#i need more content for boromir

[tolkienpinupcalendar]

Rare Pair Bingo 2025

For March and April @tolkienpinupcalendar is hosting Rare Pair Bingo! This is a bingo style event. In total there will be three cards: one with the rare pairs, one with smut prompts, and one with non-smut prompts. We included a bingo card with non-smut prompts because sometimes you just want your blorbos to hold hands. We will be reblogging and sharing content from this event for all of March and April. Do not feel any pressure to complete all the prompts within one month (and don’t feel any pressure to finish all the prompts!).

How to play:

Option 1: If you have one rare pair you really like or one rare pair that really speaks to you, take that pair and use the prompts to create something for them.

Option 2: You can use all the bingo cards with different pairings and different prompts for your creations!

Any fic, art, moodboard, playlist etc. will be included and we are happy to reblog!

Additional rules:

You can use multiple prompts for one creation.  These can come from different cards (pairing + smut prompt + non-smut prompt) or come from the same card (pairing + smut prompt 1 + smut prompt 2, etc.). How you use the prompt cards is up to you!

If you want to play option 1 (only one pairing but using the prompt cards) but your pairing is not on the list: No problem! Just use the free space. If your pairing is a rare pair but not included, we would love to hear about it!  

How do I know if my pairing is a rare pair?  If you feel it is a rare pair it’s a rare pair. Our bingo list came from a google form that one of the mods created. Some of them have 300 fics on AO3 and some have less than 25 (Borry. The answer is Borry, Boromir/Merry and I need more signed @frosticenow). We did not want to have any strict definitions for rare pairs to keep it open. 

To get a bingo you need to have a line (horizontal, vertical, or diagonal) filled and this can include the free space. To get a super bingo (we did not know what else to call it) you need to fill up a card, only one card. If you fill up more than one you get more than one super bingo! 

As always, if you want us to reblog please:

tag us @tolkienpinupcalendar

use the tag #tpcrarepairbingo

Submit to our smut-missions form

Add the work to our AO3 collection

The most important rule is to have fun! We look forward to seeing what you create!

Mods @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book @bellejolras and @frosticenow

[spideyanakin]

HEY! Idk if your requests are actually open anymore, but if they are, I have a little something ;)

If you’re down to write it (and if you haven’t written anything like this before, if you have ignore this lol I’m sure I’ll find it), could I get a Legolas x reader (either fem or gn is fine, whichever you prefer!)?

Maybe reader is apart of the fellowship as a healer and they’re patching him up after a battle and scolding him to be more careful. The rest of the fellowship totally wanting them to get together and chuckling.

Idk I just thought that might be cute lol. Again I f this doesn’t interest you/you’ve written something like it before, free to ignore this <3

invincible (l.g)

warnings - mentions of wounds, suggestive joke, legolas bleeding, fluff?

word count - 0.7k

back to main masterlist

legolas masterlist

An offence only orcs and enemies of Arda could have the courage to do.

The calm after the storm reigned in the remains of the fellowship; Gandalf was gone, Frodo and Sam left to journey on their own, Merry and Pippin were kidnapped, Boromir died before your eyes…

In that mess of events, as you all camped to recover from battle, Legolas hadn’t noticed the large gash on his cheek, and only did when he ran his hand over his cheek to wipe off what he had thought had been dirt.

But when his fingers pealed from his cheek to show a redish liquid hot to the touch, he thought he was going to explode.

Legolas was bleeding.

Elves never bled.

Elves were trained not to bleed, trained to defend themselves and use the signs of nature as warnings.

Even the act of making an elf bleed was a terrible offence.

And then he felt it, his left leg buckled and a blinding pain hit from the back of his calf.

This was a true insult, and anger flashed through him as he leaned against a tree, long forgetting the wood he had been collecting for the fire.

His pain was a reflection of a moment of weakness.

And all this for you.

Legolas was a fierce warrior but when it came to your safety he, unfortunately, became distracted. Making his fighting stance reckless. Not that you couldn’t defend yourself, he knew your skills and trusted your own elven senses: but you were a healer. You were there to tend wounds and help them on their journey, not fight orcs.

"Legolas," your soft voice brought him out of his sulking. “You’re bleeding," you noted. Your voice wasn’t harsh, but firm—an expression of your worries and a command that he came promptly over to you.

You knew he hated showing weakness, hated that he needed to seek your help, but the gash on his cheek and the bleeding from his leg he was yet to notice had to be tended to.

He trotted to your spot by the stack of bags that had been dropped for the night to sit down in front of you, and started to observe as you fished through your satchel to grab whatever was needed to tend to his wounds.

He watched as you grabbed a piece of fabric, following your movements to see you open a small bottle and embed the fabric with its contents.

"You have to be more careful," you mumbled, carefully pressing the sanitiser across his cheek. "I saw you out there, you could have gotten killed."

"I was trying to protect you," his words made you stop your movements for a brief instant—eyes locking with his. You suddenly felt heat creep up your cheeks, and before you could let it affect you, you continued your movements.

"You know I can fight, Legolas. You need to take care of yourself first," you almost whispered, content with your work when the gash was clean. "Fold your leg," you ordered before he could muster another reply and he complied, folding his legs so you could properly see the side of his calf.

You didn’t need to bother with a knife; the hit was already making the material of his pants rip apart. A simple touch was enough to reveal the large cut across the side of his leg.

He hissed as your mixture of magic herbs cleansed the wound, just like the one of his cheek.

He didn’t know what else to say, he wasn’t going to stop taking care of you on the battle fields, not today and not ever. And as he watched you tend to his wound, concentration deep in your eyes—he was starting to guess why he felt so protective over you.

And it wasn’t just because you were healer who wasn’t a trained fighter.

"He’s totally in love with her," Gimli mumbled to Aragorn who was washing his spare shirt in the nearby river.

From his spot on the perched rock, he could clearly see the two of you. Watching as you carefully tended to your prince’s wound, and Legolas’s longing stare towards you.

"Legolas has always held affection towards her," Aragorn noted, sending a light chuckle towards Gimli.

"More than affection! He’s basically undressing her with his eyes!"

"Gimli!" Aragorn scolded, suppressing the smirk that threatened to rise.

"What?"

[wordbunch]

how you pamper them when they're stressed/overworked

a/n: requested by the sweet @almost-gabrielle, i hope you enjoy it, and everyone else too - it's going to be GIGANTIC! 😍 be nice, cause I included some characters I haven't written much before (exciting!!!) and if you reblog with a comment or a nice tag... i'll love you forever! 💖 that means a lot, and i'm very grateful for all of it 🥰

ARAGORN: he actually feels like that quite often, but he’s incredibly good at hiding it. Luckily, you’re an expert in reading him like an open book, but oftentimes you need to literally physically drag him away from whatever he is doing (and he might complain as you do so). Aragorn just enjoys sometimes being quiet with you, and it’s usually what he needs when his mind is racing, or his body is overexerted. Or both. You can just lie down together and run your fingers slowly through his hair, and that will help him forget his worries at least for a little while. Secretly he is an absolute sucker for sweet, romantic confessions of love and affection, and he will melt if you whisper sweet nothings in his ear.

LEGOLAS: something has to be extremely serious for him to feel that way, because his limits are very high; but in those moments he just wants to get away from everything as soon as possible and run to you, because with you the rest of the world just fades away. He enjoys an outing in nature, far away from real life, especially if the two of you find a nice lake or river to go for a swim in, and eventually act like a couple of children splashing and chasing each other. If that doesn’t help, he likes to sit in front of you and let you braid his hair as he talks about whatever is on his mind, and it also helps him physically relax to have you sitting behind and so close to him.

BOROMIR: this man will most likely push himself to his absolute limits, because he shoulders too much responsibility and feels pressured constantly to be on top of things. However, it’s easy to notice when he becomes a bit more irritable at one point, and then you know it’s time to talk him into taking at least a little break. That can be a slippery slope, because once he gets you alone for 5 minutes, it can very easily turn into 15 hours, and he would never finish anything. But on some days it’s just necessary - you sweet talk him into a cuddle session, during which he accidentally falls asleep with his head over your heart, or you make some tea with love as the special ingredient – and tell him that! He’s going to melt and finally, gratefully accept that his partner wants to look after him.

FARAMIR: much like his brother, he will probably suffer in silence, but you can’t miss his tired sighs every now and then, and the way he shuts his eyes and rubs his temples. If you hug him from behind, he will melt into your touch and lean onto you so much that you will almost topple over, but that will also make him admit to himself that he really needs a break. Run him a nice, hot bath complete with fragrant ingredients, and candles lit around it,  and he will be forever grateful. If you don’t join immediately, he will very sweetly ask you to come with him because 'oh the bath is so big and so lonely' without one more person in it. 

ÉOMER: this hardworking man is actually quite in touch with how he feels, both physically and emotionally, and he knows when things are becoming too much and he needs to step away for his own good. It is not unusual for him to go search for you and suggest that the two of you do something away from everyday life. Many times he doesn’t even suggest anything, he just follows behind you whatever you’re doing - taking a walk and admiring some trees in bloom? He’s right there holding your hand. Sitting on a balcony and reading? He will lay his head on your lap and ask you to read to him. And he is content just being present with you.

SAM: he gets both overworked and stressed quite often, poor thing. Make him something to eat and bring it outside while he’s working in the garden, and just have a spontaneous mini-picnic in the backyard. Although he’s very hardworking and persistent, over time he’s learned to accept your help and pampering, and he really really enjoys it too. If he is under mental stress, maybe you’ll need to push him a little bit to tell you what is on his mind, but once he does, he will gladly listen to your advice or any help you can give him. 

FRODO: baby boy is in his head a lot and oftentimes he will accidentally create things to worry about, and he will just zone out. if he has a faraway look in his eyes, while doing nothing in particular, you can accurately guess what is up. He likes to feel useful, and he will gratefully accept if you ask him to help you with whatever you’re doing - it gives him an excuse to be kind and helpful, but also spend time with his favorite person. Especially if you’re organizing/re-organizing something, he will enjoy doing it with you, or cooking - he might not be the best at it, but he delights in giving you a hand, and he likes to learn and improve new skills anyway. 

MERRY: he is actually much more of an overthinker than he seems to be on the outside, so stress sometimes just generates outta nowhere! Also he isn’t the biggest fan of physical labor out there, but he is a little bit of a show-off when it comes to you, and he will go above and beyond when helping you with something or doing something for you, until he can barely stand. Afterwards he will take pride in the fact that you had to force him to stop whatever he was doing, but he was simply being so very nice to his favorite person! Something he loves to do to unwind in those moments is just come up with random stories with you, the two of you taking turns making up characters and events. He is a little bit of a baby and he will just take your hand wordlessly and put it in his hair, because it feels nice when you run your fingers through it.

PIPPIN: he will either be stressing over very small, irrelevant things, or something absolutely terrible, no in-between. If it’s something small, he has no problem rambling about it to you, and that usually helps him sort things out; but if it’s something serious, he will grow quiet. The best thing you can do for him in those moments is distract him with a silly idea like “let’s go for a walk and find as many kinds of blue flowers as we can” or just straight up make him laugh - it’s the best medicine. He wouldn’t ask you directly to do it, but he’d love it if you could just hold him or cuddle him for a bit (he’s the little spoon of course).

BILBO: oh he will get worked up over a whole bunch of random things; and when he is working on something, he goes all in (and then has a random episode of doing absolutely nothing), so you need to be the one who grounds him in reality sometimes. Just don’t startle him when approaching him quietly. He is very responsive to your touch and he will just lean into you as soon as you’re near, almost forgetting about everything else. He adores it when you hold his face in your hands and he will look at you as if hypnotized while you comfortingly reassure him that everything will be alright and that he doesn’t have to do anything alone as long as you’re around.

