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arda-ancalima · 6 months

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Trick or treat!

Thanks for the ask! :D Here is a scene from my Obi-Wan/Siri established relationship Rohirric AU! They have old English names, but you'll be able to tell who is Siri, Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ferus at least by the first letter of their name :)

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Not long after they returned to their little house in Edoras, Aldwine came. Sigewyn ran her eyes over him. He seemed to be well, though grave.

“Mother,” he greeted with a kiss. He sat beside Ordred and accepted a hot bowl of stew.

“Where is Fréawine?” Ordred asked.

“Still with Lord Éomer,” he replied. “There is terrible news: the king’s son is gravely injured. It is unlikely he will survive.”

“That is ill news indeed,” Ordred said, putting a hand over his beard.

Sigewyn paced purposefully around the tiny room. “Perhaps this will wake Théoden King at last. The final days of his own son cannot be taken from him, even by Saruman.”

“You mustn’t say that,” Ordred exclaimed.

Sigewyn raised an eyebrow. “You’re right. His spies are everywhere.”

“I mean that the king still counts Saruman as an ally. We cannot accuse him without proof.”

“It is Saruman,” Aldwine insisted. “The orcs that attacked Théodred’s company at the Fords of Isen were not from Mordor, but Isengard. They bore a sign—the White Hand.”

Ordred sighed. “I don’t want to believe it. I want to think we could still have his wisdom on our side. And not have an enemy on our doorstep.”

“Father, you see the king every day,” Aldwine argued. “You can see the poison of Saruman, through his agent Gríma Wormtongue.”

“Yes, you’ve already said how the Lord Éomer dislikes him and barely follows his orders from the king, but he is a man of Rohan and Théoden’s most trusted advisor.”

“How can you still listen to him? How can you think he is advising in the king’s best interests? He is the voice of Saruman. He’s literally called Wormtongue.”

“My thoughts do not come into the matter. And my loyalty is not to an advisor, but to Théoden King,” Ordred said stiffly.

“As is my loyalty,” Aldwine countered.

Their argument was interrupted by an urgent knock. Sigewyn was closest and opened the door to Fréawine, who swiftly acknowledged his mother and father before addressing his brother.

“Aldwine. You must come quickly.”

He stood. “Why, what has happened?”

Fréawine hesitated. “Lord Éomer has been banished. His Riders are to go with him.”

“What?” Ordred exclaimed.

“I do not understand,” Aldwine said. “Éomer is loyal.”

“Not everyone thinks that.” Fréawine looked distinctly uncomfortable. “And we have not perfectly followed the king’s orders lately.”

“It is not him,” Sigewyn said softly. “Some great evil is at work here.”

The four were silent. At last Fréawine spoke.

“We must gather our horses and leave. We are to be out of the city by dawn.”

Aldwine, startled back to the present, hastily said goodbye. “I have to speak to Padwyn first.”

“Do not tarry, you must not be left behind!” Fréawine called after him, worried about his younger brother as usual. He too bid his shocked and grieved family farewell before setting off for the stables.

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Happy Halloween!!

Ask box trick-or-treat (fic writer edition)

#arda answers #sirianddeanseethestars

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queenlucythevaliant · 2 years

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Shieldmaiden

i. I must have been made for the long defeat, she thought, for that is all I have ever been given.

ii. There was a corollary to that: the contours of my heart must have been fashioned for courage.

iii. Éomer said that their father hadn’t died quiet. He told Éowyn stories about the battle, though he knew no more what really happened than Éowyn did. Curled beneath her brother’s chin, Éowyn imagined her daddy with his jaw clenched, knuckles white around his pommel, fighting and fighting until at last he fell. “He gave those orcs a hell of a fight,” Éomer would say. “His courage will be remembered in these halls until the ending of the world.”

iv. (Somehow, it never occurred to Éowyn that perhaps her good, strong daddy would not be remembered at Meduseld for a losing battle against a dozen orcs, but because that was where the people who loved him best still dwelt.)

v. When Éowyn’s momma died, no one told stories. Momma’s defeat came like the fading of grass under the summer sun.

vi. As a girl, Éowyn gathered up courage from lines of verse and lyrics of songs: My head is bloody, but unbowed. Though far outnumbered let us show us brave. Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle, but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter. She chanted those words again and again, a shield against despair.

