#Targg

[likhopinetree]

can i simp for targg already or should i wait till 24h from premiere passed??

[peasant-player]

War of Rohirrim fic ideas I wish we had like yesterday

I'm terrible at writing so I just suffer with those plot bunnies but who knows maybe someone like them?

Haleth switch up:

The haleth 1 from silmarillion gets swapped (body or just soul both very funny)with the Haleth2 from War of the Rohirrim.

Both Haleths are very battle ready.

Haleth 1 takes Hera under her wing and and takes this situation to at least safe someone's brother. So hama lives!

You can even put some angst into this!

She is literally yeeted into the future,her clan doesn't even exist anymore or something like that.

She also travels with Hera and Olwyn around or becomes queen! Again many possibilities!

Haleth 2 takes very quickly care of the orcs. I so want him to get shipped with Caranthir too. That would be hilarious.

He also takes one look at the women around him desperately fighting and wanting to fight and thinks about his sister. They all now got a big brother who makes shield maiden out of them.

He also literally refuses to belive he time traveled. It would be very funny if he is in original haleths body and just goes with it.

Olwyn × Targg enemies to lovers/second spring/found family

I have multiple scenarios in my head.

1. Targg survives the stabbing and gets saved by some loyal wild men.

They die looking for food (he doesn't know that) he then is thinking about his uncertain future and doesn't know what to do. Hera and olwyn are traveling near him and get attacked by some orcs. They run. Meet targg. He kills the orc. He ask if they saw his friends. They are dead. Much sad. He tags along because he is usefull. Olwyn threatens him with a sword. He likes that. You know the rest. Push and pull. Sad backstories. Funny found family things. Hera basically gets a new cool dad. Foreboding. Meeting elves and dwarves. Exploring endless possibilities.

2. I call this Hama using that clever mouth he had.

No, not in that way. Perverts

He convince Targg too look closer at Wulf who is already very crazy.

Targg saves Hama and gets injured.

Targg becomes part of the Rohirrim and helps them. Again many possibilities and a other view in culture. Much sad.still ship him with olwyn.

3. New character or even self inserts!

A wild men/women disagreed with the kidnapping of the princess and secretly helps her escape. Time passes. Wulf is getting more and more crazy.

Some good wild men form a group and they leave to warn Rohan. Saving some of the people or even Haleth! Nice.

Perfect scenario for every ship you want except wulf. Deep dive to some cool culture and different views! Cool wild men armor. Food. You can go nuts with this one.

Wulf redemption

Wulf dies. Sees his life and his treatment and his wrong doings. He gets a second chance. He is not suddenly 100% good but he feels really bad how he literally destroyed everything around him. Let him see hera defend him. Targg talking calmly to him and being loyal and he ruined everything. Angst. But a chance!

A new try. He saves his dad(because he loves him) and still gets banned but now he is not the one that starts a war. Shit it is his dad! Going crazy and very dangerous. Wulf leaves him. He is devastated. everything is worse then before. But surprise! Targg comes with him! (Wulf cries a little here)

Wulf know tries to warn Rohan but that is very difficult when you are banned. He tries to get to Frealaf thinking he is the most calmest but meets Haleth on a accident.

Haleth is wary but takes the threat serious. He also sees wulf disheveled looks and decided to basically become his brother-hen (motherhen but MANLY)

This is a healing fic with no shipping. Just bromance. Wulf realizing that Hera does love him but not in a romantic way. He gets a new family.

I want him to die dramatically to save Hera and he kills his dad or something.

Wulf moves on with a light heart.

That's all that is running around in my head.

I want those fics on next Monday yes ❤️

No please if someone see this and wants to use that just go ahead and send me a link please!!! I want to read everything!

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Might have gone a bit crazy the other day and went through the entire movie and took screenshots of General Targg every time he was on the screen...

It totaled over 200 pictures-I love this man so much. 😭

Anyways, here's my favorites.

[imperatorbaronius]

As requested, General Targg. (I really wanted to add a "tired with Wulf's shit" option)

[a-caramel-addict]

Háma and Targg talk during Háma's captivity.

[nezalhere]

Targg mad about the boy

Whether it's parental love or fall in love, there's no doubt that General Targg is mad about the boy. A tribute to the poster of the latest Bridget Jones movie.

