DREAM BIG 🏓

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH RICK

I hope you like it! 😌☝🤍

Rick quickly weighed his options, all the while focusing on the scene unfolding before him.

After saving Glenn and Maggie from the Governor in the town of Woodbury, the latter had decided that the prison where Rick and his group were currently living was the ideal place to relocate his small town of lunatics.

Of course, that was something Rick wasn't going to allow.

The Governor knew he wouldn't give up, so he employed the age-old tactic that had been used since the Peloponnesian War: kidnapping a loved one.

Rick would curse himself a million times, if it would do any good, just to change the situation he was in.

The Governor and his group were at the prison entrance, which already presented two problems: first, they outnumbered them, and second, they had more weapons.

The man with the eyepatch had given him an ultimatum: either he surrendered and handed over the prison, or he would kill him.

Rick couldn't stop glancing between the gleaming knife held to your neck and the men behind the Governor.

"This man's been using you from the start," Rick said, looking at them one by one, then at them all at once. "Do you really think this is right? Killing indecent people? And for what, for a prison that's getting bigger every day and letting in more walkers?" “Your beloved Governor isn’t leading you to a better future,” he declared, “but to a place where there is no future, because you’ll be buried underground.” Then Rick fixed his gaze on him. “You have five seconds to drop it,” he said, referring to him. “If you don’t, I’ll make sure you lose more than just your eye.”

“Rick… you can’t threaten me,” he smiled. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Nor do I expect you to be” he retorted. “We’re just talking like adults trying to reach a reasonable agreement,” he explained. “You see this as a game: taking the prison away from us, killing us all even though we never accepted your terms, and living here until your body gives out, or until your food and water run out,” he said. “Let me explain how I see it,” he whispered, moving a little closer to him. “I see a man exhausted and desperate, with a world that no longer has the capacity to know what those two words mean,” he said. “I see a…” A man who knocked on my door, and instead of asking for help, came in through the back door, hoping none of us would notice, that he was trying to steal our home—he said—I'm sorry, but we're keeping the prison—he said—go find yourself somewhere else—he tilted his head toward him—since you're so clever, it won't be hard for you to find one, will it?

"You… you're… infuriating," the Governor said, letting out a laugh more diabolical than anything else.

"I've been called worse," he whispered, pointing his gun at one of the Governor's men. "Now let her go," he ordered. A few seconds passed, and he didn't move a muscle. Rick's eyes flickered from him for a moment, focusing on you.

"I told you to let her go," he said. "This is the second warning," he whispered. "There won't be a third one" he repeated. "Let her go, and I'll let you live."

"Do you really think I'm stupid enough to believe that?" he snapped. "The moment I release her, you'll put a bullet in my head."

"One of the many things that sets us apart, Governor, is that I'm not a murderer," Rick said, making the man with the eyepatch look even harsher and more ruthless. "If you let her go, I won't kill you." "At least not right away," he corrected himself. "I'll search the world for you, I'll hunt you down like a dog, and when I do, you'll wish I'd killed you today, right here and now."

Rick's blue eyes were as cold as two icebergs, staring at the Governor with such resolve that the latter's men began to wonder if they were on the right side of history.

"Okay, Rick, you win." “A deal’s a deal,” he said. “I’ll give you back your girl, and you leave me alone.”

“For now” he muttered. “I’ll find you and kill you,” he reminded him.

The man removed the knife from your neck with a mixture of rage and brusqueness, until the Governor turned to face them again.

“Until we meet again, Rick.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t get so comfortable, Philip,” he said sarcastically, making the Governor clench his teeth, his anger seething.

Rick then focused on you.

He examined your face with his eyes, and in them he saw fear, despair, disgust, and rage toward the man who had almost killed you.

"You left, and don't come back," Rick said, pointing his gun at the Governor. "If I see you coming near, if I even see you breathe within two meters of my prison, I'll finish you off."

"Not if I finish you off first," he smiled. "Goodbye, Rick. As always, a pleasure doing business with you."

The man began to walk away, and despite his best efforts even though you had the urge to plunge your knife into his jugular and end it all once and for all, you knew you couldn't do it for the good of the group.

