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severussnapedamagedlove · 8 months

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Do Not Ask - LOTR One Shot

(EomerxOC, Helm's Deep, Love, Fluff, Gore, Blood, One Shot, Grief)

Helm’s Deep was full of the last remains of its people. They were all gathered in the aftermath of what was set to be the battle of their lifetimes, for it saved them all. Blood coated the grey stone walls. Black and red blood of both enemy and ally. It smelled as battlefields do; the foul stench of rotten corpses, excrement and hot iron blood.

Eomer frowned as he stepped through the Keep. It was thick with bodies. How far they’d come into their last defense, how close Rohan was close to being an extinct race of Men.

His legs burned as he climbed the final ascent of stairs. He entered a grand hall. Only it was not lit with torches and the smells of roasting foods as he remembered it.

Women and children were out of the caves. They were frightened. The looks on their eyes as they searched for their survivors reflected a fraction of the terror in their warriors eyes. The things on this battlefield were harsher than most. Uruk-hai made war a vile, horror filled with atrocities too filthy to be recounted.

Eomer was Third Marshal of the Riddermark. His place was out in the field in search of survivors. It was where he was needed. He fully intended to join his Eored once his search was complete. There were two he needed to find first.

Selfish need drove him further into the room. It was duly noted that it was out of line for his position. Still, he walked farther inside the hall until he saw them. All he needed was a glance. One look, and his heart would be settled.

He caught sight of his sister. She had her hand pointed, where supplies were to be set as they tended to the wounded. Her eyes were rimmed red. The caves were a savior to the men’s mind, but it did not save their loved ones of the sounds of the deaths. It only amplified the fears of what might come find them in the cave whether it be freedom or death.

Eowyn found his gaze. Her body gave slight give, weakness to her knees, a kind breath out of her chest, as she gave a wobbly smile.

He, too, shared the same relieved breath.

There was a face he sought out in the crowd. Through the endless waves of faces, some familiar, some not, he yearned for a face that was known to his heart by instant fluttering.

The longer the absence, the harder his heart pumped.

Where was the face he longed for?

It took too long to walk through the survivor people until he located someone who was bound to know. An elderly woman with crooked fingers and a boy near thirteen in age. The boy’s clothing dragged on the floor behind as he walked.

Eomer placed a hand on his shoulder. “Maynard. Where is your sister? Her face is lost to me.”

The woman and boy exchanged looks. Their faces told of a restrained guilt. He was not let in on their silent exchange. Tensions in his gut quivered. The battle fear was not yet over for him. There was relief still to be awash his body in victory. Their hesitation did not ease him.

“Speak,” he barked.

Maynard gathered the billowy fabric up to move. “We don’t know.”

Eomer stood straight. His eyes squinted as he took in the boy’s slumped shoulders. The woman’s deepening frown.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” The boy trembled.

He staggered a step, startled by his own thought he’d come to.

She wouldn’t.

Now he saw it. The clothing was sizes too big for the young boy. A young boy who – if by recollection – should have been out on the battlefield alongside his countrymen.

The elderly woman held a stiff face as he turned to her in anger.

“Do not ask to send our young ones,” her voice said, “when there were perfectly fit soldiers ready to fight.”

Eomer flew to the battlegrounds. He searched the dead before they made safe the castle. There were wounded to tend to, provisions to secure, men to regroup, efforts and rebuilding all to be concerned with yet his solider heart could not rest until he found her.

The frantic wavy grip of his throat struggled to keep breathing as he looked through bodies. Their helmets pulled from their heads. Blood, mud, disgust smeared around. A singular stench of death on the wind. It cloaked the stronghold with its inescapable melancholy.

He moved through the bodies on the wall – what was left of it. There were men with crushed ribcages. Their insides leaked out onto the stone.

His stomach flipped. Eyes turned to sadness at the innocent round eyes of children that gazed up from their limp corpse.

All he pictured was instead her: light colored eyes of sky blue with perfect golden hair, more flat than wavy. The coloring of her cheeks perfectly pink turned white, ghost-like in death. Broken bits of her body torn from her flesh like an animal consumed the life straight from her living tissue.

He fought every want to succumb to his emotion. They were bottled so tight, ready to release. He did not know if he would weep or scream. Perhaps, it was the brewing of both: his sorrow at losing the woman he loved so deeply and the anger at himself for not keeping her safe.

A foot solder approached behind his back. The clinking of the chainmail against the armor chest plate echoed in the silence of the dead.

The loud clank of a helmet dropped to the stone.

“Keep that helmet on, solider,” he said through his gritted teeth. “There is still reason to fend for your head.”

“Is your head forfeit then, my Lord?”

It was a voice he convinced himself would never sound in his ears again. He turned around.

There she stood, much like a man, in her armor. An empty sheath hung from her belt. The chill of morning left her breaths clouds sourced from her chapped lips.

She panted heavily. The effort to remain standing dwindled as she swayed.

“Brona,” escaped his lips in disbelief.

Eomer rushed to hold her in his arms. His hands trembled against her body. It was real. No figment of his imagination. It was her. Alive.

He pulled her against his chest. Her weight impacted him fully. She was exhausted.

“Yes, my Lord. I am here.”

“Why did you not come find me?” He murmured. It was a selfish yearning in his heart. To have known she was there would have had him fight harder. Harder to protect her. Harder, to keep them all alive.

She winced as slid his hand between the plates of her shoulder and pulled them down her arms. “You’d have sent me back to the caves.”

Glimpses of her flesh below her tunic showed deep purple and black bruises. Red rashes at her neckline were from the metal chainmail too close to her neck below the armor. He pulled the last heavy pieces off her body showing what woman laid inside. She was not small, nor slender, but woman all the same. A woman who loved flowers and song and enjoyed riding in the yellow light of dawn.

He collected her body into his arms. It relaxed, limply hung by a thread of her energy.

The cots were assembled for the wounded. Eowyn tied a knot at the back of her head to keep it out of the way as she wound a linen wrapping around a bleeding arm. She directed the others tending to the injured around the room.

She rose, wiped the blood from her hands to the white apron tired around her waist, when her eyes caught at Eomer. Her face went pallid.

Not a breath exited her chest as she rushed across the room. A finger ran along her friend’s face. “Is she?”

“No.” He shook his head. “She’s passed out from exhaustion. Dehydrated.”

“Bring her here.”

There was an open space on the floor. A wooden crate was covered with spare comforts that were available. A flat pillow and course blanket.

He frowned. He pulled the cloak from his uniform. It was a luxurious cloth. He slid the fabric over top her body.

His sister handed him a bladder of water. “Drip some into her mouth. I’ll massage her muscles. It will ease the pain.”

He tried to hold the bladder steady. His hands trembled too much. It flicked water over her cheeks down her neck.

Eowyn frowned. “I’ll do this.” She took the water. “You massage her.”

The room was thick with energy. The battle left many wounded, some beyond repair, and many young men dead on the fields that surrounded the grand hall. There were cries of loss, cries of reunion, cries of pain around them.

Neither sibling said a word as they worked on their friend.

Eomer gave a long glance at his sister. Her hands worked at the joints of Brona’s shoulders, rolling them and stretching the muscles with her long fingers. She discovered a split in the skin of Brona’s underarm like the slice of a sword come from behind.

A cold sweat formed at his spine.

War was no place for those with tender hearts. It was horror and gore. It was for the field of monsters and those who became monsters in their fight against monsters.

His innocence was lost on those death fields. The slain bodies full of blood and hate and anger and other worldly tissue filled his mind with no impact anymore. It was like a tapestry woven of a scene. He saw what was before him, but it did not illicit emotion. Just a barren stare.

There was no hope for him. But his love. The beautiful pieces of her soul were light and delicate and glee. They were the bits that he adored. She felt emotions that he could not bring his heart to feel.

What had she endured that night? What savage action had killed that spirit, he wondered. Would she even be the same?

“Did you know?” He bumped his sisters arm with his shoulder. His fingers worked at massaging the left hand. It was the one that held the sword. The grip on a sword for extended periods of time cramped the hand woefully.

Eowyn swallowed but said nothing.

“Eowyn,” he said sternly.