FÍLI: he is very big on “strong protective independent dwarf” and sometimes he doesn’t fully allow himself to rest properly, or to process some things that are bothering him on the inside. However, at one point it will all have to culminate, and then his first instinct is to shut himself off. A guaranteed way to get through to him is to kiss him senselessly wherever you can reach and it makes him subconsciously relax almost immediately. He will kiss you back passionately which helps him eliminate some of the tension he’s feeling. Additionally, he will never ever say no to receiving a nice little massage from you. 

KÍLI: oh he is quite proud of himself if he ends up overworking himself for you, as if it gives him bonus partner points. You will gently scold him for pushing himself too far, and then he will pout, but you know he still doesn’t regret it. Then he himself will drag you away for a cuddle session - he chose that as his reward for being the very best partner in all of Middle-earth - but you don’t have to exclusively cuddle. He finds it very relaxing if you sing something quietly to him and he will look up at you with shining eyes.

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[mothmimic]

Hazy Memories

‣ pairing: Legolas x reader

‣ words: 950+

‣ content: fluff, human reader, gn!reader

──────────────────

summary: after the Fellowship settles down for the night, you find that the cold leaves you unable to fall asleep. A walk in the woods ends in a moment more touching than you could have imagined.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The terrain you— along with the rest of the Fellowship— trekked along was undeniably a difficult route to take. The temperature had plummeted significantly before the group had even reached the mountain of Caradhras, which led to the decision to make camp before nightfall would bring even deadlier weather.

Now you tossed and turned in your sleeping bag, your thoughts constantly lingering on the persistent, icy wind that was currently nipping at your skin. Most of your companions had somehow already found their way to hazy dreams: the hobbits were huddled together and sharing each other’s warmth; Aragorn, Gimli, and Boromir had each found their own place to rest; and Gandalf was off meditating somewhere, you were sure. The only one who was wide awake was Legolas, who was currently on watch due to his lack of need for sleep.

But through the fog the cold had brought upon your mind, you could still make out the memories of the past evening. Although the long stories of the mountain that Gandalf had told the group were already lost to you, the interactions you had with the blond elf were clear as a sunny day. The thought of him brought an unexplainable warmth throughout your chest before you urged it away. Your feelings for him were based purely on admiration, that was all.

You had always worried about him, which was why you had immediately offered him your cloak once the temperature had began to lower. You felt bad for him, seeing him in simple layers compared to the others. He had given you a curious look at first before a small, warm smile made its way to his face.

“I am alright, thank you.”

“But aren’t you cold?” You continued, the crease in your expression making it seem as if the mere thought of him being cold horrified you.

He shook his head softly, pressing your cloak back towards you. “Not necessarily, although I do appreciate your offer.”

And before you could protest he was already in front of the group again. You watched him gingerly step upon the snowy ground each time he moved, his grace leaving barely a trace. You sighed, the warmth of your breath drifting from your lips. Only when one of the hobbits pushed you forward did you snap out of your trance.

Tonight you were in that same trance again, your restlessness guiding you from your sleeping bag and towards the dense woodland. You weren’t sure where you were headed, if you were headed anywhere, but hopefully your movement would be enough to grant you a bit of warmth. You found your way to a relatively clear path between the trees before your eyes caught sight of a light trail of footsteps. You followed them, wishing for the elf to still be there, yet the trail stopped at a deep decline in the ground. You looked past the cliffside and to the star-speckled sky as if you were waiting for something. After a moment you eventually sighed and intended to turn back around, yet something stirred from the leaves overhead.

With one swift movement you grabbed the pocket knife on your waistband, ready to fight whatever was there— or rather, whoever. When your eyes opened again you were met with ones of sapphire-blue, paired with an amused grin framed by strands of smooth, delicate hair.

“Y/N.”

“I- Legolas!” You stammer, quickly withdrawing the weapon you had faced him with.

He looks you up and down with one swift glance, clearly not affected. “You’re awake. Why?”

“I just can’t sleep. Too cold, I guess.” You answer, not mentioning the fact that you were too busy thinking of how graceful he is. Or that you purposefully followed his footsteps here. He nods.

“Your cheeks are horribly red.” His response makes your eyes widen before you try to relax again, hoping the action was subtle enough that he didn’t notice. He continues as his gaze travels along your face, almost as if he’s analyzing each feature. As he does so, the back of his hands lift to lightly stroke your cheek. Heat blooms under his touch. “You’re not familiar with the cold, are you?”

“And I’m guessing you’re so warm with your… what, only two layers?” You scoff, taking a small step back and turning your head nervously. He looks as if he’s about to respond somehow, yet he cuts himself short. His line of sight travels down to his feet as if he’s nervous.

“Well, I suppose I haven’t been thinking about it. I am very cold, to tell the truth. Freezing, even.” As he confesses this, he glances at you from the corner of his eye as if he’s expecting something.

“I was right!” You exclaim with victory before settling down and providing your care. You join hands with him to share your warmth. “Here, take my cloak. I can do without a layer.”

“No, no, I can’t have you be even colder—“

“I insist! I’m sure you’ve been barely surviving with those mere layers.” You quickly take off your outermost layer, settling it onto his shoulders. You don’t notice the shade of soft pink on his cheeks. “There we go.”

You both stand there for a moment, Legolas looking like he’s still missing something. “I don’t think it’s enough.”

You raise your eyebrow. “Really? Well, if you want another—“

Before you can finish your sentence, the cloak envelopes your upper body, the elf using his arm to support you as he pulls you towards him. You instinctively stiffen before his voice washes over you, calm and easy like a stream. “I think this is perfect.” The tension leaves you at once, instead replaced with the warmth of his body, nurturing like rays of sun. For a moment you believe you’re back home.

Huddled within your cloak, the two of you settle down at the foot of a tree. Your hands wrap around to warm his back as his fingers run gently through your hair, lulling you to sleep. As you fade into unconsciousness, he speaks to you of the old forest at his own home: the towering trees, the soothing melodies of birds, the vibrant green of flora. Your dreams consist of a realm you have never set foot on.

When Aragorn finds the two of you next morning, he doesn’t dare tell you that elves do not get cold.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[shirefantasies]

I just recently got into LOTR and discovered your blog yesterday night at like 4 am and couldn't stop reading because it gives me the biggest comfort ahhh 🥺🩷🩷 please never stop (ofc only if you're enjoying it), you are an oasis in this LOTR tumblr drought

I wanted to ask, if possible, how you would imagine napping with the Fellowship guys individually would go? How/if they would cuddle you, and their sleeping positions and all? Thank you so much in advance (this is my first time ever sending a request to sb, I hope I did this correctly 🥲)

Yes, you absolutely did! That's such an awesome title 😎 and kinda what I was going for tbh, I felt like I had to be the blog I wanted to see 😂 so glad that resonates with more people! Gurl (in a general-neutral way) I don’t intend to anytime soon, I am enjoying it 😎😆

Napping with the Fellowship

Aragorn

Aragorn is laid clumsily over your form, you having fallen asleep nearly the moment he laid you down and him softly debating joining you before giving into exhaustion whether he liked it or not. When you awake, though, eyes fluttering slowly open, there he is still at your side, gazing at you with a small, private look of love in his eyes. Something pokes you; rolling over, you feel it dart away and quickly realize you’d been crushing poor Strider’s arms the entire time. You apologize of course, but he shakes his head even as he attempts to return blood flow to his arms, chuckling deeply and telling you you needed the rest.

Legolas

Starts off on the other side of the bed from you to be polite. Legolas has his pillow and you have yours. The more sleep takes you, however, the closer both of your bodies inch, one of Legolas's arms falling over you. By the time you awake, he gas been up for a bit- that or he just immediately looks as alert as ever. He is on his side when you first gaze upon him again, one hand beneath you, the other running gently over your hair.

Boromir

Engulfs you in his form as he drifts off, his hands winding around your back and holding the back of your head. Suffocated as you might feel, you know how badly he needs a comforting touch and settle in. A smile creeps onto your lips as his hand runs over your hair. You wake before Boromir does, taking the opportunity to flip over, leaning over to trace the lines of his face. Catching you, Boromir grins, amusement dancing in his blue-green eyes as he tugs you into a kiss.

Gimli

Good fortune if you manage to fall asleep beneath Gimli’s snoring! All jokes aside, the dwarf holds you fast, usually against his chest since he prefers lying on his back, and provides you all the warmth you could want and then some. His head lolls, tickling you with the ends of his beard every now and again before you drift off... When you wake once more, you discover that Gimli has turned onto his side facing you, his eyes fluttering open soon after yours. Some over-the-top sweet nothings escape his lips that have you leaning in to kiss him.

Frodo

Heart practically bursting at the pain in his eyes, you bid, no, demand Frodo try to get some rest and offer to nap alongside him for safety. Reluctant as he looks initially, he agrees and lets you tug him against your body, relaxing ever-so-slightly the moment his back first brushes your chest. As you drowse, you run your hand over his head, letting your fingers tangle in his curls and scratching his scalp lightly. Leaning forward, you see his lips curve upward in contentment and break out in a smile of your own. The last sensation you remember before falling asleep his Frodo's hand grasping yours...

Sam

Prefers laying on his back, flushing as you fall on top of him like a blanket. Sam is all smiles as your hands hold his sides, your noses brushing as you lean down for a kiss. Jokes abound that you’ll never fall asleep like that, but somehow in the haze of it all you find yourself waking again and pressing kisses to Sam’s lips before his own eyes open. Once again, he’s all smiles, glancing down at the way your hand is tracing patterns on his chest, stopping only when he holds it.

Merry

A perfect excuse to snake his hands across your waist and nuzzle into your neck, he thinks! He may even act sleepy just as an excuse to cuddle. In the end, though, the both of you do fall asleep that way, tightly wound against each other. Waking up is serendipitous, always simultaneous as your eyelashes flutter to reveal you staring blearily into each other’s eyes, smiles creeping across your lips.

Pippin

You’ve been cuddled up together long before either one of you falls asleep. He lays facing you, arms thrown over your shoulders and legs tangled together, breathing and heartbeats in sync. No excuse was needed for a nap, both of your eyelids fluttering shut amidst the warmth and joy. Such is how you drift off into a slumber, but when you awake, Pippin's head has fallen back onto yours, weighing it down and keeping you pinned there half beneath him. You can only complain so much, though, upon seeing the serene expression across Pippin's sleeping face.

[scyllas-revenge]

Boromir Week Day 4: A Strange Likeness, Part 1

Posted late for @boromir-week Day 4: Captain of Gondor. Inspired by an old conversation with @sotwk about Boromir potentially having a statue of himself somewhere in Minas Tirith.

Word count: 1k

Rating: G

Part 2 is set for Day 5: The People's Prince, Member of the Fellowship or Day 6: Change of Fate, Fourth Age. But will I actually post it on time? Who knows? This week is killing me dead, but either way I’m loving all the Boromir content 💜

Read on AO3 here!

A Strange Likeness

“Truly, Father, you need not have gone to the trouble,” Boromir said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Faramir bit back a laugh. Boromir had repeated the same sentiment at least three times since Denethor had brought them to the training grounds, yet there was an undeniable gleam in his brother’s eyes, his chin jutting rather more proudly than usual. 

“Nonsense,” the Steward cried, patting Boromir’s shoulder. “It is not every day Gondor is granted a new Captain-General, after all!” 

A cheer rose up from the crowd gathered behind them. 

“All the same,” Boromir said again, his chest puffing out seemingly against his will, “I’m certain our coffers would be put to much better use than the commissioning of a statue.” 

“Pah! You are hardly the first of the line of Stewards to be commemorated so. This city is awash in monuments to bygone rulers—it would be a travesty to exclude you from their ranks! Would it not, eh?”

He directed the last words to the crowd, who whooped and cheered again. Nearly all were Boromir’s soldiers, having strayed from their evening training regimens to witness the statue’s unveiling. Boromir had trained many of them personally, and despite the newness of his title, had already saved many of their lives in battle.

Faramir smiled at the glowing faces of the crowd, at the boyish grin on his brother’s face, then up at the statue itself.

