#eomer x you

[zepskies]

LOTR/THE HOBBIT MASTERLIST

(**Notes 18+ only and/or smut)

Aragorn

One-Shots:

One Promise After the battle at Helm’s Deep, you find it difficult to enjoy the victory feast. Aragorn notices your melancholy and tries to comfort you.

Eomer

One-Shots:

As Tradition Dictates** Your marriage to the Third Marshal of the Mark has been arranged, in the hopes of renewing political ties between Rohan and Gondor. The morning after the ceremony, your new husband continues to defy your expectations.

Thranduil

One-Shots:

Coming soon...

Haldir

One-Shots:

Coming soon...

Main Masterlist

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[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

[system-to-the-madness]

Not my King - Éomer x Reader

Pairing: Éomer x Rohirim!Reader(can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 2 213 Warnings: mentions of war and the Nazgul, Implied, that Reader joined the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Summary: While you keep wake at the fire throughout the night, Éomer joins you A/N: Part of the winter solstice event 2024

It had been well over half a year, since the ever approaching shadow in the south east had been banned. The darkness that crept now over the green lands of Rohan was of no evil making, but the sun’s seasons. Still, you felt a shiver run down your spine as you stood at the tops of the stairs that lead up to Meduseld, and watched darkness claim the land beyond the city gates, even though it was only early afternoon. It still felt unnatural, the same way any darkness felt unnatural now, ever since you had seen the Nazgul with their winged beasts. Even now, shivers ran down your spine when you had to walk alone at night and thought to see teeth emerge from deep shadows.

Shivering at the thought, you tore yourself away from dark memories. Tomorrow the days would grow longer again, you reminded yourself, but for now you had to guard the fire in the Golden Hall so it may not be extinguished during the longest night, when the shadows felt so much deeper than they usually did.

The door to the Hall suddenly swung open, music and cheering pouring out into the twilight, making you flinch. The feast was in full swing, and you were standing out here alone, drowning in dark thoughts!

Shaking yourself loose, you tore your eyes away from the mountains behind which the sun had sunken and slipped through the closing door into the Hall.

The air inside was heavy with the smell of wooden fire and roasted meat, spilled beer and drunken songs. The shortest day of the year demanded celebration until late into the night, so the nights knew to grow shorter again. For many years the old tradition had not been held under the evil spell the white wizard had cast over the former king. Now the current king, Éomer, had brought that tradition back to life.

King. 

You almost snorted at the thought. What a king he was.

It was easy, as always to spot Éomer in the crowd of drinking and celebrating men, his hair the fairest, his voice the loudest, his cheer the brightest. Had you not known him as well as you did, you might have respected him more, now that he was on the throne. But it was hard to take the man seriously, who as a boy had fallen face first into horse dung or been carried off by his mare through half the Riddermark.

The first time you had met him alone after his coronation, you had laughed into his face, at how ridiculous it was to have him of all people on the throne, and he might have been angered had these words been spoken by anyone but you. Instead, a rueful smile had graced his lips, and his dark eyes had glanced at you from under his lashes like a little boy's, who was embarrassed for an objectively failed project he was proud of nonetheless. 

Oh no, you had to stop thinking about this moment. Your heart grew all too soft at the memory of his gaze, or the way he had teasingly threatened he would need a queen one day and if you were not to stop mocking him, he might put that crown on your head just for revenge. It had been mockery; you were sure if it. But you were scared your reaction to the thought of getting to be married to Éomer might have been too honest for such jokes. Either he had not noticed or not cared because if anything the time he had spent with you from then on had not shortened but increased instead.

On evenings, when the wind was especially harsh, he had come to meet you by the fire, sharing a loaf of bread and stir-fried vegetables. But when the weather was fair, he had invited you for rides, challenging you for races and never taking a no for an answer.

"Any rider who faced the battle on the Pelennor Fields against their king's and their captain's will shall not turn down a race against me, don't you think?" And when you came back, hands red from the cold, he had taken them between his, rubbed warmth into them, and blown his hot breath against your skin to warm you.

Those were dangerous moments, when he was standing just close enough for you to lean over, press your lips to his and reveal that aching longing in your heart. You never had, but it had always been a hard fight. Especially when he had looked up at you again from underneath his black lashes with eyes as brown as one might imagine, seeming to beg you to close the distance. Maybe you would have, had he not been king. But he was, so you had not.

Now he was clicking his mug against those of his companions, face split into a wide smile, no care in the world seeming left on his shoulders, and you turned away, determined to not pay him any more thought on this night. An impossible task as it would prove.

-

The Golden Hall had calmed down long ago. The music and singing had ceased, the tables been freed of the weight of food stacked upon them. The people who had celebrated until late at night had retired, most of them more swaying than walking. Parents had carried children, who had spent the whole evening dancing and laughing, now asleep, to their beds, and two dogs had curled up by the fire which you were tasked to guard. Under no circumstances was it to go out or else bad fortune for the coming year would come over Rohan and the beings trapped in the shadows of the longest night would slither over, wreaking havoc in every city and village they would come across.

Why you had been chosen to protect Rohan through the fire in the Golden Hall tonight, you were not sure. In years long past, it had been Éowyn and you together, but with her having stayed in Gondor, it was your task alone now. A while ago your eyelids had gotten heavy, but one of the dogs' suddenly scratching behind his ear had woken you up again, and since then the thought, that failure in keeping the fire burning might lead to another encounter with a Nazgul, kept you more than awake. 

You had long lost all sense of time, only staring into the flickering flames and occasionally putting on more wood to keep the fire strong, so when you heard footsteps approach from one of the corridors, you almost assumed it was turning morning. But then the door got opened and the speed and force used told you it was Éomer, which in turn meant it was more likely late night than early morning.

"How's the fire going," he asked, walking over to where you were sitting wrapped in a blanket. 

"It's strong. The wood burns well this year," you told him, putting you head back to be able to look up at him. He was wearing a simple red tunic with gold and green embroidery, a pair of linen trousers and light shoes. His hair was freshly brushed and unbound, his beard neatly trimmed. From this angle he did look like a king, majestic and yet kind, the light of the fire dancing in his eyes as he looked down on you sitting at his feet.

"Why are you up," you wondered, "the night is late, shouldn't everyone have gone to bed long ago?"

