#aragorn son of arathorn x reader

[thewulf]

Little One || Aragorn

Summary: Request -I had an Aragorn request that I wanted to send you; if it’s something you’d be interested in writing I know it’ll be perfect (but if it doesn’t strike your fancy I completely understand)!! After reading your fic with the orc attack I was thinking about how Aragorn would respond to reader being injured defending the hobbits... Read Rest Here

A/N: Thank you for the request @fluentmoviequoter !! Had so much fun writing this, hope you enjoy :) Kinda angsty but hella fluffy as always :)

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.1k +

TW: orcs, talks of blood, arrows, getting shot, yelling, angsty

You and Strider had been Rangers together for the better part of fifty years now. The two of you quickly found solace in the other. The two of you just seemed to compliment the other. What he lacked you picked up for him and vice versa. It wasn’t often he could find somebody who just understood him. So, he decided to keep you close but always safe.

He did what he wanted after all. He had a high enough ranking quickly. You were assigned nearly every patrol, raid, quest whatever the hell it was he did it with you. And you learned quicker than you had ever thought even possible with his aid. He wasn’t brutal on you, but he was not easy by any stretch of the imagination. He wanted you alive, so he trained you to stay that way. He had to be a little mean. A little too much sometime. For that was the real world. You couldn’t go out in the world as freely as one once could.

So, when Gandalf proposed the deal of getting the Hobbits from Bree to Rivendell he had agreed on the condition you could come with them. He wasn’t willing to leave you in some random village town in Eriador. No, he would never do that. Gandalf had agreed without a second thought thinking it was a good idea to have two Rangers instead of one.

You had decided fairly quickly that the Nazgûl was on your list of least favorite things in middle-earth you’d had the pleasure of coming across. You could deal with spiders and orcs buts these creatures were eerily different. Ice cold and terrifying, soul sucking. But you needed to remain stoic in the face of it all to help the Hobbits. The poor things were shaking they were so terrified. You’d tried stories of tales far and wide to shake their minds of their troubles, but it seemed no use as they only looked to the two of you in terror around every twist and turn.

When you stopped for the night to camp you’d noticed that Strider had led you deep into a dense forest. You’d never been the best at tracking, so you often led it to him. You really should’ve paid better attention before as you were often so reliant on his talents.

“I am off to gather a few plants for some tea. I will be back in an hour. Y/N, I trust they shall remain safe in your care?” He asked and you nodded without so much as a second thought.

“Of course.” You smiled to him, “Off you go. I know how mean you get without your tea.” That earned a hearty round of laughs from the Hobbit’s as they laid out their bedrolls for the night. It was nice to hear such a pleasant sound instead of hearing the screeching in the distance.

“I will remember that.” He glared at you with humor in his eyes before ducking into the night.

You turned back to the Hobbit’s with a stupid smile on your face not quite realizing how much you were giving way of your likeness towards the man, “Off to bed we go.” You shooed the silly little smirks right off their faces.

They all nodded quickly falling asleep without so much as a second thought. You were mighty jealous at the way they just did that. It took you far too long to fall asleep these days. Worry kept you up more than you liked to admit.

Thank whatever was out there for that worry that wouldn’t let you sleep as you heard the distant voices and branches breaking far off in the distance. Orcs. Had to be, they were so noisy. Your heartrate spiked as you heard them before you spotted them in the dark night. How in the hell had anything found you all the way out here?

“Up! Up!” You whisper shouted before shaking each of the Hobbits awake, “Abandon the camp we must go. Run” You grabbed for your sword and spare bow and arrow before ushering the small Hobbit’s further into the forest.

They ran ahead confused and disoriented having just fallen into a deep sleep but trusting you nonetheless. You knew you had made too much noise but did not quite realize how much the smaller ones were making as they ran.

You paused for a brief moment knowing your longer strides could catch up. You took a look behind you to see how in danger you truly were. The orcs hadn’t spotted your little group quite yet except one with keen eyes. Adrenaline shot through you as you saw the orcs arrow trained right at the back of Frodo’s head as he ran forward. He’d be dead instantly if the orc shot the arrow before you could stop it.

Panic shot through you as you ran ahead beside him pushing him to the ground with more force than you’d truly meant. You’d thought you were in the clear before the searing pain of being shot by an orc arrow throbbed through your shoulder blade sending you to the ground before you could think. Frodo rolled beside you which sprung Merry, Pippin and Sam into action as they pulled the two of you behind the thick trees of the dense forest. Fortunately for you it was mid-summer, and the forest was coated in dense foliage making it that much harder to find you and the Hobbits hiding in the trees.

Frodo looked more confused than upset before he saw the arrow protruding from your body. He’d understood instantly, “You have been hit miss Y/N!” Merry’s concerned voice only rose a few octaves as he saw the large arrow sticking right outside your shoulder. It hurt worse than it looked but you tried your best to bite back the tears as they were so unseasoned to such horrors in the world.

You looked down wincing at the arrow surely coated in poison. Thankfully you were only a few days out from Rivendell. You’d be fine… Strider not so much. Shuddering at the thought of the man who would be so mad you got hurt, you turned to the small Hobbit’s sitting in fear beside you.

Ignoring the arrow sticking out from your shoulder you sat up from the fall you took, “Listen, for there is not much time before they try and find us. Frodo and Sam run. Go find Strider. He will help end this swiftly.” You nodded watching them run quickly off into the forest. You’d sent Frodo off as he needed to be as far from the attacks as possible.

Wincing you turned yourself as best as you could towards Merry and Pippin, “Now, I need you two to be brave. You must snap this arrow as close to the wound as you can. I will fight these orcs off, but I cannot do that with this sticking out.” You huffed eyeing the rather large wooden arrow searing its mark in your shoulder blade.

Merry only gave you wide eyes as Pippin shook his head answering your request, “I cannot do that.”

“Not can I!” Merry agreed.

You looked behind you a little panicked seeing the orcs moving in closer. Far too close for your comfort. Lowering your voice, you leaned closer to them, “It does not matter any longer. Time is of the essence now. You must or we all die.” You glared at the two of them letting them both know quite how serious this was.

“Aye, turn away.” Merry stood with shaking hands grabbing at the arrow earning a hiss from your mouth. Pippin took his hands in his helping him get the leverage he needed to break the thick wood.

“All right.” You turned your head away clutching your hands into the earth trying to ground yourself. You had to fight back everything that was telling you to pass out as the arrow snapped in two under the hands of the much smaller Hobbits. A quiet whimper left your mouth as you tried your hardest to stay conscious. The orcs were close. You had to do something.

“Miss Y/N” Merry sounded concerned as he saw your face pale out and the orcs move closer, “Please be okay.”

You nodded blinking back the wave of nausea taking over your usually so agile self. This did not feel like your standard orc poison. You knew what that felt like and this was not it. This was moving faster than anything you’d been hit by them with, “I am fine mister Pippin.” You breathed trying to blink back the unshed tears. Pain only reminded you that you were alive. With another small groan you stood from the ground trying your hardest to fight the searing fire in your shoulder, “Stay quiet and hidden. It is best to attack them by surprise. Strider will be back soon. Let us try and wait this out as long as possible.” You whispered grabbing your sword from its sheath at your side.

You waited in silence as the first of the few crept into your field of vision. They must have been lost. No way a pack of orcs were this dumb. Or they were on a special mission. But you could wait no longer as they were likely to hear your breath or any sort of movement for he was a mere step away from you now.

Quickly, you sliced off its head without much of a sound. The loudness of the animals in the night covered up for its lifeless body hitting the ground giving you a second to recuperate and fight back the overwhelming feeling of pain now making its way down your arm.

When you killed the second and third the attention was finally on you. You were not able to be as graceful and let out a cry of pain as you had to use your bum arm to defend yourself. Darting behind a tree you narrowly avoided another arrow coming right for your head this time. But you didn’t have time to panic as the man you had been waiting for finally made his grand entrance. Just as you suspected it was over before it really begun. You were a fine Ranger. But Strider was an expert one.

Leaning back on the tree you let out the breath you were holding in. Never had you been so close to losing someone so quickly on a quest. Never had you been so close to being eliminated. You were usually so much better than this. Strider was getting in your head, and you were losing focus. A Ranger losing focus! That was unheard of. But Strider was your exception it seemed.

“You arrogant fool!” Strider yelled right at you as he came storming over to where you were leaning on the tree. He hadn’t seen the broken arrow in your shoulder nor the way you were holding your arm upright. He didn’t notice the sweat the coated your face or the distant gaze in your eyes. He was mad and he wanted to take it out on someone. That someone happened to be you.

You let out a cry in pain as he grabbed for the arm that you were holding gingerly. Even the smallest movement made it feel like your arm was getting ripped right apart. You had forgotten how painful poison was for it had been nearly fifty years since you’d been struck. The bastards made it as fast and as painful as possible. And whatever this stuff was seemed worse than before.

He moved his hand away from your arm after hearing your strangled cry. Pushing you back up against the tree, avoiding your injury, he felt the sticky liquid coating your outer garments. Blood. Of course, he knew what it was. He had only begun to panic as he saw the deliriousness in your gaze. You were hurt and badly at that. He was not used to this.

Frodo jumped in between the two of you, pushing Strider away just slightly, “She saved my life master Strider! Please have no anger towards her.”

His heart raced as he ordered the Hobbits to light a fire nodding at Frodo that he was done lashing out at you. He knew you needed a helping hand. Not one to hurt you while you were down. Gently, he pushed you down to the ground, “Sit down, nigol.” He’d all but ordered as he helped the Hobbit’s start a small fire. He couldn’t see your wound and you weren’t so forthcoming with information. That and he wanted to see it for himself.

A small smile came to your lips remembering the old nickname he’d given you, “Nigol… you have not called me that in quite some time Strider.”

Brushing your comment aside he asked you, “What happened?” As he sat down next to you waiting for the fire to glow so he could inspect your wound.

You turned towards him holding your eyebrows close together trying your best to bite back the pain, “Orcs happened is all. Caught a poisoned arrow to the shoulder.” Letting out a strangled sigh you sat further back against the tree.

“How did you get hit?” He clarified with more patience in his voice than you were used to. Maybe you looked worse than you felt because he never, ever cut you a break. And you appreciated him for that as you were still alive and usually avoidant of such injuries.

“Ugly bastard was aiming right at Frodo’s small little Hobbit head.” You frowned realizing if you hadn’t noticed Frodo would be sure as dead. You caught Strider’s smile at your crass language for he knew he would never grow tired of your fowl tongue. He loved it about you, “Had to push him out of the way and he nicked me instead.”

“I heard that miss Y/N!” Frodo yelled back at the two of you shaking his head at you, “Elves are not the only creatures with good hearing!” You only smiled as you watched them feed the small fire with more twigs and sticks. It surprised you that Strider ordered a fire for you’d just been ambushed. Who knew what else lurked beyond the trees that kept you hidden.

You let out a strangled laugh feeling the effects of the poison inch its way through your system. You watched as Strider looked at you with concern. It wasn’t often you were the one on the receiving end to such a look. You’d been under his wing for a better part of half a century. You’d gotten really excellent at not getting hurt. It must have been jarring to see you fighting the pain back with such a force. He’d never admit how much he had grown to love you. He didn’t like to see you in pain. Not a bit.

He sighed seeing the fleshy wound, “You must not be so careless next. I have trained you better than that.” He sighed inspecting the wound closely, “I must remove the arrow.” He spoke slowly feeling his heart drop at your startled expression.

You shook your head with a vengeance for you did not like that statement “We are but a few days from Rivendell. Surely they will have healers who can do that properly.”

He bit back the frown as he looked at your arm, “You will not have a few days if I do not get this out.” It wasn’t ominous but simply the truth.

“Is it not an Orc arrow?” You looked down knowing what his answer was going to be but trying to ignore it in your head was proving to be a challenge.

He gave you a solemn nod, “Aye, but it does not appear to be orc poison.”

All you could muster was a simple, “Oh.” Not thinking that was a possibility. You’d still concluded it was a different form of Orc poison. What could they possibly be using?

“It appears to be something much darker.” His frown only deepened as he was studying your wound. He had ripped your shirt where you had been hit to examine it closer. It was turning black far too fast to be the standard orc poison they’d become accustomed to.

You shuddered knowing the pain would be intolerable. You already seemed to be teetering on the precipice between the living world and the unconscious world, “Do your worst then.” You spoke quickly turning away and grabbing at a stick on the ground. When you tuned back he was just looking at you with such a sadness you couldn’t help but to ask, “What?”

He shook his head breaking the stare he had on you, “Nothing. Bite the stick. Don’t fight me. You know the rules.”. It had been a long time since you were at the mercy of his hands. You were but a young Ranger the last time you’d been caught in such a dreadful position. Back then you had medicine to at least dull the pain. This was going to be hell you thought as you placed the soggy stick in your mouth. Something to bite into, crucial to keep you from yelling too loud.

But you didn’t need to worry about that issue too much as darkness took over only a moment after he begun to tug on the broken arrow embedded in your shoulder. Of course, you didn’t catch the concern or the panic that overtook him when he saw you collapse into unconsciousness so easily. He didn’t waste a second longer after the arrow was removed from your shoulder to pick you up and carry you in his arms telling the Hobbits that they had to get a move on for your sake. With hushed complaints the group was off to Rivendell in the dead of night.

It must’ve been the pain overtaking the adrenaline that had subsided that made you fade out of unconsciousness. As your body stirred awake the sun rose in the sky before you. Strider only cradled you closer to his chest when he felt you squirming beneath him. A rather large sigh of relief escaped him as he looked down seeing you slowly blink your eyes back into reality.

“Did you enjoy your rest then?” Strider smiled most genuinely down to you for as much as he loved teasing you it sure made him happy to see you awake once more.

You cracked your own smile at his sarcastic words, “It was nice, thank you for inquiring.” You hummed squirming once more in his embrace. When he locked his hands around you it was only then that you realized he was carrying you like so and he had no intention of letting you out of his grasp.

He chucked seeing your startled expression. It was also new to him too and he really did not want to admit just how much he had enjoyed holding you close to him. It put his normally anxious heart at ease. He had long since found you beautiful. He knew he had loved you when he first heard you speak your mind to a superior all those years ago. For nobody, not a single man, had the courage to speak the way you did. And you had the skill to back it up. That was why he panicked seeing your injured silhouette in the forest. For if you were to go down he had no idea what he would do. You were so deeply embedded in his life he could not even begin to fathom a life without you in it.

He ran faster than he ever had before when Sam and Frodo found him foraging for plants. When they came in blabbering that you had been hit by an arrow he began sprinting in autopilot. It drove him mad feeling like it took longer to get to you. He was there in no longer than a minute to kill the ten or so orcs that were hunting you, the one he loved. He was a maniac when it came to protecting you. He hadn’t meant to yell so harshly at you but he was scared. Terrified of the thought of losing you, his person.

He noticed the pink beginning to return to your face and more relief flooded his overstressed system, “You are getting some color back.” He noticed as he held you closer, “That is a good sign. The poison must not be spreading.”

You let out a long yawn feeling the effects of it all starting to come over you once more, “That is good. It does not hurt as bad either. Just aches a bit.” Your eyes drooped as you tried to fight off the sleep that was overcoming you.

“Rest. Go to sleep, nigol.” He smiled down to you with nothing but love in those striking eyes. He’d been carrying you for hours already, what was another few anyway?

“Nigol.” You hummed remembering the times he called you that all the way back when you first had met him. He refused to tell you what it meant and by the time you finally met an elf you’d forgotten the nickname altogether, “What does it mean?” You inquired hoping he would indulge you this time as you were on the verge of unconsciousness.

He laughed, throwing his head back and all. You admired the way his dark hair framed his fair face as he looked back down at you. He was truly so handsome. It wasn’t fair he was placed in front of you like this and yet, was so unattainable, “I did not tell you fifty years ago, why would I tell you now?”

“I thought I would try.” You sighed, “Does it mean something bad? You only use it when I mess up.” You asked him once you concluded the worst. He often used that nickname early on when you two had been partnered up. It’s use seemed to fade as you had gotten more competent. Yet now when you had a bum shoulder rendering you useless he used it once more.

He shook his head quickly, “It is not bad. I can promise you that.” He eased your worried face quickly with his words.

“Well, I suppose I can accept that.” You didn’t want to push feeling oddly unlike yourself in his arms. Usually combative and wanting to pick a friendly fight you felt like doing anything but that. You just wanted to enjoy yourself in his embrace as you knew this moment would likely never occur again.

He knew you better than anybody else. He noticed how shy you were suddenly acting. Was it the nickname? Were you tired? Was the poison moving faster than he could? He looked down seeing you continue to fight sleep. Usually so powerful you looked helpless in his arms. His eyes softened as he realized how much trust you had to have in him to relax into him like so. You were always on guard, always ready. Frodo was alive because of that instinct. But now you were at his will and he felt more responsible for you than he had ever before.

“It’s Sindarin.” He admitted wanting to give you something more as you had given him exactly what he wanted, you.

Feeling your eyes getting heavier you replied with tiredness in your voice, “I had concluded that Strider. You did tell me you were raised by elves, remember?” Lazily, you smiled up to him laughing as best as your body would allow you.

“It is Sindarin for little one.” He finally admitted to you, “Or mouse.” He looked down at you nervously hoping you’d have a decent reaction to it.

“Mouse? Little one? I should be offended.” You grinned not taking offense in the slightest for you found it oddly adorable he had given you such a sweet nickname.

“Do not take offense.” He spoke quickly, “I did not mean it that way.”

“Relax, Strider.” You yawned once more feeling your head rest of his chest heavily. Sleep was coming on quick, “I am just teasing you. You are so easy to mess with.”

“Sleep now, little one.” He gave you another gentle squeeze letting you know he had you. It was alright. You could trust him as always. And trust him you did as you found yourself in a quick sleep right back in his arms.