Because if you killed him right then, the consequences would be fatal for everyone else.

That's why you resisted the urge to run after him, digging your nails into your knees, a way to release your rage.

As soon as he was a considerable distance away, Rick holstered his weapon and knelt in front of you.

"Y/N, it's all over now," he whispered, cupping your face in his hands.

"Rick, I… I thought…" You swallowed hard, feeling tears begin to roll down your cheeks. "…I thought he was going to kill me, and I… I panicked," you confessed. "I couldn't… I… he…"

Rick pressed his lips together tightly and pulled you into a protective gesture so sincere and kind that it made you completely break down. "I know, it's okay."

“We’re going to fix this, but now you need to rest” he said, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. “We need to recover so we’re at our peak strength in the coming days,” he explained. “We’re going to take down the Governor, and we’ll do it the old-fashioned way: with a Trojan Horse,” he said. “We’ll offer him a huge gift, a peace offering that he’ll obviously accept because he’s a narcissist who loves having everyone grovel at his feet to worship him as the king he thinks he is,” he continued. “Inside that Horse, you’ll go. The bullet that comes out of your gun will be the one that kills him, no one else’s,” he said. “I’ll personally make sure of that.”

“How will you do it?” you asked. “How will you make sure of that?”

“Because I’ll be going with you inside the Horse,” he said, “along with Glenn, Maggie, and Daryl,” he added, “you have nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” you murmured, “once again, thanks for everything, Sheriff.”

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH DARYL

I hope you like it! 🤍☝😌

Daryl didn't let anyone touch his crossbow.

It was a silent rule he'd imposed on everyone around him, so they all knew they shouldn't get within five meters of his prized weapon.

Obviously, you thought that rule didn't apply to you, given your close relationship with the dark-haired man.

You still didn't quite know how to define your relationship with Dixon.

What you did know was that, in a life-or-death situation, you'd kill for him and he'd kill for you, so in that respect, you were even.

Of course, Daryl wasn't an idiot.

He knew perfectly well that several of the times you approached him with your lopsided smile and your enormous eyes sparkling in the sunlight, it wasn't just for the sake of it, but because you REALLY wanted to talk to him, which could (or couldn't) mean that you had other feelings for him besides the friendship that bound you.

The dark-haired man didn't get angry when he saw you holding his crossbow as he would have with anyone else; on the contrary, he leaned casually against one of the walls of the prison yard, holding a cigarette between his lips, as if the end of the world had nothing to do with him.

You were just at the moment when you were trying to tighten the band enough to nock one of the arrows when you heard his voice coming from your right, forcing you to tilt your head to that side.

"Be careful with that, don't hurt yourself," he said. "I wouldn't want to have to bury you before your time."

"Very funny, Dixon," you muttered with effort, while You were trying to nock the arrow against the string for the umpteenth time. "How about you stop showing off and give me a hand?" you grumbled. "I'm hurting myself."

Without a word, Daryl tossed his cigarette aside, crushed it under the sole of his boot, and walked over to where you were, struggling with your crossbow.

You wondered why he liked that weapon so much and how he handled something you found so difficult with such ease.

He held the crossbow in his hands, and after pulling back the string to tighten it, he firmly placed the arrow between the two parts, as if it were effortless.

"You have to make sure the arrow is properly positioned," he commented distractedly, as if you weren't having five mini-heart attacks from having him so close.

Daryl smelled of a mixture of tobacco, leather, gasoline, and sweat. A combination that wouldn't seem appealing to you at all if it weren't the end of the world.

The problem is, that it was

-…if you don't, you might end up shooting yourself, and then we'd have a serious problem.

-Be careful, Daryl, you warned. If you keep saying things like that, I'm going to start thinking you actually care about me.

-Maybe it's because I really do care about you, Y/N, he whispered, making you stay silent for a long moment. Did you really think I didn't?

-No… I mean… I… -you swallowed hard- I knew you cared about me, but you never said it to me.

-I see, -he murmured. Well, now you've heard it, -he said, glancing at you sideways

-Will you teach me how to use the crossbow?

