#eomer; threads

[menelvagor]

"think you're going to have to go on without me." (Aragorn to... Éomer) -✧- @rangers-arecool

The young horse-lord looked at his friend, his now comrade-at-arms, as he bled heavily from a wound in his leg. It poured out steadily, even as both Éomer and Aragorn sought to staunch the blood flow. Not even that, but such a wound would make it hard to walk anywhere at any speed, to get to safety. Damn the Uruks and Saruman!

"No. It will be alright," he replied resolutely, wiping his bloodied hands on part of his tunic. He tied the makeshift fabric tourniquet tighter. "I will not leave you here, to be food for the nighttime beasts. We can make it, Aragorn."

[menelvagor]

Today was one just like any other the past week that Éomer's riders attempted to ride the mysterious mare in her paddock. Several of them entered into the space she was in, vying to get the closest to her. The whole situation was becoming so frustrating to some that an argument had broken out between two men, one shoving another out of his way. This was getting out of hand. The Third Marshall leapt over the corral fence where he had been watching from and moved over to them, frowning.

"All right, now, men. Are we really arguing over who's getting to ride this mare next? Does it matter so much in these down times to make strife with one another? At least give anyone else a turn."

They turned to look at their commander and both men silenced, casting about apologetic looks. One was less remorseful and piped up, "Why, my lord Éomer, then it looks as though you are next. I was anxious to try my hand at riding her again, but you have not showed us your attempt!" He clapped the younger man on the shoulder and pointed at the mare. Éomer narrowed his eyes at him instead, but too late. A cheer rang out around the corral by everyone, shouting for the Marshal's turn.

The horse-lord sighed heavily but nodded, not wishing to show that he did not think it would end well for him. "Fine, Léofred. I shall go." He lifted his head high and then slowly walked closer to the mare, careful so as not to spook her despite the noise around them. He nickered softly to her to focus her attention on him as he approached.

"We meet again," he murmured, reaching his hand out for the reigns that had been thrown hastily around her. "Will you let me ride you today, huh? Be a good horse now. . ."

By the time they arrived in Aldburg, Sasha was dragging well behind the rest of the riders, the ropes around her neck tightening against her throat the more she slowed. There was no fight left when she entered the corral, allowing herself to be haltered and left on a drag rope as others tended to the war horses.

A week of sore muscles and exhaustion passed before she paid mind to the éored who gathered along her fence line. The golden mare finally sound enough to be worked with, whether she liked it or not.

The fool at the end of her rope changed several times a day, all vying to be the one to make her heed their command. The youngest were chased from the paddock within minutes while the more experienced ones took more encouragement to leave. They, more often than not, needed to be thrown from her back before they admitted defeat.

It seemed, though, that her attempts to be left alone only made her more popular among the éored, as now even the Third Marshal seemed interested in her. When the corral gate creaked open, she pinned her ears back and pawed at the ground, snorting at the riders who dared step close.

[torchwood-99]

The playing around with gendered narratives we see in Faramir and Eowyn's relationship fascinates me. I've already dwelled on how they almost swap roles in the virtues they possess, the plot points of their stories, and the dramatic climaxes of their arcs, but Tolkien really goes one step further with writing Faramir in a manner that is usually reserved for women, by turning him into "the love interest" after he meets Eowyn.

Before meeting Eowyn, one of Faramir's driving conflicts and dynamics is that with his father. It's a complex and difficult relationship based on love and antipathy, and it ends in the most devastating manner. Some significance is given to how Faramir will respond to the death of his father, as Gandalf gives instructions for him to be told soon his father is dead, but to wait a while before telling him how.

We never see Faramir's reaction to either piece of news. This crucial development is forgotten, without even a line expressing how he found out, or what he felt when he did.

After meeting Eowyn, Faramir character, his arc, his interiority, develops around her.

