mxnshine - Tumblr blog

mxnshine · 1 month

Text

loveliest Thranduil fanfic I've ever read, I am obSESSED !!

where snow falls and conversation strikes | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

Your train gets caught in a snowstorm and when the first class gets moved into the normal compartments, a beautiful man asks to sit with you

warnings/tags: modern(ish)!AU, First Meetings, Fluff

wordcount: 3,7k

an: wrote this mostly on the train on my way to work every morning so it took a while and suddenly its 25° c and not 0°c anymore... oops? and lets ignore that my layout for fics is not even close to uniformly

+ masterlist + rules + read the fic on ao3 +

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The view outside the train window was white in its purest form. The mush of white flakes went from gently landing on the glass to completely covering it, obscuring everything behind an opaque wall.

A few hours ago it had been a wonderful sight of frost-tipped mountains, sloping meadows, and high-risen forests that made the long journey not only bearable but quite enjoyable. The hours had flown by just like the landscape, yet – as the newspapers had predicted it would happen – the gray clouds coming in from the seaside had caught up with the train weaving through the country and now, ever so slowly, it lost its speed.

It couldn't have been long to the city. The last stop had been a while ago and if it weren't for the clouds hanging so low, coloring the sky ashen and the snow that just wouldn't stop falling, you could have probably seen the first small villages that dotted the outside of the city.

The train slowing down had been inevitable, you had known as much when you had boarded earlier this morning, though you had hoped to arrive at the destination fast enough that you would have outrun this weather.

Back in the city, back home, the weather would have been a small inconvenience but nothing that would hold you back.

The old speakers crackled just as you adjusted your seat, bringing forth another storm though this one ravaged through the inside:

"We're mighty sorry 'bout this bother, but we kindly ask for yer patience. We've been movin' at a snail's pace 'cause of this darn weather, and now we're told we gotta face this blasted snowstorm 'fore we can carry on."

Even through the walls of your compartment, you heard the groaning and moaning of the other passengers.

It wasn't surprising, the decision to travel onward would be foolish – everyone on this train knew – but the times you did travel like this you found that people seemed to bond over these expressions of annoyance toward something no one could be blamed for. The annoyed grunts that were passed along the rows with an eye roll made up for hours of silence daring the others to interrupt their own peaceful silence.

Your sigh fogged up the window, and you let your head fall back against the cushions, fixating your gaze on the white haze outside when the scruffy voice continued speaking after clearing his throat:

"As it's damn impossible to know how long this weather's gonna last or whether it'll get worse, we kindly ask our first-class guests in the rear carriages to come through to the front. Heating there could be gone any minute. Make room for 'em. You'll of course be helped with your luggage."

Knowing that there is not much else to do than to sit back and wait, you picked up the book you had been reading, a collection of short stories by your favorite author that you knew by heart yet the familiar words provided comfort and you were quickly far away in those lands described.

Before you could finish the story you had left on though, a noise startled you and pulled you right back. The door of your compartment slid open by a tall man peeping his head in.

"Good evening, forgive the intrusion, but might I trouble you for a moment? I was told I could find a seat here. Would that be alright?" The man raised his shoulder to stop the bag he was carrying from sliding down, it wouldn't do what he wanted and slipped to his elbow.

He was beautiful, despite the distressed look on his face that was covered by his long blonde hair falling into it as he glared at the bag; on its way down his arm, it had taken the coat he had hung over it with it so that it dangled close to the carpet floor of the train.

You stared at him long enough that he arched a thick dark eyebrow and you flinched.

"Oh, yes.. yes of course!" You prayed that your cheeks weren't as red as you feared they might be as you nodded.

There was enough space inside the compartment, your suitcase was pushed under your seat and the bench across from you had been free, but you felt the need to look like you would make room for him.

Since there was nothing in the way, really, all you did was pull the bag next to you closer and kick away a piece of lint that stuck to the carpet.

"Thank you," the man slipped inside, coat, bag, and another suitcase dangling from his long arms.

You tried to look busy and lifted your book high up to your face while he stowed his suitcase away, a sleek dark blue leather one that unlike yours had no stickers on it or clothes sticking out. Then he entangled the coat from the bag to hang it on the door before he turned and stared at you.

"Can… can I help you?" you asked when he remained silently scrutinizing you.

His eyes were an icy hue of blue and you would have compared them to the snowy weather outside, cold and unmoving, if there weren't the slightest hints of nervousness in them.

"I don't want to inconvenience you any further but" – he swallowed and lifted a hand to brush some hair away, revealing the faintest of blushes on his high cheekbones– "I fear that I can't stomach traveling backward very well. Would you mind switching places or I could sit beside-"

"It's fine!" you interrupted him. Just him standing there seemed to affect the man quite a bit, he was swaying even though there was no movement, and what harm would it cause you to switch places?