-No

-And can't I have my own?

-Then how would I be different from everyone else? He protested, making you roll your eyes

“You’re the only one who rides a motorcycle, Daryl,” you reminded him. “That alone makes you stand out.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded, slinging the crossbow over his shoulder and glancing at you sideways. “I have to go to town tomorrow to get supplies for Ass-Kicker,” he said, using the affectionate term he used for little Judith. “If I happen to find a crossbow, I’ll bring it back and show you how to use it.”

"That way you'll have another weapon to protect yourself," he added, making you smile. "That sounds like a great idea," you murmured. "Thanks, Daryl, and try not to get bitten while you're out. I don't know what I'd do without hearing your growls all day," you said, laughing.

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH RICK

I hope you like it! 😌☝🤍

The herd of Walkers was approaching you faster and faster, and with each step they took, you knew for certain that your chances of survival were slim. Last week you had stumbled upon a colony.

You defended yourself as best you could, which meant using up a lot of ammunition, so at that point, all you had left was your trusty machete and two bullets from a pistol you had found in an abandoned car.

You ran to get away from them, trying to find high ground from which you could assess the situation and look for an escape route, but you couldn't find one, so you kept running until your legs gave out.

You fell to your knees, and as soon as you turned and saw one of them dangerously close to your neck, you knew it was the end.

It was going to bite you, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You closed your eyes tightly, awaiting your imminent death, until you heard a gunshot very close to you.

You opened your eyes slowly to see Walker's corpse on the ground in front of you.

His brains were splattered on the cracked pavement and on part of your face.

You wiped the bits from your face with a grimace of disgust, while looking up, searching for the source of the bullet that had saved your life.

A man on horseback was speeding towards you, shotgun in hand.

The sheriff's badge on his hat gleamed in the midday sun, suddenly blinding you.

The stranger reached you, and without a word, offered his hand to help you onto the horse, which you accepted without hesitation.

You galloped away, and when you stopped in a place far from any walker activity, he helped you down again.

"You must be hungry," he said, taking food from the horse's saddlebags. "I'll make a small fire between these two rocks so you don't…"

"Why are you being so kind to me?" you blurted out, more abruptly than you intended. "Why are you helping me?" "You don't know me at all."

"That's true," he conceded, his blue eyes meeting yours firmly, "but you're the first living person I've seen in weeks," he whispered. "I couldn't let you become one of them."

"I see… thank you," you added. "And I'm sorry," you murmured. "You're also the first living human being I've seen in quite some time," you confessed. "I can't remember the last time I saw something moving that didn't want to bite me."

"Yes, that happens sometimes" he said, heating the food over the fire he'd made. "On the way here, I came across a church," he remarked. "Not much remained of what it once was, but the image of Jesus was still inside, intact."

"Are you a believer?" “You asked, and he shook his head.

“I never have been, and I never will be” he replied. “Obviously, I respect people who don’t share my opinion, but at the same time, I don’t understand how they can still believe after…” He offered a sad smile "all this,” he finished, gesturing around with his hands. “Where were you headed when I found you?” he asked gently

“I didn’t have a specific destination, I was just looking for people,” you murmured. “I’ve been feeling very lonely lately, you know?”

“I understand” he murmured, offering you a piece of rabbit he had cooked. “You’re not alone anymore”

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH RICK

I hope you like it! 🤍☝😌

You remembered absolutely nothing of what had happened.

Well, actually, you did.

You remembered the horde of walkers moving toward you faster than you were used to.

You remembered Glenn's worried face, the sound of Daryl's crossbow bolts being fired…

And you also remembered the pain.

A searing, stabbing pain that started hammering in your head and lower stomach, and then…

Then everything went black.

When you woke up, the pain in your temples was unbearable, so much so that you felt like you were dead inside, if you'll pardon the redundancy.

You felt a presence beside you, and as soon as you tilted your head and saw him, a huge smile lit up your face.

"Welcome," Rick said, his blue eyes radiating such gentleness and relief that it took your breath away.

