A day that looks like some kind of summer, only with snow. The sun is summer, the mood is summer, and January is on the calendar and there are snowdrifts all around. In such weather, spring can be seen approaching… Yes, despite the blatant cold.
a/n: this is my first published fic in a very, very long time so constructive criticism is welcomed! I have an idea for an angsty pt. 2 so lmk if u want it hehe
Training under Luke Skywalker was difficult.
Despite being a polite and gentle man, his methods of teaching were strict and calculated - each lesson was designed to have a specific outcome and he always made sure she came out of it with the skill and knowledge he intended. This often meant early mornings and late nights, aching muscles and a brain that felt like jelly after focussing on strengthening her connection to the Force.
The most difficult part of training under Luke Skywalker, however, was Luke Skywalker himself.
She had been new to this galaxy when he found her. She honestly doesn’t quite know how she even managed to get from Earth the planet of Tatooine. It involved her bizarrely finding a broken down ship in the woods near her house and somehow getting taken into space by the inhabitants of said ship, ending up galaxies away and missing the primitive planet Earth.
The men that brought her to the desert planet were smugglers, who swore they saved her life because they were certain that whatever debt collectors they had chasing after them would’ve killed her if they knew that she’d seen them. And yet, after many weeks of travelling and not getting along, they just left her on this rock to fend for herself with no knowledge of where she was or how to get home, like true saviours.
Thankfully, however, due to having to help her kidnappers fix their ship after every firefight they got into, she'd found a talent in mechanics, and managed to get by working for Peli Motto, fixing up whatever rust buckets came through her hangars in Mos Eisley Spaceport.
Peli’s hangars were usually home to bounty hunters and smugglers, working for the Bounty Hunters Guild or the Hutts and were just as rough and grimy as you’d expect them to be. And while the odd everyday traveller would come through, it was rarely a special occasion and usually ended with the older woman she called her boss scaring them off with her no-nonsense attitude, always telling it like it is.
So when a ship landed and Peli stopped mid-curse when she turned and saw the x-wing sitting in her Hangar, back straightening when she saw the pilot, the Earthling woman knew he had to be serious business.
She moved to stand beside Peli, watching the lid of the ship lift to reveal who was possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen unbuckling himself from his seat. She found that her own back straightened without realising it as she watched him, clad in black, perfectly fitting robes, pristine black boots and a single gloved hand. She side eyed Peli for any hint or explanation as to who this was and why he seemed so important.
Peli caught her gaze but ignored her, boisterously walking over to the ship, welcoming him as the mystery man lifted himself out of the cockpit.
His feet hit the ground and he regarded her boss with a polite smile, resting his clasped hands behind his back as he gave her a small bow in thanks.
She decided to walk out after Peli, moving out from under the shade of the tool shop and into the sunlight of the open hangar. The blonde man's eyes lifted to meet hers, as if knowing she’d been there all along and gave a small nod, a look on his face that seemed almost… determined. Like he had something planned.
After a while of Peli talking his ear off and offering him any repairs he needed or even a service on his ship free of charge, he finally explained that he was there for a reason. And boy, was it not what she expected.
He introduced himself as Luke Skywalker and the young woman shared a look with Peli, eyes wide. She recognised the name from the Holothrillers she and her boss would watch together late at night in the tool shop, as they ate their bland dinners with greasy hands while Peli elaborated on some of the plot points, explaining how the actions in the films had actually affected the rest of the galaxy in real life and where she was and what she was doing when the events happened.
The younger woman had quickly grown enamoured by the story, asking Peli a million and one questions about the Empire and Luke Skywalker and she’d since only known him as the farm boy who became a Jedi and defeated the Empire. A Historical figure. A man she’d never meet. And yet, here he was.
He explained that he was on a mission to rebuild the Jedi Order, and that he had been searching for others who were Force-sensitive to help rebuild it with him. He said he’d already contacted many. Used the Force to find them and travelled to ask them for their assistance, offering to train them if they needed. But they’d all turned him down.
There had been rumours of a band of Inquisitors, Jedi Killers, still on the hunt, despite the Great Jedi Purge ending over 6 standard years ago, not long before the fall of the Empire. This rumour had made the surviving Jedi, Force-users and parents with Force-sensitive children anxious to reveal themselves for fear of their lives.
It was an understandable fear, one that the lone Jedi found reasonable. Though, it was tiresome to travel to so many different planets to make the same speech, only to get turned down out of fear.
Luke explained that he could feel the Earthlings' connection to the Force. It was distant and lacking strength, but still, there was something there that could be worked upon, that could be strengthened with the correct training. He’d travelled there, to her workplace and makeshift home just to ask her to join him, to train with him and become a Jedi Knight and use her knowledge to train others and keep the Jedi Order alive. To rebuild what was lost to the Dark Side for many years.
Maybe it was her ignorance on the matter due to her brief time in this galaxy, or maybe it was simply the desperate look in his beautiful eyes. But after a bit of convincing and advice from Peli to do what she felt was right - she’d accepted his offer.
The next day, they’d travelled to Ossus where Luke and many builder droids had been and were continuing to build a new Jedi Temple, to be fit with enough rooms and space to train whole generations of Force-sensitive children when the time was right. But for now, the only occupants of the large Temple were just her and her new Master, Luke Skywalker.
He’d had servant droids take her measurements and get her fitted for her own set of Padawan robes as well as a whole new wardrobe of sleep and casual attire, suitable for the Temple. And despite being thankful for the new, perfectly-fitted apparel, she fought tooth and nail until the droids finally allowed her to keep her ill-fitting, grease-stained overalls in the back of her wardrobe, only after they had been deep-cleaned. She knew she may never get the chance to wear them again, much to her dismay, but she couldn’t bear to part with them.
She was a lot older than most Padawan ever were. Most were trained as young children through to adulthood, where they’d be deemed true Jedi Knights by the age she already was, but desperate times called for desperate measures. There were only a handful of Jedi left, after all, and even less who were willing to aid the New Jedi Order.
So, in an attempt to make up for lost time, she tried her absolute hardest, diving head-first into her training. She spent her days learning from her Master and her nights in the Temple library, studying the history of her predecessors, staying up much too late and waking up much too early just to do it all over again.
She was passionate and hardworking, things that she prided herself on. Her work ethic prevailed over anything else… Usually.
See, she had an issue. She was great with history. She’d gotten to a point just mere weeks into her training that she could recite a play-by-play of the Clone Wars if asked to, and found herself absolutely enthralled by every piece of information that she absorbed in that library, going through the thickest history books within a single day if she ever got the privilege of having one off - which was rare. But she excelled in this area because she could do it alone.
Connecting with the Force, physical training or anything else she had to work on with Master Luke was where she struggled. Simply because, well…
She found him so distracting.
At first, it was nearly unbearable. She would flush every time he would touch her to position her body during training. She'd get caught up thinking about him when she was meant to be meditating. She'd stutter when he'd ask her questions that should've been simple to answer, like how she slept or about the book she’d stayed up too late reading.
It was like she was in high school again, crushing over a boy so badly that even the mildest of interactions had her smiling goofily at herself when she lay in bed that night, excited to go to sleep just so she could see him again the next day. But this was worse. Much, much worse.
Because not only was this man her teacher, her Master. It was also written, directly into the scriptures that she read every night before she went to sleep.
A Jedi does not act for personal power or wealth.
But only seeks knowledge and enlightenment.
This scripture, whilst it encourages selflessness and promotes the importance of preserving the knowledge of not only the Jedi, but the galaxy itself, the things that make up the environment around them, also means something deeper, more complicated. And it’s everywhere - all throughout the Jedi Code.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
When master Luke had first shared the Mantra with her a few weeks ago, and recited the oath she must take, she had asked him to elaborate. To explain every rule she was meant to follow and every promise she had to keep. She’d been excited. Eager to learn more of her new life, and the things that lay within it.
But the news had been crushing to her. When she realised that attachment was not frowned upon, not thought of as taboo, but forbidden entirely, she’d gone quiet.
The thought rolled through her head over and over, until it didn’t sound real anymore and Luke's usually relaxed face fell into a small frown, watching her absorb the information.
”I…” She began, a lump forming in her throat that she had to swallow. “I’m to never get married? … Never have children?” She asked, tears welling in her eyes.
He was hesitant to respond, able to see, able to feel the sadness within her. The weight of this new knowledge, crushing. He sighed, saddened to have to hurt her further by reconfirming;
“Emotions can cloud our thoughts. These clouds can lead us into unfathomable darkness.” He’d responded, bluntly. “Only those who find a way to rise above the darkness are deemed worthy to become Jedi.”
It was a hard hurdle to get over, to accept, having always thought of herself as the kind to fall in love, get married and settle down. Become a mother, start a family. Eventually. When she met one who was worthy of her love and her, theirs.
But over time, she grew to accept her new way of life. As her connection to the Force grew, so did her understanding of the Dark Side and the necessity of that rule.
With her academic knowledge of the Force, her determination and the uphill battle that was shoving her crush down. Way deep, deep down. She began excelling at her training. She was able to meditate fully with little to no distraction, had found their day exercises across the creeks and forests of Ossus easier to handle and she even managed to blush only a little when he touched her body during their hand-to-hand combat lessons.
It was now, only in her free time that she found herself thinking of him. After he dismissed her for the day and she was no longer required to have to think of him professionally. It was only in the safety of her quarters, in the dark of night as she lay in bed, that she allowed herself to think of his bare hand touching her skin and the fire she felt in her stomach whenever it did. His chest, warm and inviting, vibrating with his voice as he told her how to position her hands to produce the most amount of force in combat. His biceps, that she’d only seen once, on a particularly hot day on the sunny planet they inhabited and he had been stretching after training, muscles flexing with the movement of his arms.
She groaned with frustration, pressing her pillow into her face to muffle the sound.
An uphill battle, indeed.
-
The next day had been the same as any other. Morning meditation, breakfast and then Force training. But Master Luke pleasantly surprised her when he had made mention of learning something new.
It was midday on Ossus as they sat across from each other, under the shade of a large tree. Stacks of rocks surrounded them, evidence of previous training and meditation sessions. She wore a soft, excited grin on her face, eager to learn. His sandy hair was neat as he spoke to her, saying her name gently.
“In your studies, have you read about Mind Probing?”
Her grin faltered.
Oh, dear Maker, no.
She nodded gently, heat threatening to rise to her cheeks as anxiety slowly filled her and she was thankful that she’d gotten better at mentally shielding, hoping that her Master could not feel her nerves through her Force signature.
She remembers the exact paragraph that she read on Mind-Probing simply because she had had to put the book down as dread filled her at the realisation that she would need to be taught this at some point. She had no clue it would be so soon.
Master Luke’s face remained his usual calm. If he’d noticed her panic in any way, he didn’t show it, nodding in approval and continuing to speak.
“Good.”
She hated the shiver that ran through her at his praise.
“The Force's influence over the minds of other beings can be a valuable tool in the right hands, but it can be easily abused as well.” He began, resting his hands on his knees. “As you will have read; Those on the dark side have been known to use the Force to read the thoughts of other beings and, if necessary, search their minds for information.”
The young woman nodded, trying to keep her face straight as she anxiously toyed with the fabric of her pants. Master Luke’s face showed pure relaxation as he continued.
”It is important for a Jedi to be capable of protecting themselves against such an intrusion, which is why we are going to be practising shielding against the probe.” He finished, observing her silently for a long moment.
She averted her gaze, looking down at a piece of fabric she’d been running her nail over, unable to look at him in the eye, for she was scared of just how much he would be able to see in hers.
“You’re nervous.” It wasn’t a question, but merely a statement of truth. One that was impossible to deny, so she didn’t.
She nodded, looking back up at him as she did so. She paused her anxious fidgeting to bring her hands into her lap, eyebrows furrowing as she searched for the right words to say.
“This process is known for being exceptionally painful for the subject undergoing the probe." He stated before she could bring herself to speak. “Is it the pain you fear?”
She was silent for a moment, knowing that if she simply lied and said yes, her Master would see right through her even with her mental shields up. Because, well… she was an absolutely terrible liar.
Master Luke had caught her out a few times; when she’d tell him that she didn’t stay up too late, or that she’d drank plenty of water that day. He always told her that her face gave her away; like a child that had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
She let out a small sigh.
“Among other things… yes.” She admitted, a blush dusting her cheeks.
Master Luke observed her for a moment longer before nodding gently, a look of understanding in his eyes.
“I understand that it’s invasive.” He began, raising his gloved hand, as if taking an oath. “I can assure you that I will not look further into your mind than what’s necessary.” He promised, earnestly.
She flushed, feeling a bit like a deer in the headlights as she blinked away her embarrassment. She hated that she seemed to be so easy for him to read. Has she always been like this? Or does Luke's connection to the Force make him exceptionally good at picking up people's emotions?
It often made her wonder if he was truly as blind to her attraction for him as he made himself out to be. Surely if he could tell what she was thinking now, he wouldn’t be so blind as to miss her fruitless pining.
And if that was the case, then maybe whatever he sees in her head today will be of no surprise?
She breathed deeply, straightening her back and placing her hands back on her knees, as if she was about to start meditating.
She nodded, breathing out a quiet ‘okay’ as permission.
He mimicked her posture as he spoke.
“When I enter your mind, you will be able to feel me. I will have full access to your thoughts and your memories.” He began, watching her face carefully to ensure she understood his words.
“It will, in fact, be painful and you may find it hard to concentrate. However, your goal is to find me within your mind and push me out.”
She let out a nervous breath, rolling her neck and shoulders back to loosen them, taking some time to ground herself and connect with the environment around her. Using the Force to extend her senses and calm her. She nodded, only closing her eyes after witnessing Master Luke close his, seeming satisfied with her consent.
She took a brief moment to relax. Focussing on breathing and emptying her mind to bring herself to a light meditative state, hoping to prepare herself for the experience and calm her anxiously beating heart in one fell swoop whilst she waited for the man in front of her to invade her mind.
It started as something she could sense. Like a disturbance in the air around her, interrupting the usual waves of energy she was used to.
It exudes calm, much like Luke himself, and starts out as feeling quite unimposing. Unthreatening. She thinks to herself that the sensation is odd - unlike anything she has felt before. But the hair on the back of her neck stands as it approaches her. Almost like a tendril, seen with unseeing eyes through her Force signature, skulking through her environment like a serpent looking for prey. She finds herself bristelling at its proximity, goosebumps rising on her skin as she feels its disturbance wade through her energy. Its calm was unwavering, yet the knowledge of its intention made her nervous.
She gulped as it paused in front of her, waiting and patient.
She tried to brace herself, tried to find a way to preemptively build up a wall in her head to prevent it from entering. Yet still, when it struck, she was unprepared.
She whimpered when it hit her, a pain shooting through her skull, like a hundred migraines occurring at once. Her body tensed and her face screwed up in pain, a blur of sensations and imagery and emotion blew through her and her breathing quickened. A strangled cry escaped her lips.
But suddenly, she could see.
Luke was sitting in front of her, under their tree. The picture was hazy, as though a camera was going in and out of focus but he was there all the same; discussing Mind Probing, the wind blowing through his hair as she thought about how beautiful he was. Just as she had just moments ago.
She felt another bout of pain, gritting her teeth to prevent from crying out as the imagery changed, to the mediation they’d done earlier that day. Then again, to her breakfast.
Images of her most recent days flowed through her, the pain getting worse and worse as the memories sped past, the pressure in her mind expanding as the memories went further back, to when they first started training together. When all she thought about was Luke. Her stolen glances, her silent pining.
Through the pain, she felt a pang of embarrassment in her chest, panic shooting through her body as she clutched the fabric of her pants. She struggled to get ahold of herself, to capture her own thoughts through the fog of Luke in her head and the pain making its way down her spine.
Watching him as he stretched. Gazing him up and down.
She let out a grunt as she felt him pushing further, her eyelashes growing wet as tears built up in her eyes as she forced herself to breath strangled breaths, searching desperately for a way to push him out.
She imagined a wall - a barrier. Similar to the one she used for her usual mental shielding, but it was weak against his effort. He pushed against it.
His arms through his tunic. The feeling she got between her legs when she stared at his hands for too long.
She let out a strained sob, eyebrows furrowing and teeth gritting as she began pushing, the image growing blurry with her effort.
She could feel him resisting, pushing himself against the imaginary wall she’d built, trying to wiggle himself through.
She found her embarrassment begin to bubble, flipping inside her chest and morphing to anger. Frustration. The fire of the new emotion helped her as she imagined the wall moving forward, back through her thoughts and memories, shoving against the intrusion, slowly forcing him back out.
The pain grew easier to handle the further forward she pushed, but her mind and body grew tired. She put everything into pushing him back, back to the beginning where he kept her fighting for another moment, pushing against the barrier she struggled desperately to keep up.
She could feel the sweat beading at her forehead as she fought, a shaky breath escaping her as she pushed and pushed and pushed until he eventually, finally, he relented, letting go so suddenly that she hadn't even realised what was happening as a blur of imagery and emotions blew passed her, feeling as though she was falling; hurtling through the Force.
For a moment, she thought she may have gotten lost in her own head. Somehow made a mess of herself and had spun out of control in her own mind.
But as she slowed, an image grew clearer, not of Luke, but of herself.
She sat in the Temple, at the dining table where they ate all their meals, nose buried in one of the historical texts that she could hardly put down, looking awfully concentrated.
She lifted a spoon full of soup up, not daring to take her eyes off the book for even a second as she struggled to find her own mouth, completely missing and dipping her chin in the spoon of soup.
A rush of amusement ran through her own body as she watched herself, feeling the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as affection bubbled in her chest, heart beating the tiniest bit harder.
Confusion swam through her mind, not understanding quite what was going on. So, she pushed forward, the imagery changing, swirling wispily around her as if in a dream.
She could see herself again, during their runs through the bamboo forest, hopping on the stones across the creek.
She pushed once more, only to see the ceiling of a room she didn’t recognise and was overcome with pleasure, thoughts of herself flooding her mind as her pleasure increased; the ghost of a deep moan emerging from the memory.
Without warning, a flash of white surrounded her and she felt as if she was travelling a million miles an hour, hurtling through memories once again as she was shoved out with so much force, she physically toppled back.
She took heaving breaths as confusion clouded her, bringing a hand up to her sore head, groaning. She lay on her back for a moment before moving an arm underneath her to lift herself up into a half-seated position, resting her weight on one arm as she used her other hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks, catching her breath.
She opened her eyes, the sun was blinding as they focussed on the figure in front of her, taking a second to adjust in her disorientation. The blurriness cleared to reveal Master Luke in front of her, red faced and mouth agape, looking absolutely mortified.
Understanding flooded her as she finally realised what she had just experienced. Her eyes widened, blinking in awe as she opened her mouth to speak but found herself hesitating.
She pushed herself up fully, resting her weight on her hand.
"D-did I just-" she began but stopped short when Luke stood up.
She watched as he lifted himself off the grass, smoothing out his tunic and pants, face now back to its usual blank state but cheeks still fiery red and for the first time ever, he was avoiding eye contact with her.
"Master Luke, I'm sorry, I didn't-" She wanted to grovel at his feet after what she'd done, apologise for having invaded his personal space. But he raised his hand, signalling her to stop.
He was silent for a second, seeming to need to collect himself before speaking, looking down at his feet as he cleared his throat.
"I think that's enough for today. We'll pick back up tomorrow." His voice had a polite tone, but there was a roughness to it that she hadn't heard before, like he was holding back frustration.
She wanted to speak again, to apologise. She even opened her mouth to do so, but found any potential words dead in her throat.
"You're dismissed." He looked down at the younger woman for a brief second and nodded curtly before beginning to walk back to the temple, his strides longer and faster than she was used to, leaving her under the shade of their tree to process what had just happened.
She spent the rest of the day alone, trying her hardest to train independently, despite having been dismissed by Luke, but finding herself so distracted that she decided to just finish training early anyway, heading back to the temple and pottering around, trying to rid herself of the guilt that sat in the pit of her stomach.
