#eomer eadig x reader

[staplegrapes]

Mystery Guardian (Éomer Éadig x Reader)

Description: After the battle, you are wounded. You were not supposed to be here. Therefore, you would simply swipe some healing supplies and be on your way. Yet a certain newfound king would not allow it.

Word Count: 1.4k

TW: Canon-typical depictions of violence, blood and battle

A/N: Reader is written as gender neutral, but it is implied for some reason or another they were not supposed to be at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields.

✨Gender Neutral Reader✨

It was risky being here, you were well acquainted with that thought given that it ran through your head with every passing second. Though the battle had ended in an apparent victory much blood had been spilled. Scores of men flooded back towards the Houses of Healing and you found yourself contemplating going with them.

You weren't bleeding profusely or had any limbs hanging on by a thread, but you knew if you did not see your wounds tended to, you would likely end up quite ill. Seeing as you had managed to not perish in battle, you thought it may be of interest to not succumb to something much more easily avoided than a blade swinging at our face. Yet, there was the added difficulty of the fact you were not supposed to be in this battle. Your presence unveiled from your helmet would turn heads undoubtedly.

You had a simple plan. Keep your head down and armor on as you weave through the masses of injured and only take what you needed to avoid infection. Many more were in a state much worse than yours. As soon as possible, you make a hasty exit and find a safer spot.

You found it relatively easy to make it within the doors, many men were also still fully suited in their armor. The houses were large, yet the thralls of men easily overtook the resources. The hoards pushed you further into building. The stone archways seemed to get narrower the further you walked, more or less shuffled in further. After some time you noticed a free table with what appeared to be some clean bandages and a wound solution. Quickly, you snagged both and tried to make an exit, but the masses pushed you further forward. With some small shuffling, you finally made it out of the mainstream. Taking a breath to orient yourself you caught a glimpse of a pair of broad and familiar shoulders. Éomer was stooped over another, to which it shocked you to see the angelic face of Éowyn void of any life.

It was of no surprise to you she had also found the courage to fight despite the opposition to do so. While you did not know her plan, you knew you both had done so to protect your people. Still, she laid dead and your heart lurched having grown up with her and Éomer. Her bravery was overshadowed by the loss of her. As your gaze widened you noticed Aragon standing over her, while he was concerned he did not appear to mourn her. You saw a look of hope on Éomer's face.

Watching for several moments, you watched as Aragorn tended to her. You saw Éomer's shoulders relax and somehow you knew, she would be alright.

"Where did you get that?" a healer asked you, pointing to the healing supplies in your arms and in that moment you bolted down the hallway back towards the door. Maybe that had not been the most dignified way to deal with it, but your mind grew hazy and you began to rely on instinct rather than intuition. You hastily walked outside the walls and found yourself beginning to walk with no true direction in mind. The sparkle of a small stream down a steep slope caught your eye.

The small stream seemed to be the only place you would be able to tend to yourself safely. So that is what you did, carefully shuffling down the steep grassy slope towards the small glistening stream below. Your breath began to grow weaker as well as your vision did, the surge of battle wore off as the wear from battle grew. Taking a steadying breath, you bent down to the stream and began to dampen the cloth with the clean water.

It was a slow process, given your weakened state, but you made progress. Washing the injuries, keeping them clean with the solution and the water, wrapping them in the bandages and moving onto the next. It was quite awhile as you began to grow near the end of your needs but a voice startled you from your silent pursuit.

"You'd find better aid within the walls of Healing Houses, go there to tend to- oh."

You knew that voice anywhere and given the abrupt ending to his sentence supposedly he knew the back of your head anywhere.

Éomer.

How had you not heard him sneak up behind you?

"I shall be fine, your grace." you timidly turn towards him, ironically, given your fierce demeanor in battle not long ago.

"Whatever have you done? are you hurt badly?" His eyes were wild with concern as he quickly descended down the embankment. You watched him stumble just as you did, likely the most uncoordinated you had ever seen him be in all your years of knowing him.

"I trust Éowyn is alright?" you whisper, still deflecting his concern.

"Y-yes, Aragorn... she'll wake soon." He knelt alongside of you, "Are you hurt?"

"I'll be fine, I'm sorry about your uncle." You wince as you wrap your forearm tightly. He gently places his hand over yours.

"It is better for it to be loose."

You nodded silently as he rewrapped your arm.

A silence takes over the air between you two. It was comfortable in some odd way, given that you had both lived through the battle you were unsure of the outcome.

"It was you." he says in a breath.

"I do not know what you are talking about," you mutter through gritted teeth as you feel him start to clean another spot.

"You're the one who saved me when I had a blade to my neck." He keeps his eyes locked on your shoulder where he continues to clean.

"That could have been anyone." you shrug, looking away.

"If it was not you, then say so." You feel his eyes burning into the side of your head.

You remained silent. He sighs as he leans back on his knees.

"That tells me all." He states. "Why are you here?"

"Others needed to be attended to. I can manage myself."

"No, you that is not what I mean." He gently pulls your chin for you to face him. You sigh.

"You think I a coward?" you ask with a harsh tone much more intense than you had originally planned.

"What? No. In what tone did I-" You see him startled by your change in inflection.

"Then how shall I not defend my people as well as you?" You ask, dropping your tone to a softer, yet defending clarity.

"My job is to defend for you." He says softly, tilting his gaze.

"Well that does not sit well with me. I could not bear the thought of you dead on my account." You shake your head.

"It sits well with me." He says, "but I am most appreciative to breathe another breath granted by you, though I'd prefer it not be at the risk of your safety."

"We will have to agree to disagree on that matter." You turn back to him with a small smile. You understand his chivalry and nobility, yet you truly would never want to be the reason he didn't come home one day.

"Very well then, you feel well enough to walk? Let us return to the Healing Houses, Éowyn will wake soon."

"Will it not look strange for me to be present? Some may be opposed."

"And then they will have to answer to the King, for who is indebted to you with a life debt." he said as he helped you stand up and navigate up the bank.

It never occurred to you till now. Éomer is to be king.

"You may question that, I have more or less stolen the supplies from the houses that I used."

He chuckles, "I'm certain it can be remedied." He kept a solid and stabilizing hand along your arm as you walked back towards the Healing Houses.

"I can stay outside if that is better, give you time with Éowyn." but his grip only tightened.

"Stay by my side, I lost my uncle and nearly lost two of the dearest people in my life, I intend not to repeat that in anytime in my rule." he looked down to you with a protective look in his eye. Though it had been a grim day, you saw light beginning to shine from behind the clouds.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[enchantedflameandflower]

Save a horse, ride a Karl

which one would you pick first? 😋

additional bonus question - which two together? 🥹

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hii I like your writings! If you're still taking requests, can you write something about Eomer and the female reader? The reader is Aragorn's older sister. A ranger and a renowned warrior. After Eomer personally meets the owner of the stories he's been hearing for years, he may begin to fall in love with her. If you write, thank you in advance, if you don't I totally understand, no problem.~

Greetings, Anon! I'm SO sorry it took me so long to get to this request. It has been sitting in my inbox for a hot minute. Thank you so much for reaching out and dropping this off. I hope you enjoy this little thing I put together.

