#the lord of the rings x reader
I know I'm not the best at writing and have never done something like this before, but should I post some Arwen x mortal!reader headcanons? Would anyone be interested?
I rewatched LOTR so I would really like some fanfics. Please share your favorite LOTR x Reader fics and writers with me. ❤️
And I searching for a Thorin x Reader fic. If I remember correctly, Thorin finds himself in our world somehow and Reader helps him and they go back to Middle Earth togerher. I remember Reader shoes were worn but she didn't want burden Thorin with it and she ran away because of something.
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Can you do a elrond X reader please Where the reader is legaus sister
(N.) a tiny, brilliant flash or spark; a small thing; a barely visible trace
Elrond x Reader
Love is a curious thing. Some love without reason, and others love for strength.
A/N: Hello!! Thank you for requesting! It’s very rough (and kinda bad) as I wasn’t sure what to write so it’s mainly dialogue. But I hope you like it ❤️
“You’re staring again”
Your brothers voice startles you out of your trance. Causing your heart to beat harshly in your chest. And warmth to grow on your cheeks.
You whip around to glare at Legolas, huffing as you do so.
“I’m not staring!”
A smug grin sits on His face as he takes in your flustered state.
“And a terrible liar ” Legolas’s voice is full of amusement as he snarks back.
A growl rumbles in your throat as you turn away from him; looking back at where your father and Lord Elrond stand.
Elrond, Lord of Imladris… a tall Ellon with hair the color of coal and a heart of gold. He’s the wisest of all Elven Lords in middle-earth, and a member of the White Council. Yet despite such nobility and power, he’s humble and kind. Which is why he holds such a special place in your heart.
“I don’t see it” Legolas comments.
“Why you like him so much. Yes, he’s a kind Ellon and I’m happy for you-“ He hesitates, “but why him?”
Legolas’s question catches you off guard, indeed- why him? An Ellon that has lost so much, and has children. No other elf would so much as look in his direction due to such circumstances. But why you? Why are you giving him a piece of your heart?
You quietly ponder to yourself before giving your brother an answer.
“Because He gives me hope”
Legolas looks at you for a moment before looking back at Elrond. The two of you watch as he laughs with your Father; eyes twinkling. And for a split second, he looks right at you; a soft smile tugging at his lips and a hint of pink dusts his cheeks.
“And I, to him, give hope”
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exhaustion (eomer x reader)
(not my gif)
requested by: @morriganwarrior (it won't tag?)
summary: the reader falls asleep whilst writing letters
a.n: okay lmao i promise i will be writing for characters other than eomer but i just had to write this one now because it was such a good premise :) i hope i understood it correctly - also going to tag @linasofia cus i think you requested a tag for eomer stuff(?)
You weren't entirely sure quite how it had happened.
Wanting nothing more than to aid your city, you had - perhaps foolishly - volunteered to be a printer for the King, writing copies of the letters that were to be sent to neighbouring settlements. Seen as how most of the men of Rohan were unable to read or write, your many years of schooling were finally of help to you: or so you had thought.
You awoke early in the morning, and, upon glancing over at your dressing room table, a large pile of parchment met your gaze, along with a slightly smaller stack. The latter was covered with some of the worst handwriting you had ever come across, and was barely intelligible. Rubbing the mountains of sleep from your eyes, you picked up the scrawled out message, and tried your best to make out its meaning.
The king's personal scribe was one of the only men in the city who had training in writing, though he clearly wasn't as experienced as yourself. Nevertheless, you got the general idea, though a few corrections were made, a changing of tenses and some additional grammar alterations. The first few seemed to go by fairly swiftly, as you had always been rather skilled with the quill; you were proud of your penmanship, and held each one up toward the light to admire it.
This carried on for the first ten or so, until eventually, you knew the message off by heart, and no longer needed to refer to the original copy. Words seemed to blur into one long line, and as the hours passed, you found your eyes slowly beginning to shut. Every now and again, a sudden noise from outside your room would awake you, and almost immediately you would be straight back at your job, picking up as if you hadn't had a single notion of sleep.
However, despite your best efforts, there was a long lull in disruption, and the only sounds you heard was the sweet twittering of the birds outside your window; and your arms crossed upon the table just looked so comfortable that you really couldn't help yourself when you finally began to drift off.
Shortly after, Eomer accompanied by Eowyn entered your chamber, coming to check up on your progress for their communications. Eomer was just about to call out your name when his sister placed her hand onto his chest, stopping him. Gently she placed a finger to her lips as a signal for him to wait.
"The poor thing, she must be exhausted. Let her have some rest," Eowyn whispered, observing your sleeping form.
"She should not sleep in such an awkward position," your husband grumbled, lowing his sister's hand. "Perhaps I should move her."
"Whatever you do, try not to wake her up," Eowyn cautioned with a slight chuckle. She exited the room without making a sound, and Eomer pondered for a moment before slowly approaching you. He hesitated, observing you for a moment; you seemed so gentle in the moment, eyes twitching ever so slightly in your dreaming state.
Eventually, he carefully moved down, and had barely gotten his arm around your back when you woke up with a start.
"I'm awake, I'm awake!" you shouted, eyes darting about the room in confusion.
Your husband gave a low laugh, kneeling down to be at eye-level in your seat. "It's alright, my love, you were asleep."
"Oh no," you sighed. "I should have finished more letters than this by now. This is nowhere near enough-"
Eomer cut you off with a soft kiss, reaching to cup your jaw. "Shh," he muttered, glancing over at all of the ones you had completed. Truly he was impressed: there was a great deal done, yet only half of blank stack of paper had been completed. "I think that's enough work for today. Let's get you off to bed."
"It can't be that late. How long have I been asleep for?" you panicked. Despite this, you didn't put up much of a fight when he proceeded to lift you from your seat, carrying you over to your shared bed.
"It is nearly nightfall, (Y/N): you worked for hours. Get some rest."
"But there are things to be done, Eomer," you began, but you could already feel your eyes growing heavier, and heavier.
Your husband gave a slight shake of his head, reaching down to place a coarse hand across your forehead. You knew he was the one who had likely been the busiest all day, aiding his army and helping to rebuild Rohan's forces. There was little show of tiredness in his face, though you knew even if there had been, it is unlikely he would have shown it to you.
"The only thing that needs to be done is sleep, now close those eyes of yours - that's an order," he murmured with a smile. Where his hand had been, he pressed his lips, and the freshness that he had brought in from the courtyard with him enveloped you.
"Yes, sir," you mumbled, already drifting off. The colours of his crimson tunic became a blur, and the last thing you felt was he gentle brush of his hair against your cheek.
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Hi can I have a lotr and a hobbit matchup please?
My name is Gracie and I'm a straight girl and 5'2 (im very short) im also quite skinny. I have long pastel pink hair and brown almost black eyes. I have a baby face so I look younger than I am. I wear mostly pastel hoodies and short skirts. I have quite a few rose gold piercings in my ears and hope to one day get an eyebrow piercing. I also love stealing borrowing peoples clothes. I have a fluffy golden retriever and I am a figure skater and ballerina so I am very flexible. I speak 2 langages (English and French) and I am shy when I first meet people but am very outgoing when I know them well. I also am a absolutely awful liar.
↳ A/n: sorry for the wait darling, hope you like it!
S/o from LOTR: Kili
your fashion style and hair are quite unusual to see in Middle Earth, so Kili might be a bit too curious at the beggining
he will ask a lot of questions and will stare a lot, but he eventually stops
he definetly doesn’t mind you stealing his clothes, he loves the fact that it’s oversized for you, so you look even smaller and cuter to him
Mahal please talk to him in French, he might not understand a single word you say, but he loves it anyways
he will try to help you dye your hair
key word, try
it will end up much worse than it would be without his help and honestly, he might be a bit upset after because he couldn’t do it
S/o from The Hobbit: Aragorn
he’s definetly not as curious as Kili, but he might crack a question here and there
he will start laughing quietly everytime you try to lie because let’s be real here, he thinks it’s cute how bad you’re at it
seeing you in his clothes for the first is a little bit shocking for him because he didn’t expect it, but he gets used to it very quickly
he might snatch one of his shirts to your closet when you’re not looking so you can wear it everytime he’s not around and you miss him
or so you can wear it like a pyjamas, that’s up to you
he loves to play with your hair, whenever you two are cuddling or ruffling your hair when he walks past you
he understands that French is a pretty complicated language and he loves the fact that the love of his life can speak it
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Hello! I saw your requests are open, and I’d like to ask for some headcanons if you don’t mind. This is very self-indulgent, but maybe something about Faramir, Aragorn and Merry with a rough-and-tumble tomboyish character? Maybe she, the reader, works on a farm or around horses, wears pants and a denim jacket, and doesn’t mind getting messy or anything. And she’s like really blunt, but also very sweet and just wants to protect them. If she could be a modern! Reader from our world, I’d also appreciate it. Thanks so much, hope your day is going well!
