#it's sotwk's fault

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Blue Moon

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (movies) Ship/Pairing: Eomer x Reader (one mention of reader wearing a dress) Trope: Noble x Humble worker Note: IT’S SOTWK’s FAULT. We talked about Eomer’s hands and here we are. The title « Blue Moon » is a reference to the song « Blue Moon », my favourite rendition being sung by Ella Fitzgerald. Warnings: Horses? Word count: 1 595 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

There was something hypnotising about his hands.

The way his palm moved along the planes of the horse’s back. They were delicate. Deliberate in their care for the animal. Several times today, you had caught your gaze lingering a little too long on his slender fingers and their dexterity. Several times you had wondered what they’d feel like against your skin, in your hair weaving braids during a quiet evening. Those were fairy tales. You did not dwell on them, even when it kept you up at night; heat clinging to your skin, the chilly wind doing nothing to help your wandering mind.

It seemed to appease his uneasy nature to come here. He would go in the early hours of the day, only to come back in the middle of the morning. To the outside world, he was a leader. Someone they could trust and follow into depths unknown. Here, he was only Eomer. You considered yourself lucky to have witnessed both.

Others were concerned by his willingness to spend so much more time with you instead of them. You had dismissed them easily enough, but the thought had lingered. Why was he only asking you to help him? A bucket, water, hay, a brush for the horse’s mane. You were not willing to fathom an answer, especially if it was the wrong one. Seeing him like this it made you happy enough. You were content with this, whatever this was.

From time to time, he would ask about your day and you would always answer the same things. Fine and good. Excellent, perfect or grand. Never would you have said what you wanted to say. That it was him who made those days fine, and good and excellent and perfect and grand. Until meeting him, working with horses had been your life’s dream, and you were fulfilled by it. When he was there, you weren’t so sure anymore. It felt as if all of him was completing what you had and did not know you were missing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Barely above a whisper, his question lingered in the air between the two of you, almost as if he had not meant to ask it aloud. He was still working his fingers through the hair, looking beyond the horse’s back, away from you. If he had looked at you, you could have traced a lingering hint of a pinkish hue on his cheeks.

A chilly breeze rose, and you had to tighten the cloth around your shoulder, crossing your arms close to your chest.

“Nothing important, Sire.”

A laugh echoed through the wooden box around you.

“Then why are you boring a hole in my skull with your staring?”

Your cheek felt warmer than they had been moments ago.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, sire. If you need me to go, I… — No. Stay.”

Eomer had not meant for his voice to grow this loud. Nor to turn around so abruptly. The nerves in him, electrified by your eyes, led him to act so.

It had grown almost suddenly, this affection he had for you. First, you were something to behold. Once he discovered your face, your features, the way you moved and talked, he only ever wanted you to be near him when the mask fell off. When he could be himself and not who he was supposed to be. Second, you never pressured him into talking, going silent for hours on end, just being there with him and Lia. She was not his usual horse. He preferred not to overexert Firefoot, especially after the events he had seen on the battlefields. You were the one to care for her when he could not, even before he started mounting her. The mare had a gentler temper, dark robe and larger body. She adored you and if instincts served him right, animals were always the true tellers of someone’s nature. Thirdly, and lastly, your presence calmed him like no one else could. Except when you were threatening to leave. Or when you were looking at him, behind his back. He never wanted you to stop looking at him like that. When your eyes were observing and kind on him, his weary body and his weary mind, he felt that he could take on another thousand wars just to find you here again, safe and sound, watching him. He only hoped you could say the same about him.

“As you wish, Sire.”

The goosebumps on your arms and the way you protected yourself from the cold struck him then. With the winds of winter approaching, the weather had gone incredibly cold, and you were only wearing a thin linen above your usual dress and robes. He stepped out of the box, coming closer to you as he’d ever been. He grabbed for a cover lying around. Those were used for the horses but they’d have to do. He wrapped it around you, as tight as he could. It smelled of the stables and hay. A hint of pink shattered across his cheekbones in the morning lights. Your breaths were leaving your lips in hot clouds between you. The way he settled his palms on your shoulders, securing the cloth around you, drove a whole different kind of shiver down your spine. You could feel his fingers over the fabric, his overexerted hands catching some threads, before he took them off you, gently. You could not help the sharp inhale you took when he did.

“Would not want you freezing to death on my account.”

His smile did not reach his eyes, but you felt the warmth it procured you down to your toes. At a loss for words, you smiled in return, trying to hide your face. Your arms were still secured against your chest but your heart was not as protected as you had hoped it would be.

In a thoughtless step, Eomer leaned down and brought his lips to your cheek. He could feel the burn of them under his skin. The way you looked up at him, bewildered and hopeful, brows knitted together in confusion, only made his mouth ache for more. Still, he would not do it unless you said so. He had already overstepped and behaved un-gallantly enough. Hence his surprise when he found your hands gripping at his lapel, obviously not willing to let him go. A soft curve graced his mouth, a pleasant feeling growing in him.

“Can I…?”

Your vigorous nodding let him know exactly what he wanted. Only then did he pull you closer, his hands drawing you in, the warmth you felt from his lips and the tenderness with which his fingers nestled against your jaw below your ears, enough to make you forget about the world around. Delicately, his mouth danced with yours, eager to please and swift to do so. Soon, his wide hand drew you in, pulling you at the waist. Your fingers met his heart through cloth and flesh and bones, beating in a rhythm only known to you both.

“I…”

You bit your lip while you could see him observing you through hooded eyes, his fingertips sending shivers down your arms. He was tracing the hollow of your cheek with his knuckles, leaving you breathless once more. He looked as if he had seen the most marvellous creature in the entire world. You could not believe it was you on the other end of that fantasy.

“I… do not know what to say… I… — Then you don’t need to say anything.”

His fingers found their way down the length of your throat. He looked positively charmed, yet you pulled back, hesitant. What if this had been… just a fling? Just something he could do, just because he wanted to. No other reason. No feelings involved. What if he was playing with you?

“I will. — What?”

He chuckled at your incredulous expression.

“I will say something. — Oh.”

He brought you back to him again, kissing your cheek.

“I…” He kissed your nose. “…will never…” your other cheek. “…ever…” Your fingertips now. “…let you…” This was getting on your nerves and he knew it, smirking behind your hand. “…be seen by anyone else but me, in this state.”

The last words murmured against your cheek, to the shell of your ear, elicited a burning anticipation deep in your bones.

“My King, I would never ever let anyone but me see you in this state. — I don’t think anyone had ever really seen me before you.”

His candid answer surprised you. In a tender caress, he stroked your back through the fabrics of your clothes, not thick enough to keep his touch at bay. A thumb ventured below your breast, too close to be accidental. You inhaled sharply.

“And I will never let anyone else see me like this. If you’ll have me, of course.”

His declaration hit your heart at an arrow’s speed.

“You really mean that? I’m not just a… — You’re not just anything. You are the world and beyond. You are everything. I hope to be everything to…”

Before he could finish, you pulled him down for another kiss. This one arousing and passionate; desires trapped, finally meeting in the middle.

“I will. I absolutely will.”

A heartbeat passed in his arms, trying to keep your hands to yourselves.

“You were asking me to… — … court and eventually marry you? Yes. And you said yes, you cannot take it back now.”

Your laughter rang through him as it rang through the stables, enlightening the new day ahead.

#eomer xf!reader #eomer imagine #eomer x reader #lotr imagine #one-shot #lotr fic #it's sotwk's fault #fluff

[erathene]

I send you 🥑 !

🥑 ⇢ you accidentally killed somebody, which mutual(s) do you text for help?

Somehow I know exactly who I would call and why??

@sotwk because she would probably tell me that it wasn't my fault, that guy deserved it, and that everything is going to be okay. Basically give me mom vibes 🥰

@torturedhoesdepartment would probably help me hide the body (sorry haha 😅), I'm sure I've seen in her tags she's studying nursing too which would probably came in handy in case my guy fought back.

@emmanuellececchi would help me work out my alibi because this lady plans her writing and world building so meticulously it's unreal. She'd probably also bring cupcakes.

#Ha I wasn't sure if I wanted to answer this one #I hope this doesn't ruin anyone's day #But just a reflection of how I see your blogs and posts and why I love you all

[middleearthpixie]

Living Proof ~ Chapter Fourteen

Summary: When he puts himself between the Uruk-hai and Merry and Pippin, Boromir knows it means sacrificing himself. But it also means redemption for his near betrayal of Frodo and the Fellowship, and so it is a price he is more than willing to pay.

Kaia has been on her own for as long as she can remember, having escaped a terrible life in a village not far from Mordor. When she hears the sounds of battle, she knows what it means and when she ventured forth and finds a gravely wounded man lying amongst the leaves and debris, she takes him in, not knowing he is actually the son of the steward of Gondor.

Angry at himself and faced with a long road to recovery, Boromir does not make things easy on Kaia and it is only through her own sheer will that she does not give into the urge to hit him over the head with something on a daily basis. That refusal to give up brings about changes neither one of them could have foreseen.  She just wanted to save him. She never thought he would save her in return…

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

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Kaia 

Warnings: Some battle violence (nothing graphic, I promise)

Rating: T 

Word Count: 4.5k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls @doctorwhump @kmc1989 @estethell @emrfangirl @emmanuellececchi

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

Previous chapters can be found here.

Kaia sank onto the edge of a broken stone at the top of the parapet and sighed softly as Madril asked, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, looking up at him. It was a lie, of course. The moment she heard Boromir’s name, and then his voice, her stomach had been a mess of jumbles and knots. And when she met his gaze… her heart beat so fast and with such force, she thought for a moment she might faint. 

But then those gray-blue eyes narrowed and his gaze pierced right through her. The anger practically radiated from him and while she couldn't fault him at all, it did surprise her that he was so angry. She’d always thought that men easily separated emotion from the physical and that he would be just as glad to not have her clinging to him, begging for a future with him. But then again, her experience with men was on the limited side, and none she’d ever known were anything like Boromir. Not by half.

She hadn’t expected him to speak to her. In fact, she thought he might just shove past her and go on his way. And now that he had spoken, she almost wished he hadn’t. Almost.

She stared toward the doorway where she’d last seen him. Part of her hoped the halflings had too far a head start on him, that he’d give up and return to Osgiliath. But that was only simply so she didn't worry about him, about something terrible befalling him. 

“If you don’t mind my saying, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Well, not exactly, anyway.”

“Did you know the halflings?”

“Know them? No. Know of them? Yes.” She turned completely toward him. “I know Boromir knows them, but not how or why. I’ve heard him speak of them, but he never went into detail.”

“Hmm…” Madril’s eyes narrowed slightly and she waited for him to ask her about how she knew Boromir. 

But he didn’t. Instead, he gazed out over the growing darkness, which seemed far heavier and much darker than normal. Something in the distance must’ve caught his attention, for he said, “Excuse me,” and hurried off in the opposite direction. 

Curious, she followed, coming up as Faramir joined him on the far parapet and Madril said, “It’s been very quiet across the river. The orcs are lying low. The garrison may have moved out. We’ve send scouts to Cair Andros and if the orcs attack from the north, we will have some warning.”

Orcs. Although she knew the chance of facing them grew far greater with each passing day, it didn't mean the thought did not scare her at all. She watched as Faramir’s men moved about, seemingly at random purpose, but she knew well enough they were moving into position for either watch or battle, and she strongly suspected the latter.

She was not wrong.

The first arrow took her by surprise. It swished over her head, striking one of Faramir’s men dead center in the chest, piercing his armor as if it was no thicker than a sheet of paper. He fell, clanking down the stone steps as he rolled out of sight.

“They’re not coming from the north,” Faramir said, “To the river! Quick! Go!”

Despite the roiling in her belly, despite the icy terror rushing through her veins, she followed the others to Osgiliath’s lowest level, where the river had begun to swamp it, greenish-black water swirling about the crumbling stone. Black dots danced before her eyes as she flattened herself into an alcove, just as she had done earlier, when the Nazgûl swooped overhead. 