[arwenkenobi48]

What if War of the Rohirrim had a gag reel like in early Pixar films? I’d love to see that so I wrote my own, which are as follows:

Hama sings Hey Brother while strumming his harp, then excitedly asks “can we keep this in the movie? Please, please, please?”

Wulf repeatedly forgets his lines

When Wulf confesses his love to Herá, after he says “I love you” she just goes “I know” and they both end up laughing

Both Helm and Freca keep laughing during their fight scene, resulting in Wulf guffawing from offscreen: “Stop enjoying yourself, dad, you’re about to die!”

Everyone keeps falling over in the snow, especially Targg

The mumakil runs away and has to be lured back to the set with a bag of peanuts

When Herá shows up to fight Wulf in the wedding dress and he’s like “what is this?” she glances down at the dress and calls back “I think it’s Versace!” and the camera captures them both laughing again before being like “ok, let’s do it for real this time”

During the siege tower fight, Wulf can be heard muttering “Don’t look down, don’t look down” under his breath, implying that he’s scared of heights

Helm’s beard gets tangled in a knot multiple times

Haleth randomly does a Thor impression during one scene and everyone bursts out laughing

The giant eagles keep knocking the cameras over

Lief also keeps forgetting his lines

Olwyn and Herá share a lot of banter on set

Ashere nearly bowls Frealaf over more than once

At one point, while preparing for the scene when the giant eagles come to save the day, Herá begins singing part of Close To You by The Carpenters, specifically the “why do birds suddenly appear” bit; the camera then pans to three women who are background extras swooning over her voice

Whenever Wulf wears that golden crown, it keeps falling down over his eyes mid scene

Many scenes from Monty Python and the Holy Grail are quoted, including Wulf saying to Targg “On second thought, let’s not ride to Edoras. ‘Tis a silly place.”

[twicearoundthebend]

me 🤝 general targg

being completely done with wulf’s bullshit

[mhevarujta]

I don't believe that, in Lord Of The Rings: The War Of The Rohirrim, Wulf was in love with Hèra in the simple, loving sense. He mostly seems to me obsessed with what she represents.

He doesn't see just someone who is strong, stubborn, resourseful and a free spirit. He sees a loved princess of Rohan and, while he and his people were marginalized, this symbol of the very people by whom he is not accepted happens to show affection towards him.

So throughout the years he is away he nurtures those feelings and they get twisted more and more. The Dunlendings and he will not be accepted and loved by Rohan and therefore Rohan and every person that has made Wulf feel inferior in some way must be destroyed. Even after he has avenged himself on Helm and on her brothers, he wants to entomb Hèra. The seeds for that have been planted before he even asks Hèra to marry him. Her rejection and his father's murder seem to be the last straw.

Also, I feel that Wulf's insecurities and resentments were very present even when they were children. It's why he starts attacking so viciously when he feels lesser because Hèra has the upper hand, which is when she does not control her movement as she is trying to keep him off and ends up scaring him. He still protects her by Freca though and seems scared at the prospect of his arrival.

Overall, I feel that he was interesting enough. But I DO wish that the writers had done a better job at showing how things were for him as he was growing up among the Dunlendings and next to Freca. It would have given depth to the character. I also have to give an honorary mention to General Targg. I feel that the presense of someone honorable who cares for the people and was not just acting for selfish reasons gave a bit of nevessary nuance to the Dunlendings and indirectly attributed some validity to their motivations and to their war-effort.

[wheresthecoffee]

I can't unsee it. General Targg is a honey badger.

[likhopinetree]

his name is targg and together with olwyn they are the best chara really

to anyone who remembers him by name: i see u and appreciate u

[peasant-player]

I watched the war of the rohirrim!

And I have thoughts spoilers under the cut + some crappy doodles ❤️

Man that Oliphant was nightmare fuel.

I never thought I would be scared of elephants but here I am.

The watcher was kinda adorable!

Here some doodles xD

Wulf is now forever a raccoonTM in my head.

What a pathetic man.

Whoever said Hera is a Mary sue needs to check their brain OR the definition of Mary Sue.

For God sake her first real kill was with the help of her horse and a pitchfork while laying down being terrified.

I do like that she used the "death" Sentence in her amazing show off against the racoonTM because that what Rohans warrior use to say while riding into battle!

I disapprove about her daily clothing choice. White boots and shirt? Really? That poor laundry lady!