Thank you for requesting! I didn’t make you being from our Earth a big detail for the story. I hope you don’t mind!-Hart
When Gandalf shows up to the camp with a new human in tow every one is a bit wary. You’re odd. Not in a bad way. You’re just…odd. Your speech doesn’t sound like anything the party has ever heard. Not to mention your clothing and odd behaviors. When Gandalf explains you were brought from another realm nobody bats an eye. It’s already been a weird few months. A human from beyond Middle Earth doesn’t really compare to some of the things they’ve endured. Plus, you’ve pledged to help them in their journey. Why shouldn’t they let you tag along?
-A little taken aback. Most of the women he’s known are ladies of the court so to meet a rough and tumble kinda gal like yourself is a tad new to him.
-He grows used to your rowdy behavior though. And he rather likes it. Your different and even fun. For another, you don’t look down on him.
-Your bluntness is rather nice. When you don’t know something you ask him to teach you or explain it to you. When he asked Aragorn if you’d gone to him for help the ranger seemed confused.
-Not going to lie, Faramir feels some pride at you coming to him first out of everyone. It means the world that you want him to teach you things. That you’re not going to snub him for being bookish and smart.
-You’ve more than once tackled him after camp was set up and play wrestled with him. Mary and Pippin usually joining in. He finds himself enjoying the playful company.
-He tends to ask you questions about your home. What your title was, what your day to day life was like. He’s genuinely curious about your world. Maybe you’d be able to show it to him one day.
-Is a little wary of you at first. Your behavior is odd, not to mention your speech. When you inform the party you aren’t from middle earth things start to make sense.
-He likes your rough and tumble nature. For starters you can handle yourself in a small fight. Though your sword skills could use some training which he’s more than willing to teach you.
-Gets a good laugh whenever Merry, Pippin, Boromir and you wrestle after setting up camp.
-Your blunt nature isn’t too much of a shock considering he runs around with Boromir. However it’s a blunt kind of compassion that’s new to him.
-You don’t beat around the bush. If you think someone is lagging behind due to fatigue or injury, such as the hobbits. You’ll tell him that you should all stop and make camp early.
-You already know how to tend to horses when you joined so he didn’t need to teach you which was a relief. He is jealous that most of the horses have a tendency to like you better than him, though he’ll never admit it.
-Honestly loves you so much. He constantly finds himself in trouble so to have a rough and tumble gal like you comes in handy.
-Will not hesitate to ask for shoulder or piggyback rides. He’s seen you manhandle an Orc. He knows you can carry him like he’s nothing. Fights have broken out between him and Pippin about who get’s to ride on your back.
-However there’s no arguing that he gets to ride with you on your horse. It’s an unspoken rule. He likes to tell you riddles or recount stories he’s read. He loves it when you smile or come up with some obscure riddle of your own.
-Loves to play wrestle with you when camp is set up. He knows you let him win half of the time but he still enjoys it. You can easily pin him down with one arm.
-You tend to be protective of him since he’s smaller. And to be honest he loves it. When you pull him close during a fight. When you wrap your arm around his shoulder at the tavern and glare down someone picking on him. He’s adores every second of it.
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Imagine being an elve in mirkwood. Youre in the royal guard and fought side by side with legolas and thranduil at the fight of erebor. Legolas and you were a couple, but you decided to help the dwarfes in their miserable situation, and thranduil banned you for that crime. So you break up with legolas and go.
60 years later at the adventure of the rings. He meets you in Lothorien again and old feelings come up.
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How they would comfort you: LOTR
Requested by @tolkien-fantasy <3
Disclaimers: This will include female!reader, mentions of trauma, discussing trauma, etc so please be cautious when reading. This post will only feature the following characters: Faramir, Aragorn and Merry.
A/N: Thank you for requesting Tori and i hope these manage to help you feel a little better! If there are any spelling mistakes I'm sorry (it was 5am when i finished this).
Faramir has had his fair share of unfortunate trauma, as we all know.
But when you finally tell him about your own, he can't help but empathize with you and question how the world could be so cruel and unforgiving.
“It's okay,” He would say before taking hold of your hand giving it a subtle but supportive squeeze, as you take a moment to compose yourself.
He'd take in each word, allowing it to process and register in his mind. Nodding every so often to let you know that he was listening to you, and understanding what you said.
When you were done talking, he'd sit in silence for a moment before letting go of your hand and gently bringing you in for a much needed hug.
“You're allowed to cry, it's okay.” He tells you, his arms protectively wrapped around your smaller frame.
Although this wasn't his pain to feel, he couldn't help but share this moment with you.
Tears would swell in his own eyes as he heard you cry against him, his heart ached at the sound of yours.
“This pain won't last forever,” He tries his best to reassure you.
His hand moves upward to carefully stroke your hair, his fingers lacing between strands.
“One day you will look back on these memories and see just how much you've grown, and how much you've changed for the better.”
The two of you remain in each others embrace for a little while longer before pulling away, his eyes scanning your face, taking in both its familiarity and beauty.
“Thank you for trusting me.”
His hand moves again to touch your face softly, grazing your cheek before giving you a small smile as he continues to observe the features he has grown to love.
“I will always do my best to protect you,” Faramir was serious about his words and you knew this.
“You have nothing more to worry about. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be here for you.”
His head lowers to give you a kiss, full of love and gratitude.
Faramir was lucky to have such a beautiful woman in his life, one that understood him enough to care about him and show mercy to his own vulnerabilities.
And it was his turn to reciprocate the same mercy during these moments when you needed him the most.
Afterwards, he'd wipe away your tears and take you to bed to let you rest within the safety of his presence.
His arms carefully holding you close to him, ensuring that nothing bad would ever happen to you again.
He would show little to no emotion at first, but each word you shared with him strung a chord in his heart.
The idea of his queen having to go through so much in such a short amount of time didn't sit right with him. Not one bit.
He'd already pictured himself hurting the people who even looked at you the wrong way, but now he had no power over what you had once already endured.
“I understand,” He tells you with an unfortunate nod. His eyes gazing upon your own as you finished talking to him about the circumstances of your past.
“I'm sorry that you went through what you did, you didn't deserve any of that.”
You feel as he reaches up to cup your face in his hands, his lips pressed against your cheek for a moment.
“You never fail to amaze me,” Aragorn couldn't help but feel awestruck by your vigilance and strength.
“Even after everything you have been through, you're still here with me.”
He takes hold of your hands, keeping them warm as he speaks.
“The world may challenge you but you never let it take away your light, or your hope.”
He presses a hand to where your heart would be.
“It will never stop you from being the truest version of yourself.”
He had known pain like yours before, he had seen many horrific things during his days.
So you were not alone, you were never alone with him by your side.
Through thick and thin, he would always be by your side to support you and to help you.
And most importantly to love you.
Merry is usually an upbeat and cheerful kind of guy but he can be serious whenever it's appropriate.
He could tell that your words, your tone and your mannerisms all indicated that he needed to be serious in these moments so he was.
He was sat beside you and listening to what you had to say and what you needed to get off your chest.
His eyes would widen slightly at first as you confessed the traumas of your past, but an expression of sympathy would quickly replace his momentary surprise.
Although he doesn't have the same life experience as you, he does wish to comfort you in whatever way he can.
He'd bring you something warm to drink, a blanket covering the two of you to keep you both warm and safe for the time being.
“I would never let anything happen to you,” He reassures you with a soft tone. “You're safe with me. I promise.”
He'd let you lean into him and hold his hand, taking his time to let his thumb trace little circles against your skin as you continue to talk.
And he would just listen to you, as if your voice was a sad song he couldn't help but love.
He would look up every so often to see your face, observing your beauty and the vulnerability he was lucky to see.
“I hope that you know, i don't think of you any differently,” Merry would comment after you were finished talking. He'd give you one of his infamous smiles and say, “You're still my favourite person, nothing will change that.”
This would make you smile, rolling your eyes at him. Although it was rather cheesy of him to say— you knew that he meant it.
“Do you want a hug?” He asks and after you nod in response, he gets up and is quick to deliver exactly what you need in that moment.
When he pulls away, his face is contorted slightly.
“I think i just ate some of your hair but that's okay,” He says before leaning forward to press a small peck onto your head.
“Let's go get some food, I'll make your favourite.”
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title: Measuring Tape
fandom: the lord of the rings;
characters: lydia; aragorn; frodo; sam;
pairings: honestly none, unless you consider this aragorn/oc but platonic? if you consider respecting and defendig women as an act of love.
a/n: I took this idea from a meme and smashed it into this because of how well I visualized Aragorn's expression. also, I decided to have a little fun and add some characters from Midsommer Murders for plot reasons but also just because. have fun.
