#ithilien-writes

[thatbuddie]

i was a little worried going into this ep what the vibe for hiatus would be but it's literallygonna be so beautiful !! winter of buddie here we come 💜💜💜

WINTER OF BUDDIE HERE WE COME!!!!! oh i am so so so excited to see what everyone creates for it omg <333333

[kylobith]

Engraved on my Heart (Éomer x femOC)

Part 7 of 7

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Summary: As the King of Rohan journeys to Ithilien to celebrate Elboron's birthday, the whispers of the willow tree in his sister's garden unveil a tapestry of hidden truths and untold tales.

Ship/Pairing: Éomer x Original Female Character

Trope: Prince x Maid, Forbidden Love

Word count: 6,764

Read it on AO3 here.

Another four years had passed since Théoden’s funeral, and King Éomer Éadig was riding through fair Ithilien, the shadows of the leaves dancing upon his face. Rarely had he seen lands so green, bathing in the sunlight filtering through the lofty branches of mighty trees. It was a much welcome respite from the dim setting of his court. 

Amidst the draining grind of his early days as a monarch, the signing of decrees and documents, the councils, the enunciation of edicts, the royal visits, the grievances, and other emergency measures, he found some reward in knowing that his people were cared for. He had reimagined the traditional ruling system, dissolved the titles of Second and Third Marshals, instead appointing Lord Erkenbrand and Lord Elfhelm as Marshals of the West- and East-marks. Things were changing for the better, and only few had opposed his decisions. But Éomer was a king willing to compromise — a quality that stubborn Théoden did not possess.

As he had once been foretold, he was a king loved by most and celebrated as a remarkable monarch. Life made a habit of keeping him on his toes, but he did not dislike it. Not even when, at the end of particularly hefty days, he would crash onto his bed, still dressed and with sore limbs, only to fall asleep the second his head would hit the pillow. Most of his role, albeit nerve-wracking at times, was something that he felt that he was born to do. It surpassed the duties of a prince, which he would never want to be burdened with again.

It was at the pinnacle of a new reform project that he had received a letter from Éowyn, inviting him to celebrate his nephew’s birthday at the prince’s court in Ithilien. At first, he had been hesitant to leave Edoras behind without a ruler, but when Elfhelm had offered to oversee the realm in his stead during his absence, he had accepted his sister’s summoning.

And so, he had ridden all the way from the capital on horseback. As a skilled rider, the prospect of being granted a luxury carriage to journey abroad was an offense to his person. If tragedy was to strike him then, then he would have a soldier’s death, as he had always willed it. It had been a long expedition, but as soon as the prince’s court was in sight, nestled among the trees and with ivy snaking up its columns, he felt relief that he could finally walk.

No sooner had he steered Firefoot onto the paved path to the modest palace, lined up with wildflowers and blue daisies, than a shrill voice resounded throughout the forest.

‘Mother! Uncle is here!’

Éomer lit up and advanced towards the porch, where he hopped off his steed to greet the little blond child darting towards him. His nephew threw himself into his arms and he picked him up effortlessly to embrace him, before emitting idiotic grunts and twirling the boy around, holding him upside down and tossing him onto his shoulder. All the while, the boy roared with laughter, more than delighted to see his uncle.

‘Happy birthday, little rascal!’ he cheered, gently rubbing his knuckles against the child’s scalp. ‘It has been far too long, how you have grown! Soon enough you will be towering over me!’

‘Thank you, Uncle,’ Elboron chuckled, while he was being adjusted to sit on Éomer’s shoulders instead.

Éowyn appeared on the doorstep, her long golden hair framing her shoulders even more gracefully than ever before. Being a mother and a healer had done her well — he had never seen his sister as merry as since she and Faramir had married and come to live in Gondor.

‘Elboron, give your uncle a moment to breathe,’ she called out. ‘Your auntie needs to descend from her horse, too.’

‘Listen to your mother,’ Éomer advised the boy, giving him a playful wink, ‘she is always right. Auntie will not be able to carry you this time, but fear not, I have all my strength to spare.’

‘Deal.’

Elboron clambered down from his uncle’s shoulders and ran up to his mother, clinging to the skirt of her dress and pressing his head to her thigh. Éomer watched him with a fond smile and turned his attention to the other horse that had been trailing behind his own. His eyes softened as he beheld its rider and felt butterflies in his stomach as though it had been their first encounter. He extended his hands towards her, letting the sunlight reflect upon the ornate golden band around his finger.

‘Come, beloved, let me help you,’ he murmured.

The woman atop the black mare — gifted by him on their wedding day — grinned down at him, her cheeks still flushed from the ride. Lothíriel slipped her delicate hands into his, trusting him to lift her off the saddle. His strong arms steadied her as she dismounted, and he held her longer than was necessary, solely to gaze into her eyes and savour the closeness.

‘You spoil me,’ she teased, her voice as light as the sea breeze.

‘Always,’ he responded, before capturing her lips with his, his fingers cupping her chin.

When they parted, Lothíriel’s mirth chimed along the rustling of the tall grass around the estate and the soft nickering of the horses in a harmony unlike anything Éomer had ever witnessed. He brushed a strand of her raven black hair behind her ear and placed a kiss onto her temple. Elboron rushed back towards them, followed by his mother, and the king released his queen from his embrace, although he laced a protective arm around her waist. After a brief greeting for his aunt, the boy began to spin around in circles around them with his arms outstretched, as though he was trying to hold the whole world.

The sight filled Éomer’s chest with an indescribable contentment that he had once thought beyond his reach. For all the trials and sacrifices that had marked his journey, moments like these reminded him why he endured them. His kingdom, his family, and the woman by his side — these were the treasures that made every burden worth bearing.

And in the warmth of her smile, Éomer found a peace that even the weight of the crown could not diminish.

Éowyn greeted them in turn, giving her older brother a tight hug, burying her face into his chest.

‘I have missed you terribly, Mer…’

‘And I you, Wyn.’

As she pulled away, he beheld his little sister and gave her cheek a loving stroke.

‘You look like Mother,’ he said. ‘You seem well, and happy; it warms my heart to see you this way.’

‘And you do not eat nearly enough!’

Lothíriel snorted behind the back of her hand.

‘If you have any recommendations on how I could shove a meal down his throat once or twice a day, I will never thank you enough,’ she jested.

His sister’s playful retort died on her lips as her eyes fell upon his wife. The queen stood poised and radiant, clad in her lavender gown and sapphire blue cloak. But it was not her beauty, nor her impeccable taste in garments that held her attention. Between the parted folds of the richly embroidered fabric, was a gentle curve that was unmistakable to her knowing eye. The Lady of Ithilien’s breath hitched as her hands flew to cover her mouth, her heart leaping with joy.

‘By the Valar!’

Lothíriel blushed, her elation more than apparent, and she instinctively cradled her belly.

‘The healer said that it should be a little over three months until I deliver.’

Éowyn lowered her hands, her smile breaking free like a dawn through the hills. She closed the distance between the expectant mother and herself to give her a warm embrace. As soon as she pulled away, still grinning at Lothíriel’s pregnancy, her surprise shifted into indignation. She slapped Éomer’s shoulder with the reverse of her hand, with no small amount of force, her lips pursed at her brother.

‘How dare you make your pregnant wife travel all the way from Edoras on horseback!’

Another slap thudded against the leather of his light armour.

‘And how dare you not send a letter to announce that she is with child!’

‘Ow! Wyn, ow!’ he winced, rubbing the spot, despite the snorts he could not conceal. ‘I thought that it was a matter deserving more respect than to be announced by an unknown messenger.’

‘More respect? Really?’ his sister protested with a tilt of her hip. ‘Had I not sent you an invitation for my son’s birthday, would you have bothered to come to Ithilien at all to announce it?’

‘Perhaps not, my duties have occupied most of my thoughts and time, through no fault but my own, I will admit. But I intended to invite you and your family to visit us.’

‘Mh. But, at least, you should have allowed Lothíriel to take a carriage to travel. Queen of the Rohirrim she might be, but this bairn will not fare well if its mother is subjected to such exhausting travelling. No arguing — when you return to Edoras, I shall arrange transportation for her. You are free to ride if you so wish.’

The king and the queen shared a knowing look and reluctantly accepted their host’s help. A few servants, both from Ithilien and Edoras, rushed to their side to take away the horses to the stables and carry their luggage inside. Éowyn overlooked the helpers as they bustled around and furrowed her brow.

‘Did Théodil not accompany you? Eithriel was looking forward to bake with her again.’

‘I have allowed her to take a leave of absence,’ Éomer responded. ‘She and Fréagar are travelling to his family’s farm in Dunfast to celebrate their wedding.’

‘Their—?’

For the briefest of moments, her features froze in startled disbelief, her brows arching as though caught between astonishment and doubt. Then, as brightly at the sun shone beyond the trees above their heads, her expression softened into a beaming smile, her pride unfurling with unrestrained warmth.

‘Good for them,’ she intoned with the utmost sincerity. ‘What a comforting change for Meduseld, that all may now thrive as equals.’

Éomer shrugged with a bashful grin. Indeed, many things had evolved under his reign. Oaths to be sworn by new servants had been abolished, and both maids and manservants enjoyed identical privileges and rights. All were free to take lovers and marry, although the matter of liaisons between diverging social ranks remained a delicate question, especially among courtiers. Temporary leaves were allocated to them so they could visit distant families, without having to worry about replacing them. Orphans from a house in Edoras were given the opportunity to step in until their return and a generous salary for their hard work. Those who desired to continue to serve the royal household were evaluated by Edelmer, who would then decide which position to assign them.

A year into his reign, Éomer had visited one of his lords and former brother in arms on his deathbed at his manor in Aldburg. When sitting by his side until his dying hour, he had recognised Théodil, his former chambermaid exiled by Théoden, among the maids. Since her master had no heir, she was fated to lose her livelihood once more. Éomer had approached her when she was alone to present a heartfelt apology for the harshness of her punishment under her uncle’s rule and offered her to follow him back to the capital to occupy a stable position at the Golden Hall. She had hesitated at first, then gave her own condition; Fréagar, the guard with whom she had entertained the affair that had resulted in their banishment, would have to be reinstated as a palace guard. Éomer had not hesitated — the wrong had to be righted for them both.

Now reunited, the whole family entered the Gondorian palace and enjoyed some well-earned rest after such a heavy journey. On the following day, they celebrated Elboron’s fourth birthday and spoiled the little boy. Wooden shields decorated with the arms of the House of Eorl, a pony, and a Rohirric rider’s helm brought by Éomer and Lothíriel had elated the child beyond compare.

