#Elfwine the Fair | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tathrin · 7 months

Text

Oh look it's time for Whumptober, isn't it? This will be my first time participating in something like this, I think, and I'm very excited!

This first entry is for the prompts swooning and safety net, and is a story of Legolas and Gimli in the years after the War of the Ring. The first chapter follows below, or you can read it on AO3 here.

Will The Waves Carry Me Away?

Thirty-five years, and Gimli still disliked riding horseback. The long years of experience showed in the comparative nimbleness of his dismount from the back of Elfwine's saddle, at least; they also showed in the variety of complaints that he grumbled on his way down off the back of the feisty beast.

"And here I thought you liked the spirited ones best, Lord Gimli!" Éowyn laughed at him as she walked forward, arms already opening for her nephew. Elfwine swung down from the back of his steed as easily as one might rise from a low bench, and Gimli scowled at both fair-haired humans as they exchanged fond embraces and merry greetings. He rubbed his knees and straightened up, back crackling in its own complaints.

"I like my own two feet best, Lady," Gimli retorted, although his frown could not hold-out long in the face of Éowyn's smile. "But if you are referring to a certain horse of note—well, Arod was a special case, and one that I fear none of these sacks of bones can or will ever match."

Éowyn laughed again as Elfwine and the rest of the riders protested this slight on their noble steeds. Gimli waved their outrage away. "Peace, peace! I am grateful for the ride, as ever. I will be more grateful once my bones stop bouncing, and my rump does not feel quite so beleaguered."

Gimli saw Elfwine open his mouth, the words of a no-doubt lewd comment already trembling on his lips, and then his ruddy cheeks paled and he went silent with a sort of gulping bullfrog noise of distress.

"Remembered that your aunt's in hearing distance, have you lad?" Gimli murmured, and Elfwine's cheeks turned tomato red as Éowyn howled with laughter.

"Ah yes," said Éowyn drily. "Because I certainly cannot fathom what sort of jest you would have made in response to the Lord Gimli making such a comment before his reunion with the Lord Legolas," she teased her poor blushing nephew while the rest of the Riders laughed at their unfortunate prince's misery. Éowyn shook her head, then caught Gimli's eye and nodded towards the sprawling complex behind them—half old stone restored, half fresh wood to fill the gaps in the former ruins—and said, "Go on, Lord Gimli; we can see to stabling the horses and unpacking the carts. Lord Legolas has been waiting for you since he spied the first traces of your group's travel at dawn. Indeed," she added with a frown, "I am surprised that he was not here to greet you before me…"

"Ah, no doubt he has since been distracted by a songbird or some other such frippery," Gimli sighed affectionately. He smiled at Éowyn and gave her a heartfelt bow. "It is good to see you again, Lady."

"And you as well, my friend," said Éowyn, "but we will speak at supper; there is, as usual, a feast of welcome prepared for you all. Until then, my lord."

Gimli nodded to them all and pretended that he did not see the knowing smirks or winking gestures of the Riders as he made his perfunctory farewells and hurried to the Citadel of Emyn Arnen. The guards at the gates nodded to him without making any attempts to hide their grins; Gimli held his head high and pretended not to see those, either.

Like dismounting, his feigned ignorance was a skill he had accrued a great deal of practice in over the years. His dwarves were no better when Legolas made his visits to Aglarond, and as for the elves of Ithilien—well, the less said about that, the better. Gimli would count himself fortunate if he could put off enduring their merry looks and coy observations until supper, and be glad of it.

He was still half-grumbling and half-chuckling over thoughts of their nonsense when he finally reached the high floor where he and Legolas kept their rooms during their shared seasons in Ithilien. Technically they were Legolas's rooms all year long, but he rarely used them unless Gimli was in Ithilien, preferring otherwise to dwell among the trees like most of his fellow Wood-elves. Gimli had developed a great deal of appreciation for trees over the three decades since Sauron's fall, but he still wasn't going to sleep in one.