You quickly gathered your back, closing the book with your thumb in between to mark the page you had left on and smiled at him as you sat down on the other side. "It's no problem at all, I have no preferences where I like to sit."

The upholstery was chilly under you and your legs groaned as you moved them for those few steps for the first time in hours instead of just folding them over each other

The man sat down, mumbling a soft "Thank you". His legs were long enough to brush against yours before he angled them toward the window, his slender hands resting on his lap.

Silence fell just like the snow, with the man growing as still as a statue, his eyes hefted outside the window, and you finding a comfortable position to get back to your book.

Despite your best efforts to concentrate on the poetry, your mind couldn't stop straying to the man.

He must be one of the first-class-traveler, you would have noticed him on your short walks through the train whenever you got bored or had grown restless.

His hair stood out, worn long enough to brush past his shoulders and over the cream-knitted sweater he wore, and then there were his eyebrows, the only dark spot of color in a face that could have been cut out of marble. He certainly looked expensive. He made the impression of a man who owned his own – equally perfect – bust.

He suddenly turned his head, not by much but he caught you looking at him nonetheless. Like a deer in headlights, your mouth simply fell open in a forgotten lie to excuse yourself for staring.

Thankfully he didn't comment on it, instead, his rosé lips curved into a smile.

"I'm Thranduil, by the way. I think I should tell you so that you have a name to complain about the stranger who not only stormed into your compartment but took your seat as well" He held out his hand.

You took it after a relieved breath. His fingers were cold, his grip firm. "Nice to meet you Thranduil," you introduced yourself and noted how his fingers flitted over your racing pulse point at your wrist, "Don't worry, I'd be a fool to moan about having a conversation partner, you've done nothing but turn this boring journey interesting"

"Ah, but you haven't realized how awful I am at small talk. I make a dreadful conversationalist," he admitted with a laugh and let go of your hand.

"We could simply skip that part then," you offered boldly and finally closed your book in your lap. "Tell me, what stop did you get on?"

He arched an eyebrow at you and rested his elbows on the table between you, placing his chin on the intertwined fingers. "What? You want to know where I came from and not were I'm going?"

You shook your head, "No, I'll see where you have to get off, this is much more interesting."

Thranduil looked at you for a moment, his eyes taking you in like he wanted to figure you out. Then he huffed, giving in. "I got on right at the first stop," –you smiled, encouraging him to continue talking, which he did, his lips twitching to a smirk– "I stayed in Laketown with a friend over the holidays, but I didn't want to impose on him any longer."

"So you brought this weather with you?" You grinned.

"Oh, one hundred percent," he said, sounding so serious that you nearly giggled, "I had so much fun shoveling snow every morning for ten days that I simply wanted to continue at home." Thranduil tipped his head to the side, examining you once again. "And you?"

"God no, I don't get to pick up any tools while I'm on vacation," you said, knowing full well that's not what the question was about.

"No?"

"No," you sighed, "Try being the youngest at the family reunion. I'm glad my parents let me shower and dress myself. Gosh, I think they would've cried if I even thought about helping with the snow."

Amusement lit up his face, lifting all his sharp features. "Tell that to my friend's little one. She's a fierce thing; knocking at my door at sunrise all dressed up and threatening me with her shovel that I better be outside before she had to come again."

"Oh my! Say, whatever was she threatening to do instead?"

Thranduil chuckled and shook his head, "I didn't stay long enough in bed to find out."

A knock sounded from the door, interrupting the conversation as an older woman opened your compartment. "Hiya, loves. May I offer you some tea? Dreadful weather outside and with the heating back there gone completely, we don't want ya to catch a cold," she said.

"Ye–"

"We'll take two cups," Thranduil's directive voice overshadowed yours, there was an authority in it that even you wouldn't want to cross. He was already pulling a fancy black wallet out of his pockets, which produced a fresh note that gave no room to argue or chip in. "Keep the change," he said while the train service employee shuffled inside and placed a tablet on the table between you.

"Thank you, Sir Oropherion!" She beamed at him and slipped the note through the buttons of her blouse, "You're always too kind!" Then she turned to you and lowered her voice in a faux-whisper: "He's just as handsome as he's single. But you didn't hear that from ol' me."

Thranduil scoffed, though you could see a faint blush on his cheeks. "You are a horrible gossip, Hilda! Go bother some of the other passengers or they'll freeze to death."

A little bit louder and glaring toward Thranduil, she added: "A shame his attitude is like the weather; he could use a sweetheart like you.