In the late afternoon, when most of the cake had already been savoured, Elboron placed a small slice onto a plate and tugged at his uncle’s sleeve while the others were talking and Lothíriel was taking a nap, exhausted by her dizziness.

‘Come with me bring cake to Hillie?’

‘Hillie?’ his uncle repeated with an eyebrow arched. ‘Who is Hillie?’

‘My friend! She loves cake!’

Éomer glanced around for any indication of whether his sister or brother-in-law approved. Since Éowyn and Faramir were in a deep conversation with Prince Imrahil and Beregond about the reconstruction of Osgiliath, he eclipsed himself from the table with his nephew. The boy led him by holding his fingertips, holding the plate in his other hand, guiding him through the corridors of his father’s court.

‘So, who is Hillie, ‘Ron?’

‘My friend, I told you.’

‘Why did she not come to celebrate with us? She could have had cake then.’

‘Mother said that she was ill, and she was sleeping.’

‘Are we not going to disturb her rest, then, Elboron?’

‘No. We leave the cake, and she can eat later.’

Éomer chuckled and kept following his nephew until they exited the palace from the western wing. Before them stretched a green garden, adorned with a multitude of colourful flowers, which he knew Éowyn and Faramir had arranged themselves. Birds chirped from the branches, fluttered their wings between them, and butterflies passed along the neat rows of purple blossoms. In its centre, a marble fountain, enclosed in an arched gazebo bearing the arms of the couple’s lineage and realms, spouted water, its gurgling sounds adding to the serene atmosphere of the terrace.

Elboron stepped down the short stone staircase leading down to the garden and sauntered onto the gravel. His uncle followed him, admiring the magnificence of the place. What a shame that the soil of Edoras does not allow for such a display, he thought to himself, I would make a neat bed of flowers for Lothíriel.

The boy came to a halt on the opposite side of the fountain, by the edge of the garden, and crouched to place the piece of cake on a stone slab there. His curiosity piqued, Éomer approached and observed the surroundings for a silhouette, but he and his nephew were alone.

‘Where is she? You said she was sleeping. Is Hillie a hound?’

‘No, silly! She is here, Father said.’

He came closer and noticed that the plate had been set down at the foot of a tombstone covered in ivy. His heart ached for Elboron, whose innocence had been preserved from the reality of death by his parents. He crouched beside the boy and grinned at him.

‘This friend of yours, is she kind to you?’

‘Very! She tells me stories sometimes. And she sings lullabies when Mother and Father cannot.’

‘Then she sounds like a beautiful person within.’

‘Yes… But I have not seen her in months. Her nap is long.’

Éomer patted the boy’s back and turned to the headstone. He bowed to it to pay respect to the deceased and reached out towards the stone to free it from the invasive plant. As he did so, brushing his fingers against the engravings, his heart stopped. With a frown, he frantically scraped away the thin layer of moss that had grown since the burial, and, the name offered itself to his view, in full clarity.

Éorhild.

Stumbling back, he withdrew his trembling hand from the marker at once. Everything rushed back to seize him then. The swarms of butterflies in his stomach whenever he would find her waiting for him on the bench inside the hall. The long conversations where both she and he dared to bare their hearts for once, without fear of judgement. The scent of her hair caressing his senses when the wind blew through it on the hillside. The two of them huddled under his cloak when she shivered from the cold. Their first kiss and first tears. The morning that he woke up to find her working as his chambermaid despite her reluctance to accept. When he carried her back to Meduseld on Firefoot’s back when he had seen her collapse on the pavement. Their lovesick pleas to each other. Their single night between the sheets. Their burning skins against each other. The laughs and the embraces.

Inevitably, the heartbreak of losing her. The years spent chasing her across the kingdom for a chance to tell her that he loved her. The obligation to abandon all hopes of ever beholding her again. His unconsolable state on the morning of his wedding, when he had hidden from his servants to weep, biting into a rolled-up towel to muffle his anguish. His soft cries stifled by the pillow, which he knew Lothíriel pretended to not have noticed, as he lay with her on their wedding night.

Having not uttered a word after his startled fall, his silence worried Elboron, who gently shook his arm to pull him out of his reverie.

‘Uncle?’

Éomer covered his little hand with his own and placed a kiss into his blond curls. He wrapped a protective arm around the child’s small frame and pressed him to his side, as if to anchor herself as much as he did his nephew.

He could be misconstrued — Éorhild was a name from the Westfold, and she most likely was not the only woman to bear this name. Yet the presence of a Rohir, other than Éowyn herself, at Faramir’s court was unsettling. None of the maids that he knew there hailed from their land, all were Gondorian in origin, whether from Minas Tirith or other regions.

‘Tell me, Elboron, what sort of songs does Hillie sing to you?’

Reassured at last, the boy nestled further against him, twiddling with the folds on his uncle’s sleeve.

‘Many songs,’ he exclaimed. ‘She sings about horses, about the stars, and the moon… My favourite is the happy song.’

‘The happy song?’

The child nodded and hummed a tune, tilting his head from side to side and tapping his foot onto the gravel to mark the rhythm. Its haunting familiarity confirmed his suspicions. The woman buried under this stone, on the edge of the regal gardens, was his Éorhild. And she had taught his nephew his mother’s lullaby as well.

Éomer’s eyes filled with tears, but he forced himself to shield Elboron from them. Instead, he forced a brief smile, rubbing the child’s arm.

‘Is she good to you?’ he muttered, fighting against the tremor in his voice.

‘The best! She bakes nice pastries, and she is funny — we laugh a lot. When I am sad, she comes to hold me and sing to me, when Mother and Father are busy or absent.’

‘Elboron?’ a feminine voice rang out.

Simultaneously, they turned their heads towards the side of the palace, where they saw a distressed Éowyn, wrapped up into a shawl, calling out for her son. She had paused in the doorway, her hand still heavy on the iron latch. From the moment that she caught sight of them, a loud sigh rolled off her lip and her shoulders relaxed. However, when she saw where they were sitting and what they had been paying attention to, her concern re-emerged, and Éomer could perceive it even from where he sat.

‘Elboron, come inside, my love,’ she chimed towards her son. ‘Ask your Father to give you another slice of cake, mh?’

‘Yes, Mother!’

The child ran back to his mother and disappeared inside the house, eager to feast on another piece of the lemon cake that the maids had baked for him. Before Éowyn could close the door, Éomer’s deep voice thundered across the garden.

‘Éowyn, here. Right now,’ he commanded her with an icy glare.

‘One moment, Mer.’

His sister upheld a collected composure as she shut the door and descended the stairs. When she reached her brother, he had already risen from the ground, clenching his fists with his nostrils flaring with fury and the veins of his forearms taut. The mere sight of his cherished sister, who had dared keep such a secret from him, was beyond devastating.

‘You lied to me,’ he seethed, restraining himself from pointing an accusatory finger at her. ‘You, my own flesh and blood! How long was she in Ithilien?’

Éowyn met his fiery glare with a patience that only battle, heartbreak, and the building of a new life could have instilled.

‘Let me start from the beginning,’ she responded.

But he was not ready to listen. Not yet. His emotions, unfurling within him deafened him to any word of reason.

‘For years, you watched me rot into insanity over her absence,’ he screamed, his grief too great to mask. ‘You were the only one I confided in — about her, about everything. And that is how you treat me? By concealing Éorhild and her death from me?’

Tears streamed down his reddened cheeks as sobs wracked through his guts. Pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, he attempted in some way to contain this bereavement, but it was much greater than he. By casting a mere glance towards the grave, he felt his strength wane and found himself sinking to his knees onto the hard stone, his eyes reading the name over and over in hopes that it would eventually spell another.

‘You let me mourn a ghost for so long, and now she is gone. And you did not allow me to bid her farewell,’ he cried.

She raised a hand to silence him with the same authority that he used to still men on the battlefield. Her voice was steady, but it softened when her gaze landed onto the lone grave between them that, unbeknownst to him, she had dug herself.

‘Before you cast your judgement, brother, I bid you to listen,’ she said while fixing the tomb, as though it, too, deserved a confession. ‘You are not alone in your mourning, for I held her hand in her final moments. I bore witness to her last words, keeping them secured within my own heart and carrying the burden for her. Do you think it has cost me nothing to keep this truth from you? To shield you from a truth that I knew would break you and prompt you to act harshly?’

Éomer’s jaw tightened as he stared at the headstone.

‘How could you do this to me? Why, Éowyn? Why let me believe that she might still be out here, somewhere? Living a life I knew nothing about?’

‘Because you needed hope,’ she retorted, ‘and you had a duty at hand that you were ready to forsake altogether! You confessed to me that you would abandon the throne if you would find her, yet you thought not about the consequences of such an act. Who else would have ascended? We have no family left; it has been only you and me for the past four years. And Rohan would not accept a queen, let alone a Gondorian king. You would have ended an entire bloodline for a forbidden affair, and you would have broken Lothíriel’s heart in the process. Let us not mention the diplomatic crisis that it would have entailed!’

‘You robbed me of the chance to properly say goodbye!’

‘Éorhild had begged me to!’

The siblings held each other’s gaze in an eerie silence, as Éomer’s animosity vanished within a second. Why would Éorhild demand such a thing from his sister? Had she not loved him as much as he had loved her?

‘She would never have done such a thing,’ he muttered.

‘And yet, she did. She understood as well as I did that you were setting yourself for failure if you pursued her after your coronation. She did not want to see you shackled by guilt or haunted by her memory. She firmly believed that your reign would be a blessing from Béma himself.’

Éowyn stepped closer, her hand brushing against his arm.

‘And if you had been there when she passed, would you not have taken her death as your own failure? Would you not have cursed yourself for not protecting her, though her fate was never in your hands?’ She paused, squeezing his shoulder. ‘Her final wish, Éomer, was for you to live as a king and as a man who could carry her love with him, not her loss. As one who knew duty from folly, who would remain faithful to his wife, no matter his contempt for her. Honour her memory as a selfless woman who forsook her happiness for your own, who preserved my family and yours from afar.’

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths and shared pain. Éomer traced the letters of her name, aching to call it out and see her return to him. For a long time, neither spoke. The only sound was the whisper of the wind, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the faint echo of distant songbirds.

