#rohan OCs

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Do you have many Rohirrim OCs? Or any, for that matter? If possible, I'd love to know more about them 😊

I do! While my favorite hobby is to write for little known/underappreciated canon Rohirrim (which means they function much like OCs because Tolkien gave us so little), I do also create my own people along the way. There are a *bunch* in my current Guthláf and Wídfara fic, mostly background friends and family of my main (canon) guys. But my most substantive Rohirrim OCs are women, since Tolkien gave us almost none of them.

Éomer was married to Mereliss in my world (my one real canon deviation!). She was Elfhelm’s daughter and was Éomer’s best friend from the time he moved to Edoras as a boy. They got married after the war, and (since he learned a thing or two about not putting women in a box) she wielded real power as queen. I’ve got nothing against Lothíriel and enjoy a bunch of interpretations of her, but I’ve always wanted to see Éomer with a strong Rohirrim woman – I feel like Rohan shouldn’t need to keep going to Gondor to get queens for themselves!

Théodred was engaged to Eadlin at the time of his death. She was a flower merchant from Aldburg who didn’t even meet Théodred until they were both in their late 30s. She came to live with him during their engagement (they were both old enough to be over being told what to do), and she was a real ride-or-die for him – if she ever thought you had hurt him in any way, she’d have nothing to do with you ever again. She was the first to connect the dots that Gríma was involved in Théodred’s death, and he had her imprisoned as a result. Éomer got her out, but she left Edoras embittered toward Théoden and unwilling to hang around where her memories of Théodred were most vivid and painful.

Bryttalif was married to Háma. She was a midwife in Edoras whose father was a big deal in the king’s guards. When Háma and Brytta met, she was pregnant herself and unmarried (an unhappy story she does not like to go into) so she was a bit of a scandalous figure. But she and Háma hit it off right away, as he immediately recognized her kindness and gentle spirit. He adopted her daughter as his own when they got married, and they had another on the way when he was killed at Helm’s Deep. Brytta was there (midwives are good at pain management and triaging bleeding problems, so she was asked to come along to help deal with the wounded), but was prevented from seeing his dead body because it had been so desecrated. She was crushed but slowly put herself back together, raised their kids, and kept working, and eventually she delivered Éomer and Mereliss’s first baby.

Anyone who’s interested can find more about them all in my pinned post — the stories are organized by main character, and you can find each of these ladies heavily featured in the Éomer, Théodred and Háma fics that are there.

Thank you for asking!!! People like you who show interest in and support OCs are so valuable to the fandom!!! ♥️

[annabawritersdream]

✍️✍️✍️

(I cheated and now you have to pick 3 bwahahahaha)

Thank you for the ask! It took me a long time to pick them, but I have my three characters at last! I'm going to talk about Hilde (Rohirrim OC), Lóthuil and Meleril (Gondorian OCs; youngest daughters of Aragorn and Arwen. Their older sister Gilraen appears in my Gaps and Ghosts one-shot for Tolkien OC Week 2024)

Hilde

She's not of noble origin and is native of Rohan. She spent her early childhood in the Westfold (she was born there) and, although she never had a title, she was not always poor. She comes from a family of traders—they primarily traded horses, but also clothes, barley and other items—and they used to be “rich” compared to their neighbors. That was before the War of the Ring, when Saruman’s forces as well as Dunlendings attacked and burned the Westfold. Her family lost everything—I headcanon that those who are not nobles live together in the same house like a big family and support one another unconditionally in whatever someone might need—and Hilde’s grandparents died trying to save their possessions. All of their children died (they had five children total) except for Hilde’s father, who was a child of ten at the time (roughly around TA 3018/3019). Settlements in the Westfold were eventually rebuild once Éomer became King and Hilde's father served Grimbold, Thane of Grimslade, for a time. Grimbold gave him a place to stay in his manor and paid him a weekly salary of ten coins. As a result, he amassed quite a bit of money and, at the end of his service to Grimbold, he had amassed quite a bit of money. He was then able to leave the Westfold to settle in Aldburg, capital of the Eastfold and former capital of Rohan. He found himself a decent house—not a mansion or anything, but still, a nice little house with all that he needed to live comfortably—and, a few years later, he found himself a wife as well. Unfortunately his wife was a beautiful as she was inconsiderate and shallow and spent all of her husband’s money while he was away. (This happened roughly around FoA 9 when Éomer and Aragorn and their armies where busy subduing the Haradrim. I headcanon it was no major battle or anything, but everyone thought a major conflict would erupt, so everyone who could wield weapons was summoned to join the army). When Hilde's father returned home, he quickly found he no longer had money and, of course, things between him and his wife were never the same again. He did not divorce her (I don't even know if divorce exists in Rohan, I should look it up), but they were only married in name. Hilde’s dad started working as an assistant blacksmith and, although it was hard at first since he knew nothing of the craft, he quickly learned the basics and, overtime, he became quite good at it. He also decided to resume what had been his family's business for generations—trading horses. He thus found a way to make money again; money which he promptly hid from his wife. They were no longer on speaking terms and he often spent his nights at the blacksmith workshop to avoid being with her. The hostility continued until she got sick a few years later. Out of pity, he decided to sort of rekindle their relationship and took care of her until she got better. Hilde was at last born in FoA 17. With her mom fully recovered and quite a bit of money coming in (and somewhat of a repaired relationship), they started to act like a normal family and had quite a happy life for a few years. The money and other valuables and most things still remained hidden—I think Hilde's mom was actually kleptomaniac, it's just that her illness was not known in Rohan….for obvious reasons—but they found a way to make their relationship work (mostly for the sake of their child, but also for themselves).

It seems like they got their happy ending, right? Well,…not exactly. They had a few happy years before Hilde’s dad died. Shortly before his passing, he had decided to tell his wife where he kept his money trusting that she would use it to take care of the house and of her daughter. She promised to do so and tried to abide by her promise, but she soon went back to her old ways and squandered all the money again (this time, out of sadness rather than selfishness…I mean, it’s still a bit selfish, but I think she tried to forget about her pain by spending and buying as much stuff as she could. Useless stuff, mostly). Seeing how irresponsible her mother was, Hilde decided pretty early on that she had to earn her own money if she hoped to survive—her mom mostly bought random, useless stuff instead of, you know…food, water, utilities…that kind of irrelevant stuff no one cares about—and started working as a cleaning lady for highborn people. Her mother died at some point, but the two of them were never really close as she blamed her for her misfortune and for her father's death. She basically just paid the funeral expenses and that was it, I am not even sure she attended the funeral. Probably not, though. After a few years of cleaning mansions and places belonging to nobles, she was recommended to Éomer. She was pretty famous among people attending banquets at Edoras and someone in Éomer’s inner circle mentioned her name. A few weeks later she was officially summoned to Edoras and started working there, cleaning floors, helping in the kitchen and occasionally serving meals.

Now, time-skip to FoA 39.

Wyn is in Pelargir visiting Anárion and keeps talking to him about Rohan and the fact that she wants to visit her grandmother's country. Anárion at first tries to dissuade her—he knows their mom will never give them permission to go and he also knows Eönwë doesn't want to get involved in personal things of this kind—but then he reluctantly agrees to take her to Edoras. He has to ask his grandfather for information because he barely knows where Rohan is and has him write a letter to Éomer announcing their visit. I sort of imagine Éomer going like “oh, yes, my sister's grandchildren…how many are they and what do they look like?” and Lothíriel being like “I have absolutely no idea”. That's funny to me. A few weeks later they receive a letter saying that they're welcome to visit if they wish and a few days/weeks later, they finally get to Edoras. Lothíriel hosts a welcome dinner and Hilde is there serving meals. That's when Anárion first sees her and he's immediately attracted to her. Enna has tried in vain to set him up with a Gondorian lady of her choosing (one of the many girls at her “finishing schools”) but Anárion is not really interested. She's not ugly or rude in any way, but he makes it pretty clear he doesn't want to marry her. He sees Hilde and he's immediately drawn to her, but he's kind of disappointed when he realizes she doesn't speak Westron. She only knows a few words she overhead from other people, but, due to her circumstances, she could never afford to get an education and knows nothing about what lies beyond the borders of Rohan. She is not familiar with most places in Rohan either, actually. She's never had a chance to travel so her knowledge about basically everything around her is…extremely limited. Anárion tries to talk to her, but the minute he does, she burts into tears and runs away, hiding in the stables. She spends the night there and the following morning she is back at work. Anárion and Wyn stay in Rohan for about a month—his grandfather is the only one to know that they're not in Pelargir—and Anárion tries several times to start a conversation with her.