“I only suspected,” she replied with no give in emotion. There was fear for her friend, but no guilt in what had befallen her. “There were too many around. I-I could not see what happened until it was too late.”

“She could have been killed.”

His sister put a palm against Brona’s cheek. She leaned into the touch. “You don’t know what its like. That feeling. Left behind, to wait for everything you love to be stolen from you bit by bit.” His sister placed a gentle kiss atop her forehead. “There is ache in surviving. Being the only one to not be killed in bloody battle. To carry on with the weight of the dead as a reminder of why they perished. It would have killed her, Eomer. Killed her. To have Maynard slain in battle while she lived. She would have not been the same woman we love. I could not ask that of her. Could you?”

Eomer sat there for a few long hours while his duty called at him to rejoin his uncle and regroup his men, he remained by Brona’s side.

His sister’s words echoed within his head.

The shrill heartbreak of cries that came from the caves when the boys were pulled from their mothers. Old men pulled from grandchildren. The women of his country asked to give more than they were willing to survive.

He’d not allowed himself to consider what was done to Brona when they came for her brother.

The fact she changed her clothes with him, made herself a man, just to save his fate from being skewered by an Uruk-hai lance.

Tears were in his eyes when her eyes started to slide open. Her brow flexed in confusion as she looked around her. They stilled when she caught sight of him on side of her cot.

“Eomer,” she breathed.

Her hands touched his cheek. A slip of water fell from his eye. Her thumbs wiped it away.

“Am I dead?”

He shook his head. “No. You should be, but you are not.” His hand trembled as it cupped her cheek. It held her close. The coloring of her face returned. Peachy pink hue touched the tops of her cheek as she stared up at him with those loving eyes. The fear of losing her had near come to fruition. “Forgive me, my love. Forgive me for what I asked of you. Our land was in need. Our people nearly extinct.”

She held the hand against her face. “Forgive me for doing what I must.”

Eomer pulled her into his lap. Her body slowly wrapped around his. Lips pressed against his cheeks. They both forgave what awful betrayal they had done to one another without fulling realizing the devastation it could have caused.

The land was safe. Their loved ones survived the long battle.

The world was far from perfect. It had more trials to endure, but they did not doubt the strength of one another as they faced the terror that grew in the east. For a dark cloud hung over their life, but it did not shade their love.

For more stories on Eomer Eadig and Rohan, please check out my Eomer collection on fanfiction.net!

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philtstone · 2 years

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and maybe #38 for the lotr characters of your choice (maybe in your summer camp/road trip/grad students AU if you feel so inclined?? But follow your ♥️)

#38 -- until you come back home i am absolutely inclined to write for that au because i just finished rewatching fellowship and wept a little (read a lot; its been A Week) at the last 40 minutes so my natural instinct was to write something belligerently, intrinsically ridiculous. here is the original fic to which emma is referring and i dont know necessarily how well the prompt was met but it's in there somewhere. thanks homie xxo you always got my back on this verse

Frodo has come to notice that Aragorn has a no-honking-the-van-horn-unless-it's-life-or-death policy, which becomes a point of contention amongst the party when they are trapped in a veritable angry-honk stand off with twenty other cars in a traffic-logged mountain road. Frodo observes this from his spot in the middle row of the van, squashed between Sam and Merry, while Gandalf harrumphs over their upside-down roadmap and everyone in the back -- by which Frodo very much means everyone -- continues to bicker. The volume of said bickering is only slightly better now than about twenty minutes ago, when they had Boromir on speaker phone.

"If the highway's blocked all the way from here to that big Rohan City Stadium --"

"This is the only road with actual pavement though."

"But if it's blocked --"

"Bloody global warming. This isn't natural, you know? This kind of rainstorm, in June?"

"Actually," says Legolas's voice, "it's hailing. This is a hail storm."

He says this as the torrentious patter of rain on the roof of the van above their heads turns somewhat more violent.

Eowyn groans and buries her face in her hands. Frodo supposes she's every right to groan, as her legs are squashed in between Gimli, who is continuing to decry the climate crisis, and Faramir's knapsack of snacks, which in his defense he is holding mostly atop his own person, but it's so large that it leans a bit onto Eowyn too. Sam is playing xs and os against himself by drawing invisible lines on his knee and Merry has his cheek squashed against his hand and keeps sighing loudly every five minutes. Pippin's fast asleep and snoring.

Up at the front of the car, Aragorn remains staring determinedly at nearly invisible the road -- the view from the windshield is Abstract Grey Haze -- Gandalf remains muttering over their map, and Arwen, who gets carsick when the weather is like this, remains morosely in the middle seat, her head resting quietly against the driver's shoulder.

The cacophony of honking cars continues around them, as does the storm. The road really is well and truly blocked. Frodo thinks a big tree might have knocked down onto it. And perhaps something about power lines.

Giving Sam a significant Look, he unclips his seatbelt and scoots up to peak between the drivers' seats. The stereo is playing Joni Mitchel at very low volume. Frodo wonders if perhaps it isn't Uncle Bilbo's old CD, donated righteously to the cause.

"What do they think they're achieving, honking the horns?" Frodo wonders aloud, as another obnoxious beep sounds.

"Satisfying their own frustrations," Aragorn offers, without much judgment. He taps his fingers against the wheel and adjusts the rearview mirror, which has a dried bundle of lavender hanging from it. He's pulled his hoodie over his hair to keep from getting cold, as the window has been cracked open for Arwen's sake. Yet another car horn screeches, quite close to them this time; Arwen grimaces and Aragorn's expression turns very slightly grim.

"Will we really have to go back?" Frodo asks, very quietly. Gimli keeps talking about the old highway tunnel his cousin built. But that's nearly a day's drive from here, still.

"Harrumph," is all Gandalf says, and turns the map over a third time; Frodo looks at Aragorn.

"There's a sign that says falling rocks ahead," he says, as quiet as Frodo had been. "I don't like the idea of that."

"Harrumph," says Gandalf again, more forcefully. He takes a puff of his e-cigarette. The windshield wipers squeak a bit on their next routine whub across.

Frodo sighs. Wriggling a little, he reaches into the front pocket of his t-shirt and pulls out the USB drive. This is an awful lot of misery just to potentially save the environment.

"What do you think, Frodo?" asks Aragorn. For the first time all afternoon he has taken his eyes off the road and is looking at Frodo.

On the one hand, Frodo thinks, if they go back, it will be at least another few days added to the number of days before they can go home. But if they stay here in this hail storm -- well. Road safety is very important, Frodo's always thought. He's sure Sam's gaffer would agree. He's not wholly sure Uncle Bilbo would agree, but then, he is not in the van.

Aragorn gives Gandalf a significant look -- of a different flavour from that which Frodo offered Sam earlier -- over the top of Arwen's head, when Frodo expresses this. Gandalf looks terribly aggrieved. But then he looks at Frodo and he says,

"Yes, alright."

With a hard yank their van swerves out of the lane and into the opposite one (there is a series of loud cries and intermingled oofs from the back) which is just soon enough to miss the fender bender behind them. They spray hail-water and nearly get clipped by a giant oncoming semi truck, but that collision's averted; with a decisive, sure palm, Aragorn slams the car horn, so long and loud that Pippin all but yelps awake.

Frodo scoots back over to Sam, and they begin playing xs and os together.

"Warmer weather, here we come!" Gimli declares happily from the back.

"Mosquitoes live in warm weather," Legolas supplies helpfully. "They're big carriers of West Nile this season."

As the worst of the storm is left behind them, Eowyn groans again.

#hippie camp counsellor au my beloved #anyway here is the long awaited sequel #.... sort of #frodo baggins #aragorn #eowyn #gimli #arwen #legolas #gandalf #sam gamgee #sam x frodo #aragorn x arwen #gimli x legolas #lord of the rings #fellowship of the ring #my writing #taylor swift prompt meme

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cellophaneangelwrites · 5 years

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Timeless | Five x Reader

Chapter two/Look Alive, Sunshine

A/N: hEY! I think I got Five’s personality decent enough, I tried to make him appear mentally more young as he is 13 here? anyway, thank you for everyone who is following the story, I’m having a lot of fun writing it and if I forgot anyone on the taglist, I’m very sorry and you can slap me, I deserve it.