‘She loved you, Mer,’ she said softly. ‘Enough to let go, so that you might pave your own path.’

Éomer closed his eyes, bowing his head as the weight of her words settled within him.

‘Tell me how you came across her. How she came to join you in Ithilien. I cannot wrap my head around it.’

She crouched beside him, wrapping her shawl tighter around her arms as the breeze rose.

‘Faramir and I were returning from Edoras after Elboron’s first visit when he was a baby, and I had decided to guide him through the Eastfold and the Rohirric towns I had visited in the past to teach him about our traditions, our language, and our culture.

‘One morning, as we ventured towards the market of Beaconwatch, we came across this feeble baker’s apprentice, with her hands bruised and burnt. I had a vague memory of her face, and she revealed to me that she had worked as a maid at Meduseld. When I asked her about the state of her hands, which I instantly tried to heal, she admitted that the baker she worked under showed little patience towards his apprentices, and he did not refrain from beating them if the pastries or the bread were not prepared exactly like he demanded.

‘So, knowing that our home in Ithilien would soon be finished, I offered her a position as my chambermaid. She refused at first; naturally, she expected the same restrictions as in Edoras, but I decided against upholding the same unreasonable standards imposed in Rohan. After negotiating her tasks and rights — which required nigh on no concession on our part, since I knew the quality of her work already — she followed us to Ithilien and helped us build our home here.

‘Éorhild was at the centre of our household as much as we are. When I could not find rest because of Elboron’s crying and teething and Faramir was not home, she would stay up with the baby and soothe him to sleep. She never complained. Not even once. She learnt to make our favourite meals and treats, and we would let her introduce us to new dishes in return. She became acquainted with Gondorian delicacies, and she would cook the best feasts when we did not yet have cooks here.

‘Faramir taught her to read in his free time. The ballads from every corner of Arda that she could decipher, she would sing to Elboron or to herself when washing the laundry. Sometimes, she and I would sing Rohirric chants while Faramir accompanied us on various instruments, when he was not frantically writing down the lyrics to save them for future generations. Truly, she was a delight to be around. She was family.’

Éomer listened attentively about his sister’s account of Éorhild’s life, which he had not been allowed to witness himself, not even from afar. It seemed that in the years they had been apart, she had found some joy in her life, and he could not help but rejoice at the idea.

‘Elboron said that she fell ill,’ he responded, prompting his sister to explain how his beloved Éorhild had come to pass.

‘Indeed,’ Éowyn sighed. ‘In the winter, she was coughing much more than usual, and the sounds of it began to worry me. As a trained healer, I tried my best to ease her pain and find the source of her ailment. When I found myself at a loss, I sent for one of the best healers in Minas Tirith to come urgently. But her lungs were beyond saving. There was nothing that either he or I could do. Sometimes, no matter how much effort and research you put into a patient’s case, it is simply not enough.’

He sniffled and rubbed his nose on his sleeve.

‘When did she die?’

‘In early spring.’

‘Did she suffer?’

Éowyn placed another loving hand upon his shoulder.

‘She did, but I did all I could to ease her pain.’

She turned to the grave as well, and smiled joylessly at the name inscribed into the stone.

‘Faramir called me urgently one afternoon, telling me that the end was near. I rushed into her chamber, and I sat by her side until the moment came.’

‘You mentioned her last words,’ he hiccuped. ‘What were they?’

‘First, she confessed her affair with you, apologising to me for having offended the House of Eorl with her affront. She was inconsolable, she would not listen to my saying that there had been no harm done, besides your anguish, which I thought gone.’

He scoffed.

‘But,’ she continued, ignoring his brief intervention, ‘after a moment of unconsciousness — so weak was she — she became aware of her end.’

And in every detail, she reconstructed the event as it happened, as faithfully as she could.

When her maid had awoken with a start, Éowyn had placed a hand over Éorhild’s forehead and felt that her twilight was approaching faster than she had assumed. With bated breath, her patient had held out her hand.

‘Draw near to me, my lady, for I feel my strength waning,’ she had pleaded. ‘Receive my last words to ease my soul and let it soar.’

The Princess of Ithilien had sat by her side on the bed and squeezed her hand as she leant closer, supported by Faramir’s touch on her shoulder. Éorhild’s eyes had illuminated with a twinkle as she gathered the last bits of her energy to utter her final words in her lady and lord’s confidence.

‘My lady, if ever there is need to cut me open once I have departed this unjust yet beautiful world, you shall find the name of Éomer Éadig engraved on my heart.’

And in a last rattling exhale, Éorhild was no more.

Tears streaked Éomer's face at the realisation that, even after nearly six years apart, his beloved Éorhild had borne him in her mind and soul until her very last breath. His sister held him, laying her golden head upon his shoulder for comfort. Her hand held his skull to hers as she let him express his grief, but there came a time when she pulled away and rose to her feet.

‘Cry for as long as you want, Mer. This grief is your own,’ she murmured. ‘But remember that a loving wife is waiting for you in your room, and that your heir is on their way. Do not lose sight of them. Embrace them like Éorhild wanted you to. Do not lose sight of what matters, Éomer. In your bed lies your expecting wife who loves you more than she does the sea — and that is quite telling, coming from her. Do not neglect her for a ghost that shall bring you nothing but grief. Rejoice that Éorhild passed surrounded by people who loved her like family, and not like yet another maid to replace, or worse, beaten to death by that damned baker. She never ceased to love you, and everything she did, even saving you from her own presence, was in your best interest. Do not throw away all she worked hard for in your name.’

And, she departed, leaving him to mourn alone by the grave.

Éomer pressed his forehead to the cold stone and bit his closed fist to stifle the howl that wracked him as he wept. His tears dripped onto the rim of the small, ornate plate that Elboron had brought for his Hillie.

What a sweet nickname for such a wonderful person.

One by one, all the reunion scenes that he had imagined along the years dissipated into smoke, wafting through the sky. In consolation, he found solace in the idea that, somewhere beyond the sparse clouds, her soul collected and nurtured them. Perhaps, when his day would come, she would welcome his own spirit in a way he had so long yearned for. And then, only then, could they love freely.

But Éowyn was right. He had a family to protect and raise, a realm to lead, and all the Rohirrim to provide for. His desolation could not be an obstacle. As much as he had loved her — and did —, Éorhild was to remain someone from his past, regardless of how much she still influenced his present. In order to ensure his own thriving and that of his people, it was Lothíriel he had to build a future with.

And, in truth, he was rather content with the prospect. His heart, although haunted by Éorhild, now beat for his goddess from Dol Amroth, the woman who had infused so much joy into his existence and never ceased to amaze him. Now, he had to concentrate on supporting her during her pregnancy and holding her hand while she would insufflate life into their child. He had much to look forward to — the countless stories she would recount to him at bedtime, the moments of complicity they would share, the celebrations of their love, the gatherings of their families, holding their newborn and watch it grow into both a gentle and kind person and a fierce and firm ruler who would do anything for the good of the land.

Even the hardships were something he would love to endure by her side. Arguments, fear, grief, tempests and famine, war and death — he could sustain it all with Lothíriel. He would let himself be pierced by all the arrows of fate to shield her from evil. If a single tear was to grace her cheek, he would defy anybody who had caused it to even form in her eye. He would read every manuscript in the realm and in her father’s archives to encourage her in her passion for them.

His kingdom for her hand.

Éomer sat back on his heels to catch his breath and caressed the stone under his fingers. It was time for goodbyes. Final farewells.

‘Good day, Éorhild,’ he whispered, his eyes flickering between the headstone and the sky, unsure where to turn. ‘It is I, your Éomer.’

Another wave of tears seized him. He hastily halted their course with the back of his wrist.

‘This is not how I wished for our paths to cross again,’ he whimpered between sobs. ‘Oh, Béma, you have no idea how much I have missed you and miss you still.’

He shifted his knees closer to the marker and sat beside it, leaning his head onto it.

‘What to say… I am a married king, but you knew that already. Lothíriel is expecting our first child. The whole realm is blessing us with wishes for a boy, but truth be told — and you will be the only one to know, so do not tell —, I would much rather raise a daughter.’

He let out a chuckle and brushed a fragment of moss that had caught in the inscription of her name.

‘Back in the days, I would have wanted to raise one with you. On a beautiful estate, somewhere, far from Meduseld. A home we would have built together, as we once dared to dream. But life has separated us in a most cruel manner,’ he reflected, running his tongue inside his cheek, finding this monologue to soothe his nerves. ‘I have no doubt that Lothíriel will be a brilliant mother. You know, the beginning of our marriage was rough for the both of us. I was still aching for you, and I did not give her a chance to win me over. Yet she did, and ever since, she has been a beacon of light amidst the darkness I have settled in after you left. There are still times when I struggle with it, but she makes it easier by the day.’

A smile passed onto his lips at the recollection of the sweet moments he has experienced with his wife.

‘We fell in love, she and I. And I thank the Valar every day for her presence in my life, but there is still this part of me that belongs to you and always will.’

Above him, a dove fluttered its wings and circled into the air, before flying away.

‘When you left, I thought that my whole world had ended. I cared about nothing anymore, only about finding you again and marrying you despite it being forbidden. But that did not happen, now, did it? Now, when I find you at last, you are gone and interred. I resent Éowyn for never telling me that you were here all along. One day, I will forgive her, but for now, I need to feel. I need to feel you near again, no matter in what form.’

Emotions constricted his heart once more, and he placed a hand onto the bed of grass under which she lay, to both ground himself and reach out to her.

‘Were you happy, Éorhild? Did Gondor treat you better than Rohan ever did? Did you feel free at last?’

His fingers clutched some of the grass blades as a sob rose in his throat, but he forced himself to release them. Not her grave. Any grass but that growing on her grave.

‘As king, I do everything in my power to overturn the laws that have harmed you and I. All oaths have been repealed, and all servants are free to love and wed. Théodil and Fréagar both returned to Edoras, and now they are married. How I wish you were here to see these changes, beloved.’

Inside the house, voices rose as the maids wished Elboron a happy birthday in the kitchen and sang for him in turn.

‘I am sorry for not holding your hand as you passed. I would have come, you know? Had you or Éowyn said the word, I would have come to see you go in peace. I would have kissed you one last time and said a proper farewell, not one to a deaf stone. I would have sung you my mother’s lullaby in hopes that you would have found it as pacifying as I do. Now, it does not only bear my mother’s memory, but yours too.’

His forehead found the cool stone again.

