#faramir: .... what.

[theladyeowyn]

You shall live to see these days renewed. And no more despair.

requested by @the-mawp

[mithrandirl]

Éowyn, Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure! lotr quotes

[rosefires20]

My brainrot today is thinking about just how incredible for a character Eowyn is.

Genuinely. The series might not have many female characters but the ones we do get go so fucking hard.

To me, Eowyn is literally the definition of defining being a woman for oneself. She rejects the roles she is given despite acknlowdging the importance and its mostly because she knows part of the reason is that she is a woman.

The reason why she is obsessed with Aragorn isn't because she loves him but because she wants what he has. She wants the freedom and courage and bravery that Aragorn has at every turn. She literally has multiple conversations during the Two Towers about how what she fears most is a cage. All this girl wants is the freedom to be and not be forced into a role. The best thing is that she literally gets that.

The segment of Return of the King about Eowyn and Faramir is literally about her piecing together what she truly wants. She doesn't want Aragorn. She wants freedom and the ability to choose. Faramir does nothing but encourage that in her. Their love story is literally one of the healthiest love stories I've seen in a long time because at the heart of it, their love is a place to return home to for both parties. Both go off to lead and help their people for a considerable amount of time before returning to each other but that does not diminish their bond. Even Faramir, I believe, falls in love with her bravery and dedication to her loved ones. The reason she went to Pelenor Fields and Gondor with the troops of Rohan was because she had things she wanted to fight for. She wanted to fight for herself, her people, and her loved ones. She is the one who protects Theoden after he is killed so that his body gets the treatment it deserves. She encourages Merry and helps him go to the battle because she sees her struggle in Merry. They feel helpless standing around when there are things to be doing.

Let's also not forget the fact that she was around Grima Wormtounge just as much as the King was. She was exposed to the same poison and awful words that eroded the king. It's even implied that her care for him is part of the reason why Theoden was savable when Gandalf showed up. She had the same power and bravery as everyone else even if she didn't see it in herself.

Then at the end of the day, SHE decides where she wants to go and what path she wants to walk. She walked the path of a warrior. The path of a princess/ruler. The path of a caretaker. But in the end she decides which elements truly mean something to her outside of gender definitions. That is what makes her character so incredible to me. In this she literally kills one of the biggest enemies in that battle with such a badass line.

[artbyleav]

My complete #six fanarts challenge

[borom1r]

silly LotR blinkies for all yr silly LotR blinkie needs!!

(for anyone who doesn't wanna try to decipher the futhorc on Éomer's, it's abt as close as you can get to "bottom (derogatory)" in Old English ✌🏻✌🏻 EDIT also the Sindarin says “husbands”)

[ddaengju]

it's 3am and all i can think about is an alternate universe where boromir lived, and him and faramir are living as a happy family without their fuckass father

[tathrin]

Oh no help, why is my brain suddenly full of an RAF (or RFC) AU where Legolas is a pilot who gets the nickname “Greenleaf” because of how lightly and acrobatically he flies (and also he should probably be Irish or Scottish so the Brits can be derisive about his “more dangerous and less wise” people hmm? ooh or Indian! doesn’t really matter as long as he wears a lot of green so the nickname makes sense lmao) while Gimli was too short for the army but is a fucking amazing mechanic and basically single-handedly responsible for how amazing this unit’s planes are and how no matter how wrecked their planes are if they can get them back to base at all he can fix them, and Legolas fell in love basically the first time he saw Gimli work his miracles with that wrench and Gimli is not in love thank you, he is very very annoyed by this chipper pilot who keeps getting holes shot in his fucking wings and he definitely doesn’t like him at all and certainly doesn’t go out of his way to tinker with Legolas’s plane all the time and make sure it’s the absolute best machine in the air oh no nope definitely not dammit and he certainly doesn’t fret every time Legolas flies off into battle or comes back with his engine smoking again that fucker oh how Gimli loathes him! until one day he finally hops out of a just-barely-landed-successfully plane that is literally on fire Legolas what the fuck you idiot and oh and he stumbles what’s wrong oh no is he hurt oh no and Gimli runs over to help him up and instead they kiss right on the runway oh fuck—!