We see him try to get through to her, to make a connection with her, he fears the world ending because he doesn't want to lose her after finding her, he rejoices in the world being saved by kissing her brow. It all hinges on her. His happiness is complete when she gives him her love. His love was always on offer, the choice for them to be together hinged on her.

In contrast, Eowyn's pre-battle conflicts and dynamics carry on after meeting Faramir. Her despair, her feelings for Aragorn, her mourning Theoden, her need to find a cause for hope and a reason to keep on living now the war is done and death in battle is beyond her. Her friendship with Merry, her loyalty to Rohan; she has Faramir wait for her to return, because first she has duties to do in her home country. Faramir is a new thread in her narrative, and a significant one, but all the earlier threads in her narrative carry through, whereas it feels a bit like some of Faramir's narrative threads were snipped once Eowyn had entered the frame.

Now, we do know that factually Faramir was rebuilding Gondor, and that he became Steward and Prince of Ithilien afterwards, but we don't follow his thoughts and feelings and his struggles as he takes on this new role. As a person, as an individual, he has multiple purposes and priorities. He is still Faramir, who still loves his country and has dreams for how it will grow after the war. He doesn't lose his personhood. But as a character, his story is about Eowyn, and whether or not he gets her. It began with him meeting Eowyn. It followed him reaching out to Eowyn. It ended in Eowyn saying yes.

When Faramir takes a moment to talk about his future, when we get a personal, emotional look at how Faramir views his role and his ambitions, he makes it all about her. He will marry Eowyn, if she wills it. They will go to Ithilien and plant a garden there, if she wills it. And if they do, everything will be wonderful, if she is there.

Contrast to Eowyn talking about her future with Faramir, it's also all about her. How her mindset has changed, how her priorities have shifted, how she no longer wishes to die but wishes to heal, how she has finally found hope at last. The most Faramir gets in this speech is a coy little reference as to how Eowyn no longer wishes to be queen.

Their troth plighting centres Eowyn as well. Eomer justifies holding it at Theoden's funeral because of how much Theoden loved her. He says that the Steward asked for her hand and she granted it, "full willing". The troth plighting scene ends in a reconciliation between Aragorn and Eowyn. Faramir stays in Rohan for a while to be with Eowyn, and the last we see of Eowyn, it's in a scene focussing on her warriors at arms bond with Merry.

Eowyn and Faramir's stories, after the Battle of Pelennor, becomes Eowyn and Faramir's story. It's about them falling in love and coming together. However, in this story, it's not the bloke who is the Hero, and the woman who is the Love Interest. Here, Eowyn is the Hero, with multiple narrative threads and dynamics that need to be resolved, and Faramir is the Love Interest, whose narrative is entirely wrapped in whether or not he gets the girl.

[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.

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

👽 What's the weirdest idea you've had for a story?

🤓 Nerdiest thing youve done in the name of writing?

🦸‍♀️ Do you have a role model in writing?

🦷 Any world building details you love to include in writing from the original source? Or for original writers--what's a WB detail that has been most fun to work with?

:)

👽 What's the weirdest idea you've had for a story?

...I won't share my weirdest because it's a little...yikes.

(Weird in what way? That is always the question!)

In any case, for Grima I would say I have this story in my head wherein Saruman ends up doing some weird experiments on Grima for Reasons and one them results in his turning into the most fucked up, ravenous creature at night that just devours people around him. He has no control and the thing he turns into is So Ugly.

Anyway, Saruman lets him loose for shits and giggles and Eomer finds out. It goes from there.

🤓 Nerdiest thing youve done in the name of writing?

I've done a lot of things in the name of writing. I learned how to make mead for the sake of my LOTR-Rohan centric fics. I bought early medeival Anglo-Saxon clothes in order to better understand how it feels to move in them.

(Not Grima related but I almost bought a lyra de braccio in order to continue to turn myself into Marsilio Ficino but my bank account managed to convince me not to.)

I tend to drink/eat food that is relevant to what I'm writing. Including making lots of medieval and early modern recipes. I pretend to be the characters and walk around the house talking to myself as if I were them and carrying on full conversations.

