#to be about her crush on aragorn

[heartsdefine]

i used to think the love confession scene btwn aragorn and éowyn in the films was so bittersweet and lovely but now i know how that scene goes in the books and i'm like "omg she would never say that."

#i hate how it reframes everything éowyn has going on #to be about her crush on aragorn #when in the book #it's about a) her long-time depression and b) her desire to fight #there is no reference to either of their feelings about each other #she asks him to take her with him on the paths of the dead !!!!!!!! #TWICE!!!! #but he refuses and leaves her behind #which PAINS HIM TO DO IN THE TEXT #anyway i just #always :( about that scene in the films now because of this #it's a nice scene for aragorn & really reaffirms his kindness & nobility #but dear lord. look at how they mischaracterized my girl. #re; éowyn of rohan. ( strong she seemed & stern as steel ) #meta; éowyn.

[captainderyn]

Shoutout to my 7th grade english teacher who absolutely could’ve looked at my thinly veiled Wulfagorn fanfic and my Warrior-Cats-But-Magic-Horses and crushed my creativity and writing but chose to roll with it and boost my confidence. I feel like I owe teachers like that thanks for why I still write.

#yes there was a time pre Raenor #no i don’t want to talk about it #14 year old Deryn was projecting her crush on Aragorn into my writing #don’t look too deep into it it’s not that deep #captainderyn rambles #things i’d get canceled for in today’s times: Wulfagorn edition #i think i still have the fix somewhere #if you knew me in middle school i’m not shaming myself but you deserve compensation #i won’t shame myself for being a kid but my lord hyperfixation was intense #and i was trying really hard to make myself a person i was not as a 14yr old does #if you knew me in high school i need y’all to know i got therapy i’m good now #edit fic not fix

[verkomy]

I think about this scene at least four times a week

But Aragorn smiled. ‘It will serve,’ he said. ‘The worst isnow over. Stay and be comforted!’ Then taking two leaves, he laid them on his hands and breathed on them, and then he crushed them, and straightway a living freshness filled the room, as if the air itself awoke and tingled, sparkling with joy. And then he cast the leaves into the bowls of steaming water that were brought to him, and at once all hearts were lightened. For the fragrance that came to each was like a memory of dewy mornings of unshadowed sun in some land of which the fair world in spring is itself but a fleeting memory. But Aragorn stood up as one refreshed, and his eyes smiled as he held a bowl before Faramir’s dreaming face. ‘Well now! Who would have believed it?’ said Ioreth to a woman that stood beside her. ‘The weed is better than I thought. It reminds me of the roses of Imloth Melui when I was a lass, and no king could ask for better. Suddenly Faramir stirred, and he opened his eyes, and he looked on Aragorn who bent over him; and a light of knowledge and love was kindled in his eyes, and he spoke softly. ‘My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?’ ‘Walk no more in the shadows, but awake!’ said Aragorn. ‘You are weary. Rest a while, and take food, and be ready when I return.’ ‘I will, lord,’ said Faramir. ‘For who would lie idle when the king has returned?’

J. R. R. Tolkien, The Return of The King

#aragorn #faramir #lotr #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings #the return of the king #tolkien #fanart #book illustration #my art #verkomy #verkomy 2023 #procreate

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Established Steddie, they have been living together for over a decade, did their best to heal their wounds from the Upside Down and learn to enjoy life again. It's not easy but they do it.

When the Lord of the Rings movies come out, it's actually Steve who suggests watching them to Eddie. He really tries engaging with Eddie's passions, but his focus is not the greatest when it comes to books. That doesn't mean he doesn't listen to Eddie ramble about them though - he knows all about hobbits, second breakfasts, the culture of smoking in the Shire...Eddie admires a lot of characters from the books, but ever since experiencing the Upside Down fuckery, he actually admits that the hobbits had a point. Good food, even better company and good tobacco? What else does one need? It also inspires Steve a few years later to prepare a full day of hobbit-inspired meals for their trilogy marathon when the extended editions come out. But this is about their first time watching the movies.

They both go to the movie theater excited. Steve is familiar with most of the characters, including Eddie's self-admitted crush on Aragorn. And Steve can see why, he can see so much good in all the members of the fellowship. After the first movie, he's wiping his eyes because Boromir deserved better. Eddie has a lot to say about what was lost in adaptation, but Steve knows Eddie loves those movies and would cut off his only remaining nipple before missing the next ones.

The Two Towers have Steve rooting for the ents and he feels strangely touched about how everyone underestimates Pippin, yet it's him who gets the ents to march. He really can't pick a favorite character. He can't wait for the third movie.

They go to the premiere of the Return of the King with Eddie. They secretly hold hands in the last row, and Steve watches the ride of the Rohirrim with bated breath. He clenches his hand in Eddie's when Theoden gets gravely injured, but then Éowyn is there and...oh.

He is staring slack-jawed at the scene. Éowyn's large, terrified eyes, the towering frame of the Witch King. Her posture was fearful, crouched, but still she faced him. And something surfaces in his head, something he's long forgotten.

He's unusually queit when they come back home, he still loves the rest of the movie, almost cries at "my friends, you bow to no one,", then definitely cries at Frodo leaving the Middle Earth. But there is still that something and Eddie can sense it. When they're falling asleep together, Eddie finally asks him. And Steve's had enough time to process what he felt.

"When Éowyn faced the Witch King...it reminded me of what it felt like. I mean, for the first time. I know it's stupid because saw so much unnatural shit, but...it's the first time that I have hard time forgetting," he admits quietly. "She reminded me of me in 1983 so much. I had no clue what I was getting myself into. I thought I'd do the right thing, but then I had a gun pointed at me, they both had blood on their hands...and then it appeared."

Eddie doesn't speak, he only holds Steve closer.

"It was so tall. I remember that petal-like mouth, those teeth, but mostly...I remember the crippling fear. I felt absolutely terrified. I couldn't move. There was even a moment when I thought of running away, but...I couldn't leave them there. Seeing someone go through something similar and being praised for being a hero...it makes me think. I used to be so ashamed for freezing in that moment. For even considering running away. But Éowyn...she was like me." There's awe in his voice and warmth, relief. "She had no idea what she was getting into. She froze. She didn't do everything perfectly and gracefully like Legolas or something, but when it mattered...she did what she had to."

He holds Eddie tighter and asks, almost shyly: "Will it offend you that I think she's my favorite character? Not Aragorn or Sam?"

Eddie just shakes his head and drops a kiss to Steve's hair. "Nah. She suits you well. And you're both amazing."

And if it becomes a silly endearment in their household, that Steve is sometimes called the Shieldmaiden of Hawkins? ("I'm not a maiden, Eddie!" "I'm not calling you a shieldboy or shieldbachelor, Steve!") Then Steve feels a hint of something that he thought he'd renounced, but now, for the first time he feels it's deserved - pride.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steddie drabble #lord of the rings steddie #not proofread I'm sleep deprived af

[itsfeckinwimdy]

10 Types of Kisses

Various LOTR/TH x Reader

Pairings: Aragorn, Fili, Haldir, Kili, & Legolas x Reader (separately).

Pronouns: n/a.

Prompt(s): 10 types of kisses by @urfriendlywriter. You can find her post here. (I used 9/10 of them).

Word Count: 3.4k words (3415)

Warnings: No beta, we die like Boromir. open wounds (Aragorns + Fili's), marriage (Fili's), swearing (Kili's), mentions of battle + death + blood (Legolas).

Tree Speaks: I had a lot of fun writing this but it also went into territory that I'm not particularly comfortable with writing yet so we'll see how this pans out.

Translations: amad - mother, dwarrowdams - a term used for female dwarves.

LOTR + TH Masterlist

Published: 25/02/2023

1. Aragorn

soft kisses - where they're just lying beside you, hands playing with your hair as they trail tender kisses all over your lips

The two of you were meant to be sleeping of course, but the gloom of the mines made it hard to settle. You supposed that's why he pulled you away from the others slightly, to a spot just that bit further away.

Aragorn was on first watch as usual, having made it his task since the beginning of the journey, and always insisted that the hobbits and Gandalf got plenty of sleep. But with that came the usual knowing looks between the two of you as Aragorn knew his love wouldn't sleep unless he would.

So with that knowledge, and him sensing his love's rising anxiety at being trapped underground, it now brought them to this.

He tilted your head up from where it was resting against his chest, his hand cupping your face. Aragorn brushed a few loose strands of hair off your face from where it had fallen out of place as his own head tilted down towards yours. His hand gently entwined with your other, and he paused in his movements, allowing you to decide next.

You gently reached up, threading your hand through his long locks and gently pulling him down towards you. He pressed his lips to yours, mouth moving slowly, softly, intimately.

He pulled away, your lips chasing after his, a small smile gracing his lips as he pressed another kiss, and then another, and then another to your lips.

the type of kiss where you can't find words to say after, or the ones where your forehead lingers against each other's

Aragorn's horse trotted through helms deep, having just pulled him up from the river bed where if not found, he would've succumbed to his wounds. He dismounted his horse and received a scolding from Gimli before forcing himself up the staircases and into the deep.

Legolas rose from outside the doors, greeting his friend who believed him dead. The elf pulled him into a familiar embrace before pulling back and making a sarcastic comment about the ranger.

The elf turned a small smile gracing his face before yelling the name of a person. The ranger followed his line of sight. It fell on his love, you.

You looked up after the elf who yelled out to you, before seeing the man you mourned for standing with him. Abandoning your stuff, you ran to him, arms thrown over his shoulders and crushing him to your chest as a few sobs left you.

His arms encircled you as he leant his forehead against yours. He didn't care at that point about the mud caking him and he didn't think you cared enough at that point, so it made no odds on whether he was careful or not.

He pulled back slightly, raising his hand to caress your face before pressing his lips to yours. Tears left both of you as his mouth moved languidly with yours.

Aragorn pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He wanted to say so much to you, fearing that he would never see you again but all thoughts left him as he wished to stay in this moment, longing for nothing but you.

2. Fili

messy kisses - curly hair, ruffled sheets and half-buttoned clothes as you just want more and at that moment, they're the most beautiful soul to you ever

The sun trickled in through the window, bypassing the curtains that hadn't been fully drawn across the night before. The young (ish) couple lounged in the bed, bodies pressed together as close as they could get with the few layers of clothes still between them.

He tilted your head up to meet his, his lips pressing against yours, moving languidly in the early morn. Fili reached up, hand caressing your courting and marriage braids that were still somewhat intact.

He groaned, feeling one of your hands gripping the hair at the base of his neck and the other slipping under his shirt across his chest.

Fili pulled back, eyes fluttering open to meet yours; your own half-lidded as you drew in a few stuttering breaths. It was a pleasant greeting from your love first thing in the morning, one that you would be against again.

You gazed up at Fili, the dwarf hovering over you, careful not to rest his entire body weight on you. The tressels of sunlight filtered through his hair, causing a glow to shine over him.

His eyes trailed over your face, memorising every detail as if it was the first time he saw you.

kisses on your body ♡ frail kisses on your shoulder! on your lower back, belly and trailing to your neck, collarbones, lips.

A cry of pain left your lips.

Oin pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from where it was pressed tightly against your side. The infection from the arrow had spread, the orcs having laced it with something deadly.

The pain wasn't something Fili wished on anyone, much less you. So he did his best to comfort you whilst the infection ransacked your body. His hands firmly held you, one holding the back of your head, and the other gripping your forearm to stop you from forcing Oin's hand away from the wound he was trying his best to treat.

After Oin had doused the cut in water, trying to flood any dirt that wormed its way in, Fili pulled you closer. The healer moved back to gather some more altheas and cloths, leaving you curled against your prince's chest.

Fili dropped his head down to your shoulder, as your tears continued to douse his shirt - not that he cared as it was covered in sweat, grime, and whatever else from the trip across middle earth - his hand on your head slipping down to the back of your neck, stroking his fingers in what he hoped was a soothing pattern.

He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, the fabric of your tunic had been pulled away, cut away for easier access. It would need replacing, he noted, but hoped that it would be enough to cover you until the sun rose again.

Fili continued his ministrations, pressing another kiss further up your shoulder. And then another at the junction where it met your neck. He considered pressing one to your neck, in that one spot he knew made you shiver, but with the way you were sitting in his lap you were already considered improper in public, so he begrudgingly decided against it.

Oin chose to return at that moment, pressing the churned-up altheas against your wound and then tying the cleanest cloth over it. You cried out in pain, more tears falling. It was like someone was driving a burning knife into your arm, over, and over, and over again. The pain rolling in waves.

Fili kept whispering words of praises and comfort, the Kadzhul translations lost in your mind as all you could feel was the pain, and him.

The knot was finally tied on the bandage. Fili slid his hand from the back of your neck to cup your face, pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead before leaning his own upon yours.

I'm here, you're safe now, I love you, the action spoke more words than Fili could find himself saying.

3. Haldir

lazy kisses as they admire you - fingers delicately trialing your jaw as they kiss your lips

"Haldir," you groaned, leaning back against his chest, head turned up to face him. A smile graced his lips, his eyes locked with yours, shining full of love.

It wasn't often you got to spend a prolonged period of time with your Marchwarden, especially with him being gone for months at a time to guard Lothlórien's borders. So any time you spent with him was precious, even if you knew he would be leaving at the end of it again.

The braid in his hair was loose, albeit from your hands running through his hair earlier, causing him to have a sexy, but dishevelled look. The thought of elves being supermodels no matter what state they were in flashed through your mind again causing you to chuckle slightly.

Haldir raised his hand, letting it linger under your jaw as he delicately leaned down to place another kiss against your lips. Warmth bloomed through you and as his lips moved against yours, all thought about him having to leave again in a few days retreated into the depths of your mind.

You were drunk off the taste of him, off his kisses as he stole your breath each time. And nothing would ever change that.

goodbye kisses - kisses lingering like liquor in each other's lips, bitter but sweet, "I'll always come back to you, love. you're my home after all."

The boats gifted to the fellowship had just finished being prepared and were packed full of provisions to last you a good while.

The thought of having to leave your home again haunted you but not just because it was where you lived. No, because this time you were leaving your love, not knowing when you were to see him again. He was your home.

The Marchwarden was allowed to see his love off, having been granted a week's leave whilst you and the fellowship recovered and stayed in Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien. After you were sent as an emissary to Imladris, Rivendell in the common tongue, and word had returned that you had embarked on a journey to destroy the one ring, Haldir was worried for you.

He knew the history of the ring, as did most if not all elves and was worried about the dangers you may face. He knew that you could protect yourself, having been a sparring partner against you for years, but the worry did not dissipate.

He met you at the shoreline, his hand over his heart in the traditional greeting before he held your hand in his. Sadness filled his eyes as he wished not to see you leave, but knowing that this was a journey you were willing to take.

Haldir leant his head against yours as he fixed the cloak hung around your shoulders, ensuring that the broach was attached properly.

His hands lingered on your waist as he prepared himself to say goodbye again. It was one thing being the one who was leaving, but now that he was on the receiving side for once, he now knew how your heart felt each time he went on patrol. That feeling of not knowing if you were coming back or not eating at his heart.

Your hand on his cheek stole his spiralling mind from his thoughts as your lips pressed against his. A tear threatened to leave his eye as he consumed your kiss like a drug. The fear bubbling in his chest soothing to make way for the love he held for you but the melancholy feeling at having to be parted from you made it more bittersweet than anything.

