contains: angst/comfort, character death, shitty dads (cough cough denethor cough cough), childhood friends to lovers, fellowship! reader, lowkey a lot of intro stuff (sorry), kissing lol, faramir being a sap
summary: being the heir to the enedwaith throne, y/n grew up frequently visiting the regions' ally of gondor and grew close to the stewards' sons. after boromir's death, y/n returns to the white city, seeking faramir and the help of denethor.
a/n: hi!! it's been like four years since i posted last... but i want to write againヽ(‘ ∇‘ )ノ! sorry if this is bad lmao, i haven't written in forever
The city of Rivendell shone in the afternoon light and a crisp December breeze blew the last of the fallen leaves onto ground. It was an honor to be called to this meeting by Lord Elrond, though you feared the reason behind it.
Making your way up the winding cobblestone paths to the meeting area, a deep but familiar voice spoke up behind you.
"Lady Y/n, it is a pleasure to see you," Boromir smiled, happy to see you were sent in your father's stead.
"Please, Boromir, no need for such formalities," You grin, embracing him gently, "It is good to see you too, I've missed my visits to Minas Tirith."
A hearty laugh escaped the man's mouth, "I am sure it was not just the city you have missed," Boromir said teasingly, making you roll your eyes.
Unable to contain your smile, you asked sheepishly, "Has your father sent only you?"
Knowing what you were getting at, Boromir smirked, "Faramir was sent to guard the gates in Osgiliath in my absence. So you will have to put up with me for the time being."
Hiding your disappointment, you huffed out a laugh, "How ever will I manage?"
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Boromir was dead, consumed by the ring. The grief was almost to much to bear, but thinking about Faramir's reaction to his older brother's death was a thousand times worse.
You didn't get any sleep that night, nor did the remaining few companions you had left. The memory of his death was too raw, like a wound that had been ripped open. Boromir was the older brother you were never blessed with, a steady pillar of strength and light for both you and Faramir. Now that light had been extinguished, and much of the hope you had left with it.
"Promise me you will take care of him"
Those were the last words your friend ever spoke to you. There was no need to say who 'he' was, you already knew. You knew that Faramir would need you now that his brother was gone, his father never sparing him a glance. So you promised, and you didn't intend on breaking it.
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The journey to Minas Tirith was long and filled with apprehension. For three days you rode along side Gandalf and Pippin, desperate to warn the Steward of the eminent attack.
Finally, you reached the gates of the white city. Galloping up the streets, you could feel your heart beating wildly at the thought of the man you loved being so close.
Much to your dismay, Faramir was not in Minas Tirith when you arrived. Even furthering your and the White Wizard's frustration, Lord Denethor was less than cooperative. You knew he was a cruel man, having seen the way he treats his youngest son, yet you thought he was more sensible than this. Though, he is clearly driven by grief for his favorite son.
The memories of Faramir crying from the harsh words his father threw at him flashed in your mind. Feeling the anger bubbling up, Gandalf beckoned the three of you to leave.
Leading you outside, towards the edge of the courtyard, Gandalf turned muttered bitterly, "A thousand years this city has stood. Now, at the whim of a madman, it will fall."
You turned to face the wizard, "We must do something, or Minas Tirith will be destroyed. If we could just get to Osgiliath, perhaps Faramir could aid us."
He looked down at you, shaking his head, before shifting his gaze to the fiery mountains of Mordor in the distance, "No, my dear, our time has run out. Help must come to us."
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After the blast of fearsome light erupted from Mordor, Gandalf instructed you and Pippin to secretly light the beacon of Minas Tirith. The climb up the tower was tiring, but you reached the top in no time.
"You light the beacon, I'll distract the guards. Got it?" You whispered to the hobbit, him nodding in response.
You made your way behind the two guards, keeping each step light. Using the hilt of your sword, you knock the guard closest unconscious and swiftly do the same to the second. Watching proudly as Pippin set the pile of wood ablaze, you started your way back down the watchtower.
As you reached the bottom, you heard loud, awful shrieks from across the valley. The Nazgûl, you thought grimly, quickly making your way to see where the ring wraiths were coming from.
Your body grows cold at the sight of Faramir's legion being attacked, picked off one by one. It was to far to make out faces, so you could only pray that Faramir was alive.
To your relief, you spotted a white stallion speeding towards the fleeing soldiers. Gandalf raised his staff, emitting a blinding, white light that scared off the Nazgûl. Knowing the enemy had been thwarted for the time being, you gathered Pippin onto your horse and raced down to the gates.
Gandalf was easily spotted in the sea of soldiers on horseback, his white robes shining in the sunlight.
You moved through the crowd towards him. However before you could speak, someone beat you to it, "Mithrandir," Faramir rode over to Gandalf, not seeing you, "They broke through our defenses. They've taken the bridge and the west bank. Battalions of orcs are crossing the river."
"It is as the Lord Denethor predicted," A soldier exclaimed from the crowd, "Long has he foreseen this doom.
"Foreseen and done nothing!" Gandalf grumbled, turning his horse to face you and Pippin. Faramir turned his head, his face morphing into one of confusion and then shock.
"Y/n," He whispered breathlessly, "What are you-"
His words fell short upon seeing the hobbit sitting in front of you.
"Faramir?" You questioned.
Gandalf understood, "This is not the first halfling to have crossed your path."
Faramir, shifting his gaze back to you, muttered, "No."
Upon hearing this, Pippin face filled with glee, "You've seen Frodo and Sam?"
As Gandalf continues his questions about Frodo and the ring, you can't help but scan Faramir's face and body for any injuries. To your relief, the man had no major wounds. You let out a breath, returning to the conversation at hand.
"Faramir, tell me everything. Tell me all you know." Gandalf spoke with urgency.
Making your way back up to the palace, you let Faramir and Gandalf discuss what happened in Ithilian with Frodo. Though deep in their exchange, Faramir couldn't resist glancing behind him where you rode with Pippin.
"You know him?" Pippin's voice brings you back from your thoughts, "Lord Faramir?"
You smile softly down at the hobbit, "Yes, I spent much time here as a child and have known both Faramir and Boromir for my entire life."
A pang strikes in your chest at the though of Boromir. Of the promise you made him.
"I will not leave Faramir to be alone, not anymore," You thought to yourself.
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"This is how you would serve your city? You would risk it's utter ruin?" Lord Denethor spits, his words filled with utter hatred.
Faramir stood before his father, a pleading look on his face that made you frown, "I did what I judged to be right."
"What you judged to be right," Lord Denethor mocked, "You sent the Ring of Power into Mordor in the hands of a witless Halfling. It should have been brought back to the Citadel to be kept safe. Hidden, dark and deep in the vaults. Not to be used," He paused, as if he was forcing himself to continue, "Unless at the uttermost end of need."
The steward's greed for power was consuming him, making your blood boil. However, Faramir kept his composure, "I would not use the ring. Not if Minas Tirith was falling to ruin, and I alone could save her."
Your chest swells with pride at his words, knowing he was speaking the truth.
A sickly smile grew across Lord Denethor's face as he spoke, "Ever you desire to appear lordly and gracious... as a king of old. Boromir would have remembered his father's needs. He would have brought me a kingly gift."