"Sleep evaded me," Éomer answered, but you were not sure how much truth his words held. He did not look like someone who had spent hours tossing in bed, chasing dreams. His hair was too neatly brushed, his tunic too smooth.

Without another word Éomer sat down next to you, facing the fire, and grabbed an iron poker, moving around in the ashes that had gathered at the side of the fire pit.

"You can think why I tasked you to care for the fire tonight, can you not," he suddenly asked, his voice quiet, lacking the usual force behind his words.

"I cannot," you answered truthfully, "but I shall not complain. Guarding the fire is an honour and allows for relishing old memories."

You left it open, the implication that it was the memories of the nights you had stood guard by the fire with Éowyn, not the memories of the sword-like teeth of the winged creature you had encountered on the Pelennor Fields.

"Can you really not," Éomer wondered. 

"You know me, my lord," you laughed quietly. "If I knew, I would tell you with no hesitation."

Éomer turned to look at you, studying the play of light and shadow on your face, the warm light of the fire and the cool shadows of the night.

"It was a selfish act," he admitted, turning away again and fixing his eyes on the fire. "I was hoping to get us time, just the two of us, to talk. And then I spent the better half of the night pacing through my room with thoughts running wild in my head instead of facing you."

"Facing me," you echoed, furrowing your brows. "What kind of creature am I that I am to be faced?"

"The fairest of them all," Éomer answered without missing a beat, "the most beautiful being that has ever walked this earth. And not even Master Gimli shall be able to convince me the lady of the woods could ever be more beautiful than you are to me."

Surprised you blinked. Éomer had never been one for sweet words of praise, not when it came to you at least. His words towards you always used to be filled with jest and mirth. Was he jesting now? Your eyes flickered to your hands, rough from cold water and with rims of black under your nails from where you had cleaned your horse around noon. Beautiful he had called you, and even praised you above the fairest of the many races that populated Middle-earth.

"Whatever the punchline to this joke will be-"

"There is none," Éomer interrupted you. "None but my heart. I've known it for too long, and I wish I could have made my heart known earlier. There was fear, of what Wormtongue would do to you if he were to know the extent of my care for you. But since he has been cast out, it has been pure cowardice of your rejection that has kept my tongue from revealing my heart. When I saw you protect my sister's lifeless body against the Orcs, I knew there was no hand I would ever wish to hold but yours. I had hoped the past months had made that plain, but you neither responded nor pulled away, leaving me to hope against hope-"

"I don't know you as one to make long speeches," you interrupted Éomer with your heart beating in your throat. Could it really be he meant the words he had spoken? "Say what you mean to."

A smile pulled at Éomer's lips as he turned to look at you again. 

"See, this is one of the countless reasons I love you. Never afraid to put your king back in line."

"You're not my king, never were. Not like that anyway."

"No, you're right. I'm not. I'm just the man asking with a fool’s heart for your permission to court you."

At his words you fully turned to him, finding he was smiling at you fondly, an expression which you had, now that you thought about it, never seen directed at anyone but you.

"Not my king," you repeated, and reached up, brushing your fingertips over the neatly trimmed beard on his cheeks. "But my Éomer."

It seemed like your words had ignited a fire much stronger than that burning before you inside Éomer's chest, because he broke into a smile, his whole body tensing with held back joy.

"You mean it," he asked, disbelievingly, "you really mean it?"

"As much as I have ever meant anything! Had I known that those were your intentions all along, I would never have held back on my own!"

"Oh, two proper fools we are," Éomer cried. "How much precious time we let pass by! All these times I had held back from sharing the sweetest kisses with you!"

"You needn't hold back anymore," you laughed, amused at his despair. "No evil shall befall you were you to kiss me at any time, but perhaps the stares of others."

"At any time," Éomer asked, as if to assure himself of the meaning of the word.

"At any time," you repeated, and only when Éomer lent forward to press his lips to yours did you understand his intention behind asking again.

His beard was rough against your skin, but his golden hair like the finest silk between your fingers as you wove your fingers between the strands, and let his gentle but eager lips guide you.

And so the sun eventually rose in the east in a clear, cold morning without you noticing, as Éomer's kisses kept you distracted by the still brightly flickering flames of the fire in Meduseld.

[n0tamused]

Hi! Id like to request a eomer x plus size reader if you’re comfortable, maybe she’s a seamstress and makes eowyns dresses. You can honestly do this however you want. I just feel like there’s such a lack of Eomer fics out there that’s my husband 🙏🏻

A/n: Thank you so much for the request, I had so much fun writing this one! <3 I do hope you liked it! Although I am comfortable with plus-sized reader or chubby reader, I failed to see an opportunity to mention any body shape here, so I do hope I haven't failed you lol. If you have any advice or insight on what you'd like to see more of, let me know :) <3 Pleas enjoy! And- There is definitely such a lack of Eomer fics..

Contents: Eomer x F!Reader, fluff, reader is a seamstress, established relationship

Words: 1164

Morning came chill and yellow, pale golden rays coming through in thin lances through the curtain covering the windows. A fire was already moving in the big stone hearth and it was not long until the room began to feel too warm. But you sat on a cushioned chair next to the window, warmed by the fire behind you and cooled by the breeze that slipped through the cracks near the milky glass. Needlework was a tasking thing, yet one you enjoyed regardless of how frustrating it may be at times. Once you had tried to teach the craft to lady Eowyn, but all your efforts saw no fruition, as the shieldmaiden’s blood ran hot within her and gave no surrender to tasks more delicate.

As strong headed as a bull she is, you thought as you let your mind drift past the heralding of wars and bad omens. Too much has been happening lately, too much. These little works of embroidery were all you had to keep your mind satiated and at peace. Before you knew it, the image before you was becoming more intricate. It would seem Lady Eowyn would have a rather detailed dress, more detailed than any other. Quickly, but not hastily, the needle worked its way through the cloth like a warm dagger through butter. In and out, sowing and painting with threads of yellow and black and green and white. Your needle worked to the sound of your humming, a needle song, as you called it. Yet today was not the day that your needle would hear the end of the song. The heavy wooden door had opened so suddenly and so quickly that your needle dipped through the cloth like a sword, drawing blood from the finger underneath. Hissing, you let the embroidery fall to your lap along with the needle, pressing onto the sting with your other hand. You couldn’t forsake formalities even then, however much you wished to scold this somebody.

