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luthienne · 3 years

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Who are your favourite characters from LOTR, or just Middle Earth as a whole? Your favourite quotes and songs from the books? Have you read The Silmarillion, and perhaps, the History of Middle Earth volumes? Are there any essays or poems of Tolkien you particularly like and recommend? Did you watch the movies first, or read the books? Are there other fantasy series you love? How did your love for fairies come about?

Apologies for the question dump. Today, my love for Middle Earth is overflowing, and I really wanted to share it.

oooh ok let's go:

legolas. aragorn. gimli. éowyn. faramir. éomer. lúthien. thranduil. elladan and elrohir. beleg and túrin. nienna. i’ve read the silmarillion, most of the history of middle earth, and the history of the lord of the rings volumes + the end of the third age. ofc the hobbit. i adore tolkien’s essay on fairy-stories. i think everyone who’s interested in fairy-tales should read it. i read the books first. my dad and my brother and i would drive up to the green river every summer to do 10-day float / camping trips. we’d listen to the lord of the rings and the hobbit on the drive up and sometimes around the campfire. the films came out when i was in sixth grade and i fell in love w them. my core friend group exists bc of the films. my love for the world of faerie sprung from those river trips with my dad, listening to tolkien, imagining mirkwood, elves, dark forests, and enchanted rivers. i grew up in the desert and all our river trips were in the canyonlands, but that only made me love the idea of enchanted forests even more.

for more fantasy/speculative fiction recs, you can check here.

if you looked at my beat up copy of the lord of the rings, you'd see so many highlights. it feels nearly impossible to choose favorite quotes. but:

“yet it is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till. what weather they shall have is not ours to rule.” —rotk, the last debate (gandalf)

“there, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, sam saw a white star twinkle for awhile. the beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. for like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.” —rotk, the land of shadow (sam)

“and he took her in his arms and kissed her under the sunlit sky, and he cared not that they stood high upon the walls in the sight of many.” —rotk, the houses of healing

“the trees and the grasses and all things growing or living in the land belong each to themselves.” —fotr, in the house of tom bombadil

“‘and now leave me in peace for a bit! i don’t want to answer a string of questions while i am eating. i want to think!’ ‘good heavens!’ said pippin. ‘at breakfast?’” —fotr, a short cut to the mushrooms

“the wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot for ever fence it out.” —fotr, three is company (gildor)

“‘but where shall i find courage?’ asked frodo. ‘that is what i chiefly need.’ ‘courage is found in unlikely places,’ said gildor.” —fotr, three is company

“before long the elves came down the lane towards the valley. they passed slowly, and the hobbits could see the starlight glimmering on their hair and in their eyes. they bore no lights, yet as they walked a shimmer, like the light of the moon above the rim of the hills before it rises, seemed to fall about their feet.” —fotr, three is company

“many evil things there are that your strong walls and bright swords do not stay.” —fotr, the council of elrond (aragorn)

“yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere.” —fotr, the council of elrond (gandalf)

“the world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places, but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.” —the two towers, lothlórien (haldir)

“Already she seemed to him ... present and yet remote, a living version of that which has already been left far behind by the flowing streams of time.” —the two towers, farewell to lórien

“‘they will look for him from the white tower,’ he said, ‘ but he will not return from mountain or from sea.’” —the two towers, the departure of boromir (aragorn)

i also love the lay of nimrodel and the lament for boromir. so bittersweet 🥺

“it was sam’s first view of a battle of men against men, and he did not like it much. he was glad that he could not see the dead face. he wondered what the man’s name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would not really rather have stayed there in peace —” —the two towers, of herbs and stewed rabbit

“...but i do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. i love only that which they defend.” —the two towers, the window on the west (faramir)

and finally, the sheer amount of sass gandalf has in these passages from the council of elrond describing his conversation with saruman:

“‘i looked then and saw that his robes, which had seemed white, were not so, but were woven of all colours, and if he moved they shimmered and changed hue so that they eye was bewildered. ‘i liked white better, i said.’”

‘i cannot think that you brought me so far only to weary my ears.’”

and some bonus grumpy gimli:

“we cannot pursue them through the whole fastness of fangorn. we have come ill supplied. if we do not find them soon, we shall be of no use to them, except to sit down beside them and show our friendship by starving together.” [mood. same. how i feel when my brother is late to dinner.]

#the only other fantasy series i could recommend would be for younger readers: the lionness quartet by tamora pierce #i was obsessed w that series when i was younger and i think it still holds up #anyway thank you for these middle earth questions!! i love them <3 #ask #anon #lotr #tolkien blogging

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

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Middle Earth in the Modern World | Éomer | A Cloudy Morning

A/n Wow, thanks @errruvande for putting me in an Eomer mood 😂❤️. It’s because of you that this request is finally getting written <3 (Also goodness I love Eomer now so much thank you for the request anon, this was so sweet and fluffy to write!)

Prompt: #7 fluff from this list ~ “Wait, no, don’t take the kissing away from me”

Pairing: Eomer x GN!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 755

The alarm on my watch buzzes, insistent enough to persuade me to open my eyes. It’s still early — the sun’s just coming up—but the rays have yet to break through the thick, grey clouds, making the sky hazy and perfect for sleep.

Ugh, I don’t want to get up.

I push myself into a sitting position before I lose my resolve. As gently as I can, I pick up Eomer’s arm that he threw over my stomach at some point during the night, placing it against his side. He shifts, rolling onto his back and stretching out his legs. Such a light sleeper.

Now that he’s waking up, I don’t feel bad expediting the process. I drape myself over his chest, chin resting on his sternum, and place a soft kiss on the bottom his chin. He lowers his head, searching out my lips without opening his eyes, and I press my palm flat against his chest, lifting myself up enough to raise my lips to meet his. He kisses me readily, a surprising amount of energy for just having awoken.

I pull back just far enough to smile at him. “Good morning.”

“What a way to wake up,” he grins, throwing an arm behind his head and bringing another hand to my back, trailing his fingers lazily up my spine.

I lean forward, pressing a quick, firm kiss to his mouth and then push against him, bringing myself to a seated position.

He blinks in surprise and his lips quickly turn down into a pout. “Wait, no, don’t take the kissing away from me.”

I laugh, running my fingers through his blond curls as I scoot to the edge of the bed. “I have to get ready for work.”

“Work?” He sits up in indignation, the duvet gathering at the base of his naked torso. “But it is Sunday.” Hot arms encircle my waist, and soon I am pulled back into his embrace. His teeth tease the bottom of my ear, his quiet voice dropping low. “Give me twenty minutes.”

I laugh, though when his lips descend to my neck, the laughter dissipates. “You know I can’t, I’ll be in serious trouble if I’m late again. Last time my boss threatened to give me a citation.”

He grumbles something unintelligible and petulant, and my grin returns once more.

I twist in his arms, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “But I do have an hour for lunch.”

The pout fades, morphing into excitement. He presses his lips to mine once more and I have to mentally remind myself of my commitment to go to work today. When he pulls away, it’s my turn to whine, which seems to amuse him to no end.

“I’ll have food ready for you,” he promises once his laughter has died down. He lowers his lips to my ear once more, voice turning low and sultry. “And some other sort of surprise.”

The second alarm on my watch buzzes, reminding me of the shrinking time I have to get ready, make my coffee, and hit the road. I groan, laying my head in the space where his neck meets his shoulder. “That thought will be playing on loop in my head all day.”

His chuckle rumbles his chest against mine. He pushes us into a standing position and nudges me in the direction of the bathroom. “Go get ready, I’ll get coffee and breakfast started.”

I twist my head over my shoulder to thank him, but get distracted admiring the sight of him in only his tight black boxers. He smirks, coming forward to kiss me once more.

“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips.

I allow myself a brief moment to rest my forehead against his chest, enjoying his warmth. I would so rather stay in bed with him all day. Who needs a job that requires them to come in on a Sunday? But my third alarm buzzes violently, shaking the hopeful thoughts from my head and replacing them with more responsible ones. We need my share of the income if we wish to keep this apartment.

Besides, I have next Friday off.

I squeeze him tight in a hug before backing up and grabbing my fluffy robe from the back of the closet door. If he’s not here to warm me, the robe will have to do. I blow him one last kiss then turn in the direction of our bathroom, finally committing to getting ready for work. “I love you, too.”

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

#eomer x reader #eomer x gender neutral reader #eomer x gn reader #eomer fluff #eomer imagine #eomer fanfiction #eomer drabble #eomer fic #eomer #lotr #lotr fic #lotr fanfiction #middle earth in the modern world

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writingfromkitchenator · 3 years

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Eomer ~ Little

Alphabet Challenge Masterlist (700 Followers)

Masterlist

Words: 854

Warnings: Female Reader, lost child, single parent, mention of death/pregnancy loss, fluff/angst

The hands that suddenly gripped at your skirt surprised you, completely distracting you from what you were doing. You quickly looked down and couldn’t help but smile at the young boy tightly gripping onto your skirt.

“Hello there little one,” You said, crouching down to his level, his eyes going wide. “Aren't you just the cutest? Where’s your Mumma?”

His bottom lip trembled, but he also seemed reluctant to move away, just shaking his head.

“It’s okay,” You said gently. “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you need some help finding your parents?”

He nods, large brown eyes welling with tears.

You smiled. “Okay, come on then. All these people must be giving you a fright, huh?”

Again, he nods, but takes your hand when you offer it. You quickly finish at the stall and then start leading him through the market crowds, although, you had no idea who you were supposed to be looking for.

“Where did you last see them?” You asked him.

He points in a general direction, and while you knew he probably got turned around out here, you hoped that it would be enough to at least see a worried parent looking.

You were surprised at how tightly he held your hand, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry him. “What’s your name little soldier?”

The little boy looks up at you shyly. “The-Théodred miss.”

“What a lovely name,” You said, beaming at him. “I’m Y/N, Théodred. It’s lovely to meet you.”

He nods, his face turning red, staring at his shoes.

“Can you tell me what your parent’s names are?” You asked, still looking around, but couldn’t see anyone obvious.”

“Éomer, miss.”

“Éomer, okay, that’s a star-” You paused as it sunk in just who this little boy was, and you looked at him again, and sure enough, the resemblance was uncanny. “Théodred-”

“Théodred!”

The voice had you turning quickly, seeing none other than Éomer himself hurrying towards you.

Théodred’s eyes filled with tears and he quickly pulled free of your hand and run over to him. “Daddy!”

Éomer scooped him up, relief washing over him. “There you are. Don’t ever do that again! You know to stay with me at all times.”

Théodred held onto him tightly, buried against his shoulder. “I’m sorry Daddy.”

He sighed, holding onto him tightly. “It’s okay, I’ve got you now.” He meets your gaze. “Uh, thank you, I’m sorry if he was any trouble.”

You smiled and gave a small curtsey. “It’s no problem, my King. If I’d realised who he was, I would’ve gone to one of the guards.”

Éomer gives a small smile, shaking his head. “You don’t have to be so formal, I’m just glad that my son is alright, although, I’m a little surprised he went to anyone. He…he is normally very shy.”

You went to explain a little more, when Théodred interrupted in a quiet voice, one that was only meant to be directed to Éomer, but you still heard it.

“She looked like Mummy.”

It was no secret of what happened to the queen a couple of years ago, the birth of their second child having taken its toll. Éomer, and the rest of the kingdom, had been left devastated when her and the child were lost during the birthing.

Éomer’s expression draws a little painfully, and he gives a soft sigh, giving you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, I thought coming out today would be good for him. He…well he…”

You couldn’t begin to imagine what either of them had been through, of how hard it must be, so you shake your head. “There’s no need to apologise. I’m just glad I could help.”

He gives a strained smile in thanks and tries to take his leave, except Théodred squirms in his arms.

“Y/N! Wait!”

The small voice stopped you as you had gone to walk away, and you looked back at him a little surprised.

Théodred’s little face flushed and he avoided your eyes shyly. “Th-thank you.”

You smiled at him, your heart swelling a little. “You are very welcome Théodred. You look after your father, alright?”

He gives you a nervous smile and nods, before burying back against Éomer’s shoulder.

Éomer stares at you for a moment, seeming unsure. “Y/N…” He clears his throat. “Thank you again.”

You watched the two of them go, your chest aching a little as they disappeared back into the crowd, the people around seeming either not paying attention, or unfazed by their king being out on the streets. The first time in a long time.

Sighing, you knew it would do no good to dwell on it, so you returned to your tasks for the day, but the thought of wanting to help them more was never far from the back of your mind.

Shaking your head, you scalded yourself, knowing that he would have all the support within the halls available to him. There was little point in getting too mentally involved.

As you finally got back home for the day though, you couldn’t help but hope both Éomer and Théodred would be alright.

#the lord of the rings #eomer #eomer x female reader #eomer x reader

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

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Today in Tolkien - February 26th

The Breaking of the Fellowship. It has an ominous beginning:

The day came with fire and smoke. Low in the East there were black bars of cloud like the fumes of a great burning. The rising sun lit them from beneath with flames of murky red.

In the morning, Aragorn calls the Fellowship together and asks Frodo for his choice of which direction to take, to Mordor or to Gondor. Frodo asks for an hour’s peace and solitude to decide, but comes no closer to a decision. Sam is the one member of the Fellowship to understand him - he says the same thing to the Fellowship as Frodo says to Boromir. Frodo knows he has to go to Morodor, but is afraid to do it.

But by the time Sam says that, Boromir has already left the rest of the Fellowship found Frodo. When Boromir attempts to take the Ring, Frodo put it on and flees to the summit of Amon Hen and, wearing the Ring, sits in the Seat of Seeing.

Frodo sees signs of war everywhere he looks:

The Misty Mountains were crawling like anthills: orcs were issuing out of a thousand holes. Under the boughs of Mirkwood there was deadly strife of Elves and Men and fell beasts. The land of the Beornings was aflame; a cloud was over Moria; smoke rose on the borders of Lórien. Horsemen were galloping on the grass of Rohan; wolves poured from Isengard. [The First Battle of the Fords of Isen was the previous day.] From the havens of Harad ships of war put out to sea; and out of the East Men were moving endlessly: swordsmen, spearmen, bowmen upon horses, chariots of chieftains and laden wains.

All that we see, in the books and even in the Appendices, is only a part of the full scope of the War of the Ring.