‘Thank you for everything you have ever done for me, whether from the shadows or in plain sight. Thank you for having brightened up my life for evermore. But, also, thank you for attending to my sister and Faramir with such care, and for helping them raise Elboron. I am sure that he will grow more empathetic and kind thanks to your patience when comforting him. I truly owe you my life, Éorhild, and my life you will always have.’

Éomer pressed a kiss to her name and covered it with his hand before bringing it over his heart.

‘So be at peace, daughter of Rohan, and let your spirit soar, for your memory will be carried on for as long as I draw breath. All my efforts to improve our people’s lives, I shall carry in your name, so nobody will ever endure what you and I suffered. Know that my love for you is infinite and, when I too must die, your name will, in letters of gold, be engraved on my heart. Farewell, my Éorhild.’

Author's note: So... You made it to the end! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for having read this little story, which was challenging when it came to the writing style but also was my first full Lord of the Rings fanfiction. I would like to thank everyone who interacted with it and gave it even a little bit of love. You motivated me to write after so long without writing anything daring or serious, and that means the world to me. Hopefully, you don't hate me too much now that the curtain has fallen, and if you're willing to read more about the silly little ideas in my head, I hope you will enjoy the other stuff I put out there (not all of them are as dramatic, I promise). Thank you again for making this little author happy!

Tag list: @emmanuellececchi @konartiste @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras

If you wish to be tagged (or no longer tagged), don't hesitate to let me know!

[gravityslingshot]

it is actually is right for my portrayal of eowyn that she becomes more of a physical warrior than she ever was, during motherhood, since she'd take her son out to Rohan and its many lands (while faramir is awfully busy tending to everything, and they can swap places; i'm not saying he can't have epic dad time).

but also that this physical capability then wanes over time as she ages

look man, it's sad. it makes me sad.

[annabthesolitarywriter]

Currently reworking my whole Lady of Ithilien timeline.

I was initially firmly set on the idea of having Enna die at 37—she's born in FoA 1 and she was supposed to die in FoA 38—but since I've introduced a first husband for her and the idea of Eönwë having to get over his first love (and it will take him a while to do so), I might have her live A LITTLE longer. Mind you, she'll die young anyway but, in my mercy, I'll kill her off in her early forties. Based on this latest update, she'll probably die around FoA 42/43 so that she has a few more years with her children. That also means that the twins she was supposed to give birth to in FoA 38 will be born a few years later.

I kinda want to stick to my original plan which had Mírion being 16 at the time of his parents' death (Eönwë dies roughly six months after Enna's demise and that will never change) so he'll probably still be born around FoA 26 and the other children will follow as already planned minus the twins.

But who knows, really. I'm coming up with random characters and events I had never even thought of before and my fingers type whatever they want anyways. So I guess you'll just have to stay tuned and keep on reading.

[sparklyslug]

So i Have to ask about Divorced Steve (fair ithilien)

What can you share in terms of plot/vibes?

I AM SO HAPPY YOU ASKED FRIEND! This in my head is also titled “How Steve Got His Groove Back,” the actual title is Steve Harrington’s Farewell Tour. he and Megan are divorced, he’s got his sights set on one Eddie Munson, but he is determined to do this RIGHT aka he’s never been with a guy before and he has a certain reputation to maintain so he’s got some things he wants to get a handle on (😏😏😏) first.

(Paging Dr @greenlikethesea)

……..

“Shut up!” Robin yowls, shoving his hands away and putting her own over her face. “Oh my god! If I promise to take you out to meet all the nice Indianapolis queers, can we stop having this conversation?”

“Seems fair to me,” Steve says. “But will Eddie, uh—won’t he find out?”

Robin shrugs. “I don’t think Eddie’s out and about like that, honestly. Not since Josh, who ran with the kind of crowd who, let’s just say—weren’t exactly inviting to the bisexual experience.”

“Ah,” Steve says, around the knee-jerk flash of that fucking guy that always kicks up at the mention of Eddie’s ex-boyfriend. Figured he’d be the kind of guy who was weird about that, and no Steve is not a little viciously satisfied to hear it. “Okay. I just don’t want him to, you know. See me with someone and think—“

“Think you’re just lovin’ em and leavin’ em so that you can build up enough experience to blow his mind and ruin him for any other man? Yeah,” Robin sighs, long-suffering. “I doubt that would be his first assumption.”

[greenlikethesea]

deleted scene from the jargyle!

Hi all! I am most likely not putting this in the final chapter, because I am taking the story in a much more nuanced direction, so here's the fight that is mentioned in Three Weddings and a Funeral!

there's some stuff in this that i'm not super happy with, which is why i'm glad it won't be included, but please know that mike WILL have a redemption round it what is eventually published.

“Jonathan,” Joyce says.

Sometimes I wish it had been you that died instead of him, Jonathan thinks in a flash, and instantly has to grip the side of the table to grapple with how evil that thought is. Wrong move, of course, his knuckles screaming in protest, but the pain helps dispel the thought a little bit. Push it away like an embrace he doesn’t want. He looks at Joyce, who is looking at him expectantly, her foot tapping on the floor with impatience. He grimaces as his wrist burns from the exertion of squeezing so hard.

“Sorry, slept kind of weird,” Jonathan grits out, even though he didn’t sleep at all. “I just need a minute and then I’ll get to it.”

“You didn’t sleep at all,” Argyle says. 

Jonathan can’t help it – his gaze snaps toward Argyle, the hurt and betrayal cutting through him worse than the dull ache of his skin, the sensitivity of his scalp. Argyle knows to not get involved in this. They’ve talked about it, how the burdens of Jonathan’s family are Jonathan’s alone to work out. And he’s agreed, has bowed out of conversations even though Jonathan could see his jaw twitching with some kind of remark. So why stop now?

“Just drop it,” Jonathan says, biting his lip to stop himself from tacking on a pet name. He wants to, desperately, wants to soften the blow despite his annoyance, but he feels the tightness in his jaw, the fear creeping up in his gut, hot and acrid like his acid reflux when he eats even a smidge too much.   

Argyle is staring at a fixed spot on the wall, but his tone cuts as if he’s making direct eye contact. “No, actually, I’m not going to drop it. Joyce, maybe you should ask one of your psychic kids instead of your disabled one.” 

“What,” Joyce says, not a question, and oh, Joyce doesn’t know this part of Argyle. None of them do, not really. This isn’t something that Jonathan has had to share.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Joyce, really, I am,” Argyle says. Jonathan can’t keep his eyes off the two of them now, his skin burning from embarrassment. It’s rare that Argyle drops the surfer boy effect, but when he does, it’s so frightening. “Hopper was a good man and died too soon. And I know you need support. But you have three kids, and two of them are more than capable of putting in some effort. You have me. We’ve got this covered.”

“Of course I have you three,” Joyce says, her smoothing over voice, the one that has everyone else convinced that she’s perfect and oh, that’s just nasty, just cruel, she’s a good mom, she is –

“So what do you need from us?” Argyle says. “From the three of us, that is.”

Joyce stops herself from snapping back with something hot, something mean. Jonathan can see the tension in her neck from her restraint, the tight chord of anger stiff and menacing, but Argyle is immune. This is tame shit compared to Irma, he’s learned, whose posture alone makes her opponents slink away, tail between their legs. 

She heaves a sigh. “He knows he can talk to me if he ever–” 

“He doesn’t tell me when he’s hurting. Why would he tell you?” Argyle cuts her off. 

“I am his mother,” Joyce says.

Argyle laughs, this bitter, mean thing that isn’t new, but it’s rare. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Joyce says.

“Joyce, I love you a lot,” Argyle says, which means he’s about to completely rip her a new asshole. It hurts to withhold his wince. “And I know you love Jonathan. But you have not been good to him. You weren’t good to him when I met you, and you haven’t gotten much better.”

“Please tell me how much I failed as a mother,” Joyce says. “You do not know what it’s like. You will never know what it’s like.”

Jonathan has been seeing his mother as a person since he was very young, but it’s rare that he sees the confused young woman underneath her self-assured mature self. It’s even rarer that he sees this version of her face off with anyone that isn’t her own reflection, staring herself down when she thinks no one else is looking. But Argyle’s got a glance that could cut through anyone, and he’s not backing down. 

“It’s not that deep, Joyce, so chill out,” Argyle says. “I didn’t say you failed as a mother. But you can’t deny that you put him dead fucking last, and that’s not fair. Everything you know about him is something that doesn’t exist anymore. And I can’t sit idly while you continue to take him for granted. I can’t.”

Argyle’s not just talking to Joyce right now, Jonathan doesn’t think. He’s talking to Irma, and he’s talking to Isabela, and he’s talking to every person he’s had to keep level and cool around while his own emotions get cast to the side. Jonathan feels paralyzed, glued to his chair as the two people he loves most face off in Casa Byers-Hopper’s busy, mismatched kitchen, still too shiny and new to feel like a safe place to Jonathan. 

“Argyle –” Joyce starts, takes in a deep breathe to no doubt launch into some kind of argument – 

– but a crash comes from the living room that completely snaps the three of them out of their tense trance, all moving in unison toward the direction of the sound. It’s El and Will. There’s been a tension between them that has been growing since Hopper was admitted into hospice, festering like a disease, but any other time than right now Jonathan would be oddly grateful for it. Will and El have both been permissive of each other’s bullshit for far too long, both in the habit of preserving Mike’s equanimity by avoiding their own myriad issues. It’s been time for them to have conflict, instead of just skating around it. It’s good for them to hate each other a little, so that they can build the love back up. He just wishes, for all of their sakes, that they would have picked a different time to have a blowup. Leave it to his younger siblings to interrupt the one time anyone has stood up for him.

“Why don’t you fucking do it?” Will yelps, with that awful, sniveling tone that has crept in from years of embodying what Eddie has snidely called New York Will in their conversations whenever he’s come up. 

“I have been doing the laundry,” El says, with that jagged staccato leftover from her youth that still graces her vocal delivery every so often. “You have done nothing.”

“Oh sure, caring for our mother is doing nothing,” Will bites back.

“You do not care. You are an asshole.” Another crash, followed by a yell from Will – something expensive that belonged to him, no doubt.

Fuck, Jonathan’s gotta get in there. He starts to get up, wincing at all of his awful bones creaking, and Joyce and Argyle immediately turn their attention toward him.

“Jonny,” Argyle says, his tone a warning.

“Jonathan,” Joyce says, voice sharp. 