vii. Somewhere along the line, Éowyn learned to wield a sword. This was more incidental than one might think.

viii. Théodred dead. Théoden scarcely himself. Éomer riding afar. Defeat was coming for Rohan, but to Éowyn, this was a familiar feeling.

ix. Aragorn came like a king out of a story or a song. His was the voice that cried “Bloody, but unbowed!” in her mind when she was almost despairing, high and glorious even in the face of defeat. Now, Éowyn dreamed of queenship, if only so that her voice could be like his.

x. She did not mean to tell Aragorn her deepest fear: that if she was left in Edoras as ruin fell, she would die quiet, caught in a cage and gasping smoke as the house burned down around her.

xi. “You have a sword,” Merry observed. He was right.

xii. Éowyn went to battle because she wanted them to call her brave. She went to battle because momma had faded like the grass, but daddy had given those orcs a hell of a fight. Because if defeat was coming, she did not want to wait in a failing kingdom for ruin to come and find her. No, she wanted to die like a great queen in a song, brave until the bitter end.

xiii. The grass of the fields crunched beneath her feet as she turned to face the Witch King. When she smote him with her sword, she did not feel like a queen in a song. She was only Théoden’s niece, a girl who loved her uncle and would let no evil thing touch him.

xiv. When Éowyn woke in the Houses of Healing, a fresh web of scar tissue round her wrist, victory seemed an insubstantial, fading thing.

xv. But then Faramir looked out to darkness inescapable and dared to say, “I do not believe that any darkness will endure.” He was not like a king in a song, but his words stirred up the same deep places in Éowyn’s soul where all those words of courage lived. They echoed there, louder and louder. Éowyn smiled.

xvi. When he kissed her, she felt brave as growing things are brave: like the crocuses that bloom from the snowy spring ground.

xvii. “You have desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle. Look at me, Éowyn!”

xviii. Éowyn looked at him long and steadily. I was made for the long defeat, she thought. All I ever wanted was to be brave.

xix. But if the darkness was passing, what courage was there in death?

xx. You were made for life, she heard a voice say, for sunlight and dancing and growing things. Your heart was fashioned for love and for joy. And yes—for courage.

#so as ever i'm a little apprehensive about posting anything lotr and particularly for a character as well-loved as Eowyn #but you know that I love my brave girls and right on brand i loved Eowyn from her first appearance #my recent lotr viewing with my roommate gave me enough oppurtunity to rhapsodize from a place of authority that i feel comfortable here #what i see in eowyn is someone who's had to be very brave while enduring a lot of hardship #and who has conflated hardship with courage #as though one cannot be brave unless faced with inevitable darkness and defeat #she closes herself off to hope because she has lost much #and hope means learning a different kind of courage than the 'riding to your doom' kind she's been living with for so many years #obviously the girlboss lady knight read is oversimplistic and wrong #but equally i think there's a wrongheadedness in acting as though pre-Houses of Healing Eowyn wasn't already very very brave #in very worthwhile ways #suffering and hopeless yes #and in need of the lesson that courage does not always equal fighting #but always coming from a place of essential strength of character #...i'm probably preaching to the choir here #there are many like it but this one is mine #(it's covered in purple prose and has way too much of me in it)#tolkien legendarium #i will not say the day is done #leah stories #pontifications and creations

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anghraine · 2 years

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I wrote another section of my Éowyn/Faramir in the houses of healing fic. It’s longer, though that’s mostly thanks to JRRT himself. I’ll revise it for AO3 at some point, but for now, I ... just finished, lol.

Note: the fic is not Aragorn/Éowyn, she’s just confused.

Éowyn did not say that she was cold. It seemed almost absurd that she should be, coming from Rohan to the Southlands, and after facing the dreadful creature of icy shadow on the Pelennor. Her last memory of it was the witch-lord dissolving somehow or other while her arm went as cold as metal in frost.

Now, the brightness of the last few days had gone, and in the grey light, all the land about the city looked dreary for as far as she could see, and a sudden north wind chilled her. She steeled herself against it, refusing to shiver.