Éomer has noticed his interest in Hilde and teaches him a few basic sentences in Rohirric (or is it Rohanese?) so that he can at least explain who he is. Anárion writes them down and practices in his room that very night, but, when she shows up, he gets nervous and just ignores her. He has to read the sentences off his piece of parchment to actually speak to her and, when he tries to do so a few days later, she just frowns and looks around. He thinks he's hopeless and leaves her alone. Wyn sort of ships them already though and tries to help. She asks Lothíriel for help and learns a few other sentences on her own before she visits her in the kitchen. Hilde is washing dishes and sweeping floors when Wyn sneaks up on her and nearly gets hit in the head. Hilde tries to apologize and the two girls start “talking”. On Wyn’s part, it's a lot of mumbling, hand gestures and random words, but Hilde sort of understands what she wants to say. Over the following days, Wyn drags Hilde to Anárion’s room while also involving Éothain into the whole thing. I don't know how Wyn meets Éothain yet, but she's so bubbly and happy that it's nearly impossible for anyone to dislike her. So, Éothain acts as the official interpreter for the two of them (Anárion and Hilde) and Anárion tells her a bit of his life-story and also says his mom has a school for girls and that anyone is welcome. Wyn immediately understands what his plan is and insists (she basically nags her nonstop) until she reluctantly accepts. They all talk to Éomer and Lothíriel about it (they also talk about Enna, how she's doing etc…) and the King and Queen of Rohan agree to let her go, but only if she's willing to do so herself. Hilde is not afraid of them and sort of likes Wyn, but she's nervous because she knows nothing about Gondor and probably doesn't even know who Enna and Eönwë are. They give her a few more days to think it over until she willingly says she'll go. They take their leave and are back in Ithilien a few weeks later. That's where things get interesting. Anárion tells Enna that a new girl that may benefit from her schooling. Enna is initially very happy about it as she assumes he's referring to some Gondorian lady he met (remember that she did not know he and Wyn had secretly traveled to Rohan) and asks to meet her. Wyn tells attendants to give her a bath and prepare a suitable dress and a meeting between the two of them is arranged. Hilde tries to tell them that she doesn't feel comfortable meeting anyone unless either Wyn or Anárion are there with her and they both readily accept to escort her to their mom and keep her company. Anárion is a bit nervous about introducing her to his mother (he's painfully aware that she loathes anything Rohan-related), but, by this point, he's fully smitten with Hilde and thinks his mom will understand how he feels. Also, he feels it's about time Enna got over her trauma and dealt with it as any adult would. The two of them meet and Enna thinks she's hallucinating Éowyn (they kind of look like one another). As a result she has a major, full-blown panic attack, which the physicians nearly mistake for a heart attack. Hilde doesn't know what's going on and thinks it's her fault and tries her best to apologize. Mírion runs to his mom—he’s constantly checking on her—and as soon as he sees Hilde (and the way Anárion looks at her), he connects the dots. He calls the healers and puts his mom to bed, refusing any help from Anárion. Wyn immediately understands Mírion is about to snap and conveniently escorts a very confused and saddened Hilde out of the room and shows her around.

Once Enna is taken care of, Mírion storms out and Anárion follows him. He prods for an explanation, but Mírion flees to his chambers and locks the main door, eventually opening it up again since Anárion keeps on knocking. A very loud argument ensues—Mírion’s like “you were in Rohan having fun with that girl while I was here taking care of our family, huh?” and basically tells him to stop fooling around and to focus on the girl he's supposed to court aka the one Enna picked for him. Anárion yet again says he does not wish to marry her and Mírion says his feelings don't matter and that he should please his mother. (Mírion is indeed courting/spending time with the lady Enna picked for him. She’s also from her finishing school and, although he finds her well-mannered and very beautiful, he is not sure about his feelings for her. Not that it matters since he'll do anything to please his mom. He's understandably obsessed with her wellbeing and would kill himself if either she or Eönwë asked it of him). Anárion is more like “I love you so much, Mother, but it's my life, not yours.” The two bothers have completely different opinions on the matter and they momentarily fall out with one another. Long story short: Mírion doesn't approve of Hilde—he thinks Anárion should have known better—and Anárion doesn't care. He adores his baby brother, but he has a will of his own and won't dismiss a girl he likes just because his mother doesn't approve of her. Mírion would do so at once just to make her happy instead. That's the main difference. So, while Enna’s sons stop talking over this apparently trivial matter, Finnie sides with Wyn and Hilde and helps Hilde learn a bit of Westron. Hilde bonds with both girls, but I think Wyn will become her bestie. Anárion is already in love with her and Hilde falls for him as she gets to know him. Before she dies, Enna gives them permission to marry and once Sauron is finally dead, the two of them marry and Hilde becomes lady of Lebennin. They'll have a daughter, Éowyn, (as a tribute to the person that believed in them the most as well as to the most woman in Rohirric/Rohanese history) and a son. Mírion will eventually apologize and rekindle his relationship with his brother before he leaves for Valinor.

Fancast for Hilde: Aimee Richardson.

Aimee Richardson as Hilde and Archie Barnes as Anárion

Literally his face the first time he saw Hilde

Also, ship name is probably Hilderion

Lóthuil

Princess of the Reunited Kingdom, second daughter of King Elessar and Queen Arwen. Her name means "Spring Flower".

She was born in FoA 16 shortly after Enna’s wedding to Eldarion. Arwen wasn't actually supposed to attend the wedding, but she insisted on it because she did not want to miss her little boy’s special day. I haven't picked a day for Eldarion and Emma's wedding yet, but I think Lóthuil will be born roughly a week later. She was born in the spring, hence her name.

Lóthuil’s birth was very difficult for Arwen, which is why Aragorn decides they won't have any more children. Personality-wise, Lóthuil is much more of a lady than her older sister, but she too is very blunt and not cut out for courtly life. She only is smarter about it and, contrarily to her sister, she knows how put on a poker face. She also tends not to be extremely blunt when addressing her parents and, contrarily to her sister, she doesn't talk back if she disagrees with her parents’ decisions. She makes her ideas known, but she's much subtler and way more gentle when communicating with her elders, which is why Aragorn pays way more attention to her. Despite their age difference (thirteen years) she's extremely close with Gilraen and tries to quietly support her. Gilraen and Daerion get married in FoA 22 when Lóthuil is eight years old—yes, Aragorn does actually wait until his eldest daughter comes of age before officially marrying her off. I think the whole Enna/Eldarion marriage fiasco made him realize a few things. I think he also wants to be certain Daerion actually cares for Gilraen. Upon his betrothal to Gilraen, Daerion is created lord of Lossarnach and Gilraen is escorted there as well, since she is to be the fief's future lady. Lóthuil will be visiting her sister very often and, although she has her own nanny and a bunch of other people at her service, she will be mostly raised by Estella (Gilraen’s governess and de-facto mom). Gilraen will of course escape to Dol Amroth as often as she possibly can and will take Lóthuil with her and the two of them will secretly spend a lot of time with “Aunt” Mörwen, Aragorn’s first cousin (her father was canon Gilraen’s older brother; an OC I won't be developing since he has no impact on the story itself). absolutely nothing. I feel like Aragorn will eventually learn to value his daughters. He loves them but for some reason he cannot show it that much and they are both hurt his aloofness around them. Both girls take up archery as a hobby to deal with their frustration and, according to Uncle Legolas, they are both excellent. Both girls are very good friends with both Enna and Nel and, after Enna marries Eönwë and sets up her “finishing school”, Lóthuil is one of the first people to be officially enrolled. This is something Eldarion suggests as he hopes it can work in his favor as well.

By then he genuinely wants to make amends and apologize to Enna and thinks Lóthuil may be key to a reconciliation of sorts. Although he will always be Aragorn and Arwen’s beloved boy. I feel compelled to mention that Aragorn is no longer as blinded by his actions after the whole accident/scandal involving Enna and their unborn baby. I think that’s what prompts Aragorn to value his daughters a bit more, and the event, although tragic for the realm and for Enna, marks the beginning of his improved relationship with Gilraen. He won’t completely change his mind straightaway, but he realizes that he was wrong to overlook his daughters. He spends a lot more time with them and actually asks for their opinion on quite a few matters. Eldarion’s opinion is definitely still more important to him, but the girls’ ideas are not dismissed either.

