eowyneomundsdaughter

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

fair and cold, like a morning of pale spring that is not yet come to womanhood.

tolkien south asian week hosted by @arwenindomiel

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

Okay guys

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

Sam by Maia O. Tolkien's "chief hero", a gardener. The one who grows, tends, nurtures. It's too perfect 😭😭😭

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

Boromir Week: Final Shot

You can thank @aranov for the request of Boromir in armor with his hair in a bun.

He's followed Aragorn through Dunharrow and down the river to reach Minas Tirith in it's final hours, and after scything his way across Pelennor like a man possessed, he makes his final stand in front of the lower gate to the city. Here he is in the breaths after, when he turns to see the city in flames---but standing.

Happy @boromir-week to one and all.

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

For day seven over at @boromir-week

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

Tolkien South Asian Week Day 5 ✧ Lineages | insp x ↳ Everyone in Middle-Earth is Brown [108/?]: Elrond & Arwen

Arwen Evenstar remained also, and she said farewell to her brethren. None saw her last parting with Elrond her father, for they went up into the hills and there spoke long together, and bitter was their parting that should endure beyond the ends of the world.

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

Boromir Week, Day 6: Change of Fate

The note from Boromir's horn bounded high and clear, ricocheting off broken, soot-stained stone. A swell of voices rose into the air, cheering and shouting.

“The King of Gondor has returned!” he bellowed, sweeping his arm to Aragorn over his shoulder. “Long live King Elessar Telcontar, heir of Isildur!”

Aragorn was sitting straight and tall on his horse, his mouth set, but his eyes betrayed the barest spark of shell-shock. Boromir wasn’t going to let him think about it. He squeezed his horse’s flanks and started forward. Aragorn’s horse instinctively followed, and behind them the cumbersome train of their friends, comrades, and vanguard fell into step.

They passed through the first gate, which was no more than the stubs of towers, rimed with ash and gouged by ballistae. Still, gate wardens stood on top of the rubble, and the heralds released a peal from their trumpets. First, the two rising notes that signaled peaceful news to the city, and then the short burst that had been preceding Boromir his whole life. The Captain was entering the city. Growing up, Faramir would buzz it through pursed lips whenever Boromir stumbled out of bed or emerged from the jakes. But following after was a ring that hadn’t been heard from the ramparts of Minas Tirith since the second age. A clear swirl of notes, rising into the morning air.

The King was entering the city.

A snippet from a fic I wrote a few years ago. We all know Boromir Lives is my lifeblood, and one of my favorite concepts is Boromir reinventing himself as the pillar that holds up and legitimizes Aragorn as king.

@boromir-week

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

now the joy that was hidden in the songs we heard is made plain to me.

tolkien south asian week hosted by @arwenindomiel

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

Tolkien South Asian Week Day 4 ✧ No living man am I ↳ Everyone in Middle-Earth is Brown [107/?]: Eowyn

Too often have I heard of duty. But am I not of the House of Eorl, a shieldmaiden and not a dry-nurse? Shall I always be left behind when the Riders depart, to mind the house while they win renown, and find food and beds when they return? All your words are but to say you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour you have leave to be burned in the house for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

"Pippin had liked [Boromir] from the first, admiring the great man's lordly but kindly manner."

My contribution towards @boromir-week Day 5, for the prompts "The People's Prince" and "Member of the Fellowship". I just wanted to highlight some moments that show Boromir's kindness, because I love him and his kind heart so, so much.

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

Boromir Week Day 4: A Strange Likeness, Part 1

Posted late for @boromir-week Day 4: Captain of Gondor. Inspired by an old conversation with @sotwk about Boromir potentially having a statue of himself somewhere in Minas Tirith.

Word count: 1k

Rating: G

Part 2 is set for Day 5: The People's Prince, Member of the Fellowship or Day 6: Change of Fate, Fourth Age. But will I actually post it on time? Who knows? This week is killing me dead, but either way I’m loving all the Boromir content 💜

A Strange Likeness

“Truly, Father, you need not have gone to the trouble,” Boromir said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Faramir bit back a laugh. Boromir had repeated the same sentiment at least three times since Denethor had brought them to the training grounds, yet there was an undeniable gleam in his brother’s eyes, his chin jutting rather more proudly than usual. 

“Nonsense,” the Steward cried, patting Boromir’s shoulder. “It is not every day Gondor is granted a new Captain-General, after all!” 

A cheer rose up from the crowd gathered behind them. 

“All the same,” Boromir said again, his chest puffing out seemingly against his will, “I’m certain our coffers would be put to much better use than the commissioning of a statue.” 

