#lothiriel

[emilybeemartin]

I've been drawing just, so many dudes, so here are some Ladies of Gondor and Shieldmaidens of Rohan! Sometimes you just have to design a bunch of ren-faire gowns and accessories, you know?

First, Eowyn, the best excuse to draw split skirts. Her star-embroidered gloves were a gift from Faramir, but it wasn't until I drew Finduilas below that I realized her pendant was probably also a gift from him as well.

Lothiriel! I referenced her pose from my fave, @adorkastock. I don't have many headcanons about Lothiriel but I imagine she's the only person who can make Eomer trip over his own feet.

Theodwyn, Eowyn and Eomer's mother! Maybe she was born with a clubbed foot. We don't know. Tolkien only tells us she was pretty. A big thank-you to @hurricanek8art, @fruitbatvampiresociety, and @arrowpunk for giving me great feedback on her cane, including wrapping the base in leather and adding a skirt hike to her belt to keep her hem up.

Elfhild, Theoden's wife and Theodred's mother! No big headcanons here, either, but I think she'd bring Theoden a lot of joy and purpose and thus a lot of grief and aimlessness when she died.

And finally, Finduilas. There's the pendant Faramir gave Eowyn, and oh, her cape clasp looks familiar.

Tolkien gives us a few extra sentences about Finduilas, and so we know she had a difficult time in Minas Tirith. He writes that she was gentle and beautiful, but that "she withered in the guarded city... the shadow in the east filled her with horror, and she turned her eyes ever south to the sea that she missed." He also says Denethor "loved her, in his fashion," which I read as, "guy couldn't healthily express an emotion if it was written out for him." I imagine Finduilas was lonely and isolated, and, in pregnancy, afraid of the world she was bringing her babies into.

But maybe things weren't all bad! Maybe before she got too ill, she brought her boys to the seashore, where Faramir would babble and splash and Boromir would run all over creation and bring her treasures.

[merilles]

Ladies of the Ring 💍✨

[remusjohnslupin]

MAKE ME CHOOSE ↳ @shieldmaidenofsherwood asked: éomer and lothíriel or goldilocks gamgee and faramir took

"Éomer became a great king, and being young when he succeeded Théoden he reigned for sixty-five years, longer than all their kings before him save Aldor the Old. In the War of the Ring he made the friendship of King Elessar, and of Imrahil of Dol Amroth; and he rode often to Gondor. In the last year of the Third Age he wedded Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil. Their son Elfwine the Fair ruled after him."

[neechees]

Ive drawn traditional Cree tattoos on WOMEN lots of times, but never any for men!

So here's some traditional Cree tattoos men had, featuring Plains Native Éomer (+Lothiriel lol)

[inthehouseoffinwe]

HCs about Aragorn and Arwen’s kids!

Eldarion is tired oldest brother to five or six younger sisters and gives the blandest look when people say he’s ‘lucky it’s not boys.’ I mean. Have you met their parents? The girls are total terrors when they want to be.

Identical twin daughters. Need I say more?

One of their daughters has silver hair courtesy of Celebrian, and the other a beautiful gold from Gilraen. Their hair *gleams* in lamplight to something definitely not human.

Eldarion is Responsible Older Brother TM but leave him with Elboron and Elfwine and all hell breaks loose. Best friend chaos trio since they were born.

One of the girls takes a liking to Rohan and spends several years there with Éomer and Lothíriel

Elrond’s foresight allowed him to see all of Estel and Arwen’s children and he wrote several letters to each of them before he left so they know their grandfather loves them.

All of them learn healing fighting and battle strategy. Plants are easier for tiny kids to handle than wooden swords. And it’s important to emphasise that yes their job is to keep the kingdoms safe, but more importantly to help heal their people.

Éowyn is the only one who can wrangle all of them other than their parents. Faramir tries but collapses under ‘pleeeaaaase Uncle Faramir!’ *insert puppy dog eyes*

All the parents look after all the kids. Éomer, Lothíriel, Éowyn, Faramir, Aragorn, Arwen. They’ll close with all the children and collectively parent them

Legolas is a common visitor. Gimli comes as much as he can. They’re both enablers for chaos and subsequently favourites.

Elladan and Elrohir can’t visit as often as they like, now managing Rivendell’s final affairs. But the kids do visit Imladris a couple of times and whilst it’s a little emptier than in Aragorn’s youth, it still holds the warmth of the Last Homely House. Eldarion is particularly taken with it.

Glorfindel and Erestor are vindicated Elrond’s children have to deal with their own chaotic kids. They are also enablers. Glorfindel trains them while they’re there and follows them back to Gondor for some time until he’s happy with their progress. He comes again when they’re older and heading out.

Eldarion’s a history nerd. I take no argument.

Yes his sisters make fun of him for it. But Eru help anyone else who dared do the same

Elboron and Elfwine, and their siblings are the exceptions

Agree? Disagree? Got any of your own? Add them on! I’ll probably make a pt2 at some point.

[torchwood-99]

Elfwine is an unfortunate name. I know that it translates to "Elf friend", like Holdwine seems to mean faithful friend. While the pun in Holdwine is quite funny and suits Merry, and makes you think of wine the drink, Elfwine sounds more like Eomer called his son a whiney elf. Of if we lean into Lothiriel's elvish descent, the sound Lothiriel made when he was concieved.