“Later,” Jonathan says decisively, and both of their mouths snap shut in unison, which makes him laugh. It’s all so fucking stupid, all of it. “We can sort this out later. Let’s make sure the kids don’t destroy the living room, please. My cane?”

There’s a beat where neither of them do anything, just nervously glance toward each other, like working together is not allowed now that they’ve fully reamed each other out in front of God and everyone. Whatever, Jonathan does not have time for either of their damage. His siblings are about to destroy the living room. “My cane, please, I don’t think I can make it there without it.”

Argyle springs into action, walking past Joyce to reach Jonathan’s cane, which for some reason is precariously leaning on the refrigerator. He hands it to Jonathan, who grasps on its handle and uses that and the table to pull himself up. 

Alright, Jonny boy, he tells himself. One foot in front of the other. You’ve got this. Be the big brother they do not deserve at the moment.

It takes Jonathan far longer than he would like to get to the living room, Joyce and Argyle walking at a glacial pace to avoid stepping on his heels. When he gets there, the first thought that crosses his mind is loud and panicked: I am so glad Hop is not around to see what this looks like. His old record player is smashed on the floor, not irreparably broken but in at least a dozen pieces that are scattered on the ground between them. Blood is pouring from El’s nostrils. When Will turns his head to look at Jonathan, he can see Will’s telepathic tell – all the capillaries in both of his eyes have burst, giving them a demonic glow. And fuck, they’re not even taking turns with their telepathic blows – what isn’t already broken on the floor is up in the air, including Mike’s camera, which they’re both going to be upset about destroying later. 

In a split second of panic, he throws his cane into the melee.

In a matter of seconds, it is crunched into a ball, but the ensuing noise from its destruction and clatter on the floor is enough to shock the both of them out of their fight.

“Enough,” Jonathan says.

Apparently, that used all the strength he has in his body, because he feels himself start to wobble. The both of them rush forward and catch him before he really stumbles, the evidence of their psychic exertion on their faces, both their hands shaking as they guide Jonathan to the couch. Upon a more careful glance, Jonathan can see that Will’s eyes have no white in them, pink and red with burst capillaries, obscuring his irises. His slender body heaves with exhaustion. The cascade of blood from Eleven’s nostrils has painted her lips and chin a murky red-brown, and Jonathan can also see blood leaking from the corners of her mouth, as if her gums have also splintered. When Jonathan settles in the center of the couch, they flank him on either side. Will’s already crying, and El is going to be there in about thirty seconds.

“I’m sorry, Will,” Eleven says. She’s not great at apologizing, but she will if she has to.

Will laughs wetly, wiping at his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry. To both of you. Jonathan, your cane –”

“I’ll figure something out,” Jonathan says. He’s not sure what, but Max and Claire are staying at the house instead of getting a hotel, so maybe he can get something from her. 

“Super happy that we’re all sorry, but let’s clean this up, yeah?” Argyle says. He turns to Joyce, who is leaning against him like he’s a support beam. Their size difference is comical, Jonathan notes, not remotely for the first time. “I would like to finish what we started afterward, if that’s chill with you.”

“I think we can have the conversation without yelling at each other,” Joyce says, nodding and squeezing his arm. “Will you join us, Jonathan? Please?”

Jonathan looks at the both of them, these foundational pillars. The woman who raised him and the man who keeps him steady. They’re both looking at him, not expectantly, but…hopefully. He hasn’t seen that expression on Joyce’s face in a long time, one where all she wants from him is him, rather than something he’s doing. It’s all very kumbaya. Hopper’s eyeroll would be practically audible, if he were here.

Jonathan smiles at that mental image, but also at the people who are alive to see the mess. He squeezes Will’s hand. “Yeah, of course.” 

Without warning, there’s a jangling at the door, as someone attempts to open the three-lock system that Hopper had installed when they renovated the house. It’s a bitch on a normal day, but it’s especially a struggle if you’re doing it with one hand…which Mike, who went out to get groceries and some Aleve for Jonathan, would be doing, since he’s the type of person who tries to get it all done in one go. Of course Mike missed the entire fight. In a way, Jonathan’s glad for it. He knows that Will and Mike are better now, that the three of them have a stronger bond than ever, but witnessing his two favorite people attempt to kill each other would have probably melted his already anxious mind.

Upon walking into the destroyed living room, he immediately drops the bag he’s holding and springs into action, picking up items off the floor. “What the fuck happened here? Is everyone okay? Will? El? Jonathan, fuck, your cane –”

Jonathan doesn’t mean to laugh, really, he doesn’t. And when he does, it’s not at Mike. He just…he looks twelve again, instead of nearly thirty years old. His handsome face is completely overtaken by concern as he springs into action, starts to pick up things off the floor. Argyle, with a gentle nod toward Joyce, joins him in an instant.

Mike holds up the cane – or, rather, the mangled mess of what’s left of it. He holds it out in front of him while glaring daggers in the direction of the Byers siblings. “You guys really had to destroy Jonathan’s cane to work out whatever bullshit’s been brewing for the past two weeks? C’mon. You know that’s bad.”

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 19!

slightly shorter list than usual, sorry about that - i had a major thesis deadline last week, so i've both been reading less and haven't been keeping track as diligently as i normally do, whoops. still, i hope you enjoy these!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

a man in finance | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 13.9k | M

The one where Chimney finds Eddie a man in finance. Trust Fund. 6'2". Blue eyes. And he's an asshole, but only for like...five seconds (until he finds out about Chris). Eddie falls hard and fast, but it's ok because Buck does too. this is such a wonderful one!! i love how this author incorporates side characters into these alternate universes (loved lucy's appearances here, and chimney is always so fun) and the buddie dynamic is just lovely <3

cool and chill things to say to your best friend who you've accidentally been having phone sex with when you pick him up at the airport | hwaelweg/@the-hwaelweg | 6k | M

in which we explore the intimacy of having someone's voice in your ear, accidentally falling into phone sex, and edging Eddie Diaz until he can admit he's a good person. i love the distinction between facetimes and phone calls here and the intimacy of it all is just <3 also very hot!!

good things come to those who wait | ithilien22/@ithilien-writes | 2.6k | E

Turns out, Buck likes when Eddie makes him wait for it. (And they're embarrassingly in love about it.) this has such lovely buddie characterisation!! the best combination of domestic fluff and smut <3

i looked at your face & i knew that i'd found it | fleetinghearts/@shitouttabuck | 3.3k | GA

it might be just slightly obvious that buck really, really likes to talk about eddie. such great firefam feels!! buck constantly yapping about eddie is one of my favourite things ever and i love how this fic captures it <3

if i have your heart forever | ipretendtobesane/@usercowboy | 9.2k | M

The day Eddie returns to Los Angeles for good and the day he realizes he’s in love with Evan Buckley happen to be the same twenty-four hours, which makes sense, really, if you think about it. He was coming home. To Los Angeles, to the 118. To Buck. this is the loveliest gentlest fic <3 i love both buck and eddie here, but eddie's realisation felt especially natural and in character!!

sobriquet | rainbowninja167/@rainbowtitania | 18.4k | T

5 Times Buck Called Eddie by a Nickname + 1 Time He Didn’t. this is just so, so, SO much fun!! such a fantastic writing style, and i love how it incorporates humour specifically <3 so good!!

something so lonesome about you | serenelystrange/@serenelystrange | 7.9k | E

Buck signs up for a Christian Dating site, and accidentally stumbles into the man of his dreams. i loved watching buddie's relationship grow in this one! and what a hilariously wonderful fic premise <3 brilliant!!

the way that you hold me tight (there's no other place in the world where i rather would be | The_Lonely_Wolf_Needs_A_Star | 4.2k | M

10 hugs throughout Buck and Eddie's relationship. this was a reread! i'm such a sucker for buddie fics focused on physical intimacy and this hits the spot every time <3

u/minutetomidnightenthusiast's reddit post history. | dylaesthetics | 6.7k | M

the emotional rollercoaster of Eddie's Reddit posts throughout the history of knowing Buck. this author's reddit fics are the gift that keeps on giving <3 i love how this one and the previous one compliment each other, i highly recommend reading them both!!

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s April ficrec Frenzy

Hi everyone, what a goldmine of fic potential these last few episodes have been!! Facetime! Lore drops! Fic gaps! DANGER! Are we not thriving? Well I'm back with another round of fic that I've read and loved over the last month, from these incredibly talented authors.

As always you can find previous rec lists here.

12 April 2025

children behave, that’s what they say when we’re together by Elgney Buck and Eddie are together at last, and they're super happy about it. One problem, Chris has JUST left for camp, and Eddie really wants to tell him before they share the news with anyone else. Buck can tell Maddie, of course, but they agree to try and keep it a secret from the rest of the firefam...how hard could it be? Super sweet and very funny, yet another fic from this author that had me smiling so much.

defined by its absence by @ghostlandtoo amnesia fic, amnesia fic! Eddie wakes in Texas missing eight years of his life...when Chris walks in, no longer a toddler, but a fourteen year old boy. His parents are cagey about his life, and Chris won't look at him properly. And then a stranger called Buck turns up, saying he's his best friend. Will Eddie remember? This one really aches, and weaves the tangled web of emotions so beautifully. No easy answers, just a lot of faith and feeling.

i love you, i'm sorry by @ithilien-writes Moving to Texas was never actually the plan; or at least, it was never actually Chris's plan. From his POV, this gorgeous fic explores what it means when you react and retreat in hurt and anger, and then have to deal with the consequences. Particularly when the adults in your life have their own issues. Such a strong Chris voice, this really made me feel for him and Eddie as they find their way back to each other.

i forget that you're not mine by @bexism five times eddie forgets that he and buck aren't a couple (and the one time they actually are). In which Eddie returns from El Paso having imagined all the ways he and Buck could make a life together...and in a accidentally kisses Buck about it. Funny and knotty and wonderful team dynamics, *Buck voice* Oh Eddie.

they won’t listen (they won’t look) by @polkadotk804 in which Ravi discovers Buck and Eddie’s relationship and is tasked with telling the 118, but he slowly goes crazy when no one believes him because Buck and Eddie are just ‘like that.’ Through it all, Ravi doesn’t realize just how much his 118 family loves him…until he does. < op's summary is perfect, so I'll just add that I LOVED this.

drive me, crazy by @markofalover a 8x12 & 8x13 coda, in which Raphael the cashier assumes Eddie is talking to his partner on the phone, and Eddie doesn't know how to correct him...and then it turns out everyone in El Paso thinks he and Buck are together. Brilliant use of the facetimes and communication hijinks to feelings acknowledgement.

loving life, a new degree by @sonofatoasterwaffle Buck has no shortage of fantasies about Eddie. Eddie doesn't mind indulging him. This time it involves something lacy, a whole lot of trust, and established relationship sexual exploration. Let's just say that when it comes to Annalee's incredibly hot smut fics, both Buck and I are seated.

