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#eowyn x reader
edges-of-night · 9 months
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hi! i found your blog yesterday and i’m obsessed! i was wondering if you could do one where in Y/N’s culture give someone a hand-crafted object (like a wood carving), it’s a way of confessing without actually saying that they like that person, but only Gandolf and Aragorn know since they have traveled all around Middle Earth! Thanks so much for your time!
Thank you, I’m glad you like this blog! I hope you’ll enjoy your post!
・゚✧ Aragorn.
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Indeed, Aragorn knows exactly what you mean when you gift him the wooden amulet you crafted over the past few days. He smiles fondly, aware of what this means for you. He’d take it the exact same way as he would a verbal love confession, takes your hands in his and gives you a kiss ♡ He'd also ask you about the exact cultural implications of the symbols you used etc.!
・゚✧ Arwen.
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Arwen has been kind to you ever since you started your work as a blacksmith in Rivendell. She is very impressed with your work and you soon start to fall for her. When her favourite bracelet breaks one day, you see your chance to use your newly-learned skills of Elven craftmanship to make her a new one. Though part of you wished she understood your gift’s meaning, Arwen’s unknowing reaction makes you just as happy: she’s beaming with joy and giving you a tight hug!
・゚✧ Boromir.
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Boromir spends days wracking his brains about the hand-crafted sheath you made for him. Every time he turns it in his hands, he can feel the energy and affection you poured into his gift. Still, its true meaning stays a mystery to him… until one day, he’d not-so-casually ask you, “It doesn’t carry a deeper meaning, does it?”
・゚✧ Elrond.
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The day Elrond finds the artful bookmark you crafted for him on his table, wrapped in a gorgeous leaf, he starts researching your culture. He faintly remembers hearing of love customs from your home region but thinks this couldn’t be possibly true! After a whole day of reading, he’d ask you for a conversation and talks about it to you, always respecting your culture’s habit of not outright stating your feelings. He’d be very understanding.
・゚✧ Éomer.
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Éomer is convinced that the little horse figurine you carved out of the most gorgeous walnut wood is a present you gave him out of fascination and respect for Rohirrim culture. While he is happy about the kind gesture, he is entirely oblivious to its meaning. So one day, when you absolutely couldn’t take it anymore, you’d had to take him aside and break your culture’s customs – because otherwise, this man wouldn’t get it!
・゚✧ Éowyn.
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While Éowyn may be unaware of your culture’s custom, she does recognise how much gifting her handcrafted objects means to you. So, she soon starts making something for you in return – albeit clumsily – but still you can’t help but swoon! You start to develop a playful gift exchange that Éowyn partakes in so lovingly that in the end, it doesn’t really matter that she didn’t know of your specific custom. Since you get together anyway, you can just tell her afterwards!
・゚✧ Faramir.
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Whatever you craft for Faramir, be it a bookmark, a tool, or a piece of jewellery – he’d treasure it religiously. Maybe he’d even build a shrine around it, hidden away in his quarters, where he’d sit down and think of you. Imagine his shock when he learns (possibly through Gandalf) of your gift’s true meaning – the poor man would blush like a sunrise, unable to speak to you for the next few days. He is ashamed of his perceived ignorance toward you and overwhelms you with the most romantic love confession in return!
・゚✧ Frodo.
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Frodo would be very casual about the notebook you crafted for him. He uses it as his journal, for flower pressing, and recipes. Everybody keeps asking about the gorgeous binding and covers, and he always redirects everyone to you with great pride. He is glad that your crafting skills finally find recognition in the Shire. However, since you only craft for those you love, you always have to send the other Hobbits away, until one day you admit to Frodo the truth behind your gift, which he takes with great joy.
・゚✧ Galadriel.
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Galadriel is convinced that the ring you made for her carries a deeper meaning, she just can’t quite put her finger on it, with you being so mysterious. It intrigues her, since usually everyone is an open book to her. When she asks you anew about your gift, you can’t help but give in to her warm telepathic voice, and confess your feelings to her. She’d light up with joy – “What a wonderful gift! The most precious anyone has to give!”
・゚✧ Gandalf.
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For Gandalf, you’d craft a new staff or wand. You don’t expect much when you gift it to him, so his sudden attention comes as a surprise to you: “You said you’ve made this yourself? It is an artful present…” His soft, loving glance would instantly tell you he understood. You share a blissful laugh, before he would deny any knowledge about your culture.
・゚✧ Gimli.
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You’d gift Gimli a precious stone or gem you found in the mines, having perfected it into a shape that’s perfect for his collection. When you gift it to him, his reaction puzzles you though: “No gem in this world is more precious than your presence in my life…” He wanted to confess to you too – what impeccable timing!
・゚✧ Haldir.
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Haldir is the worst person to make gifts for – while he trains his face not to show it, his confusion is still very much readable to you, now that you know him. The archery gloves you made for him are stored away deep in his travel bag, never to be seen again. It’s not until Aragorn secretly informs him of your region’s customs that Haldir finally understands your gesture – which leaves him even more irritated...! He is considerate enough to say “thank you” at least, with a timid kiss ♡
・゚✧ Legolas.
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Legolas would be thrilled that you made him an arrow, not meant for battle but prestigious decoration. The affection and care you poured into your hand-crafted gift do not escape his sharp attention, whenever he touches the glistening arrow and turns it in his hands. Intrigued by these feelings, he starts ‘investigating’ – meaning he teases you about a possible crush. He’d only stop when he sees how important this topic is too you, which is when he finally understands.
・゚✧ Merry.
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For Merry, you’d craft a new pipe. He is excited about your gift but oblivious to the deeper meaning behind it. That said, his sharp attention does catch your slight blush when you give it to him. It makes him think – and after days and days of pondering, he starts a courting offensive on his own, until the day you finally get together!
・゚✧ Pippin.
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The wood carving you’d gift Pippin is originally meant for decoration, but he carries it around his neck as an amulet. He proudly tells everyone who made it – and knowing how close the two of you are, it doesn’t take a genius to understand your gift’s true meaning. The situation would eventually solve by Pippin telling you, completely confused: “I thought we already were an item?! Of course I love you too!”
・゚✧ Sam.
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Out of all the Middle-Earth characters, Sam probably appreciates handcrafting and artisanship the most, being a craftsman himself. His reaction to your wood carving of a sunflower is appropriately flustered: “This must’ve taken quite some time to make, I’d say. Turned out so beautiful, too. Not that I expected anythin’ else from you! You are very skilled in many areas, after all…” His beautiful little speech charms you so much that you end up confessing your love unconventionally! Be it verbally or with a surprise kiss ♡
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clovenly · 11 months
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𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍 ; their favourite thing about you ── elves, men, dwarves and hobbits!
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𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒: ᵃʳᵃᵍᵒʳⁿ, ᵃʳʷᵉⁿ, ᵇᵃʳᵈ, ᵇᶦˡᵇᵒ, ᵇᵒʳᵒᵐᶦʳ, ᵈʷᵃˡᶦⁿ, ᵉˡˡᵃᵈᵃⁿ, ᵉˡʳᵒʰᶦʳ, ᵉˡʳᵒⁿᵈ, ᵉᵒᵐᵉʳ, ᵉᵒʷʸⁿ, ᵉʳᵉˢᵗᵒʳ, ᶠᵃʳᵃᵐᶦʳ, ᶠᶦˡᶦ, ᶠʳᵒᵈᵒ, ᵍᵃˡᵃᵈʳᶦᵉˡ, ᵍᶦᵐˡᶦ, ᵍˡᵒʳᶠᶦⁿᵈᵉˡ, ʰᵃˡᵈᶦʳ, ᵏᶦˡᶦ, ˡᵉᵍᵒˡᵃˢ, ˡᶦⁿᵈᶦʳ, ᵐᵉʳʳʸ, ᵖᶦᵖᵖᶦⁿ, ˢᵃᵐ, ᵗᵃᵘʳᶦᵉˡ, ᵗʰᵒʳᶦⁿ, ᵗʰʳᵃⁿᵈᵘᶦˡ
[ YOUR SMILE ] it's infectious ── the laughter that spills from your lips and the sweet, carefree smile that follows; they can't stop themselves from smiling too. a smile, to them, symbolises that you're safe, that you're happy, and they could wish for no more than that.
arwen, boromir, elladan, eomer, erestor, lindir, sam tauriel, thranduil
[ YOUR HEART ] sweet and doting, your generosity is charming ── they've seen you give others extra portions of food when you think nobody is watching, given up your blankets despite shivering yourself: it makes them a little flustered to see how much you care for others ( if only you'd dote on them too ).
aragorn, bard, bilbo, elrond, eowyn, faramir, frodo, galadriel, haldir, legolas, thorin
[ YOUR HUMOUR ] your unyielding ability to find humour in even the bleakest moments is charming ── where there is laughter, there is hope, and they've come to find your ability to make them laugh a great comfort.
dwalin, elrohir, gimli, glorfindel, kili, merry, pippin
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madwomansapologist · 8 months
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mint chip — how did they court their lover? with the lotr characters (aragorn, legolas, boromir, arwen, eowyn)
mint chip — how did they court their lover?
⤷ with: aragorn, legolas, boromir, arwen and eowyn
⤷ thank you for your support! it means a lot 💙
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aragorn
Aragorn often see himself as someone unworthy of anything he desires. They way people see him and how he perceive himself can be so different. And when he understood you had his heart on your palm, Aragorn swear to never act on it. He wouldn't want to bother you, or worse: to describe that you see him the same Aragorn does.
When it comes about Aragorn, you would have to act first. To make him understand that you don't see him as a unworthy men, but as a promising one. To make him understand that people aspire to be like him. If you make Aragorn understand that you want him, that you don't feel disgusted by him, only then he would be able to court you.
And he would be the kindest. He act like a king, even tho he don't believe he deserves to be one. He would be polite, tell you stories about his quests, protect you as if you already have agree to be his. No one would dare treat you badly when he's around.
Aragorn don't see yet, but he was born to rule. And you will rule beside him.
legolas
Legolas is a noble. Not only a noble, but the rightfull heir of Mirkwood. That means he was trained in more than combat or what it takes to rule. Legolas was trained about how to act around people, taught how to deal with enemies, and learned how to properly court his lover. With that being said, he would ignore all this knowledge the moment he understood what he feels for you.
It wouldn't take long for him to understand that he loves you. Legolas is guided by his heart, don't matter if people like that or not. If when he looks at you he feel warm, if when he talks to you he feels at home, if when he's away from you his life fall apart: Legolas knows he's in love. So he says it.
Just like that. Don't matter when, don't matter where, Legolas will simply say it. He's polite, Legolas wouldn't make you uncomfortable or overcross your bondaries, but he wouldn't think twice before saying it.
He will court you, and Legolas have a elve's patience. He will engage in conversations, ask your opinion on different subjects, and always in a light tone. Legolas will try his best to make you laugh, specially during dificult moments. And he don't need to worry about how long it will take for you to call him meleth. After all, time isn't a thing he lack of.
boromir
No one could say that Boromir don't know what he wants of life. He's a decided man, a hero for his people, and he would never go against what he think is part of the greater good. Boromir is so kind, so aware of the dangers and consequences of war, that the One Ring used his honor against him.
At first, it may seem that Boromir is not subtle at all. He would never do anything to disrespect you, far from that, is just that something on his face screams that he's sure you both will end up together.
He's confident that you would see him as his people do. As someone brave, intelligent and righteous. Boromir see you as you are, and he fall in love because he could understand your soul. He won't spare efforts to make you feel the same.
Boromir will bring you flowers every time he sees you. He would always chose different types, in hope that one day you tell him which one is your favorite. And whenever you need or want to stay in Gondor, Boromir will show you the gardens. He once heard that flowers had meanings, Boromir hopes you can understand the true meaning of this gift.
And it's wrong, so wrong, but it would be worse if Boromir lied to himself: the day he had to fought a creature in front of you, when he effortless defended you from something wicked, that was one of the best days of his life. To think that you may see him as a hero, your hero, made him blush.
So, yes, Boromir's feelings can be quite easy to understand. But isn't this a great thing? Boromir is showing you what he wants from life. And it's you.
arwen
Arwen may not know the world, or understand a great amount of things, but she knows her heart. When her father say that she's naive, Arwen understand that she just feel thing deeply. The only way this could be a mistake of hers was if Arwen buried her feeling and tried to ignore them. But to act on them, to search for her own happyness, will never be something she'll regret.
When Arwen understood that she loves you, at first she'll spend most of her time thinking. How do you feel about her? Would you ever feel the same away? How life, eternal or not, would be if she chose to spend it with you?
But as soon as she undertood her heart's desire, Arwen would stop imagining. She would join you for walks, compliment you and made sure there was no way of you thinking she was already with someone. Arwen won't be too foward, as she don't knows your feeling about her, but she does make clear that she's here.
If you ever need advice or someone to talk to, Arwen will gadly assume this position. She would do anything to know you better and help you with whatever you need. She's there. You can count on her. And If you ever need to be defended, well, she can do that too!
eowyn
Eowyn wants so much of life. She aspect to be brave for her kind, to rule as fairly as her father did, and to honor those who believe on her. If you help her with that, if you hear her dreams and treat them like reality, then you made your way to her heart. And if you live there, then it's only fair that Eowyn lives in yours too.
As we all seen, Eowyn won't be stopped from trying to conquering your heart. She'll be close to you, search for you to talk to, help you with whenever you need. It will obvious, but it's her intention. There is no need in trying to look like she don't want you. What good could it made?
Even if you don't see to feel the same way about her, it won't stop Eowyn. She can wait. She can wait until you look at her with love in your eyes. She'll do her best as a ruler and warrior, and part of it will be for you. To make you be proud of her. To honor your trust. And Eowyn will wait how long it takes to have your heart.
if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡
@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.
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witchthewriter · 11 months
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞
⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!
Warnings: not self-harm scars, but there are mentions of war/battle and violence, talks of being a prisoner of war
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ        
Legolas’ is here. 
𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲: You’ve been in many battles, fights and wars. And your s/o is seeing your scars for the first time. 
𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧
・It was late evening, both of you had had your supper, but even after you had finished eating, you were still sitting at the oak table
・Unwinding, you were both relaxing after a big day
・Aragorn was smoking pipeweed, and you were happy with your wine
・The snow was falling outside and you were both rugged up
・The conversation from the day had found its way into your chambers 
・Although there was no threat of war, it was still spoken about since Aragorn was the ruler 
・He was no stranger to seeing the horrors of war, it was drastically different when he saw the effects of it on your body
・He was devastated. 