"Boromir would not have brought the ring. He would have stretched out his hand to this thing and taken it. He would have fallen." Faramir pleads with his father."
"You know nothing of this matter!" Lord Denethor snarled, making your fleeting composure shatter.
Stepping forward, you growled, "No. You know nothing of this matter, Lord Denethor. You are blinded by the ring and cannot see that it needs to be destroyed, not hoarded by a false king such as yourself."
Taking a few steps further, you continue, "No man can resist the ring, not even your beloved Boromir. He tried to take it, not for his country- for himself. But he saw the evil taking over him and fought honorably till his last breath. Which is far more noble than anything you have ever done. Even now you force Faramir to risk his life out of pure greed. You are a monster, and coward who does not deserve such an incredible son."
By the time you finish, your breathing is ragged and your hands are shaking with anger. The lord seethes before you, lunging forward.
"Boromir was loyal to me! Not some useless woman!" He spits out before falling back onto the ground with a yell.
"Father?" Faramir reaches out worried.
"GET OUT!" Lord Denethor roars, flailing his arms wildly.
Taking Faramir's hand, you gently lead him out of the hall and away from his father.
You wind through the halls for a few minutes before stopping and facing Faramir. He's already looking at you, eyes filled with emotion.
"You're here." He whispers, as if he doesn't quite believe it himself.
You take a reassuring step towards him, "I'm here, and I am not going anywhere."
Faramir just looks at you for a moment, eyes boring into yours. He suddenly strides forward, pulling you into his chest. You wrap your arms around him, feeling his racing heart return to a steady rhythm.
You both stay like that for a long time before either of you speaks.
"Why are you in Minas Tirith?" Faramir's gentle voice breaks the silence, moving back to hold your shoulders.
"I made a promise to Boromir, as he lay dying, to stay by your side and watch out for you."
His face falls slightly at your admission, "You are here because of Boromir. I understand," He recoils his hands, taking a step back, "I can see how much you loved him."
"What? No," You reply in confusion, "Yes I loved your brother, but not in the way you presume. Boromir was the closest thing I had to a brother, or any sibling at that. His death takes a heavy toll on my heart, but I would have come to you whether he asked it of me or not."
Faramir looks at you, eyes wide in shock, but lets you continue.
"I have fought unspeakable enemies to get here. To see you." You huff, taking a deep breath, "The only one that has ever had my heart is you, Faramir."
You look at the floor, unable to meet his gaze for fear of his reaction. The hall where you stand is silent for a few seconds before you hear him step towards you. A hand lifts your face to look at his, the other moving to cup your face.
"You truly mean what you say?" He asks.
"I could not lie to you even if I tried." You whisper, looking into his eyes.
Faramir's lips connect with yours in a passionate kiss. Years of pining and wanting finally released. A hand moves to tangle in his hair, pulling his body closer to yours.
"I love you, more than anything," He sighs into your mouth, lips returning to yours. He pours every part of himself into the kiss, unwilling to part just yet.
After what felt like hours, you both parted with heavy breaths. With a contented sigh, you cup his jaw, running your thumb over his cheekbone.
The two of you stayed wrapped in each others embrace, not caring about the war raging around you. A surge of hope swept through you, knowing that you had the man you loved by your side.
Admiring the snow drop off the trees of Mirkwood, Legolas brought you closer to him by the hip. “Aren’t you cold?” You say chittering, as you wrap your green cloak closer to your body. “Elves don’t feel cold as much as humans do” he replied honestly, rubbing his arm up and down your side to suggest warmth. “I should of brought gloves” “Well then, how about you put those fingers to work?” Legolas suggested, looking down at you with a great smile. “Sure! Can I braid your hair?” You say, realising his normally braided locks are a straight untangled beauty. He nods, which activates you to carefully thread your cold redding fingers through the silky hair. “Let’s see if you have the skill of an eleven maiden” he retorts, he’ll have to steal someone’s gloves some time for his beautiful love.
FARAMIR:
Faramir’s eyes slowly opened as he felt his hair getting tampered with. Once his orbs finally adjusted, he seen his beautiful partner cascade their fingers through his locks, the soft candle light illuminating their beauty. “Well, good morning” Faramir grumbled, shutting his eyes again momentarily. “Hello love, don’t mind me, just playing with your pretty hair” you say, as your fingers hit a knot. “Ouch” he said with an exaggerated expression. “Ok well maybe it isn’t so beautiful, it hasn’t been brushed in weeks!” You say, threading the 3 sections of hair together. “I haven’t had the time, love” Faramir stated, feeling as though you were genuinely giving him a pointer. “Don’t worry sweet thing, now let’s make you a pretty steward, shall we?”
ARAGORN:
As Aragorn was sharping his blade, he felt soft skin connect with his gritty hair. “What are you doing?” He said, knowing exactly who those fingers belonged too. “Braiding” you say non-chalantly, as you reach a spot filled with all different types of knots and curls. “Well more like detangling, dear, when was the last time you washed these locks?” You state, peering over his shoulder at his dirty hands. “I do not remember” he replied, turning around to give you a smile. “Come on, let’s get you in the bath” you tut, patting the birds nest that he called hair. “I can bathe myself darling” “I don’t trust you, my messy Ranger”
BOROMIR:
“Don’t” Boromir dragged out, as he flicked your hand out his locks. “Shut up, and keep washing” you retort, seeing as the water he was currently lying in starting to get murky. “Also, I’m doing you a favour, adding these braids will make your hair nice and wavy in the morning, at least you’ll look presentable” you roll your eyes, as you add a piece of cloth at the end of the braid. “I don’t want to look like an elf” he rumbled, washing his arms lazily. “It’s just for the night dearest, and don’t be so rude, I’ll get Legolas in here to do it for me” you joke, as you see Boromir stiffen, he did not want that Elven Prince seeing his intimate parts. “Just be quick then” he protested, moving the so called sponge to his unkempt chest.
HALDIR:
“Dearest?” You say, looking around the beautiful chamber you and Haldir shared. “Yes?” He replied, closing his journal and turning to you. “You look like a hunter” you joke, taking in his messy hair and cloak, falling off his shoulder. “Sorry I’m not up to your standard princess” he replies with humour, standing up from the wooden chair and approaching you. “Well, let’s get you back up to shape” you huff, as you reach for the white comb off to your left. As you brush the pearly locks, you see Haldir sigh in contentment. “Feels nice” he whispers, wrapping his arms around you, the same time you add a braid to his hair. Around 5 minutes later, his hair is back to its original look. “All done!” You say, as you turn him back around to see your full work. “You forgot something” he rumbled, eying your own hair. “Oh, yes” you remember, pulling the blue clip out your locks, and adding it to the side of his handsome blond hair.
I came back with another soft alphabet just to make your day a little better. Hope you’ll like it. Enjoy^^
I’d be extre~mely happy if you press a heart button or leave me a comment. Thanks <3
A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
Unbelievably affectionate. Sometimes feelings overflow him so much he could even cry. Tries to show his love in any possible way be it flowers, touches, love letters, surprises etc. Occasionally, Faramir even goes beyond common sense, like the day he gave you 10 different bouquets just because he didn't know how else to express his feelings. Or those days when he can't exist without holding your hand, because words fail him.