His lips lingered over yours as you pulled away, his hand raising to stoke a strand of hair back from your face. Haldir wished he could keep you here in his arms but understood the task you had undertaken would not be dropped lightly.

4. Kili

kissing and realising this is the person you'll always love, you'll always want to touch and snuggle with

Kili didn't think he could hold you any closer than he currently was.

You were practically melded into him, hands gripping tightly to the back of his jacket. The clothing was still damp from the thunderous storm you had walked through, but nonetheless had to still wear.

The terror that shot through him as the thunder giant collided with the mountain, believing that he had lost not only his brother but you as well, was something he never wished to feel again. His hands trembled slightly at the thought.

He shifted slightly, taking some pressure off his shoulder whilst pulling you upwards slightly so you were level with him. The ground wasn't pleasant to lie on, less so on his side, and even less so with damp clothes on, but Kili knew this was the company's best option right now.

Kili rested his head against yours, his eyes meeting yours. He nudged his nose with yours affectionately, giving you time to pull away.

It was something he always did, you noted. Every time he wanted to kiss you but couldn't find the words to say it, or was surrounded by too many prying eyes, he did that. Gave you that tell that allowed you to decide what happens next.

You tentatively leant forwards, tilting your head upwards ever so slightly, letting your lips press against his. There was no rush. No incessant desire to pull the other closer, just him.

Kili moved his lips slowly with yours, savouring every moment that he got with you. Fuck, he loved you. The realisation pulled at his heartstrings more, knowing that he could've lost you today.

prohibited kiss - you're not even supposed to be seeing each other but your hands are on his hair and his hands around your waist, lower bodies pressing into each other as you kiss

Laughter radiated through your body as you were pulled through the endless turns and corridors of Erebor. The stone walls were lined with torches and braziers all lit with fires burning brightly.

To anyone else, it would be a maze, a catacomb of tunnels that unless sense was made of them, would surely lead to your demise. But years of living there had engraved the pathways into your mind, and no doubt Kili's.

His hand dragged you to a secluded corner, himself coming to a halt. He could no longer hear the guards trying to follow the two of you. Pride flooded his chest as he gazed back at you, finally alone with his betrothed.

You were finally able to get a good look at him, now that he didn't have all the dwarrowdams fawning over him. Even if he wasn't "beautiful" by dwarf standards, he was still a prince and would have people trying to gain his favour.

But his title didn't matter to you. Kili did.

And by the creator himself, did you love the way he looked. His hair tousled from the running, and the short beard he was so desperately trying to grow accentuated his face.

But the ceremonial robes that hung to his body? You couldn't resist.

He found himself pushed back, pinned against the pillar. Kili's eyes locked with yours, the same fire of desire within him, burning through you.

Your lips pressed with his, mouths moving frantically with the others. Your hands that gripped onto the front of his robes slid up, trailing up his neck and into his hair, pulling slightly to press him into you more.  A groan left him at a particularly harsh tug before your hand moved to trace his courting braid.

He pulled away, panting, breathless, kissing you again and pulling you into him, arms gripping your waist, hands in his hair, your bodies practically merging into one. If his Amad caught him now, he wouldn't even have to face the scornful looks of Dwalin, he would already be lying in his grave.

But could he let you go? Fuck no.

5. Legolas

shy kisses - when you're the one pulling them closer, and they nuzzle their face in your crook after the kiss, hands around your waist as their ears get red

You were scared. If anything you were currently lustful, but you were about to fight in a war against ten thousand troops with an army of less than a third of that. So you were scared.

Legolas had turned to where you leant against one of the pillars, choosing to come and check all the fastenings on your armour. He was meticulous and methodical as he went to each and every one, adjusting where he deemed necessary whilst checking it caused you no discomfort.

A soft smile graced your face, as you watch his gentle movements before reaching out to cup his face in one of your hands. A blush, so subtle anyone who didn’t know Legolas would miss it, warmed his face, his head lifting and eyes locking with yours. It was as if he was staring straight into your soul, his piercing grey eyes full of love but fear.

You pulled him towards you, Legolas leaning his head down as his hand held over yours on his face, the other resting gently on your waist. Leaning up, you gently pressed your lips to his. Just once, mind you, the action as tender as possible, letting him come to you.

Legolas leant into you, pressing his lips back against yours, moving at a slow pace. He wanted to savour this moment as much as possible before the two of you walked to what could be your deaths.

ahem.

The clearing of the person's throat sprung the two of you apart, you mentally preparing for the endless stream of apologies to whichever passerby caught you, only for it to be someone you knew all too well.

"Aragorn." You spoke, heavily embarrassed to be caught with your lover.

The ranger looked between the two of you, his face being that awful neutral resting one making it so you couldn't judge his feelings on the matter. Aragorn must have read the panic starting to creep up in you as a teasing smile broke out.

“I have no qualms with this,” he began before looking over his shoulder towards the entrance of the armoury, “but the people of Rohan may not be as forgiving if you are caught.”

He turned on his heel, making his way up the staircase and leaving the two to their devices.

A moment passed and then a chuckle left your lips as a sigh left Legolas’. His head fell to your shoulder as the blush absconding his cheeks spread like wildfire tinting his ears a rosy colour.

At least it was only Aragorn, you mused, If Gimli had found you then he wouldn’t stop teasing your elf.

kisses of reassurance - saying that you're safe, still with them, that your heart is still beating wildly in your chest, that they couldn't get rid of you if they tried, that for some insane reason, you're not dead yet

Your chest heaved, trying to inhale as much air as possible as you sprinted up the mud-soaked hill. Aragorn had yelled for the soldiers to retreat into Minas Tirith and you were making your way as fast as you could until an arrow pierced your shoulder.

The doors were closed and sealed as you entered alongside the last few stragglers, a resounding bang from the wood hitting the stone frame. The room spun on its axis.

The throbbing pain in your arm continued, each ebb seeming stronger which was probably due to the adrenaline wearing off. Maybe you should've stayed fighting, it surely couldn't hurt as much as your arm did, you thought as your uninjured arm reached out to hold yourself up against the wall.

Giving up on keeping yourself upright, you slid falling somewhat ungracefully to the floor, blood dripping from your wound and soaking your sleeve. It was funny how much damage one arrow could cause.

You blinked.

The sun had risen, and from where you could see it, it was around mid-morning. Your eyes focused and you could see a worried face in a sea of platinum blonde hair. Legolas.

Ignoring the sound of the elf’s worry, you pushed yourself up into a seated position, as he gracefully knelt down next to you. His hands mindlessly moved to cup your face, as he had to pull his eyes away from your crudely bandaged arm. The arrow had been jagged and cut more as it pierced you, causing more blood to be lost.

Your hand covered one of his as Legolas moved to press his forehead to yours.

“I'm okay,” you whispered, breaking the silence between the two of you. Your thumb stroked the back of his hand absentmindedly, as you tilted your head up, meeting his lips with yours. It was one of desperation, longing and fear. A shuddered breath left you as the two of you broke apart.

“We’re okay.”

#aragorn x reader #aragorn imagine #fili x reader #fili durin x reader #fili imagine #haldir x reader #haldir imagine #kili x reader #kili durin x reader #kili imagine #legolas x reader #legolas imagine #legolas greenleaf x reader #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit imagine #lotr x reader #lotr imagine #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings imagine #pronouns: n/a #fic: drabble/imagine #tree writes lotr + th fics

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hii I like your writings! If you're still taking requests, can you write something about Eomer and the female reader? The reader is Aragorn's older sister. A ranger and a renowned warrior. After Eomer personally meets the owner of the stories he's been hearing for years, he may begin to fall in love with her. If you write, thank you in advance, if you don't I totally understand, no problem.~

Greetings, Anon! I'm SO sorry it took me so long to get to this request. It has been sitting in my inbox for a hot minute. Thank you so much for reaching out and dropping this off. I hope you enjoy this little thing I put together.

A Sudden Spark

Éomer x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: mild suggestive themes, slight canon-divergence, fluff, yearning, crush at first sight

Word Count: 1.4k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

The Great Shadow is fading.

Evil is not gone. It is simply receding, lingering in the farthest reaches, waiting for the final blow of steel that will eventually come. There is a brightness that stretches over everything like a warm blanket draped across the shoulders. It is as if the Sun returned after a long sleep.

Éomer breathes deep, allowing the brilliance of sunshine and the floral aroma on the wind to fill his lungs. A peace settles over him, a gentleness that extinguishes all ache from the last few months. Éomer is battle-weary. He lost his uncle, and nearly lost his sister.

A few years of peace are what he and everyone needs.

Turning away from the Pelennor Fields, Éomer reenters the feast hall of Merethrond. Taking up residence beside a tall, white pillar, Éomer observes the crowd around him, drinking from his mead cup. Everyone is in a celebratory mood. As they should be.

The battle is over. Gondor has a king. And yet, there is still so much to do.

Éomer celebrates along with them. The mead is delicious if a bit strong, and he has a tender urge to experience life. A fair maiden with lovely lips and curves would surely satiate that subtle hunger.

But darkness and duty lurk in the back of his mind. The bright sunshine and fresh air only quieted it for a moment. Rohan is without a king. Éomer will take up the title. He has not officially been crowned but it will happen after all of this is done. From this point on, Éomer must serve his people in more ways than he has previously. While he has always been a ferocious fighter and a skilled rider, the politics of ruling will become a new burden.

Éowyn will support him, but for how long? She is currently tangled up in Faramir’s arms, the two of them moving across the floor in a dance that sends the bottom of her dress spinning. Her smile is wide and pure, cheeks lightly flushed from exertion and most certainly from the beginnings of love. Faramir’s smile is just as wide and bold, their gazes locked on one another as if there is no one else in the room.

No. Éomer will not always have his sister. It appears that he will lose her to another sooner rather than later. But he is not upset. If anything, he is happy for her. She deserves so much, especially after all they’ve lost.

That leaves only him. He too will need someone at his side that is more than simple counsel. Éomer will need a wife. That is the reality of things. Someone for him to love and to love him in return, to birth his children, to listen and give advice, and to assist in taking care of the realm. While it is a duty, Éomer deeply longs for companionship.

But all this responsibility subdues the celebratory mood. It slots his thoughts into all that must be done on his return to Edoras.

Éomer is happy for Aragorn. He is happy that Gondor has a king, and that Gondor will be a great ally. He is happy that Aragorn has reunited with the woman he loves, and that the lands are no longer scarred by darkness and death.

He takes a long swig of his mead, leaning harder against the pillar as he observes the dancers in the middle of the hall. The mead is strong and sinking into his bones. The buzz is sharp in his blood.

“Not joining in?” The feminine voice draws Éomer’s attention away from the dancing couples and to the end of his right shoulder.

Éomer freezes, his mead cup halfway to his mouth. The woman standing next to him smiles sweetly. Your gentle beauty is soft and inviting. As Éomer continues to stare, that sweetness morphs into amusement, and that one look sends a little shiver up his spine to slice through his heart.

When he doesn’t answer, you arch a single eyebrow, and Éomer hastily clears his throat.

“Not for me,” he admits, immediately drinking some of his mead.

“Dancing?”

Are you asking him? It feels like you are but Éomer hasn’t always been successful about understanding a woman’s signals when she’s interested. Usually, Éomer is the one approaching.

Éomer nods because he doesn’t trust his voice. He might choke on his words this time instead of a simple cough.

There is a stretch of silence before you speak again. “But you are celebrating.” You nod toward his cup. Éomer briefly glances at your empty hands.

“And you are not partaking,” he comments.

You laugh. “The Lord of the Mark is observant,” you tease, smile stretching toward your ears.

Another stretch of silence, and your eyebrows start to rise toward your hairline, head tilting slightly. Éomer blinks and then heat rushes up his cheeks.

By the Gods, he should have realized sooner.

Éomer pushes off from the pillar, straightening his shoulders and back, smoothing the front of his formal tunic. “Would you—”

“Yes,” you reply automatically, eagerly reaching for him.

Your hand is warm in his. Éomer follows, allowing you to lead, dropping his drink somewhere on a random table before entering the crowd of dancers. The music is upbeat and light. Éomer wouldn’t call himself graceful, but he did grow up learning traditional dances for this very reason.

But you continue to lead, and somehow that is comforting. Éomer is always prepared to take charge and make decisions. He does none of that now. You are smiling, clasping his hand, this stranger that has suddenly captured all his attention.

Perhaps forgetting for a bit is a good thing.

Éomer goes through two dances with you before the music slows a bit. Before, he hardly had a chance to speak, but now the two of you are close together, bodies pressed tight. He briefly glances over your shoulder and notices Arwen’s smile. She is watching him, and you. His gaze falls to the man beside her.

There is a slight frown on Aragorn’s face. Why is he frowning? Why does he appear concerned?

“You know my name but I’m afraid I do not know yours,” says Éomer, his face slightly tilted toward your own.

You give it casually and Éomer blanches. He knows that name. He knows who you are.

For the time he’s known Aragorn, Éomer has heard the stories from others, never from the man himself. He keeps you secret, not leaning into the tales told about you. You are his sister, the elder but not by much. But you are not soft and delicate, or so Éomer has been told.

You are daring. Adventurous. A fierce warrior and Ranger. You wield sword and bow with gracefulness and deadly aim. Éomer had heard that the Rangers came during the battle, but he did not see you. Then again, Éomer was far too busy trying to keep himself and his fellow Rohirrim alive.

The image he built of you in his head does not match the woman before him. The way you match his every step and how your hands feel against him, all speak to gentler things. Before him is a sweet and soft woman, but as he peers closer, Éomer notices the subtle shifts of your movements. There is a warrior’s grace to the fluidity of your body against his and with every leading step.

There is power within you along with the soft.

Éomer’s heart suddenly snags, stuttering before becoming a pounding drumbeat. When you turn your smile back to him all coherent thought leaves his brain except one.

She’d be a fierce queen.

The music swells and then melts away, and you release Éomer to step back and bow deeply. Éomer mimics the movement. When the two of you straighten, it is at the exact same time, and then you step far too close for a stranger.

“This is where we part,” you murmur, soft lips forming the words yet also sending Éomer’s brain into a foggy scramble.

You incline your head and begin to draw away. Like a lightning strike, Éomer moves into the space you just occupied, snatching your wrist to pull you close.

Your lips part in surprise, chest heaving slightly. Éomer’s gaze drops to the exposed tops of your breasts.

“This is where we part,” he repeats, gaze returning to your face. “For now.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @berarenado @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics @beebeechaos

#eomer x reader #eomer fanfiction #eomer fanfic #eomer eadig #eomer #eomer of rohan #eomer x you #eomer fic #eomer fluff #eomer x f!reader #eomer x fem!reader #eomer x female reader #lord of the rings fic #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #lord of the rings fluff #lord of the rings #lord of the rings movies #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr fic #lotr fluff #lotr movies #lotr eomer

[novelmonger]

Some highlights from the Director/Writer Commentary of The Return of the King with Peter Jackson, Philippa Boyens, and Fran Walsh:

As they mentioned in TTT, they were originally going to put the Smeagol vs. Deagol fight as a flashback during the Dead Marshes. Before they decided to use it to open RotK, their placeholder idea for a scene to open RotK was to do a sped-up helicopter shot from the Paths of the Dead, across the plains of Edoras, to the Golden Hall where Aragorn wakes up from a nightmare (and then goes and talks to Eowyn). Very glad they went the direction they did!