・His gruff voice asked about what you had been through
・Aragorn filling both your cups in celebration of surviving 
・Though neither of you were drunk, the affect of the drink was starting to make you both loosen up
   “Do you regret them?” Aragorn said suddenly, breaking the impregnated silence
    “I don’t.” You said after a while, insinuating that you didn’t see your scars as a negative thing 
   It was quiet for a while. But not the type of silence that was awkward. Nothing with Aragorn felt awkward, nothing. 
    After taking another sip from your cup, you asked him the same, “Do you?” 
“For some...I do.” 
・He said it without looking in your eyes
・And he took a long puff of his pipe. After blowing the smoke from his mouth, he reached across the table and took ahold of your hand
   “I just want you to know. I love you.”
𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧
・She hadn’t been in many battles herself, so seeing your scars took her breath away
・Many long slices that had healed badly, some healed well
・All depending on how many healers had been there during the fights 
・Eowyn’s long hair travelled down her back in a braid that you had done earlier
・Making it so her hair didn’t fall in her face as she trained 
    “That looks like it hurt,” she said absentmindedly, reaching out to stroke the reddish coloured scar. 
  Without meaning to, you laughed and nodded enthusiastically. “It bloody did.”
・Her heart broke for you
・But she laughed lightly at your response
・You were both standing, staring out the window which overlooked the village below
・Her hand snaked down to yours and squeezed 
   “I’m sorry,” she whispered, entwining her fingers, still looking out the window
“Thank you, but I did what I had to do. And this is what came of it.” 
・She turned to you then, and leant her forehead against yours
“I won’t let you get hurt again.” 
    “And I you.” 
𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫
・Sighed when he saw them, hanging his head in defeat. “I wish you never had to go through that.”
 You smiled at him, “No other choice, my lord.” 
・Although you meant the name as a joke, a teasing nickname, he took it in a different way - 
・Like he could have somehow stopped this from happening. That he had the power to stop it. 
・He was very upset
・And went to sit by himself for a bit
・You didn’t go after him; sometimes people just need time to process their feelings. In other words - to feel their emotions...and work through them
・When he came back, Boromir got on both of his knees and held your hand against his face. 
・Shocked, you let him lead the situation
    “Y/n, forgive me. Please forgive me.” 
・Your shock didn’t waver, it didn’t falter - only grew
“Boromir, why would you ask for my forgiveness?” You knelt as well, so you were on the same level.
    “Because your family has lived in my kingdom for so long. Every decision my forefathers have made led you to endure this. They are to blame, and therefore, I am to blame.” 
・Tears welled in both of your eyes and he stroked his thumb against your cheek
       “I will not forgive you. Because there is no need for you to apologise. I know you will be a just ruler, but I will not have you apologise for my decisions.”
・Kneeling, he took you in his arms and hugged you fiercely. His hand firmly holding your head to his chest. 
𝐀𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐧
・Her gentle voice soothes you, it was the end of another battle and she was healing your wounds 
・As your partner, she tended to you without breaks. You had your own rooms that she took you to, getting help from the other’s to move you to the bed
・She was with you day and night
・So she saw your scars when you were unconscious and her heart broke from what she saw
・Arwen never wanted you to go through the hateful thing that was war. And seeing the results of that on your skin made her want to kill every person who did that to you
・When you finally awoke, she was asleep next to you
・But the moment you stirred, she jumped up and hurried to your side
    “My love, how do you feel?” 
“...sore,” you said in a croaky mumble 
・She smiled, going to get you some salve and drink that would mull the pain 
・When you realised you were topless, you deflated
・And when she came back, you stared at her, trying to see if anything had changed in her since seeing your scars 
・When you were about to talk, she beat you to it 
    “Yes, I’ve seen them. And I’m sorry you went through that.” 
・You were glad she spoke, because you still didn’t have the strength to explain 
・It was like Arwen could sense it; or maybe she just understood beings better than most. Because she didn’t push for it, she didn’t ask you too many questions. 
   “I can do my best to fade them as well, if you wish.”
・It took you a while to decide, but at the end of it. You decided against it. 
   “They’re apart of my story.”
・And again, she understood. 
𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫 (this is where talks of being a prisoner of war is)
・You were both up late talking about life and the conversation went to war and what you had both experienced
・A deep conversation that you both didn’t intend on having 
・It was late night, with the stars above you, a fire in front of you and two pales of ale next to you
・Faramir didn’t mean for the conversation to go to a darker place 
・But you were in the beginnings of your courtship and you wanted to learn more about each other 
・It wasn’t until you took off your large jacket and left on your undershirt that he noticed the raised slices on your skin
・He took a sharp intake of breath, seeing your arms alone...it broke his heart to see just how hard you had fought for what you believe in
・Faramir didn’t know how to bring it up, but you knew what he was talking about
・You had been a prisoner of war, and had been tortured for information...but still held strong. They got nothing out of you but a bunch of spitting and swears 
・It was Aragorn who had found you, and both you and Faramir were eternally grateful 
・But Faramir hadn’t seen how bad the orcs had hurt you
・Their brutality was obvious and it took everything in Faramir not to scream out in agony and hatred
・You, who he loved so much. Who made him feel whole, who made him feel like the world made sense, who gave him a purpose - a will to live
・The fact that someone had hurt you so badly... he wished he could return the favour a hundred times over 
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wordbunch · 9 months
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Their love song (Taylor Swift edition) > Lord of the Rings characters
a/n: welcome to my little self-indulgent celebration of 700 followers! 🥳 EVEN IF you're not a fan/don't know the songs, I hope you can still like and support this fic - a lot of time and love went into it! and by all means come talk to me about it or suggest your own songs! love you all so much and thank you for reading my stories and being a WONDERFUL community 💕💕💕
ARAGORN ♡ cowboy like me
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His old wandering lifestyle made it pretty hard to be committed to a person in one place, but he made it happen as soon as it was possible, and he would have done anything in the world to give you safety, protection and all the love that you deserve. And he plans on giving it to you forever, no matter the trials and tribulations that might appear on the way.
GIMLI ♡ love story
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This dwarf is a proper gentleman, a confirmed charming sweet-talker and most definitely a deeply romantic soul in a very classical way. He is very respectful towards you, and respects some traditions as well, so he wanted to ensure everything was in order before asking you to be his forever.
LEGOLAS ♡ snow on the beach
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Isn't he so unusual, kind of ethereal, and positively vibrant? You never met anyone like him, with all his interesting quirks and his abundance of joy and lust for life. It is impossible not to share his fascination with nature, and you cannot help but smile just a little brighter whenever you are around him.
BOROMIR ♡ willow
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This is an absolute Boromir song to me - he likes to be outright, take charge, but maybe sometimes he is just a little bit too flattering (don't blame him, he just needs to express his feelings for you approximately 26 hours a day). With him every day feels like an enchanted love story, and you feel safe with him, and both of you take pride in being together. trophy couple
FARAMIR ♡ starlight
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This wonderful man is absolutely a dreamer and an imaginative person, who likes to share his thoughts and wishes with you, and finds it absolutely delightful if you agree with some of them. Everything he promises to you, he most certainly delivers. Also, he has so much love to give, and would be a very big fan of the idea of starting a family with you and just being the best supportive parents ever.
ÉOMER ♡ enchanted
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Horse boy's jaw DROPPED the first time that he saw you and he forgot about everything and everyone else in that moment. He just knew he needed to approach you and get to know you as soon as possible, because he was convinced you were either already happily taken, or you would be very soon, and he couldn't live with himself if he just sat aside and let it happen.
ÉOWYN ♡ dancing with our hands tied
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Her thoughts and past struggles sometimes still come back to haunt her, and the fear of being trapped resurfaces, but you're there to reassure her that you'll stay, no matter how hard things get. Even if it's the two of you against the whole world, you wouldn't rather be anyone else but by her side, hand in hand.
SAM ♡ fearless
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This is such a lovely sunny song, and it instantly made me think of the best gardener boy!! He might be apprehensive about taking some risks sometimes, but you make him feel brave and strong with just one look, and the fact that you believe in him makes him more confident. On the other hand, he makes you feel like absolute royalty and he loves to spoil you and treat you so right.
FRODO ♡ jump then fall
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The sweet little song that this is!!! The two of you are each other's safe place and comforting presence, no matter the rude neighbors' comments, the evils of the world, or the occasional nightmares. It's a relationship that comes from a strong friendship first, and it shows in the way that you just silently understand each other and aren't afraid to just be yourselves.
MERRY ♡ glitch
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Absolutely nothing romantic was ever supposed to happen between the two of you - you just liked to get up to no good together, sometimes! But somewhere amid setting off fireworks, pulling a couple of pranks on your mutual friends and getting a little tipsy in the Green Dragon on the weekends... something just clicked, and there's no going back.
PIPPIN ♡ our song
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It's a cute and a bit chaotic song, so it's perfect! He might be a little childish still (and fairly young, gotta give him that), but that doesn't make your relationship any less valid. It's full of cute little moments and small acts of love that are greatly appreciated by both of you. He loves to surprise you with small gifts and surprise visits, and absolutely makes up silly little songs to make you smile.
ARWEN ♡ delicate
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She was always so kind and sweet that it was hard for you to be certain what kind of feelings she harbored for you, but you were falling in love the more time you spent together. Although she liked you back romantically the whole time, you were the first one to mention something about it, though apprehensive, and she was delighted to find out about, and return your love.
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lillianofliterature · 2 years
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Hi Lillian! If your preferences are still open, could I please request a preference for what the LOTR Fellowship think of a modern woman appearing in Middle Earth and developing feelings for her? Thank you!
LOTR PREFERENCES || 3/?
a/n: hi, love! thank you for your request! I’m delighted to do it! 💚 Sorry it took so long to get back to you, I’ve been working on this on and off since it was sent in to be sure I wrote a good amount for every character (although my favoritism is palpable, oops). I would get through 1-2 characters and then my brain would shut off for a while. Very convenient of it. ¯\_( ◉ 3 ◉ )_/¯
DO NOT REPOST MY WORK.
if gifs are not sourced, they were found ages ago on Google and have sat dormant in my gallery since. if they’re yours, lmk and I will credit or remove them!
some of my preferences are written like imagines, some are written like headcanons. this particular request fits the headcanon format best!
each character varies in length (I mean, some of them have A LOT and I hope you don’t mind, I just like to include everything I think of for headcanons!) and some ideas or descriptors may have been repeated a few times due to there being so many of them! On this particular request, it was so hard to make everyone’s unique because they’re all so kind and good? I feel like everyone would just dote on you and take care of you in their own way? I hope they’re unique enough!
I do my best to keep them gender-neutral for everyone! <3
warnings: repetitive ideas I’M SORRY I TRIED I PROMISE, some injuries and light gore mentioned, mental health issues implied (depression, anxiety, etc.)
(preferences below the cut-off)
| how they would react to developing feelings for someone from the modern world
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aragorn | word count: 1.3k+
Aragorn was no stranger to forces of magic and otherworldly power he didn't quite understand, as he was exposed to such truths all of his life, so he wasn't as untrusting or suspicious of you as some of the other folks of Middle-Earth might be to someone claiming to be from another realm of a far advanced make and age. 
He wouldn't develop feelings for you right away, he's the slow and steady sort who must get to know and become familiar with someone before even entertaining fonder, sweeter thoughts, much less full-fledged feelings. But you did have that mysterious air about you, being a stranger to his world, the era and its customs, and he always wished to understand you from the moment Elrond had introduced you to each other. You were intriguing, to say the least.
To be fair, you were slow in trusting people completely, just as he was, so your path in developing feelings for each other was equally stubborn and forgiving. He believed your story, of course, about how you'd come from another land that was quite different from his own, about the strange humming you'd heard one night and the stinging you felt in your toes and fingertips, about how you'd ended up in a forest somehow and had followed the Ford of Bruinen into Rivendell. 
He was the first person to truly believe you and not just try to assuage your questions and anxieties passively. He made a point to validate that you weren't crazy or dreaming it up; he did everything he could to help you feel grounded and understood. Aragorn was humble enough to admit he didn't understand everything—and that he especially didn't have to understand something in order for it to be true. 
At Elrond's request (and largely due to his own curiosity), he'd agreed to help you learn about this strange new world and its history and customs. Why he'd been tasked above any other elf of intelligence in Rivendell to be your guide and tutor, he hadn't the faintest idea, except for the fact that perhaps since he traveled more than those who dwelled comfortably in the elven lord's domain, his experiences might be of more value than knowledge gleaned solely from literature and speeches.
He was quizzical about the strange things you would do, the habits you admitted were hard to break. Such as how you would rub your knuckles against the wall by every door frame when you entered a dark room, presumably looking for "light switches''—and the way you searched for "buttons and knobs" when you entered a kitchen and asked if there was such a thing resembling a "refrigerator" or an "icebox" in this world. Whatever phantom switches and objects you were after, he found it amusing to see you chastise yourself for looking for things that weren't there in Middle-Earth. (But he also realized it must be difficult to enter a realm where nothing is the same and everything is new to you, even down to the most basic aspects of daily living.)
There was also the way you were afraid to drink from rivers and skeptical of sleeping on the ground and accepting food from people you hardly knew and constantly asking what it was you were eating or if it was cooked all the way through. He knew there was some wisdom to caution, but your caution seemed extreme, which made him wonder what sort of world you hailed from that food and drink could not be trusted and one would not be accustomed to natural resources and living off the earth.
He never once made you feel silly or cowardly, though, for whatever you discovered or worried about that made you feel squeamish. He merely taught you his own ways with generous patience; he taught you to hunt and forage, how to protect yourself from insects and parasites with herbs and salves, to trim your hair with shears, and use a specific type of tree branch to clean your teeth (you couldn't just pick up any stick on the forest floor, you know), and how eucalyptus was especially soothing for the scalp when washing your hair (so long as the water wasn't too cold when you rinsed, which you learned the hard way after bathing in the river after he concocted something resembling shampoo for you).
He'd been the one to hold you that night on your travels across lands (an idea Elrond had had to get you used to the world you'd been brought into, teaching you with firsthand exposure or something of the sort) that you'd finally broken down into tears after weeks of trying to make sense of your predicament. He'd sang to you in his elvish tongue until you'd fallen asleep in his arms under the warmth of his furs and winter coat. You missed your family, your friends, and some of the beauties and conveniences of your own land. People and things he couldn't replace. He did his best to calm your aching spirit. He knew what it was to miss people, to ache for them, to reach out and not find them reaching back, to not feel your mother's warmth any longer–no matter how much you longed for it.