Lydia distributed the masks she had left between Aragorn, Frodo and Sam before they left the cottage.
She decided not to bring Merry and Pippin (just in case), and trusted the rest of the fellowship to take care of them. Even if they had only arrived to this universe a few days before, they already learned how to manage the house properply enough to survive.
The walk to the town's market wasn't long, yet because the masks were too big for the two hobbits they had to reajust them several times. Lydia noticed it, and before they entered the market, she gave the elastics of both masks a knot so it would stop falling.
"Now," she said, after greeting a person selling flowers, "do you have the list, Sam?"
"Here it is" the hobbit gave her the little yellow post-it.
"Right," she read throught the many requested items, "We can start with the food here and then we pass the pound shop for some supplies..." she looked for the basket they brought "Wait, where did I-"
Aragorn immediatly extended the basket to her, and she thanked him. The dunedain and both hobbits followed the woman through the stalls, glad to finally see something a little similar to their world - people selling food on stalls in what seemed like an aesthetic chaos.
Lydia let Sam help her with choosing the fresh food, since he had showed great talent for cooking the other night, and was glad. The hobbit was very quick to pick the best food, being fruit, vegetables, fish or meat, which impressed not only her but the sellers as well. She found herself smiling at the bashful Sam fidgeting with his little coat as an energetic old woman seller complimented him for it. While they developed an entertaining conversation, Lydia would explain things that Frodo and Aragorn would ask.
Soon they had all the food on the list, along with extra spices and herbs the nice energetic old woman gave them for free. Aragorn ended up carrying the basket full of fresh meat and fish, while Lydia carried bags with fruit, and Sam and Frodo carried vegatables, Frodo with the little post-it in his hands.
The four of them entered a nearby shop that seemed small but was biggger on the inside. Lydia led them through the many aisles and since they took less time than she expected on the market, she took time to explain them the things they found curious.
"What are these?" Frodo picked a pair of headphones.
"Those are to listen to music" Lydia told him, "Here..."
She put them on the intimidated hobbit's ears with a smile that comforted him, and took her phone from the pocket of her coat. Frodo adjusted the headphones a little as Aragorn and Sam watched the scene before them carefully.
"You can connect it to a device that has music on it," Lydia explained has she opened the music app, after connecting the headphones with the phone, "and enjoy."
She pressed play and observed Frodo, waiting for his reaction for when "rises the moon" by Liana Flores start to play. His eyebrows shoot up at first, but soon an impressed smile grows in his face, behind the cloth mask, and the halfling closed his eyes in appreciation.
"It's very soothing!" said Frodo, probably a little louder than he thought.
"Yes!" Lydia chuckled, "Indeed, it's specially good to get away and calm down after a rough time."
At those words, Frodo opened his eyes.
"Can we take these?" he asked softly, "If they're not too expensive, of course."
Lydia didn't noticed she was smiling althought she didn't care if she was. The little hobbit in front of her was quite happy with the music, and that made her happy, specially after the wizard, Gandalf, told her what his mission was. If the adorable sight of Frodo with a great pair of headphones in his small head wouldn't make her buy it, the soft pleading in his eyes would.
"Of course, Frodo" she spoke fondly, petting his head in affectionately, earning his chuckle along with Aragorn's smile.
Lydia put on a soft playlist for Frodo so he could continue listening to music as he followed the others throught the aisles.
"Miss Lydia?" called Sam.
"As much as I appreciate it, Sam" the woman turned to him, "there's no need to call me Miss. Lydia is just fine."
"Sorry," the hobbit blushed a little, "Lydia, what is this for?"
The little hobbit extended a roll of transparent tape to her.
"Ah, you found it first," she said, taking the tape, "I was looking for this. It's meant to sort of stick things together, although only light things..."
Lydia took the a piece of paper with the pricetag and, to Sam's and Aragorn's surprise, cut a bit of the tape, and used it to glue the price tag to the respective object.
"... like paper."
Aragorn raised his eyebrows nodding, impressed, while Sam's mouth formed a perfect O (although his mask hided it), both thinking of the possibilities of situations where the tape could be useful.
Lydia looked around searching for the last item on the list. Aragorn immitated her gesture, observing the many objects surrounding him. He took a random one, and turned around to ask Lydia about it, yet she answered him before he even spoke.
"That is a measuring tape" she explained, "if you pull that edge there, there's a long tape with measures."
Aragorn did as she said and observed the many numbers along the strong, weirdly firm yellow tape. He decided to mark two meters.
"Careful not to cut yourself with it" said Lydia.
She turned around, only to quickly turn back to Aragorn, earning a confused look from both him and Sam.
"Keep quiet," she instructed them, "and pretend to have a conversation with me."
"What's the matter?" the dunedain asked.
"It's Dennis Rainbird," Lydia told them, "I do my best to be nice with him but I'm afraid he has no concept of privacy, nor personal space."
"Oh, I know some hobbits like that, alright" Sam's expression became angry, "Eavesdropping behind every door, spying through every window..."
"Yes, that's Dennis and his mother, Mrs. Rainbird" Lydia whispered "no matter how polite I am, I can never escape his questions and commentary, nor his unconfortable touching..." she slowly looked over her shoulder, expecting to see the man, yet upon seeing no one, she looked back at the hobbits and dunedain, "no one can..."
Aragorn and Sam switched a look. Frodo was still gently and calmly moving his head at the sound of "Send Me a Peach" by The Blasting Company, until a loud voice made him jump, and his headphones fall to his neck.
"Aaah! Lydia, my dear!" Dennis Rainbird appeared on the other end of the aisle Lydia expected, "How are you, darling?"
"Ah, Dennis" was all Lydia said.
Aragorn looked between her uncomfortable and desperate eyes and the slim man's disgusting smile. He wasn't sure what bothered him more, the fact that he didn't see his sly smile because of the mask, or the fact that said mask was slipping his nose and he didn't seem to care.
"I've been looking for you everywhere!" Dennis opened his arms in what would have been a welcoming gesture, as he walked in their direction, "Mommy and I are dying to have you over! It has been a while since we all had tea together."
"Well yes, indeed it has been a while," Lydia said politely, as she discreetly gathered the two hobbits closer to her, "although, I'm afraid-"
"The week you moved back to Badger's Drift, of course, " Dennis had a hand posed on his chin in a thoughfull-looking way, "that was the last time we had tea, I believe! We really should meet more often..."
Something in the way he spoke made Samwise shiver and Frodo take a step back. Aragorn, however, remained in the same place, glaring at him.
"After all, we're finally free to have friendly meetings, right?" Dennis said, knowingly.
Lydia swallowed. She knew he was referring to the afternoon when nine people fell on her cottage's garden from another universe - althought she couldn't explain that to Dennis Rainbird, from all people. It was obvious his mother saw all the movement in her kitchen (something admittedly very suspicious during quarantine) from her watching post, and sent her son to investigate.
Aragorn understood what the man was referring to as well, even if he didn't know his background.
"So," since Lydia seemed to be out of words, Dennis continued to talk, getting closer and closer to them, "what about today? 5 o'clock?"
Yet, what made the dunedain almost shiver like Sam was the fact that he didn't know his intentions. Lydia knew - she knew having tea at the Rainbirds meant trouble, sometimes blackmail, other times pure manipulation and humiliation.
Frodo looked at her, questions in his eyes, and the woman spoke.
"I'm terribly sorry, Dennis," she said clearly, "but I already have plans for today. Besides, I'm all over the place, and I don't want to make your mother vulnerable to the virus."
Aragorn glanced from Lydia to Dennis, who kept getting closer. Frodo took another step back.
"Now, now, I'm sure my mother would be alright with that, don't worry," the man waved her off, "and I know you're used to have company anyway."
Dennis giggled in a way that made Aragorn's stomach twist.
"Oh, but my manners," his smile grew, "your friends are more than welcome to drop by as well" he chuckled, "We don't bite.."
"Sorry, Dennis, but I simply can't-"
"Or we could rearrange the party" he tilted his head, "Nothing a phone call couldn't solve."
Lydia swallowed. She already tried to postpone the unavoidable but if they called the authorities like he was threatening, they would all be in trouble. Even if she got along so well with Cully, her father, Dectective-Inspector Barnaby couldn't close his eye to all those people in her cottage. It was at times like these she disliked to live in a village.
Lydia sighed in defeat and Dennis smiled brighter, seeing that he had finally caught his favourite fly.
"So," he took another step, "5 o'clock the-"
As soon as Aragorn's eyes saw his movement, he pointed the measuring tape (still marked and blocked at 2 meters) to Dennis Rainbird as if it was a sword, much to the man's outrage and the others' surprise.
