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averil-of-fairlea · 10 years ago

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No Crying Allowed

[x]

elements from this imagine and this imagine | Words: 627 || Characters: Boromir, Reader, Frodo, Merry, Pippin, Sam || Genre: Fluff || Anon fic request for cuddles and snuggles with Boromir x reader || Also influenced by this awesome fan art, and this song.

Early morning light streams in through the east-facing window of the rented Hobbit hole, the warmth licking at your left arm lazily hanging over the side of the small bed. You begin to stir, but you’re not ready to fully awaken. And judging from Boromir’s soft snores, he’s not either. You roll over and nuzzle his neck.

You’re both still recovering from last night’s/this morning’s party, a huge community welcoming of the two of you to the Shire for an extended visit.

You thought Boromir would never stop hugging Merry, Pippin, Sam and Frodo, crying happy tears, retelling stories of the Fellowship and sharing how the Valar granted him his life again and gave him a new opportunity with the love of his life. And with pints of ale and lots of slaps on the back, all misunderstandings and hurt feelings from the Fellowship’s time together were put behind them forever.

The accursed ring has been destroyed and there have been many carefree sunny days and balmy nights since. Faramir has found love and so has Boromir, with you.

Boromir softly kisses you on your forehead.

“Good morning,” he whispers. The sun’s rays toast the entire bed now,

“A very good morning.”

He lifts his hand and touches your cheek softly.

“Happy?” he asks.

“The happiest I’ve been since our special day.”

“Oh, my sweet. Nothing beats that.”

As you prepare for a full day of napping and snuggling, both of you suddenly hear muffled voices outside the front door.

“Do you think they’re still asleep?” That sounds like Merry.

“Of course they’re asleep!” Pippin snaps. “We should be, too! We stayed up till 4!”

“Will one of you just knock!” That’s Frodo. “This tray is rather heavy!”

“Ok, ok. I’ll knock,” Sam offers.

Boom-boomy-boom-boom-diddy-boom-boomy.

“NIIICCE!” Merry says to Sam. You almost can see Merry’s impressed face and hear Sam’s humble ‘thanks.’

Boromir calls, “Come in!”

You both sit up in your wrinkled nightclothes and fluff up your bed heads.

The door creaks open and in walk the four friends, their smiles brighter than the sun-soaked room.

They form an arc around the bed and bow, with Frodo closest to your side, holding an enormous wooden tray brimming with food, plates, coffee cups, utensils, cloth napkins and a small steaming coffee pot.

Pippin clears his throat and rocks on his heels. “Today, our brave Boromir, the Fourth Hunter, our loyal friend, the most excellent…”

“Um, Pip, get on with it,” Merry mutters through a fixed grin.

“Right, right. We invite you, Boromir, and his kind and lovely sweetheart, after a late night of rowdy merrymaking, to do absolutely nothing for the entire day and not be bothered by one Hobbit!“

“Well, except for now, of course.” Frodo laughs and folds out the legs of the tray, carefully placing it across your lap.

Muffins, jam, eggs, toast, bacon, sausage, pancakes, apple and pear slices, honey cakes, coffee, creamer, sugar cubes await devouring.

“This is amazing!” you say, your eyes moving from the food to the generous and sweet faces around you. “Thank you so much!”

Boromir nods respectfully to them, a serious expression on his ruggedly handsome face.

“Thank you, my friends,” he says. “You’ve made our stay here most welcome. Just being here, in this cheerful and hospitable land, has made me so grateful for my life, and for our friendship.” Boromir’s deep voice breaks and he lowers his head. You reach out and brush your hand against his wet cheek.

Shoulders shake and mouths suck in short gasps as happy tears fall from ever eye in the room.

“No crying allowed,” Merry says.

Frodo wipes his eyes, followed by a sudden loud clap of hands. “On, then, friends! Let’s leave our guests – I mean, our family – to their meal and a great day of happy nothingness!”

With that, the squad starts to roll out.

You and Boromir give each other a knowing look, followed by a smile.

“Uh, lads?” Boromir says.

The Hobbits turn around as if they are one.

You point to the tray. “Care to share?”

If you had to guess how much time passed between your offer and the swarm that followed, you’d peg it at 2.3 seconds.

You happily move closer to Boromir to give the others room, sneaking in one last snuggle and kiss before diving into the delicious meal.

#boromir #boromirxreader #lotr fanfiction #fic request #averil of fairlea

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averil-of-fairlea · 10 years ago

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The Most Wonderful Man In the World

For zevrran

imagine || Words: 1077 || Characters: Boromir, reader || Genre: Fluff, romance

All morning you tried to think of a way to break the news. And all morning you could come up with nothing but silly riddles.

The thought of just saying “Boromir, darling, I’m with child,” however, seemed too direct, almost too somber. You envisioned lowering your head, speaking into your chest as you said it, as if ashamed.

You were only ashamed that you’d known for three weeks and hadn’t shared it.

Truth was, you didn’t know how he would take it. You were happy, but would he be?

Boromir had a deep — but, as far as you were concerned, unfounded - fear of becoming like his father. Though he’d faced down his own demons during his time with the Fellowship, he dreaded even the most remote possibility of becoming cruel, especially to his own child.

The thought of treating his flesh and blood as Faramir had been treated grieved him. Made him withdraw during intimate times.

Except for that one late summer night.

That was the night, even more amazing than any time during your honeymoon, when you tried a different hairstyle that you thought looked ridiculous, and the sleeve of your nightgown dipped down your arm.

“You are a fantasy,” he said, not taking the chance to blink as he looked at you.

He forgot his all fears. Every single one.

If he’d noticed that you hadn’t bled in nearly two months, he certainly said nothing to you. You’d had no strange cravings or morning sickness. He knew you’d been visited a few times by healers for what you fibbed was a persistent head cold. Other than that, you were as lively as ever. Your pregnancy would come as a complete surprise; hopefully, a pleasant one.

Boromir would be back any minute from his hunting trip with Faramir, no doubt excited about his kill and you knew his recounting of the tale could take an hour.

You would just have to interrupt him. You gave yourself a deadline to tell him, and today was it.

The front door burst open and you heard the extra-heavy trampling of Boromir’s feet. Into the eating area he came, where you were sipping from a mug of water, carrying something that immediately repulsed you.

“Supper time!” he said proudly.

All at once, the gamey odor of whatever it was pelted you like relentless hail. You felt physical pain as the scent twisted aggressively up your nostrils.

You held your hand to your mouth and nose and pointed to the back door.

Boromir furrowed his brow, not accustomed to this type of reaction.

You pointed frantically at the back door, your finger shaking, your stomach somersaulting.

Boromir scurried outside with the meat just as you remembered a vase of red roses in the parlor that he had brought you two days before. Practically running to them, you plunged your nose into the silky petals, the sick smell of raw meat fading to a bad memory, replaced by the floral aroma of eternal love.

But after a minute, even the smell of red roses made you nauseous. You pulled your face away, sat on the floor, and prayed to breathe in the smell of nothingness.

The closest thing was the polished stone flooring. That would have to do.

Boromor returned and found you on the floor, his face wrinkled with worry. He was about to approach you when you held your hand up, fearful that he might reek.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

You placed your hand in your lap and sighed.

“I had so wanted to tell you more eloquently than this,” you lamented, pressing your hand to your fluttering belly.

“Tell me what?” He took a step toward you until you lifted your warning hand again. “Are you ill?”

And then before you had a chance to answer, he asked with a quivering tone, “What ails you, and how much more time do we have together, my love?”

Poor Boromir! You were always so healthy and energetic, he thought you had to be heading for your deathbed to feel this awful.