In the final shot they used when Smeagol takes the Ring out of Deagol's hand, the actor playing Deagol actually blinked, but they liked Andy Serkis' performance so much, they had Weta go in and freeze Deagol's eyes so they could use the shot XD

You know, I forget sometimes that they didn't even have Saruman in the theatrical cut at all. Boggles the mind.

In the scene where Aragorn comes out of the Golden Hall and goes to stand next to Legolas, who's looking out at the night...Viggo and Orlando weren't in the country at the same time, so they shot them separately and then put them together @_@

You know, I never thought about this before, but when Gandalf touches Pippin's face, they had to make sure his hands looked extra big! So they used an actor called Big Paul, who had the biggest hands they could find, and Ian McKellen directed him for how to move his hands in the shot XD And Big Paul is the Rohan guard who gets shoved aside when Merry and Aragorn rush up to the top of the wall to watch Gandalf and Pippin leave!

THEY SHOT A SCENE OF LEGOLAS TALKING TO TREEBEARD ABOUT THE ELVES LEAVING MIDDLE-EARTH?!?!?!?!?!?! :O Originally, it was going to link the Isengard scenes to the scene of Arwen and the other Rivendell Elves going through the forest, but then because of all the Edoras stuff in between, the connection was lost. They also said something about Legolas reciting a poem! And joked again about putting it into the 25th anniversary edition. THAT TIME IS COMING UP, PETER JACKSON!!!! I WANNA SEE THIS SCENE!!!!!!

a;lkdsjs;kdfljds;fjl NOW THEY'RE JUST TEASING US. They talked about a "library scene" during the whole sequence where Arwen goes back to Rivendell and confronts Elrond about how he saw her son, etc. They wouldn't say what happened in the "library scene," but talked about how they should include that in the 25th anniversary edition too. a;ldkfjs;dkfljsd;kfljdslfk

The people on set who had a crush on Sean Bean were called "Beanstalkers"! XD That's the best; every fan to this day ought to call themselves that!

Similarly to the scene with Legolas and Aragorn, the little bit with Legolas and Gimli as everyone's getting ready to leave Edoras was filmed separately because Orlando and John weren't in the country at the same time. So they filmed Legolas' shots with Brett, John's scale double, then filmed John's shots later, filming both of them against greenscreen. Then they took some unused footage from the Edoras set and put it in the background. It just boggles my mind how many of these cobbled-together scenes there are, because it feels so much like all the characters are together in the real location!

RED ALERT RED ALERT THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!! They mentioned Beregond!!!! 8D When talking about why they put in the scene where Pippin and Faramir talk (when Faramir says the uniform Pippin's wearing was made for him when he was a child), in order to forge the connection between them that will ultimately lead to Pippin saving Faramir's life, they talked briefly about Beregond! They describe him taking Pippin under his wing, showing him about the city, and called the relationship between them "quite sweet" :3

Another little connection between Pippin and Faramir I don't think I've ever thought about before, that apparently Billy Boyd thought about when doing these scenes, is that Pippin is the only son of the Thain of the Shire, so there may have been a certain amount of pressure and expectation on him. Obviously, he's so young and probably didn't spend too much time worrying about that while scampering about the Shire, but maybe that's something he thinks about while watching the way Faramir and Denethor interact. Maybe a contrast to the way he would interact with his own father, maybe a reminder of the way he would be scolded? Hard to say, but it's interesting to think about.

Uuuuuuughghghg, so frustrating to listen to them talking about the scene on the steps where Frodo sends Sam away DX No matter how many times and how many different ways they explain why they did it, the explanations never quite make sense to me. "We needed there to be more tension." WHY WAS IT NOT TENSE ENOUGH THAT THEY WERE GOING INTO THE LAIR OF A HUGE EVIL SPIDER?! "There wasn't really anything happening on the steps otherwise." YEAH, BECAUSE YOU PUT THE WHOLE CONVERSATION ABOUT STORIES IN THE PREVIOUS MOVIE! Also, why not just cut from one or two shots of them climbing this awful staircase to a shot of them entering the cave? "There needed to be a payoff for Gollum's scheming." WHY WAS GOLLUM BETRAYING THEM TO SHELOB NOT ENOUGH OF A PAYOFF?! "We knew InStInCtIvElY that Frodo needed to enter the cave alone." WHY? WHY?! I've never understood that. They get separated eventually in the book, so why not just ramp up the tension of that in the movie, instead of making the characters so OOC? "We knew it would shock readers of the book, and if we'd changed that, what else might we have changed?" You know...I really, really love these movies, and I appreciate what these three were able to accomplish so much...but sometimes I kind of hate them too -_-

The horses didn't want to walk down the hill on the cobbled streets of Minas Tirith, because their steel shoes were so slippery on the stones. So they all had to be re-shod with rubber shoes. What were horseshoes made of back in ye olden days, though? Iron? Did people run into the same problems back then?

I never really noticed this before, but Aragorn never wears Anduril on his belt! He straps it to his horse, and every time you see him with it, he's just holding the naked blade. This is because they made Anduril so long it was really hard for him to wear it from his belt or to pull it out of the scabbard in a natural way XD

The aerial shot of all the Rohirrim leaving Dunharrow was originally shot to show Gandalf's cart heading into the Shire, but since they didn't use it for that, they repurposed it for RotK!

To get Elijah Wood to foam at the mouth when he's stung by Shelob, they gave him two Alka-Seltzer tablets to put in his mouth and work up some foam with his saliva. I've always wondered how they do that sort of thing in movies, but no one's bothered to explain until now....

Sean Astin's audition scene was holding Frodo after Shelob ;A; Apparently, they (or at least Philippa Boyens) were a little skeptical that an American actor would be able to do Sam's character right, but actually a lot of the English actors who auditioned for the role had a hard time with the Shelob aftermath scene, but Sean nailed it :')

Other than the close-ups, they used a dummy for Faramir on the pyre most of the time. Now I'm just imagining John Noble crouching on top of the pyre, cradling a dummy XD

The first Orc that Aragorn kills on Pelennor fields is played by his son Henry! XD

ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME. They actually filmed Sam pushing past the sort of psychic barrier of the Watchers at the gate of Cirith Ungol, but they didn't put it into the extended edition! I love that part. Like...I'm not even sure why, but I've always thought that was such a cool little detail, and I've always been a bit bummed it wasn't in the movie, though I was thrilled to see the actual Watchers at least there as a sort of homage. And all along, they'd actually filmed something for that after all and I never knew! :O

You know, I never thought about it before, but it makes sense that they had to replace the sky digitally in a lot of scenes in Mordor, because of course when they filmed it, the sky wasn't always completely cloudy, but Mordor needs to have a complete cloud cover at all times.

When Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens first saw the footage of Sam carrying Frodo up Mt. Doom, they sent a fax (lolol 1999/2000 technology) to Sean and Elijah. They made the first page look all formal and official, and then on the second page it just said, "You made us cry." :')

Andy Serkis refused to have Gollum stand on two feet until the scene in the Crack of Doom. There were a few times that PJ directed him to lurch onto his feet or something, but Andy wouldn't do it. He wanted to show the difference in Gollum physically when he has the Ring again. What a cool detail!

Originally, the whole part where Frodo's hanging off the ledge and Sam is begging him to reach for him happens after the Ring is destroyed. It's really interesting to consider the slight nuances of how different that would be. The final version makes it almost seem like the Ring is still calling to Frodo, like he wants to fall into the lava and join it, whereas originally it was more like "I've lost the Ring and now I have nothing left to live for."

PJ made a sweet comment in the scene where everyone bows to the four hobbits: "This is a moment where there's always a huge sniffle in the audience when the movie's going, and it's usually me." XD

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?! They shot scenes of what happens to the other characters when the hobbits return to the Shire! There is footage out there somewhere of what Legolas and Gimli do, what happens with Faramir and Eowyn!!!! ;aldkfjsd;fkldslfkjd 25th anniversary edition LET'S GOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

#lord of the rings #lotr

[h4rrypotterf4n]

Stuffed animal

Pairing:  Legolas x Reader

Wordcount: 1210 words

Warnings: hurt to comfort; The fellowship being mean to reader

Summary: After the fellowship made fun of you sleeping with a stuffed animal a certain elf is there to comfort you.

Finally, you were able to rest a bit. Aragorn and Gandalf found a clearing in the forest they both agreed on resting for the night. So, the fellowship prepared their bedrolls. When they finished Sam began to cook dinner, Aragorn sharpened his sword, Gandalf watched how Boromir tried to teach the hobbits how to make a fire, Legolas rested with his eyes closed against a tree and you were preoccupied with staring at the elf across from you. You’ve had a crush on him since you first saw him at the council of Elrond. And how could you not? Long blond hair, icy blue eyes, a fierce warrior, you could rant about him all day.

 “My lady,” Aragorn pulled your gaze away, while he gave you a plate of soup.

 “Thanks, Aragorn,” you responded gratefully.

 “You know,” he began as he sat next to you, “you should just tell him, that you fancy him,” you nearly choked on your soup at his declaration.

 “I- what?”

 “Come on, it is painfully obvious that you both like each other,” he left you stunned, to say the least and walked over to Gandalf.

Soon darkness fell upon the camp and the only source of light was the slowly dimming fire. The fellowship sounded asleep, so you slowly sat up and as quiet as possible opened your bag and pulled your stuffed animal out. You can’t sleep without it but felt ashamed of your little habit and chose to hide it from the others. As a woman it was hard enough to proof that you were capable of this quest. You cuddled against it and let the faint sounds of the fire and the snores of Gimli lull you to sleep.

 You woke up to loud laughter from your friends. Groaning you turned to the other side trying to shut them out and get a bit more rest. But as your mind slowly came to its senses, you missed the light weight in your arm. Hastily you opened your eyes to see your little friend wasn’t anywhere near you. You hurriedly began searching for it through your things.

“Do you miss something?”  Gimli laughed at you, while he held your stuffed animal up.

“Our fierce warrior sleeps with a stuffed animal who would have thought of that?” Boromir mocked you. You looked around hoping someone would defend you. But the hobbits just laughed along, even Aragorn and Gandalf smirked at their cruel jokes and Legolas was nowhere in sight, he was probably looking for any danger ahead of us.

 As the humiliation became too much and you felt tears threatening to fall you ran into the forest. You only stopped when your vision was too blurry to see properly. Sinking down with your back against a tree you buried your head in your bend knees, while you continued to cry.

Meanwhile Legolas came back from inspecting the further road. Thanks to his elven ears he heard the conversation, and he was furious. Because unbeknownst to you he also had his eyes on you since the day he first saw you.

 “What was that?” Legolas asked in a stern tone.          

 “Oh, we just had a bit fun,” Gimli answered still laughing.

 “Fun for whom? Because of what I’ve witnessed (Y/N) just ran crying into the forest,” the elf bit angrily back.

 “Maybe it’s better if she’s gone. I mean if she still sleeps with a stuffed animal she can’t be of much help, can she?” Boromir piped in defending Gimli.

 “She is a strong warrior with a kind and loving heart. She is a perfect addition to this company. She has proven herself often enough. We all know that. And besides everyone has something from home to remind us of it,” Legolas pointed out and everyone fell silent knowing he was right, „For example Gimli, you have your necklace with pictures of your family. Aragorn, you have your evenstar and Frodo, you have your mithril shirt. So why shouldn’t she be allowed to have something, that remind her of her home?” he went on in rage and the fellowship let their gaze fall to the ground in shame, knowing he was right.

 “While I go looking for her, I advise you all start thinking of a good apology for her,” he said already walking in the direction you took off but not without your stuffed animal.

While he searched for you, he freed it from a few leaves that were tangled in the soft fur from sleeping on the ground until he picked up quiet sobs ahead of him.

The sight in front of him broke his heart your whole body shook with the sobs you desperately tried to muffle with your hand.

 “I think you forgot someone,” Legolas spoke as softly as he could. Startled you looked up to see he was now sitting beside you with your little comforter sitting in his lap.

 “G-Go away, Legolas,” it warmed your heart that he was trying to comfort you, but you do not want him to see you like this.

 “So, you want me to return with your friend?”

 “It’s stupid anyway,” you grabbed it and threw it away which shocked Legolas. The elf stood up and walked over to the poor animal to pick it up.

“I do not think it’s stupid. I actually think it is quite relatable,” you looked up at him to find there was no lie in his eyes and your stuffed animal closely held to his chest.

 “You don’t?”

 “No, I could not for I too miss my home. Every one of us does and it is cruel to make fun out of something, that helps you,” the elf explained softly sitting next to you again.

 “I got it from my parents when I was a child. It’s the only thing I still have of my family. They died

w-when I was young, “

 “Which makes it even more understandable that you carry it with you,” 

 “You really do not think of it as stupid or childish? “

 „No, I don’t. I can’t think that of someone I love, “

he blurted out and started to lightly blush as he realized what he had said. 

 „Y-you love me? “ You asked kind of shocked. 

He thought for a second what he should do now but decided for the truth. 

 „Yes, “ he whispered as he looked to his feet.  

 “I love you too,” you whispered back making eye contact with him when he looked up. You watched as a smile came upon his features and involuntary you mimicked him. Slowly he leaned closer to you but before your lips touched, he stopped. 

 “May I?” Legolas whispered looking down towards your lips. Instead of answering you closed the gap between you two. Trying to convey every emotion Legolas felt for you he kissed you back. 

 “How about we go back and give the others the chance to apologize to you?” He asked when you both broke away from one another for air. You nodded in agreement and stood up with the help of Legolas hand.  For the whole way back, he didn’t let go of your hand instead he looked at you with a smile on his face. 

#legolas x reader #lord of the rings #lotr fellowship #aragorn #gimli #boromir #frodo baggins #merry brandybuck #pippin #legolas #lotr fanfic #lotr #stuffed animal #legolas fanfiction #legolas imagine #legolas oneshot #samwise gamgee #legolas fluff #legolas comfort #gandalf #legolas fanfic

[ass-deep-in-demons]

Can I please get a headcanon of Boromir having a crush on Gandalfs apprentice who looks after the hobbits like their mum? Boromir is kinda their dad/cool uncle so they both grow close together.

Also Boromir, apprentice and hobbits falling to sleep in a big cuddle puddle 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻

Girl (gn) thank you so much for this awesome ask! I get the feeling that you had something slightly different in mind, but I suffer from a plotter's disease and I created an entire plotline in these headcanons and also two mini-fics. There's some angst, but there is CUDDLES, as requested :D Hope you will like it :)

Boromir x Gandalf's Apprentice

headcanons and two ficlets

Found Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Happy Ending, rated G, 4250 words, she/her pronouns for OC, TW: canon Moria events & aftermath

I ✦ The Pupil ✦

Gandalf has been around for thousands of years. The peoples of Middle Earth tell different stories about him, but in every corner of the known (and unknown) World one of his many names has been heard.

During his travels, nobody knows exactly when or where, Gandalf finds a young one with magical talent. He does not know what strange anomaly might have caused a child to be born with arcane affinity, normally reserved for the Ainur such as himself, but… stranger things have happened on Arda. Perhaps the Illuvatar himself willed it. If so, it would be unwise to leave the child to its own fate.