> wordcount: 1656

> slow-ish burn, angst, panic attack, disassociation

The sun woke you up pretty early, and the uncomfortable ”bed”, more like a piece of slightly more fluffy ground, didn’t help.

When you opened your eyes to look around, the city was still pretty destroyed. The once fire only had embers now, and the mysterious ”Five” was nowhere to be seen.

You remember the last time you ate was quite a long while ago. You don’t feel hungry by any means, but the pounding headache and weakness made it hard to not think of food right now.

Your body desperately telling you to eat and your mind incapable of the thought of swallowing anything. And you were thinking the worst week you ever had was when your annoying neighbor came to stay at your house while her parents traveled.

Sigh.

You make your legs work, somehow. One step after another, you try and find your way to food. Hoping there is some food, at least. And when you started losing hope, you found a supermarket that had it less bad than the others and somethings survived! You even found water, not much, but enough.

You decide to eat a little before getting a way of stocking those things. You were pretty sure your legs were trembling, like they were gonna give up any moment.

Every bite is a conscious effort, everything that goes to your stomach seems too heavy and tastes like dust. Which begs the question, is it because of the apocalypse or your mind?

You eat as much as you can, what it wasn’t much, but you thought it would be better than forcing and ending up vomiting. That would be a waste of food.

All the panic of the other day is still there, but doing things and keeping active actually does a pretty good job on distracting you. You just have to concentrate on surviving, nothing else.

You keep all your food on a corner and goes looking for anything like a bag. You didn’t even notice before, but you were wearing your pajamas all this time.

Finding a department store, or well, what remains of it, you pick the biggest bag you can find and as much newspaper as you can put your hands on. Back to the less destroyed supermarket you put all your food, newspaper and water in the bag and it doesn’t even begin to fill it.

Then you lead to finding somewhere to spend the night.

You walk until you see a barely balanced structure, but still, the most balanced you’ve seen until now. Putting the newspaper where you imagine is a good place, you see that the sun is high in the sky by now.

You open the bag and drink a bit of water, careful to not spill anything.

And then you are alone with your thoughts which isn’t a thing you really wanna be right now, so you pick a newspaper and start to read it.

And then something really, really weird happens. Because you definitely don’t remember being 2019.

What is happening here?

You check the other newspapers but they’re all the same. And you are shaking right now.

You stand up fast and start to walk, almost run, to anywhere far away. Away from all of this, just, away.

You keep the pace for a some time, until you run into mysterious boy and lot of equations. He frantically kept writing on the ground, didn’t even notice you were there, of did notice and simply didn’t care. You stop for a minute. If the circumstances were different, you would totally have a crush for him. Apparently smart, cute, and a nice voice to hear, that’s definitely crush material.

You can actually feel your shoulders going down as the reality comes down on you.

You sit as you watch and try to make sense of the equations. It wasn’t even near your level of math, but still makes a good distraction.

A bunch of lines were written before the sun starts to come down. You look at the boy, who is only now starting to get to the point he wanted from what you could see, and wonder if the boy had food or water stored somewhere.

”You know, I can share my food with you. Water, too.”

He looks at you unimpressed and scoffs.

”I don’t need your help.”

The reply doesn’t surprise you. And he did notice you were there, after all. Or did a really well job in hiding that he didn’t. You couldn’t tell, he was a very hard person to read.

”Well, then I’m on my way. Good luck with your numbers, Five.”

”I don’t need your luck either”

But you were already walking to your refugee.

The longer time you spent in this dystopian world, the more you came to terms with it. Not near perfect, but at least you were now starting to feel your body was yours again.

You close your eyes and feel the chilly night coming, shivering and quietly regretting not looking for a coat earlier. But you had a lot of newspaper, and you saw too many risks wandering around on a ground like that at night. Not worth it.

The way back was silent and you walked distracted at the equations and numbers you saw all day. Not that you were genius, but from the patterns you could identify you could solve one or another part. Probably the easiest’s ones but still interesting, and on a equation of that level, the easiest part is the ”I will not pass my test because of this” type of thing.

The ground was cold, but you were not gonna die. Painfully slowly, it started warming, but the cold bones you were feeling made your sleep very light all night.

Maybe that’s why you woke up so easily at a faint, far away scream. You first reaction was defense, but then it occurred to you that the voice was vaguely familiar.

Oh, the boy who doesn’t need help is needing help?

Carefully to don’t trip anywhere, but still, as quick as you can, you get to where you think you heard the scream.

You first don’t see anyone, until you hear a quiet, very quiet panting. You had to slow your breathing to hear it, and even then it could be just from your mind.

But it ended up it wasn’t.

You see the boy just as you see him, and then you see what happened.

He was sitting on a block of concrete, and a piece of rusted metal fell on his ribs. Pretty painful, probably not death from the wound itself, but very good candidate for infection.

You approach carefully and slowly, like you approach a wild cat.

You swear he almost hisses at you.

”I can help you. Trust me, please…”

You extend your right hand to him and he flinches and almost escapes from your touch, but you firm your grip on his waist with the other hand. You can see he consider something on his face.

”Seriously, just be quiet for a moment”

He does.

You close your eyes and work your power as you always do. The wound is almost like a rip on a sheet, but you are afraid of what have gone in, so you look a little more inside.

And, you were right. That was most definitely not human cells. The body naturally pushes them off, so all you have to do is help a little.

Then you stitch the skin back together.

There is a scar, as you don’t practice your powers all that much. But the worse, an infection, you were positive you avoided.

When you open your eyes, his eyebrows are up and his eyes slightly wide. Not an absolute surprise face, but you have a feeling that’s the absolute best you will get out of him.

”What are you doing here?”

You don’t look at him, choosing to remain your sight at the scar instead.

”You won’t get an infection now, but you do have to be more careful”

You turn around to head back, but a blue light and… boy come out of blue light? Oh.

You knew you recognized that shirt somewhere, your brother was obsessed with these kids. Umbrella Academy, wasn’t it?

”You don’t like answering, do you?”

”Well, ask me a question I actually know the answer to and you may have more luck.”

”How did you end up here?”

”You already asked that one.”

He stared at you more intensely and you sighed and nearly roll your eyes as you answer:

“I don’t know, I just woke up here.”

”How did Dad not found you?”

You look at him directly in the eyes and put you best ”How the fuck am I gonna know?” face while you shrug.

He looks at you with a very cautious look, and you notice that’s the exact same look he has when he is solving an equation. He has very pretty eyes, even in the dark.

”Why did you heal me?”

”Oh come on, that’s obvious. You needed healing.”

”Yeah, but why?”

”I don’t know, because why not? I wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep after that anyway. Pick whatever random one you got on your mind, that works for me.”

He looks at you even more troubled.

You sigh.

”Look, I’m guessing you don’t have anywhere to sleep, do you? I can share mine with you. Not good, but better than hard ground”

He shakes his head.

”No, I am okay.”

You shrug. Okay then.

You turned around to your little made up sleeping place. Because that wasn’t even close to a bed. You still need to rest as much as you could, anyway.

“Wait!”

You turn your torso, looking at the boy’s a bit hesitant smile, dimples threatening to appear on his face.

”Thank you.”

You smile at that. The boy does know manners, after all.

”You’re welcome.”

> taglist

@badass-warrior-eowyn

@i-fancy-you

@mega-trash-cringe

@gingersnap12612

@the-geeky-fangirl

@kttuppence

@0bookishnerd0

@steedydamage

@peter-psrker

@katejoyy

@fangirl-127

@unicornqueen05

@takemetoneverland420

@randomtrashpanda

@devionnar

@m951108

@drawingsupernova

@thors-hair-extensions

@kimcarcrashin

@randomnessfangirl

@ohhowthetableshaveturnedd

@disco-deaky-stan

@sassy-police-box

@crimson-may

@overrrated-literature

#five x reader #fanfic #five imagine #five hargreeves #number five x reader #hargreeves #the umbrella academy #tua #imagine #reader #multichapter #slow-ish burn

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littlekatleaf · 4 years

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Light of Some Kind (f/f, NSFW)

"It was so dark in my mind. She came up to me with the sweetest face, And she was holding a light of some kind." ~ Ani DiFranco, Light of Some Kind Ten years today... ten long years have passed since the day we stood together before our friends and family, before our joining people and pledged ourselves to each other with elaborate vows and more elaborate ritual. The ceremony only echoed the words we had already spoken the night before, with just those closest to us present. Through it all there were stars in my eyes, and I could not see for the dazzle. I am not sure I would have tried to do so, if the choice were mine to make. Perhaps I should have. If I had, would we be here now? I do not know. I suppose it does not matter; we are where we are. The dazzle is gone and I am left alone in the darkness. ~.~ Eowyn laid the quill on the table beside her and closed the book gently. Part of her wondered why she bothered to keep the journal, letters from her heart to be read by no one. Was it silly, a clinging to hope where there was none? She did not know, only knew that the words came, flowing from her and spilling onto the page. If the outlet was not available, she felt as though she would burst.

