Writer's Note 1: This is a drabble collection related to Home With the Fairies. It mostly features relationships and scenarios I can't explore in the story.
Writer's Note 2: And indeed the wine was terrible when I wrote this. This is an experiment of Boromir/Maddie. A more explicit version can be found on Ao3 under . This can be a standalone Boromir/OC fic, but if you've read Home With the Fairies then you'll be familiar with Maddie already.
This Wine is Terrible
"This wine is terrible," I murmured under my breath, and Boromir squeezed my knee warningly. We were guests at Imrahil's table, and even though Boromir was no longer Steward of Gondor he was still Prince of Ithilien and couldn't afford to be rude.
"Hush, and drink your wine," he muttered, then deliberately turned away from me to engage so-and-so courtier next to him.
"Famous last words," I said under my breath in English, before grasping the wine glass by the stem and taking a long draught. I gave a second thought to what the alcohol content might be, but after years of drinking ale and mead like they were water it was going to take more than a glass of wine to get to me. Too bad there was no rum or tequila in Middle Earth. Someone needed to get on that.
That started a night of eating and drinking and much empty chatter with my neighbors. It was typical as far as court dinners went, but this time I had a particularly annoying neighbor who was driving me to pick up my wine glass more often than usual. She was the wife of a high-ranking soldier and complained bitterly about all his armor and weapons lying about. She also seemed to think sniffing in an obnoxious manner was attractive. Either that or the smell of the food was putting her off and she couldn't stop the reaction. By the third course I'd turned it into a drinking game: every time she made that horrible sniff I'd take a sip from my glass. It made the conversation infinitely more bearable.
Boromir, on the other hand, was deep into some discussion about river warfare and unable to save me from my neighbor or myself. When she'd started recounting stories about the jewelry she was wearing, I grew too bored for even the wine. My drink-emboldened fingers snuck under the edge of Boromir's tunic to touch skin instead, because my husband was always entertaining and I was having lascivious thoughts.
To his credit he didn't jump, but I saw his hand spasm around his own wine glass. When I glanced at mine it had been refilled, and I took another mouthful. I so did enjoy the perks of servants sometimes.
"So how do you find the suites in Ithilien, milady?" The annoying woman asked again, rekindling the conversation much to my annoyance. "I've heard their beauty is almost unmatched, especially the gardens. Why, my husband and I took a stroll through them once and it was just exquisite. Have you thought about a rose garden? After all the crest of Ithilien had roses on it, and as your husband is Prince of Ithilien it would be just fitting, now wouldn't it?"
Most of what she said was lost to me after she mentioned something about a husband. I was remembering a night on the way here with my husband that was most definitely not appropriate for the dinner table, but I heard something about roses and princes. When she paused long enough for an answer, I said the first somewhat reasonable thing I could think of: "Oh the gardens are just royal, and rose petals are so romantic," I said, giggling into my wine glass as I took another long sip. I wasn't sure what I was saying but who cares? My hand on Boromir's side was caressing the curve of his hip, and I was far more focused on that than the conversation. How many glasses was I on? Oh wait, I only had one wine glass, so that should count as only one drink.
Suddenly Boromir's broad hand was wrapped around my own and helping put the glass on the table. My other hand slipped out of his shirt in surprise and I pouted at him. "Have some of the potatoes, the gravy is delicious," he told me pointedly, with his serious face on, and I mimicked it but added my pout.
"Oh I'm quite full, my prince. I was telling Lady…" I wavered, having no idea her name and then shrugged, "…all about the gardens." I turned back to her deliberately, but I think only Boromir knew I was mocking her. "The big pink flowers should be in bloom soon. Some of Erynion's kin planted them. Can't remember their names at all, but you know Elvish names." I said that last bit in a conspiratorial whisper, and the lady look baffled by the turn of the conversation. Boromir looked like he wanted to roll his eyes.
He was quick to stop me when I lifted the wine glass again though, and this time I pulled his hand down under the table and set it on my thigh. If he was going to deny me my drink he was going to have to entertain me some other way. His hand flexed but didn't otherwise move, and I petted over his fingers absently, pleased when he caught mine in his grasp and held them. Boromir was rarely verbally affectionate but it was all in his actions.
Plus, I still had my left hand free, as I stole a drink from the wine glass when he looked away.
"You know," I turned to him after completely ignoring what else the woman had to say for a couple more minutes, the lanterns in the room spreading a warm flush across my skin. Or was that the wine? Lovely stuff really. "If you are the Prince of Ithilien does that make me a princess? I do believe I've now lived a fairy tale." This was most satisfying to my drunk mind. "I suppose Saruman can be the evil witch, and stopping Mordor is kind of like slaying a dragon." The woman next to me's painted-on eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Boromir also looked over confused, but more exasperated really. "I did get to travel with dwarves, though was it seven?" I pondered this while Boromir made some excuses to our host. ("Bofur would be Happy I suppose, but Nori? Gimli could be Grumpy…") I don't know what he said, but I made sure to throw in a compliment about the apple tarts, though my comment about the lack of poison in the apple was swallowed by Boromir's arm when he drew me away.
"You are lucky the dinner was winding down," he said gruffly, but he didn't sound all that annoyed. My hand had crept up the back of his shirt again and was running over the small of his back. He didn't know it, but he had a dimple on one side that I could never stop kissing whenever I saw it. In fact, that sounded like a brilliant idea.