(The climb up all those stairs usually felt much shorter, because usually he was absorbed in conversation with Legolas while he was climbing them. It was strange, now, to do it alone; he could not recall ever arriving in Ithilien without Legolas flitting immediately to his side. Whatever songbird had stolen Legolas's attention today, it must be a truly enthralling one.)

He pushed the door to their chambers open and pulled his satchel off his shoulder, hanging it and his axe on the lower sets of pegs beside the door. A glance above told him that Legolas was almost certainly within somewhere, for the Bow of the Galadhrim and his quiver of arrows were hanging in their customary place. Gimli kicked his boots off and propped them neatly below the weapons, then padded inside on stockinged feet to find his elf.

It was surprising that Legolas had not already bounded forward to greet him, having surely heard his entrance; as surprising as his absence at their initial arrival. With his keen eyes and swift feet, Legolas was usually the first to run to meet any riders, especially ones he would have been awaiting as eagerly as Elfwine's company today. Gimli hoped that there was no trouble distracting him—a sick tree, or an injury to one of his elves, perhaps.

Ithilien was a peaceful place these days, growing rich and green as the Shadow that had long lain over the lands like a poison or a curse dwindled a little more into memory each year; but it was a place like any other, subject to the same ills or mischances that one might find anywhere in Middle-earth. Gimli certainly was not selfish enough that he would feel slighted if Legolas had to attend to something of the sort, but it would be disappointing for their reunion to be marred by such a thing. It had been nearly a month since they last saw each other, Legolas having returned to help his people with the spring planting as soon as the weather warmed as he did after every cozy winter in Aglarond, and Gimli missed him dearly.

Now they should be together, but Gimli could find no sign of Legolas. He walked through their rooms, bewildered by their emptiness. Legolas was such a vibrant presence, usually: all movement and joy and light and laughter, like a songbird himself. It did not seem possible for these rooms to feel so empty when he should have been so near.

Perhaps there was some problem out in the forests to which he was attending—but then why was his bow hanging beside the door? Ithilien was a land at peace, yes; but it was a wild place still, in many ways, and Legolas was in even more ways an elf of Mirkwood still. His people did not walk the woods unarmed. Which meant he had to be in the citadel, at least; but if so, why had he not come out to greet Gimli?

Worry was steadily replacing the merry anticipation in Gimli's heart.

He peered into their bedroom, into the washroom, into the little workroom where he kept tools for gem-cutting and wire-shaping; even checked inside the wardrobe, as though Legolas might be curled up inside like a cat nesting in their pile of winter cloaks. Eventually he made his way out to the balcony, and there—

There, Gimli's heart stopped.

He stared at the crumpled body on the stones, long limbs splayed limp and boneless beneath a pool of golden hair, unmoving; unmoving; unmoving…

Gimli lurched into motion, his own breath catching raw in his chest like a scream as he stumbled forward and dropped to his knees at Legolas's side. "Legolas—Legolas!" He nearly choked on the word, on his own heart, as he clutched at the motionless elf. "Legolas, my love, what—! Please—!"

Breath, so faint that Gimli could barely feel it over the thunder of his own pulse, stirred Legolas's narrow chest. The relief of the slow rise and fall of his ribcage twisted in Gimli's own heart like a knife and he sobbed with it. "Legolas! Please!" he cried again, but the elf did not move; did not so much as twitch.

Hands trembling, Gimli searched him carefully for injury, but he could find no blood; no broken bones. He turned Legolas over carefully—and again he froze, staring numb with horror at the sight before him.

Legolas's eyes were closed.

Gimli could not have said later for how many breaths he simply sat there, staring, rapt with shock and horror. Three? Ten? Three hundred? It might have been a moment; it might have been an hour. Finally he came back to himself with a ragged cry and gathered his elf up into his arms.

Legolas lolled, long-limbed and listless as an empty corpse. Gimli arranged the lanky elf as carefully as he could, head tucked down against Gimli's shoulder so that it would not strain his neck; hands folded in against his chest so that they would not slip loose and drag; knees hitched up high over Gimli's arm so that his long brown toes would not scrape the floor.