“There you are.” Strider’s voice pulled you from the sleep that had overcome you on the road. When you blinked you were stunned to be laying in front of a fireplace in a rather grandeur room. You must have made it all the way to Rivendell which meant you had been out for days at this point.

“Are we in Rivendell?” You tried to sit up before his hands pushed you back down, gently, into the plush elven bed.

“You must lie still.” He ordered before answering your question, “Yes. You have been unconscious for nearly four days. Lord Elrond was unsure if you were to make it.” His eyes were laced with something you had hardly seen on the man in your many years of knowing him, fear. He looked scared, terrified. Yet almost relieved seeing you awake.

“Four days?” You swallowed back your surprise.

He gave you a quick not, “Almost, you even have Lord Elrond worried.”

You sighed, “I did not mean to do that.”

He moved closer, sitting on your bedside. Taking his chance he brushed your stray hair away from your face, “You always do that.”

You just looked up at him, “What?”

“It is just that you always care for others before yourself. As much as I love that about you. Think about yourself for once. Care for yourself. You are far too kind.” He spilled his thoughts to you for he was too tired. Too scared at the thought of losing you he was not going to hold back his tongue anymore for he knew he loved you. He wanted you. He couldn’t see you with anyone else but him.

You blinked back surprise at his outright confession. Sure, the two of you had danced around any feelings for quite literally years. But you would have none of that, as sweet as it was, “You did not say that when I slayed half an orc army with you.” You spoke with a hint of playfulness in your tone. It was your favorite game to play with the man.

He laughed a full hearty laugh. A laugh so pure, one you’d heard so rarely from the man. He only laughed like that when he was at peace. Happy. Comfortable and relaxed. A sight that you could really get used to.

“For that is true.” His eyes searched your for any sign of pain. Any sign that something was wrong. He could not quite believe you were finally awake and chatting with him like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t been knocked out cold for that long. When Lord Elrond had started to get nervous. Strider was not dumb. He grew up with Elves and knew their tells. When an elf grew worried he knew things were not boding well.

You felt yourself shrinking under his gaze, “What? Is there something on my face? Because that would be embarrassing. I have been asleep for three days and you let something stay on my face for that long?” You rambled not quite sure what you were doing. He was making you nervous. Strider never made you nervous. But when he gave you that earnest look you completely lost yourself to him. How fickle your brain was behaving.

He bit back a laugh sensing your nerves, “No. There is nothing marking your face. I was simply admiring you was all.”

Was he trying to kill you? Your cheeks were sure to be a bright rosy, red for his second confession was bolder than his first, “Admiring me?”

“Indeed. I would not be the man that I am had you not been by me all these years. I thought I was going to lose you. But now that you are back I get to admire you.” He spoke with that soft voice he only used ever so often. It was fascinating to get to know an entirely different side of the man you thought you knew through and through.

“I deserve no such thing.” You laughed trying to shake off the seriousness of his gaze down on you. He did not find your statement the least bit humorous.

“While I do not agree I also do not wish to argue. How do you feel?” He changed the subject even though he might have enjoyed watching you squirm. Placing a cool hand on your forehead, he did not miss the small jump you had in response to his contact. Touches he had given you so often before had changed. Things had shifted between the two of you and for the first time in a long time he was excited. He had a purpose. His purpose.

You gulped back your argument and nodded in agreement, “I feel fine, will you let me sit up now or must I stare up all afternoon?” You quipped hoping your quick mouth would let him know just how fine you really felt.

Shaking his head, he held out a hand for your to take, “You may sit up, but take it slow.”

“I was shot by an arrow Strider. I did not get my legs cut off.” You took his hand letting him pull you up to sit next to him.

He rolled his eyes yet still held admiration in them, “That mouth will get you in trouble one day.” His eyes traced your face as you too just looked at him. It didn’t feel quite real that he could have admired you just as you him. Had you been blind?

You hummed in agreement not being able to take your eyes off his, “Not if you are there to protect me.”

It was he who broke the staring game going on between the two of you as he collected his thoughts, “Indeed, little one. There is nothing truer than that statement.” Gaining some courage, he took your hands in his giving them a gentle squeeze, “Please never scare me like that again for I cannot bear it.”

“I will try my hardest, as long as you promise to do the same.” You nodded towards him feeling bashful in front of the man you’d grown to love. The man you had only hoped to love you as he did. The man you never could have imagined felt the same. Yet here you were.

Giving your hands a reassuring squeeze, he simply nodded to you, “I promise, little one. I promise with my whole heart.”

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[mints-bizarre-posts]

Incorrect Quotes #62

Gimli : I sleep with an axe next to my side

Aragorn : I sleep with a knife

Legolas : Both of you are pathetic

Gimli : Oh yeah? What do you sleep with?

Legolas : Y/n

[entishramblings]

aragorn is covered in tattoos from his days as a dúnedain ranger and no can tell me otherwise

[gloomwitchwrites]

Rainy Reunion

Aragorn x Female Reader

Dedicated to @protosslady

Content & Warnings: light angst, reunion after a long absence, yearning, kissing, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.6k

Aragorn left nearly a month ago with no vow to return. But a great shadow moves across the land, and Aragorn returns to make sure you have not been swept up by the darkness.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

The rain outside is soft and warm, and it patters gently against the top of the tent. It’s the kind of rain that finds its way into the worst places. A steady rain that starts to saturate anything and everything it touches. The sort of rain that manages to slip down to the bottom of the insides of your shoes, soaking your socks and making each step a wet squelch.

Within the tent, near a low-burning candle, you flip through the pages of your book. The pages are worn and yellowed. The cover and binding are starting to come apart, the paper threatening to fall out, but you don’t dare retire it for something newer. This book is well-loved, and for good reason. It is one of the few things you carry that belong to the man that walked away from you.

Other than your tent, the rest of the camp is at rest. It is still in the early hours of the morning, the sun just starting to dawn, and most of the camp’s residents still slumber in their bedrolls and cots. Traveling has been a long and difficult journey.

A dark shadow moves across the land, pushing people from their homes. Your village left everything behind, moving with a great sea of people away from the coming darkness. There is no home for you to go to except the road. What little possessions you took with you are the ones in this tent.

But there are many things you left behind, including your heart. You wrapped it up and left it to wither for the ranger you might never see again. That man, whose name you only learned while tangled up in each other, is made for the wilderness. He is made for nature and adventure. You do not begrudge him for it.

It was never meant to last between the two of you.

Aragorn, Strider as others call him, left without a word. You knew it would happen. He told you it would, but the parting still hurt even if you had prepared yourself for it. The pain is a sharp dagger against ripe fruit, cutting through in a smooth, clean stroke. Though it has been nearly a month, it is all still fresh as if he left only yesterday.

You turn a page in your book, shivering slightly from the cold. The rain might be warm but the air has the faintest hint of chill, making the dampness in the air stick to your skin. There are others who are likely worse off than you. The tent you have is relatively warm, and you have blankets to spare.

There is a rustling near the tent opening, a soft sound like a small animal sniffing about. It draws your attention away from the ink on the page. You expect to hear or even see the outline of a fox or some other small creature. Instead, low morning light filters in, obscuring the features of the man standing there.

Not an animal, which entirely surprises you. The shadowed man lingers in the opening of the tent, and then he steps inside. You’re about to bolt up, to berate this stranger for walking in without your permission. But, once that flap falls into place, and the light from the candle hits the man’s face, your muscles seize up.

It is a dream. The man standing before you is an image plucked from your imagination.

“Aragorn,” you murmur, mostly to yourself.

He stands tall in the small space and yet seems so unsure. He looks nervous, as if you’ll run him off for entering. It’s so different from the man you’ve known. In your presence, Aragorn was always confident.

“Am I intruding?” he asks softly as if he already has one foot out the tent. You don’t want him to leave.

You stand, clasping your hands in front of you. “No. You’re not intruding.” The only thing you’re wearing is the off-white nightdress you sleep in and a large wool blanket that’s draped over your shoulders. It’s entirely too intimate for a visitor, especially a man.

“This is a surprise,” you say, because it is. Aragon left. You never expected him to return.

“I know,” he replies softly in acknowledgement.

The pain roils up, and it’s difficult to push it back down. Some of it leaks out. “You left without saying goodbye.”

Aragorn takes a step forward. “I’m sorry.” The space is small and he’s almost on top of you.

Is he sorry? He said he would leave, that he couldn’t stay with you. While you don’t resent him for leaving, the separation still hurts, and you’re not sure how much of an apology you actually deserve.

You step around the apology, not wanting to linger there. “How did you find me?”

He glances at the candle and book. Aragorn’s features soften as his gaze falls on the worn cover. The book is his. You didn’t take it, and he didn’t truly gift it. Aragorn left it—whether on purpose or by accident—but you’ve carried it all this time.

Aragorn smiles softly, and your heart melts down to your feet. “You still have it.”

“It’s an entertaining read.”

His gaze returns to your face. “The rangers I ride with have been following at a distance,” he finally answers. “A darkness is sweeping across the land, and we’ve been watching all the people fleeing its reaching hands.” Aragorn pauses a moment before continuing. “I was unaware you were here until I heard about your village.”

“Is that why you’re here in this tent? You came looking for me?”

Aragorn nods. “I did. I feared—” He steps forward and then pauses, his hand curling into a fist like he’s resisting the urge to touch you.

“What did you fear?” you whisper as the chill begins to ease.

Aragorn swallows. “That the shadow had found you, and I was too late.”

“The shadow did not find me.” Aragorn is so close. Within reach.

Hesitantly, you lift your arm and allow your fingers to brush against his rain-drenched cloak. Aragorn glances down at your hand, and then he is moving, taking your hand in his. You do not pull away. You do not draw back.

He is so warm. A bright spot of light that you wish to take into yourself. He lifts your hand to his face and proceeds to kiss each of your fingers. Aragorn rotates your wrists and kisses your open palm. Every movement and kiss is purposeful. Drawn out.

You want to berate him. You want to tell him to leave. But you don’t. You can’t. Instead of pulling back or pushing him away, you step closer. Aragorn accepts this easily, sliding one arm around your waist to hold you close.

The rain on his cloak is of little significance, even as it starts to seep into your nightdress. Aragorn is here, and he is holding you, which is all that matters.

He closes the distance and you meet him greedily, wanting to remember how the two of you come together. Your lips meet, and all those happy flashes of memory stir up like a storm and batter your brain like waves against rock. Kissing Aragorn is natural, and returning to it is easy. Like the two of you never stopped.

It is not a heated, desperate thing, but soft and lovely, the two of you coming together until you’re both breathless and smiling. Hands roam, and it is you that undoes his rain-soaked cloak, but Aragorn who allows it to fall. Your hands continue to touch, both over and under clothing. His skin is hot against your palm, and that only ignites a deep fire within you.

The wool blanket around your shoulders disappears, guided by Aragorn as he tosses it onto your cot. The dull tiredness of sleep is gone, replaced by a growing need to be with him in the closest way possible.

The rain that is in his hair and on his skin drips onto you until your eyelashes and cheeks are speckles with them. They are little gifts to you. Pieces of him that you are accepting and taking for yourself. It does not matter that you or he might wipe them away, or that they might dry. You are desperate for anything.

You are content with just this—kissing Aragorn as the rain falls gently outside. But now, with your bodies pressed close, it’s hard to ignore what you want. This separation is a wound that needs stitching, and kissing Aragon is the thread.

His hand brushes against your waist through the nightdress and you desperately want him to go lower. You want him to explore the places he’s already been, rediscovering them and the way he makes you feel.

“I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long,” whispers Aragorn, his fingertips grazing across the water droplets that now line your cheek. His other hand dips between your legs, seeking what you’ve been after. The sensation is maddening.

You whimper, hips bucking as he strokes you through your clothes. Aragorn is enjoying it too. He tugs on your dress and kisses your shoulder where it slips to expose skin. Water drips onto your skin from his hair, running in a line down your bare shoulder to below the neckline of your dress. Aragorn leans in and licks up the droplets.

It’s lovely, and you want more of him. You need him everywhere.

“I want you,” you whisper. “But I am cross with you for not saying goodbye.”

Aragorn sighs and rests his forehead against yours. “How can I make amends? I do not wish to lose you.”

Your fingers dig into the fabric of his tunic. “Will you stay with me a bit? Can you give me what you are able?”

“You shall have it,” comes his response. Aragorn’s voice is low and raspy.

He smiles, as much with his eyes as with his mouth, and leans forward to kiss your neck. He starts slow, removing the rest of his rain-drenched outwear, hanging it up to dry in the corner along with the cloak that fell to the tent floor. Once done, he returns to you, his hand sliding over and down your nightdress.

Aragorn’s words drip with lust when he speaks again. “Do you want to take it off or should I do it for you?” He tugs lightly on the fabric, making his intention clear.

You inhale sharply, momentarily surprised by his forwardness. Aragorn’s hand slips beneath your neckline. His eyes search your face but you do not answer with your voice. Instead, you press into him, and Aragorn takes that as an invitation. He guides the dress over the other shoulder, letting the fabric fall to your waist.

“To be graced with your beauty again is a precious gift,” he whispers when you’re bare to him.

Your hands fist his tunic again, tugging, and Aragorn doesn’t need to ask to know what you want. He removes it quickly, and then he is bare from the waist up too. From there, the two of you remove the rest. For you, it’s a simple sway of the hips before the rest of the nightdress drops to the floor. Aragorn has much more to remove, staring with his mud-splattered boots and pants.

Once gone, and the two of you are entirely bare for each other, his arms go around your waist, guiding you down to the small cot that has been your bed for the last month. You run a hand over his bare chest, admiring the broad muscles and strength beneath your palm. Your fingers trace over scars, some that are old and faded, and others that are fairly new and still a bit red from healing.

Aragorn seizes your roaming hand and presses a kiss to the open palm. From there, he kisses your wrist, your inner forearm, the dip of your elbow, and then up to the curve of your shoulder. Those lips of his brush against the skin between shoulder and throat, venturing upwards to your neck to tease and suck at the skin there.

“You deserve more than this, especially after such a long absence,” he murmurs just before pressing a delicate kiss against the spot right behind your ear.

“It is you that caused it,” you murmur, turning your head enough that you find his lips.

Aragorn hums against your mouth in agreement.

When he kisses you again, it is with great care and attention, like you are the most precious gift. Nothing is rushed, and Aragorn does not push for more. He lingers in the moment, savoring your scent and taste. There is an urgency, a remembrance of how much joy the two of you shared together, but Aragorn does not dive in to seek only for himself.

You are a priority for him, and your mutual enjoyment is all that matters.

Aragorn is atop you, caging you against the small cot. Your legs are spread, thighs pressed against his hips. His hand slides up to cup the bottom of your face, and his thumb strokes over your cheekbone. With deliberate slowness, he takes your lower lip between his teeth and bites down just hard enough to pull a little whiny sound from you.

It’s a reminder of all those secret nights together, with the two of you wrapped up, seeking warmth and comfort.

His mouth follows his hand at it travels downward. Aragorn kisses the space between your breasts. He traces your skin with his tongue, circling and teasing until your back arches and your core floods with pleasure. Then he moves lower, strong hands gripping your waist as you squirm beneath him. His eyes meet yours and they are dark. Sensual.

The rain is a distant, soft pattering. His hair is still wet and water drips from the end. Some of it clings to his face and neck. Aragorn’s lips are parted slightly as he watches you.

“Please don’t go,” you whisper. “Please.”

Aragorn kisses you, nips at your bottom lip. “I won’t,” he replies. “I promise.”

He keeps that promise.

Aragorn’s hand slides between your legs and seeks out that delicate bundle of nerves. His fingers circle it, culling the tingling vibration of pleasure that swirls in your belly. Then, those fingers slide down, and breach your body, spreading you open.

Your nails dig into his lower back, and Aragorn groans softly, his face falling against your neck as he pumps his fingers. Your legs fall open a bit wider, and wider still until you’re lost to him rubbing on that sensitive flesh and working those fingers in and out of you.

The end comes fast and perfect, rippling up your spine only to spike down to your core where you clench around his fingers. You whimper his name, and the last of it is swallowed by his mouth as he kisses you.

Then his fingers are gone, and his hardness is pushing in, spreading you open, splitting you apart until your nails rake down his back and he’s seated to the hilt. Aragorn holds there, not moving, the two of you breathing heavily.

Aragorn does not move until your breathing slows. He rolls his hips in short movements that are just a tease, a way to acclimate from the time apart. But your body begins to remember, and when it does, Aragorn is relentless, reminding you of every sensual night that you’ve been endlessly dreaming off.

The candle is nearly out. Almost gone. It’s light so dim that the tent is mostly shadow.

Aragorn hits deep, and your thighs quiver around his waist. You tighten around him, a little aftershock hitting you, and that takes him over the edge.

The candle goes out, but the rain remains.

A small slit in the tent flap reveals the light gray sky, and its light slashes across Aragorn’s face.

And he still keeps his promise. He does not dress or attempt to leave.

Aragorn sinks against you, limbs entwining, and for now, you can have him.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

[narcissisticmf]

say don't go | aragorn x fem!reader

description: getting ready to leave for battle leads to an unexpected conversation.

trigger warnings: angst, mentions of violence, some sexism, daughter of gandalf!reader, witch!reader, etc. read at your own risk.

word count: <1k

You squeezed through the many bodies of men that were amongst the camp. Searching for Aragorn, your tired eyes bounced from tent to tent, hoping he would appear eventually.

Across the camp, Aragorn was saddling his horse. You took the opportunity to approach him as he was seeming to be leaving somewhere in secret; without Legolas and Gimli, more evidently.. without you (you observed).

"You're leaving?" You questioned with a subtly firmness which you did not intend.

Aragorn saw you, eyes locked for a moment before parting his lips to speak, "This I must do alone, Y/N."