“Pah! You are hardly the first of the line of Stewards to be commemorated so. This city is awash in monuments to bygone rulers—it would be a travesty to exclude you from their ranks! Would it not, eh?”

He directed the last words to the crowd, who whooped and cheered again. Nearly all were Boromir’s soldiers, having strayed from their evening training regimens to witness the statue’s unveiling. Boromir had trained many of them personally, and despite the newness of his title, had already saved many of their lives in battle.

Faramir smiled at the glowing faces of the crowd, at the boyish grin on his brother’s face, then up at the statue itself.

It was adorned in the regalia of the Captain-General of Gondor, of course, appointed to Boromir just weeks before. While most Gondorian statues stood stilted and lifeless, limbs unbent, this one beckoned visitors to the training yards with a shield raised high, the figure’s weight shifted slightly to its right leg to brace for an unseen strike.

Still, it was a strange likeness, for the dynamic style did not quite extend to the statue’s expression.

“Valar, how stern it looks,” Boromir grimaced and turned to Faramir, laughing. “Tell me I do not look half so dour as that!” 

“You, dour? Never. Perhaps the sculptor was in a foul mood while he worked.”

Boromir laughed all the harder. “I fear you are right. You had best increase his wages, Father, that his next statue might bear a smile.” 

Denethor offered his eldest an indulgent smile of his own. “Come, now. The city’s Captain-General must look the part, must he not?”

Still, unusually grim-faced or not, Boromir’s statue did bear a striking resemblance to the original. Its features were sharp and new, not yet worn and weathered like so many of the city’s other statues were, the discoloration and dilapidation of centuries having worn away their finer features until each looked no different from its fellows. Someday, Faramir supposed, his brother’s statue would meet the same fate as the others. The stains of smoke and lichen would crawl over the stone skin, the wind and weather and relentless march of time slowly stealing the memory of him away. He frowned at the thought, forcing it from his mind.

“Now that a statue has been built in my honor, Father,” Boromir said, shaking Faramir from his musings, “perhaps you might commission one for your second son.”

Denethor’s cheery demeanor soured at once. “I will do no such thing.” 

Faramir swallowed uncomfortably. “Brother, do not trouble yourself.”

“Nonsense!” Boromir glared from Faramir to their father. “When you are no less valiant in battle, no less loved by our people—”

“Enough,” Denethor hissed, teeth clenched. “Let him earn such esteem, if he can. I will not grant it on a whim!”

“You may let the matter rest, my lord,” Faramir assured him, biting back his frustration. Boromir meant well, he knew, but what could such efforts accomplish beyond angering their father all the more? 

But Boromir was bristling, his nostrils flaring, his chest puffed out with anger rather than pride. “Then you will see him earn it now, Father. What say you, men?” He turned to the crowd of soldiers, his voice booming and jovial. “Would you see my brother thus honored as well? Shall we have a statue for Lord Faramir?” 

The men erupted with applause, so loud that Faramir felt his ears grow hot. “Boromir,” he muttered, “you need not have—”

“Nonsense,” Boromir repeated under his breath, still beaming at the cheering crowd. “Father can hardly deny you your due now. Then let it be done!” he added in a roar, as the cries of Faramir! Faramir! Faramir! died away at last. “You do us all great honor. Now, return to your training—so commands your new Captain-General!” 

“You are behaving like a child, Boromir,” Denethor hissed as the soldiers retreated to the training yard at last. But he was forcing a smile for the onlookers, and Faramir knew that—against all odds—Boromir had beaten him.

Their father swept away with a scoff, leaving the brothers standing alone in the now-empty street. 

“Why did you do that?” Faramir demanded. “I have no desire for a statue of myself—”

“Yet you deserve one at least as much as I do,” was his staunch reply. “Besides, it will do Father good to be reminded how well the people love you.” 

“Thank you, brother. Though I fear you have only angered him further.” 

“I will handle Father. If he gives you any grief, come to me. Your new Captain-General will defend you, eh?” Boromir raised his shield-arm in imitation of his statue, adopting a grim, dreary expression so exaggerated that Faramir snorted. 

“Such an expression suits you terribly.” 

“Yes. Still—it is an impressive statue, is it not?” he mused. “I had not thought to cut such an imposing figure.” Boromir's chest was swelling again as he looked up at his likeness. Perhaps unconsciously, he was adjusting the angle of his jaw and the proud squaring of his shoulders to better match the statue’s regal silhouette. 

A long moment passed. Faramir raised an eyebrow. “Shall I give the two of you some privacy?” 

“What—” Boromir jumped and cleared his throat, a flush creeping up his neck. “I—ahem. I had best speak to my men again—see how their training is coming along. Farewell, brother.”