“It is called ‘being-with-child-itis,” you said, watching his expression go from sullen to slightly understanding to very stunned. “And we have seven more months to go.”

Boromir’s breath quickened, his entire face curved into a smile. Every crinkle in his skin deepened.

“A buh, a bay…” he started, too shocked to finish the tiny word.

“A baby.”

“A baby.” He said it as if he’d never said the word before.

You nodded, not realizing a tear was falling until it splashed on your hand.

“I must hold you,” Boromir said. “Please let me hold you.”

You nodded and took in a deep breath of neutral air as he dropped to his knees and slid up to you, smelling of himself and the crisp autumn air.

He held you close, his hands strong and protective against your back, as you buried your face in his chest.

“A baby,” he said again, breaking the embrace to look at you and stroke your hair back. “How?”

You sucked your teeth. “Boromir…”

“No, no, I know how. But I was careful.”

Your eyes grew big and sad. Was he upset?

“Remember that night I wore my hair off to the side, in that sort of messy pileup, and then my nightgown slipped off my shoulders?”

Boromir’s smile grew bigger, and just the memory made him want to carry you off to the bedroom. Yes of course he remembered that night! You’d never seen him so aroused, all from a new style falling lazily onto your skin. At no point that night were either of you careful or even thinking about being careful.

Boromir kissed your forehead.

“Are you happy?” you asked.

He nodded, his face still aglow. “Very,” he answered truthfully.

“You’re not frightened?”

He was silent. Of course he was frightened. So were you.

“I’ll overcome my fears, with your help,” he said softly. “And by the time she’s born, we’ll have nerves of steel.”

“She? How do you know?”

“Well, I. I, um, er…”

“What if it’s a boy? Or twins? A boy and a girl?”

Boromir rolled his eyes back in his head and fell out onto the floor, shutting his eyes tight, pretending to pass out.

You scooted to his side and batted his face between your hands. His grin spread from ear to ear.

“Wake up, Father!” you said in a squeaky little child’s voice. “Time to take us for our riding lessons! Time to spar with us! Time to take us to market! Time to make tea for Mother!”

His eyes flew open as he lifted his head and grabbed your busy hands.

“Time to eat some venison!” he laughed.

Venison! That’s the meat he carried in!

“Bleh!” you groaned, pulling from his grip. It would be fruit and vegetables for you from then on.

Boromir sat up in an instant and gave you a bear hug, kissing your face and telling you how much he loved you and the child growing inside you.

You couldn’t even be mad at him for bringing up the venison. How could you?

Boromir was the most wonderful man in the world, and you were certain that he would make the most wonderful father, too.

Six and a half months later…

You were carrying twins after all.

As they came into the world, Boromir had new fears, all for your well being.

Labor was difficult, with the first child in the breech position, and the other seeming to want to stay put.

But the midwives used their skilled hands and reassuring words to help you through the pain and uncertainty. Boromir stayed by your side, telling you how much he adored you, how much he would adore his children, and giving you his hand without hesitation so you could crush his bones with every contraction.

A boy emerged first and immediately started screaming. His red face and soft plump rolls tickled you both, and in an instant you forgot what life before him was like.

The second child was also a son, longer and quieter than his brother, but wearing the same angelic face and brown poof of abundant hair.

After they were bathed and swaddled, and after you had been examined and cleaned up, you held one son, and Boromir sat beside you with the other, gazing at them in awe.

"I just knew one of them would be a little girl,” you said. Boromir leaned over and kisses your cheek.

“We’ll just have to keep trying, my love.”

#boromir #boromirxreader #the hobbit fanfiction #zevrran #averil-of-fairlea #lotr fanfiction

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averil-of-fairlea · 10 years ago

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Captured

Based on this imagine from @gondorimagines: Imagine Boromir using any excuse he can to put his arms around you. || Genre: fluff, romance || More Boromir fics

“Careful, there! Don’t fall!”

Boromir’s sturdy grip around your waist should feel familiar and unsurprising by now, but you jump a little anyway.

He’s to your left, and sees the frown in your profile. Mistakenly - though understandably - he interprets it as irritation.

“Sorry.”

He releases you from the embrace before you can say anything. His hold was meant to help you over the strip of slippery river rock that Legolas insisted would be safe for everyone to pass.

But the graceful Elf is the only one not struggling. The Hobbits have fallen countless times, though all but Sam have made a game of it.

You’re surprised Boromir didn’t lose his balance when he grabbed you. He’s the one who’s twice fallen on his bum.

The feeling of his strong arms around you certainly isn’t unpleasant. It’s downright comforting. But, if only for a few moments, it makes you bring down your defenses on a journey that requires them.

That unnerves you, and your nerves are made of steel.

The warm feeling leaves you wanting more, and asking yourself questions you can’t answer, and temporarily wrinkling your brow even though you feel like you’re happily floating every time he does it.

But perhaps what riles you the most is, you’re not sure why he keeps doing it.

When there’s just the slightest nip in the air, when you’re juggling weapons over your shoulders, he finds an excuse to “warm” or “steady” you by wrapping his arms around you.

He must know you don’t require this type of assistance. A moment ago, when he took you so swiftly and protectively in his arms, you had been negotiating your next step, not stumbling.

Outwardly, there has been nothing to give away to him that you need his arms around you.

Now, if he can read your heart, that’s something different.

You’re keenly aware of your frown, but no matter how you try to straighten it out, it seems that your face is collapsing in on itself.

The second you look away from the rocks to tell him thanks but that you’re already quite steady, you lose your footing and reach for whatever you can - in this case, his ready, open arms.

Both of you come tumbling down.

———

You’re closer to the campfire than you should be, because that last splat not only has your backside sore, but soaked your trousers. Boromir is beside you, less wet, because he sort of fell on top of you when the crash happened.

Your bedroll strapped to your back cushioned the fall, but got punctured in the process.

He’s apologized for making you lose focus, and you accepted it with a grunt, but he’s still embarrassed.

“Nice guiding, LEG-O-LAS,” you toss out, your voice burning with sarcasm as the Elf crosses you on the other side of the fire, smiling slyly before sipping from a mug of water and heading for a seat next to Aragorn.

But before Legolas can sit, Aragorn says something in the Elvish tongue, laughs, and rips away Legolas’s boot, clean off his left foot.

As Legolas stumbles back from Aragorn’s stunt, the water from his mug splashes up, out and sizzles onto the fire.

“Move back!”

Boromir’s arms circle you and drag you back fast, right against him before one tiny, harmless spark can touch you.

—-

Between pipe puffs and chuckles, Aragorn explains to everyone what he said before he caused his friend’s undignified fall: “This is what walking on those rocks felt like.”

Through the ensuing laughter, loudly led by Gimli, Boromir holds you, shaking you slightly as he laughs heartily with the others.

You’re still facing the fire, and barely lift up the frown he senses is there with a faint smile he’s sure isn’t.

He holds onto you for several minutes until you gently wriggle free and stand up, bidding everyone good night. No one hears you. They’re too busy watching flustered Legolas.

You disappear into the woods near the pile of bedrolls, unable to distinguish one from the other.

“Yours has the rock-shaped hole in it.”

You whip around so fast that you trip over your own two feet.

Clenching your teeth and groaning, you fall against Boromir’s chest.

He laughs and holds you to him, hoping he hasn’t scared the stuffing out of you.

“Well, here you are again in my arms.”

He smells so earthy and smoky and dirty in a good way.

Still clinging to him, you make a fist and softly pound his chest once.

“I like it.” You thump him again, and his chuckle reverberates through his entire being and yours.

“And that’s how you show it?” he asks.

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“I can think of something.”