A Sudden Spark

Éomer x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: mild suggestive themes, slight canon-divergence, fluff, yearning, crush at first sight

Word Count: 1.4k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

The Great Shadow is fading.

Evil is not gone. It is simply receding, lingering in the farthest reaches, waiting for the final blow of steel that will eventually come. There is a brightness that stretches over everything like a warm blanket draped across the shoulders. It is as if the Sun returned after a long sleep.

Éomer breathes deep, allowing the brilliance of sunshine and the floral aroma on the wind to fill his lungs. A peace settles over him, a gentleness that extinguishes all ache from the last few months. Éomer is battle-weary. He lost his uncle, and nearly lost his sister.

A few years of peace are what he and everyone needs.

Turning away from the Pelennor Fields, Éomer reenters the feast hall of Merethrond. Taking up residence beside a tall, white pillar, Éomer observes the crowd around him, drinking from his mead cup. Everyone is in a celebratory mood. As they should be.

The battle is over. Gondor has a king. And yet, there is still so much to do.

Éomer celebrates along with them. The mead is delicious if a bit strong, and he has a tender urge to experience life. A fair maiden with lovely lips and curves would surely satiate that subtle hunger.

But darkness and duty lurk in the back of his mind. The bright sunshine and fresh air only quieted it for a moment. Rohan is without a king. Éomer will take up the title. He has not officially been crowned but it will happen after all of this is done. From this point on, Éomer must serve his people in more ways than he has previously. While he has always been a ferocious fighter and a skilled rider, the politics of ruling will become a new burden.

Éowyn will support him, but for how long? She is currently tangled up in Faramir’s arms, the two of them moving across the floor in a dance that sends the bottom of her dress spinning. Her smile is wide and pure, cheeks lightly flushed from exertion and most certainly from the beginnings of love. Faramir’s smile is just as wide and bold, their gazes locked on one another as if there is no one else in the room.

No. Éomer will not always have his sister. It appears that he will lose her to another sooner rather than later. But he is not upset. If anything, he is happy for her. She deserves so much, especially after all they’ve lost.

That leaves only him. He too will need someone at his side that is more than simple counsel. Éomer will need a wife. That is the reality of things. Someone for him to love and to love him in return, to birth his children, to listen and give advice, and to assist in taking care of the realm. While it is a duty, Éomer deeply longs for companionship.

But all this responsibility subdues the celebratory mood. It slots his thoughts into all that must be done on his return to Edoras.

Éomer is happy for Aragorn. He is happy that Gondor has a king, and that Gondor will be a great ally. He is happy that Aragorn has reunited with the woman he loves, and that the lands are no longer scarred by darkness and death.

He takes a long swig of his mead, leaning harder against the pillar as he observes the dancers in the middle of the hall. The mead is strong and sinking into his bones. The buzz is sharp in his blood.

“Not joining in?” The feminine voice draws Éomer’s attention away from the dancing couples and to the end of his right shoulder.

Éomer freezes, his mead cup halfway to his mouth. The woman standing next to him smiles sweetly. Your gentle beauty is soft and inviting. As Éomer continues to stare, that sweetness morphs into amusement, and that one look sends a little shiver up his spine to slice through his heart.

When he doesn’t answer, you arch a single eyebrow, and Éomer hastily clears his throat.

“Not for me,” he admits, immediately drinking some of his mead.

“Dancing?”

Are you asking him? It feels like you are but Éomer hasn’t always been successful about understanding a woman’s signals when she’s interested. Usually, Éomer is the one approaching.

Éomer nods because he doesn’t trust his voice. He might choke on his words this time instead of a simple cough.

There is a stretch of silence before you speak again. “But you are celebrating.” You nod toward his cup. Éomer briefly glances at your empty hands.

“And you are not partaking,” he comments.

You laugh. “The Lord of the Mark is observant,” you tease, smile stretching toward your ears.

Another stretch of silence, and your eyebrows start to rise toward your hairline, head tilting slightly. Éomer blinks and then heat rushes up his cheeks.

By the Gods, he should have realized sooner.

Éomer pushes off from the pillar, straightening his shoulders and back, smoothing the front of his formal tunic. “Would you—”

“Yes,” you reply automatically, eagerly reaching for him.

Your hand is warm in his. Éomer follows, allowing you to lead, dropping his drink somewhere on a random table before entering the crowd of dancers. The music is upbeat and light. Éomer wouldn’t call himself graceful, but he did grow up learning traditional dances for this very reason.

But you continue to lead, and somehow that is comforting. Éomer is always prepared to take charge and make decisions. He does none of that now. You are smiling, clasping his hand, this stranger that has suddenly captured all his attention.

Perhaps forgetting for a bit is a good thing.

Éomer goes through two dances with you before the music slows a bit. Before, he hardly had a chance to speak, but now the two of you are close together, bodies pressed tight. He briefly glances over your shoulder and notices Arwen’s smile. She is watching him, and you. His gaze falls to the man beside her.

There is a slight frown on Aragorn’s face. Why is he frowning? Why does he appear concerned?

“You know my name but I’m afraid I do not know yours,” says Éomer, his face slightly tilted toward your own.

You give it casually and Éomer blanches. He knows that name. He knows who you are.

For the time he’s known Aragorn, Éomer has heard the stories from others, never from the man himself. He keeps you secret, not leaning into the tales told about you. You are his sister, the elder but not by much. But you are not soft and delicate, or so Éomer has been told.

You are daring. Adventurous. A fierce warrior and Ranger. You wield sword and bow with gracefulness and deadly aim. Éomer had heard that the Rangers came during the battle, but he did not see you. Then again, Éomer was far too busy trying to keep himself and his fellow Rohirrim alive.

The image he built of you in his head does not match the woman before him. The way you match his every step and how your hands feel against him, all speak to gentler things. Before him is a sweet and soft woman, but as he peers closer, Éomer notices the subtle shifts of your movements. There is a warrior’s grace to the fluidity of your body against his and with every leading step.

There is power within you along with the soft.

Éomer’s heart suddenly snags, stuttering before becoming a pounding drumbeat. When you turn your smile back to him all coherent thought leaves his brain except one.

She’d be a fierce queen.

The music swells and then melts away, and you release Éomer to step back and bow deeply. Éomer mimics the movement. When the two of you straighten, it is at the exact same time, and then you step far too close for a stranger.

“This is where we part,” you murmur, soft lips forming the words yet also sending Éomer’s brain into a foggy scramble.