8x14 codas (spoilers ahead!)

oh, lift up your head, boy. by @atlasblue85 Chris is at the diner with friends after school in El Paso when he sees the news. He calls Eddie about it. Love this teenage voice for Chris, and the dynamic with his friends and with Eddie. (I also really love the long distance ballroom dance reveal coda tainted love's too fast to dance to from last week!)

hurts so bad when you finally know by @clusterbuck Eddie's been trying to get in contact with Buck all day, hoping to catch him between rides, but he can't get through and it's making him tense. This one took me out at the knees. And the Chim coda too (linked within), exploring his thoughts about Maddie and his family as the sickness takes hold...absolutely devastating!

stay, stay by @try-set-me-on-fire 8x14 coda and 8x15/16 spec. At 8:36 AM, Maddie’s phone rings. Eddie is calling and Buck isn't doing well. Gut wrenching, looking at Buck beyond breaking point.

the losing touch, the waiting game (i promise to be there this time, alright?) by @chronicowboy a series of texts and answerphone messages from Eddie to no response. Little but mighty, this packs a punch!

And a bunch more codas from 8b to be found in my regularly updated ficrec tag (Anyone got any Ravi coda recs???)

See you next time!

[glorf1ndel]

All right, y’all. Instead of April Fools, tell me 3 things you are excited for this April! No joke. XD Here are mine!

1. Working on my novel this month as part of a novel-writing challenge with my writing discord server! ✏️ I am drafting a Neolithic-era love story… Let’s hope it’s not too rocky 😂 🤎

2. The new Trousdale album is coming out on April 11, and I will be seeing them in concert! So I’ve gotta memorize all their lyrics 💪

3. Easter celebrations with my fam! 🐣

Tagging some pals (no pressure!) @hobbitwrangler @frodosrings @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @lady-of-ithilien @nocompromise-noregrets @cilil

[lucifer5lucy]

References that are clearly explained like this one make me soo happy as a tolkien fan!

Gondor During The Hobbit

They didn’t know it, of course, but 2941 was sort of Gondor’s Last Summer, if you’ll excuse the WWI reference. Because by the end of The Hobbit, the White Council has driven Sauron out of Dol Guldur, and right back to his old stronghold in Mordor, which basically started a period of ongoing warfare with Gondor that lasted the next 78 years.

So, what was happening in Gondor during these last few months of relative peace?

Denethor II, father of Boromir and Faramir, is 11 years old. His grandfather, Turgon, is steward of Gondor, and he is at this point in his life likely living in Minas Tirith with his parents and two older sisters. Denethor was said to be an exceptionally learned man, so it’s likely that even at age 11 he’s already quite dedicated to his studies.

Turgon, the Steward of Gondor, is nearing the end of his life at 94 years old. He’s been ruling Gondor for 35 years now, and during his rule has had to deal with steadily worsening conditions in Ithilien (the region had been infested with orcs since the days of his father’s rule. Luckily, Turgon inherited the fortified and secret ranger camps that his father had had built. By 2941 these ranger forts were forty years old, so I’d imagine the entire ranger system was pretty well established by now. 

What with the orcs and all, Ithilien was only lightly populated by this point. And, in fact, when Sauron does arrive at the end of the year, the last of the people who lived in Ithilien fled the region. Many of the descendants of these people will make up the ranger force that Faramir commands during the War of the Ring.

Prince Angelimir, the grandfather of Imrahil and Finduilas, rules in Dol Amroth. Tolkien didn’t record anything of his rule, but it’s likely it was basically uneventful at that period, mainly just watching out for attacks from Umbar.

Morwen Steelsheen, Theoden’s mother, was 19 years old and living in Lossarnach. In two years she would marry her husband, Thengel son of the king of Rohan - it’s possible that they’ve already met.

Meanwhile, somewhere far to the north, a little hobbit is sorely missing his pantry back in Bag End, completely unaware of how his adventure is going to affect the rest of the world.

SOURCES: LOTR, LOTR Appendices, The Histories of Middle Earth vol. 12 (“The Heirs of Elendil”)

[thatbuddie]

hopefully it's okay to just come into your ask box like this but i just wanna say thank you for summer of buddie 💜💜 i've only been here since may and it's been such a great way to feel more connected to the fandom. and the tags you do on the reblogs of the fanworks always make me smile like you're such a good hype person !! the whole thing is just so fun and i'm sure it's not a small amount of work so just thank you!!! 💜

i want to apologize for how this has sat in my inbox for 3 days now, but every time i've needed a pick me up since you sent it i have opened tumblr and read this message and i was a little sad at the thought of "letting it go."

thank you truly from the bottom of my heart for this message. it's so so so nice <333

it makes me so happy to know that you've felt like summer of buddie has connected you to the fandom because that has been my main objective with it. sometimes it can be hard feeling actually connected through fandom because despite the fact that there are hundreds of people involved it's still just us sitting behind a computer and not really being able to see or hear each other.

i wanted summer of buddie to remind us of everything we have in common and the ship that we all love. but above all i wanted it to remind us that we're in this together.

it makes all the work worth it to know that i have been able to do this for at least one person <333

[tathrin]

The next story I am definitely 100% Not Writing: An Unexpected Wedding.

So: Elvish marriage is, we all know, a very simple thing that you don't need much...let's say ceremony to complete, wink-wink.

Dwarven marriages, on the other hand...! Well, let's just say that Durin's folk know how to throw a fancy shindig, yeah? Plus, there are the contracts. Oh, are there ever contracts! Can't have a marriage without proper contracts. No contract, and it's just a fling (even if lasts over a century), everybody knows that who knows anything.

And these sort of flings are lovely and can be very fulfilling, and many a dwarven family-unit has been based entirely upon such long-term flings; but without a contract to account for the merging (or not) of your crafts and your work and such, well, it's not a marriage, is it? Of course not.

So one day, Legolas discovers that while he's been calling Gimli his husband for like thirty years now, according to dwarven cultural standards, they're not actually married!

Gimli isn't bothered by this, and never has been, because everyone knows that he and Legolas are Together(tm), and he knows that elves consider the idea of a public "marriage ceremony" to be pretty weird, also. And it's not like there's any shame about these sorts of "flings" in dwarf culture, so everybody in Aglarond is content with the status-quo of having an unmarried lord who's known to be attached to a strange elf, and they respect that relationship entirely (even if most of them still find the fact that Legolas is an elf pretty odd).

(Also, Legolas is is going to live forever, while Gimli still assumes at this point that he'll be bound by a normal dwarven life-span, so of course from Legolas's perspective their relationship must inherently seem like a short-term affair, anyway, even if neither of them like talking about that fact...)

So Gimli's perfectly happy with their elvish-marriage. Lots of dwarves never get married at all, it's nbd.

Except Legolas doesn't see it that way. How unintentionally selfish of him, to have only wed Gimli according to the standards of his own culture, and not that of Gimli's people as well! He had no idea, but now that he knows, he must set about fixing it at once!

And that's the story of how the entirety of Rohan got roped-into helping a Wood-elf plan a dwarf-style wedding ceremony as a surprise for the Lord of Aglarond.

Needless to say, the "surprise" aspect of it doesn't last very long—just long enough for many and varied hijinks to ensue—which is good, because A: you can't really negotiate contracts without representatives of both parties involved and B: as well-intentioned as he is, Legolas has very little idea of what a dwarven wedding actually is or how to throw one.

But by gosh, is he going to try!!!

(Fortunately Gimli finds Legolas's earnest intentions endearing even when he's completely off-base about just about everything, so he looks at the near-debacle of what Legolas and his bewildered human assistants have done so far and declares it all to be extremely sweet.)

Even more fortunately, once he realizes that it matters to Legolas that they be wed in dwarf-fashion—because Legolas thinks it matters to Gimli—Gimli takes charge of the rest of the arrangements, which also means acquiring the help of a bunch of competent dwarven friends and advisors, now that the rest of Aglarond know what's going on much to the relief of Éomer and the Rohirrim who are now off the hook for anything but attending the resultant party.

Which is how we end up with Thranduil being invited to a dwarven marriage ceremony in the Glittering Caves of Rohan along with the entire royal family of Gondor and the elvish colony of Ithilien and a whole bunch of Hobbits.

He thinks the whole idea is ridiculous, of course (they've been married for years, everyone knows it, why are mortals so weird about this stuff?), but he goes along with it because it seems to matter to Legolas, even though Thranduil gets rather offended by the notion of signing contracts on behalf of his son, and has to be talked-down from interpreting that as a mortal insult by the combined efforts of Aragorn, Arwen, and Faramir.

But mainly he's just irritated that they couldn't have gotten their shit together earlier and done this before Bilbo left, because his Hobbit bestie loves a good party, and he's going to be so pissed in like four or five hundred years when Thranduil crosses the Sea and tells him about it.

(Also the party would have been way more fun with Bilbo there to make scathing commentary, and Thranduil is grumpy not having him in attendance. What's the point of declaring your favorite Burglar an Elf-friend if you can't pull him out for your own personal entertainment at parties!?)

Anyway the whole thing is a disaster, of course, because half the people involved don't actually understand what the fuck they're supposed to be doing or what half of it means, but.

But it's lovely, also.

And the Glittering Caves have never glittered quite so brightly as they do when Gimli and Legolas say their vows at last (even if Legolas's Khuzdul pronunciation is atrocious! fortunately Gimli finds that endearing, too, although the elder dwarves all wince terribly). Even the bright crystal casing that forms the centerpiece of the great hall, the one that Gimli spent five years carving until it was just right, the one that holds those three long golden hairs he's always waxing so euphoric about...

Well, even that shines brighter than usual, that day.

And far across the Sea, someone looks into her Mirror, and smiles.

And then Bilbo promptly elbows Celeborn out of the way so he can see, too. Why are elves all so blasted tall!

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

Reading Friday Saturday

Thanks for the tag @emmathefanficgal ! I’m always on the hunt for new books, so I always love to see what others are reading!