She knew Luke must’ve been really upset when he didn’t show up for dinner. When the servant droid placed her plate in front of her and hadn’t returned to place one on the other side of the table, she felt her heart sink a little more.
She sighed, moving her padawan braid behind her shoulder and began eating solemnly.
She felt terrible for what she did, invading his privacy like that. Having made him look at her the way that he did, unable to look her in the eye. Like he had been betrayed.
But the worst part of it all, what kept eating away at her; she hated to admit it. Hated to be in direct violation of the Jedi Code by being so utterly selfish by finding that the guilt that bubbled in her gut, did not come from the invasion of privacy, but from the knowledge that she had enjoyed what she saw. The image played over and over again in her head, involuntarily, as if it was a malfunctioning hologram, skipping over itself to replay all over.
The guilt followed her to bed that night, where instead of smiling up at her ceiling like she often did, her fingers twitched by her sides as she lay awake, filled with the knowledge that he had pleasured himself while thinking of her.
It took every ounce of self restraint to not do the same - knowing she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye tomorrow if she did.
The next morning was bright and warm as she breathed deeply under their tree, body relaxed and mind empty as the rocks around her hovered silently.
Luke was usually already under the tree when she arrived, having been meditating for Maker knows how long before she even left the Temple, but when he hadn’t been sitting in his usual place when she walked up the small hill today, she had accepted, with much disappointment, that she would be training on her own for the day.
She was, however, pleasantly surprised when she felt a familiar presence enter her senses. Despite her eyes being closed, she could see him, walking toward their tree, looking at her with his usual neutral expression as he adjusted his leather glove on his right hand, no sign of the blush that graced his cheeks yesterday afternoon.
Although, she noticed something about him immediately. That something was different. It took her a moment of mulling it over to realise that it was that his presence in the Force seemed… hollow, almost. Like something was missing.
She quickly realised that he was guarded. Shielding himself from her.
“I was starting to think I’d be training on my own today.” She stated when he’d gotten close.
He was silent for a moment and she could see him pause in front of her, looking down at her as he seemed to collect his thoughts.
”I’m sorry for running late.” He said, moving toward his usual place in front of her.
She could hear the rustling of his clothes as he moved his hands to his sides, looking at her with that unreadable look that she loved and hated. His breathing was relaxed but he had a tenseness in his shoulders that was not usually there.
“Don’t apologise,” She began, opening her eyes slowly to look up at him properly. “I’d be upset at me too, after what I did yesterday.”
He said nothing as he stared at her, face relaxed except for a soft furrow of his brow. She sighed, lowering the rocks around her gently to the ground and moving her hands into her lap, toying with her fingers.
“I… invaded your privacy. I entered your mind without your permission, and I apologise for that.” She said, thankful that she could finally get the apology out in the open, after sitting with the weight of it on her shoulders since the second she’d seen his face yesterday.
She found it hard to look directly at him, as despite him being a beautiful and kind man, he was intimidating. He was often hard to read, even when he wasn’t shielding himself from her. When unguarded, he usually emitted an aura of calm. Pure neutrality. The same way she felt when she just finished meditating. But his presence was also always intense. Heavy.
And now, with his shield up and no way to feel his usual calm demeanor, the only thing she could feel was his intensity.
Maybe it was her attraction to him that made him feel so intimidating to her, maybe it was just the way that he was, but she felt herself grow nervous. However, she chose to keep herself open. Allowed him to feel her anxiety, her guilt, her pure sincerity, if he chose to pay attention - and she knew he always did.
He breathed in deeply, looking away from her to take a seat across from the younger woman, now eye level with her. She felt a small shift in the air around them, filling her with a gentle wave of emotion. Calm.
He’d opened himself up to her, just a little.
She looked at him again, letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
“It was an accident.” He stated, simply. A soft, reassuring smile on his lips. “You pushed too hard and when I left your mind, you followed me into mine. I should’ve prepared myself for it but I didn’t.” He moved, straightening his back and relaxing his shoulders, evidently preparing to join her in meditation.
“I accept your apology and I’d like to offer you one of my own. For not informing you of the possibility.”
She smiled, joining him in adjusting her posture as she nodded.
“It’s okay.” She confirmed, closing her eyes once again, grateful to feel the weight of anxiety lifted off her chest. The day moved like every other, training as normal, eating together as always.
But there was something different between them now. A shift in their dynamic.
It was subtle at first - she assumed it was simply the fact that they’d moved past a hitch in their platonic relationship. A teaching moment between Master and Padawan, moving past their personal feelings and focussing on the training at hand.
However, as the days passed, lingering glances had turned into shy eye contact. Her blushing cheeks at his touch were met with knowing smirks. Their dinners, usually littered with small talk and questions about Jedi training, turned into meaningful conversations. Hells, she’d even made him laugh a few times and boy, was she ecstatic to discover that Luke Skywalker, the most serious and quiet man she knows, Jedi Knight, has the sweetest, most boyish giggle she’s ever heard. She revelled in the sight of his toothy smile, cheeks creasing with the size of his grin.
Her heart pounded even just thinking about it as he led her to a new location of the Temple, one that had still been getting built by worker droids when she first arrived to Ossus for training. The room was large and open, with a lifted podium in the centre, where he led her before handing her a wooden pole, the handle surrounded in metal and wrapped in leather, to replicate the weight of a mechanical hilt.
Her eyes widened.
”Saber training?” She said, awestruck as she gazed up at Luke, who looked down at her with the smallest of smirks tugging at the corner of his mouth. He nodded, moving to stand in front of the shorter woman, hands behind his back as he watched her.
“I’d like you to position yourself in a fighting stance.” He said simply, face blank once again, calm yet intimidating aura ever present.
Despite their recent change of dynamic in their free time, he rarely shifted his focus off of training her properly.
There had been a few times where she tried to keep their light conversation from dinner or breakfast going into their lessons, but had each time been met with a telling look or sometimes even a gentle scolding, her name rolling off of his tongue with a disciplinary tone. A reminder to stay focussed.
She gripped the hilt of the wooden saber in her hands and shuffled her feet shoulder-width apart, bending her knees slightly, trying to mimic the stance she’d seen in the Holothrillers that Peli and her would watch on Mos Eisley.
Once in position, she looked at Luke, waiting for him to provide further guidance.
He observed her, gaze slowly trailing down her body as he took in her position, tilting his head as he did so, seeming ponderous.
Her stomach fluttered at the sight of his eyes taking her in with his very serious expression, his jaw tightening as he observed her.
He started to move, his hands staying behind his back as he slowly circled her, his footsteps echoing in the open space, their sound becoming her only knowledge of his location after he exited her vision, reminding her once again of her weakness in the Force when preoccupied and not meditating. Their recent Force training sessions had been consistent with that Maker-forsaken Training Remote. The burns on her legs and feet from its tiny beams are proof enough of her ineptitude with the Force when distracted. They would soon have to make a trip into the city for more Bacta at the rate she’s going through it.
His sudden appearance directly behind her startles her, jumping when he begins speaking. She swears she can hear the hit of a smirk in his voice, amused by her skittishness.
“Your instinctual position proves almost perfect.” He begins, “However, we need to make a few small adjustments.”
He takes a step closer and the only thing she can sense without the aid of the Force is the sound of his clothes rustling as he moves and the sound of his leather glove stretching with his fingers. Her grip on the hilt of the wooden saber tightens as she anticipates his touch, her senses heightened as her heart began to pound.
Her breath hitches when she feels his gloved hand touch the back of her thigh, pushing as he does so.
“Bend your knees a little more.”
She does as he says, lowering herself with his hand guiding her, revelling in the feeling of his fingers. The smooth leather of his glove makes her yearn for the touch of his skin against hers. She can’t help but think of him gripping her thigh, moving her however he wants.
His hand pulling away pulls her out of her thoughts, the ghost of his touch tingling her skin, making her legs feel weak.
He then gently places both hands on her shoulders, just soft enough to stabilise her as he brings himself closer, warm chest nearly touching her back as he uses the outside of his boot to push on the inside of her right foot, spreading her legs the tiniest bit more.
The unexpected action makes face flush and her toes curl in her shoes as she has to consciously focus on keeping her breathing steady. Mind wandering, immediately.
”Keeping your feet further apart helps with agility when in combat.” He stated, factually, his breath on her ear and she has to try not to shiver at the feeling.
He removed his hands slowly, trailing down her upper arms before retreating fully as he moved to stand in front of her again, keeping his distance close.
The young woman took deep breaths, closing her eyes to take a moment to relax before opening them again, her dilated pupils taking him in. His face stayed neutral, exuding relaxation as he watched her and she hoped she didn’t look as desperate as she felt, practically panting with want, too aware of every part of her body that yearned for his touch, from her hands, to her feet, to the apex of her thighs.
She grew tired as she kept her shield up, strengthening it as her thoughts wandered, trying to focus on anything other than his eyes or his hands or his stupid unreadable face.
She took another deep breath.
If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. His demeanor remained unchanged as he looked down to her hands gripping the hilt before he raised his own, gloved fingers gripping the saber while the other hand reaches for hers.
She let out a shaky breath when his skin touched hers as he repositioned her hands, swapping them around whilst he held her saber for her.
She hoped she wasn’t reading too far into it when his hand lingered on her fingers for a moment longer than it should’ve.
“Always lead with your dominant hand.”
He moved away again, walking with his hands behind his back as he observed just as he did before, eyes roaming her body for signs of imperfection. His head moved as he looked her over, circling her once again, his gaze burning into her skin.
His demeanor made her feel like a rabbit in a lion's den. And her face flushed at the knowledge that she liked it.
The rest of saber training had felt torturous. Not only because of his lingering touches, but because watching her Master wield a saber with ease, his tunic tightening around his muscles, his breathing growing ragged with exertion was like collapsing dehydrated in the middle of the desert and seeing an ice cold water bottle sitting just outside of reach. Like being in a prison cell, the key to the door hanging just outside the bars.
Like being infatuated with a man you can’t have.
She touched herself in the refresher to the thought of him, after training.
After dinner, spending some time in the Temple library, opting for a romance book after the excitement of the day, and doing her final meditation for the night, she retired to bed where she tossed and turned more than she usually would.
The events of her day played over in her mind, the ghost of her Masters touch still present on her skin.
She came to wonder if her frustration with her inability to be with the man she so desperately and selfishly pined for, indicated a dark desire. A path to the Dark Side. If, deep down, she really was filled with selfishness and hate.
She’d never identified with the Dark Side, often finding the lust for power obnoxious and all-too similar to Earth's facism, a political standpoint she’s always detested. But the Dark and the Light side of the Force were not a simple matter of opinion or politics.
No, it was almost as though it was destined. Something that the Force predetermined to keep balance within it. So, although she felt no pull to the Dark Side, was her selfish desire for Luke Skywalker a pathway to it? Would this infatuation with her Master create a pull that has already been predetermined?
The thought had her restless and after chasing sleep for an hour and it eluding her, she decided to just continue reading the new book she had started this evening in hopes of putting her racing thoughts behind her.
Flipping the blankets off of her body and shuffling to the edge of the bed, she stood to walk to the other side of her quarters, where the book sat on the table next to a small carpet she used for her evening meditations. Luke had placed it in here, insisting she have somewhere other than just their tree to sit and meditate.
She gripped the book whilst looking down at the cover, an image of a Human man holding a Twi’lek woman by the waist, staring lovingly into her eyes. She sighed down at it almost longingly before moving to make her way back to her bed.
Her feet stopped dead on the stone floor when a small, nagging feeling rose up on the back of her neck. It almost felt like a small tingle, like a bug was crawling on her skin or her hair was grazing her neck. She thought she may have imagined it at first, but it quickly grew in intensity. A shiver ran down her spin and her blood ran cold.
She stood in the centre of her room, waiting. Feeling. Goosebumps rose on her skin as the shiver expanded across her whole body, her feet had pins and needles.
Something was wrong.
Her eyebrows furrowed, her toes flexed against the stone tiles as an image of a black mask appeared in her mind. A flash of blinding red light.
A deep feeling of dread filled her, her chest tightening as the feeling overwhelmed her and she brought a hand up to place her palm against it, feeling her heartbeat rattling in her ribcage.
It was then that she heard a scream. Not in her head, but within the Temple.
Luke.
The book fell to her feet and she took off, ripping her door open and sprinting down the hall, through the common area where they ate together and down the opposite hallway, toward her Masters quarters.
She had never been here before, had never even thought about coming here, out of respect for the unspoken expectation between Master and Padawan. But as she grew closer, the hairs on her arms stood as the overwhelming sense of danger flooded her senses.
She didn’t hesitate, didn’t even think it over for a second before pulling the door open and running so fast into Luke's room that she nearly tumbled over the area rug on the floor.
Luke laid seemingly unharmed in his bed, writhing and whimpering. But as she watched him, flashes of red light flooded her head and she blinked as they appeared.
“Luke!” She yelled, running to his side, looking down at him under the covers, the word ‘no’ tumbling out of his lips between whimpers and groans.
She was confused, brows furrowing as panic filled her. Was he just dreaming? And if he was just dreaming, why was she sensing it? Experiencing it through the Force?
His shoulders convulsed as he let out wailing sobs. His face scrunched as he began crying and her heart clenched at the sight. His beautiful face twisted into agony, as though he was in mourning.
She placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder, his bare skin wet with sweat, jostling him in an attempt to wake him.
“Luke, please!” She cried, anxious to get him out of whatever dream he was having. He continued to writhe, his hair stuck to his damp forehead.
She placed a knee on his bed, leaning over him to capture both of his shoulders to shake him.
”Luke! Wake up!” She shouted louder this time, being cautious as to not injure him with her grip.
He gasped as his eyes shot open, the word ‘no’ still escaping his lips as his body jolted out of sleep, startling even more at the sight of her.
She let out a small yelp as he shot up, her hands leaving his shoulders and up to her chest, frightened by his sudden movement.
”it’s okay!” She shouted over his whimpers, “Luke, it’s okay! It’s me!” She pleaded.
Confusion clouded his eyes as his body heaved with ragged breath, bracing one hand on his bed and bringing the other to his chest, flattening it across his sternum as he caught his breath, still whimpering and mumbling, as if still coming out of the throws of his dream.
“Luke, are you ok?” She brought a hand down to his forearm, grazing his skin gently so as to not frighten him again.
He flinched a little at the contact but settled when his eyes caught hers, clearer than they were before and she breathed out a relieved breath, grateful to see the recognition in his face.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to gain control of his breathing. His face was still twisted in confusion and panic.
“I-I can’t-“ He tried to speak but struggled, closing his eyes.
She looked around his room quickly, realising she hadn’t taken note of anything when she’d entered and hoped to find something that could help him now.
She nearly gasped in happiness when her eyes settled on the glass jug of water on the table across from the bed.
“Hang on.” She stated, giving his arm a reassuring tap before hurrying over to the table, picking up one of the upturned glasses on the tray and pouring some fresh water into it.
She brought it back over to his bed, grabbing at his hand to guide it to the glass, where he looked up at her with grateful eyes and a furrowed brow. He nodded in thanks as he gripped it with shaky hands, bringing it to his lips to take a sip.
She then hurried to the other side of the room, grateful to see that their quarters were practically identical. She rushed over his own meditation mat and pulled aside the thin curtains so she could open a set of balcony doors, allowing the cool night breeze to enter the room, something she often did whilst she was meditating in her own room.
She turned to watch him sigh in relief when the breeze hit his wet skin, the messy bed hair on his head moved with it. He removed the glass from his lips, bringing it down to rest in his lap.
It was only now, after her goosebumps died down and the shiver of imminent danger had left her, that she took notice of his appearance.
He was shirtless, the sheet that had initially covered him when she entered pooled on his lap, exposing his chest. He was unexpectedly lean, although she supposed you had to be to be a Jedi; even she had noticed a difference in her body after she began her training almost a standard year ago. The moonlight flooding in from the open door glistened against his moist skin, revealing the contours of his biceps, and as she looked at his arms from her new position in his quarters, she noticed that he wasn’t wearing his signature leather glove and she could now see his broken skin, where something metallic shined in the moonlight from underneath.
As she walked closer, she realised that underneath the skin of his right hand was metal and wiring, the skin around it seeming damaged.
She had heard the stories, heard that he’d had his hand cut off by his own father, but had never known the legitimacy of them. All the books, Holothrillers and verbal retellings had said different things. Some that he was the hero, others that he was the villain. But they all showed the same depiction of his father. A man in a black mask with a red saber.
She sat cautiously on the other side of the bed, watching as he finally caught his breath.
“Are you ok?” She asked, quietly. Despite being the only two in the temple that aren’t droids, the darkness of the night made her feel like she had to whisper, like they were sharing a secret they didn’t want others to hear.
Luke moved to place the glass of water on his nightstand and she mentally scolded herself as she watched his muscles contort with the movement.
“Yes, thank you,’ he began, still capturing his breath as he moved back to look at her. “I apologise if I woke you.” He clasped his hands together in his lap, toying with his fingers as he stared at her with a sheepish expression.
He was embarrassed.
She shook her head, adjusting her position on his bed so that she was sitting on her knees, facing him entirely.
“You didn’t.” She tucked a piece of loose hair behind her ear, watching as Luke took in her nightgown and untied tresses. She realised that he had also never seen her like this and probably found it equally as jarring as she did.
“I couldn’t sleep. I was about to start reading my new book to see if it would help when I became overwhelmed with a terrible feeling.” She explained, looking down at her lap. ”I had no clue what it was until I heard you yell.”
Luke suddenly moved, and she looked up at him, seeing a look of surprise on his face as he adjusted his position to face her.
“You could sense it?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded. “Yes. I’ve never felt anything like it. It was like the room just stilled and all I could feel was this overwhelming sense of danger or fear - but it wasn’t my own.” She elaborated, realising that Luke was clearly interested in her experience. She watched as he nodded, silently urging her to continue.
“And then I could see… a figure. A man in a mask. But I wasn't really seeing it. It was like a picture had appeared in my head.”
Luke nodded, a soft smile adorning his face.
“Your connection with the force has grown.” He stated simply, gulping down the last of his ragged breath. He seemed almost proud but there was a distant look in his eye, as if he was still thinking of his dream.
She shuffled closer, moving toward him again, capturing her nightgown in her hand to gather it at her knees so she could move without the fabric getting in the way.
She lowered her voice again as she asked;
”Were you dreaming of Vader?”
His eyes met hers for a brief moment before moving again to stare down at the bedsheets, his face scrunched as he thought, his hair still stuck to his forehead.
“N-no. It was someone else.” She could tell he was thinking back, trying to connect any dots he could find. “I didn’t recognise him. But you feeling it through the Force tells me that this was not just a dream.” He lets out a sigh, bringing his robotic hand up to his hair, smoothing it out.The mechanical pieces clicked quietly as they moved with him.
“A premonition?” She asked, awestricken at the thought. Luke gravely nodded in return, his hand dropping to his lap once again.
”Do you ever know when it will come true?” She questions further, knees knocking with his as she moves even closer to him without thinking, interest piqued. She’d read of Jedi getting prophetic visions and had found great interest in it, having never experienced one before - until now, she supposed.
He looked down at their legs, seeming to think for a moment before responding.
“No, it’s hard to know when it will happen. It may never happen.” He began, his eyes on her exposed knees and the fabric of her nightgown pooled between her thighs.
She came to a slow realisation of the situation they were currently in.
She was in his quarters. In the middle of the night. In his bed. In nothing but a nightgown.
She suddenly hoped the white light of the moon didn’t reveal the blush on her cheeks as he continued speaking, the air around them seeming to have shifted as he, too, realised their predicament.
“The future is always changing. The actions of the present are constantly adjusting the future.” He gazed down at her, his voice thinning as he spoke.