You nearly rolled your eyes, but fought yourself from doing so and remained still. The crickets sung, filling the silence between the both of you. He stared at you with reluctance, but continued to saddle his horse.

"So you're no longer the ranger from the North, are you?" You questioned and looked at you. "You are the King of Gondor.. protecting his people, is that right?"

"Y/N, I need you here protecting these warriors. You are more powerful than any of us all together," Aragorn explained, stepping toward you away from the stallion. "I am leaving to summon an army that will defend us, we do not have the numbers and you know that."

"That is precisely why I should be going with you, you'll die back there," You stated, blankly.

"I do not fear death," He replied.

"You have far too much pride, Aragorn," You whispered, lowly.

"You will stay here and protect these men," He ignored your insult.

"That is what I am to do? Stay here and watch you go?" You bit off, frustratedly.

"I must do this alone, Y/N," Aragorn repeated more what felt like the hundredth time that evening.

You were beyond frustrated now. It felt as though you were conversing with a stone wall. Aragorn never doubted your abilities and your magic, but now it felt like you were merely a woman being told to stand back while a man took care of other matters of business.

Unaware of your emotions, your eyes filled with tears and became red. You were angry more than anything and reached your hand up into a fist. Aragorn watched you with a furrow in his brow. His pupils large as he slowly gripped your wrist, ever so gently.

"Tell me to stay," Aragorn spoke softly to you as you looked to him with an emotionless expression, though tears continued to fall. "Say don't go," He added.

"I cannot tell you that," You replied, wanting more than anything to.

"I don't understand," Aragorn lowered your hand as it was no longer balled in a fist. "A moment ago you are angry that I go alone, now you tell me you can't say you don't wish for me to leave."

"What I want is to join you, Aragorn," You told him with pure vexation. "I never felt like just a hopeless woman with you until this very moment. I cannot tell you to stay, but I can come with you. I can make sure that you do not end up dead."

Aragorn stared at you for a moment longer before his lips curved into a soft smile, "You're almost as stubborn as Gandalf."

"I learned from the best," You whispered and a snicker left your lips shortly after. "Don't unsuspect that Legolas and Gimli won't be coming along as well," You warned with a small, thin smile.

Aragorn's lips curved into a pleasing smile in response.

.

a/n: i don't know how i feel about this. is it good?? idk how to feel!! needless to say, i hope you enjoyed this sweetpeas! this is my first lotr fic and i'll definitely be doing more! mwah! be safe and happy (almost) halloween! <33 — angelina.

[tiny-tini-imagines]

Aragorn is in love with a female human reader

So, since i wrote some headcanons about Legolas being in love with a female elf, I thought about writing some for the other members of the fellowship too. If you'd like to read diffenrent character constellations than mine, (characters, races, franchise), feel free to ask, I'd be really happy about it.

Headcanons - Lord of the rings

summary: Aragorn is in love with a female human reader

time setting: shortly after Aragorn's coronation

(added: character art, what they would say to them, or about them)

Sunrise Conversations: In the early mornings, when the kingdom is still asleep, Aragorn and you would often sit on the walls of Minas Tirith, watching the sunrise and sharing quiet conversations about your hopes and dreams for the future.

Handwritten Letters: Despite your close proximity, Aragorn takes pleasure in sending handwritten letters to you, sealed with the royal seal of Gondor. He enjoys the anticipation of your response, no matter if its by letter of in person. (He writes you every day, if he ever has to leave you for some days or other way around)

A Willing Listener: Aragorn is an attentive listener, hanging on to your every word, showing that your thoughts and feelings matter deeply to him.

Dances in the Courtyard: Occasionally, when the court is not in session, Aragorn would occasionaly sweep you into an impromptu dance in the castle's courtyard, your laughter echoing through the stone walls.

Endless Respect: Aragorn treats you with unwavering respect, valuing your opinions and decisions as equal to his own.

Shared Journeys: You embark on long rides through the countryside, exploring the lands of Gondor together, taking solace in the beauty of the kingdom and the comfort of your presence. (You'd often talk to your people, especially after thw war and try to listen and help them as best as possible, people love to see you together).

"My love, every day I am reminded of the incredible strength and grace you bring to our kingdom, and to my heart."

Regal Courtesy: As King of Gondor, he still maintains the same level of courtesy and humility with you as he would with any subject.

Shared Responsibilities: While he bears the weight of the kingdom's responsibilities, he makes sure to include you in important decisions and trusts your judgment.

"She possesses a heart as courageous as any warrior I've known, and her wisdom has guided us through many trials. Gondor is fortunate to have such a steadfast ally by its side."

Respect for Your Independence: Aragorn respects your independence and encourages you to pursue your interests and passions, even as his queen. (His loyalty to you is unwavering, and he will stand by your side through any challenge or adversity.)

Healing Touch: Aragorn tends to any injuries you sustain with a gentle touch and skilled hands, his care and concern evident in every motion.

Understanding Silences: Aragorn understands the power of shared silences, finding comfort in simply being in your presence.

The King's Lullaby: Aragorn hums a soft, ancient lullaby to you when you can't sleep, his voice a soothing balm to your soul.

The Kings's Comfort: You'd often find yourself in his arms, after a nightmare and him whispering soothing words into your ear.

"I know it was a frightening dream, but I promise, I'll chase away the shadows and keep you safe."

Gentle Affection: His gestures are filled with gentleness and affection, whether it's a tender kiss on the forehead or a warm, reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Protector and Champion: He takes his role as your protector seriously, ensuring your safety and well-being are his top priorities.

"No matter what challenges lie ahead, I want you to know that I will always be by your side, my heart forever entwined with yours."

Laughter-Filled Evenings: You share evenings filled with laughter and storytelling, surrounded by a circle of close friends and trusted advisors, reveling in the joy of being together.

His Favorite Book: Aragorn keeps a copy of the your favorite book in his personal library, its well-worn pages a testament to how deeply he values your interests. He'd often read it to you, when you have troubles falling asleep.

Moonlit Picnics: On clear nights, Aragorn arranges secret picnics in a hidden garden, the soft glow of moonlight casting a romantic atmosphere over your intimate moments. He also manages to get all your favourite foods (other things), to make you happy. (Aragorn takes pride in blending herbal teas for you, each concoction carefully chosen for its calming properties and unique flavors.)

Quality Time: He treasures the moments you spend together, whether it's a quiet evening by the fire, exploring the city, or attending formal events.

Unexpected Surprises: He enjoys surprising you with small, thoughtful gifts or spontaneous adventures, keeping the spark of romance alive.

His Crown and Her Crown: Aragorn places a small, delicate crown made of wildflowers on your head during your private moments together, (also before an offical celebration etc.), a symbol of your shared sovereignty.

Heartfelt Vows: You would exchange heartfelt vows of eternal love and commitment, sealed with a kiss under the ancient White Tree of Gondor. (When you look at each other, there's a shared understanding that you are bound together for eternity, your love enduring through everything.) - Together, you create cherished traditions, marking significant moments in your relationship with meaning and love.

"When I look at you, I see the future of Gondor, and I am filled with hope for the days to come."

[hirokosoul]

me: having lots of homework for Monday and having to learn the cranial nerves for bio or else i'm going to have my ass kicked

also me: thirsting over men with long hair, especially Aragorn😭❤️ and spending more than 4 hours on this app (reading fanfics ofc😭)

*if you have aragorn×reader ff recommendations please let me know i'm desperate i think i've read all of them

*gif not mine, i just wanted to get your attention ;))

[miseries-mistress]

im surprised i haven't seen any lotr fanfiction where the reader has the ring instead of frodo. like don't you guys want to be at the center of attention???

[aphroditesmoon]

hey so uh idk if youre like taking requests n stuff but i was wondering how you think aragorn would react to like reader snuggling up to him?

A/N: sooo sorry i took ages😭

Being in the fellowship and cuddling up to aragorn in your sleep

- If it was out of nowhere, he'd be pretty suprised.

- Like you would lay next to him at night's rest during the journey w the fellowship and start to snuggle up to him in your sleep, and hed just freeze.

- he would probably try to remove your hand at first, not wanting you to be embarassed the next morning.

- but you had one hell of a power grip so he just relents and lets you bury your face at his back as you sleep.

- When sleep starts to overtake him, the position starts getting weird for him. So he ends up turning around to your side, letting you lay on his chest instead.

- You woke up with his arms around you instead of the other way around and would probably make fun of him for it, and he just smiles and says nothing about how you technically started it.

[fili-urzudel]

Omg congrats on 50+ followers!! 🎉 Could I request "what do you have behind your back" with #4 play wrestling from the prompt list? With Aragorn/fem reader? Potentially fluff at the end? Thank you!! ❤️

4. Play wrestling

21. "What do you have behind your back?"

I knew I was going to have trouble with the play wrestling prompt as soon as I put it out there 😅 Hopefully this meets your fluff requirements!

Word Count: 0.6k

Warnings: just cute, maybe a very teensy weensy bit suggestive but it's barely there I promise

Take a Break - Aragorn x Reader

You almost regretted leaving the bathwater before it had gone cold, but there was no time. You had said as much to the king last night. There was no time to take a day off and stay in the bath, or in bed. There was too much to do, especially with the approach of his silver jubilee and the ball and the kingdom-wide, week-long festivities...

Yes, much too much to attend to. There was no time to indulge your tired, sore muscles or aching eyes.

You emerged from the bathing chamber in your lace shift, briefly finishing the braid of your still-damp hair. 

You would wear something simple today, so it wouldn't require any help to put on, and leave your hair as it was. The satin slippers would do today, since you weren't going outside. All that was left was���

"Where's my crown?" You ask, your heart involuntarily jumping. It was always on your dressing table. Or your head, obviously.

Your husband stood leaning against the opposite wall, one hand behind his back. "Hm, that's strange, I have no idea," he pondered, looking for all the world like the cat that definitely got the canary.

"Darling, what do you have behind your back?" You asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Nothing," he widened his eyes innocently. "What are you talking about?"

"Aragorn, I need my crown," you said seriously. "I have a meeting with the incendiary specialists in an hour, and you know firework makers, they're remarkably punctual."

"Not the one I know," he argued, and you sighed. 

"Hand it over," you held your hand out. 

He straightened to his full height, holding your gold band over his head. "Or what?"

You ground your heels into the floor, knowing what you had to do. The two of you had played this game before, though it had been about ten years since the last time. You leapt in vain in the hopes of snatching the crown from his hand, but you knew he was too tall for it to make a difference. He caught you by your waist, spinning you to the center of the room. 

"Aragorn!" You squealed. 

"Yes, my lady?" He smirked.

You waited until he set you back down to strike, bolting for his middle. He gasped in defeat, tumbling onto the bed and caught rather like a beetle on the plush blankets. "Brought low by amateur wrestling tactics!" He cried.

"You will surrender and hand over my crown at once, sir!" you said, clambering over him and toward his still outstretched arm.

"Never!"

A quiet knock suddenly sounded at the door, followed by a click of the latch. "Your majesty, will you be requiring any assistance this morning? You're usually in the dressing room—oh! Excuse me," the maid's voice suddenly raised an octave.

The deep rumble of Aragorn's laugh beat against your chest as you froze in mortification. You groaned and dropped your forehead to his shoulder, cheeks burning in embarrassment. 

"I have a feeling no one will be bothering us for a while now," he said triumphantly. 

You thought about that for a while, and finally started laughing a bit as well. "I feel bad, I'm pretty sure I gave Lisbet an eyeful."

"Aw, and what about me?"

You sat up a bit more to look him in the eye, brushing a lock of greying hair out of his eyes. "You always get just what you want, don't you?"

"Well, what's the point of being king otherwise?"

[mlmxreader]

Battle Scars | Aragorn x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Aragorn

1 "Don't let a good meal go to waste" ❞

: ̗̀➛ Aragorn takes a liking to a soldier.

: ̗̀➛ war, death, violence, swearing

↳ @arthurmorgansballsack

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

A soldier's life was not one anyone would have ever wanted or liked to have had; tales of glory and honour were often caused by embellishment and the lies of those who ruled the land and the history books with an iron fist. The stories of what had happened on the front lines were often spun with lies and gold. They made shit seem like it glittered.

When you first joined the army, you were two years underage; you were told that you were fighting for a land fit for the victorious. You were told that religion was on your hand as you held your sword. You chased your days down to zero, you knew that you would never live a full life.

As much as you fought, bled, and nearly died you would never live a full life. You were fodder.

You knew that even a year would be longer than what most were given; when you first volunteered, you wrote down your name, and you added exactly two years to your age so that they would accept.

At the time, you had been eager for life; you were eager to see all of Middle Earth and to meet all of its peoples, you were eager to see great cities and brilliant forests and gorgeous mountains and bountiless seas.

You were eager for it all, and the promise of glory and honour and freedom was a brilliant promise that would never be kept; one year into the life, and you had seen too much already. You had been ahead at the time, so eager and so willing, that you never stopped to listen to those who had seen it all before.

You had been ahead, ready for your story of glory to be told; but there was none to be had. As much as you fought and you brawled, there was never any glory in it. You were just food and fodder.

But oh, that first year was nothing compared to the next; your friend, a young man from Gondor. He was the same age as you, a glorious head of black hair mixed with thick eyebrows and a wonderful smile; he seemed to be blessed by the sun, his almost black eyes seemingly glittering in the afternoons.

You heard him cry, and he sank to his knees; coughing blood as he screamed for his mother. You fell by his side, letting him die in your arms as you clung to each other like children; for hours, you laid in the mud, covered in guts and blood, weeping as his body grew colder. You called for his mother, but she never came - it wasn't your fault. You could never carry the burden of guilt for it.

The day had not even been half over when he became one of ten thousand who fell that day; nobody would remember his name. Nobody would remember his soldiering. Nobody would ever know him. You alone carried him.

You were never the same after that; as the years wore on, your guilt only grew. Having seen hundreds of friends die, you no longer wanted to be a soldier; you never wanted to be the only one who remembered their names, who remembered them.

But you stayed, slowly becoming like the very soldiers you didn't listen to - warning new recruits about it. About how war killed everything.

You met Aragorn after your tenth year in the wars.

He had been passing through as a ranger, and had stopped when he noticed the soldiers; he realised many of them came from Gondor and Rohan, but most of them were from just about everywhere he could think of.

The young ones seemed thirsty for battle, ready and waiting for it; but then he laid his eyes on you and the other grizzled and melancholic men in the corner.

Huddled over a fire with gazes that seemed to drift into the flames for thousands of miles, saying nothing and refusing to move; he tilted his head to the side, watching for a moment. None of you moved, but the soft puffs of light grey air that spouted from your noses was enough to see that you were all breathing.

You all looked miserable, and even worse, he could see that none of you had been eating; the younger ones had, but it was obvious even to Aragorn that those who had seen wars before were starving themselves to ensure the younger ones would survive the tough winters.

He swallowed thickly, watching for a moment for asking for you to speak with him; you met him in your tent, and although you weren't so keen on making friends anymore, you talked with him until the sun had risen. He promised that he would find you again, and he did.

At least once a week, a ranger would wander into the soldier's camp, and you would always spend hours speaking to him within your tent. Always until the sun had risen. It wasn't long before the others started to talk; you refused to call Aragorn a friend, knowing what happened to those who you allowed to get close.

You did not want to scream for another man's mother knowing she would not come; you did want to cling to another man as you held him like a child, weeping as the warmth left him. You could not do it again. You would not.

But Aragorn was determined, and would not relent; it didn't help that he insisted on bringing you whatever food he could find and spare. He always made sure that he left in the mornings and your stomach was full; food was a luxury, and he was all too aware that it was mostly you giving up your rations for the younger ones.

He knew that the rulers of kingdoms were often unfair and cruel; the lies of the devil and the devil's point of view. They made the world full of hate and anger, causing as much fear and pain as they could; but he could see it in you. You did not value pride, did not value glory. You could survive the storm, you could withstand the devil's lies.

You had taken enough pain that he was certain of it; sad were the memories of when you were not fighting in a war. A youth that had been doomed and squashed, an innocence that had been ripped and torn apart.

Aragorn heard the whispers of the dead just as you did; he heard them beg and implore you to forgive yourself, but you didn't. You had a price to pay, and not every ounce of gold had been repaid. For years, he visited, and tonight was no different.

He pushed the plate closer to you, pleading with his grey eyes as he frowned. "Please, don't let a good meal go to waste."

"I don't want it..." you muttered, shaking your head.

"But you look worse," he sighed. "You cannot starve, I will not allow it."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head again. "Aragorn, leave me. My clock has struck its final hour."

"No," he told you. "Death is not your fate. This pain that follows you... allow me to shoulder some of it so that you may experience enough peace to eat."

"Aragorn-"

"The days are darker," he started, "and you are getting worse. You are going to make yourself sick if you keep starving. Please."

"Why do you care so much?" You asked.

"You're not just a soldier to me," Aragorn whispered. "You know that. Don't you?"

"Please stop," you whispered. "Please. I am a shadow of a man."

"You have seen too much war," he pointed out. "You haven't seen enough peace... come with me for a while. See the world."

You froze, eyes widening as you shook your head with vigour. "No. No, you cannot make me go."

"Easy," Aragorn said softly. "I don't mean like that. I only mean... why don't you accompany me? You may see peace, that way, and it may quieten your head for a moment."

As much as you didn't want to admit it, you did trust Aragorn; he might not have fought beside you, but he had been loyal, and he had proved himself a decent companion more than once.

You trusted him, and although you knew such a thing was likely as it was, you would happily trade your life for his. You would pay the price of two miles for him, if it ever came down to it. Swords and maces and axes and bows, you would face it all for him. Although you were hesitant when it came to fighting; you could not bear the thought of seeing another man die in front of you.

Screaming and howling for his mother like a dying dog, all civility and humanity ripped from his body as he cried and moaned. You could not bear the thought of hearing them die on the battlefield at night; they would take days to die amongst the mud, often eaten by rats bit by bit.