Faramir walked beside her, silent for the moment. Despite his ease with words, he seemed to have no fear of quiet, and their silence would have been as comfortable as anything could be in this moment, if not for the wind. They both wore thicker robes than usual, and cloaks, so he had no further protection from it than she did—but he gave no sign of feeling cold, either.

He turned his head to look down at her, his glance as clear and acute as ever. She’d grown somewhat accustomed to it, but only somewhat.

“What is it?” Éowyn asked.

To her surprise, Faramir briefly excused himself, and strode over to one of the servants of the house, gesturing slightly as he talked. Whatever command he was giving appeared to be complex, but eventually he stopped speaking, and the servant nodded, said something, bowed, and hurried away.

Faramir returned to her, offering no explanation, and Éowyn was too chilled and bone-weary to demand one. They continued walking along their usual path, her mind drifting back to the fates of their armies, likely and otherwise. If Faramir thought of the same, he did not say so. But thus far, he had betrayed fear no more than cold, and though he must share many of the same anxieties, they would not be exactly the same. He hardly knew Aragorn, and his brother was already dead.

Again, an uncomfortable sense of pity twisted at her. She did not say anything, but a small part of her felt that she should have. She understood something of what he must feel, after losing her father and mother, and Théodred, and now, Théoden—yet her hand remained ungentle. Anything she might have said would have been too abrupt and too familiar both. Even in better days, she knew little of offering comfort to anyone, much less a proud man of Gondor.

Éowyn repressed another shiver.

No sooner had she done so, than the servant returned with some sort of folded blue cloth, which he carefully passed onto Faramir. Éowyn, puzzled, studied the cloth while Faramir dismissed the servant. It seemed very fine, though a little faded, and she had no idea of what purpose it might serve.

They had walked up to the wall at this point, and as they stood there, Faramir shook out the cloth. Éowyn caught her breath. It was a large, thick, and very beautiful mantle, sewn at the collar and hem with bright silver stars—plainly intended for a lady.

“I thought,” said Faramir, “that you might wish for a greater barrier against this wind.”

Éowyn lifted her eyes from the mantle to him. So he had noticed, somehow. She supposed she should not be surprised.

“This is yours?” she asked.

As soon as she uttered it, the question struck her as ridiculous. Of course it was. She had only wondered because she could not really envision a man wearing it, and because it would have been short on him in any case.

“Yes, after a fashion,” he said. “It belonged to my mother, Finduilas of Dol Amroth.”

His mother! ’Twas an extraordinary gift, then: perhaps too extraordinary to accept. Yet she found herself reaching out for the fabric, warm and soft against her skin. She did not truly wish to reject the offering—its kindness or its warmth.

“Thank you,” said Éowyn. “It is lovely.”

He smiled, but in the same way he always did, and his hands did not linger as he wrapped the mantle around her body. With a single adjustment of the starry collar, he stepped back, and they stood side-by-side on the wall, watching for any sign of what would await them.

After several minutes of imagining what might be happening even as she watched in comfort, Éowyn shivered at last.

Faramir looked her way, but only said, “What do you look for, Éowyn?”

“Does not the Black Gate lie yonder?” she replied. “And must he not now be come thither? It is seven days since he rode away.”

“Seven days,” he said. For the first time since she had known him, he seemed to hesitate. Then he said, “But think not ill of me, if I say to you: they have brought me both a joy and a pain that I never thought to know.”

Éowyn lifted her eyes to his face, startled.

“Joy to see you,” he said, “but pain, because now the fear and doubt of this evil time are grown dark indeed.”

Joy? she thought—to see her, someone so utterly bereft of it? And another thought instantly followed that one: so he was afraid, too.

He said, “Éowyn, I would not have this world end now, or lose so soon what I have found.”

She had known from the first that he thought her fair, but that meant little to her; most people did, and she was not blind to her own reflection. Now she wondered if he had felt more than that, or now did—perhaps, even, something like what she felt for Aragorn. Oddly, she did not feel discomfort at the thought, just a grave sympathy. He was her friend. She would have liked to know he was happy, or might have been, in a world less beset by evil. She could imagine him content in marriage with some lady of Gondor—perhaps one like her grandmother had been, truly of the blood of Númenor.