B = Body (Their favorite body part of their partner, why? Do they like touch?)
Thighs. It's so strange for him to know that he can now touch you everywhere he wants. The way you stiften feeling a little ticklish and blush, if he squeezes them a little... Something unearthly.
C = Courtship (What do they do to take your attention?)
Faramir is more that type, who does his best to avoid attention. That is why one day, trying so hard to avoid meeting someone, he tripped over a bench and fell flat right at your feet. What a way to make a good impression though.
You also captured his looks that lingered your presens a little too longer than the rules of decency dictate. His hand tightened your waist a little bit stronger when you danced together, his voice became softer with you... Well, and his eyes never lied about his real feelings towards you.
D = Domestic (Are they the type to settle down with you? Are they willing to help with chores? What is your daily routine with them?)
He really loves his country and is happy to finally find his place there. Especially if you share his desire. Faramir is a very domestic guy and probably the one who cares most about family hearth and other stuff. His dream is to be an exemplary family man - a great husband and good father.
E = Espousal (Do they want to marry you eventually? Who proposes to who?)
Of course, he does. Obviously already has planned the proposal and marriage itself. But seriously, Faramir is a man who does not allow himself too much before the wedding, something that can embarrass you. So he won't drag out with marriage, because he wants to have all the rights and opportunities to show you his love.
F = Fragile (How protective are they of you? If they are, how do they show this?)
He gets nervous a lot when you do something dangerous, but tries not to show it. Is not that type of a guy, who, after you was injured, would say "I told you so", but the guy who carries you to the hospital with tears in his eyes and then doesn't sleep the night and is on duty all night near your bed.
G = Gifts (What type of gifts do they give their s/o? Do they like receiving gifts?)
Do not wait for something grandiose or majestic. But there will be a lot of tiny and cute surprises waiting all over the castle. Sweets and flowers, small jewelries and of course new books right at your night table every week.
H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)
The best hugger all over Middle-Earth. Prefers long and tight hugs, but won't refuse some quick and light interactions. Starts and ends his days embracing you and feels sad when he can't do this.
When he's upset, may expect you to hug him tightly and won't let go for a very long time. It's definitely what you do.
I = Intimacy (How romantic are they? Do they have problems with intimacy?)
At first Faramir doubted most of your words and actions, and was really afraid to be left heartbroken. But as his feelings towards you grew, so did your intimacy.
This closeness of your relationship now lets you know what's on his mind without long conversations - you feel him through the kisses, touch, looks. And this means a lot to the both of you, being that intimate.
J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)
Do not really get jealous, and even when he does, usually start searching for a problem in himself. Would rather believe that it is he who gets the situation wrong.
Still it's quite easy to say whether Faramir is jealous at the moment. He looks grumpy, lips are pressed into a thin line, and he is very likely to try to find some distraction in that very interesting tapestry on the wall.
He doesn't like feeling jealousy, but can't help it, when someone he considers better than himself (that is, every second person he meets) speaks to you in a deliberately pleasant manner.
K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)
A little unsure at the beginning. They always start as a smack on the lips, because he wants to be sure you really want it now. And after you return a peck, he kisses you slowly, caressing your lips tenderly, while rubbing the low of your back.
Faramir doesn't mind where you kiss him, as long as you do it often and with love. Yet little kisses on the shoulders early in the morning, while his skin is still sensitive after the night, makes him feel butterflies inside.
L = Love language (What’s their love language?)
Physical touch. Initially, Framir couldn't admit it himself, but the more you touched him, the more he wanted. Holding hands, tender touch, light kisses mean more to him than the most beautiful words. He starts his day squeezing you tight in his arms in the bed, and finishes it giving you a kiss on the forehead. Faramir’s touch is always meaningful, and he doesn't need to talk - you feel everything without a word.
M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)
Usually you wake up first and have a little time to admire his restful sleep. Faramir sleeps with his legs and arms wrapped around you, his head resting on your chest. You wake him up running your hands through his hair, telling him good morning with a soft kiss.
N = Nicknames (What do they call you? What do you call them?)
He definitely melts when you call him something like “Love of my life” and other pretty vanilla things. “My beloved, My dear, My love…” Well, as soon as it has “my” it goes well with Faramir. He loves it when you claim him yours.
Addressing you, Faramir tends to use short, but strong words, such as "Love", "Heart", "Sun" etc. He doesn't want his true feelings to get lost between sweet speeches.
O = Overture (How did everything start?)
Faramir fell in love with your laugh. Actually, a few days ago before he saw you. He thought that someone who can laugh so sonorously at those dark times could be only a beautiful maiden. And a timid thought flashed deep in his head - he would like to hear that laugh near him for ages, he would like to be that one who makes you laugh.
P = Pace (Are they fast-paced in a relationship? Or do they like to take things slow?)
Sometimes he wish he could be a little bit more decisive, so you haven't wait for months until he does next move. But in all, building relations with Faramir will take time, a lot of. He is afraid of making a mistake, to ruin everything, so he considers his actions very thoroughly. Would be enormously happy if you left him a hint or two about how you want to be treated.
Q = Queen/King (Who takes the initiative in relationships?)
Sometimes, of course, he could be the one who makes decisions, but he much prefers to be led than to lead. Faramir doesn't need to be told what to do, he isn't a jerk, yet he sees nothing wrong when his woman is on top. This is easier for him to follow someone confident, than to be nervous about everything at once.
R = Remembrance (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)
The day when you and some other women from Minas-Tirith, risking your life, brought him and his men hiding in the mountains some food and water. That was a moment Faramir truly realized that all your words about love and loyalty were true.
After gently taking you aside, he kissed you fiercely, tears unwittingly running down his cheeks.
S = Salvage (What issues does this relationship help him to cope with?
You show him that making mistakes is okay. Faramir tried so hard not even to be the best, but to meet others expectations, yet never received a proper reward. His men were loyal, but he was very afraid of making mistakes and letting them down.
And now everyday you remind him that he is your best man in the world and that you'll always be around. It blows Faramir’s mind, yet he is extremely thankful.
T = Tiny (How are they around children?)
He Is not sure that is ready at this very moment, but definitely wants a family of three in the near future. Faramir thinks of the family as a small independent state and won't let anyone (even his brother) interfere with your privacy.
U = Ulterior (What’s their secret?)
At the beginning of your relationship, there were several moments when, at a military council, he lost the thread of the conversation, getting lost in thoughts about you. It almost cost him a life, and there were several months of jokes from comrades in the service.
V = Vulnerable (How long until they can be vulnerable around their s/o? What are they like in this state?)
Not so long as he would like to. He would like to remain a strong hero for you a little longer, but another unsuccessful outing has done its job. Faramir tends to hold you tight and hides his face in the crook of your neck when despair and disappointment cover him. He has a lot of scars on his soul, and he wants them to be healed, even if he never admits it.
W = Wound (How do they feel about exposing their scars/injuries?)