There was something different about him as he sat across from her. Maybe it was the fact that he’d just woken from a nightmare or, as she’d just discovered, a premonition, but he was more expressive. His usually neutral face was still relaxed, a great juxtaposition to how he looked earlier, but his eyes communicated more than she was used to. He continued looking at the way her nightgown flowed around her, eyes glittering in the moonlight. His eyes would meet hers every so often, as if to maintain the guise of innocence as his jaw clenched, the action visible in the contrast of the soft light.
The room seemed heavier, and she wasn't sure if it was the Force, or her imagination, but there was almost a kind of electricity filling the space between them. The new aura around them made her stomach flutter, reminding her of their time saber training earlier today, a memory that has her mental scolding herself once again, sure that she was to make a fool of herself if she thinks too hard about the way he touched her then and the way his body moved under his tunic. What she would give to see him do it shirtless like this.
She swallowed, fingers clenching her nightgown nervously, an action she see’s Lukes eyes catch instantly. Her inner thighs tingle and her heart pounds as she prepares herself to speak.
“Are the dreams of a Jedi often premonitions?” She asked, voice weak as she moved her eyes down to his body, his biceps twitching with every small movement as he toyed with his fingers in his lap. She watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he gulped.
His hair was still tousled, shoulders moving in breaths that still aren’t quite even, his eyes shining with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.
“Not always... But they can be.” His response was delayed, distracted almost. His eyes were lidded as they darted across her face. At her eyes, to her lips and across her cheeks that looked so smooth and so pleasant in the night.
A cold breeze blew through the open balcony window, making the curtains behind her dance and her nightgown move against her body, brushing against her nipples. Her toes curled as they hardened in response, a quiet breath escaped her, nearly inaudible, but he heard it. Of course he heard it.
Luke watched as her hair flowed around her shoulders, not used to seeing it out of its usual braid or bun. She could see his eyes trail down the strands of hair within her padawan braid, down to her collarbones, and he licked his lips when his gaze met her chest, breath seeming to falter at the sight.
His breathing grew heavy again as she leaned forward without thinking, her body moving practically without her permission. She wasn’t even thinking about what she was doing. Her stomach bubbled with longing and all she knew was that she needed to be close to him.
“How do you tell the difference between a dream and something prophetic?” She whispered, pausing so she could look into his eyes, looking at whatever emotion lay beneath them, desperate to know if this was ok, If she was reading this correctly.
There was something there, something akin to desire. But there was hesitation as well. She could see it in the crease between his eyebrows. It made her hesitate, not wanting to push this further if he didn’t want it.
“You just feel it.” He responded shakily, swallowing once more as his eyes darted to her lips, his tongue wetting his own without a second thought. When his eyes met hers again, there was an excited cloudiness there.
She took it as her sign. Her permission to lean in closer, watching him as she did so for any sign of discomfort, but he looked at her lips again and she could’ve sworn he leaned in too.
She could feel his hot breath on her face as she neared and she stopped just before their lips met, waiting for him to make the final move.
He hesitated.
“We shouldn’t do this.” He stated simply but didn’t make a move to pull away, his voice a rough whisper.
Her nose bumped his as she moved the smallest bit to look him in the eye, lips moving further away just by a centimetre
“Do you want me to stop?” She asked. Her question was genuine, but it came out breathlessly. Dreamily. Full of want.
He took a moment to respond, gulping nervously, his breathing shaky.
She was about to pull away, about to apologise for her forwardness when he finally shook his head.
“No.”
He still didn’t move toward her, like he was nervous to make the first move but when she finally brought her lips to his in a gentle kiss, he responded immediately. His lips closed around hers without question, soft and cautious.
Despite her initiating it, he took the lead, repositioning his head to capture her lips with more ease, adjusting his body as he leant in.
She lifted a hand to his cheek, sighing against his lips when he leant into her touch, moving his real hand to the side of her neck, cupping the back of her head to pull her in whilst his mechanical hand rested on her thigh in front of him.
As the kiss deepened, she lifted herself on to her knees, cautiously crawling into his lap, making sure he had plenty of time to stop her if he felt like he needed to, but he welcomed her gladly. His hand on her thigh slid up to her hip to pull her in, the fabric of her nightgown riding up unintentionally as he did.
She settled into his lap, body on fire as her thighs rested around his waist, enjoying the way her bare skin felt against his.
The kiss was heated, breathless and desperate, but remained innocent enough until his grip on her tightened and he pulled her closer, chests completely flush.
A whine left her throat at the feeling of her bare sex brushing against the unmistakable hardness under his sleep pants.
He sighed in response, moving his hand from her neck to her bare thigh, pulling her in closer again, encouraging the movement of her hips.
She ground down on him properly for the first time and he whined into her mouth. The sound was deep and desperate and she could feel it vibrate in his chest against her breasts as it came out.
She moved a hand to the back of his head, lacing her fingers through his hair as she felt Luke’s tongue ask for entrance against her lips.
She moved her hips again when their tongues met, encouraging him to continue. Giving him all the clues he needed to keep going, the reassurance that she was enjoying herself and that she was desperate for more of him.
His hand on her thigh trailed up under the fabric of her nightgown and around the curve of her ass, gripping it as he pulled her against him, jutting his hips up to meet the movement. She gripped his shoulder as her folds rubbed against his length, finding herself frustrated at the barrier of his sleep pants between them.
He placed his other hand under her nightgown, the fabric gathering on his forearms as he explored her bare skin, bringing his hands up to capture her breast in his palm, giving it an experimental squeeze.
She pushed her chest further into his hand whilst she rocked against him, breathing laboured. She sighed when he grunted in appreciation at the weight of her in his palm.
His thumb brushed against her nipple lightly and she pulled away from the kiss to let out a shaky moan, taking a moment to look at him.
“We really shouldn’t do this.” She stated, looking him in the eyes. But her actions betrayed her words, cupping his cheek and rolling her hips again, eyes closing at the feeling. She knew how he felt about this. About the Jedi Code. And wanted to give him any out he may have needed before they went too far.
But he groaned at her excitement, at the feeling of her wetness seeping through his cotton pants, eyes dropping to her neck and collarbone, where he brought a hand up to move her padawan braid over her shoulder with the rest of her hair.
“Do you want me to stop?” He mimicked her words from just moments before, his voice raspy and breathless as he brought his lips to her throat, shivering when he heard her gasp and grip the back of his hair at the feeling.
“Please don’t.” She moaned, revelling in the feeling of his lips dancing across her skin.
He let out a deep chuckle, one she’d never heard from him before, his breath cooling the saliva on her neck, making her whine as he brought his hands down to the hem of her gown and began pulling it up. A wave of excitement ran through her as he removed his lips to lift the fabric over her head, leaving her bare in front of him.
His eyes roamed her body, wetting his lips as he looked down at her breasts, discarding the garment wherever it fell and bringing both of his hands to her chest, thumbs grazing over her nipples once more, a restrained breath leaving his mouth as he watched as her face contorted in pleasure.
She reached a hand between them, tugging at the band of his cotton sleepwear to communicate what she wanted.
She lifted herself up on her knees, giving him space to pull the garment down.
Her thighs quivered with excitement as his length was freed from his pants, pink tip wet with precum and standing flush and straight.
She helped him rid his legs of the fabric so they were both bare for one another, hearts hammering and chests heaving with strained breath as they gazed at each other, the weight of what they were about to do sinking in. They didn’t move for a moment, looking to the other for their final looks of approval, to make sure this was a decision they wanted to make together.
He looked up at her, eyes softening as he brought his hand to her cheek, pulling her in. She captured his lips in a kiss once more, revelling in the spark on her skin where their bare chests connected.
She moved over his lap, rolling her hips once again and they both sighed as her wet folds finally ground against the bare underside of his length. His hand grasped her hip, making her skin feel like it was on fire as his fingers tightened on her body, groaning at the sensation of her slick coating his shaft.
She did it once, twice more before lifting herself on her knees whilst he moved his real hand between their bodies, positioning himself at her entrance.
She lowered herself onto him, watching his face as his tip breached her entrance.
She gasped at the feeling and electricity shot through her. His jaw hung open, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders moved with the inflation of his lungs, eyelids fluttering. He let out a strained moan, his grip bruisingly tight.
They made eye contact as she settled further, taking her time lowering herself on to his length, savouring the feeling of her stretching around his girth.
She moaned when she finally bottomed out, gripping his shoulders to ground her as her thighs quivered. His eyes were blown, pupils dilated as he watched her face, closing them only to place a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, his arms wrapping around her waist as she began to move.
It was agonisingly slow and drove him crazy, the way she moved on him, lifting her hips and feeling him dragging out of her slowly, only to sink back down again at the same pace. Slowly and gently, savouring the feeling of him inside her, like she was committing him to memory.
His grip tightened as he grabbed a hold of her thighs, helping her lift her body, guiding her.
The way he grabbed her made her think he was going to take charge, change the pace and slam her body back down to his. But instead, he matched her pace, moaning into her mouth and jutting his hips in time with hers, needy and desperate but still tender and gentle.
His head dropped to her shoulder as their bodies moved together, leaving sloppy, delirious kisses on her neck every so often while she gripped his hair, moaning into his neck as his fingers gripped her body. The sound of their panting filled the room as their pace quickened, Luke’s breathing growing laboured.
She could tell he was fast approaching his release. Could sense it from the way he grasped at her thighs but also within the air around her, as if the tension in his body filled the room. The coil in his stomach, growing.
His shield must’ve been down.
He moved back, eyes locking with hers as he positioned his mechanical hand between their bodies, the faux skin feeling close to lifelike, but lacking the warmth of his body. She could see the determination in his face, like he knew he was going to finish too fast and wanted to make sure she finished first.
He laid a hand flat on her stomach, reaching his thumb down until he found her clit.
“M-maker.” She gasped, eyes nearly rolling back at the spark his circling thumb sent through her body. If her eyes had been open, she would’ve seen the satisfied smirk he wore when her body stuttered against him, savouring the feeling of her clenching around him. The sounds she was making flowed through him, bringing him closer to his end.
The presence of his pleasure flooded her through the Force, swirling in the air as his release grew near, aiding her journey as well.
As if he could feel it, maybe he actually could, he put more pressure on her clit and her body shivered as she got closer to her climax, struggling to move against him.
He thrust his hips up, using his other hand, still clasped on her waist, to guide her down on to him, taking charge as her body struggled with the extra stimulation. She moaned as his hips bucked into her, his cock filling her beautifully as she throbbed around it, orgasm swirling in her abdomen.
He guided her through it, swirling his thumb around her clit until her thighs convulsed around his waist. Her face contorted in ecstasy, moaning as she reached her climax and Luke finally allowed himself to finish, burying his face in her neck as he whimpered with his release, hips sputtering and biceps flexing with the grip he had on her body, cock twitching inside her.
Her walls throbbed around him as she came down from her high, falling limp against his body, face resting on his shoulder as she caught her breath, enjoying the remaining waves of pleasure as their bodies relaxed into one another.
His hand left her pelvis, moving to engulf her in an exhausted embrace, one hand flat against her back and the other in her hair, thumb rubbing against her jaw.
They stayed there for a while, enjoying being in each other's arms until she eventually pulled back, only to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. He reciprocated sweetly, stroking her hair softly and massaging his fingers into her scalp.
They pulled apart to rest their foreheads together, eyes closed and simply appreciating each other's presence, their heavy breathing slowing as they relaxed.
After a while of comfortable silence, a thought struck her and the young woman smiled, letting out a soft chuckle, hand moving to cover her mouth as she opened her eyes.
Luke pulled back to look her in the eye, a smile toying at his lips.
“What?” He asked with a soft voice.
She giggled, covering her face shyly as she shook her head, hair flowing around her shoulders. “It’s nothing-“ she chuckled again, eyes closing as her shoulders shook with soft laughter.
A toothy grin broke out on his face, his cheeks creasing as he let out his own laugh.
“Well now you have to tell me.” He teased, lifting a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear affectionately.
She smiled at him, hesitating for a moment but so caught up in the intimacy of the moment and the laughter between them that she said it anyway.
“I was just thinking…” she trailed off, looking away as she held back another laugh. “That for a man sworn to celibacy, you sure seem to know what you’re doing.” She hid her face as it came out of her mouth, cheeks flushing as she giggled.
Luke’s eyes widened, a surprised look on his face at the forwardness of her statement and for a moment she was nervous she’d said too much. But she relaxed when he scrunched his nose as a shy smile broke out on his face.
“Oh my-“ he cut himself off with a laugh, bringing a hand up to his face in embarrassment.
She laughed even harder at his reaction, thankful that he’d found himself amused by her joke, bringing a hand to rest on his bicep.
He removed his hand from his face and looked up at her again, a wide smile still playing on his lips.
“I haven’t always been a Jedi, you know.” He offered as an explanation, dropping his hand to play with the ends of her hair.
She smirked, deciding to keep going with her teasing.
“So Tattooines resident farm boy, Luke Skywalker, got around that much, huh?” She poked his cheek playfully when she said it, smiling when he rolled his eyes in jest.
“Not that much.” He shook his head, swatting her hand away gently. “But I did have a friend, Biggs, who loved to talk about all of his experiences.” He exaggerated his words when describing his friend, a boyish giggle left his throat at the memory, his face plastered with his grin.
She smiled affectionately at him as she toyed with his robotic hand that he hadn’t removed from hers, feeling the replicated skin and the mechanics underneath it, watching as the gears moved with every twitch of his fingers.
When his laugh died down, he continued;
“And you know that we aren’t sworn to celibacy.” He teased, still toying with the ends of her hair with his other hand, trailing his fingertips across the bead that secured the braid behind her ear, the hair within it longer than the rest on her head.
“We can technically make love, we just can’t be in love.” He finished, a smirk still playing on his lips but she could hear the way he trailed off, watched as the smile slowly left his face and a sudden sadness filled his eyes.
She smiled softly at him, trying to keep the conversation light.
“Sounds like a loophole to me.” She joked, lacing her fingers with his. He looked down at them, rubbing a mechanical thumb across the back of her hand, the whirring of the gears within it breaking the silence in the room.
She doesn’t know why she says it, why it was on her mind or why she thought it was a good idea to verbalise it, but without thinking, she whispers;
”Those things kind of go hand in hand for me.”
The weight of her words filled the room and she felt mortified the second she said it, in awe of the implied admission in the sentence, but unable to deny it.
His eyes met hers, realisation settling in them as his face fully dropped to one of sadness. Something akin to regret washed over him as he took a moment to respond, mouth opening and closing as he thought of what to say, shaking his head.
The way he said her name reminded her of the times he’d scold her for being distracted, but instead of authority behind his tone, it was disappointment. Heartbreak.
He brought his other hand on top of their clasped fingers.
“This was-“ he stops short, struggling to find the words.
He shook his head, running a thumb over her hand as he tries to collect his thoughts.
“We shouldn’t have…” He can’t bring himself to say any more, but he doesn’t have to.
“I know.” She states, simply. A sad smile ghosts her face as she looks at him, bringing her free hand up to his, cupping his cheek. “I know, Luke.”
Despite his words. Despite what he knows he should be doing; He leans into her touch. Furrowing his eyebrows, gloomy eyes looking into hers as he watched them begin to tear up. His chest tightened at the sight of her eyes welling, gripping her hand tighter.
“C-can we just…” She began, swallowing the lump in her throat in an attempt not to cry. “Can we pretend that it’s ok? Just for tonight?” She asked, pushing his hair back to get a better view of his face, committing the view of his desperate eyes in the white light of the moon to memory.
His stare darted between her eyes, seeming torn. He was silent for a while, jaw clenching as his mind raced. But eventually, he sighed, rubbing his real hand over her forearm, almost reassuringly as he nodded, a sad smile on his face.
She brushed her thumb over his cheekbone, leaning down to peck his lips once more and he held her there, savouring the feeling of her lips on his.
She adjusted herself in his lap, his cock still half-hard inside her and he let out a small, overstimulated grunt, pulling away for a second to look her in the eyes, bringing his hand up to wipe the tear that began to roll down her cheek.
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow.” He promised, cradling her face.
She nodded with a sad smile, leaning in to kiss him again, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
The night passed slowly as swapped stories, sharing laughs together in each other's embrace, tangled in the bed sheets as the sound of the curtains shuffling in the breeze filled the room amongst their whispers.
He told her of his time growing up on Tatooine. Of his best friend, Biggs and his aunt Beru and Uncle Owen and all the trouble he’d get in for getting up to mischief in town. He explained how he and Biggs used to race landspeeders and fly small ships whenever they could, often crashing or ending up somewhere they shouldn’t have just because they egged each other on and brought out the worst in each other in the most beautifully chaotic way. He said that doing these silly things had made him realise that he wanted to be a pilot, and had even applied for the Imperial academy, simply because he knew they would train him to fly better than he knew he already could.
He made her giggle at the mention of his childhood memories of Peli, who he hadn’t really known as anything but the mean lady at the Spaceport that wouldn’t let the aspiring-pilots in to look at any of the ships in her hangars, even when the young boys begged.
She shook her head in amusement, unsurprised by his observation of the older woman. A smile graced her lips as she did, only dimming slightly after an oddly homesick feeling struck her, realising that she hadn’t seen her old boss, someone that she considered a friend, in quite a long time.
Luke, whether through the Force or solely from her facial expression, had noticed the shift in her, asking her sweetly to tell him of her past.
He’d known the surface-level things. That she was from a primitive planet in a far away galaxy and became stranded on Tatooine, ignorant to many of the workings of her new home. But he listened intently as she explained how Peli, despite being an abrasive and rude woman on the surface, had selflessly taken the young woman in after seeing the lost look on her face when the ship that she’d landed in not an hour earlier, had taken off without her on it.
She explained how she felt quite neanderthalic, having little to no knowledge of most of the technology she came across or how the currency system worked.
Peli had helped her through it all in the months they lived together by explaining the politics to her, reciting the history she knew of and even teaching her to read and write in other common languages in the afternoons, after dinner and before she retired to her uncomfortable cot in the back of the Tool Shop, where she slept amongst the droids.
Their chatting lasted hours, even after their eyes began to get heavy and they started yawning, unwilling to let the night end. There was a part of her that wondered if he, too, was trying to enjoy it while it lasted, for they knew they had to face reality tomorrow.
She tried not to think of the sunrise and the knowledge of the inevitable serious discussion they would have to have when the time came.
Finding comfort, for now, in the safety of the moonlight as they revelled in feeling as though they had no responsibility, wrapped up in the discussion of their interests and passions outside of training.
They stopped only to share sweet kisses or even to once again become a mess of tangled limbs as he eased them both slowly back into the throws of… what did he call it?
Making love.
Hands gripping at each other's bodies, moans swallowed by each other's mouths, too absorbed with each other to even think about the world around them as she grabbed at his body for purchase, tugging at his hair without thinking.
She nearly felt bad for it, even through her sex-drunk daze, having not intended to grab him so harshly, but she was pleasantly surprised when she felt his hips sputter, moaning into her neck as he came again.
She found herself pocketing that knowledge in the back of her mind for later.
He collapsed on top of her, being cautious to rest his weight on his arms, as to not crush her under him.
She kept her hand in his hair, loosening her grip to gently massage his scalp lazily, arms as weak as the rest of her body as her chest heaved and her legs twitched.
His eyes closed at the feeling of her hand in his hair, revelling in the comfort he found within it and finding himself unwilling for it to stop.
He withdrew from her, both of them wincing with sensitivity and letting out small grunts at the feeling. But instead of rolling to her side or moving off of her, he chose to move down to rest his head against her chest, spreading his body across the mattress and bringing his hands to her sides, holding her dearly as he listened to her erratic heartbeat.
She moved her other arm across his back, embracing him as she tried to calm her breathing and they stayed like that for a while, basking in their post-sex haze as her fingers trailed over his back and through his hair.
She found herself not thinking of the Jedi Code, or of their agreement to speak of the consequences of their own actions tomorrow, but of her happiness. Of the way her stomach fluttered when his fingers twitched against her side or the way her whole body felt tingly with excitement.