You incline your head and begin to draw away. Like a lightning strike, Éomer moves into the space you just occupied, snatching your wrist to pull you close.

Your lips part in surprise, chest heaving slightly. Éomer’s gaze drops to the exposed tops of your breasts.

“This is where we part,” he repeats, gaze returning to your face. “For now.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @berarenado @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics @beebeechaos

[eomereadigg]

“Now is the hour! Riders of Rohan! Oaths you have taken, now fulfill them all, to lord and land!”

[eclecticqueennerd]

Masterlist

Welcome and thank you for visiting my Tumblr page. Below is a list of works that I have posted for your enjoyment. Have a swell day!

Started: 7/17/23

Last Updated: 11/23

Total Works for The Boys: 23 (some stories pending)

The Boys- Confessions

*An AU but not too far off from what we are familiar with. Becca doesn't exist and Reader has a secret that she hasn't told anyone. this is my first fanfic on Tumblr*

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Butcher Soldier Boy Y/n ending

Forge of the Heart- LOTR

*Reader is an Asgardian and joins the Fellowship. Asgardians in this AU are not as strong as they are in their respective universes (for example Thor summoning lightning, Loki teleporting/shape-shifting), but do have the power of strength, immortality, and profound fighting skills. *

*Prologue*

One Shots- The Boys

Game Night

Shark Week

Bad Dream

Bad Idea Right?

Why Me?

Headcanons- The Boys

Butcher as a Girl Dad

Soldier Boy as a Girl Dad

Homelander as a Girl Dad

Zoo Date w/ The Boys

The Boys Reimagined as Dog Breeds

The Boys- DND Edition

Baldurs Gate 3

Last updated: 7/9/24

My Tav- Emmy

Cat-tastrophe

Gale Dekarios- Wedding Bells

Gale Dekarios - Elminsters not around, might as well

Impulsive Thoughts

[sotwk]

*Crashes into your ask box*

Please, I'm begging

The salvaged letter, wh- what happened 🥺

OOOOOH GIRL. COME SIT.

That ficlet, "A Salvaged Letter" is actually just my half of a silly game a delicious intrigue @scyllas-revenge and I cooked up. You can read "Reader's" amazing response, written by Scylla, HERE.

I do hope to continue this mysterious epic romance with another chapter or two of "Salvaged Letter" (collabing with Scylla if she's still willing), but I'm so glad you liked what you've read, and thank you so much for always being ready to Simp with me!!! <3 <3 <3

We are ALLLLL suckers for angsty, passionate Eomer. We should have fun with it!!!

[tvertimot]

Éomer x OC - Deep down

LOTR imagine - chapter 2

Chapter One

Éomer was sitting on a chair next to the fireplace, a cup of ale in his hand, deep down in his thoughts again. 

He wandered around a very dangerous neighborhood of his mind, the one that he very rarely visited, much rather pretend that those memories did not exist. But they have and whether he liked it or not they had an impact on him. He started to think once again if he was being a good king. How did it even happen that he was one. Well, first his cousin died, then his uncle. But that was not true. The first who died was his father. And then his mother. 

He tried so hard to be brave. To be strong for his sister and to be a proud, brave Rohirrim. But he was a child. As much as he would like to forget he remembered every single minute of that day.

-Your highness? - a knock on the door and an anxious call of his servant brought him back to the present. 

-Hmm - was all he managed to get out of  his throat before taking another sip.

-Lord Dúngar sends his notes from today's meeting.

Yes, please leave them there - he waved lazily in the direction of a wooden table on his right. 

Once the servant was gone he took a final sip of his ale and stood up. 

He read through the notes. Ohhh so that was the plan he just agreed to earlier on. Nice. Planned for the next session: enforcement of the western border, possible alliances, marriage. Hmm ok sounds reasonable. WAIT WHAT?! 

Éomer stumbled, lost his balance for a moment and hit  hard with a side of his thigh on the edge of the wooden table. 

What marriage? His marriage? With whom? 

He felt a big purple bruise forming on his thigh. But he did not care about this. What he cared about was that his council was planning on arranging his life for him. And that the first thing that came to his mind when he saw the word ‘marriage’ was lady Nartíhl.

Oh boy, he was indeed deep down in.

Chapter 3

[dreamlandcreations]

Arranged marriage

So, about this arranged marriage thing with Éomer...

So should Reader be a softy or more on the grumpy side?

[whiskawaybelf]

Little excerpt from Chapter 7

He knocked once and heard the sounds of fabric and feet, she didn’t bother to peek through and see who knocked, she knew the only person who would bother with the new servant. 

“You’re settled comfortably?” Éomer leaned against the door. Other than her time as a princess he had never seen her in a dress. It had looked wrong when she dressed in finery, with her hair braided and jewellery glinting in the sun. Now she just looked softer, the thick dress added curve to her edges, her tight braid was loose, she was clean. It did not look wrong, this version of her, but it did not look exactly right either, it would take adjusting to. For both of them.

“I’m not sure you want a real answer to that question, I think you want an answer that would make you feel right in bringing me here.”

“It was right.”

“Then it was right,” her tone was dismissive and Éomer tried not to take it badly. He would hate to be hidden in her castle, surely a princess would have one, and servitude there would anger him. But he saved her life again, whether she would admit it or not. He tried not to feel entitled to her gratitude. 

“It will take time to adjust,” he finally said, very diplomatically. 

“I won’t be here long, that is what we decided. I don’t need to adjust, only to get through it.”

“This is not the worst of your tribulations, not even close. You might try not to hate it. For my sake if not your own.”

She nodded and took a step back, letting him into her tiny room. It felt like he barely fit, “I don’t hate it. It could be much worse.” 

“High praise indeed,” it was easier now. She was trying and that’s all he needed.

“Your people love their lord, that bodes well for you.” 

“Does it?” his frustration became amusement, it often did with her. She said the things he expect and then she surprised him, each time getting a little deeper under the skin to avoid.

“Your maids are all in love with you, that must feel nice,” her wicked grin flashed as she turned away, meaning it in every way it was possible to mean it and finding herself very funny, “Where are your wives, Éomer?”

“You have left your kindness at the forest, Little Bird, I miss it already.” 

“I don’t need to be kind to you,” she looked over her shoulder and that same grin was there, “I’m not a maid.” 

He wasn’t sure how to answer that, he didn’t need to, which was perhaps her real kindness. She came back to him with a pendant and a ring. 

“Keep this safe for me. It is my name and my title.”

“No one will steal from you here.”

“No, but still. If it is seen, it would announce me. If something should happen it would let my father know.”

“I promised you safety.” 

“Yes, but I have little sense, you’ve said it before. Perhaps servitude will be the end of me.”

Éomer grinned then, shook his head, “I should not expect gratitude from you.” 

“Don’t make me a maid,” Lothíriel said, her eyes still wicked, “Or I’ll know why you really brought me here.” 