At first he visits her home from time to time and shows her his fireworks and his pipe smoke magics. Her caretakers find him strange, but he pays them no heed, comes and goes as he pleases.

His suspicions are confirmed - the child can be taught to replicate some of his simple tricks, proving she is able to tune in to the Song of the Ainur. Her power is not great, barely a wisp of magic compared to Gandalf’s own, but still, it is worth cultivating. Gandalf deems it his duty to take the fledgeling under his wing and make her his pupil.

Gandalf tells his Pupil about his travels and about the secrets of Middle Earth. In time, as she grows, she starts yearning to leave her home and go exploring with the Wizard.

When the Pupil is old enough, Gandalf takes her with him on a journey. They spend years travelling together. Keeping up with Gandalf is not easy for the Pupil, but she perseveres.

With the Grey Wizard, the Pupil visits the Western Kingdoms, the Elven Realms, and Eriador. She helps Gandalf with his quests and meets many new people.

Later, when she is more experienced, Gandalf deems her ready to spread her wings and have her own adventures. She travels doing errands and fulfilling quests that her Master assigns her.

She spends some time studying under Saruman - from him she learns the basics of arcane knowledge. However, Saruman fails to appreciate her quiet, subtle talent. He is not pleased with her progress, nor is she with his teaching methods, and they part ways on non-too-amicable terms.

Her stay in Mirkwood is much more fruitful. From the Silvan Elves, she picks up the basics of scouting and learns how to read the signs of the Forest. She is fascinated with Radagast, and dedicates time to assist him in his tasks as the Guardian of the Woods - learning about the powers that lie dormant in the ancient trees. Radagast teaches her how to care for animals and heal what is broken. Nurturing and patient by nature, the Pupil responds well to the Brown Wizard’s tutelage.

The Pupil is present in Mirkwood when Aragorn brings Gollum there for safeguarding, and later when Gandalf comes to question him. She learns of the Ring and of Sauron’s return.

Gandalf assigns her a mission to go to Erebor, to enlist the help of the Dwarves. She arrives at Rivendell with Gloin, Gimli and the rest of the Dwarven deputation.

She is not deemed important enough to join the Council of Elrond, and besides, Gandalf has other plans for her. He sends her forth to scout the gap of Rohan, in case they need to pass there on their way to Mordor.

After the Council and the period of preparations, the Fellowship sets off. The Pupil finds them on the trail further South. She is able to clear any doubts for them: the Gap of Rohan is overrun with Saruman’s spies, and so the passage is closed to them.

They decide to go through the Redhorn Gate. Gandalf orders his Pupil to return to Rivendell, but to his surprise, for the first time since he took her as his ppprentice, she defies him. She wants to travel with the Fellowship, intent on helping her Master in any way she can.

Faced with her obstinacy, Gandalf finds a task in which she can indeed be of use. He’s been growing more and more irritated with the Hobbits’ mischief. They are loud, impish, and unused to living in the wilderness. “So long as you keep the Hobbits from pestering me, you may travel with us. But don’t say I didn’t warn you, my stubborn Pupil,” he grumbles.

The Pupil, who is of a gentle and giving nature, but also stern when she needs to be, quickly forms a familial bond with not only the Hobbits, but the entire Fellowship.

She has met Aragorn during her earlier travels with Gandalf. The Ranger knows he can rely on her scouting, and is relieved to have someone beside himself and Legolas who knows their way around the woods. She helps Aragorn gather herbs and imbues his mixtures with her subtle healing spells.

Though she’s met Legolas in passing during her Mirkwood days, she only becomes better acquainted with him during the Fellowship’s trek south. Legolas is glad to know someone who is well acquainted with his home, and shares his love for the woods.

Because of her earlier mission to Erebor, and the shared journey from the Lonely Mountain to Rivendell, she is well acquainted with Gimli. The dwarf teases her for being “too elfy” and a “tree lover”, but he is very grateful for her kindness and her efforts to ease tensions within the Fellowship.

Frodo has long known her as Gandalf’s Apprentice, and the rest of the Hobbits warm up to her quickly. They are delighted to be around someone, who, like themselves, isn’t so strongly focused on the topics of warfare and survival. Istead, they bond over their shared appreciation for a good meal and a good laugh. Tasked with keeping them out of trouble, she often mother-hens them, especially Merry and Pippin, who are the youngest.

Boromir is the only one who, not knowing her prior to their meeting on the trail, has some trouble trusting her at first. He is generally suspicious of magic users, and also a little bit jealous of how quickly she builds good rapport with the Hobbits (though he will not admit it).

That being said, he might not be so immune to her caring touch as he thinks…

II ✦ Soup for the Soul ✦

I should not let them fall asleep like that. True although it was, this realisation came to Boromir rather late.

After their failed excursion through the Redhorn Pass, the Fellowship had descended to once again take shelter under the canopy of the woodlands of Eriador. They now had only one route open, through the Mines of Moria, and all save for the Dwarf did not take well to that prospect. They were travelling South, slowly and reluctantly, still recovering from the snowstorm that cut their path.

Earlier today, once they had set up camp, Boromir had organised a fencing lesson for Merry and Pippin. He had hoped that some light exercise would speed their recovery and help them regain some of their lost strength. Even Frodo had joined on this occasion, which gladdened Boromir. Their journey had not lasted long, but the first signs of wear and discouragement could be already seen on the young Baggins.

After their sword practice (sword being a generous word for the dirks that the Hobbits carried), they all sat down under a tree to sharpen their blades. Pippin had trouble with maintaining the angle, and asked Boromir to show him how it’s done. As Boromir expertly whetted the dagger, the three hobbits leaned in on him, supposedly to better observe and learn. Boromir was none the wiser, and only Meriadoc’s loud snore made him finally realise that the three Halflings had fallen asleep, using his padded shoulders and arms as pillows. Now he was stuck under them, not wanting to disturb their sleep - not when Frodo was peaceful at last, after several nights during which Boromir had heard the Hobbit toss and turn.

Tired and hungry, Boromir resigned himself to his fate. As he could not move without waking the little ones, and it was gradually getting dark, he quietly observed the Fellowship’s campfire from a distance. Gandalf was sitting on a log by the fire and smoking his pipe, clearly content to have some peace and quiet. Samwise was busy cleaning after the meal - a stew which Boromir did not have the chance to taste yet, and probably wouldn’t now, not while it was hot at least. Gimli had been assigned with securing the perimeter - it was his turn to scout the surrounding forest and make sure they were safe for the night. Aragorn and Legolas were seated together some distance away from the campfire and discussing something in hushed tones - likely their strategy for approaching the Gates of Moria. Boromir was rarely included in their talks, which sat ill with him. Not for the first time he regretted their less-than-optimal introduction during the Council in Imladris.

There remained one more member of their party - the woman who everyone except Boromir seemed to already know. They called her the Pupil, likely because of Mithrandir. My young Pupil this, my clever Pupil that, my stubborn Pupil, my silly Pupil... - the Wizard  would always say, and it stuck. Boromir could not tell her age - she looked neither old nor young. She did bear elven nor dwarven features, nor orcish for that matter… and yet he could not be sure she was wholly of the race of Men. Boromir did not know what to make of her.

Right now she was crouching next to the campfire, her back turned to Boromir, so he could not see what she was doing. He had not trusted her, at first. She hadn’t been part of their original team. She did not seem proficient in combat, nor very sturdy. He had been angry when she had declared they couldn’t travel through the Gap of Rohan, as he himself would have preferred that route to any other. And yet her intel had proved correct. She was also useful in other ways. During the snowstorm atop Caradhras, he had witnessed her magic - not flashy, like the Wizard’s fireworks, but rather slow and subtle. Mithrandir refused to light a fire for fear of drawing the wrong kind of attention, but she had used her quiet talent to keep the little ones from freezing with potions. She had imbued Boromir’s leather grieves with some sort of a warming spell, too, even though it had seemed to sap at her strength. He had to assume she was loyal to the Grey Pilgrim, and so, by extension, loyal to the Ringbearer’s mission.

He noticed that she stood up, then. Instead of addressing the Wizard, she turned around to face Boromir, and he noticed a bowl in her hands. He then guessed what her purpose by the fire had been: she was heating up the leftovers of the stew. Slowly, carefully, so as not to spill anything, she approached Boromir and the Hobbits’ resting place under the tree.

She kneeled and set the steaming stew on the forest floor beside them. Then, once their eyes met, she touched her lips with her finger signalling him to remain quiet. That he could do. She noiselessly stood up and scampered off back to the campfire, leaving Boromir once again. The smell of the stew reached his nostrils and he cursed quietly. Some help she was, leaving him to smell the meal, but without the means to taste it! Not without disturbing the Hobbits, at least.

But he was not left to pine after the stew for long. Soon she returned to him, carrying a bundle that she then unfolded to reveal a chunky warm blanket. She covered them with it, Boromir and the three sleeping hobbits, tucking the edges in gently. It did help to ward off the evening chill, Boromir admitted.

Then she plopped down to the forest floor next to Boromir, sat cross legged and picked up the bowl once again. Is she going to make me watch her eat it? Boromir thought and felt a surge of irritation at her inconsiderate behaviour. She scooped up a hearty portion of the stew with a spoon, but, to Boromir’s alarm, she did not bring it to her  mouth. Instead, she directed the spoon surely and smoothly to Boromir’s own lips.

In that moment, Boromir would sooner open his mouth from sheer shock than for the sake of any sort of cooperation. He was a Man grown! It has been… nigh to four decades since he had let anyone spoon-feed him last. He turned his head away firmly. The Pupil, however, would not give up so easily. She reached out with her free hand and gently swept Boromir’s hair away from his face.

The gesture made him flustered. It has been… quite some time since any woman has touched his face. He was thankful for the shroud of dusk. He had nowhere to run however, and he felt her nudge his lips with the spoon, urging him to open his mouth. He was forced to meet her gaze once again. 

What he found on her face was not amusement, nor condescension, but rather... gentle pleading. She really was only trying to help.

"Let me", she mouthed silently.

He shook his head and pursed his lips even tighter.

Then, as if his own body wanted to play tricks on him, they both heard his traitorous stomach give out a loud growl.

The Pupil raised her eyebrow at Boromir.

Well? Are you going to deny that you’re hungry now? her expression seemed to demand.

He rolled his eyes as a universal way of saying whatever, I care not, and finally opened his mouth.

A spoonful of warm stew finally landed on his tongue, and he felt the most delightful warmth spread through his body. He had to fight an urge to growl at the pleasant sensation.

The Pupil smiled.

There. That wasn’t so hard, Boromir read from her content face.

This was a good idea, after all, he thought after the second spoon. He had been ravenous, he realised, and the stew was doing wonders for his mood. It was surprisingly nice to have someone take care of him that way. For too long a time he had been only attending to the needs of others, not accepting any help for himself.

He met her concentrated gaze, as she continued to feed him the stew, restoring his strength with each spoonful.

“You did good,” she mouthed silently and Boromir furrowed his brows, confused. “With the little ones,” she added, and vaguely indicated the sleeping Hobbits with her head. Oh, she means the sword-practice, he thought, and felt no small satisfaction from her compliment.

He was reminded of how taking care of Faramir was always a duty that filled him with joy and pride. This was not dissimilar, he realised, and it was nicer still to have someone help him and share some of that responsibility. He felt contentment at what they’d accomplished together: Pippin breathing deeply, with his head resting on Boromir’s arm, Meriadoc snoring quietly slumped against his friend, and Frodo - looking strengthened and at ease, sleeping soundly propped against the tree on Boromir’s other side.

Is this how being a father feels like? What if I had a child of my own one day? he asked himself. But this thought of parenthood that came to him, perhaps for the first time in his life, was so strange and foreign, and so surprising, that he dared not dwell on it any longer. Instead he resigned himself to the gentle care of the strange woman, who turned out to be… not so strange, after all.

III ✦ Picking up the Pieces ✦

Boromir was sure he would never forget the moment Gandalf fell.

He remembered the unearthly heat and the fumes of sulphur that wafted from the hellish chasm. He remembered Mithrandir’s white knuckles, holding on to the collapsed bridge’s edge, and the Wizard’s desperate last message to the Fellowship: Fly, you fools!

But what he remembered the most, and what was was going to forever haunt him, was the cry of Gandalf’s devoted Pupil. Her broken, desperate wail, the kind that a mortally wounded animal might give out, as if her very heart was rent out of her chest and thrown into the fiery pit.

She wanted to jump in after her Master, and would have, but for Boromir’s interference. Unmoved by her screams of protest, he had hoisted her up over his shoulder and heeded the Wizard’s last bidding. He ran.

He ran after the others, despite the army of orcs upon their tail and despite her angry trashing in his grip. He ran to the open sky and to safety, so that they both could live to fight another day.

But right now it did not look like she had any fight left in her. They were, all of the Fellowship, cooped up on the border of Caras Galadhorn, the elven realm of Lothlorien. Aragorn and Legolas were currently negotiating their safe passage through the woodlands with the elven Marchwardens. It was a heated dispute in Sindarin, of which Boromir could catch only certain words, but he understood enough to know they were not likely to face a warm welcome.

The rest of the Fellowship had been allowed to rest. They were, all of them, in foul spirits. Gimli had been quiet ever since he had learned of the tragic fate of Balin’s Kingdom, and Boromir could only surmise that the Dwarf needed his space to fully take in the bad news. He was loath to intrude upon his friend’s quiet contemplation. Frodo and Pippin were weeping openly and Sam was trying to offer them whatever comfort he could, mostly by wiping their wet cheeks and noses time after time.

The state of Gandalf’s Pupil worried Boromir the most. Since he had carried her away from the danger, once she stopped resisting the rescue, she went completely still and quiet, her eyes unseeing. She had not spoken a word, not responded to any attempts at conversation. He could only suspect she was in some sort of shock. He’d seen it on the battlefield enough times to recognize the signs. It made sense;  as Boromir understood it, Mithrandir had been a father figure to the woman, someone she considered family. In a way, with the Wizard, her entire life had fallen down that chasm. He felt helpless; he wanted to console her, but the sheer magnitude of her loss left him overwhelmed.

He felt a tug at his gambeson and looked down. It was Meriadoc.

“Go to her,” the Hobbit whispered.

“I… I would not presume. I do not know what to say to her,” Boromir confessed, dejected.

“Then do not say anything,” Merry insisted. “Just go there and hold her,” he added. “Trust me, it will help.”

Boromir took a hesitant step in her direction. Then another. He spared a thought to his appearance… he was bone-tired, aching and covered in goblin ichor head to toe. Not exactly conducive to physical intimacy. Then again, she was in a similar state, and, really, vanity was the least of their concerns.

Tentatively, he sat next to her on the wooden platform. Up close he could see that, although she was sitting motionless and staring ahead, her eyes were damp. The tears had washed away the dust from her face, forming clean streaks down her cheeks.

He had long since stopped regarding her as merely Gandalf’s Apprentice, or just an ally in a dangerous quest. Instead, upon seeing the state she was in, his heart wept with her…

*

Gone. 

Her mind could not comprehend it. Everything she had learned about the Wizard during their life together contradicted this truth. Her Master could not die, he was simply too powerful, too wise, too… godly, for the mundane laws of life and death to apply to him. And yet, what had happened - happened. She’d seen it with her own eyes and his fall would now play out in her mind again and again, each time shattering the ground that she had built her life on.