He sighed contentedly when she placed a gentle kiss to his head, moving to look up at her and she swears she feels his heart hammer against her stomach when they make eye contact.
She brushes his hair off of his forehead, smiling down at him and shaking her head.
“Your hair is a mess.” She teased, bringing both hands up to rake her fingers through his hair, smoothing it down from its previous nest-looking mop.
He laughed a genuine, hearty laugh as he brought his hand up to his head, helping her fix his hair as a small blush dusted his face.
“You really know how to keep the mood going, don’t you?” He jested, smirking down at her teasingly.
Her smile grew, laughing lightly as she came to the conclusion that she really liked this side of Luke Skywalker.
Relaxed, smiley and even a little goofy. Willing to joke around with her and reciprocating her light-hearted teasing.
His usual seriousness was endearing, one of the things that she’d actually always found attractive about him. But now, watching his eyes crinkle and his smile grow as he shook his head down at her, a gentle chuckle rumbling in his chest; she decided that, yes. She could get used to this.
Their bodies were sweaty and sticking together, hair tousled and messy as they lay gazing at each other with stupid, love-sick grins. It was then that a new thought struck her.
She moved her head, twisting her face into a look of pondering, as if in thought. To sell her performance even more, she brought a finger up to tap on her chin as she hummed, feigning indecision.
After a moment, she widened her eyes, as if to say ‘ah, i know!’
“I think I know how to keep the mood going.” She teased, excited to keep their silly conversations going, desperate to see more of his goofy grin that she found herself enamoured by.
He played along, tilting his head in mock interest as he spoke.
“Oh yeah?” He offered, smirking at the little joke she was playing.
She nodded, a mischief-ridden smile stretching across her face as she looked down at him, loving the way his eyes sparkled with excitement. She raised her eyebrows suggestively as she spoke;
Summary: Boromir and the reader take a moment at the lake one last time before embarking on the road to Edoras. Boromir starts to have second thoughts about his future. (This is pretty much a slow-burn between our reader and Boromir, as they start to explore their deepest feelings for each other.)
.........................................
The icy blues and greens of the immense lake seem to reflect its frigid temperature as you step your bare feet into the water. Immediately, it's so frightfully and mercilessly cold. As you wade further, the chill climbs your calves and thighs with a cruel patience, until at last it reaches your naked stomach and steals the breath from your lungs altogether. You hiss through bared teeth, forcing the air from your chest in a sharp exhale before dragging in another shallow breath. You have bathed in cold waters before: rivers, lakes and streams - anywhere fresh water might scour away dirt and blood and the grime of battle. You should be accustomed to this by now. And yet, by the gods, it is so cold! Your body trembles despite your resolve, muscles tightening as if bracing for a blow. You begin to shiver, and decide to end your slow torture by gulping a huge breath and diving into the water, fully submerging yourself. As you break the surface of the water, you gasp at the icy chill. Despite the chill of the water and the autumn air, it is refreshing to feel the water pull the dirt and grime away from your hair and body. Your mind feels clearer, lighter; as if your thoughts and anxieties are washed away as well.
Wiping water from your face, you turn to look into the trees where Gandalf had faded. His arrival and farewell were extremely brief, leaving both you and Boromir stunned and confused with questions that still rang unanswered in your thoughts.
Boromir. You can't help but wonder what he's going through right now. It cannot be easy to fall through the shadow of death, only to return to the living and be forced to be reminded of past mistakes that led to his downfall. But you have hope for him, hope that with your help and shoulder to lean on he can forgive himself and be the compelling captain he once was. Turning your shoulders, you look back across the lake to the eastern shore, but stop once you catch sight of Boromir's form across the water. He stands chest-deep in the water, its surface glimmering like polished glass around him. A couple of glistening drops of water drip from the hairs of his beard onto the mirror of the lake. The once proudly manicured lines of his goatee have grown wild and softened into a fuller beard. His wet hair is slicked back, with a few short strands clinging to his temples. The sun breaks through the clouds and shines upon his wet shoulders, glistening his pale, smooth skin like freshly polished marble. His lengthy fingers rub from his sharp chin down his throat and across his smooth chest. The sight beckons you to wonder what those hands might feel like against your own skin.
Perhaps it is your own bashfulness that betrays you. You think you see him glance toward you through the corner of his eye. The look is silent and fleeting, but it is enough to send a flush creeping up your neck. Too shy to let it linger, you quickly turn your head and stare pointedly at the far shore, your heart hammering. Out of respect for his honor. Out of embarrassment. Out of fear that he has already caught you staring at his naked form. Admittedly, you were staring, but you could not help it. Boromir was always publicly revered as powerfully handsome by all of the ladies - and men. But here, you had been gifted the rare opportunity to see his allure closely...privately. The realization sparks something low in your belly. Something dangerous, like flint striking dry kindling.
We are bonded to each other, after all, you think to yourself. You are also aware of his requited feelings for you. You had even shared a kiss more than once. A few quiet, stolen moments that lingered in memory long after they ended. Surely, there is no harm in looking.
You slowly turn, willing yourself to peek at him once more. Gathering your nerve, you turn back. You nearly jump out of the water as you find him suddenly close.
Far too close.
Boromir stands only an arm’s length away, his eyes fixed on you with an entranced intensity that steals your breath. How could he have crossed the water so swiftly, so silently? You heard not even the slightest splash, nor wake. Now before you, he is treading the water so effortlessly, his arms moving beneath the surface as if he has always belonged here.
"I'm sorry if I startled you," he says with a quiet chuckle. "That was not my intent."
"It is I who should apologize," you reply bashfully. If it weren't for the chill of the water, your cheeks would be blushing. "I shouldn't have stared. I should have given you your privacy."
He lifts one shoulder in a small shrug, "No harm done."
A quiet moment passes, and you can sense the growing tension in the air.
Boromir speaks,"I cannot lie to you and say I am not guilty of the same sin." He rubs at the scruff of his beard, then the back of his neck, suddenly bashful in a way you have never seen.
Your eyebrow perks, "So you did look."
Your eyes weren't deceiving you after all.
"Is that judgement I detect in your tone?" He accuses, feigning offense with his mouth tugging into a teasing line. "How dare you."
You cannot help the smile that breaks across your face in response, as his flirting has left you speechless. This is a hidden side of Boromir you have never seen before, and now you've been blessed with a rare and precious peek. He matches your smile in return and your heart blooms at the sight of his crinkled eyes and wide grin.
Suddenly, you feel a soft throbbing against your chest. It's like someone thrumming their fingers against your skin. Reaching up, your fingers brush past the scar on your breast to the pendant that hangs from its golden chain around your neck. It beats rhythmically against your fingers, its pace fluttering like a startled rabbit's for a moment, but then it slows to a steady pace. Like the smooth canter of a horse.
In fact, it resembles...a heartbeat.
Looking straight ahead to Boromir, your eyes travel down from his smile to his bare chest. Your own smile dwindles as you reach out to him inquisitively.
Boromir watches you curiously as you reach your hand and press your fingers over his heart. His skin is soft and warm, and you feel his chest rise as his breath hitches in response to your touch. Your other hand remains at your pendant, feeling its pulse quicken.
It matches that of Boromir's heart beneath your hand. Their pulses increase in perfect sync, beating harder and faster. You gasp and let go of both hands, as if scalded by hot iron.
"What is it?" Boromir asks with a worried look of his brow, "What's the matter?"
You shake your head, "Nothing. It's just..."
You struggle to think of a lie; you don't want to worry him. "...I've never been this close with a man. Not in a long while, at least."
He looks at you for a moment, examining your face. "You are not alone in that regard," he says slowly. "It's been...many years for me."
He closes the gap between you, his eyes gleaming brightly. He reaches one hand from beneath the water and presses it against your heart. Slowly, he slides his hand up to the point between your neck and jawline, holding his thumb softly against your pulse point with his forefingers lightly gripping the back of your neck. You swallow nervously as your heartbeat quickens under his touch.
His eyes slowly draw upwards to your lips and end at your eyes. Wordlessly, he grabs your hand with his other and returns your hand to the same spot against his chest. The two of you stand silently, gazing into each other's eyes and feeling your heartbeats race. The wind blows in a hushed whisper, sending a chill to your bare, wet skin. Your lips part slightly as you instinctively breathe in the chill and exhale a warm breath through your teeth.
Knowing what is to come next, you flutter your eyes close and slightly raise your chin. His lips are warm and soft and his press is firm but gentle. You taste the beads of lake water from his lips as he parts them to kiss you again. The scruff of his beard tickles your upper lip while you reciprocate the opening and pressing of his lips with your own, which sends a tingle down your spine. The spark in your lower belly grows warmer now, fed and fanned into a fire. Naturally, your bodies draw closer beneath the water.
Suddenly—Boromir withdraws his lips and swallows, "We shouldn't linger."
His abruptness snaps you out of your love-drunk daze.
"You're right, Sir," you acknowledge and obey his statement out of military habit. "We have a long journey ahead of us."
Not allowing yourself a moment to interpret his sudden withdrawal, you step out of the water and march to your dry clothes at your camp. Embarrassment races through your heart and flushes your cheeks, and you dare not look back.
---
Upon the lakeshore, your dry clothes cling to you and slowly warm your body. You're absentmindedly rolling your bedroll and packing your bag in such a routine manner that you hadn't noticed Boromir walking up the trail to the cliff edge behind you. Until, you notice the space of camp around you feels empty, and his presence is no longer nearby. Turning around, you watch him ascend the unmarked trail that leads high up to the cliff edge. You stand, moving to follow him at a distance, careful and quiet. He stops a few steps before the edge of the overlook, looking down upon the steep falls and deep froth.
The waters of Rauros thunder down in endless tumult, churning against the rocks below with a power that could swallow a village. The spray drifts like ghostly veils in the air, catching the sunlight in vibrant colors. The great river falls in fury, its roar growing louder as you cautiously take each step closer to where Boromir stands. Something hangs from Boromir’s hand and you lower your gaze to see him holding the Horn of Gondor. It rattles in broken halves, hewn in two by the Uruks from his last battle. You watch him turn it over slowly in his hands, as if he wants to memorize every fracture, every jagged wound upon its broken surface. Though the sound of the horn has since died, you know its memory clings to him still - like the ghost of a call that no longer answered - the proud sigil of his house now marred and sundered. You stand behind him in silence, maintaining your distance and unwilling to disturb the quiet reverence of his moment.
Boromir speaks lowly, his eyes fixed on the foamy chasm below. “This horn belonged to the line of Stewards. My father gave it to me when I was of age. He said it was mine to bear, as captain and protector of Gondor...A symbol of duty, of pride.”
You stay silent as you step closer.
Boromir’s jaw works tightly, and he looks away for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he lifts up the split pieces and regards them one final time.
“Its call brought no help,” he says, voice quiet. “And its weight is now a shadow of shame.”
You reach for his arm gently and state, “It brought me."
He shakes his head slowly, a bitter breath escaping him. “But it was too late. The Halflings were taken. The Fellowship scattered.” His voice drops. “And I… I fell.”
Your hand wraps around his wrist, and you answer with determination. “You stood alone against the dark tide and gave your body to shield the Hobbits. And you rose again. That is no failure."
He turns to you then, and something in his face wavers.
"But at what cost?" he asks painfully. "Because of you, I had risen. A sacrifice you made that I had not asked of you—that I could not."
You do not answer. There are no words for what had passed between you in those ruins beneath the trees. No speech for the flame that transferred from his soul to yours, binding you beyond mere words or oaths. Boromir turned back to the river. For a long moment he stands unmoving, the horn cradled to his chest. Then, with deliberation, he steps forward to the edge of the rock. The wind catches his cloak, tugging at him like a memory unwilling to be let go. With slow purpose, he walks to the very edge. He looks down into the watery abyss, where Rauros flows in its descent, its voice a thunder that would shake the marrow in your bones. With a breath, he casts the broken horn as far as he is able. The sight before you is startling and you gasp before quickly stepping forward to bear witness of his family's precious heirloom being cast away. The pieces fall, tumbling end-over-end through the mist. Looking down below, you can faintly feel the spray of the water. The horn disappears, swallowed by the waterfall.
Boromir stands still beside you, his shoulders taut, as if waiting for something. The wind changes as it catches at his cloak again, this time tugging at its ends and swaying so it brushes against your side. He looks across the lake to the eastern shore, where Frodo and Sam are now long gone on their journey to Mordor.
He says with a quiet voice, "There will always be echoes in my mind. Memories I do not wish to keep, but cannot bear to cast away."
You turn closer to him, "A wise man once told me, 'Even pain can be a teacher'."
He flicks his gaze to you and holds it for a long moment, perhaps longer than what would be deemed proper back home in Gondor. The anguish that marked his face slowly fades, and he nods with a smirk at the thought of you remembering his advice from long ago. You were still a newly added member to his battalion then, a scrappy young woman trying to prove your worth and earn your place among the men. You never cowered, but always questioned, and claimed you were being unrighteously burdened worse than a rented mule by the men in order to prove a point.
He speaks lightly, "So you were listening to me."
"Don't I always, Captain?" you give a little smile.
"Some would argue," his tease still lightly laced with grief. You give him a humored huff, and he ever-so-gently bumps your shoulder with his own in response. You push back against his with a touch more force, flirtily reminding him of your strength.
The sound of your boots are soft on the sand and damp grass as you walk alongside each other to your camp. Boromir bears a refreshed silence in his steps, like one newly come from sleep or deep thought. His shirt hangs open at the embroidered collar, and the wind faintly stirs his damp hair from where it clings to his temples. He pauses now at your side, silent.
Boromir says contentedly, "You need not call me Captain, or Sir. Not anymore."
"What do you mean?" you ask him, worried. Is he denouncing his position? His title? Does he truly feel so lost that he's willing to abandon everything he has worked for?
"I..." he hesitates, "I know not what path is set before me now. But, no longer shall I cling to such pride that blinded me. I know I must go forward, and you needn't follow me anymore...”
His last words strike you, leaving you to swallow the dry lump in your throat.
"But instead, walk alongside me. As my captain."
"As you wish...Boromir." you answer, your heart racing again.
The sound of his name from your lips hits him like a warm breeze, and he breathes in long and deep. A subtle smile tugs at the corners of his lips before quickly disappearing into contentment. At last, after a moment when nothing came, he lets out a slow breath. His hands twitch at his sides, as if wanting to reach out and touch you. You reach out with your own, grasping his hands and lightly brush the back of his fingers against your cheeks. His hands - hardened from years of warfare - gently cradle your head and stroke your hair softly, as if he were holding something fragile. Your eyelids flutter softly at his touch, and you feel him dipping his head to press a kiss upon your lips. You sense the air of his breath is lighter now, as if this burden he bears is finally being shared. You push your lips against his, wanting this moment to last so much longer. Alas, Boromir pulls away to look upon you again. His blue-gray eyes search yours and hold a strange and distant sorrow, like a man looking upon a road he could not follow, not just yet. But deep within those eyes, you see they hold a small glimmer of hope.
I'm currently in a writing block for both of my current fandoms, so I decided to splice together a mini soundtrack for my LOTR WIP, The Witch of Emyn Muil. Inspired by the trials of Hercules, I have written ideas on how Boromir receives redemption for his crime against Frodo by completing tasks for the witch. It's very much in its early stages. I just could not shake this idea for the introduction out of my head: a ritual involving the witch who serves the Ainu Yavanna and with the help of her dwindling coven, calls upon Nienna and Mandos to revive Boromir in order to help continue her legacy.
The two tracks I spliced together are of Katerina Gimon's "Fire", and "Kaval Sviri", a Bulgarian folklore song. The first feels very primal and I envision the coven calling upon Nienna and Mandos with their chants and using their shrieks to create an energy that empathizes Boromir's pain, all while sacrificing a being in exchange for his life (I haven't thought it out yet, but I'm thinking a bull - like in the ancient culture of Mithras). The second would be their calling upon their Mother Yavanna to allow the legacy of Boromir to continue (catch my drift?), as the Bulgarian lyrics to "Kaval Sviri" translate to a young woman feeling deep affections for an unknown man by the sound of his flute and promising to love him forever. The "flute" in this story however being, the Horn of Gondor.
That's all so far. Hopefully I'll be able to put something out soon...before my holiday break is over.
Star Wars | From the Stars | Luke x Fem!Reader | Mature | AO3 link
Chapter 3: ANTH 101
Word Count: 5k
Content warnings: none
*This fic is written in third person and uses Y/N. If you'd like to copy this into a private doc and find/replace any Y/N instances however you please (your name, an OC, a canon character, etc), you're more than welcome to as long as you don't repost it that way.
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(Y/N) barely gave Luke time to wake up when she entered the living room with her laptop and an HDMI cord the following morning. She ignored Luke’s questioning look as he sat up, and she hooked up her laptop to the TV. She set the computer on the coffee table and opened up a PowerPoint before standing to the side of the TV, all the while being stared at with confusion by her alien houseguest.
With a gesture at the screen she presented the title card which read exactly like the name of a college course. “Good morning and welcome to Anthropology 101: An Introduction to Earth.” She looked away from the screen and to Luke. “Or, How to Avoid Getting Shipped off to Area 51.”
Luke rubbed his face and appeared lost as ever. “What is this?” He asked, his voice still strained with grogginess.
“I couldn’t sleep last night. Couldn’t stop thinking about how all of this is going to work. Figuring out how to get you to blend in here is a high priority. So, I made a PowerPoint.”
“Did you get any sleep at all?” Luke asked, looking a bit worried.
“I mean, did you expect me to be able to after everything that happened?”
He grimaced and gave an uncertain shrug. “I guess it makes sense. But do you really want to do this now? If you finished your… powerpoint thing, can’t you let yourself get some rest? Surely this can wait; you look exhausted.”
“If I try to sleep now, it’ll mess up my schedule. Besides, I don’t know yet if I want you roaming my home unsupervised– I’m unsure if I can trust you to not burn the place down.”
He rolled his eyes in mild annoyance. “This place might be new to me, but I’m not an idiot. I know how to conduct myself in someone else’s home.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “Now, do you want to learn how to avoid ending up in Area 51 or not?”
“What even is that?”
“I figured you’d ask about it,” (Y/N) said with a pleased smile as she changed the slide to one introducing the concept of Area 51. “It’s a top secret military base that everyone thinks the government keeps aliens at so that they can hide them and study them and stuff. Very important that we keep your origins under wraps so you don’t end up as government property getting probed, dissected, experimented on— whatever they do to aliens. No one actually knows, because— until now, I suppose— aliens coming here is all just speculation. However….”
(Y/N) changed the slide again, gesturing at the images of movie posters on it. “There are plenty of films and TV shows that get pretty imaginative about what happens when aliens do come to Earth. And most of the time, it’s not good for us. It’s even worse for them. Uncomfortable at best, deadly at worst.”
Luke shifted nervously as his eyes studied the screen. “Perception of offworlders seems to be pretty negative here, huh.”
“No thanks to Hollywood. We’ll watch a few of these so you can fully grasp why you need to be so careful. We’ll start light though— I’m thinking E.T. tonight. I don’t think I want your first Earth movie experience to be like… War of the Worlds, or the Thing. You’ll understand why I was so nervous around you when we get to that one….”
“Looking forward to it….”
“So, the first order of business,” (Y/N) continued, “is giving you a believable identity. This is you….”
Upon switching to the next slide, Luke furrowed his brow and his mouth dropped open in an expression of both disbelief and mild offense. It was the kind of reaction (Y/N) had been hoping for when she’d snuck a photo of him sleeping last night. “How did you– why–?” He asked.
She laughed, feeling quite satisfied with herself. “Thought it’d be funny. It is. Anyway, I’ve come up with what I think is a believable enough background for you. Take notes if you need to.” (Y/N) talked through the next slides, which had far more information on them. “Your name is Luke Walker, and you’re not from space. You grew up in a country called Finland, and you’re from a town way up north that’s too small to be on a map so you don’t need to bother with its name. It’s a humble little town and there wasn’t much going on there. You wanted to make a life for yourself outside of… farming, or fishing, or whatever they do over there. You have an eye for engineering, so you decided to pursue an education in the field, and that brought you here. You’re an exchange student at Michigan Tech, and you’re living with your friend– me– while you finish up school. Easy, right?”