A boat silently eased up to the stone and dropped its ramp, and orcs poured from it, splashing and sloshing their way through the fortress. Madril and Faramir were the first to leap out and attack and her hands wrapped tightly about her sword’s grips, Kaia did the same. 

Bedlam ensued. Steel met steel with deafening clangs. Men and orcs screamed as one ran the other through. Heads were removed from bodies. Arms and legs fell into the water with sickening splashes. Torsos were sliced in half, some cleanly, some not so cleanly. Orc blood, thick and black, mingled with the scarlet blood of Men as it spattered against the stone and spilled across the blocks beneath their feet. 

Kaia could barely see for the gray and gloom of night, but that didn't stop her. Her head pounded from the sounds, from the force of her blood pumping through her temples. Her arms ached from the relentless swinging, from the force of her steel striking unyielding targets, from the force required to block the blows that came her way. She moved through the gloom, ignoring the rancid black ooze of orc blood spattering across her face, pressing forward. She lost sight of Madril. Lost sight of Faramir. Could see nothing but the relentless push of orcs as more and more spilled into Osgiliath.

A hot sting swept across her right shoulder. She ignored it as she swung back with everything she had to sever the arm holding the blade that cut her. But then another blade caught her to knock her sword from her grasp and she found herself eye to eye with the creature responsible.

“Well, look here at what I found,” he sneered, lifting his blade to poke it into the hollow of her throat. 

Tears of pain stung her eyes, but she fought to keep them from falling. Her sword lay just along her left foot, but if she moved, the blade at her throat would pierce her before she got halfway to her own steel. 

Metal sliced the air and the orc’s head went flying off to his left, while his body crumpled in a heap where he’d stood. Sticky black ooze clouded her right eye, but Faramir’s voice was clear as he shouted, “Fall back! Fall back to Minas Tirith!” as he continued past her.

She snatched up her blade, dragging the back of her right hand across her face to clear her vision. A hint of panic stung her as she had no idea where Minas Tirith was in relation to where she was, but she broke into a run behind the others as they all scattered. 

Splashing through the flooded portion of Osgiliath, Kaia lost her footing more than once, but managed to remain upright as she followed the others. Her heart hammered her ribs with enough force that black dots danced before her eyes as she fought to ignore it, to ignore the burn in her lungs and in her legs. Running was never her strong suit, but her life had never depended on it nearly as much, aside from that day in the clearing, when she dragged a nearly-lifeless Boromir back from certain death. 

Dawn was breaking as they spilled forth from Osgiliath and Kaia was fairly certain her feet touched no ground as she ran across the fields. Her heart threatened to explode, her lungs threatened to seize up, and at the shriek of the Nazgûl screeched louder, she knew she stood no chance. Her legs surrendered first. She stumbled. Reeled forward. Went skidding across the ground, unable to hold back her cry of pain as her wounded shoulder took most of the brunt of her fall. Her sleeve was torn almost completely off and blood soaked the fabric as it gushed from the ugly slash. Her hand felt cold, her sword jarred free from her grasp once more, only now she couldn’t make her hand obey her and grip it once more. 

A shadow fell over her. Thunder of hoofbeats roared above her. She closed her eyes and braced herself to be trampled beneath those hooves.

The sounds of battle reached Boromir’s ears as he made his way back toward Osgiliath and as he emerged from the tunnel, and saw the empty boats, his gut twisted sharply and he slid his sword free. He didn't stop pushing forward, and unlike the last time he faced an army of orcs, he didn’t feel the sting of the arrow. All Boromir could think about was getting to Kaia. Faramir’s men were as good as his own had been, but they were still horribly outnumbered, and he knew she was there somewhere.

Then Faramir bellowed for them to fall back and without hesitation, Boromir made for the stables and he didn't care whose horse he took as he swung up onto the first saddled mount he saw. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and took off out into the coming dawn. 

The shriek of the Nazgûl made his hair stand on end and he urged his horse to run faster as the fell beast swooped down toward the Pelennor Fields, where ahead of him, the rest of Faramir’s men thundered toward Minas Tirith. He slowed down some as he caught sight of an inert figure lying face down not fifty yards ahead of him and his stomach clenched as he tugged hard on the reins and his mount slowed, then stopped. 

“Kaia!” He leaped down from the animal’a back and dropped to his knees at her side. She didn't stir. 

He wasted no time in gathering her in his arms to spirit her back to his horse, where he managed to maneuver her up into the saddle in front of him, an arm firmly about her waist as he dug his heels into the horse’s sides and they moved once more.

Dirt spattered her face, clumps of it mingled with blood dotted her glorious hair, now matted with sweat and earth. The sleeve of her tunic was shredded, her right shoulder smeared with blood, both fresh and dried, and an ugly wound along her upper arm continued to bleed freely.  

Without thinking, he cradled her closer, muttering, “We’re almost there, just a bit further. Just… hold on, love…”

A brilliant white light split the Nazgûl in two and sent them all in opposite directions, leaving a clear path all the way back to Minas Tirith and as they crossed into the White City and Boromir saw Gandalf, he couldn't believe his eyes at all. 

Kaia stirred then, lifting her head as she let out a low groan. “Who—where—how?”

“Shhh…” He tightened his arm about her. “You’re safe now.”

“Boromir?” She craned her neck to peer up at him with confused eyes. “But… how…?”

“We will talk later,” he told her softly, guiding his mount along the cobbled main road that wound up along the city’s tiers. The Houses of Healing were on the sixth level and that was where he was going. Everything else would wait for now. Faramir. His father. It would all wait.

Kaia let out a cry as he slipped from the horse and jostled her when he moved to ease her down as well. “Forgive me,” he murmured, cradling her against his chest. 

He carried her up the stairs into the Houses of Healing, where Ioreth, Minas Tirith’s healer, looked up. “Boromir? You—you’re here?”

“I am but please, any and all questions will wait for now.” 

“Yes, of course,” she gestured for him to bring Kaia over to the bed nearest the bank of windows. “Is this your squire?”

“Squire? No. She is no boy but a woman, Ioreth. Kaia.” He bent to set Kaia down on the bed. “And I owe my life to her.”

Ioreth offered up a quirked eyebrow, but all she said was, “I will tend to her. You should go and see Denethor. He’s been… not himself, these last few weeks.”

He sighed softly, drawing the back of his wrist across his forehead. “Just… just take care of her. I have to go find Faramir. When she wakes, tell her…”

“Tell her what, my lord?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. Just take care of her.”

“My lord?”

He let out a low sigh. “Just tell her I will be back.”

With that, he turned and strode back toward the doorway and without a look back, left the House of Healing. As he stepped out into the golden sunlight, he saw Faramir and with great haste, hurried to catch up with him. 

“Faramir!”

Faramir stopped and, shading his eyes with one hand, looked up. “Where did you come from?”

“Never mind that,” Boromir waved off the question as he joined them. “I thought I’d go with you to see Father, lest he not believe I actually walk amongst the living.”

“Where is Kaia? Have you seen her?”

He nodded. “She is in with Ioreth now. I imagine the infirmary will be overrun with wounded shortly.”

“She was wounded? What happened?”

“I know not. I happened upon her just over the border of the Pelennor Fields.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No. Now, come. We’ve no time to waste on idea chatter.”

He started toward the Citadel, where he knew he’d find his father, in his chair at the foot of the black staircase that led up to the throne of the king of Gondor.

But, Faramir was nothing if not determined and as he fell into step alongside him, he said, “What happened to her?”

“I told you, I haven’t a clue. I found her lying in the field and brought her in.”

“So, wait… you simply dumped her in the infirmary?”

“Mind your own matters, little brother,” Boromir growled without looking at him. 

“Have you lost your mind?”

“This is not the time.”

“Not the—“ Faramir fell into step alongside him. “Are you a complete idiot? What could she have possibly done to make you this angry?”

Boromir was in no mood to discuss his love life or hear Faramir’s take on it, either. His stomach clenched with a worry he tried to pretend was nothing more than exhaustion as they continued on their way. “Again, mind your own matters.” 

“Mind my own—oh, fine. If that’s what you wish, far be it from me to be your blasted conscience.”

“Good. I need no conscience. I assure you, I’ve done nothing to her that shames me.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

Now, Boromir glared at him, but Faramir simply rolled his eyes in response and hurried up the stone staircase ahead of him. 

At the top of the stone steps, they reached the courtyard and in the center of it, the Tree of Gondor, which would have been white, had it not been dead. Boromir paid neither it nor his brother and mind as he bobbed his head at the pages who silently tugged open the doors leading into Tower Hall. 

Denethor II, the Steward of Gondor, sat in his chair, scowling as always, but when he looked up, his eyes lit up as he said, “My son! I worried a terrible fate had befallen you.”

“No.” Boromir shook his head as he drew to a halt before his father. “As you can see, I am alive and in one piece.”

“But we thought…” Denethor cleared his throat and turned away for a moment. When he turned back, he brandished the halved remains of the Great Horn. “This was brought back by one of your brother’s men and I was certain it meant you were lost.”

Boromir stared at the ivory and gold pieces and slowly shook his head. “No. I was wounded, but as you can see, I still walk amongst the living.”

“It is a gift, that you are here and my greatest fear did not come to pass.” He said this with a rare smile and a warm gaze adding, “And have you—”

He paused, his cold gray eyes sliding toward Faramir, who drew up alongside Boromir. “Have you done as you were tasked?”

Boromir swallowed hard. He knew he would disappoint his father, knew Denethor would be furious and would most likely disown him when he admitted that he’d failed. But, he squared his shoulders and shook his head. “I’ve not, no.”

Denethor’s cold eyes grew colder still, looking like two slivers of iced slate. His jaw tightened. “Is that so?”

“It is. I tried. But—”

“You tried? What does that mean—you tried. You failed!”

“I did, yes. And as a result—”

“As a result, you left the Ring in the possession of a halfwit who will keep it for himself!”

“No,” Faramir broke in softly. “I do not think he will, Father.”

“Oh, you do not think he will, do you?” Those iced slate eyes slid toward Faramir. “Then you are as halfwitted as they are, for of course he will. He’d be a fool not to.”

“Father,” Boromir interrupted sharply, “I did try to take it and that halfwit outsmarted me, and when he did, I realized I was wrong. So very wrong, indeed. I was wrong to try tot take it for myself, for Gondor, and not to allow the one chosen to bear it to destroy it. And if that makes me a halfwit, then so be it. I am at peace with the fact that I failed.”

Denethor’s gaze grew colder still, colder than Boromir had ever seen. “You disappoint me, as I thought you the braver of my sons. And yet you defy me. Defy my instructions. You have proved yourself as useless and unworthy as your brother!”

“So be it.” Boromir shrugged as if his father’s words meant nothing to him, ignoring the sharp sting those words sent through him. Denethor’s disappointment was not something to which he was accustomed. Normally, Faramir bore the brunt of their father’s wrath, while Boromir tried to shield him at all turns. 

But not this time. 

“Father, to take the Ring, to bring it here, would bring about our ruin faster. This is how it must be done. And this is how it will be done.”

“Take yourself from my sight,” Denethor growled. “And take your brother with you. My sons, my heirs, and you are nothing but disappointments, both of you.”

“You will return to Osgiliath. Take it back. Then, and only then, will I even consider you my sons again.”

“Father, Osgiliath was overrun—” Faramir began.

“Take it back.” Denethor looked from him to Boromir and back. “And do not return until you do, either of you.”

Boromir stared at his father for a long moment, as if he’d never seen him before. Although he knew firsthand the pull the Ring had and would have over any Man who thought to try to possess it, he knew Denethor had no such awareness. All he cared about was what Boromir himself had cared about when he’d attacked Frodo in the clearing at Amon Hen. Power. Denethor wanted to secure his place, wanted to make certain his position never wavered, that he never had reason to fear the rightful king coming to usurp him.

He should only know that Gondor’s true leader was somewhere between Minas Tirith and Mordor, and if Aragorn should survive and return to claim his rightful place, Boromir would not hesitate to bow and acknowledge him as the King of Gondor.

“Did you hear me?”