Such kindness, such wealth of knowledge as her Master’s would never again grace Middle Earth, she was sure of it. And now that light was gone. Extinguished forever with a mere flick of a monster’s whip.

What shall I do now? Wherever shall I go? she wondered. Was she even welcome in the Fellowship anymore? Ever since she could remember, she had been Gandalf’s Pupil. And now that there was no Gandalf, who was she? A nobody. Aragorn and Frodo likely had no use for a nobody. But such thoughts were too painful to bear in her current state. So, instead she let them go and simply drifted in the darkness of her inner world, that was now forever marred by grief. She did not know where she was, or how much time had passed. A million years wouldn’t be enough to mourn her Master.

The first thing, the first sensation that managed to break through the dark shroud that surrounded her consciousness, was that of the warmth of another. Someone’s arm was on her back, rubbing gentle, soothing circles. Then that very same arm encircled her form and drew her into a hug. She had no wish to be consoled, she didn’t want any comfort. She wanted to cry, to wail and to tear at her clothing… But then she felt Boromir’s familiar presence. Him, she could let close. He had been a comfort to her during their travels many a time. She relaxed gradually and let her head fall back to find support against him.

Slowly but surely, his steadying touch made her come back to her senses and to the present moment. She was seated on the forest floor, she noted, in Lothlorien most likely, if her geographical knowledge had not failed her. Boromir was seated next to her, his back propped against one of the giant trees. He was also holding her in his arms, close to his chest and stroking her shoulder soothingly. His cheek rested atop her head. She had no strength nor care left in her to wonder what this closeness could mean for the two of them. She was just… immensely relieved and thankful for the comfort that his arms offered. She was at her lowest and most wretched, and yet he was willing to share that moment with her. For that, she would be forever thankful.

Boromir’s compassion moved her and tears spilled down her cheeks once again. Against her wishes she started sobbing. She felt the Man next to her stir. For a moment, she thought he would let go of her and leave her to her sorrow. Instead, Boromir tightened his embrace. Then he gently but surely pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“...mise me you’ll never do that again.” She realised he was whispering something to her halfway through his sentence.

“Never do what?” she asked.

“You… Back at the Bridge… at Khazad-dum,” he said quietly, “you wanted to jump after him, didn’t you?” This was no question. “I couldn’t bear it,” he said simply. “Promise me you’ll live.”

“What reason to live do I have left?” she asked. There was no bite to her words, just a simple statement of the facts, as they appeared to her.

“I could help you find a new purpose, if you would but let me,” he whispered to her ear and held her fast in his embrace. Against her better judgement, and despite their tragic circumstances, her heart did a flip. 

“Boromir, I…” she began, but her sentence was cut short when she felt a firm shove upon her side.

“Oi! Move!” a voice sounded from behind her. She turned around and saw the four Hobbits standing next to the tree. “Make some space for us! We all need a hug, and you’re hoarding all the best cuddles to yourself,” said Pippin and sniffed.

She regarded the Halflings: their red, puffy eyes and their wet cheeks. They were grieving too, no less than she was. Even so, Pippin was making an attempt at levity. For her sake, to help her bear the pain, she realised. The little ones had the gift of laughter, and it would not fail them even in their darkest hour.

Suddenly, her purpose became clear to her anew: Gandalf had bid her to take care of the Hobbits. And so she would continue to do that. Her Master might be gone, but his legacy yet lived. It lived through her, through the Fellowship, and their quest. She would not abandon them now.

“Of course, Master Peregrin,” she said, her voice creaky from all the crying. “There is cuddles enough for everyone.” And so Meriadoc weaselled his way between her and Boromir, and the rest of the Hobbits piled up atop them like hens on the roost.

*

“Do you think we ought to wake them?” asked Legolas. The Elf and Aragorn were back from their negotiations with the Marchwardens. The Lady of the Golden Forest had intervened on their behalf, and so not only the passage was now open to them, they would be provided rest and comfort in Caras Galadhorn. What the Elf and the Ranger did not expect was the sight of all their companions, even the Dwarf Gimli, passed out from grief and exhaustion atop one another in one giant group hug.

“Let them rest a while,” said Aragorn gently. “After what we've all been through, I’ve half the mind to join them myself.”

[fanfiction masterpost]

#lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #lotr headcanons #boromir #boromir x oc #gandalf #[arda] #ass deep in demons #ass deep in asks

[torchwood-99]

Eowyn has daddy issues.

Her father is killed by orcs.

She adores her uncle but has to tend to him as he succumbs to the influence of Grima and Saruman.

She falls for Aragorn, the epitome of the leader archetype, which is often a paternal/maternal role.

And Aragorn, from the first moment "wishes her joy" and I think truly loves her, but loves her in a paternal sense. Despite his youth, he's much older than Eowyn. He cares for her when she's wounded, he listens to her fears and tries to offer her guidance, and in the films he even tucks her in and comforts her after she has a nightmare.

And as I'm writing this, I'm realising that she marries Faramir, King of Daddy Issues.

After they marry, Eowyn leaves behind her crush on Aragorn, but Faramir joins her in projecting his daddy issues onto Aragorn.

More than once, when Faramir and Eowyn go to Minas Tirith on matter of state, and sit on a council with Aragorn, Faramir calls Aragorn "Father" by mistake.

Everyone thinks is a sweet tribute to Aragorn being king and father of the realm. Or at least, pretend to for Faramir's sake.

This was meant to be a post about the sweetness of Aragorn's platonic love for Eowyn, and how perfectly it was captured in the film, and it turned into a post about daddy issues. I hate myself.

#LOTR #Lord of the Rings #Aragorn #Eowyn #Faramir #Eowyn-x-Faramir #Faramir-x-Eowyn #farawyn

[queenstarlight2]

What your (Female) elven crush says about you

(based on what I think)

Arwen

If your Elven crush is Arwen, you have ✨immaculate✨ taste in women. Be honest, you don't get any bitches. Mostly because your standards are so damn high but whose wouldn't after seeing this FINE FUCKING ELF. she is mommy and her ada, is fine as fuck too. WOULD SHE DOM YOU, yes she would. And would you deny her, no you wouldn't. She could spit in my mouth and I would say thank you.

Arwen as a girlfriend would be a surreal experience, this bitch has to be apart of the valar by how pretty she is. Like peg me mommy😩 DEGRADE MEEE. also she would write you poetry and send you flowers and yall would probably do each others face-care. Also Arwen would put the prettiest braids in your hair like omg. Also I think she would enjoy somebody with plushy thighs so she can rest  her head on them (also so her head can be crushed between your thighs)  also I think she would also be crazy for muscular woman/men

Traits Arwen would like in their lover: Honest, kind, hot, Aragorn, generous, smart

Galadriel

If your Elven crush is Galadriel

You have severe mommy issues, that is the first thing I am going to say to you. Also this bitch would peg you in a heartbeat, male or female. Galadriel could use me as her cum rag and I would orgasm from the sight of her cum on my body. she is holy thank you very much, I AM UNHINGED BECAUSE OF HOW GORGEOUS SHE IS (and she kinda a bitch ngl but I would still tap that)  I don't have much to say about her other then, you got servere mommy issues, like go see a therapist rn. (and ima join you)  ANd her type, she ain't got one. LIke fr, you got to be one special ass mofo to get this goddess as your bae and you will be her bitch, male, female it don't matter.

She would satisfy all of your needs, she out here reading minds and shit. and this is all I got for her.

Traits Galadriel would like in their lover: Honest, (gorgeous), smart, clever, a sub, all that good stuff

Tauriel

If your Elven crush is Tauriel 

you a hoe, that is all you is. confident women make your knees shake. Don't be mad i am saying the truth. She would fuck you in the woods in a quick second and you would enjoy that. She is the captain of the guard and ima call her captain in the sheets too. were you glad when Peter Jackson made this fine as fuck women apart of the Hobbit movies. You have a mistress/ mommy kink, I don't make the rules 🥱. Gay as fuck you is

Traits Tauriel would like in their lover: Passionate, wild, kind, badass, you know the drill

#lotr elves #lotr headcanons #lotr imagine #lotr x reader #LOTR #gay #tauriel #tauriel x reader #galadriel #galadriel x reader #galadriel x #arwen x reader #arwen #arwen undomiel #rivendell #The Lord of the Rings #the hobbit headcanon #the hobbit headcanons #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit x you #the hobbit #the lord of the rings imagines #the lord of the rings x reader

[philtstone]

Eowyn/Faramir, 22

painstakingly continuing my spotify wrapped prompts with yet another bollywood entry from one of my favourite movies #22, "Ankhon Mein Teri" from Om Shanti Om along with you / some light has come anyway, this is my answer to the question, "was their great hobbit cacophany post-kiss on the ramparts?" but in hippie camp counselor au

Eowyn’s hospital room has a very large window that looks out into the darkened waiting room. When she wakes up from her doze, which she was partaking in for lack of anything better to do, her head is turned the other way — and so it is that the first thing she sees in front of her is Faramir.

He is sitting in her bed, right beside her in fact, absorbed in a book. He appears to be wearing borrowed pajamas. Eowyn can feel the warmth from his leg against hers. She blinks a few times to make sure she is not dreaming (not that she has had dreams about Faramir in her bed), and it is then that she is struck by the soreness in her hand and shoulder, and quite honestly much of the rest of her as well.

Oh, right. Their valiant protest in front of the EPA building. Eowyn hadn’t expected to be shoved quite so hard by that SWAT officer, but at least Merry caught it all on video. And she got a great punch in before falling with such indignity on her now very broken arm. She wonders if Merry got that on video too; it’d be useful in the event anyone tries to arrest her for assault.

A large white cast covers her whole right forearm. It isn’t particularly ugly, but it is very empty in its clean whiteness, and looking at it leaves a queer disembodied feeling in the pit of Eowyn's stomach, so she goes back to looking at Faramir.

“What are you reading?” 

Of the many questions Eowyn has this is the first that comes to mind. In her general discombobulation the part of her that has lately been engrossed in figuring out Faramir's interests takes the wheel. Of course, it very often does that, but rarely to the point of causing incoherence, which Eowyn is sure she is exhibiting now.

Faramir, who had not noticed her waking, jumps in place.

“Oh! Eowyn!”

“Hullo,” says Eowyn.  

“How're you feeling? Should I call for the nurse? I should call for the nurse — here, I’ll call —“

She nudges his leg with hers (this at least is still entirely operational), and that shuts him up. He presses the nurse call button anyway. Eowyn ignores this and offers a pointed look at his literature of choice.

Faramir says, “Well; a philosophy primer. Gandalf gave it to me at the beginning of camp.”

“You mean like,” Eowyn's voice is much raspier than she remembers it, “as homework?”

“No. He said I might like it.” He pauses, then adds with a conviction that might have always been there, but appears a touch more at home in his mouth now, “He was right.”

The green of the borrowed pajama shirt suits him (she is sure it is borrowed, as it is too large at the shoulders — possibly it is Aragorn’s, or even Gandalf’s) and his pants have little Smurfs on them. She stops inspecting his hospital clothes and begins inspecting his face, which is turned towards hers and very earnest about it. He has a terribly comforting face, Faramir has. The overall effect is more subdued than what she’s used to (certainly Eomer’s got a talent for looking a bit shocking), as all her family members are known for both being and looking intense. Faramir is also intense, Eowyn supposes, but in a different way. He’s intense about philosophy primers and whatever poem he’s reading. He’ll make weird faces because he’s so absorbed in it all. His fair hair and eyes are familiar, of course, but the bigness of his nose is softer, his hair browner and floppier, and his facial hair patchy and mousy. He has lovely eyes, Eowyn thinks. A bit like a doe or something.

On whole he is, at this moment, a bit mesmerizing to Eowyn, who has always liked him – and it’s a good job he showed up this summer, and not last, when she was in the throes of her Most Mortifying Unrequited Crush (named thus by Eowyn and Eomer and Merry, in mutual consultation) to date – but she’s never properly thought about it because she was too worried about starting college next year. It’s odd. That doesn’t seem nearly so frightening anymore. Only it isn’t as if Eowyn’s feeling any better about things. After all, maybe she is about to be arrested for assaulting a cop. So what if her love life is marginally less pathetic, and her future plans slightly less immediately in the hands of her deeply flawed decision-making? The next time Uncle Theoden tells her she oughtn’t worry so much about The Real World and to go get her degree so she won’t be stuck with only farming as her option, she won’t have a good argument against him; The Real World has been pretty awful so far. 

Eowyn wonders if Faramir would bring his philosophy book and visit her in prison. 

She decides she should ask him. Maybe knowing the answer will make her feel better. She hasn’t managed to open her mouth halfway when the door opens and a sturdy looking nurse bustles in.

“Oh, good,” says the nurse industriously. “You’re awake. Not in too much pain are we? I don’t expect so; it was a very clean break.”

“Was it,” asks Eowyn, as her pillows are righted in a bustley sort of way and a cold metal straw is stuck into her open mouth. Her question comes out a bit garbled around the straw.

“Mmm,” the nurse eyes her significantly. Her name tag reads Ioreth in blocky penmanship and includes a little hand drawn smiley face in the corner. Eowyn wonders if she has put that there to counter her extremely brusque and straightforward manner. Don’t you worry; when I’m not shoving eco-friendly straws into your mouth, I draw my own smiley faces, actually! “You’re lucky your friend splinted it so well, or it might’ve moved around on you before the EMTs arrived. Not a medic, is he?”  

Eowyn can’t quite tell if her tone is impressed or disapproving. 

“He’s thinking of doing herbal medicine MSF,” offers Faramir a bit lamely. 

They follow the nurse’s eyes to the big windows of her hospital room, beyond which she is only now registering is a very full waiting room. It was mostly empty when Eowyn last checked, and the sight of it full makes her eyes well up at the back in a very silly and childish way. Closest to the door sits the lanky figure of Aragorn, who indeed set her broken arm and quizzed her on Twilight trivia on the way to the hospital so she wouldn’t fall asleep before being checked for a concussion. He is asleep himself now, but looking like someone does when they didn’t quite mean to doze off, slumped over sitting up with one scruffy cheek propped up against his palm. A pale-faced Frodo is tucked, sleeping more intentionally against his side, with a lumpy bit of gauze covering two of his fingers. Sitting careful guard over them (for all that they are having a friendly chat with a passing nurse and pointing animatedly to something on the familiar lavender-cased iPhone) are Arwen and Sam, who have together been wrapped once in a hospital issue blanket and a second time in Aragorn’s familiar mud-stained jacket. Eomer (whose face is a much bigger comfort than she expected) is wedged into a seat that is much too small for him and rapidly bouncing his left leg while staring determinately at the ceiling. Draped over a lone plastic chair Legolas’s cream cardigan is all that evidences him, Gimli, Merry, and Pippin (who must have taken his Super Mario backpack with him, wherever they are, as she can’t spot it); and if Eowyn listens hard enough, she can hear a man’s unfamiliar, somewhat distressed, definitely disembodied tones from further down the hallway.