Luke nodded uncertainly. “Sure.”
“Your family? You’re not in contact with them. They didn’t want you leaving home, they didn’t support your ambitions, they were holding you back. You don’t really talk about them much.”
“That’s… actually not too far off from the real thing.”
(Y/N) cringed and sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. “That’s rough, I’m sorry. I uh… I hope you can patch things up with them when you get home….”
“Um… I don’t think that’s possible….”
Her eyes widened and her face tightened with remorse. “Oh my god, don’t tell me that they…. I’m gonna feel so bad….”
Luke nodded tensely, the awkwardness of the moment palpable. “My sister, Leia, is the only family I’ve got left. Her and my brother-in-law. The Empire– that regime I mentioned fighting last night– they orphaned me, for lack of a better word.”
“Fuck, man,” (Y/N) breathed, approaching the couch to sit down with him. “I’m so sorry. I– I had no idea.”
“My aunt and uncle raised me, actually. I never knew my parents, nor that I had a sister. I guess our mother died when we were young, and our father…. He wasn’t a good man. Leia and I were separated to protect us, but….” He trailed off and then looked at (Y/N) apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to derail your presentation.”
She shook her head. “It’s alright. I’m sorry I brought it up, I can tell it’s… a lot for you. If you need to talk about it though, please do. I don’t mind.”
“Thanks, but it’s okay, really. It all happened a long time ago now. And, it’s not exactly the most uplifting of stories.”
“Well, that much I could tell.”
Luke snorted with a coy smile and shook his head. “Anyway, maybe I’ll tell you another time. For now though, I think I have some things to learn,” he said, gesturing at the TV.
“Yeah, back to that,” (Y/N) agreed, still a little unsure.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, you just… moved on from that quick, that’s all.”
“(Y/N), it’s okay. I promise. I’d rather be thinking about the present.”
She nodded, then settled back against the couch cushions rather than return to her previous post. Presenting was tiring, and she could tell that this poor guy was still stressed. She didn’t want to add to that by continuing to lecture him. It’d feel more like a casual conversation this way. “I really had no clue where to start with the rest of this,” she said, looking over at him. “So I figured I’d just give you a quick overview of this planet, and then focus more on where we are right now. If you’re going to be a convincing Tech student, you should probably know at least a little bit about the campus; the city; other stuff around here that the locals would know.”
(Y/N) carried on with the next few slides. “This is what our planet– Earth– looks like from space.”
“I remember.”
“Yeah… you probably saw that in person, huh,” she muttered to herself, realizing that including the image was a little redundant. She could’ve probably done without it and skipped to the map….
“It’s a pretty planet,” Luke offered.
(Y/N) cocked her head and shrugged. “I guess it’s nice to look at.”
“It’s far more diverse than any of the worlds I’ve ever been to.”
“How so?”
Luke gestured at the photo. “I could see all those different colors and features on my approach– all those different biomes. All that blue and green, but there were also deserts that I could see, and as I got closer I could see mountains, snow, islands, rivers, lakes– it’s like your single world contains little pieces of entire planets where I come from.”
As per usual, his fascination over things that (Y/N) didn’t even think about intrigued her, and she found herself smiling at him again. “I’m glad that Earth didn’t disappoint. Yet, I suppose.”
Luke returned a timid but sweet smile of his own. It was then that (Y/N) noticed his prominent laugh lines, and made an observation that she very much liked them– liked his whole smile, in all honesty, and she’d not even seen a genuine grin from him yet.
(Y/N) realized she was staring, and quickly turned her attention back to the presentation. “Anyway…. The planet’s divided into five oceans– the Atlantic; the Pacific; the Indian; the Southern; the Arctic– and seven continents– Australia; Asia; Europe; Africa; Antarctica; South America; and North America, where we are. Each continent is divided into countries. The one we’re in is–”
“The United States, I think you said,” Luke finished, cutting her off, though he seemed to feel bad about it.
“Your memory’s pretty good,” she commented.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt. Got a little ahead of myself.”
“No worries, Luke,” (Y/N) chuckled before continuing on. “We’ve got fifty states in this country– that’s probably important to know.”
“And we’re in one called Michigan, right?”
She nodded. “You’re a natural.”
Luke inclined his head toward the screen, which now showed a satellite image of the state. “But where are we, exactly?”
“We’re in what’s called the Upper Peninsula. Here, give me your hands, I want to show you something,” she said eagerly, motioning for him to oblige.
Luke fixed her with a curious look and turned towards her a bit more, presenting his hands to her. “Put your right hand like this,” she instructed, demonstrating with her own hands as she turned her palm up and kept her fingers together. “Keep your thumb out a little though– yes, just like that.” She took her left hand and put it above her right, orienting it perpendicular with her fingers together and her thumb sticking up again. “And do this with your left.”
“Okay….”
“That’s your map.” She pointed at his right hand, then his left. “Lower Peninsula, Upper Peninsula. Pretty convenient, right?”
He snorted and nodded. “That’s neat, actually. I like that.”
“Yeah, although personally, I think the Upper Peninsula is more accurate like this–” She tucked her pinky and ring fingers like she was mimicking a gun. “–because the real thing isn’t that thick, but I digress.”
(Y/N) dropped her hands and then moved a little closer to Luke. “Here,” she said, taking his left hand. She noticed now that his hands were a fair bit larger than hers, and they looked so… pretty. He could easily be a hand model. (Y/N) touched her finger to the middle of his thumb. “This is about where we are right now– little town called Houghton.” She moved her finger to the very tip of his thumb now. “And this is where I picked you up from. That’s about… fifty or so miles apart.”
When she lifted her head to look at Luke, she didn’t see him studying his hand map like she expected. He was looking at her, with an expression she couldn’t quite pinpoint– something between intrigue, fondness, and contentness. Whatever it was, it was enough to send some warmth to (Y/N)’s face, and she quickly withdrew from him. God, was he pretty. Probably one of if not the prettiest guy she’d run into living up here. Jesse– her ex– had been good-looking too, but there was just something especially nice about Luke that the former lacked.
Had to be the smile. Jesse’s smile was definitely nice, but it didn’t have nearly the charm that she could tell Luke’s did. Then again, Jesse had been dealing with a lot of very complicated internal struggles when he was with (Y/N)– things that confused him and scared him and would make genuine smiles hard to come by. Things that ultimately led to their breakup. (Y/N) hoped that he was in a better spot now, and that he could smile more. She was on amicable terms with him; they were still friends, but both of their lives had been so busy that they’d not talked in a while.
And speaking of not talking in a while….
(Y/N) shook her head upon realizing that she’d just spent a good amount of time silently comparing her ex to the alien she picked up off the side of the road not even twenty-four hours ago. The hell was she doing? She sat up straighter and turned her attention back to the screen, clearing her throat and fighting back the warmth rushing to her face. “Anyway, a little bit about Houghton….”
~ ~ ~
“You can’t wear exclusively long sleeves and sweaters, it’s the middle of summer.”
“I’m from a desert, I have yet to be met with that kind of heat from anywhere else and I doubt this place is going to change that,” Luke argued. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re gonna get weird stares.”
“You’re the one that told me that people walk around in shorts during the winter, and somehow my clothing choices are odd?”
(Y/N) gave an exasperated sigh and waved him toward the changing rooms. “Whatever, just go try that stuff on.”
Shopping with men was never very exciting, and was more often than not a little frustrating. (Y/N) should have expected no different with Luke, but she’d somehow hoped he’d be easier and that there’d be less bickering. Rather than complaining and having no style opinions though, he had such particular preferences that (Y/N) was beginning to think that maybe he actually was a reptilian or something non-human. No shorts, no jeans with holes, no open-toed shoes, no tank tops, no t-shirts, not even ¾ sleeve shirts, and the collars could be no looser than a crew-neck. They were nearly an hour into shopping at their second thrift store of the day, and (Y/N) had originally thought it’d be fun. Unfortunately, it had just become exhausting.
“Will you at least try a t-shirt?” (Y/N) asked as she sat on a bench outside of the changing room.
“I’d really rather not,” Luke said.
“I promise that the sun here isn’t nearly as bad as it is where you’re from. You don’t need to cover up so obsessively.”
“It isn’t about the sun.”
“Wearing long-sleeved shirts all summer is a surefire way to have people worrying for your mental health. Last thing you need is a wellness check from the authorities. That will not go well for you.”
She heard Luke sigh, and he left the changing room wearing another sweater. He looked at (Y/N) with some discomfort. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to wear something more weather-appropriate. It’s that I don’t think I can. At least, not without seeming… out of place.”
“Why do you say that?” (Y/N) asked.
Luke grimaced and gave a quick look around. (Y/N) followed his gaze, furrowing her brow. He then motioned her towards him, and she shot him a careful but curious look as she stood and followed him into the changing room. The door shut behind them, and she suddenly felt very weird about the situation, understanding why Luke had glanced around previously. Two people sneaking into a changing room together was certainly a little scandalous. (Y/N) didn’t think he was going to try anything funny though– she suspected he just wanted some more privacy so that he could be honest with her. Still though, it didn’t stop her mind from wandering a bit. They were standing almost awkwardly, intimately close.
“Sorry if this is uncomfortable,” Luke said, some timidness in his tone. “I just didn’t want to risk anyone else seeing.”
“Yes, that’s usually the purpose of a changing room,” she said dryly.
Luke ignored her quip and then let out a long breath as he touched his hand to his left sleeve. He carefully pulled it up, revealing jagged, reddish-brown patterns etched onto his skin. (Y/N) recognized them immediately, having seen images of Lichtenberg figures in viral posts online. Never in person, though. She had to admit that it was incredibly cool to see up close, but she tried to contain her fascination to avoid making Luke uncomfortable. “Alright, so, you got a bad electrical injury,” she said with a nonchalant shrug. “Nothing to be ashamed about. No reason to cover them up.”
“I’m not ashamed of the scars,” he said, moving to pull up his other sleeve now. “Not ashamed of anything, I should clarify. But is this not worth some questioning here?” He asked as the sleeve passed over his comparatively unmarked right arm and eventually revealed that the figures started up again suddenly right before his elbow. An odd sort of seam divided the scarred skin and the clear skin.
“I guess that’s a little unusual,” (Y/N) admitted.
Luke turned his hand over to show the underside of his forearm, and there was another strange outline partway up the arm in the shape of a rectangle. “Really unusual,” (Y/N) corrected.
He didn’t stop there. He touched his fingertips to one edge of that rectangle, and that part of his arm… unlatched. It opened up like a door, and (Y/N) was staring at wiring and at metal components that responded when he moved his fingers. Her eyes went wide and she became lightheaded as her body didn’t seem to know how to respond to what it was seeing. She backed away from Luke and stared at his arm in utter shock. “Oh my god, you’re the fucking Terminator….” She breathed.
“Hey, relax,” Luke said calmly.
She darted her eyes up to his face in fear and disbelief. Her words came out quick and accusatory. “You– you said– you told me you were human! What the–”
“(Y/N).”
“What– what the fuck is that? Are you like– like some sort of android thing? Or– or some kind of–”
“(Y/N)!” He repeated, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking her in the eyes. “Relax, please!” His voice softened when he had her focus. “It’s alright. I didn’t lie to you. It’s just my hand; the rest of me is all human.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m certain.”
“How can I know that?” Luke sighed and opened his mouth to speak, but (Y/N) cut him off before he could. “Does an android have a pulse?”
“Droids do not have pulses.”
And at that, (Y/N)’s hand went to his throat, her fingertips finding his carotid and pressing down lightly. One, two, three, four…. The rhythm of a heart pumping blood was steady and strong. She let out a shaky, somewhat relieved breath and withdrew her hand, then backed herself against the wall and slid to the floor before she actually did pass out from the sudden stress of what she had just seen.
Luke moved and sat down beside her. “(Y/N), are you alright?”
She looked at him, noticed that the panel on his arm was still open, and quickly cringed and averted her eyes. There was no blood, but something about the fact that she was able to see into his arm and that it wasn’t full of bone and tissue was unsettling enough. She’d almost rather be looking at an open and bleeding wound, because that would be easier to wrap her head around than this. “Sorry,” she said hastily, a little embarrassed. “I probably overreacted. It’s just– I didn’t expect it, and I’m trying to process it.”
“Hey, it’s alright,” Luke said gently, closing up the panel and pulling his sleeve back down. “I’m sorry it startled you so bad. I should have warned you about what to expect.”
“Listen, I’m not grossed out or offended by it or anything like that,” she said, feeling like she needed to do some damage control in case her reaction got to her companion’s feelings. “I don’t think you’re some kind of freak or abomination. And I didn’t mean for it to come off that way. That wasn’t cool, the way I reacted.”
Luke shook his head and gave her a reassuring look. “No, don’t worry about it at all. I know you didn’t mean it, you were just scared– understandably.”
She nodded. “Thanks….” She glanced over at his hand again. “Can I ask… what happened to it?”
“It was….” He trailed off, like he was trying to find the right words. “It was amputated, from an injury.”
“From the war you were in?”
“Yeah, from the war,” he replied quietly, his eyes a little distant. It was obvious that there was more to this story, but (Y/N) got the feeling that it was something traumatic that he didn’t want to talk about. So, she let it be.
“In hindsight,” (Y/N) said quietly, looking at his hand a bit more intently, “it was actually pretty cool. Your hand.”
The corners of Luke’s mouth turned up a bit. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, we don’t have anything remotely close to that technology here.”
He held out his right hand to her, palm up; offering it to her like he knew she wanted to look at it. With a slight tremor still in her own hands, she took his and studied it for a moment. She lightly brushed her thumb across his palm, then felt a couple of his fingers with some more pressure, trying to see if the inner workings of his digits felt any different than the bones and tendons making up a real hand. They didn’t. Even the skin felt real, if not a bit softer and less calloused. The only thing even slightly off was the temperature– it was more cool to the touch, though it wasn’t cold. In fact, (Y/N)’s own hands felt colder from being outside in chilly weather than his fake hand did now. It really wasn’t outwardly different at all. “I can’t believe how… real it looks, and feels.”
“I sometimes forget that it’s not,” Luke said.
There was a short moment of silence between them, and (Y/N)’s heart rate finally returned to normal. She let out a heavy breath and looked to Luke again. “Hey,” she said. He brought his attention to her, blue eyes bright and patient. “Thanks for… being understanding. And… for not being a murderous android.”
He chuckled and shook his head. He opened his mouth to respond, but there was a knock at the changing room door. The two of them snapped their heads toward it as an annoyed voice spoke up. “One person per changing room, please. Store policy.”
“Sorry,” (Y/N) said sheepishly. “Friend needed help… with a shirt….”
There was a huff from the employee on the other side, then footsteps as they walked off. Luke was already on his feet, holding out his hand to (Y/N). She smiled wryly at him and let him pull her up. “Guess we should probably get out of here….” She said, still a little embarrassed.
~ ~ ~
It was after dinner that evening when (Y/N) sat down on the couch with Luke again, this time to show him how to use the computer. He had a lot of questions about this world, and (Y/N) knew that she wouldn’t have all of the answers. She signed in and opened up her browser. “This is Google,” she said. “If you ever want to know anything at all, this has you covered. You just type in whatever it is in the search bar here…” She typed in ‘lake superior shipwrecks’ and hit enter, the results loading immediately. “... and there you go. All sorts of articles and websites and forums that you can get information from.”
“Um… (Y/N), we do have search engines where I’m from,” Luke said cautiously as she passed the laptop to him. “I uh… I know how to look something up.”
She nodded slowly, some warmth rising to her cheeks. “Yeah– yeah, of course. I don’t know why I assumed you wouldn’t…. Sorry.”
“But I do appreciate your help,” he added quickly. “The Holonet here looks quite different.”
“I can only assume that that’s your world’s version of the Internet….”
“I’ll make note that you don’t call it what I do,” Luke said to himself. Then, he spoke up a bit more. “I’ve been learning that our worlds share a lot of the same things, but we don’t use the same names for them. I think that’s something I’ll need your help with the most.”
(Y/N) nodded in agreement, remembering the few times she’d already had to correct him earlier that day. He’d called the TV a holovision; coffee, caf; the bathroom a refresher; her phone a datapad. It was as strange as it was funny. “Yeah…. We’ll need to work on that.”
Luke gave a quick nod and returned his attention to the laptop. He clicked on one of the first shipwreck articles, and (Y/N) watched as he started to read through it. “There have been over five-hundred shipwrecks in Lake Superior….” He looked at her in astonishment. “And this is a lake, not an ocean? Not even a sea?”
“Ah, forgot you grew up in a desert,” (Y/N) recalled with amusement. “I guess they’re big enough to be called inland seas, but yeah. Superior doesn’t fuck around– there’s a whole song about it. Waves can get almost thirty feet high, and it’s so cold that the bodies in it don’t really decompose. There’s no good way to put the size of it into perspective but it’s huge. You can’t stand on the shore and see the other side. It’s something like three-hundred and fifty miles long. The ship you came here in: how fast is that thing?”
“The top speed in-atmosphere is around a thousand kilometers per hour,” he answered.
With a sigh, (Y/N) brought out her phone and opened up Google, muttering under her breath as she looked up the conversion, “Even the fucking aliens use the metric system; we really need to get our shit together….”
A couple more quick math problems later, and (Y/N) put her phone away. “If you were flying from one end of Superior to the other as fast as your ship could go, it’d still take you like a half hour. Does that help at all?”
“It does,” Luke replied. “I just… can’t wrap my head around that much fresh water in one place. I thought those were seas when I was flying down.”
“Yeah, pretty impressive, huh?”
Luke nodded and started reading again. He didn’t get far before (Y/N) interrupted with a burning question she had been meaning to ask, but that she’d forgotten in all the excitement of the day. “That ID you showed me yesterday, I couldn’t read that at all, yet somehow you have no problem reading English. How?”
“Well,” Luke said, giving her his full attention again. “My galaxy has two written forms of Basic. The one that matches your alphabet is called High Galactic. It’s not used all that often, but it’s something nearly everyone knows regardless.”
“And the other– the one on your ID?”
“That one’s called Aurebesh. It’s our primary alphabet.” Luke reached into the pocket of his pants– one of the pairs he’d gotten earlier that day– and retrieved his ID. He showed it to (Y/N) and translated it for her.
“Wow,” she mused. “That’s… really interesting, actually.”
Luke smiled at her, and he set the ID down. “If you’ve got some flimsiplast lying around, I can show you the rest of it.”
(Y/N)’s face was overtaken by confusion. He was using one of his weird space words again. “Flimsi-what?”
“It’s….” He took a second to think. “It’s something you write on– thin, white, flexible.”
“Paper,” she realized, stifling a laugh. “We call that paper.”
A tinge of pink faded onto Luke’s cheeks. “Ah, thanks. Well, if you have some paper lying around, I’ll teach you how to write Aurebesh, if you’d like.”
She smiled at him. “I can go get some; a pen too. I’m very interested. I’ll be one of two people on this planet who knows how to write your language– maybe it can be our secret code or something.”
“Maybe,” Luke said, looking happier than she’d seen him before. That smile of his really was something else.
(Y/N) stood and headed to the office to get some writing utensils. She spent the rest of that evening sitting shoulder to shoulder with Luke, watching him write down the Aurebesh characters and doing her best to copy them. They eventually moved on to writing out some sentences, and (Y/N) found that she had a hard time keeping up with Luke. These characters were so strange to her that she wrote much more slowly in comparison to him. But he was so patient, and helpful, and encouraging. He ended up being a really pleasant teacher, although the lesson occasionally derailed as the two of them found themselves just talking for long bouts of time. As their little impromptu language course went on, (Y/N) found that Luke was becoming less and less a stranger, and much more akin to an actual friend. Their night ended in the manner that (Y/N) had suggested earlier that morning: watching the first of many movies that she thought essential to Luke’s Earth experience, starting of course with E.T.