Now, back to Lóthuil. While she is not a poor student as far as music, literature and other subjects are concerned, she is absolutely atrocious at embroidering, playing instruments and acting…like a princess. Enna tries to teach her a few things and takes her into her service as one of her ladies-in-waiting, but she quickly realizes she’s far too similar to Gilraen to be trusted as a lady-in-waiting. Mind you, Enna ADORES both girls, but…even she has to admit they are not cut out for court life. Knowing Aragorn is still trying to marry her off to people and knowing full well there’s no chance she will get to be happy with the nobles Aragorn has an eye on, she arranges for her to travel North. She has always had a fascination with all things Arnor and Enna hopes she will be able to find some lasting happiness there. She talks Aragorn into letting her go and the King eventually agrees.

On her way to Annúminas—she goes on her own without soldiers to protect her. She doesn't like to be followed—she decides to visit an inn in Tharbad just to rest a bit and she meets a group of boys who start bothering her and making comments about her unkempt appearance and so on. Just as she’s about to confront them, another boy more or less her age tells the group to mind their own business. Lóthuil frowns as she notices everyone bowing to him and casually asks the bartender about him. It turns out that the boy who defended her is the son of the lord of Tharbad. She looks at him and immediately thinks he is gorgeous despite his ridiculous haircut. I have come up with a few scenes of them practicing archery together and gradually becoming friends (she kind of already likes him, but wants to get to know him to make sure he falls in love with her and not with her family/titles, which is why she doesn’t tell him she’s one of the princesses when he asks for her name. I think she actually gives him a fake name which is yet to be decided. They will marry a few years later (dates are yet to be decided, but I think they’ll marry around FoA 38/39). I think her husband’s name will be Idhrenion. (Ship: Lóthrenion)

Ewan Mitchell as Idhrenion & Marina Moschen as Lóthuil

Gorgeous with a ridiculous haircut. Ewan Mitchell just fits.

Meleril

Born in FoA 19, she is the youngest daughter of King Elessar and Queen Arwen. Arwen and Aragorn did not want any more children after Lóthuil and she just…kind of happened, I guess. She’s considered the ugliest member of the Arawen family since she looks way more human than her siblings and because she's way chubbier than her sisters (that doesn't mean she's fat…she's just not as thin). Most ladies are kind to her just because she's a princess, but she's constantly bullied and called names behind her back. She's retiring, private and very kind. Although she has definitely cried a few times about it, she generally doesn't let negative comments affect her. She can be very self-conscious and, though she doesn't speak to anyone about it, she thinks she'll never wed anyone because she'll never be pretty enough for marriage. She has no desire to learn to fight and never once engaged in swordfighting or archery. She prefers more traditionally feminine occupations such pottery and needlework. She's an avid reader and likes talking to people and recording their thoughts on things (had she not been a part of the royal family, she probably would have been a scholar, a scribe or a writer). She has a parrot named Elros and spent her entire childhood trying to teach him how to speak. Eldarion has a soft spot for her and, as he is worried about her spending nearly all of her time with her parrot and nearly anyone else, he encourages her to attend Enna's school. As Enna grows fond of her, they spend a lot of time together and Meleril casually happens to be around one day that Elboron visits Enna to try and make things right with her (as I probably mentioned before, they don't see much of one another as time goes by. Enna doesn't hate him or anything, but she can't look him in the eye because he reminds her too much of Éowyn and it's too painful to bear). They stare at each other and Meleril tries to avoid him because she's afraid he’ll think she's fat and ugly. Elboron looks at her and, as soon as she leaves, he asks for information about her. He doesn't know who she is yet, but he's intrigued primarily because she doesn't look as stuckup as most ladies. He can tell she's very insecure and kind of just wants to comfort her (that's the Faramir in him coming out). He tries talking to Enna about her, but Enna doesn't really want to speak to him. Meleril gets acquainted with Enna’s other siblings and becomes friendly with Selim, who encourages her to write letters to Elboron. The two of them start corresponding and Selim tries to be the best wingman he can possibly be. He also teaches her about Haradrim customs and she becomes interested in Haradrim fashion. I haven't figured out the details of their relationship yet, but I don't Meleril and Elboron get married eventually. (Ship name: Melboron? Elboriel? Probably Elboriel sounds better)

Fancast for Meleril: Mariya Andreeva

Mariya Andreeva as Meleril and Toby Regbo as Elboron

Thank you again for the ask & I hope it makes sense!

[jetaloen]

[artistic-heartbeat]

Sweet angel of mercy.

[sotwk]

Taken (Eomer x unnamed OC )

Part 1 of 3

Part 2 / Part 3

Love Confession feat. Eomer Eadig

Valentine 2023 Event by @sotwk

Summary: The lone shield-maiden in Eomer's Éored has been secretly in love with him for years, but has long accepted that that he can never share those feelings. At the feast of King Elessar's coronation, she is surprised to learn that there may yet be hope.

Prompt: "It's like you never really see me. I'm standing right in front of you and you don't see me!"

Requested by and Dedicated to: @writefortherain-blog Thank you for making this request and giving me the opportunity to write for Eomer!

Word count: 2.4k

Content: Romance, angst, mutual pining, oblivious to love, jealousy, forbidden relationship, class division, shield-maiden, King Eomer, post-RotK

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Some sensuality

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken 

Third Age 3019 May 1

Minas Tirith

PART ONE

Downing that fourth cup of wine had been a mistake. Or was it the fifth? Sixth? The ridiculous dress with its rib-crushing bodice and neckline positioned nowhere near your neck, had also been a mistake, even though the local clother had insisted to you that it was in the "proper" Gondorian fashion. The entire evening and its inconveniences had all been for a failed end. 

You finally jostled your way out of the packed feasting hall and stumbled outside to the courtyard, your compressed lungs and flushed skin rejoicing at their contact with the cool night air. One hand rose to massage your throbbing temple, and the other clawed irritatedly at the boning that caged in your unacceptably unfeminine frame. 

"Never again," you seethed under your breath, as you crossed the white-stone pavement to move even farther away from the chaos you escaped. 

It had been a painful decision to ride out to Minas Tirith with the rest of your Éored and attend the coronation of the returned King of Gondor. You despised grand affairs, knowing well enough the requirements rules of court would impose on you, unwieldy formal attire being just one of them. These were at least tolerable within Rohan, where you could find some comfort amongst familiar faces and settings. But as the lone female who rode in the company of the Third Marshal, you refused to be excluded from any undertaking by your Éored, however dangerous or unpleasant. Whether it broke your arm or shattered your heart.

"I can just go," you thought, casting a quick glance back at the great hall, alive and alight with the merry cacophony of a thousand revelers that would surely last until dawn. The two hours you already spent mingling to the best of your limited ability had to suffice, and it was doubtful your presence would even be missed. 

But the call of a deep voice stalled your retreat, loud and commanding and instantly recognizable even across a distance as it shouted your name. The soldier in you succumbed to the instinct to obey your Marshal, to honor the oath you had sworn on your knees years ago. 

The flickering flames of nearby torchlights reflected against the carved silver panels of the breastplate he donned over his lavishly embroidered tunic. Famously handsome even when caked in blood and grime, Eomer was breathtakingly resplendent bearing the regalia that befitted his station. King Eomer now, you reminded yourself, as you dipped your head in a bow. 

“My lord.”

“Is something amiss? Why did you leave?” His narrowed eyes upon you were penetrating, his tone demanding rather than concerned. Lying to someone you had spent practically every single day of your adult life with was difficult, and even more so with an addled brain, so you knew you had to mince words carefully.  

Fortunately, you had years of practice doing exactly that. 

“I underestimated the potency of their vintage, and downed one cup too many.” You scrunched up your features in a grimace that just slightly exaggerated your pain. “I thought it best to excuse myself and retire for the night.”

“Perhaps if you rested a while and ate some food…” He rested a hand lightly on your shoulder. “It is much too early and the quarters would still be empty. I know you detest fraternizing, but just sit at the table with the rest of our men.”

You released a graceless guffaw and a puff of wine-tinged breath. “Half of them are already deeper in their cups than I, and getting sloppier by the second. I finally had to remind Héothain of his manners the second time he tried to sneak a hand down the front of my dress.”

“He did what?” Eomer’s sudden growl awakened you to your own carelessness and slip of the tongue. Smooth-cheeked Héothain was the youngest and newest addition to the Éored, and remained sorely lacking in experience with women. He should not be held accountable for his awkwardness amplified by insobriety. 

“It was a silly mistake that caused no harm,” you insisted, pulling back as Eomer attempted to lead you off by the elbow. “Two sprained fingers taught him a lesson he shall not soon forget.” 

Eomer glowered at you but remained silent for a pause, as he did whenever running through courses of action in his mind. “Then you can come sit by me at the King’s table.”