You would end your life before seeing that again.

But perhaps Aragorn had a point; maybe if you went with him, and you saw his life for just a day, it would make you feel a little better. It wouldn't cure the melancholy, and nor would it take away the memories - but it might have made you feel a bit better.

Maybe all you needed was to see sprawling trees and bountiless grasses, to hear the scream of foxes and the grunting of deer; maybe all you needed was to just be away from war, if only for a day or two. Youm nodded slowly, sighing heavily as you fought back the urge to cry loudly.

"Alright," you said, your voice shaking. "I will go with you in the morning... but you best rest, Aragorn. Take my bed."

"No," he said quietly. "No, I can sleep on the floor. You need a bed, I do not."

"Please," you said softly. "As a thank you."

"You can thank me better by joining me," he told you with a smile. "It is rather cold... maybe we can share the warmth?"

You nodded slowly, daring to smile a little. "Alright."

[thewulf]

My Purpose || Aragorn

Summary: Request - Can you do a Aragorn x Female Reader where she’s from earth not middle earth? Like the modern reader in middle earth trope? Reader dies in an accident of some sort and wakes up in a field in Rivendell. It’s right before everyone is gathering for the Council of Elrond... Read Rest Here

A/N: LOVED writing this one. Aragorn is just... the best. This one got away from me, as usual. Thank you for the requests!! Hope you like this as much as I loved writing this :) Love a good modern girl in middle earth trope!

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 7.5k +

TW: swords, blades, training, homesickness

It still didn’t seem real. The vast valley with flowing waterfalls where the light seemed to hit perfectly. Standing out on the balcony of the room you were given for however long you were permitted to stay you watched as the city ebbed and flowed throughout the day. You had no idea how long you sat there watching from the mansion of the home of the elf-man that had found you for you had no idea how to tell time here. You’d either lost you phone or the elves had taken it from you. The thought of actual elves sent shivers down your spine. It had only been a few days since you’d woken up in this place that definitely wasn’t close to home. There wasn’t even electricity that you could tell, at least not in your room. It wasn’t that you weren’t given the opportunity to leave you just didn’t want to. These elves were terribly intimidating, so beautiful and even the children seemed to stand taller than you.

Nobody had so much bothered you other than Elrond coming to check in on you a few times throughout each day with food in his hand each time. It wasn’t until the fourth day that he came without it.

“Miss Y/N.” He spoke at the open door leading to the balcony. He had tried knocking at the door a few times. He was more concerned than anything when you didn’t answer for it had become a sort of a routine at this point for him to greet you at your door. You never really wanted him to come in further, so you never invited him in.

You jumped slightly in your stupor being interrupted by your usual companion, “Lord Elrond. I’m sorry. I was just watching, didn’t hear you.”

He nodded before walking out to sit next to you on the bench you were already occupying, “Are you well? A friend of mine has told me you have been out here in a daze nearly all day.”

You turned your head to him with a small smile, “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“What ever about?” He pressed. You had been fairly tight lipped about how you ended up here. It’s not like you wish you couldn’t tell him about how you got here you just didn’t know. You were… different. Your clothing was something he had never seen. You had called them jean pants and a polyester blouse. You might have been speaking an entirely different language. Regardless he had given you back you clothes plus some elven dress clothes that he had hemmed shorter fort you. He was pleasantly surprised that on the third day you were wearing the newly provided elven clothes to your strange human clothes.

“Home. The memories are starting to become harder to recall. It’s weird. It’s like they’re all fuzzy. I’m afraid…” You swallowed back a frightening wave of emotions as you spoke to the kind elderly elf, “I’m afraid I will forget it all. My mom and dad. My friends and family. What it was like… It was nothing like this.”

He grabbed for your fidgeting hand that was clearly in distress, “Tell me what you can recall. I will not forget. I will tell you of your own memories.” He bowed his head towards you letting you know his utmost sincerity at the request.

Giving him a sad smile, you gave into his request finally. It did you no good to hide it all away and seem to forget it completely. Then you may never make it home. Telling him was really you only option at this point, “I miss my mom the most. We never got along the best when I lived at home, but we’ve become close after I’ve left home for school. I was just hoping that if I never make it home that she had some sort of closure.” You sighed feeling the weight of reality setting in. You thought maybe you would just wake up int you bed one morning but that was certainly not happening.

He cocked his head to the side, “You went off for school? Tell me about your mother. What was she like?” He pressed knowing you would crave these memories should you forget them for some odd reason. You were a puzzle for Elrond. He couldn’t connect the dots.

“Only once you become an adult. Once you turn eighteen you can enter the workforce full time or go to advanced education called college or university.” You paused thinking further about his second question. Your mother. What was she like? She was remarkable, “My mom is an angel. She thinks of those she loves above all else. She taught me how to be a good human. How to be kind in the face of adversity. How to face challenges head on and with a smile on my face. She’s the reason I’m not sitting here crying every day. But the thoughts of not seeing her again… I knew it would happen one day just not so soon. Not before I got married and had kids and… I’m sorry I’m rambling.” You quieted down almost afraid to look into his eyes once more. 

“You are lucky to have her. Do not give up. We have not talked to Gandalf. He has just arrived and wishes to speak to you. He’s been informed of your strange arrival.” Elrond spoke hoping it would be easy to persuade you to come with him outside your room in his home.

“Gandalf?” You asked. It sounded so familiar. His name so strange yet I come right to the forefront of your mind as if you’d heard it before when he spoke it.

Elrond nodded holding out his hand to you, “He is a wizard. If anybody should have answers it would be him.”

“A wizard?” You’d remembered Harry Potter, maybe he could whisk you home through some Floo powder or something of the sort.

Elrond nodded his head, “A very dear old friend of mine. He may have better knowledge than I on your situation. I have scoured all the libraries of Imladris and could find no such cases as yours.”

You took his hand letting him lead you through his home and out the back towards the gardens you’d come to know and love in your short stay thus far. You opened and closed your mouth a few times to continue the conversation between you and Elrond, but you could not find the words to ask the question you wanted. When you finally stopped you were greeted by exactly what you pictured a wizard to look like. He looked like Dumbledore. Your heart warmed in comfort as his eyes crinkled into a smile.

“Y/N, my dear. Elrond has told me so much about you. It’s lovely to meet you.” He walked over towards you making sure to greet the both of you. His eyes, however, never left you. He was all too curious of the mortal human girl not from middle earth Elrond had told him so little about.

You dipped your head in slight unease over the entire ordeal. You, indubitably, knew that you were the talk of the town but to hear it out loud sent your heart racing. Being the middle child growing up meant you spent your life hidden and out of the way. Overshadowed by your older siblings accomplishments and overlooked for your younger siblings needs. You kind of felt like you were just floating by until you had moved out and your relationship had grown drastically with your mom and siblings.

“Uhm, likewise. Sir wizard.” You gave him that shy smile where your head tilted to the side trying to read him.

A subtle chuckle emanated from the elderly man’s lips, “You may call me Gandalf, dear Y/N. Now, we don’t have too much time before the council joins this afternoon for a final decision to be made. Come sit, Lord Elrond will join us. Start from the beginning, do you remember the last time you were home?” He led you to the small table in the garden that was likely used for afternoon tea, not for conversations such of these.

You knew you’d have to tell your story all over again so you might as well get it over with, “It was cold. A really cold and miserable day in Indiana. Middle of winter. Lots of snow. Blizzard like conditions.” You sighed recounting your seemingly last minutes on earth. You’d concluded you had died but it was weird to say it out loud. To admit your defeat, “There was a really bad accident on the road home. Big pileup. I was able to stop my car in time but the people behind me were not able to. My car was pushed under a semi where I was trapped. I don’t remember much else other than panicking because I couldn’t get out… My car started making weird noises. I’m pretty sure my engine exploded from being crushed in a way it shouldn’t have. I’m pretty sure I died.” You frowned accepting your death. God, you hoped your family had closure. That they were okay.

Gandalf bobbed his head considering your story, “What is a car? A semi? An engine?” He needed help with your strange words he’d never heard of before. Surely this was proof enough that you were from nowhere near here.

You laughed more to yourself than at his lack of knowledge, “Cars are new in my world. We were using horses and carriages not even a hundred years ago. A car uses and engine to propel forward instead of a horse. It uses some sort of fuel and ignition to propel cranks and wheels forward making your car go forward. A car is just an enclosed carriage. And a truck is just a massive car to transport goods.”

He continued listening to you, “That sounds like an unpleasant death.”

You hummed in agreement, “For what it’s worth I don’t remember it hurting. Just waking up here in the middle of a field. I’m fortunate to have run into his sons and not something more sinister from the sounds of it.”

Gandalf ran his hands along his beard, “Fortunate or you were placed for a reason. Curious.” He paused giving you another once over before continuing, “Elrond speaks as if you know of this world even though you may not be from here?” The old wizard pressed as his eyes bore into yours even though you couldn’t quite meet his gaze completely.

You agreed with him, “Yes, some things seem familiar. Like I’ve seen things here before.”

Elrond finally spoke up, “Tell him what you told me the other night. When you first got here.”

You turned your head looking between the two males, “I asked if you were gathering to talk about the ring.”

“How do you know of the ring?” Gandalf looked between you and Elrond with a perplexed expression on his face.

You shook your head trying to recall but the memories were becoming fuzzy. The further your time away from home the harder it was becoming to recall memories from your time there, “I believe it was a story of some sort where I’m from. We have books as well and it was a book written for entertainment.”

Gandalf eyed you before turning his attention to Elrond, “You must keep Y/N in your home. If you are correct and the fellowship is formed later we may need your knowledge before we partake on the quest. Even after.” The wizard’s eyes flashed with a newfound hope having you show up the most opportune of time. The more he thought about it the less curious you become. You were becoming more and more so seemingly a gift from Eru Ilúvatar himself.

Elrond bowed his head in acceptance of Gandalf’s decree, “How are your quarters now Lady Y/N? You may have an extended stay. I can move you to a different spot in the house if you would like.”

“That’s not necessary. The room is great.” You gave him a genuine smile and thumbs up before turning back to Gandalf, “But what about home? Lord Elrond said you may be able to get me home?” You asked with the same hope you seemed to give him.

But his frown told you all that you needed to know, “My child. You had died on your home. You have been given another chance. Likely because we prayed for you and you passed on too early in your own life.” He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze from his seat next to you.

Your eyes drifted down in that sadness you had been holding back. You knew that was somehow going to be the answer, but it still didn’t sting any less actually hearing it from him, “So I’m stuck here?” The question came out closer

Elrond took the liberty of grabbing for your hand trying to provide any sort of comfort, “You get to live out the rest of your life here.” Gandalf nodded knowing that was exactly what you didn’t want to hear.

“Can you tell me if my family got closure? They know I’ve passed?” You asked feeling squeezing Elrond’s hand right back, thankful he had given you that small amount of comfort. It had been days since you’ve had physical contact with anyone or anything. You thought you hated it but man did you miss it. You craved it.

The wizard gave you solemn shake of his head, “For that I cannot be certain young one. But I can be certain that you have been put here for a reason. You have been given another chance. I would not waste it.” Gandalf rose giving you and Elrond a bow before walking away, “I must take to conversation with Boromir before this afternoon. I shall see you in due time.” He waved more towards Elrond than you leaving you that much more confused than when you had started.

Your eyes upturned to Lord Elrond still holding your hand from the seat next to yours. His kind brown eyes had turned sympathetic in the news Gandalf had given you. All he could do was offer his own kindness to the ever out of place human girl giving him a crushed look, “You are more than welcome to stay here in Rivendell. Most of the residents and my children have decided to set sail as the time has come.”

“Thank you.” Giving him a small smile that hardly reached your cheeks you let the news consume you. You were quiet as he led you back to your room. Your official room now that you had zero plans of getting out of here. At least it was easily the most beautiful place you had ever seen.

“Lunch will be soon. Shall I bring you a plate or would you care to join me in the halls this time?” He asked pressing his luck once he had dropped you back off in your room.

“A plate is fine. Thank you again Elrond. I’d like to think on my own for a bit if you do not mind.”

“As you wish.” He bowed before gliding off. He sent one more concerned look before you shut yourself out from the elven world. Damn. You were stuck in a place called middle earth. Who would’ve thought this could’ve been your life?

You found yourself in the same gardens later that night after your handmaiden had brought you dinner. Flush with emotions you found yourself crying and not being able to stop once you’d found a somewhat secluded spot hidden away.

“Excuse me miss? Are you all right?” A man had asked breaking you out of your own head full of thoughts and tears. Your sniffles must have drawn the dark-haired strangers attention to your quiet corner that nobody had seemed to bother you in, until now.

You turned seeing that handsome man you had spotted a few times since the Council of Elrond had begun. You were all too curious what they discussed for hours on end, but it had to have been critical so many seemingly important people to gather to discuss matters. Wiping away your tears with the sleeves of the elven dress all you could do was nod rapidly, “I am okay. Just terribly overwhelmed is all.”

He cocked his head to the side looking you over, “You speak differently than any human woman I have talked to. You must be the mortal girl Elrond has spoken of?” You did not have the height nor the ears to be an elf he concluded. But, you certainly had the beauty to rival an elf. Aragorn was quite taken aback at your doe-eyed expression on his even though your eyes were blood-shot from the many tears you had spilt.

Letting out a laugh you could only agree with him, “If only you know how weird you sound to me too. But yes, I am.” You confirmed by meeting your eyes with his icy blue ones. You pushed back your rushing thoughts of just how stunning this stranger was. Everybody here in this middle earth seemed otherworldly. Beautiful beyond belief. A far cry from your home however far away it was.

His eyes roamed over you for the first time up close. He had seen you sitting on the balcony from Elrond’s residence a few times in the few days he’d arrived. But this was the first he’d seen the other worldly girl up close and personal. Elrond made no mention of your simple beauty. Your big, beautiful eyes laced in a red stain from the tears you’d been clearly crying made his heart twist unexpectantly.

He too was in the process of grieving a loss of his own. His Arwen, his first love, had taken to sailing away. Truly, he had no idea what she would choose in the end and chose the best for herself and her family. He could never blame her, no. He pushed her to go do exactly that. He would always have love in his heart for the ellith he could never have. How blissful were the few years he got to spend with her… they were everything and more. But she had to go. Elrond, her father, pushed her off a few months ago and that was that for him. He was no stranger to the sadness in your expression.

“Dare I ask why?” The man walked towards you stopping just shy. Closer than any of the other elves or man had dared to step to you. Other than Lord Elrond, your healer, and Ioanoa, your handmaiden, assigned to you by the lord for the time being.

His eyes looked innocent enough. Might as well tell him as you really didn’t have anything to lose anymore. You’ve already lost it all, “I am forgetting everything of my home. I barely remember my mom’s face now. I’m worried I’ll forget it all. I have to accept that this is my new life. I just… I never got to say goodbye. I can’t remember everyone anymore, but I know I had people I loved, I just feel it.”

He contemplated what to say for a moment as he had never come across a situation so complex as yours before. He did not know what to tell you. He could never fathom your situation. Essentially dying in your own reality to wake up in something so different only to forget where you came from? Aragorn shuddered at the thought. He might’ve even gone mad at the thought.

“Fear not. They will not forget you. They will always be looking for you or have thoughts of you. You may forget the fine details of them, but you will never forget of them and their love. Like you said, you can feel it.” He placed a hand over his heart praying his words offered you some sort of comfort.

You looked down wiping the fresh tears away, “What if they do forget me?”

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder drawing your eyes back up to him, “From what I hear it sounds like your mother had much love for you. As long as she walks in her world she will have love for you. As long as you walk in middle earth you will have love for her.” Aragorn was nervous as he met your eyes once more. He felt relief wash over him as you kept his gaze and gave him a gentle smile. You weren’t mad, not in the slightest. You looked relieved at his words.

“Thank you, sir.” You had yet to get or catch his name. You’d learned of a few of the other members through Elrond’s stories, but he had yet to come up. He seemed to be human. You couldn’t spot anything that made him stand out as anything other than. But who new in this middle earth.

He returned your soft smile with one of his own, “Aragorn is my name.”

“Thank you, Aragorn. Mine is Y/N.” His eyes remained on yours as you couldn’t keep ahold of his gaze. He was daunting in the best way. Handsome beyond belief. Words of advice more than you can dream of. Smarter than any man on earth you’d had to converse with. You’d been talking to him for less than thirty minutes, yet you had deduced he was the entire package. The first man you’d met on this planet was far better than any man on your earth.

He nodded taking a seat at the bench you were previously occupying, “Would it be rude of me to say that I already knew of that? You have been quite the discussion amongst the fellowship and council.”

You continued to stand there unsure of if you should join him or not. Would it be weird if you just stood there? Would it be weird to sit on the already small bench with him? Thankfully he must have seen your dilemma as he patted the seat next to you, inviting you to sit next to him. Trying not to make things more awkward for yourself you obliged sitting down next to him before continuing the conversation, “You all talk about me?”

He broke out into a cheeky grin, “Aye. You are most of the conversation. We cannot figure you out.”

Oh, was that all this was? He was simply trying to figure you out? That deflated whatever hope you had right then and there, “There’s not much to figure out. I’m a girl not meant to be here.” The tone of your voice came out more bitterly than it had prior sending Aragorn on edge. Had he said something?

“Indeed. That’s the perplexing part. Why are you here?” He asked more to himself than to you. A question nobody could seem to answer for a sure fact.

You shrugged, “Has to be by mistake.”

He shook his head, “I do not believe so. Nothing happens by chance here. The Valar have placed you here for a reason. We may not know now but we will soon figure it out.”

You let out a soft laugh, “How different your world is than mine.” Failing to elaborate you just looked ahead longing for your home. It was lovely here, but it wasn’t home. Even though you forgot most of what made home, home. You still longed for something you couldn’t completely remember.