The single candle cast its pale yellow glow onto the deep blue of the leather cover, which had been coloured with elvish dye. The book had been a gift from Arwen on her wedding day. Eowyn remembered the giving with clarity unusual for the whirlwind of that day. The Queen had sought her out at the party following the ceremony, catching her in a rare moment alone. She touched Eowyn's arm almost shyly, her words soft but intent. "In this day so focused on the 'us' and 'we', I want to give you something that is yours alone. You may share it with Faramir, but only if you choose to do so." She handed Eowyn the book, but did not depart so quickly. Instead she placed on hand gently over Eowyn's heart, her long fingers elegant, her touch slightly cool. Arwen gazed intently into her eyes. It was then Eowyn noticed the blue of the cover matched the blue of her eyes exactly. "Do not lose yourself, Lady Eowyn; there is a fire in you. Tend that fire, keep it safe." Eowyn had nodded, slightly confused, and thanked Arwen for the present. In the excitement of the day and the disorder following the move to Ithilien, the book was lost. Only recently had she discovered it again, and remembered the Queen's words. Now, alone in the castle that was Minas Ithil, Eowyn wondered what Arwen had meant, and if she had known what was to come. It was said that elves could sometimes catch glimpses of future events. Or perhaps it was simply knowledge of life as a married woman. It had been two years since she had wed Aragorn, now called King Elessar. Whatever she knew, or understood then was irrelevant, for it changed nothing. Eowyn had neither heard nor understood the warning for what it was. She took up the candle and crossed the room to her bed. She slid between the sheets, shivering slightly at the chill and blew out the candle. It should have been their bed, but more often than not she lay there alone. Tonight was no exception. There was a litany of excuses - reasons, Faramir claimed - he had to complete various reports, or speak to one of his guards who just arrived, or check on a last minute problem and would be to bed late, he did not wish to wake her; he was feeling unwell and did not want her to become sick as well; he had to wake early to accompany guards on a patrol... there were as many explanations as there were days in a week. Eowyn understood that ruling a realm was never simple or easy, but it seemed that if he loved her, he would find time to spend with her. In the darkness she laid a hand on her resolutely flat stomach and wondered. Perhaps it was this failure, her failure, which kept him from her bed, and her side. Such things had sent better men to seek solace and the possibility of even bastard children in the arms of another woman. Eowyn turned onto her side, curling around the emptiness in her stomach. She desired a child as well, but not for any of the reasons Faramir did. She cared nothing about the continuation of a familial line, a male line. No, what she desired was one who would love her, and one with who she could share her wisdom, such as it was. She longed for a girl, a daughter, who she could train to fight, who she could send to be a Shield Maiden with the camaraderie, the companionship of women strong and beautiful like herself, this would afford. A daughter who could have the adventures Eowyn had dreamed of all her days. Dreams which disappeared like so much mist in the reality of marriage. I fear not death or pain, but a cage; she had spoken the words to Aragorn as they prepared to leave for Helm's Deep, striving to make him understand her desire to fight alongside those who defended her people. He had not understood - had dismissed her concerns as unfounded. He had agreed with her father and sent her away with the women and children and those few men too weak or ill to join the battle. Faramir understood even less. Though they had spent time together in the House of Healing after the Battle of Pelennor Fields, and though he knew her part in the slaying of the Witch King, Faramir clung to the belief that women were fragile things, in need of protection and safety. In the years of their marriage he had refused her any action, any unfettered emotion, anything that was not proper, and not decorous. When she asked to assist in the breaking of new horses, gifts from the King, Faramir refused. When she asked to assist training the youngsters in weapons practice, he refused that as well. If she were with child, the baby could come to harm, no matter that she experienced none of the symptoms of pregnancy and her moon-flow came each month. When she attempted to train with the border patrols, she was sent away. The rigors of training were too harsh for a woman of child-bearing age. Never mind that she had been a Shield Maiden - maiden no longer, he would say. Finally she no longer asked, which seemed to offer him, at least, some relief. Eowyn clenched her hand on her stomach, fingers pressing into the soft skin. Did he see her as nothing more than an empty vessel to be filled with child? She squeezed her eyes shut and bit at her tongue. She would not cry herself to sleep. Not this night, and not again. She would find a way, change would come, it must. Just as she was about to drift, she realized; her flow had not come. It was late, nearly two months late. Perhaps... Clinging tightly to hope, Eowyn fell into uneasy sleep. Through the night dreams drifted through her mind in disjointed images. Pelennor Field surrounds her again, the noise of battle ringing in her ears. The Witch King rises up before her and she reaches for her sword, only to find her hands locked together with silken scarves. She is unable to move, unable to defend herself. His sword begins to fall but gilded bars rise up around her. He is unable to pierce the cage. She is safe, but incapable of leaving the field. She grips the bars, rattles the cage, but cannot break free. Night falls around her, the gloom blotting out the dead bodies, the bloodied ground, the Witch King before her. She tries to sit but the bars of the cage, the only thing she can see in the black, will not allow it. She can merely stand, waiting. Then, through the dark comes a light. She cannot see what casts the light, or who holds it, but she has the impression of eyes - blue eyes - and the cage and scarves fall away. Finally she can move and she does, striding from the darkness toward the light. Suddenly Faramir looms in her path, sword in hand. She raises her own sword in defense and the blades clash. Bright sparks leap from the metal and he knocks hers away. As it falls he steps forward, sword to her midriff. "Go back," he says, voice barely more than a growl. She shakes her head; she will not retreat. There is no fear in her heart, only determination and a fierce joy as she takes another step forward, impaling herself on his sword. Blood pours from the wound, staining her dress and her legs a shocking red. Eowyn woke with a gasp, the dream still holding her tight in its grasp. Her abdomen ached fiercely, her head throbbing in time to the pain. She put a hand to her stomach, had she been wounded? No... and yet something was wrong, very wrong; there was an awful slickness between her legs. She reached down, hand coming up wet with blood. Nausea rolled through her in an oily wave and she swallowed against it. Heart pounding in her throat, Eowyn gripped the covers and pushed them away, revealing her legs and bed-dress both stained red as the blood in her dream. Carefully she swung her legs to the edge of the bed. Help, she must... She tried to stand. Her legs would not hold her. As she slid to the floor, the darkness of her dream suffusing her vision, Eowyn wondered if this was the way free. Through the emptiness where she floated, unmoored, Eowyn thought she heard someone calling to her in a voice seemingly infused with the music of silver bells. She could not understand the words, but the simple sound of them gave her a measure of peace. Curious, she struggled to follow the voice, allowing it to lead her through a labyrinth of sensation - pain low in her belly, nausea, headache, bright light, too bright as she blinked and opened her eyes. It took a moment for her surroundings to solidify and become clear, her head still swam. Suddenly she realized she was in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar bed. Sunlight streamed in through the window across from where she lay and as she struggled to sit up, she saw not the plains of Ithilien, but the courtyard of Gondor. What had happened? "Lady Eowyn, please lay back. You have been quite ill." A gentle hand closed over her shoulder, urging her down into the softness of pillows and bedding. The Queen, Arwen stood beside her, concern shadowing the blue of her eyes. "Why am I here? What" Eowyn's voice was rough in her ears after the silk of the other. She cleared her throat, but it did not help and she fell silent. The room seemed to be turning slowly and she closed her eyes against the dizziness. "You needed healing and your people did not know how to help you, so they brought you here to me." "Healing?" Eowyn echoed, attempting to understand. A particularly strong wave of dizziness washed over her, and she moaned softly. The Queen laid a hand over her forehead, her touch cool against the heat of Eowyn's skin. "Yes." There was hesitation in her voice and for a long moment silence fell between them. The Queen stroked her forehead gently. "I was bleeding" Eowyn said slowly, as memories attempted to surface before drifting down and away again. Her mind felt swathed in cotton. She gazed at her in confusion. "Yes." Again the hesitation after the affirmation, but then she spoke and her eyes were full of pained understanding. "Eowyn, your child was lost." The words sliced through the numbing haze and Eowyn's eyes widened. "My what?