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youareunbearable · 2 years

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I swear I wrote this down before, but I cant find it in any of my notes so here's a little fun idea! When the world gets recreated so its no longer Arda Marred, I think the Valar got together and Looked at the Finwe problem and shrugged and decided to make all of Miriel and her descendants Maiar to slove that tricky little problem of Remarriage.

Because the Feanorians are now Maiar, they aren't technically born, meaning they aren't really siblings and part of the same family so there is no real issue in separating them now is there?

Miriel is one of Vaire's weavers of course, and Feanor is one of Aule's most talented smiths, but that is understandable as he is the spirit of Hearth Fire itself. There are others within Aule's Halls, but their knowledge of each other is passing, for Celebrimbor tends to stay with the jewelry makers and Curufin likes creating hunting gear for Orome's hunt

Orome is almost never seen without his most prized hunter, Celegorm, who prefers a form that looks more wolf than Elf.

Vana, Orome's wife, herself has a pair of giggling and twittering songbirds that follow her around as she follows her husband's Hunt. They dance and sing and twirl in sync that many often just call the pair of them by a singular name, Ambarussa.

Irmo within his forest full of Song and Music has a very talented Maia that is so in tune with thr Song that they can play with it however they choose. Maglor only uses this ability to give the Elves good dreams, of course.

Este is forever thankful of her assistant Caranthir, who keeps all her medical necessities and books in order, so she is always prepared to help those in need, even if he himself doesn't have the best beside manner.

Lady Nienna’s Maia, Maedhros is a bit more of a recluse. He is charming when spoken too, but there is something distant, some type of lingering melancholy that clings to him, like a weak dawn in the deepest days of winter. He tends to hide himself away in the forests surrounding Formenos, helping those who are lost find their way back home.

Then there are Finwe and his beautiful wife Indis, their children, and many grandchildren. They are a stunning example of a happy family, and all the citizens of Tirion love having them as their royal family. Nothing is ever wrong, even when Fingolfin’s daughter Aredhel got lost during a hunt, she was lucky enough to be escorted back to her worried brothers' camp.

Fingon, who had never felt the degree of terror that flooded his veins at the thought of his sister lost in the woods, terror that was much stronger than what was called for because what could befell her in their peaceful land of Valinor?

She was being ferried on the back of a behemoth of a horse, pristine and laughing at the antics of the silver wolf-like Maia walking at her side. The horse was being led by a silent Maia, who smiled softly at the pair but made no move to include himself.

Fingon looked up at the tall Maia, and felt something in his fea shatter. He always had felt like something was missing, that he would havr an urge to go looking for someone he could never find, catch himself looking up to share an idea with someone who must have been taller than him only to look up at empty air. His bed felt so cold, but no matter how high he tended the hearth flames he knew it was because it was empty. He would look to the distant mountains and see a dawn peaking over their tops and weep as something in his fea ached.

Everything felt so overwhelming when he looked at this Maia, this being that looked cold, who wore furs and had snow dusting his shoulders even though it was a warm sunny summer day. Fingon was so lost in the sensations swirling within him that he was too slow to act before the Maia helped Aredhel off his horse, swung up himself and was out of the clearing. That wolfish Maia giving his sister a laughing twirl before bounding off into the thicket, chasing after the distant horn call.

Fingon’s knees felt weak, he found himself sinking to the forest floor. This world may be Arda Remade, but he still felt Marred.

#amber rambles #Silmarillion #maedhros #Feanorians #fingon #there was more to this that i thought i wrote down #basically the story is in Arda Remade fingon finds that he is the only one in his family that feels Off #he doesnt knkw why. no one has memories of arda marred but fingon knows he lost something precious to him in the remaking #finwe is worried for his eldest grandson. he doenst know why seeing someone he loves turn so melancholic makes him afraid #it just does. so he urges fingon to visit Lorien to soothe his Fea and heal #here he meets Caranthir and Maglor and he feels a connection to both and spends a lot of his time he #there bothering the both of them and he shares his feelings with maglor who just humms and agrees with him #that the Music within his fea is missing something.maybe someone? maybe hes supposed to go out and find them #maglor tells him to let the Music guide him and Caranthir gives him supplies and then fingon is off #he travels around Valinor by himself. where he meets the other non-Feanorians and feels pieces slot together #his most eye opening experience was meeting with the Maia Feanor and his Elf lover Nerdanel up in Formenos #she agrees with him that what hes feeling is valid as she also lost something in the Remaking #she cannot have children and this aches as she has dreams of a full house and 7 perfect sons that are no longer hers #she shows him her sculptures and as he looks he realizes he has met most of them on his journey! not elves like she has created #but Maiar who under their unnatural differneces look almost identical to these sculptures #he pauses at the last one. the unfamiliar one. Nerdanel sighs and says she feels like this one was her first born #the one she lost even before the Remaking. Fingon feels the same. this face makes him ache.#he wanders the forest that night haunted by these people. these elves he feels like he should know but doesnt. hes so in his thoughts #he doesnt realize hes lost. he calls out into the woods and hears nothing call back but his echos. a chill crawls up his spine #his breath begins to fog and there is a sound behind him and he twirls and there is rhat sculpture. his missing piece #Dont Worry. the figure of Winter and Memory says to him. I Found You #You Found Me. Fingon replies

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almostlookedhuman · 6 months

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#universes beyond #mtg #lotr #elrond #master of healing #arda #frodo baggins #w. li

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cornerful · 7 months

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Beren and Lúthien

There are lots of recordings of this song out there. Here is what I consider to be the best version out of those I have heard

'I will tell you the tale of Tinúviel,' said Strider, 'in brief – for it is a long tale of which the end is not known; and there are none now, except Elrond, that remember it aright as it was told of old.'