“I did and if that’s what you wish, ” Boromir shrugged, “so be it.”

“Then we understand each other.”

“Aye, I understand.” With that, Boromir turned and stalked from Tower Hall without looking back. 

Outside, Faramir caught up to him. “You should go and see her before you go.”

“I’ll not tell you again, little brother,” Boromir growled without looking at him, “stay out of my affairs.”

“And if you do not return?”

He paused then, at the low wall at the far end of the courtyard, where he could see Osgiliath and the River Anduin. Gazing out at the sparkling water, he drew in a deep breath and let it out as a low, steady exhale. “Why does it trouble you so much?”

“Because, I think you should talk to her, that’s why.”

Overhead, clouds thickened, iron gray and heavy with the promise of rain. In the distance, the faint orange glow of the ever-watchful Eye of Sauron gleamed. A heaviness settled over Minas Tirith, one that he’d felt long before he was tasked with going to Rivendell, but had grown heavier since then. If Osgiliath remained in orc hands, it was but a matter of time before they made the march to Minas Tirith. 

“If I need advice on how to handle my life, little brother, I promise you, you will be the first one I come to. Until then, mind your own matters.”

He turned to stride toward the stairs, to return to his flat and prepare to depart Minas Tirith once more, only to have Faramir halt his stride as he called, “What did she do that was so terrible?”

Without slowing, Boromir called back, “It is none of your—”

“Concern, I know. But I saw how she looked at you and how you looked at her. Go and talk to her and tell her before it’s too late.”

“Tell her?” Now he stopped. Stopped and turned toward Faramir. “Tell her what?”

Faramir offered up a long look. “I think you know.”

“Do you? Because I assure you, I don’t.”

Rolling his eyes, Faramir snorted and replied, “Tell her you love her, you dolt. I think you’ll be surprised by her answer.”

“I don't love her,” he shook his head, “nor do I care what her answer is.”

“I saw how she looked at you.”

“And how was that? Surprised, little brother. She was surprised to see me.”

“Yes, that I saw. But, there was something else.”

“Your mind toyed with you and you saw not what you thought you did. And I’ll discuss it no more. Round up whoever you can and let them know to be ready. We leave first thing in the morning.”

“Boromir,” Faramir caught him by the arm, “go and talk to her before you leave. Just… trust me, won’t you? You will regret it if you don’t. Don't make a mistake that will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

Faramir didn't wait for his response, but hurried off to prepare for their departure, but Boromir stood there for a long while, staring out at the river, at Osgiliath. Part of him wanted to just return to his quarters and prepare to leave Minas Tirith once more, possibly for good.

But, the other part of him… 

Seeing Kaia lying so still on the battlefield had knocked the wind from him and all he could think about was getting to her. And once he had her, it took every bit of will he possessed to leave her in Ioreth’s care, even though he knew full well Kaia couldn't have been in safer hands. 

With a heavy sigh, he sank onto the edge of the low wall, hands clasped between his thighs, and he stared at the dead tree in the center of the courtyard. Faramir was right. He had to talk to Kaia before he left, if nothing else to clear the air between them. He wanted to know why she’d left the way she had. 

He sat there a while longer, but then, mindful of how much time had passed, slowly got to his feet and made his way down to the sixth level once more. It most likely would change nothing, but he did want to see Kaia before he left. 

Butterflies went wild as he neared the infirmary, making him feel very much as if he was but a boy about to see the girl he’d been admiring from afar for what seemed like forever. As he reached the doorway leading into the area where he’d left Kaia, he paused on the threshold. All of the anger that had simmered within him since he’d awoken to find her gone had vanished now. His pride had been bruised, but when he thought about it, he couldn't exactly fault her for leaving. After all, he’d made no bones about the fact that he fully intended to leave her. She just beat him to the punch. 

At the same time, though, she made him realize something. He did not like being away from her. In the short time he’d been under her care, in the time that he’d come to know her, he found being apart from her was far worse than even being wounded by the Uruk-hai had been. It wasn't anything he’d ever felt before and if he was completely honest with himself, he wasn't exactly certain what to do with those feelings. Especially knowing she wasn't one to tie herself down. And neither was he.

Or at least, he’d thought he wasn’t. 

“My lord?”

Ioreth’s soft voice broke through his reverie and he started, looking down into her lined faced. Her dark eyes bored through him, just as they had since he was a boy and she always seemed to know when he’d been up to no good. Shaking his head, he managed a slight smile. “I beg your pardon. Doing a bit of woolgathering, I suppose.”

Woolgathering.

Over Ioreth’s shoulder, he could see Kaia’s bed, could see Kaia, and she looked so terribly still that his gut kinked. “Ioreth, the girl I brought in earlier? How did she fare?”

“Miss Kaia? She fares well, actually.” Ioreth twisted to peer over her shoulder, then looked back at him. “I managed to halt the bleeding and I don't think she will lose the arm, although it will be some time before she has full use of it.”

Relief surged through him. “Good.” 

“She’s asked for you.”

His spine stiffened at that. “She did?”

“Yes.”

His mouth went dry as he peered over her shoulder once more. “Did she say anything else?”

“Go and talk to her.”

“Is she awake?”

“No, but she should be soon.” 

With that, Ioreth stepped out of his way, taking away his last barrier to reach Kaia. Swallowing hard against the hammering of his heart and the dots dancing before his eyes, Boromir moved around her, crossing over to Kaia’s bed. As he reached it, one of Ioreth’s helpers brought over a chair for him. 

“Thank you,” he said without thinking, not taking his eyes off Kaia. He’d never seen her so still, her dark red hair spilled beneath her, shining in the afternoon sun. Her fair skin looked paler still, even against the stark white bandage wrapped about her upper arm. 

“Might I fetch you anything, my lord?”

He shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m fine. But, I’d rather not be disturbed, unless my brother comes looking for me.”

“Of course.”

Boromir turned back to Kaia and he gently slipped his hand beneath hers, her palm warm against his. Her fingers tightened briefly about his. He smiled, bringing her hand to his lips to gently brush the backs of her fingers with a light kiss. 

Her lashes were thick black crescents against her pale cheeks, and while he hoped her eyelids would flutter and then open, they stay shut. Her chest rose and fell softly with each breath, and he sank into the chair, her hand still in his. He would remain by her side until she woke, and he was not leaving until he’d had a chance to speak with her.

Until he made things right with her. 

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

[laneynoir]

So... this is a bit of an unusual, self-serving ask, but if you're at all interested in the idea, please go for it! XD

You know all those fanart drawings of child Legolas accidentally shooting Thranduil with an arrow? Well, in SotWK, Gelir is actually the one who teaches Legolas how to shoot. (And SotWK headcanon states Gelir is the greatest archer in the Woodland Realm. Like, he would have saved Helm's Deep from blowing up with his first shot. Bahaha.)

If you're in the mood, maybe a brother crack fic along those lines?

Thank you in advance, if you choose to go for it!

PS. Tauriel is Legolas's age in SotWK too, so you can throw child-her in there if you want.

Honestly @sotwk posting this with your oc's in it feels like going up to Tolkien and showing him my fanfic. ✨anyway✨

EDIT: forgot to mention, I've never tried to write in past tense, so thizs is EXTRA rocky 😅 sorry

Word count: 2968 (got a bit out if hand..)

Legolas let out a cry of joy before wrapping his mother in a hug that nearly knocked her off balance. "Thank you Ammë! Thank you thank you!"

Queen Maereth could do naught else but give her son a smile, for his grin was bright and cheerful as the sun above Greenwood's canopy. "You must always be on your best behavior, my Greenleaf, and the instant you are hurt the lessons will halt. Do you understand?"

His braid bobbed as he nodded his head. "Yes, of course!" Suddenly his face feel into a scowl. "And I have to find some way to convince Gelir to teach me, he is quite particular about how much time he spends with me."

"Gelir is particular about time spent with anyone, Legolas. He far prefer a the company of trees and woodland inhabitants to ourselves." The cool tones of the Elven king promoted a laugh from his beloved, a sound that never failed to bring joy to any around.

Legolas, however, was not amused. Throwing his hands up in the air he exclaimed, "Well that doesn't help me. I can hardly turn myself into a squirl or bird so he may teach me to shoot." A moment's pause, "besides, even if I could, it would be pointless. I could hardly draw a bow if I had paws or talons."

Though Legolas did not understand why his father laughed, he grinned all the same. He liked it when his father was happy. When his father was happy, Ammë was happy, and that usually meant everything was okay.

The young prince hopped to his feet from the spot on the floor to which he'd settled, and addressed his Royal parents in a lofty tone. "I would love to keep you both company, but I must be off. Plans do not shape themselves, and I will need a great one to convince Gelir." Gravely the young prince bowed before exiting the room, deap in thought.

It was a testament to the wills of both Thranduil and Maereth that their expressions remained stotic until Legolas had left.

In the end Legolas, having begged advice from all of his brothers, had landed on a simple plan to entice Gelir's good will; flattery and wide eyes.

Granted he landed on this plan after four failed attempts at others, including an incident with a candle and far to close an escape for the silver-blond of Gelir's lovely hair, had it been longer the escapade would have ended much differantly.

And so Legolas -much to the confusion of poor Gelir- doted upon him for near a week, before finally becomeing so antsy that he starts spending large amounts of time fliped on the grass. (Much to the displeasure of the maid tasked with scrubbing stains from the prince's tunic)

Throughout this period, Tauriel was merciless with both her teasing and no-nonsense advice. Having advised her friend to "just ask him" she set to annoying him into doing so.

Legolas did not appreciate this.

But yet not for nothing is Gelir still heralded as the greatest hunter of Greenwood The Great, and his eyes were sharp as the hawks whos company he kept.

Having become suspicious of his younger brother's attitude, he sharpened his focouse onto Legolas. Yet he found no fault nor prank that the wide eyed Mellon had played to promt his generous disposition.

When a week had passed, Gelir noted a significant change in Legolas' manner, gone was the constant bable and cheer.  And though he was lothe to say so, Gelir noted it's absence with sorrow.

Becoming worried, the fourth prince of the wood aproched his eldest brother with his concern- for although he cared deeply for Legolas, he did not wish to bring worry on Queen Mearath.

But Mirion was non-forthcoming, and told him only that Legolas was in perfect health, and his problem was somthing that only Gelir could help.

Resolving to confront his brother on the morrow, he retires to bed, troubled.

The next morning Legolas offered to serve him, as he had been for a time, and Gelir politly declined. Legolas mearly nodded with an air of resignation. After the meal Gelir pulls him to the side, "Legolas, brother, you have nor been yourself this past week, and I have been told that only I can help you, but I know not how."

Legolas fidgeted with his tunic hem before taking a gulp of air at looking up at hus brother, who had never seemed so tall before. "I..." He started, then spoke so quickly that Gelir could liken him to a squirl.

"Ammë said that since I've been doing so well with my lessons I could choose one weapon to start studying, and I really wantd to learn the bow, and everyone knows that you're the best bowman in the last eight-thousand years at least, but you dont like me very much so I tried to think of a plan to make you like me, except that didn't go very well and I nearly set your hair on fire, and Tauriel said I should just ask you, but it's easy for her to say things like that because everyone likes her and-"

"Cease youngling!"

Gelir's mind raced in the breath of silence that passed while Legolas looked down to his boots, an aura of defeat surounding him. Gelir tugged on the short braid behind his left ear, wishing -not for the first time- that he were better with people.

Animals were easy, they didn't stress him out so much as his fellow elves.

But now he was at a loss for what to do, and had to speak. Joy of joys.

As he was want, Gelir considered the situation from all angles, feeling a twinge of guilt that his brother had though he didn't like him. He thought over what Legolas had requested, and though he would never admit it, he felt a touch flattered that the youngest prince had chosen his weapon.

"Has mother suggested the bow for you Legolas?" He asked.

Said prince looked to him in shock. "No! I want to learn the bow, and you are the best." Sadly he looked to thw ground again. "Although, if you will not teach me, Ada says that one of the palace guards will. But they are not so skilled as you."