And the whole unit has been taking bets on this forever, so Commander Strider has to come break up the fistfight between Éowyn-who-definitely-isn’t-using-her-brother’s-ID-and-the-whole-unit-doesn’t-know-she’s-secretly-a-girl-NOPE and Boromir over who now owes whom money before Boromir’s little brother, the only one in the unit who hasn’t figured out that Éowyn is a girl yet, does something stupid trying to stop his brother fighting with “the fellow” he definitely doesn’t have a crush on Boromir please—!

Strider is so tired. He didn’t sign-up for herding idiots in love, he’s just trying to win the damn war, do you lads MIND???

Lord Mithrandir is sitting in his office watching the show from the window and laughing so hard, he fucking loves his deranged pilots so much. He has pulled  so many blatant cover-ups for their hijinks, and everybody in high command knows that he’s tossing aside regulations left and right, but his units are the most successful pilots in the damn skies so nobody can do anything about it dammit. (He’s also definitely in cahoots with General Galadriel, who pulls his ass out of the fire every damn time somebody tries to bestow some kind of reprimand or punishment, and who gets regular “briefings” about his pilots that absolutely aren’t just gossip in disguise, and which she certainly doesn’t pass along to her granddaughter who’s engaged to Commander Strider, who definitely isn’t royalty in disguise, nope nope and also nope.)

[southfarthing]

Eowyn tells Faramir it isn't necessary to write all of Rohan's songs and legends in a book lest they be forgotten. The Rohirrim do not read and write: they are oral storytellers, and they have great respect for their minstrels and their history. They will not forget anything.

She says it to reassure him and save him the trouble, but it does not seem to soothe his mind.

He smiles quickly at her before turning to the window. He looks out at the hills of Emyn Arnen as though watching for a storm on the horizon, and then Eowyn understands.

She grasps his hand.

At his touch, an image rushes through her mind: a grey, mutinous sea; and among the froth and the fury – sodden books, orphaned heirlooms, and a tapestry that will never again be seen or re-made, with both story and skill lost to the devouring waters.

The water washes over them both before slowly receding, leaving only a mist that she blinks away, and the distant glint of the Anduin to the west as it flows down to the Sea.

'Have I ever told you of Eorl the Young?' she says. Her voice is rough; she clears her throat.

'We know much about Eorl in Gondor,' Faramir says softly. 'His friendship with Cirion and his aid in our time of need was great.'

'And what about after?' she asks. 'What does Gondor know about that?'

Faramir turns to her with a wry smile. 'Very little.'

'Would that you had someone to teach you a little history.'

The mirth in Faramir's eyes mirrors her own.

'Would that I did.'

[edennill-archived]

Still thinking about the surprising connection between Faramir and Nienna... Yes I know their names never appear in one book; don't @ me.

Because, if you look at it: Gandalf/Olórin was mentored by Nienna, and Faramir was mentored by Gandalf, and he absolutely doesn't know about the former fact but also it's very much a thing. And however you'd look at it, despite him being unaware, this chain of mentorship is a pretty close connection.

And then, if you look at Faramir's most characteristic virtues, showing mercy and compassion are going to be somewhere on top of that list. And I think that Faramir, the brother who weeps for Boromir, the soldier who avoids killing is... likelier than not to have gotten these from the Gandalf who once said "And many who die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be so quick to deal out death in judgement."

And I think it's pretty obvious who Gandalf got it from.

[stitcherofchaos]

Why I don't speak much about Finrod (and my favorite Tolkien character tier list)

It's weird how much I love the type of character that Finrod is too, but I don't talk or overanalyze him as much as I do with Maglor.

I think this is because I can't say anything new about Finrod that has already been said. Finrod's literally perfection on this site.