He doesn’t like to expose his wounds and scars, nor does he think that it does him any credit. Once you tried to kiss the scar on his left collarbone, but he stopped you. Seeing the look on his face, you thought that it still hurts and that you injured him somehow. Yet Faramir told you that he doesn't think it's heroic. He would rather live in a world where neither women nor men have to fight and wear those terrible marks on their skin.
X = Xtra (A random headcanon about your relationship)
Faramir is fond of moments when you lay on his lap and he could read you some of his favourite stories. It is even better when your fingers are intertwined. And when you fall asleep, listening to his soft voice, he could kiss you on the crown and put out the candle.
Y = Yearning (How well do they cope when their SO isn’t with them?)
Pretends that he copes well and your absence doesn't bother him. Well, at least he tries to, because every friend of his knows pretty well - Framir is nervous as hell. Counts days, hours and minutes to your return and doesn't let you out of his embrace all night. And morning.
Z = Zzz (How are nights spent with them?)
Always gets asleep hugging you, holding you from behind and leaving light ticklish kisses on your neck. He prefers to sleep under the blanket even when it's hot summer and, of course, cuddling beneath, so it gets hella warm. But do not hope to escape...
Thanksa lot for reading this!
You can find more of my writings right here
Request: Faramir and Female Reader where they are enjoying time with there children (bonus if Boromir is alive and well and being a great uncle). — @jazzybug163
Summary: A relaxing day in the gardens with your children, your husband, and your husband’s brother
Warnings: children (could be adopted—nothing is specified), Boromir lives AU, just some family fluff lmao, fucking short as fuck
Word Count: 260
A.N: uhhhhhhh I hate writers block jkdsjkdjskd, but this is also just so cute, enjoy!
****
“Uncle!”
The shrieks of your children replace their bubbling laughter as their tiny feet rip up tufts of grass running to their Uncle Boromir.
The summer afternoon was peaceful. Peaceful enough for you and your husband to take a trip out to the gardens with your children grasping excitedly onto your hands. The same little hands that would soon be digging through the dirt looking for bugs and dipped into the stream to search for fish.
Faramir’s hand encases yours as the two of you sit in the shade.
Boromir’s hearty laugh echoes throughout the courtyard as your children fling themselves onto their uncle. The two of you smile fondly at the sight of Boromir effortlessly lifting each one up and planting a kiss of their foreheads.
“And how are the little ones today, eh? What have your curious little hands found out here?” Boromir ambles to you and your husband as he listens to you children babble on and on about the creatures they’ve found lurking in the gardens. He doesn’t seem to mind inspecting their muddy hands at all.
You breath in the floral scent of the White City in the summer as you lean your head on Faramir’s shoulder.
“Are you tired, dearest?” He mumbles into the crown of your head, lips just brushing your skin.
You hum, still listening to the laughter of your children with their uncle.
“Rest, dear (Y/n), Boromir has the children taken care of.” Faramir wraps his arms around you, making you put more weight onto his body. “All will be well.”
Warnings: Nothing my guy - glad to see our ElfReader Lotr anon again😊
Request: “Hey, Lotr anon again with more ElfReader 🙋🏼♀️ Could you please write another Multishot with Faramir this time. where the Reader travels a lot with Gandalf and first met Faramir during the time Gandalf spend in Gondor when he did his research about the ring, at this point nothing happens between them but they do become great friends. And maybe Faramir did develop a crush on her but never said anything, She and Boromir also become friends. They meet again during Two Towers when he finds Frodo, Sam and her in Ithilien...After he takes them to Osgiliath she stays with him....There they truly fall in love and after the Ring is destroyed they confess their feelings.... 😅🤗 I wish you a great day/evening” Anon
A/N: The terrifying elf maiden has traveled to Gondor with Gandalf, surprisingly making acquaintance with an exceedingly patient and persistent Faramir
Part 1: The Warrior Princess {You Are Here}
Part 2: And The Captain
(Y/N) stood on a rocky outcrop observing the distance with her expert elf eyes. There was a breeze running towards the mountains south of her. It made her silky fine hair whip about her pointed ears, obscuring anything she might be able to hear.
She had to squint as the sunlight began to fade. Ahead remained many miles of their journey, but (Y/N) was not scouting for their path. She was attempting to find means of supper.
With the mountains so near and nothing green in this stretch of land, it would be difficult to pin a deer. Perhaps she would rig a few traps to ensnare burrowing rabbits. She rested a hand on the whittling knife on her belt.
“Ah, it appears our princess has made a decision on the dinner menu.”
(Y/N) closed her eyes to hide them from rolling. It appeared Gandalf was talking to the horses again.
You wouldn’t have been able to discern (Y/N)’s lineage from what she wore now. Nothing about her equipment or garments rang Woodland Princess, however anyone would be a fool not to acknowledge the grace and precision she possessed as a trained elf.
“I trust we’re still safely on the correct path?” Gandalf asked, watching the elf maiden descend the rocky mound.
She set her jaw, “We remain on the east fold, the sun sets northwest of our steps, and the Firien Wood lies a days journey ahead.” She landed beside the wizard and their two horses, “Yes, we are safely on the correct path.”
Gandalf chuckled, patting the mane of his grazing horse, “I told you. There’s always a lengthy list of proof before the princess states her answer.”
“I would not have you doubt me.”
“My dear, (Y/N),” the wizard shuffled to his saddlebag to retrieve a wooden pipe. “When have you ever given me cause to doubt you? Simply stating ‘yes’ to my question would have been sufficient.”
The princess unclasped her dim cloak and flurried it upon her own horse. “You’re the one who requests I speak more on our journeys.”
“Yes, that is true,” Gandalf chuckled, snapping his fingers to summon a flame to lite his pipe. “Why do you think I make such company of the transportation?”
“You’re fond of the Rohan horses,” (Y/N) retorted, “I believe you were spotted in the Edoras stables more than once while we rested there.”
“Besides the point,” Gandalf huffed, “I was merely reinstating my claim to our friends.”
(Y/N) gathered some reeds and tall grasses from the ground, beginning to construct a snare, “And remind me what that claim might be.”
The old wizard went to settle against the rocky outcrop, “That you’re friendlier than many would believe.”
“Who said I’m not friendly?” her tone rose much to her chagrin.
“I’ve simply made the observation that many grow fearful in the presence of the ruthless warrior princess from the Woodland Realm.”
She rose her eyebrows ever so slightly, “But you’ve deduced otherwise?”
Gandalf hummed his approval, “Indeed. One must take the time but will inevitably find a kinder and fairer elf than the tales would say.”
(Y/N) couldn’t help the miniscule upturn of her lips. “Admit – the only reason you take me on these journeys is because you’d be hopeless in finding your supper.”
“That’s it,” Gandalf mused, resting easy and smoking his pipe, “The only skill of the elf princess I require is her ability to ensnare rabbits.”
That got the smallest of laughs out of her. And it brought immense joy out of the wizard.
The pair were currently on their way towards Gondor and the vast library reserves of Minas Tirith. Gandalf had a suspicion he wished to perform research upon and with (Y/N) at his side, he believed it to be a swift journey.
“How was your time among the hobbits?” (Y/N) questioned, removing a couple roasting rabbits from a fire.