Gelir shook his head in wonderment, "I only asked, for our older brothers are more renowned for their battle prowess. Most would prefer their instruction come from those with more renowned weapons."

At this Legolas shot him a look that clearly conveyed how intelligent he found this remark. "That, is ridiculous. I think lady Gilith put it quite well when she was talking to her mellon: 'prince Gelir spends much time in the company of animals, indeed far more than with others of his own kind. But still he is quite brave -he must be to spend so much time alone in thise woods without protection- and is more skilled than the entirety of the guard! And quite attractive as well as elegant'."

Legolas said this all in a higher pitch than his usual tone, mocking the Elven lady. "Although," he resumed in his normal voice, "I don't think you're attractive. But they giggled for a while over your eyes. Tauriel says I'll understand someday, but I don't think I want to."

This tirade was rewarded with a laugh from Gelir, a beautiful sound, for he had inherited his mother's chime-like noise. "You chatter like a squirl, dear brother mine. Yes, I think I can clear I bit of time a day to instruct you. So long as you promise to stop being so quiet, waiting on me hand and foot. We get quite enough if that from the servants, no?"

Legolas may have heard the last sentance, but that is not likely. Already was he turning flips with shouts of excitement.

A smile subtle as a cats paw on stone was upon Gelir's face for the remainder of the day, much to the confusion -but pleasure- of his year mate, Darthol.

The next day dawned bright and crips, though not too soon for prince Legolas, who had arisen far before the sun had first peaked her golden glow through the treetops of Greenwood. (Although, it should be said that Ninniel, the prince's usual keeper, did not rise so early, as she had been given the day off to spend as she pleased.)

As soon as breakfast was served, Legolas was bouncing in anticipation, and though relived, Gelir did not think that any of the elves tasked with cleaning up after the meal would apriciate the table being fliped by an excited ellon, Prince or no.

"Legolas, why don't you invite lady Tauriel to come to your training today?"

Just like that, Legolas shit from his seat like the arrow he so wanted to fire, leaving his brothers chuckling in his wake.

When hours later (or so it seemed to the impatient elfling) they finally stood out on the shooting range, Legolas quivered with excitement, near combusting when Gelir handed him a small bow that fit perfectly in his hand.

"Tis the one I learned on, and still is in perfect condition." He said proudly. "And still more, it looks as if it were made for you! And you for it I should say, you're a bowself born little brother."

Legolas did not preen under the words, but only because Tauriel was watching, and ger earlier jab at him about acting like a peacock still stung. Instead he said, "Thank you for trusting me with it Gelir!"

Gelir shifted on his feet, "Right then, first thing I'll teach you is stance, but before that we must go over bow etiquette."

And so did he instruct the attentive blond, and by that did Tauriel benefit as well. Both learned how to store a bow, how properly to carry one, be it over long distantce or mearly a short journy. Also they were taught never to draw a bow without an arrow, Legolas' eyes widening when told that the beautiful weapon would shatter if mishandled.

When the oral instruction was completed, Gelir began showing Legolas the apropriate way to stand. "The stance is important to learn first, if you cannot line your body up for the shot, how can your arriw lone up with your target?"

At this legolas was confused. "But Gelir," he said from his position sideways to the target. "You don't always stand like this, ive watched you shoot for so many other angles, even upside down like a bat!"

Gelir inclines his head, accepting this. "Yes, Legolas, I do. But that is only bevause I spent many years shooting from the base stance, my body is trained to line up automatically for a shot, but only because of practice in a perfect stance."

Subdued, Legolas nodds. But then his eyes catch sight of Darthol comeing from the woods behind the targets. "Gelir, I think he needs you."

The elder makes a noise of recognition, "Yes I suppose so, Alherion is still ill, I fear he may have gotten worse."

"Oh dear!" Exclaimed Legolas. "Then you must talk to him, Alherion must not be in more pain than we can help." Gelir jerked his head in thanks, and telling both elves to stay, he ran to meet his friend halfway.

After a moment of silence Tauriel spoke. "Are you enjoying learning Legolas?"

He whiped his head in an agreeing motion. "Oh yes! And don't look at me so Tauriel, I enjoy learning when the subject is more interesting."

With a smile Tauriel consieds his point. "Your stance is already near mirrored to prince Gelir, though you musn't be upset when you aim is not perfect at first" she said sagely, "when I had my fist dagger lesson, I couldn't even get the grip right!"

This was altogether to patronizing for Legolas, who'd been evious of Tauriel's early weapon instruction for night on a year, and so a scowl covered his features. "Well that is because you are allthogether a silly Elleth, and my aim is true! I hit a attacking wolf with a stone!"

Insulted by the comment, Tauriel raised an eyebrow. "Didn't it turn out that the Wolf was a friend of his? Thats hardly an impressive feat. You couldn't hit the target is you tried."

"I could so!"

"Hmm, no. I dont think so"

"Well you think wrong then!"

Temper flared Tauriel lashed out, "then do it. I dare you, shoot the target! Then you'll see!"

Suddenly Legolas looked tentive, and not so confidant as he had previously been. "But Gelir said-"

"Hah! You scared."

This was too much for Legolas, and with a huff he takes up the proper position, snatches the arrow, and puts it to the string. It is at this point that he realized that Gelir had not got this far in his instruction, and Legolas was unsure of how properly to follow through.

But silly Tauriel was still watching, so he drew the string back (arrow on the entierly wrong side of the bow) and the arrow swung away from the front of bow. Suprised and startled by Tauriel's laugh, Legolas realised the string and the arrow flew far off target...

And into his brothers leg.

Gelir's knees buckled unded the shock of the pain, and he fell to the ground. Darthol jumped but was imeadiatly at at his yearmates side. Taking in the arrow, his eyes shot to the two young elves, both pale as sheets, though Tauriel looked worse with her crimson hair accenting the lack of blood in her face.

It did not take more than a second to understand what had happened, and Darthol launched into action. "Gelir, I'm going to pick you up, please try not to shout in my ear"

Lip between his teeth, the prince nods in understanding. A hissing sound so close to that of the snakes he was fond of escaped his mouth when he was lifted from the ground.

Darthol barks for Legolas and Tauriel to accompany him, and they both nearly tripped in their haste to comply.

The trip back to the palace was made in silence, Darthol's attention held soley by the task of holding his friend and not jarring the calf with the arrow stuck in it. The two young elves were to frightened to say anything.

The pandemonium that unsued when they reach the gates with a bloody price could be described as comical, but at when they made it to the halls of healing, everything became crisp and efficient.

Not long was the wait before Queen Maereth apeared, dress flowing behind her as she strode swiftly into the hall, walking past both Legolas and Tauriel without a word.

The ten minuets of waiting for his mother to reappear were the longest of Legolas' objectivly short life at that point, and he was in tears within the first five.

Tauriel took no notice, and would nit have teased him if she had. She was in shock, the only sound escaping her was a whispered "I've killed the prince."

Maereth closed the door behind her when she came out, leaving Darthol and the healers with Gelir. When her attention was drawn to the two children her facial expression softened.

Legolas had drawn his knees to his face as he sat huddled on the bench and his shoulders shook with quiet sobs. Maereth had raised enough sons to know that Legolas had been punished already for his follyand so she set to comforting him instead, as well as Tauriel, whom she'd taken under her wing as soon as the orphened child had been delivered to the kingdom.

She drew both into her arms, whispering words of comfort to poor Legolas who said noting but 'I'm so sorry' repeatedly.

When they were calmed, Maereth drew forth the story fighting a smile when Tauriel asked if the prince would live.

"Yes dear, Gelir's calf was only injured, and the arrow did not sink verry far. He will be entirely heald before the week is out." Tauriel wrapped her arms around the Queens neck, apologizing profusely.

Seeing how shaken the girl was, Maereth semr her to the kitchens to beg a cup of calming tea.

When Tauriel was gone, she turned her attention back to Legolas, "why still do you cry my son?"

Focousing his red rimmed eyes on his mother, he choked out; "Because now Gelir will hate me. He already did not like me and now I've shot him!" It took much time for her to console Legolas, and later when she reflected on this moment, she would shake her head a smile on her face.

As promised Gelir, a mear four days later, was creeping through the woods as silently and confidently as ever. And Legolas' instruction continued, the two youngest elves both having learned a lesson. For Legolas, he learned patience and the importance of following instruction, even when dared otherwise.

Tauriel, still had a fiery temper to match her locks, however she began seeking ways to better control it, and sought to be less crule in teasing Legolas.

Gelir, for his part, was reminded not to stand in the middle of a shooting range.

~

Many, many years later an orc falls dead, torch sputtering out in the water. Three arrows stick out of its corpse, two with green fletchs and one, sticking from its neck, with red.

From across the battle field, the red arrows owner calls, "Why did you not shoot his leg? Legolas?"

With an expression of long suffering, the still youngest elf prince sings an insult in his mother tounge to his brother, that causes Aragorn's eyebrows to shoot up.

#my fic #legolas #baby legolas #lotr #tauriel #idk how to tag this oops #asks #answers #oc

[sotwk]

Back to regular SotWK programming!

For reals, I did enjoy working on my Thorin fic submission for @thorinsspringforge, but MAN, I had to buckle down and restrict myself from most other writing activity over the last few weeks (totally my fault for procrastinating and getting sick so much)! I think I wrote about 7,000 words in under a week, and that is a BIG DEAL to a slow writer like me who has very limited time. I groaned and whined like a baby through most of the process (thank you @lathalea @heilith @linasofia @fizzyxcustard and @cycas who lent me their support and patient ears), but now I'm glad I did it. I proved to myself I can actually force productivity if I set my mind to it.

But now that I am "free" again to work on other things...

WHAT SHOULD I DO NEXT???

I beg everyone's patience as I go through my Ask Box, WIP list, To-Read-and Reblog list, Tagged Post list, etc. etc. and just try to get back into the swing of things.

Thank you again to everyone who has given me unconditional encouragement and support!

#sotwk announcement #sotwk updates #mutuals appreciation #i have the best mutuals #followers appreciation

[middleearthpixie]

Promise Me ~ Chapter Six

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

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

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

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Gabriella

Characters: Boromir 

Warnings: Pining, Battle, death 

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls

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

Previous chapters can be found here.

It was the longest of nights as Gabriella sat there at his bedside. Various healers passed through. They poked and prodded and made Boromir cry out in pain—which made her ready to leap across the bed and throttle the party responsible—and then left without a word to her. She didn't know how many of them had heard him confessing to wanting to kiss her that day down by the river, nor did she care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered now but Boromir’s getting better. And whatever the other healers knew, they kept to themselves. Boromir had made it clear she was to remain there, and they would honor his wishes, of course.

She sat at his bedside, stroking his hair to calm him when he grew restless, moaning and mumbling in his sleep. Every so often, she refilled the basin and bathed his forehead, his neck, his chest until he calmed. As the night crept on, she kept hoping he’d open his eyes, that he would sit up and assure her everything was going to be all right.

But he didn’t, of course. Heat wafted from him. He mumbled and muttered and spoke to no one in particular—to his brother, his father, his mother. He threw off the linens and swore whenever she tugged them back up. She laid a hand against his forehead, only to have him moan softly and try to get away from her. 

Ioreth had left a pain elixir for her to give to him, which was no easy feat as he did not want to be touched at all. Still, she managed to get a least a few drops into him, and then he’d settle back and be calm for a while. 

Gabriella just watched over him, like a mother hawk. She drifted off more than once, and each time awoke with a start at the slightest sounds. Each time she lay her hand across his forehead, it felt hotter still. Fever ravaged him, burned wildly through him to leave him thrashing against the sheet as if it was lined with sharp nails scraping against him.

She had no way of knowing when he’d been wounded, no way of knowing how he managed to survive them and walk back to Minas Tirith. How he managed to survive the walk itself. Orcs seemed to have plagued every last corner of the world and now, no one left the city unless they absolutely had to. No riders from other realms came, no supplies came, no exports left, and yet, somehow, Boromir had crossed untold miles through the most dangerous of territory, to make it back home.