"Rick," you whispered weakly, "What has…" What happened? Where are we?

"We've cleared a house, we're safe, everyone's okay," he reassured you.

"And the horde?"

"Daryl used a grenade he found in another house," he smiled. "Let's just say the horde is gone."

"At least some good news," you whispered. He nodded.

"Yes, the most important thing now is for you to recover," he said. "We won't move until you're fully recovered."

"Thanks, Rick, for saving my life… again," you smiled, making him laugh.

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH RICK

I hope you like it! 😌🤍☝

It had been a week since a man, unknown to all of you until then, had shot Carl, believing him to be a Walker.

Therefore, it had been a week, day and night included, that Rick had been by his son's bedside.

He hadn't left his side for a single moment, claiming he wouldn't until he woke up, which was perfectly logical and normal.

But the fact that it was logical and normal didn't put you at ease about the situation.

With each passing day, you noticed the former sheriff growing weaker, more withdrawn, more dead inside than truly alive.

His life was now spent lying in bed, his eyes closed, his hands placed at his sides.

Rick couldn't live without his life, and the rest of the group depended on him for survival, so throughout that week, you did what you could to ensure his absence from the daily tasks of life on the small farm didn't disrupt the group's functioning.

You did all that while also taking care of him, sometimes with quiet gestures, and other times with more subtle ones.

You washed his clothes by hand every day, making sure he always had shampoo and hot water to shower, even if it meant you had to go several days without enjoying the pleasure of showering with that water.

That day, according to Maggie, he had been in his room with his son all day.

You hadn't even gone out to see how things were going; you were simply there, waiting for a miracle to happen.

You carefully held the tray in your hands before slowly pushing open the bedroom door and placing the things on the side table by the window.

"You haven't eaten anything since yesterday," you began. "Besides, you haven't had breakfast today," you whispered, nodding your head at the food. "So I made this for you, in case you get hungry."

"Thanks, Y/N, that's very kind of you," she murmured, managing a small, sad smile. "How's the group?"

"Spirits are at rock bottom," you confessed. "How's Carl?" "Just like the last time you came, asleep," he replied.

"Everything's going to be alright, Rick," you murmured. "Carl's just as strong as his father," you continued. "He'll wake up, and the group will be what it was again," you said. "It's normal to feel this way."

"I know, I'm… still in shock, you know?" “Sometimes I think this is all a nightmare,” he whispered, as you listened intently, “and that at any moment I’m going to wake up to real life, where the world hasn’t gone to hell, a world where my son hasn’t been shot… a normal, ordinary world.” He let out a sad laugh. “God, I used to complain about such stupid things without having any idea what was coming.”

“Nobody knew, Rick,” you murmured. “Even the war veterans had never seen anything like this, and I’m sure they complained about stupider things than you were complaining about.” You whispered, making him smile playfully.

“You're right,” he conceded, tilting his head toward the tray you’d brought. “Thanks for making lunch.” "I'll try to finish it all."

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear," you replied kindly. "Let me know if you need anything, or if there's anything new."

"Okay, I…" He swallowed hard before looking at you. "Thanks for everything, I don't know…"

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH RICK

I hope you like it! ☝🤍😌

Shane rarely had good ideas.

Rick couldn't remember the last time he'd suggested something coherent, something that would result in everyone surviving, so given this unusual occasion, he decided to agree with him.

The makeshift shooting range they'd painstakingly set up was on par with those of the FBI or the CIA.

The targets were bottles, cans, and for those whose skills were superior to the rest, they used moving objects, simulating the walkers' gait, as they called them.

Sometimes they hung thin branches, other times large pieces of firewood, tied a string to them, and hung them from the trees, so that the wood swung left and right like a pendulum, a sway very similar to that of the walkers.

Rick watched as Shane helped you hold the weapon correctly.

This sight stirred a feeling in him that he had rarely experienced in his life: jealousy.

Rick wasn't anything to you.

You were friends who had bonded in times of adversity, just like everyone else, only there seemed to be something special between you.

It was palpable in the air; you felt it, he felt it.