And then Frodo looks at Barad-dûr and suddenly senses the Eye of Sauron becoming aware of him, and looking for him, first to Amon Lhaw on the river’s other bank, then to the pinnacle of Tol Brandir in the middle of the river, tracking towards Amon Hen.

He threw himself from the seat, crouching, covering his head with his grey hood. He heard himself crying out: Never, never! Or was it: Verily I come, I come to you? He could not tell. Then as a flash from some other point of power there came to his mind another thought: Take it off! Take it off! Fool, take it off! Take off the Ring!

The two powers strove in him. For a moment, perfectly balanced between their piercing points, he writhed, tormented. Suddenly he was aware of himself again. Frodo, neither the Voice nor the Eye: free to choose and with one remaining instant to do so. He took the Ring off his finger...A black shadow seemed to pass like an arm above him; it missed Amon Hen and groped out west, and faded.

Two key points. First, the Voice is Gandalf; as he later tells Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli: Very nearly [the Ring] was revealed to the Enemy, but it escaped. I had some part in that: for I sat in a high place, and I strove with the Dark Tower; and the Shadow passed. Then I was weary, very weary; and I wandered long in dark thought. Gandalf briefly overstepped here; he is not supposed to compel, as he was doing in the moment Frodo fels himself poised between Voice and Eye, but to guide and give people the freedom to make their own choices, even in truly dire situations like this one. And that is what he ultimately does: he counters Sauron for an instant to give Frodo a moment to choose, and Frodo chooses rightly.

Second, this is the first moment since Rivendell that Sauron has had clear knowledge of the Ring’s location; he doesn’t know exactly where it is, but he has a good idea. His later decisions are extrapolations from this. He knows a halfling has the Ring; he knows that Saruman captured two halflings and sought to bring them with all speed to Isengard, and that shortly after a halfling looked in the palantir of Isengard. He thinks that Saruman obtained the Ring. But Saruman was defeated, and Aragorn and Gandalf were there; either of them might now have it. Aragorn looks in the palantir, outright threatens him, and then commands an army of the dead - Sauron’s particular power of necromancy. From that time on, I expect he’s quite certain Aragorn has the Ring, right up until the Battle at the Black Gate.

Saruman also strongly suspects the Ring was here at Amon Hen: he was likely the one sending the crows that were watching the Fellowship in Eregion, and has been spying on them with birds on the trip down Anduin. He definitely thinks Merry and Pippin had the Ring at that point; after Éomer’s destruction of the orcs, he fears the Rohirrim have obtained it and so throws all his forces at Rohan. During the parley, at the time he throws Gandalf’s offer of clemency and release back in his face, Saruman may even believe Gandalf has the Ring. Certainly, believing that Gandalf controls and commands the Ents is more in line with Saruman’s attitudes than recognizing them as independent beings with their own priorities.

In short, the plots and plans of all the major figures in the War or the Ring stem from here; and fortunately - because Frodo has loyal friends who insisted on coming along, and thus the Fellowship has excess hobbits - Sauron and Saruman are both mistaken.

So here the Fellowship breaks:

Frodo and Sam row across the lake to the east shore and set off across the Emyn Muil in the late morning. They miss the orc attack entirely and do not know that Merry and Pippin are captured. Gandalf knows that Frodo and Sam set out towards Mordor, but no more than that.

Aragorn sits on the Seat of Seeing but can see nothing of note except “far away...a great bird like an eagle high in the air, descending slowly in wide circles toward the earth.” Gwaihir, certainly - perhaps carrying Gandalf down from the “high place” where he countered Sauron?

Boromir is killed by the orcs, and Merry and Pippin are captured (Merry cuts the arms and hands off several orcs). Pippin awakes in the orc-camp in the evening and overhears the orcs arguing about him and Merry. The orcs fight, killing some of each other, and Pippin is able to cut the bonds on his hands and replace them with loose loops of rope to disguise them. The orcs carry the hobbits like sacks until early night, and by then have reached the far side of the Emyn Muil on the borders of Rohan. The orc scouts report being detected by a horseman. [The horseman brings news of the orc-band to Éomer.] The hobbits are made to run all night, with whips behind them, but Pippin is able to run off to the side and leave footprints and the elven-broach from his cloak to be detected by Aragorn. (He sees every now and again “a vision of the keen face of Strider bending over a dark trail and running, running behind.” The source of this vision is never explained, so far as I can tell.)

Yes, that’s right, Pippin manages both to free his hands and leave signs for trackers on the same day that he is first captured by orcs. What a good hobbit!

Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli tend to the body of Boromir, mourn him, and set off in pursuit of Merry and Pippin to rescue them from the orcs. They reach the Emyn Muil by dusk and continue climbing through them for most of the night.

Additionally, in the aftermath of the First Battle of the Fords of Isen (which occurred the previous day and night), various Rohirrhim who were scattered in the Isengard attack return to the fords. News of the death of Théodred son of Théoden reaches Erkenbrand at Helm’s Deep; he assumes command of the Westfold and send riders towards Edoras with the news of the battle and an urgent request for reinforcements.

#tolkien #the lord of the rings #today in tolkien #frodo baggins #sam gamgee #pippin #meriadoc brandybuck #boromir #aragorn #gandalf #rohirrim #sauron #saruman

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schrijverr · 3 years

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Promises You Made to Me

Chapter 2 out 3

Aragorn falls for Boromir on their journey. When they realize they share their affection, they also know that the time is not now to act upon them. Both promise to share love once they see the quest done, a promise that long seems a broken oath. Still, the horn was heard in more lands and the Elves have not yet forsaken this world

A Boromir lives AU where they fall in love before Boromir falls at Amon Hen, but Aragorn only learns of his survival after the defeat of Sauron.

On AO3.

Ships: Aragorn x Boromir

Warnings: mourning and Aragorn's bad coping

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2: Can’t Promise You Kind Road Below

Aragorn did not want to think about the dying face of Boromir, how he had clutched to his clothes in desperate regret, nor how he had looked as if their doom was impending and there was no stopping it.

He hated how when he recalled the image of Boromir, he could only see that Boromir, chocking on his own blood, confessing his sins. He wanted to see Boromir in the flickering light of the fire, his eyes when he talked, but he could not.

Through Rohan, he ran himself ragged trying to find the little ones Boromir had died to protect and when even that task was his no longer, he worked to ensure that the world of men would not fail.

As they rode to Helm’s Deep, he was aware of Éowyn’s eyes on him, but he knew it was not love, for he knew what love looked like. She loved him for the things he could bring her, not for his tales of mischief or his tracking in the wild, just war and valor.

He would not engage with her meaningful looks hoping that they would go away, before he had to deal with them. His soul was smarting still and the affection in her eyes instead of his, hurt more than he could have thought.

When he went over the cliff edge, a small part of him hoped that he would see Boromir again, but instead he saw but an image of him, kissing his forehead as Aragorn had done on Amon Hen, before pulling him up, urging him to fulfill the oath he had made.

Brego trotted slow enough to not jostle him, but it would not have mattered for his mind was consumed by his empty arm and the shadow a smile long gone.

Arriving he heard Gimli through the crowd: “Where is he? Where is he? Get out of the way! I’m gonna kill him!” Then he saw him and hugged him close. “You are the luckiest, the canniest and the most reckless man I ever knew!”

Aragorn hugged back, but he did not have the time for this. His mind had been made up, he needed to save Rohan and then Gondor, for Boromir. It was a truth he had already known, but seeing Boromir in his mind’s eye, pleading with him again, made it a reality once more. He could not give up now. “Gimli, where is the King?”

Legolas also stopped him before he could reach Théoden King, however. “Le ab-dollen,” he frowned and scanned him over. “You look terrible.”

It was a relief, somehow, to have Legolas there, insulting him as of old. The Elf with his long life had more familiarity with grief than most and he tried his best to keep Aragorn on his two legs. A smile broke out on his face.

Then something leathery was pushed into his hands. Boromir’s bracer. It had been torn off during the fight with the Orc and he had felt its absence ever since, holding it in his hands once more made swallowing harder than it needed to be.

“Hannon le.” It was not enough to express all the thanks he had to his friend for saving and protecting this object while he could, even if he did not know whether Aragorn had made it and even if there was no one to return it to. Yet, he hoped his face showed all the gratitude his soul held.

After that he walked on to the King and so he stood and fought for Helm’s Deep, for mankind.

It was a pity that the Elves send to their aid were from the Western border of Lothlórien, instead of the Eastern, which had collected Boromir, since now neither knew that Boromir lived still.

Gandalf prevented him from marching directly through to the White City once the battle was over and the warning had to be brought, while Aragorn’s heartwas eager to march on.

Waiting was more agonizing than Aragorn had expected. When there were no longer marches that lasted days on which the silence was oppressively present or battles that went through the night, the emotions he had tried to hide from crept into his mind once more.

There was no description in any of the tongues he knew for the way his heart hurt. No words for the way it was hollow yet so heavy, nor for the way his mind replayed that day and all the things he could have done differently, if he had only seen.

He spend days sitting alone with his pipe.

Legolas understood. The Elf would sit next to him in silence, watching over the plains for someone, who would not appear on the horizon. Gimli, as well, would hold him company, on the long nights wherein sleep seemed the enemy more so than the darkness.

This night he was alone, however, gracing the halls of Edoras with his drunken mumbling filled with grief. His mind had called upon him to write a song for the loss and glory of Boromir, something he had been turning in his mind for many days.

There were reproaches to himself also for not giving him some sort of ritual send off that he had deemed as too time-consuming, if he was to fulfill his promises, and had regretted ever since. He should have bore Boromir to one of their boats and let the Anduin take him home, yet he had not.

Softly he swished the ale in his mug, looking into his reflection that looked more pitiful than a King should look. But he was no King here, just a broken man and quietly he murmured:

“Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass grows The West Wind comes walking, and about the walls it goes "What news from the West, O wandering wind, do you bring to me tonight? Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight?" "I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey I saw him walk in empty lands until he passed away Into the shadows of the North, I saw him then no more The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor" "O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar But you came not from the empty lands where no men are" . From the mouths of the Sea the South Wind flies, from the sandhills and the stones The wailing of the gulls it bears, and at the gate it moans "What news from the South, O sighing wind, do you bring to me at eve? Where now is Boromir the Fair? He tarries and I grieve" "Ask not of me where he doth dwell – so many bones there lie On the white shores, on the dark shores under the stormy sky So many have passed down Anduin to find the flowing Sea Ask of the North Wind news of them the North Wind sends to me" "O Boromir! Beyond the gate the seaward road runs south But you came not with the wailing gulls from the grey sea’s mouth" . From the Gate of Kings the North Wind rides, and past the roaring falls And clear and cold about the tower its loud horn calls "What news from the North, O mighty wind, do you bring to me today? What news of Boromir the Bold? For he is long away" "'Neath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, bore him upon its breast" "O Boromir! The Tower of Guard shall ever northward gaze To Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, until the end of days"”

“That was beautiful, my Lord. I knew not that a lament had been written for the grievous loss of Lord Boromir.” His private sorrow was interrupted by Éowyn, who could not know how deep the grief ran in Aragorn’s heart.

“It is not,” said he. “I wrote it.”

“Did he go down the Anduin, my Lord?” she asked. “We heard fairly little of the demise of our trusted ally of many years, only that it had happened.”

Aragorn’s teeth clenched, a steady breath leaving his nose at her innocent question. “He did not. We had not the time and I have regretted it ever since I turned my back to the place where he fell. He deserved more honor.”

Éowyn fell silent, then gently sat beside him. He knew not whether to be grateful for her company or upset at the intrusion, which it could hardly be called inside the public halls of her home.

She laid her hand on his arm. “You cared for him,” she observed. “He was not just your brother in arms, I can feel the grief in your voice and I see the bracers of Gondor upon your arms. Though it might not be a comparison, Théodred is a soul dearly missed by me. He rode into battle with Éomer, but it was me he comforted in the night when the nightmares got too strong. He was my brother more than my cousin.”

He heard the pain in her voice and while it was not a lover she had lost, it had been a loved one. She had not looked at him before with the compassion born of something other than love and in that moment, he appreciated the understanding she brought him.

“I promised I’d protect him, that we both might live to see the end of our quest.” His gaze wandered to a far off place that was unseen to other eyes. “I found him too late and save him, I could not. For all the Elven healing I have learned, I was not enough. I failed him.”

“You have not failed him, for if Boromir was to be failed, he would be failed by no one but his own,” Éowyn spoke fiercely. “I knew Boromir for many winters passed and he was proud and bold. He knew his sword better than his body, leading the charge and ending every fight he fought. He was a great warrior and I will not have his name tarried by your claim that he needed your protection. If he fell, he fell with the honor of a Soldier and a noble man, fighting until he could do so no more to protect what he held dear.”

Aragorn fell silent.

While Legolas and Gimli had many times told him to not carry the weight of Boromir’s death on his shoulders, it was Éowyn that defended Boromir in removing his guilt.

Boromir valued his honor and he had told him that he had kept it. It would not do to take those words back in his mind, to carry the guilt of Boromir’s death that was more Saruman’s fault than his own. Still it was easier to speak the words than to take the message to heart, yet it eased his mind, for he had felt he could not grieve that which he had caused, allowing himself to only feel the pain when colored by blame.

“You are not responsible for Théodred either, my Lady. Saruman’s magic lies in his voice and his arm reached far, do not blame yourself for there is not blame to be laid,” he said, not knowing how else to respond to the kindness she had shown him.

There was the same shock of the confirmation that it was okay to rest that had been upon his face moments before. She swallowed, then stared ahead: “I still have to atone for not doing more, for taking one of our greatest Captains in times of war when he could have been saved.”

“You do not have to replace him, my Lady. Dying in honor is not worth it to repay a debt that isn’t owed. Why should you atone for Gríma’s and Saruman’s crimes? Who will be here to protect the home that Théodred died for? If we fail, who else will hold steady here?” He knew her urge to fight, but he hoped she would see that times of peace were more valuable and that everyone had their own part to play in getting there.

She did not take kindly to his comfort, nor his advice. For all her wisdom to Aragorn, she had little for her own heart, little to soften the blows she dealt herself. Her lips pulled into a thin line and her hands clenched, before she swept out of the room, leaving Aragorn once more with a mug of ale as his only company.

Aragorn was still churning their words in his head the morning after. Both trying to find the right words for the ones that had been misplaced by her mind the day before as well as trying to come to terms with hers.