You know I love him than Maedhros but no one would've guessed that because I just don't talk about them.

I fear that I've "over-posted" about Maglor... and to think, originally, I didn't want this blog to be a fandom one but it became that because of the things I'm interested in and/or think about daily. Hence the blog name and yeah I know this post is pure irony but that's kind of the point.

Anyway, here's my controversial list of my top ten favorite tolkien characters:

1.) Maglor (for complexity and too many other reasons I've posted about already)

2.) Finrod // Fingon (equal pure dorks)

3.) Eowyn (relatable a good thing indeed)

4.) Samwise Gamgee (yass king!)

5.) Manwe (naive dork of a king love him) // Gandalf/Olorin (Favorite chaotic introverted boi)

6.) Maedhros (he reminds me of someone I know so he's down here)

7.) Varda // Neinna // Luthien (yasss queenz!)

8.) Elrond // Finarfin (equal "gone through pain but still kind" lords)

9.) Fingolfin (relatable not a good thing)

10.) Faramir (he's husband material) // Aragorn (You deserved better on this list)

Honorable mention(s): The rest of the hobbit gang in Lotr, including Bilbo Baggins.

[lady-of-ithilien]

5th year of phd be like:

[sunroxic]

if Boromir had ( through god knows what ) lived after and remained till the end, what do you think things that'll change? I 100% think Faramir wouldn't have to go back to Osgiliath

[aldisobey]

TAG, YOU'RE IT! Share three pics of your OC, then send this to three of your mutuals on anon to keep the game going!

(ok word-person!! Let's see if you've got VISUALS 😤)

I DIDNT have visuals for Rook ‘Worne’ Thorne. It’s possible you wanted screenshots from the game. Or face claims. But I’m a creator. I didn’t create those. So I created art for you. You cursed us all. I’m cackling, you created joy for me today.

First up. A first try. I put shades on him because I can’t do eyes. I fucked it up. Second one. See. See the eyes. I can’t fit them there. It’s Emmrich vision btw. He just sees those big soulful brown eyes so in love.

And an illustration for the end of this fic. He’s running away from his angry husband. Emmrich is right to be mad. He won’t catch him. But eventually Worne’ll want to be caught.

[e-louise-bates]

Recently I've been mulling over the way Faramir and Boromir are presented in the LOTR movies, and why I find even their brotherly relationship unconvincing (I'm sorry, Boromir fans, but I do). I feel that everything about Faramir in the movies is presented in narrative as though he is a lesser version of Boromir, and the big issue for him is that he's always trying to live up to his brother's ideal, and his father is always criticizing him and Boromir is always trying to build Faramir up. It isn't just that Denethor thinks of Faramir as a lesser Boromir, it's that he genuinely is, and he needs to come to terms with who he is (and I guess he sorta does that when he rejects the ring? but then fails when his father tells him to go retake Osgiliath? and then there's never really a satisfactory conclusion to his arc because he just gets healed and falls in love with Eowyn and decides there's hope for the future after all and everything's ok?).

Whereas in the books Tolkien tells us outright--Boromir is a lesser version of Aragorn, but Faramir is a lesser version of Gandalf. Faramir has the wisdom that his brother and father lack, and Denethor resents him for it, but Boromir respects him for it. Tolkien tells us that Faramir is certain that in all of Gondor there is no one like Boromir, and Boromir thinks the same (which I am pretty sure Tolkien means as Boromir thinks Faramir is the best of the best, but could also be interpreted as Boromir agreeing with Faramir that he, Boromir, is the best, which is kinda hilarious to imagine). Boromir is not always trying to build up his little brother, who is desperately trying to win their father's approval. Boromir recognizes the ways in which Faramir is superior to himself, the same way that Faramir recognizes Boromir's strengths.