There was a certain complicity every time you looked at each other, a sense of familiarity, as if with just a glance one knew how the other was feeling… that kind of thing that you just know.

The dark-haired man followed the direction of your gaze intently, which was fixed on a pair of moving targets, two large branches swaying between the trees.

For someone whose shooting skill was similar to Rick's, those targets weren't difficult to hit, but for someone like you, who had only been there three days…

Rick didn't have time to think any longer, because the sound of the two simple shots from your pistol made the thoughts in his mind disappear, never to return.

Rick's gaze settled on the targets that had been set up, and his eyes widened, with a mixture of equal parts astonishment and pride.

You hadn't just hit the wood, you'd also managed to cut the rope at the same time.

"Looks like we have a new best shot in the group," Shane joked, glancing sideways at Dale. "You'd better not get too comfortable in your beach chair, because Y/N is going to replace you sooner rather than later."

"I call dibs on next guard duty!" “You exclaimed excitedly.”

“It’s still early,” Rick interjected, joining the conversation. “It’s true you’re a very good shot, and your talent is more than welcome,” he murmured, “but for now you need to keep practicing,” he said. “A couple of wooden branches aren’t equivalent to two walkers.”

“I understand,” you replied. “I need experience,” you whispered. “The best way to practice everything I’ve learned is by putting it into practice,” you murmured. “This morning I saw that Lori gave you a list, which means you have to go to town for supplies,” you explained under his watchful gaze. “That seems like a good time to practice.”

“I can’t risk taking you with me, Y/N,” he said. “If something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

“Nothing’s going to happen, Rick,” you reassured him. “Besides, I’m going with you. I can’t think of anyone else I’d feel safer with than you.” Rick held your gaze for a moment before slowly nodding.

"Okay, you can come with me, but don't leave my side under any circumstances. Understood?"

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH RICK

I hope you like it! 😌🤍☝

The night was suspiciously quiet.

Darkness settled around the RV and the small camp you had improvised in the middle of the highway.

You knew the place was dangerous, so exposed, but there was nothing you could do but hold out until you found Sophia.

The girl had had a couple of encounters with walkers, and after Rick helped her escape and get as far away from them as possible, she disappeared into the woods so well that now none of you could find her.

You had organized yourselves to conduct search parties every ten minutes.

This time it was Shane and Daryl's turn.

They said goodbye to you before venturing into the dense darkness of the forest, accompanied only by their small flashlights and their weapons.

You were preparing something hot to help you endure the long night ahead when you saw Rick's figure through one of the RV windows.

Sitting in a folding chair with his rifle resting nearby, he stared at the spot where his friends had gone.

You decided that whatever was going through his mind at that moment, you couldn't let him get sick.

It would be a cruel twist of fate to die from a common illness instead of the virus that had wiped out almost the entire world population.

You held an extra cup of coffee in your hands, in addition to your own, and stepped out of the caravan.

When you reached him, he tilted his head toward you at the sound of your footsteps on the asphalt of the road.

"Hi, I…" you murmured shyly, slowly handing him the cup. "I thought you might like something warm." You smiled kindly. "I made coffee," you announced, nodding toward the cup.

He nodded gratefully and took the cup you offered him.

Your fingers brushed for a few moments, moments in which you felt an electric current run through your entire body.

You wondered if he'd felt it too.

The way he rested his blue eyes on yours was answer enough.

"You should go back inside, Y/N," he whispered. "I wouldn't forgive myself if you got sick because of me"

"Touché" you murmured, making him give a small, knowing smile. "I hope the coffee helps," you added. "Of course, you know we can switch shifts, right?"

"Of course I know" you whispered. "I'm not going to let you stay out here alone," he repeated, what he'd already told you many times. "Although you can stay with me, if you want."

"Really? Are you sure?" “You questioned, and he frowned in surprise.

“Absolutely,” he said, gesturing to the chair leaning against the side of the caravan. “We can swap ghost stories around the campfire while we keep watch.”

I WROTE A FIC WITH RICK

I hope you like it! 😌☝🤍

Rick knew perfectly well that something was on your mind.