"The lady has already refused" were the only words the dunedain spoke, his expression clear.
Dennis casted him a slight look of scorn. He proceeded to repeat his action, only for Aragorn to pull the edge of the measuring tape once more and step forward, making Dennis walk behind until they were 2 meter appart.
"Last time I heard, we were in the middle of a pandemic" Aragorn told him, "2 meters should be enough for social distance."
"And yet you're not standing 2 meters between each other" was Dennis remark.
Lydia observed Aragorn tilting his head.
"We're her company" this time it was Sam who spoke, stepping beside Aragorn, a new courage in him, "I'm sure that shouldn't be a problem."
The annoyance in Dennis Rainbird's face grew visibly as he looked between Lydia and Frodo's shocked expression and Aragorn and Sam's angry one.
Aragorn poked him with the measuring tape, yet he didn't move, so the dunedain raised is eyebrows. In a swift movement, the side edges of the yellow tape made a small cut on Dennis arm, who gasped as he covered it with his hand. He looked at Aragorn in outrage, but the other's expression remainded the same, waiting for him to leave. And so, with a small growl, he did.
Lydia stayed quiet for a moment, as Aragorn turned to her, unblocking the measuring tape so it came back to 0, with a very calm face. After a while, she blinked her eyes a few times processing what happened.
"We're gonna have to take the measuring tape and disinfect it" she said simply, taking the object Aragorn extended her.
Frodo and Sam exchanged looks, and soon followed the other two searching for the last item of the post-it list.
I edited this just to correct a few things, mainly typos, but now i am consedering making this a small series because thinking of scenarios like these with the lotr characters is so entertaining, and the set of Mindsommer Murders is simply perf3ct dor the ambience haha.
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eleven months (pippin x hobbit!reader)
(not my gif)
summary: the reader waits for pippin to return after his sudden disappearance
requested by: @starryeyedrogue
a.n: first time writing for pippin, so i hope it turned out alright :) enjoy
"And you'll never guess what Paladin Took told me this morning. His boy's run off with some no good Baggins, he has. Just last night. Never even bothered to leave a note."
You lingered a little longer than you intended to as you placed the two half-pints down onto the table. The customers' conversation had not interested you up until now - right up until the mention of Pippin. Just the other day, you had caught him glancing at you from across the room as you dried some of the glasses. Being a bar maid did not allow you much time for rest, what with rushing around, trying not to spill a single drop of ale in the mean time; however, you couldn't help yourself, and in that moment, you felt your whole world seemed to slow down a little.
Nothing had been explicitly said between the two of you, but knowing how flushed Pippin always got in your presence, you naturally took this as a signal. In all frankness, you had been hoping that he would come back to the tavern that night and vocalise his feelings: in all frankness, you had spent all your night awake imagining it.
"Oi! Nothin' for nosy!" the man who had been talking shouted, clutching one of the glasses close to his chest. His companion gave you a menacing glare, and you left with a swift apology.
Upon doing so, you make your way out into the kitchen, knowing that the chef was on a break.
How could he just leave without saying anything? Granted, it wasn't as if you were married to him, yet in your heart you still felt as though an injustice had been done. You had no time for tears now - there were jobs to be done - so gathering up all your strength, you inhaled deeply, before once again stepping out into the tavern, wondering how you would make it through the next three hours without your emotions betraying you.
Many months passed, and though you had been told that time heals all, it had not been the case. At the beginning you believed that after a while, you would forget about Pippin, marry another man, settle down, have many children so as to please your mother and father. That was to be the way of it.
But that did not come to pass. Six months or so went by, and then it hit you; still you thought of Peregrin Took, and the image of his face never slipped from your memory. Many nights you cried, and despite your mother's best efforts to set you up with some of her friends' sons, it was all in vain, and only made your mental distress worse.
The time was coming up to a year since his departure, and you had made a promise to yourself - and your family after their insistence - that you would begin looking for a husband if he had not returned. That seemed agreeable to you, and despite what your heart truly thought, you had begun to accept the reality that he would not return. Rumours of his journey had spread about the Shire, some particularly morbid ones reporting great anguish, though all of these you tried to deafen yourself to. They were but airy words, and in your heart of hearts, you knew it not to be true.
Upon one particularly dreary evening, you were busy pulling drinks behind the bar, when suddenly there came a slight hush over the tavern. Too occupied with trying not spill any of the beer, you hadn't had time to notice the cause, and soon enough, a figure appeared before you.
"Um, four half-pints, please," the voice said.
You did not realise that the drink you had been pulling had overflowed, and quite frankly, you had given up caring. Upon looking up, you were met with the familiar face of Peregrin Took, looking rather sheepish, and hardly having changed a day since his departure (though oddly enough he seemed a few inches taller than you remembered).
"Pippin?" you breathed out in utter disbelief.
"Oh, you might want to watch out there, (Y/N): the beer-"
You let out a loud curse, realising just how much you had spilled. Regardless, you wiped your hands down with the nearest towel before rushing around to stand beside him. Truly now, you noticed he was taller, yet when you embraced him with all of your might, he was still the same hobbit that you had fallen in love with.
"I thought you were dead," you breathed out. Pippin could hardly believe it, but very welcomed was your show of affection.
"At some points, I thought so too, (Y/N)," he chuckled, bringing his hands up to your back. Suddenly, you pulled back, remembering yourself. Truly there had been no formal declaration between the both of you, however now, the both of you seemed to have a mutual feeling, and just as fast as you had pulled away, he was pulling you toward him again.
"I thought about you all the time."
Pippin smiled behind your back. "I thought about you too, (Y/N); I have much to tell you." Holding you at arm's length, he moved to tentatively brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "But there is one thing I have waited nearly a year to ask you."
"To ask me?" you said with a small smile, darker blush coming to your already rosy cheeks.
"Can I -" He paused and held up a finger, contorting his face as if wondering the best way to approach the situation. "Can I -" Again another hesitation, and before he could react, you leaned forward, gently pressing your lips to his. The heat resonating from his face was almost palpable, and it only spurred on your new-found confidence; deepening the kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck, though you found you had to reach a little further than you had been expecting. This illicited a few whistles from the tavern-folk, most of all from Merry, shouting something that went unnoticed by the pair of you. When you finally pulled away, Pippin looked extremely flustered, and his eyes were like two moons upon a red plain.
"Well," he gasped out, "that was nice."
You couldn't help but giggle, and Pippin joined in unison.
For the rest of the night, you stayed with him, in awe of all of his adventures, never hearing of such excitement before, save the travels of Bilbo Baggins - though most of that was altered based who you asked.
The only thing he kept from you was how throughout the whole journey, he made a promise to ask for your hand in marriage upon his arrival back at the Shire.
That could wait until another night.
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The Librarian and the Elvenking - Thranduil x Reader
Summary: You bring Middle-earth's first mobile library to Dale, near former Mirkwood. Soon an anonymous, touch-starved elf begins to frequent your service, and you wonder what happened to make him so lonely. Accidentally imprisoned in King Thranduil's dungeons, you discover the true identity of your borrower.
Tags: PG-13, librarian, fluff, humor, touch-starved, prisoner, secret identity, elvenking.
♡ ♡ ♡
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desire (eomer x reader)
(not my gif)
summary: reader is a stable-hand, and catches the soldier's attention
requested by: @laurfilijames and @linasofia
a.n: so i got a couple of similar requests, so i hope you don't mind that i combined them :) you can tell i have never ridden a horse in my life :)
"Easy there, easy," you said gently, carefully running your brush over the horse's mane. "It's alright." Talking to the horses, you had found, had always been the best way for you to keep them calm, especially after the amount of battles some of them had seen. The horse in question was Hasufel, a strong, chestnut mare, and you had been instructed by your superior to take as best care of it as you could. The horse belonged to the King's nephew, and though you had never met the man before, you knew that it would be your head for the block lest anything happen to the animal.
Of course, it would not, as for many a year you had been regarded as the best trainer in Rohan, widely respected: none other would they trust with the Lord of the Mark's steed.
"Come on now," you said, brushing your hand upon the animal's coat. "Very handsome; let's see what you can do."
Placing your brush to one side, you gave one final touch to the horse's side before swinging yourself up to mount the saddle. It would be a lie to say you didn't feel an instant connection with the animal, feeling the muscular form beneath you. Hasufel had seen a many a war, and yet here you were, a humble horse trainer sitting astride it.
With a small pat to its left side, you led the horse out of the stable, and onto your field for training. You began with a simple walk, then progressing, all the while making sure you were in complete control of him. Half way through one of the more complex areas, you realised that you had an audience. Deciding it would be better to just carry on - and not taking notice of who it was that was watching you - you finished up your training for that day. Only then did you see him.