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*☆~< .v^v . >~☆*

#lotr newsletter #lotr newsletter songs #lotr jams #lotrn106 #turns out that phil's version is also lovely! it has the full version of the houses of healing from the rarities archive in the bg!! 🥺#I also recommend Karliene's version #I can't help but sing along to it when I listen #I really do think that listening to these in the middle of reading enhances the experience #When I came back to the text after doing so today it felt like coming out of a dream #I don't doubt that Strider's voice had a similar effect on the hobbits #not only is music magic in Arda #but tbh if you've ever sat in a circle with people singing songs and telling stories...yeah

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arda-tourism-board · 4 months

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I had a whole ass dream about the process and story of Sméagol turning into gollum and I cried so bad because I felt so much pity for him, he’s not even in my kin list 💀 I’m feeling like the Mirkwood elves who just let him out doing whatever he wanted in their forest.

let the rat man frolic in the forest man he's ring-free at least 50 years

#so I have a few gripes with how he's treated in fandom and it has a lot to do with him literally being an addict #he's ring free #let him heal #arda answered

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bluedancingkittykat · 8 months

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SO tumblr deleted the Ask/Draft, but here you go anon! Hope you see this someday...

I am assuming this is for tolkien, because that IS most of my blog.

1. the character everyone gets wrong

Feänor is an easy one, so we're gonna go with Nolofinwë. 1) Fingolfin translates to Finwënolofinwë. Not addressed in the published Silmarillion, the Shibboleth of Feänor adds great context and character depth. 2) "High princes were Fëanor and Fingolfin, the elder sons of Finwë, honoured by all in Aman; but now they grew proud and jealous each of his rights and his possessions." THEY grew proud and jealous of EACH of his rights!!

Whatever his motivations are, (he thought he was a better choice, he wanted to prove to finwe he was better than feänor, whatever) nolo WANTED that crown, and he wanted it LOUDLY.

ALSO i was going to put this under 10, but figured it fit here better. This is a concept I think lots of people get wrong!

Arda Marred and Arda Healed.

it is NOT post Final Battle Arda un-marred, it doesnt *magically* go away! its Arda HEALED, ok? Arda un-marred is pre-Morgoth singing. Arda Healed is Arda *healed.* listen, I love those "what if post Final Battle, Arda Un-marred deletes people who are considered 'marred'" too, but some people consider Arda Un-Marred to Be Canon, and I'm here to tell you that's incorrect. I know in 10, I'm like "everyone's canon is valid" but a) that was written before this and b) you asked me what character concept i think people get wrong and this is it!!

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

this was the only one I have saved, and yeah, I mention this a lot LOL

I had to track this one down and it is such a bad faith take:

and ops clarification which makes it worse, somehow

and Dior is a Nepo Baby. exactly as it sounds. Dior is a nepo baby because he got the throne when he was like 30 lol

10) worst part of fanon

I saw this one and said "we really are choosing violence" LOL a few things! The inability to see Grey. Elwing is either good or bad. the Valar are either good or evil. ut like, No one is all one or the other. This is also why people saying Nolofinwe was humble and didn't really want the crown bothers me lol like you can like a flawed character. Also, that's why I like the silmarillion; someone is good and righteous from one perspective, but from the other is a total ass. Thingol is a good king...but he not a good ally. [[[]]]. Like, theyre likable for their flaws, and seems lots of folks are like "i like character Y, so they're actually good. but I don't like character A, so they are actually a huge dick." ... which i HATE. especially when they use this to bash another character or make an...not inaccurate comparison, I'm not sure what the word I'm thinking of is, but let's say I've read enough fics where feanor is treated worse than morgoth because they didn't like feanor but liked morgoth

ALSO the attitude "my canon or you get cannoned, and by that I mean a canon ball to the face." Like, don't get me wrong, I think debates about canon are fun! but there is no One True Canon (OTC). The only ones I will agree with as Canon are the published novels and even they can contradict each other. Now that I have my circle of tumblrinas i dont see this as often, but I have seen quite a bit of "[opinion] is canon" but then get aggressive when people would say "no thats your headcanon..." or would ask for a source.

ALSO ALSO the "a TRUE tolkien scholar can back up their headcanon with at LEAST 54 references from HoME and a citation from Letter.s" WHAT the hell is that? Sometimes I just wanna give Green Elves lore, ok? Or I think Aredhel is Aro but not Ace and her favorite color is yellow, actually. I don't NEED a citation. *I* LIKE reading the Lore and making HCs according to that, but no one NEEDS it. And like I said, I think Lore Debates can be fun! Debating what HCs are "true," or which version of Canon is "true" can be fun! (fun fact felixwhetsel and I have a theory that everyones version is correct, because if the LOTR and Hobbit and Silm are all copies of the originals, passed down, things are bound be be changed by time, culture, and language!)