As for what I’m reading:

I just finished my annual re-read of the Silmarillion. I am more invested in Gwindor than ever, I just love that poor sweet elf so much.

My book club is currently reading Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt. I’ve really just started so no firm opinions yet, but I do enjoy that some of the chapters are written from the POV of an octopus.

I have a library hold on The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave to read next, which was recommended to me (thank you @lady-of-ithilien !) as being similar to all time fave Matrix by Lauren Groff.

I am feeling ethically conflicted about Joan Didion’s “Notes to John,” which comes out later this month. It’s essentially a selection of her journal entries, published posthumously. And while I freakin’ love Joan Didion and would die for more of her writing, I’m not sure how I feel about publishing a personal diary without consent so soon after someone’s death.

No pressure tags to @dancerinthestorm @lady-of-ithilien @hastyhobbit

[annabthesolitarywriter]

Nyerénya...Namárië!

AN OVERVIEW

(Title Translation: My Beloved...Farewell!")

It took me several attempts to make it, but I think it came out pretty well. As you can see from the cover, Enna is the main character once again. In this AU, she is the daughter of Hiril, Beren Erchamion's sister and daughter of Barahir of the House of Bëor. She'll fall in love with a Fëanorian and Eönwë may or may not show up at the last minute during the War of Wrath (nope, there's no Elenwë in this, but he will still save her).

Knowing how the First Age ended, this fic too will have a lot of angst and tragedy and it's also very likely to have a sad ending.

Featuring Fëanor's sons and the Silmarils.

PSA=> These things will also be referenced in The Lady of Ithilien. I'll try to connect the two fics somehow. Fourth Age Enna will have a lot of weird dreams about Beleriand and First Age Enna will have a bunch of weird dreams/visions about the Herald that she doesn't really understand.

Check my masterlist for more details!

[rivendell-poet]

Hey - I was looking through the masterlist and we're not having a third meeting?

I know it's not my place to beg, but I can't live on that Faramir cliffhanger so please may we have another one?? (Of course take your time if needed/have fun writing. But thanks if you do!!!!)

Aww, thanks anon! Honestly, when I wrote the masterlist I'd already mostly written this so must not have put it on the WIP list (for some reason?). And no fears, I wouldn't (permanently) leave you on a cliff-hanger like that <3

*･༓˚✧❝𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐑)❞‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « scenarios »

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Tauriel ○ Lindir ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○

GN!Reader | Wordcount : 4.1k (each individual around 240~ words) | Read on Ao3

TWS : Éowyn - set just after Aragorn's 'death' in the Two Tours, unhealthy coping mechanisms

« 1, 2, 3, 4, masterlist »

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧

✧ When Frodo leaves your sight, carried ahead by Arwen, Aragorn’s glad that you keep a calm face for the hobbits. But he’s been travelling with you long enough to see your smaller tells and know you’re nervous.

✧ The other hobbits are subdued (for once) yet he watches as you stave their fears, impressed.

✧ As you check through your supplies for the third time that evening, Aragorn finally comes over and gently puts a hand over yours to make you stop.

✧ “You fought well on Weathertop, the rest of the hobbits would have been hurt if you were not there.”

✧ He knows it isn’t much comfort, and he wishes he knew you better to provide something that would help.

✧ Your hands linger there for a second before you pull away to (for the final time) put your supplies back in order. When Aragorn takes his hand from the position it was in it’s slow, as though he’s trying to savour the moment of touch.

✧ But when you both want to keep watch that night he doesn’t stop you, nor does he go to sleep.

✧ The two of you sit in silence again together, this time with solidarity and understanding.

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ In preparation you spend a lot of time sparring, mostly with your city’s captain, but some part of you always looks over to where the field archery is set up. (You are a ranger of Ithilien after all, not a swords-person.)

✧ While walking to the training grounds, Legolas notices your mournful looks and quickly comes over - asking if you would be willing to shoot with him.

✧ You accept, fetching your bow and only realising once you’re down there that you’re doing this with an elf.

✧ As the target is set up, you watch carefully as he positions himself before shooting it - noting how elvish techniques differ to yours.

✧ When it’s your turn the world seems to slow down, not even noticing Legolas’s gaze on you, and you only come out when the arrow whistles into the bullseye.

✧ He congratulates you earnestly, and the two of you set up a competition.

✧ You aren’t surprised when you lose to the elf, although it makes you smile whenever he looks at your target to check you’re still tied with him.

✧ At the end of the day, he asks if you’ll train with him again soon and you easily accept.

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨

✧ Sitting almost two hours away from Bag End, when you hear something sneaking up behind you your first thought is an enemy of some kind.

✧ But when you turn around you’re glad you did, as all you can see is Frodo - sheepishly waving at you.

✧ With a grin you beckon for him to come closer, asking what he’s doing all the way out here.

✧ Frodo is honest with his answer, saying that he wanted to see you again - before blushing and adding that he hadn’t gone on a walk around here for a long time.

✧ Not wanting to tease or push him away, you ask about the walk and which places he recommends going on (you imagine hobbit paths will be different to the ones you traverse).

✧ The conversation eventually leads to him showing you a walk, the two of you simply talking again while he picks out paths you normally wouldn’t follow.

✧ When the sun reaches midday, you express worry about him getting home - and when he starts at the time you offer to walk him back.

✧ Along the road you pick apples for him, from the high branches that hobbits traditionally can’t get too, and in return he spots the mushrooms and other foliage you wouldn’t have immediately noticed.

✧ Bilbo doesn’t seem surprised when you knock on the door with Frodo, simply thanking you for taking care of him.

𝐒𝐚𝐦

✧ Thankfully, the third time you see Sam he's only walking in the Shire - without any equipment - and you call to him as you run over.

✧ You see him turn immediately, and you can see when he spots you as well (his eyes light up, and the smile on his face widens).

✧ When you make it over to him he gives a small bow and greets you, prompting you to do the same.

✧ The silence is awkward for a second, before he asks if you’d like to see the new flower meadows that have just started shooting up.

✧ Agreeing, he quickly shows you a path you’ve never even seen before, taking you into a small meadow that’s bursting with colour.

✧ Sam’s confident in you looking at the wild flowers and takes a second to glance at you instead, trying to capture the look of wonder in your face.

✧ Once you’ve finished taking it in, he asks what your favourite ones are and tells you the small facts he knows about them.

✧ (Sam loves the sunflowers & daffodils, personally.)

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲

✧ The day of the third meeting, even though you know he’s not coming until after second breakfast, you keep looking at the door to see if he’s there - even when you’re just on your first.

✧ When you do hear the knock on the door you’re there almost instantly, curious when you see Merry has a basket in his arms.

✧ He explains that you can stop to have lunch with him while you tour the Shire, as the bits you still have to see make up the majority of the day and therefore you'll miss elevenses. He apologises it’s only pantry food and lots of preservatives, but it’s the gesture that makes you begin to blush.

✧ At almost every stop and interesting feature in Hobbiton he tells you a fact about it, and on the rare occasion he doesn’t have a fact he tells a story.

✧ You get most of the way around the place when the two of you decide to stop and eat on a little grassy hill.

✧ Merry grins when this place is chosen, and tells you this was actually the only one he didn’t have fact or story for - and now he does.

✧ If you want, he can tell you of the amazing meet-up he’s having with a rather lovely hobbit, and the incredible food they’re eating.

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧

✧ Thinking back on the limited time you’d spent together, you should have foreseen that the hobbits would choose to go with the Fellowship for their friend. It makes sense, especially as people with no personal connections such as yourself were going.

✧ You had no objection with the hobbits coming with you - although you were slightly worried about their lack of training.

✧ Therefore, you decided the best way to combat this was to try and teach them how to fight - or at least spar.

✧ Boromir had supported your decision, so the next morning you set out to collect Merry and Pippin and offer to train them. In the end, they were the only two that came to your first meeting (Frodo was still injured and Sam wanted to train with him).

✧ For lack of hobbit-sized weapons, you decided to give Pippin your dagger.

✧ When you place it in Pippin’s hands he is incredibly thankful, and slightly overwhelmed, to be trusted with one of your prized possessions.

✧ At the very start he treats it incredibly carefully, trying not to get it damaged in any way until you make him use it to collide with your sword.

✧ He’s enthusiastic, and tries to pick up moves quickly - although you worry he’s trying too hard too soon - but it makes the sparring more enjoyable (not many elves in Rivendell can keep a smile on their face for all of a match).

✧ In actuality, his main piece of feedback is that he needs to stop staring at his enemy for so long in a battle - although you can’t see him admiring the beauty of an orc in combat.

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ When Boromir’s soldiers invite their captain to drink with them, celebrating a recent victory, he agrees to go for the morale of the troops - not because he wants to.

✧ And then he sees you when he gets there, almost glowing in the tavern light, and suddenly he’s thankful he came.

✧ As one of two rangers there you light up when Boromir appears, glad to see someone you know, although he’s quickly swarmed by his troops.

✧ You try not to look too disappointed, and then hit Beregond when he suggests you’re not doing a good job at it.

✧ Boromir, retrieving three ales, makes his way towards where you’re sitting - pretending not to notice the whispers that fly around that their captain is going with the rangers.

✧ One of the ales is pushed towards you, and you smile at him before holding it up as a cheers.

✧ You thank him for sitting with you, and in return he asks after Faramir and how your mission fares.

✧ His knowledge of the missions the rangers are doing is slightly lacking, but you don’t hold it against him.

✧ Instead it makes you smile when he realises there's a gap in his military knowledge, which he instantly asks the two of you about to try and rectify.

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫

✧ Faramir can barely focus on the people he’s supposed to be interviewing for Boromir’s hand, nervous but wanting to see you. But at the same time, he knows he wouldn’t be able to focus at all after so is glad that you’re last.

✧ On one hand, you can’t wait to meet the man you made out with in the tavern. On the other hand, you briefly considered faking your death to not have to talk with the heir to Lord Denethor - who you had drunkenly kissed in a tavern. While trying to avoid marrying his brother.

✧ When the two of you finally meet, the nerves cover the room so completely it’s almost hard to think.

✧ He instantly begins to apologise, telling you the mistake he made - that he’s sorry for anything he did while drunk.

✧ And you interrupt him and tell him to stop before realising what your explanation for forgiving him is. You can feel your face burn as you reassure him the kiss was consensual - that you truly don’t mind (and you’d be glad if he did it again-).

✧ Once you both have said your piece, you realise how loud the silence is.