Now she did feel uncomfortable. As kindly as she could, Éowyn said,

“Lose what you have found, lord? I know not what in these days you have found that you could lose.” She straightened up, her fingers closing on the mantle. “But come, my friend, let us not speak of it! Let us not speak at all!”

He nodded, not appearing very much different from before. But dread filled her again, and despite her plea, she found herself saying,

“I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me, I cannot tell.” She drew a sharp, painful breath. “For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom.”

“Yes,” he said quietly, “we wait for the stroke of doom.”

Again, they stood together in silence, and watched—and this time, it seemed a true silence, extending from the two of them, to the houses of healing, to the whole city and perhaps the world. The cold wind had vanished; now she missed it. Even the sunlight blurred in a way she could not quite identify, but saw. She did not hear their breaths, or feel the beat of her heart. They might have been dead already, lost in some eternal last moment.

A vast darkness rose above the peaks of the mountains, so vast that it seemed to Éowyn that it could engulf not only her but everything she knew. Lightning flashed about its edges and even through all the impregnable strength of the city’s streets and walls, she could tell that the ground trembled.

Now, Éowyn felt her pulse thudding through her body.

“It reminds me of Númenor,” Faramir said.

The sound startled her—his voice breaking the deep silence, and the words themselves. Éowyn glanced up at him, and found, unusually, that he was not looking back. He stared straight ahead, his eyes wide, and somehow clearer than ever in the dull light. They seemed fixed on some distant point that she could not make out.

“Of Númenor?” she said blankly.

“Yes,” he said, his gaze fixing back on her, “of the land of Westernesse that foundered, and of the great dark wave climbing over the green lands and above the hills, and coming on, darkness inescapable.” He took a deep breath. “I often dream of it.”

In another moment, she would have been still more bewildered, perhaps even enough to question him further. In this one, her skin felt icy again.

“Then you think that the Darkness is coming?” she asked, horrified. “Darkness Unescapable?”

They already stood close together, but now she stepped closer, staring up at him and tightening her grip on his hand—she must have grasped it at some point, or he, hers.

“No,” he said, and thought it might have been a dutiful attempt at reassurance, it did not sound like it. “It was but a picture in the mind. I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says nay; and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny.”

His voice rose as he spoke, until the words sounded less like hope and more like a proclamation. He turned to her without reserve, smiling again—not in the slight, gracious way he did sometimes, but with his whole face full of joy and excitement.

“Éowyn, Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan,” he cried, “in this hour, I do not believe any darkness will endure!”

And then, even as darkness loomed and lightning crackled and light barely shone, he stooped down from his height to press his lips to her brow. Éowyn closed her eyes, staying near to him, as if something of what he felt could pass to her through his breath, and the warmth of his body, and the touch of his hand, and she did feel less afraid.

The wind returned, greater than ever, tugging at their hair and robes until Faramir’s long black hair mingled with hers and the mantle whipped about her ankles. Éowyn inhaled, the air fresh and clean—and the distant towering shadow dissolved as if it were nothing, the skies cleared, and the sun seemed as bright and warm as if at midsummer. All about her, the stone of the city and the green lands about it gleamed in the light.

Relief and a joy beyond words raced through her. They were free—Rohan and Gondor, and all of them, they were free from the dread that had hung over them for so long. It was as insubstantial as the Witch-king she and Meriadoc had slain on the Pelennor, and now—

Half-reluctantly, she released Faramir’s hand. But she looked at him again, and could not help returning his smile.

#anghraine babbles #anghraine's fic #legendarium blogging #faramir #éowyn #otp: and the sun shone

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rohirric-hunter · 3 years

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Not to get too literary in my analysis of the writing of an MMO, or to dig too deeply into a narrative about autonomy in any video game, but I’m also having some thoughts about choices in Volumes III & IV, especially around the Dunland portion of the quest.

I’d always thought it was a little odd that they divided Dunland into the two distinct regions of Enedwaith and Dunland, and I guess for a long time I assumed it was to fill up space and that was more or less all. There are a fair number of side quests which seem reasonably fun, but the main quest stays there for... half an hour? Maaaaaaaybe an hour? Most of which is spent riding between Harndiron and Zudrugund. And then you leave with a bitter taste in your mouth. There are essential events, of course, the Forsaken Road and the introduction of Nona, but basically there’s no reason these things had to happen there, rather than in Dunland proper.