Now to the more important part that I need to say:

I loved Targg and the shield maiden Owlyn so much. I want a healing fix it and I ship them.

Did they had any interactions with each other. No. But that's not gonna stop hopefully anyone!

He was a really good general with great moral compass! He would have spared Hama and the small folk. Now let me get this quick~ out of the system:

I loved his clothing and I mean he got just stabbed once(1)time he could survive that! (Helm got shot with arrows like 6 times and was fist fighting people while being very depressed in a snowstorm like a week after that)

Let there be some loyal wild men safe Targg from the battle field and then he heals but doesn't know what to do with his life and then he meets hera and olwyn and he tags along because he respects her and he has nothing better to do. They could go on a adventure together.

Or idk let him see that the raccoon man is crazy earlier and safe hama for negotiations or whatever and he helps Rohan idk I read fics with much worse unrealistic premise and it still worked great!

Here have a little comic

So let's talk about Helm hammerhand!

What a legend. No really I'm gonna draw him standing heroics with his tits out and his hammer holding into the sky.

He would approve.

I laughed out loud that he kinda froze to death and suddenly had his hammer in his hand!

He punched a ogre/orc to death! Sauron and the Balrog should be thankful that he does not have access to thermo leggings and the blood of the Numenorian because he would have punched them all straight into the void!!

He would have throw the ring into the fire because he has no use of such nonsense!

And Haleth !! The silm Haleth would have approved of him!!!

So cool,so hot and even his death was kinda cool, very quick but so heroic.

The twink bard hama got used up to show that the raccoonTM is a terrible war lord and a super pathetic man. Kinda sad and underwhelming. Good part to start a fix it fic!

And wulf Ach wulf man idk what to say I will say that the German dub gave him a better and deeper voice then the English voice so that was nice! I had some feeling for him when his father died and he got choked out by helm but he really went all out to become very pathetic.

I hope there are some good fics that work on his very odd characteristics

I'm gonna draw him once being even much more pathetic but I need to confess he is rather bland next to Targg or Frealaf!!

Frealaf ❤️ God he is SO handsome and so cool in the rescue and he got that calm vibe about him.

He makes a great King.

I loved his clothing so much in general the clothing was great!! (Except the white pants/boot from hera!!)

Very beautiful and I can't wait to see more close up pics!! It was of course alot of fantasy style belts and fur but I do not mind that!

Then the very funny siege machine.

In all earnestly if the wild men are so good at building stuff and hauling around ridiculous amount of woods then they missed their opportunity to become middle earth's greatest engineers!!

Builders!

Wood cutters!

Why fighting around and eating scraps if you could become middle earth's best architect??

And what the hell did the poor drum player did wrong that he got a free yeeting into the atmosphere???

At least he was dedicated to play his drum until his end I guess?

But I loved the skull masks! Hehe very easy way to draw some hot wild men ~

That's my thoughts I did not went into much details about what could have been better or what is not really like in the books. I'm just glad that there is another great addition to the Tolkien fandom!!

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Just for tonight, General. (And we'll kill them all tomorrow.)

Pairing: General Targg/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,307

Summary: The night before the siege, tensions run high. If you were going to be dragged down with the sinking ship by Wulf, you might as well f*ck his General. Last night, last (one-night) stand.

There was a subtle desperation in his movements as he shoved you against the intricate wooden table, the edge digging painfully into the small of your back. But you paid it no attention. The commotion outside had largely petered into the occasional shout and flurry of footsteps, amplified by the layers of trodden ice. It could barely penetrate through the durable fabric of the tent, grander than all except Wulf’s. You were grateful for it, otherwise it would’ve been hard for you to meet him under these circumstances. And quite honestly, it was more than a little shocking for you to find yourself in this situation, as you and all the others had assumed that a man like General Targg had no interest in anything but war. After all, while the other soldiers had leered and propositioned you, he never did. (Though he was well within his rights as Wulf’s direct confidant and the highest member of his army.)

But the weight of tomorrow was too heavy, and the unspoken words left hanging in the air like daggered icicles trembling overhead. You knew, and he knew better than you, that there was no certainty on the battlefield. To see another tomorrow is promised to no warrior. Death didn’t discriminate between the strong and the weak. And even though he never spoke a word against his Lord, you knew of his doubts. The Hornburg was filled with nothing but refugees balancing on the edge of starvation. A victory over Edoras in shambles was no victory at all. But better not to dwell on what you could not change. That was what you were here for, wasn’t it?