It was that kind of sweetness, how in touch he was with his emotions and how readily he extended his compassion, that made you realize how special of a man he was. 
And after months of helping you along in Middle-Earth and watching you blossom and grow with the changing seasons, essentially becoming part of his world, Aragorn began to feel deeply towards you. Not just his protective instinct that he'd developed for you since he'd been your confidante and ally since your arrival (he once compared you to a fawn just learning to walk in the afterbirth or a little bunny hidden away in a burrow that he had been tasked with - and obliged - to help grow and adapt) (all until you asked him to stop comparing you to wild animals), but also these funny little bouts of fluttering in his stomach and an innate need to be near you. The reprieve your mere presence gave him. The pure happiness your eagerness to learn and understand him and his world offered him. 
It would be difficult for him to act on those feelings at first because the last thing he would want to do is add more pressure or discomfort to your already convoluted burdens. But when he did, after weeks of pining for you and feeling himself smile (momentarily free of any heavy thoughts or worries of his own that often tugged that smile flat) after your many failed attempts to mimic or poke fun at him for his quiet, mysterious "Strider" persona.
Luckily, Aragorn was not alone in his feelings, and his only regret was not telling you sooner.
Neither of you knew if your returning home was a possibility or not, nor especially how such a thing could even be done, but he hoped that the day would never come when you would disappear from his life. It wasn't that he wished you never to return home to your loved ones and your comforts, but that he needed closure of his own. He needed warning in order to prepare himself to lose you if he was fated to–not that any amount of preparation can teach someone how to nobly lose their soulmate. Or perhaps he needed at least enough preparation to follow you into that world if he was ever given the chance. 
And if you were to stay in Middle-Earth until the end of your days, he vowed to help you in whatever endeavors you faced, as long as he could be by your side for every one of them. He would gladly go on teaching, guiding, and needing you.
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boromir | word count: 1.8k+
Boromir was definitely skeptical of you, not only because of your sudden appearance in his father's city, but also because of your explanations to their inquiries of who you were, where you were from, and how you had come to enter the steward's palace without having alerted any guards or centremen were never quite believable. It seemed as though your answers just brought on more questions, which only made his father's temperament even more fragile than normal.
For his father's sake, Boromir would take over the situation, reprieving him of any responsibility of having to deal with the "nuisance of a wench" that Denethor, Steward of Gondor, had so politely referred to you when you didn't admit to his accusations of your being a spy from Edoras or some sort of conspiring assassin having come to usurp his throne (because you weren't one and in light of your very sudden and confusing teleportation into an entirely different realm, couldn't care less about some rickety old man on some throne you didn't even know about, much less want)
(which you told Boromir to his face once he'd come to visit you in your holding cell to interrogate you further).
Your relationship was a rocky start, to say the least. There wasn't torture involved or anything, you were kept fed and hydrated from within your cell, and the cell itself was much more quaint living space than the stuff of dungeons. The door even had a lock on the inside to ensure your privacy as an individual, although there were guards placed outside the door and the windows were too narrow and too high to even see out of, much less clamber out of to escape further out into a world you didn't understand. In all actuality, as the hours wore on and no one came to remove your fingernails or dunk you in a barrel of icy water until you spoke, you began to realize that the steward's son–Boromir, you think it was–had most likely placed you in the guest or servant's quarters. There was no way that this room, furnished with a single bed, a vanity, a well-stocked bookshelf, a wardrobe, and even a small washroom was in any way dungeon quality. Where was the hay all over the floor? The rusty cell bars? Mice scurrying over your feet? Mushrooms and mold growing in damp corners?
So, had he lied to his father? Gone against his orders to let you rot in a cell for your lying impotence and instead given you room and board?
As the next day dawned and Borormir came to speak with you privately, he was an entirely different person than what you'd expected from your brief encounter in the throne room. Out from his father's scrutinous and demanding gaze, Borormir was much more agreeable and even somewhat patient. He wasn't quick to condemn you as a liar or some manipulative traitor, although he obviously still did suspect it. He was commanding, but he wasn't dominating.
In short, romance wasn't even on the map for either of you due to the circumstances of your meeting. No one falls in love with the man interrogating them for days on end about losing everything they ever had in an instant, about walking into an old alleyway back home to escape the rain, only to find yourself walking into the halls of some grouchy old steward who accuses you of treason and attempted murder. And no one falls in love with the person skulking through their father's halls unannounced and dishing out insults to that said father and kingdom at first glance, wounding their pride and dignity in one fell swoop.
In fact, he'd even chastised you for speaking ill of his father.
"You mean the man who just called me a nuisance? And a wench?"
Your pension for being very...communicative despite speaking to the son of the steward shocked him to say the least. Boromir wasn't used to being spoken to with such reignless freedom—especially not from strangers under lock and key.
He apologized for Denethor's crass and demeaning insults. You wouldn't have accepted his apology if it hadn't been for the forlorn sincerity in the man's eyes when he explained that his father was a changed man–and not for the better. Regardless, he asked that you respect the steward and his position of power, but even more so, respect that he is his father and he couldn't tolerate ill words being spoken about him.
You agreed to speak no such insults in his presence out of respect for Boromir in return for the patience and hospitality he'd shown you, but you made no vow to be tolerable of Denethor himself. He found that agreeable.
As the questions wore on and your answers remained much the same, Boromir realized that this story you kept explaining, about the alleyway and the rain, the smell of the bakery across the street, the soggy socks in your shoes, it was obviously what you believed–even if he wasn't sure if he could believe it yet. It was hard for Boromir to believe without seeing for himself. It's ye old "I believe that you believe it happened," two hairs shy of calling you crazy sort of response.
That is, until his brother gets word of the new visitor a few days after your arrival. Faramir was his name. He remembered how strange that passageway deep in the stone walls of the palace near the eastern wing had always made him feel when he passed through it. And when he heard of your predicament, he actually seemed rather aware of some sort of power or legend that once spoke of beings traveling between realms in some rare instances. Apparently, Boromir was much more trusting of his little brother. He took Faramir at his word, especially once shown several tomes and scrolls from across the ages of rare but unexplainable instances such as yours.
With Faramir's help (whom you found much more agreeable than his suspicious and impossible older brother), Boromir actually believed in what had happened to you. Not just that you thought it was true, but that such strange things do happen, things even the bravest warriors from great kingdoms cannot explain away.
When it was revealed that it did make factual sense, given your odd apparel that day you'd arrived and the baggy "sweatshirt" you'd refused to let them confiscate, the difference in your accent and dialect, the contrast to your world and Middle-Earth, how very little you understood about his kingdom and the way of basic living, you were then given a proper room in the guest housing just outside the palace courts, a few blocks from the courtyard and stories above the inner city.
You were viewed as an intellectual advantage (or at least that was how he explained it to his father in order for it to make sense to the paranoid steward to keep you nearby), given access to the libraries and studies under Boromir's supervision, and were assigned servants to help you learn to bathe without running water, how to brush your teeth without paste and a brush, how to lather your hair with only water and sweet-smelling oils and rinse within a basin, and a myriad of other daily changes you needed to adapt to. When you refused assistance beyond being taught how to live and function in his world, Boromir found it almost insulting–but it made him curious.
He'd never gone a day without servants, almost like shadows ushering about him, unseen and avoided beyond what they were needed for. He appreciated his people and had great pride for them, but your point of view (from someone of the working class) helped humble the entitled nobility woven into his countenance.
As time passed, Boromir found that it was he who took you for walks throughout the palace courtyard rather than silent guards or obedient servants under order; it was he who excitedly showed you his prized steeds and explained each of their individual personalities, who insisted that you venture into every reach of Gondor until you are as familiar with its villages and rivers as you are with the backs of your hands.
It was his idea, then, to show you parts of Gondor you'd never seen. Forests, plains, meadows, farms, and mountain passes, even the distant horizon of a vast beach shore toward the south. All of it grand, all of it foreign, all of it breathtaking. It was there, on horseback and walking through his father's kingdom, that you really saw who Boromir was. Free of armor and duties, he was just a man desperately in love with his country and his people.
He was flawed, yes. Greatly so. But then again, everyone bears flaws as much as any other person. Some are just skilled at hiding them from the world. Others use them to their advantage. But Boromir–Boromir just seemed like a boy some days when he was beyond the walls of Minas Tirith. The tours he gave you of his beloved land, free of expectation and any sense of obligation, were what allowed you to see everything differently, everything way back to the beginning, to months ago when you'd stumbled through those passageways between royal chambers.
And evidently, Boromir had started to realize much the same for himself. He wasn't one to take ladies for strolls about courtyards and offer them wildflowers that he nearly trampled under his boot; it wasn't like him to look forward to the days when he could spend his time riding into the villages and forests with company rather than being alone; it wasn't like Boromir, son of Denethor, heir to the stewardship of Gondor, to find himself lost in laughter as he tried to teach you how to start a fire without a "lighter" contraption that you were used to and watching you fail miserably into the evening hours and cursing under your breath with risqué words he'd never heard. It wasn't like him to feel such relief, to feel so light and free of his father's burdens.
But love comes when you aren't looking for it, and it often brings people together who would never have noticed one another in any other circumstance.
So maybe that's why you were brought to Middle-Earth, to Gondor, to the halls of his very home, out of all the places and realms you might've ended up in. Whatever might've happened, it must have been fate, or some destiny tied to love. For Boromir, the greatest warrior of his father's vast army, to find himself believing in miracles and accepting the truth of the unknown and uncertain–it could be little else but love. For the first time in his life, not knowing was enough, as long as it meant having you.
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faramir | word count: 1k+
Your meeting would definitely be in a forest somewhere, perhaps in Gondor or somewhere you can't even pronounce when he tells you. He's with his rangers, scouting and securing the borders of his country–but truly, his purpose for being all the way out there was to be far away from his father to drown out his disdain and favoritism.
The way you would meet would provide him with comical relief somehow, I just think that's something that would give your relationship such a different beginning than all the other people in his life. Not bound by blood or duty, just victims of circumstance, although he wouldn't want to say he was any sort of victim in having the privilege of meeting you.
He would be knelt by the river, scooping crisp water with his hands and sipping it as his men are some ways down the bank, offering him a moment of silence and reprieve from his own duties. His men, the rangers he lead as their captain, were more than just his "Inferiors" (as his father put it), they were his friends and most trusted advisors. They weren't sworn to serve Faramir, son of Denethor, younger brother to the great warrior Boromir, only because duty and station required it of them. They were both fond and loyal to him, to his humility and wisdom, to his feeling nature. His strength was different but no less honorable. So when their captain wandered off alone, they knew him well enough to give him space.
Although, that's not exactly what he would get.
One moment, you were on the hiking trail you'd taken near your local park for the scenic terrain and perfect reading spots when suddenly the trail had twisted in a way it hadn't before until it had completely disappeared from beneath you in the rapidly appearing overgrowth. Now in a forest you didn't recognize, with panic and anxiety pulsing through your body, running back the way you'd come from in desperate search of the trail you'd been vigilant not to wander from.
That's when Faramir hears the rustling in the forest behind him, he stands as he shakes the water from his hands and poises his bow, knowing his men would never rush him unexpectedly while in the wild (and they weren't even in that direction as far as he knew from where he left them). Before the poor man can react, your bodies collide as you appear out of the thicket and slam into him. I mean, you absolutely take this man out.
You'd both crash in a heap by the river, sliding down the bank and into the shallow edges of the freezing water. Your comfy tennis shoes? Sopping wet. His cloak? Might as well hang it on the laundry line next to the linens.
You'd scramble to your feet, still rushing from adrenaline, while he'd take his time getting up as he rubbed the sore spots you'd brandished him with. With one look in your direction, he'd do a once over and a double-take, completely befuddled by your apparel and whatever reflective material your tight leggings were made of. Not to mention the strange device in your hand with a long cord dangling from its end and the sack of books that had tumbled into the damp dirt at the river's edge.
Once he regained his footing with an adjustment of his jaw and posture, he'd be bombarded with your frantic questions of where you were, where the trailhead was, if his "phone" device had any cell power (whatever that meant, he hadn't a clue) or if he was a "LARPer" based on his apparel (which, mind you, he had several questions about your very strange clothing of choice as well). Simply put, you were quite confused by one another.
Much akin to how he would be of aid in Boromir's version, Faramir would be adamant in his studies and knowledge of many mysteries and forces in his world, from long ages past. He was quite the scholar, given his neglected childhood. He would at first be skeptical of your explanation, but it wouldn't take him as long as his brother to believe you. Faramir could sense things about people, he had that sort of discernment that helped him know whether people were honest or insincere. And you were honest.
He would be very empathetic to your situation. He would offer himself as a guide and a protector, teaching you gradually how to arm yourself in the wild during the long trek back to his home of Minas Tirith. Once there, you would be kept out of his father's reach and safely somewhere you could be comfortable and adjust to the changes of his world.
Apart from being a very mature aide to you in your time of crisis, Faramir would be as excited as a kid in a sweet shop. Your presence in Middle-Earth, the circumstances which brought you to him, were absolutely incredible. It was as if his whole life sort of made sense—all the hours spent with his head in the clouds and books upon books flitting through his hands as a young boy and into adulthood, it had all prepared him for you. This fantastical miracle that came hurling at him by some stream in the eastern forests and defied any and every law of science and physics he'd ever been tutored about.
Over time, once his feelings matured into something more than honorable duty (and giddy curiosity), he'd be absolutely devoted to you. He would spend his life trying to find the answers you needed, even if it meant finding a way for you to get home, despite how much he wanted you to remain in his life. He would cross seas and brave mountains to seek out others who knew of anything like your situation, he would risk himself to keep you safe. 
Faramir would do absolutely anything for you, at all times, with the utmost sincerity and adoration from the deepest parts of himself. He would vow himself to you and leave you no room for doubt or insecurity.
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eomer | word count: 800+
Eomer, Lord of the Mark and future King of Rohan, would definitely place duty above curiosity and emotion when first meeting a stranger claiming to hail from another much different world completely unrelated to Middle-Earth in its entirety. Albeit a respectful and honorable man, he would have his suspicions about whether or not your predicament was at all possible. And if possible—that was a big if—he would doubt your sincerity (if it had really happened or not). He's the type to need proof and evidence so he can work out how to respond and execute a plan of action. He wasn't one to meddle with ancient powers and mysterious magic—he was a man of law and combat.