He pushed to his feet, shaking not with the effort—Legolas generally weighed so little that Gimli teased him often about hollow elvish bones, as though he were one of his swift songbirds—but rather with the tight grip of fear that had latched around his heart like ragged claws. He stumbled for the door, trying to suck air into his lungs past the terror that closed his throat; trying to get breath enough to shout for aid.

Trying to watch the reassuring sight of his beard stirring under the soft flutter of Legolas's breath without dwelling on the horror of those flat, closed eyes.

"Help!" Gimli finally managed to rasp as he shouldered his way out into the hallways. "Éowyn, lady—help!"

[to be continued]

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #safety net #swooning #lotr #fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #gimleaf #gimli #legolas #sea longing #my writing #eowyn #elfwine

10 notes · View notes

colinnoahmayhare · 5 months

Text

WIPs game

tagged by @camille-lachenille

So, as I have been tagged, so shall I play! 🙃 Life has a way of getting in the way of my writing. It's not exactly writer's block. It's more like ... very crusty procrastination, I think. At least one of those stories is definitely IN PROGRESS. The others are either on pause or still in the conception phase.

But yeah, here it is. Bon appetit, bitches:

The Day the Horse-Lord wed the Lady of the Seas (Éomer & Lothíriel)

The Pirate Prince and the Fishmonger's Daughter (Amrothos & OFC)

The Shield-maiden and her Ranger (Éowyn & Faramir)

The Tale of the Seahorse (that's Fourth Age stuff that would be too spoilery for my main fic, so I can't disclose anything really!)

Shadows cast by Light (Elfwine the Fair mixed with a crime thriller idea for the Fourth Age that Tolkien discarded!)

The Golden Son (Elboron of Ithilien)

And I tag ... @demonscantgothere

#LOTR forever #eomer x lothiriel #eowyn x faramir #amrothos #elfwine #elboron #ask game #wip game #my writing stuff #my wips

2 notes · View notes

dalleyan · 9 months

Text

Elfwine Chronicles (new LoTR stories, Alteration posted, 7-15-23)

Eomer struggles with a major change in his life. (Angst, Friendship, Humor)

Alteration - (Apr, 42 IV)

Eomer’s scowl deepened, and the drone of his advisers became an indistinguishable blur in his ears. It wasn’t fair. Why did things have to change? Was he so hard to get along with? Was he the reason for this? Did anyone even care how he would be affected by the change?

He suddenly became aware that all eyes were upon him and the room had fallen silent. In other circumstances, he might have blushed in embarrassment, but at the moment he found it hard to care about their petty squabbling. With a note of annoyance tinging his voice, he rose and dismissed them, “I am sorry, gentlemen, but I have pressing matters I must attend to just now. We will reconvene at another time.”

Before anyone could argue the point, he strode from the room and made for Lothiriel’s garden. Perhaps the solitude and beauty there would help soothe his spirit.

Yet an hour later, he had found no peace and the matter still preyed upon his mind. He was not surprised when a quiet voice spoke behind him, but it did not belong to the person he had expected to come looking for him.

“Eomer, if it truly troubles you so very much, I will stay on.” Eothain moved over to stand beside where Eomer stared out into the distance. Their shoulders lightly brushed against one another.

continued on AO3:

#Eomer #Lothiriel #Lord of the Rings #Elfwine Chronicles #LOTR #Eothain

1 note · View note

starsspin-a · 2 years

Text

He leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Why do you assume I know where they ran off too?” His head tilts as a brow arches. In truth it is fair of her to ask, seeing as how most of the time Faramir was well aware of where his son and nephew were hiding. “I think Elfwine mentioned your father, you should go ask him if he’s seen them.”