[themoonlily]

Look, I know this is kind of conjecture, but there is just something about Éomer adjusting to a life after the War of the Ring with Théoden and Théodred gone, and knowing that Éowyn will be moving on to live her own life far away from him, and then meeting Lothíriel and through her becoming adjacent (more so than just as a friend of Imrahil) to her Amrothian family, gaining a father-in-law and no less than three brothers, and all that comes with being a part of such a company. It must be so strange and yet so comforting for him. He wonders about how Théoden would have got along with Imrahil. And before he knows it Imrahil has adopted him and Éowyn.

I have this mental image of Éomer nearly weeping in relief after his and Lothíriel's engagement is made. Finally, he has a family.

[emmanuellececchi]

LOTR and Hobbit characters and cats -

Absurd headcanon

Warning : this is not serious. this was made out of whim, late at night. not editing done. Just for fun. And not all of them are funny anyway. You've been warned! - Feel free to add characters and headcanon. I forgot a few : Haldir, Hama, Theoden, Saruman, Treebeard and so on. I hope you will all have fun and play with this! (OC welcome - thinking of my moots with awesome OC).

Cirdan The cats roam freely in the Grey Haven as if they owned the place. Cirdan find them amusing and charming when he gets to pet them. Of course, what he does not know is that they tolerate him because he’s a great fisherman. And a good back scratcher.

Galadriel While there are not many felines in the Golden Forest, each time she is somewhere where there’s one (or two, or three) the cats are drawn to her and vice-versa. As a matter of fact, the cats consider her to be one of their kind. She does not correct them.

Celeborn There is no cat in Lothlorien. On the other hand, when there are cats, he has to tolerate them for Galadriel’s sake. Although, the truth is that they tolerate him because Galadriel shares her bed with him.

Elrond Rivendell had been free of felines for a while. Then, and he never found out how, they began to suddenly appear all around. Mostly around supper. They’re discreet and great pest hunters which he appreciate for his books sake. Although he would never admit it, he kind of like when they come and sleep in his lap while he sips his tea.

Aragorn learned to admire and respect cats as they can survive pretty much everywhere. As king, admits that cats are useful. But he does not like to share their bed with one of them, even Arwen’s pet. On the other hand, he relishes when the pet come in his lap to nap while he is smoking his pipe.

Arwen Since in Minas Tirith, she has adopted a few. Arwen is terribly jealous of their affection. She does not like when she finds out they nap on Aragorn’s lap, pretexting they smell like smoke. Aragorn only smiles which infuriates her.

Imrahil Cats hunt pests in stable, in kitchen, protect grain. He will tolerates cats. But they belong outside. On the other hand, he is actively ignoring the ginger fur transgression living in Lothiriel’s room. Relieved she left with it.

Lothiriel Positively delighted to realize cats prefer her lap to Arwen’s. Brings her pet with her in Rohan. Finds hilarious that Eomer is taking personally its presence in the bed and is jealous of the poor thing.

Eomer Blasted animals. Should stay in the barn and stable to hunt rats and mouse. Not in a bed. And certainly not between him and his queen when he wants privacy. Eomer is convinced the thing is plotting his demise. Always trying to steal his side of the bed.

Eowyn Cats were great listener when she was young. Once, one of them clawed Grima. She was delighted to see her little hero flee alive. Since in Ithilien, she has begun feeding the strays. She considers a high honor if one of them chooses to nap at her side.

Faramir Admires their independent spirit and intelligence. Consider them like a good blade: useful and dangerous. Will never admit he is a bit afraid of them. But if Eowyn loves them, he will say nothing. He is just relieved she does not bring them in.

Denethor Never could stand the little buggers. Tolerated them when his wife was alive but that was the best he could do. While he recognizes their usefulness he is terribly allergic to them.

Boromir Does not seem to care about the furry things. Until he is home. Where an old stray is waiting for him. Gave him food and a warm place to stay. Melted the first time the old cat came to sleep with him. Will never admit the cat makes him happy.

Gandalf Keeps a safe distance between him and them. They tend to appear out of nowhere and they don’t even have magic. He can’t even buy them with food.

Bilbo Find them amusing when chasing his smoke rings, love to watch them sleep in the sunny spot in the garden. Chase them away when they hunt the butterflies.

Sam Stupid animals. They dig in the garden and poison the flowers. And they don’t even like potatoes.

Frodo Good reading companions. Not very trustworthy with food. Love to climb in trees with him. Really good nap companions.

Pippin Cats are the evilest things after the ringwraiths. Did you see their eyes when they follow you in the night? Did you hear them meow after you in the night? That and their claws…

Merry Fights hard not to laugh each time Pippin speak about cats. Got a few scars out of the whole adventure but well worth it when seeing Pippin’s terrified face.

Thorin There is only one king under the mountain. And it won’t be a cat!

Thranduil He is the only one with the right of being fabulous. And this is HIS throne! Cats are not welcome in his palace.