With a last wink, she turned and left you to stare after her, wondering what just happened.

"Impossible, that woman."

Thranduil's low rumble pulled you back to him, leaving that poor – now again shut – door alone before your eyes drilled a hole through the wood in search of an explanation.

The man across from you didn't offer you one either, instead, he was reaching for one of the silver spoons that the woman, Hilda, had given to you as well as a cup filled with milk and a small tower of cookies.

Somehow you had the feeling this wasn't what the other customers would get but rather a gesture of whatever fondness the woman pledged to the blonde, who used the tiny tongs to drop two cubes of sugar into his cup.

"So," you said and cleared your throat. Thranduil looked up, nearly killing you on the spot with the daggers in his eyes daring you to speak on the matter. Of course, who would you be if you shied away because of that? "She seemed lovely. A friend of yours?"

"No. No, she's not," Thranduil said. He pushed the other cub toward you, encouraging you to take from the all-paid-for beverage.

You wrapped both hands around it, marveling how beautifully and frail the cup looked and felt, and after taking a small sip, you smiled benevolently and waited for Thranduil to continue.

He rolled his eyes, admitting defeat in his thickheadedness of remaining aloof. "I travel this route to Laketown quite a lot. Once a month, sometimes two or three times, or whenever my schedule allows me to actually. That woman made it her personal mission to get on my last nerve; chatting to me and leaving me sweets and tea without me asking for it. After a while, I could at least get her to accept my money for it. She's keen on finding me my soulmate so I no longer travel this much alone."

"Aw, but that's cute," you said and drank another sip of the hot tea. You didn't know what burned more, the tea or Thranduil's hardened eyes, "What? She looks out for you; the journey is long and she just doesn't want to be lonely."

"Whyever you feel the need to defend her is unfathomable," he scoffed as if you taking Hilda's side was the most outrageous thing he'd ever heard, "You don't even know if her accusations are true– if I'm lonely. Maybe I like traveling alone!" Thranduil placed the cup back onto the tray with such an energetic movement, that it clinked. His lips twitched.

"That…" you started and nodded toward the cup, "was far too defensive. Why, Thranduil, it's no shame to admit to something, especially not to a stranger." His expression was still unreadable though the sharp line of his jaw protruded even more like he was biting down on his teeth. You made sure to keep your tone lighthearted: "Dare I say this is even the perfect chance to get it off your chest? Who knows if we will see each other again. Time to spill all your deep, dark and dirty secrets."

He fixated you with his cold blue eyes. Your words had left an impression on him, that much was clear and you would even go so far to say he was considering them.

Thranduil made a sound close to a "Humpf!" and you smiled and nodded, pushing him evidently over the edge for he rolled his eyes, clasped his hands together and leaned back into the cushions.

"Very well," he sighed though clicked his tongue as he saw your satisfied smirk, "You are right, traveling alone can–" lifting one finger, he punctuated the word "get a bit lonely. Not to say it's like that every time but I find that this conversation, despite the uncalled-for nosiness on behalf of my private life, makes it a lot more enjoyable than the hours I spent in the first class."

"Aww," you waved off in false modesty, "that's such a sweet way of saying I basically rescued you from a death of boredom."

"Bit of an overstatement"

"Okay, first-class, no need to knock my ego down like that."

"Anyone ever tells you how cheeky you are?"

You smiled brightly, "All the poor, single, and handsome men I chat up on these travels."

Thranduil laughed out and shook his head more for himself than anything else. He extended his hand towards his cup once more, coinciding with the moment you brought your tea to your lips.

As your gazes met over the rising steam of porcelain, the black tea seemed to carry a subtle sweetness reminiscent of the shared smile between you, if only for a fleeting moment.

Or maybe it was the sugar, combined with the subtle loneliness that was your own travel companion nowadays, a constant bitterness coating your tongue.

No matter what, another sip of tea flushed it down.

"Now," Thranduil cleared his throat and dabbed the sleeve of his sweater at the corner of his mouth where a small drop of tea rested next to a shy smile. The tea disappeared – the smile stayed. "Do you want to tell me where you are going?"

The answer was simple, you just had to tell him the name of your station, but you hesitated.

This felt too good to be true, and maybe, if you disappeared without giving him any real information, there wouldn't be the urge to keep your eyes open when you arrived home, hoping he would be looking for that mystery woman he met on the train.

Before the moment passed for far too long to be deemed anything but awkward, the train jolted. First, there was this one tug, then another one, and then, right when you looked up at Thranduil and understanding passed across his face like a ghost, appearing and disappearing right again, the wheels set in motion.

"Seems like we're off again," Thranduil said quietly, turning his face to the window.