And so you wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing him impossibly closer. His armor dug into your body but you welcomed the discomfort, which dulled your thoughts and kept you grounded. A large, calloused hand came to rest on your back, pinning you against him as if you’d run away. Arching against him, your fingers came to drift through his short, white hair. It was still cold with the melting snow and just as white. Your hand slipped, nails looking for purchase and finding none. Instead, it came to rest on the fur cloak over his right shoulder, which under different circumstances you would have found to be comical in its representation of his hair.

General Targg was a man of few words, and since you both had returned to his tent he had said nothing. The only sound that permeated through the quiet of the space had been your own labored panting and the few noises that managed to slip through your lips. But what you were doing, and going to do needed no words.

With his head nestled between the junction of your jaw and shoulder, you could feel the pent-up frustration and anticipation through each hot breath. His sparse beard scraped deliciously against your skin, reminding you of the tall, dry grass that carpeted Dunland. He was almost aggressive, with one hand kneading your hip and teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh as if testing where to bite. As he trailed upwards, you took the opportunity to bury your face against his corded neck, inhaling the scent of fire and smoke, of old wood and patinaed leather. And beneath it all, something you couldn’t name that was distinctly him.

He didn’t give you long to dwell on it however, as he sunk his teeth in the supple flesh beneath the edge of your jaw. A whimper of pain escaped your lips, and he kissed the spot as gently as he had been rough. You wanted to chastise him for marking you in a place you couldn’t easily shelter, but as he trailed a jagged line of bruising kisses down your neck you found that you didn’t really give a damn.

A dull, persistent pressure was building in your core, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could care to wait. Even through all the layers of coarse linen and hide you could feel an insistent bulge pressed between your legs. Your brow was beginning to grow damp despite the chill that lingered in the stale air, and emboldened by the unusually disheveled look on the General’s face as he pulled back, you ground against him. He clenched his jaw, swallowing the sliver of a groan that threatened to break free.

Adorable, you thought, almost mockingly. Even now, so disciplined, so restrained. 

You wanted so badly to break him, take him apart piece by piece and plunge your hands into that broad chest to mangle his heart. To peel back the layers of flesh and see what was hidden inside that he so carefully guarded. Or maybe, it was already empty, drained by his “High Lord” and the boy he helped raise, leaving him nothing but a fierce, hollow loyalty to a broken man.

Oh well, you grinned and tugged him back, meshing your mouths together in a sloppy kiss. He devoured you like a starving man, and soon his tongue was prodding impatiently against your lips, asking, no, demanding entry. You were in no state to deny him, anyway. Smirking, you let him through, and the wet length of his tongue was immediately tangled with yours, leaving you panting and dripping. Soon, it seemed to grow bored, and plunged further into your mouth as if searching for answers that you couldn’t give.

You leaned back maintaining the kiss, dragging his formidable weight over you. Your shoulder blades pressed into the table and something clattered to the ground. Weathered fingers threaded through yours, banishing the remaining wintry sting from your palms and you could almost imagine that he could have loved you in another life. But alas, fate was fickle, and if tonight was the last night you spent on this earth you would be glad it was spent with him.

A wave of sadness or longing-you weren’t sure which, perhaps both, flooded through you with such raw intensity that you quivered in his grasp. Subconsciously he responded, kissing you harder until you were so breathless there was nothing but the feeling of his tongue, his mouth, and only him.

Eventually, excruciatingly, your lungs shrieked in protest and you were forced to withdraw with some reluctance, leaving the General to chase after you, a string of saliva connecting you to him. Dark eyes fluttered open to observe you, and tenderly he wiped the drool from the edge of your lips with a thumb. A small, sad smile crossed his face, and in the dim lighting he looked even older, even wearier. You blinked, unable to stand the look on his face, the same pain mirrored in the fragile windows of your soul.

Slowly, you reached up to grasp his neck, drawing him closer until your cheek rested against his. And from where you couldn’t see, he closed his eyes, breathing in your soothing scent until he felt grounded again. It had been so long since…but the physical deprivation had never bothered him, or so he thought. But with your supple, welcoming form in his arms, the human instinct to be close and to embrace reared its head with a vengeance.

You couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t wait much longer as the seconds ticked by until your time with him would inevitably end. The sun, you knew, was creeping by sluggishly through the darkness and the clouds, but inside the thin, canvas enclosure time was precious. Who knew if you would get another chance, if there’d even be another chance.

And so you turned to him, pressing your swollen lips against the shell of his ear, and whispered, “Don’t you think you’ve made me wait long enough, General?”

He pulled back to stare at you with those hooded, impenetrable eyes, and you felt exposed beneath his gaze.

“Targg,” he breathed, and you tilted your head inquisitively. “It’s just Targg.”

“Alright, Targg,” you tested his name, quite enjoying the way it sounded without the stilted title. He twitched against your hip. Interesting.

“The night’s not getting any younger, so-” you hooked three fingers in his collar and yanked him forward, savoring the flicker of shock that flashed for but a second across his handsome face. “Why don’t you hurry up and fuck me already?”

He scoffed and didn’t say anything more, but immediately straightened so he could start undoing the many clasps across his torso. You sat up, watching transfixed as he discarded his cloaks, then the woven gray hides, and finally the blue and white tunic underneath. He was well-built especially considering his age, though you never once doubted the power that lay slumbering in Wulf’s greatest general. But now that he stood in front of you like this, half-bare and framed in amber by the braziers, he seemed more like a fairytale come to life.

Faded, silver scars marred his skin, some crisscrossing across his chest and others dipping below his pants, where a prominent tent strained against the cloth. A light dusting of hair, the same color as his scruff, spread across his pectorals but he was otherwise barren. You reached out, aching to touch him and he obliged, stepping forward so you could trace the lines of his muscles and scars. In return, he began unbuckling the thick layers of wool and fur encasing your body. You envied his resistance to the howling winds and punishing snow; his chest felt pleasantly warm under your hands and oh so inviting.

You shivered as he removed your undershirt, a sudden flood of shyness causing you to shrink back from his scrutiny. He huffed out a laugh and you glared at him scandalized, as if he was enjoying your suffering.

“What’s so funny?” You did your best to appear put off, though you doubted he bought your little act of rebellion.

After all this, still bashful? Targg thought bemusedly.

He extended a hand, cradling your head and you turned away petulantly. “It’s nothing. Don’t shy away from me, my dear. You’re beautiful.”

A blush of red tainted your cheeks, and for the first time tonight you didn’t have a witty comeback, something to dispel your own nervousness for the future. His hand moved southward, caressing your neck and then your collarbones until it reached your heaving breasts. He waited for your confirmation, and upon a quick nod he moved to fondle the perky mounds. Hooking your leg around his ass, you tugged him forward until he was nestled comfortably between your thighs.

You bit back a whine as he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the coarseness of the digits creating a delightful friction that only served to stoke the inferno in your lower half. With eyes squeezed shut, you missed the way he diligently monitored your reactions, a habit long ingrained in him as a commander with decades of experience. As they teetered on the edge of war, there was never a more radiant woman than you to a man so deprived.

His tongue curled around your hardened nipple, and you felt the graze of his teeth against it making you keen. Now panting, you laid a hand on the back of his neck, not nearly demanding but enough to spur him on. You felt the uptick of his lips against your skin and canted your hips in retaliation, a poor imitation of his teasing. Was there no limit to his patience?

After lavishing the same amount of attention on your other breast, he continued to trail downwards, leaving a burst of heat wherever he touched. Unknowingly, you held your breath as he finally, after agonizing seconds, reached the last layer shielding your dignity. Now leaning on your elbows, you watched with bated suspense as he discarded your belt, and then your pants and dampened underwear with one motion.

The air hit you in an icy blast, but he didn’t give you time to shy away again as he swiped a finger through your slick folds. You jolted at the sensation, legs clenching involuntarily around his hips.

He stroked your thigh, silently willing you to relax as he circled your opening with careful fingers. The same fingers, you knew, that were stained with the blood of his Lords’ enemies, saints and sinners alike. His other hand came to rest on your leg, the weight pressing you down lightly, palm burning. He squeezed once in warning before plunging one thick finger inside of you. A gasp was torn from your throat as he gave a few experimental pumps, meticulously cataloging each reaction he extracted from your body. Calm, calculating, as if you were a war to conquer, your pleasure his victory.