On the horizon a light flickered.

He rushed up many stairs and through the town he flew into the great hall of Edoras, where he panted:“The beacons of Minas Tirith! The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!”

The hall fell silent in awaiting Théoden’s answer and while Aragorn had already decided that no matter the word of the King, he would ride, taking whoever was willing with him, he still longed to know the King’s answer.

“And Rohan shall answer,” the King decided. “Gather to Rohirrim.” The words loosened the weight inside Aragorn’s chest. An army would do more for Gondor than a lone man.

He would come to Gondor’s aid, he would not abandon Boromir nor his home. There was a little hope for Gondor now and Aragorn found himself eagerly awaiting the return to his Kingdom, even if there was a chance he would find it in ruins.

In the end his return alongside Rohan would not come to pass. Seeing Elrond was a respite he did not know he needed, but when the older man shed his hood, Aragorn’s knees nearly buckled as a sense of safety and home consumed him.

“Estel?” he questioned when he saw Aragorn. “You are not the man that left Rivendell. You have lost something, a part of yourself. Where is the Evenstar brooch?”

“I- I gave it away,” Aragorn confessed, voice less steady than a hut during an earth quake.

“To whom?” Elrond wore the face that he often did when the human character of Aragorn managed to baffle him, even after all the millennia he had walked this earth.

Aragorn knew not whether he wanted to confess to the man, who had been like his father, to whom he had given the star of his daughter, but it felt unfair to keep it from him and yet it was hard to speak the name. “Boromir.”

“The brooch was not all you gave to Boromir.” The statement was an inquiry, but it might as well have been a knife. There was no judgment in Elrond’s voice, just a quiet understanding that came with all the losses he’d had.

He nodded in reply, for there was no more he could say to Elrond, save: “I swore to him that I would not see Gondor fail, Ada. Yet, my heart tells me Rohan will not be enough.”

“Your heart speaks truth, you ride to war not victory. Sauron’s armies ride on Minas Tirith, this you know, but in secret he sends another force, which will attack from the river. A fleet of Corsair ships sails from the South. They will be in the city in two days. You’re outnumbered, Estel. You need more men.”

At Elrond’s words, Aragorn’s heart sank. He had known this was a futile attempt to stem the tide of the darkness, thatthey would need even more men, men that did not exist or could not be spared. The promise he made to Boromir, was an oath he could not keep. “There are none,” it was a desolate fate to realize there in the night.

“There are those, who dwell in the mountain,” Elrond’s suggestion was one they could not count on and he wondered when the counsel of the Elves had turned to hopeless last efforts that would not be fruitful.

“Murderers, traitors. You would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing, they answer to no one.” Did Elrond not see that it would be his end?

“They will answer to the King of Gondor. I am here on behalf of someone that I love, Arwen begged me to bring this to you healed before she left to the Grey Havens,” said Elrond, revealing a sword that had been concealed in his coat. “Andúril, the Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil.”

With near reverence Aragorn took the sword, by whose shards he had first seen Boromir so many nights ago. The rhyme that foretold his duty came to fruition as a tale from old.

It seemed poetic that it came to his hands now that he marched on the City he had sworn to protect in name of the man, he had met next to that very same sword. How it came to him healed, only after Boromir had named him King and he had proven himself in battle.

“The blade that was broken shall return to Minas Tirith.”

While he knew his duty, he could not easily do so without the entire encampment knowing. He made his goal clear, but all thought it a foolish quest that would rob them of a leader in the battle that was to come. “Why are you doing this? The war lies to the East. You cannot leave on the eve of battle, you cannot abandon the men.”

“Éowyn,” for that was who had spoken and Aragorn hoped that his tone would convey all that he tried to say to her, knowing that she was not susceptible to listening.

“We need you here.” Everyone seemed to need him, but he knew where he was needed and it was not here, it was with a deadly army marching on Minas Tirith from the South.

“Why have you come?” he asked instead of all he wanted to say to her. He knew her reasons, but he needed her to understand that what she wished could not come to pass, for he did not think he could ever fully heal from the grief of Boromir. He was not right for her.

“Do you not know?”

“It is but a shadow and a thought that you love. I cannot give you what you seek.” The glance she send to his bracers told him she understood, yet she did not want to believe and the blunt rejection still hurt her as she backed away.

Aragorn knew that he should have felt more guilt about hurting the maiden, but he could not find it in him, for he was hurting too, yet there was no one right for him either, except the dead. He would find company there.

He also found company in Legolas and Gimli, glad for his friends that had been a steadfast presence by his side.

There were no finer companions to march with, for they had been there through it all, not once leaving his side and trusting him with their life, even when his judgment had cost them one of the Fellowship’s. They had not blamed him and stood by his side with more understanding of his conviction than he could have hoped for.

A dark path later, he finally gazed upon the White City. It stood high and mighty still, yet the magic with which Boromir had described it fell flat as the lower levels burned and the streets were overrun by Orcs and Trolls.

Boromir’s words in Lothlórien echoed through his mind: ‘Still, my heart tells me that I will not see my home as it is now ever again and my fears would have me believe that the next time I see it, it will be in ruin.’

Had he known then the omen of which those words spoke, he would not have thought so lightly of them.

Yet those were demons for after the war was won, for the end was only staved off and the Houses of Healing were filled with people, who did have a chance to see their home restored, should they live through this.

Aragorn worked tirelessly, remembering Boromir telling him off the time he had ended up here with a broken arm after he had fallen of a horse as a youngster. Boromir had recalled how the nurses had more resembled a beehive and how the busy hands had distracted him from the pain.

It was strange how his memories came alive amidst the dying soldiers of his City. He tried to work through it and many citizens saw him there, working so tirelessly as to be the hive Boromir had told him off by himself.

His people spoke, rumors of his deeds in the Houses of Healing spread through the City. Yet, no one spoke of the King that had wept at the sick bed of Faramir, Son of Gondor, now herCaptain and Steward, who resembled his so brother closely.

For days he found himself beside Faramir, looking at the man with an aching guilt. He wondered if he knew his brother was dead, if Pippin had told him, if he knew that Boromir would never again hear the silver trumpets call him home.

He knew not how Boromir had carried so much upon his shoulders for the many years he dwelt here and he felt deeply how the burdens he had seen in the eyes of Boromir, were the burdens meant for him. So, he set to work again, trying not to think of it more.

And it was in the Houses of Healing that Legolas found him, gently washing Faramir’s wounds with athelas water. He laid a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder. “You need to stop, Aragorn. You will not save Boromir by saving his brother. He is in safe hands here, you can do no more but rest.”

Aragorn tried to ignore him and went back to what he was doing, but his hands were shaking and his eyes were drooping. He knew Legolas to be right, yet it was hard to tear himself away from caring for the family of the man that held his heart.

“We have a counsel about our next move come morning. You cannot protect Minas Tirith if you’re exhausted. Please, sleep.”

The fact that Legolas spoke truth made it all the more frustrating. Faramir looked so much like his brother that it was sometimes easy to pretend that he had been on time to save him. But he had not. Every time he glimpsed features that were not Boromir’s that revelation came to him again.

Still, he knew that Boromir had cared for his brother, with many tales of their adventures both as young lads and soldiers proved that. Aragorn would never forgive himself if Faramir died under his care. He would do anything to protect Minas Tirith.

Slowly he stood up, vision going black for a moment as Legolas steadied him. Gratefully, he leaned on the Elf and let himself be led to a bed. He could not remember falling asleep, but it was the first full sleep he had in weeks, through virtue of pure exhaustion.

The debate for their next move had gathered in the Citadel and Aragorn walked the halls where he was meant to rule and where Boromir had grown up. He should have been there as well, to decide the fate of his City and people, but he was not and Aragorn would try his best in his stead.

He deeply understood Gandalf’s fear and blame of himself, when he talked about Frodo and the heavy shadow in the East, as he stated: “I have send him to his death.”

“No.” Aragorn would not let Gandalf fall into his own mistakes, he would not let the Wizard give up when he had just hardened his resolve to do what he must. “There is still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that.”

“How?” asked Gimli and Aragorn explained the plan that had been growing in his mind: “Draw out Sauron’s armies. Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate.”

“We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms,” Éomer rightfully critiqued, but he did not yet see the full picture. The real goal.

“Not for ourselves,” Aragorn agreed, “but we can give Frodo a chance if we keep Sauron’s eyes fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves.”

“A diversion.” It clicked for Legolas and he saw in the Elf’s eyes that he thought him mad and genius at once. He knew then that he would have Legolas by his side.

“Certainty of death, small chance of success,” Gimli summarized and Aragorn hoped the Dwarf would be on his side as well. The three of them had journeyed so far and it would hurt to see his friend abandon ship at the end. Yet, his heart knew that Gimli was more stouthearted and loyal than that, which was confirmed by the Dwarf himself: “What are we waiting for?”

“Sauron will suspect a trap. He will not take the bait,” Gandalf voiced what Arargorn had also realized, but he had an idea. He grinned and said: “Oh, I think he will,” before explaining what he meant to do.

Before he could do so however, Pippin stopped him. He looked at the Hobbit curiously, it was not the same Hobbit whom he had left Rivendell with. There was a weight on his shoulders and a wisdom in his eyes.

“Promise me I can come with you to the Black Gate,” he asked. “Boromir gave his life for me and Faramir has shown me great compassion despite my involvement in his brother’s death. I would be ashamed to not protect their home.”

“It is not up to me to decide who goes,” he said and he saw Pippin’s face fall, so he added, “It is up to the heart of every man. I will not force anyone to come with me, but every man is welcome. Still, you should not feel like a debt is owed, because you were the bringer of the news of Boromir’s death to his kin.”

He knew how Boromir cared for the Hobbits – Merry and Pippin especially, since they reminded him of the youth untouched by war and he had hoped to save them of the harsh, dark hands of violence. Another place where Aragorn had failed him. Boromir would not want them to unnecessarily endanger themselves.

“That is not why I want to fight, Aragorn. I want to help Frodo and Sam, I hope to see my friends again and I wish to fight for their good fortune,” Pippin said. “And it was not me, who brought the news.”

“It was not?” Aragorn frowned. He did not know how else the news could have come to the White City.

“No, it was his cloven horn that was found in the river, which told the people that Boromir would not return, I merely confirmed the loss already felt,” Pippin explained.

A cold hand gripped Aragorn’s heart. How had the horn ended up in the river when last he had seen, it had been next to it’s bearer far from the water of the Anduin, lying on the forest ground? Who had moved the horn from it’s resting place?

“Aragorn?” He had been quiet fortoo long and Pippin’s brows formed a concerned look. He failed to smile reassuringly as he said: “I’m sorry, Pippin. I was distracted. It is a noble cause to fight for your friends and your blade will be welcome.” Then he quickly left.

The fear and guilt in his heart was a familiar mix and he had not the time to examine the revelation too closely, for there was something he had to do. Though his mind kept straying.

Looking into the Palantír, he saw the dreadful eye that had haunted them through their journey across Middle Earth. It writhed and hissed in Black speech, things he could not understand. He unsheathed his sword and told Him: “Long have you hunted me. Long have I eluded you. No more! Behold, the Sword of Elendil!”

Immediate was the reaction of the Dark Lord, who showed him the body of Boromir, defiled and dismembered by a pack of Orcs. His fair face was no more, his horn tossed into the river with all that was left of him. The Evenstar trampled and left in the dirt.

Aragorn felt sick as he dropped the Palantír.

He knew not whether the stone spoke truth or if the Dark Lord had looked into his heart to confirm his deepest fears. Yet a part of his mind could not help but think that it had come to pass and that his actions had led to Boromir being desecrated like that after death.

When he had decided to leave Boromir there, it had been purely selfish. He wanted Boromir to be given the chance to be buried as the Kings of old as he had deserved. He had not wanted to dishonor Boromir as well as giving himselfthe chance to be buried alongside him. But the had not been the time to dig a grave with the trail of Merry and Pippin growing cold every second, he could not fail what Boromir had started.

So the body had been left and now he had a broken horn that should not have been in the river and an all seeing eye that confirmed what he had feared.

The bile rising in his throat felt almost as bitter as the taste of regret that coated his tongue. It seemed like he was only failing Boromir. His city lay in ruin, he would march her last soldiers to their death by the Black Gates and now the decisions about the death of Boromir felt foolish and was causing an anguish and doubt in his heart when Gondor needed it least.

He could not let this stop him, however. Boromir had turned his back on helping Frodo for a moment and it had led him onto a road of ruin and Aragorn had swore to do better by him. He could not abandon Frodo, not now. No matter if his heart wanted him to hide and cry.

Thus it came to pass that he marched steadily on the Black Gate with too small an army and a sun rising in the sky that he might never see setting again.

Aragorn spoke to his troops, to the brave men that had followed him in spite of knowing the foolish quest that it was. “Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers. I see it in your eyes, the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and all bonds of Fellowship.”

Even as he spoke the image of Boromir haunted his words. His attempt to take the Ring colored his mind, yet Boromir had the courage to turn back, to not forsake his friends and neither would the men in front of him. “But it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight!”

He saw encouragement in the eyes that looked up at him as he heard the voice of Boromir: ‘I have not yet seen you in a proper battle, nor with men under your command,’ and he hoped that if Boromir could see him, he would be proud. That he would have provenhimself worthy of the throne that lay waiting for him, should he return.

“By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!” Around him weapons were unsheathed as men readied themselves to fight with Aragorn joining them on his horse.

No one could stop him, he had to fight. Fight for Frodo, for Gondor, for Boromir and the promises he had made to him. He would fight for the memory of the Elves and the legacy of men in the new age. He might perish on the field of battle, but he would do so with honor. For if he fell, he wanted to join there were Boromir dwelt.

A/N:

Shout out to me for using a bazillion (9k) words for FOTR only to breeze past the rest of the franchise in record speed (5k). Well, maybe not record speed, but pretty fast if u compare.

Also I adore the Lament for Boromir (and I cry every time, very hard and long, lets not talk about it, anyways), but that does not just come to you and I wanted to explore writing it for Aragorn, so it had to be included and is straight from the books. I am quite sad that Legolas didn’t get to sing his part though :/

In the movies more so than the books, I feel (which is up for interpretation), Aragorn’s journey is shadowed by the death of Boromir. It is Boromir that convinced him of the courage of men and how Gondor needs him, who accepts him as King first and shows Aragorn what his absence has caused. So, I really wanted to explore all the places where Aragorn would meet Boromir’s shadow when he thought him dead and was mourning.