“My lord Eomer!” formalities fell from your lips before you had the chance to even settle on the features of his face. Gold spun locks fell down the sides of his face, swaying as he came to an abrupt stop to survey the room. His brows furrowed and his lips tightened. “May I help you?” you asked him, and his honeyed eyes fell on your form, blinking as if cast from a trance.

“It is my sister I was hoping to find here with you. I had thought she would be here learning your craft from you, as she did before”. Confusion could not be helped as it crawled onto your face, but the manner in which he said so made a smile fight to curl your lips in disbelief.

“Lady Eowyn?” you lowered your hands into your lap, fingers still clamped over your little stinging injury. “Lady Eowyn has long since stopped giving her ear to my words. The skill does not suit her, nor I try to force her to do it. Did you not know?” you finally settled on the reply, seeing confusion and anticipation ringing through the horse-lord’s head. You had to wonder whether there was air in there alone in this moment, has he become blind to his sister’s character? 

His lips fall apart, then close, his eyes looking to the side as he realizes his own error and then they close. Nodding his head slowly Eomer sighs, shoulders falling and his hand rests on the pommel of his sword. “I see.. I should have expected it..” It is a veiled whisper, hiding behind itself a minor feeling of foolishness, but he does not hope to weigh himself down with it. 

“I apologize if I had startled you, my lady” he then spoke, blurted more so as his eyes fell to the hands in your lap. “Have you hurt yourself?” he added, taking a few big strides and closing the distance between the two of you. 

"No-.." You didn’t get to reply before he was extending his hand down and silently asking to take yours. The gesture made the words melt on your tongue, you could only obey the silent request and put your hand in his. The small dot began to bleed again in the absence of applied pressure, sliding down the length of your finger. “It is only a small thing, it causes me no bother, Eomer..” you whispered, lashes fluttering as you gazed up at him. 

“Nonsense.. I caused this” he speaks lightheartedly yet seriously all at once and then he dips to one knee before you, your hand cupped in two of his own. Warmth flooded your cheeks as his lips found your hurt after wiping away the droplet of blood, kissing each knuckle of the finger and then turning your hand over to kiss the top of your hand as well. By the time you found yourself from your frozen minds, you managed to slap him on the shoulder, giggling in disbelief as well as the light-headedness he managed to cause. “Eomer!” you giggle, snatching your hand away. You were half tempted to throw the embroidery frame at his face were his teasing smile any bigger.  “You forget yourself, my lord” you press the word ‘lord’, eyes lit up in mischief. 

“Why, I was only hoping to provide my lady an apology and some comfort for the hurt I caused..” he whispered as he looked up at you, lingering a moment longer before standing up. The odd and dark days had made it so that Eomer had little to no time to spend in private with you, so he could only find excuses to swiftly stop by wherever you are, linger for a moment and leave with an unspoken promise to come back again. Sometimes he’d leave flowers too, other times he’d leave you with more feelings than touches. All the time he was surrounded by  people and duty, and you had your own to attend to as well.

But for a moment now, it all seemed much worth it. 

“Join me for dinner tonight, my lady?” he asked, tone even and expectant, that deep timbre of his, sure as the ground he walked on, as steady as him. 

“If that is an order, who am I to dare deny it?” you say, smiling up at him. 

“Good. In that case I cannot wait to have your company join mine, soon enough. Until then… I am hoping you will accept another request of mine?”

“And that is..?”

“Help me find my sweet little sister” he says, releasing a deep breath of exhaustion, even if the day barely started. You scoff, smiling even wider, not at all unfamiliar with Eowyn’s antics and character.

“I can only help if my lord promises to see this wound healed with his own healing in the upcoming days”

His eyes find yours, smiling a smile of their own as warmth fills his heart in some childish light, kindled fire burning gentle yet strong. “You have my word, my lady”

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[rivendell-poet]

hiiii i just aaaaate my way through the scenarios and absolutely adored them, esp Boromir.. like he isnt even my fave character in general but you write him so well !!! could you do an SFW alphabet for Eomer (and/or Boromir (just cause it's a joy to read your writing on him)) ofc whenever you feel like it :)))

Thank you so much!! Also the compliments about Boromir, I think these have genuinely made my day?? Sorry for taking so long on your request, but hopefully you enjoy it <3

(Faramir will be next Sunday's update, but Boromir will be after him unless I get an influx of requests)

*･༓˚✧❝𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 - 𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « SFW Alphabet »

Wordcount : 2.2k (not including questions)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?) Éomer is a very affectionate person, although at the start of your relationship it takes him a little while to realise he can just be affectionate with you. Once you've reassured him, he enjoys coming over and giving you a small hug or a forehead kiss as a form of greeting, as well as affirming his love for you. Éomer likes a lot of small gestures, more constantly, although even though he does it a lot they never lose meaning. He never looks in your eyes with any less love.

He also enjoys spending quality time with you, whenever he can. Éomer enjoys planning dates and scheduling time off for the both of you. You can always tell when a date's approaching when he looks at your calendar with a smile before walking away with a spring in his step, often giving you a true kiss just before he leaves. (Quite fond of simply randomly giving you flowers, there's no particular reason when he does except that the idea occurred to him.)

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?) He treats quite a few of his friendships as he does his relationship with Éowyn. He's very protective, even though he understands you can take care of yourself, and enjoys simply spending time with you. (Also enjoys teasing you.) Éomer could probably start a friendship over almost anything, whether it be a shared interest or simply constant proximity, as he can be very sociable. The fact you become best friends is because of how much he loves spending time with you. Éomer also wants his partner to be one of his closest friends, because he doesn't see the point in dating someone romantically if he can't enjoy spending time with them.

C = Courtship (How do they finally ask you out? What do they do in the days before?) When he realises at the very start, he's quite embarrassed - not spending as much time with you, or with more formal greetings. And then you realise it's because he's scared of messing something up, while attempting to court you. In the end it's Éowyn's advice and gentle pushing that allows him to finally confess to you. When he does he's surprisingly poetical, highlighting how you make him feel - how you make him feel seen, loved. And how he wants to make you feel like that as well.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?) Éomer absolutely wants to settle down with his betrothed - the idea of a home is very important to him. It's something he's willing to fight for, and when he's fighting it's his motivation. And he wants you to be included in this as well.