Summary: 10 years after the ending of Mistakes, you return to Blackwater in search of a job. Unexpectedly, you run into someone from your past.
A note: First off, if you have been waiting for the second act to Mistakes, I thank you for your patience. We only had to wait *checks notes* 5 years?
As with any piece of creative work, it takes time to get it right. As for this piece of work, it took ages for me to even get started, as I was not in a mentally stable place to continue it at that time. I poured myself into this series, and pulled a lot from my own life experiences. That came at a cost. In addition, I was dealing with major life changes - some positive, some negative. Now that I've grown emotionally and have found myself in a better place, I can finally set the reader and Arthur on the path to redemption.
---------------------------------
The sun shines brightly in the clear blue skies. There's not a wisp of cloud in sight. The cool winter air still hangs in the breeze, desperately clutching as the season transitions into spring.
Watching through the small window of the stagecoach, you welcome the songs of birds and the colors of wildflowers as they return, despite the lingering chill. It's still early in the morning yet. Perhaps the sun will brighten the day and cast the chill away with its warming radiance.
The stagecoach rocks back and forth as it’s pulled by a team of sturdy horses. The wheels bump over rocks and dip into divots every so often on the dry road. The coach sways and creeks as you sit alone inside the small yet spacious cab.
The landscape of a distant town grows larger as you approach it. You notice a few new, taller buildings have been erected since you've last been here.
The stagecoach stops and your body leans forward in response to the gradual halt of the coach. There’s an odd silence while your gloved hands fiddle and squeeze your fingers. The silence is broken as the wagon shifts with a slight creak under the weight of the driver stepping off his high seat. He wastes no time opening the cab door.
The driver’s dusty face greets you with a bored look while you look past him towards the town. The cool breeze sways your dress skirt as you finally step out after what felt like hours of riding. Your heeled boots poke out beneath the white petticoat of your dark gray dress and your eyes narrow in focus to pan the streets of the small, dusty town before you.
How long has it been since you've crossed these town borders, you wonder?
Ten years?
A decade. One-tenth of a century.
Those years flew by and yet each day had passed slowly. It's easy to tell ten years have gone by but it somehow feels it's been much longer than that. Deep within your heart, you knew you could return to this place in time. The real question was would you have returned? Your aching heart and logical brain battled with each other for so long until they finally compromised on something.
It was a help wanted ad in the newspaper. The one that still sits folded inside your suitcase. It was, without question, a sign. When you saw the printed ad, your heart leapt at the opportunity of returning and your head was thrilled to find a decent job.
So here you stand with a small suitcase in hand. All of your precious belongings fit inside this worn wooden suitcase lined in faded red leather. The weight is heavy, but manageable. Holding the suitcase with tight fingers, you scan the town before you for the hundredth time.
New buildings yet to be complete hide within their scaffold cages. A foreman shouts in the distance, giving orders to his men laying brick, mixing cement or cutting wood. Multiple hammers give a subtle whack-whack-whack in disunion. While the population doesn't seem to have grown much, the citizens appear in clean, tailored clothes and walk briskly along the wooden planks of the sidewalks that line both sides of the single cobblestone street.
A freshly painted sign stands just several yards from the parked stagecoach.
WELCOME TO BLACKWATER
The words make your heart flutter painfully quick. You worried this would happen: that the wounds you thought were healed would split open once you returned. However, you blinked your eyelids and cleared away the butterflies in your chest with a gentle cough.
Your gaze catches the post office nearby. After tipping the driver, you thank him and walk towards the building.
It looks so different than how you remember it. What was once a humble freight depot built of moldy logs is now an expanded building made of cedar planks with double doors. The building rests on top a raised platform.
Once your heels make contact against the wooden platform, a young feminine voice calls to you.
"(Y/N)?" Its tone curious.
Turning your head to the source, you see a young woman. She's dressed in a yellow, puff-sleeved dress with white lace trim at the top and bottom of her short sleeves. The vivid colors look bright in contrast to her dark complexion. Thick, black hair rests neatly on top her head in a braided crown that ends with a round bun at the nape of her neck. She looks young, but old enough to be married. You'd wager somewhere between nineteen and twenty-two.
You answer cautiously to her unrecognizable face,
"Yes?"
The young lady with large, bright eyes lets out a happy sigh and beams at you with a wide smile. She steps forward towards you but stops herself when she notices you flinch and stand on guard in response.
"It's me!" She beams at you, voice nearly pleading.
You stay silent, suspicious eyes darting across her face. Nothing comes to mind. Her large brown eyes do look familiar. They look warm and kind; so full of life and shine brightly in the desert sun. But, you still draw a blank.
“I—I’m sorry?” You stutter.
"Tilly!" She exclaims happily.
"Tilly?" You repeat the name. It rattles around your head like tools shaken in a box. Suddenly you gasp, "Tilly Jones?!"
"Yes!" Her smile grows wider and her arms open welcomingly.
You mirror her smile by stepping into a hug. The pair of you laugh outside the freight station while squeezing and gently patting each other's backs.
In your welcoming embrace, you feel how much she's grown. She's no longer the little, underfed adolescent Dutch rescued from the wild frontier. She's now matured into a beautiful young lady. You can even smell a hint of sweet perfume on her person.
Tilly smiles, "I never thought I’d see you again! My, you've changed."
She breaks the hug and looks to you in awe at half an arm’s length.
"I take it that means I've gotten old." You joke halfheartedly.
"No! No! Of course not," Tilly interjects. "You're beautiful. You just...look different is all."
"So do you...all grown up. Look at you! I bet you're swatting men away left and right."
"Oh! Stop it!" Tilly giggles and waves a hand at you. "Have you always been here at Blackwater? I can't believe I haven't seen you sooner!"
Shaking your head, you answer, "No. I just got off the stagecoach." You confirm with a lift of your small suitcase by your feet. You honestly weren't expecting to see a familiar face so soon after arriving.
"From where?" She asks with deep fascination.
You shrug, "All over, really. I just came from MacFarlane’s Ranch. You heard of it?"
Tilly furrows a brow in thought and shrugs a shoulder, "Sounds familiar. But I dunno much about it."
"Well, I've been working there for a few years but, got let go and now I'm interviewing for a job here. So...here I am."
Tilly lets out an ecstatic sigh, “Oh, I'm so glad to see you here. I've missed you so much!”
She hugs you again as if to make sure you're real and not a ghost of a memory.
Welcoming her second hug, you smile against her soft, braided hair.
“I missed you too,” you respond in earnest.
“Where are you staying?” She asks, and you suspect an uncomfortable follow-up question to come.
You hesitate to answer, “At the uh, above the saloon. I assume they got rooms up there.”
“Oh, in there? No. Not unless you want an unwelcome visitor barging into your room. Why don’t you–?”
“It’s fine,” you interrupt. You shouldn't have told her. This was a mistake. “...really, I don’t mind.”
An awkward silence falls between you.
"Say," she thinks of an idea, "You're not in a hurry, are you? Do you have somewhere to be?”
Shrugging a shoulder, “Well, not right now. My interview's tomorrow at the Sampson place.”
“Would you like to walk with me? I have to pick up some things at the store and I've got so much to tell you about!”
Biting your lip, you wonder if it's a good idea. This is all so sudden. You never in a million years expected to find Tilly back here in Blackwater. If she's here, then there's a chance the rest of the Van der Linde gang are here too.
Your heart races, nearly bursting out of your chest. You buried that name along with the others long ago. This is the first time in a decade that you have even thought of that name. You hope to God you don't run into any more familiar faces from your old family.
Then you wonder. Is it possible Tilly left too? Perhaps she met someone outside the gang. Maybe she left and made a new life for herself.
It could happen.
You hope that's the right answer. You'd hate to keep opening more wounds that have long since healed and scarred.
“(Y/N)?” Tilly tilts her head at you.
Her tone of concern rips you from your thoughts and back to the present. You dart your eyes at her and watch her look at you with worry. She opens her lips, perhaps to rescind her offer for pity’s sake.
"You nod and answer with a shy smile, "Sure."
She responds with a happy look that aches and warms your heart at the same time. You truly missed this confident and intelligent young girl. She took to Dutch’s teachings far quicker than anyone else in the gang, you remember. Such a smart little thing.
Walking beside her on the dusty streets of Blackwater, you take in the scenery. Overall, the town looks the same. Same dusty streets and old buildings. While the buildings remained, some of the old shops you remember are gone and have been replaced with new tenants. Despite new construction, you feel as if the town hasn't changed in these ten years.
Has it really been that long?
The bittersweet memories in your mind wander to little Isaiah. You wonder how much he's changed. You only carry one picture of him, when he was still an infant. Just a year old. You received it years ago when Christine found your address and wrote to you. Initially you did not want to stay in touch; to relive those painful memories, but you are thankful Christine persisted. She wrote to you often, sending updates about his development and mailing a picture once every few years.
Does he know about me? Would he even see me? You wonder.
Tilly’s voice is muffled as you walk in and out of the store in a daze. A few sentences break through the fog in your head as she continues talking: she's still traveling with Dutch. The gang has grown in size exponentially over the years. Dutch's name jerks your full attention back to her.
You question her, “So, you…stayed?”
“Of course," she answers. "They’re like family. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
You merely hum in response and continue your gaze towards the scenery. The two of you walk towards a short dock by the water.
Tilly stops and turns, “Listen, I understand why you left all those years ago but, I really missed you…We all did.”
You simply nod and purse your lips before opening them to speak until…
“Especially Arthur,” she exhales as if holding a secret for a painfully long period of time.
His name hits you like a punch in the gut. Your eyelids cinch shut in a painful grimace and you attempt to hide it with a neutral look.
“I’m here for ten minutes and already I’m starting to regret this,” you chuckle ironically.
“Forgive me, (Y/N) but, I don’t think he’s ever gotten over you. To be honest, I don’t blame him. We all missed you. And I know how happy he’d be to see you.”
Your suitcase sits upright upon the wooden dock. Your hands rest on your hips and you bite your lip in a mix of annoyance and misery.
“I highly doubt he’d be pleased to see me, Tilly. Not after all that.”
She responds coolly, "You'd be surprised."
You struggle to believe her. What does she know? She wasn't even in the gang a year before you left, and she was a kid herself. What could she possibly understand?
You ask swiftly with blunt words, masking your pain, “Tell me, how long have y’all been here in town?”
“About four weeks, I’d say,” she replies.
“And has Arthur made any attempt to see his son?”
Tilly’s breath hitches and she stammers in surprise at the question.
“I – I…I’m not sure,” her eyes dart back and forth across your features as she thinks of her words, “I don’t think so, to tell the truth. He and Hosea have been working on something big since we got here. But…I’ve heard Miss Grimshaw pressing him about it.”
You’re not sure what to make of this information. You’re still rattled to find out the gang just happened to have returned precisely before you did. What damn luck.
Tilly speaks again, “I know if you show up, he will. I believe if you come, Arthur would go if you’re with him.”
"The thing is Tilly," you answer, "I'm not exactly sure if I want him to come with."
You should know returning to a fic can be extremely hard. I hope you can be proud of yourself for that. Your fic's story was beautiful, memorable, tragic, and unique. I can't wait to see how the characters will have coped and changed after 10 years, and I can't wait to see where you continue to take the story. I'll always do my best to read and support this series. Congratulations again on returning to your fic and publishing even when things may have been difficult. It's really an achievement.
Summary: 10 years after the ending of Mistakes, you return to Blackwater in search of a job. Unexpectedly, you run into someone from your past.
A note: First off, if you have been waiting for the second act to Mistakes, I thank you for your patience. We only had to wait *checks notes* 5 years?
As with any piece of creative work, it takes time to get it right. As for this piece of work, it took ages for me to even get started, as I was not in a mentally stable place to continue it at that time. I poured myself into this series, and pulled a lot from my own life experiences. That came at a cost. In addition, I was dealing with major life changes - some positive, some negative. Now that I've grown emotionally and have found myself in a better place, I can finally set the reader and Arthur on the path to redemption.
---------------------------------
The sun shines brightly in the clear blue skies. There's not a wisp of cloud in sight. The cool winter air still hangs in the breeze, desperately clutching as the season transitions into spring.
Watching through the small window of the stagecoach, you welcome the songs of birds and the colors of wildflowers as they return, despite the lingering chill. It's still early in the morning yet. Perhaps the sun will brighten the day and cast the chill away with its warming radiance.
The stagecoach rocks back and forth as it’s pulled by a team of sturdy horses. The wheels bump over rocks and dip into divots every so often on the dry road. The coach sways and creeks as you sit alone inside the small yet spacious cab.
The landscape of a distant town grows larger as you approach it. You notice a few new, taller buildings have been erected since you've last been here.
The stagecoach stops and your body leans forward in response to the gradual halt of the coach. There’s an odd silence while your gloved hands fiddle and squeeze your fingers. The silence is broken as the wagon shifts with a slight creak under the weight of the driver stepping off his high seat. He wastes no time opening the cab door.
The driver’s dusty face greets you with a bored look while you look past him towards the town. The cool breeze sways your dress skirt as you finally step out after what felt like hours of riding. Your heeled boots poke out beneath the white petticoat of your dark gray dress and your eyes narrow in focus to pan the streets of the small, dusty town before you.
How long has it been since you've crossed these town borders, you wonder?
Ten years?
A decade. One-tenth of a century.
Those years flew by and yet each day had passed slowly. It's easy to tell ten years have gone by but it somehow feels it's been much longer than that. Deep within your heart, you knew you could return to this place in time. The real question was would you have returned? Your aching heart and logical brain battled with each other for so long until they finally compromised on something.
It was a help wanted ad in the newspaper. The one that still sits folded inside your suitcase. It was, without question, a sign. When you saw the printed ad, your heart leapt at the opportunity of returning and your head was thrilled to find a decent job.
So here you stand with a small suitcase in hand. All of your precious belongings fit inside this worn wooden suitcase lined in faded red leather. The weight is heavy, but manageable. Holding the suitcase with tight fingers, you scan the town before you for the hundredth time.
New buildings yet to be complete hide within their scaffold cages. A foreman shouts in the distance, giving orders to his men laying brick, mixing cement or cutting wood. Multiple hammers give a subtle whack-whack-whack in disunion. While the population doesn't seem to have grown much, the citizens appear in clean, tailored clothes and walk briskly along the wooden planks of the sidewalks that line both sides of the single cobblestone street.
A freshly painted sign stands just several yards from the parked stagecoach.
WELCOME TO BLACKWATER
The words make your heart flutter painfully quick. You worried this would happen: that the wounds you thought were healed would split open once you returned. However, you blinked your eyelids and cleared away the butterflies in your chest with a gentle cough.
Your gaze catches the post office nearby. After tipping the driver, you thank him and walk towards the building.
It looks so different than how you remember it. What was once a humble freight depot built of moldy logs is now an expanded building made of cedar planks with double doors. The building rests on top a raised platform.
Once your heels make contact against the wooden platform, a young feminine voice calls to you.
"(Y/N)?" Its tone curious.
Turning your head to the source, you see a young woman. She's dressed in a yellow, puff-sleeved dress with white lace trim at the top and bottom of her short sleeves. The vivid colors look bright in contrast to her dark complexion. Thick, black hair rests neatly on top her head in a braided crown that ends with a round bun at the nape of her neck. She looks young, but old enough to be married. You'd wager somewhere between nineteen and twenty-two.
You answer cautiously to her unrecognizable face,
"Yes?"
The young lady with large, bright eyes lets out a happy sigh and beams at you with a wide smile. She steps forward towards you but stops herself when she notices you flinch and stand on guard in response.
"It's me!" She beams at you, voice nearly pleading.
You stay silent, suspicious eyes darting across her face. Nothing comes to mind. Her large brown eyes do look familiar. They look warm and kind; so full of life and shine brightly in the desert sun. But, you still draw a blank.
“I—I’m sorry?” You stutter.
"Tilly!" She exclaims happily.
"Tilly?" You repeat the name. It rattles around your head like tools shaken in a box. Suddenly you gasp, "Tilly Jones?!"
"Yes!" Her smile grows wider and her arms open welcomingly.
You mirror her smile by stepping into a hug. The pair of you laugh outside the freight station while squeezing and gently patting each other's backs.
In your welcoming embrace, you feel how much she's grown. She's no longer the little, underfed adolescent Dutch rescued from the wild frontier. She's now matured into a beautiful young lady. You can even smell a hint of sweet perfume on her person.
Tilly smiles, "I never thought I’d see you again! My, you've changed."
She breaks the hug and looks to you in awe at half an arm’s length.
"I take it that means I've gotten old." You joke halfheartedly.
"No! No! Of course not," Tilly interjects. "You're beautiful. You just...look different is all."
"So do you...all grown up. Look at you! I bet you're swatting men away left and right."
"Oh! Stop it!" Tilly giggles and waves a hand at you. "Have you always been here at Blackwater? I can't believe I haven't seen you sooner!"
Shaking your head, you answer, "No. I just got off the stagecoach." You confirm with a lift of your small suitcase by your feet. You honestly weren't expecting to see a familiar face so soon after arriving.
"From where?" She asks with deep fascination.
You shrug, "All over, really. I just came from MacFarlane’s Ranch. You heard of it?"
Tilly furrows a brow in thought and shrugs a shoulder, "Sounds familiar. But I dunno much about it."
"Well, I've been working there for a few years but, got let go and now I'm interviewing for a job here. So...here I am."
Tilly lets out an ecstatic sigh, “Oh, I'm so glad to see you here. I've missed you so much!”
She hugs you again as if to make sure you're real and not a ghost of a memory.
Welcoming her second hug, you smile against her soft, braided hair.
“I missed you too,” you respond in earnest.
“Where are you staying?” She asks, and you suspect an uncomfortable follow-up question to come.
You hesitate to answer, “At the uh, above the saloon. I assume they got rooms up there.”
“Oh, in there? No. Not unless you want an unwelcome visitor barging into your room. Why don’t you–?”
“It’s fine,” you interrupt. You shouldn't have told her. This was a mistake. “...really, I don’t mind.”
An awkward silence falls between you.
"Say," she thinks of an idea, "You're not in a hurry, are you? Do you have somewhere to be?”
Shrugging a shoulder, “Well, not right now. My interview's tomorrow at the Sampson place.”
“Would you like to walk with me? I have to pick up some things at the store and I've got so much to tell you about!”
Biting your lip, you wonder if it's a good idea. This is all so sudden. You never in a million years expected to find Tilly back here in Blackwater. If she's here, then there's a chance the rest of the Van der Linde gang are here too.
Your heart races, nearly bursting out of your chest. You buried that name along with the others long ago. This is the first time in a decade that you have even thought of that name. You hope to God you don't run into any more familiar faces from your old family.
Then you wonder. Is it possible Tilly left too? Perhaps she met someone outside the gang. Maybe she left and made a new life for herself.
It could happen.
You hope that's the right answer. You'd hate to keep opening more wounds that have long since healed and scarred.
“(Y/N)?” Tilly tilts her head at you.
Her tone of concern rips you from your thoughts and back to the present. You dart your eyes at her and watch her look at you with worry. She opens her lips, perhaps to rescind her offer for pity’s sake.
"You nod and answer with a shy smile, "Sure."
She responds with a happy look that aches and warms your heart at the same time. You truly missed this confident and intelligent young girl. She took to Dutch’s teachings far quicker than anyone else in the gang, you remember. Such a smart little thing.
Walking beside her on the dusty streets of Blackwater, you take in the scenery. Overall, the town looks the same. Same dusty streets and old buildings. While the buildings remained, some of the old shops you remember are gone and have been replaced with new tenants. Despite new construction, you feel as if the town hasn't changed in these ten years.
Has it really been that long?