Your laugh in response to that suggestion was shrill and nervous, as he looked so serious making it. “I most certainly cannot… my lord.” You stated your defiance firmly, baring a toothless pertinacity against your leader, and underneath it a silent plea that the friend in him would understand. “There is no place for me amongst such esteemed company and truly, there is nothing in the world I would enjoy less at this moment.” 

You sighed and braced one hand below your rib area, massaging a spot where the corset dug into a still-tender battle injury. 

“Please. Let me go back to my room where I can be rid of these dreadful garments.”

“No.” The immediacy and sharpness of his refusal made you blink in surprise. “Not until you explain yourself to my satisfaction.”

“Pardon, my lord?”

“Hah, there! That is what I am speaking of.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand--”

“When did you cease to call me by my name in private conversation? Or last bother to converse with me at all?!” You took too long to answer, and he barreled on, hazel eyes flashing with the sudden rise of agitation. “Let me enlighten you, since I recall it well. It began after Theodred’s death, accompanied by a host of other changes in your behavior towards me that you think I have not noticed!”

You scrambled to concoct a rebuttal, another feint to keep him from uncovering your secrets. Alas, your dulled mind had frozen completely in the face of the horse-lord’s fury, which had never been directed at you in such a manner.

“You are misreading things, my lord, or else imagining them. I cannot say that I--”

“You cannot even look me in the eye these days of late!” Eomer snapped. “Nor can you stand to be in any room I am in for long.” He threw out his arm in the direction of the great hall. “Even now you rebuff any attempt I make to spend time with you.”

“I…I…” You stammered, rendered helpless before his unexpected wrath, cursing yourself for the poor timing of your inebriation. How could you put up your shields when your mind was struggling to pick out your own lies from the truth?

“If you are angry with me, I would have you admit to it now. I will no longer be played for a fool.”

Indignation pooled in your gut, crawling upward until it deepened the coloring of your already flushed face. “I confess to nothing! For what cause do I have to be angry?”

“Because you loved him!” Eomer erupted. As you gaped at his outburst, he gripped a fistful of his hair, and took in one sharp breath, steeling himself. “You loved Theodred,” he finally said, in a voice gone cold and quiet. “And you place blame on me for his death.”

The fire in your belly flared at the terrible accusation. “Theodred was murdered by Saruman, and only a traitor would fault you for that vile cur’s deed.” You shook a finger at him emphatically. “I am no traitor.”

“Did you love my cousin?”

“Of course I did,” you said stoutly. The prince’s demise plagued you still, for you had been the one to spot Theodred’s body amongst the corpses that littered the fords. And after he’d been borne away to Meduseld, you never saw him alive again, and all you could do was weep in the privacy of your quarters, which you did for weeks, mourning the loss of so much more than a dear friend and mentor. 

“No one has ever shown me greater kindness than Theodred.” You held a hand over your heart as a different ache rose in you. “He believed in me at a time when no one else would, not even you." 

Eomer had fallen silent, but you saw his cloaked shoulders rise and fall, broad chest heaving in the manner so familiar to you. It was the way he looked on the battlefield, where his blood ran hottest, and he was fighting to balance out the genteel lord and savage killer that both resided within him. He was so thoroughly upset with you. 

“If I have made you feel like your cousin’s fate was in any way your fault, I am truly sorry,” you said. "But what sort of questions are these, and why are you asking them now?"

His gaze flicked back in your direction, leaden with anguish. "You should know why."

“I am telling you I do not, my lord, and I must beg you to explain why you are speaking so cryptically."

“You wish for me to explain in words something I have been trying to show you for years now?!” He gave a strangled laugh and raised his eyes and hands to the night sky. "Bema…"

“It is as though you never really see me,” he muttered, almost as though speaking to himself. “Here I am, standing right in front of you, and you do not see me!"

But you did hear his mumbled complaints, and suddenly it was all too much. Your sickening weariness, your aches both physical and emotional, your befuddlement caused by the six drinks and this man's unhinged raging as he launched yet another ludicrous accusation at you.

"Not see you?" you repeated, and something about just saying it rammed open the gate behind which you had caged up every real thing you ever wanted to say to Eomer, Son of Eomund. 

"If such a thing were possible, I would wish it upon myself immediately!" you exclaimed. "But you are all I ever see, even when I do not wish to! Even when I flee from your presence, I can never escape a face that refuses to leave my thoughts!" 

Oh Valar, no. STOP. Panicked, you bit down on your lip to imprison the words fleeing your mouth, so hard you tasted blood. But Eomer suddenly moved forward, encroaching on the space you desperately fought to maintain for your own protection, and his hazel eyes locked into yours to wrench away the last of your defenses. 

"It hurts too much, can you not understand?!" you cried, managing one step back. "To remain in the presence of the one thing you most desire but will never have, to be taunted by a dream that will never be fulfilled, to watch as it falls into the possession of another while you can do absolutely nothing!"

He spoke your name, his voice oddly hoarse, and shame finally came crashing down inside you. Your hands flew up to hide your face and suddenly he grabbed your wrists, tugging your arms away only to replace your hands with his own, warming your cheeks with his calloused palms. 

“Then see me now,” he ordered. “And know I have always understood how that feels. What great fools we have both been all along to deny ourselves our true desires.”

“Eomer, what--” The stroke of his thumb over the corner of your mouth drove the rest of the words away, and the parting of your lips and flutter of your eyes gave him the approval he sought. 

His kiss tasted more glorious than they did in a thousand daydreams combined. It did not surprise you that he was completely unlike the other men you had kissed before. Whereas lesser men were greedy and sloppy in their hunger, the caress of Eomer’s mouth was deep and languid, almost worshipful in its exploration of your lips, as though he aimed to savor every small sensation and intended to carry on doing this with you forever. 

His one arm looped around your waist to hold you covetously against him; his broad left hand traveled from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, his long fingers burying themselves into your hair, tips grazing your scalp. It fired up a new heat in you that you had never felt before, not with such raw intensity, and a tremulous whimper escaped your throat. 

But the sound of your own pleasure was your undoing, for it triggered an alarm in your head, one that caused you to break away from Eomer’s passion. You mumbled against his lips the words you had conditioned yourself for years to think around him. 

“My lord, I cannot…”

He paused, his eyes still dazed and unfocused, caught in a state of bliss--one that you caused, you realized with a shiver. “You cannot… what?” he said thickly. Without waiting for an answer, he dipped back in eagerly to trail his mouth up your jawline, his tongue skimming the tender pulse underneath your ear. 

You gave a small cry and pushed against his chest with more force, immediately waking his attention. His arm around your waist remained stubbornly secure however, and it took you physically prying the powerful limb off for you to slip free. Either due to shock or lingering delirium, Eomer did not resist. 

“I cannot…” Your voice broke even as you clung to your resolve. “I cannot have you.”

His heavy brows furrowed. “What?” Within seconds the confusion lifted to uncover his dismay, layered with anger. “You would speak lies and nonsense again, after everything I told you?”

“It is the truth, Eomer!” You started backing away already, stepping faster and faster as he began to move and reach out for you. “You can never be anything more than a dream to someone like me. I cannot have what is already taken.”

“Taken? What--wait! No!” He started to run, but you had already turned heel and were sprinting full-speed towards the Citadel Gate. You had always been faster on your feet; there was no hope of him catching up if you refused to heed his orders. “Stop!”

His shouts of your name faded quickly, drowned out by the noise of the milling crowd you plunged into and the thunder of your own frantic heartbeat. You slowed to a walk but kept a quick pace, weaving haphazardly through the throng and on and on until you’d descended at least two levels. Only then did you duck into a side street and survey your surroundings.

Your escape succeeded. Neither Eomer nor any Rohirrim were anywhere to be found, at least for the moment.

You collapsed upon the nearest doorstep, exhaustion and aches finally overcoming you. As the chaotic whirlwind within you settled, so too did the reality of what just occurred sink in. 

Eomer desired you, perhaps even loved you as you did him. But the King of Rohan’s love was not for you, a common soldier, to take. You had known that all along, and he did too. It was unkind of him to give you such false hope. 

Raising your fingers to your swollen lips, you felt the ghost of his perfect kisses on them, and finally burst into tears over yet another memory that will grieve you until your trampled heart could bear no more.

To be continued...