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "There was nothing I could do to save her; she was too young. I did what I could to save you," she replied. "You should not have." Eowyn's eyes drifted closed, the darkness pulled her under and she welcomed it, opening her arms to embrace it. She may have attempted to save her, but she would not return. There was no place for her here. Suddenly light flared through her mind, sending the darkness skittering to the corners of her mind. "No. You will not do this. Come back to the light, Eowyn. Come back to the living. This is not a choice you should make." The Queen's voice rang through her thoughts, the strength in it like the blade of a sword. It was not a voice that could be refused. Eowyn blinked. Forced back into herself, she turned her face into the pillows. She wanted nothing more than to block the light but it was inside her. "I can't," she said. "You can and you must." The bed dipped slightly as the Queen settled beside her. Though Eowyn did not open her eyes, she could smell her, a sweet scent like lily-of-the-valley. Like her mother, dead for many years. Like safety. Without thought and unheeding of propriety, Eowyn buried her face in her skirts. "Why," she asked, tears filling her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. The fabric beneath her cheeks grew damp and still she cried. "What did I do? Why did I lose my daughter?" The Queen did not answer right away, as Faramir would have, attempting to silence feelings he did not understand. Instead she simply rubbed one hand over her back in slow movements, giving her the chance to spend her tears. When the sobbing had quieted, she spoke. "It was nothing you did or did not do, Eowyn. The child was not strong enough to cling to life and so it needed to return to the halls of your ancestors. She will await another chance to return to this world." Suddenly remembering the person she clung to was the Queen of Gondor and the daughter of Lord Elrond, Eowyn pulled away abruptly, attempting to smooth her hair and bring herself back into some semblance of order. She was a Princess herself, and should not be acting like a spoiled child. A hot flush stained her cheeks. "Excuse me, my Queen. I have behaved inappropriately. Please accept my thanks for your healing, and my apologies for my actions." The Queen shook her head. "There is no need for formality or titles here, Eowyn. I am simply Arwen." Despite herself, Eowyn nearly snorted at that. Simply Arwen; there was never simplicity about her. Even here in the House of Healing, surrounded by drying herbs and sickbeds, enclosed in a house of stone she retained an air of magic, of promise, of something more. Her eyes shone with a light that warmed Eowyn, even in her grief. Eowyn nodded. "Thank you... Arwen." A smile touched Arwen's lips. "You are most welcome. Now you must rest. You shall remain here until you are fully healed. Shall I bring you pen and paper later that you may send Faramir a letter, informing him you are here? Or shall I send a messenger to Ithilien immediately?" Eowyn shook her head, wishing she would not have to ever tell Faramir. It was not that she could not bare children, she simply could not carry them. "No," she said softly. "He is away on some affair with his men. I know not what. I am certain I will return to Ithilien before he does." Arwen nodded. "Very well. Rest, pen-neth. I will return later this afternoon to see how you fare." And with a rustle of skirts and a small smile, she was gone. Eowyn curled onto her side, facing the doorway through which Arwen had disappeared. She reached out with one hand, touched the place on the bed where she had sat. It was still slightly warm, and the lingering scent of lily-of-the-valley kept her from feeling so alone. Though she was certain she would be unable to sleep, the instant her eyes closed, she drifted away. In the days that followed, as Eowyn slowly healed and regained her strength, Arwen spent much of her time at her bedside. Usually she would respect Eowyn's silence, spending her time reading or sewing or answering any number of petitions for her intercession in one dispute or another among her people and the elves. It was during one of these latter times that Eowyn was first willing to speak, drawn out of her reticence almost against her will by curiosity. Arwen had resumed her normal seat at Eowyn's bedside, but instead of a book, she held a scroll. Eowyn watched from the corner of her eye, though she seemed to keep her gaze focused on the small square of the courtyard visible through the window. After her greeting Arwen did not speak, merely studied the scroll, then retrieved a quill and began to compose a response. What could she be writing, Eowyn wondered. It could have been a letter, but she had seen the seal of Gondor affixed to the top of the scroll. Official business, then. Unable to contain her curiosity, Eowyn blurted, "What are you doing?" Arwen glanced up from the scroll and for a moment, Eowyn thought she caught the slightest hint of triumph in her eyes. "There is a dispute between a steading peopled by Men and another peopled by Elves. It seems as though both groups have laid claim to a piece of land - the Elves to harvest the nuts from the trees, the Men to plow the land for field. They have written for my dispensation." Eowyn's brows rose. "King Elessar allows you to take part in the ruling of his land?" "Why would he not," Arwen replied simply. "It is not his land alone. We are King and Queen. We rule together." "Faramir has never requested my thoughts on any matter, large or small." "Then more the fool is he to ignore the wisdom you offer." Eowyn felt a heat rising to her cheeks and she returned her gaze to the window, ending the conversation. But she could not contain a tiny spark of pleasure at the kindness in Arwen's words. From that day on, Arwen attempted to engage Eowyn in the affairs of the lands. She would explain the complication, and then they would discuss the matter together. At first Eowyn was reluctant to offer her thoughts, but Arwen questioned her so astutely that soon she found herself opening up and discovering insights she never would have imagine within herself. Unlike Faramir, Arwen was generous with her compliments and encouragement, and Eowyn never felt stupid, though the Queen's intelligence far outshone her own. There was something about Arwen's attention, unwavering yet unobtrusive, that allowed her to feel herself unfurling like a bud beginning to stretch into flower. As the days passed, Eowyn found herself looking forward to Arwen's visits. She even lay awake nights thinking over some particular witticism or comment Arwen had made and attempting to remember some tale or song that might bring a smile to her lips. The Queen was always stunning, a creature of the twilight with the moon-paleness of her skin and night-sky of her hair, but when she smiled she was radiant. Eowyn enjoyed nothing more than coaxing the smile from her. She was like none other that Eowyn had met. She was quick to smile, quick to laugh and slow to anger or a show of bad temper. Though the King had been absent during the fortnight of Eowyn's stay so far, she had never caught even the smallest hint of displeasure at his absence. It was nearly enough to make her feel quite inferior, but Arwen was never superior or condescending. She was, as she had said, simply Arwen. Still, for all Arwen encouraged Eowyn to speak, to share things about herself that she shared with no one, the intimacy was rarely returned. Eowyn found the few questions she did ask deflected so adroitly that she noticed only later, usually when she was alone again, that Arwen had not answered. The Queen wore her mystery like a cloak, and as days passed, Eowyn found herself desiring to penetrate that mystery to meet the woman beneath. Late one afternoon, Eowyn found herself shifting restlessly in the bed, unable to get comfortable. Arwen had not been to visit at all, and when she asked the serving woman who brought her lunch about the Queen, the woman had replied that she was otherwise occupied and offered no further explanation. Eowyn was bored, restless. She had not been out of bed in more than a fortnight. She felt healed, felt strong; it was time to be up. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and carefully stood, one hand on the headboard, just in case she was weaker than expected. Her legs were shaky, but they held her. She moved slowly across the room to a basin and a pitcher of water and washed her face and arms. She would prefer a bath. While the healers' ministrations kept her from smelling rank, she did not feel fully clean. She would find Arwen, thank her for her attentions and seek out the baths. Glancing in the mirror, she was slightly dismayed to find she had lost some weight during her illness. Her cheeks were pale and gaunt, her eyes dark rimmed. Frowning in displeasure, she straightened her hair, then shrugged at her reflection. Nothing she could do about it. Unable to find her clothes, she took up a knitted woolen blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Still moving slowly, Eowyn left the healing rooms, her bare feet making no sound on the stone floor. Though she passed several people in the castle, none seemed to take undue notice of her wanderings. She could have asked any of them where the Queen was, but she was enjoying exploring on her own. It felt good to be walking again, even this small amount. She passed the kitchens, the servant quarters, the guest quarters and finally found her way to the main house. She turned a corner and found a door that was slightly ajar. Peeking inside, she realized it was the library. Leather bound volumes and cubbies of scrolls lined the walls. There were several chairs and tables scattered through the room, but no one occupied them. There was a huge fireplace set in the far wall and, beckoned by its promised warmth, Eowyn slipped into the room. She made her way to a small couch positioned carefully to receive the maximum warmth of the fire, but still allow one to look out the window and over the grounds and mountains of Gondor. Eowyn curled into a corner of the couch and gazed out. It was a gray day, clouds hanging low over the land. Rain spattered the glass in fits and starts and she could hear the wind whistling in the chimney. The storm outside and the fire inside combined into a soothing atmosphere and she lay her head on the arm of the couch, yawning. She must have fallen asleep because she did not hear the door open, or anyone enter the room, but when next she looked up, Arwen was curled into the other corner of the couch, head resting on one arm, gazing into the fire. She did not wear the normal ornate robes of office, but instead a simple dress. It was still made of the finest cloth, and the maroon dye was the richest hue. She also wore not the silver circlet, which named her Queen and her expression was unusually distant and melancholy. Without moving, not wishing to startle her, Eowyn said, "You seem sad." "My father has decided to pass into the West," Arwen replied softly. "He wearies of life in Arda, and desires to see my mother once again." Eowyn had never met the Lady Celebrian, wife of Lord Elrond, but she had heard tales of her valor, her beauty and her honor. She had been a great Lady, both wise and kind. She held her tongue, allowing Arwen the space to speak or not, as she desired. As she had offered Eowyn so many times. "He will not wait to see me age and wither," Arwen continued and Eowyn caught the bitterness in her tone. "He believes you made the wrong decision, even now," Eowyn could not keep from asking