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cosmicbug379 · 4 years

Text

Today, Life is Good

It is 12:26 am, but here I am posting this fic anyway because I’m impatient. Here we go, another Boromir fic but this one is happy! YAY! I did not proofread this, because that is who I am as a person and I should probably get a beta reader or someone to edit these, but here we are. I like this fic. It’s a bit longer, and I have a lot of feelings, but I liked writing this! I hope you guys enjoy it and I hope it’s not too long or too weird or something.

Fandom: Lord of the Rings

Pairing: Boromir x reader

Words: 2560

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of injuries, pretty large portion takes place in the Houses of Healing, but nothing is too crazy graphic, suggestive language, mentions of sex (but no actual smut)

There was a long night ahead of you after the battle that had raged on Pelennor Fields and through the city of Minas Tirith. As a healer, you hadn’t fought in the battle, but now the wounded were coming into the Houses of Healing in droves and you weren’t sure how you would keep up.

You helped everyone you could, but there were so many wounded, you knew that it would be impossible to save everyone. You worked your way through the soldiers, beginning with the worst of the injuries. There were many you recognized, men of Gondor who had fought for their home. But there were many you didn’t recognize as well. The people of Rohan had arrived to help it seemed, and you were sure you would have lost the battle without them.

You were helping one man with a head injury who told you that an army of the dead had arrived from the river, cutting down all the orcs in their path and even swarming and killing the Mûmakil with ease. You told him that perhaps he hit his head harder than originally thought, but then one of the Riders of Rohan who was close by confirmed the man’s story. He said that a man named Aragorn had left them at Dunharrow and taken the paths of the dead, later arriving at the battle with the Oathbreakers behind him. Part of you had never believed the legends of the army that Isildur had cursed, but if they had won the battle for Minas Tirith, you were glad the legends were true.

You kept working through the night, barely stopping in an effort to help as many people as possible. You heard someone shouting for you and you hurried over to find a man cradling an injured woman. She was hurt badly, she was barely breathing. You learned she was the princess of Rohan and the man cradling her was her older brother. You managed to pry Éomer away from his sister far enough to examine her. You weren’t sure that Éowyn would survive.

“This is beyond my skill to heal,” you said sadly, looking at Éomer. “We need athelas to even begin the healing. This looks like the Black Breath.”

Éomer wailed in anguish and you felt terrible, you had seen similar wounds on men who had come too close to the Nazgûl in the battle at Osgiliath a few days ago when the orcs had taken the city on the river. Those men hadn’t survived.

“I can heal her,” you heard a voice say behind you.

Turning, you looked up at the man. He didn’t look like much, but you heard Éomer speak to him and say his name. This was Aragorn, the ranger from the north, raised among elves for a time and apparently Isildur’s heir.

You stood aside and let him take over, rushing off to find some athelas to aid him in healing the woman. When you returned to Aragorn with the needed herb, there was another man standing nearby. You dropped the athelas and stared at him. It couldn’t be.

Boromir was there, standing right in front of you, very much alive despite what you had been told. When you didn’t hand the athelas to Aragorn, all three men looked your way. Aragorn just grabbed the needed plant and kept working, Éomer didn’t seem interested in anything other than his sister, but Boromir looked at you and your world stopped. He was here, standing in front of you. This was all too much. A combination of little sleep or food and the shock of seeing your apparently not dead husband standing in front of you caused you to faint right there in the middle of the Houses of Healing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t long before you woke up, and you hadn’t been moved far. Boromir had caught you before you could hit the floor and injure yourself. You sat up, looking around before spotting Boromir speaking to Aragorn next to you.

“This can’t be real,” you whispered.

Boromir looked at you and smiled, “It is real, my love. I promise you that.”

“You’re dead… They found your horn washed up on the banks of the river. Faramir was sure of it, so was your father. We thought we would never see you again.”

“I am sorry you thought I didn’t survive, but I am very much alive and I would very much like to steal a kiss from my beautiful wife,” his smile grew, and you couldn’t help smiling yourself.

You kissed him then, trying to show him how much you loved him through that kiss. He responded in kind and held you close to him. You felt at home in his arms, you thought you would never feel this way again, thought you would never see him, but he was here and he was holding you.

“I should get back to work,” you whispered.

“You need to rest. I spoke to Ioreth, she said you haven’t taken a break in far too long. You’re no use if you can’t even stand on your feet,” he said.

You hesitated, but eventually agreed with him. You were exhausted, there were so many wounded and you had been working nonstop for hours. A small break would be alright.

You held Boromir's hand tightly, like you were afraid he would disappear if you let go. He led you to a corner of the Houses of Healing that had been set aside for the healers to rest, guiding you to lay on one of the cots.

"Don't leave," you said, maintaining your death grip on his hand.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said with a gentle smile. "But I'm afraid if you hold my hand any tighter you may crush it, my love."

You eased your grip on his hand and laughed quietly.

"I'm sorry, Boromir. I'm just afraid that if I let go of you all those nightmares will be true and you'll be gone. Pippin didn't even tell me that you were alive, I'll have to have some very stern words with him. Though, we barely had a moment to speak, and he's been following Faramir around every moment he got. I did hear him tell your brother that he admired you very much, so it seems both sons of Denethor are good at making friends with Hobbits," you said with a smile.

"I am very fond of the little ones," he agreed. "I'm surprised Pippin didn't talk to you more, I spoke of you often."

"I've been here most of the time. I was here when he and Gandalf arrived, but we didn't get a chance to speak. Ever since Faramir came back with the horn… I've been here, avoiding anything that reminded me of you," you squeezed his hand gently.

"I'm sorry I worried you. The battle at Amon Hen was only 17 days ago, everything happened so quickly I didn't have time to write to you. And I didn't realize my horn would wash up on the shore for Faramir to find."

“Only 17 days ago? So much has happened since then,” you trailed off then sat up quickly. “Faramir! He was hurt when your father sent him to Osgiliath, I couldn’t help him. It was the Black Breath, just like Éowyn! You must tell your friend to help him!”

Boromir hushed you and pushed you gently until you were laying down again.

“I will tell Aragorn, I promise. Our new king will not let my brother die if he can save him. Now you need to rest, my love.”

You had many questions, but your eyes were so heavy. You drifted off to sleep with Boromir beside you, promising he would explain everything soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days after the Battle of Pelennor Fields you had to watch your husband leave again for Mordor, and you were afraid none of the Host led by Aragorn would return, but they did return, twenty days later and they brought two more Hobbits back with them.

You spent most of your time in the Houses of Healing once again, but this time you watched over Éowyn and Faramir more than anyone else. Aragorn had taught you how to help them, using the athelas and changing their bandages often. They were both almost back to normal, and you found them together more often than not. You were happy for them, they deserved to be happy; they deserved to be in love.

When you heard the horn announcing the arrival of those who had gone to the Black Gates you ran out of the Houses of Healing, sprinting through the city to get to the Citadel before they did. They beat you there, and you stood, searching for Boromir among the many weary faces before you. When you finally did see his face, you called for him before running into his arms.

Boromir caught you with ease, taking a step back to steady himself. He smiled at you and kissed you the moment you were still long enough. You were out of breath from running to find him, but you kissed him back with as much passion as you could muster.

“You’re here,” you sighed. “You came back to me again.”

“I will always come back to you my love,” he whispered into your hair.

You stood together for a long time, holding each other tightly until finally you followed Aragorn and the rest of the Fellowship into the Citadel. There were two new Hobbits with the company, you learned they were Frodo and Sam. Both of them were injured and on the brink of death, you worked alongside Aragorn to nurse them back to health.

Sam was the first to wake, his injuries were not quite so severe and he had not been carrying the Ring for months as Frodo had. Frodo returned to consciousness only a few days after Sam, and you found you very much enjoyed the company of all the Hobbits.

Boromir finally got the chance to apologize to Frodo for trying to take the Ring, and everyone was given the chance to recover from the long journeys they had been a part of.

You learned many things from Aragorn, and became a better healer. Aragorn was very skilled, and the prophecies of the Heir of Isildur having the hands of a healer were correct.

When you weren’t in the Houses of Healing you were with Boromir and your new friends. You liked the entirety of the Fellowship, but the Halflings were your favorites. They were wonderful company and Merry and Pippin were always energetic and happy to entertain you. Frodo and Sam were more reserved, but you found their company calming, and you enjoyed having tea with them every day.

Gimli and Legolas were the strangest pair; an elf and a dwarf who were good friends was unheard of, but you loved them just as dearly as the others. The elf was calm and calculating, but he was also warm and kind and fiercely loyal. The dwarf was much like the few other dwarves you had met; loud and daring, and protective of his friends.

Gandalf you already knew, and you were glad to see him again and spend time with him. When he would come to Minas Tirith while you were still a child, he spent most of his time with Faramir, who was always eager to learn from him. He was a wise and powerful wizard, even more so now than before.

Most of your time, though, was spent with Boromir. You had missed your husband dearly, and you barely let him out of your sight. He seemed happy enough to spend time with you, never denying you the opportunity and smiling at you every time you asked. Sleeping next to Boromir was a relief; you hadn’t slept so well in months. You felt safe and secure in his arms and that first night he was home you slept the whole night through for the first time since he had left nearly a year ago.

You opened your eyes slowly, it was early and you were still tired; Boromir hadn’t let you get much sleep the night before. You felt his arm resting across your stomach and you turned to smile and watch him sleep a little longer. He had a slight smile on his lips, and you wondered what he was dreaming about.

“I can feel you staring, my love,” he mumbled, his smile growing.

“I can’t help it,” you replied. “You’re very handsome, you know.”

“So you tell me,” he said, opening his blue eyes.

“I’m right. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“I believe you.”

You smiled at him and kissed him deeply, pressing yourself closer to him.

“Must we get out of bed today?” you asked sadly.

“I’m afraid that today it is very important we get out of bed, and soon. Aragorn’s coronation is today and it would reflect poorly on us if we were not in attendance,” he said, kissing your forehead.

You sighed heavily; you knew he was right, but you would much rather stay in bed with him all day.

“Tomorrow we can stay in bed all day, I promise,” he said, as if he had been reading your mind.

“I suppose I can wait until tomorrow then,” you sighed.

The coronation was a lovely affair; Aragorn was reunited with his love, Arwen, and all your new friends were there. Faramir announced his intention to marry Éowyn and they looked like they couldn’t be happier, in fact, Faramir looked happier than you had ever seen him.

“Did we look so sickeningly happy when we announced our engagement?” Boromir whispered in your ear so his brother did not hear him.

“I’m sure we did,” you told him with a smile.

“Well I’m happy for them. I’m surprised it took so long if they were as close as you say in the Houses of Healing. We returned from the Black Gates over a month ago.”

“Well it probably took that long to convince her brother to allow it,” you said with a laugh. “Éomer still doesn’t look like he wants this to happen.”

“I suppose you’re right. It took nearly a year for me to convince your father to allow me to marry you,” he recalled.

“I remember,” you teased. “You asked him every day and when I finally found out you were asking I begged him to say yes. Finally he got so sick of both of us asking every day he agreed to allow it. I’m so happy he did; I’m so happy I’m married to you”

“I’m happy too, my love,” he smiled, pulling you closer. “And I’m even happier to be home with you. The world is finally going to know some peace, and we can be happy.” You nodded and pulled him into a corner to kiss him deeply. Boromir complied happily and pressed himself closer to you.

“Perhaps, we could retire to our chambers early,” he whispered. “We could start trying to have children like we talked about before I left?”

“I don’t think Aragorn and Arwen will mind,” you smiled, taking his hand.

The two of you laughed together, racing towards your rooms like two newlyweds; so in love with each other that no one else seemed to matter.

Tags: @rzrcrst @opheliaelysia @rae-gar-targaryen @hdlynn if anyone else wants to be tagged in any future LotR fics message me or send me an ask or something, I will happily add you! Or if you don’t want to be tagged let me know that too!

#lotr #boromir #lotr fanfic #boromir fanfic #boromir x reader #lord of the rings #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #boromir fanfiction #I REALLY LOVE BOROMIR OKAY

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finrad · 3 years

Text

Paper Rings - Éowyn x Reader

This is heavily based on Taylor Swift's song Paper Rings. It took me so long to write this due to me getting distracted by Dream SMP.

Warnings: none

0o0o0

Outside the window was the moon, shining high in the sky. The curtains let in a little bit of moonlight that was outside. You were quietly laying in bed beside Éowyn, who was currently your lover.

As you were trying to go to sleep, you thought about the things that you have done with Éowyn. You thought about the night that you first met her. She had thrown a little party in Rohan and one of her friends were invited. That friend was also your friend, and they tried to convince you to come.

"It will be fun, I promise!" your friend said. "Maybe you will find a new friend. Éowyn is the host of the party, and I do believe that you two will get along well."

"Well... I'd rather stay home and–" you began to protest, but your friend cut you off before you were able to finish.

Your friend rolled her eyes. "Come on, we have to go. Maybe a small change in your life can bring you happiness. Go with me, interact with some people and maybe find new friends."

Instead of arguing, you just decided to give in and attend the party. Your friend could be right, and Éowyn, the shieldmaiden of Rohan, sounds like a nice lady. You have seen her, and you found her beautiful, but didn't know her enough to be infatuated with her.

That night, you went to the party and saw so many people around the area. Some of them were people that you were already were friends or acquaintances with. But there were many others that you had never seen before.

As you walked around to get a drink, you saw Éowyn chatting with her friends. A few of them were smoking as they spoke. You decided to talk to her, too, because of what your friend told you.

"Hello my lady." you told her. After that, you introduced yourself and sat near her. You noticed her pale skin and how soft it looked. Her golden hair shone a bit in the moonlight, and the shape of her face was very attractive. And so was her body.

"You may know who I am, but if you don't, then I am Éowyn, daughter of Éomund. It was a pleasure to meet you." Éowyn told you. Her voice was like music to your ears. "I hope that we can become good friends."

After you two had some good conversation, you ran around the party, getting as much information about Éowyn as possible. She was so pretty and fair, and you needed to learn more about her. Something about her made you want to learn more about her. About who she was.