But there are certain thematic story beats, largely centered around the revelation of Saruman as the major villain of Vol. III, and it ties into the regional barriers. You’re aware of the risk Saruman poses, of course, but up through Enedwaith there’s this hope that maybe you’ve slipped under his radar. The moment you discover you haven’t is also the moment you move on out of Enedwaith into Dunland, where you proceed to hear of little else except for Saruman for a good long time.

Yes I said this was a narrative about autonomy. I’m getting to it.

One of the early Vol. III quests is the first Epic quest, if memory serves, to allow you to choose to influence events, when you can encourage Halros to either go with the Grey Company or stay behind. Of course when you are presented with this choice, there’s no possible way to guess how this will effect events down the road. After that you don’t make any choices for yourself for a while, but everyone else is making choices: Corunir chooses to invite Golodir to join the Grey Company even though you were explicitly told not to invite him. Halbarad chooses a lot of things, most of which end badly. I give Halbarad especially a hard time over some of his choices, but I’ll come back to that. For the first bit of Vol. III, everybody’s choosing something.

In Enedwaith, the choices start to dwindle. You are told to do this, and that, to slay traitors in memory of Wadu, to go fetch herbs to make a draught for Nár, to track down messengers and seek out books and so on and so forth. None of these things are objectionable things, but the quests do become a bit. Cluttered? Busy? Running from one little thing to the next, never suspecting that all these tasks are perhaps distracting you from something else? *cough*Tinnudir-Mordrambor-Amarthiel-Tadan*cough* You start to lose your ability to make wise choices in the chaos, and before you know it you’re knocking on the front door of a bunch of cursed undead oathbreakers, and that goes... quite a lot better than can be expected, actually, all things considered, and Corunir asks the real question:

Frithgeir did not want to, but at the end I gave him no choice, and he has brewed the drink and given it to Nár.

Hurry! Go now to Nár and ask him, once again, how he knows of the Oath-breakers! Ask him how he knows the words of Elrond concerning the Paths of the Dead! Ask him why my friends are dead!

Go! We will leave Zudrugund, but first I want to know why all of this had to happen!'

(Oh, there it is again, choice.)

Why did this happen? Why didn’t any one of a number of potentially better choices get made? And you learn your answer: because Saruman meddles. Because there’s a wizard at hand who thinks he has the right and the power to make choices for other people. Théoden will say, “were you ten times as wise you would have no right to rule me and mine for your own profit as you desired,” and Saruman will not answer, but he disagrees, quite strongly.

Anywho, when you move on to Dunland proper a few veils are pulled back. In Galtrev many of the people are enslaved, and the slavers think you’re on their side, and while you choose not to use their methods, you’re all still a part of Saruman’s war machine (and it’s unclear how much this changes at the end of the Galtrev questline). You move on to Tûr Morva and there are a lot of uncomfortable things happening, but one that stuck out to me was Radanir -- Radanir will muck out ox-pens whether he chooses to or not. The people of the Falcon Clan... well, they do as Lheu Brenin does. And as for you, you do as Lheu Brenin says, and there’s a certain contrast, you know, between him and Théodred. Théodred is rash with his words and makes no secret of some of his thoughts that perhaps ought to be kept private, but he lets you go and do as you please, and even his ruder comments are born from genuine respect and concern, the hope that maybe you will take his opinion into account while making an informed choice.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” the game says, silently. “Yes, these people are just ridden with details that make them suspicious, but you don’t have a choice. You don’t. Have. A choice. You need allies.”

That ends... much worse than could have been expected.

All the veils are pulled back and now you’re in Isengard and you’re a slave, and ironically you quickly start to have more autonomy than you have in some time. It’s a game of making the Uruk-hai look the other way long enough to get something done, working to make them underestimate you in order to leverage the choices you do have. And there you meet Acca, who never understood, not really, and didn’t think of power and rings and great kingdoms, but he knew, on a given day, in a given situation, the difference between wrong and right, and insomuch as he knew, he made his choice, and he paid for it dearly.