&c.

🦸‍♀️ Do you have a role model in writing?

Hilary Mantel. Hands down. (and I think her influence on me is pretty obvious on my writing.)

I would also say Gillian Flynn in that I admire how good she is at telling tight, concise stories. It's something I struggle with and I think she's a master of the craft in that regard.

Back to style, I would say Mary Oliver, Kate Zambreno, Anne Carson, Anne Boyer.

I quite like Justin Torres' more experimental style (e.g., Blackouts)

🦷 Any world building details you love to include in writing from the original source? Or for original writers--what's a WB detail that has been most fun to work with?

For Grima, I like including the canon that he is light fingered and just hoarded everything in a trunk in his room. While I include from the films that he is dark haired, I have been more and more leaning into him having dark eyes as well which is a detail from the book.

More broadly, I like trying to keep to the strong early medieval Anglo-Saxon influence Tolkien used in developing Rohan. Though I do also add quite a few Nordic elements to it. While Rohan might have been based on the kingdom of Mercia, which never fell under the Danelaw, I still think there's enough cause to thread in late antiquity/early medieval Scandinavian elements (such as the seidr).

---

Thank you!!

[ask meme thing]

[menelvagor]

Éomer looked away with a set determined look on his features and he said firmly, "No, you are not Hal. I do not mean to cause any discomfort, but I have noticed the way some of my riders look at you. A strong, capable woman? Any one with sense would long to be courted by you. Your life is merely longer than ours."

He moved slightly as she nudged him, head shaking at the thought of women only wishing to court him for his rank as a Marshal of the Riddermark, the nephew of the King. "Which is why I ignore many of them, for I long not for that. Perhaps it is because attempts have failed with my cousin also," he joked with a slight chuckle which immediately was silenced.

"Surely they must know they cannot control you, wild ranger that you are - with your kin and friends to back you up. I would not be happy myself."

He accepted the template offered him and folded it up twice more so that he could stick it into a pocket for later reference. "Thank you, Hal. It shall alleviate some of the headache that comes with thinking up a response, even if not written by my own hand."

"You? More diplomatic?" Éomer confirmed, grin returning to his lips. "Is that why he so often sends you out into the world, to forge good relations with the Eorlingas and others, rather than himself? Ah, Aragorn."

  Hal gave a wry grin at the amusement, flicking a sideways glance at him. She returned to watching the little boy playing, a soft smile replacing the grin and hiding the slight indecision she felt at his words- or so she thought. A few minutes of peacefulness fell between them, dark eyes dropping to her hands on her knees. “I’m too old and broken to send anyone a courting letter now.” She answered softly, ignoring the fact that 71 wasn’t exactly old for one of the Northern Dúnadain.

  ”Since I was nine.” The soft spoken Ranger confirmed at his shock, while one eye was on Theo. “Many just want the prestige and status when it comes to you, Éomer.” She nudged him gently, before leaning slightly against his side. “Most of those who send me courting letters want control to ensure that I don’t turn Dark, amongst other things. My grandfather stopped it but it nearly caused all of my kin to cease trade and avoid Bree, as they weren’t exactly.. happy."

  She eyed him momentarily, pulling a copy of the template from her pack and handing it to him with a small smile. “I don’t mind. Take this copy and then you can adapt it to how you need.” Ha gave a faint grin at the thought at his words, before glancing down at the letter in her hand. A letter with the address of someone within Aldburg. “That it is. He does need the diplomacy practice as I’ve been told I’m more diplomatic than Strider, which isn’t exactly good.”

[menelvagor]

"The people of Rohan will like me as their Queen? I fear I will not do a good enough job." - Lothíriel to Éomer -✧- @tcbefearless

Éomer's hands cradled his wife's face, one hand on each side, thumbs resting gently on her pink-hued cheeks. He looked down at her as she stated what worried her, his own green eyes swimming with a hint of worry but also adoration for her. Much appreciation did he hold for her, that she cared so much for her new role and people she would rule. He could see the goodness and strength she held within, and he had no doubt others would do the same.