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[thatlenguy]

i hate this stupid cunty man and his stupid cunty outfits (read: i started watching jojo's and oh no a new blorbo hath attacked)

(i am only on like episode 26 of diamond is unbreakable please do not spoil me on things i want to watch this show's wildness unfold naturally)

[reallyawkwardbeck]

lightfall, in a nutshell

[love-overdrive]

Hehe, guess who gets to bother a certain mangaka forever now? (He just won’t admit he doesn’t mind it-)

Art done by @/plartsypus on instagram!!

Taglist: @iceicewifey @child-ofdust @chocochiamy @over--heaven @gingernut1314

[marsieart]

This drawing of Araki is so funny hehehe

Illustrator-designer and mangaka quarrel (they're fighting over a common project.)

[silbeni]

Ryoma during Crazy Diamond is Unbreakable 💥

[neeuqiakeht]

Josuke, about Rohan: He's a walking red flag!

Y/N: Good thing red is my favorite color.

[jetaloen]

the world ended in love

[sotwk]

Taken (Eomer x unnamed OC) - Part 3 of 3

Part 1 / Part 2

Summary: After having his proposals and professions rejected by the woman he loves, Éomer still refuses to be dissuaded. He vows to continue fighting for a future with her--even if that means having to let go for the time being.

Word count: 6.7k

Dedicated to anyone who has ever known the pain of loving someone you could not have. <3

Content: Boromir lives (!), angsty romance, declarations of love, jealousy, mutual pining, class division, shield-maiden, Éomer King, Rohirrim OCs, post-RotK, non-canon pairing

Rating: T (Teens and up)

Warnings: Sensuality gets steamy, but nothing explicit. Mentions of old battle injuries.

To Read on AO3: Link

Taken 

PART THREE

Third Age 3019 May 6

Minas Tirith, Gondor

“If you would allow me to propose something your Grace, I--”

“Éomer.” The King of Rohan growled the ungentle correction with an irritated shake of his head. “If I have leave from your king to continue calling him Elessar, then I will not abide frivolous formalities from you…Captain. And speak freely! It is your candor that I came here for, as much as your counsel."

Boromir chuckled faintly. “Very well.” He downed the last of the wine in his goblet before picking up the jug to refill it, then reaching across the table to serve his guest as well. 

While Éomer took a hearty swig, Boromir used the extra seconds of silence to weigh his next words. The noble horse-lord had done most of the talking since his arrival at the house not an hour ago, rambling on with barely contained agitation that would have frightened or offended anyone unfamiliar with his character. But Boromir had known Théodred’s cousin since he was a child, and while he was not nearly as close to Éomer as he had been with the late Prince of Rohan, their friendship had deepened enough--especially over the past few months--to familiarize Boromir with the trigger points of his temper. 

And Boromir had never before seen him more sensitive about a topic than the matter they had at hand. 

Love certainly wields such terrible power over a man, the Captain-General of Gondor mused, before clearing his throat. 

“I will gladly fulfill your request of watching over her in your absence, making sure she is well-treated and wants for nothing,” he began. “But a soldier can quickly grow restless without sufficient martial exercise.” 

“I agree.” Éomer leaned forward to fold his arms across the table. “Has she not been here long enough for your men to grow accustomed to seeing her at the training grounds? None of them need spar against her or even alongside her if they do not wish to. She would be content to practice drills on her own. In fact, she may even prefer it.”  

“My men will tolerate her presence just fine. The valor she showed on Pelennor was well-witnessed, and stories of it have circulated around our garrison,” Boromir said. “I admit she may inevitably overhear crass remarks from some passing boor among the citizenry. A woman warrior still remains an oddity in these parts. But I am sure she did not come to her status without learning how to weather such criticisms.” 

“Yes.” Éomer stared at the empty goblet he rotated slowly between his hands. “She has had to bear with a lot of ignorant talk over the years.”

“Which is why I propose taking her as a member of my company while you are away. Just temporarily,” Boromir added quickly, noting the immediate change in the horse-lord's demeanor. “It will help her feel more at ease while here, separated from you and her countrymen, if she had a group to belong to.”

“She has already taken a strong liking to your Aerdis. Which, I must confess, took me by surprise.”

Boromir smiled at this, his fool heart ready to burst with joy at every casual mention of his betrothed. “My lady is an easy one to love,” he said simply. “And indeed, the two seem to enjoy each other's company. I am certain Aerdis would be happy to continue acquainting her with all of her treasured haunts within the city and even beyond its walls. But…” 

He rubbed his jaw slowly, ever the unconscious tell of his discomfort with the situation at hand. But it was no use dancing around the real counsel he wished to present to Éomer King. “When it comes to daily labors, a shield-maiden will likely be happier with work better suited to her talents.”

Éomer cocked an eyebrow, clearly undeceived by Boromir’s attempts at off-handedness. “What sort of work? I sense you have something specific in mind.”

“I do,” Boromir admitted. “And I shall explain it to you plainly, although I will first say that it is both a suggestion and a request for a favor.” At this point he considered offering Éomer another refill of his drink, but the deepening scowl on the man’s face made him think better of it. “As you may have heard, I have been charged by King Elessar to lead the delegation that will treat with the Southrons. Sadhar has already come forward with an offer to parley, as soon as next month.”

Éomer’s eyes widened; he caught on even faster than Boromir had expected him to. “And you wish to include her in your delegation?”

“With your approval, yes.”

“You do not have it!” Éomer exclaimed. “And how could you propose such a thing?! Have you forgotten how she was so nearly dragged off by those animals to be taken who knows where for purposes I dare not even think of?”

“Are you really asking that of the man who came to her aid?”

It was a risky move to prod at that wound, but Éomer looked properly chastised by it. “You rescued her,” he conceded. “And for that I shall eternally be in your debt. But I cannot pretend to understand why you wish to involve her in any dealings with Harad.”

“You must see why I thought of her,” Boromir insisted. “You, who can personally attest to what she is capable of.” But Éomer continued to look too distraught to think, so he laid the rest out. “I can count on the fingers of one hand every person I know who can speak a Haradric dialect with reliable accuracy. Half of them died in the war.”

Éomer rose abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in his state. Muttering indistinctly, he turned his back to Boromir to glare out the nearest window and brood at the rain lashing against the glass panes. 

“When Théodred used to boast to me about her, I dismissed it as a mentor's pride in his fanciful protégé,” Boromir continued. “I suppose I too allowed myself to be distracted by her sex. But she really is a hidden gem in your Éored, is she not? Your cousin invested in her training with great thoughtfulness, and it has borne fruit marvelously. He really believed--”

Éomer slammed the heel of his hand on the window frame. “Théodred was not the one hopelessly in love with her for so many years! There lies the difference!” he snapped. “So when you ask for my consent to take her to meet with our enemies, consider that you are asking me to risk the life of the woman I absolutely refuse to live my own life without!”

And while Boromir reacted with silence, he stood there, breathing hard, one fist on his hip and the other hand pressed over his forehead. “Forgive me,” he mumbled. “The wine, I…and I have scarcely slept since--”

Boromir waved off the apology. “I understand your agony well. It was not long ago that I lived through the same, and just mercifully survived to a happy end. I am on your side, Éomer. I know politics and duty might make the lines difficult to discern, but I hope you can believe that.”

“I believe it.” Éomer made another weary swipe of his hand across his face. “At least I think I do. Too many things are changing too quickly, and I fear a failure to keep in step shall result in my simply being dragged along behind everyone else like an unhorsed sot.”

“Then maybe there is wisdom in her request to stay behind and out of your way. The time apart may provide you the focus you need to regain your footing.”

The tired lines on Éomer’s face tightened again. “And why must time apart involve setting her on a perilous road?”

“The mission carries little chance of peril. Peace talks, even with Harad, are nothing compared to everything she has survived to get this far. You know this.” Éomer brushed past Boromir to return to the table, but the captain’s frank reproach pursued him. “Separation from her is what you dread, not the Southrons.”

So furiously did Éomer scowl at the table surface that for a moment Boromir thought he might turn the heavy shelf over in a fit of rage. Instead he seized the wine jug, poured himself a gobletful, and drank it in two forceful gulps. 

“I had hoped you could give me counsel on how I might change her mind, and convince her to simply come home,” he finally said. “Perhaps even quell her doubts in the future she can have with me.”

Underneath the anger and frustration, Éomer’s raw misery lay bare to Boromir, and suddenly he felt a swell of compassion for the young king. Would that he could offer a swift resolution to his predicament, instead of mere commiseration for the challenges that still lay ahead. 

“However hard it is to hear, separation is the soundest advice I can give you today,” Boromir said. “Time and distance are most effective at calming the storm in one's mind, so that the heart may have its chance to be properly heard. Many have learned this from experience, myself included. I believe it shall be the same for your lady.”