He's fairly good at cooking, although not incredible at it. Éomer, unlike his sister, actually has remarkable talent for making stews - they're always rich and filling, something he looks forward to making on a wintery day. Also decent at cleaning, however although he's great at getting rid of dirt and mess he doesn't often go beyond that to make it sparkling. He will put in effort if asked.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) Éomer doesn't want to break up with his partner, but he'd be frank about it. Sit you down and explain that this wasn't working out, waiting for any questions you have before leaving. He feels worst about breaking up, and afterwards will need some time to just sit and reflect. Also feels worse for the longest.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?) Although he doesn't necessarily go into a relationship looking for a marriage, it's always in the back of his mind. Being a potential heir to an entire kingdom of Rohan, he knows that the person he'll end up being with should be the person who he wants to be able to parade. To stand strong with, no matter what. And, when he meets you, it only takes a few months before he realises that - if he'll ever be king - he wants you on the throne with him as well.

His proposal and the marriage is beautiful, if very traditional, although he takes his time with it. He would be happy to spend time with you without marriage, and he doesn't want to push you into anything.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?) Éomer is gentle both physically and emotionally, and he's never been ashamed of that. One of the main cultures of Rohan is tied to close relationships and understanding with your mounts, and Éomer is proud to have a close bond with people - one he wants to have with you. Éomer feels having a close understanding with his significant other is incredibly important, and it's something he makes an effort to maintain.

Also is very physically gentle, he enjoys physical contact with you (will never so no to hugs) but is always very careful not to overdo it. Éomer, along with being in touch with your emotions, is in touch with his. This is a man who - if needed - is not afraid to cry in front of you or feel he has to put on a brave face.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like? What about cuddling?) Again, will never say no to hugs but is always very careful with them. Does have quite a strong hug at the start, but quickly relaxes into it once you're both together. Although he enjoys tighter hugs he also likes more casual ones, or hugs where one party is leaning against the other. He'll support you any day, and it makes him feel so happy to know you trust him, but if you're tall/strong enough he will absolutely lean on you. Will often hug as a greeting, or as a goodbye - thinks it's a great way to show affection to you (and to anyone who's interested).

Éomer is also a big fan of cuddles, and after a long day where the two of you simply climb into bed he immediately moves to cuddle with you.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?) Éomer says it pretty quickly - he is’t one to hide his emotions away, so when he realises that he loves you, he will say it. However, it may come at a more unconventional time - he’s sitting and reflecting on the day when he finally realises it. And he wants you to know about these feelings immediately.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?) Easily gets a little jealous, but once he’s reached that it doesn’t often progress further. There have been one or two occasions where he is absolutely envious, but he’s also the type to immediately go over to you and try and resolve it. Feels no guilt in coming up to you and giving you a brief kiss, reveling when your eyes shine up at him as his quickly match yours. If it’s somewhere a public kiss isn’t really appropriate, he’ll instead put an arm around your waist or link hands with you. It’s smaller, but still enough affection for him.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) Although Éomer will never say no to a quick forehead kiss, either with him giving it to you or you giving it to him, Éomer loves slightly longer kisses. Ones that are more intimate, that he needs to take a breath from when you stop. He loves the closeness that it brings him, and it’s a surefire way to have him look at you like you’re an angel. Again, he loves being kissed on the forehead and longer ones. (Tries not to show it, but adores kisses on the neck from you - makes him feel absolutely cherished, and a little bit more.) 

L = Little ones (How are they around children?) Éomer is very good with children, he can tell good stories and is very engaging. Also enjoys spending time with them, and will join in with their pretend games. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?) He tends to wake up slightly earlier, having to leave for duties before you’re awake, so misses you quite often. Éomer wakes up a few minutes before he needs to so he can lay by your side, getting ready for the day ahead. When you get up they’ll often be some breakfast ready, or at least a little note. Maybe even a forehead kiss as he whispers that he loves you before being whisked away. 

If you’re an early bird, he enjoys having someone to wake up with. Enjoys the fresh morning with you. Although quietly - it’s more in simple smiles as he brings the both of you over for a drink and you allow yourself to wake up, together.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?) As he can’t always spend the day with you he enjoys spending the night with you instead. Likes to sit down and eat dinner together, going over the day and slowly unwinding. Most days it leads to the two of you simply laying together, often him pulling you over him, and enjoying being in each other's company as he tries to make you laugh, or the two of you just think together. Goes to bed when you do, and does steal the covers in his sleep.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?) Éomer had planned on being stoic and more mysterious with you for a little longer, but with your laugh and smile - simply  your presence - a lot of his walls break down. He’s comfortable with you, and when he’s comfortable he’s open and honest.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?) Generally a very patient person, he’s happy to go over the steps with you for the sixteenth time with just as much patience as the first. The only exception is when he’s stressed, in which case his words become more cutting - although he is aware of this. He always apologises after, and even when he’s annoyed he makes sure you know that the anger isn’t directed at you.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?) Éomer is good at remembering things, he comes from a culture that highly values oracy and doesn’t write too much down so is very used to remembering things if he’s only heard them. In fact, almost all of what he remembers isn’t written down anywhere. Always makes him smile when he’s remembered a small thing, and quickly thinks about how he can incorporate it into a gift or date with you.

R = Remember (What is their favourite moment in your relationship?) Éomer’s favourite moment in your relationship is probably your first wedding anniversary. He’d set aside the day for the two of you, so when he woke up he could actually stay by your side for the entire time, waiting for you to wake up. Once you did he peppered you with kisses, and the two of you spend the day relaxing in each other's company. He brings you a picnic and the two of you go near the halls, laughing and reminiscing about your relationship so far. He loves this memory because your love your each other is so obvious, although it’s a relatively simple date idea with no frills, just the two of you.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?) He is a protective person. Very happy to have you at his side, all day everyday. However, he tries to tone it down and doesn’t often voice these feelings - besides, he’s at your side most days anyway. Éomer doesn’t expect to be protected at all, and when you do for the first time he freezes in awe. The fact you’d stand up for him; he never expected to feel this protected in an argument. (Has a thing for being the little spoon, in some regards because of this, but will deny it.)