And after that there is no choice, truly this time -- you escape Isengard, and you return to Tûr Morva, and you begin reaping the rewards of your previous choices: the supplies you gathered for the Falcons, the traps you laid for them, their warriors you helped train. Halbarad does not say it, but he is reaping those rewards too, when the survivors gather outside the prison caves and he performs a head count, and he’s aware, he doesn’t need an irate player to remind him, that it was his choices that led him there.

Then, Troubled Dreams. You choose to follow the dream, to head north.

Horn chooses to offer Nona what aid he can, even when everyone is telling him not to.

Horn and Corudan choose to travel with you.

Nona chooses to move on from the ghost of her brother, and find something for herself.

You choose to follow Éomer to Edoras.

When the time comes you choose to ignore your banishment.

And then a wrench is thrown in the words: a seer. Is there choice, when the future has been seen?

Horn believes there is. Nona believes there is not.

Horn rides to Minas Tirith. You reap the rewards of the choice you made in the beginning of Vol. III. And the volume ends with Horn, if he survives, wondering. Why did he survive when Halros did not? What choices led Halros there, to that moment where he gave up his own life for that of a stranger? Why did he make that choice? And what does it mean? What does all the sacrifice mean, in the end? What do all the choices mean?

If Horn does not survive, according to the Wiki, Elfhelm celebrates the sacrifice of Golodir, who avenged his fallen son, never knowing the bloody, bloody choices that led him to that moment, every single one of them the wrong one, somehow.

At this point the PC is offered the wonderful gift of being able to pass the making of decisions off to Aragorn and Gandalf.

#lotro #im sorry its all overbearing analysis now #aragorn has some line at the beginning of two towers #he says something along the lines of 'it seems all my choices today have gone amiss'#and he keeps on lamenting that for some time #anyway i do think that was the vibe they were going for

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morwensteelsheen · 3 years

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🏠 😢👯‍♀️ for Faramir, 🕎🎭👗 for Éowyn, 🍕🎻 for Aragorn and Arwen, ⌛️👨‍👩‍👦‍👦👀 for Boromir!

Sorry this took so long to answer! I was doing it while I was POMO-cleaning my front room lol

Faramir:

🏡 House — I like and can appreciate the fanon take that once he’s the steward he’s very protective over, like, having quiet space in his study or whatever, but pursuant to my insistence that he’s a Big Fan Of Kids, I think he’s actually very happy to have kiddos/people in with him while he’s working, so his study in MT + Emyn Arnen ends up being more of like a Quiet Family Room or whatever.

😢 Emotions — King Of Bottling His Emotions Up! Absolutely no emotional output from this man until the literal apocalypse, which is why Sam and Frodo get subjected to….. whatever That was, and why Éowyn gets the full song and dance in the HoH. Outside those very two fun, exciting cataclysmic moments? Nothing gets out.

👯‍♀️ Friendship — I used to know this guy who would go around asking people he met a million and one questions, questions that I usually thought were absurdly invasive, but every single time, without fail, people ADORED him for it, and even though I’d stand around cringing, he and whoever he was talking to would be having a whale of a time. That’s what I think Faramir’s like.

Éowyn:

🕎 Holiday — She stops being especially interested in Mettarë/Yule during The Gríma Years™ and it’s not until years later, when she has kids and they’re reasonably old that she gets back into the ~spirit of the season~.

🎭 Hobby — She gets really into playing cards and is an absolutely merciless and shameless cheat. She’s not even particular good at cheating she just sort of dares anyone to complain and half the time they don’t.

👗 Fashion — In line with the Scandi-influence for the Rohirrim, I think Éowyn tends to dress quite understatedly, I don’t think she’s necessarily a huge fan of lots of embroidery or detail work, but when she gets to Gondor the one thing she really embraces are the Greco-Roman style girdles that (I imagine) are very popular there. This is most because they end up being super practical for her because unlike the Scandi/Rohir ones they’ve got more loops around her waist for her to hang stuff from lol

Aragorn:

🍕 Food — He eats how everyone expects Faramir to eat, which is to say that he’s extraordinarily picky. I imagine that he’s almost-but-not-quite a vegetarian and super fussy about eating rules.

🎻 Music — He’s really not picky about music, however. He’s more into the ~idea~ of music and music making than anything else so pretty much all music works for him.

