#in rohan and gondor

[elena-kukanova]

Eowyn & Faramir

mixed media, 53*35 cm

[kalinazlatkova]

Happy Easter to those who celebrate, and to those who don't, then I hope you enjoy these Middle Earth inspired hand painted eggs 🥰

The ones at the top depict: scenes from Lake Town and the Misty Mountains; Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli's weapons, scenes from Bag End and the Shire, the Evenstar, the White Tree of Gondor, a banner of Rohan. Followed by scenes from the Two Towers. 🌳🧙🪄

(I was at @kzlatkova but had to archive my blog, so if you've followed me before or like my art, please link with me here @kalinazlatkova. Thank you!🖤)

⋆｡°✩*ੈ✶⋆.˚✩‧₊˚⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚⋆˙⟡⋆✴︎˚｡⋆⊹.˚⟡ ݁₊˚⊹⋆☆˖°

If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi 👛🫙✨🖤 Thank you! 🥰

[lulii999]

The way I would actually die for Faramir and Eowyn.

[velvet4510]

Friendly reminder that not once does Faramir ever say "put that sword down if you want to marry me, I expect you to be a docile wife who doesn't fight and knows her place." He doesn't even mention a career as a healer.

All he does is affirm that Éowyn has accomplished her dream of achieving valor and renown, and he does not pity her for it; he ADMIRES her for it, and he'll love her no matter what, whether she's sad or happy (in sickness and in health, basically), then asks if she feels the same way about him.

It's Éowyn and only Éowyn who decides to be a healer and love all things that grow.

And his response to this is "well then if you want things that grow, I'll give you a whole garden!" Making good on his earlier vow and supporting her new dream.

Éowyn becomes a healer because SHE WANTS TO, not because any man, including her fiancé, tells her to.

[kanic0]

Boromir Week Day 4: Captain of Gondor + Friend of Rohan

I’ll explain more of it later but I think Boromir and Éomer would’ve worked really well together after the events of Amon Hen! Also being allied countries they’ve definitely met before and there’s so many ideas to go with that-

@boromir-week

[theladyeowyn]

“Then you think that the Darkness is coming?” said Éowyn. “Darkness Unescapable?” And suddenly she drew close to him. “No,” said Faramir, looking into her face. “It was but a picture in the mind. I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days. But my heart says nay; and all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny. Éowyn, Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!”

[nazhgul]

to no one's surprise, faramir is a wife guy

[robiberon]

if you're still looking for Éowyn drawing ideas, I'd love to see some fourth age Éowyn... what's she doing and wearing while hanging out in the woods of Ithilien, or in her gardens?

fourth age éowyn gets to live a happy soft life with her family <3

my hc is that her arm never quite heals from killing the witch king of angmar, but she learns to fight with her other arm and doesnt let it stop her from being the coolest most badass loving mom ever :)) (and faramir takes good care of her, of course)

[gandalf-the-fool]

[bretwalda-lamnguin]

I know it’s a woobification thing but it’s so weird seeing posts about how Faramir is this poor victim of abuse who Éowyn has to look after and protect. 

She’s had it so much worse than he has! She would have killed to have Faramir’s life. Faramir is taken seriously and accorded his due honour by his father. He is given positions of command and authority and always taken seriously. At all times he maintains his agency.

His relationship with Denethor is very toxic and unhealthy, but Denethor never forgets him and takes him seriously enough to argue with him rather than dismissing or ignoring him. Faramir has never had to live under constant threat of violence as a result of abuse or neglect from his immediate family. 

The same cannot be said for Éowyn. By the time we meet her she is chronically depressed and approaching suicidal. She has lived for years under the threat of sexual violence at the hands of Grima and has been consistently failed by the men in her family. 

She has had to put aside her own life for years to care for Théoden, an increasingly thankless and demeaning task, and when he no longer needs her he almost forgets she exists until he’s dying. Háma has to remind Théoden of her existence at one point. 