“Pleasant,” Gandalf remarked, “Though I wish you came to the festivities. Sometimes I don’t think you believe me when I say my fireworks are a hit.”
She smirked, “You know I’m not normally welcomed around fair folk.”
“That’s because they know nothing of the world.”
They split the helping of rabbit, taking refuge in the dying firelight. “I’m afraid I would dampen the party with my melancholy.”
Gandalf subtly shook his head, “Now that is no good, seeing yourself like that. I know a few hobbits that would be delighted to hear tell of the elves.”
“I’m really not much company outside of the training yard.”
“Companionship is just what you need, (Y/N).”
She averted her gaze, not wanting to discuss the matter further. They always seemed to land on the subject of her solitude after a few days journey. Gandalf was beyond determined to get her acquainted with someone other than himself.
“I’ve got my horse and my wizard,” (Y/N) gave a strained smile, “What more do I need?”
Gandalf frowned, though knew not to push her into an unpleasant mood. She was, after all, his means of nightly supper.
The duo continued on their walk through Firien Wood and past the Druadan Forest until finally Minas Tirith was in their sights. The quiet (Y/N) was growing steadily more reserved and sullen on the path forward. She knew the coming weeks would involve many interactions with the people of Gondor.
There was no doubt that Gandalf was relishing in the thought of sending (Y/N) into the depths of a courtroom of royals. Perhaps she’ll finally be forced to make new friends.
She could see the hopeful and mischievous glint in the old man’s eyes.
And she was stubborn to do the opposite.
She was successful for the first three days residing in the kingdom. She kept to her own room or the libraries most of the time. She found comfort in remaining beside Gandalf as he studied the ancient, dust filled tomes beneath the city floor. She filled the silence there with replenishing the torches or reading more pleasurable books.
By this third day, (Y/N) had grown tired of Gandalf’s passive pestering’s to get some fresh air. So, in an attempt to appease him, (Y/N) went to the training yard to work out the stiffness of her muscles.
She found herself wielding one of her elvish blades, freshly sharpened and poised for attack. She held the weapon with respect and discipline, something unparalleled outside the elven race. The whoosh of the sword enveloped the space as she practiced her forms.
Her arms were strong where they guided the blade, her feet just as firm and graceful. She fell into an easy routine of steps based on years of muscle memory. It was interesting that you could describe her weapon wielding as elegant.
She heard the faintest footfalls behind her and in a swift motion, she spun around and aimed her sword.
A man stood before her, hands raising into the air and a look of surprise adorning his face. It was a pleasant face, she realized, nothing like the harsh and stony looks of the other royals at the castle.
He had fair red hair and twinkling blue eyes. He seemed very sincere judging by the small smile and open demeanor.
“Hello,” he said, “I’ve always marveled at the skill of the elves. It appears I could not sneak up on you.”
She set her face still, jaw clenched as she stared at him.
“Um…” he put his hands down, nodding towards the blade, “I promise I am no threat to you. I only wanted to introduce myself.”
(Y/N) took a short breath, then stepped away. She eyed him suspiciously. She recognized him as one of the sons of the steward. She had seen him across the hall during their welcoming feast.
It was peculiar that he was still smiling even as a sword was drawn to his throat.
“That’s better,” he said quietly. He gave her space, “I am Faramir, son of Denethor.”
She gripped her sword, but decided it was safe enough to turn away. She went for the opposite side of the courtyard instead.
“And you are?” he yelled over.
(Y/N) swallowed hard. Did Gandalf put him up to this?
“Training.”
He snickered, “What an interesting name. Does it mean anything in elvish?”
She furrowed her brow though he couldn’t see, “You think yourself charming?”
“No, my brother thinks himself charming.” Faramir went for the sword wall, “I think myself as company.”
“I do not desire company.”
“As evident by your refusal to state your name.”
(Y/N) began her forms again, straight and narrow. She avoided his observant gaze and concentrated on her performance.
“Most impressive.”
She remained silent.
“I’m training to be the next captain of the guard,” Faramir continued, undeterred by her cold shoulder. “I am to be appointed when Boromir takes hold of other duties.”
(Y/N) slashed her sword around, taking aim at a wooden post.
“I’m glad you asked,” he mused, “Boromir is my elder brother. The one I described as charming. You know how older siblings can be.”
She huffed, striking the post without a hair falling out of place. Splinters of wood blew to the grassy floor.
Faramir meandered over, a sword held loosely in his gloved hand. “You don’t talk much do you?”
(Y/N) whirled around, standing firm in an attacking position. Her sword arm was raised and still as she stared him down. It was a calculated and stony gaze – full of mistrust.
Faramir huffed a laugh, expertly flicking his sword upward and hitting hers. “You don’t have many friends either.” He sighed as she continued her silent striking pose, “Here’s the wager. I challenge you to a duel, and should I win, you must answer a question for me. If I lose, then you’ll have the satisfaction of finding me silent for the rest of the day.”
Her response was nonverbal, and a few tense seconds later she was advancing him with battle-like stratagem. She struck at him fiercely and Faramir found a laugh caught in his throat as he deflected her blows.
“That’s more like it.” Faramir waltz the training yard, making snarky retorts and smiling whenever he caught her eye. It seemed to make her all the more ferocious.
She practically snarled though the angry lines didn’t mark her perfect elven skin. She charged at him multiple times, slashing at him and grinding her teeth at his cheerfulness. Faramir gave her a look of sincerity before giving a playful bow in her direction.
(Y/N) rounded him, nicking the leather of his vest. It was satisfying as she walked away to hear him scoff.
“I had this specially delivered today! You see how they emblazoned it with the tree of Gondor? It was hand painted!”
She stared at him, readjusting the grip on her sword. Although there was the miniscule raising of her eyebrows. She would be a fool to think Faramir didn’t notice.
His lips twitched with a smile, “You could have finished the duel just now, but chose not to.” He pointed his sword towards her, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
(Y/N) set her jaw and straightened her back. She rounded the training yard ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. It was irritating to see Faramir brush the tear in his vest and softly smile. It was even more infuriating to see him poised to fight without an ounce of apprehension or fear.
She was not used to that.
In an instant she was throwing herself at him, using every bit of strength she had to force him back. After the combat, he held his sword to block a strike from above. (Y/N) pushed her blade down on him, urging him to fall to his knees.
Faramir was straining against her elven strength, but as she got closer to put more force on the blade, he took his chance. They were practically nose to nose when Faramir smirked, eyeing her fondly.
(Y/N)’s frown deepened, confused at the look in his gaze. And in the next second he was standing to his feet, winding his arm around her waist and flattening his sword against her throat.
She could barely hear her blade hit the ground as her mind was suddenly overwhelmed with the presence of Faramir. He was holding her close to his chest, his hand spread across her back to keep her there. His other hand held the dull edge of his sword lightly to her neck, the pulse there running rapid.
They were both breathing heavy, but the difference was that (Y/N) had an expressionless face and Faramir had a look of frightened excitement. It was as if he didn’t mind the current position but feared her reaction.
He was correct to fear it as she stomped on his foot, shoving him away and retrieving her weapon.