“Goodnight, Lothíriel,” he said with a little shake of his head, “try to sleep.” 

[eclecticqueennerd]

This is fantastic! I love it and I hope there is a part 2. Keep up the great work 😃

Blue Moon

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (movies) Ship/Pairing: Eomer x Reader (one mention of reader wearing a dress) Trope: Noble x Humble worker Note: IT’S SOTWK’s FAULT. We talked about Eomer’s hands and here we are. The title « Blue Moon » is a reference to the song « Blue Moon », my favourite rendition being sung by Ella Fitzgerald. Warnings: Horses? Word count: 1 595 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

There was something hypnotising about his hands.

The way his palm moved along the planes of the horse’s back. They were delicate. Deliberate in their care for the animal. Several times today, you had caught your gaze lingering a little too long on his slender fingers and their dexterity. Several times you had wondered what they’d feel like against your skin, in your hair weaving braids during a quiet evening. Those were fairy tales. You did not dwell on them, even when it kept you up at night; heat clinging to your skin, the chilly wind doing nothing to help your wandering mind.

It seemed to appease his uneasy nature to come here. He would go in the early hours of the day, only to come back in the middle of the morning. To the outside world, he was a leader. Someone they could trust and follow into depths unknown. Here, he was only Eomer. You considered yourself lucky to have witnessed both.

Others were concerned by his willingness to spend so much more time with you instead of them. You had dismissed them easily enough, but the thought had lingered. Why was he only asking you to help him? A bucket, water, hay, a brush for the horse’s mane. You were not willing to fathom an answer, especially if it was the wrong one. Seeing him like this it made you happy enough. You were content with this, whatever this was.

From time to time, he would ask about your day and you would always answer the same things. Fine and good. Excellent, perfect or grand. Never would you have said what you wanted to say. That it was him who made those days fine, and good and excellent and perfect and grand. Until meeting him, working with horses had been your life’s dream, and you were fulfilled by it. When he was there, you weren’t so sure anymore. It felt as if all of him was completing what you had and did not know you were missing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Barely above a whisper, his question lingered in the air between the two of you, almost as if he had not meant to ask it aloud. He was still working his fingers through the hair, looking beyond the horse’s back, away from you. If he had looked at you, you could have traced a lingering hint of a pinkish hue on his cheeks.

A chilly breeze rose, and you had to tighten the cloth around your shoulder, crossing your arms close to your chest.

“Nothing important, Sire.”

A laugh echoed through the wooden box around you.

“Then why are you boring a hole in my skull with your staring?”

Your cheek felt warmer than they had been moments ago.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, sire. If you need me to go, I… — No. Stay.”

Eomer had not meant for his voice to grow this loud. Nor to turn around so abruptly. The nerves in him, electrified by your eyes, led him to act so.

It had grown almost suddenly, this affection he had for you. First, you were something to behold. Once he discovered your face, your features, the way you moved and talked, he only ever wanted you to be near him when the mask fell off. When he could be himself and not who he was supposed to be. Second, you never pressured him into talking, going silent for hours on end, just being there with him and Lia. She was not his usual horse. He preferred not to overexert Firefoot, especially after the events he had seen on the battlefields. You were the one to care for her when he could not, even before he started mounting her. The mare had a gentler temper, dark robe and larger body. She adored you and if instincts served him right, animals were always the true tellers of someone’s nature. Thirdly, and lastly, your presence calmed him like no one else could. Except when you were threatening to leave. Or when you were looking at him, behind his back. He never wanted you to stop looking at him like that. When your eyes were observing and kind on him, his weary body and his weary mind, he felt that he could take on another thousand wars just to find you here again, safe and sound, watching him. He only hoped you could say the same about him.

“As you wish, Sire.”

The goosebumps on your arms and the way you protected yourself from the cold struck him then. With the winds of winter approaching, the weather had gone incredibly cold, and you were only wearing a thin linen above your usual dress and robes. He stepped out of the box, coming closer to you as he’d ever been. He grabbed for a cover lying around. Those were used for the horses but they’d have to do. He wrapped it around you, as tight as he could. It smelled of the stables and hay. A hint of pink shattered across his cheekbones in the morning lights. Your breaths were leaving your lips in hot clouds between you. The way he settled his palms on your shoulders, securing the cloth around you, drove a whole different kind of shiver down your spine. You could feel his fingers over the fabric, his overexerted hands catching some threads, before he took them off you, gently. You could not help the sharp inhale you took when he did.

“Would not want you freezing to death on my account.”

His smile did not reach his eyes, but you felt the warmth it procured you down to your toes. At a loss for words, you smiled in return, trying to hide your face. Your arms were still secured against your chest but your heart was not as protected as you had hoped it would be.

In a thoughtless step, Eomer leaned down and brought his lips to your cheek. He could feel the burn of them under his skin. The way you looked up at him, bewildered and hopeful, brows knitted together in confusion, only made his mouth ache for more. Still, he would not do it unless you said so. He had already overstepped and behaved un-gallantly enough. Hence his surprise when he found your hands gripping at his lapel, obviously not willing to let him go. A soft curve graced his mouth, a pleasant feeling growing in him.

“Can I…?”

Your vigorous nodding let him know exactly what he wanted. Only then did he pull you closer, his hands drawing you in, the warmth you felt from his lips and the tenderness with which his fingers nestled against your jaw below your ears, enough to make you forget about the world around. Delicately, his mouth danced with yours, eager to please and swift to do so. Soon, his wide hand drew you in, pulling you at the waist. Your fingers met his heart through cloth and flesh and bones, beating in a rhythm only known to you both.

“I…”

You bit your lip while you could see him observing you through hooded eyes, his fingertips sending shivers down your arms. He was tracing the hollow of your cheek with his knuckles, leaving you breathless once more. He looked as if he had seen the most marvellous creature in the entire world. You could not believe it was you on the other end of that fantasy.

“I… do not know what to say… I… — Then you don’t need to say anything.”

His fingers found their way down the length of your throat. He looked positively charmed, yet you pulled back, hesitant. What if this had been… just a fling? Just something he could do, just because he wanted to. No other reason. No feelings involved. What if he was playing with you?

“I will. — What?”

He chuckled at your incredulous expression.

“I will say something. — Oh.”

He brought you back to him again, kissing your cheek.

“I…” He kissed your nose. “…will never…” your other cheek. “…ever…” Your fingertips now. “…let you…” This was getting on your nerves and he knew it, smirking behind your hand. “…be seen by anyone else but me, in this state.”

The last words murmured against your cheek, to the shell of your ear, elicited a burning anticipation deep in your bones.

“My King, I would never ever let anyone but me see you in this state. — I don’t think anyone had ever really seen me before you.”

His candid answer surprised you. In a tender caress, he stroked your back through the fabrics of your clothes, not thick enough to keep his touch at bay. A thumb ventured below your breast, too close to be accidental. You inhaled sharply.