“No, please…” his voice grew thin and reedy, such a far cry from its normal calm, soothing tones, “I must find them… the little ones… they are in danger…”

She sat up sharply at his moaned words. He’d kicked the sheet from himself once more, so she rose to grasp it and gently tugged it back up. “Shh…”

“I cannot shhh…” he growled, a hint of furious desperation woven through his voice. “Do you not understand? It is my fault! What have I done? The little ones are gone and I must find them.”

“Little ones?” 

She tried to soothe him by stroking his hair, only this time, it seemed to only agitate him further. “Yes! And Frodo! I must find him. Where is he? I wouldn’t have harmed him…”

She pressed her lips together as his voice broke then and a tear slid from the corner of his left eye. “I would not have harmed him, I swear it.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” she assured him, although she had no idea what he could possibly mean. Her fingers slipped lightly along his hair as she added, “You are a gentle man, Boromir.  One of the gentlest men I have ever met, you know. You would not harm anyone without just cause.”

“Gabby… I just wish to return home to her,” he replied brokenly, his voice hitching. “She worries for me. No one has worried for me since my mother’s death… I—I don't know what to do with that…”

Her hand went still. Boromir rarely spoke of his mother. All Gabriella knew was that she had died when he was about ten years old. He went quiet then, and a hint of a smile played at his lips. “Gabby… I must return home to her. I promised her I would…”

“You have,” she whispered, leaning over to brush his forehead with her lips, along the faint scar above his left eye. “I am right here.”

“I love her,” he whispered, his voice breaking, “and I should… should have told her… I am a coward…”

Her lips trembled even as she smiled and her eyes misted over once more. “You are anything but a coward,” she murmured, her fingers moving lightly over his soft hair. 

“I am, though,” he insisted, his voice growing faint. “I—I would not have hurt him. It was… but a—a moment of weakness…”

Her fingers went still. “What was?”

“I will not die here,” he replied, a hint of anger creeping into his voice. “I must find the little ones. They are in grave danger. And it… it is… my fault.”

With that, he sat up sharply, crying out in pain even as he kept moving, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Gabriella skirted it to face him, catching him by the arm as she said, “No, no… you need to rest, Boromir. You are in no condition to go anywhere.”

“I must find them.” He tried to push her away, but his arms trembled too badly for there to be much force behind his shove and she barely moved.

“You will,” she told him, a hint of panic rippling through her. “In the morning. But for now, please, lie back and rest.”

“Rest? Are you mad, woman? I cannot wait until morning. I have to find them. I have to tell them I am sorry I failed them.” He pushed harder against her, then tried to jerk free of her grasp. He managed to break her hold on him, but as he tried to stand, he let out another cry as his wounded left leg buckled beneath him. 

She caught him before he hit the floor, sucking in a sharp breath as his bulk nearly tore her shoulder from its socket. Still, she managed to hold onto him, to keep him from hitting the floor.

His howl rang throughout the infirmary and brought Ioreth scurrying from her chambers. “Gabby, what are you doing?”

“Me? I’m trying to keep him from hitting the floor,” Gabriella grunted as he sagged against her. “He’s trying to leave…”

“I must go and you will not keep me.”

“Do not be a fool, Boromir,” Ioreth snapped, pulling his right arm about her neck to get him upright again. “Back to bed with you this minute.”

“I cannot lie about…”

“You will and that is that.”

He tried to fight her, but his strength gave out completely and between Ioreth and Gabriella, they were able to wrestle him back to his bed. “And you will remain there, is that clear? No more of this foolishness, do you understand?”

“Evil woman,” he growled, even as he did as he was told.

“Yes, yes. I know.” Ioreth tugged the sheet back up over his broad chest. “Now, you stay where you are, lest I restrain you. And make no mistake, my lord, I will do so if it comes to that.”

A low sigh leaked through his teeth as he nodded, then replied, “Aye.”

“Good.” Ioreth turned to her. “If he tries this foolish thing again, come get me at once.”

“I will.”

With a bob of her head, Ioreth turned and strode back toward the rear of the room, where a door led to the hallway that led to her chambers. Her back and shoulders aching, Gabriella sank into her vacated chair and breathed a low sigh of relief when Boromir drifted off to sleep once more. 

She watched him sleep, her mind whirling with ever more questions now. Who were the little ones of which he spoke? Children? And if so, why was he with children? 

But that made no sense. He would never put anyone in danger intentionally and he would certainly never harm anyone without good reason. So, who or what plagued his fevered mind? What had happened from the time he departed Rivendell and the time he staggered to the edge of the Pelennor Fields? 

She leaned closer, letting her fingers skim lightly along his hair. “What happened out there?”

He didn't answer, of course. He remained silent for a bit, but then grew restless once more. Thankfully, he did not try to rise from bed again, but she knew she was in for a terribly long night.

****

Everything hurt. The pain came sharp as a blade, and hot as fire and refused to leave him be. No matter how he tried to get away from it, he couldn’t. It just threatened to swallow him entirely, but not before slicing him into little pieces to chew first. 

A soft voice broke through the heat. A gentle hand on his hair calmed him. He couldn't see to whom they belonged, though. All he saw was blackness. Then trees. Then, the terrified faces of two halflings. The ugly faces of the abominations known as orcs.

Arrows pierced him, each one filling him with fire anew. He fought back, using all of his will to swing his blade in any direction, to cleave as many of the beasts in half as he could. He had to. He had to prove to them he was not a traitor. He’d never meant to frighten Frodo. Never meant to threaten him or make him think he was in danger. He simply wanted to save his people. 

“Gabby…” Her name bubbled to his lips as he saw her before him, tranquil and beautiful, standing before him in a gown of pale blue. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her dressed in such feminine attire, as she preferred trousers and tunics over skirts and bodices. But she looked beautiful just the same.

Her white-blonde hair fell freely about her face, also something he’d never seen before. Normally, she wore it pulled back in a braid. But now, it tumbled over her shoulders and down her back and he fairly ached to gather it in his hands, to bring the silken strands to his face and inhale the soft lavender scent that clung to her. He ached to kiss her again, to open the back of her dress and let it spill from her before he swept her up in his arms and spirited her to his bed.

He loved her. He’d loved her since the first time he’d seen her, down at the river. He wanted her to be his, to be his wife, to be the mother of his children. But he never had the chance to tell her any of that. All he’d been able to do was kiss her twice. And that wasn't nearly enough. He’d squandered each opportunity out of fear. He was a bloody coward. 

“Where is she?” he fought against the rising panic as she slowly faded from sight. “Gabby? Gabby!”

“Shhh… I am right here, love,” she whispered, and he calmed at the gentle brush of her hands against his cheek, over his hair. She was there. She was safe. It was safe for him to rest now. 

But his mind wouldn’t let him. 

He smiled as he reached down to adjust the small hands on the equally small handle. “Grip it a bit more tightly. There’s a good lad.” He rumpled the halfling’s honey-gold hair.

“Boromir, take care. He is only five and that sword is almost as big as he is.”

He looked up in surprise to find Gabby sitting on the rock where he’d tossed his gloves and draped his cloak. “What are you doing here? It’s not safe.”

“I’m fine,” she told him, her beautiful eyes silver and serene. “But take care with him. He’s still only learning.”

He turned his attention back to the hafling, who now smiled up at him. His eyes were silver.

Silver? That couldn't be.

He scooped up the halfling, as he’d done in the mines of Moria, when first the Watcher in the Water and then the Balrog had tried to stop them. But as he tightened his arms, the halfling draped his arms about Boromir’s neck and said, “Can we play now instead, Papa? My arms are tired.”

Papa?

He looked back at Gabby. Her eyes. The halfling had her eyes. No, wait… he was no halfling.

He was a child.

He was their child.

Then she stood and his eyes went wide at the sight of her. Round. Only days away from going into labor, it seemed.

“Why do you stare as if you’ve never seen me?” she asked as she came up and slid an arm about his waist before pressing her cheek against his arm. 

“Because I feel as if I am seeing you for the first time,” he said, unable to keep the amazement from his voice. 

He leaned closer. Her eyes sparkled. Her lips pursed.

Thunder rolled in the distance. Lighting crackled. It struck and the jolt tore through him, throwing him back and drove him into the ground hard enough that he thought his bones shattered on impact.

He lurched awake with a gasp, an icy cold sweat breaking out over his entire body as he fought to catch his breath. His family melted into memory. His son. An expecting Gabby. They no longer existed.

“Shhh…” Ioreth was there in an instant, a cool, damp rag bathing his temples, down along his neck.

Panic set in as he stared wildly about the room. Sunlight spilled through the windows behind him. A gentle breeze wafted in its wake. He fought to calm himself even as Ioreth murmured, “You had us worried, Boromir.”

“Where… what… how…?”

“All things we would like answered as well,” she replied in her calm voice. “Now, calm yourself before you pull out the stitches.”

“Stitches?” His head ached, his vision swam, and his leg and chest felt as if they were on fire. 

“Stitches, indeed. How you managed to walk on that leg, I will never know.”

He sank back into the pillows as breathing came more easily now. “Where is Gabby? Is she here?”

“She is. I’ve sent her down to have a bath and to fetch a change of clothing. She has refused to leave your bedside since you returned.” Ioreth offered up a long look, then laid her hand against his forehead. “Your fever has broken. We should get you into fresh clothes and onto fresh linens.”

“Gabby can help me with that.”

“That is highly inappropriate.”

He glared up at her. “It is my choice.”

“Isn’t it her choice?”

He gritted his teeth as his roiled gut twisted tighter with hot irritation. “I suppose it is, so I will ask her when she returns.”

“It’s good to see you are your same stubborn self, my lord,” she told him sharply. “Please, just let me help you and make things easier for all of us?”

He stared at her for a long moment, and decided a fight with her was a waste of energy he simply did not have. Besides, he was still more tired than he’d ever been and so squeezed his eyes shut, brought up a somewhat shaky hand to rub his forehead. “Very well. What day is this?”

As she moved toward the cupboard, Ioreth replied over one shoulder. “Tuesday. You were found out in the Pelennor Fields three days ago. Do you recall any of it?”

He shook his head slowly. “Not much, no. Was I alone?”

“I think so,” she opened the cupboard to take out clean clothes for him and then came back, “but you’ll have to ask Gabriella. She is the one who found you.”

He nodded, letting his hand flop down onto the bed alongside him. Everything still seemed so… fogged to him. “Gabby found me?”

“She did, yes. And as I said, she’s refused to leave your bedside since, slept right in that chair for three nights. She’s a bit stubborn, you know. Sit forward, please.”

He did as she asked, ignoring the burn of pulling damaged muscle when he lifted his arms to pull off the sweat-soaked. He shook his head when Ioreth held out the clean one. “I have no need for that and I’d rather not lift my arm again, if it’s all the same to you. Those will do just fine.”  He took the small clothes from her. “And this, I will do this myself.”

“As you wish.” 

She turned away to give him a whit of privacy, waiting for him to say, “I am decent again,” before she turned back to him.

Something as simple as changing clothes was enough to wipe him out, but as he sank back against his pillows, he turned his head to peer at the chair at his bedside. There was no way at all Gabby had been at all comfortable for those three nights in that straight backed, barely-padded chair. “Why did someone not fetch her something more comfortable?”

“We were a bit busy, I’m afraid. The infirmary was overrun with wounded from the battle.”

He let his eyes close for a second. His physical pain had ebbed for now. The fire was gone. But he was still just so very tired. And the enormity of what she’d just said sank into him, added to the shame he already burned with, the one he’d share with no one. “Of course you were. I’m sorry.”

“Do not be sorry. You’ve been through much as well. Where were you when you were set upon? How far did you travel?”

He shook his head. “It is of no matter. You need only know I traveled far enough.”

She just offered up a long look, but said nothing, just shook her head. Footsteps sounded then and Gabby came into view and he forgot about being tired, forgot about his wounds, forgot about the guilt he bore and the shame he carried. Seeing her made them all melt into the background.