Faramir groaned, stooping slightly, but huffing out a laugh, nonetheless. “I had you there, you must admit. I do believe that I had the winning hold.”
“Until I finished it.”
He was pleased to hear her voice, “But your life was in my very capable hands – even if for a moment.”
She took a slow and calculated breath, “I suppose.”
“Excellent. So as the wager permits, I believe you owe me an answer to whatever question I possess.”
(Y/N) looked towards the sky and chose to mount her sword onto the sharpening block instead of facing him. Faramir snickered at this, swinging his sword around and clipping the grass below him.
“It should come to no surprise what my question is,” he remained a few feet away from her when he called out, “What is your name?”
She had tense shoulders when she tilted her head to the side, muttering, “(Y/N).”
Faramir was silent for a few seconds and then his voice came out in a hushed whisper, “(Y/N).” His tone was pondering and delicate, much too sincere for someone who had just won a wager.
It made (Y/N) turn around to see his face. And upon meeting his gaze, she found him wiping his expression clear of the before emotion. It now split into a foolhardy grin.
“Until tomorrow, Lady (Y/N). I look forward to winning another wager.”
And that was the start of the daily wager between the captain and the elf. Each passing day held some sort of battle between the two, much to the amusement of those witnessing the action.
The next day included a wager of which sprung (Y/N) into improvisation. She had made her way to the kitchens to snag some bread and cheese for Gandalf in the libraries. She did so every day and very quietly, barely disturbing the staff as she gracefully flitted in and out.
Upon walking under the stone archway, she discovered Faramir tending to something on the slate countertop. She found herself momentarily frozen in her shining elven boots.
It took her a second to realize she’d become stunned still, and a few seconds more to ponder on why she had stopped in the first place.
She found that a chef had left her a handkerchief with a loaf of fresh bread, a carving knife, and half a block of cheese on the entryway table. Taking a deep breath and keeping her face placid, she attempted to swipe the loaded cloth inconspicuously.
However, upon turning her back, (Y/N) felt a handful of something flatten against her shoulders. A puff of white dust entered her vision and she turned, slow as molasses, to spot the culprit.
Faramir stood behind the counter, sucking in his lips to contain his laughter, and holding up a flour white hand.
“My apologies,” he forced out, cutting the edge of a giggle. “But I seem to have misplaced my cup of flour. It’s for these tea cakes, you see, and Boromir gets ever so cross without his sugar.”
(Y/N) rested the bundle of cloth on a shelf beside her, reaching in and extracting the carving knife.
“Now, now – (Y/N). Not all our wagers must involve sharp things.” He was walking backwards, bumping into disgruntled cooks and pastry chefs. “Must it all end in violence?”
It was the stupid grin on his face that made (Y/N) launch the knife at him. Pressed against the cupboards, Faramir let out a shaky breath to see the knife imbedded into the wood beside his head. The handle wavered tauntingly, but his eyes were drawn back to the front as (Y/N) grabbed the collar of his shirt.
She spoke low and menacingly, “This is my favorite tunic.”
He shrugged his shoulders, hands still raised in defense. Although he didn’t seem to mind their current position, his eyes fluttering to look all over her face.
“As I said before, my apologies.”
“I must return the sentiment.”
His eyebrows creased, “What for?”
(Y/N) ripped the knife from the cupboard door, “I missed.” She held the knife to the hollow of his throat, enjoying the way it bobbed nervously. “I should’ve run you through.”
“You never miss, my Lady (Y/N). I bet you just wanted an excuse to get this close to me.”
“On the contrary, I needed you alive to wash my tunic in the middle of the town square whilst I borrow yours in the meantime. The humiliation will be far more satisfying than watching you bleed to death.”
“Borrow mine?” Faramir sighed, finally lowering his hands. He didn’t seem as afraid to have a large carving knife at his throat. “Wanting to wear my shirt and have me half naked doing the washing… if you want to see me bare you only have to ask.”
She seemed to shake with frustration, gritting her teeth, “Must you always twist my meaning?”
“Look at you making conversation,” he smiled twinklingly. “How charming.”
“Yes, charming. You know how older siblings can be.” She withdrew the knife, taking a few steps back. “I believe I’ve won this wager. Your life was in my very capable hands.”
Faramir smirked, clapping his hands together and letting the flour coated on them fall. “I didn’t realize you were an older sibling. You have a younger brother? Sister?”
He was trying to get to know her more. She stiffened, “I do believe the wager calls for you to remain silent for the rest of the day. Not asking questions.”
“Right,” he sighed, “I’ll just return to my white cakes. Perhaps you could return in an hour, and we could share some over…”
(Y/N) stared at him, barely raising her brow in a clear demonstration of her trying to contain her rage. Faramir cut off his ramblings, shutting him mouth quick. He looked down and smiled.
But upon hearing her exit, sweeping the handkerchief of food off the shelf, Faramir turned his gaze to her. He sighed defeatedly and felt his smile drop with disappointment.
Another day found (Y/N) pinned to the library floor, an arrow tip shoved up and under her ribs. Faramir straddled her, holding the arrow lightly and smirking.
“You’ve damaged a number of priceless tomes. I’m sure the elders of the city will not be pleased.” (Y/N) moved slowly to grasp his hand – she noticed with relish the way his hold slackened at her touch.
Faramir swallowed hard, “I’ve always thought our libraries were much too full.” He pulled the arrow away only an inch as to keep her hand atop his.
She grazed her fingertips down to his wrist – his pulse was rapid.
“Um… my question this time…” Faramir continued. He was still straddling over her, “W-Why do you travel with Gandalf?”
(Y/N) gave him a heavily lidded look before jabbing her fingers into a pressure point on his palm. Faramir sprung back, yelling out with unexpected pain.
It was now (Y/N) standing over him, releasing her hold on his hand, and accidentally letting out a laugh.
Faramir rubbed his sore palm, gaping at her, “Did you just laugh at my pain?” There was a sparkle of interest in his eyes at the twinkling sound.
She folded her arms, straightening out, “I’ve renounced my rights as an elf of Mirkwood. I disagree with my father’s views of the world. Gandalf offered the chance of escape. I’ve been traveling with him ever since.”
“I understand why you must be so angry all the time.” She huffed and it made him laugh. “You ran away from home.”
“No one place is my home,” (Y/N) said, reaching for the book she was reading before Faramir rudely interrupted with his arrow sticking. “I go where I please. Do as I please.”
“Sounds rather lonely.”
(Y/N) stiffened, clutching her ancient book. She looked away from him, graceful and fluid as ever.
Faramir attempted to continue as if he never saw her tense, “But that is why you have Gandalf. A wise companion.”
“Our game is over for the day, Faramir,” she said quietly, “I would appreciate if you left me to my studies.”
If he didn’t know any better, he would have guessed she was saddened by their conversation.
He was more wary of the coming days. Though always the playful one, he made an effort to listen more than he spoke. Many of their duels ended in his life hanging in the balance, (Y/N) immensely proud – but of the times he won, he asked careful questions.
“I heard talk that you’re feared by most in Middle Earth; care to tell me why?”
“No.”
“Amusing – but the deal is that you give me a straight answer.”
She shrugged one shoulder: very un-elf like. “I did.”