You shook yourself from this memory and looked at the nightstand beside the bed. There were plenty of books sitting on it. All of these belonged to Éowyn, and you had read them all.

She had great taste in literature, as all of the books were great reads. Sometimes, the two of you would read together, and it was fun.

Then, after you looked at the books, you went back to remembering. There was a time where you two chased each other around, playing cat and mouse. Each time, one of you got enough bravery to ask the other out, but it ended up failing.

Once, you went to her door, with a flower in your hands. This was a day after you met her. And you were feeling brave. Brave enough to learn more about her, so you can court her.

Just before you managed to knock on the door though, you heard a voice in your head, telling you not to do this. This was a terrible idea, and you and Éowyn should just be friends for now. Maybe later you can start courting her.

About a few weeks later, Éowyn came to your door, with a nervous look in her eyes. She was often determined, and confident. So this was a face that you have never seen before. It was odd seeing her like this.

"Do you mind if we go have some dinner tonight? Er- together. Alone, if you don't mind." she asked, with a tone that you have never heard escape her lips. "It's for... no particular reason."

You were a little hesitant to answer. A dinner alone with Éowyn was something that you could only dream of doing. And now this could be your possible reality.

After some thinking, you had your answer. "Of course. At what time, my lady?" you responded.

"At sunset?"

"At sunset."

All day you waited for the sun to come down. Time ticked on slowly, and you wished that it would go faster. But you knew that you couldn't control it. So all you had to do is wait. And that is what you did.

At last, the sun sunk into the horizon, and you finally got dressed and prepared yourself for the dinner. You were nervous, yet excited. It was a weird feeling. Despite the butterflies in your stomach, you went to eat dinner with Éowyn.

She was waiting for you at a small table, with an empty chair in front of her. You sat on the chair and smiled. Éowyn looked stunning tonight. Well, in your eyes, she always looked gorgeous. But tonight, she took your breath away.

"Hey." she said, with a smile on her face. "We must wait for the dinner to be cooked, so for now we should chat."

You nodded, looking forward to a nice conversation with her. As you spoke to her, you noticed the way she acted around you. It was so different to the way she was around her friends and family. However, you couldn't seem to figure out why.

The dinner arrived, and you noticed that it was one of your favorite meals. She must've known what you like. Of course she did, because you tell her everything. Not really everything, but you do tell her quite a lot about yourself.

"Did you know my favorite food, Éowyn?" you asked. "If so, I think that this was very generous of you."

"I did know..." Éowyn answer. "Because I wanted to make this special for you."

"Why?"

"Because there is something that I must confess."

"What is it, my friend?"

"I–" Éowyn cut herself off. Her eyes widened, and it seemed that she was stuck. It was deathly silent for a few long seconds. Nobody was talking, and you two were looking into each other's eyes. "I think that you are my best friend."

Your heart sank. All of a sudden, you realized how you truly feel for Éowyn. You felt that she was just the one for you. And this was strange and new, because these feelings were ones that are new. New to you.

A month later, you hoped that Éowyn would request that you be her lover, but ever since that dinner she never asked you on a date. You were disappointed, until you realized that you had to be the one to ask her if she's not going to do it.

Nervously, you walked up to her and kissed her hand. It was a soft and gentle kiss, and you saw Éowyn blush a little. Which was a little unusual of her. She rarely blushed or got embarrassed.

"My lady, do you think we can–" you began, but you got interrupted by someone walking in. He looked similar to Éowyn, and was a big man. You had guessed that it was Éowyn's brother. As soon as he came in, you couldn't find the words to say because you were scared of him.

"Who is this, Éowyn?" the man asked.

"This is my best friend." Éowyn answered. She quickly introduced you to her brother, whose name was Éomer. He was next in line for the throne of Rohan. "Now that I have introduced you to each other, what were you saying?"

"Oh uh..." you hesitated. With Éomer standing there watching you, you got nervous and didn't want to say anything. But you had to say something, even if it's not want you originally wanted to say. "Uh... d-do you think– are you busy today?"

Right now, you were so embarrassed. You weren't so confident. You were a total wreck. Please say that Éomer does not think that you are a horrible fit for Éowyn.

"No, I'm actually not!" replied Éowyn. She was smiling happily, and you couldn't help but fall for her even more. "Would you like to join me for a drink?"

You nodded and took the lady's soft hand and walked away with her. The woman that you were falling for waved at her brother with a grin. Éomer waved back and told her to have a wonderful time.

While you two drank, nothing romantic happened. Unfortunately, you were too scared to tell her how you truly feel.

The next month, you were becoming madly in love with Éowyn. You needed to tell her. But, you remembered how many times you had tried to tell her but failed miserably.

There was the time where you gave her flowers as a romantic gesture. It went well at first, until you got so nervous that you decided not to ask her on a date.

Another time was when you tried to write a poem for her. Each draft that you wrote seemed awful and not good enough for her. Nothing seemed to work, so you just gave up.

Despite the many failures, you still felt the need to tell Éowyn that you love her. She is the loveliest lady in all of Rohan, and you were very likely to miss your chance. So, you took a few breaths and decided to find Éowyn to ask her to come to your home for a drink.

You found Éowyn standing by a building today. She saw you and smiled brightly. Every time she gave you a smile, your day always gets better. No matter how gloomy the day.

"My lady..." you began. The two of you were alone, standing in the sunlight. "Would you join me for some wine tonight... at my house?"

Éowyn nodded. "Of course!" she answered. The two of you set up the exact time and then you two continued to casually chat. Today was calm and a wonderful day.

At night, you ran with Éowyn to your home. As soon as you two arrived, you grabbed a cool bottle of wine and poured it in two glasses. You took a long sip of the wine and sighed.

Now was the time to confess. However, you were far too nervous. A horrible feeling in your stomach was stopping you from telling Éowyn exactly how you feel. So, you instead continued to drink and laugh with her.

Soon, you began to feel a little dizzy. The world started spinning around you and you became confused. You were becoming a little drunk. Not drunk enough for you not to remember what is happening.

"My l-lady, do you know what I think about you?" you asked Éowyn.

"Tell me!" she exclaimed.

"I love you. I love you. Éowyn, I have loved you for a long time. There is no way that I can't be in love with you." you confessed. "Oh please, I ask you for your hand in courtship."

Éowyn smiled. "I will gladly take your hand, for I love you as well." Then, the two of you leaned in closer. Your lips were close to touching. And then they connected, and there was a moment of love and peace. Finally you and Éowyn were together.

Usually you hated accidents, but you and Éowyn getting together was an accident of some sort. Therefore, this was the only accident that you loved.

Now, you looked back at Éowyn while in bed, and admired her. You wanted to see all of her. The moments when she's feeling down. The moments where she's happiest. You wanted to see her all the time. One day, you hoped to marry her, and it didn't matter if you were going to marry her with diamond rings or paper rings.

#lotr #lord of the rings #eowyn #eowyn shieldmaiden of rohan #eowyn x reader #tolkien #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #lotr x reader

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madamebaggio · 3 years

Photo

Notes: Previously...

I think there are some important things to say before you go ahead with this chapter.

As I was writing I kept checking on some sources related to the families of the characters here. I tried to write based on the information available, but a lot of what I settled on was either because the information was so vague I had to guess, or I just went with what I thought would be better for the sake of the story.

Anyway, this is mostly my view of things and I just thought I should warn you all ;)

***

Chapter 2

A maid led Éomer to a study where Imrahil and Ivriniel were waiting for him.

“Éomer.” Imrahil had this happy smile upon seeing the younger man. “Thank you for coming today.”

“Of course. Lady Ivriniel.” He nodded at the woman.

“Your Majesty.” Ivriniel curtsied gracefully at him.

Éomer had a few opportunities to talk to Lady Ivriniel; she was a truly interesting woman. She’d been married really young to an important lord, who was much older than her. Her husband died after only a few years into their marriage, leaving Ivriniel a widow with a good fortune to her name.

She’d neither had children nor remarried, but she’d traveled quite a bit. She was a fascinating woman to talk to, and extremely intelligent and shrewd. She also had a very interesting sense of humor.

“We actually asked you here for a reason, my lord.” Ivriniel was the one to talk first. “It’s a bit of a favor, actually.”

Éomer was intrigued. “A favor you say?”

“Yes.” Imrahil cleared his throat. “You are probably familiar with Lossarnach.”

Éomer wasn’t expecting that particular question. “Yes. My grandmother still lives there. However, I’ve only visited it twice in my life.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but Lady Morwen is kin to us.” Imrahil told him.

“Is that so?” Éomer didn’t know that.

“Distant kin, let us be honest.” Ivriniel made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “However, I did meet her as a child and once she left Edoras I tried to visit her as often as possible in Lossarnach.”

Éomer had no idea about any of this.

He did know his grandmother had Númenórean heritage -the reason he was so tall. Once her husband had died and her son took the throne, she’d left Edoras, a place some said she’d never really considered home. Éomer had visited twice during his childhood with his mother, but he was so young he barely remembered anything about it.

“Lothíriel adores the old hag…”

“Ivriniel!” Imrahil was appalled. “She’s Éomer’s grandmother.”

“Oh, you’ll excuse me, my lord.” Ivriniel said easily. “But I do not lie.”

Éomer coughed to swallow a laugh. “I’ll defer to you on that, my lady.”

“Lothíriel likes her and she likes our princess.” Ivriniel told him. “We haven’t been able to visit in a long while because of the war. We’d like to see her now, since things have considerably calmed down.”

“I see. Is the favor related to Lady Morwen?” Éomer asked.

“Yes. We are going to visit her after the wedding, and we’d like you to come with us.” Ivriniel told him simply.

Éomer was left puzzled. “Visit Lady Morwen?”

“Yes. You see, she’s asked to see you and Éowyn in her last letter. You probably know she isn’t that young anymore, and she wishes to see you both before…” Ivriniel paused for a second. “Before she runs out of chances.”

Éomer had never given his grandmother much thought. It was a bit shameful to admit that, now that he’d thought it. Béma, how old was she? She was probably really close to 100.

“Faramir will take Éowyn a few weeks after the wedding, but we’d like you to come with us.” Ivriniel pressed. “That way Lady Morwen gets to see you and we have a brave escort of Eorlingas to take us there.” She teased a bit, clearly trying to lift his mood, since he’d been deadly quiet for a while.

Éomer scratched his beard.

“Éomer.” Imrahil put his hand on the King’s shoulder. “Are you fine? Have we been rude? It wasn’t our intention to…”

“It is fine, Imrahil, my friend.” Éomer told him slowly. “I just… It’s been a long time since Lady Morwen crossed my mind and now I find myself ashamed. I don’t know…�� He sighed. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“I am so sorry, Your Majesty.” Ivriniel sighed. “I shouldn’t have just told you all of this in such a manner. I apologize.”

“Please, Lady Ivriniel.” He held up a hand. “There’s nothing to forgive. Is the favor taking you or seeing her?”

“Taking us. You can see her if you wish to.”

“I have questions.” He confessed. “Things I’ve always wondered about her. I just never thought I’d have the chance of asking them.”

“You don’t need to say anything now, or explain yourself to us.” Imrahil told him kindly. “This is your decision to make. We have some days left until the wedding, you should consider it until then.”

Éomer nodded at his friend and soon after excused himself.

His head spun as he walked away from the study.

Did he want to meet Morwen?

She hadn’t left a good impression on the people of the Mark. People used to say she’d made the King’s head and that was why he was so reluctant to return to his people. They would say she didn’t adapt to the Mark and never actually tried to.

What did she find so offensive about their country?

Why wasn't she there when they lost their mother? Her daughter?

Did Éomer really want to see her and ask her those questions?

He found a more reserved spot in the gardens to sit down. The bench was under the shade of a beautiful tree and, if he paid attention, he would be able to hear the birds singing. He couldn’t hear anything just then.

Perhaps he should just focus on getting back to Edoras. As a King, he couldn’t be gallivanting around; he had responsibilities. Maybe he should just go back to them.

“That is one mighty frown, my lord. I think you could scare orcs away with just that.”

Éomer turned his head and found Princess Lothíriel -with Captain by her side -watching him.

He started getting up. “Lady…”

“No need for that.” She told him easily. “Am I intruding? You seemed really deep in thought.”

He sighed. “I’ve just talked to your father and aunt.”

“Oh. About Lossarnach?” She guessed.

“Yes.”

“May I?” She indicated the bench.

“Of course.” He moved a bit to the side, so she could sit next to him.

Captain came closer as well and sniffed at Éomer’s knee.

“Can I pet him or will he attack me?” He teased lightly.

“Captain only attacks on my command, and only handsy lords.” She informed him.

Éomer chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He offered his hand for the hound to sniff. Captain seemed to approve of him after a few sniffs and then came a bit closer for a few pets.

“Do you not wish to visit Lady Morwen?” Lothíriel asked him quite directly.

“I do not know.” He confessed. “The possibility has never crossed my mind.”

“I see.” She said easily, her eyes on her feet. “So it’s not the idea of escorting us that’s a problem to you, is it?” He could hear the teasing in her voice.

“Escorting two princesses on a journey? I would be a fool to pass the chance.”

She grinned up at him. “You have to be careful with these things.” She told him solemnly.

Éomer frowned a bit. “Why?”

“You’ll never know. You might lose your heart on a journey like that.” A wicked grin spread on her lips. “Men are unable to resist aunt Ivriniel.”

That made Éomer laugh. “I can see why. However, I can assure you, my lady, my heart is quite safe in Lady Ivriniel’s presence.”

Lothíriel stared at him for a moment, and he wondered if she’d noticed he’d only mentioned her aunt.

The princess clicked her tongue as she turned to look at the fountain ahead. “I do understand that there are some journeys we’re just not ready for, or even interested in. For what’s worth…” She looked back at him. “Lady Morwen does wish to see you. And…” She bit her lower lip. “If it makes any difference to you, I’d very much enjoy your company.”

There were many things that Éomer could say to that: he could open up to her and confess his thoughts on the subject, he could ask more about Lady Morwen herself.

However, Éomer didn’t know the princess very well -even if he wished he did -and he was not ready to fully consider this yet.

So he just said, “It does make a difference to me, my lady.”

#madame baggio #fanfiction #posted on AO3 #The Lord of the Rings #gifs not mine #eomer #Lothiriel #eomer x lothiriel #Not That Kind of Princess

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nocompromise-noregrets · 4 years

Note

1, 4, 8, 20, 24!