He knew you well enough to know that, in those moments when you isolated yourself from everything and everyone, and sat facing the river with a lost gaze, it was because the noise of the gears in your head turning was so deafening that you needed those minutes of disconnection to be with yourself.

The dark-haired man watched as the sun began to hide behind the few buildings that were still standing, and even though he didn't want to, he knew he had to interrupt your silent therapy session to talk to you.

You felt his powerful presence beside you even before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was soft, kind, and sweet all at once.

"Y/N, we have to go now," he said. "There are fifteen minutes left until the sun disappears, and we can't be in the city at night."

"I know," you murmured, before tilting your head toward him. "Rick, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, go ahead" he encouraged you, adopting an active listening posture.

The intensity of the reflection in his blue eyes in the little light that remained of the sunset made you look away again towards the horizon, unable to meet his gaze directly.

"Do you think we're going to make it?" you murmured. "I'm not talking about getting to the CDC, but about surviving."

"I do" he whispered. "God hasn't abandoned us for a long time, but you always have to have faith that everything will be alright, and luck, of course," he added, making you smile. "Nothing's going to happen, Y/N, everything will be fine" he said, resting his gaze on yours. "I promise."

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH RUPERT

I hope you like it! 🤍☝😌

Rupert was jealous.

He didn't think so, but as the night wore on, and he saw others approaching you to talk every so often, something stirred in his gut.

He felt a lump in his throat, cutting off his air supply, an unpleasant sensation he couldn't shake.

At that moment, you were chatting animatedly and laughing occasionally with the young man who had approached you.

He was the fourth. Rupert knew this because he had drunk a glass for each man who had come to speak with you.

He wished with all his heart that the smiles, the shy glances, and the laughter you directed at them were all for him.

After that young man, another man came to talk to you.

A man four years older than you, whom Rupert didn't know.

Which was odd, since there were few inhabitants there and everyone knew each other.

Black noticed Lizzie also looking at the man from the other side of the room with a worried expression.

Rupert gestured to her, letting her know that everything was under control.

At first, the stranger started talking to you in a friendly, carefree way, laughing with you and chatting about various things.

Until the minutes started ticking by, and you realized that this man had no intention of letting you leave his side all night.

"I'm sorry, but they need me in the dining room," you excused yourself, managing a kind smile. "Forgive me."

"You're not going anywhere," he blurted out suddenly, making you frown.

"Excuse me, but you're nobody to tell me what I should or shouldn't do," you nodded toward the exit. "You'd better leave."

"The only way I'm leaving is with you," he said.

Rupert had already sensed that something was wrong, so he had been slowly moving closer to where you were, ready to come to your defense at any moment.

"If you don't leave, I'll call the police," you countered. "You know, so they can explain the situation to you, that's all."

"Call them," he muttered. "They won't believe a word you say."

"Oh, really?" “Why is that?” he asked.

“Because you have no proof,” he looked at you disdainfully, “and between a mere intern like you and an important executive of a multinational corporation, who do you think they’re going to believe?”

“The one with the proof,” Rupert interjected, pulling a small recorder from his suit trouser pocket. “Looks like your television career is going to be over prematurely.”

“Recording people without their consent is a violation of data protection law,” the man replied.

“What is a violation of the law is what I would have done to you if we had been alone together,” Rupert said, his face tense and his gaze fixed on the other man. “Y/N has been very clear about this and has politely asked you to leave,” he whispered. “I won’t be so gentle, so either you leave, or I’ll throw you out of here myself.” It's your choice.

The man glanced between the two of you, then at the people watching the scene, and he almost looked like he was about to burst into tears when he said:

"Fine, I'll go," he said resignedly, "but this isn't over."

"Oh yes it is, FRIEND," Rupert whispered sarcastically. "If I find out you're trying to contact her, or even breathing in the same fucking direction as her, I'll rip your nose off with my teeth. Did I make myself clear?"

“Yes,” the other replied.

“Good,” Rupert nodded. “Now, get out of here”

The man, without a second thought, turned around and left the place as quickly as he had entered.