“Hmf! I’ll bet you can.”

He laughs again and resists leaning you back for a dramatic lip lock. He likes where you are, how you feel, in a real embrace - not just an excuse for one.

“Well, go on, then. I’d rather die by your hand than by-”

You abruptly pull back, giving him the most horrified frown you can muster.

“You’re NOT going to die by anyone’s hand!” You don’t recognize your own voice. Passion and terror are speaking.

Boromir doesn’t answer. Whatever he sees in your eyes makes him look sorrowfully at you, and bring you back to his embrace.

“I’ll protect you, Boromir,” you promise. “You know I can. You know I’m not helpless.”

“Yes, I know.” He strokes your hair at the nape of your neck, and sighs. You can hear, and feel, the sincerity in his voice.

“But you keep capturing me,” you remind him.

He tries to break the embrace again to look at you, but you hold him tighter, and it feels as if you both have always belonged right where you are.

“Not nearly as much as you’ve captured me.”

#boromir #boromirxreader #lotr fanfiction #gondorimagines

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hjori-kunoichi · 3 years ago

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Too cute

Green Eyes of Gondor

Boromir x f!Reader

Summary: The newly formed fellowship spend an evening around the campfire getting accustomed to each other. Some dancing ensues, and the Captain of Gondor isn’t fond of how close you are with a particular ranger.

Word count: 1.6k~

Warnings: none! Fluffy fellowship vibes, jealousy

A/N: I’m back into my Tolkien obsession and I’ve been having a lot of feelings about Boromir recently, so this happened! I don’t know if there’s a big market for Boromir fics but you’re getting it anyway 🤣

Boromir scowled as he watched you and Aragorn dancing from across the fire.

It had started innocently enough. The fellowship had just had dinner and were settling around the fire for the night. You were still new companions, so time like this was spent getting to know one another. You had expressed that on this journey you were greatly missing music. You spoke of how you loved the soft music that seemed to flow all around Rivendell during your brief stint there.

You also comment that you’re a fan of tavern music, and Aragorn attests to the fact that despite your hard ranger exterior, you’re known for being up and skipping around a tavern when a song starts. You’ve both been travelling together for years, and you’ve shared the occasional drunk dance around a tavern after particularly gruelling journeys.

At this revelation, Merry and Pippin immediately stand up and ask for your hands. You’re more than happy to join them, and you make do dancing around the campfire while Merry and Pippin sing a song about their favourite tavern - The Green Dragon. You invite Sam and Frodo to join in but they politely decline a dance, choosing instead to sing along.

The height difference between you and the hobbits causes some trouble, so Pippin climbs onto Merry’s shoulders and they try to dance with you that way, which results in all three of you falling over in a fit of laughter.

Everyone is jovial and laughs along with the three of you as you get up and compose yourselves. Gimli announces he would teach you some traditional Dwarven dancing. It was accompanied by some chanting and a song in a language you couldn’t make any sense of, but you had fun nonetheless. And it of course brought some banter between Gimli and Legolas.

“You call that dancing?” Legolas smirks.

“Well I’d like to see what you Elven folk call dancing, laddie!” Gimli proposes and Legolas stands up and walks over to you.

He holds his hand out to you and pulls you next to him. Aragorn hums an elvish tune quietly as you and Legolas move around the space softly, you copying whatever he does. There’s a certain elegance to Elvish dancing that you’re not quite sure you’re getting, but Legolas smiles and lifts you around nimbly like you weigh nothing. You feel dizzy by the time he places you back on the floor. You receive a round of applause from everyone, and you both bow. Boromir, in particular, thought you looked ethereal as you danced.

There’s an expectant look on both Legolas and Gimli’s faces and you meekly admit that you prefer the Dwarven dancing. Gimli looked awfully proud of himself after that. You take your place next to Aragorn once more and take a drink from your waterskin.

“What kind of dancing did the two of you do in taverns?” Frodo enquires.

“Those longshanks must’ve been good for dancing, surely?” Sam quips at Aragorn and you reply before he has the chance to deny it.

“Oh absolutely.” You smirk, “Strider here may be a triumph on the battlefield, but he also knows his way around a dancefloor.”

“As does Y/N. And we danced whatever the occasion called for!” Aragorn remarks. “Most dances were not unlike what you just did to your own tavern song. Though we did sometimes pretend to tight-fisted barkeeps that we were newlyweds and celebrating, and the cheers from the tavern would get us free drinks. Do you remember?” He smirks at you and you laugh at the memory.

“How could I forget? Those were the most fun!”

“Let us see!” Merry shouts and there are cheers of agreement from all but Boromir, though you don’t notice.

Aragorn stands up and bows before you, holding his hand out, “My lady.”

“My husband.” You accept his hand and he pulls you out of your seat, you mockingly bow before him in return.

You both sing along to something that’s half Elvish and half traditional tavern song as you dance. There are moments that resemble your dancing with Merry and Pippin where you’re bounding around merrily. But there are also parts not unlike your dance with Legolas, swaying and pressed up against each other.

You finish your song and dance to applause from everyone. You plant a kiss on Aragorn’s cheek before you both sit back down again, chuckling.

Boromir hides his glare well, but he is in a sour mood after the performance. He has harboured feelings for you from the moment he laid eyes on you in Rivendell. He resents the bond that you and Aragorn clearly share, and he wishes he could be in Aragorn’s place. He mistakes the kiss as a genuine one, and not just the two of you playing up to the act. He misses the small chat you and Aragorn have once you’re sat down and the nudge that the ranger gives you in Boromir’s direction.

He’s brought out of his mind by your soft voice uttering his name and the breathtaking smile you’re sporting as you approach him, “Care for a dance? I’m sure I’ve never danced anything worthy of the halls of Gondor. Perhaps you could show me?”

“I’m afraid we do not have much time for dancing in Minas Tirith.” Boromir replies sternly.

“Well we’re not in Minas Tirith now, so what is the harm?” You extend an arm to Boromir but he does not take it.

“I’m truly not much of a dancer, Y/N. That is more my brother’s strength.” He looks down at his lap and misses the flash of disappointment in your eyes.

“So be it. I suppose I shall have to ask your brother for a dance when I next visit the White City.” You round the fire and drop back down in your spot next to Aragorn once more. Once the attention is off of you, and everyone seems to be focusing on getting themselves ready to sleep, you have a bit of a pout.

“He will come around, I’m sure.” Aragorn whispers to you, “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks none are watching.”

You considered Boromir’s change in mood. He’d been laughing and smiling while you danced with the hobbits. He also found you and Gimli entertaining. He looked quite in awe of the Elvish dancing. Then he sported a very stern look on his face once the attention turned to you and Aragorn. Was he jealous? Surely not. What was there to be jealous of?

You assign the watches for the night and everyone but Gandalf goes to sleep. After a few hours, you’re awoken by Gandalf for your watch. You wish him a restful sleep and take up his spot, where you can observe the whole fellowship and the wider plains around you. Boromir is assigned to take over from you but about an hour before you’re supposed to wake him, he stirs on his own.

“What time is it?” He asks blearily, rubbing his eyes and adjusting to the dark of the night.

“You still have an hour before your watch. Make the most of it.” You smile graciously at him and he gets up and moves slowly over to join you on the log you’re perched on.

“I doubt I will get back to sleep now I’m awake. I can take over now.”

“Tis noble of you, Captain, but I wish to fulfil my duty completely before I pass it on to you.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender but is otherwise quiet. You’re shocked by the question he asks you after a few minutes silence, “If the King has indeed returned and Aragorn does take the throne of Gondor, will you be his Queen?”