The bittersweet memories in your mind wander to little Isaiah. You wonder how much he's changed. You only carry one picture of him, when he was still an infant. Just a year old. You received it years ago when Christine found your address and wrote to you. Initially you did not want to stay in touch; to relive those painful memories, but you are thankful Christine persisted. She wrote to you often, sending updates about his development and mailing a picture once every few years.
Does he know about me? Would he even see me? You wonder.
Tilly’s voice is muffled as you walk in and out of the store in a daze. A few sentences break through the fog in your head as she continues talking: she's still traveling with Dutch. The gang has grown in size exponentially over the years. Dutch's name jerks your full attention back to her.
You question her, “So, you…stayed?”
“Of course," she answers. "They’re like family. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
You merely hum in response and continue your gaze towards the scenery. The two of you walk towards a short dock by the water.
Tilly stops and turns, “Listen, I understand why you left all those years ago but, I really missed you…We all did.”
You simply nod and purse your lips before opening them to speak until…
“Especially Arthur,” she exhales as if holding a secret for a painfully long period of time.
His name hits you like a punch in the gut. Your eyelids cinch shut in a painful grimace and you attempt to hide it with a neutral look.
“I’m here for ten minutes and already I’m starting to regret this,” you chuckle ironically.
“Forgive me, (Y/N) but, I don’t think he’s ever gotten over you. To be honest, I don’t blame him. We all missed you. And I know how happy he’d be to see you.”
Your suitcase sits upright upon the wooden dock. Your hands rest on your hips and you bite your lip in a mix of annoyance and misery.
“I highly doubt he’d be pleased to see me, Tilly. Not after all that.”
She responds coolly, "You'd be surprised."
You struggle to believe her. What does she know? She wasn't even in the gang a year before you left, and she was a kid herself. What could she possibly understand?
You ask swiftly with blunt words, masking your pain, “Tell me, how long have y’all been here in town?”
“About four weeks, I’d say,” she replies.
“And has Arthur made any attempt to see his son?”
Tilly’s breath hitches and she stammers in surprise at the question.
“I – I…I’m not sure,” her eyes dart back and forth across your features as she thinks of her words, “I don’t think so, to tell the truth. He and Hosea have been working on something big since we got here. But…I’ve heard Miss Grimshaw pressing him about it.”
You’re not sure what to make of this information. You’re still rattled to find out the gang just happened to have returned precisely before you did. What damn luck.
Tilly speaks again, “I know if you show up, he will. I believe if you come, Arthur would go if you’re with him.”
"The thing is Tilly," you answer, "I'm not exactly sure if I want him to come with."
summary: Denethor and your father have arranged a union between you and the heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, and Boromir is hesitant until… he meets you.
warnings: arranged marriage, age gap, (reader’s character is early to mid 20s), boromir’s brooding, talks of war and all that.
The sun dipped low behind the White Mountains, casting golden light across the stones of Minas Tirith. Boromir stood near one of the carved stone pillars of the courtyard, arms crossed, jaw tense. He had just returned from the borders; mud still streaked his cloak, and now his father had summoned him to meet a girl.
Not just any girl, he reminded himself bitterly. My future wife, apparently. A marriage arranged by his father without his consent. It felt more like a political alliance than anything to do with affection. And from what he’d heard, she was half his age. Barely past girlhood.
Denethor waited silently beside him, a pleased look ghosting across his features. “She is the daughter of a loyal house,” he said at last. “And her father is wise. He sees strength in binding your fates.”
“I see recklessness,” Boromir muttered. “You would have me wed a child-”
“Enough,” Denethor interrupted. “Look to the gate. They have arrived.”
Boromir turned. And stopped breathing.
You were walking through the archway, led gently by your father, sunlight kissing the edges of your long hair. You wore no crown, no jewels; only a soft gown of pale blue, cinched at the waist, and the faintest smile on your lips, though your eyes were wary. Shy.
Not a child. Not what he expected.
Boromir’s throat tightened as he took you in. You were beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t just that. There was something soft about you that unsettled him. Something warm. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the world hushed.
You offered a small, respectful curtsy. “My lord Boromir.”
He stepped forward awkwardly. “My lady…” His voice caught. “Forgive me, I did not expect…” What? That you’d be a girl in braids and giggles? That you wouldn’t look at him with such gentleness and curiosity?
He cleared his throat. “You honor the White City with your presence.”
You smiled a little, sensing his disquiet, and tilted your head. “I am told we are to be married.”
Boromir flushed faintly. “So it seems. Though I… I would not see you forced into anything you do not wish.” He glanced toward Denethor and your father, who were deep in quiet discussion nearby. “Even if our sires have other plans.”
You looked up at him, then really looked. And instead of shrinking beneath his imposing form or gruff tone, you said quietly, “What if I am not afraid of you, Boromir?”
The wind stirred, lifting your hair slightly. He stared. That softness in you. It wasn't a weakness. It was calm. Poise. You were younger, but there was a quiet strength in the way you stood.
And for the first time since hearing of this betrothal, Boromir felt the beginning of something he didn’t expect: not resignation. Not a duty. But a want.
“I believe,” he said after a long pause, his voice lower now, “I owe you an apology.”
“For what?” you asked, surprised.
“For judging before knowing,” he said. “And for arriving with mud on my cloak.”
That made you laugh, a delicate, delighted sound. Boromir’s stomach did something odd.
He offered his arm to you. “Shall we walk?”
You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow. “We shall.”
And somewhere behind you, Denethor and your father exchanged knowing, satisfied glances.
You walked beside him in companionable quiet, your hand light on his arm, his broad frame shadowing yours. Boromir said nothing at first. You could feel his tension, his silence wasn’t rude, but cautious. He was a soldier, after all. A man built for battlefields, not betrothals.
But then he said, “You do not walk like a court-raised maiden.”
You glanced up. “And how do they walk?”
He shrugged. “As if the world is beneath them. Or watching. You walk like…” His brow furrowed slightly, searching. “Like someone who enjoys where her feet land.”
You smiled. “Is that good or bad?”
“I think,” he said slowly, “it is rare.”
The path turned beneath flowering trees, and birds sang somewhere in the high boughs. You paused to brush your fingers across a cluster of blooms, and when you looked back, you caught him watching you though not lecherous, not even immensely admiring. More… startled.
“Is something wrong?” you asked softly.
Boromir gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “No. Not wrong. Only…” He exhaled. “You’re not what I was expecting.”
You tilted your head. “Because I’m younger? Or because I’m not wearing jewels?”
“Because you are not afraid of me,” he admitted. “And I cannot decide if that’s foolish or admirable.”
You stopped walking and turned to face him fully. “I may be young, Boromir. But I am not a child. And I do not think strength only comes from age or swords.”
He looked at you for a long time. “You speak plainly.”
“I do,” you said, “because I have nothing to gain by pretending with you. We are to be bound, are we not?”
Something flickered in his eyes at that. A heaviness. But then you softened.
“I know you didn’t ask for this. I didn’t either. But I’d rather face the unknown beside an honest man than one who only tells me what I wish to hear.”
Boromir exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh again. “And perhaps I would rather face it beside a woman who doesn’t simper or shrink.”
He took a step closer. Not threatening. Just… present.
“Do you always speak with such quiet boldness?” he asked, his voice lowering slightly.
“Only when I want someone to see me.” You replied with a soft smile.
He was still then, utterly still as if that one line had rooted him to the earth.
And for the first time, he looked at you not with reluctance or wariness, but with something new. Something soft.
Interest. Respect. Maybe even wonder.
“I see you,” he said quietly.
Your lips parted, breath catching at the honesty in those words. No soldier’s armor in his tone. No father’s ambition. Just him.
You stood like that beneath the budding branches, the world hushed around you. Not quite love. Not yet.
But perhaps… the beginning of it.
It was later that night in The Tower of Ecthelion’s guest wing. Dusk had washed over Minas Tirith.
Boromir hadn’t intended to walk this far.
He had meant to retire to his chambers after supper with his father and brother, full of dry wine and drier conversation. He had even dismissed the guards. But instead, he found his steps veering along the high stone corridor that led to the eastern guest quarters. To yours.
The truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.
The way you had looked at the flowers. The way your hand had felt in the crook of his arm was delicate but steady. The things you said were simple and clear, yet they circled through his mind like battle drills. You spoke as though you saw him… and he didn’t know what to do with that.
He paused just before the archway outside your door, meaning to turn back. But then he heard it.
Laughter. Yours.
It startled him. You sounded younger when you laughed. Less guarded. And you were speaking now, light and warm with one of your handmaidens, a girl with a voice like bells.
He shouldn’t linger. It was improper. And yet…
“I think he was surprised I wasn’t wearing pearls,” you said.
The handmaiden giggled. “He looked like he’d never seen a girl touch a flower before.”
You laughed again, but it was softer this time. “He looked at me like he didn’t expect me to have thoughts.”
“You do speak your thoughts, my lady,” the handmaiden said knowingly.
There was a pause. Then your voice, quieter. Hesitant. “He’s… not what I thought either.”
Boromir went very still, one hand braced against the stone wall.
“I imagined some brutish soldier,” you said gently, “but he’s not that. He’s strong, yes, but… there’s sorrow in him, too. Depth. He’s not cold- he’s just been holding himself together so tightly, I don’t think he’s had a moment to breathe in years.”
The handmaiden hummed thoughtfully. “So you like him.”
“I do,” you admitted, as if surprised by yourself. “I didn’t want to. But I do. There’s something in his eyes that feels… familiar. Like I’ve known him in another life. Isn’t that strange?”
Boromir closed his eyes.
He’d faced death on the battlefield without flinching. But this quiet confession from a few steps away struck him in a place armor could not reach.
“I don’t want to be just another duty for him,” you whispered. “I want to be… chosen.”
The words landed in his chest like a stone in a still lake.
And yet, he did not step forward. He didn’t reveal himself. Instead, he backed away silently, heart thudding like a war drum beneath his tunic.
You liked him.
You wanted him.
Not for status. Not for politics.
For him.
And Boromir, who had lived so long under the weight of his father’s expectations, who had been a shield for Gondor and suddenly wanted to be seen the way you saw him. Not as a soldier. Not as a steward’s son.
"You were born bluer than a butterfly
Beautiful and so deprived of oxygen
Colder than your father's eyes
He never learned to sympathize with anyone..."
"...I don't blame you
But I can't change you
Don't hate you
But we can't save you
You were born reaching for your mother's hands
Victim of your father's plans to rule the world
Too afraid to step outside
Paranoid and petrified of what you've heard."
-"Blue" by Billie Eilish
Every time I listen to this song, I imagine it's written for Boromir. I keep envisioning scenes for my fic, The Heart of Gondor, involving our tenth walker reader and our captain of Gondor.
❖: He was brought to you by Aragorn, barely clinging to life. You were a friend of Aragorn and one of the best healers he knew, if there is anyone he trusts with his friends life than it is you.
Soft golden light filtered through the cottage window, dancing gently across the stone floor and over the bed where Boromir lay. The scent of chamomile and crushed mint lingered in the air, mingling with the warmth of a nearby fire.Somewhere close, a kettle whistled gently, and over it came the sound of soft, aimless humming.
Boromir stirred, brow furrowing as he blinked up at the ceiling beams above. His chest ached, his limbs heavy as stone. A dull throb pulsed through his side, but it was no longer sharp—only the echo of pain. The last thing he remembered was the chaos of Parth Galen… the arrows… the pain… Aragorn's voice calling to him through a haze of blood.
And now—rabbits?
He turned his head slowly, vision still a little blurred.
Yes. Rabbits.
At least four of them were hopping lazily across the stone floor. One—fluffy, round, and far too comfortable—was sprawled out on its side near the hearth. Another tugged at a stray herb sprig hanging from a low table. They seemed utterly at ease. As if this were their home.
And then he saw you.
A woman that sat at the edge of the room, humming softly to yourself as you worked a bundle of dried leaves into neat strips. You moved with a healer’s ease, gentle and efficient, sunlight catching the soft waves of your hair. Your dress was simple, your sleeves rolled up, your apron stained faintly with herbs and poultice residue.
Boromir watched you for a long moment, wondering if he’d died and wandered into some strange, gentle afterlife.
You turned slightly, catching the motion from the corner of your eye. Your humming faltered as you looked up—then brightened into a warm smile.
“You’re awake,” you said, rising with quiet urgency and crossing the room to his side. “Don’t move too quickly. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
Boromir blinked slowly, voice hoarse. “The rabbits… are they real?”
You laughed, the sound like the chime of soft bells. “Very. That one’s named Clover,” you said, nodding toward the nearest rabbit. “He’s decided the foot of your bed is the warmest spot in the house.”
Boromir exhaled a slow, dry chuckle, shifting slightly. “I’ve woken in stranger places.”
“Hopefully never from graver wounds,” you murmured as you checked the bindings around his ribs. Your touch was gentle but sure. “Aragorn brought you to me. Said you were too stubborn to die, but not smart enough to stop trying.”
Boromir smiled faintly, the pain easing beneath your care. “That sounds like him.”
“He's gone to help the others,” You said softly. “But he made me promise to bring you back in one piece.”
Boromir’s gaze drifted toward the window where sunlight glowed through linen curtains. He took a breath, slower this time, and let it out with something between a sigh and a laugh.
“Rabbits....I never expected to be in the company of rabbits."
You grinned, brushing a lock of hair from his brow. “They are very gentle.”
You returned to your chair as Boromir closed his eyes again, the steady sound of your humming guiding him back into gentle sleep—surrounded by warmth, healing… and an army of softly thumping paws.
❖:He is ashamed when he fully recovers, burdened by the guilt of almost losing himself to the Ring’s temptation. You shut that down with a fierce look and a quiet: “You still chose to protect them. That is the man I see.” And That is the moment Boromir starts to fall in love.
:Courtship and Marriage:
❖:He’s awkward at first, trying to be noble and chivalrous, but he stumbles over his words every time he’s near you.
❖:You tease him about it, gently, and he blushes like a boy at court.
❖:When he finally confesses his feelings, it’s after a skirmish—you were nearly hurt, and it terrified him. He kisses you before you can speak, a little desperate, like he can’t believe you’re real.
❖:You marry in Gondor after the war, and the people adore you—not just as Boromir’s wife, but as the woman who saved their Captain-General.
❖: He lets Faramir rule, thinking his brother is the best choice and returns with you to your little cottage home, everything is perfect.
:Boromir as a girl dad:
❖:Boromir adores his daughters. He holds each one in awe the moment they’re born, whispering their names with reverence like they’re sacred.
❖:His firstborn wraps him around her tiny finger before she can even walk. She has his eyes—and your fire.
❖:The second is quieter but clever, always watching. Boromir swears she’s already planning to outwit the entire council of Gondor.
❖:If you have a third daughter, Boromir jokes that the Valar must be punishing him for every poor decision he made—but it’s said with a smile as he cradles her close to his chest.
❖:Braids. Boromir learns to braid. Messy at first, but he eventually becomes the go-to “hair master” when you’re busy.
❖:He tells them bedtime stories about brave shieldmaidens, not just warriors. He wants them to know strength doesn’t belong to one kind of hero.
❖:He teaches them to swordfight in secret, swearing the tutors to silence when the council protests. “They are of my blood. They will know how to defend themselves.”
❖:He takes them riding through the White Mountains, letting them sit in front of him in the saddle as he points out the old ruins and tells stories of valor.
❖:He is absolutely helpless when they cry. Your daughters know this. They weaponize it.
❖:Boromir is fiercely protective, but he’s not overbearing. He encourages your daughters to be bold, to speak their minds, and to be better than him.
❖:When your eldest falls and scrapes her knee, he carries her all the way home even though she insists she’s fine.
❖:When your youngest is scared of storms, she curls up in his arms while he hums a Gondorian lullaby.
❖:Your girls are his world. And Boromir never forgets how close he came to not having this life, this family. Every night he kisses you softly and murmurs, “Thank you—for saving me. For giving me all of this
❖:Chases his daughters through the fields, has gotten used to them braiding flowers and things in his hair.
The sun dipped low over the hills, casting golden light across the wildflowers that bloomed freely around the cottage. Laughter rang through the warm air—high, bright, and innocent—as Boromir sat cross-legged in the grass, a look of patient resignation on his face.
Two little girls danced around him, wreaths of daisies and cornflowers in their small hands.
“Hold still, papa!” his eldest scolded, standing on tiptoe to tuck a daisy behind his ear. “You’re ruining the masterpiece.”
Boromir chuckled, eyes soft as he let his youngest clamber into his lap, her chubby fingers carefully threading blooms into his thick, sunlit hair.
“A warrior of Gondor,” he said dryly, “brought low by flower crowns and tiny hands.”
“Shhh,” the middle child whispered, pressing a petal to his cheek. “You’re a fairy prince now.”
You watched from the porch, your youngest in your arms as your free hand pressed over your smile as the great Captain of the White Tower sat obediently amidst a sea of flowers, his daughters braiding his hair with reverence and giggles. Boromir caught your eye, his face splitting into a grin—completely unbothered by the floral crown now sitting crooked on his head.
He looked at peace. Like this...this quiet love, this gentle chaos—was the greatest victory of all.
“Papa,” the eldest declared solemnly, stepping back to admire her work, “you’re beautiful.”
Boromir reached out, pulling both girls into his arms with a huff of laughter and pride.
“I am,” he agreed, nuzzling their cheeks, “because I have the finest maidens in all of Middle-earth.”
And from the flowers in his hair to the joy in his voice, it was clear—Boromir of Gondor had never been happier.
Summary: Boromir, still weak from his death and rebirth, learns of the fate of Merry and Pippin. The reader, Boromir's second-in-command and 10th walker of the Fellowship, learns of the consequence of her choice in saving the man she loves. The first half of this story is told in Boromir's POV, then changes to the reader's. The change in POV is marked with "......"
Warnings: none.
Boromir hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep again until he suddenly awoke and saw that nightfall had come. The darkness of night had blanketed the forest and river, leaving only the glimmering moonlight shining high in the sky and in the calm reflection of the water.
He blinks his eyelids to clear his blurry vision, and sees you resting with your back against the same tree he is leaning against. Your bodies are close, but barely touching. The fire, now small but still burning warmly, casts shadows against your features. Silence and tension consumes the air between the two of you as he watches your eyes stare at the flames, as if avoiding to recognize that he is awake and gazing at you.
Boromir swallowed, his throat raw. “Say something,” he rasps his voice barely above a whisper.
You inhale slowly and calmly, as you always have before stating a harsh truth to Boromir, usually when he would attempt to argue with you. It’s one of your many traits he has picked up on in your service together.
At last you speak, “You tried to kill me.” Your gaze does not divert from the flames of the fire.
The words were quiet, but they struck like a blade. Boromir flinched despite himself, his breath catching in his throat.
He had no defense. No excuse.
“Yes.” His voice was hoarse, thick with regret. “I did.”
He watches your fingers twitch. Then, to his surprise, you let out a sharp breath. It’s a strained, bitter sound…almost a pithy laugh. “At least you don’t deny it.”
He huffs a quiet, humorless breath of his own. “There is no point in denying what I did.” He forces himself to hold your gaze, as if to will you to look at him. “I would not insult you by pretending otherwise.”
Something flickers cross your face, but Boromir cannot quite discern it from where he sits.
With a clenched jaw, he speaks painfully, repeating his remorse like a mantra, “The Ring… It consumed me. Turned me into something I…” He looks away. “Something I do not know how to come back from.”
A beat of silence passes. Then you reply, “You already have.”
Finally, you turn to look at him upon uttering your last word. Your eyes appear to be glistening, as if welling with unshed tears.
Boromir closes his eyes for a brief moment, exhaling slowly. When he opens them again, he whispers through the lump forming in his throat, “Thank you.”
You only nod, and for the first time since waking, he allows himself to believe that maybe…just maybe…he had not lost everything.
But then Boromir’s heart clenches. “The hobbits…” he utters suddenly.