I should clarify that debates are fun, if everyones having fun. If not, then it's just mean. I'm sure I've been guilty of that, and I'm Sorry if we had a debate and I came across as a total Bitch.

19) you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

This is the question that I was stuck on for a WHILE. I try not to be horrified/ashamed of things I like and if it makes me mad, I just don't like it.

So I decided to ask it differently. first I asked, "is there anything I'm quiet about liking because other people will judge me?" and the answer is "yes, but i'm not worried about people judging me." (if you were wondering, the answers are "OC centric fics" and "I think Eöl could be an interesting character") so then I asked: "is there anything I'm like "I can't believe I like that!""

The answer is yes, but it does not make me feel mad, horrified, or ashamed, it makes me feel sad

It's the Orc Bank. I headcanon the Orc Bank. There's this one post that sums it up really well, but I can't find it, so I'll try to sum it up. The theory is that only Eru can create souls. Morgoth can only corrupt them. Given that Orcs exist well into the Third Age, there's a couple options.

1. Modern Orcs have no souls (doubtful)

2. Eru creates Orc souls (also doubtful)

3. Maia have the power to corrupt souls (more believable, but logistically how would that work? Sauron tortures *every* orc? When does an Orc stop being an Orc then?)

4. The Orc souls are Recycled into the Orc Bank.

It's exactly as it sounds. The souls corrupted by Morgoth are re-used throughout the Millenia. There is No End to their suffering. It makes me SAD every time I think about it. That post came across my dash and I went "Holy Shit. It makes so much SENSE. But it's TOO SAD to reblog." which is why I can't find it lol Just about every canon compliant fic i write that has all my lore compliant HCs is AU to me because i'm like "Yes, I HC the Orc Bank, but it's TOO SAD. thats is it's OWN fuckin universe"

ask me -> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bluedancingkittykat/722302678068248576

#my initial reponse to 19 was supernatural but thats not tolkien #its hard to write out but i want yall to know that when i say TOO SAD i am saying it very specifically #like tone change and everything lol #also i am joking about my frustration with Arda marred/healed #mostly #it is one of the things i can go off on lol #format is terrible but thats what happens when you copy paste #ask game #thanks for the ask #tolkien #from the heart

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naarisz · 7 months

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Dagor Dagorath has never been more chaotic.

I have a new au idea! I like the canon Dagor Dagorath trio, but I feel like these three dumpster fires would be soo fricking funny in their position.

A man, an elf and a maia. Will they save or doom the universe forever? :D

Some info for the pics:

1. Character sheet and some more information. (Sauron, Maedhros and Túrin, I forgot to write their names onto the sheet.)

2. After Námo announces the new prophecy.

3. Sauron heals Maedhros scars. (That he gave him back then, of course. Dramatic aholes.)

4. Their whole adventure consist of searching for silmarils (again, yeah) for Fëanor to break them to renew the Trees, preventing the total annihilation of every soul, fëa and ëala on Arda. Aaand fleeing from Melkor's forces, of course. They're not in warrior shape. :D

5. Bonus: Names

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armenelols · 8 months

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Idril hearing Ulmo's warning and heading it. Idril building a secret path out of Gondolin, an escape route for the survivors. Idril making sure there would be survivors.

Eärendil, searching for Valinor when so many others have failed, the ban be damned. Eärendil reaching Valinor. Giving up the silmaril — it's just a piece of rock, after all, no matter how pretty it is. When banned from Arda, still managing to show up in time to slay fucking Ancalagon. In some versions, killing Ungoliant. Ungoliant. Guiding the lost as a star of hope.

Elros, whose life had been a mess and who still grabbed it firmly with both hands and didn't let go. Didn't waver. Elros, who knew nothing but war, leading his people to peace; Elros following his father's star and doing his goddamn best to be a good king. Building a realm, preserving lost cultures, starting new ones. The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and Elros made sure to be that to his people.

Elrond, who keeps losing everything, but never loses kindness. Elrond, who is an unbreakable rock in the middle of a wild current, who will always be there, in good times and in bad. Elrond, standing by Gil-galad's side during his reign; Elrond, helping the refugees of Eregion, and every weary traveller who wanders to his home, Elrond making his home a place of rest and healing. Elrond, of whom everyone knows his doors are open, and he is a well of knowledge, and he will share it to make the world a better place.

What I am saying is, getting shit done runs in the family.

#*getting shit done WITHOUT causing drama i mean #truly not something you would expect from the house of finwë #astonishing #who would have thought #i bet they got the recessive genes #that's why it's so rare #tolkien #elrond #idril #earendil #elros #silmarillion

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sombredancer · 8 months

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My tribute to "The Silmarillion", part 2. Embroidery of Silmarils and their fate. To the Sea One Silmaril was thrown by Maglor in the depths of sea because it had burnt his hands unbearable. You can see here the ocean waves, the star of the House of Fёanor, Maglor's hair, Maglor's hands burnt to the flesh and the Everlasting light of Silmaril in them.