He cleared his throat and you watched him swallow, not breaking away from the fuzziness outside that mirrored what you felt in your stomach right now. He was beautiful, even with that sadness settling heavy on his shoulders.

Why you couldn't just offer a piece of yourself now that he has given you some of him, that you didn't understand yourself because this trip had been the loveliest in a long time, the conversation quick and easy and nothing like the pestering questions about your romantic life that your brothers and your mother had poured over you, and while yes, you just met him, there was a connection between you.

More than strangers on a train.

And you wanted it, so so much.

To have someone by your side wherever you go.

"Thranduil–" you spoke so suddenly you not only startled Thranduil; the sound of your own voice frightened you as well.

"Yes?"

"This thing working again? Ah yes, now yer can hear me 'gain. Darn line cut off for a moment there. Next stop, Mirkwood Central Station, arriving in 'bout five minutes. We apologize for the delay 'n hope y'all get to your destination safely. To all those leavin' us: Remember to grab all your things before ya go. Hope to see y'all again real soon."

The rest of the sentence died on your lips as you listened to the announcement. How they managed to be on time when you needed another delay, another moment to sort out your thoughts was an unwanted miracle.

Right when you wanted to panic and quickly pack up the book you hadn't opened up again, Thranduil got to it first.

"Five… five minutes?" he gasped and jumped out of his seat, knocking his long legs into the table resulting in you both reaching for the rattling cups trying to stop them from crashing down, hands brushing just enough for you to nearly smash the pot of sugar away as well.

"Wait. This is your stop?"

Thranduil nodded, already throwing his coat on. "Yes, oh it's such a shame! I had hoped we had more time to finish our tea." He threw a sad glance at the half-empty cups; although the switch to look at you spoke of a far greater regret than simply leaving two cups of tea behind.

A laugh burst out of you, taking both of you by such surprise that you wondered if it had come off as discouraging or far worse: like you were making fun of him.

You hastened to explain: "This is my stop as well!" – the wide smile that shot to his eyes turned into a smirk – "This is me, Mirkwood Central. So if you want–" you interrupted yourself by standing up and grabbing your jacket, "we could get a tea later?"

"Yes!" Thranduil said quickly, "Yes, I would love to. Do you have any plans for the rest of the evening?"

You copied his smile. "The rest of the evening? Bit eager, aren't we?" You were teasing, mostly, because that seemed to affect that glimmer of playfulness in Thranduil's eyes that made them look like molten silver, but you couldn't deny that you wouldn't have canceled all your plans if you'd had any to begin with, to stay in Thranduil's company.

"I will gladly take every bit of time you can offer me," Thranduil said, "Any man would be this eager to get to know you."

You were still blushing when you stepped into the narrow corridor of the train, the tight space and crowding of passengers waiting to exit as well making it impossible to stand anywhere else but close together, Thranduils taller body a warm presence in your back and whenever you swayed his large hand found your shoulder to steady you and his amused chuckling reverberated in your stomach.

The train finally made its way into the bustling train station, the smoke of other trains clouding up the window and excitement like only arriving at a special destination could evoke in one filled the air inside the train, the hushed talking growing as other passengers saw relatives or friends or lovers waving to them, children pressing their faces against the glass or tried to run past you with their parents following close behind.

One particular stormy child knocked you straight into Thranduil as the doors opened and cold air greeted you while your face lightened up with a blush.

"I hope I won't lose you," you said, jokingly but the air was stolen right out of your lungs as Thranduils gloved hand grabbed yours.

"Don't worry," he said and helped you step onto the metal platform, watching carefully as you hopped onto the platform. He looked beautiful in the evening lights of Mirkwood Station, white snowflakes landing gently on his long lashes. "I won't let that happen!"

©itsonlydana 2024

#i need more of this #I love trains so much too so this is right up my alley #the hobbit #thranduil #thranduil x reader

185 notes · View notes

mxnshine · 2 months

Text

I love Faramir.

I LOVE FARAMIR!!! my god i feel like a giddy schoolgirl. minaturefics, you are the best fanfiction writer ever. full stop.

Of the Earth

Request: Could I request a fic faramir x reader where she has stumbled into ithilien and he comes across her? he's all angry at first because it's dangerous, but it ends well :) (they don't have to know each other either)

A/N: This one has more ranger!Faramir which was fun to write. Hope you all enjoy it!

Faramir x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

4.1k words

---

You inhaled the cool evening air, breathing in the scent of fir and cedar. You followed the worn path, now dotted with primroses and overgrown with fragrant herbs of thyme and sage, and swept your eyes over the trees and shrubs. Where was the entrance to Henneth Annûn? Idhron mentioned that it would be along the side of the mountain. The dying light of the sun filtered in through the trees and the forest was bathed in a dreamy glow. Ithilien truly was such a beautiful land, even now, still sullied with the lingering darkness of the orcs.