She was even more beautiful than the image he’d carried in his mind of her. Unlike most of the women in Minas Tirith, she was not one for flowing gowns of any sort. He couldn't recall ever seeing her in anything other than soft trousers and tunics that emphasized her femininity more than he would have thought possible. He would never complain about her choice in clothing at all. It suited her. It suited him. 

Relief flooded Gabby’s eyes, and to his amazement, he watched them go from stormy gray to a calm silver. She came up to him, slipping her hand into his, and said, “Welcome home. You had us worried, you know.”

He tightened his fingers around hers, the remnants of his dreams still clinging to him. “I feel as if I’ve been gone a lifetime.”

“Tell me about it.”

He gave a gentle tug on her arm. “Come and lay with me. Ioreth won’t mind,” he glanced up at the healer, “will you?”

Her expression suggested that she very much minded, but all she said was, “No, I don't suppose it would hurt.”

A pale flush crept into Gabby’s cheeks. “I don't wish to hurt you, Boromir.”

“You won’t. Trust me.” He pulled again, harder this time. “Please?”

She glanced at Ioreth, who nodded, and then Gabby carefully settled onto the bed alongside him. A sigh rose to his lips at the feel of her soft body curved up against his and he slid his arm about her shoulders to draw her closer. “You are not about to break me,” he told her with a hint of a smile, giving her a gentle squeeze.

A soft laugh bubbled to her lips, as silvery as her eyes. “Of course not, still, I—”

Her voice hitched, and her eyes shimmered with tears that silently spilled over her lower lashes to course down her cheeks. She tucked her head against his chest, his skin growing damp beneath her.

He tightened his arm about her. “Shhh… love… it’s all right. I’ll be fine in time.”

“I know, but…” She shook her head, her arm draped gently about his hips. “I heard the horn and then Faramir found it, or what was left of it and I—I knew the worst had happened.”

“I survived, Gabby. I am here now and the worst has not happened.”

Her arm tightened over him, but before she could respond, she dissolved into tears that he was powerless to stop. So, he didn't try. He just held her as she cried.

After a while, Gabby quieted and he glanced down to see she’d fallen asleep. He lay there for a long while, just savoring the feel of her against him. Nothing had ever felt so right as this one woman in his arms did. None before her had, and there would be no other woman but her now.

The sunlight had softened as the day went on, glinting along the strands of her hair until it looked almost molten. He let his fingers trail lightly along it, smiling as it was every bit as soft as he remembered. His fingers moved along the plait and he found himself wanting to unwind it and send it spilling down her back, to see how close his imagination was to the reality of seeing her that way. 

For the first time in weeks, his wounds didn't feel as if they were on fire. For the first time in weeks, he didn't burn with fever or wander about in a delirium. He still wasn't entirely certain how he survived the battle with the orcs, only knew that Aragorn came to his aid and lopped the head off the foul orc taking aim between Boromir’s eyes. He vaguely remembered convincing Aragorn to go on after Merry and Pippin, vaguely remembered getting to his feet to force them to obey his mind and move. 

Large blocks of time had gone missing from the time he collapsed at Amon Hen to the time he did so at the edge of the Pelennor Fields. He vaguely remembered stumbling about trees, coming to in areas he did not recognize. But, he knew he was close to home when he heard the sounds of battle.

Then he saw the White City and he knew he’d made it. 

Gabby stirred then, lifting one hand to rub her eye and when she peered up at him, her eyes softened. “This was not a dream.”

“Which part?”

“All of it, I suppose.”

“No,” he shook his head slowly, “it is not a dream.”

Her eyes grew shiny again and he brought his hand to her cheek. “No more tears, Gabby.”

“I cannot help it. I—I—” Her bottom lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth for a long moment as she collected herself. Then, she drew in a slow breath, exhaled, and murmured, “I thought you were lost. We all thought you were.”

“And as you can see, I am not.” He caught a loose tendril to tuck behind her ear. “I am right here.”

“I know.” She slowly shifted onto one elbow and her palm came to rest against his cheek. “And I still feel as if I will wake and find myself back where I was when I heard the horn blow.”

“You needn’t worry,” he told her, tightening his arm about her shoulders to pull her close once more. 

She leaned in and when her lips brushed his, he let his hand slide along her neck, up to her hair, where his fingers wove into the strands pulled back into that plait, and for the first time since the first arrow struck him, he felt no pain whatsoever. 

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

[middleearthpixie]

Living Proof ~ Chapter Twelve

Summary: When he puts himself between the Uruk-hai and Merry and Pippin, Boromir knows it means sacrificing himself. But it also means redemption for his near betrayal of Frodo and the Fellowship, and so it is a price he is more than willing to pay.

Kaia has been on her own for as long as she can remember, having escaped a terrible life in a village not far from Mordor. When she hears the sounds of battle, she knows what it means and when she ventured forth and finds a gravely wounded man lying amongst the leaves and debris, she takes him in, not knowing he is actually the son of the steward of Gondor.

Angry at himself and faced with a long road to recovery, Boromir does not make things easy on Kaia and it is only through her own sheer will that she does not give into the urge to hit him over the head with something on a daily basis. That refusal to give up brings about changes neither one of them could have foreseen.  She just wanted to save him. She never thought he would save her in return…

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

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Kaia 

Warnings: None

Rating: T 

Word Count: 3.2k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls @doctorwhump @kmc1989 @estethell @emrfangirl @emmanuellececchi

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

Previous chapters can be found here.

Kaia lay in the darkness, exhausted but wide-awake, and stared up into the darkness. The walls had been white stone at one point, but it had long since gone gray with age and disrepair. A hint of a draft leaked about the splintering windowpanes, and one of those panes leaked. A soft drip, drip, drip, told her it rained still. But she was finally dry, and somewhat warm beneath the scratchy blanket. Faramir had brought her a bowl of a true hunter’s stew and although it smelled utterly delicious, she took no more than a few bites before she was just too tired to eat anything more. 

Her thoughts haunted her, for they focused on Boromir despite her best efforts to ignore them. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to go back to the cabin.

She did go back. Not more than a few hours after she snuck out, she turned back, only to find her cabin was empty and his things were gone. Although she shouldn’t have been surprised by it, she was surprised just the same. Surprise. Regret. They mingled to leave her with an emptiness she’d never felt before, not even when her family was destroyed and she lost everything did she feel this way. 

More than anything, she wanted to go back to that last night with him, when he’d pulled her close in his sleep, when he’d cradled her against his chest as if she was the most precious thing in all of the world to him. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, she felt loved. Cherished.

Above all else, she felt safe.

But that was all an illusion and she knew it. He was going to leave. He didn't love her. He didn't want to remain in the middle of the woods with her. He wanted to leave, wanted to return to his people. 

She couldn’t fault him. He had people waiting for him. His brother. His father. Perhaps a woman, even. She didn’t know. All she did know was that people out there worried for him, were concerned for him, wanted him to come home.

And so he would return to them.

But no one awaited her return. All of the people who had cared for her—and she had no doubt they did indeed care—were gone. Destroyed in the span of a few hours, by a despicable species with a thirst for killing. 

But, for those few hours, she had belonged to someone. Someone had cared for her. Even if it was only in that moment. She’d take it now. She’d missed it terribly. 

She swallowed hard in the darkness, her eyes stinging once more. She’d stupidly let herself care about him. 

She let herself love him. 

A mistake, that. 

A terrible mistake. 

She rolled onto her side, staring at the closed door, just listening to the rain patter against the windowpanes. She hoped that wherever Boromir was, he was at least warm and dry and safe. 

Despite her heavy heart, Kaia slept soundly and when she awoke, the rain had gone and sunlight streamed in through the widows to splash across the scuffed and faded wooden floor. She lay there for a moment, then managed a smile at the faint sounds of Faramir’s men around her. She had no idea what time it was, nor did she care overmuch. It was just nice hearing voices other than her own. It was nice to not be alone. 

She sat up slowly, stretching her arms overhead as she bowed her back and let out a lusty sigh of appreciation. This bed did not look like much, but it was far more comfortable than the one back in the cabin had been. 

The air around her was chilly, and when she swung her legs over to plant her feet on the floor, she shivered as the cold stone bit into the bottoms of her feet. Her heel still stung, but a quick look told her most of the redness was gone now. Good. It wouldn’t slow her too much.

She dressed, and then followed the sounds of the voices down a wide stone corridor to a great room that was also in great disarray. What the foul weather and darkness hid the day before, the sunlight exposed now and Osgiliath was in dire need of repair. Windows along the far wall were missing panes, the chilled autumn air swirled through even worse than the drafts in her chambers had been. At the far corner, where the ceiling met the wall, stone crumbled away to let in daylight. The more Kaia looked about, the more rundown the hall appeared and she wondered if the rest of the fortress was in any better condition.

She didn't see Faramir anywhere, and was all too aware of the many pairs of eyes glued to her. Keeping her head down, she strode to the door at the far end of the room, and found herself out on a walkway with crumbling walls that led to an equally crumbling tower of sorts. 

“Who are you and what business do you have here?”

Kaia stopped at the unfriendly growl behind her that was accompanied by an equally unfriendly blade poking her in the middle of her back. “I beg your pardon?”

“Do you think none of us saw you in the great hall? Now, I will ask you only once more. Who are you and what business have you here?”

She slowly turned and peered up at the tall, pale man with equally pale hair receding from his high forehead. His blue eyes were cold as he held her gaze, awaiting her response. Glancing down at the blade in his hand, she then met his eyes once more and said, “I am Kaia. I’ve offered my services to Faramir in exchange for a warm place to sleep.”

“Your services, eh?” Those blue eyes glinted and a knowing smile curled his thin lips. “Is that so?”

“Not those sort of services,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “I am no whore.”

“And you are a soldier? Is that what you would have me believe?”

“Well, no…” She shook her head slowly. “I’m not a soldier either, but I have some skill, and I am also something of a healer. If you find him, he will tell you himself. So, know you where he is?”

“Aye, I do know and if you think I’ll tell the likes of you, you’re mad. So, why don’t we go and wait for him down in the dungeons?”

“I’m no criminal and I mean him no harm. If you would but go and find him, as I said, he will tell you.”

“I’m sure he will.” The man gestured her to walk forward along the corridor. “Now, move.”

“No, you do—” She stopped as her gaze alit on a pair of halflings who’d come around the corner and she could only stare. What did Boromir say their names were? Wait… he’d never mentioned their names, only that there were two of them. 

Two halflings who had been taken by orcs. 

And yet, there they were. Two halflings. Right there before her.

She started toward them, only to have the pale man grab her shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To them,” she gestured to the halflings. “I need to speak with them. What are their names?”

“You need to speak with them, and yet you know not even their names?”

“He never told me their names. But I know of them.”

“Who never did.”

“Boromir.”

The man released her then. “What was that?”

She looked over at the halflings, then back at him. “Boromir traveled with them. They were ambushed and taken by orcs, while he was wounded.”

“Wounded, you say?”

She nodded. “He was and I helped him. I found him and cleaned his wounds and the entire time, all he could say was that he needed to find the little ones.” She jabbed her finger at the hobbits. “And there they are.”

With that, she pulled away from him and sprinted down the corridor toward the halflings, who were deep in conversation with one another. 

“Excuse me,” she called, waving a hand to get their attention. 

They looked up at the same time and up close, she was surprised at how small they appeared next to her. They both looked disheveled and as if they’d traveled a long, perilous journey to find their way to Osgiliath, and they each looked up at her warily. Both had mops of unruly curly hair, and one was far stockier than the other. The stocky one stepped between her and the darker one. “Were you meaning us?”

“I was, yes,” she nodded, managing a slight smile. “You traveled with Boromir, did you not?”

The dark haired one’s already large eyes went larger still. “How do you know Boromir?”

She swallowed hard at the now-familiar pang. “I happened upon the clearing in the aftermath of the battle.”

“The battle?” The dark haired one shook his head. “At Amon Hen?”

“Where you were set upon by orcs, yes.”

“He survived that?” 

She looked at the blond hobbit and nodded. “He did, yes. But he was terribly worried about you both and kept insisting he had to find you.”

“To find us? But… he didn't know we’d gone.”