What you don't know for the first few weeks, though, is that there's a reason behind his doubt and scrutiny of you, his blatant distrust and sheer callousness. He'd seen what the dark powers of wizards and warlords had done to his uncle Theoden. He'd witnessed firsthand how it had torn his family apart, stricken with grief and remorse. His sister had been plagued and stalked by one such man who was an ally to such dark arts. Magic and powerful entities had never brought Eomer or his people anything good.
Eventually, when you learn about all of this, you're more compassionate to his point of view and not so frustrated with him for being so darn suspicious all of the time.
However, despite his reservations about your situation, that would not affect his efforts in helping you (after you've been ruled out as a threat). You would never be treated like a prisoner or an enemy, nor as any sort of asset or property. You were simply a traveler, a person in need, and eventually a friend to Rohan and the people that dwelled within Edoras.
Something you noticed early on was his absolute devotion to his family. Not just his lineage or his people, not solely to the crown that still sat upon his uncle's head. His sister was his closest friend (and she soon became yours as well) and there was a bond between them you had never born witness to in your disconnected world. The loyalty and affection he showed freely were quickly one of the traits of his character that attracted you to him, as well as his consistent sincerity—there was never a word uttered from his lips that he did not mean or a promise that he failed to keep. He spoke with bluntness plainly, you never had to solve any riddles or secrets. There were never any tiresome games. He just was. The "once loyal, always loyal" sort of person.
And as someone used to a world full of people more concerned with themselves rather than those they claim to love, it's refreshing.
Because of Eomer's need for proof and evidence to be able to believe and understand things that were presented to him, your relationship was also rocky at the start. Yes, you knew he was trustworthy and you felt safe under his care as his sister showed you the ways of their people and clothed you in their garments. You knew no harm would ever come to you as long as Eomer kept watch over your wellbeing. But there was the disconnect between you where emotions and souls come into play–a need for him to have faith in your story, a need to be trusted above reason and common sense.
That would be the great battle throughout your developing feelings for each other; to understand and accept each other and your very different origins. It would be that discourse and the eventual change of heart that would convince Eomer he was in love with the one person who had appeared wandering aimlessly across the Riddermark. And when he was able to accept the heavy truth that you spoke—that not only were the myriad of powers and mystics of his world very real and prevalent, but there was another realm far beyond his own—it would not only prepare him for the throne he would one day succeed, but open his heart to the reality of love itself. That there is more beyond honor and duty, beyond loyalty; there is love, devotion of the heart, and the binding of one soul to another.
Truly, your crossing into Middle-Earth was more than mere chance. It was the dealings of fate, the weaving of a tapestry that spans beyond lands and stars, that brings union and contentedness to those it touches.
To Eomer, you would become more than a dangerous risk or a misunderstanding or a wearied traveler between lands. You would be his life source in a more intimate way than even what he had always known with his family–the love of one's life is one incomparable to all else. His fierce loyalty that you'd observed since your first meeting had become an unsplintering shield. You were now bonded by that same sort of unwavering devotion.
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eowyn | word count: 800+
Eowyn, Lady of the Mark, would react much like her brother at first. Suspicious and protective of her people, she would do all she could to ensure that those around you were taking all precautions necessary when you are first brought before the throne. She wouldn't take as long to come around to you as Eomer would, however. She was more prone to trust people and offer them a chance to prove themselves.
You see, Eowyn has a sense about people. She could always read them like an open book, whether they meant to be read or not. And you? Well, she had a feeling you were a good book. Shrouded in mystery and understandably met with fear at first by most of her kin, Eowyn would be the first person of her people to reach out to you as an individual after the initial shock of your sudden arrival and concerning origins.
She'd be the one to bring your meals and stuff extra pastries under the napkin for you (she'd conceited her brother and his men to allow you a room with humble furnishings rather than a cell until they were sure you would not pose a threat) and offer up small talk as best she could. Eventually, though, that small talk turned into stories and memories shared between two fast-growing friends. You told her all about your world, about your home, about the technology and amenities you missed, about the pretty lights of the city at night and the twinkling strings of lights decorating your bedroom walls.
"They're like little bursts of fire within tiny shards of glass, led along a wired string of sorts", you'd tried to explain. You loved the way she listened to your every word, her smiles growing bigger and her eyes reflecting the warmth of the hearth.
You told her about your family and friends and some of your most memorable moments with them. Several of which derived a very contagious laugh from the fair Lady of the Mark. "Tell me more about your homeland!" She would exclaim, offering an encouraging nudge to your knee.
She would spend hours helping you adjust in whatever way you needed. Didn't know how to brush your teeth the medieval way? No problem; Eowyn walked you through the steps. Kept burning your fingertips while trying to light the lanterns and oil-glazed candles? She'd show you how she got around that herself as a child. Wonder what it would be like to fight like the soldiers training in the yard? Eowyn would teach you better than any man could.
You'd always wondered what it was like to experience that best friends to lovers sort of romance—and that's exactly what you found in Eowyn. Although her protective loyalty had set a boundary between you for the first week or so of your unexpected arrival, that loyalty was soon extended to you. She'd be the first person you would really trust, the one you would call for when your dreams turned sour or your loneliness weighed too heavily in the night. She'd be the one who would lead you around Edoras, showing you the beauty of her home and people. She would teach you to bond with your own horse and train you well to become a proficient rider yourself.
The horses (and Eowyn, of course) were really what made you hesitant to ever leave this realm called Middle-Earth if you could. Rohan, their whole culture, was surrounded by the rich history and generous communion with horses. Everything here was tied to legend or powers beyond humanity's limited understanding—but everything was beautiful and enchanting. Their ancestors resided in great halls of kings in the stars. Everything about these people was so rooted in family and kinship. You'd never known anything like it back home.
People in Edoras were kind to each other, save the occasional drunkard. And Eowyn—Eowyn was the brightest star among them all. Compassionate, loyal, and brave. Those were the words you thought of when she came to mind (which was more often than not).
It wouldn't be long after becoming best friends, perhaps a few months, that you would feel things slightly shift between you, and she, you. You wanted more of Eowyn. More hours spent riding together across plains of tall grass and wildflowers. More evenings unraveling the debris of the wind from her unkempt golden hair. Eowyn wanted to share with you her greatest secrets and desires, her darkest fears. She wanted to sleep alongside you, her hands entwined with yours, to ward off the nightmares she often suffered. Eowyn found herself always in want of you; your voice, your presence, your scent. You become her comfort.
No matter how harrowing your appearance had been and the implications of other worlds beyond hers—Eowyn would never once wish that the fates or ancestors hadn't brought you to her across realms. You were everything she'd needed and yearned for in a friend and a partner her whole life, just for someone to see her and hear her.
You'd become everything to each other.
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elrond | word count: 1.1k+
The Lord of Rivendell would be no stranger to mysterious visitors happening upon his halls unannounced. In fact, he'd begun to think it almost routine at the rate hobbits, dwarves, and all manner of beings showed up on his doorstep. But there was definitely something different about you, the visitor who claimed to hail from another land—no, you clarified, not just another village or region; another world.
Where cars and trains and buses rattled the bones of the earth and ushered time and society forward at a harrowing speed. Where kingdoms and governments warred endlessly and stars were a rarity to see above the lights of growing cities.
He would be interested in this "advanced" world of yours and desired greatly to learn more about its vast variety of life—but not as much as he was interested in making sure you were acclimating to such a drastic alteration of life itself.
He would be wary of you, due to his wealth of knowledge on all manner of strange magic and ill-boding omens (do you know how many peddling sorcerers and distasteful necromancers this man has had to turn away at his doorstep?). However, Elrond would be much more hospitable from the very beginning than any of his kin. He wouldn't be as off-standish or suspicious of you—at least, not to your face.
You would be given lodging and hearty food almost immediately rather than a cell and modest portions, as well as a servant-guided tour of Rivendell and access to most of the beautiful city (save for the sacred archives and private chambers). He would not only meet with you in the hours he could spare each day to decipher your journey into Middle-Earth, but he would recommend several pieces of history and literature to get you acquainted with the customs and cultures around you. He would let you into the library at any hour you needed, even in the wee morning hours when you couldn't sleep.
A gentleman through and through, your experience with him would be much different than with any other host you might have stumbled across.
He would be undeniably patient as you're thrust into an entirely different way of living in every possible aspect, down to the very brass tacks of human nature. It feels like you're having to be raised again, like how children are taught to take care of themselves and understand the way things and people around them work and operate. There is never a grievance expressed or muttered from him as you excelled with some aspects and struggled through others.
His graciousness and soft-spoken wisdom were just the cusps of how intelligent and tender-hearted the kind elf truly was—all of which you would come to know well when he had had plenty of time to adjust to you. His introvertedness would definitely be a bit of a stunt in the development of your relationship from acquaintances to romantic partners.
He wasn't one to speak just to engage in conversation and keep busy; he only spoke if he truly had something worth saying. That of course makes it difficult for you to try to communicate beyond discussions about your unprecedented situation. But if you asked a question or politely pressed for conversation, he wouldn't deny you his attention either. While this leaves you being the one to strike a majority of the conversations between you (outside of his devoted interest in learning about your situation), you don't mind all that much. You could push through your own social anxieties as long as the person was receptive and open to engagement, and Elrond certainly made extensive efforts to be as much and more.
You liked his quietness, though. It was attractive in a way that made you hang onto every word he did decide to share. It gives you a sense of comfort. It's startling at first, the way you're able to trust him so fast, especially given the absolute madness of your traveling between realms themselves. Surely it was wiser to have your guard up at all times when in a strange new world with such stark contrasts to your own, right?
But you just couldn't bring yourself to doubt someone so compassionate and sincere.
All the while you're slipping fast into fonder feelings with every day that dawns over Rivendell's many waterfalls and etched forests, Elrond is slowly dissecting every thought pertaining to you as it surfaces in his mind. He had already had one great love in his life, the mother of his sons and daughter, a loving lady who had led their kin alongside him. He would feel such a heavy burden of guilt when he realizes the same patterns of infatuation and fondness start to swell over him. The same fluttering, freeing feelings that he had felt with his wife in their early years together. The same wandering of thought, despite his very disciplined nature. The instinct to return to your side when he wasn't busy, as if that was suddenly where he belonged more than in his study or his chambers.
Within a mere few months, it was Lord Elrond who was escorting you to peer at moonlit waterfalls and forests set ablaze with fireflies and starlight. It was he, rather than a servant or guard, who taught you how to mount a steed more than half your height and ride with all the elegance of an elleth. It was he who felt his zeal for excitement return to him when you dared to race him beyond the forest and across the rushing ford. It was Elrond who sat with a smile on his face as he listened eagerly to the cultures that thrived in your world, specifically the details of your own home and heritage.
Although it took time to trust his own heart enough to feel more than politeness for someone, Elrond was no stranger to love or what it felt like. That's probably what would scare him so much when he first starts to feel himself becoming attached to you—the realization that somewhere along the discussions about your homeworld and the hours poured over tomes and memories...he was falling in love again.
Another facet of your growing relationship that would shock him would be the fact that he'd fallen in love with a human? Of course, he was the most tolerant of the race of men across all of his elven kin, but even that tolerance hadn't prepared him for the day he would face the same risk of love that his daughter had faced (you know, the courtship with a human that he'd told her to leave behind for immortality? Well, now he's facing the same question, darn it). He would absolutely need the approval of his children before even making a single stride in pursuing something beyond friendship with you, something permanent (spoiler alert, they would absolutely bless your courtship).
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arwen | word count: 500+
Arwen Undómiel would be very open and intrigued by your arrival, especially when she notices how out of place you seemed to be, not only among her people but with the way of life itself in Middle-Earth. It isn't until she inquires about your odd behavior (the asking about cellphones and electricity and other foreign amenities) to her father that she realizes you had hailed from another world entirely—not just another region or from somewhere beyond the mountains. Learning this, her intrigue only grows.
She was a lady who adored her people and the comforts of her home, but was not a stranger to adventure and the restlessness that accompanies a free spirit. Because of her love for exploring and learning, you're like a perfect mixture of mysterious and confusing. She might not have understood how travel between realms was at all possible, but she didn't mind not knowing. After all, many of her kin were gradually departing to the Undying Lands beyond the sea—a place that, in its simplest explanation, was a sanctuary divided from the common world of Middle-Earth. If such a place as that could exist just beyond the western horizon, then surely it was not so outlandish to think that there were even broader realms beyond that.
Arwen, as stated before, is a very open individual when it comes to expressing her feelings and saying exactly what she means. There is no loitering about wondering about this or that—when Arwen desires to become your friend rather soon after your arrival in her father's halls, she does just that.
She would help you adjust to things with an abundance of patience and sincere interest. She would be excited to teach you about her people and her world—about its histories and legends. But even more so, Arwen would be of even more aid when it came to helping you work through your sporadic emotions as the shock and remorse of your situation became clearer with each day. Of course it was exciting to suddenly find yourself in a world as illustrious and peaceful as this one—but there was a home, a family, and a slew of friends and interests that had been left behind without warning. She doesn't belittle or rush your grieving process, and instead becomes your confidante and place of refuge.
She would speak on your behalf to her father, about what you might need or what you were struggling to understand. She would be your voice until you were able to get your bearings and become more and more comfortable while so far from everything you once knew to be true.
In short, she isn't one to be afraid of her feelings or have any reservations of expressing them the moment she becomes aware of them for herself. Because of that kind of communication and the way she would devote herself to helping you from the very first day, it doesn't take long before she confesses that she harbors a fondness for you, like how the moon has a fondness for the sea; how her father harbored a fondness for her mother, and still does.
It's her openness and her lack of fear in expression herself that draws you both together from the first moments you share. From then, your friendship developed naturally into something of romantic permanence. As your place in her world became cemented, your place in her heart flourished with unabashed sincerity.
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legolas | word count: 500+
Legolas would be very suspicious and observant of you for quite some time before even engaging with you, much like his friendship with Gimli. Already being someone of very few words, Legolas would take his time in getting to know you before having even said a word to you. He was raised to be suspicious and discerning of "outsiders"; woodland elves, specifically those native to Mirkwood, were known for their suspicion and distrust of others, even their own kin.
So getting acquainted and close to someone who's not only not an elf or from Mirkwood, but also not even from Middle-Earth itself? That's gonna be a big barrier for him to get around and it's going to take time to achieve that familiarity and comfortability around you.
But when he does—it comes from seeing how you are with his friends, such as Aragorn and Gimli. His gradual trust builds up not from interacting with you for himself, but from observing how you communicated with others and treated his friends and allies. When he's more or less sure of your character, he would then venture into becoming friends. What he doesn't expect, however, is how quickly that friendship became something so much more to him.