Just just a few paces off from where you brought Hasufel to a halt, stood Eomer, brother-son to King Theoden. Despite your initial surprise, you did not allow his presence to faze you, and smoothly dismounted before leading the horse back over to its paddock.
"You must be (Y/N)," Eomer called, following you. He watched you closely as you locked up the door.
"Yes," you answered simply. Giving your dress a quick wipe down, you turned away from him, moving to run your hand across the nose of one of the other horses, a dark grey mare.
"That is my horse that you were riding," he continued.
"Yes, sir, I have been informed." Again you carried on with your business, using it partly as an opportunity to hide your grin from him.
Eomer seemed a little intimidated by your disinterest, considering most of the other workers would have immediately bent the knee at his arrival, whereas all you gave him was a slight curtsy. "I am impressed with how you handled him. Sometimes he is not even that calm with me, and I have had him for many years now."
"It is my job, my Lord," you replied, "if I was not good at it, I would not keep it for very long."
Now you truly had his interest, and the subtle attitude and defiance in your voice caught him off guard. Only now did you finally turn around and face him, patting your hands together so as to remove some of the dust that lingered there.
"I had not expected you to be-" He began, though his words caught slightly, and he noted it had been the first time in many a year that he had been lost for words.
"A woman?" you finished, crossing your arms over your chest.
"Beautiful," he corrected, eyes scanning you over. A short laugh came from you; you - standing in nought but the rags you wore whilst training: you couldn't quite believe he had said such a thing.
"Looks are not important when training horses."
"No, but it helps," he said with a smug grin. You couldn't help the slight eye roll that you gave in response, though you would be lying if you said there wasn't an attraction on your part. Ridiculous, you thought to yourself, he was the king's nephew, one day to be king himself, after the passing of Theodred.
"What would your uncle think of you, down here with the horse trainer?" You chuckled to yourself, putting away one of your brushes. "Careful: you might get that nice tunic of yours dirty."
Eomer's eyes widened slightly in disbelief. No-one had ever spoken to him like this, yet here you were, a simple stable-hand making a mock of him. Had it not been for the devious grin that held your expression he may have scorned you for that remark, but your playful nature intrigued him.
"You are quite the woman, (Y/N)."
"Last I checked, yes my Lord." No more hiding: you faced him directly, and though you had to crane your neck slightly, it was the soldier who felt intimidated.
"Why horses?" he asked, voice low and questioning.
You gave a small shrug. "They are magnificent beasts, powerful yet elegant, and I have not encountered an animal alike in that respect. With a horse comes freedom."
"Is that what you desire, (Y/N)?" Eomer took another step closer, almost so that you could feel his breath feathering out across your face. "Do you desire freedom?"
"I am free." Your eyes quickly scanned over his face, noting the darkening of his gaze as he surveyed you. "I only desire that which I do not have, my Lord."
"As do I," Eomer replied, voice now but a mumble. There was a slight pause, before once again that smile came to your face, and without giving him time to react, you turned and moved to put away your equipment.
"Hasufel may need a few more sessions, but there isn't much work to do. He is a very intelligent animal - much more so than some of the ones that are brought to me," you remarked absentmindely. Just as you turned to exit the stable, Eomer reached out and caught your arm.
"Perhaps I will come to see you again tomorrow?" he said with a slight questioning tone.
You hesitated, and then, smiling, "Eomer, Lord of the Mark, nephew to King Theoden, asking my permission? Are you not allowed to come and go as you please?"
He was stunned, and with a swift curtsy, you left him as such.
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The Butterfly Effect-Where It All Begins
(I apologize, It’s a bit rewritten after my blog got deleted. Sorry!)
You had come to the renaissance festival for your friends birthday. Your friend having brought you for their birthday.
That’s how you ended up in front of a small shady looking stall. The seller is dressed as a rogue, their hood pulled low to obscure their face. You aren’t even sure how they can see anything like that. You had tried to brush off their advances. They claimed they had the perfect ring for you. You had wanted the one with the dragon curled around a pearl.
Instead they were talking up a thick silver band with topaz butterflies embedded in it. It was obviously waaaayyy out of your price range. You knew they were just trying to make a large sale. Or so you thought.
“Go on try it on!” They beam, holding it out for you. For the briefest moment you saw one of the butterflies flutter its wings. You take a step back in alarm.
You didn’t even get to finish before they’re sliding it onto you middle finger. When did they grab your hand? To your wonder it fits perfectly. The rogue grins as they clap their hands.
“Oh, I knew it wanted you! Not just anyone can wear one of these. It takes someone very very very special,” they chuckle clasping their hands together. You try to pull the ring off only to find it’s become stuck. What the hell? Did they out superglue on it or something?! You gave another sharp tug but the ring didn’t budge.
“Oh, and good luck. You’re going to need it!” They grinned pushing you backwards. You fell, a panicked shout leaving your throat. Your world tilted and you found yourself falling through leaves. Leaves? It wasn’t even fall!
As the orange and black colors swirled around you realized they weren’t leaves at all. They were Monarch butterflies! The persons gleeful cackle was swallowed up amongst the tiny wingbeats. Small rays of light peeked through the mass of butterflies. It almost felt like you were floating. You reached your hand out to tentatively touch on. Your fingers barely brushing against a papery wing.
And just like that they left you. Swirling up into the sky leaving you to free fall to the ground below. You landed with a harsh thud. Pushing yourself upright you met the eyes of someone who shouldn’t exist. That you’d seen in maybe a movie or fan art. Read about in books. But there was no way-
“What the hell was that all about?” They blurted.
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a thousand times (eomer x reader)
(not my gif)
requested by: @tolkien-fantasy
summary: the reader gives eomer a few lessons in reading and writing, but the soldier appears dead set in his ways
a.n: second of the eomer fics! there's a few more to come with maybe another pairing in between, but since he is in such demand i'll probably get these posted first. thank you for requesting :)
"I fail to see how words on paper will serve me during battle," Eomer sighed, leaning back in his chair, arms firmly folded across his chest.
This, you were beginning to think, was hopeless.
For the past hour or so, at his own request, you had attempted to educate your husband in the ways of reading and writing. The armies of Rohan had always passed down their history through songs and spoken word, yet when the Lord of the Mark had spied you caught up in a book, he suddenly became interested. Ever since you were a child, you had loved losing yourself in the tales of old that your ancestors had recorded; sharing that gift with your husband had seemed like a great opportunity.
Only now his stubbornness was beginning to shine through. Though you loved him for it, the man nearly had you pulling your hair from your head.
"Do not pretend that writing has no place in war," you said, almost smugly. Eomer cocked an eyebrow, as if saying 'you believe you know more about war than I?'. "Wars are often started by writing. Small pieces of paper that fall into the wrong hands. Imagine your enemy handed you a surrender written: you would not be able to read it."
"That is yet to happen, my love."
"But that does not mean it never will. Now will you please try again?" you pleaded, reaching your hand across to grasp his as it lay rested upon the large volume you had brought out.
"For me?" Casting his gaze to yours, you gave him your best pout, and even he knew that he was unable to resist your charm.
"Alright, for you," he mumbled. Once again, he shifted slightly in his seat and glanced down at the pages in front of him. Most of it seemed like nonsense, just scribbles on page after page of aged paper. Eomer gave his dirty-blonde hair a slight scratch, before moving to rest his chin upon his palm.
"This is one of my favourites," you said with a smile. "It is the tale of Beren and Lúthien, the lovers." You looked down at the ancient text, lovingly running your fingers along the lines. It had been hard to get your hands on a copy of it, since within Rohan there was little time for reading, but through a chain of requests, it had found its way to you. "My mother used to read it to me when I was a child."
"You expect me to read a child's book?" Eomer questioned, suddenly seeming offended.
You paused slightly, rather distraught as his dark brows furrowed. "No, I just-"
"I may not be able to read some stupid fairytale, but I am far from a child, (Y/N), and I cannot believe you would think of me as such."
His words pained you, and it was no use trying to convince him of your true intentions. Without another word, he gathered his sword and helmet, and swiftly exited the room.
"I just wanted to help," you whispered to yourself. With great haste, you slammed shut the cover of the book, so as to make certain your tears would not stain the paper. You wiped your eyes, though remained in the library, ruminating on the interaction.
Days passed, and you did your best to avoid your husband, despite his efforts to catch your attention. Eomer seemed not to realise how deeply he had wounded you, that perhaps he should not speak to you as forcefully as he spoke to his fellow soldiers. Most of your hours were spent tending to your duties, seeking them wherever you could find them, be it aiding the carers of the sick, or working away at a piece of needlework. Your only want was to distance yourself from him.