“What do you miss the most of your home?” He asked hoping that talking about it would help take your mind away from the sadness that seemed to be overcoming you. Talking to you was helping him immensely. He had no idea how heavy the council’s discussions had been plus the loss of his love was weighing heavily on him. But talking to you seemed to help even if he didn’t even realize it.

“I think it’s my family and friends. As boring and monotonous my life was my family and friends were just down the road or a drive away.” You frowned having a sinking feeling you’d never see you best friend or brother again. You’d never get to tell your mom and dad how much you loved them.

He nodded, “I live a very… nomadic life. I understand the heaviness your heart undergoes. My love, she left not too long ago. I have been wandering ever since she set sail.” Aragorn admitted to you. It came out all too easily. You had admitted what was making you sad it felt too natural to do the same. He wanted to be vulnerable with you. So different from how he felt with nearly everyone since Arwen had left.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest. You felt guilty for talking about you when his heart was hurting just as much as yours, “I’m so sorry. I have never truly been in love. I can’t imagine how that feels. I hope it gets easier for you.”

“Talking to you helps, my lady.” He smiled grabbing for your hand hesitantly. When you didn’t pull away he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, “You are a great mystery, fascinating beyond belief, seemingly selfless and kinder than the day is long. As sad as you are I hope that you can find the beauty in middle earth too.”

“That’s very kind of you, thank you.” You looked away sure that there was a blush coating your cheeks, “I do find it beautiful here. Your world is not polluted like mine is. The air is fresh, the animals are plentiful, the water is safe. It is like an old version of a world that humans have not destroyed.”

He frowned, “Just humans?”

“Yep. There are no elves or dwarves or hobbits where I’m from. There are no evil monsters or magic or any kind, that I know of. Just humans and a polluted world.” You hummed missing your messy home.

He looked at your warily, “I will not lie, that sounds miserable miss Y/N.”

You laughed, your hand was still sitting in his comfortably, “We know no different. It is rather boring compared to all of this.”

He cracked a more genuine smile than you had seen from him yet, “You are honest. Be careful.”

You sighed, “Here too?”

“Bad people take advantage of good ones.” He nodded his head solemnly, “You are fine in Rivendell though. The elves will treat you well, as a novelty.”

You scrunched your eyes trying to figure out why, “Why? Because I’m a human?”

“Your entire lifetime is less time than it takes for them to mature to adulthood. There is nothing that anyone here could want from you other than to learn about mortality.”

You blinked at him, “Are elves immortal?”

He nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “Indeed.”

“Oh, wow.” You gulped at the knowledge.

“In fact, humans have the shortest span among sentient creatures in middle earth.” He said as if you weren’t already a little more than freaked out by the new revelation of the home you had been invited too earlier in the day.

Considering his words you continued along, “Makes you feel a little useless.”

He continued looking at you as you got vulnerable with him in turn, “On the positive side, nothing you can do can’t be undone. It cannot be messed up too severely.”

Your smile reached your eyes for the first time since you’d landed in middle-earth thanks to this handsome man, “I like your optimism Aragorn.”

He reached for your hand like Elrond had earlier giving it a soft squeeze, “I heard the news of your guidance from Gandalf. I am sorry your life on your earth was cut short to be here. But I am thankful for the gift we have been given. I am sure you have heard of the formation of the fellowship by now. It will be but a few fortnights before we depart as we prepare. I hope to see you soon before we are set to depart.” He spoke as he knew the journey to Mordor would be long and deadly.

“I am planning to attempt to pick up a sword here tomorrow with Elladan as a teacher here tomorrow at sunrise. If Elrond doesn’t have you busy then maybe you would care to join us?” You invited him taking any chance at the opportunity to spend time with him.

He bowed his head slowly at you, “I will see to it. Until then, lady Y/N it has been a pleasure talking with you this evening.” He stood pulling you up with him, “I trust that you can make it back to your chambers on your own?” He looked around hesitantly knowing it was perfectly safe here in Rivendell. Likely safer than anywhere on your home earth considering the elves were guarding it.

“I can. Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning.” You waved as he walked away. As much as you tried you couldn’t erase the silly little smile that crossed your face as you walked back to your room.

Aragorn was not there when you and Elladan began to train. Nobody had informed you how downright exhausting it was to hold a sword, defend yourself and attack all at the same time. You’d never felt so damn weak before as you worked up a sweat within minutes of beginning the session ordered by Elrond. Lord Elrond was going to see through on his promise to Gandalf. He was going to keep you safe. Who knew how you fit into the puzzle of destroying the ring and saving middle earth? Keeping you safe meant making sure meant knowing how to wield a weapon.

“Not bad, keep your eyes moving though. Someone could sneak up right beside you and strike.” You heard that same voice from last night. He kept true to his word by placing a dull blade against your rib cage. One more move and he could slice into your side if he wasn’t careful. But you had the feeling he was being more than careful.

You took the opportunity to rest and lowered the heavy blade you’d been sparring Elladan with and turned to the taller human male next to you, “Spare me. This is the first time I’ve picked one of these up.” You motioned to the dull blade meant for sparring, “These are heavier than they look.”

“You are faring quite well for it being the first time you picked up a blade.” Elladan smiled taking a few steps back seeing the way Aragorn was watching you. It was the same way he had watched over his sister after they had professed a love for one another. A spark that had vanished after Arwen left nearly half a year ago. Yet here you were. A human girl not even born under the Valar, hand-picked by Eru Ilúvatar to be here, giving Aragorn a hope that he so desperately needed before this quest.

You laughed after catching your breath, “You are just being nice. I’m an out of shape mess.”

Elladan took a few more steps back while shrugging his shoulders, “You’re a natural then, my lady. Forgive me. I must go. I see my father calling. I see that Aragorn can continue your lessons?”

You being none the wiser simply shrugged looking between the two of them who had funny expressions written on their faces as you waited for his answer, “I do not see Lord Elrond summoning you.” Aragorn raised his eyebrows challenging the ellon as he knew what Elladan was playing at. For he might have been accused by the twins for harboring a liking towards you after the few interactions he actually had. Aragorn, naturally, refuted it as he hadn’t even properly talked to you until last night. But even he knew that sentiment was growing truer the more he spent time with you. The weird speaking mortal girl from a different world.

Elladan offered a soft chuckle, “He’s already retreated. Need not worry Aragorn. You’ll take it from here?” He asked this time before actually walking away.

“Aye, Elladan. I’ll take it from here.” He waved him off before turning to you, “Why don’t we start you with a blade more suitable to your size?” He asked before leading you off towards the equipment area.

“Are you calling me weak Mr. Aragorn?” You grinned feeling suddenly giddy you’d gotten him alone twice in such a short period of time. Your mood was rubbing off on your attitude. Even though you were already tired, sweaty, and felt gross you were thrilled for the sudden change of instructor.

He shook his head quickly while searching for something smaller for you, “Nay my lady. The blade you were yielding is far too big for you. We just need to find you something more in line with your arms. For a blade is but an extension of your arm.” You watched as he sorted through the different blades lining the walls before pulling one that hadn’t been used in some time down, “This will do quite nice for you.” He handed it to you for you to get a feel for.

It was far lighter in your hands as you held it and swished the air quietly in front of you, “You were right. This is very nice.”

He grinned seeing you able to hold the blade far easier than you had the man-made sword that was far heavier than an elf-made on you were holding, “Keep that with you. Elrond will want to see that later. I think he’ll get a laugh at who used to own that particular sword.”

“Used to?” You questioned placing the lighter blade in a sheath at your hip.

His eyes crossed with an unfamiliar emotion as he nodded his head, “Indeed. Elves take nothing with them when they sail to the Undying Lands.”

You just looked at him with confusion in your eyes, “I’m going to need you to elaborate on this Undying Lands place.”

He sighed knowing you were clueless when it came to middle earth and its customs, but it didn’t make the thought of where Arwen was off living any less painful. Not that it was your fault for asking, “It is where most immortals go when they are called. After their lives on middle earth are complete. Most elves go. My Arwen was called not too long ago.” He added knowing he didn’t need to. But he wanted to. Something about you made him feel comfortable enough to delve deeper with you.

“I’m sorry she could not stay with you.”

“I am too.” He smiled to you knowing just talking about it with you was healing for him as well, “But it is for the best. She does not fit into this world any longer.”

You walked with him back out to the training fields that were slowly getting busier with random groups of different elves alike training and practicing, “Can I tell you my thoughts?” You asked him after a long while of comfortable silence between the two of you.

“Always, my lady.” He pulled his own training sword out of its own sheath waiting for your next words carefully.

You mimicked his actions, “That sounds like a miserably long life. At least where I’m from. That would be so tiring.”

He held his sword up waiting for you to mimic him, “I must agree. It makes sense why they take yearlong breaks then, no?” Aragorn laughed as he watched you more easily following along to his stances and postures.

“I’d still like to take a yearlong break.” You admitted earning another beautiful laugh from the handsome man that was becoming more of a friend than a stranger. The rest of the morning went as such. Aragorn showing you a few moves before he had your try it out in practice on him. Elladan wasn’t lying, you had a natural skill with the blade. A few of your maneuvers caught him off guard for you being so new, nothing he couldn’t deflect. But your potential was there.

As he walked you back to Lord Elrond’s residence he decided to break the growing comfortable silence that seemed to occur more often than not in your presence, “You did well today, Lady Y/N. You are very much a natural with the blade.” He complimented you as you got closer to the residences front doors where he knew he would have drop you off. Surely your handmaiden would be there waiting to take you off to your next venture. He’d watched as you started as a cooped up and frightened girl who opted to stay in your chambers rather than show her face but in the week he had been here he had seen you slowly open up to the outside world after you’d seen it could cause you no harm.

Your heart rate sped up at his words. You spun on your heals once you made it to the door, “Thank you Aragorn. I had a wonderful instructor who showed me the way.” You giggled seeing a small blush rise to his cheeks at your kind words.

Aragorn was right that he would have to give you at the doorway, but he wasn’t expecting a usually busy Lord Elrond to be waiting, “There you are. You said you’d be back before lunch. It is nearly dinner.” He knew you were in perfectly capable hands being with Aragorn. He asked more to tease his friend more so than scold you. For it was not only his sons who had noticed his growing affections towards you, but Elrond had noticed as well. He’d missed nearly an entire day’s worth of meetings to train you. But Elrond also had the utmost faith in the future king to be making the right decisions. If that meant spending the day with the beautiful mortal girl then that’s what he was going to do.

You looked down in embarrassment for being called out on your tardiness so forthright, “Ah, my apologies. We got carried away with the lessons.” You patted your side letting him know you had quite literally been training for the last ten hours.

Lord Elrond smiled at the both of you, “I am sure Aragorn had his reasons. Now come, we are already late for dinner.” He pulled you inside where you only could wave to him before Elrond had closed the door after bidding his own goodbye. Elrond gave you a wicked smirk as he led you down to the dining room on the other side of his residence.

“What’s that look for?” You asked trying to play off your absence as training and nothing more, that’s all it was, right?

“No reason. None at all. Nothing to do with Master Aragorn.” He grinned letting you through the door before him.

“It was training!” You tried to defend yourself before the twins barged in on your conversation.

Elladan scoffed at the table, “Hardly. You couldn’t wait to push e

You gave him an exasperated look, “You were the one who ran away!”

“I could no longer stand the longing looks between the two humans.” Elladan smiled knowing he was changing the story to fit his narrative better.

“Oh whatever.” You grumbled grabbing for the salad that sat in the middle of the table earning a round of laughs from all the elves who had happily taken you into their home.

You walked into the hall that contained the sword that eliminated Sauron the first time, Isildur’s blade. And there he was, the man that you had been looking for sitting there staring at the blade that clearly haunted him. He must have lost track of time thinking as he promised to continue training the next day, the day before leaving on the quest.

“Elrohir said I could find you here.” You spoke quietly hoping not to startle him.

He jumped slightly. His head turned to you giving you a bow, “I have been spending quite a bit of time in here.”

“Why’s that?” You asked, pressing.

He sighed, “Thinking. About the ring. The quest. The danger. The hobbits. All of it.” He admitted letting the weight of it crash, “My susceptibility to the ring.” He added as you stepped closer to him.

“But you are not him, Isildur. Lord Elrond told me all about him, he knew him! You are nothing like him Aragorn.” You gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before he shook you off gently.

That haunted look was still superimposed on his face, “It is his blood running through my veins as his did! Weak!” He sounded more upset than you had grown to see him in the few weeks you had gotten to know him.

“That’s untrue. You may have the same blood as him, but you are far from weak. You simply admitting that you are susceptible to its evils proves you to be anything but weak Aragorn. You are stronger than any man on my earth and any middle earth man I’ve come to know, although it’s not too many.” You laughed off the last bit hoping he would see his strength that had helped you grow further than you could’ve imagined in your short time here.

He looked at you with a new look as he heard your words. A look filled with adoration and love, “How do you know exactly what to say?” His eyes frantically searched your face as he realized your purpose being here was to help him as well. You were doing a flawless job at it. First with Arwen and now his insecurities surrounding the ring. How did you do it?

You smiled taking his hands in yours. Carefully, one by one, you snaked your fingers in between his before locking them down in your grip. You prayed it gave him some of the comfort he had given you over the last few weeks, “It’s easy with you.” It came out as more of whisper. You knew he had lingering feelings for the ellith he could no longer have. Why couldn’t you take her place?

You watched as he gulped. His eyes moved from your hands laced in between his, “Are you still searching for your purpose, my lady?” He asked as he took a daring step forward towards you. He heard as you breath got caught in your throat at his overly bold action.

You shook your head slowly, “I am not. I have found it.”

He nodded his head. Slowly he broke his hand away from yours. In place he brushed away the stray hairs that had been coated to your cheeks. The wind had displaced the stray hairs that blocked your view unknowingly. He relished in his touch on your warm, soft skin. He noticed the way your skin erupted in goosebumps under his touch, a physical reaction letting him know you felt the same way as he had. It had amazed him how quickly he had developed such deep feelings for you over the short time he had known you. With Arwen it was slow and took years only to crush him in the end. But with you it was fast but steady. Quicker than he anticipated but it made sense to him.

“May I ask what it is, my lady?” He brushed his hand along your cheek enjoying the way you seemed to squirm under his touch.

You closed your eyes knowing you wouldn’t be able to take it back but what did you have to lose? He was leaving with most of your new friends anyway. Might as well lay it out on the line, “Helping the fellowship, trying to guide Gandalf, you. Many such purposes.”

He cracked that smile that you’d grown to find a great comfort in, “I was hoping you may say that.” He didn’t dare drop his hand as he let his large hand cup your face. Your eyes fluttered closed as his pointer finger rubbed back and forth underneath your ear. It was like a form of kryptonite you did not know you had, “You know I must guide Frodo on this quest. But I can promise you that I will come back as soon as I can to you. For you are my purpose too, Lady Y/N.” He grinned loving the way that you seemed to melt right into his touch. As heartbroken as he felt from the loss of Arwen it did feel like you were sent here to mend his wounds right on up. He was not kidding. He found a purpose in you. His purpose.

Your eyes opened up looking into his once more, fully letting yourself fall into his touch, “My purpose.” You nuzzled your head into his calloused hand that had seen more battles than you could ever even imagine. For as difficult as your transition was into an entirely different world he had made it that much easier. You’d found it. He was it. Your purpose.

Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea

[mints-bizarre-posts]

Incorrect Quotes #56

Y/n : That's ridiculous! Legolas doesn't have a crush on me!

Aragorn : Yes he does

Gimli : Aye, he does

Legolas : Yes I do

[entishramblings]

The Scorpion of Sarn Ford [Aragorn/F!Reader]

A.N: the amount of weird shit I had to google for this….my FBI agent definitely thinks I’m planning some fucked up crap.

Inspired: this fic was inspired by @estelofrivendell ‘s fic A Change of Heart. I adored the Assassin/Ranger relationship and had to put my own spin on it!

Pairing: Aragorn X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Scorpion of Sarn Forn is a notorious assassin. Much to Strider’s dismay, they are both hired for a job.

Disclaimer: I tried my best with geography, once again, it isn’t my best subject. heh!

Word count: 8.2k (idk why I’m like this)

Warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, humor that will have you peeing, blood, torture, death, murder, brief insinuation to sexual abuse (side character), creepy men that get what's coming to them, a little bit of spice, brief shirtless aragorn. this sounds very dark but I promise you its good, besides: shirtless aragorn. duh.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

Aragorn never thought he would be in this position. He never even anticipated such a scenario. It was, quite frankly, entirely unfathomable. Not once did it cross his mind that he might be in the same city as her, much less be forced to sit next to her at The Black Falcon Tavern and Inn with a potential contractor. You see, The Scorpion of Sarn Ford—or as Aragorn preferred to refer to her as: the heinous hellspawn that middle-earth would undoubtedly be far better off without—was a notorious assassin. She made her coin from slipping into the shadows and slaughtering her targets, leaving no trace besides a corpse—still warm from the blood that once ran through it. The men of the south-west were wise enough to be wary and the rich of such lands were stupid enough to empower her with their dark wishes. She’s rumored to have a body count in the hundreds, including kings and queens. Though, that is not how she acquired her title.

Percaric Rothswood, one of the richer dukes of Anfalas, sat with them at a table in the back of the tavern. The Ranger and the Scorpion occupied the bench alongside the wooden wall, granting them both a clear vantage point of the entire establishment, while Percaric sat in a chair across from them. Aragorn's arms were folded, a small blade discreetly nestled up his sleeve, and his ale remained untouched on the table. Yet, the assassin reclined casually at his side, her dark cloak draped loosely enough to unveil the myriad of weapons adorning her attire, with two empty pints before her and a third in her hand.

The peculiar grouping drew the attention of onlookers—it was indeed an unusual gathering, particularly with the presence of the infamous Scorpion of Sarn Ford, and her form specifically beside Strider. Nervous and inquisitive gazes, hushed conversations, subtle nods, and even more overt glances from passersby and bar-sitters were all directed towards the pair. If a meeting like this were to take place, something must be going down.