“And I will never let anyone else see me like this. If you’ll have me, of course.”

His declaration hit your heart at an arrow’s speed.

“You really mean that? I’m not just a… — You’re not just anything. You are the world and beyond. You are everything. I hope to be everything to…”

Before he could finish, you pulled him down for another kiss. This one arousing and passionate; desires trapped, finally meeting in the middle.

“I will. I absolutely will.”

A heartbeat passed in his arms, trying to keep your hands to yourselves.

“You were asking me to… — … court and eventually marry you? Yes. And you said yes, you cannot take it back now.”

Your laughter rang through him as it rang through the stables, enlightening the new day ahead.

[elvish-sky]

ok first of all CONGRATUALTIONS ON 1000 FOLLOWERS 🎉🎉🎉🎈YOU DESERVE ALL OF THEM AND SO MUCH MORE!!! WE'RE SO PROUD OF YOU!!

Is it alright if I request a 💙 for Eomer x reader with the third prompt “Everyone knows you’re lying."

Ok, Wow, He’s Very Hot {Éomer x Reader}

A.N: Thank you!!! I’m so excited and grateful!!! Ok wow, writing something in ten minutes was honestly sooo much harder than I expected, but it was so much fun!! I think I’ll do this more often. I was typing sooo fast to get this to like a good conclusion, and I honestly like it so that’s good. Also, like if I can write almost 500 words in ten minutes- why does it take me so long to write fics?! Maybe I should work with a timer more… Anyways, I hope you love this!

Word Count: 436

*****

You walked down the hallway with your friend Eowyn, chatting as you made your way to the training courtyard.

It was after the War of the Ring, the crowning of Eomer as King of Rohan had opened up so many new pathways for women. Eowyn was now a healer, betrothed to Faramir of Gondor and visiting home for a few weeks, and you were training to become a soldier in the armies of Rohan.

You approached the large wooden doors, slamming your shoulder into them to heave them open.

The sight that greeted you in the courtyard was not unpleasant- although Eowyn did shudder and mutter “Ew.”

Eomer, King of Rohan, was sparring, shirtless with one of his guards. The sweat glistened on his torso as his long hair flowed down his back. You could see the muscles rippling under his skin as he went on the attack, fighting with his favorite battleax that he so rarely got to use.

You jumped as Eowyn elbowed you, startling you.

“Everyone knows you’re lying, Y/N.” She said.

You glanced at her, puzzled. “Lying about what?”

“Loving him.”

“WHAT?! I don’t love Eomer! You’re crazy,” You told her.

A smirk spread across Eowyn’s face.

“What?” you asked wildly, head twisting every which way to see the source of her amusement.

She pointed. “Seems like your little outburst drew some attention,” she said, then withdrew into the shadows.

You turned, puzzled, to see Eomer making a beeline for you.

He was still very much shirtless.

You gulped.

“Y/N, I couldn’t help but overhear you.”

“Yeah! Because she was yelling loud enough for Faramir to hear all the way in Gondor!” Eowyn called out.

Eomer glowered at her. “Not helping!!!”

She smirked again. “Ok, sorry, sorry. Carry on!”

Eomer continued, “And while you did say you didn’t love me, you denied it so vehemently that I had to suspect that you weren’t being entirely truthful.”

You shuffled your feet, even more embarrassed than you were five minutes ago.

“So, I was wondering if you might let me kiss you. Just a test,” Eomer told you.

You nodded.

He drew closer, and you were still extremely aware of the fact that he was shirtless. But hey, you weren’t complaining!

Especially not as he grabbed your waist with one hand, drawing you close to his body as his other hand rested at the back of your neck, kissing you with what seemed like years of pent-up passion.

Eowyn wolf-whistled from behind you.

You elected for a non-verbal retort, as your mouth was rather occupied, and flipped her off behind Eomer’s back.

****

Everything tag: @entishramblings @itgetsatadhazy @boyruins @anjhope1 @kumqu4t @katbby16 @thewhiteladyofrohan @kirstenscaffeinateddisaster @beenovel @shethereadinghobbit @guardianofrivendell @hey-its-nonny

[gloomwitchwrites]

Burnt Bread

Éomer x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: fluff, physical & emotional hurt/comfort, family issues, established relationship, alcohol

Word Count: 2.4k

After being left to fend for yourself in your father's bakery, you end up making a massive mistake that earns his ire. Fleeing, you find comfort with the one person who you're utterly safe with.

A/N: Dedicated to @firelightinferno

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“I’m leaving. Watch the shop.”

You glance up from the sticky dough beneath your hands and find your father near the door. He sways on his feet slightly as he attempts to tug on his coat. “I’m leaving” is just another way of telling you that he’s off to drink, and by the look and smell of him, he’s already started for the day.

It wasn’t always like this, and it’s only become worse over the years. Following your mother’s death, your father’s reliance on mead has become a crutch, a vessel for his loneliness. It doesn’t matter that you are alive and here for him.

While you don’t entirely resent him for falling into this state, the frequency of it does worry you. Worse, it’s driving a wedge in your relationship with him. He’s becoming distant and detached. His frequent disappearances leave you alone to take care of the shop and everything that goes along with it. It’s not difficult, and you enjoy the work, but when the shop is busy, you can’t always keep an eye on things.

You’re starting to grow tired of this, and you don’t want to feel resentful of your father. You’ve always loved him, even on the days when he comes home stumbling.

“For how long?” you ask flatly, trying not to sound upset that he’s departing yet again. This is the fifth day in a row your father has left the shop in the morning to drink. You fail, a little indignation creeping into your tone.

Your father hears it because he scowls in your direction. “Don’t know,” he mutters, as he teeters toward the door.

There is no final goodbye or backward glance. The shop door slams shut, and tears begin to form in the lower lids of your eyes. Brushing them away with the back of your hand only dusts your cheeks with floor.

This constant distance is tiring.

Putting all your frustration into kneading the dough on the table, a little bit of that steam begins to cool. Once you’ve had enough, and your arms ache, you cut and shape the dough, setting it aside to rise.

The bell above the door rings as the first customer of the day steps inside. And then it begins.

This is why you miss your father in the mornings. Everyone loves seeing your face. They appreciate your kind smile and helpful attitude. Most days, your father is nursing a hangover and keeps to himself, leaving you to take care of everyone that walks in. But without him, you’ll need to do both.

The front of the shop quickly packs with people. You’re so busy taking orders and wrapping bundles of freshly baked bread, that at first you don’t smell the slight hint of char in the air. It’s only when you finish helping a customer that you catch a whiff of it.