After three days or so, your husband began to realise the error of his ways, and knew he had to put his own pride and stubbornness aside if he wanted to rectify his behaviour. So Eomer hatched a plan of his own in order to restore your relationship, and hopefully to brighten your dampened spirits.
One evening, you were seated by your desk, stitching away at a blanket you had been working on amidst your frustration, when a knock rapped upon the door. You gave no admittance, but when it opened regardless, you knew your husband was present.
"Eomer, I don't want-" You began, but he quickly interrupted you.
"Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that come down to us from the darkness of those days, there are yet some which amid weeping there is joy, and under the shadow of death light that endures."
Your ears pricked up at the familiar words, and you set aside your craft to look upon him. Adorned in his best armour, Eomer stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, holding in one hand your book, and with the other ran his hand along the lines. His words came out slowly, but you couldn't help the sweet smile that came to your features upon admiring his deep concentration. "And of these histories, most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien."
Seeing his struggle, you rose from your seating and strode over to him, carefully closing the book.
"You learned all that for me?" you asked, reaching out to caress his coarse beard.
He gave a small shrug, though you could see his elation at your touch.
"I'm very impressed," you continued, and placed a gentle kiss to his cheek.
"You should be impressed," he grumbled, though you could tell his mask was slipping once he had shut the door. "I had to sacrifice my pride and ask the mad, old woman who polishes my armour for help. She was happy to oblige, though I do not wish to know what she hoped to gain from it."
"Oh no," you chuckled, "I hope someone isn't trying to steal my husband away from me."
Brow cocking, Eomer leaned down to your height, and in one swift movement raised you from the floor, holding you as he did on your wedding night. "Have no fear, fair maiden, I shall protect you."
"You have my thanks, brave sir." You swung both of your arms around his neck, pulling his lips down to press upon yours. Soft was his embrace, contrasting the cool feeling of his armour through your dress. "Are you going to finish the story?"
"Oh, (Y/N), you must have heard it a thousand times before," he mumbled, preoccupied with dotting kisses about your jaw, eliciting a laugh at the tickle of his beard. You pulled away, again displaying your best puppy-eyes. With a sigh, he pressed his forehead to yours, "And I shall read it to you a thousand more."
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I've decided I'm going to write little prompts/lines for LOTR/TH that others can use. I don't know if anyone will be keen but I thought it would be cool to see how different authors use them. If you do choose to use them then please tag where it came from or just reblog and write under that. Cheers :)
(I don't mind if people change them slightly to make them fit in their story)
"Look at my hair Aragorn. I certainly didn't get it this soft by leaving it caked in the blood of my enemies" Legolas sassed.
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brave (eomer x reader)
(not my gif)
requested by: @shethereadinghobbit
summary: eomer teases the reader after she has a little too much to drink
warnings: alchol mention (?), just general flirting, minor cursing while drunk
a.n: okay so thank you all for requesting, i've got a couple more eomer fics coming and honestly i'm so excited thank you guys so much
"I thought you were a man of Rohan, and yet you're sick off a few pints? Don't make me laugh!" you joked, slamming your tankard onto the table. After a ten or so minute competition between yourself and the man now half-asleep across from you, you had proven yourself a much worthier drinker. What respect this gained you, you did not know, yet the men surrounding you - who all seemed to have taken great interest in the game - began a great uproar of applause. Before you knew what was happening, a few of the soldiers behind you hoisted you up onto their shoulders, cheering your name as they carried you about the tavern.
Some song was taken up, and you managed to join in, though never remembering learning the words. You were heavily intoxicated, but of course, you could not allow them to realise this, otherwise your whole persona would fall apart, and those few gold coins you had just won may have found themselves in jeopardy.
Luckily for your stomach, they did not keep you in the air long, and soon enough you were placed back down at the closest table they could find. Another pint of ale was placed down in front of you, and your hand immediately found its way to it.
Just as you were about to raise it to your mouth, another hand rested itself upon your shoulder. Had you been on guard, you would have jumped in fright, perhaps making a move to defend yourself; however, in your current state, the eye of Sauron could have been boring into you, and you would have still made a merriment of it.
"Perhaps, my Lady, you may want to slow down a little bit," the voice came from behind. Only when it moved to sit beside you did you realise you were in the presence of Eomer, Lord of the Mark. Sober, you may have bent the knee, but all you found yourself doing was letting out the most ridiculous laugh, nearly collapsing into his lap in your inebriation.
"Oh come on!" you half-yelled. "None of that, my Lady shit. We are drinking: alcohol has no ranks."
A smug grin came to the captain's face as he observed your near-bumbling state, and he too joined in with your laughter. "Perhaps you are right. (Y/N) it is then."
"And you are..." you trailed off, finally getting that sip of ale.
Eomer shook his head slightly in disbelief, and too took a drink. "Eomer, do you not remember my face?"
"I don't remember very much, Eomer, and I'm sure I would be able to recall a face as handsome as yours." Again the giggling. Thankfully, Eomer seemed to find it rather endearing, even going so far as to shuffle his seat a little closer to your own so that your legs were practically touching.
"Maybe you have not seen it enough without a helmet."
"Oh no, no-" and before you knew what you were doing, you reached your hands across to cup both of his cheeks. "You should not cover such a nice face with a helmet."
He let out a low chuckle and moved his hand to rest against your knee, rubbing his finger ever so subtly over the material of your dress. "I am glad you are not of our army, (Y/N), I would hate to dream of covering your face. Such striking eyes." Upon that remark, you turned as red as a wine glass, and half turned your face away so as to not be affected any further by his darkening gaze.
Then you saw it. Resting just to his left, Eomer's helmet sat; and seizing the opportunity, you swiftly lunged forward whilst his attention was occupied with your leg to snatch it. You rose to your feet in an instant, moving to stand on your stool, and clutching the helmet close to your chest.
"I've always wanted to wear one of these." Eomer's eyes were fixed on your feet, watching as you swayed ever so slightly upon that small area of chair. Regardless, you did not care, and quickly placed the helmet on. It was a very large fit for you, but anyway, you put your hands and your hips, attempting to look as desirable as possible, though in your stupor it looked rather comical. Eomer would have found it endearing, had he not been more concerned about you falling and breaking your neck.
"How do I look?" you slurred, and by now you had caught the attention of some of the other soldiers.
"Stunning, now would you please come down from that chair?"
"Maybe I will," you giggled, moving to bite your nail, "maybe I won't."
A few whistles sounded from behind you, and Eomer pulled a rather cocky expression, crossing his arms loosely across his chest. "I'm going to count to three, and then you're going to get down. One-"
"Ooh, am I in trouble?" you slurred, raising your hands up. This was not a good idea, and you suddenly realised that you had worsened your balance.
Eomer was playing to the crowd, and shot a quick smile to his fellow soldiers, therefore briefly taking his attention from you. "Two..."
But you were already beginning to stumble, and some of the men closer to you began to say your name; it fell on deaf ears, and before you had time to stop yourself, you were tilting forward. Being such an experienced soldier as he was, Eomer's reactions were very well developed, and just before you were able to crack your head from the floor, he lunged forward, catching you with a firm grip.
You could only laugh at the dizziness that enveloped you, reaching up to run your finger along Eomer's suddenly sober expression.
"You nearly died," he near-whispered, carefully removing his helmet from you. Laughing as you had been for the entire night, you quickly took a hold of the back of his head, gathering a handful of blonde hair, and pulled it down to your own. You pressed your lips against his before he had time to protest, and just as speedily, you pulled away again.
Eomer was completely dumbfounded. It took a moment for him to register what had just happened, considering his status, nobody had ever had the audacity to do such a thing.
"What was that for?" he asked.
You shrugged, still laying in his arms. "For saving me, brave sir."
Smiling his half-grin once again, Eomer (less forcefully than you had) brought his forehead to rest against your own, before leaning down to replace his lips onto your own. You felt time slow, and for the first time that night, you were fully aware of your surroundings. Slinging an arm up to wrap around his neck, you pulled him even closer, deepening the kiss; in response, as was custom, the spectating soldiere brought up a loud cheer, again whistling.
Neither of you noticed, eyes sliding shut as you pressed yourself flush against him. Once you finally came up for air, that blush returned to you, and he was once more his smug self that had initially enticed you.
"You're quite the woman, (Y/N)," he muttered just for you to hear, moving you upward to sit on his knee.
"Do you say that to all of the ladies?"
Eomer shook his head slightly, reaching a coarse hand out to push a strand of hair behind your ear. "Just the ones who take my armour from me. Most of the men in this room would not be so brave."
You grinned, placing a soft kiss upon his temple, before resting your chin to his shoulder. "Oh I'm incredibly brave."
"And you're incredibly drunk."
"Drunk and brave," you muttered close to his ear. Eomer turned his head to the side, scanning all your features entirely. Had it not been for the striking up of the band, he truly could have watched you all night, never tiring of the sight of you.