Perhaps because he'd been getting to know you from afar and seeing how kind and generous you were with his loved ones despite the sheer confusion and fear you must be feeling every day in his strange world. It was one thing to venture away from home in search of adventure, even among unfamiliar faces, like he had. It was another entirely to be ripped from your world and everyone you knew, away from your kin and your people, away from your family, without any sort of warning or choice. He comes to admire you and the bravery you displayed every day just by choosing to exist in his world and trying your best to become a part of it.
Then he would notice how you'd been taught to fish with just a shaft and some thin twine by Aragorn's hand. How you kept absorbing skills as though you were a sponge, desperate to cling to any sort of help. This is when he would reach out and offer you archery lessons because "everyone should learn to have some skill with either a blade or a bow. It is better if you know both—but in your case, I think we should start with one." And you chose the bow, telling him how you admired how beautiful of a weapon it was, how graceful. You'd seen it in movies and read about great archers—you'd always wanted to be one. And so Legolas, though he had no idea what a movie was, vows to make you proficient with a bow.
It's really your devotion to learning about his world, about his friends, and eventually about him that really snares him in the end. The way you refused to wither and panic within the shelter of one of many great cities in Middle Earth, but instead wanted to see the world and get your bearings, despite how obviously unsteady it often made you feel. For you, you'd not only been brought to another world, but a world that was supposedly far behind in its technology. Everything had completely changed for you and yet you still worked hard to make something good out of your predicament. It's that bravery that pulls him to you.
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galadriel | word count: 300+
Someone as wise and clairvoyant as the Lady of Lothlorien would not be surprised at your unprecedented arrival across realms. She had probably (listerally) seen you coming long before your arrival (remember that magic basin of psychic water she traumatized Frodo with?). Her ability to read the minds of others offered her an immediate leeway into your intentions and sincerity. This meant that while she was still careful with you, she was well aware that you posed no threat or harm to her people.
You, on the other hand, were more than wary of her upon your first meeting. It wasn't just the shock of entering a new world that made your heart uneasy to trust—but something about the ethereal, untouchable power about the Lady Galadriel herself that left you teetering into doubt and discomfort. While her beauty and gentleness made her alluring and with time to develop that trust, your doubts faded. Her goodness and generosity proved time and time again that her power wasn't something to fear.
Something that made her so wonderful once you grew trusting of her was how much she believed you—largely due to her ability to read minds and people themselves—and never doubted your character or motives.
Hailing from a world hewn with distrust and malice, the calm pace and sincerity in which Middle-Earth (and Lothlorien especially) was governed made you hopeful for what sort of life could be made there.
With the help and generosity of your hostess, you soon considered Lothlorien your home. Not just for its beauty and its sort of magnificence that you'd never seen in your world before—but also for the lady who watched diligently over her forest and her people. In time, you came to consider her your closest friend, someone you could wholeheartedly trust with your life.
Galadriel would find your naivety of her realm intriguing and would be more than happy to offer herself as your guide. She would find your tendency for loud bursts of laughter and curt outspokenness refreshing in a culture of hushed voices and gracious tones.
All in all, you're both quite a mystery for each other to solve. Luckily, neither of you mind the adventure of getting to know one another.
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haldir | word count: 600+
To say that your first meeting had also been a bit of a rough start was the understatement of the century. I mean, who would react well to having a dozen arrows poised inches from their face while trying to find their way out of an unfamiliar forest? Your fear had quickly turned to frustration and anger, despite the threat of being pierced with the polished shafts of their arrows. Your quick turn to anger stunned the very poised marchwarden—it wasn't often that intruders grew hostile when threatened at the neck. Typically, people would stare back in silence like a doe stunned by fear.
A mixture of terror, exhaustion, hunger and dehydration had driven your more cooperative senses from your caliber of responses, evidently.
After you'd recovered well enough to be questioned over a generous meal, it was very obvious you were simply lost. Very, very lost. Of no threat to his people or the sacred forest they dwelled in, Haldir would have no issue in setting his pride aside to apologize for frightening you.
Soft-spoken and introverted, Haldir would have that wall of kind politeness that was at first almost polarizing to someone who'd just had the shock of their life by entering an entirely new realm in a split second. It would be many awkward attempts at sifting through your explanations and anxious emotions before Haldir was able to gauge how you would feel more inclined to trust him. And in order to achieve your trust, he would need to let you (a stranger, mind you) break through those carefully learned guards to see the real him behind the graceful countenance and elegant sentences.
It was your desperation to find answers, to understand if you had gone mad or if something so radical could have truly taken place, that sparked in Haldir the great need to console you. Generally, elves were calm and uninvolved beings—to those not understanding of their ways, they might even appear void of emotion. But that couldn't be any further from the truth. In fact, it was quite the opposite.
As your time in his homeland spanned from weeks to months, Haldir grew more and more attached to your side. Devoted to your wellbeing, he became more of a confidant and friend than the simple guide he had volunteered to be for you at the start. The softhearted nature that flourished within him bloomed around you, finding a home to take root in.
Your knowledge and straightforwardness about what you needed at any given time, whether it was a hot bath or an audience with the Lady Galadriel herself, struck a chord of admiration with Haldir. He didn't like having to piece together the riddles that strangers often gave when they were prejudiced or distrusting. Your sincerity in such matters, no matter how embarrassing or seemingly insignificant, quite honestly inspired the skilled marchwarden. With such honesty, he didn't have to work so hard to get the answers he needed to best help you.
In return, it's his diligence in his help that draws you to him. The absolution he promised with every request he listened to—there was never a question or a need he left unresolved for you. If you'd asked for your favorite meal from your world, he'd find some way to have it made for you. If you'd gone to him in a fit of tears and in need of comfort, his arms would be the first to be open to you.
It wasn't that you were a basket case, mind you (and if you were, he'd never let you or anyone around you use such insensitive terminology for your very validated expressions of distress). It was simply that you'd never been so vulnerable and in need of someone before. And Haldir, well...Haldir had never felt so inclined to a soul before, so effortlessly devoted and tethered as if some string was being pulled taught between you.
Haldir relished in being able to be of service to you.
And you held fast to the curious needing you felt for him.
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gimli | word count: 400+
From the moment he met you, Gimli knew something wasn't quite right. Sure, you weren't waving the tips of pointy weapons or spitting out slews of evil curses at people—but you were like a shard of sea glass among grey stones. Everything about your stature, the way you spoke and carried yourself, the way you interpreted the world and its people around you...it was all so different from anyone he'd ever met before.
For starters, you're much more outspoken than anyone he'd come to know. You weren't afraid to speak your mind (and even include the occasional profanity to get your point across) in any given occasion or setting, even among elven nobility. The time you practically cursed his fair-haired elven friend Legolas out was an afternoon he'd not soon forget. Especially since the whole ordeal, which he conveniently didn't recall the details of, had most definitely been Gimli's fault rather than the prince's.
He wasn't too keen on trying to understand all the details about your predicament or how you came to be in this realm of all places. Gimli never asked for more of an explanation than you were willing to give, which was something you found quite refreshing amidst a slew of people who had been asking questions upon questions since your peculiar arrival to Middle-Earth. You knew you didn't have to explain yourself to him or try to make sense of it all in order to be believed—the red-haired dwarf simply nodded through his pipe smoke and moved on.
In all honesty, Gimli hadn't thought much of you at first, the same way he didn't think much about anyone until it was apparent their paths would cross more than once. He didn't give much effort into friendships that weren't of substance, despite the loss of much of his kin. If anything, it was harder for him to attach himself to friends now than it ever had been before due to the great losses he had suffered.
But when he does get accustomed to you, it's all over for him. Once Gimli gets attached to a friend or partner, his dwarven passion for loyalty and honor kicks in. He understands you're not familiar with this place, whether that meant Gondor or Edoras or any other region beyond Middle-Earth, and that's enough for him to believe you and offer some sympathies to your situation. He was kind of the same, you know. Far from home without any of his kin left to visit or send word to.
All in all, Gimli likes your modern gumption, your fighting spirit, and that occasionally sour tongue of yours. And although it's obvious he didn't have to protect you when you were very efficient in doing so for yourself, he would gladly spend an age or two by your side offering his services as a companion—and someday, perhaps as much more, if you'd allow it.
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frodo | word count: 400+
Somewhat of an expert in the joys and terrors of adventuring, Frodo Baggins would be a most empathetic and compassionate companion to have upon crossing into his realm from your own homeworld. More than anyone, he would understand the pressures of having to keep it all together in the presence of unfamiliar faces. When he had been the ring bearer, shouldering an object with the very sentience of darkness within it, the fear and desperation had nearly overtaken him as he traveled into forests and mountains he'd never ventured to before. He couldn't imagine traveling between worlds—realms of existence entirely. 
He would value the trust that you placed in him, handling it with the utmost care. His skill for listening is unparalleled, as is the wisdom he offers in return for your woes. 
Frodo would find your situation extraordinary and fantastic. He wouldn't be able to resist asking all of his questions and brimming with excitement about this realm of yours beyond his reach. He would, however, do his best to temper his ecstatic humoring in favor of handling your delicate situation with attention and care. He found himself reminded of the years he spent as a young boy listening to Bilbo's stories of his grand adventures with goblin kings and dwarf lords and fire drakes from the north. 
Imagine hours of pouring over books and scribbled notes his uncle had left behind for him, huddled near each other by a warm fire in his home. Papers and stacks of sifted lore and myth, anything pertaining to what had brought you to Middle-Earth, littering the floor around your folded legs and shared quilt. He would dedicate himself to helping you find the answers you were looking for, even in his small corner of the world (don't worry, he has this friend who's a king somewhere out on the southern plains who would be more than happy to lend some scrolls and tomes).
To Frodo, your mere existence is illuminating. Just having you pop up in his favorite glen while he was spending his usual afternoon reading was enough for him to strike an interest in you. You were yet another adventure, living and breathing, waltzing into his life. Sure enough, you become an answer to the hobbit's dwindling hopes for normalcy, thinking perhaps he was destined to the fate of bachelorhood and haunted memories, the same as his uncle. 
You show him that it is possible for Frodo to have another adventure—one that won't cost him his soul or his life. (Just maybe his heart.)
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samwise | word count: 500+
Samwise Gamgee knows a fool when he sees one—after all, he'd grown up with Merry and Pippin in his circle of friends. So when he's the first to believe you out of the tale-spinners and prank-weavers of the Shire, it's a relief to say the least.
He'd invite you into his home, seeing as you were so far away from yours and had no way of going back. He would offer you his pantry, his sunroom, his best linens and finest silk nightgown. There would be afternoons of gardening and learning a trade for yourself that would both provide food on the table and a bit of coin in the markets. Sam would be more than delighted to have a houseguest to cook for, seeing as his Old Gaffer wasn't one to spice up the recipes very often. But for you, Sam would cook a feast. He'd even sit down with you and help you write out recipes that reminded you of home, meals that wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a cold day. He'd grow flowers you remembered seeing in your mother's garden.
Somehow, even so far away from your world and your home and your friends and family, Samwise Gamgee would give you a sense of home you'd never encountered before.
It was so exceedingly rare to find people so willing to lend such a selfless hand to others in need. Helping a strange person he'd never met find their way through Hobbiton was one thing—but inviting them into his home and giving them a place to stay and warm meals to eat without anything in return? Quite literally offering the (night) shirt off his back? You'd never been extended such kindness before.
When Sam realizes how much of a stranger you are to such hospitality, he would go all out with everything he possibly could. Finding it rather sad that you'd come from such a dismal world that was void of such simple acts of kindness, Sam can't help but want to display every possible act of kindness he can think of.
And Samwise found in you the purpose he'd yearned for all his life—the chance to be something for someone that no one else could, the chance to make a difference simply by being himself and doing what it is he does best. Although it was difficult for you to navigate through the differences and the culture shock of his world and his land—there was really very little to complain about when you find yourself in the Shire (except maybe those pesky neighbors who have nothing better to do than to stick their noses in your business between meals).
Eager to be at ease and belong, you are more than willing to learn all that Sam can teach you and his way of life. Your acceptance and sense of humor, joking about things he didn't quite understand (What was that you'd said about looking "at all those chickens"? Those had definitely been ducks swimming in the pond that day), worked together to win Sam's heart in no time.
It really didn't take long before Sam was fonder of seeing you disheveled in the mornings and in his borrowed nightgown than fixed up for the day ahead; for him to cherish those small domestic moments you'd both begun to share as time wore on. Before long, Sam found himself daydreaming of dances and the music of flutes and fiddles to set the pace.
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merry | word count: 500+
This rascal would absolutely not believe a word that comes out of your mouth about whatever peculiar land it is you keep droning on about. Automobiles? Airplanes? Lanterns that work without fire? Portion control and food pyramids dictated by the government? What the bloody hell was all that nonsense? (Dark magic or the result of some soured Old Toby, he was sure of it.)
He'd volunteer himself to be your official tour guide to Middle-Earth, claiming he'd been as far as Mordor once (wherever that was, you had no idea) and was, therefore, the best guide anyone could ask for this side of Brandywine River.
For the longest time, Merry really thinks you're spinning tall tales about this world you came from with all these fancy doohickeys he hadn't a clue about. As someone proficient in telling exaggerated memoirs and pulling indulgent pranks, he would for the longest time assume that your explanation of origin was one and the same. Listen, he'd seen the weird stuff out there, probably as much of it as there was to see, and there definitely wasn't any Europes or Americas or Indias or anyplace else you kept mentioning.
When he's taking you on a stroll along his favorite trade route all the way to the Breelands and back home, any mention of your predicament (beyond being a lost traveler far from home) was met with a mischievous scoff and a twisted grin. Once, with a mouthful of fresh summer berry bread, he'd made such an expression of dubious skepticism that he hadn't needed to even utter the "uh-huh, sure" along with it.
He meant no harm in his teasing disbelief, of course, but sometimes the gradual accumulation of it got on your nerves. While Merry was fun, kind, and a very joyful and admirable hobbit to be around...sometimes it felt as though you were trying to convince a toadstool that its colors were indeed brown and not blue.
He's fond of you already, of course, nearly upon the moment he met you—who else was he taking on his little adventures across the many borders within the region of Eriador apart from Pippin and a batch of Old Toby?
As weeks pass and one day, his distrust in your explanations pricks a little too far beneath your skin, your bout of aggravated and fearful tears came as a shock to the hobbit. It's in that moment sat across from each other with a small campfire between you that his carefree persona faltered with guilt.
Oh, he thinks. You're telling the truth about all that.