You chuckle, “I think you misunderstand mine and Aragorn’s relationship. We have spent many years travelling together, but he is like a brother to me.” You smile fondly and notice Boromir relax ever so slightly, and you wonder if he was jealous because of the dancing.

You decide to clarify, “Our dances were nothing but swindles for drinks from stingy barkeeps. Aragorn’s heart belongs to Arwen, the elf-maiden who gave him the pendant he wears around his neck.”

“I see. And what of yours?” He asks tentatively.

“My heart belongs to someone else also, though I do not know if he reciprocates.”

“He would be a fool not to.”

You consider your next words carefully, but based on this short exchange, you’re willing to risk yourself, “He denied me a dance this evening, what else am I supposed to assume but disinterest?”

You look hopefully at him and are met with wide eyes, “I am the object of your affection?”

“Yes, Boromir. I was bitterly disappointed you turned down a dance earlier, but it was Aragorn who convinced me that I should not give up so easily.” You smile at the dumbfounded look on the usual stern face of the Captain of Gondor.

He reaches for your hands and leans in close to you, “I’m deeply sorry for my behaviour this evening, my lady. Would a kiss help you to forgive me?”

You beam, “Perhaps.”

He leans forward and captures your lips softly, his kiss growing in ferocity when you melt against him.

You pull away breathless, blushing profusely. You shuffle ever closer to Boromir until you’re practically in his lap and kiss him again.

He matches your passion with gentleness, and tentatively pulls back, “As much as I would like to take this further, keen are the ears of the fellowship. For now, get some sleep, my love.”

“Let it be said, those green eyes suit you, Captain. Enjoy your watch.” You smirk as you slink away back to your bedroll.

He smiles as he watches you settle and fall into a quick sleep. His evening turned out far better than he could’ve imagined.

#boromir x reader #boromir imagine #lotr imagine #boromirxreader #boromir one shot #boromir

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averil-of-fairlea · 10 years ago

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Nothing But a Number

Based on this from @gondorimagines: Imagine confessing your feelings to Boromir by saying you are attracted to older men: he looks sadly at you, thinking you consider him old, so you try to fix things, but end up just making everything worse || requested by @dana-in-wonderland || fluff, humor, romance

Thank you for trusting me with this! Get ready for some second-hand embarrassment. :)

You stand in the center of Rivendell’s impressive armory, surrounded by exquisite bows, arrows, swords, and daggers. With their soft curves, strength from the heartiest of hardwoods and the natural glimmer of purest metals, they are as elegant as the finest silver tea service, yet, in only one or two moves, can bring the fiercest foes to their knees.

Just like Boromir’s eyes.

He is standing beside you, quietly reviewing the artfully displayed stockpile, save for the occasional “beautiful” comment as he carefully strokes handles and the broad side of several blades. He’s actually talking to you, trying and failing to drop a clue of his feelings, but you don’t detect it.

It’s been several weeks since your first meeting at the Council of Elrond, and since then you’ve spent as much time with him as you have with the others in the fellowship. Not one of them seem to have the faith that Elrond has in you, unfortunately.

Elrond, a father figure to you, knows of your meticulous, almost obsessive study of Elvish weaponry and your undying respect of it. You may not be as skilled a warrior as some of the other members - only the Hobbits are less experienced - but neither Aragorn nor Legolas know as much about caring for, and mending, these special weapons as you.

You smile, feeling proud that Aragorn and Boromir aren’t the only people from the race of Men in whom Elrond has confidence.

Suddenly you’re aware of how ridiculous your wide grin must look to Boromir. You slide a fast glance his way, and for the millionth time note his strong nose, stubborn chin, his short, oft-petted beard, and brown-golden hair. Some locks rest against his face, others touch his broad shoulders covered in the dark leather of his tunic. Unlike Aragorn, whose rugged looks have an almost divine allure to them, Boromir is striking in a devilish sort of way.

But you wouldn’t change one thing about him. Not even his age. He isn’t ancient by a long shot (that would be Aragorn) but for some reason he’s fond of bringing attention to the gap separating your years when he calls you ‘young one’ - as if you’re a baby.

“See anything you’d like to get your hands on, young one?”

A harsh, sudden cough tumbles forth and you lean forward, hand over your mouth, trying to quiet and control it and hold back the response you’d like to give to the unexpected question: Yes. You.

Boromir reaches over and thwacks your back with firm pats until you lower your hand and he sees your embarrassed smile.

You take a look at his stately face and try to think of something to say before he can get a chance to call you ‘young one’ again.

“Are you alright?” Boromir asks. He already sees that you’re fine, and his voice becomes buttery as his face lights up into a toothy grin. “Did I startle you?”

He brings his hand back to his side.

Your face flushed, you raise your head and try a nonchalant hair toss in an effort to change your expression from sickish to sultry.

“You’ve got me all choked up, Captain,” you say, slipping your lips up and to the right, into a long, soft curl, giving him your best “I’m-not-that-young-and-I-hope-this-look-conveys-that” face.

“I didn’t know my handsomeness still had that effect on women,” he says. Then, his blue-grey eyes stay on yours for a half a beat, before he looks down briefly at his fingers, as if searching for notes - or an apology for such an inane remark.

When his eyes meet yours again, tender and pleading, you are convinced your face is on fire.

This is new. This is…different, sweet. You’re not 100 percent sure what’s happening, but it demands a witty response.

“You still have that effect, old-timer.”

Boromir angles his neck back, like his face is being pushed in by an invisible, mocking hand.

“I-I…” Calm down, calm down. “I-I-I should say, that is not a problem - you’re being old, that is. Not old, but older than I.”

Boromir blows out a quick breath, the shadows in his eyes changing his still-plastered grin from friendly and warm to taken aback and maybe just slightly hurt.

You bring your hands up to his chest and press them gently against his tunic. Surprisingly, he lifts his own hands and places them atop yours.

His expression is sunny again.

“I am well aware of our age difference,” says he, “but if I may be so bold as to remind you, you are a full grown adult. And quite a lovely one.”

“Yes! I AM an adult!” you exclaim, not hearing the compliment. You’re too ecstatic that he has feelings for you, the same you have for him.

You are so excited, in fact, that your words - like that accursed, blubbery cough a few seconds ago - begin to flow like a river.

“So what if you’re nearly old enough to be my Papa?!” you say, a big smile on your face, despite the instant horror you feel from your comment.

Oh, no…

Fix this, adult! you demand of yourself.

“Actually,” you say, your breathing picking up, “you're not quite old enough for that. My Papa is older than you are, so you’re more on the youngish side, I guess. Well..not really. Anyway! I like men who have seen more winters than I. And for you that’s a lot…oh, dear…”

You can actually taste your suede boot in your mouth. The flavor of Rivendell’s lush grass, smashed on your heel, swims from tongue to cheek.

Boromir just peers at you, trying to make sense of your unintentionally insulting long-windedness.

“Boromir,” you sigh, at last. You push your hands to him firmly, and his fingers circle your skin on top of your hands, calming you. “I’m afraid I’m too tongue-tied.”

You hang your head, and he bends a little, trying to recapture the glance.

“I thought I choked you up,” he says.

“That would be better than this.” You let out a small laugh.

He stands straight again, takes one hand and places it under your chin, lifting your face so you’re nearly eye-level again. Your humiliation fades with his touch.

“Does the decade and a half between us -”

“One and one quarter, captain!” you correct him.

Boromir smiles and laughs quietly, then nods, agreeing with your accuracy.

“Does the one and one quarter decade bother you so much?”

Spellbound by his voice, his caress, his eyes, you shake your head so slightly that he probably doesn’t see it. But you break from your love trance quickly, recalling his nickname for you.