It was adorned in the regalia of the Captain-General of Gondor, of course, appointed to Boromir just weeks before. While most Gondorian statues stood stilted and lifeless, limbs unbent, this one beckoned visitors to the training yards with a shield raised high, the figure’s weight shifted slightly to its right leg to brace for an unseen strike.

Still, it was a strange likeness, for the dynamic style did not quite extend to the statue’s expression.

“Valar, how stern it looks,” Boromir grimaced and turned to Faramir, laughing. “Tell me I do not look half so dour as that!” 

“You, dour? Never. Perhaps the sculptor was in a foul mood while he worked.”

Boromir laughed all the harder. “I fear you are right. You had best increase his wages, Father, that his next statue might bear a smile.” 

Denethor offered his eldest an indulgent smile of his own. “Come, now. The city’s Captain-General must look the part, must he not?”

Still, unusually grim-faced or not, Boromir’s statue did bear a striking resemblance to the original. Its features were sharp and new, not yet worn and weathered like so many of the city’s other statues were, the discoloration and dilapidation of centuries having worn away their finer features until each looked no different from its fellows. Someday, Faramir supposed, his brother’s statue would meet the same fate as the others. The stains of smoke and lichen would crawl over the stone skin, the wind and weather and relentless march of time slowly stealing the memory of him away. He frowned at the thought, forcing it from his mind.

“Now that a statue has been built in my honor, Father,” Boromir said, shaking Faramir from his musings, “perhaps you might commission one for your second son.”

Denethor’s cheery demeanor soured at once. “I will do no such thing.” 

Faramir swallowed uncomfortably. “Brother, do not trouble yourself.”

“Nonsense!” Boromir glared from Faramir to their father. “When you are no less valiant in battle, no less loved by our people—”

“Enough,” Denethor hissed, teeth clenched. “Let him earn such esteem, if he can. I will not grant it on a whim!”

“You may let the matter rest, my lord,” Faramir assured him, biting back his frustration. Boromir meant well, he knew, but what could such efforts accomplish beyond angering their father all the more? 

But Boromir was bristling, his nostrils flaring, his chest puffed out with anger rather than pride. “Then you will see him earn it now, Father. What say you, men?” He turned to the crowd of soldiers, his voice booming and jovial. “Would you see my brother thus honored as well? Shall we have a statue for Lord Faramir?” 

The men erupted with applause, so loud that Faramir felt his ears grow hot. “Boromir,” he muttered, “you need not have—”

“Nonsense,” Boromir repeated under his breath, still beaming at the cheering crowd. “Father can hardly deny you your due now. Then let it be done!” he added in a roar, as the cries of Faramir! Faramir! Faramir! died away at last. “You do us all great honor. Now, return to your training—so commands your new Captain-General!” 

“You are behaving like a child, Boromir,” Denethor hissed as the soldiers retreated to the training yard at last. But he was forcing a smile for the onlookers, and Faramir knew that—against all odds—Boromir had beaten him.

Their father swept away with a scoff, leaving the brothers standing alone in the now-empty street. 

“Why did you do that?” Faramir demanded. “I have no desire for a statue of myself—”

“Yet you deserve one at least as much as I do,” was his staunch reply. “Besides, it will do Father good to be reminded how well the people love you.” 

“Thank you, brother. Though I fear you have only angered him further.” 

“I will handle Father. If he gives you any grief, come to me. Your new Captain-General will defend you, eh?” Boromir raised his shield-arm in imitation of his statue, adopting a grim, dreary expression so exaggerated that Faramir snorted. 

“Such an expression suits you terribly.” 

“Yes. Still—it is an impressive statue, is it not?” he mused. “I had not thought to cut such an imposing figure.” Boromir's chest was swelling again as he looked up at his likeness. Perhaps unconsciously, he was adjusting the angle of his jaw and the proud squaring of his shoulders to better match the statue’s regal silhouette. 

A long moment passed. Faramir raised an eyebrow. “Shall I give the two of you some privacy?” 

“What—” Boromir jumped and cleared his throat, a flush creeping up his neck. “I—ahem. I had best speak to my men again—see how their training is coming along. Farewell, brother.”

“Farewell, Captain.” 

Boromir beamed anew at the title and departed, passing his grim-faced statue with a spring in his step.

[beautifultypewriter]

I’m not gonna lie… things are not good over here, but also… I have so many feelings about this and it’s the only thing that is keeping me going. Boromir was born to be a girl dad and while the poll I did was for a different story where he doesn’t get to be a dad, I had to write a universe where he actually got to raise his daughter. Also I’m going to use my oc, but only her name, there’s no description and I’m going to write in 3rd person. I have so many thoughts about this. Keep your eyes peeled for some new Gondor Girl content. And quick timeline Boromir and Limmeth get married about 2 years before he leaves for Rivendell and their baby is born a month before he leaves. Also warning: brief mention of labor/childbirth, but nothing detailed or graphic. It's over 2k words, so it's under the read more. @streets-in-paradise Lu, sorry to bother you, but I need you to see this.

Boromir as a dad:

Boromir is ecstatic when Limmeth tells him that she’s with child. Like he is so beyond happy… for about 2 minutes and then the worry starts to settle in his chest, he keeps smiling though as she’s smiling up at him because the last thing he wants to do is worry his sweet wife.

But he can’t help it. There is a WAR going on and Mordor is RIGHT THERE and he already has so much on his shoulders, worrying about his people, his city, his father and brother, Limmeth herself, and now this? Man is stressed.

And although he tries to hide it, Limmeth sees right through him. She puts her hands on his cheeks and gently kisses his lips, “This is a good thing. Everything will be fine.”

He repeats those words to himself nearly everyday for the duration of the pregnancy. It helps keep him grounded and it helps the happiness shine through. He’s able to focus more on the pregnancy and the fact that soon there will be a little baby, that hopefully looks just like Limmeth, in the world. And a little baby that looks like his sweet, perfect Limmeth will certainly bring light to the darkness that they often find themselves in during these times. 

Then the day arrives. Boromir is with Faramir and few other men, making plans and going over resources when a maid scurries into the room and whispers in the captain’s ear.

Boromir doesn’t think twice before rushing from the room, with zero explanation to anyone else by the way, and making his way to where his wife has started her labor. He beats the healer to the room, and he rushes in, quickly grabbing Limmeth’s hand and placing a kiss to her forehead. 

Hours and hours later, Limmeth is propped up by some pillows with their baby girl in her arms as Boromir sits next to her on the bed, his own arms wrapped around her. He’s blinking back tears as he stares down at his little girl. 

Unfortunately the peace is interrupted as Denethor enters the room, Faramir trailing behind him. The steward is smiling as he approaches the couple, but that smile quickly drops as Boromir introduces him to his granddaughter. 

Denethor glares at Limmeth, blaming her for this in his twisted mind, before he storms out. Limmeth is on the verge of tears and Boromir is seething. 

Fortunately, Faramir is still there, and he steps up and gushes about how beautiful the baby is and how lucky they are that she looks more like Limmeth than she does Boromir, which makes his brother roll his eyes and his sister by law laugh. 

Then he asks what his niece is to be called and Boromir and Limmeth look at each other for a moment. Because they never really discussed names and now they have to navigate hazy thoughts of what their daughter will be called for her entire life. They both get what they believe to be a brilliant idea at the same time. 

An argument breaks out over whose mother they should name her after. Limmeth wants to name her after Boromir’s mother and Boromir wants to name her after Limmeth’s mother. Both of them refuse to back down. Faramir is rubbing his temples as the little baby snoozes through the argument. Finally, he steps up and suggests that they choose a new name, one not related to either of them. 

The idea is considered for a moment before they ultimately agree and then they start to brainstorm. It’s hours before they land on Amathael (Glimmering Shield. Glimmering for Limmeth and Shield for Boromir). 

When Boromir holds his daughter for the first time, he cries. He tries so hard not to, but not even Gondor’s mightiest warrior can hold back tears as he looks down at what he is positive is the most beautiful baby to ever be born. Limmeth watches him with a smile on her face, tears brimming in her own eyes as Boromir gently traces a finger over Amathael’s cheek.

Unbeknownst to them they only get a month together before Boromir is traveling to Rivendell and Limmeth is left to wonder if she will ever see her husband again and whether or not Amathael will have a father. 

At some point between these two events, Denethor goes on a verbal rampage about how Boromir’s wife is useless as she did not provide Boromir with an heir and that they would have to have another child as quickly as possible to ensure that their bloodline continues, and Boromir loses it. He is able to remain pretty calm which is surprising as he sets his father straight. “You will not speak of my wife and daughter in such a manner. If I hear it again…” his jaw tightens and his fist clenches and he turns and walks away. 

He goes to his and Limmeth’s room to see her cradling Amathael and quietly singing the same Dol Amroth lullaby that his own mother sang to him and Faramir. All the tension leaves his body as he stands in the doorway and watches his whole world. 

Boromir dreads having to tell Limmeth that he’s going to Rivendell. He knows that it’s unfair to her and Amathael, but he really has no other choice in this. He tells himself that this could be the key to finally defeating Sauron and creating a better world for his daughter to grow up in, a thought he repeats to Limmeth as she cries in his arms later.

He makes Faramir promise to look after and protect Limmeth and Amathael while he’s gone and of course his brother agrees. He was going to take care of them without having made the promise. Boromir hates having to leave his girls at all, but he especially hates having to leave them with his father when the man still has not gotten over the fact that Amathael is not a son.

Amathael is only a month old when Boromir leaves for Rivendell. She’s still so tiny as he cradles her to his chest in the early morning light. He’s humming quietly, soaking in these last moments with his little girl. He doesn’t know if this will be the last time he sees her. Limmeth wakes and quietly makes her way over to the pair, resting her head against Boromir’s arm.

It’s nearly nine months later when Limmeth is reunited with her husband. Battle worn and full of grief, Boromir stumbles into the Tower of Ecthelion. He has already been given the news of his brother and father and all he wants is to see his wife and daughter.

His wish is answered when he steps into the throne room, followed closely by Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, and Éomer, to see Limmeth standing in the middle of the room, Amathael in her arms. Boromir doesn’t think twice before rushing forward and wrapping Limmeth in his arms.

Amathael fusses a little bit, not used to having Boromir around (something that breaks his heart a little bit, but he’ll never admit) and he is struck by how big she’s gotten. Limmeth has tears in her eyes as she hands the baby over to Boromir before tucking herself into his side, staying close to keep things peaceful.

Boromir holds Amathael close, his eyes closing as he gently rests his forehead against his baby girl. She soon stops fussing as she stares at Boromir with big eyes that mirror his own.

Because while Amathael is Limmeth’s twin in every other sense, her eyes are her father’s. Something that Limmeth absolutely adores.

So Boromir gets a very short amount of time with his family before he’s marching away again and although she tries to hold onto hope, Limmeth feels almost sure that he’s marching away from her for good.

BUT because I have made everything beautiful and wonderful, Limmeth’s fears are never realized and Boromir rushes into her arms once again. Amathael fusses less and even reaches towards Boromir’s face as the three of them are pressed close together. His heart soars and he takes her from her mother’s arms.

Aragorn is crowned King and Boromir is made steward. There is a lot of work to be done in the aftermath of Saron’s defeat, but Boromir always makes time for his family. He’s already lost so much time with them, and he doesn’t want to miss another second of Amathael growing up.

Family walks through the markets of the lower city. Boromir carries Amathael, smiling and tickling her as her laughter rings out. Limmeth smiles as she watches the two most important people in her life.

Boromir 100% throws Amathael up into the air and catches her and she shrieks with laughter. As she gets bigger, it gets harder, but all she needs to do is pout for a second and he’s lifting her and tossing her as high as he can.

He would do anything for her, like seriously, she has him wrapped around her finger. It delights Limmeth to no end. And Boromir is completely oblivious to it too. Like he does not even realize that he is being unintentionally played by this little baby.