From that moment on, he would be the most expressive and compassionate person you had ever met. He'd be sure you were getting your daily dose of sunlight and ale for the day, as well as whatever desserts or hearty meals you felt inclined to indulge. You'd become attached at the hip and wherever Merry (and usually Pippin) went, you were there with him (them). He'd already been welcoming and friendly to you, but now he had this sort of tenderness in his gaze that you thought might melt you through like a chocolate drop in the oven. And if anyone were to express the same sort of doubts or contribute to the rumor mill around Hobbiton about you, he'd put an end to it before it had gone beyond the hedges of Bagshot Row.
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pippin | word count: 400+
Much like his rapscallion counterpart, Pippin's first impression would be that your whole story about arriving from another realm was a fabrication of your very active imagination. He and Merry had spun their fair share of tall tales and mischief as far and wide as the town of Bree and the little villages along the Brandywine river.
Unlike Merry, though, Pippin's reason for skepticism wasn't even so much skepticism as it was ignorance. He'd never knowingly poke fun at what you were going through, whether he thought it exaggerated or not. Pippin just truly didn't think it was at all possible for other places to exist. He really thinks you're joking or unsure of what you're even saying for the longest time.
But when Pippin figures it out after you become a sordid mess of blubbering tears over a pint of ale outside the Green Dragon Inn, he realizes everything you'd been trying to explain hadn't been a "really wonderful story" you'd been working on. It was how you'd come to be in the Shire, in Eriador, in Middle-Earth at all.
"There's no use cryin' ov'r a pint, (Y/n)! Ded someone let the barrel sour?"
You sniffled, trying to dry your eyes with the back of your hand before they were too heavy to extinguish. "It's not—it's not soured, Pip."
"Oh. Then what—?" He took a moment to understand. You'd been talking about a dog with two mismatching socks on its paws. A bedroom with fairies for lights and walls made of printed paintings. The way you'd been describing everything was almost too detailed to be off the top of your head...and then he realizes.
Pippin would buy you another pint, one untainted by salty tears. He'd do his best to listen more, although he still misinterpreted much of what you tried to explain. But it was better now, knowing that he was trying to comprehend this world of yours, rather than committing it to his memory as a tavern story.
He'd be excited to learn about what sort of drinks and food and pipeweed you had in your world and what sort of music your village danced to at seasonal festivities.
While Pippin may not be able to really grasp the extent of what you're explaining, that perhaps entire realms exist beyond the very vast one he had traveled across himself, you are reassured that he does at least believe you and understands the jest of it. And somehow, that's all you really needed—someone to just listen to what you were trying to say, to take your truth for what it was.
(Of course, this confirmation that you're really an "other-worlder" as he coined it means that he's designated himself to acclimate you to the life of a hobbit to its full extremities. This includes seven meals a day, which you're more than happy to oblige.)
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TAGS:  @moony-artnstuff @wellfuckmyexistence @tessaem @izbelross @bloodblossom73
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Lord of The Rings Masterlist
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-One-shots -
Boromir
Sealed with a Kiss
Legolas
New Adventure
Fighting for Love
Fighting for Love (part 2)
Fighting for Love (part 3)
Fighting for Love (part 3) Extended version 
Fighting for Love (part 4)
Fighting for Love (part 5)
Fighting for Love (part 6)
Fighting for Love (part 7)
- Preferences -
What Comes After - NSFW
- Hurt/Comfort -
Legolas
Fencing Lessons
Let Them Talk
Nightmare
Aragorn
Not Your Fault
I Love You
Eomer
I Forgive You
- Drabbles -
Legolas
#1- Wincing
#2 - Walk Towards Me
#3- Hold Me
#4- Nightmare
#5- Scars
Fanfic Masterlist
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heliads · 9 months
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To Be You
Eowyn knows the bitter resentment of being left behind when the forced of Rohan ride off to fight in battle. She is less familiar with what to do when a newcomer, Y/N L/N is allowed to fight, or how Eowyn should feel about her.
masterlist
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Eowyn is not happy about being left behind.
She rarely is; too many hunting trips have been conducted by her brother without her riding beside them, and a great number of attacks against orcs or other monstrous beings have been led by her uncle and accompanied by every capable fighter save Eowyn herself. She is not unused to being alone, minding the house while everyone is away, but it does not mean that she has to like it.
This time is no exception. It is one thing to be forced to forgo a hunting party or horseback patrol, but this is different, this was a battle to save her home, and she was not there to protect it. Eomer was away, but allowed to fight in a different manner, Theoden was there alongside all other soldiers and adventurers both, but Eowyn herself was not. It would be cruel, were it not for the fact that she is constantly assured these sorts of decisions are only ever made in her best interest.
Eowyn does not want her manner to be considered like this, nor her charm or emotional state or anything like that. She wants to fight, not wait under the White Mountains with the rest of the people of Edoras as her friends and family killed orcs and brutes and monsters. Has she not been trained with the sword just like any other? Is she not worthy of battle to save the land she loves?
It’s becoming ridiculous. Her entire life seems like a game played by the men around her– Eowyn may be taught the sword but never be allowed to use it, she can imagine leading her people but never wear the crown of a king. She is left spinning in circles, waiting for an enemy to attack, but always having others break their necks to save her from the possibility of peril.
She’s gone along with them now anyway, camped near Dunharrow with the rest of the fighting men. There will be a new battle to come, as there always is, and Eowyn can sense the way it will go without the gift of prophecy. She will beg to fight and be rejected, told that she will be most useful staying behind and waiting to save those who need it. No matter how willing Eowyn is to lay her life on the line, she will not be permitted to come within sight of a battleground.
To distract herself from the fury curling inside her lungs like a flame, Eowyn takes it upon herself to do what she can to protect her people. There are soldiers that will need medical attention, men who have damaged weapons and need new ones, horses who must be looked after. Dunharrow is a busy camp, and Eowyn can make it busier if need be.
She’s interrupted not long into the night by a group of warriors riding up. She recognizes the leader instantly– Aragorn, Ranger of the North, protector of the hobbits and now Rohan as well. Aragorn dismounts from his steed with the ease of years of practice, then gestures to the riders behind him after exchanging basic pleasantries and expressions of concern for injuries possibly sustained. Not that Eowyn could have been in any sort of situation to warrant an injury, of course, but the concern is kind.
“I’d like you to meet some of my traveling companions,” Aragorn tells her.
Eowyn furrows her brow. She’s met most of them already, the dwarf and the elf and the wizard, plus heard of hobbits and men that graced their journey already.
When she tells Aragorn as much, he chuckles and shakes his head. “No, no. There is one more to our numbers, a friend we happened to meet along the way. You’ll like them, I think.”
His favor is enough to guarantee a good impression on Eowyn, and she turns to greet this mysterious friend as they dismount from their horse. They must have come straight from some sort of battle, for their helmet is still on their head, and their hand has stayed on the hilt of their sword this entire time, evidence of recent use. A fighter, then. Good.
She’s about to treat this as a normal introduction, another soldier come to pledge aid to Rohan or at least not declare themselves an enemy of it. And then this rider, Aragorn’s favored warrior, takes off their helmet, and Eowyn realizes something about them that she hadn’t noticed before.
This is a woman. And– Eowyn is furious about it.
She shouldn’t be. Obviously. This is proof that she should be allowed to fight to save her people after all. If someone else can do it, so can she. Instead, Eowyn feels a ripple of unrighteous indignation bleed through her. All this time, she’s been pleading for a chance to put her sword to good use, and another girl was doing it anyway? And likely at the very same battle that her uncle and brother fought in just hours ago?
It makes Eowyn want to scream. So the problem is her, then, not just the fact that she’s a woman. The world sees no problem with allowing this woman to fight, but throws every obstacle in Eowyn’s path just because. Disregarding Aragorn’s good faith in an instant, Eowyn resolves herself to nothing but hatred and bitter jealousy. Does the woman deserve it? Likely not, but she’ll receive it anyway.
All of this passes through her head in an instant, then Eowyn swallows it down and out of sight. She musters up the strength to nod at the woman in greeting, to introduce herself by name and hear this opponent of hers in return. Y/N L/N. So that’s who Eowyn must triumph over to prove herself worthy of the battlefield.
Eowyn would like to hate Y/N quite a bit, and so she does. Y/N does make it quite difficult to hold a grudge, though. It takes every bit of Eowyn’s stubbornness to keep that spark of fury afloat. The moment she feels tempted to yield, though, Eowyn only thinks of the battles in which she could have participated, all the times Rohan needed her and she had not been allowed to aid. This is what Y/N has, what Eowyn likely never will. After such musings, the anger returns in a flash.
Y/N is good, though. Even Eowyn can admit that. She pledges her help in an instant, and with Aragorn and the rest of the Fellowship there to back her up, Theoden accepts her support with minor waffling. Eowyn watches from the corner, seething, but also notes Y/N’s easy manner of address, how she’s able to build rapport with the other soldiers in mere minutes. By the end of that night, Y/N’s managed to win over at least two thirds of the camp with pleasant conversation and descriptions of bloody exploits won in the past.
Eowyn watches her the next morning and night as well. Y/N stays with the camp even after Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas go off to the Paths of the Dead for some unknown mission. Y/N claims it’s because she was never actually a part of the Fellowship, just a passing friend who happened to run into them and pledge her aid for the land and people who needed it.
Y/N says a lot, actually. She talks about how she first received her training, her first battle, how she’s been unable to accept a ‘no’ when she hears it but puts herself out there anyway. It’s not like Eowyn is asking, or she hadn’t meant to, not at the start, but. Maybe if it works for Y/N, it’ll work for Eowyn too. That could be the only reason that Eowyn would want to listen.
Not for anything else, of course. Eowyn polishes her hatred like a blade, refines it until it’s sharp and shining. Y/N is there a lot, always helping out around the camp, and their paths frequently collide. Eowyn lets her resentment steep through her like hot tea. She can’t sleep one night and takes over a midnight watch. Y/N is there too. They stare up at the stars. Y/N says, do you hate me in this quiet voice, like she doesn’t dare ask but has to know anyway. Eowyn doesn’t answer immediately but stands and looks skyward. Y/N whispers again into the silence, would it make it easier if you did?
They don’t bring it up again. It doesn’t have to be said. Eowyn can’t explain why the syllables knotted in her throat, stopping her from confirming or denying Y/N’s query. Perhaps even Eowyn does not know the answer. Perhaps none of them do. Rohan picks up camp, moves closer to the gates of Mordor so they can aid in the end of the world. Eowyn begs to be allowed to fight, points to Y/N as a reason that she could go. She’s denied anyway. 
Y/N approaches her afterwards, tells her she’s sorry with more sincerity than Eowyn thought it possible for anyone to muster. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should. It doesn’t hurt at all. Y/N tells her that she can find a way to protect the people she cares about if she wants it enough, even if it involves breaking a rule or two. Eowyn stares at her throat, the exposed expanse of it above her armor. It would be easy to place her sword there, against the beating of Y/N’s pulse. It would not make anything better, but– it would make everything different.
They fight in Pelennor Fields. It is bloody and terrible. Eowyn knows, because she dons armor and pretends to be a man. She rides alongside Merry, and they slay many a foe. It is what she expected and utterly removed from anything she’s ever experienced before. Weapons are natural in her hand, and when she stands against the Witch-king, dark and awful being, she slays him.
It takes everything in her and then some. Eowyn knows little of what passed after that, only what was told to her afterwards. She fell on the dusty ground, sword clattering from her hand. She had done what was necessary to kill the beast, but it almost killed her, too. She was found and brought back to the Houses of Healing, where her life hovered on the threshold of passing on until Aragorn saved her.
And then, when she was well enough to sit up in bed and receive visitors, someone came to check if she’s alright. It’s not who she expected, but for some reason the sight of Y/N L/N hovering beside her door fills Eowyn with a rush of relief and she eagerly gestures for the other woman to come in.
“I was afraid you had died,” Eowyn confesses, “No one would tell me a word of what had happened to you.”
“Few knew,” Y/N admits wryly. “I was deep within the fight and took my time in stamping out the last of the enemy before I returned. I hurried here immediately when I heard of your condition, though. I feared the worst.”
Eowyn finds it within herself to smile. “I am well. Well enough to live, at least. Not to fight.”
Y/N nods, but she still seems incapable of relaxing. Her fingers fidget with the rings of her chainmail shirt, the stitching on her belt. “I was worried that I was going to lose you. There was so much I wanted to tell you. You never answered my question at the camp. I thought you were going to die without ever saying what you needed.”
It takes Eowyn a moment to place the question Y/N references, and then she recalls it at last. The nighttime watch, Y/N’s voice threading through the dark. Do you hate me?
Eowyn leans back against the multitude of pillows Eomer managed to find out of who knows where, thinking it over. She had, at first. She thought she did, at least. But then again– was that hatred, really? To look at someone and wish to be their equal? To watch their figure every time they passed before her eyes? To fear for her safety more than Eowyn feared for her own?
Then, more pressingly, Eowyn considers her feelings as of late, not just at the start. Hearing Y/N urge her to fight was the last bit of courage Eowyn needed. It made no sense why Eowyn would need her approval even more than her own, but it did a little. And, when Eowyn was dying on the ground, she thought not of her family, but her. A woman she’d just met, of crucial consequence that the idea of her would carry Eowyn off to the embrace of death.
“No,” Eowyn whispers at last, “I do not. I could not if I tried.” It would kill her, perhaps, to keep cutting off the one person she wants more than anything. Even more than a sword.
Relief colors Y/N’s face. “Good. I had thought– I had feared–” She breaks off, looking away, then:  “I love you. I do not need you to do the same, I just want to know that you do not despise the thought of me doing so.”
Eowyn’s eyes widen. To think it is one thing, but to hear it spoken aloud is something else entirely. “I love you too.”
Y/N smiles, and if Eowyn were not completely certain of the change in her feelings, she is fully convinced of it now. She had never truly understood the poets nor the performers who sang of love as if it were a tangible thing, something that would be felt from the stirrings of one’s heart until they could only be sure of their love and nothing else. She understands it completely now. What Eowyn feels for Y/N is strong and devastating and lovely all at once. It is more compelling than a lifetime of battles fought. It is all that she has ever needed, and all that she will need. It is enough. They both are.
tolkien tag list: @rogueanschel, @retvenkos, @gods-fools-heroes, @crazyhearttragedy
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neuroprincess · 9 months
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☆ LOTR | HOBBIT MASTERLIST ☆
MAIN MASTERLIST | TAGLIST | open requests
♡ fluff | ☆ smut | ❀ angst
⤷ Arwen
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To be written...