However, in your state, your attention span was completely diminished, and you snapped out of your trance. "Oh, this is my favourite song-" which was the third time you had said this that night. "Come and dance with me!"
"Oh no," Eomer laughed, glancing about at the company around him, most of whom were his men. "I'm not really one for dancing."
"Everyone likes dancing, don't be so sour. Come on!" You were already standing up from his lap, tugging on his hand to get him to stand.
"Fine: if you won't dance with me, I'll just get one of the other men to. I am sure none of them would have any objections."
And almost immediately, Eomer was on his feet, much to your pleasure, following your lead as you began to find the beat. All thoughts of the spectators evaporated, and for the rest of the night, he was yours completely.
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does anyone have any eomer requests because i really want to write something for him but i'm not sure what? thank you guys xx
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Hello! Since I see you are posting a lot of the Lord of the rings content (and I love it!) could I ask for some Eomer headcanons realizing that he may developed feelings for healer!reader?
Yeah, I did a rewatch of the movies so I was super inspired for the fandom! I’m glad you like the LOTR posts 😊 Here it is, I hope you like it, thanks for requesting!
EOMER FALLING FOR HEALER!READER
Eomer has known you for a long time now, years even
After all you had been the one to care for his wounds most of the time
Him being a rohirrim, there have been many times he’s gotten injured
Sometimes Eowyn patched him up if it was small wounds
But when they were a little more serious, he came to you
He found himself always talking to you while you healed him
Partly because it distracted him from the pain and the strange sensation
But also because you were a great listener and he was comfortable
He told you about his battles, about his victories and defeats
About wanting to defend Rohan and trying to keep it safe
You always showed him a sweet smile and said you were proud of him
That he was very brave and Rohan was lucky to have him
That you admired his courage and his leadership as well as his kindness
Eomer could only smile at you, not knowing what to say in return
All those encounters made him start paying more attention to you
To your constant smile, always so sweet and reassuring
To your gentle hands, making him remember your soft touch
To your light and softness, and how you were always so delicate
Every single person you healed was graced by your magic, literally
After that, Eomer starting realizing he had developed feelings for you
You were like the hope in his war-filled life, the gentleness in his violence
So he found a great deal of comfort in your persona
Not only because you healed his body with your magic touch
But because you were also healing his soul with your gentleness
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just like the wind (part iii)
summary: trying to save Frodo's life, you separate from the group
word count: 1'655
warnings: fight scene, frodo being sick
Wrath, anger, rage, fury
(Translated from Latin)
You travelled non-stop until you were about a day from Rivendell. You were, not literally but very figuratively, dying. You probably looked just as bad as Frodo, if not worse.
The purple bags under your eyes were a reminder of all the nights you had spent walking instead of sleeping. You had been too selfless and had not taken enough food for both you and Frodo and had naturally given it all to him, which lead to the colour draining from your slightly hollowed cheeks. You had acquired even more bruises (and quite a nasty cut) from a very conveniently timed wild-boar attack.
You reach a river a promptly collapse after gently laying Frodo down. You splash some water onto your dirty face before helping Frodo drink out of your hands. You freeze when you hear a small crunch of leaves behind you.
Your sword is drawn in less than a second, pointing at the potential attacker's throat. Your eyes finally meet the face of- Arwen, your friend. You let out a deep breath of relief as your sword falls to the ground.
"My apologies, I thought you were another wild boar," you admit, picking your sword off the ground and placing it in its sheath.
She laughs softly before pulling you into a warm embrace. "Do not fret, my friend, no harm done! How have you been? It's been decades!"
"It has been!" you agree, returning the touch before pulling away, "But before we rejoice, I may need your help," you motion to Frodo with a bruised hand. "Can you do anything?"
Arwen hums and takes a step closer to the frail body of the Hobbit. She gracefully kneels next to him and starts chanting an unfamiliar song. She slowly shakes her head with a frown.
"This is beyond me. He needs my father," she declares, standing up.
"I'll come with you." you decide, getting Frodo off the ground and placing him on her horse.
"I am a faster rider," Arwen tries to reason, but you shake your head.
"Yes, I am more than aware of that," you say, wordlessly referring to the countless races you and her had had. "I am also aware of how difficult, and near impossible, to fight off the Wraiths while holding on to Frodo to assure he does not fall off a galloping horse," you argue.
She reluctantly nods her head. You had a point.
"Before we go, I must just fetch something," you mumble, more to yourself than her, but she seems to understand as she goes to check on Frodo. You take a few steps backwards and finally recognize the sweet scent of Athelas leaves. You had been applying some to Frodo's wounds for the last few days in a desperate attempt at keeping the poison from reaching his heart.
You quickly grab a few handfuls and shove them into your mouth. You walk back to where Frodo was sitting in front of Arwen on her horse. You hurriedly chew the leaves before spitting them out on your fingers. You lather the thick, sticky paste to Frodo's wound before heading back to your own horse.
For the majority of the journey, you do not see the Wraiths. You were actually starting to think that you may reach Rivendell without a surprise visit from the Riders, but were soon proved wrong.
The first screech you heard made your skin crawl and your mind race. Maybe you hadn't thought this through completely. Fighting off the Wraiths? All nine of them? At the same time? While on a horse? Galloping at full speed? This was with no doubt not your brightest moment, Strider definitely would have agreed. It was thoughtless and reckless and absolutely insane, but it had to work. The Ring Bearer's life depended on it.
Your sword violently meets the first Rider's blade when he came out of the woods from behind you. You keep one hand on the rain of the horse between your legs and slash at him again. You are pushed to the side by another one and almost lose your balance. You curse before pulling yourself back up and narrowly dodging a what-could-have-been-fatal jab at your middle. You aimlessly swing your sword around you, trying to keep them all at a distance. You perceive the river marking the entrance of Rivendell and a surge of hope flies through you. Maybe you could hold them off until then.
In that mere second of distraction, you forget to steer the brainless animal beneath you and pull the rains just seconds before he slams into a tree. You groan out in pain when you feel multiple branches tearing through your skin.
As you dodge another blow from a Wraith, you make a promise to yourself to never, ever help another Hobbit. If this was what it meant to help a Hobbit, you didn't want to anymore.
Arwen stops in the river and starts to chant. You don't stop to see the river all but destroy the Wraiths as grab Frodo off your friend's horse.
You pull him in front of you with a grunt and head for the castle.
You ignore the indignant cries of the guards as you gallop into the main Hall. You ungracefully clamber off your horse and throw your hands up in surrender at all the guards aiming their bows at you.
"The Ring Bearer!" you exclaim, "He's been stabbed by a Nazgûl blade!" You turn to Elrond, who had arrived to see what all the commotion was about. "He needs healing, My Lord!" You pull Frodo into your arms and hand him over to a guard. He runs off, followed closely by Elrond.
Another guard takes your horse away but before he can leave you, you ask him where you could find Gandalf. He tells you the wizard arrived a few days ago and is probably on the balcony.
You take in a deep breath and march over to said balcony. You find him sitting on a bench next to an old Hobbit, leisurely smoking his pipe.
You can feel the rage bubble up in you as you remember all of what you had to go through while he was relaxing here.
"Where have you been?" you demand, crossing your arms over your chest, a deep frown making its way to your face.
The two old men take in your appearance silently. Your hair had multiple pieces of unknown substances (noticeably mud and blood). Your usually clear face was now orned of fresh cuts (you had a tree and a horse to thank for those) and dried blood. Your clothes were full of mud and blood and could barely even be considered as such anymore, considering how much they had been ripped and abused. All in all, you looked you had been swallowed and spat back out by Sauron himself.
"I was delayed," the old wizard answered infuriatingly calmly.
"Delayed? You were delayed?" you spat, unbelieving.
"Well, yes, that is what I said," he answered, a small, daring smile on his lips.
"It was a rhetorical question!" you fume, almost pulling your hair out of frustration. "I have been thrown over a hill! Thrown! Over! A! Hill! Have you ever been thrown over a hill like a child's toy? Don't answer that! I don't think you have! It's not very pleasant, as one can assume! I rolled off the same hill! Like a barrel! I have not slept in a week! Seven days, Gandalf! Seven days! Do you know how many hours that is? No? Well, I do! That's 168 hours! And to top it all off, my skin was ripped apart by a tree! A tree! All because a darned horse couldn't walk straight! I had to fight off nine Wraiths! While on that same, stupid horse! While it was galloping! And you're sitting here smoking your bloody pipe without a care in the world telling me you were delayed! I can't believe you! And to top it all off! I risked my life for four total strangers because my friend followed your instructions! Instructions you were supposed to follow yourself, may I remind you!" you roar furiously.