By the second finger you were squirming as if you had been skewered, biting your hand to muffle your cries. He curled them up, relentlessly attacking that sensitive spot inside you and you couldn’t hold back your voice anymore.

“P-please Targg,” your breath came in ragged puffs, “I need you.”

“In time, little one.” Something in his tone told you that he wasn’t in a particular hurry, and you wanted to spit and scream at him.

Damn teasing bastard!

What you’d give to make him beg, for once. But you knew the chances of prying any kind of beseechment out of his mouth were as likely as being able to yank a tooth out of a bear without being mauled.

He added a third finger-the final you hoped, already at your limit-and began rubbing your clit in measured, circular motions. This time you couldn’t hold back your moans, fingernails scraping against the table as you writhed against him. Just as you were teetering on the edge of bliss, he stopped, withdrawing his fingers and leaving you clenching at air.

The look on your face was thunderous.

“Targg, with all due respect, I swear to God if-”

He stopped you before you could begin spewing threats at various parts of his anatomy with a sudden sharp tug, bringing you back to the edge of the table.

“What-” You quieted as he began unbuckling his gray trousers, shucking them and his briefs to his knees and exposing his throbbing length.

“Look what you do to me,” he growled, his cock bobbing in the air. He moved closer and you gulped, mouth watering at the sheer girth of it. The muscles in his pelvis were tense as if restraining the last bit of his composure, or perhaps from the weight of the erection. It was sizable like the rest of him, with an enticing curve that made a new wetness leak from your aching hole. A vein pulsed prominently on the underside of his shaft, and you wanted to trace it with your tongue if you hadn’t been so sure that the sun would rise and steal your time away.

Perhaps if you lived through this…

“Come on now Targg, you must be aching…” you purred, reaching for his hand. The muted light from the sputtering fires highlighted his skin, giving it an ephemeral, golden glow. Shadows danced across each well-defined ridge and plane, some of which you explored but far too much untouched.

He grunted noncommittally but allowed you to take his hand, coaxing him closer until the head of cock was pressed against your dripping slit. You shuddered, trepidation and excitement warring in your brain. You’ve never taken anyone as big as him, but like hell if you’d back down from a challenge, especially one as tantalizing as this.

“If you want to stop, this is your last chance.” You laced your fingers through his, gazing into those dark unfathomable depths. Something akin to doubt glistened in his eyes, as if he was afraid that you would run away and abandon him for someone less burdened, less tainted.

“Targg.” This time your voice was unflinching, absolute. Brimming with a love that didn’t flicker in a landscape of winter and death, and perhaps the only love that existed outside of the impenetrable fortress. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, now and for whatever time I have left.”

This time he smiled, a soft, rare, fleeting beauty that you desperately committed to your memory.

“If you’re sure then, sweet one.” His voice was uncharacteristically serene, as if this war and all the ones of his past were nothing but bad dreams to be forgotten. “You can have all of this foolish, old man.”

You wanted to protest, to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, but then he rubbed himself against you, the drag of his flesh sending electric sparks up your spine and coating his member in your juices.

With a deep sigh, he sheathed himself inside you with a single thrust that felt as if it would cleave you in two.

“Ah Targg!” You couldn’t help the tears that sprung to your eyes as he caressed your lower stomach, waiting for you to adjust with flexing fingers. Sharp bolts of pain flashed through you, making it hard to think.

“Just relax,” he rumbled. “I won’t hurt you, my dear.”

Slowly, achingly, the discomfort faded, replaced by a snug warmth.

“I’m alright,” you whispered, reverent to the feeling of being so complete. “You can move now.”

Targg wasted no time in setting a rapid pace, the table creaking in protest at the force of his thrusts. Back arching, you hauled him in for a kiss, pouring into him all your love and rage and fear. His arms caged you in, so you could see nor smell nor feel nothing except him. Just for this moment he wasn’t a general anymore, but merely a man. And he was yours.

Your body instinctively aligned to his, matching his motions as your nails dug into the back of his hands. He greedily devoured your moans and whimpers, drinking in the sight of your face twisted in ecstasy.

“I can’t hold back any longer,” he groaned, sweat beading at his brow.

“Then don’t.” And you kissed him again.

He buried his head in your neck, redoubling his efforts until you were nothing but a mewling mess beneath him. The lewd sound of skin against skin filled the space, mingling with the masculine sound of his grunts and your incoherent pleading.