To the Earth The other Silmaril was buried in the core of the Earth with it's host, Maedhros, because of the pain that jewel caused. You can see here the red wave of magma swallowing Maedhros, two white lilies as a symbol of his death, the star of the House of Fёanor, Maedhros' hair, his golden hand instead of missing one, the left hand burnt to the flesh and the Everlasting light of Silmaril shining through his fist.

Arda Envinyanta The third Silmaril is in the hands of his creator, Fёanor. It`s told that at the end of times he will resurrect and break his jewels by himself in order to return the Everlasting Light to Arda Healed. You can see here some blooming flowers of Arda Healed, the star of the House of Fёanor, Fёanor's hair with the flower hairpin (each flower of which represents one of his seven sons), his hands adorned with rings and the Everlasting light of Silmaril above them.

For more entourage photos and close-ups you can visit my AO3 account of the same as this blog name.

#fanart #tolkien #maglor #maedhros #silm art #silmarillion #the silmarillion #feanorians #sons of feanor #the silm fandom #the silm #embroidery #needlework #handmade #hand crafted #SDaboutTolkien #SDaboutstuff

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phoenixrisesoncemore · 1 year

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I’m presenting at a conference holy $#!^

Just found out that my very first abstract has been accepted, and I will officially be presenting my paper on Sauron, theodicy, and Arda Marred in August of next year!!! 😱🥳🤯😵 (this is me feeling every single emotion at once).

#tolkien #lord of the rings #silmarillion #sauron #mairon #Arda marred #Arda Unmarred #Arda healed #tolkien scholarship

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youareunbearable · 2 years

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Because the Feanorians are now Maiar, they aren't technically born, meaning they aren't really siblings and part of the same family so there is no real issue in separating them now is there?

Orome is almost never seen without his most prized hunter, Celegorm, who prefers a form that looks more wolf than Elf.

Fingon’s knees felt weak, he found himself sinking to the forest floor. This world may be Arda Remade, but he still felt Marred.

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almostlookedhuman · 8 months

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#universes beyond #mtg #lotr #ioreth of the healing house #arda #guan

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lamemaster · 23 days

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The Curse of Bloodlines (Epilogue 😔)

Request: For the annon who sends me this request every day. You know who you are and you have my respect fellow gremlin.

Pairing: Thranduil x Reader

AN: I never wanted to write this. But alas for those who cannot live without a happy ending go thrive. Please no more requests for this AU after this.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Epilogue |

"Atyo!" You peel Celegorm's hands off Thranduil's throat. At once your uncles are at the task of taking him to another room as you follow them. Not daring to look back at him. Too scared that you might not be able to leave if you do.

Perhaps it was the fear of finding the same disdained look you had witnessed in Arda. The fear of being subjected to it had left your eyes anywhere but, Thranduil.

So you focus all your attention on your father, who almost escapes the grasp of 4 of his brothers, including Uncle Maedhros, who towered over the majority in Valinor.

"Ata, not now," your voice cuts through the din, surprisingly firm despite the tremor in your heart. Your father's face contorted in a snarl, but something in your voice, perhaps the raw emotion, caused him to pause.

"Let me go!" he roared, his voice thick with fury. "I won't be mocked by that… that…" he trailed off, his tongue failing him to find an insult that wouldn't ignite another confrontation.

You shake your head and lead him out. "Let's leave. Grandfather is waiting."

You clenched your jaw, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. This meeting, the one you'd dreaded since your days in the Halls of Mandos, had been a disaster. And the worst part? It was just the beginning.

Meeting your father was something you had wished for forever. An unfulfilled yearning you grew up with. The same yearning Legolas grew up with. Absence of a bond that made the entirety of an existence.

Settling in his arms was a comfort unknown to you in life. Death had been kinder in many ways.

The agony of right and wrong seared on both you and your father. Ignorance of the bond that is most priced above any other. Blood that had cost you the love of your husband and the chance to watch your son grow.

But things that once shredded your heart into pieces now were distant worries. The sting of betrayal and the ache of lost years paled in comparison to the warmth of your father's embrace. His tearful apologies, whispered promises of redemption, were a balm to your wounded soul.

You met then, your uncles, your grandfather, your great-grandfather, An entire clan doomed in the halls of death. And so the task of stitching back together the House of Finwe began.

From uncountable days spent sharing stories by the pillar of your Grandfather, Feanor's firey pillar, to bringing along the souls of your troubled cousins Aegnor and Maeglin. Finweans started healing.

And you became the princess of Noldor. A title that came with a hefty price.

Legolas' friendship with Finrod wasn't a surprise. Both, you realized, carried the weight of a love lost to time – a grief you could never fully understand or soothe.

Legolas, however, found solace elsewhere. Celebrimbor, with his gentle spirit, became his closest confidante. He regaled Amrod and Amras with tales of Middle-earth, earning their playful grumbles about being called "grandfathers." Feanor, a name whispered in legends, became a complex figure he learned about through stories and perhaps, even fleeting glimpses of him to and from the forge.

Your interactions with Legolas were tentative at first. You were a stranger to him, a face from stories whispered in hushed tones. He longed to know the woman who carried him.

Awkward silences hung heavy in the air, punctuated by whispered stories of his life in Greenwood. He spoke of Thranduil with respect, but a flicker of sadness lingered in his eyes. He spoke of a man named Estel, a human who had become a dear friend, a story that filled you with bittersweet joy.

