Of Dwarves and Men {Boromir/LOTR}

Chapter 1: Pride and Prejudice

Part 1

Chapter 1:

Pride and Prejudice

To be blunt, I'm not like most princesses. The female royalty is meant to spend their time in sewing and chatting over a good cup of Mirkwood tea, whereas I often find myself playing in the mud upon the outskirts of Erebor. They are to wear corsets of rich adornment, hair never a bit out of place; then there's me, tunic and pants of two size too big, nevermind my curly and unruly hair much like my father's. And more than anything else, princesses are meant to be soft-spoken and kind. I am surely neither of these things, especially upon first impression, with my frankness and sarcasm. There is nothing proper about me, but then again, there is nothing proper about my family.

But in some cases, I am much like my female counterparts. And these counterparts are of a strange and unladylike breed, a good number of my cousins and my only sister. If anything, Pyrhhin is the closest to "princessy" that you can find in Erebor, but she did just fight a dragon. You all thought that was the prince's job, now didn't you?

No, the female royalty is far from princess material, a strange mixture of sassiness, chattiness, and feistiness. As one of the youngest, I'm as rebellious as they come, meaning I don't only wear men's clothes, but oversized men's clothes. I have a point to prove, after all, and that point includes exerting the notion that women can be as strong as men. I am the best warrior of Erebor, after all.

I seem to be digressing from the point I mean to make: even unladylike princesses can act female. And that is how we currently appear, watching as the males of multiple races gallop into Rivendell upon the colourful mares of Middle Earth. Of course, my cousins go about commenting on the attractiveness of said patrons, much to their ignorance of our presence upon an overlooking balcony. There is little to do within the walls of elvish make, and this may just be the only aftertime available in the hours leading up to the Council of Elrond. And thus, I hold my tongue from the uncharacteristically girly rating of these men.

At that moment, a very strange compilation of soldiers ride into the courtyard that we watch over. Upon the first steed comes a man of golden brown hair and steel gray eyes, and by the look of his apparel, he is of Gondor's army. The second lays wait to the Prince of Mirkwood himself, with his straight blonde hair and sky blue eyes, never mind the stunning smirk of royalty. He is an old friend of the family, though my mother may not label him as such.

"Look there, Ruelin! Legolas, your crush has arrived like a prince in leafy armor," I remark to my cousin who stands to my left, leaning against the marbled balcony of Rivendell. And just as every time before, in which I've teased her senseless about Legolas, she hits me aback the head, a gesture of irritation yet familial love.

"I do not have a crush on him, Sidel! I just happened to mention that his hair is fabulous," she responds heatedly, chin raised to exert her disagreement with my words. Though she may be right in her simple praise of his hair, I've caught the admiring looks she's sent at the Mirkwood Prince. But as Legolas so works, he is oblivious to the existence of women.

"And there's--," Denzel begins, throwing her eyes towards the smaller figure aback a relatively large horse. It is, indeed, a very humorous sight, seeing Gimli, son of Gloin, aback a stallion of dark hair. Just thinking about how he managed to get on the horse is one thing, but reminiscing over how he stayed upon its back is another. Oh, what I'd pay to see him fall off.

"Gimli!" Pyrhhin, my sister, cuts in as she recognizes his bushy red hair and beard. This alerts the three males of our presence upon the balcony, seeing as Py's volume could reach upon the ears of Sauron himself. And given her position at my right, I cringe away in pain at the loud sound, ears ringing with her excitement.