The older woman’s nose crinkles in confusion, and while she says nothing, her reaction gives you pause. Inhaling, you consider the scents in the shop, grouping them into different categories. There’s sugar, butter, and—

Your eyes widen, and then you’re rushing to the large stone oven at the back of the shop. “Oh no. No no no no.” Grabbing the large, wood paddle off the wall, you hurriedly scoop up and toss the bread onto the nearby table.

Some are perfectly toasted but others, like the ones closest to the fire, are charcoal. You slide the paddle in and retrieve a loaf that is entirely on fire. In your surprise, the paddle and bread fall to the floor.

They both clatter loudly and you drop to your knees, using your apron to smother the burning bread. The tears fall easily, and the heat from the apron is hot and irritating, but you put it out. You’re so absorbed in trying to salvage what you can, that you don’t realize where the wide part of the paddle is.

Your hand goes out and connects with it. You jump back with a light cry, cradling your palm. The paddle is wood and not metal, which is some comfort, but your left hand is throbbing.

The bell above the door rings, and you glance up, eyes wide and frightened like a deer.

“What is this?” comes the sneering voice.

Your father is back, and you can smell the sourness from here. He half-sways, half-limps around the counter to where you’re kneeling. His pupils are wide, and he has to lean on the countertop for support. That yellow gaze roams over you, to the burnt bread on the floor, and then back to you again.

“You stupid girl,” he whispers. Then, much louder. “You stupid stupid girl!”

This is the part of him you dislike the most. When he’s deep in his cups, all kindness is gone.

“I’m so sorry, father. We were busy and I didn’t realize—”

“Do you know how much you’ve cost us? This is two dozen loaves.” He picks one up and throws it at your face. His aim is terrible and completely off. All you have to do is bend a bit and it sails right over your head.

“Father—”

“Do you do this to me on purpose?”

“Father. Please—”

“Every day I have to look upon your face and see your mother. A daily reminder that she is gone!”

“Please,” you beg softly, staring down at your hands.

“Get out!”

You bolt up and rush out the door, nearly knocking over an elderly woman about to walk inside. You run and run until you pass through the gates of Edoras, stopping only when you make it to the burial mounds of the kings. You fall to your knees and then onto your back, staring up into the sky.

It’s morning, but overcast, the clouds a stormy gray like they’re ready to cry and join you in your sorrow.

There is only one person who could give you comfort, but he is not here. He is gone, expected back today but you’re not sure when. Even if you were to wait for him, you’re in no state to greet him. Éomer should see you happy when he returns, not tear-stained.

No one holds vigil at the burial mounds. This will be your respite. This will be your chance to slow your racing heart and dry your eyes. Once you’re calm, once you’re no longer wishing to flee from this place, you’ll hold vigil at the gates until Éomer arrives. Going back to the shop to face your father is out of the question.

The grass is a soft bed beneath you. Closing your eyes, you press your hands against the earth, splaying your fingers wide, focusing on the individual blades of grass under your palms. This will be your anchor until you can find a bit of peace.

“What are you doing on the ground?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head to the right, meeting the amused smile of the man you love.

“Éomer,” you breathe, sitting up to grab at the front of his leather armor. It doesn’t matter that your hands sting, you pull him down onto you wanting his closeness.

His gentle laugh is perfect, and when your mouths meet, everything slips away. Éomer settles between your legs, his forearm resting by your head while his other hand reaches back to grab. He meets bare thigh, and the contact is exactly what you need.

Éomer is real and whole and with you.

The kisses that start with soft excitement quickly become deep and heated. There is a slight harsh bite to his breathing as the two of you presses closer. Your hands slide up to wrap around the back of his neck, but as they crest over the lip of his armor, the tender flesh on your palm screams out.

Hissing, you draw back, clutching at your hand.

Éomer stills and then pulls away from your lips. His head tips downward, glimpsing the burn before you can hide it from view.

“What happened?” he asks, his tone tipping toward concern.

“It’s nothing,” you murmur, as the memory of your father comes roaring back.

“It’s not nothing,” he replies firmly, his brow creasing. “Show me.”

Slowly, you unfurl your fingers, revealing your palm. Of everyone in your life, Éomer is the safest.

Éomer’s mouth forms into a deep frown as he clutches your wrist, drawing your hand closer to his face as he inspects the burn. “Did someone do this to you?”

You shake your head. “No. Just grabbed some hot bread. That’s all.”

Éomer sees right through you. “You’ve been crying.”

“It hurts.”

Éomer sighs, gently guiding your hand down to your chest. When he releases your wrist, Éomer reaches out to trace the backs of his knuckles against your cheekbone. “You can tell me if it was your father.”

When the tears start to accumulate in your eyes again, Éomer leans in and lowers his voice. “Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head. “Not with his fists.”

Éomer’s exhalation is shaky, like he’s trying to calm his own anger. “You’re coming with me.”

“Éomer—”

“You are coming with me,” he repeats. “We will talk, and I will tend to these burns.” When you open your mouth to argue, Éomer shakes his head. “Don’t be stubborn.”

He slowly sits back on his heels and helps you come to sitting. Then he’s on his feet, bringing you with him. Éomer;s horse, Firefoot, grazes nearby.

Éomer’s hands lightly brush away the blades of grass that cling to your skirts. “Would you like to walk or ride back?”

You love Firefoot dearly, but you’d rather take your time arriving to Edoras’ gates. You’re still not calm, and a slow walk with Éomer at your side might just help you find some peace.

“Could we walk?”

He nods. “If that is what you wish.”

Éomer leads Firefoot by the bridle with one hand, and with the other, he clasps yours. He does not push or dig around, but instead moves at the pace you set. Éomer knows your signals without you having to say anything. Instead of inquiring about your father or what happened, he talks about his time away. It gives you a chance to shift mindsets, to focus on him and nothing else.

When the two of you are in his private room, Éomer guides you over to the hearth. He lays out a small nest of furs and gently helps you down on them, taking care not to accidentally brush against the burn. Once you’re seated, Éomer moves to a far corner of the room to remove his weapons and a few heavy pieces of armor. Then he comes back to you, sitting beside you in front of the fire.

“Show me your hands.” Reluctantly, you present them. Éomer frowns down at them. “Tell me again your father didn’t do this to you.”

“He didn’t. I promise.”

Éomer sighs heavily and his hands wrap around your wrists. He gently guides your hands closer, inspecting the burn. It’s only on your left hand, and Éomer slowly releases the one that’s fine. “I’ll have someone fetch some ointment for this and bandages.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is. I’ll take care of it.”

You snort and Éomer’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “Think I’m incapable?”

“A strong warrior like you capable of such tenderness?” you tease.

His smile softens. “What about all the times I’ve been tender with you?”

Your cheeks heat with the memory. “Not in that way,” you mutter, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“Would you prefer that as well?”

“Perhaps later,” you breathe, heart quickening in your chest.

Éomer lifts your wrist to his mouth, placing a kiss on the pulse point. “I’ll return shortly.”