“Not as much as you always calling me ‘young one.’ ”

Boromir drops his hand from your chin and brings it to his heart, grazing your fingers still anchored there.

“I have offended you?” he asks softly.

“Offended? No.” You swallow nervously, and the act seems to remove your trepidation and bumbling. “Boromir, there is nothing offensive about being young, middle aged, or old - which you are not…”

Boromir’s laugh is hearty and sincere, and his teeth shine like lit beacons. He steps forward, inviting you closer.

“It’s just age. It’s nothing but a number,” you go on, head spinning from the joy and surprise of freshly-revealed feelings. You move your arms lower, circling his lower back. He returns the embrace, enveloping you to him.

“No, I wasn’t offended,” you whisper, trembling in his strong arms, but every uttered thought clear. “I just didn’t want my age to be all you see when you look at me.”

He searches your eyes, resisting the urge to tell you he has feared the same thing, and relieved that he has nothing to fear.

“Trust me,” Boromir says, leaning in for a feathery kiss, “I see so much more when I look at you.”

#boromir #boromirxreader

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averil-of-fairlea · 10 years ago

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Golden

imagine from gondorimagines: “Imagine Boromir watching you while you sleep.” || Words: 376 || Genre: Super cotton-candy Fluffapalooza || Pt. 2 of this drabble for || Characters: Boromir, Wife!reader, young children || Note: In the book, Boromir’s eyes are grey, so that’s what I went with here. But you can pretend they are Sean Bean’s eyes || Songspiration: Atlas Hands

Everything behind your eyelids is golden.

Golden, like the wee hand-stitched blankets for you and Boromir’s ten-month-old twin sons, Finn and Liam, like the shimmering light in the 24 karat hair comb Boromir gave you for your birthday; like the brilliant sunlight blessing your wedding day.

That color is now illuminating peaceful visions, which, even in your subconscious state, you realize you’re not having alone.

Opening one eye, then the other, you see another color: grey. Two grey irises above a strong nose and a daydreaming grin.

You reach out and stroke Boromir's cheek, brushing his rough stubble that you love so much.

“Are you staring at me?” You blink for several seconds, wanting to go back to your early afternoon nap, wanting to keep gazing at him.

He kisses your hand, then sets it back on your pillow.

"Not staring. Dreaming with you. About you.”

“I like the sound of that,” you admit.

“I've been doing that a lot lately, with you being so exhausted."

"But your eyes are open."

Boromir wraps his index finger around a lock of hair longing to curl getting its wish as he gently keeps winding.

"My eyes can be open or shut. Everything feels so..." He glances over his shoulder at the sleeping pair in the oversized cradle behind him, then back at you.

He doesn’t need to finish. You wave him in for a kiss, which he delivers - passionately, deeply, sincerely. He's eternally grateful for his second chance, for the home and family you've built together.

"Care to join Arela and me for a nap?" you ask when he pulls away.

"Arela?" He frowns, confused.

You look down at your belly, then back at Boromir, whose mouth is now open, his eyes wide.

"That’s why I’ve been so tired. And you did say we would keep trying for a little girl. I feel like she’s in there. And Arela means...”

“...golden.”

And then Boromir laughs, loudly, as he embraces you and you both cry happily. The boys begin to stir in their cradles. Finn is the first to whimper, and Liam takes over where his brother leaves off, screeching.

"Dream's over," you sing, preparing to get up, but Boromir shakes his head and stands instead. First he leans down and touches one hand to your shoulder, the other to your abdomen, then gives you another kiss.

"No. It's just beginning."

#boromir #boromirxreader #lotr fanfiction

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averil-of-fairlea · 10 years ago

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It Is Well

from this imagine from gondorimagines || Songspiration: “It Is Well” performed a cappella by the Blenders

Settling down for the evening amid the ethereal beauty of Lothlorien should have been easy. Everyone was exhausted - from the journey, from feeling the full extent of the loss of Gandalf, and from thoughts of the greater dangers still to come.

Boromir seemed the most on edge. He was not jittery or talkative, but strangely still, while a sea raged in his mind. You could not only sense it, but you had proof when you walked by on your way to the fountain and overheard bits of his conversation with Aragorn.

“I will find no rest here,” he’d said.

He spoke of a hope he did not see, his father and lost faith. Since meeting him in Rivendell, you’d never seen him breathe such shallow, halting breaths.

Though the chat seemed to end positively, his heart was so heavy it seemed to anchor him in place.

It was hard for you to imagine him so shaken. Boromir was equal in your mind to Aragorn in strength, nobility and integrity.

With the silence following the solemn lament for Gandalf, you looked forward to falling into a pleasant dream free of fights, close calls and death.

But you quickly realized you couldn’t sleep, because not far from your corner of the large tent, Boromir also couldn’t sleep.

He was on his back, and you could see his open, dewey eyes shining in the glow of the tree-mounted lanterns.

And occasionally, you heard him whisper, “hope,” with a very soft, almost sad laugh.

Glancing around to make sure everyone else nearby was asleep, you got up from your pallet of blankets and crawled over to him, sitting beside his pillow.

Boromir craned his neck up as he watched you get comfortable. He looked surprised, then actually a bit relieved, to have company.

“What are you doing up?” he asked, resting his head back down.

“I know you’re thinking a lot about whatever Lady Galadriel told you. And I know it’s keeping you from sleeping.”

“Go back. This needn’t concern you.” Boromir was not trying to be harsh. He really wanted you to sleep and not worry about him. You were a fine fighter but unaccustomed to such lengthy travel. He didn’t want his troubles to be the cause of lost rest.

You gently touched the very tips of his hair splayed across the pillow. Initially a bit shocked, Boromir’s eyes gradually went from wide to relaxed to half open, as the slow rhythm calmed him.

“My family used to sing a song that brought us comfort during trying times,” you said. “It’s much better with four-part harmony, but I still think you’ll enjoy it. Would you like me to sing it to you?”

Boromir looked at you for several seconds, wavering between the offer and insisting you go back to bed.

Finally, he nodded.

You continued to stroke the ends of his hair as you cleared your throat, and sang in a hushed tone:

♪ When peace like a river attendeth my way

When sorrows like sea billows roll

Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say

It is well, it is well

With my soul... ♪

You stopped, searching his face for a reaction. He buried his head deeper into the pillow, and repositioned himself on his side, toward you.

“That is lovely,” he said. “Please go on.”

You smiled and continued, trying to keep your voice as comforting and soothing as possible. His eyes shut and his breathing became deep and slow before you reached the end of the short song.

You kissed his temple and sat there for a while, just looking at him slumber peacefully, feeling serene yourself.

Just before you left, Boromir whispered the word again: “Hope.”

But this time, he smiled.

#boromir #boromirxreader #gondorimagines #it is well

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averil-of-fairlea · 9 years ago

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A Bad Weave

Imagine Boromir asking you if he can braid your hair and being extremely proud of the mess he’s made, but you have no heart to tell him the truth, so you go around all day with terrible hair, while all your friends try not to laugh from @gondorimagines || More Boromir fics || Fanfiction masterlist

Your first clue that something was amiss should have been how lopsided your head felt, as if your right side were being pulled down by an invisible hand.

Your fingers investigated. It was a very thick, tangled damp braid, oblong like a pickle, sticking out like a branch, flapping like a falcon’s wing as you walked behind Boromir from one pathway to the next in Rivendell, toward breakfast.

Second clue: The hairs at the nape of your neck and from your left side were pulled tight into another so-called braid. The pads of your fingers traced it.

This “braid” was gathered into a snaking lumpy pattern, up the back of your skull, bound by a loose strip from Boromir’s sack that for some reason, he’d had in his pocket.