Then came the inevitable – a meeting with Master Gimli. Their shared tales of their unlikely friendship brought laughter to the once desolate House of Feanor.

Finally, after much coaxing, you managed to convince Legolas to attend Oropher's feast. You knew a march to invite the entire Noldorian royal family was a tad excessive, even by his standards.

Noldor marching was almost always was a perilous idea.

"Apply this twice a day," you mutter, handing him the small vial. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to meet his gaze. "For the bruises," you clarified, pointing to the dark marks of your father's grip on his throat.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, then settled into a mask of stoicism. His eyes, those same eyes that once held the warmth of a thousand sunrises, seemed distant, etched with the weight of untold ages. They held an emotion you couldn't quite define - a far cry from the hatred that burned in them during your last moments together.

His hand brushed against yours as he reached for the vial, sending a jolt through you. The grief that had settled between you, heavy and suffocating, felt like a tangible presence in the air.

"I apologize for my father," you began, your voice barely a whisper. "He is…"

"Troubled," he finished the sentence, his voice surprisingly gentle. "As are we all."

A heavy silence descended upon you once more. He spoke, breaking the quietude, his voice laced with a weary resignation. "I do not know what penance I shall bear to ever right the wrongs I have committed. I have searched for ages, scouring the world, but I cannot find a path back to the past I crave."

"I do not know what repentance I shall bear to ever right the wrongs I have committed," he continued, his voice barely above a murmur. "This yearning for what we once had consumes me, yet I detest it, for I do not believe I am worthy of it." His voice cracked, and for a moment, the once proud king you knew of was now stripped bare, revealing an elf consumed by regret.

The air around you seemed to crackle with unspoken apologies and unspoken yearning. You gathered your courage, forcing the words from your lips. "I do not know much of right or wrong," you began, your voice surprisingly steady. "Neither do I understand the intricacies of penance or forgiveness. Yet, from all I have learned in this strange realm, one thing resonates."

He averted his gaze, his back turned to you, his broad shoulders slumped in defeat. All the air seemed to have been sucked from the room, leaving a hollow ache in your chest.

Your mind raced, searching for the right words. "No act is set in stone. No grievance can hold its power over the relentless march of time. My kin, they wronged many, yet even they found a measure of peace." You thought of your uncles, of your father, finally released from the burdens of their choices.

"They were able to return to the light of Aman because they allowed themselves to seek forgiveness," you continued. "Beyond mine or Legolas', it is your own that you require the most." You reached out then, your fingers brushing against his cheek.

"We have all the time in the world." You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a whisper of a kiss. A flawed marriage, a flawed separation, and a flawed reunion, yet, nothing had managed to make it any less sweeter.

#the hobbit #the silmarillion #tolkien elves #noldor #thranduil x reader #Feanorian reader #celegorm #angst #middle earth #thranduil x wife #thranduil #Istg I will not write this ever again

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cornerful · 2 years

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flora of Arda: Fireweed

Tall and jewel-like fireweed can often be seen following after its namesake. Where forests have burned or the earth is scorched and ruined, it is one of the first sights of life returning.

In Summer months, frothy spikes of brilliant pink flowers reach toward the sun. As days grow cooler, they fade.

By the time Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin cross out of the Shire in early Autumn, the blooming season is nearly over.

In the Old Forest on the Eastern border of Buckland lies a clearing where long ago hobbits cut down many trees and built a great fire and burned the earth. They named this place the Bonfire Glade. Afterward, to venture into the forest was to risk its creeping anger, and its cunning.

During an uneasy trek through the dark wood, the four travelers find a respite in the glade. Though wounded, the forest is, at least in one small way, healing. The earth is treeless but no longer bare. The fireweed has come, and its seeds fall like ash and wait for Spring.

"No tree grew there, only rough grass and many tall plants: stalky and faded hemlocks and wood-parsley, fireweed seeding into fluffy ashes, and rampant nettles and thistles. A dreary place: but it seemed a charming and cheerful garden..." -JRR Tolkien, FoTR

Fireweed in Tolkien's time:

"This tendency [to grow on scorched earth] also gave rise to the name Bombweed in the UK. London has indelible memories of the drifts of this flower in the bomb sites of the second world war. As a pioneer plant it was one of the first to colonise the scarred earth, and its vivid spires were synonymous with London's revival. "

src. img.1 img.2

#i was having feelings about weed succession ok #finally resolved to make a post about it #lotr newsletter #lotr #flora of arda #maybe I'll make this a series too #i Love with a capital L arda flora #someone'll be like 'elanor' and I'll be like cool lemme lie down for 2-5 business days #sayin things #alt text added #alright gays who else learned abt this plant and thought of eowyn and faramir #also i love the weeds in the bonfire glade thematically???#the forest is hostile but it has good reason to be #and though the hobbits are the descendants of the ppl who attacked the forest #and the place that eases their mind is the site of their former attempts to control the forest #(insert ppl's previous commentary about hobbits finding security in neatly maintained nature)#even though they are hobbits the place that brings them ease is the same place that the fireweed grows #the place where the forest is healing #if you dont know abt weed succession pls look it up it's amazing #ALSO jirt specifically uses the word glade which is interesting #bc a glade is an opening that was naturally there not formed by people #so the hobbits built the fire there but they didnt cut down trees in that spot sprcifically #that spot was already a natural open area #idk idk just thinks abt that

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minaturefics · 17 days

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The Same at Heart

Request from @tolkien-fantasy: Eomer or Aragorn falling for an extremely intelligent reader who is witty and charming, but can be insecure and is reclusive when she gets tired (plus does translation of languages like elvish).