Gimli Dwarves hate pests. But wild cats roaming unchecked underground? Unacceptable. What do you mean, he has adopted one? Don’t be ridiculous, he only keeps it in his room to hunt the rats that would eat his bed linen!

Legolas Never really got close of cats while in Mirkwood. Can’t understand why people would want to sleep with them when they're doing such noises. What was the great idea for Gimli to call his cat like him anyway?

[frodothefair]

Character birthdays.

I am actually fond of coming up with specific birthdays for my characters if they don't already have dates in canon, and I like to make them momentous and in keeping with their personalities from an astrological standpoint -- though I don't put any serious stock in astrology. Thus, without further ado:

Frodo: Sept 22, known in canon. Virgo, like Mr. Nisilë!

Marigold: Nov 5. Scorpio, like me! ("Remember, remember, the fifth of November." Also the day after the liberation from the Lockholes).

Éomer: May 9. Taurus. (Ok, this is actually a whole Thing. 5/8 and 5/9 are celebrated in Europe as "Victory Day," or VE day for short in the UK. It is the day that Germany declared its unconditional surrender in WWII. The reason for the date difference is that the unconditional surrender came in shortly after midnight on 5/9 in Eastern Europe. Since I believe that Rohan is a biiiiit Eastern Europe coded, in addition to the obvious Anglo Saxon vibes, I went with 5/9. I also like the numbers 5 and 9 aesthetically. Overall, a birthday on Victory Day is fitting because he led his people to victory, even though it's not the date of any specific victory in Tolkien's world).

Lothíriel: 12/21. Sagittarius, though technically Sagittarius-Capricorn cusp. (Winter Solstice, the darkest day of the year. She is an archer, and it goes well with the tsundere thing she has going on, and her dark hair).

Now, the next step in the madness is to actually celebrate the birthdays of these characters on my blog, even if the birthdays are completely made up for everyone except Frodo. What do you think? Should I do that?

@emmanuellececchi @konartiste @dilettantefeminist @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @celeluwhenfics

[ass-deep-in-demons]

✦ Seeing White ✦

Fandom: Lord of the Rings Genre: slice of life, comedy, romance Characters: Faramir, Eomer, Boromir, Eowyn, Lothiriel, Legolas, Merry Rated: G Length: 3119 words, one-shot

This work is dedicated to @emilybeemartin and directly inspired by her art, and also these recent posts circulating in the Boromir fandom: [slutty white shirt] and [rain soaked Boromir].

I am tagging the folks who got tangled in the Wet Shirts Shenanigans: @sotwk, @scyllas-revenge, @thetempleofthemasaigoddess, @konartiste, @emyn-arnens, @nihilizzzm, @emmanuellececchi. If you didn't want to be tagged I'm sorry, pls ignore :)

✦✦✦

Minas Tirith, 1st of Lótessë 3019 TA

Yes, thought Faramir. This is a great idea. The Ladies will be thrilled.

The day was perfect, too. From the windows of his chambers in the Citadel, all across the White City Faramir could spot the many signs of the long awaited Spring. Together with the verdant Gondorian flora awakening to life after the months of darkness and cold, so, too, were the people of Minas Tirith rising from their knees past the indignity of War. Just as the trees were dressing themselves up in colourful bloom, so were the inhabitants of the old Minas Anor decorating the streets for the impending coronation of their new King Elessar. The merchants, like wandering birds, were returning from distant lands to their abandoned shops and stalls, striving to make up for the losses sustained recently by the Gondorian economy.

It was, for Faramir, self-evident that such a day would be best spent in the Archives of the Grand Library. Granted, if it were for Faramir to decide, all days would be library days; this day, however, was especially well-suited to that purpose. Having the confidence of the palace wait-staff, through careful intelligence he had ascertained that Lady Eowyn, the bold and beautiful sister to the King of Rohan, had today off. It would be delightful to guide her through the collection of scrolls depicting the Fall of Numenor - Faramir could not imagine more romantic circumstances. If not his humble person, then the priceless works of illuminatory art would certainly impress the White Lady.

There remained the question of propriety, naturally. Here, too, he had both luck and days of prior careful planning on his side. Out of all of the birds flocking to Minas Tirith after the thaw, perhaps the most colourful (and certainly the loudest) was his little cousin Lothiriel. The lass was come from Dol Amroth with her brothers to join the upcoming celebrations. This was her debut among the Minas Tirith nobility and so Boromir and Faramir were expected to escort her on occasion, as a courtesy to their uncle the Prince.

What a splendid opportunity to marry duty with pleasure: give his young cousin a lesson in history and spend time in the company of the White Lady. The White Lady in the White City - such an occasion called for the whitest, most pristine of his shirts, and also his best doublet. On this day he was allowed a bit of vanity and he was quite pleased with the results, when he checked himself in the mirror one last time.

Faramir left his chambers and descended to the Courtyard, where he was met with the view that had never failed to cause a pang in his heart, ever since the tender years of his boyhood. In the centre of the sun-bathed plaza, on an islet on the Fountain grew the White Tree of Gondor. In the past, its name referenced its lush white bloom, the beauty of which, if the legends could be trusted, was an echo of the mythical Trees of Valinor. For centuries now the name had only been associated with the Tree’s dry and dead white wood, from which the bark had long been peeled off by the weather. Nary a bud had been spotted since the long gone days of Steward Belecthor.