@melnchly / ✧✦✧

#melnchly #you didn't like the new one but i wrote you this anyways cause i missed cousins #II faramir II ic #II faramir II threads

1 note · View note

jay345sal28 · 5 years

Text

Rohan continued to be ruled by the House of Eorl, and the people of Rohan called themselves the Eorlingas, or the Sons of Eorl. The Oath of Eorl was not forgotten. During the War of the Ring, King Théoden of Rohan honored his ancestor's Oath and came to Gondor's aid at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. The Oath of Eorl was renewed by Théoden's successor King Éomer, who pledged continued friendship to Aragorn, King Elessar, of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor.

388 notes · View notes

ouchmousewrites · 3 years

Photo

The Royal Family of Rohan

2020, digital art

https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/63147276

99 notes · View notes

shealwaysreads · 3 years

Text

Rhetoric

drarry | E | 1k | kinktober, public sex, exhibitionism, sort-of enemies to lovers

Summary: Harry thought he was past being lured in by Malfoy’s dares.

Read on Ao3

“I dare you.”

Harry ignored him, glancing across the room of well-dressed gala attendees. It was tedious, one of the many little performances he was required to put on to maintain the goodwill and good behaviour of the political elite of their world. Malfoy loved it all though. He loved the formal robes and the glittering chandeliers that floated above the party, he loved the tiny hors d’oeuvres and the sparkling elfwine. He loved the pantomime of getting along.

“Come on, Potter, don’t be so fucking dull. I know you like the idea.” Malfoy paused, stepped close enough for Harry to catch the scent of him, and leaned in as though he was telling secrets. “You’re bored and I’m offering to help.”

His breath was warm against Harry’s ear. Harry stifled the shiver it prompted, but not quickly enough; the only person who noticed it was the only person he wanted to hide it from.

Malfoy lowered his tone, injected a breathy note of excitement to his voice that could have been entirely manufactured for all Harry knew. “You like the idea, don’t you? Dirty bastard.”

At the very moment Harry was about to deliver his stinging reply, the vast gong in the corner of the hall was battered by an over-enthusiastic waiter, and an usher came to hurry them to their seats.

Harry was put in pride of place at the top table—ready to give his speech and convince the landed elite of the wizarding world that donating vast sums of money to causes they shouldn’t need persuading to support was the sensible and elegant thing to do. Malfoy was seated next to him; he’d had the common sense to start throwing his money at good causes as soon as he was spared a sentence in the post-war trials.

At first Harry had thought it was pure self-interest, and he was still sure that accounted for at least eighty percent of Malfoy’s motivation, but Harry was on the board of governors of most of the charities Malfoy donated to, so he knew the sums he was donating and they were not insubstantial. These days Malfoy didn’t even talk about most of his philanthropy publicly, so it wasn’t like he was benefiting in any real way.

He was still a bastard though, and never failed to sidle up to Harry at parties and galas with a mean quip about someone’s outfit, or a suggestion so scandalous Harry would have to work not to blush.

Harry had learned to take it all with a pinch of salt though, even if sometimes he wondered whether Malfoy was actually just joking.

Benedict Hughes—rich, alcoholic, and a desperate social climber—was tonight’s host. He stood to a polite smattering of applause and began one of his infamously nasal and long-winded speeches of introduction—he was clearly pleased to have scored the prize of Harry Potter at his high table and made no attempt at subtlety in his exploitation of it. He opened his address by listing Harry’s medals of honour—awarded long after the war, when the Ministry decided a bit of a history rewrite was needed—and Harry immediately tuned out everything the man said.

“Utterly intolerable, isn’t he?” Malfoy whispered as he leaned in. He was probably only doing it to make it look like the two of them were friendly. They weren’t. They didn’t talk outside of these events. “I might actually fall asleep if I don’t take drastic action.”

Malfoy never fell asleep at parties—he glided around looking bright and engaged until the sun came up, he was the definition of a social butterfly and everyone loved him, even if he spent the entire the time criticising one half of the room to the other.

“You’re just annoyed it’s not you giving the speech,” Harry replied.