A/N: Hello friend! Thanks for the request :) I picked Eomer for this because 1. there isn't enough Eomer love out there and 2. I feel like him + reader's reclusiveness would make an interesting angst point lol I hope you enjoy it!!!

Eomer x Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

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Meduseld was alive with music and laughter. Torches blazed in their sconces, the great fireplace lit, and everything glowed golden. Chatter filled the room, punctuated by the stomps and claps of the dancers, along with the clink of cups and the calls for more ale. There was an arm-wrestling competition occurring at one end of the room, and some sort of card game at the other.

Eowyn grinned beside you, her face flushed, and gestured to the room. “Are you glad that you came with me, my friend? You do not get celebrations like this in Minas Tirith.”

You laughed. “No, you most certainly do not.”

You had been introduced to Eowyn in Minas Tirith, assigned to help her translate some of the texts in the Houses of Healing from Elvish to Weston, and over the weeks the two of you had grown close. Eowyn was thankful to have another woman to confide in, and you were delighted and refreshed by her different ways.

She craned her head and scanned the crowd. “Where in Arda is Eomer? It is not like him to take so long to wash and dress.”

Your heart lurched at his name. He had not been at the hall when you and Eowyn arrived from Minas Tirith — he was at the Glittering Caves attending some matter with Gimli — and you were still yet to see him.

You smoothed down your gown and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, wishing that the hall was not so warm. Were you dressed well enough? Eowyn had assured you that it was an informal affair, but your cotton and velvet dress would not have passed for an evening dress back in Gondor. Perhaps you should have worn one of your silk one’s instead. Maybe you could rush back to your room and change before Eomer arrived.

“Ah, here he comes now,” she said and your eyes followed her gaze to where Eomer had entered the room.

He was greeted by a chorus of cheers and raised tankards. He grinned at his people, friends and subordinates alike, clapping them on their shoulders and shouting replies across the long tables. You swallowed, taking him in. He looked gallant and radiant, his hair golden and his fine doublet accentuating his broad shoulders. He truly was just as handsome in his more casual wear as he was in his armour.

Eomer’s eyes met yours from across the room and your breath hitched, memories from before rushing back to you. Him, throwing his head back, laughing at your joke, the warm sound filling the room. Him, asking about your translations, brows furrowed and eyes alight with awe. Him, glancing back at you, gaze intense and heavy, as his convoy rode out of the city.

“I wonder…” Eowyn muttered, watching her brother cross the room, a strange smile on her face. You raised your eyebrows in a silent question but she shook her head and laughed. “It is nothing.”

“Sister,” Eomer greeted, pulling her into a hug and squeezing her until she let out a little squeak. “It is good to see you. I am happy that you managed to visit.” He released her and looked at you, a wide smile on his face. “And you as well, my lady. I am glad to see you here tonight. I did not think you were one for parties.”

“I enjoy them on occasion.” Your smile grew sly and teasing. “Provided that the company is agreeable.”

He chuckled. “And have you found us agreeable so far?”

“Much more agreeable now,” you said with a smirk.

A slight flush rose on his cheeks and he coughed and glanced away. Eowyn snickered beside you. “How is your work coming along?” he asked, eyes coming back to you.

“Well enough. The work is easy, but tedious. The texts are long and winding, and very specific, and one has to be careful of mistranslations, especially in such things like medicine and healing.”

“No, I suppose one would not wish to mistake a poison for a cure.”

“Would it surprise you, brother, that many cures come from poison?” Eowyn asked.

You nodded. “It is the dose that decides whether one lives or dies. Too much of something is never good.”

He looked around the room. “I do not think one can have too much merriment.”

“Ah, but one can have too much ale.”

He laughed, low and full. “I cannot argue with that, my lady.”

“You would do well not to argue at all,” Eowyn grinned. “Even Faramir sometimes shrinks back from her debates.”

“He does not!”

“I have actually seen him hide behind Boromir,” she laughed.

“I wonder,” he said, a little softer, “if you find us crude and unlearned here without the same sort of lore and literature.”

You shook your head. “Unlearned does not mean unwise. And language is language, whether written or spoken. The words and lessons of your people do not mean any less simply because they are not recorded in books and scrolls.”

He nodded slowly, but still looked unconvinced. Eowyn, as though sensing his unease, smiled and said, “Do you know she is learning Rohirric as well?”

His eyes lit up, eyebrows rising. “Truly?”

“Eowyn has been teaching me, though we have only just begun.” He nodded, gesturing for you to speak, and you laughed. “I would not dare embarrass myself in front of the king with my untrained speech.”