YAY THANK YOU! :D

1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it? Well. Obviously Two of a Kind is the ultimate ongoing project, dammit all to hell (two very damaged ex-street-kid musicians slowly working out that they are everything in the world to each other; they are the archetypal idiots in love), but it’s not co-operating at the moment. What is cooperating, however, rather faster than I can write it down, is My Heart Is An Empty Vessel, which is a Bard the Welshman/Thranduil the Drama King epic currently standing at *checks* just over 60k, with a multitude of side fics and an ultimate-happy-ending epilogue which is threatening to turn into a sequel that plays extremely fast and loose with canon. I’d expected it to be about 10k of sexual tension and maybe a bit of smut, but the characters had other ideas, and now it’s 60k of feelings, yearning, pining, a bit of smut, political ramifications, and Bard’s kids being alternately scheming (Sigrid the oldest girl) and adorable (Tilda the youngest girl). I am bewildered to fuck but enjoying every second of it. :D

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like) Ooooh, this is going to take some thought. I am really happy with how Empty Vessel is turning out (I might dare to think that it’s my best work so far, although that might have a lot to do with how much I’m loving writing it), and there are a lot of bits that I might choose, but here is a bit that makes me squee every time I reread it:

Bard’s letters provided small bright spots in the darkness of winter. He was not eloquent, and he clearly struggled to think of what to say; most of the letters were variations on a theme of ‘it is cold and wet and everyone is miserable and I am most miserable of all’, but Thranduil could read between the lines and understand what Bard was trying to say, and that made his heart sing. Bard was miserable because he was uncomfortable with the role that had been thrust upon him, but also because he was missing Thranduil quite dreadfully; he looked forward to spring not only for the better weather but because that was when they would see each other again. His negotiations with the Dwarves for builders and stone to make the buildings safe had gone well, because Sigrid and Tauriel had known just what to say, and that was because they had been studying the book Thranduil had sent them. Bain was becoming a competent archer and swordsman thanks to his textbook, and Tilda was a ray of sunshine who could not stop retelling the tales from the book of Elflings’ stories Thranduil had sent. I cannot thank you enough for the books, Bard wrote more than once, it was a kindness we did not look for, and we all appreciate it very much. Which meant, Thranduil thought, you remembered my children and I take the gesture as it was intended and it warms my heart even now.

And just for fun, because I had a blast writing it, here is an extract from Bard and Sigrid explaining to Thranduil how their negotiations with King Dáin of the Dwarves have been going (I channelled Billy Connolly as best as I could), and how Dáin reacted to a particular suggestion with regard to diplomatic relations with the Elves:

“And what did he say?” inquired Thranduil, one eyebrow raised.

“I can only tell you if you cover Tilda’s ears,” said Bard, and Thranduil did so with a soft chuckle, though Tilda pouted in disappointment. When the little girl’s ears were safely covered, Bard drew in a breath. “He said that if I thought he was [spoiler spoiler spoiler] to the perfidious pointy-eared pretty princeling, I could bugger right back off to the lake and then I could keep buggering off until I got to the Woodland Realm and then…well, I’ll stop there, given the company, but he continued in that vein for a little while. He did manage to cast aspersions on you, me, and what he perceived our alliance to be, let’s just put it that way.”

Sigrid was chortling hysterically behind the hand she had clapped to her mouth, and Bain was snickering, wide-eyed at the amount of profanity he was apparently considered old enough to hear. Thranduil let out a bark of laughter, and Bard was relieved that he did not appear to be offended.

“He does not seem to have a great many insults for me, does he?” said Thranduil after a moment, uncovering Tilda’s ears. “Except one or two about my appearance, and the rest is simply where I live, and an inaccuracy about my rank.”

[they have already reported several of Dáin’s utterances on the subject, and none of them have been complimentary XD ]

8. Is what you like to write the same as what you like to read? To a certain extent. I am much happier reading really angsty stuff and really smutty stuff than I am writing it - I can’t do unhappy endings or heavy angst because I just want my characters to be happy, and I can’t do explicit smut mostly because most of the words for the necessary parts of the anatomy make me cringe. XD I can read it quite happily, but I can’t make myself write it.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?) Ooooooh. I am nowhere near clever or organised enough to intentionally include symbolism and callbacks, but I was delighted to discover last week, on rereading A Little Piece of the Sea, the series I began 15-odd years ago about Legolas and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth (it’s a tiny ship but I will sail it till I die), that I have unconsciously included some fairly huge parallels with that story in Empty Vessel. I mean, apart from the fact that both Legolas and his Dad manage to fall in love with a mortal (there are some fairly large similarities between how I’ve characterised Imrahil and Bard, although they are very different people). Particularly the first story in the series, in which Legolas and Imrahil meet at Éomer and Lothíriel’s wedding and become lovers, which I wrote in 2004, and had not referred back to at all before I wrote the first few chapters of Empty Vessel. :D So that was pleasing. Mostly I discover this stuff after the fact, because I’m definitely a pantser, not a planner, and the stories just come out how they want to come out, and to hell with whatever I might have envisaged for them.

24. Would you say your writing has changed over time? Not stylistically, I don’t think. I’ve just become capable of writing longform fiction, thanks to doing NaNo a few times. I’ve looked back at some of my old stuff recently and I wouldn’t have done any of it any differently if I were writing it today - but I’ve become more capable of sustaining a story, and perhaps more confident at just going with what the muse tells me, no matter how wordy or lyrical or potentially pretentious.

THANK YOU THAT WAS FUN!, <33333

#anyone else want to ask me stuff?#the questions are a little way back on my blog now because i reblog so much stuff #but i love answering these things #so if you want me to reblog the q's just ask #:D #palavapeite

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elesianne · 4 years

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A Lord of the Rings fanfic, chapter two of two

Story summary: At Éowyn and Faramir’s wedding Lothíriel daughter of Imrahil receives two proposals, and Éomer makes one.

Chapter length: ~3,100 words; Rating: General audiences

Some keywords: arranged marriage, proposal, getting to know each other, post-war of the ring

AO3 link

Stars above the golden hall: Chapter II – Éomer

When after his sister and her husband's departure Éomer mentioned to Imrahil that he was going out to get some air, Imrahil asked him to keep an eye for Lothíriel whom he hadn't seen for a while. Éomer promised, wondering whether this was another of Imrahil's unsubtle yet not unwelcome attempts at making the two of them spend time together.

He happens on her on the lower terrace, alone but for her guard. She is a fair shadow of silver in her dress and cloak and appears to be staring into the distance, deep enough in thought that he startles her.

'Your father told me he'd not seen you for some time. Long enough for him to worry, it seemed', Éomer says to her.

'The hour was growing late for me, my lord', Lothíriel says. 'I will retire soon, but I wanted to have some fresh air and look at the stars first.'

'That is elf-like talk.'

She lets out a surprised small laugh. 'My intentions were not elf-like. The ladies of your court arranged so much to do inside the hall for us visiting women today that I have not stepped outside until now', she explains.

He notices that she shivers a little in her silk clothes, and without a word he unfastens his own woollen cloak and settles it on her shoulders.

Lothíriel's overeager young guard close by shuffles on his feet at that, and in his slightly drunken state Éomer almost snaps at him.

He decides to disregard him, though, instead giving Lothíriel a look long enough to border on staring. 'You look good in gold and green', he tells her. The cloak is a little too long on her, brushing the ground.

She looks him in the eye for the first time since she arrived in Edoras, emboldened by the dim light perhaps. 'It is a fine cloak, my lord', she says. 'Thank you.'

He looks at her for a long time again, thinking. 'Will you stay and talk with me a while, lady?'

'Of course, my lord. Is there something in particular that you wish to talk about?

There is. He hadn't meant to talk of it tonight, but here under the stars in as much privacy as they could hope for seems like a good place.

'I know that the negotiations are far from done, as is only right – they should not have been made complete before my sister was wedded. And I understand you father is hesitant to hurry because of your age', he says. 'But I want you to know that I will put a crown of gold on you, if I have my will. I think that the queen's coronet that has long lain unused in the treasury of the Mark would suit you well though it is a simple creation compared to the ancient, elf-like finery of Gondorians.'

Lothíriel seems taken aback at his straightforwardness but recovers quickly. 'Do you think I could suit the land of Rohan?' She makes a small gesture with her hand, indicating the Hall behind them, the city around them, and the spots of light in the valley that mark small villages and single homesteads.

'I think you would learn', Éomer says, finding himself more thoughtful than a man should be on a night of celebration like this. 'My lady, we do not know each other well yet, but you seem to me someone who knows their duty and works diligently to fulfil it, and knows how to. If you choose me and my land, I think that you will fulfil your duty to it and me admirably.'

The daughter of Imrahil smiles and bows her head. 'Thank you. It is a fine compliment from one who has taken on well whatever responsibility has come his way, expected or not. What an unconventional conversation this is!' She gives a little laugh though it seems she tries not to. 'I never expected to speak with you like this, my lord.'

'If we will be married, I would have it at least be with a good understanding of each other, though ours would be a marriage for practical reasons rather than a great love story worthy of song', he tells her.

Lothíriel bows her head again, and nods. 'That is wise. Do you believe, lord, that you and I might suit each other, too, as wife and husband and not only as queen and king?'

He cannot help smiling back at her rather jubilantly. He is a little in his cups, and he likes the way she dares to speak frankly here at the edge of darkness. She looks fairer than fair in the low light in her light dress and his cloak, the pearls in her hair like stars amid the black waves of it. Her eyes are dark and serious.

'I think we might', he replies. 'Very well.'

It occurs to Éomer for the first time to wonder whether Lothíriel is one of the many women who was promised to a man who fell in battle.

It is a strange kind of night, this wedding night of his sister's, and he is in a strange mood, and he and Lothíriel are already speaking frankly so he decides to simply ask.

'My father was putting together a list of options for me', Lothíriel replies. 'He was not in a hurry because I was – still am – young in the reckoning of my people, and because he could see the war gathering in the east and did not wish to see me widowed soon after marrying, he told me.'

'The war changed the fates of many even before it broke out fully.' Éomer looks to where a little way away a shield-brother's house lies empty and dark, ownerless since the battle at the Fords of Isen.

'I might be married but for it', he muses. 'I had thought for little other than the enemies slowly encroaching on our lands ever since I was a boy whose parents they slew – I have been fighting the fights of my people as long as I have been permitted to ride to battle. In spite of that, had my uncle been himself, he might have urged me to marry and suggested matches. But for five too-long years before Gandalf healed him, Théoden King was under Saruman's spell and had little thought that was not of fear and despair.'

Éomer likes the way Lothíriel looks at him then, with her calm grey eyes filled with much understanding but little open pity. She resembles her father as much as her oldest brother, the most serious one of Imrahil's three sons.

'I have attended a great many betrothals and weddings this last year', Éomer says. 'It seems that all around me people are becoming betrothed and married – my liegemen, my guards, my shield-brothers. My sister, too.' He smiles at Lothíriel wryly. 'My people seem as determined to increase themselves as we are to increase our horse herds.'

Lothíriel appears to fight a smile, saying, 'It is the same in Gondor. Those that were spared death are filled with a great desire to live.'

'And the lords of Rohan and Gondor have a great need for heirs.' Éomer finds himself frowning. 'Éowyn's sons will be Gondorians, heirs for the prince of Ithilien. My own heir is a son of a cousin, the son of the daughter of my mother and Théoden's sister. No king of the Mark has been so distant a heir, and my council keep telling me that I must not die before I have a son.'

Lothíriel casts her eyes at the sky at that, and says in a voice as cool as the light of distant stars, 'I can see why you would be impatient with my father's pace of preparing for marriage between me and yourself, my lord. Fortunately there are many other ladies who have no such impediment for a swift union with you.'

'No – Lothíriel.' He turns to her, grasping her arm under the two cloaks that she wears. 'It is not that – not only that, what I said so coarsely. It is for the chief part that once I have decided and begun something, I prefer to see it to its end as soon as possible. Your father calls it my 'regrettable rashness' and would lecture me out of it if he could.'

Lothíriel grants him a small smile at that. Apparently she bears no easy grudges. 'And do you allow him to lecture at you?'

'Often, though I do not always listen. He has many decades of experience in being a leader in both peace and war that I admire. I have learned much from him, and there is more yet he could teach me, I'm sure.'

With a small feeling of regret that he must, he lets go of her arm. Despite his hasty words she doesn't appear to be thinking of leaving.

'I am his only daughter, and his youngest child', Lothíriel says. 'He is protective of me. He doesn't want to hurry my marriage, not even to a king.'

'And that is another reason to hold him in high esteem.' Éomer sighs. 'Yet it remains true that in this matter we are of different minds, he and I, and have different interests.'

'There could be a compromise', Lothíriel suggests. 'A decision made soon, but an engagement of some length. A year or more.'

'A year is common for the betrothals of nobleborn folk', Éomer agrees. 'Yet we speak only of my desires, and those of your father's. I have learned, through bitter and shameful experience, that women's needs and desires can be ignored only at one's peril. What do you want, lady?'

Lothíriel takes long enough to answer that Éomer's impatience raises its head, exacerbated by all the mead he has steadily if slowly drunk over the course of the evening. But he restrains himself and waits, and at length she replies, 'You are a king of great valour and honour and I hold you in high esteem, my lord, and so does all of my family. I will be your queen if you so wish and if my lord father agrees.

'As for the time: my father keeps telling me that I am young, but I believe that all who were young when the darkness of Mordor waged war on us are not so young anymore. Not even us who awaited news in the safer western citadels of Gondor that faced less fierce siege and battle than Minas Tirith. We were the lucky ones, yet the shadow threatened all that we hold dear, too.'

'I often wonder at the wise poetry that the people of Dol Amroth speak', Éomer says. 'But I am glad for your words, my lady, and hope that you will soon take as yours all that is mine.

'It would, I must suppose, be better for a king to be able to speak to his future queen of a flourishing, prosperous land. This country was that once, though it was so long ago that I do not remember it. And now.' He gathers his words. 'My people are strong of heart and hand, and proud in their own manner that may be different from Gondor's.