On that day, though bare as ever, the Tree did not stand there all alone. Under its branches, seemingly caught up in his thoughts, the young King of Rohan was strolling and admiring the Fountain. Faramir, who himself had never been to Rohan, had met Eomer King only recently, in non-too-happy circumstances. All the Lords of Gondor had had the honour of attending a vigil around the bier of the old Theoden King, who had fallen in the Battle of Pelennor Fields. Even though several weeks had passed already since that ceremony, the shadows of the battle past could still be spotted lurking on the noble face of the Horse Lord Eomer. Still, his good humour seemed to be gradually returning to him, if the sharpness of his gaze and the healthy colour on his cheeks were anything to judge by.

The young King of the Rohirrim was, coincidentally, just who Faramir needed at that moment, as without his blessing Faramir’s plans would all be for naught. The matter needed to be carefully broached. Luckily, Faramir was nothing if not subtle.

“Eomer King!” he hailed and politely inclined his head in greeting.

“Just Eomer would suffice,” said the Man of Rohan. “My brother Theodred bore great love for your own brother and always hosted him gladly at the Golden Hall. For all the stories I’ve heard about you growing up, I feel as if we were best friends already, Lord Faramir.”

“And who am I to spurn the friendship of a King?” said Faramir and smiled. “Eomer, then, and you must call me by my name as well.”

“Do you think it will sprout leaves again?” asked Eomer, and Faramir understood that he was talking about the Tree. “You know, after Aragorn’s Enthronement?” This did seem too good to come true. Even though from under the Tree’s roots water continued to spring and feed the Fountain, it was difficult to believe that the dry branches held even one drop of sap.

“That, I would want to know myself,” said Faramir wistfully. He felt gooseflesh erupt on his arms at the thought that he might yet witness the Tree blossom in his lifetime. “I would very much like to see the face of my brother, when that happens,” he added quietly.

“And how fares your brother?” asked Eomer. “I’ve heard he’s been through an ordeal during the War of the Ring.”

Faramir hesitated. An ordeal would be an understatement, he thought. Boromir was not himself ever since he’d returned from the War. Faramir could see right through his brother’s facade. He had been pushing himself to the limits, working day and night like a madman. But Faramir was loath to share his worries with Eomer just yet, so he opted for a diplomatic answer.

“My brother is dedicating his every effort to the betterment of Gondor, as was always his way,” he carefully admitted. “I don’t think he’ll allow himself a moment’s respite until Aragorn is seated on that throne, at last. Thank you for your concern, thought. The sentiment is much appreciated. In fact,” Faramir grimaced, “it is rather I who ought to be enquiring about the wellbeing of your Lady sister.” He looked at Eomer and saw the man’s features soften at the mention of Lady Eowyn.

“She is better than I could have hoped for,” said Eomer with a tentative smile, “in part thanks to your patient encouragement, back in the Houses of Healing… for which I am much obliged, by the by. Of late, she’s been out more. I deem it a good sign.”

“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Faramir, and then he quickly checked himself. “Erm… I mean, I’m glad to hear her spirits have improved…” He gathered his courage. “In fact, I am grateful for the opportunity to talk to you on this very matter. You see, I’ve devised a plan, which needs but your approval…”

“A… plan?” Eomer echoed, visibly apprehensive.

“Indeed. I’ve been meaning to take my little cousin Lothiriel to the Archives of Minas Tirith today, to show her our priceless collection of painted scrolls. Perhaps the Lady Eowyn could be persuaded to join us. It would be good… for her moods, I mean!”

Eomer raised his brow at that.

“Now that is a peculiar coincidence. You see, I had planned to take my sister out for a horse ride today, and I was meaning to propose that your cousin Lothiriel would join us in this entertainment. The other day, during dinner, she mentioned her interest in the steeds of Rohan…”

Faramir frowned. His carefully devised plan was now falling apart for this new development. Though he had started his riding lessons as soon as he had learned to walk, aware of his strengths Faramir knew: he had a far better chance at impressing the Lady with his wits than with his equestrian prowess. This matter with Eomer King required a subtle approach. He decided to try dissuasion.

“Curious, indeed. Last time I witnessed my cousin in the saddle, she fell off and broke her ankle. She has been wary of horses ever since…” Faramir mentioned casually. Granted, Lothiriel had been seven when that happened, however Eomer did not need to know that.

This was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. A vein on the Horse Lord’s temple started pulsing, Faramir noticed.

“And you, my good man, do not know mine sister, if you think a day among old parchment could ever improve her mood,” Eomer bit back.

Faramir felt a wave of hot anger roll through him. Eomer’s comment stung. Was it possible that Lady Eowyn, so eager to listen to his tales of Gondor’s history back in the Houses of Healing, could indeed reject his offer of a good time in the Archives? Reluctant though he was, he had to admit: where she was concerned, his usually clear mind became clouded. For the first time in his life, emotions made him doubt his better judgement. Eomer, however, seemed to be faring no better, judging from his face, which was getting visibly… flushed?