He opened his mouth to reply but someone called for him from across the room. He glanced behind, gave you an apologetic smile and a bow, and left. Eowyn then looped her arm through yours and suggested taking a turn about the room. The rest of the evening was filled with introductions and chatter, the Rohirrim curious about your work and you interested in their traditions and legends.

But soon the noise became overwhelming, voices and laughter and clattering all fighting for your attention, and the room began to feel stuffy, the air growing thick and the bodies just all a bit too close. You glanced around the room, searching for Eomer, and found him laughing with a group of his men.

Your stomach clenched and you sighed. It would have been nice to speak to him again before the night was over.

With a few words to Eowyn, you slipped out of the hall and down the corridor that led to your room. You let out a long breath, weariness suddenly overcoming you, and shut the heavy door behind you. Your room was still and quiet, warm from the smouldering coals in the fireplace, and you sank into the cushioned bench, melting into the blessed calm.

Eomer ran his brush along Firefoot’s body in short, sharp motions. He was due for a grooming, and while Eomer normally let the stableboys handle it, he felt he needed a distraction. The scent of wood and hay, musky and earthy, soothed him while he worked. He did not understand you. He did not understand you at all.

Did he say something to offend you? Or perhaps you had taken offence to the fact that he did not come back to speak to you at the party? He grumbled to himself. He had wanted to, but there were so many people vying for his attention. When he extricated himself from them, he searched for you in the sea of bodies, but your familiar face had vanished. And then for the next few days, you had shut yourself up in your room or had gone on walks alone along the Barrowfield.

He sighed and laid his brush down. He started to work on the mane, unravelling the braid and untangling the soft strands. Firefoot snorted in approval and Eomer rested his forehead on the horse's neck and inhaled. He smelled like sun and grass, leather and sweat. Oh, Firefoot. Always so sure and steady. Eomer wished he could share in that security.

Or maybe you were avoiding him because you found him uncultured and uninteresting. You were so frighteningly quick and clever, always ready with some sharp observation or wry comment. And how beautiful you looked, poring over books, ink smudged on your cheek, eyes alive in the candlelight. The Rohirrim may be noble and valourous, but perhaps to a renowned Gondorian scholar, even the king of such people still seemed rough and brutish.

“Eomer?” Eowyn called and he lifted his head. “What is it that troubles you?”

“It is nothing.”

She joined him by Firefoot and stroked the horse’s muzzle. “Do not lie to me, brother, I can see it in your eyes.”

He let out a short breath and looked into his sister’s eyes. When did her gaze stop being so piercing and mournful? When did they become so gentle? They looked so much like their mother’s. “It is your friend, the scholar.”

“What is it?” Her lips curled up in a playful smile. “Has my dear brother grown fond of her perhaps? I suspected as much when I saw you last night — I do not think I have seen you so well groomed in years! And you were even wearing scent — no, do not deny it, I smelled it when I hugged you.”

Heat rushed to his cheeks and he shook his head. “It does not matter, she would not return my feelings.”

“Eomer! How can you say that?”

“You cannot tell me that you are not aware of what the Gondorians think of us.” He began to pace the stable, gesturing with his hands. “Bema, I know you know — we spoke of such things when you married Faramir.”

“And Faramir and I are happier beyond belief, no matter what some people of the court may think — I do not see how this is any different. My friend does not hold such foolish opinions.” The eyes sharpened and the steel he had come to know so well returned. “And do not forget, you are a king.”

“I am also a man,” he snapped. And then, in a rush, “I seek love as much as anyone else. I want to be wanted as I am, not for my title or my land.”

Her jaw tensed, and for a moment he was convinced she was about to unleash a lecture, but she sighed and shook her head. “Come, tell me what is on your mind.”

“I do not think she returns even a fraction of what I feel. We did not get to speak much that evening and I thought we could talk more in the coming days, but I have seen so little of her.” He ran his hand through his hair. “She is polite enough at meals, but afterwards she simply vanishes.”

She smiled indulgently. “She is just tired.”

“Tired? The journey from Minas Tirith was not strenuous was it? Unless you failed to tell me about some mishap or event.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She laughed. “It is not the journey that tires her but people and noise and merriment.”

“I do not understand.”

“Not everyone is inclined to as much merriment and conversation as you are, brother.”

“But she was not like this when I was in Minas Tirith.”

“You had visited in a lull of parties and balls,” she said with exasperation. “I have known her longer than you have. This is simply how she is.”

“It is… it is not because of me?”

“Bema, brother. How could it be because of you?”

He looked down at his hands, callused and creased with dirt. “Perhaps she thinks me boring.”

Eowyn threw her arms up. “You are infuriating. Eomer, did she not spend most of her evenings conversing with you when you were in the city?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “She asked me to tell her stories of our forefathers. And I had asked her about the nature of Elvish speech.”

“And did she not agree to come with me to Edoras when she had no obvious reason to?”

He paused and looked at her. “Are you implying she had come to… to see me?”

“If you do not believe me, ask her yourself!”

His heart swooped in his chest, spirit lifting. He knew his sister; she would not send him forth if she did not have confidence. Was it truly possible that you felt the same way? There was no way to know for sure if he did not ask you himself. He glanced out of the stables at the steps rising to Meduseld.

“I will go,” he said. “After I have had a ride.”