This isn’t a call to woobify Éowyn-she wouldn’t want your pity! But we should acknowledge just how horrible her life has been up to that point, and people like Théoden let that happen.

[morethantheycansay]

Some of you weren't there when the Westfold fell and it shows.

[freebee303]

Just had a cultural day at school and it got me thinking of an idea.

There’s Hobbits, Dwarves, Elves and Humans in Middle Earth, different races and definitely different cultures within them.

It got me thinking of differences in various circumstances, like what dances or music? What art styles? What traditions and holidays and clothes ect…

Ofc we know things like Hobbit and Elven dances and music but I want to go in deeper, like Rivendell, Mirkwood and Lothlorien’s differences. Or Erebor, Iron Hills and the Khazad? And Humans with Gondor, Dale, Rohan ect.

And then we have Aragorn, a man of Gondor raised in Rivendell (plus Dundalain), Legolas being fascinated by Lothlorien and it’s traditions, Gandalf being an expert in every single culture and tradition, often being there for the most important or being apart of it.

Plus Bilbo not only having to adjust to Dwarves but also Erebor, and the Iron Hills when the soldiers arrived. Frodo growing up between Erebor and the Shire… totally.

Anyway, any thoughts? Open discussion gang gang

[zepskies]

LOTR/THE HOBBIT MASTERLIST

(❤️‍🔥 = 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.

A Subtle Invitation ❤️‍🔥 “You needn’t be so formal,” Éomer said. His lips moved against the shell of your ear. “I am Éomer, especially when we are alone.”

⟡ Sequel to As Tradition Dictates

Thranduil

One-Shots:

Coming eventually...

Haldir

One-Shots:

Coming eventually...

Main Masterlist

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[kylobith]

Boromir Week - Day 4 - Horsing Around

Prompts: Teen Years, Captain of Gondor, Friend of Rohan

Summary: There are far more interesting things to do on a diplomatic visit than to sit at a table to discuss state affairs.

Word count: 1,127

On a sunny afternoon, as the birds chirp and twirl care-free in the air, the ground quakes under thundering hooves. They strike the dirt and grass in a steady rhythm, becoming the heartbeat of the earth. The horse snakes between the hillocks like a living storm sweeping the open wilds. Each of muscle in motion ripples beneath its brown coat, kissed by sunlight. Its mane streams behind it like a banner held proud and high, combed by the breeze’s fingertips. Trees blur past like sentinels in a dream, the lofty branches appearing to bow on its path.

In the gentle spring gale, Boromir’s hair flutters, permeated by the fragrances of the blooming flowers all around him. His sharp eyes, fixed upon the path ahead of him, dictate to his hand which way to steer the steed. The heels of his boots spur the animal further, yet careful not to exhaust it. Speed is everything now — an unspoken pact between boy and beast. He must test how far he can push the wind, how fiercely he can outrun the world. Not even the growing saddle-induced pain in his backside can deter him from his goal. In the midst of his exhilaration, one of his hands rises to swat away a horde of flies swarming by the woods’ edge.

As his attention wavers for this brief instant, the distant sound of equally rapid galloping reaches him. His head snaps around and a grunt rumbles in his throat.

‘Faster, Felaróf!’ he hails with a sharp whistle. ‘Come on, boy!’

The leather reins lash against the saddle as Boromir leans forward, urging the horse on, begging it to hasten its step. His pupils survey the surroundings while his teeth grit. Sweat forms upon his brow, prompted by the heat and the effort that the young man is mustering. Still, he asks for more, nearing on recklessness. On his left, a shadow flits into view.

‘Oh no, you are not,’ he grumbles through gritted teeth, the clinks of the stirrups quickening against the horse’s sides.

Tossing caution aside, he steers Felaróf into the shadowed grove, bluntly weaving through the trees. Branches whip past overhead as he ducks low, yet not enough to avoid a few. One slices through the skin of his cheek, drawing a couple of blood specks, but he pays it no mind. He guides the horse to the best of his ability between trunks, relying on his vision and praying for the best. When at last he reaches the other end, his ears prickle at the sound of a babbling brook.