Once Amathael starts walking, she is following Boromir everywhere he goes. Her absolute favorite place to follow him to is the small meeting room where Aragorn holds council. She stands in the doorway and watches her Da and her two uncles settle themselves at the table, nodding to the few other men who come in. Aragorn notices the little girl in the doorway first and he smiles as he waves her over. She runs in and Aragorn scoops her up and sets her in his lap. She laughs as Boromir looks over with a fake look of hurt on his face. Amathael doesn’t last long before she’s scrambling off of Aragorn’s lap and running over to Boromir.

She’s grinning as she climbs into his lap and pressing her face against his chest. Boromir wraps his arms around her and chuckles quietly. Faramir and Aragorn are laughing along with him. Amathael stays in Boromir’s lap as the meeting begins. She falls asleep rather quickly and Boromir cradles her as he half pays attention. Limmeth comes to retrieve Amathael and her husband reluctantly lets the little girl go. Limmeth presses a kiss to his temple before she carries Amathael out of the room.

Boromir starts to bring Amathael to the training yard with him and she very quickly becomes interested in learning about fighting. She loves watching Boromir, Faramir, and Éowyn train together and she wants to be part of it.

Limmeth will come watch them all and Amathael is constantly stopping to call out to her mother, telling her to “watch me!” and to “look at this!” Limmeth is only too happy to watch everything and cheer as Boromir lets Amathael disarm him.

Limmeth teaches Amathael how to ride horses and the three of them go on family rides together. Before Amathael was old enough to ride, she would sit with Boromir on his horse and continually challenge Limmeth to races. Limmeth would laugh as Boromir would groan and then she would take off, forcing her husband to kick his own horse into gear to catch up to her. Amathael would laugh loudly as they rode and a grin would stretch over Boromir’s face.

Amathael loves to run around with her cousins and Aragorn and Arwen’s children. Boromir loves to see her having fun with and playing with the other children. It reminds him of his own childhood and he’s glad that Amathael has friends to play with.

Boromir loves to dance with her at any kind of feast or celebration that they have. When she was really little, they did the whole standing on his feet while they dance thing and it was the most precious thing in the world.

Boromir loves and hates watching his little girl grow up. He’s so proud of her and the person she is becoming, but he wishes she could stay his little girl forever. Limmeth needs to constantly comfort this man about this. One thing that never changes about Amathael though is how much she loves her parents.

I see her future playing out in one of two ways… she becomes the first female Captain of Gondor or she marries Eldarion, Arwen and Aragorn’s son, and becomes the next Queen of Gondor. Or maybe both?

[edges-of-night]

Hello I noticed you were taking requests and I had a little bit of an angsty request if you're willing.

Could you perhaps do how the lotr characters react to their reader SO opening up about having a bad childhood.

Please don't do if it makes you uncomfy.

Have a nice day,

led

I’m sorry you had to wait so long for your request – I hope you enjoy the post!

I would also like to thank you for requesting this topic so politely. It admittedly wasn’t easy to write for me, but I really appreciated your understanding tone! Have a nice day as well!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Aragorn shows great understanding for what you have told him. He would quietly thank you for trusting him with such knowledge and instantly offer to care and comfort you, should you need it, like holding your hand as he presses a tender kiss to your head. It is needless to say he would treat anything you told him very discreetly and respectfully.

･ﾟ✧ Arwen.

Arwen would feel with you. No matter where you opened up to her, she would instantly offer to go take a walk with her. “I may not be able change what happened to you,” she’d whisper as she took your hand. “But I can make sure that such things will never happen to you again.” Though her voice may seem sombre, she always has a comforting smile or hug for you!

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir would have great empathy for you, remembering his own difficult childhood – especially in consideration of his brother. Although he isn’t too talkative when it comes to this subject, he is in tune with his own emotions. It helps you come to terms with your own past. You two bond over what has been and take refuge in the knowledge that you now have each other and are faraway from the past.

･ﾟ✧ Elrond.

Elrond would quietly listen to what you told him and offer you comfort with a stern expression. But inside, he is quite upset – as a father himself, you would not be able to bear what you had told him. He would treat you even kinder afterwards, looking out for you and trying to avoid any triggers that could remind you of your childhood hardship.

･ﾟ✧ Éomer.

After listening to your story, Éomer would tell you how much strength it takes to open up about such things. He is deeply impressed with how you handle your past – even if you thought you did a poor job at it. He will have none of that self-loathing in his company! “I do not want to hear you speak so ill of yourself again. You were but a child. Look how strong you became despite what happened! I am endlessly proud of you.”

･ﾟ✧ Éowyn.

What you tell Éowyn is something she carries around with her for a long time, even if she doesn’t show it. She cannot understand how someone who went through such hardship can still come out such a kind and noble person. She now tries to bring more joy into your life and shield you from possible harm. She won’t bring up the topic anew, unless you ask her to talk again, of course.

･ﾟ✧ Faramir.

With Faramir, you could very easily bond over difficult childhoods. You simply understand each other, more than other people could. With him, you could even talk regularly about what had happened to you. Faramir helps you put everything into perspective, or offers you words of advise and comfort. You can do the same for him and always feel relieved afterwards, when you cuddle in silence, content with your quasi-therapeutic conversation.

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

Where Frodo comes from, people do not talk about childhood problems or trauma. So you opening up to him comes as quite the surprise. That said, he does understand – not everything. But he doesn’t have to. You are content to just have someone say, “I’m really sorry that happened to you.” Frodo offers you help whenever he can and is careful and considerate to keep possible triggers away from you. “We’ll manage this together. Right?” he’d say with a soft smile, stroking a gentle thumb over your hand.

･ﾟ✧ Galadriel.

Galadriel is a very empathetic Elf, so she feels alongside with you. If you cried during your conversation, it is likely she would shed a tear as well. That said, she would of course have wise words of advice and healing for you. “You have my sympathy for what happened to you. Just know that your past does not define you. Each of us makes their own destiny.”

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf may not have had a childhood himself, but he has seen enough to know that such a thing isn’t easy to live with. Though he may not answer you immediately – maybe he wonders what to say after all? – you can feel that you have his empathy. And somehow, you really do believe that things will be fine when the one saying that platitude is Gandalf the Grey.

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Gimli is a surprisingly good listener, you learn as you open up to him. He is silent and probably saddened by what he heard, but afterwards, he would definitely tell you how proud he is of you for not only surviving your past but putting it into words now, years later. He’d also give you a soft smile and promise you that things will get brighter.

･ﾟ✧ Haldir.

Haldir is probably the last person you wanted to tell about your bad childhood – but it happened anyway. You simply couldn’t bear his snarky and jealous comments about your ‘perfect upbringing’ anymore. Needless to say, he would fall entirely silent after your retelling. He would now see you in a new light and respect you even more for having survived all that you told him about. Somewhere along the line, he’d even offer you a hug!

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

You and Legolas would bond over your parents and hardship as children and young adults. As an Elf, Legolas is not very much in touch with negative memories and emotions, as they are literally unhealthy for him. Together, you work through what you experienced. Even though your conversations leave him pensive, he would always thank you the next day for the knowledge you shared.

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Merry would be an exceptionally good listener. He may be childish from time to time, but he recognises the sincerity of your conversation early on. He also has unexpectedly wise words for you and encourages you to speak less derogatory about yourself. “You were just a child. And these things weren’t supposed to happen to you. To no one, really. Come on. Be kind to yourself.” He’d also take your hand sit in silence with you for as long as you need!

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin would need a few moments to understand what you said. His childhood has been great, he has no bad feelings or memories for it. That does not mean that he would be ignorant to your feelings though. Sharing your story with him not only helps you process what has happened to you, but also teaches him to seek out new perspective. In the end, Pippin would offer you a big pot of ice cream as comfort ♡

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

After hearing your story, Sam would sit in silence for a few moments, thinking about what he heard. Then he would try and comfort you with an allegory or comparison that reflected your childhood – he is a poet at heart after all. Though he struggles to find the right words, his care and sincerity soothe you. Somehow you know that, no matter how dark your days may get, there is always sunshine in your life when you’re with Samwise Gamgee.

[tobylix-blog]

First time at sea - Boromir x Reader

Content&Warnings: everyone-lives AU, platonic, mention of death

Word count: 2.6k

Summary: Boromir is a man of land through and through. But fate and state matters get him on board of an Umbar ship - a whole whirlwind of different life and customs.

A/N: this was equally a torment for me and the text, two whole months of struggling with getting this right. the degree of success is up to you to determine

Ramp creaked unpleasantly under Boromir's feet, adding more tension to an already nerve-wracking moment. He had never stepped upon a ship's deck before, and was determined to not trust the wooden vessel with his life. To the point of refusing the opportunity of boarding with the others in Osgiliath and riding on horseback all the way to Pelargir. He would gladly dismiss the prospect of the voyage altogether if travelling to the City of Corsairs by land didn't take a solid month longer than sailing. However, Aragorn promised the team to be the best, and Boromir reluctantly agreed.

The captain, indeed, was a pleasant person, clearly knowledgeable of their job and hospitable to passengers. From their explanation Boromir learned that the crew mostly consisted of sailors that served on the trading ships rather than pirate ones. The news gave the man some much needed reassurance before the long journey. Even though the line between the merchants and pirates was quite vague in Umbar.

A day later the ship left the river mouth and took off into the sea. It didn't go too far from shore. The dark line of land was visible in the distance most of the time, but the constant rise and fall of the waves was no less unsettling than in the first moment. Sons of Gondor felt way out of their place without steady ground beneath. And Boromir even more than others. He leaned against the bulwarks and sighed heavily, hoping that he didn't look as green as he felt.

A cheerful voice called out to him, "First time on board? It'll get better."

He looked to the side, noticing a sailor tightening ropes and knots. You glanced back at him, fixing the last one in place. "It always gets."

"Does not seem this way to me. I have spent the whole day here and nothing changed," Boromir retorted, knitting his brows.

You smiled. "Don't rush it. The ship is like a timid town lady. She takes time getting close with a man."

Boromir shook his head and glanced over the dancing whitecaps. The sight of the ever moving water caused another spasm in his stomach.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even sleep betrayed Boromir once he left solid land. The morning was young and chilly, when he sneaked out of the cabin, careful not to wake any of his companions. The endless blue of the sea mirrored the depths of the sky. Right between them was the ship's prow that you walked down ensuring tightness of all ropes. From the centre of the deck you seemed to be walking a narrow bridge between the horizon and the boards with ease of a practised acrobat. Boromir involuntarily froze in place, half hidden from your view by the mast and multiple barrels placed on deck. His eyes glued to your light steps against the boards and fingers curling around each length and knot. There was something very personal in watching you do some mundane tasks when you thought to be alone, save for the helmsman, who couldn't be less interested in whatever happened on board.

Bare feet against the ever wet wood – what a strange habit – and yet you still managed to move quietly. Or maybe the ever-mumbling sea silenced your steps enough for Boromir to not catch a sound. He stepped to the side to get a better view, unobscured by the spars. The world shifted slightly – and then turned with a loud thud. Dull pain of the collision with the hard deck in his side made the man curse under breath.

You turned at the sound and watched him retreat back to the cabin. An expression of dissatisfaction with the means of travel was clearly showing on his face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sailing is a strange job," Boromir stated firmly.

After three nights on board without a single incident in the calm waters of the bay of Belfalas he seemed more confident. The broad daylight showed more colour in his face and less insecurity in his eyes. And his steps appeared steady.

"Is it though?" you threw a questioning look back at him.

The man crossed arms on his chest. "I understand swimming and fishing in the boat, but staying away from the shore for weeks and months is against human nature."

"There is truth in your words, but think of it this way - replace 'shore' with 'house' and you will get the description of being a soldier. You don't find that strange, do you?" you chuckled. "The main difference is that we fight sea rather than other people and use ships instead of swords."

Unconvinced Boromir only shrugged in response.