Something rustled behind you and your hand flew to your short sword. Your eyes darted around, breath hitched in your chest. Were there orcs about this evening? Most of them had been driven away, especially after the destruction of the Ring, but there was always the risk of stray orcs around. The forest settled, still and silent, but you kept your steps light and quiet as you continued on.

You neared the rock face and raised a hand to the rough surface. Idhron had said that the entrance looked little more than a crack, just wide enough for a man, and that what differentiated it from other cracks was the feeling of the stone. He had said that it would be cool and damp, and that there would be a change in the air, a subtle rushing in of the breeze. You continued past a few fissures until you felt exactly what he described. With a final glance behind you, you slipped into the stone.

You felt along the wall of the crevice, eyes adjusting to the dim, careful not to stumble on any errant stones or steps. There was a faint glow on the wall ahead, orange and warm, and you frowned. Torches? A fire? But Henneth Annûn was supposed to be empty. You drew your sword and rounded the corner.

“Do not move if you value your life,” a voice said, low and stern.

You froze and blinked at the hooded figures in front of you. Their weapons were drawn. Your eyes darted to the white tree on the leather breastplates of the men and you relaxed a fraction.

“Peace,” you said, lowering your sword. “I come from Minas Tirith.”

“We were not informed of any other parties dispatched to Ithilien. And you do not look like a messenger.”

“I come on behalf of Ioreth, of the Houses of Healing.” You sheathed your sword and offered the pommel, where the crest of the white tree was embossed, to the man. “Would the Enemy carry a sword from The White City? I think not.”

The figure threw his hood back and you flinched. Captain Faramir.

Prince Faramir.

“My lord,” you murmured, stunned, and he gestured for his company to lower their weapons.

His grey eyes were cold and stern, his lips set in a displeased line. “What are you doing here? Do you not know that there are still dangers lurking in Ithilien?”

“I am well aware. But I have come on a matter of urgency — I am in search of a plant, a herb, that they require. I have been searching for the last two days.”

“And you would dare venture out alone?” He frowned. “Why were we not informed of such an errand? My men and I could have found the plant for you.”

“By the time Ioreth realised what plant she required, your men had already departed. And it is not as though we, in the Houses of Healing, are told where the rangers go.”

His brow cleared a little but his jaw was still tense.

“As for leaving the city alone — there were no others we could spare to come with me. Our little band of foragers are not as well staffed as the rangers and guards,” you muttered, a hint of bitterness lacing your tone. “I was not going to let some woman die simply because I had no companion on this quest.”

“I cannot decide if you are brave or foolish,” he muttered and nodded to dismiss his men. They took one final glance at you then wandered off further into the cavern. “How did you find this place?”

“Idhron told me. It was getting dark, so I thought such a shelter would be a good place to camp for the night.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Come, my men were just about to sit and eat before we were alerted to your intrusion. Join us, and we can talk.”

He led you to one of the caverns where a few worn tables and chairs were scattered about. Some of the Rangers ate at the tables, but most were seated on some woven mats on the floor. Braisers lit and warmed the space and the distant hush of the waterfall echoed above the chatter. Faramir handed you a bowl of stew and a piece of bread and sat with you at one of the empty tables.

“How do you know Idhron?” he asked.

“He is a friend of the family. They did not wish for me to join the rangers as they thought it would be too dangerous but I did not wish to be designated to a life of weaving or scribing. He had suggested foraging for the Houses of Healing as a sort of compromise. It allows me to be in the wilds, but the work is far less perilous than that of a ranger.”

He hummed. “He is a wise man.”

You nodded and went back to your stew. How strange it was to be seated at a table with Faramir. Prince Faramir, you reminded yourself. You tucked your dirt stained fingernails under your palm and tried not to slurp while you ate. You glanced up, eyes trailing over his wavy hair, to his proud brow, down to his lips and short beard. He truly was handsome up close; it was no wonder the Houses of Healing were all a flutter with gossip after he had stayed there. His eyes met yours and you nearly choked on your stew.

You cleared your throat and let your eyes fall to the table.

“Tell me about this plant,” he said.

“I do not know what its proper name is but we call it Dawn Root. It is leafy and unassuming and the only way to find it is to listen for it.”

“To listen?”

“Yes, it… it chimes. It is easiest heard at dawn, hence its name.”

“How curious. I have never heard of such a thing,” he murmured. “Will you be searching for it tomorrow morning?”

You nodded, and he said, “I would like to accompany you, if you are amenable to that.” His gaze had softened, the firelight melting the steel in them. “It is not because I think you are incapable. I simply wish to see this strange plant.”