In a moment of opportunity, you latched your teeth into the straining muscle of his left shoulder and bit down hard. He hissed and you felt him swell inside you, pushing against the limits of your tight walls. The iron taste of blood flooded your tongue, but you made no move to let him go. He released your hands and you wrapped them around his neck, pressing your breasts against his chest.

After a few moments you withdrew, leaving deep, red imprints of your teeth above his collarbone. If luck would have it, perhaps it would scar.

Satisfied, you bucked upwards, meeting him head-on. You clawed at his back as he continued to pound into you, leaving thin, scarlet lines to match your bitemark. It would be a miracle from Valar if you could walk tomorrow.

You kept him as close as you could with your legs around his waist, but they were growing weak with each violent thrust. Every nerve in your body was alight, and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

“Please Targg,” you whimpered shakily. “I-I need…”

So attuned to your body by now that he immediately reached down between your entangled forms to search for that small nub at the crest of your labia. He pressed a finger next to it, hovering so close that you wanted to cry.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured next to your ear.

“Touch me, please!” A howl was building up in your throat. “I need you!”

“As you wish.”

He attacked your clit relentlessly until the mounting pressure in your cunt finally reached its crescendo, and you came wailing his name for everyone to hear. Waves of pleasure crashed over you again and again as he fucked you through your orgasm. The world spun in swirls of black and white, the canvas ceiling disappearing as you were helpless to the turbulent tides of pleasure.

The rhythm of his thrusts stuttered and became frantic as he followed you, chasing after his own climax with an urgency reawakened.

“Oh Targg.” Breathlessly, you moved to cup his face, watching in rapture as he closed his eyes and yielded to your touch. “Come for me.”

And he did, with a groan that sounded as if it had been dredged up from his very soul and spilled his seed inside you. He gave a few more pumps until you had milked every last drop from him, the torrid sounds of your lovemaking dwindling down and a blanket of satiated bliss settling over your spent figures.

You lay for a few moments, reveling in the precious, fugitive peace that radiated from your bodies like an invisible beacon. Utterly spent, Targg collapsed on you, a thin sheen of sweat coating his frame and mixing with yours.

All too soon however, the bitter cold reached towards you with artic tendrils, and you were acutely aware of the dying embers that signaled the cessation of the night.

“Targg…” You couldn’t vocalize it, didn’t want it to end.

He understood, and with great reluctance withdrew, making you wince and blush as a few pearly drops of your combined fluids streamed down your thigh.

“Are you alright?” He offered you a hand, helping you to a sitting position. You nodded wordlessly, not trusting your voice that mere moments ago had been chanting his name like a frenzied prayer. Your face flushed again as more essence leaked out, soiling his table. He didn’t seem to mind and made no comment as he went to get you a towel.

As you wiped yourself off, he began to get dressed, methodically layering each piece of armor until all traces of your fervor were hidden beneath. The portcullis of that lonely, impassable fortress slid shut with an inaudible certainty once more.

Now trembling from the frosty air, you made to do the same. But the moment your feet touched the ground your knees buckled, and if it wasn’t for his honed reflexes you would have faceplanted unceremoniously into the floor.

You muttered a shaky thanks and reached for your discarded clothes, brushing off the dust and dirt. Your sex twinged with stinging blades of pain, though it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He kept a hand on your arm, waiting patiently for you to finish dressing before he spoke again.

“You should get some sleep. I still have some work to do, and the sun will emerge in a few hours.” It was as clear of a dismissal as any, and you had to fight back the pang of sorrow that shot through your heart. It was just a one-night stand, so why did it hurt you so?

But you couldn’t show weakness, not now and least of all in front of him. He was right, there was an army to lead and battles to be won.

You bowed, unable to meet his eyes and began limping towards the exit before he suddenly caught you by the arm again.

He leaned down, breath ghosting against your hair. “Stay away from the front lines. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

He paused for a moment, as if contemplating his next words. “Perhaps we can resume this later. If you’d like, of course.”

You fought back a smile and turned to him, planting a chaste kiss on his jaw before hurrying out the tent flap in a wobbly gait. You feared that you wouldn’t be able to tear yourself away from him otherwise.

Targg watched you go, an unfamiliar fondness taking ahold of him.

But life was full of unfulfilled promises.

