have our time later.”

“Yes,” he muttered, his eyes meeting yours, soft and full of promise. “We will have our time.”

#aragorn #aragorn x you #aragorn x reader #aragorn x y/n #lotr #lotr fic #lotr fanfic #request

[wordbunch]

One Lifetime With You (ep. 1)

a/n: okay so I’ve come up with a new fic concept: non-elf (mortal) Tolkien characters FALLING FOR SOMEONE WHO’S AN ELF! idk where it came from, maybe because for me elves have always been more distinct than other races in Middle-earth AND also the immortal x mortal concept?!!? I REALLY do hope you like this, plsss let me know (i’m nervous! 😬) and consider reblogging to support my writing! 🥰🥰💗💗

+ I have more coming up, can you guess who?

✨ EPISODE 1: BOROMIR ✨

at first he is very hesitant and careful

I headcanon him as being a little bit superstitious or something and he would literally interpret you as some omen and cautiously admire you from a distance

but the ringing sound of your laughter and the inexplicably magical way that you move quickly captured his hear; he generally falls in love fast but this time it broke every record

however

very soon he would start to feel insufficient for you and he would struggle trying to bury those feelings

but either he’s bad at hiding his true feelings, or you have some accurate elvish intuition/mind reading abilities, or both

and there’s just something in the way his eyes linger on you longer than it could be deemed appropriate

although when it comes to open physical affection, elves aren’t exactly on the same level as humans, you still very much enjoy how Boromir treats you, even though sometimes it makes you a bit flustered

it would be a lie to say that he doesn’t relish that at least a little bit

he’s still a bit insecure about fully approaching you because, after his initial hesitation, he finds you to be the most enchanting being in all of Middle-earth and nobody can compare

but the way you smile when he greets you in passing gives him a confidence boost, and as soon as the two of you start talking and spending time together more often, he can’t get enough of that, and insecurities are seemingly forgotten

your distinct aura drew him towards you, but your personality made him fall for you completely

he tries to be smooth, but it charms you even more if he ends up tripping over his words, but he would make a complete fool of himself just to hear you giggle

you can relax around him and neither of you care about others’ opinions

he is SO quick to defend you if anybody as much as breathes “wrongly” in your direction, literally like your personal bodyguard

you’re the more composed and cool one and he’s the more passionate, energetic one

he is definitely the slightly jealous type

does he ask Faramir to teach him elvish so he can confess his love to you?? you bet he does!!

and you’re amazed and your heart is melting even though the grammar is a bit off and his accent is coming through but who cares

from that point you make it your mission to teach him elvish

it’s more fun than it is successful, but you find it so endearing that he really tries

Boromir adores listening to you sing or speak in your language - it sounds as ethereal as you look

he all but lights on fire when he feels your loving gaze on him

his heart skips a beat whenever you’re being more physically affectionate, especially if it’s in front of someone

Boromir ADORES picking you up and twirling you around, no special occasion necessary

he’s generally so proud to be with you and he showers you with love and he would go to the ends of the very universe for you

he really enjoys just talking to you about everything and showing you his life and his world

Faramir is absolutely amazed by you and you grow to love him like your own brother

however, Boromir has a hard time accepting that you’re willing to give up your immortality for him and he will definitely openly tell you that

it even crosses his mind that, if he had known earlier that you’d have to do it, he would have just quietly loved you from a distance

because if there’s one thing he doesn’t ever want, it’s for you to be hurting in any way

but for you, giving up the immortal life is the only right choice to make because, in hundreds of years you spend in Middle-earth, you’ve never felt more alive than when you’re together

so yes of course you make that decision

and there are mixed happy/sad tears from both of you as you hold each other like you’re about to evaporate

literally the ultimate declaration of love

he proposes to you right then and there, hence more happy tears, but you wouldn’t want to experience that with anybody else

Boromir is a simple man who has always wanted love and a family of his own, but never dared to even dream to end up with a larger-than-life love story

however he ended up getting a very magical one

every now and then he wakes up thinking that it was all a dream, and he feels a combination of delight, relief and love when he finds you right there, looking as radiant as a spring sunrise

✨ taglist my beloved ✨ @lotrnonsense​ @starlady66​ @lazymeriadoc​ @entishramblings​ @thesolarangel​ @silversword7000​ @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog​ @averys-place​ @valkyriepirate​ @emmaarenstarr​ @noldorinpainter​ @asianbutnotjapanese​ @adamgetawaydriver​ @fenharel-enaste​ @ironmandeficiency​

#onelifetime #boromir x reader #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the rings headcanons #lord of the rings imagine #lotr imagine #lotr fanfic #lotr x reader #boromir imagine #boromir fanfiction #lotr #lord of the rings x reader #from my pocketses

[edges-of-night]

Hello dear friend! I was waiting for your request to open. Can I request a reader who is openly flirty while writing letters but in person is a complete love struck fool (I love flirting with my gf over text but I will scream and cry happily if she holds my hand or if she kisses me I FOLD)

Thank you so much for your kind words! I hope you’ll enjoy your post!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Aragorn strikes me as someone who is not overly flirtatious. Maybe your letters have always been just a little too much for him. So in fact, he’s pleasantly surprised when he finds you’re not as forward in person! He has no problem with little displays of affection and would like you to grow more confident in your romantic desires.