Your stomach lurched and you gave him a hesitant nod.

”I must confess to some curiosity about how a practised forager goes about it. We are taught some basics, enough to keep us alive, but I’m certain there’s still much more to learn. Even after the sun has risen, perhaps we can still forage, if you do not mind sparing some time to show me.”

Your eyes dropped to your half-eaten stew. Faramir wished to learn from you? “What would you wish to know about?”

“Mushrooms,” he murmured, a slight smile in his voice. “We’re taught mostly to avoid them unless we are absolutely certain they are not poisonous, and even then, most of us are wary. I am fond of morels, but I know they have a deadly counterpart.”

You shrugged. “They are easy to differentiate. In fact, it is the season for them now. We might find some while we are looking tomorrow.”

“I suppose, then, I can trust you to pick some?”

Your eyes rose to meet his. They were unguarded now, so different to how he looked before, and a gentle smile was on his face. He looked like the sort of man you would cross paths with in the market or in the library. Just an ordinary man, eager for mushrooms.

“And then you’ll cook them for us?” You asked with a chuckle and he nodded. “I did not think there would come a day where I would see Prince Faramir standing over a campfire, cooking.”

The moment the words left your mouth you snapped your jaw shut. What were you thinking? Teasing him like that?

You opened your mouth to apologise but his eyes crinkled with amusement and a breathy laugh escaped from him. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Only well enough to survive.”

He grinned. “Ah, then perhaps this is something I can teach you in return.”

Faramir held the torch aloft and swept his eyes across the trees and shrubs. It was so dim, the sun still yet to break the horizon, that he could scarcely see beyond the torch’s little sphere of light. Every morning for the past week, he had set out with you to search for this plant. You walked beside him, steps so silent he wondered who had taught you to stalk and creep through the land, your eyes fixed on the darkness, focused yet distant.

The light illuminated your profile, highlighting it in a soft orange. He followed the line of light down from the line of your forehead to the swell of your lips. You had shown up at the cave with your hair mussed and your skin shiny with sweat, and yet, in that moment, you seemed to him more beautiful than the courtly ladies of Gondor.

Ever since his appointment as Prince of Ithilien, it seemed like there was no end to the subtle romantic overtures from the nobles.

There was no need for an advantageous match, both Boromir and Aragorn assured him, but even if there was, he could not betray himself to pick someone based on some arbitrary checklist of what would make a good partner. It wrenched his heart each time he spoke with the ladies — they were lovely and polite, intelligent and funny, but they were all lacking a certain something he could not name.

It seemed, to him, with each passing day, that he was destined to be a bachelor like his brother, though unlike Boromir, it would not be of his choosing.

When his brother had offered to temporarily take over the post of Steward while Faramir cleared and reestablished Ithilien, Faramir had marshalled his men and left the city within the week. It would be good to get away from the empty rooms and halls, away from the hollowness that echoed the loneliness within him.

Some part of him missed the warm and dry library, the scent of books and paper, but there was peace to be had in the wild too, in the quiet of the caverns, the stillness of the morning. And even now, in the silent understanding between two people united in the quest for something.

He squinted out into the dark and sighed. “We can hardly see in such low light. Perhaps we set out too early this morning.”

“You are not using the right sense, my lord,” you said, a sly smile growing on your face. “As I said, it chimes.”

“I cannot hear anything.”

“Perhaps if your steps were not so loud…” You flashed him a smile and he chuckled, a strange warm feeling growing in his chest. How long had it been since someone, anyone, aside from his company and his brother, dared to joke with him?

“My steps are hardly making a sound. You move like a cat; it is unnatural.”

“What is unnatural is seeing you out here.” You laughed. “I thought that —” Your smile vanished and you glanced away. “Forgive me, sometimes I forget myself, especially away from the city. I did not mean any offence.”

“I am not offended.” He smiled. “I would like to hear what you were about to say.”

You eyed him, hesitant, then looked away and spoke your words to the woods instead. “I… I thought that you would prefer to be in the city. I am well aware that you were, are, a good captain and ranger, but your love of literature and lore is just as fabled. I did not think you would return to your former roles now that we are in a time of peace.”

“Such a sentiment certainly isn’t unfounded,” he mused. “But sometimes even I, too, find the city a little stifling. It is nice to simply exist as oneself, unobserved by people.”

“I shall do my best to keep my eyes to myself then.” You laughed and he relished the sound before you pursed your lips and forced yourself to stop. “Um, what about your men?”

“We have travelled a long and weary road together. We see each other as friends.”