“So, what’s this job, Percaric, that requires a ranger and a shrew,” Aragorn gruffed, his scowl as deep as the sand pits of the eastern coast.

The woman beside him snorted. “A shrew. Just what a lady wants to be called.”

He shrugged. “An argumentative, ill-tempered rat. I see no difference between it and you.”

She raised a brow, twisting her head to look at him. “Technically a shrew is a mole.”

Aragorn sent her a glare in response.

She huffed at him. “A mole that will die if it doesn't eat every two to three hours.” She picked up her ale and took a swing. “That sounds nothing like me.”

“You reckon so? I bet if you didn't get new gold to chew on in that exact time frame you would also die of pompous deprivation.”

A deep chuckle escaped her throat as her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. She turned to quip back an insult; however, Percaric nervously interrupted the hostile hires.

“Well, uh, you see, it's quite a delicate matter. The-the job, that is. My client doesn't want his indiscretions aired out among the common folk because, well, uh, the matter is quite sensitive and—”

Aragorn rolled his eyes. “Just spit it out, Percaric.”

The man exhaled through his nose, nervously patting the table. “Right, right, very well then.” He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, my client, his daughter was taken by someone of high prestige and, well, he would like her back.”

Aragorn leaned back in the chair. “Why doesn't he just pay the ransom then? Instead of hiring someone to take her back. There is a ransom isn't there?”

“Of course, of course. But, well, you see, this daughter, ehem, she’s bastard-born. His wife doesnt know that she exists and he would like to keep it that way. Paying the ransom directly would cause too much attention. Like I said, he wants this discreet.”

Aragorn sighed, his morals pulling hard on his heart. “How old is the girl?”

Percaric winced. “Fourteen.”

The Ranger cursed under his breath. “She’s just a kid.”

“Yes, yes. Well, you see, that’s why my client asked for you, Strider. Not many would want to help a bastard daughter.”

The Scorpion leaned in. “Then why did he ask for me as well?”

Percaric’s face twitched. “Well, uh, Scorpion, there’s a matter a bit more delicate involved that requires your skill.”

She raised her brows.

“My–my client’s daughter is quite beautiful. Well, we can only assume what is being done to her by her captor during her stay. He, well, he wants the perpetrator killed.”

She snorted, leaning back into the wall behind her. “Why not make Strider here do it?”

The Ranger clenched his jaw. “He should be imprisoned, rotting in a cell for his crime.”

“Ah,” she started. “You would bring him in instead of kill him, and that would mean a trial.” She winked at Percaric. “Too public for this client of yours.”

An anxious and awkward giggle-like breath left the man’s lips. “Precisely.”

“So, where is she being kept?” The Scorpion asked.

The duke glanced around him before leaning in and letting his next sentence come out as a whisper. “The tower of Eastemnet.”

“Eastemnet?” Aragorn confirmed, wide-eyed and surprised. “But that would mean—”

“Lord Theovail,” the assassin interjected. “One of the richest, well-guarded men in Arda.”

Percaric bit his lip. “Yes, yes. Now, well, now you see why my client asked for you, Scorpion of Sarn Ford.”

Aragorn huffed, hot air coming from his nose, as he shook his head—now finally reaching for his ale. “We will take the job,” he stated reluctantly.

“Oi! Not so fast,” the assassin interjected. “What’s the pay?”

The Ranger shot her a glare. “A girl, a child, is being held prisoner, and you worry of pay?”

She glared right back at him before turning back to Percaric. “The pay?”

He cleared his throat. “Three hundred pieces of gold up front and another three hundred upon your return of the girl, alive, and proof of Theovail’s death. Though you will have to split it, I’m afraid.”

She raised her hands with a tilt of the head. “Fine by me.” She turned, flashing a devilish grin to the man next to her. “Let us go hunt a girl-snatching arsewipe, Strider.”

He offered no-response other than a scowling side eye.

“Fantastic,” Percaric replied, taking two coin pouches out and plopping them on the table.

The assassin was quick to snatch up one of the bundles, standing, ready to take her leave.

Aragorn, however, let his finger drift over the coin. He glanced up at Percaric. “What’s her name?”

The man’s expression softened. “Calista, daughter of Lord Kassim.”

Aragorn nodded, grasping onto the pouch. “We will bring Calista home.”

……

The pair had been traveling for approximately two weeks at this point, and their interactions during this time were characterized by sparse conversations intertwined with numerous glares and disdainful expressions. In those few moments when words were exchanged, they were often heated disagreements concerning which path to follow, strategies for infiltrating the tower, or debates over the responsibilities of meals. It was, quite frankly, the most miserable trek across Arda that Aragorn had ever taken upon. But it wasn't until they were passing through the gap of Rohan, between the Misty Mountains and Ered Nimrais, that they met any trouble.

An arrow, coming from the mountain’s rocky side, whizzing past Aragorn’s ear was the first sign of danger.

He whipped his head around. “Scorpion!” he called out in warning, his eyes meeting the assassin’s for a brief moment.

She drew her dual silver blades only seconds before a small pack of goblins began descending. She was quick to behead the first goblin whose feet hit the grassy pass they walked through.

“Goblin’s from the Mountains,” she hissed.

Aragorn too drew his sword. “They shouldn't be this far south! They stay up near Ehu Daur and Moira!” He drove his blade through one of the beasts, swinging around to slice another.

“Well, clearly, they dont give a fuck as to where they should or should be!” The Scorpion quipped back as she brought one of her blades through the neck of one of the creatures. “On your left!”

Aragorn twisted his body just in time to block a blow from a rusted scythe.

The assassin dodged the next beast that came at her and sprinted towards the biggest one. She was quick to push herself into the air, flip over the goblin, and slice its throat before her feet even landed on the ground.

She looked up to see the two final goblins, one in match with her companion and the other approaching his back.

The woman moved quickly. Her feet carried her towards the beast who held its blade above Strider’s head. Just before it was to be brought downward, she yelled out a war cry and grasped onto the few hairs the creature had. She yanked hard. The goblin fell backwards onto the ground and she pounced on top of him, sending her blade through his heart—his pungent blood spraying across her face, neck, tunic, and leather armor.

With heavy panting breath, she stood and turned to face the Ranger who had slayed the final beast. Kicking the corpse of the one she had just killed, she spoke. “Only nine. A scouting team. More will be coming upon their lack of return. We gotta get a move on.”

Aragorn’s lips were parted in surprise, realizing that he nearly lost his life. Surprising the assassin, he spoke words that she never would have thought to leave his lips for her. “Thank you, Scorpion.”

She raised her brows. “I have a name, you know, Strider.”

The Ranger turned away from her, continuing along their path. “I don't care to know it,” he gruffed out, his brief sincerity from moments before disappearing.

She snorted, calling out to him regardless. “It’s (Y/N).”

“Don’t fall behind, Scorpion,” he replied.

She huffed, her irritation obvious, before jogging to catch up with his wide strides. “I don’t like you very much either, but if we're gonna be on this job for a while, you could at least not be a dick.”

“Coming from the rudest and most corrupt person I have ever met, that's rich.”

She chuckled loudly. “Wow. Rude, okay, I deserve that. But corrupt? That’s a bit far-fetched.”

He stopped walking, twisting to glower down at her with disgust. “You truly think so? Let’s talk of why they attach the massacre of Sarn Ford to your name. You killed dozens. Women. Children. Innocents. All for what? Gold! Corrupt is too kind a word for you. Wicked, diabolical, vicious is more like it.”

(Y/N)’s brows shot upward as a pained and frustrated laugh thundered in her chest. “Really? Do you even know what was happening in Sarn Ford?!”

“They were farmers! Common folk! Living off the land in peace and you…you slaughtered them!” he yelled.

She got in his face, her hot, angry breath burning against his skin. “THEY WERE ALREADY GOOD AS DEAD, STRIDER!”

“How could you even say that?” he replied, horrified.

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, before focusing back on the man before her. “A disease was making its way through their village. Incurable. Painful. An alchemist, who had been working for weeks to try and find anything to help them, hired me. There was nothing to be done for them except extend a hand of mercy. To give them a good, painless death.”

Aragorn stared at her, his brows pulled together with shock in his gaze.

The assassin clenched her jaw. “I had mothers plead with me to end their child's life while cradled in their arms, only to follow them into death. At least, that way, they could die together.” She looked up at him, her tone privy with rage. “So, yes, Strider, feel free to bestow upon me any epithet you see fit."

He was silent, his shock radiating into the wind around him. Quietly, he spoke again, “How did you not get sick?”

She exhaled slowly. “The alchemist instructed me to wear cloth over my face and cover all skin but my eyes. Once the deed was done, I burned everything I wore and paid for new clothes with gold born of their suffering.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, compassion in his gray eyes. “I am sorry. Doing such a thing mustn't have been easy. It was an execution of mercy.” He turned, continuing once more. “Though the tales of your other kills aren't so kind. Come along, Scorpion. There’s a town a couple days ahead.”

(Y/N) snorted, anger seething in her bones, but followed him nonetheless.”

…..

The pair strode towards the Inn, located not far from Gondor’s borders. They forcefully pulled the door open, unveiling a noisy uproar of laughter and boisterous shouting, mingling with the lovely odors of urine, sweat, and stagnant ale. Creating such an environment, one the Scorpion and Ranger were used to, were the disheveled bodies of inebriated men.

With a mischievous grin, (Y/N) expertly navigated through the crowd, leading Strider to a secluded table nestled in a dim corner. It wasn't long before the arrival of steaming platters of meat and bread arrived, along with two pints of foamy ale, both of which they heartily devoured. The Scorpion raised her hand, beckoning the barmaid over and placing an order for two more pints—both of which she downed, much to Aragorn's evident disapproval.

After releasing a loud belch, she casually swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, then rose to her feet. “Gonna go get some air,” she grumbled, her balance momentarily unsteady as she gained her footing. Aragorn, in response, merely offered an exasperated roll of his eyes.

The assassin maneuvered through the bustling throng of men, slipping through the sea of people before pushing through the doors. The sudden rush of frigid tranquility enveloped her skin as she stepped into the embrace of the night. With a deliberate intake of breath, she allowed the crisp air to fill her lungs. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tilted her head upwards, letting the misting drizzle of rain kiss her skin. The sound of the tavern was muffled, and the echoes of the celebration they passed down the road drifted into the air. Though it was subtle, for it didn't drown out the sounds of the singing crickets or the croaking frogs. It was peaceful. Well, that is until a form slammed into her and pressed her against the wall.

The smell of ale-laden breath and sticky sweat filled her nostrils as her eyes shot open. Her gaze, fueled by adrenaline, locked onto the burly figure before her—a man with a rugged orange beard—who had forced himself upon her.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in a dangerous place like this?” he asked, a knife held to her throat.

She snarled up at him. “Oh, you're about to find out—”

Before she could make a move, however, the man was suddenly struck from the side, his body sent sprawling onto the weathered, muddy path.

As (Y/N) peeled herself from the wall, her hand instinctively reached for the slight gash on her neck. Meanwhile, the bearded man found himself seized by the throat, forcefully hoisted upward, and pressed hard against the unyielding stone.

“Do you even know who that is?” Strider uttered sharply.

A chuckle escaped the lips of the man, his bloodied lip spraying a fine mist of red onto Aragorn's face. “You’re whore?” he sneered.

With an unrelenting grip on the man's throat, Aragorn pulled him several inches away from the wall, only to slam him back against it once more. The impact elicited a grunt from the man. "The Scorpion of Sarn Ford," Aragorn hissed through clenched teeth, his voice seething with restrained fury.

The assailant’s laughter was dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah and I'm the fuckin’ King of Gondor.”

The Ranger clenched his jaw, ignoring the secret dig the man's comment produced. “You know why they call her that? Hmm. The Scorpion? Scorpions incapacitate their prey with venom, paralyzing them before they deal the final blow. That woman over there? She severs her targets’ spinal nerve, rendering them unable to move before subjecting them to her torture and kill. And the worst part? She doesn't even need them paralyzed. She gets off from witnessing the terror in their eyes as they're rendered helpless.”

Another laugh escaped the man, but as his gaze shifted towards (Y/N), his amusement faded. The assassin now held a dagger, twirling it in her fingers, a sinister grin stretching across her features.

He turned to look back at Aragorn, the color now drained from his face. “Ye’ c-cant be serious,” he stammered.

The Ranger merely lifted his brows and tilted his head.

Driven by desperation to escape the woman beside them, the man started to shove against Aragorn. However, a single forceful punch to his jaw rendered him unconscious, his body collapsing onto the mud once more.

“I had it handled,” the assassin stated.

Aragorn shot her a stern glare before responding bluntly, "Sure, you did."

The woman emitted a snort, yet settled into a squat beside the man, her dagger poised.

The Ranger, however, was quick to grab her by the wrist, successfully stopping her actions. "Are you out of your mind? We can't kill him. That's the last thing we need – drawing attention to ourselves."

With a huff of mild exasperation, she sheathed her blade. "Fine." She then nodded to the black horse tethered nearby, gesturing with a nod. "That's his horse. Saw him dismount as we entered. Bring it here."

Aragorn frowned, confused, but did as she asked.

“Alright,” she stated, gathering the man’s arms in her hands. “Help me with his legs.”

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Strider, just grab his damn legs.”

Exhaling audibly, the Ranger complied, reluctantly gripping the man's ankles. With a coordinated heave, they hoisted the man up from the muck. After a few groans and sighs, he was draped over his horse's back.

The Scorpion then took the leather strapping of the saddle and began binding the man’s hands and feet to it. She nodded to the young maple tree behind the Ranger. “Get me a large twig from that. Bout a foot tall. Keep the leaves on it.”

“What?�� he hissed, his hands spreading wide in a gesture of bewilderment.

“Strider, would you just get the branch,” she urged impatiently.

Another loud, reluctant exhale left his lips, yet he trudged toward the tree and pulled off what she requested. He approached her, holding out the twig.

“Ah, thank you,” she acknowledged with a grin, accepting it from him.

With that she moved to the side of the horse, close to the man's legs. She seized the waistband of his trousers and gave it a yank, reaving his bare ass.

“Scorpion,” Aragorn chided.

Undeterred, she grinned, sticking the small branch between his ass cheeks so it stood upright, its leaves rustling faintly in the breeze.

“Seriously?” he gruffed out, his arms crossed.

(Y/N) looked at him with a wicked smirk. “You hear that party still going on down the road? I think they would appreciate some impromptu entertainment.” With that, she smacked the horse's rear and, with a brisk snort, it took off down the path.

Not even a minute passed, when they heard the shouts of anger and amusement funneling from the gathering.

Strider turned to glare at her, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with irritation. He grasped onto her bicep and pulled her towards the doors. "Get inside the damned tavern, quickly."

A loud, hearty laugh flew from her throat, yet she allowed him to pull her along.

Engulfed once again in the clamorous atmosphere of the inn, Aragorn wasted no time in steering her towards the bar. “You can't just put a branch up the arsehole of a person that pisses you off,” he hissed under his breath.

She grinned unapologetically. “Sure, I can.”

He blew hot air out his nose, opting to withhold a retort. With a determined demeanor, he maneuvered them through the crowd of men, navigating as close to the counter as he could get. "Barkeep," he called out, projecting his voice. "Two room keys."

The man approached them with a shrug. “Only got one room left.”

Aragorn huffed. “Fine. Well take it.”

With that, the Ranger deposited three gold coins into the man's palm, secured the key, and then swiftly tugged the Scorpion alongside him as they grabbed their bags and ascended the creaky wooden staircase.

They approached their door, marked the same as the key, and it swung open under Aragorn’s touch. Within, the room exuded a chill darkness, accompanied by a faint draft slipping in through the slightly cracked window. The space appeared quite sparse, furnished with nothing but a small dresser, a modest table accompanied by two chairs...and a solitary bed.

A muttered curse escaped the Ranger's lips as he unceremoniously dropped his bag onto the table. "I'll take the floor."

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Really, Strider? It’s the one night we get the option of having a bed. As long as you stay on your side, I don't mind sharing.”

“Fine,” was his gruff response.

With that, the pair began getting comfortable for the night. Aragorn lit the worn down candle, its feeble golden glow illuminating the area, proving slightly better light as he dug through his bag. Meanwhile, (Y/N) shed her cloak and vast assortment of weapons, earning a skeptical glance from the Ranger. Yet, when she began to unfasten the tightly-worn leather armor that clung to her figure, his reaction was far more dramatic. "What on earth is that stench?!" he blurted out, recoiling.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Remember those goblins? Yeah, I got an unexpected bath in their blood.”

“That was days ago. You reek,” he retorted. He strode over to the dresser, opening drawers until he came across a gray towel. Returning to the table, he picked up the pitcher beside the candle and gradually poured water into a small basin, also provided. After submerging the towel and wringing it out, he flung the damp cloth towards her, which she easily caught. “Clean yourself up.”

She shrugged once more. Turning away, she shed her shirt and let it drop to the floor. Her swift movements were focused as she wiped her face, neck, and chest, cleansing her skin of the grime that clung to it.

Though Aragorn didn't intend to look, his gaze inadvertently flicked towards her silhouette against the wall. It was then that his eyes fixed upon her bare back, adorned with a network of vivid, angry scars. He’d seen scars like that. He knew what they were from: torture.

“(Y/N),” he whispered sincerely, his steps leading him closer to her form. “What happened?”

Hearing her name for the first time from his lips, she was caught off guard—her heart skipping a beat. The simple utterance carried an unexpected weight, a rare vulnerability that seemed to momentarily freeze her in place. Uncertainty gripped her as she stood still, her mind racing to process the unfamiliar tone from him.

His touch was tender as he raised his hand to trace the lines on her skin. “Who did this to you?” he growled.