***

You watched in horror as Wulf turned to his own General and stabbed him with that wicked dagger. The air felt as if it had been punched out of your lungs, time standing still in the moment. Your legs moved before your brain could register what had happened, rushing towards him through the throng of charging men.

Wulf had left him to die, and he had collapsed to his knees and then the ground, which, freshly green was soon to be red.

You cradled his head, your sobs soundless as he stared up at you with those dark eyes that you loved so much. They were glassy with agony and dismay and betrayal, but as they focused on your face they cleared.

The voices around you faded, the drumming of thousands of boots and the clanging of metal muted. He couldn’t speak, throat clogged with too much blood and you knew that it was all over.

He knew, too.

So you didn’t cry, wanting to see his face clearly while it still drew rattling breath, weakening by the second.

Death was coming, riding high on a black steed pulling shattered dreams and trampled hearts.

Using the last remnants of the once legendary strength that remained, he brushed his fingers over your cheek, reassuring. Loving. Final.

And there you held him, until his eyes could see you no more.

***

The war was over. Wulf was dead. Rohan was restored. Spring has come.

But among all of this, your heart lay barren and bleeding, missing the other half that had been so callously torn from your chest.

White flowers dotted the grass beneath which he was buried.

Sometimes, when the wind whistled just right, you could almost feel him, gliding against your cheeks and caressing your body. A bear watched you just beyond the forest, its dark eyes so familiar yet so distant. It reminded you of a man you once knew.

You smiled a sad smile and sat down at the edge of the flowers, fondly remembering the great General Targg.

[imperatorbaronius]

So I'm a little too obsessed now and ordered this and the art book (which comes out in February) and it's got some very interesting information about ages and relationships that'll be very useful going forward so I'll drop the ages below and anything else interesting I found

Helm: 55 years old, king for 5 years at this point in time, spent almost his entire life fighting the hill tribes and Dunlendings. This is what makes him a king who dislikes to be challenged ok his authority and decisions

Héra: 19 years old, deep love for nature and especially the more fantastical kind, her horse is Ashere. The rest, I'm sure you remember from the movie itself

Lief: 16 years old, main roles are protecting the old maps and scrolls that keep the laws and customs recorded

Haleth: 30 years old, first in line to the throne, not expected to rule for another 20 years based on Helm's own life. A brawler by nature, he's very intimidating to those who threaten his family and he's known as one of their best warriors skilled in sword, spear and axe

Háma: 22 years old, more of a gentler spirit than his father and brother, more passionate about the songs and legends. He likes to think of himself as a warrior poet and is always carrying his carved lyre. A skilled swordsman but an expert with bow and arrow

Fréaláf: 28 years old, lord of harrowdale and first marshal of the Riddermark, the highest military rank and is charged with protecting Edoras and the surrounding lands. His horse is named éored. He was raised alongside his cousins and so has a deep bond with them all but is not above teasing them frequently. He's also very ready to stand up to Helm if he believes a decision unwise

Olwyn: 45 years old, lady's maid to Héra but more become a mentor than a simple maid or servant. Thought in many battles over the years and has known great loss but finds ways to move forward and doesn't suffer fools. She sees herself in Héra as only she and a few others know Olwyn's past as a shield maiden

Freca: 40 years old, lord of the west-march. He claims to be descended from the fifth king of Rohan, Fréawine but his hair and beard instead cast doubt and suggest the Dunlendish blood runs through his veins instead. Has very little love for the kings of Rohan. Spends a lot of time dwelling on what he doesn't have and pays little heed to the king refusing summons to attend the witan

Wulf: 20 years old. Only son of Freca. His mother has also passed like with Héra. Quiet and intense most of the time, dressing in sombre colours. His belief that Héra loves him is very fragile. Expert in swords and bows. Has very little personal ambition at the start, growing up under his father's shadow and subject to his father's whims, despite this he loves his father and should anything happen he'll repay it tenfold. Should his youthful affection be spurned, that love will turn into a pathologically hatred for Helm, Héra and all the people of Rohan

General Targg: born and raised in Dunland, he has become a trusted advisor to Freca and will likely be key to Wulf's own reign. He is wise and calm but in the heat of battle will fight fiercely yet he retains a deep sense of honour as a warrior

[a-caramel-addict]

The second part of fic number 4 of the series. Have fun reading as Targg is having none with way things are going

[bigblazecoffee]

Can't decide if General Targg is dad or daddy