Faramir in the books is a strong and capable leader of men (all of whom love him and are wholly loyal to him) as well as a mighty warrior, but his true strength lies in his wisdom. When he obeys his father's order to go attempt to retake Osgiliath, it is not a desperate attempt to win approval, but an acknowledgement that Denethor is still in command and he, Faramir, is bound by oath and virtue to obey his orders, even when they wrong. The quiet plea for his father to think better of him when he returns is a glimpse into the pain he feels at his father's constant rejection, but that pain does not control him, nor is it his driving motivation. Faramir's goal, in all things, is to be a man of virtue, even as Boromir's goal is to be a man of honor. Boromir finds that under the ring's temptation, honor breaks, and though he is redeemed it takes his death. When Faramir is confronted with the same temptation--a stronger one, even, as he has not spent weeks and months with Frodo as a companion and therefore has not built a relationship of trust and loyalty, and he has not heard with his own ears the strong warnings against using the ring!--virtue holds fast. Boromir redeems his own honor by his death, but by his life Faramir redeems the line of the stewards of Gondor, which is why he is able to receive the task of redeeming Ithilien once Aragorn is crowned king (and why he is actually a better husband for Eowyn than Aragorn would have been, but that's a whole other post).

All of this was lost in presenting Boromir as the superior-in-every-way elder brother, with Faramir as his shadow-self, who failed the same test with the ring but in a weaker way (and then passed at the last minute because ... Sam gave a moving speech about good in the world being worth fighting for and not giving up, and he decided that was a good reason to let them go destroy the ring after all?), and whose entire character was defined by desperately striving for his father's approval and never getting it, and then somehow just being ok at the end.

[ffaleruv]

🏹: The Blooming of Two Hearts // O Florescer de Dois Corações

💜: Éowyn + Faramir

📖: Lord of The Rings // O Senhor dos Anéis

📜: English and Português

The Blooming of Two Hearts

In the hanging gardens of Minas Tirith, where the dawn of spring whispered promises among the budding branches, Éowyn walked in silence. The breeze weaved through the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and newly awakened flowers. Her dress, a deep amber, seemed to belong to the twilight itself, flowing like a river of liquid gold with each step. The setting sun, filtering through the treetops, tangled in her hair, weaving reflections of ancient fire within it. In her delicate hand, a small bundle of wild herbs rested, as if it were a fragile reliquary, an echo of the shadows that still lingered over her spirit.

Behind her, approaching unhurriedly, Faramir watched her. Not with the tense gaze of a captain on guard, but with the reverence of one who beholds something rare and luminous. There was in her figure a disquieting stillness, like a sheathed blade that still bore the weight of battles fought. But there was also something else — something new, an elusive glimmer in her eyes that, perhaps, was not yet hope, but might one day become so.

He stepped closer, hesitant, pausing just a few steps away. Not like a soldier about to cross a minefield, but like a pilgrim before an altar.

— You walk as one who carries an invisible sword, my lady. — His voice was low, almost a whisper, lost among the branches bending to the wind.

Éowyn turned to him, and on the delicate contours of her lips appeared something that was not quite a smile, but carried its intention.

— Perhaps because war never truly leaves those who have lived it.

Faramir took her hand with the same reverence one might touch an ancient parchment, fearing it might crumble at the slightest misstep. His fingers brushed against hers as he took the small bundle, and for an instant, he felt Éowyn’s pulse beneath his skin — a steady, restrained beat, but alive.

— But the day will come — he murmured, his gaze immersed in the unfathomable depths of hers — when swords will rest, and hearts will learn to beat without the weight of vigilance.

She did not answer. The wind blew between them, lifting loose strands of her hair, and for a moment, Éowyn felt that she could simply close her eyes and let herself be carried away. She looked at Faramir — that man who asked nothing of her, imposed nothing upon her. He only offered.

— Perhaps that day has already come for me — she whispered.

Something softened in his expression. He inclined slightly, and with the gentleness of one who knows pain and does not wish to awaken it, he pressed her hand against his chest.

— Then, my lady — he said, almost in prayer — allow me to walk beside you in this new time.