He stroked Firefoot’s cheek. Yes, a ride would rouse his heart and wake his courage. And then he would go find you.

You stood up and stretched, rolling your shoulders and circling your wrists. The evening sun was slanting into your room, casting long orange rectangles across your desk and the floor. With a satisfied sigh, you closed the two books on your table and closed your ink pot. You looked out at the thatched roofs, eyes drifting down the hill to the green Barrowfield and onto the plains beyond. In your chest you felt the stirrings of loneliness, the pull to find someone and speak and laugh with them.

Perhaps you should search Eomer out. After all, it was him that compelled you to follow Eowyn to Edoras. You smiled to yourself. Eomer with his fiery hazel eyes, his expressive brows, his hearty laugh. He was radiant when he spoke of Rohan’s heroes, voice rising and falling with the retelling, hands moving, pantomiming the scenes. A man so well liked, so well loved, by his people. Your smile faltered. Did he find you bookish and boring?

A knock sounded on your door and you walked over. It was probably Eowyn come to prod and poke you when she thought you had spent too many days in isolation. “I was just going to find you, Eo —” You flung the door open. “—mer?”

He stood in front of you, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. The scent of hay and musk wafted in and you wondered if he had just come in from a ride. He always looked handsome in his formal clothes but he looked best like this, slightly dishevelled, hair wild and clothes rumpled.

“I did not expect to see you at my door,” you blurted.

“I wished to speak to you.” His eyes darted over your shoulder into your room. “That is, if you are not tired.”

“Of course,” you said, smiling, and stepped out into the corridor. “Would you like to walk with me? I think some fresh air will do me some good. To the garden at the back?”

He nodded and you made your way out. The small patch of green, shaded with a few trees and bordered by shrubs, overlooked the city. You walked the dirt path to the edge and gazed out. The city was winding down for the day. Horses were being led to the stables, shops were packing their wares, and the delectable scent of roast meat and onions drifted out of the houses.

“Even Minas Tirith is like this in the evenings,” you mused. “People are the same wherever you go.”

“Do you truly believe that?” He sounded strange and strained behind you. “There are a great many people who would disagree with you.”

“They are fools,” you said, laughing. “At our hearts, we are the same. Do we all not yearn for a moment of peace in the sun? The comfort of a safe home? The arms of one who loves us?”

He came up beside you and looked over his land. He was solid and reassuring and you felt the urge to rest your head on his shoulder. How lovely it would be to have more evenings like this, looking over a prospering people, a friend, a lover, next to you. You fidgeted with your hands. Eowyn had said that she suspected her brother might harbour tender feelings for you. But if he did, why did he not act? He was an impassioned man, was he not? Perhaps she had been mistaken.

Perhaps he thought you too soft, too plain. Unworthy for a valourous king.

The dinner bell rang out from inside the house. You looked behind your shoulder and turned on your heel. “Ah, we should go in.”

“My lady, wait,” he said, reaching out to grasp your wrist.

“Eomer?” you glanced down and he moved to withdraw his hand but you wrapped your fingers around his before he could escape your reach.

He stared at your joined hands before his head snapped up, eyes wide. “Why did you come here? To Edoras? My sister said it was to see me but I can scarcely imagine —”

“Yes.” Your heart sped up. Why was he asking? He would only be asking if he —

He broke out into a wide smile and drew you closer. “So it is really true! Tell me, my lady, do you care for me?” His eyes darted away, then back to you. “I am not learned in poetry and prose, and perhaps if I was I could express myself in language more fit for someone like you. But even then, there are no words that can compare to the plain truth. You have my heart, my lady, and there will be no other for me.”

Your heart stopped. Then started again. Laughter rose in your chest and you giggled. You reached for his cheek. His beard was soft, his skin warm. “There is no other for me as well.”

“You would suffer an unlearned man?”

“You are not unlearned. Your knowledge and wisdom simply lies elsewhere. Valar, I wish you would stop thinking that of yourself.” He chuckled and you smiled. “And you? You would suffer a scholar? Whose mind is forever turning and thinking?”

“I would hardly call it suffering.” His smile turned sly. “Though, if you feel you suffer from your mind, I could perhaps aid with that.”

“What do you —”

He cupped your cheek and brought his lips to yours. They were soft and full, insistent but gentle. He tugged you closer and rested his hand on your waist. He smelled like grass and hay and the lingering scent of bergamot. You drew back and his lips chased after you, capturing them in another kiss. You sighed, relaxing in his arms, and curled your fingers into his hair.

“We should go in,” you whispered, pulling back. “Or Eowyn will come find us.”

“I do not mind.” He laughed. “It shall be repayment for all the times I stumbled upon her and Faramir.”

“Well, I mind. I do not need her teasing me all the way back to Minas Tirith.” He grimaced and you stroked his cheek with your thumb. “I will not be gone forever, my love. There is still work to be done with the translations, and my things are all still there. Do not fret, we can write letters while we are apart.”

“I suppose then, I should get used to picking up my pen.” His fingers flexed on your waist. “But do not think I shall be squandering your presence here. I intend to get my fill of you before you leave.”

“You are always welcome to me, my love,” you said, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Now until forever.”

#eomer x y/n #eomer x you #eomer x reader #eomer fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr fic #eomer

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