It wasn’t the cleanest hair tie he could have wrapped the end of your freshly-washed, hyacinth-scented hair with, but hygiene was the least of your troubles.

No, you didn't find out the easy way that you looked like a cross between a starfish and a yak.

It was only through utter humiliation that you realized Boromir had paid little attention to what he was doing when he offered to braid your hair.

You thought he knew better. As children, when the two of you weren’t playing monstrous pranks on one another, Boromir had watched you braid your hair countless times. He’d seen you interlock the strands into one braid to hang in back, or with two at the front near your hairline, on either side of a center part, and joined in the back with a shiny clip. He’d witnessed any of the thousand ways that a young lady experiments with the mane she’s been dealt.

“Your hair looks and smells wonderful,” he said once, after you’d washed it in the small creek behind your home and looped it into a messy rope, held up with a pin. Both of you were around 12.

“Want me to wash and style yours, Boro ol’ boy?”

He nodded and smiled eagerly.

So, after urging him to close his eyes and relax his hair into the water, you covered his head in mud, then twisted it in tight, every-which-way cords, and took off running.

“THAT’S FOR PUTTING CRICKETS IN MY SOUP, YOU DOLT!” you cackled.

He swore revenge for a month, but never got it. All it took was a few homemade honey cakes to hush him, and to end your prank war once and for all.

You had been invited to a wedding in Imladris that was still three months away when Boromir informed you he was heading to the valley for a meeting. For safety and other practical reasons, it made sense for you to travel with him rather than wait.

Perhaps it was the impending farewell that possessed him to rap on the door to your quarters earlier that morning and ask if he could assist you in any way as you prepared for breakfast. You were on a maplewood chair, dressed in your pale blue long frock, running your brush through your wet hair. There wasn’t a mirror in sight in the basic room.

“You look like you’re struggling,” he teased, flashing a bright smile as he approached.

“I am! The Elves’ hair cleanser -”

“Smells wonderful,” Boromir said, standing over you, inhaling the floral scent.

“Yes, it does. But it’s made my hair extra slick. I can hardly grasp it to make my braid.”

“I can do it for you,” he said.

You could have heard a pin drop across the valley. In Gondor.

“You?” Rotating in your seat, you looked up at him dubiously.

“I have watched you for years. I’m a good observer.”

“Of braiding?”

“Of anything. It’s a bit like weaving a reed basket, wouldn’t you say?”

Your brows collapsed. “And what do you know of weaving, Boro ol’ boy?”

“Just let me. You’ll see. The style will be the talk of the breakfast table.”

More like the joke of the breakfast table.

------

Boromir sat beside you and dug into this food, occasionally smiling lovingly at his braiding work. You returned the grin, and resisted excusing yourself to loosen your hair and return to the land of the well-groomed.

It was hard to be cross with him. Poor thing. He’d never done this sort of thing before and you hated to burst his spirits. He looked so proud.

Merry was the first to scrunch up his nose and snicker behind his hand. Pippin’s very cute, giggly face looked like it might burst. Sam’s beet-red, puffed-out cheeks and shy glances screamed ‘shameful.’ And Aragorn’s frozen, bucked eyes wandered warily in your direction every few seconds.

Everyone else looked down at their plates, their shoulders quaking. Frodo was trying and failing so hard to keep his laugh inside that a line of drool hung from lips to lembas, a predicament that of course got him and the Hobbits beside him riled up all over again.

Legolas cocked his head as he stared, trying to decide if he should release one of his arrows and put your hair out of its ugly misery. Gimli only grumbled and rolled his eyes.

“Neither Men nor Elves can light a candle to the hair care and styling of my folk,” he muttered to himself.

Elrond’s tight-lipped grin was so intense that his cheeks became deep streaks of creases and his eyes were mere slits. He could barely sip his water, his mouth was so stretched and clenched.

“Do you require assistance, Frodo?” you snapped, watching him try unsuccessfully to wipe his drool.

He shook his head, and Merry and Pippin, who were sitting on either side of him, snorted with amusement.

“How about you, Ranger?”

“I require no assistance, my braidy. My lady!”

You asked the same question in a different way all the way down the table and got nothing but shaking heads and shaking shoulders.

You left Elrond and your Elf friends alone. They were hosting you for another good while, after all.

Finally, Boromir, whom you thought was oblivious to the sneering and your questioning, gently coughed into his fist, pushed his chair back, and stood.

“I just want everyone to know,” he said, looking grimly at you for a second, then back to the group, “that I have heard every whispered remark about our dear friend’s braided fashion. And I just want to say…”

Boromir moved from the front of his seat and stood behind it, pushing on the top wooden edge of the chair until it was close to the table.

You watched as he started to take several backwards steps and pointed at you.

“....I TOLD YOU I WOULD GET YOU BACK!”

You still didn’t get what he was talking about until he reached into a recently-watered flower filled planter on the terrace ledge and grabbed a handful of wet dirt. He tossed it at you, and the clump landed in your laughable hair.

“RRAAA!!! Boro ol’ boy, you’ll regret this!!” you shouted as you stood and took off after him, the others at the table chortling away as you took up arms - two handfuls of soaking dirt from the planter - and raced off after him, your bouncy pickle-branch-wing braid flapping in the wind.

#boromir #boromirxreader #gondorimagines

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hjori-kunoichi · 3 years ago

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Oh lord I truly thought he was a goner

Boromir X F.Reader - Crying heart

(Pictures found on Pinterest - Collage made by myself)

Many thanks to @fangirl-ramblings 🖤 she has been beta reading for me 🌹

Summary: After you almost lose Boromir, you avoid him so as not to experience the same pain again. The thought of seeing Boromir die in your arms again scares you incredibly. But Boromir doesn't want to give up on you so quickly ...

Warning: Angst, mention of death (I guess), but also some fluff ♥

Crying heart

"Boromir... Boromir?"

She was in complete shock as Boromir lay bleeding in her arms. The man she had learned to love. Now he was to pass away from her already? Bitter tears ran down Y/N's cheeks as she stuttered and tried to formulate a half-understandable sentence. She wanted to tell Boromir that everything would be fine and that everyone would take care of him. He would just have to endure, to wait out the pain a little longer, and yet the young woman knew that Boromir had forfeited his life. Three arrows were stuck in his chest. Three arrows that those damned Uruk-hai had fired. Y/N didn't want to believe it was over. She couldn't believe that Boromir was dying. Y/N didn't leave his side, stroking through his dirty blond hair, which was stained with mud and blood.

"You are not going to die now. Do you hear me? Don't you dare!"

Boromir smiled up at her, he seemed so peaceful despite the pain and that was only because he saw the young woman's face. He saw her tears, he saw her pain.

"Y/N... I..."

Talking was hard for him. Very hard. The only thing he could do now was to enjoy the last moments with her. There was something comforting about dying in her lap. He was not alone. Y/N was with him, Aragorn was with him. He was not alone and he would not end up like a lonely dog.

"I love you..."

It was three little words that caused an incredible feeling in Y/N. Happiness, but also sadness and unbelievable anger that life had decided to take Boromir away from her. Eventually, the young woman burst into tears and sobbed in reply, that she loved him too. She had wanted to tell him so many times how much she loved him, but had never found the right moment. And now? Now she would have nothing more of Boromir. Their story together ended before it had begun. That Y/N returned his love meant everything to Boromir and he smiled as he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent once more, feeling the warmth of her body. There was nowhere he would rather be than with her. The battle against the Uruk-hai had been turbulent, wild and risky, but now it no longer mattered.