“Your people even call you their captain,” you smiled, looking at his pressed lips, “is that not a happy enough coincidence?”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sharing their pints of beer, sailors hustled and bustled in the eternal evening dusk of the lower deck. Rumbling laughter thundered through the still air along with clattering of dishes and creaking of wood. They made bets over weather and luck with beer and meat as well as with coins – mostly copper jingling in empty pockets. And someone started singing, a heavy accent draping from the melody known since times before they had learned walking.

Cutting through the moving crowd, like he often did in barracks or taverns full of celebrating soldiers, Boromir made way to the bench where you just shook hands with another crew-mate betting on a good catch. You stood up greeting him and motioned to the corner, where bales were piled up in the shadow.

“It’s much better than being packed like sardines.”

Dropping down on the soft sacks without spilling a droplet from the full glass, you caused Boromir to raise an eyebrow in amusement before sitting down beside. He glanced over to the crew and then back to you. “This does resemble how the army can be at times.”

You contentedly nodded and took a generous sip, allowing him to continue. He took the hint, but hesitated to elaborate on whatever thought brought him to the lower deck, boiling with life in the dim light of oil lamps and candles, after a solid week of travelling in comfort of the cabin.

“I found myself in need of an apology,” he said at last, clasping hands together.

“Did I somehow offend you, my lord?” you sat up concerned.

A burst of laughter, low and deep at the same time, was his first response. “No, not in the slightest. I mean quite the opposite. Since the first day of this voyage I have expressed a great deal of unsavoury opinions. For that I seek your forgiveness.”

You waved off his words. “I don’t hold a grudge against one’s lack of experience.”

“And still,” Boromir insisted, “you were gracious enough to bear continuous insults. Not a single time have you turned away or raised your voice to silence the irritating noise. Your actions speak of your character differently from your words.”

“That’s the art of trade in the way I’ve learned it – be soft with people and hard with actions. In that manner one climbs up the ladder of success,” you shrugged.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A day before arrival, when the ship entered the narrowing pass to Umbar, the movement became very cautious and unhurried. Even the wind and waves seemed to find delight in leisurely licking the wooden side of the vessel.

"Why did we slow down?" Boromir asked the captain.

"The gulf is tricky to navigate. We must go on short sails to get past all the rocks and cliffs," they replied, leaning on the helm.

Gondorian nodded and looked up front. Steep banks were rising before his eyes. At that moment two of the crewmen rushed by his side. He turned too late to express his indignation at the accidental push, but just in time to watch your white shirt pass by like a cloud of smoke in the wind. You didn't even bother to take the steps down to the deck, simply jumping over the small staircase in one leap. Like another fish joins the shoal, you pushed through the crowd and disappeared among fellows.

"What are they doing?" Boromir furrowed his brows, pointing at the gathered crew.

"Ah, choosing the fortune diver. Seems like they've spotted something nice this time. Folks are so eager, they’re down to three already," they explained with a nonchalant yawn. Though by the time the sentence was finished, the choosing was already over. The crowd parted, demonstrating your triumphant smile and two unlucky souls that lost their chance in the final draw. "Y/N, again? Cheating, aren't you?"

"Nah, the tides just like to blow my way," you responded, throwing off the outer shirt and rolling up the wide pants slightly.

Some indescribable trepidation washed over Boromir as you did so. He didn't know for sure if there even was something to worry about, but his gut was all but against it. There was no time to find out, though, and neither was there time to object. You took a few steps of run up and leaped right overboard in a swift arc. The crew blew up in a round of laughter and clapping as the fountain of splashes rose into the air.

As if woken up by that sound, Boromir tore his seemingly glued feet from the deck. He hurried to the bulwarks and bent over the board, watching your flexible form descend to the shadowed depth of the gulf as if it was the most natural of ways to move. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the curve of your body as you reached the bottom and swam to your goal. Each stroke was strong and precise – clear evidence of years spent at sea.

His gentle heart, that only seemed to have been encased in strong armour, skipped a beat when you let out a few air bubbles, trying to pull the gilded candelabrum from the grey sand. The precious trinket was positively stuck and very unwilling to budge. It took  you a few more tugs along with an eloquently layered silent curse before the metal slid out of the sand trap. That last pull kicked the rest of the air out of your lungs. Heavy coldness began to spread from the centre of your chest. You pushed from the bottom and began rapidly rising. Racing against the last air bubbles, you were losing tragically. The heavy candelabrum was weighing down one hand, slowing down your painfully long rise. You felt that everything was getting slower, darker...

The surface shattered into a million glowing splashes, reflecting sunlight and dark boards of the ship, as you broke through to the air. The first moment over the water was deafening and blinding. The dull monotonous rustling of the waves was replaced with an eruption of shouts and laughter. The first deep inhale nearly pushed you back down. You rubbed salty water away from your eyes until you could see a rope dropped from the deck right in front of you. By some miracle, it was just an arm length away. You only got up by a couple of feet before feeling the rope being pulled up, lifting you easily. In a few moments you were already grabbed by an unfamiliar pair of arms.

The candelabrum slipped out of your hands and landed on the boards with a loud metallic rattle, nearly hitting someone’s feet. Your fingers curled in the thick fabric of someone’s shirt. Pressing your forehead to soft fabric, you were catching your breath one gulp of air at a time. The warmth of the hands against your freezing back was revitalising. Hitched breaths, almost as faltering as your own, came in soft gusts over your shoulder. Despite the tight embrace getting most of your attention, you slowly began to recognize the colour of those locks, tickling your cheek, the wide belt made of expensive leather and the boots he refused to take off on board. You couldn't see that yet, but your mind easily painted the image of his eyebrows drawn together.

Boromir’s heavy sigh gusted against your wet hair. He probably said something. You lifted your head and noticed a massive wet stain on his shirt. Some crew-mate’s words suddenly came to your mind about that shirt, which “probably costs like our yearly payment”. A panicked thought rushed through your mind. You pushed away, nearly tripping over the damned candelabrum.

“-sorry, deepest apologies. I didn’t mean to get it wet,” you breathed out hastily, adding a weak chuckle, before a human wave of crewmen washed you from the deck to below the boards.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Considering your dive a sign of bravery and fortune, fellow sailors left you with no work to be done upon arrival to Umbar. It seemed nearly alien to sit idly on a barrel with the gilded trophy in your lap, while they were busy carrying the cargo ashore. So much life happening around and you were out there like a ghost. Invisible and long forgotten.

“Why would you risk your life for that trinket?” the wind asked.

You shuddered and turned around. Boromir stood just a few feet away. On solid ground he seemed taller. With his hand on the hilt of the sword, he would look threatening, if it wasn’t for his gaze. There was genuine confusion and concern. Almost as if he was looking at a child, who regularly acts against all advice and gets hurt.

You clutched the ‘trinket’. “It’s how one gets their fortune – through daring and courageous acts.”

“Or loses everything,” he stepped in. “You could have died! Taking such chances... It is not worth a handful of coins. If silver or gold is what you wish for, you could have begun selling fish in the market, saving up for a better life-”

“No!” you jumped off the barrel, momentarily getting nearly face-to-face with him. “I- Not a single soul has built their fortune, putting away a bronze at a time. It is known no merchant gets off well if their first pouch isn’t full. That is how life is. That is why the tradition exists.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Until...the catch is good enough, our lives are worth so little, my lord. We gamble less than you do in a single game of cards.”

Boromir opened his mouth to say something, but not a sound rang. His eyes filled up with painful understanding and fear. For a moment you dreaded to see the pity in them, but instead there was pure terror of recognition. His entire spirit was shattered by this simple thought that you lived with for years. His hand rose to grip your shoulder. The touch was feather-light.

Someone called out for Boromir. He looked back for a moment before returning to you. His grip tightened just a bit.

“Come with me. Find me here tonight. And, I promise, you will never have to put your life on the line for coin. It can be so different from now on.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Nothing scandalous, I assure you,” he turned again, hearing another question coming his way from afar. “Just be my guest. There in Gondor your life could be started anew.”

His hand finally left your shoulder and he quickly regained his posture, stepping away. Once again he looked as a noble lord of the great kingdom. But his eyes still betrayed the fear of a young boy, who couldn’t bear to see you willingly putting your life at stake. He bowed his head, and in a moment – was gone.

[intoxicated-chan]

OMG YAY

i love the first part of angel of small death and the codeine scene i just want to know what happened next when he says he’ll look after them boromir has peak dad energy to me.

BUT ALSO i feel like it would be really cute to see him teach them how to use a sword and defend themselves

ANYWAY TAKE YOUR TIME LOVE YOUR WRITING

𝐒𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞

Summary ➳ While wandering the castle, you stumble across the brothers practicing.  

(A/n) ➳ I had this sitting in my word docs for so long that I forgot! I am so sorry anon!! But I seriously might make this into a series, but I do want to see your guys request/questions, I love hearing them! I’ve also decided to add Faramir!!!

Word Count ➳ 630 

Content Warnings ➳ Gender Neutral Reader, Reader’s age is eight, Reader is referred to as (little one/child), light violence...  

Series’ Masterlist 

Thirteen Years Before LOTR: Fellowship of the Ring – Reader's age is eight, Boromir’s age is twenty-seven, Faramir’s age is twenty-three 

Life within the castle was completely different when you lived on the streets. You were surrounded by luxuries you dreamed of having, a soft bed, warm meals, and clean clothes. Every day was a new lesson in etiquette and behavior, yet the adjustments were challenging.  

You still craved to be out and onto the streets, rushing through the thin alleys, and having your heart pumping while being chased by others or guards. You were out of place. 

It was the afternoon when your wandering brought you to the training grounds. You jumped at the sound of swords clashing and grunts, you peered your head around the corner.  

Boromir and his younger brother, Faramir were sparring with their swords. But you could only focus on their banter and laughter, it was a different sight to whenever their father was around. They were happy and relaxed in his absence.  

You didn’t notice you had been spotted until Faramir called out. “Hello there. Come now, do not be shy.”  

You froze, trying to decide if you should flee or stay. Boromir looked in your direction, his smile widening as he sheathed his sword. “Come closer, child.” He waved you over. “You needn’t hide from us.” 

Though rather hesitant, you stepped forward. “What brings you here, child?” 

“I was... Walking.” You replied, your eyes dropping to the ground. 

Faramir approached you, kneeling to your level. “Have you ever held a sword before?” His hand comes under your chin, carefully lifting your head to meet his gaze.  

You shook your head, your head turned to the wall, eyes widened when you eyed the numerous swords hanging. “No, I have not.” You gaped.  

“Today’s a good day to begin.” Boromir handed you a wooden training sword, its edges dull, much safer to handle than a real sword.  

But the sword felt heavy in your hands, but a nod from Boromir gave you encouragement. He began teaching you the basics, his instructions were better than the teachers.  

And he was patient. He understood your shyness when being watched, he knew what it felt like to hold a sword for the first time. Like it was not made for you.  

And with his guidance, you began to learn. It was your footwork that was good, but it seemed that the sword kept slipping out of your hands.  

“Hold it like this.” He adjusted your grip. “Keep your stance firm, do not tremble under my eyes. Stand tall and proud, child.”  

Faramir sat nearby, his sword resting beside him. “You’re doing well.” He commented. “Better footwork than I have.”  

As the training went on, you were getting more confident and comfortable. You picked up on his tips. And Faramir’s occasional comments and laughter added to the lighthearted atmosphere.  

You even managed to catch Boromir off guard with a swift strike from your sword, drawing a laugh from both brothers.  

You continued until the sun began to set, you were getting exhausted. But you needed it after being cooped up in the castle. Boromir caught you when you tried to lunge at him.  

“Easy now.” He chuckled, taking the training sword from you. “I think that is enough.”  

You all sat on the grass together, and you felt a sense of peace. Your exhaustion caught up with you, drifting off to sleep in Boromir’s arms.  