in some surprise. Faramir had forged a friendship with the King and early in their marriage he spoke of Arwen and her decision to forfeit her elven immortality to embrace the mortality of her husband. For the first time Arwen turned to meet her eyes, the blue shimmering with unshed tears. "He does. Though I am mortal, my life will be long according to Mens years and he believes Aragorn will die before I do, leaving me bereft." "It is ever the danger of womanhood," Eowyn agreed. "We are kept 'safe' behind stone walls but we send our hearts into danger, perhaps never to return. And what good is safety then?" But Arwen shook her head. "Aragorn holds not my heart." Eowyn's eyebrows raised, and unaccountably, her stomach clenched as though with fear, and something more. "You do not love him?" "I do; simply not in the way you mean. We have known each other for many years, have loved for most of that time. But when I met him, we were both young and naive. We believed ourselves in a myth, a tale, destined for each other, willing to pledge forever when we knew not who we were, or what 'forever' meant. In time, we have learned our hearts, and discovered pieces of ourselves we had never imagined. Our hearts' paths diverged, and though we remain together as King and Queen and as friends, we each take lovers elsewhere." Eowyn nodded in understanding. "I believe Faramir and I are on a similar course," she admitted. "I do not believe he knew me when we were betrothed. He longs for a woman who is content to sit with her ladies in waiting and chatter about nothing, to bear babies and wish for nothing more. I am too active, too curious, too frank. I disturb him, and the ladies in waiting do not understand me. They do not understand the blood of the Shield Maiden that burns in my veins, making me restless and anxious behind the safety of walls." "It is not easy to be different from those around you," Arwen agreed. "I may be mortal, but I can not rid myself of my elvish ancestry. I feel the gazes of the men on me, fearful and desiring at once; the cold stares of the women, deeming me witch and fearing me in their own ways. I am too learned for a woman, too strange..." "Never too strange," Eowyn interrupted, anger on Arwen's behalf making her bold. Drawn forward without thought, she cupped a hand to Arwen's cheek and kissed her slowly, the softness of those petal-pink lips sweet against her own. To her surprise, Arwen did not break the kiss, but instead deepened it, responding with an urgency that belied the composure she so often held. Eowyn sighed against her, and moved back. She was startled to discover that a flush had risen in Arwen's ivory cheeks. "I hope you do not feel I was too forward," she said, suddenly doubting. How could she have acted so rashly? A smile crossed Arwen's face, the first Eowyn had seen that day. "No," she said, shaking her head. "Not at all." Despite Arwen's reassurance, Eowyn fled the library as soon as she was able, needing the solitude of the healers' rooms to understand what had passed. Safely ensconced in her cot, wrapped by blankets, Eowyn sat staring out the window, unseeing. It was rare, but not completely unheard of for one to be attracted to similarity, rather than difference. Yet none had stirred her in the way Arwen did... not Faramir, not Aragorn, not any of the other Shield Maidens. What was it that drew her? Perhaps it was the very elvenness that so disturbed the Gondorians, or her sharp wit, or ready smile. Or some heady combination of these things. But what did it mean Arwen was Queen, she merely Princess. And both had appearances to maintain. Eowyn sighed and curled onto her side, absently tracing the blanket's pattern with one finger. She was getting ahead of herself. Who was to say what Arwen felt for her, if anything. The King had been long away, perhaps she was simply lonely. Arwen did not seek her out that evening, nor the following morning. As the late morning faded into early afternoon, worried that she had crossed a line, Eowyn decided to find Arwen, instead. This time she requested her clothing from the healer's assistant. She would not be wandering the palace in naught but a sleep-shift. And if she had damaged their relationship beyond reparation, she would take her leave. She was healed enough of her illness, and with time the grief would fade as well. Following the same path as the day before, Eowyn wandered through the palace. This time she did not get sidetracked in the library or anywhere else. She was determined to find Arwen. At last she glanced out a window and saw Arwen. Her hair was pulled back in the braids of elvish warriors. She had cast off the ornate dress of a Queen, instead clad herself in simple leather breeches and a light undershirt. In one hand she held a long-sword, and as Eowyn watched in some fascination, Arwen began the intricate motions of practice, blade glittering in the sun. There was a door just a few steps away, and Eowyn let herself out into the courtyard, hesitating just at the edge of the practice green. Arwen nodded a greeting, but did not pause in her movements. Eowyn did not mind, she leaned against the wall, the stone behind her warm from the afternoon sun and simply appreciated being outside again. The breeze was cool, but hinted at the coming heat of summer. Arwen's shirt clung to her back and breasts and a thin film of sweat glistened on her forehead and arms. She may have been a Queen, but Arwen would not need guards and defenders. She was quick with the blade and clearly skilled. Her eyes were narrowed with focus, her face set in grim determination and Eowyn thought she never looked more beautiful. Suddenly she noticed another blade laid carefully on the ground beside her. A quick grin crossed her face and she retrieved the blade and strode into the center of the yard, greeting Arwen with a bow. Arwen returned her grin, and her eyes darkened with a feral gleam. Her own warrior instinct awakened, Eowyn raised her sword and metal met metal with a sharp clash, sparks jumping from the contact. Neither spoke, there was no need for words. Instead they circled, thrust and parry, strike and riposte. Blades flashed. Sweat dripped down Eowyn's cheeks and beneath her breasts. It was not easy fighting in skirts, but she did not let them encumber her. Each of Arwen's assaults shook her arms; clearly she did not soften the blows out of some misplaced fear of feminine weakness. Eowyn returned the favor, pleased to find Arwen pressed to deflect nearly as many of her attacks as Eowyn was. They were well matched. Until Eowyn pressed her advantage and Arwen spun away. With a deft flick of her wrist, she sent Eowyn's blade flying from her grasp to clatter to the stones. Eowyn knelt in defeat, heart racing, adrenaline burning through her veins from the fight. Long had it been since someone had truly engaged her in this way. Her breath came in short gasps, as did Arwen's. At the touch of fingers to her chin, Eowyn looked up and into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Arwen was smiling. "You are a true warrior," she said. "You bested me. What would you claim as your victory price," Eowyn asked, green eyes alight with jest. Arwen did not reply, but bent and claimed her lips. Heat flared between them, and sparks, as though they crossed swords once again. "Come," Arwen said at last. "There is something I would show you." She held out a hand. Eowyn took her hand, allowed her to help her to stand, curiosity and desire throbbing deep in her body. Arwen did not release her hand as they walked, and Eowyn relished the contact. Her earlier questions were irrelevant in this moment. All that mattered was that they were together. Arwen led her across the courtyard and away from the palace. They slipped through a stand of beech trees and then the trees parted, revealing a small pond fed by a rushing waterfall. Sunlight streamed over the clearing, creating rainbows in the mist of the falls. "I thought you might enjoy a swim. 'Twill cool you after the heat of battle," Arwen said. And without hesitation, she slipped the shirt from her head and stepped out of her breeches, revealing herself in all of her glory. Her skin was milk-white, except for the dusky peaks of her nipples. Her limbs were long and slender. As she dove into the waiting pool, she looked like nothing less than a wood-nymph at play in the forest. Slightly more slowly, Eowyn removed her dress. The freckles dusted across her shoulders, and the more rounded curves of her hips and stomach brought a blush to her cheeks. She was Man, through and through. No magic lingered in her. But before doubt could irrevocably set in, Arwen beckoned. Refusing to listen to the voice that told her she did not deserve such a beauty, Eowyn slipped into the water. The cool of the pond caressed her entire body, cooling her just enough. The sun shone over her, warming the top of her head. She ducked under water briefly, wetting her hair to keep it from her face. When she surfaced, Arwen stood close, so close she could nearly feel the heat still rising from her skin. And then Arwen reached out and ran a tentative hand over her cheek and down, skimming gently over her breast, exploring. A trail of chill followed her touch and a curl of desire unfurled through her. Eowyn mirrored the gesture slowly and was delighted at the smile that rose in response. Slowly they came together, limbs entwining, lips met, tongues slid together and Eowyn tasted the water in Arwen's kiss. Cool stream and strawberries on those lush lips. She wanted to drink her down. Arwen's hands caressed her, sliding over her skin and down, between her legs and Eowyn gasped at the sudden surge of pleasure. They clung to each other as though drowning, breast to breast, nipples hard and aching. Eowyn reached down and touched Arwen, caressing the spot that brought such exquisite pleasure. A flush bloomed across Arwen's cheeks and chest, desire setting her eyes alight. They moved together like waves, water lapping their bodies, fingers rubbing, stroking, urging them both higher, deeper, closer And suddenly, with a cry, the pleasure burst through Eowyn in a blinding flash of light and she shuddered under Arwen's hand. Not more than a moment later, Arwen followed, her cries softer, but no less intense. In that second, Eowyn knew the darkness had been banished. She had found her light. ~.~ We stand together on the parapet, you beside your husband, me beside mine. They both have an arm around us, as they gaze into the distance speaking of things that matter to Men. They do not notice our hands clasped behind their backs, the secret smile we share. If they knew, would they care? Probably not. After all, what could women find together? But we know. We found light.