Aragorn remained somewhat in the background, out of respect for their togetherness. But the words of Boromir had not escaped the ranger, and it pained him to see that the love of these two people would be destroyed. Aragorn thought of Arwen, thought of how terrible it would be to lose her. And that is exactly what happened between Y/N and Boromir. He lay dying in her arms and her pain had to be unimaginable.

"I love you, Boromir!"

Sobbing and full of despair, she hugged Boromir to her as she rocked him back and forth. He couldn't be dead, he wasn't allowed to be! Bitter tears ran down her face, mingling with her own blood and dirt.

Y/N felt Aragorn's warm hand on her shoulder, felt him squeeze her and express his sympathy without words. However, Aragorn knew it was time to say goodbye to Boromir, even if it was hard for him too.

"Y/N... I am so sorry..."

"He can't be dead... Oh, God... No, no!"

Her pain was clearly audible and it literally froze the blood in Aragorn's veins. Aragorn knelt down to Y/N, caringly stroked her head, and looked to his friend Boromir, whom Y/N was carefully laying in the dry leaves. Her face showed her pain, and her tears had left definite marks on her cheeks. She would never forget him. She would never forget her first love and in all probabilities, she would not get over this enormous loss. Y/N was convinced of that. A soft sigh escaped Aragorn when he saw the expression on her face. The strider wished there was something he could do, and yet Aragorn knew that no words could have comforted her at the moment. Just then, Aragorn sadly turned his eyes away from Y/N and caught a glance of Boromir. Instantly, Aragon's sad expression slipped away and his eyes grew wide.

"He lives," he whispered, almost shocked. "He is alive!"

When Y/N heard that, she couldn't believe it at first, but now hope burned within her. She watched as Aragorn took Boromir in his arms and looked for any sign of life. So Aragorn brought his face closer to Boromir's and he heard the breathing of the supposedly dead man.

"He lives, Y/N!"

Relief was evident in the strider, however, Boromir was badly injured, so they had to take good care of him and not expose him to unnecessary danger. However, they all had to keep in mind that the little hobbits were in the hands of the Uruk-Hai...

Two days had passed. Boromir was still not conscious, fever plagued the man. Y/N never left his side, taking care of Boromir and forgetting to sleep or even to eat. Aragorn sat together with Legolas and Gimli at the warm campfire, which they had lit for the protection of the night. The Ranger watched Y/N, worried about the young woman since she was by Boromir's side all the time. Aragorn and the others had offered to take care of Boromir, but she had refused, assuring them that they need not worry about her. However, you could tell the young woman was very tired and in urgent need of sleep.

"We can't risk putting Boromir in danger."

"So, what do you suggest, Aragorn?" the blond Elf asked, glancing at Boromir before turning back to the Ranger.

"With each passing minute, Pippin and Merry are in the greatest danger. However, one of us should stay with Boromir and Y/N," Aragorn replied, gazing thoughtfully into the blazing flames.

"I will stay with them!"

"No, Legolas. I need you to go in search of the two Hobbits. Neither Gimli nor I, have eyes as sharp as yours. I will stay."

"What?!"

Gimli grumbled lowly as he looked up at the blond elf. However, the dwarf understood Aragorn's decision and also that Y/N could not be left alone. While she was good with weapons, she still had a sick Boromir at her side to protect. It was a difficult situation, but Merry and Pippin could not be left to their fate. The group had to split up.

"Ngh... All right! Me and the young elf will go find the two boys."

Aragorn was pleased with the decision and gave Gimli a gentle smile. But now the ranger had another matter to attend to. Calm and understanding as he always was, he went to Y/N to speak with her.

"You should rest. You don't have to carry this burden alone, Y/N."

"It is not a burden for me, Aragorn. I just want him to get better."

"We all want that. But you have to understand that we can't afford another patient."

He meant her, and Y/N knew it. In the end, she understood and she also thought of Merry and Pippin. Worrying about Boromir was stressful enough, but the fact that they hadn't found the two Hobbits yet was also scary. All of them were aware that they would put Boromir in a dangerous position as soon as they would find the Uruk-Hais. But what could they do? Boromir, the little Hobbits, all of them were dear to them and they didn't want to leave any behind. The only option was to split up among themselves.

"I know" she whispered weakly, and now she too felt how tired and exhausted she actually was.

"Boromir will be fine. Three arrows have not been able to stop him. He won't give up now, Y/N. Now that he knows someone special is waiting for him."

Aragorn always had the right words and for the young woman, they were a great comfort. Still, the events of the last days and weeks had shown that anyone could die at a moment's notice. They had seen it with Gandalf and that was painful enough. Boromir had survived, but the horror that he could have been dead had shaken Y/N to the core. She had fallen in love with Boromir, had often imagined what it would be like to lie in his arms at night, to exchange caresses with him. She had imagined all this and the feeling of being in love had made her more than happy. But Y/N had realized how painful love could be. With how much fear and grief that was connected to it. Could she once again bear to see Boromir die before her eyes? In her arms? No, no human could bear that one more time. Maybe it would be better to just let go. But even that would be difficult for Y/N, because feelings could not simply be turned off. She loved Boromir, but she knew that if Boromir really left this world, she would die inside.

"He was in my arms, Aragorn. I never want anything like this to happen again... To any of you," she whispered as she wiped a damp cloth over Bormoir's heated skin. Gently, she let it slide over his forehead as she looked at him.

"That he's alive is a miracle. I don't want to see him die again."

Aragorn understood her fear, also thought he knew what the young woman was getting at. It was the same for him with Arwen. His thoughts were constantly with the beautiful elven woman.

"Aragorn, I can't..." Y/N sobbed softly as tears slid down her cheeks. "It hurts so terribly to see him lying here."

"Y/N. You're tired and you really should go to sleep. It's been a rough day. You need to rest."

But sleep would not change her mind. She would distance herself from Boromir. But this decision was not Y/N's alone, but Boromir's as well. For Boromir had heard her confession of love quite carefully before he lost consciousness. And he should be damned to let his happiness slip away.

So it happened; after two more days the son of Denethor woke up and his first thought was about Y/N. And the first thing he did when he opened his eyes was to look out for the beautiful woman. It hadn't escaped his notice that she had taken care of him. Every now and then he had awakened from his deep sleep, had seen her face again and again. Perhaps he had only dreamed of it, yes, but much more Boromir hoped that he had not only dreamed of her.

"You were unconscious for a long time. How do you feel, my friend?"

Aragorn's calm and pleasant voice drew Boromir's attention.

"Aragorn..." Somewhat confused, Boromir stroked his dirty blond hair, sighing softly. How did he feel? Well, he was in pain, barely able to move in his condition. Still, he sat up, wrapping an arm around his stomach as he hissed softly.

"Careful, Boromir. Your wounds have not healed yet. We have done our best, yet scars will remain."

"I'm lucky to be alive at all!"

And Boromir was glad about that. But all at once, he remembered Pippin and Merry. Startled, he looked around for the two Hobbits, but he couldn't spot them anywhere.

"Where are the little ones?!"

For a short moment, Aragorn turned his face away from Boromir, before looking at him again.

"We have not found them yet. Legolas and Gimli are searching for them."

"And you are here? Where is Y/N?"

Aragorn smirked a bit as his friend asked about the young woman. Yes, he could well understand that Boromir longed to be near Y/N.

"She is preparing dinner." With a slight movement of his head, Aragorn indicated the young woman's location. She was not far away, and Boromir now saw her as well. Instantly a smile crept onto the warrior's face. He looked at her for a moment, watching her prepare the food in the pan, lost in thought. He wondered if this was a good idea. Boromir was looking forward to a good piece of meat and it would be a shame if it burned, because of her distraction. He wondered what she was thinking about?