Éomer's shoulders heaved in a ponderous sigh. “If only it did not feel like such a gamble.”

Boromir could not help a chuckle. “Then I regret I must tell his majesty, that you cast your first of many dice the moment you let her take your heart. But in the end, you shall be the one to decide how much you are willing to risk, and you alone decide when you are done.”

The anguish that resurged on Éomer's face was almost a relief to Boromir. The King of Rohan was wise enough to already know the graver half of the truth: that his new throne was in many ways a cage, and there was very little a good ruler could afford to risk in pursuit of his own desires. 

* * *

“Take the names of any fools who might give you trouble,” Léodor said, unhooking the reins of his horse to start leading it across the muddy yard. “I can sort them all out on our return.”

You laughed as you followed him to the edge of the farmland property, marked by the scorched ruins of what had once been a granary. “Do you really think I could wait that long without sorting such fools out myself?” 

“Anyone with the gall to harass a rider of the king’s Éored deserves a second dose of thrashing, or a third or fourth.” Your friend turned to grasp your forearm and give it a firm squeeze. “Although I sincerely hope these men of Gondor would know better, for their own sakes.”

“They are our allies, now more than ever before,” you reminded him. “And I have every confidence in their courtesy and hospitality.”

“Perhaps if you were less of a recluse and better at making friends, I would not worry so.”

Your knuckles barely grazed his sleeve as he darted away and promptly swung up to the safety of his saddle, chortling and calling, “You are only proving my point, sister!” 

“Waste not a thought or care on me, and focus them all on your family!” you retorted, and stepped back as he spurred his horse forward. “Westu Léodor hál!”

You watched him gallop off across the plains of Pelennor, back to the distant towers of the White City. Tomorrow, he and the rest of the Éored would finalize preparations for the greatly anticipated journey home. But as soon as he heard that you had been tasked with staying behind, to remain with the body of Théoden King, Léodor alone took the time to come looking for you. 

Whatever his suspicions regarding Éomer's selection of you as the one to leave in Gondor, Léodor spoke nothing of them. He was content to spend his entire visit sharing the cask of ale he brought, and talking your ears off about all the things he planned to do with his wife and son and infant daughter upon their reunion.

How far your relationship had come, you mused, as you watched the shrinking speck finally melt  into the shadows of the deepening twilight. With him and with the rest of the men in your company, when you had once sworn, in tears hidden, that they would never accept you. Now their departure would sting as though you had been orphaned for the third time. 

It is only for several weeks, you told yourself, to ease the weight of doubt that sat upon your chest. As you turned to walk back toward the cottage, a fierce wind rose and ripped off the cloak that was loosely draped over your shoulders. With a startled cry you grabbed for it, but not quickly enough to save it from landing in a large puddle.

You retrieved the soaked fabric from the mud with a sigh. A fat raindrop landed squarely on the top of your uncovered head, and was immediately followed by another and another. Spontaneous rain had been pouring on and off over Gondor since the King’s coronation, and you heard the locals welcome and praise this tumultuous weather as a blessing, a sign of war’s filth being washed away to cleanse the lands for rebirth. 

Shielding your eyes from the sudden deluge, you looked up at the roiling clouds overhead, further entranced by the sight of jagged lightning flashing over the White Mountains.  But when your gaze dropped back down to the horizon, you were alarmed to notice a horsed figure crossing the fields through the storm, approaching fast, in your direction. 

It was him. Without proof of his face or voice, or even the support of logic, you just knew. It was him. 

The very thought of that froze you, mind and body, in place. Pale and immobile and increasingly drenched, you stood like a deeply rooted tree while the rider drew closer and closer, on a horse powerful enough to sustain its determined gait over the sodden ground and lashing winds. Dumbfounded and dazed, you remained, until at last he came to a stop just several yards away. He dismounted Firefoot, his heavy boots squelching in the muck, and that sound snapped you to your senses. 

“My lord,” you rushed forward with the soiled cloak twisted uselessly between your hands. “The stables are around the back. Let me take Firefoot there while you get out of this rain.”

“I shall stable him,” Éomer said sternly, but not unkindly, to warn you against arguing. “Go and wait for me inside the house.” 

Without speaking another word or sparing a backward glance, you obeyed your king. You shut the cottage door behind you to keep out the ill weather, hung your wet cloak on a peg, and crouched by the warmth of the fireplace to dry off as best as you could. You kept your jittery hands busy feeding the flames with more wood, but your mind refused to be calmed as easily. 

What is he doing here?! The agreement had been for you to report to him the following day, to receive in full detail your last set of orders before the entire Rohan contingent departed. Éomer had granted your request to stay behind quickly enough, and with so little argument that you had hoped perhaps the issue between you was settled, at least for the time being.

If he was not prepared to completely abandon his fatuous notion of asking you to marry him, then time apart would surely set his mind back to good sense. The Éomer you knew could always be trusted to do the right thing. You clung firmly to this thought while you waited the agonizing minutes for him to return from the stables. 

As soon as he entered, you offered him the last clean towel you could find to dry himself with. He raised his eyebrows at your attempt to give him royal treatment, but graciously swiped the cloth several times over his face, neck, and hair, before tossing it over the back of a chair. 

“So this is the place.” He peeled off his riding cloak to reveal clothing underneath that was just as soaked as yours; he may as well not have bothered with the outer garment at all. “You said it belonged to Lady Aerdis’s late…uncle?”

“A relative of sorts,” you said. When you confided in your new friend your wistful desire to be housed outside the city, where you could have more quiet and solitude, she had been quick to offer the empty cottage in near Pelennor that was recently willed to her by deceased relations. “There are things I can work on to help restore it while I am here. Even my meager skills will serve a farm better than sitting on my hands in the city barracks watching everyone else in their labors. I wish to remain useful, and do my part in the rebuilding.”

“I understand. You have explained all that, and well,” Éomer said slowly. “But regretfully, I must rescind the permission I granted for you to live outside Minas Tirith. You can stay here for the remainder of this week, to rest and do as you please. But afterward, I would like for you to go back to the city and remain there until my return.”

You bit back a protest, determined, now more than ever, to reaffirm your position as his servant. “May I ask what I am to do there, then?”

“Lord Boromir petitioned me to loan you to his company, and I granted it. He shall assign your duties, and you will take your orders from him while I am gone.” 

Although it surprised you to hear this, it was a welcome prospect. Of all the men in Gondor you liked and trusted Lord Boromir the most, having known him since you were just a girl, albeit not intimately. This would provide an opportunity to improve on the connection. “Lord Boromir honors me with his request. And as always, it shall please me to do as my king commands.”

Éomer responded to your formal pledge with a weary sigh. He braced his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, and the way his knuckles whitened in the tightness of his grip, while he searched for his next words, did not escape your notice. 

“Make no mistake, this command does not align with what I desire,” he said thickly. “Leaving without you violates every instinct in my body, but if that is what must be done to make you see reason, then I shall bear it.”

“Reason?” you repeated stiffly. “What conclusion are you hoping I might come to?”

Éomer raised his eyes from the floor to meet yours across the room. “I know you believe that putting distance between us may somehow alter how I feel about you. But I in turn believe the time apart will help you accept how deeply in love you are with me.”

The heat that flooded your face burned through your mask of composure. “I am not--”

“Enough.” The sadness that bled into that single word made it a plea instead of an order. “I did not come to reopen discussions on the matter. Especially not if denials are all you have left to say to me.”

“Then pray tell, what has my lord come for?” you challenged him behind your icy courtesy. “How else may I serve you, Éomer King?”

The hurt that crossed his face came on so suddenly, looked so profound and real, it was as though you had physically struck him. He stared at you in a dead silence, and you forced yourself to hold his gaze while you held your breath, guilt sinking into your gut from the knowledge that you were the wretch who had gone too far. 

“Nothing,” he said quietly. “Clearly there is nothing more to say, other than farewell.”

He picked up his cloak, turned, and left, leaving you utterly dumbfounded, staring at the door that slammed shut behind him.

The longest seconds of your life passed before your shock and indecision were overcome by a wild hysteria that made your entire body grow cold.

You leapt for the door and wrenched it open, and stepped into the downpour in time to see him vanish around the corner of the house, heading back to the stables. 

The loss of him from your sight smashed through your bravado, and you cried out into the storm. 

“Éomer!!”

Before you could grasp your reasoning for why you did it, or what you planned to do next, he reappeared, every footstep leaving puddles as his approach backed you up into the cottage. His eyes bore down at you, his expression now guarded and inscrutable and expectant. Gusting wind drove in sprinkles of rain through the door left open and ignored. 