“Hold on, Eomer…” Faramir put two and two together. “You mean to… spend time with Lothiriel? You do!” Now this sat ill with Faramir, who was used to thinking of his cousin as a little girl, and not a woman grown, ready to be courted. “Have you any idea how young she is? Barely seventeen, I’d wager!”

Eomer levelled Faramir with a deeply unimpressed look.

“You’d loose, too, for she is twenty, and I am eight and twenty! Which is perfectly respectable, and also none of your business. The Lady’s father, the Prince of Dol Amroth, has already consented to my courting her,” siad Eomer icily.

Faramir felt momentarily mortified about his outburst. Ah, this was bad. Of course the most pressing matter for Eomer right now would be to marry well, and of course the noble, beautiful and now decidedly of age Princess Lothiriel would be his intended. And if that were so, then Faramir might have just offended his prospective brother-in-law. Still, he was convinced he could use this unfortunate situation to his advantage.

“He has? Oh, that is well then. I wish you all the luck with securing the Lady’s favour. Unfortunately, my uncle Imrahil has also already approved of my plans to take Lothiriel for a history lesson to the Archives today. You are most welcome to join us, if you will. As is the Lady your sister, with your approval,” he added hastily, hoping to repair some of the damage caused by his ill-advised words.

“Denied! I am taking my sister for a ride today, and that is that,” said Eomer, who seemed to have taken offence from Faramir’s questioning of his motives regarding Lothiriel.

“I beg, Eomer, reconsider…” Faramir began, but then something strange happened. He felt a firm shove upon his shoulder and the ground was abruptly swept from under his feet. He flailed his arms, but that did not avail him - he toppled over the edge of the Fountain and…

SPLASH!

Next he knew, he was taking in a lungful of its fresh water. When he emerged to the surface, sputtering and coughing, he was met with the sight of his brother, who took his place next to Eomer at the water’s edge. Boromir was fresh past his training, already out of his plate, only sporting an unbuttoned surcote over his shift. He was flashing his teeth in a wide grin, his arms crossed cockily over his broad chest.

“Of course it is you, brother,” said Faramir somewhat bitterly. “I see your signature subtlety has not left you over the course of the War.” He could not stay mad at Boromir for long though. Not when his moments of good-natured mischief and levity, so frequent before the Ring, were now so few and far between.

“Forgive me, little brother,” said Boromir, affecting solemnity, “but only you could have thought taking a Lady to the library would serve you well. As your elder it is my duty to tutor you in the ways of women.”

“Hold on, he wanted to woo my sister with books? Hahaha!” Eomer was in stitches about the concept. “Oh, that is rich indeed! Wait ‘till she…”

SPLASH!

Eomer landed in the Fountain right beside Faramir, giving out a most undignified squeak. This did serve to improve Faramir’s mood a great deal.

“Only I get to make fun of my brother,” said Boromir, putting his hands on his hips. “King or no king, you’d do well to mark that, young Eomer! And you will not be telling your sister about any of this. She would…”

Faramir rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed under Boromir’s bulk, as the elder brother, too, inevitably hit the water with a great -

SPLASH!

“Do not presume to speak for me, Boromir of Gondor!” warned Eowyn, towering over the three of them. “And you too, brother! I am perfectly capable of managing my own affairs, thank you very much.” She had pushed Boromir into the Fountain with such effortless grace, and told both of Faramir’s tormentors off without a hint of hesitation! She was perfection, Faramir knew. Had he not been in love with her already, he would have fallen head over heels for her at that moment. “I would be glad to join you for a tour about the Archives, Lord Faramir,” said Eowyn, and honestly, it all seemed too good to be true.

“I have never seen you pick up a book in your life, sister,” said Eomer, “save to throw it at our tutor.” He pushed his wet hair back from his face and attempted to stand up, only to slip and plop down once again. 

“Slander!” cried Eowyn, and the most beautiful blush crept onto her face. “I love books! I definitely have read a lot of books in my time! And I happen to take a great interest in the history of Gondor, of late,” she fumbled visibly, which only added to her charm in Faramir’s eyes.

He stood up and shivered. His elegant brocade doublet, which he had picked especially for this occasion, was now entirely ruined. He hastily shook it off, not wanting the richly coloured fabric to stain his white shirt underneath. He wiped off the water from his face, and finally deeming himself presentable (for a given definition of the word) addressed the Lady.

“I would be delighted to personally recommend to you the best historical monographs from our Library, my fair Lady Eowyn,” said Faramir and bowed, smiling widely. “Going through them will of a certainty take some time, but I wholeheartedly offer all the assistance I could give in your studies.”

“You know not what you have signed up for, Lady,” said Boromir, who was still sitting in the water up to his chest, and not in any rush to get up.

“Oh, I think the Lady knows perfectly well what she has signed up for,” the merry voice of Prince Legolas of Mirkwood sounded from behind Eowyn, and it was only in this moment that Faramir realised the White Lady had not come here alone. Distracted by her radiant presence, he had failed to notice the Elf, who was standing a little way off with Meriadoc Brandybuck, one of the Perians, and a furiously blushing, uncharacteristically quiet cousin Lothiriel. The three of them appeared to be carrying… hammers and chisels? Although the girl seemed to have dropped hers and focused on fanning her beet-red face instead.