While Nurse Ioreth bustles through checking her chart, Eowyn must make some kind of questioning face in Faramir’s general direction, because he says,

“Oh – that’s, um, my brother. Boromir. He came down, after – everything.” By which Eowyn, remembering it all in patchy fits and starts, realizes Faramir must mean the incident where his father flew down from upstate to loudly disown him in front of many strangers and several news reporters (Eowyn was told this all by Merry on the trip to hospital; she’d been in the midst of getting shoved for her not-entirely peaceful protesting when it happened) for squandering his potential trying to do such useless things as saving the environment, instead of securing a future for himself in this dismal and unforgiving world. 

For a Very Important Businessman, Denethor seems to have an awful lot of spare time on his hands. He spent a whole half hour elbowing his way through police and news vans and a very distressed eleven year old in the shape of Pippin Took, just to yell at his son.

“Is he alright?” asks Eowyn; the voice in the hallway seems very consternated. 

“Who,” says Faramir. “Boromir? Oh, yeah.” He fixes his glasses a bit, which are slipping down his nose, “It’s just that the possum finally bit Frodo, and then we lost it.”

“The collective cool, you mean,” says Eowyn.

“No,” says Nurse Ioreth, definitely disapproving this time. “The possum.” 

Faramir grimaces. “It was sort of my fault. That’s why Boromir’s dealing with it — I think he’s trying to make me feel better about Dad. I really am fine though. And Legolas and Gimli took Merry and Pippin to find us all food — wouldn’t it be ironic if they wound up finding the possum instead? Funny how things work though. Everyone’s sort of come together about it so it’s really hard to feel like I'm doing something wrong, no matter what my — what anyone says. I was more worried about you than anything, and Arwen made Eomer sit outside because he kept getting up and sitting back down in here and the nurse got annoyed, so I got to come sit with you instead.”

Ioreth makes a mild tsk noise over her clipboard and Eowyn blinks. It takes all of her willpower not to blurt out You were worried about me? as if that is not the standard fare between friends – camp counselors, even.

Ioreth says, “If you need more pain medication, press the button; you should be out by the end of the day, dear,” and leaves. Eowyn and Faramir watch her, and the unexpected care she takes to close the door quietly so Aragorn and Frodo don’t startle awake, go. 

“You’re okay, then,” she says, after a moment.

“Hm? Yeah, I mean – well.” He shrugs. “Dad can be a cynic if he wants. I much prefer the delusional idealism of youth.”

Faramir’s always been better at making jokes than anyone gives him credit for. Even so, Eowyn wonders if she’d count as a cynic or delusional by his count. Here she is, having mentally avoided the topic of College Next Year so determinedly all summer, insisting to herself and Uncle Theoden that she hadn’t decided a major yet because she’d rather participate in The Real World, only for that world to have immediately proven itself terrifying and she, Eowyn, unequipped to deal with it. So she is back at square one, and even less sure of herself than before.

“I’m glad,” she says, and finds she can’t look him properly in the eye but has to instead stare at her purple fingers poking out through the cast. She feels all of a sudden quite miserable, but can’t put it to words.

“It doesn’t hurt too badly, does it?”

She shrugs, like he did. “It’s a bit sore.” Like how I feel, despite how wonderful you are, she doesn’t add. It’s so sappy of her. Eomer would sigh for hours if he knew.

“We’ll get the kids to draw on it. Or Gimli. You can too, if you like.”

“Will you come visit me if I go to prison?” Eowyn asks, suddenly on the verge of tears.

“Obviously yes,” Faramir answers, quite seriously. “But Gandalf’s got all that sorted. None of us are in trouble with the law, thanks to you and Merry’s video.”

“Oh.” The realization is not as much of a relief as Eowyn expected it would be. So now she’s got to go to college next year. And actually know what she wants to do with her life. Oh indeed. 

“Which is pretty good actually,” Faramir is continuing, “because I’ve decided to switch into a BA, and I don’t think I’d have been able to do that if we were going to prison.” 

She is quiet for a long moment, chewing on her bottom lip. “Everything is very confusing,” she finally manages, in a whisper.

Then, in a way that makes the small breath at the back of Eowyn’s throat catch, Faramir’s free hand slips over the thin hospital bedding and cups itself over her cold and bruised fingers. 

“I don't think we’ll be confused forever,” he says, just as quiet as she has been, but on purpose. “I think one day, we’ll wake up, and life will be less scary than it is right now.”

Finally Eowyn turns to look at him again. “At seventeen,” she says, and her voice is a bit watery; Faramir smiles at her. A small little smile.

“Yeah.” His voice cracks with the bit of laughter in it. “At seventeen.”

Eowyn is very unintentionally staring at his mouth. Because of the smile — and also maybe him as a person. She feels a bit of her old determination return, but with much less defensiveness and also her own little smile; she leans over the philosophy primer and their held hands, and kisses Faramir on the mouth.

Her stomach is half filled with butterflies when they are interrupted by the sound of small palms pounding against glass.

“Merry! Merry! Merry look —”

“Don’t interrupt them, Pippin!”

The crow of delight is so loud, and Eomer’s leaping to his feet so sudden, that Aragorn almost falls off his chair startling awake. Eowyn watches through the large window; their movement has made the sensors in the hallway go off, and all the lights turn on. The lights in the waiting room are yellow, like sunshine, and not the dull white of a hospital she was expecting.

“I called it! I knew! I said, Faramir’s got to go sit with her ‘cause he cares so very much, you see, and it’ll make Eowyn feel better.”

“Well Eowyn's my friend first, I’m the one who told you she needed to feel better —“

“Both of you pipe down, as if the rest of us didn’t care —“

“I have a sixth sense, you know. It’s very well tuned to romance and such. Remember Gandalf’s rule about only platonic activities in the break room, on account of what I walked into on our first week of camp –”

“Pippin, I am once again begging you to stop talking.”

“Faramir! Faramir can you hear me! Is she alright, then? We got you Mexican food from the cafeteria. Well, Gimli’s the one who paid for it, but we carried over the tortilla chips –”

And by the time the door is flung open Eowyn and Faramir pounced upon by overexcited tweenagers, she is properly laughing.

#my writing #lord of the rings #eowyn #faramir #eowyn x faramir #farawyn #return of the king #merry brandybuck #pippin took #aragorn #hes there in houses of healing spirit

[lady-of-imladris]

GAIN A SON

Synopsis: Théoden survives the battle and gets to meet Faramir, the man who has stolen his niece’s heart.

Word count: 1.8k

Pairings: Faramir/Éowyn

Warnings: Battle mention, drug mention, alcohol mention

Additional tags: Just some cute fluffy crack, I hope this is as wholesome and fun as I intended it to be.

Théoden could not believe it when he opened his eyes and found himself in a healer’s care. He had survived the battle. Éowyn and Éomer had survived. When Théoden awoke, Sauron had been destroyed and all was well in Middle Earth. The healers, however, seemed to be dancing around something, of that he was sure. It was Éomer, his nephew and heir who finally told him the truth. He would never walk again. When Snowmane, his beloved horse was slain by the fell beast, his legs were crushed by its weight, and while it grieved him greatly, Théoden was glad to be alive, and even gladder after hearing the other news Éomer had brought him.

“Éowyn is in love, uncle,” he said, grinning like an idiot. Théoden sank back against his pillows and stared at the ceiling for a while, smiling. “Éowyn is in love. I never thought I would see the day. Tell me everything, Éomer.” And Éomer did. Faramir was his name, son of Denethor, the late Steward of Gondor. Over tea and cake, the two men discussed it all, until they were interrupted by Éowyn and Meriadoc Brandybuck. “Washerwomen, the both of you!” Éowyn exclaimed, smacking her brother on the shoulder. “I have brought you better company, uncle. My brother is needed elsewhere.” Éowyn kept glaring at a giggling Éomer as they left.

“Master Brandybuck,” Théoden addressed the Hobbit, whom he counted among his dear friends, “you do not happen to know this Faramir, do you?” Merry sat down in the chair next to Théoden’s bed. “I do know him, he and my cousin Pippin are good friends. Although technically he’s Prince Faramir now I suppose. Strider will announce that soon.” “Strider?” he inquired. “You know him, tall fellow, fancy sword, has an army of ghosts-” “Aragorn? The King of Gondor?” “Yes, that one.” Théoden sighed happily. Éowyn was in love. With a prince even. Théoden decided at that very moment that he already loved this Faramir. Even though he had yet to meet him.

As the days passed, the king yearned to leave his bed. Someone had brought him a wheelchair and the king was never short of a volunteer to help him get around. So it happened one day, that Théoden and Éomer encountered Faramir and Éowyn on an afternoon stroll. Éowyn was not stupid, she knew that her brother had orchestrated this chance meeting. Now she had nowhere to run. “Éowyn!” her brother called out to her, “what a lovely surprise to see you. Uncle, I do not believe you have met Faramir yet.” Faramir felt his heart thumping in his chest as he bowed to the King.

“Your grace, it is an honour to meet you,” he offered politely. Théoden smiled warmly at the man, his eyes darting to Faramir’s left arm, to which Éowyn was holding on. “So you are the man who has managed to steal my dear niece’s heart.” “Uncle!” Éowyn exclaimed in shock, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. Faramir felt a feeling of unease in his entire body. This was not going well. “I would never presume to do such a thing, your grace,” he politely replied, trying to appear composed, “I was only so audacious as to take it upon myself to keep the Lady company during your recovery.” “Coward,” Éomer feigned a cough, making Théoden chuckle. “Why don’t we all have some tea in the garden?” the king suggested. Now that he had this elusive Faramir in his grasp, he would not let him go.

“Tell me about yourself, Faramir,” Théoden commanded, “how are you holding up? I was very sorry to hear of your father’s passing. He was a good man.” Faramir froze, holding his teacup in mid-air. Éomer stiffened in his seat and Éowyn failed at subtly rolling her eyes. “Did I say something wrong?” Théoden asked. He was utterly confused at the reaction of his kin. “Lord Denethor was sick, uncle,” Éomer offered an explanation. The King looked over at him, puzzled. “I thought he died during the battle?” Éomer shook his head. “What I meant was-” “My father has not been well for many years,” Faramir said. “The constant threat of Mordor had stirred a fear in his heart. When my brother passed, he became… distant.” “He tried to kill Faramir,” Éowyn proclaimed suddenly, fearing that they would continue to dance around the subject.

“In his defence,” Faramir added, “he believed me to be dead already.” Éowyn sighed. “Faramir, he had wanted you dead for years! He knew you were alive. They told him. He knew.” The King of Rohan found himself speechless. The boy had lost his mother at a very young age, his brother had passed away on the quest to destroy the ring, and his own father had wanted him dead. And still, everyone he asked had told him only the best of the Captain of Gondor. Of his bravery, his chivalry, his sense of humour. He had led the people of Minas Tirith during a time of great uncertainty, from the siege of the city until the return of the rightful king of Gondor. If only one person in all of Middle Earth deserved the love of his niece, it was Faramir.

Théoden enjoyed spending his days in Minas Tirith. He spoke often with the Hobbits, especially his friend Merry, and they smoked many a pipe together. The old king had decided to abdicate. It was time for Éomer to be king, and he accepted humbly, making his uncle promise to lend his counsel, as often as he required it. His niece Éowyn was happier than she had been in many, many years. She visited him often, sitting with him in the garden, or pushing him around the city in his wheelchair. Faramir accompanied her often. His initial nervousness was soon gone. Théoden came to love the boy like he did his niece and nephew, and though Faramir and Éowyn were not even officially courting, Théoden counted him among his family.

Faramir was officially named Prince of Ithilien on the day of Aragorn’s coronation and his wedding to the Lady Arwen of Rivendell. Even though they were still not officially courting, Éowyn stood beside Faramir and not with her brother and uncle. It seemed wrong to Faramir. A lady like Éowyn deserved to be courted properly. To be loved by someone who was not too cowardly to ask her brother - or her uncle - for her hand in marriage. Truthfully, he did not even know who to ask. It came to him after he had indulged in too much ale and even more pipeweed. He did not know, but maybe someone else did!

“Merry,” he turned to the hobbit, whose pipe he was sharing, “if I wanted to marry Éowyn, who would I ask, her uncle or her brother?” Merry looked utterly confused. “Why would you ask Théoden to marry you?” “What? No, I-” Merry started laughing so hard he almost fell over. “Took me a while, sorry. I honestly have no idea. But I know someone who will. Wait here, I will be right back.” Faramir remained in his chair and watched Merry, to his mortification, walk up to Théoden and King Éomer. He could see the exact moment at which they had understood what Merry was referring to. King Théoden slowly raised his hand and beckoned Faramir over to them.

Legolas, who was sitting across the hall whispered something to Aragorn, who, in turn, handed Gimli two gold coins. The elves had all heard the exchange between Merry and Faramir. Even Glorfindel, who was talking to Éowyn about her heroic duel with the Witch-king of Angmar. Time seemed to stand still as Faramir slowly made his way over to Théoden. He would strangle the Hobbit in his sleep! His palms were sweaty and he felt the blood rush in his ears as he sat down in the chair the King of Rohan had dragged over. Between the other two. “So,” Théoden began, “is there anything you want to talk to us about, son?”

Faramir cleared his throat. Éomer and Théoden were both leaning in slightly, fixing their eyes on Faramir’s face. “I wanted to ask if- I could potentially- even though I don’t deserve- ask you,” he turned to Théoden, “or you,” he turned to Éomer, “for the hand of- of the Lady Éowyn.” He looked down at the table, nervously tapping his foot, expecting to be ridiculed or sent away. Éomer laughed and clapped Faramir on the back. Théoden smiled. “You have to ask her yourself, son. But you have my blessing, even though that is irrelevant.” Faramir looked at Éomer expectantly. Would the king give him his blessing? Éomer shrugged. “Ask her.”

It was the next day when Faramir summoned all his courage and made his way to Éowyn’s chambers to collect her for their daily afternoon stroll, his mother’s ring in his pocket. He led her to the place where they had first stood together, looking east, anxiously awaiting news from the battle at the Black Gate. Éowyn wondered at Faramir’s nervousness, scolding him for smoking too much weed the day before. Something Faramir swore to her he would never do again, the effects having clearly affected his judgement. He took her hand in his, putting the other in his pocket to procure the ring.

Éowyn looked as though she might faint when she saw Faramir get down on one knee. “Éowyn, my dearest Lady,” he began. “Yes!” Éowyn exclaimed. “For Eorl’s sake, sister, you need to let him ask first!” Éomer’s voice came from a nearby window. Faramir jumped at the sound of his voice and Éowyn trembled with anger and embarrassment. After a moment, Faramir cleared his throat, preparing to start again. “Éowyn, my dearest Lady, I have known you for many months now, and have loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. I do not wish to be parted from you for even one day. Will you marry me?” Éowyn had tears in her eyes as she nodded rapidly. “Yes. Yes!” Faramir slid the ring onto her finger and she pulled him to his feet and into a sweet and passionate kiss, uncaring that Éomer was watching.

Théoden cried at their wedding until Merry pointed out to him that technically, he did not lose a daughter, but gain a son.

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment <3

Everything-taglist: @fenharel-enaste @nevermcre @shirebarbie @enaelyork

You can join my taglist here <3

#lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #faramir #eowyn #eowyn/faramir #faramir/eowyn #eowyn x faramir #faramir x eowyn #fanfiction #lady of imladris fics

[streets-in-paradise]

Courage

Relationships: (Platonical) Eowyn x (Fem)Gondorian!Reader / Eowyn x Aragorn (crush talking)/ Pippin x (Fem)Gondorian Reader

Warnings: Use of she/her pronoums

Summary: As a prelude to the celebrations on the victory over Saruman, the ladies of Rohan and Gondor participate in a simple encounter that seils their friendship validating each other's feelings in dark and lightfull topics concerning their hearts.