･ﾟ✧ Arwen.

Arwen would definitely tease you about the discrepancy of your letters with your actual reactions to displays of affection. Maybe she’d even spread rumours about you being some sort of amorist or adventurer! This is, of course, never malicious, and Arwen is very good at noticing your daily level of comfort when it comes to this. She makes no secret of it: she enjoys your cute blushes to no end!

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir fancies himself very suave, I think. But I feel like he would share the exact same situation with you, actually! His letters may be overtly flirtatious and even spicy as he tries to out-do your writings – but in person, Boromir is actually just as nervous and easily flustered as you. It takes him some time to admit it, but you both find comfort in your similarities.

･ﾟ✧ Elrond.

Elrond initially thinks there must be a mistake – some jester who writes spicy letters to him in your name. When he confronts you, his sweet and innocent partner, with this conspiracy, your face heats up – of course it’s been you! Needless to say, Elrond understands immediately once you explain the situation to him. He’d even laugh at how everything went down.

･ﾟ✧ Éomer.

To be honest, I feel like Éomer would be disappointed at first. After all, he thought he’d meet an outgoing social butterfly – which maybe you are – but not someone who covers their flushed face as soon as he’d play back some of the things you wrote in your letters, against a wall in Edoras. Even in the candlelight, he can make out your blush. However, after overcoming this initial disappointment he delights in your little interactions.

･ﾟ✧ Éowyn.

Éowyn would need more time than others to realise the difference between your letters and your real personality. She’d mirror your forward flirts and innuendos and not notice at all how incredibly flustered you’d get – not until someone would point it out to her. She’d apologise immediately and ask with what you’d be comfortable, because that is her end goal after all – to make you feel good ♡

･ﾟ✧ Faramir.

Poor Faramir would probably think something was wrong with him, or that you were disappointed by him in person. After all, why else wouldn’t you initiate any touches or flirtatious whispers, something that would be more in line with your letters? It’d take him some time to understand that you simply weren’t that kind of person. Needless to say, he’d happily take on the job of initiating affection himself!

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

Being the dreamy bookworm that he is, Frodo initially thinks that you two were essentially role-playing in your letters! It is only when you apologise to him for being so flustered and nervous when he takes your hand that he understands. He’ll just laugh and tell you he wasn’t as adventurous as the character in his letters either. “Why, we can be flustered together then, can’t we? I’d like that.”

･ﾟ✧ Galadriel.

Galadriel, of course, cannot be fooled when it comes to your feelings. She is quite content with knowing only your thoughts, be it through letters or telepathy. That said, she likes to indulge in the occasional handholding, while always making sure you’re not pushed too far out of your comfort zone.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf wouldn’t buy into your letters in the first place. While he does find them amusing to read, he knows very well how you get in person with just as little as a kiss. He accepts you as you are and doesn’t push anything on you that makes you uncomfortable. He also makes you laugh quite a bit with the letters he sends back to you!

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Gimli finds your letters, no matter how spicy they actually were, quite scandalous – in a good way! He keeps them a well-kept secret, delighting every time you write him a few lines. He doesn’t see that big of a discrepancy between the characters of your letters and in person. He likes you as a whole. To him, it is fairly normal that one is more forward and suave when having hours to think of what to write, instead of a spontaneous display of affection.

･ﾟ✧ Haldir.

Haldir cannot help but feel a gust of gratification after realising just how easily flustered you’d get in person. He deems it payback for all those shameless letters you keep writing him! However, that also means the stony Elf has to get out of his comfort zone: If he really wants to embarrass you, he’ll have to initiate a kiss or two, sooner or later… How unfortunate (not)!

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Legolas would definitely approach your shy personality with “training” – meaning he would initiate many romantic gestures and little displays of affection, just so that you could get used to them and more comfortable in your relationship with him. He’d be mischievous but never cruel: “Why do you not try to go ahead and kiss me, dearest? There is no need to be shy with me!” He’d even guide your hands, your chin, etc. ♡

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Although Merry has very eagerly sent you just as flirty letters backs, he is pleasantly surprised to meet you in person and finding that you would blush and get flustered so easily. He’d explain it to you as almost having ‘two partners’ – a ‘two for one’ deal, so to speak! He’s immensely excited about this difference but always makes sure to keep it a secret between the two of you.