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?) Éomer puts as much effort as he can into dates and anniversaries, which is quite a lot when he’s not doing his duties. Enjoys planning things, and enjoys the blushes and good memories even more. Éomer is also the type of person to keep track of month-averseries, even if he doesn’t do anything with them except let you know and give you a quick kiss. Does enjoy giving gifts, but most of the time it will be flowers instead of anything long-lasting.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?) Says yes to people’s requests too easily, even if you know he’s overworked. It’s because he wants to look out for his people - but sometimes you have to remind him that other people can help with that, and he needs to take a break too.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) Éomer is a soldier, so he doesn’t make himself look the best he can every day. However, he is a lord of Rohan so dresses and keeps himself quite well. (Also is secretly very proud of his hair.)

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) At first, absolutely not. There’s something in him that breaks, and there will always be a little hole in his heart where you were. Throws himself into his work to try and deal with it, and eventually loss of you gets better when he allows himself to process it.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.) Really enjoys plaiting hair/his hair being plaited. Will happily sit down for an hour or so and just have fun with it. Would weave flowers or trinkets into your hair if you asked him too, he needs some convincing but you would be allowed to put flowers in his. 

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?) Éomer wants someone who can respect his emotions, and show some of their own. It doesn’t have to be a massive display - but just some way he can tell that the gifts excited you, perhaps that little look in your eye that shows him you love him.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?) Sleeps pretty well, wakes up quite early so will go to bed (somewhat) earlier. He does steal blankets, however, so often goes into bed with you so you don’t come to your bedroom to sleep only to find him completely covered in the duvet.

A/N : Sorry for not uploading yesterday, I was watching all of the Lord of the Rings extended edition until 11:50. Hopefully this was enjoyable <3

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan ✧ wish to be tagged?

[gulnarsultan]

Another ask. Hope you are well lovely.I just saw your requests are open. Dark Eomer from LOTR please 😍I hope it’s something that inspires you ❤️

Hello darling. I hope you like it.

Dark Eomer Eadig headcanons.

~ This man will fascinate you, whether with his appearance or his personality. Moreover, it is difficult for you to be aware of his obsession. Frankly, when this man looks sweetly at you, you will feel guilty for thinking like that about him (he is obsessed).

~ Eomer is loyal, optimistic, humorous, and carefree. However, he is also hard and cold when necessary. And believe me, his hatred is truly terrifying.

~ He is very skilled at riding horses and using swords and javelins.

~ He doesn't hesitate to use all his talents to get you, protect you and make you happy.

~ In a way, once you accept his love, he's not such a yandere. He only gets angry when he is jealous and wants to fight.

[dreamlandcreations]

The Heart of the Dark Flame masterlist

Éomer x half elf!Reader

Summary: You follow the Fellowship after they lose Gandalf, only to join them just before they meet the exiled Rohirrim led by Éomer... (another fic inspired by a conversation with @kind-wolf 🖤)

• Éomer masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

Chapter 1 • The Ring

• Éomer masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

• Taglist •

[laneynoir]

Can you do “the hesitation for any physical contact” with literally any LOTR/TH character? :D

It is 4:11 am and thia should NOT have taken this long.

My first attempt a a 4+1 fic.

4 times you dodge away, and one time you don't.

Èomer/You

Word count: 2803

1.

The first time he noticed was the Eve of your mother's wake.

As was tradition, members of the Royal family would attend the in the circumstance of a noble's death. You sit int the corner of the room, staring dazed at the covered body on the bed.

Èomer quietly makes his way over, though you don't raise your eyes you speak, the words suprising him.

"I didn't like her all that much."

He is jolted by your tone, the same as one might use when discussing an ill fitting horse shoe, or a dry season that creates such agitating dust in a mane.

You glance to him with an odd smile. "I suppose that is a dreadful thing to say, my prince. But really, she was always such a stickler for etequite and how a 'proper lady' should act that I think I'm owed it."

You take a gulp of your whiskey, the burning feeling not registering in your facial expression, a feat that causes a half smile to quirk at Èomer's mouth. "You are allowed honesty, I think, My lady."

You shake your head, "My mother's died, yet still she's pushing me. Lovely isn't it? I'll finally have to be the Lady of the court she allways wanted me to." You let out a small breath of laughter. "Wouldn't she be appalled if she saw me, tipsy and chatting with the prince as if i were a pig farmer haggling over a price..."

You sit up straight and stare at the bed again, so suddenly that Èomer startles. "Yet somehow I think I will miss her,she was all I had left." Another sip passes you lips -lips that Èomer really shouldn't be thinking about with such detale as he is- and you sigh. "They all leave."

Èomer fears for the faraway look in your eye, and seeks to comfort you. "I know I am not so great with words as prehaps my cousin, the crown prince is, but I do remeber the dispare I felt when I was told of my mother's death. And though our circumstances are not the same, and I would not dare assume to know your thoughts, I would have you know this,"

He places a hand comfortingly on your shoulder, but you jerk back with an almost terrified expression.

"Forgive me Lady Y/n, I meant not-"

You shake your head furiously. "No, no my prince. You offer me no insult." You give another halfhearted smile. "I just... I've never liked being touched."

His expression is doubtful, but he gives an nod of agreement regardless.

Before he can say aught else, a paige whispers that the king is looking for him and he departs. Hearing you mutter to yourself as he leaves.

"They always leave."

2.

The second came not for a while, indeed it was not until two years later.

On this day he watches as you are locked in a mock-fight with Èowyn, though with the ferocity of of the strikes it hardly has more fight than mock.

Still he can tell that you are lightening your blows, cautious of Èowyn's recent illnesse. Your opponent is disarmed, and you send her for a rest. Her fatigue must indeed have been great, Èomer realizes, for she departs without (much) hesitation.

The small crowd begins to disperce, befire you call to the remaining training Rohiram for another match.

None seam elated at the prospect, though one calls out a "I'll show you my sword, just name the time."

This of course gains a hearty laugh from his friends, and, to Èomer's shock, a smile from you. Though is does have a-

"I do belive it is more or a dagger, and would shatter dear Êliott."

-malicouse look. His thoughts finish, as the smirk on his face grows, whilst the red shade of the man increases.