He smiled lightly as he answered, "They will like whomever their King chooses to be beside him, so help them." He chuckled and continued, "I know you will do your best, and my people - our people - will see that. If it eases your mind, I do not believe I am any better off than you are, Lothí. We shall learn what is best to do together. Good or bad, we shall not be alone in it."

[eadrg]

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁 , : —           sent by :  @minastiriiths​

                                                                            HE MOURNS THE     loss   of   the   last   of   his   family  ,    leaves   her   in   a   stone   city   far   from   their   green   fields  ,    laments   the   very   thought   of   it  .     and   he  ,     the   last   of   the   line   of   éorl   to   sit   in   medusheld’s   halls  .      HOW CAN HE BE HAPPY WITH THIS ?     and   yet  ,     she   smiles   the   like   he   has   never   seen   in   those   halls   of   home  ,     and   even   the   king   cannot   fault   the   man   she   has   chosen  .     he   gives   her   away   willingly  ,    if   not   happily  ,      the   latest   of   his   family   to   leave   his   side  ,    with   a   crown   he   never   wanted   to   be   forced   upon   his   brow  .      this   is   the   hope   he   wishes   for   her  ,     not   destined   to   be   bound   to   he   as   he   withers   back   in   his   home   under   the   weight   . 

                                                                            ❝  she’d   kill   you   if   you   hurt   her  ,     but   if   she   did   not   any   one   of   my   men   might   take   a   trip   her  ,    and   be   pardoned  in   my   halls   for   their   actions  .    now  ,      a   toast  .  ❞

[menelvagor]

Éomer considered. He imagined in the morning his men seeking him out, happening upon the two before they could yet wake. If they saw Amarië on the bed and their King on the floor, some would only think ill of this, further disliking the elf amongst them. It would almost be better for him to be found beside her in the bed than resigned to the ground. No matter if he did it out of courtesy or not.

The combination of the cold floor and the storm that raged outside quickly made the decision for him. Warmth and comfort he would not find if he settled with lying on the floor.

"If you insist, my lady," he simply murmured, walking back over to the bed with a frown. "I doubt that I shall even rest until the storm passes," he added as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He moved slightly closer to Amarië when a peal of thunder cracked the sky.

"What entertainment is there in watching the rain all night?" he asked her before his mouth opened in a wide yawn and he leaned back onto the pillow. "Or is it rather that you do not sleep as I do?"

Her fingers itched to move his hair away herself. She glanced out at the rain to restrain the urge. In another life, the thunder gave him nightmares. She wondered if it was the same this time. She wondered if the old Vanyarin lullaby would soothe him this time as it did the last -- Amarië shook her head to pull herself out of her thoughts. It would do no good. It was best to let it remain a pleasant memory. This Éomer may have the same soul but he was a different person. It would do no good to pretend otherwise.

Still. The stone must be cold. She could feel the chill on her feet, it must be all the worse for him.

How he used to hate the cold.

"Share with me," Amarië said, instinctively, without thought. She was almost unaware she had said it at all.

"I mean," She glanced away again. "I want to watch the rain. It would be silly for you to sleep on the floor when I may not use the bed at all."

Amarië shifted, holding her knees to her chest, as if to illustrate her point.

[at-kuipher]

short  and  sweet.         @silentwound.

gentle  touch  upon  other’s  temple,     hoping  to  softly  nudge  them  to  wake.    “   my  love.     the  sun  rises.     as  much  as  i  wish  to  stay  beside  you,    i  must  take  my  leave.   ”

[lesbiansforboromir]

I am once again thinking about how Boromir was nearly universally loved and accepted in Rohan. I’m thinking about Eomer’s shock at news of his death, I’m thinking about how Theoden grieved him, I’m thinking about Boromir vehemently defending the Rohir at the Council of Elrond. I’m thinking about how Boromir did not just blankly accept Rohan’s allyship, I’m thinking about how he included them in his mind as ALSO his people, that he was able to shift his manners to suit both Rohan and Gondorian society seamlessly. I’m thinking about!! Boromir’s heart!!!