You answer solemnly to his hurried statement, “Merry and Pippin were taken by the Uruk-Hai…We were overrun. There were too many of them.”
Boromir clenches his fists, frustration burning through him and his grip tightens around the blanket covering him. His body is weak, aching and broken, but his heart is steady. He swears he will not fall again. This time, he would protect them.
He attempts to push himself upright to stand, but struggles from the intense weakness of his body. He tries to push past the pain and the weight of his weakened limbs, until you catch his shoulder, easing him back.
“Careful,” you murmur. “You’re still too weak.”
By his stubbornness, Boromir again tries to rise, teeth gritted against the pain. Alas, his body betrays him. His wounds throb like fire, and his limbs, though willing, have no strength left in them to push through you. His vision starts to blur and the world tilts around him until he feels your steady hands at his back and chest, lowering him gently.
“No,” he growls, frustration boiling just beneath his breath. “I can fight. I have to fight.”
You kneel beside him, your voice low and firm. “You cannot stand, Boromir. Not yet. If you go now, you’ll fall before you can draw your sword.”
He turns his face away from you, ashamed. “They took the Halflings because of me.”
“No,” you say sharply. “They took them because Sauron’s will is long-reaching, and the Uruk-Hai answer to a darker master.”
Boromir could not will himself to look at you, but he could hear your voice was steady and unwavering. There was no blame in your tone, only grim resolve. Yet, it did little to lighten the weight of guilt within in his heart.
You continue speaking, “Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli left last evening to hunt them. They will find Merry and Pippin, and bring them to safety.”
“Last evening?” Boromir asks in confusion. “How long have I slept?”
“All night and through the light of day today. The sun had just descended before you awoke.”
“I cannot believe I have slept for that long!” Boromir exclaims, cursing his weakness.
“We both needed it,” you state matter-of-factly, “When I brought you back, it—it weakened us both terribly.”
“What—whatever do you mean?”
A moment passes before you decide to speak, as if struggling to find the words to explain.
“I don’t know,” you finally speak, “But…whatever I had done, it nearly consumed me like it had done you.”
Boromir still looks to you with his brow furrowed and shakes his head in confusion.
Your shoulders sag downward as your sigh bitterly. Boromir watches your eyes cast down and away, your hands reaching up to undo the ties of your leather jerkin. Your fingers work deftly from muscle memory as they continue to your long, black tunic of cotton—unlike Boromir’s fine red silk. Once you unravel the ties and reveal the chainmail beneath, Boromir’s breath hitches. He wants to avert his eyes and order you to stop your undressing, but he is frozen in shock. You reach down to lift the bottom hem of your short gambeson and chainmail and reveal your bare skin. Boromir’s eyes track upwards as more of you is revealed to him, his breath cold as if it were stolen from him. A dark, rounded wound—like a burn closed with scarred tissue and wrinkled flesh—is revealed near your navel.
Boromir’s heart sinks at the sight of the dark wound contrasted from your soft, smooth skin. You do not stop, however, but continue raising your shirt to reveal a second, identical wound higher above. Your hands continue to pull your clothing up until Boromir begins to see the soft, rounded edges of your breasts.
“Stop!” He orders, holding up a hand to shield his eyes.
You falter, only for a moment. Tears well in your eyes as you resume to reveal Boromir your third wound.
He reluctantly drops his hand, but maintains his gaze into your eyes and refuses to look upon your naked breasts. His breathing quickens in short, quivering exhales through his nostrils. A moment passes until he finally succumbs to your will and lowers his gaze.
The third and final wound rests just above your heart. Much like the others, it is dark and deep.
Boromir’s eyes linger on the final wound for only a breath, but the weight of it lands heavy. He feels as if he’s staring at not just a scar, but at a sacrifice. One made in love and without question.
His throat tightens. “You bore this for me,” he whispers.
You pull your tunic back down and fasten it slowly, not meeting his eyes. “I didn’t know it would leave such a mark,” you admit, voice quiet. “Not like that. But if it meant keeping you here…” you pause, “I would gladly do it again.”
Boromir doesn’t trust himself to speak, but can only utter a whimpered, “Oh, Y/N!”
Upon the sound of his broken voice, you close the distance between yourselves and embrace him. Boromir grips his arms around you tightly, burying his face into your hair. He breathes in your scent and is grounding himself with your essence. He openly weeps into your hair and neck, clutching to you and feels you reciprocate with your own tears that fall upon his cheek. Gently placing his hands upon both temples of your face, he pulls himself away to look upon you. He watches the tears stream down your cheeks as he gazes adoringly into your eyes before moving to your lips.
Without hesitation, he brings his lips to yours and presses a deep kiss upon them. He inhales deeply once more to breathe in your life, your fire, your love.
The silence between you grows thick again, not with tension this time but, with a newfound connection. The crackling of the fire is the only sound. Shadows dance against the trees and across your wearied faces.
The Fellowship had broken. Frodo and Sam are gone, Merry and Pippin taken, the others chasing after them into the wild unknown.
But he is alive.
And so are you.
That must be something, he thinks.
……
The new morning sun breaks gently through the canopy, casting long rays across the glade. Dew clings to the grass, sparkling like stars fallen to the forest floor. Birds begin to sing in the boughs above, tentative and soft, heralding the dawn. Their song gently coaxes you awake to greet the new day. The pair of you have slept beside each other beneath the tree, nestled within its large roots that reached deep beneath the soft sands of the river beach. The cold kiss of dawn brushes your cheek as you stir, rousing you from sleep with a soft intake of breath. Looking to the small fire, you see it had died to a little more than ashen embers, and the forest around you is cloaked in stillness.
You sit up slowly, joints stiff, and your cloak pulled tightly around your shoulders. Despite the birdsong in the trees, the world feels too quiet. Perhaps it is still too early, you think to yourself.
Beside you, Boromir still sleeps.
You turn toward him, heart aching at the sight. His brow is soft in slumber, lips parted faintly, and his breath even. He looks younger somehow without the weight of consciousness. Like a man unburdened by guilt, by failure, by death. You hope that he is dreaming of peaceful memories, as dreams nowadays are the only escape from the dreadful realities you both have endured and will continue to do so. The color had returned slightly to his cheeks. His wounds, though deep, had closed. But you know they’d not done so on their own.
Your fingers brush unconsciously against the pendant at your throat, feeling the warmth of it beneath your collar. It pulses with a faint hum—quiet, but alive.
Your gaze lingers on Boromir’s face. You reach out, and ever so lightly, brush a strand of hair away from his brow. He does not stir. There had been a time not long ago when you would not have dared to attempt something so intimate, but that time has ended.
A breeze whispers through the trees. The smell of moss and smoke hangs in the air. You pull your knees to your chest and rest your chin atop them to watch the light creep over the forest floor like a golden breath.
Hours pass…or perhaps only minutes. You cannot keep track of time while you sit quietly beside Boromir, guarding him as he once did for you.
At last, he stirs. He shifts beneath the blanket, groaning faintly. When his eyes open, he looks first at the trees above, then at you.
You offer him a small, tired smile. “Still breathing,” you whisper warmly.
Boromir blinks slowly, a quiet wonder in his expression as he replies, “It seems so.”
He groans softly as he pushes himself up with great effort. You move to steady him, a hand on his back until he sits upright. His shoulders are slumped in weariness, but his eyes are clearer than they’d been the night before, and it appears he has regained a little more strength.
“Waking beside you,” he murmurs, “I thought perhaps I was dreaming.”
“No dream,” you say gently. “You’re still here.”
He continues looking into your eyes, a thankful smirk on his lips. You sit together in silence for a time. There are no words needed…not yet.
Another sound joins in from a distance. It’s not the soft shuffle of wildlife, but something steadier. Heavier, like a soft drumming. A sound of hoofbeats, swift and purposeful, followed by a low rustle in the underbrush.
You rise to your feet, hand going to the hilt of your sword. Boromir, still too weak to stand without aid, watches with furrowed brows.
Out of the mist, a white light begins to form. At first you thought it a trick of the sun through the early morning fog. A great white horse emerges, proud and brilliant, its mane like flowing snow.
You step back instinctively and in fear, draw your sword from its sheath. The bright white light fades and sitting atop the horse, you see a man dressed in white robes holding a long staff that looks to be almost made of pearl. You fear your eyes are playing tricks on you, as the man appears strangely familiar. His face shows old age, with his snow-white hair and long beard. He dismounts with an ease that belied his age, his face calm but his eyes bright with power.
“It is good to see you both,” he says, voice like a distant storm dappled in sunlight. The sound of the old man’s voice jogs a distant and painful memory into thought.
“Gandalf?” you stare in disbelief. His face is both new and ancient.
“Gandalf…” Boromir breathes behind you, no doubt not believing his eyes, much like yourself.
You stand fully, blinking in disbelief and slowly lowering your sword. “But, we saw you fall.”
“Indeed, I had fallen,” Gandalf says with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “And yet, here I am. Returned…and remade. As not all who fall are truly lost.”
“But how?” Boromir questions, struggling to stand himself upright. Quickly sheathing your sword, you turn and gently grab his arm to lay across your shoulders, holding him steady. You wrap an arm behind his waist to help him lean his weight against you.
You feel the wizard’s knowing eyes examine the sight before him and watch his eyebrow rise before quickly falling, as if he had already answered his own question before even uttering it.
“For three days, I fought the Balrog of Morgoth at Celebdil, until I finally cast him aside the mountain. It was at the cost of my own life, for the sake of the Fellowship. But…Eru breathed life into me again, and sent me back to complete my task.”
He looks to Boromir, then to you, and his expression changes. His gaze drops to the pendant at your throat.
He steps closer to you. “That necklace,” he murmurs. “Elven-made…"
You feel his eyes staring at the pendant as you stand before him, fearful, like a child waiting to receive their discipline.
His eyes travel up to look into your own, with a piercing gaze. "Given to you by Celeborn, no doubt," he says, knowingly.
You nod cautiously, your heart hammering in your chest.
Gandalf’s brow furrows, then his gaze sweeps between the two of you with sudden clarity. “So…” he said softly. “It was you. You used it.”
You swallow hard, as if choking down your heart that threatens to leap out of your throat. “I had to,” you reply. “Boromir was dying—he had died. I couldn’t—”
“You gave of yourself,” Gandalf interrupted, not unkindly.
“I didn’t know what it would do. I had no other choice.”
“Few do, as the magic of the Elves is not simple.” He glances between the two of you, his tone growing more serious. “What holds within that pendant is not of mere healing. Its greatest cost lies in its greatest gift… binding life to life. In saving his, you gave unto him yourself.”
Boromir said nothing, but you could feel him looking at you. The tension between you shifts into something heavier, deeper.
You ask, “What does that mean?” Though a part of you already understands.
Gandalf replies, “It means you are now tethered to each other. Spiritually. Eternally. What pain one feels, the other may echo. It is not a prison. Instead, it is what it is: a bond. There is no undoing it now. Nor should there be, if the bond was formed with true intentions.”
As his words settle like dust in a clearing, the forest seem to fall into a hush. Even the birds have grown quiet.
Gandalf steps back, his expression unreadable. “The Road calls me elsewhere. But you—you must journey to Edoras,” he adds, quickly shifting the subject. “There, you will find the answers you seek, and what you are meant to be. The others will await you, though they do not yet know it.”
He turns toward his horse, ready to mount again. You look to Gandalf with confused and pleading eyes, wanting more. More guidance, more certainty. He cannot leave now, not when he's just arrived.
“Others?” Boromir asks, hope tinged in his voice.
The wizard doesn’t respond, but instead only smiles. It’s a gentle smile, like his old usual self who knew too much to speak plainly.
Without another word, he leaps onto his white horse. As if already connected to the consciousness of his steed, he doesn’t spur the animal with his heels. He rides off, vanishing into the trees like a vision from a dream.
You stand side by side with Boromir for a long time after, your arm still wrapped around the back of his waist, holding him upright. The shock of Gandalf's sudden arrival and departure leaves you speechless.
Beside you, Boromir lets out a slow exhale. “A bond of souls,” he murmurs cautiously. “It seems I owe you more than my life.”
You turn your head to look into his silver-blue eyes, the pendant still warm against your skin. “You owe me nothing,” you say softly. “I chose this.”
Sauron is defeated, the war is over, and Gondor once again has a king. Boromir, now the Steward, wishes to speak with you about something.
Fellowship!Reader, Boromir Lives!AU, Post!ROTK, Fluff, In the same universe as my earlier Boromir fic 'Early Hours' (this fic is smut-free though), Briefly mentioned Faramir/Éowyn. 1381 Words. Author is still in the process of reading the LOTR books so this is movie-based! Thank you to @wings-and-beskar for the ask that inspired this fic!! I struggled deciding whether the reader in this story should be Fellowship!Reader or whether she should be Boromir's beloved waiting for him to come home, but I decided on Fellowship!Reader. It's not as long as I would have liked but I hope you all enjoy!
***
The world is so much more peaceful now.
The Ring has been destroyed, and Sauron defeated. Aragorn – or Elessar, as he is now known, though those who know him well still call him Aragorn – was crowned King, and the efforts to rebuild Minas Tirith are well underway. Boromir is adjusting to his new position as the Steward of Gondor, with paperwork and long council meetings replacing the war and bloodshed he was used to. He has been busy, but in the times you have seen him, he seems more content than ever before (excluding, perhaps, when the two of you are laying together, smiling and catching your breath after making love).
Though you do not hail from the White City, you are in no rush to return to your home. The city of Minas Tirith is just as glorious as Boromir had always described it, and you cannot help but want to see how it looks once it is repaired once more. Though, that is not the only reason that you cannot bring yourself to leave.
You are surprised one day when a messenger comes to you with a note from Boromir. His handwriting is neater than you would have expected from a soldier such as himself, but the more important thing about the note is the contents – Boromir wishes to speak with you tomorrow, and he asks if you will take a stroll with him as you talk. It will be nice, you think, to simply spend some time with Boromir without having to look over your shoulder every few moments. You hastily write a note telling Boromir that you will be honoured to see him, and when and where he should meet you. You hand the note to the young messenger, and he scurries off to deliver it to the Steward.
***
You manage to sleep through the night despite your excitement, and eagerly await the time of your meeting with Boromir. You are only waiting a few minutes at the place where you had agreed to meet – just outside the gate of the inn you were staying at – before you see Boromir walking towards you.
“I have missed you,” Boromir tells you, kissing your hand, “I am sorry that I have not been able to see you as often as I would like.”
“Oh, Boromir, do not apologise,” you respond, smiling fondly, “there is much work to be done, and you are an invaluable part of it. I will not fault you for doing your duty.”
He seems grateful that you do not blame him for being busy. “I have something of great importance that I must tell you about,” he says, “but I do not wish to do it here.”
You nod, then take his arm, and the two of you begin to walk together. Boromir seems nervous, you think, and you cannot help but wonder what is on his mind. He does make idle conversation with you as you walk, however, speaking of various goings-on in the city, the most important among them being the engagement of his brother Faramir and Éowyn.
After you have been walking for a while, you see a beautiful garden, filled with colourful flowers that contrast with the stark white walls and roads of Minas Tirith. “Come,” Boromir says, and leads you towards a bench that is nestled in the center of the garden, urging you to sit down. When you do, he takes a seat beside you.
The two of you sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, before Boromir whispers your name. He takes your hands in his own larger ones, and then takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I know we have not long known each other,” Boromir begins, speaking slowly and carefully, “but I have never met another quite like you. You brought hope and light into my life when I thought that all was lost. Had you not been there by my side, I am sure that I would have never lived to see my home again.”
The hopelessness that Boromir described was not a surprise to you. He had opened up to you a number of times while you were travelling with the Fellowship, but it still makes your heart ache to know how dark his outlook has been.
“I had long believed that I would die in battle, serving my country as I have done since my youth. But meeting you… falling for you… for the first time, I have seen that perhaps my life can be more than that. I still love Gondor, that has not changed, but there is one alone who I hold in higher regard.”
The words almost take your breath away. You are the one thing that this brave warrior holds dear above all else, even the city and country that he has sworn to protect. Your heart pounds at an almost concerning rate within your ribcage. You wish to tell him the depths of your own feelings for him in return, but you cannot find the words.
Boromir brings your hand to his chest, laying it flat above his heart. Even through the fabric of his tunic, you can feel the way that it quickens at your touch.
“My heart is yours,” he says, the pure devotion in his gaze almost enough to reduce you to tears. You actively have to hold the tears back, as not to embarrass yourself, at least for now. That plan is swiftly foiled, however, when Boromir pulls something from his pocket. Once it has been slipped onto your finger, you quickly realise that it is a ring.
You look down at the ring – silver with tiny, intricate carvings of swans on the band, and set with sapphires – then back up at your love’s face. “This ring was my mother’s. Before she passed, she told me that I should give it to the one who holds my heart. I was only a boy then, so I thought the idea foolish, but now… I understand what she meant. She would have wanted me to give it to you.”
Your eyes are wide and tearful as you look up at Boromir. He brings his hand up to rest on your cheek, brushing away your tears with his thumb. You cannot help but lean into his touch, wishing that he wasn’t wearing gloves. Though you had felt the touch of his bare hands on your skin before, you still craved it again. “If you do not feel the same, I will not hold it against you, but if you do… I will spend the rest of my days devoting myself to you.” His voice cracks, and you see his own eyes beginning to well with tears. “I want to be with you. I want you to be my wife.”
Boromir wants you to be his wife. You, a woman with no noble blood to her name, the wife of the Steward of Gondor. A small part of you wonders whether you are worthy of this honour, but you quickly push it away. Boromir loves you, he wants to spend his life with you, and you want that too. You want that more than anything you have ever known. He certainly thinks that you are worthy, and you are not going to ruin your chance of happiness with the man you love with your own insecurities.
Realising after a few moments that you haven’t given him an answer, you cup Boromir’s face in your hands, bringing him towards you to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He feels tense at first, but after a few moments he seems to relax, reciprocating the kiss. “Boromir,” you breathe after the kiss ends, your forehead resting against his as tears begin to roll down your cheeks, “yes. I love you, of course I will marry you.”
Boromir stands from the bench, pulling you up to stand as well. He lets out a laugh, wrapping his strong arms about your body and spinning you around for a moment, lifting you off the ground slightly. You laugh too, throwing your arms around his neck, and he gently places you back on the ground. Boromir is gazing at you with such love that you feel yourself falling for him all over again.
It's past 11 o'clock and I need to be up in 6 hours to go to work. But, I desperately want to finish writing my next chapter of The Heart of Gondor because it's getting soooooooo good. But, I know that when I impatiently publish a chapter late at night, I end up finding tons of errors the next morning when I read it again. I just want to share it so badly because I love this chapter so much!
So as a compromise to myself, here's a little blip of what's coming next for our reader and Boromir so I can finally go to sleep:
............
Boromir’s gaze lingers on the final wound for only a breath, but the weight of it lands heavy. He feels as if he’s staring at not just a scar, but at a sacrifice. One made in love and without question.
His throat tightens. “You bore this for me,” he whispers.
It isn’t a question.
You pull your tunic back down and fasten it slowly, not meeting his eyes. “I didn’t know it would leave such a mark,” you admit, voice quiet. “Not like that. But if it meant keeping you here…” you pause, “I would gladly do it again.”
Boromir doesn’t trust himself to speak, but can only utter a whimpered, “Oh, Y/N!”
Upon the sound of his broken voice, you close the distance between yourselves and embrace him. Boromir grips his arms around you tightly, burying his face into your hair. He breathes in your scent and is grounding himself with your essence. He openly weeps into your hair and neck, clutching to you and feels you reciprocate with your own tears that fall upon his cheek. Gently placing his hands upon both the temples of your face, he pulls himself away to look upon you. He watches the tears stream down your cheeks as he gazes adoringly into your eyes before moving to your lips.
Without hesitation, he brings his lips to yours and presses a deep kiss upon them. He inhales deeply once more to breathe in your life, your fire, your love.
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