Brought back to the present, she instinctively recoiled from his touch. "I'm an assassin. I've earned my fair share of enemies," she replied, her voice tinged with defiance. Shifting her gaze over her shoulder, she met his eyes. "Have an extra shirt? Mine's beyond saving."

"I, uh, yes. Yes, of course," Aragorn responded, seeming to realize the sudden intimacy of the moment. He retreated to his bag, rifling through its contents until he procured a cream-colored tunic. He tossed it to her. "This should suffice."

“Thanks,” she grumbled, pulling it over her head.

(Y/N) approached the table, the Ranger's shirt engulfing her smaller frame. The fabric's loose drape hung off her shoulder. If she wasn't such a menace, Aragorn would have thought that she looked cute in his clothes.

Ungracefully, she deposited the damp towel on the tabletop before proceeding to yank off her boots and socks, placing them with a deliberate thud upon the chair nearby. “We are not that far from the tower of Eastemnet. Perhaps a two day journey or so. However, our predicament remains unchanged: we don't have a solid strategy. We don't have any floor plans. We don't know how many guards will be stationed. And we don't know where the girl is being kept. We are gonna be going in blind—”

“You’re bleeding,” he interjected, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of concern.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just a scratch,” she dismissed casually.

Aragorn grasped onto her jaw, lifting her chin up to take a better look. "A seemingly insignificant wound could easily become infected, Scorpion," he asserted, his tone insistent.”

She pulled her head from his grasp with a snort. “I’m fine, Strider.”

He crossed his arms, an unyielding resolve in his expression. “If we are breaking into Lord Theovail’s tower and stealing from him, I'd prefer my partner not succumb to infection-induced delirium, potentially endangering both our lives." Swiftly, he nudged the empty chair towards her. “Now, sit down, Scorpion.”

(Y/N)’s brows lifted, followed by a teasing expression that animated her features. “Oh? So I'm your partner now?” she quipped, her tone laced with playful amusement. "What happened to the 'vicious shrew killer that you would rather leave tied to a tree,' as I seem to recall you once calling me?"

He glared at her. “Sit, or I will leave you tied to a tree.”

Surprisingly, she did as he asked, allowing herself to sink into the chair with her legs casually sprawled and her arms folded tightly across her chest. Aragorn dug through his bag, pulling out a couple small tins and a tiny glass bottle. Grasping the towel, he located a clean section and dipped it into the basin. Squatting down between her legs, he lifted the towel to her neck. "Chin up," he instructed, and she obeyed without protest. Gently, he began cleansing the wound, meticulously removing dirt and debris from the area. Next, he uncapped the small glass bottle. "This might sting," he warned.

She clenched her jaw, but said nothing as the alcohol was poured upon her neck. Aragorn gently dabbed the liquid away. He then opened one of the small tins, extracting a dollop of green goo.

“What is that shit?” (Y/N) asked.

“Athelas leaf paste.”

“Athelas leaf?” she echoed, seeking further clarification.

“Kingsfoil. Athelas is the elvish word for it,” he replied simply, his attention focused on gently applying the paste to the wound.

She raised her eyebrows. “Elvish, huh. You're full of surprises, Strider. Where’d ya learn that?”

“Shush. Be still.”

The Scorpion rolled her eyes, but complied as he completed the task.

Standing up, Aragorn rinsed his hands and addressed her once more. "We can devise a plan for the tower tomorrow. Right now, we need rest."

(Y/N) sighed, nodding in agreement, as she too stood. She made her way towards the bed and pulled back the thin sheet, eager to climb into the softness of a mattress—regardless of how old and worn it was.

The gentle sound of air extinguishing the candle was succeeded by the enveloping darkness that reclaimed the room. Soon, Aragorn’s footsteps followed. She discerned the rustle of fabric as, presumably, he removed his shirt. The bed then creaked gently as he settled beside her, lying on his back.

She, resting on her side away from him, let her eyes close. There she laid, for a moment, before shifting. Then she shifted again. And again.

“Stop moving, Scorpion,” Aragorn grumbled, his patience waning.

“I can’t get comfortable!” she retorted.

“That’s because you keep moving.”

“It’s cold and you're stealing all the blankets.” With a determined tug, she seized more of the fabric, leaving Aragorn with a minimal share.

He merely exhaled audibly, opting for a wordless response. At the very least, she had ceased her constant fidgeting.

Aragorn remained awake during the initial hours, unable to find slumber. (Y/N)'s breathing had swiftly settled into a rhythmic pattern after she commandeered the majority of the sheets, though her small unconscious movements kept interrupting the perceived tranquility. Occasional, soft whimpers escaped her lips, her brows furrowing with evident distress. In truth, Aragorn found himself uncertain of how to respond. He held onto the hope that the disturbances would cease on their own, perhaps that whatever troubled her dreams would eventually pass. And eventually, it did stop, but not without an unexpected turn of events.

The Ranger's senses jolted as the Scorpion’s frigid form rolled towards his side of the bed, seeking refuge in his warmth. Although she had mentioned feeling cold earlier, the intensity of her chill surprised him. The wave of uncertainty that washed over him did not leave as her cheek pressed against his bare chest. Initially, the thought of infection taking hold crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it; her skin would have been hot to the touch if that were the case. It only took seconds for him to realize that the draft from the cracked window was striking her side directly. With a sigh of reluctance, he tentatively encircled his arm around her, drawing her in further.

In her state of deep slumber, she instinctively nestled into him, drawing a slight skip from Aragorn's heart. He cast a cautious gaze downward, taking in her appearance.

She seemed so different—distinctly separate from the notorious assassin he knew her to be. There was an innocence, an unexpected purity, about her in this moment that rendered her almost unrecognizable. Gone was the perpetual scowl that often marked her features. Instead, her face had relaxed into a gentle expression of repose, free from the tension. Her lips, adorned with the faintest hint of a pout, moved slightly as she drew each breath, almost as if he warded off the nightmares that had plagued her.

In this vulnerable state, the Scorpion seemed untainted by her reputation, stripped of her fearsome persona. The layers of her identity, usually shrouded in crude comments and sharp weapons, had fallen away. It revealed that the facade that she showed the world was just that, a facade. A good one at that though. Even Aragorn—a man well-acquainted with the intricacies of human nature—hadn't thought it would be a mask; but her story of Sarn Ford was the first thing that revealed its possibility to him. It was as if the walls she kept built had crumbled away, allowing him a glimpse of the person beneath the lies. And, until sleep claimed him, he allowed himself to savor this glimpse—to see her beyond the assassin.

When the first light of dawn began to filter in, (Y/N) stirred, wrapped in the warmth and safety that had cocooned her during the night. She hesitated to peel open her eyelids, savoring the sensation. However, as her senses roused to full awareness, a gentle yet distinct rhythm reached her ears—the steady thud of a heart beating beneath her. In an instant, her eyes shot open, and a surge of apprehension raced through her.

Beneath her, Strider's form lay, his chest rising and falling in slumber. Anxiety tightened her chest and clawed at her throat. Reacting instinctively, she sat up abruptly and, fueled by adrenaline, threw a punch at him.

A resounding groan of pain escaped his lips as he scrambled to sit up, his expression twisting in both surprise and discomfort. "What the hell, Scorpion?!" he managed to sputter, his hand instinctively reaching to dab at his lip.

“I thought I told you to stay on your side of the bed!” she retorted sharply.

He glared at her, his irritation obvious. “I did. If you would take a moment to observe your surroundings, you would see you are in fact on my side of the bed.”

Wide-eyed and perplexed, she twisted her upper body around, casting a glance over her shoulder. As the reality of the situation dawned on her, she faced him once more. Her eyes filtered over his form briefly, taking in his muscled biceps and defined abs. Her expression then turned into a deeper scowl. “Fuck off!” she snapped.

He only stared at her, bewildered.

….

Under the shroud of darkness, the Ranger and the Assassin stood at the base of the tower of Eastemnet on the south side. Concealed within the protective embrace of the tree line, they had spent approximately three hours observing the guards' patterns and identifying vulnerabilities in the tower's defenses. There they had hidden two steeds that (Y/N) had procured for them at the inn—most likely through theft, though Aragorn didn't want to think of that—allowing for a quick escape with Calista. Strategically, they discreetly knocked out all the guards on the outposts, binding and gagging them, for they knew the element of surprise would be their only bet. So, now they stood, with a pretty loose plan, ready to steal back what Lord Theovail had taken.

The Scorpion grasped onto the vine that entwined itself along the stone surface of the tower. A swift, assessing tug confirmed its stability. Her gaze shifted briefly to the man positioned behind her. “About two hundred feet to the top. Best guess, that’s where Calista is being held.”

He nodded. “After you.”

The Scorpion adjusted her grip upon the vine and she initiated her ascent. Aragorn doing the same only minutes after.

They moved in a synchronized rhythm, the sound of their breaths and the faint rustling of vines mingling with the night's stillness. Each handhold and foothold was chosen with precision, the texture of the stone under their fingertips guiding their progress.

(Y/N)’s movements were fluid and practiced, evidence to her agility and experience. Her lithe form seemed to dance with the contours of the tower, making it look easy. Aragorn, not as accustomed to such endeavors, displayed a determination that rivaled his unease. His powerful muscles flexed and strained as he pulled himself upward, his eyes never straying far from the path she took.

After what felt like hours, the assassin spoke. “Nearly there, just a couple more feet.”

Aragorn only grunted in response.

The woman firmly gripped the vine adjacent to the windowsill, positioning her feet against the wall in a manner resembling a vertical walk. This facilitated her upward movement as she pulled herself closer to the window. Yet, as her head reached the level of the glass, she swiftly withdrew, instinctively lowering herself. In an unfortunate circumstance, the unconventional stance she maintained resulted in her ass colliding with Aragorn's face.

He groaned. “Really, Scorpion?! Really?!”

“My bad,” she huffed out. “Hold on a second. I think someone is in there.”

“Yeah, hopefully Calista.”

She resumed her ascent, then promptly lowered herself again. This time, Aragorn effectively maneuvered his head to the side, evading her buttocks.

Regardless of this, he shot her a glare—not that she would be able to see it.

“It was a maid.” she whispered. “I think we are in the clear now.”

With that, she heaved herself up for a final time and reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh. “Duck your head,” she commanded. With as much force as she could muster, she brought the blade against the glass, tucking her face into her elbow. It shattered, falling around them both like deadly snow.

The Scorpion pulled herself upward and through the window, careful not to be pierced by any stray piece of glass, and Aragorn did the same.

The room was small, but decorated to the extreme. The prominent feature was the bed, elevated upon a platform, its tall wooden posts adorned with a luxurious velvet canopy that cascaded in graceful drapes. The mattress was covered in ornate blankets and quilts, complemented by an array of plush pillows. However, any semblance of beauty was starkly contradicted by the grim sight of chains extending from the wall and ensnaring the wrists of a young girl, shattering the room's facade of luxury.

Immediately, Aragorn ran towards her side. “Calista,” he murmured gently. “Wake up. It’s time to go.”

Calista's golden hair framed a face that appeared worn and defeated. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing a gaze void of life. Her voice emerged as a feeble whisper. "Who are you?" she inquired softly.

Standing steadfast in the center of the room, (Y/N) maintained her posture with crossed arms. Her unwavering gaze fixed on the imposing wooden door that likely remained locked from the other side. “Your father sent us.”

Aragorn carefully manipulated the cuffs that bound Calista's wrists, gingerly freeing her from their constricting hold. "I'm Strider," he introduced himself, his fingers working skillfully. "We're here to help. Come.”

As if entranced, Calista began to sit up, struggling to rise from the bed. Aragorn extended his support, assisting her onto the floor. However, her weak frame proved too fragile to sustain itself. She leaned unsteadily against him, her body unable to bear its own weight.

The Ranger looked to his partner. “She’s too weak. There's no way I can scale down the wall with her on my back. She won't have the strength to hold on."

The Scorpion uttered a quiet curse. “You will just have to come with me to find Theovail.”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. We can't bring her near him.”

“Well, we don't have any other choice,” she snapped. “But as soon as I kill him, we will have to haul ass. His guard will be coming for us then—if they don't already know we are here.”

Aragorn clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply. “Fine. Get that door open.”

With that, the Scorpion set to work picking the lock and Aragorn scooped Calista up in his arms, her golden head nestled into his chest. It wasn't long before the group was creeping down the tower, level by level. The Scorpion led the way, ducking behind walls and maneuvering around pillars, making sure the way was clear. When they came across a guard that was blocking their escape, she was quick to slice his throat and pull his body out of sight.

“Scorpion, why you can't just knock them out?” Aragorn whispered with exasperation.

She, dropping his legs as she stuffed him into a closet, glared at him. “And risk having him wake up and alert others? I think not."

He huffed, knowing she was right.

However, their path forward soon encountered a challenge they couldn't evade as easily. Just as they were on the verge of turning a corner, a young maid's panicked voice pierced the air. “The-the girl. She’s gone!”

(Y/N) slammed her back against the stone wall, Aragorn doing the same.

“What do you mean ‘she’s gone’??!” A deep male voice thundered.

A shared realization passed between (Y/N) and Aragorn—Lord Theovail had now entered the fray.

“FIND HER!” he snapped. “Or it will be your head!”

The servant scurried down the hall, running right past the Ranger and Assassin who slunk into the shadows with their charge.

(Y/N) cautiously peered around the corner. The room before them was every bit as lavish as the one that had imprisoned Calista, if not more so. A roaring fire crackled in the grand fireplace, casting flickering shadows that danced across the two plush velvet couches by it. Luxurious fur blankets adorned each sofa, hinting at Theovail’s rich indulgence. A sprawling fur carpet lay before the fireplace, while an ornate wine cart laden with deep reds was conveniently placed nearby. And there, infuriated, stood Lord Theovail himself, a glass of crimson liquid in hand, his temper fuming. To make matters worse, his guards were positioned near the room's exit—the very door that Aragorn would need to pass through in order to escape with Calista.

The Scorpion drew her knife, sending Aragorn a look. It was time. In a hushed tone, she whispered to him. “When you hear it’s over, take her and run to the doors. I'll be right behind you.”

He nodded in agreement.

She then disappeared into the shadows. Not even a minute passed before Aragorn heard the thumping of two bodies, one right after the other, followed by the telltale crash of a shattering wine glass meeting the floor.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Lord Theovail’s voice thundered, a mix of surprise and outrage lacing his words.

Aragorn cautiously peered around the corner, his heart pounding. Lord Theovail was now a whirlwind of fury and frustration, his gaze darting in every direction and a knife clutched in his hand. “I am not one to indulge in games!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber as he brandished the blade. “Reveal yourself, you coward!”

Within seconds, the Scorpion’s blade was poised menacingly at Lord Theovail's throat, her grip firm and unwavering as she held him in check from behind. Her voice dripped with a sinister malice as she spoke, her words slithering through the air like a venomous serpent. “Lord Kassim sends his regards.”

A broad chuckle bubbled from Theovail's lips, mingling with a mix of disbelief and arrogance. “A woman?! Kassim sends a woman to kill me?!”

Aragorn watched as the assassin drew another blade from her lethal arsenal, the steel glinting in the dim light. He winced inwardly, knowing what was about to unfold. In one swift, calculated motion, the Scorpion's blade found its mark, slicing deeply into Theovail's spine. The lord's body crumpled to the floor, staining the pristine white fur carpet with a gruesome red pool. His once-commanding presence now reduced to stillness. Though his eyes, wide and drifting in panic, showed his fear.

She then sat on top of him, bringing the blade to his neck once more. The Scorpion's lips curled into a chilling grin, her eyes alight with a dark satisfaction. “Not just any woman. You ever hear of The Scorpion of Sarn Ford?”

Instantly, a tidal wave of horror engulfed Theovail's blue gaze, his previously defiant demeanor shattered like the fragile glass of Calista’s window.

He knew the legend. He knew there was no escape for him.

However, at that moment, a large, burly guard burst in. Seeing what was unfolding, he was at his Lord’s assistance in a flash. His hand grasped onto the assassin’s hair, yanking her form from Theovail.

Aragorn clenched his jaw, giving her a moment before he intervened.

The collision sent shards of glass and splintered wood flying as the guard and the Scorpion crashed into the wine cart, locked in a fierce struggle. The guard, towering in his size, managed to regain his footing first and hauled the Scorpion up with him. His meaty fists struck out, landing brutal blows that drew crimson from her nose and brow.

The Ranger cursed. Quickly, he sat Calista upon the ground and rushed to his partner's aid. Unsheathing his blade, he lunged into the fray. His sword found its mark in the guard's back, the steel emerging through the man's stomach. Time seemed to freeze as the guard's bloodied gaze locked with the Scorpion's, a moment charged with shock and shared disbelief. The guard crumpled to the ground, revealing Aragorn.

With a swift motion, Aragorn twisted his blade downward and reached out to grasp the Scorpion's face, his hands marked by a blend of relief and fear. The touch, both tender and urgent, brought her gaze to his. Blood marked one cheek, while the other felt the cool press of his blade's hilt against her skin. His deep voice, a mixture of anxiety and care, called out her name. "(Y/N)," he stated, the word a lifeline that pierced through her dazed state.

"(Y/N)," he spoke once more, the urgency remaining. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, forcing a response. “Yes, yes. I'm fine.”

Aragorn released a sigh of relief, yet his hand remained for another heartbeat, a reassurance in the form of touch. "Take care of Theovail. I will get Calista," he instructed, his hands finally and reluctantly withdrawing as he moved to tend to their young charge.

The rest was a blur: (Y/N) slicing Theovail’s throat and grabbing his ruby ring, Aragorn hauling Calista into his arms, and the trio racing down the tower's corridors—fending off any obstacle that dared to stand in their path. Adrenaline drove them to the treeline, panting breath heavy and loud, as they climbed upon their horses and took off into the night—leaving behind the bloody assassination of the Lord of the Eastemnet Tower.