“We were just off to the City, to help with the renovations of the houses on the Third Level. Master Gimli means to teach us stonemasonry!” Meriadoc supplied, excitement brimming on his features.

“Though I have noticed the Ladies are acting somewhat distracted,” said Legolas. “I wonder if they are up for the task after all, or maybe they would rather stay here and admire the views that the Citadel offers on this fine day.”

Faramir suddenly felt very self-aware. He suspected he was blushing at least as strongly as Lothiriel. Luckily, Lady Eowyn did not seem to mind, or even notice. She appeared to have forgotten his face was up here and not down there. Ah, well. A gentleman must make allowances for the sake of ladies.

Boromir looked suspiciously pleased with himself. He stood up, took off his wet surcote and shook the water off like a giant dog might, splashing on both Faramir and Eomer.

“Pardon our indecent state, Ladies,” Boromir said then, jovially. “I think we should all go and help with the renovations today. Many houses have suffered during the siege and I, for one, am impatient to start rebuilding.”

“A worthy cause! One I’d be glad to join once I get the chance to change into something dry,” said Eomer, who had just managed to get up, after a few mishaps. He put his mighty arms to use and wrung out his soaked shirt. Faramir was sure he heard Lothiriel actually squeal.

“I don’t know that you should,” said the Perian, who seemed bent on making the situation as awkward as possible. “We would get more crowd engagement with you three coming as you are.”

To this, Legolas snickered with malicious glee.

“It could do wonders for the population’s morale, true,” the Elf mused. “Alas! We’d get plenty of volunteers, but very little actual work done, I expect.”

✦ BONUS: ✦

“Gondor is beautiful at this time of the year, is it not, my Queen?” said Aragorn.

He was meant to be reviewing the list of guests for his Coronation, but got distracted by Arwen’s movements about his new office. Something outside had caught her attention, apparently, for she’d spent a good while gawking through the window. And his beautiful Undomiel, ever graceful and unperturbed, could only very rarely be caught gawking, and only in private. He had to assume she was not immune to the splendour of the White City, and he was well pleased that she approved of her new domain.

“Pardon?” she startled, and a faint blush tinged her alabaster cheek. “Oh, yes. The nature is in full bloom. But, I am not your Queen. Not yet, at least,” she said, and smiled a very secretive, private smile.

Aragorn suspected a hundred years would pass before he’d learn to decipher all the subtleties of her expression. He was content to just admire them, for now.

[MY WRITING MASTERPOST]

[emyn-arnens]

For Charity

Minas Tirith hosts its first-ever Charity Auction for Widows and Orphans of the War. Some of the participants are less enthusiastic than others. Feat. Boromir, Faramir, Éomer, Aragorn, Éowyn, Lothíriel, and Imrahil, with a side of Eothiriel. 2k. Also on AO3. I was inspired by @emilybeemartin's art of Boromir in a wet shirt and @hobbitwrangler's tags on the post, and this happened.

Boromir picked up the shirt laid out upon his bed. It was a flimsy white thing, hardly worthy of being called a shirt. And it was, according to Faramir, explicitly required. With a long-suffering sigh, Boromir pulled the shirt over his head. For charity, he reminded himself.

He looked down at himself. Every inch of his skin showed through the shirt. He might as well not be wearing a shirt.

As he left his room, Boromir refused to look in the looking glass that hung upon the wall.

Catching sight of Faramir turning down the corridor, Boromir raced to catch up. “You must do everything you can to ensure that Éomer wins,” Boromir said, falling into stride with his brother.

Faramir turned and laid his hand on Boromir's shoulder, smiling broadly. “Dear brother, the outcome is in the hands of the crowd. Do not expect to get special privileges from me merely because I am your brother. I have only a small role in the event as it is.” 

Boromir groaned.

With a chuckle, Faramir clapped Boromir on the shoulder and started off down the hallway again. “But fear not!” Faramir said over his shoulder. “Éowyn and I have plans set in place.”

“What sort of plans?” Boromir called after him.

“You will see,” Faramir said evasively. Boromir could hear the laughter in his voice.

Not for the first time, Boromir wondered if it might have been better to have fallen in battle than to deal with Faramir and Éowyn’s machinations.

The sky above the Pelennor was grey and sunless. A fine mist of rain fell over the field, where brightly colored tents and canopies dotted the ground around the outer wall of the city in anticipation of Minas Tirith’s inaugural charity auction for the widows and orphans of the war. Many of the onlookers gathered underneath the tents, little deterred by the weather. From the conversations Boromir caught as he walked by, it sounded as if they were already placing their bets.

Éomer beckoned Boromir to join him near the stage. He had rolled up the sleeves of his own flimsy shirt, revealing his forearms. Beads of water clung to his hair, and his shirt, stuck to his skin from the misty rain, left little to the imagination.

A glance at his own shirt told Boromir that he looked much the same. Blast this auction.

“Why are we doing this again, Éomer?” Boromir grumbled.