I am sorry. The whisper sitting on the tip of your tongue was smothered by a hostile inner voice. 

Let him go. It is your duty. It is what’s right.

But your stolid face collapsed under the weight of your anguish. A grimace squeezed out the tears that blinded your eyes, finally betraying your shameful truth. I do love you, Éomer. 

Gentle fingers settled lightly over your lips, stilling their feeble quivering. A voice even warmer and more tender than this touch eased your struggle.

“I do not need words. This is enough.”

As the hardened pads of those fingers brushed across the plane of your cheek, you closed your eyes and at once forgot all else that existed. Such was the power of his touch that for years you so vigilantly avoided, until that fateful moment of weakness after the coronation exposed your secret. That moment could never be undone, no matter how hard you tried to bury the truth now.

Éomer murmured your name, his breath warm on your temple, and then his hands stilled where they lightly cupped your face. In that pause lay a question, and the last time you answered it, you had hurt him. Foolish liar that you were.

“Yes.” The whisper passed from your lips to his as his mouth wasted no time seeking yours. You clasped your hands around the back of his neck, urging him closer as your own hunger surged. You felt the tremor that ran through his shoulders when you slipped your tongue against his. How could you have ever chosen to cause him pain, when you could have given him this instead?

He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath, but nuzzled your chin upward to gain access to your neck, so his lips could continue their quest to the hollow of your throat. You gasped at the scrape of his teeth on your collarbone, then moaned when he remedied his offense with reverent strokes of his tongue. His arms wrapped fully around your waist, pulling you greedily against him, fingers threading and tugging at your hair as he moved his worship to your shoulders.

But it was your touch, the scrabble of your hands over his hips and stomach as you held on to him for balance, that elicited a low growl. In just a few hurried steps, he backed you to the furthest corner of the cottage, until the side of the bed hit the back of your legs.

Your name was still the only thing he could utter, muffled in between the kisses he could not stop lavishing on every bit of your skin he could reach. Your hands found their way to his hips again, this time  sneaking underneath the wet fabric that clung to his torso, then brazenly gliding upward, past his belly to the taut muscles of his chest, high enough for your thumb to circle his nipple.

An ungentlemanly word suddenly rumbled from Éomer King's throat, so startled was he by the sensual touch. Within moments his shirt lay discarded on the floor, your back made contact with the mattress, and there he was, leaning over you, bare from the waist up to your hungry eyes. You gave yourself an extra second to appreciate the sight before hooking a hand over his nape to yank him back into a kiss. The fervor in his response left you writhing and whimpering and completely vulnerable in your weakness. 

A deep haze settled over you as you began to lose yourself to the pleasure of his ministrations. With every inch of you, you wanted this, and the way your body reacted to his every action, shaking in desperation for more, would surely tell him that. And yet… yet as you felt his fingers grope for the fastenings of your dress, felt his palm brush the back of your knee to your thigh, felt his hardness press against your hip… something inside of you jerked in reawakened panic.

“Éomer. W-wait.”

So soft was the protest, you were not even sure you had said the words aloud. But almost immediately, Éomer stopped and pulled back. He took one look at you, your disheveled state, and whatever expression lay on your face, and he sat up fully, turning away, dragging your heart out of your chest with him.

“Éomer, please. I am… I just…”

“No, I understand and I agree. To carry on would be unwise.”

He rubbed both hands roughly over his face, shaking away the stupor induced by his desire.

“All these years I have ordered the men to give you the respect you are due. I cannot risk your virtue or reputation now, however long I have wanted this. Wanted you.”

You moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “You are my King, and it is my duty to protect you and your reputation. We must behave prudently.”

He nodded, but still looked so pained you could not help but lift your hand to try to soothe the scowl from his face. He angled his head to kiss the inside of your wrist.

“I will have you,” he muttered, his diverted gaze making it seem more a promise to himself than to you. But when he turned his eyes back on you, the wanton lust pooling in them stirred the heat in your belly. “I will wait for the right circumstances, however long it may take, but I will have you.”

He rose and walked a few steps across the room, perhaps in need of distance from you. As he stood closer to the fireplace, the light illuminated a view so rarely seen by anyone, many people in Rohan had come to believe that Éomer was simply hale and hard of body beyond the limits of mortal men. 

The numerous scars that decorated his body testified to both his fragility and his strength. Many of his wounds had been tended to by you on the battlefield, carrying terrible memories that were now also moments of pride and achievement that you shared with him. 

Éomer seemed to feel your intent gaze upon him, and he stretched out a hand to you, beckoning you to rejoin him. As soon as you were within reach, he wrapped his arms around you again, drawing you against him, sighing contently as your touch drifted over the bare skin of his chest and shoulders.

Your hand moved with intention, skimming down to his lower abdomen, probing carefully for the large scar you knew sat just below his ribcage. That injury was less than two years old. It still amazed you how it had managed to heal with little issue, under the constant strain of the many violent battles Éomer fought in since. 

So close. A chill ran through you as the memory rose unbidden: you pressing down hard to staunch the bleeding, screaming for someone to help carry the barely conscious Marshal to the nearest shelter, where you could safely attempt to clean and suture the wound. If the orc blade had sunk in only a fraction of an inch deeper, it would have been beyond anyone's power to save him. You came too close to losing him that day.

Eomer's lips brushed against the shell of your ear as he interrupted your reminiscence with a whisper. “How can you still doubt that we belong together, when already you are part of me?” 

Your fingers passed over several other scars from injuries you had tended to over the years, and came to rest over the tattoo on his upper right arm. The black dragon curled around the edge of his shoulder was identical in design and location to the mark borne by every rider in your Éored. Your possession of that dragon mark bound you to Éomer intimately, but also defined your role in his life. Sharing his bed, or even being with him just once, was not your place.

“None of these give me any right to claim you,” you said softly. “You must still marry. And it is your duty to marry well.”

He caught your elbow as you started to move your hand away, and guided it back to slide over his waist, to rest over the scar once more, willing you to hold fast to the memory it carried, and hold fast to him.

“What does it mean to marry? Is it not just the giving of one's entire self--mind and body, heart and soul--to another?”

He hooked a finger underneath your chin, urging your downcast gaze to rise and meet his.

“How am I to dispose of things that are no longer in my possession? I have long been taken, solely and utterly, by you.”

And with that gaze he set upon you, you wondered: how many glances must have he given you in secret all these years, with eyes that burned with something more than the devotion of one comrade-in-arms to another? What willful blindness had you clung to for years, for you not to have noticed it?

“I must fulfill my duties to Rohan, this is true. But not even a king can be asked to do the impossible.”

“But to wed a great king to a lowly servant--” You shook your head. “Many would argue that is the real impossibility.”

A new expression akin to anger flashed across Éomer’s face. Before you could wonder what you might have done wrong, he dropped to his knees before you, both knees, his hands wrapped tightly around yours.

“My lord!” you cried, aghast that he would debase himself, even in private. You tried to force him back up, but he would not budge.

“Never speak of yourself as lowly again,” he admonished. “King or peasant, there is nothing more lowly or humbled than a man so wretchedly in love, as I am with you.”

“Éomer…” You sank to the floor with him. “If only things were so simple. I wish it could all happen as you say, but I just do not see how. I do not know what can be done.”

“Let me hold your love for a while longer, and wait for me,” he said gently. “That is all I ask. The rest is mine to accomplish. As long as your heart is mine, and I know you have given it to me freely, I will fight for my right to keep it.”

You felt his grip around your fingers grow tense in the long seconds of silence that followed. At last, you brought his knuckles to your lips, kissing the hands you adored with such devotion.

“When you leave, you shall take my heart with you,” you whispered into his palm. “But I fear it will be a greater challenge than you believe, to keep others from wresting such an unsuitable offering from your hands.” 

“They may certainly try, if they wish to test me.” The ice in his tone unsettled you, even though that veiled threat was certainly not for you, while the warm caress on your cheek was. “Not for a moment will I appear unclear or undecided when it comes to my intentions towards you. I will never make that mistake again.”

“B-but the Council of Eorl. The lords…”

“They answer to the King,” Éomer interrupted. “Do not privileges, as well as duties, come with this crown? Trust me. Please.” He bowed to rest his forehead against yours. “While we are parted, I will prove to you that it can be done, that I will do whatever I must to marry you, and to honor and protect you thereafter.”

“Marry?” you murmured. The idea still seemed no more than a ludicrous fantasy. But then Éomer kissed you again, deeply, as though determined to memorize the taste of your lips, urging you to focus on the present moment. 