…..

Weeks later, at three in the morning, the trio stumbled into The Black Falcon Tavern, where they first met with Percaric. The establishment was eerily quiet, save for the slumbering figure of the barkeep, who had succumbed to the late hour with his head on the counter. At the far end of the room, Percaric and Calista's mother stood, their figures illuminated by a flickering candle on the table. An air of anxious anticipation clung to the atmosphere.

As soon as their feet crossed the threshold, that stillness was disturbed. Calista's voice pierced the quiet as she called out to her mother, her strength visibly renewed since the ordeal. Without hesitation, mother and daughter closed the distance between themselves, embracing as if they had been torn apart for eternity. Tears flowed freely, mingling sorrow with joy. The warmth of their reunion dispelled the darkness that had clouded their lives.

Percaric approached the Scorpion and the Ranger.

The assassin tossed the man Lord Theovail’s ring. “Proof of death,” she stated bluntly. “I was gonna bring you his head, but figured it would smell pretty rotten after the long journey.”

He nodded awkwardly, the thought making him feel ill. He took a quick moment to examine the ring. Seemingly satisfied, he spoke. “You did well. Lord Kassim sends his thanks.” He then tossed them both pouches of gold before turning back to the mother and daughter. As Percaric prepared to take Calista and her mother back home, he turned back to the two rescuers. His voice carried a sentiment with his words. "Thank you."

Aragorn's silent nod and the Scorpion's subtle acknowledgment conveyed their understanding and their shared commitment to a world that often demanded their sacrifice.

With that, Percaric, Calista, and her mother left the inn, leaving the assassin and the ranger alone.

“Well,” (Y/N) began, as she walked towards the snoring barkeep and leaned over the counter, fishing for the room keys. “I don't know about you, but I could do with a good night’s rest.” She pulled the ring from his waist and turned back to Aragorn. Holding it up, one key dangling, her grin faded. “You're kidding, right?” She shook her head with a huff but turned and made her way to the rickety stairs. “As long as you stay on your side of the bed this time, Strider—”

“Scorpion,” he interrupted as he followed her.

The wood creaked under her feet. “I am serious. Keep yourself in check—”

“Scorpion.”

“I will not hesitate to paralyze you—”

“(Y/N)!”

She froze upon the stairs, slowly turning to look at him on the step directly below her. Now they stood at the same height, face to face, only inches away from each other.

“You almost died out there,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her skin.

“Yeah, so did you. It happens,” she shrugged. “It’s what we do.”

“(Y/N),” he persisted.

“What?!”

With that, he grasped onto her face, his finger warm and calloused from the lifetime of travel and battle. Time seemed to freeze as the moment lingered, the air changing between them.

And then, his lips were on hers.

At first, a sense of uncertainty held her still, her mind grappling to comprehend the sudden intimacy. But as his touch deepened and the kiss became a dance, she surrendered to the moment. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling themselves among the dark waves, as her lips moved with just as much force—if not more—as his. He tasted of pine and fresh soil, she wast sure if she quite literally was consuming the dirt upon his face, but she didn't care. She couldn't stop herself from becoming enthralled by his lips.

“Scorpion,” he mumbled against her mouth.

She hummed a reply as her lips continued to move with his.

“Room. Now,” he practically growled.

She grinned, her teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “Make me.”

Aragorn pulled away from her, raising his brow with a smirk. With that, he grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her up. Her mouth found his again as he stumbled up the stairs, ignorant to the barkeep who woke and was now squinting at the pair.

“The Scorpion and Strider,” the old man huffed. “The boys aren't gonna believe this one.”

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[wordbunch]

being a ranger with Aragorn

a/n: I am still alive ✨ Sorry to keep you all waiting for this. Anyway, it was requested, it might be a biiit short cause I didn't want to take a romantic turn with it - didn't know if the anon wanted that. 😁 Enjoy 💖

so let’s say that he’s older and slightly more experienced than you

he absolutely takes you under his wing, but quickly learns not to underestimate you 

he isn’t patronizing, ever, just sometimes protective

as much as you can learn a lot from him, he can also learn from your ways and your own approach to things

the two of you have a lot of trust in each other, and you know a lot about each other - when you have painfully long distances to hike, or camp somewhere overnight, talking to each other is almost inevitable

you’ve never told him that, but you really enjoy his quiet singing while he’s doing something, especially when he sings in Elvish

if you don’t know elvish already, he teaches you

and then over time, when you get more fluent, the two of you absolutely love to converse in elvish around others who can’t understand you, like it’s your little secret

he’s very observant and always knows if something is off, if you’re injured or exhausted, and he insists on treating you and helping you

you’re one of the very very few people he trusts enough to let them heal him when he gets injured on a rare occasion

sparring and practicing all kinds of combat together

you push each other to new, higher levels of skills

when you make a stop in some town to eat a proper meal, he insists on covering the bill

if someone is bothering you, you can take care of it, but if the person is repeatedly pushy and dismisses your rejections, Aragorn steps in, no problem

you feel at home in Rivendell as much as he does

during battles, both of you saved one another more times than you can count

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[mads-weasley]

By Your Side

Aragorn x Reader

A/N: Hey y'all! This is my first ever Lord of the Rings fic so I hope you like it! I do not own any rights to these characters!

Summary: Aragorn and (y/n) keep their feelings hidden until the battle at Helm's Deep makes them realize how important the time they have is.

Warnings: mentions of war, blood, death, fluff, gore? idk

Helm's Deep was overwhelmed with frantic people trying to prepare for the battle ahead of them. The Uruk-Hai were on their way, and much needed to be done. After rounding up the able-bodied men, the remaining members of the fellowship began getting themselves ready for war.

(Y/n), one of the last remaining Dúndain and the 10th member of the fellowship was sharpening her sword in the armory when Aragorn silently entered. He decided to watch her, leaning against a wall out of sight. When he almost encountered death a few days before, the only thing that kept him going was her face in his mind, reminding him he couldn't give up.

Over their journey, he had unexpectedly fallen for the young (y/h/c). Her kindness, beauty, and amazing personality drew him in, and her skills in battle were the nail in the coffin for him. He knew he loved her from the moment they fought the Uruk-Hai the day they lost Boromir.

"I thought you were gone," she said softly, sheathing her new blade.

With a sigh, he stepped out from his hiding place. "Me, as well."

Her eyes raked his frame, studying his ruggedly handsome appearance as if it might be the last she'd see it. Her world had shattered when they'd assumed him dead, and now that he was here, all she wanted to do was tell him how she felt. Snapping out of her trance, she grabbed chainmail from the rack, sliding it on quickly.

"10,000? Are there really that many?" She asked uncertainly as she peered into his icy blues.

Aragorn walked closer, stopping directly in front of her. "Yes. Isengard has emptied."

With a slow nod, she reached for her jerkin, but he beat her to it. Giving him a look of confusion, she tried to gently take it from him.

"Let me help you. Please." He pleaded, eyes soft.

"Alright."

He held it out in front of him, allowing her to slide each arm through it. After it was on, she turned to face him, her eyes never leaving his as he slowly tied the jerkin together. She tried to not let their close proximity get to her, but she could feel the warmth of his touch through the mail she wore.

When he got to the top tie, (y/n) gave in and placed her hand atop his. Aragorn's face lifted, realizing they were merely inches apart. His eyes flickered to her lips, and his heart began to race when she did the same.

Both leaned in slowly, but just before their lips met, Gimli's loud voice could be heard from the stairwell.

"I shall beat you this time, elf." He announces with a chuckle.

Quickly backing away, (y/n) grabbed her belt and sword off the table as she muttered, "I-I've got to go make sure the men are ready," refusing to meet his eyes.

The woman couldn't stop the pounding of her heart as she bounded up the stairs, passing Gimli and Legolas without a second glance. Aragorn watched her figure disappear, cursing under his breath. At that moment, he vowed to share his feelings with her if they survived the coming battle.

Atop the wall, overlooking the hordes of Orks marching towards the great city, (y/n) stood beside Gimli, and found herself thinking back on the moment she shared with Aragorn hours earlier. She chewed on the inside of her lip, deep in thought. Having caught on to the woman's anxious habit, Gimli gently reached up and took her hand, causing her to look at the dwarf.

"Don't worry, lass. We'll be alright as long as we've got each other's backs." He said, staring up at the darkening sky.

Sighing, she ran her free hand down her face. "I'm not worried about the battle...well-I am, but..."

Gimli smiled softly, suddenly understanding. "Does yer worry have to do with a certain Ranger?"

(Y/n) didn't respond, only taking another deep breath as a blush crept up her neck.

He chuckled at her attempt to ignore him. "I knew it. Don't ya worry, (y/n), my lips are sealed."

"I know how I feel towards him, but-"

"But what?" the dwarf asked.

"I don't know, Gimli. Perhaps I am scared of where it might go."

"You are one of the most fearless warriors I know. Do not let something like love scare you, lass. Yes, it can be uncertain in the beginning, but it is completely worth the jump."

Looking at the dwarf, a small smile appeared on her lips. "Thank you, friend."

Hours later, Sauron's army could be seen in all of its terrible glory. The remaining fellowship members stood on the wall once again, surrounded by Elven archers. As the enemy got within a hundred feet of the wall, rain began to fall, soaking their armor and chilling them to the bone. (Y/n)'s mind drifted but was snapped back to focus at the sound of Aragorn's voice speaking elvish.

"Show them no mercy, for you shall receive none."

A loud roar was heard, and Gimli began to hop, trying to see over the wall in front of him.

"What's happening out there?!" He asks Legolas, continuing to jump.

The elf suppressed a smirk. "Shall I describe it to you?" Gimli looked up as he continued. "Or would you like me to find you a box?"

Gimli stared at him for a few seconds before breaking out in a laugh, and soon the other two joined in. Their fit of laughter was interrupted as Aragorn appeared to (y/n)'s right, gently tugging her towards him to speak privately. She tried to ignore the sensation of his touch as she allowed him to lead her a few feet away from Gimli and Legolas.

"Here," he said softly, handing her a beautiful and lightweight elvish blade. "I know your sword was destroyed when we fought against the wargs on our journey here."

She took it from him, inspecting its craftsmanship. "It's beautiful. Thank you," she whispered looking at it in awe.

"Look, (y/n/n)," Aragorn started, placing his hand on her upper arm. "Be careful, please. I know you are more than capable of defending yourself, but I don't know what I would do if something happened to you."

His touch, along with his loving words sent warmth through her body. (Y/n) reached up with her free hand and cupped the underside of his jaw, causing his eyes to flutter shut at her touch.

"You as well. We have much to discuss after this."

Aragorn's grey-blue eyes shot open, a small smile finding its way onto his face. "Yes, we do."

He moved closer, leaning his forehead on hers as they simply took in the presence of the other. (Y/n) could feel her heart racing from both fear and excitement, but she just closed her eyes, relishing his touch. Both knew this could be the last time they'd be this close and didn't want to pull away.

Another Orc horn sounded in the distance, and Aragorn pulled back slightly, cupping her cheeks. "Be safe. I shall see you after the battle."

Planting a soft kiss on her forehead, he backed up and focused back on being a leader. He unsheathed his sword as the Uruk-Hai began beating their weapons against the ground.

By the time (y/n) got back to her position beside Legolas and Gimli, one singular arrow had been released, embedding itself in an Orc's neck. There was silence until Aragorn's voice broke through.

"Hold!" He yelled, trying to reign in his frustration.

Within seconds, the Orc's body collapsed, and with a shrill battle cry, their commander ordered them to march.

The battle for Helm's Deep had begun.

The battle was raging around (y/n) as she kicked an Uruk off a ladder, sending him to his doom. Hearing the war cry from another, she spun around, blocking its strike that was aimed at her head. With a quick slash to its legs, she brought it to its knees before taking its head with her new sword.

Glancing up at the rest of the wall, she sighed in relief to see Aragorn driving his sword through an Uruk's abdomen. She watched as something caught his eye from the ground before his attention turned towards her. Making eye contact, she could see the worry on his face from their distance. He started running towards the woman, yelling elvish.

"Bring him down, Legolas!" He cried, looking down at the Uruk with the sparking torch.

Following his line of vision, (y/n) cursed under her breath when she saw where it was headed: straight for her position on the wall.

She wanted to go to Aragorn, but she had to try and get everyone near her to safety first. "Everyone get back! Move!"

As she shoved men away from the area, she glanced down to see an arrow land in the Uruk's shoulder, but it did not stop.

Aragorn's voice pierced the air again. "Kill him!"

Slicing through multiple Uruk coming over the wall, the woman ran one through with her sword, throwing a dagger at another, hitting it square in the chest.

"Kill him!"

Another arrow in the opposite shoulder had no effect on the creature, and right before it dove towards the wall, (y/n) heard Aragorn call her name. Meeting his eyes as he ran towards her, she smiled softly just before a loud boom filled the air and everything went black.

Ringing. That's all that filled (y/n)'s senses. Her body ached seemingly everywhere as she opened her eyes. Vision swimming, she flipped over onto her back, struggling to breathe. When the movement made a splash, she became aware she was laying in a pool of water.

She lazily glanced up and saw the wall high above her. She then realized she had fallen from the top, and sat up slightly to look at the damage the bomb caused.

She was dazed, but when she saw the large part of the wall missing, her mind cleared instantly.

Glancing at her surroundings, her heart dropped when she saw Aragorn's unmoving figure in the distance. She wobbly stood to her feet and she was so focused on getting to the lord that she didn't notice the Uruks gaining behind her.

"(Y/n)!" A voice shouted from above. Spinning around, she looked up in time to see Gimli jump off the remaining wall, landing on a group of Orcs that were mere feet from her.

She rushed towards the dwarf, ready to fight the hoard with him. Thankfully her sword hadn't landed far from her, so she picked it up and began slashing at the Uruks. The water came to just below the woman's knees, making it hard for her to move.

They were soon outnumbered, and Gimli was kicked down into the water. Trying to get to him, (y/n) became distracted and didn't see the large shield coming her way. It roughly made contact with her chest, sending her down into the water with a splash as she gasped for air.

The Uruks continued to advance and she struggled to stay above water as they stepped on and over her to get deeper into the fortress. Everything sounded muffled to (y/n), whose lungs began to burn from being deprived of much-needed oxygen.

Just as darkness was about to overtake her, a strong hand grabbed her by the front of her jerkin, pulling her up out of the water. She gasped for air as her rescuer called her name, placing their hands on either side of her face.

Coughing and sputtering, she looked up to see Aragorn with worry etched on his face.

"Are you alright?" He asked softly, eyeing around them for any Uruks that slipped through the elves.

(Y/n) nodded slowly as she got used to the familiar feeling of air in her lungs.

He began scanning her body, looking for any obvious sign of injury. When he pulled his right hand away from her cheek, a sticky crimson substance coated it.

"You're bleeding," he said, panicked.

Finally getting her full composure back, she shook her head and smiled softly before looking back at the battle. "I am a warrior. A little blood won't hurt me. We still have a battle to fight, Aragorn."

He tucked a stray piece of her blood-stained hair behind her ear. "Be cautious. We still need to have our talk after this."

"I can't wait, my lord."

(Y/n) found her sword and began walking back into the fray as he did the same.

"Fall back!"

At the order, (y/n) followed her friends into the throne room. They quickly barricaded the door with whatever they could find as Aragorn spoke to King Théodan.

Before they knew it, the remaining leaders were mounting up to ride out into the Uruk-Hai. (Y/n) looked to her right at Aragorn, who was already staring back at her. The reality of the situation hit her suddenly, and she fought the tears that filled her eyes.

"If this is it, my King, it has been an honor fighting beside you," she whispered, leaning over to kiss his cheek gently.

As he opened his mouth to reply, the doors were opened, and Theoden led them out into the chaos. After fighting their way to the bridge, Aragorn lost sight of her (y/h/c) hair as they rode toward the horde of Orcs. When he saw the Rohirrim come charging down the hill, he sighed in relief, hoping that everything would be over soon.

When the sounds of orcs finally died out and the battle ended, there was one thing on the Ranger's mind: (y/n). His heart was beating out of his chest as he rode by each dead body on the battlefield. He kept an eye on any flashes of her (y/h/c) hair, trying to keep his composure.

After searching the battlefield, he didn't see her anywhere. He didn't know if he should feel more worried or relieved, but what he did know was that he had to find her. Rushing through the fortress to the throne room, he burst through the doors.

"Has anyone seen Lady (y/n)?" he questioned loudly.

Before anyone could answer, a flash of (y/h/c) caught his eye, and he let out a shaky sigh as he looked her way.

"(Y/n)."

She quickly looked over at Aragorn with ab unreadable look which soon turned into a radiant smile that filled his body with warmth. The young woman was covered with dirt, sweat, and blood, but she still looked beautiful.

Without wasting another second, he quickly marched over to her and cupped her face, pulling her into a long overdue kiss. She immediately reciprocated the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pulled him closer.

Pulling away, she rested her forehead against his, slightly out of breath. She was about to speak but was interrupted by the voice of Gimli from behind them

"Aye, lad, it took you long enough!"

The pair looked at each other quickly before breaking into laughter as they embraced, ignoring the aching of their bodies.

Soon everything settled, leaving (y/n) and Aragorn a moment alone.

"Alone at last," she whispered, caressing his cheek lovingly. "I believe we have something we need to discuss, my lord."

A smirk appeared on his face as he snaked his arms around her waist, pulling her body closer to his. "I believe we do."

"I cannot-"

"You are-"

They both started at the same time. Smiling softly, she gestured for him to go ahead.

"I have never been able to imagine myself as King, but when I met you, I could. I could because I saw you beside me. I love you, (y/n)."

She slowly tugged him down, connecting their lips softly. Parting, he searched her face for a reply as he spoke quietly. "What does that mean?"

"It means I love you, too."