Boromir looked down at your sleeping form, his hand caressing your hair. “They’re a remarkable child.” He uttered. 

“They’ve filled the castle with warmth, and I have never seen you smile so much.” Faramir replied. “They’re lucky to have you.”  

“No.” Boromir corrected softly. “We are lucky to have them.”  

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission. 

[tolkienpinupcalendar]

Rare Pair Bingo

This month’s event we are doing Thankful for Rare Pairs! This is a bingo style event. In total there will be three cards: one with the rare pairs, one with smut prompts, and one with non-smut prompts. We included a bingo card with non-smut prompts because sometimes you just want your blorbos to hold hands. We will be reblogging and sharing content from this event for all of March and April (this event runs from March 1st 2024 to April 30th 2024). Do not feel any pressure to complete all the prompts within one month (and don’t feel any pressure to finish all the prompts!).

How to play:

Option 1: If you have one rare pair you really like or one rare pair that really speaks to you, take that pair and use the prompts to create something for them.

Option 2: You can use all the bingo cards with different pairings and different prompts for your creations!

Any fic, art, moodboard, playlist etc. will be included and we are happy to reblog!

Additional rules:

You can use multiple prompts for one creation.  These can come from different cards (pairing + smut prompt + non-smut prompt) or come from the same card (pairing + smut prompt 1 + smut prompt 2, etc.). How you use the prompt cards is up to you!

If you want to play option 1 (only one pairing but using the prompt cards) but your pairing is not on the list: No problem! Just use the free space. If your pairing is a rare pair but not included, we would love to hear about it!  

How do I know if my pairing is a rare pair?  If you feel it is a rare pair it’s a rare pair. Our bingo list came from a poll that one of the mods (@the-girl-with-the-algebra-book) created. Some of them have 300 fics on AO3 and some have less than 25 (Borry. The answer is Borry, Boromir/Merry and I need more signed @frosticenow). We did not want to have any strict definitions for rare pairs to keep it open. 

To get a bingo you need to have a line (horizontal, vertical, or diagonal) filled and this can include the free space. To get a super bingo (we did not know what else to call it) you need to fill up a card, only one card. If you fill up more than one you get more than one super bingo! 

As always, if you want us to reblog please:

tag us @tolkienpinupcalendar

use the tag #tpcrarepairbingo

Submit to our smut-missions form

Add the work to our AO3 collection

What do I win if I get bingo? 

Well if you get a super bingo you get a homemade playlist by @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book. Mattie makes the best playlists btw so this is very cool. (It doesn't have to be about your rare pair or even Tolkien related! Just whatever you want!) 

The most important rule is to have fun! We look forward to seeing what you create!

Mods @the-girl-with-the-algebra-book and @frosticenow

[winwin17]

Don't mind me, I'm just here to ramble about the frequent misinterpretation of Legolas.

In a lot of fan content, I tend to see him get portrayed as a feminine, scatterbrained diva or something along that line. He's depicted as girly and overly dramatic. It's not like I haven't been entertained by the memes about Legolas and his hair products or stuff like that, but hear me out - just because he's pretty doesn't mean he's girly or shallow (equating those two things is another separate issue altogether).

The thing is, even though he's pretty and has perfect hair, he's actually quite masculine, and his actor even has quite classically masculine features (face and physique). What's more, Legolas is an elf. Elves don't need beauty products, and I doubt most of them would care much for them anyway. They're naturally like the most beautiful creatures. Both the dudes and the ladies have long hair, so in that context, that feature doesn't necessarily suggest girlishness to me. Anyway, this is basically to say that I don't care for the self-absorbed, appearance-focused, girly diva interpretation of Legolas I see in fan content. There's much more to him than that.

The movies unfortunately gave Legolas his reputation as a Captain Obvious, which does him a disservice in bringing out this depiction of Legolas as a ditsy, dumb guy with an empty head. (It probably wasn't the intention, but it's a byproduct nonetheless.) Besides being portrayed as a Captain Obvious, another disservice done to him by the movies is the emphasis on Legolas as a cool action guy, superhero level, and maybe even invincible. But book Legolas is actually more human(?). That is to say, he gets scared and downhearted and cries just like all the rest of the Fellowship. While it's true that even in the books he does tend to maintain a more optimistic, lighthearted disposition than the others, he's still imperfect. He's still a person with hopes and fears and dreams and feelings, and he's not beyond forgetting the words to songs. ;p Yes, he cracks jokes, but he also does "not wish to go to Moria," and he grumbles when he has to be blindfolded in Lorien. Pretty relatable on many levels.

None of this is meant to be a book purist's rude degradation of movie Legolas, but just to lament the way I personally feel he is so misinterpreted and misrepresented. Legolas isn't shallow or one-dimensional. He's brave, he's strong, he's caring, and he's open-minded enough to take risks and make connections that are unconventional. He's respectful to his leaders, he's passionate about saving the world, destroying the Ring, and rescuing Merry and Pippin. He's helpful and committed to the Fellowship even though he doesn't have to be. He's compassionate towards people he doesn't have to care about.

So while we have characters like Boromir who are so frequently misunderstood and misrepresented, let's have some justice for Legolas, too.

[suzannahnatters]

ROTK Re-read: Book 5, Chs 1-5: I'm Always Thinking About Eowyn

Ch 1 - MINAS TIRITH

"we shall have great need of folk of courtesy in the days to come" love that Pippin is also going places because he too has empathy and courtesy - he understands that the way to Denethor's heart is to recognise Boromir's sacrifice by pledging his own life to the service of Gondor, even though everyone in the room fully expects him to be useless.

"oath breaking with vengeance" hmm hmm but Aragorn does not do this! Aragorn offers a literal second chance to the Dead!

this chapter is reminding me what a noble tragic figure Book! Denethor is compared to his perception in popular culture. it's also a brilliant bit of scene-setting for the big battles ahead, as Tolkien whisks Pippin (and us) from top to bottom of the Tower of Guard, getting to know people at all ranks of society!

Ch 2 - THE PASSING OF THE GREY COMPANY

"he is not so mighty that he is beyond fear" and no one ever is are they

okay so this is THE Eowyn chapter and I have such a lot to say, let's start by noting that Eowyn begs Aragorn not to go to the paths of the dead under the guise of giving him sound military advice - the fact that she cloaks her feelings in military tactics is so great

anyway I love this conversation between her and Aragorn so dearly, it's so complex and it's ALL ABOUT gender roles and sexism? like he tries to set the tone up front by being like, look, if you weren't staying some bloke would be, I'm not saying stay home because you're a woman. and she claps back with, if it isn't sexism why am I ALWAY the one chosen to stay home. and of course she is right.

but he continues to See her! he sees that she wants glory and he tries to talk her out of it, but she comes back with this supremely medieval rejoinder: I'm a member of the warrior class, not a serving-woman - she's insisting on her rights, not based on the equality of the sexes so much as her high status as a lady. it's just so well written because Tolkien captures both an everlasting feminine mood (treat me like a person!) AND makes sure she expresses it in a way that's authentic to her cultural context (medieval style classism). histfic goals honestly.

and it's quite lovely that Aragorn spends the whole conversation gently insisting that he doesn't think she's less because she's a woman - what he fails to address is that thirst she has for glory in death. her contention is "since we're all going to die, why throw your life away on an inglorious death?" and his contention is "since we still have a chance of surviving, why throw YOUR life away in a battle we're all begging you to stay home from?" like the fundamental disconnect here is her despair. "fear is the mind-killer" is a huge theme of this book

and this is THE thing I think most of the fandom, perhaps thanks to the movies, doesn't understand about this character: which is that she's like Denethor right now, she's lost all hope and only wants to die in the way that seems good to her. Eowyn is not a spunky girl power figure, fighting for a woman's right to do battle! she's going because she wants what she conceives to be a noble death. like, the fandom usually types her as an ISFP, all High Ideals and Chafing Against Social Constraints, but I don't think she is? she reads to me far more as a brittle INTJ (or even, as @eomira argued, an unhealthy INFJ) - she isn't driven by a moral crusade but by a complete cold certainty of death, which actually leads her to act in some very amoral ways.

anyway the funny thing about all this is that it's serving a specific literary purpose: we've had Gandalf and Frodo going through a death-and-resurrection motif, with people left behind to mourn them. and that's what Eowyn is, literarily, for Aragorn - she's the one who is left to mourn him when he takes the paths of the dead. except that Tolkien takes Eowyn so seriously as a person, even when using her for this literary purpose, that he gives her her own motivations that are so much more complicated than "oh this woman Aragorn has known for five minutes has fallen MADLY IN LOVE with him". because she hasn't.

anyway we're off on the paths of the dead and once again Tolkien chooses the shortest/humblest person as the audience viewpoint character.

Ch 3 - THE MUSTER OF ROHAN

ok but it means so much to me, and is very healing actually, that NOBODY thinks any less of Éowyn for caring very much about Aragorn and obviously grieving for him. nobody's telling her she should feel ashamed for not being able to control her feelings or trying to get a man that doesn't belong to her. they're just like "oh yeah, big mood, let's try to cheer you up."

military strategy note: it strikes me just how incredibly risky it is that the riders head off to Gondor while the orcs are already attacking the Eastern border. they really are staking the entire future of their kingdom on the siege of Gondor!!!! like, if they can beat Sauron at Gondor then the orcs attacking Rohan will have to fall back across the river because their supply lines will be threatened. but if they lose in Gondor - or heck, even if they can't force a quick decisive battle - then they'll be stuck miles from home with Rohan wide open to invasion. my goodness it is just the BIGGEST gamble and shows what an INCREDIBLY desperate position they are in and just HOW selfless they are being by going to Gondor's aid. seriously I need to lie down a minute.

Ch 4 - THE SIEGE OF GONDOR

as cinematic as Tolkien is I love that he keeps his magic fairly low key, even when Gandalf is confronting the Ringwraiths themselves!

middle earth's Worst Dad

"let us not forget that a traitor may betray himself and do good that he does not intend" CAN WE GET AN AMEN

"he will not come, save to triumph over me" does Denethor have delusions of grandeur

military tactics win: denethor sends out a sortie to bring in the defenders of Osgiliath, but calls them back before they can join full battle, which is bound to be costly. this isn't abandoning your nice safe siege for a serious stand in the open - it's a limited, strategic attack and retreat. if you're going to do fighting outside walls in a siege, this is a sensible way to do it.

it's interesting how in ROTK Tolkien does a lot of omniscient narration; this makes the book read more like a medieval chronicle than like a novel, and it's a mark of how well he's set up the emotions and the stakes, and how absolutely glorious his language is, that the book remains so immediate and gripping even though we're hearing everything at such a long distance.

the relationship between Denethor and Faramir is so incredibly well written!!! like, Gandalf tells Faramir that his father will remember he loves him ere the end - but Tolkien makes it so clear, even as Denethor mourns his son, how deeply selfish he is in his grief. like, so selfish that he loses all interest in commanding the siege, because what's the point of remaining the lord of a city if he's not going to have descendents to rule after him? feels like Tolkien is walking a fine line here between, yes, Denethor loves his son, but also, yikes, that love is incredibly twisted and unhealthy.

"go now and die in what way seems best to you" not only is this a complete banger of a line, but it draws this extraordinary link between Faramir's father and his future wife. like, do we want to bet that part of Eowyn's attraction for Faramir is the fact that he couldn't save his dad but he can save her?

anyway the end of this chapter is SO FACE MELTINGLY EPIC!!!! you've got this intimate tragedy of Denethor, you've got the massive assault on the city, you've got this climactic confrontation between Gandalf and the Witch-King.

plus tell me if I'm going absolutely crazy but. this cock's-crow moment. does this have anything to do with the cock crowing as the apostle Peter was denying Jesus. like. something something the moment at which the spell of evil breaks.