#not snz #fic #LotR

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nenuials · 5 years

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A contentious question perhaps, but I'm curious: who are the Tolkien-characters you dislike the most?

Unlike some other fandoms like Dragon Age where I have more than a slight dislike for some characters, when concerning Tolkien I can genuinely say I do not hate anyone. I would rather say I have characters I like to devote my mental energy to and characters I am completely indifferent to.

And to give a couple examples as well. In the Hobbit craze of 2012-2014 everyone, and I mean everyone was obsessed with the Durins: Thorin, Fili and Kili. It just made me a little indifferent to their characters since there were so many fans already out there devoting time and resources to them. To the point where the whole Hobbit fandom was just these 3 characters. It just burnt me up really quickly and I retreated back to the LOTR fandom and just didn’t engage that much. But they are starting to grow back on me.

I am quite indifferent to the Feanorians. While I recognize they are incredibly complex and morally grey characters, they are simply not the type of character that appeals to me. I also dislike that the Silm fandom tends to demonize female characters in defense of the line of Finwe which is mostly male and their actions.

Also, while my best friend defends them fiercely I really cannot emphasize or understand the characters of Eol and Maeglin. I am simply incapable of understanding why there are people liking or defending them.

And last but not least: Grima. While what he has done at the end of his life has helped save the Shire, I simply cannot forgive everything else. More than so stalking and harassing Eowyn and selling his country to the dark forces to begin with. Him and Maeglin have quite a lot in common actually.

Also a tl;dr if anyone wants to argue: I do not wish to argue or discuss this any further. The last thing I need is angry anons in my inbox or discourse. This is strictly my opinion and I have never written “anti” posts regarding these characters and never will.

Also I have used the word “character” more than I should be allowed in just a couple short paragraphs.

#Anonymous

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lady-sci-fi · 5 years

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Eowyn’s “struggle” in Lord of the Rings

In the Lord of the Rings movies (I don’t know how this happens in the books), I don’t think Eowyn’s struggle really works. It’s framed as “they won’t let me fight because I’m a woman.” That might be part of it, but there are other reasons that are good logical reasons for trying to keep her out of the fighting, which work whether she’s male or female.

King Theoden starts out in Two Towers with three heirs. His son, his nephew, and his niece. Very quickly, Theodred dies and Eomer is banished, which leaves him only Eowyn when he’s freed from Saruman.

So then on the way to Helm’s Deep and they get ambushed, of course Theoden is going to want to keep her safe. She’s his only present and possibly surviving heir. And since he’s the lead from the front type of king and fights in the ambush, someone does need to stay with the people and lead them in his stead. In addition to keeping her safer, she is a recognized heir and person of authority, so she’s the obvious choice to keep leading them to Helm’s Deep.

Once in Helm’s Deep and preparing for the battle, it still makes sense to keep Eowyn out of the fighting for the same reasons. While, admittedly, it would make more sense to draft the stronger women instead of the little boys and old men, I still don’t think it would’ve made sense for Eowyn to be part of that fighting group. Once again, if Theoden dies in the battle, he wants to know that Eowyn will be able to take over in his stead. And, since he knows she does know how to fight, it makes sense to keep her with everyone else as a sort of last line of defense and to lead them away through the caves.

In Return of the King, Theoden has Eomer back for the battle. Eomer is older, much more experienced in battle and fighting than Eowyn, and is a high-ranking person in the army. So if he’s going to bring an heir with him to fight, he’ll pick Eomer. It wouldn’t be at all smart to risk losing both of them if he doesn't need to. Again, someone needs to stay with the people and lead them in his stead and/or become the new leader if they don’t survive the battle.

I actually think it’s great that Theoden seems to have no problem with Eowyn becoming the new leader of Rohan if needed. He has no problem with Rohan being ruled by a woman. He has a lot of faith in her abilities and trusts her to do well at it.

I can understand Eowyn’s frustration with wanting to fight but being told no. But with the way it’s framed in the story, I have no real sympathy for her. Certainly she would realize that she’s too politically important to risk if there’s no need for it. A status that she would have as a man or woman.

The sexism angle just doesn’t work for me with this, when there are practical reasons for it.

#lord of the rings #fanthoughts #eowyn

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sundogsandrainbows · 7 years

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Do you have any distinct "headcanons" (your OC, your canon lol) for your Wardens? Like, what makes them distinct? I really love what I know of your Mahariel, and I'm wondering if you have any others that you've developed as much! ^^ -A Gay Bloodmage ♡

Lenya occupies 99% of my creative writing headspace, so there is not really much room for other characters or wardens beside her right now, ahem xD Which has the unfortunate effect that I don’t talk about them as much as I probably should.

I do have a Brosca, who I would call my main Warden aside of Lenya. Or second Warden, for that matter. Saria is pretty much an accidental byproduct of me playing around in the character creator and gosh, how could I not play this cutie then:

HC/random facts: (oh boy, this got long)

Saria is a shield and sword warrior, mainly because she’d looted a shield from a corpse someday and found out how much fun it is to bash people in the head (or, if they are much larger than her, into their dicks/respective squishy bits) with it.

Alistair is fucking terrified every time he sees her fight, because it is such a stark contrast to her otherwise shy and rather insecure persona.