Gandalf blows out a few smoke rings before answering you with the same calmness. "I asked Strider to bring the Hobbits to Rivendell. Not Ira,"
"I didn't have a choice! He would have died as well as the Hobbits if I hadn't gone!" you cry.
"Then it's a good thing you made the decision to follow your friend," he says. You let out a sound very close to a growl before leaving, done with his attitude.
Gandalf leans back into the bench and inhaled a puff of smoke. Bilbo chuckles.
"Well that was certainly something," he notes. Gandalf hums.
"She is something," he agrees.
"You said her name was Ira?" Bilbo questions curiously.
"That is what she is called, yes, but her name is actually Alice,"
"Oh, that's a rather sweet name," Bilbo compliments, "I'm not too sure it resonates well with her personality, though," he adds, exhaling some smoke into the air.
"She can be sweet when she wants to be," Gandalf assures. Bilbo hums.
"She is an elf, yes?"
"Half-elf, half-man," the wizard corrects.
"Oh, yes, that explains her temper, then," Bilbo murmurs.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I see elves as a rather calm and collected kin. Not as- as expressive as she seems to be," Bilbo chooses his words carefully, noting how Gandlad still seemed quite fond of her after what she had done.
"Yes, she's got quite a temper on her, that one. But I do not think that her being a full elf would change much... And she didn't earn the name 'Ira' for nothing, after all," the wizard reminds. Bilbo nods along to his words, peacefully exhaling the smoke into the faint wind.
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just like the wind (part ii)
summary: trying to get the hobbits to safety, you run into some trouble
word count: 1'572
"Where are you taking us?" Frodo asks as he trails behind Strider and you.
"Into the wild," Strider answers, not bothering to turn back.
A supposed-to-be-discreet-but-not-so-discreet conversation starts between the four Hobbits not long after.
"How can we know these Rangers are friends of Gandalf?" Merry ask with rightful suspicion.
"We have no choice but to trust them," Frodo states truthfully.
"But where are they leading us?" Sam wonders.
"To Rivendell, Master Gamgee," you answer, "to the House of Elrond."
"You hear that?" Sam breathed. "Rivendell. We're going to see the elves!" he cries excitedly. You once again resist the urge to roll your eyes, he had been travelling with one for about a day. But then it came to you, the Hobbits had never completely seen your face: your hood was always up.
Your small companionship walked for a bit more before you stopped for a second, catching your breath and grimacing at the weight of your weapons pulling you down. Strider stands next to you and looks back: "Gentlemen, we do not stop 'till nightfall," he calls. Confused at his words, you turn around as well and let out a small chuckle. They were adorable. The four Hobbits were sitting on the ground, unpacking their bags, probably wanting to get some food.
"What about breakfast?" Pippin asks, an indignant frown on his face.
"Well you've just had it." you furrow your brows, confused.
"We've had one, yes. What about second breakfast?" Pippin continues, raising an eyebrow. Strider sends him a strange glance and continues his path down the hill. You shake your heads at the four halflings with an amused smile before following your friend.
"I don't think they know about second breakfast, Pip," Merry notes as he picks up his bag.
"What about elvensies? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? They know about those, don't they?" Pippin panicked, hastily grabbing his bag.
"I wouldn't count on it," Merry sighs. You chuckle at their conversation and throw each of the Hobbits an apple from a nearby tree.
When the night starts to fall, you stop at the bottom of a small hill with the remains of a Tower on its peak.
"This was the great watchtower of Amon Sûl," you say, starting to walk up its side.
"We shall rest here tonight," Strider adds. You decide together to split the night in half, both taking turns of keeping watch while the other would scout the woods for any possible threat. You start the first round and begin your stroll around the base of the hill.
It is only when you hear the all-too-familiar shrieks of the Nine Riders that you start running up the hill. You can feel the panic rising in your being. Strider had given the Hobbits some weapons, but what use would they have if they do not know how to wield them? You run faster, hearing your heart beating in your ears. After what feels like forever but was probably only actually only seconds, you finally reach the top of the hill and immediately put yourself between the helpless Hobbits and the Riders.
You pull out your sword and jab at the one closest to the Hobbits. You slash at another. Dodge another one's blade. You manage to keep them off for a few victorious minutes, but that changes when the Riders decide that to get to the Hobbits, they had to get rid of you first. Everything changes and all of a sudden, all of their blows are aimed at you. You dodge, block and try to counter-attack, but nine monsters against one elleth, you knew you stood no chance.
It is no surprise when you block a jab at your neck and are suddenly pushed out of the way. You fall to the ground with a pained grunt. A foot comes down near your face and you roll out of the way just on time. You pull yourself to your knees just in time to be picked up and literally thrown off the hill.
You scream for the few seconds that you spend in the air before getting the breath knocked out of you when you plummet on the ground with a harsh 'thump'. And so you start to roll. You roll down the hill like a bloody rag doll. You can't properly breathe until you reach the horizontal ground.
You lay flat on your back, trying to force the air down your lungs for a second. You can feel everything. Your skimmed knees, your bruised elbows, the cut on your forehead, your bleeding nose...
You remember the Hobbits and sit up with a jolt. You wipe the blood running from your nose on your sleeve and try to stand up- only to fall to the ground again.
The little tumble and roll had messed with your inner ear and therefore, your balance. You try to stand again and stumble on the spot for a second. When you can more or less walk, you clumsily make your way back up the hill. You push yourself to get there as fast as you can, all things considered, but you are too late.
Sam is kneeling on the ground next to Frodo as Strider, who is now holding a torch, is fighting to keep the Riders off. You immediately join him and start slashing at them with your sword. You manage to fight four off the Tower as Strider sets fire to the other five. Their screams make your blood curl.
When they are finally gone, you expect to be met with silence and panting from Strider. Instead, you are met with the pained cries of Frodo.
"Strider! Ira!" Sam calls. "Help him!"
You kneel beside the halfling, ignoring the pain in your knees, and take a look at his wound as Strider picks up the blade he was stabbed with. The blade of the sword turns to ash the second his hands touch it. Strider is left with only the hilt.
"He's been stabbed by a Morgul blade," you explain, "this is beyond my skill to heal. He needs Elvish medicine." Strider nods and picks him up, Frodo still groaning in pain.
You all start hastily walking towards Rivendell and more importantly, far away from the Wraiths that were after you. Strider was making sure Frodo didn't fall off the horse while you held a torch, illuminating the path.
"But we're six days from Rivendell! He'll never make it!" Sam claims, voicing your thoughts. You don't answer, knowing he is right. Strider doesn't reply either. Sam seems to lose hope as he uselessly cries Gandalf's name into the wind. You stop as the night falls.
You turn to Strider: "If we want Frodo to have any chances of surviving, we shouldn't stop and continue until we get to Rivendell."
"That's far too dangerous," Strider argues.
"It's the only way. The poison travels extremely fast," you insist. "We won't stop and the Riders won't be able to reach us. It's the better option,"
"Look at them!" Strider snapped. "They're not made for this! They have about ten meals a day! You can't expect them to walk non-stop for six days, can you? They're stay at home creatures, they're no Rangers! Even less are they Elves!" he cried. The Hobbits sent you strange looks, realizing that you were, in fact, an elf.
"I am not relying on their strength, I am relying on their determination and their will for their friend to survive," you spit, your temper flaring. You turn to the Hobbits. "We will barely stop. We're running out of food. We're being chased by Wraiths. Make your choice."
Merry and Pippin exchange panicked looks, unsure of what to say. "Look, all I know is that we're wasting time, here! We'll ride!" Sam exclaims. You nod and send him a small smile. You admired his heart. You start to pick up what you had installed of a camp.
"This is what always gets you in trouble," Strider hisses, "You never think about the consequences!"
"Oh, I deeply apologize for not wanting the Ring Bearer to die!" you huff sarcastically. "The way I see it, either we ride slowly and stop at night and Frodo dies or we ride fast, no stops, as night too and Frodo lives!"
"So you would prefer the other three Hobbits to die instead?" Strider whisper-yells. You shake your head at him: "Well what other solution do you have?" He doesn't answer.
You stopped three days later to rest for the night, despite your constant protests. You had found a relatively safe-looking spot and soon, the three Hobbits were far away in the land of Sleep. You turn to Strider with a cold stare: "I'll take the first guard, I'll wake you up in a few hours." He nods. He hadn't been talking much to you since your disagreement.
Once you are sure he is asleep, you pack your bag with a small amount of food (making sure the four others still had some) for Frodo and yourself. You write a little note explaining your departure to Strider before you haul Frodo onto your back and just before you are out of sight, you throw a twig at Merry.
He shoots up and shakes Strider awake. Strider looks around before finding your note and pursing his lips.
You turn away and disappear into the night, not aware of the troubles ahead of you.
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