Éowyn’s response did not come in words, but in the way her shoulders relaxed, in the way her hand lingered in his a moment longer than necessary. Night poured over Gondor, painting the sky with timid stars. Together, they walked forward through the gardens, the sound of their steps mingling with the song of crickets and the distant murmur of fountains.

Éowyn, who had so often worn the armor of solitude, now felt a different warmth beside Faramir. It was not the fever of battle, nor the weight of duty, but something calmer, deeper — like the stillness after a storm, like the breeze that blows through lands newly freed from shadow.

— They say these gardens bloom in a special way during spring. — Her voice came softly, as if breaking a very old silence.

Faramir inclined his head, watching her with the serene gaze of one who does not need to rush time.

— They bloom best when there is someone to behold them. Before, they seemed beautiful, but incomplete.

She stopped, turning to him. There was something in his smile that disarmed her, a light in his brown eyes that was neither ecstasy nor longing — only a peace that invited her to share it.

— And now? — she asked.

Faramir raised the bundle he had taken from her hands, offering it back.

— Now, my lady, I believe they have found their purpose.

Éowyn looked at the bundle and then at him. Between her fingers, the leaves exuded an earthy, fresh aroma, as if still holding the breath of the land itself. Something tightened within her, an indistinct feeling — a premonition that, there, in that moment, something was being sealed. Not in oaths or vows, but in the simple and ineffable understanding between two hearts that, without realizing it, had recognized each other.

— I never thought I would find peace like this — she confessed, looking beyond the walls, to the hills fading into the horizon.

— Peace is not always something we find — Faramir said gently. — Sometimes, it is something we learn to accept.

She took a deep breath. Allowed herself to believe, just a little more.

Then, with a gesture that felt both natural and immense, she leaned in and rested her head against his shoulder. Faramir did not move, only closed his eyes for a moment, like one who feels the touch of the sun after a long winter.

And so, beneath the vastness of Gondor’s starlit sky, without solemn promises or grand words, Éowyn and Faramir found refuge — not in a castle of stone, not in sigils or crowns, but in each other.

O Florescer de Dois Corações

Nos jardins suspensos de Minas Tirith, onde a alvorada da primavera sussurrava promessas entre os galhos novos, Éowyn caminhava em silêncio. A brisa serpenteava por entre as folhas, espalhando o perfume da terra úmida e das flores recém-despertas. Seu vestido, de um âmbar profundo, parecia pertencer ao próprio crepúsculo, ondulando como um rio de ouro líquido a cada passo. O sol poente, filtrado pelas copas das árvores, enredava-se em seus cabelos, tecendo neles reflexos de fogo antigo. Na mão delicada, um ramo de ervas silvestres repousava, como se fosse um relicário frágil, um eco das sombras que ainda pairavam sobre seu espírito.

Atrás dela, vindo sem pressa, Faramir a observava. Não com o olhar tenso de um capitão em vigília, mas com a reverência de quem contempla algo raro e luminoso. Havia na figura dela uma quietude inquietante, como uma lâmina embainhada que ainda guardava o peso das batalhas travadas. Mas havia também outra coisa — algo novo, um brilho esquivo nos olhos que, talvez, ainda não fosse esperança, mas que poderia vir a ser.

Ele se aproximou, hesitante, detendo-se a poucos passos. Não como um soldado prestes a atravessar um campo minado, mas como um peregrino diante de um altar.

— Você caminha como quem carrega uma espada invisível, minha senhora. — Sua voz era baixa, quase um sopro, perdida entre os ramos que se curvavam ao vento.

Éowyn voltou-se para ele, e nos contornos delicados de sua boca surgiu algo que não era exatamente um sorriso, mas que carregava sua intenção.

— Talvez porque a guerra nunca abandone aqueles que a viveram.