“Of course he did.” She looked from the stocky one to the dark one and back. “You were snatched by orcs. There were too many of them and he couldn't hold them all off and nearly died trying.”

The blond shook his head. “No, ma’am. That weren’t us. Mister Frodo and I were already on our way away from there.”

Kaia’s stomach twisted sharply. “But, I saw you,” she said softly, “on a slight incline in the clearing.”

The dark haired one—Mister Frodo—shook his head as well. “There were four of us, miss. The ones you’d seen were my cousins, Merry and Pippin. And they’ve not been found, far as I know.”

“What?”

“Did he tell you the entire story?” The blond continued, a hard note coming to his voice. “Or did he only tell the parts that made him look heroic?”

“Sam,” Frodo broke in softly, shaking his head, “this is neither the time nor the place." 

Faramir came up from behind them and said, “What goes on here?”

“I—I thought they were someone else, is all,” Kaia said softly.

“She thought we were Merry and Pippin,” Sam told him flatly. “She claims she knows your brother.”

“What?” Faramir turned to her, his eyes wide with what looked like shock. “You mean to say, he is alive? Boromir is alive?”

She nodded slowly. “He is. At least, as of four days ago he was. He’d been wounded at Amon—Amon Hen, according to this one,” she gestured to Frodo, “and I found him there. I brought him back to my encampment and treated his wounds and his fever and then, when he was well enough, we went our separate ways.”

Faramir’s face fell. “Oh. So, he was not with you here, then?”

“I have not seen him since we parted ways four days ago. But, he was almost entirely healed. He’d been lucky. Very lucky.”

“Lucky, eh?” Sam snorted. “I suppose one could say that.”

“What do you mean by that?” Both Kaia and Faramir said this at the same time.

“Sam,” Frodo broke in softly, “not now.”

But both Kaia and Faramir stared at him and Faramir repeated, “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean nothing,” Sam replied, shaking his head. 

Faramir offered him a queer look, but didn't press and since he didn’t, Kaia certainly couldn’t, so instead she said, “Either way, he is alive, or was, but I know not where he is now.”

“Did you part in anger?” Faramir asked.

She offered up a smile she hoped wasn't nearly as wistful as it felt. “No,” she told him. “Not in anger at all. We were lo—” She cast a sidelong glance at the two hobbits, then cleared her throat. “We did not part in anger.”

Faramir looked confused at first, but then the dawn of realization glinted in his eye and he nodded. “Ah, I see,” he replied with a hint of a smile. “My guess is he is on his way back to Minas Tirith. I will send a garrison out to look. There’s not quite twenty miles between the two.”

Her stomach kinked at the thought of Boromir’s making his way to Osgiliath. She wasn't angry with him, but he was most likely angry with her and that was a confrontation she did not look forward to. Especially if there were others around them when it took place.

Then again, if Boromir had been determined to make his way back to his home, the odds of him agreeing to come to Osgiliath were fairly slim. Or so she hoped. 

“Are you all right?”

The low note of concern in Faramir’s voice jolted her back to the present. “Sorry. I was doing a bit of woolgathering.”

He didn't look as if he believed her. “He might come here, you know. I can send out a rider to search—”

“That won’t be necessary,” she broke in, more sharply than she’d intended. Her cheeks grew hot as she forced a smile and added, “I mean, I don't wish to see you put anyone in danger. And in all honesty, I would not be surprised if I was the last person he wanted to see.”

A small furrow appeared between Faramir’s brows and his forehead wrinkled some, but all he said was, “Very well. If you change your mind, I will be more than willing to send out a scout.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Really, it isn’t necessary.”

“Very well. I’ll not insist. But, walk with me, won’t you?” He gestured down the corridor.

She looked over at the hobbits, then back at Faramir. It was a request, but she had the feeling it wouldn’t be wise to refuse, so she nodded and said, “Excuse me,” to Frodo and Sam.

Faramir also excused himself and catching her by the elbow, began down the corridor. Once they were out of earshot of the halflings, he said, “Tell me, how did you and Boromir cross paths?”

She glanced over at him. He was about the same height as his brother, so they were almost shoulder to shoulder. “I told you, at Amon Hen.”

“Yes, so you’ve said,” he replied. “But, you’ll forgive me as you did not seem certain of where you were, which leads me to wonder if your story is true.”

“I did not seem certain because I was not certain. I do not know this realm—Gondor, you said?—well. I come from a village nestled between Esgaroth and the forests of Mirkwood. I am a Peredhel—my father was one of the elves of Mirkwood, a general under Thranduíl who died during the Battle of the Five Armies—and my mother was of Man. After orcs destroyed my village, I set out with silly thoughts of revenge. I planned to hunt down and kill every last one of them.”

At his long look, she let out a mirthless laugh. “I know, it was a foolish notion at best, but I was angry. Angry and grieving and I wanted revenge. So, I just followed them south. West. I’m not even certain what direction it was, as I’d never been far from Mirkwood’s border. And that was how I found your brother. He’d been wounded in defense of two halflings, who I now believe traveled with the two halflings here under your watch.”

“Wounded?”

She nodded. “Terribly so, yes. Arrows in his chest and leg. My stepfather owned a farm and one of my tasks was to care for any of the men who injured themselves in his service, so I learned a bit of healing and when I found Boromir, he was near death, but I thought I might help him. 

“I’d found a cabin in a clearing, abandoned for who knows how long, and I’d set up home there. That’s where I brought him.”

“You brought him?”

She nodded. “I dragged him, actually, the poor man. Over tree branches and down hills. I dropped him more than once, I’m sorry to admit, but it was completely accidental. I cleaned and treated his wounds, treated his fever when it struck, and basically kept watch over him until he was almost completely healed. Then we—we went our separate ways.”

“You sound a bit unsure of that last part.”

“No, I’m not at all unsure. When I left, he was sleeping peacefully.”

Faramir chuckled. “I’ll wager he was.”

She smiled. “He was, indeed.”

“So, why did you go separate ways, then?”

“We wanted different things.” She shrugged. “And so I left before it became more complicated than it already was. Although,” a low sigh bubbled to her lips, but she held it back as she added, “I cannot help but wonder if I might have made a mistake.”

“With Boromir? Probably not.” Faramir shook his head. “Running like mad in the opposite direction was the wisest thing you could have done.”

“Oh, I don't know about that.” She moved toward the low stone wall and gazed out at the clouds thickening to blot out the sun. “He… he does not know what he does to a woman, I don't think.”

“I’m surprised he knows what to do with one, to be honest,” he replied. “He is not one for hearts and flowers and the like.”

“Do not be fooled,” she said softly, looking back at him, a lump rising in her throat, “for he can be every bit as gentle as the dreamiest poet alive.”

Faramir looked more than a little unnerved and definitely uncomfortable. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not discuss my brother this way.”

“Of course not. I beg your pardon.”

He held up a hand. “There is no need for that, Kaia. You are welcome to remain with us, but know that he might show up at any time.”

“I know. But, I said I offer my services to you and I meant it. If I can be of use, I will gladly remain with you.”

“You just wish to kill orcs.”

“Well… yes… but that’s not the only reason. Your fight against Saruman is mine now as well, since the Uruk-hai are his creation. So, I am willing to stand alongside your men. As I said, I have no formal training, but I’ve learned much in the last year, so I am more an asset than a liability. At least, I think I am.”

“I have someone who will work with you. We haven’t much time, but Madril said he would be willing to help you as best he can.”

He led her down another set of crumbling stone steps, into a shadowy courtyard of sorts, made even gloomier by the fading sunlight. There, the same pale man with the equally pale hair receding from his high forehead and pale blue eyes that were not nearly so cold this time around. “Miss Kaia?”

“Miss?” She chuckled and shook her head. “No, no Miss. Kaia is fine.”

“Kaia, this is Madril. Madril, as you know, this is Kaia. Teach her what you can and correct any bad habits she might have.”

Madril nodded. “Aye, I’ll do my best.” His blue eyes slid toward her again. “Shall we, then?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

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

[middleearthpixie]

Promise Me ~ Chapter Twenty-Three

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

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

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

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Gabriella

Warnings: none 

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.4k

Tag List: @sotwk @heilith @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls @doctorwhump @kmc1989 @estethell

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

Previous chapters can be found here.

 After breakfast, Boromir bent to brush Gabriella’s cheek with a kiss, flashed a boyish smile at her mother, and with a nod to her father, left to make his way to the Tower of Ecthelion. As the door closed behind him, Mama turned to her. “I’m glad the two of you finally found your way to one another.”

Gabriella, who had been bracing herself for sour disapproval, could only stare at first her mother, then her father, for a long moment. Was it possible they truly weren’t upset at finding that Boromir had spent the night with her? 

Mama broke the silence. “Gabby?”

“Sorry.” She shook her head to clear the thoughts from it and start over. “I have to confess, Mama, I thought you would be angry, furious even, to know he passed the night here.”

A hint of color bloomed along her mother’s sharp cheekbones as she and Papa exchanged looks, but then, she turned back to Gabriella. “We might be, were the two of you far younger, but neither of you is a child any longer, as I said to Boromir. And besides, we approve of him. We’ve been waiting a long time for the two of you to come to your senses, haven’t we, Agnar?”

Papa nodded. “We have, indeed. I mean, we weren’t exactly happy when you were a child and he was almost a man, but in time, he's proved himself worthy of you.” His dark gray eyes brightened. “And now we can look forward to grandchildren at last. And they will be of fine stock, what with the Númenorean and Dunédain blood in his veins.”

“And he is also rumored to have elven blood from his mother,” Mama added with a slow nod. “Fine blood, indeed.”

Gabriella looked from her mother to her father and back. “Is that what matters? Blood?”

“Well, no, but it certainly doesn’t hurt.” Papa rose to take his empty plate to the basin to soak it.

Gabriella bit back a sigh. “He’s a good man, Papa, and he’s more than his bloodline.”

“I’ve not said he wasn’t, Gabriella.”

“What happened to him?” Mama broke in softly, gesturing to her own chest. “I saw the bandage and when I asked him about it, all he would say was he was seriously wounded and then changed the subject.”

Gabriella hesitated. They still had no way of knowing whether or not Frodo still made his way toward Mount Doom, whether the others lived still or not. So many unknowns. “He was wounded by orcs. Uruk-hai, to be exact.” 

“How? Where?”

“I—you should ask him. It is his story to tell, not mine.”

“I did ask and he would not say.”

“Then let the matter drop, Mama. I cannot fault him for not wanting to speak of it. He was seriously wounded and it is only through grace and good fortune that he survived and I’d rather not think about how close he came to death.”

Mama’s face fell and for a moment, anger flashed in her normally serene dark eyes. “Very well, Gabriella. After all, I cannot make you tell me.”

“It is not my story, as I said.”

“But you were here. Surely you know.”

She held her mother’s stare easily. “Mama, if Boromir has chosen not to share the details of his injuries, do not ask me to break his confidence and share them in his stead. He was injured and seriously. And now he is recovering. You needn’t worry about anything else.”

For a moment, she thought her mother was going to keep pushing, but thankfully, her father broke in with a soft, “She is right, Eir. I would not appreciate you speaking of any of my medical history without my permission.”

“I am not trying to pry,” Mama replied, shaking her head. “I have known him since he was a boy and am only concerned.”

Gabriella grinned. “I thought he was almost a man when I met him?”

That earned her a stern glance and a firm. “A sixteen year old boy is thinking about things men think about when it comes to women. But you were not a woman, you were a girl.”

“Mama, he wasn’t about to try anything with me back then.”

“I wouldn’t be so certain of that. You were mature for your age and of course, stunning.”

Gabriella chuckled. “You have to say that. You’re my mother.”

“Even if I wasn’t, I would think so.”

“Still,” Gabriella rose from her chair, gathering her plate and flatware to carry them to the basin, “he didn't even kiss me for the first time until the night before he left for Rivendell last autumn. We were simply close friends up until that moment. Then, I gave him my bear charm and now… he and I are a couple.”

“The bear charm I gave you?” Papa asked, his voice low.