When Éomer acquires the correct ointment and bandages, he sets to work. He cleanses his hands, scrubbing his nails and between his fingers before he begins. Then, with purposeful slowness, Éomer lifts the injured hand and begins rubbing the ointment into the surface-level burns. They likely won’t blister but they’ll sting for a week or more.

Once the ointment is applied, he unwraps the bandages, guiding it over and around your hand to keep the ointment in place. He ties off the extra and cuts it off with a clean blade, tucking the little bit left into the wrappings. Éomer is overly cautious but it’s sweet.

He is always so gentle with you.

“You spoil me,” you murmur.

“I enjoy it,” he replies, turning your hand over to double-check his work.

A soft sadness creeps in. “One day you won’t.”

Éomer glances up. “How so?”

You shrug as if the words don’t mean anything. “You’ll marry a princess. She’ll beautiful and fair. The people will love her.”

Éomer shakes his head. “Why would I ever want such a thing when I have one right here.”

“Don’t tease.”

“I’m not.” Éomer kisses your fingers and gently guides your hand to your lap. In a move so delicate it momentarily steals your breath, Éomer cups your cheek and leans in close. “All I ever want. All I ever need. Is right here.”

Éomer stands before the back door of the shop your father owns. He’s still fuming, but not nearly as much as when he saw your hand. For some time, Éomer has wanted to give this man a piece of his mind. You are precious, and more importantly, you don’t deserve his ire.

The man is a drunk, and everyone knows it. Most show him pity because it all started with the death of his wife—your mother. But that was many years ago, and any pity Éomer felt for the man has long since evaporated.

Squaring his shoulders, Éomer pounds on the door like he’s trying to splinter the wood.

You are still in Éomer’s chambers, curled up in the pile of furs he created in front of the fire. You are sacred to him, the woman he wants above all things. One day, you will be his, and will no longer have to answer to your father.

The drunkard swings open the door. “What?” he growls before he realizes who stands before him.

His eyes widen, and he straightens up, smoothing out the rumbled apron. He fumbles over his words and Éomer holds up a single hand, silencing the man.

“I’m not interested in excuses.” Éomer takes a step into the shop, towering over the man. “If I ever see her in tears again because of you, understand that my next visit will be much less pleasant. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

Éomer wants to stay more, but he draws back his rage. He nods curtly, and exits, only wanting to return to you.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

[arsenic-catnep]

Hello! Could you please write some headcanons for Aragorn, Faramir, Eomer and Frodo with a s/o whose love language is making them things? Like randomly making them art, poems, cooking and baking things for them and generally showing their love through making things for them? For instance, the only way I know how to flirt is by drawing people and showing it to them, and I love cooking and baking things for the people I love! Thank you so so much, happy holidays! Wishing you the best hun :)

I am so bad with Aragorn and Faramir's characterization so I apologize if it's bad 😅

Aragorn

Is very familiar with this type of love language. Elves use this type of love language often and being raised by them gave him the opportunity to get used to it and reciprocate the favor.

Absolutely adores the gifts he receives, whether it's art, writing, baked goods etc. He appreciates all of it and will thank his lover with words of affirmation or a kiss if they allow.

Very proud to show off what they made to everyone he can. Boasting about his beloved's skills and kindness.

Faramir

He's so appreciative of the gifts he receives. Always surprised when he gets them, but thankful nonetheless.

He will treasure his gifts and be very protective over them, they have a special place in his room.

No one is allowed to touch them, and if they ask where the gifts are from he will get a bit flustered and tell the person it's none of their business.

Eomer

He can't help but smile when he receives the homemade gifts. He knows how much time and effort goes into things like this and is very thankful.

Has a habit of returning the favor by making gifts of his own, particularly carved wooden figures or even just a bouquet of wildflowers he had picked.

Eomer holds each and every one of the gifts in high regard and proudly displays them around his home.

Frodo

Frodo has received gifts like this his whole life, though it's different when they come from his lover.

He's more appreciative, and it gives him butterflies in his tummy when he receives them. He keeps their gifts in his room, in small trunk under his bed.

He treasures these gifts and would hate to have them broken, or ruined in some way so he keeps them safe. Pulling out the gifts before bed sometimes and smiles as the familiar butterflies come back.

[eclecticqueennerd]

Forge of the Heart

*Prologue*

You were sent, along with your older brothers Thor and Loki, to the Council of Elrond on your father, King Odin’s, behalf. While at the Council, you were met with odd stares, especially by the men of Gondor. You took the interaction as one of curiosity, not many have seen an Asgardian, let alone an Asgardian woman. That was until you heard whispers of how a woman was accepted into the discussion chambers and how it may ‘scar your fragile mind”. Before you could speak out on your behalf, Aragorn, a Ranger you had met a handful of times in your travels, spoke,

“That is y/n Odinsdottir. She deserves respect as much as you would show her kin.” You turn your head to Aragorn and give him a nod, he nods back. You take your seat and wait for the meeting to begin. Elrond took his seat and started the meeting. It was about a matter of great importance, what to do with the One Ring. Many shared their opinions, a few of which came from your eldest brother Thor.

“I agree with you Thor Odinson. The ring must be destroyed.” Elrond proclaimed. You looked around the chamber, collections of elves, dwarves, and men all looked around at each other undecided about what to do next. Suddenly, a dwarf with auburn hair and beads in his beard leaps up out of his seat and reaches for his battle axe.

“Then what are we waiting for?” The dwarf, you’d come to know later as Gimli, wields his axe above his head and drives it onto the pedestal on which the ring lay. His weapon shatters as he himself goes flying backward. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the young hobbit, Frodo, keel over and grasp his head.

“The ring cannot be destroyed Gimli, son of Gloin, by any craft we here possess. The ring was forged in the fires of Mount Doom, only there it can be unmade.” Elrond spoke eloquently. An uproar began in the chamber of who would be the one to take the ring to Mordor. Men, you thought as you rolled your eyes, they always bicker and never come to a resolution. Even your brother Thor joined in on the squabble while you and Loki watched.

“I will take it!” a small voice echoed out. Everyone in the chamber continued quarreling but it caught your attention. The voice became louder as the one who spoke stood up and approached Elrond’s chair. “I will take the ring to Mordor!” Frodo. Those around quieted down and began staring at the halfling. “Though, I do not know the way.” Then, one by one members of the council offered their services to escort the hobbit to his destination. Your brothers, Thor and Loki, watched as the brave members stood in an assembly line next to the halfling while you were waiting for one of your kin to offer their support. But it never came. Fed up with the lack of incentive to help, you stood up from your chair and approached Frodo,

“I will serve you as best I can Master Baggins.” Standing next to the wizard named Gandalf, you glanced and saw Thors eyes, he was displeased.

“Oi! We’re coming too!” Two more hobbits came out from behind the pillars of the chamber. Merry and Pippin were their names.