“Thanks for that, Rupert,” you murmured, looking up at him. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Black spared himself the comment he was going to make about thinking of a couple of things you could do, and instead said,

“You don’t have to thank me” he smiled. “You know I’m always there for you.”

“Lucky me” you smiled. “I wish everyone had the same luck as me.”

“There’s only one you, Y/N,” he whispered, “and I’ve decided to extend your luck” he said, before turning around and heading back to the bar.

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH ARAGORN

I hope you like it! 😌☝🤍

The battle had been a success despite the heavy casualties.

The torches in the throne room of Rohan were lit to honor all its warriors, both those fallen in battle and those who sat there eating, drinking, and laughing since their return from the battlefield.

One of them was Aragorn.

The crown prince of Gondor was in good company with Legolas and Gimli, who were having a drinking contest—a game Legolas was clearly going to win, since, due to his immortality, alcohol had no effect on him.

A few meters away, you were watching him.

Your gaze rarely left the future king of Gondor, who suddenly felt your stare and turned his head in your direction to look at you.

But when he did, you had already turned your head away, afraid he'd catch you watching him.

Your friend, who had been with you since you were little, watched your every move, and a huge smile spread across her face.

"Enjoying your favorite activity again?" she asked, glancing at you sideways.

"Shhh! Keep your voice down, they're going to hear you," you complained, her smile widening.

"Honey, I'm sorry to tell you, but it's no secret that you're in love with the prince," you whispered, making her blush furiously. "It's written all over your face."

"I know!" you complained, letting out a soft huff. "I'm trying not to."

"You know I love you very much, and because I love you so much, I always tell you the truth," your friend whispered. "So far, you're not succeeding." But I'll tell you something – she added, giving a lopsided smile – I think the prince likes you too.

Your eyes widened in surprise, since it was practically impossible for someone like him to like someone like you.

Or at least that's how you saw it.

"It's not true, he doesn't…" You shook your head, somewhat flustered. "It just can't be."

"Well, if you say so…" she murmured, "but I'd risk finding out what he can become, instead of regretting it thinking about what could have been."

She gestured to the bard, who was shaking his head from side to side, watching Gimli try to stay on his feet after all the alcohol he'd consumed.

"Alright, I'll see what I do," you conceded.

At that moment, Faramir passed by you and bowed his head in greeting.

"Ladies" he said, accompanied by a kind smile.

You watched as your friend's mouth practically agape as she watched him walk towards one of the tables, where several warriors were gathered, talking loudly.

"Looks like I'm not the only one with heart problems," you teased, making her click her fingers. Your tongue, agreeing with you

“Maybe,” she conceded.

“Let’s make a deal,” you proposed. “I’ll talk to the prince if you talk to the warrior,” you blurted out. “What do you say?”

She thought for a few seconds before answering.

“It’s a fair deal,” she thought aloud. “I accept.”

You said goodbye to her and went to the bar to order a pitcher of beer.

You needed to clear your mind and calm your nerves, and the only way you could think of at that moment was to order a beer, whose glass was probably bigger than your head.

You took two sips, and that was enough to quell your anxiety.

You watched the table of the three friends, whose drinking challenge had attracted an audience.

Warriors from all the tables had positioned themselves around them to see who would win the impromptu contest.

You took a couple of deep breaths and slowly approached their table, staying slightly to the side of where the prince was sitting.

He saw you out of the corner of his eye and gave a lopsided smile when one of the warriors offered you another beer, which you politely declined, as you were already full.

"The dwarf's going to fall," a man beside you muttered. "Elves can hold their liquor much longer."

"I agree," said another man near the prince, who was immediately drawn into the conversation. "You'd better get the bedchamber ready for your little friend, Aragorn," he joked. "I don't think he'll last much longer."

"You certainly have little faith in Gimli, my friend," replied the crown prince, his deep voice cutting through the air like a sharp knife. "Dwarves are known for their exceptional skill with weapons and their ingenuity in battle," he explained. "Both require composure."

"And patience," you added, unable to resist, making Aragorn look directly at you. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to interrupt."