At this point I’m almost entirely certain that the Rohirrim were meant to stand in as the ‘warrior race’ to Gondor’s ‘’’enlightened civilisation’’’ and therefore allying Boromir so clearly to the Rohirrim and then comparing that to Faramir’s ‘Yet now, if the Rohirrim are grown in some ways more like to us, enhanced in arts and gentleness, we too have become more like to them, and can scarce claim any longer the title High. We are become Middle Men, of the Twilight, but with memory of other things’ was likely him just trying to reinforce Boromir as the personification of Gondor’s ‘’’decline’’’ but I’m very sorry Tolkien you just didn’t thread this needle and now Boromir’s a gregarious, all accepting and multi-cultural man who sees no difference between the lives of ‘middle men’ and ‘high men’ and counts them all amongst his people.

[tathrin]

#love the snippet #and i really expected the rider to be eomer

@oakenting thank you! And I am delighted to hear that the little bait-and-switch gave you an "oh wait that's not Éomer" moment!

Many Lines Monday

Thank you very much for tagging me to share a wip snippet, @chthonion! I am elated by the chance to oblige.

This bit is from And In The Darkness To Unmake Them, my Celebrimbor-joins-the-Fellowship AU, which has run into a bit of a mental roadblock in a few places recently, so hopefully sharing a little of it here will help kick the brain back into gear!

One of the Riders nudged his mount forward, moving out a few steps in front of the rest. He sat at no great height, but his shoulders were broad—broader than most—and his grip upon his reins was casual and steady. The helm he wore was topped with a long pale horsetail, and his braids hung long and thick beneath it.

"And who are you," the Rider demanded, "to speak thus to us in our own lands? For you strangers are no Men of Rohan; indeed, I see that many of you are no Men at all! Who is to say that this burning was not done at your hands, and your words of Orcs and assistance now are but pretty lies to throw us off the trail? Speak! For the Men of Rohan do not lie; and thus are not easily deceived."

"That is well," said Elladan calmly, "for we do not intend to deceive you; nor do we mean harm to any good folk that dwell within Rohan, neither Horse nor Man. Nor are we all of us strangers: we have been in your lands before, my brother and I, although our last journey hither would have been very long ago indeed by your mortal reckoning."

"Indeed, although you may know us not, we know your folk well enough, Son of Rohan," said Elrohir. "For my brother and I fought in the battle that forged your kingdom, some several generations of your kindred previous. I am Elrohir of Rivendell, and this is my twin-brother, Elladan. Those we ride with are called the Grey Company, for their mail and raiment, and for their purpose also; and they are Elves and Men of the North: Rangers of the Dúnedain, and Elvish warriors of Imladris. We seek travel through your lands to Gondor."

The Rider eyed them suspiciously, and his men exchanged wary glances. "Your words are fair," the leader of their éored said after a long moment. "Yet we have oft heard fair words in the Riddermark of late, which have fouler means behind them. Have you any proofs which you can offer that your passage through our lands is to as innocent a purpose as you claim? And what, for that matter, is your purpose in riding so armed to Gondor, long our allies in both war and peace?"

"Their purpose is to return to my land with the answers for which I left to seek Rivendell, some several months ago," Boromir said, raising his voice before either brother could answer. "For I am Boromir of Gondor, son of Denethor, and I am riding home at last."

"Boromir!" Several of the Riders startled, and some leaned across their horses' necks to peer closer at his face. Boromir raised his chin and met their eyes, his gaze firm and unflinching.