“Farewell, Captain.” 

Boromir beamed anew at the title and departed, passing his grim-faced statue with a spring in his step.

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

Boromir Week, Day 5: The People's Prince, the Fellowship

"I will not go," said Boromir, "not unless the vote of the whole company is against me. What do Legolas and the little folk say? The Ring-bearer's voice surely should be heard?" "I do not wish to go to Moria," said Legolas. -The Fellowship of the Ring

When I center Boromir in narratives, I often cast Legolas as the comic relief, but actually, I've always thought of him in much the same way as Boromir: the son of a lesser ruler who has spent his entire adult life fighting the supernatural threat to his home, aided by no magic, largely unremarkable except in his bravery, skill, and dedication to his people. Another people's prince. Until Elladan and Elrohir decide to show up later in the series, Legolas is the only Elf who sees fit to put his life aside to help the Fellowship. I've always liked him for that, and I think amid all Boromir's weirdling companions in the Fellowship, he would clock Legolas as a kindred spirit---someone who knows strategy, someone who knows how to rely on his own wits and strength rather than mystical solutions. It's the combined masterminding of Boromir and Legolas who get the Fellowship off Caradhras, and in Moria I think they'd see themselves in similar roles. Gandalf seems to be at a loss. Aragorn hasn't had to step up yet. Gimli's expectations of the reception in the mines was wildly different to the grim reality. So I think Boromir would assume that if anybody was going to get them out of the mess they're in, it's him and the guy who can run over the snow, even if he does pass entire nights staring straight at the moon like a little freak.

But mostly, I think Boromir's time amid the Fellowship is mostly just

Like being the only human actor in a muppet movie

@boromir-week

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

Tolkien South Asian Week Day 3 ✧ More fair than Mortal tongue can tell | insp ↳ Everyone in Middle-Earth is Brown [106/?]: Arwen Undómiel

For I am the daughter of Elrond. I shall not go with him when he departs to the Havens: for mine is the choice of Luthien, and as she so have I chosen, both the sweet and the bitter.

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

Boromir Week Day 3: Son of Denethor, Paternal Family, Thorongil

Here is what we know: When Denethor was a young man, Aragorn served as a captain in Gondor under the name Thorongil. He was so skilled and wise that he soon became invaluable to Steward Ecthelion, which made Denethor jealous.

So here's today's headcanon: Ecthelion wants to keep Thorongil close while Denethor is constantly trying to edge him out, which means Aragorn is just constantly around. And Finduilas, as we know, is very, very lonely. She's alone in a world of grim, older military men, she dreads being so close to Mordor, and her husband has no emotional fluency. So when Thorongil speaks kindly to her and holds genuine conversations with her, it's one of the only friendly anchors she has. She sees him as closer to her in age--though he's not--and feels like he actually values her for more than just being a quiet, dutiful wife--because he does. He's there throughout her first pregnancy and when she goes into labor with Boromir.

Meanwhile, Denethor's attention has been on being valuable to his father. He's been hoping and praying this baby will be a son, because he thinks it will be what he finally needs to wrest Ecthelion's favor away from Thorongil and back to himself.

But while Ecthelion adores his grandson, he still relies on Thorongil's skills and leadership, and Denethor only grows more jealous. Recognizing this, and perhaps also recognizing that he's become a wedge between Finduilas and Denethor, Aragorn surprises everyone by making that abrupt decision not to return to Minas Tirith after the battle of the Corsairs.

TO BE CLEAR, I don't hc that Boromir and Faramir's parentage is anything other than what's laid out in canon. I'm just saying THERE'S A LOT OF MATERIAL TO WORK WITH HERE.

@boromir-week

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

Boromir Week Day 1: Brother of Faramir, Childhood (again)

something a bit haphazardly quick (and not exactly right with age difference between the two, but we’re ignoring that for a second).

I really like the headcanons that Finduilas loved the ocean and bringing her boys to it, so I’d like to think that after she dies Boromir takes it upon himself to go visit her at the beach every once in a while. It’s a familiar place for them and makes them feel just a bit closer to their mother despite the little amount of time Faramir really knew her for.

@boromir-week

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

Tolkien South Asian Week Day 1 ✧ Love | insp ↳ Everyone in Middle-Earth is Brown [104/?]: Celebrían & Elrond

Galadriel, committed Lórinand to Amroth, and passing again through Moria with Celebrian she came to Imladris, seeking Celeborn. There (it seems) she found him and there they dwelt together for a long time; and it was then that Elrond first saw Celebrian, and loved her though he said nothing of it.

[eowyneomundsdaughter]

For day two over at @boromir-week