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin would grow ten feet tall (haha) once he learned how shy and lovestruck you were in person. Because of his playful character, he’d tease you while trying to make you more comfortable, à la: “I dare you to hold my hand right now! If you don’t, I’ll just take yours!” That said, Pippin would totally write back letters that are just as flirty and spicy as yours!

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Sam may be very shy himself, but he is absolutely charmed by your sweet blushes and cute whispers whenever he takes your hand or gives you a kiss. The man is just head over heels in love with you! Although he knows how you’ll react, it always takes him by surprise, and he’ll grin widely as you try to hide your blush.

#lotr imagine #lotr headcanons #lotr x reader #aragorn x reader #arwen x reader #boromir x reader #elrond x reader #eomer x reader #eowyn x reader #faramir x reader #frodo x reader #galadriel x reader #gandalf x reader #gimli x reader #haldir x reader #legolas x reader #merry x reader #pippin x reader #samwise x reader #* ask #* request #* fluffy

[heilith]

Boromir + touch if u still accept!

Enjoy, dear Anon...;) Drop me a word, if you read it!

@mismaeve @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls Some Boromir at your service.

Touch Me Not

“You shouldn’t be afraid. I’m not touching you.”

The heavy “yet” hang in the air unspoken.

Your lips were too dry for someone who had afforded the highest honour a woman of this Kingdom could dream of.

Not thinking twice, you ran your tongue against them on pure instinct, and regretted it the very next moment. Absurd as it was, you longed to avoid whatever acts or gestures could promote what you knew had to happen this night.  

You could be blowing on cold water, though…His posture didn’t change - no strain came into the way he’d leaned against the door relaxedly, as if to decorate it with himself and look at you was all he meant to do for hours. The only alteration in him was how the edges of his mouth were curving upward now, so slightly you were doubting your own vision.

It must have been the damned weightless veil that let the sight you had made of yourself pass unnoticed for his eyes.

“I can leave, if you wish.”

His voice was low and soft.

He was playing with you. Suffocating in this bedchamber, like a bird in a trap, you resented it deeply. Like there was, indeed, a chance to help yourself out of your duty.

“No, please,” was all you could rasp out.

You wouldn’t have the whole Minas Tirith despise you for how you had failed to consummate your marriage to its best and most admired prize.  

His smile turned into a smirk. You’d had no time to bat an eye, before his tunic met the floor, and the undershirt followed it, leaving him half-naked and you – half-dead with consternation.

“I’m not touching you,” repeated he in a slow, mollifying undertone, “But I won’t scream murder if you touch me.”  

Blood surged to your face quicker than your heart could bear it.

Feeling like an utter fool, you allowed your legs to buckle under you and have you land onto the soft wedding bed, as if someone had suddenly cut the strings which held you upright.  

The man nodded, regarding you with as calm an air.   

“Not the time yet, then,” said he flatly, “Do not trouble yourself.”

His was bigger than you remembered even since morning. He hadn’t been that close to you then, or you hadn’t perceived it so acutely as now, when he took a seat next to you, his shoulders down, but still proudly broad.

An almost indifferent hand closed down on yours. You held a breath, as he pulled it up and against his chest, and let it stay there, against the skin so hot it seemed he was burning on the inside.

You bit through your lip – and realized it only when the taste of flesh rose in your mouth, sweet or sour – it was all the same to you. It was impossible to stop staring at the interlacement of his fingers and yours, pressed to his torso so closely that not even a hair could be pulled in between.

“Isn’t it awful?” murmured Boromir with a look of a boy, ready for a mischief unimaginable.

…You couldn’t say how you’d ended up lying next to him under the dusty furry canopy in the bed too huge for two.

Neither could you remember how he’d lulled your vigilance and cradled you into a loose embrace.

All you knew was that your hand was still draped over his chest, touching him lightly and quite willingly now.

And your veil was still hiding your face from those sharp and smiling eyes.      

#boromir #boromir x reader #drabbles #warm-up

[markrosewater]

Hi Mark!

As Head Judge of Silver Bordered Magic I have two questions regarding Vorthos Steward of Myth

1) is Gandalf, or Boromir, or Gollum a "Named Magic Character"

2) if a flavor text quote is unsourced but we know from other material who said it (the fool of a took flavor on Stern Scolding is a Gandalf line from the books) can we use that flavor text to count toward Vorthos' ability (yes I know Gandalf is already in the art, but I think there may be a couple other relevant unsourced quotes)

Love the designs, wish you and the team the best!

1) For purposes of Vorthos, "a Magic character" is defined as any character who has appeared on a Magic card, so yes, you can name Gandalf or Boromir or Gollum.

2) If the flavor text is from an existing source and in that source the line is said by a specific character, yes that card counts towards Vorthos' ability.