She nodded. “I wanted him to know someone watched out for him. You know how the Stew—” she caught herself with a smile—“how Denethor was where Boromir and his brother were concerned.”

“The Stew—Denethor—thought the sun rose and set on Boromir, Gabriella. Why would he needed reminding someone cared about him?”

“He placed much pressure on Boromir’s shoulders,” Gabriella replied softly as she set about washing the dishes in the basin. “Far more pressure than any one man should have to feel.”

“He always has,” Papa replied, shaking his head. “And that boy would see through anything the man asked.”

Gabriella nodded, glancing out the kitchen window. From where she stood, she could just make out part of the Tower of Ecthelion, and she smiled, thinking about Boromir in the steward’s chair, a chair he would easily and readily surrender, should the rightful king return to his throne. Aragorn, he’d said the man’s name was, and from the way he said it, she knew he held this Aragorn in high esteem. So, if he did return to Minas Tirith, Gabriella, like her future husband, would bow to him as such. 

“Have either of you ever heard of a man called Aragorn?” she asked, turning away from the basin.

Her father nodded. “I have, yes, but not for many years. He is the heir of Isildur, the king of Gondor. Why?”

“Boromir traveled with him. Fought side by side with him as well, and I think he has hope that Aragorn will return and take his rightful place on Gondor’s throne.”

“And Boromir is not troubled by that?” Mama asked. “Not troubled at the thought of losing his power?”

“He cares little for power.”

“Nonsense. All men lust for power,” Papa said. 

Gabriella offered up a smile. “I think that what Boromir wants is quiet. Peace and quiet and a family of his own. Should Aragorn return, I’ve no doubt Boromir will step aside unless Aragorn asks him to remain on.”

“Prepare yourself, just in case.” 

“Mother,” Gabriella didn't trouble to keep the irritation from her voice, “please, I think I’ve come to know him very well.”

Papa coughed, then cleared his throat. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’m going to go down and check on inventory and then see about going to the marketplace.”

“Be forewarned,” Gabriella told him, “there is not much stock to be had since you and Mama left. It will be some time before we have much readily available as we did before.”

Papa nodded. “I’ll take that under advisement. Now, I will be back before the tavern opens.”

“I had planned to keep it closed for a fortnight,” Gabriella told him. “Out of respect for Denethor.”

“Can you afford that?”

“I think so. But even if not, I would still do it.”

Papa scowled. “That is not how one operates a business, Gabriella.”

“Boromir and Faramir are more important to me.”

Papa’s jaw tightened, but all he said was, “I see.” Then he paused and Gabriella waited for him to lecture her, but after a moment, all he said was, “Well, I’m off. I will return before supper.”

And with that, he took himself off, leaving Gabriella and Mama, who came over to help dry the dishes. She looked over at her mother. “So, how long are you and Papa planning to visit?”

“We’ve not decided. Although now I’d say most likely until after the wedding.”

Gabriella smiled. “We have set no date yet, though.”

“And why is that?” Mama asked innocuously.

“We’ve only been betrothed a few weeks, is why. A few weeks, and he was at first in the infirmary and then healing after he left and then burying his father. We will marry soon enough.”

“Are you so certain?”

Gabriella turned toward her mother. “Do you doubt him?”

“I do, yes.” Mama set down her dish cloth and faced her. “Men are fickle creatures at times, Gabby. They do not marry women they find accessible. He has ever reason to believe you are accessible, you know.”

Gabriella could only stare at her for a long moment, unable to believe her mother had just said that to her. “You don't know him, Mama. You don't know him at all. And I do know him.”

“Yes. I saw that this morning.”

“And you seemed untroubled by it.”

“I hide my feelings well at times. But, I never thought my daughter would sleep with a man to whom she was not wed.”

“Mother, do you doubt that Boromir feels for me what he claims to feel?”

“I know men.”

“You do not know him, though.”

“And if you find yourself with child? What then?”

Gabriella smiled. “You will find no father prouder than Boromir.”

“Or you will not find him at all.”

“Take care, Mother,” Gabriella wanted her softly, shaking her head. “As I said, you do not know him. Not the same way I do. I trust him. If I discovered myself pregnant tomorrow, I know what he would do. He would have us wed at once and would probably drive me mad with fussing over me from that moment until the moment the baby was born.”

Mama pressed her lips together for a long moment, her dark eyes gleaming. Then, after a few moments, she said, “Are you certain?”

“I am, yes. He’s made mention of wanting to start a family once we are married, so I think if I told him tomorrow he was to be a father, he would be thrilled.”

She smiled, imagining Boromir’s reaction at her telling him they were to have a child, for she had no doubt he would fuss over her nonstop from that moment until she gave birth. She simply knew that was how he would be, insisting she stay off her feet and had enough rest, that she did not do more than she ought to, and would most likely have her yelling at him to let her be already.

“And when the time comes, he will be a wonderful father,” she added softly. “I just know he would.”

Mama caught her by the hands. “Then you should sit and choose a date.”

“We will. In due time. I promise.”

Boromir sat at the elegant black walnut writing desk tucked int the alcove that served as a study of sorts for the steward. Denethor’s books, such as they were, remained on the black walnut bookshelves, their layer of dust a testament to how little reading Denethor chose to do. Boromir left them just as undisturbed, for he had little time for reading, not even the history books and the ones on warfare he normally favored received his attention these days. In time, perhaps, but now? He had far too much to do.

“My lord?”

He looked up to see Triston, one of the pages, at the alcove’s edge. “What is it?”

“Someone to see you.”

“Who?”

“The tavern keeper, Agnar.”

Boromir smiled. He had the feeling he was going to get the lecture he’d expected that morning. Still, he nodded. “I will see him.”

He set down his pen as Triston went to go fetch Agnar and when they arrived, Triston asked, “Is there anything I might fetch for you?”

“Fancy a drink, Agnar?” Boromir asked.

“Thank you, but no.”

“We’re fine, Triston. Thank you.”

The page bobbed his head and left them alone. Turning back to Agnar, Boromir smiled, rising from his chair. “Why do I think I know the reason for this visit?”

Agnar did not return the smile. “I found you in bed with my daughter. Did you think I would not be troubled by that?”

“You did not find me in bed with anyone. I was dressed and in the hallway, remember?”

“Do you take me for a fool, Boromir? Do you think I am so old that I know not what you and Gabriella were doing in that bed?”

Boromir’s gut twisted slightly. “I’ll not insult your intelligence by suggesting what you think happened did not. But, know this, I love your daughter and I have for a very long time.”

“So then, what are your intentions where my daughter is concerned?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“Yes, you told me what my wife and I wished to hear. But what are your true intentions?”

“Those are my true intentions.” He leaned back against the desk, arms folded and said, “I’ve already asked Gabby for her hand and she has said yes. If you wish, I will marry her tomorrow.”

“You should have married her before you to took her to bed!”

“It changes nothing, and if you expect me to apologize, I’m afraid you will be disappointed. What happens between me and Gabby should remain between me and Gabby for it is our business and our business alone.”

“And if she should become pregnant?”

Boromir stared at him for a long moment, unable to believe he was actually having this conversation with the man. With a slight shake of his head and a small snort, he replied, “Then she and I will have a child and do not worry, as I would make certain she and I were married before he or she arrived. We’ve discussed the possibilities of such a situation, you know, and I assure you, you—”

“Discussed the possibilities of such a situation? Are you joking, son?”

“I assure you, I am not,” Boromir growled, shaking his head again. “As I said, what happens between me and Gabby is our business and our business alone. She and I have been through much together and I don't think she doubts me the way you do.”

“Then marry her.”

“I am marrying her. And if she should tell me in the meantime that she is with child, you’ve no need to worry, for I’ll not be abandoning her. I love her, Agnar and I will treat her as a queen regardless of whether she wears my ring or not. Now, if I’ve satisfied your curiosity, misplaced as it might seem, I’ve much to do, so—”

“Misplaced curiosity? Tell me,” Agnar leaned closer, his eyes narrow, “should you have a daughter, how do you think you’d react, should you be in my boots?”

“I would probably react the same as you are now,” Boromir replied evenly, “but, only if my daughter—Gabby’s and my daughter—was far younger than either of us are now. She’s no child, Agnar. I think you know that. It took far longer for her and I to find our way to one another than it takes most couples.”

For a moment, Agnar’s jaw tightened, but then, he let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping a bit. “Aye, it has. I thought I’d be warning you away from her when she was fourteen and you seventeen.”

Boromir grinned. “I think you would have, had I not been caught up in other matters. I do not lie when I say I do believe I have loved Gabby since the day she and I met.”

“You have always watched out for her. How many times she did come limping home, complaining of how you tried to teach her to defend herself.”

“She learned quickly, but was never willing to try to take my feet out from beneath me.”

To Boromir’s surprise, Agnar chuckled. “Did you teach her how?”

“I did, indeed. I wanted to be certain she could protect herself, should the need ever arrive, as it did when the Great Gate was breached.”

“What?”

“How do you think the Gate was damaged? The city was nearly overrun by orcs, and I know Gabby stood alongside some of Gondor’s finest swordsmen to protect the infirmary.”

Shaking his head, Agnar murmured, “She said nothing to her mother or to me about this.”

“I cannot say what she faced in detail, as I’d not yet returned from Amon Hen, but I do know she was as brave as any man.”

“She said not what happened to you,” Agnar replied softly. “Only that you’d been wounded.”

“I was.” As he spoke, Boromir’s wounds twinged for the first time in days, and without thinking, he brought his hand up to the bandage on his chest. “I also faced off with orcs, in a clearing along the Anduin north of here. Amon Hen.”

“And you came back? Did your garrison bring you back?”

“There was no garrison. There was but me and I walked back.” 

“You walked that great a distance? And wounded?”

Boromir nodded slowly, the twinges growing worse. “I did. I needed to get back here. I promised Gabby I’d come home.”

Agnar sighed softly. “Perhaps I’ve misju—”

“My lord!” Triston burst into the chamber. “You must come quickly!”

Boromir’s gut lurched at the hint of panic in the page’s voice. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You simply must come and see!”

Boromir and Agnar exchanged looked and then Boromir hurried after his page, down the long corridor to the arched stone entrance. They stepped out into a gray, dreary, foreboding morning. The air was almost stagnant, heavy and thick as if in anticipation of something. A hint of sulphur hung in that suffocating air, and Boromir’s ears actually hurt as the pressure built all around them. He’d swear he could actually see the air pressing in on him, on them.

Triston pointed toward the east. “The Eye! Look!”

Boromir winced at the pressure building in his ear canals, in the way that air pushed in from all sides to make breathing almost impossible. And as he stared, the eye snapped wide open as if suddenly surprised.

Then it shrank, and with a great burst of fire and energy, exploded. Hot wind rushed from all around, slamming into him, into Agnar, into Triston, into the people Boromir saw on the lower levels, who all stared and pointed just as Triston did. With a resounding pop, the pressure broke and Boromir let out a groan at the burst of pain, followed by the utter relief. The wind knocked them all back a step, knocked everyone within sight backward and as quickly as it exploded, it vanished and the gray skies were shattered as if by the force of that explosion. 

Boromir stared at the blue sky where the Eye had been. “He did it,” he murmured to no one, his heart racing and his eyes stinging with unexpected and sudden tears. “Frodo did it.”

“Who is Frodo?” Agnar asked. “And what did he do?”

Boromir couldn’t hold back his giddy grin. “He destroyed the Ring. He defeated Sauron.”

“What?” 

Boromir nodded. “He did it. The little one did it.”

Faramir came up into the courtyard and immediately looked toward his brother. “Did I see what I think I saw, Boromir?”

Nodding, Boromir set off down the wide stone steps and at the foot, he and Faramir embraced, as giddy as boys as utter joy coursed through him, as a celebratory air seemed to grip the entire city in a warm hug. Jubilation swept through the crowd that quickly gathered and Boromir knew when Gabby appeared, for his gaze went immediately to her and in three quick steps, she’d reached him, wrapping her arms about his neck as he caught her easily and lifted her to whisper, “It’s over, love.”

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