Malfoy hummed, then rearranged himself in his seat. “I’m annoyed because you used to be interesting. Can’t even rely on you to throw a punch, these days.”

“Is that what you want, then?”

Harry looked out across the room, more than fifty tables were filled with the beatifically smiling faces of people who had never been touched by the poverty this fundraiser was supposed to fight.

“I told you exactly what I want,” Malfoy muttered. And then his hand slipped under the table and he leaned against the side of his chair—it looked comfortable, insouciant, but it brought him within inches of Harry. Close enough to reach across and undo the zip of Harry’s finely tailored suit trousers.

“What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?” Harry whispered, carefully maintaining the bland smile that was the particular mask he wore when he was being paraded on stage like this.

Malfoy’s hand was deft, he had his fingers trailing up and down Harry’s cock before Harry’s words were out of his mouth. Harry stared ahead, desperately trying not to give away what was happening. Malfoy’s hand was warm, and Benedict was droning on, and Harry was getting hard.

Malfoy laughed along with whatever asinine joke Benedict had made—Harry didn’t hear it, couldn’t hear anything above the roar of shocked arousal and pumping blood in his ears—and thumbed at Harry’s foreskin. It was wet now, with precome, which Malfoy smeared around to make the tiny, gentle twists of his wrist even slicker, smoother, more devastatingly aching. Harry held his breath.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, before he used his free hand to lift his wine and take a sip. “I’m going to make you come before dear old Benedict has finished his speech. I’ll even charm you clean before you have to stand up.”

“I’m not—”

Malfoy continued as though Harry hadn’t spoken. “You are.”

He was. He was dangerously close already; hundreds of eyes on him, and one hand, and Harry couldn’t think of anything but the strength of Malfoy’s fingers and how gently, how expertly they dragged pleasure out of him. If they got caught—he clenched his hands into fists, grit his teeth, and tried to ignore the way that thought made his belly hot and tangled with anticipation.

“You are going to come,” Malfoy said. “And then after this farce of a night, I’m going to let you bend me over and fuck a load into me. How’s that for fair play?”

Harry’s balls tightened. Fair play, indeed.

Read on Ao3

October 5th from this prompt list

Read the series here on Tumblr or here on Ao3

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic #drarry squad #kinktober 2021 #things to read #a sharp twist series #rhetoric #my writing #mine #hp

63 notes · View notes

ithilienns · 3 years

Photo

Lothíriel Queen | Women of Arda - Ladies of Gondor | Part 6 of 6

Lothíriel was born in T.A 2999 to Prince Imrahil, the twenty second prince of Dol Amroth. She was his youngest child and only daughter amongst three brothers; Elphir, Erchirion, and Amrothos. Her name may mean “flower garlanded maid” in Sindarin.

In T.A 3021, Lothíriel married Éomer Éadig, the king of Rohan, who had fought with her father during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields and the Battle of the Morannon. Together they had at least one son, Elfwine the Fair.

Éomer ruled for more than six decades. Following his death in F.A 63, Elfwine assumed the kingship and became the second king of the third line of Rohan.

#lotr #lotredit #tolkien #tolkienedit #lothiriel #lothíriel #gondor #rohan #tolkien legendarium #the lord of the rings #womenofardaproject #womenofgondor #eomer #éomer #eothiriel #elfwine #fancast: katie mcgrath in merlin #myedit

182 notes · View notes

figofswords · 3 years

Text

good night to mimosa baggins and elfwine the fair of rohan. no one else

#tolkien #lotr #perhaps someone else. pending on me flipping through my Tolkien dictionary for more funny names tomorrow #apparently elfwine means elf friend and is a translation of elendil but like. Tolkien cmon dude #eomer was told to name his son and he fuckin blew it #uh uh uh *looks at Legolas* *looks at some wine in the corner* name him elfwine (nailed it!)