Before the debate can escalate, Èomer steps forward. "I will spar with you, Lady Y/n."

The sharp nod is all he needs to begin shedding the outer wearof his cloth, leaving himself in a (rather thin) tunic. One of Êlott's friends gives an apriciative whistle, and Èomer hopes he isn't imagining the flustered manner, and aversion of eyes from yourself.

Taking the ready stance the two of you make eye contact, just before you begin weaving patterns through the air with your swords. You vaguely take note of the numbers being called around you, bets to be won or lost, all depending on the outcome of two people... A power play that has you grinning.

Èomer twists his swords arm, causing your grip to loosen slightly. The scowl you send him only causing a smile to grace his distractingly handsome- wait no.

No no no.

That is not the direction you thoughts need to go.

Although he is one of the most sought after man in Rohan, and the gosip around the pubs could fill three rowdy drinking songs.

A loud yell comes from the, now much larger, circle of people, and you jerk at the close proximity, giving Èomer the chance to semd you sword to the ground. On instinct, you reach for the weapon while it is still in the air, successfuly catching it, but sending yourself to the ground.

Imeadiatly Èomer offers you a hand up, and as there are far to many people watching to deny the prince, you accept; but jerk back as soon as you stand.

Offering Èomer a bow, you gather your gear and exit the courtyard, leaving a befuddled blond in your wake, staring after you with an expression later to be described with some rather unsavoury words.

3.

He watches from the corner of his eye, as he always does, as you take another swig of your drink at the bar.

A group of the Rohiram had decided to stick around the pub in the closest town during patrol, and as his sense of honour dictated, he stayed with them. All around the crowded room people were being spun around by their partners. 

Except for you, your rarely danced, and as far as Èomer has seen, never accepted such wanton attention as what the man leaning altogether to close to you is obviously offering.

Still Èomer waits a few minutes, knowing all to well from a preper veiw of a particular captain (the poor man never did have children...) how well you can handle the situation.

Yet he can tell that you are tired and wish bot to make a scene, so swiftly navigating the dance floor he arives at you side amd places a comforting, and slightly territorial, hand on your back.

You stiffen, before realizing who he is and his purpose. The moment you relax into his touch is one Èomer drinks up in the manner of a hard pressed horse after water, all the while glaring at the audacious man in front of him.

Said man's face travels through multiple expression before landing on a smirk. "Oh forgive me lord, I did not realize that this pretty lady had a man to look after her. If I may, and no offense meant, you might want to stick closer to your lass." He rakes another glance over you that unnerves you so that you push into Eomer's half embrace. "Though I've a cold bed that could use some warming if you'd care..."

"I do not share. Come, let us walk y/n." The ice in the tone of your prince shocks you, but still you nod and allow Èomer to lead to from the tavern, after turning a corner he releases you and steps to the distamce you usually keep him at.

The lack of his comfort sends a pang through your body, a pang that you shouldn't have. Upset by this your frown, yet say to him, "I can take care of myself. My Prince." The last bit is tagged on, almost separately.

The spice in your voice doesnt seem to bother him, for he just smiles as usual, a strange fondness in his eye. "I know, I do remember captain Hork."

You chuckle at the mention. "Yes, i supose I made rather a spectacle with that one. I usually try to be more dis-" having begun walking, you freez again, having not meant to add on the latter part of your sentance.

Èomer also freezes, his face dark he turns to you. "Usually? How often are you..." Suddenly his face pales. "In the name of- have you been-? Is that why you shy from touch constantly? Tell me who-"

Eye wide you shake your head. "No! No, my prince. It has never gotten so far as that."

He eyes you doubfully, worry so evident that it sends a pang of guilt through you. "I swear Èomer."

The sound of his name on your lips snaps him away. "You've never called my by my name before."

Your cheeks flush and you shift from one foot to the other. "I apologize,"

"No no," he is quick to interrupt. "I am relieved that you have done so."

His smile is contagious, so that it would take a much colder hearted woman that yourself not to mirror the expression.

You chat amicably while walking, and when you reach the outskirts of town Èomer pauses, taking in view of the stars, while you watch the wind softly lift his golden hair. He breaks the silence at last by saying, "Will you tell me why you do not wish to be touched?" His gaze still is locked on the horseshoe constellation, shining its good luck as always.

You are quiet before answering. "I don't think so."

He nods and meets your gaze. "I figured. Do you wish to return?"

You shake your head, "No the air here is nice, and the view is beautiful."

He nods in agreement. "The most lovely I've 'ere seen."

Neither of you look away from the other.

4.

It was suposed to be a regular patrol of the southern borders. Rumors of a small band of orcs had travled to the king, you, having spent far to much time in Edoras, voulentiered to assist.

You have been missinformed and woefully under prepaired for the ambush that awaites you.

The orces are all around you before anyone can react, much less run for the nearest village, which lies a good hours ride away.

The orcs are to close, and doing more harm thab can be returned by horseback. So, reluctantly, Èomer orders for the comapy to dismount. Continuing on foot, you find yourself back to back with Èomer, fighting savagely. You decapitate the large orc, and notice the scroll sticking out of his vest. You shilove it into your own as quickly as you can, and spin around to see an orc aiming its bow, at Èomer.

With a cry you leap in front of the projectile, feeling a pain in your stomach imeadiatly after.

Èyou stare down at the weapon, which has lodged itself in your person and focouse on not falling over.

You hear a strangled cry, later to be heard again on the Pelennor Fields, when Èomer, for that was who cried out, would find the supposed corpse of his sister.

In the thick battle though he cannot run to you, instead his eyes with a vengeful fire that Sauron can only dream about, and with berserk rage the rest of the orcs are soon demolished or running for their lives.

One man has died, and your wound is the worst of those left, so Èomer barke out orders the the others, putting four in charge of retrieving the horses, and three for the dead. All of this he says while om his knees next to you,(when had you laid down?) Assessing your injury.

He reaches to you, and your instincts jerk you away, causing the pain to double and your vision to go white.

"Y/n, please?" He sounds heartbroken, or maybe thats the pain talking, at any rate you reach for the scroll from your vest.

"Hey, I'm fine! T-" you wince. "Tell me what this is? It seems important."