"Y/N? Boromir finally woke up!"

When Y/N heard this, she instantly looked in the direction of the two men and her eyes grew wide. For days, the young woman had been waiting for her Boromir to finally wake up, and when the time finally came, she dropped everything. She rushed to the warrior, but at the same time, she reminded herself not to get too excited.

"Y/N!"

It was obvious that Boromir was more than delighted to see her. He smiled joyfully at her, but Y/N only gave a saddened smile, which Boromir noticed immediately. Somewhat disappointed, he frowned, yet he said nothing.

"I'm so glad you're finally awake. How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay, Y/N."

Aragorn cleared his throat as he excused himself and let the two of them have their privacy. After Aragorn made his way to the fire, Y/N looked shyly at the young Boromir as she knelt down to him. Carefully, he reached out and touched her cheek and Y/N felt how hot she suddenly became. Her heart pounded madly against her chest as she closed her eyes, while she enjoyed his touch.

"You gave us all a big scare, Boromir," Y/N said softly and she couldn't stop tears from running down her cheeks. It touched him deeply that the young woman was shedding tears because of him, but he liked her better when she smiled. Silently, Y/N nuzzled her face against his hand. It felt so good to be touched by him, it just felt right and yet Y/N didn't want to let her romantic feelings guide her. But when she opened her eyes again and looked into his, she felt weak again. She didn't want to escape Boromir, she wanted to finally be able to call him hers. It wasn't an easy decision and Y/N was almost on the verge of despair.

"It's good to see such a beautiful face. Such a friendly face."

Y/N knew Boromir's words were meant for her and she blushed immediately, even making her smile.

"Boromir..."

With his thumb, Boromir gently caressed her cheek before pulling his hand back and sighing softly. For a while, they just sat together, silent, and again and again, Boromir touched the young woman. Tenderly and almost carefully, but Boromir could be sure that Y/N enjoyed it very much.

"You should rest some more, Boromir. Your body needs a lot of recovery," Y/N said softly as she gently stroked through his strands of hair. Just as she turned away from him to leave, he grabbed her wrist and begged her not to leave his side.

"Please. Stay with me a little longer, darling."

Actually, she shouldn't. But, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she even lay down next to Boromir, her body lightly snuggled against his, while she closed her eyes and listened to his steady breaths. Without another word, Boromir wrapped his arm around her body and even pressed her a little closer to him, causing tears to run down the young woman's cheeks. God, how much she loved this man and how happy she was that he was still alive.

Days passed, Boromir was getting better and better, so they were all able to continue their journey. The fact that Boromir constantly sought Y/N's closeness had of course not escaped Aragorn's notice and he was happy for them, but he also saw that the young woman avoided Boromir's closeness and Boromir had also noticed that. He didn't want to force himself on her, respected her when she asked him to be alone. However, the frustration was clearly visible in his face. As it was at this moment. While he was sharpening his sword, his eyes kept falling to Y/N. She looked very thoughtful and also very unhappy. Boromir wondered why. Had he said something wrong? Did he do something to upset her? He was so sure that she returned his feelings. Had she not testified with her own words that she loved him? Sighing heavily, Boromir stowed his sword back in its scabbard before putting it aside. It could not go on like this. She was always running away from him, even if he only wanted to exchange a few words with her. This time, however, he would not let the young woman slip away so quickly. He would not give up until she had answered his questions. So the warrior rose from his place and approached Y/N, who was sitting on a small rock with her back turned to him, gazing into the distance.

"Y/N?"

The young woman looked up at Boromir, her heart beating fast as she did so. He seemed different than usual. He made a very serious impression and Y/N immediately understood why Boromir was with her. He hadn't missed her behavior and Y/N knew that she couldn't always run away from him.

"Can we talk?"

Y/N was silent for a moment before she nodded and rose from her seat. She turned to him, looking up at him, and Boromir's gaze immediately softened as he looked into her face. Her eyes had such a sad expression that he almost forgot what he had actually wanted to confront her with.

"You are avoiding me. Why?"

"..."

No answer. Y/N gave him no answer and Boromir slowly lost patience. He sighed softly, looking up at the sky for a moment as he reminded himself to stay calm. Y/N, on the other hand, noticed quite clearly that he was tense and she knew it was her fault. She was sorry, but she tried her best to banish Boromir from her mind. But most of all, out of her heart.

"And now you won't even talk to me?"

His voice was calm, but you could tell the man was hurt by her behavior.

"Then... Didn't my words mean anything to you, Y/N?"

Oh, they meant the world to her. They meant so much to her and now that Boromir confronted her, she couldn't bear to be around him any longer. She took flight from him again, but this time the young warrior would not let her get away.

"No!"

He quickly caught up with her, grabbed her arm and brought her to a stop.

"I want a clear answer, Y/N!" he said angrily as he spun her around to face him and she looked at him, startled.

"You treat me like I'm not even present! Turning your back on me! And I want to know what I did to deserve your hatred!"

She didn't hate him after all! No, no, no! But that's exactly what Boromir was thinking, and could she blame him? Y/N didn't try to run away from him this time, but looked up at him. Visibly startled by his words, she wanted to say something in her defense, but the words stuck in her throat. However, her tears told him that something was very wrong with the young woman. Instantly his gaze softened, no longer looking so angry.

"If I did anything wrong, I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm really sorry..."

"No. No, Boromir. You have done nothing wrong."

Boromir frowned, clearly confused by her words. Now he didn't understand anything. How was he supposed to understand? There had to be a reason for her to reject him!

"You almost died in my arms, Boromir," she whispered, and still she could feel the fear and desperation she had felt the day she thought Boromir had died.

"Believe me Boromir, your words mean the world to me. That you love me makes me so happy, but..."

Then she placed her hand to his cheeks, stroking them gently, and Boromir looked at her hopefully.

"I can't bear the thought of really losing you next time. Do you understand? I never want to have to feel such fear, such pain, ever again!"

Boromir understood, yet he found it was nonsense to hide his own feelings because of the fear of losing someone he loves. He, a proud warrior of Gondor, should be damned, If he would just let Y/N go. Without a word, Boromir leaned out to her and kissed her, gently cupping her cheeks.

"Boromir..."

She pulled away from his kiss, however her fingers dug tightly into the fabric of his dark cotton shirt. Boromir searched the look in her eyes as his breath brushed her lips and his thumb caressed her soft skin.

"You mean everything to me, Y/N. And I know you feel the same."

Her soft lips brushed his and she longed so much to just give in to her urge, to all her feelings. In the end, it was stronger than her and this time it was her who kissed him. Passionately and almost desperately. Boromir didn't waste a moment, wrapping his arms around her feminine body and pressing her against him. Her fingers clawed at the dirty blonde hair as his tongue slid over her lips, taking her in completely. Gasping, she gave him what he asked for and by God, she couldn't get enough of his kiss. They both seemed to have forgotten that Aragorn was near them. He just grinned contentedly and finally turned away to give them their privacy.

Y/N clearly heard the low growl coming from Boromir, whereupon she gasped arousedly and released the kiss. Her eyes gleamed as she looked at him. Her face was delicately flushed and a smile slipped onto her lips as the back of his hand caressing her cheek.

"I'm sorry, Boromir."

But Boromir only shook his head, for there was nothing to forgive. Her motives he had understood and could understand, yet he did not want to have to give up on Y/N. He loved her too much for that.

"No, my heart. Nothing to be sorry for."

Overjoyed, she wrapped her arms around his neck and laughed happily as she hugged him. This moment belonged to them alone and she would enjoy every moment she was allowed to spend at Boromir's side.

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