15 notes · View notes

thegirlwhohid · 4 years

Photo

Eomer became a great king, and being young when he succeeded Theoden he reigned for sixty-five years, longer than all their kings before him save Aldor the Old. In the War of the Ring he made the friendship of King Elessar, and of Imrahil of Dol Amroth; and he rode often to Gondor. In the last year of the Third Age he wedded Lothiriel, daughter of Imrahil. Their son Elfwine the Fair ruled after him.

Lothiriel moodboard

Legendarium Ladies April: (17/30)

‘The Lord of the Rings’ characters: (29/?)

Characters’ moodboards: (333/?)

#lothiriel #legendarium ladies april #legendariumladiesapril #lotredit #lotr characters #lotr aesthetic #lotr moodboard #lothiriel aesthetic #lothiriel moodboard #lotr #characters #j.r.r. tolkien #aesthetic #moodboard #mine

141 notes · View notes

melnchly-a · 3 years

Text

also in case you were wondering how much canon material i’m really working with, here’s what rolkien gave me:

“In the War of the Ring he [Eomer] made the friendship of King Elessar, and of Imrahil of Dol Amroth; and he rode often to Gondor. In the last year of the Third Age he wedded Lothiriel, daughter of Imrahil. Their son Elfwine the Fair ruled after him.”

that’s IT that’s ALL I GET l

#IVE HAD LIKE SIX COFFEES TODAY (ooc)#(tbd)

11 notes · View notes

elfwines · 5 years

Photo

“... In the last year of the Third Age ÉOMER wedded LOTHíRIEL, daughter of Imrahil. Their son Elfwine the Fair ruled after him.” - The Red Book of Westmarch on the House of Eorl

#lotredit #tolkienedit #Éomer #Lothíriel #Eomer #Lothiriel #House of Eorl #House of Dol Amroth #Rohirrim #Gondorian #Secondborn #my edits #OTP: The Lion and the Swan

494 notes · View notes

colinnoahmayhare · 4 months

Note

For the WIPs Tag Game! Tell me more about Shadows cast by Light?

As you ask, so shall you reveive!

"Shadows cast by Light" will be about Elfwine the Fair.

Tolkien once started a new LOTR story, titled "The New Shadow", which was basically set in the early reign of Eldarion, Aragorn's son, about a century after the end of the Ring War. Tolkien described a Gondorian society that has fallen back under the shadow, that has a distorted view on the past. For example, Tolkien describes children playing at being Orcs.

In the story except he wrote and that was published, he details the meeting of a Gondorian guard and his ward (a boy he once caught stealing apples and engaging in Orc-play, and that he took under his wing rather than to simply punish him) in which it becomes clear that the ward has become friends with a more sinister crowd, renewing his Orc-play in a much more serious way. There is talk of "Orc-cults" and revolutionaries. The story was supposed to detail the uncovering of a conspiracy plot and hopefully to stop it in its tracks. For Tolkien, he didn't find this thriller idea interesting enough, or as he said it, "Not worth doing".

Well, I disagreed.

I changed a few things, of course.

I will set the story much, much earlier. Aragorn will still be king. Arwen, an Elven queen, has so far only given birth to girls - and no heir - so she is further alienated by the people of Gondor. Elfwine the Fair will come to Minas Tirith as a young man to be reared in the art of ruling by the king of kings himself. And it is here that he will uncvover this conspiracy and revolution - among other things.

Here is my teaser from my World Anvil page:

Long before Elfwine the Fair became the King of the Mark, the young Crown Prince ventured to Minas Tirith, the Greatest City of Men, to complete his training in the arts of ruling and leadership by learning from the King of Kings himself. But the many years of peace have been infested with shadows of boiling turmoil and people's angry cries for changes that could uproot the very seeds of peace, order and the kingdom itself. Now in the White City, Elfwine the Fair has to deal with the double standards of the high society, the burden of being the most eligible bachelor in town, and uncovering a secret conspiracy and revolution before it could threaten to destroy all their parents have worked for.

Well, there you go, @demonscantgothere!

#my writing stuff #my fics #wip game

0 notes