“It’s for charity,” Éomer said without looking at him. His gaze was fixed to the right, where Éowyn and Lothíriel sat beneath a canopy, reclining upon cushions and eating from a bowl they shared between them. “It’s for widows and orphans.” Éomer turned with unnecessary force, sending his hair fanning about his shoulders—Boromir suspected for Lothíriel’s benefit, for she and Éowyn watched them with great interest—as he turned to face Boromir.

The distance was not so great and the drizzle of rain not so thick that Boromir could not see the way that Lothíriel’s gaze followed Éomer appreciatively. She and Éowyn bent their heads together and whispered furtively.

“I am not certain the widows are here solely for the charitable donations they are about to receive,'' Boromir said, for indeed many of the widows, gathered next to the stage so that donors might see those they were assisting, looked upon Éomer, Boromir, and the other men of Rohan and Gondor assembled near the stage with open admiration and many a wandering glance.

“All the better for them.” Éomer grinned.

Boromir picked at his shirt. The fabric only clung to his skin even more. “Must these be so thin?”

Footsteps sounded behind them. “You have stayed in fine form, my friend,” said the king’s voice, tinged with laughter. Aragorn stepped into view and thumped Boromir on the back. “I am certain the widows are appreciative.” He clasped Boromir’s shoulders firmly and looked him up and down. His lips twitched with barely contained laughter. “Very appreciative, indeed.”

Boromir crossed his arms and bit his tongue.

“You should stand that way on the stage,” Éomer put in. “It’s very flattering.”

Boromir quickly uncrossed his arms.

Aragorn laughed. “Good luck, my friends.” He bade them farewell and went to join Arwen.

Imrahil’s voice rang out over the fields, bidding the onlookers welcome and laying out the rules of the auction. The crowd was to bid upon who they thought was the most handsome of the men of the Mark and of Gondor, and all proceeds would go to the widows and orphans. “And the prize of this auction,” Imrahil said, pausing for effect, “is a kiss from the man who has received the highest bid. He shall bestow it upon the willing recipient of his choosing.”

Boromir heard more than one sigh from the direction of the audience.

Boromir had already decided that if he were to win, he would bestow the honor upon Beregond’s young daughter, Míriel, who was starstruck by her Uncle Boromir and Uncle Faramir. (Beregond and his wife, Idhres, had chastised her many times for calling the princes thus, but Boromir did not mind.) The rules, after all, did not state the nature of the promised kiss. A kiss upon the forehead or hand was still a kiss.

Faramir stood behind the stage, directing the men into a single line. He had declined to participate on the grounds of being a married man.

Would that Boromir had such an excuse. Bachelorhood had its disadvantages.

Imrahil introduced the first man, one of Éomer’s former Éored, if Boromir was not mistaken, though ahead of him Éomer seemed not to notice. Members of the audience shouted bids, and Imrahil recorded the highest in his ledger.

The bidding continued on in a drone of voices. Boromir paid no mind to it.

Éomer stomped impatiently and tugged at the low neck of his shirt. He turned to Boromir. “How do I look?” If Boromir did not know Éomer so well, he might have said that his friend seemed nervous. But Éomer had never been one to fear.

“Wet. Nearly shirtless.” The mist had turned to a light rain by now, and their shirts had become entirely translucent. Boromir pushed his dripping hair from his face.

“Do you think—” Éomer was cut off by Faramir gesturing for him to ascend the steps to the stage.

Boromir waved Éomer away. “Go. Take all of the bids for me.”

Éomer climbed the stairs, and Imrahil announced him. “And now, the King of the Mark! Who will bid upon this paragon of Rohirric—”

“Virility!” The shout came from the direction of Éomer’s guardsmen, who nudged each other and laughed, saluting their king with their steins of ale.

“Virtue,” Imrahil finished drily, though Boromir knew the man well enough to recognize the slight twitch in his lips that belied his humor.

The men of Rohan booed good-naturedly.

“Do I have a bid for Éomer King?” Imrahil called.

“We will bid!” several voices shouted. 

Boromir squinted through the rain. Three men were standing up in the middle of the crowd—his cousins. That meant trouble.

“What is your bid?” asked Imrahil, sounding suddenly weary.

“Two hundred castars,” Amrothos said. Only a prince’s purse—or several, as it were—could bear to part with such a sum. And it was, to Boromir’s dim recollection of the morning’s bidding, the highest bid that had been named yet.

“Does anyone have a higher bid?”

Silence fell over the onlookers.

Imrahil sighed. “Very well. Bring your money to the collection table to be counted.” He noted the sum in his ledger.

Faramir gestured for Boromir to climb the stairs to the stage. Clearly biting back laughter, he patted Boromir’s shoulder. “Good luck.”

“I have no desire for good fortune,” Boromir groused.

“Then I wish you luck in losing.”

Boromir climbed the stairs to applause from the crowd.

Imrahil smiled warmly at him, then turned to the crowd. “Who will bid upon Gondor’s very own captain?”

Various voices shouted bids, but none reached the sum named by Imrahil’s sons. Boromir breathed a sigh of relief and descended the stairs on the opposite side of the stage, picking out Éomer in the crowd and moving toward him.

Éomer clapped him on the shoulder. “You need not have feared.”