“Besides you need someone of intelligence on this sort of mission… quest… thing!” You snickered quietly.

“Ten companions. So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”

*

“Sister, do you understand the gravity of the mission you have signed up for?” Thor's voice boomed through the stone halls as the three of you went to your assigned shared bed chambers.

“I understand there are risks brother.” You sigh, readying your belongings for travel.

“Then perhaps you should rethink this. Come back home instead.”

“And break my vow to Frodo? My honor will not allow it! Besides, neither of you offered your aid, someone from Asgard had to represent.”

“Father will be furious. He told us to only observe.”

“Really Thor, must you always do what Father tells you?”

“As the eldest and next in line for the throne, yes I will do what our king tells us.”

“Even when it’s against your beliefs?” You face your brother, hands on your hips giving him a defiant stare. Loki chortles as he watches from the sidelines. When it came to personality, you were a mix of the two brothers. You are loyal to those you care about, headstrong, and always up for creating mischief. Being the youngest of King Odin's three children, your brothers always teased you were father's favorite and claimed you got away with a lot. Thor, married to Lady Jane, next in line for the throne, had to uphold the responsibility that came with that title. Loki married his longtime friend, Sylvie, you’d swear they were the same person with how similar in personality they were. You? You either declined or ran off every suitor that came calling. Your mother and Queen, Frigga, always badgering you about making your debut in high Asgardian society, you were repulsed by the idea. You would not be caught dead with any pompous dukes that could not spar worth a damn. Nor would you change for any man, they would either accept you for who you were or they were sent packing.

“Brother, you know as well as I we cannot change y/n’s mind. She is as stubborn as a mule. We’ve had our fill of adventures and glory, it’s time y/n to have hers as well.” Loki finally speaks, and he sets his hand on your shoulder. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. Promise me you’ll send a raven if you need help.” You smile at the second eldest and out of the corner of your eye, Thor shakes his head. You place your hands on both of his shoulders and say,

“Thor, I know you care. We’ve dueled countless times and you’ve said yourself that you pity the fool who crosses my path. Brunnehilde ensured that she personally trained me to be the best I could be before we left. Behind all the fury in your eyes, I see that you are scared. You have nothing to fear. I can do this.” Thor shifts his feet back and forth and then scoffs after a moment of silence.

“I do not get scared.” A smile spreads on his face and he grips you into a fierce hug, you hug him back with as much strength. While the three of you don’t always see eye to eye, there is no doubt that your brothers love you, and you them.

[sotwk]

Hey! I hope you're having a blast with your summer campfire event, it's such a cute idea!! You already wrote a very sweet love letter from Boromir for another ask, so I'll humbly request a love letter from Eomer instead! <3 (I'm an easy customer, my real-world love life is so garbage I'll be happy with anything lol) Happy birthday again!

Oooh girl. GIRRRRL. Have I got Tea to Serve.

Now I hate to be that busybody town gossip (oh who are we kidding, everyone in Edoras knows exactly what I am), but last night while I was picking up after them eored boys I saw the Marshal, yes that Marshal, toss a ripped and crumpled up sheet of paper into the fire. He'd spent the whole evening scowling and scribbling away at that thing, you'd think he'd forgotten his letters. (Personally, I didn't even think the man knew how to work a quill.)

Anyways, he must have been so frustrated and tired cause he missed his throw and you can bet I fished that lil' nugget up and stuck it in my pocket before anyone could see.

I know, I know, I could get in SO much trouble, he's the Marshal and he's probably got loads of army secrets and stuff to write about, but I could just TELL this wasn't anything business related. And OhMyBema my instincts were right, why do I ever even doubt myself?!

Anyhoo, I am just about halfway done taping the pieces back together like a Ravensburger 1,000-piece (boy was he mad at this letter!) but I can already tell it will be worth the loss of my eyesight. It's a letter FOR YOU, GIRL. AHHHH. I know. I know. And I TOLD YOU.

Once I'm done I'm gonna sneak it into your room--keep an eye on that letter box thingie you have on your desk. If you see a hot mess of a paper in it--it's not garbage! And neither is your love life because GIRL. GIRL.

I gotta go scream into a pillow now before I get back to the Scotch tape.

[tvertimot]

Éomer x OC - Deep down chapter 6

Chapter 5 | Masterlist

The self-pity walk and letting himself cry his pain out did in fact help Éomer, to his own surprise. The next day he woke up feeling much better and more confident. 

He was happy about his today’s fencing training, he hoped to find a few moments for a short ride outside Edoras and most of all the realisation finally hit him - he was going to get married. Well, he was still waiting for a confirmation, the legation was still on their way out and they were about to reach the destination the next day, leave alone coming back - that would be not sooner than next week. But he had a good feeling about it. The offer was indeed very tempting, it made sense for both sides and he really could not think of an argument that could make anyone reject it. 

He went on with all his daily duties, in a rather good mood, finally able to focus on what he was doing. 

Right after noon it was time for his training. He was always happy with any physical activities. He missed the times when it was all he did daily, especially now when most of his days were sitting, talking and thinking. All day long military training was tiring but it was nothing compared to the mental fatigue of ruling, at least for Éomer. 

After some light warm up he got into a sparring session with one of his soldiers.

He was struggling a bit to stay focused, as he was starting to feel anxious about this whole marriage thing - after all there was at least a few things that could go wrong and he really wanted to avoid firstly any kind of unnecessary conflict with his ally but also a personal embarrassment of being rejected. 

That was until his opponent took a big swing with his sword and hit him hard in the helmet. Eomer saw the sword approach his head in slow motion but his body was too slow to dodge the stroke. He heard a massive toll like he was inside of a bell. All went black for a moment and when the vision came back it was blurry. 

While Éomer tried to regain his balance he felt a huge and impetuous wave of anger taking over him. He yelled and attacked back with full force. He was led by rage. The outside world disappeared and all he could think of was revenge, taking down his opponent. The enemy. The metal was clanging, the fight was tight and finally Éomer found his opportunity to sweep his leg and trip the soldier on the ground.

Just as he moved his sword slowly near the opponent's throat the reality hit him back. It was not a duel, it was not a battle, he was not fighting for his life. He held his sword on the men’s neck and tried to catch his breath. 

For a brief moment the demons from the previous night gathered around his head. But he did not want to give up to them and he did not want his men to see this. He knew his whole unit and retinue was watching them. So he gave his opponent a mischievous smile in hope it would cover for this sudden increase of violence during this training sparring session. To Éomer’s big relief the men mirrored his smirk and let out a loud laugh. 

-Keeping us on our toes, my king.

Éomer offered the men a hand to help him stand up. 

He felt good. He felt strong. He felt powerful. 

It was time to once again store the emotions that swam their way up the night before where they belonged - deep down. 

Digging up the past was for women. Getting a grip of one’s self was for men.

Chapter 7