Faramir tomou sua mão com a mesma deferência com que se toca um pergaminho antigo, temendo que se desfaça ao menor descuido. Seus dedos roçaram os dela ao tomarem o pequeno ramo, e por um instante ele sentiu o pulso de Éowyn sob sua pele — uma batida firme, contida, mas viva.

— Mas há de chegar o dia — murmurou ele, os olhos imersos na profundidade insondável dos dela — em que as espadas repousarão e os corações aprenderão a bater sem o peso da vigília.

Ela nada respondeu. O vento soprou entre os dois, levantando mechas soltas de seus cabelos, e, por um momento, Éowyn sentiu que poderia simplesmente fechar os olhos e se deixar levar. Olhou para Faramir — aquele homem que não lhe pedia nada, não lhe impunha nada. Apenas oferecia.

— Talvez esse dia já tenha chegado para mim — sussurrou.

Algo se suavizou na expressão dele. Inclinou-se ligeiramente, e com a delicadeza de quem conhece a dor e não deseja avivá-la, tocou a mão dela contra seu peito.

— Então, minha senhora — disse, quase em prece —, permita-me caminhar ao vosso lado nesse novo tempo.

A resposta de Éowyn não veio em palavras, mas no modo como seus ombros relaxaram, como sua mão permaneceu na dele um instante além do necessário. A noite se derramava sobre Gondor, pincelando o céu com estrelas tímidas. Juntos, seguiram adiante pelos jardins, o som de seus passos mesclando-se ao canto dos grilos e ao rumor distante das fontes.

Éowyn, que tantas vezes vestira a armadura da solidão, sentia agora um calor diferente ao lado de Faramir. Não era a febre da batalha, nem o peso do dever, mas algo mais sereno, mais fundo — como a quietude depois da tempestade, como a brisa que sopra nas terras recém-libertas da sombra.

— Dizem que estes jardins florescem de um modo especial na primavera. — Sua voz veio baixa, como se quebrasse um silêncio muito antigo.

Faramir inclinou a cabeça, observando-a com o olhar tranquilo de quem não precisa apressar o tempo.

— Eles florescem melhor quando há alguém para contemplá-los. Antes, pareciam belos, mas incompletos.

Ela parou, voltando-se para ele. Havia algo no sorriso dele que a desarmava, um brilho nos olhos castanhos que não era êxtase, nem anseio—apenas uma paz que a convidava a compartilhar.

— E agora? — perguntou.

Faramir ergueu o ramo que tomara de suas mãos, oferecendo-o de volta.

— Agora, minha senhora, creio que eles tenham encontrado seu propósito.

Éowyn olhou para o ramo e, então, para ele. Entre seus dedos, as folhas exalavam um aroma terroso, fresco, como se ainda guardassem o hálito da própria terra. Algo se apertou dentro dela, uma sensação indistinta— um pressentimento de que, ali, naquele instante, algo estava sendo selado, não em juramentos ou votos, mas no simples e indizível entendimento entre dois corações que, sem perceber, haviam se reconhecido.

— Eu nunca pensei que encontraria paz assim — confessou, olhando para além das muralhas, para as colinas que se perdiam no horizonte.

— A paz nem sempre é algo que encontramos — disse Faramir, com suavidade. — Às vezes, é algo que aprendemos a aceitar.

Ela inspirou fundo. Permitiu-se acreditar, apenas um pouco mais.

Então, com um gesto que parecia ao mesmo tempo natural e imenso, inclinou-se e descansou a cabeça contra o ombro dele. Faramir não se moveu, apenas fechou os olhos por um instante, como quem sente o toque do sol após um longo inverno.

E assim, sob a vastidão do céu estrelado de Gondor, sem promessas solenes ou palavras grandiosas, Éowyn e Faramir encontraram refúgio — não num castelo de pedra, não em brasões ou coroas, mas um no outro.

[mimistitchcraft]

@woodsmokeandwords and I took our farawyn cosplays up to the Peak District with our friends The Crown & The Sword Photography last weekend!

here’s a silly outtake!! I love it!! more photos to come soon!!