Boromir shook his head, laughing. “My cousins seem intent on your winning. Knowing them, they have contrived some plot.”

Éomer stilled.

Boromir studied him, recalling Faramir’s words that morning. Perhaps his and Éowyn’s plan was connected to whatever Imrahil’s sons had concocted. It would be very unlike his brother, who had never had close friendship with their Dol Amroth cousins, but it was possible.

Éomer’s affection for Lothíriel, and hers for him, were readily apparent to all. Imrahil’s protectiveness of his only daughter was equally apparent and had appeared to be a sticking point in anything coming of their feelings for each other.

Hiding a smile and leaving Éomer to his worries, Boromir turned to watch the rest of the auction. He had had no need to fear, indeed.

The last bid was called, and Imrahil tallied the bids in his ledger. Éomer had grown steadily paler during the rest of the auction, and he now was visibly fidgeting.

“The bids have been tallied!” Imrahil’s voice rang out over the field. “Éomer King received the highest bid. Please come to the stage and make your selection.”

Éomer walked to the stage with all the enthusiasm of a man headed to the gallows. Sudden movement at the front of the audience caught Boromir’s eye. Amrothos and Erchirion had moved to stand in front of something—or someone. 

Boromir glanced at the tent where Éowyn and Lothíriel had been sitting. Lothíriel was gone, and only Éowyn and Faramir stood beneath the tent, whispering to each other.

“Who do you choose, Éomer?” Imrahil said.

Éomer stood before the stage looking far less confident than he had earlier that morning.

“Perhaps our sister?” came a shout from the crowd. Amrothos and Erchirion pushed Lothíriel in front of them.

Éomer froze. Imrahil crossed his arms, visibly displeased.

Boromir bit back a laugh.

“She is very beautiful, do you not think?” Amrothos pushed Lothíriel closer to the stage until she stood an arm’s length away from Éomer.

Éomer appeared to be having difficulty speaking.

Whispers ran through the crowd.

Éomer finally stirred and reached out to take Lothíriel’s hand in his. He bent and quickly kissed her hand, then stepped back.

But Lothíriel did not pull away. Rather, she tugged on Éomer’s hand and drew him closer, then kissed him sweetly upon the lips. Her brothers erupted in hoots and hollers, and the crowd broke out in cheers.

Imrahil’s frown deepened.

Lothíriel stepped away from Éomer, looking only slightly abashed, and mouthed an apology to her father.

Éomer stood like a man knocked over the head.

“That concludes the Charity Auction for Widows and Orphans of the War,” Imrahil said at last, just barely audible over the excitement of the crowd.

Smiling and shaking his head, Boromir stepped away and made his way to Faramir and Éowyn’s tent, where they stood clapping.

Boromir joined them. “Could you not have told me of your plans beforehand?”

“And risk spoiling our plans? Look how happy they are,” Éowyn said. Indeed, Éomer seemed more at ease surrounded by Lothíriel’s eager brothers and bolstered by the cheering of the crowd, and Lothíriel was smiling widely.

“They only needed a little nudge,” Faramir agreed.

“I am surprised you took part in this conspiracy,” Boromir said to his brother.

Faramir wrapped his arm around Éowyn’s waist. “I wish for everyone to have the happiness that I have found. And it was Éowyn and Lothíriel’s plan.” That was less surprising. Éowyn and Lothíriel were fast friends.

Faramir patted Boromir's shoulder. “Did you really believe that I would let you suffer so?”

“Yes,” Boromir said.

Faramir and Éowyn laughed gaily. “It will be your turn next time,” Faramir said with a grin.

Boromir cuffed him.

[emilybeemartin]

Sketchbook page from holiday traveling. Eowyn, Lothiriel, Arwen. Eomer just gave Lothiriel his cloak and is trying to act very cool about it (he is failing).

[melestasflight]

Hey friends, if you read or write any of these characters and would like to help a PhD student with a research project, check this out. Becca is doing some really cool things!

Haleth (Silmarillion)

Eärien (The Rings of Power)

Lothiriel of Dol Amroth

Aragorn and Arwen’s Daughters

[dreambigdreamz]

first line tag

thank you for the tag @glassonthewall i absolutely love your writer posts lol we like to relate to sad people trying to mix up words like they baking cake

here’s the first line to what i’m working on, the part three to On Our Own | Éomer Éadig hehe it’s a little bit of a touchy-touchy scene (okay i admit it’s smut, my first time writing it out 🥹 it’s not just smut btw it’s POETIC smut so. don’t kill me mom, i’m honing my literary skills all the same)

The ladies-in-waiting were getting Lothíriel ready for her first shared night with her husband, while Éomer was having to undergo a further round of backslapping ribaldry before his friends and companions escorted him to her door.

tagging : @meluiloth @manawari @oldfashionedidiot @konartiste @celeluwhenfics + open tag!

[spruceneedles]

Lothíriel and Amrothos (concept)

[thelien-art]

December; the 19th

Lothiriel

I feel like she´s leaning much towards Rohan´s fashion - also she ends up the queen there soooo... I´m giving her Rohan inspired clothes, with a tiny bit Gondor, and Gondor/Numenor makeup, and then most of the jewels are Rohan except the lowest necklace.