Fighting is cathartic to her, because it means (re)acting rather than having to think, which she does all too much. About everything. She is very self-conscious.

Speaking of which, her insecurity, shyness and questioning of self-worth stems from a life of abuse through her alcoholic mother, who made her feel unwanted whenever possible.

Rica was the one who gave her the name Saria, since their mother only called her mockingly “duster”and never bothered to name her properly.

Rica is also the one who raised her, showed her love and protected her from their mother’s aggression/frustration whenever possible.

Thus her sister means everything to her. She is also the reason why she joined the carta, despite her struggling with this line of work. Saria hates it, but knows as duster there is little choice other than follow orders and be a carta thug.

Leske makes it easier. At least a bit. They had an one time thing/tumble, but stone it was weird and no, never again. They agreed to stay friends and partner in crime, ofc.

If you threaten Rica you are dead, no matter who or how tall you are. Bye bye. Never threaten her friends either, unless you like being smashed to a pulp.

She had a few casual flings with women and men. Rarely, but it happened.

Duncan is the coolest, kindest human she’d ever met. Also the first, but hey, that doesn’t count right? He immediately treated her like a person, with respect. Unlike the rest of Orzammar

She had a total Eowyn “I’m no man” moment in the proving arena.

Saria can’t understand why Duncan wanted to recruit her, but holy nugshit yes yes yes, she agreed before he could change his mind.Though even then she couldn’t leave without making sure that Rica would be okay.

First time she stepped outside was a disaster. She saw the big gaping hole above, clung to the next stone she saw and refused to let go. Duncan needed an hour to convince her that it was save.

After walking a few steps she became wobbly and queasy, and emptied the content of her stomach into the next brush. Duncan was very patient with her, which she appreciated a lot. Even more that he endured how she clung to his leg for half the journey to Ostagar.

Water from above? Why? How? This shit is terrifying. Even more so thunderstorms. Snow is awesome, though. Mainly because she can form it into round projectiles and throw at somebody.

Flowers and herbs are weird. Why are there so many different ones? And why is Morrigan yelling at her not to eat them? What purpose have they then?

Saria can never remember the many names and looks of animals Alistair and Leliana explained to her, and thus calls almost every animal a“nug.” Or if they are bigger “bronto.” She learns it later on, tho.

She managed to convince Shale to give her piggyback rides. The golem has a strict 1 gem=1 ride rule, however. Too bad that Saria seems to stumble over gems EVERYWHERE xD

She is sort of head over heels for Alistair? Like he is so fucking huge, a giant basically, but he is friendly and patient and smiles as she asks all the things about the Wardens?

After Ostagar, they both bond over their shared grief about Duncan.

Her crush on Alistair solidifies as well during that time, but she never acts upon it. He is so pretty and tall and when he tells her that he is a human prince in Redcliffe, because ofc he is, it is obvious that he will never love her.

Leliana’s forehead is constantly reddened from all the facepalming she does, because these two are hunting from one misunderstanding to the next, and are thick as bricks regarding their attraction to each other. While it is obvious to everyone else of course.

After Redcliffe, Alistair and Saria hit a new low, after he yells at her for letting Isolde sacrifice herself. So 10000% certain she butchered any chance with him and pissed and shocked he’d yelled at her like her mother always did, she takes Zevran up on his offer for a “massage”. Ironic twist: She is so tense that Zevran focuses on the massage alone, because brasca my dear warden you needed that.

Vanishing into Zev’s tent naturally made matters only worse between Alistair and Saria. Both are pouting and avoiding each other for days afterwards.

Save Leliana’s forehead Dragon 9:30

Zev is unsure whether to help or make another move, but is amused about their…complete lack of understanding romantic relationships. Not that he is the one to talk, still, it makes long evenings spent at the camp fire much more interesting.

Morrigan and her never get along well, mainly because she feels defensive/protective of Alistair and dislikes how she is always insulting him. They hit off much later in Orzammar, after Morrigan met Saria’s mother. They basically bond over their abusive parents. Which is not the best, most positive thing to bond over, but hey it works for them.

She is fearful to return to Orzammar, knowing what is waiting for her there. It takes a lot of pep-talk of Leliana and Zevran to go there at all.

Seeing her sister again months later, and her doing so well for herself let her forget about her anxiety quickly. Naturally she is all for supporting Bhelen.

She is an aunt, gosh. She loves the little boy so much.

Then Leske happens and everything falls apart again. Seeing how devastated she is after she’d to kill her best friend, Alistair throws aside his stupid grudge/jealousy and consoles her.

Afterwards, they talk things out, and he confesses his feelings for her and gives her The Rose™.

Naturally Saria does not know what to do with this, but gosh he called her a rare and beautiful thing, when she thought she would never escape dust town, even after becoming a Warden. So she might keep that herb…flower thing instead of eating it. After all, she doesn’t need Morrigan to yell at her again, after they get along now.

They kiss and spend the rest of the day cuddling. Somewhere in Orzammar, Leliana dances a happy dance.

She hates the Deep Roads. But then again, everyone does.

Bhelen is crowned king and her sister is his mistress. Wow, cool. And with Alistair being a prince and heir to the throne she could have that too :)

Due to her alcoholic mother Saria never touches any drinks. Also out of fear to become like her then. Naturally her and Oghren don’t get along well. She tries to help him in hiding his stash, which goes over just as well as you imagine it to go. Their relationship is very distanced, tho she appreciates his aid in battles. Beyond that, she lets the others handle him.

Being caught between fearful and fascinated by magic, she nearly recruits the templar in the circle quest, until the passionate plea of Zevran changes her mind and she save the mages in last minute.

Wynne becomes the group mom and is practically/somewhat the mother Saria never had.

Alistair’s and Saria’s first time is after the circle quest, in the inn. Saria had made moves before, quite enthusiastically even, but Alistair asked her to still wait a bit, since he wasn’t ready.

Loving Alistair is terrifying and beautiful alike. Saria had always conflated love with sex, so learning that she is worthy of love and even is loved in such an open, genuine way by him, is a whole different experience than the quick tumbles before.

They are that gross lovey-dovey doe-eyed couple who can’t get enough of each other and make Morrigan gag while Leliana (and also Zev, bc no hard feelings here) cheers them on xD

Saria never hardens Alistair (well she does, quite often in fact, but just in another way…ahem) since after visiting his sister the last thing she would say is “everyone is out for themselves. You better learn that.” She consoles him and they declare their love for each other…again. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear Morrigan gagging.

She breaks the curse and saves both, the elves and humans turned werewolves. Forests are weird, especially this one. Saria is happy when they are able to leave there again.

After meeting Arl assho…Eamon awake and seeing how he treats Alistair like a pawn despite him protesting against it, very loudly and often, Saria quickly changes her mind on making Alistair king. He should be free to choose his life and not be bound to the family and blood that never even acknowledged him and treated him like nugshit. (If they weren’t all dead already, Saria would smash them into a pulp for that)

She is not a huuuge fan of Anora, mildly put, simply because she reminds her too much on the dwarven nobles at Orzammar. But, as Alistair puts it, better her than him.

She hates human politics and is glad when the landsmeet is finally over and Queen Anora gives them the much needed troops for the last push.

Alistair is so happy to NOT be king that he visits Saria in her room afterwards and declares once again his undying devotion to her and thanks her…with sex. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

The Dark Ritual is as always an ugly affair and nearly doesn’t happen. But, like Lenya, she let him choose whether or not to go through with it. And Alistair does, bc, like Lenya, he doesn’t want her to die.

Saria is the one killing the archdemon and ending the Blight. Alistair and her run off to rebuild the Wardens together. After putting up a memorial for Duncan in Highever and having many weeks off from darkspawn slaying, ofc.

Zev and Leliana stay around in Amaranthine, helping to run things. At least until the Crows come knocking again and threaten Saria once more. Then Zev leaves to “clean up their ranks” but always returns to those he calls his “true friends.”

#daughter of war #saria brosca #brosca #dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair/brosca #my other oc's #I also have a #cousland #evie cousland #to be exact #tho #this got too long #to fit her in here #so if you wanna know more about her #lemme know

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