✧ Tentatively, he tries to renew the conversation about his brother and if you’d be interested in marrying him, to which you flat out refuse.

✧ The hourglass tells you both there’s still time before the meeting is over, and this time you broach the silence.

✧ You’re relieved when you find a topic of mutual interest, and you can feel yourself wanting to kiss him again as he talks to you on one of your favourite topics, clearly so passionate.

It’s not a relief when the time ends, until (as you leave), he speaks up again quietly.

“If we could- I… would be most grateful if I could meet with you again.”

𝐄𝐨𝐰𝐲𝐧

✧ Your brother is dead. Now that you’re in Helms Deep, you truly have time to process it. Not healthily, as the magnitude of it hits you. Your closest friend is gone, your leader is gone, the heir of-

✧ A hand on your shoulder brings you back to reality, stopping the tears that were about to form, and you turn slowly to face whoever it is - having the intention of thanking them to stop your spiral.

✧ Éowyn sees you, standing still and taking ragged breaths, your grief barely contained. When she reaches out with a hand it is her intent to try and comfort you for the loss of family.

✧ Her own grief shines in her eyes, mourning for the loss of someone she didn’t truly know but loved.

✧ Something about it rubs the wrong way, and before you can think your voice is raised at her - yelling. She has no right to mourn someone she’s known for a matter of days, for a supposed lost love who was already in a relationship. And to think that whatever grief she’s going through is anywhere near comparable to yours is insane.

✧ “I would’ve thought you’d be more compassionate about familial death - especially with Théodred.”

✧ She takes in a sharp breath at that, and the anger you held fails you, plunging you back into sadness. You sigh before apologising, stating it wasn’t right of you and that you need to be alone.

✧ Watching you leave, Éowyn still can’t find it in her heart to be truly angry at you (she knows what she’s currently feeling will go), and is only sorry for both of your losses. That you could not help each other.

𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫

✧ When he hears some of his best men complain about being beaten, some beaten easily, Éomer is immediately curious as to who they could be referring to.

✧ He’s surprised but delighted when they tell him your name, and that you’d chosen to specialise in off-horse combat.

✧ Later the same day he heads to where you’re supposed to be, and watches in awe as you wield your sword as though it’s a part of you.

✧ The spar ends with you as the victor, and although there’s clapping all around the loudest by far is his.

✧ You come over to him, and he instantly expresses admiration for your skills - barely realising he hasn’t let you get a word in for almost a minute or two.

✧ Éomer stops as soon as he realises this, but you assure him that it’s ok and you truly take it as a compliment.

✧ Then you offer to spar with him.

✧ He says yes and warns you not to go easy on - a wish you respect. When the fighting is over with his sword flung almost a metre away there’s no grudge or annoyance in his eyes, just even more admiration.

✧ You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone more happy to be beaten up by you.

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐝

✧ It’s night when Bard finally pulls his boat into shelter for the night, trying not to be too annoyed at its emptiness. This is the second night in a row he’s found nothing, and he’s trying not to let it worry him.

✧ On your part, you’re simply sitting around on duty - and steadily freezing as the night sets in - until you see Bard again.

✧ Bored and happy to see him, you wave and call out to him.

✧ He looks up almost instantly, getting out of the boat and going up to you as well to talk.

✧ For the first time, you’re able to have a conversation without the kids involved and it goes well.

✧ The two of you have a similar sense of humour, and the pauses in conversation are small and aren’t uncomfortable.

✧ When you realise just how dark it’s getting you apologise for keeping him but he reassures you it doesn’t matter.

✧ You offer to walk him home, to make up for it, and Bard can’t find it in his heart to stop you.

✧ The walk back is less like an escort and more like a walk between friends, with you still talking and laughing the entire time.

✧ Bard invites you to come over for tea sometime, anytime, and there’s a smile while you agree.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥

✧ In your contract, it had been stated you needed to meet with the elvenking once every two weeks - a fact you weren’t entirely sure he was aware of.

✧ Still, it must have been on some contract because the guards approve when you enter the first of King Thranduil’s chambers.

✧ Thranduil is generally quite an organised person, but every now and then something slips his mind. The thing that has slipped his mind these past two weeks was your meeting with him.

✧ The both of you can tell he’s surprised when he sees you, but he handles it with grace as you wonder whether it’s appropriate to apologise.

✧ You decide not too, and he sits down next to you - asking how Legolas has been doing so far.

✧ In the dying firelight, the conversation eventually shifts from his son to the both of you - inquiring as to how you’re doing, and how you ended up here.

✧ When you know the answer to most of the questions he asks you, he ends up answering much more obscure ones - does he prefer bluebells that grow to the east or west? Would he wear sapphires or rubies in a crown?

✧ A guard knocks on the door, eventually, and you both are surprised by the time.

✧ With a bow you leave the room, and he thanks you for entertaining him as you exit.

𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐥

✧ After attempting to polish your armour for the third time, you regret not setting a time for this training more than ever.

✧ It’s not helping that every now and then other elves will pass by, giving you a slightly sorrowful look as though you’re a kicked puppy (which you aren’t - you’re just waiting for your sparring partner).

✧ When Tauriel shows up, you can feel the relief and stand to greet her to which she responds in kind.

✧ Instead of going straight into sparring, like you expect, she asks about your day and - when you explain you've mainly been waiting for her - looks rather sheepish, promising to make it up to you with this session.

✧ The two of you begin to spar, evenly matched and therefore trying hard to win with each round.

✧ Neither of you take it personally when the other tries incredibly hard not to lose even when they should’ve yielded earlier. It’s not even a matter of sparring anymore, but a match for your honour.

✧ On the fourth hour in a row you decide that your honour isn’t quite as important anymore, holding up your hand to signal for a stop.

✧ You can hear her laugh - something you didn’t expect - before she explains that was her intention as well.

✧ With the both of you stopping, Tauriel waits for a second to catch her breath before asking if you’ll come to lunch with her. You oblige.

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ You’re in one of Rivendell’s healing practices, to observe this time, when you next encounter Lindir.

✧ One of the elves you’ve been working with appears beside you with a grin, stating you’ve got someone waiting outside for you.

✧ Expecting a patient, it’s a surprise when you come face-to-face with Lindir; the elf holds a bunch of flowers in one hand, his other hand tapping nervously against his side.

✧ Relief is in his eyes when he sees you, and he bows before handing you the flowers - explaining they’re a gift from him to show his gratitude, and that he should’ve done something earlier.

✧ The flowers are lovely - clearly of good quality - and when you comment on them you can see him visibly relax.

✧ He’s no longer tapping his fingers, as obviously, and looks more at ease than he was a second again.

✧ Something in your brain tells you to invite him inside so you can talk, but you’re in Rivendell and not your home, so instead you ask if you can meet later to discuss this properly.

✧ Lindir eagerly accepts your offer, quickly writing something off his calendar to put down the first date you suggest.

✧ With a final bow, he bids you a goodnight before shyly adding that he's looking forward to seeing you soon.

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ You know you should be grateful for the respite that is Lothlórien, the Fellowship does need the time to recuperate and recover its strength (at least to the extent it can without Gandalf).

✧ But you’ve been a royal guard most of your life, and sitting around without purpose is doing you less good than the rest is helping.

✧ At the start of the second week, after you’ve explored all Lórien has to offer twice, Haldir suddenly makes you the offer of a lifetime.

✧ It’s only a patrol, you and two others walking around to make sure all is well, but for you it’s the lifeline you need.

✧ Haldir hasn’t been around you much, but the light that ignites in your eyes is comforting to him (and beautiful - in its own right).

✧ He enjoys your commentary on the patrol, and for the first time in a long time finds himself willing to laugh and smile if it’s with you.

✧ To him, even the silence with you on patrol is lovely - it’s not uncomfortable but reassuring, and there’s a small smile on your face even with the silence.

✧ Sensing your disappointment when the patrol comes to an end, he makes sure to tell you this offer is an open one for all the time you are here - not just for tonight.

✧ It may not have been what he intended, but when you look at him like he's hung the stars there's no regrets.

𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧

✧ When Elladan wakes up in the library his first thought is to panic - Elrond will send him to Valinor if he finds out what his son’s done (again) - and he looks to try and hide the evidence.

✧ Then he sees you, still asleep next to the open book you two had been talking about.

✧ Still wanting to get rid of the evidence, Elladan begins to take the books back with the softest steps he can, constantly glancing over to you.

✧ He finds himself looking back more than he needs. Something about you is peaceful when you sleep, even when you suddenly start and roll over slightly.

✧ Seeing how high the sun is in the sky, he gently pokes you to wake you up.

✧ You wake up with a cry, trying to bat off whatever’s touching you before you hear Elladan’s soft laughter for the first time. First thing in the morning, it reminds you of bird song.

✧ Elladan sheepishly fills in the details of what happened last night, apologising for keeping you up, but you assure him you don’t mind.

✧ As you're about to leave the library, he turns to ask if his hair is messy from sleep - and it is to your envy that every ebony lock has stayed exactly in place. You also get the sudden urge to ruffle it.

𝐄𝐥𝐫𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐫

✧ Although Elrohir does stop by the Houses of Healing at the start of the day to try and see you, you’re already gone.

✧ He sees you soon though, on Estel’s war council - trying to decide if Gondor should march on the Black Gates.

✧ When you're announced as Denethor’s child (and acting steward with your brother indisposed), he’s suddenly more grateful you allowed him to force you to go to sleep. Your father would probably have had him put in disciplinary action.

✧ Aragorn is outnumbered at the start of discussion, nobles of Gondor too cowardly to go, until you step in for Gondor - announcing the city will help its rightful king.

✧ At the end of the meeting, with troops ready to be marched, he thinks you really deserve more than the thanks Aragorn’s given you (a kiss instead, his mind helpfully supplies).

✧ Instead of that he goes after you while leaving, positioning himself in front of you and deeply bowing before finally being able to introduce himself to you.

✧ Humouring him, you re-introduce yourself too - although it sounds different when you say it to when the councillor announced you as acting steward of Gondor.

✧ Elrohir talks to you for as long as he can before duty calls, and he watches you go longer than necessary before he goes back to the grey riders.

✧ As he walks, he gently says your name to himself, holding his finger to his lips as if to feel the outline his mouth makes. Repeating it once or twice before realising what he’s doing.

Hopefully you enjoyed this, and thank you so much to all the people who had been reading this all! Here's the request link, have a nice day <3

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[torchwood-99]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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