Note: For my dear friend @beautifultypewriter, inspired in her Gondor Girl concept. ( If you happen to like this one, I will keep working on releasing one more going full into the idea I brainstormed to you in dms)

Even after witnessing his demise, the voice of Saruman kept haunting her mind for a while during the trip back to Edoras. Despite being warned about it, she had certainly not behaved properly when facing the evil wizard responsible for the orc attack that caused the death of her brother followed by the kidnap of the hobbits. For once, she was the one doing exactly what Gandalf told her not to do and paid the price.

As a result of her angered search for a confrontation, she made herself another target of the prideful scolding. Saruman shifted guilt with skillful rhetoric, saying it was her who failed Boromir and let him die. The charm of his voice got her heart stricken with guilt. Although he didn’t waste much time on her, his insults were precise. He called her a wild beast that in nothing resembled the grace of a gondorian lady, a standing proof of the inexorable degradation in the lineage of Numenor that the ruling of Aragorn would not fix. In his conclusion, he didn’t forget to mention that Denethor would have rather been freed of a daughter than robbed of his eldest son. 

From all those claims, he presented at least one truth. 

The reminder of her father’s indifference was the last thing she needed at that precise moment. After acquiring a modest glory in the battlefield for the first time in her young life, being forced to think of Denethor was like having the victory being taken away. Her wins were twisted into flaws, making her feel once more relegated to the obscure spot he reserved for her back home. 

Only the sweet voice of Pippin bringing her back from the self absorption as they were riding away from Isengard managed to counteract the perverse effect. Given the rushed nature of their reencounter, he accepted no one else to take him merely because he wanted more time with her. The excited ramblings from her beloved hobbit about the escape from the orcs, his adventures in Fangorn, and his involvement on the attack plan of the Ents were enough to ease her heart.

On his part, Merry didn’t hesitate on reclaiming his share of the honors while hearing the tales from close, but he also understood that his cousin was trying to impress his lady. In return, Gimli told them in a prideful tease about the bewilderment that a certain gondorian shieldmaiden had caused among the Rohirrim through her courageous acts fighting alongside him, Legolas and Aragorn in the front line at Helm’s Deep. His comments made Pippin’s impulse to present himself in an heroic light increase with his admiration of her. 

It was simply lovely and she didn’t doubt in filling him with praise until he became a blushing mess hiding behind her. At the same time, he had accidentally reminded her of how proud Boromir would have been if he could have seen them together again after performing such great actions and that thought casted the sadness away. Time for celebrations was approaching and that brought a different, simpler reminder to her calmer mind. 

Until then, the people of Theoden had only met one side of her. Precisely the one she had forbidden at home, since they knew her as the warrior maiden of the Fellowship initially playing wolf on sheep’s clothing for Wormtongue only to reveal herself moments later. Since that fight the situation allowed her to never get back in disguise. The refined lady of Gondor once seen in Rivendell never stepped Rohan, but she thought it would be fun if she would make a comeback for the party. 

Let no one say ever again that she had no glimpses of the grace legends attributed to her bloodline.  

Presented with all the comforts that Eowyn could share with her, the transformation became an easy and midly fun previous step. It gave them time to have a good long talk together while taking part on a lady-like activity that wouldn't raise any concerns. The niece of Theoden had her own personal interest guiding a sudden want to perform feminity, one her friend knew that she wouldn't comment with anyone else. Revisiting her wardrove in the calm of her bedroom while talking of the latest events she didn't got to witness was a good start for both. For instance, she was a witness watching for her and willing to share details that her relatives didn't bother on comment to her before.

" He died doing what he loved, ... backstabbing his master. " The gondorian joked into her telling of Wormtongue's death. " Your uncle, infinitely kind hearted as he is, was still offering him a second chance. I think that worm realized he had made a strong bet on the wrong horse, but Legolas gave him no span to show the king any regrets. An arrow to his chest, quite ironical way to die considering what he did. "

Eowyn gave her a half smile, unsure of how to feel besides from a deep relief.

" His black heart craved only power, control over me."

The girl knew exactly what she meant. Her meticulous work hidding the most controversial aspects of herself from her father's sight weren't enough to keep her fame completely clean. Rumours had spread subtly, and to many men craving control those have came out as attractive. If the only daugther of the Steward was wild as the forest, every single one of them believed themselves to be the one that could tame her.

" You are free of him." She sweetly concluded, holding her hand and abandoning her sight from the beautifull garments to focus completely on her. " And we can still hate him in secret, if you wish. I have encountered my own amount of despicable noblemen in Gondor, but none of them has yet sold to the dark power hoping to receive me as spoil of war from the looting of his own countrymen. You resisted with courage, one of the kind that many soldiers in the battlefield won't understand. I do, and admire you for it. "

It was the most heartfelt compliment Eowyn had received in a good while and it was hard to explain why a surprising happiness invaded her.

" You, my friend? After obtaining glory for both of us? "

The gondorian was eyeing the blue fabric of a cute dress she was considering to choose.

A reminder of the sea, of her mother.

" Would you believe me if I tell you that your domestic feat remains more impressive to me than all my killings at Helm's Deep?" She suddenly confessed. " Being alone in Minas Tirith with Denethor would be a nightmare on itself. To that add one of my brothers dead and the other one exiled, while also having to flee from the advances of a repulsive man seeking to submit me through resignation. Inviting me everyday to accept him as some inevitable fate, remiding me I'm alone in the world ... I don't think I would have endured it as well as you did, always keeping your royal dignity."

Eowyn had sat on the bed and, dress in hand, her friend followed.

" If you think I'm strong, please look at yourself, because your strenght inspired me that night."

" In some twisted way that escapes all forseen ends, justice was served. " Was her simple reply. " Your brother and my cousin are avenged."

The garment was carefully placed at their side as the guest rushed to hug her.

" Vengeance is not over, because you are going to look gorgeous for your crush and have fun. " She mischievously whispered. " Haven't you think about it? The hatred on Grima's eyes as he was leaving Meduseld was too focused on Aragorn, and now I think I see why ... "

The rohirrim lady looked up in shamefull surprise.

" No, you don't! " She attempted to defend herself in a playfull tone, breaking the contact. " That's not true, and I don't know how it occured to you, but ..."

" But Arwen is leaving with her kind, as far as I know, so I don't see an issue." The gondorian encouraged her. " I got to meet her in Rivendell, and I meet her father ... If I had one as wonderfull as Elrond, I would too seek to follow him. Besides, you are my best friend and Aragorn has become like a brother to me. if a mortal woman shall eventually come to cure his sadness, I would rather her be you. "

Her eyes were shinning with hope, but not only to the kind voice inspiring her yet a third kind of courage to face her growing feelings for the Ranger.

Loneliness fading, like ice slowly melting, to the certainty of knowing she had found a friend. Another presumably lonely young woman, at least in terms of companionship that could be found of other women, who had so quickly shifted such strong affection towards her.

" As my beloved friend that you are, I beg you not to feed my dreams so soon."

" Allow yourself to dream for a while, you deserve it" The foreign girl insisted. " If things don't work as we expected, we will deal with that later ... Together. "

She liked the sound of the last sentence, but kept her objections.

" How? Do you know the cure for a broken heart? "

" Let that brave heart of yours to take the risk, not only by the blade its strenght can be measured. " The gondorian concluded, then kissed her forehead. " If turns out my brother of the sword is not the one, I still have one more blood brother to introduce you to. And if you don't like that one, I'm pretty sure Merry has no hobbit lass waiting for him at the Shire. "

Her positivity and will to comfort her ended up getting a few chuckles out of her. Not exactly because of the jokes, but due to the happyness she found in her insistent support.

" I believe your love for the halflings is starting to put Gandalf's to shame."

The called out lady smiled, clearly on remembrance of her own infatuation.

" One stay in Rivendel and days of travel on our quest was all it took for Peregrin Took to win me over, and he wasn't even trying. " She began to tell. " There are some men of Gondor that think not much different from the says of Saruman about me: a wild beast, only to them I'm a fair one ... And all wildeness is up to be conquered and rulled, owned to make use of. They approach me like a mare in need of taming, thinking they will perform the miracle of my submission. Do you understand now how could I have fallen for one of hobbits that released the forest? "

She could have continued, but no more words were needed to make her understand the core of her reasoning on her feelings.

" Wouldn't you prefer the green one?" Eowyn pointed out, regarding the dress choice. " In homeage to Fangorn, and your love."

#lotr #lord of the rings #gondor girl #(platonical) eowyn x reader #pippin x reader #peregrin took x reader

[mimilind]

Stranger of the Falls - Part 7

Pairing: Boromir x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 3900

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

※※※

7. Free

More days passed. You went on with your work, checking on Maja’s little sister and her mother, changing the bandages of an old injury on one of the returning men, seeing the elderly and telling them the good news about the war. You withheld the bad news about the decoy attack and the very slim chance of ever beating the Dark Lord.

At least Cair Andros was free; you need not worry about orc attacks any longer, nor keep nightly watches.

You saw Boromir sometimes but only exchanged brief nods. He kept training Svarten, and then a few foals Vidar wanted broken in. But most often you saw him standing at the outskirts of the village, leaning on his cane, eyes set on the eastern sky.

He was looking at Mordor.

One day you gathered your courage and joined him. “How are you?”

He gave his crooked grin without taking his eyes away from the horizon. “Fine.”

“How is your chest? Still healing nicely? No tightness of the skin?”

“No. Do not trouble yourself; I really am well.”

“And the mobility on your right side?” you continued stubbornly.

He opened and closed his hand a few times. “As good as it ever will, I think. I can do almost everything I could before, but not with the same strength, and I still need a cane when I must walk more than a few steps.”

“I see. Keep exercising.” 

“I will.”

You could not think of any more questions and fell silent.

His gaze returned to the ominous clouds, the perpetual darkness that had lingered over the Mordor border all your life.

What was happening there? Had the decoy worked? Was the secret mission completed? Or had it failed?

You were certain Boromir was asking himself these same questions too – over and over again.

“If that halfling succeeds – what will you do then?” you asked.

He did not answer right away. Then he sighed, looking more dejected than you had ever seen him. “I do not know,” he said, barely audibly. “I cannot see the future… I see only darkness ahead; impenetrable, frightening. And there is a heavy weight in me… in my heart.” He glanced at you. “I believe that is why I cannot bond with others like I used to, not form friendships or… other connections. Not until I know what will happen…”

You thought you understood what he meant. He was talking about you, trying to explain why he kept a distance. Somehow, his words lit a tiny hope in your chest. If you won, if the dark Lord was defeated…

But he swiftly crushed that.

“I have no hope the halfling will succeed. Maybe if the rest of the Fellowship had been with him…” He broke off, glancing at you again, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “It is my fault he must walk alone,” he whispered. “Do you recall the secret weapon I told you about? My dream? I had dreams of that ilk frequently. The Ring whispered to me… spoke to me… showed me visions. It became so precious to me I wanted to have it.” His hands were shaking and he clenched them. “First I sought to convince him, urging him to give it up, and when that failed I tried to wrestle it from him! I, a man of Gondor, twice his height. Unbelievable…”

You wished you knew what to say, but did not, so you just stood there. Silent.

“Frodo – that is the name of the halfling – ran away alone. That is why Aragorn must go on this suicide mission now. If he perishes, that is on me. If Frodo does, that is on me too. It will be my fault alone.”

“I do not think–”

“Do not try to excuse what I did. I was weak, and I fell, and countless lives have been spilled because of it. I should have been there.” He pointed south, toward his homeland. “If I had, my father would still be alive today. My brother might not have been injured.” He gave you a look full of self-loathing. “I am sorry, but I am not the hero you and the rest of the village believe I am. I am not strong, or brave. I am a coward. And what is worse…” He clenched his hands again. “Even now I want it. Even now a part of me hopes Frodo will fail so I can claim it.” 

Without another word he limped away.

※

After that conversation you became rather distracted in your work. All the time your thoughts lingered on Boromir.

You needed to figure out the complex man that was him.

With a few sly questions to Torsten and the others who had been to the war you tried to find out more of his background. You asked many questions about the quest he had been a part in when he was presumed killed, and you also pretended an interest in the new heir to the throne who had shown up, which brought on the topic of the ruling stewards who had held the power for centuries in the king’s absence. It helped you figure out more details about Boromir’s early life. 

Putting it all together, you concluded his actions were completely understandable.

Boromir was born the eldest son of the steward – basically a prince. Raised to be a leader and politician, to always do what was best for the people. Not allowed to have his own dreams or goals. 

He became a warrior and captain, trained to lead others into battle, and was likely encouraged to seek an honorable death, if worst came to worst. All his life Gondor had been the only country trying to defend against the darkness of Mordor, the only army trying to hold the last forts and cities, sacrificing their lives to do so while the rest of the world did not know or did not care what happened. 

You were one of them. You, a Rohirrim, had never realized what an impossible task Middle-earth had assigned Gondor. How selfishly you had continued your business as usual. 

Then Boromir had been sent to aid a halfling, who had no particular skills, strength or powers, to carry the most dangerous and powerful item in the world from Rivendell to Mount Doom in Mordor and destroy the ring there, right under Sauron’s – its maker and owner – nose. 

And Boromir had failed because he believed the ring could be used better by him or his father in Gondor. 

You could not blame him for that.

※

Boromir was standing alone, looking east as usual. You observed him, debating with yourself whether to try to talk to him again. Tell him to be less hard on himself.

But you had a feeling he would only be angry if you brought it up.

Suddenly Boromir began to shake violently and fell to his knees. He was clutching his chest.

You immediately ran forward. Was his heart troubling him?

“What happened? Are you ill?”

Still trembling, he turned his head east. “Look,” he whispered.

You looked. A gray pillar was rising into the sky, like smoke from a huge chimney. Beneath it the sky was a bright orange. 

“What is it?”

“It is gone. The Ring… I no longer sense it. He must have destroyed it.” He slowly rose to his feet, wiping moisture from his forehead. 

“Are you certain?” Could the quest really have succeeded against all odds? You did not dare believe it.

“That smoke… Frodo was going to throw the Ring into Mount Doom; perhaps it erupted as a consequence.” His voice was steadier now. “Either way, I know it is gone. All this time, I felt it. A heavy weight; a steady pull on my mind. But I no longer do.” 

“How are you feeling?” You were still worried.

“Good.” A surprised half-smile formed on his lips. “My heart is light. I feel free.” 

It struck you he looked like several years had been removed from his face; the perpetual worry lines were eased out. Slowly, gradually you were starting to believe him. It had to be true. Nothing else could have affected him so positively.

He caught you in an impromptu hug. “The victory is ours! The enemy stands no chance with the Ring gone!”

You clung to him, wanting to be in his arms forever. Relief and happiness flooded your chest, nearly choking you. There would be a future ahead that was not completely dark. 

Maybe you could even dare hope for love.

※

You were about to prepare dinner when there was a knock on your door. A bit puzzled you went to open; nobody knocked around here. They just barged in.