⤷ Éowyn
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To be written...
⤷ Galadriel
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To be written...
⤷ Tauriel
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To be written...
⤷ Headcanons
To be written...
⤷ Preferences
To be written...
⤷ Special | Fanfiction
To be written...
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judgementdaysunshine · 11 months
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The cool rain and burning love
For @ironmandeficiency cause she needs it! 🥺
Pairing: Eowyn x Fem reader
Description: After a bad day Eowyn takes you in the rain which is the best thing to happen to you that day
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You walked into Eowyn's room changing out of the uncomfortable big dress you had to wear that made you feel like you were suffocating changing into a smaller more comfortable dress walking out a few seconds after eowyn had been in the room. She turns looking at you as you lay on her bed next to you as she smiles "You okay love?" you look at her with your hand partially over your face "I've had a rough day and I need the day to end" you explain to her how bad your day was from waking up and falling off your bed hitting your head, getting shoved by a guard and nearly falling down the stairs had it not been for Eomer grabbing your waist, the big poofy blue dress you wore crushing your ribs making it very hard to properly breathe, and ending up throwing up across the corner from the stables. She listens to you until you finish putting down her book and gently helping you up following her outside where you saw the sky a light grey feeling raindrops fall on your face and soon the rain slowly starts pouring down on the ground and on the two of you "Eowyn it's raining let's go in before we get colds!" she laughs watching her tilt her head to the sky feeling the raindrops fall on her face while also pouring through her dress and soaking her hair as you slowly look to the sky feeling the drops fall on you as well. You felt a splash in your face stopping your heart for a second and your eyes shooting wide open to see eowyn laughing before you chase after her managing to get her back with a splash to her face in between all the running and laughing being drenched from head to toe until you stopped in front of each other behind a big rose bush next to eowyn's bedroom window feeling hot despite the cold chill of the rain. You both giggled until your lips were together and you were holding each other's faces for a few minutes before the cold was unbearable going inside to her room changing in night dresses and laying under covers cuddled up to each other occasionally kissing the other's lips, face, neck, and even chest as you felt the warmth from the blankets and body heat falling asleep not knowing or seeing eomer peek his head in smiling to see his little sister and the girl who he had been friends with for years and thought of as a younger sister as well quickly and quietly closing the door telling the maids and his uncle not to disturb the two of you.
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edges-of-night · 9 months
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Imagine where your first kiss with LotR characters would be ♡
Thank you for all your positive responses to my first post! I hope you’ll enjoy this one as well, it was a lot of fun to write!
・゚✧ Aragorn.
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Aragorn would make your first kiss absolutely romantic. He would take you to a moonlit spot he found in the forest, where you’d listen to a brook and the night birds as he holds your hand. Aragorn kisses you without expecting or demanding anything in return. He is content as long as he can be with you!
・゚✧ Arwen.
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Arwen would playfully guide you to her favourite tower in Rivendell by your hand. She’d smile brightly over her shoulder as you ascend the artful staircase to be closer to the night sky. She’d stargaze with you there, maybe show you a book or two about the Elvish constellations that she keeps up there. You would kiss over such a book, or maybe against the white balustrade.
・゚✧ Boromir.
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Boromir is well aware of his charms. When it comes to your first kiss, he teases and plays with you. However, once you share a quiet moment in the ruins of Osgiliath, he gives in to your advances. Leaning against a stone column, the usually shameless man grows silent against the comforting touch you provide.
・゚✧ Elrond.
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Elrond keeps his house very orderly. He takes it upon himself to sort the library, for example. Since you offered to help him, you have been working all afternoon. “This is the rest,” you’d say with a tired smile and a sigh as you set back the last books. Charmed by your blush of exhaustion in the golden sunlight, Elrond would smooth your hair back and lean in for a thank you kiss.
・゚✧ Éomer.
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Éomer would kiss you in the wide grasslands of the Riddermark. Your horseback ride has been interrupted by a sudden storm – the weather here is erratic – forcing you to find shelter in a rock formation. There, Éomer would make sure that you’re alright and dry, and as you’d touch, his heart would skip a beat at your damp hair and puffed lips. Being the man that he is, he’d kiss you passionately then, however offering you to “keep this between us and the rain” should you desire so.
・゚✧ Éowyn.
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Éowyn loves the hills and cliffs of Edoras. There, she has a secret hiding spot where she used to play as a kid. Now, she uses it for romantic rendezvous’, as she tells you with a smirk. You joke around a bit: “So, I’m your romantic tryst?” – “Perhaps you are!” – before you both lean in for a playful kiss that soon turns into something more romantic, truly.
・゚✧ Faramir.
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If it was up to Faramir, he’d kiss you anywhere – on the market in Minas Tirith, in the forests of Ithilien, or his castle after the Ring War. However, he couldn’t have chosen a better place than you: a flowery meadow where you sat down with drinks and books to tell each other fantastical stories about magic and dragons. While you lie in his arms, all you need to do is look up to find that Faramir wasn’t even reading the book you held up and instead just admired you. And then, cupping his cheek and gently guiding him toward you is just too tempting!
・゚✧ Frodo.
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Frodo would kiss you in front of your house in Hobbiton, having accompanied you home after a party at the Green Dragon. He’s a gentleman, so he’d always offer to walk home together. Maybe you’re both a bit tipsy, but either way, you end up leaning against a quiet corner of your house, hidden away in the night shadows, where you share a kiss that Frodo blissfully smiles into.
・゚✧ Galadriel.
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Galadriel would know you’d want to kiss her even before you yourself were really aware of it. One day, while sitting by a brook near her abode in Lothlórien, she’d grin at you because she knows very well the reason for your blush. She’d offer you to sit by her side, or maybe even on her lap, and converse with you before brushing your hair out of your face to finally give you that kiss!
・゚✧ Gandalf.
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Gandalf would finally kiss you after a long day of studying. You’ve been sitting in Minas Tirith’s library for hours, pondering ancient magic and recent developments. Once you call it a day, he’d look up and smile at you, like he just remembered something. Then he’d wish you goodnight. “But first…” You’d be lying if you said you haven’t seen it coming from a mile away, but of course you let him have his joy anyway!
・゚✧ Gimli.
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While usually brash and charming, Gimli is all quiet when it comes to asking you for a kiss while staying in your home. If he was wearing his helmet, he’d take it off, needless to say! You know he meant it to be a chaste forehead kiss, but you like to give your Dwarf a kiss worthy of a song – one that renders him speechless for at least a day. He’d definitely stumble over the doorstep on his way out!
・゚✧ Haldir.
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It is needless to say that Haldir would deny any desire to share a kiss with you until the very last second. After protecting the borders of Lothlórien from orcs, he is badly wounded and in dire need of your healing skills. Though he is ashamed of the vulnerability, he cannot help but marvel at your beauty and compassion while you’re immersed in your task. He’d guise the kiss he gives you in the moonlight as a shameful repayment, but by now you can read his marble face so well that you know better!
・゚✧ Legolas.
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Legolas would kiss you swiftly and lightly, like sunshine does when you step outside on a summer morning. Out in Mirkwood, he’d swirl around you like a butterfly to keep your fears away. You’d heard stories about the dark forest, but he knows just how to keep your mind off of it. “There,” he’d smile after your kiss, just shakily enough for you to realise he means this seriously after all, “the fear is gone.”
・゚✧ Merry.
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Merry would make a pompous scene out of kissing you. He’d announce it loudly, standing on a table in the Green Dragon. He’d get a blast out of your reaction, whether you’re blushing in embarrassment or laughing brightly at his joy. When he does join you by your chair and pecks your flushing face, the crowd cheers you on!
・゚✧ Pippin.
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Pippin would kiss you on a festive night. You’d run through the strawberry fields all night, always hunting the colourful fireworks sent by Gandalf from the hills above. After you break down beneath a tree, laughing and exhausted, Pippin would exclaim something like, “I could kiss you right now!” and quickly lean in.
・゚✧ Sam.
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Sam keeps a mental list of things he’d like to say to you someday. However, he’s so insecure he doesn’t even dream he’d ever get the chance. But when you’re sitting in the shadows of the sunflower field on a bright summer day, he’d want to seize that opportunity and babble in his adorably timid but sincere manner. But, being embarrassed by his own fumbling, he’d eventually go, “Maybe I oughtta kiss you instead, y’know?” Far be it from you to object!
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clovenly · 1 year
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What does it feel like to be held by the different characters? Who are the ones who hug often and with enthusiasm? Who holds delicately?
𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍 ; how they hold you ── elves, men and dwarves!
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𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒: ᵃʳᵃᵍᵒʳⁿ, ᵃʳʷᵉⁿ, ᵇᵒʳᵒᵐᶦʳ, ᵈʷᵃˡᶦⁿ, ᵉˡˡᵃᵈᵃⁿ, ᵉˡʳᵒʰᶦʳ, ᵉˡʳᵒⁿᵈ, ᵉᵒᵐᵉʳ, ᵉᵒʷʸⁿ, ᵉʳᵉˢᵗᵒʳ, ᶠᵃʳᵃᵐᶦʳ, ᶠᶦˡᶦ, ᵍᵃˡᵃᵈʳᶦᵉˡ, ᵍˡᵒʳᶠᶦⁿᵈᵉˡ, ʰᵃˡᵈᶦʳ, ᵏᶦˡᶦ, ˡᵉᵍᵒˡᵃˢ, ˡᶦⁿᵈᶦʳ, ᵗᵃᵘʳᶦᵉˡ, ᵗʰᵒʳᶦⁿ, ᵗʰʳᵃⁿᵈᵘᶦˡ
[ TIGHTLY ] its as though they're trying to convince themselves that you're real; their arms wrap around you ( shoulders, chest, stomach ── they crave soft, gentle intimacy ) as they draw you closer, head resting against your shoulder, grounding themselves. they'd be content to spend the rest of their life here, with you.
arwen, boromir, dwalin, eomer, erestor, fili, glorfindel, haldir, kili, tauriel, thranduil
[ DELICATELY ] their touch is feather-like, as if they fear you're going to shatter in their arms; soft, gentle hands weave their way through your hair as they lay chest to chest with you. their voice nearly lulls you to sleep as they hum a song they only vaguely remember from childhood, and its hard to think of anything but how peaceful you feel in that moment.
aragorn, elladan, elrohir, elrond, eowyn, faramir, galadriel, legolas, lindir, thorin
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madwomansapologist · 8 months
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mad woman's apologist birthday — ice cream prompts masterlist
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mint chip — how did they court their lover?
⤷ with: aragorn, legolas, boromir, arwen and eowyn ⤷ with: bruce wayne
vanilla bean — what is there favourite activity to do with their lover?
⤷ with: natasha romanoff
cookies and cream — are they protective of their lover?
⤷ with: agatha harkness ⤷ with: charles boyle ⤷ with: elijah mikaelson
dulce de leche — "would you still love me if I was a worm?"
⤷ with: death of the endless
raspberry — how they treat their sick lover and vice versa?
⤷ with: jason mendoza
pistachio — what are their kinks? are they shy about them?
⤷ with: charles boyle ⤷ with: morticia and gomez addams
peach — at what point did they understood that their lover was the one?
⤷ with: kyuma ⤷ with: thranduil
cherry — do they get jealous of their lover easily? do they show it?
⤷ with: billy loomis ⤷ with: jake peralta
peppermint — how would they comfort their lover after a bad time?
⤷ with: stu macher 
bubblegum — how would they propose to their lover?
⤷ with: amy santiago ⤷ with: legolas
cookie dough — are they vulnerable with their lover? do they need time to be really open about their lives?
⤷ with: homelander
caramel pecan — would they make amends quickly after a fight?
⤷ with: jake peralta
neapolitan — what song can describe them as lovers?
⤷ with: daenerys targaryen ⤷ with: morpheus of the endless
rocky road — which soulmate!au would be perfect for them?
⤷ with: zagreus
passion fruit — what are their love languages?
⤷ with: carrie white
coffee — what are their romantic tropes?
⤷ with: queen maeve
if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡
@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.
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witchthewriter · 1 year
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𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄́𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧'𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐬/𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞
⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  
ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ          
🌿ISFP 🍁Gryffindor 📜Neutral Good 🔮Aries Sun, Libra Moon, Taurus Rising  
𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿
・Eowyn fell in love with you after three weeks of knowing you. But you knew her for much longer
・You had been secretly in love with Eowyn for two years. 
・It was so difficult seeing her each day, in court. Her long hair flowing behind her, her beautiful face smiling. There was a constant pang in your chest. 
・You weren’t someone with a lot of political power
・But you were someone who had social standing, and power within your magical abilities
・People come to you for a purpose: they have a desire and you help to fulfil it. Some come for luck, others for protection, and some for love. When you first started out, you would take on the love spells, but as you’ve earned your money, now you direct those people to a self-love spell instead. 
・You were often insecure about your body, but with your magic, your self-love grew and grew
・When you told her how long you had been in love with her, Eowyn was ... embarrassed? Upset? She thinks those years were wasted. Because you two could have been together. 
・Though not angry at you at all, more in herself, for not seeing the signs
・She smells like the herbs you use for protection magic; Clover, Juniper, Rose, and Rosemary. 
・Eowyn was a bit apprehensive at first with your magic. She didn’t know what to expect
・And you had a reputation. You weren’t known as ‘good’ or ‘bad’. ‘Light’ or ‘dark,’. There was no separation with you. You were all things. You would deliver justice as you saw fit. But also give to those who you thought needed it. 
・Eowyn fell in love with the way you didn’t stand down from a fight. You never let anyone walk over you. Because you had in the past, and you were never going to live like that again. 
・Eowyn feels safe with you. And you feel safe with her. Because you know that she is the most loyal person there is. 
・She wouldn’t leave you even if the world was tearing itself apart. 
・There was a time when Eowyn thought you had put a love spell on her. Because she couldn’t understand her feelings for you. They went so deep and felt so intense. 
・She brought it up one day and that was your very first argument. 
   “I would never, ever, put a spell on you, Eowyn. I couldn’t take away your choice like that.” 
・In short, you weren’t mad... just disappointed. 
・She couldn’t stop apologising after that. You made her take some time for herself, and to think everything through. Because she was someone you loved dearly, and if she was going to be with you, you wanted her forever. 
・It took Eowyn less than a day to know what her heart was telling her. But you made her wait a week before speaking to you.
・After that week was up, she was at your door, flowers in hand and tears in her eyes
              “I love you. I will always love you.”