Èomer is understandably Indecrulious at this request, but at your insistence enrolls it and scans the words. He stuffs it into a discarded travelling bag, one you recognize as your own, amd slings it over your shoulder. "Me. They were targeting me, and you decide to be the hero."

"They what!?" You sit up ignoring the pain, "How dare they-"

Èomer is at your side. "No, not them. How dare you take an arrow meant for me, how could you do this." The words are harsh, but the tear on his face hits you harder. "I care not uf you hate me more for this, the arrow is to far in to pull out safely. I am going to snap the extra off, badage your other woumds and take you to the town."

"Èomer, I-"

He jerks his head. "No, sorry but I cannot let you suffer further." Swiftly he takes hold of the shaft, and there is a cracking sound. Brief moments are all he takes for the bandaging, working quickly. Gently he lifts you up, before telling the 3rd in command to take charge.

After walking a while you uncleanch your teeth, and speak, only partly conscious.

"I don't hate you, I'm just... Scared."

+5.

The time after you injury is rushed, with the Kings mind over thrown, and the death of the crown prince. Closly followed by Èomer's banishment, you have no time to seek the prince out. Not mentioning that he seems to be avoiding you.

In fact, you do not manage to get close to him until the council following the battle of Pelennor Fields, and then that is a war council, still he does not meet your eyes.

To your room you march, hope resting only on two hobbits wandering evil lands where no one else dared to step, you run through strokes in your head, for no other reason but to stop thinking.

The quaking starts, and the enemy is running.

You wake in the halls of healing with the king of Gondor over you. When your eyes meet he nods sharply and moves on to the next bed.

A green tuniced woman clears you to leave, but when you ask her the whereabouts of Èomer she shaoes her head sadly. "Sorry ma'am, he the one what died in the battle."

She directs you out of the room, patting your soulder kindly after your broken thanks.

A deserted and half destroyed courtyard is where you find yourself, sinking into a bench you stare at the path until it blurs, oblivious to anuthing else.

Until you hear a voice call your name, a voice you know all to well. Neck nearly snapingvat the speed with which you look up, you lock eyes with Èomer. Secondslater you put a hand against his chest, sobing in relief when you find he is solid you grip the fabric and burry your head in it. "Dead. They said you wrre dead."

��omer seems to snap out of his shock, slightly, "I'm here, I've not died." Hesitantly he wraps his arms around you, allowing you to go limp. You shift to the bench again furiously scrubing at yiur eyes. "Oh dear, I am sorry my Prince, i know your hatred of me-"

"What?" His voice is a growl, sounding just as furious as the day you were shot. "Who has led you to belive this? For no longer will they draw breath,"

You jerk you head back. "You- youve been avoiding me so steadfastly that I..."

"No, no y/n I never could. No matger what you could do, it is not in me to hate you. You said you were afraid, and I never wish for that even if that means leaving you."

You nearly falls over in shock. "Oh Valar, not you. I was never afraid of you and that is what scares me. I feel safe around you, and thats what scares me." You run a hand through your matted hair. "All of the walls I put up... You break them down. I never wanted to touch, to feel, or even be near someone. Or rather I didnt need it."

"Y/n..."

You look back to him and he reaches hesitantly out. You sigh shakelly. "All I want is you, and I dont have the willpower any longer to hold that inside, I'm far to selfish for that."

"Let me be selfish as well then."

He folds you in an embrace, and for the first time in your recollection, you dont dodge away.

[zepskies]

Next on the Tag List...LOTR~

So a while back I mentioned that I wanted to try my hand at the LOTR/The Hobbit fandom...20+ years late. 😅

If you would like to be tagged on those future fics, here are the following characters I've added to my Tag List form!

Aragorn

Eomer

Thranduil

Haldir

[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

[enchantedflameandflower]

Save a horse, ride a Karl

which one would you pick first? 😋

additional bonus question - which two together? 🥹

[shirefantasies]

Heyo, saw ur requests were open and wanted to send smthn in!!

Was hoping u could do LOTR characters x crush reader who’s generally pretty outgoing and chill? Maybe gives a lot of casual compliments, kind of jokingly flirting and makes a lot of horny™️ jokes. Still like, more serious when need be but tried to be lighthearted

Also if u want more specific characters then just Legolas, Merry and Pippin would work :))

LoTR Characters Reacting to Their Flirty Jokester Crush

(Old request! Requests still temporarily closed)

Doesn’t say much, but they have a lot of thoughts: Aragorn, Frodo, Arwen, Elrond

(Character).exe has stopped working: Sam, Faramir, Eowyn

Gives it right back: Legolas, Boromir, Gimli, Pippin, Galadriel

“Cut that out” (secretly enjoys it): Merry, Eomer, Haldir

Aragorn mostly just grins or shakes his head in amused exasperation at you. Especially if you choose to make jokes at people who are particularly stoic, like Haldir or Eomer. He'll do the same if you make those jokes directly to him, simply grin down at his pipe or the sword he is cleaning and chuckle. On the inside, though? A part of him wants to tackle you then and there, but of course that is simply your manner... right? Frodo always gives a charming little look of surprise before glancing away. If you are close enough, you might see the flush that rises to his fair cheeks. He bursts into a smile and a faint chuckling breath and if he is not the recipient he glances toward your target, especially if your joke is particularly scandalous. His head is rushing with questions: do you mean it? Are you hiding something beneath your jokes? Why do you make them more often to him? Arwen always offers you a wide grin, sometimes even a playful swat to your shoulder or elbow if you are in her father or grandmother's presence. Occasionally she may even ask what they are to do with you, but when she is alone, the only company her own, she cannot stop the rush of thoughts about your words. Do you really think so, then? Perhaps she should offer you some encouragement at your next meeting... Lord Elrond has seen much in this world, too much to be shocked though he can shake his head at your marked lack of decorum. A thrill still runs down his spine, though, at the way you gently touch him, your whispers and devilish grins, and a tentative smile rises to his lips even as he shakes his head at you. Try as he might, Elrond simply cannot shake off the thoughts that rise to his head, the images your words conjure. He fears that soon he will simply give in entirely, and such a thought does little to quell the anticipatory shivers.