"What are you doing?" He asked in frustration, but it was a rhetorical question. When I stumbled but refused to stop lifting his shirt he leaned down and picked me up bridal style.
"Now this really is a fairy tale!" I exclaimed, but he rolled his eyes.
"In what Elvish tale is a woman so drunk she accosts her husband in the corridor and rambles about things no one but her understands?"
There wasn't a word in Westron for "fairy", but the closest thing was "Elf". I hadn't quite realized I'd translated it that way until now. I put my arms around Boromir's neck and magnanimously offered to clear this up.
"No, no, not Elvish, silly. Fairy," I pronounced in English, but Boromir didn't seem to be paying me much mind. Luckily there were no servants around as he juggled me to open the door. I pressed a kiss to his cheek and muttered fairy, which caused him to stumble a little, or maybe that was the other groping hand. "Are we crossing the threshold?" I asked suddenly, very much distracted from my talk of fairy tales. "You know, in my home this is a tradition between newlyweds."
This time he frowned, and I cupped his cheek so he wouldn't look so sad. Boromir was certainly grim, but that made every smile of his more worth it. "It's not an important tradition," I said, somehow guessing the reason for his look despite the room spinning a little. His grey eyes were the only things that weren't. "If you are upset though, we can still pretend it's the wedding night." I tried to wiggle my eyebrows, but I don't think it worked if his incredulous look was anything to go by.
"You are a terribly forward drunk."
"I think the wine got a lot better as the night went on." He lowered me slowly to the bed, but I locked my arms around his neck so he couldn't stand up straight, and continued on conversationally. "Did you have some? You know, I believe this is a water bed."
In the privacy of our guest rooms he looked more relaxed than before, and I drunkenly hoped more interested in my advances. I don't remember when, but he must have loosened the top of his tunic because I could see the dip of his collarbone and the edge of a bruise I had left there on that night by the campfire. It made my mouth water.
"I do not know what a water bed is," he said slowly, putting both hands on the bed so we were eye level. I felt a bit like prey in a lion's eyes, except this was a good feeling. A very good one. "But I am sure you have drunk far too much wine."
"Nonsense," I said, pulling him down and pressing my lips to the corner of his mouth. They quirked up every time I did this, and I grinned at him. "I was definitely about this drunk at our wedding. All that Elvish wine."
Boromir's hands went to my hips, and I was suddenly lifted and dropped several feet further on the bed than I was before. It was a bit disorienting, but he was now hands and knees on the bed so I got over the confusion quickly. That look on his face was enough to make me wet.
"Did you eat anything at dinner?" He asked wryly, but his hands were going for the lacings on my dress so I didn't mind the question. I would have helped, but when I clumsily tried to he batted my hands away.
"Of course I did sweet husband." I carded my hands through his soft hair instead, scratching at his scalp and loving the moan that always pulled from him. Sometimes in the early morning I would do this, and he would wake with the most beautiful sleepy smile on his face. I vowed to do it more often as I thought of it. "But Lady what's-her-face would not stop complaining. There's only so much I can take of that, and you were just sitting there."
"What's-her-face?" He asked in confusion at my terrible translation, and I ignored his question in favor of hooking a leg behind his knee and pulling him down into a kiss.
I was definitely clumsier than normal but it didn't matter much because it was a hot and wet and perfect. Boromir was a focused kisser, full of intention and tightly wound passion. His kisses always made me feel like I was the center of his world, and it sent a frission of heat and love through me. He licked into my mouth and tangled with my tongue, and all I could register was the feel of him pressed against me and the feel of his muscles in my hands as I tried to hold on for the assault.
And it was an assault. Boromir was a man of war, and he never did anything by halves. No, every time we were together like this I remembered that beyond a brave, loyal, stalwart man who'd won me over with his silly gifts for Thunor and he forthright manner, he was also an awesome lay.
When we were sated—at least for now—I buried my face against his chest and just took in the safety and warmth that came with being in his arms. And when I realized his nipple was within reach I couldn't deny the automatic urge to lick it. His hand in my hair jumped, and he let out a weak chuckle. "Give me a moment, beloved."
"Mm," I murmured distractedly. A thin scar from an arrow wound was on the closest shoulder, and I knew that mark well. He'd gotten it years ago in a clearing in Amon Hen. I traced the outline with my tongue, feeling lethargic but still awake enough for this.
"Sleep," he murmured, the hand in my hair pulling me away so he could turn on his side. His lips grazed my cheek, and I smiled at the affection of the action. "There is plenty of time for that later if my lady desires."
He helped me roll over so we were spooning, and gently slid my hair over one shoulder so he had free access to my neck. I arched back when I felt his lips on the edge of my shoulder and throat. "If you keep doing that, later may mean now," I told him only half-jokingly. I wasn't ready for another round yet, but I wasn't opposed if he wanted to warm me up.
Boromir laughed though, and met my upturned lips for one more lingering kiss, filled with love and appreciation. After all the waiting, and enduring separation and cultural barriers, we'd built something deeper than either of us believed. And now I didn't know how I'd ever gone without.
I drifted off to sleep then, one hand resting on his, dreaming of horses and wine and making love by those big, pink Elvish flowers.