Because he was yours, even if just for that night. Even if by dawn, it could all crumble under the pressures of the world outside these walls. Éomer loved you, and held you in such high regard to want you as his wife and queen. You would swear to anyone that this knowledge alone was already a dream fulfilled. 

And yet. If you were brave enough to hope, maybe…just maybe, this would not be the last impossibility to come true for you. 

* * *

They do not know. Hundreds of Gondor’s citizens bearing streamers and flowers lined the streets of Minas Tirith that morning to join King Elessar in sending off the departing Eorlingas. But it occurred to Éomer how strange it felt that none of them had any awareness of a matter that was not only monumental for him personally, but carried significant consequences for all of Rohan.

Soon that will change, the young king vowed to himself. Soon his Council will hear the truth, and afterward all of Rohan, and then the rest of their allies. But for the moment, discretion--no matter how bitter the pretense tasted. 

No one except for Lord Boromir and his betrothed, the lovely Lady Aerdis, who both stood next to her, understood what truly lay underneath the courteous gestures exchanged between the King of Rohan and his shield-maiden. A simple bow, an exchange of a few words, and a locking of gazes that was all too brief. Had they not spent that one evening together, Éomer would have remained trapped in the false belief of her indifference towards him. The memory of her kisses would have to suffice for a while, and he could only hope he had given her enough to remember him by, as well. 

He brushed the edge of his hand over his lips just as he turned away, and forced his feet to carry him down the line of assembled well-wishers. 

A noticeable hush descended on the crowd of onlookers as Éomer came to the end of the road where, closest to the ruins of the Great Gate, the King of Gondor himself met him, flanked by none other than Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and his only daughter.

“Lady Lothíriel.” As Éomer took the hand she courteously offered him and brushed a kiss on her fingers, he became aware of the wan smiles that surrounded them, and the unsubtle tittering of a few ladies watching. “Your presence this morning is an unexpected and most delightful gift.”

Lothíriel was astonishingly beautiful indeed, with such radiant grace and sweet smiles, that it would not have surprised Éomer if many citizens of the White City came out just to catch a glimpse of her. “I wish you, Lady Éowyn, and all your men a safe journey, your Grace,” she said. “And may you have great success in your labors, so that we can soon celebrate your speedy return.”

“You are kind, my lady. I certainly hope for the same,” replied Éomer. “We leave behind treasure beyond price here and shall be eager to return for our own.”

Two Rohan lords had already swooped in to engage Imrahil in quiet conversation, and only stepped aside when Éomer himself approached to exchange farewells. Éomer’s admiration for the Prince only grew the more he learned about him and spent time with him, but the unabashed thirst of his counselors for Dol Amroth’s friendship irritated him. Yet another issue he intended to settle in the ordering of his House’s affairs. 

Finally, Éomer came before Elessar, who embraced him tightly and honored him with a bow, from one king to another. “Worry not, my brother,” the man once called Aragorn said quietly to him. “I shall see to it that they are cared for, these ones whom you so dearly love.”

He smiled at the look of mixed wonder and apprehension on Éomer’s face, and dipped his head in another show of reassurance and of farewell.

With that, the Rohirrim set off on the North-way in a procession over a mile long, accompanied by the fanfare from the people that continued to line the road stretching across Pelennor. Countless flags in a multitude of colors and sigils from the different regions of Gondor fluttered in the air, and from every direction, enthusiastic cheering and waving followed the Riders across the fields.

At the head of the procession, behind his standard bearer and with Éowyn at his side, Éomer quickly fell into a brooding silence that did not escape his sister’s notice. 

“I truly did not think I would ever see the day when the two of you would be willingly separated,” she said lightly. When Éomer looked at her with raised eyebrows, she shrugged. “I am sure you have good reasons for choosing her to stay behind with our uncle.” 

“Many reasons,” Éomer grunted. 

Éowyn regarded him thoughtfully. “Has the time finally come when you would allow yourself to be open with me about these reasons? And the other concerns weighing on your mind and heart? It is just you and I now, Éomer,” she said softly, stretching out her hand to him.  “I may not have uncle’s experience or Théodred’s cunning, but I love you beyond words, and would do anything to see you happy. Let me help you.”

Éomer smiled at this, and reached over to take her hand and squeeze it. “Perhaps I can aspire to the happiness you have found with Lord Faramir.”

“Having my affections stolen by a High Man was not what I aspired to,” said Éowyn, trying to look annoyed but unable to hide the blush on her cheeks. “But love, it seems, is the wildest beast of all. It will not be tamed, or bridled, or even reasoned with. It goes where it wills. Éomer…” Éowyn’s sweet face turned stern. “You have suffered enough, and have been forced to carry so many burdens, not least of all our uncle’s crown, which I know you never wanted.”

“It is my honor to take the throne in Uncle and Théodred’s stead,” Éomer said firmly. “And why do you make assumptions about the things I want?”

“I know who it is you have wanted, for a long time now,” Éowyn said with a stout confidence that took Éomer aback. “You are discreet, brother. But I have watched you and looked out for you, more closely than you realize.”

Éomer shook his head. “I am still learning the many ways I have been underestimating you, Éowyn. Soon I shall believe myself unworthy of your care or help.”

“Someone has to care for you, during the frequent times you would not.” Éowyn glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still out of hearing range of the rest of his Éored. “Especially now that you have left her behind.” 

Éomer pressed his lips in a tight line and returned his gaze to the road ahead. “I will be back,” he said. “There is much to do in Rohan before then, but with Uncle waiting in the Hallows, I can hardly afford to dawdle or delay.” 

And she is waiting. Éomer caught a glimpse of his sister’s suppressed smile that told him she had already thought the same thing. Another person with strong opinions to contend with.

Éomer spurred Firefoot forward to signal the standard bearer, who promptly blew one quick blast on his horn. As the King took off in a steady gallop, the thunder of hooves rose behind him as nearly a thousand other Rohirrim picked up their pace to match his, drowning out the excited shouts of the Gondorians that started them off at last to their journey home.

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[quillofspirit]

I love reading about your OCs, they feel so tangible and diverse! Thank you for sharing them with us!!

Do you have many Rohirrim OCs? Or any, for that matter? If possible, I'd love to know more about them 😊

I do! While my favorite hobby is to write for little known/underappreciated canon Rohirrim (which means they function much like OCs because Tolkien gave us so little), I do also create my own people along the way. There are a *bunch* in my current Guthláf and Wídfara fic, mostly background friends and family of my main (canon) guys. But my most substantive Rohirrim OCs are women, since Tolkien gave us almost none of them.

Éomer was married to Mereliss in my world (my one real canon deviation!). She was Elfhelm’s daughter and was Éomer’s best friend from the time he moved to Edoras as a boy. They got married after the war, and (since he learned a thing or two about not putting women in a box) she wielded real power as queen. I’ve got nothing against Lothíriel and enjoy a bunch of interpretations of her, but I’ve always wanted to see Éomer with a strong Rohirrim woman – I feel like Rohan shouldn’t need to keep going to Gondor to get queens for themselves!

Théodred was engaged to Eadlin at the time of his death. She was a flower merchant from Aldburg who didn’t even meet Théodred until they were both in their late 30s. She came to live with him during their engagement (they were both old enough to be over being told what to do), and she was a real ride-or-die for him – if she ever thought you had hurt him in any way, she’d have nothing to do with you ever again. She was the first to connect the dots that Gríma was involved in Théodred’s death, and he had her imprisoned as a result. Éomer got her out, but she left Edoras embittered toward Théoden and unwilling to hang around where her memories of Théodred were most vivid and painful.

Bryttalif was married to Háma. She was a midwife in Edoras whose father was a big deal in the king’s guards. When Háma and Brytta met, she was pregnant herself and unmarried (an unhappy story she does not like to go into) so she was a bit of a scandalous figure. But she and Háma hit it off right away, as he immediately recognized her kindness and gentle spirit. He adopted her daughter as his own when they got married, and they had another on the way when he was killed at Helm’s Deep. Brytta was there (midwives are good at pain management and triaging bleeding problems, so she was asked to come along to help deal with the wounded), but was prevented from seeing his dead body because it had been so desecrated. She was crushed but slowly put herself back together, raised their kids, and kept working, and eventually she delivered Éomer and Mereliss’s first baby.

Anyone who’s interested can find more about them all in my pinned post — the stories are organized by main character, and you can find each of these ladies heavily featured in the Éomer, Théodred and Háma fics that are there.

Thank you for asking!!! People like you who show interest in and support OCs are so valuable to the fandom!!! ♥️