'But this land was rent deep by the war, and is not healed yet though we have all been hard at work. There are villages that still lay burned and empty, and horse-herds that have not recovered and will take years to build up again. Not only were our crops burned but many granaries as well, leaving us with little to resow our fields with. There are many widows struggling to get by without a husband, many orphans in the care of their overburdened relatives.

'There is much work to do in Rohan, much scarcity and need, and its leaders must keep hope and give it to the people. For a maiden of Gondor to take on that duty – there must be lighter ones on offer for Imrahil's daughter, I am sure.'

'You already told me that you believe I would do well, my lord', Lothíriel answers, a little infuriatingly.

'It is still your choice to take on that commitment.'

'And my father's. My lord, the ladies of Rohan have more power in the choosing of their husbands than do the ladies of Gondor, and the princes of Dol Amroth are known for being particularly careful in making marriages for their daughters', Lothíriel reminds him in turn.

But she continues, 'I saw some of how what this land had suffered and what it endured when I came here first a year ago, and now the second time by the same route. I saw how much was already rebuilt and resown despite the meagre resources you speak of: green fields that were burned and black the year before, and new buildings being raised up. Valour in battle is indeed not the only strength that lives in your people. I have no doubt that Riddermark will endure and prosper again.'

The Rohirric name of Éomer's country on Lothíriel's tongue sounds lovely: a little clumsy but no less charming for it.

'You will miss your home, so far away, on the other side of the impassable White Mountains', he finds himself saying.

'My lord, are you trying to make me regret my decision?' Éomer thinks he sees Lothíriel's eyes sparkle with amusement, though it may be a trick of the light. She has relaxed as their conversation has gone on, he thinks.

'By no means would I do that', he denies. 'I am only thinking of how my sister has in recent months visited all the places that have been dear to her, before she soon leaves to her new home in Ithilien.'

'I will miss my home, I'm sure. My family and friends and the sea that has always been the view out of my windows – my constant friend, for all her tides and moodiness – and, as you say of lady Éowyn, all the places that have been dear to me.' Lothíriel smiles a rather sad little smile. 'But it is the fate of most noblewomen – the price for the comfort and luxury we live in, perhaps – to leave their home of birth and join their husband's household far away.'

Éomer frowns. 'I have never thought of it thus.'

'There are many ways to see it, I am sure. For me, it is a loss that I have been preparing for all my life, and one that I hope and trust will bring new good things with it to take the place of what I must give up.'

'That trust must be what makes it bearable, giving up your old life in exchange for something that bears little resemblance to the great romances that some have – Aragorn and his Evenstar, my sister and Faramir.'

Her voice trembling a little, she replies, 'It is.'

He does not know what to say to that, for all that he was the one who raised the subject, and there is a moment of silence between them.

'Lothíriel.' As he speaks her name she raises her eyes to his, still bright and calm though she appears tired, he notices. 'After all that has been said this night, will you speak to your father for me tomorrow so that the negotiations and arrangements for our union may truly begin?'

'Tomorrow? I must agree with my father's assessment of you as a hasty one, my lord. He would have approached you about them soon anyway.' But she does not need more than a second to give him her answer, raising her chin ever so slightly. 'But I like your forthrightness, king of the Mark, and I will speak to him in the morning.'

Éomer likes that she dared to make gentle fun of him, and likes the rest of her answer even better. Relaxing in triumph that spreads warm in his veins like the best mead, he replies, 'I am happy to hear that.'

He gazes up at the sky, taking it in for the first time. The moon has risen high: the hour grows truly late and he believes that it is time he delivered the lady to her father. She has already indulged him longer than he thought she might.

'Let me escort you inside, my lady. I know that you have your own keen guardian –' Éomer amuses himself by glancing at the bristling young man in his swan-helmet '– but after so long spent in private conversation, I think it best that I take you back to your father and you can assure him that nothing untoward happened before you retire for the night.'

Lothíriel blushes. 'He would not suspect that of you', she says.

Éomer grins, that warmth in his veins making him wilder than he should be. 'In that, wise prince Imrahil might be wrong', he says. But before Lothíriel can become too startled, he very properly offers her his arm. 'Let us go inside, Lothíriel.'

To his surprise she doesn't take his arm. 'Your cloak –' she says instead, beginning to shrug the forgotten cloak off her shoulders.

'Let me.' Éomer indulges his rapidly awakening desires by taking it off her, revealing her silver glory again. The rich fabric of her clothes glimmers even in this light.

They go up the stairs and inside Éomer's golden hall, his personal guard and hers behind them, people parting before them to make way for the king and the lady on his arm. It feels like a good omen of the future, or a moment stolen before its time.

But if it is a stolen moment it Éomer receives no punishment for it, for Imrahil's face shows little surprise when Éomer brings his daughter back to him – for now – and more good humour than anything else.

Éomer bids them both goodnight, and leaves to find some old friends to share a cup or two more mead. No more, because he needs to have his wits about him in the morning.

He knows that he will still feel Éowyn's absence keenly – how could he not? – but the future seems lighter to him.

The next afternoon, their wedding day is set on next year's Midyear's day, one day short of a year away. It is, after all, an auspicious day to marry.

A/N: Lothíriel and Éomer both spend a lot of time explaining to themselves and other people that they will marry purely because of practical, sensible reasons, in the service of their countries and so on – but it is not quite the whole truth.

I'm going to write sequels showing their relationship developing so I made a series on AO3. You can subscribe to it to get notifications when I post a new fic in the series. I have one sequel written already.

I would love to hear what you thought of this chapter!

#tolkien fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #eomer #éomer #lothíriel #lord of the rings #lothiriel #éothíriel #eothiriel #my fics #stars above the golden hall #elesianne's fics

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marvelousbirthdays · 6 years

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Happy Birthday, doccd23414!

July 21 - Hela/anybody “You haven’t had sex in how long?” for @doccd23414

Written by @ozhawkauthor

I picked Skurge. Because Karl Urban’s hot and his characters never seem to get any (still salty about Éomer…). Also, we know Hela has the run of Asgard for several months before Thor and Loki finally get there.

It hadn’t taken Skurge long to realize a bored Hela was a Bad Thing. She would amuse herself by making plans to reconquer Alfheim (“What do you mean, they no longer pay us tribute?!”) or taking Fenris for ‘walks’ that inevitably ended with dead Asgardians. For some reason, she tolerated his presence, but being amusing was straining his ingenuity. He was no court jester.

Today, she sat on her throne with Fenris snoring at her feet, her long silken black hair flowing loose over the arm of the throne as she rested her cheek on her hand and gazed up at the ceiling murals, apparently lost in thought. From the way her perfect lips were pursed, her thoughts led nowhere good.

“Will you tell me of how you came to have Fenris, Your Majesty?” Skurge asked, casting desperately about for a topic to distract her. The gigantic wolf was the only thing for which she seemed to have a genuine affection; he hoped it might be a safe subject.

A smile softened Hela’s ice-cool facade, and she lifted one slender foot to rub the thick hackles behind one pointed ear. Fenris rumbled happily in his sleep.

“He was a gift, from a suitor.”

Skurge blinked, kept his mouth from dropping open by sheer effort of will. Paying court to Hela would be a terrifying prospect; he could not imagine a man brave enough to do so.

“He was just a tiny puppy then, weren’t you, my darling?” Hela crooned to Fenris. “Not even as tall as I am.”

“Who was the suitor?” Skurge blurted. “Did Fenris come from his homeworld? I have never seen, or heard tell of, wolves of his size.”

“Indeed, you would not.” Hela cast a dissatisfied glance upwards again. “Prince V’zkydr came from Z’gur, which is no more. He sought my hand, and an alliance with Asgard.”

Skurge was pretty sure he knew how that had ended.

Hela’s mouth curved up in a vicious smile. “Asgard did not make alliances. We conquered. I nailed V’zkydr’s head to the door of my bedchamber, as a warning to any future potential suitors.”

“Quite a deterrent,” Skurge said faintly.

“It wasn’t intended to be a deterrent,” Hela gave him the look she reserved for when she thought he was being particularly dense. “Merely a warning… that any who dared seek to share my bed had better be prepared to be conquered.”

“... Of course.”

The thought of being conquered by Hela really shouldn’t be that arousing, but Skurge found his brow becoming damp and his body growing hard beneath his armor.

“What happened to Z’gur?” he asked, trying to distract himself. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“By the time we had finished with it, not a living thing remained in that entire star system.” Hela looked far too pleased with herself, at having been the destroyer of an entire civilization. “What are they teaching you kids these days? Z’gur was an object lesson, and we made sure word of its destruction reached throughout the known realms!”

“I am not a kid, I’m sixteen hundred years old!” Skurge protested.

“So old,” her smile mocked him. “I was five thousand years old when Odin locked me away, and five thousand more have passed since then.”

Skurge could not allow himself even to think that it was a pity Odin hadn’t lived five thousand years longer.

“Yet, you don’t look a day over nine hundred,” he said gallantly, and was surprised when Hela threw her head back and laughed.

“You surprise me, Skurge! I was told someone named Fandral was the court flirt, but you can be positively charming when you put your mind to it! Such flattery!”

He didn’t want to think about Fandral. He’d considered the other man a friend. He smiled instead and said “Your Majesty, I am not a man gifted with pretty words, but flattery and exaggeration are not required when confronted by one such as yourself.”

Something new entered her eyes then, a spark of interest, and she uncrossed her legs to sit upright before rising to her feet in a smooth, sinuous motion. Stepping over Fenris’ snoring form, she walked towards Skurge with that slow, slinking stride of hers. He had to work hard to keep his eyes on her face rather than watching her hips.

A pointed fingernail traced the line of his jaw as Hela moved around behind him.

“Do you have a lover, Skurge?” she asked.

“If I said yes, would she survive the day?”

Hela’s laugh was cruel. “You know me well already, I see.” Something brutally sharp pricked at his throat. “Do you have a lover?”

“No.” It was the truth. “Not at the present time.” He’d had hopes, when he was manning the Bifrost chamber. Women were impressed by the title of Guardian, even if he didn’t have all Heimdall’s uncanny abilities.

“Good. Because it’s been six millennia since a man last warmed my bed.”

His head snapped around, the sharp blade in her fingers scraping his throat as he did. “You haven’t had sex for how long? But you were imprisoned for five thousand years…”

“And for a thousand years before that, no man was brave enough even to consider me as a woman rather than the Goddess of Death.”

Skurge didn’t think he was particularly brave, or particularly smart. But he heard the faint note of hurt in Hela’s voice and turned more fully towards her, raising one armoured arm and offering his hand.

“I am not worthy of you, Majesty. Still, I am a man, and I consider you very much a woman.”

Delicate fingers curled around his, so fragile-looking, but he knew how insanely strong she was. It was quite possible he might not survive the night.

It was quite possible he didn’t deserve to, anyway.

So he let her lead him to her bedchamber, and thought only a silent, fervent prayer to any gods who might be listening that his sacrifice might not be in vain, that Hela might be in a good enough mood tomorrow to spare the life of even one Asgardian.

After all, he thought, letting his eyes drop to the sinuous sway of her hips as she moved, it might not be all bad.

#Hela/Skurge #potentially dubious consent

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heckofabecca · 7 years

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THE STEPPING-STONES OF THE RIVER ISEN

When a young Dunlending woman appears at the Fords of Isen, Erkenbrand, Marshal of the West-mark, is caught in a decades-old secret that shakes Éomer King to his core.

part one (3530 words) of five | on AO3

A/N: This was rolling around in my head and wouldn’t leave me alone, so here it is. The Dunlendings have interested me for a long time now, and it’s been interesting to write about one! Thanks to @lothirielqueen for putting up with my endless musings. Hope you enjoy!

There was a woman standing on the river Isen.

Erkenbrand held up his hand to signal his guards to halt as they crested the riverbank. He was at the ford to inspect the new defenses he had ordered built in accordance with Éomer King’s wishes, but the soldiers guarding the southern end of the crossing were arguing about the woman on the river, their leather armor bright in the October sun. Only one man seemed to notice his arrival, and he quickly shouted over his comrades and pointed to Erkenbrand.

As soon as the soldiers realized who had come, the eldest among them jogged to where Erkenbrand waited atop the riverbank. The man, who Erkenbrand recognized as Sbern, the captain, kept one eye on the woman. Erkenbrand did the same.

The woman’s dark hair was wound about her head in braids that glinted in the sun, and she was dressed in fitted breeches, a long tunic, and a linen shirt with a satchel slung across her chest. Erkenbrand’s eyes narrowed, but he could not make out her features at this distance. She looked unarmed, but a dagger could be concealed almost anywhere. She did not look to be wearing any armor, either. She just stood there as though on solid ground, her boots barely an inch into the water. The soldiers’ arguments seemed to bore her, and she held a hand over her eyes as she squinted at Erkenbrand.

“Westú Erkenbrand hal!” Sbern said, panting.

“Westú Sbern hal,” Erkenbrand replied. “What is going on?”

Sbern gestured back to the river. “As you see, a Dunlending has come. She refuses to go back, and I do not trust that there would be no ambush if we chased her across.”

“She is standing on the river. Is she a witch?”

“No, there are stepping-stones from the west side. She can’t go any farther, though.”

Erkenbrand flinched. Of course. The stepping-stones. “Why have they not all been removed?”

“It is difficult work, my lord…” Sbern looked sheepish. “We have cleared the fords halfway, but as I said, I am not confident there will be no ambush. I do not wish to incite hostilities when they have so recently ceased. The woman is not entering our lands; she has not disturbed the peace. Just our comfort.”

Despite his annoyance at the woman’s continued presence, Erkenbrand nodded. He had chosen Sbern for his docile nature as well as his tactical brain. “I cannot fault you there,” Erkenbrand said. “Has she said anything?”

“Only that she is waiting for someone. She could not name him, but that he would come sooner or later. Excuse me,” Sbern amended, “she said she did not know his name. She said she would be happy to tell us his name if it would speed her errand.”

“All this in Westron?”

“Yes, but she knows a few words of our tongue as well. She laughed when I scolded Wadhel for aiming at her. She said she would not die today.”

Erkenbrand raised his eyebrows. “Cheeky,” he muttered. He urged his horse forward and walked to the river, Sbern trotting along down beside him. “I will speak to her myself, since nothing else can be done.” He pulled up just when his mount’s front hooves went in the water and again turned his eyes to the woman. She had taken her hand down from her face, and he could at last see her clearly.

He blanched.

“You!” he uttered, eyes wide.