You opened your mouth then closed it with a snap, forging forward, and his chest tightened. He had thought that all the nightly conversations at dinner would have put you at ease with him but alas. He wished you would speak freely, like you did late at night when your tongue was loosened with fatigue.

He adored the way you would speak of your little adventures out of the city, eyes aglow with a fond smile on your lips. How you had one too many mishaps with a collapsing tent, how one of your companions taught you the shapes of the stars, how there was no greater thrill than discovering some strange new herb.

And just last night, you had leaned close to him while he fried the morels. The cavern was loud with chatter, but he had deliberately kept his voice low and gestured for you to move closer when you said you could not hear him. He could smell you, musk and moss and lemon from the homemade bar of soap you said you brought. You were so real, so alive. And when an errant strand of hair fell over your forehead, his fingers twitched to tuck it behind your ear.

If he were to do such a thing, would you welcome it? Or would the height of his station prevent you from entertaining such a notion? It vexed him, the way you would speak to him as an equal, a friend, then suddenly pull back, withdrawing to formalities. Perhaps he should make it clear to you that there was no need for such things.

“I was thinking…” he began.

“Hush,” you whispered. “I hear it.”

He stilled, straining his ears, and there, just faintly to his right, was a clear tinkle. You followed the sound, pausing every other step to listen, and he trailed after you. The first of the sun’s rays spilled through the trees, casting the forest, and you, in a hazy glow. His eyes lingered on the lines and curves of your body, marvelling at your grace.

You let out a triumphant cry and knelt a few paces in front of him. Just as you had said, the plant, leafy and unassuming, was chiming softly. You gently dug it out and cradled it in the palm of your hand. Its roots were a deep crimson and remained undamaged. You grinned at him, so open and so genuine that his heart ached with some unknown feeling.

“I must head for the city at once,” you said, tucking the plant into a canvas bag.

“You do not have a horse, correct?”

“A horse? Valar, where would I get a horse? They have been in short supply since the war, and Rohan are yet to send more over. And should the city even have some, the guards and messengers would take precedence over the foragers.”

“I did not realise your company was so ill-equipped.” A strange discomfort settled in his stomach. “It is no matter. We have some horses, please, take one.”

You blinked at him, astonished. “Where do you keep them?”

“There is another tunnel in the rock face not far from the cave entrance. It is large enough for horses to pass through and widens onto a grassy plateau. Come, let us make haste.”

You nodded and the both of you hurried back to Henneth Annûn. While you gathered your things, he untied and retrieved a horse for you. When would he see you again? He supposed he could always visit the Houses of Healing and ask for you, but perhaps you would not appreciate that. You still seemed a little ill at ease with him and, despite his own stirring feelings towards you, he would not wish to discomfit you further. With a sigh, he led the horse out to meet you.

Saddled and ready, you gave him a lingering look, then turned and galloped away.

You handed Ioreth the most recent bunch of gathered herbs, trying to ignore the curious glances the other women gave you. Ever since you arrived in the city three weeks ago on Faramir’s horse, the Citadel and the Houses of Healing have been abuzz with rumours. It did not help that a couple of days after your return, a messenger had arrived at the Houses of Healing with a letter for you with the bright blue wax seal of Ithilien stark on the envelope. Your foraging company knew better than to ask, but it seemed everyone else was not above gossip.

Iotheth gave the whispering women a stern look, thanked you for your herbs, and handed you another list of plants required.

You grumbled to yourself. Faramir’s horse! You did not know it was his, but perhaps you should have noticed the round medallion on the bridle which bore the newly created crest of Ithilien. Still, in the quiet of the night, you wondered why he had chosen that particular horse for you. Perhaps it was the most agreeable one they had, or maybe it was the most well rested, or he thought that sending you on his horse would be the most efficient way for you to reach the city without anyone stopping you.

Or perhaps… perhaps he simply wished to send you on his horse.

No, no. What a foolish thought. Evenings spent in conversation and mornings spent foraging and letters sent with the supply carts and messengers was hardly a basis for anything more than friendship.

Still, the letters had been unusually intimate. There were the usual inquiries about the patients and medicinal herbs, how the outpost in Henneth Annûn was coming along, whether the resource changes he and Boromir agreed on were helping your company of foragers, but there were also little personal comments and questions.

Other women here in the city might beg to differ, but I think the Rangers’ uniform is far more attractive than the guards’.

You’ve never used a bow? They can be quite handy, especially when hunting dinner. Perhaps when I am back in the city I can teach you.

Thank you for the pressed primrose you sent, they remind me quite fondly of my time in Ithilien. Do you have a favourite flower?

We’ve had another delicious morel dinner. I must confess that the sight of them makes me think of you.