The leader doffed his helm at last, and revealed a face that Boromir had seen before: strong, but weathered from sun and wind and long rides across the open plains; fair-haired like most of the people of Rohan, yet sporting locks that were less bright meadowflower-yellow and more of a dark cornsilk, sun-streaked and heavy in the light wind. The thin scar that marred the short beard that graced his chin was new, but there was no mistaking those deep brown eyes nor that strong wide nose. "Boromir!" he cried.

"Théodred," Boromir said, and bowed slightly from his saddle. "It has been some time."

"Some time, indeed!" Théodred exclaimed. "And yet I know your face well, Boromir of Gondor, and you are a welcome sight here in these dark times! I will tell you that when your horse returned without you, we feared the worst. I am glad to see now that our fears were meritless." Théodred's gaze flickered towards the Sons of Elrond, who watched their reunion with impassive grey eyes. "You say you have found the answers for which you sought?"

Tagging: @babybat98 @roselightfairy @bifuriouswaterbender @katajainen @realtacuardach and I'm not sure who's been tagged already because I haven't actually checked my dash yet this evening beyond Chthonion's (enthralling) post, so if you see this and haven't been tagged yet: consider yourselves tagged by me! And if you've already been tagged ignore me shh.

[erosofthepen]

Hi hun! So, on my other blog, I'm sure you saw me rambling about my idea for the Character x Seamstress S/O fanfics. I wanted to get your opinion on something when you find the time.

You know how you always used to write those "Which Lotr Character would most enjoy a cottagecore s/o" requests for me? Could you please do one of those with a Seamstress s/o? Like which Lotr and The Hobbit Characters would most appreciate a seamstress girlfriend? Thank you kindly, and I hope you're doing well hun!!

Here you are love! I hope you enjoy. I have your other ask, and i promise i'm getting to it, but I might have to do it during the weekend since it's the last two days of classes and everything's being a bit rushed.

Lotr:

Eomer:

Eomer would be head over heels for a cute seamstress s/o! You can bet that he would start commissioning clothing he doesn't need, or intentionally tearing tunic or trousers just so that he could stop by and visit them. I feel like he's the type of person who would start brining little things like treats or flowers whenever he comes visiting. When he's made King of Rohan, he wears some traditional armor that has been passed down through generations, but also commissions the rest of his garb to be made by his s/o, likely with a love confession to follow.

Faramir:

Faramir would 100% appreciate a seamstress s/o, especially since he knows a thing or two about sewing himself. I can totally see him allowing his s/o to see his late-mother's wardrobe, so that she could study the different patterns and fashions of Gondor nobility, and Faramir would totally gift her her favorite of the dresses and robes. This is going out on a limb here, but since Faramir mentioned in lotr that his clothes as a boy never fit him, i can see that continuing on to his adulthood. Like perhaps his tunic is always just a bit too tight, or something of the sort. When the seamstress takes his measurements and creates clothing that finally fits, he could have married her on the spot.

Aragorn:

Dirty rugged ranger man would very much love a seamstress s/o. He knows how to sew himself, but without much neatness or grace, and being the ranger that he is, is always having to fix tears and holes in his clothes. When his seamstress s/o comes along, he's ever so thankful that she really knows her stuff, and can make the holes and such almost look like they were never there in the first place. He also starts relying on her to help him with court fashion and 'the noble look' after he becomes king, because she knows whats hot and what's not.

The Hobbit:

Bard:

Bard would love her character, first and foremost, but, he also very much loves her for how helpful she is. With three children, clothing is always getting torn up, and new clothes are needed every few months or so, especially when his kids go through growth-spurts. All of his children would love her, especially little Tilda, since his s/o starts making little dresses and coats for her dolls from scrap fabrics. But also, have you seen the state of that man's coat? Yeah, his seamstress s/o wouldn't stand for that. She'll either refurbish it so that it looks good as new, or she'll create a whole other new coat for him, that'll keep him even warmer out in the winter. He loves her with all his heart, and never fails to bring home new and beautiful threads from the markets for her work.