Boromir stood outside, looking different somehow. It took you a heartbeat until you realized why: he had shaved, leaving only a short, neat beard. His hair was slightly damp as if he had just taken a bath.

He was so attractive you could hardly breathe.

“Good evening. I have not told anyone else about the ring; I find it difficult to explain how I can be so sure it is gone, but I want to celebrate the upcoming victory. Will you join me?” He held up a flagon. “I have mead.”

Your head spun. Was this the same man who had so carefully kept you at a distance before?

“Of course,” you said, not letting your voice betray your surprise. “Let me make myself ready first.”

You hurried back inside, suddenly very conscious about your appearance. You washed your face and hands, wishing there was time to take a bath. You put on scented oil instead. 

Then you hauled out your nicest clothes and brushed your hair until it shone.

A bit breathlessly you went out.

He regarded your appearance appreciatively. “Lovely.” Something about the way he looked at you made your heart beat faster. 

Boromir took you to the roof you had been using as a lookout tower before, spreading a blanket for you both to sit on.

It was not very big, and as you sat down you felt the heat from his body and a whiff of his scent. He must have used perfumed oil as well.

“Time to feast. Here, have a cup. Vidar promised me it is the strongest mead he has.” 

You drank in companionable silence first. The evening was cool; it was still only late March, but you thought you felt the smell of spring in the air. The column of smoke over Mordor had a pink hue from the setting sun.

You did not quite dare look at Boromir. Again he felt so much bigger than you, so much stronger, and it intimidated you.

After a while the drink began to affect you, filling you with courage. You discreetly peeked at him from the corner of your eyes. 

You admired his profile; his straight nose, dark eyebrows, his clear eyes glittering in the evening light. How was it possible for a man to be so handsome? 

He must have dressed with care. The cloak he wore was new, lined with rabbit fur, and you did not recognize the tunic. 

“New clothes?” you asked, trying to hide your fluster with conversation as was your habit.

“Vidar let me choose between his spare ones; he said he still owes me for the belt. Your influence, I presume.”

Boromir had chosen well; the tunic was elegantly cut and suited him perfectly. You recalled that his other clothes and his boots were also very nice. Suddenly amused, you realized he must be a bit of a coxcomb.

“I was not aware you were a man of fashion.”

“I am a man of many talents.” His lopsided grin made your heart throb. 

“Indeed, you are,” you let slip.

“You are a person of many talents too.” He took your hand. “I was fortunate to be saved by such an attractive healer.”

You found no words to reply; your mouth had grown too dry.

Still looking intently at you, he took your hand and brought it to his lips. They were cool and burning hot at the same time. 

You had his full attention and charisma directed at you. It made your limbs feel weak. You could not move, not breathe. Time stopped. As if he and you were alone in the world. 

He took another sip from his mug and released your eyes; the tense moment passed. A small smile lingered on his lips.

He must know how he affected you. He played you like a fiddle.

But you did not mind. 

“More mead?” As he refilled your mug, his fingers brushed against yours.

You moved closer. “I am cold,” you mumbled as an excuse. It was a lie. You were burning hot, set aflame by your emotions.

His smile widened. He knew.

He put his cloak around you both, pulling you close. The rabbit fur was soft against your chin. 

He was so warm. You felt safe and protected with his strong arm around you. You leaned into him, rested your head on his broad chest.

He put the mug down to stroke your hair, a bit clumsily because it was his right hand. You did not care. His fingers were chafed and calloused. You did not care about that either.

You slid your own hand around his waist. His frame was lean and hard. You pressed your nose against the hollow under his neck, drawing in the scent of his warm skin. Your heart beat fast and hard, the sound of it filling your ears.

You felt his pulse beat fast too.

He held your cheek in his palm, turning your face up. He had such large hands. His eyes were dark, drawing you in. 

He was looking at your lips. You looked at his.

Then you kissed.

※

It was late when Boromir escorted you home. The kiss still burned on your lips, the memory of it repeating itself in your mind. You had never been kissed that way before. With such passion, yet so gentle.

Even in this, Boromir showed what a kind man he was. He did not push. He did not go too far. As if he wanted to revel in the moment, to share a kiss without pressure for more.

You had expected he would ask you out again soon after that night, or perhaps ask to move back in with you, but he did neither. He stayed with Vidar, continuing his work training horses. 

Yet there was a huge difference in his behavior toward you.

Now, when you met, he always smiled, and never failed to exchange a few words if there was time. And whenever you were in his vicinity you often felt his eyes on you.

If only you were brave enough to make advances, but it appeared you had caught a spell of unusual shyness around him.

Then one day when you were heading home from a visit to Sigrid and the baby, he fell into step with you. “Will you walk with me?” 

You noticed his hair was damp again after a bath, and his cheeks smooth and freshly shaved. Your stomach fluttered. You had not stopped thinking about the kiss. Longing to repeat it.

As soon as you were some way from the village he took your hand. Yours nearly disappeared in his. It was warm and strong. You squeezed it and he squeezed back.

Then you just walked. Admiring the spring flowers along the path, discussing what kind of birds you heard, enjoying the afternoon sun on your faces. Taking breaks now and then so he could rest his feet. Walking was still taxing for him.

When you were back at your house he kissed the top of your hand. “Sleep well. Will you walk with me again tomorrow? I enjoyed it very much.”

“I did too.” Your heart felt so full it overflowed.

From then on, you took daily walks together, and sometimes rode out on horseback. It felt like you explored the surroundings and saw them for the first time – because to him, it was the first time. You showed him all your favorite places, told him anecdotes from your youth, and he shared similar tales from his own childhood. He had been up to quite a lot of mischief with his brother it seemed, and whenever he shared those memories his eyes grew soft.

“You miss him.”

He nodded. “I do.”

You hoped one day the brothers would be reunited.

Some days later a rider arrived with more news and an invitation. Sauron was dead, the ring destroyed – exactly as Boromir had known. All the Dark Lord’s minions had been swiftly defeated afterwards. And what was more, against all odds Lord Aragorn had survived the decoy attack, and so had all the rest of the Fellowship. Gondor would soon have a king again after so many centuries without, and everyone was invited to his coronation, especially the men who had taken part in the war. 

“What will happen to the steward’s son?” asked Boromir, clearly feigning only a slight interest in the matter.

“He will become Prince of Ithilien. And he is engaged to marry one of ours! Éowyn, niece of Théoden King. Everyone saw them kiss at the city walls.”

Boromir relaxed. “Good for him.”

That day, Boromir was unusually quiet as you left the village on your walk. He seemed melancholy, but who wouldn’t be? The news from the south must have reminded him of where he came from, of his old life.

Did he think of going there? Perhaps attend the coronation? You felt a pang at the thought of him leaving you.

Maybe you could ask him to take you with him…

But no, you belonged here. What would the villagers do without their only healer?

Repressing a sigh, you took in the surroundings, trying to enjoy the beauty around you. It was a mild spring day and the pastures had become green. Everywhere you saw signs of new life: the lambs bouncing around their mothers, the new foals, Sigrid and Torsten’s baby napping in a basket.

You felt a huge wave of gratitude that all of it was still there. Other villages had been wiped out in the war, but not this one. 

Your steps had taken you in the direction of the river, and you realized you were almost at the place where you first found Boromir. It felt strange that only two months had passed since then.

Boromir silently regarded the roaring waterfall. Probably recalling the events of that day. His betrayal. The orc attack. Waking up afterwards unable to use his body.

“The halflings survived,” he said, nodding at the Falls. "Frodo’s friends. It was them I tried to protect in the orc attack, and all this time I thought I had failed. But I saved them. Funny that.”

“Yet you seem unhappy,” you said, taking his hand and squeezing it. Holding hands with him felt natural now.

He sighed. “I suppose I am, a little. I keep regretting I was not there… I could not follow through. The war is over and I did not help. Aragorn had to do everything.”

“How can you say you did not help? You saved us. Me. This may be a tiny corner of the world, but it is all we ever had. Because of you, we still do.”

He looked like he was going to object but you would not let him.

“As I once said, this world needs more good men. Men like you. And do not say I do not know you for now I do. You showed your kindness and virtue even when you tried to take that… thing  – no, hear me out! – for you did not hurt the one who carried it. I have seen you fight; you could have sliced his head off in the blink of an eye. You could have taken the ring so easily. But you did not. Because you are good and kind. Because you could never hurt a friend, ever.”

He stared at you. Then a mist appeared in his eyes and he turned his head away. “I have not thought about it that way.”

“But it is true, is it not? You could have killed him.”

“I could.”

“And if the tales are true, you were hardly the first man to be corrupted by the power of that ring.”

“I was not.” His voice was toneless.

“Boromir,” you said earnestly, squeezing his hand again. “It was not your fault.”

“It was not my fault,” he whispered. Slowly he turned his eyes back to you, allowing you to see the tears pooling in them. “It was not my fault.”

He wrapped his arms around you and pressed his face into your hair. You hid your eyes against his strong chest. You were crying too now. For him, for everything he had been through, all the heartache and guilt. For the loss of his father. For the loss of his strength and mobility.

“I am so sorry for you,” you sobbed.

“Thank you.” Then he suddenly chuckled, and added in a broken voice that was at the same time happy and sad: “I would never have thought I would be grateful for someone’s pity. But I am. So, thank you.”

“Not pity; sympathy,” you said firmly.

You kept the hug for a long time. Allowing one another to calm down and collect yourself. Then you sat on a soft patch of grass by the river. 

“Middle-earth is at peace. Will you return home?” you asked.

You were afraid to hear his reply but had to know. If this, whatever it was between you, should turn into something more, then you needed to know.

“I miss my brother, but the way things are I feel my return would only complicate things. I know he will be a good prince and leader, whereas I… well, I am a cripple.”

“You are not a cripple!” you objected.

Again he chuckled, blessing you with the genuine warmth of his laughter. “Not entirely, I suppose. And perhaps one day I shall visit Faramir. Let him know I am alive. But if so, I would not go there to stay.” He planted a kiss on the top of your hand. “Do you know what I want to do most of all?”

You mutely shook your head. Your heart was beating faster again.

“Stay here.” He nodded at the calm river and the reeds waving in the mild breeze. “In this beautiful place, with the river and the open, quiet plains. Among the horses and the sheep. I grew up in the bustle of the large city but now I have fallen in love with the peaceful, slow life and ways of the village.” He gave you his beautiful half-grin. “My father would think I had lost my mind if he could hear me now.” His smile swiftly waned. “But he is gone. I loved him, but I was never like him.”

“Would you not get bored? You enjoyed yourself on the battlefield, anyone could see that.”

“No more than I enjoyed breaking in Svarten and his foals. The thrill of galloping over a field is no less than the thrill of chasing an orc. No, I will not be bored. I will be happy.” His gaze grew soft as he met yours. “With you, if you will have me.”

“Of course,” you replied, fresh tears filling your eyes. Happy tears.

Softly he kissed them away, one by one. Then his lips found yours.

This time he did not stop after one sweet kiss. And this time he wasn’t only gentle. 

You both knew what you wanted and where this was heading. For – you were his and he was yours, until death would part you.

※※※

A/N:

The next chapter is an Explicit bonus chapter that can be skipped.

※※※

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#boromir #boromir x reader #boromir x oc #boromir lives au #lotr #lotr fanfiction #boromir fanfiction #lord of the rings #hurt/comfort #healing #heroism #Stranger of the Falls

[sotwk]

If it’s not a trade-secret, how does Legolas stay so chipper/optimistic despite all the loss?

How and why is Legolas constantly cheerful?

Legolas's age at the time of his mother's death varies depending on the adaptation or each individual writer's interpretation. In The Hobbit trilogy, it seems to be suggested that he was a child, perhaps even a newborn, when his mother died, so he never really knew her. I've seen a lot of fanfic authors and artists subscribe to this version.

In SotWK however, the Elvenqueen dies in Third Age 2793, when Legolas was already over 2,000 years old. (I outlined a detailed HC of that story HERE.) By the time Thranduil's family began to suffer losses, including being forced out of their home and into the cavern dwellings in northeastern Mirkwood, Legolas had already enjoyed centuries of a happy life during the Golden Age of King Thranduil and Queen Maereth (Third Age 100 to 1000). Legolas had the maturity and wisdom to process and overcome the tragedies that befell his loved ones, so that it didn't crush his bright spirit.

There is a reason why his family's motto is "We will endure." Thranduil and his sons are ALL strong of body, mind, and soul.

Here are some key aspects of Greenleaf's background that contribute to his effervescent personality:

As the baby of his family, Legolas is already by nature the most cheerful, energetic, and relentlessly positive of Thranduil's sons.

He grew up in an almost impossibly happy and loving home, with two nurturing parents and four older brothers who were his mentors and best friends. (My multichapter fic, "Greenleaf's Day Out", paints that happy family picture.)

Legolas is amiable towards everyone he meets, and is known for going out of his way to befriend not only his father's subjects, but also the outsiders who reside at the edges of Greenwood and people of other races he encounters in his travels. He is the Elven poster boy for non-discrimination; he just went through a bit of a rough patch late in the Third Age.

What about his animosity towards dwarves, e.g. Thorin and company, and initially Gimli? I could write a separate essay about that, but in short let's put it this way: given his family's tumultuous history with the Dwarven race, Legolas deserves a TON of credit for ultimately embracing Gimli as his eternal best friend.

Thranduil sent him to the Council of Elrond not because he was the only option left to be Mirkwood's representative, but because Legolas was in fact the Elvenking's Herald, a high-ranking position he had already held for centuries at that point.

Now, it is fair to say that having such a perfect family should only make it more painful for Legolas when bad things started to happen to them. His mother was murdered and one by one his brothers were taken away either by death or some other cause, leaving him with a heartbroken, increasingly cold father he could barely recognize.

By the events of The Hobbit, Legolas had already fallen to the lowest point of his life. The movies actually portray his angst and bitter relationship with Thranduil in a logical and realistic manner.

At the end of BotFA (movie), Thranduil finally accepts that the only way for his last son to find joy again would be to send him out of Mirkwood and into the world. By suggesting Legolas seek out and join "Strider", Thranduil releases him from his obligations as Prince so that he can forge his own path.

Joining the Fellowship heals Legolas's pain and rekindles his joyous, childlike nature, because in them he found a new family to be part of. Aragorn reminds him of his wise and compassionate older brothers, and in Gimli he finds a new best friend and partner-in-crime, much like his brother Gelir (to whom he was closest in age and spirit). Even the Hobbits likely remind him of the days when the Woodland Realm thrived as a home to many elf-children.

Still, it is not a perfect joy, as is shown in the Two Towers movie, where he slips into despair as he and Aragorn argue at Helm's Deep about "three hundred against ten thousand". He cannot be faulted for this, given how much death he has witnessed; but Aragorn knows his friend's tragic history and therefore assures him, "there is nothing to forgive".

Ultimately however, Legolas behaves like a bright and carefree elf throughout the Quest of the Ring not only because it is his nature to be optimistic, but because his companions in the Fellowship were themselves a source of joy for him, a breath of fresh air after centuries of suffocating losses. He was literally "just happy to be here".

As always, thank you for your ask, mellyn nin @creativity-of-death! <3

#legolas #legolas greenleaf #legolas headcanon #lotr elves #lotr headcanon #thranduil #lord of the rings #sotwk answers