The parting of Sam's lips, the widening of his lovely green eyes, even the subtlest flex and release of his nervous hands, all make your manner beyond worthwhile. It only makes you smile wider how surprised he is, especially when he tells you not to tease so and you ask him who's teasing? There's no mistaking the way his cheeks redden at that! The brief rise of Faramir's eyebrows is all his expression betrays as it remains neutral, pondering, peering at you with interest as if he is waiting for you to continue or letting you try again. Whether that spurs further comment by you or lets you simply escape and breeze away with a mischievous smile, you can decide, but know that the moment you look away Faramir's facae completely collapses, your effect irresistible. No one has made comments so directly to Eowyn before you, your words freezing her in a smile and sending her beautiful blue eyes searching yours as she chews her lip half pensively, half at the rise of other thoughts. She is not your sole recipient and yet she feels desired by you. What a delicious thought. Could you mean it?

Legolas skips not a single beat before the perfect retort falls from his rising lips. You return with another comment and he steps closer with yet another reply. The others, especially Aragorn, are shaking their heads at you, Merry and Pippin grinning widely and elbowing each other at your antics. Boromir grins at your words, trying his best to fluster you with comments equally scandalous right back. The smile rarely falls from his face in your presence and he takes to teasing you, even playfully taking and hiding your things to get your attention. Holding them up high hoping you'll stand against him to reach for them. Sometimes he simply calls out your jokes as soon as you've made them, telling you you clearly have a lot on your mind or even outright asking why you are thinking so. Gimli bursts out into devilish, triumphant laughter at your jokes and always seems to have something to add. He’ll tell you you’re absolutely filthy, and the wild look in his eyes and wide upward quirk or his lips assure you this is a compliment. Whenever he catches that look of mischief in your eyes, he nods and provides you with ample encouragement no matter the target. But especially if it is mischief directed toward Legolas or Aragorn or one of your many scandalous compliments directed his way. Puffing out his chest, he takes it with relish. Rather than use his words, Pippin returns your jokes with acts of his own, always being the first to laugh and pull you into games, dances, and pranks with Merry. He replies with a lot of ‘oh yes?’ and small encouragements, especially to your saucier quips. In addition, he wants to be the sole recipient so he will try little things to get your attention and always be around you. Challenge is presented by none other than the Lady Galadriel, who does far more than smile or dismissively shake her head at your comments. Rather she will dare you to put your proverbial money where your mouth is. “Oh, would you really?” “Why do you not demonstrate, then?” Most often you hear these words inside your own mind, looking over to see her giving you what outwardly looks like a friendly smile, but you catch a different glint in her eyes.

“If you keep that up, you’ll disturb his stance.” Merry appears to be chastising you, but you can see by his smile and the sparkle of his gaze upon you that that is far from the truth. Rather he challenges you to see if you truly can disturb Pippin and Boromir’s training. He asks you what you think you’re doing when you play footsie with him by the fire or whisper puns that would make a grown hobbit blush when opportunity avails, but you notice how his smile never falters. You never thought you would see Eomer, marshal of the Riddermark, flustered and lost for words, that stoic exterior finally cracking, but your first pun that such words as you heard were usually spoken in bed have him speechless for a moment. Finally he speaks, telling you this is no time for jokes, but you catch the faintest smile playing into his lips from the shadows of his helmet as he turns away. In fact, the next time you nudge him and fidget at his side, he simply butts you with his shoulder back. Similarly, Haldir also bids you hold your tongue, but the raise of a single blonde brow he gives you is anything but quelling. In fact, all it speaks to you is intrigue. You feel him stiffen when you teasingly grab his hands and you see his eyes fixate firmly upon your lips when you make a suggestive comment. He starts sitting closer to you, legs resting warmly adjacent to your own thighs, and tentatively returning your gestures like nudges. Absolutely still shuts down ‘in bed’ remarks in front of the others, though. Decorum and all.

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[rivendell-poet]

trick or treat (if that's still on), with Éomer and a kind of "glad-to find-each-other-on-the-battlefield-alive-and-well-after-fighting-off-another-enemy-skirmish" scenario (with both being awesome fighters ofc haha, if i can request it that specifically 😇🥰) thank yoooouuuu

Thank you for your request anon 🥰 (also - shout-out for having the accent on Éomer's name)

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « trick-or-treat »

GN!Reader | Wordcount : 151 words | TWs : Mentions of battle/blood

Hearing the cheers of his men, Éomer can feel himself relax as the last enemies flee. And then he begins to look around, like he always does - for you. 

“Behind you.” Your voice says, and you see as he turns around - the large smile instantly appearing on his face. There’s a second as the two of you simply sit, staring at each other, before you begin to dismount; almost as soon as your feet hit the ground Éomer has his arms around you.

The hug lasts for a few more seconds, and you begin to think about resting here in Éomer’s arms, when he draws back, “Are you injured?”

“Any blood on me is the enemies.” You respond, “And you?”

“Unscathed. And with clean armour.”

“Surely that would mean you’ve killed less enemies?”

His grin grows wider as the banter begins, “Or perhaps I'm simply skilled enough to dispatch them cleanly.”

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @wordbunch / @bespectacledhuman / cont. in comments ✧ wish to be tagged?

[dreamlandcreations]

The Burden of the Crown masterlist

Éomer x half elf!Reader

Summary: After the war, a hidden city is revealed within the edge of the White Mountains, between the river Lefnui and Adorn, where elves, men and even some dwarves found refuge over the centuries. To forge a much need alliance, Éomer is pressured into marrying the daughter of their leader... (based on this)

• Éomer masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

Chapter 1  • Wedding night

• Éomer masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

• Taglist •

[4thheorlingas]

Queen of the Mark

[essenceofarda]

Of Blessed Thyme and Thistle - Chapter 1 | Page 1

Faramir's cousin, Lothiriel, comes to Minas Tirith to become a companion of his new bride, Eowyn, something that he hopes will ease Eowyn's rough transition into Gondorian Society. Eowyn, for her part, decides her new companion would in turn make the perfect bride for her brother Eomer, King of Rohan. Matchmaking shenanigans ensue 😏

Yayy I finished page 1!! I plan to do at least another page this weekend, but do let me know if you'd like me to continue!! I survive on encouragement 😆

Also yes i know i Know "Black" is the color of Sauron, shhh let's just pretend that now that Sauron is out of the picture Normal people can be goth or wear black without moral issues lol