Fili:

My main dwarf Fili. Okay, so he would absolutely adore his seamstress s/o, and being the crown prince of the richest kingdom in middle earth, would 100% order and bring in nothing but the finest fabrics, silks, and furs for her work. She'd learn a whole lot about dwarven fashion and clothing while there, especially how golden thread can be spun into cloth, and how jewels and precious gems are often threaded onto robes. I feel like their first meeting would be her taking his measurements for a commission Thorin asked her to do, and while she's getting a bit blushy at taking the inseam measurements, Fili starts being Fili and makes a few suggestive, but not offensive jokes. It be so cute to see them interacting.

Bilbo:

This hobbit would be head over heels, because, FINALLY, someone he can talk to about sewing and embroidering clothing. Hobbits have lots of wonderful colors and patterns in their outfits, and I feel like a seamstress would really appreciate all the different styles hobbits have. She would also appreciate the depth at which Bilbo is able to talk about them. He loves commissioning clothing from her, because "There's no one in Hobbiton who comes even remotely close to your skill and dedication. I hardly think I could trust someone else with making my clothes now." It's all very sweet.

[btcher]

my tired brain listing to the lotr soundtrack looking at the icon i’m using in a thread thinking i’m writing eomer for the slightest second .

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

He catches sight of her face, the skepticism in it. ‘I was in a painter’s workshop for a time. Before I was made to switch trades.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Kept brawling with the master’s son. It wasn’t my fault the boy was unforgivably ugly not to mention stupid and absolutely had it coming.’  

‘You sure it’s not you?’ Osanna asks, holding her hand out she motions for the painting. ‘I suspect there might be a common thread and its name is Pietro.’

Pietro is like if Grima and Eomer had a deeply unfortunate son. 

Lurks in corners? check. Drowned rat appearance? check. Compulsively truculent? check. Prone to dropping sick burns at inappropriate times? check. Just always ready to fight? check. Would brawl with Gimli if there were a cross over? absolutely. Would backstab someone for money? 100% and with zero regrets. Has his moments of charm and charisma? for sure. 

[lesbiansforboromir]

I'm gonna make this thread longer just for the delight of recieving the noble patronage of one so esteemed as Lady Catherine de Bourgh <3

I do sort of agree, I've been enjoying a blissful period of time where I haven't thought about Gandalf even once and completely forgot he had his whole hutch to trammel some wild thing moment here, and with Gandalf supposedly being the Ultimate Last Word on things it does complicate Eowyn's positioning by the narrative. So yes you're definitely right, the despair was at least not a lie and was a full intended aspect of her narrative, I was being too pessimstic.

However what I would say is don't think Aragorn is the target of Gandalf's chastising here. Specifically he is telling Eomer that he should be more sympathetic to Eowyn's fears and frustrations. And with that being true, again, the last word anyone has on the subject is Faramir, uncontested, and he declares;

‘You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn. Because he was high and puissant, and you wished to have renown and glory and to be lifted far above the mean things that crawl on the earth. And as a great captain may to a young soldier he seemed to you admirable. For so he is, a lord among men, the greatest that now is. But when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle. Look at me, Eowyn!’

It is certainly presented in the best way it could have been, with Faramir allowing Eowyn a little gender freedom and soldier-applicability, one could argue he is empathising with her (though in his usual extreme overbearing Faramir-manner). But still, the declaration here is pretty plain to me, you desired Aragorn, he rebuffed you, and then you desired nothing but death in battle. The implication is that Eowyn would have been satisfied with Aragorn's love and would have acquiesced to whatever he asked of her if he'd given it to her. So as usual with Tolkien, he's trying to grapple with something somewhat outside of his sphere, something a little transgressive, and he's attempting to do it with some nuance. But the underlying assumptions remain the same, everything still must fit into his worldview in the end.

Got real exercised about Peter Jackson’s defanged Eowyn and needed to draw my girl going slowly out of her mind as Aragorn’s apathy makes her more and more desperate until she finally breaks free of the chains that bind her and decides that if she is to die, she would choose how.