Ch 5 - THE RIDE OF THE ROHIRRIM

absolutely love the way that Tolkien depicts Ghan-buri-Ghan and the wild men. he doesn't other them the way he does the Haradrim. in fact one of the first things he tells us about them is is that they are craftsmen - and good ones too. which is basically him acknowledging their humanity and dignity. they bring a bit of needed diversity to the world; after the Numenoreans going on about High and Middle and Low men it's a bit of a breath of fresh air to have these lil wild men getting this very sympathetic very heroic portrayal

ha ha ha not Theoden explaining why the Riders are pressing on despite the enemies behind, and he gives exactly the same reason I did in ch 3.

FORTH EORLINGAS *endless screaming *

how does this book never get any less epic

[e-louise-bates]

As the end of Whitney & Davies draws ever-so-slowly nearer (31,500 words and counting in the skeleton draft!), I’ve started tentatively mulling over my future plans. Writing-wise, I have one story I’m actively working on (Maine-based cozy fantasy) and one that I will begin after the Maine fantasy is complete (inspired by Tristan & Isolde and the deepest and most ambitious story I’ve ever dreamed of; I’m so excited to dive into it when the time is right), so there’s not much to mull over there. Publishing-wise …

I’ll be honest: I’m tired of the self-publishing gig. I’ve seen it done really well, but I don’t have the marketing savvy to make it work for me, and I’m tired of being on my own when it comes to my books. I want a team behind and with me. However, traditional publishing has even more stringent gate-keeping currently than it used to, and it seems like you need just as much marketing savvy to get accepted into traditional publishing as you do to make it in self-publishing. Yes, I’m speaking of the dreaded “platform.”

I just deactivated all my social media account except this one. My author newsletter has about 25 subscribers. My readership for Whitney & Davies isn’t much bigger. In terms of platform, no agent or publisher is going to give me a second look—and as much as I’d like to think, “oh, my books will speak for themselves,” I’m not so naive as to actually believe that.

Which leads me to … Substack. Perhaps once a month posts along the lines of, “the intersection of faith, fantasy, and redemptive storytelling,” with brief essays akin to my “Tragedy of Susan” post that’s recently gained new traction here, or the difference between Faramir and Boromir (in the books) and the significance thereof, or the establishment of right kingship in Narnia, or other such musings, including some of the ways these themes have influenced my own writing. Not an author newsletter, which is more specifically focused on my books and writing updates, but not trying to fight the algorithms of social media either. Something to introduce people to the ideas and themes that are behind everything I write instead of trying to focus on the individual stories that I have or am currently writing.

So then, hypothetically speaking, if you, my friends, were to see a Substack like that, would it interest you enough to subscribe? And possibly even recommend to others that they subscribe? Not because, "hey, this is e-louise-bates from Tumblr," but for the actual content of it?

Because I am otherwise stumped at the idea of how to build a platform over the next 2-5 years for when I'm ready to start looking for an agent/publisher for my non-Whitney & Davies books.

[howling-medic]

WIP Word Game

Rulers: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you give a snippet of a WIP that starts with the letter.

I stumbled on an open tag from @lordgrimwing and @balrogballs

The two words I wound up with were Oldest and Balls

I decided to do both because these seriously help me clean up my writing and drag me back into my WIPs

Also, shocking to everyone, but I'm going to jump between some WIPs because I simply cannot make decisions. I also couldn't find everything in one WIP. Therefore, they'll each be labeled. Let's get into it!

TW: medical scenarios, wounds, discussions of death, mentions of blood, angst... look. It's my writing.... there's a lot of darkness (however there is some fluff, I swear)

B - This is yanked from a personal essay I'm working on discussing Aragorn's PTSD, my PTSD, and what society recognizes as PTSD. A lot of this piece so far is dealing with difficulties surrounding identity, sense of self, and isolation (This project has ballooned repeatedly and proven to be a much harder academic and personal task than I anticipated)

Blinking a few times, I pull out the crowd pleaser that always, conveniently, happens to shut down the conversation: “Would you like to hear a story of a time a man shot off his own penis?” After a moment of staring at me utterly horrified, just like everyone else, they laugh and agree - so long as I spare them the goriest of details. Cowards, you asked for the worst. By the time they agree, my mask is firmly back in place, and I’m laughing right along with them. The story takes about five minutes. Afterwards, just like every other time, I graciously excuse myself and retreat to the bathroom. If I move more hastily than I ought, nobody mentions it.

A - Fluff! It does exist! This is from a Boromir Lives AU oneshot that's nothing but tooth rotting, fluffy Uncle Boromir

As the cries and laughter died down, Boromir caught the sound of Aragorn and Faramir laughing at their plight, and then he caught sight of Éowyn and Arwen who were red faced with their own laughter. He couldn’t find it within himself to be upset by it, however, when a worn out Faramir and Elboron tucked themselves into his side. He wrapped his arms around them and breathed out a contented sigh. A quiet voice roused him from his descent into reverie. “Uncle Boromir, can you help me with my fighting later? Maybe after lunch?” 

L - Back to your regularly scheduled angst with Boromir bargaining with the Valar in whom he never believed while confronting his worst nightmare

“…Let my love live. I beg you, do not hold my lack of faith in you against me now. I will ever worship you, if you can do just this for me.” Boromir trembled; his hands clutched yours. “I will gladly take my beloved’s place should you ask it of me. The world needs them far more than me.”

L - Out of the same Boromir oneshot

 Like your body was trying to move what little blood it still had faster to make up for all it had lost. A desperate attempt to compensate. It made his stomach twist. It seemed impossible that your heart could keep beating that fast. Impossible that you could survive losing all the blood that had soaked the ground beneath you, that had soaked him, soaked his gauntlets. It had seemed impossible that your body could have held that much blood in the first place. 

S - Another Aragorn x Sairiniel snippet from the same chapter

Sweat ran down his face, and he grinned at his wife. They had sparred together for nearly seventy years now, yet she still surprised him. Even four inches shorter and at least a stone lighter, she bested him regularly. Where he had size and raw strength to compliment skills honed over his many decades of swordplay, she had creativity and speed that made her a formidable opponent. Today looked like it may well be another in the win column for her. Aragorn pushed the offensive and risked a sweeping blow, but with an elegant perry and swift jab from Sairiniel, he found himself stumbling out of the sparring circle to evade her strike and landing awkwardly on his side with a groan. Above him, Sairiniel laughed, which only rang out the louder when he scowled up at her. One of his servants made to help him up, but Sair waved them off and extended her hand to her disgruntled husband. He picked up Anduríl and accepted her hand. She bested him twice more before they returned to their quarters.

O - Aragorn x Sairiniel, two separate bits from the same chapter because I'm indecisive

Opening the door to find Pippin beside Merry should not have been a surprise, but for the briefest of moments, it was. Then the relief broke over Aragorn. Pippin was alive, whole, and unharmed. Merry was far from well, but he was alive. They were both alive. “Strider!” Pippin cried and leapt off the bed to throw himself at Aragorn. He caught the hobbit in his arms and hugged him as tight as he dared.  “Strider, indeed, my friend. I’m here. We made it,” Aragorn replied through a chuckle.  For a moment, the world felt a little lighter. Aragorn managed a smile, and the tension in his shoulders lessened a fraction. He could breathe a little easier. For this one moment, there was something good in this world to which he could cling. The good could not last, though. There was work still to be done. “Let me see what I can’t do for our dear Merry, but I want to hear all of your doings since I last saw you."

“One would think after all these years I would judge her more correctly myself. I can only counsel you to not underestimate her and to remember that should you be under or overcautious, there may not be a world where you two have the peace in which you have always fought to live, nor even a world in which you can live. You are in an unenviable place, Aragorn, but in it you are.” Aragorn sighed and looked out over the land that was his birthright. “I would not wish this place upon anyone, Gandalf. It is a cruel fate to be forced into making decisions without a good option.”

L - This is from my Aragorn x Dúnedan!OC (Sairiniel) long fic. This chapter opener is from somewhere near the beginning of the Fourth Age.

“Loyalty is not the same as obedience.” The seething words were a blow to his gut, and he skidded to a halt at the threshold of his office. Aragorn took a deep, steadying breath to stay his tongue.

D - Some more Aragorn x Sairiniel, post Pelennor fields

Included the preceding paragraph because I love it, and I think the context is useful:

[Elladan finally looked up from the mail in his hands - the mail so crusted in blood that it looked rusted. He cut in before Aragorn could reply, before he could point out that she mattered just as much as any of her troops. Elladan’s eyes were rimmed with red and his cheeks stained with tears. His body was strung as tight as Legolas’ bow. When he spoke, his voice shook with restrained emotion. “Could our people not craft you new armor while we three sought other Dúnedain to ride with us? Neth, we already must lose you when the day comes that we sail West. I do not know that I can withstand losing you before then.” ]  “Dan.” Sairiniel’s voice cracked on the single syllable. She tried to shift to the edge of the bed, but she stilled with a grunt of pain. She beckoned him to her, and he went without reluctance.  Sairiniel wrapped him in a tight embrace. Neither of the elves had ever quite adjusted to this human gesture of affection, but Elladan relaxed into her hold and gently wrapped his arms around her.  “You must learn to protect yourself as you do the rest of us, neth. Please, if not for your own sake, then for those who love you. I beg of thee.” Sairiniel nodded into his chest. Elladan pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The tension in his body released all at once, and he sagged against her. “Three thousand years. Three thousand years I have survived on this Middle Earth, and you two humans have put me through more stress and pain in the past ninety years than all the rest,” he grumbled, but there was no heat behind the words.

E - I truly do apologize for the chaotic way this is structured, but alas. Here we are. This is a snippet of a letter out of a Aragorn x Faramir piece that I don't honestly think will see the light of day

Even still, as I roamed those bleak lands and felt my heart gladdened by the sights before me, I could scarcely celebrate for the desperate ache your absence brings upon me. Never before have I felt such a thing. Perhaps I never knew this feeling for what it is, and I always burned for the feeling of a simple touch from a friend or a lover. Perhaps you have awakened it in me. I cannot be sure. Two weeks parted from another has never caused me any woes, and to leave Minas Tirith for long stretches never made me ache to see its flags flying and the shine off its white walls. Never before you made my heart sing.

S - Aaaaand we're back to the personal essay where it all began

Staring back at me is a person I still barely recognize, even with the makeup gone. The numbness still clings to me. The fake smile still seems painted on my lips with the remnants of the lipstick, which seems determined to linger on my swollen lips after scrubbing them over and over again. My wife hovers silently at the bathroom door. She knows I won’t talk about it yet, that it will take hours before I can unwind enough to come back to myself. When I let out a shuddering breath and reach for the lotion that won’t sooth my red skin but I’ll still use, she moves soundlessly behind me and wraps her arms around my waist and rests her chin on my shoulder.

T - And one last Aragorn x Sairiniel piece

Those who saw Sairiniel move through the corridors that night saw a storm in the form of a woman. A living echo of those who had walked the earth long before even their grandsires lived just as their king did on his fiercest days. This was nothing new to them; she was their warrior queen, after all. Their queen was never ruthless except on the battlefield, nor was ever harsh or cruel without cause. Alas, none would call her a gentle soul. She was a woman to be feared as much as she was loved. A woman who was destined to rule.  On this night, those lucky enough to witness their queen stepping silently, as only an elf or ranger, can through the halls in her husband’s tunic and trousers saw what those lucky few who truly knew her did. They saw the calm that comes after the storm. They saw the gentle rainfall and rainbow kept behind closed doors. Those lucky few saw what made her a perfect match to their king. The usually bright and kind hearted king with a temper seen by a scarce few balanced his stormy yet beautiful queen. Two mortals doomed to watch all those around them fade and pass to the Halls of Mandos, while they lived on for many lives of other men who necessarily found comfort and balance in each other.

I apologize for the chaotic formatting and inability to stay to one fic, but I hope these are worth the read! I'm hoping to have at least the two Boromir pieces up shortly. Ideally, I'll have the personal essay up in the near-ish future, but I make exactly 0 promises about that one as of yet.