Arwen:

🍕 Food — Arwen is actually a vegetarian but is one of those vegetarians who won’t actually say anything about it in advance so as not to inconvenience anyone and ends up just, like, picking around the side dishes all evening trying to not let anyone notice.

🎻 Music — She, unlike her husband, has a lot of very intense opinions about music, and she, Faramir, and Lothíriel end up forming this pretentious circle to pass judgement on whatever music’s on show. It’s good because there’s a lot of emphasis in the Reunited Kingdoms + Rohan on musical education and patronising the arts, but dreadfully boring for the people who don’t Care as much as they do.

Boromir:

⌛️ AU — I mean I permanently live in my Borodred AU because I’m a hopeless simp, so I guess that’s it. In super strict canonverse I HC him as hardline ace, but when I let the strictness slip he and Théodred are shagging. Always.

👩‍👩‍👧 Childhood — Very much the perfect child in a lot of ways. Is this mostly because he was traumatised by the death of his mother and very irrationally took it upon himself to Raise His Brother even if he didn’t necessarily have to? Yes. Is that evidence of the type of perfect child he was? Also yes.

👀 Personality — I think he’s got an unshakeable calmness to him, and what we see at the Council of Elrond is a product of him having an incredibly shit day compounded by everyone deciding to gang up and shit on his people, like, less than half a year after they took a massive L to defend all of M-E.

#asks #long post #boromir /#arwen /#aragorn /#éowyn /#faramir /

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grumpyblackbird · 5 years

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Éowyn nodded her head as the Elf woman introduced herself. Rivendell, she echoed in thoughts, with her eyes still on the other woman, watching her with curiosity. Then she realised that staring was not the most polite thing, so she quickly lowered her glance. “Pardon me,” she aplogised, “I have just never seen an Elf before,” she admitted.

She had only heard about them in some old tales and legends, but they never came to Rohan. In Éowyn’s head they were tall and slender, walking with light steps with their hair floating in the light breeze around them. Although she could see this kind of majesty in Eleanor and the other Elf, there was also something rough in them which did not fit the picture in her mind.

The other woman’s words made her stomach jump and her heart wrench as she mentioned Éomer. She swallowed hard, as due to the lump in her throat she could not speak. So he was alive two days ago, she stated in mind with a relief, even though she knew it well that Éomer could look after himself. Still, she was worried about him. Théodred could take care of hismelf as well and now he was buried next to her mother. “Yes, he… is my brother,” she managed to say. “Where did you see them? How far are they from here?” she asked.

She nodded when Eleanor expressed her condolences towards Théodred. “Thank you. He did not deserve to die this young,” she said. “He should have followed his father on the throne.” They both fell silent for a short while and Éowyn, just like the other woman, stared into the fire, although she only saw the dancing flames. Then something occurred to her and she turned back to the Elf woman. “Did my brother tell you about Théodred?” she asked.

Éowyn saying this put a genuine smile on her face. “There was no harm done, my lady.” She had not been offended by her staring for it had been mostly honest curiosity and there was nothing wrong with that. Eleanor watched Éowyns thoughts play out openly on her face. There are quiestions the human wanted to ask. “Is there anything ou want to know about my people, Éowyn? Or do you want to know more about Legolas and me? Or are you more interested in Aragorn, maybe?” There was a mischievous smile now playing on her lips. Eleanor had seen the way Éowyn had watched Aragorn during dinner.

The concern in Éowyns voice was obvious. If it would have been one of her brothers or maybe both, Eleanor would be as concerned. “We encountered him about two days ago close to the Entwash Vale. He was leading his éored north. He must be at least a three days ride from Edoras. But he was well.”

Eleanor kept her gaze on the flames but her hands started playing with the strings of her leather bodice. “He did not mention Théodred. There was no time. We were looking for two of our Fellowship. Two of our friends. They had been taken captive by Uruk-Hai. He told us where to find the corpses of these dark creatures and provided us with two horses. No mention of you or Théodred.”

Eleanor sighed and looked at Éowyn. “I believe he is still thinking of you. He is your brother and brothers are prone to worry about their sisters.” These words made her think about her brothers and another fond smile found its way upon her lips.

#ofshieldarm #verse 1 #i have seen death and despair

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