The woman’s face, young and pretty and too pale for a pure Dunlending, split into a fierce grin. She pulled herself up; she was too tall for a Dunlending, too. She spoke to him in Westron.

“You know me?” she asked.

Erkenbrand nodded, shaken. The young woman was about twenty-five, with a short straight nose and a bright straight smile that he had seen countless times.

“Good,” she said. She jumped off of her stone and into the knee-high water in front of it, sending the soldiers around him into a panic. Some hefted spears; Erkenbrand heard more than one bowstring pulled taut. The young woman froze, hands held open over the water. She seemed totally unbothered by the weapons aimed at her, apart from a twitch in her jaw.

“What are you doing here?” Erkenbrand demanded. “You are not free to come here.”

“You know me,” she repeated. “I have a right.” She looked away from him to Sbern and the soldiers. “I have kin in the Mark,” she said, her voice loud and clear. “My father’s kin. I am of your country as much as of that one!” She pointed behind her and looked back at Erkenbrand. “I want to see the king. If you prevent my coming I will tell them all my father’s name. Take me to your king, or I will tell them.”

Erkenbrand’s mouth set in a thin line, but he did nothing. She stamped her foot.

“They will believe me! Your own face will make them believe me. Do you want that?”

He was beaten. Erkenbrand could not in good conscience let her speak on; this secret was not hers to spill on these shores. He had not even thought of it for fifteen years. Though his stomach clenched at the thought, his only choice was to take her to Éomer King.

“You,” he said, eyes narrowed and a finger jabbed in her direction, “will say nothing unless I command you to speak.” Her face soured, but she nodded. To his men, he said, “Lower your weapons.”

Muttering, the men did as ordered. Erkenbrand beckoned the woman forward, and she made her way through the water with her face scrunched up in distaste at the water puddled in her boots. Erkenbrand beckoned forward one of his guards.

“Check her for weapons,” he said in his own tongue. He was fairly confident that nothing would be found, but he wasn’t stupid. If this woman was sent as an assassin, she would die here and no later.

The woman submitted to the search, only wincing when Goduin patted across her breasts and below her hips. But she submitted, even presenting her satchel without being asked; Goduin shook his head when he had finished. He stepped back from the woman with an expression of sheer incredulity.

“She’s safe, my lord,” Goduin said.

“Good. She will ride with you.”

Goduin’s face pinched up almost comically, but he nodded and took the woman by the arm. He was not gentle about it, either. The young woman, struggling against her imposed silence, looked indignantly at Erkenbrand as if to ask if such force was necessary.

“You’ll ride with him,” Erkenbrand told her in Westron, “and you’ll be silent.”

Again, she submitted, but he could read the hatred in her eyes easily enough as Goduin marched her back to his horse. Erkenbrand ignored her black look; treating her with as much respect as she thought she deserved would only lead his men to grow suspicious.

Erkenbrand quickly went over the defenses of the ford with Sbern. He regretted the rush, but he did not fully trust his new charge to keep to her word. The sooner she was out of his hands, the better.

Within an hour, Erkenbrand, his guards, and the woman were on the road to Edoras.

Going straight to the capital was tempting, but Erkenbrand had duties to attend to at the Hornburg, not to mention his wife. A few extra days could hardly make much difference, he supposed, and so he ordered the party to turn south towards Helm’s Deep. As they rode into the valley, Erkenbrand called Goduin to ride by his side.

The woman was seated behind Goduin, with her arms wrapped tightly around his waist and her legs dangling. Erkenbrand eyed her thin legs and frowned; she would be sore just from the short ride from the Isen. Someone would have to attend to her if she was to ride out again tomorrow.

Erkenbrand set that thought aside and looked up at her face. Her round cheek was pressed against Goduin’s cloak as she stared at him with round dark eyes.

“What is your name?” Erkenbrand asked. She hesitated until he gestured at her impatiently.

“Gwir,” she said, and pressed her lips together at once.

“Gwir,” Erkenbrand said, “we are going to the Hornburg.” Her face darkened, and he thought of the dead Dunlendings buried in a mound under the dike. He went on. “You will be humble and silent. If you obey me, I will take you to Éomer King.”

Gwir nodded and turned her head away, though not before Erkenbrand caught the strained expression on her face. Did she want to go? She must, he thought. Why else would she risk her life?

By the time they rode across the stone bridge into the fortress, Gwir’s head was drooping. Goduin grumbled as he tried to keep her arms secure about his waist without bothering his steed. Fortunately, it was only a minute more to the stables. The stable-master ran out to greet Erkenbrand, who dismounted with a grunt. Boys working outside stopped to gape at Gwir until their master made a noise at them.

Goduin shook his shoulders to rouse Gwir, who nearly fell from her perch in shock. But she recovered well enough to stay on until Goduin could help her down. Her legs buckled as soon as she landed, and she clutched Goduin’s arm for support with both hands. Goduin scowled but did not push her away. Stablehands took over Erkenbrand’s horse as well as Goduin’s, and Erkenbrand led the way to the fort. Gwir stumbled along, still clutching Goduin’s arm, and stared around with wide eyes. Her hair was flyaway after the ride.

The door to the fort swung open as they approached, and Erkenbrand’s wife stepped forward into the afternoon light. He smiled; she had his welcome cup ready and waiting for him. But Elswide blanched.

Of course—Gwir.

Erkenbrand quickened his pace to meet Elswide at the door. He took a hasty gulp of ale. As soon as he swallowed, he forestalled the question he could read on her frozen lips. “Westú hal, lady. This is the daughter of a man of the Mark. She will not stay for long.” He pitched his voice so it carried to the few people watching from inside.

“Westú hal,” Elswide said. She took back the cup and shook her long graying braids over her shoulders as she looked Gwir over. Erkenbrand ushered his wife and the rest inside. Goduin stuck close to Erkenbrand with a dark look at the woman on his arm.

“Yes, yes…” Erkenbrand sighed. “Can you walk?” he asked Gwir.

She flushed and nodded, dropping Goduin’s arm at once. He lightened considerably and quickly backed away. Gwir glanced at him, half apologetic and half annoyed.

“Goduin, have Gamling come to my study,” Erkenbrand ordered. To Gwir, he said, “Come along.” He took Elswide’s hand, tucked it in his own, and led them through the hall to his study in the back wing. Gwir trailed after them, in as much awe as she had been outside.

No one spoke until Erkenbrand had barred the study door. Gwir twisted her hands together behind her back as she turned in the middle of the room, inspecting the woven tapestries on the walls.

Elswide dropped her husband’s hand and set his cup on his desk. “I did not expect guests,” she said in their own tongue. “This—” she gestured to Gwir— “is not a welcome sight.”

“I know,” Erkenbrand said. He ran a hand through his tangled hair and with the other unclasped his cloak. “I… am not happy about it, but there are choices that are not mine to make. She is indeed a daughter of the Mark, however little she looks it.” He and his wife both turned to Gwir, who was watching them with her dark eyebrows lowered.

“But who is her father? How can you be sure this is not a trick?” Elswide crossed her arms. “She might be a spy. She might be lying. She’s pale for a Dunlending, but there are other places she could come from. The north, for one.”

“Elswide, believe me. I have cause to know she speaks the truth.” He held up a hand to stem his wife’s protests. “I am as impatient as you to have her out of my hands, but for tonight at least she must stay. Put her in one of the small rooms. I will set a guard on the door. You may give her any chore that you trust her to do—though I would not give her anything she might use as a weapon.”

Gwir huffed and stamped her foot. Erkenbrand and Elswide turned to her; Gwir pulled a long leather cord from under her tunic and held it up so they could both see the blackened silver ring dangling on the end. A device was etched into the ring’s round face. Elswide stepped forward to look at it, and Erkenbrand realized too late what it was. His heart skipped a beat. He overtook his wife and tore the ring from Gwir’s hand. The cord was still around her neck, and she yelped. She clutched the cord to her neck.

“It’s mine!” Gwir growled. She glared at Erkenbrand and tugged hard on the cord, so hard that the thin edge of the ring bit into the skin of his fingers. “He put it on me with his own hands!”

“Erkenbrand…” His wife was staring at Gwir with shock. “Is that really his daughter?”

“Yes.” He gave up and dropped the ring, but he thrust his finger at Gwir with a deep scowl. “Do not take that out again, or I will take you back where you come from and throw you in the river!”

Gwir rubbed the ring’s face with her thumb before stuffing it back down her tunic. “I am not stupid,” she said. “If I wanted to die, I could have jumped in the river myself. You think I came here to hurt you? That’s about as stupid as it gets.”

Erkenbrand’s hands clenched, but Elswide pressed her hand to his arm and stepped forward. “What is your name?” she asked, surprisingly calm.

“Gwir verch Maderun a Gwellt Pennaeth. Gwir, daughter of Maderun and… Strawhead.”

Elswide pursed her lips at the derogatory patronym.

“You know your father is dead,” Erkenbrand stated. It was not a question. If Gwir hadn’t known, she would have asked to see her father, not the king.

She nodded. “News travels even now,” she said. “Back then we heard more of it. It only took a few days to hear that he had died. Although we didn’t know if it was true at first.”

“How did your mother come to meet your father, Gwir?” Elswide asked.

Gwir looked at Erkenbrand. He nodded at her to speak, and her mouth pursed as though she was sure he would not like what she was about to say.

“She was helping to lay stepping-stones across the river Isen,” Gwir said, “but she fell in and was swept across. My father got the water from her lungs and kept her in his camp. My mother is very beautiful,” she added, chin lifted proudly. “One of the great beauties of Dunland.”

“And how old are you? You look younger than—”

“Twenty-five.” Gwir shifted her weight and winced. She looked around, shrugged, and sank cross-legged to the floor, clearly sore from the day’s ride. She looked up at the two of them and blushed. It was a pretty sight. “I know he had a wife, and a son. But my mother is impossible to resist. She is still more beautiful than anyone else I have seen. Her husband was lucky to get her, even with me!”

That gave Erkenbrand pause. “Your mother is alive? And married?”

“Of course,” Gwir said. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

“Plenty of mothers in the Mark died at your people’s hands,” Elswide murmured. She ran her hand across her mouth, expression unreadable.

Gwir blinked up at Elswide and rested her round cheek on her hand. “Blame the wizard,” she said. “Blame the chiefs. You cannot blame me. I am sorry, but I will not take your blame. Somewhere outside these walls is a mound of dead Dunlendings, but I do not hold it against you. The war was bad, but it’s over now. I do not want to live it again. Once was enough.”

No one argued with that.

Erkenbrand turned to his wife. “You see why I had to bring her?” he asked in their tongue. Elswide nodded and squeezed his hand. “Thank you, my good wife. I trust you with this, but no one else.” He turned to Gwir and wrapped an arm around Elswide’s shoulders. “This is the lady of the Hornburg. You will obey her as you would me.” Gwir bobbed her chin at Elswide in a clumsy show of respect, still on the floor. She had never done so to him; he raised his eyebrows.

“You want my respect?” Gwir said. “It’s an earned thing. You have done what I wanted, but you have not been kind to me. The lady has tried, at least. That is worth something.”

He threw his hands up. “I cannot be seen to capitulate to strange Dunlending women who threaten me. You have not earned my goodwill, not by a long shot. I will attempt kindness if you will tell me why you have bothered coming to the Mark at all. I can see how little you care for your task. You are not eager.”

Gwir shrank at this. She looked very small, sitting there hunched on the stone floor. With her head down, he could see how much gray glinted in her hair.

“No,” she said. “I am not.” She sighed heavily. “The chief sent me to ask for help. He does not like me, and he hoped I could help him get something from the Mark. He is a small chief, but if he can… Well, a lot of chiefs died. Only a few remain. He said I could not stay if I didn’t come here, even though my mother argued it. But enough people would be happy to see me go that she couldn’t convince them all.”

For the first time, Erkenbrand felt a little pity for the girl; she clearly would have preferred to stay at home with her mother, who apparently was not impossible to resist.

“I don’t know what the chief thought he could get from you,” Gwir continued. “I don’t imagine anyone cares about my blood once they’ve seen the rest of me.” She pulled at the soft, dark hair at the nape of her neck. “My mother’s alright,” she muttered. “As long as she’s alright, I’m not worried about the rest. They’ll make do. They always have.”

“Why doesn’t your chief like you?” Elswide asked.

Gwir sat up, surprised. “The same reason as you,” she said, as though it was obvious. “I’m not enough like him. If he were less angry, he would see I am not trouble. My mother’s husband knows how useful and obedient I am. He has never complained of me in eighteen years. But he is one man in a hundred. Maybe even a thousand.”

Elswide’s fine eyebrows were nearly up to her hairline, and Erkenbrand was sure he looked much the same. It was hard to imagine this sullen creature as useful. Erkenbrand had to admit, however, that she was remarkably loyal. They had not asked about her mother’s husband, but the man had clearly won Gwir’s devotion as well as her affection.

If a gentle demeanor was what it took to get her assured obedience, so be it.

Erkenbrand reached out a hand to Gwir, who eyed him suspiciously. “Let me help you up,” he said. He tried to keep his voice gentle, though it was hard in the face of her dark, wary eyes. He had killed countless men with those eyes, and the men had tried to kill him.

But Gwir took his hand and laboriously climbed to her feet. He brought her to a chair by the desk and gestured for her to sit. She did so, and by the time Gamling arrived, she was quietly nibbling a slice of spiced brown bread with salted meat.

Erkenbrand’s lieutenant seemed much less bothered by Gwir than anyone else who had seen her; he must have been forewarned. Gamling bowed to his lord and lady as soon as the door was shut behind him.

“Welcome back, my lord,” he said in their tongue. “How goes it at the fords?”

“Well enough,” Erkenbrand said. He turned to his wife and said quietly, “Elswide, will you take her to one of the rooms?”

Elswide nodded. Excellent woman. “Gwir, you must be tired. Come with me and I shall get you settled. You can bring your supper with you.”

The two women left promptly; Erkenbrand sat heavily in the empty chair.

“Well, my lord?” Gamling said.

“Well, Gamling,” Erkenbrand said, “we have a guest at the Hornburg.”

#lotr fanfic #erkenbrand #dunlendings #rohan #lord of the rings #becca writes #the stepping-stones of the river isen #for the real shocker:#this story is actually complete #though it is part of a (short) series #hope you enjoy!!!

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