・And you’ve been together ever since
・You make her little spell jars to carry around in her pockets
・And enchant amulets for protection, good luck and wards against evil
・Eowyn makes sure you have every herb, flower and ingredient for your work
・She loves being known as your partner, she is very proud of you and your accomplishments
・Every month when Eowyn has her period, you make her a healing bath and it eases her pains a lot. 
・Your size doesn’t matter to her, if anything, Eowyn thinks it’s more attractive
𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑷𝒆𝒕 𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖: My love, my heart, my world. All her pet names are all-consuming, just like her love for you. 
𝑯𝒆𝒓 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆: Quality Time and Acts of Service. She does a lot of physical things for you. For example, she leaves beautiful hand-written notes around your shared rooms for you. Makes baths for you (she knows the exact temperature you like), brings you your favourite flowers etc. 
𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:
How Deep Is Your Love by Kiris Houston
𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:
  ✧ You Fell First, She Fell Harder
  ✧ Aggressively Supportive
  ✧ Sun x Moon
 𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆:
Belated Love Epiphany
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077-vikkus · 9 months
Text
“You’re Perfect to Me”- Éowyn x GN! Reader.
From this ask.
Tw: misogyny, unrequited love, mentions of arranged marriage, flashbacks, mention of PTSD-like symptoms, conflict, non-sexual nudity.
Éowyn believed in two things. One: one’s worth is based on ones drive. And two: women were put upon the Earth to be tortured.
“Oh, my lady! Stop your fussing! This is the latest fashion that Her Highness, the Lady Arwen, wear herself.”
Éowyn scoffed as her handmaiden, Merlyn, ranted and raved about the Elf Queen and her selfless devotion to the King. Despite how envy wormed its way through her veins at the mention of the elf, she would not let it ruin her.
“Well, the Elven Queen can do as she may like but I shall not force myself through such gendered punishment! Fashion be damned, I will not wear the corset!” Éowyn glared at the exasperated forms of her personal servants, and roared in frustration when they approached her with the undergarment in question and forced her into it before draping her with the frills and laces that have long since become popular.
“Really, my lady, one might think you would welcome the steady life of a noblewoman, not detest it! All the celebrations and glamour seems absolutely bewitching.” Merlyn rambled as she brushed Éowyn’s golden hair and forced the woman to wear the multi layered garment of silk, cotton and heavy jewel embellishments.
Éowyn huffed and blew a stray strand of hair from her face.
“I feel like a show pony. Is that what the men of this time look for in a wife?”
Merlyn, with strained smile and a light smack to her lady’s shoulder, put the hair comb away and turned her attention to pinning and piling it up on her head.
“A good lady, and a good wife, must always look presentable. For her people, and yes, for her husband as well. You ought to be grateful with his Highness’s leniency. He could’ve married you off to a balding Lord instead. But there are many a rumour that he favours that Lord Faramir, so mayhap he will be your future Lord husband.”
Merlyn met her gaze briefly through the mirror, and despite the insubordinate behaviour of her servant, Éowyn knew she was, unfortunately, right. A different King would use her to ally himself with an another distant kingdom. A different king wouldn’t care for her feelings. A different king would not be as kind.
But then again, there is no other king like Aragorn.
“There!” Merlyn exclaimed happily, with a hint of pride in her voice, “You look like a vision! Come, we must have you in hall as soon as possible. Your guests may think you are a different lady.”
She was herded like a overdressed sheep being sent to the market, where a potential buyer might if and erm over whether to keep her for her wool or her meat. She felt humid and feverish yet too exposed. Her body ached as the corset misplaced her innards and pushed her chest up for everyone and their mother to gaze upon. Éowyn took little solace in the fact that there would be other debuting ladies. They were suited for the posh, frivolous and finicky life of a wife and mother. She was not. She had bruises and scars on her skin from sparring with her household guard, dirt under her nails from helping in the estate’s garden and callouses on her hands from the woodwork and smithy work she helped with in an attempt to grow the Rohan economy and state. She was different.
Or so she thought.
A double set of gilded silver and gold doors opened just as she approached and through the murmur of the noble crowd, she could vaguely hear the herald call out her entrance, vocalising her status and accomplishments. And as he did, the room stilled like a winter breeze slipped in and froze everyone in attendance.
“Introducing the noblewoman and host of tonight’s celebrations, the White Lady and Shieldmaiden of Rohan. The fair and noble Lady Éowyn of Rohan!”
Her appearance sparked waves of murmurs throughout the attendees. A thousand eyes locked onto her padded figure, causing bumps to erupt all over her skin as a shiver struck through her. Without focusing on any particular person in the hall, she gritted her teeth in what would pass as an amiable smile and spoke with the practiced elegance and grace from her lessons as a young girl. She was passed a goblet of warm summer fruit mead and she raised it as she spoke.
“Welcome all to my home! May our celebrations be joyous and long. May our chalices and plates never be empty. And may Rohan be alight with the festivities of our people! For Rohan! For the King!”
The hall thundered as her guests echoed back her latter statement, “For the King!” was ringing in her ears as she descended the short steps and was immediately offered an arm to drape herself on.
Said arm belonged to a rather attractive yet dull nobleman, Faramir the Crown Prince of Ithilien. Or as Éowyn’s handmaiden seemed to suggest, her future marital gaoler should she not found her own suitor. He beamed at her, kind grey eyes peeking out from underneath shaggy beige hair. From Éowyn’s dictionary, he could only be described as one thing: torturously average and boring. And definitely not her ideal husband.
Yet, Éowyn still looped her arm with his and allowed him to lead her around the hall to share pleasantries and acquaintances with the other attendees, weaving and meandering through the people with an end destination in sight: the Queen and King of the Reunited Kingdom. Her heart hammered away in her chest as she gazed upon Aragorn, whom was animatedly talking with his wife and a Merchant Lord from the Eastern borders of the kingdom. She noted how at ease he looked, how happy and calm his smile to be, and how he firmly but not too firmly had his arm around Arwen’s body, seemingly craving the El’s body on his all the time. Her skin paled further yet no one noticed due to the thick paste smoothed over her exposed flesh. Another elven fashion trend, she supposed.
Faramir, ever the honourable man bound by duty and loyalty, guided her to the royals’s orbit and offered the King a gratuitous grin in greeting. Her male companion removed himself from her person and surged forward to clasp Aragorn’s one hand with the both of his, leaving her to stand by herself as she sized up the Elven Queen in front of her. After a beat of anxious time, Éowyn graced Arwen with a deep and respectful curtsy, staying low to the ground until a brief touch upon her shoulder released her.
“My good Lady Éowyn, you need not lower yourself to me. Not when I am but a guest in your home. And certainly not when I am your most gracious friend. Rise, so that I may embrace my friend.”
The human woman felt her heart weep further for no matter how she felt about the man who confounded her thoughts, the humble Aragorn himself, the Lady Arwen smiled and was kind to her, as if they were equals. As if they hadn’t loved the same man.
On shaking legs, Éowyn all but stumbled into Arwen’s arms with a guarded smile and was pressed into the Elven woman’s chest, inhaling the subtle smell of flowers and misty woods that provoked an old memory of a small babbling broke that she visited with her brother when they were children. No wonder Aragorn was drawn to her. Who wouldn’t be? She was the epitome of comfort.
“Your Highness, I must thank you for blessing my home with your presence and I am honoured that you consider me your friend. Please, let us promenade and leave the men to talk trade and war. We woman put our minds to better topics.” Éowyn forced out her practiced lines, despite how she ground her teeth out of frustration. Arwen pursed her lips, relinquishing her grasp on the other woman as her eyes darted to her husband and his friend, the two men happily engrossed in their own miniature world.
“I admit, when I was first informed of the lack of influence I had as a Queen to men, I was shocked and fought to change that. And I believed that you, my friend, was of a similar want as I in this regard.”
Éowyn wore her confusion on her face as Arwen pondered out loud.
“My apologies, Your Highness, but I do not understand your proposition?”
“Ah”, Arwen said, locking eyes with her female companion. “It is I who should apologise for being vague. I meant that you are unsuited for the life of an idle lady, as evidenced by your time acting as Dernhelm and your subsequent collision with the Witch King. It is not in your nature to relinquish control to your supposed superior. I, too, am of that belief and I admire your strength. “
Her blood seemed to slow in her veins as a muffled sheet was layered over her thoughts. Unable to answer Arwen after the mention of her proudest and most sensitive memory. A ringing echoed in her ears, sounding eerily similar with the clash of steel on steel. And within the murmurs of her guests, there seemed to be the cries of soldiers. The shadows of the hall seemed more prominent too, like they were deepened and thicker- slowly coming together to form a tall dark visage with sharp angular features forming a dark twisted crown. The crown of-
“-wyn? Éowyn? Are you alright? You seem to be quite flustered.”
Like the sun’s rays breaking through a thick canopy, Aragorn’s voice broke through the smog of Éowyn’s own mind. Unable to keep her focus in the present, she mumbled out a weak excuse about needing air as she whisked herself away in a flurry of skirts and untucked hair.
She scrambled through a series of corridors before breaching the private inner courtyard of her estate. Here the air was fresh and chilly and almost stagnant around the stables and flower beds, yet the constant crushing pressure of of the damned corset shortened her breath and the thick layers of cloth swaddled her overheated body. She needed to be free of it. To feel comfortable in the simple clothing that men were blessed to wear.
Éowyn perched herself on the edge of the newly established fountain, using the dull moonlight to guide her movements as she clawed at the ties at her back. She managed to hook a lacy rope and pulled. As she pulled the outer dress from the top of body to her hips, a small shuffle in the shadows of the stables pulled her attention away. Her hand moved before her brain could register that exact moment.
There was a pitiful whimper the moment after her dagger thumped against the wood in the stable. Then silence.
Éowyn quickly discarded the rest of her outer dress before marching towards the stable in her undergarments, including the blasted corset and full leg stockings. One of her hands slipped another dagger from a hidden holster around her thigh and she brought it up in front of her, her mind becoming more conflict wary.
And as she crossed from the the courtyard into the musty stables, she calls out.
“Who goes there? Reveal yourself!”
There was a squeak of shock and perhaps embarrassment as Éowyn edged closer to its source, which so happened to be you.
The moonlight was funnelled through the cracks and gaps of the roof, casting a greyish hue across your rightfully petrified face. Whilst she did not recognise you, she felt at ease and lowered the dagger in her hand, placing it back into its sheath on her thigh. Éowyn then stood straighter, or as straight as she could make herself be when the corset was digging into the soft flesh of her waist whilst trying the best to ignore the state of her indecency.
“Who are are you and what are you doing at the stables at this time of night? And why aren’t you moving from your position?”
Her demanding voice echoed through the still air as you gaped at her and struggled to come to terms with the fact that the Lady of Rohan, the Lady Éowyn, was standing before you in her undergarments, in the stables.
“Me? What am I doing here? I’m the stable hand of the King! I look after his horses, so I belong in the stables! What about you , my Lady! Why are you here and why are you in such a state? Are you hurt? Should I call for the guards? Should I get the King himself? And couldyoupleasetakeyourdaggerbackitspinningmetothewall.”
Éowyn furrowed her eyebrows as you rambled off to her, not quite understanding the last thing you said until she caught the glimmer of her dagger pinning you back by piercing your sleeping shirt.
“Oh.”
In two long strides, the noblewoman arrived at your side and yanked her dagger from the wooden beam not yet returning it to its designated sheath. She then turned to you and looked you up and down, refusing to leave a detail out.
As Éowyn stared you down in silence, your face was heavily flushed as you refused to look at the honourable lady.
“You. I need your help. Here, cut me free.”
Your face whipped around to meet her bored, yet slightly curious stare as she forcibly hands you her dagger and turns around, presenting her laced up corset back. You sputter and try to make excuses but a quick glare from the corner of her eyes sobers you up. So with shaky hands, you delicately and slowly cut through the expensive strands of the corset ties as your mind is flooded with anxious and confused thoughts.
As soon as the last strand was cut, you dropped the dagger which hit the cobbled floor with a clatter and whirled around as to not see any more exposed skin. If you did, you were pretty sure you may die.
A scoff echoed from behind you before Éowyn gruffly spoke out an order.
“Go grab me a spare shirt if you can’t stomach a bit of skin.”
With feverish nodding you rushed off to where you stashed you belongings in the stables, grabbing the nicest and cleanest shirt you had before returning to the noblewoman as quickly as you had left. You squawked when you saw that the corset had indeed revealed the bare skin of Éowyn’s back and in your flustered panic, you chucked the clothing at her and spun around with an even redder face.
“There you go, my Lady!”
If she noticed that your voice was several octaves higher, she didn’t mention it.
There was a rustle of movement and a thud as Éowyn discarded the corset and slipped the spare shirt onto her torso. The smell of fresh hay and earthy pine needles flooded her nostrils and she resisted the urge to sneeze as she turned back around to you. She cleared her throat before speaking.
“I’m clothed now. Thank you.”
You stammered out an acceptable response, slowly turning to face her.
“It was my honour, my Lady. Anything to help the kind peoples of the kingdom. Even if that means giving the clothes right off my back without hesitation! I would do anything for His Highness-”
Éowyn noticed the pride and admiration edge into your voice as you spoke about the limits of your loyalty to the crown and its people. She huffed at the mention of Aragorn, an action that didn’t escape your notice as you slowed down and turned to her in curiosity.
“My Lady? Have I said something to upset you?”
She cocked an eyebrow at your sudden trajectory change, noting how your awkwardness has dissipated over the course you ranted about the greatness of Aragorn.
“I do not think it wise to speak so enthusiastically about a man you hardly know. You do not know what I and others know.”
Your eyebrows shot up and your mouth was set in a firm line.
“What informs your opinion of the King, my Lady?”
“It…confounds me that he should be so focused on Elvish relations. First a treaty, next an alliance, and then-“
“And then a wife? My lady, I do not wish to act above my station but-“
“Then do not speak.”
Éowyn speaks curtly, unsure of herself and why she feels so comfortable with your presence. She has lost herself and begins to walk away from you, hoping to slink into the main building with her bedchambers her determined destination.
“Good bye, stable hand. Speak of this to anyone, I’ll have your head on a spike atop the main gate for slander.”
It was silent behind her. Éowyn presumed you were frozen by fear from her statement until your voice echoed out, quite loudly.
“My Lady Éowyn!”, she stills. “I don’t know much about the nobility and their world, that is true. But what I do know is that you are perfect to me and that anyone else would be fools to not see it!”
A rush of red floods her face as she quickly rushes away without so much as a peep in response to your claims.
And when she rests that night, she thinks that just maybe, just maybe her heartbreak could be healed.
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