Faramir walked over to her side, pondering the way she stared off towards the borders of Mordor. He could practically feel how tense she became as he brushed shoulders with her. But he remained steadfast as he waited her out.
He had attempted conversation with her enough times to know to be patient.
And to shut up.
“I was made to be feared.”
Faramir turned to her, mouth still sewn closed.
“I told you I used to be an elf of Mirkwood. What I didn’t tell you was that I used to be the elven princess of Mirkwood.”
“The elven princess? You mean your father is…” Faramir couldn’t help himself, but he bit his tongue before he could scare her off.
(Y/N) seemed undeterred by his reaction. “Lord Thranduil, yes.” A breeze was making her hair flow angelic-like behind her. The captain-to-be was momentarily mesmerized by the flowery scent dancing his way.
“As you can imagine, heir to the throne, I was trained beyond comprehension. I knew no other life than the bow and the blade. Combat was my companion and allegiance my friend. I was… blindly loyal to my father and his customs.”
Faramir tilted his head, “And now?”
She lifted her chin, “I do not owe that king anything. I’ve fought too many of his battles. I’ve built a ruthless reputation along the way – slaying frightened innocents and scum alike. I am terrifying.”
Faramir let the wind blow between them for a few seconds before he good-naturedly said, “I’ve never seen you like that.”
Even the breeze became quiet when she turned her head. She stared at him with a little more sincerity and a little less carven stone. Faramir saw it as progress.
Another day of Faramir winning a duel led to him asking, “What do you like to do when you’re not fighting?”
“I read.”
“No, I knew that already. There’s got to be something else.” They were in the kitchens again, this time without throwing around a sack of flour. “You obviously don’t enjoy baking.”
He snickered at her poor attempt to roll biscuits for the pan. She looked about ready to smash the handful of dough in his face.
“I’m not used to handling something so delicate.”
“I don’t know. Watching you wield a blade… I would call it elegant.”
“A blade and a ball of dough are not the same thing.” She smiled – actually smiled.
Faramir grinned back reaching over to place a hand over the two of hers. “Don’t roll them so hard, you’ll flatten all the air pockets.”
“Air pockets?” she scoffed, “You’re right – I have no preference for standing in a kitchen all day burning bread and flattening biscuits.”
He raised his eyebrows and stared at her. She shut her mouth, watching him retract his hand. She felt strangely colder.
“Music,” she muttered. “I enjoy music.”
Faramir nodded slowly, “All right. Music. I can work with that.”
A barrel of laughter came bumbling through the corridor and a boisterous, shaggy man came through the entryway.
“(Y/N)!” he said, “And the little Faramir – how are we this evening?”
“Little? We’re the same height, Boromir.”
The elder brother barged in and gave the two of them a heavy clap on the shoulders. (Y/N) couldn’t help but twinge a smile as she attempted to unstick some dough from her fingers.
“This is rather entertaining,” Boromir huffed, seeing the struggle. “How on earth did my brother get you to bake?”
“I simply asked,” Faramir shrugged, nudging into (Y/N), “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes,” Boromir said adamantly, “This fair elven maiden has no business following you around. It’s a wonder she enjoys your company.”
“Must you be such a tease,” the younger stressed, “We’re busy here.”
“I can see that judging by the flat cakes. Looks like you’re making lembas rather than biscuits.”
(Y/N) let out a dazzling laugh, “Though it may be difficult to believe… I am fond of Faramir’s company.”
“More than my own?” Boromir said, hands on his hips, “I’ve found immense pleasure in attempting to defeat you in the training yard.”
“Attempting is the key word there,” Faramir snorted.
(Y/N) grinned brilliantly, “I apologize if my preference of company offends you, Boromir, but I will spend my free time however I wish.”
Boromir sighed, waltzing away, “I only came here to summon you. Father is holding a council by midday.” And he left the kitchens shaking his head and holding a knowing glint in his eyes.
Faramir wiped the flour from his hands, “Is that true?” He looked towards the ground as (Y/N) turned to him.
“Is what true?”
“You are fond of my company? That you prefer my company to others?”
She took a deep breath, smiling softly, “Does that surprise you?”
“Well, compared to when we first met – yes,” he laughed, “It absolutely surprises me! I always thought myself a bother to you.”
“Oh, you’ll always be a bother. A thorn in my side,” she nudged him with her arm, “But I can’t deny I’m slightly grateful for it.”
Faramir gave a wide stare, an innocent boyish look in his gaze. “You mean that?”
(Y/N) gave him a side eye, “Don’t make me say it again.”
And from that moment onward they became closer. Whenever there was a spare moment you’d find the two of them glued to each other. You’d often see them moving about the castle grounds talking and laughing. Or you might spot them sparring in the training yard, normally joined by Boromir.
It was much to the triumph of Gandalf to find another companion for his (Y/N).
It was much to the fondness of Faramir to find someone to occupy his sleeping and waking thoughts.
It was much to the curiosity of (Y/N) to find someone to feign off the loneliness of a warrior princess.
And it made it all the harder to walk away when Gandalf had concluded his research.
The Lord of the Rings Characters comforting an insecure reader about their stretch-marks.
Faramir, Aragorn, Legolas & Boromir
FARAMIR:
Looking down at your body, you felt...wrong. Every maiden in Gondor had perfect silky skin and you felt as though you did not fit into that category. With a huff, you began to dress yourself for the day. “What a beautiful way to wake up” Faramir said groggily, getting a full view of your backside. Shocked, you turn around and slip the gown down further. “What’s the matter?” Faramir questioned, sitting up in his bed. “How is that a beautiful sight?”
“What do you mean dearest?”
“My stretch marks! They’re, they’re”
“Gorgeous, stunning?”
“You’re just saying that” you sigh, folding up your side of the bed. “Excuse me missus, sit down” Faramir demanded, fully serious now.
Slightly shocked at his sudden demand, you sit down on your freshly made side of the bed. With Faramir sitting up right, you could get a full view of his burly chest now. “Your stretch marks, are beautiful, I’m not just saying that” he paused, slightly offended you felt so little about yourself. “It shows your body has been through a plethora of things, and succeeded! It’s just a friendly reminder how badass you are” Faramir ends, a broad smile on his face.
Looking up with slightly wet eyes, you pull your soft husband into your arms. “Thank you” you whisper, rubbing his back. “I love you”
ARAGORN:
Watching Aragorn strip out his gear, his admirable muscles appeared infront of your eyes. From his gorgeous hair to his soft voice to his accepting personality, you started to get doubts as to why he chose you. Your body was scarred with these lines that remind you of your past, and constantly remind Aragorn no doubt.
Without even making a noise, Aragorn already knew you were in distress. “What’s wrong little love?” He pressed gently, removing his tunic that was damp from the sweat, again, flexing his defined chest. “Why are you with me? I’m not the prettiest maiden in the orchard” you shudder at the thought of Aragorn feeling obliged to marry someone he didn’t exactly find beautiful. “Excuse me? Is this because of your stretch marks?”
Oh how did he already know!