“You haven’t,” he offered a kind smile, several strands of dark hair falling across his face. “Tell me what you meant when you mentioned patience.”

“Well,” you began, “patience isn’t exactly an inherent virtue in dwarves,” you explained. “Rather, they have a reputation for the opposite, just as elves have a sharper sense of sight than any other species.”"Of all species, dwarves are not known for that virtue."

"I agree with you," Aragorn smiled, tilting his head toward his friend, "but of all the dwarves, THIS one is different," he murmured. "I really think he can win the game," he said. "What do you think?"

"I think Prince Legolas will emerge victorious," you murmured, nodding toward the glasses stacked on your side of the table. "He's drunk the same number of glasses as Gimli, and yet he doesn't falter an inch, as is only natural."

"Join us then" he offered. "I have a feeling the outcome of this little battle is about to be known."

Aragorn offered you the empty seat beside him, and while Legolas drank a little more and Gimli tried to stay upright, you glanced sideways every now and then to see the profile of Aragorn's almost angelic face.

As you did so, you realized that you had never met a man as good, kind, and brave as him.

I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH LEGOLAS

I hope you like it! 🤍☝😌

The moonlight of Rivendell reflecting off a watchtower near the lake seemed the perfect place to sit and write.

Every night without fail, you sat on the benches of the watchtower, parchment in hand, waiting for inspiration to strike. Inevitably, the image of Legolas came to mind.

That very morning, the orcs almost breached the borders of the elven kingdom, which is why they had to engage in battle, you with your double-edged sword and the blond one with his inseparable bow and arrows.

Between the two of you, you felled several enemies, leaving a trail of corpses in your wake, which you then took it upon yourselves to remove.

You remembered the moment when Legolas had leaped onto the back of one of the horses to strike down, with four arrows at once, a horde of orcs approaching from the east.

And even though you had never drawn before, having that image in your mind, you saw it clearly.

You rested the tip of your quill on the parchment after dipping it in black ink, and began to outline the delicate features of the elf's face.

Meanwhile, Legolas couldn't sleep.

Therefore, he decided it wouldn't hurt to walk under the moonlight, which always relaxed him and helped him feel better.

These were dark times, and his lack of sleep was nothing more than another omen of the battle yet to come, and the evil it brought.

He closed his eyes gently, listening to the sound of the birds, the wind moving the leaves of the trees, and the pleasant murmur of the river water.

Suddenly, he realized he wasn't alone, that there in the stillness of the night, and in the calm it provided, was someone else.

He scanned the landscape before him until his elven eyes caught a soft white light on the North Watchtower.

Then he saw you.

You were bent over a scroll, your expression both focused and serious.

At that moment, Legolas found himself worried about you.

It wasn't your first battle, but due to the events of that morning, the elf felt the need to speak with you.

He approached so slowly from behind you that you thought he was an evil spirit, or worse, a stray orc who, somehow, had managed to hide and evade the elven guard.

You blinked rapidly in astonishment, realizing that you were holding the dagger you always carried against the crown prince's neck.

You quickly pulled it away and swallowed hard, clearly embarrassed.

"Legolas," you murmured, "I… I'm sorry, I thought…"

"It's alright," he assured you, nodding at the dagger. "Have you make it yourself?"

"Yes," you nodded, very proud of your creation. "I know I'm not allowed in the forge, but…"

"You have my permission," he interrupted gently. "You didn't have to hide to do this, Y/N." He smiled. "You know you could have just asked me directly, right?"

"Yes, it's just that you're very busy with the war councils and everything else."

"I'll never be too busy for you, Y/N" he whispered, looking directly at you, his immortal eyes shining in the moonlight.

"Careful, Prince" you smiled slightly. "Anyone who sees us might think…"

"I don't care what they think," he whispered. "I only care about the future of Middle-earth and you, nothing else."

You looked at each other for a few moments before he turned his gaze to the parchment you held in your hands.

"Do you mind if I ask you what you were doing before I arrived?" “I used to draw,” you confessed, “though I’m not very good at it,” you murmured. “It’s not finished yet.”

“I see” he said. “Will you show it to me when you’re done?”