It would amuse you to know I overheard some ladies mourning your absence from the city. Though, I begrudgingly admit that I share their sentiment.

The lily perfume Ioreth made for you sounds lovely. I imagine it must smell wonderful on you.

No, I do not write to you out of a sense of obligation. I look forward to your letters; you bring me more joy than you can ever know.

And each time he had signed his letter as ‘Faramir’. Not ‘Captain Faramir’ or ‘Prince Faramir’, but just… Faramir.

Your heart fluttered when you thought of that, but you squashed the feeling as soon as it arose. He was a prince, for Valar’s sake. And you were just… just…

Ioreth’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Girl,” she said, amusement in her eyes. “You have a visitor.”

“Who in Arda would come see me here?” you groused, pocketing her plant list. “All my friends are out —”

Faramir stood in the archway, his cheeks red from the wind and his cape hem muddied.

“Not all your friends, I hope,” he said, an unsure smile on his face.

“Fara — My lord,” you muttered, bowing your head a little.

His brows drew together. “Please, I am certain we are past such formalities.” You cast a nervous glance around the room and his frown deepened. “Shall we speak elsewhere? There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

You nodded and led him to one of the secluded gardens outside. “I did not know you were returning to the city,” you said.

“I had thought of sending a letter but I thought what I wished to discuss would be best done in person.”

“That sounds serious,” you murmured. “Not ill tidings, I hope?”

You paused by one of the shrubs, rubbing a waxy leaf between your fingers, avoiding his eyes. What could be so important he would make the trip back from Ithilien?

“I hope you will forgive me for being selfish,” he said. “Coming to the Houses of Healing and seeking you out. I am not oblivious to the… the rumours circulating around the city.”

You took a hesitant look at him. “So why did you come?”

“I wished to see your face when you give your reply.” He swallowed and clasped his fidgety hands behind his back. “I have read your letters again and again, trying to find some sort of hint or clue in them, and in your last letter… You said I brought you joy.”

You stared at him, the sound of your heart loud in your ears. The words had slipped from you before you realised, but you had left them in, a cautious declaration of how you felt, hoping that he would take it as a friend being overly sentimental.

“I must know,” he said. “Is there… Is there a chance you might return my feelings?”

“Your feelings?” you stuttered, scarcely believing what he was saying.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “You are a most singular person to me and there has been no other who has captured my heart so.”

He paused and looked at you, hopeful and apprehensive all at once. You gaped at him.

Singular… Captured his heart… All this time, he felt the same?

“Ah,” he said, voice flat, eyes shuttering. “I suppose your silence is enough of an answer.” He took a step back. “Forgive me, I —”

“Wait, no, please.”

He stilled but his face remained impassive.

“I am simply in disbelief,” you said in a rush. “I did not think… I dare not hope…” A strangled laugh burst from you. “Of course, of course I share your feelings.”

A smile spread slowly across his face and he offered his hand, palm up, to you. You reached out, but the sight of your hands, rough and dirt stained, stopped you.

“Why do you hesitate?” he murmured.

“Faramir, you are a prince. And I am not of equal standing or birth.”

“I do not care for such things. You are kind and brave, and smart and good-humoured.” He offered his hand once more and you tentatively curled your fingers around his. “And you are beautiful.”

He tugged on your hand and you stepped closer. Slowly, slowly, he brought his forehead to yours. You sucked in a deep breath, inhaling his scent of leather and musk, relishing his nearness after so many weeks. He nudged your temple with his nose and pressed a kiss to your temple.

He hummed, low and satisfied. “The perfume really does smell wonderful on you. I suppose I must smell a bit ripe in comparison. Though, in my defence, it was a swift ride, and I was far too eager to see you.”

“I think you would benefit from a bath, yes.” You chuckled and drew back. “But Faramir, what about the court?”

“Tongues will always wag, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “But we shall face them together. And besides, you have already shown your service and care for the people. What more could Gondor ask of you as my partner?”

“I suppose I cannot argue with that.” You grinned. “But maybe, we could proceed slowly? I do not think I would fare well if I were immediately tossed into society.”

“Of course. And it shall give me time to court you, properly. I will be returning from Ithilien soon, and then I assure you, there will be flowers and walks and picnics.”

“And mushrooms?”

He laughed and kissed your cheek. “Yes, and mushrooms.”

---

A/N: Lowkey feel like the pacing was a bit off. I originally planned for it to be longer, but my brain decided to be shitty lmao so I had to pare it back. I hope the flow is still okay.

Nirnroot was inspiration for the Dawn Root, lmk if anyone picked up on that lol

#I'll be using this as my pre-sleep scenario tonight #lotr #faramir #faramir x reader

91 notes · View notes