“Come here” Aragorn said seriously, petting his lap for you to sit in. With a defeated trudge, you walk straight into his lap, taking a comfy seat. Without a beat, he traces your stretchmarks that littered your body. “You’re like a tiger, each mark resembles a battle, a war you have fought, how resilient you are” he whispered, giving each little one a separate kiss, his beard slightly tickling it. “See this?” Aragorn asked, pulling down his pants slightly to show a nasty gash that went through his lower hip. With a hiss, your fingers glide over it. “Not so pretty huh?” Aragorn laughed, seeing your expression. “Aragorn your perfect, this is just a mark that shows how perfect you are”
“Do you get my point now, darling?”
LEGOLAS:
Why is he so friggin perfect. Perfect lips, perfect skin, perfect hair. Damn him! Damn elves and their perfectness.
“Your thinking is loud, dove” Legolas said, back still facing you from the bed, as he stared out the window. “Sorry, I guess I’m just, I don’t know, insecure?”
Legolas quickly flipped his stupidly perfect body around. “What? How?” Legolas asked, approaching you and taking a seat next to you on the bed. “Legolas, you and every single elf to exist has perfect genes, your hair can’t even get tangled, that’s how perfect you are” you mumble, playing with your hands. “Well, elves do grow up in a very, cleansed environment, but what makes you think your beauty is different?”
“See these?” You say, exposing the skin that held the tiny little lines of insecurity.
“Yes, I’ve always wondered how you got them, they are gorgeous, like little lightening bolts” Legolas chuckled, tracing the lines. “You know, whenever it’s bad weather outside and the lightening rumbles through Mirkwood, I always think of you and those little lines, like your trying to show the whole of middle-earth your appearance shouldn’t be feared” he states, still tracing. “Whenever your away adventuring, and I hear it, I often think it’s you, reminding me you’re still very much alive and saying hello” he whispered out, hearing you sigh in a happier tone than before. “Thats so sweet” you say, a smile inching its way onto your face as you place a hand over his. “Not as sweet as you, my little lightening bolt”
BOROMIR:
Sitting in the bath with Boromir behind you wasn’t common. Boromir was happily scrubbing your back, but you couldn’t help compare thighs with him. His; defined, slight tan, hairy. Yours; littered in little uneven lines.
With an unintentional groan, Boromir stops his scrubbing. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked, turning to kiss your cheek. “No Boromir, it’s just, ugh, look at me!” You splash the water in frustration. “Hey, hey, calm down lovely, what’s got you in a tussle?” He calmed you down with wrapping his arms around your middle, slightly stroking. “I’ve got stretch-marks, they’re ugly” you huff, petting the arms nicely wrapped around you.
“Oh darling, don’t you get me started. Your body is lovely yes, but you think a few silly lines will repulse me? Noo darling, they only show just how different you are to the other maidens out there, in a good way!” Boromir added with a little chuckle. “But in all seriousness, don’t be saddened, it saddens me” Boromir tucked his head into your neck. “You’re so beautiful, if I had to walk into Mordor just to prove it, I would” he says, taking in his own scars now.
“Remember, every warrior has their fair share of marks and bruises, it shows your braveness! Which I know turns me on” he whispered in your ear, which elicited a small laugh from you.
Only your Boromir could get horny from your deepest insecurities.
“He never asked you to follow him. Even more, he was the one against you joining the guerrilla detachment. For goodness sake, he would be the happiest man in the world if you do as he said. But you never actually did.
It was... distracting. Instead of constantly concentrating on his duties, with his mind he always follows you, just to be sure you are still alive. “Please, please, come back to me, come back alive” he pleads Gods every night and day when you are not hanging around the camp and fooling with his soldiers. He dies and rises every time you are wounded or ill. He almost lost his mind when you lost your way and came back from your journey a month later than you should. He kissed you passionately and he swore that he'll never let you go anywhere in a lifetime. And he did what he said. By marrying you.”
Request: I would like to request a Faramir x Female Reader. Faramir is sick from overworking and the reader forces him to have a lazy day. -- anon
Summary: Faramir’s new title of Steward of Gondor has taken a toll on his sleep schedule. You force him to take a break.
Warnings: lack of sleep?, mentions of canonical death of Boromir and Denethor, I think more along the lines of a gn!reader
Word Count: 578
A.N: Were couples allowed to sleep in the same bed at this time? Probably not. But we are either going to pretend that you’re allowed to in this fic or that you sneaked into Faramir’s room lmao. Humor me. Hope you enjoy my first time writing Faramir!!
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Surprisingly, your nose is still buried in the crook of Faramir’s neck when you wake up at the crack of dawn.
His skin is warm and rough, scratchy from the lack of shaving. Ever since the deaths of his father and brother, he’s been locking himself in his study, occasionally consulting with the aides and elders of Gondor. Becoming the new Steward of Gondor, a title that should have gone to his beloved brother, has taken a toll on him.
You almost never see him anymore which is why you bring your arms around his bare chest to trap him closer to your own body.
“Dearest...” You hear him murmur, his voice raspy and riddled with tiredness.
Staying silent, you squeeze him tighter and snuggle closer into his tangled hair.
“I must get up, dearest. The King and our people need me.” Lightly he struggles in your grasp, attempting to leave the warmth of the blankets.
You pry your eyes open and silently hiss at the invasion of the morning sunlight. Once he manages to slip between your fingers you finally take in his countenance.
“You’re so pale, my love!” You gasp, his troublesome features waking you up.
Faramir, to be completely honest and blunt, looks entirely unkempt and not like a Lord at all. His beard is scraggly and overgrown, as is his knotted blonde hair. Not only is his face pale, but the bags under his eyes are darker and heavier than usual, the burden of Stewardship weighing him down in more ways than one. And yet he’s persistent in getting ready for another taxing day.
Acting like he doesn’t hear your protests, he continues to his dresser.
Concerned, you rip off the covers, the chill of the early morning making you shiver as your bare feet touch the pale grey stone. He continues to dress even when you end up beside him, hands wrapped around his arm.
“My love, you’re unwell.” You tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Come back and rest a little while longer.”
Your love turns to face you, bringing a hand up to lightly stroke your cheek.
“I appreciate the concern, but Gondor needs her Steward.”
“Gondor can last with just her King today, Faramir.” You roll your eyes, mirroring his action. His grey eyes show little to none of their usual shine and reveal a deep exhaustion.
“But the King--”
“King Aragorn needs you fully rested and at your best, my love, above all else.” Your thumb moves lower to stroke his chapped bottom lip. Goosebumps still trail down the length of your arm. “He will understand.”
Taking a moment, he looks into your own eyes.
“Perhaps I have been overworking myself a little bit.” Faramir confesses.
“You deserve a day in bed.” You whisper, taking his strong hands into your own, leading him slowly back to your warm bed.
“As long as you spend the day in bed with me, dearest.” He smiles, laying down and getting comfortable underneath the warm covers, bringing you down with him.
He lets out a satisfied groan, his muscles finally relaxing underneath your hands, which have been roaming around his chest since the two of you laid down.
“Get some rest.” You whisper into his skin as he drifts off once again. “I’ll be here when you rise, and Gondor will be in one piece.”
Distantly, you feel his chest rumble with laughter before his breathing finally evens out.