[kylobith]

LotR Week - Day 7 (17th Dec) - Happy 20th anniversary to The Return of the King!

free prompt

Word count: 2,155

Like every year, it is movie night and everybody participates in one way or another.

Sam busies himself in the kitchen, wearing his apron over his clothes, tidying up while his stew cooks on the stove so there would be little clutter left to clean up once the evening has been enjoyed. Éowyn offered her help but was kindly distracted by Aragorn and Faramir at once, who suggested that she prepare the plates of snacks instead. So, happy to be included anyway, she stands at the little table set up in the corner of the kitchen and lays out cubes of cheese and other finger food on several plates, planting little sword-shaped picks into them so nobody would pick the food with their own fingers. Blissfully captivated by her task, a wide grin upon her face, she ignores the hidden high-five that her husband and the man she once thought she loved share in her back.

Counting the seats to ensure that everybody has the perfect and comfortable spot for them, Frodo clicks his tongue and rearranges some of the chairs. As Merry crosses the room to bring clean hand towels for the bathroom, he halts him and asks him to bring another chair from the library once he is done hanging the towels beside the sink.

Standing atop a stepladder — although she hardly needs it — Arwen hangs fairy lights above the windows, asking Pippin whether they are straight enough before taping them, with the Hobbit cutting off strips and handing them to her. Once every window is ornamented, she climbs down the ladder and folds it, letting Pippin carry it back to the closet in the corridor. Then, she hastens to put candles in their holders all over the place for the perfect atmosphere.

Sitting on the only rocking chair they could put their hands on, Gandalf smokes his pipe with a wide grin. Everybody agreed that he should sit down and enjoy his night, and he planned to do exactly that. He observes the lively house buzzing with activity with a smile, content to see everyone working together to make this movie night unforgettable, as always. While Aragorn brings the plates over to the table once Éowyn is done preparing them, the old wizard keeps his staff in hand, glaring at Pippin every time that he comes too close to them. He will not have him steal any of the delicacies before the night has even started, thank you very much.

Merry returns to the kitchen after adding the chair requested by Frodo to the living room.

‘Towels are up, Sam,’ he says, burying his hands in his pockets. ‘What can I do next?’

‘I think we should be alright by now,’ the cooking Hobbit replied, stirring the stew with a satisfied grin. ‘Have you swept the hallway too?’

‘As requested, yes. By the way, why are you cooking a stew for movie night? I doubt anyone will feel like eating that.’

‘Nonsense! Every night is good for stew. You’re just jealous you can’t cook one as delicious as this one. Oh, by the way, are the ales ready?’

Merry thinks for a moment and nods.

‘They are, but I will add some to the fridge just to be safe.’

‘Thanks.’

The doorbell rings, heralding the first guest’s arrival. Faramir opens the door and instantly opened his arms to embrace his older brother.

‘Welcome, Boromir,’ he chimes, patting his back. ‘You are the first one to arrive!’

‘Éowyn threatened to slit my throat if I arrived late, so I did not have much of a choice.’

‘Ah, you know how she gets. Come in, let me take your coat.’

As Faramir hangs Boromir’s coat on the rack and closes the door, Boromir waves at the company, holding up a pack of fresh ales. Merry takes the cans from him, enthusiastically greeting him and showing him to Frodo, who guides him to his assigned seat. The newcomer sits down and begins to chatter with Gandalf, exchanging pleasantries and catching up with each other.

Soon after, Legolas and Gimli arrive, all smiles and hand in hand. Their cloaks are gracefully taken by Faramir once more, and they step inside the living room.

‘I brought Lembas bread,’ Legolas announces with pride, placing the leaf he has wrapped them in on the table along with the other snacks.

‘A whole Elvish culinary culture, yet it is always Lembas bread he brings to everything,’ Gimli groans behind his boyfriend’s back to Boromir.

Éowyn throws a glance at the clock on the wall and grunts.

‘They are late. Unbelievable.’

‘That is quite alright,’ Gandalf laughs. ‘The Rohirrim are never late, nor are they early.’

‘Yes, yes, they arrive precisely when they mean to, I have heard that before.’

‘No. They are terrible when it comes to time management.’

The old wizard’s playful remark triggers a chuckle from Éowyn, enabling her to relax after having insisted for days that everybody come on time for the film. She warned them and yet they do not bother respecting the time given to them. It is their loss, she thinks to herself. There is nothing more that she can do.

Sam peeks into the living room to ensure that everything is in order. Taking off his oven mittens, he admires everybody’s work with glee.

‘Well, I see that we are still missing four people. Ah, well, they are all supposed to bring something, so… You can already have a nibble, but do not go overboard. Especially you, Merry and Pippin!’

‘We would not dare!’

‘Don’t worry, Sam,’ Gandalf reassures the busy Hobbit, ‘I am keeping an eye on them.’

Sam nods and disappears into the kitchen again. At the same time, another guest announces their arrival through the ringing of the doorbell. When Faramir answers it, Arwen gasps with joy and trots up to her father to embrace him.

‘Ada!’

Elrond grins and lifts his daughter as he presses a kiss to her temple.

‘I apologise for the delay, little star,’ he says, gently patting her cheek. ‘Somebody parked their horse in the worst way possible outside.’

Before Faramir can close the door after the Elven lord, somebody pushes it open, nearly sending it crashing against his nose.

‘Sorry, sorry, I’m here! Rang at the wrong house.’

Out of breath and his golden hair dishevelled, Éomer has no coat to hand to his brother-in-law. The latter, however, instantly leans in to whisper to him.

‘Steer clear of your sister if you want to make it out of here alive.’

‘Ah, let her skin me. Not the first time.’

Before his sister stumbles upon him and scolds him, the Rohir opens a box of store-bought doughnuts and puts it on the table, compromising on a spot with Elrond, who has come with some Elven pastries for everyone to enjoy. Since some of the guests have already started to eat, they already pick something to nibble on. Aragorn lifts one of the swords carrying a piece of cheese, but before he can tuck it between his teeth, Arwen snatches it and holds it up teasingly.

‘Hey, that’s mine!’ he laughs, taking her by the waist.

‘If you want it, come and claim it.’

‘Mh. I could retrieve it by force, but it is not this day.’

And so, she throws the cheese into her mouth, giggling as Aragorn comes to place a tender kiss upon her rosy lips. Meanwhile, Frodo starts gathering the guests and showing them to their assigned seats and chairs, explaining his choice but allowing them to switch at any time. Pippin walks around asking what everybody wants to drink, acting like a waiter while Merry fetches the beverages that his cousin requests.

Théoden arrives shortly after, carrying the best wines that Rohan has to offer. Éowyn takes him by the hand and leads him to a comfortable armchair, while Pippin comes to tend to him, offering him something to eat. The king of Rohan decides to share a bottle of wine with Elrond and Gandalf as they watch Frodo pacing up and down.

‘There is something missing. But I forgot what it is.’

‘Some actual Elven food, maybe?’ Gimli grunts, eyeing Legolas before following Merry to help him carry a large cool box to the living room, so every drink will be easy to reach.

As Frodo regards Legolas quizzically, the latter whispers:

‘Have you learnt nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?’

‘But it is the eleventh event in a row that you bring Lembas bread.’

‘It is consistent food, does not require a lot of preparation, does not take up much space… It is the perfect choice.’

The Hobbit nods with a dubitative expression, before patting him in the back. He circles around the table and observes the decoration again, the coats on the rack, the seats he has assigned on his list… Oh. There is one vacant, with no name assigned to it.

Behind him, Sam claps his hands and everyone hurries off to their seat. Boromir sits on the end of the couch beside his brother, playfully rubbing his knuckles against Faramir’s scalp, holding him in a gentle headlock and laughing. Éowyn sits next to her husband and pats the space next to her to invite Éomer to join them.

Éomer grumbles and sits down with his arms crossed.

‘You two lovebirds better not snog the entire time,’ he groans. ‘It is sickening.’

‘Oh, shush.’

The three elders sit around each other, while the four Hobbits plan to sit on cushions on the floor, preferring the cosiness of the set-up to the mismatched chairs. On the right side, Gimli and Legolas sit beside each other, with the dwarf discreetly biting a piece of Lembas bread that he will never admit to having consumed to Legolas, who reclines into his chair with a cup of wine in his hand. Next to them, Aragorn and Arwen take their seats, bringing them closer together so they can cuddle while watching the film.

Sam serves everyone a small cauldron-shaped bowl of stew, much to their surprise, but nobody criticises the choice. They all gladly devour the beef, potatoes and vegetables while Pippin makes the (very) questionable choice to alternate between a spoonful of the sauce and a lick at a ring pop on his finger. While he tastes the candy, a screech resonates against the window from outside.

Two wide blue eyes ogle the Hobbit’s treat.

‘Preciousss?’

Before anybody has time to react, Faramir closes the blinds in Sméagol’s face.

Frodo is still confused. He counts everything on the table again, the number of seats that he planned for. There is still somebody and something missing.

When the doorbell rings, Frodo rushes to welcome the last guest. All smiles and carrying two wide salad bowls full of popcorn, a young man with long, dark blond hair appears.

‘Hi, sorry that I am late.’

‘Théodred!’

Éomer is beyond relieved to see his cousin at the door. He makes some more space between himself and his sister for him to sit.

‘There is no movie night without popcorn,’ Merry coos. ‘Alright, I believe that everyone’s here and we have all the snacks in the world!’

‘Indeed,’ Sam grins. ‘Everybody sit down.’

Théodred hugs his father and bypasses the Hobbit, careful not to step on them as he walks past them on his way to the couch. He settles between his two adoptive siblings and gladly accepts wine from Sam.

‘I am glad that you are here,’ Éomer whispers to him. ‘That way I won’t have to see Éowyn and Fari making out the whole time.’

‘Don’t be an arse, ‘Mer,’ Théodred sighs without even casting a glance in his direction, watching Aragorn switch on the TV and browse a whole catalogue of films until he finds the right one.

Sam switches off the light before sitting down, plunging the living room into darkness, if not for the many candles and fairy lights carefully laid out by Arwen. Aragorn selects the film and it starts to play.

‘Ah, The Return of the King!’ Legolas exclaims joyfully. ‘Excellent choice.’

‘I can’t wait to see Boromir die again!’ Pippin cackles, earning a loud ‘Hey!’ from the concerned party.

Merry leans closer, munching one of Elrond’s pastries.

‘It’s not in that one, Pip.’

‘Oh.’

As the title screen appears, Arwen leans on her elbows, resting her chin in the palms of her hands and staring fondly at the television.

‘Twenty years. Can you believe it?’

‘Time flies, that is for sure,’ Théoden grins, raising his glass before sipping his wine.

‘Unbelievable,’ Gimli scoffs, realising how long it has been since it all happened. ‘Do you think that there is someone out there who enjoys our adventures as much as we did?’

There is a long moment of silence, only disturbed by the film’s music. Frodo crosses his arms with a sullen expression.

‘Enjoy is a bit of an overstatement.’

And here we are, at the end of LotR Week. It has been an amazing challenge to write these short pieces with such vague yet inspiring prompts about our favourite characters and this trilogy that means so much to us for different reasons.

Thank you, @lotr20 and especially @southfarthing, for organising all of that. I'm definitely going to miss this event now that it's done. You have sparked such camaraderie within the fandom, connected strangers and inspired others, and it is nothing short of amazing.

Thank you to all of those who have engaged with my writing in one way or another, who have shared my works and taken the time to not only read them, but comment on them. A special shoutout to @konartiste, @emmanuellececchi, @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras, @sotwk and @meluiloth-of-rivendell for your support. You have made me fall in love with writing all over again and you have made me feel so appreciated and accepted this week! ♥

And, of course, happy anniversary to The Return of the King, a film that moves me beyond belief and that brings me so much comfort when I need it. I wish I had the time to watch it today to celebrate, but unfortunately, time wasn't on my side. So here's this little piece instead!