That is his only chance. He must seize it.

His fist lashes out, snapping a branch from its arm as he charges forward, driven by a blind and burning resolve towards the glint of water ahead. The hooves hammer at the dry dirt, trampling on the blossoming beds of wild violets. At the water’s edge, Felaróf leaps over the rocky bed with breath-taking grace, landing on the other side without faltering. Boromir laughs in elation, pumping his fist into the air and patting the horse’s neck.

‘Yes, boy! Come on!’

He tugs on the left rein, following the stream into the emerald valley. There, he comes to a halt, spinning the broken branch into his hand. His eyes sweep the rolling hills, seeking the silhouette he perceived earlier. The world has fallen silent around him, save for the constant gurgle of the water.

‘Where are you now, you bastard?’

A sharp, crushing blow slams between his shoulder blades. The splintering crack of wood echoes through his bones. The impact pushes all the air out of his lungs in a loud gasp of surprise. His fingers uncurl, dropping the branch he was holding onto the grass bed with a muffled thud. Behind him, an insolent cackle rings out — brazen and bright, cutting through the day like sunlight glinting off the best polished armour. Boromir groans, his hand kneading the sting in his shoulder. With a grimace, he wheels his horse around to face his laughing friend.

‘Laugh all you want, you stable dweller,’ he jests through gritted teeth. ‘I still won the race.’

Théodred flings the stick shard into the stream, watching it spin away in the current for a second. His smile lingers, unaffected by his guest’s poor attempt at a Rohirric insult. It reaches all the way to his eyes, mischief and triumph dancing in their depths.

‘You certainly did not,’ he responds while his fingers toy with the reins of his steed. ‘I reached the brook a minute ago.’

‘Then how did I not see you?’

The Rohir snorts.

‘You were looking the wrong way.’

Boromir joins him in his merriment, dropping his hand back at his side. His friend approaches with his white horse speckled with grey.

‘You might stand a chance, if you only you knew how to ride like a warrior and not a princess.’

‘I can ride a horse, thank you very much!’

His arrogance is met with a tut and a light slap to his chest.

‘You lean forward each time you push for speed. It defeats your purpose. Sit tall in your saddle, keep your spine straight. Trust your horse, become one with him; he will know what to do. Also…’

The Rohir leans in, his fingers closing firmly around the Gondorian’s wrist, guiding it down and pressing it flat against his navel.

‘… no need to hold the reins up to your chin. Your waist is high enough. Éowyn is four years old, she barely reaches her stirrup, and even she does not make that mistake. What is your excuse?’

‘Oh, that is hardly fair!’ Boromir retorts with a smirk. ‘She was practically born on a horse!’

Over the hills and far away, the rasping call of a horn rolls through the air, a mournful herald signalling the closing of their brief freedom for the day. Both young men turn their heads towards the sound, exchanging a glance tinged with mild annoyance.

‘I believe it is time for us to return to Meduseld,’ Boromir sighs, dreading the hours to come. Nothing dulls his spirit quite like the endless pomp of diplomatic gatherings to discuss state affairs and bureaucracy.

‘Yes, let us go,’ Théodred nods, stirring his horse forward at a reasonable enough speed that they can ride side by side. ‘Besides, I worry about Faramir — I fear that Éomer might be terrorising him with his antics.’

As both horses disappear behind a hill, turns to Théodred with a grin.

‘Are you jesting? It is Éomer I pity — I would wager that Faramir is forcing him to read a book as we speak.’

‘Oh, Béma help Éomer if there are footnotes!’

Their laughter blends with the chittering of the birds.

Taglist: @emmathefanficgal @boromir-week

[velvet4510]

Comments that Éowyn was “settling” for Faramir when she couldn’t have Aragorn make me laugh so hard.

She didn’t settle for Faramir.

If she’d married anyone other than Faramir, THEN she would’ve been settling.

[lieutenantbiscute]

Lady of Rohan and Son of Gondor